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constantcrisis19 · 3 years ago

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Come A Little Closer

Daryl Dixon x GN S/O

Word Count: 2,082

You slammed the door open, sprinting through the rows of empty shelves that made up the abandoned department store.

You heard the echoing creak of the very door you burst through as it was forced shut, the dull thud of bodies pushing into the flimsy barrier following not long after.

You didn’t bother looking back, trusting Daryl to follow as soon as he could as you ran through the aisles, looking for another way out.

You’d been on your way back from a routine supply run in the suburbs of the city when the two of you had pretty much rode straight into the right flank of a massive herd that looked to have been traveling north.

Daryl hit the brakes on his bike, but by then the loud rumble of the beast had gained the attention of several of the creatures, an alarming amount of walkers changing their trajectory in favor of shuffling toward the two of you.

You let out a startled curse when several walkers latched onto the jacket that you were wearing, using their grip to drag you off the back of the bike and into the frenzy.

You distantly heard Daryl shout for you over the deafening noise, but you didn't have a chance to respond before you were swallowed up by the herd.

You silently patted yourself on the back for choosing to wear a long sleeve shirt as you shrugged off your jacket and ripped your hatchet off the clip that was keeping it attached to your homemade utility belt

You then unceremoniously began hacking your way out of the herd, angling toward where you’d last seen the motorcycle.

You swung at one of the walkers as they wandered in too close for comfort, the hatchet getting lodged directly into its face. Though, when you stepped back to give yourself room to pull the blade out of its skull, your foot came down wrong.

The hatchet came free, but you let go of it in favor of catching yourself on whatever tripped you up, the weapon skittering across the asphalt before being swallowed up by the swarming walkers.

Under your scraped up hands was a familiar motorcycle and you immediately began whipping your head around as you scrambled to your feet, darting away from the reaching hands of hungry walkers as you searched for Daryl, who was nowhere in sight.

“Daryl!” You screamed, eyes desperately roving over the mass of walkers around you, hoping to find some indication that he was still alive.

You began to fear the worst when someone suddenly grabbed your wrist from behind.

Your free hand immediately darted down to your hip, snatching a hold of the dagger from your belt, before you whirled around, aiming to drive the blade straight into the eye socket of whatever had a hold of you.

Your eyes widened as your gaze locked onto a pair of familiar blue eyes that were shaded by dark, rugged bangs.

You smoothly flipped the blade around and laid it flat against your wrist, quickly pulling the hit before you did something dumb like accidentally killing the guy that you’d been looking for because he startled you.

Without a word, he grabbed onto one of your wrists and towed you further away from the herd that was now following the two of you.

You hauled through the dense woodland until you hit asphalt, the both of you crashing out into what looked to be the commercial district of the town that you had been searching earlier.

You weren’t given any time to get a thorough look at the layout before you were spotted by even more walkers, the creatures being drawn in by your violent emergence.

Daryl happened to be the one who found the department store, the redneck tipping his chin at the looming building while laying a hand on your lower back, prompting you to take point with a light push.

You were drawn back to the shitfest that you’d found yourselves in when the lock on the door you entered audibly broke, the sound echoing through the vast warehouse.

You caught sight of an emergency exit door on the back wall and pushed yourself harder, throwing your entire weight against the rusted bar. The door came open with a groan of protest, your momentum sending it slamming into the brick wall next to it with a loud bang.

You stumbled out past the threshold and blinked rapidly against the change in brightness, trying to get rid of the black spots impeding your vision, only to dig your heels into the blacktop, your eyes widening in a mix of shock and horror as the first shambling corpse noticed your presence.

“Oh, fuck!” You snarled as you swiveled your hips in preparation to turn back around, but the sudden change in direction caused your shoes to slip, making you lose your balance.

Fortunately, your fast reflexes allowed you to get a hand underneath yourself before you could face-plant, allowing you to recover quickly as you frantically backpedaled toward the open door behind you.

You had known that the tread on your abused sneakers had been worn down to practically nothing over the course of many months of supply runs.

Hell, you had suspected that you needed a new pair since you and Rick hit up the hospital downtown last week and you ended up having to slingshot yourself around corners in order to outpace the walkers chasing the two of you since the linoleum was slippery and the grip on your shoes was nonexistent.

Now your procrastination was coming back to bite you in the ass, literally.

One of the walkers stumbled into range and you yanked the hammer off of your belt, simultaneously bracing yourself on the door frame behind you as you swung, the blunt end caving in the creature’s skull at the temple.

You heard the familiar whistle of air behind you just before one of Daryl’s brightly colored bolts flew past you, burying itself between the eyes of the walker that had been steadily closing in.

“Com’ on!” Daryl shouted to be heard over the growling mass of walkers, getting one of his hands wrapped around your belt in order to haul you back into the dimly lit interior of the department store.

You turned when he released you, following his lead as he dodged a small crowd of walkers and darted into a nearby aisle, pulling his knives out as he went.

You adjusted your grip on the hammer, rotating it so that the sharp end was pressed up against your thigh as you dashed into the main area.

You let out a sharp curse at the sheer amount of walkers that were flooding into the store, their numbers rapidly climbing to lethal levels.

A few of the closest creatures got a hunting knife to the skull, Daryl moving from one to the next in quick succession as he painstakingly tried to make a path to the exit.

From your position further back, you scanned the area and spotted a staircase on the opposite side of the vast room.

If you remembered correctly from you previous stints working in customer service before the world went to hell in a hand basket, the staircase should lead to an employee break room or maybe even an office of some sort.

The narrow hall would also act as a funnel so that the walkers numbers would never get to the point of being overwhelming enough to break down a door. But, with that said, it would still essentially be the equivalent of backing yourselves into a corner.

But you weren't seeing any other options.

“Daryl!” You called out, nodding toward the entrance to the stairway once the redneck had a chance to look over his shoulder.

You pointed at the dark opening and watched his gaze move from you, to the base of the stairs on the other side of the room, and back to you again before he gave a single, sharp nod of agreement.

While Daryl briefly focused his attention back onto the herd slowly approaching in the hopes of reducing their numbers some, you had already pivoted around to begin picking your way through the stragglers that were standing between the two of you and potential safety.

You had covered about half the distance when you heard Daryl's light footsteps coming toward you and took that as your cue to pick up the pace, opting to dodge the last few obstacles to reach the stairway faster, Daryl hot on your heels.

You thundered up the narrow passageway, not even bothering with stealth anymore as you took the stairs two at a time.

You didn’t slow down as you made it to the top, merely redirecting your momentum in order to throw yourself down the hallway and at the nearest door.

You reached out to grip the cool handle, letting out a low growl of frustration when the lock didn't budge.

There was no way that you could force your way in since that would compromise the lock and -even if you did- you didn’t know if there were any materials on the other side that you could use to effectively barricade the broken door, but you also didn’t have the time to try picking the lock.

So you could do nothing but move on and hope that the next one was open.

You tried door after door with each one garnering no results. You had just reached the one at the end of the hall when Daryl slammed into you, his back pressed tightly against yours as he loaded another bolt and shot it into one of the walkers coming down the crowded hallway.

You could hear the herd closing in on you, their angry hisses and hungry groans akin to the tick of a doomsday clock counting down as they shambled closer.

This time when you tried the knob, the door gave way and opened inward, the two of you practically falling into the small room in your haste to get away from certain death.

You barely regained your balance before you were spinning on your heel and barreling into the door that Daryl was already braced against, your shaking hand fumbling with the locking mechanism before it finally latched with a resounding click.

You rested your forehead against the door as Daryl slumped like a puppet with his strings cut, his back sliding down the solid barrier until he was seated on the ground, his head dropped between his knees as he panted.

You swallowed hard, trying to wet your dry throat as you also caught your breath, your labored gasping deafening now that the sound of the herd had been muffled.

Your own legs buckled and you had a less controlled descent to the cold floor as you realized that you both somehow managed to stay in one piece.

You let out a hysterical giggle, causing Daryl to tilt his head just enough to watch you over the curve of his bicep, his expression pinched and eyes worried.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while.” You sighed, the door at your back trembling under the onslaught of the dead on the other side.

“Come here.” You said softly as you patted the ground next to you invitingly and Daryl let out a huff, uncurling from his defensive hunch in order to lean into your side, his forehead coming to rest against the side of your neck.

“You a’ight?” He murmured, his hot breaths fanning out over your clavicle in a way that you always found reassuring.

“I’m good, just tired.” You sighed and you didn’t realize how true the statement was until the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving only bone deep exhaustion in its wake.

In an effort to stay awake, you decided to see where exactly you and Daryl ended up, glancing around at your surroundings as your eyes adjusted to the dim room.

The shelves filled with empty bottles of cleaner and ripped packaging as well as the broom and mop hanging from a rack mounted to your right indicated that you’d found yourselves in a utility closet.

“Get some shut-eye, I'll keep watch. Ain’t much else we can do.” Daryl offered and you lazily nodded before settling in for the long haul since it would probably be quite a few hours before enough of the herd lost interest that you could make your daring escape.

You closed your eyes and began to silently count, something you’d learned to do when you were little and couldn’t manage to fall asleep.

You only made it to eleven before you slipped into a dreamless slumber.

Prompt: "Looks like we'll be here for a while."

#the walking dead #twd #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #supply run #everything goes wrong #protective daryl #bamf reader #hopeful ending

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theladyofbloodshed · 3 years ago

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Au acosf - Chapter 68

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth

‘Welcome, Helion, to the Spring Court.’

Helion strode forwards to shake Tamlin’s hand but the moment their hands touched, Helion pulled him in closer and clapped a hand on his back. Tamlin bristled at the over-friendly exchange. Although Helion was powerfully built, he appeared dwarfed by the two enormous mountains in front of him.

‘Nesta, you grow lovelier each time I see you,’ he announced, kissing her hand with vigour. ‘And Cassian, you grow more rugged each time I see you. Should you not be slowing down at your age?’

Helion glanced upwards taking in the green bruise around Cassian’s eye socket.

‘You’re older than me, high lord.’

A boom of laughter followed. ‘It suits you this way. I’m sure it drives the females wild to see you bruised and beaten so they can nurse you better.’

‘There’s only one female that matters,’ he said, inclining his head slightly to Nesta. There was a sudden thump of her heart in response to his words; the declaration to any who’d listen that they were together.

Their breakfast was a quick affair that both Tamlin and Helion seemed in a hurry to be over with though they spoke civilly enough albeit a little frostily. Following their cue, Nesta ate quickly. Helion’s eyes were peering wherever they could, out of the windows, through the doorway and beyond, to uncover whatever secrets he could about the Spring Court. Although Tamlin’s house paled in comparison to the palace of the Hewn City or Adriata, it had felt more like a home.

Once their plates were cleared, Nesta clapped her hands together and suggested they leave as she had the sense that Tamlin’s patience was being pushed to its limits by the loud, charming high lord eyeing up all of his servants.

A large black Pegasus stomped his hoof on the grass as they approached. Zasha had the sense to make himself scarce.

Without asking, Helion took Nesta by the hand and led her towards the horse. He was a magnificent creature. With shaky hands, Nesta stroked the jet black mane.

‘Meallan,’ Helion said softly, dragging his knuckles down the horse’s flank. ‘And his mate, Bhean.’

The mare was Meallan’s opposite; where he was dark as if scorched by the sun, she was pure white except for the big, dark eyes that watched Nesta warily. She was a nervous horse where her mate was proud and fearless.

‘They mated once but the foal did not last. A Pegasus birth is rare.’

A profound sadness threatened to drown Nesta. ‘Are they the last of their kind?’

‘Almost. I have a dozen others – but it is not enough to continue a population.’

Tamlin waved them off impatiently as they entered the carriage. One of the Day Court’s servants closed the door after them then mounted into the driving seat. Helion insisted on sitting in the centre, claiming riding backwards gave him motion sickness, but when Cassian offered to sit opposite to gave them all more room, he waved that away too, preferring to be wedged between the two of them.

‘How is the big beast holding up?’ Asked Helion, jerking his head towards the window back down to Spring.

‘Well,’ Nesta said simply. ‘Better.’

‘If only every court could have an Archeron sister tending to the high lord.’ He nudged Nesta with his elbow and she heard a growl rippling from Cassian at the other end of the bench.

‘They’re all accounted for,’ Cassian said with gritted teeth.

It was the wrong choice of words – or perhaps the wrong tone. Helion seemed to delight in making innuendos or making references to Nesta’s beauty in the cosy carriage to incite Cassian from there on. He’d wink to Nesta before making another comment that he was trying to lure her to the Day Court. She sat biting her lip to keep from laughing.

The flight was different to what she was used to. It wasn’t as smooth as flying in Cassian’s arms, and not nearly as intimate, but Nesta felt much safer. The pegasi worked in tandem to fly high above the other courts to Day, higher than Cassian had ever flown with her, so they soared through fluffy, white clouds. She was content to gaze out of the window with wonder imagining what lay beyond. The continent had always been a place she yearned to visit and explore. Maybe one day, when all the stresses that had been bombarding her were memories, Nesta could take an adventure.

The carriage landed with a soft thump on dusty, white stones. When the servant peeled back the carriage door, they were assaulted with heat. On the short walk from the golden carriage to the broad, white palace, Nesta was covered in sweat. It dribbled down her neck under the blazing sun.

‘You’ll boil in those leathers, general,’ Helion admonished.

‘Is it always this hot?’

Helion laughed. ‘No, we follow the seasons, but our summer is far warmer than the Night Court’s. Equally, our winter is milder too.’

‘Oh, I like the sound of that,’ Nesta replied.

‘Anything other than being bombarded with pollen in Spring,’ added Cassian.

Servants met them. Some, led the Pegasi away to brush and rest them in the stables. Nesta spied the huge stables and paddocks where more of the animals were grazing or swooping. Other servants took their belongings and hurried up the stairs with them while a final one whispered in the high lord’s ear.

‘I’m terribly, sorry. I’ve had an issue to the west that requires my attention. Aster, see that our guests are well taken care of then a tour of the palace, perhaps?’

Nesta interjected, ‘the library?’

‘Which one?’ The servant said with a throaty laugh.

‘The nicest one,’ Helion said. ‘Enjoy. I’ll catch up with you both tonight.’

Their room was bright and airy with a bathing chamber bigger than the cottage Nesta had grown up in. Gauzy, white curtains were tied back to reveal the balcony overlooking the southern portion of the city. Their bags had already been taken to the room so Nesta scurried out between the glass doors to peer out at the city. She wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting – perhaps something as vibrant and modern as Velaris rather than the rustic, sparse villages in the Spring Court. Or perhaps something loud and lavish like Helion himself. All was wrong.

Towards the sea to the south-east, Nesta caught sight of the wide roads with huge villas. Most of the villas had red roofs, white walls, and pillars running the length to give shade. Each one was lined with rows of palm trees and sprinkled with sand, carried by the sea winds. It was beautiful and elegant.

Further to the south-west, the villas were fewer and civilization gave way to rainforests, the like of which Nesta had never seen before. The rainforest clambered over the hills all the way to the horizon.

Something green and fast scurried over the ivory marble rail of the balcony. Nesta screamed.

Cassian came running from the bedroom shirtless and with his trousers around his knees. He was quick enough to grab a blade but soon stopped short at the absence of an attacker.

‘Why are you squealing?’

‘There’s a thing! An it!’ She squeaked, pressing herself into his side.

Eyes drifted around the balcony until Cassian’s gaze landed on the creature that seemed to now be sunbathing.

‘It’s a lizard.’

‘What is it doing here?’

‘I’d say it lives here. Probably the temperature is perfect for them.’

Frogs were one thing, but lizards? Lizards happily crawling past her without a care. Nesta shuddered with disgust. Gone were the plans of reading happily on the balcony.

‘Fuck,’ Cassian breathed, clutching a hand over his heart. ‘You scared the shit out of me with that scream.’

‘Testing your reactions.’

‘It’s too hot. I was changing clothes.’

Nesta looked down her nose at his bare legs. ‘I can see that.’

***

A while later, the door knocked and the servant, Aster, was there to take them for a tour. The long, tiled corridors were cool enough to amble down though Cassian was still peeling his dark shirt from his back. Most of the walls were painted white or cream but drizzled with golden patterns or gold-framed paintings. There were many of Helion and other relatives as well as maps and art of other courts.

‘The dining room… the ball room… the music room.’

On and on went the tour. Nesta listened to it all with rapture as Aster reeled off the history of the place. Cassian followed along behind; he was of the opinion that once you’d seen one palace, you had seen them all. Nesta was still new to this world. A couple of years was nothing to the fae. She was relishing in the history.

‘The throne room,’ said Aster, throwing open the doors. Upon a dais was one solitary throne that Cassian was sure was built entirely of gold. Above it was a painting, far larger than any other. The male portrayed bore a resemblance to Helion; the same onyx skin and bright eyes, similar facial structures too. Where Helion wore a charming smile like a badge, this male had a sombre expression.

‘Since he has taken the throne, Helion Spell-Cleaver is reluctant to sit upon it. It remains more for decorative purposes.’

Aster turned to close the doors, but Nesta asked, ‘Who is the male?’

The servant’s expression tightened and he bowed his head in respect.

‘Our previous high lord, Selene. May the mother bless him.’

Onwards, they continued down a wide corridor with a glass ceiling. Thick, reedy plants were in pots, basking in the light that streamed from above. Aster continued talking, explaining that the plants were rare and thrived here.

Nesta nudged Cassian’s bruised rib. ‘What happened to him? Selene?’

‘Helion’s brother,’ he whispered back. ‘Killed by Amarantha for rebelling with Kallias’ father and Tarquin’s cousin. Helion was never expected to be high lord. His brother had three sons but the magic chooses for itself.’

Nesta nodded, taking it all in. ‘It was like a monument to his brother.’

Aster stopped at a set of doors carved with a crescent moon on one and a sun on the other. His expression was as warm as the court. ‘I hope you will find the library to your liking. I shall leave you here.’

Rows upon rows of books stood before them. There was no end to the vast chamber. Light poured in from the windows high up in the roof casting a warm glow upon the room. There were desks tucked into every quiet nook along with rows of balconies and various librarians wandering up the aisles. Cassian had to check that Nesta’s heart was still beating as they stood in the doorway, poised to cross the threshold. Her hand pressed into his abdomen.

‘We need a plan of attack, general.’ Nesta straightened and cast her eyes down the long aisle running through the centre. ‘We seek out librarians. They will guide us to information on the high king Fionn, Koschei, the dread trove, or the Wall. They are our four topics. We’ll split up to cover more ground. Retrieve books. Skim the text. Record key information. Understand?’

‘Oh, I love it when you speak tactically,’ he said moaning slightly.

The corner of her mouth tipped upwards. ‘Find the information I desire and you will have whatever you desire tonight, Lord of Bloodshed.’

Cassian had to bite down on his knuckle to not audibly moan in the library’s doorway. ‘Using sexual favours to manoeuvre me… Nesta Archeron, you are my favourite person.’

Chewing on her lower lip, she touched the tip of his nose. ‘Find what I seek. Rendezvous by the table beside that window in two hours for a mission report.’

Unable to resist, Cassian saluted then marched onwards.

Cauldron, it was boring. He was almost bored to tears. A librarian – a young female with eyes like a doe – had turned crimson and giggled when he’d approached her for help. She found his choice of topics intriguing then led him to one section. It had taken over half an hour just to scan those shelves in search of information on the Wall. To please Nesta, he’d taken almost a dozen books to a desk and began the arduous task of combing through the frail pages for a whisper on the topic. Anything for love, he reminded himself. Love didn’t knead the knots from his spine that formed from hunching over a book that was better suited as kindling though.

On the rare moment he raised his head for a momentary pause, he’d spy Nesta up on a balcony with her nose inches from the book, scanning the page as if her life depended upon it. Cassian never saw her take a moment’s break; she was dedicated.

As each minute ticked by, the chair grew more uncomfortable. He’d mounted it backwards and frequently stretched his wings to ease the ache in his spine.

‘Progress report?’

Nesta loomed over him, grey eyes narrowed.

‘I’m starving.’

She flapped her hand towards his face with a disgruntled look. ‘About the task? Or have you spent the last couple of hours fantasising about food?’

The parchment that he’d recorded any snippets of information on was plucked from his outstretched fingers. Nesta read quickly then made a noise that he could only assume was satisfaction.

‘Very good. See you in two hours.’

As a treat, Cassian ogled the sway of her hips as she strode back towards a steep staircase leading to the balcony level. That mind of hers was exquisite; had there ever been another so clever? The memory of meeting with the mortal queens rose to the surface. Nesta had already been planning an evacuation for the mortals. She had calculated the number of ships required for the residents and Cassian had little doubt that Nesta had prepared further calculations. Tamlin had been lucky to have her in Spring. That sturdy hand, unwilling to bend when it came to doing what was right, had been needed to guide the court and its high lord back into the light.

After their eight hour shift in the library, only broken up by the mission reports and the brief break where Nesta had allowed him fifteen minutes to eat outside, they were finally departing. Nesta had a stack of books in her arms, her face absolutely brimming with delight.

‘And they said I was welcome to check out as many as ten books. Ten! I’m sure if I ask Helion he would let me take them back home for a couple of weeks just to ensure I’ve covered everything.’

Nesta was babbling with a giddy sort of energy that he so rarely saw from her. It felt like the sun was finally shining on them. He went to take the stack from her hands to carry and spotted the black capital letters of one of the spines wedged in the centre of the pile.

‘Hang on, what does “Mistress of Satin and Steel” have to do with any of those topics?’

Nesta span on the spot, trying to hide the pile of books. ‘That one is for personal use.’

‘Is it about bondage? Let me see the cover.’

‘I don’t know,’ she hissed, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘You had a blindfold in your house. You’re the expert.’

Cassian shook his head then scurried after her rapid steps along the corridor. ‘That was Azriel’s. I don’t need to tie a woman up.’

‘Well, maybe you should from time to time.’

‘Not a lover’s spat, I hope?’ Helion appeared out of a doorway, brandishing a dazzling smile. Cassian swore that Nesta giggled at the sight of the high lord. ‘There’s always a shoulder to cry on here if there’s trouble in paradise.’

Perhaps because he’d sat hunched over a desk for the entire day mindlessly bored or perhaps because Nesta became more beautiful when she blushed, Cassian decided to do something stupid. ‘We have to thank you for the use of your libraries, Helion. Nesta’s been researching bondage. She’s begging me to tie her up.’

The female beside him had stopped breathing.

‘Oh, use my personal library if you find that one lacking. I daresay you’ll find more information suited to your taste, Nesta.’

A small squeak of terror burst from Nesta’s lips and both males roared with laughter. He could always count on Helion to continue whatever joke he sent his way – though he wasn’t entirely sure the high lord was joking about his personal library.

‘Excuse me,’ she rasped, face the colour of a tomato.

It was a surprise that Nesta did not sprout wings to escape or simply combust. Instead, she hurried down the corridor, faster than Cassian had ever seen her move before, to sanctuary.

‘You’re a brave man,’ Helion commented.

‘She’ll have my balls for that.’

‘Maybe she’ll be the one doing the tying up.’ The high lord clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. ‘I can scent the strength of your bond.’

‘It’s not been formally accepted.’

Helion raised his brows. ‘Still? Because I’ve always liked you, general, I have the perfect place for you love birds.’

***

They’d spent their dinner on the balcony with Helion drawn away again to a court meeting. He’d promised to join them for dessert but he never arrived. It was a large court and its high lord seemed to take a hands-on approach to ruling. Their evening had been spent trawling through their parchments, examining the information they’d gathered then Cassian suggested a day trip the next day. Nesta would have rather spent another day in the library, revisiting volumes to investigate further but he was insistent that they deserved a day off together and she would enjoy it. For those pleading eyes, Nesta would have agreed to anything.

Although still early – after Cassian had hauled her from the bed at the crack of dawn – the temperature was rapidly rising. The flowing, lilac dress she wore was already seeping with sweat on the armpits and back. It swirled around her feet at least to provide a little breeze. Her flimsy shoes slipped from the sweat slicking her soles.

Cassian was leading her through the dense rainforest, slashing at vines or branches in their way. The sun was unable to penetrate the thick canopy, but it was no less stifling. A musky sort of heat rose from the undergrowth. Her shoes were brown within a few minutes of walking.

‘Where exactly are we heading?’

The deeper they went, the worse the humidity became. Gnats were hitching a ride on her face or mosquitoes were landing on the bare expanse of skin on her back where her dress scooped.

‘It’s a surprise. You’ll like it.’

The trail led upwards, if it could be called a trail. Cassian was swinging wildly with his knife, hacking through drooping vines or stomping on roots for Nesta to follow. Twice, she spotted snakes wrapping around trees, watching them with beady eyes.

Further and further they went, past brightly coloured flowers and waxy-leaved plants. There was an awful, shrieking later on which Cassian had assured her was just monkeys – as if that was supposed to be reassuring. Still, he drove them on despite both of them panting from the heat.

‘Do I look like the kind of person who enjoys this sort of thing?’ Another tiny winged thing landed on Nesta’s bare arm. A tinny buzzing whizzed by her ear.

Sweat stuck the loose strands of Cassian’s ebony hair to the back of his neck. Half of it was tied up with a strip of leather but with every hour that passed, more slipped out from the tie. ‘It was supposed to be romantic.’

He braced himself half way up a steep ridge, digging his feet into the path and held out a hand for Nesta to help her. The muscles of his forearm tensed as he hauled her upwards.

‘Why don’t we just fly there?’

Cassian stood stunned. His eyes shut regretfully.

‘What?’

‘It didn’t really come to my mind.’

Nesta scrambled up the last few metres of the steepest parts, her skirt now absolutely filthy on the knees. The humidity had sweat dribbling down her chest between the valley of her breasts. Once she made it to the top, she panted, ‘You have wings, Cassian. How is flying not your go-to mode of transportation?’

As if demonstrating, he flapped up to her and leant against a tree covered in vines. ‘Helion gave me the directions on foot. I just didn’t think about flying.’

‘Do you ever think? Has a thought ever once passed through your head? Helion told you to lead me into the jungle with one water skin where we can be food for flies – is that what you’re trying to tell me?’ Nesta laughed incredulously. ‘When have I ever showed any inclination that what I desire is to walk uphill in the heat?’

Cassian threw up his hands. ‘Maybe I’m lost!’

‘I knew it! I asked you so many times if you were sure. We could have turned around miles ago rather than traipsing for hours!’

The heat was getting to both of them. Even Cassian, who usually coped well with warmer weather, was utterly soaked with sweat. He’d stripped down to the waist long ago but he was covered now in insect bites. Nesta found some satisfaction in that – only because her own skin had been chewed to oblivion too. She stunk as well. Each time she raised her arm, Nesta wanted to gag. She thought fae were supposed to be ethereal beings, but her bodily odour did nothing to support that cause.

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose and repeated, ‘It was supposed to be romantic.’

‘Saying that changes nothing.’

There was a flash of anger in his eyes then Nesta was thrown over his shoulder with as much grace as carrying a sack of potatoes. Vines and leaves whipped at their bodies as Cassian thrust upwards through the canopy, his wings beating powerfully.

‘You do so well to reject the brute stereotype when you sling me over a shoulder like this.’

‘You love it in the bedroom.’

‘Are we in a bedroom now?’

Cassian grunted, flying over the trees in search of his mystery location. ‘Thank the mother we aren’t because you absolutely reek of sweat.’

It wasn’t embarrassment that flared in her cheeks but anger. ‘You don’t smell so appealing yourself. My face is stuck to the sweat on your back.’

‘Should I drop you? Would that please you, your majesty?’

‘Drop me into Helion’s lap,’ she muttered.

Cassian snapped his wings together so they plummeted downwards. Nesta shrieked with alarm, clinging onto Cassian’s body as her stomach lurched.

At the last second, his wings plumed out to catch an updraft. He chuckled at her garbled string of insults. With each flap of his enormous onyx wings, Nesta received a blast of air in her face. What had she done to deserve this?

‘Nes, I see it!’

‘What makes you think I want to spend another minute in your company, you overgrown bat?’

Cassian let out a long laugh again, dipping lower and lower over the valley. To add insult to injury, Cassian smacked her backside. ‘You’ll be swooning soon enough. It is romantic. Trust me.’

‘Spank me again like I’m cattle-’

‘Again? As you wish.’ Another slap on the bottom.

The moment Cassian set Nesta down on solid ground, he shot back out of her reach, colour tinging his cheeks. He knew he was in trouble. Two palms spread outwards pleading with Nesta’s mercy.

‘Sweetheart, look. Look. Look around.’

Ready to flambé Cassian, Nesta gave the area a scathing look then stilled. It was utterly beautiful. A topaz lake stood before them. Soft white sand encircled one portion of the small pool but beyond it a waterfall cascaded, churning the water to white froth. As the water fell, Nesta could make out a gap in the rock leading to a cave. The trees around them dripped with exotic fruits. There were some there that she had never tried, ones she never thought she would try.

‘Helion said the water from the fall is safe to drink – the fruits too. And the lake only has a few small fish. The cave there,’ he said, jerking his chin to the gap between the rocks, ‘is if we want some privacy.’

‘Perfect place to drown you then,’ Nesta mused.

‘Truce?’

How could she refuse those big, beautiful eyes? ‘Truce. But you’re going in the water first to double-check its safe.’

The surface was relatively undisturbed and the waters were so clear she could see the soft sand at its depths, but her stomach still churned at the thought of the kelpie in the Bog of Oorid. Cassian’s fingers linked with hers. It was as much contact either could bear in the humidity.

‘Always,’ he murmured, bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss.

Cassian stripped until he was completely naked. Nesta’s eyes went agog at the sight of him stood as bare as the day he was born with no shame whatsoever.

‘Cassian!’

‘Nesta?’

‘You’re naked.’

‘There’s nobody here. The only person likely to come here is Helion.’ Without a further comment, Cassian dived into the cool waters, emerging a few moments later with a shake of the head. It sprayed water across the surface.

‘You look like Zasha when you do that.’

The male grinned brightly. ‘Thanks. It’s safe. You joining me?’

‘I’m not getting naked here, Cassian.’

‘Promise I won’t look.’

They had not seen a single soul throughout their entire trek. The waters did look inviting – and it was scorching…

Against better judgement, Nesta was pulling her dress over her head and kicking off her ruined shoes. The coolness of the water nipped at her feet as she waded to her thighs. Cassian was staring like a starved man. So much for promising not to look, she thought. He stretched out a hand for her to take then drew her closer through the waters.

‘I promised to build you a bath so large you can swim in, while you wait, this pool will have to do.’

Nesta shucked back her head in laughter then brought her arms around his neck. ‘This is lovely.’

‘No more arguments?’

‘Promise me you will never make me hike again.’

‘Never,’ he vowed, kissing her gently on the lips.

They swirled around the waters, lazily for a couple of hours. They took a few sluggish swims from one end of the pool to the other. Cassian also showed off his skill at handstands beneath the water, but it had Nesta roaring with laughter when all she could see was the bottom half of his body naked and wiggling. Cassian had no shame, however. He even went as far as flying up to the waterfall and leaping in from the rocks, splashing Nesta in the process.

Cassian retrieved mangoes from the tree and sliced them into cubes with his knife whilst Nesta languished in the shallows, half-submerged, half-sunbathing. It was a lovely day – one she could get used to. Pieces of mango were pushed gently into her mouth by Cassian’s fingers. Like an attentive nurse, he ensured she’d drank enough and filled her belly with sweet fruits. It was an exorbitant lifestyle – but much needed. She had never known such relaxation.

‘Oh, I could stay here forever,’ she moaned, letting her head rest on the warm sand.

She tracked Cassian’s hazel eyes as they took in every inch of her bare skin tanning in the sun.

‘Me too.’ He trailed a finger down the centre of her body, stopping just below her naval. ‘Why don’t we explore the cave?’

She followed him through the waterfall, squeezing her eyes shut as his hand tugged her past the thundering water.

The cave was warm and there were smooth ledges carved into the damp rock. Nesta tried not to think of the number of lovers who had passed through with Helion leading them – or whether the high lord might make a surprise appearance.

The light was dimmer, but at the sight of Cassian towering over her, passion blazed through Nesta’s veins. Lips trailed across her jaw planting kisses and nibbles over her skin. Nesta dug her nails into Cassian’s shoulders. He worked his way down her neck then to her collar bone, sending shivers through her spine, until he reached her breasts. Slowly, teasingly, he kissed his way back up to her lips.

‘That’s not fair,’ she whispered.

They bumped against the damp wall. It was refreshingly cool against her back to counteract the burning heat of Cassian’s skin. With gentle force, her fingers gripped in his hair, tilting his head to the side to kiss the sharp bone of his cheek and the rough scratch of stubble. His moan echoed in the cave as Nesta brushed her nose lightly against the curve of his ear.

Her heart fluttered with anticipation and eagerness as Cassian lifted her onto one of the ledges. Nesta hooked an arm around his neck, the other gripped his waist. When their lips met again, the pace was unhurried. They could have kissed for an eternity and Nesta would enjoy every moment. This was her mate; her equal.

But then he lifted Nesta higher onto the rocks and spread her legs apart to admire the view. She swallowed her nervousness at being exposed. Broad hands brushed along the soft skin inside of her thighs as Cassian eased her trepidation.

‘It’s only us,’ he reassured.

Cassian’s mouth devoured. His tongue rippled over her skin, tasting all she could give him. A hand wove in his hair, guiding him where she wanted him. It encouraged him to delve deeper with more enthusiasm.

Two fingers entered, pulsing in a rhythm until Nesta couldn’t think straight. Her hands dropped limply to her sides as Cassian worked with one hand and used his other to tease her nipple.

When she came, Nesta saw stars. A fleeting moment of euphoria hit as her back arched against the slick wall of the cave. He was hers and she was his.

Delicate kisses leading up her body brought Nesta back to the present. Her heart hammered against her ribs, dizzy from her pleasure.

‘I love you,’ Cassian said, kissing her forehead.

Nesta couldn’t waste a moment. She needed him. All of him. Her mate.

She pulled his body to hers and secured her legs around his waist in the water. His hands braced on the stone, gaining purchase. She guided him inside, breathing deeply as she grew accustomed to the size of him, to the stark difference in temperature. Cassian’s eyes were wide and dark as they met hers.

He moved slowly at first until her nails dragged across his skin, signalling for him to increase the tempo. Every moan that he tried to stifle made Nesta wetter. Every heavy breath in her ear made her body want more and more.

Sweat rolled along his collar bone, dripping down his chest. There was a heated look in his eye as he thrust deeper. Every proud inch of him, she wanted to take. He was hers. He took her hard and fast so the stone scraped her skin. She could feel their bond weaving thicker between them, feel their souls singing a song only they could hear.

Cassian’s body crushed hers as he came. Their foreheads pressed together. His breaths came ragged.

‘I love you too, my mate.’

Despite his deep breathing, Cassian managed a smile. ‘I love when you call me that.’

They returned back to the shallows, letting the sun heat their skin. Cassian’s bronze skin had turned a shade darker already; it suited him. Where she was prone to burning and glowing pink, his skin became a richer brown. Together, they lay tangled on the sand with the cool waters washing over their legs providing relief.

‘I talked to Tamlin already,’ Nesta began, ‘about something quite important to me.’ She swallowed, trying to decide what angle to tackle it from.

Cassian raised his head, gaze swimming with worry. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it since that night. Twice now, Tamlin has been at the receiving end of my power. Twice, he’s had to tend to my affliction, shall we call it? It’s not fair to him to have the Night Court intervening with me and meddling where he is trying to heal himself. It’s not right.’ Nesta was glad that Cassian was not trying to talk, that he was allowing her the chance to let everything out. ‘I can barely look at the servants there knowing that if they had been near me that night, I’d have killed them. I will be leaving the Spring Court in a little under a week. I’ve made arrangements with Tamlin.’

‘And you’ll go…’

Nesta took a shallow breath. ‘If you’ll let me, to Illyria. I have enough money saved. I can buy a home for myself. Somewhere isolated. I don’t want to be involved with politics or anything like that.’

Cassian’s hand wove into hers. ‘Can’t we live together? My house is isolated enough, Nes. I’ll be in Velaris sometimes or the Hewn City so you’d have your own space. I can even talk to Rhys about allowing Eris more often to Illyria if you wanted to continue training or just to see him.’

‘You hate Eris.’

‘I do,’ Cassian grimaced, ‘but you don’t.’

Had Nesta ever really looked at Cassian properly before? Had she known the true depths of his goodness? That his vows to protect and defend were not the sweeping statements of a hero but the declarations of a boy who’d had nobody and was determined to change the world.

‘Don’t cry. Why are you crying?’

Cassian’s arms came around her, pulling her between his legs. A cheek rested on top of her head while she cried quietly.

‘You’ll spend all your time with Emerie.’

Nesta sniffed. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘No. It’s a good thing. A really good thing. But I want you to be happy in the Night Court. I don’t want you there because you think it’s the place you’ll cause least damage. I want you there because you like Illyria.’

‘I like being in Illyria. Spring Court didn’t choose to have me there. You did choose me. Not the bond, Cassian, you could have walked out on me long ago but you chose to stay and try.’

‘You’re never getting rid of me now,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Why don’t I talk with Rhys about finding a way for you to continue the fund? You were always so passionate about it. It has the Spring Court’s name stamped on it, but it was all you. Otherwise, what will you do all day except eat pastries in Emerie’s shop?’

‘I can also eat pastries by Balthazar’s forge. He couldn’t stand the pollen in Spring either.’

‘Cauldron, yes. I cannot wait to not need to shower four times a day.’

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Cassian had led her back into the serene waters where they simply held onto each other.

‘Are you sure about this? I know that the Night Court hasn’t always been your favourite place.’

‘But it is yours. Relationships are about compromise and growth. I want to grow with you, but if that means doing in the Night Court then I will do it. When you’re not there, I feel so lost like a part of me is missing.’

‘It means a lot to me that you would move for me. Thank you.’

‘Soon you’ll have an orphanage to run,’ she said, smiling slightly. ‘The fearsome general of the Night Court surrounded by small children.’

As she said those words, something bloomed in her chest; the promise of a future with him. A future. Koschei and Briallyn would not rule her life. Nesta wanted a future – and she would have one.

‘Con to Illyria,' he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, 'you’ll get called a witch.’

‘Pro: I will act like a witch to not disappoint.’

The sharp tips of his teeth were flashed to Nesta when Cassian grinned.

‘Con: there’s no escaping the Illyrian lessons now or wearing leather pants and training with me.’

‘Pro,’ she countered, ‘you’ll make me tea in bed every morning so I can read in peace.’

‘Will I now?’

Nesta stroked his cheek. ‘Cassian, I only have to flash you a glimpse of my leg and you’ll do anything I say.’

‘True. I can admit that. I thought of another positive,’ he said. ‘Lule will explode when she hears you’re returning.’

***

Although they flew back to Helion’s palace in silence, it was not uncomfortable. Nesta seemed content to nuzzle close to his neck with her eyes closed while they skimmed over the trees back towards civilisation.

Nesta moving to the Night Court was unexpected, but very much welcomed. Travelling between Night and Spring, balancing all the tensions that existed between Rhys, Feyre and Tamlin, had added strain to Cassian. Hearing that his mate willingly wanted to live in Illyria brought more joy then he could ever have imagined. It had given him ideas too.

The cabin suited his needs. The spare room had been an attempt to coax Az to Illyria to try and quell his outright disgust for his people, but had never really worked. Cassian imagined it would become Emerie’s room – or Nesta and Emerie’s room. Already, he was planning for the future. He promised to build Nesta a house and he would. She’d need a library, a bath she could swim in – and of course a spare room for Emerie. He wondered how to build a separate door for Zasha so they didn’t have the burden of rising early to release him from the room when he had the urge to be outside.

Internally, Cassian grimaced. It would take all of the bargaining skills he possessed to convince Rhys and Mor to allow Eris to come freely to Illyria. And he hated the male. The things love made him do. He supposed they could sneak him in if Eris winnowed right inside the house, but Feyre would insist on Rhys putting wards around it to protect from Koschei. No, Cassian would have to grovel and convince them to let Eris jam his foot further in the door of the Night Court.

On their arrival back to the palace, a healer was sent for. With a brief burst of magic, the female had eradicated both Cassian and Nesta’s insect bites. No clawing at their skin all night. Two outfits had been lain out on their bed too; traditional Day Court attire. On top was a rectangular piece of card sprayed with gold edging.

Please wear to appease me – as a treat. Helion.

‘That’s your one,’ Nesta said with a nod of her head towards the shorter, more revealing dress.

‘No, it’s not. It can’t be.’

‘I guarantee you – you will not fit in this one,’ she clipped, throwing her own white gown over her shoulder and striding to the bathing chamber.

While Cassian showered, Nesta brushed through her long, damp locks. It took him twice as long to wash as usual because he could not stop staring at her. The sun had pinked the end of her nose and her cheeks. Even if she tried to appear formidable, it was impossible when she looked so damn adorable.

When she departed back to the bedroom, he scrubbed his skin quickly, desperate to be near her again.

He was met with an abrasive bolt of laughter.

‘You look hilarious.’

Nesta stood prettier than any statue; her white, flowing gown dipped low on her chest and lower still on her back. Her arms were completely exposed and the golden tattoo suited the Day Court. Although the dress trailed the ground, it was sheer from the midpoint so Cassian’s eyes tracked the curve of her calves. She’d opted for piling her hair up with a mixture of braids and twists to better frame her face.

‘I feel like an idiot,’ he moaned.

If the others saw him in a little white dress that cut across his thighs and bared the scar tissue on his pectoral, they’d be wheezing with laughter. He could already imagine the comments – ones that would continue for centuries – if this came out. At least Helion hadn’t supplied him with a bracelet for his bicep.

‘You look hilarious,’ Nesta repeated, ‘but still handsome. Brush your hair though. It’s wilder every day.’

Like a grumpy child, Cassian dragged a brush through his hair. He’d never shown so much leg. Ever. Nesta’s gaze kept catching on his thighs and he knew how it felt to be lusted after.

As they walked down the wide marbled staircase, he had to keep tugging the dress down as it rose up. Nesta did her best to hold in her laughter, but she kept turning her face away and screwing up her mouth to bite back on her amusement.

‘Do not tell anyone about this,’ he warned.

‘Now you know why I prefer long gowns.’

The shortness was awful... but the air, the room, Cassian could have gotten used to that. He understood why Helion wore the things.

They dined with Helion on a balcony bathed in the evening sun along with a few other members of his court – some Cassian recognised from meetings over the years. As the sun began its descent, it cast the Day Court in a shimmering, golden light that caught on the high lord’s spiked crown. They did not want for nothing throughout the evening. A variety of dishes were placed on the table with the diners expected to choose what they wanted and serve themselves. Cassian quite liked it. It was a different sort of informality and he noticed that some placed food on their partner’s plates for them, knowing what they’d want or how much.

Nesta had engaged a female with horns in conversation about the landscape; he heard names of plants and flowers pass her lips and he wondered if she’d learnt them from Elain. He couldn’t help but feel an enormous sense of pride at how far she had come in the last year. Never before could he have imagined Nesta wearing traditional court clothes or being comfortable enough to initiate a conversation with strangers. And yet, like a duck to water, she had them all enraptured by her cool demeanour.

He and Helion were exchanging war stories and showing off their scars from various battles. It was easy to talk of the glory and pretend the terror never existed; that he hadn’t waded through entrails and offal or spent weeks tracking down fallen soldiers and informing their families that it had been their son or brother who’d died. War was a bloody, brutal affair but a necessity sometimes. He wished Nesta had never been exposed to it. If she hadn’t been there though, he’d have been blasted by the Cauldron and disintegrated with that portion of the legion. It had been her summons that had saved his life. The bond she had detested had saved him. They had come so far from where they had been. While she spoke to the others, Cassian reached for her hand. It was a declaration to every one else in the room that he belonged to her. This wonderful female had chosen him. She paused her conversation for a moment while he kissed the back of her hand then returned to talking, a glow washing over her. Helion gave him a knowing look.

#au acosf

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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Professors

No one asked for more of this AU and, truthfully, I don’t even know why I keep writing it. We all know I have other things to be doing. The Cancer AU, the PowerPoint, and other fics left unfinished. Yet, here I am offering garbage

WARNING FOR Reid whump, implied abuse

Growing up, Spencer Reid relished his escapism. Spending hours, days even, cooped into the smallest holes of his mother’s house with nothing but books and the ability to lose track of time and space. More importantly, his ability to ignore the obvious. Here it did not matter that his mother thought he was a spy. That she’d slapped him so hard he’d felt his teeth smack together and his eyes shake in their sockets.

Now, he’s a little too old for that. Escaping is so much harder to do.

“Reid?”

The lights of his office are off, the door shut firmly behind him. With every ounce of his concentration on steading his ataxic gait and forcing his trembling hands around the doorknob of his office, he would have remembered to lock the door on his way in. Unfortunately, his days of complete solitude are behind him. A toll often paid for in order to acquire friends. His fellow professors of-- whatever it is they all teach.

“Spencer--” Hotch. Thank god. “I’m going to come in okay?”

Now, Reid can remember the distinct tap of Hotch’s approaching figure. Closing his eyes and pushing his head further into his couch, Reid hears the door open. Tap. Hotch’s old shoes scuffing across the unforgivingly rough carpet. Tap, more muffled now. One more half-raised step and the sound of the real, thick wood of Hotch’s cane being hooked over the arm of the plastic chair painted to look wooden to his left.

“What can I do?”

Reid doesn’t answer, just keeps his sweaty palms pressing into his ears. If he moves, he’s certain that his body will explode. Little bits of genius coating all for walls. His books covered in gore. Another mess.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

Hard, calloused fingers wrap around the back of his neck. The tips digging into the stiffened muscles until Reid lets out a whimper. Then, with certainty and reflexive habit, one hand remains kneading the muscles until they ease while the other plants itself firmly on his flank. Stilling his body. Well, to be as still as Reid can.

His body has been out of his control since he was nine. The maternal drive had not been enough to protect him. For years, his mother had been distracted with work and by his father. She made time for him amidst the books but he was spared her anger and confusion. Until his father left and she could no longer work reliably. Then, one night in a fit of paranoia, his mother had hit him. She’d hit him so hard that no amount of genius had sparred him.

His cerebellum is damaged.

Garcia could tell you far more about the reasoning behind how he is now. He can too but it’s far too taxing to recount each of his bodily flaws. His disabilities.

Their silence is interrupted by a soft knock at the door and peaking out from under the suit jacket Reid hadn’t realized Hotch had tucked around him, he can see Emily. Her dark eyes flash twice over the scene before her and immediately she sinks. That’s what he loves most about her. In all her hardness, Emily is easily one of the kindest people he’s ever met.

Raised by her mother’s hip, Emily had known too much about politics and little of the reflexive kindness of those around her. To be born good and to choose good is always a rewarded ideology. People like Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan. Born good, surrounded by good, and only learning of the evil much later are fantastic people. They have their own struggles but they overcame them. To Reid, there is nothing more interesting than those surrounded by the cold curling fingers of the world but come out good. Emily wasn’t hugged as a child. Praise came at the expense of crushing her peers and never knowing what a good friend was. Hotch was raised by two abusive, domineering parents. For them to choose kindness, to willingly soften their edges is… it’s commendable.

But maybe that’s all the pointless rambling of a book nerd.

“Que pasa?” Spanish has always lent itself to be Emily’s most practice language. Perhaps, it has to do with the softened curls and rolls of the language. It’s never sounded rough, coarse coming out of her mouth. She sounds like the women who raised her. The maids who cleaned gravel out of her knees when she fell in the driveway and the calloused fingertips that ran under her eyes to quickly wipe her tears.

With a soft, tsks Emily comes into the room. “Get off the floor,” she whispers to Hotch. His long spider-like legs curled every which way. She has no way of being able to tell how he’s been on the floor but she knows any length of time will come with repercussions. “If you can,” there is an emphasis on his abilities. Not to push himself. “Get Penelope-- wait…” She realizes a moment too soon that won’t work. “She’s got a class. I need you to get Derek.”

Garcia is like their shady doctor. She went through all the training-- undergraduate, medical school, and interned. After a bit though, she realized that stitches, sutures, and contusions were not in fact something she loved. Not even a little. So, she went to computers. A huge financial burden to take on but that was her calling. Now she has tenure and spends her time balancing JJ’s art classes with her own class on programming.

Derek is an actual doctor but he only practice theoretical medicine. Too busy teaching know-it-all medical school students about ethics. Reid likes to joke that he’s just a philosophy professor. Being an english literature professor leaves him pretty open to any comebacks Morgan can think of in the moment.

Slowly rising to his feet, Hotch totters. Emily’s long fingers curl around his bicep, an unspoken order to hold still for just a moment. Long enough for his labored breathing to calm back down and his back to stop aching so feverishly. “You’ll be no help hurting yourself,” she comments, releasing him. She avoids his eyes, almost flushed having been caught touching him. Stepping into his space. It’s nothing for someone else but Hotch isn’t someone like Garcia and she’s not gentle like Reid. Turning her back, she’s stops any further comment. Any looks or reciprocation of that touch.

Hotch leans heavily into the cane curling into his right palm. The wood slick with the calmness of his hand. “I’ll be back,” he promises, feeling a sickening twist in his stomach. All too conscious of every step being measured out by the tap, tap of his cane on the cold tiled floor.

It’s that very sound that alerts Derek to Hotch closing in.

Unlike Reid, what ails Hotch is undetermined. People, like puzzles, are simple enough to put together with enough the edges put together. For Reid, the edge pieces are his mother’s schizophrenia, her bouts of aggression, and her love of books. From there, blossoms the genius of the youngest professor the school has ever had. His cerebral injury is accounted for by his mother’s illness. Her abuse. No matter how much Reid dances around the use of that word. Her love had taken him here, to this university and to his profound love of books. To Reid, that love, has always mattered more than the rest.

Hotch, though, he is a man completely lacking in edges.

What does Derek Morgan know about Aaron Hotchner? He used to work at the District Attorney’s office. There is a mark on his record but the matters of it have been expunged, he was about sixteen according to the date. Those are matter of public record. He likes orange juice better than apple juice. If someone else is making it, he takes his coffee black, but when he makes it for himself it’s a mess of gradually adding sugar and creamer until he’s content. And the cane. It’s purpose is clear. The why is more important. It’s not very typical of men not yet fifty to need mobility aides.

The tapping stops at his open door, he doesn’t need to look up from what he’s doing to know who it is or where he is. “You’re going to royally fuck your shoulder up if you don’t start using that cane on the other side.”

As it always does, his comment is ignored. The excuse is always the same. Hotch is left handed, he simply prefers to keep his left hand free. It’s a matter of convenience. “Reid is having an episode--”

Pushing himself up, Derek doesn’t need to hear the rest. For a moment he does falter. Unsure if should falter back with Hotch, allowing the older man to set their pace rather than making Hotch’s slow, zombie like lurches seem exaggeratedly slowed by Derek’s easy, long pace. Deciding Reid to be what he needs to focus on he simply walks around Hotch. “Use the cane on the other side,” Derek says, as he steps on. “Or I’m going to start emailing you articles about the damage you’re doing to your body.”

Hotch huffs.

“If that doesn’t work I’ll send them to JJ and Emily.”

Hotch curses softly, “you wouldn’t.”

Morgan just smiles, jogging on down the hall, and knowing by the paced tap, tap that Hotch is coming in behind him.

“Pretty boy.” Sinking to his knees with an ease Hotch could not afford earlier in his comfort, Morgan pushes Reid’s sweat soaked hair back from his skin. The fever and tension become immediately apparent. Reid’s brain, as genius as it is, often forgets that Reid and his body are one. Not two separate things in which one needs to be attacked to protect itself. Today, his entire body suffers with the attack. His stomach aching, brain swelling, and back in flames. His body often betrays him.

Emily moves away from the pair, untangling her own body to stand and leave the room. Reid won’t appreciate a crowd and Morgan can handle this. Plus, she’s a coward. She doesn’t want to see him in pain any longer.

“He’s okay.”

Emily steps out into the hall to find JJ and Hotch. Having found a seat in the hall, Hotch is failing to subtly rub at his aching side. JJ, covered in red paint, is only finding his pain as fuel to the fire. Obviously, she is taking his word for a grain of rice.

“Emily,” JJ greets. “How is he?”

Hotch just shakes his head, leaning his head forward onto his cane.

“Derek’s with him. He’s just having an… a moment.” Episode sounds too harsh. A thing that Reid can never be. His skeletole, looming gentleness is tender. Clammy, at times, but nothing but loving. “He just needs a moment.” None-the-less, JJ understands exactly what she means.

But that is, in a way, simply a lie. There is nothing that can be done for Reid in these moments. blinded by pain, he still will not cave. Never, not once, has Reid ever allowed them to give him something to manage the pain. He’ll take vitamins and ibuprofen for headaches but not for the other things. Not for this.

“Just breathe.”

All they can do is be there. Rub their fingers into the tension and hold his hand.

#spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #david rossi #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds au

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border-spam · 5 years ago

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Leech Lord AU short - It comes before a fall

The craggy landscape of Pandora raced by outside the tinted windows of Troy’s massive technical as the COV war machines that escorted the glossy black hulk thundered around it in a convoy, weaving between the billowing clouds of acrid dust that trailed behind the God’s chariot as they bounced and jostled along the dirt road that lead to their backwater destination.

Its deified passenger wasn’t enjoying the trip quite as much as his retinue, and was finding it difficult to deal with their raucous voices and blaring music audible over the roar of the vehicle’s engines as tires screeched over the rocky dirt road.

He rubbed at his temple, wincing quietly at each bump and grind of the car’s axles, and reminded himself why he was wasting his precious time driving to this nameless little shithole.

Pride.

(Incredible art by @lazulizard ) Troy had reluctantly added the town to his itinerary after noting how close it was to the cult-controlled Eridium plant he’d scheduled to inspect with his vanguard today, it had been an irritant under his skin for long enough, and it seemed fitting to gouge it out when he had a couple of hours to spare, regardless of how much he’d rather be in the Grand Cathedral right about now. The camp was a blip on the map he’d spent so long seeding across Pandora. An insignificant, pathetic speck of non COV land surrounded by the vast sprawl of the Twin’s territory, that had been in the back of his mind for months now. As his iron grip tightened on the region and the cult’s control had spread like a seeping cancer across the desert plains, the gaps had filled in piece by piece, all bar this dive. He’d figured it was time to scratch the itch, they were going to be nearby anyway, just a couple of extra hours drive in the padded luxury of his chauffeured technical and they’d still have time to be back in the Holy City by nightfall, so why not. Get it done. Make the cut.

He just wished his skull wasn’t splitting as the car lurched, or there was some company with him to lighten the mood, give him something to listen to bar the shrieks and throbbing music of his crusaders. The day had been tiring enough, the threats and sneering orders he’d snapped at the plant workers took more out of him than he’d ever feel comfortable admitting. The technical was air conditioned, comfortable, armored, and his driver pleasantly silent, but the migraine wouldn’t budge. He was tired, tired in his fucking bones, and he couldn’t even remember when the last time he hadn’t felt this way was.

Everything was changing, or had already changed. He wasn’t sure which, but what he did know was that this, riding passenger in a 6 million dollar custom war-machine with a bottle of champagne in the platinum holder next to him he couldn’t pronounce, driving towards a shanty town with a retinue of blood thirsty marauders who carved his name into their chests and performed rites of sacrifice in his image, this was not what he’d signed up for. This wasn’t becoming a star was it, Tyreen?

This had turned over time into something else, and he was clawing to try and keep it under control now, constantly. Scrabbling to placate the rot in his gut that whispered it was real, that he was a God, and that these people deserved what his cult did to them.

He rested his head against the blacked out glass of the window, watching the retinue belch fire and smoke from hood mounted exhausts while playfully attempting to push each other off road as they drove on, his guard’s excitement manifesting in triumphant yells and vicious warnings to “Keep your distance” - blasted from car-mounted stereo equipment that echoed out across the wastes. He wished for a moment he could still feel that level of adrenaline, that rush of carefree blood-thirst his crusader’s inebriated themselves with on runs like this. Everything was just.. grey now. Had been for a long time. He let his eyes fall closed, grounding himself. They’d arrive soon. He’d step out of this gilded cage of a car and into the spotlight. He needed to slip on the character. Place the mask. Play the part.

Time to have a nice little chat with them, an unannounced Holy visit. Find out why exactly they hadn’t accepted the COV’s gracious offer to join in all this time… give them a reason to believe.

As the town came into sight through the oily dust clouds in the distance ahead like a rusty blemish on the rocky horizon, he tensed, leaning to his side to get a straight view of it through the dark glass. A wave of disgust ran up his spine as they closed distance and the reality of its state came into focus, sharp eyes taking in the town’s condition while his retinue’s speakers turned toward it to blast an announcement of their God’s arrival.

It was tiny, filthy. Ramshackle junk housing stacked haphazardly on top of each other. Rusted cargo containers turned into homes for people with nothing else to call their own. The crudely cut windows and doors fluttered with rags and patched together clothing set out to dry in the parched desert wind, and they caught the red clouds of dust the convoy billowed into the air as the vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the shabbily constructed entrance to the village.

It made you feel grimy just being here, he thought with a scowl as he stepped down from the technical, watching with disgust as the polished metal of his boots instantly turned dull when they crunched into the red clay beneath him. The God King flipped his fur collar higher and lazily swiped his hair into place with practiced indifference as the crusaders on either side of him thundered forward into the village with weapons raised. His personal guard immediately began to establish a perimeter away from their King, herding and snapping at panicked townspeople with efficient, well trained, deadly ease. He took a moment to assess the terrified crowd of inhabitants that had collected in fearful groups. They were cowering in doorways and stumbling back over each other with hands raised in submissiveness as his vanguard roared orders to “Make way for Father Troy”, parents calling their scrawny children with frantic gestures to get inside their homes, no one giving even the slightest resistance to the demands of his retinue. These weren’t a threat.

Skinny. All of them. Malnourished, most in rags or barely clothed at all. Sickly kids stared at him from sunken eye-sockets over the jagged windows they peeked out of, this place was diseased. The few weapons he noted as he scanned across the crowd were rusted or poorly junked together out of scrap. These weren’t even bandits, bandits were more robust than this, these were just people. The forgotten of Pandora, the absolute bottom rung in the pecking order. People, trying to survive on a planet that you either sacrificed your morals to, or your life.

Something in his gut twisted in response to that. Something that he’d rather not think about as he strode into the village, his polished smile and immaculately clean outfit emphasising the wealth and power he held in stark contrast to the dust coated poverty he stalked into, he stood out like a wound here, twinkling jewelry and harsh metal spines of his cybernetics glinting in the evening sun. The commanding presence he emanated was amplified by the crusaders who flanked him on either side in their warped skull masks and dark leather armor, monochrome bar the neon splashed COV weapons and chrome spiked accessories they wore as uniform. No one kept God King Calypso waiting long, and the old woman stumbling towards him was clearly the town leader - considering the worried glances towards her from the rest of the villagers as they watched in nervous silence.

She stopped a couple of feet before him, not reacting to the weapons raised in unison by his vanguard, a tiny little woman, all pinprick brown eyes and brown craggy skin, who’s wispy white hair fluffs in the breeze like a cloud perched onto her scalp. She wasn’t remotely afraid, he could feel that straight away, but she bowed to him politely, spoke her crude little greeting respectfully through a dry old throat.

“Troy Calypso, welcome, majesty. Not sure why yer here, but what can we do for a God kind enough t’ grace us with his presence?”

He took the bait, sparkling smile spreading wider as his eyes narrowed , gesturing with a grand bow towards her to emphasise his reply:

“Oh, no, no ma'am, what can we do for you? That’s why I’m here. To get an answer to this tricky lil’ question at last.” he smarmed, standing to his full height again, golden fangs so clearly peeking out of the now wolf like grin as his eyes twinkled with mock kindness.

“The COV would love to welcome you into our family. Have wanted you to join for quite a while! I thought a… hah.. personal touch might help, came to have this polite chat with you myself, hope I wasn’t too forward.” he raised his mech fist slowly, counting off the bladed fingers theatrically as he continued.

“Food. Medicine. Safety. Guns. Protection, we offer the same benefits to all our followers, and we really do ask for so little in return - just your fealty, and that’s such a small th-”

“No thank you.” she croaked in reply, cutting him off mid sentence. The crowd behind her gasped in quiet shock at the rudeness, and the insult of her dismissal shot like a sniper round directly into the back of his brain. He reeled for a second, mouth souring out of the fake smile it had been locked into as he took a moment to scrutinise her wizened little face through a disapproving side-eye. The right panel of his maw twitched involuntarily - just quick enough for a flash of razor sharp teeth to catch the sunlight as it slid back into place.

He almost mouthed his thoughts, nearly warned her to not do this, not when there were people he had to maintain his reputation in front of, but he swallowed it down instead with an arrogant tilt of his head and flex of his lithe torso. Locked it deep in his belly and hoped she’d realise her mistake.

The old woman was expressionless, but wasn’t meeting his demanding stare. Her eyes were instead trained on the skull tattoo shifting across his chest with each controlled breath, was she aware of the knife-edge she was walking on? Did she know the danger she was really playing with? He closed the distance slowly, a subtle hand gesture commanding his guards to lower their weapons as he came close enough to her to hunch down, dropping his towering frame to bring his face closer to her eye level.

He said nothing for a moment, breathing in the smell of dust and old sweat she gave off in loud, deep huffs through his nose. She was shivering, not as stoic as he’d thought. He could see that now that he was so close to her throat.

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he sighed. Troy was tired. He wasn’t in the mood to play this game, even when he could see ten steps ahead and knew the direction she was making the terrible mistake of heading in. Letting the persona slip away, he lowered his voice, wanting to keep this between just them and out of range of the surrounding nearby crowd.

“Lady, help me out here... I’m confused. I’m fuckin’ insulted.” He muttered, jaw a little tighter than he wanted to acknowledge as he continued.. “Your town is too small to even tax, we ask nothing from a shanty this size. I waive tithes… ” Troy paused as he turned his mouth closer to her ear, close enough for the heat of his breath to prickle the hair on her neck, and lowered his voice further till it was barely a husky whisper.

“All the COV will ask from you is loyalty. You know I could level this shithole with a nod… right? You get that I could massacre aaalll these people with just a word? Why. Why would you deny us? These people, these kids are s-starving. These kids are sick. We- I can fix that, like this:”

He snapped his flesh fingers next to her ear, and bristled pleasurably at the wave of perverse satisfaction that rolled through his stomach when she jolted in response, her paper thin eyelids fluttering. Did she understand now, he wondered, flicking his piercing gaze to one of the skinny kids holding onto their mother’s leg nearby, and the look on their face as they stared at him, like they were realising the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t entirely make believe. Did she understand the out he was giving her, the genuine offer of charity hidden behind the God King’s sneer? That he couldn’t provide it unless she bowed and played along?

She shifted a little, her stiff old shoulders popping in complaint as she did, and finally raised those warm little brown eyes to meet his bitingly cold ice blue ones.

“I didn’t mean t’ insult his liege..” she breathed, and he waited for her to continue, waited to hear her out.

“Maybe you just got too big t’ understand. Maybe bein’ so strong can leave you soft in places you don’t know about anymore. Cuz’ starving to death? Bein’ sick?” she shrugged awkwardly, lowering her eyes to his chest again.

“We all die, but at least you’d still die free.”

That stab landed. He sucked in a jagged breath and held it, shaking. The moment of silence that followed felt like a millennia to the hundred people huddled around them, too far to hear what had been said, but close enough to see his reaction to it, see the jagged black metal spines of his vertebral implant raise and vent crackling red Siren energy in response to the berserk anger their leader’s muttered words had ignited in the King.

His fist tightened by her ear as his markings flared, and the pulse of scarlet light bathed them both in that moment, reflecting cruelly in the piercing eyes that bored into the side of her head as she refused to meet his stare.

The rage rolled off God King Calypso’s hulking frame in tangible waves... but the old woman did not waver.

He straightened slowly, maw clicking and twitching in fury as he rose. A stringy line of drool slavered from the split mandible and landed at her feet as his eyes narrowed, and Troy smiled at her, his jaw clipping together into a friendly grin so transparently hostile you could see the fangs snapping into place behind it. His eyes scanned the crowd rapidly, pausing imperceptibly on each of those scrawny kids that hid their faces from him now, terrified past their curiosity. OK. If this is the way she wanted to play..

Then he’d do the same. ”Fine”, he barked, voice clear and loud, making sure every villager would hear what he had to say, that all eyes were locked on him as he continued. “No problem ma’am. I’m not a man to push my kindness on others. Good luck with your..." he paused to crack a false laugh, shifting his eyes to the nearest family - “Your uh.. “dying free”.” He winked at them, and then his entire demeanor shifted purposefully, making a scene of dropping the playful act and warping into grim disgust as his gaze snapped back to her, still refusing to meet his eyes. He began to turn, and gestured for his retinue to follow, their boots crunching through the dirt as they stormed to his side. He made one final pause as the reached their vehicles and looked back, lifting his monstrous cybernetic arm to wave playfully at the gathered people, watching with satisfaction as a few cringed when the bladed fingers caught the dying sunlight. “By the way!” he bellowed, commanding their absolute attention again as his mouth split into a wolfish grin. “If you need any help with components for building all those little kid sized coffins, give us a call, yeah? We’ll cut you a good deal.” The looks they shared were a reassurance at least. Maybe someone would listen after all.

*******

"Fucking MOVE” he hissed at his driver as a crusader closed the car’s door after him, and they gassed it at his command, the hulking technical’s tires spinning a cloud of debris towards the town's inhabitants as they covered their eyes and coughed. He couldn’t get out of this shit-hole fast enough. Couldn’t get far enough from those *children* and the way they’d looked at him, he flicked his eyes to the rear view mirror and felt a cold chill through his burning chest as they faded into the dust behind the convoy. That stupid woman. That stubborn old bitch. She’d let them die rather than bend a fucking knee. He was disgusted, and not fully sure who with. Slamming his boot into the back of the partition in front of him and feeling the car swerve as the driver jolted, he screamed “Drop the DAMN DIVIDER, YOU MORON!!” - panting in anger as they fumbled in panic to hit the switch and activate the internal armor at his demand. He’d barely managed to keep the storm of emotion brewing inside him contained when they finally found it, and felt a wave of relief when the reinforced metal screen closed between them, giving him privacy at last. Troy hunched forward in his seat and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes closed and desperately trying not to sob. What the fuck had just happened back there? He wanted to cry, his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest and he couldn’t seem to get enough air, lungs heaving as he shuddered in gasps while trying to swallow down the panic. What had happened? In 6 years of recruiting, 6 years since the COV had reached a level of power where they were no longer told no, he’d never encountered anything like that situation. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d never had to deal with this mix of completely opposing emotions before. Standing there looking at sick kids he knew could help so easily, but knowing that under the scrutiny of his vanguard and the terrified eyes of the villagers, he couldn’t break character to do it. He ran his flesh fist into his hair and gripped hard into the dark mess, pulling sharply at his scalp as he crumbled further forward, head nearly between his knees as he trembled. Trying to give that bitch an out, trying to be clear in his cunning, emphasising what he was offering, and being denied the only route he had to help them by a weak old woman too proud and stubborn to give the nothing he asked for in return. Nothing! Some COV propaganda plastered about the town would have been more than enough, it didn’t make sense. He couldn’t understand. No one said no. No one denied them. He hissed as the first tear spilled down his cheek, then threw himself back into the seat and *screamed*, bludgeoning the massive mech arm into the steel divider. Not caring if the driver heard him choking out tears. Not caring if they told the others, not caring about anything anymore bar those kids, and how sick he’d been, and how powerless he was now even when he paraded himself as a God, how much of a lie it was. He had no control. He had to act the part, always, even when it was something he hated, when it wasn’t what he wanted. Troy snarled as the hot wet slick under the bracer and the telltale burn along his delicate scarred shoulder became noticeable, but didn’t stop, hammering the metal over, and over, as the agonising jolts buckled the arms outer plating more with each blow. His voice was starting to crack between sobs, wheezing on the intake as his weak lungs began to fail, but he had to spew this bile out now, knowing he couldn’t risk trying to carry this level of emotional turmoil into the Holy City while hoping the mask didn’t slip in front of Saints, or his sister. He was a fake. No God would be sobbing like this, having a tantrum alone in the back of a damn car.

Nothing about him was fucking real. That woman had seen it, she’d looked right through him like he was glass. Straight past the bluster and fangs, to the stammering, sick, broken, weak man he’d thought he’d hidden, and known she could say no. Known straight away that she was stronger than him. He’d thought.. he’d hidden that person.. so well. Coughing a final sob as his ruined arm shuddered on damaged pistons and slid to his side, he lifted his left to cover his face, slumping back in his seat, silent now bar for the pained hiccups that followed. God. He didn’t know what to do.. Part of him wanted to say screw it, order an airdrop of supplies off the books. Food, medicine, some guns. Anything to give them a chance out there. He was in charge of finance, no one would need to know, maybe he could manage it and keep his reputation intact... But the other part of him wanted to send the command to have the fucking shit-hole razed to the ground. How’s your freedom taste now, while slag melts the flesh off your bones you stupid old bitch. Troy coughed quietly, sinking lower into the seat as he rested his sore neck against the curve of the headrest, trying to steady his breathing as he forced himself to calm. There was no longer any sound outside, no shouting or broadcasts, just the dull roar of the convoy’s engines, like white noise in the back of your mind. The same craggy Pandoran landscape raced past as before, but pitch dark now, the only light being what streamed from the vanguard vehicle’s headlamps. Suddenly, the technical bounced over a bump in the dirt track and he winced as he jolted forward, then nervously lifted the front of his coat as he felt a trickle down his right side, sighing in embarrassed defeat as he saw the blood seeping from under the bracer seam resting against his lower ribs. Perfect, he thought, banging his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes.

Wonderful, he’d really made the right choice with that breakdown, huh. The arm was junked, his shoulder was torn to pieces, and he’d probably lost his voice. Tyreen was going to eat him alive, if she even noticed, he reminded himself with a humorless snort, too tired to even manage a sneer. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his Echo, sniffing as he bent his head to rub his eyes on his forearm, too blurry with tears and mascara to see the display clearly. He didn’t know what to do. But she would, wouldn’t she. He slowly thumbed through the 2 years of unanswered messages, all read, over and over on nights when things were bad, but none responded to. All from her. Checking in if he was ok, repeating it hadn’t been all his fault, letting him know she was still right there if he ever needed her. She’d know. He could ask. He could ping her right now, and she’d know what to say straight away. She’d point him in the right direction, dig the worry out of his chest and slap the back of his head with a few blunt words of choice like she always managed. Seifa would know.. He didn’t realise how hard he was gripping the E-Dev till a straggling tear dropped to his bone white thumb knuckle, and he blanched, snapping out of his lost thoughts as he shook his head. With one last glance at her messages, he tapped the display button and dropped the Echo to his lap, then lifted his shaky hand to wipe at his eyes, feeling the oily shift of streaked eyeliner under his fingers. He needed a fucking shower. He was so tired. ****

Had so much fun writing this and appreciate any and all feedback and comments! If you’re interested in the Leech Lord Borderlands 3 AU, check out my pinned post and the tag on my feed for all the content.

#Borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #seifa #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 5 (Mafia AU)

Summary: So where was Blue while Rus was off getting kidnapped and how did he end up with Red, anyway?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Read on AO3

Read it here!

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It was barely afternoon and Blue was already tired. He’d spent the morning coaxing a variety of flowers in their garden into bloom, gently forcing them to quickly travel through their growth cycles until they were ready to be cut and added to a bouquet.

Normally, their garden had a rigid schedule to keep from pushing the plants too much; stimulated growth could only go so far, after all. But losing most of their stock was forcing Blue to abandon it. Using so much magic in such a short amount of time was exhausting and when Blue parked in their assigned spot, the elderly van wheezing to a stop, he took a moment to sit in the sagging driver’s seat, ignoring the spring pushing through the cheap vinyl to poke at his coccyx as he closed his sockets for just a moment.

There really wasn’t time for a rest. Papy was waiting on these flowers, likely working hard since this morning readying the baskets for Blue’s delivery. There were funerary floral arrangements to be made, birthday gifts, romantic gestures, and every one of them added desperately needed profits back into their coffers.

Rest would have to wait. Instead, Blue pawed through the glove box, past the yellowed owner’s manual and an odd collection of fast food napkins to find a granola bar in its depths. Tastelessly stale, the chocolate chips cast in a white haze and Blue ate it anyway, chewing without tasting. It would help revive his magic and he’d be able to paste on his sunniest smile for Papyrus when he got inside.

His little brother was working so terribly hard, so many long hours on his own. Blue’s soul was so tight with pride, it felt as if it were ready to explode and shower his Papy with it, even as he kept the underling guilt hidden away, tucked back where his brother wouldn’t have to deal with it.

This was his fault. Papy shouldn’t have to deal with the brunt of the stress. He’d abandoned his own faint hopes for college to help Blue with the business, worked hard without a fuss. He learned to make flower arrangements from bouquets to corsages, how to run the registers, how to smile and charm their customers into buying more than they intended. This was Blue’s dream, not his, but he’d thrown himself in entirely, and Blue didn’t want him to know about the bills rubberstamped in red ‘past due’ ink. He didn’t want Papy to worry about their dwindling savings.

The insurance money would help, quite a bit if the representative he spoke to yesterday was correct, and they only needed to last the few weeks until it came.

A little hard work hadn’t dusted him yet, Blue told himself as he got out of the van and retrieved the first heavy bucket of cut flowers; lilies, for the funeral arrangements. A few weeks more wasn’t going to do any harm.

When he got to the shop door, for a moment Blue didn’t understand why it wouldn’t push open. Then he realized the open sign was off, the door was locked tight. The shop was closed, on a Friday afternoon when all the lovesick swains got their paychecks and were ready to pick up flowers in hopes of a romantic weekend and they’d be purchasing their bouquets elsewhere because his shop was closed.

Later, Blue would be ashamed his first instinct was largely irritated; had his silly brother forgotten to leave the door open for customers, they did have some stock! But that was not for more than a startled second, long enough for him to see the broken mug scattered across the stoop.

He leaned down to pick up a shard of the plastic, absently noting the tremble in his hand. It had been his brother’s favorite travel mug, a silly thing he’d gotten it at the thrift shop, leftover from some Halloween or another. The skeletons that danced around it would dance no more, the piece Blue held had lost its legs, and he took very little comfort in the fact there was no dust on the broken pieces because there was a single splotch of redness, a near-perfect circle of dried marrow.

Someone had hurt his brother, Humans, perhaps the same ones from yesterday and how had he ever believed in his naiveté that Humans would welcome them to the surface with open arms.

“now thems some pretty flowers you got there.”

Startled, Blue turned towards that voice, ready to tell them with as much forced politeness as he could muster that they were currently closed, and would the police even come if he called them, would they even care, who else could he possibly—

Then he caught sight of who spoke, and his soul felt as if it froze right in his rib cage, icy fingers digging in and oh, his little brother was in far worse trouble than Blue could have ever guessed.

He’d never met the Fells, neither on the Surface or below it. The Underground was a big place and the madscrabble life they’d grown accustomed to in Ebott did not lend itself to making new acquaintances. Not that Blue frequented the sorts of places where one might meet the Fells. No, he’d never met them, but he knew them by reputation. Thugs, whispered along the gossip-line, loan sharks, racketeers, even murderers said the quietest rumors, though not for very long.

This one could only be the older brother, Red. He stood only a bit taller than Blue and nearly twice as broad, with little resemblance past the fact they were both skeleton Monsters. His teeth curved into a jagged, shark grin, unlike Blue’s blunted smile and his eye lights were the burning crimson of an ember. His dark expensive suit with its rich scarlet shirt boasted of handsewn silks, and the fingers holding his cigar were circled with gold rings whose stones were too garishly large to be anything but real. His other hand was tucked into his pocket, oddly threatening for its nonchalance. Flanking him were two large Dog monsters, white on white ties and shirts, and Blue was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it all.

His little flower shop along with his brother had somehow been transported into some ridiculous Godfather-esque alternate, only proved by Red exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke as he said, “but it looks t’me like you’ve got a lil’ trouble bloomin’. lose somethin’? or mebbe someone.”

Inappropriate laughter bubble up, choked away, and Blue heard himself say, “I suppose I did.”

Red nodded as if Blue had offered not a stream of wisdom, but an entire glistening fountain. He started pulling his hand out of his pocket and Blue tensed, angel-only knew what thoughts about guns or knives shooting through his mind. But that hand was empty and Red only plucked one of the lilies from the bucket, running a razor-tipped finger along the satiny petals.

“Are you here to help with that? My…my missing person?” Blue asked at last. Not that he wanted to, he didn’t, but his options were few, any choices dwindled away. There was no one else to ask and with every second that went by, the danger his brother was in could only be growing. This had something to do with yesterday, Blue was sure of it, and he couldn’t even imagine what sort of trouble his sweet, funny brother had gotten into to cause all this.

Rumor had it Red never broke his word, that he had a twisted way of keeping it, a monkey’s paw wish. But for his brother, Blue would have bargained with the devil incarnate.

He wondered if he was.

“could be,” Red said idly. He twirled the flower stem between his fingers. “you got quite the green thumb, dontcha.”

“Yes?” Blue agreed, warily. He’d heard that before when they’d first come to the Surface, and his refusal to grow drugs had been a costly one, losing him possible allies. He wondered dismally what conundrum he was about to be balanced on for his brother’s safety.

“hm.” Red gave the lily a considering sniff, “might have to see if we can drive your posy sales a lil’ better, after we get past this oopsie daisy.”

Blue didn’t know what that meant but he was sure he wouldn’t like it.

“tell ya what,” Red gave him a conspiratorial wink and a finger gun, as if they were close pals and not a known criminal chatting with a simple florist, “me and the neighborhood watchdogs here, we’ll take care of it. you hang tight and we’ll get your bro back to you.”

Blue didn’t ask how they knew it was his brother. He didn’t ask a thing. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and said, “No, I don’t think so. I’m coming with you.”

That earned him a deep frown, “baby blue, i think mebbe you didn’t hear me so good.”

“I heard you perfectly well,” Blue told him and didn’t bother with any astonishment over what this…this person might know or not know about him. Nicknames and whatnot were not important. Papy was. “And I don’t care. I’m coming with you and I’m staying until I see my brother.”

A low growl came from one of the Dogs, silenced instantly when Red held out a hand. Those jagged teeth curved into an unpleasantly wide grin, “you think so, eh. and if i say no?”

It was not particularly difficult to work up some tears, they’d been hovering thickly beneath the surface the moment Blue found that broken coffee mug. He let them loose now, wailing as loudly as he could, “How can you leave me like this!” Fat droplets rolled down his cheeks, huge sobs gasped out, “and with a baby on the way?”

Red froze, his cigar drooping in his teeth as his grin fell away so abruptly Blue half-expected it to shatter on the stoop with the remains of Papy’s coffee mug. All around them the people on the sidewalk who’d been previously been looking discreetly away were abruptly watching with avid interest, aghast and greedily outraged as Blue wept loudly, one hand pressed against his apron to his belly over their nonexistent child. A few people were shuffling their feet as if considering playing the hero, weighing their odds against a cruel wealthy ex-boyfriend and his friends casting aside a tiny pregnant clerk.

“get in the fucking car,” Red muttered. He tossed the lily on the ground, trodding on it as he turned to do the same. Blue tried not to see the mangled flower as a metaphor and followed, hopping through the open door that one of the Dogs closed firmly behind him.

He settled into the enormous leather seat, buckling his seatbelt to at least make it more difficult if Red decided it might well be easier to simply shove him out of the car on the next block.

Not that Red seemed to be considering it. He was rummaging through a small bar installed in the side door, pouring a finger’s worth of what was probably very expensive whiskey into a crystal glass, knocking it back in a single gulp. He poured another then settled back in his seat with it, crimson eye lights targeting Blue.

“you got some balls, kid,” he grumbled. It almost sounded grudgingly admiring but there wasn’t time to worry about that.

“Can you promise me you’ll get my brother back to me? Safe and sound,” Blue hastened to add.

“sure, toots. we’ll get your bro back in mostly one piece,” Red said. He grinned again, all jaggedly sharp teeth as Blue’s gorge rose, purring out, “nah, he’ll be all safe and sound. got someone on it right now, and not one of the usual mutts, neither. he’ll get your bro. meantime, we got some things we can discuss, you and me.”

Blue lifted his chin defiantly. He’d known what he was getting into. If there was a price to be paid for saving his brother, Blue would offer his own soul on a silver platter. But there was no reason for Papy to know. “I’m sure we do, so long as it’s a private discussion between us.”

Those crimson eye lights gleamed and Blue could very nearly hear the invisible chains of fate closing around him. “good boy. now, let’s talk about you, baby blue. how’s business?”

-fin

Read Next Chapter

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #mafia au

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reynesofcastamere · 5 years ago

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Broken Shards[β]

(A/N: This fic is for @awryen, who I also asked for prompts/requests and was given the option of a slightly more dark/cynical Ahsoka working with Maul, or him helping her deal with her nightmares. Once again, having no self-control-and a lot of free time-, I chose both. Also, smut was not requested but it wound up in here anyway! XD. Mention of previous Ahsoka/Barriss. Warnings for disturbing imagery, violence, death, depression/intrusive thoughts, blood and possible dub-con.(Potentially triggering sections will be marked with ****) Absolutely Not Safe For Work and unbeta’d as usual.)

****

How could you do it?

The Temple burns, and the Jedi with it. But they do not fall. They stand, mouths gaping open in silent screams, empty eye sockets weeping blood in half a hundred colours. Her Master cuts them to pieces, again and again. He is not alone. Barriss stands beside him, eyes filled with grim conviction, the clone troopers flanking this tableau of horror and carnage like mindless automatons. Ahsoka can only watch, helpless and immobilized as the people she loves are burnt, broken and mutilated by their own comrades. Even the younglings...Her stomach churns.

There is only one body, one face that remains undefiled in all of this. Senator Amidala smiles, serene and welcoming. But she is just as dead as all the rest. Did you kill her too? The woman you loved, the one you trusted with your life: Did you even care, in the end? Anakin Skywalker stops to look back at her, eyes corrupted, turned to sickly, acidic yellow rimmed in old blood. ‘You weren’t here, Ahsoka.’ He pronounces with utter certainty, that her leaving was the one thing that sent him toppling into the Dark. ‘But it’s not too late.’ Black segments crawl, beetle-like, over him and Barriss, transforming them into her waking nightmares. Vader and the Seventh Sister. ‘Join us. And seize your destiny.’

NO!

****

“Ahsoka.” Her lids snap open, breathing stuttered and rapid, heartbeat going into overdrive as she sees another pair of awful, venomous eyes looming over her in the semi-darkness. She lashes out blindly, determined not to go down without a fight. The hands that catch her wrists are bare and callused. Strong. She needs to fight harder, to get out, get away- “Naak, cabur. Gar racin kyr’adiise munit dar. [Peace, guardian. Your pale corpses (are) long gone].” Her eyes well up with unbidden moisture, suddenly overwhelmed. Ahsoka is relieved at hearing a ruthless killer speak Mando’a to her in a hushed, hypnotic tone. Because it is better than the hiss and wheeze of the machines powering the...abomination that her Master has become. She can feel Maul’s hands move to cup her face, the pads of his thumbs brushing the tears that managed to escape. He seems more curious than anything else, head tilted slightly as he examines her. “Have you never seen anyone cry before?” Her voice is weak, despite the attempt at humour. “Not this close. I lost the ability some time ago.” He replies, calm and completely untroubled. As if it were normal, and she is somehow the strange one for not being able to control her body’s response to the terrors plaguing her sleep. Perhaps she is. Her Master has willingly chained himself to a monster that devours galaxies to satiate his hunger for absolute power. Most of her friends and comrades-in-arms are either dead or missing, a fellow Padawan and former lover is hunting down Force-sensitive children for slaughter or brainwashing; Her current lover-enemy-ally is a former Sith assassin at the head of a criminal empire. And Ahsoka....Ahsoka lies, steals, and kills while she bargains with slavers and worse for anything that will help keep the Rebel Alliance alive and undetected just one day longer. What is the point? Even control of the Force eludes her because she cannot find peace. The closest she comes to it these days is the brief oblivion of climax or a few hours of dreamless slumber. The rest is bitterness and pain wrapped in a dull grey haze.Which is why she is here. Maul at least makes her feel something. The sharp bite of anger, the rush of drive and ambition, the raw red strength of clinging to life and refusing to let go. She pulls away then, turning over and presenting herself to him. “Are you certain?” “I’m not in the mood to beg. Now-aaaaaAAAaaah-” Before she can issue an order, he has grasped her hips and is entering her roughly. She is not quite ready. Every shift and thrust hurts, but this is what she wants. To be used hard enough that she aches for days afterwards, just to hold on to some sliver of what keeps him burning so fiercely. Maul presses her down, forcing her to turn her head to avoid being smothered by the pillow, the peaks of her breasts rubbing against the sheets as she is made to lift her backside higher. The change in angle is enough to provoke another long, mangled stream of vowels. “Touch yourself.” He hisses, and oh, it feels as if he could pierce right through her and keep going.Every sharp plunge impacts her cervix, the sound of their bodies meeting only becoming more and more crude as her arousal builds. Ahsoka pants and reaches for herself in a half-dazed state as he growls and fucks her harder. The base of him slides against her fingertips a few times before she finds her nub, circling it with her middle finger as her other digits spread her folds open. “Now. You will tell me what is wrong.” Her stomach sinks even as he makes her moan. “W-what are you talking about?” “Your presence in the Force is practically non-existant, despite the ghosts that cling to your shoulders.” Maul snarls. “You are lost, listless, submissive...Before, you would have made me struggle for the privilege of having you like this.” She is trapped, something he emphasizes by leaning over, lips brushing against her jaw with each word. “You were glorious, Ahsoka Tano. And now you are a ruin, waiting to crumble.” He still hasn’t let up his pace, as if to discipline her for these ‘defects’. Her lips tighten as she buries her face in the pillow. It is none of his damned business why she is different, now. Besides, why should he care? Ahsoka expects him to keep going, and is mildly shocked when he stops, withdrawing from her core with a speed that borders on violent as he turns her over and yanks her upright. “Look at me.” A demand which she blatantly ignores until he manipulates the Dark Side to hold her chin in place, his hands gripping tightly to her upper arms.

There is anger in his sunburst gaze and in the power that roils and snaps around him, but beneath that...Oh. He is afraid...For her? The revelation hits with the force of a sudden blow to the chest, and only grows more solid as their foreheads come to rest together, his stare softening by slow degrees. “I-” Ahsoka swallows a choked sob. “You were right. Anakin- he-he was Sidious’s apprentice all along. I didn’t want to believe it, but Vader-” She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I failed him. If I hadn’t left-” “No.” Maul’s snarl cuts into her self-recrimination. “Your Master failed. And continues to fail every day that he allows Sidious to live.” He releases his grip to trace the outline of her lekku, then up her throat and along her jaw. “They think themselves untouchable, but they forget...The dark is generous, and it is patient, and soon, very soon, their stars will burn out.” His words are silk and poison on the air, and she wants- “Join me.”

“What, no offer to rule the galaxy this time?” She retorts dryly, trying to cover up the fact that she is wavering, kept on the edge of a steep cliff by the barest sliver of rock.

“You have rejected power, revenge, and almost every other shade of temptation placed before you. I can only offer myself.” There is some scrap of cautious hope in his gaze as he answers, the words devastatingly simple. Yet for someone like him, secrets and vulnerabilities so carefully safeguarded, it means everything. If she accepts, if she falls, her life will change irreversibly. There is no guarantee that she will be able to hold onto herself once she takes that final step. Maul has never been a moderating influence. And Rex...She’s not certain what he or anyone else she still calls ‘friend’ would think of this. Perhaps...it is not impossible to find a middle ground. “Show me?” Ahsoka asks, breathless and uncertain, but willing to extend some degree of trust. “Breathe.” His hands sweep downwards to rest lightly at her sides, ribcage expanding and contracting under his fingertips. “Focus on your passions, your fury...And let them out.” Her eyes close as she matches his pattern of breathing, positioning herself on his lap and bracing her hands on his chest. She takes him inside her again. Gradually, gently as the Dark Side seeps in. It is cold at first, almost numbingly so. But after the first adjustment...Ahsoka can feel Maul much more intensely; The difference of being on the same wavelength as opposed to different signals. There is even a dizzying moment where she sees herself through him, sees her eyes open, burning gold with a ring of blue flickering around the pupil like a candle-flame. The surge of wonder-possession-desire-protection from her lover threatens to sweep her away for a moment. “Is...Is this what you feel all the time?” When he’s with her, at least. Considering his default state is prickly at best and downright murderous at worst.

“The intensity is the same, yes.” His head lowers to let his mouth pay homage to her breasts as they move together. This feels...right. A slow build-up of pleasure as emotions, thoughts, and sensations twist and weave together. There are words lurking within his head that have her dragging her nails over his torso. He really...Wants that, with her? Strangely, the idea isn’t repulsive. At the very least, it means that he desires an equal partner, not a subordinate. "Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. [We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.]" Their voices merge in ancient oath, parting only when something else speaks through them.

“There is no Light-” “-without the Dark.” “Through passion, I gain focus.” “Through knowledge, I gain power.”

“Through serenity, I gain strength.”

“Through victory, I gain harmony.”

“There is only the Force.”

There are no words to describe what is happening to them right now. No defined point where she ends and he begins. Their awareness is scattered across galaxies, caught in the endless cycles of birth, death, and renewal before everything is once again narrowed to a single point and they cannot handle it... It feels as though years have passed when Ahsoka opens her eyes again.The Light practically hums without her even needing to reach for it, but the Dark is there too, vibrating in harmony. She is not...free from her burdens or her ghosts, but she has another purpose, now. And perhaps more than that. “I can feel your ambition, my Lady.” Maul’s voice is a teasing rumble next to one of her montrails. “Whatever are you planning?” “To lure Vader into a trap. He can either fall in line...Or get out of the way.” If she cannot persuade her former Master to topple Sidious, she will have to kill him. There is no other option. Of course, she will need to plan carefully to have any hope of success. But if the risk pays off...She kisses him one last time, brief but passionately, his grin full of visceral pleasure as they part. “I may have some...suggestions to that effect.” “Mm, I’m not surprised. But first, my Lord, I think we’re due another round of celebrating.” (A/N: Whoo! Okay, so going in order. Barriss Offee is the Seventh Sister in this fic and her and Ahsoka were previously involved because I’m a sucker for tragedy. The ‘dark is patient’ line is taken and bastardized from Matthew Stover. Yes, Ahsoka and Maul are married by Mandalorian custom in this fic and they’re speaking the version of the Gray Jedi code that I like best because it flows well. *insert ‘That’s not how the Force works!’ joke here* Also Ahsoka’s eye colour is back to normal after they ‘finish’;). Hopefully this works as a suitable compromise between the tropes that I wanted to incorporate. Cheers!)

#maulsoka #this took a bit longer than I expected but hopefully you're happy with the result #despite technical issues bcuz tumblr's app is shitty #NS.FW

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hpalloy · 6 months ago

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Flat Screwdriver Set

A flat screwdriver set is an indispensable tool for any DIY enthusiast or professional. At HP Alloy Steels & Mill Store, you'll discover a range of top-notch flat screwdriver sets designed for durability and precision. Whether you're tightening screws, prying open lids, or working on electronics, their flat screwdriver set will be your go-to tool. Plus, the knowledgeable staff at HP Alloy Steels & Mill Store can help you find the perfect set for your specific needs. For quality and reliability, trust HP Alloy Steels & Mill Store to equip you with the best tools available.

#Flank drive sockets #Buy screwdriver sets online #Sledge hammer head only #Hammer tools online #Top Taparia Hand Tools #dewalt power tools

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massensterben-a · 4 years ago

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@abherrant liked for a starter

“There, there,” Bertholdt reaches down to pat his horse’s neck as it dances from breakneck gallop into a trot. The gelding doesn’t care to slow down and strains against the reins. It chews the bit, ears twitching restlessly. Both of them, rider and horse, are out of breath. They pant in tandem, four eyes scanning the horizon. The flank of the formation has scattered a few miles back, torn apart by a pack of titans. There is blood on his cloak, but it isn’t his own. His ears ring with the echoes of the soldier’s death rattles.

It is the innocence that sets in before death that truly jars him. They beg, they plead. They all but forget themselves in the simplicity of the act. Death seems so immense that they can’t see all of it. They fear it only due to obligation. They figure they can talk their way out of it. A memory stabs the back of Bertholdt’s neck, severs his brain stem. An outstretched hand, a mangled cry. We haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet! The gnashing teeth. Why are you in such a hurry!

The young man tries to catch his breath, tries to ignore the way his stomach drops. Then he looks over his shoulder. The fields are clear but there are too many copses nearby that could hide encroaching dangers. The Giant Forest is looming in the distance like an omen. And he is all alone. Bertholdt doesn’t fare well on his own. He’s always known that. He needs a stronger, wiser being to turn to, someone to guide him through. It’s not that he freezes up, not as such. He just lacks momentum. He is never the first to make a move.

A flare cuts through the blue. Red smoke bleeds apart in the sky. Bertholdt’s muscles tense and he turns his animal around. A swarm of birds lift out of the trees up ahead. A shiver travels through the ground. That’s all the warning he’ll get, he figures. He drives the heels of his boots into the gelding’s sides and lets it leap forward, en route to the distress signal. There is a titan up ahead but also seasoned soldiers. He’ll take his chances. The sprint is shortlived, however, before he feels his horse quake nervously, eyes rolling in their sockets. He hears the heavy footfalls then. Behind him.

Bertholdt almost tears a muscle in how he whips his head around. His eyes widen. A large silhouette rises from behind the sloping hill, and rises and rises and rises. Fifteen meter at least. And it isn’t lurching and stumbling like its smaller brethren. It’s bent into the motion, bounding like a predator in pursuit. And by God, it’s way too fast.

“What the--”

#;;v. need to know basis #abherrant #//rip Bert u was a real one #//hope this works for you!#//if not hmu

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greatshell-rider · 4 years ago

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The lily-lion slashed a thorned paw at Cindy, forcing zir to jump back to avoid getting zir belly torn into shreds. Whistles and shouts came from the onlookers, fellow patrollers and a couple farmers who perched atop or leaned against the fence enclosing the corral.

“Careful now!”

“A little close on that one, eh!”

“Why, ze’s a goner for good!”

“Nah, they all play like this—what’s the fun innit if no one gets a scratch or three?”

Cindy scooped a fist-sized rock off the ground. The lily-lion roared, the petals of their mane flaring out before they lunged for zir. Ze dived into a roll to avoid the attack, pushing to zir knees and aiming for only a second before throwing the rock. It smashed into the lily-lion’s face, shooting out a cloud of yellow pollen and sending the crop-creature staggering a few steps. Laughter exploded from the fence, Eite nearly toppling off backwards as xe slapped xyr hat against a post.

“Eat that, dust-face!”

“Nice shot, Sinner!”

“That’ll leave a mark!”

“Show ‘em how we do it, Sinner!”

Cindy breathed quick and quiet through zir nose, keeping zir stance low and careful, zir hands up and ready and eyes focused on the lily-lion. The croppie hissed and spit, pawing the pollen off their face, then settled into an aggressive stance, turning to glare dark glittering eyes at Cindy. Their long, thin tail lashed, the thorns running down its length prickling and smoothing in waves.

Zir audience hooted and yelled, calling for Cindy to attack while the croppie was still distracted.

“Ready to quit?” ze asked them instead, trying to keep zir voice low but coming out much louder and more excited than ze’d intended.

“Yeah, roll over already!”

“Show us your belly, dustkit!”

“We’ll drag your ragged pelt back to the field in no time, easy!”

More jeers came from the patrollers, even the farmers joining in, and the lily-lion’s petals smoothed in displeasure at the mockery. They snarled, swiping thorns at a farmer’s outstretched arm and making them jump back. The other workers bristled, a few snatching up rocks or lifting whips threateningly, their voices turning angry. The lily-lion backed away, head low and petals flared as their tail flexed its thorns in anticipation.

This was tearing its roots too quickly. Cindy stood tall, waving zir arm, but the crop-creature was too focused on the outside nuisances to notice, their back turned almost completely on zir as they spat a stream of pale green liquid at a patroller and got a thrown rock that clipped their flank in return. The lily-lion startled, but recovered quickly, crouching and bunching their back legs in preparation to pounce. They were big enough to clear the fence, easy, and definitely angry enough to maul a worker. That would rip the roots clean out of the dirt.

“Hey!” Cindy shouted, this time fully intending to bellow out the word.

Unfortunately, everyone else also meant to be bellowing.

The lily-lion roared and leaped. Cindy jumped at the same time.

Half the lily-lion’s body had passed the fence when Cindy slammed into them, hands digging into the thick cords of sinewy stems that made up the crop-creature’s hindquarters as ze dug zir heels in the sandy ground to stop them.

Well, ze managed to slow them down.

While the workers jumped back and yelled all the louder, the lily-lion turned in a flash, twisting off the top of the fence and slashing thorns at Cindy again and again. Cindy ducked zir head, feeling the thorns whoosh past zir hair. Ze gritted zir teeth and heaved, using all zir strength to try and wrench the croppie to the side. If ze could trip them, get them on their back, then maybe—

Sudden pain bit up zir side. Cindy hissed, whipping around to see the lily-lion’s tail lash at zir left leg again and again, bristled thorns ripping through zir trousers and leaving long bloody scratches in zir dark skin. At the same time the lily-lion bucked, nearly jolting zir grip and flinging zir far, far away. Sheer instinct spurred cindy into moving with the motion rather than fight it, allowing the zir feet to leave the ground—only for zir to clamp zir legs around the lily-lion’s flanks and squeeze all four limbs in a full-body hug as if zir life depended on it.

Because it did.

Ze didn’t go flying off the crop-creature and break zir neck crashing into the ground yards away. But the lily-lion did lash their tail again, this time catching and tearing through Cindy’s back, leaving sharp stripes of pain to accompany those on zir leg.

Cindy hesitated. Ze considered the small bright packet of energy that lay suspended in zir gut . . . But no. There were too many people watching, too many ze didn’t know well enough. Ze would just have to—

The lily-lion, unable to shake Cindy off, slammed zir against the corral fence. Ze coughed, choked on saliva, and barely managed to hold on as the crop-creature tore away, sprinting for the other side of the fence to turn and grind Cindy against the wooden planks as they ran. Ze let go with one hand to throw zir arm up over zir head right before impact, burying zir face into the croppie’s body to let zir shoulder take the brunt of the force. Ze felt it dislocate as the lily-lion dragged zir along, and screamed in pain.

Actually, ze thought, tears blurring zir vision as ze grited zir teeth, anger lancing through the pain, I’m okay to be stupid today.

Ze clenched zir stomach muscles around that lump of energy deep in zir gut, and, like a seed pod squeezed inside a fist, it burst open. Power surged through zir, and ze directed the majority of it to zir legs, since they likely wouldn’t be so noticeable to the workers. Immediately zir legs swelled, growing in size and in strength, and Cindy let go of the lily-lion with them—keeping a firm grip with zir one remaining usable arm—and slammed zir feet down, digging zir heels deep in the ground. The sudden drag made the lily-lion stumble, almost tripping, and Cindy hopped the stream, picking up one foot to drive zir knee hard into the croppie’s abdomen.

This time it was the lily-lion that choked and double-upped, reducing their speed dramatically. Cindy, sending the last of the growth into zir legs and good arm, pivoted firmly on one foot and threw the crop-creature into the fence. Literally into the fence, slamming them against the wood planks with such force that the lily-lion was shoved between planks up to their shoulders, so that their head poked through the outside of the corral while the rest of their body lay inside. Finally, the croppie went limp.

Cindy let go and stumbled back, now back to zir regular size and strength with zir growth energy depleted. Zir left leg and back stung from the thorn-tail scratches, and ze clutched zir dislocated shoulder, watching the lily-lion warily. They had apparently been knocked unconscious, though, by that last blow to the head.

For a moment, there was silence, then the surrounding workers exploded into sound and motion, the patrollers kneeling by the lily-lion to make sure they were, yes, alive, but also not waking up soon and angry enough to rip off everyone’s heads. The farmers rushed Cindy, staring at zir with wide eyes and yelling excited—admiring, maybe?—things at zir that might have been questions. Ze backed away from them, reaching up to clap zir hands over zir ears—then doubled over when zir left shoulder burst alight in remembered pain. Ze swore loudly. The farmers jumped back, startled, but one patroller peeled off from the others crowded around the lily-lion and came up to zir.

“Quite the wrangle, Sinner!” Nalnn said cheerfully, shooing away the farmers and turning Cindy away from the noisy scene to lead zir to the center of the corral, out of earshot of the others.

Cindy panted heavily, wincing as ey stopped zir and gently took zir hand off zir shoulder. Ey put eir hands on zir shoulder and looked zir in the eye. “Ready?” ey asked. Cindy hissed a breath in through zir teeth and jerked zir head down. Ey firmed eir grip, then with a quick jerk, forced zir arm back into its socket. Cindy barked out another curse and Nalnn chuckled, dusting off eir hands as ey stepped back.

Cindy moved zir shoulder gingerly, prodding at it with zir hand, and with a glance at the farmers still gawking at zir by the lily-lion, turned zir back to them. “Thank you,” ze muttered to Nalnn, avoiding eir eyes.

“Popping a shoulder’s no problem,” ey said, in the same happy tone, but ey kept trying to catch zir eye.

“Not that,” Cindy clarified, nodding vaguely over zir shoulder. “For getting them off me.”

“And for talking down any who wonder aloud about some weird trick of light they saw, near the end there, they could’ve sworn Sinner seemed to grow right before ze threw the croppie through the fence?”

Cindy chewed on zir knuckles. “That too.”

Nalnn shoved eir hands into eir trouser pockets and shrugged, holding eir shoulders up by eir ears for a second longer than necessary before letting them drop. Ey was still smiling that fake-happy smile Cindy had learned actually meant ey was annoyed. “What else is an overseer to do? You’re too good a worker, the owners still like ya, so when messes are made, we just clean them up! Without firing the one who made ‘em.”

Cindy rubbed the hand ze’d been biting up zir face, then back down. “Sorry,” ze said, belatedly, ze realized. Probably should have apologized when Nalnn had first come up, before ey’d even fixed zir shoulder. Definitely not after the thank-you.

“It was stupid,” ze continued, when ey just stood there waiting, and fixed zir gaze just under eir right eye to appease eir attempts to make eye-contact with zir. “And it won’t, uh—”

“Won’t happen again, mhmm,” Nalnn said, smirking. “Just as you promised the time before. And the time before that. And the time—”

“The more I don’t use it, the bigger it gets,” Cindy interrupted quietly, speaking determinedly to the freckle on Nalnn’s cheek. Ey was zir direct overseer, and ze shouldn’t really talk to em like this, but. But. Well. Ey had started it, hadn’t ey. “The longer I go without using it, the greater the more likely—the greater the likelihood—the more likely it’ll start slipping out,” ze managed to finish, hating how Nalnn’s smirk grew into something closer to a sneer as ze struggled to get the words out.

“Just don’t eat so much, maybe,” Nalnn said, raising eir eyebrows and widening eir eyes as if it were a joke. “That’s where it comes from, right? Extra calories?”

Cindy looked away, teeth clenched.

Nalnn laughed, giving zir shoulder a swat. “It’s reaching a point where it’s not a suggestion any longer,” ey said, quieter, still smiling. “Deal with this . . . growth, as you call it, if you must. But do so out of sight.” Ey slapped zir shoulder again. “Or I’ll point the army straight to your bunk the next time they visit, okay? All right, people,” ey shouted, clapping eir hands to get the workers’ attention as ey walked past Cindy, not even waiting for zir response. ��Let’s get this croppie back to their field! Eite, get the ropes!”

Cindy bit down hard on the triangle of flesh between zir thumb and forefinger. Ze barely noticed the pain as ze waited for the crunch of Nalnn’s footsteps in the gritty sand to merge with the other sounds of workers grunting and ropes snapping to tautness as they worked to free the lily-lion from the fence. When it did, ze didn’t relax zir teeth but went to the corral gate and let zirself out, limping up the hill to the main farmhouse, where ze could track down the healer and get some poultices on zir scratches. That would take jylls off zir weekly pay, but with harvest coming up, ze really couldn’t afford even one scratch getting infected.

Halfway there, in the stretch of silence where the sounds at the wrangling corral faded and the upcoming sounds of the the farm main had yet to intrude, Cindy finally slid zir hand out of zir mouth and let it drop to zir side. Ze sighed.

“It was stupid,” ze told zirself, since the anger was beginning to cool. “You said so yourself.”

But, well.

It had been a good wrangle.

#writing #my writing #Lani & Jerry #except not either of them but cindy!#this turned out about double what i planned aha #nalnn wasn't going to be a jerk but then ey was #people like nalnn is the reason why cindy struggled to be friends with lani initially

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evilmuffinlord · 4 years ago

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From Cainhurst, with Love

Reposting here, because I originally put it on the wrong blog.

A bit of a departure from my usual fluff, but I hope people enjoy it nonetheless. Just be aware that this is not a happy story.

When Mina receives a mysterious summons to a far off castle, she feels compelled to follow it. What she finds at the destination will change her life entirely.

Available to read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760283

and on FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712856/1/From-Cainhurst-with-Love

Teaser below cut

Mina shivered as she made her way down the dilapidated stone pathway of Hemwick lane. Her breath came out in white puffs, and even the high collar of her hunting attire did little to mitigate the chill wind that blew along her path.

She had been following the winding, half-destroyed lane for several hours now, passing from the massive stone and wrought iron architecture of Yharnam’s Cathedral Ward into the dark and gloomy woods that lay beyond it.

Those woods had contained creatures that Mina had never before encountered, and dearly wished that she would never see again. Shadowy figures that arose from the ground in a glow of witchlight and stalked her through the trees with shrieks that tore at her ears and mind both. The spike-covered wolves and blood-starved men that lurked among its bows as well were tame by comparison. She had at least dealt with their ilk before.

Beyond that, she had encountered the mad hags of Hemwick, dancing around their fires as they cackled and chanted. The words, if they even were words at all, were entirely foreign to Mina, but their meaning danced on the edge of her consciousness, as though if she were to just entertain them for a while longer, she would understand what these women found so amusing.

Twin dollops of wax had done much to mitigate their voices, though they had not eliminated them entirely. Nor had they stopped the hags from throwing Molotov cocktails at Mina as she fought her way to her destination.

Hemwick crossing was as dilapidated and overgrown as the rest of the Lane. Its cobblestones were cracked and broken, and large patches of grass had sprouted from the missing sections. Even the large stone monolith near the center of the crossing was being slowly consumed by creeping vines. The edges of the path were flanked by small groups of crumbling gravestones, their lettering far too faded to make out in any sort of detail, and tall wooden spikes, each with a dangling corpse impaled on them, a mockery of the few leafless and desiccated trees that clung to the soil.

It was also heavily guarded, with two of the massive, hooded executioners patrolling the road itself and numerous spiked dogs lurking in the long grass on either side of the road. Their yips and growls almost blended into the background noise of the crossing, but not quite.

Unconsciously, she adjusted her grip on the threaded cane that she carried. She had received it shortly after arriving in Yharnam, and it had been her constant companion since then. It had torn through more men and beasts than she could count at this point, and would likely tear through many more before the hunt was over.

Setting her teeth, Mina began to pad toward the nearest executioner. No matter what the odds, she would not falter, and she would not yield. She was going to survive this night and return home.

She had made a promise, after all.

—

Mina let out a sigh as she leaned heavily against the massive stone monolith at the center of the crossing. Her legs were covered with wounds where the hounds had torn into them, and her arm throbbed where she had been burned by a surprise Molotov thrown by a hag that she had missed in the confusion of the melee, but she had managed to defeat all of the enemies that had been lurking around the crossing.

Quickly, she reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a blood syringe, jamming it into her thigh. The rush of relief as the blood entered her veins and began to knit her flesh back together was incredible, as always. Her fatigue lessened, her vision sharpened and revealed a host of colors she had never even noticed before. Even her sense of smell seemed to increase in intensity, letting her smell every drop of spilled blood around her.

Her breathing sped up as she tried to contain the surge of energy. A deep, primal part of her wanted to run wild, to dash up the hill in front of her and lay waste to anything and everything in her path. It wanted to run, to fight, to hunt.

Before the feelings could overtake her, Mina raised a hand to her mouth, closed her eyes, and bit down viciously on the base of her thumb. Her teeth, sharper than she remembered them being, pierced the leather of her gloves and bit into the flesh beneath. The pain was good; it let her focus, it grounded her in a way that few things did at this point.

Slowly, far too slowly, her breathing slowed and she stopped feeling quite so wound up. The twitching in her limbs stilled, and her vision returned to normal, the strange colors fading into memory, and the pools of blood near her feet stopped seeming quite so inviting. She still wasn’t quite back to normal though. For that, she needed something to ground her, to remind her why she was there.

Discarding the empty blood vial, Mina reached into her belt pouch once again and pulled out a weathered envelope made of thick, yellowed parchment. One corner was stained heavily with blood, and the ink on the front was incredibly faded, but the words “Summons to Castle Cainhurst” could still be made out. The letter that the envelope contained had been much easier to read, though a part of Mina wondered if she wouldn’t have been happier not having encountered it in the first place.

Somehow, the letter, which looked like something her grandmother would have sent, had been addressed specifically to her and had requested that she make her way to Hemwick Crossing quickly to make her carriage.

She glanced around the empty crossing. There wasn’t a single carriage in sight, or even signs that there had been one passing through the area in the last decade. She wasn’t even sure how a carriage would reach the area. She had traversed most of the path, and it was certainly not carriage worthy. The only part that she hadn’t explored led towards the crumbling bridge overlooking the lake ahead of her…

The sound of clopping hooves and creaking wood caused Mina’s head to snap up, and her eyes boggled at what she saw.

From the lake, a massive bank of fog had emerged, so thick that she could cut it with a knife. From that bank, a pair of wizened-looking horses appeared, pulling an ornate carriage behind them. They trotted down the path without a care in the world, coming to a stop directly in front of her, as though this were all perfectly routine and they hadn’t just appeared out of thin air.

The horses themselves were like nothing she had ever seen before, great black beasts with manes that flowed down their necks and along their backs, stirring in a nonexistent breeze as the pair stood stock still, not even seeming to breath. The sockets where their eyes should be were shadowed and empty, dark mockeries of the life that should have brimmed there.

The carriage, too, was in quite a state. Its paint was chipped and faded, and the metal fixtures were corroded and dripping with rust, as if they had weathered countless storms. Four storm lanterns hung at the corners of the carriage, illuminating it even in the creeping fog that seemed to be following the carriage. The light also allowed Mina to see the empty seat where the carriage drive should be sitting.

Before she could do more than stare, the door to the carriage began to open, creaking all the while. As it did, Mina craned her neck to peer around it, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was inside the carriage. Instead, she was greeted by an empty compartment filled with yet more fog, which poured out and pooled around her feet. A few stray tendrils curled up and about her boots, probing delicately at her. Their touch was icy cold and surprisingly solid, and Mina instinctively kicked at the tendrils, forcing them back.

The fog retreated slightly, but did not entirely dissipate. It continued to flow out of the carriage, pooling on the ground without merging into the bank of fog that was still lurking behind the carriage, obscuring the way that it had come from.

Mina waited for something else to happen, for some sign indicating whether or not this was a trap designed to murder her in some horrible way, but nothing came. She could see no sign of lurking monsters or hunters, couldn’t smell anything other than wood polish and old leather coming from the compartment, couldn’t sense anything other than a simple, creepy carriage waiting to take her to her destination.

Cautiously, she placed a single foot on the step up to the carriage, testing her weight on it, her cane gripped tightly in her right hand and her entire body tense. The metal creaked ominously, but it held her weight without breaking.

“This is a bad idea,” she murmured as she stepped up into the carriage.

The moment she was inside, the door creaked shut behind her, and the carriage jerked forward. Mina toppled backwards into one of the seats in surprise, nearly impaling herself on her cane as she did so. Thankfully, after the initial jerk, the ride was relatively smooth and she was able to arrange herself rather comfortably. It helped that the seats were relatively comfortable, despite their age.

She tried the carriage door, out of curiosity, but found it sealed shut, unyielding no matter how hard she shoved or kicked it.

The attempt to break out left her feeling unusually tired. Maybe there was something in the fog that even now pooled around the floor of the carriage, or maybe it was just finally being able to sit down on something relatively comfortable without having to be worried about someone slitting her throat while her guard was down. Either way, by her third attempt at opening the door, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Her energy spent, she fell back against the seats and quickly drifted off to sleep while the carriage trundled on through the mists towards Castle Cainhurst.

Read the rest on Ao3 or FF.net! Links available on my blog if they break here.

#mha #mina ashido #bloodborne #izumina #the izumina is more implied than stated #no fluff #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #mha fanfiction #blood and gore #beheadings #impalings #just generally a bad time for mina

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intimidatingpuffinstudios · 5 years ago

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Daelynn Public Commission!

Here it is, folks! The second public Daelynn commission, kindly provided to you by my generous Patreon patron, Jenna!

This commission is NSFW, and it inculdes bondage! Tread with caution!

You are lying on your back, your hair creating a black halo around your head, your blue eyes hidden behind the silken blindfold covering them. You can hear no sounds around, nothing to indicate that someone else is in the room with you.

But you know she’s here—your blond temptress, your beloved elf, the woman you’d do anything for. The woman who is determined to drive you absolutely mad with desire.

You can feel her intense regard on you even without vision, her attention as heavy as a caress on your overheated skin. She’s keeping quiet, moving on silent feet, making you guess from where she’ll strike next—because strike she does.

Her soft hand strokes and presses against you at irregular intervals—tickling your flanks, pinching your heaving breasts, caressing the inside of your thighs, cupping your mound for only a few seconds before retreating. She even runs reverent fingers over the arches of your feet, stroking your toes and making your breath come out in sharp pants.

Your hands are bound to the headboard above your head, making sure that you are entirely helpless and at your lover’s mercy, only able to accept what is given and then beg if you want more. You’ve been trying to hold out on that—the begging—but you don’t know how much longer you’ll manage.

You are dizzy, near delirious with burgeoning desire, your lungs constricting painfully, your body clenching around emptiness and spasming with the need to feel her inside you.

And then she finally takes mercy on you. Without warning, a waterfall of silken hair drapes over your thighs as the bed dips, and Daelynn makes a home for herself between your legs, her golden locks caressing your trembling stomach.

You feel her hot breath on the thin skin at the junction of your thighs and swallow thickly as she blows against your quivering core. Then without further ado, she leans forward, her mouth latching onto your clit without preamble.

A cry bursts out of you without your input, your body overstimulated, wanting her closer on the one hand and for her pull back on the other. Your brain cannot handle the stimulation after all the teasing you’ve endured, the signals all scrambled up and not making sense. Her strong suction is almost excruciating to you, but not enough at the same time.

Her long fingers press against your dripping opening without pushing in, her mouth sucking ravenously at your nub while she massages your slit, getting your ready and sensitized.

It's too much, you can’t handle it—your hands start pulling at your bindings, your head thrashing on the pillow as you begin to plead and moan incoherently, every second that passes shoving your ecstasy higher and higher.

Then her lips unlatch from around your clit, the relentless suction easing for a moment—only to be replaced by an expertly rubbing finger as her mouth descends onto your entrance, pushing her tongue inside and sealing her lips around it in a tight vacuum.

She works you frantically, her mouth and fingers pushing against you almost violently as she pushes inside you faster and harder—like she is trying to reach your womb with the slick muscle.

Her fingers are moving wildly on your clit, stimulating it to the point of pain. She strings your body tighter and tighter until you begin thrashing and crying out uncontrollably, so close to orgasm you can almost taste it. But just as you are about to reach that blissful crest, your wicked elf pulls away from you, taking both her mouth and fingers with her.

You clench around empty air, your release ruined, impotent little tremors wracking your body, a despondent little cry leaving your lips as your body desperately strains and tries to reach its peak—to no avail.

The only reaction to your fevered distress is a dark chuckle, its vibration traveling through your bloodstream as Daelynn presses a soft kiss over your mound before moving to sit over you. She grabs your leg and pulls it up, slotting your cores together without a word uttered.

You feel her scorching hot wetness rubbing against your own slick core, making a mess of yourselves as she leans forward, pushing her naked breasts against your own and claiming your lips in a maddening kiss.

She sucks on your lips, biting them, and soon her tongue is demanding entrance. You give in without a second thought, letting her do as she pleases, her mouth pulling you in, cutting off your airway. You don’t care. You could burn to ashes cradled in her arms and still be happy for the opportunity to do so.

Then she starts grinding against you, feeding you sing-songy little moans. She slips her hands to your bottom, grabbing on tightly and levering you against her to greater effect.

Her drenched folds glide against your own in a mystifying dance, your nubs pushing against one another—you’re delirious with the taste of her, the softness of her skin, suckling on her tongue and letting her do whatever she wants.

She shoves you rhythmically against herself, your hard nipples brushing, her hips pounding you as her pace gets faster, her movements frantic. She is almost there; so are you. The precipe is so close you could almost…

She shakes and moans on top of you, her suckling mouth disengaging from yours to start singing you a deluge of whispered adoration, praising you, telling you what a good girl you are for her, how prettily you shiver, how good you feel, how the smell of your aroused body is driving her wild.

Her sweet voice delivering these words combined with her frenzied riding is more than you can bear. Your body starts to clench as your toes curl and your tongue stretches out of your mouth as an offering for her. She latches onto to it hungrily, swallowing it down and stealing the breath from your lungs as you finally—finally—explode with the force of a tidal wave driving your orgasm on and on.

Spasms rock you as liquid fire scorches your veins, your nerve endings coming alight with sensation, a rapture so great that it obliterates all other thought. Daelynn holds you tightly, pounding your body against her own all the way until you are done.

Your eyes roll up in their sockets, and your mouth starts drooling—a keening sound echoes in the room, and you don’t have the presence of mind to realize it is coming from you.

The rushing pleasure goes on forever, flooding everything in its path, bringing blessed relief and a reprieve from the contraction your own skin. The orgasm goes on and on until you can no longer breathe.

Eventually, your body slumps like a ragdoll, bonelessly melting into the bed, and your elf stops her insatiable grinding. Judging from the amount of slickness covering your thighs and mound, you’d say she has orgasmed as well, but you are still bound and out of breath, in no condition to check for yourself.

She gets off you and slithers her way down, all the way to your satisfied core—then her mouth latches onto it greedily, her tongue and lips gathering up all evidence of your explosive orgasm, suckling voraciously on your overwrought flesh and making sure to swallow down every single drop.

You whimper and whine pathetically, trying to move your hips away from her, but she grabs you firmly by the hips and puts an end to all thoughts of escaping her. You have no other choice but to let her feast until she’s satisfied, breathing sharply and shaking as you try to endure the onslaught of too much pleasure.

When she’s at last satisfied, she pulls away, smacking her lips lewdly and trailing them over your heaving body, all the way up to your mouth. She claims your lips in a kiss that tastes like you, and then the blindfold falls away from your eyes without warning.

You gasp and close your eyes to shield them from the sudden light as her arms wind around your back. She coos against your temple, pressing adorable little kisses against your sweaty skin, pushing her face against your hair and breathing in until you finally open your eyes.

Blue meets grey as your gazes meet, the wealth of emotion reflected in the shiny depths speaking of a love that will transcend time. Your feel tears gather at the corners your eyes as you swallow thickly, baring all your adoration for the world to see.

“Kelsey...” your love whispers in a near-trance, leaning down and claiming your lips in a soft kiss that speaks of eternal longing and worship. You and Daelynn. Together, now and forever.

You would have it no other way.

#the soul stone war #tssw #snippet #scenario #commission #patreon #Daelynn #the sin stones

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inforapound · 5 years ago

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Ease The Dawn Chapter 18

A/N - Thank you for reading and sticking with these two. Please see warnings.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith

Chapter - 18 of 18

Warnings - Violence, injury, death/injury to a horse, character death

Daybreak was masked by a blanket of low clouds, dark with coming rain and a shifting wind that did nothing to ease Ivar's anguish. Leaving Aethelswith to sleep, he returned to his men by the fire as he could bear to stay near her. Could not lie beside her and keep himself from reaching for her or running his weathered fingers across the skin of her face. Could not feel her body in his arms and then hope to survive a single day with her gone.

He was setting her free, and as a result, slamming the door to his own dungeon.

Ignoring the drink in his hand, his mind was haunted by the details of the coming morning. Remaining in his chair long after the others slowly disbursed to their tents to catch a couple of hours of rest before the trade-off. He could not return. If he did, he would crawl back into the space beside her and never let her leave; his beautiful Princess. She deserved the world, everything! More than a life with a half-of-a-man cripple and far more than a future decided for her.

As the light broke through the trees, reflecting daybreak on the surface of the stream, his restraint proved less than ironclad. The thought of his last words being the cutting, cruel ones he had spoken out of hurt made him feel ill. Made his heart race and force him to swallow back the taste of bile from his stomach.

Moving quickly through the tent doors, he needed to speak with her one last time. Needed to see her, be alone with her inside that tent, hidden from the merciless world, one last time.

She was gone. Stunned, his eyes bounced from object to object as if delaying the impact of the tent's emptiness. Closing his eyes, he cursed his brother for following his orders to ready her by dawn.

Adjusting his crutch under his arm, he swiveled toward the door, his eye catching on something out of place. Squinting through the dim light, he saw at an object on his desk. Moving toward the table, he stood and stared down at her gold dagger. Shuffling around his stool, he picked up the narrow knife, the same knife Hvitserk had removed from her the day of her capture. Ivar only felt it right to return it the night before. She had purposely left it for him. Spinning the handle in his hand, he exhaled quickly, wishing she knew the meaning behind gifting a man a family knife.

Glancing down, he noticed the thin sketching paper the knife had been resting on. Not able to tell what the lines were through the parchment, he flipped it over and his heart sank. Biting his bottom lip hard, emotions bloomed behind his eyes. On the page, etched in delicate charcoal lines was the exact likeness of his large rough hand with her small, fine hand tucked within. He shook his head at the sentiment of the drawing; their sweet embrace while sitting side by side at the feast. She too had felt it, the longing. This offering was her only way to express it. Closing his eyes, pain coursed through his chest.

—

Ivar tugged the reigns to slow his horse, stopping the chariot beside Hvitserk. Standing behind the crowd of warriors already in position, Hvitserk's glance caught the suffering in his young brother's face. Ivar pulled his leather scarf up to just below his inflamed eyes. An attempt to conceal the tremble in his jaw and his tear streaked cheeks. He was afraid to even swallow for fear of sobbing.

Searching the front line of his chapter of warriors, Aethelswith's flowing blue cape caught his eye. Her small frame sat in front of Gussr on his tall grey horse. Her hood was up, shielding the side of her face from view but locks of her warm golden hair, picked up by the wind, stood out against the rich blue fabric.

Gussr jerked the reigns and his horse stepped forward. It was time. Ivar's eyes shot across the expansive field and over the sea of armoured soldiers to the meek, pale skin King sitting atop a black horse. A chestnut horse at the front of Alfred's army stepped forward, breaking away from the Saxon's line. The dark hair of the older man riding was shoulder length and being swept back by the gusts of wind. His face looked weathered and he had the early growth of a beard and below his left eye was a deep indent that crossed his cheek. At the distance, Ivar could not tell if it was a scar or a fresh wound. This man, he thought, would be the recipient of all his rage now.

A faint, misplaced sound broke him from his focus. Disoriented to its direction, his eyes scanned the thick line of soldiers. Gussr's horse suddenly jerked and sidestepped, rearing up onto its hind legs and Ivar could now see Aethelswith's profile. Her mouth was distorted in a cry; she was screaming. Jolting his head forward, he strained to understand her distant words. The wind settled for just an instant and he heard it.

"It is not him! It is not Burgred!" she wailed.

A trap.

"Charge!" Ivar screamed above the heads of his warriors. Their own screams echoing his command.

They surged forward, swords and axes overhead, hollering, eyes wide with the need for slaughter.

"Hvitserk, get her!"

Hvitserk ran toward the chariot to better hear his words.

"Bring the Princess back. I will go..." Ivar motioned with his hand indicating for them to flank the front on opposing sides.

The rival forces of warriors and soldiers collided in a wave of screams and metal clatter. The pulverizing strikes of swords on metal clashed and splintered, producing hollers of triumph and erupting sprays of blood.

The white horse, pulling the chariot, drove forward into the sea of battling men. Ivar kept his focus on Gussr's large frame and watched him tug and pull the reigns attempting to maneuver and retreat. A soldier with chain mail armour over the green Saxon colours lurched toward them, slashing the front legs of Gussr's grey horse. Nose-diving, the large beast fell, launching Aethelswith and her Viking shadow forward onto the damp ground. Gussr rolled over Aethelswith's small body, attempting to shield her from the soldiers grabbing hands. He cried out as a sword was driven into the back of his shoulder and slumped onto his side, clutching her to his chest. The boot of a second soldier repeatedly slammed down on his face, splitting the skin of his forehead wide as a third Saxon worked to pry Aethelswith from his weakening grip. His body went limp and Aethelswith was pulled forward but yanked her hand free from the soldier's hold, scrambling back over Gussr. Clutching the leathers of his chest, she looked down into his unconscious, bloodied face and screamed. Staring down into his kind eyes, she watched them slowly close.

Grabbed around her waist, she was pulled backward; a daze washed over her and her fighting, frantic arms fell slack. Unaware of Alfred nearby and deaf to his calls, she was loaded up in front of him, atop his waiting horse.

Rage heaved through Ivar as he watched Alfred clutch his arms around her and turn the black horse toward the Saxon's back line.

Ivar's eyes shot to the side as a sword drove straight for his throat. Lurching his chin up, he swung his ax backhanded, driving the pick of his ax deep into the temple of the attacking Saxon, cracking wide the eye socket as he yanked it free. He whipped his other ax through the air, smashing it deeply into the open mouth of a charging soldier. Scanning the fighting men, he searched without result, for the tall black horse.

Eyes sweeping the chaos, he found Hvitserk, not far from the chariot, pulling a sword from the abdomen of a fighter.

"Hvitserk!" he hollered.

Hearing his name, he looked over to Ivar.

"Find her!" Ivar shouted. "She was on horseback with Alfred!"

Hvitserk scanned the chaos and raised his hand to point.

The King! There. He has lost her!" he shouted back to Ivar.

Finding the spot, Ivar watched Alfred pull his lead, fighting to steady his horse among the surrounding battle. Aethelswith was gone and Ivar could see the panic in the young King's face. His dark eyes were darting side to side searching the carnage for her just as Ivar had been. His mouth was moving but his shouts were lost in the noise of crashing metal and the cries of the attacking and wounded fighters.

Cold panic swelled through Ivar as he spotted her among the violence, running and staggering between swinging swords and screaming men. She was looking toward him, arm thrown in the air to catch his attention. Her hood had fallen back exposing her further to the surrounding bloodshed. Unable to hear her cries above the deafening sound, he could only make out her moving lips mouthing his name. She was screaming for him. Screaming Ivar.

Snarling, he gritted his teeth and snapped the reigns, roaring for his horse to run. His narrowed, burning eyes stayed fixed on her small vulnerable form.

"I am coming my sweet!" he blared through his face scarf.

Charging forward through the fighting men, he hesitated only, to lodge his ax deep into the collar of an approaching Saxon.

Slowing the chariot as they neared one another, she rounded the back, as Ivar swiveled his body and outstretched his arms. Leaping into the chariot, she smashed into his chest. They clung to each other and the chaos seemed to fade away.

Aethelswith pulled back and Ivar tore his face cover down, her wild watering eyes staring up at him, her breathing still ragged and her cheeks flushed red.

"I want to come with you," she cried.

Searching her face, his eyes darted back and forth between hers.

"I want to stay with you," she rushed, still out of breath.

"Forever," he whispered before slamming his lips to hers.

His eyes were closed and his brows pinched in both desperation and relief. Their first kiss. Her first kiss. Filled with a lifetime of silent promises. Breaking away, he tilted back to look at her, his eyes filled with both tears and reverence.

She brought her hand up and cupped his cheek, running her thumb over his bottom lip. "Please, do not hurt my brothers."

Ivar stared at her before bending down and pressing his lips to hers one more time. Straightening, he nodded and looked away, searching the crowd for Hvitserk. Finding him he shouted orders for them to fall back.

Without breaking their embrace, he turned her, pulling her to stand in front of him. His left arm was tight around her rib cage, holding her small body. Grasping the front of his chariot, she wrapped her other arm over his.

Bending down, he nestled his face into her neck, pressing soft kisses up the side of her throat. She tipped her head back, allowing him access, lost in his touch and deaf to the surrounding noise. Brushing his cheek against the smooth skin of hers, he pulled back and grazed his mouth along her ear.

"Aethelswith, I love you," he breathed. "I love you." Closing his eyes, the look of pained relief crossed his face. "You are everything."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her temple to his jaw, savouring the fervour of his words; alleviation washing over her as warm tears slid passed her closed lids. She squeezed his arm hugging her waste. He would be hers. Finally.

Tilting her head up, she spoke into his ear. "I love you, Ivar. Forever."

Straightening, he held her tight and adjusted the grip of the leather ropes in his hand. Bracing herself, Aethelswith pressed back into his body, the top of her head resting below his chin. Standing together, looking ahead of the chariot, toward their uncertain future, Ivar snapped the reigns.

@yanii-the-hippie @youbloodymadgenius @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @allvikingsfanfic @ceridwenofwales @medievalfangirl @naaladareia @flowers-in-your-hayr @equalstrashflavoredtrash @geekandbooknerd @readsalot73 @tephi101 @jaydelesley4 @whenimaunicorn

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