#- ending up forcing her into a corner. and i just. love. how its canon that drk wol doesnt remember the majority of what happened -

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 1)

NESTA ARCHERON X FEMALE!READER

summary: Your friend, Lucien, saved you from Hybern in the Spring Court and brought you to Night. There, you meet Nesta Archeron, and the two of you face the Night Court together.

warnings: MAJOR inner circle slander, if you love Feysand and will defend them please do not read this fic for your own sanity, also some angst

word count: 3.5k

request: (y’all wanted some Neris x reader and most of it was smut, this will happen later on but I went wild with the Neris requests so this will be a long multi part fic I am so sorry lmao)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: seriously, do not read this fic if you are upset by Rhys, Feyre, IC slander. It will be upsetting, I do not want to get complaints about it. I do not hate those characters, but I do think they are hypocrites and I am sick of them not getting called out. Also, this WILL BECOME A NERIS X READER FIC, so if you’re hoping for any Nessian it will not happen. Also none of it follows the canon haha

read on ao3

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Today marked three months since you ended up in the Night Court, courtesy of Lucien. One month since your old friend had found you half dead in your village in the Spring Court, which had been massacred by Hybern soldiers. Lucien had gone to check on Tamlin, trying to rebuild their relations that had been shattered upon the redhead’s switching of courts. On his way out of the Spring Court he had decided to drop by your village, not having seen you in over a decade, only to find it in ruins. You were the only survivor, but barely. All you remembered was the sound of Lucien’s panicked voice, and the sensation of a world spinning as he winnowed you away.

You did not remember much about your arrival in the Night Court, aside from the occasional scents of ointments as healers tended to your broken, starved body. You were in and out of consciousness for a few days, never staying awake for more than five minutes at a time. Lucien had explained that you were at a fortress called the House of Wind, in the mountains above the main city. After a week you were strong enough to get out of bed, strong enough to meet with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

To say it had gone poorly had been an understatement. You could see the disdain in their eyes as they learned you to be from the Spring Court, their judgment as if you were the one who had locked Feyre in that manor after the escape from Under the Mountain. Rage coiled in your cut as you stared down the High Lady, hating how she lived her life without remorse for what she had done to your people.

“Glad to see you are awake and well.” Rhysand had said, no warmth to be found in his violet eyes.

“Lying is not a good look on you, High Lord.” You had spat out in response. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Lucien giving you a pleading look, begging you not to start this argument now.

But you had anyway. You did not want to be in the Night Court, forced to rely on the generosity of the female who destroyed your court and the male who delighted in cruelty. Everyone knew what Tamlin had done to Feyre, how he locked her up in the manor. You could not blame her anger – it had been wrong for the blonde High Lord to lock his fiancee up.

But she had taken her revenge out on the people of Spring Court. She had deliberately opened it up like a wound, allowing Hybern to take advantage of its weakness and go on a slaughter rampage, one that had almost gotten you killed. And yet Feyre was hailed as a hero for destroying a court of innocent people just to get back at its leader. Your stomach churned, remembering the faces of your friends and family as their throats were slit by Hybern soldiers who laughed as their blood spilled onto their armour. All because of the High Lady of the Night Court.

You did not hold back your hostility, letting your hatred and anger spill from your lips. “Am I supposed to thank you?” You had snarled at her.

“That would be a start.” Feyre had said, looking down her nose at you. “You are in my court, after all, being taken care of by my healers.”

You had snorted, letting out a dry laugh. “You are the reason I am here, High Lady. Because you let your petty revenge fantasies destroy my court and slaughter my village, my family, everything I loved.”

Feyre had stiffened, eyes shifting to her mate for support.

“You will not speak to her like that.” Rhysand had growled, letting his power fill the room in an attempt to intimidate you.

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” You had bit back. “You have no problem letting people from Spring Court die, so go for it. Maybe killing another one of us will make you feel better.”

Lucien had intervened at this point, trying to ease the tension before it got out of hand. But you continued to stare down at the High Lord and Lady, wishing you were anywhere else but in this wretched court. You knew the only reason you were still alive was because if they killed you, Lucien would be less inclined to work with them and for whatever reason, they needed him on their side.

And that is how you had ended up at the House of Wind. The High Lord and Lady claimed you were not a prisoner, but you knew they were well aware you were too weak to tackle the 10,000 steps down into the city. So yes, you were essentially a prisoner, and you had told them this much right before they winnowed away. Lucien had promised he’d come visit you, but when he didn’t you expected the High Lord and Lady had deliberately been keeping him busy.

So you wandered aimlessly around the estate, filled with resentment that you were stuck in the court ruled by the female who had torn yours apart. You barely ate, your time mostly consisting of sitting on the reading nook by one of the large windows, staring out at the mountains beyond.

One day, things changed. Normally, nobody bothered you while you stared out your window, the only other signs of life in the room being the occasional servant passing through. On a rainy afternoon, you had decided to crack open one of the books on the shelf and begin reading. You were a few chapters in when you heard footsteps approaching, stopping a few feet away from you. Normally you would have ignored the other presence in the room, but something in your chest pulled at you like a string, urging you to turn around where you were faced with the most beautiful female you had ever seen.

She was tall and lean, dressed in a dark blue gown with long sleeves and a collar around her elegant neck. Her face was sharp and her hair was a rich caramel shade, braided in a crown around her head. Those slate-coloured eyes glinted, staring you down with an intensity that you imagined made most fae shuffle on their feet with uneasiness. But it was a different intensity than the High Lord and Lady’s gazes, and you did not feel fear, only awe.

“You are Lucien’s friend.” She finally spoke. Her expression was unreadable, and she was as still as a statue.

“Yes.” You had said, meeting her gaze. She was enchanting, your heart fluttering at the sound of her cool voice. She was silent for a moment longer before speaking again.

“I heard you caused some upset with my sister and her mate.”

A bell pinged in your head as you put the pieces together. Lucien had mentioned Feyre’s older sister, not that you needed an introduction. Everyone across Prythian had heard of the female who severed the King of Hybern’s head from his body, whose eyes glowed with silver fire from the Cauldron itself.

You were unsure of what to say. Part of you worried that Nesta would look at you with the same disdain as her sister, but the other part of you knew that she wouldn’t. For some reason, Nesta was in the same position as you, a prisoner in the House of Wind while her sister was free to wander the city below, painting away in her new grand estates. The thought made you seethe with rage, knowing so many fae like yourself were still suffering from the war, with no money and no support.

The silence slowly ate away at you, until Nesta finally spoke.

“Good.” Was all she said before turning away and walking out of the room.

And that was the beginning of you and Nesta. Over the next few weeks, you saw each other more. It started with Nesta asking what you were reading, and suggesting other stories for you to read. And then she began joining you, sitting in silence in the chair across from you as you both read your books. Eventually, you found yourself leaving the room and going to the library with the older Archeron sister, or sipping tea on the balcony.

For the first while, the two of you spoke little. It was not an uncomfortable silence though, you two simply sat contently in each other's presence. It was nice to have another female around, especially one that didn’t worship the ground that the High Lady and Lord walked on.

One day, the ‘inner circle’, as Nesta explained they called themselves, arrived at the House of Wind for dinner. Lucien had informed you earlier that morning, sheepishly explaining that not attending wasn’t an option. Apparently the rulers of the Night Court wanted to build relations with you – which you knew was just code for seeing if they could use your connections to the Spring Court to their advantage.

You stood in your room, examining the dress that one of the servants had brought you. It was black, with a deep V-neck and a thick band around your waist. The sleeves were made of sheer material that hung loose around your arms and gathered at the wrist. It was a nice dress, you admitted, but you knew it was selected to make you feel like you were part of the Night Court. Which you weren’t, and would never be.

Deciding to leave your hair unbound, you opened your door and exited your room. You saw Nesta in the hallway, her room being one down from yours, and your jaw dropped when you saw her.

Her dress was similar to the blue one you met her in, only it was a shade of deep grey, and the thin neckline plunged to her navel. Nesta’s hair was braided in her usual style, but dark circles haunted the skin under her eyes. You knew she had not been sleeping, often hearing her toss and turn all night from the other side of the wall. From what you gathered about her being in the same position as you, Nesta was dreading this dinner more than you were.

“Hey.” You said softly. Her gaze met yours, silver eyes glazed as if they were staring right through you.

Your heart nearly shattered at how broken she looked. You couldn’t imagine what she was going through, how awful it must have been to have been stolen from your bed and your bodily autonomy stripped away from you as you were turned into something else. She did not look like the fierce Kingslayer the rumours spoke of, or the mean, nasty female that cut people down with her words, but rather a shell of a person who was seconds away from crumbling into nothing.

“Are you ready?” You asked gently.

Nesta nodded stiffly, and you extended your hand before you could think. Part of you was afraid she’d scoff at the gesture, lashing out and storming away and leaving you humiliated. To your surprise, Nesta slid her hand into yours – it was ice cold and shaky, so you gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We can face them together,” You assured her. “I don’t know what went down between you and the Night Court, but I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Nesta’s eyes cleared as she turned her gaze back towards you. She blinked once, as if she was making sure you were real, standing there holding her hand.

“And I’ll be with you.” She said, her voice shaking slightly as she tilted her chin up. “Now let’s get this over with.”

The two of you strode hand in hand down the hallway towards the dining room, bracing yourselves for whatever the next hours would bring.

*************

If you hadn’t been so annoyed at the Night Court rulers showing up you would have laughed at their expressions when you and Nesta walked into the room with your hands entwined. At the table, Rhysand and Feyre sat side by side at the head, the High Lord’s violet eyes simmering at the sight of you and Nesta side by side while Feyre’s eyes were wide with surprise. There was an empty space next to Feyre, no doubt intended for Nesta, and on the other side of the seat was a blonde female wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline. You recognized her as the Morrigan – her neck and wrists were cluttered with gold jewelry, and her face was undeniably gorgeous, save for the confused look that was written across her features. Cassian and Azriel sat next to the blonde, also looking surprised. Cassian, who you had met in passing a few times, paused halfway through sipping his glass of time. His eyes were wholly focused on Nesta, and you didn’t miss the jealousy pooling in them. Azriel, whom you had also met a few times and was the one member of the Inner Circle that you could tolerate, showed less surprise. He merely blinked once, an unreadable expression on his face, and a shadow curled around his neck.

To Rhysand’s right was a small female with short black hair and red lips. Amren, you figured. A look of disgust crossed her face, and you felt Nesta tense beside you. Clearly, something had gone down between the two of them. Next to Amren was a male with dark skin and white hair, looking very uncomfortable. Lucien sat next to him, looking like he was going to burst out laughing any second. Another empty chair was next to Lucien, clearly intended for you.

Silence filled the room for what could have been an eternity until Feyre spoke up.

“Nesta, (Y/N),” The High Lady said, voice light and airy. “We are so glad you could join us.”

Nobody else said anything, and you could practically feel Nesta’s panic. She was looking at the seat meant for her, between her sister who locked her up here and a female who clearly disliked her.

After squeezing Nesta’s hand, you let go and walked over to the chair beside Feyre. Confused, the entire table watched you as you grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it away, not caring about the ear splitting scraping sound it made on the stone floor. You pulled it to the other end of the table, opposite of Rhys and Feyre but next to the empty chair beside Lucien, who coughed into his arm to conceal his laugh.

You looked back towards Nesta, whose lips twitched upwards for a split second as she strode over to the newly placed chair, smoothing her skirts as she sat down in it. Satisfied with the new arrangement, you took your seat.

After more moments of dumbstruck quiet, it was the Varian who broke the silence, asking Feyre about her art. As servants brought food to the tables, conversation flowed everywhere but in the direction of you and Nesta.

You were fine with that, and you knew Nesta was too. The silence you two sat in was comfortable and familiar, but neither of you really touched your food. Being in the presence of the inner circle made your appetite nonexistent. So you pushed the veggies around your plate for the next half hour until plates were cleared, and your end of the table was addressed for the first time.

“How’s the training going, Nesta?” Morrigan asked. It seemed genuine enough, but from the way Nesta tensed beside you, you could tell it was a pointed question.

“Wonderful.” Nesta said dryly, meeting her stare.

“What training?” You asked, confused. Not once had you seen Nesta with a blade, but whenever Cassian left the House of Wind in the past while he was always in a mood, Nesta even more so.

“Nesta’s learning how to fight,” Feyre said. “That’s why she’s here.”

“The training she’s apparently refusing to do.” Rhysand added.

You snorted. “Doesn’t the Night Court already have armies? I don’t see them here, if she was going to learn how to fight wouldn’t it be, you know, where the armies actually are?”

Rhysand’s eyes met yours. “Yes, we have armies,” He said in a low voice. “But Nesta needs to train anyway.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Nesta hissed.

“You do if you are in my court.” Rhysand growled.

“I did not ask to be here.”

You surveyed the table. Feyre’s eyes were red, as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment. Cassian looked concerned, while Mor and Amren seemed annoyed. So many questions burned at you – why was Nesta being made to train to fight? Why here, locked away from the city? What happened between her and her sister?

Discreetly, you took Nesta’s hand under the table, rubbing a circle with your thumb, although you did not think the action went unnoticed.

I am with you, You reminded her. Deciding to take the spotlight off Nesta, you spoke up.

“But why am I here?” You asked. “I am healed now, why not send me back home? What reason do you have to keep me here?”

Another heavy silence filled the room, even Cassian had stopped eating. Eyes shifted, as if a silent conversation was occurring.

“We thought you might have some information about the Spring Court.” Rhysand began. “Since you are here–”

You laughed sharply, cutting him off. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I am not, and I suggest you listen.”

“Do you seriously think I’m going to betray my own court?” You spat. “Besides, isn’t Lucien the one with the job anyways?”

Your red haired friend closed his eyes and sighed, knowing this was going to happen. You felt bad for him – you knew he wasn’t fully accepted in the Night Court, just as you would never be, not with his ties to Spring. He was balancing on a wire, trying to help two courts who hated each other.

“Your father is one of Tamlin’s advisors,” Rhysand continued, ignoring you. “And Tamlin is an enemy. We just want to know–”

Rage pulsed through you. You were glad you didn’t have any sort of power, because if you did you were pretty sure the room would have erupted into flames.

“My father WAS one of Tamlin’s advisors,” You growled. “Now he is dead thanks to your High Lady destroying his court and leaving them vulnerable to Hybern. If you think I’m going to help you, you’re insane.”

“You will do as we say,” Rhysand growled, placing his hands on the table and standing up. “If you do not want to share what you know, we have other ways of getting it out of you. I have no problem going into that pretty head of yours and—”

Nesta stood up. “Do not threaten her.” She said, with the most vicious snarl you had ever seen. Silver fire glowed in her eyes, and you almost gasped. This was the power the Cauldron gave her, you realized. She looked like a goddess of war, staring at the High Lord with a challenge to dare lay a hand on you.

“Or what, Nesta?” Rhysand asked, moving his arm to bring Feyre behind him. “What are you going to do?”

The entire table was still, as if bracing themselves to intervene if either fae launched themselves at one another. You had only known Nesta for just over two months, yet she was ready to challenge the High Lord in your defense, something which clearly confused the others at the table.

You were grateful for her support. The dynamic between the two of you was unique to any other friendship you had, although you did not know if you could classify it as such. You were two females who had slighted the members of the court and forced into the House of Wind like dogs being sent to the kennel. You wished you knew the whole of Nesta’s story, but you also knew better than to push.

The Night Court saved you without your consent and planned to use it as leverage, to try and get information on their enemy. It made you sick, how you were indebted to them and expected to be grateful. While the House of Wind was nice, you knew you could not leave it. You were a hostage there, just as much as Nesta. And you two needed to stick together.

Nesta’s eyes returned to their original shade, whether it be from the High Lord’s magic demanding submission or her own volition. She cleared her throat, throwing one last glare across the table before grabbing your hand.

“I think we are done for tonight.” She said, pulling you up.

Leaving the shocked table behind, you let her lead you out the door, shaking slightly. The two of you walked in silence down the hallway towards your room. As you got to your rooms, Nesta dropped your hand.

“Nesta, I–” You went to thank her, and to ask if she was ok, but she had already wordlessly stormed into her room and closed the door.

let me know if you want to be added to a taglist <3

#nesta archeron #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron x reader #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #nessian #feysand #acotar fic #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti feyre archeron #anti feysand #spring court #tamlin #nesta archeron supremacy #neris #eris vanserra #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #neris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #angst

[yakool-foolio]

Okay, now on the other end of things

Morality wise, what about the NDA? Like they're the "good guys" in the story but who's the morally best and worst in your opinion? Also Kurumi as well if you want, because she kind of counts as am honorary NDA member ig?

Ooooooooh man this is a whole other can of worms, isn't it? Ranking the peacekeepers on their morality is much more cut n dry, but there's a whole lot more to think about when discussing the much more nuanced ethics each detective has. So to not devolve into too much chaos, I'll once again only be basing my ranking off of what is seen in canon in the game, so no talk of Number One Yuma (though that is definitely its own decisive topic, which will become evident soon). And as usual the list will go from best to worst, so we'll ease ourselves in before really diving into the nuance.

To start us off is the lovely Fubuki! Oh, you sweet summer child. The most morally sound out of all the detectives. Not a single bad bone in her body. She may be uneducated about many things in the world, but that doesn't stop her from being inherently kind and sweet, even with her unconventional compliments.

Next in line is Halara! I was honestly a little conflicted on whether they would be placed above or below Desuhiko, but I after some thinking, I believe Halara has the moral high ground. Obviously their stinginess and greed lowers their score, but the road is paved with good intentions. The reason they ask for so much money is so they can put it toward a program to help save cats! Even though they have trust issues with people, they care deeply about animals. And once they do gain some trust in human allies like Fubuki and Desuhiko, they say that their companionship is considered enough payment for the time being when partaking in casual investigations.

Climbing down to the next rung is Desuhiko. He's definitely got some issues with his ethics regarding his flirtatiousness. He is not afraid to flirt with any woman he meets and that is not good. Thankfully, he doesn't necessarily force any interaction and does back off when scolded or ignored enough, but that doesn't make his words any less uncomfortable. He needs to learn some self control or else he's gonna get a boot to the head.

Now here's where things get really interesting. Vivia takes third place in moral deviance. This is without going into the possible meanings of the teardrop tattoo, god forbid I bring up the idea of him murdering someone or being part of a gang; things would get much worse if I did. Even then, Vivia's overreaction to Yuma's determination to expose the truth definitely sits him firmly on the lower end of the ranking. He threatened to kill Yuma just so they could go back to living in blissful ignorance of Yakou's involvement in the case. He only resigned from his murderous intentions after hearing Yakou's spirit, calming him down and making him realize that he can't turn away from the truth and has to believe in his heart (kinda gay ngl). Vivia as a whole is harder to exactly pin down with his moral grayness regarding honesty, but ya can't really ignore the intention to slit someone's throat open, can ya?

And now we reach the actual murderer: heyo Yakou. Despite all the manipulation pulled by Yomi and Makoto, Yakou didn't have to kill Huesca. He did it for vengeance and atonement, leading all his detectives into the lion's den in order to execute his plan. Despite taking advantage of his allies, he undoubtedly had good intentions and is a very good soul overall. He wanted to bring justice to his wife who died because of an absolutely awful man and make up for not being able to save her. But murder is still murder, regardless of motive (I would say to put a pin in this, but I don't need to when the topic is coming up again right around the corner).

And here's the actual mass-murderer: Yuma! Now I know this may come as a shocker (or not depending on how much this game has been rotating in your brain like it has with mine), but Yuma is far from innocent, as much as we love to call him 'baby.' With the help of Shinigami, Yuma has killed many culprits. It can be argued that the very first reaping of Hitman Zilch doesn't fall under the same umbrella of awareness of his crime, but he still killed him! And afterward, Yuma made the decision to enter the labyrinth knowing that the culprits would die. He didn't have to use the labyrinths. It's especially egregious in chapter 3 when help was already on the way and would've put a stop to Dominic smashing Yuma to bits since they had the culprit with them! A death could've been avoided, but hindsight is not Yuma's Forte. And like I said, this isn't even talking about the corrupt fuckery of the WDO and what Yuma might've done as Number One.

#gotta love our devious detectives #just a bundle of loveable misfits #i just realized i forgot to mention kurumi but uh she's tied with fubuki #not much going on with her and its not at all her fault she ate people as much as that would add some spice to her ranking #rain code #rain code spoilers #fubuki clockford #halara nightmare #desuhiko thunderbolt #vivia twilight #yakou furio #yuma kokohead

[spotsupstuff]

Does Boreas truly love his family or does he simply see it as a responsibility to take care of them simply because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you have family? How does he react when he loses them in the canon timeline?

well, when Zephyr fell and went dark he was messed up by it so badly he never really got out of it even after he takes up raising and caring for batflies. he's so used to feeling anger all the time and hardly anything else that he doesn't know how to deal with the feelings Zephyr's passing makes him go through. he essentially becomes paralyzed in the grief, which is actually the main thing that destroys Mission Self-preservation

that's what this meme basically addresses-

if he socialized better, wasn't caught only in his tiny little circle and refused any relationship from others like Orion, he could've addressed that crippling emotional agony that comes with passing of a loved one. time won't heal you well without medicine

Boreas is the first one Euros tells about his second Rot

another tragedy he won't be able to cope with. Euros' last broadcast is singing into the frequencies, for anyone still alive and capable to listen to him for the last time. B and some more others come together and answer his calls, sing to him until his power fails and Euros goes dark

if he didn't love the boy, the man who doesn't like to sing much wouldn't come to mourn with a ballad at the funeral

his anger at Notos' blindness is inspired by my parents whenever my disability becomes the topic of a conversation. they are so so angry i've been hurt this way. nobody should have to be disabled, we are supposed to be okay. so Boreas loves Notos unbelievably much and his anger at the injustice done to her is an evidence of it. he doesn't get to call it before it collapses like with Euros because the communications are down and something tells him that it wouldn't really want to see him in its final moments upright either way. after Zephyr's collapse he became even more prickly including to his loved ones since he can't deal with it and that ended with Notos replying in kind. it's his fault that the two drifted away, but he still loves that kid

i dunno where i've seen it but in some film i think there was a scene of an addict dad and his kid, POV the kid. the dad shouted and cursed and blamed the kid for his state and for his grief, probably shattered an alcohol bottle too, then he realized what he just did while the kid cowered in the corner. he was *horrified*. he came to the kid and hugged them softly, crying and apologizing, begging for forgiveness. the child was just scared, wide eyed in confusion. that's what Boreas and Notos' relationship ends up carrying in spirit nearing the end of them all

they still love each other, but the other is doing such horrible dangerous decisions and acting even worse that it's impossible to stand and it hurts So damn much to space away from it. to shoot a fiery glare towards him when on the good days he can be the epitome of safety. so it's complicated but the love Is there, making it hurt that much more

Haboob is the only one who sorts of falls into that "its just my responsibility to take care of you" field. i kind of think of Boreas like a lion. he will stay and protect his kids, play with them, but offspring of others will be killed (ofc he doesn't go That far with fellow Iterators). after Notos, the Anemoi were supposed to be a finished group. that's it. there's only four gods to be named after. so Haboob to him is like a kid he was forced to adopt, by people he absolutely loathes. while Euros learned how to love her, Boreas just learned how to take on the responsibility. being horrible to her was easier than anyone else, but surprisingly to him it still stung when Haboob had enough and essentially slammed the door in his face by leaving the Anemoi chat and blocking his frequency. didn't help that Notos followed soon after too, cuz at this point it loved Haboob more than whatever was Boreas becoming

he took note of the sting n at some point figured out that he did actually love the kid. spent too long with her chatting with Euros and Notos in the back of his mind to not accept her into the family properly. in the off string post-MA au them addressing their relationship is one of the more important plot points

#spot says stuff #rw #oc tag #ask to tag #oc: boreas' blessing #ultimately Orion gets a reaction out of him too. though he doesnt wanna have much to do with him outside of work its hard to completely- #-deny all the time theyve actually spent together. thousands and thousands of years together. working through things no matter how shitty- #-the Ancients were. theyve gone through a War together and Orion was almost Lost in that #Ori is kinda pissy with Boreas over being used like some secretary- unfairly overworked he basically does everything that Boreas or Zeph- #-are meant to do but Zeph is understandable. so thats another relationship B unknowingly has and is treating horrible as a result #boreas is not a good man ill say it again gjksdljlm But it is possible to worm under his plating -looks at Haboob n Sparru- #love me some super complicated mindboggling characters. hes a fucking Individual

[unohanabbygirl]

Your newest story!! Omg!!

Aegon I looking down from Targ heaven with Luke like…ye let’s wrap this up…our involvement in the long night is cancelled.

Rhaenyra and Helaena ending the same way on the spikes. Oh I know Alicent went from visiting her in her chambers every night (unwanted) to sleeping in Rhaenyras chambers long after she was gone.

I understand he needed to get rid of threats but now he won’t have an heir at all. I can’t imagine him taking well to anyone implying Luke can’t give him his heir however. So people are just waiting for him to die. Like the realm will tear itself apart to try rule after him. He really is mad.

Is Anne’s mam really still seeing Alicent as this paragon of the Seven and blaming Luke on aemonds shit?? The call is coming from inside the house sis. Alicent directly fanned the flames of this obsession. Luke was a corpse at the tourney right? Or is that pre-stormsend?

Do you see Lucemond as canon in this fic or is this delulumond in full force?

Thanks so much for sharing with us!!

Aegon I is so fed up after seeing each one of his descendants wiped out while the last man standing has lost his mind to such an extreme degree that he’s violating his other descendants corpse. Visenya is pissed off that Aemond’s gross hands are touching all over her sword and Rhaena is just like “damn, maybe we shouldn’t have come to Westeros.” Meanwhile Luke is sitting in the corner trying to figure out how all this happened? Rhaenyra keeps trying to console him but he’s too busy attempting to string together the events that led to his uncle becoming this damn crazy.

Babes, if Alicent was going to do anything she was going to seek Rhaenyra out nightly. Even though there came a point where Nyra stopped screaming and crying and just went radio silent until hearing the news about her last two babies deaths and deciding there was nothing left to live for. Alicent is so in love and exceptionally delulu just like her son that in her mind, Rhaenyra only jumped out of that window because she knew it would hurt her. Most insane mother-son duo in history me thinks.

The chances of Aemond having an heir are zero at this point. There’s not even a chance that Dany will be born to bring back the dragons because that dude isn’t laying down with anyone but Luke, you hear me? And its not even just because his shattered mind somehow thinks he can simply have a baby with Luke/refuses to cheat on his queen, but that no woman would ever sleep with him knowing what they do. They’d likely off themselves before they could even make it to the sept (very understandable)

Though this won’t stop his council from trying to work out something behind Aemond’s back. It comes to the point where one of his men is like “what if we drug him with an aphrodisiac and try to find a noble lady who’s willing to…you know? Then kill him after the child is born in secret? Twins are common for them so we might have an heir and a spare or a future king and queen.” But the idea is so outrageous with so many plot-holes and chances to go wrong that everyone just slowly begins to accept the war that’ll break out over the crown once Aemond croaks. Only thing they can do is hope they’re long dead once that time comes because the thought of another civil war is so draining.

In a last ditch effort his hand goes digging around with hopes that at least one of the deceased Targ men have a living bastard that they could legitimize but comes up empty handed. All Aegons died tragically, Jace was obviously too busy in Cregan’s company to go out and sire a child, Daemon only had Nettles who they can’t even confirm was his daughter + she’s been missing since the war, Daeron was a nerd who would rather pray at the sept, and Viserys could barely wipe his own ass in his last days let alone find the energy to cheat.

It’s heartbreaking when you think about because literally everyone, including Alicent is just waiting for Aemond to go to sleep and never wake up.

Lol, Anne’s mom is my favorite because she’s somehow more obsessed with Alicent than Alicent was with Rhaenyra which is such a hard thing to accomplish that she kinda deserves a medal?? Her character is simply an embodiment of parasocial relationships and viewing the monarchy as these figures who are above everyone else. Appointed by the gods and all that nonsense. And yes, the tourney was pre Storms end!

Hmmm, personally I see it as a mix of the two. Lucemond had feelings for each other (Aemond more than Luke) but never actually acted on them let alone reached the extent of what rumors suggest. Though certain points like them meeting up before the dinner failure to talk things out did happen but without the ‘making love’ part. However those are just my own thoughts because I intentionally left those details up to the reader.

Thanks babes, I always love hearing from you 🩷

#asks #we need more insanemond #like totally off the rails

[fandomscraziness22]

basil + locklyle where one is trying to leave the other to save them

:) xx

ooooh thank you so much!!! i will probs try to make a longer version for locklyle week next week, so stay tuned for that!!

basil (good wishes) — “i just want the best for you.”

SPOILERS FOR THE HOLLOW BOY!!! (but also show canon because i love the show)

~~~

“Lockwood, I’ve decided. I’m leaving.”

How many times can Lucy repeat herself before Lockwood finally hears her? They’ve been walking around this park for the better part of an hour, and he just won’t get it.

“Luce, come on,” Lockwood says, hand clenching the top of his rapier. “We both know this isn’t a good idea.”

Lucy shakes her head. “It is. This isn’t something I’m just doing on a whim; I’ve thought hard about it, and it’s the best way to keep everyone safe.”

Lockwood speeds up almost without noticing it, and Lucy has to jog to keep up with his stupid long legs. She knows he’s upset, of course, but he keeps talking as if he thinks he can change her mind, when she knows he won’t.

“But we keep you safe, Luce, just like you keep us safe. That’s how our agency works, how it’s always worked. Your Talent has saved my ass many a time, and you know I’ve saved your skin too. That’s why Lockwood and Co. is on its way to being one of the best agencies out there!” He keeps looking over at her, as if something in her face will give him even the slightest bit of hope.

And he’s breaking her heart. Lucy doesn’t truly want to leave the agency. She has found a family with George and Lockwood, and even Holly, after they cleared the air in Aickmere’s. But it’s precisely because of that that she can’t stay. 

From the corner of her eye, Lucy sees Lockwood raise a hand to his hair, a nervous tick that doesn’t appear very often. He’s always the picture of put-together, and it should make her happy that she gets to see him when he’s most vulnerable and open; that he’s letting her in, that Lucy is the one chosen to see Lockwood for the boy he truly is, instead of the posh man he pretends he is to everyone around them.

He looks like the ghost she saw splitting in two, blank eyes and blank face and blank insides. Lockwood is bearing himself to her, but it only serves to further her resolve. She can never let the Fetch’s prediction come true. Lockwood can’t be the hollow boy she saw in that dark, wet, horrific place. 

So she has to go.

“Lockwood and Co. will survive without me. You did before you ever met me, and you can again.”

Lockwood grabs her arm and yanks her around to face him. He’s angry, yes, but there’s a desperation she hasn’t seen in months. It reminds her of the little she had heard when they had been captured by Winkman, Lockwood begging for them to kill him if only they would spare her. It cracks her heart even more.

“Lucy, I don’t want to survive without you. George doesn't want that, and neither does Holly. Why are you so adamant about leaving the agency? Leaving us?”

Leaving me goes unspoken, but she hears it all the same.

She forces herself not to cry, because if she cries now, her resolve will truly break, and Lockwood would win in the short term, but she would lose him in the end.

“I just want the best for you, Lockwood. And what’s best is that I figure out how to better control my Talent without putting you in harms’ way. That’s all there is to it.”

Lucy wrenches her arm out of Lockwood’s grasp and walks on, her heart shattering into tiny pieces with every footfall.

send me flower prompts!

#lockwood and co #l&co #locklyle #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #my version of the walk! #the beginning of one anyways lol #angst

[msweebyness]

Class of Heroes AU: Worst Experiences w) Bustier

I know I said I might take a break, but my brain refuses to comply! This is based off an old post by @artzychic27, which they were nice enough to let me use the concept for! These are a lot of the kids’ worst experiences with the “amazing” teacher, Caline Bustier. She is Flora in this AU, the ‘kindest and wisest’ of the good fairies. She believes she is always right and lives in her perfect little bubble world, just like in canon. 🙃 She’s a sh*t teacher there, and being a high-ranking magical authority figure has only made her worse here. She’s a huge reason that around 70% of the royalty and aristocrats at this school believe they can do whatever they want to whoever they want without getting punished! She builds up their egos and gives them special treatment, punishing those who don’t go along with their whims. Feel free to leave thoughts and ideas, as always! (Still thinking of options for Lila and Felix) And credit to the aforementioned artzychic27 and @imsparky2002 as always!

Marinette: Outed the secret that she was never supposed to be at the school in front of everyone while berating her for her clumsiness and lack of social grace, humiliating her.

Adrien: Ridiculed to the point of tears in front of the entire class and forced to change when he came to school with a tiara on, his hair braided with flowers and in a violet flowing long shirt that could resemble a dress at first glance, told to stop acting so feminine.

Alya: Also Reduced to tears from a verbal attack in front if everyone when she came into class late and dissheveled because she had to leave work later and there was heavy traffic, and it was POURING RAIN. Despite the fact that she had called beforehand and gotten clearance.

Max: Yelled at and given two weeks of detention for ‘refusing to help’ his fellow students, which was the story she got from said (royal) students, when in reality they had been beating him up for refusing to do their homework, and the evidence of the violence was CLEARLY visible.

Kim: She’s had him suspended for a week on three different occasions, all originally meant to be expulsion, first for stepping in to defend Max in the aforementioned incident, the second was for damaging school property (He pulled a jammed door off its hinges when a fire broke out in the lab so the students could get out). The last was when he punched a prince who, with a few of his buddies, had cornered HIS princess for refusing his invitation to a ball, forcefully kissing and groping her. (Ondine was upset and crying for hours, but nothing was ever done to punish the boys responsible, despite her being a princess. Misogyny, folks, how ‘bout it?)

Alix: Taken out of class by police and accused of numerous counts of theft, got threatened with charges and jail time despite being a minor with diagnosed kleptomania, who RETURNED WHAT SHE TOOK.

Ivan: Insisted that he carry all the class’ luggage for a grade-level trip into the bus as punishment for ‘threatening’ his peers (He was defending some younger students from some older (royal) bullies.), when (as he and Mylene told her) his back pain was on the far more severe side due to his medication pending a refill, and he ended up collapsing outside the school. (No, she didn’t call for help. She also refused to let Denise or Kim help him despite both offering multiple times.)

Mylene: Forced her to sit through a ‘Parent’s Day’ event that included one-on-one time with her stepmother. Yes, THE WOMAN WHO TRIED TO KILL HER MULTIPLE TIMES IN THE PAST. Insisted that Mylene needed to ‘stop being petty’ and that ‘family means love and forgiveness’.

Juleka: SHE HAD A FREAKING MUZZLE PUT ON HER WHEN SHE WAS HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. She claimed it was ‘for the safety of the other students’ as Juleka was ‘behaving aggressively’.

Sabrina: Gaslighted and guilt-tripped her into singing the song from her old puppet show (the one she still has nightmares about when she was a part of) for a school event, and told her to stop being ‘dramatic’ when she had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the performance.

Nathaniel: Magically erased his entire sketchbook as punishment for him repeatedly falling asleep in class, despite it being a side effect of his curse, which she of all people should know.

Marc: Actively tries to keep him from using and improving his magic, always ‘gently’ reminding him of how dangerous ice magic is, just look at what happened to his poor little brother. We wouldn’t want that again, now would we? She’s also had him locked in a room alone as punishment for losing control. (She DOES NOT care about trauma.)

Zoe: Stood up to Chloe and told her to do her own chores in the main hall, taken aside and harshly scolded for not adhering to and ‘being kind’ to her sister.

Ondine: Refused to allow her to leave class when she was literally SUFFOCATING because a spell-gone-haywire (A spell that reversed any magic-induced physical changes. It also affected Sabrinocchio.) by a disgruntled student temporarily restored her gills and SHE COULDN’T BREATHE, stating that it was ‘improper’, because she couldn’t communicate what was wrong and Bustier wouldn’t listen when the class tried frantically to tell her.

Kagami: Refused to let her enroll in any of the battle or heroism courses due to her being a princess, and humiliated her in front of an entire courtyard of people by berating for not conducting herself ‘as a princess should.’

Reshma: Said and did nothing as her grandmother scolded and even STRUCK her for ‘shaming the family with her behavior’ and daring to defend her giftless younger sister from the woman’s verbal attacks.

Jean: Yelled at in front of the entire school for being a ‘spoiled brat’ and a ‘poor excuse for a ruler’ when he was focusing on a show he was putting together and forgot a small royal gathering.

Denise: Has been suspended multiple times for (accidental and inevitable, with their abilities and strength) destruction of school property, but the worst was when Bustier got them expelled for accidentally breaking Adrien’s arm and collarbone, in the process of SAVING him from a falling oak tree during a nature class outing for their grade level. She claimed they were far too destructive, violent, and dangerous to remain in the school. (*Cough*”Bad Guy” Bias*Cough*) (The decision was reversed due to Adrien insisting that they had saved him, proved though a memory display spell on multiple students, and the fact he was able to heal himself almost immediately after.)

Cosette: Publicly and harshly berated for ‘holding up the rest of the class’ when some fans wanted autographs and pictures during a school field trip. It was only a few people and Cosette had tried to make it as quick as possible without being rude.

Ismael: Had a pair of magical shackles placed on him when his power was flaring up rather badly**, completely ignoring the PTSD from previous finders of his lamp that this gave him. He had to wear them for a week.

* She forces Nino, Aurore and Lacey to fold their wings down so they don’t ‘Distract’ other students, despite it being IMMENSELY painful for younger fairies to do this as those joints aren’t developed yet.

*She actively talks down to any students who are not human or fae like herself, acting as if they are intellectually inferior and require extra guidance and redirection.

**Genie magic is incredibly strong, especially when it’s not restrained. Be careful not to say the word ‘wish’ within earshot of Ismael unless you’re a friend, directly speaking to him for that reason. It triggers his magic and if he didn’t hear you correctly, things could get…weird.

Basically…Bustier sucks.

#miraculous ladybug #class of heroes #disney au #caline bustier #bustier salt #bustier is a terrible teacher #miracuclass #science kids #mlb ocs

[ohheyitsokay]

Elle darling!! Ooooh more soulmates!! I am super excited!

Can I request Poe and red string of fate? 💖

Love you sweetie! 🥰

hello, my love! i so enjoyed writing this, thanks for being a great friend and for helping me out by sending something in! i adore you, and i hope you enjoy it!

warnings: death mention, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending

<<

soulmate requests

>>

After his first mission, Poe threw up in the back corner of the hanger.

The first time one of his team members was killed he didn't eat for almost three days.

Leia found him, watching the horizon, eyes glassy, cheeks a little hollower than they should've been, and she leaned her head against him. In his mind, he imagined swimming through murky waters, dark plants draping themselves over his limbs, weighing down his movements. He focused on the soft pad of her cheek as it squished against his shoulder.

There was no need to call her by a title, she was his Leia, and she slipped her hand into his, forcing him to notice the warm dinner roll she was holding.

Bile rose in his throat.

"I don't think I can," he croaked, barely recognizing his own voice.

I can't go back out there.

"You can," she said, resolute and gentle. Leia's fingers shifted, running lovingly over the blisters on his hands, and a tremor shook his body, heavy with emotion.

The world blurred.

"Do you know the legend?"

He focused on her words.

"They say everyone has a soulmate," she continued, telling her what her parents had whispered to her before she fell asleep when she was little. She told him about the strings, all across the universe, about how she used to look at the stars and imagine she could see them.

He could just imagine her doubtful little voice, questioning the system amongst so many planets, and a smile almost cracked its way to the surface.

Leia drew an invisible line around his thumb and paused, the implication clear. There were, as there had always been, people counting on him. There would always be people counting on him. She didn't ask him to do it for her, or for them, but she lifted her head to look him in the eyes.

It was his choice, but never-the-less, she tore the roll in half. And suddenly it wasn't about people counting on him - it was a fundamental reminder.

You're not alone.

Poe took his piece and turned it in his hand. Jaw and heart aching, he ate the whole thing.

-

Sometimes Poe just sits in his ship and watches the stars. He knows he doesn’t have fuel to waste, but he also knows he can’t think straight cooped up in an office or regulation-sized room.

He feels to big, clumsy, swelling so full of thoughts that he could explode, and so he goes and sits in the one place where he doesn’t feel like a bantha underwater – laughably out of place.

The ship – any ship – feels like an extension of himself.

It lets him feel small. Still important, but not quite so noticeable, and when he puts his hands on the controls, he can tap his thumb, and think of her… and thinks of you.

He knows the whole thing was just a metaphor, a way for her to love on him and support him from the inside out. Poe thinks sometimes that he’s overthinking things, letting his mind run at a thousand parsecs an hour and making constellations where there’s nothing but he holds onto it. He needs it, needs the hope as much as people need him to share it.

When he’s twisting and turning and dodging like his life depends on it, rolling through space like a pebble in a rock tumbler, he closes his eyes and taps his thumb and thinks of her, and of you.

When Leia isn’t by his side anymore, and his shoulders feel heavy with the weight of a shared galaxy, he taps his thumb against the console, takes a deep breath, and remembers.

One of his crewmates makes a joke that if he lives long enough, he’s going to get aches in just that hand.

Poe smiles and shrugs, not really wanting to think about it.

What he does find himself thinking about, though, is all the things he wants to do with his hands. He hugs his friends and grasps hands with colleagues and people he loves alike, and spends hot, jungle evenings wondering about touching you, instead.

Fingers entwined, your skin pressed into his, not having to let go, not ever if he doesn’t want to. Another soul, in the flesh, within his reach. And he likes the idea of it, thinks about it more and more, follows his daydreams like a string.

It fills him from head to the tips of his fingers, the desire to keep on... keeping on, to go and go and make things better. 

Until one day, he meets you. And feels a little pull, in his chest as his hand finds yours.

 -

Morning light streams through the window and as he blinks, looking for you, Poe smiles. The curtains had been yanked as closed as they could get, but the edges still leave lines across the bed, streaking over his favorite view: you.

Your hand is draped over your stomach and his heart thumps happily as his eyes draw over the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Poe sits up a little, feeling warm, almost jittery with potential but he doesn’t get up, doesn’t want to wake you.

He’s not sure how long the moment lasts, but the sunlight begins to creep across your skin, and as his resolve breaks and he reaches for your hand he can almost see a line between his hand and yours.

It’s a gift, like it always was.

And you wake to his kisses, grateful for the way he grins against your skin.

<<

Note: some versions say it’s pinkies, some say it’s a thumb and a pinkie. I figured his thumb was more in his eyesight when he was flying

taglist: 

@fangirl-316 @wanderrghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina @stardust-galaxies @0celestialbitch0 @princessxkenobi  @v4leriee @ifimayhaveaword

#poe dameron x reader #soulmate requests #maybe i dont know people #this ended up kind of strangely reflective but i hope you still like it!

[raedear]

I wrote something very, very mean. I'm sorry.

Canon-divergent MCD, all hurt no comfort.

Somehow, Andy knows before Booker makes a single sound. There's some change to his face, his posture, a weakness to his hand on the keyboard of his laptop, and she knows.

He makes a noise like a wounded animal, small and piteous and full of pain, and Andy shuts her eyes. For the first time in her life, she prays. Prays that it was quick. That they didn't suffer.

That they went together.

Nile says something. Does something. Andy can hear her right at the edge of her perception, moving around the fire. Reaching for Booker maybe, who sobs like the world is crashing down around him; the way he sobbed when the first of his children died.

His tears got quieter with each one, until there was nothing left. No children, no sound.

'Andy,' Nile barks, grabbing her by the shoulders. Her hands are shaking. 'Help me!'

It's a wonder how much grief a person can bear. How different the limits are. Andy can't remember her youth. Not really. She carries her mother's axe but not the memory of her mother's face. She carries the knowledge that she grieved a sibling, but not their gender or their face.

She can't remember grief at all until Lykon left them. And then, like an unwelcome guest, grief made a home in her life. It lives in her now, filling every corner of her soul.

'Just the one?' Andy asks, opening her eyes to Nile's terrified face. Booker chokes on a sob, and then Nile knows too. Andy sees the knowledge bloom in her wide eyes.

'Both,' Booker grinds out eventually, through teeth clenched so hard around his tears that the words end up mangled and chewed. 'It's—They're—Both.'

Nile sits heavily, dropping with a thump from where she'd been crouched on her toes in front of Andy.

Her hands are still shaking. Andy watches them for a moment, and the way Nile can't seem to decide what to do with them, before she looks over the fire at Booker.

The laptop lies beside him, upside down with its screen on the cave floor and its keyboard sticking upright. Its screen is dull, but bright enough to illuminate Booker slumped beside it, collapsed in grief, hands over his face like he can hide from the whole world.

There will be time for tears later. There are things that must be done first.

'Where are they, Booker?'

'Andy—' Nile starts, looking at her in surprise. She isn't quite crying, but then again, she'd only known the boys a single night. Enough to like them, maybe. Not enough to love them.

She closes her eyes when Booker answers. Clutches at her cross and looks so terribly, awfully young that Andy's heart bleeds for her.

'London,' Booker says, his breath heavy, but mercifully free of sobs. 'They—Their—' he swallows heavily, throat jumping like he's about to vomit. 'They're in London.'

Andy has been many things in her long life, but she has never been stupid.

'Since Marrakech?'

Booker doesn't even flinch.

'Since Almaty.'

It feels like every single one of her years weighs her down as she gets to her feet. A chain so long and heavy it could circle the world wrapped around her neck; crushing her shoulders, hobbling her legs. She cuts the palm of her hand on a rough edge of the cave wall as she levers herself up, and feels it heal before she's even let go.

Maybe if pain could learn to linger in her skin it would leave her heart alone.

There are things to be done. Andy is always, always the one to do them.

'Tell me,' she says as she moves around the cave, collecting what she needs. Booker gasps wetly, but doesn't make her ask again.

'Joe—he,' there's that heavy swallow again. Andy knows it well. Joe used to jokingly duck and cover when Booker made that sound, hiding behind whoever happened to be closest to avoid what might follow a noise like that. 'He was. First.'

Andy pauses with her hands deep in the belly of a barrel, closing her eyes against the swell of grief that rises in the wake of Booker's words.

'How long?' she rasps, forcing herself to keep reaching for the money she stashed the last time she passed through this way. It doesn't really matter what his answer is. Any time was too long.

'An hour,' Booker whispers, so thick with shame it colours the air around him. 'Only an hour.'

Andy's at his side before she truly registers she's moved, her fingers twisted tight in the collar of his shirt. Booker looks at her, his eyes wet and completely clear. They heal too fast for red to build up in the white. Nicky used to kiss the tears from Joe's cheeks and claim it only made him more beautiful.

'Say that again,' she says softly, holding him up at his full seated height. 'Look at me and say that again.'

'I'm sorry,' whispers Booker through trembling lips.

'Only an hour,' Andy repeats, slowly. 'Only an hour, without him.'

When the next tear falls from Booker's eye, Andy strikes it from his face, dropping him as she does.

'Pack your shit,' she orders, leaving him where he fell. 'We're leaving in five minutes.'

There will be time enough to deal with him after.

Nile is crying now, Andy notices. Silent tears tracing heavy tracks down her cheeks.

'I can get you transport to Alaska,' Andy says, crouching beside her. 'And money to get you the rest of the way. I'll come find you when it's done.'

Nile nods, watching the fire.

In the best years of Andy's life, Quynh and Nicky used to take turns teasing and scolding her for being so quick to distrust people. So ready to see the worst in them. Joe stood up for her, singing her praises and writing odes to her heroism. Her kind heart. Her indomitable spirit.

Her kind heart lies in London, broken by an hour of grief beyond measure.

Her indomitable spirit lies at the bottom of the sea, crushed under its inescapable weight.

Her heroism did nothing for the people she loved most.

Andy helps Nile to her feet, and tucks her grief away behind her heart.

Grief is a polite squatter in her soul. It will wait patiently for her to do what needs to be done.

It has all the time in the world.

#the old guard #MCD #all hurt no comfort

[mrsgreenworld]

It's a curious thing, how my muse and my writer's brain work. I can have a ton of fanfic ideas for a show I've watched and loved for a while. But I cannot, for the life of me, organise these ideas into well-developed pieces of writing. And then there're situations when something new comes along and inspiration strikes me. It's akin to an adrenaline boost that allows me to write super fast. This boost, however, doesn't last long. It's usually enough to get a one-shot down. So, while I'm riding my "adrenaline high", I've got this Duy Beni fic idea. It's a future speculation that, I'm pretty sure, at some point will turn into canon divergence because, once Ekim learns the truth about Kanat's involvement in the accident, things won't play out this way. But let's imagine it going like this: Kanat falls in love with Ekim first. She also starts developing feelings for him but her focus is on Leyla and finding those responsible for the accident. Kanat is torn between his feelings for Ekim and the need to keep the truth about the accident a secret. In the end, he gives in and tells her that he was the one who blackmailed his teacher into driving that car. He doesn't tell Ekim about Melisa and Ozan though. But Ekim knows that Kanat hasn't told the whole truth and suspects that Melisa's involved too. This one-shot takes place some time after Kanat tells Ekim about his involvement in the accident.

I don't own the show or any of the characters. They belong to the writers, production company and the channel. This is only fanfiction.

____________________________________________

The Greatest Privilege of All

Ekim looks up at the sky-high office building and then down at the phone in her hand. She checks the geolocation that Hazal shared, accompanied by a text: "Meet me on the roof".

"How does she expect me to get there? As if they grant the free access to everyone", Ekim mutters to herself but moves to the building entrance anyway.

Through the rotating door Ekim enters into a lobby with a huge reception desk and a turnstile for the employees. She's eyeing the turnstile, when the movement from the corner of her eye catches her attention.

"Ekim Hanım?" a young woman approaches Ekim with a friendly smile and a security pass in her hands.

"Hello! Yeah, that's me", Ekim says with a polite nod.

"Hazal Hanım is expecting you. The elevator on the left will take you to the rooftop", the woman says, pointing at one of the elevators and handing Ekim a security pass.

Ekim thanks the woman, uses the pass to go through the turnstile and moves to the elevator. Once inside, she presses the button to the rooftop.

"Hazal and her crazy whims. Couldn't have chosen a café for a meeting, like all normal people", Ekim thinks and shakes her head with a small smile.

Even with her crazy whims, secrets and friendship with Kanat, Hazal has wormed her way into Ekim's heart and managed to become a close and dear friend.

A ding of the elevator signals its arrival to the rooftop and pulls Ekim from her thoughts. The doors open and Ekim takes a tentative step outside. The doors close behind her, leaving Ekim on the roof that presents a truly breathtaking view. She takes in the city stretching as far as her eyes can see, the tops of business towers, the clear blue sky. And then her eyes land on him.

"Offf, Hazal...", Ekim whispers.

Of course Hazal would trick her into meeting Kanat on the rooftop of a skyscraper with very limited escape routes. Just when Ekim turns back to one of them - the elevator - she hears him say:

"I asked to cut off the power so you won't be able to use it for the next hour".

Ekim takes a deep breath and turns to face him. He's close now, way closer than she feels comfortable with. That's why she takes a step back and starts to search frantically for the access to the stairs.

"And the door to the stairs is locked", Kanat adds.

"So, that's your plan: to lure me to a place with no way out and force me to talk to you?" Ekim exclaims with annoyance.

"Yeah", Kanat responds easily, as if it's totally normal and there's nothing twisted about this.

And that's the whole problem - that the twisted has become his normal.

All of a sudden Ekim feels all annoyance and anger leave her. She's just... defeated.

"I don't want to talk to you, Kanat. Because there's nothing to talk about. You made it clear that you won't tell me who was with you that day, even though I think I know who that person is. You won't go to the police and confess. And you know I cannot go to the police because I don't have any proof. Even if I tell them that you confessed to me, we both know that you'll just deny everything".

"You know why I cannot go to the police. I told you about my father, what he's capable of. You have no idea what he'll do to my mom and my brother if he finds out the truth about the accident ".

"Well, you should've thought about this before you decided to play a sick game with your teacher!" Ekim yells in frustration.

"He wasn't innocent! We were trying to teach him a lesson. I told you that!" Kanat yells back, taking a step closer and crowding into Ekim's personal space.

"And who the hell were you to teach him a lesson? Are you the police? Or angels of vengeance? Oh, no, how could I forget? You're spoilt rich kids who think they own everything and everyone. No rules apply to you, you just do whatever the hell you want. You play with people's lives!"

By the end of her tirade Ekim's out of breath. She's in Kanat's personal space now, their chests almost touching, his heavy breathing ghosting over her face. They're staring each other down. But other than Kanat's usual stubbornness and challenge, that Ekim's so used to, there's also desperation and longing. So much longing that seeing it is akin to touching a raw nerve. That's why Ekim almost jumps away from Kanat. She cannot deal with his feelings and emotions right now, not when her own are threatening to drown her.

She puts as much physical distance between them as possible and turns away from him, from his pleading eyes, his handsome face that tricked her into believing that he was just as beautiful inside.

"You know what made me fall in love with you?" his voice behind her brings Ekim back to reality.

"Stop, please... I don't want to hear it", Ekim whispers.

Kanat goes on as if she hasn't spoken:

"It wasn't your beauty even though you're as beautiful as a girl can get. It wasn't even how brave you were, always going toe to toe with me, never backing down. It wasn't that big brain of yours that is so freakishly good with numbers but can also write prose and poetry. It was your heart and your ability to love. The way you love... So utterly and purely... With so much passion. I wanted that. To be on the receiving end of your loving gaze, your protectiveness. To have this privilege of being loved by you".

Ekim squeezes her eyes shut as if this alone could help her block Kanat's words. She feels tears slipping from under her closed lids when she utters:

"And you could've been loved by me. You were".

"But not anymore?" Kanat asks in a small voice that is so unnatural coming from him.

Because there's nothing small about him. He's tall and muscular and loud.

"Do you really hate me that much?"

At this question, Ekim finally decides to face him again. His eyes are still pleading but also moist now, his face as handsome as ever.

"I don't hate you. But I'm also not in love with you anymore".

The words are hard to say. But not because they're not true. Ekim isn't lying. She doesn't feel in love. She still loves him though. But this love is like an echo now.

And because Kanat's always been good at reading her, knowing exactly when she lies, he sees the truth of her words now. That's why whatever light, still left in his eyes, goes out, leaving them dead and empty. A shadow falls on his face as he presses his lips together tightly and gives her a short nod.

"Then I guess you're right - we really don't have anything to talk about. I'll make a call to get the elevator running again. Just give me a moment".

As Kanat takes his phone out of his pocket and turns away from her to make a call, Ekim realizes that she's lost a privilege of her own - seeing his sincere happy smile, the one that's born out of the knowledge that you're loved, and the hopeful look in his warm chocolate eyes.

#duy beni #ekim ve kanat #ekim and kanat #ekkan #eknat #duy beni fanfiction #duy beni fanfic #ekkan fanfiction #ekkan fanfic #eknat fanfiction #eknat fanfic #ekim #kanat

[averagestudent03]

I Know The End: Chapter Nine, The King's Gambit (Pt. 1 & 2)

Masterlist

I Know The End: Chapter Nine, The King's Gambit, Full doc.

Series Warnings: swearing, jealousy, fear of abandonment, era-relevant homophobia, mentions of nausea, mentions of blood, mentions of death, angst, One use of Y/N, canon-level gore, etc.

More warnings included in future chapters.

Word Count: 13.5k

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21/01/1984 - Hawkins Public Library, Town Centre

Robin Buckley was loved.

She thought she knew that.

She thought that she could ignore the glances and freakish stares from her peers and replace them with memories of her mother's loving looks as she traipsed aimlessly across the living room.

She thought that the careless remarks from her bandmates would stitch her heart back together, masking over the hurt of the slurs sprawled over her locker. Painted across her notebooks until they all moved on.

She thought that people like Carol Perkins and Tommy Hagan were better than this. That they were awful, awful human beings, but would never hurt her like this. Not when the girl hadn't done anything.

If she tried hard enough, she thinks that she could just stop existing at all. Shrink down into a corner, curl up and just die. Dismiss all the stupid rumours about her and stupid Abigail Parish, rid herself of the nasty words crawling over her skin.

Tainting her.

Staining her.

Ruining her for good.

Robin Buckley didn't feel very loved right now.

Not when Carol Perkins had her shunned from every inch of the school, keeping Robin's name fresh in her mouth as she spread bitter words about how she had tried to kiss Abigail, infect her with some kind of lesbian disease, sending Robin spiralling and forcing her to break down in the school toilets.

She hadn't tried to kiss her (although Abigail Parish was very pretty), and Abigail knew that. She knew that although the longing glances were absolutely intended for her, Robin Buckley had never come closer than arm's length, wanting to preserve what remained of her dignity.

Abigail Parish didn't care all that much for Robin's reputation if it threatened her own. 

Rather than sticking up for the Buckley girl, Abigail doubled-down on the rumours, promoting herself as the innocent victim who tried desperately to push Robin Buckley away. She'd watched without care as Robin stumbled from the bathrooms, tears streaming down her cheeks and dashed to the library, ignoring the sneers and vicious chuckles from her peers. The world had stopped, pausing to accommodate the girl's rushed breathing and watering eyes as she clambered her way to the back of the library, curling in on herself in the corner of the room.

Robin Buckley didn't feel very loved, and she wasn't sure she ever would again. 

The world began to close in on itself, the air thickening as she started to gag; grasping desperately at her throat, as if it would make a difference. The world had started turning again now, spinning faster, like it had been knocked off its axis. It was rapidly hurtling through the air, rocking the very ground she lay sprawled across as she forced her fingers into the side of one of the shelves, clutching desperately and gasping to regain any control she could possibly manage.

She rested her head against the wall, wincing as she recognised the trembling in her hands and the pounding in her skull, screwing her eyes shut.

The world had only ever felt like this once before, when she caught Steve Harrington with an arm around Tammy Thompson's waist. The feeling was a parasite, slowly worming its way into her stomach, writhing against any knowledge that the rumours would be null in less than a week as Hawkins High's most recent gossipers found their newest target.

The consolation didn't stop Robin Buckley feeling any less terrible.

You'd noticed the girl sprinting in and recognised her as the object of your silent affections for the past few months, eyes narrowing in confusion as the tears against her cheeks fell faster and faster still.

In your eyes, sad wasn't a good look for her. Not for any malicious reasons, or a mockery of the fact that somehow she still looked gorgeous when shaking and hyperventilating, but that Robin Buckley didn't deserve to cry. Not now, not ever.

She deserved to smile, because you couldn't think of anyone more deserving of happiness than the sweet girl that sat a few seats away from you in class.

"Are you alright?" You muttered, sitting down opposite her as she bolted up, frantically wiping at her eyes whilst you reached out with a box of tissues. She froze, an air of familiarity gracing her eyes as she looked over you. Scanning and flickering over any minute change in your façade, any reason for her to believe that you were genuine and not just another one of her peers coming to taunt her.

She tried to speak, tried to force herself to tell you to just leave her alone to curl up and die because that was all she was good for, but she found herself unable to answer. Completely and utterly tongue-tied, stunned at the kindness of a total stranger.

" 'S alright," You whispered, keeping your voice as quiet as possible as you shuffled in front of her, blocking her from any prying eyes; not that there were many, besides Melissa who had come to enjoy your little quips and sarcastic comments whilst you both worked.

"You don't have to talk or anything, I'm just worried- can you breathe alright now?" You asked, slowly moving backwards, careful not to startle her in the manner of which you'd treat a skittish animal.

She nodded, unable to do much else.

"Okay! Great, that's- well that's a bonus then, d'you want a tissue or anything?" You questioned, handing her over the box of tissues and a small water bottle you'd fetched when you saw the state she was in.

She nodded again, and although tears still fell, she began to smile. 

"You wanna talk about it?" She paled and frantically shook her head, terrified that you would run away too. You would when you learned, and she just needed someone to cry with. Just for a moment.

"We don't have to, then." You reassured, grin wide as you glanced over her, seeing that she'd stopped shaking.

"So, why the library? You need to get started on anything? Want to find a book? I've been told I'm pretty good at that-" You chuckled and she joined in, slowly regulating her breathing as she tried to answer you in a shaky voice.

"O' Donnel's English project." She croaked out, and you shook your head, laughing slightly. She didn't understand why, and she struggled to comprehend how you even recognised the name. As far as she knew, she didn't know you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll finish up your half, you look like you've had a rough day." You grinned, and in a moment, she knew where she recognised you from. The girl that she'd been paired with for the latest project, the girl who couldn't stop smiling when she found out she'd been paired with The Robin Buckley.

She nodded, slightly happier now; it was a silent 'thank you,' and acknowledgement of the favour you'd done her. You'd taken her mind off of those ridiculous rumours and you'd done the unthinkable.

You'd made her feel loved, surrounded by cobwebs and dusty bookshelves.

The girl couldn't thank you enough for that.

You'd finished the afternoon by pushing a small chessboard towards the girl, neatly lining up the pieces and allowing her to make the first move. As you expected, Robin Buckley gravitated towards the horses. The horses were fast, and often subtle, but prideful when they wanted to be. Aggressive, sometimes lonely, following the constant promises of the future. Waiting for the right moment to strike.  You'd heard her conversations with her friends, and you'd slowly begun to pick words out of it, roughly translating them in the late hours of the night.

They'd talked about her plans to flee to France, ice cream, about how she loathed dresses and the colour pink, and how she wished that she could tell the world to piss off for just a moment so she could comfort the girl beside her. How she wished that Tammy Thompson would gaze back at her, just once (that one had stung, but you weren't entirely sure why at the time), and how she wanted someone, anyone to tell her how pretty she looked. How even though she wished for all of these things, she knew it wasn't real; so she left well enough alone, and returned to dreaming about her life in France. Looking forwards and acknowledging her regrets, but never looking backwards. Not Robin Buckley. So yes, you guessed that she would like the horses.

She gravitated towards the horses and pushed them forwards, chasing your pawns across the board and quickly checking your king. She caught onto the game quite quickly, with your guidance and hands brushing over hers as you helped move her pieces, and she returned the favour in endless stories and wise-cracking jokes. You managed to teach her three moves in total, but only one stuck.

The King's Gambit. 

You'd referred to it as 'self-sacrificial,' uttering that a boy you knew had taught you it the weekend you spent at his trailer. He'd taught you everything you knew, and then spent the rest of the time forcing you to read The Silmarillion, following the enthusiastic discussions you'd had regarding  Tolkien's other works. You'd remembered the move because it had been his favourite, it had then become your favourite, and now Robin was able to recognise it as her own favourite, too.

"It's simple," You had whispered, re-setting the board and slowly reaching for your pieces, "...you move the pawn first, and you move him two spaces. That leaves your king vulnerable and your pawn to be taken by your opponent. If your opponent takes the bait, it leaves their King vulnerable to a checkmate; it's almost a guaranteed win in like three moves." 

She looked puzzled, unable to follow the complicated steps, so you explained it in a way that she'd understand.

1) The Distraction. This was only temporary, and simply a setup for a grand finale. It was practically useless, given that the initial move was recognisable in so many other strategies, and left your opponent reeling when considering what your next move could be. You'd compared it to one of the pep rallies your school held before a large game, and how the band was just an introduction to the main event. Important, but not always useful to the game itself.

2) The Sacrifice. This was the most important step, and the metalhead's favourite when explaining it. 'Shoving a man to the starving dogs,' he'd called it. Deciding that one life is worth more than another. A sacrifice for the greater good.

Playing God.

Robin Buckley didn't like this stage, but she was absolutely captivated by the way you unfolded the story, laying detail upon detail about what was to happen next if the move was accepted. Your eyes sparkled with a certain intensity, and she couldn't allow herself to look away, not even for a moment. She wondered if you spoke about everything you liked this much.

Wondered if you'd ever spoken about her like that.

(You had.)

3) The Attack. The final step, and by far the most powerful. By throwing someone else into the limelight you prevented a larger world at stake, leaving yourself vulnerable for a second and taking a few hits, but gaining the upper hand substantially. It reminded you of Steve Harrington and the way he used to play you at Monopoly, nights spent in the dark with candles lit in your living room, pieces scrawled out across the board as you imagined your parents there with you. The way he would head for Mayfair as quickly as possible, risking himself for a few rounds as he slowly built up an empire.

You always lost. No matter what.

Like a simple rule of life; you would always, always lose to Steve Harrington, and that was that.

Robin had fixated so closely on the way you'd explained the move that she'd forgotten what had made her feel so awfully alive to begin with. The words that she felt had been branded into her skin, permanently claiming her were now nothing more than a few carefully strung-syllables with no venom behind them. They were just words now. You had made sure of that.

You had made sure that she walked away feeling loved.

Robin Buckley often thought back to that day. Thought back to that feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach, the flush of her cheeks whenever she saw you. It flickered across her mind when she was doing something as insignificant as cleaning, serving as a nice reminder of the girl who'd spent the rest of the week checking on her and making her feel special.

It had plastered itself over every thought in her head as you slept beside her, trapped in the cold, steel box stuck in the elevator shaft, reminding her of how often you'd had her back. The memory wouldn't, couldn't, remove itself from her brain in the middle of the night as she tossed and turned, replacing every fantasy or piece of affection she'd ever held for Tammy Thompson.

She liked to think that she would've found you, regardless of the monotonous ice-cream scooping or the evil Russians that had overtaken your entire summer. She liked to think she would've found you, because when she'd been looking at you, you'd been looking right back. 

You always had been. Even when she was nothing more than a stranger in your class that had sought comfort in you. You'd always seen Robin Buckley for who she was, and you had always made her feel loved.

"I'll have you know that I looked at you for quite a while, Buckley. But yeah, total dud, and she sounded like a muppet." Your voice spluttered out, echoing off the freezing tiles and the cold plastic walls. 

Steve Harrington's jaw was wide with shock as he scrambled to your side, Robin still frozen against the wall. It reminded her of a simpler time, where she hadn't wanted to have been found, but you'd found her nonetheless. You'd always find her.

"Christ, Jones! You scared the shit out of us-" Steve murmured, words rolling into one another as his eyes scanned over you, breath hitching in his throat as he caught sight of the dried blood on your white vest.

"C'mon though, she was like, a total dud." You propped yourself up against the stall, coughing slightly and then wincing, bringing a hand to clutch as your side, eyes falling to the abandoned safety pin on the floor.

That'd probably be an issue later.

"She was not." Robin butted in, eyes watering as she realised you were here, alive, and mostly safe in the bathroom of an ice cream parlour. You were safe enough, and that's all that mattered.

That singular thought gave Robin the courage to move, practically racing to your side and slumping down beside Steve as your hand clutched your side tighter, trying to hide the injury. They didn't need to know for now, and the adrenaline was slowly coming back in waves, minimising the stabbing pain that shot through your nerves each time you flinched.

"Yes, she was! She wanted to be like, a singer! She wanted to move to like, Nashville and shit-" Steve chuckled, lazily agreeing with you as he caught your gaze. You knew that he knew, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt as though you and the Harrington boy were on the same page. The scene in the alley was distant history, every fight, every snap, every conversation about Nancy Wheeler was hidden in the past and all that existed was the three of you underneath the flickering fluorescent lights.

He gave you a small smile; a silent apology, a reminder that he was going to be better. He was going to do better, even if it killed him, because damnit, you deserved better.

You both did.

"She had dreams!" Robin defended, eyes still fixated on you and your busted lip, bruises slathered across your face and dried blood splattered across your shirt.

"She can't even hold a tune." You grinned, pleased with every second that you got to spend with them. Every moment was precious, and you'd be damned if you would waste even a fragment of a minute not looking at Robin Buckley.

"She's practically tone-deaf, have you heard her?" Steve questioned, watching as you laughed, gently resting your head against the back of the wall, allowing yourself a minute to rest.

Robin shook her head and he immediately burst into a rather untuned version of 'Total Eclipse of The Heart,' mumbling along and mimicking the voice of Tammy Thompson. He was remarkably close, given the fact the girl couldn't hold a pitch to save her life.

"She does not sound like-"

"She sounds exactly like that! That's a great impression of her," They both babbled, interrupting each other with a wide smile on their faces, and you relished in the domesticity of the moment. Maybe it wasn't all bad. Maybe, just maybe, you'd survive this, and your life would be followed by more moments like these rather than cut short in the back of Scoops Ahoy.

You could only hope.

"You sound like a muppet!"

"She sounds like a muppet!"

"See? Steve gets it!" You chuckled, slowly leaning your head against his shoulder, vision blurring slightly. He noticed, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze, a promise to get you both out of there alive, at least.

"She sounds like a muppet giving birth! And if you could hold me tight-" He started, moving onto an awkward Kermit impression as you and Robin continued.

"We'll be holding on forever-" You both giggled, bursting into a fit of laughter amongst the remarks, and the joy of being accepted brought tears to your eyes. 

Steve Harrington didn't hate you.

Not now, and maybe not even then. The things you'd battled with for years had pushed you to the brink, thinking that you were alone and that your best friend loathed you for simply existing, only to find out he didn't hate you at all. You laughed and laughed, chuckles reverberating off the walls as they wrapped you in your own little world, oblivious to the downfall of Starcourt mall happening only metres away.

"Okay. What the hell?" Dustin shouted, bursting through the door, quickly followed by Erica and setting his sights on the three of you, staring you down as a parent would a child. The silence settled in, and you all glanced at each other before falling into another pit of giggles, Steve slumping to one side and falling into your shoulder as Robin reached for your hand.

Meanwhile, Hopper, Joyce and Murray sat slumped in Hopper's car, clinging desperately to the walkie-talkie they'd found. It crackled and static blared from it, but Murray's trembling hands kept a steady grip on it nonetheless.

"Alexei?" Hopper dared to ask, and Murray quickly turned back to him, tears welling in his eyes. He'd come to like the young Russian, bonding over their inability to cope with the tension-filled couple, their love of old cartoons and slushies. It practically killed him to watch the Russian slump to the floor, bullet piercing his heart from the very men he'd managed to escape from.

Murray shook his head, and Hopper's smile fell.

"На нижнем уровне," The walkie-talkie blasted, and Hopper scrambled to take the device from Murray's hands, holding it closer to his ear as he begged Murray to translate.

"On the lower level." He murmured, waiting for the next set of instructions.

"мы нашли детей"

"We've found the children."

"Они все еще находятся в торговом центре. Нижний уровень."

"They're still in the mall. Lower level."

Hopper's eyes widened as the colour from Joyce's face faded to a ghostly white, both of them coming to the realisation that they knew exactly who would be stupid enough to find themselves trapped in a mall with evil Russians.

"Держите все входы запертыми."

"Keep all the entrances locked down." Murray muttered, repeating the phrases over and over, matching the Russian cursive currently radiating from the device. Joyce quickly pushed her foot down on the pedal as far as it would go, watching the counter slowly begin to rise as the car moved faster.

She'd almost lost you all once, she refused to let it happen again.

At the same time, the empty carcass of Billy Hargrove stalked the halls of Starcourt Mall, finding a trail of thick crimson coating the floors of an abandoned supermarket aisle, just barely missing the footsteps and grating voice of the Russian man whispering into his own walkie-talkie.

You'd always felt sorry for the boy, if you were being honest. You recognised quicker than most what tell-tale signs of abuse looked like, and although they were incredibly unhealthy outlets, he was looking for an escape. The same way you did, sometimes; be that chess, or old movies, or swinging at broken vases in the forest with Steve's bat. Hell, you didn't blame him for breaking your fingers when he found Max with you and Harrington, if you'd found Dustin held captive by two nearly-grown adults in an abandoned house, you'd be inclined to beat them bloody too. You knew more than anyone how bad the situation looked.

That didn't mean you excused his actions, because you'd seen how he'd treated the little girl. You'd seen how he'd treated Lucas, and you knew how he'd treated you. Long before the incident at the Byers house, when rumours began to spiral about your own interactions with girls at parties. He'd set his sights on you when he'd worked at the pool over the summer, suggesting slyly that he could 'fix' whatever had gone wrong in your brain to mess you up in such an awful way. Billy Hargrove was a dick, there was no doubt about it.

However, Billy Hargrove was a dick, but he was also Max's family, and you wanted to protect him as much as possible.

Unfortunately, you didn't have all that much time. Not when it came to the several Russians scouring around the Mall, looking for four individuals that had since gone missing from the back of Scoops Ahoy. Instead, you found yourself hunched down below a counter, keeping a hand over both Dustin Henderson and Erica Sinclair's mouths to keep them quiet.

Not that you didn't trust them, but you couldn't risk a slip up. Not with them.

So there you stayed, trembling below a counter as one of Robin's shoes peeked out from behind the side. Fortunately for the Russians, they caught sight of it, quietly whispering and gathering their men across the devices as they slowly began to approach one of the long-emptied stores.

They kept their guns trained on the counter, slowly beckoning his men forward with a slight flick of his hand, assuring that none of you could move. You'd humiliated the man, and that would not pass with him. Not when he could get rid of you all so easily.

Dustin looked up at you, eyes glossy as he gently reached out to squeeze your hand, a desperate attempt to stop himself from shaking.

This was it, he was convinced. He was going to die, and his mother would find his remains in Starcourt Mall when it opened on Monday at 5am. Or worse, they'd drag his body down, do something awful like use that green, bubbling acid to melt his remains, and his mother would spend the rest of her days looking for him. 

This was it.

You caught Robin's eye for just a second and gave her a small smile, as much of one as you could muster, and she felt like cracking all over again.

It was a 'thank you,' a 'goodbye.'

It was a 'If I could do this with anyone, if I had to do this again, I'd want it to be with you. I'd always, always want it to be you.'

Robin Buckley had never been wanted before, and she had to admit; despite everything, just knowing that you wanted her made it that little bit better.

She saw the goodbye in your eyes first, the way you slowly moved to subconsciously shelter Dustin and Erica, in the way that you hoped would protect them for a few moments longer. The way you slowly moved your hands to the floor, as if to push yourself up and tell them where you were. To give yourself in; a sacrifice for the greater good. For them.

She wanted to beg you to stay, to do anything but this, but she found herself unable to move. Frozen with fear, unable to watch anything but the horrifying sight unfold, the way you were so willing to give up everything. She was certain you were going to do it, you looked so ready-

And then a blaring car alarm rang out across the Mall. The scarlet Mercedes quickly drew their attention away and you let out a small sigh of relief, hearing them train their guns on the newest target. You shuffled slightly, wanting to know the reason for the disturbance, and you caught sight of a small little girl stood atop one of the balconies, arm stretched out and pointed at the car as it began to rock back and forth.

None other than the girl you helped rescue, helped shelter and take in when no-one else would. The girl the boys took to you in order to fix her up, and the girl you watched disappear from your life for a year.

A girl you thought you were never going to see again.

El.

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

El.

There, the girl stood above it all.

Blood dripping from her nose, surrounded by the likes of the party. The kids stood behind her as if a defence as she carefully flicked the end of her hand, watching as the car flung with ease straight into the group of Russians, crushing them beneath its weight, shattering the pane of glass beside you all.

She'd never looked more inhumanely powerful, and she'd never felt it, either. She could do this- she could protect her friends. Just this once, she could be a hero.

You smiled, and the girl smiled back.

You crept out from behind the counter, followed by the others, watching as smoke hissed from within the car and Russians lay strewn across the floor. You didn't waste a second, rushing towards all of them as Mike helped El down a temporarily-paused escalator, immediately watching as El ended up in a hug, ambushed by Dustin.

"Ha, you flung that thing like a hot wheel!" He cried, wrapping his arms around her as Max and Lucas came to you, watching as you crouched down to hug them.

" 'S okay, it's alright, I promise-" You murmured, bringing them close and watching as Will sprinted to your side too, quickly pulled closer by your free arm. You practically giggled, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through your side and just focusing on the group of kids in front of you.

"Lucas?" Erica shrieked, looking over at her brother as he broke himself free from the hug, approaching her with a puzzled look on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ask them," She started, pointing to the four of you, "It's their fault!"

"True, yeah," Steve interrupted, rambling and nodding quickly, "Totally true-"

"Our fault, our fault completely-" You joined in, nonsensical rambling.

"I don't understand, what happened to that car?" Robin asked, glancing hesitantly between you and Steve, quickly muffled by the uproar of the kids, muttering to themselves with their scrambled theories about where you, Steve and Dustin had been.

"El has superpowers!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, superpowers, she threw it with her mind, c'mon, catch up-" Steve mumbled, wincing slightly as you elbowed him in the side.

"That's El?" Erica cut in, seemingly amazed by the girl beside her.

"Who's El?"

"Yeah, little one in the yellow shirt's got like telekinesis or something." You started, quickly mouthing 'they're back?" to El in order to confirm that she was no longer powerless, met with a small nod, "Her name's El. Speaking of!" You interrupted, rushing to her side and quickly hugging her.

"Where the hell were you? Are you alright?" You gave her a once over, gaze fixed on the giant cut in her leg. She simply nodded again, wiping the leftover blood from below her nose, happy to see you all and learn that you were safe.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Nancy cut in, eyes widening when she noticed the state you were in, giving you a shy wave. You returned it immediately, mentally making plans to catch her up on everything the second this was over.

"I'm Robin, I work with Steve-"

"She cracked the secret code!" You grinned, smiling over at her as she quickly smiled back, eyebrows still furrowed in order to piece together the situation.

"Top-secret code." Dustin mumbled, subtly correcting you.

"Yeah, which is how we found out about the Russians." Steve muttered nonchalantly, eyes darting between you all, allowing you to lean on him and let him carry some of your weight as you both held the other steady. It was a given scenario, one you'd learned well after the several beatings you'd both taken over the years and the stumblings you took as children, wrapping a loose arm around the other's side to prevent either of you from fainting.

"Russians? Wait, what Russians?" Jonathon started, quickly taking in the state of both you and Steve, eyes catching on the dark crimson staining your white vest, raising an eyebrow.

"The Russians!"

"Those were Russians?" Max cut in, eyes widened and mouth open, the danger they were actually in starting to settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Some of them," Erica tossed in, gaze still focused on how calm her brother was seemingly acting.

"What are you talking about?" Lucas questioned, looking between you, Dustin and Steve for any possible answers.

"Didn't you hear our code Red?"

"Yeah!" Mike yelled, "And we couldn't understand half of what you were saying!"

"Godamn low battery," He cursed, immediately scolded by Steve.

"How many times do I have to tell you with the low battery!"

"Well everything worked out, didn't it Steve?" He looked up at him condescendingly, sarcastically smiling before shaking his head.

"Worked out?" Erica cried, "We almost died!"

"Yeah," Dustin turned to face the screaming child, "But we didn't, did we?"

"It was pretty damn close," You mumbled, watching carefully as El trudged to a corner, slowly spinning as the ringing in her ears increased, quickly turning to a high-pitched whining sound reverberating around inside her skull. She clutched her hands to her ears, screwing her eyes shut as the others continued to bicker.

Eventually she collapsed, letting out a small grunt as she hit the floor, the rest of the party immediately rushing to her side.

"El!" Mike questioned, quickly turning her on her side to face him, wincing at the girl's whimpering, "What's wrong?"

"My leg. My leg-" She breathed out, blood leaking from both sides of her nose as she hyperventilated, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Her leg, okay-" Jonathon muttered, Nancy helping him by quickly unwrapping the bandages around her leg, mumbling incoherent nothings as the crimson soaks through the white.

They winced, watching black and ivory lines pulsed inside her leg, stretching the skin as she screamed.

"God, that looks awful." Robin muttered, suddenly much closer to you than she'd been before. Her hand chased yours, brushing past each others for a few seconds, and Steve hesitantly moved away from you both, smiling at the lack of distance and the look in Robin's eye.

"Yeah, 's not fun seeing them in pain. Any of them, really." You mumbled back to her, trying to keep her distracted. All of you freaking out wouldn't help anyone, and it would only make El feel worse. Eventually, Jonathon returned, and all of them started panicking, watching her skin begin to writhe again.

"Okay, okay," Mike started, "Let's get her on this side- easy, easy," He mumbled, instructing all of you as you rolled her over onto her side, watching her curl in on herself.

"Y'know, it's not actually that bad-" Robin interrupted and your eyes widened as you realised Robin was about to start rambling. Jonathon looked stressed enough already, having practically shoved something wooden between her lips to bite down on, preparing to freely dig around inside her leg as the spoon muffled her screams.

"There was a- the goalie on my soccer team, Beth Wildfire, this other girl slid into her leg and her bone like came out of her knee, the whole bine, six inches or something, it was insane-"

Nancy's mouth fell open, staring over at you and Steve as Steve turned to Robin.

"Robin."

"Yeah?"

"You're not helping."

"I'm sorry-" Robin rushed out, trying to ignore El's muffled cries, her hand digging further into yours. You let her leave crescent marks on your skin as you figured another person, touch, anything, was something you desperately needed the first time around. You could give her that, at least.

"This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?" Jonathon tried to reassure, giving her hand a small squeeze as the others averted their eyes.

She nodded, screwing her eyes shut again.

"Need you to stay real still, alright?"

"Okay-" She sobbed, grabbing onto anything she could as Mike made sure the spoon Jonathon had grabbed from a nearby store was secure between her teeth.

"Do it." Mike insisted, hating seeing her in pain for a second longer than necessary. She whimpered, the others murmuring small phrases and quickly looking away as Jonathon dug the knife into her swollen leg, 

She screamed immediately, Nancy having to cover her mouth with her hand as she gagged, watching the blade sink deeper into her skin. Jonathon winced before putting on gloves and jamming two fingers inside the wound. She twisted and writhed on the floor, as if trying to escape some terrible fate, and Robin looked like she was about to be sick again. You quickly grabbed her hand once more, pulling her behind you slightly, wanting to shield her from the sight. A horrifying mix of guilt and nausea settled in the pit of your stomach as you came to the swift realisation that the girl wouldn't be in this mess if not for your own selfish choices of wanting someone.

You were going to get her out of here the second it was safe to do so, and she was never, ever coming back. You'd drive her out of Hawkins if you had to. Even if it meant that you would never see Robin Buckley again, at least she'd be safe.

A sacrifice for the greater good. 

"Stop! I can do it," El sobbed, "I can do it-" 

Jonathon immediately backed off, scrambling beside Nancy and abandoning the knife, leaving them scattered on the floor as El raised her hand to her leg.

She hovered it above the cut for a second, gritting her teeth and screwing her eyes shut, clenching her fist and screaming louder than you'd ever heard. You wondered if she'd ever screamed like this when she was stuck in the lab.

Probably.

The windows around you shattered, leaving broken glass scattered everywhere and a floating, writhing creature coated in tar floating mid-air; quickly disposed of by a flex of El's fingers, tossed carelessly to the other side of the hall, crushed beneath a large shoe.

Hopper's shoe.

He stood guarded besides Joyce Byers and Murray Bauman, staring down your little group, tossing you a careful smile as he set eyes on his daughter.

Within a few minutes, you'd already formed a little circle, several of you pacing and trying to out-think the others, approaching the subject from any angle. You'd found that Billy Hargrove had been chosen as a host for the Mind Flayer, The Mind Flayer was back, and the others were now effectively caught up to speed regarding your little Russian adventures.

"The Mind Flayer," Mike started, taking a step towards everyone and weaving the tale as if it were a story, "it built this...monster, in Hawkins; to stop El, to kill her, and to pave a way into our world."

"And it almost did," Nancy weighed in, still trying to grasp the enormity of the situation, "That was just one tiny piece of it."

"How big is this thing?" Hopper asked, glancing over at Dustin as he stood closer to the rest of the party.

"It's big. Thirty feet, at least." Jonathon mumbled, looking up at Nancy as she confirmed.

"Mhm, it sorta destroyed your cabin." Lucas chipped in, eyes catching on Hopper as he attempted to gauge any sort of reaction.

"Sorry."

"Okay, so just to be clear, this- this big fleshy, spider thing that hurt El, it's some kind of gigantic...weapon?" Steve tried, looking slightly confused about the whole scenario.

"Yeah." Nancy answered, eyes locked on Steve for a moment longer than normal. She'd missed the boy, to say the least. He was comfort, a reminder of how she used to live, or who she was before all this. It was nice to just have him around. Same with you, a permanent reminder that despite everything, Hawkins still existed in the way it did before. Hawkins High was still Hawkins High, the kids were still the kids, and everything could be normal when this was over.

It didn't stop her eyes from leaving Steve's silhouette, though.

Robin had taken an entirely different approach to the oldest Wheeler, keeping her eyes trained on the ground rather than any of you. She'd curled herself up on the small fountain, knees tucked to her chest as she tried to regulate her breathing, still coming to grips with the whole 'Evil Russians and alternate-dimensional monsters' thing.

You noticed quicker than others, and you carefully made your way to her side, slowly pulling her to a nearby bench and sitting down with her as she looked up, confusion painted across her face.

"Sorry- you just looked a little stressed. We all get weirded out the first time." You reassured, smiling as she looked over you eyes catching on every scratch and cut that the man had left on you.

She decided that it would be a conversation for another day.

"So, the first time, huh?" She started, drawling off into the beginnings of a ramble as the other's voices slowly faded, "You make a habit of going 'round, fighting space monsters?"

"Upside-down monsters, Jesus, come on Robs, get it right." You corrected, chuckling as Hopper pulled El closer to his chest, Joyce sitting beside him. She caught a glimpse of the two of you, eyes flickering down to where your hands brushed, and made note of how you looked at each other. She smiled, and made a note to talk to you about it later, if you felt comfortable enough.

She hoped you would.

"But yeah, some shit went down like two years ago that started everything- then it came back last year, and now it's back again."

"Do you think we'll be able to stop it for good this time?"

You hesitated.

You didn't want to lie to her; to give her false hope the same way you'd fed off the blissfully ignorant words Hopper had whispered. 

"I hope so." You said, and you meant it. You did hope so, but you couldn't promise her anything.

"So when you disappeared from Click's class for like a week last year?"

"Recovering from a bite on my shin, I was in hospital passed out for three days, scared the shit out of Steve. Dude stayed by my side the whole time and wouldn't stop apologising when I finally woke up."

"Harrington is..." She started, "something else, isn't he?"

You glimpsed over, seeing him debate so casually with Jonathon and Nancy, a genuine smile on his face when he took in the kids' state. Watching carefully as Hopper ran a spare hand through El's hair, and catching Dustin giving him a sly thumbs-up when Nancy stood a bit too close.

He'd begun getting better, and that was a start.

"Yeah. He's definitely something, Buckley."

He caught your eye, smiling slightly, and for the first time in a long time, you genuinely smiled back at him. He felt the air shift, and when Robin looked away for a second, he raised his eyebrow, giving you an awfully suggestive look.

You glared back at him and he simply chuckled, returning to his previous conversation with the rest  of the group.

"How you feeling about all this, then?" You questioned, looking across at her, whispering amongst the mumblings of the others, in the midst of a plan beginning to form.

"And by this...you mean?" She trailed off, small smile flickering over her lips as she finally caught your eye.

"Well, the whole 'Harrington's not as bad as you think he is,' thing, that can be a tough one to sink in-" The older boy shot you a quick glare, replaced with a sigh of relief as he saw the corner of your lips quirk upwards in a gleeful grin. Robin elbowed your side, giggling along with you at the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

"The evil Russians were definitely a shocker, but the twelve-year-old with superpowers, that one's my favourite so far." She chuckled, hand creeping closer to yours on the bench with every passing second. You were hidden from most of their sights, (Not Steve, but you had to admit, with the way he'd been acting he seemed to be overjoyed at the thought of you two together), which made it slightly easier to show the subtle affection you had for the girl. You wanted nothing more than to slip an arm around her shoulder and tell her how safe she was, but you'd wait until the end of the night before you even considered an act so selfish.

"Having her show up at the Byers in the middle of the night wasn't exactly ordinary, but she threw a Lego spaceship at Dustin's head once, that was funny." You smiled, recalling the sweet memory. He'd whined about it the rest of the evening, but was utterly infatuated with the supernatural abilities the girl possessed, and with the way he was practically vibrating on the spot, you could tell that excitement was back. 

"Are you gonna be safe?" Robin blurted out, taking both of you by surprise, eyes widening at her admission of nerves.

You hesitated for a moment, mulling the words over in your head before coming up with a suitable response.

"Define...safe."

"Not throwing yourself at supernatural monsters, safe."

"I uh-" You started, scrabbling to find the right words, no longer worried about impressing the girl, "I'll try to keep safe. Can't promise you anything at the minute, but I've got a lot to stay alive for if you hadn't noticed, Buckley."

"Good. It'd be really difficult to take a corpse out to dinner." She mindlessly babbled, only realising the true intent of her words a moment after she'd said them. She looked you over, shoulders relaxing almost instantly as she saw the sudden spark in your eyes, the intensity of your smile.

"Obviously not dinner, dinner," She began, starting to ramble, "Because dinner would be a bit hard given the fact that we're both, y'know, but like, dinner? Maybe you and I could go watch a movie, or order something in? If you wanted?"

You had never wanted to kiss the girl more in your life.

You squeezed her hand reassuringly, making sure to look her in the eyes as you said this. Your eyes darted to the others, making note that no one was watching, bringing your face to the side of hers and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, mumbling under your breath.

"Buckley, I'd love to go to dinner with you after this. Whatever dinner looks like to you, I'll love it. I'm sure." Her grin widened and a thick blush spread across her face as she caught Steve's eye, smirk growing on his face as he took in the scene, both of you separating almost instantly.

"But, yeah-" You continued, "I'd love dinner. But that means you have to survive too, Robs. Stay safe and whatnot."

"Oh no," She whined, sarcasm heavy in her tone, "A gorgeous girl wants to take me out to dinner and all I have to do is live past tonight, what an awful thing-"

You chuckled, mimicking her friendly elbow from earlier as she giggled, evidently pleased with the situation. She'd never had this, before, or anything like this, and she was certain she was going to keep you. 

No matter the cost.

"Yoo-Hoo!" The moment was broken by the ramblings of a rather bald madman, Murray rushing in waving large maps of Starcourt and other nonsensical scribbles. He rushed past, slumping down besides you all as you all surrounded him, pleased to hear whatever he had found in the moments he was away. You and Robin stood on other sides of the circle, avoiding each other's gazes as you tried not to burst into laughter at the absurdity of the thoughts.

"Okay, this is what Alexei called 'The Hub'" He started, pointing aggressively at a corner of the roughly sketched map, "Now, The Hub takes us to the vault room."

"Okay, so where's the gate?" Hopper interrupted, stood behind his shoulder like a proud parent.

"Right here. I don't know the scale on this, but I think it's fairly close to the vault room, maybe fifty feet or so." You took a step closer to Hopper, him running a hand up your back in a reassuring manner, something he'd done thousands of times before. Whether it was your shoulder, or a ruffle of your hair, he'd always made you feel seen and respected, even when you disagreed. (Or when he had to put you in handcuffs thanks to the few bottles of rum you'd smuggled into the back of a friend's Steve's car that one time.)

"More like 500." Erica cut in, stepping forwards slightly to face the almost-bald man.

"What, you're gonna waltz in there like it's Commie-Disneyland or something?" 

"I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked, irritation painted over his face as the child began to waste even more of his precious time. Murray Bauman didn't have any time nor respect for small annoyances.

"Erica Sinclair. Who are you?" She retaliated, eyebrow raised, staring the man down as Dustin smirked behind her.

"Murray...Bauman." He spit out in confusion, eyes darting back and forth between you, Nancy, Jonathon and Hopper. He figured that you lot would rid him of whoever this pest, was, especially after your adventures together in the years prior. He'd been the one to push Jonathon and Nancy together in the first place, and had run into you at the bar a few times over the years, having arrived both with friends and individually between fighting monsters from a parallel universe. He'd been surprised when Jonathon and Nancy first mentioned your name, but then thought back to the unexplainable stories you'd told him, presuming they were imaginary, and he began to piece bits together. Since then, you'd taught the man how to make a few cocktails on his own (He'd slowly come around to Pina Coladas, not that he would ever admit that,) and how to win at darts. He was a fan of your sarcasm and quick wit, leading to short yet interesting conversations between you both.

Surprisingly, he was one of the first people you'd told about Robin. The only person, really. You'd gotten tipsy and started rambling about a girl, hesitantly giving him her name, and thus leading to an elaborate file created with his P.I experience hidden underneath a chest of drawers at his humble abode.

Just in case of an emergency or if she broke your heart, or something.

"Listen, Mr Bun-man," Erica started, "I've been down in that shithole for 24 hours, and with all due respect, you do what this man tells you to do, and you're all gonna die."

He looked over to you, and you simply shrugged, allowing the younger girl to have the floor for her moment. Lucas looked as confused as the rest of the group, eyes fixated on his sister that he had no idea was embarking on these ridiculous adventures.

"I'm sorry, why is this four-year-old speaking to me?" Murray questioned, looking expectedly at Hopper before being interrupted by the menace.

"Um, I'm ten, you bald bastard!" 

"Erica!" Lucas cut in, eyes widened at his sister's behaviour.

"What? Just the facts!"

"She's right," Dustin began, "You're all gonna die, but you don't have to. Excuse me." He muttered, pushing his way to the front in order to address everyone.

"Sorry, may I?" He asked Murray, an aghast look on the man's face.

"Please." Murray grinned sarcastically, stepping back in order to give him access to the map.

He began his little rant, explaining all of the details of what he'd seen inside the Russian base, making you wince every time the place was even mentioned. Every other word turned to a flicker in your mind, an image of the man you'd stuffed into a cupboard after knocking him out. You wondered if he was still alive, whether or not he had a family. They weren't all monsters, you supposed.

Hopper looked expectedly between Dustin and Joyce, trying to formulate some kind of response, stepping closer to the boy to interrupt him but immediately dismissed and waved away by the boy's hand.

Dustin Henderson hadn't finished talking yet, and to hell with anyone who tried to stop him before he was done. Literally.

He was, however, interrupted by Hopper throwing a Walkie-talkie at his face.

"You can navigate, just do it from someplace safe."

"It's not that simple, Hop." You added, stepping in momentarily to try and make him understand.

"The signal won't reach." Erica confirmed, scoffing with Dustin as if they were aware of something that none of the rest of you were.

"Not with this. You'd need, what, something with a high enough frequency hand to relay the Russian's radio tower, but for that to work, you need someone who's both seen their comms room, and has access to a super-powered, hand-crafted radio tower, one already situated at preferably the highest point in Hawkins."

Oh.

Oh.

"Oh wait, that's me."

Cerebro.

Fucking Cerebro, and Suzie Bingham, and his summer time adventures. Dustin Henderson had really outdone himself this time.

"If you want us to navigate, you've got us. But we need a head start."

Hopper nodded, seemingly pleased with his co-operation.

"...And a car."

Hopper still nodded, gritting his teeth, although notably less pleased than before.

The four of them began to head out, keys in Steve's hand, before Robin noticed your absence. She rushed back, pulling you to one side.

"You're not coming?" She seemed hurt, borderline abandoned at your lack of trust in her.

"What can I say, Buckley? They need me here. Keep yourself safe, alright? Tell Harrington and the other two I say the same thing." You muttered, sad smile on your face as you pulled her into a quick hug.

"...alright." She accepted, pulling away with more hesitance than she wanted. Robin Buckley didn't often get scared, but when she did, she was terrified. And right now, Robin Buckley was really, really scared.

"You'll be okay. Still gotta take me out to dinner, don't you?" You chuckled, looking over at her as she nodded.

"Yeah. It's gonna be one hell of a dinner, so you have to stay safe, too." The reassurance was more for herself and to ease her worries rather than yours, but you'd let her have it. Steve would keep her safe, you knew that much. 

"Robin!" You exclaimed, watching her turn her back before spinning on her heel to face you.

"If everything else goes wrong- I just- you look really pretty tonight."

She smiled, nodding slightly with tears welling in her eyes. 

With one last glance back at you, you let Robin Buckley walk away.

In the meantime, the others prepared for the very worst, and you made time to sit beside Will and have a small chat. He was older now, and you hadn't had as much time with him over the summer as you wanted. He was scared, too.

You practically pulled him away from one of Joyce's iron-grip hugs, apologising profusely, grabbing a spare milkshake from one of the abandoned shops for him. Chocolate chip, the same flavour he'd had every other time you'd taken him over the years.

"You okay?" You asked, even though you knew the answer.

"Yeah, you? You look like you got dragged through a hedge backwards." He quipped, sarcastic little smile on his face despite it all. It made you chuckle, which made you wince, hand moving to clutch the remaining makeshift-stitches in your side.

"Gee, thanks. Russians aren't nice- but you're real funny, kid. Should be a comedian, or something." 

"I know." He left it at that, simply resting his head on your shoulder and enjoying the remaining quiet. He could feel what was coming.

Eventually, the adults herded you all into separate directions, the three of them preparing to take off. You knew Hopper had spoken to El, but that didn't mean you were ready to let him go without saying goodbye.

You engulfed him in a quick hug, throwing your arms around him as he chuckled into the top of your head, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

"You're gonna be fine, alright? You're gonna be fine." You muttered, and it sounded scarily like a goodbye.

" 'Course I am. I always am. Even when kids like you force me into going senile with your arrests and all that shit."

"Hop I swear on my life, I'll never drink again if you come back entirely unscathed."

"I'll hold you to that. See you soon, kid." He ruffled the top of your head, as per usual, before heading to the tunnels with Joyce and Murray. You offered the other two a quick wave, which they returned, before they walked away.

You could feel the stitches loosening, and a trickle of blood crept out from underneath the makeshift bandages.

You were a pawn in this game, and you weren't going to last long.

At least Robin didn't have to see it, if you did go, you thought. She'd be safe with Steve, and you'd have to rain check that dinner. All in all, it was better you than them.

It took roughly half an hour for things to start to fall apart. Mike had begun pacing around the Mall, rambling angrily into the walkie-talkie as you sat beside Lucas, watching as he aimed his slingshot, drawing it back with ease.

"Scoops Troop, do you copy? Billy has found us. He has disabled our car and we are trapped in the mall. Repeat: Billy has disabled our car and has us trapped in the mall." He trailed off, as you moved to crouch beside Nancy.

In the half an hour, you'd been graciously filled in on all the gory details, including the untimely possession of Billy Hargrove. 

"You're gonna kill him, aren't you?" Max chimed in, looking down at the overly large gun in her hands. You had to admit, you see what you saw in the girl before you moved onto Robin. Not that you'd ever try anything, but she was absolutely gorgeous- Steve had been an idiot to let someone like her go. Though, you were happy she seemed content with Jonathon. She'd filled you in on all the other details too, and you'd let her know exactly how hard you'd slapped Steve after you heard about the incident at the cinema.

She seemed rather pleased with that.

"This is just a precaution, okay?" Nancy reassured pulling herself to her feet as you wandered around aimlessly, trying to keep pressure on your side.

"Do you copy?" Mike begged in the background, voice fading in and out of range as he slowly paced the size of the mall. It was interesting to see how long you could go before you had to hear his voice again, timing it so you didn't snap and break the walkie in his hands.

"No chance that thing'll drive, right?" Nancy chuckled, responding to one of the queries the kids had made. Something clicked in Jonathon's head as he looked it over, eyebrows furrowing as he stepped closer.

"We don't need it to drive- we just need the ignition cable." He grinned, watching as everyone ran over to attempt to flip the car onto it's side.

You all groaned, moving backwards as the truth sunk in; you couldn't move this car alone. 

Fortunately, you all turned to a girl in a yellow shirt, more than happy to help. She stepped forward, raising her hand and attempting to flip the car, struggling slightly.

Her nose began to bleed and the car shook slightly, but didn't move in the way you needed it to. Luckily, her attempts seemed to dislodge it, and with some help, it tipped over. She shook her head, rushing over and rifling through a bin as you all looked confused, watching her. She eventually found a small, red, Coke can, placing it on the side and staring intensely at it.

Memories flickered back and forth of her in the lab, crushing the can with ease in her mind, but quickly interrupted by the grating sound of Mike Wheeler's voice.

"El! Are you okay?" He muttered, rushing to her side with Max trailing behind him. You ignored their antics for now, choosing to hang back and rifle through the car's engine, searching desperately for the ignition cable as the burning in your side began to grow.

Will reached for the back of his neck, feeling an indescribable cold wash over him; before he had a chance to warn anyone, the mall went silent, disturbed only by the terrifying thudding of something crawling over the glass ceiling.

You glanced over at Will, and he nodded, providing all the confirmation you needed.

The Mind Flayer was back.

You rushed to anywhere, hiding in the shadows of an abandoned store towards the left, crouched behind the car with the others, Will shuddering beside you and burrowing into your side. You bit your tongue, swallowing the pain, and allowed him to continue. He felt the blood slowly begin to coat your vest again, and looked up at you; you only shook your head in response, willing him not to mention it. It'd be over soon, anyways.

Dustin desperately pleaded through the walkie-talkie after their long-awaited arrival to the hill, crowded in a circle as Robin felt her stomach drop. Something was wrong, she could feel it. Steve caught her eye, and she could tell he could feel it too. 

"Griswold Family, do you copy?" He begged, over and over, getting only a demonic screech in return as the Mind Flayer tossed it aside.

"Shit." He muttered, suddenly scrambling to get everything done a lot faster.

"Anyone, answer! Please, anyone just answer! Confirm your safety!" He begged, the voice falling on deaf ears as the Mind Flayer smashed it into pieces, stopping the transmission altogether. You all held your knees to your chest, prepared to bolt at a moments notice, not even breathing.

It moved to the right, stalking over to a large group of shops, sludging along and dragging limbless parts of its body behind it. It stopped directly over Max, El and Mike, hesitating for a moment before continuing, leaving a trail of black tar in its wake.

Rolling and twisting its joints, if you could even call it that, it slumped beside the gap, falling to the ground in order to comfort the small twitching organism that had been flung out of El's leg only an hour or so before. The smaller black mass grimaced in pain, squealing as the larger black mass screamed, shouting incoherent mumbles at the seemingly empty mall.

Dustin yelled at his own walkie, still pleading endlessly for any of you to pick up, and after a particularly nasty snarl echoed over the comms, Steve decided that he had had enough. Rather than explaining, he simply stood up, rushing back to the car.

"Where are you going?" Erica shouted after him, and Steve didn't pause his swift jog, only yelling back as he turned his head.

"To get them the hell outta there! Stay here, contact the others!" 

Robin shook her head, gritting her teeth before standing and rushing after him, Dustin screaming after her.

"Robin! Stay in touch!" He yelled, quickly tossing her one of the spare walkies in order to allow her to contact them, her nodding and racing after Steve, locking herself in the car.

Meanwhile, the Mind Flayer paced back towards the car, and each of you took turns to stiffen, leaning back against the car, eyes wide with terror. Will began to hyperventilate and you took his hand in yours, feeling the energy seep out of you with every extra second you spent awake. It reminded you of the nasty gash across your leg that a Demodog had left, and the way you felt close to death in the tunnels, unwittingly accepting your fate.

At least this time, you had a chance to save someone. Even if it killed you, you could get Will Byers home and safe. In turn, keeping Robin safe, too. You could make up for bringing her into this mess in the first place.

That would be enough for you.

Nancy glanced over, risking a sneaky look in the direction of one of the car's wingmirrors, wincing as the Mind Flayer carelessly tossed a Russian's body into the wall. For fun, you presumed. Predators always liked to play with their pray before they killed them. 

"It's turned away," Mike started, catching a glimpse of the monster before lowering himself back down, "if we run upstairs now, we'll make it."

"No way, not with El's leg." Max insisted, gesturing to the hurt girl.

"We have to try!" He whisper-shouted, glaring at the redhead, getting increasingly aggravated by the second. You managed to find them in a shop window's reflection, noticeably getting more agitated with staying still.

You knew they were going to move, and you prepared yourself to run, just in case.

A large metal rod that had been used to pry the car from the wall had been left alone near your feet, and you quickly leant forward to grab it, breath hitching in the back of your throat. They could use a distraction, if everything else were to go horribly wrong. Nancy seemed to notice your sudden movement, narrowing her eyes in confusion before turning her glance to the crimson slowly seeping out from the bottom of your vest.

She was aware that you were unlikely to make it, too.

"There's another way," El muttered, weighing in on the conversation.

"Out," She started, "Through the gap."

She gestured to the large store around the corner and Mike began to nod, a plan coming to mind. You could see them preparing to run, and moved yourself to another corner, out of sight from the mind Flayer and away from the others, as far as you could go. You refused to bring them down with you.

You remembered the raven-haired boy's words, the way he'd so carelessly knocked the pawn from the board as he taught you. 

"Painless, swift." He'd muttered, as if the pawn had a mind of its own. He almost felt sorry for knocking it from its place. At least you knew that it would be swift, as the Mind Flayer didn't attempt to toy with its victims, as far as you knew. Even if it did, you wouldn't last long, now with two of the three makeshift stitches out. 

The three of them bolted, rushing quickly towards the large doors of the store, brushing past a mannequin in El's clothing. This was really, truly, incredibly bad.

If you'd known where they were headed, you wouldn't have moved. In reality, they'd sat themselves down, tripping over broken glass less than five feet away from you. The distraction wouldn't be that useful anymore, especially if you were just leading it straight back to them.

"You little shits!" You whispered, pulling them close as the Mind Flayer stepped closer, hushing them as they hugged you. It quickly flung the yellow-coloured mannequin into the wall, and you muffled El's mouth to keep a surprised yell from escaping.

A tentacle reached out, large teeth protruding from the end, and it winded through the aisles of the store in search of the noise. You all kept deathly silent, and Lucas from his position behind the car, began to pull his slingshot back.

"What are you doing?" Nancy hissed, glaring up at him. He only nodded, mainly to reassure himself, and then turned and let the small stone go, hitting a balloon and causing the tentacle to retreat back to its body. You all breathed out a sigh of relief, clutching the three of them closer than ever.

You were more than aware of the dizzying feeling approaching, looming over you in waves, but your priority right now was the kids and keeping them safe. Though, you had to admit, you were incredibly pleased at not having to sacrifice yourself.

You were really looking forward to that dinner.

All of you, including Nancy, Jonathon, Lucas and Will, used this as a welcome distraction, rushing out the closest exit and dashing up the stairs. You had to clutch the railing, but you were safer than before, so that was a start. The four of them raced out the front exit, heading towards the nearest car at Jonathon's command.

Unfortunately, the rest of their collective silence was ruined by the roar of a 1979 Chevrolet Camaro.

More importantly, Billy's Camaro.

"Shit." Jonathon whispered, quickly interrupted by Nancy.

"Go, get the car started! Go!"

She loaded her gun and steadily pointed it at the car, preparing to shoot as Jonathon climbed into the Driver's side, trying desperately to start the engine. In another car, Billy Hargrove revved his own engine, slowly pressing his foot down on the accelerator. 

Nancy shot once, and then twice whilst the car headed directly at her, splintering the windshield and shattering the windows. that didn't phase him, and only seemed to anger him more while the others began to panic in the backseats.

She shot again, and again, him speeding up with every second, and Nancy Wheeler prepared herself for the end. Much like you, her one goal was to protect the kids, and at least she was going out doing that. The impact would most likely kill Billy on the spot, and they would be able to escape safely.

This was it, she decided. She breathed in, out, relaxed her shoulders and shut her eyes, firing as many rounds as she could.

Though unfortunately, her body had not come to the same conclusion, letting out a sharp squeal as the girl ducked to protect herself, met with the crashing sounds of two cars colliding and shattering glass.

Steve Harrington had come to save the day, once again. He'd rammed Billy's Camaro head on, breathing heavily as Robin clutched the door.

"You okay?" He muttered, panting and still riding the adrenaline high. Robin Buckley, albeit terrified, managed to compose herself slightly and whimpered out a short response.

"Ask me tomorrow?"

Before either of them could fully acknowledge what had just happened, a snarling interrupted them, echoing from above. The shadow of a deformed creature sprinted across the roof of Starcourt Mall, stopping them where they stood.

In the meantime, Billy Hargrove pulled his broken body from the burning wreckage, grimacing with every step as he slowly trudged into the Mall. He didn't want to do this, but unluckily for him, he was no longer in control. A bone-chilling numbness had seeped into every pore in his body, flooding his senses with a freezing cold that he no longer recognised. Billy Hargrove was no killer, not ordinarily, but he wasn't the one pulling the strings anymore.

Billy Hargrove was whatever this thing wanted him to be.

So whilst you, Mike and Max helped El limp back to a safer place, Billy Hargrove roamed the halls of Starcourt once more. This time, he wasted no time in finding you all. He slumped through the white corridors, quickly facing Max in an empty room in order to get to El. You stepped in front of both of them, and he chuckled.

"Why's it always you?" He asked, a dark laugh slipping from his lips despite the obvious discomfort in his face.

"Billy, you need to leave."

He simply tutted, shaking his head as if he weren't in pain at all. The black veins crawled up his neck as he arched his head backwards, smirk growing and relishing in the silence.

"You're not taking these kids, Hargrove." You pushed, holding your ground.

"Shame, that's not up to you."

He quickly tried to push past you, and you retaliated by smacking him in the face as hard as possible. He recoiled, bringing a hand to the side of his cheek and wincing before bringing his fist back, hitting you in the face. You didn't even flinch, still chasing the adrenaline high before returning to fight him, pushing him further against the wall and bringing your knee up to hit his crotch, watching him grimace before digging two of his fingers into the wound in your side.

You cried out, still scratching desperately at his skin, before he caught onto the third and final staple, ripping it from your skin. Your eyes widened and he pushed you against the wall, giving your leg a sharp stomp for good measure, hearing something crack. You let our an ear-piercing wail, sobbing as he moved past and began the long walk to Max.

You tried to move but found you were unable to, stuck bleeding out on the floor, your ankle once again bent the wrong way. 

"Billy," Max tried, "You don't have to do this- your name's Billy, Billy Hargrove," She begged, pleading with every syllable.

"You live on 4819 Cherry Lane, Billy please, I'm your sister-" She cried as he approached, backhanding her across the face and watching as she slumped to the ground too.

Mike tried next, rushing over to him and shoving Billy as hard as he could, and Billy retaliated by slamming his head against a metal pole before turning to El. She screamed, raising a hand up to try and do something, anything, but was quickly manhandled and shoved against a wall, things going black rather quickly. He picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder and began the walk back to the middle of Starcourt.

"Shit." You breathed out, making note of the way he'd abandoned the other kids, focusing solely on El, with tears slipping past your eyes. You could feel yourself fading but didn't want to give up yet, not entirely done helping.

You could let yourself be a pawn later.

You found an abandoned piece of cloth besides a mass of pipes, reaching for it and gritting your teeth, tying it around your waist. If you could stop the blood loss, you'd be fine. You'd deal with your leg later.

You glanced around desperately, trying to move yourself or at least prop the other two up, but found that quicker than you'd liked, it all went black. You spent a total of twelve minutes in-and-out of consciousness, eventually roused by the sound of Max attempting to wake Mike (and failing, miserably.)

You mumbled something incoherent, feeling the sharp stabbing pain in your ankle but finding yourself much more mobile, dragging yourself to your knees. She noticed your sudden commentary and breathed a sigh of relief, helping you up with a makeshift pipe as some sort of crutch as you both tried to wake Mike.

"Mike, can you hear me? Mike! Mike!" She yelled, practically pushing him over. He whispered in response, murmuring El's name as he woke, pushing himself up with his hands as his skull felt just about ready to split in half.

"C'mon-" She helped him up and you trailed after them, using the wall to help steady yourself, feeling slightly better now blood wasn't leaking from your side with every step.

"You okay?" She asked, Mike simply shaking his head in response, looking around to try and get his bearings. He stopped, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced over at both of you.

"Where's El?"

"He's got her." You chimed in, coughing slightly before moving to a different position, attempting to walk as quickly as possible. You wanted to help, even like this.

You rushed in, steadying yourself on a corner joined by Mike and Max at your side, staring as Billy Hargrove approached the Mind Flayer. Whatever El had said, perhaps the reminder of his mother or the fact that he was capable of good, something he hadn't known for a long time, had broken whatever possession the Mind Flayer had over him.

Now, he faced the creature as Billy Hargrove.

Just Billy Hargrove, and that was enough.

The creature came for him early, digging its limbs into his side as he fought it off, and he came to the untimely realisation that he wasn't scared. He figured he would be, when the time came, after all the drugs and the cigarettes, the drinking and the sex- he figured he'd want to feel something.

It was a substitute for the numbing cold he'd felt settled into his bones over the last few weeks and so just feeling anything was okay. He was protecting Max, something that he should've done this entire time but was too cowardly to do so, and that was okay.

He hoped this would make up for it in the end.

El scrambled backwards, and Dustin screamed commands into Cerebro from the top of the hill. Hopper saw the opportunity, and in what he believed to be his final moments, he saw all of you. He saw him and Joyce, dancing in the kitchen at midnight and fighting over useless things in the spring. He saw him and El, the Miami Vice flickering in the background accompanied by nights on the sofa. He saw you and him, watching you grow up and finally move out of Hawkins, escape to somewhere, anywhere; to finally just be happy. He saw him and Will, bonding over his drawing and talking about everything they could find.

He saw all of you, and Jim Hopper realised that he wasn't scared either. They were both going to go out protecting the kids, and that's all that mattered.

That didn't mean that Hopper didn't still want one last look at the woman he loved before he went, though.

Joyce watched as the flames engulfed everything, raging across the room as the gate sealed itself shut, slowly cutting off the connection to the other world. The rest of you saw the Mind Flayer slump to the ground, leaving an almost dead Billy Hargrove in its wake.

He chuckled, watching you and Max scramble over to him, pleased to see you all for one last time.

"Did I do good?" He mumbled, looking up at you as you held Max, bringing tears to your eyes. You didn't like it when anyone died, if you were being honest. Watching the life drain from a person's eyes- not a pretty picture. You saw it happen with Bob Newby, and even managed to get a good look at Barbara Holland's rotting corpse during your time in the upside-down.

It never got any easier.

"You know damn well you did, Hargrove. Ever the cocky son-of-a-bitch." You choked out, smiling slightly at the joy in his eyes when he saw Max. He wanted to apologise, to spend the rest of his days grovelling at her feet for the way he'd treated her. He wanted to make amends, but would never get a chance.

"Billy, please get up- please, please-" Max begged, whimpering at the sight of her older brother in pain. Despite it all, he was still her brother, and most of the family she had left.

"I'm...sorry." He slipped out amongst coughs, holding her hand and trying to pull her closer to him in his final moments. He really did mean it, this time.

"Billy? Billy, c'mon, wake up- this isn't- this isn't funny, Billy- wake up! Please, Billy you have to get up-" She sobbed, crying into your chest as you held her, rocking her back and forth, the both of you a mess.

She wept into his chest, pulling him closer before slumping back into you, and El, who'd walked over to comfort Max too.

"It's okay-" You both murmured, hugging her tight to your chest, sobs wracking through her body with unimaginable force. It only confirmed one thing in your mind; you never, ever wanted to see Max Mayfield like this again. You'd do anything.

Within twenty-five minutes, you'd all been escorted out of the building, and Robin Buckley was itching to find you. 

You'd promised- You'd promised her, that you would stay safe. So, you had to be safe, she reasoned.

Eventually, her resolve came crashing down when she found you in the back of an ambulance, finally getting some proper stitches with tears streaming down your face, lollipop jutting out the corner of your lips with a sad smile. You caught sight of the Buckley girl rushing over to you, clutching and holding you close as you pulled her tighter to your chest.

"Hey, Robs." You whispered, chuckling into her shoulder as she let out a small laugh, leaning back and resting her forehead against yours. In the background, Steve Harrington watched the two of you closely and finally put two and two together. Or started to, at least. You looked happy, for the first time in a really long time.

"You stayed safe." She muttered, hugging you once more as the reality of the situation finally set in.

You were okay, and so was she.

You just about, despite the agony in your leg drove the both of you home after that, refusing to part with her until you knew that she was alright. Neither of you spoke on the way to yours, only living in a state of blissful silence as she escorted you to the door. She helped you inside, fully prepared to walk home, and you waved from your window. You slumped onto the couch with a small glass of water, turning the TV on to some mind-numbing channel. You'd heard about Hopper but unfortunately, had run out of tears to cry this evening. You'd let yourself feel all that tomorrow.

You had a feeling you wouldn't be sleeping much tonight. You never did, especially after nights like these. The monsters came for you in slumber, proving that you could've been faster, should've been stronger, and you got shown the kids splayed out on the concrete a thousand different ways.

You didn't want to sleep all that much.

You heard a knock at the door twenty-three minutes later, and figured it would be Steve- he often came after a fight, just so you could brave the night terrors together when you inevitably passed out. What you didn't expect to find was the Buckley girl stood at your door again, sucking in a breath.

"I don't know if you wanted to, but um- I don't have anything on tonight, and I just- fuck," She started, "I didn't realise it would be this hard. Okay, uh, dinner?" 

She held out a large tub of vanilla ice cream and a small chess board, looking more beautiful than she'd ever looked before.

"God, you really are something, aren't you Buckley?" You grinned, pulling her in by the wrist and tumbling onto the couch together, her quickly pressing her lips to yours. It was far better than in constant duress underground in a Russian base, but was jaw-dropping then, nonetheless.

You winced, forgetting about the pain in your eye as she pulled away, looking down at you and laughing slightly.

"Oi, don't be mean-" 

"I'm not! I'm not, I swear!" She chuckled, resting her head in the crook of your neck. You brought a hand up to run through her hair, and she relaxed, moving to a more comfortable position on the sofa where both of you could face the TV.

"Told you my dinners were good." She grumbled, grabbing the nearest spoon as you flipped through the channels, preparing yourself for a long night.

"Yeah, yeah, we're not finished yet- don't go getting cocky on me now, Buckley."

She smiled, and you smiled, and you spent the whole night watching Miami Vice, eating ice cream and playing chess.

You were alright, and in Robin's eyes, nothing else mattered.

Not anymore.

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

Taglist: @onceandfuturequeenofthecats

#robin buckley x reader #robin x reader #robin buckley #platonic steve and robin #stranger things reader insert #stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #dustin henderson #enjoy your day #its done #erica sinclair #i know the end #chapter update #merry christmas

[meissashush]

🍁🌾💐🌺☄💦

for Ro

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

Ro is a habitual hider. In a new place, she'll always sniff out the quietest place to hide unseen, regardless of whether she actually ends up needing it. That said, she isn't really one to claim an area. If her so called 'territory' is ever usurped by a different antisocial weirdo introvert, she won't contest it. The location just gets written off as 'less than ideal' and a new one is hunted down.

The closest she has to a comfort corner is her room, and later her solo apartment. It's not intentional, but rather incidental in nature. She's naturally inclined to keep everything she considers 'hers' confined to her personal space, and she tends to only keep things she genuinely needs or likes.

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

EDIT FROM FUTURE MEI!!!! IM STUPID AS SHIT AND ALSO DYSLEXIC AND READ THIS AS "Describe your OCs eyes through the lens of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them" BECAUSE IM A FUCKING MORON. Anyway, this stays as a monument to my stupity.

"Crystalline. They contain such a profound clarity that they can rend you quite transparent, despite one's best efforts." - Ignis

"Icy. Like the crisp blue of a clear. midwinter sky. But, like, in a refreshing sort of way." - Gladio

"Oh man, I've been trying to figure this one out for years. It's like if baby blue, cerulean, and royal blue started making out, you know?" - Prompto

"Uh... they're blue, right?" - Noctis

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

Well, she's a Leonis, so not well. She'll hide her illness/injury for as long as possible, and who ever can catch her is going to be the one wrangling her into bed for the duration. Ignis and Nyx have the best luck with it simply by virtue of being more stubborn than her, followed by Prompto and Noctis who are great at distracting her with video games and co-naps, with Gladio and Cor coming in solid last. Turns out trying to just force her into bed and expecting her to stay there isn't the best strat. Naturally, this means she a pretty awful patient.

As for her as a caretaker, she's pretty decent. Quick to find what you need, intuit what you want, and most likely to remember bizarre things like how Prompto can't stand the smell of eggs when he's ill. Bedside manner is not the best, but she's not Cor or Gladio.

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

When she was younger, and sometimes when there is no real time to recover, she has a tendency to just work through it until she can't anymore. As she got older and learned to rely on people more, she became much more prone to seeking comfort from others. The best person for the situation varies heavily, but Cor is definitely a one-size-fits-all person for an upset Rosea. If she's alone, she's gotten better of just talking herself through it in a quiet space. It takes longer, but it does work.

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

This isn't even a question, this is just you yelling at me :[

I am very nice to her, thank you very much. Those are load bearing traumas. All of them. Even the non-canon ones I make just for fun.

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

I would erase the event that led her to emotionally cutting herself off from everyone she loved :] The first one, anyway. Pretty sure that's the main jenga block in all of her -gestures vaguely- that.

#ffxv #rosea leonis #ask game fill #garbria #my stuff

[iiratix]

Aaa another tog blog :3 hear me out (an imagine not a request). You know the story of Pinnochio, the doll who turned into a real boy ? Imagine fem great warrior reader somehow escaping her friends because Jahad accused her husband of treason, and he had him killed. So reader decided to create her own "daughter", basically a puppet who has both her features and her husband's features and traits. She raised her daughter and loved her. Imagine that "daughter" meeting any family head though.

Creativity is boundless, is it not?

May I have your attention please? Yes, yes, now that I have certainly caught your attention, behold to what I'm about to show you. A definition of a masterpiece has finally appeared. Now, I won't lie, this certainly... Peek my interest as a writer. As someone who's suffering mentally and physically a writer blog (sadly enough) this is something I cannot pass to immediately think off in my head.

This is quite an interesting concept of a story. After reading through it, I could certainly image the entire plot after suffering the typical usual writer illness. Now, let's us summarize the entire plot all together while added other things.

Imagine if the reader are a closed friend to Arlene, the two stick together as if they're an inseparable twin. To the point if you want to find one of them, just find the other person. They have a close relationship in a familial way, hence, they share each other trouble with one another.

As Jahad ascend toward the throne, the two of them live a happy life with their own significant other, while he remain there, high and mighty, ruling the tower. The interesting part is Jahad accusation isn't entirely false. Considering how much of a tyrant he is, let's think the possibility both of reader and Arlene join force together to stop Jahad possesion against the throne, just like how it mentioned by the canon story.

Which led for her husband, to be on the front line alongside the others. But alas, their enemy itself was their own friend, the great 10 family that did not bother to take their side. On the final fight where they're cornered, reader husband was killed I'm front of her, at the same time it was his attempt to keep her safe. Seeing such a gruesome sight bring furry inside of her, anger boiling like a lava, ready to explode. Yet, his final words for her is to run away, just like Arlene and V.

It shattered her pride to pieces, but he knows what best for her, and commits one last transportation for her sake, a device that was kept in case of emergency. With that, she was wrapped elsewhere, away from any harm. The lost of her dear husband itself is devastating, but there's nothing she can do. She prompted to return where she came from, the outside, where everything begun.

And she for sure, will start another chapter. But not for her, but for someone else. And that's the beginning of her daughter life. At first, thinking through the possibility of creating a puppet, may on similar case with Enryu, and it is said even Urek one of the top Ranker cannot create a life out of shinsu. So, let's make it a bit more complex than Enryu case.

Reader was lonely, which is quite obvious. She left behind everyone that she knew of, even the place she called home. So, she decided to carve a human sort of puppet by the wood. ( Yes, yes we're following the Pinnochio with a mix ) Afterwards, she tried to do an experiment with it, she tried to infuse her shinsu inside of that puppet. It was many kind of fail attempt to another failure. She's losing hope until one day, her shinsu overburst that led for a blinding light appeared, with a gust of wind that spread across the entire ground, bringing down everything that stand on its way.

Long story short, that overwhelming power ended up creating a life that similar to a human. Due to the shinsu, some of their body parts turn into a flesh slowly. But the unique part of her daughter, is the fact alone she did not have a heartbeat, any organs to eat or even a blood. It makes sense since she... She's a puppet, a complex version of Enryu puppet ( no offense, please refrain from red rain me)

Nevertheless, this is where everything start, where a new chapter she seeks will start. A new book, a new ending, much more delightful and happy, with certain traumatizing start and begining. Ahem, either way, the daughter become curious of this said tower after living for so long outside the tower. And on one faithful day, she sneak away to participate this bloody tower, her mother had said. Certainly, the troublemaker side and curiosity came from the husband, to the point it felt as if reader herself had a doting daughter.

Although, she certainly did not escaped her mother pry eyes. Because, how are you going to sneak away from a great warrior that had sneak away from the tower? Complicated kind of question, I'm well aware.

On the fun part, the daughter stumble upon Baam and his gang, following after them all especially the brunette himself. She cannot tell for sure, but there's a certain attachment toward him. No, it's not romantically. No, it's not a friends to lover troupe. Yes, it's a normal platonic relationship that both of their parents have.

Here's the plot twist... Rachel is aware of reader daughter existence, just like how she did to Baam. Shocking? Certainly, because this one, is chasing after her as well. But, we could leave the guarding to Khun and Rak. Or maybe just Khun, especially when Rak has a certain... Eh, well you understand.

Heading toward the Traumerei part, let's add another twist, because Iiratix is a well-known angst lover and plot twist added. What if Traumerei once love reader, but it's an unrequited love as the reader fall for her husband instead? Well, that will leave a lasting wound of heartbreak. Thus, when he sees a familiar figure, much to his dismay, he cannot help but be cruel and mean, pointing out the fact that she has already aware of.

"It does not matter whether I'm a puppet or not, I'm my mother's pride and joy, the one who'll take revenge on behalf of my father's death."

Was all she said with a determined expression and a smile. Well, someone seems to be taken the personality of her mother that was courageous. Her runaway is an exceptional, since it was what her husband want, so there's nothing she can do of it. Either way, it was a nice time to imagine this plot.

#conversation #tower of god #kami no tou #tower of god x reader #khun aguero agnis #khun #25th baam #baam #𝙸𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚡™

[scoupsahoy]

it's 5am and im up for no reason time for everyones favorite segment: ryan's bad opinion corner

todays episode: stranger things fandom and ficdom pet peeves and things i find silly

disclaimer: it's 5am i'm grumpy and none of these things are worth getting angry about. i don't actually get mad at people who do this stuff or write these things. in fact i love torturing myself but more than that i like to read and sometimes people take these things and make it fun or dramatic and i love drama. most of these are just silly little things. we all have them snd i know for a fact that some people's pet peeve is just like. everything ive ever written

people who can't talk about mike wheeler without making it obvious how much they hate him irrationally. especially in fic. why are you making him so antagonistic towards everyone he is so desperate to be liked. have u seen that kid. have u watched the last four seasons of stranger things

people who can't be normal about billy. real bad opinion corner type shit but like. i wish people could write or talk about him without either excusing how shitty he is OR absolving him of all that. if you make him a cartoon villain you're kind of diminishing how fucked up and racist he was in canon, like that isn't enough to make him a shitty guy and an antagonist on his own. let people explore his character without forcing them to pick between "needs to be tortured to death for his crimes on screen Or Else you're a billy apologist" and "needs to be forgiven by everyone and kiss steve at the end"

not a pet peeve just kind of a thing that makes me tilt my head a bit bc i think it's kind of silly. future fics where dustin and suzie get married... like they met before high school i love suzie so bad but like what is the chance that every single one of the kids in the show is going to be with their middle school sweetheart their entire lives. this opinion does not extend to lucas and max i hope they get married.

when people imply that eddie or robin are biphobic. biphobia exists and is complicated and can be explored in fic or whatever but when i see gay characters who are massively biphobic and only the gay characters who are massively biphobic it sure rubs me the wrong way. gay people are not biphobic by default. ESPECIALLY IF ITS LIKE

fic where steve is literally fucking eddie and eddie's like "man i cant believe hes fucking me and he's straight and doesn't like men at all" like thats not even biphobic at that point like eddie you need to be punched in the head with a blunt object you are just stupid and not in a cute way. i can't read several thousand words of that. no one would act like that even if they were biphobic

when nancy isn't annoying. make her annoying. make her abrasive and judgmental and kind of mean. but also like. don't forget that she's like very smart and helpful and caring and full of guilt and love. you think she can't be good and amazing and also a bitch? god forbid women do anything.

******* just in general but i don't want to be crucified ive already made two deeply inflammatory statements

when people don't love lucas enough. love him more. you are silly.

when you're mad about popular fanon and write an angry fic basically using the characters to make your point for you. and i totally get it. if u hate that trope u can also say hit da bricks. but i can tell how pissed off u were about this while writing and it does not make me agree with u more. in fact it's an interesting enough thought experiment that it can stand on its own and having the argument in the fic where you're basically mad at the fandom makes me less inclined to agree with you or want to keep reading. this is mainly because fic is something that is enjoyable to me when it's written out of love for an idea rather than frustration. you can always tell when the writer is annoyed and it makes it wayyy less enjoyable to read

i feel like that last one was kinda mean (or it was before i took out the particular context bc even though it's unlikely anyone will read this i dont want the person who wrote the thing im talking about to catch wind of it) so im going back to sleep i love you

last one

people who go out of their way to tell an author that their headcanon is unrealistic or their writing pisses them off or they didn't like how something played out or how someone was characterized. get over it please if you didn't like it, it wasn't for you. complain to your friends if you must, not the artist. don't make people feel like shit i'll cut off the roof of your house like wile e coyote and i AM serious about this one

#ryans bad opinion corner

[morethanaloveinterest]

what your thougets on some hanleia dislike reylos?

Well, you asked for my thoughts, so here we go. First, I think that people can like or dislike whatever they want. Shipping isn't usually a conscious decision anyway, it's all about vibes and what interests you in a story. And both HanLeia and Reylo are canon love stories, so how you feel about them probably has more to do with how you feel about the original trilogy vs the sequel trilogy than the characters themselves.

Second, the two relationships are really similar and it seems strange to pit them against each other. Both have bad boys who kill someone immediately when we first meet them, then a lot of antagonism with the ladies for the first movie and part of the second, where she yells at him and calls him out for his shit. Then they work out their issues and are finally on the same page at the end of the second movie, before being separated during its climax. Then the third they actually get together and have a happy kissy ending (though one is obviously quite short-lived).

In terms of female representation, I reject the idea that hanleia is a predatory romance (as at least one major youtuber has called it). But a large part of that is how Carrie and Harrison play the characters; both had off-screen personas of being snarky or gruff, so it makes sense for them to be at odds - they're highly passionate people with opposing worldviews. And any hesitance on Leia's part is played as her being more concerned about the cause than her personal happiness, not because she doesn't like him or because he's taking advantage of her in some way.

For Rey, she is clearly shown as in charge of the situation every time they interact. She invades his mind, she slices up his face, she pushes back against learning more about him during force bonds, and then she decides to go get him personally in TLJ (at absolutely no suggestion from him). When he decides to prioritize power over what they could have, she shuts the door on him. In TROS, that continues until he changes his priorities, at which point she is enthusiastically on board.

Overall, I feel like arguing against either relationship undervalues and infantilizes the lady involved. Leia and Rey are not wilting flowers being manipulated, threatened, or taken advantage of by men. And since both ladies are shown to have other options romantically speaking, we can also say definitively that she is choosing the man she ends up with. She wants to be there, something firmly established by the end of the second movie in the trilogy (if not before), so suggesting that the relationship was just thrown together or that she doesn't like it is also disingenuous.

So, yeah, if you like HanLeia, you don't have to like Reylo, who cares. But if you think Reylo is a worse ship, then I do think you need to consider why Han dragging Leia onto his ship and then cornering her there is an acceptable power imbalance but Rey being the more powerful one all along is not.

(again, I do think Carrie and Han play it that Leia is in charge of the situation, but if you're going to take interactions out of context, you can't just do it with one story and not the other).

#leia organa #rey #meta #asks #please don't start drama on this; i really don't care what you ship #i just feel like thinking either one is ''''bad'''' reflects a worldview in which women are defaulted to having less power #and that goes against the purpose of this blog

[nicad13]

Crossroads: Chapter 16

The Proving Grounds

Summary: Rayne and Din are tested.

Din breaks his promise.

Notes: Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic before the sequel, which will hopefully be complete by the end of Season 3. Start now so you're ready! AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Tags/Warnings: whump, violence, hurt/comfort, mind control, hallucinations, angst, soooo much angst....

Rating: Mature

---

Through this world I’ve stumbled So many times betrayed Trying to find an honest word To find the truth enslaved Oh you speak to me in riddles and You speak to me in rhymes My body aches to breathe your breath Your words keep me alive

Sarah McLachlan, Possession

---

Din sat on the edge of the bunk in the hold of the Razor Crest, elbows on his knees, helmeted head in his hands. Trembling with tension.

He’d seen Cara off at the spaceport and then returned to the ship, meaning to pack up more of their things and then catch a speeder back to their place. He’d collected Rayne and Yadier’s belongings easily enough, but when he’d gotten to his own stuff, he’d become indecisive. Was he staying or not? Should he bring most of his non-weapons stuff or just a few changes of clothes?

Cara’s words haunted him.

You love her, don’t you?

He hadn’t answered. He’d sidestepped completely. Because what was the point? What was the point when they would throw him out anyway? Even making the promise to Rayne that he would end her life if she turned to the Dark Side was ridiculous in its optimism because it assumed he would be allowed to stay and be in the position to fulfill it. That path was forked, but both options led to dead ends. He would either be forced to leave, or forced to bring her life to a violent end.

He didn’t dare let himself look at the third path. The one where he was allowed to stay and his Jedi managed to stave off the Dark Side. It seemed so unlikely compared to the other possibilities. Too good to be true. Daring to want such a thing only to lose it would shatter him.

He had watched her die once already. He remembered with crystal clarity the way it had gutted him. Emptied him out. He remembered drawing his blade on himself, not for the first time, not even for the second, but for the first time with lethal intent.

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t survive it a second time around.

He really was a coward. Hut’uun. It rang in his head, over and over.

He should just leave right now. Save everyone the time. Release Rayne from him so she could find a father for their son who could handle it. Send Rayne and Yadier their things, get the hell off this planet, and forget that this last year of his life had ever happened.

The comlink on his vambrace chirped. The code indicated that Rayne was on the other end. “Hey.”

“Hey. Everything ok?” Rayne’s voice signaled a slight edge of concern. Looking at the time at the lower left corner of his HUD, he realized how late he was.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t really a lie. On a scale of One to I watched you die, he figured You’re better off without me didn’t quite rank half-way up. “Just… lost track of time.”

She paused for a beat, as if to tell him in her own silent way that she knew he was full of it, but would take mercy on him, regardless. “Okay. Do you want us to wait for you to get dinner?”

“No. Go ahead without me.” Get used to it.

“Want me to bring you anything back?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Din…”

“Yes?”

“You’re at the Crest right now?”

“Yes.”

“… You’re coming back, right?”

Goddammit, Rayne. He considered asking if that was what she wanted, but she’d made that plain enough with the way she’d asked it. God knew why. “Yes.” The silence stretched for a bit, and then he added, “Don’t wait up.”

“We all need to be at the Temple tomorrow morning.”

That was news. “Okay. I’ll be home tonight. Get some rest.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He went for a walk.

He wandered back towards the city, no particular destination in mind, just wanting to lose himself in an unfamiliar place, fade into anonymity inasmuch as a Mandalorian could in a city seemingly full of every kind of being except Mandos. Humans, Chargrians, Kubaz, Devaronians, Twi’leks, Bothans, Rodians, even a couple Wookies. But no other beskar-clad souls. In that, Genesaria was just like every place else.

Din Djarin was, and always would be, alone in this galaxy.

He should’ve been used to it by now.

So why did it hurt so much lately?

He stopped in his tracks. His halt was so abrupt that a Devaronian walked right into him and almost knocked him over.

“Whoops! Sorry about that. You alright?” The large horned man held Din upright by the elbow.

Din was so stunned at being treated so politely by a Devaronian that he couldn’t bring any words.

“Buddy? You ok?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry.” Din pulled back, chiding himself both for his clumsiness and his racism, knowing he couldn’t let the Devaronian he’d run into on Ran’s crew represent an entire people. “It was my fault.”

The Devaronian nodded and went on his way, and Din turned back to look at what had brought him to such a standstill.

A restaurant with Mandalorian script on the storefront. “Jat’skraan.” The translation was printed below in Basic: “Good Eats.”

Din stood in the middle of the sidewalk, motionless. Dumbfounded. Wondering if he really had finally lost his goddamned mind.

A Mandalorian restaurant? Where… people ate Mandalorian food… in public? With other people?

What madness was this?

Helpless, Din found himself drawn to the door, found himself opening it, found himself walking in.

People were sitting together at tables, mostly human, but a smattering of others. No one was wearing armor. No helmets. They gave him only a cursory look before returning to their food and conversations.

He drifted to the bar and slid into an empty seat at the end, not knowing what else to do with himself. Meals at the coverts were served in a hybrid of cafeteria/takeout style. You scooped what you wanted into a box and took it back to your room to eat alone. He’d never found any particular joy in eating it. Nothing like the meals his parents would make when he was a kid, even if those memories were little more than ghosts in his mind. But here, he could smell a variety of savory spices, a palate that was barely hinted at by covert food.

“I didn’t expect to see you in here so soon.”

Din’s wandering attention was brought to a woman approaching him from behind the bar clad in leather clothes and a beskar helmet, the latter of which she lifted from her head as she reached him. Din flinched, turning his head away as she completed the motion, only to hear her laugh.

“Someone’s still riding the Death Watch cart, eh Mando?”

Maz’s words floated back to him. Expect to be challenged by those you seek. He turned back to the bartender with slow caution. She was maybe ten years his senior, dark red curls of hair fading to grey, kind brown eyes looking at him from a weathered face. He placed his hands on the bar so they were in clear view, a signal that he was not drawing a weapon at present, a signal of momentary peace. “Maybe still being dragged is a closer description.”

The barkeeper tipped her head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. I’m Ranni. I suppose you still go by Mando?”

“I do. You were expecting me?”

“You’ve had a cult following on this planet since the Imps put a public bounty on you for stealing the Lost Son.”

A sluggish feeling of mortification settled over him. “People here know who I am?” His voice was barely audible over the background conversations.

“‘Fraid so. You’ve been known by name since Gideon started spewing it a few months ago.”

“He won’t be spewing anything anymore.”

“So that was your work on Ilum?” Her voice rang with admiration.

“I had help. A lot of help.” He sighed. “News travels fast here, then.”

“Indeed it does.”

“Are there other Mandalorians here?”

“A few, though you won’t recognize them. They’re mostly of the New Mandalorian variety. Never wore armor. Never will.”

“And you?”

Ranni smiled. “This was my great grandmother’s helmet. Mandalore used to be known for its incredible cuisine, and she was one of Mandalore’s greatest chefs. When even warriors were permitted to remove their helmets in public. Could eat in public. Hell, most of the Death Watch elite walked bare-faced until almost the very end. Do a search on Gar Saxon and Pre Vizsla and you’ll easily find pictures of their faces. Only the moon-based cells were extremist enough to adopt the dar’manda helmet rules. Take one guess about what happened to the Mandalorian restaurant industry when those assholes took over the system.”

Din drew a finger across his throat.

“Exactly. Our food was just as much a part of our culture as our armor. And food is meant to be eaten together. It’s meant to be communal. Take the community out of the food, and you take away all of the joy of it. You take away all of the pride in it. The food turns to crap. Every culture is defined, in part, by food. But us? Not anymore. We’re nothing more than faceless helmets. I only wear mine to cook with because it’s the only way I keep from getting Tiingilar spice up my damn nose.”

Din gave a slow nod. It all lined up with what he had read so far. The rules of his upbringing, the Resol’nare, twisted as a means of oppression. Any questioning answered only with This is the Way. The emptiest non-answer there ever was. The vaguest of vague platitudes.

“So,” Ranni continued. “I assume you’re still doing takeout?”

“I’m afraid so. But…” He swallowed. “I appreciate the history lesson. Thank you.”

She smiled at the honesty of his tone. “What can I get you, then?”

“You mentioned Tiingilar…”          

She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, honey, you can’t handle that. Let’s just start you off with some roast shatual.”

“I’m…” Din sighed. “… Trying to knock a blood-pressure issue down…”

“Ah. Then I’ll throw in some uj cake and a bottle of shig. I’ll have it out in a bit.”

Ranni returned with a bag a few minutes later, refusing to tell him what he owed, saying it was on the house. He left his best guess as to its worth in New Republic credits on the bar anyway, hoping they would spend on this world, and walked back to the Razor Crest.

He sat at the table in the hold, removed his helmet, and ate his first true traditional Mandalorian meal.

Alone.

It was delicious. The sliced meat of the shatual perfectly cooked and spiced, the uj cake sweet and nutty, the shig washing it all down.

When he was done, he rested his head in his hands, elbows on the table, feeling the shig tea work its way through him, calming him down, allowing his mind to focus.

He finished packing up his things, choosing a few changes of clothes, his book tablet, and his shower kit. He would leave the Amban on the Crest; few people here were openly armed, and he had yet to see anyone with a long gun. The pulse rifle would only be provocative in a way he didn’t want. He opened the weapons locker, pulled the Darksaber from its hook, and considered it. The Jedi wore their sabers openly here, more as a symbolic allowance than anything else. He clipped the Darksaber to his belt at the small of his back. Concealed, but handy. He hailed a speeder, loaded his family’s things in the back, and watched the city pass him by as he glided to their temporary home. He managed getting everything up in one trip. A quick peek into Yadier’s room found the baby snoring away. He took his meds, brushed his teeth, shaved, and showered. And when he slid into bed behind Rayne, she remained asleep, giving little more than a contented sigh as he kissed the back of her neck and spooned himself around her.

She was sleeping well, then. No apparent restlessness for what might happen tomorrow.

He dared to allow himself to take that as a good sign and closed his eyes.

He could lose it all. But that’s what it meant to have a family with Jedi. That was the reality he had to face. And if he was allowed to stay, he would stand with her and face it. If he wasn’t strong enough to face it, who was? He was not a coward. He was a Mandalorian.

He wasn’t a coward. He was just… afraid. They weren’t the same thing. He would do the same thing with this fear that he’d done with the others. Manage it. Look it in the face and figure out how to deal with it.

“I want this to work.” His lips formed the words in silence against the back of her neck.

“I…” The next words hung on him, even in silence. “I want this to work,” he repeated, instead.

He drifted to sleep and was once more reminded of pineapple as he breathed her in.

---

The clan of Rollins-Djarin walked to the Jedi temple the next morning, Yadier leading the way as he hopped and skipped down the sidewalk.

Din let out a miserable-sounding sigh.

He’d been melancholy all morning, telling Rayne what he’d learned from Cara about the vetting of non-Force-sensitive new arrivals here, along with her assessment of Genesaria’s need, or lack thereof, for people like her and Din.

He didn’t say anything about dinner. That he needed more time to process the existential experience of a Mandalorian restaurant seemed ridiculous, but, here he was.

Rayne was slightly more hopeful about his chances, but was anxious nonetheless. Hearing his sigh, she brushed the back of her hand along the back of his, glancing up at the helmet that remained pointed straight ahead with an unasked question.

“We’re sending our son to his first day of school and he doesn’t even have any shoes.” His tone was petulant.

Rayne blew out a sigh of relief. Of all the things to worry about, this didn’t even make her list. But she understood that Din lacked the experience she had with this sort of thing. “Grand Master Yoda never wore shoes. I don’t think any of the Council members of his species were wearing any yesterday, either. I don’t think shoes are a thing for them. Don’t worry about it.”

He let out another sigh, trying to calm himself down. “Okay.”

They arrived at the Jedi temple and Yadier led the way to the classroom for Force-sensitive preschool, remembering the route from their tour the day before. He brought his hands together in a soft clap, over and over, ears pricked, eyes round and eager, bouncing with every step.

The door was still open by the time they got there, and a Twi’lek woman greeted them. “Yadier, Jedi Rayne, Mandalorian. My name is Ona. Welcome.”

Din watched as Rayne tipped her head and shoulders in a slight bow, eyes downcast, then straightened to regain eye contact, and followed suit himself. He felt his gut tighten at the idea of his son being taught by a Twi’lek, but forced himself to stomp it down. He’d had profoundly bad experiences with members of at least ten different species in this galaxy at some point in his life, several of which were represented at Genesaria. He had to get over it. Bigotry was bad enough on its own, but it would most certainly not serve him well here.

“Thank you, Ona,” Rayne replied. She looked down to see Yadier at the threshold, bouncing in place, and he turned up to face her, arms upraised. Knowing this was the sign for one last hug before I venture forth, she picked him up and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. She offered him to Din, who took him in turn and brought is forehead to his son’s.

“Be good. Make friends. Have fun. Learn a lot.” He murmured the words and Yadier giggled as Din turned his head to and fro over him. He set his son back to the ground, and the baby took off running into the group of small children playing a game in a circle. They made room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ona turned to the boy’s parents. “I think he’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you,” Rayne said again.

They did their little bows, and left.

Din followed Rayne up to a set of double-doors that opened onto a large hall that comfortably held the fifty people waiting for them, sunlight streaming through arched stained-glass windows. They were standing in no particular formation, and Rayne and Din were led to the center of the group.

Fifty Force-sensitives. Castaway Jedi. Purge survivors. Members of Yadier’s people. Din found himself initially surprised by their appearance, their diminutive height speaking nothing of their power. They apparently did not retain their adorableness in old age. They weren’t… ugly, per se, but they were by no means attractive. The wrinkly skin and enormous ears were a bit less enduring without the disproportionately huge dark eyes to balance it all out.

Yandia, as the voice of the Council, acknowledged Din. “Welcome, Mandalorian. We thank you for returning our Lost Son to us.”

Din repeated the little bow he’d performed a few minutes earlier. It appeared to be the correct response, as Yandia returned it and took a seat on a mat on the floor. He motioned to another mat in front of him, and Rayne took her place to kneel. Not knowing where else to go, Din stood to the side.

A hush fell over the hall.

Yandia bowed his head and spoke. “Not the name you had at the Jedi temple at Coruscant, the name you use now.”

“No. I was on my own evading the Purge. I couldn’t use my name.”

“Over the Purge is. Safe, you are here. Your name we would hear.”

She hesitated, casting a brief glance in Din’s direction. “I’ve only said it once in the last thirty-four years.” When she told Hayes, the night she married him. He had honored her request to never speak it, taking it with him to the cold grave of outer space.

“And now you must say it once again.” Yandia cast a glance in Din’s direction as well. “Before all of those present beside you.”

She took a breath, held it, and let it out. “Rez. Rez Rohan.”

One of the Council members was scrolling through a tablet, found what she was looking for, and pronounced, “Rez Rohan of Onderon.”

Din stood in silence, committing her name to memory, knowing he may never hear it again beyond these walls.

“Your lightsaber, please.” Yandia held out his hands. Rayne unclipped it from her belt and placed it in his grasp. He ignited the blade, gazed at the yellow light, turned it once, twice, and then deactivated it.

“Jedi Rez was a member of the final Gathering class at Ilum at the age of ten,” The Councilmember with the tablet said. “She was the last of the group to emerge from the cave.”

Rayne closed her eyes. They were going to unearth every single one of her flaws for all to see. The late bloomer. The one who was neither all that communal with the Force, nor all that great of a fighter. The one who hadn’t even had a Master in mind for when she got back from Ilum, for when she would become a Padawan, only she never got the chance.

Instead, Yandia’s response was carried by the kindness in his voice. “Often the last to emerge from the cave, were Sentinels. Over-think things, they tend to do.” He gave her a warm smile. “Built under Professor Huyang’s supervision, you lightsaber was not.”

“No. We were on our way back on the Crucible and he only had enough time to allow us to select our materials. We were ordered to jump back to Coruscant immediately. We weren’t told why but…” Rayne’s words stumbled. “They thought we would be safer at the Temple.”

Yandia bowed his head. “In that, they were incorrect. At what age were you, when you completed your lightsaber?”

“Eighteen.”

“Mmm.” The Council leader held the hilt in his hands, gazing at it. “An unconventional design, it is. Cartusian whalebone inlay. An unusual choice. Modified for greater stability, the emitter matrix is.” He paused, contemplating it further. “The last kyber crystal to emerge from the Ilum temple, this lightsaber houses.” He offered it back to her, and she accepted it, clipping it back to her belt. “Truly sacred the weapon you created is.”

Din swallowed. For a man who was raised in a religion that worshiped weapons, it was almost too much to hear.

Many in the hall were not so easily impressed.

“Nearly four and a half decades she has lived. Yet endured her rite of passage as a knight she has not,” said one.

“Fell the Republic did before she had the chance,” said another.

“Little used her powers are,” said a third.

“Clumsy she is,” said a fourth.

The dissenting murmurs continued.

Din watched as Rayne remained kneeling at the center of it all, head bowed. Listened as they denounced her. Seethed as they made it perfectly clear that they had no idea what she was capable of or how much she had done in the face of having been given so little.

“The powers of her mind I wish to see,” said Yandia.

Din turned toward his voice, a bubble of hope in this sea of despair.

“A rite of passage do you wish?” proposed another.

“A chance to prove herself, yes,” Yandia responded. “Join her, the Mandalorian will.”

In unison, they turned their faces to him. Understanding what was being asked… demanded?...  of him, he walked to the center of the floor as Yandia vacated his mat, and knelt before Rayne, ignoring the protests from his knees, facing her. “Hey,” he took her hands in his. “Look at me.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze through the visor with her own.

Her eyes were blazing.

The blue of her eyes reflecting the steel glint of his beskar.

Oh, you are so ready for this. He pushed his thoughts towards her. Show them. Show them your strength. Show them what happens when an orphaned Jedi is found by a Mandalorian.

Ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth pulled into a hint of a smile.

The others gathered around them, forming a tight circle. His breath hitched as they raised their hands and bowed their heads.

And then he felt it.

He felt his armor thrum all over him, reacting to the Force, the beskar shedding the buildup of it all around him. But they were at close range, and they would have their way with him.

Unless she could protect him.

The procedure of the test was suddenly clear as his hands let go of hers, unbidden, and rose to the bottom edge of his helmet. “Um… Rayne…”

“I know…” she whispered.

The Force fell away from him almost as suddenly as it had come, and his hands were free. He reached for her once more when she twitched her head in a motion of negation. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered again.

He wants the helmet off… A voice drifted in her mind. He wants this… Let us give it to him… Other voices joined it.

No… she replied. Not like this…

He watched as her gaze lost focus in a thousand-mile stare, looking straight through him, and he realized she was fighting all of them off, all fifty of them, at close range, at this instant. Fending off their attack on him, their only intention of using his own hands against himself to remove his helmet.

She was the only thing standing between him and fifty Jedi bent on making him break his Creed. A Creed that he was perilously close to breaking on his own, and her words about the ease of making someone do something they had been holding off on, during her demonstration at the edge of the lake on Methuselah, rang like a shot in his head.

You want the helmet off… you want to see his face… you want to see his eyes…

He stilled himself. Allowed her to focus. Watched as her breath came in long, steady draws. Watched as the lids of her eyes fell in a slow blink every ten seconds. Watched as sweat broke out on her face, her neck, her chest, her arms. Three minutes passed as he watched time tick away on his HUD. C’mon Rayne, you’ve got this.

You are already dar’manda… show her who you really are… stop being a coward and show her your face…

Five minutes passed, and he felt the pinpricks of the Force along the backs of his hands. Her fingers twitched against it, the muscles of her jaw bulged under the strain. He did all he could to bolster her. Strong. You’re so strong. Show them how strong you are. He had no idea if it was helping. Had no idea if she could hear.

Your son… think of your son… he deserves to see the face of his father…

At seven minutes, his hands fisted and rose half-way up his chest. A small choking sound escaped her throat, but that was all. He fought them off as much as he could, fought to bring his hands back to his knees, but he might as well have been pushing against the surface of the planet itself. When his hands lowered, they were under her power. Her breath was heavy now, her hair was wet.

He wants to give in… he wants to be free of it…

His terms… Rayne fought back. It has to be on his terms…

At ten minutes, he watched, horrified, as her left pupil suddenly dilated.

Oh, no. Not again.

Her hold on him took an abrupt dive and his hands shot to his helmet. “Rayne!” He barked her name without meaning to, but she recovered, holding him in place, both of them shaking. Only then did he notice her blood pooling at the hollow of her throat, at the bottom of a trail leading from her left ear. Before he could get a good look at it, a wave of static glitched over his visor, dueling Forces taking their toll on his gear. Her left eye started to pull to the outside, wandering, but still, she held him.

“It’s not worth it,” he said to them, before he realized the words were even in his head. “Take the helmet. I give up. She’s had enough. Please-”

Shut up. Her voice in his mind. Even as the light faded from her eyes, her mind still held fast. I can’t fight them on my own. I need your help. He watched her tremble before him and he redoubled his efforts, fighting to keep his hands fisted, to not grip the helmet.

Rayne…

Do you trust me? Even in his mind, her voice was strained.

You know I do.

Then fight it. Fight them. Fight them with me.

Din did what he did best. He fought. With his Jedi before him. With his Jedi all around him. Feeling the armor of her Force surrounding him, he held her up, and together they fought the assault. He chanced a look around, and they were all still there, all still with their hands raised, all against them.

But still, he felt her cracks under the strain.

Had she not yet proven herself? One against fifty of them? A non-stop onslaught? Did they not see what they were doing to her? “Stop,” he said. “You’re killing her.” His head swam as his hands tightened and loosened outside of his control. He turned his attention back to her in time to see her eyes roll back into her head and her lids close, but she remained upright. “Stop!” he said again, louder. Blood seeped out from the corners of her eyes and now he was well and truly alarmed, her hold on him still vice-grip tight, her breath coming in ragged draws.

 And then her breath stopped.

No. No no no. Not again.

She fell forward, into him, her blood splashing onto his beskar.

His world went black.

---

Rayne came to slowly, opening her eyes to a world that refused to focus, head pounding. Finding it too much, she gave up, closed her eyes, and sank back down.

“Hey…” Din’s voice was clear at least, her ears apparently working better than her eyes.

“Mmph.” It was the best she could do.

“Hey, come back.” His tone was gentle.

She felt his bare hand, absent of its glove, at the back of her neck. She tried again, forcing her eyes open, seeing a fuzzy black T against silver, the visor of his helmet inches from her face. She rolled into his touch, bringing her hands up to his, bringing the tips of his bare fingers to her lips. Her mouth was dry. Her hands were numb. “How long?”

“A few hours.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. “What happened?”

“You stood alone against fifty of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy for ten minutes. You protected me with nothing but the power of your own mind.”

“And then I failed.”

“No,” he shook his head. “They didn’t expect you to last more than five seconds. They’ve tested a hundred others this way. You outdid eighty of them. And gave splitting headaches to ten of the fifty who tested you.”

“Is that a pass?”

“It is.” He ran a thumb along her eyebrow, relieved to see her pupils equally dilated. “Jedi Knight Rollins.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She closed her eyes. “Can’t be right. I was never more than a youngling. I was never even a Padawan.”

“They decided that thirty-five years of experience, building a lightsaber capable of defeating the Darksaber, crashing an Imperial starship into an Imperial base, and bringing their Lost Son home was worth something.”

She let out a long sigh. “Decent résumé, I guess.”

She sat up, finding herself on a couch in a small chamber with stone walls that still managed to be cozy, late-afternoon light filtering in through a window, Din sitting on the edge of the couch, facing her. “Are we still at the temple?”

“Yes,” Din handed her a bottle of water and she accepted it, downing half of it without managing to spill it or drown herself. “I was out for a few minutes, but they’d healed you by the time I woke up.” She turned to sit and pulled him back by the pauldron so she could lean against him. He obliged, settling an arm around her. “I don’t get it though. I thought I was the one getting tested today.”

“Oh, you were,” Rayne said, getting as comfortable as she could against the armor. “They wanted to see how you’d react to all of it. See if you trusted me.”

“Oh.” He ran it all back through his head. “How’d I do?”

“Well enough, I think,” she sighed.

“So that’s it?”

“No,” she said. “Not by a long shot.”

The thought of asking about her name crossed his mind, but he held back, thinking it best to let her bring it up when she was ready. If she ever got there.

They rested for another hour or so, and by the time she was ready to get up and around, it was time to pick Yadier up from school. They wandered the halls of the temple for a bit, finding their way, and were surprised to see Yandia waiting for them at the door of the classroom.

“Greetings Rayne. Mandalorian.”

Again, Din followed Rayne with the little head-dip of a bow.

“A satisfactory performance from you both, today.”

“Thank you,” Rayne replied.

Satisfactory? Din’s head spun a little. He thought back to the Armorer’s words of how his son would not survive Mandalorian training, but would be safe with the Jedi. She had no idea.

“Your lightsaber, please.” Once again, Yandia held his hand out for it, and Rayne passed it over. Din looked to her in confusion, but she could only shake her head and shrug.

The door opened and Ona greeted them with a smile, apparently not surprised that the Jedi Council leader was standing there with Rayne’s lightsaber in his hand. “Come in, please.”

They followed her to the front of the classroom full of Younglings, and Din’s heart melted a little at the sight of his son seated at the front, his face happy and hopeful, clearly having had a good day.

“We have a special treat today,” Ona started. The children tittered with excitement. “Yadier’s mother succeeded in her trials. Master Yandia thought it would be nice to have her Knighting Ceremony here before we ended our day.”

The class erupted in happy squeals and the clapping of tiny hands.

Rayne’s shoulders dropped as she fought back the tears that suddenly welled up.

She never thought this would happen. After decades of running. After decades of hiding what she was. After decades of the erasure of her people from the galaxy, forgotten by history. And she certainly never thought this would happen in front of her son and the man she had come to think of as her own.

Yandia stood at the front of the room and faced Rayne, igniting her saber. She took a knee before him, bowing her head. He brought the saber to each of her shoulders, and she heard the thrumming buzz of it in each ear, felt the heat of it on her skin.

“By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of Genesaria.”

He deactivated the saber and placed it on the floor before her, but she kept her head bowed and the room remained silent. Yandia looked up to Din and held out a hand. “Your vibroblade, please, Mandalorian. A Padawan braid our new knight does not possess, and too short her hair is to cut with a lightsaber.”

Din pulled his blade from his boot, pride welling in his chest, and handed it to the Jedi Master, hilt first. Yandia took it with a steady hand, took hold of one tight curl at the top of Rayne’s head, near the back, and sliced it off.

And thus, Rayne was the first Jedi in the history of the galaxy to be knighted with a Mandalorian blade.

Yandia returned Din’s blade, bound the curl with elastic, slipped it into his pocket, and offered Rayne’s lightsaber back to her. She accepted, and clipped it to her belt.

With that, Yandia bowed. “That is all. Thank you.”

The class erupted in cheers and Yadier toddled over to his mother, arms outstretched, squeaking “Buir!” at the top of his lungs. Overwhelmed, she sat with him on the floor and held him, no longer able to hold her tears back. Din took a knee beside his family, brought his arms around them, and held them tight, oblivious to the celebration around them.

“My Jedi,” he whispered, not sure if she could hear him, not really caring. “My Jedi Knight.”

He whispered it again that night, when they were alone together in the dark, without the helmet between them. She brought her lips to his, warm and soft. And when they parted, she replied with a whisper of her own.

“My Mandalorian.”

---

They spent the next week settling in. Yadier made friends at school, thriving in an environment with others at his developmental level who shared his gifts, if not in magnitude, at least in kind. Rayne began her meditative training, her baseline level of Force resistance established at the trial. She scoped out the shipyards, getting a sense of what might be needed mechanic-wise. She also pondered the possibility of devoting herself full-time to design work, no longer needing the front of a legitimate business to back her public name. She had options.

In the afternoons, she and Din would do a bit of training in the courtyard at the temple. Rayne had found the training spheres of her youth, the hovering balls that shot low-level blasts. She would gather half a dozen and bring them out, Din tuning his blaster down so he could hit them without destroying them.

And then, they fought. They fought in the old way of the Jedi and Clone, the way they had on the Vibre. Sometimes him behind her, sometimes back-to-back, Rayne deflecting the shots of the training spheres with her lightsaber, Din picking them off with his blaster from his position of safety, his offense protected by her defense. They reveled in the growing harmony of their minds, the way she could almost share her precognition with him, the way he responded to it, taking the advantages she gave him.

Sometimes they drew a crowd.

And when, after they had drained the training spheres of all their charge, they turned to face each other, exhausted, breaths heavy, Din could only hope that Rayne knew his smile was as broad as hers as he held his hand out, and her hand met his in the upraised clasp of warriors.

God, this woman.

Some members of the crowd would clap, impressed with the display. Others were more reserved, arms folded.

One day, Din met with Luc, their liaison.

“You know about what happened at Ilum,” Din said.

“Ah! Yes! Quite the victory. You have our congratulations in eliminating such a well-organized Imperial remnant.”

“Gideon was far too well-equipped for a remnant and you know it.”

Luc gave the barest of a nod. “Perhaps.”

“The Empire, or some part of it, is coming back,” Din said. “The New Republic isn’t in any position to do anything about it. And you know that, too.”

Again, a slight nod. “Perhaps.”

“My family took out a Moff and his entire regiment. One Mandalorian. Two Force-sensitives. One Shocktrooper. Four of us against hundreds of them.” Din paused to let it sink in. “If we could raise that much hell, what could Genesaria do?”

“Heh, most are here because they fled a war or are the descendents of those who fled.”

“They fled a system that abandoned them when the Empire attacked it. They fled a way of life that collapsed in the face of the Dark Side. You’re telling me we can’t do better?”

“No, not necessarily. I’m telling you we haven’t considered it yet, and will not be eager to take it up.”

“How long do you think we’ll have that luxury?”

Luc gave a conciliatory shrug. “I will take your concerns to the Council.”

---

Din and Rayne walked the halls of the Jedi temple, having just dropped Yadier off at school, on their way to Rayne’s daily meditation practice.

“How are things going with it?” he asked, brushing the back of his hand against the back of hers.

“So far so good, I think,” she said. “My focus is getting better. I’m learning my weak points.”

“Any… symptoms?”

“No,” she said. She’d been a little restless for the last couple of nights, waking up with a little trouble getting back to sleep, but there had been no nightmares. No visions, terrifying or otherwise. “Not yet.”

“Good.” His response was almost a sigh of relief, and he hooked a pinky finger around hers for a brief moment, a bold public display of affection for a place so holy.

They reached the chamber of their destination and were greeted by Master Jenkins, the Jedi meditative specialist who was leading Rayne through her practice. “Good morning, Din.”

He tipped his head. “Jenkins.” Given the depth of memories and thoughts her guidance of Rayne’s practice required, it was impossible not to reveal his name, among many other things, and so he allowed her use of it when not in the presence of others.

Rayne turned and took both of his hands in hers. “Good luck today.”

“Thank you.” He paused for a moment, just to take it all in, and then gave her hands a mild squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see you later to get Yadier after school.”

“Yep.”

One last nod, and he turned and left.

Having visited the Educational and Force-Relational wings of the temple, Din headed to the Administrative wing to debrief one of the Council members on what he and Rayne had learned on Gideon’s Vibre and at Ilum, Luc having actually come through and gotten him on someone’s calendar.

He had plenty of time, so he paused at an atrium on his way, finding himself at a rail a few levels up, with several more levels overhead, clear transparisteel at the roof, letting the mid-morning sunlight stream down through the vertical jungle that grew up through the center of the temple.

The growth was dominated by two tall trees, thick, vine-wrapped trunks reaching up to the roof, their branches supporting moss and other symbiotic plants with vibrant blooms of all colors. Several species of butterflies fluttered about, pausing at the flowers to feed upon their nectar, wings opening and closing in relaxed beats.

Din didn’t quite know what to think. On the one hand, it seemed unnatural to keep plants and insects such at these inside. Cruel, almost, to cage these wild things. On the other hand, he had to admit it was beautiful. He just… wasn’t used to this kind of thing. This kind of adornment. He stood there for ten minutes, watching the butterflies, wondering if they realized they were confined, wondering if the trade-offs of protection from predators in here was worth the freedom of outside.

Standing there in the sun, he realized he was parched. He wondered if the blood-pressure meds were dehydrating him; water seemed to go right through him over the last couple days. He’d taken to carrying his water flask clipped to the back of his belt; standard operating procedure when he was hunting, but not something he was accustomed to on his down-time in civilized areas. The trick, of course, was finding a spot to lift the helmet and drink it. He was deep into the middle of the temple and his appointment was in five minutes. He’d have to duck into a fresher and make due.

After the whole atrium jungle thing, Din supposed he should have expected the first fresher he found to be a spacious, private, almost opulent facility. Leave it to the Jedi to require peace and harmony just to take a shit. He locked the door behind him, lifted the helmet off, and set it on the bench against the wall. He pulled the flask off of his belt, undid the cap, and downed the whole thing in one go.

The flask fell from his hands and clattered to the floor, suddenly forgotten.

Din froze in place, a sense of dread creeping into his mind.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

Buir… Buir… no!

Yadier…

Din fell to the bench as his mind suddenly split open, cracked asunder by the anguished cries of his son. He saw what his son saw. He heard what his son heard. He felt what his son felt.

He saw Rayne approach him with a blade in her hand. Not her lightsaber… something different, but still familiar. Her expression was calm, if unreadable. “I’m sorry, Yadi,” she said. “You’re a good boy, and you deserve better, but you’re too dangerous.” She reached for him with her empty hand, running a finger along an ear. “Too much power all in one place.” She shook her head. “If the Imps were to get you, they’d bring it all back. They’d be unstoppable. I can’t let it happen.” She brought the blade to his son’s throat. “I brought you here hoping they would know what to do, but they don’t. And now I have to do it myself.” She tilted her head, the cold, steel blue of her eyes staring right through him.

Her eyes were wet with tears as she lifted their son’s chin with her finger. “Jedi die for the good of the galaxy.” Her voice hitched. “I’m so sorry, Yadier. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find a place to keep you safe. You’ll always be my verd’ika. My little warrior. Please know I love you. Please forgive me.”

Din’s breath caught in his throat as he heard his son shriek, as his son saw the blade come for him, gagged as the blade plunged into his throat.

Xi’an’s blade.

Din’s vision threatened to grey out as he saw Xi’an’s blade in Rayne’s hand pull back covered in Yadier’s blood.

No… no…

The vision faded with the life force of his dead son.

Everything he had given up. His life. Everything he had fought for. Everything he had bled for. Everything he had almost died for. Everything most of the covert had died for.

Gone.

He had trusted her. They had bled together. Fought together. Fucked together. How many times had she taken him? How many times had he trusted her with his bare skin? With his bare face in the dark?

This wasn’t the Dark Side. She would’ve tried to turn Yadier if it had been. The Sith would never leave behind such a prize as his son without trying to turn him first.

This was betrayal.

Cold, hard betrayal.

He picked his helmet up and stormed back to the chamber where he had last seen her, neglecting to put the helmet back on, murder in his heart.

He stalked the length of a Jedi temple bare-faced, not realizing it.

The halls were empty.

Rayne was alone in the chamber, trying to focus.

She’d had an unusual amount of trouble over the last twenty minutes, unsure as to why. Jenkins had left to prepare some tea to see if that would help.

And so it was that she was alone with her eyes already closed and her back to the door when Din stepped in with his helmet off.

Something was wrong.

Something was so, very wrong.

She opened her eyes but did not turn around, blood running cold in her veins. “Din…?”

“You murdered him.” His voice was little more than a low, hard growl.

“What?”

“You heard me.” She felt his boot between her shoulder blades as he kicked her forward. She fell into it and rolled to her back, eyes still closed, and heard the clatter of his helmet hitting the floor before he stepped forward and snapped binders onto her wrists. He hauled her up by the shoulders, hands gripping hard enough to bruise, and slammed her back to the wall. “You murdered our son.” He threw his memory at her, the dying memory of his sweet, innocent, little boy.

Her own face. One of Xi’an’s blades in her hand. Covered in her son’s blood.

Oh, shit.

Rayne scrambled for an answer in her mind. This was either a Sith attack, or a Council simulation of one. Both had grave consequences, but it was best to treat it like the real thing.

“Din, you need to put your helmet back on. Right now.” The beskar would protect him from a distant attack. A closer one, though… she wasn’t sure.

Instead, he pinned her to the wall with his left forearm across her chest. With his right hand, he drew his knife from his boot, and brought it to her throat.

And with that one motion, he broke his promise to her.

A promise made months ago. His vow to never draw a weapon on her again. The vow he had resigned himself to breaking, but under what he had planned for being very different circumstances. Her unwilling submission to the Dark Side. A gradual slide that would have displayed symptoms, nightmares, things that would have prepared him, things that would have told him that her actions were no longer according to her will, and thus would have broken his heart in a slow, soft way.

But not this. Not this sudden betrayal. She’d played him for months. Played at caring for him, played at caring for both him and his son, played at wanting a family. Only to turn around and destroy it in an instant. This… this had broken his heart with a brittle snap.

In this moment, that promise was the last thing on his mind.

“Look at me,” he growled.

“No.”

“Look at me!” Suddenly a roar.

“No.” His rage, hot and overwhelming, poured over her. His raw desire to plunge his knife through her throat bled out of his thoughts and into her mind. And the thing was… he was holding back. He wanted his revenge hot. Wanted to take his time with it. Wanted to make her suffer. Wanted it to get messy. Everything she had warned him against was ignored in this moment in his indulgence of hate and wrath.

It would slow him down, and she hoped she could use it to her advantage.

“Why aren’t you wearing your helmet, Din?”

“You murdered him. You were his mother. I let you be his mother. You pretended to be his mother. You let him think you were his mother. He called you buir and you let him do it. Our son! You swore an oath to our son and you did this!” His voice grated like broken glass.

Rayne cast about, searching for the source of Din’s delusions, trying to determine what she was fighting against before she did anything that would only catch him in the crossfire. His blinding rage made the task nearly impossible, like searching for distant stars while they were blocked out by the sun at high noon.

His weight against her chest pressed harder. “Look at me.” His Mando’a accent was coming on full force, rolling his R’s and raising his vowels. “I should’ve seen this coming.” He swallowed, then sucked in a sudden breath of air. “I did see this coming. At Takodana. You as much admitted that you would sacrifice him. For the good of the fucking galaxy. Then we got here. You realized he was too powerful. Too tempting for the Imps. You realized he’s not safe here, either. So you went and fucking did it.”

“No… Din… that’s not… “

She felt the stubble on his jaw as he brought the side of his face to hers. “That’s not why? What, then. Was it because you didn’t want to be his mother? Because he wasn’t your own blood? Because the Jedi cut that part out of you?” She almost opened her eyes on him for that one.

“Was it because you can’t give us a child of our own?” He released his arm from her chest, blade still at her throat, and slid his free hand down, his fingers gliding low over her belly and her skin crawled. “Because what I give you has nothing to take root in?” His voice betrayed a tremor. “That we can’t mix our blood and make a life?” He brought his lips close to her ear. “You know that means nothing to me. You know this. You know what matters more. That we protect the son that we had at all costs. That we shed our own blood for him. We did that. Both of us opened our veins for him. And then you turned and opened his.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Please,” she felt his breath hot on her skin. “Stop lying to me.”

“Din…”

He backed off just enough to be able to look at her face. “Was it because you didn’t want him to be raised as a Mandalorian at all? Because maybe he’d take up the armor? And you couldn’t handle the thought of that. Because you flinch every time you see me in it. Because you can’t stand the sight of me, and you couldn’t stand the thought of our son wearing it too. Because it reminds you of a man who was nothing more than a clone of a fake Mandalorian who sold himself to the Republic.”

He brought his left hand up to her throat, and her breath began to whistle as he slid the flat of his blade down her sternum. “Helmet’s off, Rayne. Get a good look. I’m nothing like him. No chip in my head. Not programmed to kill you, like some droid. I’m going to kill you because I want to. Because of what you did.”

Breathing was getting difficult. She wasn’t sure how long she could go before she would be forced to act blindly, not knowing what she was fighting. She kept looking. Kept looking but not seeing…

“Was it because you thought I would devote him to the manda and leave you behind?” He pressed his head to hers. “I never told you. It’s too late for me. I’m already dar’manda. I lost my soul the moment I swore the Creed to the people who murdered my parents.” He pressed his lips to the skin just next to her eye. “You might as well look. There’s nothing to see. I have no soul.” He pulled away just enough for her to see his face if she chose to do so, but she did not.  

“Do you know what dar’buir means?”

She’d never heard the phrase before, but it was easy enough to string together. “I know what it means.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

He brought his head to hers once more. “It’s what you’ve made us. Now that you’ve taken our son, you are no longer a mother. I am no longer a father. I have no soul. I have no son. I no longer serve a purpose.” He placed the hilt of his blade in her bound hands, angling the point to his gut, just below the bottom of his chestplate. “End it. Finish what you started and end me. I want to look my murderer in the eye when it happens. Please give me that much.”

“I didn’t do this.” Her mind raced. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” His voice was a low growl.

“I was so focused on teaching Yadier how to… how to protect himself from the Dark Side… it never occurred to me to teach you. Put your helmet on. Please. You have to put your helmet on. Someone else… someone’s in your head. Put your helmet on and it’ll stop.”

“Sorcery and fairy tales,” he grated out. He took his knife back. “Was it because you wanted to see what you were worth to me without him? Because you didn’t know what you were to me? Because I could only connect myself to you through him?”

Now, she felt hot tears on her face. They were not her own. “I loved him.” The tears soaked through his voice. “You murdered someone I loved. And of all the things you could’ve used to do it, you…” A small choking sound hung in his throat. “You used the blade that belonged to someone who…” Now his body shook against hers. “Someone who’d had all the love beaten out of her. Got… turned into a monster. Someone I abandoned because that monster scared the shit out of me. I didn’t lift a finger to help her. I turned tail like a coward and I ran.” He swallowed a sob. “And you killed our son with her blade.”

Now his rage was shot through with sorrow, and that was somehow worse. It was all so real as it soaked through her with his tears.

“He loved you, Rayne. He loved you so much. I thought you loved him. You had me convinced. I really thought you loved him. I thought, maybe…” He paused, trying to steady himself, taking long breaths. “I thought maybe you loved me too.” He swallowed again, his mouth dry. “Did you ever love me? Were you ever even capable of it?”

She bit the tears back, refusing to answer him this way.

He mistook her silence as a “No.”

His sorrow fell away and was replaced by anger as he pulled her head away from the wall only to slam her back.

For one terrifying second, her eyes flew open at the impact. She didn’t see much. Through the tears and the blur of motion, she only caught a vague impression of his face; a dark mop of hair, brows over brown eyes, chiseled jaw. But mostly what she saw was rage.

White. Hot. Rage.

 She didn’t know where his manipulator was. She didn’t know how far away. She didn’t know if she could break through it. She did know he would kill her if she didn’t try.

“I love Yadier, Din.”

“You murdered him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I watched it happen. I watched you murder our son. He trusted you. He loved you. I trusted you.” She felt his head press against hers once more, his breath ragged. “I loved you.”

Oh, god.

Then he really started to squeeze, and she struggled to breathe.

“I want to see your eyes when you die. I want to see your eyes when I do to you what you did to our son.”

She was at the end of her rope. Now or never. “I’m… sorry… Din…”

She brought everything she had to the front of her mind, focused it to a sharp point, and threw it at him.

His hand left her throat and she heard him land a few meters away, armor clanking, helmet skittering along the floor. “PUT IT ON!” she shouted. She shouted and envisioned it at the same time, pushing under the foreign Force that had gripped him, replacing it, grasping for the helmet with his hands. She felt him struggle against her, felt something that wasn’t him resist her. Drawing another breath, she threw her mind against the Darkness, screaming with the effort.

In that brief moment, the Darkness lifted from Din’s mind, and he saw clearly.

In all that horrible clarity, he understood.

He reached for the helmet, grabbed it, and once again, felt the Darkness wrap around him, catch his arms, push the helmet away. He looked to Rayne, still shackled, eyes closed, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, chest heaving as she sucked in as much air as she could. “Help!” he called out.

He felt her response immediately, felt her hands in his mind, felt them push their way down from his shoulders, down his arms, joining with his own hands, her arms joining with his arms, and together they brought the helmet to his head, together they fought against the Darkness, and finally slammed it home.

The Darkness fell away.

Banished by the beskar.

Rayne sank to her knees.

What have I done?

She heard ragged gasps from under the helmet as he struggled to regain himself. She heard the clink of a knife being picked up and shoved back into a boot, the scrape of beskar sliding across the floor, approaching, Din apparently not trusting his legs.

She was shaking. “Ni ceta… I’m so sorry…” he said, voice pitched low, wavering, and she turned her face towards him, eyes still closed. He undid the binders on her hands. He held her steady as they both sank to the floor. “You can open your eyes now.” He brought her hands to the helmet, all the proof he could give her. “Please open your eyes.”

She complied, and something in his chest nearly crushed him to death when he saw how bloodshot her eyes were. “What the hell was that?”

“Dark Side,” she said. She brought a hand up to grasp a pauldron. “I’m sorry… I didn’t think to train you against it…”

“No… no, no… I’m sorry. I almost killed you…” His hand shook as he wiped the blood away from her mouth. Her throat was already starting to turn purple. He knew the lines would match the shape of his own hand, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the sight of it. “I saw… god… it looked so real… Rayne… I’m so sorry…”

“Who took your helmet off?”

“No one. I was alone. I… thought I was alone. I was just getting some water. I’d just gotten through a flask of water when I saw…” He dropped his head, unable to stifle the shudder that wracked through him. “I saw you kill him. I saw you kill Yadier. It sounds so crazy now, but it was so real…”

“It wasn’t. Someone got into your head. Someone knew what would hurt you the most and put it there.”

“I heard him cry, Rayne. I heard him scream.” The words choked out of the modulator and he couldn’t stop shaking.

“I know. I know how real it seems. We have to get out of here. We have to find him.”

A small figure entered the chamber. Yandia. “A test, this was. Passed it, you did not.”

Rayne felt Din’s body flood with rage once more. “You did this? You did this to me?”

“What you are up against I showed you. Vulnerable to the Dark Side you are.”

“It’s my fault,” Rayne broke in. “I didn’t prepare him. It never occurred to me that the Sith would bother with anyone who wasn’t Force-sensitive.”

“Anyone who claims to guard one as powerful as Yadier, the Sith will attack. Unqualified you are.”

Din’s body was still tense as he kept himself between Yandia and Rayne. “I can train for Force-resistance.  Let me train for this.”

“Half your lifespan you have lived. Difficult such training will be. Success, I doubt.”

“He’s my son. Let me be a father to my son.” Din’s tone was an odd mix of pleading and anger.

“Consider it, we will. Reunited for now, you are.” Yandia beckoned beyond the doorway, and Yadier toddled around the corner, much to his parents’ relief. “Shielded from your ordeal he was. Know of your pain he does not.”

Sensing his parents’ inability to move, the youngling crossed the distance between them as quickly as his little legs would carry him, arms outstretched. “Buir!” he cried as he collapsed into their pile on the floor.

Din scooped him up and held him tightly in one arm, Rayne in the other. “Ad’ika,” he murmured. “Oh, ad’ika, you’re ok…”

They were left alone to huddle like that for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” Din repeated, his trembling abated, his hold on his family still tight.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Rayne said, her head nestled in the space between his chestplate, pauldron, and helmet, one arm wrapped around his back.

“That’s the thing…” he paused, gathering himself. “I meant a lot of it. Fears I thought I was over.” He paused again, unsure, then decided that if he was speaking about truth, then all of it was necessary. “Something I wasn’t ready to admit.”

Rayne took a deep breath. “That’s how the Dark Side works. It takes what you know and twists it inside out. Makes your actions the lie.”

Yes, that was it, exactly. Her understanding melted away a small part of his guilt. But there was so much more hanging over them. “Rayne… do you…” The words hung in his throat, and he hated that he couldn’t seem to say them now, on his own, when he wasn’t being manipulated.

“Let’s do that part over later, ok? Not here. Not like this.”

He let out a relieved breath. “Yes. Later.”

Yadier burbled, apparently agreeing with their decision. As if to seal the deal, he turned to his mother, crawled into her lap, and reached up with his hands. Taking his meaning, Rayne leaned her face down to him so he could place his hands on her, one on her face, one on her throat. They both closed their eyes and she sighed as she felt the Force of her son flow through her, heal the bruise she knew had been forming at her throat, heal the bloodshot of her eyes that she had seen in her reflection from Din’s helmet. When he was done, he released his mother and smiled, letting out a happy coo. Din ran a finger along his son’s ear. “Good work, verd’ika.”

Yandia and Jenkins returned to the chamber, joined by Ona, Yandia clearing his throat to announce their presence. “Much to discuss, you and I have, Mandalorian. Rayne and Master Jenkins have much work to do as well. Master Ona can bring Yadier back to class.”

The clan of Rollins-Djarin picked themselves up. Din handed Yadier to Ona with one last tap of his forehead to Yadier’s, their little boy squeaking with happiness and a wave goodbye. He then held both of Rayne’s hands in his. They were still for a moment, as she gazed through the visor, knowing he was meeting her gaze with his own. When he was ready, he tipped his head and they released each other at the same time, and he followed Yandia out into the hall.

Jenkins motioned to a small table in the corner of the chamber with cups and a kettle.

“So. About that tea…”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu

[scentedfictural]

summary of my thoughts on The Winchesters 1.01 (but slightly to the left)

sooooooooo mad rn i wrote an entire summary of my thoughts on the spnwin premiere and then fell asleep and my laptop shutdown so now i have to do it again:

anyways (medium spnwin spoilers belooow)

- Overall I really liked the pilot. It messes with the core plot quite a bit but in a way that makes it clear that there’ll be some sort of plot twist. I’m excited to know where it goes to say the least. There was an issue with really fast pacing but I think thats usually a problem with pilots anyway so fingers crossed next week’s episode goes at a slower pace.

- I think the best part of the episode was the new characterisations of John and Mary. They feel like themselves but in fresh, new ways. John (who I hate in spn) especially, I found very compelling. because we see him start off right as all his problems do, just returned from war. The John we know is still just around the corner for him, though, and the show will probably follow him as he steps into the role (before Mary dies anyways). 

I really liked Mary’s character in season 12 and 13 of Supernatural, and The Winchesters Mary has a lot of potential. She reminds me so much of Sam in season 1, wanting so badly to get out of hunting, though we know she never truly will. Of course, she is also very deanlike in general attitude, but I think the parallels with Sam got me more excited. Since it’s clear spnwin diverges from canon (for now) I wonder what it means for Mary’s character.

Carlos and Latika are great, although I don’t have much to say about them. Latika’s moment with John gave me a tiiiny sliver of hope that Mary and John would each try to escape their fated romance with other people, until they get magneted back by the forces that be. Tbh I doubt that’ll happen though (cant get my hopes too high). I kind of wanted someone to be killed off immediately but thats because I hate quads im not gonna lie. 

Not loving the scooby doo van, or energy to be honest, but I can overlook it because I like the characters. 

- Now, about the romance.

 Please, god, the dialogue. Everything else was fine but some of the dialogue is. yikes. Mary especially is the worst offender for this with lines that feel so painfully CW (are you KIDDING ME.)

I also (no shocker here) don’t like Mary and John’s romance, i’m sorry. I really don’t feel the chemistry between them... hopefully thats on purpose? (its not). I don’t like how fast Mary warmed up to and was ready to explain the hunting life to John, it does not feel consistent with her character. I do not at all like their banter. Also I know Jensen was probably trying to sneak a little cameo in there with the nickname ‘soldier boy’ but I hate it. a lot. (that is just a personal thing though). I’m really banking on this show playing with the whole ‘destined to be together but aren’t gonna work’ thing that John and Mary have, because if it’s just Supernatural: love story edition i’m going to be very sad. 

- seeing dean at the end had me smiling because he’s BACK!!!! and he’s back in the CAR!!!! Where is he? No idea. Where is he going? No idea. Does his appearance and voice over actually add anything to the story? Probably not yet. Am I happy to see him? Absolutely. 

#The winchesters #spn #spnwin #the winchesters spoilers #spnwin 1x01