#and so the journey of the night descends when all the shadows are gone. (chapter i)

[whisperial]

@murderdeals || a meme continuation || from here.

leaves and dirt between her toes. a soft, plush pathway that cuts through familiar woods she has called her own for many years. fingertips dance against thick bark as she passes by one tree after another. green eyes gaze towards the fields just past the forest line where a farm's been haunting this place for years now. there's peace here. in the quiet early morning with the sun dotting through a canopy of plush leaves overhead. streaks of white yellow sunshine cut through the mists. it's beautiful. harmonic. perfect the way it is. untouched by time. tended to with care.

she's come and gone as she pleases. drifting through this landscape on her way to this or that place she calls home. whether it be a small cottage miles from here. or somewhere else in another part of these vast woods completely. or a little home in salem, massachusetts that houses her family and those like her. but these woods? she prefers them. where she can come and go undetected. unbothered.

until today.

she's watching a doe tend to her foal inside the protection of a blackberry bush so big that it's formed a home when she hears footsteps approach. her first idea is to dash away. quickly. but that would only disturb the deer. birdie's hands wring into the fabric of a well-crafted but weather worn patchwork skirt. she turns, lifting her finger and pressing it against her lips to gesture for the man to be quiet. he ignores her and sends both mother and child running into the woods. a scowl mars her face when she turns her attention back to him.

she's seen him before. rather the form of him. past the trees. never once approaching but watching. til he was out of earshot. then she'd disappear. "your property," she asks--her voice thick with an accent out of place. one born from an ocean away in the moors this place reminds her so much of. "ah. yes. yes. i am quite happily on my way home. thank you. but this patch of woods? i'm very fond of. you say they belong to you?" a smile. like she damn near sympathizes with him. "i suppose i would be protective if they were mine, too. pity. you're certain we can't share? my woods and your woods."

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 9

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 6.5k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Hello everyone I hope that you are doing well because I am sooooo tired lol. I just started work and pffiu. Whatever with my life, this chapter as a good background drop on y/n maybe some of you expected it some not. Either way I hope that you will enjoy it because it was so much fun writting it. Well see you soon, don't hesitate to comment and bye bye !

previous ✧ next

The days since your last encounter with Azriel passed in a blur of activity. The clinic had demanded all your attention, leaving little room for personal thoughts or reflection. But in the quiet moments—when your hands stilled for just a second or your gaze wandered—it crept back.

You sighed heavily, glancing down at the travel bag you were packing for the trip to the Dawn Court. The preparations were nearly done, though your nerves remained. Traveling with Azriel added a layer of tension you weren’t ready to face, but the anticipation of reuniting with the healers of the other courts eased some of that discomfort.

You allowed yourself a small smile, remembering them—your friends, your mentors, the peers who had shaped your path in ways large and small. Each had left a mark on your journey, offering guidance, laughter, or challenges that helped mold you into the healer you had become. Many of them were like family, and the thought of seeing their familiar faces again brought warmth to your chest.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, breaking you out of your reverie. A group of the clinic’s healers had gathered to see you off, their expressions a mix of fondness and determination.

“You’ve got everything under control, right?” you asked, your tone light but tinged with concern.

One of them, Elira, rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, Y/N. For the hundredth time, we’ve got it. The clinic won’t fall apart while you’re gone.”

Another healer chimed in with a grin. “We’ll follow your instructions to the letter. You deserve a few days to focus on something else for once.”

Their reassurances made you smile, though the lingering worry didn’t completely fade. Still, you trusted them. They were skilled, dedicated, and fully capable of handling whatever came their way.

“Alright,” you said, shouldering your bag. “I’m counting on you all. If anything major comes up, send a message immediately.”

Elira gave a mock salute. “Understood, Commander.”

You laughed softly, exchanging a few more words before stepping outside. The crisp air hit your face, clearing your mind as you took a moment to steady yourself. The trip ahead wasn’t just about the meeting—it was about proving that you could handle the weight of this new role. And, perhaps, figuring out how to navigate the bond with Azriel without letting it overshadow everything else.

Standing at the entrance of Velaris, you adjusted the strap of your travel bag on your shoulder, your gaze scanning the skies. The morning air was crisp, with the faintest warmth of sunlight creeping over the horizon. You were early, as always, but waiting in anticipation left you feeling restless.

A flurry of wings caught your attention, and there he was—Azriel, descending gracefully from the sky. His shadows swirled faintly around him, dispersing as his boots touched the ground. He straightened, meeting your gaze with a polite nod.

“Good morning,” you greeted him, your voice steady despite the awkwardness that lingered between you.

“Morning,” he replied, his tone measured, though there was something in his expression—hesitation, maybe? “We should leave as soon as possible if we don’t want to arrive late.”

You nodded quickly. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Azriel stepped closer, his face calm but all business. “First, we’ll winnow to the border of the Dawn Court. Once we cross it, we’ll fly to the capital.”

The mention of flying made your heart skip a beat. You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before voicing your concern. “Flying... Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want it to be too much for you, carrying me.”

He tilted his head slightly, his hazel eyes calm but insistent. “It won’t be. Trust me, Y/N.”

His reassurance didn’t completely settle your nerves, but you nodded regardless. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

Azriel stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Ready?”

You placed your hand in his, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. His grip was firm yet careful, and before you could dwell on the flutter in your chest, shadows enveloped you. The world spun for a moment, and when it stilled, you were standing at the border of the Dawn Court.

The air here was warmer, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and dew-soaked grass. It was a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air of Velaris. The scenery stretched wide and golden, with rolling hills and distant, gleaming spires that marked the capital’s direction.

Azriel turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Ready for the next part?”

You nodded, but your breath caught slightly when he stepped closer. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, one arm beneath your knees and the other across your back, lifting you effortlessly.

The proximity was overwhelming. You could feel the warmth of his chest through his clothing, the steady strength in his arms. Every rational thought seemed to vanish, replaced by the hammering of your heart.

“Hold on,” he instructed, his voice calm but with an undertone of something softer. You looped your arms around his neck hesitantly, trying not to focus on how close you were.

With a powerful beat of his wings, you were airborne. The wind rushed past, cool and invigorating, as the ground fell away beneath you. The sky stretched wide and endless, painted with hues of orange and gold from the rising sun. The land below was breathtaking—patches of farmland, rivers winding like silver ribbons, and forests blanketed in mist.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Azriel glanced down at you briefly, a flicker of something—perhaps a smile—crossing his lips. “It is.”

Despite the tension in your chest, you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty around you. For a moment, the awkwardness and your internal conflict faded, replaced by the simple awe of the journey. The world seemed peaceful from up here, a far cry from the responsibilities and burdens that waited below.

The journey to the Dawn Court felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment. As Azriel’s arms held you securely, you tried to focus on the scenery—the rolling hills, dense forests, and shimmering rivers below. But no matter how hard you concentrated, you couldn’t fully tune out the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your ear.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been carried like this. Cassian and others had flown you on various occasions, but this time felt different. Perhaps it was because Azriel’s hold was firm yet careful, or because the bond you were trying so hard to ignore pulsed faintly, reminding you of its existence with every beat of his heart. You clenched your jaw and willed yourself to stay focused. This was a professional trip, nothing more.

Azriel didn’t speak, his silence a double-edged sword. It meant you didn’t have to engage in awkward conversation, but it also left you alone with your thoughts—a dangerous thing when you were trying not to acknowledge how close you were. The wind rushed around you, cool and biting, and you leaned slightly into his warmth despite yourself.

Hours passed in that silence, the scenery changing gradually as the Dawn Court came into view. The closer you got, the more the tension in your body grew, not from nerves about the meeting, but from the sheer effort it took to keep your mind from wandering.

Finally, the grand spires of the Dawn Court’s palace appeared on the horizon, their pale stone glowing softly in the golden light of the setting sun. Relief flooded you at the sight, and the moment Azriel landed and released you, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe after holding it in for far too long.

You stepped away from him, smoothing down your clothes and casting a quick glance at the palace ahead. It was every bit as grand as you remembered, and the familiar sight brought a small smile to your lips. For a moment, the tension from the journey eased, replaced by nostalgia for the times you’d spent here in years past.

“Let's go?” Azriel asked, his voice steady but laced with a hint of curiosity as he watched you take in the view.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. “Let’s go. We’re already late as it is.”

The spires of the Dawn Court’s palace gleamed in the evening light, their pale stone catching the last golden rays of the sun. The grandeur of the palace was undeniable, with its wide marble steps leading to intricately carved doors and lush gardens brimming with fragrant blooms. As you and Azriel approached, a familiar figure emerged to greet you.

Your old teacher, Healer Talyen, stood at the top of the steps, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before softening into a smile. “Y/N,” she called, her voice carrying a warmth you hadn’t realized you missed. “And I presume this is your escort?” Her gaze flicked to Azriel, who inclined his head politely.

“Talyen,” you greeted, your voice light despite the lingering tension from the long journey. “It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry we’re arriving so late—there were some... delays.”

“No need for apologies,” Talyen assured you, gesturing for you both to ascend the steps. “The important thing is that you’ve arrived safely. Though next time, perhaps a bit more haste.” She gave you a pointed look that was softened by the faint twitch of amusement at her lips.

Two servants stepped forward, bowing slightly before offering to take your belongings. You handed them your travel bag, murmuring a quick thanks, while Azriel only released his pack after a moment of hesitation, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings.

“We’ve prepared everything for your stay,” Talyen continued as you reached her. “The High Lord sends his regrets for not greeting you personally, but he’ll see you in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll ensure you’re settled.”

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, glancing at Azriel, who remained quiet but vigilant. “This is Azriel, by the way. He’s here to ensure I don’t get into too much trouble.”

“An impossible task, I’m sure,” Talyen quipped, her tone dry but affectionate. Azriel’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk, though his usual stoic demeanor didn’t falter.

She led you both into the palace, where the grandeur continued—polished floors, high ceilings adorned with delicate murals, and soft lighting that bathed everything in a warm glow. The servants trailed behind, their footsteps barely audible as they carried your things.

Eventually, Talyen paused at a hallway branching off into a quieter wing. She gestured to one of the doors. “Y/N, this will be your room. I hope you find it comfortable.”

You stepped forward, nodding your thanks before turning to Azriel. To your surprise, he moved to follow you inside, but one of the servants stepped forward, her expression polite but firm.

“Sir,” she said, bowing slightly, “your quarters are in the guest wing. Allow me to escort you.”

Azriel’s brows drew together in a brief frown, his confusion clear. “I’d prefer to stay close to the person I’m escorting.”

You touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention. “It’s alright,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “We’ll see each other tomorrow. There’s no need to worry.”

His hazel eyes searched yours for a moment, as though weighing the validity of your reassurance. Finally, he nodded, though the furrow in his brow didn’t completely smooth. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised, your tone firm but kind. “Get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment longer before allowing the servant to lead him away. You watched him go, his wings shifting slightly as he walked, before turning back to Talyen, who was watching the exchange with a curious gleam in her eyes.

“Still as protective as ever, I see,” she remarked dryly, before pushing open the door to your room. “Come. Let’s get you settled.”

The morning sun poured through the tall windows of your room, bathing the grand space in a warm, golden light. You were seated on one of the cushioned chairs by the small reading nook, going over your notes for the meeting. The room itself was a masterpiece of elegance and comfort. A canopy bed with silken drapes dominated one side, while intricately carved furniture in soft pastels and gold accents filled the rest of the space. The walls were painted in delicate shades of cream and blush, adorned with murals depicting serene landscapes. A fireplace in the corner crackled softly, adding a gentle warmth to the crisp morning air.

The balcony doors stood ajar, letting in a faint breeze that carried the floral scent of the palace gardens. Potted plants lined the corners of the room, their leaves vibrant and full of life, making the space feel alive, almost as if it breathed with you. The familiarity of it all brought a quiet comfort—you had lived here for years during your time at the Dawn Court, and every corner of the room held a memory.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your focus. Setting your notes aside, you stood and opened it to find Azriel standing there, his expression neutral but his gaze curious as he glanced past you into the room.

“You have time?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. His sharp eyes scanned the room as he walked in, taking in the sheer grandeur of it all. He turned to you, his brow raising slightly. “Even my room at the House of Wind isn’t this good.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This was the room I stayed in when I worked here. They always keep it for me when I visit.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on the fireplace, the plush seating, and the gilded detailing on the walls. “It’s... impressive. Feels lived in.”

“It probably does,” you admitted, sitting back down and motioning for him to take a seat. “I spent years here. It’s strange how easily it feels like stepping back into an old life.”

Azriel hummed in response, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as he sat in one of the chairs. “So,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “you said each head healer will be here. I assume you’ve worked with all of them before?”

You nodded, rifling through your notes. “Yes. Some trained me, some I’ve trained. Others, I’ve collaborated with on projects. Each court has its unique challenges, but we’ve built a good network over the years.” You went on to explain the specifics—who the healers were, their areas of expertise, and the dynamics between them. Azriel asked a few pointed questions, his sharp mind clearly piecing together the broader implications of what you shared.

When the conversation wrapped up, the two of you left the room and made your way to the meeting hall. The corridors of the palace were grand yet serene, the marble floors reflecting the soft light streaming in from the high arched windows. Your steps echoed faintly as you approached the double doors of the meeting room.

The meeting room was already abuzz with quiet conversation as you and Azriel stepped through the tall doors. The moment your presence was noticed, the chatter paused, and heads turned toward you. A wide smile broke across the face of Veras, the healer from the Winter Court, his imposing figure softened by the warmth in his icy-blue eyes. He stood and crossed the room to greet you, his snow-white braids swinging slightly as he moved.

"Y/N! You haven’t changed a bit," he said, his voice booming with delight. He clasped your hand in both of his, the chill of his skin familiar but oddly comforting. "It’s been far too long."

“Veras,” you replied with a smile, squeezing his hand. “Still as loud as ever, I see. And just as punctual.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I couldn’t miss the chance to see you try to herd this lot again.”

Behind him, a slender figure with sun-kissed skin and a radiant smile approached. Farah, the healer of the Day Court, held out her hands to you. “Y/N, my dear. It’s been years,” she said warmly, her golden hair shimmering like spun sunlight.

“Farah,” you greeted, embracing her briefly. “I’ve missed our talks. I hope you’ve brought more stories to share.”

Farah’s laughter was as bright as her court’s eternal sunshine. “Always.”

Azriel lingered near the doorway, his sharp gaze taking in the room’s dynamics as you moved from one familiar face to the next.

From the Autumn Court, Rordan stood, his fiery-red hair and piercing amber eyes as striking as ever. He was more reserved than the others, but his nod of acknowledgment carried a quiet respect. “Y/N,” he said, his deep voice measured. “Your presence here is a relief. The state of things has been... precarious.”

“It’s good to see you, Rordan,” you replied, your tone equally steady. “We’ll address everything soon.”

As you moved to greet the last person present, Azriel’s attention sharpened. A graceful woman with rich brown skin and hazel eyes that gleamed with intelligence stepped forward. Dressed in elegant light blue robes adorned with intricate ocean patterns, she radiated a quiet strength.

“Amara,” you said with a warm smile, reaching for her hands. “It’s been far too long.”

“It truly has,” Amara, the healer from the Summer Court, replied. Her voice was calm and soothing, carrying an authority that matched yours. “Though I must admit, I wasn’t sure you’d want to speak to anyone from Summer after all this time.”

You chuckled softly. “That was a lifetime ago. And besides, it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who’s such a dedicated healer.”

Amara’s lips twitched in amusement. “Dedicated, yes. Though some might say stubborn.”

Azriel lingered by the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. Then, a cheerful voice cut through the pleasant hum of conversation.

“Y/N!”

The exuberant call startled Azriel, and his hand instinctively went to Truth-Teller’s hilt, his shadows coiling protectively.

Azriel, observing from the doorway, was struck by her resemblance to what could only be described as a blend of Tamlin, a dwarf, and an overly excited child.

“Y/N!” she called again, weaving her way through the gathered healers with surprising speed. Her voice was bright, but not overly dramatic. When she reached you, she threw her arms around you in a firm, friendly hug.

“You’ve been avoiding us, haven’t you?” she asked, pulling back to fix you with a mock-stern look.

You laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t say avoiding. Just… busy Lila.”

“Busy, huh? That’s what they all say,” she replied with a knowing grin. “Well, you’re here now, so we’ll take it.”

Her attention flicked briefly to Azriel, who stood quietly near the door, his shadows swirling faintly around him. “And who’s this?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“This is Azriel,” you introduced, gesturing toward him. “Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Lila’s eyes widened slightly, her curiosity piqued. “A spymaster? That’s certainly a first for one of our meetings. Welcome,” she said to Azriel, her tone warm and sincere.

Azriel inclined his head politely, his expression neutral. “Thank you.”

Lila turned back to you, her grin returning. “Well, you’ve brought interesting company this time, Y/N. I hope he’s ready for all the endless discussions.”

“He’s here for the diplomatic part,” you replied with a smirk. “Not the gossips.”

Amara, from the Summer Court, who had been standing nearby, chimed in with a soft laugh. “Lila, don’t scare the poor man off before we even start.”

“Who, me?” Lila said, feigning innocence before rolling her eyes dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. For now.”

Amara studied him for a moment before offering a small smile. “I hope the Night Court knows how lucky they are to have her.”

“We do,” Azriel replied smoothly, his shadows curling faintly around him.

As you exchanged pleasantries, Azriel’s sharp ears caught snippets of your conversation. He noted how each healer seemed genuinely pleased to see you, their respect for you clear in their words and body language. It was a side of you he hadn’t fully seen before—a leader among peers, effortlessly commanding attention and admiration.

With that, you moved to your seat at the head of the table, the others following suit. The atmosphere shifted as everyone settled in, their expressions turning serious. The warmth of reunions gave way to the gravity of the matters at hand.

The meeting had officially begun.

The long, oval table in the center of the room surrounded by Prythian’s head healers. Scrolls, notebooks, and maps were spread across its surface, a testament to the immense preparation that had gone into this gathering. You stood at the head of the table, your presence commanding yet approachable, as you guided the room with a steady hand.

“We all know why we’re here,” you began, your tone firm but inviting. “The rising tensions across Prythian demand that we not only adapt but collaborate more closely than ever. This meeting isn’t just about exchanging updates—it’s about finding solutions together.”

Azriel, leaning against the wall near the door, observed the scene intently. Unlike the high lords’ meetings, where every word was a potential weapon, this room felt alive with trust and purpose.

You scanned the faces around the table, meeting each pair of eyes with quiet assurance. “Let’s start with updates from each court,” you said, your quill poised to take notes. “Veras, if you don’t mind going first.”

The Winter Court healer, Veras, nodded and began. “This winter has been particularly harsh, unusually harsh. Hard to say why but we have never in the history of the court been confronted to this type of intense weather. Frostbite cases have increased dramatically, and our healers are stretched thin. Supplies, particularly warming salves, are running low.”

“Veras,” interjected Taylen the dawn healer, his tone thoughtful, “We have been working with Y/N on a modified salve recipe that combines herbs from the Day and Spring Courts. It’s more potent and lasts longer. We’ll ensure the instructions are sent to you, and if you need additional supplies, Y/N should be able to arrange a shipment from the Night Court’s stores.”

Veras smiled warmly, his icy-blue eyes glinting with gratitude. “That would make a world of difference. Thank you.”

You turned your attention to Rordan from the Autumn Court. “Rordan, what’s the situation at the borders?”

Rordan leaned forward, his amber eyes sharp. “Refugees continue to flood into Autumn’s territory, and the strain on our resources is significant. Infections are becoming more common in overcrowded areas. Beron’s influence and desisions are making things hard to deal with, we are short staffed since the war and the epidemic of the last century still lingers on us.”

“I’ve anticipated this,” you said, nodding. “I’ve set up a preliminary exchange network to direct supplies where they’re most needed. Amara from the Summer Court has agreed to prioritize shipments for border regions.”

Amara, seated nearby, nodded in agreement. “That’s correct. We’ll ensure the process runs smoothly.”

Rordan inclined his head. “Thank you. That will help.”

You shifted the focus to Farah of the Day Court. “Farah, any updates on the research you mentioned during our last correspondence?”

Farah smiled brightly, her sun-kissed skin glowing. “We’ve developed a new stamina-boosting salve that’s been highly effective in our soldiers. I’d like to propose expanding our research exchange.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” you replied. “If you could share your findings with the group, we’ll incorporate them into training programs across the courts.”

Farah’s smile widened. “Consider it done.”

You continued to guide the discussion, ensuring that each healer had the opportunity to share their concerns and contribute to the solutions being crafted. When Lila from the Spring Court enthusiastically interjected with an offer to assist with refugee care, you smoothly incorporated her suggestion into the larger plan, balancing her energy with the room’s more reserved members.

Azriel watched as you moved seamlessly through the conversation, posing pointed questions, weighing options, and ensuring that every voice was heard. There was a rhythm to your leadership—a balance of authority and collaboration that drew the best out of everyone at the table.

He sat quietly at the edge of the room, observing the meeting unfold with a mix of fascination and quiet disbelief. The contrast between this gathering of healers and the high lords' meetings was staggering. Where the high lords were often burdened by tension, suspicion, and ego, here, there was trust, cooperation, and a sense of mutual respect that seemed almost surreal.

You led the conversation with ease, seamlessly guiding the flow of ideas and ensuring that everyone had a chance to contribute. Questions were posed with precision, decisions discussed openly, and even disagreements were handled with an air of professionalism and care. Azriel noted the dynamic—it wasn’t that you commanded the room with dominance; rather, you drew the best out of everyone present. It was deeply impressive.

One of the guards from the Winter Court caught Azriel’s eye. The male had also been present at the last high lord meeting, and his expression mirrored Azriel’s thoughts: surprise and admiration at how smoothly everything was running.

Amidst the deliberations, Azriel felt the familiar tug of Rhysand’s presence in his mind. The High Lord’s voice, calm but probing, reached him. How are things going? Are you both all right? How’s the meeting?

Azriel’s eyes flicked briefly toward you before answering. We’re fine. The meeting is... He hesitated, glancing again at the harmony in the room. It’s going better than expected. Almost too well.

Rhysand chuckled in response. Maybe I should have Y/N lead the next high lords’ meeting. Might go smoother.

A faint smile tugged at Azriel’s lips, but it was fleeting. He could feel Rhysand trying to bridge the tension between them again, a faint note of apology threading through their mental link.

Azriel, Rhysand began, his tone softer now. I—

Not now, Azriel cut him off, his tone firm as he closed his mind once more. This isn’t the moment.

The tension lingered, but Azriel pushed it aside, refocusing on the room before him. After a while, you called for a much-needed break, allowing the healers to step away and recharge. Azriel followed you as you moved toward the refreshments, the quiet clinking of glasses punctuating the subdued conversations around the room.

As you poured yourself a drink, he approached, his curiosity finally breaking through his usual restraint. “You seem to know all of them well,” he said, his voice low but tinged with genuine interest. “How did that come about?”

You glanced at him, a small smile forming as you gestured for him to take a drink as well. “It’s a long story,” you replied, leaning lightly against the counter. “But I’ve been in this role for a long time, even if not officially. I kind of always knew that at some point in my life I would take Madja’s place in the night court and I’ve been helping her for centuries with this.”

Azriel waited patiently, sensing that you were gathering your thoughts. Finally, you began to explain.

“The healers from the Dawn Court, Winter Court, and Summer Court trained me when I was younger,” you said. “They were the first courts I visited when I left the Night Court. I was still learning, eager to take in everything I could. They saw potential in me, but they also taught me discipline and perspective.”

Your gaze drifted across the room to the healer from the Spring Court, who was animatedly discussing something with her counterparts. “The healers from the Autumn, Day, and Spring Courts, on the other hand, were trained by me at some point. Lila is the youngest here, but I’ve never seen someone as motivated and talented as her. She’s incredible, really.”

Azriel took a sip of his drink, processing your words. “And the difference between this group and the High Lords?”

You met his gaze, your expression thoughtful. “The difference,” you began slowly, “is that while the High Lords and we both aim to take care of our courts, we’ve accepted that sometimes, you need help from others. And we didn’t inherit these positions. None of us are here because we were ‘meant’ to be. We fought for our places, proved we deserved them.”

Your eyes scanned the room, a quiet pride evident in your voice as you continued. “We come from different backgrounds. Some of us started with nothing; others faced challenges you couldn’t imagine. But we earned our roles. That shared struggle builds trust. It creates a foundation that the high lords—despite their power—sometimes lack.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling over him. There was no arrogance in your tone, no superiority—only honesty and conviction. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth in what you’d said.

The meeting had resumed with renewed energy after the break, and the hours slipped by as plans were solidified, discussions wrapped up, and solutions were agreed upon. Azriel, still leaning near the doorway, noted the seamless way you handled even the most challenging topics, your leadership shining through in every word and gesture.

As the meeting reached its conclusion, the grand doors to the hall opened, and a new presence filled the room. All eyes turned toward the High Lord of the Dawn Court himself, Thesan, who entered with a graceful stride and a warm smile.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Thesan said, his golden robes shimmering under the light. “I thought I might take a moment to greet everyone.”

The room murmured its welcome, but Thesan’s attention quickly shifted to you. His smile widened, and without hesitation, he crossed the room to greet you with a hug, his hand lingering briefly on your back as he stepped away.

“Y/N,” he said warmly. “It’s been far too long.”

You smiled, the ease and familiarity in your expression matching his. “It has, Thesan. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to drop in.”

“For you? Always,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with a genuine affection that felt... intimate.

Azriel’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. He couldn’t name the sensation curling in his chest—it wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the sight of Thesan’s hand resting on your back, his tone so effortlessly warm, made something in Azriel tighten. He gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller at his side, though he didn’t draw it, the cool leather grounding him.

Thesan turned to Azriel then, his expression polite but curious. “Spymaster of the Night Court,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s an honor.”

Azriel shook his hand, his grip firm. “High Lord,” he acknowledged, his voice neutral, though his shadows betrayed the flicker of unease still swirling within him.

Thesan’s attention returned to you. “We’ll talk more later, Y/N. But for now, I’ll leave you all to your work.”

He gave you one last smile before departing, leaving a faint hum of energy in his wake. As Thesan left, his golden robes sweeping elegantly behind him, Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow darker around him. He couldn’t explain the irritation bubbling beneath the surface, but watching Thesan’s easy rapport with you—his hand lingering on your back, the casual way he spoke to you—left an uncomfortable knot in Azriel’s chest. 

The day continued with a final wrap-up of the meeting, logistics being finalized, and farewells exchanged among the healers. Azriel stayed close by, observing quietly as you navigated the post-meeting conversations with ease. 

The group began to disperse, each healer carrying their scrolls and notes with an air of purpose. You turned to Azriel, who had been watching the proceedings with a mix of admiration and curiosity. The weight of the day’s discussions lingered, but there was a certain calm in the room now, a sense of accomplishment.

Before stepping toward your room, you paused and glanced at Azriel. “You’ve never been to the Dawn Court capital, have you?”

Azriel shook his head, his shadows curling faintly around him. “No. My work rarely brings me here.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Well, you’re in for a treat. The last rays of the sun are about to set over the city, and the view is stunning. Afterward, we could take a stroll through the streets. The city comes alive at night, and there are some places worth seeing.”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, considering your offer. “Are you sure you have the energy for this? You’ve been running the meeting all day.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Besides, a little fresh air will do us both some good. Meet me at the entrance of the palace in fifteen minutes?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving into a subtle smile. “I’ll be there.”

With that, you headed toward your quarters to freshen up, your mind already wandering to the peaceful streets and glowing lanterns that awaited. The thought of seeing the city you once knew so well, with someone new by your side, felt oddly comforting.

Azriel leaned against the marble column near the entrance of the palace, his shadows swirling faintly around him as he waited for you. The last rays of the sun cast a warm glow over the gilded tiles and intricate carvings of the Dawn Court palace, a serene contrast to the conversation he couldn’t help but overhear.

Two healers, young and seemingly unaware of his presence, were chatting in hushed voices that carried just enough for him to hear.

“Yes, she’s the head healer of the Night Court now,” one of them said with a sly laugh. “Do you think she’s going to screw this High Lord too? Maybe Thesan wasn’t enough.”

The other snickered, lowering her voice but not enough. “I heard she even turned him down when he proposed. Can you believe that? The audacity.”

“Right?” the first added. “I mean, she was a total mess when she arrived here. Thesan’s generosity only goes so far, but it seems like she took full advantage of him.”

Azriel’s chest tightened. The male you had spoken about in your story—that had been Thesan. But it wasn’t just that revelation that struck him; it was the way they spoke about you, as though your strength and success were something to diminish.

And then, the second one dropped her voice further, but not enough to escape his sharp hearing. “Do you know why she was a mess? She’s half Illyrian, you know. Heard her wings were clipped before she came here. Left for dead in the snow after... It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

Azriel’s shadows recoiled and then tightened around him like a second skin as he processed what he had just heard. His jaw clenched, and his hand twitched toward Truth-Teller’s hilt, his instincts screaming at him to intervene, to protect, even though the situation had already spiraled into a storm of its own. His eyes flicked to you as you approached, your posture radiating calm authority, though the smirk tugging at your lips told him you were about to unleash a verbal strike that would cut deeper than any blade.

“Was it a miracle?” you asked, your voice carrying an icy undertone that made even Azriel’s shadows still.

The two healers turned toward you, their faces draining of color as recognition hit them. Azriel noticed the way your eyes glinted, not with fury, but with something far more dangerous—control. You weren’t reacting; you were calculating.

The healers exchanged panicked glances, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. One of them, a slender female with auburn hair, mustered what little defiance she could and stammered, “We’re not under your command.”

Your smirk widened ever so slightly, a calculated tilt of your head accentuating the sharpness in your gaze. “No,” you said, your voice smooth as silk but no less lethal, “but you are under the command of Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court. A High Lord who values discretion, professionalism, and respect—qualities you seem to lack.”

Azriel noticed the faint twitch in the corner of your mouth as you paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. The two healers visibly shrank under your gaze, their earlier bravado crumbling.

You took a deliberate step closer, your voice dropping into something quieter but far more menacing. “Gossiping about a patient’s private life in the palace, of all places, is not only unprofessional but also disgraceful.”

The auburn-haired healer looked like she might collapse under the weight of your words, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. The other, a taller male, attempted to speak, but his voice cracked before he could form a coherent response.

Without giving them a chance to recover, you added, your smirk returning, “And while you’re correct that you don’t answer to me, I’d be very curious to hear how Thesan might respond if I were to inform him of this little... lapse in judgment.”

Azriel almost laughed at the way the two healers stiffened, their defiance extinguished. Instead, he stepped slightly closer to you, his shadows curling protectively at his feet, silently reinforcing your authority.

Then, with the same sardonic ease, you added, “Considering I fucked Thesan so well, I’m fairly certain he’d follow my orders without hesitation.”

Azriel blinked, taken aback by your brazenness. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face neutral, though his shadows flickered as if sharing in his surprise. The two healers were stunned into silence, their wide-eyed expressions frozen as though they’d been caught in a trap.

You turned sharply on your heel, leaving no room for rebuttal, and said firmly, “Let’s go, Azriel.”

He followed immediately, his steps measured, but his mind raced as he replayed the scene. The ease with which you had dismantled the situation, the confidence laced with just the right amount of menace—it left him both impressed and slightly awed. Yet, beneath it all, he couldn’t shake the ache of what he’d overheard.

As you walked, he caught your profile in the fading light. The smirk had softened into something quieter, almost reflective. Azriel’s own emotions churned, a tangled mix of anger on your behalf and admiration for how you had handled yourself. He didn’t speak, not yet, but the urge to say something—to acknowledge your strength or offer some form of comfort—gnawed at him.

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[iamfina5]

The Kinslayer Couple

Summary: The ground falls out from beneath Valaena Velaryon’s feet within the span of a week. The week begins with the death of her grandsire, making her mother queen and her Princess of Dragonstone. It ends with the death of her brother Lucerys at the hands of her husband, Aemond Targaryen. From there, Valaena embarks on a perilous journey to win a war against her own kin, forced to discern who are friends and who are foes on both sides of the conflict.

Chapter Nine: Sapphire Pendant

First  Prev/Next

131 A.C.

Valaena basks in the warm, afternoon breeze as she nears the coastline of the crownlands atop Veraxes’s back. Veraxes glides among the clouds, descending as King’s Landing comes within his sight.

The two of them are returning from a month-long sojourn at Dragonstone, one she makes once a year. She had enjoyed spending time with her siblings and parents, though it had been something of a lonely moon. Everyone had split into pairs, it seemed, all but her. Jacaerys and Lucerys had always been together, Rhaena had clung to Baela, and Joffrey and Aegon had been inseparable, running about the castle together day and night. She had fit in where she could—watching the older pair of her brothers train sword fighting on the beach, going into the fishing villages with her step-sisters, and falling victim to the younger boys’ many amateur pranks—but it had been difficult to fit in after being away for so long.

Now that she is set to return to King’s Landing, however, giddy anticipation leaves her feeling higher than she truly is atop Veraxes. It has been weeks since she last saw Aemond, and though they had exchanged letters, she is eager to be in his arms again.

As Veraxes soars closer to the city, the light from the Sun blinks away. She believes them to be flying beneath a cloud until the shadow stays with them a touch too long. Squinting, she peers upward, spying Sunfyre and his gleaming, golden scales as he floats overhead.

Veraxes, too, takes notice of their unexpected flying companion. He shrills at the other dragon in greeting, prompting Sunfyre to dip lower and fly at his side.

As he comes into view, Aegon directs a smirk at Valaena. He is always so cocky whenever he rides Sunfyre, so proud is he of his admittedly gorgeous mount. She scrunches up her face at him in reply.

She does not share the sky with him for long. As he makes for the Dragonpit, she supposes that he was nearing the end of a joyride when he spotted her nearing the city. She proceeds to circumnavigate the city a few times, drifting over the various neighborhoods and hoping that by the time she descends on Rhaenys’s Hill, Aegon will be long gone.

She sets Veraxes down beside the Dragonpit and dismounts. As she leaves him to the Dragonkeepers, Ser Willis greets her, and she nods to him before climbing into the carriage set to convey her to the Red Keep. When she passes through its door, the sight of Aegon seated to her right startles her, and she cannot quite keep her disappointment from showing on her face.

Aegon wears the same, smug smile that she had seen in the sky. “I thought to wait for you, Niece.”

Allowing her annoyance to shine through her voice, she replies, “Thank you, Uncle,” and takes her seat. Still grinning, he knocks on the wall of the carriage, and they take off.

The first quarter-hour of their ride to the Keep is silent. She keeps her eyes pinned to the various fenestrae of the carriage, peering out at the city as she twists her rings around her fingers. In her periphery, she sees Aegon alternate between apathetically inspecting his nails and leering at her.

Keep Reading

[ibis-gt]

chapter one of mercenary au! there may be more if i can dig uo the proper motivation... anyway here u go. requisite meetcute, 3k words, content warning for mentions of past family member death.

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

Light shone through the bedroom window of one Luther Algers. The beam moved steadily, achingly slow, as the sun rose in the sky, until it finally reached the perfect angle to shine on his face and, when the sensation made him blink awake, directly in his eyes.

He groaned and rolled over, rubbing at his face with the heel of one hand. He would’ve tried to fall back asleep, but his thoughts caught up to him too quickly.

Today. He knew what today was. Today, he set off for Pentel. Today he gave up his freedom for the good of his kingdom.

Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic. It sounded like he was going off to war or something. In truth, he was going to get married. It would be a lovely ceremony, lots of people in attendance, a splendid banquet, good feelings all around.

It just would’ve been nice if someone had asked him if he wanted to be married. Or told him who he was marrying.

But that wasn’t how this worked. It was an arranged marriage, one meant to strengthen the peace treaty between Pentel and Contigo. Traditionally the marriage should have been between princes or princesses of both kingdoms, but since Contigo’s king was childless, Luther had been chosen to seal the deal. Luther’s father was a high-ranking noble with a fair amount of money and influence, and he owed the king a favor. He seemed an obvious choice.

Well, no point in putting it off any longer. It would be about two weeks’ journey to the city of Pentel and once he arrived there were still details about the wedding to hammer out and his fiancee to meet. He rolled out of bed and dressed in the outfit that had been laid out for him last night. All lace and ruffles, with a runed belt, the symbols for first encounters and strong bonds etched across it. His job from here on out was to look pretty and smile on command. Like some kind of trained dog.

Before he had time to really properly wallow in his discontent, his father’s voice rang out from the foyer.

“Luther! It’s time! Don’t be late!”

“Coming!” Luther called, skipping out of his room and descending the stairs as quickly as he could. He caught sight of his father just as he exited the front door to their palatial estate. Luther took a moment to catch his breath and make sure his clothes and hair were in order before he followed, stepping out into the daylight. Outside, a line of splendid carriages sat, with people milling about between them. A trip like this was expensive, even beyond his father’s means, but since it was a matter of national importance the king was footing the bill. Servants flitted to and fro with last minute additions to the carriage train’s luggage, attended the important guests who would be traveling with Luther, and were generally busy as bees. Everyone was decked out in their finest finery, which seemed odd to Luther. Shouldn’t they save it for the last day of travel, when they’d actually arrive? But he supposed that they’d be stopping along the way for food and rest, and they’d need to look their best.

“You could’ve had breakfast if you’d been up earlier,” his father grumbled in lieu of a ‘good morning’, “but as it is either you can wait until lunch or see if there’s anything they can dig out of the provisions for the road. Now, your carriage is the one in the middle of the group. You’ll be in with two diplomats and a manners coach. They’ll teach you how to act and speak to Pentel’s royalty, topics to avoid, so on and so forth. There’s a historian in the carriage behind you, try to meet with them at meals and - are you listening to me?”

Luther was not listening. He was staring wide-eyed at a figure standing near his carriage. The man was dressed in armor, with strong boiled leather covering his chest and stomach. Metal pauldrons, gauntlets, and shin guards, slightly tarnished from time and use, glinted dully in the light. An oversized hammer hung from his belt. A few strands of black hair had come free from his long ponytail, and a scraggly beard clung to his chin. Probably the most interesting thing about the man, though, was that he looked to be about twenty feet tall. He could’ve picked up Luther’s carriage under one arm and walked off with it. He was watching the pair of them intently, ignoring the people bustling around between the carriages with packages and bundles for the road. Luther tried to drag his attention back towards his father. He could’ve sworn he saw someone actually walk between the man’s legs out of the corner of his eye.

It was rude to point, and probably unnecessary, so Luther said as delicately as possible, “Who’s that, uh… rather tall man?”

“Ah. Your bodyguard.” Luther’s father turned and waved at the giant.

“My - ?” Luther started to say, but lapsed into awed silence as his new bodyguard walked over to them. The ground practically shook under the weight of the man’s footsteps. He blocked out the sun as he stood before the two of them, and Luther suppressed a shiver that was half from the chill of the shade and half from the sheer size of the man. He was even more intimidating up close than he’d been at a distance. Luther felt practically pinned in place by the intensity of his gaze. Luther’s father continued speaking as though there weren’t a colossus standing mere feet away.

“As you know, your safety is my top priority,” he said, turning back to face Luther. “I’ve hired this mercenary to protect you on the journey.”

“I… see,” Luther said, glancing nervously up at the giant. “And… what is your name?” He raised his voice a little just in case the man had trouble hearing him.

“You can call me Cam, sir,” the giant replied. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth before his face resumed the professional mask. His voice was gravelly and incredibly deep. Luther felt it vibrate in his chest.

Luther’s father glared at his son. Luther knew he didn’t really approve of fraternizing with those of a lower station, but it would have been so rude to just continue talking as though Cam weren’t there. Besides, that was such a stupid prejudice. But he didn’t dare disobey his father any further, so he did his best to listen as his father ran down a litany of instructions to ensure the journey was as productive and successful as possible. Largely it boiled down to Luther learning a lot of very boring things very quickly so he could present himself as the best Contigo had to offer.

Finally, his father put his hands on Luther’s shoulders and gave him the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

“You’re doing a good thing, son,” he said. “Good for both our kingdoms. You’ll be perfect. And you’ll be very safe.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Luther. Since Luther’s mother had died in childbirth, his father had been very protective. Overly so. To the extent that it bordered on paranoia. It didn’t help that an assassination attempt had been made on his father’s life after his involvement with an unpopular ruling about taxes that shifted the burden to the mercantile sector. His father had been convinced from that day on that home was the only safe place for him and his son. Luther hadn’t been allowed out unless accompanied by at least three handpicked guards, all of whom were serious buzzkills and never let him do anything fun.

That was probably why his father had gone so overboard with his protection on this trip, Luther supposed. Anyone wanting to cause trouble would hopefully be scared off by just the sight of the giant bodyguard walking alongside the carriage train.

He snuck a glance at the giant again. Cam was still standing right next to them, keeping them in his shadow, but was now looking out at the horizon as though scanning for threats. He was probably just as bored as Luther was, having to listen to his father prattle on. The thought was oddly hilarious, and Luther bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling as he met his father’s eyes.

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye, then,” Luther said. “I’ll be sure to write to you often.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Luther.” His father said the words as though he wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. He brought his son into an awkward, hesitant embrace, and quickly let go again. He’d never been good at showing affection, not through words or actions. Truth be told, Luther would’ve been jumping for joy at the chance to get away from home and his controlling father, if it weren’t for the fact that he was just going to end up in a no doubt equally controlling situation. “You go on ahead. I’ve got a few things to clear up with your bodyguard here.” Luther saw the small grimace that Cam attempted to hide and smiled to himself. He seemed like he’d be good company, at least.

As he set off towards the carriage that would be both his salvation and his prison for the next two weeks, he caught only a few words of the fairly one-sided conversation his father had with the giant. It sounded mostly like strict instructions not to talk to Luther except in times of extreme emergency, and a few other nitpicky details he didn’t quite hear. There was a rumbling, “Yes, sir,” from Cam, and then the giant’s thundering footsteps, drawing nearer. Luther’s heart beat faster as Cam approached. His stomach started to knot in anxiety. He knew the giant had been hired for his protection, but having such a large being walking so close behind him hit his fight or flight reflexes, and he’d never been much of a fighter. Luther forced himself not to look over his shoulder. He climbed into the carriage and settled himself on the cushioned seat, then finally shot a sideways glance out of the window. Cam had resumed his post in front of the carriage and all he could see from inside was a section of the giant’s leg.

Luther’s heart sank as he stared glumly at the ceiling of the carriage. The most interesting person on this journey, no doubt, and he was under orders not to say a word to him. He hoped he could break down the giant’s walls eventually. No doubt he had countless exciting tales of action and danger that would be loads more entertaining than listening to dry old historians and prim diplomats lecture him about how to hold a fork.

~~~

They had been on the road for only a few hours, but it had dragged like an eternity as the diplomats prattled away. Luther could barely hold any of it in his head. His eyelids drooped, he swallowed yawn after yawn, and he had to consciously stop bouncing his leg every five minutes. They’d finally decided that was enough for now, clearly dissatisfied with how poorly he was paying attention. Luther stared out the carriage window. He would’ve had an excellent view of the rolling green hills in the distance if it weren’t for Cam.

The giant was trudging along beside the carriage, easily matching the pace of the horses with a measured stride, and mostly blocking Luther’s line of sight to anything else. Luther realized Cam was going to have to walk the whole way, basically alone, since everyone in the carriage train seemed afraid of him and avoided him whenever possible. That was almost worse than having your ear talked off by stuffy old men telling you how to act. Luther knew Cam was under orders not to talk to him, but how was Luther’s father going to find out, anyway? He reached up and swung the window open, leaning his head out to call up to the giant.

The motion of the window opening caught Cam’s eye, and he glanced down just in time to see Luther’s curly-haired head poke out. Whatever the kid was saying was lost in the rumble of the cart wheels and the thunder of the horses’ hooves. It must’ve been important, though. The kid’s father had been very clear that he was engaging in extremely important business and should not be bothered or distracted by Cam. He could practically still hear the man’s thin, unpleasant voice. “Only in the utmost emergency should any communication pass between the two of you.” Well, this looked like an emergency, if he was interrupting his business, and how was the guy going to find out, anyway?

“Can’t quite hear you, sir,” Cam said. “Maybe we could talk when the carriage pulls to a stop at the next town?”

Oh, god no, I can’t wait that long, Luther thought. In fifteen minutes these old fogeys were going to try to start lesson number two. He leaned a little further out and on an impulse yelled, “Pick me up!”

Cam caught that one loud and clear, although for a moment he thought he must have misheard. But there wasn’t much else that could have been. He shrugged and said, “Open the door, then.”

Luther couldn’t believe that worked. He’d half expected the giant to laugh or shake his head. The diplomats stared at him open-mouthed.

“S-sir, I don’t think you should - ” One of them began nervously, but that only strengthened his resolve. He unlatched the door and swung it open with a confidence that completely crumbled as Cam’s huge hand reached in and grabbed him around the middle. It was a delicate maneuver since the carriage was still rolling, but Cam managed it deftly, lifting Luther up and setting him on one shoulder, then laying a hand across his lap to keep him in place. He'd had to crouch to reach into the carriage and Luther felt his stomach drop as Cam straightened up. The ground fell away at an alarming speed, and then he was swaying gently back and forth with Cam's stride, hair blowing in the breeze.

"So, what were you going to say?" Cam asked. 

"Uh, um, I, uh.... Hi?" Luther squeaked.

Cam's eyebrows knit in confusion. 'Hi?' Did the guy just want to say 'hi'? Really?

"Hello," he replied.

Luther was silent, fidgeting for a moment. He'd lost his nerve completely. He was up so high and so intimately close to Cam's face. He couldn't even find his voice enough to ask to be set back down.

Oh my god, Cam thought, that was really it. Well, that was embarrassing. Didn't really need to go to all that trouble. But the guy seemed content to sit there for now. He decided to try some small talk.

"Enjoying the journey so far? It must be pretty stuffy in that little carriage. Good to get out and get yourself some fresh air."

"O-oh, um, yes. Quite stuffy. The air is, uh. Nice." Luther could smell Cam very distinctly. Sweat, salt, steel, and leather. An earthy combination, but not entirely unpleasant. It was so different from what he was used to, and honestly a welcome change. It was a lovely day, a little on the chilly side, but Cam's hand on his lap kept him quite warm. Even the cold steel pauldron below him was heating up pretty quickly. "I’ve, uh, never met a giant before."

Oh, there it is. He'll have all kinds of invasive questions, no doubt. Cam suppressed a little sigh. "Honored to be your first, then." Technically not exactly true. Cam was only half-giant. But to sheltered nobles who didn’t know better it didn’t matter.

But there was no follow-up. Possibly Luther caught the tired edge to Cam's voice and wisely decided to drop that line of discussion. The silence that followed wasn't as awkward as Cam thought it would be. The little noble smelled faintly floral and citrus-y. The scent was light, not at all cloying like some other rich folk's perfume. Cam found that he kind of liked having him on his shoulder, actually. It made him feel like a protector, as opposed to before when he felt like he was just tagging along uninvited.

Luther was glad that Cam had his eyes fixed ahead on the road, because he was blushing so hard his face must have been lobster red. The giant was unexpectedly gentle. He'd half expected to be accidentally crushed in Cam's grip at first, but Cam had much more control than that. The hand across his lap was a firm, comforting pressure, and he was grateful for it. His own hands had been held tight to his chest, but as he relaxed he lowered them slightly. He hesitated, then rested them on the side of Cam's hand, anxiously glancing at Cam's face as he did so. No reaction. His hunched shoulders slumped, and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

Now that Luther felt more comfortable, he could enjoy the sensation of being carried. It was quite the way to travel. He looked out across the fields and watched a pair of birds in flight. The advantage of Cam’s height allowed him to see so much farther than usual.

Cam snuck a sideways glance at Luther. He had his head turned slightly away staring out at the horizon and seemed much more relaxed with a slight smile on his face. Cam suppressed a smile of his own. The little noble was pretty cute, he had to admit. His carefully-arranged brown curls had gotten mussed and out of place when Cam picked him up, and they now fell much more naturally around his face, framing it nicely. He could just about make out constellations of freckles across his delicate face, and warm, curious brown eyes that tracked an arc across the sky. An expression of wonder and amusement perched lightly on Luther's face.

Cam realized he'd been staring at Luther too long just as Luther looked back in his direction. Cam yanked his eyes away and focused on the road again, desperately keeping up the blankest poker face he could manage. He realized he was nearly about to walk right over the carriages and course-corrected as subtly as he could, cursing himself for getting distracted. This was just another pretty noble he had to protect and he couldn't afford to mess this job up. The payout would be huge, along with bi-weekly payments as long as he hung around after the wedding. Nearly a real steady job. He heard Luther stifle a giggle on his shoulder and his brow furrowed, his neutral expression drawing down into a frown. He hadn't been nearly as subtle as he'd hoped, then.

Blessedly for Cam, Luther's carriage door swung tentatively open again, and one of the diplomats poked his head out.

"It's, ah, time for the next lesson," he called over the clatter of the horses' hooves. "If we could have the young gentleman back, please…?"

Cam nodded his agreement and shifted his grip on Luther, leaning down again to place him back in the carriage. "Watch yer head," he muttered, and Luther ducked inside, giving Cam a wistful glance over his shoulder.

There. With any luck, those would be the last words they ever spoke to each other.

[electrospherevaults]

Defiler - Chapter 10

[Click here to read the rest of the Defiler story]

The Caves Of Yasnder

After the Sea of Solitude lays a tiny parcel of land made of salt rocks and granite. Tiny is a relative term of course; in the same way an ant observes an apple and considers it tiny in comparison to the tree it fell from, so too the caves of Yasnder exist in a similar manner. It is but a steep and narrow passage underneath rock formations that extend high up into the sky, high enough to seemingly block out the sun.

But they never do. Instead the main passage was always devoid of shadows. It is a pavement of light, guiding the pilgrimages to the Maker, its body rearing more and more into view as you descended across this expanse of rocks for hundreds and hundreds of miles. The caves got their titular denomination not so much because they were in and of themselves an actual cave (current research from the scientific society actually estimated that the Yosnder complex could house a potential thousands of interlinked cave networks that moved across the desert beneath its sandy landscapes. The defilers that live here speak of millions).

Instead, the caves were a funnel.

Anyone who wishes to travel to the Maker must pass through these caves. Wakers usually do not last – the passages become narrow, tightening their grip enough to find even experienced captains stranded and in disrepair should they press forward. These caves were not made for them after all. They existed in Tabora long before the planet died, and will exist long after the Maker passes away too. The Maker willed a lot of things in His name, bringing forth destruction and creation in one fell swoop, yet the caves of Yasnder were not a thing He touched upon. Instead, depending on the followings of the people you followed, the Maker instead positioned Himself to use the caves as His funnel, his pavement of light.

It was this path now Mallik and her friend Zysso would to pass through now to continue their own pilgrimage. Mallik fastened the sails, pulling them together and folding them into place. She did not want to risk damaging the mast, those drapes were expensive and irreplaceable. Zysso was still laying in the hammock inside the cabin. He had gone there to rest hours ago. Mallik kept herself busy, ignoring the blood stain that was hastily swiped off the boards. There was lots of work that needed to be done.

Yet, with each movement, each running up and down the board, folding things into place, placing other things in order, her eyes would stop and glance back at the path of light laying ahead of them. The skies shined brilliantly, as if nothing had happened. In a sense, it hadn’t – the desert cares little for who survives atop its surface – yet her mind boggled staring the very thing that made her exist in the first place.

Mallik put down the broom and sat by one of the benches that were set up underneath the covered recreation area of the board. Granny Jasmine used to live there when she was younger. She would tell her stories about this place, the warm people residing within the caverns, the festivals of fire and creation. Mallik always found it amusingly bizarre that, even under the glowing sun, the caves themselves would actually get very cold the further in you went. Cold was for the night after all, not for those long pilgrimages across those narrow caverns.

It was where mommy Zenit was born as well. Mallik checked her phone instinctively. The screen took a bit to light up, its automated screen brightness feature a battery lifesaver out here. The reception was getting shoddy. A last message notification read of her mom’s love and of a good journey ahead.

Mallik wiped that tear away and put the phone away. The light bump on the road that made the whole ship creak like an old man trying to get up from his seat after a meal indicated it was time to proceed. Mallik got up on her feet and knocked on the door.

“Zysso”, she said as softly as a loud voice could be made to be. “We are here.”

There was a bump inside the room, as if something heavy fell on the floor and stumbled to get back up. Then footsteps and a grunt as the door handle turned. Zysso emerged, his hands rubbing his eyes trying to readjust under the sunlight. Mallik offered him a spare pair of goggles; he would need them out here. Hopefully they would fit a valleakan. If not… Well, they’d have to figure things out on the fly again.

Zysso came and sat silently next to Mallik. He looked like a ghost.

“You want to talk about it?” Mallik offered, her gaze still affixed ahead.

Zysso folded his arms, his eyes falling again back on the boards. “You said it gets easier”, he half-whispered, a cold wind passing them by. Mallik’s hair on her arms rose to attention. “Have… have you killed someone before?”

Mallik smacked her lips. “I, uh…” She stared silently into the distance as the seconds trickled down like hours. Zysso sighed again.

“My mom used to tell me”, Zysso eventually spoke again, “that I was to become a great admiral. My father wanted me to know how to defend myself too. He’s a pretty big deal after all.”

“Yeah”, Mallik commented; “owns a shipyard and everything, right?”

“Right”, Zysso concurred. “So… I trained. We had this combat instructor, Jacky Lickx. He was an excellent teacher. A brutal fighter. I got top marks in the admiralty. But…”

Zysso took a long breath, shaking his head. Mallik finally turned to look at him. She offered her hand, wrapping it closely around him. Zysso embraced this multi-tasking hug. His skin was cold, but this was to be expected. His hand atop the folded arms he had made for himself slipped upwards and held onto her fingers with his own. Neither gaze ever met the other. Mallik understood, and focused on the road ahead again.

The slabs of rock rose considerably with each meter they sailed forward. Where you could see an endless expanse of dunes that filled up your eye to the brim with sand, now it was replaced with the deep oranges of ore. On both sides, the caves lifted themselves to engulf the windwaker, far beyond the tallest tip the mast could reach when fully unwrapped. The walls were still quite apart, but they would soon close in. Mallik prayed to the Maker ahead of her that He would allow her vessel passage.

“It was my mom who taught me how to fight”, Mallik admitted. Zysso finally broke his gaze from the floor, opting to look back at her. “She showed me how to use the bistola too. I think”, she chuckled. “I think I cried my eyeballs out when I fired it for the first time!”

“Heh”, Zysso chuckled back, “you? Crying?”

“I was like five, shut up”, Mallik laughed, taking a gentle right turn, correcting the position to avoid some rocks further ahead in the middle of the path.

“Damn, that’s so young!” Zysso laughed again. “That’s messed up!”

“That’s Tabora for you”, Mallik replied cockily and struck a smile.

Zyss smiled back. “I was nine when I enrolled into the admiralty. Didn’t have my first fight until I was twelve.”

“Lucky you!”

“And we had our first flying lessons three years later!” Zysso sighed wistfully. “I wanted to be a pilot. I know it’s not fit for me and my class, but…”

Mallik squeezed him closer, giving him a tighter quick hug. “Nah, you’d be a good pilot. You can navigate the Barrens and the Solitude, you can navigate anything!”

Zysso laughed heartily again. It was nice to hear him be normal again. He lowered his head, staring outwards. The caves drew closer with each passing minute, paving the way forward. The windwaker proceeded slowly, inch by inch, the wind gently pushing it forward. Eventually Mallik would have to fire up the engines at low capacity, to get the waker moving when the wind stopped being as strong.

The breeze was good for now though. Felt refreshing, rejuvenating even. It had a hint of salt, and cinnamon. It wouldn’t be improbable that defilers lived inside those walls. There weren’t many left that chose the desert over the city, and nobody could fault them, as the city provides many amenities like a soft bed and water, but also dangers like death. She tried to picture what life would have been for her out here, had granny Jasmine taken her here on that trip she had promised her. Her mom always said no. It was too dangerous for a young child. And defilers do not have the most stellar of reputations, as evident by the dusted remains of the fight from earlier.

Mallik gently let go of Zysso’s shoulder, opting to grab back onto the wheel with both hands. Another tight road clearing was coming up ahead. Zysso moved aside, awaiting his next orders. He followed them well, checking from side to side for debris and reporting back. Notifying Mallik when bigger rocks brushed by the hull so as to take it easier. He had that fighter pilot blood in him he talked about, that much showed up.

The windwaker continued its roll peacefully as they passed underneath a hanging rope bridge that connected the two parts of the cave together. The rope had melted away, and its boards had long ago combusted, leaving only charred remains in their wake. People lived here, but you would be led to believe that they lived here a long time ago. But, if you had the keen eyes of a defiler, you could spot the people curiously starting to gather around the small entrances of the crevices. Not so much ready to strike; that is hogwash perpetuated by the people of the strip. This is their home after all; who isn’t curious to see the odd transport passing by your home that hasn’t seen a vehicle in at least three weeks?

As the curiosity peaked, their voices started to be heard. Mallik smiled, as she confidently stirred the windwaker around the rocks. Red scarves filled out the right wall, more brazenly showing their true colours, and exclaiming their admiration at the new pilgrimage that navigated the path of light below. Soon enough, a rhythmic chant started echoing around the caves. A melodic, small word, consisting of two syllables.

Mallik recognized it.

“Fohn-as?”

“It is an old ratlung word”, she explained to Zysso. “It means murderer.”

A group of red scarved defilers emerged from the left bank. They were on boards and brandishing sandpoles. They descended the hill that obscured the entrance, and quickly made their way to the windwaker that Mallik piloted.

“Graham”, a voice shouted from below. “We told you, you’re not welcome here! Turn this waker around, or we’ll spill your blood on the sand!”

Mallik ordered Zysso to take the wheel again and to cut on the speed. She quickly rushed to the side. A troop of five was standing there, sliding on their boards underneath the sun, matching the speed of her waker.

“Graham is dead”, she announced.

The crowd came to a standstill. The wind carried that silence to echo across the caves.

The same defiler that spoke before moved ahead again. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mallik. I am the daughter of Zenit, daughter of Jasmine the Defiant.”

[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 4

thank you again to @freyastrider​ for letting me yoink your screenshots :’D

TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death. Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her vikingr were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly. 

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but what was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her vikingr follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey. 

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, stick together," she explained, and her vikingr nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you must, if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the vikingr. "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night. 

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. Good.

 Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her vikingr beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. Shit.

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed. 

 Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and run. They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in. 

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her vikingr rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do that again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could. 

 She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. Ah.

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a far worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up. 

Taking a headcount, every single one of her drengr survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live. 

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered. 

 At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood. 

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man. 

"...What would be your last wishes, drengr?" she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after. 

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death. Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

...

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you had to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you too much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered who was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

 And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and wailed, a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other einherjar in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will. 

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away. 

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking through her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done anything…" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how cold you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks. 

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then." 

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says… you did not see any other path. 

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded. 

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the drengr, feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. You will always find a home with me.

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, lagr kærr."

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet. 

 Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. She still had reports to write.  

[clevercxs]

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 1]

[MORE CHAPTERS]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Word Count: 6.2k *Ongoing series*

_______________________________________________

  The Outskirts of Lunden

An unusually frigid night had fallen upon the land. Such darkness was disorienting as woodland creatures and wandering shadows seemed to play tricks on the young warrior’s eyes. Though her ears had become sharper, her mind was weary and riddled with paranoia. Every snap of a twig was perceived as a threat, even if it was only a deer or raccoon waking from its slumber to watch the Western-Saxons pass by.

The full moon, in all its glory, shined through the trees and cast an ethereal light upon the worn path she and her men travelled along; one interlaced with overgrown roots, decaying wildflowers, and fallen leaves that crunched beneath her steed’s hooves.

The descending blackness stirred a sense of claustrophobia within her, even though the forest stretched for miles and those traveling with her were not far behind. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel alone; vulnerable, even, though not without the reminder of the heavy blade draped across her back.

A chilling breeze tore through her layers of cloth and chainmail armor, causing her core to contract and stiffen. Her tousled, unruly hair fell loose around her shoulders, whipping back in accordance to the harsh wind she faced head on. It was the type of coldness that seeped through her bones as if her skin were a door left wide open during a snowstorm. She knew, no matter how uncomfortable she felt, that they had to keep moving; keep pushing onwards and upwards north where her destination and the comforting thought of fire surely awaited her.

Her travels had not been easy thus far; even with torch light and enough supplies it was a journey only made under the greatest of needs. She knew the risks it posed not only for her, but for her kingdom back home. She was grateful for those brave enough to accompany her into the depths of the woods and beyond, unaware of the dangers lurking around every corner, and behind every tree.

The surrounding woods on either side of the path seemed unusually quiet; ominous, even.

An anxious feeling gnawed at her stomach yet she continued on until she reached a clearing suitable enough to set up camp for the night, seeing as they’d overstayed their warm welcome in Lunden and had travelled too far to return home.

Upon entering the clearing she felt compelled to stop in her tracks, tugging at the reins for her anxious steed to halt; he paced uneasily in a tight circle and refused to stand still. Her breath, in white plumes before her chapped lips, hung low the atmosphere before evaporating into the damp air.

“Easy, now. Easy.”

She cooed and leaned forward to rub its arched neck. With her eyes squeezed shut she exhaled slowly. Her hands began to tremble just as she swore she felt the heat of a thousand eyes burning into her.

Ever so methodically, with utmost caution, she reached over her left shoulder and withdrew her sword, now grasping it tightly in front of her. The hilt was bound with soft, black leather; the pommel decorated with a beautiful red stone similar to that of Uhtred Ragnarsson’s sword.

She paused and waited. Each breath she drew was slow and deliberate as she tried to remain calm and steady her heartbeat.

The sound of her men’s footfalls fell silent; not a single voice was to be heard. Alas, she could no longer see the orange flames of their torches from beyond the trees. It was as if they were never there at all, causing her to fear the worst.

How could they have fallen so far behind without me knowing?

Surely they would be fine without me if something were to happen...

All that could be heard was the sudden rustling of bushes and swirling of leaves overhead. A outcry of crows fleeing from the trees and soaring in to the night startled her upright as she watched them black out the moon.

Chills erupted from beneath her skin, traveling along the lengths of her arms and down her spine. She could hear the pulsing thud of her heart once more in her ears and feel every individual hair on her body prickle. Her breathing started to hitch and her chest tightened. She slowly turned her horse on its heels, panning around the area for any signs of life.

Something was off.

The air was still; heavy. She knew in that moment something had gone terribly wrong - and she wasn’t alone. She called out the names of her men - one by one - and when an unfamiliar voice replied she knew what fate had in store for them.

Out sprang a dozen or so Danes from beyond the bushes, wielding swords, axes, shields and other harsh weaponry. Her horse began to spook, rearing on its hind legs as the Danes drew nearer.

She was completely surrounded.

Their faces seemed to blur as she searched for a way out; a possible gap in the tight-knit circle of heathens closing in. Everywhere she looked she was staring into the tips of sharpened arrows ready for fire - all steadily aimed at her head in case she tried to flee.

There were flashes of metal swords reflecting the moonlight and burning torches all around; ferocious voices shouted threats and profanities at her as she began to lose control of her horse completely.

You’ll be alright. Breathe. Focus.

She swung her sword down at any Danes who dared come too close, though often met blades of their own and withdrew when she saw the chance.

“What do you want with me?” She cried out, as her horse reared once more towards a handful of gnarly Danes, striking one square in the chest and nearly kicking another in his stomach.

Others were laughing and cracking jokes amongst themselves, marveling in the joy of capturing someone - let alone a woman.

Seeing as no one was ready to talk, she pressed firmly, “We mean you no harm, I swear it.” She then found herself in a rushed panic, glancing all around her for some way out; some remedy to her troubles.

There were still no signs of her men.

“We were simply passing by on our travels. Nothing more.”

There was an uproar of hearty laughter. A short, rounded Dane came forward, wielding a worn axe in one hand that he gripped so tightly his knuckles had peaked white not unlike some snowy mountaintops. His hair, twisted and knotted into rows of golden braids upon his head draped down his back and swayed against his leather armor with each step. His curly beard was a wiry, unkempt bush showcasing two small horns woven into strands of silver growing from his chin. His eyes - a striking hue of emerald green - widened with bewilderment at the sight of the valiant Saxon woman riding before him.

“Your men…” he paused, “they will not survive their journey.” A subtle grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he slowly drew out his words; his eyes seemed to glow eerily in contrast to the smudges of kohl around his lids.

Before she could react, a series of blood curdling screams rang out from beyond the tree line. She craned her neck to face the darkness behind her, imagining the gruesome horrors occurring in her absence though she wasn’t sure if there was anything she could have done. Their cries of terror echoed throughout the night and pained every inch of her being knowing she could’ve prevented their deaths had she led them down another path.

Her entire body shuttered as she fought a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. “I led good men to a slaughter.” She gasped, feeling tears strain in the back of her throat and guilt burning a hole into her conscience. “No… no t-this can’t be.”

“Where are you headed, woman?” The blonde Dane grumbled, the stylized mustache upon his lip dancing with each word.

“Mercia.” She croaked dryly. “We were to set up camp for the night, here in this clearing, and be on our way by sunrise. I had not realized we were in Daneland, I should have known better.” She cursed herself and lowered her sword as a sign of good faith, though the surrounding Danes took that as a sign of weakness and exchanged sly glances with each other.

They realized that things were heading in the right direction and according to plan.

“Now that we have cleared things up, I shall be on my way-“

Hæsten wasted no time in silencing the woman with the subtle raise of his hand. “When our scouts spotted a lady warrior in sparse company, well… I had to see for myself.” Hæsten took a step closer to get a better look. “…and I like what I see.”

“You’re a damned pig of a man-“

“-Hæsten.” He interrupted with a satirical bow and a glint of mischief in his eyes which caught her timid gaze. “You may call me Hæsten.”

“I shall not.” She spat bitterly.

“You know...” The blonde Dane began, “it’s dangerous for a woman to be alone in the woods….” He cocked his head to the side and smirked at a fellow Dane, before circling around her like a hungry lion stalking its prey; enjoying the game and anticipating victory. Once again her steed began to snort and pace uneasily. It anxiously pulled the reins through her fingers and stomped at the dirt.

Danes began to close in and the realization hit that she wasn’t going anywhere freely - or at all.

“I wasn’t alone until you ambushed my-“ She fumed, only to be startled mid sentence, “H-hey!”

Hæsten, losing all patience, had taken firm hold of her reins from the ground and another Dane had grabbed onto her ankle in an attempt to pull her off. Kicking him away in his jaw, she ceded all control over her horse which repeatedly tried to rear or flip over backwards as a way to escape Hæsten’s grip. It raised its head violently in the air - tearing not only the leather reins but the entire bridle free from its head.

A banshee’s shriek erupted from within her steed as if to signal her demise; the beginning of the end. Hot clouds of steam engulfed her body as she was completely thrown off balance.

Before she knew it she was airborne, suddenly feeling a sense of calm and weightlessness despite the chaos breaking out around her. Time slowed to a halt before reality struck - and it struck rather painfully. She was thrown onto the ground, a sharp pain scorching throughout her back as she groaned and writhed in agony.

She watched as the underbelly of her steed passed her over and revealed a distorted version of the night sky. She fought to keep her eyes open out of fear they may never reopen. For a moment she forgot where she was and what had happened, until she found the strength to sit upright and shake it off. She had no choice but to blink away the dizziness and subside the ringing in her ears.

Then she remembered everything.

She scrambled for her sword which had fallen mere inches away from where she landed and gripped it tightly as a form of reassurance.

“Enough!” She shouted windedly, struggling for a moment to rise to her feet. Adrenaline coursed through her veins thus numbing the pain from her fall. Despite the female warrior’s fury and sudden outcry, Hæsten continued towards her.

He was caught off guard by the feeling of a sharp, metal tip pressed into his throat. “I said that’s enough.” She growled, feeling a cold droplet of sweat run down the side of her face. “Don’t move.”

The world fell silent at her feet. No one moved as instructed; all voices ceased as the Danes found themselves holding onto their weapons a bit tighter than before. They hadn’t expected that of her and were apprehensive towards her capabilities.

They readied themselves to intervene at any moment.

“Here is how we will settle this.” She announced warily, not wanting to overstep any fragile boundaries. “If I defeat you,” She narrowed her eyes at the round Dane, “Hæsten, I go free.” A low murmur rumbled throughout the clearing. Hæsten shook his head with a chuckle of amusement, wholeheartedly believing such a thing couldn’t possibly happen. “But if I lose,” the lady warrior continued with a nervous gulp and stabbed her sword straight down into the dirt, “Then I shall go with you, willingly, as a hostage.” With both hands now raised, a spark ignited within the barbaric Danes who cried for the battle to begin.

There shall be bloodshed.

She could hear Hæsten’s name being chanted melodiously as if he’d already won; as if she absolutely stood no chance against him. Little did they know that she had been trained by the best in all of Wessex.

The sound of swords banging into shields and the stomping of heavy boots against the ground made it clear that the time to act was now. Hæsten raised his axe to the mighty gods above and roared at the top of his lungs, swearing victory and riches for all after she is defeated, captured, and ultimately sold for ransom or to a slaver.

This was her only chance of survival. She’d ran out of options and seeing as she was outnumbered and frankly, already in their possession, she had nothing to lose.

The Saxon warrior hastily retrieved her sword from the barren earth as Hæsten traded his axe for a blade alike hers.

“Have we reached an agreement?” Now finding her voice and inner strength, she readjusted her grip and whispered a quiet prayer.

Hæseten nodded once with a primal grunt, showing off for his fellow Danes before turning to face the courageous Saxon once more. “We have.”

“Okay Steapa.” She whispered beneath her breath and quickly braced herself for impact. “Let’s see how much I’ve learned.”

In a matter of moments the two lunged forth, the sound of metal upon metal clashing seemed to rattle every surrounding tree, and every Dane to their core. Haesten showed no signs of going easy on the lady warrior after realizing she was far stronger than she looked.

“We can stop this now,” she panted only a few minutes in, ducking below Hæsten’s swinging blade. Her eyes widened at the loud whoosh that barely grazed the top of her head.

That was too close for her liking.

“Unless… you plan to kill me?” She teased lightly with a grunt, deflecting Hæsten’s sword once more, and using her upper body strength to push him back; his blade had come within inches of her nose before she’d done so.

Again, that was way too close for her liking.

“Saxon bitch!” Hæsten roared out of frustration after seeing she’d managed to counter all of his attacks and hold her own against him. He began to question whether or not he’d grown weaker, or perhaps he’d met his match once and for all.

The two danced around the circle as if it had been a choreographed performance. Periodically she was able to slice his forearm or lower leg while remaining unscathed herself. Her blows were swift and calculated like a venomous snake striking its next meal.

She moved swiftly; light on her toes and agile with each move. As time progressed she felt herself slowing down from fatigue and hunger. Hæsten, on the other hand, was fully rested and fed - as well as increasingly hostile by the minute. He had more to prove than she; for only her life was on the line, not family honor, pride, or reputation.

There was no way he was losing to a woman.

In a moment of weakness Hæsten knocked the sword from her grasp with his own and the woods erupted into fits of hysteria. As she stumbled backwards, he strode towards her and kicked her square in the stomach which sent her back a few feet until she landed in the dirt. She could feel rocks and twigs clawing into her skin but forced herself to ignore the pain.

With a heavy groan she laid there for a moment, wheezing and applying pressure to her aching ribs. She then began to gurgle on blood which she coughed up to the side. Hæsten appeared in her peripheral vision, causing her to scramble backwards on her elbows until her back bumped into the legs of a snaggle-toothed Dane. He lifted her from behind by her armpits and threw her back into the circle where she fell to her hands and knees.

Her arms began to quiver and threaten to give beneath her weight. She gagged and heaved over streams of crimson blood oozing from her mouth, slowly dripping down the length of her chin and into the puddles already soaking into the ground.

“You’re a si-“ she choked, “sick bastard!”

“You do not know when to give up, do you?” Hæsten shook his head with a scoff of disbelief, showing off by twirling his sword between his fingers and around his wrist.

He practically skipped over to her like a jolly elf of sorts, making a show out of his conquest, and delivered a swift kick to her stomach once more, causing her to flip onto her back like a fish out of water.

Crack!

The sound of her ribs breaking made even the toughest of Danes there visibly cringe.

She cried in agony, pleading for the blonde to show mercy and accept his victory. Fighting for air as blood consumed her entirety, she managed to dispel most of it over shoulder and in between uncomfortable groans.

“Where is your God now?” Hæsten mocked, kicking her in the side of her head as he strutted past her form lying in the dirt.

“Slit her throat!” An older Dane demanded, causing Hæsten to grin from ear to ear. He’d already planned to do so, though after he was completely finished with her. Killing her now would be too soon for his liking. Besides, where’s the fun in that? “Kill that Saxon bitch!”

“N-no… don’t.” She choked on her words, fighting back not only blood but a distraught sob brewing in her throat.

The shouting of triumphant Danes all around her faded into a muffled silence. Exhaustion had taken firm hold her conscience. Her body felt as if it had been dragged to Hell and back. Her pounding head was a cloudy mess, and her spirit had been greatly damaged though not beyond repair.

He’s trying to kill me.

Summoning all of her remaining strength, ever so gradually, she rolled onto her hands and knees and picked up her sword. Once on her feet she swayed unsteadily on her heels. Her left hand remained a constant upon her tender ribs.

She could hear various gasps from Danes gaping in bewilderment at the sight before them. “No! Impossible!” Hæsten shouted, fuming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “Why won’t you just give up?!”

“Well,” She panted with a weak puff to blow strands of hair from her eyes. She found herself resting upon her sword for balance as her wobbly knees began to buckle, “Glory or Valhalla, right?” As she raised her sword towards his chest one last time, shaking, she couldn’t help but hiss in pain.

Then her arm fell limp to her side as she felt the ground beneath her boots rumble with the sound of thundering hoofbeats nearby.

Hæsten quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “Have you-“

It was as if the earth had come alive at the right time and began to shift beneath the weight of their swords.

Saxons? She wondered. Please let it be Saxons.

Where light met dark, Danes parted ways to reveal a monstrous figure emerging from beyond the shadows like an angel of death. A sleek black steed clad in heavy armor gave a deafening neigh, seeming to have emerged from the fiery depths of Hell, thus leading her to wonder who so valiantly rode upon its back.

Soon the lady warrior would come to learn that he was the living embodiment of the heathen spirit. Fearless. Brutal. Driven.

Glancing around her, not a single Dane dared to move or speak. Some even opted to take a knee out of respect for their presumed leader. He seemed to strike fear of the gods within their damned souls with his mere presence alone - and that frightened her.

“Dear god.” She gasped, making out the man before her to be the bane of all evils.

Hæsten’s chest rose and fell drastically with each breath he took. He seemed to sheepishly back away from the circle as if he feared being caught for doing something wrong. The unknown Dane immediately dismounted his steed, landing with a heavy thud. He then strode towards the Saxon before him.

When he stepped out of the darkness and into the moonlight she audibly gasped at his primitive ferocity. Never before had she seen a man of his nature. He was the epitome of childhood nightmares; the type of monster mothers told their children about at night to scare them out of their bad behavior.

In stark contrast to Hæsten he was a tall, brawny Dane who willed the strength and courage of the gods. His jet black hair was as sleek as a raven’s feathers, though shaved at the sides and bound by a single braid wrapped in coils of leather down the middle of his head. His beard was far shorter than Hæsten’s. It was black as night and drawn into two parts with a silver ring on each like the devil’s own beard. Below furrowed, stern brows were a pair of brown eyes encompassed by dark smudges of kohl. Upon his forehead was a deep scar to remind him of a past victory, she was sure of it. His teeth, sharp and dagger-like, were made visible as he drew his lips into a wicked grin.

His broad chest displayed layers of leather and metal armor, and around his waist hung a sword that nearly reached the ground. Though the most startling thing she noticed, after granting herself permission to stare, was the fact that his right hand had been entirely replaced by a small sword.

Her mind had a funny way of imagining things; potential scenarios as to how he could have lost it. The fearsome warmonger had a tendency of acting first and thinking later… which ultimately resulted in the loss of his hand not long before tonight.

“What do you know of Valhalla, woman?” His deep, powerful voice thundered throughout the entire woods.

“I know that if you come any closer, I shall send you there myself.” She cautioned with her sword held out painstakingly in front of her. She then peered over her shoulder towards the blonde Dane who’d caused her such discomfort, “Right after Hæsten.”  

The dark haired Dane chuckled lowly, shortly followed by his loyal followers who did the same.

“You are broken… yet you refuse to surrender?” A puzzled look had bestowed upon his face, replacing his once menacing expression. He struggled to understand the disarrayed woman stained in red. “Why?”

“You may break every last bone in my body, but you shall never break my spirit.”

He quirked a dark brow and recalled hearing a Dane recite similar words before.  

“I am a warrior at heart. I will keep fighting until my last dying breath.” She shuffled closer, now aiming her blade at his stomach. Her voice had dissipated to a faint whisper only loud enough for him to hear. “…which may be sooner than I’d hoped.”

For a brief moment their eyes met and she watched his expression soften ever so slightly. It was almost as if he understood, or perhaps respected to some degree, her will to live though it went against everything he stood for.

“I fear Hæsten has already killed me… though there is something I must do.”

The Dane’s full attention fell low to her blood stained hand pressed against her ribs. He doubted her ability to continue though was eager, in a selfish way, to see her in action once more… even if it resulted in her death. In battle she was mesmerizing to watch - like a seductive flame dancing in the breeze - that he couldn’t pry his eyes away from. How strange a sight, he thought, to see a Saxon woman wield the strength of a Dane.

His face was tinged with discomfort. He seemed to feel a bit uneasy, though would never admit it, at the alluring woman mangled and broken before him. She was the enemy, yes, but she was different. He couldn’t wrap his mind around her and that bothered him greatly.

Who was she?

Aside from her exceptional swordsmanship it baffled the Dane leader how little she feared him, or how well she was able to mask said fear.

A woman who is fearless is a woman capable of anything. That alone was enough for him to be weary of her intentions, especially after everything she’d been through. With a forced, throaty grunt he nodded, dismissing the lady warrior to fulfill her last quest. “Very well.” He pursed his lips and stepped aside. A small part of him dreaded what was to inevitably become of her. One thing was for certain: he would never allow himself to forget her fortitude and undeniable bravery. Images of her fighting Hæsten would forever be ingrained in his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman - neither Saxon nor Dane - had impressed him as much as she had. The grace in which she wielded her sword, and the eloquence of her movements captivated him in a way he’d longed to feel for ages.

There was something about her he couldn’t let go of; something he wouldn’t dare let slip away at the hands of Hæsten. She was everything he’d dreamt of finding in a woman - her only flaw being the Saxon blood running through her veins. Distracted, he became lost in his head at the thought of running his fingers through her dark, cascading ringlets of hair. He imagined what it would have felt like to caress the fair skin upon her cheeks, or plant a kiss upon her soft, plump lips - and to have her reciprocate his feelings. He could imagine them fighting side by side; warriors by day, lovers by night.

Sure, Sigefrid has his choice of any woman back at Beamfleot - whores, slaves - but they were all the same to him. He wanted her.

No; Sigefrid needed her.

But as soon as that realization hit he feared he was too late. By the time he looked up to see the damage that had been done, to his utter surprise, Hæsten had been pinned by his wrists - one appearing to be broken - and with a knee pressed into his stomach. His bloodied clothes were tattered and shredded to pieces.

Sigefrid let out a breathy laugh of relief; his eyes lighting up and dazzling beneath the night sky. He grinned from ear to ear and pushed his way through the Danes that stood before him. A rush of hope and giddiness surged through his body as he realized she wasn’t done for.

From atop of Hæsten she reached into his pocket and withdrew a knife. Before she could use it on his throat, as she’d planned to, something pierced through her right shoulder causing her to drop the knife and yelp like a wounded animal caught in a trap. A hot, thick stream of blood began to pour down her arm as her entire body trembled.

She could feel herself going into shock.

She could hardly breathe let alone react properly. There, as clear as day, was a crooked arrow protruding from her shoulder.

“Y-you cheating bastard!”

“NO!” Sigefrid roared and rushed towards her, stopping briefly to slit the throat of the archer who fired the arrow with his hand-blade.

Everyone gasped at Sigefrid’s sudden outburst though it was nothing new or unusual - just unexpected.

“You knew this was coming.” Hæsten sneered, lifting his head from the ground and crawling out from beneath her. He rose to his feet and lifted her chin with his dirty fingers to look her in the eyes though her gaze fell elsewhere. She was a bloody, filthy, sobbing mess being held together by his hand. “Such a shame.” He frowned, “You were a pretty one.”

“Please don’t…..kill me.” She croaked, slowly wrapping her fingers around the splintering arrow. “P-please.” She gurgled on blood which erupted from the corners of her lips like a volcano. “Please!” She sobbed. “You cheating pig!” She shrieked though Hæsten’s fingers slipped from beneath her chin. He had disappeared behind Sigefrid’s towering form. She’d hardly blinked before Sigefrid’s fist pummeled into the side of Hæsten’s face. As the round Dane fell to the ground she noticed he was out cold - if not dead - and all it took was one hit.

Why would Sigefrid punish him so? How could he chose her over his own man?

“No one is to lie a hand upon this woman.” Sigefrid pointed down at her with his hand-blade. “No one. Not a hand, or I will personally cut it off and beat you with it.”

She was starting to dissociate from reality as everything began to fade into black. She fought her hardest to stay awake to hear what was going on but it was no use. Sigefrid slid down on one knee and caught her before she toppled over. He cupped her face with his rough, calloused hand and frantically shook her awake, resting the back of her neck in the crook of his other elbow - minding his blade.

“No! Damn you!” He growled, seeing as his attempt to bring her back had failed. “Damn you woman! Open your eyes!”

Her breathing grew fainter and fainter. The sound of his voice had muffled and her eyes were sealed shut. Sigefrid, frightened by the idea of losing her, took a firm hold of the arrow in her shoulder. With a swift tugging motion he jerked it free from her shoulder and tossed it aside, frowning when her body didn’t reacted in the slightest from the pain it should have caused her. She still didn’t wake up.

He felt himself running out of options as he watched her head roll around his arm. Her chest ever so faintly rose and fell, giving him hope the hope he needed to keep trying.

Everyone watched in awe as their Lord fought to save her life. Never before has he shown such empathy towards another - perhaps not even towards his own brother Erik. There was something about the fair skinned woman that beckoned for him to save her. It was almost as if the gods themselves had began to root for her survival, acting through Sigefrid to ensure it happened.

Hæsten, regaining consciousness, stumbled his way over towards his Lord. Her body fell completely limp in Sigefrid’s arms as he held her close, looking down upon what could have been his future; and a glorious future at that.

“She’s dying, Sigefrid.” Hæsten muttered, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest for what he’d done, especially after seeing how deeply it affected him. “She is a Saxon, Lord.”

“I…don’t…care.” Sigefrid snarled, craning his neck to glare at the blonde Dane before turning to face her again. “Who is she?”

“Lord, she-“

“I will not ask again.” Sidefrid shouted impatiently and rested the back of her head upon his knee. “Tell me. Now.”

“She is King Alfred’s eldest daughter - Blædswith - Lord. She serves Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

Such a name was poison upon his tongue.

Sigefrid scowled bitterly and felt his stump of a hand ache beneath its barbaric contraption of wood and weaponry.

“Uhtred Ragnarrson.” His words were low and drawn out as he recalled the man behind the name whose face repeatedly haunted him at night. “That explains it.”

Allowing for his head to drop between his shoulders, dangerously close to her face though his eyes were closed, Sigefrid sighed heavily and realized what he had to do. He felt defeated; deflated, even.

He should have known that she was simply too good to be true. A mere trick from the gods above dangled before him; unattainable. Perhaps was a test of his loyalty — and he nearly failed.

Alfred’s daughter was the physical embodiment of his deepest, darkest desires - yet the thought of her now sickened him; pained him. He couldn’t keep her name out of his head even if he’d tried.

“She is a princess.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Sigefrid’s eyes shot open after feeling her stir in his arms and regain consciousness. When her crystal blue eyes reopened they immediately met his, which seemed to be mixed with loathing, sadness, and genuine worry. She didn’t scream nor try to push him away; she didn’t feel in any imminent danger despite who he was.

Dazed and disoriented, Alfred’s daughter was like a newborn baby seeing the world for the first time.

“Sigefrid?” She moaned ever so faintly, reciting the last thing she heard before everything went black. The name was familiar to her; she’d heard her father discussing matters regarding the bloodthirsty Thurgilson brothers - Erik and Sigefrid - and how big of a threat they were to the crown. Erik was known to the the more thoughtful, less violent one of the two. Sigefrid - the one holding her in his arms - was infamous for being a brutal terror of villages and ravanger of women.

Yet, she wasn’t afraid.

For reasons unknown to her, Lady Blædswith had become an exception to his cruel ways... at least for now.

Her hand steadily crawled towards her arrow wound and stopped in disbelief. “It’s gone? You… saved my life? M-my father will… he will hear of this. Of you, Sigefrid.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Hæsten teased and Sigefrid brushed him off. “And when he does he is sure to pay rather handsomely.”

Sigefrid stood tall and lifted the princess with him. Taking her left hand firmly in his, he raised it to the skies evoking his fellow Danes to cheer.

“This here,” He began, “Is the daughter of King Alfred! Defeated; weakened. Ours for the taking!” In one swift movement Sigefrid swept her off her feet and hoisted her onto his valorous steed. Once situated behind her, he wrapped an around around her waist from behind and held on tightly to her slender frame. He would ensure there was no way she was escaping his grasp, for she was far too valuable.

“That hurts.” Lady Blædswith winced, “Sigefrid.”

He repositioned his blade-clad arm so they were both comfortable. As their bodies molded together beneath the stars she couldn’t help but feel safe for the time being. Surely nothing bad could happen to her whilst on horseback.

Sigefrid had done her no harm though she feared what he intended to do with her once they arrived at their destination.

Once all of the Danes were mounted and ready, Sigefrid led the way into the unknown territory of Daneland.

“Lady Blædswith, you will be our path to glory!”

____________________ ➴  ____________________

“Where are you taking me?” The princess questioned softly whilst leaning into his chest. The two swayed back and forth, left and right, with the rhythm in which his steed walked, occasionally passing through creeks or rounding steep corners.

She could feel the warmth of his breath down the back of her neck though it didn’t bother her in the slightest; she had bigger things to worry about. If anything, it was as if it comforted her and served as a reminder that she wasn’t alone against Hæsten.

Sigefrid pressed his lips into the back of her hair and replied, “Beamfleot. Have you heard of it?” She nodded her head against his lips and he grinned. “What have you heard of my brother and I?” Though his eyes rested on the trail ahead of him, his full attention had fallen elsewhere.

“Terrible things.” She replied shyly and felt Sigefrid’s chest rumble with laughter. “I’m serious.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You are power hungry. You thrive o-on chaos and war, and leave a trail of bodies behind wherever you go.”

Sigefrid chuckled darkly, “Well, that is all true.”

“Even women and children.” Lady Blædswith added. “Is that true?”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “If it was... would you then fear me, princess?”

“No.” She could feel her body surrendering to the sound of his voice and the heat of his touch. “I do not believe you to be as they say.”

Lady Blædswith turned in the saddle as far as she could to look at him, and hadn’t realized how close their faces were until their noses almost brushed against each other. Her cheeks burned a bright pink from their shared moment of near intimacy. For fear of giving him the wrong impression she turned back around and clutched the horse’s mane, twisting it between her fingers.

“After everything that has happened… you still think greatly of me.” He became fixated on the Saxon princess, no longer watching where he travelled.

“Greatly is a stretch, however you did spare my life. That must count for something?”

Sigefrid rolled his eyes. “You believe me to be good.” A hint of amusement tugged at his words at the mere thought of being the man she’d hoped for. “Do you not?” He hummed

“I-I would like to. Make me a believer.”

And so he would.

_______________________________________________

A/N: This was so much fun to write, I look forward to the next chapters ;) I’m new to writing on tumblr so all reblogs and shared are appreciated!

Inspired by: @finantheagile and @inforapound, you two are such talented writers!

TLK fans who may be interested:

@cheapcakeripper @wildwren @metall-and-dust @onesaltyhunter xx

Special thank you to @wessexcrown for helping me with ideas for this fanfic along the way!! Feel free to ask to be added to my tag list xx

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 13: Three’s A Crowd

hey just a PSA that since i’ve fallen behind (this chapter is ridiculously late) i’m going to take a short break from posting for a while to work on building up a buffer! (join our discord and bug me to write pls)

summary Fahjoth is hopeful that tensions between Julan and Ribyna will settle, but their animosity risks a guild assignment going pear-shaped.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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He stood quietly awaiting a response after rapping his knuckles on the door, but only a heavy silence greeted him. Frowning, Fahjoth tried again, a little more forcefully this time. This was the right room, wasn’t it? 

The third knock finally yielded a result. From within the room came a low, long groan, and Fahjoth took that as his cue to open the door a sliver and peer inside. 

“Rise and shine,” he called, trying to hold back a grin at the state his friend was in. Julan was slouched on the bed, fully clothed and burying his face in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh… fantastic,” came Julan’s gruff response. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“You’re the one who kept asking for more! Want me to stop you next time?” 

“Yes.” Julan paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sheogorath, it feels like my head’s about to explode…”

Fahjoth chuckled, pushing the door open a little more to step inside. “Are you up for training today? Or d’you need some time to, uh… recover?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Julan insisted, hauling himself to his feet and staggering slightly on the spot as he fought to balance himself. “So how come you’re looking so fresh this early?”

“Early?” Fahjoth repeated. “Mate, it’s gone midday.”

“It has?” Julan squinted at Fahjoth as he rubbed his head. “Gods… alright, there’s no time to waste then. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could do something a bit more practical today,” Fahjoth started. “How d’you fancy taking out a bandit leader?”

“Bandits? Sure.” 

With no sign of Cosades to be seen that morning, Fahjoth had stopped by the Fighters Guild to find something, anything to keep him busy and to keep the gold coming in. While the prospect of facing an entire gang of bandits by himself was daunting, he was a little more confident that he and Julan would be able to deal with it together. And having Ribyna tag along couldn’t hurt, although he hoped that she and Julan would be able to put their differences aside for the time being.

Julan continued to chatter as he sat back down again to pull on his boots. “D’you do this sort of thing regularly?”

“Sort of.” Fahjoth leaned against the doorframe, waiting and watching idly. “I’ve done a few jobs for the Fighters Guild to earn a bit more gold. Nothing this big before, mind.”

“The Fighters Guild? You’ve never mentioned that. Fighters… they’re alright, I guess.” Julan suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “Hey, have you ever seen a Nord hit himself in the face with his own hammer?”

“No?”

Julan sighed, a grin growing on his face. “Well, me neither, but I live in hope.” He stood up and approached the doorway, patting Fahjoth on the shoulder as he reached him. “After you.”

Fahjoth laughed as he headed out of the cornerclub, feeling an odd excitement begin to quiver somewhere in his gut. Or was that nervousness? Whatever it was, the feeling intensified as he stepped outside and came face-to-face with his twin, who was leaning against the wall and looking bored stiff as she waited for them. 

“About fucking time,” Ribyna muttered, and as Julan stepped out after him, Fahjoth heard him falter. His good mood instantly took a nosedive; he had been hopeful for a few more moments of peace at least before the hostilities began again. 

“Are you still up for coming with us to Suran, Beebs?” Fahjoth asked, in an attempt to ease the tension. 

“Why the fuck else d’you think I’d be stood here like a lemon waiting for you?” She jerked her head towards Julan. “The question is whether drunk tank here can cope with it.”

Julan frowned. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure about that? You got pretty hammered last night.” Ribyna’s voice was casual, but the glare she fixed Julan with was hard and cold. “You almost drank a hole in Fahji’s coin purse.”

“What does that even—” 

“Guys!” Fahjoth said abruptly, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Better to nip this in the bud before it became blown out of proportion. “Let’s get going, shall we? It’s a fair way to Suran. It’d be nice to get there before it gets dark.”

Neither Ribyna nor Julan continued to bicker, but the scathing looks they shot at each other instead left Fahjoth’s nerves shot. Julan’s eyes eventually met Fahjoth’s own and he began to look quite guilty. 

“Sorry, Fahjoth,” Julan said. “Go ahead.” 

Fahjoth flashed Julan a small smile of appreciation before setting off out of town. The balmy afternoon sun warming the top of his head offered little comfort as he dreaded having to break up fight after fight between his two companions, an outcome that was looking more likely by the minute. 

                   ——————————————

The journey to Suran passed mostly in a very strained silence. Fahjoth would make conversation with Julan or with Ribyna, but never both at the same time, as they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether he preferred that over the snide comments and defensive retorts. 

His contact in Suran, Serjo Avon Oran, resided in what was possibly the grandest house Fahjoth had ever set foot in. Delicate steps and care to avoid breaking or dirtying anything led the three to Oran; on speaking to him, Fahjoth learned that the bandits were occupying a cave among the hills to the northeast. 

“Be careful,” Oran had cautioned. “Nasty piece of work, those bandits. But take out their leader, Daldur Sarys, and the rest should scatter. Good luck.” 

With this advice in mind, Fahjoth was thoughtful as they exited Oran Manor and stepped out into the cool Suran evening. 

“I felt so weird being in a house like that,” Julan remarked. “I was expecting someone to yell at me for trailing muck all over their floor…” 

“You know, you were trailing a lot more than muck in there,” Ribyna replied. She sniffed, looking down at Julan’s boots. “Is that guar shit?” 

A momentary flash of alarm crossed Julan’s face and he hastily lifted up his foot to check the underside of his shoe, only to scowl as Ribyna in turn cackled like a hyena. 

“Don’t listen to her, she’s winding you up,” Fahjoth said with a sigh. “Right, well, if you’re done, shall we get going? We’re losing daylight. Unless we got a room for the night and headed out first thing.” 

“Oh no, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to!” Ribyna insisted, already turning on her heel and strolling out under the town’s entrance archway. “We’re going. What are you? Men or scribs?” 

“You know that shit doesn’t work on me!” Fahjoth called, but nonetheless he followed suit, glancing back to ensure that Julan was following. 

“Well, come on then! You and Guar-Boy better get a move on, or those bandits will have died of old age by the time we get there.” 

Fahjoth said nothing, merely trotted along in Ribyna’s wake with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Likewise, Julan was quiet, but when Fahjoth risked a peek back at him, he caught him furiously mouthing “Guar-Boy?!” under his breath. 

The road to Saturan was pleasantly empty. With the shadows cast by the sun growing as it sank behind the hills, plunging them into the bitterly chilly shade, Fahjoth was grateful that they encountered no trouble along the way. 

By the time they located Saturan, dusk had come and gone, leaving only clear dark skies glittering with distant stars overhead. Fahjoth shivered as he stared at the cave entrance, the dilapidated wooden door concealing the unknown that lay within. He took a few cautious steps closer and gently pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges emitted a slight, shrill creak. The inside of the cave stretched further in than Fahjoth could see, its earthy tunnels lit by bracketed torches propped up on long iron poles jutting up from the ground. 

The entrance cave meandered on for a short distance, descending deeper into the hill until opening up into a much larger cavern. The path was supplemented by a rough wooden boardwalk, its far end strewn with crates and candles and a ladder leading down to the lower levels. Fahjoth scuttled along, taking care not to hit his head on the low-hanging stalactites until he reached the crates, and beckoned Julan and Ribyna along behind him as he tucked himself behind one. Here, they looked down upon the lower boardwalk, where a few others paced back and forth, carrying boxes and sacks of loot back and forth. Fahjoth’s gaze was fixed down below, but he heard Ribyna and Julan settling down and crouching on either side. 

“So, these must be the bandits,” Julan whispered. “Have you got a plan?” 

“Sort of,” Fahjoth answered. “We need to get to the leader, somehow. Daldur Sarys. If we can take him out with a sneak attack, the rest should scatter like Oran said.”

“Right! So… how do we get to Sarys? Which one is Sarys, anyway?”

Fahjoth paused, frowning as he stared down at the bandit activity below. Truthfully, it was impossible to know exactly who their target was; all they could do was hope to hear his name brought up in conversation and go from there. But how long could they stay put, before someone discovered them and raised the alarm? 

As Fahjoth pondered this rather pressing dilemma, he became aware of a soft rustling and clinking coming from his left. He glanced over, his heart beginning to hammer as he watched Ribyna idly rummaging through one of the crates. 

“Oh hey, look!” She held up what seemed to be a bottle of sujamma, admiring it in the soft orange light of a nearby candle. “There’s loads of this shit in here! We won’t have to buy drinks for like, a week with this lot.” 

Like Fahjoth, Julan’s agitation was evident. 

“Put that down, they’ll hear you!” he hissed, lunging for the bottle. Though he made contact, Ribyna refused to relinquish it, keeping a firm grip on it herself. 

“Piss off, Guar-Boy, get your own!” 

“I’m not trying to steal it, you s’wit!”

“Oh yeah, right-o! I bet you’d be happy to guzzle this whole crate by yourself, you fucking alchie!” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Let go—!” 

With one sharp tug from Julan, the bottle was wrenched from Ribyna’s grip. But Julan, not expecting Ribyna to let go, toppled back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. His elbow struck the wood and the bottle was flung from his grasp, sailing over the side of the boardwalk and crashing against the wooden deck below, shattering on impact and splattering its sweet, frothy innards in a graceful explosion of liquor. 

“Shit—!”

Fahjoth ducked back behind the crates, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible as he reached out towards Julan and hauled him back to safety as soon as he felt their hands meet. As the three huddled together, their breathing laboured with the effort of remaining as silent as possible, Fahjoth strained his ears to listen. 

It was quiet. Far too quiet. The sounds of activity below ceased entirely as all bandits froze in their tracks. 

“What the hell?” 

Over the sound of Fahjoth’s own rapid heartbeat reverberating in his head, he listened to the soft creaking of the wooden planks beneath the bandits’ cautious feet becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. They couldn’t remain there for much longer. 

“Fahjoth,” Julan whispered, “we have to do something.” He paused to listen for a moment before continuing with the same hushed urgency, “If we all rush out at the same time, maybe we can catch them off-guard.”

“Yeah. It’s our best chance,” Fahjoth agreed. “Alright... ready? One... two... three!”

Julan led the assault. He vaulted down the steps and engaged with the first bandit, an Orc who was unlucky enough to be standing closest. As Fahjoth followed suit, from his periphery he saw Ribyna leap over the crates and land on the lower boardwalk where she lunged at the closest bandit. The force from her collision knocked them both clean off the edge, causing a loud squelch as they landed in the muck beneath. 

Fahjoth drew his weapon as he charged forward and the Redguard bandit in front of him scrambled back for distance, reaching for his own axe. But Fahjoth was faster, and the Redguard hollered as his hand was struck with Fahjoth’s sword, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his knuckles. With the blade sailing ever closer, the Redguard threw up both hands in an act of surrender. 

“I yield!” he cried, and Fahjoth ceased his attack. There was no way he could kill a surrendering man... But his sword hand did not waver, and after a second he spoke the first thing that came to mind. 

“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, his voice heavy with threat. “Your group’s done. Get out.”

The Redguard needed no encouragement. Edging around Fahjoth’s sword, he broke into a sprint up the steps and fled, his footsteps echoing down the cavern until the creaking of the door in the distance announced his departure. 

As he caught his breath, Fahjoth glanced around to see how his companions were faring. His eyes fell on Julan; his sword was slick with blood and his opponent had dropped twitching to the ground, and a surge of admiration welled up in Fahjoth’s chest. He opened his mouth to call over to him, but the air froze in his chest as a shadow caught his eye. 

A hunched figure crept closer to Julan, the glint of a blade flashing in the candlelight as it was drawn from its sheath. 

“Julan!” Fahjoth yelled, kicking off into a mad dash back up the boardwalk to his friend. The figure, a Dunmer, recognising that his cover had been blown, fully brandished his weapon and rushed towards Julan as well. As Julan raised his own sword, Fahjoth caught up with the bandit and threw himself legs-first at the bandit’s ankles. 

A burning pain radiated out from his shin as the bandit’s foot collided with it. Fahjoth skidded to the ground, but his effort had been enough. The Dunmer, tripped up by Fahjoth’s sliding tackle, stumbled forward — and directly into range of Julan’s shortsword. Julan lunged, impaling the bandit clean through the neck. With blood dribbling from his gurgling mouth, the bandit crumpled to his knees, and after a hard kick to the chest from Julan, he dropped to the ground and fell still. 

With his leg throbbing, Fahjoth struggled to get his feet, but Julan was quick to approach and offer a hand which he gladly accepted. But before he could say his thanks, footsteps at the end of the cavern alerted them to the arrival of two more Dunmer. 

One of them, donning thick chitin armour, stared at the scene in shock before his angular features twisted with rage. 

“You’ll regret killing my people, you n’wah!” he hissed, drawing a glimmering sword as he stepped closer. Behind him, the second Dunmer — donning the elegant robes of a mage — raised his hands as he prepared a blistering fiery spell. Julan prepared his own spell in retaliation, but before the mage could attack, a dark figure on the ground beneath the boardwalk suddenly lunged at his legs. 

The mage howled as Ribyna plunged her dagger into his knee, and as he was rendered lame and unbalanced, she grabbed his robes and dragged him down to the ground with her. The head bandit  — Daldur Sarys — snapped his head around in alarm, and Fahjoth took his opportunity. 

He struck at Sarys with his sword, but Sarys faced him in time to block it with his own, the hilt vibrating in Fahjoth’s hand and the blades screeching as they clashed. As Fahjoth jumped back to avoid Sarys’ retaliation, Julan’s voice rang out from behind. 

“Fahjoth, get down!” 

Without hesitation, Fahjoth ducked. 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a crackling energy sailed overhead. He risked peering up in time to witness a bolt of electricity crashing down on Sarys. As the magic jolted through his body, he gave a choked gasp and stumbled back, and Fahjoth took his chance. He whacked at Sarys’ sword arm, and — as he drew a deep breath and steeled himself — slashed his blade across the bandit’s throat. 

With a deep laceration in his neck now gushing blood, Sarys began to stagger on the spot. A weak glow illuminated his hand as he tried desperately to heal himself, but the damage had already been done. Unable to breathe, and with his own blood generously painting both himself and the wooden planks beneath his feet, Sarys could only remain standing for a few seconds more before his legs gave way beneath him and, like the rest of his comrades, he collapsed. 

With the silence in the cavern now punctuated only by the sound of their ragged panting, Fahjoth turned to face Julan, taking deep breaths in an attempt to force his heart rate back to normal. The pain in his leg now pulsed much more noticeably than before. 

“I think that’s all of them,” he said, limping to meet Julan and weakly wiggling his sword to shake off the blood. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Julan answered. “What about you? Is your leg okay? That fall looked nasty.”

“It will be,” Fahjoth replied, but before he could continue, a noise behind them caused them both to whirl around in alarm. Fahjoth’s heart hammered again, but it calmed as soon as he realised it was just Ribyna, wearily clambering back up onto the boardwalk from the muddy cave floor beneath, splattered from head to foot with a grim combination of muck and blood. Fahjoth started towards her and offered a hand to help her up — which she ignored entirely. 

“Beebs! Are you alright—“ 

“No thanks to you.”

Fahjoth paused. “What d’you mean?“ She had since got to her feet, but as Fahjoth tried to reach out to her again, he faltered as she smacked his hand away. “Ribyna, what’s the matter?”

Ribyna didn’t answer. Instead she gave a derisive scoff, turning away from Fahjoth and making a half-hearted attempt to clean the grime off her leathers. Confusion gave way to a prickling anger as Fahjoth’s blood began to boil. 

Before he could stop himself, he had snapped back. 

“What exactly is your problem? I mean if it wasn’t for you fighting with Julan, none of this would have happened in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?!” 

Ribyna let out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right! Go on, blame me instead of your new best mate who can do no wrong!”

“What?” Fahjoth’s mouth dropped open as he stumbled over his words. “W— where’s this coming from?” 

“As if you need to ask! It’s like he’s the only one who matters now!”

From beside him, Fahjoth noticed Julan bristle and take a breath as he prepared his retort. Fahjoth held up a hand and shot him a pleading glance — a silent request to let him handle this situation, which Julan thankfully obliged. 

“Beebs, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Am I, though?! Ever since he joined us, you’ve been siding with him and defending him all the time!”

Fahjoth frowned, his frustration from Ribyna’s behaviour over the past few days finally bubbling over and spilling out. “Because you’ve been treating him like shit!”

“He treated us like shit, Fahjoth! Or have you forgotten already?!”

“I apologised for that,” Julan interjected with a frown. 

Glancing between Julan and Ribyna, Fahjoth nodded. “He did apologise for that, Beebs.”

Ribyna cackled again, a rough, unpleasant sound devoid of any mirth. “There, you’re doing it again! Well, d’you know what, I’m done. I’m fed up of you picking this random guar-fucker over your own fucking family.”

Fahjoth stepped back, Ribyna’s words hitting him like a punch to the face as a wave of unease washed over him. “But... I’m not—”

“Save it!”

She turned away, and Fahjoth’s stomach churned as he noticed an unmistakable dark red stain oozing from her hairline, just before her temple. 

“Ribyna? Did you— are you hurt?”

He stepped closer again and cautiously touched her shoulder, but another hard strike from Ribyna sent him recoiling instantly.

“Ribyna—!”

“Fuck you both. See you ‘round.” 

Ignoring Fahjoth’s cries, Ribyna wheeled around and stormed off with a distinct unsteadiness in her steps. His gut twisting and a cold sweat settling on his skin, Fahjoth continued to shout after his twin long after her angry footsteps had receded into silence. 

“Ribyna!” 

With nothing answering him but the gentle dripping of water from the cave roof, Fahjoth dropped his head into his hand and sighed. Things had been tense with Ribyna lately, but he hadn’t anticipated such a blow-out. He hadn’t realised she still held such a grudge for Julan’s attitude on their first encounter. Why couldn’t she have just talked to him about this? He was used to her stubborn reticence, but it was still incredibly frustrating. 

“I’m sorry.”

Fahjoth turned around. Julan was standing there, looking almost as wretched as Fahjoth felt. 

“What are you apologising for, mate?” 

Julan wrung his hands, dropping his gaze. “I just… I feel like this is all my fault.”

“Hey, don’t be daft!” Fahjoth took a few hasty steps forward until he was close enough to rest his hands on Julan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Ribyna is just…” He grimaced, shrugging as he wondered how best to explain. “She isn’t the easiest person in the world to get on with. She doesn’t really… make friends very easily.” 

“But my point still stands!” Julan protested. “Me being here is just causing you problems. You wouldn’t be fighting with your twin if it wasn’t for me.” 

Fahjoth scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We always squabble over… pretty much everything. But— look…” He gave Julan’s shoulders a squeeze and crouched the few inches necessary until they were at eye-level with each other, trying to convey his sincerity with a small smile. “I promised I’d help you train, and I’m sticking to that. Whether that’s with or without Ribyna. Okay?”

Julan managed a weak smile in return. “Okay.” 

“Anyway, you’re not just causing me problems!” Fahjoth continued. “Look at what we did today! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, mate.”

“You probably would have. But thanks.” Julan’s smile gradually became a grin. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Fahjoth’s smile widened. “Damn right we do!” Without thinking, he pulled Julan into an enthusiastic one-armed hug — only to panic as he realised what he’d done. Had he crossed a line? He didn’t know what Julan’s stance on physical contact was; what if he was offended?

“Sorry, I just—” he began babbling as he backed off, but Julan simply laughed and patted Fahjoth on the shoulder in return. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “So… shall we get going? I could kill for a mazte right now!”

Fahjoth raised a brow, glancing around at the bloodied heaps of bodies dotted around the cave. “I think we already did, mate.” He flashed Julan another grin and set off, limping out of the cave while frequently looking back to ensure that Julan was following. “I think we’ve more than earned that mazte.”

“Hah, you’re right.” He glanced down at Fahjoth’s leg, noticing his awkward gait. “Are you sure your leg’s alright?” 

“Oh, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fahjoth replied, waving Julan’s concern aside with an airy flick of his wrist. “It’s just a bit bruised, I think.” 

“As long as you’re sure. You know, that was an impressive tackle.” Julan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he trotted along beside Fahjoth. “I heard you letting one of them go.” 

Fahjoth faltered, his grin slipping away to a wry smile. “Yeah… he was yielding. I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone after they’d surrendered.” 

“You’ve got better morals than half of Morrowind then. At least.” For a moment, Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult, but Julan continued, “Oh, I’m not criticising! I think it’s nice. Just… be careful, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to you.” 

A curious feeling settled in Fahjoth’s stomach. He glanced at Julan, the earnesty on his face clear to see even in the low light of the nearby torch flames, and instantly Fahjoth felt a rush of gratitude and affection for his new friend. The idea that another person cared that much about him warmed him from the inside out, even as they stepped out into the chilly night air. 

“Cheers, mate,” he said, clapping Julan on the shoulder as another smile lifted his cheeks. “Let’s go tell Oran the good news, then go get those drinks.”

Julan grinned back, lightly bumping Fahjoth’s shoulder with his own. 

“Sounds good to me.”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 39 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 38 here. Part 40 here.

Summary: The WHO probably doesn't recommend you do any of these things while pregnant.

Words:  9900

Warnings: tw: graphic depictions of big time violence, both physical AND sexual, DUBIOUS consent, voyeurism

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hello, welcome back to my horror show! Hahaha.

Thank you very much for your patience in me waiting to get this chapter out. As you can tell, it is a beast. I genuinely hope you enjoyed it as apology for the long wait.

Cannot thank everyone's kindness and thoughtfulness enough. Your comments always, always brighten my day. I love y'all with my whole heart.

“So the plan is to flank them.”

“We’ll flank them here--Kuruk, Ap’lek, and you will take the east side. Cardo, Trudgen, and myself will take the west.”

“Where do we pull over, then? We won’t be able to get the Buzzard that close.”

The Night Buzzard was split into three sections--the front third was dedicated to food and supplies storage and an imitation of livable seating, the second third designated entirely for weaponry. The rear of the bus consisted of four stony, stripped bunks, beds in function only. 

The Knights Templar--save for one, who was driving--had spent the past hour out of the six-hour journey at the front. They crowded over a map, debating their strategy while you watched, perched on the tiny couch across from them. Your Commander loomed beside you, silent, the knife of his gaze occasionally slipping over you, so sharp it slit you through his mask. He had hardly spoken a word since you’d boarded; the quick, piercing glances were the only evidence you had that he remembered you were there--a feat while stuck in close proximity on an armored bus.

“A five-hundred foot perimeter is typical.”

“Five-hundred feet gives them too much opportunity. The Buzzard has jammers.”

“Jammers don’t mask the sound of the engine, ‘Shar.”

“All right then, Vic, but the more space we give them, the greater chance they have of escape.”

Kylo Ren turned to them. “The primary objective is to destroy the subversives. Flank the encampment, salvage what documentation you can, kill any that cross your path.” He paused. “Leave Pryde to me.”

His voice was cold, even through the modulation. You sulked into the corner of the couch, anxiety knitting in your chest. To be near your Commander brought you a sense of peace, but the unanswered question of your future--your child’s future--left you lurching. You longed for a moment, two moments alone with him, an opportunity to search his eyes and find liberty in his response. Perhaps in a hormonal, pregnant haze, you’d imagined it like a prophecy: his large hands, curling around yours, his lip trembling with fear, his silence a concession. And you’d imagined the words swirling into your ears, granting you everything you’d grown to need.

I’m choosing you, he’d breathe.We’re free.

But staring at him now, hidden under a helmet, armored, toting a rifle and pistol, you weren’t sure where the man in your prophecy might be. You weren’t sure if that particular man had ever existed at all. 

The bus shuddered, striking into rough terrain; beyond the tinted windows, you could make out a field blanched under the quarter-moon, wild maize exploding through the grasses. 

“We’re about half a mile out,” called the driver--Kuruk, you thought. 

At this, Kylo opened a cabinet and grabbed two devices--they beeped and hissed when he turned them on, and he fiddled with them both in a sort of calibration before crouching to be level with you. He pushed one into your hands, stowing the other one on his hip.

“This frequency is full-duplex. We will hear each other at all times. If someone unfamiliar to you even glances at the Night Buzzard, you will call for me.” He pinched your chin between leather fingers, angling your eyes into the void of his mask. “Do you understand?”

Your cheeks burned. You swallowed. “Yes, Commander.”

He huffed--static in the mask--and patted your cheek. “Good girl.”

As you blushed, he stood and crossed to the Knights. They steeped themselves in hushed discussion until the driver signaled their arrival. With a rumble, the Buzzard slowed, coasting to a stop behind a smattering of trees, and through the darkness, you could spy a collection of distant glowing lights, cold and artificial. One of the Knights murmured something about cutting a generator, and Kylo nodded. A brief, mustered agreement, and the doors opened, the soldiers filing out, leaving their leader behind. He turned to you a final time.

“The exterior is bulletproof. The door will lock.” His presence was heavy. You wished you could touch him. “At even a glance.”

“I know.” You gazed at the transceiver, its power light blinking like a heartbeat. “I will.”

Kylo held you under his stare for a lingering second before stomping down the steps and exiting the Buzzard. With everyone now gone, the air seemed stale. Empty. Sighing, you rose to your feet, dragging yourself to the driver’s seat and plopping into it, cradling the radio in your lap. The only noise filtering through the speaker was muffled static. 

Though you could only see from several hundred feet away, the camp seemed unassuming, composed of a couple dozen military vehicles and a bunch of pitched tents that appeared half-packed away. They’d said the encampment was moving tonight--the Buzzard’s dash read 10:42 PM. Bodies bustled under the lights, Angels in black uniforms and armed with rifles carting indiscernible armfuls to store them on trucks. You scanned the fields, searching for your Commander, but found nothing. Kylo Ren and his men had disintegrated into the dark. 

It started with a flicker--the camp’s lights fluttered like a flame--and a black veil swallowed the outer ring of the perimeter. The men in your sight seemed confused, not concerned, spinning to examine the issue, creeping forward. And then one dropped with a crack, the items in his arms tumbling free, his body folding into itself as it hit the ground. With firecracker panic, the camp erupted, soldiers revealing their rifles and whirling in sloppy formation, only to watch other comrades smack the dirt, shot dead in random, bloody heaps. 

A coordinated effort was abandoned, and the Angels scattered, rifled roaches under dying halogen lights. But their attempts to hide were futile--the second they found shelter, another layer of lighting winked out, and they scuttled to the center, shooting volleys of gunfire in no particular direction. It was only then you caught them--the Knights, cutting through the camp like raven razors, collapsing tents and impaling bodies as they passed. A pair was back to back, twirling as one clotheslined two Angels and the other emptied a clip into an approaching squad. A third covered those two, winding around them and unleashing a full automatic round into the camp. 

Then a sharp bang, white fire--you winced--the men in the camp stiffening in temporary paralysis. In their stupor, the other three Knights descended, sharks consuming a helpless meal, rending their prey into paper shreds. One Knight slit a man’s face from ear to ear, a crest of blood in the dirt, and twisted his knife into the back of his mouth. The man screamed into the sky, so loud you heard it from the Buzzard, and then through the transceiver, followed by echoes of furious voices demanding order in new, terrible chaos. 

The horror picked up the pace of your heart--this was different than the times you’d watched Kylo. Their savagery was almost sadistic; a thought confirmed when two Knights paused their spree to watch an Angel wriggle like a split worm, kicking him as his blood clumped mud under his chest.  You swallowed, tearing your eyes away as another section of lights died, plunging the entire camp into darkness. Shouting choruses of strained voices ripped through the radio, the only sign of activity the sparks of muzzle fire and shifting shadows under the moon.

Staccato pops pierced the speaker, and you jumped, focus darting between the device and the absolute nothing you could see beyond the bus. And then a voice, familiar--the man you remembered as Pryde.

“Took you long enough, Ren.” Another round of gunshots. “Three weeks to pin us down?”

Two shots, louder, closer. “Easier to find rats when they have nowhere to hide.”

“You’re willing to bet on that.” A single pop.

“Betting implies faith in the outcome.” A pause. “I don’t have faith. I have knowledge.” 

A cacophony of shots staticked the speaker, and you clapped your hands over your mouth, silencing your squeals. You glanced out the window, still seeing nothing but the twinkles of the Knights’ massacre. Like dust, the exchange settled, someone panting over the channel. From the clarity of breath, it didn’t sound like Kylo.

“Impossible,” said Pryde. “There are cells that you can’t possibly--won’t possibly ever know about.”

“You’re willing to bet on that.”

Something crossed through a shaft of starlight, moving toward the Buzzard. You blinked, inching toward the dashboard. It was difficult to see in the darkness.

“You pushed Gilead too far.”

“I’m improving it.”

“Your improvements are borderline treason.”

“You’re heading a coup.”

Explosions of noise through the radio, a growling scrape--your throat tightened. The shadow was definitely human. It was definitely coming closer. Running.

You grabbed the transceiver, holding it to your mouth. “Um. Commander?”

The only response was static, a party of bullets through the speaker. Fear stabbed your chest, your pulse in your ears.

“It will never be treason to restore Gilead to God’s word.” Another crackle. “I’m righting your mistakes.” More gunfire. “This isn’t a coup, it’s retribution.”

“Commander,” you said, a little louder. “Sir.”

“You’ll need the support of the Council.”

It was an Angel. He was rushing the Buzzard with something, some sort of bag in his hand. It looked, maybe, wiry. It looked, in your mind, like a bomb. 

Your heart careened--why wasn’t he listening, why wasn’t he answering--and you fumbled the radio, sending it tumbling onto the floor of the bus and under your feet. The light stopped blinking. 

“Fuck.” You tried to kick it toward you, managing only to knock it under the seat. “Fuck! Kylo! Kylo!” 

Of course, there was no response.

“You think you have the support of the Council? You’re no Snoke. You never will be.”

You scrambled to the floor, knees scratching metal. Reached for the transceiver.

“I killed Snoke.” A clatter of metal--you snagged the device and flung it toward you. “This is my destiny.”

Turning it on, you screeched, “Kylo please there’s someone running with a bag please help!”

The sound of a gunshot. An inhuman snarl. And the radio went dead. 

“Kylo?” you said. “Commander? Sir?”

A shriek of fire erupted in the camp, spewing dirt and smoke into the air, and you screamed, shouting nonsense into the transceiver, as if this would summon him to your side. The explosion guttered in seconds, flames trickling to death, fog fading. There was no sign of the Knights. Or your Commander.

Your heart thudded. Something could’ve happened to him. He could be dead. But there was no time to process or consider it. You were alone in the Buzzard. With the Angel only coming closer. One hundred possibilities reeled through your mind--he could be escaping, defecting, taking this chance to denounce his chains--yet the only one you could consider was the one that involved him blowing you and the bus to whichever afterlife actually existed. Running wasn’t an option, if he did blow up the bus, with you being in the middle of nowhere and with no places to hide. There was only one other choice. Before anything and everything else, you needed to survive. 

Steeling your jaw, you scrambled toward the second third of the bus, threw open the weaponry cabinets and stared at the assembly of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and other deathbringers. There was no leisure to figure out how to use a new type of gun--you barely knew how to use one. You snatched a pistol, testing its weight in your palm before fussing to find the safety. Your fingers found the magazine release instead--it popped out, revealing a full clip, and you silently thanked whatever divine being allowed that to happen, because there was no way you would’ve checked to see if the stupid thing had bullets. The safety was already disengaged.  Swallowing, you wiped your palms on your robe and tramped to the exit, chin quaking while you flipped the lock and opened the door. 

The summer air stuffed your lungs, and you wheezed through it, stumbling into the dirt. Holding your breath, you sidled up to the Buzzard, spying the Angel sprinting through the grass. Your hands shook, stomach churned. There was no way you’d nail this shot. Unfortunately, you had to try.

Teeth gnashing, you tugged back the slide and raised your arms, elbows locked, fixing the sight of the pistol on the shifting shade. To account for delay, you led the barrel in front of his path, following him for one second, and two. You pulled the trigger.

Rattled by force, the bullet went wide, whizzing into space, and you gulped, watching as the Angel paused, searching for its origin. You hunted for oxygen, but the air was thick, ears shrill with terror. Adrenaline drunk, you threw your arms forward, aiming again. Fuck it. He still wasn’t moving. This time, you wouldn’t miss. 

Lip curling, you fired, wrists flung back, and the Angel yelped, dropping a knee. You had only seconds to celebrate before he turned straight toward you, and your blood froze. He struggled to his feet, hand moving at his waist--you panted, unable to stop the rapid vibration wracking your joints as you tried to aim again. In a zombie shuffle, he leveled his own pistol and sent off a shot, pinging the steel next to your head.

“Fuck!” 

You clung to the side of the Buzzard, heaving now, clenching the gun in your hands. You wanted to get it together. He still had that bag in his arms, and now he knew you were here. You needed to get it together. With his injury, he was holding his gun one-handed--the recoil recovery would be your chance. Every pulse of your heart clouded your sight--you drew in a slow, deep inhale through your nose, ignoring the flighty feather of thought in the back of your mind:

Where the hell was your Commander?

Shaking it off, you adjusted your grasp and spun the corner, moving to aim--another shot glanced off the bus, and you shrieked, falling to your knees. Growling, fight-or-flight flaring, you tracked the Angel, determined to win, and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. 

“What the fuck,” you said, and smacked the gun, like this would help. You tried to shoot again, but nothing. “What the fuck!”

Your failure was the Angel’s opportunity--you glanced up, his arm already raised. 

Pop.

Wincing, you waited for the pain. But none came. You blinked, peering into the grasses, and spotted the Angel, crumpled to the ground. 

Commander Kylo Ren broke through the night, a cyclone through the fields--relief flooded you, fleeing your lungs--he was alive. He was here. And he was charging you like a tank.

“Kylo,” you breathed, and clambered to your feet, pulling your lips in over your teeth. But he didn’t respond. Your fight-or-flight stalled in his approach. 

Palms wet, your grip slipped and the gun smacked the dirt, shooting a round into the grass. You flinched, neck hot, made to grab it, but before you could reach, a gloved hand gnarled your hair and whipped you back, hauling you onto the Buzzard.

You yipped in pain. “Kylo!” Tugging at his fingers, you tried to pry free as he yanked you up the steps, but he tightened his grip, wrenching you forward and tossing you onto the couch. “Will you--”

His mask snapped with static--he seized your face, pinching your cheeks. “You seem to have a penchant for bullets,” he said. “If you’re so interested, I’ll put another one in you myself.”

You glared at him, pushing him off. “Are you kidding?” you said. “I thought he had a bomb!”

Kylo grabbed your face again. “He was carrying documents. And your solution was to begin a shooting match.”

“Who cares?” you spat. “You’re the one who didn’t respond to the radio!”

He growled. “You may care little for your own life, but you are--” 

In the distance, tires squealed, a vehicle spinning into the field--his head snapped toward the front, and he pushed you free, striding to the driver’s seat.

Without a word, he revved the engine and threw it into gear, slamming on the gas and peeling through the grass, speeding in the other vehicle’s direction. You jolted with the terrain, seeking purchase on the couch, but he jerked the shift into low gear, motor wailing as he plowed through the plains. Thrown forward, you grappled with the table across from you, peering through the windshield, watching Kylo barrel into the night.

You knew that he was in pursuit of Pryde. But your conversation didn’t feel finished. In the back of your mind, alarms blared: evidence, evidence of your inevitable fate. The man in your prophecy was a stranger. The one in your reality hadn’t come when you’d called him. He seemed reluctant to choose you at all.

The Buzzard roared, its acceleration impressive for its size, chasing the speeding sedan, catching its rear in its headlights. Focused, Kylo shoved the gearshift forward, and the engine howled, flinging you back to the couch with a yelp.

“Stop moving.”

You frowned. “It’s not like there are seatbelts back here.” 

The sedan cut to the left, zooming toward a highway, and Kylo growled. “Get up here.”

Gripping the sides of the aisle, you pulled yourself toward the driver’s seat, and when you met the back of the chair, Kylo reached around, wound an arm around your waist, and dragged you on his lap. You squeaked--before you could adjust, he hit the brakes and jerked the wheel; the Buzzard whined, teetering in protest, and Kylo tugged you to his frame, shifting under you to keep you both from hitting the floor. 

Your face burned--despite your frustration with him, he was large and warm underneath you, his  chest steady at your back. Swallowing, you grabbed his thighs, hoping to steady yourself, and if he noticed, he didn’t care, letting you cling while he focused on the hunt. The sedan bumbled across pavement, sliced through the highway, back into the fields--Kylo smashed the gas, and the Buzzard flew over the asphalt with a smack, bouncing you on his lap, sending heat to your cheeks. The distance from his prey was negligible, now; the car was some type of black Volkswagen, the license plate glinting in the glare of headlights.

Kylo stiffened and lowered the window, buffeting you with gusts of syrupy air, and grabbed your hands, tacking them to the wheel. “Steer.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait--”

He brandished his pistol and stretched out--you jostled over his thighs--lining up a shot as you bore down on the car. Gritting your teeth, you kept the Buzzard straight as it rumbled over the dirt, and he tensed, firing two shots, blowing out his target’s rear tires. The Volkswagen whirled, a tornado in the grass spiraling toward you, set to collide with your front-end; you thought to do nothing else but swerve and spin the wheel. The sharp curve pitched the bus off of its side, and you cursed, the both of you thrown toward the steps. 

A strong arm barred your waist, catching you and wresting you back, and a leather hand encompassed yours--Kylo slammed the brakes, righting the tires as the bus screeched to a stop feet away from the car, rocking you both into the driver’s side, his hold buffering you from injury. You panted, face and flesh hot, head airy; in the grass, Pryde scrambled from the Volkwagen into blinding light, a crimson streak through his scalp. He ducked, took cover behind his car and drew his pistol, lodging two shots in the windshield. You yelped--there was no chance to speak before Kylo pushed you off, his own pistol in hand as he shouldered his way through the bus door and into the glow of the Buzzard’s headlamps.

Pop, pop--the fire stalled your Commander’s advance, and he shielded himself with the bus’s body. Emblazoned with righteous furor, Pryde shot again, burying a bullet in the frame.

“You’re an idiot, Ren. You’ll do this forever. I won’t be the last.” From your height, you could see Pryde fussing with something. He must not have known you were there. “As long as you go against God’s plan, you’ll never win.”

Then he tossed whatever was in his hand, covering his eyes--a stabbing flash eclipsed your sight, its detonation drowning your ears, and you gasped, seething, curling at the waist. When the noise died, you groaned, rubbing the artifacts from your vision, peering into the field. In the seconds you’d been stymied, Pryde had disappeared. Your Commander shot into the car--nothing--and crept through the grass, head on a swivel.

Spits of gunfire from the driver’s side of the Buzzard, and Kylo juked back, landing them on opposite sides of the bus in a stand-off. You chewed your lip. Pryde definitely didn’t know you were there. And there was still a cache of guns in the cabinets. Turning, you snuck through the aisle--but when you reached the storage, a hail of bullets crackled from the Buzzard’s rear. Despite being inside, you bowed, heart in your stomach, pulse pounding with fear. You needed to keep going.

Swallowing, you threw open the door to the cache, plucking another pistol from its hook. You remembered your near-follies earlier: magazine, check. Safety, check. Slide pulled back, check. More sweat on your palms. Cursing to yourself, you wiped them on your robes again, shuffling to the front--and then another blast, another searing light. You hissed, knees buckling, gunshots echoing through your ringing ears. A grunt escaped you, your jaw tense, and you shook off the pain, forcing yourself to look through the windshield. Your eyes adjusted, unfuzzing, just in time to see Enric Pryde raise his gun and shoot your Commander twice in the chest.

It happened in split seconds. Kylo staggered, impact hampered by his bulletproof vest, his gun falling into the grass; you trapped a scream, your muscles burst with adrenaline. Bungling the pistol in your grip, you scaled the driver’s seat, blood soaring, brain baffled--you were doing this again you were seriously doing this again--and leaned out the window. Pryde approached, raised his weapon, training it on Kylo, and in that instant, your mind cleared, annoyance and worry and terror swallowed with rage, all of it coalescing into a single, solitary thought:

That’s my child’s father, asshole.

You steadied your arms, pulled the trigger--your ears trilled, elbows bowed--and Pryde howled, knee slamming the dirt. Pinching your lips together, you fought the urge to tremble, preparing to shoot again, but Kylo had already recovered. He lunged, tackling Pryde to ground, the other man’s pistol sailing into the air and disappearing into the dark. 

Pryde twisted underneath your Commander’s weight, trying and failing to throw him off. “God doesn’t make exceptions, Ren!” Kylo clocked him in the jaw, and he choked, sputtered. “Gilead will never accept you making a whore your--”

Kylo’s fist clobbered his face, striking him over and over and over, blood spewing from his mouth, his nose, over his chin. You couldn’t sit down, something strange tingling your neck under the knowledge that the mention of you made him snap: a sick glimmer of affection, of hope. A disgusting delusion that, perhaps, he really could choose you. Bone cracked, Pryde’s cheek collapsed, and Kylo stopped, heaving, arm reeled back.

The older man wheezed, skull pulverized to a mess of meat. “Go ahead and kill me, Ren. But there’s no such thing as destiny. The longer you try to fight God’s design, the greater you’ll lose.”

“Interesting theory. But God doesn’t design Gilead.” Kylo glanced at you, still bent out of the Buzzard. Your heart fluttered--without him having to say it, you knew what he was asking. With an underhand, you lobbed him the gun, and he snatched it from the air, jammed it against Pryde’s broken chin. “I do.”

Pryde gagged, red drool dribbling from his lips. “You’re the devil.” 

“Yes.” Kylo’s voice was mechanized malevolence. “I am.”

Pop. Blood spattered his visor, Pryde’s head lolled in the grass. At the same time you exhaled, slumping into the driver’s seat, your Commander’s shoulders bunched, then fell. He hung there, hovering over his victim. Silent, he stared for a moment before he rose, pistol in hold, and crossed to the bus.

You should have felt relief as the door opened and he stepped onto the Buzzard--his enemies vanquished, a victorious soldier, your body the spoils--but when he towered over you, your ribcage constricted with dread. Pryde’s words looped through your mind.

You’ll do this forever. I won’t be the last. The longer you try to fight... the greater you’ll lose.

They nagged you, clawed at the wrinkles of your brain. Because despite their origin, you knew--despite not wanting to know--that they were very, unfortunately, true. And if you knew that, then part of Kylo had to know that, too. Part of him had to know how shallow this victory was.

He flicked a switch on the dashboard, and picked up a wired transmitter, spinning a knob until static fizzed from the Buzzard’s radio. “Target eliminated,” he said, and reported a pair of coordinates. “Your status.”

Another voice came through the speaker--one of the Knights. “Documentation obtained. Encampment neutralized. En route shortly.”

Without a word, he flicked the switch and replaced the transmitter. 

“Um. So.” Shifting in the seat, you gazed at him, seeking his eyes through the visor. “Will this ever stop?”

A tired hm was all he offered.

You sighed, pulling the robe closed over your chest. “I mean, will you always be fighting just so we can be together?”

He stood, solid, staring. Or not staring. It was too difficult to tell. Either way, he said nothing.

“I know that’s what you want.” You shrugged. It was easier to look at him when you didn’t know if he was looking back. “For us to be together. But this isn’t going to work.” 

His head tilted a single millimeter. “Work.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“If this is what it’s going to be, then it won’t work.” The words hung, heavy in the air, and you paused, waiting for his response. You received none. So you continued. “There’s another way, though.” Leveling him with your gaze, you held your breath. “We can just leave.” 

Kylo snorted, turning into the aisle. “We don’t need to leave.”

“We do.” You shook your head. “He’s right, Kylo.” You crossed your arms. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. You have to realize that you can’t make this perfect. It’s broken.”

“Of course it is.” He returned the pistol to the weapons rack. “It’s broken because I’m not finished.”

You frowned. “Well, it really doesn’t matter what you do,” you replied, “if it involves Gilead at all, then I don’t want it.”

He spun on his heel. “You don’t want it?” he asked, voice rising. “Is this not enough?”

Raising a brow, you caught a laugh in your chest. “Of course it’s not enough! How could it be? I told you--I’ll always want more.”

“More? More than what?” Kylo stalked through the aisle, heel-ball-toe. “Haven’t I kept you safe?” He was a black condor, cornering you in the driver’s seat. “Fucked you well?”

Heat seared your face. “It was because of you that I was in danger anyway!” Shaking your head again, you allowed your chest to puff out in indignance. “None of it is enough when you’re free, and I’m not.”

“No,” he said, “you were in danger because of imperfection. People assigned to the wrong roles. People failing to fulfill the roles they were meant to fill.” He edged closer. “Freedom is inconsequential under perfect design.”

“Your design is bullshit, your roles are bullshit!” You jumped to your feet, bumping his breast, and his shoulders tensed--but you ignored it, and pushed past him into the aisle. “As long as you try to force things on people, they’ll never be happy.” Flustered, you gestured toward him. “Hell, you’re not even happy! I know you aren’t!” 

The prophecy seemed distant and comical, now. But the inevitability of this reality was almost too painful to admit--the fact that despite your pregnancy, he was still unwilling to forgo his stance. The facts were that you would never be with Kylo Ren, he would never know his child, you would never be allowed to have him, and he would never understand your needs. 

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of nevers welled in your throat, flooded your eyes, nevers that never should have been, and nevers that never would be. Never whispering his name, never waking up in his arms, never seeing him cradle his child, and never falling asleep next to him in a future where he was your home and your family, a future where you would feel his lips on yours, naked in your shared bed, feeling safe, feeling secure, feeling loved. 

Your throat was tight. “I’m… I’m pregnant, Kylo. I don’t want to raise my child in a world where it can’t know choice. I don’t want to fulfill whatever you believe my role is!” Scanning him, you stiffened your jaw, and his fists tightened, his leather gloves squelched. “I want to be with you. I do. But it can’t be like this.” Steel sharpened your tone. “As long as you have Gilead, you’ll never have me.”

You pivoted, stepping toward the back of the bus--but a leather-bound hand grasped your neck and whipped you back, curled you against his chest, a metal muzzle at your face. Frowning, you squirmed, and he halted you with ease, subsuming you in his strength.

“That’s where you’re mistaken.” The sound coming from the mask was not one you recognized. “I already have you.” His free hand skated down your stomach. “I’ve already won.”

“Get off of me, Kylo.” You moved again, but he shook you in his hold.

“You said it yourself,” he replied. “You wanted this. You wanted my child.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Your skin tingled from his proximity, from the electric silk in his voice. “You have my body. That doesn’t mean you have my mind.”

“So you say. Yet you pulled a gun on Pryde. You helped me end his life.” He huffed, a human rumble in his throat. “Who would do that other than someone who wanted what I wanted, too?” 

You tried to shake your head, stuck in his grasp. “I don’t want what you want.” Something flickered low in your abdomen. “I don’t want to fulfill a role.”

Kylo shifted, his hand sliding from your neck into your hair, coiling around it. “You already are fulfilling your role.” Every word forced you to resist the urge to whimper. “You want to be mine. And you want it so badly that you’re willing to forsake everything to have it.”

Shame streaked through you, hotter than hell itself, and you cried out, shoving him back, only for him to grapple you and flatten you along the pantry chest first, smothering you, stoking horrified heat under your flesh. He wrenched your arm behind your back with ease, his boots framing your feet, his hips pinning your backside. 

“Don’t deny it,” he said. “You know I’m right.”

“No.” Most of you was sure he wasn’t right. But the tiny twinkle that shivered at the thought of forever being his, no matter the cost, agreed. Your chin trembled. “You’re wrong.”

Another rumble, deep in his chest. “Am I?” His pelvis pressed against you. “You’re willing to deceive Johana. Manipulate the Resistance.” One hand wagged your scalp, the other holding your hip as you wiggled under him. “You’re willing to watch others die. You’re even willing to kill.”

“Stop.” You panted, hating the rush of excitement to your thighs, hating that his words were making sense. “That’s not--that’s not how it is.” 

“But this is how it works.” A slow exhale left him. “Neither of us have ever had choices. You realize that, now. This is who we’re meant to be.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.” Kylo’s fingers dug into your hip. “You’re meant to be mine. And I’m meant to own you, to own all of this.” He inhaled, the noise hollow in his helmet. “You’re never escaping me.” His weight compressed you along the cabinet, shortened your breath. “And I’m never letting you leave.” 

Terror exploded into wrath. It couldn’t be true. “No!” You writhed underneath him, but he weighed on you like a boulder. “Fuck! Get off of me!”

A low, quiet noise of amusement knocked in his throat. “Poor thing. You want to avoid it. But this is what you want.”

“No, it’s not!” 

“It is.” He nuzzled his helmet against your head. “You’re as much me as you ever were. The only difference…” He hummed, hand at your hip massaging the flesh. “I admit who I am.” 

Desire thickened your throat, your heart crumpled in despair. How dare he, how dare he make you believe he cared for you--then reveal it was a ploy to land you exactly where he’d wanted. And nothing he said had been wrong. Despite your best intentions, your earnest efforts, there was still no one’s life you cared to save--outside of your own--other than his. You tried to steady your lungs, ignoring the rising urge to have him even closer.

“I know who you are,” you said. “I know you’re better than this.”

“You do?” Kylo Ren snickered. “You’re mistaken, angel. Didn’t you hear what he said?” His muzzle, cold carbon, met your ear. “I’m the devil.”

A surge of lust swirled in your belly, and you screamed, thrashing, trying to throw him off. He ceded an inch, and you shouldered him back, only for him to wrap his hand around your throat and spin you, back smacking the cabinet. One arm framed your head, the other driving into your chest, and you swallowed against him. Scowling, you stared into the empty facade of his mask. 

Even in his assuredness, you would never tell him how deep you’d fallen--it was the final thing he couldn’t take. After all, every other line you’d meant to draw had long been washed by the waves of your selfish hunger. Hunger that, even in this moment, barked with greed. 

His mask tilted, dipping over your figure--your robe was askew, revealing half of your breast, your stomach peeking through the gap--and his grip on your neck tightened, fuzzing your pulse. Your knees weakened, even as you hoped to raze him to the floor with your eyes. Kylo huffed with restrained excitement.

“Mm. You’re trembling.” His thumb stroked your wild heartbeat. “You’re hot.” 

“Fuck you,” you said. “You’re disgusting.”

“Perhaps I am.” The hand above your head slipped under your robe, leather skimming your skin. “But we both know how you love to revel in filth.”

Air caught in your chest--this bastard--you rolled your tongue in your mouth, jaw tense, and you sucked in a breath, spitting a fat glob straight onto his mask. 

Kylo hissed, lifting you by the neck until your feet dangled, slamming your skull into the cabinet. You grunted, digging the heels of your palms into his shoulders, kicking his stomach--but he was a mountain, immune to your timid storm. His sheer size neutralized your effort, and he leaned close, flattening you along the pantry, paralyzing your limbs.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he purred, deadly soft in the mask, “you’ll clean that up.”

Hunger wasn’t barking, now. It was howling. And you wanted to stoke its appetite. 

“You’re right,” you replied. “How rude of me.” 

Smirking, you gathered another wad of spit at the top of your palate--and after a long, obvious scrape of your throat, you hocked it at his eyes.

Hurled through the air, you crashed into the aisle, feeling footsteps quake the floor. You spun onto your ass, scurrying backwards on your palms, Kylo chasing you in long, livid strides. You heaved, heart pounding, crawling until your back connected with a metal frame. One of the beds. Before you could think to dodge, he ripped you up by your hair and onto your knees, slapping you hard across the face. 

“Nasty little bitch.” His grip curled at your scalp, his other hand groping his now-obvious arousal. “You must have forgotten what your mouth is for.”

You sneered. “I’m fairly certain it’s for cursing you.”

White pain whacked your cheek, and he shook you back to reality, your vision swimming. He’d undone his belt, and pulled free his angry, erect cock. “Drop your jaw, little bird,” he murmured. “Before I break it off.”

When you hesitated, Kylo drove his thumb into your mouth and hooked it behind your teeth, tugging it down to receive his length. You stared at him, contempt simmering in your eyes, exhilaration careening through your blood. Of course you were infuriated with him, but this only seemed to incense your passion, rather than dampen it--perhaps, in that way, you were like him, too. As his cock slipped over your tongue, you let loose a soft moan, and he released you, allowing you to seal your lips around his thick, heavy shaft. 

Both hands shot into your hair, holding you still while he rocked into your mouth, and you hummed, gazing into his visor, wondering what he looked like behind the mask. Your tongue pressed to the underside of his dick, earning a growl from his chest, and he jerked your neck back, sliding in deeper. 

“Use your hands,” he said. “Unless you want me to fuck your throat.”

You rolled your eyes--but encircled the base anyway, struggling to fully wrap around his girth. Groaning, your lids fluttered while you drooled onto him, slicking your saliva down his length, bobbing your head while you struggled to keep your attention trained on his face. His cock filled your mouth, the tip poking your soft palate, and you sucked, revealing in his sharp intake of air as you tightened your grip. Even if you never did this again, having him in your mouth was a feeling you’d take to your grave--the hot silk skin at your lips, the pulsing on your tongue, the sore stretch to your jaw--all of it made you throb, made you ache for more.

“Mm, that’s right.” He adjusted his grasp, urging you back and forth on his cock, making you gag. “Much better than hearing you speak.”

Narrowing your lids, you pulled your lips back, letting your teeth catch on his shaft--Kylo grunted and jerked out of you, backhanding you in the jaw. You wailed, your sight spun with pain, but your cunt was soaked, dripping and clenching with your escalating need. 

“Fuck y--” you began, before he yanked your head back and shoved his dick down your throat. 

You retched, choked, vision flooding with tears, but with him handling your hair like reins, he trapped you there, your mouth a helpless hole for him to fuck. He snapped his hips, his dick bulging in your neck, his breath labored with the pace of his thrusts. Sweat spilled down your back, and you retched again as his cock twitched on your tongue, cranked your jaw wide, plunged in and out of your throat. 

“You pretend to fight.” The words were husky under modulation. “But you love it. You’re a slut for my cock.”

Under the noise of your groaned assent, you heard it: beyond the perimeter of the Buzzard, an unmuffled motor, advancing fast. The Knights had arrived. A thrill lit up your spine; perhaps it was the anger with your Commander--a spiteful need to make him jealous--or the fact you were more aroused than you’d been in weeks, but the thought of being caught by them, just like this, flashed fire at your neck and between your legs. You whimpered with anticipation. 

But if Kylo had noticed, he didn’t seem to care--he clutched your head, reveling in the wet warmth of your throat as you swallowed around him. Voices echoed in the stark night air outside of the bus, growing closer, and you imagined them seeing you as they walked in fresh from battle: a moaning, wanton whore on her knees, sucking their leader’s cock. 

It was too much--your fingers dipped between your legs, and you teased your clit, sobbing in pleasure. Your Commander growled and pulled out, tucking himself away, and you sputtered, both hands bracing the floor while you gulped down oxygen. 

“Dirty fucking slut.” He crouched, elbows on his knees, and grabbed your face. “You want them to watch me fuck you.” His thumb traced your swollen lower lip. “Don’t you?” 

The doors to the bus opened. And your smirk drew up in a sneer. 

“If you think you can handle other men looking at your property.”

Kylo Ren seized you by your hair again. “I can do more than handle it.” Standing, he hoisted you to your feet. “I’ll order it.” He tossed you into the aisle with such force that you stumbled, knees scraping the floor. 

The Knights ascended the steps, stopping mid-board. Humiliation scorched your nerves, you strangled a moan at the thought of how you must appear--robe splayed open to reveal your underwear, your face moist, hair mussed--and how obvious it would be to them what you’d just been doing. You swallowed your desire as the half that had climbed onto the bus now stood in silence observing you, a broken-wing bird, at the mercy of her ravenous Commander.

“Get on. Sit down.” Kylo’s voice was eerily calm behind you--the Knights filed in, stuffing themselves together around the tiny table and couch. “This is your entertainment, tonight.” His boots resonated with his approach. “If there’s even an inch of movement toward her, I will bleed you dry on the Buzzard and leave your body for worms.”

They nodded, but did not reply. 

“Now.” He wove his fingers through your hair again, and you winced, scalp tender. But he whirled you around anyway, shoving your nose into his crotch. His cock strained against his pants. “Where were we?”

You bit your lip, sliding your hands up his strong thighs. “I don’t remember, Commander.” What you were doing was incredibly devious, and certifiably insane. But the thought of embarrassing him in front of his men was a small salve on your fury. And the temptation of the consequences had your body demanding more. “It must not have been very... impressive.”

Kylo snarled and slammed your back to the weapon cabinet, grinding his covered cock into your face. “What was that?” he said. “Answer carefully.”

Heartbeat in your ears, you mouthed at the fabric of his pants, gazing at him. “I said,” you replied, nuzzling the bulge with your cheek, “that it must not have been very--” you dragged your tongue along the length, “--impressive.”

“Hm.” His hand drifted from your head to your throat. “That’s what I thought.” He clamped down, knocking your skull on the cabinet and compressing your artery, and you wheezed, pressing your thighs together. “Strip.”

You stared into his mask, blood beating at your temples--you wanted to speak, but found no words.

“Hurry,” he said, “before you pass out.” The pressure increased. “Or I’ll have to do it for you.”

Now woozy, the back of your brain dared you to let him do it, but you figured passing out wouldn’t be smart to do while pregnant (getting slapped, thrown, and choked, however, apparently fine). You shuffled your robe down your shoulders, vision blurring while you unlatched the hooks on your bra and shimmied it onto the floor. The last articles were your boots and underwear, which required you to wriggle in his hold, the movement eating the edges of your sight--and then they were gone, and he released you, waiting as you collapsed, naked, against the storage.

The Knights’ heads were aimed toward you--and to your surprise, at least two were already rubbing themselves through their pants. Your cunt pulsed. 

“Now.” A gloved hand slid into your hair again, leather tugging at the strands, while his other hand wrestled free his hard cock, the tip gleaming with pre-cum. “Where were we?”

He rammed into your mouth, and you shuddered, ignoring the urge to vomit, your delighted moans hiccuped by the vigor of his strokes. Drool doused your chin, coated your lips, and your bleary focus wandered to his soldiers, one of whom had leaned back, his chest rising, another palming himself faster. They were watching you, watching you get throat-fucked by the man who owned you, watching as you bloomed a film of sweat, watching as you loved it, your pleading, wretched face begging to be abused.

“See how badly they want you,” he muttered. “But you’re mine. It’s all--fuck--all for me…”

Another reminder--Kylo Ren was going to keep you, he did not want to let you go, and would never, ever see you as you saw him--but you ignored it, choosing to suffocate yourself in desire instead, to stave off this stupid fucking reality where you were a stupid fucking slave in stupid fucking love with her stupid fucking Commander.

Eager to dust away the cobwebs of your misery, your hand snuck between your legs, ghosting over your folds to tease your clit, and you groaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Kylo snickered.

“Look at you,” he said. “Such a whore for me. Willing to--to make yourself cum in front of a group of masked men.” He jammed his dick deep, pressing your nose to his pubic bone, and you flailed, choking on him. “Is that what you want, slut? For everyone to know what you look like when you cum?” 

You tried to nod, or to agree in any way--because yes, fuck yes, you wanted his men to watch you cum for him, to have them envy you and him and have them stroke their cocks and spill their seed while they dreamed of fucking your pussy and--

Perhaps pregnancy hormones were more powerful than you’d initially thought.

Kylo slipped out of you again, and you gasped, panting, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead, smearing the spit from your mouth. It had already dribbled onto your tits. Every part of your body felt swollen, and every part of your body wanted release. A leather finger tilted your chin toward his visor.

“Then we’ll make you cum.” 

He laid you out on the aisle and spread your legs, and you craned your neck back, meeting a wall of the Knights, seated in a half-circle, all focused on you. You licked your lips, hoping to entice them--and then two gloved fingers pried open your folds, and before you could brace, they drove in, filling your pussy. Crying out, you shivered, clenching around him, hips gyrating to seek more of his touch. 

Kylo’s breath quickened, his thumb circled your stiff clit, pleasure sweeping over you, and you twisted your neck, wanting a better view of the front of the bus. One of the Knights was guiding two digits up and down his shaft, another working himself free, the rest now prepping themselves, waiting to touch their cocks. The sight shuddered you, made you writhe, made your core throb and your flesh burn.

“Desperate whore.” He swirled your nub faster--you throttled a moan. “See what I do to you.” His fingers curled and twisted inside of you, petting your walls. “You’re ready to cum for faces you’ve never even seen.” 

“Jesus.” Three of the Knights were stroking themselves, now, one of them fully fisting his shaft, pumping it in rhythm with Kylo’s hand. Heat blazed your thighs, forcing you toward ecstasy. “Fuck. Commander…”

Kylo grunted, a needy noise in his throat. “There we go,” he said. “Who else can make you cum like this?” He snapped his wrist, a third gloved finger pushing inside of you, his thumb tracing your clit, and you whined, back arching, air cycling faster in your lungs. “Tell me you want to stay.” You heard a soft shuffle beyond your waist--you knew he was jerking off. “Tell me, and I’ll let you cum.”

Flames flicked your neck, ire popping your bubble of bliss. Did he think he was winning? You swiveled to meet his vacant gaze. “I can cum whenever I want.” 

Switching motions, he scissored you wide, drawing zig-zags on your throbbing clit. “Don’t test me.”

You snarled and rolled, his hand pulling out when you staggered to your feet. It didn’t matter, in that moment, that you were naked and he had the capability to pulverize you under his heel--you wanted to piss him off, wanted him to feel even a fraction of the frustration that you felt, wanted him to destroy you as desperately as you wanted to destroy him. 

Kylo stood, his arm shooting toward you, and you slapped him away, spitting at him again--he snagged your wrist and thwacked your cheek, and you howled, daggering your knee into his thigh. A feral noise tore through the mask; he clasped the back of your neck, lifting and smashing you into the weapons cabinet, massive chest pinning you there.

“Get off!” You pounded your fist into the helmet, pain echoing to your elbow. “Fuck!”

He grunted, collected your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head, the other shoving two fingers into your mouth until he reached the back of your tongue. “Be good,” he said, “or I’ll do whatever I need to do to make you.”

You leered at him, steeled your jaw, and bit down on his hand. 

Before you could breathe, that hand crushed your throat, and he knocked your thighs apart with his knee, impaling your cunt on his cock. He drove into the hilt with a growl, and you sobbed in pleasure-pain against his grip, a sharp sting, your pussy stretching for his thick, hard length. Kylo pumped into you, ruthless, primal, his chest swelling with rapid air, as if he was possessed, every thrust pushing shaky noise from your lungs.

“That’s right.” His hips collided with yours, thumb toying with your pulse, his voice ragged with desire. “Now you’ll behave, won’t you?”

Whimpering, you gasped, the unsteady bloodflow buzzing your lips and cheeks. He flattened your wrists to the cabinet, grinding your joints to the aluminum, his weight compressing your ribcage, his strength holding you still. The drag of his dick inside of you was enough to make you wail, but the ferocity, the animalistic savagery in his thrusts had your cunt throbbing, spasming, ready to cum without him touching your clit. In seconds, he’d tamed you, drenched you in sweat, submerged you in ecstasy, dangling you at the edge of submitting to his authority. 

Kylo eased off your neck. “Look at them.” 

Straining, trembling, you did--and met six men, all huffing, all enraptured. Two had stood, hunched as they stroked their cocks, others leaned back, fucking into their fists, another one trailing his palm up and down his shaft. You ruptured with lust and groaned in satisfaction, throwing your legs around Kylo’s waist, taking the brunt of his fast, vicious thrusts.

“Fuck, yes.” He brutalized your cunt, hammering into it. “They want you. They want what I have.” Like a spark, you felt it--his gaze meeting yours from behind the mask. "They envy me. Am I not enough?”

You wheezed, drawing in quickened air. “N-no,” you said. “And you--you alone n-never will be.”

His fingers bit your flesh--he lifted you from the wall, supporting your ass and cradling your skull before he crushed you onto the aisle, sliding his cock deep into your wet cunt. Kylo hissed in pleasure as you sheathed him to the base, gliding out and driving in, skin smacking while he tugged you into his heaving, rabid frame. 

“Fucking whore,” he muttered, burying the muzzle of his mask in your neck. “Why do you want to leave?” The words were pins through his teeth. “Why do you always want to leave?”

You wanted to respond, but the pace of his hips stole your breath, your words, your jaw dropped with pathetic whines. All you could do was let him fuck you into the floor, body bouncing with his force, elated to exist as a loyal, greedy hole. 

“I’m going to destroy you,” he growled. “I’m going to split this pussy wide, and I’m going to pump you full of cum.” He groaned, shivering from his own words. “And when I’m done, my men will cover you in it, bathe you in it--fuck--like the filthy, vile slut you are.” The hand at your head grasped your hair, scraped your scalp, the other slipping between your legs, expertly rubbing the engorged bundle of nerves. “Now beg to cum.”

“God!” You squirmed in delight, orgasm swelling inside of you, begging to gush out over your flesh. But you wanted, needed just a little, tiny bit more. “Fuck you!”

Kylo leaned up, bolted one hand to your waist, while the other reeled back and cracked you like lightning across the face--your mind went black, your eyes went white, and inside of your mouth, your teeth went red. 

“Beg for it!” He pummeled your pussy, stroking your clit, jerking you into each snap of his hips. “Fucking beg!”

“Christ!” At the edge of your sight, you could see the Knights, their cocks pink and throbbing, all ready to cum, all ready to shower you with it. “Please, please Commander, please make me cum!”

His hand shifted, a gloved seam skated your nub--you shattered, back lifting from the aisle, limbs trembling as euphoria burst into your blood. The pain, the violence, the passion, all of it needled into your climax, stretching it through your skin, crumbling into powerful aftershocks as Kylo pounded you through it. Then his hips stuttered, a low, bellowing sound escaping his mask; he thrust once, twice, three times, cock twitching at your core as he came, spilling his seed inside. 

Through his panting breath, he pulled out, barked an order. “Cum on her face. Paint her like a whore deserves.”

Still floating to reality, your gaze strayed from the floor, only to be met with six men tromping to encircle you, jerking their dicks with feverish focus. You blinked, whined, biting your lip--and they broke, cursing and choking in bliss as they splattered your face with load after load of cum. Hot, sticky streams roped over your forehead, your nose, your mouth, a particularly hard shot splashing down your neck and across your tits. They gasped as their climaxes left them, cocks bobbing with the tail-ends of pleasure, viscous drops dripping onto your skin.

With the final adornment of seed, they collected themselves, muttering under their masks--likely for their own benefit, rather than yours--as they tucked themselves away and meandered back to the front. In the death throes of your exhibition, you were quaking, overcome with a sudden, desperate need to sleep. Your mind plummeted into a hole, exhaustion overcoming you, actual, real-life ramifications trickling into your consciousness.

Your scalp throbbed, your face burned, you ached at every exposed joint. You swallowed--your mouth had bled, too, a bit. Making to move, you winced, finding it too difficult, resigning yourself to curl up on the Buzzard’s floor. To any observer--and perhaps, in a way, even to you--Kylo Ren had just beaten and fucked the shit out of you. And yet you couldn’t imagine, in just this single moment, being any more sated or satisfied.

Large leather hands lifting you up tore you from your reverie, and you grunted out a sigh, adjusting as your Commander gathered you in his arms. The latent pain in your heart rejected this--you didn’t want his faux-affection, didn’t want him to pretend he cared. Not when you knew he refused to let you go.

Yet you could barely summon the energy to move yourself, and the drying globs of cum were wearing out their novelty. So you relaxed, plopping your head onto his shoulder. 

Kylo carried you to one of the beds and sat, supporting you on his lap, shifting until his back was along the wall and your legs splayed over the mattress. He grabbed a towel that was folded over the bunk divider and wiped you clean, guiding the thin cloth over your semen-stained face. The movements were slow, tentative, swiping away the drool, sweat and cum, pausing when he passed a tender point of tissue. His breath was steady and even, the mask offering you nothing but an empty, vacant, stare.

Kylo Ren’s eyes had been the only way you had been able to know, or begin to guess, what was rolling through his mind. Now they were shielded, a barrier cleaving your connection in half. And denied his eyes, you were blinded, blinded from hope and joy and the open door to shared escape, left with a mockery of the man you knew. 

You were going to fight the tears--there would be no crying now, not tonight or in future nights, for someone who did not want to see you free. But his strength was soothing, his hands a comfort, his presence more intoxicating than any other substance you’d known. He maddened you, pitted you, shimmered in your mind like a faraway star; he was your monster and your warrior, the eye of his own typhoon. 

Every thread of your being was sewn irrevocably into his skin. And you when you shredded them clean, the both of you would bleed, pouring from patterned holes until you drowned in the pools of your own foolish dream.

Once he was finished, he sighed, that knife-stare slitting through you a final time before he rolled you off of his lap, leaving the bed while he guided you onto the mattress. You laid there, gazing at him in the dim bus light, one thousand heartbeats in your flesh. Kylo stepped away to grab your robe, and then returned, draping it over your tired frame before stopping to stare again. You wished he would hold you. You knew that he couldn’t.

“You’re not keeping me,” you whispered, “or our child.” You met his invisible eyes, unafraid. “I’m going to find a way to leave.”

Kylo tilted his head and crouched low, tucking away a lock of hair that had stuck to your forehead. He studied you, cupped your cheek in his palm, thumb caressing the bone, before releasing you, rising to his feet.

“We’ll see, little bird.” His voice was quiet, wickedly certain. “We’ll see.”

As he returned to the front, your lids fluttered shut, the night sweeping you into its embrace. Your cheek tingled, glittering with the ghost of his affection, your mouth fighting the smile that was sneaking onto your face.

[sarcasmfics]

Silver and Steel: Chapter 3

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist || AO3

Chapter 3:

Collette clutched the basket close to her chest as she hurried down the street. The fresh scent of bread wafted from the woven carrier setting her stomach off in a low grumble. She hadn’t had time to break her fast that morning and she wondered if Mr. Rye would let her swipe something for herself when she returned. Delivering the bread to the elderly was an easy trip, one she once enjoyed until the three strangers had appeared in the village. Now, everyone was on edge when they emerged from their homes. When the final loaf was delivered, she hurried back to the bakery but froze when she spotted one of the strangers outside the door.

Dark hair tied at the base of his neck, the stranger glanced up between the strands of hair that had escaped the bun. She felt his cold, steely gaze follow her as she passed, scurrying into the bakery and into the back. She found Mr. Rye kneading dough, humming to himself as he worked. “You’re back early.”

She motioned toward a roll and he nodded. “One of the strangers was outside. Why are they here?”

“Wish I knew.” He shook his head. “You be careful going out.”

“You walk me home in the evenings,” Collette replied, “I’m okay in the morning.”

“How’s your brother?” She only shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Mother says not to call the mage. That these strangers are looking for him and it’s too dangerous.” Thoughtfully, she chewed the fresh roll. “I’ll carry him to the tower myself if he could just help! Mr. Rye, I can’t lose him too.”

He moved to speak, but the quiet jingle of the bell over the door signaled a customer and she placed her roll down before grabbing her apron. As she tied the fabric across her dress, she called out: “What can I –“ It was the stranger, the White Wolf. She knew he’d been seen in different shops, but it was his lackeys that gathered most of whatever food or supplies they needed. The cloak was gone as was his armor; the only evidence of his violent nature was the sword still strapped to his waist. The cold that shot through her veins at his glance froze her in place and she swallowed hard as he twirled a dagger between his fingers. The movement seemed as natural as breathing and hypnotized her for a moment, the smooth twirl of the blade a beautiful and dangerous dance. He grinned, watching intently as her throat shifted, her chest raised as her breathing quickened.

He knew the moment she saw it, her eyes focusing on the bright silver that was his arm. Although his tunic was long-sleeved, it wasn’t easy to hide and he truly didn’t care much who saw it. “I’d like three loaves.” With a quick movement, the dagger was sheathed at his hip and he placed a few coins on the counter. She nodded mutely and gathered the requested bread, and wrapped it quickly in paper. It was placed on the counter before him, her hands fisting her apron as he winked and disappeared out into the street.

“Collette?” Mr. Rye called from the back, pulling her from her stupor. “Who was there?”

***

“A silver arm?” Jaskier asked and the woman nodded. “Geralt?”

The witcher hummed to himself before standing. “Jaskier, make sure she gets back to town safely.”

“You won’t help us?”

“I need to go to the next town,” Geralt replied. “Here, take this to your brother. It’ll break his fever.” He tossed a small bottle at her, nodding when she caught it.

“Thank you!”

He hummed. “Do not mention us, me especially. You made it back safe, you weren’t chased by a lycanthrope. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” she nodded vehemently. She handed the skin of water back to the bard who placed it back into Roach’s saddlebag. There was a hushed few words shared between the companions as Geralt mounted the horse and took off into the woods. Together, Collette and Jaskier smothered the fire, ensuring no embers were left before making their way back to the village. Thankfully, they were nearby the river so she knew almost exactly where she was.

The night was still dark when they arrived at her home, Jaskier electing to remain outside, hidden behind the small garden in the back of the house. Her mother was asleep by her brother’s bedside, and she carefully uncorked the potion and poured it into his mouth, offering a prayer to whatever deity would listen that he’d make it through the night. Now empty, she stuffed the vial into an old chest in her room. Her brother would break the fever himself, at least that’s what her mother would say. And that’s precisely happened when morning came. A tumble down the hill explained the scratches on her face and arms as well as her missing cloak and lantern. And though she desperately wanted to stay with her family, she knew that she needed to make her way to Mr. Rye’s for her daily work.

Her mind was back in the woods wondering where Jaskier was and what Geralt was doing. Did he really go to another town for supplies? Or did Jaskier deliver her back home only for them to continue on their journey? The kind yet dramatic bard helped to calm her, but the golden gaze of the witcher, the sword beside him, put her truly at ease. With her brother healed, she focused on the strangers. Collette handed another customer their bread when suddenly she remembered: the lycanthrope – he was one of the strangers. Surely they’d notice his absence by now! A cold sweat broke out across her neck and she swayed on her feet for a moment. Would they know she had something to do with it? How could they? The questions and doubts warred in her mind. No, there was no way they could know about her.

Right?

“Miss?” A voice pulled her from her stupor and she smiled, offering an apology as she continued with her work. She’d keep her head down, work, and head home. That’s all she needed to focus on. The witcher would be back. He had to.

**

The White Wolf reclined on the old chair, his boots raised on the table before him. Talia had come down from her room late, her night occupied by a young couple whose families forbade their marriage. As the couple descended the stairs, blinking back the hazy memories of the night, Talia chuckled. But Rogers hadn’t come down yet. The Wolf’s favorite blade twirled in his grip, the steady movement calming as he pondered. Rogers had slept late before, but something felt off. He’d seen him stumbling “drunk” throughout the village before he went to sleep, chuckling at his friend’s stupid pranks. He’d always enjoyed combat and what better way to draw out the guards than by acting the fool?

“What troubles you?” The Wolf stilled, the daggers sliding smoothly into its sheath.

“Have you seen Rogers?” She shook her head and he hummed.

“He likes to sleep in,” Talia replied. “I heard he had a late night.”

Neither the Wolf nor Talia seemed convinced. She rose and ascended the stairs in search of their companion. But when she came running down moments later, the Wolf knew his instincts had been right. Rogers was gone. It was late enough in the day for him to have staggered back if he’d spent the night elsewhere, so either the guards had – unlikely – subdued him, or someone had succeeded in hurting him. Talia was quick to check with the guards who, she reported, were injured but without their companion. The Wolf smelled trouble, and he didn’t like it. Schooling his features, he rose, attached his sword to his belt, and went for a walk through the village.

Something was off, he could smell it in the air, but what was it? The answer was just out of his reach, the memories too far away to remember, but he’d smelled the scent before. He didn’t like it then and certainly didn’t now. The shops were clear of the scent, and there was still no sign of Rogers. But as he passed the same woman from the bakery, his hair stood on end. It was her. She was the source of the smell. He watched her, took in the unsettling scent as she scurried away from him. She knew something.

Damn, Collette thought, that stranger, the Wolf, was outside the bakery again! It wasn’t bad enough that she had to run away from his friend, but the way he looked at her was different than the appraising glare she’d received the other day. No, this was hunger. This was suspicion. But how could he know? Just as before, she scurried away and finished her work. Mr. Rye was kind enough to take the Wolf’s order and later walk her home, even popping his head inside to give her mother and brother his best wishes on his recovery. The fever had broken and while he was still weak, there was hope. She wouldn’t lose him, not yet! They pulled their chairs beside the bed and shared a dinner of warm stew and fresh bread. It felt as if ages had passed since they could enjoy dinner together. She managed to sneak Jaskier a bowl as well, though he reclined against a tree with his own food he’d purchased earlier.

“Don’t be sorry,” he waved off her apology. “I’m waiting for Geralt and I need to work on a new song anyway. This village is quaint and I’m enjoying the quiet time while it lasts.”

But there was a pounding on her door, and she bid her mother stay with her brother as she answered. And thank the gods she did. Standing at the door was the Wolf, and she quickly pushed it shut only to be shoved back, the door bouncing against the wall. He took up nearly the whole doorway, casting his long shadow across the floor as he took in the small home. A voice like gravel, angry and wild growled: “Where is he?”

“What?” Collette stumbled to her feet, trying to block his way further into the home, but he easily pushed her away and made his own inspection. Talia appeared behind him, holding Collette in place as he tore open the doorway into the bedroom, drawing screams of surprise from her family. Rogers’ absence in the home angered him; he could smell him on the girl along with something else. This had to be the mage’s doing. Only that wretched man could manipulate someone so weak from his tower. Talia held the woman as the Wolf approached, bearing over her.

“My companion, the other man who was with me. Where. Is. He?” He’d moved too close, their noses nearly touching, but she only shook her head.

“I don’t know!” Tears welled in her eyes as she shook, but his gaze bore into her and there was fear, but not all of it was for her or her family’s lives. No, there was something else there. One large hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her out of the home and onto the street, roughly dragging her toward the center of town.

She stumbled to her knees before the mage’s tower as the wolf shouted: “Mage! You think yourself so clever! What have you done with him?” Between her cries and the Wolf’s shouts, the villagers were drawn outside, children pushed back into hiding by their parents. “Come on, you coward!” He pulled her up by her arm and drew the dagger, letting the tip just barely touch against her throat. But before he could continue, a breeze caught the scent and he pushed his nose into the crook of her neck, growling when he finally recognized it.

Witcher.

“Did you call one?” The Wolf shouted, “Did you call a witcher to do your dirty work?” There was no answer yet again, so he turned to the girl, his warm breath puffing across her ear. “Hm? Did you call a witcher? Did you find one to save you?” She shook her head, crying out a no, but he only growled. “I can smell it on you. I can smell Rogers and I can smell that mutant on you. What did you do to him?” She was shaking now, her hands grasping at his arm, too terrified to speak. He sheathed his dagger and pulled her away, returning to the inn where he shoved her to the floor. Talia followed shortly after, nodding as he commanded: “Bind her.” She tried to run, but the woman had her wrists tied before she could move. The villagers shouted in protest but received no response as she was dragged back to the inn. Collette surveyed the room, her eyes meeting those of the innkeeper who could only express his sadness silently. They had cleared the room, moving the tables and chairs to create a pseudo-throne room for the Wolf who reclined as he watched the girl. She stood on shaking legs as she cried: “Please, I don’t know anything!”

With a tug, he pulled her closer and grasped her wrists until they were face to face. “I can smell him on you. A witcher. And Rogers. What. Happened. To. Him?” She choked on a sob, tears soaking her face as she shook her head. She couldn’t say, not unless she wanted to die! Still unsatisfied he released her, nodding for her to sit on the stool he used for his feet. He knew she was lying, there was no other explanation for the scents. But if she didn’t want to confess, he’d gladly wait for the mutant to find him.

[whisperial]

@murderdeals || meme continuation || from here.

she watches the exchange from a safe distance. green eyes narrowed on the scene as it plays out. this man has a group of infesting parasites attacking him relentlessly. most normal men would've fallen by now. she knows the strength of the monsters with their gaping maws and horrible teeth. they've crossed paths in the woods and, well, she is the one standing here. not them. however. it wasn't with her bare hands that she was able to put them down. it was something else. that part of her that remains tucked away. out of view. out of detection from anyone. unless they come searching.

her fingers twitch at her side--it's then that she notices one of the creatures coming at the other from a blind spot. her heart leaps into action as the blade she now holds in her hand, aged beyond her tears but deadly sharp, glints in the light. she's running forward before either one of them have a chance to see her coming. metal cuts through the air, through bone and skin and sinew. one clean swipe and she's left standing there. into crowley's eyes, red hair falling around her shoulders--her face speckled with blackish red.

birdie steps back allowing him to adjust his lapels and coat. the blade is cleaned off on the hem of a flowing patchwork skirt. she'll get the stains out later. tapered brow lifts. her head tilts to the side. you'd damn near imagine her ears lifting like some bewildered dog. scotland rolls off her tongue. thick. heavy. "you owe me nothing. those? are a nuisance. and have been haunting the woods (my woods) outside of town for too long. it's my pleasure to put a few more out of my misery.." she appears thoughtful.

"are you lost..?" he looks as though he wandered this way on his way into salem. one of the people who'd go there searching for haunted places. magic and lore. (yes. she just wondered if he is a tourist who shouldn't be tourist-ing out this far..)

[6v6taeminisloveshineeworld]

House of the Damned Chapter One: BLOOD AFFAIR

Summary: Lust is neither love nor passion, it is but a starving beast driven mad by thirst and unyielding desire. A natural hunger akin to flame. As a daughter of the Church, a trial of purity is thrust upon you when a series of events leads you to live in a manor with six vampire brothers who are eager to possess you and claim their birthright as the strongest of the bat clan descended from Vlad.

Pairing: Taemin X Female Reader, SuperM X Female Reader

Genre: Vampire romance, Diabolik Lovers Crossover

Word Count: 7.2k+

Warning: Use of foul language and scenes with non consensual circumstances  

Authors Note: Most dialogue in this story is from the Diabolik Lovers game Haunted Dark Bridal Translated by maichiruhanabira and used with permission. It is not all my original work and will follow the DL game story with some extended or altered scenes. For original content read my other works, this work will be a side project since I am a fan of the game. If you are unfamiliar with Diabolik Lovers then I hope you enjoy surprise aspects of the plot. 

“Once beloved of mine, I never possessed you and yet you still haunt me.

Your absence stirs a great longing within me unquenchable by time.

Should fate take you from me again and into the shadow of another man’s arms I shall end this cruel existence. 

I curse destined prophecy, I curse you in your winter’s grave.

Heartless temptress, mistress divine, your crimson kiss is now a distant shadow dancing across hot desert sands.”

You woke from your strange dream and the alluring voice that accompanied it in a haze as the car bumped along the uneven roads leading you deeper into the middle of nowhere. Since landing on the soil of Emberwater you’d asked residents of the small town for directions to Hawthorn Hill and every time they’d waved you away saying that the estate had been vacant for years or that the place was haunted. Finally, you’d found one old woman who’d been a little too willing to help at last. Her eyes had been glossed over and you realized then that she was blind. She’d told you that her son would be happy to drive you to the estate free of charge to which you graciously accepted.

You hadn’t placed much stock in the townfolk’s superstitions until you saw the manor from your window at last. This may be a mistake indeed. What could Father be thinking sending me off to stay in a place like this? Is this really where my relatives live?

You still remembered the look on your father’s face just two days before as he hurriedly packed not only his bags but yours as well, stuffing things here and there frantically as if he was running away from someone. 

“I don’t understand why I can’t go with you to Europe, Father? What will happen to the church when you leave? You’ve only just come back from your last overseas trip, please don’t leave me again!” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes and you wiped them away angrily.

“Honey, don’t cry we’ve been over this.” His voice was surprisingly stern and it unsettled you further. He was always so gentle with you and his behavior now really set you on edge. “While I’m gone I’ll be passing on Church affairs to pastor Remiel. This job is simply one I cannot decline, they have requested that I go personally and in the meantime, you will be off at a nice private school and staying with distant relations of mine, the family is an old companion of the Church.”

“Which relations?” You asked.

“I haven’t told you about them since we are rather estranged, they are quite aristocratic but they will take care of you.” He said, running a hand through his graying hair and looking more tired than ever. “It’s painful for me to leave you as well but please try to understand my position. I go where the Lord tells me and you my daughter know better than to go against his will.” 

He came closer then and kissed your forehead. His eyes fell to the delicate silver crucifix embedded with pink sapphires that lay around your neck. He’d given it to you at birth, ‘a prized Church heirloom made of blessed silver’ he’d said when you had asked him long ago if it had belonged to your dead mother. “Finish packing, you leave tomorrow night.” He said, before giving you a final hug and walking out the front door with his suitcase.

As you approached this pompous estate now, you were half-filled with awe and more than a little bit of hesitation. You thanked the old woman’s son for driving you so far and started walking up the path, duffel bag in hand. The manor was quite large and elegant in the way that a royal castle would be you supposed if the castle was one from a horror movie or gothic novel. Vines with small orange roses covered the yellow-painted brick in a pleasing fashion but you couldn’t shake the eerie atmosphere and dark windows that seemed to send a chill throughout your body. 

Perhaps it only looks this way at night? You thought hopefully. Just then a loud crash of thunder boomed, making you jump. It began to pour so heavily then that even though you ran the rest of the way to the overhang you were already wet. You lifted the heavy brass knocker and pounded on the door.

“Excuse me?” You yelled when there was no answer. The storm must have muffled any sounds you made. Or maybe the rumors were true about the manor being haunted and you should just leave. But surely father wouldn’t send me to a haunted manor. The Church would never wish one of its members to be associated with such an unholy place. 

Just then the door creaked open on its own and you wished for the thousandth time on your journey that your father had just taken you with him. But thinking rationally the door couldn’t have opened by itself, perhaps someone was hiding behind it?

“Excuse me!” You shouted again, even louder this time, “Is anyone home? My father pastor Gabriel, he must have told you I’d be arriving.” When there was still no answer you stepped into the manor and closed the heavy door behind you. No way could this door be unhinged by just the wind. You dropped your bag on the floor and entered the foyer. No one was there but the manor did seem lived in at least. You rubbed the cold away from your limbs as you explored deeper. 

The hall was clean but dim, lit only by a few candelabras that you passed as you walked into the living room. You marveled at the plush red carpet and sofas as well as the tall ceiling, there was a grand staircase as well but what really caught your eye was the roaring fireplace. You hurried to it and dried off as best you could. This is getting a bit freaky no one is here. 

You reached for your phone but another flash of lightning made you jump and it slid from your hands. In that single burst of light you could have sworn you saw the shadow of a person lounging on one of the sofas but perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You moved to grab your phone only to find you were not mistaken. There was a person laying on the sofa fast asleep. You must have missed him in the darkness but you’d been certain you were alone.

“U-um… E-excuse me?”  You said, hesitant to wake him. The boy continued sleeping so you went on a bit louder, “I’d like to speak to the owner?”

When he didn’t answer you again you moved to touch his pale hand only to find it incredibly cold. You moved closer and waved your hand in front of his nose and felt nothing. He was so still his chest didn’t even rise and fall. Is he dead! You thought with alarm, your heart began to race frantically and painfully. You knelt on the floor beside the sofa and clutched at your chest. These attacks were happening more and more frequently and you knew it was best for your health if you didn’t freak out. There was a ringing in your ears like a voice repeatedly calling out for help. You breathed in and out trying to slow your racing heart. 

You started to dial an ambulance for the boy when suddenly his eyes flashed open and his hand grabbed your wrist to stop you. You screamed loudly in surprise and tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. 

“Shut up.” He said, turning his steely gaze on you.

“Excuse me! Let go now!” You shouted and tried to pull away again. He tilted his head and looked at you from head to toe curiously.

“What’s with you squealing in my ear?” He said sitting up on the sofa. 

“But just a minute ago…” You said trailing off.

“Just a minute ago what?” He said with a small amused smile. “I was just sleeping comfortably in my own house. Is that a crime?

“J-just sleeping? But… I’m certain you were…”

“I was what?” The boy asked in a mocking tone, he leaned in closer. His eyes were a startling green and before you realized it he had pulled you by the waist onto the sofa and was towering over you, one hand gripping both of your wrists over your head against the pillows.

“Hey what are you doing! You said, wriggling beneath him, “Let go of me!”

“Damn, you’re noisy. It was you who suddenly broke into my house. What are you doing in a place like this?” He said, bringing his face closer to yours. “Are you a magnet for trouble? Is that it? A moth drawn to flame?” 

“No! I’m not, I was supposed to come he-.”

“I’m hungry,” He said resting a finger from his free hand over your lips to silence you. “There’s nothing like getting a feast right when you wake up,” he said with a laugh that made your stomach lurch. 

“Don’t touch me!” You said, trying to squirm away but his knees locked you down.

“You’re some pretty energetic prey aren’t you? Stop struggling, just be a little… quieter.” He said as he began to unbutton the collar of your blouse.

“Please, God help me!” You shouted.

Suddenly all the lights in the living room came on startling you both. You noticed the ornate chandelier above you for the first time, it’s flames twinkling and reflecting against the glasses of the man who had entered the living room. The boy above you narrowed his eyes, seemingly annoyed. 

“What is all this clamor? I hope you have a sensible reason for causing so much ruckus and disrupting my reading, Mark.”

“Ah, Ten, it’s you.” Mark said with a glare.

You used that moment to pull away from the strange boy and ran over to the man. 

“Please help me!” 

“Hm? And you are?” The man pushed up his glasses as he surveyed you with a look that seemed both annoyed and disgusted. You gave your name hesitantly, you weren’t sure if you preferred his gaze to the boy, Mark or not. From their features you could clearly tell they were related, they shared the same sparkle to their eyes and lint of the chin but on all other accounts, they appeared quite different.

 “Mark, how many times have I told you to keep your conquests to your private rooms.” Ten said.

“I Am not a conquest!” You said angrily. “I came here because my Father told me i’d be staying here from now on!” You said it as clearly and unwavering as you could, relieved that at least some of your confidence was coming back to you. 

“Is that so? I know nothing of these arrangements.” Ten said, narrowing his eyes, he looked to Mark for an explanation. “Mark, what is the meaning of this?”

“Like hell should I know! You didn’t say anything about that earlier, Breastless!”

“Well, you suddenly attacked me and told me to shut up, and… wait, ‘Breastless’?” 

“Yes, dummy, it’s 'cause you don’t have any tits,” Mark said with a smile. 

“How dare you!” You shouted, your face turning bright red. 

Ten cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his black hair, “Well, there clearly is some error and you were misinformed.” 

“Oh, what do we have here?” Said another voice. You looked across the room to find yet another attractive face. His hair was bright red, he was sitting on the banister of the grand staircase. His eyes were alight with mischief as he slid down the banister and embraced you.

“Hey!” You said startled.

“Is there really a cute human girl in our living room?” The red-haired boy said. He stood in front of you and brought your hand to his lips, tipping his black hat as he did so. “Hello, pleased to meet you, Little Bitch.” You gasped in surprise as he proceeded to lick your earlobe!

“Taeyong, really now. For a woman you’ve only just met, wouldn’t you say that was a bit insolent?” Ten said crossing his arms. 

“Aha Ten you’re as stiff as always. Isn’t this fine? I was just getting a quick taste of a delicious-looking girl.” Taeyong said, licking his lips. You glared at him, taking in the eyebrow piercing on the left side of his face. If it weren’t for the ornamentation and bright hair you would have said he looked almost innocent in appearance although his actions said otherwise. 

“Shit, I’ll kill you, bastard,” Mark said, stepping toward Taeyong. “Fucking spitting on Breastless before me!” 

Taeyong’s laugh was more of a giggle like the chiming of bells. When he’d finally stopped he said, “You’ve got to claim your food with spit before your barbaric brothers do, hmm? Otherwise, they’ll eat it all up. Isn’t that right, Baekhyun?”

Another boy just as pale as the rest walked up beside you from the shadows. His purple cotton-candy like hair gave him a youthful appearance, He looked to be as old as you but for some reason, he clutched a teddy bear in his hands. A creepy bear at that, you thought. It may have been cute once but it seemed worn out in places now and very discolored, it even had an eyepatch and you wondered if it was just for style like some pirate or had the bear really lost an eye? Baekhyun’s eyes themselves were filled with excitement as he came closer to you and said in a childlike voice, “Please let me have a lick too. Don’t move, okay?” He wasn’t really asking for permission you realized for in the next instant you felt his tongue along your ear, wet and ticklish.

You made an odd sort of squeaking noise as you tilted your head away from him. What was wrong with these boys.

“Mm.” Baekhyun said noisily, clutching his teddy tighter against his chest. “She’s sweet… It’s rare to find a tasty one amidst all those dirty humans, isn’t it?”

“What?” You said in an exasperated voice, you were tired and confused of this little game they all seemed to be playing with you. 

“Hey, what is a girl doing here anyway?” Baekhyun asked. 

 “Isn’t she tonight’s side dish?” Taeyong said, licking his lips again. 

 “Dumbasses. Don’t go thinking she’s your “side dish” 'cause she’s mine. After all, ‘Yours Truly’ found her first.” Mark said laughing again.  

 “Oh?” Ten said in an imperious tone as he looked at Mark. “That may be so, however you failed to taste her first.”

“Fuck you, Ten! Stop saying unnecessary things!”

“Pathetic.” Ten said, shaking his head. 

Listening to this banter was worse than the licking you thought and just when you had accepted that things couldn’t get worse for you yet another voice entered the scene. 

“Oi, Lucas, come on out!” Mark said. 

Lucas it seemed had just appeared into the living room you had no idea where he’d come from. It was all just further proof that you needed to get away from this house and fast. 

“No wonder I thought I smelled a human. It was you.” Lucas said, his voice was deep and every word was quite sharp. “My sleep was interrupted thanks to you and your stench.” He said, his glare directed on you. “What’s even going on?” 

When you didn’t respond Lucas yelled, “Speak, don’t ignore me!” His fist pounded against the coffee table and made you jump in surprise. 

“Ahh my little bro’s as hot-blooded as usual,” Taeyong said. 

“Shut up, you year-round slut!” Lucas shouted at Taeyong. “I don’t consider you my older brother at all.”

“This is making me mad. Baekhyun said in a considerably serious tone that set you more on edge than the child-like one. “If you don’t stop with this needless talking, I’ll mangle you, okay?”

“Heh. I’d like to see you try it, Lucas sneered. His blue hair was disheveled and dare you say it, mangy as if his rage had grown roots. What are you gonna do with that tiny body, pipsqueak?”

“Ugh… Look at that, Teddy.” Baekhyun said in an offended voice. “This guy will be our next prey.”

“Please be reasonable,” Ten told you sternly. As much as I try to be gentle with you, my patience can only last so long. I’d like to say they can cook and boil you as they see fit but I cannot tolerate letting my foolish younger brothers compete for you in my clean living room. Now, first of all, please tell us how you managed to stumble upon this place.”

“Well... That is… because I..” Your voice shook as you spoke. It seemed your brain was at last catching up to the mess you were in. 

“What’s this, Breastless? Are you trembling?” Mark asked.

“Aha… You really are cute like this,” Taeyong said drawing close again. “Now I’d really love to eat you.”

Mark laughed. “Your teeth are chattering. We really frighten you that much, huh.”

“O-of course I am frightened! I’m in such a strange place and I can’t understand any of you at all!” You said. 

“What don’t you understand? Mark asked. We’re easy to understand, aren’t we?” He said, looking at Taeyong.

“Well, the rest of us are probably not as easy to read as Mark, right?” Taeyong said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Now, now, please don’t interrupt. Ten said, rubbing his forehead. “This conversation is not progressing in the slightest. I truly will lose my temper if this doesn’t shape up.” He turned to you and said, “You aren’t so frightened that you cannot speak, yes? So hurry and explain your situation.” He said the words slowly as if you were dumb. “Unless you’d rather I strike you with my whip?”

“This is all some big mistake,” you said backing away. I’ll just excuse myself. I’m sorry for coming in so late and imposing.” If I don’t leave soon they may do something worse. They really don’t seem to be joking about enjoying my discomfort.

“Hold up.” Mark called out from across the room and in the next instant he was right beside you! It was as if he’d teleported. “You can’t just leave, stay here.”

“I agree,” Taeyong said immediately. “It’s ridiculously troublesome when this house only has men living in it. If Little Bitch stayed here well maybe it’d bring a little bit of elegance into our lives.” Taeyong gave you a charming smile that sent you into a panic.

“I refuse!” you said before bolting for the door. There was nothing else to do at this point but run. 

“Oi! Wait!” You heard Mark shout behind you. As if you’d stay here and be their plaything! Before now you would have said ghosts and haunted houses were just legends but after seeing Mark just ‘appear’ beside you and after all of those strange encounters in this sinister house, you believed that it was indeed haunted. You’d made it all the way to the foyer before you heard another voice. 

“You’re so fussy, it’s tiresome,” The voice whispered. As if from smoke a man appeared right in front of your path. 

“Are you also with those other people in the next room?” You asked, barely suppressing the desire to roll your eyes at yet another person? Phantom?  Blocking your path. 

“‘With those other people’...  Being told something like that is exceedingly upsetting.” He said, his voice was much more enjoyable to listen to than the others you thought. It was languid and reminded you of a lazy stream. Soothing and yet refined.

“Well? Are you?” You asked again. When he stepped into the light you saw that his light blue sweater matched the blue of his eyes; serene waters both stoic and cold. You shook your head to clear it, damn these beautiful faces were distracting.

  “If I had to describe my relationship with them,” He said finally, “I’d say we share an undesirable but inseparable link to one another. Are you the woman that guy was talking about?” He asked. 

“'That guy’?” You repeated confused.

“Oi, Taemin!” Oh no just what I need now.“You know something about her?” Mark said coming beside him.

“Maybe,” Taemin said.

“Don’t ‘maybe’ me. I would like a full explanation,” Mark demanded.

“That guy, he contacted me the other day. ‘A new housemate will be coming to live with you, so get along nicely with her’ or something along those lines,” Taemin said dismissively waving them all away with his hand. He pulled out a pair of headphones that were attached to the black choker around his neck and went to recline on a sofa.

“So then, Breastless is just another prospective bride from the Church.” Mark said.

“No wonder, this is bullcrap.” Lucas said huffily.

“She’s more of a sacrificial lamb than a bride.” Taeyong said, moving to nibble at your ear, when you tried to get away he whispered, “Isn’t that right, Little Bitch?” 

Ten cleared his throat. “It appears that this is not a mistake after all.”

“Y-you’re kidding!” You said, looking at Ten imploringly. 

“Stupid. What would be the use of lying to you?” Mark said.

“I’m not a bride! I’m not marrying anyone! I have no idea what you’re talking about but this is all very strange! My father is an official from the Church, and for them to send me here…”

 “Isn’t it fine, being sent here by the Church?” Taemin asked as he took in your shocked expression. 

“What about that is 'strange?’” Baekhyun asked in that child-like voice again. 

“That would mean my father knew all about you guys and you’re all so strange.”

“What about us is?” Mark asked.

“Well…” You tried to think of a way to say in the nicest possible way that they were creeps and your father would never want you near any of them but before you could utter a word Taemin said, “Because we’re vampires?”

“What! Vampires?” You exclaimed. 

“Ugh. He went and spoiled it.” Mark said, sounding completely annoyed once more. 

“Spoiled it? Wait, I don’t really understand what you’re saying,” You said and you prayed silently that this was just another nightmare and perhaps you’d gone to the hospital due to heart failure and this was all your imagination. 

“It’s just as Taemin said. We are part of the vampire species. The bat clan, descendants of Vlad.” Baekhyun stated seriously.

“That must be a lie! Vampires? That can’t be true…” Phantoms were one thing but you couldn’t handle this. 

“It’s rather inconsiderate for you to insist that we’re lying to you.” Ten said, “Mark has already said this, but there is no reason for us to lie to a lowly human.”

“But!” Your mind was racing now. Of course, the explanation did make sense. There was the shadow apparating, the flawless features, and the pale cold skin. The Lifeless body of before and their melodic voices. Yes, it all made sense. 

“Now, now, Little Bitch,” Taeyong said in that ever so charming way of his. “You just don’t want to admit it, right? That beings as superior as us exist?”

“I don’t care if she believes it or not, she’s still annoying and loud,” Lucas said.

Whatever they said, you needed to call your father and ask him yourself. You reached for your phone but found your pocket empty.

Mark held your phone out to you, “Oi, looking for this?” Mark said, waving it in the air above your head just out of reach. 

 “That’s mine! You yelled exasperated. “Please give it back to me!”

 “Or what?” Mark said with a laugh. He continued to wave it over your head.

“Come on! Enough!” You screamed. 

“What’s with that attitude? I kindly picked it up for you. Is that how you thank me? Mark said.

“Mark, hand me that.” Lucas said. 

“Why?” 

“I said, hand it over,” Lucas reached over and grabbed the phone from Mark.

“Wait, what do you think you’re doing!” You scream but it was too late.

“I’m doing this!” Lucas said, before crushing your phone in his fist. 

 “No!”

“You’ve been so annoying ever since you got here,” Lucas said, letting the phone drop to the floor.

“You bastard!” You shouted. How would you call for help now?

“Now, now, Little Bitch,” Taeyong said. “From now on, you’re going to be friends with us creatures of the night. So there’s no need for boorish things like cell phones. Right?”

“Who do you guys think you are!” You said as you bent down to pick up the remains of your cell phone.

“So,” Baekhyun said as he stroked his Teddy bear, “Are you going to leave this place?” 

“That should be obvious.” You replied.

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s perfect, then.” Baekhyun said. 

“Perfect?” You asked wearily.

“I’ve been very hungry for a little while now.” Baekhyun continued.

“So what?” You said, hoping to stall for time to escape and keep him talking.

“You really are a fool, aren’t you? It can only mean one thing when a vampire says he’s hungry and I do love a good chase.” And with that Baekhyun pushed you to the ground teddy bear and all. For such a small figure he had a lot of strength, most of it supernatural of course you realized. You tried to move from beneath him but he would not budge.

          “Your blood smells so tasty and sweet,” Baekhyun said giggling like a child. His fangs prodded at your neck and you shuddered as you felt the tips brush against your skin. “I’ll drink it all without leaving a single drop behind. Okay?” His self imposed stupor was all you needed as you took just that moment before he would feed on you to move your hand to your chest. 

“Stop!” You yelled, whipping your rosary out and using it as if it were a shield.

“Huh?” Was Baekhyun’s only reply. 

Meanwhile, Taeyong was just about rolling on the floor laughing. “Little Bitch… you’re amusing! You carry a rosary with you?” He said between giggles.

“She seems to believe in the more archaic methods. Ten said. “Quite foolish, I must say.”

“But, vampires shouldn’t be able to tolerate crucifixes, garlic, or holy water…” Your voice trailed off at the look on their faces. 

“What kind of fairy tale did you get that from? That’s stupid,” Mark said. 

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who looks like a fairy tale character!” You shouted back. 

“This is making me mad,” Baekhyun said again with a whine. He looked as if he was about to throw a tantrum. “My food is right in front of me but the dining table is getting chaotic. Why are you doing this?” He said.

“Your food! Don’t say terrible things like that! I’m a human being!”

“This is tiresome,” Taemin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Baekhyun said that because humans are treats for us. Didn’t they lick you already?” Taemin said. 

“I can’t accept that vampires exist!” You said quite stubbornly. 

“Mm… That’s kind of sad. Little Bitch,” said Taeyong. “The only way to make you believe us is by doing this.” He leaned into your neck and you shouted, “I get it now, so just wait a minute!”

“Don’t wanna,” Taeyong said, running his tongue along your throat and collarbone.

“You say that, but… m-my blood is not that cheap!” You said, trying to work out a strategy that would buy you time. “Because I-I want to choose who… gets to drink my blood!”

“Heh?” Mark said in surprise. 

Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that but it was the only thing I could think to say. 

“That is quite displeasing. Ten said, pulling up his glasses again. “I have no clue what kind of blood you might have, but aren’t you behaving just like a high-class prostitute?”

“This is stupid. I’m out. You guys do whatever you want.” Lucas said with a huff.

“Oh!” Mark exclaimed. “A dropout already?”

“The human’s manners are deplorable,” Ten said, looking down at you. “It has been quite a while since I’ve had a woman this undisciplined.” 

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green, When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.” Baekhyun sang the folk song in a hauntingly beautiful voice before saying in his serious tone, “Hey… Teddy. If she doesn’t pick me, let’s both cut her to pieces, okay?”

“This has gotten interesting,” Mark said with a smile. “Naturally, you’ll pick Your’s Truly, right? It should be obvious.”

 “Little Bitch, Taeyong murmured. “If you don’t pick me… you’ll definitely regret it later.”

“Whatever.” Taemin said with a tired sigh. “Just end this silly game already.” 

I only suggested this in the spur of the moment, but now… what should I do?

You looked at Taemin then, listening to his headphones again trying to block out Baekhyun and Taeyong’s chatter. He seemed safer than the rest; you didn’t quite know if that was the best word for him but when those blue eyes caught your stare you said, “I choose Taemin.”

“What a pain.” He whispered before closing his eyes.

Taemin seemed lazy compared to the others, somehow he felt more normal to you and yet, well what was normal for a vampire? 

“Ngh, why him? You’ve got terrible taste, Breastless!” Mark exclaimed.

“You know, he’s not usually motivated to do anything, and I do mean anything,” Taeyong said moving his hips suggestively.

“Quiet.” Taemin told him, to you he said. “Well, I don’t mind having a nice meal come to me without having to do anything. But,” He said, eyes narrowing. “If you want me to suck your blood you’ll have to offer your neck to me yourself.”

Your cheeks reddened. Right, normal. This will work out in my favor.

“Everyone listen up.” Taemin said, “If you want to touch her, well, go right ahead. But you can’t kill her.”

“Huh? We can’t? Why not?” Baekhyun asked. 

“Like I know,” Taemin replied. “That guy is the one who said it. ‘Treat your guest with respect’.”

“You really should have said so sooner!” You said.

“Too troublesome.” 

 “T-troublesome.”  You echoed. He really was very lazy, you realized. 

“What’s that bastard thinking? Why do we have to treat this lame human girl with respect?” Mark said. 

“There might be some meaning to it. Maybe that person is planning something,” Taeyong said.

“Like what?” Baekhyun asked him incredulously. What could such a plain girl have?”

“Who knows?” Taeyong said with a sigh. “I can’t ever understand what that guy is thinking at all.”

“You’ve lost me again.” You said, feeling confused once more.

“Shut up, Breastless. Mark said, “This is our family’s problem.”

Who was “that guy” was he the person with connections to the Church that Father told me about? 

“Anyway,” Taemin said, bringing them all back to the initial topic. “That’s why you can’t go so far you kill her. And you,” Taemin said, meeting your eyes once more. “Try not to be so loud; stay out of my way.”

“The more I take, the more you fall captive to my will. When your body meets mine, this thirst, this depravity will it all fade? You are but a faint illusion on the horizon waiting for the midnight sun as you waltz further from me.”

You woke from the words of your nightmare to find yourself in an unfamiliar king sized bed and as all of the memories of yesterday night came crashing down on you at once, you wished you had just stayed asleep. Taeyong, Baekhyun, and Mark, had shown you to this extravagantly decorated room last night and you’d been so tired that as soon as they were gone you’d locked the door and fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

 You turned on the nightlight at your bedside table now and opened the curtains to find it was dark outside. You realized you must have slept the entire day away and given all the excitement you’d gone through yesterday you weren’t surprised. Without your phone you couldn’t contact your father and tell him about the trouble you were in and you knew that waiting for him to seek you out would take weeks or maybe even months. He always lost touch with you when he was traveling overseas and it incensed you to no end. His actions really show how little he truly cares about my well-being.

Settling for being vampire food felt like giving up but as long as you stood your ground they couldn’t break your spirit so easily. They would eventually get what they wanted but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up one hell of a fight. 

Dear God, why have you given me this trial? This nightmare felt a lot like being thrown into a den of hungry lions you thought. Like some crazy test of purity.

“Hey,” Taemin said appearing in your bedroom out of nowhere.

You screamed and jumped into the bed ducking under the covers. 

“Annoying woman,” Taemin said. “Don’t jump on the bed. You’ll break the floor and then Ten will throw a fit if you destroy the house.” You felt the edge of the bed sink in and you carefully peeked at him from under the pink frilly comforter. Really why would anyone decorate a place this obnoxiously. Everywhere you looked you saw stuffed animals and expensive furniture and it made you wonder how many other girls had been a guest in this room. You shuddered and moved your attention to Taemin. His eyes were closed and he was listening to his headphones again. He’d swapped his blue sweater for a school uniform and this had your mind buzzing with questions. 

“Why are you wearing a school uniform? It’s nighttime already.”

“Classes start around now though.” He said, opening one eye to look at you.

Before you could ask him anything more the door swung open, even though you had been sure you locked it you supposed the lock was there more for your benefit than to really keep anyone out. 

“What are you two still doing here?” Ten demanded, crossing his arms and glaring down at both of you. He was also dressed in a school uniform but unlike Taemin who wore his blazer around his shoulders, Ten's blazer was buttoned down and without a wrinkle in sight.

“The nuisance has arrived.” Taemin said, closing his eyes again.

“Taemin, would you please get in the car.” Ten said again, “I won’t ask politely again. If you two humiliate us all for being late I will-”

“Yes, alright. We’re coming now.” Taemin said.

When Ten left Taemin got up and took out a folded school uniform he’d been carrying under his arm. “Here put this on quickly and meet us in the front. I’ve already enrolled you for classes so you don’t need to worry about it.” He turned and started walking for the door.

“Thank you,” you said. You were amazed he went through the trouble. He waved your thanks away with a hand and closed the door behind him.

You hurried to dress, fearing that if you weren't downstairs in the next few minutes you’d have more vampires barging in, this time as you changed. It made sense that vampires attended a night school though you really hadn’t thought about it till now.  

“Good evening, Little Bitch.” Taeyong said, greeting you at the front door with a lick to your cheek. You wiped it off with your sleeve and walked out the front door gasping when you took in the limousine parked in front. Well here’s to hoping that I will actually be able to study at this night school.  Your mind anxiously wondered how many students would also be inhuman. 

The School corridor was thankfully filled with a lot of normal looking people. No horns or fangs were on display but of course that didn’t mean they weren’t around if the guys were anything to go by since their fangs weren’t always on display. You’d only attended one class so far and yet you were already worn out from the bickering the boys had engaged in during the car ride earlier. The only thing that even made the day bearable was that Taemin hadn't mentioned sucking your blood. Not even once. He hadn’t even acknowledged you existed beyond giving you the uniform. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in you at all and maybe if you stayed quiet he’d end up letting you go himself without you having to beg him. 

Just don’t make him mad, don’t get in his way, don’t look at his blue eyes…

“Hey you!” A girl shouted from across the corridor and you looked up.

“Me?”

“Yeah! you’re the girl who just transferred into our class today, right?” 

“Oh, yes I am. Nice to meet you.” You said.

“Yeah, likewise! My name is Ellisyn,” the girl said smiling. She was tall with long tawny brown hair that fell to her waist in ringlets. “You know… I saw you when you came to school, and…” She leaned in close to your ear conspiratorially, “I was wondering, how are you related to the Hawthorn brothers?”

“What!” Well, some things happened… And Tae-”

“Ahh, yes! What about Master Taemin?”

“Huh? Are you interested in Taemin?” You asked.

Ellisyn looked at you as if you were from another planet. “Of course I am! The six Hawthorn brothers are super popular here! I am the president of Master Taemin’s fanclub myself! 

“Oh I hadn’t reali-”

“I must inform you then that everyone calls Taemin the ‘Master of the Music Room’, he skips almost all of his classes to spend most of his time there. Also, he never talks to anyone that’s why I was so surprised when I saw you with him.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you perhaps dating one of the Hawthorn brothers?”

No Ellisyn, i’m their prey and i’m being held in that creepy place against my will and you can keep your ‘Master of the Music Room.’  These were your first thoughts but of course you replied with: “No, no! It’s nothing like that, truly!” 

Ellisyn’s excitement deflated at this, “Really? Nothing?” She pouted, upset that she hadn’t come across some juicy piece of gossip. “Well, if anything does happen I promise I won’t tell anyone.”  Her forked tongue escaped her mouth with a slither as she said it and you tried to look unfazed. Not a normal human then. She waved goodbye and walked off down the hall. 

“I should try to steer clear of the music room.” You mumbled. 

“What’s wrong with the music room?” Taeyong said, startling you as he came from behind you. “You shouldn’t let the gorgon girl bother you, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Would you stop sneaking up on me! You screamed. “Make some noise next time!” 

“But the look of fear on your face is amusing, Little Bitch. Why would I go and do that?” Taeyong replied with a wink. 

You rolled your eyes, “What do you want Taeyong?” Just when you said it you regretted asking. 

“Instead of zoning out in the halls and talking to yourself, why don’t we have some fun together instead?” He said, eyes alight with mischief.

“Ah, no. I… I’m not free right now.”

“Then make some time to spare.” Taeyong said, stepping closer.

“I-I can’t. I still have my classes!” Ah damn it, you were stuttering again. God he unsettled you. 

“Who cares about classes? Wouldn’t it be much more important for you and me to learn about our bodies instead?” He said with a smile. 

You blushed and tried hiding it by opening one of your textbooks only to find yourself reading it upside down.

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed. Here, come over here.” He pointed down a hallway. “There’s a less-crowded classroom this way-”

You bolted, running in the opposite direction and calling over your shoulder, “I’m busy!”

Hah… That was too close!” Thankfully I got away… This time. You leaned against a classroom door trying to catch your breath. Then you noticed where you’d gotten to while you were distracted running away, it was of course, the music room. Just my luck.

You could hear soft playing coming from inside. Curious beside yourself you opened the door quietly to find Taemin playing on the grand piano, his back facing you. When he was playing he seemed quite the opposite of lazy, he was rather vivacious. You came further into the room and watched his fingers as they spirited over keys. Even the muscles along his back seemed to move with him beneath his shirt to the rhythm, it was all so mesmerizing you hadn’t really noticed he’d stopped playing until he said, “What do you want?” 

“Did you hear me come in,” you asked, feeling a bit guilty to have disturbed him. 

“Of course I did, you are ever so noisy. Stop looking at me, you’re making a weird face.”

You blushed and moved to look around the room knowing full well he was talking about how you had been openly gaping at him. It was cruel really how angelic these monsters could appear. Without his fangs and imperious attitude he really would have been quite admirable.

“Did you need something?” He asked, going to lay on the floor.

“Nothing. I don’t need anything really.” Perhaps you should start some conversation or it would only get more awkward. “What’s the name of the song you were playing? It was beautifu-”

“Get out if you don’t need anything. You’re fatiguing. You really don’t have any importance to me and I hate small talk.” He said, closing his eyes.

Well that was rather unfair. “I wouldn’t be in your way at all if it wasn’t for you and your brothers.” Forget not angering him, you were angry now.

“My brothers all seem to be in a frenzy over possessing your body and blood, but don’t lump me in with them. If you’re trying to use your body to gain control or whatever of our family, then it’d be pointless coming after me. Eldest or not, I don’t even care about this household. Does that change your mind? Do you regret choosing me now?” Taemin said.

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were stunned, it was almost a book coming from a man who supposedly never spoke and one who never revealed his thoughts.

“I assure you, I’m not here to gain leverage or power or anything! I just want my freedom, just like you want yours it seems.”

“Don’t act like you know me and as for trusting your word, what good is it?” He said.

“Just because you can’t take anyone else's word in your family doesn’t mean you have to shovel all of your experiences on me!” You shouted.

“I’m tired of talking. He said, getting off the floor and walking to the door. “I’ve already said what I had to.”

He really liked slithering out of conversation and being the one with the last word didn’t he. 

You sat on the bench and moved your hand across the ivory keys. It’s best this way, I’ll have the best chance at escaping if he really doesn’t care about anything or anyone at all.

[sinnerandafool]

Winter to Spring - My Skyrim Thieves Guild Fanfic

This is my Skyrim fanfic, based loosely on my current play through. If you are able to use mods, I highly recommend Take Notes - Journal of the Dragonborn. Writing a journal as my character definitely made me more invested in her story. 

Here is the link to the whole story on Ao3 x.

I’m a rookie fic writer, so any feedback is appreciated, but mostly I hope you enjoy it, and that it serves as a good distraction from the hellscape we live in (Americans). 

Title: Winter to Spring

Chapters: 4/?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (the MC experienced some in her past, and is experiencing sexual harassment in the first chapter.)

Rating: M (for violence, eventual sexual content)

Relationship: Brynjolf / Female Dovahkiin

Chapter 1

Aerlith woke alone, drowsily opening her eyes as the sounds of morning birds and running water filtered into her consciousness. A piney scent permeated the little fur tent. She rolled to one side, her sore muscles protesting. She closed her eyes, trying to fall back into the delicious dream she had been having. All she recalled were light touches, warm embraces, and a soft, deep voice calling her name. Well, not her name precisely. No one knew her true name, only the false one she used day to day. She sighed. For the thousandth time in her life, she cursed her past for making her a fugitive. She rolled over again, restlessly seeking sleep, but hunger nagged at her stomach, so she reluctantly got up and exited the tent.

Sitting on a boulder next to the stream babbling by, she stared up at the entrance of the ruin before her. The Twilight Sepulcher. The trials of the Pilgrim’s Path were still painfully fresh in her mind. Aerlith never liked ruins. The smell of decay, the damp darkness, and worst of all, the deafening silence, which often signaled the presence of slumbering draugr. She shuddered, recalling their evil glowing eyes and hollow flesh.

Despite her fear, Aerlith had been successful in her mission to return the Skeleton Key to its rightful place. She felt apathetic about Nocturnal, and suspected the lady of twilight felt similarly about her. Daedric princes were never concerned with the fates of their human worshippers, and to Aerlith it seemed a tad foolish to risk one’s life in exchange for unreliable favor. But no matter her skepticism, she’d completed Nocturnal’s trial, and at last reached the Ebonmere, where she returned the Skeleton Key. She didn’t do it for Nocturnal. She did it for her family.

She smiled sadly, thinking about Karliah and Gallus, saying their final goodbyes before he faded into the Evergloam. Gallus had extended his spectral hand to touch his beloved’s cheek with such tenderness and sincerity it made her heart ache. “Farewell,” Karliah had intoned softly, leaning into his intangible touch. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Her voice was even, and Aerlith couldn’t see her face, but something in her tone betrayed absolute misery at the parting.

Aerlith took the last bite of her apple and stood. She stretched, then set about packing up her camp. She was tired, yes, but she was also brimming with excitement. Nocturnal would no longer sabotage the luck of the guild, and their chances of success would increase. The wealth would marginally improve the lives of her newfound family, and she couldn’t wait to share in their happiness. And, of course, she was curious about what he would have to say.

Aerlith hired a carriage to take her from Falkreath to Riften, opting for comfort and rest in exchange for one hundred-fifty hard earned septims. But it was worth it, she thought, snuggled under a warm fur cloak and hood, watching the scenery pass by idly while the horse did all the work. Her life for the past few weeks had been constant hiking, camping and delving into dangerous ruins. She was ready for a break.

One long day and night later, the carriage creaked its way up a gentle rise, and Riften Stables came into view. Feeling lethargic and in need of exercise, Aerlith tapped the driver on the shoulder and asked him to let her off. He obliged, and urged his horse up the road without her.

She strolled languidly along the road, slowly stretching her stiff legs. The Rift was blooming. The aspens sprouted new leaves, wildflowers grew madly across the landscape, and birds were everywhere, singing their chirruping songs. Aerlith breathed in the clean spring air, intoxicated by the warmth and life of it all. After the dank Sepulcher and gloomy Falkreath hold, this was paradise.

By and by she reached the main gate of Riften, nodding to the guards in their livery, who smiled coyly at her as she passed. They knew who she was, or at least, they knew her reputation in the hold. She had been gone for a long time, and among the nosy guards there were several betting pools on whether she’d make it back alive. The guard guffawed and shook hands with his partner, who reluctantly tossed him a purse. Arielle had returned home at last, and he was rich.

Aerlith skirted the marketplace, moving quickly along the perimeter towards the keep. Though it was a warm day, she pulled her hood securely over her face, and kept her head down. Thankfully, it was a busy time in the market, so she was able to slip through without attracting much attention.

At the secret back entrance to the cistern, she nudged the button and waited for the coffin to slide back. As usual it made an unpleasantly loud grinding sound, and she wondered for the hundredth time why none of the citizens ever commented on it, or attempted to gain entry. It was another strange feature of Riften life. She still wasn’t used to the confounding apathy that permeated the city.

Below, she lifted the hatch and descended the ladder into the darkness. Though the cistern was damp and cool, warmth spread from her heart when she saw her guildmates gathered on the center dais. Everyone was here, safe, and from the looks of it listening raptly to Karliah. The dark elf stood beside Brynjolf, entertaining the small crowd with her part of the tale of the Skeleton Key’s return. Arielle approached silently to listen.

“I was working to clear some rubble when I saw the portal glow to life. I knew what must have happened, and I eagerly stepped through it and into Nocturnal’s sanctum. I just managed to catch the lady fading back into her realm, and then I saw Arielle. Her face was the perfect picture of shock. I called out to her and she looked at me as if from a hundred miles away. I swear I’ve never seen her look so bewildered.” Karliah smiled, and Brynjolf chuckled softly, looking thoughtful.

“In all fairness,” Aerlith said softly, feeling the eyes of her guildmates shift to her, “If you’d just taken a leap of faith, fallen toward your certain death, and then come face to face with a daedric prince for the first time, I imagine you’d look the same, Karliah,” she smiled, meeting her friends’ eyes.

Karliah beamed at her. “Welcome back Arielle!” She crossed the dais and pulled her into a tight hug. “Would you care to share your side of the story?”

“At the moment, all I would like is a bath and a bottle of Surilie wine,” she said, smiling. “And, to be honest, I think our lady would like to keep some of her secrets sacred.” Aerlith winked at Rune, who was staring at her with boldfaced shock.

Brynjolf stepped toward her, smiling. “Well done, lass. It’s good to see you in one piece.” He clapped her shoulder, then became more serious. “I’m not much good at things like this, but I need to thank you for all you’ve done for the guild. I’m so proud-”

“Oh, enough fluff Brynjolf,” Vex said exasperatedly. “We’re all happy. Let the poor woman have her bath in peace.”

Karliah grinned and squeezed Aerlith’s hand. “Indeed. Let’s all go to the Flagon and have a proper celebration!”

The guild all made approving noises and began to filter out, several of the members stopping to offer words of encouragement to Aerlith.

“Arielle!” exclaimed one, a handsome, burly nord with striking warpaint beneath his eyes. “I’m so glad you returned safely. ” He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “My sword and bow are always at the ready for you. You need not fear any foe with me by your side.”

“Hello Thrynn,” Aerith said tiredly. “Pleasure as always.” She pulled her hand away. “But I really would like to go relax now. It was a long journey from Falkreath. If you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps you’d like some company in the bath, little dove,” he growled softly, his voice like the ragged edge of an old battleaxe.  She could feel his breath on her ear. A chill ran down her neck, goosebumps rising.

“No,” she said firmly, “Thank you.” She pulled away from him, and strode, head held high across the cistern to the entrance of the baths.

Thrynn admired her retreating figure until it vanished into darkness. He turned to go to the Flagon, but was stopped short in his tracks by Brynjolf, who leaned against a wall by the door, face wreathed in shadow. Thrynn scowled. “What are you doing skulking around like that, Brynjolf? Out of the way.” He tried to push past, but Brynjolf stopped him.

“When will you give it up, Thrynn?”

“Give what up?”

“Arielle. I don’t know how many times you need to be rejected for the message to come across loud and clear,” Brynjolf stood up, taking a step closer.

Thrynn laughed heartily at the threat. “You know nothing of women if you thought that was rejection,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “Women always play hard to get.” He smiled lasciviously then continued, “That’s what makes Arielle so irresistibly delicious.”

Brynjolf’s mouth set into a grim line. “Don’t talk about her that way. She’s not a blushing lady for you to seduce. She is your sister in arms,” he said forcefully.

The bandit chuckled. “Not like you to be so hypocritical, Brynjolf. You hold your subordinates to a higher standard than yourself.”

“Not sure what you are implying, but I advise you to choose your next words very carefully.” Brynjolf’s green eyes hardened, the anger in them sharper than the finest glass dagger.

Thrynn swallowed. “Everyone knows about you and the fence,” he said boldly.

“Oh yes?” Brynjolf smiled darkly at Thrynn, and the bandit wondered for a moment if he should be ready to brawl. “Get out of my sight,” the second in command spat at him.

Relieved, Thrynn pushed past his superior and rushed through the door to the Flagon. Brynjolf frowned, his brow furrowed, and stared off into the darkness where Arielle had been a moment before.

Aerlith had never been so happy to sink into a hot bath. She wasted no time, quickly shimmying out of her light armor, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She lowered herself indulgently into the water. The grime from the Sepulcher, the dust from the road, and the cold of Skyrim that permeated her bones gave way to the warmth of the water. She glowed with happy contentment. She was home among her friends again. The faces of Karliah, Vex, Brynjolf and Delvin brought such joy to her. After her lonely sojourn through Skyrim, she had everything she needed. And Brynjolf was proud of her. His warm green eyes and welcome smile made her glow even brighter. She grabbed up her soap and began to wash, smiling to herself.

Her mind wandered unbidden back to Thrynn. The former bandit was friendly enough, though difficult to trust at the best of times. But his constant flirting was beginning to be more than just a minor annoyance. She’d failed to reject him firmly enough the first time, and he had been ignoring her subsequent tries with horrifyingly admirable gumption.

When Aerlith first joined the guild, Thrynn, along with practically every other man with eyes had been quite open about their interest in her. At first she had blushed furiously red when they complimented her, or touched her. She would always freeze in place and clam up, her mind unable to form thoughts, her mouth unable to speak. Her innocent reaction made them laugh, at which point they would ruffle her hair and leave her to go about their business. Aerlith began spending more time with Vex, observing how her friend would openly laugh at the men accosting her, and she learned how to handle unwanted advances with more confidence. As she rejected the men, one by one they moved on. It was better this way. She hoped their interest stemmed merely from her novelty, and not from any other motives.

Thrynn was not as easy to deal with. He pushed past her discouragement, whether it was polite or harsh. He continued to harass her, to touch her, to whisper vile things in her ear that made her blush. She felt beat down by his constant disregard for her wish to be left alone, and had resolved to just ignore him when she could. It reminded her a little too much of the way Jarl Siddgeir’s sneering, lecherous expression, when he cornered her in the darkened servant’s quarters all those months ago. She shuddered at the memory. She could still feel his body weight pressing her into the wall, the hard length of his arousal grinding into her angrily. Something died within her that night. She had no skills, no strength, and no way out. Her silver eyes hardened. Things had changed. If she ever met Siddgeir again, she would have her revenge.

Aerlith soaped her long, pale blonde hair, gently teasing out the tangles. She never felt more powerful, more able to protect herself at this moment. The frightened and helpless girl she once was had grown into a dangerous woman. Her mediocre skills with a dagger, which had been scoffed at by Vilkas of Jorrvaskr, had improved under Brynjolf’s friendly tutelage. Thanks to him, and to the other members of the guild who shared their expertise, Aerlith was silent, fast, and deadly.

Feeling clean and refreshed, Aerlith allowed herself a moment to wallow in the hot water. There was one man in the guild who was ostensibly uninterested in her: Brynjolf. His attentions to her were friendly, but professional. He patiently taught her the tools of a thief’s trade, gently correcting her when she needed it. She was grateful that he did not ridicule her inexperience. He offered his advice after giving her a job, and usually ended by staring her down with his shiny green eyes as he said, “And be careful, lass.”

When she returned successful and pocket jingling with coin, he would clap her on the back or shoulder, offering her encouragement and smiles that she hoped contained pride. She was his protege, after all. Thanks to Brynjolf, Aerlith had a safe place to sleep, and a well paying job that allowed her to keep a low profile. She was more than grateful to him, and their relationship was more than a simple friendship. But whether her feelings for him were platonic was a question she desperately tried to avoid. She knew he didn’t see her as anything more than a pupil.

However, Aerlith occasionally caught him staring at her from across rooms, his eyes serious as he contemplated her. It seemed unfair to her that she couldn’t decipher the meaning behind this. It was all too easy to imagine that he felt something for her too. On the night they met, Brynjolf flirted with her shamelessly, and though she knew now that his attention had been false, simply a means to an end, her attraction and interest in him that night was real.

Another memory fought its way to the surface. The guild threw a large celebration when the three Nightingales returned successful, Mercer dead and Karliah safely home again with her honor restored. That night, Aerlith begged off an arm wrestling match with Vex, opting to take a cup of wine to a quiet table on the outer ring of the din. There she sat and watched the merriment, laughing as Vekel hit on Tonilia and she slapped him forcefully for his impertinence, nearly knocking the slight man down. Tonilia huffed away, going to sit across from Brynjolf at his table. As Aerlith’s eyes followed the woman in amusement, they lit upon Brynjolf and stuck there. He was watching her again. She looked back at him, surprised. She couldn’t make out the expression on his face. The shadows made it too difficult to see, but the glint in his eyes couldn’t be mistaken.

She didn’t look away. Neither did he. Aerlith felt heat beginning to rise in her cheeks, but she was transfixed. His green eyes shone at her as he leaned forward into the candlelight, resting his chin on his hand. The light revealed his faintly amused smile, which she returned hesitantly. But then, Tonilia said something to him and he looked away, the tension released. Aerlith felt let down. The rumors of Brynjolf and Tonilia’s romantic involvement may not have been true, but to Aerlith it seemed they shared a closer relationship than was usual. It pricked her to see him smile so easily and openly with Tonilia, joking raunchily and teasing her. With Aerlith, Brynjolf acted as the wise teacher, the helpful mentor. Her gratitude prevented her from feeling resentment, but her disappointment could not be helped.

Aerlith finished scrubbing her hair and rose from the bath. She toweled herself quickly and dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, pulling on her stockings and boots. She didn’t bother to arrange her hair or apply any cosmetics. Fatigue wore on her, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the giddy depths of a bottle.

She entered the tavern a few minutes later. Karliah, sitting with Vex and Delvin, saw her come in and motioned for her to join them. Aerlith smiled and went over.

“Here you are, yer ladyship,” Delvin said gruffly, pouring her a cup of her favorite Surilie vintage. “Only the best for the woman of the hour.”

Aerlith sat down and picked up the cup. Seized by a sudden emotion, she raised it and said, “To the guild! May it last another thousand years.” The others raised their flagons as well, adding their “Hear, hear”s and “To the guild!”s. Aerlith drank deeply, draining half her cup in one go. She wasn’t planning on drinking lightly.

“So,” Vex said, “Care to tell us more about your exploits, Arielle? Delvin is practically foaming at the mouth with curiosity.” She smiled wickedly at him, and he smacked her hand.

Aerlith laughed. She had missed the banter of her friends during her long journey alone. She drank again, considering. Vex was still looking at her curiously, so she said, “Not much to tell I’m afraid, Vex.”

Vex scowled. “You Nightingales and your secrets,” she muttered darkly. But she brightened up quickly when she spotted something over Aerlith’s shoulder. “Watch out,” she said, smiling sneakily at Aerlith and rising from the table. “Delvin, Karliah, come here. I want to show you something.” Vex beckoned them across the room, leaving Aerlith alone with her wine.

Puzzled, Aerlith drained the rest of her cup, and reached for the bottle to pour another. A larger, rougher hand covered hers and tightened it against the glass bottleneck.

“Thirsty tonight, eh little dove?” Thrynn’s rough voice whispered in her ear. Aerlith pulled her hand away, and watched as Thrynn poured her wine, filling her cup nearly to the brim. He moved and sat down in the chair next to hers, resting his head on one hand lazily. “I can think of many more delicious ways to quench your thirst.” He licked his lips, the suggestion obvious.

Aerlith rolled her eyes. “Thank you for your input Thrynn.”

He chuckled. “So cold. Any other man would think you hated him.”

“Then why don’t you take the hint?” Aerlith asked sharply.

Thrynn leaned back in his chair and regarded her. She felt his eyes roaming over her face and body. “I want you to sing for me, little dove,” he crooned, taking her hand in his. “I’ve the skilled hands of a thief and the strength of a barbarian...care to take a ride?”

Aerlith yanked her hand away, standing unsteadily and staring down at him. She swallowed her nerves and said, “I am not your little dove , Thrynn. I am a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. And believe me,” she said, her words pure venomous threat, “I am more than capable of making you sing for me.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger, staring at him pointedly.

Thrynn stood and pulled her to him, his hands tight on her waist. His eyes burned with desire. “That’s the fire I love about you,” he said roughly. Before she could react, he pressed his mouth hungrily to hers.

Panic took hold of her, and she tried to wrench away, but he was too strong for her. Desperately, she fumbled for her dagger, drew it, and stabbed it mercilessly into his thigh. Thrynn howled and released her. Aerlith pulled her dagger back and brandished it, sinking into her fighting stance.

“Little bitch,” Thrynn spat. He reached for his battle axe.

“Enough,” Delvin said, stepping between Aerlith and Thrynn. “Calm down the lot of you.” He looked over his shoulder at Aerlith. “All right?” She nodded. “Good. Now, get yer hackles down Thrynn, before I gut you like a fish.”

Thrynn looked from her and back to Delvin. The tavern had gone quiet. Aerlith did not turn around, but from Thrynn’s mild panic, she could tell the thieves were watching the scene with little love for the bandit. “Fuck you,” Thrynn spat at Delvin, and turned to leave the Flagon from the front entrance. The door slammed behind him.

Aerlith breathed out, slow and steady. She grabbed a linen from the table and wiped her dagger on it, sliding it back into the sheathe. Karliah appeared at her shoulder. “Are you alright, Arielle?” she said with concern.

“Fine,” Aerlith said, anger still coursing through her. “That bastard deserved it.”

“He did indeed,” Karliah said, a smile curling her lips. Around them, the thieves returned to their drinks, and conversation began to buzz again.

“I need a drink,” Aerlith said, beginning to relax again.

“It’s on me,” Karliah laughed and headed to the bar to procure another bottle.

Aerlith sat with Karliah, watching her guildmates fraternize and drink. Delvin brought out his lute, and Dirge his drum, and the two began playing a lively tune. Tonilia got up and started to dance, her lithe body and agile feet drawing the eyes of every man in the room. Aerlith’s eyes drifted to the bar, where she saw Brynjolf sitting the wrong way round on his stool, leaning back on the bar as he watched Tonilia dance, smiling and occasionally sipping his drink.

He is so handsome , Aerlith mused. Brynjolf had shiny long hair the color of garnet, which set off the color of his deep set green eyes. But it wasn’t his appearance as much as his personality that made him stand out. He had a habit of catching her off guard with a sly look in his eyes, saying her name with his lilting accent, catching her in a daydream when she was supposed to be learning lockpicking. She would snap out of her trance and meet his eyes, and get lost again for a moment before smiling apologetically and telling him to continue with his teaching.

All the lifesaving lessons he taught were sorely needed. After her family went missing, she arrived in Skyrim and became a ward of the old Jarl of Falkreath, the suspicious and feeble Dengeir. Her mother had a cousin who worked in the longhouse, so Aerlith was allowed to live there in return for working in the kitchen and cleaning up after the Jarl’s family. She didn’t hate it there, but when Dengeir’s nephew Siddgeir assumed the throne, the trouble began. Siddgeir took an unhealthy interest in his ward, resulting in the terrifying night he had confronted her in her room. Worse, once he had his fun, he threw Aerlith cruelly out into the street, claiming that she was a liability he couldn’t afford any longer. He may very well have been correct, but without his protection, Aerlith was a sitting duck.

The day two strangers came through Falkreath asking after a pale haired girl with silver eyes, she fled with her few possessions and never looked back. Aerlith didn’t adjust well to life on the run. She arrived in Riverwood hungry, filthy and tired, and nearly collapsed on the porch of the inn. She had enough money to pay her way, but being a weak young lady with riches and no protection, she soon lost half her purse to a sneak thief in the night. Desperate, she moved on from Riverwood to Whiterun, with shallow hope that she would find sanctuary at the Temple of Kynareth.

Lost in reverie, she realized she was still staring at Brynjolf. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she turned back to her bottle, attempting to drown out her thoughts with the intoxicating liquid. Karliah regarded her, sipping from her own cup. “Something on your mind, friend?”

“That business with Thrynn took me back to a different time,” she said, her face hard. “I haven’t always been as good with a blade.” Aerlith wanted to unburden herself and share her troubles with Karliah, but she couldn’t risk it. From Falkreath to Riften, she was hunted by various heavily armed strangers. She suspected they were the same men who took her parents away, come to finish the job. Telling her story to anyone was foolish and could possibly bring harm to them.

Karliah smiled sadly. “Being a woman in Skyrim is tough. But you are strong and worth their respect,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the gathered guild. “It is good that you remind them now and then.”

Aerlith grinned. Though Karliah knew nothing of her past, Aerlith always felt that her friend understood her perfectly. It was a comfort beyond measure. “At least I have you, my friend. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in darkness.”

The dark elf laughed and patted her hand. “I’m off to bed,” she said, standing. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Aerlith nodded at the familiar send off.

“Good night.”

Some time later, when the music had ceased and most guild members had stumbled off to bed, Aerlith tipped the bottle into her cup once more, only to be disappointed when nothing poured out. She sighed and leaned over the table, contemplating throwing in the towel and going to bed. Questing in the interest of the guild was great and noble, but it definitely didn’t make her rich. She tiredly imagined how many jobs she would have to take on before she made up for all the traveling expenses.

While she was lost in thought, Brynjolf came over silently and plunked a full bottle of wine on her table, making her jump a bit. “You shouldn’t have an empty cup, lass,” He said, looking down at her with playful eyes and a warm smile.

Aerlith nodded her approval and reached for the bottle. She noted that Brynjolf also looked pretty deep in his cups. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes were extra shiny.

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking a sip and offering him the bottle when he sat opposite her. He poured out a cup for himself, then looked at her for a moment.

“I never got to thank you properly earlier,” he said.

Her heart swelled, but she kept her voice even as she said, “I got all the thanks necessary from Lady Nocturnal herself.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he laughed. “But truly, without your help, the guild would still be under the thumb of Mercer and suffering from a daedra’s displeasure.” He looked at her seriously, and she felt herself beginning to blush. “I’m very glad I chose to scam you of all the people in the city that day,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Aerlith took a swig of wine to cool herself. Feeling vulnerable, she spoke quietly, “If you hadn’t tried to rob me, I never would have joined the guild, and would have wandered alone forever.” She chanced a look up at him. “All the skills you’ve taught me have saved my life countless times already. Performing this task for the guild was nothing in comparison to what I’ve received.” Saying it felt right, but Aerlith thought Brynjolf would laugh at her sincerity as he usually did.

He surprised her by reaching across the table and grasping her hand tightly in his. His grip was warm, his calloused fingers rough as they held hers fast. “Don’t be silly. You’ve accomplished something great, and I’m proud of you, Arielle.” He stared intensely into her eyes, burning her with the heat of his conviction.

She pulled her hand back and took another long drink from her cup. She grinned at him. “It’s a strange thing, hearing a thief speak so earnestly,” she joked, trying to dispel the tension she felt.

“As I said, I’m not one for sincerity. Enjoy it while it lasts, lass.” She relaxed a bit, knowing that the hard part was over. “Now, about that bandit,” he said, looking at her smugly.

“What about him?” She asked, twisting the silver ring on her right hand repetitively. Maybe the ‘hard part’ would never really be over with Bryn.

“I enjoy seeing Thrynn being put in his place. Well done indeed, Arielle,” he replied, a sly smile playing over his lips.

Oh. He saw that . Shame burned a blush in her cheeks. She didn’t like to imagine what Brynjolf must have thought, seeing her with him. The memory of Thrynn’s hands on her felt dirty. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, looking down. “I did what had to be done.”

“And did it well,” he said gently. Aerlith raised her eyes to his. Brynjolf smiled. “Chin up, lass. That bastard couldn’t best you if he trained for a hundred years.”

A poignant feeling of relief and sadness stung her. Aerlith fought back tears, disguising her pain by gulping deeply from her cup. She wanted to say something, but her thoughts were scattered. Her mind’s eye kept flashing to Thrynn’s face, his mouth stealing hers, his hands gripping her painfully. Siddgeir slid into her thoughts too, clouding her vision with fear and shame. She breathed out shakily, carefully training her gaze into her cup.

“Arielle? Are you alright?” His chair scraped the floor as he stood, coming up close beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking. She felt tears begin to fall and blushed, looking down again. Brynjolf knelt down and leveled with her gaze.

Tentatively, his eyes searching hers, he reached up and touched her cheek. His thumb brushed a tear away, and she inhaled shakily, unsure of how to react to his touch. “It’s all right, lass. Whatever the trouble is, we can make it right,” he said slowly.

“I can’t shake them, Brynjolf,” she said, trying to speak through the sob choking her. “No matter where I go.” She hung her head again, resting it in his palm. “I will never be free from my past,” she concluded, and despair overwhelmed her. She cried softly in front of him, hating herself and hating her weakness. But she was tired, so very tired, and his kindness had opened a floodgate within her.

For a horrible moment, Brynjolf stayed very still, and she dreaded his reaction. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took her hands in his and pulled her to him, carefully encircling her in a gentle embrace. “All right, Arielle. It’s all right,” he whispered. He stroked her hair, letting her ride out the sadness. Finally, her crying quieted into sniffles, and she felt him pull her tighter to him “That’s it, lass.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

Aerlith tried to calm her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut as visions of the past threatened to take her over again. With her head pressed against his chest, Aerlith could hear Brynjolf’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm pulled her focus back to the present. Gradually, she felt herself coming down to earth as her breathing slowed and her thoughts cleared.

Reality rushed back in like frigid water, a cruel reminder of who she was, who he was, and where they were. Aerlith pulled away from Brynjolf quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “I should go.” She nodded to him and tried to make a hasty exit.

“Wait,” he said, and grabbed her arm. Aerlith didn’t look at him. She couldn't. “I’m worried about you, Arielle. Can’t I help you?” The worried kindness in his voice almost made her break again.

Aerlith steeled herself. Turning to her mentor and smiling brightly, she said, “Nothing’s much wrong, Bryn.” His brow furrowed as he watched her skeptically. “I’m just very, very tired, and I think I’ve had too much wine. I’m sorry to make a scene.”

“Alright, lass, if that’s really how you feel.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then pulled her into him again, wrapping her in his arms tightly. He held her silently for a long moment. Aerlith listened to his heartbeat again, wishing she could hear it forever. I broke so easily for him , she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Wrapped up in his warmth, she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she felt totally safe. Safe enough that the iron doors of her resolve cracked open, revealing the vulnerability and fear within. The revelation scared her, but she didn’t pull away this time. She breathed him in. His scent was leather, wine, smoke, and just a hint of sweat. Eyes closed, she let him lull her into a state of serenity.

Finally, he held her out at arms length. “Get some rest then,” he said, smiling gently. Before she could move, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, lingering there. Aerlith's eyes widened in surprise. So many invisible lines had been crossed tonight, but what truly surprised her was how right it all felt. Brynjolf took a deep breath and pulled away, blowing it out slowly as he stared at her. The look in his eyes confounded her. It was a cross between tenderness and fiery determination, with a touch of  heated aggression that made her breath catch in her chest.

Aerlith smiled. “Thank you, Bryn,” she whispered. He nodded, his eyes still burning with that mysterious energy. “Good night, then.” Aerlith walked off to bed, praying to the divines that it hadn’t been a dream.

[ladyideal]

This Is Us Part 5

Pairing: Legolas x OC!Reader

Word Count: 3003

Warnings: Nudity (but it ain’t sexy times.)

Summary: When the One Ring was found, it becomes a journey across Middle Earth to destroy it. Watch as the Fellowship is formed, and crossed the continent, where loyalty will be tested, and love will blossom at the most unexpected places.

A/n: A lot of dialogue, so bear with me here. Just want to get the group closer to one another. :)

Chapter 4 ~ Masterlist ~ Chapter 6

The Fellowship climbed a winding way among the great trees. They ascended the path until night fell. In the blue glow of a moonlit night, the Fellowship climbed a twisting stair about the trunk of a tree, past glimmering lights of silver and blue.

Far above, the silhouetted shapes of the shadowy tree-branches loomed over the group. Passing numerous platforms, the company came to a stop before a great palace in the trees, lit with silvery lights. A curving walkway laid before, leading up a low stair to an archway.

They gathered before the arch as Haldir stepped to a side. A glowing couple, hand in hand, descended down the stairs to meet the Fellowship. The Fellowship, other than you, the two Rangers and elves, stared in awe. Aragorn touched his head once in greeting.

The light dimmed, and before the Fellowship the Lord and Lady, Galadriel and Celeborn, halt. The Lady's eyes focused on Frodo first then to you, but Celeborn was the first that spoke.

"The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Eight there are here, yet nine there were, set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf?" Celeborn asked. "For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

As he spoke, Galadriel's eyes flickered to Alena's, who looked up.

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into shadow," The Lady of Light answered her husband's question, which Alena nodded slightly. 

Celeborn turned to Galadriel in surprise. 

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame: a Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria," Legolas shook his head sadly. 

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his whole purpose," Galadriel continued, focusing on Gimli when the dwarf sadly bowed his head. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief."

You looked away from the pair to study the trees around you. Anything to forget about Gandalf's death. You weren't the only one, as out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Boromir turned his pained face to the Lady, blinking and swallowing hard. 

The Lady stared back. 

After a moment, Boromir broke the gaze, weeping to the side.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, hope is lost." The Lord of Lothlorien turned to his wife. 

""The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all." Galadriel smiled softly, now turning back to you. 

"Yet hope remains while the company is true."

As if by a mysterious force, you looked back up at her. 

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace."

With that, the Fellowship accepted the offer wearily. The nights in Moria were long and uncertain. All the while, the maiar's death was fresh, and weighed heavily on everyone's mind. You lagged behind as Alena and Haldir took up the front, leading towards a temporary shelter.

"Y/N, Keeper of the Winds and the Stars, child of the Highest Valars," Galadriel whispered in your mind, casting her eyes sideways at you. "Welcome to Arda and to Lothlorien."

Once the Followship spread their bedrolls and made camp, Alena and Haldir excused themselves, taking a worn, but lighted path.

"Haldir," Alena breathed, stopping once out of earshot of the group.

"Meleth nin," The Haldir spoke, turning to the she half elf. "Manen an gar- mín vedui govannen." (My love, how long have we last met?)

"Avo ‘osto," She presses her forehead against his. "Gerich veleth nín." (Don't worry, you have my love.)

The marchwarden gently reached for the chain around her neck, drawing out the engagement ring. "Le annon veleth nín, híril nín." (And I give my love to you, my lady.)

For the the first time since meeting at the borders, the two embraced, lending the other with much needed love and warmth. It was awhile before Haldir stepped back.

"Nostad lín sui orch," He wrinkled his nose. "Cin baur a fós." (Your smell is like an Orc, take a bath.)

The beginnings of a small, relaxed smile appeared on Alena's face. She was home. "Tul-na nin. (Come with me.)

"Happilui." (Happily.)

Lounging in the tub of pleasantly hot water with hints of lavender within, Alena relaxed, soaking in the luxuries of being at home. Perhaps she could convince Haldir for a shoulder massage.

As the water cooled, she reluctantly stepped out and into a warm, cloud like, white robe. Pulling the plug, she suddenly padded out into the room, and found the marchwarden sitting on the edge of the bed, shrugging on a fresh new set of clothes.

"Meleth nin," He spoke first, watching his fiancee dig around the closet for a set of tunics. "Padad-na nin?" (My love, take a walk with me?)

"Mas anirach baded?" Alena asked, fixing her clothes and twirling in front of the wall length mirror. "Manen ceri- im thír?" (Where do you want to go? How do I look?)

Haldir watched fixated on the elleth, transfixed by the beauty in front. And yet, she was his. How in middle Earth did that happen.

"Ve vana ve i elena ro," He cleared his throat a few times, unable to get the lump out. (As beautiful as the stars above.)

The breathtaking smile he received in response, stole his breath away once more. Alena turned to him. "Tolo, hîr nín." (Come, my lord.)

Leafs of stained gold wafted down from the towering trees, adorning the gravel path with specks of gold. Jewel like color flowers sprouted from both sides, gifting the world with their unique shapes and petals. As the voices of other elves faded behind, the sounds of the forest resurfaced as animals chattered to one another, and colorful birds of paradise flew overhead singing their songs for all to hear. 

Ahead, sounds of lapping water could be heard. A layer of mist descended from above, settling into wisps, curling eagerly around the pair. Beams of moonlight shown through the canopy, as stars danced and twinkled across the night sky.

"Meleth nin," Haldir spoke in the silence once they've stopped at the end of the bridge, overlooking the lake. "It has been too long, and I'm afraid it'll be much longer till we next meet again."

Alena gently placed a hand on one of the marchwarden's stiff shoulders, and looked over at the still water. A white crescent moon reflected on the lake, dotted with plenty wavering sizes of stars, and one lone grey cloud shrouded parts of the splendor.

"Then let's make the best of the time that we have here," She responded. "Gandalf has fallen to the shadows. We will rest here, grief over him, and leave when we are ready, but not a moment too soon."

Haldir hummed in agreement, relishing in the presence of the she half elf. He was fortunate, he realized, that despite all the harrowing events that happened, they were both still alive and well. 

He reached out to gently nuzzle her cheek with a finger. "Gweston, Alena, iel -o Fenris, ana i valaina. Uare i cor na- lala tare, yare i forces -o mordor lende, emme indóme vest." (I swear, Alena, daughter of Fenris, to the Valars. When the ring is gone, when the forces of Mordor are conquered, we will wed here.)

"Gandalf na- lelya-. Man ceri- mín gar-?" Alena answered. (Gandalf is gone. What do have left?)

"I elena, i ithil, i anor, mín mellons. Ir ennas na- galad, ennas na- estel," The marchwarden pointed up at the night sky. "Mín gar- ammen." (The stars, the moon, the sun. When there is light, there is hope. We have us.)

The half elf stood close to him, standing against his lean chest. "I missed you, Haldir." She murmured.

"As I have missed you, Alena," He whispered, leaning down to gently press his lips to hers. 

It was a quick kiss, but the gesture spoke volumes. A small group of various races coming together, to fight against the whole world. Even though the odds were stacked against them, the world must be fought for.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" He mumbled against her lips, peering hopefully at the elleth.

"I must stay with the Fellowship, meleth. Their hearts are heavy with grief still. Another night when times aren't so hard."

Haldir held her in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I understand."

The pair stayed in the embrace, observing the peaceful night for as long as they could. 

Back in the makeshift camp, you sat cross legged on your bed roll, staring down at frayed parts of the tunic. Songs from the elves of Lorien could be heard in the distance.

"A Olórin i yaresse

Mentaner i Numeherui

Tírien i Rómenóri"

(Olórin who once was

Sent by the Lords of the West

To guard the Lands of the East)

"Melme nóren sina

núra ala

Eäro"

(Our love for this land

Is deeper than the deeps

Of the sea)

"What are they singing about?" Pippin spoke from the other side.

"A lament for Gandalf," You answered quietly, looking away from the sounds.

"What do they say about him?" Merry picked up. 

This time you didn't answer. Instead, Legolas spoke as he watched you. "I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near."

To your left, Aragorn continued sharpening his sword as Gimli snored beside him. Legolas stood up, surprising you as he offered a hand.

"Come with me, Y/N. I want to show you a place," He smiled. 

You looked around at the camp, hesitating when Aragorn swatted Gimli repeatedly for snoring loudly, and eventually moving away to Boromir. 

"Okay," You agreed, grabbing his hand to pull yourself up to your feet. "Be back soon, Aragorn."

A grunt from your right was all the affirmation you heard.

"Maiaron i Oiosaila,

Manan elye etevanne

Nórie i malanelye?"

(Wisest of all Maiar,

What drove you to leave

That which you loved?)

"Ilfirin nairelma

ullume nucuvalme.

Nauva i nauva."

(Yet we will cast all away

Rather that submit.

What should be shall be.)

"I bet they don't mention his fireworks. There should be a verse about them." Sam stood up. "The finest rocket ever seen. They burst in stars of blue and green. Or after thunder, silver showers came falling like a rain of flowers."

"Perhaps you can write one for him, Sam," You smiled wryly at the hobbit. "I bet Gandalf would have loved one coming from you."

The hobbit shook his head at your suggestion. ""Oh, that doesn't do him justice by a long road."

"Just a try."

"Ú-reniathach

i amar galen

I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen."

(No more will you wander

The green fields of this earth

Your journey has ended in darkness.)

""Take some rest. These borders are well protected." Aragorn spoke as he sat beside the captain.

"I will find no rest here. I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, 'Even now, there is hope left.' But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." Boromir retorted with a single shake of his head. "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our- our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I-I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored."

There was silence between the two.

"Have you ever seen it Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver. Its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?" The captain asked, turning to the Ranger.

"I have seen the White City, long ago," The Ranger unclasped his green cloak.

One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call, "The Lords of Gondor have returned!"

Aragorn smiled slightly at his words, then looked away.

"Where are we going, Legolas?" You asked, after a moment of following the elf.

"A spot I found, not long ago," He spoke, pointing at the lump of dirt. "The hill right there. I can teach you how to make flower crowns."

"Flower crowns?" You repeated in disbelief, giggling at the end.

"Yes, mellon, flower crowns," Legolas grinned at you.

"That's hardly a hill, Legolas," You rolled your eyes at him, but grinned back at him. 

In front, a field of flowers waved gently back and forth with the wind. The breeze softly whispered through each strand of your hair, curling around your fingers, and affectionately caressed your cheek.

"It's a beautiful night," You spoke, sitting down when Legolas made a spot for you.

"As are you," The elf returned. 

Immediately, heat rushed to your cheeks and you turned away from him.

"Let me teach you, Y/N," He grasped a flower stem. "Watch carefully."

It was rhythmic, even soothing as you copied his technique intently. At times where the crown was loose in some places, he would reach over, brush his hands over yours, and teach you how to fold one stem over another to tighten the circle.

For a moment, you forgot all your worries, your pain, your suffering, and your grief of Gandal. Being with Legolas was like a balm to your injuries, gently coaxing you, and believing in you as you worked on the crown. At times, you glanced sideways at his knowing, nimble hands. 

It was an arrangement of oranges, reds, and yellows. To be frank, the flower crown was one of the beautiful pieces you had ever laid eyes upon. Although you were older than Legolas, you were glad he shared this piece of knowledge with you.

An art form.

"Long days ahead," He spoke, gazing in determination at the flower crown in his hands. "No Gandalf, no one to lead the Fellowship."

"My mother told me that even when the two trees at home were cut down, there were still hope," You continued tying the stems together. "That even during the darkest nights, hope can still be found. It's not easy to see it, but it's there."

The elf was silent, as he paused his work to turn to you. "Do you think so?"

"I know so, Legolas," You placed your finished crown. "There, the flower elf prince of Greenwood."

"What do you think, mellon?" Legolas stood up, grinning happily at you as he adjusted the crown.

"It suits you," You chuckled, watching as he reached down to pick more flowers. "Why don't we make one for everyone? No i brestanneth anírach tírad vi amar." (Be the change you want to see in the world.)

He stilled at your words, straightening back up, flowers forgotten. "Ú-chenion." (I don't understand.)

"Caro naid dithin na veleth veleg," You stood up, taking his hand in yours. "Mín ma ceri- hi go-." (Do small things with great love. We will do this together.)

He stepped dangerously towards you, crowding into your space. You breath hitched as he stared down at your lips, memorizing every inch of it. "Go-, híril nín?" (Together, my lady?)

"Y/N, Legolas," A voice spoke out from the treeline. 

You quickly shoved the prince away from you, desperate to create distance between you and him. Legolas turned red at the thought of being caught together, and you turned towards the newcomer.

Galadriel emerged from the path, keenly observing you and the prince. 

"Lady Galadriel," You greeted quietly, sitting back down on the patch of ground from earlier. The elf nodded once in respect, and sat down beside you again. This time your knees touched, and you tried your best to ignore it.

"Y/N," She greeted, a smile gracing her face. "What brings the child of Valar here?"

"The same reason why Gandalf was sent," You responded. "Why all of us still fight."

"Morgoth's forces number by the thousands. Sauron does not know you are here, but I fear he will soon. You can not fight him."

"Until Dagor dagorath comes, the fight against my uncle will never cease."

"Dagor dagorath?" Legolas wondered.

You leveled your gaze at him. "The end of all times, when my father and his herald will lead the army of Arda and Ainurs against him. Then finally bring peace like it once was."

There was silence.

"Man gonoded eraid derithach?" Galadriel stepped closer. (How long will you stay here?)

"Tenna sauron na- lala tare," You answered with the smallest of smiles. (Until Sauron is no more)

"Ir ma cin treneri- hain?" Legolas turned to you, watching as your smile dropped. (When will you tell them?)

You turned back towards the direction where the makeshift camp was. "Er aur." (One day.)

As the stars lights flickered above you, you sighed. Being here was one thing, but another to not intervene. All you could do was to give advice. 

"I'll stay with you, mele-," He stumbled over his words. "Melon nin."

Galadriel smiled as the prince cleared his throat, in a futile attempt to cover his mistake. You studied the ground, until a hand took yours and you looked back up to find Galadriel standing close to you.

"Gwend sui lotheg i edlothia an-uir," She whispered within your mind. "Mel na an-uir." (Friendship is like a flower that blooms forever. Love is forever.)

You glanced over at Legolas, who met your shy gaze, but quickly broke it apart. 

"Aranel -o i valar," She continued. "Enyal- sina." (Princess of the Valar, remember this.)

"Cin na mel." (You are loved.)

Reads Everything: @asraime @mournthewicked

Tolkien: @aspiring-ginger

[fernwehbookworm]

Haunted- Chapter 3

“I don’t know what to tell you Kar. There is no one here, no forced entry, nothing.”

“How do you explain the mirror then?” Kara paces in her apartment while her sister continues to check every corner of her apartment.

“I don’t know. There isn’t anything there anymore. Normally smudges like that will stay until you clean it, at least a little, but I tried to fog it up and it's as clean as a whistle.”

“I’m telling you, it was there.”

“I’m sure it was. You don’t overreact. But I don’t know what to tell you.”

Kara collapses on her couch groans, her head hurt from lack of sleep and stress. Kara pinches the bridge of her nose and scrunches her eyes tight. Kara feels her sister sit next to her.

“You can come stay with me. Kelly has been spending a lot of time at the office anyway, helping prep some new technology for Obsidian to release next year.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. I’m going to pack a bag real quick. Can Streaky come? It's supposed to storm all week.”

“The stray?”

“Is he really a stray when he lives his best life?”

Alex laughs “Yeah, he just conned you into feeding and housing him.”

“And he returns the favor with love and affection.” Kara looks at the cat in question, lounging on the loveseat, in a weak sunbeam, purring contentedly.

“If he makes you feel better then yes, bring him. But he pees on one thing and it's back outside.”

“He isn’t a dog, Alex. He goes in the litter box just fine.”

Alex makes a face but relents. Kara goes to pack some clothes and toiletries and Alex grabs the cat’s belongings. Kara was right, dark clouds were already descending upon the city to start the week of rain and storms.

With a bag over one shoulder and a cat under the other, Kara leaves her apartment with her sister. She could be overreacting, but the mirror thing was too creepy to ignore. And Kara had to work on this article, already Snapper was criticizing her rough drafts and decimenting her sentence structure. Kara was already dreading the emails she knows are piled in her inbox from her editor. Kara called off work and just knew Snapper would not be happy with it. In order to keep the screaming to a minimum, Kara was going to have to have the first draft done by tomorrow.

“Okay,” Alex says when they get to her apartment. “Will you be fine by yourself? I have to go to work.”

“Yes. I feel better already.” Kara lets Streaky go and he immediately lands and scurries off to explore the new space.

“If you need it, you still know the safe code right?”

Kara scrunches her nose, “Yes, not that I like guns.”

“You have a Federal Agent for a sister.” Alex rolls her eyes. “It's just in case. I don’t know what is happening but I want you to protect yourself if you need to.”

“I will, Al. Go on to work. I’m just going to work on my article. Maybe take a nap.”

“Yes, please sleep. You look exhausted. Help yourself to food too.” Alex kisses her sister’s forehead. “Goodbye, call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Be safe”

Alex flashes a smile before leaving. Kara does feel better here, in her sister's home. It's full of love and memories of game nights. Also, Kara knows where at least six weapons are hidden that  Alex made sure that Kara (and now Kelly) were trained to use. Kara turns the lock on the door and raids the fridge for snacks and something to drink before settling into work.

After about two hours, Kara’s eyes are beginning to droop and her yawns are uncontainable. “Okay, 20-minute nap. Then right back to work.” Kara mumbles to herself.

Kara settles on Alex’s super comfortable sectional and pulls a blanket off the back of it. As soon as Kara is comfortable, Streaky jumps onto her stomach and begins to purr. Kara runs her hands through soft fur and allows the motion and vibration to lull her into a much needed nap.

Welcome to the Hotel California

Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)

Such a lovely face

Plenty of room at the Hotel California

Any time of year (any time of year)

You can find it here

Kara wakes with a start. The warmth on her stomach is gone and there is music playing.

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted

She got the Mercedes Benz, uh

She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys

That she calls friends

How they dance in the courtyard

Sweet summer sweat

Some dance to remember

Some dance to forget

Kara locates the record player that Streaky is sitting next to and intensely staring at as the record spins round and round. He must have turned it on by accident. The cat tended to be too curious for his own good. With a sigh, Kara stands and goes to turn it off, picking up the car and moving him to the floor. Streaky protests but Kara ignores him. Upon inspection, nothing seems damaged. If Alex would kick Streaky out for peeing on something, she would shoot him for scratching one of her vinyl records.

Awake now, Kara sets back to work, determined to at least finish the first draft before five. Around noon, Kara helps herself to leftovers in Alex's fridge and continues working. Kara is deep into her final paragraphs when the TV clicks on, blaring sound. Kara practically leaps from her chair as the creepy piano plays.

You unlock this door with the key of imagination.

Beyond it is another dimension- a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind.

You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas.

You've just crossed over into . . . the Twilight Zone.

Kara feels as if her heart is beating in her throat and her stomach has fallen through the floor. Streaky is on the back of the couch, half laying on the remote.

"Boy… are you trying to scare me to death?" Kara laughs to herself and rescues the remote from under the cat and turns off the TV. Just ten more minutes of work and she will be done. Sending it off to Snapper to be covered in notes and changes and insults. But that is a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, Kara is going to make dinner for her sister and her sister's girlfriend and try and put this morning behind her.

Kara must be more tired then she thinks she is, even with the nap she had. All while making dinner she drops half a dozen utensils and misplaces just as many things. She could have sworn the bell peppers were right next to the cutting board as she chopped the carrots, but when she went to grab them they were on the counter behind her next to the stove. The peeler fell to the floor without Kara even touching it and the sharp knife followed a few minutes later, almost striking her foot on its dangerous journey down.

Kara was clumsy and a bit forgetful at the best of times, adding in only about eight hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours, and Kara was a God damn hazard. But Kara was determined to make this chicken stir fry as a 'Thank you' to her sister. By 6:30 everything is done and staying warm in the oven and Kara waits for Alex, her sister had texted her about fifteen minutes ago that Alex was leaving work. Kelly would be about an hour more. Another ding of Kara's phone. Kara checks and it's a text from Jess, letting her know that L-Corp released more information to the reporters.

Kara decides to browse the new information while she waits. Picking up the green pen she had taken from L-Corp, Kara sets to taking more notes. She always found it was better to handwrite things first, it helps the information sink into her brain before transferring it to a digital format. Movement out of the side of her eye breaks Kara from her concentration. With a gasp, Kara sees Lena pacing by Alex's balcony door. But as soon as Kara focuses on her, Lena is gone with a blink. A chill passes down Kara's spine. Kara throws down her pen and tries to calmly walk to the kitchen for some water.

"I'm just overtired. That's it. Too focused." Kara mumbles to herself between sips of the cool liquid.

"Hey!" Alex calls and Kara jumps with a small yelp.

Alex throws her a questioning look from the front door and immediately scans the apartment for danger. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just been working too hard I think."

"You really need to take time off."

"I know. I know. This is just such a crucial time. Anyway… dinner is ready. Chicken stir fry."

Alex's face softens from the concerned big sister to an appreciative hungry woman. "Great, Kelly said she won't be home until like 7:30 now so it's just us.

"So… Sister Night?"

"Sister Night" Alex confirms.

Kara squeals and grabs bowls to load with the medley of rice, vegetables, and protein. Alex grabs glasses for wine and heads into the living room to que up the newest season of Umbrella Academy. They watched the first season together and pinky swore to only watch the second together also.

After an episode, Alex gathers the dishes and disappears into the kitchen. She returns with a pint of Ben and Jerry's for each of them, allowing her sister to pick first. They swap halfway through the containers and Kara hums in satisfaction as she scraps the last of the melted ice cream from the bottom.

Kara ignores the fact that Alex keeps checking her phone. She's waiting on Kelly who is now half an hour later then she said she would be. It isn't until the end of the third episode that Kelly finally makes it home. Alex leaves Kara on the couch as they hear the front door open and the sound of bags hitting the floor and shows roughly kicked off.

"Hey babe! Kara made dinner. You hungry?" Kara hears Alex call.

"No thank you. I'm just tired. But I could go for a glass of wine."

"Coming right up."

Kara can hear the two in the kitchen now, talking quietly as Kara scrolls through her phone, waiting on them to come back. Alex sits in the middle of the couch, Kelly tucks herself into the corner and stretches her feet onto her girlfriend's lap. Kara resumes her position of her head on Alex's shoulder and their arms intertwined. Alex switches the show to something less intense and the Parks and Rec theme song starts.

Kara can feel the vibrations of Alex talking to Kelly about their days against her cheek. Between that and the familiarity of the show's dialogue, Kara can soon feel herself slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

Lena is alone in the lab. It's late, darkness permeates the lab except for the lights around where Lena is working. Lena types vigorously at her laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. Lights are blinking on the machine behind her. Lena is mumbling under her breath. Kara laughs but it sounds weird, muffled.

“Hey, Lena.”

Lena doesn't respond, just continues to type away. From behind her ear, Lena produces a pen to begin writing. A green pen. With gold trim. The very pen Kara had acquired from L-Corp. After a few, what Kara can only assume is, equations, Lena cries out. Kara jumps with the rudeness of it, but then a giant grin spreads on Lena’s face. Lena begins to giggle excitedly while she inputs something into her computer and then Lena practically skips over to the machine and flips switches and turns dials. Then Lena runs back to her computer and the large machine begins to hum, lights flash. Quickly, Lena grabs an apple from next to her computer and places it on the small platform in the middle of the center hole.

Lena is fixated on the apple, only looking away to check her computer. Lena is so focused, Kara smiles to herself. It’s really cute. Kara stays back and watches the scene unfold. She feels excitement build in her chest, matching the excitement on Lena’s face.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kara sees a shadow move. It slides between desks and chairs, nearly shapeless and silent. Lights from the machines make a beacon in the near darkness, making the shadow even harder to see. Lena’s back is to it as she inches closer to the machine. Then the shadow materializes into a human form, completely shrouded head to toe. It reaches a handout and turns a dial out of Lena's eye line. Kara cries out but Lena can't hear her. The shadow slinks back into the darkness and is gone. Something changes in the hum of the machine. The light that had been circling the apple in the opening began to increase speed. Lights began to blink rapidly all over the network of technology. Lena's glee was slowly morphing into terror. Bright white light is building from the center and the hum has turned into more of a whine as it builds.

"No! No, no, no, no!" Lena exclaims as she scrambles to start turning switches and dials to turn off the machine. But it's too late. The damage has been done.

Kara has to close her eyes against the harshness of the light and feels herself get blown backward by the concussive force of whatever is happening. By the time she can see again, Lena is gone. The room is left in the same devastated state that Kara saw when she first arrived at L-Corp.

"Lena!" Kara yells, waking herself up.

Kara looks around to get her bearings. Alex and Kelly are still sitting on the couch next to her, staring at her in concern. Kara leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, bearing her face in her hands and taking deep breaths. After a moment she can feel Alex rubbing circles between her shoulder blades.

"Bad dream?" Alex asks softly.

Kara nods and continues to try and calm her racing heart.

After a few minutes, Kelly softly asks, "Who's Lena?"

Kara must have yelled out loud and that's what woke her. "The woman I'm doing a story on. The CEO of L-Corp. She died in a lab accident. Well they assume. There isn't a body."

"And are you stressed about that?" Kelly probs gently.

"Yeah. I haven't been able to sleep. I've been up late working and then when I do sleep, I have dreams about her."

"Are they all nightmares?"

"No. Sometimes it's just like she is there in whatever weird dream I'm having. Sometimes we sit and have a conversation. Sometimes in my apartment, sometimes in the lab. That was the first nightmare."

Kara finally looks at her sister and Kelly. Alex looks concerned but Kelly has on her very serious face. The 'I'm psychoanalyzing someone' face.

"Is that the only time you see her?"

"Are you shrinking me right now?" Kara asks with a laugh.

Kelly makes a face at Kara's term. "I'm concerned that my girlfriend's sister is showing signs of stress-related anxiety."

Kara relents. "No. I keep seeing her out of the corner of my eye. Passing by a window, sitting next to me. Across the room. Just snatches. When I focus on her she's gone. It’s so weird. Like, I never knew her but somehow I’ve  imagined entire conversations with her.”

Kelly is quiet for a moment. When Kara looks over at her, Kelly and Alex seem to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. A few nods and Kelly’s eyebrows furrow, Kara can’t see Alex’s face but assumes she is being just as expressive. With a huff of air, Alex turns back to her sister and continues to rub between Kara’s shoulder blades.

“Kara I really think you need to take time off. This amount of stress is not healthy. And this is not a healthy reaction to the death of a stranger.”

“I know. I told Alex I would after the article is submitted I would. But Lena, she deserves this. She deserves to be remembered for all the good she has done. Not for the awful crimes of her brother. Did you know she sponsors several group homes in National City? Not L-Corp, Lena does, personally. She even uses those homes to look for interns and to give scholarships to teens. I just… I can’t let her be forgotten. And all those other reporters, they are just going to twist the story. Or give bare-bone facts. I promised Jess and all the other employees I would write this. I can’t stop now.”

“You don’t have to. But look, maybe you can come to Obsidian tomorrow. We are working on this new virtual reality tech and how it can be used in therapy. Maybe I can help you get past this so you can sleep.”

“But I have to…” Kara trails off when she sees the glare from her sister. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come first thing. Then maybe I can still finish reading through this new research and get a copy to Snapper.”

“Good. It’s settled. I’m going to shower. Alex, get your sister a bed made up on the couch so that she might get some sleep. Goodnight, Kara.”

“Night, Kelly.”

When Kelly is gone, Alex wraps her sister up in a tight hug. “Don’t work yourself to death. I need my sister.” Alex kisses Kara’s forehead and then stands to get the extra blankets and a pillow from the closet.

“And I need mine. That’s why I am here. And your brain doctor girlfriend is going to fix me right up.” Kara tries to joke but it falls a little flat. Alex tries to smile but it looks more like a grimace.

“Sleep tight. We are just in the next room if you need us. Please, wake me up if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodnight, Al.” Kara settles under the fluffy blanket and rests her head on the pillow.

Alex moves about, checking locks and turning off lights before finally retiring to her bedroom. Kara can soon hear the shower turn off and Kelly and Alex talking in the bedroom. It’s too soft to make out words but the drone of it is comforting and Kara is soon slipping back into unconsciousness.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Goku Black x Reader: Forbidden Fruit (Chapter 21: The Ritual [SMUT] )

Hey guys! Sorry for not posting for so long as I've been busy with my job and college applications that I'm still not done with. It's the moment you've all been waiting for! This is the first smut I've written and all my experience comes from reading fanfiction alone in my room, but hopefully it's not that bad. The smut starts and ends at *** so skip if you don't want to read. There are quite a few more chapters to come! Thanks for all your love and support!

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“Alright Black,” you murmured shakily into his chest. “I-I’ll do it. I’ll become a God.” Your hands clenched the soft fabric of his shirt, a churning wave of emotion threatening to bowl you over as the gravity of the situation began to solidify. You were abandoning the human race, all for the man who was responsible for their downfall. But for some reason, the thought of losing him was much worse than anything you could possibly imagine. And to think that you had once hated everything about him. Human hearts really were a fickle thing.

“Thank you.” He lowered his lips into your hair, and you could feel the waves of heat transmitting from his warm body.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, bathing in the warmth of his embrace and nothing in the world had ever felt so perfect to you before. It was just you and him, and that was all that mattered. If you could pause this moment forever, you would have done so without hesitation. It just further confirmed that you saw no future without him in your life, and you were willing to sacrifice anything in order to do it, even your humanity. The only thing you could do was hope that Trunks wouldn’t hate you for the rest of his life, and that Mai and the others wouldn’t see you as a traitor. Even forfeiting your birth as a fellow human did not mean that you would just let them die, no, in fact it gave you a better bargaining chip. You couldn’t bear to lose any more.  

“We need to go now,” Black rubbed your back soothingly, finally breaking the trance. “We have not a moment to waste.”

“What about Trunks?”

At the mention of the boy’s name, you could see his shoulders tense but to your surprise he didn’t utter a single word. Black wasn’t going to waste any more breath on that monkey when there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Just leave him, for now.”

“But I want to say goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m even sparing his life,” Black growled gutturally, his mood suddenly darkening. “I will only repeat myself one more time; we are departing.” A harsh shadow fell across his face and your jaw snapped shut, biting your tongue to hold back your protests. At this rate, arguing with him would only make matters worse, and his grip was becoming unbearable.

“Fine,” you managed to breathe out, nearly choking from his bruising hand upon your bicep. You weren’t sure if he was purposefully doing it or if he simply didn’t know his own strength.

“But please let go, you’re hurting me,” you whimpered, lips trembling at the verge of tears, straining your arm against him. The pressure immediately released and his entire demeanor seemed to change, as it did quite often. You still weren’t quite used to it after all this time. Guilt flashed across his eyes but he turned away before you could see, brushing a hand questioningly over his chest. It was that feeling again.

Black’s old feelings range consisted of entirely of spite, indifference, and disgust, but since that fateful encounter with you his entire emotional spectrum seemed to expand against his will, for better or for worse. The only salvation he had managed to convince himself of was that it only expanded as far as to encompass you, and only you. To his intense relief, his goal and hatred towards the human race in particular refused to stray from its path. That was the one thing you could never change about him, and he was sure that deep down you were aware of it.

That’s alright. Patience is key. The gloriousness of my justice will always prevail, even you must see that one day, Y/n. Black reassured himself confidently. Yes, the Zero Mortal Plan will succeed, with you by his side.

With a whoosh, you felt your body disappear. When you opened your eyes again, the scenery had changed. The dazzling light was blinding, so different from the ashen, ruined world you were used to. When was the last time you had seen a clear sky? Compared to the earth even before the duo’s arrival, it was break taking and completely ethereal.

Black seemed to sense your amazement, a small smirk gracing his lips. “Welcome to the world of the Gods. You are and will be the only mortal to ever step foot here; you should count yourself lucky.”

Mortal.

That word resonated inside your chest, and your wonder was quickly overtaken by guilt and apprehension. They were still back there, completely at the mercy of Zamasu, and forsaken by you. And what about this planet? There was no way Black took you here for sightseeing. And the ritual? What the hell was going on? All he had told you about it was that it required another God and a combining of the essences, which definitely sounded suspicious to you. To be honest, after he said that part you were barely listening but had only heard snatches of the more complicated explanation of joining the souls and whatnot.

“Well, no time to waste,” Black’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts, his eyes glinting in a way as if he knew exactly what you were thinking and enjoyed your confusion. “Let’s go.”

Large hands slid under your armpit and gripped you tightly as you descended into the sky, and you swallowed a shriek as you went from ground level to a few hundred feet into the clouds within a second.

“Black!” You clung onto his arms and thrashed. “What the hell?!”

He merely grunted and loosened his grip, obviously entertained by your struggles.

“Fine fine!” Your knuckles turned pale from clutching his arm so hard. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going before you kill me?”

“You’ll see.”

“But-”

“Just shut up.” His tone left no room for argument and you had no choice but to oblige, trying not to trigger him into another mood swing. Lush trees and crystal lakes blurred behind you as you flew, though the stunning, rolling landscapes weren’t nearly enough to keep you from praying that the journey wouldn’t take much longer as your hands began to go numb from the cold of traveling so high. The warmth radiating from Black wasn’t nearly enough to keep you cozy, but it was better than nothing. Just as your eyes slumped shut and your stomach dropped, a rush of cold air battered your exhausted body, alerting you to your descension.

The unreadable Saiyan didn’t utter a word as he touched down in front of a massive, sparkling cave, its gaping maw welcoming you in. Despite the sheer blackness of the inside, you couldn’t sense any sort of darkness emitting from the depths. It was the world of Gods, after all. You could feel the dense, ancient magic shrouding the rocky surface, comforting yet powerful. You were interrupted from your spell when you felt a sturdy hand against your back, urging you forward.

Black overtook you at the entrance, and you inched forward cautiously, watching as your feet were completely engulfed by the lightless air. Vision gone, you groped blindly along the walls as you shuffled forward, listening carefully for Black’s footsteps, which were muffled on the condensed carpet of cushioned moss. You lost track of time as you pressed forward, the darkness beginning to seep into your mind, occasionally being guided by the silent God through intersections in the passageways.

After what had to be thirty minutes of wandering, a calming, turquoise light began to illuminate the barren cave, and you could just barely see Black’s silhouette through the dimness.

“Black!” You rushed to his side, huffing slightly from the pressure of the venture.

“We’re here.” He stately flatly, ignoring your grip on his arm.

A few more steps and the narrow tunnel opened up into a wide, natural chamber, in which situated a small, clear pool that seemed to radiate brightness, fed by a steady, miniature waterfall. A giant hole was situated in the rock framing the starlit night sky, the mellow light shining in a white beam onto a crystal bowl carved into a block of what appeared to be quartz.  The entire space was painted a calming azure by the reflection of the water. An air of enchantment settled heavily upon the clearing, and it was the most gorgeous thing you ever had the fortune to lay your eyes on. It easily made Earth look like a filthy, vacant rock with its beauty, and yet at the same time, it seemed so distant, so far away. A stab of anguish squeezed your heart, knowing that no other human would ever see it, and that you could never view it again in with the same eyes. Mortal eyes.

You would pay a price for this sight, your mortality, some might even argue morality, but on Earth you were already the closest thing to a God with your immortality. No, it wasn’t mortality that you were shedding. It was humanity, all because a God decided to spare you. Black hadn’t meant anything more to you than any other villain that assaulted the universe, he was just a being you had to defeat after all, or at the minimum, he was part of life. A prolonged lifespan had desensitized you to the aches and pains of a normal man, but you could never have foreseen he would have come to mean to you. How much you would give up for him, the man who ended up stalking and kidnapping you. Even now you could barely believe it, but it was the truth from every angle.

You loved him.

And he did too, if it could be called love. Obsession, hunger, maybe love, Black didn’t know either. Like you, it was still hard to fathom exactly why he gravitated towards you, why he chose to find someone to complete him now despite all his years alive. He blamed it on Son Goku, and that was the only lie he ever believed.

All that was certain was that your destinies were inexplicably entwined, for better or for worse. If you were to fall, you would do so together.

Black observed your face, lost in thought, unconsciously memorizing every subtle curve and edge of you, engrossed in nothing but the mortal that he refused to live without. And though he had doubted many things in his life, he did not doubt you. Not that he would ever tell you of course. Sighing, he kept walking with you at his tail, an unfamiliar heat stirring in his body.

Your fluctuating heartbeat crescendoed into a deafening roar as Black led you forward, approaching the glittering altar. This was it…..

“Give me your hand,” Black commanded, his voice echoing around the chamber.

“W-what? Why?”

The look Black gave you was enough to compel you to shakily offer him your trembling hand, and you didn’t say any more.

Without warning, a searing blaze of pain ripped through your palm, startling a yelp out of your mouth. You felt his hand squeeze your wrist and watched in shock as a spray of blood splattered into the bowl.

“Black?!”

Fast as lightning, a stream of crimson gushed out from his own hand, his blood mingling with yours as it swirled to the bottom. You hadn’t even seen him move, but knowing him, you honestly shouldn’t be surprised anymore. Black grabbed your bloody hand with his, holding it over the bowl as the pale, argent light suddenly seemed to grow stronger in brightness and warmth. He raised his head and closed his eyes, and began chanting in some ancient language that you couldn’t understand. It occurred to you how beautiful he looked, head crowned in silver locks, the starlight dancing on the tips of his long, thick eyelashes. You could almost imagine him an angel, but deep in your heart you knew he was anything but that. And yet you still loved him. Your younger self would have laughed at the absurdity of it all, but you didn’t care anymore.

You watched in rapt fascination as he continued chanting, his Adam’s apple bobbing mesmerizingly in his neck, silently engraving the details of his face and the texture of his hand into your memory to cherish forever.

You didn’t even notice that he had stopped cantillating until he let go of your hand, your wrist knocking against the edge of the altar.

“Come,” Black voice was nearly a whisper, beckoning you towards the sapphire springs, apprehension building in your stomach along with something else that you hadn’t felt for the longest time.

“There’s only one last thing we need to do for this ritual to work. Take off your clothes and get in.”

“W-what?” Your face flushed a deep red color, and your entire body grew hot enough to rival that of the hottest fires. You forgot the twinging agony in your hand and almost thought he was joking if it hadn’t been for the look on his face.

“Just do it before I lose my patience,” he snarled threateningly, or so it seemed to you.

In reality, it was anything but that. Many nights he cursed this borrowed body that he made his, not believing that a God such as him could ever fall to the vices of lust like a mere human. Black had held back his instincts for so long that he was more than ready to ravish you. He would make sure that by the end of the night you would be his and his alone, so dominatingly his that you wouldn’t ever think of any other man other than him. Not that anyone else other than him deserved you anyways.

You had a vague suspicion where this was heading, well, not that vague anymore, but you couldn’t care less. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him as much as he wanted you, because you too had been holding back. Letting out a shaky breath, you hesitantly began to undress, feeling him boring holes into you the entire time.

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that you were teasing him with the way you were tantalizingly slowly peeling off you tattered clothing. Every inch of skin that you exposed made it harder and harder to keep his composure and he nearly roared in frustration. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you finished and began stepping into the pool, trying not to reveal too much to his prying eyes.

Could he have made it any more obvious?

***

The sound of what could only be clothes violently ripped off halted your progress, only waist-deep in the water, but you didn’t even have time to turn around before you were nearly tackled into the pool, a noisy splash resounding through the space. You didn’t even care that there was an enormous opening in the ceiling as hungry lips clashed against yours, teeth clashing painfully as a roaming tongue forced itself into your mouth. Hell, if there had even been anyone there to watch, you’d be sure to give them a show. You felt his hands wandering all over your body as he greedily devoured your mouth. Black obviously didn’t understand what taking it slow meant, but really, who would have expected anything less.

Couldn’t let him have all the fun now, could you?

In a surge of aggressiveness that Black was unfamiliar with, you yanked on his hair, pressing your naked, wet bodies hard against each other drawing out a delicious growl from his plump lips. All shame and inhibition were discarded. A feverish heat ignited in your nether regions and it took all of your self-control not to beg him to hurry up.

“Oh I’m going to enjoy this,” Black purred huskily in your ear, and you subtly wondered if it was even legal to be so attractive. But damn, you were ready to be a criminal. Anything and everything for him. Evidence of his arousal weighed hot and heavy against your thigh, and you couldn’t contain bucking your hips up into his.

“Black please….” You mewled against his chest, nearly in tears with wanton desire.

To your complete irritation he ignored you, instead settling to pepper open-mouthed kisses and bites to your neck and lips, one calloused hand massaging your breast before switching over to the other one. His robust, battle-hardened fingers danced dexterously over your nipples, and for a moment you thought you had died and gone to heaven.

Well, guess you could wait a little bit…..

Black swooped back to your lips, shoving his wet appendage back in your mouth and your tongues entwined in a fight for dominance, though you would inevitably lose. Panting loudly, you tugged at his bottom lip as he squeezed your ass, reveling in his pleased hum. He needed more, so much more of you. Every inch of you had to be his, and he yearned to taste it all. Dampness matted his long, black tresses to his forehead and gleaming droplets slid down his chest, and in a fleeting moment you briefly humored yourself with the idea that Black could have been a supermodel.

“What’s so funny?” Black rumbled, tilting his head questioningly at the tiny smirk on your face as you imagined him posing in front of a camera. What a time to let your imagination cut loose.

“Nothing.” You stammered, blushing even harder if that was possible.

“Oh really? Then I’ll give you something to smile about.” He didn’t give a warning as you felt a thick finger suddenly penetrate your soaking folds, making you squeal.

“Give me a signal next time!”

“I don’t really hear you complaining,” he grinned gloatingly as he began to pump his finger inside you while his thumb circled your clit.

You immediately forgot your retort and bit back a moan, his self-satisfied smirk growing wider as he watched you writhe. When he added in two more fingers, you really did let out a cry, the sound of your voice like music to his ears.

He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Black retracted his fingers only to be met with your whine, his dick pulsing and swollen with need. He led you backwards towards the side of the holy springs, ironically the place where you were indulging in your lust, and pushed your back against the soft moss and lifted your legs up, positioning his hips. Licking his lips, he gazed down at the sight of you, spread out just for him, your entire body aching with unmitigated eagerness.

“Black,” you whimpered, dragging him forward until the head of his leaking dick pressed against your vagina. “I need you.”

That was all he wanted to hear. In one violent thrust, he shoved the entirety of his huge member inside you, your walls stretching painfully to accommodate his girth. You dug your nails into his arm, legs quivering against his waist as you gritted your teeth to prevent a sob. He stayed still as you adjusted, impatiently waiting until you gave a small nod to signal that you were okay. A small, experimental thrust was enough to send you reeling and soon you were begging for more. The pain gradually lessened until it was overtaken by absolute pleasure. He angled his hips and hit the one spot deep inside you that made your vision go white, head dizzy from the feeling.

“More, Black, please more!” You almost sobbed into his neck, clenching your legs tighter around his hips, feeling his solid muscles flexing against your body.

“Only if you think you can take it.”

“I can! Please Black harder!”

“That’s a good girl.” His pace increased to inhuman speeds and he rammed into you even harder as you screamed in ecstasy. Every thrust managed to hit its mark, his head dipping to suck on your nipples while you clawed at his back, spurring him on.

The taut coil in your lower stomach was about to become undone, and by the jerking of his hips, he was about to too.

“Cum for me.” That simple sentence demolished the little control you had left and you let go, bliss hazing over your eyes and causing your silky walls to contract around him. Merely seconds afterwards he spilled inside you, letting out a throaty groan into your neck as you weakly caressed his back through it.

Shuddering, Black pulled out and you felt an uncomfortable sense of loss, as if a part of you had been torn away. You let out a complaining whine, reaching your arms out to touch him. He clambered out of the pool, turning back to haul you out onto the cloudlike moss as you promptly collapsed on top of him.

“That was amazing,” you smiled weakly, all the energy draining out of your body. You could feel thick liquid dripping down your quivering thighs, but at the moment you couldn’t care less.

“Mmm,” Black responded, tucking your head into his neck possessively and you didn’t have enough stamina left to try to coax anything else out of him. Even then, his grip was so secure, not that you would ever try to break out of it.

***

“Your mine Y/n,” Black murmured into your ear, and you could hear the triumph in his voice. “And you always will be. Now no one will ever be able to take you away from me.”

Your eyes began to droop and you were too tired to say anything else, but you knew that he was already aware of what you would have said. The rest of the world dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, entangled in the delicate web of what was called love. You listened to his heartbeat, focusing your rapidly fading attention on the thumping within his chest as the water cooled on your bodies, yet you felt no cold. And for the first time in a long time, you forgot about all your sorrows, all your shame and anger and fears and whatever else the world had burdened you with. For once, you could just be content, knowing that you were in his arms. They weren’t the arms that had brutally killed billions, no, to you they were something so much more. And if you were labeled a sinner for it, then you would gladly call him your greatest sin.