#» ;( ☆ What A Strange New Land To Explore! ( fates )

[mrsmaxwelllord]

Summer Storm

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Martell Lady!Reader

Summary: Harwin leaves King's Landing to protect the three youngest princes from the dangerous rumor circulating in the Red Keep. Upon arriving home, he discovers that his father had another plan to put an end to the rumors once and for all.

or, Harwin marries a Martell who can see ghosts.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: For now, only Arranged Marriage.

A/N: I think it's important to make two things clear before you start reading.

There is no Harwin/Rhaenyra in this story. Harwin returned to Harrenhal with the intention of putting the past behind him and the relationship they had is only briefly mentioned.

The Reader can see ghosts and has visions of the future. This is very important for the plot I have in mind, but it will be explained better in the following chapters (It will be important to the plot but have it in mind it isn't the central point, I intend to explore the relationship between the two more).

The only reason Harwin Strong agreed with his father about returning to Harrenhall was to protect Princess Rhaenyra’s children. His sole goal was to protect their honor and keep them safe from the nasty rumor about their parentage. 

He knew he had made an irreversible mistake by letting Ser Criston get under his skin — this was exactly his goal, he realized later —, losing his temper and giving him the reaction he was looking for sealed his fate at King's Landing. He also knew that he had to part with the boys, by staying he would only allow the rumor to grow and strengthen. Even though he loved them so dearly, it was the right thing to do. 

Harwin didn’t question his father any longer and left. The goodbye was particularly hard with Jacaerys and Lucerys, with little Jofrey it cut especially deeper for he would not be allowed to see him grow as he had had the chance with the two eldest boys. The farewell with Princess Rhaenyra was strange in a way he didn't imagine could be possible, not after so many years in camaraderie: she was awkward and had the expression of someone who wanted to confess something, but could not do it. In the end, she only looked at him with teary eyes and nodded her goodbye. He spent the whole trip home thinking about this interaction, wondering what it meant.

Only when the five towers of Harrenhal were visible in the distant horizon and he could see the Gods Eye’s waters,  did his father break the news to him. He was to marry. He was to marry that very same day, as soon as he set foot at the castle in matter of fact. 

He was not only to marry a Dornish Noble, he was to marry a Martell. Not one of the ruling Lord Martell’s children, since he had made clear — not with his words but with his actions thoroughly King Viserys’s reign — that he would not get involved with Westeros’ society, but a not-quite-distant relative. One important enough to join Houses with the King's Hand without being an embarrassment or cause mockery.

Harwin was beside himself with rage. He did not come back to Harrenhall to marry, certainly not to someone he never heard of before. He thought his father old fashioned and archaic for even considering an arranged marriage. They were almost through the castle gates when he calmed down enough to be able to hear the arguments his father was making.

“It will not be enough to just leave, Harwin,” Lyonel reasoned. “I fear nothing we ever do will be enough to silence the whispers, but this could be a new beginning. By marrying we give the people a new narrative and, if the seven heavens bless us, it will make them forget. At the very least, it’ll be something new and exciting to talk about. They will spare the boys.”

It was exactly what Harwin wanted — and desperately needed — to hear: that he could undo the harm he did to the boys. He felt so guilty for unleashing his anger on Ser Criston that his hands started to shake even when thinking about that odious day. So when Lord Lyonel explained to him the proposition in this particular light, he was glad to take it. He would do just about anything for the boys. 

He accepted the marriage and promised his father he’d compromise to learn to be the Lord of Harrenhal. A good, just Lord. And a respectable husband also, even though this part of the promise was more complicated to comply with.

Harwin remembered his mother then. His parents' marriage was also arranged and his mother would occasionally tell him, Larrys stories about her coming to this very same castle. Harrenhal was rumored to be haunted, it was said these halls were full of ghosts and misfortunes, that the ruling lords were cursed to fall every century. Lady Strong never told her sons how afraid she was of the prospec of living in those dark walls, yet they could hear her hidden and forgotten fear; Harwin, who was raised to be Lord Strong one day, remembered one evening swearing to protect his future wife from the curse. A silly thought from his boyhood, he dismissed it. Yet, when thinking about what his bride would be like, he knew it was likely that the same fear could make itself known in your heart. 

Harwin held no grudge against his betrothed, he knew it was likely that the choice was also not yours to make. You were in the same position, to be married to a stranger, so he made another commitment. To himself, this time. Like his parents’ marriage, he wanted this one to work out and, for this, you would’ve to work together and trust each other. But there would be no love involved, it was not possible, he already had his children and his priority was their well being. People would expect him to have heirs of his own one day, but this was a topic for the future. For the time being, he only had the heart to work one compromise at a time.

The first time Harwin met his Wife, he didn't see you entirely: you were wearing a thick veil that covered all of your face and your dressing concealed  the rest of you. Harwin's acknowledgment of Dorne was limited to what the Maesters told him in his youth and what people said in King’s Landing about their costumes, but upon one look at you it was clear you were making a statement. You were clearly dressed in Dornish fashion, a thick satin fabric in a deep shade of blue that he realised was supposed to match his House’s color. The dress did not lack beauty, with its golden suns embroidered on the hems and also the extra piece of gold jewelry you wore in your neck, wrist and fingers. Harwin wondered if the fabric of the dress was enough to keep you warm on this winter day and if all the pretty little details were to spur him on or to show the power of House of Martell. 

The first meeting concerned him immensely. His intention was to study you and decide what course of action he should take based on his first impression of you, but you only managed to confuse him further than he already was with you.

Upon being introduced to you, you were only polite and even-tempered, he dared think you were a bit too… placid. He couldn’t make anything out of your replies, it felt to him you only answered with what you thought he wanted to hear. Which he also thought was in contrast to your so bold choice of clothing.

He sat beside you at the main table and tried to have a meaningful conversation with you — as meaningful as a conversation with someone you know nothing about can be — yet got so frustrated that the only thing he could do to alleviate it was to drink the wine. It was not that you lacked intelligence in your little observations and answers, but Harwin could tell you were hiding something behind your clever words. It was like you were trying to dodge him yet it only made him so much more curious about you. 

When it was time for the bride and groom’s dance, he realised what was wrong. For most of the feast, you drank and ate very little and your hands were always hiding in your lap under the table. Only when he held your hand did he realize you were shaking and cold. So very cold.

You were just as nervous as he was, that comforted him somehow. To know he wasn’t alone in all his mess. 

Harwin danced with you for as long as he could, which wasn’t really much. Yet it was enough to find out the two of you strangely could synchronize well together. He still could not see your face under the veil, but he had a feeling you smiled back at him when the song stopped.

The time for the wedding ceremony arrived faster than you expected it to.

Even though there were fireplaces alight everywhere in the hall, you felt cold. Your hands, which had briefly stopped shaking while you were dancing with Harwin, started shaking again with more force than before. You were terribly nervous, thanking the Gods for the veil preventing your expression from being revealed to the crowd watching you. But soon, that too would be taken from you.

The ceremony itself was short and according to the customs of the Faith of the Seven, after you excused yourself and changed into a proper wedding dress and a yellow cloak symbolizing the House Martell. It happens at the Sept of the Castle, with a rather old Septon blessing the union. After the seven vows were made, it was time to exchange the clocks. Since your father couldn’t come with you to the Riverlands, it was your uncle who removed the clock from your shoulders; then Harwin carefully placed the blue cloak on your shoulders and lifted your veil. 

You held your breath and made sure to look in his eyes to study the expression on his face. The veil was only an old custom, one you were partially glad for, but mostly afraid of. It conceals your expression but also your appearance, not that the way you looked was of any significance. In fact, your appearance didn't make any difference at all for the marriage, if Ser Harwin disapproved of it the union would happen anyway.

To you, the veil only served to make the wedding kiss an even more anxiety-filled moment, the anticipation was killing you and you suspected your soon-to-be husband felt the same way — if his endless questions about you and your likes were of any concern. If he thought of you ugly, you only wished that he could not show it in front of all those watching eyes— it would be your first kiss and the start of your life as a Lady, it would hurt too much to watch his face squirm with displeasure. 

To your relief, there was no squirm of displeasure from Harwin. His eyes initially only looked at yours, then it ran through your face… Your eyebrows, your hair, your cheeks, your nose, then finally your mouth. In which he fixated for as long as he could before he looked up into your eyes again and followed with the ceremony.

“With this kiss I pledge my love” both you and Harwin say in harmony and he leans down to kiss you. His lips are soft and sweet and he kisses you slowly, carefully, with one hand he holds yours and the other he guides your face up to better kiss you. It lasts only a moment yet it leaves you feeling inebriated.

“…and take you for my lady and wife” Harwin finishes, with the delicious thick accent of his.

“…and take you for my lord and husband.”

The feast that followed the wedding was extravagant. With delicious food made in both RiverLand’s and Dornish’s costumes to please both parties, even though your own party was small and consisted only of your uncle, a few knights, and some maids that had come to serve you in your new home. You had brought with you a few barrels of Stronwine as a gift to your father-in-law and he seemed to thrive in its rich flavor and high alcohol content. 

The guests, most of them Lords from Riverlands and friends to Lord Strong, were happy, singing and dancing to the songs. Your brother-in-law was nowhere to be seen. Your now officially husband was seated by your side at the main table and, just like before, kept on asking you all kinds of questions.

You thought it was a good sign, the questionnaire about your family, friends and life in Sunspear showed interest in you. Yet it was difficult to answer it all, you did not know his character just yet and preferred to keep the more delicate matter to yourself until you were sure he was trustworth; that he would not judge and make your life hell. So you kept your replies neutral and tried to keep the conversation about him; you asked him how was being Captain in the City Watch, what was life at the Red Keep like, what he enjoyed doing in his spare time, if he had any. You considered asking him about Princess Rhaenyra and her children, but decided against it. You thought it wise not to corner a hounded man — not when he was known as Breakbones.

You danced with him again and again during the party, actually enjoying his company and quickly quit. Despite your concerns, because you knew he had lost his temper and attacked the Queen’s sworn shield, he seemed to be a gentle and composed man. Harwin is devastatingly more handsome than you expected him to be, his hair is half up allowing you to better enjoy the strong features of his face. His clothes were a dark shade of blue that almost matched his eyes and gave him a solemn aura, you couldn’t help but notice.

When it was time for the bedding ceremony, you were beside yourself with worry. You knew what to expect but the prospects of it did not please you, yet, once again, Harwin eases your anxiety and just leads you to his chambers without drawing attention from anyone instead of following the traditional ceremony.

He leads you to the Kingspyre Tower, where the castellan’s chambers are at, it is the tallest tower and it takes a long time to get up there. Harwin uses this time to ease your worries with comforting words, he says he does not wish to see you concerned. And it almost helps, it is almost enough for you to believe his words.

Once in his chambers, he locks the door from the inside and seats you at the biggest canopy bed you’ve ever seen. You wait for him to start, not sure of what exactly he expects of you, but he leaves you in the bed alone and goes to fix glasses of wine in the bedside cabinet. You decide to take matters in your own hand and quickly unlace the dress, leaving you only in your chemise, then you make yourself more comfortable and wait for him to turn. 

When he does turn, he is taken back by your lack of clothing, but goes to your side and gives the glass. Unlike in the feast, you drank almost all of it. You need the bust of confidence.

“Are you still nervous, m’lady?” he asks with a sweet smile, his tone has that accent of his you came to adore. 

You decided to go with the truth this time.

“Yes, my lord. I find it difficult to feel anything else at this time.”

Harwin takes a long sip from his cup and takes your hand in his.

“I meant it when I said you had nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you” you say, because words are failing you by now. Your hands are shaking again, but Harwin looks at you so gently it becomes hard to believe he’d willingly hurt you. You want to trust him, you truly do.

“I’ll be honest with you” he starts, suddenly looking away and, for a moment, you believe he’ll talk about the young Princes. “I want this marriage to work.”

“As do I, my lord..” you reply, confused.

“We’ll be Lord and Lady of Harrenhal one day and it’ll not come without difficulties. If we want to rule with honor and dignity, we’ll have to understand and respect each other. I want us to work together.”

“I want the same, Harwin.”

“I must tell you a few things then, so we know where we stand. Set some boundaries.” 

“Is it about Princess Rhaenyra’s children?” you finally ask, catching up to his meaning.

It caught him off guard, he turned to you and his expression tells it all. The conformations of the histories you’ve been listening to about your husband. You smile sadly. You had really hoped it was all just rumors.

“So what they say is true.”

Harwin wants to deny it, but he decides to start this marriage with honesty so he simply nods. And it is as a huge weight is lifted from his back, he sighs deeply as if he is finally able to breathe again.

“Do you honestly wish to work together?” you ask him, looking into his eyes. “It’ll take time and a great deal of effort, but I think that if you’re willing to, we can manage it.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

...

Notes: Couldn't help but write my own piece about the beloved Harwin "Breakbones" Strong. He just screams "arranged married plot"! and I could not simply make it easy from him!! I want to see him suffer a bit.

This will have a follow up!

Let me know what you think!

[aurelim]

As the Ocean Lures Intro Post

As the Ocean Lures is an interactive novel about being a Merfolk. You will go on hunts, learn more about humans, and perhaps explore the land above.

As the Ocean Lures is a 16+ game with themes that may be triggering to audiences. This includes drowning, murder, death, body horror, dark humor towards death, potential transphobia, and the MC will exhibit sadistic traits with certain choices. This will be updated as the game goes on.

This game is loosely inspired by the Little Mermaid, and has taken inspiration from games like Beyond The Waves and Abysm's Veil. 

CHECK OUT THE DEMO HERE!

Everyone has heard of sirens. Mysterious humanlike beasts who use their powerful singing voice to lure sailors to their untimely death. However, the only thing modern mythology mistaked was the fact that sirens retained bird-like features rather than fish tails. 

You, on the other hand, are a Merfolk. As a Merfolk, you maintain most of the qualities often associated with mermaids and "sirens". With your family, you work to bring down sailors using your voice and abilities under the sea.

But do you actually want this fate? Is this what you want for the rest of your life? 

It was. 

At least, that was what you had always thought.

When you meet a captain who is dead set on showing you everything about the surface, you are quite literally pushed into a whole new world.  And you discover that perhaps the human world...is not as bad as you were told.

But now you have a dilemma. Will you question everything you know? Or will you remain a part of the ocean?

Customize who you are as a Merfolk, from gender, pronouns, looks and personality.

Helping your family to sink ships full of sailors (or not...)

Watch a captain drown or save them from certain death.

Maintain your relationships with your family—follow what you have been told your whole life or go against everything they have taught you.

Romance one of four characters: your best merfriend, the strange siren who assists your family on their hunts, the human captain you saved(?) or that royal who seems to love spending time by the sea...or no one since being a Merfolk is already hard as it is.

Will you live out of the sea or under the sea? The choice is yours.

Kai/Kaia (He/him or She/her): The Best Merfriend

Your best...er, merfriend. You have known them your entire life and they remain a constant in your life. K has always been interested in the surface, whether you agreed with them or not. If given an opportunity—any, really—to go on land, they would jump at the chance. Friendly and caring, K is loyal to a fault, never-ending when it comes to you and your family. But is there something underlying your friendship? Guess you'll have to find out.

Echo (They/them): The Siren

Echo is...in short terms, a mystery. They first came to your family's rescue during one of the worst hunts of your life, and has stuck around ever since.  Your mother treats them like her sixth child, though you are sure the sentiment is not reciprocated. Despite knowing Echo for almost eight months, you have yet to learn anything about them beyond their name and pronouns. It seems like they don't want to get attached to you or your family.  They are professional, keeping away from personal questions. Will you be able to break down their walls?

Louis/Eloise (He/him or She/her): The Royal

You don't know much about them, besides knowing they are the heir to the throne of Oceanic. They can sometimes be found standing by the ocean on their private beach, eyes closed as if they are in another world. They address the world with such maturity, garnering them fans across the kingdom. And it certainly helps that they are attractive. Many look forward to the day they take the throne from their father.

Anthony/Anne Maddox (He/him or She/her): The Captain

The captain who you (or someone else) saved from certain death. They once claimed mermaids existed, which brought a reputation that preceded them.  To prove it, they recruited a group of sailors to join them. The day they sailed out was the day you found them, the only survivor. A has a knack for getting into trouble, as well as a sense for adventure. Now knowing you exist, they want to show you the human world. Will you let them?

[aethon-recs]

Hullo!!

Thank you for all the great tomarry fic recs you have given to us!! Your recs are always the best and I love them all..🩷🩷

Do you have any Tomarry fics where Harry somehow time travels to the past where Tom is still in his Hogwarts years ?? And Harry becomes the transfer/new student and gets sorted into Slytherin??

I hope I'm not being too specific.. honestly, just any fic where Harry and Tom both go to Hogwarts!!

Thank you🩷🩷

- rioo xxx

Hi there! Thank you for your kind words 🤍

Here's a selection of fics featuring Harry and Tom attending Hogwarts together in the 1940s.

There's 23 fics in the list below, covering 1.7 million words, so hopefully there's some fics in here you haven't come across before! Happy reading!

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Hogwarts 1940s-era Tomarrymort Recs

A Future Without a Face by @dividawrites (E, 115k, complete)

Tom Riddle is a gifted teen with a personality disorder. He’s going to rule the world one day. Harry Potter is an extremely angry transfer student, or at least that’s what Tom believes.

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 81k, WIP)

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to. When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry’s world starts drowning in blood.

At the end of every road by @sass-y-squatch (M, 90k, complete)

In which Harry is determined to prevent Voldemort's rise, even if he has to stalk, bribe, threaten, and marry Tom Riddle to do it.

But For You, I Did by @duplicitywrites (M, 21k, complete)

When 11-year-old Tom Riddle finally arrives at Platform 9 and ¾, he meets fifth-year Prefect Harry Evans, a Muggleborn Slytherin at the top of his year. Harry is everything that Tom wants to be—Harry knows exactly what it’s like to be special, intelligent, and have no one understand you. 

Custodarium by Tina48 (E, 73k, complete)

The war is over, and the Wizarding Britain has been slowly rising from the ashes. Harry just wishes none of it ever happened – what will he do when he’s given a chance to change the past? Was Dumbledore right about “the power he knows not” after all?

Devil's Hour by @exarite (E, 3k, complete)

Harry traveled back to Riddle's time with the intention to kill him, but it's been months and he's done nothing. Instead, night after night, Tom visits him in his bed. Harry lets him.

Embryo by @cannibalinc (NR, 28k, WIP)

While others only gossip about Grindelwald and dutifully prepare for their NEWTs, Tom is building an empire. He has painstakingly clawed his way to the top of his generation’s elite, and now he wants more—more power, more delights, more magic than has ever been explored before. That is Tom’s destiny, a King among men. No—a god. He need only rise to that which is his for the taking… if only one strange boy weren’t so determined to get in his way.

Enoument by @accipitae (M, 22k, complete)

Call if fate, call it destiny, call it getting hit by a car at five years old and flung into the past to land naked and bruised on the steps of Wool's Orphanage in 1931. Whatever it is, Harry grows up not in a cupboard under the stairs but in a small room shared with another strange boy.

Fate Granted by Flipdarkchill (M, 60k, WIP)

When a young Tom Riddle demands a friend in the middle of the night, he did not truly expect anything to happen. At least, not right away...

Game On, Your Move by @perhaps-sunlight (T, 75k, complete)

Be on guard, my Lord, writes Abraxas Malfoy, the new transfer student intends to kill you. Except Abraxas has terrible penmanship, and 'kill' and 'kiss' look awfully similar in shoddy cursive. Naturally, things escalate. A lot.

good night, darling by @purplemineralwater (E, 141k, WIP)

Harry's breath faltered. It was all so confusing... Harry had died. He had died and spoken to Death and suddenly he was standing in Hogwarts, in 1942, and the Sorting Hat had just pronounced him Slytherin.

Holly & Yew by @lovely-lotus (M, 236k, WIP)

After a bout of accidental magic when Harry is six, Vernon goes too far. When Harry wakes up, he is gravely wounded and more than fifty years in the past in another world. After some shuffling, Harry ends up at Wool's. There, he meets Tom Riddle, his mysterious roommate, eventual best friend, and the love of his life.

Infinite by @duplicitywrites (E, 8k, complete)

Harry and his twin brother Tom have the same mark. The same soulmate. Whoever their soulmate is, wherever they may be, they will go to Tom. Tom, however, has other plans.

nothing left to lose by @cindle-writes (E, 11k, complete)

Harry got to have Tom’s cock inside him anytime he wanted, but all he really wanted was Tom’s soul back inside of him.

Of Monsters, Of Men by @ca-xan-dra (M, 144k, WIP)

Harry’s first memory at Wool’s Orphanage is of Tom Riddle. He thinks Tom Riddle makes many exceptions for him. (He’s right.)

Promises, Promises by @mosiva (E, 72k, complete)

Harry, stuck in the past and trying to navigate Slytherin House with Tom Riddle at its head, is hit with a memory-loss spell. An unhappy accident, as the ever-friendly Tom Riddle is on hand to tell him.

Reckless Cartography by @meles-merrivale (M, 9k, WIP)

Just because someone is the love of your life doesn’t mean they’re good for you. And just because someone’s bad for you doesn’t mean you get to walk away. Featuring Harry and Tom attending Hogwarts together and slowly ruining each other’s lives.

Stab Right Through by @the-wig-is-a-metaphor (M, 82k, WIP)

Getting lost in old memories is a dangerous thing for anyone, but in Harry's case the whole situation is slightly more literal than usual, and—as it always tends to be—much, much worse.

Subjective by IceLynx (G, 1.5k, complete)

While Harry thinks Tom is extremely handsome, nobody else does. Most think Tom is rather average. Harry refuses to admit it and is forced to defend his opinion.

tautological by @cindle-writes (E, 7k, complete)

It had taken Tom quite a bit of trial and error to figure out how, but he had finally worked out how to exploit their shared horcrux connection and send Harry false visions and dreams. For a few weeks now, Harry had been waking up every morning to a rush of pleasure, soaked pajama bottoms, and Tom’s name a broken moan on his lips.

Terrible, But Great by @isalisewrites (M, 143k, WIP)

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

Vespertine by @itsevanffs (E, 24k, WIP)

Harry only blooms at night; Tom can see this much.

What Souls Are Made Of by Emeralds_and_Lilies (E, 278k, complete)

A mysterious object in Bellatrix's vault sends Harry, Ron and Hermione spinning into the past and to a Hogwarts like none they know. Posing as students, Harry catches the eye of the Head Boy, Tom Riddle, who is nothing like the Voldemort of the future. He's charming and sly and manipulative; both brilliant and deadly.

*

[aboutescapism]

enjoy the silence | ao’nung.

ao’nung x fem!sully!reader

part one | next part

synopsis: Nothing could break your sunshine personality, not even your family’s abrupt move to Pandora’s reefs. But, the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik’s son of the Metkayina, who you’ve fallen at first sight for, greatly tested that. 

genre: fluff, angst.

contains: pining from reader; toward ao’nung, mentions of bullying, name calling, feeling alone. ao’nung being a bully (what’s new). unrequited love.

a/n: welcome to my first piece of writing ever! i had to give the honors to my bf ao’nung. this isn’t exactly canon to ao’nung in atwow, he doesn’t outwardly bully the sullys like he does in the movie. but still angsty. let me know if you guys enjoy this!

The Metkayina's way of living was definitely strange to adapt to, but not difficult. Your new life was filled with training your breathing, riding your Ilu, or exploring underwater. Pandora’s enchanting reefs made it hard to dislike living in Awa’atlu, and despite having to uproot your life from the forest so suddenly, you really enjoyed living here. Every day you found something that made your life here greater. Finding an especially pretty shell, weaving your first top with pretty pearls, and even finding a pretty boy to crush on.

The son of the Olo’eyktan and the Tsahik of the Metkayina had caught your eye. When your family first landed here, being picked, prodded, and eyed at by the people, your attention couldn’t help be on him. You were ecstatic when Tonowari put his two children to help your family learn the way of the Metkayina. Ao’nung, not so much.

His death glare scared you, sure, but despite that, he was gorgeous. His braids that tie up into a bun of dark curls, his tooth necklace that dangles off his chest when he bends over, his glistening skin when he’d emerge from the water. Everything about him was admirable, you’d bet his personality had to be wild and free. You’d just have to get close enough for the heir to notice you.

Just your luck, Ao’nung was most often paired with you when you were training. Tsireya was too enamored with your brother, Lo’ak, to pick anyone else. 

“Breathe deep from here,” Ao’nung instructed you, hand on your upper stomach. Your breath couldn’t help but hitch, soon quickening.

“Your heart, it’s beating fast. Calm your breathing, feel the water,” Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Tsireya all shared a knowing look.

“Sorry, Ao’nung,” he gave you a small smile, but it soon disappeared and the lesson moved on.

“Just focus, m’kay?”

His smile was your glimmer of hope. Maybe he did take the same liking you had with him? No, he’s just following orders. But, did his father’s orders entail being friendly, too? 

Still, you had hope. He had to be your someone, by Eywa, you felt it.

You spent your free time practicing your weaving to make gifts for him, or practicing your breathing and sign language to impress him. Always at the shore to collect sea shells for him. Never not around the Tsahik, his mother, listening to her speak with the fellow healers. Ronal had even grown to like you. Such an attentive, obedient girl. Just what Ao’nung needed in his life, your attention would put a pause on his recent bad behavior. Perhaps it was fate that a Tsakarem was brought to their clan, the perfect mate for her son.

In the Omaticaya, you trained everyday for your whole life on how to rule next to the Olo’eyktan and interpret the will of Eywa. You couldn’t help but believe that, maybe, Ao’nung was the Olo’eyktan you’ve been training for. The one to look after the people with. The one to be by your side for the rest of your life. Your mate. You would be perfect together.

Of course, he didn’t see you the same way. But, you didn’t know this. He saw you as a measly forest girl with “demon” blood flowing through her veins that didn’t belong. Your five fingered waves of hello to him every morning were nothing but offensive. How could you be so content with being part enemy?

You were familiar with the uncertainty people felt toward you being half human. You felt it in your own clan. The Omaticaya didn’t take your extra fingers and the hairs on your brow bone with delight. They had been nothing short of disappointed when Toruk Makto’s children came out looking like dream walkers and not pure Na’vi.

The children of the clan specifically acted on their distaste quite boldly throughout your life. The teasing, name calling, bullying, it wasn’t new to you. “Freak,” “demon,” pushing around, leaving you out, pranks being pulled. Jake had always said to not give them the reaction they’re looking for, and after a while it worked. You gave them nothing, they left you alone.

But you didn’t like being alone. That wasn't what you wanted. You didn’t like not fitting in, not belonging. It hurt, at first, having no one. No one to talk to, to hang out with. All you had was yourself.

Your family made up for it, though. How could you not be happy with them? They filled the hole in your heart made from loneliness, all you could see was the good things in your life when you had them.

“You’re always lookin’ on the bright side, honey. Always makin’ my day better. It’s something we should all take after you,” your father, Jake, always said to you.

Everything was yellow and bright in your life. The way you and your siblings could all fit on your hammock back home, sleeping together. Learning how to shoot with a bow. Your mother, Neytiri, making arrows and weaving tops with you and your sisters. 

Coming closer to becoming an adult in the eyes of the Omaticaya every passing day. The pretty flowers you’d harvest to bring to Jake, the close-knit bond of your family. All good things, always good things. Nothing, not even the loneliness, could break your sunshine.

So, you saw your move to the reefs as a chance to explore the world and make it exciting rather than sad. Maybe you’d find people to fit in with, even though this clan was so drastically different from yours, there has to be someone here for you, right?

“Are you a freak?”

Startled, your gaze on the bright blue water shifts to look around, “What?”

It was Ao’nung, your demeanor calms. “I said, are you some sort of freak?”

You smile at him, standing from your crouched position on the sand, “No, Ao’nung, m’not.” Even this close up, he’s breathtaking. His face is inches from yours.

He falters but rebuts, “what about your hands, huh? You’ve got demon in you. Five fingers.”Ao’nung takes your hand, emphasizing his point by shoving your own hand in your face. But he’s holding your hand, so softly, too. Not squeezing  or gripping it harshly. Your heart is swelling and you wonder if he’s feeling the same electricity from the contact.

You reluctantly pull your hand from his grasp, a small smile present on your face. He must be teasing you, no harm in a little banter. 

“Got five from my dad. Used to be a human and now he’s Toruk Makto. He’s the greatest warrior on Pandora.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s the mighty Toruk Makto hiding out here in the reefs, then? Must still be human, running away from his own battles. It’s pathetic,” you understand, now, he’s not teasing. He’s speaking from disgust.

“No, he’s Na’vi. Has been for years now. We’re Na’vi, not Sky People, dream walkers.” You see him, you understand his confusion, his distaste, his ignorance. You want him to see you, too.

Maybe he will see you as more than a forest girl, more than a demon. Maybe he will see your qualities, your fast learning, your fascination with the water, your adoration for him. Maybe he will see you the same way you see him, as a future mate. His girl.

“But you aren’t Na’vi, can’t you see that? You don’t belong in this world, here, with us. You’re meant to be with the Sky People, not here, bringing your war to us. It’s selfish, just what Sky People would do. Cower and destroy. You don’t see like Na’vi, you don’t understand like Na’vi. You don’t belong,” he finishes, stalking away back to the village.

Your heart can’t help but shatter. Each of Ao’nung’s harsh words pricking at your heart and tears from your eyes. And still, you can’t help but yearn for him.

[beyralxoxo]

{Amor Omnia Vincit-Lucius Verus Aurelius}

Chapter 3-Auream caveam gladioque: Golden Cage and the Sword

SUMMARY: Tillotama is met with her fate, the twin emperors gave her a chambers fit for and empress yet she knows it's nothing but a golden cage. And while she explores her new world, her soon-to-be protector is presented to the court and there he shows how great of a poet he can be.

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x South Indian OC

WORD COUNT: 8,4 K

WARININGS: Death, Gladiator fights, a hint of mocked cannibalism (?)

As the towering gates of the palace closed behind them, the noise of the crowds and the procession outside slowly faded into silence. Tillotama found herself standing in a vast, echoing hall, the air thick with the scent of incense and myrrh. The grand chamber was unlike any she had seen before—its walls adorned with rich tapestries depicting Roman victories, while marble floors gleamed in the soft glow of golden light. It was both beautiful and foreign, a symbol of the empire’s opulence, and yet it was nothing more than a gilded cage for her to navigate.

The court had been granted their own wing in the palace, a gracious but unsettling gift from the twin emperors. Tillotama’s mind swirled with the complexities of the situation, but for now, the physical space was all she could focus on. The wide hallways stretched before her, leading into what would be her quarters in this strange city.

After a few moments of walking through the palace, they arrived at a large, ornate door, beyond which was a suite that would serve as Tillotama’s new chambers. The space was grand, adorned with velvet cushions, fine marble columns, and large windows that let in the soft, golden light of the afternoon sun. It was lavish and luxurious—but still, there was something foreign about it.

At the entrance stood a woman, older and dignified, dressed in rich Roman garments. The moment she saw Tillotama, she dropped to one knee, bowing deeply in respect.

“My lady,” the woman spoke softly, her voice warm but full of reverence. “They call me Pompeia Caesonia. I am the mistress of the chambers in this palace, entrusted with serving you and ensuring your comfort.”

Tillotama’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. Though the words were foreign to her, she could sense the sincerity in them. She turned her head toward Waarangan, her trusted translator, who stepped forward, ever calm and measured.

Waarangan spoke the words in her native tongue. “This woman is Pompeia, the one in charge of your chambers. She welcomes you, my lady.”

Tillotama’s lips parted in a small, soft smile as she gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. She had grown accustomed to her silence in these foreign lands, letting her actions speak louder than her words. She looked at Pompeia with a gaze that conveyed the respect she felt, even if she lacked the words to express it.

In her culture, a show of respect for an elder was often given through the act of touching their feet. With a quiet grace, Tillotama lowered herself slightly, her hands moving reverently toward Pompeia’s feet as she bent forward, the gesture humble and sincere. It was a sign of her respect, a silent acknowledgment of Pompeia’s position as both an elder and a guide in this new and unfamiliar place.

Pompeia, seeing this gesture, gasped softly in surprise. Her expression softened, and she instinctively reached out to stop Tillotama. “No, my lady,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “There is no need. You honor me more than you know, but I should be the one taking the blessings from you.”

Waarangan, always attentive to the nuances of their interaction, quickly translated Pompeia’s words for Tillotama. He spoke gently, his voice carrying a calm understanding. “Pompeia says there is no need for such a gesture. She feels blessed by your respect, my lady.”

Tillotama’s face remained calm, but her eyes reflected her gratitude. She rose slowly, her hands folding in front of her in a more conventional gesture of respect. Though she could not understand Pompeia’s words directly, the sentiment was clear. This moment was an exchange of honor, a bridge between two worlds, and Tillotama’s heart swelled slightly with the quiet power of it.

Pompeia smiled at her, a warmth in her gaze that seemed to echo the respect and understanding shared between them. “The gods have certainly blessed you, child,” Pompeia said softly, a sense of awe in her voice. “To carry such dignity and grace…”

Tillotama met her gaze, her lips curling into a small smile. Though she did not speak the language, she had learned to communicate with her eyes, her presence. And in this moment, that was enough.

Pompeia, still gazing at her with a mixture of admiration and wonder, turned toward the chambers beyond. “Come, my lady,” she said gently, her tone filled with care. “Rest for now. The journey has been long, and you must prepare for the life ahead of you here. When you are ready, I will assist you in whatever you need.”

Tillotama inclined her head in a silent acknowledgment. She felt the weight of the moment—the quiet recognition between herself and this woman who, despite the distance between their worlds, had shown her kindness.

With a final glance at Pompeia, Tillotama entered the chambers, her court following behind her, and the doors closed softly, sealing her into this new chapter of her life. The palace felt both a prison and a sanctuary, but within its walls, she would forge the path that lay ahead. And no matter the challenges, Tillotama knew she would walk it with the same quiet strength that had brought her this far.

As the last of Tillotama’s court went on, Pompeia remained standing in the doorway for a moment longer, watching the woman who had arrived from a far-off land—beautiful, dignified, and brimming with a mystery that even the great city of Rome would not fully understand.

The doors to the imperial chambers swung open with a soft, heavy groan, revealing the luxurious space where the twin emperors awaited their esteemed visitor. The sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden hue across the room, as though even the very air was aware of the significance of the moment. A faint sense of expectation hung in the air like smoke, thick and palpable.

Macrinus entered with his usual composed confidence, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on the two young rulers who sat on their thrones. A slight smirk curled on his lips, a knowing, almost imperceptible glint in his eyes as he took in the sight of Caracalla's impatient energy and Geta's more restrained presence. He could feel the undercurrent of tension, the simmering anticipation of a moment that would reveal much about both the woman they were eager to see and the power dynamics that were already at play.

Caracalla, his posture more dynamic and restless than his brother's, sprang from his throne as soon as he saw Macrinus, his enthusiasm practically crackling in the air. His voice, low and urgent, was the first to break the silence.

“So?” Caracalla asked, his gaze piercing and filled with expectation. “Did you see her?”

Macrinus chuckled, a sound low and amused, dripping with the satisfaction of knowing his control over the situation. He let the question hang in the air for a beat before answering, his tone measured but laced with an almost maddening calmness. “I did, your majesty,” he said, the words slipping smoothly from his lips. “Though, as is tradition, her face was concealed behind a veil. As your esteemed ambassador mentioned, her beauty, it seems, is something... reserved. Awaiting its proper moment.”

He paused deliberately, allowing the weight of his words to settle, savoring the palpable frustration in Caracalla’s eyes, which burned with the same impatience that had led the emperor to seek this moment of revelation.

Geta, ever the more cynical of the two, scoffed loudly, his eyes narrowing as he licked his bottom lip in an almost dismissive gesture. The exasperation in his voice was unmistakable as he leaned forward slightly, a hint of disdain coloring his words. “Have we not already waited enough?” he spat. “What more is there to know?”

Macrinus turned to him, his gaze sharp and calculating. His lips twitched into an almost imperceptible smile, as if savoring the very vulnerability in Geta’s frustration. This was where Macrinus thrived—manipulating the gaps in the young emperor's understanding, turning impatience into a weapon of his own.

"Ah, but your majesty, impatience often distorts the true value of what is to come,” Macrinus said smoothly, his voice tinged with a mockery that was both veiled and cutting. He held Geta’s gaze for a moment, watching the older twin’s irritation flare and then subside. “Patience... it's a virtue that can turn anticipation into something far more powerful than mere beauty. There’s a certain thrill in the waiting, don’t you think?”

Caracalla shot a glance at his brother before returning to Macrinus, his energy still restless, but with an edge of curiosity now sharpening his features. He seemed to weigh the words, though his patience was growing thin.

“That’s true," he muttered, the edge of his voice dripping with impatience. "We’ve waited long enough already, yet she remains hidden. The veil, the secrecy... What is it you’re really saying, Macrinus?”

The older man’s eyes gleamed with the faintest flicker of triumph. He knew this game, knew how to bend their curiosity into something far more potent. He took a step closer to Caracalla, his hand drifting gently to the younger emperor's shoulder in a gesture that was both familiar and possessive, as though to stake his claim in the conversation.

“The woman is no mere object of desire, Caracalla,” Macrinus said softly, his voice taking on a lower, almost conspiratorial tone. “She is the embodiment of something much more... intoxicating. Rome, as you well know, thrives on spectacle, on control. You will not simply be looking upon her face. You will be witnessing power—a performance that will make even the gods tremble. But, as with all great spectacles, it is in the anticipation that the power truly grows.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice now quieter, coaxing. “And for that... we must wait, my lord. For tomorrow."

Caracalla’s eyes glinted, his frustration now mingled with an undeniable fascination. His breath quickened slightly, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. Macrinus had struck a chord—a perfect balance of teasing and promise.

“Tomorrow?” Caracalla repeated slowly, as if savoring the word. “She will perform tomorrow?”

Macrinus gave him a knowing smile, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. “Yes. Tomorrow, she will unveil herself—not just her beauty, but her power. And the moment she steps onto that stage, she will command the attention of Rome.”

Geta was silent now, his jaw clenched as he absorbed the information, his mind turning, calculating. But even he could not ignore the tension that had begun to rise in the room. The very air seemed to thrum with anticipation, charged with the weight of what would unfold. Macrinus was no longer just an adviser; he was the one pulling the strings, the master of this particular game.

“Power?” Geta asked, his voice sharper now, skepticism creeping into his tone. “You speak as if she’s a goddess or some oracle. Do you truly believe that? We’re speaking of a woman... a foreign one, at that.”

Macrinus turned to him, his smile widening just a touch—sly, knowing, dangerous. “Oh, she’s more than that, my lord. She is a goddess... but not of Rome’s making. And that, I think, is what will make her even more valuable. She carries with her the promise of something unknown, something Rome has not seen. And the unknown is always more dangerous than what is familiar.”

He stepped back slightly, letting the weight of his words settle, and for a moment, the room was quiet—thick with the tension of a promise still unfulfilled, yet tantalizingly close.

Caracalla turned his gaze toward the window, his thoughts clearly drifting, as if envisioning the moment when Tillotama would finally reveal herself. Geta, still quiet, appeared to be weighing the implications, his mind working behind his cool, calculating exterior.

Finally, Macrinus gave a small, almost imperceptible bow of his head, the corner of his mouth curling slightly. “Yes, tomorrow will be the day,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Rome will witness something... truly remarkable.”

As the door clicked softly behind him, the twin emperors were left in their silence, each haunted by their own anticipation. The tension that Macrinus had expertly built would remain, bubbling beneath the surface, until tomorrow when it would finally be released in a way that none of them would forget. Macrinus knew this—he had already planned it. Tomorrow would be a day for Rome to remember, and he would be there, watching, as the true game of power began.

While Macrinus played with power under the naive eyes of the emperors, Tillotama began looking around her new chambers.

The chambers were nothing short of breathtaking, a marvel crafted by the hands of excess. Marble ceilings soared overhead, adorned with gilded carvings that glittered in the sunlight spilling through towering arched windows. The walls bore frescoes of Roman gods and heroic exploits, while the floors, cool and smooth, were inlaid with mosaics that seemed to tell stories of power and conquest. The air carried a faint, sweet fragrance, as if even the breezes were curated for perfection.

Tillotama stood at the edge of the sprawling balcony, gazing out at the sapphire-blue expanse of the sea. Beyond the horizon lay freedom—or at least the life she had known before stepping into this gilded cage. Below, a massive bath sprawled like a miniature lake, surrounded by lush flowers and statues of Roman deities, their stony gazes both welcoming and imposing.

“This is a trap,” she said finally, her voice soft but certain. “A beautiful one, yes. But a trap nonetheless.”

Kinjal, standing with arms crossed near a column, was the first to reply. “We need to bless this place,” she said with her usual practicality, her sharp eyes darting around the room as though searching for hidden curses. “I can feel the evil eye on me already.”

Chanchal, sprawled on a chaise with the casual grace of someone entirely unbothered, let out a laugh. “You feel the evil eye on you everywhere, Kinjal,” she teased, twirling the end of her braid absentmindedly. “I think the evil eye must be madly in love with you by now.”

Kinjal’s glare was sharp enough to cut marble. “And I think it’s your constant chatter that draws it in. Did you ever consider that, oh wise one?”

“Wise and charming,” Chanchal quipped, undeterred. “Two things you could learn from me, Kinjal.”

Mataangi, who had wandered to the edge of the bath, dipped her fingers into the water. The ripples spread outward like silver threads on silk. “Say what you will about their morals,” she said dryly, inspecting the statues that loomed around her. “The Romans certainly know how to indulge. This place isn’t a trap—it’s a queen’s palace.”

Tillotama turned toward her, an ironic smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “If I am queen of anything,” she replied softly, “it is only of my own misfortunes.”

Bulbul, lingering by the balcony’s edge, had been quietly observing the world beyond when she gasped. Her wide eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and surprise. “Tillo,” she murmured, tugging gently at Tillotama’s sleeve. “Did you know there are men training down there? Warriors. So many of them.”

Kinjal’s brow arched as she exchanged a glance with Tillotama. “Warriors?” she said, her tone skeptical. “That’s... unexpected.”

Chanchal sprang up, her energy igniting like a spark catching dry kindling. “Move aside, Bul,” she said, marching to the balcony. “Let me see these men for myself.”

Bulbul stepped aside, stifling a giggle as she pointed toward the training grounds below. Chanchal leaned over the railing, her braid swinging with the motion. Her eyes scanned the grounds, widening as they took in the muscular forms of the gladiators below, their bronzed skin gleaming with sweat as they clashed swords under the midday sun.

“Well, well, well,” Chanchal drawled, a grin spreading across her face. “Glory to Shiva indeed. Would you look at that?”

Tillotama bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “Chanchal Devi,” she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. “I thought you were the one most critical of Rome. Something about ‘barbarians and brutes,’ if I recall.”

Chanchal waved her hand dismissively, still leaning over the railing. “An opinion can always evolve, Tillo. I’m merely appreciating their... cultural contributions.”

Kinjal’s laugh was sharp and sarcastic. “Cultural contributions? You mean their muscles.”

“Muscles are part of culture!” Chanchal shot back, grinning shamelessly. “Besides, who am I to deny Rome its small victories?”

Mataangi shook her head, chuckling softly as she joined them at the railing. “Leave it to Chanchal to be conquered by sweaty men wielding swords.”

“They’re not just sweaty men,” Bulbul interjected, her voice quiet but sincere. “Look at how focused they are. The way they move—it’s like a dance.”

“Dance or no dance,” Kinjal muttered, folding her arms. “We’re still prisoners here, even if the cage comes with entertainment.”

Chanchal turned to her with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, don’t be so dour, Kinjal. A little fun never hurt anyone.”

Tillotama stepped away from the balcony, shaking her head in amused exasperation. “One of these days, Chanchal, your ‘fun’ is going to get us all into trouble.”

Chanchal followed her with a playful smile, her hands clasped dramatically over her chest. “If trouble is my destiny, then I shall face it with open arms.”

“You’d better hope it’s not carrying a sword,” Mataangi quipped, her sharp tone earning a laugh from the group.

For a brief moment, the air was lighter. The tension of their situation, the uncertainty of their future—it all faded into the laughter they shared. The walls of the gilded cage still loomed around them, but within it, they found solace in each other. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. And as Tillotama glanced back at her companions, she allowed herself to hope that together, they could endure whatever came next.

The throne hall was a spectacle of grandeur, its marble columns towering like the trunks of ancient trees, and its floors gleaming beneath the shafts of sunlight that poured through arched windows. Caracalla and Geta lounged atop their gilded thrones, their expressions somewhere between boredom and faint curiosity. Around them, senators, courtiers, and a smattering of invited guests whispered among themselves, the air heavy with expectation.

Macrinus stood to the side, his hands clasped behind his back, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips. He had arranged this moment meticulously, ensuring every detail served his designs. Senator Thraex, standing near the base of the dais, glanced toward him with an uneasy smile, but Macrinus gave no acknowledgment. His eyes were fixed on the twin emperors, watching their every reaction.

Thraex cleared his throat, raising his arms theatrically. “My emperors, esteemed lords, ladies, and noble senators! In honor of our illustrious guests and to stave off the shadows of monotony, I present to you the raw, unrelenting art of combat! Tonight, this hall will bear witness to the strength, skill, and determination of gladiators!”

Caracalla straightened slightly, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne. “Finally,” he muttered, loud enough for those nearby to hear, “something to make this day tolerable.”

Geta smirked, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “If it doesn’t put you to sleep first.”

Thraex ignored the quip, his voice rising above the murmurs. “From my own stables, the unbeaten titan—Vincent!”

The heavy doors swung open, and Vincent entered to scattered applause. He was a behemoth of a man, his muscles straining against the simple tunic he wore. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who had faced death and won countless times. As he reached the center of the hall, he raised a fist, eliciting louder cheers.

“Looks like a bull,” Caracalla remarked with a chuckle. “I hope he doesn’t fight like one.”

“And to challenge him,” Thraex continued, his voice laced with forced enthusiasm, “a gladiator presented by the honorable Macrinus!”

All eyes turned as the second set of doors opened. A leaner figure stepped into the hall, his ocean-blue eyes scanning his surroundings. There was no posturing, no grand gestures—just a quiet, deliberate stride toward the center. His silence was disarming, his composure unnerving.

Caracalla leaned toward Macrinus, raising an eyebrow. “This is your champion?”

Macrinus inclined his head, his tone light but laced with intent. “Appearances can be deceiving, your majesty.”

Geta smirked, his interest piqued. “Let’s hope so. Otherwise, this will be over before it begins.”

Thraex gestured grandly. “Three rounds! Hand-to-hand combat! Let the gods themselves decide the victor!”

The tension in the throne hall thickened as Caracalla’s voice cut through Thraex’s response like the sharpest blade.

“Swords!” he demanded, his tone imperious and dripping with boredom-tinged cruelty. “We want swords. Let them fight to the death—no quarter to be offered or given.” He leaned back on his throne, a wicked gleam in his eye, his posture suggesting he craved bloodshed to break the monotony of the day. “Fight now.”

A collective murmur rippled through the gathered crowd. Even Thraex, who had hoped for a display of hand-to-hand combat to keep things relatively civilized, faltered at the young emperor’s sudden decree. He turned to Macrinus with a look that mingled unease with incredulity. Macrinus, however, offered nothing but an enigmatic smile, his gaze never leaving Caracalla.

The gladiators were promptly handed swords, their blades gleaming ominously under the sunlight streaming through the grand arched windows. The younger of the two combatants—the lean, blue-eyed challenger presented by Macrinus—accepted his weapon with a measured grip. His expression was one of grim understanding. He turned toward Vincent, his opponent, and attempted to reason with him, his voice low and urgent.

“Brother,” he began, his tone steady but imploring. “Let’s not kill each other for their amusement. This isn’t worth your life or mine.”

Vincent’s only response was a guttural growl, his massive frame advancing with menacing intent. He swung his sword in a brutal arc, the blade narrowly missing its mark as the younger man dodged. Vincent’s face twisted in rage, and the hall reverberated with the clash of steel as the fight began in earnest.

Caracalla clapped his hands once, a gleeful grin spreading across his face. “Finally! Now this is what I call entertainment!”

Geta, seated beside him, wore a more subdued expression, though his lips curved into a faint smirk. “At least one of them might survive. Unless your champion loses, Macrinus.”

Macrinus inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Your majesty, survival is often determined by wit as much as strength. Let’s see if that proves true today.”

Vincent attacked with unrelenting aggression, his sheer size and strength making him a formidable opponent. He swung his sword with the kind of brute force that could cleave a man in two, but the younger gladiator was agile, sidestepping and parrying with remarkable precision. Each clash of their blades rang out like a grim melody, echoing in the vaulted chamber.

“Come on!” Vincent roared, frustration building as his strikes failed to land. “Fight me like a man!”

The younger gladiator’s movements remained calculated and defensive, his expression unwavering. “I fight to survive, not to prove myself to men like them,” he replied, his voice calm but resolute.

The exchange earned a ripple of laughter from some of the senators, but Caracalla leaned forward, his interest piqued. “He’s got spirit,” he remarked, turning to Macrinus. “You’ve chosen well.”

“Spirit alone doesn’t win battles,” Geta interjected, his tone skeptical. “But I’ll admit, he’s entertaining.”

As the fight raged on, the younger gladiator underwent a startling transformation. What had begun as a calculated defense—each movement precise and measured—shifted into an overwhelming onslaught of raw, unrelenting rage. His strikes, initially tactical, now carried the force of a tempest, the sheer ferocity of his blows silencing the once-roaring crowd.

Vincent, a towering man of muscle and brutality, began to falter. His earlier dominance now seemed a distant memory as he struggled against the unyielding barrage. The younger man’s sword became an extension of his fury, carving deep, bloody lines across Vincent's flesh. Each strike was delivered with devastating precision, leaving the larger man staggering, his strength sapped, his resolve wavering. The air in the grand throne hall grew thick with tension, the onlookers leaning forward in their seats, some unable to tear their eyes away.

The crowd’s initial cheers of bloodlust turned to uneasy murmurs. Senators whispered among themselves, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension.

"Who is this savage?" one whispered, his voice barely audible over the hushed tension.

"Not a man—a beast," another replied, his tone reverent yet tinged with fear.

Macrinus, standing beside the emperors, allowed a sly smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. His sharp eyes gleamed as he leaned toward Geta, his tone casual but loaded with subtle malice.

“Strength comes in many forms, your majesty. Even in those we might initially overlook.”

Geta’s expression remained stoic, though his gaze betrayed a flicker of unease. He said nothing, his attention locked on the ferocious spectacle before him.

Caracalla, by contrast, was thoroughly enthralled. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes alight with sadistic glee. “Look at him!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing through the hall. “Such fire! Such fury! This is what Rome craves—true strength, not hollow bluster.”

Macrinus’s smile widened almost imperceptibly. “Indeed, your majesty,” he said softly, his tone dripping with the satisfaction of a plan unfolding perfectly.

The younger gladiator’s relentless assault reached its climax with a brutal sequence of blows that left Vincent barely standing. Blood streamed from the older man’s wounds, staining the pristine marble floor beneath them. His labored breaths came in ragged gasps, his once-imposing form reduced to a broken shell.

A final slash tore across Vincent’s chest, sending him crashing to his knees. His sword clattered to the ground, slipping from his grasp as he clutched at the gaping wound. He looked up at his opponent, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Blood dripped from his lips as he struggled to speak, but no words came.

The younger gladiator stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion. His ocean-blue eyes, once calm and introspective, now burned with an almost otherworldly rage. He raised his sword high, poised for the killing blow. For a fleeting moment, the fury in his eyes seemed to waver, as if a fragment of humanity were struggling to reassert itself.

But the hall was filled with cries for death. The crowd’s bloodlust surged once more, drowning out any whispers of mercy.

Caracalla’s voice cut through the din like a blade. “Finish him!” he commanded, his tone dripping with glee. “Rome does not reward hesitation.”

The gladiator’s eyes flicked toward the emperor’s throne, then back to his opponent. Whatever trace of pity or doubt had surfaced vanished in an instant. With a guttural roar, he brought his sword down in a swift, decisive arc. The blade cut through flesh and bone, silencing Vincent forever. His lifeless body slumped forward, blood pooling around him like a dark, spreading shadow.

The hall erupted into chaos. Some cheered wildly, reveling in the violence, while others turned away, their faces pale with discomfort. Senators exchanged uneasy glances, their whispered conversations charged with the weight of what they had just witnessed.

Macrinus watched the aftermath with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. The younger gladiator stood amidst the carnage, blood-splattered and victorious, his sword lowered but still gripped tightly. His gaze scanned the room, taking in the mix of horror and admiration etched on the faces of those present. There was no triumph in his expression—only a simmering, unrelenting rage that seemed to consume him whole.

The younger gladiator stood amidst the silence of the aftermath, blood dripping from his blade, his chest heaving with exertion. Slowly, deliberately, he released his grip on the sword, letting it fall with a metallic clang next to Vincent’s lifeless body. His blood-smeared face betrayed no triumph—only exhaustion, resignation, and a haunted look that seemed to fix on a distant point beyond the throne hall.

Applause shattered the quiet like a sudden thunderclap. It began with a single pair of hands—Geta’s—clapping with fervor as he rose from his throne, his face alight with a sickly enthusiasm.

“Remarkable!” Geta exclaimed, his voice filled with twisted admiration. He clapped harder, descending the dais with a gleam in his eye. “Truly remarkable!”

The audience hesitated, unsure whether to join in. Some senators clapped weakly; others exchanged uneasy glances. The younger gladiator, however, did not react. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his shoulders heavy with weariness.

Geta turned sharply to Macrinus, his tone now congratulatory. “Macrinus, congratulations on such an acquisition.”

Macrinus inclined his head humbly, though his eyes sparkled with a calculated satisfaction. “I am honored, your majesty. My only wish is to serve.”

Geta’s attention shifted back to the gladiator. He stepped closer, peering at him with the curiosity one might reserve for an exotic animal. “Remarkable,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost to himself. “From where do you hail, warrior? Speak!”

The gladiator did not respond. His expression remained impassive, his silence unyielding.

“I said, speak,” Geta snapped, his earlier fascination hardening into irritation. His demand echoed in the grand chamber, bouncing off the marble walls.

Before the tension could mount further, Macrinus intervened smoothly. “He is from the colonies, your majesty,” he said with a slight bow. “His native tongue is all he understands.”

Macrinus’s gaze flicked toward the gladiator, a subtle warning in his eyes. The silent exchange was almost imperceptible, but the young man’s jaw tightened in defiance. Against Macrinus’s unspoken command, he took a step forward, his bloodied figure cutting a striking silhouette in the flickering torchlight.

His voice, hoarse but steady, broke the silence. “The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth is the descent and easiest the way.” His lips curled into a bitter smile as he continued, his tone growing softer, almost wistful. “But to come back from hell and to view the cheerful skies—in this, the task and mighty lies.”

A hush fell over the hall. His words hung in the air like smoke, heavy with meaning. The crowd, accustomed to blood and spectacle but unprepared for poetry, stirred uncomfortably. Geta’s smile faltered, his earlier cheer replaced by a pensive frown. For a brief moment, the weight of the words seemed to pierce through his shallow bravado, stirring something he couldn’t quite grasp—and didn’t want to.

Macrinus seized the moment, his tone light but deliberate. “Vergil, your majesty,” he said with a small smile. “A poet whose wisdom endures.”

The younger gladiator’s gaze shifted to Macrinus, their eyes locking in a brief, charged moment. Then, with visible effort, he lowered his head, as though the act of bowing were heavier than any blade he had wielded.

Caracalla broke the tension with a bark of laughter. Rising from his seat, he strode toward the scene, clapping his hands once in mockery. “Poetry!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with amusement. “How unexpected! By the gods, I was prepared for brute savagery, not eloquence.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he circled the gladiator like a predator appraising its prey. “Very clever,” he said, his tone shifting to one of rare approval. “My goodness, Macrinus, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Macrinus, ever the sycophant, dipped his head in deference. “To amuse you, my lord, is my sole desire.”

Caracalla smirked, his amusement genuine. “You’ve done more than amuse. I was so bored, yet this... this is something worth my attention.” He gestured toward the gladiator with a lazy sweep of his arm. “What a paradox—a killer with the soul of a poet.”

Macrinus let out a low, measured chuckle. “Such contrasts, your majesty, are what make life in Rome endlessly fascinating.”

Geta, regaining his composure, turned his gaze back to the gladiator. His earlier unease was gone, replaced by the cold weight of imperial disdain. “We are amused,” he declared, his voice sharp, each word delivered with a pointed finality. He stepped closer, locking eyes with the younger man. “We are amused,” he repeated, his tone now almost a challenge.

The gladiator held Geta’s gaze, his face unreadable. For a long, tense moment, neither man looked away. Finally, the gladiator inclined his head ever so slightly, a gesture that was neither submission nor defiance—only acknowledgment.

Satisfied, Geta turned sharply on his heel, ascending the dais once more. “Well done, Macrinus,” he said without looking back. “Let us hope your... gladiator... continues to entertain.”

Macrinus bowed low, his face a mask of humility. But as he straightened, his eyes followed the gladiator with a glint of triumph. His plans were unfolding perfectly, and he knew the next act would be even grander.

The gladiator was then led by Macrinus into the small, stone bathhouse. The room was simple, the rough stone walls and dim light casting shadows in every corner. Steam rose from the water, and the air was thick with the scent of earth and sweat. The gladiator sank into the bath, the hot water a rare moment of relief, allowing him a few minutes of peace after the chaos of the arena.

Macrinus sat nearby, his eyes observing the young man with a calculating look. He produced two golden coins from his robes and set them gently on the stone beside him, the sound of the metal clinking against the surface oddly loud in the quiet room.

“You fought well today,” Macrinus said, his tone neutral, but his eyes assessing. “But you were lucky, too.”

The young gladiator, water dripping from his body, lifted his gaze and sat up a little straighter, wiping the wet strands of hair from his face. He met Macrinus’s eyes, but his voice was soft, tinged with something that might have been weariness or understanding. “The lines you recited. You didn’t learn that in Africa, I know that.”

The gladiator’s lips twitched slightly, a faint smile. “Good verse travels far.”

Macrinus clicked his tongue, his gaze never leaving the young man. “Who taught you poetry?”

“A captured Roman officer,” the gladiator replied with a shrug, his voice flat but not without a trace of irony. “I was posted as a guard over him. He used to tell us tales to pass the time.”

Macrinus tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “And what became of this prisoner?”

The gladiator chuckled darkly, his eyes briefly flicking down to the water. “Well… we ate him. As barbarians do.”

Macrinus’s lips twitched, a quiet laugh escaping him. “As barbarians do,” he echoed, clearly entertained by the casual brutality in the young man’s tone. “Where were you born?”

The gladiator’s expression hardened as he looked up again, his voice cutting through the tension. “Why does my past matter if it’s my future to die in the arena?”

Macrinus’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Your fate has already been decided.”

The gladiator’s brow furrowed, his posture stiffening. “You’re going to kill me now?”

Macrinus chuckled, the sound almost too casual. “No. Worse.”

The gladiator blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “Worse?”

Macrinus’s gaze grew sharper, more deliberate. “I’m going to let you live.”

A beat passed, and then Macrinus leaned forward slightly. “The emperors have received a gift... and because of your performance today, they’ve decided to let you guard it. To become its protector.”

The young man frowned, his brow furrowing even further. “A guard?” His voice held disbelief. “And what am I supposed to be guarding?”

Macrinus straightened, brushing a hand over his robes before answering. His voice was laced with quiet authority, as though the matter was already settled in his mind. “A woman.”

The word hung in the air between them, thick with implication. The gladiator’s frown deepened, his body still, but his eyes narrowed with the weight of the question he didn’t ask. Guard a woman? Was this some cruel twist of fate, some mockery of freedom? His fate, it seemed, had only shifted from one cage to another.

The young man looked down, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He exhaled sharply, as if trying to release the frustration he felt. Macrinus didn’t speak immediately, simply watching him with that unreadable gaze that had become so familiar in their brief exchange.

"What’s your name?" Macrinus asked after a beat, his tone neither kind nor harsh, but carrying a strange sense of finality—as though the question had been a long time coming.

The gladiator clenched his jaw, a flash of hesitation in his eyes. He thought for a moment, then finally relented. "Hanno," he replied, the name barely escaping his lips, as though the very utterance of it was a burden he couldn’t quite bear.

Macrinus’s lips curved into a small, calculating smile. "Hanno," he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “Do not forget,” he said, his words measured and deliberate, each one wrapped in a cold edge. “Even if you will be this woman’s loyal guardian, you are my property.”

The gladiator’s expression remained hard, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—resentment, perhaps, or a simmering rage at the absurdity of it all. To go from warrior to mere keeper of someone else’s prisoner—it was a mockery of everything he’d fought for, everything he had survived.

Macrinus studied him for a moment longer, and his voice softened ever so slightly, though it held no sympathy. "Enjoy your new life," he said, the words dripping with irony. "You’ll find it’s just as hard to escape from as the last one."

Hanno said nothing, but his gaze, now fixed on the water, held a darkness in it that spoke volumes. His fate had shifted—but it had not improved. The chains were still there, perhaps just wrapped in a new form, but just as inescapable.

Macrinus took one last look at him, “I will send for you in a time and you will meet with your…new fate” and he then turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the silence. As the door closed behind him, the only sound left in the room was the gentle ripple of the water—and the weight of a future that felt as heavy as the stone walls that enclosed it.

The cold stone floor beneath Hanno’s feet was a familiar discomfort, but today, with each step toward the unknown, it felt heavier. He was led through the corridors of the palace, shackled by more than just the chains on his wrists. Every stride was a reminder of the new role that awaited him, the role Macrinus had so generously decided for him.

Macrinus walked beside him, his usual air of smug detachment taking on a more insidious quality as he spoke. "When you see her, keep your gaze on the ground," he said, voice light, as if offering a casual suggestion. "The emperors believe that until they have seen her beauty themselves, no one else can. Think of it as... a sacred privilege. No one else gets the honor of truly witnessing her unless they say so."

Hanno did not reply, his thoughts swirling with confusion and resentment. What was this? He was a gladiator, a warrior forged in blood and sweat, yet here he was, expected to kneel at the feet of some noblewoman whose beauty was apparently so sacred it had to be concealed from the world. He clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed resolutely downward, though his mind churned with questions. What did it even mean to be her guard? What was she like? What had he done to deserve this absurd fate?

Macrinus was still talking, unfazed by Hanno’s silence. "She doesn’t know the language," he added with a smirk, looking at Hanno sideways. "As if you'd have much to say to her anyway, but just in case you’re feeling chatty, best keep your tongue to yourself. Speak only when spoken to. Think of it as a very... one-sided conversation."

Hanno fought the urge to respond. Oh, this will be fun, he thought bitterly. Guard a woman who doesn't even know the language, trapped in some gilded cage like an animal on display. I’m the lucky one, aren’t I?

As they neared the chambers, they were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a woman—a formidable figure who strode into their path with the confidence of someone who had lived a thousand lives in the halls of power. Pompeia. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, as she assessed the two men with a single, penetrating glance.

"Macrinus," she said, her voice laced with suspicion. "What is your purpose so close to my lady’s chambers?"

Macrinus smiled, a perfect mockery of politeness. “Ah, Pompeia,” he greeted her, his tone syrupy sweet. “You know the emperors. Their infinite wisdom and gracefulness have bestowed upon our dear lady a loyal protector—an unyielding guardian, if you will.”

Pompeia’s gaze slid over Hanno, scanning him from head to toe with barely concealed disdain. She let out a quiet sigh, almost as if she was humoring him. “An amusement, they seek, I see.”

Macrinus held up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing of that sort, I assure you. Quite the opposite, in fact. He is here to serve, nothing more. Don’t we all serve in this great empire of ours?”

Pompeia, clearly unamused by his theatrics, narrowed her eyes but said nothing for a moment. Hanno stood still, his muscles tense, his thoughts a tangled knot. His mind wandered to the absurdity of it all—his fate now dependent on the whims of the emperors, the same men who had turned him from a free man into nothing more than a pawn on their board. He tried to suppress the anger that burned in his chest, but it was difficult.

Pompeia finally spoke, her tone resigned. “Very well then. All of you go, and you,” she pointed sharply at Hanno, “come with me.”

There was no room for hesitation, no choice but to comply. Hanno’s heart pounded in his chest as Pompeia turned, leading him toward the chambers. Macrinus flashed him a smirk that could have been mistaken for sympathy—if sympathy was a weapon. “Don’t worry,” Macrinus called after him. “You’ll find your place in no time. Remember, you’re a servant here. You have one purpose and one purpose only: to protect. Don’t get any other ideas.”

Hanno barely heard him. His mind was a storm of unanswered questions and dark thoughts. Protect? He still wasn’t sure what that even meant in this world of endless power games and shifting allegiances. What kind of protection did she need? What did she think of him, this stranger assigned to guard her? Was she another cruel twist of fate, or was there something more to this strange new role?

Pompeia led Hanno through the labyrinthine halls of the imperial palace, each corridor grander and more opulent than the last. The marble floors beneath his feet were cold, but they shimmered with gold accents, and the air itself seemed to thrum with the weight of centuries of power. Everywhere he looked, his eyes were assaulted by the splendor—velvet drapes, gold-leafed statues, intricate mosaics depicting gods and emperors in eternal victory. The scent of incense, thick with myrrh and frankincense, mingled with something sweeter, more elusive—a rare flower from some distant corner of the empire. He could not place it, but it only added to the dreamlike atmosphere that surrounded him. Every step deeper into the palace felt like he was drifting further from the world he knew, from the dirt and blood of the arena, into a realm of pure opulence and power.

They stopped before a grand door, the wood heavy and dark, carved with scenes from myth: gods in motion, heroes locked in eternal battle. Pompeia pushed it open, and the sound of the door creaking seemed to echo in the silence, as though it were ushering in some long-anticipated event. The room that lay beyond was like a vision from the gods themselves.

It was a world of silk and gold, where every surface gleamed with luxury, as though the very air shimmered with wealth. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, their designs vivid and intricate, depicting scenes of royal banquets, noble hunts, and gods bathed in light. Heavy curtains swayed gently in the warm breeze that filtered through unseen windows. The room was alive with color, with the flickering light of candles that danced in the shadows. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and something sweeter, intoxicating in its exotic beauty.

At the center of the room, four girls—young women, really—sat in quiet conversation, their laughter like the soft tinkling of bells. At the sight of Hanno, they immediately rose to their feet, eyes wide with curiosity. Soft gasps filled the air, their voices lilting and musical, the words flowing in a language he could not understand. Each sound, each murmur, felt foreign to him, intensifying his sense of alienation. He felt as though he were intruding into a world far beyond his own understanding.

His gaze flickered from one girl to another, but it wasn’t until the curtains at the far side of the room parted—slowly, deliberately—that his eyes were drawn to her.

Her.

It was as though the rest of the world fell away, the vibrant tapestries, the girls standing in hushed awe, the very air itself fading into nothingness. She stood before him, bathed in the soft golden light that seemed to halo around her, as though she were more than a woman, more than flesh and bone. Her beauty was not merely physical, but seemed to radiate from within—something pure, unearthly, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Gods… Hanno thought, his breath catching in his throat. He felt as though the ground beneath his feet had cracked open, and he was falling—falling into her, into her gaze, into something greater than himself. She was... perfect. There was no other word for it.

His gaze traveled over her, unable to resist the pull of her presence. She was so delicate, so graceful, that it felt like looking at something impossibly rare. Every inch of her—her skin, smooth and golden, the way the light seemed to caress the curves of her form—was like a work of art, sculpted by the gods themselves. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in waves of dark silk, and her eyes, though distant, seemed to carry an unspoken weight, an ancient knowledge that set them apart from the rest of the world.

How can someone be this... this pure? Hanno wondered, his mind reeling as he drank in every detail. She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t belong in a world like mine.

His heart began to thud in his chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in his ears. A strange sensation rose in him, something both foreign and familiar, a recognition of her that went beyond mere sight. She was not just beautiful—there was something in her that called to him, a silent invitation, a summons to something deeper. He could not explain it.

But as his gaze lingered, something in him shifted—a cold knot of fear tightening in his stomach. His eyes had wandered too far, had lingered too long. She was—too much. The fear of dishonoring her, of tarnishing the sanctity of this moment, washed over him in a rush. His body stiffened, and instinctively, his head dropped. His gaze snapped downward, ashamed, as though his very presence had soiled the purity of the room.

His heart felt as though it was sinking, as though the weight of her perfection could crush him beneath it. His knees, trembling with something like reverence and terror, begged him to fall, to kneel before her in an offering. But his mind—his broken, soldier’s mind—held him firm. He had no right. No right to look upon her, no right to feel this, to want this.

Pompeia’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and clear. "My lady?" she asked, addressing the figure in the center of the room.

It was as if the world returned to him, the sound rushing back into focus. Hanno dared to lift his eyes, but only just enough to see her expression, to catch a fleeting glimpse of her reaction.

She had been watching him, her gaze steady and unreadable, though there was something in her eyes, something like… recognition. As if she knew him, as if she had always known him. Hanno blinked, the sensation unnerving him more than he cared to admit. He quickly averted his gaze, eyes once again fixed firmly to the ground.

Pompeia’s voice softened, her smile curling into something almost secretive. "This is Lady Tillotama," she said, her tone heavy with pride. "The pride of the Indian soil."

Hanno didn’t need the introduction. The moment his eyes had met hers, the moment she had stepped into his world, he had already known her. The weight of her presence, of her gaze upon him, had already branded itself into his soul. There was no need for words. She was everything.

As Tillotama watched him step into the room, her breath caught in her throat. There was something about him, something that called to her in a way she couldn’t explain. He stood tall, solid—yet there was an air of hesitation about him, a wariness she could not place.

When her eyes met his, it was like the entire world shifted. Time seemed to slow, the hum of the palace, the soft murmurs of the girls around her, all faded into nothing. All that remained was him. His eyes—dark, deep, and full of something unspoken—held her captive, and in that brief moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of recognition. She didn’t know him, not truly. But she knew him in a way that bypassed language, bypassed everything.

Could it be? she thought, her heart fluttering with a strange, unfamiliar excitement. Do I know him? Have I always known him?

Her heart quickened as she stepped closer, drawn to him by some invisible force. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t even know if he felt it too, but in the depths of her chest, there was a certainty, a knowing.

It was as if the gods had woven their fates together, even before this moment. She couldn’t explain why—why this man, this stranger, should affect her so—but she felt it, deep inside her. He was here for her, and she could already feel his presence, like a promise made long ago.

[teodora156]

[angels/fallen angels AU]

Characters:

– The Lord of Darkness/Tomelior (Tom): The oldest fallen angel, looking like a centuries-old statue in a resembling a monk's robe with a hood. It hides a pair of dark, piercing eyes that sometimes turn scarlet at a certain angle. Behind his back he has a pair of large dark wings covered with ash with numerous scars from centuries of labor. He wears a ring similar in shape to a beautiful black snake with a very smooth and shiny body and ruby eyes. He is immortal, he lived for about 300 years, but since time flows very differently in Pandemonium, and you can live a whole life here in one hour, this figure is not accurate. The discoverer of evil, proud, decided to challenge the Creator, to take his place. Having sown seeds of doubt and persuaded some of the angels to join him in the struggle for the throne, he began slowly but surely to gather supporters. After hearing about God's desire to create the Earth and populate it with various creatures, including humans, he intended to rule them, making them vassals of his kingdom and distribute crumbs of power to those angels who joined him, who would help him achieve his goal. However, the planned and planned uprising failed: at the moment of the battle with the angelic army remaining loyal to the heavenly throne, a group of rebellious rebels, including Tomelior, were thrown into the otherworld by the forces of the Creator. Falling from Heaven into Pandemonium, and falling from the mercy of the Creator, he had to survive in a new, unexplored environment. Staying in numerous wanderings and searches, he saw a lot: the mysterious lands of this world, the creatures that lived in it, his companions of fallen angels who changed, succumbing to their inner nature. Later, Tom stumbled upon the Land of Eternal Shadows. After exploring it, he settled here, declaring himself its master, the Lord of Darkness. Since then, he has ruled it alone, this vast kingdom. He lives in a cave, spending most of his time alone with his thoughts.

– Harreth (Harry): A bright angelic creature, with immaculately snow-white wings and a more petite body, over which a snow-white Roman toga is draped. On his left ankle he wears a bracelet with beads created by their crystal hailstones. A sweet, pretty face with emerald eyes. Just like the rest of the angels, born and incarnated by the creator initially into a spirit, and then acquired a material shell, kind, innocent, but also stubborn and defiant Harreth spent his entire short, barely begun life in Heaven and knew nothing else. Due to his inexperience, he does not have such inveterate prejudices about the evil and vicious nature of fallen angels. He is still too young for some complicated assignments and is learning the business from the senior angels. All angels must undergo proper training and learn centuries-old knowledge from their teachers before being assigned to be a guardian angel, messenger angel, or warrior angel. Sometimes the instructive instructions of the seraphim and cherubim, as well as a strict system of hierarchies and rules, annoy the restless student and he runs away and explores new territories. So once he accidentally fell into an otherworldly, completely unknown world for him, almost crashing if not for his wings that saved him. By a strange fate, he ended up in the kingdom of the Lord of Darkness, in the Land of Eternal Shadows, and this gives rise to their forbidden relationship.

– Creator (Dumbledore): An eternal phenomenon, present everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The original Self and the cause of all things. No one has ever seen his presence, so no one can tell what he looks like, but everyone has heard his soothing, enveloping voice. He can be completely different: wise and understanding, supportive and loving of his creations, but also cunning and manipulative, and in some moments ruthless. The guardian of the past, present and future knows the beginning and the end of time, but to share this knowledge only with his trusted advisers. There is a duality in him in the desire to leave his creations to determine their own fate, and at the same time in the intention to conceal something for their own personal interests.

[pt.1], [pt.2], [pt.4], [pt.5], [pt.7].

[luminoustarlight]

On The Edge | Din Djarin

A bounty takes you and The Mandalorian to Batuu and he reveals his true desires.

rating: explicit | pairing: din djarin x afab!reader | wc: 7.1k | read on ao3 warnings: canonical type violence, fluff, SMUT [vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, praise kink, blind folds], mutual pining

this is a repost from old blogs of mine but it is my writing <3

Wild space fascinates you. The Unknown Regions of the galaxy are just that— unknown. Black holes, supernovas, and strange phenomena are largely unexplored and still remain a mystery to most space travelers. You’ve dreamt about what it might be like to witness a burst of colorful energy, no longer wishing to be a star, but rather a spectacle to be seen. 

You’ve loved the many parts of the galaxy you’ve seen, planets you often frequented, but the stars always look the same no matter where you are. Inner, Mid, or Outer Rim. 

As Mando lands the Crest at one of the ports on Batuu, you know this is the closest you’ll get to being in Wild Space. You’ve read stories and heard tales of travelers who stopped on Batuu before making their journey into the unknown. You are at the edge of the galaxy and you want to explore. 

Thankfully, Mando said you can take Grogu with you to the Black Spire Outpost while he is off tracking his bounty… or bounties. Batuu has largely become a backwater world full of smugglers, gamblers, and those who want to stay off the grid. Since travelers no longer need to make a stop on the planet before venturing further into space thanks to advancements in hyperspace technology, it’s been the perfect hideout. It’s a haven for those who prefer life in the shadows. 

Still, trading outposts thrive with shops and popular eateries. You can’t wait to get Grogu out of the ship and stretch your legs. 

You are definitely in need of some new clothes thanks to a run-in with a couple of testy loth-cats going after the Child. Speaking of Grogu, he’s in need of some actual toys. And maybe you’ll get something for The Mandalorian to remember you by if you ever met an untimely fate. 

Hey, running around with a bounty hunter and a child is a dangerous business. Not to mention the bounty that was once on your head, too. Nevertheless, after nearly a year with the gruff Mandalorian and curious child, you would trade your life for theirs without an ounce of hesitance. 

You like Mando more than you like to admit. He broody, you’re bubbly. He’s quiet, you’re talkative. He’s realistic, you’re a dreamer. Sometimes you feel like you’re chipping away at his Beskar wall, discovering parts of Mando he’s forgotten about himself. You never pry, you always let him lead the conversation. And actual conversations with The Mandalorian are few and far between. But when you have them, they matter more to you than he knows. 

Mando stands from his chair and heads for the armory. You follow close behind, Grogu nestled in your arms. You’ve gotten quite good at descending the ladder with one hand from the amount of time you hold the Child.

“Here.” Mando shoves your WESTAR-35 pistol against you. You grab it with your free hand before he releases it to gather more weapons for his trek. You are about to say that you don’t want it, but he speaks before you do. “It’s seedy out there. And you’re taking the Kid. Just to be safe. Do you have your knife?” 

You roll your eyes. If there’s anything you’ve learned about Mando that’s surprised you, it’s that he worries. A lot. 

“ It’s not paranoia if you encounter untrustworthy people every day. It’s being proactive.” You remember him telling you many months ago. You think it’s sweet he wants you to be protected. Or maybe it’s more for the Kid. 

“Maker, Mando. We’re just going to the shops and getting something to eat.” 

“I just want you to be prepared. You’re very—” Mando stops abruptly, catching himself before he says something he wants to keep to himself. “I don’t want… someone might try to take advantage of you.” 

“You know I’m too keen to let that happen. I have my wits, my weapons, and my good looks.” You place Grogu on his feet so you can conceal your pistol beneath your shirt. You check your side pocket, ensuring you have the knife Mando crafted for you. It’s a more thoughtful gift than you initially realized, but you cherish it now. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mando mumbles, turning away from you. 

What does that mean? Before you can ask, he turns back around with a pouch of credits. “This is yours to spend.” And then he hands you another. “This is for food. For you and Grogu. Save your credits.” 

Your eyebrows crease together. He is being awfully generous today… perhaps it’s because he knows how long you’ve dreamt of visiting the Black Spire Outpost. Or perhaps it’s because he’s tracking three bounties and knows he’s in for a big payday when he gets all of them back to Karga. 

He stares at you while you think of the reason why he’s given you so much. Then your face relaxes. Just be thankful. 

“Thank you, Mando. Bright Eyes and I are gonna get a feast at Ronto Roasters, aren’t we, buddy?” 

The Child quirks up at you, cooing at the thought of something carnivorous to eat. 

“Just be careful,” Mando warns while the three of you descend the ramp with the Kid’s pram beside you. 

“I know.” 

“I’ll be gone for at least a few days. I might not return until I have acquired all three bounties.” 

“Okay,” you say contentedly. It’s routine for Mando to leave for extended periods of time. Sometimes you’d go a couple of days without communication and that used to worry you, but it doesn’t anymore. After about two months of traveling with him, you two decided that if you hadn’t heard anything from him: a hello, an update, or anything after seven days, you would contact him. He also said if you ever needed anything, you could turn on the comms. Every time Mando leaves, he hopes you need something. Hopes you want to hear his voice just as much as he wants to hear yours. You never do, though. 

“Mando?” 

The bounty hunter twists his head in your direction. He’d been looking towards the outpost, silent and brooding. “What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” He bends down to pick up the Kid. “Behave, okay? Listen to your mother.” 

Your heart squeezes. He can’t go around saying things like “your mother” because that would imply Mando is “his father” and that would imply that the three of you are a family. And you’re not a family. Right? What constitutes a family, anyway? Certainly not a bounty hunter and his two ex-bounties he’s decided to keep for the long haul. Now you’re the one staring at the outpost. 

“I’ll…” Mando places your shared child in the pram. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” 

Grogu’s ears drop, a tell-tale sign of his sadness or disappointment. He knows Mando is leaving. He looks over at you with big, sorrowful eyes. 

“How could we? You’re the life of the party, Mando,” you say lightly. You get a little chuckle out of him because you both know that you’re the entertaining one. Still, you wish you could walk around the outpost together, have a meal together, and share the experience of being at the edge of the galaxy together. 

But off you go in different directions, Mando’s cape whipping in the wind. You look back at him several times and he looks back at you until you and Grogu disappear into the crowd. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

“What do you think about this?” You hold up a light brown shawl with a hood. The fabric is light and drapey, and it would be ideal for cooler nights on temperate planets. You’ve already purchased a heavier jacket, made with stiffer and thicker material equipped with many practical pockets from another merchant. You also got new pants to replace the ones the loth-cats tore through, as well as some flowy and airy pants for warmer weather. Mando gave you the money to spend, right? Might as well get a new wardrobe with it. 

Grogu coos in approval at the shawl you are showing him and you decide to pay for this last piece of clothing and then head to the Toydarian Toymaker. Although you know Grogu will still play with anything but an actual toy, you still feel bad all he has is the metal ball from the lever in the cockpit. 

“What an interesting looking child you have there,” the Trandoshan clerk comments as he takes your credits. You glance at Grogu in the pram, unsuspecting of the tone the Trandoshan spoke in. You take your shawl from the counter and take the Kid out of the egg. You hold onto him tightly as the worker stares at him. His thin tongue slips out of his mouth and licks his scales. 

Not good. 

“Thank you. Goodbye,” you grab the rest of your purchases and walk calmly but swiftly out of the shop. Not good, not good, not good. The pram only moves so fast, so you know it’s best to keep the Child in your arms. Your bags of new clothing weigh heavily on your shoulder as you try not to obviously run away from the Trandoshan. You look behind you to see if he’s trailing you. 

Grogu giggles wildly against you, rather enjoying his excursion. “Now’s not the time, Kid. I think we’ve got trouble.” 

You pass by unassuming patrons, many of them walking leisurely from store to store. “Sorry! Sorry!” You apologize to a mother when you bumped into her son. She curses at you in her native language but you’re already gone. As you round the corner to the port where the Crest is, a loud croak emerges behind you. You immediately drop your bag and whip out your pistol from behind your back. 

The shopkeeper is nearing you with his blaster pointed at your face. His yellow eyes bore into you, trying to determine what your next move is. Your arm is aimed steadily at the reptilian creature, your controlled and intentional breathing calming you. There is no one else around the port and you’re not sure if that comforts or concerns you. No witnesses. No helpers, either. Not that anyone would help, anyway. 

“Hand over the kid,” he sneers while stepping closer. You walk backward as he does so, not once taking your eyes off of him. Grogu’s soft ear brushes against your arm as he looks up at you. 

“Over my dead body.” 

“If that is what you wish…” 

Blast! 

Unfaltering, you fire your pistol, dead center in the Trandoshan’s chest. He drops to the ground with a heavy thud and wisps of smoke trail into the air. A wave of relief washes over you and you kiss the top of Grogu’s fuzzy head. 

But then you realize it shouldn’t have been so easy. Trandoshans relish in the thrill of the hunt. That was hardly a fight and there didn’t seem to be any real sense of urgency for acquiring your child. Was he hunting Grogu as a bounty or as a snack? Both thoughts make you shiver. You place him back in his pram and close it. You cautiously walk towards the Trandoshan, still lying on the ground. You know that they are quick to heal but don’t know the full extent of their abilities. You kick his blaster out of arm's reach before standing over him and shooting him in the head. And then the chest again…  

You need to be sure he’s dead and you’ve never killed a Trandoshan before. If it was overkill, so be it. You’ll do anything to protect your child. 

Now you just need to figure out what to do with the body… 

You grab your bag full of new clothing and open Grogu’s egg. There he is, bright-eyed and smiling at you. You feel bad you didn’t get around to buying him anything, but perhaps you’ll go back out. Or maybe that’s a bad idea. You need to talk to Mando. But you also know he’d likely come back to make sure everything was okay. And you have everything under control. 

Safe in the ship, you hike up to the cockpit to get on the comms. You hope it doesn’t freak him out, since you’ve never contacted him before. What if he’s tailing his bounty? What if he is fighting them and you distract him and he ends up killed? 

No, your Mandalorian is too good for that to happen. You sit down in Mando’s seat and hover your finger over the intercom button. Here it goes. 

Static crackles before the airway goes clear. “M-Mando?” 

“Sarad?” Mando says immediately. You let out a sigh of relief when you hear your nickname. A nickname you still don’t know the meaning of. “Are you okay? Grogu?” 

You swallow. Why are you so nervous? You killed the guy, Grogu is safe, and you feel… fine? “We’re both fine. Well, I mean… not fine. We’re not hurt. It’s just that—” 

“What is it,” Mando pressed, adding your name at the end. 

“We were at a shop. Everything was fine until it wasn’t. A Trandoshan was taking the money and he made a comment about Grogu and it was just off. He was so creepy and his eyes looked hungry. I just grabbed my things and took off. I made it to the ship but he was already there. He said to hand over the Kid and I said ‘over my dead body,’ and I shot him. And then I shot him again. And then again. I had to make sure he was dead, you know? I don’t know if he had a fob, I didn’t hear it at all. I feel so guilty because I shopped so much and I didn’t get anything for Grogu so I thought maybe we’d go back out but is that a bad idea? It’s probably a bad idea. But we’re so far out and we just got here so maybe that guy just wanted to eat him? I-” 

“Sarad, take a breath,” Mando says calmly. He can just imagine you in a frazzled state with unfocused eyes when telling him a story.

You do as he says, breathing in deeply. Oh, that feels good. Your lungs appreciated the taste of air. Have you not taken a breath that whole time? 

“Where is the Trandoshan now?”

 “Right where I killed him. Outside of the ship. What am I supposed to do with it?” 

“Is there anyone else at the port?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“Local patrol will eventually find him. If they try to make contact with you on the ship, ignore it. They’ll think no one is on board and they have no rights to search it.” He sounds so sure of himself, but you can’t help but imagine patrol boarding the ship and arresting you. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Do you want me to come back?” 

How are you supposed to answer that? Of course, you want him to come back. You always want him to come back the minute he leaves. You want to go back to the Black Spire and shop with him, have him help you find something for Grogu. But he has a job to do. And stealing your heart was not one of them. 

“No, we’ll be fine,” you sigh. 

“We’ll talk later,” Mando says gently, promisingly. Hopefully. 

A couple of hours later, local patrol indeed picks up the Trandoshan you killed and makes no effort in contacting you on the ship. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

The Crest is quiet and still. Grogu is taking a nap and you’re doing a deep clean of the weapons. Mando has been gone for three days and you’ve talked every day. Usually, he is the one who gets on, asking if you are around. Of course, you’re around. Where else would you go? You can’t tell him you’re too scared to go back to the outpost, so you told him you would use this time to clean the ship and make any repairs that you’d been putting off. 

Every barrel, chamber, handle, and trigger of the blasters are as good as new. You disassembled each of them and meticulously put them back together. Mando, of course, has his pulse rifle and several other weapons, so you won’t be able to clean them until he comes back. 

You miss him. You miss him more than you ever have and you don’t know why. You’re used to being away from him and not talking for extended lengths of time. Now you’re talking to him every day, throughout the day, and you long to have him next to you. To have his broad figure taking up half of the space in the cockpit and his modulated breathing as a comforting sound to help you sleep. 

There’s only so much you can do to entertain Grogu. You tell him the same tales of travelers venturing into the unknown frontier of Wild Space, helping him practice the Force magic with the metal ball and other objects around the ship, coming up with songs while you tinker with repairs. You love him, but you’re getting a little stir-crazy. You want to go back to the Outpost and you want Mando. 

You close up the armory and decide to join Grogu for a nap when you hear Mando say your name over the comms. “You there?” 

“I’m here,” you say into your portable communicator. You fixed it on the second day so you don’t have to stay in the cockpit or race up whenever Mando reaches out. 

“Good. I- I just wanted to hear your voice.” 

Thump, thump. You place your hand over your heart. Cool it. “Oh. well, hi. How are you?” 

“Good,” he replies, unconvincingly. He’s tired. You know he is.“I’ve got two of the bounties. I’m on my way back.” 

Your heart hammers harder. Depending on where he is, he could be back before or by nightfall. You could see him tonight, tomorrow morning at the very latest. He’d be stinky and probably grumpy like he always is when he comes back from a long hunt, but he’d be home.

And you can figure out what the stars is going on with your emotions. Maybe. Hopefully. Or they’ll get worse. 

“That’s good. I, um… we miss you.” 

You feel like you can hear Mando smile. “I miss you, too,” he says quietly, unsure if he wants you to hear him say it. “Both of you,” he follows up. “I’ll be back soon.” 

 I miss you, too. You think that’s the closest you’ll get to knowing how Mando feels about you. He misses you. He’s given you gifts. He trusts you with the Child. It may not be a proclamation of love or anything, but it’s enough. For now. 

“Blech.” An unfamiliar voice on Mando’s end grouches. “ Who is that? Your girlfriend or something?” 

“Shut it,” Mando warns sternly. “Sorry,” he says more gently, directed at you, you presume. 

“It’s okay.”

Several whines come from behind the storage door Mando uses as a sleeping bunk. Grogu has just woken up from his nap. “Hold on, the Kid’s waking up. I’m sure he’d love to hear your voice.” 

“Alright.” 

You press the control panel and the door slides open quickly. Grogu smiles when his bright inky eyes land on you. He babbles happily and raises his arms out toward you. “Hey buddy,” you lift him out of the hammock. “Say ‘hi’ to Dad.” 

Grogu coos into your communicator. 

“Hey, Kid,” Mando says. “Has your buir been taking good care of you?” 

“No, we’ve been eating nothing but junk food and killing more Trandoshans,” you reply on behalf of Grogu. 

Mando lets himself chuckle at your comment. “I’m sure you have been.” 

“I think I’m going to hurl. I’d rather be dead than listen to this conversation.” The same mysterious voice interjects again. The bounty can’t even hear what you’re saying. They must be filling in your replies with their imagination. 

“I gave you the option,” your bounty hunter calls back to his infamous one-liner. 

“Hey,” you offer gently. “Just worry about getting back safely. We’ll see you when you get back.” 

“Can’t wait, sarad. ” 

The comm goes silent. Your heart is hammering, your tummy is bubbling and your head is reeling. Mando wanted to hear your voice. He said he can’t wait to see you. You look at Grogu and ask, “Do you have any idea what’s going on between me and your dad?” 

Your child replies back with a curious coo. You’re in love with him, you assume he says. Can it be? Are you in love with The Mandalorian? 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

It feels like hours had gone by since you last spoke with Mando. You thought every sound you heard was the ramp lowering. You paced the hull of the ship, climbed up and down the ladder, and played with Grogu until you grew impossibly antsy. Those bounties must be slowing him down.  

When Mando finally comes back, you’re using the kriffing vacc tube! 

A clamoring erupts from the other side of the door, much of it sounding like resistance from the two bounties. Just as you emerge from the vacc tube, Mando is pushing one of the bounties into the carbonite freezer. The other, a tall, blonde, human male is looking directly at you. His wrists are bound in front of him and he knows what his near future is looking like, but that doesn’t stop him from smirking at you. “Hey there, pretty thing.” 

“Mando, you’re back,” you smile lightly, ignoring the bounty’s comment. It’s the same voice you heard over the comms. As you begin to walk towards them, the bounty frowns at you, extending his shackled arms forward, trying to catch the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. 

“Now, that’s no way to treat a guest. You just gonna let her ignore me like that?” 

You roll your eyes and punch him firmly in the gut. You (and Mando) watch with contentment as he doubles over in pain. You know how to land a good blow, which is just part of why Mando keeps you around. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you taunt. “Was that the kind of attention you wanted?” 

You kick him into the freezer and let Mando hit the control. The man’s slender face grimaces, temporarily immortalizing his expression until he’s defrosted. 

“Hi,” Mando finally says. “Did he touch you? Are you alright?” 

You shrug. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m really just… I’m happy to see you.” 

Mando sighs and steps closer to you. As you let him into your space, you breathe him in. He doesn’t smell as bad as you thought he might. Granted, the weather on Batuu is pretty mild. No extreme heat to cause excessive sweating beneath his armorweave and Beskar. Still, he’s gone four days without a shower. It doesn’t matter. You want to hug him. You want to be all around him, swallowed in his scent. You’ve missed him so kriffing much, you don’t even realize he’s brought his gloved hand up to your forehead. Your skin prickles and your breath catches in your throat. He traces a line down your face to your chin. He angles your head towards his and Maker, nothing is normal about this. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I’m thinking about how much I’ve missed you and how I want to get on my knees and– 

“Hey, Grogu,” Mando notices your child tugging at the hem of his pants. He lifts him in his arms. Grogu clings onto Mando’s cowl and babbles happily. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

“A-are you going back out? For the third bounty?” 

Mando shakes his head. “The third bounty isn’t here anymore.” 

Oh. That means you’re leaving Batuu. You didn’t even have a chance to get anything for Grogu or Mando. He can tell you’re disappointed by the way your face falls. “We can stay another day. If you wanted to go back to the Outpost together.” 

Can he read minds now? 

“Yeah, that sounds nice. Are you hungry? We don’t have any food left, but we can go back to Ronto Roasters and bring it back here. Or I can go out and let you spend some time with Grogu and freshen up.” You can tell how exhausted he is. You don’t even have to see his face to know that. His shoulders reveal a multitude of traits— they adopt a heaviness when he’s tired. They roll back when he’s intimidating a bounty. And when he’s with you and Grogu, you feel as though he finally lets himself relax. 

“You sure you want to go out alone?” Mando’s voice is tentative. He knows you were worried about going back out with Grogu, but he isn’t sure how you feel about going out alone. He knows you’re capable of it. You have your pistol, your knife, and your solid fists. 

“I’m good. Is that what you want me to do?” 

Not really, he thinks. He wants you to stay on the ship. He wants to hear about everything you and Grogu got up to while he was gone. He wants to see what you got for yourself at the outpost, but most of all, he just doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to be with you. But then his stomach rumbles.��Dank ferrik. He hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. As much as it displeases him, he agrees to let you go back out. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

The Mandalorian is taking a nap when you return with the food. You half expected him to be asleep with the Child in his arms and you are right. Grogu is anything but tired, having already taken four naps during the day. He’s nestled against Mando’s side, nice and safe from the monsters lurking in the shadows. 

You set the food down at the foot of the closet and tap on the wall. Mando lifts his head and smiles beneath his helmet. “Food’s hot, if you want it,” you inform. You turn to make your way up the ladder but stop when you hear scuffling and feel a gloved hand on your wrist. 

“Stay?” Mando wonders. 

He wants you to stay? While he eats? You were only going to do what you always do. If Mando’s eating below deck, you go up top, and vice versa. “You don’t want to eat?” 

“I- I do. I was wondering… if you might want to eat together. Back to back,” he quickly adds. “I trust you,” he emphasizes those last three words, reiterating the bond you two have built over the past eleven months. 

“I’d love nothing more than to have dinner with you, Mando.” 

You begin taking out the food, arranging it in a line on the floor of the Crest. You gather three plates while Mando opens the containers of meat, vegetables, and starch. 

With piles of food on each of your plates, you and Mando sit back to back, with Grogu on your lap. He isn’t moving and neither are you. He might have suggested the idea, but if he’s having second thoughts, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable. “We don’t have to do this,” you say. 

“No,” Mando quickly replies. “I want to. Just… do you promise not to look, sarad ?” 

“I promise on all the stars of the known and unknown galaxies. I would never betray your trust.” You try to comprehend the gravity of this action for him. It’s forbidden for him to show his face to any living thing. And although you’re not going to see his face, here he is, removing his helmet in your presence. Because he trusts you. 

With a click, hiss, and a clunk, his helmet was off. You glance behind you, to see the glimmer of his helmet on the ground. You snap your head back and look straight. You tell yourself to focus on Grogu getting grease on your new pants, to focus on the inviting food on your plate, to focus on anything but your helmetless Mandalorian. You begin shoving your face with Solanum. Grogu offers you a piece of meat with a coo. 

“You with me, sarad ?” 

You almost choke on the food in your mouth. His voice rings through your ears and your spine shivers. Clear and unmodulated, raspy and gruff, but gentle all the same. You want to hear him again. You swallow. “Here. I’m here.” 

“Got nervous for a second. You were so quiet. It’s unlike you.” 

“Ha,” you deadpan. You can’t very well say you were silent because the only thoughts in your head are of him. What his face looks like, why he waited until now to do this, why he wanted to do this. “Do you like the food?” You ask instead. 

“Yes. It’s very good. Does Grogu like it?” Mando already knows the answer to the question, both of you knowing that the Kid likes everything, especially if it’s meat. 

“He’s almost done,” you laugh. You wonder how such a little thing can eat so much and so quickly. A large meal always tuckers him out, though. 

Mando hums in acknowledgment.

You finish dinner in comfortable silence. Grogu is sacked out in your arms by the time you two are done. “Gonna put him in the hammock. Don’t turn around, okay?” You’re already facing the bunk from the dinner so at least you don’t have to pass him. 

“Okay,” he replies. 

“Good night, little one.” You run your hand over the top of Grogu’s fuzzy head. You close the door and warn Mando that you’re turning around. “Wait,” you shut your eyes. “Am I allowed to see the color of your hair? I’m closing my eyes, my eyes are shut.” 

The Mandalorian rises from the floor and takes long strides over to where you’re standing. Right next to the vacc tube and sleeping bunk. How romantic. “Keep them closed,” he whispers close to you. 

You jump reactively, placing your hand over your heart. You instinctively want to open your eyes, but you squeeze them tight, scrunching your nose along with them. “Maker, Mando. You scared me.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and brings it down to your sides. He slides his hand into yours. You can feel his breath on your face, all warm and savory from your meal. 

“It’s okay,” you answer softly. You let the tension in your face fall while still keeping your eyes closed. The tension in your chest, however, is a different story. It’s growing and stretching and clenching. 

“You’re so beautiful, sarad.” Mando threads his fingers between yours. “I’ve always thought so but seeing you through my own eyes, it’s so clear. Mesh’la.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Beautiful,” he answers. You’re half surprised, seeing as he hasn’t told you what sarad means. 

“I-I’m sure you’re beautiful, too.” 

“You don’t have to say that.” 

“I mean it, Mando.” That name feels wrong now that he’s taken off his helmet. Doesn’t his helmet make him a Mandalorian? Now he’s just a man in armor, his face exposed to you, and Mando isn’t his name. He has a real name that goes with his face. The name his parents gave him when he was born. You wish so deeply to know who he really is. “You have a kindness to you. I don’t know if you know that you possess it, but you do. You’ve taken me and Grogu under your wing, you care for us and worry about us… it all makes you beautiful.” 

“ Sarad. My sweet sarad. You see things in me that I don’t. You’re kinder than me, more thoughtful than me. You’re selfless and generous. You take care of me and the Kid. You make me want to be a better person.  I want…” 

You feel his forehead rest against yours. Your legs are going to buckle beneath you, your heart is about to escape and leap into Mando’s chest. You can have it! 

“I want you,” Mando finally admits. And just like that, your heart is no longer yours. It is his and his to do what he wants with it. He can break it, he can cherish it, he can keep it forever. Because the culmination of everything you two have been through has led to this moment in the Crest.

You don’t even think. You tilt your head up blindly and press your lips against his. They are soft, but the scruff above his lip is coarse. He doesn’t hesitate, either. He moves against you, putting his hands on either side of your cheeks. He brings you impossibly closer to him, afraid that if he lets you go he’ll never get you back. The deep scent of leather from his gloves invades your senses as his tongue slips into your mouth. Your own hands find themselves in his hair. 

“Is this okay?” you mumble against him. 

“M-more than okay. Want…” he kisses harder before pulling away to look at you. Your eyes are still closed but your mouth is agape. You lean forward, wishing to fill the void Mando created. 

“What?” you furrow your brows. 

“I want more. If you’ll let me.” 

You tug on the hairs at the nape of his neck. His hair is soft and you can tell he keeps it well-trimmed. “You mean you want to have sex with me?” 

Mando— you wish you knew his name— almost snickers. At least, that’s what it sort of sounds like. “Among other things, mesh’la .”

“Like what?” You gulp. 

“Like hearing you say my name.” 

First, he takes off his helmet and now he wants you to say his name? Did he hit his head out there? “Wh-what?” 

He pushes your hair away from your forehead and trails his hands down your exposed arms before landing at your hands. He grasps them firmly, then brings them to your chest. “My name is Din Djarin. And I’d like to hear you say it.” 

Din Djarin. Din Djarin. You know your Mandalorian’s name. How wizard is that? “Din Djarin,” you say tenderly. “Din Djarin. A beautiful name for a beautiful man.” 

Din just gave you his heart, and then some. Who he is under the armor and helmet. Who his parents made him to be. He’s just a man. A brave man, a complicated man. A man you wish to know everything about. You’ve known him for eleven months and you’ve only just learned his name. You can’t help but think you’ve got a long way to go. 

“Will you let me take care of you, mesh’la ? Will you let me have you?” 

You nod promptly. Your center is already pooling with arousal, aching with anticipation. “Please, Din. Let you do anything.” 

Something is stirring deep within Din when he hears his name roll off your tongue. Like you were made to say his name. You and only you. “Good. Stay here, sweet girl. Keep your eyes closed.” 

You do as he says, soon hearing him rummage through the storage bins against the wall. You aren’t waiting long before he comes back to you. “Turn around.” 

“Would it kill you to say please?” 

Maker, you’re insufferable sometimes. “Please.” 

“Thank you.” You turn on your heels. Din places a light piece of fabric over your eyes and you immediately know why he’s blindfolding you. Din turns you back around and his lips return to yours, sending surprise tingles through your body. His hands can’t decide where they want to be– first your face, then your hair, then down to your waist before settling on your hips. He digs his fingers into your backside, pulling you closer to his body. He nudges his thigh between your legs, briefly brushing the spot that desperately needs attention. You groan, rolling your head back and allowing Din perfect access to your neck. 

He places light kisses down the expanse of your neck, peppering them from your collarbone, up to the corner of your jaw. You lower yourself onto his cold Beskar cuisse, hoping to create some friction against your center. 

Unsuccessful.

“Need you,” you breathe, struggling to find purchase on his armored body. Maker, there is barely anything for you to cling to, save for his cowl and cape. 

“What do you need, mesh’la ?”

“F-fingers, mouth, anything. Just more. Please,” you lean your head down on Din’s pauldron, steadying yourself with his shoulders when he removes his thigh from between your legs. He picks you up in one fell swoop, making you yelp in surprise. He walks two paces over to your bedroll and gently lays you down. 

“How about both?” Din slides your flowy pants and underwear down your legs. His cock twitches with each inch of skin that is revealed. He kisses over your navel, down to your center where you’re glistening for him. He removes his gloves and places them in the pile with your pants. “Perfect,” he breathes. “Just perfect.” 

Din drags two fingers up your folds and presses on your clit. You shudder beneath him, overwhelmed by what you cannot see. His face mere inches from your pussy, the lust in his eyes for you and all that you have to offer. He pushes your legs open, leaving one hand holding down your thigh. He plays with the slick between your folds, teasing your entrance with two fingertips. He waits for you to beg again, to say his name with fervor before pushing into you with thick digits. “ Maker, Din!” 

His fingers alone fill you well, stretching you and preparing you for his cock. At the same time, he brings his lips down to your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your hands finally found something to grasp onto in the form of his hair. His fingers work quickly against your walls and it’s not long before you’re squirming against your bed. His hands are rough but his mouth is soft and warm. He hums and groans against you as his cock is becoming too painful to ignore. He fiddles with his zipper with one hand while continuing to pleasure you with the other. And with his mouth still on your cunt, he’s proving to be quite the multitasker. 

“Din, I don’t wanna… don’t wanna cum yet,” you dig your head into your mattress when he sucks harshly on your clit. 

“You’ll cum as many times as I want you to.” Din kisses the soft flesh of the inside of your thigh. He does the same on the other. “So if I want you to cum on my fingers and my mouth, you’re going to do just that.” 

At this, Din inserts a third finger and you yelp, arching your back and fingers fisting your sheets. “Fuck! Feels good, Din. Feels so good.” 

He rubs his hand over the head of his cock, spreading his precum down the rest of his length. He groans into you and begins pumping himself at the same pace of his fingers fucking you. “Cum, mesh’la. I want you to cum before you take my cock.” 

You feel the sensation creep into your system. Din’s fingers and mouth overwhelm you and take away all control you had over your body. The coil begins to unravel, and your clit pulses as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs quake and your breath staggers. Din laps all of you up, allowing you to ride out your high against his mouth. “Good girl, mesh’la. Such a good girl.” 

Din brings his lips up to yours as he aligns himself with your entrance. “Can I?” 

“Please,” you nod. 

Immediately, Din rolls his hips into you. Stretching you wide and filling you high, you’re thankful Din took the time to prepare you. He is still, perhaps waiting for you to adjust. He kisses you tenderly and releases a heavy sigh as he revels in the feel of you around him. It’s far better than he imagined. He never thought he’d feel so complete. There’s no place in the galaxy he’d rather be. 

“M-move, Din. Please,” you breathe into him, finding yourself, yet again, drawn to the textured locks on his head. He slowly begins to thrust into you, setting a page that allows him to take his time. He’s weighed down by all of his clothing and armor, breaking more of a sweat with keeping himself from putting all of his weight on you. “Let me ride you, Din. Please, just lay down and rest.” 

You’ve always known how to take control of a situation and he isn’t going to argue with you. Din halts his movements, removes himself from you, and lays beside you on your bedroll. You blindly swing your thigh over him, grabbed the base of his cock, and lowered yourself onto him. His hands grip either side of your hips, guiding you up and down. You rip your shirt over your head, exposing the dusty blush bralette you have on. Din groans upon seeing the mounds of your breast, the way the lacy and sheer fabric looks against your skin. So kriffing perfect, he thinks. You lean down, wrapping your arms around Din’s back. 

Din juts his hips up into you, eliciting another yelp from your perfect mouth. It won’t be long before you cum again. You two work together, creating a rhythm that flows beautifully. Your moans and his grunts compose the melody. A sweet and harmonious sound. He sucks and kisses your collar, while you do the same on his neck and jawline. You learn his scruff isn’t just around his mouth. He has the makings of a beard. 

“Gonna cum soon, sarad, ” Din pants. 

“Me too,” you moan. Din slips his hand between you, finding your clit with ease. “Maker! Fuck!” 

With the additional friction of his fingers against your swollen bud, you’re done for. Your body falls limp against Din and he holds you tightly while he spills his thick seed inside of you. His cock twitches while you clench around him. “ Nngh,” he groans weakly. You stay wrapped in his arms for a moment, savoring this first time with Din.

“Thank you, mesh’la,” Din whispers. “I need to wash up. I’m sorry. I should’ve before we… but I fell asleep…” 

“It’s okay,” you smile gently. You imagine what he must look like. Flustered, flushed, and sweaty. You roll off of him and tell him you’ll wait for him in the bunk with the lights off. 

“Okay,” he kisses you. He gets up from the bedroll and climbs up the ladder to the ‘fresher. You take off your blindfold when it was safe to do so. You have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the light. You tidy your clothes into a pile near your bed, use the vacc tube, and change into your sleeping clothes. You crawl into the sleeping bunk, shimmying under the covers that smell so strongly of Din. 

As you wait for him to finish washing up, you can only think of one thing. 

Forget about Wild Space. You want to discover anything and everything there is to know about Din Djarin.

ugh i'm still so proud of this piece

◂ din masterlist ▸ main masterlist

[aayuuwrites]

Writeblr Introduction...

Hey there, fellow adventurer!

Hey there! I’m Aayu (he/him), a newbie writer who spends a little too much time lost in fantasy worlds, building new adventures & stories, trying to create poetry that doesn’t always rhyme [oops! (ᵕ—ᴗ—)]. I’m here to share my writing, learn from all of you, and maybe even get lost in a few collaborative projects along the way. I’ve got a lot of ideas buzzing around in my head, and this space is where I’ll bring them to life. 🌟

A little bit about me:

Pronouns: he/him

Age: 19

INTJ / INFJ

Aries

Craves a whole lot of coffee! (⊙ _ ⊙)

Anime nerd ⎚-⎚

A fantasy-loving, world-building enthusiast

Sometimes you may catch me daydreaming about characters from movies and anime's who don’t know how to stay out of trouble...

Open to exploring any genre (but I mostly live in fantasy, fiction, poetry, and short stories)

Obsessed with adventure, complex plots, and creating characters who feel like friends (or enemies... depending on the day) >ᴗ<

Always here for tag games, writing prompts, and collaborating with other creative souls

What you’ll find on my blog:

My WIPs: From magical realms with strange mythical beasts to strange lands with lots of mystery, I'm always working on something new (and sometimes not quite finished, lol)

Poetry and Short Stories: Because who doesn’t love a little variety, right?

Collaborations: Let’s team up! I’m always looking to write with others, so feel free to talk to me in my inbox!

World-building and Adventure: Expect a lot of random world-building lore and the occasional overly-dramatic character monologue shit!

Introducing My WIPs:

1. Sherlock of Another World Genre: Fantasy / Mystery / Reincarnation / Magic Summary: A young boy, once a huge fan of Sherlock Holmes, is reincarnated into a world resembling the late Victorian era—only this world has an undercurrent of magic. After a fateful accident, he wakes up with his memories intact, determined to carve out a place for himself as the world's greatest detective. But this world is not full of political intrigue and societal drama; it also hides arcane secrets and mysterious forces that blur the line between logic and the supernatural. With his razor-sharp mind, well-stocked with knowledge of the methods employed by Holmes, he seeks to solve crimes that no one can. From the weird magical occurrences to secret societies controlling the arcane energy of the world, he weaves through an intricate web of riddles that may be more than he had in mind for himself. Will he turn out to be the Sherlock Holmes of this new world or will the magic and danger prove too much even for his brilliant mind?

2. The Eternity Clock Genre: Short Story, Magical Realism, Fantasy, Philosophical Fiction Summary: A small village in India’s Western Ghats, blending rich culture and mystical timepieces.

PS: Still working on some ideas so this section will be updated soon!

A Few Fun Things About Me (Besides Writing):

World-building is my like my jam. If I’m not writing, I’m probably mapping out cities or figuring out a character’s backstory or finding some inspiration to write from somewhere (and yes, I get really into it).

Music and Books are constant companions. I love finding the perfect inspiration to match's the mood of my stories.

I crave movies and animes—always on the lookout for something new to watch, even if my list is getting a little out of hand. (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

THANK YOU FOR YOU TIME!

Feel free to reach out if you want to scream about your WIPs, OCs, books, or any shared interests! Always up for a chat! 💬✨

[joshuasumter]

My latest, epic poster for "Onward to Critical Role"

Short Summary: Ian and Barley Lightfoot from Disney/Pixar's 'Onward' woke up to find themselves in the middle of another world unlike their own filled with real fantasy magic and no modern technology while having no memory of how they got there. Little do they know that they've been dragged into Exandria, the world of 'Critical Role', and they'll have to work with a rowdy group of unlikely heroes known as Vox Machina to save it from dark forces...if they want to survive this strange, new world.

"Onward to Critical Role" relays the whole story of a crossover alternate universe where Ian and Barley Lightfoot landed smack dab in the world of Exandria and their adventures with Vox Machina and Mighty Nein in two separate campaigns coincide with the events of the 'Legend of Vox Machina' animated series and the upcoming 'Mighty Nein' series to Laurel Lightfoot, Blazey, and even Corey the Manticore.

SYNOPSIS: The two teenage elf brothers - Ian and Barley from Disney/Pixar's 'Onward' - are back! This time, swords and sorcery just get real as they landed smack-dab in the middle of Exandria, the world of 'Critical Role' that exists in the Material Plane full of real magic, real epic adventures, and real wizards, bards, real fantasy and beyond...and no modern technology in this new hypothetical Crossover Alternate Universe (CAU) timeline that explores what would happen if the events of Disney/Pixar's 'Onward (2020)', Critical Role's animated series 'The Legend of Vox Machina (2022)' and its upcoming animated 'Mighty Nien' series occurred differently.

(This crossover alternate universe and timeline takes place after the events of 'Onward' and into the events of 'The Legend of Vox Machina', and the rest will be within the animated series itself, and later the upcoming animated 'Mighty Nein' series)

The stories of this new hypothetical crossover AU and of Ian and Barley's adventures with Vox Machina and Mighty Nein in two separate campaigns are being told to Laurel Lightfoot, Blazey, Colt Bronco and even Corey the Manticore, who are all commenting on the stories in between. In short, this crossover with Ian and Barley Lightfoot taking part in the events of 'The Legend of Vox Machina' and the upcoming animated 'Mighty Nein' series.

Onward to Critical Role: 'When Ian and Barley met Vox Machina'

In another time and another place, this crossover alternate universe is being observed in which takes place after the events of Disney/Pixar's 'Onward' where life is still full of magic and wonder for Ian and Barley Lightfoot in the suburban city of New Mushroomton after their epic, extraordinary journey to bring back their late father. Now the Lightfoot brothers became closer together than ever and they can't wait to see what new adventures will bring as they are ready to explore a world full of wonder together. But during another ordinary day, everything around them began to twist, turn, and swirl around them when fate had other plans. They woke up to suddenly find themselves magically thrown into another world unlike their own filled with real fantasy magic and no modern technology.

Little do they know that they've been dragged into Exandria, the world of 'Critical Role' that exists in the Material Plane full of real fantasy and beyond.

But getting back home won't be so easy. To win their ticket home as told by the Dungeon Master, Ian and Barley must find a way to defeating the 5 dragons of the Chroma Conclave. As they explore and investigate their bewildering, new surroundings while adjusting to it since they can't go back to their own world, Ian and Barley tried to play out their part and make sense of this strange new world since this may or may not be unlike anything similar to Barley's favorite historically role-playing board game, Quests of Yore.

There, amidst a sea of seriousness and crazy bar fights, Ian and Barley accidentally got involved and allow themselves to be joined by an unlikely band of rowdy and ragtag heroes, misfits, and adventurers-turned-mercenaries for hire known as Vox Machina -- comprised of...

Twin half-elf siblings, Vex'ahlia and Vax'ildan Vessar

Charming gunslinger Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III

Clever cleric Pike Trickfoot

Half-elf red-headed druid Keyleth

Gnome bard Scanlan Shorthalt

Goofy goliath barbarian Grog Strongjaw

The twins' giant grizzly bear, Trinket

At first, Ian was a bit off by the wild behaviors of this rowdy group, but he and an excited Barley chose to do what they can to help save Exandria and restore justice from the evil destruction of dark magical forces, terrifying power couples, and even a group of not-so-friendly dragons...if they want to survive this strange, new world despite all the epic dangers, magical surprises, comedic fun, and even the heartwarming romance the two brothers experience in such an epic saga along the way.

But despite all the epic dangers, magical surprises, comedic fun, and even the heartwarming romance (like Ian having a little crush on Cassandra de Rolo and Barley got smitten by Kaylie Shorthalt) of such an epic saga in another world, will Ian and Barley ever make it back home to their own world in one piece? Or maybe they aren't so sure anymore as their fate of being isekai'd and stranded in Exandria began to change...forever? (Ian and Barley's first adventure in Exandria with Vox Machina takes place into the events of 'The Legend of Vox Machina' Seasons 1-3)

Onward to Critical Role: 'When Ian and Barley met the Mighty Nein'

After finally defeating all 5 dragons of the Chroma Conclave with the help of Vox Machina, Ian and Barley thought they were about to be home-free after winning the whole quest...until they get dragged into yet another campaign when the Lightfoot brothers landed smack-dab in the continent of Wildemount, about 20 years AFTER the adventures of Vox Machina, where the tensions here are very higher in a war between two major powers and mightiest nations -- the Dwendalian Empire and the Kyrn Dynasty.

Now forced to starting anew again, Ian and Barley eventually cross paths with yet another motley bunch group of colorful ragtag adventurers, criminals, and misfits based in Wildemount trying to find their place in the world of Exandria known as the Mighty Nein -- comprised of...

Caleb Widogast, a quiet human transmutation wizard weighed down by a shifty, tragic past involving the Soltryce Academy and the Cerberus Assembly

Nott the Brave, a young goblin rogue with enthusiastic energy and a penchant itch for borrowing things who used to be a human named Veth Brenatto until she was cursed by the hag named Isharnai, who made a deal with Beau's father

Jester Lavorre, a blue female tiefling cleric of the trickery domain of Nicodranas and daughter of a single working mom and the famed courtesan known as Ruby of the Sea named Marion, who is looking for her missing father - Babenon Dosal, aka the Gentlemen - while eating pastries and telling the world about her god, Artagan the Traveler, who only she can see and talk to him

Fjord, a green half-orc Hexblade warlock who was a shipwrecked sailor with a sword that gave him magical powers and weird dreams that are as mysterious as his past and its spooky underwater patron, the Great Laviathan known as Uk'otoa, while trying to guide the group to more diplomatic moments of life

Beauregard Lionett, a human female monk-turned-rebel who was part of a secret order of librarian spy monks looking for a cause that sometimes protecting her newfound family

Mollymauk Tealeaf, an ostentatious lavender tiefling blood hunter who leads a life of aimless debauchery and content to spread joy to all who might need it

Yasha Nydoorin, a female aasimar barbarian and worshiper of the Storm Lord who is terrifying on the battlefield while seeking redemption for a past she can't remember

Caduceus Clay, the firbolg grave cleric and guardian of the Blooming Groove who turns out to be quite the comforting hot cup of tea the Mighty Nein needs to balance out their chaos crew energy.

The chance meeting sets into motion an epic saga yet again as Ian and Barley helps out the Mighty Nein face would-be gods on both land and sea and uncover the secrets behind a war between nations to prevent the world and the kingdom from plunging into chaos when the Luxon Beacon, a symbol of the Kryn Dynasty's god and an ancient arcane artifact connected to the fabric of reality, falls into the wrong hands.

(Ian and Barley's second adventure in Exandria with Mighty Nein takes place after the events of 'The Legend of Vox Machina' Season 3 and into the events of the 'Mighty Nein' series)

Ending In the tradition of the ending of Episode: Persona from 'BlazBlue: Cross Tag Battle', after finally finishing their adventures with Vox Machina and the Mighty Nein in two separate campaigns, a bright light appeared and Ian and Barley seem to think that they have returned back home to New Mushroomton...only for them to realize that the casts of Critical Role characters from both the Vox Machina and Mighty Nein campaigns have all show up -- with any memories or lack thereof -- reincarnated as New Mushroomton families, neighbors, citizens, classmates, and more, acting as though they've been a part of their world since before, during, and/or after remembering, much to Ian and Barley's surprise and confusion.

The inspirations and influences of the Onward/Critical Role crossover and its new hypothetical crossover AU timeline are:

Onward (2020)

Critical Role

The Legend of Vox Machina (2022) and the upcoming 'Mighty Nein' animated series

Scoobynatural

Disney Channel Original Movie (DCOM), Teen Beach Movie

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2003): Fast Forward (Season 6)

Scooby-Doo! The Sword and the Scoob

The Super Mario Bros. Movie

DreamWorks' The Road to El Dorado

Jeff Smith's Bone

Dungeons & Dragons: The Cartoon, the classic TV show from the 1980s. (Including 'The Adventure Begins! (Dungeons & Dragons) (Little Golden Book)' and 'Dungeons & Dragons: Saturday Morning Adventures')

Mufasa: The Lion King (2024) -- Just like how the origin story of Mufasa is being told to Kiara, the crossover AU stories of Ian and Barley's adventures with Vox Machina and Mighty Nein in two separate campaigns in the world of Exandria is being told to Laurel Lightfoot, Blazey, and Corey the Manticore.

The crossover fanfics of... - "Frozen Turtles" by Iron117Prime - "The Owl and the Frog" by ChampionElCid - The crossover stories by Hero Central/AlexMontyArt that involved heroes from one continuity end up in a different world of another, including "The Avengers: The Avatar Saga", "Ben 10 & She-Ra: Heroes of Power", and "Sonic and Ariel"

[littlexhades]

Closed Starter with @therebetterbepie

Slowly the Prince of the Underworld was learning about the surface, his exploration had taken him far from his home and finally getting to experience mortals proper was a treat he hadn't expected to have in his life time. His chthonic godly blood used to be bound to the Underworld and the Styx by the fates themselves, deeming Hades and his bloodline forbidden from stepping away from their home but the spell to break him and his sister free of it offered new hope for the young prince.

America was a strange land, and its people even stranger but Zagreus enjoyed the eccentricities. They were a hardy folk who enjoyed a bit of reverie here and there, reminded him of his cousin Dionysus and the mirth and spirit he always brought. Through his wanderings he'd noticed that one particular mortal seemed to be appearing at many of the stops he himself frequented.

Agent Young? Some kind of guard for the country's people who worked to unveil the cause of some dark dealings that seemed to be trailing the wayward son of Hades. Zagreus assumed that the man had no idea the true sinister nature that lurked behind the disappearances and miraculous saves of the individuals, after all what kind of human could guess that monsters of legends were locked onto the trail of his godly scent and humans kept running into them? Thankfully he was always there to kill the beast before it got out of hand, Lamia, Bloodless, Gorgons, all of which died at the end of the Stygian Blade.

Though the dive bar was crowded and rowdy with drunken dancing and laughter it didn't take much for his keen hunter's eye to find said man in the corner with a drink, walking over and sitting down on the opposite side of the booth before the other has a chance to retaliate does he swiftly snatch the file folder he'd been reading.

"You know we've really got to stop meeting like this, if you keep following me I'm going to start thinking I have an admirer." Flipping through the pages does the dark haired man give out a whistle in response. "We might as well work together on this one, seeing that we're both already here."

[theadventurerslog]

Quest For Glory III: Wages of War | Part 1

The Adventurer's Log

Release Date: 1992

We saved Spielburg and we saved Shapeir. Now it's time to move to a new place in a game that wasn't originally supposed to exist, but they weren't ready for what they wanted to do in IV yet, so here go: Quest for Glory III time. What fate will befall Cinder Win this time? It's VGA graphics and point and click interface time.

Once again, not a blind play as I've watched it played, but anything wizard-specific will be new to me and I don't remember how to do everything.

Starting up I imported my character and had the option to be a Paladin thanks to my actions in 2, or stay a Wizard. After dithering I decided to stay a pure Wizard; that just stays closer to what I envision for Cinder. He is a Wizard dammit. Sorry, Rakeesh.

So these were my stats from last game:

Look at this fancy character sheet.

And after spending my available 50 points:

It opened up in Aziza's chamber. She summoned me and Rakeesh to see her.

She rehashed the end of the last game.

Slightly incorrectly I might add. I did not bounce my spell off the wall. I just moved around to a good angle to knock the brazier over. And where's the statue, huh? Anyway I got to see Ad Avis fall again and this time he got the Graham falling scream from King's Quest V, so that was quite something.

When Ad Avis died his magic was unleashed which meant she and other magic users could feel it and know the moment of his death. However, I guess things can never be simple because no one could find his body, and if there's one thing to learn from various media it's that a missing body is never a good thing. Even she couldn't determine who or what removed his body with her spells. The unleashing of his power might have darker results.

In the meantime she received a message from Rakeesh's partner, the Sorceress Kreesha, in Tarna in...Fricana. We're going African theming this time. There was talk of war there and she believed only Rakeesh could bring peace now. She thinks there's more to this and that a Demon has broken into the land and does what any demon does, and seeks to destroy them all.

In three days there'll be a portal to take us there.

So, three days later it was time to gather in the Sultan's palace where he saw me, Rakeesh and Uhura who wants to go home too, off.

And he had a gift for me from Keapon Laffin! My gnome friend!

Then a hug which was sweet.

I'm a sap, I'm a sap.

Then we arrived in Tarna where we were met by Kreesha. Uhura headed out. So some introductory stuff and a warning:

Booo, when can I use magic safely in a town dammit.

I needed some time to explore and adjust to the new interface though it is very similar to King's Quest V and VI. And I had to check out Keapon's lovely wrapped gift!

Sure did explode in my face.

I was left with the wrapping paper... "The wrapping paper is all that remains of Keapon Laffin's gift. He certainly has a strange sense of humor." Maybe that'll have a use. Silly gnome.

As for the rest of my inventory: I had 200 dinars and some of my inventory carried over: the sapphire pin from the Katta, my pills, a waterskin, and my dagger. I had a note from Shema to deliver to Shallah. I had some Spim which is rations. I'm pretty sure the reward for saving the Emir was supposed to be 1000 dinars though. Hmph, where's the rest of my money? Actually I do wonder how long our hero got to stay in Shapeir between QFG 2 and 3.

I had to start doing all the looking around.

Then it was time to chat with Rakeesh and Kreesha (their names are anagrams of each other...). You can also do the talk icon on yourself to greet and tell about stuff. But talking pulls up a dialogue tree of options.

The city and land around it is called Tarna and ruled by the Liontaurs. Uhura and her baby boy, Simba, have returned to her home, the Simbani village and we'll be going there in a few days to learn more about the war between the Simbani and the Leopardmen. In two days Rakeesh wants me to come with him to the Council of Judgement to attempt speaking to them of peace.

Rakeesh and Kreesha are lifemates. Kreesha is the magic council member in the Council of Judgement. Rakeesh's brother Rajah, is the King of Tarna and he's pretty hot-headed.

I could ask her about magic too and she said could teach me a spell that would allow me to channel my energy...! But not yet.

In the meantime it was time to explore Tarna, and leave Rakeesh and Kreesha to have some alone time together. Kreesha also had a room reserved for me at the inn.

Here, there's the King's Chambers up the stairs and on this level, the Apothecary and the Inn.

I went to the Apothecary first...

His name is Salim. Before I talked to him I had to look around as always.

That was the main highlight.

I tried the use icon on him:

Then I talked to this groovy...guy...radical, maaan. Just trying to get his vibe across here. So, it is the Apothecary, but he calls it Salim's Holistic Health and Happiness Eclectic Energy Emporium. He carries crystals and promotes peace and pyramid power...

He can't sell healing pills right now though. He needs the feather of a honey bird which I have to get non-violently or it won't work. That's one quest to add to the to-do list I suppose.

I could also ask about potions and lo and behold what should come up but a Dispel Potion. He was, of course, missing some ingredients: water from the Pool of Peace, a gift from the Heart of the World, and the fruit of a venomous vine. I guess Dispel Potions are just a tradition and staple of the series but they're made differently everywhere. Regional recipes I guess.

I could ask him about each, and in regards to the fruit of the venomous vine, got the best thing he's said yet:

One of the conversation topics was plants which led him to talking about a dream he had of being in a desert place and he was dancing with this tree when it changed. Suddenly the tree was like a woman and beautiful and it was magical. That gave me the option tell him about Julanar and how I'd helped her regain some hope. He was thrilled; the girl of his dreams was real! He planned to leave for Shapeir on the next caravan.

I... can't say he'd be my first choice to send to her, but hopefully for her sake it somehow works out? Whether or not anything further comes of it, the continuity is nice at any rate.

I tried to make a purchase just to see my options, but I needed to change my money first.

I popped by the inn just to see it for now.

Welcome Inn...

There was a bulletin board that had The Laws of Tarna:

Thou shalt harm none Thou shalt not use magic upon the streets of Tarna (booo and it won't even let me try) Thou shalt not take that which is not thine Thou shalt behave with honor

I also found...

A silly clown!

I chatted with the welcome woman, whose name turned out to be Janna Jamil, and learned that before I came the rulers of Tarna had sent out a party of diplomats to the Leopardmen, but only one person returned, Kharib, and he's not well now.

Kreesha's paying for my room, but I have to pay for meals... once I have the right currency. For now it just got added to my room charge. Thanks Kreesha!

It was time to poke into the bazaar.

Good ol' traditional moose head.

We've got a honey seller.

I could also ask about the honey bird. The bird gets people to follow it to a hive and then waits for the person to take honey from it and leave some for the bird. Maybe if I bought honey I could just use that as a lure to get a feather? I needed the right money though. There was also a rumour that Leopardmen are killing the Simbani people.

There was an oil salesman selling virgin olive oil. There was a rumour that the king of Tarna wants them to go to war in order drive all the humans away from city forever. A lot of liontaurs still don't get on with humans, but I don't think that particular rumour is exactly true. Or at least if the war was to be against the leopardmen that wouldn't be against the humans here.

Carrying on to the Junk salesmen, who are straight up a reference to Sanford and Son, which is a sitcom I'm not really familiar with, but looking it up, yeah that's basically just them.

There was a very enthusiastic weapon seller who tried to advertise his wares when I got close without my even talking to him. I didn't need weapons right now though.

I headed into the next area and ran into an altercation.

I chased after him into the next screen where a guard caught him and took us both to the Hall of Judgement.

The Council determined the thief, Harami, broke the laws and showed himself without honor. He was just scornful and then named honorless and sent away.

I was thanked for aiding the guards and was sent with Rakeesh to see the king, Rajah Sah Tarna.

I cannot for the life me figure out what's going on withe liontaur lady on the right. You can see where the other has her leg bent but this one is like serpent liontaur. Very strange. Anyway.

Rajah was very prickly and unimpressed with me. "Kreesha is the magic user of this land. Do you think you can out-enchant her?" And he was not too happy with Rakeesh either.

Rakeesh's daughter, Reeshaka, had led the peace mission that only had one survivor, so she's presumed dead. Rakeesh pointed out they still don't know exactly what happened and doesn't want to start a war and take more lives over this. I had the opportunity to defend Rakeesh. Rajah continued to not be particularly impressed, and I was told to leave them to their discussions.

Reeshaka would be Rajah's niece so he certainly has the right to be angry. He was still being a dick though. And war mongering isn't gonna help things.

But, there was nothing more for me to do there, so it was back out to continue exploring the bazaar. So, while my day is dwindling away next time it's time to get money changed and if there's time go shopping. Otherwise, bed time then shopping. Shopping will happen.

[ur-fav-inactive-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞

Ivan Of Zandar x Shy!Reader | Request by @smoiesaustine

(A/N) I changed the plot slightly but hope you enjoy it!!

WC: 2003

It was a peaceful, sunny day in Amber Beach. The dino café was closed for redecorating purposes, meaning the employees had a few days off. Ivan decided he would spend his free day on a long, therapeutic walk in the large forest by the dinsoaur musuem. It was an exceptionally large wood, so if he walked at a brisk pace, it would take him a couple of hours to go through the whole thing. As he explored the forest, he heard a voice. It didn't sound very far from him, so he decided to approach it, curious as to what the voice could be. As he got closer to the source, he could vaguely get a glimpse of what was making the sound. In a clearing, sat a gorgeous girl. Ivan watched her from the treeline. She sat on her knees, with a group of animals surrounding her. Ivan worried for a moment, concerned that the animals might be harming you. But with closer observation, he could see that you weren't being harmed at all. In fact, they all looked rather peaceful, and you were... singing? Your sweet voice sung to them, and Ivan would be lying if he were to say he didn't enjoy hearing you sing too. He smiled at the sound, wanting to approach. He took a step forward, trying to get a better view. As he stepped, his foot landed on a stray twig. It snapped under his heavy boots, alarming you of his presence. The pretty girl's eyes widened, turning to look at the spot she heard the sound from. To be fair to her, it did make sense to be disturbed by a strange man watching you from the treeline. Without wasting a moment, she sprung up onto her feet, grabbed her bag, and ran in the opposite direction. Ivan sighed with dismay, disappointed that he didn't get to meet the gorgeous woman with the most gorgeous voice he had heard in his life.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been a couple of days since someone had spotted you in the forest. Being a very shy and reclusive person, you ran away without a second thought. You were kicking yourself for that now. Maybe they just wanted to talk to you. You thought about it rather often. You only caught a small glimpse of the person who saw you; from what you saw, they looked rather handsome. Oh well, there wasn't really much you could do about it now anyway. On that day, you had finished all the books you had borrowed from your local library and decided it was time to return them and take home some more to read. So, you decided to walk to the library, expecting it to be a normal visit. Get to the library, return your books, have a small chat with the librarian, pick out your new books, and go home. Simple as that! Well, not today.

~*~*~*~*~

Coincidentally, on that same day, the rangers also decided to take a trip to the library. They all browsed the shelves, Ivan looking at a section dedicated to different hobbies with Riley. They both wanted to see what kind of swordsmanship books they had, but as they browsed, Ivan spotted a book about the gift of singing. It made him think back to you, and he struck up a conversation with Riley about his encounter. He was slightly disappointed that the two or you hadn't gotten to speak but hoped that maybe on another day, he'd be able to have a decent conversation with you. Unbeknownst to Ivan, as he described this encounter, you were on the other side of the shelf.

~*~*~*~*~

As your earbuds had died before you left your apartment, you had to wander around without them. Now that you think about it, it just might have been fate. You were browsing books about singing, hoping to improve on it. However, as you searched, you heard a voice on the other side. Not having anything else to listen to, you tuned in on their conversation. Oh my god. No way. It was the man who had been watching you from the treeline a few days back. He described the exact encounter at the exact same time at the exact same place. Wanting to know more about this stranger and having a free day, you decided you'd follow him around. Yes, it sounded creepy, and it might've been, but it increased your chances of getting to know him, so you might as well.

~*~*~*~*~

Ivan met up with the rest of his friends, and they began their walk back to the museum. You followed not too far behind them, curious as to where they were going. The redecorating hadn't yet been finished, but Kendall needed two employees to be tour guides and selected Shelby and Ivan. You followed the two of them back to the museum. You had never been in a museum and were incredibly intrigued by it. Crowds made you feel uncomfortable and nervous, so you avoided crowds or tour guides and decided to wander around by yourself instead of getting a tour guide. It was your first time in a museum, and you were incredibly interested. You pulled out your camera and took multiple pictures. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ivan's group approaching their last section, the section you were in. You quickly left the museum before they could approach you. You hadn't noticed, but Ivan has actually spotted you in that section. He wanted to rush over and hopefully get to talk to you, but before he could, you left the museum. Once again, he felt disappointed but was hopeful that the two of you would cross paths once again.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been a few weeks since Ivan had last seen you, and the two of you hadn't bumped into each other since. You were too nervous to go back to the museum, so you usually just stayed at your apartment or went to a different section of the woods. Since the café had reopened, all the rangers were back at work once again, so Ivan couldn't roam the woods in search of you. It was business as usual until Ms. Morgan alerted them of alien bio signs in the woods. When she sent over the location, Ivan couldn't help but notice how close it was to the spot he first saw you in. His heart stopped as he pondered if the monsters were there to hurt you. This thought only made him want to get to the woods even faster. As they ran through the woods, they decided to morph in a thick section of the forest where nobody would see them. After morphing, they got to the section of the woods where the bio signs were. No way. In the clearing was a girl. But not just any girl, a ranger. She fought the monsters but was close to being outnumbered and overwhelmed. She seemed to be getting weaker, so the rangers jumped in and helped. As they fought, they noticed the absence of the girl. She appeared to be the crimson ranger. She had one of the few energems they didn't have their hands on yet. The rangers realised she was nowhere to be seen, Ivan scanned the clearing, spotting a red blur running towards the spot he had first seen you in. The rangers could deal with the monsters, so Ivan took off after hed.

He caught up to her, seeing the new ranger sat on her knees, removing her helmet. Ivan's eyes widened at the sight of you. You were the ranger they had just seen. Slowly approaching you, he removed his helmet. "Hello, milady, please dont run, I must talk to you." You whipped your head around fast enough to give you whiplash, eyes filled with nervousness and fear. The urge to flee consumed you, but you fought it. The realisation hit you; it was the same man who had seen you here last time and the same man you followed around the museum. He took another step closer, but you stayed put. As he got closer, you felt safer... it was unusual. Typically, the closer people were to you, the more uncomfortable you felt. But this time, it was different. His presence made you feel safe. He slowly came and sat beside you, eyes softened. From the corner of his eye, he could see a multitude of different types of wildlife proceed towards the two of you. Ivan couldn't help but notice how much more relaxed you seemed with the animals surrounding the two of you. You motioned for Ivan to continue. "I'm not sure if you recognise me, but I saw you here a few weeks ago." You nodded, signalling to him that you did in fact recognise him. "I also notice that you're a power ranger, like me. I know it seems daunting to be one but you've been selected for a reason." Your face seemed nervous at this, unsure if you were right for this. "I don't know; I'm not sure I'm made for this. I'm not strong or brave enough to do this." Your voice was soft and shaky, but adorable to Ivan. He barely knew you but was sure he had a crush on you. He noticed your shaky hands, hugging your knees. In fact, your whole body was shaking lightly. He slowly placed a hand atop of yours, silently reassuring you it was alright. Your eyes met his, seeming thankful for the gesture. "Please, join our team. I beg of you." Your thoughts raced through your head and before you could think straight, you spoke softly. "Okay. I'll join you." He smiled at you, his smile made you blush ever so slightly but it thankfully went unnoticed by Ivan.

Ever so gently, Ivan took you wrist and guided you back to the battle. This time, you were a lot braver and were willing to help out but usually stuck to Ivan's side. As the battle finished, the rangers took you back to the museum. On the walk back, you stuck to Ivan's side like glue. Ivan felt safe to you, comforting and kind. No matter what, you were almost always with Ivan. The rangers teased Ivan about it on the rare occasions the two of you were separated, certain that Ivan had a crush on you. He called it absurd but deep down, he knew that they were right.

After a couple of months, Ivan decided he'd ask you to be his girlfriend. It was Ivan's day off but you were working so he had time to go buy some things and plan out the day without you finding out. He went to some stores, bought your favourite type of flowers and other things that you liked. After work, he went back to the museum to ask you if you'd be interested in going on a picnic in the forest. You graciously accepted, having a deep love and adoration for the forest. The two of you began walking, enjoying a quiet conversation or a comfortable silence. As you got closer to the clearing the two of you met in. Pulling out a picnic blanket from your bag, you gently set it down on the grass.

Just behind you, Ivan was reaching under a raised rock to retrieve the flowers he had purchased. As you laid out all the food, Ivan was straightening out all of his clothes and holding the flowers. You turned around to ask him something before you softly gasped. Ivan stood there, with an adorable and bashful smile and wielding your favourite flowers. Before you could respond, he began a small speech. "(Y/N), for as long as I can remember, I've loved you. From the first second I saw you in this clearing, I knew you were the one for me. So, would you please do me the honour of being my girlfriend?" You smiled at him before softly replying "Of course, Ivan."

[johaerys-writes]

For the writer’s asks! 7, 19, and 29! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 🥰🥹❤️

Thank you so much!!! And sorry for taking so long to answer this!! I've already answered 7 here.

19. What's one pairing you want to explore next year?

I did answer this question as well, and said I'm looking forward to writing some PZA next year (Patroclus/Zagreus/Achilles from Hades I if anyone isn't familiar with the term), however I actually wouldn't be opposed to exploring new characters/ships altogether. I really want to focus on my original writing and my OC ships this year, and maybe finish a couple WIPs I have in the works, so I'm really excited about that. (ALSO I just started playing Greedfall today, and Captain Vasco and Constantin are giving me brainworms right now so..... if any of my moots are into that game I would LOVE to talk haha)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I also answered this one before, but I can never get enough of that question because every fic I write usually has a passage I love! I'm going to choose from As Fate Would Have It this time:

“Who is that man there, he who walks along the shore?” Callianeira of the brilliant scales asks, disturbing the rhythm the nereids have found.

"He moves towards us with such purpose, his intent unwavering," Galene supplies, her silver skin and hair blazing in the afternoon sun, her voice high-pitched like a dolphin's. "Who might be bold enough to disturb the daughters of the Ocean while they work?"

Thetis lifts her head and peers down the length of the beach. This is a quiet shore, remote and unknown to most mortals that roam the land. Hidden between massive crags and hills, and with no footpath easily traversed, it has been the domain of the nymphs for ages beyond counting.

The nereids, one by one all stop their work to dubiously regard the man.

“A human?” Leucothoe asks, squinting at the lone, dark figure. Her bone white hair and translucent skin mark her as a nymph of the far deep, her eyes not seeing far in daylight but her senses nonetheless sharp. “His footsteps are too certain, his gait too wide yet light as a feather. He walks like no other mortal I’ve ever encountered.”

Laomedeia next to her, a stark opposite to her whiteness with rich black hair and reddish bronze scales like a surface-loving fish, shakes her head. “No human has stepped foot here in hundreds of years. This is no mortal.”

There is indeed something strange about the man. His steps swallow up the land as if he’s sprinting, but without appearing to run. As he draws closer, his flashing eyes catch the light, black yet shining like polished onyx. There is a clever smile on his lips, and one of his strong and shapely arms is raised in salute. The feather on the golden cap he wears winks with a strong gust of wind, and his golden sandals glimmer.

“Lord Hermes,” Thetis says. She sets her work down and stands to greet him, bowing her head in respect. “Son of Maia, immortal guide and keeper of the heavenly flocks. It is an honour to see you on our shore.”

Hermes smiles at each of the goddesses with a brief nod of his godly head. He is polite, yet his grace belies a touch of hastiness. “Ladies! A fine morning, wouldn’t you agree?”

The entire section with Thetis, Peleus and the nereids was so fun to write, I really look forward to writing some more from her POV!

[erikaember]

The Breath of the Wild trilogy idea

(SPOILERS FOR THE END OF TEARS OF THE KINGDOM)

So I've seen some posts about an idea for the next game in the BotW and TotK series involving Link and Zelda having to deal with a Gerudo boy, now that Ganondorf is dead.

I love that idea, so here’s my take:

   Let's have it be a few years into the future, Link and Zelda using their knowledge of Zonai technology to speed up the kingdom's restoration, utilizing the Sky Islands and the depths. And while Ganondorf is gone, the kingdom is still recovering from the remnants of his dark magic, although it’s much more manageable, the military growing in strength and reach.

Enter the news from the Gerudo that a male is born.

...it feels a bit weird to suggest this, but for the sake of drama and a more personal connection to the main characters, let’s say Riju is the mother. It’s some years into the future, Hyrule is rebuilding, the Gerudo would definitely help with military training and I think it’d be cute to have Riju find herself a voe among the soldiers. He could be a guy who wasn’t fit to be a soldier but Riju pulled him aside because she noticed his skills being more useful in strategy. Of course, he’s still training his fighting skills cuz I love the idea of them having a casual duel with a flirtatious undertone.

While having a deep love for their baby boy, the chieftess and her husband fear for the fate of their son, the only remaining history of a Gerudo male being that of Ganondorf. No one would dare to say it out loud but it still reached Riju that her people had whispered about the cruel idea to end the boy’s life before history is repeated, this new golden era being threatened by his mere existence.

Desperate to fight this alleged fate, Riju seeks Zelda’s wisdom and they begin to investigate the matter. Still having her secret stone, Zelda is able to get a sense of the boy’s future but feels nothing evil. So she encourages Riju to simply let the boy grow up and guide him like she would a normal boy who isn’t fated to be evil, and to face criticism with the fact that he will be guided by good people.

But then, when the boy reaches somewhere between 10 and 13 years, he gets some strange dreams and ends up disappearing.

The game will be about Link trying to find him, maybe FINALLY travelling WITH Zelda so she can use her time powers to see the memory of objects and find out what the boy had been up to, seeing him discover something calling to him and how he uncovers a power within himself.

Link had spent quite some time with the boy, exploring Hyrule together. It was a way to grow a love for it instead of a desire to conquer it; seeing things from the perspective of a citizen rather than from the tall position of a leader. So the boy knew his way around the land. But it also meant he had a connection with Link and they knew each other pretty well. Link and Zelda have faith in him and believes he won’t easily be tricked into evil.

And basically, they uncover the deep mysteries of the long forgotten and forbidden sorcery of the Gerudo, the witches Kotake and Koume (who somehow sealed themselves to aid Ganondorf but were too late to aid him in TotK, so they focus on this new boy)

The witches try to convince the Gerudo boy to channel his inherited power and take his mother’s secret stone; become an exceptionally powerful king (perhaps one of his strongest desires being to become someone his people can respect and that’s been so difficult, they try to convince him power is the only way).

...but the twist will be that he had already decided his fate and dives deep in order to destroy the witches from within. ...but the witches knew that and pulled an Uno reverse card and used magic on him, forcing him to fight from within himself. To make him weak against their magic, the witches made him kill Riju (parallel to Sonia, but of course, Riju won’t go down without a fight) and take her stone to amplify their control over him.

He’s tortured with that memory and unable to fight back for a while. When Link and company arrives to battle him, they manage to weaken the control but the witches then sacrifices themselves, entering the stone to amplify their control. Link still manages to weaken the spell enough for the boy to remove the stone (paralleling TotK) and throw it to him, Link destroying the stone and Zelda using her powers to purify the boy.

Happy ending where the Gerudo boy is made chief (because he refuses to be called king after all the time he spent with the “you’ll be a powerful king” witches) and the ghost of Riju expresses how proud she is of her child who defied destiny and proved the strength of the Gerudo.

   The story uses parallels to give the impression of fate being at work, and ancient Gerudo runes talking about the witches’ destiny to resurrect their king to make it seem like it’s set in stone. But the boy’s destiny isn’t mentioned... because it was never written...

And since BotW only had the surface and TotK mainly focusing on the sky islands, this one will focus more on the depths...

I call it... Legend of Zelda: Runes of the Chasm

...oh, and gotta include the fact that the boy will meet Master Kohga who believes the boy is the new Ganondorf, and the boy takes full advantage of that, remembering the stories Link told him about how stupid the Yiga clan are. He’ll send them on fools errands to locations he knows Link will be at, so they can stupidly reveal the boy’s location, keeping Link on the right track.

...also, because I’m a Zelink shipper and this idea involves a time skip of at least 11 years after the events of TotK, I say Link and Zelda are married, Link is the new king, and he’s a bit like Rauru - sneaking out on adventures and has to be fetched by Zelda who gives him a stern but loving lecture. Also, they got a little princess who has her dad’s flair for adventure.

---

Thanks for reading! This was based on ideas I already had for an independent Zelda story, I have no plans to delve deeper. This was just my two cents, feel free to elaborate on any of the ideas or even use them for your own take on “Link and Zelda having to deal with a Gerudo boy”. :D

[steel-forged]

Canines and Felines

Closed starter for @redemptioninchaos

For the first time in what felt like years, she had managed to slip the eyes and ears of her friends and compatriots. Not that she was running away, or shirking responsibility, of course. They had encouraged her to take a break from the endless grind of threats that had faced them recently. While Sentine had some concerns initially, eventually she set out for some new land to relax in and explore.

And what a strange land she found. So different to her home, so new, so fresh that for once, she had no idea where to begin. No lay of the land, no one to point her in any direction. It was refreshing, if a little odd after so long. But fate has a way of fixing little issues like this, as she noted when a... Cat person walked off with her coin purse.

Rather than call out or immediately retaliate, Sentine followed him, quickly, quietly. A pickpocket always had a finger to the pulse of a place, and since he had come to her, well... What better person to meet? Plus, she kind of needed that gil. Hopefully the sticky fingered feline wouldn't mind her popping out of the gloom in his hide away, waving at him with her claws and sharp toothed grin.

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group J Round 3: #J8 vs #J2

#J8: Teenage girls find a random guy in a river, adventure ensues

#J2: Two girls wander the post-apocalyptic world

Details and poll under the cut!

#J8: Kemurikusa (TV)

Summary:

A few young girls with strange powers and a tree that has grown through a railcar cling onto life in a desolate land, searching for its last reservoirs of water. Their routine struggle to survive is interrupted by the arrival of Wakaba, a boy with no memory beyond his own name.

The girls and their new companion commit to a perilous journey across seas of burning red fog—all in order to find what they need to sustain themselves on the more distant, dangerous islands swarming with robotic bugs. Their ultimate fate will be decided by their own strength, along with Wakaba's curious ability to understand the Kemurikusa: mysterious glowing leaves with wondrous powers. Besides the girls, Wakaba, and the hordes of ravenous bugs, the Kemurikusa are the last sparks of life surviving in this land. How did things end up this way? Why are there so many empty buildings with no one to live in them? Wakaba and the girls lack the answers to these questions, which means the truth can only be found within the Kemurikusa.

Propaganda:

Here’s ONE bit of propaganda for you: Kemurikusa is made by Tatsuki, the extremely talented director behind the original Kemono Friends anime by Yaoyorozu. This time, Tatsuki’s really stepped up his game: not only is this an improvement from his original short by the same name, this is also both an animation improvement and a writing improvement from the Yaoyorozu made Kemono Friends.

With Tatsuki’s skill as a writer to tell tight, medium-paced stories centering girls and the apocalypse, Kemurikusa focuses on both the emotions of Rin, Rina, and Ritsu, as well as fleshing out Wakaba to be more than just a simple sidekick, but the heart of the series, providing a very typically feminine role of comfort, care, and nurturing. The subversion of typical masculine and feminine roles in the story, especially from a male director, as well as the well-written, well-developed female characters (of which there are about 7, including a spoiler character), is a bonus for people who don’t like stereotypical “cool tough male character/generic nice boring female character who doesn’t do anything” stories.

The concept of a world sapped of resources by technology is also fascinating. [Admin: this part of the propaganda has been cut out due to possible spoilers.] Sadly, I can’t find a trailer, as this anime is SUPER obscure, but I linked the opening video to show another strength as well: the music. Just listen to it: this song is a total banger.

Trigger Warnings: Flashing lights, Child death (in reference to the characters’ motivation to find water)

#J2: Girls’ Last Tour (Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou)

Summary:

Amid the desolate remains of a once-thriving city, only the rumbling of a motorbike breaks the cold winter silence. Its riders, Chito and Yuuri, are the last survivors in the war-torn city. Scavenging old military sites for food and parts, the two girls explore the wastelands and speculate about the old world to pass the time. Chito and Yuuri each occasionally struggle with the looming solitude, but when they have each other, sharing the weight of being two of the last humans becomes a bit more bearable. Between Yuuri’s clumsy excitement and Chito’s calm composure, their dark days get a little brighter with shooting practice, new books, and snowball fights on the frozen battlefield.

Propaganda:

Above everything else, this is a show about how human life and curiosity will continue to exist even in terrible circumstances. The two main characters are super charming, so following them around is fun, but even beyond that it’s just a gorgeous show. The scenery is often awe-inspiring and beautiful, as is the soundtrack. Despite the show taking place after the end of the world, it can be surprisingly uplifting as the girls (and the audience!) find wonder and joy in the world around them. Definitely a show more people should watch!

Trigger Warnings: There are some flashbacks that depict the war that ended the world, but they are not graphic. Some blood is shown, but not much else. Main characters own guns, though they don’t use them on other people.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.