#until the plot catches up to him and he finds out there are weapons in the mushroom kingdom LOL

[the-toybox-general]

As I'm revamping my old weapon ocs; Drillin might get a few reworks / rewrites but I still enjoy the concept of post-game him ending up stranded in the mushroom kingdom and getting dragged into a gardening club

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Desire, I'm Hungry

Summary: You and Steve happen upon a strange flower and suddenly find yourselves separated from your friends in the Upside Down. An unrelenting desire overtakes the both of you, taking your friendship past the point of no return.

CW: Porn with plot. Sex pollen (so this could be considered forced intimacy). Underlying idiots in love. Mutual pining. AFAB Reader. Steve's canon S4 injuries. Steve's a little mean. Fluff ending. Biting. Blood. Fingering. Makeshift gag. Unprotected P in V. Reader has a vagina. Small breeding kink (it is Steve, after all). Creampie.

This one would not leave my brain until I got it out! Enjoy!

WC: 10.4K

In all the years you had come to know Steve Harrington it had its ups and downs. Being his best friend came with firsthand experience with all things Upside Down that ultimately led you into some pretty precarious situations.

Demogorgans, demo-dogs, Russians and a monster composed solely of melted people were the least of your worries because HE had always been there.

Until this very moment you saw him as untouchable. An invincible protector, the one person who came when you needed to be saved, not the person who needed saving.

He'd reached for your hand in desperation as he disappeared under Lover's Lake. The tips of his fingers slipped through yours, leaving you grasping and screaming out in panic and shock.

“Steve! No, no, no, no!” You scrambled next to Robin, pulling off your jacket about to jump in when she suddenly caught your wrist.

“Hey Y/N! No! You can't just jump in there!” She yelled. Before you could get a word of protest out, you heard Eddie yell behind you.

“Woah, Wheeler you're not going in there, are you?”

“Just wait here.” She replied, briefly cutting her eyes to you before the sound of splashing water drew your attention.

“Holy shit,” Robin breathed out, clutching a hand over her mouth.

“Robin, we can't stay here. Not with both of them down there! Let's go!” Reaching out to her, as you turned back to look at the metalhead. “Eddie?”

“What? No. You can't go. What the fuck man!” He wailed. “She said wait.”

“Yeah, we heard her.” Robin finally nodded, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you both leapt from the boat.

-

You'd never been a strong swimmer, even with all the summers spent by the Harrington's pool. Much more interested in getting some sun instead of swimming laps.

Only now you were regretting never listening to the boy when he tried to give you those life preserving pointers, as you swam to the pulsating gate beneath Lover's Lake. Your lungs were on fire by the time you made it to the opening, Robin extending her hand to help you through.

Eddie surprisingly followed a moment after, while you were still trying to catch your breath.

Suddenly, ear splitting screeching noises and Nancy's voice pulled your focus in time to see Satan’s own flying hell spawn attacking Steve on the ground, as she attempted to fight them off.

“Oh my God! We have to help them!” You shouted, taking off in a sprint toward your friends, Eddie and Robin hot on your heels. All regard for your own safety was quickly forgotten.

A weapon was the furthest thing from your mind but as you drew closer, you realized just how dire the situation appeared.

Steve was being strangled by one of the creatures, with its tail wrapped around his neck and another making a meal of him. Nancy had successfully pried one off and was in the midst of fighting it back.

“Steve! Just hang on!” You shouted, stomping a foot down directly on this thing's back as it shrieked out in pain releasing its jaw from his side, immediately turning its attention toward you.

“Oh fuck.” You hissed, as it leapt up taking flight. You turned to run but Robin was right there with an oar.

You ducked as she bashed into this thing, splintering the wood as it fell to the ground. Rushing over you began to stomp on it repeatedly until it stopped moving.

You all turned in time to see Steve holding this creature by the tail and whip it around hitting the ground until it lost consciousness. Stepping on it with his bare foot and pulling until he ripped it apart with his bare hands.

“Fuck,” you huffed, stunned. He was bloodied and bruised, as he spit blood from his mouth, but he was alive.

Robin leaned over slightly, whispering low enough for only you to hear.

“Might want to pick your jaw up off the floor.”

You shut your mouth and shot her a sideways glance, as she snickered.

The joy of a victory was short lived as you rushed over to Steve’s side.

‘Steve, are you okay?” Suddenly hurdling yourself into his chest with a thud as he grunted out, throwing your arms around his neck as he wound his around your back, holding a little too tightly and maybe a few seconds too long before letting go to give you a proper answer.

“Well,” Looking down at his torso, when you stepped back. “They took about a pound of flesh. But, other than that, yeah, never better.”

Robin began ranting about rabies, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Steve as your own set of worries began to seep in. Completely lost on the conversation around you until you heard Nancy yell.

“The woods. Come on!”

“Y/N, c’mon!” Steve frantically tugged at your arm before you all made a run for cover.

You were huddled under skull rock pressed in like sardines, waiting with bated breath until the bats finally dispersed.

Everyone grumbled, and voiced concerns as you stood. Steve took a few uneasy steps before he fell against the rocky surface opposite of you.

“Oh shit,” coming out on a shaky exhale, as he tried to upright himself.

“Steve?” Your head whipped around as you stepped into his space, reaching out to help steady him.

“I'm fine. I'm fine.” He huffed out, still a little dazed.

“No, no you're not. You're bleeding. Sit down.” Worrying over him.

He slid down, as you knelt in front of him, guiding his wrist to take his hand away from his oozing wound. Nancy began to tear the bottom of her shirt, quickly handing you the fabric.

Robin started rambling about rabies again before you glared at her.

“Rob, not helping!” You hissed before she mumbled an apology and backed away from the two of you.

“You ready?” Asking him as he looked down at you, poised with his makeshift bandage.

“Yeah, just do it.” He pinched his eyes closed, bracing himself, wincing once you pulled it taut against his abdomen and began wrapping.

“Too tight?” Chancing a glance up at him but he was already staring down at you, with a scowl plastered across his features.

“Why the hell are you down here?” He suddenly blurted out.

“What the hell do you mean? We all jumped in for you.” His question genuinely bewildered you, eyes drifting back down, concentrating on the task at hand. Wouldn't he do the same for any of you?

“You should have stayed in the boat. Like I told you to.” He chides.

You work to finish covering his wounds, ignoring the sting of his words. Scolding you as if you were a petulant child who didn't listen to their father.

“A thank you would be nice.” Mumbling out as he winced when you tightened it to begin tying it off.

“A thank you?” Scoffing down at you. “Well instead of me dying, now we all might die. Don't you get that? Jesus, Y/N you don't lis— Fuck!” He hissed out.

You made sure to pull the last knot even tighter, effectively cutting off the rest of his little tirade.

“Oops.” You smirked, finally standing and stepping away from him.

You were drenched and cold, suddenly all too aware of your grim situation. You sure as hell didn't need a lecture from him right now after saving his ass.

“Fuck off Steve! We were all trying to save you!” You shouted, leaving the rest of the crew to stare around awkwardly, shifting gazes amongst each other.

“I didn't need to be saved! You should have stayed on the fucking boat!” He yelled back.

“Hey, guys,” Nancy cleared her throat, trying to break the tension between the two of you before it got any worse.

“What?!” Shouting in unison, turning your heads to look over at her.

“Maybe we should get going, yeah? And uh… stay a little quieter?” Her eyes drifted to the treetops overhead, scanning a moment.

You'd both been so fixated on the other, the horrors of the upside down had slipped your minds. She was right, you were trying to avoid attention, not bring it directly on top of you.

“Let's all just calm down and get through this together.” She hummed, satisfied with your nods of agreement taking off ahead of you once more as Robin followed.

Eddie's wide eyes met yours and then Steve's.

“Right, I should, uh…” he said, thumb pointed in their direction. “But uh, here.” Shrugging his vest off before forcefully tossing it toward Steve's chest.

“For your modesty dude.” Smirking before he darted away to follow after the girls.

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, voice coming out quieter this time but still laced with annoyance.

“C’mon. Just stay close and don't wander off.” Before taking a few steps to catch up to Eddie.

“Don't wander off.” Mocking under your breath, staying a few paces behind, not wanting to be near your ungrateful so-called best friend.

The forest got darker the further you went. It felt like eyes were on you the entire time. You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling chilled and uneasy, closing the gap between yourself and the boys.

You were close enough now to catch bits and pieces of their hushed conversation, more Eddie talking than not. You knew Steve well enough that he was still brooding about the entire situation. He didn't hate you, quite the opposite. His harsh tone only masks his own worries and fears.

You caught him more than once glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were never too far away.

“Dustin… said I was badass?”

“Oh yeah. Shit. Kid WORSHIPS you, man. Like, you got no idea. It's rather annoying to be honest.”

You smirked at that. Dustin never told Steve anything like that, coming off as an annoying little brother all the time.

“Those ladies jumped in after you and I was too damn ashamed to be the one who stayed behind. Wheeler there, she didn’t waste a second. I mean not a split second. She just dove right in. I don’t know what happened between you two, but… I’d get her back, man. Whatever it takes. ‘Cause that… that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

Steve stops at Eddie's spiel, looking over his shoulder once more, as you roll your eyes. Of course it was always about Nancy. The one that got away. Not like you tried to dive in first, right? Eddie was too freaked out to notice back there.

Before Steve had the chance to respond the ground began to shake once more, as everyone tried to hang on. You lost your footing, tripping over a stump and thankfully not landing on one of those damn vines, losing sight of everyone behind an overgrown thatch of bushes.

The rumbling slowed to a dull roar just as something caught your eye in a small clearing up ahead, emanating a small bluish-purple glow through the trees ahead. It was faint but while everything in the Upside Down was muted and dull it stuck out like a sore thumb.

As if it was pulling you in, you stumbled forward, quickly righting yourself and heading toward it. It was pulsing slightly; a steady, slow rhythm like a heartbeat.

You stopped at the center of the clearing, as you stepped closer, you realized it was a flower or at least flower shaped. Something akin to a Dahlia back home but it was a glowing azure color, petals almost transparent.

There were a few unopened buds that were also pulsing. The closed pods thumped, not taking notice of the way the pulses quickened as you stepped closer.

Your mind was clouded as you watched them. Beauty in a barren landscape, so mesmerizing you didn't hear Steve calling out for you.

As if on autopilot, your hand began to drift toward it as he jogged up beside you.

“Hey, did you not hear me calling for you? What're y—” He trailed off, feeling helpless watching your fingertips graze the pod as he tried to yank you back, but it was too late.

You were both too close when the thing practically exploded open, releasing a cloud of pearlescent powder into the space between you.

The dust landed on everything in a five-foot radius, as it invaded your lungs causing you both to choke on what you could only think of as its pollen. He grabbed the back of your shirt, dragging you away.

“What the hell was that?” He asked in between coughs and a few sneezes.

“I don't…” before you could properly form a response, screeching could be heard from overhead once more.

“Shit!” He hissed, before shouting back to the others to run for it. The hive mind. Everything was connected down here, it only made sense the flowers were too. The flying bats were back.

You and Steve took off the opposite way that you entered the clearing, dodging vines and low hanging branches in the process. He was trying to slow down so you could keep up.

“C’mon y/n. I think I see a building up ahead!” He shouted.

It was a dilapidated looking cabin, but it would have to do, as he took the steps two at a time reaching the porch with you right behind him.

He barreled through the door, thankful it wasn't locked as you rushed past him, slamming it shut in time to see some of the creatures flying low, unsure if they'd spotted you.

His hands quickly moved to the deadbolt, looking around the small space grabbing a chair, wedging it under the door handle.

You both stood there a moment facing the door, trying to catch your breath as a loud thump echoed overhead as it landed on the roof. It let out an ear-piercing screech that had you covering your ears. Steve hovered his finger over his lips as a shushing motion as a few more thuds and mirrored screeches followed.

He was trying to think, shining the flashlight this way and that, finding an open door near the edge of the kitchen, spotting a set of stairs that were leading down.

He quietly shuffled over to it, shining his beam ahead. It looked like it led to a small basement or at least a root cellar, as he nodded for you to follow as he began his descent.

You sighed, but reluctantly walked over as quietly as possible and trailed behind him, closing the door softly behind you. There was no lock, but it did latch shut.

It was dark, the only light emanating from his flashlight, as he shined it back to the stairs for you to climb down.

“I think we'll be safer down here.” He whispered. “There's a cot over there.” Pointing to the corner.

It was a small room. No other outlet, looking more like a bunker than a cellar. Shelves lined the wall with food and various supplies. At least you were covered if you had to stay a while but hoped it wouldn't come to that.

“Steve,” You began but he immediately cut you off holding his hand up.

“If you hadn't gotten distracted, we wouldn't be in this situation.” His voice is a little louder, but still barely above a whisper.

“It's not my fault Steve, I saw something glowing, like it was pulling me in. You didn't have to fucking follow me!” You knew he was right, but you were feeling attacked.

“Yeah, I did. I'm not leaving anyone behind in this fucking place. Even if you can't follow simple directions.” He huffs, throwing a hand to his hip as he surveyed the room. “Not enough you get us separated, but you have to go and touch that weird ass flower. God knows what the hell that shits going to do to us.”

He was venting more than yelling toward you at this point, frustrated with the entire situation.

“You knew you weren't supposed to touch shit… that hive mind…”

“Steve.”

He continued to mumble over in the corner, with his back turned, throwing his hands around in dramatic fashion.

“But no! You touch it and now we're contaminated…”

“Steve!” Hissing out more forcefully, finally knocking him from his train of thought and little rant.

“What?!” He spun around, throwing the beam from his flashlight directly in your face. “What Y/N?”

You threw a hand up shielding your eyes with a grimace before he quickly lowered it, mumbling an apology.

“Can you just stop pacing? It's not helping anything. You're just giving me a headache.” You grumbled, sitting down on the cot. It slightly squeaked under your newly added weight, as your elbows landed on your knees, bringing your hands to cover your face with a groan.

“You're giving me a headache…” he mumbled slightly under his breath, but you still caught it. He found a small chair in the opposite corner, plopping down with a sigh.

After about ten minutes of total silence, you laid back on the cot, unwilling to give him any more attention. Though he continued to mutter under his breath occasionally, you ignored him.

“Hey,” he finally spoke up. “I'm going to give it a few more minutes and see if they're still on the roof. Maybe we can make a break for Nance’s place and regroup.”

“Yeah, fine.” Huffing a reply with an eye roll.

It was then you noticed a strange tingling on the skin around your neck, kind of like a cold chill. Shaking your head as you sit up, to rub the back of your neck.

“You ok?” He asked, watching intently.

“Fine. Just… a chill.” You shrugged, as he nodded.

Another drawn out silence before either of you attempt to speak.

“Hey, are you… do you feel itchy?” He asked, scratching his exposed shoulder.

“Um, well now that you mention it, yeah. This spot on my neck is itchy.” Your hand absentmindedly reached up, scratching at it again.

“It's that damn flower. I knew it!” He exclaimed, standing up. “Look, we need to see if we can get out of here.”

You watched him carefully retreat up the stairs, his footsteps creaking across the floorboards above your head, stopping for a few moments before making their way back over to the door as he came back into view.

“Ok, looks like we might be here for a while. They're still moving around up there, and when I looked out the window there's a few in the surrounding trees.” He slid back down into the chair, spreading out as much as he could to make himself comfortable.

“Fuck, isn't that just great?” You huffed out, taking your turn to pace the small room. Was it getting hot in here? A bead of sweat rolled down your back. When did it get so muggy?

“Just calm down, we'll get out of here. Okay?” He sounded so sure of himself; you almost believed him.

You sat back down, stretching your legs out onto the cot and finally laying back. The situation was looking bleak, your own mind filling with anxious stress. At least Steve’s here. You don’t have to die alone.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, wiping his brow several times before finally rolling your head toward his direction.

The vest Eddie gave him hung open, revealing his chest, the thick smattering of hair slick and matted down. Was he sweating too? His toned chest moving up and down, a steady rhythm with each breath he took. His head was leaned back on the wall behind him, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You pulled your lip between your teeth, before letting go as he picked his head up looking at you as if he could feel your eyes on him. You didn't look away, holding his gaze.

“Steve?” You finally asked.

“Yeah?” His eyes shift away from your face, trailing down your body before looking back up as his tongue darted out wetting his parched lips.

“Is it hot in here?” Sitting up, fanning yourself. “I feel like I'm burning up.”

“Yeah… yeah, no. I thought it was just me.” Letting out a sigh. “It could be the close quarters, but I don't think we should go upstairs yet.”

“No, yeah. You're right.” You laid back down, eyes to the ceiling. You could ignore the heat if it meant survival for at least a bit longer.

He turned the light off a little while later, trying to conserve what little battery life it had left.

At some point you drifted off to sleep because you were roused by him touching your arm. It felt like ice touching your flushed skin as you sat straight up trying to catch your bearings.

“Hey! Woah, it's just me.” He soothed, as you flinched away from his unusual cold touch. He pulled his hands back, giving you some space. “I wanted to check on you. I don't think it's hot down here. I think it's us.”

You felt dizzy sitting all the way up, throwing the back of your hand to your forehead. You were on fire. Your nearly dry clothes were sticking to the dampness of your flushed skin, making you cringe. There was also an overwhelming feeling of an unquenchable thirst in the back of your throat.

“Fuck, Steve. I really did it this time.” You folded over yourself, head in your hands, groaning at the way you almost felt drunk or drugged, wondering if he felt as bad as you did.

“No, hey. Look, I'm sorry about earlier. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I’m the reason we’re in this situation.” You moved your head to look up at him, willing your bleary eyes to focus. A thin sheen of sweat covered his exposed skin, hair sticking against his forehead. His eyes are what caught your attention the most.

His usual golden flaked, honey hued irises were a mere fraction of a ring around a black abyss. This pollen was affecting him the same, he just had a better poker face but he couldn't control the truth his eyes showed you.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, as you sat there unblinking.

“Yeah, I…” Shaking your head to look away. “Yeah, no. I don't fucking know right now.”

He shuffled over to one of the shelves looking for some water or anything to help alleviate your symptoms. Pausing for a moment, wondering if anything could be trusted from the Upside Down but there wasn't anything of value he could find in any case.

“Fuck!” He hissed, turning back around.

“Steve, it's ok.” You croaked out. “Just sit down.” You patted the small space beside you on the cot as you scooted over. He hung his head and skirted back over, sitting down carefully trying not to touch you.

_

He didn't want to tell you that while you were sleeping this overwhelming urge started to come over him. An ache low in his belly, and groin. It started out dull but began to grow, radiating through him as a spiked sense of arousal began thrumming through his veins.

Shame began to wash over him. How could he be so turned on at a time like this? A few more minutes passed when he was hit with the most intoxicating scent. It was faint at first. When he took in another heavy exhale it invaded his nostrils and filled his lungs.

He didn't understand where it was coming from, but he felt light, almost high, as he continued to breathe in and out, letting it wash over him. He could only describe it as a familiar, yet exotic thing, wrapping him up in a warm hug. It was almost irresistible, in the way a bakery or candy shop lures you in with promises that, yes it tastes just as good as it smells.

He turned the light back on, shining it toward your still sleeping form, shifting his hooded and heavy eyes over you stretched out on the small cot. There wasn't much skin showing, aside from your exposed arms but then you turned toward him as your shirt rose up slightly, exposing a sliver along your hip that suddenly had him drooling.

He felt his cock stir in his pants, with an ache that was suddenly all consuming. He hadn't realized when he'd gotten up, but he was suddenly standing over you, reaching out, fingertips grazing your arm.

You stirred slightly, as he watched your lips part with a soft breath settling back down.

He placed his palm to your arm, fingers wrapping around your soft, pliable flesh and an instant feeling of relief flooded his senses but then you'd woken, startling him out of this sudden trance.

-

You stretched and yawned beside him, shedding the last bits of slumber from your small nap. You couldn't have been out long, but you were so tired and thirsty.

Had he been awake the whole time? A sudden pang of guilt overtook you at the thought.

“If you need a nap, I'll move so you can take the cot.” Saying as you slowly stood, stiff on unsure legs, as you swayed just a bit plopping back down, your arm brushing his. It was brief but the feeling was cool against the searing heat radiating from you.

“Woah, just take it easy, yeah?” He turned toward you, hands at the ready but just hovering. He didn't trust himself right now.

“How… how are you so cold? Your skin, I mean? I thought you were hot too?”

“I am, look at me. I'm fucking sweating.” He gestured toward himself, a thin sheen of sweat still covering his face and body.

“Can I…” You couldn't get the question out before your hand was already reaching up, suddenly gripping his wrist.

Your brain is flooded with endorphins. A dopamine hit that had you suddenly searching for more. Your eyes closed at the contact, missing the way Steve’s mouth parted slightly releasing a shuddered breath.

As if you had no control of your body, your other hand moved up, planting itself firmly on Steve's chest, eliciting a small whimper from him that made your eyes shoot back open.

“Do you feel that?” You asked, watching his eyes flutter closed. All he could do was nod, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

You moved his wrist up, as he opened his hand, already anticipating what you were thinking, as you placed his palm to your chest.

“Oh my God,” it slipped out, almost a moan more than words. His hand immediately soothing the patch of exposed skin that had your eyelids lazily closing once more.

“It feels so good, Steve.” You breathed out.

Your words were doing nothing to quell his ever-growing arousal. He took in a heavy breath and there it was. That overpowering aroma was suddenly surrounding him once more, too heavy to ignore.

It was you.

When you opened your heavy-lidded eyes, the pupils were blown wide, full of lust and desire. Your lips parted slightly, releasing a small exhale you had been holding. All he wanted to do was lean in and press his lips to yours, letting his tongue explore and taste all that you had to offer.

“No.” He hissed out, jumping up and stumbling back, putting a little space between the two of you.

“What? What's wrong?” You asked, mourning the loss of his contact.

“This. This isn't… Jesus!” He whispered out, trying to maintain his composure. “Can't you see what's happening? It's the goddamn flower, that powder. It's making us… whatever this is.” Gesturing between the two of you.

Of course he had an attraction to you. He'd been harboring, what he thought, were unrequited feelings for the better part of two years.

“Yeah, I know, but it feels so good when you touch me, Steve.” Your voice was dripping with seduction, even if you hadn't meant it that way. Your head was getting all fuzzy again, swaying a little.

“Goddamnit, we need to get out of here.” He hissed, wiping his forehead. “I'm checking upstairs again.”

You watched him go, leaning back on the small cot once more.

Aside from the dizziness, there was something stirring just under your skin. An itch you couldn't quite scratch, a buzz or a hum starting at the base of your neck, traveling down your spine sending a sudden spark to your lower abdomen like when you were… Oh God. Your legs closed as if by their own volition when that spark suddenly had your core clenching around nothing just as he descended back down the stairs.

“I think we're almost in the clear. The ones in the trees are gone and… hey, are you okay?” Finally noticing the almost pained expression etched across your face.

“I… I'm… Steve, what the hell is wrong with us?” You sat up quickly, getting to your feet with a gentle sway. He didn't think this time reaching for you.

His touch both soothed and electrified you. Cooling hands on hot skin but an even hotter feeling pooling between your thighs, making a small whimper escape you.

He closed his eyes as your cheek hit his chest. He was trying to think of something, anything else other than the way you felt against him.

You inhaled deeply, his woodsy musk surrounding you entirely. It was illogical. You'd both been in the lake and running through the woods, yet his scent was mouth watering.

“God, Steve, you smell so good.” You murmured, feeling intoxicated, grabbing onto Eddie's vest with clenched fists.

“Yeah, s—so do you.” Dropping his hands to rest on your hips, your head lifting at his admission.

“Yeah?” You asked, almost breathless. He nods, licking his lips, your eyes landing there as your hands slip under the vest smoothing over his chest, the coarse hair tickling your palms as a shiver ran down his spine.

It's like you couldn't stop yourself, stepping closer into his space as his grip on you tightened, pulling you fully into him, your lower stomach meeting his hips.

“Steve?” Asking as you inch forward, calves beginning to strain as you stand on the tips of your toes.

“Yeah?” He asks, holding his breath.

“I really want to kiss you.”

No sooner than the statement left your lips, he surged forward closing the gap.

Parched from the day's activities left his usual plush, soft looking lips chapped and dry but you didn't mind.

An immediate feeling of relief washed over you. It was like finding an oasis in the desert, drinking the taste of him down, briefly quenching that immeasurable thirst.

He tilted his head, bringing his hand to the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair as his nose pressed further into your cheek. You worked in tandem until his tongue dared to slip out, silently begging for permission.

You parted your lips with a soft moan as they met, slowly circling and entangling but you were hungry for more. Your hand slid up his chest and wound around the nape of his neck, finding his usual soft strands of hair, dirty and matted, pulling on the ends before pulling him closer, earning you a moan that you eagerly swallowed down.

The hand on your hip traveled south, snaking its way to the fat of your ass, suddenly groping and kneading your pliant flesh through your jeans pushing you further into him. His now very prominent hard cock pressed into the softness of your lower abdomen, taking you by surprise when you felt it twitch between you as he groaned.

At some point the two of you had begun moving, only realizing it when your back hit the far wall, knocking you from your trance. Your lips separated but still momentarily connected by a thin string of saliva as you pant into each other's mouths.

“Fuck, I need you, Steve.” You hissed out, pushing at the shoulders of the denim vest he still wore.

“Wait,” A moment of clarity for him, grabbing your wrists to halt your movements making you pout, as he looked around the dingy, cobweb infested space.

“Shit I— we can't do that down here.”

“Why not?” Asking, as your lower lip jutted out, eyebrows crinkling. The ache in your lower abdomen was getting worse, your clit was throbbing, practically begging for any kind of stimulation.

He shouldn't have looked at you. Your eyes were glossy in the dim light, looking as if tears were about to roll down your cheeks. He wasn't any better off. His cock was throbbing painfully against his pants, a wet patch of precum visible where his head laid.

“Goddamnit!” He hissed, pausing for a deep breath, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Because I don't want the first time with you to be on a filthy basement cot in the upside down!”

You couldn't help the grin that lifted the edges of your lips into a smirk, as you continued to stare at his bared throat. Wondering for a moment what it would be like to sink your teeth into him. This deep primal hunger was overpowering your senses, overtaking any other basic needs.

“Fuck me upstairs then.” You blurted out.

“Wh—what?” As if he'd misheard you, whipping his head back down.

“I said,” leaning closer to him. “Fuck. Me. Upstairs. There's a bed up there.” You nip at his nose and giggle when he pulls back, grip moving, holding firm to your shoulders.

When it disbursed, you had taken the brunt of the pollen, if you could even call it that, apparently it was affecting you more severely, unable to concentrate on anything else for more than a few seconds at a time.

“We can't— you— don't know what you're saying, and those things are still up there.”

“Stevie, please?” Your voice drips with desire, sultry and sweet. Looking up at him with your best doe eyes had all manner of his resolve quickly fading.

“I can be quiet. I promise.” You whispered with a pout, as your fingertips dance along his exposed chest. “What're friends for, Stevie? We need to help each other out.”

“Fuck,” he groans, slipping his hand into yours, turning without saying another word to grab the flashlight pulling you along. He wasn't going to be able to hold out, suddenly driven by the unwavering need in his pants, it seemed better to give in to your advances than try to fight them. Your sweet tone, seemingly needing him just as much as he needs you, he couldn't resist.

His mind was flooded with the vivid image of how your tight cunt would feel wrapped around his shaft, he quickly ascended the stairs looking back once holding his finger to his lips when he reached the door, easing it open. The rush of cooler air hit you as soon as the door opened for a small reprieve.

“I'm going to check out the windows, go down the hall. Quietly.” Nodding toward the right. “The first door on the left has a bed and no windows.”

You nod your understanding as he lets go of your hand, letting you go your separate ways. Tiptoeing down the hall, it was quiet, aside from the errant clap of thunder that echoed through the walls every thirty seconds or so.

The room had been exactly where he had explained. It seemed small, but the only light filtered in from the hall, illuminating only a portion of the bed. As your eyes adjusted, the bed came more into view, a little dusty but bigger than the cot downstairs.

You threw the quilt back, revealing surprisingly pristine sheets underneath. You decided to discard your muddy, lake soaked shoes as he came into view.

He had turned his light off, a silhouette of broad shoulders illuminated against a dusky red backdrop as another bolt of lightning split the sky outside. He stood there lingering in the doorway, eyes briefly running over your form. Your breath hitched in your throat drinking him in when he finally took a few steps forward.

He stood before you without saying a word, quickly finding your hips and wasting no time pulling you flush against him once more as you let out a small squeak of surprise bracing yourself against his chest.

“Steve, I—”

You were quickly cut off when he sealed his lips over yours. His intoxicating scent once again surrounded you as your brain began to shut off, driven only by your primal desires.

Your hand trailed down his abdomen, fingertips grazing his bandages finding the exposed skin low by his waistband. He shuddered at your soft, lingering touch. Going lower still, he hisses and pulls back from your kiss as you palm at his erection over his pants.

It felt like you were on autopilot. The only thought in the forefront of your mind was the overpowering need for relief. The need to be as close as possible.

He was taken by surprise when you grabbed the lapels of his vest and quickly pulled him around. The back of his knees hit the bed, as he fell rather ungracefully.

The springs groaned under the sudden pressure of his added weight as he let out a grunt, uttering a “shit,” under his breath.

You quickly straddled his legs, giving him no time for protest, crawling up and sitting flush on his bulge trying to be mindful of those raw wounds fresh on his sides.

A chorus of expletives left both of your lips the moment your hips grind down searching for friction with your hands pressing firmly to his chest holding him in place. Your aching clit gets some relief, the stiff denim pressing into you sliding down the rigid length of him and back up. A fresh wave of arousal flooding from your core adding to your already ruined panties.

In any other circumstances, you would feel embarrassed rutting up against your best friend like a wild animal in heat, but seeking out and taking what you needed was first and foremost.

You leaned forward, burying your face in his neck, breathing him in.

“I could eat you up.” You whisper, lips grazing just below his ear, teeth nipping at his sensitive skin before your tongue rolls out, languidly licking at his jugular, his pulse thumping wildly against your muscle.

You whine, relishing the salty, earthy and coppery mixture as it settles along your taste buds, feeling him shutter beneath you taking a ragged breath only adding to your desire.

His hands find the plush of your hips, pulling you down to meet an upward thrust that has you leaning back up and moaning out without any regard for his earlier warnings and your promise.

His eyes shot up to you, barely illuminated in the dim light but you were a sight to see.

Your head is thrown back as if you were already in the throes of heady pleasure. Your mouth hung open slightly, another breathy wine escaping as you dragged your hips against his cock once more. Any and all of what was left of his will power was gone. His imagination ran rampant with the thought of you coming undone, falling apart only for him.

In one swift motion, he bucked his hips, gaining momentum to flip you over. Your back hits the mattress, making you gasp sharply as he seated himself between your parted thighs.

Your eyes go wide with surprise when his hand quickly shoots to your mouth, his large palm stifling your sounds.

Leaning further into your space, his lips ghost the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“I'm going to give you what you want but you've got to be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, fisting the vest in your hands, letting out a small whimper as he slowly took his hand away.

“Use your words, honey.” He scolded.

“Yes, I– I can be quiet.” You breathed out, beginning to feel faint.

“Good girl.” He purred, his words sending your mind into overdrive.

You pawed at his chest, pushing the denim at his shoulders. He sat up, finally pulling it free from his body and tossing it across the room. Your hands roam across the expanse of his chest and broad shoulders.

He reached the hem of your shirt, fingers skirting up your tummy, cool fingertips sending goosebumps across your flesh. You nodded as his eyes caught yours before he quickly pulled it over your head.

He sucked in a sharp breath, watching intently as your chest rose, pushing your breasts against the cups of your bra with each steady inhale, threatening to spill out all on their own before you reached behind, deftly unclasping it and lifting it away.

“Fuck, honey.” His eyes go dark, one of his large hands immediately finding its way to your soft skin. His calloused palm engulfing you as he kneads timidly, at first. You keen into his touch, arching upward, searching for more.

His mouth meets your pert nipple on the other side, swirling his tongue and roughly squeezing the breast under his palm. He nips at the taut bud as if testing the waters, teeth grazing before applying more pressure and immediately soothing the mild sting, laving the wet muscle back across your skin.

To keep from crying out, you bite down on your lip, whimpering as his touch sends shockwaves of pleasure down your body, shooting straight to your core.

He pulls off of you with an audible pop, eyes darting to your face when he feels you trying to push his pants down.

“Please, Steve. I need you! I can't wait.” You hiss out, still trying to maintain a whisper but the longer this keeps getting drawn out the more desperate you become, aching to be filled. An ache that was growing so strong it was boarding on painful.

Dipping your way past his waistband just a moment later, he shudders when your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft, wrapping your hand around his girthy cock.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes out, ducking his head into the crook of your neck, trying to muffle his own sounds as you stroke up and back down at an agonizingly slow pace.

Your thumb finds his head, a steady stream of precum already leaking from the tip, swirling your digit in the mess was almost too much as he sinks his teeth into the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

Your mouth fell agape with a silent gasp, a cry caught in your throat as your other hand flew to the back of his head, fingers digging into his locks and tugging harshly. He quickly unhinges his jaw, peppering kisses where his teeth had just been.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles out, pulling back and swatting your hands away from his pants as he sits up.

Your thighs go slack, as he blindly pops the button on your jeans, pulling the zipper down harshly, digging into the denim waistband before you lift your hips aiding in him hastily tugging them and your panties down your legs.

He tosses them somewhere behind him, before standing up and shedding his own pants and boxers, letting them unceremoniously pool at his feet.

Your eyes quickly rove over as much of his naked body as the dim lighting would allow, licking your lips. His cock was standing at full attention, curved slightly upward as he wrapped his own hand around it, pumping it lightly a few times.

His knees find the mattress, planting his hands on your thighs, spreading them apart to accommodate his frame.

Pausing a moment to appreciate the site before him, his fingertips trail the inside of your thigh, inching closer to where you yearn for him the most. You let out a small yelp of surprise when he tightened his grip and pulled you toward him.

“Steve,” you plead, as he ghosts over your slick lips, his thumb and forefinger spread you apart with a sticky release before he finally presses his thumb pad down onto your puffy clit making your hips buck up.

Sensing your urgent need, his finger begins to tease your aching hole, your arousal drips out, as he finally dips in, your hips rising up in time to push his digit further in.

Your head falls back into the pillow, the hand at your hip pushes you flush against the mattress holding you there as he pumps in and out of your tight pussy, quickly adding a second finger to help stretch you out.

“I can smell your needy cunt.” He hisses, practically salivating. Both of your pheromones were in overdrive, your scent wafting through the air like honey, luring him in. A feast begging to be devoured. “I bet you taste just as sweet.”

His words mixed with his current ministrations left you teetering on the edge, his digits stroke up, finding that sweet spot along your frontal wall and just when you were about to fall apart, it suddenly disappeared. Feeling as though it was subdued by some unseen force, leaving you whimpering and unsatisfied, as tears spring to your eyes in frustration.

“Steve, I— it's not working, I need more.” You huff out. It was then you noticed he was fisting his cock, searching for his own release alongside you.

“Fuck, yeah, okay.” He let out a little breathless. “It's not working f’me either.”

You immediately mourn the loss as his fingers slip from you before he promptly shoves them past his lips, humming around the taste, the potent elixir bursting on contact with his taste buds flooding his senses, igniting his insatiable hunger even further.

“Jesus Christ, I fuckin’ knew it.” His pupils dilate, high on the taste of you, a drug he suddenly realized he'll never be able to fully detox from.

He grips the base of his cock with one hand, leaning over and lining himself up with your soaked entrance, pressing the tip in, feeling your gummy walls start to mold around him, as your hands fly up to grip his shoulders.

“Please.” It was a breathy thing, as your muscles instinctually constricted around the welcome intrusion.

He groans, unable to hold himself back any further, snapping his hips and burying himself in one fluid motion. Your pussy gives little resistance between how wet you are and the unrelenting desire to be completely filled.

“Oh God!” Biting back another loud moan being ripped from your chest, digging your teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood this time, as his thick cock splits you open.

There was a slight burn, as he sat snugly inside your tight channel that quickly gave way to overwhelming pleasure when he pulled back, withdrawing almost completely leaving just his leaking tip before plunging back in, somehow feeling deeper than before.

You muffle your cries the best you can, as he begins to set a near brutal pace. Every thrust pulling little ah, ah, ahs past your lips as your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the fat of his ass pushing him further into you.

He hisses and stills when your legs gripping a little too tight, pull his focus from fucking you to the searing pain at his sides. The wounds had been forgotten from the pure ecstasy he was feeling.

“Shit, I'm sorry.” It was enough to knock you from your lust fueled haze momentarily as he pulled out.

“Flip over.” He grunts.

“Wha—” A sharp smack to the side of your thigh has the words dying on your tongue with a gasp.

“Flip. Over.” Repeating himself a little more forcefully. The soft boy next door being replaced with a rougher version, that suddenly had your pussy clenching around nothing at his harsh demeanor.

You rolled onto your stomach, as his hands came to grip your hips with a bruising force, pulling your ass up.

He wastes no time shoving his throbbing length back between your glistening lips, bumping your clit once before slowly guiding his ruddy tip past your entrance, as your cunt flutters around him practically sucking him in.

He's trying to contain his grunts to a minimum, when your noises start to fill the air he brings his palm down hard against your ass, making you jerk away, burying your face in the sheets below with a whine.

“Giving you exactly what you want, and you still can't keep that pretty mouth shut?” He hisses, grinding his hips slowly, to properly scold you. “Feels too good, huh, honey?”

You merely mewl and nod, before another smack echoes around the room, his palm smoothing soothingly over your reddened cheek.

“I asked you a question, honey.” His voice is lazy, dripping sugary sweet condescension.

“Yes, Steve, mmph— it— you feel so, so good.” Finally able to mumble out a coherent sentence.

He smirks, letting a hand slide down the length of your spine, fingers coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of your head before hauling you up, back flush against his sweaty chest.

Winding his arm around your midsection, the other detangles from your hair to cover your mouth as he places a soft kiss to your temple before his hips snap harshly, the new angle making you cry out, but it's muffled with his palm securely placed over your lips.

“Gotta be quiet, remember honey?” He huffs, breath hot against your neck, unrelenting in his conquest to see your demise.

You grip his forearm, nails digging crescents into his skin, hanging on for dear life. Each outward stroke and upward thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your eyes roll back, suddenly careening you toward the edge of oblivion.

His hand helps stifle your moans, blunt fingertips digging into the apple of your cheek, but you can't help the involuntary sounds that continue to slip out.

“Fuck, y—you feel good.” He stutters out, right in your ear. “Pussy feels like it was made f’me. Mmmm. Gripping me so fuckin' tight.”

The hand around your waist starts drifting south, coming to caress your mound momentarily before delving between your folds finding your puffy, neglected clit with expert ease, drawing swift circles against you causing your cunt to constrict around him sending another wave of arousal flooding out, soaking his balls and dripping down your thighs.

“That's it, honey. I promise we'll get there this time.” His cocky demeanor was doing it for you. You'd never seen this side of Steve, taking control, fucking you better than anyone ever had.

“You're going to cum on my cock while I stuff this cunt full.” You whined out at his words, high pitched against his palm. “That's what you want, huh? Fill you up and make it stick? F—fuck I think I'm close.”

You try to nod, letting him know you were too.

The heat that had been simmering for the last hour in your abdomen was finally reaching a boiling point. Pressure was building, as he continued to pound into you, his cock hitting at just the right angle.

Your grip on his forearm tightened, fingernails beginning to draw blood, but he didn't show any signs of distress, never ceasing his movements solely focused on you and the way you felt around him.

You close your eyes, as the flames begin to lick up your spine, spreading further and growing hotter. It was an all-consuming pleasure, your cunt begging for release, begging for his release.

Whatever this pollen had done to the both of you, it was clear it had a driving force with one thing in mind. Procreation. Unsatisfied and unsatiated until you were bursting full of his life giving fluid.

You're finally able to pry his hand away from you to let out one more breathy plea.

“Cum in me, Steve. I— I can't cum, I need you.” Your voice was low and raspy, but he heard you loud and clear.

He fully removed his hand, suddenly pushing you forward. Too weak to fight, your body fell onto the mattress with a small groan as he quickly withdrew himself and manhandled you around to lay on your back.

No matter what this pollen had done to him. He was still Steve deep down and he could never imagine not looking at your beautiful face as you fell apart for the first time. All for him.

He slips off the bed momentarily, picking something up from the floor before crawling back between your legs.

“I'm sorry, honey. You can't stay quiet.” He whispers.

“Wh—,” your question was cut off when he stuffs your filthy panties past your lips for a makeshift gag, kissing your forehead before grabbing the backs of your knees, practically folding you in half.

His palms push you down and hold your thighs open for him as he ruts his cock up through your folds, the tip grazing your clit before catching at your entrance. His head tips down to watch himself slowly disappear into your tight heat.

Your head flies back, feeling every ridge and vein upon his deliberate reentrance, fisting the sheets beneath you as muffled cries echo across the room. He pauses to take delight in the way your face is screwed up with pleasure as he buries himself to the hilt, suddenly wishing he could hear all the pretty sounds you were making unhindered.

He starts to move again, eyes drifting back down to where the two of you connected to watch himself plunge in and out of your soaked pussy, seemingly mesmerized by the way your greedy hole takes him so well but he tears his eyes away when he hears a pained whimper from you, pausing to search your face.

Your eyes were closed, tears flowing down the side of your face, feeling anything but pain as you looked up at him, eyes glazed over, begging him to continue.

Suddenly twitching at the thought of his impending release, he grinds his hips back into yours. The wiry thatch of hair at the base of his cock catching your clit just right, wrenching another moan from you as you nod at him to keep going.

He starts to thrust again but can tell he's close as his balls begin to draw up, and lower stomach tightens. Skin to skin doesn't seem to be enough when there's a sudden overwhelming need to be closer. He wants to crawl under your skin and embed himself there.

He releases the hold on your legs, letting them ease back to the bed as he drapes himself over you, caging you in. The hair on his chest grazes your nipples with each thrust only adding to your sensations as your hands find purchase on his back.

Holding himself up on one elbow his palm finds your breast, pressing and kneading before his mouth finds the other, sucking a little harshly leaving the top of your chest with a dark reminder as your body arches upward, craving more. His tongue moves over your pebbled nipple before he latches on.

It suddenly feels like he's everywhere all at once. Hands roaming, mouth hot as his cock continues to carve its way into your guts.

He pops off momentarily, sensing a shift in you because he can feel it too.

“You gonna cum with me, honey?” You look up into his eyes, a black abyss. The familiar hazel irises are nowhere to be found. Your best friend now hell bent on ruining you for any other man.

You nod, with a muffled “mmhmm” hoping to God you can finally crest over the precipice.

“Wrap your legs around me.” He hums, hiking your thigh up his hip. Your brows marry with confusion because of the day's earlier blunder.

“It's ok.” He soothes your worry away, large hand gripping your ass as he continues to grind down.

You do as he says, wrapping them around his torso, locking your ankles at the base of his spine. He winces only once before focusing all his concentration on pumping in and out, in and out. Making sure to tilt his pelvis on the upward thrust, simultaneously stimulating that spot deep within you and brushing your clit.

This was it. Fading embers reignited as flames slowly fanned across your lower abdomen. Your brain is all but mush, yearning for a release that only he can provide.

“I'm close.” He hisses out with a grunt, burying his head into your neck. His breath fans hot across you as he starts to whine and mutter. “M’gonna fill this pussy full. F–fuck my goddamn load so far into you. Mmpmh, is that– that’s what you want?”

A few more erratic thrusts before he pushes in so deep that his head is kissing the crown of your cervix. Your walls clamp down around him, holding him in place before his cock twitches and begins to spurt his release into your greedy womb.

Your body reacts suddenly, hot white heat floods your core with the hardest orgasm you've ever experienced. Everything around you seems to fade, as a blinding white light bursts behind your eyelids. Your cunt spasms around him, milking everything he had to give, he groans almost painfully but the sound seems so far away. If you weren't lying underneath him you would have sworn you could float away.

Your chests heave against one another as his body goes limp, crushing you in the best possible way. The lust fueled haze was extinguished with your release, leaving you tired and spent.

His softening dick kicks up a few more times making you whimper as your legs and arms fall away from him, utterly and completely exhausted.

You're pulled out of your blissful afterglow when he pulls your panties from your mouth. Humming as you close your mouth, dry and parched, smacking your lips together softly.

You still had your eyes closed, as his hand comes tp to caress your jaw, thumb running tenderly across the apple of your cheek as you both came down from your highs.

“You ok?” He asked timidly, as you nod with a “mmhmm.”

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” The sweet, caring best friend returning to his senses, as you reply a low “no.”

“Good.” He whispers back, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth.

“Steve?” Managing to croak out, voice hoarse and rough.

“Hmmnh?” He manages, eyes fixated where the two of you were still connected, finally pulling his softening cock free, your mixed fluids flooding from your spent hole. He had the urge to shove it back in, but stopped himself.

“I was going to jump in first,” you whispered out, as his head shot up to look at you. You were completely dazed, on the verge of sleep.

“What?” He asked, easing himself back, eyes roving over your body littered with bruises and bitemarks. Proof that he hadn't experienced some sort of upside down drug induced hallucination.

“The lake.” You hummed. “Robin stopped me.” Yawning before continuing. “I would've jumped in first.”

“Yeah?” He asks, smiling softly to himself, easing beside you, brushing the loose strands of hair from your face. Spending a few more minutes tangled up in you, before the weight of reality would inevitably come crashing back down.

“Mmhmm. I'd go anywhere with you.” You confess, wrapping your arms around his middle as he pulls you into his chest. If he's being completely honest with himself, he's been in love with you for years. He would've jumped in head first if the tables were turned, he just didn't want anything to happen to you.

“I know, honey. I'd—,” a loud banging at the front door startling you both from your daydream, as he rose up ready for anything.

He hurried to get his clothes back on, throwing your bra and shirt up to you as he walked out into the hall leaving you to get dressed.

He could hear muffled voices behind the door. Your friends had circled back to find you.

Everyone stopped talking as soon as he threw open the door looking a little worse for wear.

“Oh thank God!” Robin was the first to speak, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. “What the hell happened to you?”

“We're fine Rob,” Stepping back and letting them enter the small space, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “The bats chased us here, stuck around a while but we're fine.”

They were all chatting when you finally walked into the room clearing your throat as everyone whipped their heads around, eyes all going a little wide at your appearance.

Robin's gaze flitted your neck, as she sent you a knowing look, raising her eyebrows causing you to pull the collar of your shirt over the exposed skin as your cheeks heated.

“Seriously?!” She smacked Steve's arm, looking wide eyed back to him. “Down here? I mean, it's about time. You've only been dying to confess your feelings for wh—”

“Robin!” He hissed out, cutting off her rambling. “Stop!”

She slapped her hand over her mouth, looking over to your confused expression.

“Can uh, you guys give us a minute?” He asked, hands falling to his hips, as they all looked between each other before heading back out the door. Robin mouthed a “sorry” your way, shutting the door behind her.

“Feelings, huh?” Toeing at a small rock on the floor instead of meeting his gaze.

“Fuck. Well, yeah. It's you. How could I not?” He sighed. “But, we seriously don't ever have to talk about this again. Pretend it never happened and feelings aside, you're still my best friend.”

“What if I don't want to forget?” You bit the inside of your lip as your mouth curled into a shy grin. “And…” Taking a step toward him. “What if I told you I had feelings for you too?”

“Yeah?” He asked, reaching out to haul you in close, as you took another step.

“Yeah.” Your hands taking hold of Eddie's vest, curling into his chest. “And, once we get out of here, maybe we can try all of this again?” His face lit up, as you smiled at him. “Without the raging, horny sex pollen?”

You both huffed a laugh, relaxing into each other.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.” He nods, excitement blooming in his chest.

“C’mon handsome, let's get out of here.” Your hand found his, sending him a small giggle as you pulled him toward the door to rejoin your friends.

Despite the dismal cloud looming above he had a feeling that everything would work out this time.

Tagging a few mooties that might be interested (and please let me know if you don't want to be tagged!): @thecreelhouse @teen--marvel @bunnyhargrove @xxbimbobunnyxx

And also: @crybabyddl (since you asked!) 🙂

[zeroseuniverse]

Nct dream reaction to you ignoring them as a prank to see their reactions pls (if you haven’t already made this)

NCT Dream reaction to you ignoring them as a prank!

A/N: I wrote a full story for Haechan on this so he's not included in this

Hechan's here

Mark

At first, Mark thinks you're just distracted, so he doesn't take it too seriously. But when he realizes you're blatantly ignoring him, he starts nervously laughing. "Wait... are you mad? What did I do? No, seriously—Y/N, talk to me!" He'd follow you around, waving a hand in front of your face and even making weird noises just to get a reaction. If you keep it up for too long, he might pull out the ultimate weapon—puppy dog eyes and dramatic sighs.

Renjun

Renjun would immediately catch on and get so annoyed. He’d cross his arms and glare at you. "Oh, so we're playing that game, huh? Fine. Two can play at this." He’d start ignoring you right back, only to side-eye you every few seconds to see if you’d break first. Eventually, he’d get impatient and mutter something like, "This is so childish..." before finally giving in and demanding an explanation.

Jeno

Jeno would be confused at first but would try to play it cool. He’d lightly poke your shoulder or casually wave in your direction, expecting you to snap out of it. But when you keep ignoring him, he’d chuckle in disbelief. "Wait, are you actually serious right now?" He’d lean in really close, stare at you for a few seconds, then suddenly tickle you to make you react. No way he's letting you win that easily.

Jaemin

Jaemin would find it hilarious. Instead of getting upset, he’d act like he doesn’t care—but he’d be plotting. "Oh, Y/N’s ignoring me? Cute." Then, out of nowhere, he’d wrap you up in the biggest bear hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You sure you wanna keep this up?” If you still don’t react, he’d just start whispering nonsense in your ear until you break.

Chenle

Chenle would immediately be like, "Oh, it's a prank. You think I don’t know? You underestimate me." He’d play along, pretending he doesn’t care, but the second you turn your head, he'd give you the biggest side-eye. Eventually, he’d pull out his phone and start talking to his friends. "Yeah, so Y/N's ignoring me… I guess we're breaking up. It was a good run." He’d keep escalating the fake drama until you had to react.

Jisung

Jisung would be the most confused out of everyone. He’d frown and stare at you for a while, trying to figure out if he did something wrong. "Wait... are you mad? Did I forget something? Is it our anniversary??" He’d probably apologize for something he didn’t even do, looking all pouty and sad. If you still don’t respond, he’d sulk in the corner until you finally give in and reassure him.

[gldrushh]

SPIDER EXPOSURE | JK | MINI SERIES | TEASER

→ PAIRING spiderman!jungkook x influencer!fem reader

→ BLURB Jeon Jungkook is just your average over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived university student trying to survive deadlines, group projects, and the occasional armed robbery. He manages it well. He's good at it. He's even excellent in class. Until you with your gold tipped nails and a hundred thousand followers start to make him forget what day it is. Always one step too close to danger and one spot too close to his place at the top of the class. Start to aim right for his webs. He's off balance now. He's falling. After all, love is a lot like falling.

→ GENRE academic rivals to lovers, romantic comedy, angst, smut, fluff

→W.C tbd

→ WARNINGS academic rivals mhm, spiderman au, jungkook is spiderman, mullet jungkook, he wears glasses, nerd jungkook, fuckboy! spiderman, player! Spiderman, the mask stays on, diva! Oc, academic weapon! Oc, she's a fashionata and stupidly reckless, also a word for ambitious, slow burnish, lots of fights, violence, stalkers, criminals rivals to allies to lovers, eventual smut, comedy (I hope), fluff, angst, more chapter specific warnings to be included

→ PLAYLIST true love, robbers, are you bored yet?, gorgeous, electric feel, cool girl, silver tounge

→A/N spiderkook nation you have captivated, wrapped, and utterly charmed—me and left me no choice but to dedicate myself to a plot that's all spiderwebs with two ambitious, too full of themselves idiots tangled in between. Or maybe with each other? You'll have to find out. This might hit your screens officially after I finish Guilty as Sin (yes, the other fic with those two other lovable idiots), but I couldn’t wait to share a little peek of this new obsession. So here we are. Bye.

| MASTERLIST | WATTPAD | A03 |

Students shuffled in with caffeine breath and half-zipped backpacks, murmuring over the professor choi’s big announcement, but you didn’t need to hear it twice to feel curiosity hum around the air, have the gears turning.

The second the words one photograph, exclusive internship, and Seoul central were out of his mouth, something in you locked in place. Adrenaline, you were sure. The low, hot hum of competition warming your veins like espresso. You were already sketching it out in your head: the right shot, the perfect angle, a story that would make even the most cynical execs lean forward in their ergonomic chairs and say, “Who is she?”

Because it was you. It had to be you.

While, Jeon Jungkook—annoyingly unbothered—sat at the edge of the third row, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows,jaw working through a piece of gum like it held the secrets of the universe. His notebook lay open in front of him, already half-filled with that aggressive, razor-sharp handwriting of his. Neat. Focused. Just like him. You hated how much you recognized it from shared group projects and bulletin boards.

You scanned the room quickly. Most people were still scrolling through their phones or whispering about deadlines, but not him. He wasn’t the whispering type. Jungkook always looked like he was on the edge of sprinting toward something—if only you knew what.

You slid into the seat beside him without asking, the subtle click of your heels against linoleum your personal theme song. The back of his pen tapped the desk once, twice, like he heard you coming before you’d even sat down. Not surprising.

“Prepare your losing speech, Jeon.” You leaned, lip gloss catching the overhead light like it had something to say too, elbows on the table, chin tilted with that confident little smirk you knew he hated. “I’m gonna hang it in my future New York City high-rise right next to my award for Seoul Central's employee of all time. Maybe I’ll even frame a little picture of you crying.”

Jungkook didn’t look up from his notebook, flipping the page with prepense calm. Too calm. His pen glided across the margin. Flip. Another page turned, like your voice was background noise.

"You mean your future unpaid internship and one-bedroom cockroach suite?" he finally replied, voice low, dry—like he was genuinely trying not to yawn. Still so damn taunting. "Might wanna print it in cursive. Make the J look elegant."

You snorted, flipping your phone in your palm with the kind of grace that only comes from doing it a thousand times, camera lens catching the light like a wink. “Delusion’s cute." you murmured. “But only when there’s some self-awareness in the room.”

That made him look up.

He turned toward you, eyes cutting to yours, slow and precise, like he was measuring the exact amount of eye contact needed to make you or him start squirming. His lips twitched, almost a smile but not quite.

"Yours is cuter, trouble." He cleared his throat, too quickly. "You think they hand out awards for thirst traps and clickbait?”

"Been keeping tabs on me?" You shot back, arching a brow, voice dipping just enough to sound teasing. Enough to make the tips of his ears just barely pink, a detail you didn’t miss.

He hesitated. A blink too long. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip—a tell.

"Only enough to watch you fall behind."

[TAGLIST OPENED]

[luvfae]

BAD INVESTMENT

PART TWO

summary: thanos follows you on instagram and myung-gi’s jealousy issues go through the roof.

parings: myung-gi x f!reader, thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: mention of stalking, swearing, myung-gi accusing reader of cheating, implied smut

bad investment masterlist

If there was one thing Thanos was good at, it was stalking. Not in the amateur, obsessive way that most people did—no, he had connections. Networks that spanned the underworld, whispers in the right ears. He could dig up dirt on anyone, from a washed-up dealer to a so-called crypto kingpin like Myung-Gi.

That’s how he found out where Myung-Gi lived. And he didn’t just stop there. Thanos knew more about Myung-Gi than Myung-Gi probably knew about himself. It was all part of the plan.

He had a way of slipping into people’s lives without them even realizing it, playing the long game. The patience it required? A virtue he’d perfected over years of watching, waiting, plotting.

Thanos sat in his car, parked in the shadows outside Myung-Gi’s sleek, glassy high-rise. The club’s chaos felt like a lifetime ago, but his thoughts were still consumed by one thing: you.

The way your lips curled into a soft, unbothered smile. The way you laughed, not even noticing the tension hanging thick between him and Myung-Gi. He had made his move, and he was far from done.

His eyes narrowed as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He didn’t know your name. Not yet. But he didn’t need it—he had all the time in the world to figure it out.

It took only a few moments to find Myung-Gi’s Instagram. The man loved flaunting his wealth, and his feed was a highlight reel of excess—luxury cars, endless parties, and countless selfies with his dumb friends. But what caught Thanos’ attention wasn’t any of that.

It was a picture of you. You, sitting at a bar with Myung-Gi’s arm draped around your shoulders, a wide grin plastered on your face. You were so casual, so unaware of the way the world worked, it made his blood run hot with frustration.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered under his breath as he zoomed in on the photo. The exact moment you turned your head to laugh, your eyes catching the camera. So innocent. So naive.

He tapped the follow button. He wasn’t interested in playing it subtle anymore. You were his new target, his weapon. Myung-Gi didn’t even know it yet, but his precious girlfriend was about to become the key to his downfall.

Thanos leaned back in the seat, running a hand through his hair. He had no idea why this was bugging him so much. Why was he even focusing on you, a girl who meant nothing to him?

But that wasn’t the real question, was it? The real question was: how could he get back at Myung-Gi for everything he’d stolen from him? For the way he’d crushed Thanos’ life, made him lose everything in the blink of an eye.

Using you felt too easy. Too obvious. But that was the beauty of it.

You didn’t even know who he was. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. And yet here you were, tangled up with the very man who had ruined him.

It would take a while. Maybe longer than he liked. But he’d figure you out. Slowly, methodically, he’d pull the strings. And when the time was right, when Myung-Gi had no clue what hit him, he’d use you—his little pawn.

A few days later, you were showering. The apartment was silent, the soft hum of the water filling the otherwise empty space. Myung-Gi sat on the couch, his fingers drumming impatiently against his phone.

The tension from the club still hadn’t dissipated. Myung-Gi’s eyes kept darting toward the door, as though he were waiting for something to happen. He was always watching. Always on edge.

Then, your phone buzzed, a notification lighting up the screen.

He glanced down, expecting it to be a text from your friend, only to freeze when he saw the name: Thanos liked your picture.

His chest tightened. It was a fucking gut punch.

Thanos.

The name lingered on his mind like poison.

Myung-Gi’s grip on your phone tightened until his knuckles were white. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at your profile, at the shared photos, at the pictures you’d posted from your drunken nights out.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Thanos. Following you. Liking your pictures. His fucking presence was everywhere now.

Myung-Gi slammed the phone down onto the coffee table, his jaw clenching. His mind was racing. Why? Why follow her?

But then, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t have a fucking clue what Thanos was up to. He didn’t know whether it was some power play, some petty revenge, or just a game. But one thing was for sure: Thanos was making a move. And it was on you.

You, his girlfriend. The one thing Myung-Gi thought he could hold onto.

“Fuck,” Myung-Gi muttered under his breath, his stomach twisting. His hands trembled with the rising tide of anger. He couldn’t let this slide.

Not this time.

You stepped out of the bathroom then, your hair dripping wet, wrapped in a towel. You caught the sight of Myung-Gi’s clenched fists, the way his face had turned an almost unnatural shade of red.

“What’s going on?” you asked, brows furrowing in confusion, but Myung-Gi was already on his feet, his face a mixture of rage and panic.

“Why the fuck is Thanos following you?” he spat, his voice dangerously low.

“What?” You hadn’t expected this. The way his words came out, almost like an accusation. You could feel the air thickening with his anger. “What are you talking about? Who is Thanos, the Marvel villain?”

Myung-Gi snapped his phone up, showing you the notification—the one you had barely even noticed. The one that didn’t seem important.

“Thanos, the guy from the club. He’s following you,” Myung-Gi hissed, his nostrils flaring.

Your stomach dropped. A sick, familiar feeling washed over you.

You didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t thought much about Thanos, not since the night at the club.

But now, standing in front of you, Myung-Gi’s jealousy felt suffocating. You took a step back, uncertain of what was coming next.

“Why does he follow you?” Myung-Gi’s tone dropped to something darker, something dangerous. “What the fuck is going on?”

You swallowed hard, trying to process everything. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You barely even knew Thanos. Yet here you were, caught in the middle of something that felt far too real.

“I—I don’t know—“ you started, but Myung-Gi cut you off.

“No,” he barked, his voice sharp and filled with a strain that spoke of something deeper, something darker. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, Myung-Gi!” you protested, your voice high, your hands gripping his arm in desperation. “I’ll block him. I don’t care. I don’t even know him.”

Myung-Gi sighed heavily, his eyes flickering to your phone before he placed it down, his movements deliberate. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, but his voice cracked, a mix of frustration and insecurity clawing at him. “It’s just… he followed you days ago. That’s what this is about.”

“I didn’t know,” you said softly, your tone almost pleading. “I swear, I didn’t even notice.”

His gaze softened, but the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. He rubbed his face, clearly torn. “It’s fine,” he sighed, though it didn’t quite feel like it. There was a heaviness hanging between you both, a shadow that lingered.

You stared at him, still wrapped in your towel, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “What if I make it up to you?” you suggested, your voice low, almost a whisper. Your eyes locked on his, a silent challenge in the offer.

His gaze snapped to yours, and you saw that flicker of interest, the shift in his body language. “How?” he asked, his voice betraying the vulnerability that was starting to creep in.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you let your towel fall to the floor, watching as his eyes immediately dropped to your chest. It was the same reaction every time, the same predictable response, and you hated how easy it was. You hated how you could manipulate him, but in moments like this, you were desperate to keep him calm, to stop the storm of jealousy that was clearly brewing inside him.

It worked. Every. Damn. Time.

But as his hands reached out to pull you closer, as his lips brushed against your skin, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar frustration knotting in your stomach. He was always too soft with you. Too afraid. Never willing to push boundaries. Never willing to give you what you really wanted.

He was so fucking vanilla it hurt.

He kissed your neck, his hands wandering but not enough to make you feel like you were wanted. You needed more. Needed him to fuck you like he meant it. To take control and make you forget everything else. But instead, he was gentle, always gentle, like he was terrified of hurting you.

You sighed, letting him do his thing, knowing that nothing would ever change. You loved him, but goddamn, it hurt. This? This was a shadow of what you really craved. But you’d settle for mediocre sex because you loved him.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

simon riley headcanons- returning home to you

simon riley x reader headcanons

He’s not used to the quiet. The first few nights, he has trouble sleeping because he’s so used to the hum of machinery, distant gunfire, or the chatter of his squad. You often wake up to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

His hands are always reaching for his gear, even when it’s not there. You’ll catch him unconsciously checking for a weapon he doesn’t need. It takes time for him to relax his instincts.

He still wakes up early out of habit, but instead of rushing to gear up, he just watches you sleep, memorizing the peace in your expression.

He isn’t the best with words, but his love is shown through touch—tight, lingering hugs, a hand on your lower back when walking, or resting his head against yours when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable.

The first time you cup his face after he gets home, he leans into your touch like a starved man. It’s been too long since he’s felt something so gentle.

The mask comes off more often at home, though it still takes time. If you ask him to, he won’t hesitate, but he likes it when you don’t pressure him.

He’s protective—almost overbearingly so. You go to the store alone? He’s tense until you’re back. You mention someone acting suspicious on the street? He’s scanning for threats next time you step outside together.

At first, he forgets how to just be at home. You find him pacing sometimes, restless, unsure of what to do without an objective. It helps when you give him small tasks—cooking dinner together, fixing something around the house, or even just watching a show with you.

If you make a habit of reading or watching TV at night, he eventually joins you. He doesn’t always follow the plot, but he likes the routine of sitting beside you, feeling normal for a change.

Loud noises still make his heart jump, but he hides it well. If you’re holding his hand when it happens, you feel the way his fingers tighten slightly before he forces himself to relax.

He has nightmares, but he tries to keep them to himself. The first time you wake him from one, he flinches away instinctively before realizing it’s you. He hates that. You start waking him more gently, murmuring his name, grounding him before he jolts awake.

He appreciates when you don’t push him to talk about things. Some days, he can open up a little—mentioning a funny moment with his team or something that happened on a mission. Other days, he just wants to exist beside you, no questions asked.

If he leaves again, he always leaves something of his behind for you—his old dog tags, a hoodie, something small but important. It’s his way of making sure a part of him stays with you.

He’s fiercely loyal. The thought of losing you after everything else he’s endured terrifies him. He doesn’t say it often, but when he does, it’s raw and heavy: “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

He rarely asks for comfort outright, but when he finally lets himself rest his head in your lap, or lets you hold him close after a hard night, it means the world to him.

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader 

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.  

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

.

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?��

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

[xmoriartea]

I'm thinking of Airplane as Tianlung Jun again and just need to lore dump some more

Airplane could not intervene with LBH's early arc, the System got real nasty with him when he thought about peeking in on the peaks. Instead he decided to let TLJ's return go unnoticed for as long as possible among the humans

Among the demons, his first stop after the mountain was to the ancestral home of the heavenly demons that LBH didn't find until very late into the wife counter. He and ZZL set up there and Airplane uses the demonic freeloaders there as a means of flexing and testing all his abilities. ZZL is mildly concerned about why it feels like his uncle doesn't fully know what he's capable of (look Airplane never wrote TLJ - he doesn't know what notes the System stole) but he attributes it to too many years under a mountain and shrugs it off.

Second stop is the Northern Desert where he hunts down a certain prince in what Airplane wrote as the demon's favorite hunting grounds. MBJ does not like feeling like prey, he is supposed to be the cat in all cat and mice interactions, but TLJ is not cruel to him the way certain elders (his uncle) have been in this game. MBJ can tell when he's being tested and even though he bristles at being challenged like this in his own lands, he's not stupid enough to ignore the mark on TLJ's head. The man could scatter him like snow if he pleased and instead he seems proud of the power MBJ displays? Wants him at his side? Again, you don't say no to a heavenly demon like that. Though there is a lot of sideyeing with the snake to confirm this is legit.

TLJ's return to power is a slow but unstoppable thing. In some ways, Airplane is copying his son's route to power, turning clans against each other or uniting certain fronts until the demon realm is more or less his. He doesn't sit on the throne - that would be too OOC for the System and himself tbh - but demons know to bow. And if they don't they tend to wind up as frozen snake food.

When he does eventually fish LBH out of the Abyss it is anyone's guess as to who is more confused by the turn of events. TLJ claims he didn't know about LBH's assistance until his cradle seal broke during the Immortal Alliance Conference, but MBJ silently knows for a fact TLJ's attention was on one specific mountain sect that whole time. So he's about as sus as LBH.

LBH on the other hand is fretting about his shizun who pushed him into the rift but also?? was kind to him?? nice?? caring?? Who is this man because Airplane sure as fuck didn't write him!!

Somewhere along the way LBH does plot things, gains power, trains both demonic and spiritual sides of himself with no influence from Xin Mo (that weapon was too OP, Airplane can agree it's better off not showing up actually) and woos and/or kidnaps his shizun - unclear.

What is clear is that Airplane corners SQQ at some point when no one is looking and nearly looks through him in a way that has SQQ suddenly deeply aware of how dead he might be about to be before TLJ cocks his head at him with a weird blue glow in his eyes that does not quite match the red of his demonic qi and says/shouts/laughs/cries - THERE'S A USER 002??

Airplane learning to wrangle the System a little bit, getting a dose of admin privileges because 1- he created this world and 2-TLJ is OP as fuck and if anyone could just break reality it's going to be him

Cue the weirdest friendship that has every demon in TLJ's/LBH's court CONCERNED. LBH because father that is HIS shizun. HIS. let go. Father. He will remove limbs. Father. ZZL because please no not another human. Uncle please. It's bad enough your son inherited this trait. Don't go 2/2. And MBJ because of repressed sexual and romantic frustrations. Something gets frozen and shatters and he acts like he's not the only ice demon in the fucking palace when he catches TLJ and SQQ sneaking around speaking in tongues.

At some point once LBH is properly thriving in power with the appropriate demons at his side to help him control the realm, TLJ promptly fucks off and demands he gets Emperor Dowager rights, throwing all of his responsibility at LBH. He just wants to see the world he created. Vibe. Write more trashy novels. And even more novels he's proud of. If SY wants court intrigue, he can be the empress now and handle all that, leave Airplane out of it. TLJ is taking his knight and his nephew (he was hoping nephew might stay in the court but he's attached, what can you do) and just peacing out

[teecupangel]

Okay, okay, my brain did the thinking. I just skimmed over the ATLA ask and it got me thinking, how about like an actual ATLA AU?

Like in, ofc following Desmond (precious boy) and him bending water (and ice (and maaaayybee later blood?))

He grows up in the northern Water tribe, learns grows up etc. is still fed up with William, but can't really leave this godforsaken huge piece of ice swimming in the ocean, until at least the raid with the fire nation (and aang). Maybe he can convince him to just take Desmond with him (he doesn't really want to journey with them, he just wants to go somewhere else).

One way or another, he either finds himself in the earth kingdom, and meeting Connor(earth) and/or Ezio (dunno what kind of element he would be) or through some unlucky coincidence finds himself on fire nation territory. Here he could stumble upon Hama and maybe somehow convinces her to teach him some blood bending. Some time later he would stumble upon Altaïr, literally, because he runs from guards for stealing something and Altaïr just pulls him into the next best alcove so the guards won't catch Desmond.

Somewhere down the line they befriend each other, while Desmond is trying to find a way out of the fire nations territory (could be the reason for him to steal something and then the guards running after him) because being a waterbender there is kind of a death wish.

Long story short, Desmond finds a way, Altaïr sticks along and they meet Connor and/or Ezio again, at least Desmond meets them again and is ofc happy. I can absolutely see the rivalry between Ezio and Altaïr.

They all travel a bit and somehow meet the Aang-gang again. Desmond being like, what's up, while the others are like wtf, you know the Avatar? Yeah like, he helped me get out of this shithole called home.

Meeting Iroh for good measure.

Like all is fun and games, until they stumble upon a town or city who completely suffers under its ruler and commanders and they take it upon themselves to get rid of them (heh, there is no murder weapon if the ice melts).

And that kind of becomes their thing? Like, while the 'canon' plot from ATLA moves forward, they unintentionally help them and destabilize corrupt power (mostly inside the earth kingdom). Along the line they could also meet others like Clay, Lucy, Malik etc. who won't travel with them, but still join their cause (or some could join, I imagine Malik, who already wishes to slam his head against a wall after only one day with them)

And bam, brotherhood in ATLA, or something

If we stretch it towards Korras time, we could use the assassins from the newer generations like Basim, Eivor, Kassandra, Arno etc. who are the successors.

Okay, this got quite long, but I still have some thoughts:

- William could be like the head of the guard for the mother's Water tribe and as such pushes Desmond further and further (but Desmond knows he won't be happy just staring at Ice for the rest of his life)

- Some of the others out of the modern era could grow up alongside Desmond, maybe Lucy or Clay

- I would have really loved to give Ezio Air, but like... That won't be really possible. I can absolutely see him using his bending to let his hair be moved by a breeze, whenever he tries to flirt

- so Ezio would come from a kind of rich family (I don't really have more, I'm sorry)

- With Connor I actually don't really know, like he could live with his mother or tribe in the woods (kind of like Jet's crew?)

- Altaïr would probably be that kind of braindead genius, who saw Azulas Lightning bending one time (his grandfather, Rashid, dragged him to one of these highly important events, when the princess visited) and decided to learn it on his own (Malik is just kind of horrified, bc this Idiot simultaneously thinks and doesn't think enough)

- Rashid would definitely stand completely behind Fire lord Ozais visions

- and ofc AltDes, bc I'm a sucker and shameless :P

Anyway, it's good to hear you are doing well, many hugs and kisses

Have a great one and take care!

I’m unsure which ATLA idea you mean but here’s the Avatar AU ask that has both “what if Desmond and his ancestors were the next line of Avatars?” and “Okay, but what if, they were like… Pro-bending pros?” and the Pro-Bending AU idea expanded.

If you want to fuck with Desmond, you can make it seem like he’s a non-Bender. To be more exact, no matter how grueling the training becomes, Desmond could never bend water even to make ripples in a tea cup.

But Bill still persisted and kept on training Desmond until Aang came along and, in the confusion, Desmond manages to escape.

The truth is Bill was trying to force Desmond to learn how to waterbend because Desmond instinctively uses Blood Bending.

To be more exact, he doesn’t realize that people become weaker or slower when they fight him because Desmond is actually instinctively blood bending.

Bill realized this when Desmond was a child and had killed a beast that attacked him with blood bending. Desmond has no memories of such a thing, remembering it as his father actually using spear made of condensed water to pierce the beast.

But the beast exploded, not because of the water spear, but because Desmond had boiled the blood inside to the point that an internal explosion occurred.

So Desmond starts traveling, thinking that he’s a non-bender and he met Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton along the way, just, you know, helping out people and doing jobs here and there to have enough money for their travel expenses.

Ratonhnhaké:ton left his village to understand the world outside as part of his training to be the next chief of their village. Her mother is the current chief and they’re hidden from the rest of the kingdom. This travel is meant to give him an idea of how to protect their village and to ‘survey’ the outside world and the danger it possesses.

Ezio is actually looking for his family and he’s a member of the Southern Water Tribe. During an attack from the Fire Nation, he was separated from his family and he’s traveling to find them. He tries his best to believe that they’re safe and sound but, sometimes, he does worry…

Altaïr though…

Altaïr is on the run because he defied orders and got into Azula’s bad side. He was meant to be just a rank and file soldier under Azula (with Rashid ordering him to climb up the ranks) but his arrogance brought unnecessary conflict between him and Azula.

Azula tried to put him in his place by dueling with him, only to learn that he copied her lightning bending after only seeing it once.

The worst part is that he showed that he copied it after Azula tried to hit him with her lightning bending during the duel itself.

In her rage, she tried to attack him hard enough to cripple him (and if she wasn’t careful, kill him). Altaïr answered in kind and he was arrested for the ‘attempted assassination’ of Azula.

He escaped his confinement with a little help from another rank and file soldier, Malik, who suggested that he hides in the Earth Kingdom.

He meets Desmond and the others while they were hunting down a band of bandits who had terrorizing the road and they actually fought because they thought Altaïr was a bandit and not… the dude who took out the bandits because they tried to rob him.

He joins them because he had nothing else to do. (Ezio absolutely noticed that Altaïr was attracted to Desmond but doesn’t seem to realize it and he plans to enjoy the ‘romance’ between these two dense idiots. Ratonhnhaké:ton will not be enjoying any show but he will also not help because he believes romantic relationship should only be nurtured by the people involved and “no, Ezio, we are not involved in this”)

And then we have the great misunderstanding where Desmond and Altaïr look similar enough that wanted posters distributed by the Fire Nation included a drawing that can look like either of them.

So Desmond assumed he’s being hunted because he did kill a few Fire Nation soldiers when he ran away during all the confusion and he was pretty sure one of them was a high ranking official.

Altaïr knows this is Azula hunting him down because he tried to ‘assassinate’ her.

And they would talk about it in ways that made everyone believe that they’re the target (aka: Desmond believes Altaïr knows that Desmond is a wanted man, Altaïr believes Desmond knows that Altaïr is a wanted man, Ratonhnhaké:ton and Ezio both think that it could be either of them and assumed both Altaïr and Desmond are on the same page)

(It would absolutely be funny if the twist is that the wanted man is actually Elijah, Desmond’s younger half-brother, who did (1) destroy multiple Fire Nation ships and (2) killed enough high ranking Fire Nation officials to be counted as a dangerous ‘terrorist’. Desmond would be like “Elijah? No. He’s a sweet boy. He’d never hurt a fly.”. Cue Elijah using water bending to waterboard a Fire Nation official. Elijah shares the same mother with Desmond who is actually a blood bender. Elijah himself doesn’t bloodbend but he, their mother and Bill are the only ones who know that Desmond instinctively bloodbends. Shaun and Rebecca are his ‘handlers’ which doesn’t really say much because they can’t stop Elijah at all. They’re actually looking for Desmond because Desmond is the only person who can stop Elijah without even realizing how bloodthirsty his younger brother is.)

thank you! things had been a bit hectic at work and I'm really hoping that I'd be compensated for it hahahaha

[howlingday]

the arc family have a unique tradition, they forge their own swords every time another of their sons reaches the age to begin training, but infuse these weapons with the spirit of said son. this creates a spirit weapon that can grow with the affore mentioned son and help them on their journey. thing is, both jaune and his sword Lucerna Intrepidus are huge dorks who have taken to wandering around vale fighting grimm to try and kick off a grand adventure so they can be heroes. with jaune's dear companion lucy growing stronger with every grimm she devours she's quickly out stripped the 12 year old in strength if only there was someplace she could go with her young partner to make them both stronger and better at fighting! summer has been retired since her run in with salem basically crippled her while her eyes remain in tact the horrors she and raven went through (mainly her since raven only showed back up at the last minute to save her) shattered her soul in ways she's only just starting to recover from. but training ruby and yang has been a fun hobby it's a shame they're going to be entering the combat school, she's got ruby for two more years and yang will still be there to train after school but it's going to be boring during the days without them. if only there was some young impressionable child she could take as an apprentice! papa arc was going to give jaune such a spanking when he found the boy, he seemed to be always just one step behind him! at least his new sword was keeping him alive after he ran off from home into the wilds to be a hero. where could he have gotten to? a story in which everyone keeps missing the plot, or rather everyone is in a different genre of story and the plot keeps switching. tldr: jaune is being trained by a retired summer and is having an action adventure. summer is going through slice of life and papa arc is handling a mystery comedy looking for his lost son who he always seems to just miss seeing only the after math of his actions and having to fix the issues spawned from it.

"Lucie~! Wait uuup~!"

Jaune Arc, a young boy off on an adventure far away from his home, followed the instinctual pull of his sword and companion, Lucierna Intrepidus! Or, as Jaune referred to her, Lucie. She was a marvelous blade, forged with the spirit of Jaune imbued into her core... located exactly on her pommel. She shone a brilliant aqua blue to match her partner's eyes.

"No way!" She called out. "We've only just started! You can't expect us to be heroes by killing just a few rats, can you?"

"N-No, but we never killed anything bigger than a rat." Jaune reasoned as he his feet were nearly dragged.

"So? This is our moment!" The sword raised itself high. "Think of it! Lucierna Intrepidus, the mighty sword held aloft by Jaune Arc, the greatest sword and swordmaster of all time~!"

"Well, maybe some day, but I'm only 12. I still need to go to school and-"

"Forget school! We need a mentor! And until we find one..." A sudden shift to the left knocked Jaune off his feet and sent him rolling down the hill. "Adventure will teach us what to do!"

"Lucie, you're being.... being..."

Not far from where Jaune landed was a Grimm. And not just any Grimm, but a Beowolf. Next to the Ursa, it was the second-biggest Grimm to wander these woods. It's blood-red eyes seemed to catch ablaze at the sight of the young hero. The young hero who was shaking in his boots.

"Uh..."

"S-See?" Lucie said, her voice also quivering. "Adventure's, uh, just ahead of us..." Steeling her nerves, if she had any, she began barking orders to Jaune. "Dueling stance! Sword up! Sword out! Ready to fight!"

Jaune, having been drilled for the past few months by both his sword and his father, snapped into position with his blade set between himself and the black beast stalking towards him with massive jaw wide open.

"Y-Yup! That's it! Now step forward!" Jaune froze. "Hey! Don't embarrass me in our first real fight!" The boy was shoved off-balance by his sword, making him stumble and fall. As he looked up, he saw the monster set upon him. He covered his head with Lucie. "JAUNE!"

--------------------------------------------------

"Kids! Suppertime~!"

Ruby, Yang, and Jaune ran as fast as they could to the dining room. Before they could be told to do so, they set their training weapons upon their respective racks, then went into the bathroom to wash their hands. The three then took their seats at the dinner table, where Taiyang was already setting down the side dishes.

"Do you want roast beef, Yang?" Summer asked.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah~!" The blonde girl practically vibrated in her seat.

"What do you say, Yang?" Taiyang raised his brow.

"Roast! Beef! Roast! Beef~!" Yang chanted, tapping her fork and knife on the table.

"Yang!"

"Roast! Beef! Roast! Beef!" Ruby joined in, chanting with her sister and pounding her tableware in unison.

"Um, I would like roast beef, Mr. Xiao Long." Jaune said timidly. For his politeness, he was rewarded with the thickest (for a child) slab of roast beef placed squarely on his plate, earning whines from the two girls. "And may I have green beans and carrots, too?"

Summer giggled as her girls watched in astonishment as their own father chose her apprentice over them. While they stared, she prepared plates for them before making her own. Taiyang did the same for Jaune before sitting down.

"So, did you kids play anything fun today?" The huntress asked.

"We played hide and seek!" Ruby chirped.

"Jaune cheated." Yang huffed. "He used his sword to peek on us!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Alright, enough!" Taiyang barked. "There will be no fighting at this table. Now, I want you kids to sit there and eat your food quietly." If there were to be any grumblings, they quickly died when Tai gave them the ol' Blue Eye Bane, a glare so chilling that it made you behave real quick!

"Jaune, I was speaking to your mother today." Summer said after slicing her roast beef into little squares. "She's wondering if you're ready for your first day at Signal tomorrow with Ruby."

"Um... I think so..." Jaune answered, unsure if he really was.

"Oh, you will be!" Taiyang said with a smile. "After all, you've had plenty of Tai-me to get ready!" The blond man and his daughter shared a giggle while his wife and her daughter gave a groan. Jaune just looked confused.

"It's okay to be nervous, Jaune." Summer said. "Being nervous just means something is new to you and you don't know what the best way to go forward is. In the end, though, it always come down to one answer."

"Go forward?" Jaune guessed.

"Exactly!" Summer took a bite of her cutlet of roast beef. "Mm~! You've really outdone yourself tonight, dear!"

"Thanks, honey!" Taiyang smiled. "I'd say this beef is better than the roast~!"

"Tai, please..."

--------------------------------------------------

"Oh, please, be here somewhere..."

Nicholas Arc wandered into the quaint, little farming town, hoping to find some clue as to where his son ran off to this time. This was, by and far, the furthest from home Jaune had ever been. It had been almost a week since he left home on the hunt for him, doing his best to not panic at the prospect that his progeny was perforated, pulverized, or otherwise pulled apart by some predacious pests or worse, some kind of putrid pervert.

"No!" He shook his head. He had to stay focused. He had to find his son, and he could only do that with a clear head. And what better way to get a clear head than with coffee?

He entered the convenience store, a chime and a woman about his age greeting him. He greeted her back and headed to the coffee machine. Waiting for his cup to fill, he looked to the lottery tickets. Inside the glass, from and center, was a rabbit with a cute smile and a flower by their ear. The flower's petals were colored in on every other across from each other.

"Pumpkin Patty..." From the Pumpkin Pete Pumpkin Patch Pals Show that his girls loved to watch. And Jaune. In fact, Jaune was especially enamored with the girl rabbit, so much so that he drew her face with that same flower every chance he got-

"MA'AM!" The woman flinched. He pointed to the lottery box. "WHOSE RABBIT DRAWING IS THAT?!"

She looked to the drawing. "Some kid?"

"Was it a boy?!" Nicholas asked, finally pulling himself back if only just for a moment. "Was it a boy who drew that picture?!"

"Sir, I need you to calm down." She waved her hands to the counter. "He just wanted to draw on something while his teacher was waiting for the donuts."

"Teacher?! What teacher?!"

"Some woman in a white robe." She shrugged.

Nicholas would recognize that description anywhere! The White Reaper! The Angel of Death! He thought she'd retired years ago! But now, there was no mistaking it! His son was abducted by...

"SUMMEEER ROOOOOOOOOOOSE!"

The woman looked outside the convenience store to the screaming man. "Sir, you need to pay for that coffee."

[falling-star-cygnus]

Soul Eater DBD fic, now that i've actually fleshed out their weapon forms [here] and have some.. vague semblance of a plot.

SUMMARY: "He is a weapon, and I am a weapon. What do you suppose is going to happen if we enroll in that- poor excuse of an education establishment?" Edwin and Charles are two weapons on a time crunch to turn the former into a death scythe. Should Death catch them, they'll be separated and sorted off to different meisters. Should someone from the DWMA catch them... well.. it's not exactly safe for a kishin to be flouncing around with weapons looking for a power-up anyway, now is it?

ao3 fic: here chapter two: here as always, please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!! your hopefully dear author craves a chat over tea <3 <3 <3

The Beginning: A Bud Back in Bloom

Edwin was running. 

He didn’t know where, he didn’t know how, but there had to be somewhere. Some bloody break he could catch- or haven he could reach- before.. before that thing caught up.  Whatever reason he had been set free from- from the kishin, or whatever cosmic joke someone was playing on his life [his afterlife?] it would not go to waste.

He just had to- he had to..

The lights stretched and flickered behind him, into long spidery legs fit to drag him back to hell. 

Edwin ran. 

Something was wrong with his soul. And his other form too- he thinks- he knows? 

It’s unreachable to him at this moment, his other half, perhaps lost forever as penance for taking his fleshy- weak, weak, it’s far too weak- body back.

That's.. well- that's not ideal. In different circumstances it would certainly be heartbreaking- to a lose a part of himself so vital. And that will most likely hit him later, when he's done running for his new lease on life.

Right now, it's just an annoyance.

Edwin would be the first to admit his lack of physical prowess- his delicate frame was one of the many reasons his bullies targeted him- but he wasn't incapable.

Not as a sabre. Never as a sabre, he assumes. Though that was a rather small pool to gather data from too.

Resonance was tricky when you spend so long in [somewhat self-imposed] isolation.

But apparently unwilling absorption was not.

He can still feel those boys' hands on his arms, the itchy cloth on his wrists and their laughs and chants of "Mary-Ann, Mary-Ann" as they shoved him forward.

Minor kishin, apparently. A joke for a weapon of his caliber.

MINOR HIS ASS.

Sa'al might've been- maybe- but the witch he'd been traded to had not. Nor had the kishin he'd been fed to.

Edwin can feel his feet begin to shred on stone tiles, can feel the moon boring down on him with it's big bloody grin [literally bloody- this time] from it's low hang in the starless sky.

And it feels so real. Painfully, amazingly, terribly, beautifully real.

He's not just his soul anymore. Not set loose and chased and torn apart and stitched anew but alive.

It tears a laugh out of him.

Hysterical- delirious- perhaps. Yes.

The lights flicker again.

Edwin runs, and runs, and runs until the sun comes up- until the bones of his feet are clacking on the old wood of some dusty bookshop's attic.

And he laughs.

Finally, the weapon [former weapon? new kishin?] thinks to himself, watching his hell skitter past from the safe side of the window- away from the rising sun's laugh, finally..

I'm free.

._._._._.

But there was still something wrong with his soul.

Days later, maybe closer to a week and a half if he's generous, Edwin finds himself clothed in soft, comfortable clothes. A courtesy of the sweet book shop's owner, despite the floors he had dirtied with blood and bits of flesh.

They're not particularly modern- not from what he's seen on the people who walk by the quaint, slightly yellow windows- but perhaps that's what makes them so appealing to him.

Seventy years, he'd been told. Edwin spent seventy years playing cat and mouse with that kishin.

Compared to that, this temporary haven he's found among old pages is.. charming.

And the bookshop owner, a softer man with a veritable cloud of white hair atop his head, is equally so. Mr. Fell, as he had requested to be called.

Perhaps a bit too soft a man, considering he's letting... whatever it is that Edwin now was stay in his attic.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like." he'd said, "for you will be safe here as long as you wish."

Cryptic words, admittedly, but none less true. So far, at least. Hopefully for as long as he dared to push his luck.

And, occasionally, a boy with a mop of curly hair would wander in while Edwin hid busied himself in a corner.

He looked almost devastatingly handsome- though loud and bright and athletic, if a bit too lean around the middle.

A bit too much like the type to terrorize people like Edwin.

The boy was always polite to Mr. Fell, however, and treated the old books much the same whenever he came by. And when his eyes, so large and soft like that of a woodland creature, landed upon the Edwardian [or so he learned his era of time was called] he had offered a wave.

Edwin pretended not to notice- pretended his ears didn't burn red at being caught ogling.

To his credit, mystery boy had taken it in stride and not attempted to start up a conversation. Though perhaps he would have, had the sun not been sobbing itself to sleep.

Most intriguing.. it had not so much as frowned in these past eleven cycles.

The next time the sun blessed boy had come in, around 16 hours later, he was sporting a bruise upon his cheek and limp in his gait.

Edwin didn't see him again after that.

What he did start to see were spiders.

Lots.

And lots.

Of spiders.

Maybe they had always been there, lurking when he wasn't looking, but now that there wasn't something better to focus on- well... they were everywhere.

Not the same breed, nor size, but the same thing. Dreadful, little, 8-legged fuc-

"Edwin?"

The boy straightens, turns towards the door, "Yes, Mr. Fell?"

stmmp.

It scurries back into the shadows.

"I'm heading out for the night," the kind man says, coat neatly strewn over his shoulders, "Will you be alright?"

"As I always am, Mr. Fell."

While the words themself might sound curt, at least in this day and age, Mr. Fell simply nods at him gently- his smile as genuine as ever- and takes his leave.

Quiet falls over the brittle pages.

And then the scurrying starts back up.

One little menace, oh so bold, is brazen enough to crawl it's way up to his elbow- to raise one leg to his covered inner arm.

thud.

But this borrowed armchair is not a waterspout.

And he will not tolerate this taunting.

Edwin's anger brews and snarls into something truly ugly, something that makes this quaint little refuge look coated in sickly green, and makes the shadows look like long grasping legs.

"Leave. Me. Alone," he hisses, to the now quivering little arachnid.

Though his weapon form remains unreachable to him, even now, the delicate exoskeleton of a scared spider is hardly a match for the souls of his boot. Nor the curve of his gloved fist.

So they do- they scurry back into whatever hidey-hells they'd crawled out of. But it's not enough to calm whatever's biting at his core- demanding to be let out and seen and listened to. No, it only grows more feral.

He wants them to perish. To never show their beady eyed faces to him again.

His skin feels like it's tearing in the open along his brow- as the figures in this haunted book shop grow sharper and more distinct- as his anger grows.

How dare these little things feel any right-

CRASH!

Edwin blinks and goes very, very still.

The sickly green light fades away like water over a fire- like a blanket over a lamp. It's quiet. Just the lantern beside him, and the wind outside.

And the shuffling of heavy limbs.

Whatever's making that noise is above him- in the attic.

So, like anyone would when staying somewhere for practically no cost, he stands up. He takes the lantern from the table beside him.

And he ventures up the staircase.

Where he finds the boy the sun wept for- shivering, cold, and wet.

"Wh-who's there?" his teeth click together, nearly biting into his too heavy tongue.

Something unfurls, something soft, in Edwin's chest. He should've suspected as much. In the... now 25 days he's been free, there was nothing in this store that would harm him.

Those woodland eyes lock onto his own mossy ones- with just the barest hint of foggy recognition.

"You're the boy from before.." he chatters out, so so very softly, "What do you want?"

He almost resembles the chortling moon now.. Edwin thinks to himself, as he takes in the sickly pallor of the once warm-toned other. Who was valiantly trying to put up a defiant front.

He sort of just looked like a puppy left in the rain..

"You're the boy with the bruise on his cheek," the Edwardian parrots back at him, taking careful steps forward to gently set the lantern down closer, "Here.. this should offer you at least a little more warmth."

The sun knighted boy winces, "You saw that, did you?"

"I did," he admits, "Though I apologize for not returning your greeting. Rest assured..."

There was nothing in this bookshop that could hurt him anymore- not spiders, not things that go bump in the night, nor any other bedtime story told to misbehaving children.

"I shan't hurt you."

And there was nothing that would hurt this boy now, either. Not while Edwin was here.

[twstfanblog]

So how’d Malleus grab his kids? Was his oldest fulfilling her dreams of being an evil tyrant dragon while her siblings were making sure that no one tries to kill her?

Evil Dad AU meeting story 3 unlocked! Let's go! (Psst. I have evil queen Vil's entire story already plotted through too)

Just for backstory, Silver pretends to be a righteous knight who travels the various kingdoms under Malleus's rule. He pretends to be loyal to the various human kingdoms to learn about the many plots they've got to kill Malleus. He doesn't ever find anything worthy of worry past the supposed 'Dragon Killing blade'. But Malleus and Lilia allow him to roam around because they think it's cute that Silver cares about Malleus's safety. But one Spring (When Silver comes back to the castle to visit his family) Silver is concerned and asks for an audience with Malleus. Malleus is very off-handed because he thinks it's just Silver being overly concerned about a new weapon that's suppose to kill him. Malleus: What is new? Silver: There is a bounty for a dragon- Malleus: Are they still trying to kill me? It was cute a few hundred years ago, but you'd assume they'd learn after the dead 'heroes' reached the dozens... Silver: Silver: It's not you this time…it was for another dragon…one that actually looks like you…but younger… Malleus: The Diasomnia crew all pack up and go off into the lands to find what could only be Malleus's child. There is only one person Malleus ever slept with so they all know what it means if this is his son. And Malleus would also hope this leads him back to Yuu. They find Malicent terrorizing a small village, this much smaller version of Malleus's dragon form jumping around and setting fires. After a few moments of them all cooing they work to catch this juvinelle. Surprisingly just when they're about to catch him, another dragon child appears. The teal dragon confuses them enough to give the two enough of a gape to escape into the woods, leaving the Diasomnia crew in stunned silence. They're all confused because how are there two!? Malleus only slept with one woman in the past hundred years so there should only be one Draconia child.

Lilia: Lilia: I mean…I've never seen it…but what's to say the egg didn't hatch two babies? Malleus: Malleus: I need to find that woman… They of course catch up and nearly catch them AGAIN. Only to have ANOTHER DRAGON to swoop in. Malgona standing over them and her brother's flanking her demanding they leave HER lands. Malleus is overjoyed, he barely even cares anymore about HOW and just wants his and Yuu's children to be taken back home with them. He completely steamrolls over them saying they don't really want to leave their lands and are constantly rejecting his claim on them. It ends on the triplets bolting in different directions making them spit to catch one triplet. And even with the home-field advantage, the triplets are caught and Malleus asks them where their mother so he can collect her as well. Malgona is very bitter at being beaten but tells him they haven't seen her for three years. She would have normally visited them in the winter to make sure they were doing well in the weather, but she didn't come back one winter. Malgona: We were fine though, we have each other and are strong enough to deal with whatever could challenge us...So you can leave. Malleus: Nonsense, you and your brother's are much too young to be on your own. Malicent: We're 13... Lilia, horrified: Oh lord, you're infants. Malgona: WE'RE 13!? Lilia: Infants Malleus: By fae standards, you children shouldn't even be away from your mother's embrace yet Malathew: We're not fae though? We're dragons. Malleus: SO, that's how Malleus realizes how Yuu never planned on returning to him because she didn't even tell their children their true heritage. So into his arms they go, kicking and screaming, back to his empire and to be locked in the castle until he decides they're ready to go out into the world again.

[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

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

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

[the-painted-siren]

Again

Summary: Lloyd and Arin, as featured in the constant cycle of violence that was built on Ninjago’s foundation. Notes: Happy Dragons Rising Release Day! I wrote this one for a game of Who Wrote That, where the prompt was “plot twist.” I waited to post it since it featured themes/ideas from DRS2P2. I had fun with this one. Somewhat inspired by a Hades AU I’m working on with some friends. Tags: depictions of violence, major character death (kind of. It's temporary and symbolic. Death is an illusion in Ninjago.)

Ping!

1 New Message

“Fine then. Let’s end this. Meet me in the clearing where the monastery used to be.”

Arin’s feet drum against the earth in a hard, steady rhythm. There’s a sense of comfort in the movement—memories, warmth, laughter, flashes of him sprinting up one thousand steps toward the place he once called home. It used to hold his family there, or at least the people he once thought were a cheap replacement for the one he lost in the Merge. He once held them close to his heart—he still does—but at what cost?

His thoughts burns away before he reaches the top.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Lloyd rises to his feet. Old history writes a story across his features. Once he was a mentor, once he was a master. Now he is Arin’s grief-driven opponent. He is a protector at the cost of everyone else’s lives.

“I had to. I have to beat you.”

“This is your fault. It has been your fault since I first started training you.”

Arin swallows his fear and regrets. He takes them like a bitter pill. He is only here because of the choices he made. He chased after Ras. He learned the ways of the Wolf Clan. He is the reason the monastery burned down.

He is here because he has written himself into this loop.

That’s the thing about each ninja’s story—numerous and always increasing as they may be.

They have a beginning: they are the hero, they are called to fight, they strengthen their powers until they’re unstoppable.

They have a middle: they enter the fight, they pour every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears into every punch. They stand at the edge of the world.

They have an end: they have a burst of determination. They race toward the end, they drive the final blow. They win.

Arin can only hope that—this time—his story will be the same.

He catches Lloyd’s first strike with the sturdy handle of his war hammer. He grits his teeth, pushes back against the force that rumbles and rages and roars for dominance.

Arin had forgotten how strong Lloyd really is. He had forgotten that Lloyd could take his head off if he genuinely wanted to.

Lloyd’s second strike almost does. It’s well-times, it’s thought out. He pulls his sword back and whips it back around toward Arin’s neck and only misses by the width of a hair.

Arin rolls backwards, stumbles to his feet. His awkward footwork creates enough time for Lloyd to drive home the final blow. The sword pierces through armor and cloth and bone. Arin screams, wrapping his hands around the hilt that Lloyd grips.

“I’m sorry,” Arin whispers.

It’s a repeated prayer, he’s spoken those words more than he can count. He realizes after so many interactions, so many apologies, so much fighting for what he believe is right: if Lloyd ever forgives him, it’ll be a blisteringly hot day the Neverrealm.

He closes his eyes and sinks back into a river of blood. A freezing cold chill crawls through his veins. Exhaustion settles into his body like a heavy blade finding its home on the weapon rack. The hands of time brush over his skin, healing his wounds, sewing up his cuts, and softening his bruises.

He bursts awake.

Ping!

1 New Message

“Fine then. Let’s end this. Meet me in the clearing where the monastery used to be.”

Arin’s feet drum against the earth in a hard, steady rhythm. There’s a sense of comfort in the movement—memories, warmth, laughter, sprinting up one thousand steps toward the place he once called home.

It all burns away before Arin reaches the top.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Lloyd rises to his feet. Old history writes a story across his features.

“I had to. I have to make it out of here, even if it kills us both.”

“This is your fault. It has been your fault since I first started training you.”

That’s the thing about each ninja’s story—numerous and always increasing as they may be. They are clear cut. They have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Arin tightens his grip on his war hammer and charges toward Lloyd. His story has a beginning, a middle, and a beginning again.

Over and over.

It’s a foundation that he must destroy.

— — —

There is a universe out there where Lloyd and Arin are mentor and student. They exchange warm smiles, sparring matches, and lighthearted quips between blows. They are friends and they are inseparable.

There is a universe out there where Lloyd and Arin are hero and villain. They exchange vindictive looks, vicious strikes, and harsh words among pleas for mercy. They are enemies.

They are doomed to repeat the endless cycle of light versus darkness.

It is the same universe.

(There is a spark. There is hope. The fight can end.)

(He must be strong enough.)

[hanayori89]

🪶🪶🪶The Protector, the Spirit, and the Other Woman 🪶🪶🪶

"Y/N... what you just saw was the imprisoned. And this... is Fi... she is the spirit of my sword."

Link's words were devoid of his usual gentleness and spunk and instead were spoken with an essence of glum pragmatism. He didn't realize the weight of the bomb he just dropped on you. Actually, it wasn't even a bomb; no, it was a cyclone bomb, and you were now caught frantically spiraling as you tried to comprehend the revelation of its plot.

The imprisoned was real. You had seen it with your own two eyes.

But now, now—there was a ghost girl taking refuge in the safety of Link's sword?

In spite of everything, Groose building a weapon of destruction was perhaps the most unsettling of reveals to date.

The spinning of your thoughts was unfortunately catching up to you as your knees began to wobble and cave, your clammy palms gripping them as you plopped back down onto the soil. Cold sweat droplets felt like ice chips on your skin, causing you to relinquish to a series of shivers. Thanks to all of your knight training, muscle weighed more than fat, and so it was impossible for Link to not hear you fall to the ground.

"Y/N?" He was next to you, and it was so fast that you wondered for a moment if he and the ghost were one in the same.

Or had he really grown that fast and that strong, and you were in denial and refused to accept it?

"Spirit...? Where is...?" Your question came out fragmented.

Link tilted his head in confusion. "You are more rattled by Fi than the imprisoned?"

Your tunic appeared from beneath his arm, and he began to hang it softly over your shoulders, his hands continuing to pull every corner until not a crinkle remained and it was snug, as if he were making a bed and smoothing down a quilt. When your tunic had you enfolded to his liking, he left his hands perched atop your shoulders. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he gave your left shoulder a small tug, coercing your body into the comfort of his.

You must not have been as shaken up as you had thought you were. Because all it took was the waves of heat trickling from his lips and crashing against your forehead, a few of your baby hairs swaying beneath the force of his breath as he rested his chin on top of your head.

"Link...?"

He pulled back slightly so that his eyes could find yours; the dullness of the surface's woods made Link's eyes take on an inky hue, much like the admiral blue hilt of that weird blade that now adorned his back.

You couldn't believe how different he looked down here on the surface compared to back up on Skyloft. But then, you also couldn't believe how different your feelings for him were too.

Maybe it was a gimmick of the surface.

It had to be, because why else would he be parting his lips while he was gazing at you?

You felt a squeal bubbling in the back of your throat. Something that was effeminate and unfit of a knight.

I read about this in one of Karane's romance books. Is he going to... Oh, Hylia, is he going to kiss me?

Panic paralyzed you as you tried to figure out what you should be doing. Your lips lightly protruded outward, and you recognized that you had never seen a fish, but your face in that moment had to be akin to a photo you'd seen in one of your textbooks. Your cheekbones began to burn as you inhaled some air while you kept your lips puckered outward.

"Y/N..." The way your name floated from his lips and landed between you both was parallel to a loftwing feather floating to the ground. The question was, why were you closing your eyes and pursing your lips to kiss him back?

It had to be the surface. When you returned to Skyloft, you could just dislike him again and continue the comfort of your deep-rooted distaste of his favoritism that landed him a position as a knight.

But for now, here on the surface, you would allow these newfound emotions to bloom.

And what better way to water them than with a taste of his lips?

THUMP!

You looked up at Link's face, startled. You were lying on your back, his body hunched over as his hand held yours.

He had flipped you over.

"Link! What the-" He crashed down on top of you as you both began to wrestle in the grass. He pinned you down and secured you in a headlock, his knuckles scraping across your scalp as he gave you the most unpleasant noogie of your life.

"HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST YOUR MIND? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, Y/N?!"

You took your elbow and lifted it into his stomach, but all it did was meet the wall of his iron abdomen. You ejected it back down in defeat as you continued to struggle against him.

"Have you lost your mind?! You're going to give me hair breakage—quit it!" You snapped.

"THAT'S WHAT YOURE WORRIED ABOUT?! NOT THE FACT THAT YOU DECIDED TO JUMP ON THE EVILEST OF ALL EVILS WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT! HOW COULD YOU BE SO RECKLESS? HE COULD HAVE OBLITERATED YOU WITH A SINGLE FLICK OF HIS HEAD!"

"I had to save that old hag you're so fond of!"

"IMPA? YOU DONT EVEN LIKE IMPA!" Link countered that as he continued to assault your scalp, strands of your hair were snagged on a seam of his gauntlet. "YOU'RE GOING BACK TO SKYLOFT WHERE YOU ARE SAFE. RIGHT. NOW."

"You cannot return the thoughtless skychild back to your island." Impa's footsteps crunched among the grass until her frail shadow encompassed you both.

"Impa? What do you mean? Y/N cannot remain down here; she will be in grave danger." Sensing a new challenge in the form of a stern Impa, Link released you from his grip. He stood and picked off a leaf dangling from his shoulder.

You stood, joining them, strands of your hair possessed by static electricity jutted in all directions like the branches stationed on the many surrounding trees.

"If you bring her back to Skyloft, it will mean danger for her and all of your loved ones in the skies. The demon has chosen her."

"Chosen her for what? I refuse to let Y/N be involved in this!"

Impa's dark pupils, crusted beneath the creases of her eyelids, turned and stared at the seal where Link stood not long ago. "I am not sure. But it sucked her down onto the surface. No one else."

"Well, hey, at least Zelda isn't the focus." Another voice joined the triage of conversation. You could hear the sounds of knuckles popping as you swiveled your head around and caught Groose in your sight.

He continued to approach, making sure to crack each knuckle as if his fists stood a chance against anything other than Fletch.

"Groose!" No sooner did his name leave your mouth that you found yourself in front of him, tackling him against a tree.

"Heh, nice to see you too, Y/N. Welcome to the surface!" The way his lips wiggled into a smirk made you want to bash each tooth out with the same precision he had just cracked each knuckle.

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU MAKE A PROJECTILE WEAPON WITH A LEVER THAT DOESN'T WORK?!"

"Ah, you must be referring to the Groosenator. Well, Y/N, it isn't my fault you're too dense to recognize fine technology when you see it. Perhaps a tutorial is in order." Your fingers clawed into the fabric of his shirt as you lifted him off his feet and mashed him against the tree, leaves cascading down from the force.

"OW! Y/N, sometimes I'm not even sure you're a woman. No wonder Link wouldn't kiss you. "

"What did you just say?!" You got close to his face, your teeth gnashing together in a low guttural growl.

"I saw you... you puckered your lips out. You thought he was going to kiss you. Poor Y/N. But don't be upset; it just means we have a common enemy."

"You buffoon! Link would be your enemy, and Zelda would be mine."

"Mmm, why would Zelda be your enemy unless you liked Link? See what I did there?"

You lifted your foot and slammed it down onto Groose's boot, causing him to grab his mouth and inhale as he held back an explicative that would make the entire forest around you rumble. You were about to lay a beating into Groose when you saw the familiar swoosh of blue and lavender flood your peripherals.

The immense streaks of color bleeding into your vision caused you to jump back against the tree you had just held Groose against.

Groose raised his eyebrow at you. "Are you afraid of Fi?"

You looked over at him, irritated. "Well, wouldn't you be if you saw a ghost girl constantly popping out of an object?"

"She is one of us. She is, well, how can I explain?" Groose rubbed his chin. "She isn't a spirit in his sword; she is his sword."

He then took you by the shoulders. You couldn't help but notice his fingernails had been bitten down so far that the tips of his nail beds had crusted over. "Between us Y/N, I think you are worrying about the wrong woman."

"What do you mean?"

"You thought Zelda was your competition. Nah, take a good look because your competition is right over there." Groose spun you around so you could see the being known as Fi floating behind Link, her energy almost like a protective shawl looped over his back.

"Master, there is a 98% chance Ghirahim may be loose again with the given circumstances of the release of the imprisoned." Her vacant eye sockets were fixed on the back of Link's head as she spoke.

The Link you knew on Skyloft was starting to resurface. You could see his brows sweep downward in distress as his arms hung limply by his side and trembed like tree limbs. "I know Fi. I know."

"We must go to the goddess master."

"But I can't leave Y/N down here by herself either."

"You must. You are the hero. The one created for the goddess Hylia herself. This Y/N, she is not your purpose. Just like you, you are mine, master." You weren't sure if it was your imagination, but as Fi said this, she began to scan you. She was calculating. Scheming.

You were no longer Link's friend, nor were you his rival.

You were the other woman.

A title that was somehow much worse.

Edited: 12/1/24

[rubykgrant]

Thinking about your AU where Sarge works as security for a science corp and Grif is a kid who keeps breaking in to save Simmons who is a mermaid… i wanna hear about it more!

Aahhh thank you so much~

I love the merkid story.

I have had trouble just WRITING IT ALL OUT as a story, but I can tell you some of the plot-high-lights if you want! It is kind of a lot, I hope it makes sense...

-During a big storm, little Grif decides this is gonna be his best chance to finally get in there and find Simmons. He uses his Secret Weapon; Kaikaina, who walks into the front office as all the employees try to deal with a sudden power outage. She just starts SCREAMING, which easily distracts everybody... except for Sarge, who recognizes a sneak attack, and decides he should go check the back hallway (where he finds Grif, making a bee-line for the basement lab)

-Sarge finally catches up to Grif in the basement... where he sees the kid helping what appears to be another child up out of a large tank of water. Several revelations happen; that is definitely a little kid this lab has been experimenting on, that little kid isn't human, MERFOLK ARE REAL I GUESS, and that merkid looks like he's seen better days. Grif isn't sure what this mean security guard is gonna do next, but Sarge just instantly decides that the right thing to do here is protect these kids. Simple as that

-With the power out, the security cameras are down. Sarge radios and tells the other employees he thinks the intruder went out through the back entrance, so he's heading out there to check the parking lot; he REALLY sneaks both kids out through a drain tunnel that leads to the ocean. The sea is too rough for the merkid to swim home, so Sarge just picks them both up and carries them up a hill and to his van. Once they're inside, he goes back in, says he saw the intruder kid down the road, figured this little banshee is his little sister, and offers to drive them both home to just be done with this. The other employees are fine with that (they're hoping Sarge will smooth things over with the parents of the kids). Sarge actually drives them back to his place, gets them settled inside, and heads back to work. The rest of the day is spent repairing broken glass, and watching as the scientists PANIC about "losing a subject" (but refuse to elaborate anything to Sarge). He assures them the two kids were on their own, so... no reasons to suspect them of "taking anything"

-OK, now it's time to figure stuff out! Sarge goes home, feeds the kid (they all seem like they're starving), and finally gets some answers; Grif met this merkid a couple years ago, when he got stuck in a tidepool while also being tangled in some trash. Grif got him free, and helped him back into the open water... but the merkid still didn't want to go home right away. They wind up slowly becoming friends, Grif sharing all kinds of interesting human stuff with him, and they learned how to talk to each other. Kai eventually followed her brother to his "secret beach", and she gets to know the merkid too. His name sounds like "Simm-nens", Kai started calling him "Simmons", which he thought sounded nice, so it stuck. Grif has been playing with Simmons, swimming in the ocean, sharing food and stuff like comics ever since...

-Until a few months ago, when the research facility was built, and Kai came running home in tears because she saw- "Bad guys stole Simmons!". Grif ran to their meeting spot at the secret beach, where he saw a van driving away... from the logo on the van, he figured out who took his friend, and began trying to figure out a jailbreak. At last, success! Poor Simmons has been getting experimented on, poked and prodded, cut and injected, isolated and malnourished this whole time. Sarge isn't sure what the scientists were trying to do, but he sure doesn't approve of hurting kids. As the kids talk, he sees that Simmons' lower half is starting to look... dried out? Grif explains that Simmons can "shed" the aquatic tail, and ta-da, he's got legs! It doesn't always work, and Simmons can only do it once in a while (he avoided doing it while he was captured; he didn't want the scientists to find out more about him)

-After learning about the Grif Sibs' difficult home life (dad has been in and out of jail, mom is rarely home), he offers to let them stay; he just went from living solo to "adopting 3" kids! He keeps them a secret while they stay with him, and things at work continue to be VERY shady... the CEO of the company showed up, a man everybody only addresses as the Director, AND another guy who claims he's the chairman for a health and safety organization comes in to do an inspection. Sarge continues to feign ignorance. Meanwhile, he learns more about why Simmons didn't want to go him; his own parents were mistreating him (some of his scars are older, before he was captured by the scientists). Sarge decides to take the kid in for a check-up with a doctor he trusts...

-He figures the best way to prove Simmons isn't human is to just let another person figure it out. Sarge tells an old friend, Dr. Grey, that he's come across some kids with complicated family situations, and one is in need of some medical help... but it isn't safe to just take the kid to a hospital. She knows a thing or two about complicated family AND legal situations, so she agrees to make this a doctor's visit "off the books". Simmons is nervous and near-panic about getting blood drawn, but Sarge shows him this won't be like "the mean doctors"; he holds his own arm up besides Simmons, Grey takes a blood sample from them both to show the needle won't be too bad (sweet little bonding moment~). A day later, Grey calls Sarge telling him- "That was a good plan", because if he just TOLD her this was a merkid, would she believe him? Maybe not... but a blood sample she took herself is pretty solid proof. She's gonna help him figure out how to help and continue hiding them kid

-With help from Grey, Sarge gets a fake identity for Simmons, and when the research lap closes to "relocate", Sarge is going to move... he can't take Grif and Kai with him, because child services in the area has finally realized they've been living alone, and Sarge wouldn't be able to get custody of them. It's a sad good-bye... but not forever. They occasionally write, call, and e-mail. When Grif graduates from 8th grade, Sarge surprises him by visiting with Simmons! They have fun catching up, but it is also WEIRD, because Simmons seems like he's just a "regular dude" now. Another weird thing is... Grif might maybe kinda-sorta have a crush on his friend. Oh, and Sarge picked up another kid. Now Donut is here. Hooray~

-Some background stuff with other characters; Church wakes up in a hospital. Evidently somebody just found him on the beach, half-dead. He doesn't remember much... but he sure knows how to COMPLAIN (he is actually a "synthetic merfolk-human hybrid" made at another lab, a long time before Simmons was ever found). Butch Flowers, friend of Sarge, is aware of these mysterious merfolk, and the strange experiments going on, but he started to distrust the goals of the scientists he worked for. Without getting caught, he's made little plans to allow Church (and a few others like him) to escape, and later got Sarge to be in a place where he could rescue another merfolk that had been captured; Church eventually meets Tucker, Caboose, they have their own adventures, etc

-The reasons for this, as always, is the Director; after an incident when he was younger, he knows creatures like merfolk exist, and when his wife died, he became obsessed with finding them to exploit a specific ability they might have... but to make this profitable, he does all kinds of other experiments on any creature he finds. It sucks. The BIG REVEAL of the special ability... at some point, when Grif gets badly injured, Simmons does some merfolk magic that lets him heal Grif. However, if it is done in a rush, it comes at a cost (this works kinda like "mermaid alchemy"; their ability to change/reform themselves, which includes gaining legs, can also heal others, but it is only safe to do when it happens slowly; they need supplies that can work as "replenishing materials". without enough, some damage can't be fixed. in Simmons' case, he's able to heal Grif's internal injuries and "regrow" his own, but he's down an arm and a leg. Sarge and Grey get his some prosthetics, with ones that can also work underwater/with the tail). The Director wanted to figure out how to ENTIRELY resurrect somebody from death with this ability, but it just does NOT work like that. Wash and Carolina get involved, more Church stuff happens, Plot Stuff... Grif and Simmons finally have a chance to go swimming in the ocean again, for the first time since they've both changed; both growing up and going through the life/death situation

-Grif actually fell for Simmons when he wasn't a "magical sea creature", but when he was a (seemingly) normal nerdy guy. Simmons can't comprehend what was so "special" about him like this... meanwhile, Simmons kinda had an infatuation with Grif when they were little (though, he didn't recognize what those feelings meant), because meeting a human was the most amazing thing that ever happened in his life. Now they're older, and a lot has changed, but some things have just kind of grown stronger. Yes, underwater kiss happens~ (I think I want a moment in which Grif discovers he can now change to a merfolk form as well, because Simmons put so much of "himself" into the healing magic. now they can both be boyfriends on the land and in the ocean. Kai is very jealous- why can't SHE be a magical mermaid dang it!? she does get to finally party with some hot merfolk, so that's fun at least~)