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cicada-bones · 3 years

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The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 1: Orders

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Rowan Whitethorn arrived in Doranelle exhausted.

He had been flying without sleep for three days and nights, obeying the urgent summons of his queen and master. Maeve, the Queen of all the Fae.

Though his power was drained and his wing muscles twitched with exhaustion, Rowan didn’t slow his relentless pace. The closer he got to Doranelle, the stronger the tug was in his heart and soul. Even though he hadn’t seen Maeve in weeks, the blood oath’s pull was relentless. Inescapable.

Rowan swooped down from above the clouds, a soft gray morning unraveling beneath him. The city of rivers spread out below his straining wings, hills and bridges, winding roads and rushing water.

Doranelle was a stronghold of pale stone built on a massive island, natural moats encircling walls of granite. On the north end of the city, several rivers combined to form a massive waterfall, causing waves of mist to float over the city’s blue rooftops. Mist that currently stroked Rowan’s gray and white feathers, greeting him with the welcoming fingers of a long-awaited friend.

The winds of Doranelle were cool and soft, a familiar temperate climate. The winds of home. Or at least, the home he had come to accept.

Rowan closed his eyes for a moment as a slash of pain rent through him. Invisible snow fell on his shoulders. Mountains towered before his eyes while blood stained hidden fingers. Screaming echoed in his head. Lyria.

But the pain was expected, the screams an old friend. He barely reacted as the cold blankness iced over his heart, barely flinched as he forced the images to fade, the soundless cries to weaken.

Rowan’s wings settled back into their usual rhythm and he soared over the entry bridges, their guards nodding to him. His queen must have told them of his imminent arrival, ordered them not to impede his progress. Maeve was impatient.

Curiosity narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t like Maeve to do this – to call without warning and without explanation, to invoke the blood oath through a missive, rather than in person. It set him on edge.

His summons had been very brief indeed.

Prince Whitethorn –

We have received news of great significance, and your presence is required in Doranelle. You are ordered to leave immediately. Fly swift, I expect to see you within the week.

– Maeve

Even thousands of miles away, Rowan could feel that tug in his chest, that need to obey. While the blood oath relied on specific and clear demands, and often needed close proximity to subdue resistance, this summons could not be ignored. Even if Rowan had cared enough to want to fight it.

So he’d left, without any goodbyes, or any of his belongings. Traveling as fast as his wings could carry him.

The only stop Rowan made before leaving was to inform Lord Siarill’s manservant of his imminent departure. He had been stationed among a royal court in the far east, a place where humans and Fae lived and worked together in peace.

However, the royals had decided – for some godforsaken reason – that they no longer wanted to abide by a trade agreement they had set with Maeve. Therefore Rowan had been dispatched to convince them of their folly. As a reminder of exactly who would be coming after them if the tensions between their two nations escalated.

After centuries of peace, Lord Siarill and his family had gotten complacent, and arrogant.

Though the court was Fae itself, they were isolated from much of the western world. Enough so that rumors of Maeve’s retinue of elite warriors had not reached them. They knew none of his stories, none of the vicious tales that had followed him for nigh on three hundred years.

The royal family had expected a demure figure, one that was aloof, but kind. Who had one foot in the forest, and eyes only for the stars. They had not anticipated a warrior, born and bred for battle, honed by three centuries of bloodshed and conflict. They had not prepared for him.

And so, his task was ever easier.

Rowan had been sent on many such missions, as much a royal emissary as a military commander. And while the royal courts were always comfortable and luxurious, and he was always treated with the respect he was due as a Prince of Doranelle, Rowan far preferred brawling in the mud to sparring with barbed words over decadent banquets. He would rather spend weeks campaigning, go months without adequate sleep and days without food in seemingly endless battles than spend even one day fielding pointed attacks from spoiled royals and corrupt, self-serving politicians.

And Maeve knew it. So, he acted as diplomat whenever she wished.

Maeve loved doing things like that, thrived on those little acts of cruelty that she knew added up over the years, the centuries, until they dug in and nestled in your very soul. Maeve was an expert in breaking people to her will – not only because she was a skilled manipulator, but because she enjoyed it.

So this – this impromptu summons, chafed on Rowan.

All of Maeve’s warriors were given a great deal of independence in which they could act on her orders. No free will, no real autonomy, but in the details, in planning and strategizing, they were often left to their own devices.

Rowan had expected to remain within Lord Siarill’s court for several weeks to come, acting the part of the foreign dignitary while simultaneously mining them for information. It wasn’t like Maeve to cut their missions short, to interrupt them with letters or news. In fact, Rowan was unsure whether he had ever received such a notice in his three centuries of service. Not once.

Something important had happened. Something unprecedented. And not knowing what was to come, not knowing what he was flying into, aggravated Rowan.

He turned towards the north, to the great waterfall and the stone palace concealed in its wake. It was large and imposing, not overly luxurious the way many royal houses were. His queen’s castle gracefully straddled the line between royal courthouse and military stronghold; it was a commanding structure, but it didn’t tower over the rest of the city, and its many fountains and gardens softened the hard lines of its stone architecture.

Rowan efficiently swooped down towards the grand entryway, its massive carved stone doors inscribed with ancient images of the three sisters, the three queens: Mab, Mora and Maeve.

Mab and Mora had long passed, exalted into godhood millennia before Rowan’s birth. But Queen Maeve remained, still ruling over the city of rivers.

Rowan shifted into his Fae form, landing lightly on his toes as he emitted a quick flash of cold, white light. The sentries at the door marked him carefully, but automatically opened the doors to let him in.

Rowan forwent a bath, heading directly for the throne room.

He swept past courtyards filled with columns wrapped in jasmine, past corridors covered in extravagant mosaics depicting scenes from dancing maidens to idyllic pastorals to starry skies, past arched ceilings dappled with colored light from stained glass windows. And always water, pools and fountains and rivers bubbling and murmuring from every corner.

Even the hallways cradled tiny streams, offshoots from the great rivers surrounding the city. Occasionally, in corners and crossroads, they would gather into delicate pools lined with waterlilies.

He paid none of it any heed, striding ceaselessly towards his queen and master. Obeying the pull of the blood oath currently constricting his chest.

His quiet steps down the stone corridors were loud, echoing through the silent palace. Despite the rich furnishings and inviting decor, the fortress was nearly empty. His queen didn’t maintain much of a court, finding babbling courtiers a nuisance.

Even so, sentries were everywhere, both those he could see and those he could only sense. Hiding in dark corners and behind false walls. But they only added to the strange atmosphere of hushed, anticipatory quiet. It was almost oppressive, the silence. But Rowan was used to it, welcomed it even. The quiet of the castle calmed the noise within him.

Eventually, he reached a wide veranda overhanding the river. The great waterfall was now very close, its roaring effectively making it impossible for anything spoken in the exposed space to be overheard.

His queen was waiting for him, lounging casually on her throne like a cat in a patch of sunlight. She was wearing a heavy dress of black velvet, emphasizing the paleness of her skin and the depth of her black hair. The ever-present owl sat perched on the back of her seat, its eyes intent.

The owl was a Fae – Rowan could tell that much from the creature’s scent. But in all the years he had served in Queen Maeve’s court, he had not once seen the individual in Fae form. So he knew nothing at all about them, not their gender, age, or purpose. Not that he really cared enough to find out.

Maeve never hid important information from her court, never hid her plans or strategies from her blood-bonded. Nothing of significance wasn’t shared between them. Meaning that the owl wasn’t worth mentioning, and that was that.

Maeve’s face was carefully blank, though intense. Only her eyes betrayed her vicious power, and they pierced Rowan through like blades of obsidian.

His queen was power incarnate. He could almost see the waves of darkness roiling around her, lying in wait. Even now, after centuries in her service, he marveled at the sheer force contained within his queen. They all did, Maeve’s blood-sworn court.

There were six of them. A group of warriors that were feared and respected throughout Wendlyn, and notorious in lands much farther than that. They were some of the most powerful Fae males living, and they used that strength to serve their queen in any and every way she required them to.

Rowan was the only one present for this meeting, but he could sense the powers of at least two others somewhere in the palace, their magic a dark, hovering presence in the corner of his mind.

While Rowan was unsure exactly who the power belonged to, he knew at least one of the warriors had to be one of the twins. Fenrys and Connall, the Wolves of Doranelle. Maeve always made sure to retain one of them here, as a way to hold sway over the other. Whoever it was, they were probably hidden upstairs, warming her royal bed.

Rowan’s nostrils flared slightly, and he carefully contained the disgust that swirled in his stomach. They were held in more than one kind of slavery, Maeve’s warrior-court.

Even if his familial bond with Maeve exempted him from that exact manner of service, Rowan knew what kind of female sat waiting before him. Had known when he swore the blood oath all those years ago – had known when he signed away his life, his very will, away to her like so much chattel. But he hadn’t cared. He had been too far gone, too lost for it to matter.

Even now, with malice curling on his queen’s lips, Rowan couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision. It had been a choice between two different sets of shackles. And Rowan had chosen purpose, and power, and glory. And the privilege to serve, to protect and defend the way all Fae males longed to.

Even so, he didn’t love his queen, didn’t worship her the way some of the others did. Especially his commander, Lorcan Salvaterre.

Lorcan pursued Maeve relentlessly, was utterly devoted to her. He was convinced that they were matched for each other, that their shared dark powers called to each other. But Maeve had no desire for love or companionship. She had physical needs, and those she sated in other ways.

Maeve rejected Lorcan and instead bedded the twins, knowing that it made them all suffer immeasurably. She delighted in it.

Rowan didn’t resent Lorcan for his affection towards their queen, or Fenrys for his distaste. He understood it. All of them, Rowan included, were drawn to power. And their queen was the most powerful Fae living.

Rowan approached the dais and knelt.

“Majesty,” he murmured.

Maeve didn’t acknowledge him, instead clapping her hands loudly to summon an attendant. They entered, received their orders and left swiftly, heading down the hall and into the depths of the castle, their errand unknown to Rowan.

Maeve kept him kneeling on the stone floor through the long minutes while they waited. She could keep him waiting there for weeks, for years if she wished. Could force him to kneel until he wasted and died.

Eventually, she spoke. “How fare our eastern neighbors?”

“Less well than they were before my arrival, Majesty.”

The corners of her lips turned up. “Should I expect any more trouble from them?”

“I should think not. Lord Siarill turned out to be quite persuadable. It was his daughter that we will have to watch out for – it turned out that she, and not her father, was behind the breaking of your agreement and of incensing the people against you.”

“And why would Princess Aniya do such a thing?” Maeve’s voice turned dangerous. “We hosted her here once, you know, when she was a child.”

Rowan gritted his teeth, the bearer of bad news. “Aniya, like all of the Siarill family, are pure blooded Fae. But their city, along with the rest of their kingdom, has a very large population of demi-Fae. Because of where their kingdom is situated, they have always had large populations of both Fae and humankind that could not easily avoid one another.”

Rowan’s knees were beginning to ache, the blood oath compelling him to speak far more than he normally would have. “Unlike our brethren in the west, or here in Doranelle, neither group could overpower the other. They came close to civil war on several occasions, but now have lived in peace for centuries. So demi-Fae have become increasingly more common.”

“A disease of half-breeds spreading though the east.” Maeve’s voice was dark and stormy, while her magic gathered in a great cloud around her.

Rowan had to hold in his wince at the word. Half-breeds. An insulting term for those with both Fae and human parents. In Doranelle, mortals and demi-Fae were both thought of as lesser, as below the more powerful and worthy Fae peoples. However, Demi-Fae people had the unlucky experience of facing this from both Fae and from human nations, and often had to live in the wild, on the fringes of society. But not in Lord Siarill’s kingdom.

“Aniya fell in love with a demi-Fae female. They are set to marry in early summer.” Maeve’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And it seems that she is…averse…to our methods of dealing with the demi-Fae in Doranelle.”

“What are her plans.”

“Nothing was set in stone upon my arrival, majesty. Only discontented rumblings and whispers behind closed doors. I managed to halt the rebel groups for now, but was called away before I could do much more to prevent coming violence.”

Maeve turned her piercing gaze on him. “Are you perhaps blaming me for your inability to contain the eastern princess?”

“Of course not, your majesty.” Rowan spoke into the dirt between them.

“I thought not.” Maeve smiled, her face twisting into something dark and suggestive of violence, but at that moment the servant reentered.

The attendant was accompanied by an unremarkable figure, who bowed low while the servant retreated into the shadows. The newcomer was of average height and dressed in all black. Rowan couldn’t detect any hidden weapons on their person, but he wasn’t able to see much with his gaze still forced towards the stone dais.

“Majesty,” the figure said softly, her voice suggesting her to be a young female.

Maeve inclined her head towards the girl, and turned back to Rowan, saying, “You have been missed these past days, Prince. While you were off cavorting with Princess Aniya and her whore, we received news,” she paused, her gaze intensifying. “Of Aelin Galathynius.”

Of all the names Rowan may have expected to hear fall from her lips, this was last. The princess of Terrasen?

“She’s not dead?” The words escaped his lips without his permission. The blood oath relented somewhat, allowing him to straighten out of his crouch.

“It appears that the princess has had a very interesting journey.” Maeve’s eyes glinted slyly as she gestured for the figure in black to stand and speak, while Rowan felt a wry curiosity growing within him, breaking through the cold disinterest.

“We have learned,” said the female, as she stood and faced their queen, “That Celaena Sardothien has been sent to Wendlyn, to Varese, to assassinate the royal family and steal their naval defense strategy.”

Rowan felt his confusion mount, but he remained silent as the figure in black continued.

“Sardothien was trained by Arobynn Hamel, the King of the Assassins of the western continent, and became well-known as Adarlan’s Assassin. Now, she has found herself employed by Adarlan’s king as his Champion, and has been sent to Wendlyn on his orders.”

She paused, her jaw twitching slightly. “It was not until very recently that we discovered that Sardothien and Aelin Galathynius are in fact one and the same.”

Rowan stiffened, taken aback. The princess, hiding as an assassin?

“…We do not yet understand the circumstances of her survival, or how exactly she spent the many years between the fall of Terrasen and her appointment as King’s Champion – other than the many rumors that have been spread of the supposed exploits of Celaena Sardothien.” The female’s voice twisted in irritation, her eyes flitting up to look at their queen, as if seeking some kind of confirmation, or reassurance.

“But we do know without a doubt that she is a girl of barely nineteen, with golden hair and turquoise eyes with a central ring of gold.”

Ashryver eyes. Unmistakable.

“She was spotted and recognized by a source, on a merchant ship headed for Varese barely one week hence. They contacted a hand of mine through the method we discussed,” the female nodded to their queen, “and they then passed the information on to me.”

So the female was one of Maeve’s spies, a member of a vast network that spanned throughout Erilea and beyond.

The spy continued. “Aelin Galathynius was nearly across the sea when my hand received this message. If she has not already arrived, she will within a few days.”

“How trustworthy is this report?” Rowan interjected.

“The source who retrieved the information has always been reliable, and I am inclined to believe their assessment. They have no reason to pass on false information, and as they were once familiar with the Galathynius and Ashryver families, they have every reason to be able to recognize a member of that family.” The spy continued to look at their queen, even though she was replying to Rowan. “Regardless, we already possessed the information on Celaena Sardothien’s movements from a source within Rifthold’s court, and the physical descriptions of the women match perfectly.”

“Rumors of Celaena Sardothien have been circling Wendlyn for many years now.” Rowan did the math in his head, calculating. “Terrasen fell barely a decade ago. If Celaena Sardothien and Aelin Galathynius are one, that means a child not even into her late teens has been the one responsible for her many crimes.”

The spy nodded. “Yes. Most had assumed Celaena was older, and there were many rumors speculating her gender was a lie as well. But no, for perhaps half a year now we have had confirmation that Celaena was a woman barely into her twenties or late teens.”

“And there is no question that the assassin is Aelin Galathynius?” Rowan pushed.

“None.” It wasn’t the spy who replied, but his queen.

“I have my own ways of keeping watch on the world, and I have long known that Terrasen’s heir lived on. The wildfire brought into the world upon her birth did not burn out with the fall of her nation. And now it draws ever closer to our shores.”

Maeve looked out onto the water, and the pale stone walls that had now stood so long, unchallenged. Stone and water. It had long been known that his queen had a distaste, even a fear, for fire. That had been made apparent millennia ago…

He turned away from those thoughts as his queen asked, “Is that all, spymaster?”

“I have only the details of her arrival and departure from Rifthold, and the rumors we have gathered of her life as Celaena.”

“Why do you not have more concrete information on the assassin?” Rowan asked.

“At the time, she was not considered a priority.” The spy shrugged. “Celaena rose to prominence during our most recent conflict with Akkadians in the northeast, and the minimal spies we retained on the western continent were focused on Adarlan’s court, and acquiring information on their continued conflict with the other nations in the west, such as Melisande and Eyllwe. We had no reason to focus on the life of an assassin in the slums of Rifthold.”

“Even though she posed enough of a threat to become famous across the sea?” Rowan challenged.

“Enough.” Maeve’s quiet command silenced them immediately. She jerked her chin to the door behind her, unceremoniously dismissing the spy, who bowed low and departed through the door behind the throne.

“Brannon’s heir, surfaced once again,” Maeve mused after a moment of silence.

Rowan didn’t respond. There had once been rumors that the girl’s power rivaled that of Brannon, her ancestor. Wildfire strong enough to encircle the world, his queen’s only weakness. Rowan’s jaw clenched.

“I need you to collect her for me, Rowan.”

He nodded, staring directly back into her hard eyes.

“When this came to light, nearly a week ago now, both Lorcan and Fenrys were present. Fenrys of course immediately volunteered his services.” Her eyes glittered with wicked amusement. “The girl is apparently very pretty. A wild, fiery creature – the princess made assassin.”

Rowan’s jaw twitched ever so slightly.

Maeve’s smile grew. “I decided to let him go as an advance guard, to track her down before you collect her. But I want you to bring her to me.”

Fenrys loved anything wild and beautiful. To dangle this princess before him, but make Rowan actually collect the wild girl…it was a punishment for both of them. Rowan's jaw clenched.

“Instead Fenrys will remain in Varese, containing the Ashryver royals – who have become increasingly more irritating in their requests to strike back at Adarlan’s forces. They know that they cannot go to war until I allow it, but they seem to be getting more and more forgetful.”

Rowan just nodded once again, trying to disguise his frustration.

The Ashryvers had always been an irritation for Maeve – and over the past few decades, their disobediences have become more and more frank. It was an easy task to throw the reckless and willful male. Give him a taste of freedom, only to snatch it back once again when it would hurt the most.

But Rowan barely spared Fenrys’ plight a thought. He was already thinking of what he would be facing in Varese when he arrived. Whenever Fenrys was set free, even for a few days, he completely lost himself.

The male was beyond infuriating. Rowan had absolutely no desire to show up in Varese only to have to drag the debauched male out of some ditch or hovel. Wild and reckless, no discipline, no self-control.

Maeve continued. “The princess has been ordered to assassinate the Ashryver family. Obviously, that cannot be allowed. But I also have become aware that she has another purpose…one that concerns me.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, while his body stilled. If the Heir of Fire had been sent to assassinate Maeve…

But his queen just said, “Bring her to the outpost at Mistward, and I will meet you there.” Rowan couldn’t restrain a slight jerk of surprise at the words. His queen was going to leave Doranelle? At the behest of some foreign brat?

Rowan couldn’t hold in the question. “What does the girl want, majesty?”

Maeve fingers twitched, her lips curling once more. “Knowledge. She seeks answers to…ancient questions. But that is not why I wish to meet with the girl.”

Rowan cocked his head.

“I’m sure you remember tell of her power.”

His lips tightened slightly, brow furrowing. It was not like Maeve to avoid questions, or to withhold answers...

“The Heir of Fire. The Heir of Brannon.” She paused for a moment, considering, “The girl probably has little to no control over her magic. But still, we cannot be certain. Make sure that you bring her to me unharmed, and without having destroyed anything irreparable. You know how irritating the Ashryvers can be, and I doubt they’d take well to the destruction of their capital.”

The words were teasing, his queen always preferred a light touch. But Rowan knew what she was implying, the wounds she was prodding. He refused to react, while a city crumbled behind his eyes. Sollemere.

Her lips twitched once again. Maeve was enjoying herself. “The princess is probably already hidden within the city – she may even have sought refuge with her relatives, despite what the Adarlanian king ordered. Find her for me.”

Rowan just nodded again while his Queen stared him down, her words radiating with command. “Travel swiftly, I expect to meet Brannon’s heir within a fortnight.”

Her eyes were focused, predatory. Filled with desire. Maeve wanted this princess more than just for a meeting, to answer some questions or discover a new source of power. Perhaps the princess was intended as another tool, another weapon in her arsenal.

Regardless, Maeve had drawn a net around the Heir of Terrasen, a spider in a great web, and was using Rowan to ensnare her. Not Fenrys, not Lorcan, but Rowan. She had called him from another assignment, and required him to capture the girl. The question was, was he the hook or the bait?

While Rowan couldn’t help speculating idly, the ice coating his limbs did not shift an inch – he didn't really care either way. Maeve would tell him what she was planning when she wanted to, be it in a week or in a century. He had decided long ago to surrender such feelings for the honor of service.

Rowan took off, shifting into his hawk and flying out of the throne room into the waiting mists. Breaking the intent gaze of his queen and master. There was something more to this foreign princess, something more than just the promise of power.

The heir of fire had risen from the ashes.

Had she come to burn them all to the ground?

···

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ishades · 5 years

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ickymichi · 3 years

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𝐨𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫!

𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

<3 summary: you didn’t know you were failing that badly for him to make you stay back. but you weren’t complaining when he brought you to his office and locked the door.

<3 word count: 3.5k

<3 warnings: nsfw, swearing, soft levi and fluff at then end cause we love soft levi in this house.

<3 nsfw warnings: age gap(reader is of age), degradation, spanking, hair pulling, male oral reciving.

<3 note: this was requested by @jahanaraaaa and i just had to write it straight away cause it sent me into my monthly levi brianrot. tysm for the request & wait my dear i loved it so so much.<//3 but if you enjoyed please like n’ reblog, it’s greatly appreciated!

all contents belongs to fckyaeger 2021. please do not repost/modify on this or any other platform.

The noise of his expensive dress shoes clicking as he moved across and black the laminate floor and his deep monotone voice was slowly putting you and others to sleep. But you had to fight it because you didn’t fancy getting an earful from your professor Mr. Ackerman. Well maybe you would, it’s no lie he’s extremely attractive and you’ve always had an attraction to men older than you. His bare ring finger gave you evidence that he probably wasn’t seeing anyone so it didn’t make you feel guilty about your not so little crush on the man.

“that’s it for today then, and don’t forget the assignment this time. Looking at you yeager.” His deep voice shook you from your daydream and the class was already over. ‘perfect this was the last one! Get me to be-’ “(y/n) stay back, I need a word”. Huh? Did he notice you falling in and out of sleep? we’re you failing his class? Well probably he always gave such difficult class test every week. But was it bad enough for him to make you stay behind?

Packing up your things you made your way down the small steps to where he leant against his wood desk. “you wanted to talk to me sir?”. You spoke with you arms folded, quite frankly annoyed he ruined your plans to sleep for the rest of the day- but also intrigued in what he wanted. you lifted your gaze from checking the time on your phone to his face when you didn’t get an answer. The action was a mistake because you were met with his steel silver eyes looking back at you and the sleeves of his dress shirt straining against his biceps and across his chest made him look irresistible. Shit he definitely saw you staring earlier, shit shit sh- “come with me.” He suddenly spoke up and pushed himself off his desk to walk in-front of you and towards the door at the side of the room. Quickly you followed his long strides, Not knowing where you were going but in the moment you didn’t really care.

Finally he stopped in-front of a door and unlocked it before stepping aside to let you in. walking to one of the two seats sitting before the large wooden desk you sat one one of them and waiting for him to take his place behind the desk. Hearing the click of the lock made you jump slightly and turn around to see him making his way to you with one hand in his pocket. “don’t look so excited, just having a little chat is all.” Fuck is it that noticeable? Well with the way you’re rubbing your thighs together, how your skirt riding up slightly and you don’t move to fix it, it definitely is. “so then, any idea why I went to the trouble of taking my free time to bring you here?”. Why is he acting like you asked for this? “I dunno Mr. Ackerman, maybe is it that you just love chatting to me?.” You could physically see his eyebrow twitch, moving to place his elbow on the arm of the chair and rest his face against his palm he sighed quiet loudly. “maybe I should’ve payed more attention to that attitude of yours”. You bring a hand to your chest and put on your best fake ‘what? Me?’ face. “me? Have an attitude? you’ve got the wrong student i’m afraid, i’ve always been the teachers pet i’ll have you know”.

You swore he was trying to stare right through you with how intense his gaze was. Sighing again he used his foot to slightly sway is leather chair. “listen (y/n) only reason i’m on your ass with the grades is cause Principal Smith is one mine about them.” Scoffing slightly you look off to the side for a moment before looking back at him. “why does he of all people care about my grades out of everyone in this place.” Not wating a second after you finished your sentence he butted in: “cause you used to be a top student only a month ago, now all of a sudden they’re coming out your ass. Care to let me know why?” “Dunno, a girl has priorities and frankly my grades aren’t one of them.” You huffed and crossed your arms back over your chest and pushing up your tits slightly. It was quick, but you seen his eyes flick down to your chest and back up.

“listen (y/n) i wanna go home just as much as you do and i’m not in the mood, so how ‘bout you just try harder when the next test comes around and i’ll try my best to give you the highest I can ‘kay?”. He truly did all seem concerned and all the times you’d fall asleep in his class, cheat on his tests or just not turn in assignments started coming to you along with the guilt of it all. But that doesn’t mean you’re gonna stop your little cat and mouse game. “i’m gonna need a bit more convincing than that sir, it’s easier said than done y’know.” Raising an eyebrow at your comment his adam’s apple bobs in his throat and he fixes his suddenly tight collar. “what do you mean convincing?, what do you have in mind?.” He questions, moving the chair to face it in your direction. Spreading his legs, leaning back and bringing one hand to run it through his black hair.

“oh professor! That sounds so, so scandalous! Didn’t think you were the type.” You seen slight snarl on his face before he turned to look at the bookshelf to his left. “tch, shut it brat, you hinted at it. And don’t think i don’t see the way you stare all class long.” He smirks at the end of his sentence, watching your eyes widened before you send him back your own quirk up of your lips. “oooh? You finally noticed huh? Gahhh it took you long enough.” Waving a hand around and turning your face to the side. “Get over here now.” “Hmm? What was tha-” “I said, get the fuck over now.”

The way his voice went down on octave and his stern gaze had you getting up and walking over to him like an obedient dog to its owner. Now standing between his spread legs your hands went to run across his shoulders and chest without you even thinking. They got lower and lower until they tugged at his belt. He took your two wrists into one and pulled you into his frame. “get down.” The short, but demanding command brought a quiet whimper from your mouth and had him chuckling in your face. Lowering down to sit on your knees , resting your hands on his strong thighs. You looked up to see him looking straight back, he always looked intimidating-but from this angle, it felt like he was burning holes through you. “hurry it up ‘teacher’s pet’” his deep voice, with a mocking sultry tone at the end, went straight to in between your legs, making you turn to hide your face. He bucked his knee up slightly to get your attention and silently tell you to actually hurry.

Rubbing up and down his thighs a few times, feeling the muscles twitch under your touch. The sight of his strained bulge in his slacks had you reaching for his belt, pulling it out through the loops and down onto the ground by your sore knees. His zipper and button came undone with ease along with you pulling down his trousers to his mid thigh, just enough to pull his cock from its tight confinement. He hissed slightly at the brisk air and your soft hand wrapped around him so suddenly. Humming at his reaction you didn’t waste another second and let a drop of spit fall onto the tip, waiting for it to meet your fist before setting his cock with the salvia. You saw his grip on the arm of the chair get tighter, so putting him out of his misery, you took him into your mouth and pushed your head down as far as you could before your gag reflex stopped you. “jesus (y/n), fuck do it again.” His scary n’ intimidating resolve crumbling right in front of you just made you want to see the other side of your professor even more. doing as he told you, you pulled back for a short second before bringing his cock back in and down your throat, holding it for as long as you could. The groan he let out sounded like an angel was above you, making your eyes roll back, throat tightening around him. Anyone would notice how hard he’s holding back from nestling his hands in your hair and fucking up into your mouth, and you did.Wanting to feel him grip your hair, you took his hands from the arms of the chair and placed them on the back of your head. He didn’t wait for you to get used to the feeling of them in your hair before he planted his feet down and used your throat as his own personal fleshlight. “that’s it bitch, suck my fucking cock, choke on it, there you go.” he took one hand from the back of your head and pinched your nose, cutting of your breathing and stilling his cock in the back of your throat, not listening to the hits you were giving his thighs.

All that could be heard in the spacious room was the wet gagging of your throat and his strangled grunts. Waiting and waiting for him to warn you he was about to cum- but it never came, all that did was your head roughly getting ripped from his cock. Once you could breathe probably you started coughing from the lack of air going into your lungs. “a-are you. You okay?” he asked with a bit of concern in his voice that made your chest swell. Giving him a small nod he hummed and lifted you to straddle him. “go ahead and strip for me” growing more impatient for the need for him inside you, you got straight to ridding your body of it’s clothes. Just being left in your panties, Levi looked down to see the soft pink lace with a small bow on the front grinding over his aching hard on. “please sir, can you fuck me now.” That name, that name is what did it for him. He brought his larger hands to the flesh of your ass and ripped the panties from the back and threw them to the floor.

The man didn’t even give you time to react before he lifted you slightly and pushed himself inside your tight heat. You weren’t going to lie- he was definitely bigger than you thought, especially for a man of his height. His bruising grip on your waist and the feel of sinking down on his cock had you whimpering and reaching for his broad shoulders. “s-sir more need more.” His strong chest shook with the deep chuckle he responded with. “a bit greedy don’t we think?” “don’t care, want you sir plea-ah!” he cut off your begging with a harsh slap to your ass and thrusted his hips up to meet yours. It all came at once and you feel into his chest panting. “c’mon brat, do the rest yourself since you want it so badly.” His demanding and teasing tone returned as he leaned back to watch you.

Lifting your knees up as much as you could till just the tip remained in you, and then you slammed back down onto his thighs. The action ripped moans from both of you in sync and had you repeating the cycle for another while. Levi thinks to himself for a short second, ‘what is he doing, why is he doing this?’ but you loud moan shook him from the thoughts and threw them out the window. The mix of the leather rubbing against your knees and the sweat on your skin started to make it harder for you to bounce desperately on his cock.

As if he could sense what your thinking, he reached around and under to rest his hands on the underside of your ass and stood up, holding you in his strong arms. He made it look effortless, how he could hold you up and walk to the wall behind his desk. “S-sir fuck wait”. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to feel more of you, feel you cum around him and feel you squirm when he fills you up. “you didn’t wanna wait earlier did you? Didn’t wait a second when you had the- fuuck- chance did you? Just a fucking whore for me that’s all you are. A hole for me to use” His words were laced with venom, spat right into your ear by his mouth along with the stinging slap to your ass. Desperate to feel more of him, you dig your fingers into his shoulders, the skin hidden my his baby blue dress shirt as he lifted you up and back down with the brute strength of his arms.

Levi couldn’t hold it back much longer he needed to see you a shaking dumb little mess for him. He hoisted you so he could turn around and place you on the edge of the desk. You wanted to finally get a good look at the man that was giving you the pleasure you waited so long for, leant back on your forearms you could finally see Levi Ackerman in all his glory. The light from the two windows behind him shone in rays through the blinds and bouched off the exposed skin of his chest where he unbuttoned his shirt, the light flush to his cheeks and the jet black hair sticking to his forehead. It all made him look angelic before you, and you just couldn’t peel your eyes off him. He noticed the slight trance you were in and gave a particularly hard thrust that kissed at your cervix. It straight away snapped you out of the gaze and threw your head back with a loud moan. “fuck sir please don’t sto- hah! Wanna cum on y’ cock please please” moans spilled from you in tangent with his hips meeting your own. “such dirty fuckin’ words for a teachers pet hm? Should teach you some manners next time. But go ahead you wanna, hnngh, cum that badly do it for me darlin’”. There was too much for your fucked out brain to dissolve in the one sentence. Next time? Did he want to do this again? Did he mean to call you that name?. you didn’t care- you didn’t in the moment, all that matters was making him get you to the edge then watch him crumble himself. “yes sir m’gonna cum for you h-hard fuck fuck ahh m’ cummin oh my go- Levi!”

You didn’t mean to call him that, you really didn’t, it just slipped out in the midst of your orgasm ripping through you in waves. But he definitely didn’t miss it, his rhythm faltered for a short second but he seen you were still riding your high so he brushed it aside to keep you seeing stars, and trying to get there himself. “shit (y/n) that’s it, fuck you look- feel so good think i’m close” he grunted, watching you fall apart under him. He needed to feel deeper inside you. Grabbing your ankles from his waist, he brought them to his shoulders and kept up his erratic pace.

You had only come down and he still hadn’t let up. It was starting to tether on the edge of pain and pleasure and you didn’t know how long you could keep going. “No, no Le-sir please I cant can’t anymore fuck!” the moan he let slip out had him turning to hide his face in your calf. “shhh just- jesus christ, a bit longer ‘kay m’ nearly there baby you gonna take it all when I fill you up like the cumdump you are.” He struggled to get the sentence out, biting back more moans. You whimpered at the way the pet name fell from his lips like velvet.

“Sir I think i’m go-”, “‘s not my name princess” you peeked your head from his previous place behind your arm to see his stern stare had returned. “L-Levi..” you said quietly in case you were wrong. “fuck, there we go, now say it again”. His voice had gone deeper and the crease of his eyebrow told you that he was about to follow in your footsteps and reach his high. “Levi I think im, think i’m gonna cum again, please don’t stop it’s so good!” he hoped you were right there behind him cause he was himself. “fuck fuck (y/n) cum with me now, fucking cum you greedy little slut.” Flipping you over, he brought a hand to your hair and pulled you up to level with his face, making your back arch in a painful way. “I mean it bitch, be a good girl n’ cum nice n’ hard for your professor while he fills you with his cum.” He pushed your head back down onto the desk with force and brought his free hand to clap on your ass one, two and three times before gripping the tender flesh in his hand, using it as leverage to pound into your clenching cunt. Too much, it was all too much and for the second time you came, gushing around his cock. But this time it came gushing out of you and splashed onto his exposed stomach.”holy shit that’s it you fuckin slut!”. He brought three of his fingers down to dance across your clit and help you ride it out as his hips jerked against yours, his balls tightening and emptying the white spurts to paint your walls.

When you both were well spent he slowly pulled out of you, watching as his cum dripped out of your twitching pussy. He softly laughed when he used two fingers to push it back in you, seeing you wince as he did. Your whole body was sore and, frankly you don’t think you could move any part of it. Voicing your distress to him, it was like he snapped out of the mean, demanding character and flipped a switch to a caring side you’ve never seen. “here ill help” he brought his arm to under your knees and behind your back to lift and sit you on his chair behind him. “I have some tissue and wipes here for you if you need them, do you.. do you want me to help you get cleaned up?” not having the energy to answer him, you just nodded your head and let him crouch down and wipe away the mixed fluids from your body as gently as he could.

“listen (y/n), do-” “i’m not gonna tell anyone don’t worry, besides why would i? wouldn’t benefit me if did anyway.why? you ashamed we did this?” he looked up at you with wide eyes and took your hand in his. “no, no of course not. I just, just don’t want it getting around. could lose my job y’ know.” He whispered the last part quietly. “yeah I know, but i’m not ashamed or anything either, just so you know.” For the first time, in what you think is probably forever, he smiles softly and looks down at you playing with his fingers. “that’s good to know, and when i said next time, it wasn’t just in the moment, just so you know.” You both laughed at him mocking your words. “your not as scary as you seem Mr. Ackerman” looking and laughing up once again he hid his wide smile behind his hand. “is that so? Well thank you Ms. (L/n).”

you were going to laugh back a retort but just watching his soft, plump lips dance as he spoke and still in a smirk had you moving before you could think and slotted your lips onto his. Shocked, he didn’t react at you falling onto the floor beside him, but after a second he registered what was going on and moved one hand to the back of your head, the other to your bare waist and moved his lips against yours. Pulling away for a breath of air, he looked into the irises of your eyes and spoke up: “you don’t have to say yes of course, but if you’d like, i’d love to bring you to dinner sometime. not just as a professor and student shit, just as two people wanting to get to know each other”. Now it was your turn to freeze up and not know how to react. Going through the current scenario in your head, weighing between the options, you wondered what to say to the awaiting man before you. “I u-um.. i’d love to si- Levi” the way his name slipped from your tongue like honey made him flush and sheepishly look away for a short while. “well then I guess I could find some free time for you.” “yes, i’ll have to find time in my oh so busy schedule aswell Sir”. Both of you fell into a comfortable fit of laughter again in each other’s embrace.

The scene looked rather comical really. You-bare naked- and your-half bare- college professor laughing on the floor of his office, while talking about planning dates. Who would’ve thought failing grades would get you here?.

-End <3 part two? 😳

#🧺.fics #🤍.levi #🌹.naughty naughty #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi smut #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi attack on titan

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danchizu · 4 years

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The nominations are here #Wated fir best screenplay #Repost @inshortfilmfestival • • • • • • Official Nominees list for BEST SCREENPLAY #InshortFilmFestival2019 https://www.instagram.com/p/B6oAv3upakQ/?igshid=1x27bec0hi131

#wated #repost #inshortfilmfestival2019

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gallavictorious · 4 years

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Fic: Foreign Country

For fuck’s sake... So I got an ask in response to this comment, wherein the lovely nonnie suggested that Ian and Mickey’s reaction to the Kash and Grab would be a reverse sort of situation, with that place holding very happy memories in spite of being a site of trauma (because Kash shot Mickey there). I’m paraphrasing here, obviously... And I spent over a week trying to write the fic that this ask (unintentionally) inspired and now when I posted it Tumblr was messing with the ‘Read more’ so I, stupid and/or tired bastard that I am, deleted the thing to repost it but of course that means the ask is gone aaaaand yeah. I AM SO SORRY NONNIE! :( Hope this one finds you all the same.

Anyway, here’s my resonse:

Ah, yes. Yes! Nonnie, I applaud your dedication to sparking joy and thank you for sharing this delightful reflection! <3 And, uh, it got me thinking about the Kash and Grab and its role as the site of so much that went down with Ian and Mickey in the early years, and yeah, now there’s a ficlet. It involves a trip down memory lane, some angst, some fluff, and a rather startling number of I love you:s. It’s also the reason why it took me so damned long to get back to you… Sorry about that!

Did you ask me to write this? No. Does it stay completely true to your observation rather than carelessly running with it? Also no, but with slightly more regret.

---

Never returning had not been a conscious choice. Neither was going back.

---

Chicago, on a Thursday afternoon in early October, and the air is unusually crisp when Ian steps out from the ambulance station. He's been working the early shift and now he pauses on the sidewalk and turns his face towards the sun, considering. No one's expecting him for another few hours, and it's a fine day: maybe he needn't rush home. Maybe he could walk for a bit.

It's an idea. He's feeling restless, though not the sort of restless that heralds the on-set of a manic episode (or so he thinks, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye out for other signs, and maybe mention it to Mickey). But yeah. He could walk for a bit, then maybe find a station for the L when he tires.

So he walks. Walks and walks and doesn’t tire, and eventually he finds himself on a familiar street and outside a familiar store and he realizes with a start that he hasn't been here in years. Hadn't even known the store was still open, but the sign on the door proudly proclaims it so, and above it the name remains the same, white letters on red: Kash and Grab.

Huh. Without making a conscious decision to, he's stopped walking and is just standing there, staring at the store. The sight of it brings a strange jumble of emotions, and the quietly jarring mingle of familiarty and distance that comes from returning to a place where once you did belong, but belong no longer.

The last time he stood here was the day before he ran off to join the Army, leaving Linda with nothing more than a short message on her phone. That’s more than what his family got, so he hopes she wasn’t too upset. He never asked; never came back; never really thought back – until now.

He hesitates for a moment, then walks up to the door and steps inside. He’s running low on smokes anyway.

It's the smell that hits him first. It hasn't changed, and brings him back to the days when it would cling to his clothes and follow him home, a not unpleasant but distinctive whiff of frozen food and sweet spices.

The interior hasn't changed much either. There’s a kid behind the counter that looks to be in his early teens, and Ian wonders if it’s one of Kash’s sons, if Linda's still running the store. He could ask, but who knows what Linda's told her kids about the teenager who fucked their closeted father before he ran off?

He glances at the boy again – and yeah, he could be Kash's, there's something about the eyes and the chin – and wonders if he ever looked that young when he manned the register. Wonders if that's what he looked like to Mickey, when he'd come into the store to just take whatever the hell he wanted, wether it was chips or, later, Ian's fucking breath away.

Ian Gallagher. You messed with the wrong girl.

And just like that, it's like no time's passed, and he's 15 and 16 and 17 again; he's doing it with Kash and he thinks he loves him; he excels at ROTC and dreams of Westpoint; his mother is alive and he doesn’t yet know that Frank isn’t his father at all – it hardly matters anyhow, because Fiona is there, as she has always been there, as he still thinks she will always be.

She got out and good for her. If she'd stayed here, she'd never been free of her role as sister-mother – never free to be Fiona. And as for him... he'd mourned the army dream when it died, but knows now that it was an uninformed dream, one he would not have cared to live even if given the opportunity.

Glancing at the counter where he used to open his trigonomy textbook he feels no regret, though perhaps a twinge of sadness for the loss of that optimistic, determined kid, who had not had an easy life by any means, but who had yet to take any real blows, any blows that truly mattered. Those had come later (had come in this very store, some of them) and standing here, where he'd spent so much time as a child and none as a man, he feels something of that kid returning. Remembers the weight of the hundreth can put on a shelf; feels the ghost of a (too) easy smile on his lips; sees himself as he moves between the backroom and counter and fridge.

And everywhere he looks, there is Mickey. Mickey, in a dirty coat or a security west, angry and rough and funny and sometimes with the briefest flash of something softer, sweeter. He is stealing and scaring of thieving kids and restocking the shelves and plotting to murder Frank and moaning as Ian pushes into him.

He is on the floor, too, cursing Kash but otherwise strangely unaffected by having been shot. Ian thinks he might have been more scared and upset than Mickey. It strikes him now as a moment of innocence lost; your lover shot by a jealous ex, a real gun and real blood and what if Kash had had better aim? This was a thing that happened in the world, and if that could happen – anything could.

It strikes him, too, as a turning point: Mickey going away could easily have spelled the end of their intense but brief affair. For all they knew each other's bodies they hadn't really know each other back then, and while Ian had been crushing hard he had not yet loved Mickey. Perhaps they might both have moved on, found other lives and loves. Perhaps that had still been possible, then.

Or perhaps not. It was the first time they were separated and the first time they found their way back to one another, but not the last. It's a dance of coming together and coming apart and coming together, again and again, and they've traced its steps for close to a decade, never once stopping, not truly.

Because even in the absences, Mickey had been, is; there, always, in the stretches of time when he was locked up in juvie; in the eager hours of wating for him to show up at the store; in the exact distance between them at any given time.

Ian can still feel the jolt, like a punch to his gut, like electricity, of looking up from stacking oranges and finding blue eyes staring straight into his.

He remembers the last time they were in here together, when him and his siblings had been taken away by the CPS and Mickey invited him to crash at his place. He remembers his giddy delight at the question, his excitement at the realization that Mickey wanted to spend time with him. He had been so nervous, and looking back, knowing what he now knows, he thinks that Mickey might have been fucking terrified, but there'd been such ease to that evening and night; such familiarty and tenderness. And oh, the sex had been fantastic.

He tries to remember only this, not what came after with the morning light and a door suddenly slammed open –

Mickey had never returned to the store after that, and a few months later Ian had left for the army. Not really for the army, though; what he'd been moving towards had not been nearly as important as what he was moving away from.

Stings, still, that memory; but less than it once did, and as he strolls down the aisles, noting where the pickled cucumber jars have been replaced with tins of tuna and where the small bottles of cheap olive oil still remain, he is surprised to find himself... okay. For a long time, so much of his past had been a painful, tangled thing he did his best to forget, and even after he made his peace with it, he made a point of looking forward rather than back. Now he thinks that maybe, if you're happy with where you ended up, the hardships of the road which led you there are easier to bear.

Doesn't make everything that happened right; just... yeah. Easier to bear.

He buys a pack of cigarettes. The kid behind the counter is eyeing him suspiciously, but Ian thinks that has more to do with him walking around the store and staring at random things rather than with the boy recognizing him from some lurid tale of Linda's. Ian almost asks him to say hello to her from him, but nah. Let old dogs lie.

Outside, twilight is coming on, and there's a slight chill to the air now that the sun is sinking. Ian lights a cigarette and sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. This, too, is familiar, and for a moment he feels unthethered, unsure of when he is, who he is.

Without really thinking about it, he picks up his phone. Mickey's still working but can't be too busy because he answers on the second signal: “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian says, and then he doesn't say anything else for long enough that Mickey asks him if he fucking wanted something or he's just being a creepy ass phone stalker.

It makes Ian smile. Grounds him. “I love you,” he says.

A beat. “You called me at fucking work to tell me that?” And Ian knows that the gruff disbelief is partially an attempt to cover Mickey's surprised delight at the proclamation.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he says. Waits for a moment, but Mickey is silent. “You gonna say it back?”

“You fucking serious?”

“Kinda need to hear it.” Because he gets to say that; gets to ask for that. They're not kids not anymore and they don't need to hide. They’re fucking married.

That is real. That is now.

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” But then Mickey, as Ian knew he would, relents. “I love you,” he says, and Ian doesn't know if he's already alone or if he just doesn't care who overhears him, because he doesn't lower his voice or take the time to move somewhere more private.

A brief silence as neither of them speak, but simply rest in the warmth of the words, the truth of them.

Then: “Are you okay?” There's a trace of real worry in Mickey's voice now, and there's a part of Ian's that immediately annoyed because he hates that people worry about him so easily – but a larger part of him has made his peace with it; knows and accepts the reason for it; loves that Mickey loves him enough to worry.

So he offers a brief smile, even though Mickey cannot see it. Hopes it translates into his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I promise, it's just... I'll tell you when you get home, okay?”

“Okay.” And maybe Mickey isn't convinced but he takes Ian's word for it. Trust. That's another thing they've been doing better with. “I'll see you in maybe an hour then? I get off at five.”

”Yeah, I'll see you then.” And, because he can, because it's true: ”I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking said that already.” A brief pause, then quietly: “I love you, too.”

They hang up. Throwing one last look at Kash and Grab before he walks off, Ian is pleased to realize that he feels nothing but a vague sense of affection for the place. Some things withered and was left here, sure, youthful dreams and ambitions and most of his naivite – but the best thing about it he kept, and Ian will see him soon and hold him soon, and this time he will neither leave nor let him go. Their new dance will move to a different beat.

#asks #gallavich #i am so mad at myself and tumblr right now #also the use of semicolons in this one is absurd #sorry not sorry #fic #my stuff

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bluebloodbabe · 3 years

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REPOST AND BOLD WHAT YOUR MUSE CAN DO. ( italics for what they could do, but have never attempted to. )

swim / scubadive / read and write / do calligraphy / ride a bike / ride a unicycle / ride a motorcycle / drive / draw / sing / play an instrument / maintain a rhythm / converse in a language / converse in more than two languages / converse in more than four languages / do basic maths / do algebra / understand structural formulas / read a floorplan / assemble ikea / build a working piece of furniture / build a house / sew a button / customise clothes / make clothes / bind a book / use a vacuum / clean windows without leaving streaks / boil water / make pasta / remove the pit of an avocado / cut bell peppers / cook / bake / basic first aid / cpr / close a bullet wound / fire a gun / load a gun / shuffle a deck of cards / shuffle a deck of cards one-handed / play or read tarot / use matches / use a lighter / make a fire without either / code / start a computer / hack / steal a car without keys / pick a lock / kick down a door / throw a punch / put an opponent smaller than them into a chokehold / put an opponent larger than them into a chokehold / intentionally break a bone / make a cast / chop down a tree / put up a tent / make a knot / create a shelter without tools or brought materials / make a cocktail / cut a line of cocaine / change a diaper / recite a nursery rhyme from memory / recite an important religious code from memory / recite the table of elements from memory / recite all pokemon in the pokemon song from memory / recite a 10-digit code 24 hours later after only reading it once / tell a person’s zodiac sign / tell a person’s age / play football / play basketball / play another ball sport / iceskate / use an audio recording device / use a camera / tattoo / do a piercing.

#rp games #ooc

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cicada-bones · 3 years

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The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 9: Training

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Once again, all sound ceased as Rowan descended the stairwell and entered within view of the kitchens. Emrys’ soft singing and the mindless chatter from the young male – Luca, he remembered – cutting off abruptly. The girl was hunched over a washbasin, slowly scrubbing at a dish. Just the sight of her was enough to turn his slowly burning fury into a raging inferno.

Rowan hadn’t realized that he’d been hoping to find the girl suffering, moaning and groaning about doing such menial, servant work. But she just seemed to have been steadily laboring, quietly in the corner.

“Let’s go.” Rowan said, his voice hard.

As the princess moved to join him, Rowan caught Emrys looking at him with a new kind of fear in his eyes. A fear for others, for this girl.

Rowan clenched his teeth tightly, grinding them together. Something about Emrys’ worry on the behalf of this arrogant, insufferable, worthless princess was beyond aggravating. She did not deserve any pity, or affection.

Rowan led the girl through the small interior courtyard and out into the forest. It was now nearly midday, but the light and warmth of the sun’s rays couldn’t really pierce through the layers of mist shrouding the moss-covered oaks. It chilled Rowan’s bones, and he could hear the princess’ teeth chattering behind him. Good.

They slowly made their way up the rocky ridge and into the highest reaches of the forest, until the foothills were left far behind them and green fields stretched before them.

After the speed and surety of his flight that morning, treading along at a mortal pace was agonizing. The girl seemed to barely move, their snail’s pace making this short trip into an hour-long slog.

Luckily, the princess kept silent, and they both avoided throwing gasoline onto the flames simmering between them. But not for long.

Rowan was leading them to an old temple of the sun goddess, Mala. It was now a ruin, but he could still feel the warmth of the goddess’ power echoing in the stones below as he crossed over them and paid homage to the goddess who favored him.

Then the girl spoke up from behind him, her voice a crackling whip through the misty silence. “Do your worst.”

Rowan turned and gave her an obvious once-over, cataloguing her mist-soaked clothing, the bruises on her face and body, her loose muscles, the positions of her feet and arms... She wasn’t ready for a fight, and she knew it.

He breathed through the fury. This girl was going to be the death of him. “Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face,” he snarled. Rowan had no patience left for her ridiculous antics today, not after the morning he’d had.

She didn’t shift a muscle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If anything, the antagonism in her voice had only increased.

Rowan felt the muscles in his body stretch and expand, filling with a violent intent and a ravenous desire for action. He stepped forwards, his chest now less than a foot from her body, and flashed his canines at her.

“Here’s your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don’t feel like dealing with it, and I’m probably the only one who doesn’t give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath.”

“Go ahead and be as nasty as you want, Princess, because I’ve been ten times as nasty, for ten times longer than you’ve been alive.”

Rowan’s words, or at least the aching, primal challenge within them, finally reached her. She pulled her lips back from her teeth in a feral grin. He snarled in response. “Better. Now shift.” Maybe if her pissed the girl off just enough, he could find a way around those iron bars in her mind.

Her voice was vicious. “It’s not something I can control.”

“If I wanted excuses, I’d ask for them. Shift.”

She didn’t even try, didn’t reach within herself. Instead she snarled right back at him. “I hope you brought snacks, because we’re going to be here a long, long while if today’s lesson is dependent upon my shifting.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re really going to make me enjoy training you.”

She plowed on, heedless of the violence promised by the set of his jaw and the shape of his body. “I’ve already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, so why don’t we cut that horseshit, too?”

His fingers twitched, voice becoming quieter, more lethal. “Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift.”

She set her jaw, tensing her muscles. “No.”

And Rowan lunged.

Somehow, she dodged his first blow, sidestepping the fist he sent flying to her face. And then she twisted enough in the opposite direction to blindly avoid his second strike to her left side. But even with her years of training as an assassin, she wasn’t fast enough to evade his third blow, a swift kick to the backs of her legs.

She thudded to the ground gracelessly, slamming her already wrecked face onto the weather-beaten rock. The princess rolled to the side, groaning, her breathing ragged, as Rowan effortlessly pounced and straddled her chest, effectively rendering her motionless.

She tried to unseat him, but her movements were ineffective, fluttery things. They lacked strength, or any real conviction.

“Shift.” Rowan hissed, shoving all the menace, all the anger and hate and vitriol that he possessed into the command.

She just laughed at him, an emotionless, cold thing. Like a dead fish.

It was as if her every action, her every breath, was perfectly designed to piss him off. Rowan didn’t think it would have been possible for him to be more furious, more insanely angry than he had been when he hit her last night, but he had been dead wrong.

“Nice try,” she chuckled. “You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?”

Rowan snarled viciously, his canines inches from her throat.

“Here’s an idea: I’m rich as hell. How about we pretend to do this training for a week or so, and then you tell Maeve I’m good and ready to enter her territory, and I’ll give you all the gods-damned gold you want.”

Rowan nearly exploded with rage. Bribery? The girl thought to placate him with her blood money?

For the first time in two centuries, Rowan was filled with the desire to hurt another being. To make her suffer. To make her feel pain.

“Here’s an idea,” The words escaped from deep within his throat, cracking his ice-covered heart with the fiery hate they were bathed in. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you’re used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline—not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And,” he paused, deliberating, finding the words that would hit her the hardest, “you are a coward.”

The word sank into her like that blade it was, and she struggled beneath him, her eyes alight with fury. He let out a low, malicious laugh.

Then Rowan took the blade and twisted.

“Don’t like that word?” He leaned closer still, now close enough to rip out her throat without barely moving. “Coward. You’re a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered and tortured because of you. Because you fled, because you abandoned them – ”

Rowan’s voice cut off as he saw the utter, complete blankness in the girl’s eyes. It was like she was dead, like his vicious words had killed her and sent her to the Afterworld.

But her heart still beat and her chest still moved, so she wasn’t dead. She was hiding. Hiding away where the truth couldn’t touch her, where she didn’t have to deal with her reality, or face her fears.

Well, if anger couldn’t bring on the shift, perhaps fear would. The princess could do with a healthy dose of fear.

“Get up.” Rowan stood, setting the princess free. She didn’t move. “Get up.” He snarled more viciously. Slowly, the life returned to her eyes, but she still didn’t move a muscle.

Rowan’s nostrils flared. He reached down and pulled her up by her shoulders, her thin body light as a willow wand.

“Pathetic,” he spat, releasing her roughly. “Spineless and pathetic.”

The girl just looked back at him, her face blank and pale, as he turned and strode into the woods.

···

Rowan led the princess back down the wooded slope and through the oaks, but he was not taking her back to Mistward. No, he was angling towards the barrow field mounds, and the wights that nestled within them.

Rowan knew that this was a stupid, dangerous idea. He was just too furious to care.

He wanted the princess to get a taste of the creatures waiting out there, a taste of the wideness and depth of a world that she had barely seen a fraction of. He wouldn’t actually let them kill her, no matter how much he wanted her gone. He just needed her to get a taste of real fear, of the inescapable panic brought on by powerlessness. Maybe it would even force her around those iron bars. Force her to shift.

Rowan didn’t really care either way. He was so angry at this girl, this child, that he could barely see straight. Yet again, he had surprised himself, Rowan hadn’t wished death on another thinking being so desperately, so violently, since the years after the death of his mate. The years where he slowly took his revenge, and then aimlessly wandered the earth, purposeless.

There was no reason for him to hate the princess that much – no logical explanation for it. It didn’t make sense, but Rowan with still too furious to give a shit. He just wanted the girl to hurt. And to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face permanently.

The pair of them approached the barrows, Rowan drawing his sword and dagger cautiously, then he turned to the girl and spoke.

“I had planned to wait until you had some handle on your power – planned to make you come at night, when the barrow-wights are really something to behold, but consider this a favor, as there are few that will dare come out in the day. Walk through the mounds – face the wights and make it to the other side of the field, Aelin, and we can go to Doranelle whenever you wish.”

Her eyes were cold and hard as she regarded him. She had to know that this was a trap, that there was no way she could face the wights without control of her magic and still live. Had to know that Rowan was using her mortal impatience against her.

The scent of fear drifted from her on the wind’s back, while her posture spoke of a hesitant wariness.

The corners of Rowan’s lips curled into a smile as he noticed her eyeing his weapons. He shrugged his shoulders, “You can either wait to earn back your steel, or you can enter as you are now.”

A quick flash of temper. “My bare hands are weapon enough.”

Rowan’s smile widened as he turned and sauntered through the hills, leading the girl to the center of the field where he knew that a wight had been freed.

Each of the barrows were sealed with heavy, iron doors that were bolted into stone foundations, locking up the beasts within. There were dozens of them, ancient tombs of kings and princes long since passed. And they all breathed – the air around them moving in strange, twisting currents as the creatures within slept.

But as he and the princess walked past, the earth yawned, and the barrow mounds were filled with the rustling of awakening things. But still they walked on, the princess remaining close behind despite the fear steadily pumping its way through her blood and pulsing into the air around them. Her fear excited the wights, pulling them out of their niches and from within their lairs.

They reached the center – the oldest barrow in the field. It rested in the middle of a circle of dead grass, and the stones of its threshold had been broken – torn asunder by the tenacious fingers of tree roots and gnarled bushes. And the iron door was gone, nowhere in sight.

“I leave you here,” Rowan said, carefully keeping his feet outside the ring of dead grass. His smile was deadly. “I’ll meet you on the other side of the field.”

The girl looked like she was about to bolt. To run and run and run until she was as far away from him and this field as she could get. But instead of giving in to the impulse, the foolish girl steeled herself, inclined her head to Rowan, and walked into the dead grass.

She moved slowly, steadily, the way one does when they’re trying not to spook a predator. Not realizing it wouldn’t make any difference.

But for some reason, the wight didn’t attack. It remained hidden within its barrow, completely out of sight as the girl made her slow approach and turned to walk around to the other side of the mound. It was…afraid. But not of them. Wights were not afraid of the Fae, no matter how powerful.

Rowan took off, sprinting to the other side of the field. Could luck, blind, foolish luck get the girl out of this completely unharmed?

Frustration bubbled deep in Rowan’s gut as he reached the other side of the field, eyes searching intently for any sign of the girl or the wight. But when the central mound came into view, only darkness met his gaze.

Rowan stopped suddenly, his whole body tensing yet again. But it was a completely different kind of tension than he had just experienced in his brawl with the princess. Then, he had not actually felt any danger, any threat. The girl was only a mortal – a well-trained one, yes, but a mortal nonetheless. She posed no danger to him or any other Fae.

This however, was something different. Something wrong.

The blackness was not of the wights’ making. It was different. Entirely other. And the creatures were hiding from it.

The darkness cloaked the barrow-mounds like a black cloth, thicker and more impenetrable than smoke. It was like a brick wall of inky night had been erected in the middle of the field, and from within, Rowan could barely sense a thing.

He could just barely smell the princess’ terror and pain, but those scents were almost entirely masked by the overwhelming scent emanating from the dark wall itself.

It was of dust and carrion, and something else – something indescribable. It was almost like the scent that had obscured the body of the demi-Fae male, but different somehow. Shifted. The way scents varied between individuals. But still wholly wrong. Not human, not Fae, and not animal. Not even skinwalker or faerie or dragon. It wasn’t alive, had no pulse or emotion or essence the way all living beings did.

Rowan could just barely hear the girl gasping, “This is not real. This is not real.” Her voice was desperate and panicked, and Rowan was surprised to be feeling…fear. Though the emotion was barely a flicker, it was still there. He was afraid.

Rowan rallied, and considered his options. There weren’t many.

He could either wait for the princess to appear out of the darkness, for the black curtain to dissipate on its own, or he could enter into the black void and discover for himself what was within.

His entire being shied from that path. The darkness and whatever created it was wrong. Not of this earth. And…when he looked too long in its depths he could see things…hear Lyria’s screams…feel her body in his arms…

And then the princess was running, lurching and stumbling and falling over herself. Desperate to get away, to escape the blackness and whatever lay within it. Rowan moved forwards to meet her, to pull her away from the void, shoving that aching, screaming part of himself deep inside and locking it behind walls of ice.

A gasping, shrieking noise was leaking from somewhere deep in her chest. Her face was bone white, and her clothes were soiled, covered in vomit and piss and bodily fluids.

She stumbled and fell at his feet, still retching, though now only a small stream of bile trickled from her mouth, her stomach emptied.

Rowan gritted his teeth. No matter the ferocity of the darkness, or the strength of the malice it radiated, the girl should have more discipline, more self-control than she was currently demonstrating. The princess was weak, and self-indulgent. She had no control over her emotions whatsoever, and instead gave herself to them, letting them do what they would.

The terror and grief and pain coming from her was so strong, so intense that he could taste its metallic tang on his teeth. It coated his mouth like bile.

And then, finally, she began to shift – the fear so strong and all-consuming that she was forced through those iron bars and into her other form.

Maybe this had been worth it.

But there was only a flash of canines and pointed ears and then she groaned, returning to her mortal form – but there was another flash of light and the girl shifted back to immortal, her face contorting in agony.

The shifting was completely uncontrolled. Her flesh rippled like water as she flipped between her two forms, mortal and immortal, fast as the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. She was stuck in the place between, tangled up in those iron bars separating her from her power.

The girl’s magic surged around her, cradling her in its blanket of fire. But instead of relaxing into its embrace, she choked on it, gasping, screaming –

And then she passed out.

Rowan sighed in exasperation.

While he had been focusing on the princess writhing on the ground before him, the darkness had slowly dissipated, leaving behind no trace of its existence, or of what had created it.

The wind whispered to him of a fast-moving body, some kind of creature, whipping through the tree branches to the southwest.

Rowan longed to go after it, to track it back through the barrow mounds and into the forest beyond, to follow it back to its lair. But he couldn’t leave the girl at his feet on her own, alone and weak and vulnerable in the middle of a field of wights. Wights that were quickly recovering in the absence of the dark creature, and stirring once more in their hollows.

Rowan groaned his frustration, and then gingerly grasped the disgusting girl’s shoulders and dragged her into the safety of the forest at their backs.

He dumped her a few hundred feet into the safety of the canopy, then sprinted back towards the barrows, shifting midstride. He circled the fields and the surrounding woodlands, scanning for any sign of the darkness or anything that could possibly be the otherworldly creature that had created it. But there was nothing.

Nothing strange, nothing that stood out. And no trace of that awful, wretched stench.

Rowan curved back to return to where he’d left the princess, fuming. If only she had more self-control, if she could have run into the safety of the trees without completely losing it, he could have gone off and pursued the creature. Maybe even discovered what had killed the demi-Fae male, and removed a threat from Doranelle’s lands. Protected the fortress.

But the spineless princess had prevented him from doing so.

Rowan sat on a rock next to her prone form, waiting for her to return to consciousness. He idly threw a dagger as he stewed, his anger slowly bubbling and murmuring in his blood.

Eventually, the girl awoke, her eyes slowly sliding open, sore limbs stretching.

He didn’t wait for her to recover. “No discipline, no control, and no courage.” She turned to look at him, eyes glazed over. “You failed. You made it to the other side of the field, but I said to face the wights – not throw a magical tantrum.”

Her fury blazed to life, overwhelming the exhaustion and lingering fear. Rising to match his own writhing temper. “I will kill you. How dare – ”

“That was not a wight, Princess.” Rowan interrupted, his well of patience dangerously close to running dry. He definitely didn’t have enough left to listen to her go on another arrogant tirade. He barely had enough to speak at all.

Their eyes met, and he mentally shot towards her, That thing should not have been there.

Then what in hell was it, you stupid bastard? she shot back, without hesitation.

Rowan clenched his jaw. Even completely silent, the girl’s tone reeked of arrogant disdain. “I don’t know. We’ve had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this…this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don’t think I’ll learn anytime soon.” He looked pointedly at her deplorable state. “It was gone when I circled back. Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were – different.”

She looked down at herself, frowning in disgust. “No. And you can go to hell.”

He pressed. “Other lives might depend on it.”

“I want to go back to the fortress,” Her words came with a very great effort, her breaths shallow and labored. “Right now.”

Anger burned even higher within him, reaching to claw at his throat. Selfish brat. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

“You can kill me or torture me or throw me off a cliff, but I am done for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see. It dragged me through my memories – and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?”

The girl’s voice was different, altered by her encounter with the creature. This time, her ferocity didn’t come from arrogance, or aggression, or narcissism. Instead it was the sound of a desperate, small, trapped person. Someone who had run from pain for so long, that they no longer knew how to face it any other way.

Rowan spat out a sharp sound of frustration and anger. Nothing could excuse her refusal, her unwillingness to provide potentially crucial information. He was right, the girl was a coward – through and through.

Rowan stood, and led her through the woods and back to Mistward, completely failing to ignore the fury pounding its way through his limbs as he brooded.

The iron bars in her mind were made of fear. A terror so large and great that she allowed it to control her, to cripple her and prevent her from being herself. From accessing the other half of her identity – her Fae form.

The princess would have to overcome her own fear and cowardice in order to learn control. The question was – how to make a coward face their fears?

They arrived back at the fortress, the girl turning away from the entry guards as they passed, trying to hide the horrific state she was in. They noticed anyways, disgust and anger and fear wafting from them as they took in her rank stench and beaten body. And the sentiment was reflected by all of the many workers and soldiers they passed, though none voiced their worry or discomfort – all too intimidated by the force of Rowan’s presence, or by the girl’s own hostility.

He knew the reputation he already carried with the fortress residents, as well as the wider world. Knew that this would do nothing at all to endear them to him. Would maybe even make the girl a figure of sympathy.

He didn’t care. There was nothing to be done about it regardless.

Rowan was desperate to leave, but before he dumped her, he managed to say, “These are the female baths. Your room is a level up. Be in the kitchens at dawn tomorrow.”

And he strode down the corridor without a second glance – relieved to escape the fiery torrent of her presence and fall back into the waiting arms of his cool, icy indifference.

···

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