That Was SO FUN - Tumblr Posts

Diesel Is Desire, You Were Playing With Fire

A/N: It's still day six of @nessianweek, right? Just posting a teensy bit later than I intended! 😬 Anywho! What better way to celebrate Lady Death and the Lord of Bloodshed than the two of them being hot and covered in blood? And simping about it? Am I right? Hope everyone enjoys!

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The pounding in his head seems to radiate from the left side, a constant thrum near his temple and gnawing straight through his mind. It has a low ringing still niggling in his ears, has pressure building behind his eyes, as Cassian slowly opens them. The instant flare of light leaves him wincing, but as his eyes adjust, he realizes just how dim it actually is around him, most of the light spilling in from torches in the hall beyond.

Dim and damp.

There’s a cool dampness that clings to the air around him, to the stone pressing against Cassian’s cheek. With a soft grunt, he tries to push himself up into a seated position, only to find his hands bound, metal scraping and tugging at the skin of his wrists when he tries to move. He rolls over enough that his gaze can follow the chain of the shackles up and into the stone wall. Some more shifting brings his attention to the rope tightly bound around his wings, and he dares to test out the strength of the restraint, grunting in frustration when there's no give.

“Well, look who’s finally awake.”

A hand digs into Cassian’s hair, tugging against the wound there until he’s yanked up and into a seated position. He blinks a few times against the pain and comes face to face with the hard, brown eyes and arrogant sneer of Maelor.

Of course.

Of course, this male decided to pick back up the mantle that Kallon and his little band left behind. Cassian still remembers when Maelor was a youngling in the rings, over throwing punches and refusing to follow any orders.

“Are you finding your accommodations comfortable, General?”

Cassian hums, making a big show of looking around the room. He notes just how small the room is, the single exit along the opposite wall. The metal bars of the door look sturdy, but the rust on the hinges look promising.

“You could consider hanging some art on the walls,” Cassian drawls, flicking his gaze back to Maelor.

The male looks unimpressed with the comment, eyes flashing and teeth pulling back over his bared teeth. Cassian bites back a smirk. It’s too easy to get a rise out of the male. Barely through the Blood Rite means the male is still too green, still unseasoned about this sort of thing. And probably too stupid to have really thought through this little plan beyond the rage Maelor is letting get the better of him.

“But I suppose I’ve seen worse,” Cassian continues, shrugging his shoulders as much as his restraints will allow. “Than wherever here is.”

Maelor snorts. “Nice try. As if I’d tell you that. I’m not stupid.”

Cassian bites his tongue around his disagreement, against pointing out the obvious. “Can’t be too far from the western steppes where I was patrolling. I presume that’s where you attacked.”

“You didn’t even hear me coming,” Maelor tells him, puffing out his chest like a preening child. “You’re losing your touch, Lord of Bloodshed.”

“Still, we both know you don’t have the strength to carry or fly me that far, so let me guess, an old converted cellar in the deserted Wirmlowe camp?”

Maelor’s fists clenching is the only confirmation that Cassian needs. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still the one in chains. Still the one who will pay for your crimes against the Blood Brothers.”

“Blood Brothers? Really? That’s the name you decided on.”

The sound of the back of Maelor’s hand across his cheek is loud in the small space, ringing off the stone walls around them. Cassian chuckles at the display, another blatant show of the untampered emotions from an inexperienced warrior.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Cassian tells him, working his jaw against the sting. “Nes likes my pretty face.”

“I don't have time for this,” Maelor mumbles, spinning on his heel and stalking back toward the door.

“There’s still time, you know. To let me go and pretend this whole thing never happened,” Cassian calls after him, shaking his head solemnly as he leans casually against the wall. “I mean it's your life on the line, but…”

Maelor whirls back around, that sneer back on his face. “Your precious High Lord isn’t coming for you.”

Cassian chuckles again. This male really is more stupid than he looks. “Oh, it's not Rhys you have to worry about.”

As if on cue, the door behind Maelor’s back explodes off its hinges, the force sending the male flying to the ground, the metal bars crushing him against the stones. Silver flickers and floods into the room, those flames echoed in a pair of eyes now standing in the open doorway. Now narrowed firmly on Cassian.

There’s no stopping Cassian’s grin at the sight. He’d felt that familiar warm thrum in his chest as soon as he’d come to. Felt that gentle tug that informed him the other end of that golden thread was drawing closer. And now here she stands, silver still simmering and weaving at her fingertips, leathers clinging to her frame, and hair pulled away to show off the sharp angles of her face. To give Cassian the perfect view of one of his favorite expressions painted across her face.

“One night. One date night, and you had to get yourself kidnapped.”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart.”

Nesta steps further into the room, moving lithely over Maelor’s body with ease. “If you didn’t want to go to the ballet tonight, you could have just said.”

“You really think this was my doing?” Cassian asks, holding up his bound wrists in emphasis. “Think this is what I want?”

The left side of Nesta’s lips lift up into a smirk, the blue of her eyes sparking in that way Cassian’s always loved. “Well, we both do know how much you love to be tied up.”

“Only when it’s you doing the tying.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but there’s no hiding the fondness in her expression. It has Cassian’s grin stretching wider across his face, has warmth bubbling between his ribs. She finally turns her attention toward Maelor’s body, crouching down and rooting around until she locates the keys on his person. As she focuses on unlocking the shackle around each of Cassian’s wrists, he can’t help but stare at her face, especially so close to his.

All these years and it’s still such a problem for him, tracing the planes of her high cheekbones, the faint freckles that he knows are echoed more prominently across her shoulders, each dark eyelash framing a pair of icy blue eyes. Gods, he’s truly the luckiest male, and he’s sure his dopey smile only reflects the sentiment.

The shackle on Cassian’s right hand releases, and he winces slightly, taking a moment to flex his fingers and turn his wrist. It’s at that exact moment that shouts echo from above them, what sounds like thundering steps growing closer and closer.

“Didn’t you check the whole perimeter before storming in here?”

Nesta sighs through her nose, pressing the key into Cassian’s freed hand. “If you’re going to critique my rescuing, then you can rescue yourself next time.”

She pushes back to her feet, unsheathing Ataraxia. She resets her stance, lifting her sword aloft and readying for the rebels that come storming into the room. Four males by Cassian’s count, and the Mother only knows how many more there could be on the way. Each one wears a sneer, wears a look of pure rage and blood lust, and it’s all directed at Nesta.

Directed at his mate.

Cassian swears softly under his breath. He focuses his attention on unlocking the shackle around his left wrist, even as the clanging reverberation of metal on metal bounces off the walls around him. When he’s finally free, he scrambles toward Maelor’s body, unsheathing the male’s blade and jumping to his feet.

He’s quick to turn his attention toward the first male he sees in front of him. He’s as unseasoned and undisciplined as Maelor, the male’s tell before he strikes forward obvious. It’s almost too easy the way Cassian is able to parry the strike, and he sends the male’s sword skittering across the stone before he sinks his own into the Illyrian’s gut. When the male drops to his knees, Cassian finishes the job, the feel of warm blood across his knuckles all too familiar.

His eyes flit around the rest of the room, finding Nesta squaring off against two males. For a moment, he can do nothing but stare, but watch his gorgeous mate. Her feet move with all the grace and lithe speed of a dancer, parrying and dodging each male’s attempted strikes against her. Ataraxia arches through the air as she slashes across one of the male’s chest, blood splattering across her leathers, her cheek. She turns fully toward the other male, preparing to square off solely with him, but it means she doesn’t see the third male now approaching her from behind, in her blindspot.

There’s no stopping the red that floods Cassian’s vision, instincts roaring through his veins and clawing through his chest.

He rushes forward, the weight of the sword in his hands, the swing of it, second nature to him even with the unfamiliarity of this particular blade. The male crumples into a pile of limbs and blood, and Cassian turns back toward Nesta with a winning grin, his mate having already disposed of the other Illyrian male.

“You’re welcome.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing drawl, but then those eyes are widening. She lunges forward, and there’s a soft, gurgling grunt right by Cassian’s ear, the distinct sound of metal sinking into soft flesh. He turns his head and meets the unfocused gaze of a fifth male, Nesta flicking Ataraxia upward to finish the job before pulling it free.

“You’re welcome,” she mocks back, that teasing smirk back on her face. “You’re losing your touch in your old age, General.”

Cassian chuckles, reaching his non-sword hand up and trying to wipe the blood from Nesta’s cheek. It’s unfair really, the way she looks even more beautiful with the streak of red across her skin, the splattering that reaches up toward her brow. With the silver still simmering in her eyes, Cassian thinks he might be falling in love all over again.

He leans down, bumping his nose against hers. “Careful, Lady Death.”

“What the fuck?”

Cassian pulls back, turning just as three more males come rushing through the door and into the room, more footsteps still echoing from above. Cassian almost wants to laugh. How big could this rebel group be? There couldn’t really be that many males that wanted to follow Maelor of all people.

Either way, Cassian and Nesta reset their stances, settling back to back with their respective swords raised. It’s a practiced dance between them, the way they move so in sync. With every offensive strike forward that Nesta takes, Cassian takes a defensive parry back. They spin in place together, taking on and felling each Illyrian that dares to raise a sword against them.

Despite the familiarity of a sword in his hand, the weight of the borrowed one is not, the balance not quite right either. One lucky swipe by the male he’s facing, and the sword in Cassian’s hand goes sailing out of his grip. He quickly switches to hand-to-hand, landing a strong uppercut that knocks the male unconscious. Shaking out the throb in his knuckles, Cassian spins back toward Nesta, placing his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady.

“What are you doing?” Nesta gets out between gritted teeth, still swinging Ataraxia.

“I need a weapon. Hold still.”

Cassian shifts his hands up into Nesta’s hair, finding the dagger disguised as a hair pin that he knows is always hidden out of sight there. He pulls the dagger free, the golden brown strands of Nesta’s hair tumbling free down along her spine. Her hair sways and glints from the torch light with her every movement, and Cassian has to remind himself of the situation they’re currently in before he gets distracted again.

“You know,” Cassian begins, whirling back around and using the dagger to take down another male. “As far as date nights go…”

“Don’t you dare,” Nesta seethes, sweeping out a male’s feet from under him and driving Ataraxia into his chest.

“I’m just saying that–”

“Mother save me, you would be enjoying this.”

Cassian sinks the dagger into the neck of the Illyrian in front of him. “Can you blame me?”

With the last of the Illyrian rebels a crumpled heap against the stone floor, Cassian is able to return his attention to Nesta, to sweep his eyes over her and really take her in. Her hair hangs like a curtain around her face, framing it the way Cassian loves best, even with the blood now making a mess of the strands. There’s still blood on her face too, contrasting with the bright blue of her eyes, sparking and flaring with the adrenaline and magic still coursing through her. With Ataraxia still clutched in her bloodied hands and the Illyrian leathers clinging to her frame, she’s a dream. And with the half a dozen males slain by her hand at her feet, Cassian is almost embarrassed to admit how aroused he feels.

His mate. His wife. His Nesta.

“I’m only a male after all.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she sheathes Ataraxia, stepping closer into Cassian’s space and pressing up onto her toes so she can wrap her arms around his neck, pushing the rope from his wings and finally freeing them.

“Just so you know, this doesn’t actually make up for tonight.”

Cassian chuckles, sliding his own arm around her waist and tugging Nesta’s body flush against him, right where she belongs. “I’ll have Rhys see if the ballet can do an extra performance. Just for you, sweetheart.”

“Good. It’s the least you could do after I rescued you, you big bat.”

—

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Legacies X me headcanons

gif by @legaciesladies 🤍

I would be one year older than Hope

I would be played by Hailee Steinfield or Madelaine Petsch

My name would be Kira

I would be part witch and part werewolf when I broke the curse, my parents would've made me a ring to control my turn

I would be a very powerful witch with a lot of knowledge because of my parents and my appreciation to learn

I would be friends with the twins since when I started go to the Salvatore School

Later, when Hope got there, I would be very close to her because I wouldn't judge her

Lizzie wouldn't like me being so close to Hope at first but she would understand later

Lizzie and Josie would be my best friends

I would help Hope to feel safe and defend her against others

I would meet the Mikaelsons after months being friend with Hope

I would share the room with Hope, Lizzie and Josie

I would study magic with Freya and Hope sometimes

My hobbies would be dance, read, write, and watch movies

2 months after meet Hope's family, I would have my first kiss with her

Then we would start dating

Landon wouldn't like this at first since he and hope had a complicated story

But he became very supportive later

Me and Hope would make our relationship public at school later so we could be close without shame

All Mikaelsons were supportive and made me feel safe at their family

Josie was happy for us and focusing on herself

Lizzie would be jealous at first without know why exactly but then she got happy for us because we were two very important people in her life that would make each other happy

After Hope's transition, me and Hope would considerate me become a Hybrid with her blood (after she turned off and turned on again)

After some years, I would turn and she would help me in my transition

Maybe adding more later?