#this is it this is the line that always makes me think of young prowl and chromedome

[breakdownsbuttlights]

#this is it this is the line that always makes me think of young prowl and chromedome #anne carson #autobiography of red #prowldome

[todorokies]

RUMOR HAS IT - suguru geto

✩࿐ the streets of london have now been considered a danger for citizens when a blood hunger vampire prowls looking for their next lady in waiting . . .

contents: very suggestive, fem!reader, vampire!geto, geto is bewitched by you(r blood), nanami cameo (yippee), nineteenth century gothic victorian era, this leans towards the thriller side, reader is a bit naive, a wee bit of manipulation, blood drinking, usage of ‘m’lady’, inspired by the song ‘rumor has it’ by adele & this tweet, 2.5k words

a/n: there is a lot of imagery written !!! i truly hope u all like it, reblogs & supportive feedback is welcome ik the wc is a lot but pls bare with me :”) . . . apart of @kentopedia’s ‘love through the ages’ collab

the sun has begun to shift into its everlasting transition of casting soft orange hues of light that are softly entangled with a dark shade of blue that covers up above. the moon had tucked its companion away for the time being as it began to come into view.

the current state of main street however didn’t reflect the tranquillity of peace; the town clock had loudly reverberated alerting the public of the danger that would soon lurk.

citizens both young and old trampled out of buildings leaving a simple gust of wind in their wake to reach their residences.

a curfew had recently been implemented by the town council in order to reduce the sudden influx —dubbed as animal attacks— of women being found lifeless on the cold streets, with their blood being completely drained from their bodies.

but alas, the troublesome rumours of the attacks being performed by a person rather than an animal, rattled in, heightening the unpleasantries.

the rotten smell of fear lingers in the air with the pumping adrenaline coursing through the towns folks veins. if the perpetrator weren’t foolish enough, an entire course meal has been presented onto a platter for them.

“staring won’t do you any good if you end up dead.” nanami, your coworker, noted who was packing the last of the bakery’s unsold goods in a bag to be taken home.

you quickly drew away from the windowsill, “doesn’t the site of it all make you miserable. this new curfew has done nothing but made everyone even more frightened.”

nanami’s features softened and pursed his lips in a thin line before sighing. “the curfew is sensible in hindsight, but when rules are enforced people have a sudden urge to break them, mainly to figure out what animal—”

“—or person,” you sharply cut him off which causes his eyebrows to crinkle.

“i mean, let’s face it, what kind of animal leaves two perfectly clean puncture wounds on the neck and abandons the body as it is without any carnage?”

a beat follows before you continue, “this is obviously the work of some mad scientist in town looking to make a name for themselves.”

he sighs, “animal or …person, you shouldn’t be standing here chatting with me about it.”

his eyes twinkle with remorse whilst handing the bag of baked goods over to you, “i could chaperone you to your residence, you do live on the outskirts of town. i deeply worry about your safety.”

you lightheartedly scoff, politely waving off the suggestion. “nonsense kento, i always seem to have luck on my side, the walk home will be uneventful as always.”

he frowns at this.

you can be extraordinarily stubborn at the most inappropriate times.

“besides what would society think once they see an unwed woman getting escorted by the opposite sex. you should hurry home yourself! send my kind regards to yuuji for me.”

you bunch up the detailed lace of your overflowing gown in one hand while holding the brown bag of pastries in the other.

swiftly scurrying off into the abandoned streets, “do take care of yourself!”

“get home safely and hurry before the streetlights turn on!” nanami yells out the door before locking up the establishment and heading on his own way.

the cobblestone beneath your feet painfully ached and crumbled apart with each passing step you took. shutters from other houses forcefully swung open from the wind that picked up overtime, soon a ghastly fog began to move in, hindering some of your vision.

you truthfully dreaded this. nanami’s offer is still mulled in the back of your head, you mentally slap yourself for dismissing a comforting and preferably safer option of returning home.

however, dwelling on the what if’s have never been your cup of tea, instead you attempt to take in the scenery of the town in it’s glory.

the eerie atmosphere reminded you of an agatha christie novel you’ve once read. the fond memory warms you up in the dead of night.

soon your manor appears into view. relief immediately washes over you, a small breath of air exited your lungs.

but then you hear it; an extra set of footsteps a mile or two from behind you that rippled the cement.

too heavy of a stride to be another woman in heels and too human-like to be a four legged animal. with each step you took, they would take on another, almost in sync to throw you off their suspicions.

you felt bare and exposed as the only thing that you could focus on was the tangible breeze rattling your bones, fingers turning numb and losing its feeling. your head buzzed considering the only two options to best handle the situation: continue the venture to your housing or confront the entity.

continuing your journey would result in the mysterious entity gaining knowledge of your location. whereas, standing idly waiting for the perpetrator’s next move would result in you being the newspaper’s front headliner.

you’ve concluded the mental battle with yourself on cutting through the woods and loosing whomever is behind you in the dust.

just as you were about to pick up your feet, a tap by a set of fingers rippled against your shoulder causing you to shriek.

“m’lady, i believe you dropped this.” a sultry voice booms through your ears that belonged to a man so majestic you couldn’t comprehend. your breath staggers while your mouth hang slightly agape.

he was as pale as a lilith in its full bloom but still managed to glisten under the moonlight. monolid eyes sharpened that showcased nothing but intensity and gluttony.

you couldn’t dare away, especially not when his gaze has your flesh burning to the touch as heat pools between your legs, an endless void of lust and mystery.

somehow breaking out of his enchantment, you regain consciousness, blinking away the blurriness and swiftly take the handkerchief he handed to you and stuff it in your dress pocket.

“o-oh, thank you kind sir,” your words heavily slurs past your lips.

his overwhelming aura seemingly switches, presenting more of a laid back approach when speaking to you.

“what’s a dream like you doing roaming the streets at this hour?” he inquired.

it’s almost like whiplash— fear surging from every portion of your body to feeling a sense of ease with his presence around.

your face warms up. subconsciously picking at the skin that surrounds your nail beds. “just trying to make my way home, i had picked up a late shift from—”

“the bakery in town square, correct?”

taking a step, his taller frame leaned a quarter into your personal space suddenly being consumed by his aroma. sweetness mixed with a hint of sandalwood and lavender.

his fingers weakly pranced around a single strand of your hair that had been loose, meticulously swirling it about in a specific way that only pleased him.

only then were you able to come about his long raven locks that were styled in a charming half-do that seemingly blended in with the sinful sombre of the midnight sky.

your pulse amplified, picking up like the speed of lightning. your hands soon began accumulating sweat just by a single question.

despite town square serving the population of two countries bound together, not once have you had the pleasure of encountering this man.

he was far too bewitching to grace the status of a commoner. no, he must be a figure of royalty or at least had rich wealth flowing through his blood, but he showcases no obvious signs of luxury.

just who was this man exactly?

he watches you regain control over your psyche, backing away which lets the strand of hair he possessed on his finger seemingly bounce free.

“enlighten me. how do you possess knowledge of the location of my employment? my eyes have never seen someone of the likes of you before.”

he senses utter hostility from you. the entire cobbled street reeks of your fear. he can practically taste your appetizing disdain on the tip of his tongue.

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth to conceal the withering moan that elicited from his core; you’re unsettled by him which only fuels his erogenous.

he playfully surrenders his hands in the air as if you had just caught him in an obtuse act, “what, pray tell, are you insinuating?”

you scoff, “do you take me for a mockery?” your voice doesn’t waver, eyebrows cinched together with lips into a firm line.

he simply tuts, “only a well put together woman like yourself could gain employment at such a high end bakery that stands in town square. i based such an assumption off my judgement . . . forgive me, m’lady.”

your eyes cautiously scan his face to detect any signs of playfulness that went against his explanation. when none was present, it was your cue to ease up on your suspicions.

with a sharp intake of air, your tense shoulders unwind themselves from your ears as you straighten out your dress trying to knead at any wrinkles.

the bakery in town has built a famous name for itself, being known as one of the most ancient buildings standing tall, as well as offering fresh pastries throughout many wars and battles.

different hierarchies from all across the globe have made it their mission to invest in a trade deal of importing the bakery’s goods in exchange for many benefits.

“then again, you find yourself situated on this street conversing with an utter stranger during after hours. so pray tell, who exactly is the jester here?” he dryly asks.

the warm energy circulating between the two of you came to a sudden halt as the tension quickly grew cold.

his voice is fervent. a barbaric ignorance flows naturally in his tone as if he was challenging you, which is much different than how he addressed your inquiry.

truthfully suguru was growing impatient by the minute. he has worked all of the charms in the book but you still haven’t given him an opening for what he wanted the most. your body, soul and most importantly; your blood.

he salivated at the sight of the minuscule veins on your neck becoming more prominent when your voice raises an obtuse or two.

the excruciating torment of his body thumping with thirst made his head throb. his tongue swirled hungrily around his sharp left fang in anticipation. 

if you had blinked, you would’ve missed how he traveled at the speed of light. a gust of wind swept through the streets as a strong swooshing of air caused the ends of your dress to get caught up in the wake. suddenly, you were face to face again with the mystery man, his nose ever so gently grazing yours, feeling his cold breath onto your lips.

his eyes carefully scans your features, taking notice of the crease between your eyebrows. “you aren’t aware of my name yet you give me your time of day? or rather night that is? i feel honoured.” he purrs.

your heart collapses to your feet. what in god’s name were you doing?

allowing yourself to get seduced by a nameless maniac on the street at the devil���s hour. letting your head get filled to the brim with such deception and trickery. your bread must’ve gone stale and you hadn’t noticed until now how terribly your feet ached from standing for so long.

your brain screamed at you to pick up your feet and dash out of a sickly situation you’ve unfortunately found yourself in. but to no avail your soles stood firmly in place, you pitied yourself for still being under his aphrodisiac.

your eyes sting as tears begin to well up into the base of your waterline. he shushes you by lightly tapping his index fingers against your bottom lip then leans into the shell of your ear, “you were the most naive out of others yet the most challenging one, what is your secret, m’lady?”

the only thing you could muster up in the moment was a faint, “p-please don’t hurt me…”

to that, suguru’s current expression gets replaced by a look of genuine remorse. he smiles fondly, his eyes forming into crescent moons. “you mustn’t worry, i have different plans for you. now be a darling and tilt your head for me.”

his eyes glowed a crimson hue that casted a reflection in your own eyes. his divine string of words compelled you to follow his demand, having no conscious influence over your own actions.

he could see your arteries viciously pumping oxygen. unstable hollow breaths depart from your plump lips.

what a delightful sight you are.

finally, his fangs penetrate your fragile skin causing goosebumps to arise upon impact as angry scarlett red seeps out of the two puncture holes he’d created.

you gasp, your head is frantically bubbling with heat as your knees buckle, static shoots through your joints feeling vibrations all over your body.

he gently cradles the back of your head with one hand using his grip to better his angle on his landscape. drowsiness consumes you whole. feeling yourself slowly slipping into a labyrinth that only the man in front of you has the key to.

your whimpers and soft pants fill the air. your stomach soon coils with a pleasant sensation of pleasure, you’ve truly gone mad as you bite your lip to cover up the choked up moans from the pleasurable aches of pain.

your eyes roll back to the sky, mentally counting the stars until your body decides to shut down what leftover functions it had left.

your eyes softly flutter open, wincing almost immediately from the dim overhead lap that shines directly in your face.

you’re currently lying on top of the broody velvet red loveseat that resided in your manor’s foyer. how you got home is beyond your comprehension.

suddenly the horrific memories of this particular night floods in your head like a tsunami.

that man… his fangs…the blood.

your hand quickly flies towards the area of the wound that resided on your neck, which to your surprise, is covered by a heavily padded gauze that will soon need to be changed once you get up.

who or what brought you home and tended to your wound? was it that man or maybe he had left you on the streets, barely alive when another lost soul roaming at the witching hour took you home.

you spot a glass of water on the floor that had a note taped onto it next to your bagged pastries. you cautiously pick up the glass to hydrate your overly dry throat then carefully peel the paper off the glass to read the note.

the contents of the note reads:

i have seeked high and low for the purest form of life, to find a companion worthy enough to indulge me in this wretched world of misery but yet, you were found from right under my nose.

your purity sings to me like a songbird o’holiest of thee. a crystallized soul patiently waiting for a body to mold.

your blood is as rare as black dahlia, hidden deep within the nooks of clouded nostalgia. your pastel beauty is the cure to my everlasting torment in hell.

i will return for you, my love.

always and forever yours, suguru.

tags: @cawwn @osaemu @yunymphs @megumimania @dollria @maeby-cursed @get0

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

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[thebadboyfanclub]

The Lover Of The Seven Kingdoms (Tywin x Reader)

First of all, I’m sorry but you cannot tell me anything when it comes to Tom hiddleston being the perfect young Tywin Lannister. Second, I love writing morally grey female characters and I wrote grant maester pycelle and mushroom in cause I wanted to show how a lot of male historians portray women in one way cause it’s just easier.

The lover of the seven Kingdoms” grant maester Pycelle had used as a description of (y/n) Martell, the second wife of Tywin Lannister, the symbol of femininity for a plethora of men in kings Landing, the mother of lord Ezra Lannister and lady Asena, the scandalous twins and one of the few bastards that later became legitimate and inherited Lannisport, then they had three more, lady Nymeria, Lady Zara and Lord Sorin, (y/n) was the secret passion of Tywin since she stepped foot at court, she was to be Joanna’s lady in waiting.

Her appearance was one carved by the Gods, long dark raven hair that curled down to her waist, olive skin, and almost black eyes, her lips thick, and a body as juicy as the fruits of her land, her twin brother Dorian had sent her to Kings landing as a way to show respect and also expand her horizons.

“Princess (Y/n) had relations with one of the bastards of house Dayne when she denied him the man gutted himself in front of her, Doran sends her away to avoid more scandals caused by her lustful appetite”

Mushroom note, Joanna liked her, she was smart and endearing, and she knew how to play her part, however, what Joanna had not taken in mind is that (y/n) stopped at nothing to get what she wants, in this case, it was the young Tywin Lannister, the tall man with muscles everywhere, blue eyes and blonde hair was the subject of desire for a plethora of ladies, none of them had the guts to go after him, (y/n) was not like them, she had her eyes set and the game had begun.

“My lord”

(Y/n) called for Tywin, the hour was quite late but Tywin was the hand of the king, the hour did not matter when they were things he needed to pay attention to, papers to be signed and payments to be settled.

(Y/n) had studied his schedule, Joanna was already in bed and Tywin was free, most of the servants were dismissed so they were no prowling eyes to catch her.

Tywin halted and turned to look at the girl that called for him, she wore a rather sheer dress which was unlikely of hers, Dornish people were always costumed to very light choices in clothing, still, this was a step further, if the candles burned a bit brighter Tywin would have been able to see… well everything.

“Princess (y/n), is there something wrong?”

“No, not exactly, I was hoping to talk to you, in private”

Tywin hesitated, (y/n) was just outside her chamber, she was holding the door open which meant that her choice of privacy was her room, still, curiosity about what it could be that needed to be discussed in such a secretive way was enough for his feet to go one and then the other inside.

(Y/n) closed the door before she spun to rest her back on the wood, a smirk playing on her lips as her plan was going smoother than she expected, the room was decorated in cherry red and gold colors, some orange as well and the intense smell of vanilla and musk took over Tywins senses.

“So, I would prefer it if you started talking”

“Do you like being the hand of the king?”

“You summoned me to ask me if you like my occupation?”

“No, I summoned you because I have a pair of eyes, eyes clear enough to see that something has been bothering you”

“Well I am flattered that the princess cares to ask for my well-being, however, I must go”

“You can’t lie to me Tywin, if it’s not your duty then it has something to do with me, you have been avoiding me, you can’t even look me in the eye”

Tywin once again chose to not speak he only made a b line for the door to which (y/n) was resting, she had managed to think of everything down to reaching for the handle when he did, making their hands touch, Tywin did not pull his away, he let it rest on top of hers as he towered over her and she looked up at him with doe eyes.

“Is it me, my lord? It is my presence that is bothering you?”

“No”

“No? You are breathing quite heavily, your eyes travel below my lips, and… dare I say you could have moved me if you truly wanted to, no one is here, my lord, you can confess to me”

“(Y/n)-“

“Go on, confess”

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she gawked at Tywin with lustful eyes with a hint of innocence, she had done this before, Tywin was a mere puppet, a bug that got caught in the spiders' web and was now waiting to experience her poisonous bite.

Her kiss could be described as venom, it made his entire body feel like it was burning and her touch was the only remedy, his addiction started and ended with her, he had been fantasizing about her every night, haunting him like a succubus and stealing the life out of him, at an instant he forgot everything, his wife, his status, his entire life would crumble if someone were to find them, none of it mattered, all that he cared about was to see her, take her.

He took her right on her window, some servants had even reported that they could see the young princess bareback as her moans grew some attention, alas none of them thought something of it, most of the castle had seen a generous amount of men go in and out of (y/n)s chamber at all hours of the night.

Tywin was in utter awe with (y/n), he almost felt like he would faint as he reached his high, it was the only time Tywin considered that (y/n) was a practitioner of dark magic. No other woman had held such power over him in this act.

“My lion”

She had whispered in his ear before she kissed him,(Y/n) was the perfect lover, every night he would slip from his chamber and knock on her door, she would be waiting for him, take him up to the sky, and wrap him with her fire that burned as bright as dragon fire.

Tywin was entirely himself around her, she allowed him to be in control and gave him the euphoric theatrics of prowling on her, which made (y/n) giggle a little, it was refreshing and borderline hilarious to move the strings in the background while Tywin thought he was moving them only because she let him touch them.

“I have exciting news”

“Which is?”

“Princess (y/n) is pregnant, how lovely would it be if we get to marry our children? We could secure Dorne and bind my friendship with her”

“We will do no such thing”

“Tywin, think about it if we-“

“You are forgetting an important thing Joanna, the princess is not married, who knows who the father of that bastard is, my child will not marry anyone of such low status”

What else could he have said? We can’t marry them cause they are siblings? Joanna would be crushed, Tywin had run to her chamber that night, not even bothering to knock as he burst into the room startling her, still once she laid her eyes on him she smiled, she dared to smile as if nothing has happened.

“How dare you announce your pregnancy without even telling me first”

“I thought you had noticed”

“No, I hadn’t and Joanna wants to marry your child with one of our children”

“I am sure we will find a way around it”

“Find a way around it? How are you so calm when the world is crumbling on your feet? You are not married nor betrothed, this child will be declared a bastard”

“This child will be my firstborn, a child created by you and me if you remember, that is all that matters to me”

“Not to the rest of the realm”

“I do not care about the rest of the realm Tywin, that is your problem, it will be royalty in Dorne, I do not care what they call my child here”

“Some said she bathed in goats blood every full moon, she would burn candles and speak in foreign languages to make Tywin stay by her side”

Mushroom claimed, it could be true or just whispers since no one understood the powerful hold that she had on the young lord, Tywin was a fearsome man, calculated and ambitious, yet (y/n) could sway him in any direction she wished with a bat of an eyelash.

It was such a peculiar moment, (y/n) gave birth to twins four moons after her lady Joanna, Ezra and Asena, both of them had their fathers' eyes, sapphires that shined in the light of the sun as (y/n) fed them from her breasts, Tywin had held Asena first, she looked nothing like Cersei still something in him knew that the two girls were born to be each others nemesis, fate had played him like a fiddle.

“I was thinking of going back to Dorne”

“Why?”

“My brother said it is not safe for us, people will talk and I do not want my children to grow up in a venomous environment”

“No, no you will stay, Ezra and Asena Hill has a nice ring to it”

“They are Martells, my love, they shall be called that”

(Y/n) was not ashamed of her children, on the contrary, she adored them and kept them by her side at all times, she taught them how to walk, talk, sing, and dance, a endearing mother with a backbone made of Valyrian steel, a combination made straight out of the seven rings of hell.

“Push, my lady”

“I can’t, (y/n) please make it stop”

“Maester, what is taking so long?”

“The babe has breached, it will not let me pull it out”

“It hurts (y/n)”

“I know, my lady, just one more push”

Joanna fought tooth and nail to survive, unfortunately, her labor did not harvest any fruit for her, the son survived but Lady Joanna did not even get to hold him, grant Maester pycelle held Tyrion and presented him to lord Tywin who was utterly disgusted by the ugly creature.

“That is no son of mine, throw him in the river”

“You will do no such thing”

“This matter does not concern you, princess”

“It does, you may be excused maester”

Pycelle only nodded and left them alone, a strange aura surrounded both of them, Joanna was gone, a deformed babe had taken her life, and (y/n)s belly was ready to pop any minute, what was to be done now?

“Does cruelty excite you?”

“Cersei and Jaime are both healthy and Lannister featured, that… thing could not have been created by me”

“It was not the babes' fault, so I have to remind you that you are also guilty of the thing you are accusing a dead woman of?”

Tywin was a man but that meant little to nothing, if Tyrion was a bastard then there was no difference between him and (y/n)s children, Tywin was in no place to frown upon such an act since he was having another child on the way, a bastard.

“Listen to me, my love, I know you loved Joanna and I loved her too, but the babe survived, it’s the last thing we have from her, grief is a strong emotion, but we have each other to lean on, don’t you want this for us Tywin? for me?”

There it was, her secret weapon, that sweet voice that dripped of honey and the big doe eyes, she knew how to play the damsel in distress down to every detail, Tywin put his lips in before he shook his head in defeat, his wife had departed but his mistress stood before him, demanding a place at his table and life, which he was willing to give her.

-

Cersei was frantic, the announcement of her father's betrothal to the princess (y/n) and the reaffirmation of her bastard children had brought her to an utmost stage of rage that she was going around her room like a hurricane, she was throwing things and cursing as loud as her lungs allowed it.

How could he do this to her? To her family? That woman had slithered her way into their life like a snake and was now feasting over her mother's dead body, this was just plain disrespectful to her mother.

Tywin found Cerseis handmaidens outside her chamber as the sounds that came from it could put to shame any wild animal, the ladies looked frightened and not one of them dared to go in, however, all of them tried to warn him in leaving the lady be, suggesting that this has probably happened before.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Get out”

“Young lady I advise you-“

“Shut up! I don’t want to listen to you! How could you marry her?! How could you do this to my mother?”

That was the last thing she said before a harsh slap landed on Cerseis's cheek, the girl was taken back by the act since her father had never hit her, he would discipline her but mostly by raising his voice or finding peculiar tricks of punishment, for Tywin to get physical with his daughter meant that she had gone too far.

“You do not get to judge my decisions, you will welcome your brother and sisters and you will be nice to my wife whether you like it or not, did I make myself clear?”

Silence only looks that could kill were exchanged

“Did I make myself clear?”

“Yes Father”

“My love?”

(Y/n) walked into the room, she had heard everything although she chose to reside in the act of being clueless, Tywin had turned away from his daughter and walked to his soon-to-be wife’s side, his hand found hers and brought it up to his lips, (y/n) smiled fondly before she scanned the room with her eyes, a puzzled look on her face as the room was upside down.

“What has happened? Is the young lady alright? The handmaidens were stuttering when I asked about the noises”

“Yes, no need to worry, my dear, Cersei was just redecorating”

“Oh, well if she wishes I can help with that”

“No, no, Cersei is quite specific, she prefers doing things her way, hence this scenery, we should live her”

“As the young lioness wishes, but before we leave”

(Y/n) took a few steps so she can stand ahead of Cersei, Cersei truly felt like a lioness, one that was trapped in a cage to be exact, as much as Cersei wanted to believe she could outsmart anyone (y/n) had years up on the horse, so naturally she was now trotting past Cersei with her caring smile and eyes that lit up, Cersei was left to looking like a kid that threw a tantrum whilst (y/n) looked like a mother that did her best to keep the peace.

“I know you are angry at me, I would be too, I will not try to be your mother, I do however hope that one day you will view me as your ally or your friend even”

(Y/n) went to caress Cerseis cheek which Cersei flinched away from that earned her a cold hard stare from her father, (y/n) only bit her lip in defeat, then it was replaced by a smile of hope, (y/n) genuinely wanted things to go as smooth as possible, to keep all of Joanna's children close to her, it was the least she could do she wasn’t a complete monster, as much as Cersei liked to think of her as one.

“Perhaps it’s too soon, I am asking way too much of you, I hope you have a great day, sweetling”

“Put everything back in its place, now”

Tywin instructed in a stern voice before they exited the chamber that Hurricane Cersei was occupying, Tywin was sure that she would throw something at the door once it was closed and he stood correct when a loud bang was heard.

“She is a young girl that lost her mother, having an attitude with me is inevitable”

“Cersei is not a normal young girl, she has a superiority complex over everyone, our children will not interact with her yet”

“That won’t be a problem, Asena is not… fond of Cersei either”

“I wonder why, let us not think of Cersei right now, it is time for Nymeria to be fed”

“See how beautiful it sounds when it rolls off the tongue? And you wanted to name her Lydia”

Since this babe was the first legitimate child of Tywin and (y/n) he had the suggestion of picking the name of the beloved girl, on the contrary (y/n) was not budging, she was adamant on naming her daughter after the biggest warrior queen Dorne has ever known, her precious Nymeria.

“The princess never wanted to marry lord Tywin, she was far more interested in keeping their relationship private, howbeit Lord Tywin was too consumed by his emotions for her to consider the fact that the princess could have been wed, she simply chose not to”

Grant maester Pycelle added when asked about their wedding. (Y/n) did not care about her children being legitimate or owning land, Dorne was her home, her brother had congratulated her on the birth of her twins and even offered to have them in Dorne, and her family was delighted by (y/n) bringing forth new heirs for the Martells, it was only Tywin that wanted to make it official, to let everyone know that the princess was now cloaked by the lion, her life as the lady of the rock had begun and Dorne had entered a land that they never really thought of earning.

“In a day you will be my wife, therefore, my children’s good mother, I expect them to treat you as such”

“I do not, Tywin they are in mourning, you cannot expect them to make it easy for me”

“I am not dimly witted my dearest, I know they will have some thoughts over our marriage, albeit I will make sure they keep it to themselves”

Requests are open!

#tywin lannister x you #tywin lannister fluff #tywin lannister imagine #tywin x reader #tywin imagine #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #ao3feed tywin #yandere tywin lannister imagine #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones oneshot #game of thrones #got imagines #got x reader #got #got oneshot #got imagine #tywin lannister imagines #yandere tywin lannister x reader #house lannister

[theladyofbloodshed]

The story that nobody asked for. Imagining Nesta has a crush on Jurian and that he's around in the war camp before they fight against Hybern. 18+.

‘Who taught you to throw a punch like that, princess?’

Nesta ignored the deep voice. Mostly, the Illyrians called her witch. One called her sweetheart. Still, if names were the worst thing Illyrians dared to throw at her, Nesta would take it.

The war camp was quiet. The deep breath before the plunge. Some dozed in their tents, others still raised theirs as the camp rose and stretched towards the horizon like a great beast. The sounds of mallets striking pegs into the ground was the only noise Nesta could hear. She continued slicing her muslin into strips for the healers ready for the inevitable bloodshed that would come.

‘Now, I know a good girl like you wasn’t raised to be ignorant.’

Girl?

Nesta refused to give this male the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. He’d get bored and prowl after another female soon enough. This work mattered more. It was better to be overprepared with excess material left than scrambling to cut more as wounds bled. Still, Nesta couldn’t help but sneak a look at the shadow looming over her.

No wings. Not Illyrian then.

Knees clicked as the male squatted down in front of her.

Creaking joints?

Dark brown hair reached his chin in loose waves. Days-old, rough stubble lined his jaw and Nesta had the altogether impression that he hadn’t scrubbed himself properly in a few days. The hands that rested on his knees were dirty, the fingernails were short but still had grit wedged beneath.

‘Showing my age when my knees make that noise,’ he said, a smirk quirking his lips to the side, revealing a dimple.

The man was Nesta’s age. Was.

A young man who had lived as a slave, who incited a rebellion to lead his people to freedom. His sacrifices had ensured that humans could live freely beneath the Wall. Her people had poems of Jurian the Valiant. Jurian the Saviour. She had read books about him, this legendary figure from history. The man who had dared to dream of a better life for his people. A man who had dared to take it.

Then the fae had got their hands on him. Amarantha, the same female who had killed Feyre, had tortured him and forced him to live a cursed life for five centuries until the King of Hybern had revived him.

Slave. Martyr. Mad.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Do not call me princess.’

‘Nice to see you keeping busy. We all have a role to play in the war effort. I’m still keen to know who taught a good girl like you how to hit someone.’

She turned back to her white cloth to cut it with her scissors. She shrugged one shoulder absently. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Graysen. Pompous prick. Deep pockets. That beautiful punch nearly knocked his head straight off his neck. Unexpected from a good girl like you.’

Princess had annoyed her. Good girl made her skin tingle all over.

Yes, this man had played the cuckoo, nestling in with Hybern and throwing out his eggs from the nest before settling in with Graysen and the other mortals.

‘Have you eaten? I’d like a word with you. We can do it while we eat.’

Nesta exhaled through her nose. It wouldn’t take much to knock him into the mud. A hard shove in the shoulder while he still squatted beside her. He might be the mad general, but he was still only mortal. Nesta was now fae.

‘I’m busy.’

‘Be a lot quicker if you ripped it or used a knife.’

Nesta pierced him with a glare. Her strips had all been cut equal widths in a neat line with her embroidery scissors.

Before she could react, Jurian had wrenched it from her grasp, got to his feet and hacked at it roughly with his knife. It was faster, she could admit, but a mess. A point she made.

‘Do you think the dying care about how neat their bandages are?’ He shook his head. ‘Any fae will be healed by their healers. We’ll be left to take care of ourselves. Our wounds will be the ones still bleeding, still infected. As always. The bottom rung of society, the disposable force.’

Nesta gave Jurian a tight smile. ‘Well, I’m not mortal anymore. Am I?’

The man winced at her words. His brown eyes flicked towards her pointed ears, hidden away beneath her coronet. She still couldn’t bear to look at them, to admit that this was what she was. Forever.

‘Well, I’m hungry.’

He turned on his heel and lumbered forwards. He moved differently. So human. His steps were loud. His gait slow. But there was something below the surface, a predator luring its prey. Nesta did not doubt that Jurian, the mad general, was not someone to be trifled with. He had deceived the King of Hybern, mounted a slave rebellion against the fae five hundred years earlier.

Maybe that was why she followed.

The others would have chastised her for following him through to the small section of the camp where the mortals had set up their tent. She spied the flag bearing Graysen’s family crest and was seized by the urge to tear it down. Few mortals had come. Many had tried to flee to the south, to the Continent, to anywhere that would take them. She should have been one of them.

Nesta did not blame them. They’d be fighting against creatures they had been taught to fear. Creatures who were bigger, stronger, and faster than them. Ones with magic. Ones like her.

Nesta felt the stares on her as Jurian led her to where soup was being ladled out. She wanted to declare that she had once been one of them. Her heart was still mortal. It still beat for her homeland.

The soup was bland. The flavours did not exist. It was difficult to swallow due to her heightened senses. Any food from her home tasted of ash.

‘You were a casualty of the war. I thought I’d be willing to pay the price.’ Jurian fixed her with his dark stare. It was haunting. The stare of a man who’d seen five centuries of horror. ‘Your sister. Elain. It was easier to watch her go in the Cauldron. You.’ He swallowed. ‘You wanted so badly to live as you were. To be mortal. And I had a part in taking that from you.’

‘Wars are won with sacrifice. But you didn’t choose that sacrifice. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it happened to you. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.’        

This man had been a friend of Mor’s in the first war. A man who had been driven to insanity by the pain inflicted up on him. She had said she hardly recognised him now. But Nesta saw something in him. A glimmer of the man who had inspired thousands to follow him. A man with a good heart who’d fought to keep it whole.  

‘It doesn’t take back what you did.’

‘No. It doesn’t. You are not the only one changed by the Cauldron, Nesta. I felt your pain as acutely as my own.’

Nesta rose – as did her fury. ‘What a terrible experience. I’m so sorry you had to endure watching me put into the Cauldron.’

Faster than she thought he would be, Jurian had stood too. His fingers clamped around her wrist, preventing her from leaving. The grip was painful.

‘Let go of me,’ she hissed.

Regret washed over his features. His fingers loosened then brushed against the white marks they’d left. ‘I’m not a perfect man. I’ve never claimed to be. I’m not a man of fine words or poetry. I’m a soldier, Nesta. It’s all I’ve ever been. To gain the king’s trust, a sacrifice had to be made. There will be no forgiveness for me, not from you, but my apology stands.’

He swallowed and Nesta watched the bob of his throat. He was so… mortal. There were scars on his body. She could smell sweat on him. His brown eyes were dull. His body didn’t threaten hers. His armour, though polished and well-kept, wasn’t anything special. He was human. A man. Not a man she’d ever have interacted with as a woman either. Jurian had no manners, had no silver-tongue, or fortune. Just a man with the heart of a lion who wanted his people to be free.

His need to win the king’s trust had resulted in the loss of mortality of two human woman. His apology was genuine. He felt the loss just as keenly as she did.

‘How far would you go? How many regrets can you bear to carry?’

***

It was still early, the light barely bleeding into the sky but already the camp was waking. Nesta had slept little, curled beside Elain in a low-slung camp bed in a tent that they shared with Morrigan. The blonde had woken first, yawning and groaning in her bed as if war was simply another day, before heading out.

Nesta had helped where she could rather than remaining in the bed with Elain who pretended to still be asleep rather than face the world. She’d chopped fruit and added it to a massive vat of porridge. It was watered down to go around, but still, she filled a pot with it and carried it back to their section of tents with a stack of bowls under her arm. Nesta was not a fighter, but she would do her bit where she could.

There were voices coming from Rhys and Feyre’s tents, rough male voices bouncing through tactics and plans. She entered, announcing the arrival of breakfast as if that might save the day.

‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ Cassian said with a wink, taking the heavy pot from her to lift onto the table.

Cassian and Azriel were there, their enormous wings demanding space in the cramped tent. Rhysand poured over a map, his magic clawing up more room. There were other males – Kallias, the high lord of Winter with his chiselled features; Helion, the high lord of the Day Court with his swaggering confidence. But Nesta’s eyes snapped to one. Jurian was there. Again, she was struck by how mortal he was, especially compared to these fae. Each was powerful in their own right, but her body demanded she look at only Jurian. He was the reminder of the life she had lost. In a strange, new world, he was the constant.

Nesta ladled out bowls of porridge which Feyre passed around the group as they discussed where each army would press. She extended the next bowl for Feyre to take, but a rough hand enclosed around hers to accept it.

‘Thank you, princess.’

Something charged passed through them. Nesta found herself looking away, staring intently at the nearly empty porridge pot rather than face him. It wasn’t just Jurian’s attention. She could feel Cassian’s gaze boring into her skin.

‘It takes an army to feed an army,’ the man said sagely.  

‘Right,’ she replied, the pitch of her voice far higher than usual. ‘I need to keep feeding the army.’

Her tongue tangled over itself. Cool composure lost under Jurian’s intense stare. The corner of his mouth tipped up. That sinful dimple creasing into his cheek.

Don’t say it, Nesta thought.

‘Good girl.’

Blood scorched in her cheeks. Jurian might not have been able to hear the sudden increase in her pulse, but the others had. All of them turned to face her, even her sister.

‘This pot isn’t going to fill itself,’ she mumbled, hurrying from the tent.

Even the cold wind blowing through the camp could not cool the heat from her cheeks. The deep voice repeated on a loop in her mind. Good girl. Good girl. Good grief! Why did that make her knees give way? It was condescending. She was a grown woman. A female.

A pair of steps trailed her from the tent. She expected Cassian. Expected him to demand why another male had made her pulse quicken. Why she'd stared at Jurian like he was the only man who existed.

But it was Feyre.

‘What was that all about?’

‘It’s breakfast, Feyre.’

Her sister tilted her head to the side. ‘No. I mean why did Jurian send you scurrying out of the tent like a blushing bride. I’ve never seen you go giddy like that when a male speaks to you. You usually intimidate them.’

‘He’s a man. Not a male,’ she replied hotly, though that had nothing to do with the matter.

Feyre’s brows raised. A small smile played on her lips. ‘Nesta, do you… Do you find Jurian attractive?’

‘Of course not,’ she scoffed, swinging her porridge pot like a buffoon. ‘He’s rude. He has no manners. He’s dirty. His hair will soon have birds nesting in it.’

‘He’s also the reason you were put into the Cauldron.’

‘A sacrifice he made to gain the king’s trust.’ Nesta clamped her hand over her mouth. Surely, she wasn’t defending Jurian? Nesta took a steadying breath to try and cling to her sanity. ‘Jurian has apologised to me. I believe it to be genuine.’

‘Nesta, you cannot trust him. Mor said he’s completely mad.’

Mad? Perhaps. It certainly took madness to maintain his mask around the King of Hybern. Any quickening of his pulse or betrayal of emotions would have been sensed. Jurian had been steel – unbending, unyielding. A wolf in a herd of sheep. But Nesta had shared a meal with a man who spoke with an honest tongue. A man that mortals looked to for steadiness.

‘Feyre, I gave him breakfast. I certainly have no intentions to give him anything more. He is uncouth. With little honour. I care not for him.’

Feyre made a face suggesting she didn’t believe Nesta’s words. Hell, Nesta didn’t believe them either. He was rough around the edges. The sort of man that her mother would have stuck her nose up at. And that made him more enticing for Nesta. The fae males were, well, fae. Too unnatural. The wings still unsettled Nesta. But Jurian was a man. A man who knew how to chop wood and gut someone. A man who could cook war rations and fix a leaking roof. A man who knew what to do with his hands. A man who had seduced a fae female. Seduced her then chopped her into pieces.

Slave. Martyr. Mad.

Maybe he was all three.

‘Well, when you’ve finished delivering porridge, Rhys has asked if you’ll come into the tent.’

***

Nesta had begged the group who saw to the daily running of the camp for more tasks, more orders to keep her away from Rhysand’s tent. When there was no more porridge left do dole out, Nesta had helped chop vegetables for lunch, cut more strips of muslin, and cleaned whatever needed to be cleaned.

Even when she saw Mor striding towards her, she busied herself still. Mor’s boot tapped on the hard ground impatiently until Nesta demanded what she wanted.

‘We are all waiting for you.’

‘I cannot be at Rhysand’s every beck and call.’

Mor shook her head. ‘He is the high lord.’

Not mine, she almost said.

Begrudgingly, Nesta stowed away her basket of linen then followed Mor's weaving trail back towards the large, black tent. The brazier kept the tent warm. Each had a mug of tea clasped in their hands.

A few of the people had rotated. Kallias had been exchanged for Thesan, the high lord of the Dawn Court and his Peregryn commander. Devlon was in the tent along with a tall, blonde male from the Hewn City. Tempers flared. Too many dominant personalities in such a cramped space. Jurian held his own against the fae, his harsh voice scraping against theirs refusing to allow mortals to be on the front lines, refusing to allow his people’s blood to spill first. Devlon argued back that his Illyrians wouldn’t be the collateral either.

At Nesta’s arrival, they paused, glancing her way momentarily before Helion’s smooth voice rippled over them. He pointed at the map, gesturing to wear he’d position his forces.

Jurian’s eyes met Nesta’s. He took a slow sip of his tea then held the mug out for her. ‘Still warm.’

It was a test as much as any. Would she shed her heritage as a mortal, refuse to share a cup with a mortal man because she was a superior fae? All Nesta could think of was his lips against the rim of the cup, where else those lips could be. With all eyes still on her, Nesta took the cup and raised it to her mouth, drinking once.

Jurian winked at her. She found herself hurriedly looking away, a blush rising in her cheeks once more from his presence. What was wrong with her?

‘Nesta, we need to ask you a few questions.’ Rhysand’s address snapped her head back up. She stared at him with more conviction than she ever had before – anything to not feel the scorching heat of Jurian’s eyes or the pressing gaze from Cassian either.

‘Ask them then.’

‘Hybern is quiet.’

‘Far too quiet,’ Cassian added.

‘Can you feel anything from the Cauldron?’

It lurked in her periphery, an unwanted spectre trailing her. But there was no change in the shadow. It remained as it always did, a prowling beast just out of sight.

‘No difference than usual.’

‘You can always feel it?’ Azriel pushed.

She saw the flash of discomfort in Devlon’s eyes. The twist of his lips as his favourite insult pressed to the surface.

Nesta stiffened. ‘Yes. I ripped out its heart. It follows me.’

The tent dropped in temperature as wariness settled in.

Rhys shrugged a shoulder with indifference. ‘It could work in our favour – a blessing in disguise.’

‘A blessing?’ Jurian made a noise of disbelief.

‘Let’s not forget why Nesta has a connection to the Cauldron, Jurian,’ Mor warned, her fingers flitting to the knife sheathed on her hip.

Before the man could even respond, Nesta had opened her mouth. Without reason. Without considering her words. ‘Jurian made sacrifices just as Rhysand has. I was the casualty of it. It cannot be reversed but I will not pretend that there is some good in it. If I had the choice, I would be as I was.’

A strong hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing once in a gesture so human Nesta did not need to look around to know who was touching her, who she allowed to continue touching her in the tent full of fae.

The others noted it.

She fought hard in their meeting to stop looking at Jurian. To stop feeling giddy and light-headed every time their eyes met or he posed a question to her. It was useless.

***

There had been no movement from Hybern. They had not drawn their lines, their tents were still, almost as if the camp was in an enchanted slumber. It allowed their own camp to rest and ready themselves. Tomorrow, the fighting would start regardless of Hybern’s move. The waiting game was too tedious. More had been winnowed in from Illyria and the Hewn City, but tensions bubbled. Too much longer and the armies here would begin turning on each other. Too many egos in the pot. The mortal section of the camp was uneasy. For now, these fae were the allies – but for how long?

Nesta kept her hood drawn as she entered their camp.

Jurian had traded his armour for a dark tunic. He bounced between groups, trading stories by the fire before moving onto the next group. They drank cups of ale. Songs rang out. A last hurrah before the end.

She didn’t know why she was seeking him out. Didn’t pause to question herself. Her feet just kept moving over the solid ground until she reached the grey tents.

‘What’s wrong?’ He said in greeting.

‘We go to war tomorrow. I-’ Nesta stopped to take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. Good luck.’

‘Good luck?’ His dimple appeared and Nesta nearly sighed at the sight of it. ‘Is that what the fae say before a war? I can’t talk now.’

Was Nesta seeing things or was it disappointment in his brown eyes when he said it?

‘My people will bleed for me, die for me tomorrow. The least I can give them is my time tonight.’

A good general, not a mad general. Nesta nodded in understanding although embarrassment fluttered in her chest. Infatuation had driven her here. She was caught up in the stories of glory of Jurian, the hero of her people. These stories were addling her sense.

‘I’ll come and find you in your tent tonight.’

‘I share a tent with my sister and Morrigan.’

He cocked his head to the side, grinning slightly. ‘Then I’ll bring you to my tent and show you exactly what mortals do on the eve of war.’

Dumbfounded, Nesta could only blink at him. Heat had pooled low in her belly at what he was insinuating. A buzzing sounded in her ears.

‘You have no manners.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ he replied. ‘And that I smell. And my hair is a bird’s nest.’

‘Feyre told you I said that?’

‘You seem to have spent an awful long time staring at me to notice such things.’

Nesta fumbled for a witty retort, but nothing came. Her brain was too busy lusting over his solid arms, the way he made her feel small, the beard coming through.

Traitorous body, she thought with irritation.

‘Good luck. Try not to die.’

‘See you tonight.’

‘You will not.’

***

Nesta could think of nothing but the quake of her heart as Jurian led her by the hand towards his tent. There had been no argument. No refusal to follow him. His hand had extended as the camp settled for the night and Nesta had taken it. There was no shame from him. He walked steadfast, head up, through his camp and into his tent. Nesta had made up a flimsy excuse to Elain that she had to speak with one of the healers and would be back. Elain wouldn’t miss her. Her sister had barely gotten out of bed that day, preferring the sanctuary of the covers. Still, if anybody questioned Nesta’s absence, Elain would mumble something about the healers and she would be forgotten.

The tent wasn’t small, but there was no elegance to the place like Rhysand’s. Jurian’s tent was given to him by Lord Nolan. Grey canvas stretched over wooden poles. A brazier burnt in the corner, giving much needed heat to the tent. A camp bed with a single blanket strewn on top took up most of the room. It was bare. The man had few belongings save for the weapons and armour dropped haphazardly in one corner.

Nesta seated herself on the bed, her lips pressed together.

He removed his wrist guards then the chest piece before pulling his tunic over his head. It was a well-practised dance for him, the everlasting soldier. There was something intimate about watching it. He strode from the tent before returning with a bucket of water he’d warmed over a fire pit.

‘So, I’m not dirty.’

Any words stayed on her tongue as Jurian dipped a cloth into the water then began cleaning his bare torso. His body was muscled and tanned, but unlike the fae bodies she had seen, Jurian’s glittered with scars, even bruises in varying colours from purple to fading green. And, surprisingly delighting her, dark hair spread across his chest.

Her mother would be rolling in her grave to see her eldest daughter in a war camp with a rough man whose only currency was violence.

But Nesta didn’t care.

For the first time, Nesta took control of her own destiny. Not a mother guiding her to a husband, not poverty stealing her chances, or fae shifting her future. She would make a choice. A choice she wanted.

Nesta reached for the cloth, taking her time to wring out the excess water then dragged it along the man’s shoulders, working it downwards across his spine then against his hip. She followed the track of the rivulets running down his tan skin towards his waistband.

‘Do you need to comb my hair too, so that I’m presentable, princess?’

‘Stop.’

She rolled her eyes then began cleaning his neck.

Jurian turned so his bare chest was inches from her. His heart beat loudly. Not fast, but loud. Loud to her ears. Had he been with a woman since he’d been revived, Nesta wondered.  

‘What about my absence of manners? Should I say thank you for this?’

Nesta flicked his mouth with the cloth. ‘You won’t be able to when I gag you with it. Stop talking. You ruin the moment.’

‘So violent.’

Seizing the cloth from her hand, Jurian dashed it back into the bucket. He held onto her as his own hand pressed against her chest, feeling the drumming of her heart. ‘This is mortal. This spirit, it will always be mortal. Don’t ever let it fade.’

‘Kiss me.’

The kiss was power sweeping in. Jurian held her face, tilted it up to him and pressed his lips to hers. More. Nesta needed more.

Her hand sought the laces of his breeches. She loosened them, let her fingers trail against the soft skin of his stomach. Let them explore lower.

Jurian tore off her shawl. He tipped her forwards into the crook of his neck while his fingers plucked at the buttons running down the back of her dress. It came off easily, pooled around her feet, so she stood only in a shift.

‘Are you cold?’

‘No,’ she whispered as Jurian lay her onto the bed, his hand running up her thigh.

He spread open her legs, exposing her before him. Nesta let out a small gasp as Jurian’s mouth licked at her sex. There was no hesitation from the man. He’d come to conquer.

Nesta’s legs wrapped around his back. At her eagerness, Jurian looked up, a smile quirked his lips. He exchanged soft kisses for spiralling his tongue at the entrance to her sex. It was languid, savouring each breathy moan it elicited from her.

Her fingers twisted in the blanket as Jurian’s fingers spread her open to access better with his tongue. Every pulse of it had her core curling tighter with a pleasure she had never known before. It softened over the most sensitive parts then sucked harder when she could take more pressure until Nesta was undone.

A sudden rush of euphoria flooded her body. Her legs quivered against the rough stubble on Jurian’s face as he kissed the sensitive skin of her thighs, riding through the last of her orgasm

He moved so his body was over hers. Lips, plump and wet, pressed to hers. She could taste herself on his tongue. Nesta’s fingers gripped his hair, kept his mouth against hers as his tongue sought entry.

She peeled away his breeches to admire his whole body. A deep, twisting scar ran across his thigh – but that was not what had caught her attention. His erection pressed against him, solid and ready.

‘I want this,’ Nesta whispered, reaching for his cock to position it at her entrance.

Jurian grinned. It was so human that it made her heart flutter. ‘Don’t be too loud or you’ll wake up the camp.’

The general ground his hips to hers, his length sliding in. There was a sudden, sharp pain of being stretched too quickly. His rough breathing in her ear as they grew accustomed to each other settled Nesta’s pulse.

Jurian kissed along her jaw, unmoving until Nesta gave him permission to resume.

Her shift was abandoned. The skin of their chests stuck together with every thrust. One hand gripped Jurian’s dark hair, the other dug its nails into the sweat-soaked muscles of his back. Breath hissed between Jurian’s teeth as he drew out his length then buried it to the hilt. Over and over, he thrust, setting a rhythm. Their foreheads touched, lips met, each one desperate for this purely human moment before a war.

He took care to clean her afterwards though he remained quiet at the small amount of blood spread between her thighs.

Jurian stood, proud in his bare skin, to stoke the brazier and add a few more coals.

All around them, the tents were silent. Only the poor souls on a watch duty remained awake.

‘Are you warm, Nesta?’

In response, she patted the narrow bed. He obliged her wish and slipped in beside her, arms wrapping around her body. Her hand rested on his chest, palm feeling the thump of his heart. Nesta found herself wondering if Jurian would age now. If, in fifty years, he’d be an elderly man. Or had the Cauldron changed him into a mortal who lived forever. There would no worse fate for him. A constant cycle of seeing generations rise and fall while he remained the same.

‘I should have realised that you would be a maiden.’ Jurian let out a quiet laugh. ‘I thought maybe... Being fae. I don’t know. Sorry.’

There was no regret on Nesta’s part. War was coming like a wave they could not out run. Jurian might not see another night. Neither might she. Nesta had wanted to be with a man. Not a fae male. A man. A man who she should have spent a life with. If one night was all she could manage then it was better than nothing.

‘I’m twenty-three, Jurian. Nearly a spinster by human standards.’

‘A spinster,’ he crowed. ‘You’re only a couple of years younger than I am.’

‘You are more than twenty times my age.’

At that, Jurian squeezed her hip, making her jerk and squeal. ‘I spent five hundred years in a ring. It doesn’t count.’

‘Will you crucify me now like the last female?’

A dark look crossed Jurian’s face. Nesta didn’t know why she had said it. Other than to be cruel. To force him to push her away before she hurt her own tender feelings because she was barrelling down a path where the only ending was heartbreak.

Jurian sat on the edge of the bed, brown eyes falling to the glowing embers in the brazier. His hair hung forwards.

‘I hated every moment of it. Each time she touched me, each time I had to touch her. I hated it all. But I’d do it again. I’d do it for our people.’

Slave. Martyr. Mad.

‘How far would you go? What is your limit, Jurian?’

This man had lost everything. Death would have been a kindness for him. Instead, he had been tortured and maimed, forced to spend five centuries observing Amarantha’s cruelty. And then, when he returned, he had nothing, nobody. No friends. No family. No home. No belongings. Nothing. Nesta realised he had no limits because he had nothing more to lose. Everything had been taken from him.

‘Put your clothes back on,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll walk you back to your tent.’

‘And if I wanted to remain here?’

Nesta pressed herself against his back and wound her arms around his shoulders. The man sucked in a long breath. She was what he should hate. A fae. She should hate him for her transformation. And yet Nesta understood. He’d made an impossible choice; two mortals he didn’t know for Hybern’s secrets. Nesta would do the same for Elain, for Feyre. There were no limits to what she would do to protect her sisters.

‘This might be your last night,’ he said.   

‘Then let us not waste it.’

***  

It took all of Nesta’s strength to prise Jurian’s arms from her bare body as the camp took its first breaths at dawn. It would have been easy to remain there, feeling safer than she had in years. The man did not stir as she slipped out from the bed to dress. Without his body cradling hers, Nesta grew cold. The dawning of war sent another shiver rippling through her. Already, she could hear the sounds of the humans readying their horses, the smiths ensuring blades were sharp, armour was mended. Her section of the camp would be awake too, perhaps even wondering where she’d spent the night. Or with whom.

Nesta wasn’t one for goodbyes. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of pressing a kiss upon Jurian’s brow like two star-crossed lovers, parting for the last time, but she thought better of it. It would probably be more awkward than anything. Nesta did not want to see regret on Jurian’s features when he realised that he had bedded an enemy.

She was a silly girl with an infatuation with a legend. The eve of war had encouraged her heart to make a decision. They’d spent the night tangled with each other. Their fervour was as a result of passion and desperation, the final breath before war driving them to their coupling. He’d not been rough or selfish as Nesta expected, but tender and consuming, peppering her skin with kisses and catching every gasp and moan with his mouth. When they were both sated, and sense encouraged them both to steal a few hours of sleep, Jurian had asked her to stay. He had wrapped his arms around her, tucked her close to his body then they had slipped into slumber.

‘You’re not even dressed. I had leathers brought to your tent an hour ago.’ Feyre had her arms folded. She was already dressed in the black clothing the Illyrians were fond of. Her hair had been braided tightly down her back. Ready for war.

Nesta would fight if she had to. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t have a warrior’s heart, only the fear of consequence urging her into the tent to ready herself.

Elain sat on the bed sobbing, her leathers draped across her lap. Nesta steeled her own heart to be the strong one. She tucked her sister against her.

‘One day. We push through this one day and we will have a tomorrow.’

An eternity. A lifetime that neither of them wanted.

***

What was the point? What was the point in anything? Her sisters were alive. Lucien had come with their father, bringing an armada. But what was the point?

Nesta stood by as Feyre burnt their father’s body. The king’s blood was sticky on her skin, itching it. The Autumn Court were burning their dead too. Other courts claimed their bodies. They wrapped them in cloths to give them burials on their own land.

Nesta did not know who had prised the king’s head from her hand. Maybe Cassian. Maybe Feyre. She hadn’t even registered who had been standing before her, only that warm hands had loosened her fingers from his hair and taken it from her.

She had been alone, facing down the king. She’d thought of Jurian, of the sacrifices he made for their people – and Nesta had made her own. She had lured the king to her, to distract him from the Cauldron, knowing he’d take the bait. She would have died alone. Until Elain had stepped out from a shadow and driven a knife into his neck. The same knife that Nesta used to cleave his head from his body.

Like a phantom, Nesta moved through the camp. The Illyrians that she did manage to save from the blast didn’t keep their voices down as they murmured about her. Witch. She-devil. With the king's blood still staining her, it might have been true.

Nesta wasn’t seeking him out. In honesty, she didn’t know what she was doing or where she was going. Her feet just moved. Her mind had emptied. Any thoughts were gone. It was just a pain so raw it numbed everything else existing within her.

‘Can I help?’ She rasped to a healer. A mortal one who regarded her with fear. ‘I’ll cut bandages. I’ll collect water. Please let me help.’

There were no fae here. The mortals who were injured writhed on their beds, moaning in agony. The two healers they had were run ragged, stitching wounds, stemming the blood flow. There were wounds here that could have been healed in moments by the fae, but they cared for their own first – just as the mad general had said.

Without waiting for a response, Nesta collected fresh water. She cleaned wounds that she was confident in dealing with, bound bleeding limbs and trickled water into the mouths of the dying. Nesta caught a glimpse of Jurian on bended knee by a man with a gaping wound in his chest. As he spluttered for breath, Jurian held his hand. He stroked his face, spoke soft, loving words to him until the man’s chest fell still. Then he moved to the next one, stayed with him as he died. A mad general, but a good man.

A pink, dusty sky filtered through the darkness.

Nesta’s hands were blackened from tending to fires to keep the humans warm. Her own limbs were stiff and aching. She was stronger than even the biggest mortal man, capable of carrying more wood and buckets than them. The echoes of her power were felt in her marrow. An ancient, slumbering behemoth who had enjoyed its little venture out into the world and wanted more. There had been no respite; Nesta had not stopped all night. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Nesta couldn’t decide if she was hungry or thirsty or tired or broken. She had just kept going, helping where she could for her people.

‘Nes.’ A blanket was tucked around her shoulders. Cassian’s form stood over her. ‘We’ve been so worried. Why are you here? You should be with us. Let’s get you cleaned up.’

‘I want to go home.’

There was no home for her. Nesta had never had a home. She’d had a house. A cottage. A manor. Never a home. Never that feeling of belonging.

‘Let’s get you to your sisters.’

***

The cold air pressed against Nesta’s skin. Flakes of snow settled in her hair. Not snow. Ash. Ash from the humans burning their dead in a great pyre when they were unable to dig more graves.

Boots scuffed over the barren ground by the Night Court’s tents.

Strong arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against her spine, holding her tightly to him.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,’ Jurian murmured in her ear.

Nesta should have pushed him away. Anybody could see them like this – the witch and the mad general. Without his strength engulfing her, Nesta would fall apart.

‘I’m sorry about your father. And everything else.’

She blinked rapidly, chasing away the tears trying to form. Jurian had been on the northern flank. Hadn’t seen what had happened. Likely hadn’t heard until hours later.

‘Thank you for all you did for our people, easing them to the eternal realm, saving others from it. Your generosity did not go unnoticed, not by me. You are a good person, Nesta. You could have rested on a soft bed, but you came to our people when they needed you.’

Nesta turned in his arms to face him. A blackened eye forced his eyelid to droop and the eye beneath was bloodshot. His lip was split. A slash ran across his neck too. Her wounds had healed in a matter of hours. His would be there for days. Some would scar. Another scar to his tapestry.

‘You will have a new court. A new queen.’

Jurian nodded. ‘You will return to the Night Court.’

‘I am what you made me after all.’

His eyes screwed shut. ‘I keep telling myself that if you hadn’t gone in the Cauldron, nobody else would have had the power to stop the king. That it had to happen to stop a war. And I hate myself for thinking it. You asked me, Nesta, what my limit is. I found it.’

His hands tipped her face upwards, the heat of his palms pressing against her cheeks.

‘I am forever cursed. Fate laughs at me.’ Jurian kissed her forehead. ‘I find a woman who gives to my people as much as I do, one who I would want at my side. The same woman I sacrificed to the Cauldron and turned fae.’

***

All of them were to gather in a ruined manor – fae and human alike. It took Nesta a few moments to piece together the sitting room, with its smashed windows and cracked marble hearth. Her old home. Gifted to them through Tamlin’s wealth. This was the start of her nightmares. This hearth was where she had stood with a closed fist ready to protect Elain from three overgrown bats.

Fae filtered in through the doors. Each one bearing their wounds. Even Beron and his son, Eris, came to the meeting.

Feyre inhaled, ready to speak to each court gathered, then two more figures entered. Proud and tall, two men strode in followed by a contingent of mortals. Graysen sported a slash down his cheek. It would scar probably, marring his looks. Nesta did not need to look to Elain; her sister would have been gazing at him the moment she heard his steps. Beside him, Jurian sported his black eye like a trophy. He gave a smirk to Feyre, as if this was yet another game for him. Another war. Another period of peace. Like the never-ending crests and troughs of a wave that he would continue to ride.

When the firebird queen had spoken to Nesta, she did not respond. Throughout the meeting, Nesta remained with her back pressed to the cold wall, barely listening. It was only her and the king, her father’s discarded body at his feet. He hadn’t stepped over him, merely stepped on him to reach Nesta.

Sometimes she could feel Jurian staring at her. Feel the burn of his eyes, demanding her attention, but Nesta wouldn’t give it. She could not look towards the human contingent without feeling sorrow that she was not a part of it.

Then it was done.

Groups peeled off back to their courts. Some winnowed home. Others returned on foot to the war camp to continue packing away their tents. Nesta stood at the window as a silent guardian, examining each person as they departed.

She scented Jurian before she heard him. Sweat, smoke, human. He engaged Feyre in conversation, but Nesta remained at her vigil, her back to him.

‘Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.’

Nesta turned.

‘Too bad indeed,’ Feyre muttered.

Jurian grunted his amusement. Another queen to follow. Another court to find a home in. Jurian was finding a future. He deserved it. Nesta had yet to figure out her own path.

‘Do you think we stand a chance?’ Feyre asked, motioning to the human figures still walking, far away, back toward the camp. ‘Of peace between all of us?’

Jurian was silent for a long moment. Nesta felt the heat from his gaze graze against her cheek. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. She looked at him, the words meant for her rather than Feyre. ‘I do.’

#jurian x nesta #the witch and the mad general #jurian #nesta archeron

[breezy-cheezy]

My Friends Enjoy Reminding Me of My Many WIPs: The Tag Game

Another tag game! I prommy I worked on the fics from the last tag meme/game I've just been....school hell. :/ (Same thing for Whumptober, I'm just doing at least one a week now woooo)

Anyway finishing off my latest reblog spam with responding to this! Thank you @pencilofawesomeness for tagging me! :D

- rules: share the first line (or two or more!) of every current wip you have (that you feel comfortable sharing) and tag some writer friends! feel free to add the titles of your documents if you see fit

I'll tag others up here so y'all don't have to go through the wips yourselves if you don't wanna lol: @insertsomthinawesome , @x-i-l-verify, @wandererriha, @forwantofacalling

YALL DON'T HAVE TO it's just a fun thing <333

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Whumptober 2023: Day 13, Infection (Trigun: Twin Swap AU, Zazie POV)

(in an ideal world I woulda finished this today but hhhhsdgjkfsd nope)

There is something…strange, piercing the night-moon-dark air. We lift our head, looking through the eyes of a drone to the dark sky-sands above. Normally, those sands would glint with the eyes of Monarchs passed before us, and if it were Brood Season, the expanse would be alight with the drifting eggs of yet-to-be-hatched grubs. Yet this Moon-pass...eggs much bigger than we’ve ever seen in all our many cycles are falling down down down-

Bright. Blinding. Hot.

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Whumptober 2023: Day 9, "You're a Liar" (Trigun: Stampede)

There’s an illness rolling through the orphanage- Toma-pox, they call it. Nicholas prowls the halls, gathering up the sick kids one by one. He needs to make sure all the kids are piled into one area so they can be taken care of. And q. Cuar. Ant-eened. He thinks that's how you say it.

Miss Melanie was really tired and taking a break, so Nicholas can help with this. Sisters Clara and Beth were busy making stew for everyone. He’d already been looking for Livio, what's a couple more kids?

They tell him to be careful or he might catch it too. He just huffs and rolls his eyes. He’s too strong to get sick like everyone else.

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Whumptober 2023: Day 7, "Can you hear me?" (One Piece)

They’d stopped on an island, something-something island with a name Zoro didn’t bother to remember. They’d stopped there to restock on some supplies, since according to their Cook and Doctor, they were getting pretty low. 

Which is all well and good; Luffy in particular is always excited for someplace new to explore; their Captain needed somewhere to work off his pent up energy. Normally Zoro would go with him, but he’d somehow gotten roped into pack-mule duty for the crap Cook, while Nami helped Chopper carry his purchased supplies. He's not sure why the roles can't be switched. Random fruits and vegetables weren’t that much heavier than bandages in his opinion really…

He got angrier the more he thought about it, but not for the usual reasons.

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My Mind, My Body, My Soul, Chapter 5: Father's Lament (Genshin Impact, Daemon AU)

Today was supposed to be a good day. It was supposed to be bright, filled with joy and happy memories to be made. 

In a happier world, a safer world, maybe the Ragnvindr family would have had a wonderful party, full of smiles and cake and food and love and safety and warmth. Perhaps some drinking, since Diluc would then have been of age, and the only tragedy would be the young master of Mondstadt’s wine industry discovering how much he dislikes alcohol.

A small semi-formal dance was to be had, followed by a sweet musical number performed by the youngest Gunhildr sister. Some embarrassment, but genuine awe and excitement as that would have been the first gift given on the celebration of Diluc’s birth.

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Whumptober 2023: Day 30, Borrowed clothing, bridal carry (Twisted Wonderland)

“There! The mirror!” Divus says, relief plain in his voice. Mozus Trein looks up from the mirror in his grip, towards the Dark Mirror all their students had leapt through hours before, its surface rippling with voices coming from as if underwater. 

“OH thank goodness! We won't be sued after all-” Crowley sighs, stepping forward only to be pulled back by one of Divus’s hands on his feathered shoulder. 

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Whumptober 2023: Day 23, Shadows, "Who's there?" (Honkai Star Rail)

(tip toeing around spoilers so I'm not sharing the FIRST first lines haha)

They both look over to their friend to catch him staring back at them, golden eyes wide, his fingers near his mouth. He swallows on reflex, and they can tell it's more than just saliva going down his throat.

Welt's face goes pale, and he shoves the journal to the side, which March quietly takes. Welt rushes to Orion's side, cane clicking, free hand fluttering nervously about the box. “Please tell me you did not just take one of those medicine pellets.”

Orion blinks, then looks down at the box. One small object, one pill is clearly missing.

”I uh. Can tell you I did not...not take one....“ the young trailblazer says sheepishly. Welt sucks in a breath through his teeth.

#breezy babbles #thanks for the tag!! #wips #wip #fic #breezy writes #like Pencil there are more but we will be here all day #alot of these are older and I'm chucking them at whumptober as an excuse to finish them #wheeeeee

[ramzawrites]

Hello Ramza my beloved! \ (⌒▽⌒)/ Could i request a fic where reader is ranboo's younger sibling? Y'know endermen kiddos doing cute lil' endermen things; i thought that'd be a cute idea! :]

BigBrother!Ranboo and Reader - Useless Enchantment

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Ranboo

Warnings: n/a

Series: a request by my beloved anon <3

Summary: Y/N ran away after Ranboo insulted their enchantment they have worked on, calling it useless. They just wanted to help out!

Words count: 1548

Authors Note: I apologize for this short one and I turned this around a bit into a different direction. I hope it’s fine! I do like the idea of Big Brother Ranboo though and would love to write more for him but at the moment this was the only thing that came into my mind! Still, thank you for the good prompt! :]

A young child was carefully stalking through the dark forest. The gaze from his red and green eyes always attentively roaming between the trees and fauna. One of his hands resting on the hilt of his worn out iron sword. Glistening with a simple sharpness enchantment that the boy managed to put on there with the help of an old book.

It was currently the dead of night and therefore being outside was dangerous. Mobs were now prowling around attacking everything on sight only to later retreat or burn to ashes once the sun come back around again.

Now, it wasn’t Ranboo’s choice that he was outside during the night but he had to look for someone. His younger sibling Y/N.

After a particular heated argument Y/N stormed outside of the old broken hut that the two have reappropriated as their own home. Of course Ranboo immediately tried to follow them but he wanted to make sure to at least grab the sword before following them in case anything happened. Unfortunately this also gave Y/N the time to get out of his vision

“Y/N! Please come home!” he yelled out for the what felt like the hundredth time.

Truth be told he didn’t full remember already what they were arguing about. Either it was just that stupid or his faulty memory was acting up again.

During his life his memory had been a huge problem of his and something he didn’t feel too comfortable relying on. The only definite thing he could and will unequivocally rely on was his trust in his sibling.

They were always there for him to either help him through his confusion or they would cheer him up, no matter the situation.

“Come on! Y/N! It’s dangerous!”

“Go away!” The voice came from above him. Sniffling and stifled sobs accompanying it.

Confused Ranboo looked up at the treetops only to see Y/N sitting on a particular thick branch. They were hugging their own legs and viciously rubbing their eyes, trying to make sure that none of their tears would hit their skin but Ranboo could see a few bright red lines and splotches on their cheeks.

His eyes widened “Come down and let’s go home! What if a skeleton sees you! Or a spider!”

But Y/N just tightly shut their mismatched colored eyes and shook their head “Nuh uh! Just so you can make fun of my enchanting again? I was trying to help!”

Oh, that was what happened. The house had an enchanting table, which was one of the deciding factors for why they moved in there for the time being and Y/N tried to enchant a piece of armor to help their brother out but accidentally managed to put on a what Ranboo described as a “useless” enchantment.

Ranboo looked around himself, making sure that no mobs have caught on to them yet “I’m, uh, sure we can find a use for an aqua affinity helmet. How about we go home and talk about it!”

Y/N slowly opened their eyes again, they were still busy trying to dry their tears. Wincing whenever their tears still managed to escape and making an uncomfortable sizzling sounds as it touched their skin.

“You think so?”

He nodded, getting more and more nervous just standing around in the forest like this “Yes, of course I’m sure. Why would I lie to you? You have to come down the tree though.”

Y/N hesitantly let go off their legs and let them dangle off the tree. Taking a deep breath in they just jumped off the branch.

This Ranboo didn’t expect. Scared for their well being he ran over to them trying to catch them somehow. It might have not been a huge drop but it was still long enough to definitely end up in some sort of injury if Y/N didn’t land correctly.

Ranboo opened up his arms but Y/N still just crashed into him. Falling off the tree only to disappear and reappear right on top of him in a cloud of purple particles. Knocking all the air out of his lungs as he fell over with his younger sibling in his arms.

While he could pick things up without destroying them, Y/N inherited the ability to teleport even if the range at the moment is only a few feet at best.

On one hand he was happy Y/N was finally down the tree but on the other hand he was now busy coughing as he tried to fill his lungs with much needed air again. It also didn’t help that Y/N didn’t immediately jump off of him and instead took a second regaining their own bearings.

Once they did jump off him though, they helped him back up. Y/N then immediately wrapped their arms around his body. Pushing their wet face into his chest. A few painful and muffled whimpers escaped them as they essentially pushed their wounded face into Ranboo’s shirt.

Still coughing Ranboo softly put his hand on Y/N’s head. Trying to calm them down even more as he carefully caressed their head in between their two white and black horns. The least he could do right now is try to stop their tears so they wouldn’t be in pain on the walk home.

It seemed to work somewhat. When Y/N looked back up into their brother’s face their eyes were still looking glassy but it didn’t look like more tears were rolling down their face.

Happy with this Ranboo took Y/N’s hand in his and together the two begun walking home. Y/N’s gaze always directed on the ground, only occasionally jumping towards noises around them. All the while Ranboo took the lead, his sword in is other hand.

Y/N’s hand sometimes flew up to their face. Tracing along old tear scars and the new once. Grimacing every time their fingers got too close.

Ranboo too was sensitive and got hurt by water as well but for the longest time now he suspected that Y/N showed a more stronger reaction to it than he ever did.

Guilt swept in as he realized that if he never made fun of their enchanting they wouldn’t be in pain right now. His grip on Y/N’s hand strengthened. He wanted to say something but when he opened his mouth his words left him. So he just concentrated on the walk home for now.

It didn’t take long for the two to reach their home. As soon as Ranboo opened the door the light of the fire places greeted them. It was just a run down little hut. Most rooms were almost unusable. Either too broken down over the years or filled with debris. So the two spent most of their time only in the living room. Even made makeshift beds around the fire place so they could keep warm while sleeping.

“Y/N, sit down on the chair over there.” Ranboo pointed at one of the chairs next to dinner table that stood close by.

Y/N didn’t wait and immediately moved towards the chair to do as Ranboo told them. While they did so Ranboo put his sword away and got out a rag and a spare potion they managed to scrounge up out of a chest.

He then moved another chair in front of his little sibling so he could sit in front of them. Putting some of the potion on the rag. Moving it close to their face only to see them preemptively wince.

“I’m sorry Y/N. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have made fun of you. You did good!”

It surprised them when Y/N smiled at him “It’s alright. You didn’t mean to. Also you promised to find a good way to use for the enchantment anyhow.”

They looked smug when they said the last part. As if them running away was all a plan to make him promise that.

A pout appeared on his face and he sighed “Are you sure you are my sibling and not just annoying endermites in a trench coat?”

They stuck out their tongue “I don’t see any other Hybrid around here that is half Enderman and whatever our other half is.”

They were right. Both of them showed the same markings of their Hybrid sides. Including having the same eye colors of green and red. Ranboo may not have all of his memories and both didn’t know where they came from but he knew that Y/N was his sibling. He just knew it.

All of his memories had them in there as well. They were always there with him., survived together.

“Anyway I will clean up the wounds a bit so the scars won’t be too noticeable, alright? The rest you gotta drink.”

Y/N nodded. Closing their eyes waiting for Ranboo to touch up the wounds. It’s not the first time they did this after all. They knew how this would go.

Ranboo softly touched their face with the wet cloth. As soon as he did so he could already see Y/N’s skin repairing itself a little bit. The bright red lines getting darker and in the case of the face side with the enderman skin it turned into white lines.

Wincing at every touch but they managed to stay still.

He then pushed the bottle into Y/N’s hands who happily downed the liquid since it also helped to suppress the pain.

Relived Y/N let out a few happy chirps similar to the sounds that of actual endermen.

“Ranboo?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“Can you teach me how to enchant things properly? You are way better at it this than me.” They sounded a bit sheepish.

#mcyt #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x Y/N #dream smp reader insert #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp x reader #dream smp x Y/N #dsmp reader insert #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp x reader #ranboo reader insert #ramza writes #Anon Request

[jomamaofficial]

You should have said something pt.8 (Bakugou x fem!Reader)

AN: Hello there besties, I hope you are all doing well. Here is your daily dose of I like torturing myself by reading Richie's angsty fanfiction. Over the weekends, I've had many ideas and one of them include in making a MHA AU series where their good qualities have been twisted into something bad. And trust me, I won't disappoint. Tell me what you think of that and enjoy this <3. Edit: Part 9 TW: Alcoholism, verbal abuse and heavy cursing. Masterlist Tags: @spicy-therapist-mom @speedmetalqueen @silentw-lkr @loki-an-idiot @clickbait-official @captainchrisstan @kamalymaly

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Crash.

Your eyes squeezed tightly as your hands reached out for your pillow.

Bang.

The tumult seeped in through the thickness of your pillows, your body jolting in a state of consciousness. Sleep in your eyes you heavily relied on your ears. A clogged mind didn’t serve anyone well. You knew that, it was the first lesson taught to you in Yuuei.

“A hero cannot save others when their own mind is distracted. It’s alright to get help, it’s alright to be saved by others as well. Do whatever you can young heroes, do whatever you can to ensure you prioritise your feelings, your emotions and your health first.”

I guess I failed then. Your limbs got up by themselves, your hands clutching the pillow in your fist.

“Who’s there…” There it was again. That weakness that plagued your existence from the first day you were rendered speechless three months ago. No one would have thought this was Number 3 Hero, Y/Hn. They would have thought you were a civilian, weak, helpless and at their mercy. Your shoulders were slouching and you couldn’t be asked to correct yourself. You wanted to curl up in a tiny ball of nothingness. You wanted to be a civilian who could rely on the heroes to save the day. You wanted someone to wrap their arms around you and tell you everything was alright. You wanted everything you couldn’t have.

“You fucking bitch.” He cornered you, prowling you in. With every step you took an inch back, with every inch he venomously sneered. He could have been smiling. He was smiling… it was just laced in bitter poison that was charged by the urge to make you writhe in pain.

Your heart dropped as your back met the cold empty walls.

“Don’t let the opponent get the best of you. You’re not the only one trying to capture them; the opponent, or in your case the villain, is also trying to get to you. Think about their next moves and don’t limit your own movement”.

You tried to step around him but he barked right in your face.

“Trying to outsmart me huh? Pathetic. You can’t even do that right, cornering yourself in the fucking wall. And that’s why you’re number 3.”

Tears threatened to give your feelings away. He was right, no hero would do that. No hero would let anyone trap them this way.

“I’m surprised you even managed to keep your fucking place on the Top 10. You were already a dumb bitch who couldn’t keep up with your worthless fucking quirk, I’m starting to think this year was a joke. After all the shit you stirred up, I’m surprised you haven’t been taken down yet.”

He was right, you always followed his lead, or Deku’s. You never lead yourself because your quirk was useless, people were just kind enough to consider you for higher positions. What was the use of having the record for saving so many people during attacks when… your job never threatened your life? Wasn’t it a hero's job to stay on the front line and fight head on?

Suddenly every joyous reunion with Bakugou or Todoroki-san or Midoriya-san in the hospital beds turned into guilt. Hard guilt. Because whilst you were there nursing and escaping with the civilians and supervising their healing process, they risked their lives and hurt themselves to go beyond what their quirk could do. They could have died fighting and you’d be alive. Alive because your quirk wasn’t strong enough to prevent the attacks from happening in the first place.

“And you’re fucking crying now? Did you just come to the realisation that you were a useless bitch, or is this because of something else?”

A small ball of hope rose in your chest… His slurred words, his strong breath…

This isn’t going to happen again, okay? He’s just drunk. And people say things when they’re drunk. It’s fine, it won’t happen again.

#bnha #bnha bakugou #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha angst #bnha imagins #boku no hero fic #boku no hero academia #angst #quirk marriage #mha #mha angst #bakugou angst #my hero academia #bnha kacchan #mha imagines #mha kacchan #mha katsuki #tw arranged marriage #arranged marriage fic #arranged marriage trope #forced marriage #y/n x bakugou #reader insert

[fanficmaniatic]

ok this is my last one. G1 Blaster to complete the Music Trio :)

YES THE BESTES RED RADIO BOIII....

favorite thing about them

Aww... There is just so much to love about Blaster... His voice... I LOVE THIS RADIO SO MUCH. and like, man I love how they didn't care if it was stupid or too cartoony... he just speaks like a radio reporter and I LOVE IT... Gosh I love him so much. He is so fun and caring, and he genuinely loves music. Yet this is not all there is about him, he is great at his job, and he does it wearing his spark on his “sleeve“

least favorite thing about them

not particularly G1 related… but how he was interpreted in the marvel comics… and that is sadly how he is also portrayed in most of the IDW comics. In there he basically just pretends to be like his G1 self when he is on the radio, and is instead greedy and serious… and though I am well aware G1 Blaster hypothetically could be like that some times, this being his 24/7 attitude is just… not it.

favorite line

@at soundwave “I’ve been waiting for this. You poor excuse of a sound system”

gets me EVERY TIME

brOTP

Jazz & Tracks. Disclaimer that I don’t think Blaster relationship with either of them has always been platonic… But they are besties.

OTP

Road Rage…… look… have they…ever share a frame or panel in the almost 40 years this franchise has existed? No… Do I care?… no… Is body Guard girlfriend with Party Dilf what is there not to like?

Also this is thecnically an ot3 because it is actually RoadRage/Náutica/Blaster….

nOTP

I honestly have not seen many Blaster ships and so far the ones I have encountered I am cool with… but I am going to say stars cream and prowl to be safe.

random headcanon

He is really protective of all the young bots in the arc. He tends to put relaxing music (equivalent to cybertronians lullabies) in their rooms to help them sleep.

unpopular opinion

the problem here is that I don’t really interact much with Blaster’s fandom content, he is one of my favorite, but like Arcee, I just don’t see a lot of fandom content I like for them, so in terms of “popular or unpopular opinions” idk exactly where my views of him land. So this is going to be and overall with the character, and mostly cannon content.

I really don't like how overall Soundwave always has at least one of his cassettes and blaster almost never has them???? or how his storyline in IDW1 lead nowhere???? Or how we never saw his relationship with Rewind even though both of them where in the lost light??

And look, I know many people don't like to interpret the host mech & the cassettes relationships as father/son. I am not asking for that. I joke saying Blaster is a diff because I think is fun, but I am not asking for them to make rewind a child. No, Rewind is an adult. But Soundwave is allowed to have a close relationship with his cassettes where they care and look out for each other... Why can't Blaster?

song i associate with them

This song SCREAMS BLASTER for me... It literally helped me write a really important plot point in CYCH (my continuity) for Blaster.

Favorite Picture of them

he looks so prefect standing there...

#Sorry for taking so long!! #But now the G1 music Boys are done! #ask meme #send ask #asks #thanks for the asks!! #tf blaster #g1 blaster #tf road rage #road rage x nautica #road rage x nautical x blaster #I WILL die on that ship #transformers #macadam #maccadams #transformers g1

[libermachinae]

Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

---

Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

#finally remembered to upload! #maccadam #transformers #prowl #jetfire #my writing #oneshot

[maddiewritesstucky]

wearing those gray sweatpants. young people think it's hot and i think silver steve would b v confused about why bucky is gagging for his comfy pants

YES BABY NOW WE’RE TALKIN! 😍

This would confuse the hell out of Steve. His grey sweats are his ‘I don’t have to leave the house today and probably have a few chores to accomplish, too’ pants. They definitely have a grass stain on one knee because they’re also his yard work pants when the weather is too cool for shorts.

But when Steve slips them on one lazy Sunday morning to go make pancakes for himself and Bucky after a sleep in, and Bucky’s eyes go all wide?

“Oof, you been holding out on me, old man!” Bucky full on sits up in bed to drag his eyes over Steve’s body, very blatantly staring (thirsting) at the sweatpants

Steve looks a little embarrassed, kinda waves Bucky off because he thinks Bucky is teasing him, because who in their right mind would genuinely find grass-stained sweatpants attractive? “Yeah yeah, I know, they’re a sight. I promise these aren’t what I’m wearing out today.”

“Oh, you gravely misunderstand me, Steven,” Bucky grins, prowling down to the end of the bed and kneeling on the mattress; hooking a finger into Steve’s waistband to drag him closer. “I cannot believe you’ve owned a pair of dick pants this whole time, and I’m only just now learning about this!”

Steve blinks a few times, looking at Bucky and then down at his sweats, and back up again.

“...A pair of what, now?”

Bucky’s running his hands up Steve’s thighs and feeling up his ass, and he looks so weirdly happy about these damn pants??

“Grey sweats are dick pants, Steve! This is common knowledge!”

“But...I see women wearing them, too?”

Steve’s confusion only grows as Bucky’s amusement does, as Bucky presses his face against Steve’s bare stomach and huffs a soft laugh against his skin

“Yes, Steve, women wear them too, but it’s kinda a thing when guys wear them...they don’t always leave so much to the imagination.”

Bucky draws a fingertip down over the soft line of Steve’s dick inside his sweats and Steve feels his cheeks pink up as he gapes down at himself

How many times has he been out in the front yard wearing these, mowing the lawn or tending to the garden, in full view of the neighbours?? Waving to kids as they walk past on their way home from school? And shit, that time he wore them over to sweet old Mrs Meyers house across the road when she unexpectedly called for help with her computer? Had he left nothing to her unsuspecting octogenarian imagination??

“Oh my god...” He’s on the verge of a low level panic, but Bucky laughs bright and throws his arms around his neck and kisses him square on the nose, shaking his head

“Relax, your inner crisis is showing,” he grins, “these ones are fine, you can’t really see anything good...unfortunately.”

Steve’s shoulders drop from where they’d been creeping up around his ears and he heaves a relieved sigh, circling his arms around Bucky’s waist

“Jeez kid, you had me thinking I’ve been traumatising the whole neighbourhood,” he swats Bucky gently on the ass, feeling himself relax back into his easy former mood. “Why are you so damn happy about them then, if these ones aren’t showing anything ‘good’?”

It’s Bucky’s turn to blush now, dropping his gaze from Steve’s eyes as he toys absently with the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck

“I dunno, you look like you’re about to, like...go to the gym and spend two hours smacking a heavy bag around, or something...”

...Now that’s an interesting development, Steve thinks. He hums a vague sound of understanding and kisses Bucky on the forehead, shrugging a ‘guess this is a young person thing’ before turning the question back to what’s really important here - whether Bucky wants chocolate chips in his pancakes or not

But after Bucky leaves later that afternoon, Steve heads straight out to the garage and gets out the old heavy bag he’s had sitting in there forever, and gets it set up hanging from the rafters down one end of the patio

He figures maybe he should start up training again. For fitness reasons.

...And if he just so happens to be out there in his grey sweats having at it the next time Bucky comes over? Total coincidence

#silver steve #stucky au #silver Steve HCs #grey sweats ARE dick pants #it’s fact #steve/bucky

[acourtofsnakes]

Tracinya - Rogue, Chapter 23 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: Nothing will stop you from rescuing Din. Anyone who stands in your way is merely an obstacle to be removed. But will you be merciful... or listen to that dark call? 

Warnings: Injury detail, blood, guns(of the space variety), knives, fighting, swearing, death, watch me make things up about the Force again. 

Word Count: 13k+ (I got carried away?)

AN: Well. This ended up a lot longer than I expected it to be. I got rather carried away it seems  ((oh well)) Also, I have checked this ((twice)) but its over 13k words and there is going to be something I missed. 

Introduction

1: Solus | 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl ^ | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur ^ | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran | 9. E’tad | 10: Tome * | 11: Aliit Ori'shya Tal'din * | 12: Mar’eyce**^ | 13: Kov’nyn | 14: Ne’tra ^ | 15: Or’dinii | 16: Dar | 17: Haalur | 18: Mesh’la** | 19: Talyc ^^ | 20: Jorhaa'ir ^^ | 21: Hibirar | 22: Jetii’kad | 23: Tracinya | 

Rogue| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f) Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @kenoobiwan @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @mamacitapascal @heyitsjaybird @amyk-37 @greatcircle79

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal

Mando’a Translation: Tracinya - Flame

There was no part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain. 

His right leg was broken, possibly in two places, and his left ankle was fractured. 

He had taken the fall on his right side, meaning the impact had dislocated his shoulder and shattered his collarbone, resulted in searing agony whenever he moved his head. 

Not only that, but every breath felt like glass and fire, a pain he was familiar enough with to know he also had at least three broken ribs. 

Of course, there were bruises – his entire body was probably littered with purple and black smudges – and cuts. 

Din didn’t remember hitting the floor. Only remembered saying goodbye and then… nothing. He supposed he should be grateful, because from the state his body was in, the feeling of impact would have been horrendous, his body crushed under the very armour that was made to keep him safe. 

He’d been convinced that was it, the lights were turned off and the Maker would come to greet him. 

And yet, after an indeterminable amount of darkness… there was suddenly light. 

Harsh, blinding light and hands moving over his body, checking for injury and – 

They were going to remove his armour. 

The thought and realisation sent shockwaves of terror through him, and despite the agony that had threatened to suck him under, survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out. Taking down anyone who came near him, the medics, the guards, Troopers – anyone who threatened to touch his armour. He was like a caged animal, defending his last dying breath even as his head spun and his knees gave way. 

He fought for consciousness, long enough to see a pair of immaculate boots walk in, the edge of a long, ebony cloak embroidered with gold.

Through the roaring in his head, he heard a silken voice ordering everyone to stand down, that if anyone removed the amour, they would be removed of their head. 

And then he had been sucked back into a fitful abyss 

Din wasn’t sure how long ago that had been.

The room – cell – they had put him in contained no windows, no clocks, nothing to give him indication to what time it was. Only a few artificial lights placed on each wall – which he was grateful for, because the dim lighting was a minimal balm to his pulsating head. 

Only a thin cot for him to sleep on, pushed into the corner of the room and a tiny area in the corner where he could relieve himself. The ceiling rose far above him, giving the impression of being at the bottom of a very small, very dark pit. 

There was no regular pattern to when they pushed a tray of food and water through a tiny hatch in the door either, so he couldn’t even use that. 

Not that he could have concentrated anyway, with the agony waging war on his body. 

He’d had countless injuries before and danced the line of death so many times he was surprised he kept getting away with it. 

And yet this… this was bad. 

His vision kept fading in and out, blurriness making his sight hazy before it cleared again, but not without leaving fuzzy auras that floated in his peripheral. 

Concussion too then… a bad one. 

He just prayed there was no permanent damage. 

He could still talk, though his voice was hoarse and ragged when he whispered to himself the names of his loved ones – he could still remember them, thankfully.  

The ability to move remained intact – though heavily compromised. He could only manage tiny movements, embarrassingly slow as he tried not to move his neck or shoulder… or head… or back. 

An escape probably wasn’t going to be possible for a while. 

Din sighed, laying in an awkward position on his cot, one that gave the least pain. 

Again, his thoughts returned to his haven. 

You. 

You were going to kill him when he got out. 

Either for being a hypocrite, or for the worry he was causing you. 

The worry, no… the heart-wrenching terror he had heard in your voice mere moments before he fell. That cruel fear of the consequences as you laid into him, tried to keep that anger contained but he knew you too well. Knew that this would be tearing you to pieces.

He had felt the exact same way when you were taken – when she died. 

You were a rather dysfunctional pair, weren’t you. 

That thought had him chuckling – and then groaning as the small movement sent shockwaves from his broken ribs. 

Maker, he was battered. 

He didn’t even know how it had all gone so wrong. 

One minute he was flitting through the sky, dodging blaster fire and the next there was a loud pop and smoke began billowing from his back, from the jet pack. 

A very carefully aimed shot, with precision and intent – not to blow him up by shooting at the fuel lines… but perfectly lined up to knock out the thrusters and sent him tumbling to Earth. 

There was only one person he knew that could make a shot like that. 

Someone he should have foreseen, if he was honest with himself. 

Looking back, the townspeople letting slip the information about the base… that had clearly been a trap. 

A false trail to lead them right to the doorstep of the very people trying to chase them down. 

Din hadn’t just led himself to his death… but his friends too. He had no idea where they were, if they’d escaped – if they were even alive. 

He was disgusted with himself, the way he had so easily and thoughtlessly allowed his friends to be brought to such danger. He should have just gone in alone but… he hadn’t been thinking straight. 

When he’d heard that there was a whole base dedicated to finding his sweetheart… a whole legion of Stormtroopers trained, and no doubt given weapons specifically made to defend and attack Force users, he’d lost it. 

How could he walk away knowing all of that? Knowing they were going to come after you?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

And now look where he was. 

Movement outside his door suddenly broke him from his reverie, a shadow moving past the gap in the food hatch. 

Something beeped outside the cell, multiple locks sliding and scraping through the door and then it was pushed open. 

Din blinked against the sudden harsh light flooding his cell, his helmet damaged so his visor didn’t adjust to the brightness the way it should have done. 

As his eyes cleared, he saw a figure lean and tall, wearing a long cloak – with golden embroidery. 

Oh, joy.

Anger sizzled through his reluctant body as Haran prowled into his cell, filling the small room with that unearthly presence. The shadows of the room seemed to cling to him, perhaps recognising that their master had arrived. 

Din grunted, ignoring the screaming agony that flooded his senses as he dragged his body to sit up, leaning heavily against where the two walls joined near his bed. If this was his end, he didn’t want to be laying down. 

If it was a friendly little chat… well, he could at least give himself a better position to punch the bastard in that overly pretty face. 

Haran stopped in the centre of the room, lifting gloved hands to his hood and he pushed it back.

He looked the same as always. 

Sharp cheekbones accentuated his face, which was neither old nor young – timeless, for no one knew how long this man had truly been alive.

Amber eyes that dominated his appearance, simmering like molten gold and only highlighting the fact that he wasn’t quite human. 

 The twin scars across his mouth and eye did nothing to mar the beauty of him – and Din supposed that was all part of the act. A beautiful face, a silken voice and a laugh that could bring entire villages to their knees to worship this fallen dark prince.

Before he slaughtered them all. 

Din hated him. 

Those golden eyes simmered with amusement as he beheld Din, as if knowing the thoughts going through the Mandalorian’s head… which he probably did. 

He cocked his head, a smile lifting his full lips, “Well, fancy seeing you so soon, Lori.” 

Din growled, his hands tightening into fists and he wished his blazing glaze would melt through his beskar helmet and sear straight into those lion’s eyes. 

That damn lovers laugh rippled through the tiny room, setting Din’s teeth on edge, “Oh, Mando, no need to be so defensive. You had to know what would happen when you decided to infiltrate a base dedicated to hunting your little Jedi.” 

“You won’t find her.” Din spat the words, wishing his body wasn’t so battered, wishing his had his strength so he could tear this creature apart. 

Haran’s smile widened, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his scar tugging ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth – a predators grin, “That’s not entirely true, considering I found her so easily last time. But I won’t need to find her.” He examined his cloak, brushing a speck of invisible dust from it. 

Dread coiled in Din’s gut, “She doesn’t know where I am. She won’t be able to find me, so you can’t lure her here like a piece of bait. She’s smarter than that.” With every word, he had the sinking feeling that he was saying exactly what the King of Shadows and Death expected him to. 

“You see, I would believe you, if not for one tiny little detail.” Now Haran inspected his gloves, tugging the buckles that tightened them around his wrists, a picture of cool, arrogant confidence. 

It was an effort for Din to keep his voice steady, “And what is that?” 

Please no, please…

Haran looked up at him again, a dark curl falling over his forehead, “I hacked into your comms system, right as you hit the deck. You really should get some better tech, Mando.” He clasped his hands behind his back, “I sent a distress signal to your pretty Jedi, telling her your exact coordinates and even how to get in.” 

Din simply made a noise of horror, knowing that nothing in the world would stop you from finding him. You were stubborn, headstrong and determined… all combined with a fierce desire to save the ones you loved. 

He just prayed Ahsoka would make you see sense. You would be smart about this… right?

Haran shrugged lightly, “I don’t think even Tano will be able to hold her back.” 

Sick bastard, reading his thoughts. 

“I guess we’ll see who’s right soon enough, won’t we?” With that, he turned, walking back to the door, where he knocked twice. 

The beep and locks sounded again, and Haran looked over his shoulder at Din, who was still struck dumb with dread, “Why, I bet she’s already on her way right now.” He laughed low, and then he was gone with a sweep of his cloak.

~~~

~~

You were beside yourself with panic and terror in the first few hours after the call cut off. 

Your scream had woken Ahsoka and the kids, who made it to your tree in time to see you half fall from the branches, stumbling around looking for something, anything to help. 

You could barely hear Ahsoka calling your name, until she grabbed you, forcing you to look at her and calm down. You’d told her what happened, before yanking out her grasp and running to the camp. 

Nothing was computing in your brain, nothing except a primal instinct to go and save Din right now. 

Again, you hadn’t heard her calling your name, mumbling over and over that you needed to go, you needed to get out of here, Din needed you. 

Except there was just one problem…

“Slow down. How are we going to get off of the planet? We don’t have a ship…” Ahsoka spoke calmly, but firmly. She was watching you tear through the camp, emotions a wreck and noting you were moments away from a panic attack. 

You had turned to her, clutching your belongings in your arms, your breathing coming in sharp pants, “Then - then we’ll just… Um...” Casting your eyes about helplessly, you had felt your throat close up, your heart race and your palms start sweating. 

A sob had been about to break from your lips but then – you both heard it. 

The tell-tale sound of a twig breaking, of hushed voices. 

The pair of you whipped your heads in unison, toward the sound and your panic attack vanished, being replaced with the cool ice of battle. The things in your arms had been placed on the floor and then Ahsoka’s voice had been in your head, “You go left, I’ll go right. We’ll meet in the middle.” 

You nodded, reaching for your blade but then Ahsoka had held out a hand to stop you, instead… holding out one of her sabers. 

Oh.

Yes, you’d trained with it but… now she was letting you use it for real, in actual combat? 

Lifting your eyes to hers, she had seen what you were thinking and simply smiled encouragingly. 

That said enough, so you curled your fingers around it and then the pair of you had separated, footsteps lighter than air as you both forged a protective Force field around the kids. 

Moving through the trees, marking the intruders... it had all soothed you, soothed the ache and terror in your chest for the time being. 

Your power let you know they were close, and you hovered in the darkness for a moment, watching the two cloaked figures and sensing Ahsoka opposite you. Something flowed through the air, like a confirmation and you activated the lightsaber, springing from your hiding space with a burst of glowing late. 

“Wait!!! Wait, it’s us!!!” The two cloaked figures turned around, dropping their hoods so their faces would be revealed in the glow from both your sabers. 

Cara, and another man you didn’t recognise – bald, with a numerous harness and straps that no doubt held weapons under his cloak. 

You made a nose, lowering the saber, “Cara?! I thought… I thought you were with Lori – what are you doing here?” Despite the situation, the anonymous nickname for him came out instantly – protecting his identify even here. 

Cara looked from you to Tano, who was still standing in a somewhat defensive position with her saber held out. “We were… We’d split up to take down more of the Troopers. Mando took to the sky to draw fire so we could sweep through them. When we saw him get taken down, we had a choice. Either get captured ourselves, or go and get help.” 

You blinked, a frown forming on your face, “Hang on, let me get this right.” Something stirred in your chest, something smouldering, “You saw Din get taken down, saw him fall from the sky, into the clutches of Stormtroopers who are no doubt reporting to Moff Gideon… and you ran away?” The last two words come out in an incredulous tone, your face showing confusion as you looked between Cara and the other man. 

He raised his hands, shaking his head, “Hey, I wouldn’t go as far as to call it running away. We didn’t know he’d contacted you; we didn’t know how anyone would find us. If we got captured too, there was no way we could get out. Only Boba and Fennec knew where we were, they wouldn’t have been enough.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, stepping closer – never lowering her lightsaber, “So, he’s there alone? Or wherever else they’ve taken him?” 

The man blinked as he looked at her, “Do you mind lowering that thing, lady? I don’t see how we’re the enemies here.”

You snarled at him, mimicking Ahsoka in the closer advance, “I’m not calling you enemies, I’m stunned that you just abandoned him there!!”

Cara held out a hand, trying to diffuse the situation, “Mayfeld, shut up.” She looked at you, “Look, Mando isn’t incapable of taking care of himself. He’s been in situations like this before, he’ll be fine.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your head spinning, “He’ll be fine?! He could be anywhere, Cara! Who knows where they’ve dragged him, what they’re doing to him! I’m not doubting for a second that he’s been captured before – but not by an army of Troopers, alone, after falling hundreds of feet from the fucking sky! How about I push you out of the open air in a metal tomb and you tell me if you’re up to fighting your way out of an Imperial army.” 

Mayfeld squared up to you, tensions running high, “You know, you might want to be a little more understanding. I’m sure if the situation was reversed, Mando would have - ”

Suddenly, you had pulled free your knife and it was held to his throat, “If you dare say he would have done the same, I’ll cut your throat.” You didn’t care that these were Din’s friends. Didn’t care that they were obviously here to help. 

You were furious, feeling helpless and well… you had never been the greatest at controlling your temper.  

Ahsoka disabled her lightsaber, running forward and gently pushing you all apart. You felt a phantom brush over your skin and realised she had weaved threads of the Force between everyone, “Hey, hey, let’s all just take a moment to breathe, okay? We’re all worried and wound up… Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything.” 

Mayfeld muttered something you didn’t hear, though you did hear the thump as Cara elbowed him in the ribs. “Enough.” 

You powered down the saber and dropped your head into your hands. 

The world had flipped on its head, completely and utterly shifted and turned into something unrecognisable. Maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe you were having some kind of fever dream. 

You sighed long and deep, rubbing at your eyes before looking at Mayfeld and Cara, “I’m sorry, for what I said. You did the right thing… We wouldn’t know anything if you hadn’t come back.” You shifted your gaze solely to Mayfeld now, “And I’m sorry for holding a knife to your throat.” 

To your surprise, he just chuckled, shaking his head, “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse from your Mandalorian, this was nothing.” He held out a hand, “Migs Mayfeld.” 

You found yourself smiling back, sliding your hand into his and shaking it as you told him your name. 

Cara looked around, “As much as I’m glad we’re not threatening to kill each other anymore, does anyone want to tell me how we’re going to find Mando?”

As if by coincidence, the comms device on your wrist started to emit a high-pitched beep. 

All four of you jumped, then looked at the device which had begun to flash red. 

You held it up between you all, and the screen lit up, displaying a string of co-ordinates with that same persistent beep. 

It dawned on you instantly, “It’s a distress signal. Lori sent us the co-ordinates of where he is.” 

Cara was eyeing it thoughtfully, “Do we want to ask why that suddenly came up, just as I asked where he was? And what if he isn’t there by the time we get there?” 

You were already moving back toward the camp to gather your things, “I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s a trap, or if he’s a whole parsec over. It’s the best thing we have, so we’re using it. Get your things.”

~

That had been a couple of nights ago. You were now travelling on Boba Fett’s ship, a tight squeeze but you didn’t care. Nothing else mattered apart from finding Din. 

Boba Fett was an interesting man. He was a clone of the infamous Jango Fett, the Mandalorian of whom you’d grown up hearing about. His armour was older, less sleek than Din’s but still as ruggedly beautiful and had belonged to Jango himself. He was shadowed by another woman, Fennec Shand – an assassin of whom you’d also heard of on your ‘travels’. 

He was a straightforward, direct man, greeting you and praising you on the stories he had heard – then asking how everything was going to go ahead. Straight to business. 

Two hours later, a plan had already been created.

The distress signal coordinates you had given Boba would take you to the general area you needed to be. Then, once you located the Cruiser, Boba would get you as close as he could, slipping into a disused landing bay. 

He would remain with the ship and kids, waiting to get out – and to lead a distraction if it came to it. 

The rest of you would infiltrate the Cruiser, splitting up to cover more ground and find Din – Cara and Fennec in one pair, you, Mayfeld and Ahsoka in the other. 

You sat a little way away from the others – as far as you could in the ship, letting the sound of their planning wash over you. They were determined the best way to get in and out without being seen, whether it was best to go in all guns blazing – literally – or try and be as discreet as possible with minimal causalities. 

You were glad you had excused yourself… because that dark assassin within you was stirring, sensing the oncoming fight – readying a thirst for blood. 

Sure, some of the Troopers may have had no choice… but they certainly hadn’t done anything to change their fate. They still chosen to continue following Gideon and Haran – for you knew now it was him that shot down Din, but you had kept that nugget of information to yourself, only telling Ahsoka. 

The others didn’t need the added stress of knowing a terrifying legend had truly come to life. 

If they wanted to try and preserve life – fine. You certainly didn’t have to agree with them. You didn’t answer rot anyone but yourself. 

And you supposed that mindset should worry you, making you concerned that you were slipping back to that cold killer but… you didn’t care. If you had to become her to save Din and get everyone out safely… so be it. You would deal with the consequences later. 

Ahsoka crossed your field of vision, and then came to sit down opposite you, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out next to yours. She said nothing, merely watching you with an unreadable expression for a few moments. 

You sighed, “If you’ve come to tell me not to go where my thoughts are leading me-“

She shook her head, cutting you off gently, “I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I’m just going to ask you… Are you prepared for the consequences of what you do, either way? If you choose to go down the path of tearing down anyone in your way… How will you feel afterward?” 

How would you feel afterward?

“I don’t know how I would feel… I know what it’s like to be pushed into a life but… There’s always a choice at some point. However small…” You looked up at her, truly valuing her opinions and advice – she was already a trusted friend, one you could speak your mind to. 

Of course, you had Din. But to have something sperate from him… it felt good. Healthy. You both had your separate friendships away from each other… for moments like this perhaps. 

“I can’t think of anything but saving him. And it’s easy to sit here and ask myself what I’ll do, before we’re even there… but when I’m in there, when I’m walking through that Cruiser to find him...” You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know what I’ll do. And I might not have the time to make that decision when I’m there.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, listening to what you have to say, “Then whatever happens… We’ll deal with it afterward. Whatever you choose to do... I believe you are strong enough to take it. And if not… then we’ll deal with that too.” 

Gratitude warmed the cold feeling in your chest, spreading through you and you looked at her with new appreciation, “Thank you…” Those two words were heartfelt, all the emotion and thankfulness pumped into there. “For this, helping me… and for everything you’ve done.”

She inclined her head slightly, bumping her foot against your thigh, “You needn’t thank me… It’s been an honour, to help you and train you. After everything that’s happened in my life, the mistrust I had for those I once believed in… I never thought I could get over that hole. But you’ve shown me that it’s not all the way I believed. Things are changing… I’m learning that now. So… thank you.” 

You were about to answer, but Boba’s deep, gravelly voice came from the cockpit, “Time to gear up guys. We’re about to hit the same co-ordinates from the distress signal.” 

~~~~

~~

“Sir?” 

Moff Gideon walked over to the young man who had just called for him, seating in front of a holo-screen like the others dotted about the room, “Yes? What is it?” 

The man brought up a radar screen, a pulsing red dot just coming into the edge of it, “They’re getting closer. They followed the Hunter’s trap.” 

Gideon smiled slowly, watching that little red dot slowly creep closer to the centre of the radar, toward his Cruiser, “Excellent. Tell the troops to be ready. Just because we want them here, doesn’t mean we’ll make this easy for them.”

~~~

~~

Boba Fett’s ship glided through the atmosphere, all of you peering out of the windows for any sign, any hint as to where Din might be. 

You’d been in the general location for about twenty-five minutes, travelling right to the edge of each grid square on Fett’s radar. 

“I think… we might have missed him.” Cara spoke the words that you had all been reluctant to acknowledge, her voice quiet. 

You shook your head fiercely, moving to the other side of the ship, “No. You’re wrong. He’s here. I know he is. I just… know.”  

Grogu cooed from behind you, his ears floppy like they had been since you lost contact with Din.

You turned to look at him, heart breaking at the utter sadness in his glossy eyes, “Oh, Gu… I know.” You scooped him up, cradling the little body to your chest and you pressed a kiss between his ears, “We’ll find him… I promise you; we’ll find him.” You pressed your face to his little head, whispering, “Even if we have to do it on our own.” 

His little arms reached up to your shoulders, and you took a few moments just to hug him, giving him comfort but also receiving it in return. 

You felt his hands tugging at your collar and wondered if he was trying to reach for your hair… but then he grasped something and pulled – your necklace. 

The mythosaur necklace that Din had given you. 

You looked down at him, watching as he cradled the symbol in his tiny little hands, gurgling at it but for once, you weren’t sure what he was saying. It itched at you, like you could almost understand him. 

It turns out, Ahsoka did. She gasped a little, looking at Grogu suddenly and blinking in surprise, “Oh, you’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that…” She looked at you with wide eyes, “You can find him.”

You blinked at her, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” You felt Grogu’s eyes on you too, and he tugged gently at the mythosaur charm, “The necklace?”

Ahsoka nodded, “Kind of… You have such a strong connection with him, such intense care for each other that if you use your power… you might be able to sense him, where he is.” She walked closer, “It’s hard to explain… it’s an old Jedi trick. They used to use it to track others or find people in hiding. It’s difficult to do, and not all Jedi could do it but… You know him. Better than any of us.” She took Grogu from you gently, “Close your eyes and focus your mind the way we practiced.”

You nodded, not questioning it. There was no time. 

You shut your eyes, following the breathing exercises she had taught you and dropping everything away from your mind. The ship, the murmuring of the others – the panic. 

All of it fell away until you felt the power flowing through your blood, felt it brush up against every living thing in your vicinity. 

Ahsoka’s voice slipped through your mind, “Now, think of him. The memories, the way he makes you feel, the happiness you feel with him. Think about what makes him your Mandalorian.”

Your power flowed through you, out of you, wrapping around the ship and you were already deep in your mind by the time it started shifting the direction you were facing. 

What makes him your Mandalorian…

You let that question move through you, thinking of his touch, his voice… the way he softened the harsh edges of your mind and eased your chest.

The way you had truly come alive after meeting him, how you saw the galaxy as you had before – something beautiful and wild and begging to be explored. 

You breathed in and out slowly, musing on the way you felt you had also brought light to Din’s life. Not just from the way he told you... but the way he seemed to have mellowed even more since first knowing you. 

He laughed more, let himself go a little… His moments of uptight, rigid restraint had melted into something far softer and… goofier. 

Ahsoka’s gentle praise whispered through the thoughts and memories, encouraging you. For however long, you didn’t know. 

And then you felt it. 

Your power brushed over something… someone. 

Din. 

His essence, his soul, burning like a bright star in your longest night. A sense of comfort, fierce loyalty and determination, all encased in a glittering shell of honour. 

Your eyes snapped up, the ship slowing to a stop and then – there it was. 

Moff Gideon’s cruiser. 

And speeding toward you… about thirty Stormtroopers, ready to attack. 

Mayfeld grinned from behind you as Duru leapt from the control panel, “Time to make an entrance.” 

~~~

~~

When Din got out of here, he was going to tear Haran into little pieces. 

Well.

He would help you tear him into little pieces. 

You had probably more rights than anyone to do so, but he had some things that the cocky shit needed to pay for. 

Hey, maybe you could tag team. 

Din kept thinking of creative ways to take Haran apart, to see if he was as strong inside as the power he oozed on the outside. It would be a fascinating project. 

Maybe when you cut him open, he would be a hollow shell, or maybe there would be some kind of malevolent demon inside him. 

He supposed these thoughts were rather twisted and dark, and that Haran had undoubtedly been through some awful things in his life… but so had you, and you were worlds apart from each other. 

Besides, it was all he could do. Think of Haran’s death and try to avoid thinking of the alternative thing that was screaming at him like a siren. 

That you may very well be on your way to rescuing him. 

Din could tell himself for hours that you wouldn’t heed it, that you’d know it was a trap but… it just wasn’t you. 

You were one of the smartest people he knew, but if anyone you loved was in danger, caution tended to get thrown out the window. 

Sometimes, you were both more alike than you realised. 

Din sighed, curling his fingers into fists and then releasing them again. A few hours ago – or maybe days? – he’d lost feeling in his arm. He couldn’t pop the dislocated shoulder back into place without removing his armour, so it was stuck there, swollen and pressing against the beskar. It had started with pins and needles, and then a cold feeling like ice in his veins. 

It made him feel unsteady, lopsided – though that may have been the broken right leg and twisted left ankle. 

Not only that, but every movement of his head made his stomach roil dangerously, and his breathing seemed to be coming laboured… more like sharp pants rather than deep breaths. 

You were never going to let him live this down. 

He huffed again, but the faintest smile rose to his lips as he imagined you both somewhere safe. 

You’d wait long enough for Din to be suitably healed before tearing into him… and no doubt it would creep up for months afterwards. He could almost hear the cocky tone as you bickered about something and you’d whip that out, “Oh, well, I suppose I could always go an attack an Imp base and get shot of the sky. Stars above, can you imagine doing that? What fun.” 

The thought made him chuckle, just a bit even though it irritated his ribs again. 

Of course, that soft sound seemed like a siren call and seconds later, the door to his cell swung open and the King of Shadows and Death appeared – more like King of Arrogance and a limited wardrobe. 

Didn’t he have anything else to wear besides that cloak?

Or was Din just jealous? His own cape was a bit tattered, and he’d always envied the way you wore your own hooded cloak, blending into the darkness and sweeping around corners like some kind of phantom. 

Maker, his concussion must be getting worse. 

Pushing that thought from his spiralling mind, Din tilted his head back to look up at Haran, “Are you lonely? Is that why you keep coming to see me?” He tilted his head, ignoring the feeling like boulders crashing against the inside of his skull and the bits of light dancing across his vision, “Or are you looking for a bit of nightly entertainment? Because I have to say, I’m hardly in the shape to do so.” 

His tongue felt so heavy his mouth. 

Haran rolled those unsettling eyes as the door closed behind him and he walked over, leaning against the wall opposite, “Yes, Mando. My days are just so meaningless without your shiny head to light the way.” He put a gloved hand to his chest, gasping, “Why, if we weren’t on an Imperial Cruiser, I might just drop to one knee and beg for your hand in marriage, right now.” 

Prick. 

Din turned his head away, breathing shallow as his stomach flipped again, “What do you want? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a rather busy man.”

Haran chose to ignore him, snapping his fingers together and pulling a face like he just remembered something, “Oh, wait. I can’t marry you, can I?” He looked up at Mando, golden eyes burning through the side of his helmet, “Because you already have plans to do that to someone else, don’t you? 

Din willed himself not to rise to the challenge, not to take the bait. He instead tried counting his breaths, focusing on anything but Haran’s silken words. 

They flowed like water around the small cell, almost irresistible, “Does she know? Does your little princess know that you’ve been carrying that ring around for months now?” He crossed one ankle over the other, “I have to admit, it is a stunner. How much did you have to save for a rock like that?” 

Anger hissed through him, but Din closed his eyes. 

Many jobs. He had saved the credits from… more jobs than he could remember. 

He would bring home most of the credits but would siphon off just a little from the top to add it to the tiny stash he had going. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get a ring with a huge stone like others he’d seen but… he had a feeling that you would love it regardless – at least he hoped. The ring had sat nestled in an inner pocket of his tight underlayer of clothing for a while now, and he could still feel it’s hard press into his skin. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed in the fall. 

It was new to him. Not just the fact he had reached this point in his life, but the fact he was looking for an engagement ring. 

Mandalorian’s traditionally gave weapons instead but… you weren’t a Mandalorian. And the pair of you… this was different. And he wanted to do it right. 

You had taken on board so much of his traditions and rules… he wanted to do this for you. Do something in a way that you would be familiar with. 

Of course, there was one other major thing that was different – 

“Have you even revealed your face? How do you know she’ll want to marry you? I mean, she loves you now but… What if you take off your helmet and she can’t stand you?” Haran examined his gloves, his words low and almost childlike but that was the point. 

Din gritted his teeth, keeping his body loose – as much as it could be with the pain – “Seriously, are you here for a reason?”

Boom!

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the entire ship. 

It echoed down the hall, but Din could calculate it was far away, deep in the belly of the cruiser so most likely a cargo hold. 

Red lights began flashing outside of his cell, the sound of many thumping footsteps racing past. 

No… no-

Haran’s eyes unfocused and a cold, dark power brushed against Din. Even through the armour, he could feel it. The way it leeched the warmth from him, swallowed what little light was in the room. It had a pull to it, like the silken caress of his voice given life. 

Din shuddered, but Haran hadn’t noticed, instead feeling for something… someone…

His pupils dilated, black swallowing the gold and then he grinned, a cruel, delighted grin and his eyes came back into focus. He stood up, laughing, “Oh, Mando. I’m afraid your luck has run out. Your precious princess has just made her entrance.”

Bile rose up in Din’s throat and he shook his head, “No, you’re lying.” 

Din knew he wasn’t. Knew it because he felt you. Every cell in his body was crying out to leave the room, to be reunited with you. Hell, he could almost smell your achingly familiar scent. 

Haran advanced on him, crouching down and he took off his gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands – absolutely mauled with twisted, marbled scars. 

Din couldn’t stop staring at them, at the evidence of some awful injury – fire, by the looks of it, “What are you doing?” He couldn’t move away, the pain too great and the room spinning. Horror flooded his senses – horror and relief. 

He felt sick at the relief, because the last thing he wanted was you near any of these people, but at the same time… you were coming to rescue him. 

He wasn’t going to die in here – 

That power brushed against him again, slipping through the cracks in his armour and seeking out the injuries as Haran said softly, “The game is beginning.” 

~~~

~~

So, your idea to enter the ship discreetly… maybe hadn’t gone entirely to plan. 

In all honesty though, it wasn’t your fault that you’d been attacked. 

And it wasn’t your fault that the only evasive maneuverer that they wouldn’t be expecting was to lead them on a wild goose chase around the ship and then…. Crash into the cargo hold. 

Okay, so Boba had been going for a gentle landing, but the situation had required some fast thinking and strategy and so… there you were. 

Maybe it hadn’t been what you’d decided upon but… you had to admit, the explosion provided excellent cover for your teams to slip in. 

Amongst the chaos, you weaved around the edges of the cargo ship and you were through into a service passageway, watching Cara and Fennec disappear down a hallway opposite. 

~

The cruiser was like a maze. 

You had no idea how long you had been navigating the halls, but you knew it was long enough. 

Already, you had encountered a few Troopers, but they were silenced before they could raise the alarm – and stuffed into nearby rooms so they would be delayed when they awoke. 

Mayfeld kept pace easily with you and Ahsoka, as you sent out waves of power to sweep the area, “They most likely have him in the cells. But if they know we’re coming… They would have moved him. 

Somewhere more central, where we have no choice but to be in the open and vulnerable to attack. So, we should head toward the front of the ship, maybe.” He kept his voice hushed and his blaster aimed. 

Ahsoka peered over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows, “Tell me again where you came from?” She had her other saber in her hand, held in her trademark grip as she moved like a shadow. 

Mayfeld chuckled low, “Impressed?” 

Seriously?

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, looking ahead again, “Please, don’t flatter yourself.” She shook her head, pausing and raising a hand for you all to stop too. 

You pushed your power around the corner as well, combining with hers and you felt it. 

A cluster of Stormtroopers gathered near a service room. They were standing between you and the next hallway and would need to be removed. 

Focusing, you did a rough tally, “Nine of them. All armed.” You worked it through in your mind. You could take them – but there was still enough time for them to raise the alarm. Especially if they were near service rooms, they’d be able to signal to others and you would soon be ambushed. 

Even without power, Mayfeld appeared to have done the same, “We need to draw them away, get them somewhere quiet.” He looked back the way you came, then to the right where there was a dead end. 

Ahsoka sighed, shaking her head, “How? Any noise will alert the others. We need to - ” She broke off, having just seen what you were doing. “Where are you going?” 

You had moved away from the safety of the wall, drawing the hood of your cloak up over your face. “You and Mayfeld get ahead, see if you can find a map or something in one of those rooms.” 

Something dark thrummed in your blood, your palms itching with an intense need to… to make someone hurt. 

Mayfeld rose an eyebrow, facing you as he kept his back against the wall, “Are you crazy? They want you as much as you want Mando! You can’t just walk out there like a party gift.” 

A party gift that’ll explode in their faces. 

Stars above, the very thought almost made you laugh with an unnaturally shadowed delight. 

You indeed chuckled, rolling your eyes, “Exactly. What Stormtrooper grunt would pass up the opportunity to deliver Moff Gideon the very thing he’s doing all of this for? They’ll take me straight to him or throw me somewhere to wait. Either way, it gets them away from you.” 

Ahsoka was watching you, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She didn’t agree with this anymore than Mayfield, but she too knew there was no other way. “Okay.” She ignored Mayfeld’s noise of protest, “Be careful. Try not to draw too much attention if you can help it. We’ll find anything we can and if you’re not back out here, then circle back to find you.” She was still watching you with that strange look – like she could sense something off. 

You gave her a playful salute before pulling out another knife from your boot, rolling your shoulders and strutting around the corner. 

Instantly, the group of Troopers turned around, guns raising as they beheld your cloaked appearance, and the shining lightsaber in your hand, “Hey! Stand down!” 

You dropped the hood, grinning wickedly as you purred, “Hello, boys.” 

~

You moved like a flame, tearing through the group of Stormtroopers and spreading your embers of death, ready to turn into a blaze. 

The whir of the lightsaber was the conductor of your dance, providing a beat as your separated limb from limb. The deadly energy whipped through the air, severing one of the Troopers hands from his wrist and he went down screaming, clutching at the stub at the end of his arm which was smouldering. You didn’t hesitate, whirling and flinging a sharp, deadly knife from your hand. 

There was a muffled, wet noise impact as it lodged itself in his throat, buried in the gap between the chest plates and helmet. 

You didn’t know if Ahsoka and Mayfield were close, if they’d found a map – you didn’t care. 

These men, these followers were standing between you and Din. Maybe they had been forced into it, but as you had said before. They made the choice to stay. 

A yell sounded from behind you and a sharp blow to the middle of your back had you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs. 

You sucked in a sharp breath but before you could turn, the back of a blaster smashed your skull and you tumbled to the floor, fighting through the wave of nausea and the stars in your vision. The lightsaber was flung from your grip, skittering across the floor. 

A somewhat altered voice hissed against your ears, a knee pressing to your spine, “You think you can waltz in here and take us all down? I don’t care what the boss says.” The muzzle of his blaster now jammed against the back of your skull, forcing your forehead to press against the icy, metallic floor and you bit your lip with the impact, “You are vermin. A monster. People like you shouldn’t exist.” 

The dark creature within you snarled, and you spread your fingers of your free hand, the other caught up underneath you, “Didn’t your boss tell you?” 

You heard him cock his head, “Tell me, what?” He dug his blaster in harder, right against the base of your skull. 

A wicked grin spread your lips, causing them to split further but quite frankly, you didn’t care. The pain only aided in the focus, the hot blood nothing as it ran down your chin, “Watch the hands.” You lifted it from the floor, wrapping the Force around his throat and you gave him only a second to realise what was happening, before curling your hand into a fist and crushing his windpipe. 

He choked, hands flying up to his throat but then he was instantly gone, slumping forward over you in a heavy tangle of limbs. 

You groaned, shifting his body off of you, “Get off of me.” You muttered it uselessly, scrambling up and you scooped up the lightsaber, before turning to survey the hallway. 

Footsteps resounded from both ends of the hallway, and you lowered into a battle stance, adrenaline still humming through your veins and numbing everything else, everything but the fight and the goal – Din.  Along with the cool ice of battle… something heavy and alluring whispered to you, as black as night and hungry for more death. 

White armour burst into your left peripheral and you whirled toward it, flinging a hand forward and then back. 

The Stormtrooper was dragged off his feet, again trapped with the invisible pressure around his throat as he ground to a halt, legs swinging forward with the remaining force of him flying at you. 

He snarled, scrambling at his throat, “You can’t do this. You won’t beat him, no matter what you believe.” 

You rolled your eyes, letting your head fall back with a groan, “When they make you, do they implant some kind of need for all the dramatic bullshit? Honestly, whoever the first one of you was, he must have been an incredible bore.” 

The Trooper thrashed about uselessly, his weapon falling to the floor and you sensed the glare through the black visor, “At least we have hearts. And maybe we’re all the same, but we’re more human than you are.” 

Monster. 

Ah, back to this, yet again. 

Always back to this. 

Your smile was angelic, your appearance anything but. 

Long cloak hanging from your shoulders, battle suit fitted and black as coal. Your boots were stained red, the blood looking like ink on the dark leather. 

As for your face, you sported a wicked bruise to your cheekbone, a long cut across your forehead and with the blood dripping down your chin, the wild fury in your eyes… You probably looked every bit the monster they said you were. 

And you couldn’t care. 

“You think I haven’t heard this one before? How I have no humanity, no soul… I’m an abomination that shouldn’t deserve to live, blah blah blah.” You shook your head, something deadly and shadowed twisting through your blood, humming in dark delight at what you were doing, the devastation you were feeding it. 

There was a name for it. 

You knew what it was, the siren call to step over the line that you were only too pleased to answer. 

You’d deal with that later.

The Stormtrooper choked as you tightened the hold on him, obviously about to speak but then his head jerked, focusing over your shoulder. 

The other footsteps – a pair. One heavy, one light and nimble. 

Mayfeld, and Ahsoka. 

You didn’t bother turning around as you heard them skid to a stop, Mayfeld sucking in a breath at the sight around you. 

The fallen bodies of the Troopers, broken about and still smouldering, the blood coating the walls and the floor, the edge of your cloak trailing in it. The stench of death and the smell of molten plastic. 

Mayfeld whistled low, “Fucking hell…” 

You ignored them, focused on your prey, tightening that leash bit by bit. 

It was like the very air around you was alive, more frantic than normal. Your power flared, tasting the death in the atmosphere, slipping through the ship like a poison and marking where each target was. Every single obstacle between you and your love. 

You could feel their living souls, see them in your mind like glowing stars in the sky. You knew that if you went for them, you could close your eyes and still take them down as quickly and skilfully as if your eyes were open. 

Is this how Haran was so good at killing? So skilled at finding people? 

Without the distraction of sight and sound, you needn’t worry about the expressions on people’s faces, the noises they made as they died. 

With your eyes shut, using this glittering map in your mind… they were merely lights to snuff out. 

“If you follow this path… No one will be able to help you. You will have to make the choice whether to stay on it, or to fight your way out.” Ahsoka’s voice was a soft breeze in the night of your mind, softly lit in the same white as her sabers, of which one you held in your hand. 

A symbol of strength… which you had used to destroy lives. 

Your eyes opened slowly, gazing up at the Stormtrooper ahead of you. 

A choice. 

Seconds ticked by, seconds you knew were slipping away on the clock of Din’s life as you made up your mind. 

The Trooper fell to the bloody floor and your voice was demanding, no room for argument, “Take us to your little master. I except he’ll be waiting.”

~~~

~~

Booted footsteps rang out on the cold metal hallways. 

The King of Shadows and Death could move like a whisper on the wind, as if the air itself parted around him and kept him silent. 

But this time, he wanted to be heard. 

He wanted the Mandalorian to know that his hope had been in vain. 

He merely looked at the guards standing either side of the door and they nodded, one scanning the chip that would trigger the heavy locks in the door. 

It swung open and Haran crossed the threshold, gazing down at the broken Mandalorian, slumped on his cot. He grinned, cocking his head, “Time’s up, Mando. Your saviour has come to rescue you from the enemy walls. Looks like you don’t know her as well as you thought.” 

The Mandalorian growled, dried blood like rust on his beskar, “If you think you’ll walk out of this unharmed, you obviously don’t know her like you think you do.” 

The last time Haran came to see him, he had healed his injuries just enough that Mando wasn’t permanently dancing the line between being awake and being unconscious. He did nothing to remove the pain, or the severity of them, but he had prevented infection. He’d also healed his legs to the point where he could walk – barely. 

What good was a knight who fell before the Queen could finish the game? 

Haran walked over to him, hauling him to his feet. The Mandalorian was the same height as him, so he gauged he was looking right into Mando’s eyes when he whispered, “I think I know her a lot better than you think. I can tell you that she would not have come here peacefully. And she would not have let go the people that stood in her path.” 

Mando shook his head, trying to pull away from him but he was unsteady on his feet, the blood rushing from his head, “No. You’re wrong. She won’t listen to that call, to the... Dark Side or whatever it is. She’s walked that line before, and she’ll make the right decision again.” 

Haran chuckled low, half dragging the beskar-clad knight out of the door, “Oh, I don’t doubt that she’ll make the right decision. But whether or not it’s right depends on which side you’re standing on.” 

The Mandalorian groaned, hating that he couldn’t pull away from Haran, hated the weakness of his body, the unsteady, lurching footsteps of his still fractured legs and the armour that weighed down on his broken bones. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so obsessed with corrupting her? You’ve been living your sick little life for… however long it is now. Surely there’s some other person to terrorize?” 

Haran scoffed, rolling his amber eyes, “You really need to get it through that thick skull of yours – I’m not corrupting her. I’m merely bringing back someone she’s tried to bury.” He looked over at Mando, raising his eyebrows, “Has she told you? About the time she had no code of honour, of mercy?”

The man beside him snarled, his leg giving way for a moment as agony rippled up his hip, his bones screaming, “What the fuck are you talking about now?” 

It was easy to hold him up, despite the weight of his beskar and they walked down the imposing hallways, three Stormtroopers flanking them – whether it was to stop Mando trying something, or stop Haran having his fun, he didn’t know. Or care. 

“There was a time, little hunter, where your precious princess slaughtered anyone who dared stand in her way. She was broken, hungry for vengeance and only to eager to have her fill.”

Mando was quiet for a moment, the heavy scuff-drag of his boots the only sound to be heard – one he probably hated as he moved nearly as silently as Haran did. 

Something like triumph flickered over Haran’s face at his silence, “You truly didn’t know? Oh dear… There’s a lot she hasn’t told you, Lori. Things I’ve seen in her head that I doubt even she remembers she did.” He guided them around toward the corner, to where it would all come to a head. 

And to where his power was tugging him, whispering to him of the state the next hallway had been left in. 

The Mandalorian pushed away from him, summoning some kind of inner reserve of strength. He stopped, the guards pausing behind him and shifting their weapons as a warning. He looked at Haran, the harsh lighting bouncing off his beskar, revealing nothing of the man beneath and Haran wondered if he had revealed his face yet. 

“You seem to think telling me these things will bother me or make me look at her differently. Whatever she’s done, whatever terrible things she’s committed… it doesn’t change the fact that I love her.” He stepped forward, ignoring the guards as they moved too, “I’ll tell you something, Shadow man. There is a light that burns within her, a fire that could rival the very stars up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, “And no ounce of darkness, be it her own past or your own twisted powers, will ever snuff it out.” 

He moved that finger to jab Haran’s chest. “You tried to dump her at the bottom of a lake, and she came out burning brighter than before. So carry on, tell me all these horror stories to try and scare me away.” He shrugged, the rough baritone of his voice steady, ringing with loyalty and truth – and threat, “All you’re doing is making me love her even more.” 

Golden eyes flicked between the visor, assessing. Plotting. 

Then Haran smiled, a sinister, deadly smile as he inclined his head, “I don’t doubt for a second everything you said is true.” He brought his hands together behind his back, resuming the walk and he used his power to push the Mandalorian along. “I believe that you’re willing to throw down the gauntlet to protect her honour every single time someone threatens it. But I wonder… All you’ve heard is stories.” 

He walked around the corner and stopped yet again, his dark power dragging Mando to his side. “What will you do when faced with the truth first-hand?” 

The hallway was carnage. 

A bloody battlefield. 

Multiple bodies littered the stark floors, bright red blood sprayed all along the walls – even the ceiling. The once white armour of the Troopers was stained with the stuff, their bodies bent at unnatural angles, as if a strong power had taken hold of their limbs and yanked them in all the wrong directions until bones shattered and muscles tore. 

The Mandalorian looked upon the scene, the blood coating the tips of his boots. 

A dismembered hand lay just a few feet away and the severed wrist, the tendons hanging out of it... all singed. As if cleaved from the body by something white-hot and burning. 

A lightsaber. 

Which would explain why the hard shell-like armour of the fallen Troopers were marked with black holes and marks, the stench of melting plastic mingling with the reek of burnt bodies and blood. 

This was the work of someone with deadly skill, usually so precise… pushed to the edge, to this. 

Oh, it wasn’t mindless, not by any means. 

It was clearly thought out… maybe even savoured. 

Haran breathed in the smell like he was standing in a field of flowers, “Well. I have to say, I’m impressed. This looks like something I’d leave behind.” He walked through the mess of shredded bodies, a phantom wind lifting the edge of his cloak so it didn’t drag in the blood, “These poor soldiers never had the chance.” He crouched down, pushing the helmet of one Trooper – resulting in the head rolling a few inches away from his body. 

He looked at the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as the fluorescent lighting brought out his scars, “Still singing her praises?” 

The Mandalorian was silent, hands clenched at his sides but then he moved, not away from the scene, but toward it. 

Through it. 

Through the blood and flesh until he was standing right in front of Haran, feet splashing to a stop in the scarlet river, “Always.”

~~~

~~

Moff Gideon was waiting for you as you were escorted into a large, open chamber.

He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, with a young girl at his side – presumably his second in command.  There was a sick expression of glee on his face, dark eyes glittering with what he presumed was triumph. 

Next to him, stood Haran, clad in black as always, with that embroidered cloak holding – 

Din. 

Oh, the sight of your Mandalorian threatened to bring you to your knees as you were stopped a few metres away. 

You couldn’t see his body – obviously – but you knew simply from the way he held himself, that he was terrible injured. 

He seemed to be bearing his weight to one side, slumped over even as he stood, and you could hear is laboured breathing from here. 

Oh Din, what happened to you…

You had to admit, a small part of you wondered if there would be anything left of him when you arrived. Not from the possibility of torture, but simply from that terrible fall. 

The thought of tumbling all that way down to the ground, encased in a rock-solid metal shell… You couldn’t even fathom it. 

And yet, there Din was, still alive after something that should have killed him. 

Clearly, the Maker had plans for him. 

Gideon cleared his throat, watching the Trooper grunt retreat to the edge of the room, “Well, well. After all my time spent hunting you… Here you are.” He cocked his head, “I thought you’d be taller.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing, “Oh stars above, please tell me this isn’t another villain speech. I hate those.” 

Haran’s lips twitched perhaps remembering this exact same conversation from his bunker. 

You flickered your eyes to him, before looking back at Moff Gideon, who was looking at you with… a rather bored expression already. 

“I was told you were insolent and arrogant, and I can see my sources were correct. They were also correct about how to summon you here.” 

He looked over at Haran, “Though it took many years for someone’s ideas to actually bear fruit. Well done.” 

Haran bristled slightly, as if taking praise from a mere human man irritated him. 

You supposed it did. 

Gideon was nothing compared to Haran, power or not.  

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you, of course.” You shot him a sweet smile, venom in your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind, do you think you could tell me what it is you want before I take my Mandalorian here and leave this dump.” You held up your comms watch, “I have a party in Coruscant I’m due to be at and it won’t look very good if I’m late.” 

You thought you may have heard muffled chuckles from the line of Stormtroopers assembled behind him, but you paid it no heed. 

Gideon bared his teeth at you, eyes blazing, and he brought a hand in front of him to point at Din, “Do you not realise, we have your precious bounty hunter captive? Do you not realise who is holding him?” 

You looked over at Haran, shrugging lightly, “A guy who has interesting taste in fashion?” 

Did Gideon not know about the bunker or the lake? Had Haran neglected to tell him you’d met before?

Haran revealed nothing in his expression, but there was something in his eyes… something ancient… some of betrayal? Of lies? 

Moff Gideon snarled at you, “Insolent creature. You are here because we allowed you to be. In fact, the only reason that happened, is because of the failures of the people I sent after you. Had they done their job, you would have been broken long ago. That disgusting affliction of yours burnt out of you.” 

Heat licked down your spine, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the three Force wielders within it straightened at is words, the ugly discrimination in his words. 

Dangerous game to play, Gideon. 

You kept your breathing even, feeling the shadows prowl beneath your skin, teeth and claws still dripping with blood from the hallways, wanting more, “Have you ever wondered why you’re stuck here, chasing down women and babies?” You took a step forward, anger and pride for yourself, for Ahsoka, every Force Sensitive person both dead and alive making your voice carry strong over the empty air – even pride for Haran, in some way.  

Gideon rose an eyebrow, “Do tell.” 

“You’re stuck in the past. You believe that people like us,” You motioned to yourself, “You believe we are abominations. Freaks of nature. The Force is nature. It’s the very thing that binds us all together. There is no fear in it, no monstrosity. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you people to understand.” 

The Officer sighed, shaking his head and moving a step closer as well, “Oh, I understand that. I wasn’t referring to the others in this room. I was referring to you. You, my dear, have been sick and twisted from the very moment you were born.” 

Din pulled against Haran’s grip, growling in anger, “I’d advise you to stop speaking.” 

Haran yanked him hard, “Stay quiet.” He spat the words at Din, but you didn’t fail to notice the murderous look he shot Gideon over Din’s head, his golden eyes livid. 

A shaking had taken over your hands, so you clenched them tighter around your weapons, years of abuse playing in your mind. 

But you pushed back against it, for you were stronger now. Stronger because of it, not in spite of it. 

Gideon continued, looking upon you in disgust but there was a sick fascination here too, “You have been marked for death long before you showed your powers. You think it was coincidence that the hunter was stalking you in your miserable little village? She was there on orders.” He looked over you, “A child responsible for the deaths of her parents. You might as well have pushed the blade in your mothers flesh yourself.” 

A roaring took over your head, filling your ears with the sounds of screaming, the stench of blood and the way the light sapped from your life as your parents died. 

But… the world was different now. 

It was bright again. 

Because of Din, your friends… That’s why you were here. 

You glared at Gideon, wanting so desperately to tear out his throat with your power, your hands, or even your teeth – but now wasn’t the time. You shook your head, “You don’t win this time, Gideon. I’m afraid your sad little life will be ruled by chasing me for just a little longer.” With that, you flung your hands wide, making your power explode through the room with a battering impact. 

You felt another wave at the same time as yours, fuelling it – Ahsoka’s. 

You only just managed to keep it free from Din, though Haran had thrown up a hand milliseconds before you, as if sensing what you were going to do – and evidently creating a shield. 

Gideon and the Troopers weren’t quite so lucky. 

The Force flung him through the air, causing his head to smash harshly against a metal beam and he crumpled to the ground, limp. 

Haran spun to look at him, and it occurred to you – he should have protected him too. He was working for Gideon. Or… at least pretending to be. 

Who was really calling the shots here?

No time for that now. 

You used Haran’s distraction to throw yourself at him, activating the lightsaber and unleashing yourself on him with a strangled cry of rage. 

He startled, just a few seconds too late and he pushed Din at you in an attempt to slow you down. 

Perfect. 

Just as you planned. 

You were never really going to engage in battle with him, had never intended to attack him. 

But you knew he would use Din as a shield, thinking you were too blidned in your rage – but you proved him wrong. 

Din careened into you, stumbling against your body and you both nearly tumbled to the floor, but then Cara was there, helping you support his body as he wrapped an arm around you, “You came…” His voice was hoarse, weak with pain and exhaustion. 

The relief and love in his voice nearly brought you to the ground, “Of course I came for you, Din. I will always come for you.” You gave him a watery smile, walking toward the others, keeping one eye behind you as Haran watched. 

Why wasn’t he moving… Why wasn’t he attacking?

“I saw what you did.” Haran’s silken voice called out from behind you, making you pause in your retreat. “I know you feel it. The call to the Dark Side. And I know that you answered it.” 

That would be why. 

You slowed to a stop, forcing Din and Cara to slow too. “How do you know I answered it?” You looked straight ahead, still not turning around. 

Haran sounded as though he took a step forward, “I felt it. I felt it when you allowed the Dark to show you how to get here. You saw the lives as glowing lights, a map to saving your Mandalorian. And the mess you left in that hallway…” He trailed off meaningfully, “You needn’t fear it, darling. It’s not evil. It’s merely… a different perspective.” His voice had melted into the same one that had coaxed you into swallowing the poison, into stepping off the edge. 

Here you were, yet again. Only you weren’t standing on the precipice of a raging torrent… You were standing on the edge of the Dark Side. 

And his words had instantly awoken it, set it pining for a life to be unleashed, untamed. 

Slowly, you turned around, cringing when Din’s broken feet tumbled over each other too, so you slowly let go “A different perspective…?” You cocked your head, voice starting to sound unsure as his seductive baritone filtered through your mind, weaving around it. 

He smiled, that gorgeous, disarming smile that instantly made you lock focus on him, “Yes. Others may tell you that the dark side is evil… But it isn’t. It’s simply using that power in a different way. Using it to get the things that you deserve.”

You swallowed, feet hanging over that metaphorical edge, “You – You promise? I can’t go back to that place. I can’t be a… monster again.” Your voice trembled over the word; eyes locked on his amber ones. 

Din shook his head fiercely from your left, fighting against Cara’s hold as she pulled him away, but he was too weak, “No. Sweetheart, no. Stop listening to him, please… He’s lying to you. You don’t need this. You don’t need that darkness, princess. You’re so good, so strong… please don’t do this.” 

And then you made a decision. 

You ignored Din.

And walked toward Haran. 

Stepping off of that edge. 

Haran extended a gloved hand to you, “That’s it, darling. That’s it… Coming here doesn’t make you a monster, it just means you are claiming your birth right. This is where you belong.” 

As you reached his presence, a feeling wrapped over you, muffling Din’s voice, the sounds of the others around you. You slid your hand through his, gasping a little as you felt your shadowy beast respond to his own, felt them twine around each other, greet each other. 

“I don’t…” Uncertainty still clouded your expression, and you lingered a little, worrying you were making a fatal mistake. 

He saw this, gently drawing you closer and into the circle of his arms, “No one will die. Your Mandalorian, your friends… We will help them leave safely and then… Then we can begin.” He guided your head to his neck. 

Din’s voice, though muffled, was desperate, clawing at you, “No! Cyar'ika, you can’t. Please, I’m begging you. You don’t need to go to him, you don’t need to do this. I love you. I love you for who you are, for every single thing. I’m not afraid of you, of any single part of you.” He sobbed. 

Din sobbed, reaching for you, “Please don’t leave me alone.” 

You were glad your head was pressed to Haran’s neck, because the backs of your eyes burned, shame and guilt threatening to choke you. 

You had to do this. 

You had to do it now before you shattered completely.

You were quiet, and then just… went pliant in his arms. You raised your own to his back, winding around his lean frame and lifted your face from Haran’s neck, nuzzling your nose along his neck, “I believe you.”  

“NO!!” Din fell to his knees beside Cara, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sweetheart, please don’t do this. Please-” The way his voice broke tore through your heart, and you nearly backed out right then and there. 

But you didn’t because Din… He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you had to do this… 

Haran’s arms tightened around you, one coming up to cradle the back of your head, “Good girl. I always knew you would see the light.” A deliberate, ironic choice of words form the King of Shadows and Death.

Din’s sobs speared though you, each devasted noise threatening the tears building in your own throat. 

Raising on tiptoe slightly, you ran a hand down his back, the other splaying wide, ready. 

You brushed your lips along the smooth line of his skin, breathing in the smell of wind and midnight, “There’s just… There’s one little thing…” 

Haran nodded, his cheek resting against your hair, “Anything. Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

His words muffled the soft sound of an object flying into your hand as you let out a breath against the shell of his ear, whispering, “I will never be your Queen.” 

The sound of a lightsaber activating, not through air… but through flesh. 

Haran’s choke of surprise – and agony. 

You held his sagging body to yours, snarling, “That’s for the lake, you twisted asshole.” You stepped back, letting him fall to his knees, yanking free the lightsaber and savouring the gritted howl of agony as you tore back through more flesh and tendon. 

Those amber eyes of his blazed like molten gold, deadly and furious, “You don’t know the mistake you’re making. You’re throwing away your life with these fools.” 

You bared your teeth at him, raising the saber threateningly to his throat, letting it make the faintest contact, “Come after me again, and I will end you. I don’t care if you’re hundreds of yours old, or the King of Death or whatever else you call yourself. I’m not afraid of you. And I will destroy you before you can do the same to anyone else.” 

With that, you quickly turned, bolting toward your family and friends, “Now!!” 

Ahsoka flung her hands wide at the same time as you, creating a wide bubble of Force energy that blew through the space. 

Every Stormtrooper in the area was knocked flat on their back, instantly out like lights as you threw your arm around Din’s shoulders, trying to get him up as he stared at you. 

“What… I don’t…” His voice was bewildered, dazed with pain and he was heavy in your arms. 

You whimpered just slightly, desperation and anxiety creeping forward, the edge of battle slowly fading, “I’ll explain everything later, we have to go now, Lori. Please.” 

Mayfeld was suddenly there, supporting his other side and then you were all running for the cargo hold, leaving the destruction behind you. 

Even as you ran, Cara and Fennec scouting ahead, Ahsoka behind you aiding with the energy bubble and Mayfeld helping you carry Din… You couldn’t quite figure out how you had pulled this off. 

You’d done it. 

~~~

~~

Haran watched her leave, supporting the Mandalorian and hurrying away with her friends, her power combined with Tano’s to create an impenetrable shield around them all. 

Well… He would have gotten through with half a thought – perhaps a whole one – but any of the other fools in this place wouldn’t stand a chance. 

Many footsteps rushed into the room and then he felt hands on him, pushing away his own, trying to get to his wound. 

He looked down, saw a medic with their pack open by his side, flitting and fiddling. 

“Leave it.” His silken voice was hard ice, enough of a bite there to inform the medic what would happen if they didn’t leave. 

Despite the medics healing instincts, they knew the tone well, and moments later the kit was packed up and Haran was already turning away from the retreating figure. 

Strong. 

She had grown stronger far quicker than even he had expected. He knew it was within her, but he had thought the trauma ran deeper, its claws embedded into her very soul and creating a barrier every time she would try to tap into the power. 

Tano must have taught her how to master her fear, or how to get past it.

Useful, it saved him a job… but also irritating. If she was already harnessing that trauma, it would mean he could no longer use that aspect. 

Haran walked the path she had taken, out to the cargo load, the harsh wind roaring across the space as the tech’s struggled to gain control of the ship again, to remove whatever bug the girl and her friends had slipped in. 

No matter. It didn’t upturn his plans… just meant he had to work with a new angle. 

And fortunately, he had one, courtesy of the would-be Queen herself.

Haran had come across the bodies in the hallway on his way in here, saw the way they were dumped on the ground with their limbs at unnatural angles, their armour shattered from the inside out. 

And if the still smoking scorch marks all over their bodies weren’t indication enough, a sweep of his power had revealed massive internal devastation. 

Haran stood with a gloved hand pressed to the bleeding wound as he watched the steadily shrinking shape of a ship. A mere thought had the hole stitching back together as he extended his fingers out slowly. 

No one on the clean side of the Force would wreak havoc like that of the hallway, regardless of their love having been kidnapped and beaten. 

And that meant simply one thing. And one thing only.

She was being called to the Dark Side. 

And she’d heeded that call. 

Maybe only temporary, but the Dark Side was like Haran himself. Once you let it in, once you got that first taste… it never truly left. She could deny it all she wanted, trick him with it, think it was merely a reaction from the stress of saving the Mandalorian, but it had already rooted within her. 

He could feel it. 

Haran tipped his head back and laughed, his ebony curls dancing across his forehead as the wind tugged and pushed at his tall, lean frame. A lone pillar of darkness, hovering at the edge of the world. 

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#well this was a journey #the mandalorian x reader #edited because I realised I spelt Mayfeld wrong #the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #rogue #pedro pascal

[cute-little-spaceboy]

♤ Bunny Hybrid! Tadashi Yamaguchi x GN! Reader ♤ Fantasy AU ♤ Pure Fluff ♤ No idea how I got roped into this, but it's for @ultimate-astridwriting's Hybrids collab. ♤ This is long as hell, I'm sorry if it's boring, I tried my best. ♤ 2431 words guys...

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The Night was young, stars just barely peeking out of the sky. An almost bluish sliver of the sun could still be seen right where the horizon lay. When the entirety of the village was just starting to turn in for the night, the ancient spirits, the Yōkai, were coming out.  The first ones out were always the more predatory of the group. The foxes, wolves, bears, etc. They were the brave ones, and almost always came out first, at the same time the stars began appearing. Although they were the first to leave their dens and holes, they mostly prowled around, looking for any last traces of people that had stayed out late.  Next were the insects and birds. Bird Yōkai being more impatient than others, and simply unable to wait for the all clear from the predators. They began chartering and singing amongst themselves, flying from tree to tree without a care in the world. Meanwhile the insects sat near the edges of the trees, murmuring to each other.  Finally, the timid prey animals came out (Only with the confirmation from the Predators that it was indeed safe). The rabbits, mice, squirrels and such.  They would come out slowly, still unsure of their surroundings. Once they deemed it truly safe, they would party just as carefree as any bird or fox. The kingdom they lived by was a small one. The village was tiny enough that everyone knew everyone and almost all of them were related, or friends. The castle was more of a mansion or extra large house. And all around the village, there was a ring of meadowy area, and then forests for miles. Forests filled with Yōkai, that is.  The relationship between the kingdom and the Spirits was… Complicated to say the least. The Kingdom had said they were on "Neutral terms" years ago, but what really ended up happening was, the two sides avoided and feared each other. No one really knew why, but they feared great consequences if they interacted with each other. So the Humans in the village spent the day enjoying themselves, and the Yōkai came out at night, after they went home.  The meadow was sort of like a barrier to the two, no human or Yōkai was brave enough to go there… Well, not most anyways.  You had to be either brave or stupid to go anywhere near there. Tadashi Yamaguchi was neither brave, nor stupid, he was simply lovestruck. He couldn't stay in the forest with the rest of the Yōkai, not when he knew you were there. Out sitting in the meadows, staring up at the vast expanse of the skies. You were just as bad as he was, that's how he justified it. If you could go out, then so could he. Neither of you were hurting anything, you were watching stars and he was watching you.  He was almost certain that you didn't see him. The grass in the meadows was tall, almost knee length. So he would crouch down and watch you. It may have been a little creepy, but he couldn't help it. You were simply captivating to him. You weren't doing anything, just sitting there.  You had a lantern with you, you always did. It wasn't a bright light, casting only a faint golden light on your face. He couldn't see much, but what he could see, he adored. You looked so… Delicately made. As if every individual part of you was carefully crafted and selected from the best that the heavens had to offer. You were a deity, and he was a simple demon. He had seen a glimpse of heaven itself and now he knew it was clearly meant to be.  His long, floppy ears perked up when he saw your familiar form, kneeling on the soft grass. Cotton tail wiggling with excitement. He could sit there for hours, imagining what you were like. What did you like doing? You obviously loved the stars, maybe you liked nature? If you liked nature, maybe you would like him? Maybe you were waiting for someone else? He didn't like that thought. Shaking his head, ears flopping against his face. As if he could erase the thought from his head. It was ridiculous to be this possessive over something that wasn't his, but what else could he do? You were the forbidden fruit, and he wasn't willing to let anyone else take away his beautiful

temptation.  He crept closer, he didn't normally get closer than eight feet away, but he felt more confident today. It wasn't really confidence so much as desperation to get closer to you. He couldn't just sit and stare at you forever. It would drive him mad. Scooting closer as quietly as possible, the grass made a rustling sound underneath him but you didn't seem to notice. He was four feet away now, you were still clueless, and he still wanted more. So he crept closer until he was three feet…  Two feet… One foot…  Right behind you…  It was beyond him how you hadn't noticed him. If he leaned forward, he would be pressed against your back. He could smell your natural scent, grass, flowers, and the faintest hint of general store soap. The grass and flowers were probably thanks to the meadow, but he almost melted. He was right there, right next to you. He could easily imagine that he wasn't here, stalking you, but that you were meeting in secret. That the two of you were forbidden lovers, that he was embracing you, not hiding behind you. He knew that he had gone too far, this was a major invasion of privacy and inappropriate to sneak behind someone without them knowing. But he was practically lovedrunk being this close to you, and he couldn't think of anything other than you.  Would it really hurt if you knew he was there? You were already in the meadows, so you had to know that there were creatures that could be out there. It was really your fault for coming out here, he wasn't going to hurt you. He just had to hold your hand, if only for a second.  Reaching out with a trembling hand, he threw caution to the wind, slipping his hand into yours. Never once thinking about how bad things were about to get.  You jerked your hand away, shrieking and scrambling to your feet, whirling around to see what had touched your hand. The lantern was knocked to the ground and Tadashi's face was illuminated. He froze like a deer in headlights, his terror filled eyes never left yours. Your hands were brought up to your chest as you stared at the rabbit hybrid, equally afraid. Was he trying to hurt you? Hunt you? He was a rabbit, last you checked, those didn't eat people. But he was also a Yōkai, which meant you knew almost nothing about what he would actually do.  He felt paralyzed, the only thoughts in his mind were "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?". When you took a step towards him, his fight or flight instinct kicked in… They chose flight.  He bolted from his spot, bounding for the forest. You stared as he didn't bother looking back, too scared to stop running until he was safely back in his He cursed himself for being so reckless, getting so close to you. He had completely thrown logic and possible safety to the side just to touch some stranger he could barely see. What kind of lovesick child was he?  "You went out there again, didn't you?" The almost scolding voice of his friend, Kei Tsukishima, called from outside the den.  Tadashi peeked his head out of the entrance, nose trembling from the dramatic situation.  "I couldn't help it, Tsukki, they just…"  ""Captivate You"?" Kei said, rolling his eyes. His fluffy orange tail swishing behind him. "That's what you said, isn't it? Every time you describe them, it's always the same thing."  "I know, but… I can't really describe them beyond that. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I just know!" Tadashi protested. "Know what? Know that they wouldn't take the opportunity to kill you on the spot?"  "Oh come on Tsukki, you know we get along just fine, they wouldn't shoot me."  "Sure. Come back and explain it to me when you've actually talked to them and lived to tell the tale." Kei scoffed, turning and stalking back into the trees.  "I almost got caught… Tsukki is right." Tadashi frowned, it was common sense that you didn't fall in love before a real first sight. But common sense wasn't making sense anymore, so anything was possible at this point. Even getting a complete stranger's affection, right?  "This is stupid…" Tadashi muttered to

himself as he crept out of the treeline. He had no idea if he would see you again, but curiosity had gotten the best of him and he wasn't going to give up the chance to see you again. Tsukki could advise him against it all he wanted, Tadashi was a firm believer in love at first sight. (No matter how one sided this was)  There you were, sitting in your usual spot. He hadn't scared you off after all, he felt relieved. But only slightly, he still had to muster the courage to try and talk to you. After all, you already knew he existed, so now he only had to make you just as in love with him as he was with you. Easy Peasy… Something odd that he noticed, was that you weren't looking up at the sky like you usually were. You were staring straight at the border of trees that lined the forest. Almost as if you were expecting something to come out. It was a little off putting, that was for sure. Were you looking for him? Was that a good thing, and you wanted to talk to him? Or did you have a hidden weapon? Okay… Maybe no hidden weaponry, no way you were that kind of person. Nobody who came out to look at stars would kill some demon they barely met, right?  "Here we go…" He whispered to himself, standing upright in the tall grass to walk over before his confidence disappeared.  "Or… Maybe not." He crouched in the grass again, opting to crawl instead of walk. Maybe it was because he could still back out, or maybe it was because it might make him seem friendlier. Either way, staying hidden until he absolutely had to come out, was far easier.  When he had gotten close again, he didn't want to come out of hiding. He wanted to get your attention, but he didn't want you to see him. His prey instincts were kicking in and he was regretting his choice to confront you.  "Hello?"  You spoke…  You had actually spoken. Out loud. To him? He didn't know that.  "I know you're here. I saw you yesterday, and… I assume you're back now?"  Were you just saying that? Or did you actually know he was here. You could have been bluffing, sure. But he had to say something eventually. So he may as well get it out now.  "Yes. I'm back." His voice was quiet, but everything else was quieter, so he knew you had heard him.  "I knew it." You had been bluffing… Your voice sounded too surprised to get a response. Had you been talking like that for the last hour?  "How long have you been watching me?" Tadashi felt awkward now, he couldn't lie to you and say it was the first time. But he couldn't just tell you that he had been stalking you for months now.  "A while then?"  "No! Of course not!" He protested.  "Then how long?"  "Only a few months. That's all." He tried to make it sound better than it actually was.  "A few months? Why? What were you even doing? Are you some kind of stalker?"  "No! I'm not a stalker, I swear! I was only watching the stars with you. I… I like it here too, and when I saw you, I guess I got excited that someone else liked it too." That wasn't entirely untrue.  There was silence, and he felt uncomfortable again. Had you somehow seen through his half-lie? Looking up, he saw the faint light of a lantern and your face. You were standing over him, looking down with what could have been amusement.  "Y'know you could've just asked, right? I'm not gonna hurt you." You crouched next to him and he could fully see your face from here. His cheeks heated up when you set the lantern in between the two of you.  "Sorry, I guess I was too scared." He muttered, staring at his feet and fidgeting with some blades of grass.  "Of what?"  "You… I know humans and Yōkai technically "Get Along" but everyone's still afraid of each other and I didn't really know you, and I didn't want you to think I was a creeper or anything and-" You placed a finger to his lips, interrupting his ramble.  "Well you don't have to be afraid of me now. I already told you, I won't hurt you. And honestly, I was probably intruding on your stargazing place. This Meadow is more a part of the forest than part of the village. If anything, I'm the

creep."  "No way! It's an in between space, you're not intruding, I promise!" He reassured, he didn't want you feeling unwelcome.  "You're sure?"  "Definitely! You're just as welcome to come here as I am."  "Good to know someone else loves this place like I do." You smiled at the happy Yōkai. Truth be told, you knew he had been watching you for a while. You simply acted as if you didn't see him because you knew how jumpy Yōkai were. You didn't want to scare him off, so you simply ignored him. And when he had actually started talking to you, you knew full well why he was watching you. It was painfully obvious how obsessed he was with you. But for now, you would humor him. You had waited for him to talk to you, you could wait for him to confess his true intentions.

As for how you felt? You weren't entirely sure how to feel. But seeing as he wasn't very good at confessing anything, you had plenty of time to think that over. For now, you had someone to talk to, and that was good enough. 

#Well aware this ending is shit... #Look #I TRIED #I dont write with other people's characters #Whatever #Yamaguchi Tadashi x reader #Fluff #Hybrid collab #Haikyuu fluff #AU

[andieperrie18]

moral of the story (batfamily x batmom reader)

Inspire by moral of the story by ashe

So I never really knew you, God I really tried to

Loving Bruce wasn't hard. I have a lot of love to give and I gave myself to him unconditionally and thought that I he'll learn to love me someday. There were times that he would open up to me about things and his children. I did everything I could to help him, from taking care and raising the children he adopted, loving them like they are mine, to supporting his nightly routine.

"Aren't you father's wife, why aren't you sleeping in the same bed with him?" asked little Damian as I tucked him to his bed.

It's surprising to everyone that I was the first to tame the blood child of Bruce but I didn't really know how I did it too. Same as all of Bruce's children. I guess I just loved them all equally as a mother would wth her own child.

He wasn't the first child to ask me that, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass and Duke did aswell but I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was hoping to be one day worthy to sleep beside him.

I was talking with my lawyer, saying where'd you find this guy

Said young people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes

I can't even move a muscle. My eyes were just staring at the blank line marked with an X and beside it was another line but filled with the perfect signature of my husband.

"I'm really sorry Y/n," I heard my lawyer/childhood bestfriend mutter to my side. I took a glance at her, teeth gritted and a frown blossomed on her face.

"Fei, its really ok-","OKAY?! HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT Y/N?!! YOU LOVED HIM FIRST!! YOU SAYING THAT YOU ARE REALLY LETTING HIM GO TO A S--"

"Fei, please. Don't make this harder. I don't need you to tell 'I said so' or 'you should have listened to me'. I don't even know how to tell my kids abou this so please don't make it harder for me..." I could feel my voice breaking with both my hands holding my torso cause I can't even read the contents of the papers placed before my eyes.

She finally stopped walking in circles from my pheripheral vision for a moment then pulled the chair she was sitting on earlier close to me. Then next I felt her pull my head to her until I was nuzzling my unmake-up face to her white office shirt.

That night, I walked down to the batcave where Bruce was. Alfred was there as well and didn't fail to greet me with a warm smile. But he saw the manila folder I held and it made the smile on his face disappear in a blink. I made my way to the man I once called my husband. He wasn't alone.

In his Batman uniform, his lips was sealed in a loving kiss by the only woman he had ever loved from the start. The very woman I can never compete for his heart.

Selina immediately notice my presence and pulled away from Bruce. She loved him. She really did, I guess that's enough assurance that Bruce will be okay. His world will keep turning with or without me in it.

Bruce turned to where she was looking to meet my pained smile. He put himself before her, it made my heart ache a lot more. Whe I got to them, I didn't let him speak as I gently handed the envelope I had. Judging how his face turned from concerned to guilty, he already knows what's inside.

"I just wanna say something to her, I won't her,"

He didn't speak but moved aside and I was face to face with Selina. I could tell with the way she avoids my gaze, she is guilty with my state. With slightly shaking hands, I took her hands.

Some mistakes get made, it's alright it's okay

You can think that you're inlove, when you're really just in pain

third person

"I know that he loves you and no matter how much love I give him, It won't come to that amount on how much you love him," despite the stutter at the end of the sentence, Y/n kept he chin up.

Bruce was silent but he knew what he did was eating him inside. His guilt was prowling beast ready to swallow him up at that running second. He was the one fueling it as well as regret grew. He understood this act was the cause of his heartlessness but in his mind he knew that Y/n didn't believe that.

What was worse at that moment and had made his guilt grow a lot more was winessing how his now ex-wife acted. Instead of rampaging, she acted civil and collected.

"I won't bother the both of you, all I ask is that you take care of my children,"

With that, she left the couple alone. They were silent but something screamed louder in it.

"Ummi?" Y/n's head shot up as her eyes found Damian who was rubbing his eyes as he had just woke up from a nap. The woman put a smile and walked to the boy, taking her in her arms carrying him. Damian didn't mind this gesture from her as he had grown custom to his only motherly figure in the house. The only woman he will recognize as his mother at the bottom of his heart.

"Hey baby D, why you up? It's half past bed time," Damian leaned his head tiredly on Y/n's shoulder and mumbled, "I'm hungry Ummi,"

Unknown to the boy that his sudden presence was what his mother needed at the moment of rock bottom. With a stuttering voice, she agreed to do the boy's request. Y/n walked to the kitchen with a slow pace while holding Damian close as if someone would try to take him away from her.

That night, she baked a lot of chocolate chip cookies because Damian wasn't the only one who came. Dick came with Jason and Tim after a tight shift in Patrol. They all shared about how their days went before Cass and Duke followed in and entered the last bonding they'll have with their mother.

They say it's better to have loved and lost

To have never have loved at all

Damian fell asleep on the island and Y/n took the liberty to take him to his room. But before he could leave, the slight pull on the hem of her shirt stopped her. She spun her head slowly to meet all of her children's lowered heads and sad faces. They already know.

"Mom I--…We...--" her eldest began his bright blue eyes turning glossy as every second pass, trying to form the right words he wants to say. He always knew what to do when it comes tips and advices for people like a typical therapist as Jason joked but for the first time, even he can't think of anything to do to ease the second special woman next to his biological mother, "Richard, sweet heart…"

The boy didn't finish but rushed towards her and his sibling followed, crowding over her. Y/n welcomed the comfort of the children she come to treasure in her heart. They all head to the living room and continued to crowd Y/n. Damian innocently slept as you cradle him to your chest, Jason and Cass occupied your sides, Tim rested himself beside you legs, Dick held his mother's hand resting in top of Jason's thighs as he no longer minded it, Duke sat at the opposite side of Tim and Stephanie sat beside Cass. All of them stayed up staring into thin air hoping tomorrow wouldn't come.

that could be a load of shit

but I just gotta tell you all

your pov

"U-ummi please…please…."

The weight on my shoulder doubled as I weakly tried to removed Damian's arms wrapped around my waist, his hand clinging to the thick beige sweater I wore to sheild me from the cold wind. I can't even breath with all my sobbing and I can't even see straight with all the free falling down from my eyes and cheeks.

"Damian baby, Ummi has to go," I tried to say straight.

As much as I wanted to shove Damian away so that I won't get caught and cornered up byhis siblings because if I do, it'll make leaving a lot harder than it is.

some mistakes get made, it's alright, its okay

third person

Turns out Y/n did all the things in one day. After signing papers, she had her bestfriend book her a flight to a foreign country. She will need a lot of alone time to contemplate and digest her current situation. Before she head to the cave, she had already packed her things for her flight. Everyone except Damian saw the bags waiting near the entrance. They would have rushed to talked her out when they found her happily talking with their youngest sibling like nothing happened that whole day. They all silently and mentally agreed that their mother needed this, Y/n needed this. Alfred couldn't bear the sad faces in the living room. Bruce didn't bother to come out his room after Selina have left. He can't face her. You don't derserve to see the man who betrayed you.

Dick and Jason was the first to wake when Damian's loud voice boomed outside the house. And soon everyone woke and they all head to the open doors. What they saw woke them to reality. Their aunt Fei's car was parked at the Drive way and beside is was Y/n and Damian, the latter latched on the woman's waist.

No one had the guts to walk over you two and pull the sobbing child on her mother's waist.

"I don't want her, I want you!!" the boy cried. Damian had never cried that much before. He was using all his strength to stop Y/n from entering the vehicle.

Y/n stopped struggling as she finally bursted to fits of sobs and collapsed in front of Damian who pulled her into his tight embrace. Both crying their hearts out.

"Don't leave," he repeated over and over as he buried his face on her neck. "I love you Ummi,"

"Damian, Baby I'm really Sorry. I am so sorry, I love you baby so much," Damian slowly collapse in her arms and Y/n dropped the sleep sedative she hid in her pockets if Damian ever find out. Continous sobs left her as her Dick came to her and took Damian from her arms. She hugged her eldest tightly, Jason followed with few tears escaping his own eyes, then Tim and so on.

Alfred who had been hidden by the crowd of her children walked to her. Y/n didn't hesitate to hug the old man who cried silently.

Y/n hopped inside the car and watched her children sad and crying faces but mostly to unconscious boy held by her eldest child.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #damian robin damianwaynexreader damianwaynexoc wayne batman batboys #damian wayne #damian way x batmom #batmom #sad #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #batfamily x reader #batfamily x you

[nyxshadowhawk]

The Lady of the Labyrinth

My entry for @dionysia-ta-astika's City Dionysia contest! I'm very proud of myself for having finished it in a week, and I thought I'd share it here on my own blog.

Hail Dionysus!

*** Everything was lost. My brother was dead. My love was gone.

I was also stranded on a deserted island. I stared out at the vast, empty expanse of the sea. The sunlight on the waves winked at me with a thousand eyes, as though diamonds had been scattered across the surface of the water. Anyone would find this beach tranquil, I suppose, if they were here under different circumstances than mine.

My brother’s name was Asterion.

Most people didn’t know his name, or even that he had one. To most people, he was the Minotaur, a horrible monster with the body of a man and the head of a bull that eats people. Asterion was a monster, and he did eat people.

Beneath my father’s shining palace, he prowled the twists and turns of the Labyrinth that my father’s genius architect built. The Labyrinth was mine, once. Daedalus made it for me as a dancing path, when I was a little girl. But now it is a dark, disorienting maze of seemingly endless passageways, and I was still the only person who knew how to navigate it. When I could have time alone, I would go to the Labyrinth. I felt my way through its pitch-black corridors, memorizing the nicks and cracks in the rough stone, trying to calm my thoughts. I spoke to Asterion through the walls: “You have never seen the sun,” I said to him. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like in the outside world? Or do you like it down here?” I received no answer from the surrounding darkness. If I did hear something — a snort, or hooves on stone, I would have to run as fast as I could away from the sound. Even I couldn’t go too near Asterion — I wouldn’t want to run the risk that he might attack me.

“Why do you go down there?” My sister, Phaedra, asked me. “What could possibly be appealing about that dark, dismal place?”

“I like it down there,” I said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as I could. “It is peaceful. And I don’t mind the dark.”

She looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted bull’s horns myself. “You know you risk your life every time you enter the Labyrinth, right?”

“He’s our brother,” I said. I don’t know what I intended to explain by saying that. I felt like I had a responsibility to him that extended beyond simply being his sister. I tried to see a man in him, although he sniffed and bellowed and charged like a bull. He could gore me to death like a bull, but I did not fear him. “I can’t say I love him, but I feel something.”

“You shouldn’t feel any sympathy for him. He’s a freak of nature. The gods cursed us with him for our father’s arrogance. He is a shame upon our kingdom.”

She was right, of course. The gods gifted us a beautiful white bull that we were meant to sacrifice to Poseidon, but my father decided to keep it instead. And Poseidon cursed us… Asterion is the unholy offspring of my mother and the bull. And it gets worse. Every seven years, seven young men and seven young women from the city of Athens were brought to the Labyrinth to be fed to my brother. This was because my other brother, whom I was too young to remember, died while in Athens. Athens pays for this slight with the lives of other young people.

I suppose it’s no different than war, or at least, that’s what my father says. All cities send their youths to die for the polis. How was this any different? I could hardly bear the prisoners’ wails of desperation or their pleas for me to help them. When I heard they were coming, I begged my father to set them free, asserting that it was wrong to sacrifice humans to anything. If the gods had cast Tantalus into Tartarus for feeding them his son, then why should we knowingly feed humans to a monster? He laughed at me and asked why I had no pride in my family.

I hated the thought of the fourteen young people being fed to him, but I also couldn’t imagine killing my own brother, even if he was a monster.

I was too young to remember the last time the prisoners came to the Labyrinth. They had come, and my brother had gorged himself on their flesh, and I was none the wiser. This time, I knew, and the horror of it struck me silent as the tributes were paraded through the city like animal sacrifices to the gods, so that we could all see those who were doomed to die. I could hardly bear to look at them. Some of those girls were barely older than me. It felt wrong to sit by and watch as they were brought to the Labyrinth. But what could I do to save their lives? Supplicating my father would not work, and the only other option was helping them to escape, somehow. How could I do that?

In spite of myself, I caught sight of one of the young men. He was handsome, and he had a defiant, blazing look in his eye. He looked straight at my father on his throne. “I am Theseus of Athens!” he declared. “I have come to slay your monstrous son!”

My father had laughed at him, but he consumed my thoughts. That may be because he was absolutely gorgeous, but it was also because if he succeeded at killing Asterion, he would solve all my problems. I wouldn’t have to take my own brother’s life, but he would devour no more innocent lives. And, if this youth survived, he might take me away with him. I knew the Labyrinth better than anyone. Even if he did survive, he could never make it in and out without my help.

Forgive me, Asterion.

The prisoners were held in two dank cells near the entrance to the Labyrinth. The women were kept in one, and the men were kept in the other. Many of the prisoners were crying — not just the women, but the men, too. In my familiarity with the Labyrinth and its inhabitant, I had forgotten just how terrifying both would be to anyone else. The Labyrinth’s darkness and maddening complexity would intimidate anyone, and the prospect of being eaten by a monster within its depths was horrific.

Only Theseus seemed calm. His boldness in front of my father hadn’t been an act. His jaw was set, and he still had raw determination in his steely eyes. He was really going to do it, wasn’t he? He actually meant to kill Asterion. He shone like gold in the gloom of the dungeon — he could have been Apollo. If our circumstances were different, I might have wanted to stroke his chest. “Who are you?” he demanded when I approached the cell, as though I were the one behind bars, and had requested an audience with him.

“I am Ariadne,” I said, “daughter of Minos, princess of Crete.”

“I am Theseus, son of Aegeus, prince of Athens,” he returned.

Prince of Athens. That explained his noble bearing and proud mien, not to mention his handsome features… and yet… “There is no way the King of Athens would have sent his own son to be fed to the Minotaur,” I said. “Why are you really here?”

“I said, didn’t I? I’m here to slay the Minotaur. I volunteered as tribute.” He smirked. “I promised my father that I would return alive. No more of our people will be sacrificed to the monster!”

“You speak with a lot of confidence for someone who is currently in a prison cell,” I said. “What are you going to do, Theseus? Do you have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan!” he said, a little defensively. “I am going to break out of this cell. And then I will conquer the Labyrinth—”

“How? You’ll be dead of starvation before you even reach the Minotaur, assuming he doesn’t find you first.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you taunting me?”

I leaned forward, looking directly into his eyes. “No. I was actually going to offer to help you. I know the Labyrinth. I go into it all the time.”

“No, you don’t. You’re trying to get me to sleep with you. Or trying to deceive me on behalf of Minos.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything to say in response to that. For a moment I just stared at him. Was he always this self-assured, even in the worst of circumstances? If he wanted to sleep with me, I certainly wouldn’t complain, but why would he assume that I would deceive him? Well, perhaps it was his right to be suspicious, in a strange land where he was kept as a prisoner. “I… no,” I finally replied. “I’m being serious. I’m here to help you.”

“Why, then?”

“I think it is very noble of you to want to save the other Athenians, and I agree that no more innocent lives should be lost.”

He smiled slightly, but still looked suspicious. “You have no loyalty to your father?”

“My father is cruel and selfish. Why else do you think my mother gave birth to a monster, anyway?”

“The monster is your brother? What was his father, a bull?”

“Yes.”

That seemed to have stunned him into silence. I felt some satisfaction at that. “Listen to me. Without my help, you will not get through the Labyrinth. If you want to kill the Minotaur, you need me.”

“What’s the catch?” he asked. “You’re going to want something in return, aren’t you? What?”

“Take me off this accursed rock,” I said. “I am sick of Crete, I’m sick of my father, and I don’t want to have to put up with whatever punishment he might give me for helping you.”

“Well, you are a princess, and I suppose you would make a fine bride for me.”

My heart leapt at those words, and I felt myself blushing. Perhaps I should have known better. “Really? You would marry me?”

“If you help me to slay the Minotaur, then yes, I will marry you.”

“Deal.”

Theseus remained in my thoughts from that point onward. When I closed my eyes, I saw his face, and I imagined the feel of his skin. I’d never seen a man like him before, and oh, if I married him… would I be happy? Happier than I was here, at least? He seemed like the kind of man that Phaedra and I dreamed we would marry as young girls — strong, brave, handsome, and willing to put himself on the line for the sake of his people. All such admirable qualities.

I returned to Theseus when the prisoners were locked into the Labyrinth’s abyssal maw. “Everyone else, stay back!” he ordered, as though he were directing troops. “I will go into the Labyrinth and kill the Minotaur. Stay here, and you will be safe.” He suddenly turned to me. “What have you brought to help me?”

I held out a humble ball of yarn. “This.”

He took it from my hand and raised an eyebrow at it, looking as though he might throw it into the dark. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Daedalus gave it to me when I first started exploring the Labyrinth.”

“Daedalus? I’ve heard of Daedalus. He is supposed to be the most brilliant architect in the world, right?”

“He built this Labyrinth, and he gave me the yarn. All you have to do is tie the end here and carry it through the maze. Then you can follow it back out.”

Theseus looked impressed. “He must be a genius to have thought of something like that!”

He may have been a genius, but I was still intelligent enough to figure it out on my own. All Daedalus had done was hand me the ball of yarn, and I immediately understood what I was meant to do with it. But I didn’t bother correcting Theseus. “Do you have a weapon?”

“No,” said Theseus. “I’m not worried. I’ll kill the beast with my bare hands.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. I suppose if anyone could do it, he could; he was almost as musclebound as the bull-man. But still. Only an extremely impressive hero with divine lineage could hope to kill a monster bare-handed, that or a total idiot. “You are going to die.”

“Nonsense!” He smiled. “Haven’t died yet! And I have faced many deadly trials before.”

I smiled back. “I’m sure you have, but, well, it’s your funeral.”

“Do you want this monster dead, or not?” he demanded.

“Woah, I wasn’t being serious, I…” To be asked that question point-blank was unsettling. It threw my whole dilemma into focus. But seeing the terrified faces of the other tributes huddled naked in the entrance to the Labyrinth gave me my answer. “Yes.”

“I shall go then.” He tied the yarn to the gate and strode with it into the dark. I admired his confidence, even if the odds were against him. He turned the first corner, and was gone. I stared into the darkness for a moment.

One of the girls gripped the hem of my dress. “Please,” she whispered. “Please help us, my lady. We did nothing to be here. If he dies, will you help us escape?”

I didn’t look at her. I kept staring into the Labyrinth’s depths. “I will do what I can,” I said slowly. Then I followed Theseus. I heard her gasp behind me, as if her last hope had just walked away.

I overtook Theseus quickly. He was moving slowly, blindly hitting walls and getting disoriented by the serpentine turns. He jumped when he heard me behind him, turned on his heel and braced for attack, staring me down with the intensity of a bull about to charge. Then he softened. “Oh. It��s you. What are you doing here? I don’t need your help.”

“I know this place better than you do,” I said matter-of-factly.

He huffed in response. “Get back to the entrance. The Minotaur could arrive at any moment.”

I walked ahead of him. “I know. Every time I explore the Labyrinth, I risk death.”

“Why would you explore this place?” he asked, following me. “What could it possibly offer a girl like you?”

“Peace. Solitude. Time away from my father.”

“This Labyrinth is maddening!” His growing frustration echoed off the walls. “How are you not mad? Perhaps you are mad, with the things you say.”

“I’ve never considered that I might be mad.”

“Only if you were mad would you willingly choose to be in this dark prison.”

“You willingly chose to be here.”

He had no response. We walked in silence for a while, dragging the thread behind us. It was almost impossible to see the thread in the dark. I could tell that Theseus was starting to get agitated. The twining paths of the Labyrinth must be making him feel like we were making no progress. The grim silence and high stone walls made us feel completely cut off from the outside world, like there was no world at all beyond the Labyrinth. “Do you think this is what Hades is like?” he asked. “A deep cavern, under the earth, where there is nothing to do but walk endlessly?”

I couldn’t tell whether that was a sincere philosophical question, or whether he was asking indignantly. “I don’t know. The Fields of Asphodel are supposed to be open, and full of the white flowers… Not quite like this.”

“It makes no difference to me anyway. I will assuredly go to Elysium when I die, and it is the most agreeable part of Hades.”

If Hades is exactly like this, I thought, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. There are worse things than this.

Eventually, we passed the point where I usually turned back. I had never gotten this close to the center before. And then we heard it — the unmistakable sound of hooves. Cold terror gripped me. I did not expect to feel this afraid, especially not of my own brother, but the reality of the situation sank in. We were in a Labyrinth with a flesh-eating monster, and the exit was too far away for any chance of escape. Why did I follow him? Why did I think that was a good idea?

“Our quarry is upon us! You should leave,” said Theseus sternly. “The monster eats the maidens first, so I hear.”

The instinct to run left me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself, but you will not be able to fight against the Minotaur.”

“You will protect me, will you?” Being with him felt safe, like he was a bodyguard.

“I will.” As soon as he said that, my fear was banished, and my confidence restored.

A few more turns, and we reached the center of the Labyrinth, a place I figured I’d never enter. In the gloom, I couldn’t actually see much, but I was able to see the hulking shape of my brother with his huge bull’s head and wicked-looking horns.

“There is the beast!” A light suddenly blazed to life beside me, and I cringed away from its brightness. It was a torch.

“Did you have that the whole time?”

“I was saving it!” He handed me the torch and the end of the yarn, and I took them, nonplussed. I saw the floor of the Labyrinth’s center, full of human bones. “Wait there, I will make swift work of this!” Theseus took a fighting stance, muscles tensed.

Asterion looked at me. I felt blind panic grip me, but he did not attack me. Perhaps he recognized me. He must have been familiar with my presence and voice by now, enough to know I wasn’t a threat. I stared into his black bull eyes. They were soft, not fiery and enraged. This was my brother. “Asterion… I’m so sorry, Asterion.”

“What are you doing? Get back!”

Theseus’ yell attracted Asterion’s attention. He roared and rushed forward with his powerful legs, horns lowered and ready to gore him to death. Theseus grabbed Asterion’s horns and hurled himself up onto the Minotaur’s back, holding him in a chokehold with both arms. “I shall send you to the pit of Tartarus, fiend!” Asterion thrashed and bucked and slammed Theseus against the wall, but soon enough, it was over. Theseus had strangled the Minotaur. Asterion lay dead.

Theseus picked himself up, looking exhausted but triumphant. “Victory! No Athenians will die today, or ever! This monster will never claim another human life!” He grinned at me. “See, I told you I could do it with my bare hands!”

I stared at the mass of Asterion’s body. “I killed my brother…”

“Nonsense!” Theseus took the torch back from me. The bones crunched under his feet as he walked. “It is hardly your fault that you are the sister of a beast. We have done a good and heroic thing today. Look, look at the bones! Why are you crying, Ariadne?”

I suddenly looked at him instead of the Minotaur’s corpse. I don’t think he’d said my name before. Even in the dim torchlight, he still looked bright, with clear eyes and golden hair and bronze skin slick with sweat. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Ariadne.” He smiled at me. “Thank you. Together we have saved many lives.”

He kissed me, and the torch went out.

The following events were a blur. After we had successfully followed the thread out of the Labyrinth, Theseus triumphantly announced to my father that the Minotaur was dead, and demanded me and my sister as prizes. My father was furious — of course he was. He had essentially just lost all of his children, and all because one had died in Athens before I was old enough to remember. I, however, was elated, and so was Phaedra. Phaedra was as eager to leave Crete as I was, and she seemed just as taken with Theseus’ handsomeness. She didn’t seem distressed that Asterion was dead, and why would she? The grateful Athenians went back to their ship, many of them sobbing with relief. I didn’t look at my father as I followed Theseus to the ship. I never wanted to look at him again. We passed by Talos, and I left Knossos and the Labyrinth behind me.

Crete faded into the horizon, and before me was sunshine and new possibilities. Theseus glowed with triumph and pride, smiling at me and kissing me when he announced to the other Athenians that he would marry me, and that I would become their queen. They fell to their knees and showered me and Theseus with gratitude for having saved their lives. I felt almost as if I were a goddess. Wine flowed freely in celebration, and I took more joy in it than I had in a long time.

It did not last long. Soon after the first few hours I was, if possible, even more miserable on Theseus’ ship than I had been in Knossos. I quickly became tired of his boasts about how he had strangled the beast, without crediting me at all, or so much as mentioning the ball of yarn, even though the other Athenians had seen me give it to him and seen me follow him into the Labyrinth. Every time he told the story, it got further from the truth, and emphasized his own heroism over mine. Is this how it would be when I was queen? No matter what I did, I’d be shunted to the side? Then, Theseus seemed to be doting on Phaedra. She usually attracted more attention. She was prettier than me. She had blond hair that shined in the sunlight and the bright eyes of our mother Pasiphae, the daughter of Helios. My hair and eyes were dark, like the Labyrinth.

I left the celebration, finding a quiet spot on deck. I sat by the edge of the ship, staring out into the open waves and trying not to think about Asterion, but the image of him lying dead in the torchlight haunted me. “Are you okay, Ariadne?” Phaedra asked me. “What is wrong? We are finally out of there, all thanks to you! No more Minotaur, no more tributes having to die, no more Father… We will have a new life in Athens.” I stayed silent. “You look despondent. Something’s wrong.”

I looked up into her eyes. “It’s like you said, Phaedra. Asterion is dead.”

“Do you… mourn him?”

“He was our brother, and I killed him!”

“Theseus killed him! You did nothing!” I knew that she meant to reassure me, but it touched a raw nerve.

“He would not have if I hadn’t led him straight to the center of the Labyrinth!”

“Ariadne…” Phaedra put her hand on my shoulder. “You… you’re… you’ll be okay. You are just a little bit disoriented.” She left me alone.

I looked at the Athenians, who laughed and danced and celebrated their lives. I didn’t feel like dancing. I already missed the Labyrinth. My guilt drew my thoughts back to Knossos. I wanted to hide in the Labyrinth forever, like Asterion had, or else throw myself into the sea for my guilt. The brightness of the waves was glaring compared to the soothing darkness of the Labyrinth.

Theseus approached me from behind. He had been ignoring me until now, maybe because I was so sorrowful. I could feel that he was angry at me, and my skin crawled, but I didn’t turn. “What cause do you have to weep, Ariadne? You should be happy!” he said.

“I am sorry, Theseus. Part of me still mourns for my brother.”

“What is the matter with you? All you have done is sit and stare at the water! If you loved that Labyrinth so much, perhaps you should have stayed there! Now please, put this sorrow behind you. You have no cause for it.” He sighed, softening. “When we arrive in Athens, we shall marry, and there will be much rejoicing.”

“Leave me alone.” The bitterness in my voice rang louder than I’d intended.

He scowled at me.“You are joyless, passionless, and thankless,” he spat, and stalked off. The word useless went unsaid; I could tell he was reconsidering making me his wife.

“Theseus, wait!” I yelled, suddenly sounding desperate.

I stood up, and he turned back to look at me, and I felt as if I were naked under his gaze and that of the others on the ship, which had all quieted and turned in my direction. His eyes were cold, and his nostrils flared just as Asterion’s had. “What, Ariadne? You have shown me neither gratitude nor pleasure, you have not acted like a princess. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Shamed, I said nothing. I sat back down. Then, as he was about to turn away again, I suddenly found my voice. “Why are you being cruel?”

“I am not being cruel. You are being difficult.”

By the time we reached Naxos, I was feeling heartbroken as well as grief-stricken. Theseus was giving me the silent treatment. I think he expected me to come running to him begging for forgiveness. We stopped on the island to rest, primarily because Theseus had dreamt that he would stop here during his homecoming.

I took off my sandals and walked along the edge of the surf to clear my thoughts. The beach was bright and wide and open, the exact opposite of the Labyrinth. Even in the sand, I felt his heavy footsteps approaching behind me. “Ariadne, we need to talk.”

I continued to face away from him. “What?”

“Ariadne, I find your attitude disagreeable.”

I turned on my heel to face him, planting myself in the sand. “I’ve found your attitude disagreeable! All you have done since we left Crete is boast about your heroics, and you’ve barely given me any credit—”

“Credit! You want credit for having slain it, when all you have done is cry over the hideous thing?”

The disdain in his voice stung me like arrows. “You don’t care at all for me or my feelings, do you?”

“If you were to become my queen, I would expect better behavior from you.” He sounded like he was lecturing a child.

“Well… I don’t want to be your queen! You are almost as bad as my father!”

“Good. I have already decided to take your sister Phaedra as my bride instead.” I didn’t reply. “You may still return with us to Athens, but we will have to make other arrangements for you.”

Forget Athens. I didn’t want Theseus to do anything for me. “Oh, forgive me for having been such a disappointment to you! Go ahead, go back to Athens and marry my sister! By Zeus! I’ve had enough of you!”

And I ran. I turned away from Theseus and ran down the beach until my legs gave out, falling in the sand to sulk and wonder where it all went wrong. I regretted having ever met Theseus, or helped him to kill my brother. If I could undo it all, I would. No. Then innocent people would have died. Oh, gods, why am I so wretched?

And then, as I was just beginning to calm down, I saw that the ship was sailing away over the waves. I was stranded on the island. Despair and panic crashed down upon me. Oh gods, gods, why? Had I somehow been forgotten about, or left behind on purpose? Had Theseus doomed me to die? “CURSE you, Theseus!” I screamed at the distant ship. I watched it go until it disappeared over the horizon. I could do nothing but hopelessly stare at the wine-dark sea as the sun set.

“Excuse me, why are you crying?”

I had been sitting with my head in my arms, weeping despondently, and I was startled by the sudden voice, soft though it was. I was certain the island was deserted, but now, a young man stood before me. He was silhouetted against the sky, the sun shining behind his head like a halo. Where had he come from? I hadn’t heard him come. It was though he’d simply stepped out of the sea.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and my voice sounded cracked from crying. “I thought I was alone.”

“May I sit with you?” the man asked. “You look like you could use a drink, something to soothe you, hm?”

“Yes… yes, thank you.”

He sat down in the sand next to me, languidly stretching his legs out in front of him like he was sitting on the plushest couch. With the sunlight on him, I could see him properly — he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life. He easily put Theseus to shame. His eyes were leafy green, warm and kind. He was lithe, and his skin looked as pale and smooth as a girl’s, and his lips looked so soft. I couldn’t place the color of his hair — it seemed to be dark brown, but it could have been as dark as the Styx, and when the sun caught it, it looked honey-gold. It fell over his shoulders in loose curls. He wore nothing but a fine purple cloak draped over one shoulder, a golden leopard skin around his waist, and a wreath of ivy on his head. His cheeks were flushed, and he had a bright, easy smile. He was so lovely, so breathtaking, it almost hurt to look at him. With delicate hands, he offered me a kylix brimming with wine. “Please, tell me what has made you so upset.”

I blinked at the kylix, and the leopard skin, and the ivy in his hair. “Are you… a Bacchant?” I’d heard of them. They worshipped a mad and savage god with drunken orgies in the woods, and were said to be able to rip animals or even people limb-from-limb in their frenzy. Not unlike Asterion, I suppose.

He flashed a devious smile. “Maaaaybe.”

I took the kylix and drank deeply. The wine was sweet, and somehow, I felt immediately calmer. Slowly, amid my lingering sobs, I told the story — about Asterion, and my father, and the tributes, how I’d decided to help Theseus, how we’d found our way through the Labyrinth, how Theseus had killed Asterion, how Theseus had been so heartless, and how he had apparently left me to die on a deserted island. By the time I finished talking, the kylix was empty.

“How do you feel now?” he asked me.

“Better… I think. But I’m still devastated, and… guilty. My brother’s death… it was really my fault, and I don’t know if I did the right thing or not. Do you think it’s wrong for me to grieve for my brother? I mean… he was a monster…”

“No. I don’t think it’s wrong. It is perfectly understandable that you would mourn your brother.”

“If I had let the Athenians die, I would have mourned for them, too.” I sighed.

“Yes. There must be blood; one sacrifice was traded for another, Asterion, the worthy bull. It is okay to grieve, for as long as you need to, but do not wallow in despair.”

“I tend to do that. I don’t remember the last time I was completely happy. I thought Theseus would make me happy, but… then… I wish I had my Labyrinth back! It was at least soothing down there.”

“It pains me to see people sad,” he said. He handed me the kylix again, and it was once again full of wine. I hadn’t seen him fill it. “Pleasure is a state of mind. The best way to rid yourself of sadness is to focus on things that make you happy. There is always something to take pleasure in! Like the beauty of the sunset, or the sound of the lapping waves. Or wine!”

“Not when you are abandoned to die, with no way off the island,” I said. “How did you get here, anyway? I don’t see a boat.”

“I have my ways,” he said cryptically, with that same mischievous smile. That smile and the teasing sparkle in his eyes were so adorable. His beauty is something to take pleasure in, I suddenly thought, and his company, and kindness…

I took another draught of the wine. “Why are the gods so cruel to me?” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

“The gods are not cruel to you.” He stated it with complete confidence, as though it were an undeniable fact, not as though he were trying to convince me.

“It certainly seems that way,” I replied.

“Life can often seem that way, but then, it gets better, and you will find that the gods favor you,” he said.

“Well… I suppose that must be true, if handsome strangers pop out of nowhere to comfort women.”

He beamed. “Exactly!” He took the kylix back from me, threw his head back, and drained about half of it in one gulp. “You know, I was stranded on a desert island like this one once.”

“Wait, what? You were?”

“Yes! It was a long time ago now, but I was just as pretty back then, and just as fond of wearing purple. Purple is the best color, you know.” He winked. “Anyway, so I was lying asleep on a beach and—” he took another swig of the wine, “a pirate ship rows by…”

“Are you drunk?”

“Always, darling!” That roguish grin of his was really starting to win me over. “Anyway, the pirates saw me sleeping on the beach, saw how pretty I was and saw my fine purple robes, and thought I was a prince. Well. They weren’t wrong… I technically am a prince of Thebes, on my mother’s side.” He laughed like he had just told the most hilarious joke and had another sip of the wine. The amount of wine in the kylix never seemed to get any lower.

“Does that mean… you’re a bastard?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes, yes it does! I’m such a bastard. I mean… I was born out of wedlock. And my father’s wife, oooh, she hates me.” Another sip of the wine. “Never get on her bad side if you can help it.” He pointed at me as if this was the most important information I could ever learn, and I laughed. “She can’t touch me now, but she drove me mad when I was younger. Literally. Anyway, so these pirates kidnapped me. Thought I’d make a damn cute catamite, and I certainly would, but that’s beside the point. You don’t and kidnap boys no matter how pretty they are. I tried to tell my dad that, but it didn’t go over well.” Another sip of the wine.

“You are slender, but I bet you could take Theseus in a drinking contest.”

“Oh, I could take aaaaaanyone in a drinking contest! Never lost one yet!” His face was glowing, not just with blush from the wine but also with infectious joy. I slowly forgot about my misfortunes as I listened to his story. “So they tried to tie me to the ship’s mast, but found they couldn’t do it. I only tolerate bondage on my own terms. And then…” There was suddenly a mad gleam in his green eyes. “I covered their ship in grapevines, and ivy, and flowers, and the delicious smell of wine. I can’t imagine why such delightful things frightened them so. But I thought I’d scare them more, see, because it was funny. So I turned into a lion! And they flung themselves overboard in fear!” He laughed, and his laugh sounded as musical as flutes on a clear morning, but it had a maddened edge to it. “But I pitied them, y’know?” he continued. “Just as you pity your brother. So I changed them into dolphins. So they wouldn’t drown.”

“You changed… you turned into… did… did your god give you those powers? Or… are you just… really… drunk?” But I knew. I think that intuitively, I knew the whole time.

“Easy,” he said, once again raising the bottomless kylix to his lips with that knowing smile. “I’m really drunk.”

At this, I burst out laughing, and my laugh sounded almost unfamiliar to my own ears. I felt light, carefree, replenished. And then it sank in, that I was speaking to a god. I hastily knelt, and dropped my head before him, although he was still sitting next to me. “Lord Dionysus! Son of Zeus! Lord, lord, thank you for coming to me, for talking to me, for relieving me of my pain, for freeing me from my suffering…”

“You’re welcome, Ariadne.” He lifted my face, so that I was staring up into his eyes, which were now vivid reddish-purple, the color of ripe grapes. A richly purple aura surrounded him, proclaiming his divinity. In his hand was his staff, a fennel stalk topped with a pinecone that dripped with honey, twined with ivy and purple ribbons. And he had horns, bull’s horns just like my brother’s, magnificent and deadly sharp. They curved up above his brow, as much his crown as the wreath of ivy in his hair. The imposing horns created a striking contrast with his delicate features, but they looked right, somehow. Like this was how he was supposed to look.

I didn’t know what to say. My mind had gone suddenly blank. “I’ve never known great Dionysus to have horns,” I blurted.

“Not many get to see them,” he said, his voice suddenly slow and solemn. “Ariadne, will you dance with me?”

Whatever I had expected him to say, it was not that. “Wh—what?”

“Dance with me!” He stood up and twirled off across the beach. His hair floated around his shoulders, the ribbons on his thyrsus arced through the air like the rainbow, and his expression was one of elation. He screamed in ecstasy, and it was an inhuman sound, like the crowing of some unearthly bird. At that, the air filled with cacophonous music — flutes, drums, cymbals, rattles, castanets.

A command echoed inside my head. No, not a command — a compulsion: DANCE! DANCE!

So I danced with the bull-horned god. “Dancing” barely even begins to describe what I was doing. I was filled with an overwhelming, indescribable feeling, like I didn’t fit in my own skin. Like I was about to be lifted out of my own shoulders! I moved like my body was doing everything it could to express this ineffable thing inside me that was so much bigger than me. I spun, I leapt, I ran, I stamped my feet in the sand, I moved wherever the feeling took me. It burned like fire. And Dionysus was all I could perceive. I screamed with both intense rapture and pure, genuine worship: “EUOI! EUOI! EUOI!”

I met his eyes, and there I saw all the raw ferocity of a bull or a great cat, as well as chaos and lust and debauchery and pure mania. All the forces strong enough to tear a person apart! I desperately thirsted for something I could not name. It was more than wine, more than flesh, more than blood. Dionysus took me in his arms, and kissed me on the lips. Passion overtook me.

Maybe I fainted in exhilaration, or maybe I was simply too drunk to remember. All I know was that I was eventually awakened by the sunrise and the sound of lapping waves. And Dionysus… was still there. He hadn’t disappeared into the night, he was still sleeping there in the sand, looking blissful and alluring in his sleep. His tousled curls tumbled over the sand, his soft hand was upturned beside his head, and his lips were parted invitingly. He lay on his purple cloak, and was using the leopard pelt like a blanket, though it was only carelessly draped over his waist.

“Lord… thank you for not leaving me,” I whispered.

His long eyelashes fluttered, and then his eyes opened, once again appearing vine-green. “Mmmm… sleep well?”

“Yes.” I desperately wanted to kiss him, and the seductive look in his eyes tempted me. “May I… touch you?”

“Darling, you may touch me anywhere you like,” he purred. Ravenously, I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my chest to his, and our lips met. He still tasted like wine, and I drank him in the way I would wine. We lay there for a moment, entangled in each other’s arms like grape and ivy vines, idly caressing each other’s skin and hair.

“M’lord…” I whispered, “perhaps it might be impertinent to ask, but… what am I going to do now? I can’t go home. I don’t really want to go to Athens. And I still have no way off this island.”

“Why, Ariadne,” he gave me a teasing smile. “If I may be so bold, I hoped you would join me! In fact… I hope you might marry me.”

I was so taken aback by this that I immediately sat up. “You… you’re serious? Marry you?” I knew that gods frequently took mortal lovers, but this was unimaginable. “Actually marry you?”

“Yes, Ariadne. I love you.” He said it with the same sweetness and sincerity that he initially approached me with. Theseus had said no such thing. “You are not destined to become queen of Athens, but perhaps you might be my queen, if you are willing.”

I burst into tears, but they weren’t tears of sadness this time. They were tears of overwhelm, the same kind of overflowing sensation that I’d felt while dancing. “You love me?”

“I am absolutely besotted, my darling! I have had many lovers, but I had not fallen so madly in love since Ampelos, my first love, my darling vine.” A grapevine appeared between his fingers and twined up his arm. “Perhaps something in me is inclined towards mortals over gods, which is understandable, given my parentage. But, that should be no problem. I will bring you to Olympus, and love you for all of time.”

“How… why me?” I sputtered. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Ariadne, you are letting your human mind interfere, and convince you that you are not worthy to be in my presence. Did you feel unworthy last night, while we were dancing?”

“No… I felt… there was no such thing.”

“Ariadne, do you love me?”

I struggled to find any word that could properly describe how I felt about him. “You are… utterly intoxicating.”

He giggled like a shy maiden. “I get that a lot. And, if you could be worthy of having me as a husband, would you have me?”

Yes. My body and soul ached and burned with wanting. And he made me extraordinarily happy! I’d never dared to believe a god would love me enough to marry me, but that disbelief was only getting in my way.

He looked me dead in the eyes. I nearly flinched away from the intensity of his gaze, and the shimmering madness behind it. “You are more than you realize, Ariadne, guide in the dark, guardian of the gates of initiation. You are intelligent and witty and brave, and you fear no darkness or madness or savagery, do you? You faced them all in the Labyrinth. You would make an excellent addition to my thiasus, even if you decide not to marry me. Ariadne, the most holy and pure, Lady of the Labyrinth.” His words reverberated deep in the labyrinthine pathways of my own mind and soul, like he had revealed an ancient truth that I had known once, but forgotten.

“The Labyrinth is a holy place, of contemplation and transformation. Isn’t it? Not of death.”

He smiled that gorgeous, winning smile again. “Yes! You understand! And even where there is death, it is not absolute.” His eyes shone with feverish excitement. “Oh, I have so much to teach you!”

“Lord Dionysus, I would be honored beyond imagining if I were to become your wife.”

“So is that a yes? You will marry me?”

Something about him felt right in a way that I could not put words to, like the Fates had done all they could to bring me to this moment. This god loved me, more than the other gods love their conquests, more than I could comprehend. “Yes! I will marry you!”

At that, a cool wind blew across the island, swirling his dark hair around his face and making all the vegetation appear to shimmer. It was like the island itself was affirming my decision. “Then, Ariadne, we shall rule the revel together! In honor of our engagement…” A magnificent diadem appeared in his hands, sparkling with seven gemstones like stars. He placed it on my head, and gave me a warm kiss on my lips. “Ariadne, my bride, may you never thirst. May your lusts never go unsatisfied. May your heart always be light and joyful.”

“Thank you. Thank you, m’lord!”

“You can stop calling me that. If we are to be married, you can simply call me by my name. Or, call me what pleases you. Now, come with me!” He stood, offering me his hand. “Unless you would rather spend some more alone time together, I should finally take you off this island! I will take you home to Nysa, or perhaps to Arcadia, and we will have to throw the most spectacular bacchanal in celebration of our marriage!”

“How will we travel?”

He led me down the beach like a child eager to show something to their parent, and gestured toward a golden chariot drawn by two gigantic panthers. The chariot itself was decorated in images of swirling grapevines and serpents and satyrs making love, and the cats’ pelts gleamed. “Oh, gods… I mean… wow. Does it move over water?”

“It flies, silly!” He stood inside it and beckoned to me. “These cats can run on the wind. Hermes gave them to me.”

I climbed into the chariot and held on for dear life as the panthers bounded into the air with great strides. Soon the chariot was blazing through the bright air, and Naxos was far behind us. Dionysus laughed into the wind, which blew his long hair back from his face. As radiant as he was, I was more than a little terrified of speeding through the air high above the sea in a chariot, and felt like I would fall off at any second, although not even my diadem was dislodged from my head.

“You look terror-stricken, Ariadne. Would you like me to tell you another amusing story? That seems to have cheered you up the last time!”

“That depends on whether you can drive a chariot and get incredibly drunk at the same time.”

He laughed uproariously. “Oh, I love you so much! I can do anything and get incredibly drunk, if you were wondering. So, anyway, the story… Mortals have mixed opinions of me. Most love my parties and stories and love my wine, but they seem a bit put off by the madness and violence and lust it brings out in them… Not sure why, it’s not as though all of that wasn’t there to begin with… Mortal kings do not like this, and some of them can be quite unkind to my worshippers, testing the limits of my mercy… but one of them allowed my mentor, Silenus, to sleep in his garden. So kind of him! So of course I offered him any reward he might wish for, and… he wished that everything he touched would turn to gold.”

“Ooh. Let me guess, it backfired?”

“Oh, did it backfire! His food turned to gold and he nearly starved, and even his daughter turned to gold! Hardly my fault, of course. I promised to give him what he asked for, and I did, he just happened to be an idiot. He had the chance to wish for anything in the world, and he chose something as shallow and pointless as gold. Not to mention, he clearly had never heard of inflation, which makes me worry about his kingdom’s economy. Oh, well. He learned, and I changed everything back. I always let humans indulge themselves, but I am not a god of excess. Either they are satisfied by their pleasures, or they learn their lesson fast. The moral of the story: Know your tolerance. Also, if you want to turn things to gold, you have to do it the hard way. Hermes and I were just discussing how to turn lead to gold, in fact…”

His soothing voice and hilarious tales put me at ease, until we were traveling over beautiful mountains and verdant valleys. I had never seen mainland Greece, but the view of it from the flying chariot was incredible. I was no longer afraid of falling. As we flew, I felt as if the wind stripped me of the cares and sorrows of my former life. Dionysus had set me free. I smiled at him, and he smiled at me as the chariot descended into the lush, hidden valley where a throng of Maenads and satyrs waited to welcome home their lord and his queen.

Dionysus helped me out of the chariot, and I stood before the thiasus, their maddened eyes all turned upon me. “I am the bride of Dionysus,” I proclaimed. “I am Ariadne of the Labyrinth.”

#greek mythology #greek myths #greek myth retellings #greek mythology retellings #creative writing #dionysus #city dionysia #dionysus greek god #dionysus greek mythology #dionysos #dionysus devotion #dionysus devotee #dionysus deity #ariadne #ariadne and dionysus #lady of the labyrinth #labyrinth #labyrinth of crete #the minotaur #theseus and the minotaur #theseus #asterion #minotaur #dionysus x ariadne #gothic aesthetic

[dionysia-ta-astika]

The Lady of the Labyrinth

For Dionysus.

Everything was lost. My brother was dead. My love was gone.

I was also stranded on a deserted island. I stared out at the vast, empty expanse of the sea. The sunlight on the waves winked at me with a thousand eyes, as though diamonds had been scattered across the surface of the water. Anyone would find this beach tranquil, I suppose, if they were here under different circumstances than mine.

My brother’s name was Asterion.

Most people didn’t know his name, or even that he had one. To most people, he was the Minotaur, a horrible monster with the body of a man and the head of a bull that eats people. Asterion was a monster, and he did eat people.

Beneath my father’s shining palace, he prowled the twists and turns of the Labyrinth that my father’s genius architect built. The Labyrinth was mine, once. Daedalus made it for me as a dancing path, when I was a little girl. But now it is a dark, disorienting maze of seemingly endless passageways, and I was still the only person who knew how to navigate it. When I could have time alone, I would go to the Labyrinth. I felt my way through its pitch-black corridors, memorizing the nicks and cracks in the rough stone, trying to calm my thoughts. I spoke to Asterion through the walls: “You have never seen the sun,” I said to him. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like in the outside world? Or do you like it down here?” I received no answer from the surrounding darkness. If I did hear something — a snort, or hooves on stone, I would have to run as fast as I could away from the sound. Even I couldn’t go too near Asterion — I wouldn’t want to run the risk that he might attack me.

 “Why do you go down there?” My sister, Phaedra, asked me. “What could possibly be appealing about that dark, dismal place?”

“I like it down there,” I said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as I could. “It is peaceful. And I don’t mind the dark.”

She looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted bull’s horns myself. “You know you risk your life every time you enter the Labyrinth, right?”

“He’s our brother,” I said. I don’t know what I intended to explain by saying that. I felt like I had a responsibility to him that extended beyond simply being his sister. I tried to see a man in him, although he sniffed and bellowed and charged like a bull. He could gore me to death like a bull, but I did not fear him. “I can’t say I love him, but I feel something.”

“You shouldn’t feel any sympathy for him. He’s a freak of nature. The gods cursed us with him for our father’s arrogance. He is a shame upon our kingdom.”

She was right, of course. The gods gifted us a beautiful white bull that we were meant to sacrifice to Poseidon, but my father decided to keep it instead. And Poseidon cursed us… Asterion is the unholy offspring of my mother and the bull. And it gets worse. Every seven years, seven young men and seven young women from the city of Athens were brought to the Labyrinth to be fed to my brother. This was because my other brother, whom I was too young to remember, died while in Athens. Athens pays for this slight with the lives of other young people.

I suppose it’s no different than war, or at least, that’s what my father says. All cities send their youths to die for the polis. How was this any different? I could hardly bear the prisoners’ wails of desperation or their pleas for me to help them. When I heard they were coming, I begged my father to set them free, asserting that it was wrong to sacrifice humans to anything. If the gods had cast Tantalus into Tartarus for feeding them his son, then why should we knowingly feed humans to a monster? He laughed at me and asked why I had no pride in my family.  

I hated the thought of the fourteen young people being fed to him, but I also couldn’t imagine killing my own brother, even if he was a monster.

I was too young to remember the last time the prisoners came to the Labyrinth. They had come, and my brother had gorged himself on their flesh, and I was none the wiser. This time, I knew, and the horror of it struck me silent as the tributes were paraded through the city like animal sacrifices to the gods, so that we could all see those who were doomed to die. I could hardly bear to look at them. Some of those girls were barely older than me. It felt wrong to sit by and watch as they were brought to the Labyrinth. But what could I do to save their lives? Supplicating my father would not work, and the only other option was helping them to escape, somehow. How could I do that?

In spite of myself, I caught sight of one of the young men. He was handsome, and he had a defiant, blazing look in his eye. He looked straight at my father on his throne. “I am Theseus of Athens!” he declared. “I have come to slay your monstrous son!”

My father had laughed at him, but he consumed my thoughts. That may be because he was absolutely gorgeous, but it was also because if he succeeded at killing Asterion, he would solve all my problems. I wouldn’t have to take my own brother’s life, but he would devour no more innocent lives. And, if this youth survived, he might take me away with him. I knew the Labyrinth better than anyone. Even if he did survive, he could never make it in and out without my help.

Forgive me, Asterion.

The prisoners were held in two dank cells near the entrance to the Labyrinth.  The women were kept in one, and the men were kept in the other. Many of the prisoners were crying — not just the women, but the men, too. In my familiarity with the Labyrinth and its inhabitant, I had forgotten just how terrifying both would be to anyone else. The Labyrinth’s darkness and maddening complexity would intimidate anyone, and the prospect of being eaten by a monster within its depths was horrific.

Only Theseus seemed calm. His boldness in front of my father hadn’t been an act. His jaw was set, and he still had raw determination in his steely eyes. He was really going to do it, wasn’t he? He actually meant to kill Asterion. He shone like gold in the gloom of the dungeon — he could have been Apollo. If our circumstances were different, I might have wanted to stroke his chest. “Who are you?” he demanded when I approached the cell, as though I were the one behind bars, and had requested an audience with him.

“I am Ariadne,” I said, “daughter of Minos, princess of Crete.”

“I am Theseus, son of Aegeus, prince of Athens,” he returned.

Prince of Athens. That explained his noble bearing and proud mien, not to mention his handsome features… and yet… “There is no way the King of Athens would have sent his own son to be fed to the Minotaur,” I said. “Why are you really here?”

“I said, didn’t I? I’m here to slay the Minotaur. I volunteered as tribute.” He smirked. “I promised my father that I would return alive. No more of our people will be sacrificed to the monster!”

“You speak with a lot of confidence for someone who is currently in a prison cell,” I said. “What are you going to do, Theseus? Do you have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan!” he said, a little defensively. “I am going to break out of this cell. And then I will conquer the Labyrinth—”

“How? You’ll be dead of starvation before you even reach the Minotaur, assuming he doesn’t find you first.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you taunting me?”

I leaned forward, looking directly into his eyes. “No. I was actually going to offer to help you. I know the Labyrinth. I go into it all the time.”

“No, you don’t. You’re trying to get me to sleep with you. Or trying to deceive me on behalf of Minos.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything to say in response to that. For a moment I just stared at him. Was he always this self-assured, even in the worst of circumstances? If he wanted to sleep with me, I certainly wouldn’t complain, but why would he assume that I would deceive him? Well, perhaps it was his right to be suspicious, in a strange land where he was kept as a prisoner. “I… no,” I finally replied. “I’m being serious. I’m here to help you.”

“Why, then?”

“I think it is very noble of you to want to save the other Athenians, and I agree that no more innocent lives should be lost.”

He smiled slightly, but still looked suspicious. “You have no loyalty to your father?”

“My father is cruel and selfish. Why else do you think my mother gave birth to a monster, anyway?”

“The monster is your brother? What was his father, a bull?”

“Yes.”

That seemed to have stunned him into silence. I felt some satisfaction at that. “Listen to me. Without my help, you will not get through the Labyrinth. If you want to kill the Minotaur, you need me.”

“What’s the catch?” he asked. “You’re going to want something in return, aren’t you? What?”

“Take me off this accursed rock,” I said. “I am sick of Crete, I’m sick of my father, and I don’t want to have to put up with whatever punishment he might give me for helping you.”

“Well, you are a princess, and I suppose you would make a fine bride for me.”

My heart leapt at those words, and I felt myself blushing. Perhaps I should have known better. “Really? You would marry me?”

“If you help me to slay the Minotaur, then yes, I will marry you.”

“Deal.”

Theseus remained in my thoughts from that point onward. When I closed my eyes, I saw his face, and I imagined the feel of his skin. I’d never seen a man like him before, and oh, if I married him… would I be happy? Happier than I was here, at least? He seemed like the kind of man that Phaedra and I dreamed we would marry as young girls — strong, brave, handsome, and willing to put himself on the line for the sake of his people. All such admirable qualities.

I returned to Theseus when the prisoners were locked into the Labyrinth’s abyssal maw. “Everyone else, stay back!” he ordered, as though he were directing troops. “I will go into the Labyrinth and kill the Minotaur. Stay here, and you will be safe.” He suddenly turned to me. “What have you brought to help me?”

I held out a humble ball of yarn. “This.”

He took it from my hand and raised an eyebrow at it, looking as though he might throw it into the dark. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Daedalus gave it to me when I first started exploring the Labyrinth.”

“Daedalus? I’ve heard of Daedalus. He is supposed to be the most brilliant architect in the world, right?”

“He built this Labyrinth, and he gave me the yarn. All you have to do is tie the end here and carry it through the maze. Then you can follow it back out.”

Theseus looked impressed. “He must be a genius to have thought of something like that!”

He may have been a genius, but I was still intelligent enough to figure it out on my own. All Daedalus had done was hand me the ball of yarn, and I immediately understood what I was meant to do with it. But I didn’t bother correcting Theseus. “Do you have a weapon?”

“No,” said Theseus. “I’m not worried. I’ll kill the beast with my bare hands.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. I suppose if anyone could do it, he could; he was almost as musclebound as the bull-man. But still. Only an extremely impressive hero with divine lineage could hope to kill a monster bare-handed, that or a total idiot. “You are going to die.”

“Nonsense!” He smiled. “Haven’t died yet! And I have faced many deadly trials before.”

I smiled back. “I’m sure you have, but, well, it’s your funeral.”

“Do you want this monster dead, or not?” he demanded.

“Woah, I wasn’t being serious, I…” To be asked that question point-blank was unsettling. It threw my whole dilemma into focus. But seeing the terrified faces of the other tributes huddled naked in the entrance to the Labyrinth gave me my answer. “Yes.”

“I shall go then.” He tied the yarn to the gate and strode with it into the dark. I admired his confidence, even if the odds were against him. He turned the first corner, and was gone. I stared into the darkness for a moment.

One of the girls gripped the hem of my dress. “Please,” she whispered. “Please help us, my lady. We did nothing to be here. If he dies, will you help us escape?”

 I didn’t look at her. I kept staring into the Labyrinth’s depths. “I will do what I can,” I said slowly. Then I followed Theseus. I heard her gasp behind me, as if her last hope had just walked away.

I overtook Theseus quickly. He was moving slowly, blindly hitting walls and getting disoriented by the serpentine turns. He jumped when he heard me behind him, turned on his heel and braced for attack, staring me down with the intensity of a bull about to charge. Then he softened. “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here? I don’t need your help.”

“I know this place better than you do,” I said matter-of-factly.

He huffed in response. “Get back to the entrance. The Minotaur could arrive at any moment.”

I walked ahead of him. “I know. Every time I explore the Labyrinth, I risk death.”

“Why would you explore this place?” he asked, following me. “What could it possibly offer a girl like you?”

“Peace. Solitude. Time away from my father.”

“This Labyrinth is maddening!” His growing frustration echoed off the walls. “How are you not mad? Perhaps you are mad, with the things you say.”

“I’ve never considered that I might be mad.”

“Only if you were mad would you willingly choose to be in this dark prison.”

“You willingly chose to be here.”

He had no response. We walked in silence for a while, dragging the thread behind us. It was almost impossible to see the thread in the dark. I could tell that Theseus was starting to get agitated. The twining paths of the Labyrinth must be making him feel like we were making no progress. The grim silence and high stone walls made us feel completely cut off from the outside world, like there was no world at all beyond the Labyrinth. “Do you think this is what Hades is like?” he asked. “A deep cavern, under the earth, where there is nothing to do but walk endlessly?”

I couldn’t tell whether that was a sincere philosophical question, or whether he was asking indignantly. “I don’t know. The Fields of Asphodel are supposed to be open, and full of the white flowers… Not quite like this.”

“It makes no difference to me anyway. I will assuredly go to Elysium when I die, and it is the most agreeable part of Hades.”

If Hades is exactly like this, I thought, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. There are worse things than this.

Eventually, we passed the point where I usually turned back. I had never gotten this close to the center before. And then we heard it — the unmistakable sound of hooves. Cold terror gripped me. I did not expect to feel this afraid, especially not of my own brother, but the reality of the situation sank in. We were  in a Labyrinth with a flesh-eating monster, and the exit was too far away for any chance of escape.  Why did I follow him? Why did I think that was a good idea?

“Our quarry is upon us! You should leave,” said Theseus sternly. “The monster eats the maidens first, so I hear.”

The instinct to run left me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself, but you will not be able to fight against the Minotaur.”

“You will protect me, will you?” Being with him felt safe, like he was a bodyguard.

“I will.” As soon as he said that, my fear was banished, and my confidence restored.

A few more turns, and we reached the center of the Labyrinth, a place I figured I’d never enter. In the gloom, I couldn’t actually see much, but I was able to see the hulking shape of my brother with his huge bull’s head and wicked-looking horns.

“There is the beast!” A light suddenly blazed to life beside me, and I cringed away from its brightness. It was a torch.

“Did you have that the whole time?”

“I was saving it!” He handed me the torch and the end of the yarn, and I took them, nonplussed. I saw the floor of the Labyrinth’s center, full of human bones. “Wait there, I will make swift work of this!” Theseus took a fighting stance, muscles tensed.

Asterion looked at me. I felt blind panic grip me, but he did not attack me. Perhaps he recognized me. He must have been familiar with my presence and voice by now, enough to know I wasn’t a threat. I stared into his black bull eyes. They were soft, not fiery and enraged. This was my brother. “Asterion… I’m so sorry, Asterion.”

“What are you doing? Get back!”

Theseus’ yell attracted Asterion’s attention. He roared and rushed forward with his powerful legs, horns lowered and ready to gore him to death. Theseus grabbed Asterion’s horns and hurled himself up onto the Minotaur’s back, holding him in a chokehold with both arms. “I shall send you to the pit of Tartarus, fiend!”  Asterion thrashed and bucked and slammed Theseus against the wall, but soon enough, it was over. Theseus had strangled the Minotaur. Asterion lay dead.

Theseus picked himself up, looking exhausted but triumphant. “Victory! No Athenians will die today, or ever! This monster will never claim another human life!” He grinned at me. “See, I told you I could do it with my bare hands!”

I stared at the mass of Asterion’s body. “I killed my brother…”

“Nonsense!” Theseus took the torch back from me. The bones crunched under his feet as he walked. “It is hardly your fault that you are the sister of a beast. We have done a good and heroic thing today. Look, look at the bones! Why are you crying, Ariadne?”

I suddenly looked at him instead of the Minotaur’s corpse. I don’t think he’d said my name before. Even in the dim torchlight, he still looked bright, with clear eyes and golden hair and bronze skin slick with sweat. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Ariadne.” He smiled at me. “Thank you. Together we have saved many lives.”

He kissed me, and the torch went out.

The following events were a blur. After we had successfully followed the thread out of the Labyrinth, Theseus triumphantly announced to my father that the Minotaur was dead, and demanded me and my sister as prizes. My father was furious — of course he was. He had essentially just lost all of his children, and all because one had died in Athens before I was old enough to remember. I, however, was elated, and so was Phaedra. Phaedra was as eager to leave Crete as I was, and she seemed just as taken with Theseus’ handsomeness. She didn’t seem distressed that Asterion was dead, and why would she? The grateful Athenians went back to their ship, many of them sobbing with relief. I didn’t look at my father as I followed Theseus to the ship. I never wanted to look at him again. We passed by Talos, and I left Knossos and the Labyrinth behind me.

Crete faded into the horizon, and before me was sunshine and new possibilities. Theseus glowed with triumph and pride, smiling at me and kissing me when he announced to the other Athenians that he would marry me, and that I would become their queen. They fell to their knees and showered me and Theseus with gratitude for having saved their lives. I felt almost as if I were a goddess. Wine flowed freely in celebration, and I took more joy in it than I had in a long time.

It did not last long. Soon after the first few hours I was, if possible, even more miserable on Theseus’ ship than I had been in Knossos. I quickly became tired of his boasts about how he had strangled the beast, without crediting me at all, or so much as mentioning the ball of yarn, even though the other Athenians had seen me give it to him and seen me follow him into the Labyrinth. Every time he told the story, it got further from the truth, and emphasized his own heroism over mine. Is this how it would be when I was queen? No matter what I did, I’d be shunted to the side? Then, Theseus seemed to be doting on Phaedra. She usually attracted more attention. She was prettier than me. She had blond hair that shined in the sunlight and the bright eyes of our mother Pasiphae, the daughter of Helios. My hair and eyes were dark, like the Labyrinth.

I left the celebration, finding a quiet spot on deck. I sat by the edge of the ship, staring out into the open waves and trying not to think about Asterion, but the image of him lying dead in the torchlight haunted me. “Are you okay, Ariadne?” Phaedra asked me. “What is wrong? We are finally out of there, all thanks to you! No more Minotaur, no more tributes having to die, no more Father… We will have a new life in Athens.” I stayed silent. “You look despondent. Something’s wrong.”

I looked up into her eyes. “It’s like you said, Phaedra. Asterion is dead.”

“Do you… mourn him?”

“He was our brother, and I killed him!”

“Theseus killed him! You did nothing!” I knew that she meant to reassure me, but it touched a raw nerve.

“He would not have if I hadn’t led him straight to the center of the Labyrinth!”

“Ariadne…” Phaedra put her hand on my shoulder. “You… you’re… you’ll be okay. You are just a little bit disoriented.” She left me alone.

I looked at the Athenians, who laughed and danced and celebrated their lives. I didn’t feel like dancing. I already missed the Labyrinth. My guilt drew my thoughts back to Knossos. I wanted to hide in the Labyrinth forever, like Asterion had, or else throw myself into the sea for my guilt. The brightness of the waves was glaring compared to the soothing darkness of the Labyrinth.

Theseus approached me from behind. He had been ignoring me until now, maybe because I was so sorrowful. I could feel that he was angry at me, and my skin crawled, but I didn’t turn. “What cause do you have to weep, Ariadne? You should be happy!” he said.

“I am sorry, Theseus. Part of me still mourns for my brother.”

“What is the matter with you? All you have done is sit and stare at the water! If you loved that Labyrinth so much, perhaps you should have stayed there! Now please, put this sorrow behind you. You have no cause for it.” He sighed, softening. “When we arrive in Athens, we shall marry, and there will be much rejoicing.”

“Leave me alone.” The bitterness in my voice rang louder than I’d intended.

He scowled at me.“You are joyless, passionless, and thankless,” he spat, and stalked off. The word useless went unsaid; I could tell he was reconsidering making me his wife.

“Theseus, wait!” I yelled, suddenly sounding desperate.

I stood up, and he turned back to look at me, and I felt as if I were naked under his gaze and that of the others on the ship, which had all quieted and turned in my direction. His eyes were cold, and his nostrils flared just as Asterion’s had. “What, Ariadne? You have shown me neither gratitude nor pleasure, you have not acted like a princess. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Shamed, I said nothing. I sat back down. Then, as he was about to turn away again, I suddenly found my voice. “Why are you being cruel?”

“I am not being cruel. You are being difficult.”

By the time we reached Naxos, I was feeling heartbroken as well as grief-stricken. Theseus was giving me the silent treatment. I think he expected me to come running to him begging for forgiveness. We stopped on the island to rest, primarily because Theseus had dreamt that he would stop here during his homecoming.

 I took off my sandals and walked along the edge of the surf to clear my thoughts. The beach was bright and wide and open, the exact opposite of the Labyrinth. Even in the sand, I felt his heavy footsteps approaching behind me. “Ariadne, we need to talk.”

I continued to face away from him. “What?”

“Ariadne, I find your attitude disagreeable.” 

I turned on my heel to face him, planting myself in the sand. “I’ve found your attitude disagreeable! All you have done since we left Crete is boast about your heroics, and you’ve barely given me any credit—”

“Credit! You want credit for having slain it, when all you have done is cry over the hideous thing?”

The disdain in his voice stung me like arrows. “You don’t care at all for me or my feelings, do you?”

“If you were to become my queen, I would expect better behavior from you.” He sounded like he was lecturing a child.

“Well… I don’t want to be your queen! You are almost as bad as my father!”

“Good. I have already decided to take your sister Phaedra as my bride instead.” I didn’t reply. “You may still return with us to Athens, but we will have to make other arrangements for you.”

Forget Athens. I didn’t want Theseus to do anything for me. “Oh, forgive me for having been such a disappointment to you! Go ahead, go back to Athens and marry my sister! By Zeus! I’ve had enough of you!”

And I ran. I turned away from Theseus and ran down the beach until my legs gave out, falling in the sand to sulk and wonder where it all went wrong. I regretted having ever met Theseus, or helped him to kill my brother. If I could undo it all, I would. No. Then innocent people would have died. Oh, gods, why am I so wretched?

And then, as I was just beginning to calm down, I saw that the ship was sailing away over the waves. I was stranded on the island. Despair and panic crashed down upon me. Oh gods, gods, why? Had I somehow been forgotten about, or left behind on purpose? Had Theseus doomed me to die? “CURSE you, Theseus!” I screamed at the distant ship. I watched it go until it disappeared over the horizon. I could do nothing but hopelessly stare at the wine-dark sea as the sun set.

“Excuse me, why are you crying?”

I had been sitting with my head in my arms, weeping despondently, and I was startled by the sudden voice, soft though it was. I was certain the island was deserted, but now, a young man stood before me. He was silhouetted against the sky, the sun shining behind his head like a halo. Where had he come from? I hadn’t heard him come. It was though he’d simply stepped out of the sea.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and my voice sounded cracked from crying. “I thought I was alone.”

“May I sit with you?” the man asked. “You look like you could use a drink, something to soothe you, hm?”

“Yes… yes, thank you.”

He sat down in the sand next to me, languidly stretching his legs out in front of him like he was sitting on the plushest couch. With the sunlight on him, I could see him properly — he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life. He easily put Theseus to shame. His eyes were leafy green, warm and kind. He was lithe, and his skin looked as pale and smooth as a girl’s, and his lips looked so soft. I couldn’t place the color of his hair — it seemed to be dark brown, but it could have been as dark as the Styx, and when the sun caught it, it looked honey-gold. It fell over his shoulders in loose curls. He wore nothing but a fine purple cloak draped over one shoulder, a golden leopard skin around his waist, and a wreath of ivy on his head. His cheeks were flushed, and he had a bright, easy smile. He was so lovely, so breathtaking, it almost hurt to look at him. With delicate hands, he offered me a kylix brimming with wine. “Please, tell me what has made you so upset.”

I blinked at the kylix, and the leopard skin, and the ivy in his hair. “Are you… a Bacchant?” I’d heard of them. They worshipped a mad and savage god with drunken orgies in the woods, and were said to be able to rip animals or even people limb-from-limb in their frenzy. Not unlike Asterion, I suppose.

He flashed a devious smile. “Maaaaybe.”

I took the kylix and drank deeply. The wine was sweet, and somehow, I felt immediately calmer. Slowly, amid my lingering sobs, I told the story — about Asterion, and my father, and the tributes, how I’d decided to help Theseus, how we’d found our way through the Labyrinth, how Theseus had killed Asterion, how Theseus had been so heartless, and how he had apparently left me to die on a deserted island. By the time I finished talking, the kylix was empty.

“How do you feel now?” he asked me.

“Better… I think. But I’m still devastated, and… guilty. My brother’s death… it was really my fault, and I don’t know if I did the right thing or not. Do you think it’s wrong for me to grieve for my brother? I mean… he was a monster…”

“No. I don’t think it’s wrong. It is perfectly understandable that you would mourn your brother.”

“If I had let the Athenians die, I would have mourned for them, too.” I sighed.

“Yes. There must be blood; one sacrifice was traded for another, Asterion, the worthy bull. It is okay to grieve, for as long as you need to, but do not wallow in despair.”

“I tend to do that. I don’t remember the last time I was completely happy. I thought Theseus would make me happy, but… then… I wish I had my Labyrinth back! It was at least soothing down there.”

“It pains me to see people sad,” he said. He handed me the kylix again, and it was once again full of wine. I hadn’t seen him fill it. “Pleasure is a state of mind. The best way to rid yourself of sadness is to focus on things that make you happy. There is always something to take pleasure in! Like the beauty of the sunset, or the sound of the lapping waves. Or wine!”

“Not when you are abandoned to die, with no way off the island,” I said. “How did you get here, anyway? I don’t see a boat.”

“I have my ways,” he said cryptically, with that same mischievous smile. That smile and the teasing sparkle in his eyes were so adorable. His beauty is something to take pleasure in, I suddenly thought, and his company, and kindness…

I took another draught of the wine. “Why are the gods so cruel to me?” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

“The gods are not cruel to you.” He stated it with complete confidence, as though it were an undeniable fact, not as though he were trying to convince me.

“It certainly seems that way,” I replied.

“Life can often seem that way, but then, it gets better, and you will find that the gods favor you,” he said.

“Well… I suppose that must be true, if handsome strangers pop out of nowhere to comfort women.”

He beamed. “Exactly!” He took the kylix back from me, threw his head back, and drained about half of it in one gulp. “You know, I was stranded on a desert island like this one once.”

“Wait, what? You were?”

“Yes! It was a long time ago now, but I was just as pretty back then, and just as fond of wearing purple. Purple is the best color, you know.” He winked. “Anyway, so I was lying asleep on a beach and—” he took another swig of the wine, “a pirate ship rows by…”

“Are you drunk?”

“Always, darling!” That roguish grin of his was really starting to win me over. “Anyway, the pirates saw me sleeping on the beach, saw how pretty I was and saw my fine purple robes, and thought I was a prince. Well. They weren’t wrong… I technically am a prince of Thebes, on my mother’s side.” He laughed like he had just told the most hilarious joke and had another sip of the wine. The amount of wine in the kylix never seemed to get any lower.

“Does that mean… you’re a bastard?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes, yes it does! I’m such a bastard. I mean… I was born out of wedlock. And my father’s wife, oooh, she hates me.” Another sip of the wine. “Never get on her bad side if you can help it.” He pointed at me as if this was the most important information I could ever learn, and I laughed. “She can’t touch me now, but she drove me mad when I was younger. Literally. Anyway, so these pirates kidnapped me. Thought I’d make a damn cute catamite, and I certainly would, but that’s beside the point. You don’t and kidnap boys no matter how pretty they are. I tried to tell my dad that, but it didn’t go over well.” Another sip of the wine.

“You are slender, but I bet you could take Theseus in a drinking contest.”

“Oh, I could take aaaaaanyone in a drinking contest! Never lost one yet!” His face was glowing, not just with blush from the wine but also with infectious joy. I slowly forgot about my misfortunes as I listened to his story. “So they tried to tie me to the ship’s mast, but found they couldn’t do it. I only tolerate bondage on my own terms. And then…” There was suddenly a mad gleam in his green eyes. “I covered their ship in grapevines, and ivy, and flowers, and the delicious smell of wine. I can’t imagine why such delightful things frightened them so. But I thought I’d scare them more, see, because it was funny. So I turned into a lion! And they flung themselves overboard in fear!” He laughed, and his laugh sounded as musical as flutes on a clear morning, but it had a maddened edge to it. “But I pitied them, y’know?” he continued. “Just as you pity your brother. So I changed them into dolphins. So they wouldn’t drown.”

“You changed… you turned into… did… did your god give you those powers? Or… are you just… really… drunk?” But I knew. I think that intuitively, I knew the whole time.

“Easy,” he said, once again raising the bottomless kylix to his lips with that knowing smile. “I’m really drunk.”

At this, I burst out laughing, and my laugh sounded almost unfamiliar to my own ears. I felt light, carefree, replenished. And then it sank in, that I was speaking to a god. I hastily knelt, and dropped my head before him, although he was still sitting next to me. “Lord Dionysus! Son of Zeus! Lord, lord, thank you for coming to me, for talking to me, for relieving me of my pain, for freeing me from my suffering…”

“You’re welcome, Ariadne.” He lifted my face, so that I was staring up into his eyes, which were now vivid reddish-purple, the color of ripe grapes. A richly purple aura surrounded him, proclaiming his divinity. In his hand was his staff, a fennel stalk topped with a pinecone that dripped with honey, twined with ivy and purple ribbons. And he had horns, bull’s horns just like my brother’s, magnificent and deadly sharp. They curved up above his brow, as much his crown as the wreath of ivy in his hair. The imposing horns created a striking contrast with his delicate features, but they looked right, somehow. Like this was how he was supposed to look.

I didn’t know what to say. My mind had gone suddenly blank. “I’ve never known great Dionysus to have horns,” I blurted.

“Not many get to see them,” he said, his voice suddenly slow and solemn. “Ariadne, will you dance with me?”

Whatever I had expected him to say, it was not that. “Wh—what?”

“Dance with me!” He stood up and twirled off across the beach. His hair floated around his shoulders, the ribbons on his thyrsus arced through the air like the rainbow, and his expression was one of elation. He screamed in ecstasy, and it was an inhuman sound, like the crowing of some unearthly bird. At that, the air filled with cacophonous music — flutes, drums, cymbals, rattles, castanets.

A command echoed inside my head. No, not a command — a compulsion: DANCE! DANCE!

So I danced with the bull-horned god. “Dancing” barely even begins to describe what I was doing. I was filled with an overwhelming, indescribable feeling, like I didn’t fit in my own skin. Like I was about to be lifted out of my own shoulders! I moved like my body was doing everything it could to express this ineffable thing inside me that was so much bigger than me. I spun, I leapt, I ran, I stamped my feet in the sand, I moved wherever the feeling took me. It burned like fire. And Dionysus was all I could perceive. I screamed with both intense rapture and pure, genuine worship: “EUOI! EUOI! EUOI!”

I met his eyes, and there I saw all the raw ferocity of a bull or a great cat, as well as chaos and lust and debauchery and pure mania. All the forces strong enough to tear a person apart! I desperately thirsted for something I could not name. It was more than wine, more than flesh, more than blood. Dionysus took me in his arms, and kissed me on the lips. Passion overtook me.

Maybe I fainted in exhilaration, or maybe I was simply too drunk to remember. All I know was that I was eventually awakened by the sunrise and the sound of lapping waves. And Dionysus… was still there. He hadn’t disappeared into the night, he was still sleeping there in the sand, looking blissful and alluring in his sleep. His tousled curls tumbled over the sand, his soft hand was upturned beside his head, and his lips were parted invitingly. He lay on his purple cloak, and was using the leopard pelt like a blanket, though it was only carelessly draped over his waist.

“Lord… thank you for not leaving me,” I whispered.

His long eyelashes fluttered, and then his eyes opened, once again appearing vine-green. “Mmmm… sleep well?”

“Yes.” I desperately wanted to kiss him, and the seductive look in his eyes tempted me. “May I… touch you?”

“Darling, you may touch me anywhere you like,” he purred. Ravenously, I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my chest to his, and our lips met. He still tasted like wine, and I drank him in the way I would wine. We lay there for a moment, entangled in each other’s arms like grape and ivy vines, idly caressing each other’s skin and hair.

“M’lord…” I whispered, “perhaps it might be impertinent to ask, but… what am I going to do now? I can’t go home. I don’t really want to go to Athens. And I still have no way off this island.”

“Why, Ariadne,” he gave me a teasing smile. “If I may be so bold, I hoped you would join me! In fact… I hope you might marry me.”

I was so taken aback by this that I immediately sat up. “You… you’re serious? Marry you?” I knew that gods frequently took mortal lovers, but this was unimaginable. “Actually marry you?”

“Yes, Ariadne. I love you.” He said it with the same sweetness and sincerity that he initially approached me with. Theseus had said no such thing. “You are not destined to become queen of Athens, but perhaps you might be my queen, if you are willing.”

I burst into tears, but they weren’t tears of sadness this time. They were tears of overwhelm, the same kind of overflowing sensation that I’d felt while dancing. “You love me?”

“I am absolutely besotted, my darling! I have had many lovers, but I had not fallen so madly in love since Ampelos, my first love, my darling vine.” A grapevine appeared between his fingers and twined up his arm. “Perhaps something in me is inclined towards mortals over gods, which is understandable, given my parentage. But, that should be no problem. I will bring you to Olympus, and love you for all of time.”

“How… why me?” I sputtered. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Ariadne, you are letting your human mind interfere, and convince you that you are not worthy to be in my presence. Did you feel unworthy last night, while we were dancing?”

“No… I felt… there was no such thing.”

“Ariadne, do you love me?”

I struggled to find any word that could properly describe how I felt about him. “You are… utterly intoxicating.”

He giggled like a shy maiden. “I get that a lot. And, if you could be worthy of having me as a husband, would you have me?”

Yes. My body and soul ached and burned with wanting. And he made me extraordinarily happy! I’d never dared to believe a god would love me enough to marry me, but that disbelief was only getting in my way.

He looked me dead in the eyes. I nearly flinched away from the intensity of his gaze, and the shimmering madness behind it. “You are more than you realize, Ariadne, guide in the dark, guardian of the gates of initiation. You are intelligent and witty and brave, and you fear no darkness or madness or savagery, do you? You faced them all in the Labyrinth. You would make an excellent addition to my thiasus, even if you decide not to marry me. Ariadne, the most holy and pure, Lady of the Labyrinth.” His words reverberated deep in the labyrinthine pathways of my own mind and soul, like he had revealed an ancient truth that I had known once, but forgotten.

“The Labyrinth is a holy place, of contemplation and transformation. Isn’t it? Not of death.”

He smiled that gorgeous, winning smile again. “Yes! You understand! And even where there is death, it is not absolute.” His eyes shone with feverish excitement. “Oh, I have so much to teach you!”

“Lord Dionysus, I would be honored beyond imagining if I were to become your wife.”

“So is that a yes? You will marry me?”

Something about him felt right in a way that I could not put words to, like the Fates had done all they could to bring me to this moment. This god loved me, more than the other gods love their conquests, more than I could comprehend. “Yes! I will marry you!”

At that, a cool wind blew across the island, swirling his dark hair around his face and making all the vegetation appear to shimmer. It was like the island itself was affirming my decision. “Then, Ariadne, we shall rule the revel together! In honor of our engagement…” A magnificent diadem appeared in his hands, sparkling with seven gemstones like stars. He placed it on my head, and gave me a warm kiss on my lips. “Ariadne, my bride, may you never thirst. May your lusts never go unsatisfied. May your heart always be light and joyful.”

“Thank you. Thank you, m’lord!”

“You can stop calling me that. If we are to be married, you can simply call me by my name. Or, call me what pleases you. Now, come with me!” He stood, offering me his hand. “Unless you would rather spend some more alone time together, I should finally take you off this island! I will take you home to Nysa, or perhaps to Arcadia, and we will have to throw the most spectacular bacchanal in celebration of our marriage!”

“How will we travel?”

He led me down the beach like a child eager to show something to their parent, and gestured toward a golden chariot drawn by two gigantic panthers. The chariot itself was decorated in images of swirling grapevines and serpents and satyrs making love, and the cats’ pelts gleamed. “Oh, gods… I mean… wow. Does it move over water?”

“It flies, silly!” He stood inside it and beckoned to me. “These cats can run on the wind. Hermes gave them to me.”

I climbed into the chariot and held on for dear life as the panthers bounded into the air with great strides. Soon the chariot was blazing through the bright air, and Naxos was far behind us. Dionysus laughed into the wind, which blew his long hair back from his face. As radiant as he was, I was more than a little terrified of speeding through the air high above the sea in a chariot, and felt like I would fall off at any second, although not even my diadem was dislodged from my head.

“You look terror-stricken, Ariadne. Would you like me to tell you another amusing story? That seems to have cheered you up the last time!”

“That depends on whether you can drive a chariot and get incredibly drunk at the same time.”

He laughed uproariously. “Oh, I love you so much! I can do anything and get incredibly drunk, if you were wondering. So, anyway, the story… Mortals have mixed opinions of me. Most love my parties and stories and love my wine, but they seem a bit put off by the madness and violence and lust it brings out in them… Not sure why, it’s not as though all of that wasn’t there to begin with… Mortal kings do not like this, and some of them can be quite unkind to my worshippers, testing the limits of my mercy… but one of them allowed my mentor, Silenus, to sleep in his garden. So kind of him! So of course I offered him any reward he might wish for, and… he wished that everything he touched would turn to gold.”

“Ooh. Let me guess, it backfired?”

“Oh, did it backfire! His food turned to gold and he nearly starved, and even his daughter turned to gold! Hardly my fault, of course. I promised to give him what he asked for, and I did, he just happened to be an idiot. He had the chance to wish for anything in the world, and he chose something as shallow and pointless as gold. Not to mention, he clearly had never heard of inflation, which makes me worry about his kingdom’s economy. Oh, well. He learned, and I changed everything back. I always let humans indulge themselves, but I am not a god of excess. Either they are satisfied by their pleasures, or they learn their lesson fast. The moral of the story: Know your tolerance. Also, if you want to turn things to gold, you have to do it the hard way. Hermes and I were just discussing how to turn lead to gold, in fact…”

His soothing voice and hilarious tales put me at ease, until we were traveling over beautiful mountains and verdant valleys. I had never seen mainland Greece, but the view of it from the flying chariot was incredible. I was no longer afraid of falling. As we flew, I felt as if the wind stripped me of the cares and sorrows of my former life. Dionysus had set me free. I smiled at him, and he smiled at me as the chariot descended into the lush, hidden valley where a throng of Maenads and satyrs waited to welcome home their lord and his queen.

Dionysus helped me out of the chariot, and I stood before the thiasus, their maddened eyes all turned upon me. “I am the bride of Dionysus,” I proclaimed. “I am Ariadne of the Labyrinth.”

#retellings #submission #long post

[kettlequills]

affinity

unsure at this point whether elenwen would benefit more from a long course of therapy or a good dicking. luckily, neither of these are in store for her, so enjoy an elenwen who is not hinged at all plus sybille, who is having a very bad day. TW: blood drinking, cutting, violence, manipulation and threat, sexual themes, and character death. implied sybille/istlod, a lil elenwen/elisif, uhh idk if youd say this is elenwen/sybille but hm. enjoy, and gimme a shout if you think it needs an extra tag. a03

Elenwen discovers Sybille's secret, and has ... words.

The Thalmor Ambassador had come to Solitude and found an empty palace. No one else was there but Sybille, left to frustratedly amuse the Ambassador while someone hurried to fetch the steward, the Jarl, somebody. Anybody, but Sybille Stentor. Some dispute had drawn them away – some fluster in the training yard – Sybille neither knew nor cared, except that Falk was not here to ask the Ambassador why she had come to darken their door, nor even Elisif, to gracefully offer wine and bread to the sour-faced elf.

Even if it had not been months since she had last slaked her thirst in the prisons beneath Solitude, Sybille still would have had little patience for this. The Thalmor irritated her, with their poorly-hidden disdain, their smugness, their superiority. As it was, her head pounded, her throat ached, and moving around in the dim evening sunlight was painful enough that it made her vision blur red. She had begun to hear heartbeats in the chests of her friends, the Jarl she was trying to become loyal to, and each night was an exercise in self control growing monumental in difficulty.

And there was Elenwen standing with her hands behind her ramrod back, looking as if she had sniffed something foul. Her expression was so forbidding, so bleak, so threatening that Sybille immediately perceived why the weak-willed guards had found someplace else to be. For once, she was completely alone, unflanked by unsmiling justiciars.

Foolish, or another spiteful little snub. No, Elenwen had nothing to fear in the heart of the Blue Palace – as much as they might whisper into their pillows how much they hated Thalmor oversight, Thalmor gold still sweated in their palms as they tipped their toothless necks back for the glutting. Why bother with guards, when you had the helmless court of Solitude on a leash?

Oh, Istlod. How he would be ashamed, to see his court reduced to this.

“Ambassador,” Sybille ground out, hating this. She wasn’t supposed to be the one greeting dignitaries come to pander and parley. That was Falk’s job, or the Jarl’s – but Istlod was long gone, and Torygg was dead, now.

Torygg, Torygg. He’d been just a boy; Sybille remembered as if it had been yesterday his chubby hands grabbing on the front of her robes, his lisping pronunciation of “ibble!” before he’d learnt to say her name. A gangly teen, pimple-faced but trying desperately to be noble, the pride of Istlod’s eye, blushing-bold. Bare years after, before even the flower of his prime – dead, dead and cold on the cobbles. Sybille had promised Istlod to keep him safe. But she’d failed. She failed, and Torygg was dead, his murderer walking free and all that was left was … Elisif.

Elisif. A dear girl but… not Torygg. Young, foolish, easily swayed. Inexperienced. Weak, when they needed strength. When Sybille needed Torygg. She was fond enough of her but Elisif looked at her like she was drowning, always begging for advice, and when Sybille met her eyes all she saw was the moment when Torygg had heard Ulfric’s challenge ashen-faced, then turned to his bright young wife and visibly steeled himself.

Ready to die, rather than dishonour her, disappoint her.

It wasn’t Elisif’s fault that she had survived Ulfric when Torygg had not, but Sybille could not stop blaming her. Still, Sybille wished she was here now. The young Jarl was better at this, the inane courtesies, the lies, than Sybille was. Even if Sybille thought she was far friendlier to the Thalmor Ambassador than was wise.

“Court Mage,” Elenwen greeted, polite as picture. In her clipped Dominion accent, the two words sounded loathsome as a curse. Her lip curled upwards in an estimation of what she probably thought a smile was supposed to look like. It was all sneer, and like most of the Emissary's facial expressions, was tinged with pointed disgust.

She was standing rigidly in the main hall of the deserted emptiness of the Blue Palace like a stubborn brick over a fire. Choking all the air out of the room, stifling, her presence as oppressive as a lead weight. The maids had all found themselves somewhere else to be, fearing, no doubt, the Ambassador’s legendarily cutting tongue and Sybille’s own displeasure at being left to entertain. As if she did not have a thousand more pressing matters to attend to, and barely the patience besides.

Not even when she was well-fed, which she was not.

They stood in silence for a moment, Sybille warring with herself, before she grudgingly asked, “Are you in need of refreshments, Ambassador?”

Hospitality, to a pit viper. If Sybille had not been what she was, the thought would be funny. As it was, it only insulted – Solitude did not need any more secret teeth tracking the prey that would not be missed. Sybille had heard the rumours, like everyone else, of secret Thalmor dungeons, and screams from beneath the solar so loud that they could be heard over the music during the parties. The prisoners of Solitude – such as they were – were Sybille’s domain.

“No,” said Elenwen, a pinch too swiftly, as if the very idea was nauseating, “And yourself, Court Mage?”

Sybille's control of her face was not so slight that she blinked, but she was aware of a tightening around the skin of her knuckles. The words, the consideration, were so odd in Elenwen’s cold, autocratic tones that at first she was certain she had misheard.

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours,” Sybille said rudely, and suddenly, Elenwen changed.

She turned fluidly towards Sybille and prowled closer, the stiffness as if she was daring not to breathe for fear of inhaling foul scent gone. Her sneer vanished, smoothed into a smile, wide and full, completely genuine, utterly threatening. Her eyes glittered flatly, like mirrors. Her movements were slow and slinking. Gone were the sharp clicks of her boots, muffled by some trick of her step that left her silent as a panther.

Sybille was left feeling like the world had suddenly shifted to the left and left her behind, as dizzy as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her. A moment ago, the Thalmor Ambassador had stood in front of her, haughty as ever, unbending with her stiff Altmeri pride – but this hungry, prowling creature was not her.

Her teeth sharpened in her mouth at the implicit threat that rolled off Elenwen, at her approaching closeness, the blood Sybille could sense flushing the capillaries under her skin, pounding through the chambers of her cold Altmeri heart. At once, Sybille was immensely aware that there was no one to observe them; no one at all.

And it had been weeks, weeks since Sybille had drunk her fill.

“How quickly these mortal children wane compared to the lifetime of an elf,” Elenwen murmured. Her voice was throaty and rich, the sharpness of the consonants blurred by a coastal accent that Sybille swore she had not had before. “How we see them pass us and consign the summers of our childhoods to the distant realm of myth and mystery as they bloom and fade in the blink of an eye. Truly, I am impressed at how faithfully you served the late Jarl Torygg, like you served his father Istlod before him. Tell me, how many of them have ... failed to see?"

Elenwen's horrible smile stretched wider.

"But I see, Court Mage.”

“I am perfectly well-appreciated within my position, Ambassador,” Sybille said coldly.

She was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. There was no possible way that Elenwen knew her secret, but the damn elf seemed far too smug for Sybille’s liking. She hated these types, the twisted double-talk that meant something else entirely. Was she attempting to recruit Sybille to the Thalmor? She had to know that Sybille would never have agreed to that, for Istlod’s sake, who had been miserable at the news of the Concordat, if nothing else. Now, if only they were somewhere a little more secluded, then Sybille could teach her some proper manners –

Except no, she couldn’t, that was the Thalmor Ambassador. People would notice if she visited the Solitude dungeons and came back with marks on her neck and a hunger to be bitten, drained deep, pliant in the arms of a predator, better attitude notwithstanding. And Sybille couldn’t kill her. Not without reprisal.

Istlod would have wanted Sybille to kill Elenwen. Except – no, he had agreed to the peace too. Her fangs pressed insistently, dully, on her tongue.

Elenwen’s smile widened. Sybille saw every one of her straight teeth. Too white, too even, lined up like regiment soldiers or grave-markers for war-dead. Some of them were fake, she was willing to bet. This wide, the makeup caking her cheeks folded around her smile unflatteringly, the thick foundation hazed with cracks. Fake, fake, but the blood that ran under her skin was real.

Sybille could force her to bleed, force her to feel spark-bright pain, force her to reveal the truth under her teeth, her claws, her little boot knife. Even an ice-spike would do, chill that golden flesh high and taut until it pebbled with goosebumps and she was shivery and damp, and the heat of her blood spilling over her chest made her gasp at the shock of warmth.

That would make her speak straight and true, if nothing else would.

“It has been a dry spell in the prisons, hasn’t it?” Elenwen purred, soft, sympathetic, as if she was commiserating over something truly terrible, “My condolences, truly, you have been much more patient than I would. But tell me, have any of your beloved young humans noticed you have not aged a day?”

“Many humans are not aware of the life spans of an elf,” she said, to hide the fluttering of something that was beginning to feel like panic or fury. “I am Dunmer, a few decades are no great time to me.”

“Could you go decades, I wonder?” Elenwen’s smile dropped, but the look that replaced it was worse, coquettish, sly. She contrived some way of looking up at Sybille through her eyelashes painted and curled with oil despite her taller height and took a falsely-nervous step closer, all awkward shoulders and sliding foot, just as if she was a wheedling young lover begging her first kiss. But her eyes danced brightly, privately, as if this entire interaction was nothing but a game they were playing, just the two of them. “I rather think you’re hungry now.”

“I ate this morning,” Sybille lied flatly, “with the rest of the hall.”

“Tch,” said Elenwen, as if Sybille had missed a step, and belatedly, Sybille realised it would not be any hardship for a spy group as developed as the Thalmor to verify that lie, “Are you sure, Court Mage? We could test it, if you like. How much of you would be left, after decades? It’s been such a short time, and yet, I can see it in how you look at me.” She came closer, thrilled and faux-breathless. "You are hungry."

“I am quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sybille bluffed, but she knew she had lost. Whatever game the Ambassador was playing, Sybille did not know the dance. She glanced haphazardly around the room, but they were truly alone. She could not hear so much as a scuffing slipper or clank of mail.

“Two months, three, since you last drank blood,” Elenwen clarified, so there was no possibility at all of pretending that she did not know, and smiled, smiled, smiled wide at the look of horror on Sybille’s face. Ice poured down Sybille’s spine. The floor dropped out from underneath her. No, no no, the Thalmor could not know.

“Were you fucking his father?” Elenwen asked conversationally, in the silence that fell, “Torygg’s, I mean.”

“I don’t… That is a serious accusation, Ambassador!” Sybille hissed, ignoring her, unable to name the feeling that started icy in her fingertips and spread dully and low up into her breastbone until she ached the whole way through. Her stomach knotted and writhed.

“Aren’t you thirsty, Sybille Stentor?”

Elenwen was so close now. So close that Sybille had to step back, her tall shadow casting her in gloom. Her eyes were half-moons behind the sun, and the light gilded her blonde hair like it was strands of gold. A strand drifted out of its aggressive pinning as Elenwen bent forward, swaying into Sybille like she was magnetised, and tickled there along her artificially-blushed cheek. Sybille could smell the powders, the hotness of her skin trapped beneath it. She had bleached with lemon oil recently, a faint scent clung to her, almost drowned by the floral drench of cosmetics.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Sybille snapped, mouth dry as bone, and Elenwen laughed. It was full and unrestrained, a laugh from the stomach, and nothing at all like the stiff, courteous little smirks she gave as ambassador. It rang, rich and loud, through the entire hall, down the stairs and over the thrones, and Sybille heard it with a sinking feeling of a lock snapping shut.

Elenwen would never have laughed so loudly, so out of her stiff Ambassador performance, if she thought it was possible she could be overheard. Would she? Was this a bluff?

Sybille’s gaze darted again to the dark eyes of the doorways, but the palace seemed empty. Were there Thalmor in the wings? Elisif. Was the Jarl safe? She should be – though had not Sybille sent a servant to fetch the Jarl, the steward? Was Elenwen planning to unmask her before the court?

“Come on now,” said Elenwen, warmly, her smile conspiratorial like they shared a secret, just her and Sybille, “We’re all alone now, and I’m right here. Why don’t you bite me? Look,” She undid the first two buttons of her uniform, exposing a long line of pale gold throat. “I’ll make it easy. Do you like it easy?”

“Are you insane?!” Sybille snapped. There was no other possible response to that.

Nonetheless, her eyes were drawn to the expanse of bared skin, the delicate lines of the veins and tendons in Elenwen’s neck. She could see the forklike line of her jugular, the thinner softnesses of her veins. Vulnerable. The skin here had not been painted and powdered, hidden as it normally was under her collar. It was paler, yellower, like Elenwen did not get enough sun. Sybille wondered how she bruised. Whether she would paint over the bruises Sybille would leave her, when she woke in the morning, and wondered how she had struck her neck in the night.

Sybille swallowed around a mouth pooling with spit. It had been too long.

She could see the hollow where Elenwen’s pulse fluttered, waiting for Sybille to sink her teeth home. What would she taste like? Could anyone truly blame her, if she took just a little taste, just the tiniest mouthful, to sate her burning throat?

Surely, if she was doomed already, it would not hurt.

“Bite me,” ordered Elenwen, steely. Softer, she said, “Bite me, Sybille Stentor. You must be so thirsty. Doesn’t it feel like flames in your throat?”

It did, it felt like each inhale peeled dry chunks of her throat off with all the gentleness of searing sandpaper. Elenwen was so close now that Sybille could lift her chin and kiss her, close enough that her breath, warm, alive, smelling vaguely of summer-wine, brushed Sybille’s cold cheeks. Elenwen’s warmth was like another creature between them, the impossibility of Sybille being the dead one, with Elenwen’s eyes like a mirror to every fear Sybille had ever banished.

“You must have confused me with someone else,” Sybille said faintly as Elenwen stepped even closer. Their bodies brushed, her breath fanned hotly over Sybille’s forehead.

Elenwen hummed a little, disappointed. “Perhaps,” she said, and suddenly there was a dagger in her hand, so quick even Sybille’s vampiric eyes could not spot it. Just as fast, the dagger flashed, once, twice – and then the heavenly aroma of fresh blood reached Sybille’s nose. On Elenwen’s neck, either side of her tendons, two deep slices welled fresh red, deep, deep enough that after the first droplet rolled enticingly towards her collarbones another followed.

Sybille swallowed. She could smell it, thick as perfume, tantalising as an oasis in the desert. Elenwen’s blood was fresh, healthy, and right there. It was bright red, scandalously scarlet, against the warm gold of her throat, like a slash of silk. The candlelight from Sybille’s little alcove shone and shimmered in the droplet like the magicka in it sparked and sung, for Sybille alone. Begging her, almost, to lean forward – barely any movement at all, to chase the droplet with her tongue, lap up along that proud, stiff neck to the wet gash that fluttered like breathless lips waiting to be kissed.

How fast was Elenwen’s heart beating, to push such quick, steady little pulses down her neck? The collar of her robes was darkening to a liquid blackness, but Elenwen did not seem faint at all. Would she be strong til the end, Sybille wondered, would her heart hammer and struggle against her lips, her hands, her body and Sybille’s mouth? Would she pant and gasp and writhe, or would she fall still and silent, terror-glazed eyes and frozen muscles, or best of all, would she struggle and strain, drum weakening hands against the firm cage of Sybille’s arms?

“It’s a bad time to be a vampire in Solitude, isn’t it?” Elenwen asked, friendly, almost sweet, “With all that terrible news about undead stirring in the catacombs. A death sentence for you if anyone should find out, I expect.”

Sybille opened her mouth but her fangs were beginning to protrude, and venom ran eagerly down her chin. Elenwen’s gaze tracked the wetness in her mouth, and her voice dropped an octave when she spoke again.

“But I’m right here, and I’m offering,” said Elenwen, soft as a spider, warm as the blood Sybille could not tear her eyes from. “I could do so much for you if you enthralled me. All the power of the Thalmor at your fingertips…”

She chuckled, darkly. This close, Sybille felt it vibrate through her chest into Sybille’s own. The movement of her shoulders had a droplet of blood, teetering on the steep ridge of her tendon, tumble headlong into the sleek curve of the dip where her collarbones joined her neck. The swipe of red glistened wetly.

“… and I have so many more little puppets dancing for me than you could ever guess, Sybille Stentor. You would never have to fear being found again. All it would take is… a taste. Bite me.”

Pressing her shoulders back against the wall, Sybille turned her head away stubbornly. The stone was cold through her robes. Elenwen’s warmth was dizzying by contrast. Sybille was hot with bloodlust, had never wanted so badly. She was aware, as if it was happening to someone else, that she was trembling.

Involuntarily, she considered Elenwen’s offer. Imagined stepping forward, grasping the elf’s thin waist, following the trail of blood with her tongue. Licking up that taunting trail over the rigid line of her tendon, sucking hard and strong on the slash she’d cut into her own neck, the bones of Elenwen’s hips fine as glass under her grip. Imagined how Elenwen would go moaning-soft and boneless as butter in her arms, her long ears brushing over Sybille’s hood as her head drooped. How Sybille would have to catch her when her knees buckled, the reflexive way she would go to push Sybille away turned to a trembling grasp, rigid at first by the pain, then softened by the venom, how her brilliant, hard blazing eyes would go soft, dark, round with venom and bloodloss euphoria, when Sybille imposed her will over her, how Sybille would drink, and drink, and drink-

But no – it was broad daylight in the middle of the fucking Blue Palace, there was no way that Sybille could drain Elenwen or thrall her quick enough to avoid discovery, and that was only if Elenwen didn’t have some other plan. There was no way that Sybille would go along with some Thalmor plot out of – hunger, hunger alone.

What would Istlod say?

Elenwen pressed close until she was crowding Sybille against the wall. Her body was thin and bony, the buckles of her uniform dug into Sybille’s breastbone. Her lips brushed the tip of Sybille’s ear through her hood when she spoke. This close, the smell of blood was intoxicating.

But Sybille was not strong enough to push her away.

“Drink,” Elenwen cajoled. “It’s been so long since you last had a prisoner, hasn’t it? …Such unfortunate accidents.”

Sybille heard the shift of cloth, that and outrage had her turning her head back to glare at Elenwen, but she was too close, and instead Sybille’s nose butted against her smooth cheek. Her skin was searing hot, a fine dust from her makeup tickled Sybille’s nose. Sybille felt Elenwen’s repressed shiver at the chilly brush of Sybille’s dead skin against hers in the pit of her stomach. “You-?”

“Me,” Elenwen confirmed, smile widening in Sybille’s peripheral vision.

Sybille was transfixed as Elenwen lifted her finger to the bleeding wound on her neck and shoved her finger in, stark, bold, crass. Her smile never wavered at all at the pain. Her bright, bright eyes were focused on Sybille. The part of Sybille that had been mortal once was horrified at her disregard, the part of her that thirsted so badly for blood it barely cared anymore found it unbearably erotic.

She behaved like a venom-drunk thrall, but she smelled rich and fresh, unbitten, untainted. Did she feel no pain, or did she not care? … Did she like it?

The deepened wound gushed redly down her neck, and Elenwen leaned even closer, until the warmth of her body pressed Sybille’s cold one through their robes, like she wanted to become one with her bones, buckles and all. She was thin, thinner than Sybille had expected her to be; she could feel the ridges of Elenwen’s ribs, her small breasts, the cavernous flutter of her stomach.

Elenwen’s finger, glistening with her own blood, raised towards Sybille’s watering mouth.

There was nowhere to go. She turned her head, straining, but Elenwen chased her, cornered her, and Sybille’s mouth parted involuntarily to stop it from painting her lips red. If she tasted the blood – even a droplet – Sybille knew she couldn’t hold back. She choked out a little moan when Elenwen let her finger rest there inside Sybille’s mouth without touching her at all, breathing in the scent of her, so strong, so present. Slender and long, she could have tickled the back of Sybille’s throat if she chose, made her cough and gag and choke, but she did not, instead she teased, not touching, not tasting, forcing Sybille to breathe around the inescapable allure of her.

“I must confess a little professional curiosity,” Elenwen told her, intimate as a lover’s whisper, “I’ve never met a vampire before, and I’ve always wondered how it compares. The blood of Alinor’s finest surely ought to taste better than the swill in the dungeons, though personally, I can’t say I’ve ever tasted much of a difference – Nord, Altmer, Dunmer, we’re all good in wine.” She smirked a little at that. “Won’t you taste, for me?”

The saliva pooled down around Sybille’s fangs and over her chin. She closed her eyes in humiliation.

Elenwen tutted. “I suppose not. Perhaps this will help.” She drew closer, closer, nudging under Sybille’s hood, until her breath puffed over Sybille’s ear, waking long dead nerves with a shiver. Her free hand bracketed the wall above Sybille’s head, then stroked down over the back of her neck and seized the base of her skull. Her fingers knotted into the hair there, each one hot as a brand.

Sybille forced her tongue against her teeth, trying to ground herself through the strain in her jaw. Elenwen’s blooded finger in her mouth was a burning beacon, commanding attention. Spit and venom drooled continuously down her chin. Elenwen’s thready heartbeat – affected, now, by the bloodloss – pounded underneath Sybille’s ribs like a call to war.

“I killed Torygg,” Elenwen breathed into Sybille’s ear. “I told Ulfric to kill him. I broke his mind and I told him to murder poor King Torygg. I was told he squealed like a stuck pig when Ulfric knocked him down, broke his darling bones with one of those beastly shouts of his. Did you hear them break? There’s a certain sound a bone makes when it shatters beyond repair, and the look in a plaything’s eyes, when they realise they are only breakable meat – well, you don’t need me telling you how sweet that is. … I envy you. I wish I could have seen it.”

Elenwen’s gory detail was not needed. That day was burned into Sybille’s memory, the dull wet pops, the snaps and cracks of Torygg’s bones, the horrible thud and the wail he’d made in the thunderous after-shocks of that terrible Shout, the bitter venom in Sybille’s mouth when Ulfric contemptuously cut his head from what remained of his shoulders with one swipe. Ruby-red, it spurted from the messy stump, it had puddled in the grooves of the courtyard’s cobbles, and weeks after rust-red flecks were found, splattering shoes and hems. Torygg had contained so much blood in him, so much of Istlod, and his iron scent was seared into her nose, her mind, mixing with the tantalising barely-there taste of Elenwen in her mouth.

Sybille gurgled on a gasp. She closed her eyes harder, overwrought, fighting to restrain the tears that welled there. That broke through the blood-haze. She’d known. She’d known it had been too simple, that it hadn’t made sense. But – the Thalmor, killing Torygg? Manipulating Stormcloak?

Elenwen moaned at something on Sybille’s face, tearing her concentration. The vibration stirred Sybille’s chest, the quiver of her ear, and Elenwen’s hips ground against hers in subtle, excited circles. It was vile. It was seductive. Sybille had never wanted to break more than she did now. She deserved to die. Wouldn’t it be worth it? Grief, sick desire, warred with prudence. But – this was what she wanted, Sybille fought to remember, the Ambassador was trying to manipulate Sybille to – to –

She was so thirsty.

Sybille’s teary glare did not seem to faze Elenwen at all. This close, she could see the breaks in the makeup that covered Elenwen’s skin, the artificial wrinkles that made her look older than she truly was. Everything fake, a performance. She made a negative sound around the venom bubbling out of her mouth, and Elenwen smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“And I think I might fuck that idiot doll you’ve got on the throne, too,” Elenwen whispered, and Sybille’s jaw muscle jumped. Her catlike eyes warmed with glee. “Oh, I know you were warning her off my little parties. Came back in too much of a state once, did she? The funny thing is that she approaches me – you should be thanking me, really, all that whining about her poor husband, but she cheers right up if you get a little summerwine into her, turns right into quite the … bold … little … slut.”

That last word was delivered in a hiss, lips brushing Sybille’s ear, and at once, she couldn’t take it any longer. She jerked to snarl back, and Elenwen’s bloodied finger rubbed the soft wetness of the inside of Sybille’s mouth. The rich taste of fresh blood overwhelmed her, blanked her mind. Sybille sucked reflexively, and Elenwen’s breath stuttered in her chest. She threw back her head, exposing her bloody neck, and ground hungrily into Sybille.

“Does your doll like knives?” Elenwen panted. “I do.”

Then, she laughed, delighted and breathless, as Sybille’s hands left the wall and found themselves somehow on Elenwen’s back, pressing her close, wrinkling her robes beneath clenched fists. She bit the flesh between her teeth, dazed, searching tongue prodding for all the blood she could smell but not taste. Her own venom burned her throat when she swallowed.

“Oh, though I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Elenwen continued, tugging her finger free, “She will learn to, if I want her.”

Her body tensed as if she meant to move back, but Sybille shot forward faster than lightning with a bloodcurdling snarl. She seized Elenwen’s hair and waist in a vicious grip, bringing her face close to the dripping wounds. The blood, hot and wet, the revenge, the wanting. At last, Sybille dared a tentative lick, a long, sure line up Elenwen’s neck, chasing the path of the bleeding. She tasted like magic, sun, knives, sharp and a little acrid. Intoxicating. Sybille smoothed over the wetness of the open wound, and she hesitated there, damnation at her lips.

A man’s face was before her eyes, fuzzy Nord-beard, mournful wrinkle-sagged stare. …Istlod?

Elenwen did not fight her at all, though Sybille felt the prick of her dagger against her ribs, a second from slipping into her heart, even as she whimpered at the tightness of Sybille’s grip on her fine hair. It was soft, thin as insect-wings over Sybille’s fist. Elenwen’s body hummed with tension like a live-wire, she breathed in gasps, and she trembled faintly with an unbearable want that Sybille could feel straining to pierce the skin, meet its echo in the parched emptiness of Sybille’s bloodless gut. But her knife tickled at Sybille’s robes, warning and promise both.

“Go on,” Elenwen goaded, her voice strained, a little breathy, cracked with desperation, “Hurt me. You must want to. I killed him, I starved you. Hurt me.”

Could she drain Elenwen before Elenwen stabbed her? There was some reason why Sybille could not drink, she knew that, but all thought deserted her every time she breathed, every time she couldn’t help herself and licked the welling blood before it reached Elenwen’s collar, tracing the topography of her willing throat. Elenwen made sounds, beautiful and ragged, when Sybille lapped at her with her cold tongue, shivered in her arms, all eager sighs and clutching hands and poised knives. But still, Sybille did not affix her mouth over the pumping vein and drain, drain, drain her dry.

“Just-!” Elenwen bit out, “What’s wrong with you? Just – do it…”

Sybille strained against her desires. A battleground between her self-control, the mind of the mage who had served loyally for years, and the hungry animal that howled for blood. Istlod. Torygg. The sweetness of the elfsblood – sunlight and sweat, blade-tip lick – in her mouth. The iron reek of Torygg splattering over the cobbles. Elenwen’s gasps, overlaid with the symphony of Torygg’s body breaking, shattering, pulping under the force of Ulfric’s rage. The world had quaked then, now it whimpered in Sybille’s arms, immobilised by her grip. Istlod at peace on his bed, still smiling his last smile. Torygg’s tears. Elisif wailing, when the sword came down. The war-prisoners in the dungeon, hollow-eyed men whose blood tasted of death and despair. The Thalmor’s snake-whisper, hurt me.

Sybille felt Elenwen’s ear twitch against her hand. A moment later, footsteps rushing towards them.

“Out of time, vampire,” Elenwen cooed, almost a disappointed sigh, and when she pulled back this time Sybille felt her numb fingers release her.

She swallowed, copiously, trying to empty her mouth of spit, and burned hotly with indignation.

“You dare,” Sybille rasped, but Elenwen only quirked her lips, apathetic to Sybille’s fury.

A flash of light and the marks were gone, eaten by healing magic. The dagger disappeared into the folds of her robes, the buttons done up, the stray hair smoothed back into its severe imprisonment. She stood an easy few paces away, as if she had never dared to come so close to a starved vampire, a vampire she had starved. It took moments, and through it all Elenwen’s expression was bored, not a hint of fluster, not even a breath of that wretched amusement or nauseating intrigue.

“I’ll send a prisoner or two your way,” Elenwen promised in a flat voice, plucking at the neckline of her robe. “Do think of me when you drink them, won’t you?”

She drew herself up, and suddenly the Ambassador was back, rigid and stern.

“The Thalmor appreciates your cooperation in this matter, Court Mage,” she said sniffily, the accent disappearing as if it had never been there in exchange for the ringing, cold tones Sybille was used to from her. Pinched about her eyes there was nothing but vague disdain, as if she knew nothing about Sybille, as if she had never clung to Sybille and all-but-pleaded to her, and in fact, considered her just as interesting as a cockroach beneath her heel.

She turned away when Falk rushed out of the bowels of the Blue Palace and greeted her with a flurry of apologies. There was not a wrinkle on her uniform. Her heels clicked loudly on the marble as she followed Falk, reverberating into Sybille’s ears, as if she was the only sound.

Sybille sagged against the wall, and cursed Elenwen in every tongue she knew. Sybille considered herself good at reading people, had thought herself safe, well-protected here at the heart of the court. But the damned Thalmor had her over a barrel. She had no doubt these prisoners of Elenwen’s would be nothing but good men and women who had simply fallen on the wrong side of the Dominion, and Sybille nothing more than a convenient way of disposing of them. She could not see a way out of this trap easily – Elenwen could expose her with a word, had proven her control over Sybille’s food source, had threatened the last dregs of the family Sybille had loved.

Sybille needed blood from those who wouldn’t be missed, needed secrecy, needed to be in court even more than ever to protect Elisif and Solitude now she had glimpsed the danger Elenwen posed: the disdainful Ambassador, the eager prey, the gloating predator, glossed in her makeup to falsely age herself, in her uniform that hid her thinness, with her secrets and her contradictory masks. And yet, the most troubling of all was that Sybille could not tell which of the sides of Elenwen she had seen was the truth, and which was the lie.

#inkwrites #elenwen #sybille stentor #skyrim #tes #this wasnt my best work but it was fun #i was in a vampire mood anyway and i had the prompt waiting so why not? lol #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #my fic affinity