#odd but tightly knit

[halfling-myth-lady]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Digimon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions, Pocket Monsters: Scarlet & Violet | Pokemon Scarlet & Violet Versions, Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruka | May/Lutia | Lisia, Haruka | May/Yuuki | Brendan, Lutia | Lisia/Yuuki | Brendan, Haruka | May & Mitsuru | Wally & Yuuki | Brendan, Aoi | Juliana/Nemo | Nemona (Pokemon), Aoi | Juliana & Botan | Penny (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet), Aoi | Juliana & Pepper | Arven Characters: Haruka | May, Lutia | Lisia, Yuuki | Brendan, Mitsuru | Wally, Aoi | Juliana (Pokemon), Teru | Rei, Pepper | Arven, Botan | Penny (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet), Nemo | Nemona (Pokemon), Kaede | Katy (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet), Michael (Pokemon) Additional Tags: digimon AU, time traveling, atempts to build a time machine, Pokémon coliseum is underated so Michael is here, Two different plot lines, Rei is profesor Rowan’s assistant Summary:

Michael didn’t expect much from his life apart from just taking care of cipher.

Really,Michael wasn’t expecting anything else,which was sad,but really not devastating.if anything,it was expected due to the fact that he was know for being good at Pokémon battles.

However,when a green haired boy with a little blob of purple come to his place,it seems to say that the world had other plans.

———

The last that Juliana expected was to have another problem to deal with the treasure hunt right after the one where she needed to say the last eventful thing she did was going to the funeral of a friends dad.

However,went she runs into(literally) the chance of another person being a tamer,she takes this opportunity to the best and decides to find this “rei itsuki”

———

Rei didn’t want to go back to whatever boring life he probably had back in his time.

He said no for a reason.but when god gives you the middle finger and sends you back anyway(two years after too),it’s only fiting to return the favor and give it the middle finger back.

With some unexpected company,of course.

chapter 2 of obtk is out! I don’t really have much else to say but thank the people who supported chapter 1 because really I cannot thank you guys enough.

Now Please enjoy.

[just-some-user-hunny]

The Cannibal bonded with a bastard targaryen reader ...

This is heavily inspired by @mangled-parasite writings on their yandere hotd stuff. I wanted to go more in depth about the relationship a bastard princess reader would have with the cannibal, because the dynamics could be so diverse and interesting. The cannibal is a really interesting dragon to me as well, he's not been tames nor shows any interest in it, so I always wonder what he'd be like with a rider!

(fem! Bastard princess reader X the cannibal)

. If you are bonded to him, he would be ruthlessly protective over you. He can feel every flicker of distress and discomfort from you, and he bares his teeth like a guard dog at whoever draws too close. Once he had decided that you were his, and he was yours, his fury when it comes to protecting you rivals hellfire. You will never have to feel fear again, nothing can even dream of touching you- lest they want to experience the nightmarish wrath of the Cannibal. It matters little to him if this threat is human, or dragon. In fact he almost welcomes it. He loves the rush of destroying whatever threatens you, the pride that fills him when he charres their remains and feasts upon them In front you- because look princess. Look how mighty he is, look how well he can fight and protect you. After his gory feast, he'll lower himself close to your little form for his praise- purring till your blood fizzles as he enjoys your pets and attention.

. Cannibal has never been a tame or passive dragon, but around you, he'll make an effort to behave. He'll stave away his urges to salivate when he captures glimpses of the smaller dragons, if it makes you happy. He'll heed your voice, your words, if only to amuse you and keep you content. However, he still has a temper- and although he may not engulf everything with wildfire, he will surely growl and roar to make people bend their knee in your presence. His bond to you is tightly knitted, so he can pick up those who are irking you or upsetting you. He shares your hatred for your father, often bearing his frightening jagged teeth at the pale man who can only endure the monstrosity of his daughter's dragon. It'll take only your word to engulf him in burning emerald flames, so for once, your father will hold his tongue.

. He is not an obedient dog, more like a feral alley cat who's taken a warming to you. There's not a force in heaven or hell that can convince him to confide anywhere near the dragon pits, not to mention his monstrous size cannot even imagine squeezing itself into that little ditch. He'll take to sleeping upon the beach, preferably away from vhager, if he wants to remain close to you. However he is known to fly off and disappear for days on end, returning when you least expect it. He is a wild dragon at heart.

. He may not melt into a big passive puppy, but he will surely let you know he likes the attention you give him. He'll croon with his snarling scarred grin, his eyes glinting as you speak to him and stay close. The attitude he has around you is stark like night and day- with others he glares ferociously and mean, but with you, he's bound by your heels.

When you approach him upon the sand of the tide, he'll lower his head to gaze upon you. he'll feel content as he looks you over, appearing docile and calm in your presence.

Your family find it terrifyingly odd whenever you approach him with so much casualty, and he simply looks at you so fondly. The dragon who has devoured oh so many wannabe dragon tamers is now treating you like a precious little treasure, and it's both awe-inspiring, and frightening. His striking emerald green eyes focus on you as you speak sweetly and softly to him, his purrs can be heard from the dragonstone gates.

. The cannibal is an ancient dragon with many years of experience, so to him, you are little more than a child in his eyes. His child.

If anything, he is more of a loving father to you than Daemon could ever be.

It's puzzling to him, at first. He has never possessed a single maternal bone in his body, having no objection to devouring unhatched eggs and even young hatched dragons to satiate his hunger- but perhaps he sees a part of him in you. That wildness to stray, the desperation to free yourself from the thorns of the targarians that dig deep into you. You may be a little gentle weepy thing, but the fact still stands. You want to be free. He can grant that.

As you claim him as a child, he'll watch you grow. Watch your face and hands become weary from the anxiety and ache of constantly being caged. You'll gradually become more and more beautiful, dripping in gems and jewellery and ornate gowns, but the sadness in your eyes hasn't changed since you were a tearful little child. He sees what they are doing- trying to keep you satiated with material desires, but he understands you deep down that nothing of that matters. You want to be anywhere else but here...

. He is an old dragon, and has a temper to him. His hunger for flesh and fire has not made him weary, and although he is scarred and withered, he is still towering in all his obsideon scaled glory. Emerald flames engulfing the sky as you ride upon his back, soaring above the clouds as pride and glory consumes him. He always despises the idea of being 'claimed' and ridden like some show pony, but he finds himself enjoying the company of his little human experiencing the rush of gliding through the heavens. He can feel your thundering heart, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as he dips and soars between terrific heights, and he can't help but grin a scarred and twisted smile, egged on by your delight of the views and freedom. Yes! This is freedom, my little princess. Let us not be chained by those targarians, this is what living is!

He certainly likes challenging you, obviously not to the point he puts you in any danger of course- but he'll dive at gut churning speeds to see what'll make you shriek. It's almost like He finds amusement out of it, perhaps getting a little kick out of challenging his rider. Once he has landed however with you safely back on the ground, he'll look at you with his gnarled smirk and expect just a little push from you. Don't take it to heart though, his princess. You'll get gently prodded and nudged by his snout to check on you to make sure you're alright. He is still protective over you, after all. His cruelty will not extend to your pain. Besides, you are more often than not riding him bareback, so he would never fly so recklessly that you'd get bucked off. Most of the time he's holding back, really.

. That is not to say that each time you climb upon his back that you will endure terror, because that is surely not the case. He loves flying with you, loves feeling your awe and wonder. It fills him with unbridled pride and ego. You can both feel freedom, and freedom is all he wants for himself and his rider alike.

. As his rider, you have a good chance of escaping the talons of your family. Who is to stop you? The mad prince, Daemon, and his blood wyrm? Cannibal could laugh at the mere thought of this deranged man challenging him with his little red pest. Even the one eyed prince and his ancient she-dragon, Vhagar, will be a welcomed challenge. When it comes to you, he'd do anything.

[milksuu]

Hey hey heyyyy!!! It's me, the one that keeps stalking your page! 💙🧚‍♀️

I wanna say that OML I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! AAAAHHH! And I'm so so so happy to see that

anyways, this is a request for how the heartsteel boys would react to a lover with big bazoinkers who usually wears baggy clothes suddenly wearing something tight fitted??? Heheehehehe.

Also, how would the react if you were hit on by someone else due to their lover having big personalities?? (You don't have to do this one if you're uncomfortable ofc!!)

Also, keep up what you're doing, feeding my unhealthy obsession with these fictional (but very attractive) men. I hope you have an amazing day/night!!!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

❥ prompt: So, you got the big boinkers. The huge bagonzos. The gigantic bonobos. Whatever guys called boobs these days. You're super self-conscious about them, ever since you hit puberty. You've tried to hide them. But with the upcoming red-carpet event for the music awards, you can't wear baggy clothes next to your Heartsteel boyfirend. You had to look your best. Or as some would say, your breast. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, possessive boyfriend energy, over protective boyfriend energy ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel (aphelios, ezreal, kayne) / f!reader

APHELIOS

Aphelio's thought you always looked cute and comfortable in your hoodies. In casual form, it was his aesthetic as well. Until the time came for a special event.

Aphelio's hadn't imagined exactly what you would wear. But surely, it might be a long-sleeve and turtleneck to match your conservative style. He understood how you felt about your particular assets. He would never suggest you to wear anything that didn't make you feel secure.

He was absolutely wrong. So, so, so wrong. (Wait. Did he actually like being wrong?) He got the long-sleeves part right. But the black mini-dress you sported hugged all the curves you possessed. With just a bit of thigh fat squeezed at the hem. If Aphelio's could ever speak again, he'd beg to be immediately silenced between those thighs. And at the top, there was a glorious boob-window that any e-girl would go absolutely rabid to have.

He had to look away a few times. Thankful to have a mask covering most of his flustered features. Maintaining a semblance of composure, he led you by the hand, speaking to you through squeezes between your hands.

Down the red-carpet, with flashing lights, the two of you posed. One camera man took a picture a little too angled for his liking. Your hand trembled in his. Blushing and holding your breath. Embarrassed tears pricked the corner of your eyes. Afraid of the possible lewdness that would be plastered in magazines. You didn't want to even imagine the headliners. And what would they say about Aphelio's? That he was dating some sort of 'all-boobs-no brains' bimbo? You wanted nothing like that for him.

Aphelio's sensed all of your emotions and didn't hesitate his next move. He dragged a discreet foot against the carpet, folding it in a manner that caused the paparazzo to trip. When the shady-cameraman fell, his camera smashed to pieces against the ground. The man dramatically fell to his knees, holding his head and weeping in buckets.

You gasped. Aphelio's merely rolled his eyes dismissively, tugging you way. He knitted his brows, and squeezed your hand tightly. You knew exactly what he did. You smiled, condensing your chest against his arm.

Feeling his face heat up again, he looked away. After acting so cool, and looking so cool, there's no way he'd let you see him blush like a high-school boy.

EZREAL

Ezreal never minded you wearing baggy clothes. He thought it was fun—for him! He loved diving underneath your oversized hoodie, and poke his head out the other side. Like you two were some odd circus attraction. That, or pretend he was a sailor drowning in a sea of boobies. He liked wearing the stylish hat.

He wasn't exactly sure what you would wear to the event, but he wished it was something he could fit inside later. He was joking. That was a total joke. So long as you were comfortable in it, he didn't mind.

When he saw you step out of the limo, his jaw completely dropped. He felt like one of those cool male-lead movie stars. Taking off his glasses in iconic slow-mo fashion, mouthing the words "Oh, Baby."

He spared zero time to lead you by the arm. Ready for from some press worthy photos he knew you two were going to absolutely rock.

Making it to the concessions room, where the liquor and horderves were plenty, it was prime time for music stars to socialize.

One young rapper approached, way too drunk off his drink, slurred with a smirk at your general direction. Commenting on whether or not Ezreal paid for you to have boob job in order to please him.

The giddy-boyish-sunshine smile turned utterly dark. The laugh he forced was ear grating. It chilled you to the bone. There was a flash of yellow. And briefly, you felt your arm empty of his presence. Then the scene unfolded. The man's drink completely spilled all over him. Another flash. He was pushed, stumbling to the ground.

Ezreal merely snickered into his suit sleeve when bouncers in the room dragged the drunk man away by the collar. Deeming him too drunk and unfit for the show, and subsequently tossed out.

Ezreal tugged you off to a far, secluded corner. He took you into his arms, squeezing tightly. Apologizing into your ear. You smiled softly, and rubbed his the back. Reassuring him you weren't hurt by the comment. And gave him a grateful kiss into his hair for sticking up for you.

KAYN

Kayn 'Big ol' Tiddle Bitties'. If he could change his middle name to that, he would. It'd be his other rap persona, in ode to your breasts. Rhaast approved. And sure, you may be insecure about them, but Kayn fucking hell wasn't. He swore, one day, he would scream in praise at the rooftops. (Thankfully that hasn't happened...yet.)

He prayed to every demon, anti-christ, Eldritch God on this forsaken plane of existence for you to bless his presence with those huge knockers. And holy shit, did you ever at the event.

From the outfit alone, if he leashed himself for you, and placed a crop in your hand, he'd be on all fours. This wouldn't be a classy event anymore. It'd be an all-out fetish party.

Sadly. Reality kept it to a red-carpeted event. Where he had to act professional. Lead you accordingly, and restrain himself on every level possible. It took all his effort to not just call an Uber and take you in nearest love-hotel.

After mingling before the show, it was time for the awards. You took your seat next to each other. As the event played on, with various performances, you felt something being thrown into your cleavage. You looked down, spotting popcorn. Turning a cheek, you saw a group of young men laughing. Making comments about your breasts, and high-fiving one another when they 'made the shot'.

Kayn noticed. And boy, was he about to lose his shit during a performance speech. You placed a hand against his chest, whispering for him not to make a scene, and not allow the clowns to hurt his reputation. Fine—he wouldn't commit a crime. But he would show them who they were fucking with.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling any lewd noises. Kayn planted his face in your cleavage, biting and licking your chest. He took up all the popcorn, and spat it out the guys like buttered bullets. They jumped with looks of disgust, cursing under their breaths about how damn crazy he was. With a final growl, they scurried away.

Kayn cackled, and you had to shush him when Yone leaned back in his chair and gave a look.

an: holy shiii tysvm for this req. @ccraccz! you're a genius. pls keep stalking my page *smooches you* sadly i have to break this up into two parts, since I wasn't expecting to make it so long??? lmfao??? pls stay tuned for part 2

[ultram0th]

I am fond of you Derek turning into a more muscular and/or hairy guy if that's the kind of request you were looking for? Love your stuff though regardless it's hot and well done.

It all began the morning after Derek had assumed his new Alpha title. Stiles had slept over, cuddling up next to his boyfriend when he'd jolted up awake as soon as his hands had brushed up against something unfamiliar.

"What...?" he trailed off, his eyes wide at his boyfriend's chest that he usually used as a pillow.

"Hm?" Derek sleepily yawned, wondering what his smaller boyfriend was panicking about.

"Der," Stiles mused, "your chest. It's... really hairy."

The werewolf cocked his eyebrow up at his boyfriend, running a hand over his pecs. Sure enough, the werewolf's previously smooth chest was now covered with black hairs. They spread out over his pecs, running down across his stomach before connecting to his bush. The hairs curled and looked thick enough to where one might've guessed that Derek had always been rather hirsute. His pert nipples poked through the dusting of hairs, looking hard. Plus, Stiles hadn't noticed it initially, but Derek's square jaw was also covered by a thick beard that looked like it'd take weeks for a guy to grow... not just a few hours.

Derek's eyebrows knitted together as he ran his hands over his hairy chest, his heart starting to race. However, just as soon as the worry began to trickle in, it disappeared.

His face smoothed out and he yawned loudly, gently placing a hand on Stiles's head to pat it back down to his now hairy chest.

Stiles wanted to argue, confused over both his boyfriend's sudden change and different attitude. He knew that Derek should've been freaking out and wondering what was happening to him, but instead his boyfriend acted like everything was normal.

He tried to ignore it, but as Stiles rested his head back down onto Derek's chest, something about the way he had to crane his neck alerted the human to something else.

"Derek!" he gasped loudly, sitting back up and tearing the covers away from his boyfriend. "You're... bigger!"

His boyfriend had always had a pretty toned physique, but now it looked as if Derek's chiseled pecs were now significantly larger and much more plump than they should've been. Without the covers over him, Stiles could also see that it wasn't just Derek's chest that had grown larger. His boyfriend's arms seemed to have doubled in size, looking thick and powerful as he lied on the bed. Even his legs were larger, his quads pressing tightly together and shoving his bulge (which seemed to stretch out his underwear more than usual) out in front.

And of course, every single larger muscle was covered in dark, manly hair.

"Stiles," Derek groaned, going so far as to roll his eyes, "everything is fine. I feel fine, there's nothing to worry about--"

He was interrupted when his phone alarm beeped, letting him know that he had to get out of bed, making him frown.

With a groan, Derek rolled his hairy bulk out of bed, the frame squeaking much more than it usually did as he moved. His heavy footsteps thudded over towards the dresser. As he walked, Derek noted how odd it felt to have his thighs rolling over one another, and how awkward it was to have his muscular arms resting at a ninety degree angle atop his flaring lats.

Stiles watched in disbelief as Derek nonchalantly attempted to get dressed in his normal clothes.

"Damn," Derek growled as he examined himself in the mirror. With his new bulk, none of his clothes fit him anymore. He couldn't get any of his jeans up past his massive quads, having to throw on a large pair of sweats that used to be baggy on him. Now, the material was skintight, showing off his meaty glutes and enormous package in front. The t-shirt he'd grabbed barely wrapped around his torso, ending above his navel. It had torn significantly across his large muscletits, showing off the hairy cleavage that he now possessed. There were two large bumps on the front from where his larger, nubby nipples poked against the thin cotton.

Stiles watched as Derek paled in the mirror, his beard-framed mouth opening like he was about to voice his concerns, but again, Derek seemed to instantly relax. He shrugged his broadened shoulders.

"I think my clothes shrunk in the wash," he chuckled, gesturing down at his hairy muscles.

"Derek!" Stiles cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's not the wash, it's you! You've turned into a hairy bodybuilder!" As crazy (or crazier) as it seemed, Stiles could've sworn that he'd watched Derek's hairy pecs balloon out a few more inches in those few seconds.

Derek took one last look at himself in the mirror, seeing how large and imposing he looked with his incredibly large, round muscles and the thick, masculine hair that coated them. He couldn't help but smirk back at his shocked boyfriend, flexing a large, hairy bicep. As his massive muscle bulged to the size of a bowling ball, the tight sleeves of the t-shirt burst apart.

"I'm not a bodybuilder," Derek smiled at his boyfriend, giving him a playful wink. "I'm the Alpha."

[topherwrites]

FIC RECS: TOP GUN: MAVERICK - 2!

Okay, so there was shit I forgot in my year in review rec list. I posted it and a minimum of about 10 other fics immediately came to mind. so, part 2! I also didn't put many WIPs on the first one, but I think currently in progress fics should get some love too. I'll be marking them with an asterisk.

If I made a little comment about every single fic or series here, it would be inhumanely long, so I've refrained from doing so and have just put the summaries for each.

I hope that anyone who reads this list finds something that they love on it just as much as I do! Happy reading!

P.S. If I missed anyone, I'm sorry, there was a lot to sort through!

(P.S.S. reblog the fics you like, it makes writers happy.)

part 1, if you missed it.

SOME OF THESE ARE 18+, PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS!

JAKE SERESIN

Parking Lots and Matcha Lattes by @withahappyrefrain

In an attempt to get coffee, you meet a grade A asshole whose head you want to rip off. Meanwhile, Jake Seresin is pretty certain he just met his future wife in the parking lot of a coffee shop. AKA Jake Seresin likes mean women, pass it on.

The Hangman Special by @hangmanssunnies

On a night out with your friends at a fancy cocktail bar, you are just trying to keep your head down and ignore the girl that your ex cheated on you with. The night only seems like it's going to get worse when you are dared to kiss a stranger at the bar. However, it seems like the odds might finally be in your favor when you notice a familiar set of broad shoulders. If you can be convincing, you think you might just be able to get your brother's friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin to help you out with your little problem.

*she is both hellfire and holy water by @chemistryread

you should take it as a compliment, that I'm talking to everyone here but you.

Birds Away by @wombtotombx

You’d known Jake since you were kids, bonding over the shared experience of being military brats overseas. You were the perfect pair - he was reckless, you followed the rules; he didn’t care what others thought, you were a people-pleaser. You both became the best of the best in your field - he through sheer talent and skill, you from demonstrated grit and determination. For over two decades, everyone around you - parents, friends, even teachers - had assumed you’d both end up together, despite the fact that somehow, you never did. The Navy always had its way of keeping you two apart. Whatever possibilities there might have been, it was just never in the cards. Until you got to Fallon.

*The Backup by @ereardon

No strings attached sex never works, right? You and Jake Seresin have fallen into a bad pattern of seeking each other out for sex after dates go awry, but a year of being friends with benefits with Jake hasn’t been good for your dating life. Especially when the two of you are hiding your antics from your lifelong best friend Coyote and the rest of your tightly knit friend group. But what happens when you decide to take a step back and end the cycle with Jake to focus on your dating life? And why is it that all of the sudden Jake looks more irresistible than ever when you know he’s off limits? 

Take Care of Business by @honkytonk-hangman

The last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it.

When Jake Met Polly by @/honkytonk-hangman

Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

How It's Done (Oneshot Version) by @/honkytonk-hangman

“Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean. “Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–” “–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by.

Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven by @sehnsuchts-trunken

Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he’s actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father’s new best friend, Jake Seresin.

BRADLEY BRADSHAW

*fever pitch by @greenorangevioletgrass

Arsenal and USMNT captain Bradley Bradshaw attends the mononymous music sensation Y/N's concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream. Little did he know that they soon embark on an epic love story fit for pop royalty...

This Love Came Back to Me by @beyondthesefourwalls

You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it.

I Like Your Cinema by @sometimesanalice

Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

‘cause no one breaks my heart like you by @heartsofminds

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see).

the periphery by @youvebeenlivingfictional

You’d met Bradley a few times before the happy couple had announced their nuptials, and you’d always gotten a pretty good vibe from him. He was sweet, he was easy to talk to—and it helped that he was easy on the eyes. In fact, as soon as you’d been told that Bradley Bradshaw was going to be the Best Man, you were well on your way to having a crush on the guy.

*Hotter Than Texas by @tongue-like-a-razor

Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin’s baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley’s dream girl worst nightmare.

*flight risk by @ofstoriesandstardust

In which you and Rooster got married while at UVA for the military benefits. What started out as a mutually beneficial deal between friends years ago turns into a point of interest for Maverick, causing Rooster to have to haul you out to Fightertown to get him to shut up. While Maverick’s fussing over a marriage he didn’t know existed, Rooster’s focused on getting the ball rolling on divorce papers because really, the Navy does not need to be calling some poor girl from his college that he’s died in a horrendous accident. It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, especially when Hangman and Phoenix take it upon themselves to encourage a friendship to become more. 

How You Play the Game by @roosterforme

Bradley always loved October because of the World Series. He never expected a mix-up with the ticket he won to bring something as spectacular as you into his life. But time is fleeting, and now baseball is the last thing on his mind.

*The Intern by @/roosterforme

You barely have a minute to yourself after graduating at the top of your Ivy League class before your father insists you find an internship. Your days of lounging by the pool and partying are numbered as he has an endless parade of his colleagues visiting the house. But one of them is familiar to you in a way that warms your skin just like the San Diego sun. And it turns out, Bradley Bradshaw may just have the answers to all your problems. And those answers might be waiting for you on a yacht in the Mediterranean Sea.

there was something 'bout you by @bussyslayer333

bradley bradshaw didn’t fall in love, especially not with uptight girls in his english lit class and especially not the ones being forced into tutoring him.

*Ultraviolence by @babyonboard

You and Bradley loved each other, and Jake was just your old friend from high school who you tried to pay no mind to. At least that's how it used to be.

All Too Well by @bradleyfuckingbradshaw

You’re at dinner with your boyfriend and some of his colleagues at a restaurant he chose when you look over the menu and realize there’s no vegetarian option, but he’s too busy with his friends to realize that. Bradley isn’t.

October 3rd Promptober by @familyvideostevie

you go to a tailgate with your friend bradley.

If You Met Me First by @tip-top-cloud-surfer

Rooster confessed to Echo that he was in love with her before the mission. One minor problem: she has a boyfriend.

Home for the Holidays by @mothdruid

Bradley might have lied about having a girlfriend. His best friend, you, decide to help him out and go home for the holidays with him. As the trip unfolds, so does your and Bradley’s feelings for one another.

BOB FLOYD

*I bet this would look beautiful on film by @coridotmp3

Honey desperately needs a photographer, and Bob desperately needs a break.

Robert from Next Door by @attapullman

You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?

If Only the Neighbors Knew by @/attapullman

A month of stolen kisses culminates in Robert hosting the HOA meeting and getting you on his couch. The ladies of the neighborhood may make him blush, but only you can make your sweet neighbor weak in the knees.

*Golden Hour by @/ereardon

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Ruin the Friendship by @withahappyrefrain

The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he’s learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He’s determined to fix that.

International Bob Floyd Fucks Month Masterlist

a january writing event hosted by @/attapullman

Bob from Stats by @/attapullman

College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

Trigger Warning : Murder(I mean this is a platonic yandere vampire fic so I think it's expected but still)

3. 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓡𝓾𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

(Y/n) rubbed her gloved hands together, a visible shiver running through her frame as the early signs of winter crept in. The tapestry of warm hues, created by the fallen leaves, hinted at the impending arrival of the cold season. Clutching her basket tightly, she navigated the forest floor, where the leaves crunched beneath her every step. Although she wore mittens that her mother had lovingly knitted, the biting wind still managed to sneak its way through, causing her to quicken her pace. She was used to walking down this path. The girl had passed through these trees more times than she could count. In fact, (Y/n) could confidently assert that she knew these woods as well as she knew the back of her hand, familiar with the choicest spots for fruits and the tastiest areas for legumes.

Her gaze dipped down to her basket, brimming with an abundant harvest of wild mushrooms. She liked picking mushrooms. While she held the expertise to distinguish between edible and toxic mushrooms, her mother had a habit of double-checking her finds before consumption. (Y/n) took pride in her knowledge, and it was something she didn't hesitate to boast about.

As she walked, her thoughts circled back to the clearing she had recently departed. She realized the mysterious nobleman hadn't stopped by today. She wondered why a person from such a high profile entertained himself with her. Despite the mystery surrounding his intentions, (Y/n) appreciated his presence. He seemed to genuinely enjoy her random rants and conversation. The only thing that she didn't quite appreciate about him was his insistence on the fact she shouldn't do these little tasks she considered trivial. In his eyes, she was "too young" to be working "so much," a notion she found utterly ridiculous. The invitation to live in his mansion had been extended a week ago, and his repeated offers, met with her continued refusal, had become somewhat tiresome.

The path neared its conclusion, and (Y/n) failed to hear the familiar sound of her father's ax slicing through wood, a task he undertook to prepare for the impending frigid months. As (Y/n) tilted her head to the side, she wondered if he had hurt his back again. He wasn't as young as he once was. This task was becoming too strenuous for her father.

She knocked at the door. Approaching home, she anticipated her mother's customary welcome, complete with a steaming bowl of stew. However, as she waited outside, there was no such greeting. Unsettled, (Y/n) tried the door, only to find it unlocked.

"Mom never leaves the door open," (Y/n) whispered out with a pit forming in her stomach. She didn't know why it made her feel so weird. Maybe her mother had simply forgotten to lock it. There was a first time for everything, right ?

"Mom? Dad?" she called out with uncertainty, stepping into the silence of the house.

The once-cozy family home lay in ruins, a chaotic scene of overturned chairs, shattered tables, and broken plates that appeared as if a merciless tornado had swept through their lives. Blood stained the floor in grotesque patterns, a sign to the carnage that had unfolded within. There was too much blood. Dad was laying there, unconscious— dead on the floor. His eyes were wide open, staring at her with horror etched in his features. His neck had been bent in an odd shape, blood pooling out of it at a rapid pace.

A few feet away, (Y/n)'s mother was held captive in the clutches of a man—a man she recognized as the Duke de Beauvoir. Her mother's eyes were vacant, her complexion deathly pale, and sharp, white fangs had punctured her neck, the source of her life's essence drained by this monster in human guise.

'Vampire,' her mind supplied the dreadful truth.

A creature taking the form of a man, feeding upon the lifeblood of mortals.

The beastly duke turned his gaze toward her, his once-blue eyes transformed into a deep, almost crimson violet. Blood, her mother's blood, trickled down his lips.

Every instinct within her screamed the same command: Run. And she obeyed, abandoning her basket and sprinting into the forest, a place she knew well. She darted among the trees, her footfalls almost stumbling over exposed roots and colliding with low-hanging branches. Her mind was on high alert, and her heart pounded fiercely. Eventually, she found refuge inside a massive oak tree, one with a sizable hollow in its trunk where she had often hidden as a child.

Footsteps drew closer, their ominous presence tormenting her. "Are we playing a game, child?" the voice of her parents' murderer called out in a singsong tone. "I will find you~."

(Y/n) bit down on her trembling lip, her hands muffling her sobs. It was a macabre irony that she was once again using this tree for hiding, but now it wasn't a game. She watched as he walked past the tree, seemingly unaware of her presence. Relief washed over her, but her respite was short-lived. He returned, kneeled, and peered down at her, his face twisted into a sinister smirk that revealed his elongated fangs.

Terrified, she couldn't suppress her scream, and he effortlessly yanked her out of her hiding place. As she fought back against his inhuman strength, she pleaded through sobs, "No! Let me go! Please—"

"Hush," the vampire whispered soothingly. "Your father is here now; I shall make it all better."

He smiled at her, and before she could fully comprehend his words, he sank his fangs into her neck. A harrowing shriek escaped her lips.

This was the end, she thought, the world fading around her. She would join her parents in the afterlife. Her vision blurred, and her body went limp against her will.

Eventually, her screams quieted, and the pain subsided. (Y/n) felt the vampire's arms carry her, her body unresponsive. Her breathing slowed, and her head spun. Everything began to fade to black.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PLEASE GIVE US MORE NEIL LEWIS!

i don’t have anything long for neil but i do have this smutty little dom!neil blurb 😄 this is 100% inspired by that dark!neil incel drabble @mypoisonedvine wrote!!!

warnings. swearing, public sex, fingering, degradation/insults, dubcon/darkish neil

“Oh, c’mon, Neil,” you pleaded, tears practically welling in your eyes, tugging at the sleeve of his 3/4 shirt. “Can we go? I—“

“Shh,” he said softly, too focussed on the movie playing in front of him to noticed how you clenched your thighs together, how flushed your cheeks were, how you would melt right in his hands if they would just fucking find you.

You sighed dejectedly, reaching the point of your last resort: you grabbed his hand, which had been enclasped tightly in yours as he grew more and more enchanted by the random indie film you guys saw was playing at the theatre tonight, and led it between your legs.

You pulled up your skirt, pushing your panties to the side and pressing him between your soaking wet folds, your brows knitted and desperate for relief.

“Jesus, christ,” Neil murmured, his gaze finally tearing away from the theatre screen and onto you. “Baby, you’re soaking. What’s got you all bothered, huh?”

You nipped your lips between your teeth, “We’re in the theatre… alone. The movie’s not too interesting, and - and, Neil, this is the perfect place for… y’know!”

By “y’know”, you meant you and Neil’s shared little fantasy: fucking in the theatre, his hand clasped on your throat to muffle your whines, any moment being one where you could get caught.

You saw Neil about to protest your comment about the movie being not too interesting, and you quickly plunged his thick fingers into your cunt, hoping the feeling of your soft walls clenching around him would shut him the fuck up.

It did, his sentence trailing off as you started to grind down on two of his fingers, pumping them in and out of you. Neil’s attention completely pulled away from the movie, his breathing growing heavier as you continued, pornographic moans leaving your mouth.

“God,” Neil whispered, voice raspy, “you’re getting so wet… just on my fingers, huh?”

You nodded vehemently, shutting your eyes, a faint gasp sounding out of you when Neil began moving his fingers, pushing deeper into your cunt and spreading wide.

“Take three, sweetheart?” he hummed, voice odd and low so you couldn’t really tell his tone.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Three?” you asked weakly.

Sure, in theory you could take three and it’d work just fine: you’d taken Neil’s cock plenty, which was much larger than three of his long fingers, but in reality? Neil always said your cunt felt brand fucking new each time, so you shook your head lightly, continuing to rut against him. You couldn’t take three, especially not so quickly, without any foreplay or anything.

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your cheek and whispering in your ear. “M’not asking.” he said, before slipping a third finger into your cunt.

You winced - both at the sudden stinging intrusion and the embarrassment you felt from his words, plowing over your worries like you were just some needy little slut that should take what he gave.

“Pretty girls like you, baby - fuck - always think they can do whatever they want,” he growled, taking control and curling his fingers into your spongy core, “get whatever they want, when they want it. You wanted me to touch you, so fucking take me.”

“Neil, its- its too much,” you whimpered, but couldn’t help the arch in your back, mind growing fuzzy at how deliciously he fucked you despite the burn.

“You don’t know what too much is, sweetheart,” he said, demeanour flipping like a switch from your adoring nerdy boyfriend to your commanding, degrading, owner. “Too fuckin’ stupid for that.”

You let out a loud whine as he started moving his fingers faster, his thumb ghosting around your clit. When a fourth finger pried lightly at your hole, thumb now eagerly pressing and toying at your button, you choked, and stuttered through a rough climax, your hips bucking forward in the velvet seats.

Your features screwed together, the orgasm almost painful at how full you were, and your walls tightened around him. When your high washed away, Neil slipped his fingers out of your abused cunt, making you hiss.

“Look how easy you are,” he mocked, examining his hand in the dim light the movie screen gave off, seeing the wet squirt you left on them.

Then, he grabbed your jaw and shoved the fingers in your mouth. “Suck,” he demanded darkly. “Now shut the fuck up, I missed half the damn movie because of you.”

You pouted, but did as he asked, and you spent the rest of the movie sitting on your own wetness, which had seeped into the seats, and Neil’s hand wrapped around your face, making you watch the movie and stop distracting him.

[amorgansgal]

Healing Touch - Part 1

I've started writing my idea that I brought up in the Halsinners community featuring Halsin taking care of a sick female reader who has a son. I've decided to split it into two as it was getting very long, so hopefully I'll post part 2 later this week.

@halsinsgate, @thepickledmermaid, @thoughts-of-bear and @embrulee just tagging you all in case you're interested in reading.

Your son clung tightly to you as you hurried through the smouldering wreck of the city, it took you twice as long to reach Basilisk Gate just because of how many streets are blocked with the smashed remains of buildings. Not to mention, you had to carry a sack of your belongings on your back and hold tightly onto your child as he gripped onto your dress with his fists. But at long last you could see the line of wagons and you let out a shaky breath of relief. 

The elf in charge, the hero of the Gate, the one so many have whispered about reverently, Archdruid Halsin was helping to pack the last few boxes and you called out, fearing even now that you might not make it in time and would be left behind. ‘Master Halsin! Master Halsin, please I am here! Please don’t leave without us!’

He turned to look at you and then quickly put down the box he was holding, and made his way over. ‘We had no intention of leaving until everyone was here,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Can I help with your bag or find a place for your son to sit?’

He smiled gently at your son, who eyed Halsin warily and then hid his face in your chest. ‘It’s alright, Seth,’ you murmured to him softly. ‘This is Master Halsin, the defender of Baldur’s Gate, a hero like one from the old ages.’

Seth peeked up a little, curious, though he still apprehensively clung to you. Halsin chuckled. ‘Well, I don’t know about that, and Halsin will do just fine.’ He helped to remove the bag from your shoulder and securely packed it in the wagon. ‘Is this all you brought with you?’ he asked, his brow furrowed a little with worry.

‘Well once we came out of hiding in our cellar, there wasn’t a good deal left. It’s mostly clothes, Seth’s toys, a few odds and ends…’ your cheeks warmed with embarrassment. It was not like you had wanted to take so little with you, but given you hadn’t had much to begin with and had to consider carrying a child, you hoped you would not be considered a burden. ‘I mean to make myself useful, I can sew and knit and weave well, and we won’t want for much…’

Halsin nodded reassuringly. ‘I am sure you will. I was just concerned that you had brought so little with you, but we will not leave people to the wayside if they need something and you need not worry about proving yourself useful.’ 

He offered you a hand, helping you up into the wagon and you gratefully took it, wobbling a little as you climbed up. His hand was rough, callused, but warm and so large in comparison to your own. It would dwarf Seth’s and you gave it a little squeeze to silently thank him.

As Halsin resumed his work on packing the wagons, you watched him easily picking up boxes and bags. ‘Is he really a hero, mama?’ Seth’s little voice interrupted your reverie and you cuddled him close.

‘Yes, he defeated the Netherbrain, the mindflyers and the shadow curse that gripped the land where we’re going now.’

Your son’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and he peeped around the canvas covering of the wagon to look at Halsin. You smile as he did, your son is already overawed by the idea of such a hero being amongst your midst.  

‘Can you tell me a story about him on the way there?’ Seth asked, as he settled back beside you.

‘Of course. Once upon a time, there was a noble druid called Halsin-’

‘And his friend Seth,’ your son insisted.

‘And his good friend Seth…’

You had been fortunate that there had already been houses enough in Reithwin for you to have a little home with your son, but given how so many of them were made from the naturally abundant stone there it was a cold place. Like so many others in the village you had fallen ill with a nasty flu. You had doubtless caught it from Seth, whom you had nursed for a week or two, but now it was your turn! 

Halsin had done everything to ensure everyone’s comfort and wellbeing, especially during the colder winter months and had provided plenty of herbal remedies to help with the worse of the flu’s symptoms. But as you struggled up from your bed, your head swimming, your skin prickling with heat, the deep seated painful exhaustion that made even just a few steps from the bed feel impossible, you knew there was no chance you would be able to make your way outside, trek along the deep drifts of snow and make your way to find him in order to beg a cure. 

You curled back into bed, only managing to lift your head on hearing the little patter of feet across the floor as Seth made his way to your side.

‘Mama,’ your son said. ‘It’s time to get up.’

‘I know,’ your raspy voice sounded so pathetically weak. ‘But mama isn’t well, can you go next door to Helga and ask her to go to Halsin for a cure? And ask her if you can stay and play with Johan?’

‘I can get Halsin, mama!’ your son said eagerly and he began to pull on his little boots.

‘No, Seth, do as I say, go and get-’

‘Don’t worry, mama, I’ll get Halsin!’ he said, giving your forehead a kiss.

‘Seth!’ you cried out, but he had already run out the room, tugging his cloak off the back of a chair. You heard the front door bang loudly. You groaned at the sound, it made your head ache and throb. You attempted to get up again, but even sitting upright made your head swim. ‘Seth!’ you called again, but evidently he was too far away to hear you. You took a moment to rest against the bedframe and even that was enough for you to drift off to sleep, only startling awake when you heard the door open once more, the howling gusts of wind sent a flurry of snowflakes across the central room. You could hear your son’s light pattering of feet across the threshold, followed by a heavier tread.

‘See, papa Halsin, mama is not well,’ your son’s piping voice could be heard outside your bedroom and you did your best to open your eyes and pull your shawl around your shoulders as the two entered your room.

‘Seth,’ you rasped. ‘I told you to go next door to Helga and have her fetch Master Halsin.’

‘But mama, she’s old and takes forever! Look mama, this is what she’s like!’ Seth said, then mimicked poor Helga with her walking stick, hobbling across the room. Which was quite unfair given the woman, despite her age, was rather sprightly and quick and you were sure she would’ve hot footed it to Halsin’s hut.

‘Seth, don’t be rude, she’s not that old or infirm.’

‘What does infirm mean?’ Seth asked.

Halsin chuckled and placed a soothing hand on your forehead. You shouldn’t have done so, but you found yourself leaning into his touch. Many a time you had dreamed about him touching you. During the last warmth of the early autumn months you had seen him working with the others, forgoing his tunic, his chest bare and with a thin sheen of sweat that made your mouth water at the sight of him. The veins that corded his arms and hands made your mind swirl at the thought of him laying his hands on you, firmly gripping your waist, your hips, your thighs. 

‘Infirm means someone who is not strong and Helga is a very strong woman, despite her age,’ Halsin said. 

‘Oh! Well you are not imfirm, papa Halsin,’ Seth mused.

Halsin laughed quietly. ‘Hopefully not just yet!’ He moved his hand to the back of your neck and hummed in thought. ‘It certainly seems like you have caught that flu going round and I’m afraid what I can give you will only lessen the symptoms and help you sleep, I do not have a cure.’

You gave a weak nod. ‘Well, perhaps if you’d be so kind to fetch Helga, I can see if she can look after Seth and I’ll think about a way to pay her back.’

The druid frowned. ‘You should not have to worry about such matters and this flu can last a while. Who will care for you?’

‘Perhaps Helga can look in on me…’ you said, but you doubted if that would be such a good idea, you didn’t want to pass the illness on to her or her grandson Johan.

‘I think it best if I stay and look after you both, that way you needn’t worry about Seth passing on the illness to anyone and I can ensure you have plenty of tea and broth to keep your strength up.’

It was silly that such an offer of kindness made you feel weepy, but you bit back your tears and weakly coughed. ‘But what about the work that has to be done in Reithwin? Aren’t you busy? People look to you as our leader and I don’t want to take you away from all that with a silly little illness.’

‘You know as well as I that we are waiting for the warmer months to resume the building and farming work. And I would make for a poor leader if I did not care for everyone here, though I do only see myself as one among many leaders, I can find someone else to care for my duties in the meantime.’

‘Halsin,’ you whispered hoarsely. ‘That would not be fair, I do not want to take you away from your duties.’

He looked at you so sincerely and sweetly that you felt the little lump rise in your sore throat once more and said, ‘You are my duty. Now, please rest and sleep, and do not allow yourself to fret any further upon the matter.’

His tone boded no argument and you rested back on the pillows, the last thing you saw before sleep took you was Seth taking Halsin’s hand as the druid said, ‘Come Seth, let’s see if we can make you and your mother some supper.’ The image warmed your heart and you burrowed further into the blankets, glad that Halsin was here to care for your son. Before you drifted off, you allowed yourself to imagine the pretty fantasy that this was always the case, that Halsin was your son’s father and he cared for you more deeply and sweetly.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 1: Abandonment

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.3K

Content: Explicit - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Longing. Sexual themes. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

Astarion parts your legs with his knee and lowers his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. Your hand sweeps gently up the creamy skin of his side, and you revel in its familiar chill. The tips of your fingers gently brush the edges of the raised scars on his back.  

Astarion stills under your touch at once, his muscles going taught as he clenches his jaw. 

Fuck. 

You pull back to look at him. His eyes are squeezed tightly closed, and his brows knit together in a pained grimace. 

“Astarion?”  

He sighs, “I’m sorry.”  

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Too much for today?”  

“Yes,” he whispers as shifts from his position between your thighs, sitting upright on the bed. 

He runs his fingers through the silvery curls of his hair, frustrated. It breaks your heart every time seeing him like this.  

“Hey, look at me.”  

He glances back at you. Despair swirls in his crimson eyes. His mouth is set in a hard line.  

“It’s okay.” 

He shakes his head. His voice shakes with frustration, “But I want this, want you, all of you.”  

You sit up and position yourself beside him but take care not to touch him.  

“I know. Sometimes what we want doesn’t always align with what we need.”  

He groans with a small smile tugging at his lips, “Stop being so nice to me.” 

You giggle, “Why? Because it makes you want to be nice back?”  

He smirks at the shared memory, “Precisely, my dear.”  

His arm wraps around you, pulling you close up against him.  

Laying your head on his shoulder, you take a deep breath and let your eyes drift closed, enjoying the intimacy.  

This was an ongoing battle that you doubted would be won anytime soon if it ever could be. Astarion’s trauma still hooked its greedy claws into him. He would often initiate but would freeze up under your touch before you could make love.  

“I could try…” he trails off.  

You know what he’s going to offer. He always did.  

“No, you beautiful, beautiful fool. That’s enough for today, but I will accept cuddles… if you’re up for it.”  

He chuckles and lays back, resting his head on the feather pillow.  

“Come here, darling.”  

You cuddle up beside him, laying your head gently in the crook of his arm. He plants a soft kiss on your forehead.  

When you look up at him, he looks a million miles away, staring at the ceiling blankly, losing himself in his thoughts.  

You feel an odd unease tighten in your stomach. This happens regularly. Usually, your supportive words are enough to bring him back, but this time feels different somehow.  

He breaks the silence with a desolate whisper, “Do you think I will ever get better?” 

His desolate tone is heart-wrenching. You’ve got the feeling that he believes he may be irreparably broken from discussions you and him have had.   

You plant a light kiss on his chest. Propping yourself up on your arm, you reach and cradle his face in your palm. His eyes drift from the ceiling down to you.  

“You’re not broken, Astarion. We will get through this. Give it time.”  

He nuzzles his face into your palm, seeking the comfort of your touch.  

“I have an eternity, but your time is finite.”  

You scoff at him. You’re a High Elf, just like him, and although 750 years may not be infinite like his, you have centuries to either find a cure for him or extend your life further. He’s well aware of this, but lately, he has been overly focused on the fact that you will die eventually.  

“Exactly how old do you presume me to be, Astarion?” 

It dawns on you that he never actually asked how old you were. For all he knew, half of your life was already over.  

“Last time I checked, it was considered impolite to ask a lady her age.” 

You can’t help yourself, and you burst out laughing. After all the things you two had been through together, and he thinks asking your age is going to, what, offend you? 

Ridiculous man. 

The expression on his face is a mixture of shock and puzzlement. His eyebrow is cocked up, and he stares at you quizzically.  

“What’s so funny?”  

You smirk, “My love, we have enraged and killed Gods, fought countless fiends, demons and devils, and felled a Netherbrain together, and you worry that you, my partner, my soul mate, my everything, asking my age is impolite?”  

He grins, “Well… when you put it like that, I suppose it does seem a little ridiculous.” 

“I have many centuries ahead of me, and I will spend them all with you, I hope.”  

Astarion smiles, but there is something hidden in that smile, and it brings back the uneasy feeling you felt before. You can't quite place what it is. 

Astarion grabs your hands and holds them, his thumbs caressing them comfortingly.  

“I love you, and I will love you forever. You know that, right?”  

There’s an odd urgency straining his voice as if he needs to know that you know this. That uneasy feeling blooms into pure anxiety at the urgency in his voice, the look in his eyes and even the smile on his face. Something feels wrong.  

“Tell me what’s going on, Astarion. You’re starting to scare me.” 

“Don’t be scared, my sweet. I just want you to know that I love you, now and forevermore.”  

Your heart races inside your chest. Your stomach is in knots. Your whole body is screaming at you that something isn’t right.  

You look at him and search his face for any signs that something is amiss, but you can’t see anything. He looks relaxed, if a little sad, but that isn’t unusual after he couldn’t perform.  

“Shhhh, my love.” he purrs, “everything is fine.”  

He rubs your back and kisses your shoulder softly, trying to comfort you. You lean into him.  

“Astarion…”  

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” he says in a low whisper close to your ear.  

“Come, my love. Let’s lay down for a while until night falls. Once you fall asleep, I’ll slip out to go hunting.” 

You lay back down with him, putting your head on his chest.  

For some strange reason, be it due to your anxiety or his strange behaviour, you desperately don’t want him to go hunting, not tonight.  

“You could feed on me tonight if you want?”  

“As tempting an offer as that is, there is no need. There are plenty of animals in the forest.”  

“I know, but you still could.” 

You don’t even know why you’re pushing this so hard, but something deep down in you is frantic to keep him close.  

“Not tonight, darling.” 

He uses the same tone he used with that vile blood merchant at Moonrise, and you know better than to push it any further.  

You try to relax back into him, but your body is buzzing with an anxiety you have not felt in some time. If only you could place it…  

Astarion starts to hum your favourite tune low in his throat as he always did when you were feeling anxious while rubbing your arm with his fingers. 

You slowly drift into a troubled trance.  

When you wake up the next morning, Astarion is nowhere to be found. You had felt him leave to go hunting, but he never returned.  

Did he get caught by someone or something? Did the sunrise take him by surprise, and he found someplace to wait it out?  

He is always home well before the sun starts to creep over the horizon.  

This was entirely unusual. He always returned and crawled back into bed with you.  

Leaping out of bed, you throw your robe on and glance out the door. The day is cloudy and cool, and you can smell the rain. In a frantic rush, you throw your boots on and start toward the forest you know he goes hunting in most. 

You wander the forest, calling out to him, but there are no traces of him. No dead carrion, no footprints, no signs of a struggle - just nothing. Your heart is hammering in your tightening chest, and you search frantically for anything that could lead you to him.  

You spend the entire day wandering the forests. Even when the rain starts to pour down on you, leaving you soaked and freezing, you endure.  

The darkness of night envelops the land, and you return home utterly exhausted, hoping to find him there safe and sound.  

You open the door, and the little house is as dark, quiet and as empty as you left it.  

You start a fire in the large stone fireplace and stand there to warm your frozen body.  

Where could he have gone? Why did he go? What did I do? 

You look around the little place you had shared with him for over a year.  

It looks so empty without him…  

A yellow-tinged envelope catches your eye, sitting on your bedside table. You must have missed it in your rush to go find him this morning.  

Picking it up, a sense of dread fills you. It smells of rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. Your hands shake as they open the letter, and you slip out the neatly folded piece of paper.  

Placing the envelope down, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the folded letter. You pray that this isn’t what you think it is, but a part of you knows it’s precisely what you fear.  

Your trembling hands have trouble unfolding the parchment. It’s written in a beautiful hand. 

“My Dearest Love,  

My only one, I’m sorry it had to be this way. I knew I would never have the strength to say goodbye to you in person, to look into your eyes and see the hurt I’d caused. I am a coward, as I always have been.  

I believe being with me is holding you back from the beautiful life and love you deserve; one I am unable to provide for you.  

I love you too much to keep dragging you down into the dark.  

I hope you can forgive me one day.  

You made my dead heart beat anew. I could never forget you.  

I love you now and forevermore.

Love always,

Astarion"

Tears slide down your reddened face and drip onto the parchment in your hand. Once you’re finished reading it, it slips from your fingers and floats to the floor.  

He left me… 

You curl up on the bed you had shared with him for years, breathing the scent of him that lingered on the sheets. Violent sobs wrack your body as your heart is torn asunder.  

How could he do this…  

You cry until your body can’t produce any more tears, and you finally drift into a grief-stricken sleep.  

In the morning, you look around the little house you shared with him and realize that he had taken some of his belongings but not all of them.  

How long had he been playing this?  

Your once cozy home now feels cold, empty and claustrophobic. The walls feel like they are closing in on you.  

What am I going to do? 

You stay in that little house for a couple of weeks, hoping Astarion will change his mind and come back to you.  

A useless fantasy  

He never returns, but you never expected him to.  

You had spent every night over the last several weeks wandering the forest surrounding the area, checking his favourite hunting spots.  

In the city, you had tried searching for him in the taverns, the hostels, the flophouses, everywhere you could think of. You even followed the roads until sunrise, hoping you might bump into him.  

In truth, you knew that you would never find him if he didn’t want you to, but you had to try at least.  

You spend the next years searching for him in every place you can think of.  

You search Baldur’s Gate and all his regular haunts. 

You go back to the Underdark to see if he went there. He had talked about helping the other spawn at one point, but his siblings tell you they haven’t seen him. You even use Detect Thoughts covertly to see if they are lying to you, just in case.  

You return to the Grove even though you know it’s a long shot. He wasn’t ever fond of that place.  

You even search old camping spots he was particularly fond of. You doubted he would return to sleeping on the ground, but you tried anyway.  

You find nothing, of course. It was as if he just disappeared from existence entirely. 

Eventually, all hope fades away, and you are forced to face the fact that he’s gone and he’s not coming back.  

Not knowing where else to turn, you decide to go to Waterdeep, where Gale has kindly offered that you stay with him for as long as you need to.  

You start a new life there, as best you can.  

Months Later 

“Good morning! Can I offer you some tea?”  

Gale’s overly chipper tone in the morning makes you cringe inwardly.

How could someone be this happy in the morning? 

“Yes, please.”  

You rub your tired eyes, yawning.  

“Splendid!” 

Gale places a steaming mug of herbal tea on the table, and you take it in your hands, enjoying the warmth.  

“You look tired, my friend. Are nightmares still troubling you?”  

Your rest is plagued by constant, unforgiving nightmares that often wake you up screaming into the dead of night.  

“I’m fine. If I keep you up at night, I could move to a room further away?”  

Gale’s manor was grand, of course. It had more rooms than you cared to count and all the luxuries you could ever want. Despite that, this never felt like home, even after all this time.  

“There’s no need. I’m usually awake, nose buried in a good book. At least it is nothing like Wyll’s snoring. Gods.”  

You both laugh at that. Wyll had snored so loud some nights that you were worried Astarion would kill him just for some peace and quiet.  

“So, what’s on the docket for today?”  

“Oh, I’m going to go out into the city to meet some friends.”  

“That sounds like a lovely idea! I’m glad you’re making friends. I’d love to meet them.” Gale’s grins happily.  

“Of course, um, one day, okay?” 

“I can host a grand dinner and make them my signature dish!”  

You almost choke on your tea. Gale tried, but most of his cooking was… lacklustre.  

“I better go get ready then. Thank you for the tea.” 

Returning to your room, you slip into a clean robe and pull on your boots before heading down the long, winding staircase.  

Gale is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, “will you be home in time for dinner?”  

“Oh, no, probably not. Don’t wait for me.”  

“Be careful out there at night, this isn’t Baldur’s Gate, but it’s not exactly safe either,” he warns with a worried look.  

You want to roll your eyes at him but stop yourself. Did he think you couldn’t take care of yourself? You had spent years roaming Faerûn looking for Astarion by yourself and only returned with a handful of new scars.  

Well, ones he can see anyway.  

“I’ll be careful, Gale. Thank you.”  

With that, you slip out of the door into the air, chilled by the breeze coming off the sea. It was truly beautiful here… if only you could appreciate it.  

You walk briskly through the busy city streets, wanting to leave them behind you as quickly as possible. Waterdeep was a busy city, and people already packed the thoroughfare going about their days.  

You had spent so much time by yourself during your years searching for Astation that you had become accustomed to being alone. You were still trying to acclimatize to city life again.  

Stopping at a small tavern, you buy yourself some wine.  

Probably not the healthiest way to deal with my issues...  

Near the outskirts of the city, you see the familiar little path that you walk almost every day. It took you to a beautiful lookout point that no one seemed to visit. It was your favourite place to be alone.  

The wealthy of this city don’t want to ruin their fine boots, I suppose.  

You sit on the edge of the cliff face, letting your legs hang over precariously.  

What am I going to do about Gale wanting to meet these “friends” of mine  

Truthfully, you’d made up these “friends” so you could get some time alone. Gale was your friend, and you enjoyed his company, but he could be overattentive at times.  

The silence up here was as beautiful as the views. The noises of the city were left behind, and only the soft winds blowing through the trees could be heard. 

You uncork one of the bottles and drink straight from it. You had no; how did Gale put it - ah yes, decorum.  

You spend the entire day sitting up there, drowning your heartache in the only elixir that could lessen the pain in your chest and numb the void in your soul.  

I can’t believe it’s been years. 

You often think about the time you spent together, replaying it over and over, analyzing every interaction, every word, every touch. 

What did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I did? Something I didn’t do? Something I didn’t say?  

Tears fall from your eyes at the memories, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand.  

I thought we were happy. 

You watch the light of day slowly fade as the sun drops below the horizon, blanketing the city in the dullness of night. 

I guess I should go back.  

You stumble your way down the steep path. 

Perhaps I had too much today.  

Reaching the city, you walk through the now slightly less busy streets. Much of the throngs of people have retired to their homes or, more likely, the taverns of the city. You hear vivacious laughter from some of the taphouses, signaling the end of another day.  

A light breeze stirs, and you faintly catch the scent of rosemary and bergamot. Even in the wine’s blissfully numbing embrace, your heart clenches and leaps in your chest.  

You look around in every direction, but no one and nothing stands out.  

You sigh, chiding your heart, telling it to stop flip-flopping around in your chest. 

It isn’t him. It will never be him again. 

You continue walking, but every time the breeze stirs, that smell of rosemary and bergamot drifts with it.  

Great, now the very Gods themselves are fucking with me. 

You can’t help but stop to look around again. You make sure to pay extra attention to dark corners and alleys, but you see nothing out of the ordinary.  

Or perhaps, I’m just going crazy. 

You shake your head and laugh at yourself for being so foolish, but another tear escapes your eye and glides slowly down your cheek.  

Rounding a corner into a dimly lit corridor, you come face to face with a group of people looking particularly dishevelled. Their eyes slither over you repulsively.  

“Well, well, what do we have here? A little lady, all lost and alone?”  

Excellent. This is just what I need today - a mugging. 

“Don’t be scared; no one has to get hurt here. Just give us your coin, and we will be on our way. Won’t we, lads?”   

Foul, yellow-stained toothy grins split across the faces of the others malevolently.  

They each draw small blades, so small you would hardly call them daggers. You very nearly laugh at their pathetic excuse for weapons.  

The citizens of Waterdeep must be easy to scare; fortunately, I am not.  

Grasping the weave, you turn, but before you can even get a cantrip playing on your fingertips, you hear a familiar voice.  

“Touch her and die.”  

No… it can’t possibly be. 

The group of dishevelled people look around wildly, trying to find the source of that voice.  

One of them steps forward threateningly, “Trying to play tricks on us, sorcerer? We aren’t so easily spooked.”  

Your eyes search the rooftops surrounding the corridor. If he were to be anywhere, it would be there. You don’t see anything at first, but you catch a glimpse of movement and faintly make out a figure moving over the roofs shrouded in darkness.  

Stepping closer, with that sad excuse for a dagger pointed at you, the man growls, “Your coin. Now. We won’t ask nicely again, little lady.”  

Astarion jumps down in front of you with his blades drawn.  

“Final warning. Try to touch her and die.”  

You’re speechless, just staring at the back of his head in bewilderment. 

How much did I have to drink today? Am I hallucinating?  

The group sizes Astarion up, no doubt wondering if all 5 of them could take on 1 of him.  

With a shake of your head, you finally regain some of your composure and stand next to Astarion with a fireball playing on your fingertips.  

“Do they dare?” he whispers only loud enough for you to hear.  

“I kind of wish they would,” you whisper back, but lower knowing his hearing is much better than your own.  

He chuckles under his breath.  

They stare at you with your fire, and the look at their weapons compared to Astarion’s, gawking at them before they bolt off as if the fires of the Hells themselves were licking at their ankles, leaving you and Astarion standing there laughing.  

The laughter falls away abruptly and is replaced by abashed crimson eyes as he turns toward you.  

“Astarion?”  

You reach out to him, needing to be sure this isn’t a hallucination brought on by your sleep deprivation or just another dream.  

He gently takes your hand in his and plants a soft kiss on the back. The bracing chill of his skin sends a shiver running up your spine.  

“Yes, darling. It’s me.” 

Your temper ignites, rage flashes through you like wildfire, and you shove him hard. 

“You left me!” 

Your lower lip quivers. Tears immediately flood your eyes and spill down your reddened cheeks in small streams.  

The corners of his mouth draw downwards, and remorse saturates his expression. 

“I know.” 

Your chest feels tight as if your lungs are constricting around your wildly beating heart, and you swallow the lump rising in your throat.  

“What did I do wrong?” Your voice shakes.  

His eyebrows pop upwards, creasing his forehead and his eyes round in shock.  

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”  

“Then why?!”  

Bringing his hand to the back of his neck, he sighs, “I thought… I thought it was for the best.”  

“For who?” 

You know the answer, but you want to hear him say it.  

“You.” 

Indignation reignites the raging wildfire, and you shoot him a smouldering glower. 

“Fuck you, Astarion! What gave you the right to decide what’s best for me?” 

“You’re right.”  

His admittance catches you off guard. The repentant tone of his voice washes over you like a wave, quelling the fiery rage burning through your veins.  

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the brisk air, trying to rein in your emotions.  

Exhaling slowly through your mouth, you meet his gaze again, “Why are you here, Astarion?”  

He shuffles his feet, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

You scoff, “Why? Why now?”  

He rubs his hands together, “If you are willing to hear me out, I would like to… talk.” he glances away from you, unsure of himself, “I understand if you don’t want to. If you never wish to see me again, say the word, and you will never have to lay eyes on me again.” 

“Not tonight.”  

“Of course, whenever you want to. I’m staying at an inn on the edge of town called Golden Harp Inn, room 2.”  

“I’ll think about it. Goodbye, Astarion.”  

You turn away from him, squeezing your eyes shut, biting your lower lip, fighting the urge to cry.  

“Would you allow me to walk you home?”  

Your eyelashes sweep up as you look to the heavens, exasperated.  

“Are you going to follow me regardless?”  

He chuckles, “Probably, but I’ll be eminently more discreet about it.”  

“You know I can take care of myself, right?” 

“Of course, darling. I’m well aware you can burn anyone you wish to ash, or worse.” 

A small smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward, and his fangs just barely peek out of his lips.  

That damn smile tugs at your heart strings as it always did.  

Gods, I’ve missed him.  

You roll your eyes, “Fine.”  

“Lead on.”  

You walk together in an awkward silence. His trained eyes observe the surroundings, instinctively searching for dangers lurking in the murky gloom. You’re thankful when you reach Gale’s grandiose manor.  

Astarion looks up at the tower reaching high into the sky, clearly impressed.  

“You live here?”  

“This is Gale’s Manor. I’ve been staying here with him.” 

A forlorn look passes over his face, and he looks down at the ground.  

“I see,” his eyebrow cocks inquisitively but regains his confident composure quickly, “I hope to see you soon. Goodnight, my dear.”  

With no further ado, he strides away and disappears into the twilight like a ghost. 

What in the Nine Hells am I going to do? 

You give your head a quick shake, trying to dislodge your whirling thoughts.  

The manor is dark when you enter, with only a few flickering candles strewn about in various places. 

You tiptoe up to your way up to your room, close and lock the large door, and slowly sink to the ground, wrapping your arms around your knees.  

You let the sorrow you feel consume you, and you sob inconsolably.  

You awake with a start and find yourself on the floor where you had sunk to and cried yourself into some semblance of a trance.  

Pushing yourself to your feet, you look at yourself in the mirror hanging on the opulently wallpapered wall. Your eyes are bloodshot and swollen with dark bags stretching out under your eyes. You groan at your reflection.  

Great. 

Slipping into a clean robe, you make your way downstairs. Glancing out the tall window, you surmise that dawn had barely broken the horizon. The sun sits low, split in half by the bay. The golden light is just starting to brighten the dark sky.  

Sighing, you make yourself some tea and sit on the terrace. The steaming hot cup warms your hands, providing a sense of comfort.  

What in the Hells am I going to do? 

You hadn't been able to think about it last night, consumed by grief. The voice in your head screams at you. Your intuition wails desperately at you that you should probably ask him to leave and never return. He broke you once, and you still haven’t recovered from his sudden disappearance. Unfortunately, what you know and what you want are constantly at war with each other.  

I don’t want him to go.  

Whether you liked it or not, your heart still belonged to him, and somehow, you knew it always would.  

Gale’s voice breaches the serene silence of the emerging dawn.  

“You’re up early this morning.” 

Startled, you jump, and your tea spills into your lap.  

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says as he grabs a towel from the kitchen and hands it to you.  

Taking the towel, you wipe your lap, “It’s okay. I was just lost in my thoughts.”  

“Care to share what’s on your mind? Perhaps I could be of some assistance or provide a friendly ear.” 

Should I tell him about Astarion?  

You know you should. Gale was your friend, after all. You had quite literally been through hell and back together. He could help you sort out this mess you found yourself in if only you would let him in.  

For some reason, you feel the desperate need to keep Astarion’s resurgence to yourself.  

“No, it’s just my nightmares again.” 

You feel an immediate gush of insurmountable guilt. The lie slips out of your mouth skillfully, much too easily for your comfort, but you’re not ready to share Astarion just yet, not until you figure out why he is here and what he wants from you.  

“I’m going to go for a walk. I need to clear my head. Do you need me to pick anything up while I’m out?”  

Gale shrugs his shoulder, “No, no. There’s no need to trouble yourself. Enjoy your walk.” 

The early morning air is colder than you had prepared for, and you shiver slightly. You spend the day aimlessly wandering around the city, lost in your thoughts of Astarion.  

What could he possibly want now? How long had he been looking for you? How did he know you were in Waterdeep?  

You had so many questions that only he could answer.  

The day passes in a blur, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the Golden Harp Inn as the sun starts to dip below the horizon.  

You stand outside the inn in a paralyzing apprehension. An inquisitory voice penetrates your thoughts, breaking you out of them.   

“Can I help you?”  

Your eyes drift from the worn sign of the tavern and meet the woman's anticipatory glare.  

How long have I been standing out here? 

You shake your head, “Sorry. I’m looking for someone who might be staying here.” 

Her brows raise in a suspicious glower, “And you’re looking for them outside?”  

It was a fair question.  

You plaster on the most innocent grin you can muster. “No, I just, uh... I wasn’t sure I had the right place, is all.”  

She gives you a curt nod, “Well, why don’t you describe who you are looking for? I know all of my patrons.”  

Your mouth quirks up in a half smile.  

How do I describe him? 

“Elf, extremely pale, obnoxiously smart mouth.”  

“Oh, him,” she rolls her eyes hard, “he’s in room 2. Up the stairs, second door on your right.” she hesitates, judging you, “Be careful around that one, dear. He looks like he breaks hearts left and right.”  

Gods, you have no idea. 

You nod in appreciation, “Thank you.”  

As you walk up the creaking staircase, your body trembles in anxious anticipation. You take deep breaths, trying to steady the untamed beating of your heart.  

You warily eye the wooden door with the tarnished bronze #2 nailed precariously onto it, but you hesitate to knock.  

Do I want to do this? 

A muffled voice rings out from behind the closed door.  

“I can hear you breathing, you know.”  

Fuck. 

Astarion opens the door and gives you a shallow bow, inviting you in.

“How did you know it was me breathing? It could have been anyone.” 

He chuckles, “I can also smell your delectable blood, and I would recognize that scent anywhere.”  

Of course, how could I forget that?  

You bolster yourself, puffing out your chest in a silly attempt to appear more confident than you’re feeling.  

“Well, I’m here. What did you want to talk to me about?” 

“Straight to business, I see?” 

You scowl at him in a warning, “Astarion.”  

“Okay, darling. Okay.”  

He stares at your with an eyebrow cocked, “Are you cold?”  

“No.”  

He rolls his eyes exasperatedly, “You’re shivering, my dear.”  

Am I? 

“Here.” he drapes a blanket around your shoulders, pulling it tight in front of you, “better?”  

He’s standing close to you, and you inhale his comforting scent. He smells like the home you’ve been yearning to come back to.  

“Better.”  

He smiles, “Good.” He pauses, rubbing his hands together, “You… you might want to sit for this.” 

Your stomach leaps into your throat, and your heart rate spikes further. What in the hell was he doing to say to you that he thought you should be sitting for? Was he about to ask you to come to his wedding? Tell you about his new lover? Ask you to kill him?  

What heartbreak am I going to befall this time? I shouldn’t have come. 

He reaches out and squeezes your arm in a comforting gesture, “Easy, darling.”  

“What?”  

“I can hear your heart beating a million miles a minute.”  

You huff. You never could hide anything from him. He could read you like a favourite book.   

“Just spill it, Astarion. Stop stalling.”  

He glances away from you nervously, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit?”  

“No, I don’t want to sit.”  

He sighs, “Okay, suit yourself.”  

He runs his fingers through his hair, and you can see the unease he feels on his face. His usually confident demeanour is nowhere to be seen. He looks unsure of himself for the first time since you were walking into the Szarr Palace intending to kill his master.  

He clears his throat and walks towards you. His gaze meets yours with an intensity that makes you gasp.  

“I’ve been looking for you for a while. You’re incredibly hard to track down.” 

You interrupt him, “How long?”  

“Over a year.”  

You would have been looking for him at the same time he was looking for you at one point. 

He takes a small step toward you, “I came here to tell you… I… I want to be with you, but I didn’t realize you had moved on with…” he cringes, “Gale.”  

A sad, fake smile spreads across his face, “Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. He always did have feelings for you, and he can give you all the things I can’t, all the things you deserve.”  

You walk over to the chair, plunge yourself down into it, and start to laugh hysterically.  

Astarion doesn’t look amused, but he sits on the side of the bed opposite you, looking at you like you might be cursed.  

“I’m sorry,” you manage to squeeze out between giggles, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at your assumptions.” 

“Care to elaborate, darling?”  

“Gale and I are not together, Astarion.”  

His eyebrow cocks, “But you’re living with him?”  

“I had nowhere else to go when you left… I couldn’t stay in our little house. You were everywhere and nowhere, and it hurt.”

Those vibrant scarlet irises glance away from you momentarily.  

He meets your eyes again, “So you’re not together?”  

You shake your head, stifling another giggle, “Absolutely not.”  

With a wide, relieved grin, he says, “This conversation has just become much more pleasant.” 

If only it were that simple.  

“I don’t know if I can be with you again, Astarion.”  

No matter how much I want to. 

You suddenly feel uncomfortably hot and rise from the chair, shrugging off the blanket.  

“What do you mean you want to be with me?”  

“I want you, all of you. Without you, life is hardly worth living. The last years taught me that.”  

You’re pacing around the small room now. Astarion’s eyes follow your movement keenly.  

“And you thought you could just show up, and I’d what? Welcome you back with open arms?”  

A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, “A man can hope, but no.” his eyes meet yours with a humility you haven’t seen before, “I expected you to tell me to leave, or quite possibly burn me to ash, but here you are.”  he pauses, “I’m sorry I left.”  

You stop rapidly pacing the room and meet his eyes sadly, “I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave instead of just talking to me.”  

He huffs, “Oh, come off. You were amazing.”  

Tears brim in your eyes, “Then why did you leave me, Astarion?”  

“I…,” he steps so close that he’s almost touching you and wipes the tears escaping your eyes with his thumb, “I was afraid.”  

“Afraid of what? Me?” 

“Gods, no.” he hisses, “You’re the only person I’ve ever truly cared for. Have you truly spent the last couple of years thinking I left because of you?”  

“What else was I supposed to think?”  

His face softens, “Oh, my love. I’m so sorry.”  

Astarion wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. It takes you a minute, but you finally allow yourself to melt into him, pressing yourself hard against him. Your shoulders slump and shake with sobs.

When he finally releases you, you look up at him and are surprised to see tears running down his pale cheeks.  

Instinctively, you reach up and wipe them away with the back of your hand, “Don’t cry, Astarion.”  

He chuckles at you, amused, as he uses his thumb to wipe your tears away.  

“Don’t cry, my love,” he whispers. 

One of your hands still grasps a handful of his shirt. You’re scared that if you release him, he will disappear, and this will all be a dream. 

“I was afraid.”  

His words echo in the expanse of your mind.  

“Why were you afraid?” 

He brushes the hair out of your face tenderly and cradles your face with his palm. You press your face harder into his cool touch, your lips grazing his smooth skin.

He is home. 

“I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to give you the life you deserve,” his voice lowers to a whisper, “the love you deserve.”  

You scoff at him, “A life with you is all I wanted, Astarion.”  

Astarion tilts your head so that your eyes meet his searching crimson gaze. His face is relaxed, and you see no signs of that mask he sometimes wore.  

“Do you still want it? Me?”  

His lips ghost over yours, making your eyes flutter closed.  

“I could never stop loving you.” 

He clicks his tongue, “That’s not an answer.”  

“I’m afraid, Astarion.” 

“Of what?” 

“I’m afraid you will leave again when things get hard or uncomfortable. I won’t survive losing you twice.” you stare back at him with suffocating trepidation, “Perhaps we can be friends… for now.”  

You can almost taste the sorrow infecting his red eyes, but he smiles anyway, “Friends. Yes… yes, I can do that.” 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support.

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

[ameliemaaaee]

The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(3) How You Find Yourself on Probation

Chapter Information: Summary: Your arrival to the BAU isn't exactly well timed, and you find yourself in the throes of one of their most intense cases. Content Warnings: S6/7 Spoilers, Doyle Arc Spoilers, Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer. Word Count: 8,985.

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2) - (3)

The week had passed by particularly quickly, especially after you had officially been assigned to your position as Head of Forensic Pathology to the Bureau.

You had been shown around the mortuary and labs, being aware that you were the only person who would be working in the morgue until you had settled, where you would be able to hire techs to help.

And you were beyond happy with the set-up. The mortuary was big, and had its own offices, breakroom, gallery and plenty of storage and space for all your needs, and it was all yours to run. But that included a lot of paperwork.

You had been told to be at the BAU by ten, but to get ahead of some work you arrived at 7am, heading straight for your own office in the basement.

As you walked into the morgue the harsh, fluorescent lights hurt your eyes, but you welcomed the quiet.

You quickly made your way out onto the mortuary floor, weaving in between some examination tables you headed to the back wall where cabinets full of files, and equipment stood. In the corner was a small bar-like setup with stools and a computer, and this is where you chose to sit down and finish some of your paperwork.

Quickly setting an alarm for two hours, so you could be early, you set to work listing all the odd jobs and administrative duties required of you into a document.

With about half-an-hour left until you needed to head up to the BAU you started sorting through the team’s medical files, quickly realising that all of their physicals needed re-doing. But as you scanned the files further you realised that they were terribly done, and that they would need re-doing to your standards.

And as your alarm went off you sighed, closing down all your tabs and logging out of the computer, jogging towards the elevator.

You were startled out of your thoughts by the elevator arriving on the 6th floor. Quickly you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder and walked into the awaiting chaos.

The BAU was abnormally busy this morning, and you weren’t quite sure why. The past few days had settled down after the Doyle case had been closed, but today the jostle, and bustle of various agents, and interns running around the place made the seemingly large room cramped.

Slowly, with your body on autopilot, you made your way to your desk. As you sat down, a stressed-looking Dr. Reid offered you a sly glance, before returning his gaze to the paperwork in front of him, scrawling at an extremely excessive pace.

As you gazed around looking for familiar faces, you noticed that all the members of the team that you could spot were dressed up, dressed up a lot fancier than you. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, trying to put two and two together as Spencer disappeared from his desk.

You sighed as you realised the coffee you had been sipping on was now empty, and you stood trailing towards the familiar breakroom, and the lifesaving coffee machine.

“Good morning.” You smile at Spencer who grumbles, what sounded like a quick response before turning away from you, rummaging, and banging through cupboards and drawers. Spencer’s brows were knit tightly together as he groaned, pulling his hands to his head, pulling lightly on his curly brown hair.

“Reid, are you okay?” Your voice comes out meek, breaking as you watch Spencer’s head snap up. He turns towards you, rolling his eyes.

“No Y/N, I’m not okay. You want to know why?! I’ve been lied to by every single member of this team for nearly 11 weeks, everyone, including you!” You take a quick step back at the outrage you didn’t think he was capable of. Did he know what you did for Emily?

“Spencer- I. You have her back now, not a lot of people can say that.” Spencer rolls his eyes at you , his arms flying out in frustration. Did he know?

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand. You are the smart doctor who got shipped in from London. You’re new, and you shouldn’t even be here if you can’t understand.” You sigh, trying your hardest not to let the tears prick your eyes, not to let Spencer see you cry.

But lucky for you he solves that problem himself. Spencer angrily snatches his mug from the grasp of the coffee machine, and storms out of the breakroom, slamming the door behind him.

Your feet are frozen in their spot, you can’t move as you process what had just happened. Spencer had confirmed your biggest fear; you didn’t belong.

-

“Y/N, they want you to testify in front of the panel.” Your eyes anxiously snapped towards Hotch’s.

“Why me? I interviewed the guy, like twice, because I related to him.” You begin to feel the chaos of the situation unravelling in front of you. For something you had so little involvement in, you didn’t feel that it was worthwhile questioning you.

“Y/N, I know you have only been here a week, but you are part of this team. You played a massive role in saving that young boy’s life, they deserve to hear about it from you. You also were involved in Emily’s cover-up, which they likely know about.” You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I don’t get a choice, do I?” You offered Hotch a slight smile as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t.” You knew that Hotch felt bad, he didn’t want you to feel as if you were on trial, but it was unfortunately a decision that went over his head.

“I have however, managed to convince them that you are unable to go in alone.” You feel a sense of relief wash over you at this. You weren’t the most reliable in social situations, and Hotch was aware of it from your file, he knew you had a history of being anxious around authority; and he was working with you to ease that.

“Spencer will be attending with you. You two are very similar, you will get on well.” You nod, trying not to allow a grimace to cross your face. You and Spencer didn’t really hit-it-off this morning.

“Uhm, Hotch?” The male raises his eyes to you expectantly as you sigh, contemplating your next move.

“Dr. Reid seems angry. Well, to be more specific, he seems angry at me.” You say it quite simply, not sure how else you would describe it. Hotch hums, urging you to continue, so you do.

“I uhm-“ You pause, slightly worried that you would get a lecture from Hotch for your encounter in the break room, you weren’t sure if you had done something wrong. You turned your gaze to the window in his office, peering through to the busy BAU as you spoke.

“- I ran into Reid in the break room, he was sort of, crashing about the place a bit, and I asked him if he was okay.” You pause, turning back to Hotch to gauge a reaction, but he simply nodded.

“He kind of got mad at me. He told me about he had been lied to by everyone in the team including me. I tried to help, by telling him that even though he grieved Emily’s loss, he had her back and that there weren’t many people who could say that. But he just stormed out…” Hotch sighs, his brows furrowing slightly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Y/N-“

“I know, but it’s just that I feel like I joined at the wrong time. If I weren’t so in the way, maybe people like Reid would actually talk to me. Don’t get me wrong the BAU has been nothing but sweet, but I feel so alienated, like I’m hated because I didn’t go through the pain of grieving Emily. What if they know about how I helped you cover up Emily’s death…” Hotch offered you a soft smile as you finally turned your gaze towards him.

“They don’t know about that, I assure you. I understand this is difficult, and unfortunately, we couldn’t foresee this case.” He rests his hands in front of him on the desk, offering you a small smile.

“I know it’s been a difficult week for you, and I’m really sorry that I couldn’t stop you from having to testify. But I also know what Spencer’s like, and he will be obsessed with you when he has the chance to visit the labs and the morgue, he’s just a bit… preoccupied.” You allow a small chuckle at that, you certainly had a lot in common with your fellow doctor, you just hadn’t spoken much yet.

“Now, I do believe I told you to wear business clothes.” You feel your face pale as Hotch mentions your attire.

“I did. This is my nice hoodie!” Your voice raises an octave as Hotch scans you over, an eyebrow raised in disapproval at your leggings and hoodie combination, complete with glasses and a messy bun.

“Do you own business attire?” Hotch deadpans, a slight smile on his face. Whenever you were around Hotch made sure that he displayed his emotions more on his face, which really helped you feel more comfortable around him. You could tell that he wasn’t angry.

“Yeah-“

“Good.” Hotch guides you up from your crumpled position in the chair opposite his desk, almost pushing you towards the door. As you make your way onto the ramp above the bullpen everyone turns, Hotch beckoning them over.

“Emily, you will be taking Y/N to her apartment to change-“ You try to contain an eye roll as Hotch speaks directly to the male stood in front of you both.

“-please oversee her clothing choice, and Y/N?-“ You turn your gaze to Hotch, focusing it on the wall behind him to let him know you were listening.

“-for God’s sake, no more formal hoodies. You hear me?” You frantically nod, taking off like a child, running down the ramp as a chorus of laughs rings out from the team. You meet Emily at the bottom, she silently holds the door open for you, guiding you towards the elevators.

-

“Y/N, that is not smart enough for a hearing.” You sigh, exasperatedly as you lift the items from your bed, and place the cotton t-shirt and dress pants back into your wardrobe. Gasping as Emily pushes past you, thumbing her way through the hanging items of clothing.

“How about this?” Emily’s voice failed to break your reverie.

Emily seemed as though she had been struggling, returning to the team. Maybe she would understand your struggles?

“Y/N?” You shake your head lightly, focusing back on the present moment, to see Emily holding up two garments. One was a knee-length, grey plaid, pencil skirt, the second being a comfortable, bat-sleeved black jumper. It could work.

You nod lightly in conformation, making grabby hands for the items, as Emily bites her lip, passing them to you. Bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet you let a smile cross your face. Watching as Emily’s face erupted in a smile in response to yours.

“Well… are you going to change?” You nod frantically, jogging across the room to a set of drawers, and pulling out a pair of tights. You then pad your way towards the en suite, entering and locking the door behind you.

“Oh Y/N, you look amazing in that!” Emerging in the clothes Emily let out a sigh of relief. You paid no attention, fiddling anxiously with the hem of your skirt, it was uncomfortable, the hem felt sharp against your legs.

“What shoes?” Your eyes snap up towards the female who had been studying your movements intensely yet was still unable to place the oddity of them.

“My Dr. Martens.” Emily smiles, as he roots through the bottom of your wardrobe, pulling out a pair of Docs, the shoes. You quickly run away from him, to where you dumped your Doc Marten boots before changing.

“Not the boots-“ Emily laughs as she watches you remove insoles from the bottom of your boots, plodding towards her. You happily fit them in your shoes, focusing hard on the task.

“Why not the boots?” You say softly as you sit on the bed, slipping the shoes on and doing up the laces.

“That’s a lesson for another day.“ Emily practically pushes you through your empty apartment and out the door, into the hallway.

-

As you make your way into the BAU with Emily by your side, everyone turns, and you can practically sense the collective sigh of relief the team are holding in.

You turn at the sound of a voice.

“She can certainly scrub up!” Everyone chuckles slightly at Morgan as you furrow your brows, deciding to remain quiet.

“Alright, we need to head to the hearing. Spencer, can you drive Y/N? Everyone else divide up.” Spencer cocks his head in confusion, likely wondering why you both had a car to yourself, but he didn’t ask why, he just nodded.

The car ride was mainly silent. The awkward kind, that settled thickly in the air. The occasional jumping of tyres against asphalt and unkempt roads reminding you of your presence in the vehicle speeding towards a day of quarrel and chaos.

You debate breaking the silence, you had one question.

“Spencer, why did you ask me to interview Doyle?” You voice comes out meek, almost cracking at the disuse of your voice, your leg bouncing anxiously in anticipation of both his answer and the impending trial.

Spencer’s gaze turned to you before focusing on the road, and perhaps you saw it soften slightly.

“You did a good job Y/N. They can’t condemn your actions when you did nothing wrong.” You nod slightly, your fingers finding the hemline of your skirt, the feeling of it cutting into your skin coming back, worse than before. Spencer’s gaze turns to you in slight concern, focusing intently between you and the road.

“You related to Doyle in a way we didn’t. You grew up in similar circumstances to him, and you can talk like it when you want to. He had a respect for you because you both had similar experiences, relatable experiences.” Spencer sighed lightly, gently reaching out and grabbing your hand which was now scratching anxiously at your legs.

“You offered a sincerity we didn’t have. You’re the youngest, and you aren’t a profiler. You aren’t trained to hide all emotion from an UnSub, you don’t seem like a typical FBI agent. He trusted you because you are so genuinely sincere, and you were so genuinely worried about Declan; he picked up on it.” Spencer sighs, squeezing your hand and resting it on the centre console, smiling meekly at you.

“Don’t move that hand.” You cease the anxious scratching at the sound of Spencer’s voice. He moves his hand to grip the steering wheel, reversing into a parking space, and switching off the engine. As Spencer removes the keys from the ignition, he turns to face you.

“I know we got off to a rough start, and I’m sorry I snapped at you. But I want you to know that I will be with you the whole time, and that this panel will not be able to chastise you in any way, okay?” You nod quickly, swallowing a lump in your throat.

“Okay.” You whisper as you quickly shake out your hands, flapping them up and down frantically, as if you were trying to shake out your nerves. Spencer watches you for a moment, before getting out of the car and making his way to your side, helping you out, stilling your hands with his own.

The walk to the foyer was short, Spencer had parked close, and he stuck closely by your side as you walked through the doors together, meeting the team and Strauss who were already gathered. You picked up on the anxiousness in the air as the pair of you walked over to the group, Strauss offering you a small smile as her and Hotch pull you aside.

“Dr. L/N, I do apologise for all this hassle.” Strauss speaks up as the rest of the team give you curious looks. You nod at the section chief as she offers you a slightly reassuring pat on your shoulder. Hotch nodding along with her.

“I hear Dr. Reid is going to attend with you?” You nod, offering a soft smile.

“Good luck doctor.” Strauss nods politely before turning towards the remainder of the team, lifting her hand in a quick goodbye. You turn back to Hotch who offers you a rare smile.

“You’ve got this.” He smiles before walking you over to the rest of the team. You take a seat on the bench next to Spencer offering him a quick smile as his gaze remains fixated on his hands in his lap.

The interior was beautiful if it weren’t for the circumstances. The floors were lined with marble, stretching through long, high corridors. There was only a single set of deep, stained, double doors in this hallway and they were the fateful doors. Multiple benches sat opposite the doors, neatly spaced down the hallway.

Both you and Spencer sat for what felt like hours in comfortable silence, simply watching as members of your team flitted about, providing constant motion and noise. You watched as the dwindling numbers of your team slowly read over reams upon reams of notes.

Unfortunately for you the silence was broken by Hotch, who made his way down the corridor towards you.

“Y/N, Spencer, you will both be called in a few minutes. You will both provide your statements together.” Hotch paths you on the shoulder, offering both you and Spencer good luck.

Spencer moved to stand at the sight of a security guard pacing towards the pair of you, he guided you up from the seat, pulling you closer to him. He leans over your shoulder slightly, whispering to you.

“I’ll go first, just try and settle yourself, take deep breaths. If it helps, try and memorise the room.” You nod, swallowing the butterflies that had made their way up your oesophagus, sending them back to the pit of your stomach where they remained, wreaking havoc.

“Dr. Reid, Dr. L/N?” The security guards interrupt your fidgeting, motioning for the pair of you to follow him. You feel Spencer’s hand in the small of your back guiding you towards the ominous doors. You knew he was using it as a tactic to sense your hesitation, and he was right. You felt your footing falter as you crossed the threshold into the room.

It was dark. The walls, and all the furniture was of a deep mahogany, it felt intrusive, almost fitting for the circumstances. The room was also dimly lit by a tall window on the right wall. In front of you, sat on a raised platform were eight different higher-ups, there to judge your fate.

“Agents, take a seat please.” The centremost male’s voice boomed throughout the room courtesy of his microphone. Spencer released you from his grasp as you sat, crossing your legs in the chair, beginning to follow Spencer’s advice.

Taking deep breaths, you smile politely as the male begins to talk.

“Okay agents, I’ve had a moment to review your files.” He pauses, lifting a pair of files up into your view to emphasise his point.

“Agent L/N, you have been with the Bureau a sum total of a week and a half, yes?” You nod promptly.

“Yes sir.” You say, trying to control the falter in your voice.

“How, in such little time, have you managed to involve yourself in such reckless activities?” You pause, unsure of what he was even talking about. He was putting you on trial just like everyone else.

“Sir, she had nothing to do with this. She simply followed orders and interviewed Doyle.” Spencer pipes up, much to your relief. You could feel your cheeks heating up however, under the scrutinising gaze of the panel in front of you.

“Agent, I don’t believe I was asking you?” Spencer sighs, slumping back in his seat.

“Let me go first, question her afterwards.” Spencer’s voice rings out throughout the room again, rubbing his temples with his left hand, giving you a passing glance as you fidget with your hands in your laps.

“If that’s what you want, agent. But that won’t stop me being shocked that they let someone like her into the Bureau.” You alert at this, narrowing your gaze towards the male ahead of you. Failing to notice Spencer tensing up.

“Someone like me?” You try your best to raise your voice to a normal level, but it comes out a mere whisper as you lean towards the microphone, grateful for its amplification.

The chairman chuckles, practically rolling his eyes.

“Yes, someone like you. Agent, you shouldn’t be here, your file even says it. Shall I read it?” You gesture for him to proceed as you lean back in your seat. Your nerves had now completely erased themselves and instead a passive rage took its place. He was going to dig a hole for himself, and never be able to get out of it. You noticed the panicked looks on the other board members faces, and you felt the sheer confusion radiating off Spencer.

“You somehow passed your firearms qualification in a week, but you don’t carry due to ‘noise sensitivity’. Sound familiar?” You offer the chairman a polite smile, leaning forwards.

“Sir, are these hearings being recorded?” You rest your elbow on the table, fiddling with the stem of the microphone. The male in front of you suddenly dropped his cocky demeanour, his brows furrowing at your hidden threat.

“Whose idea was it to release Ian Doyle?” The male quickly regains his composure, moving swiftly onwards with the questioning.

“It was mine.” Spencer speaks up, allowing you a quick breather.

“Was the decision to release Ian Doyle a personal one?” You furrow your brows at this. The whole team had banded together to save the life of a little boy, the last thing running through any of your heads was conspiracy to have Doyle killed.

“A young boy’s life was at stake. I ran the probability of his survival, and it wasn’t good.”

You simply nod along to Spencer, watching as the male in front of you both grows frustrated. Every word he said was true.

“And you, Agent L/N? You were the one who gleaned the information to instigate this mess.”

“Sir, as Doctor Reid said, our priority was Declan, he doesn’t deserve to die on behalf of his father. If there was an opportunity to save this boy, the team was going to take it. I was simply sent in to question him due to the fact I understood him better than anyone else.” You pause, allowing yourself to take a breath as Spencer hums in agreement. You try as hard as you can to hold back your repressed anger.

“Now, I’m not a maths expert, but I do believe that there were few outcomes that would have ended better than the one we had. If it weren’t for us, a young boy would be dead, and two international criminals would be at large. So, I implore you, find your empathy, and use it” You lean forwards raising your voice in emphasis as the male crosses his arm.

“Sir, if you want to punish me for risking Ian Doyle’s life, then I encourage you to do that, but don’t put Y/N, and the rest of my team on trial for something I suggested.” Spencer’s voice had taken a tone you had never heard before, his voice was low, even and commanding. Both of you had felt personally attacked by this man and defending yourselves and your team had become an even bigger priority, if just to prove a point.

“Agents, you both need to calm down.” The male points a finger between the pair of you, giving threatening glances.

You chuckle lightly, turning to your left as Spencer leans forwards, towards the microphone.

“We are calm, and we are both Doctors.” You face forwards, crossing your arms and offering the chairman a smug smile.

“The Unites States government is not in the business of trading captives.” You furrow your brows, that wasn’t true.

“Well actually-“ You’re quickly cut off by Spencer, providing you slight relief.

“New York City, July 2010, referred to as the spy swap. Igor…”

“-That’s enough.” You roll your eyes at the chairman’s unwillingness, and blatant ignorance.

“Sir, I do believe there have been exceptions made to this rule. As I mentioned before there were few outcomes that would have greater benefitted the United States government. You can’t just change the rules.” You cross and uncross your legs, under his gaze as he quickly quips back.

“And you just can’t break them.” You feel Spencer deflate slightly next to you. The high you had both received by sticking up for yourselves was quickly wearing off.

“Now, Agent L/N…” You gulp as he addresses you, fully aware of what was about to happen. “When reviewing all of this I found something extremely interesting.” You raise your eyebrow, fully accepting the fact Spencer was soon to be very mad at you.

“The signature of Emily’s forged post-mortem report looks remarkably similar to yours.” You smile slightly, at the way he beats around the bush.

“I wrote her post-mortem report.” You deadpan, trying to ignore Spencer’s eyes on you.

“Were you aware that she was actually-“

“-alive? Yes, I was fully aware that she was alive. But she wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for Hotch’s quick thinking, and I fully back my decision to write the report.”

“Don’t interrupt me agent.”

“As I’m sure Spencer previously mentioned, I am actually a doctor, not an agent. As for the PM report, there is nothing you can do about it, I was fully backed by my previous bosses, and am fully protected from the consequences. So, if that’s all sir?” You don’t wait for him to answer as you stand from your seat.

Spencer quickly stands, placing a hand on your shoulder, you go to follow him, before pausing.

“Thank you, sir. It really has been a pleasure. I will be sure to review these tapes and see how people like me, can better conduct ourselves in the future.” You stand, allowing Spencer to guide you back out of the room.

The heavy door shutting behind you, cued you to release a sigh of relief. Perfectly times with Spencer who halted, turning to face you, silently studying you.

“I’m-“ Spencer goes to speak but is quickly interrupted.

“You’re out early, how did it go.” You awkwardly stare at the ground as you walk right past Hotch, and into the women’s restrooms.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it would go too well-“ Hotch says quietly looking at Spencer, as he grimaces, watching your figure walk away.

“What happened Reid?” Spencer shakes his head, still unable to work out what the Chairman had been talking about.

“He mentioned that people like her shouldn’t be in the Bureau. I’m not sure what he meant, but he really disrespected her. She said the tapes would be ‘interesting to a lawyer.’” Hotch nods simply, humming.

“He also mentioned that you dragged her into the Emily mess- It’s like the lies don’t end Hotch.”

“Reid, she did me a favour. We needed to keep Emily safe.” Spencer stays quiet as the words sink in.

“Reid, wait up on her. We will all be called back in again. See if you can find somewhere quiet. I have to run back to the BAU.” Spencer simply nods at Hotch’s orders. Watching as he walks away.

-

“Y/N please, you would understand him like nobody else.” Spencer stands over you, a pleading look on your face as you contemplate giving in to him.

“Spencer, I don’t even have the accent, it’s been-“

“-awhile. I know, but you grew up in Ireland. He knows us, we are profilers. You’re sincere and you couldn’t hide your emotions if you tried, he might understand the urgency of the situation from you.” You sigh, giving in. You had only known Spencer two weeks, but dang was he hard to say no to.

“Fine.” You roll your eyes, plucking the file from his grasp, opening it and scanning it in a matter of seconds.

“We need to find out where Declan is, who his mother is, any enemies of his.” You smile, nodding as you walk towards the door, behind which was an international criminal.

The door clicks, signalling its closure and grasping Doyle’s attention, his gaze set intensely on yours.

“I’m  Dr. Y/N L/N, but you can call me Y/N.” You offer him a polite smile. He looks exhausted, and even you could tell he was worried sick.

“I haven’t seen you before?” He speaks. He seems almost civil, if you hadn’t been holding the extensive list of crimes, he had committed you would thing he was just a regular human.

“I know you, well I knew you, a long time ago.” The male furrows his brows slightly at your words. You frantically try and build a rapport.

“Actually, I knew ‘of’ you.” Doyle unfurrows his brow, nodding in a silent realisation.

“You used to be the talk of every town in both Ireland, and Northern Ireland.” You whisper, remembering all the time the news had pegged an IRA bombing on him, on ‘Valhalla’.

“You’re Irish, I assume.” Doyle speaks up as you nod.

“Yeah, I grew up in Ireland. It was scary, I can’t imagine how scary it would have been if I was a wanted terrorist.” You sigh, taking a seat opposite to Doyle, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Doyle chuckles, leaning forwards.

“Ní hiad na gardaí a bhí eagla orm.” You sigh, nodding, he wanted to catch you out.

“Bhí naimhde agat?” You phrase it as more of a statement, it was an obvious answer. But you were seriously hoping he would elaborate.

You try to hold back a smug smile as Doyle’s eyes widen in shock at your words.

“Aye, that’s proof alright.” You say, chuckling lightly as a small smile settles on his face.

“Doyle, I know you’re aware of this, but we are trying to find Declan.” You pause, opening the file in his lap.

“He’s in a lot of danger, and I need to know if you know anyone who could have done this at all. We are running out of time.” Doyle nods.

“I had a lot of enemies, you said it yourself.” You smile sympathetically.

“Listen, what about his mother? Could it be her, an enemy; I think I have heard of something about McDermott’s in the past?” You watch as Doyle tenses up.

“Declan’s mother died in childbirth.” You watch his face, contort slightly as he says it.

“What was her name?” Doyle’s gaze flicks up towards you.

“Chloe Donaghey.” You pause, nodding your head slightly. You had heard that name recently, certainly after Declan was born. Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. It opens to reveal Spencer who ushers you out of the room.

You stand opposite the male, a sigh escaping your lips. You can feel his eyes on you, silently studying you.

“Chloe Donaghey, is not dead.” You blurt it out as the realisation overcomes you. You turn your gaze upwards to see Spencer’s lips parting.

“I remember it, a couple of years ago now, definitely after Declan was born.” Spencer’s brows furrow, as his gaze follows you. Slowly you make your way to a wall, sliding down it and sitting on the floor. Your hands find your head as you sit cross-legged.

“Uhm- The news one night, it said that a massive human trafficking ring had been caught, and that a suspect was Chloe Donaghey. She wouldn’t be a suspect if she were dead?” You practically whisper the last part to Reid, who was now crouched down in front of you, a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re right.” Spencer offers you a small smile. You both pause at the sound of the door opening and shutting, Emily walks through, making her way into the room with Doyle, offering you both a quick smile.

“Spencer, he’s just a kid, he doesn’t deserve any of this.” Your voice was now but a whisper, your words cracking as you try and hold yourself together.

Spencer sighs, sitting down on the floor opposite you.

“He doesn’t, but you just got us a lead, and that’s one lead closer to saving him.” You nod, as Spencer reassuringly pats your shoulder.

“We can do this.” You aren’t sure if Spencer’s trying to convince you, or himself, but he whispers the words none the less. For some reason, they don’t fail to give you hope.

-

The sound of a running tap fills your ears as you frantically move to splash cold water on your face. Attempting anything you can to calm you down, ground you.

You gratefully feel your cheeks cool at the contact of the cold water. You drag yourself upright, looking in the mirror. You hadn’t worn makeup, in fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you wore makeup. It had always stressed you out to wear it and so you would forgo it. But you weren’t sure if maybe that was unprofessional.

Walking out of the restroom you see Spencer perk up, offering you a smile as he walks towards you.

“We don’t have to be back for an hour or so, do you want food?” You nod frantically, trying to contain your excitement at the prospect of food, especially since you couldn’t remember the last time you had a decent meal.

As you trailed after Reid, you faltered slightly, he wasn’t mad-?

“Let’s go-“

The ride to the diner is mostly silent, both you and Spencer relishing in the fact that you had successfully managed to stand up for yourselves, but you couldn’t help the sense of achievement washing over into one of raw emotions.

You had worked so hard to get where you were today, despite all that was wired against you. Your whole life had revolved around defying someone’s expectations, anyone’s. But for once in your life, you realised that you would never have the chance to prove this guy wrong, even if the team did get reinstated, you would never see him again; never get to show him how truly worthy you are.

The wave of frustration washes over you as you lean your head up against the passenger window of the SUV, your gaze focused on the passing cars, and buildings you were still unfamiliar with.

It was becoming dark rather quickly, the earlier nights weren’t what you were used to, but you found them comforting. Streetlights were coming to life, shops lighting up their storefronts with a neon glow as the sky began to fade to an orange.

You were clearly driving somewhere populated, as the footpaths were getting denser with the footfall of pedestrians and people who were likely finishing up their regular nine-to-five jobs. They were mostly absorbed in their bright phone screens, it made you anxious, they should be paying attention, staying safe.

The chaos of the outside world, and your own world were meshing together all of a sudden and you couldn’t help but feel as if curling away in a dark room, shedding the doubts and stress of the earlier day would make your life so much more manageable.

But the thought was quickly ripped away from you as Spencer decides to pipe up, whilst slowing the car at a red light.

“I’m sorry, for all that mess.” Spencer sounds exasperated. You turn your gaze to face him. Her ran a hand through his curly hair, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose, shielding himself from the bright sun laying low in the sky.

You offer him a quick smile, praying he wouldn’t press matters any further.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.” You practically whisper the words and force yourself to hide your shock over the fact Spencer actually heard you.

“It’s just… I know what it’s like-“ You furrow your brows in confusion, watching as Spencer’s gaze fixates on you registering your expression. He turns back to the road, accelerating past the now-green traffic light before clarifying.

“-to be different, I mean.” He sounds anxious, and begins fidgeting, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel as you slowly exhale.

“Yeah, I guess. I spent my life trying to blend in, but people don’t see me, they see the piece of paper in their hands.” Spencer nods, looking as though he’s deep in thought.

“What does the paper say?” You swallow harshly at this. Spencer sounds almost pensive, as if he’s expecting something you can’t quite anticipate yourself.

“He read it out. I can’t carry… well not yet.” You quickly scramble to cover your tracks, not well, but as best as you could. Spencer could tell you were lying, that was his whole job.

“No… I… It’s just you seem, uhm, deflated. That’s all.” Spencer’s gaze turns to you, and you feel it soften as you move your hands away from your head, and to your lap. Carefully you weave and unravel your fingers, wringing out your hands as if they were a wet rag.

“It’s nothing Spencer, why would you feel like you have to know everything?!” You shock even yourself at your sharp turn. Begging yourself not to wince, you hang your head, your gaze on your lap. The familiar slowing of the SUV calms you as you realised Spencer was pulling into a carpark. You didn’t want to anger Spencer any more than you had likely already.

“Y/N-“ Spencer’s voice is shockingly soft as he reverses the car into a parking spot, and stalling it, turning off the ignition. You try to keep your gaze on your lap, focusing on your hands as you entwine them.

“Y/N?” His questioning tone makes you look up towards him as he offers you a small smile, his eyes full of something resembling concern. You weren’t a snippy person, in fact, you didn’t often have outbursts of anger or frustration. It felt foreign coming from your lips and Spencer knew that.

“I don’t have to know; you don’t have to tell me anything. I also arguably don’t know everything, but what I do know is that we are a team. We rely on each other, and we can’t help one another or function efficiently if we don’t.” Spencer pauses, as you gaze past him, unable to meet his gaze, but he decided to continue none-the-less.

“It’s also well-known information that repressing emotions, can decrease work ethic, and morale. I know you haven’t been with us long, but uhm, we are all very close. We want the best for one another, and that includes you.” Spencer faces forwards again in his seat, as you return your gaze to the window.

The diner sits across the parking lot, the neon lights searing your eyes. If you were being honest, you would have loved to tell Reid, but you couldn’t lose more people’s faith; not today.

“How about we takeaway and eat in the car?” You nod silently at that. Spencer had been expecting you to open up, but you hadn’t, and it made you feel guilty. He was right, he always was, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disclose any more of yourself than you already had today.

Spencer quickly asks you your order, you simply asking for large fries and a Diet Coke, knowing that you just needed something you were guaranteed to like. Spencer quickly stood from the SUV, locking the doors behind him as he walked towards the diner, disappearing inside.

Spencer returns clutching various take-away bags fairly quickly, which is surprising considering that it’s dinner time and the place should be packed. In fact, it was packed. Through the windows you could see the queue of people, making you suspicious.

“Spencer, how were you so quick?” You drag your eyes away from the diner and towards the male now manoeuvring his lanky limbs into the car. A small smirk settled on his face as he seated himself, handing you a takeaway bag.

“Spencer!” You rolled your eyes as you came to the realisation that he had flashed his badge, but all the male did was chortle, digging through the contents of his bag.

“We would have been late otherwise.” He sighs as he pulls a cone of fries out of the greasy paper bag, placing one in his mouth.

You grin, curiously scouring through the bag to find that Spencer had gotten you a burger alongside your fries. Opening your mouth to ask why, he beat you to it.

“I haven’t seen you eat in two days Y/N.” You shake your head in disagreement, but your gaze says otherwise. You pull the burger out of its box, taking a bite. God were you hungry.

The burger was fairly plain, decked out in lettuce and onions, a safe bet. But boy did it taste amazing, you relished in the taste of an actual warm meal, taking sips of your drink to pace yourself.

The SUV was filled with the smell of fast food as the pair of you practically absorbed the food in your laps. Both of you passively glancing at the time, to ensure you wouldn’t be late back to the academy. You had one final briefing with the team and the board of trustees, and then you would return to the BAU to hear the verdict of the trial.

“Spencer?” You whisper, your earlier thoughts spiralling slightly. Spencer’s gaze falls on you as you fiddle with your last few fries, no longer hungry.

“What happens if you all don’t get reinstated?” You fail to cover the anxiety in your voice as Spencer gathers up the various cardboard cartons from your lap, throwing them in a plastic bag.

“I’m not sure Y/N. I was suspended so I imagine I would be transferred or fired.” You nod slowly at Spencer who offers you a solemn grin.

“It’s just been a difficult few weeks. I can’t even begin to imagine how you, and everyone else must feel.” You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest, resting your head on them. You feel the engine of the car start up as Spencer pulls out of the parking lot, driving you back to the harsh reality of the BAU’s current state.

“I know, it’s not normally like this.” This makes you chuckle, obviously the reaction Spencer was seeking because he offers you a genuine smile.

“It’s just, I haven’t really got to know anyone. I arrived, and you all were chasing some IRA man and then I interviewed him and did paperwork, meanwhile you were all grieving a loss.” Spencer nods, solemnly.

“I’m really sorry about the breakroom Y/N, I was just stressed out and took it out on you.” You nod.

“It’s fine Spencer, I snapped at you earlier. We’re even.” You offer him you best smile, however the smile remains insufficient in its purpose, failing to conceal the wash of emotions behind it.

“The BAU survives Y/N, we always do.”

-

“This team took many unprecedented risks, none were approved.” The chairman’s gaze remains fixed on you for a moment, before trailing down the line of people. At the table both you and Spencer had sat at earlier, now sat the whole team. You sat closely beside Spencer on the end. Relishing in the reassuring glances he would give you every few minutes.

“The DIOG has rules, and you chose to ignore every last one.” You can’t help but feel your breath hitch in your throat, it wasn’t looking good.

“That’s a blatant disrespect to the Bureau, and to authority of law in general.” You watch as Spencer crosses his legs, leaning back in his seat. You couldn’t deal with the anticipation. Your hands found the hem of your skirt, fiddling with it in an attempt to distract yourself.

“What I find interesting is that you are the experts in behaviour but find nothing wrong with yours.”

You watch as Emily pipes up, speaking out to the uninterested panel in front of her.

“May I?” The bored Mr. Cramer, whose nametag you had studied, grimaces as Emily decides to continue.

“The journey was not traditional, but this team neutralised four international criminals and saved a young boy’s life in the process.” You offer a quick smile in Emily’s direction. You had a great respect for her, she had been forced to fake her own death only to return to save a young boy who she cared so greatly for. She didn’t have it easy.

“You started a war with Ian Doyle years ago, that this team, and the US Government had to finish. The rest of you are dismissed. Agent Prentiss, we are not done.” You stood, quicker than the rest, feeling the awkwardness of being the only one standing hitting you like a wave.

Spencer quickly came to your rescue however, standing up and guiding you out of the room as quickly as he could without causing distraction, the rest of the team following in your footsteps.

“Maybe Emily can talk some sense into him?” You can’t tell who you are trying to reassure, the rest of the team, or yourself.

“Y/N, I’ll drive you back to the BAU, everyone else can split up among the other two SUV’s.” Hotch’s voice rings out throughout the crowd, all of which, besides, you, are chatting among themselves.

The drive was only across the campus, no longer than five minutes but Hotch made good use of the time, quizzing you.

“I assume Mr. Cramer tried to use your situation against you?” You roll your eyes slightly at the memory.

“Yeah.” You certainly didn’t feel like talking about it, but you knew you were going to have to.

“Spencer didn’t understand.” This makes you perk up as you silently thank whatever higher power there was.

“I had hoped so, he didn’t explicitly mention it. He was definitely scared of a lawsuit.” Hotch turns to you, looking slightly surprised as he stops the car, getting out. You followed suit.

You both walk through the familiar doors of the BAU, greeting security.

“You threatened him with a lawsuit?!” Hotch sounds rather shocked as you laugh, calling the elevator.

“No, I just asked him if the meetings were being recorded, to which he moved swiftly onwards.” Hotch laughed at this, offering you a smile.

The elevator pinged, indicating your arrival on the sixth floor. Traipsing through the doors you watched as the rest of the team turned to greet you both.

You paid little attention to them however, making a break for the coffee machine in the breakroom, where you hurried along in making yourself a caffeine-loaded beverage.

You chugged the coffee as if it had the answer to life itself, quickly making yourself a second cup before noticing the team all filing into the round-table room behind Strauss. That’s when a small realisation played in your mind, the verdict was in.

You sighed, debating whether or not to follow them, your job wasn’t on the line and to be brutally honest you didn’t feel good. You didn’t want to be there when Strauss told them they were all being transferred, or that you had single-handedly ruined their chances at reinstatement. So, with that you headed towards the elevator, pressing the button to take you down to the basement.

You sighed, pulling your hair out of your face, and into a messy bun, as you entered through the front desk, making your way down to the morgue. You turned through the staff door and into the gallery, pausing slightly to see the cutting room exactly as you left it.

You made your way out the gallery and onto the cutting room floor, you paused. Your clothing was uncomfortable, but you always kept a change of clothes in your locker, sweatpants, and a hoodie. You silently thanked your past self for being so organised as you pushed through the glass doors, drawing the curtain, and quickly changing.

You relished in the silence, the only sounds being your Dr. Martens clicking against the linoleum as you trapsed back into the morgue, towards the countertops and your computer. Slumping down in a stool you opened a drawer to your left, pulling out the BAU’s medical files.

You had been working with Hotch to update them since the previous filed were outdated and samples hadn’t been logged correctly. So that was your task for the next few weeks.

The stack of files was certainly heavy, this team had been through a lot over the years. You quickly decided that you would go through them one by one, making a list of any questions or missing information that came to mind, in a Word document, as you reamed through them; in alphabetical order first up was SA. Penelope Garcia.

-

It was getting late, and your Word document was full of various questions and much to your dismay, various discrepancies which would need to be puzzled out by asking the team questions. You had just finished SSA. Emily Prentiss’ file, which was indeed very complex, especially considering she was legally dead according to it. But none the less you moved on alphabetically, picking up the file of SSA. Dr. Spencer Reid.

And boy, was it heavy reading. Spencer’s file was an enigma, wrapped in a mystery. The chaos of the file indicated that over his ten years working for the BAU he had been drug tested over 100 times, compared to his teammates who had been drug tested bi-annually, yet there was no outlined reason.

But just as you began typing you heard a knock on the gallery door, turning around you chuckled.

“Speak of the Devil, come in!” You beckoned Spencer in through the door, quickly scrambling to ensure that all confidential information was hidden from him.

“Speak of the devil?” You laughed.

“Yes, I was actually just going through your files, getting ready to update them.” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as you beckoned for him to take a seat.

“They are being updated?” You laughed as the male turned to you, his brows furrowed, his brown eyes wide.

“Your physical exams are due to be redone, and these files are an atrocious mess, I can’t even find your DNA samples so yes, they are being redone.” Spencer nods slightly, shuffling his chair closer to you as he spots his own file.

“I’ve never actually seen my file-“ Spencer trails off, as he studies the first page with all his personal information.

“If you want to read it you can.” You shuffle the file closer to him, watching as he quickly scans the pages, imprinting them into his brain.

“You stand up from your seat, collecting the remaining files in your hands, and walking towards a filing cabinet. Slowly you placed each file in its designated spot, leaving Spencer’s free.

You smiled as you turned around, watching Spencer study his file intently.

“These are terrible.” Spencer sounds surprised. You hum in acknowledgement at his observation. He was right, they were terrible, in fact, you were surprised the federal government could even have files to such a terrible standard.

“Do you want a coffee, Spencer?” You watch as the man turns to you, standing from his seat.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You smile, walking through to the small break room in the gallery, turning on the coffee maker and waiting for it to brew. Spencer sits on the small sofa, seemingly studying the FBI logo that played on the TV in front of him.

“So, Spencer, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” You knew why he was here; he had the verdict, you didn’t.

“You didn’t come to the meeting.” You sigh slightly, you felt guilty that you hadn’t been there to support them, but at the same time you still didn’t feel as though you were fully a part of the team.

“Yeah. I guess I thought that it wasn’t really fair that I intrude.” You smile slightly at Spencer, moving to pour both Spencer, and yourself a mug of coffee. You pass him the black coffee, passing him a couple packets of sugar and creamer. Sitting down next to him on the sofa.

“We got reinstated.” You pause your movements, looking up at Spencer, letting a smile creep onto your face. Spencer was preoccupied, almost taking to his cup of coffee and not you, as he fumbled with the sugar packets, snatching one of your own.

“That’s great, I’m so happy for you all.” Spencer nods, taking a sip from his horrendously sweet  coffee.

“Yeah, I got my gun and my badge back.” You roll your eyes, pulling your legs under you as you laugh.

“I see you have your priorities straight.” He nods, chuckling quietly to himself, his cheeks turning a slight shade of red.

Spencer was growing a fondness for you, even over the course of a single day. He had found that you were the easiest to relate to, and that you were incredibly smart. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad at you for helping to cover up Emily’s death.

He had also noticed that you were struggling to settle into Quantico, he had seen you so in-your-element in London that he couldn’t help but think that you had other things on your mind.

And you did, you certainly did.

-

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2) - (3)

GIF by mjlecaros-blog

[halfling-myth-lady]

Wip Wednesday and it’s obtk.

This is from the first scene but I’m on the last scene right now.this is what happens when I decide to be productive.

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

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NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face. 

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion.  The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction. 

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him. 

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well. 

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring. 

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you. 

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear. 

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint. 

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces@avengersheart@lunatic1012@keepingupwiththeskywalkers@mxltifxnd0m@syviiss@luckyzipperscissorsbat@avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil@n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

[kisscara]

can i req scara w a motherly s/o? like he gets a lil injured and s/o just babies him? i feel like that would be funny lmao

doctor, help me! [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ fluff, wanderer!scaramouche

a/n: keeping everyone safe from the angst.. for now. anyways thank u for requesting, anon :3 it's short and simple but i still hope u like it nonetheless ^__^

"kuni..." you cry out, "if you keep on doing this, i'm going to end up leaving you!"

scaramouche merely stares at you with a deadpan expression from across the dinner table. "(name), i pricked my finger on a stick." he furrows his brow and watches as you continue to dramatically throw a tantrum.

"it doesn't matter!" you continue to furiously dab a ball of cotton that's lightly wettened with alcohol against his fingertip. scaramouche draws out a tiring sigh, muttering, "sometimes, i wonder whether you're my lover or my doctor."

but he has to admit, he likes seeing you like this. distraught by his safety and running all over the place, looking for the first aid kit if he got something as simple as a paper cut. "your skin is so beautiful and your safety is my top priority, yet you get into these types of dangers on the daily!"

ah, there you go again. your endearing praise for him mixed with your tone of worry. what would he do without you? scaramouche doesn't reply this time, but it's more like he's struck with silence. with his lips slightly agape, he admires your face.

you're always telling him how pretty he looks, how soft his face is, how alluring his eyes are, but not once has he seen himself that way. scaramouche doesn't notice how a smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he sees you gnawing on your bottom lip in fixation, continuing to nurse his tiny wound.

you straighten your posture and put away the cotton ball. pressing a kiss to his finger, you gently blow on it afterwards. "there, all better. that must have been hell for you to go through!" you exclaim with a frown, tightly embracing him in your arms. scaramouche could only remain silent.

the next day, he'd gone to help the traveler with their commissions. of course, he had to go through the usual routine, with you clinging to his arm, whining his ear off to refrain from hurting himself too much. "oh, what a worrywart," he mumbles aloud, catching the attention of his traveling companion.

"is it about (name) again?" aether queries with a laugh. scaramouche gives him a side glance before loudly exhaling. "i just don't understand why they're so protective of me and my well-being. it's not like my body belongs to them, does it?"

paimon floats next to aether and while shaking her head, she says, "you're right, it doesn't belong to them. but they are your (s/o), correct?" aether looks back to scaramouche, who gazes towards sumeru's wide horizon and nods as a response.

"then it makes perfect sense! they're your (s/o) as much as you're theirs, so of course they'd want you to stay safe! right, traveler?" paimon carefully nudges aether against the shoulder and aether smiles, "do you understand now, wanderer?" scaramouche knits his brows together.

love is still such a foreign concept to him.

paimon claps her hands together for a few times, "here, i got a more simple way of explaining it! say, someone were to hurt them, physically or verbally, would you want that?" scaramouche instantly replies and faces the odd fairy while crossing his arms, "no, who do you think i am?"

paimon points out, "there it is! see, that's how (name) feels about you. with you... erm, getting into physical brawls everyday, they'd definitely feel concerned, don't you think?" scaramouche's pupils dilate in realization. is that how much you mean to him, for you to constantly baby him over the littlest things?

a pink tint arises on his face and he holds the brim of his hat, head turning the other way. "tsk, i wouldn't expect any less of them." scaramouche grows flustered when he realizes paimon giggling and aether attempting to hide his wide grin.

"(name)? i'm bac-"

scaramouche lets out a muffled noise of surprise when you rush to him, your arms immediately enveloping his torso. "i missed you..." you bury your face into his shoulder and scaramouche chuckles. "i missed you too, my dear." he tilts your chin upwards with his finger and you frown.

"did you hurt yourself?" you ask. this time, of all times, he doesn't fail to notice the way you tighten your grip on his clothes. scaramouche holds your hand against his face and sighs, "no. i tried my best not to." you beam, "really?" scaramouche kisses your fingertips one by one and he closes his eyes.

"thank you, (name), for loving and caring for me."

© kisscara

[ribbonsaikeaux]

Mirror Marionette

I play with my hair nervously, staring at the door in front of me. Shifting on my feet, I raise my hand to knock, but lose my nerve, anxiously starting to pace on the porch of the witchs' house.

"You can do this, Mandy. You can do this..." I whisper to myself, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

Once again, I raise my hand to knock, but I'm startled by the door opening before I can make contact. I look around, confused as I see no one at the door.

An amused giggle reaches my ears. "Down here silly!"

My eyes dart down and are met with the sight of a diminuitive doll. It smiled up at me, still giggling. The small thing was adorable, dressed in a pink maids' dress with deep purple frills; its tightly curled tresses perfectly framing its smiling face.

" Well don't just stand there! Come in, come in!" It said cheerily.

I nod, still dumb foundes. I had heard of these dolls, but I'd never seen one before. I take my tentative first step past the threshold, taking in the decor. It was much more plain than I had expected. Simple furniture, beige paint on the walls, white baseboards. It seemed a fairly normal house, save for the herd of dolls running around.

The doll closes the door behind me.

"Hi! This one is called Needle! Its a pleasure to meet you." It smiles, taking my hand. "Hurry now, hurry! Miss doesn't like to be kept waiting! She got tired of you lingering outside, pacing the porch so she sent this one to get you!"

"Oh, okay." I say as Needle drags me through the house. "My name's-"

"Mandy! Yes! Miss told this one before sending it to grab you!"

We arrive at,what I assume, is the study. I'm actually amazed at the size and elegance of this room. Its much larger on the inside than it would appear. A crystal chandelier hangs from above, casting rainbows theoughout the room. Lining the walls, theres shelves and shalves of books, reaching from the floor to the ceiling and wrapping all around the room. Sitting at an intricately carved onyx and ivory desk, sits the witch, her brow knittes in focus as she read from a weathered tome.

Her dress is beautiful. A shade of purple that matches the purple on Needles' dress, trimmed with black. There's black and purple ribbons tied around her hands and a matching witchs' hat sits on her head.

"Hi Miss! This one brought in Mandy like you asked!" Needle announced.

The witch blinks, shaking her head, seemingly pulling herself out of deep thought. She stands and smiles, walking over and patting Needles' head.

"Thank you little one. Youre such a good doll~ Run along now sweetie" she told the doll.

"Okay Miss! Thank you!" Needle said blushing, turning on her heels.

"Oh, Mandy! This one welcomes you!" It tittered before skipping away.

That was... odd, I thought to myself.

"Not all that odd, really. I assure you." The witch said.

My eyes widened in surprise. "Y-you can-"

"Hear your thoughts?" She interupts with a laugh. "Of course dear! Now come, have a seat." She says leading me over to a black leather loveseat, her hand on the small of my back.

"Now," she started "I know why youre here, and rest assured, I can grant your desire." Her eyes narrow and her voice takes on a serious tone. "However, if I do, there will be no going back."

I nod, fidgetting with my hands as my nervousness spikes.

"I-I understand um," my eyebrows knit in confusion. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

She smiles reassuringly, patting my knee. "Now dont worry your pretty little head about that. You can simply call me Miss, okay?"

I nod, a light blush gracing my cheeks. "Oh. O-okay... Miss"

"There you go. Now, how did you hear about me?" She asked.

"Well, I was friends with Erica and Kimberly-"

"Oh! That delightful girl from that party!" She smiles. "Fond memories. How are they doing these days?"

"Oh, um, they moved to London recently..." i say, my voice lowering.

Her eyes soft, becoming sympathetic. "Oh dear. You're not too happy about that are you?"

"No, Miss." I say shaking my head. "They were my only friends and now I'm all alone and have a mountain of debt I could never hope to pay back.

"I see." She says, nodding sagely. "So you need an escape? A place to call home? A family?"

"Yes Miss..." I respond, nodding slowly.

She smiles, clapping her hands once "Well now, my dear, that can be arranged!"

"R-really?" I ask, excitement edging into my voice.

She smiles reassuringly, taking my hand "Of course dear!" She answers, her eyes taking on a serious glint. "However, I must ask again. Are you sure? There's no going back and you will be irrivocably mine."

I take a moment to ponder, sub conciously squeezing her hand. It was nice and soft. Gods it felt so nice to be touched. It had been so long.

She smiles and returns the squeeze. "Well, it seems you've made up your mind, but I need you to say it."

I blush, sheepishly lowering my head. "I-I'm sure Miss..."

She smiles, gently tilting my head up. "There, there dear, no need to hide your face. My dolls never have to fear," she says, hugging me. "They are precious and protected."

I nearly start sobbing, tears streaming down my face as I cling to her. "Th-thank you so much Miss."

She smiles, resting a hand on my cheek. "Of course doll~ don't worry, you won't have to be burdened anymore."

She leans back, holding out both hands. Purple ethereal strings snake from her fingers and attach to my limbs and head. A cold, yet comforting, feeling spreads through my body. I look into her eyes for reassurance and she returns my gaze with an adoring smile.

"It's alright doll, this won't hurt." She says as I feel the chill spread.

Looking down, I stare in awe as liquid glass spread acroass my body; my own face staring back at me. It quickly spreads, fully engulfing me and seeping into my mind.

She smiles, giving the strings a small tug. I stand, no... This one stands, its fear and loneliness fading from its mind. It catches a glimpse of itself in the mirror behind Miss' desk. This one is... beautiful. It sees itself reflected back infinitely in its own face. It sheds a happy tear.

Miss smiles at this one, embracing it tightly.

"Welcome to the family doll~ You'll be call Sunny, to remind you that you will always shine." Miss gently places a kiss on this ones' head. "Come! Lets intoduce you to the others!" She says, a broad smile crossing her lips as she leads this one from the study.

"Everyone! I need your attention!" She shouts out, causing all the dolls to instantly stop what they were doing, all eyes turning to us.

"We have a new addition to our family! That one is called Sunny!" She smiles, rubbing its back. "I want you all to make it feel welcome, okay?"

A chorus of "awawas" and cheers rand out through the house, all of the dolls rushing over to hug this one; all chattering at once.

Tears of joy started streaming down this ones' face. Finally, it felt at home.

Miss whispered into this ones' ear "You'll never be alone again, my dear Sunny." She said with a smile, sofrtly kissing this ones' cheek.

[secretarysong]

so much Mayday stuff (& a smidgeon of Vinyl City worldbuilding) in my head. ooouugghh. wrote this at 12am last night and i'm not the best at articulating my thoughts so forgive me as this wooonnt be the most polished. this is likee a mini conglomeration of personal headcanons and a bit of analysis (reading too far into things) ... i just wanna talk about her REEEAALLL BAAADDDD

i've always thought of Mayday as someone so deeply intertwined with Vinyl City (specifically the working-class & lower-class areas; the 'little guys') that her dream of becoming a big famous rockstar also stems from a desire for agency/power. power to be able to do SOMETHING in the name of her communities after personally living through, like, 2 decades of neglect—condemned by NSR to live in the shadow of the more tourist-oriented/commercial/profitable parts of the city—even if it means rising to charterhood under the same stupid record label that's the source of all her problems in the first place ...

i also like to believe this, in tandem with her rumbustious nature, is why Mayday IMMEDIATELY switches to aggression (dare i call it a TV meltdown...?) following her & Zuke's flames being so harshly snuffed out during the Lights Up Audition.

Mayday was probably warned beforehand by the adults around her about the EDM bias. i think she ignored/dismissed every warning/dissuasion because she believed in herself and her ability and her principles too unshakably for her own good. and then for the judges (particularly Tatiana) to unanimously strike her dream down like that, thus proving their warnings right & her hard work (and ignorance) in vain... FURY!!!! (Mayday is NOT the best at taking losses with grace)

and then the banning of Rock from the Lights Up Audition happens. and then the subsequent blackout and diversion of energy happens. and seeing the extent of what happens across the city with her own eyes from atop the ledge (after being limited to her own ground-level experiences on the outside, looking inward) is what finally tips her over the edge and into the vat of a full-blown revolution.

semi-related, but i also view Mayday's hatred towards EDM as. like. a general prejudice. it goes a bit deeper than just Not liking the sound/style; she associates it with NSR, and therefore links it with everything wrong with Vinyl City. rock music, a dying art in the era being upheld by her tightly-knit community, untouched by NSR, to her is authenticity.

she also loathes the "Order leads to progress in Vinyl City." slogan because, to her, order means complacency... and complacency has done shit all for anyone she knows. ("If chaos is what is needed to get things done around here, so be it!")

i know i'm kind of bouncing back to the second paragraph but. like. there's just something so dear to me about the idea of a Mayday whose a roving city girl from off the streets... armed with her guitar, her passion, and her support system, doing everything she can to prevent rock—her home—from becoming irrelevant. always chasing a fantasy about being something bigger than herself. even if the odds are stacked against her. even if Mayday's own impetuosity is a double-edged sword that impedes her just as much as it enables her.

to me she's. like. a melting pot of ambition and stubbornness and righteousness and naievite. Mayday girl i love you SOOOOOO SOOOOOOOOO MUCH ideally i would put this all into a legitimate form of writing like a backstory fic or something but gah i don't even know where to START

[erathene]

Instinct (Part 1)

Summary: Elrond is restless, and cannot shake the unease that plagues his mind. Suddenly, his gift of foresight shows him a vision of his adopted son Estel in trouble. It will take all of his fatherly instincts to patiently wait for news of Estel's wellbeing, having sent Elladan and Elrohir straight into the face of danger.

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: Elrond & Estel, Elrond & Elladan and Elrohir.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, symptoms of a panic attack are mentioned but it is not specifically named as such. Plenty of canon-typical violence, including graphic descriptions of blood & injury.

AO3 Link: Instinct

Author's note: This was an unfinished fic I've had in my WIPs for a while and I've been desperately wanting to do something with it, but I was struggling to decide which direction to take it in. I then saw @elrondweek was happening with the prompts "Family and Love", and I decided that with a little bit of re-working and a few new paragraphs, this fic would be perfect for the prompt. There will be a part 2 in due course! Enjoy 😘

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Elrond Peredhel stood at the balcony of his study, surveying the landscape below. From this height, his perfect eyesight could see the entire sanctuary of Imladris, of which he was its lord. Gentle silver moonlight fell upon the cascading waterfalls, and the subtle scent of night-blooming flowers drifted from the luscious gardens. The elf lord could also hear the distant sounds of his kin gathered in the Hall of Fire, their voices blending with beautiful melodies against the backdrop of the murmuring River Bruinen. Peace reigned over the last homely house east of the sea, just as it had for the past millennia.

However, Elrond did not feel at peace this night.

The elf lord's eyes scanned the valley, his brows almost knitted together as he searched both the physical world and his subconscious for the source of the unease which tugged at his thoughts. Something was wrong, that much he knew. The feeling of foreboding was completely at odds with his surroundings; it made him grip the carved wooden balustrade of the balcony so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and his heart thundered in his chest as he strained his ears for any sounds that were misplaced.

Elrond sighed softly, letting go of the balcony railing and turning back into his study. The unease was gnawing at him, and it seemed to grow deeper the more he sought its origin. He usually found solace within the walls of this room; the shelves were adorned with his collections of ancient tomes and scrolls, and plush furnishings made the room feel cosy and comfortable. Yet the lack of tranquillity the room offered him tonight was disturbing.

He paused for a moment in front of a painted portrait of his family, commissioned several centuries ago. The smiling faces of his children stared back at him; his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, tall and broad-shouldered, accomplished warriors in their own rights, as well as his daughter Arwen, seated before her father and brothers with beauty more exquisite than any precious gem. Elrond extended a hand and touched the edges of the framed portrait. He remembered the exact moment the painting had been revealed, how overjoyed he was to see all of his children together. Yet a small part of his heart had shattered when he was reminded at who was missing from the illustration; the light and love of his life, Celebrían.

Elrond sighed again. He did not wish to dwell on the feelings that arose when contemplating Celebrían's choice to sail west. He did not wish to be reminded of how he had utterly failed to protect his wife, or of his inability to provide the respite her soul had so desperately needed. Seeing her ship depart had almost torn his heart in two, yet he knew it was for the best. He had to let her go. The knowledge that her love for him would endure any test of time held his resolve to support his children, and the irrefutable truth that one day they would be reunited in Valinor gave him the strength to endure.

Resigning to the fact that his mind would not be stilled here, Elrond opted to leave his study in pursuit of some calming herbal tea from the kitchens. The door to the study softly closed behind him. As he rounded the top of the staircase to descend to the living quarters, his mind fell upon the other person also missing from the portrait; his human son, Estel. The young man whom he had adopted into his home as an infant was not here, having left Imladris just over a week ago to rejoin his comrades in the north. It had been delightful having him back, even if only for a short period of downtime. Elrond deeply understood that since becoming chieftain of the Dúnedain rangers, leisure time had become difficult to come by for Estel, and his forthcoming destiny to become a king amongst men would mean that his ability to do as he pleased would diminish even further than it already had. Elrond exhaled as his hand lightly touched the oak banister. It couldn't be helped. Estel was an heir, and this was his fate.

He had better make his herbal tea extra strong if he was going to have any chance of alleviating his uneasiness.

Elrond's supple leather boots lightly padded the stairs as he descended. It was here, still six feet from the bottom, that he was suddenly and violently overcome by a vision of foresight.

He found himself in the heart of a once-thriving village, now engulfed in chaos. The night air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning buildings slowly spreading through the settlement. Every street was now a battleground; clashes of steel and anguished screams of those fighting for their lives.

Aragorn was in the heart of the chaos. His sword glinted repeatedly in the light of the fires as he swung, parried, dodged and kicked orc after orc. Black blood coated his tunic and ranger's travelling cloak, the liquid catching the moonlight as his chest rose and fell with the exertion of battle. The waves of beasts seemed unending, for as soon as he cut one down, another would take its place.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Nearby, several villagers were equally engaged with the foul beasts. They were putting up a brave fight, but their only means of defending themselves were farming scythes and pitchforks. Aragorn saw to his horror that the group were quickly becoming overwhelmed. He launched a war cry, decapitating the nearest orc and slashing his way towards the group without hesitation.

Before he could get to the group, however, movement from above caught the ranger's attention. A handful of orcs had scaled one of the unburnt buildings, and they were holding bows. "Archers!" Aragorn blared over the ruckus to the group of locals. "Take cover! Now!" The orcs began to nock, draw and release. A wave of tipped projectiles raced in their direction. Several hit their mark, embedding into the flesh of those who had heard Aragorn's warning too late. One arrow found the stomach of the villager closest to ranger, sending him to the ground. Aragorn's first instinct was to race over to help the fallen man, but before he could act, an arrow pierced his own shoulder.

The ranger staggered, pain threatening to overwhelm him. Yet he resolved to continue to fight; there were innocents in this village who needed his protection. He glanced down at the protruding fletching and ripped it from his flesh before he could overthink what it would do to his senses. He let out a roar of pain. The arrowhead had buried itself deep near his collarbone, and blood began to pour from the open wound. He idly wondered how best to pack the wound and stem his bleeding in the midst of this battle.

Distracted, he failed to notice a particularly large orc barrelling towards him. The monster collided with the man, sending his form crashing to earth and his sword flying. Aragorn's ribs screamed under the weight of the filthy orc, and panic started to rise as the creature's hands wrapped themselves around his neck. Darkness began to form at the edges of his vision as he struggled to reach for his weapon…

Elrond's reality came flooding back to him then, and far too late he realised he was pitching forwards, the staircase he had been gracefully traversing now rushing up to meet him. He landed hard, the edges of the wooden plinths colliding with his side. He lost all control as he rolled down the remaining steps, tangled in his own flowing robes and the normally elegant braids askew in his hair. Finally, he came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, his entire form shaking from shock and fear.

Two of the household staff heard the commotion and rushed forwards to their lord's aid. Elrond gripped the forearm of the elleth who was nearest to him, his voice weak and breathless over the sporadic shudders that coursed his body.

"Find Elladan and Elrohir. Find my sons."