#dragon overlord of chaos

[drowning-in-your-moonlight]

Beauty and the Beast fantasy/medieval Metamy AU but... it's Metal Overlord. Maybe once upon a time, giant robotic dragon harasses the kingdom Amy resides in, and the people decided that they must sacrifice someone to the dragon every year or so to keep from facing its wrath...and Amy volunteers herself.

Not for some self sacrifice, but she's heard rumors of the dragon hoarding beautiful jewels in its lair that hold unstoppable power. Enough power to take down the dragon, enough to save their kingdom. And she must find out.

[chowadoe]

my Metamy kid!! his name is Dusty Rose :D ft. single mom Amy Rose and Absentee baby daddy metal sonic LOL

his name's Dusty Rose after Dusty Miller, a plant that looks like metal/silver. Dusty Rose is also a pink color ! it also rhymes with Rusty Rose. im so smart (/j)

born from Metal Sonic's core and infused with Amy's biosignature, Amy and Metal Sonic had a very brief 'thing'... eventually Metal Sonic was soft rebooted and sent away yet again, but he left a piece of himself (part of his 'core'? infused with chaos energy..?) to Amy, which then became Dusty. leaving Dusty as the last true remaining testament of their love

(I just love the idea of Amy with a Waitress style character arc... finding love again in raising her child and not the way she used to think, being spent with another person)

Dusty would be very fixated on the idea of love, after all his mother raised him on the notion of that. Amy's standards for true love and fairytale romance have definitely changed being with Metal Sonic, but the root message being that love is all encompassing and transformative.

He was 'created' to look like Mobian, and Amy treats him no differently than any other Mobian/human. Still, he believes that he should hide all the parts that 'other' him from society, which means his robot parts. (legwarmers!)

He's got a bit of a bad boy edge to him LOLLL i kind of created him that he'd be an emo kid. (fall out boy.. my chemical romance.. a bit of IDKHow) really good at electric guitar and part of a band. eventually he finds his passion is in lyric-writing (all those love stories and inheriting his mother's gift for writing love letters)

he often wonders what a beating heart is like, as someone without one. he's interested in the heartbeats and the pulses of others, but he is a total sweetheart himself.. still, even to other mobians unaware that he is an android (a weapon at that), it's still a little off-putting..

more abt him belolow

Dusty's core is already made/designed after Amy's biosignature, and in meeting other people, he's able to read their biodata and stash it into an archive, but he doesn't reproduce it onto himself. (though unsure if he could? either his code has a blockade or he chooses not to)

Dusty, additional to his stash of weapons, has the ability to shift too like his papa... become something similar to Metal Overlord but not entirely... like a half robot dragon boy or smth.. IF he's under the right conditions to have it pulled out of him. or something

Dusty DOES "grow" up. basically, he's an inorganic being whose core is trying to emulate/copy the growth progression of other organic beings.

As it would grow in size (and Dusty's cognition "matures"), his mother and her friends would modify as needed to adjust his frame, etc, but rarely were things ever replaced. Like a mollusk, its shell growing in size- but one needing accommodations. A heart bigger than its own body that threatens to spill- a chick that has outgrown its shell, well before its expected date- needing modifications to keep it inside and protected

Metal Sonic and Amy would have something profound-- one of those tragic, star-crossed enemies-to-lovers dark fantasy romance stories Amy's always loved to read about- but then having it play in real time and having to come to terms with the real world implications of actually having one. It's just that- a fantasy. and metal sonic would grapple with the ideas of love, which i think would be inherently dark and a little possessive given his upbringing-- but what him and Amy have would be sweet at the very core of it. so him giving a piece of his core that reads and adapts to Amy's biosignature and oops... accidental baby....

Dusty finds himself drawn to music. his mom and dad couldn't quite communicate love language physically (with Metal Sonic's claws and his lack of mouth) so I hc that Amy taught Metal Sonic how to hum and sing and communicate their love through music and vocalizations (which carried onto Dusty)

4th pic is Dusty doing breathing exercises with his mama... Dusty gets embarrassed super easily so him and Amy would regularly do breathing exercises so he doesn't overheat like a PC

[maeintree]

pillow kingdom | s. reid

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid may have three PhDs and an IQ of 187, but when it comes to battling his two tiny, chaos-loving children in an all-out Pillow Kingdom war, he never stood a chance. Pairing: father!Spencer Reid x fem!mother!Reader Word Count: 600 (oh.) Author's Note: genuinely wasn't thinking when i wrote this, saw my nephew and immediately got baby fever and just remembered spence being so good with kids and this is extremely mgg coded, so enjoy this fluffy 'lil one shot <3

You weren’t sure what was funnier—the fact that your two children had built an entire fortress out of couch cushions, blankets, and stuffed animals, or the fact that your genius husband, Dr. Spencer Reid, was dramatically attempting to “storm the castle” like a medieval jester on too much caffeine.

“You think you can defeat me? The all-powerful Dr. Spencer the Fearsome?!” he bellowed, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.

From the depths of the pillow fort, two pairs of eyes peeked out. Your daughter, Lily, narrowed hers suspiciously. “You don’t look fearsome.”

“Yeah,” your son, Max, added. “You look like you need a nap.”

You snorted into your coffee from your spot on the couch. They weren’t wrong.

Spencer gasped, clutching his chest like they’d just insulted his entire PhD collection. “A nap? A nap? Do you know who I am? I have an eidetic memory—I once stayed up for eighty-four hours straight during a case! I can outlast any of you!”

Lily pointed a tiny finger at him. “Then why did Mommy say you got cranky and cried over a vending machine that wouldn’t take your dollar?”

You nearly choked.

Spencer’s mouth fell open. “I—that’s slander! Your mother is a liar.” He turned to you for backup, but you just smiled innocently and sipped your coffee.

Max, meanwhile, picked up a stuffed T-Rex and threw it at Spencer’s head.

“ATTACK!”

The war was on.

Spencer ducked and rolled—dramatically, of course, like some kind of action hero who had absolutely no reason to be this extra—before lobbing a pillow right back at them. Lily shrieked and launched a plush unicorn in retaliation.

“You’ll never take our kingdom!” she declared.

“Oh, we’ll see about that!” Spencer bellowed, grabbing a blanket and spinning like a deranged superhero. “I have acquired the Cloak of Infinite Wisdom!”

Max squinted. “That’s just the throw blanket from the couch.”

Spencer gasped again, pointing at him. “You have your mother’s skepticism, and frankly, it’s terrifying.”

You grinned. “Taught them well.”

Just as Spencer lunged forward, Lily leaped from the fortress and wrapped herself around his leg. “I got him! I got him!”

Max charged next, full toddler-speed, ramming into Spencer’s side like an overenthusiastic linebacker. Your husband crumpled like a science nerd hit by reality.

“Oh nooooo,” Spencer groaned, flopping onto the floor. “My one weakness! Small, adorable children!”

“Victory!” Lily cheered, standing triumphantly on his stomach like she had just slain a dragon.

Max clambered on top of him next, sitting on his chest. “Now you’re our prisoner!”

Spencer groaned dramatically. “Curse you, tiny overlords.”

From your cozy spot on the couch, you smirked over your coffee. “See, this is why I married you. Not for your three PhDs, not for your genius IQ—but because you lose every single battle against two tiny humans.”

Spencer tilted his head up from the floor, where he lay pinned beneath his children. His curls were a mess, his glasses were slightly askew, and he looked utterly betrayed. “I don’t lose. I let them win.”

Lily gasped. “Traitor!”

Max grabbed another pillow and smacked Spencer square in the face.

And that was the day Dr. Spencer Reid was officially overthrown as ruler of the household.

this was soo rushed, and i'm sooo ughh. hope you enjoyed!! aha

[poolseason]

more Ninjagelion AU

Setup: In the aftermath of a cataclysmic event on the Dark Island where humans accidentally awakened an entity known as the [OVERLORD] the world was plunged into eternal chaos. 20 years later, Ninjago has managed to rebuild. Now in New Ninjago City, a bustling and lively hub at the heart of Ninjago, has been under attack by monsters- onis, dragons, serpents, unexplainable beasts,- creatures made from the [OVERLORD]'s darkness. Luckily the Special Division ELEMENTS is here to protect the realm from these monstrous threats, with the NINJA mechs. This cant be possible without some valuable members of the team!

Characters, lore, and more ↓

Characters:

Pixal: In this au she's a human scientist, and probably the one person who knows the most about how the NINJA mechs are created. She's in charge of the technical division, and head of research and development. During a monster battle, her order's are second to Cole's. Her highest priority is the integrity of the mechs, to the point she might be a bit negligent of the safety of their pilots. Pixal is deeply involved in some suspicious agendas involving the secret entities hidden under the base, and while she's the most knowledgeable person in the force, she's not the most trustworthy. Pixal is Zane's personal "doctor" and knows more about his schematics than anyone else. She created the Nindroid plugs (aka the Dummy system, an autopilot of sorts) with his personality data. Pixal is also one of the few people who know what happened to the original Dr. Julien and Echo.

Jay: For a little history on him, Jay is on the younger side, have graduated from college a couple of years ago. He originally interned here as an electrical engineer in the Weapons Deparment, but Pixal saw his skill and ingenuity and gave him an unrefusable return offer in the R&D department as her right hand. Jay's parents, Ed and Edna Walker were colleagues of Cyrus Borg and were involved in the engineering and design of the Geofront and NNC's civilian safety infrastructure, so Jay's always been somewhat interested in ELEMENT's work. It was kind of a dream come true when the Pixal Borg hired him. During monster attacks, Jay's in charge of making sure the NINJA mechs operate properly, have access to their weapons and gear, and making sure the NNC fortress moves as needed. Jay's always seen with his goggles and he almost never follows uniform protocol.

Jay is also one of the few Technicians who personally work with the Pilots, he's one of the first people Lloyd warmed up to at ELEMENTS, and he becomes kind of a big brother figure to him after one particularly crazy mission when he has to personally go out onto the field with Lloyd in Unit-01. When Nya arrives the pair work together a lot outside of pilot training, but Nya definitely likes him and he... needs to figure some things out. whoops!

Skylor: Having grown up in the aftermath of the 2nd (Overlord) Impact, Skylor's seen a lot of destruction and cruelty, even first hand from her own father who lead a doomsday cult that wreaked havoc on innocent communities trying to survive in the near apocalyptic event. Vowing to protect the world from similar chaos, she joined the NINJA program's tactical division. When the monster attacks began, she's in-charge of monitoring the enemy's health, pilot life signs, and mapping.

Dareth: His last name is Presley bc of the Elvis hair and inspiration lmao. He's not really a high ranking member of the organization but Cole and the others seem to really trust him, despite his mess ups. Dareth normally handles ferrying radio messages between ground teams and mission control. Dareth is a relaxed guy who values a positive work environment, even if that kind of makes him a bad employee. He's a very good uncle figure to a lot of members of ELEMENTS

MORE Cole: Cole is the leader of the tactical division. He was drafted into the military when he was only a young teenager in the aftermath of the [OVERLORD] but he was recognized by Wu and not long after he completed college and grad school he was quickly hired by ELEMENTS to oversee the tactical division. He's vengeful towards the Overlord's darkness monsters because his mother Lily was the captain of the disastrous expedition to the Dark Island 20 years ago. The dog tags he wears are his own and his mother's.

Lloyd and Zane, on neural headsets: As pilots of a NINJA mech they have a lot of pressure on them, obviously this can cause a lot of mental turmoil and stress. In order to pilot a mech they must synchronize their own mind to their mech's soul*, so stress isn't really a good thing for a pilot to have. Zane was programmed to not experience such emotions, but over the course of the series, its proven that he grows to feel quite strongly and become more human. Despite his programming, the lack of emotion early on was actually a detriment to his ability to pilot, since the NINJA soul wouldn't be able to synchronize it's feelings with an entity that feels nothing. Sometimes its necessary for pilots to wear more complicated neural headsets and spinal connections for more controlled sync testing. During the cross-sync experiment when Zane and Lloyd traded units, they were stuck wearing extra uncomfortable test suits -- too many wires and junk! The only downside to extra connection is that the mech could overload and go berserk. (which big surprise, happened!), so usually Lloyd, the designated Unstable Pilottm, only needs the barebones neural interface in most situations.

[thestoryteller-thedreamer]

Alternative Ending to Crystallized:

What if Harumi's life was bonded to the Overlord? What if she could only exist as long as the Crystal King held onto his power?

Lloyd knows that as soon as he strikes the final blow, the Overlord will fall and take Harumi, the girl who betrayed and twisted him, the girl Lloyd desperately needs to redeem, with him.

He tries to find another way, to keep her alive and save the world at the same time.

But Harumi knows there is no other way, and her longing for revenge, though it has changed targets, is just as strong as ever.

Giving Lloyd one last glance, a look she knows will stay with him forever, Harumi throws herself at the Overlord and takes him down, sacrificing herself in the process.

Unable to stop her or save her, Lloyd can only scream from the sidelines, take her lifeless body in his arms, and sit in the failure that he couldn't do it. He couldn't change her. He couldn't save her.

Under the pressure of being the Green Ninja, of being the grandson of the FSM, of being the bridge between the Oni and the Dragons, Lloyd snaps. Because what does his power and duty matter, if he couldn't protect the girl he thought he loved?

Standing on the ashes of the Overlord's crystal kingdom, Lloyd realizes that maybe his enemy was right. Maybe trying to keep the balance only results in more chaos and brokenness and destruction. He has already lost so much, Lloyd can't risk losing anymore.

He rises to his feet and claims the throne the Overlord left behind, making himself Ninjago's Golden Master. The other ninja don't dare to fight back, because they have sworn to protect him. Because he is their little brother, and they would never hurt him. Because they are afraid that the Lloyd they knew, the one who was trusting and good and kind, is gone forever.

And the light that Lloyd brought to Ninjago, a light that once chased away the shadows, grows so blinding that no one can see anymore. His light has become its own darkness.

[misssparklingpaws]

Shadow in the Flame

Chapter 20: “This Is My Favorite One—You Have Salsa All Over Your Face”

It was late afternoon when the Tower’s private elevator chimed, announcing the arrival of a VIP guest. Aria barely looked up from her datapad—until she heard the unmistakable squeal of tiny sneakers and the pounding of very determined feet.

“Ariaaaaaa!” Morgan Stark yelled, launching herself like a Stark Industries prototype missile.

Aria barely had time to react before eight-year-old limbs wrapped around her. She caught her midair with a grunt. “Morgan! Careful you nearly took me down.”

“But I missed you!” Morgan said brightly. She landed on her feet and immediately yanked a pink suitcase behind her. “Also… I brought something important.”

Aria raised a brow. “Please don’t tell me it’s your rock collection again.”

Morgan rolled her eyes like a seasoned teenager. “No, those are classified. This is way better. The good stuff!” She beamed, dropping her small, pink rolling suitcase with dramatic flair. “Also, Mom says you forgot to call her back. And that she loves you. But mostly… I brought THESE.”

She unzipped the suitcase, digging around with purpose before triumphantly yanking out two oversized photo albums so ancient they practically wheezed. One was sparkly and chaotic, covered in faded cartoon stickers. The other had “Aria – Age 0 to 9” in Tony Stark’s unmistakable Sharpie handwriting.

“Oh no.” Aria took a step back. “Mom let you bring those?”

“Technically, I didn’t ask,” Morgan chirped.

Pepper Potts walked in right on cue, holding a coffee. “And technically, I didn’t stop her. You haven’t called me back in a week, so I figured this was fair retaliation.” She looked at Aria seriously. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You look a little pale.”

“I’ve been feeling a little off, a little nauseous the last few days, but I’m fine.”

Bob entered in gym clothes, a towel around his neck, and blinked at the scene. “What’s going on?”

Morgan plopped down on the couch, cracking open the album. “We’re going on a journey,” she declared. “This is Aria with a juice box. This is Aria in her science fair goggles. And this is Aria in what Dad called her ‘tiny overlord phase.’”

Bob peeked over and laughed softly. “Is that a cape?”

Aria groaned. “It’s a lab coat! I just wore it… with flair.”

Yelena swooped in with popcorn like a shark smelling blood. “Please tell me there’s one where she looks like a gremlin.”

Morgan didn’t hesitate. “Page seven.”

“Wait is that Tony in a mariachi vest holding toddler Aria with a sparkler?” Bucky asked.

“Yes,” Aria groaned.

“Yes,” Yelena echoed gleefully.

Bob leaned over the back of the couch. “Oh my God, you had chubby cheeks. And—is that face paint? Were you a dragon?”

Morgan kept flipping. “This one’s her birthday at the Tower—Daddy put twenty-four candles on a ten-year-old’s cake and nearly set off the fire alarm.”

“Classic Dad,” Aria murmured, eyes softening.

Morgan leaned in. “Daddy used to look at these with me. He’d tell me stories. Like how you tried to ‘improve’ the rice cooker and nearly blew up the kitchen.”

Aria blinked, then softened, setting the album down more gently. “He kept all these?”

“Of course,” Pepper said matter-of-factly. “He said you were his first proof he could do something good.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then Bob gently touched Aria’s back. “You were his masterpiece.”

Morgan beamed. “Now I have the pictures to prove it. And I get to blackmail you with them forever.”

Aria sighed, pulling her in for a hug. “You tiny tyrant.”

Morgan grinned. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Yelena pointed at a particularly nerdy pic. “I’m framing this.”

“Touch it and I’ll send your field gear to a spa for dry cleaning,” Aria warned.

Bob leaned down beside her, chuckling. “I think I’m seeing a whole new side of you.”

“Oh, I’ve got the high school journals too,” Morgan added helpfully.

Bob blinked. “Should I be scared?”

“Yes,” Aria muttered.

Morgan nodded. “Absolutely.”

After the chaos of the photos faded, the sisters retreated to Aria and Bob’s bedroom to watch a Barbie movie.

“Can I stay for a sleepover?” Morgan asked sweetly, already halfway into Aria’s bed like it was a foregone conclusion.

Aria blinked. “You didn’t even bring pajamas.”

“I have an emergency pair in the pink suitcase. Also, Mom said yes.”

Aria sighed, defeated. “Of course she did.”

Bob poked his head into the doorway, towel draped around his shoulders. “So, are we watching a movie, baking cookies, or braiding hair while we summon spirits?”

“Option B,” Morgan said instantly.

“Hard no,” Aria replied.

Morgan flopped onto the bed dramatically, arms spread. “You two will be the most boring parents eveeeeer.”

“I’m bringing popcorn while you” Aria pointed to Bob, “put on a movie. Nothing over PG-13. Definitely no R-rated stuff. And nothing scary.”

“Boriiiiing,” Morgan and Bob said in unison.

Morgan shouldn’t have suggested what came next, but it was just too tempting.

“We have 15 minutes to do this,” the eight-year-old said.

She pulled a shoebox from her suitcase labeled: DO NOT OPEN, EVER. She looked up at Bob, who sat beside her in pajama pants and a threadbare Stark Industries T-shirt, looking both amused and guilty.

“She said this was off-limits,” he whispered.

“She says everything fun is off-limits,” Morgan countered, already flipping open a cracked, sticker-covered teenage journal.

The cover read:

Property of Aria L. Stark. No peeking. I will know.

Bob squinted. “Is that a little Iron Man doodle threatening violence?”

“Yep.” Morgan grinned. “Totally on brand.”

They flipped past a few doodles, some angsty lyrics scribbled in the margins, and then—

May 7th

    “I know it’s dumb and kind of cliché, but I think I have a crush on Captain America. He’s polite and he listens and he saved me from falling when I tripped over the med lab cables last week. And I know he’s like, ancient, but also—arms. And he called me ‘Miss Stark’ in that voice and I died.”

Bob choked on his water. “She had a crush on Steve?!”

Morgan cackled. “Yep. She drew a little heart around his name. And—oh my God—this page has glitter on it.”

Bob looked horrified and delighted all at once. “I don’t know what’s worse, that it was Steve… or that she decorated it.”

Morgan wiggled her eyebrows. “So what are you going to do about it, Mr. Stark?”

“Try not to have a complex,” Robert muttered. “Also, how do I compete with the original patriot boy?”

Morgan patted his arm. “Well, you can fly. And you fold her laundry. That’s love.”

Morgan pointed to a doodle in the margin: a truly terrible sketch of “Captain Abs” with little hearts around him.

“Okay, I am framing this and showing it to Yelena.”

“No, we are hiding this forever,” Bob laughed, even as he took a sneaky photo with his phone.

Morgan looked up at him. “You’re really good to her.”

That caught him off guard. “What?”

“She’s not easy. She pretends she doesn’t care a lot. But she cares so much it’s like—scary, you know?” Morgan fidgeted. “I just want to know she has someone.”

Bob paused, smile softening. “I got her, kid. For the long haul.”

Morgan nodded. “Cool. Because if you mess up, I’m telling Mom. And she’s really scary-mad.”

“Duly noted.”

Across the hall, Aria cracked the door open slightly.

She’d heard the whispering, the laughter.

She watched for a second—Morgan snuggled to Bob under a blanket, Bob gently placing the journal back in the box like it was a sacred artifact.

And Aria smiled.

Even if she was going to murder them both in the morning. Faking she didn’t saw anything she put the snacks in the bed.

“So what are we watching” She asked

“Howl’s Moving Castle” Morgan and bob said.

“Nerds”

The soft hum of the projector filled the quiet room. The Tower’s master suite was dimly lit by the flickering images of Howl’s Moving Castle playing on the wall opposite the bed.

Aria lay stretched out under the covers, Bob curled beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. Between them, Morgan was already dozing off, her head resting on Aria’s shoulder, small fingers clutching the blanket.

Bob smiled softly, watching Morgan’s peaceful breathing. “She didn’t last long.”

Aria chuckled quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Morgan’s forehead. “She tried to keep up with us.”

Morgan stirred, mumbling something about a firebird and snuggled closer, making herself even smaller.

Bob’s gaze softened. “You’re really good with her.”

Aria met his eyes, a rare gentle smile playing on her lips. “She’s my baby sister.”

Bob nodded slowly, voice quieter. “This is the closest I’ve ever felt to a family.

Aria looked at him, surprised but warm, and reached up to squeeze his hand.

The movie played on as the three of them settled into a comfortable silence a rare, perfect moment of warmth and quiet amidst the chaos of their lives.

Morgan’s soft breathing was the only sound besides the movie’s music, and Aria and Bob exchanged a glance full of unspoken promises and a quiet kind of love.

---

The suite was wrapped in darkness, save for the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains.

Morgan stirred, blinking sleepily. She shifted carefully, trying not to wake Aria, but the thirst was persistent.

“Bob?” she whispered, her voice small.

Bob, still half-asleep, opened one eye and gave her a sleepy smile. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“I’m thirsty. Can you come with me to get some water?”

Bob sat up gently, careful not to disturb Aria. “Of course. Let me grab my slippers.”

Morgan grinned sleepily, already swinging her legs off the bed.

In the kitchen, Bob filled a glass with water, handing it to Morgan like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” she murmured, sipping quietly.

Bob leaned against the counter, watching her with a soft expression. “Anytime, kid. You know I’m always here.”

Morgan looked up, eyes heavy but trusting. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Bob smiled, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his chest. “Me too, Morgan. Me too.”

They stood quietly for a moment, two unlikely family members sharing a small, perfect moment in the night.

[penguinly]

I'm Lost (In These Memories)

Summary: Lloyd dies, survives, and moves on with his life. And then it all comes crashing down. (AKA the Lloyd dissociation fic that I've been yapping about for the past month yay)

Word Count: 3,693

Main Relationship: Lloyd & Kai (PLATONIC)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65972074

Spoilers for DRs3p1. This fic is also archive locked to prevent AI scraping. (Entire fic below the cut for those without accounts.)

They’d fought the primeval dragon of Chaos itself and won. Perhaps it wasn’t their average city menace of the week but they’d faced worse odds before. It had been close. The Green Ninja had fallen. But when he breathed once more he didn’t cry or scream. 

Tears could not express the invisible weight crushing him from the inside out. 

But it wasn’t a new feeling so he pushed it away and kept his gaze fixed ahead. 

He let two of their own walk away – one led astray by promises that none but the liar could make, and the other following the first with vows to be together no matter the cost. There was no fault placed on either of them for their decision. They were young but they were not naive. None of them had been children in a long time. 

Then the rest of them made it back to the Monastery and his feelings stayed firmly stuck in his chest. He was relieved, really. He could hear the dragging footsteps and deep sighs. Everyone was tired. It wouldn’t be fair to make them deal with a breakdown after all that they’d already gone through today. It never was. 

He died and they paid the price. He did whatever it took to keep them safe. That was how the story usually went. And he preferred it that way, after all. 

Arin, desperately shaking his broken body. The ninja, digging him from the ruins of their own home. Emperor Garmadon leaving him to die alone on cold and barren sands. He’d been aware of none of it but the anguish in their eyes every time they told him what had happened was enough. 

Then there was every time he’d been there to watch his family be torn apart. The Overlord forcing them all under his will one by one, leaving him so completely and utterly alone. Chanting his own father into the Cursed Realm, never to be the same again. Holding an inconsolable Kai and Jay when the only girl that’d ever mattered to either of them was lost. 

Everything he ever saw and felt and heard was death, death, death. 

Lloyd winced at the memories. He wondered how long it would be before he could think of latest demise today as a distant moment in the past, harrowing but too far away to hurt him. 

He wondered what it would feel like for dying to be permanent, to never wake up or see his family again. He wondered how long it would haunt them, if the team would break the way they did after Nya’s sacrifice. But even that had been temporary in a way that death was not supposed to be. 

He plastered a smile on his face the way he had back then and pushed the choking emotions further down to join in the festivities. In the space of a few heartbeats, he let the mask drop to be replaced with real joy and relief. He felt alive. He was alive. Everything was fine. 

He was happy. 

He hugged and laughed and felt every hand on his shoulder and pat on his back. It was as though everyone the ninja knew in this new, unfamiliar world was crammed into the monastery courtyard. For once, it was brimming with life and exuberance in a way that he’d missed dearly since the Merge. 

He caught glimpses of Jay exchanging short words with the rest of the ninja and even if his memory was lost, this was the first time Lloyd’s entire family had been together since that fateful day. They were all changed and different now, five years of age and life lived since then having left their marks on all of them, but surely that didn’t matter, right?

The celebration continued long after dark until Mr. Frohicky shooed everyone out with a broom to let the ninja finally rest. They piled inside and spent a good chunk of the next hour raiding the kitchen and unwrapping hasty bandages to patch each other up properly. 

Lloyd ended up being the first to say his goodnights and trudge into his room. He was covered in Band-Aids with colorful ninjas stamped across them decorating every cut and scrape from the battle. 

It had gone unsaid but understood in carefully exchanged looks by them all that they’d been lucky to walk away without any major injuries today. 

The door to his room opened without protest and he flicked on the light. For a moment he thought the floor looked wonderfully enticing but he fought the urge to just collapse onto the ground. His bruised back would thank him tomorrow. 

He practically threw himself onto his bed instead, adrenaline long gone and the exhaustion of the day weighing on his every movement. The black and blue along his spine and ribs twinged a protest but he just threw a forearm over his face in an attempt to block out the light. He laid there long enough for sleep to nudge at the edges of his consciousness.

His entire body panged with the sharp throbs of his powers knitting cuts closed. 

He gave in and rolled onto his less injured side, cheek pressed into the soft sheets, knees tucked up close to his chest. 

Instead of succumbing to sleep, his gaze was drawn to the row of pictures carefully framed and lined up on his shelf in front of him. One of them was crooked. He didn’t think it’d been like that the last time he’d slept here. 

Slivers of the brown cardboard backing peeked out around the photo’s edges. The tip of Kai’s hair disappeared under one of the frame’s corners. He mentally added straightening the picture to the list of things he probably had to do before going to sleep tonight. 

The picture was of his team – his old team – long before the merge. It must’ve been between the fiascos with the Hands of Time and Harumi. And the whole disaster that’d followed after he met her. 

There was a faint pang of heaviness that sank deep into his stomach as he let his thoughts linger on those memories for too long. It joined the tangle of jumbled feelings that’d been weighing him down since he’d woken up with unforgiving stone digging into his back and choking on his own hoarse gasps. 

No, that wasn’t right. The angry mass of wordless pain was not new. The smiling teenage hero in the picture was a version of him that he hadn’t been in a long time. Oh. 

How ironic it was that, of all things, the straw that finally, finally broke him was a happy memory. Of the time before everything fell apart. He missed feeling happy like that. But maybe happiness was just another thing he’d outgrown, along with his childhood. 

He unraveled the way he should’ve when his friends – his family – were hovering nervously over him. For a moment that lasted an eternity, he could feel the panic rising up from the bottom of the chasm that’d been swallowing everything in him for as long as he could remember. Long overdue tears stung his eyes and it hurt. It hurt so much. 

The pressure that had been pressing desperately against his eyes and lungs and throat built and spilled over the way he’d wanted it to when he was surrounded by the ones who could hold him and tell him it would all be okay. That it was over. That he was safe. That it was okay to cry and scream and be afraid. 

He wished Kai was here to run warm hands through his hair. He wished Nya was here to fill his mind with rambled monologues about her new projects. Or anyone at all. 

But they’d all had long days, too. Lloyd remembered the look of terror and burdensome responsibility in a teenaged Kai’s eyes. He would never forget the exhaustion and the devastated look in an even younger Nya’s. His pain weighed on them all and he knew it. He couldn’t force them to carry it for him again. Because he knew they would. He would. 

The tears didn’t fall. The building sob didn’t echo through his room. The awful chaotic mess of invisible feelings pressed against him from the inside out but it was almost as though he didn’t know how to set it free anymore. So he tried to escape them instead. 

He pushed them as far as he could into the deepest recesses of his mind, deeper even than the void they’d collected and risen from, and ran in the other direction. 

The lump of that nameless emotion vanished. 

He floated away with it. 

The day’s leftover panic, the anxiety, the grief, the pain, the fear – all of it faded away until there was nothing left. It probably should have scared him that it felt so freeing. He felt nothing but the slow rise and fall of his chest. Some distant part of himself felt like it was drowning. The air was thick and heavy and light and intoxicating. 

His lungs took deep, slow breaths and for once, he could finally just breathe. Living felt an awful lot like drowning, lately. 

He was so tired. If he thought hard enough, he could feel himself getting up to straighten the picture in the frame in front of him but why would he? He was content to lie here forever, eyes open and unseeing as the death he had lived just hours earlier. 

So he stared at that picture and the way it was wrong and he felt wrong but everything about the nothingness inside him felt right. The emptiness welcomed him and he leaned into its embrace. He had no regrets. There was no pain. 

It was exhilarating in a calm and quiet sort of way. 

He stared. 

And stared. 

And stared. 

He distantly wondered whether he’d snap out of it if the door opened and someone walked in. But no one did so he lay there, knees curled to his chest and facing a crooked photograph. His thoughts were far, far away in his own oblivion where that awful tension couldn’t strangle his heart anymore. He felt nothing and the nothingness felt good. 

His grasp on time as it slipped past was loose and sporadic. In some moments he was closer to reality than others but he let his mind wander and float away again. His awareness was like a tide ebbing and flowing but always peaceful. Always quiet. Always calm. 

He drifted between disconnected thoughts that he forgot between one moment and the next. Time passed and he was too dead to the world to know it. 

– – – – – – – – – – – 

He didn’t know how long it’d been when the door opened and a blurry figure made its way towards him. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t think he could’ve anyways. 

His vision was empty just like the rest of him – there but not, clear but filled with a weird void of static. Like tunnel vision but without focus. His body was numb just like his mind but he still felt the warmth exuding from the new thing in the way only one person could. Kai?

The thought of propping himself up or saying something or even just looking up at Kai crossed his mind. But he was too numb, too tired, too apathetic. It was nice here in the safety of the emptiness and as much as he didn’t want to scare his brother he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He heard Kai say his name in that awful ‘too loud for stealth’ whisper. He remembered Jay’s complaints that it always foiled their recon missions, as if they weren’t already doomed before they started. For a team of ninja, stealth had never quite been their forte. 

There was a warm hand gently pressed against his forehead. 

Kai said something that sounded important but Lloyd let the words drift aimlessly through his mind. He couldn’t remember which words had come before the one he was hearing and soon that one was gone, too. Like a leaky faucet drip, drip, dripping away into a puddle where no one knew which drop had come first or next or last. 

Gentle, warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him sideways. The world shifted and tilted around him until the faces in the pictures were right-side up. Lloyd remembered looking at those pictures. Time had gotten weird after that, he figured. 

Deep brown eyes stared into his own and he could feel a bit of the numbness detaching. His vision cleared enough to stare back for a moment before his mind grew tired. Kai was terrified. He recognized it in the little tells – the slight furrow of his brow, the way he grit his teeth. 

Lloyd thought he heard his name again but the sound echoed around the void where he was supposed to be until he couldn’t tell if he’d imagined the whole thing in the first place. Was that really his name? 

Warm hands held his own. His gaze slipped down to his lap where Kai's fingers were tangled in his. Kai’s voice still trickled through his mind, untethered and unheard. 

His hands were far too warm now, especially with Kai’s resting in them. It was almost like they’d become disconnected from his body – or maybe he had – but still, they radiated heat in a way that felt wrong. It all felt wrong. The edges of the fuzzy haze covering the wrongness dissipated at the realization. 

His arms refused to cooperate when he willed them to move as though the invisible connection between his body and his mind was still broken. So he shifted his focus to the tip of his finger until he could practically feel it tingling. He felt it, even if it was only a phantom sensation. 

He tapped the back of Kai’s hand once, twice, three times, then over and over again in a steady staccato. 

“Lloyd?”

Too tired to open his mouth just yet, Lloyd let out a sound somewhere between a hum and an exhale. Kai squeezed his hand with a sigh of relief that Lloyd knew would be etched clearly across his face if he looked up. He squeezed back, letting the numbness slowly trail out of his arms. 

He was mid-breath when the odd, blurry tunnel vision widened and disappeared, almost exactly like a camera’s stutter when it focused on a nearby object. The world was back in focus. 

Lloyd gently pulled his hands from Kai’s grasp, took a deep breath and stared at them, flexing and turning them with the control that had been returned to him just as suddenly as it’d been taken. 

His body didn’t rebel when he finally looked up at Kai who offered a small, tired smile and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. The Master of Fire was sitting awkwardly on the floor in front of him in a pair of red pajamas with his own cartoonish face patterned across them. His hair was damp and flat against his forehead. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Kai asked. 

Lloyd couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth and force the words out so he just shrugged in response. Later, he wanted to say. 

“Okay,” Kai said, somehow understanding every unspoken word, “Well I’m going to set up the extra blankets in my room tonight. Consider this your invitation to my sleepover.” 

And with that, Kai stood up and walked out of Lloyd’s room, stretching dramatically to let a frankly impressive number of firecracker popping sounds come from his spine. A small grin and a silent chuckle wormed their way out of Lloyd as he flicked off the light and followed. 

Nya was somehow already passed out on Kai’s bed when they tiptoed into his room. Kai just sighed and shook his head while smirking and muttering something about intruders and invitations under his breath. 

Kai switched off the ceiling light and clicked on a nightlight – Lloyd rolled his eyes at the Red Ninja merch again – before pulling the stack of blankets out of his closet. They were worn and faded after years of use but still thick enough to cushion the floor. 

They halfheartedly attempted to scoot Nya over but the moment she was lying somewhat normally on the bed she rolled over and somehow ended up taking up even more space. Whatever, this was to be expected. 

Lloyd met Kai’s eyes, then looked down at the pile of blankets in front of him and gasped dramatically. The back of his hand came up to his forehead in a cartoonish imitation of someone about to faint. Lloyd let himself go limp. The way he ended up starfished across the entire blanket pile was definitely unintentional. 

“Lloyd, c’mon,” Kai whined in the same awful whisper he’d used earlier. “Even ten-year-old menace to society you would never do this to me.”

Lies and blasphemy was what that was but Lloyd didn’t bother to comment on it. 

Instead, he pressed his face deeper into one of the pillows and let out a loud fake snore. Kai grumbled unintelligibly and before Lloyd could react, a heavy weight flopped across his back. He squeaked and twisted to stare back at Kai who’d apparently decided that lying perpendicularly on top of Lloyd was better than the floor. 

There were sure to be complaints about back pains tomorrow but that was a problem for himself in the future. 

He was asleep within seconds, cheek smushed into a pillow that was absolutely going to leave marks on his face by morning and blessedly sinking into an exhaustion so deep that even nightmares didn’t dare touch him. 

He didn’t wake up when Kai cracked an eye open to watch Cole creep into the room and fall asleep sitting up against the foot of his bed. He was still asleep when Zane somehow ended up silently entering the room to stand sentry in a corner to power down. 

The door opened for the last time that night when the first streaks of deep purple were dancing on the horizon just before dawn. Drawn by some subconscious instinct, Jay found himself searching for a place to sleep in the Fire Ninja’s room. He ended up stepping over multiple people asleep on the floor to curl up in the one corner of the bed that the Water Ninja hadn’t sprawled herself over. 

He didn’t know why but the little space felt right. Like it had been left for him on purpose. Sleep dragged him under before he could follow that train of thought. 

– – – – – – – – – – – 

Lloyd woke up to the ever obnoxious lightning chickens in the yard screaming their heads off at the sun – they were still a few hours late for dawn as per usual – and found Kai’s room absolutely packed. The entire monastery, including family old and new, was there. 

And while he could feel the missing pieces where Arin and Sora were supposed to be, the empty spaces weren't all-consuming. They were held back by the presence of the people in this room. He remembered the long years of keeping watch over an empty monastery with no one but himself to talk to, but he wasn’t alone anymore. 

He had a whole new team here, willing to help him do whatever it took to get his students – his kids – back. It was all going to be okay. 

“Rise and shine, Ninja!” he yelled, trying and failing to stifle his giggles at the chorus of groans and the volley of pillows thrown his way. Only Nya’s was even close to hitting him. 

He grinned as he met Kai’s death glare and dodged the Red Ninja plushie flying at his head with surprisingly good aim for the Master of Fire first thing in the morning. 

“Breakfast in five!” he called over his shoulder as he left the room and made his way to the kitchen, whistling to himself and fighting the urge to scream back at the chickens that had still not shut up. 

He missed the relieved sigh that Kai let out as he ran his fingers through his absolutely disastrous bed hair. 

Everyone was safe. It was fine. Lloyd was okay. 

The chickens screamed outside and Kai heard a certain grandson of the First Spinjitsu Master yell an impressive string of curses back. 

“Language!”

“Shut up, Kai!”

– – – – – – – – – – – 

In the end, Kai made it to the kitchen just in time to snuff out the flames beginning to dance across the frying pan. 

“Lloyd. Why? How the fuck did you burn cereal?”

He knew he’d probably have to bring up what’d happened last night at some point but for now, he just stood at the kitchen entrance and listened to the kid (not a kid anymore, how crazy was that?) launch into an explanation that seemed to defy more and more science as he went. 

If he didn’t know better, Kai could almost believe that last night’s events had never happened. 

Then again, the ninja were no strangers to death. It was heavy and empty and a word that meant someone was never coming back. It was supposed to be permanent, it just never quite seemed to stick for them. Yet for all the times they mourned, it never got easier. He supposed maybe that was why death was meant to be permanent. 

But instead they got to keep living for each other and themselves in spite of the memories over and over, again and again. Ninja never quit, they said, and they meant every word of it. They’d been given so many chances and Kai would be damned if they didn’t get to live, for real this time. 

Everything was going to be okay. Even if that promise had been ripped out from under them too many times to count in the past. Ninja never quit. That was the motto and by the First Spinjitsu Master himself, if burning the world to ashes was enough for his family to be happy, Kai would do it in a heartbeat. 

He didn’t think he could lose any of them ever again. 

[norel-ravenclaw]

Into My Web

- Part 1 -

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Zestial x gn reader, Alastor

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1300

Description: A soul out of time, you arrive in Hell and make friends with Alastor, who introduces you to the oldest Overlord in the Pride ring - Zestial.

WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | mentions of murder and brief gore | the plague! no?! yes!! | am I delighted to use my old English knowledge from years of bible study to write for a deeply impure hell show? fuck yes I am -> will used instead of wilt throughout, iykyk |

A walk through the sketchiest part of town means little with the Radio Demon on your arm. Or so you thought, until even he suddenly becomes tense.

A stranger steps into your path, denizens and low ranking overlords fleeing in terror from the glimpse of virulent green flashing beneath his cloak. Tall and slender, a mysterious aura of a sort of passive menace emanating from him.

When he speaks, his low voice and old English pique your curiosity. “Good morrow, Alastor.”

“Ah! Zestial, what a pleasure to see you again.”

The demons incline their heads in a gesture of elegant politeness lost to older eras, stark contrast to the chaos their combined presence is creating on the street.

“Likewise.” Six fathomless eyes emitting a faint neon glow fix on you in a distinctly predatory appraisement. “And who might this creature be who hast gained thine attention?”

Alastor’s smile takes on even more of a strained tint. “Of course.” He introduces you politely, then adding, “And this is Zestial Morde, the most ancient overlord in the Pride ring.”

Having somewhat of an old fashioned personality is what made Alastor choose your company over the other residents of the hotel in the first place, so it’s no difficulty leaning into that here. You dip your head and half bow while still holding Alasor’s arm. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Zestial hums low in his throat. “What year didst thou die, sinner?”

“This year, sir.”

Alastor gestures animatedly with his cane. “Why only just recently! They arrived in quite the state, which I was most pleased to have the privilege of witnessing~”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, biting your cheek at the memory.

Zestial’s eyes narrow in interest. “I am most intrigued. Thou must relay to me the story.”

Alastor glances further up the road. “Alas, I have a meeting in a few minutes on behalf of the princess, but I’m certain my friend would love to entertain you.”

“Excellent.” Moving with quick grace, Zestial moves to your side and captures your arm. “Do convey my well wishes to Carmilla.”

“But of course.” Alastor bows to the both of you with a flourish before leaving you alone with… a demon even he seems wary of.

His presence at your side dwarfs you, hiding you from the meagre light of the hellish sky in his shadow. “Come, I will make thee a drink.”

“If you like.”

You pointedly ignore the scattering demons as he leads you to a warehouse-like building, bowing gallantly for you to enter the elevator first. Once inside, the scenery changes as dramatically as you could imagine.

Heavy stone and sconces mimicking torches line the walls of the opulent space. Dark green velvet curtains, ancient looking Persian rugs, and moth eaten tapestries transform a simple office into a medieval palace.

One of the tapestries catches your eye, your feet stopping as the faded scene captures your attention.

A dark haired man in a green cape holds a long sword in one hand, and a scale overflowing with gold coins in the other. At his feet is a slain dragon in a pool of toxic green blood. The heroic scene is overlaid a classic four square shield-shaped crest, its faint contrast symbols nearly lost to time beneath a layer of deeply ingrained soot, the bottom corner burned away completely as though it was barely rescued from a fire.

Zestial stops with you, making a small sound of surprise. “Ah, my hearaldric portrait… Mm, not even Carmilla has ever asked about these.”

“It sounds as though you are friends with her?”

“Just so. She died in the Spanish old west, a powerful figure already. One of the few to arrive in hell with child.” He trails off in front of another tapestry, this one in an even worse state than the first.

A simple artist’s rendition of a noble family stares somberly from the ancient weave. A young looking woman holds a baby with a tall man behind her. To each side are knights in different regalia.

“…There is something in thy nature that nearly reminds me of her. Though in truth I hardly knew her before the plague arrived.” His monstrous eyes consider you with a melancholic look before he ushers you down the hall. “Forgive mine ramblings, how uncouth,” he half mutters.

“Not at all. If anything, I’d love to hear your stories.” You chuckle wryly. “There’s sure to be more interesting than mine.”

He flicks on the light in the parlour, allowing you a brief glimpse of the smile on his lips. “Well, perhaps I shall accept thine offer. But first, coffee or tea?”

“Tea is fine, thank you.”

He sets to work at the bar while you settle in a well-worn armchair. This room is decorated with weapons and skulls, clearly where he usually entertains, (see: intimidate).

You watch as he uses his power to heat the teapot, then brings the cups over.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Now, pray tell me the tale of thy arrival.” He smirks knowingly.

You laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Ah, well… When I first, er, manifested here, two cannibals immediately attacked me. I still hardly know how I managed to fight them, much less win. I stole their clothes and… took one of their arms as a makeshift weapon. Alastor found me trying to catch my breath after running all the way from there to the hotel.”

Zestial laughs heartily. “Ah, I see why the fiend wast amused. I am impressed by thy strength and reason in the midst of unfathomable new circumstances.”

You blink in surprise at his easy praise, saluting you with a raised teacup. You smile bashfully and return the gesture. “…Thank you.”

“Tell me, dost thou posses Sinner Powers, by chance?”

The blood drains from your face. Shit… Of all your talents, lying is not one of them.

The air suddenly grows cold as the demon sets down his teacup. You hardly manage to do the same before he is leaning over you threateningly.

You sink back into the chair, not wanting to meet his eye. “…It’s hardly anything that could be exploited.”

A long clawed finger comes to your chin, deceptively gentle as he lifts your face to look at him. “Thou will show me.”

In the quiet room, your panicked heartbeat is the only thing that can be heard. His many green eyes pin you to the spot, his dark face the only place of reprieve in your line of sight as his outstretched arms reveal the full neon display of his inner cloak.

He stares you down patiently, his power and threat made even more intimidating with his silence. The absoluteness of his authority and inevitably of your compliance a certainty in both your minds.

Unable to look away, you raise a hand and show him a small ball of power coalescing on your trembling palm.

He removes his hand from your chin to tease at it with his claws. “Good. Mm, it seems thy power is not strong. But that can be changed. Thou will return here every week to train. In return for my assistance, you will-”

A visceral emotion rips through you, and you push a hand against his chest. “I’m not going to become a soldier for you! I didn’t survive all this just to fight someone else’s battles!”

He reflexively traps your hand against his chest, his narrowed eyes searching you as he keeps you pinned. “Mm, such fire~”

Your heart clenches painfully as he leans closer, terrified of what he will do. Practically holding your breath as his own caresses your neck… soon followed by his claws.

“Thou will choose to stand by me, in the end. Mark mine words. Thy fire shall be in my hands.” You gasp as his hand trails down your collarbone over your chest. “And so shall thy heart.”

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver, and he chuckles. “Already thou hast willingly walked into mine web, my dear~ Do not look at me with such fear. Mine is precisely the poison you crave, is it not?”

Link to part 2

Thank you for reading! I am motivated by interaction, so if you want more content from me, please let me know!

[galvatream]

Another Dragons Rising work for my Soldier of Darkness Au, featuring Sora's outfit after she betrays the ninja and becomes Kai's apprentice, and featuring her performing Chaos Domination for the first time.

Arin looked at Sora, truly looked at her and saw a hatred in her eyes that surpassed anything he'd ever known, it was a hatred that could only be born from trust being broken, of a betrayal he wasn't fully aware of.

"Sora..." He trailed off, watching as she clenched her fists, clawed talon like armour scrapping against one another making him shudder, The Overlord's emblem upon her outfit, equipped with dark tendrils showcasing her slow corruption only served as a sad reminder of the tainted influence the Dark Lord possessed. "Please, return to us."

Sora shifted, releasing an almost dragon like growl, only reminding him of how much things had changed since his time with Ras. "There is nothing you can say that will make me return to the so-called heroes of Ninjago." The words were spoken with such venom that Arin took a step back, eyes wide at how much hatred seeped into her voice.

The Master of Technology, put a foot forward, almost like she was going to take a step forward, her eyes narrowed, eyeing him like a predator did its prey. "Please, don't fall down the same path I nearly did." His plea did little but make his friend scoff in irritation.

"Dark path?" she questioned, letting her gaze drift to something behind him. Braving the chance, Arin glanced over his shoulders, taking note of the ninja clearing a path through a contingent of Nindroid warriors, witnessing Cryptor be sent flying over the edge into the darkness of the Underworld by Zane.

"Sora!"

Arin turned, watching as Sora surged forward, spinning as a tornado of pink energy radiated around her. Her spinjitzu was as beautiful as it was painful, sending him flying to the ground at Lloyd's feet. "How?" The spinjtizu prodigy was confused, Sora had barely been able to perform spinjitzu the at the Source Tournament.

"Unlike some people, my new teachers methods produce results." The words were cold, meant to strike at their very hearts. Arin spared a glance at Lloyd, watching the way narrowed his gaze, it seemed he was already aware of this, and given how swiftly one thing came after another, hadn't had the time to inform him.

"If we do not hurry, I fear we will be unable to prevent The Overlord from merging with another of his scattered parts."

With Zane's words in mind, Arin reached out, looking at his friend. "The Overlord is evil, Kai is evil, please, help us stop them."

Sora shook her head. "Kai showed me the truth." She spoke carefully, each word spoken with a sense of purpose. "The Overlord showed me the truth of the lie you all live." Elemental energy began to flow, radiating around her.

"She is attempting to dominate her elemental powers."

Zane's warning caused them to freeze in horror, Arin's gaze watching the elemental energy fade, watched Lloyd move slightly. "Don't do this Sora, your soul will forever be tainted by darkness."

Sora ignored them, her body lifting from ground as chaotic energy began to form elemental constructs around her, large, draconic wings spread from her back, horns resembling The Overlord's sprung forth from her head and two blade like claws shot forth from her forearms.

As she hovered in the air, wings flapping with great strength, Arin reached forward. "No." He muttered, horror in his gaze as Zane spoke.

"Her soul has been claimed by The Overlord."

And across her right eye, a scar of darkness appeared.

[nuxya]

|• 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 •|

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅─────────────────✧❅•

<- Home •❅✧-----❅✦-----❅✧❅• Next->

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅─────────────────✧❅•

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏᴡɴ ɴɪɴᴊᴀɢᴏ: ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴘɪɴᴊɪᴛᴢᴜ ɴᴏʀ ɪᴛꜱ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴀᴅᴠɪꜱᴇᴅ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ʙɪʀᴛʜ, ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────────────❅•

Heavy storms raged across the darkened skies on the Dark Island, as thick clouds swirled like a maelstrom of chaos, a betterment home to the Overlord. Beneath the heavens, deep within a decorated cavern of lushed greens and flowers, a creature known for their angelic flight of dragon-like feathered wings lay curled protectively on a bed next to her newborn child. The woman's eyes glowed a soft sapphire blue light as she nuzzled closer to the tiny figure in her arms – a girl, no more than an infant, with slight markings of the Overlords past draconic features before his existing form, no less a symbolic marking on her left thigh.

This was (Y/n), a unfortunate beginning as the new weilder of Darkness much like her ungodly father; too young yet to understand the meaning of it. Yet hope brings in her heart as another being unlike her father – had created her as a failsafe against the rising darkness yet to come. But in a cruel twist of fate, her creation had only drawn the Overlord's attention.

The cavern trembled as an otherworldly voice echoed through the walls. "She belongs to me," the Overlord hissed, his form a looming shadow beyond the entrance. His presence was suffocating, like the weight of a thousand curses pressing down on the world.

"No," the mother growled, spreading her massive wings to shield her child. "She is not yours. She is Ninjago's hope."

The Overlord's laughter was cold and empty. "She is a child of calamity, born to wield curses and destruction. Hope has no place in her destiny."

Knowing she couldn't defeat him and take her only child away from her, the mother made a choice. Summoning the last of her strength, she wrapped her arms around (Y/N), who was now crying softly, sensing the tension. The angelic body shimmered with light, creating a portal.

"My precious star," the mother whispered to (Y/N). "You will forget this moment, but one day, you will remember your purpose. Be strong... even when it feels like the darkness has won."

Before the Overlord could reach her, the mother sent (Y/N) through the portal. The infant vanished, her cries fading into the wind as the portal sealed shut. As the destination for the child reached, her cries became louder, her markings disappearing, leaving only the symbolic tattoo on her leg.

Soon, a young man with blond hair, wearing a black kimono with ancient sigils on par to his left chest, stood at the foot of the mountain steps of the monastery, gazing out to the rain-soaked forest. He sighed in content, taking in the mildewed air of wet soil and trees.

He noticed something unusual—a basket resting at the foot of the stairs next to a seemingly small crater, covered by a tattered blanket. His brow furrowed as he approached, his golden staff tapping against the stone path. When he lifted the blanket, his eyes widened in surprise.

Inside was a child, no older than a few days, swaddled in black and (e/n) cloth. She blinked up at him with curious eyes that seemed too ancient for her age, a faint purple glow her tiny hands appeared before fading away.

"What...?" Wu murmured, glancing around for any sign of who might have left her. The forest was silent, saved by the rustle of the trees.

A note was tucked into the basket. Wu unfolded it, his heart heavy as he read the hastily scrawled words:

"Protect her. She is more important than you know. Keep her hidden, even from herself."

Wu looked back at the child, who now clutched the edge of the blanket with surprising strength. A faint smile touched his lips. "Well, little one, it seems fate has brought you to us."

He picked her up carefully, her small body fitting snugly in the crook of his arm. As he carried her inside, the monastery felt warmer, as though the arrival of this mysterious child had filled it with new purpose.

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────────────❅•

The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the dining room, casting long shadows across the wooden walls. The faint patter of rain outside added a rhythmic backdrop to the tension in the air. Misako sat cross-legged, her hands clasped in her lap, her expression a mixture of curiosity and worry. Across from her, Garmadon leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his faint red eyes narrowing as he processed the news. Wu stood between them, pacing slowly, his golden staff tapping against the floor.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, battering the roof of the monastery and cascading down its ancient stone walls. Thunder rolled in the distance, muffled but persistent, as though the heavens themselves were debating the events of the evening. Within the warm glow of the dinning room, the tension was palpable. Misako sat near the low table, her hands tightly clasping a teacup that had long gone cold. Across from her, Wu paced slowly, the rhythmic tapping of his staff against the floor blending with the storm.

The child—(Y/N)—was asleep in another room, blissfully unaware of the weight of the conversation happening just beyond her hearing.

Garmadon stood near the window, his back to the others, watching the storm with narrowed eyes. His arms were crossed, his rigid posture betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior.

Misako broke the silence first, her voice soft but uneasy. "She's just a child," she said, staring into her tea. "Left alone on our doorstep. What kind of people would do that?"

Wu paused in his pacing, his expression thoughtful but calm. "Perhaps they had no choice. The note was vague, but it carried a sense of urgency. Whoever left her wanted her to be safe."

Garmadon turned sharply, his red eyes narrowing as he finally spoke. "Safe? Safe from what? Or who? You both felt it, didn't you? The darkness clinging to her."

Misako looked up, her brow furrowing. "She's just a baby, Garmadon. How can you speak of her like that? Darkness or not, she's innocent."

"Innocent," Garmadon repeated mockingly, his voice cold. "You don't understand what you're dealing with. I've lived with darkness all my life. I know its presence when I feel it. That child isn't ordinary, and you both know it."

Wu stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "We are not abandoning her, Garmadon. She was left here for a reason. It is our duty to protect her."

"Protect her?" Garmadon's voice rose, his frustration evident. "What happens when her 'innocence' fades and that darkness takes root? What happens when she becomes a threat, not just to us but to the entire realm? Are you willing to gamble with that?"

Misako stood, placing her teacup on the table with more force than necessary. "Garmadon, she's a child. Not a weapon. Not a monster. A child who was left in our care. Are you so blinded by fear that you can't see that?"

Garmadon turned away, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm not blinded by fear," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. "I'm being realistic. We're already stretched thin with the aftermath of the Serpentine War. The last thing we need is to invite another potential disaster into our lives."

Wu sighed, stepping closer to his brother. "Garmadon, the path you walk has hardened your heart. But even you must see that darkness is not a destiny. It is a choice. She may carry it within her, but that does not mean it will consume her. Not if we guide her."

Garmadon spun around, his frustration boiling over. "And what if you're wrong, Wu? What if we're raising the very thing that will destroy us?"

The room fell silent, the only sound the relentless rain pounding against the windows. Misako's voice broke the quiet, softer now, almost pleading. "What if she's here for a reason? What if we're meant to help her? To guide her, like Wu said?"

Garmadon didn't respond immediately. He stared out the window, watching the storm as if searching for an answer in its chaotic dance. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "Do what you want. But don't come crying to me when this 'child' grows into something you can't control."

He left the room without another word, the door sliding shut behind him with a heavy finality.

Wu sighed deeply, sinking onto a cushion near the table. Misako sat beside him, her expression conflicted.

"Do you think he's right?" she asked quietly, her gaze drifting toward the hallway where the child now slept. "What if we're wrong about her?"

Wu placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "If we act out of fear, we will never know what she could become. She is a life, Misako. A light waiting to find its path, even if that path is shrouded in shadow."

Misako nodded, though her worry lingered. "Then we'll give her the chance no one else would."

Wu smiled faintly. "Exactly. If she was left here, it means someone believed in us. We won't betray that trust. For now, let's head off to bed, we'll discuss more in the morning."

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────────────❅•

The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light filtering through the shutters of the monastery window. The storm had finally passed, leaving behind a heavy silence that seemed to hang in the air. The only sound in the room was the faint rustling of bedclothes as Misako moved about, preparing for bed. Her mind was far from restful, however, weighed down by the conversations she'd had with both Wu and Garmadon earlier in the night.

Garmadon stood at the window, his back to her, gazing out into the darkened courtyard. The rain had left the air cool, and a slight breeze made the leaves of the nearby trees rustle. His figure was cast in shadow, his presence heavy and brooding.

Misako finished undoing her hair, her thoughts swirling. The conversation with Wu had been filled with hope, but Garmadon's words echoed in her mind, cold and cutting. What happens when the child becomes a threat? She couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty gnawing at her, despite the resolve she had tried to hold onto.

She approached the bed slowly, sitting down on the edge, her voice breaking the silence between them. "Garmadon..."

He didn't turn around. His voice was low, as if each word was carefully chosen. "You're still thinking about it."

Misako sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of her sleeve. "I can't help it. I know we made the right choice... but I can't stop wondering if you're right. What if this child—what if we're doing the wrong thing?"

Garmadon remained still, his eyes scanning the moonlit courtyard, though he was clearly listening. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "You're letting your heart cloud your judgment."

Misako looked up sharply, her gaze meeting his back. "You really think that's it?" she asked, her voice strained with emotion. "You think I'm just being sentimental? Because this is about more than just what's in my heart. It's about doing what's best for the monastery, for you, for everyone."

Garmadon's posture stiffened slightly, but he didn't turn around. "That's the problem. You're thinking about what's best for everyone. But sometimes, what's best for everyone isn't what's easy. What if we're allowing something dangerous into our lives? What if the darkness does consume her?"

Misako stood, her movements deliberate as she crossed the room to stand beside him, gazing out at the courtyard with him. The cool night air tousled her hair slightly as she stood there, silent for a moment.

"You've been living with darkness for so long, Garmadon," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think... I think you're forgetting something. Darkness doesn't always have to win."

He turned his head slightly, his red eyes catching the moonlight. "And you think you can change that? You think this child—this stranger—can be different from the rest of us who have walked the path of darkness?"

Misako met his gaze, her voice steady and firm. "I don't know what she is, or what she'll become. But I do know that if we turn her away because of her darkness, then we're no better than the monsters we fight. She's a child, Garmadon. Our child now. I won't let her face the same fate that you did."

For a long moment, there was silence between them, broken only by the rustling of leaves outside. Garmadon's gaze softened, though his expression remained unreadable. He didn't speak at first, as if weighing her words carefully.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now. "I never asked for this path, Misako. I never asked for darkness to consume me. But it did. And now I see it everywhere."

Misako reached out, her hand gently touching his arm. "But you fought it. And you're still fighting it."

He gave a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Sometimes, I wonder if the fight is worth it."

Her heart ached at the pain in his voice, and she stepped closer, her other hand resting on his chest. "It is. Because you're still here. Because we're still here."

Garmadon let out a breath, his gaze moving back to the window, but his body had relaxed, the tension in his posture slowly fading. "You're foolish, you know that?"

Misako smiled softly, her fingers tracing a small pattern on his chest. "I know. But sometimes, it's the fools who find the way."

For a brief moment, Garmadon allowed himself to close his eyes, leaning into the warmth of her touch. The moonlight illuminated them both, casting their shadows against the walls of the room like a silent reminder of the path they walked.

"I'm not going to make this easy on you," Garmadon murmured. "Not when it's my past we're talking about."

"I know," Misako said, her voice steady. "But that's why I'm here. You don't have to do it alone."

The two of them stood in silence for a while longer, the weight of the world outside pressing against them. The storm had passed, but a new one loomed, one that neither of them could predict. Whatever it brought, they would face it together."

Finally, Garmadon spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "You really think we can save her?"

Misako looked up at him, her eyes soft but determined. "I think we have to try."

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the window. "Then we'll see where this path takes us."

And together, they both knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it side by side, protecting not just the monastery, but the child they had now sworn to care for.

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────────────❅•

The sun had barely crested over the horizon, casting a pale orange glow through the large windows of the monastery. The air was crisp and cool, a welcome change after the intense storm that had passed through the night. Inside, the monastery's ancient walls held a quiet stillness, broken only by the soft sounds of the morning awakening.

Misako was already awake, sitting by the small window, staring out into the peaceful landscape. Her mind was still spinning from the events of the previous night. She and Garmadon had come to an unspoken agreement, one that was heavy with doubt, but also the faintest glimmer of hope. They would care for the child. They would protect her. But the future was uncertain—neither of them could deny that.

A soft cry broke the stillness, a delicate sound that tugged at Misako's heart. She turned from the window to see the small cradle beside her, where the child—the mysterious girl they had found the night before—lay. Her eyes were wide and filled with curiosity, and her small hands grasped the edge of the blanket, her cries gradually becoming louder.

Misako's heart softened as she rose to her feet, crossing the room with quiet steps. Garmadon had yet to stir, still lost in his thoughts, though Misako knew his watchful eyes would soon be on her. She crouched down next to the cradle, gazing at the infant, whose features were strikingly ethereal—unlike any child Misako had ever seen. Her pale skin was almost translucent, her dark eyes sharp and intelligent, yet full of wonder.

"Shh, it's okay, little one," Misako whispered, her hand gently brushing the child's head. The infant quieted slightly at her touch, as if sensing the warmth and comfort she offered.

She glanced down at the small, fragile bundle in her arms. This child—who had no name, no past—was now in her care. The absence of a name felt heavy, a void that seemed to echo through the air. The child was a mystery, a puzzle that neither she nor Garmadon could solve.

Garmadon's words from the previous night lingered in her mind. "What if we're allowing something dangerous into our lives?"

And yet, as she held the child in her arms, she couldn't bring herself to feel fear. There was something else here, something deeper. This child had been left at their doorstep for a reason. Perhaps that reason had nothing to do with darkness, or destiny, or fear—it had to do with love.

She felt a presence behind her and turned to find Garmadon standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes intense. The early morning light cast his shadow long across the room, his figure imposing even in the quiet.

Misako stood slowly, the child still cradled in her arms. "She's awake," she said softly, her voice almost uncertain. "She hasn't been given a name, Garmadon."

Garmadon stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the child in her arms. His eyes softened, but only for a moment. "A name," he murmured, his voice distant. "She's too young for such things."

Misako raised an eyebrow. "You think so?" she asked, her voice carrying a touch of challenge. "I think a name is important. It's the first step in claiming one's identity. Without it, she's... lost."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know if it matters. I don't even know if we should be the ones to name her. What if she's not meant to be here?"

Misako's eyes softened as she stepped toward him, the child's eyes locking onto his for a moment before shifting back to Misako. "She's meant to be here, Garmadon. She has to be. And whatever happens, we need to give her something —some kind of identity. Something to help her find her way."

Garmadon stood still, seemingly lost in thought, before he finally exhaled and nodded. "I agree. But... we don't know who she is, or where she came from. How can we give her a name?"

Misako smiled gently, the weight of the decision heavy but necessary. "A name doesn't have to come from the past. It can be something we give her. Something new."

There was a long pause before Garmadon spoke again, his tone quieter this time. "Do you have any ideas?"

Misako's gaze drifted down to the child once more. The girl's dark eyes seemed to hold an ancient wisdom, a glimmer of something far older than her small body suggested. The thought struck Misako, and without thinking, the name fell from her lips.

"(Y/n)," she said, her voice soft but sure. "It means 'moonlight,' or 'grace.' Something beautiful, something pure. She deserves that."

Garmadon's gaze softened at the name, and for the briefest moment, Misako saw something like approval in his eyes. "(Y/n)," he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. "It suits her."

Misako smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "(Y/n) it is, then."

As she cradled the child closer, (Y/n)'s eyes fluttered, her tiny fingers reaching up to touch Misako's face. The child's touch was delicate, almost as if she were already aware of the world around her, even at this tender age. Her small, innocent expression was peaceful for the moment, and Misako felt a sense of comfort in the child's gaze.

Garmadon lingered by the door, watching them both quietly. There was still doubt in his eyes, but there was also something else—something almost tender, though he would never admit it.

"I'll... keep an eye on her," Garmadon muttered, his usual sternness slipping just a bit. "I'm not convinced she's completely harmless, Misako, but..."

Misako nodded, understanding the unspoken words between them. "I know, Garmadon. We'll watch her. We'll protect her."

As they stood there together in the quiet morning light, (Y/n) in Misako's arms, they all knew that this was just the beginning. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they would face it together. And with that, (Y/n), with her new name, was no longer just a mystery—she was a part of their family, even if the path ahead was unclear.

Outside, the wind began to shift, carrying with it the promise of a new day. The storm was behind them now, but another, more uncertain one, was on the horizon. And as the child's soft breaths echoed in the room, both Garmadon and Misako knew that they would have to face whatever came, side by side, just as they always had.

•❅─────────────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────────────❅•

The monastery was quiet, save for the soft whispers of the wind outside. In the common room, the stone walls stood tall and steady, like silent guardians of the secrets within. Wu, Misako, and Garmadon sat around a large wooden table, each one lost in thought but aware of the weight of the conversation ahead of them. (Y/n), still cradled in Misako's arms, slept soundly, unaware of the heavy decisions being made on her behalf.

Wu broke the silence first, his voice calm but firm. "We have to be honest with ourselves. Raising (Y/n) will not be easy. Her heritage... it's dangerous."

Garmadon's red eyes narrowed, his hands resting on the table in front of him, fingers tapping lightly. "It's not just dangerous, Wu. It's dark. There's a history of destruction, of calamity... I know it firsthand. And that's what she is—a child born of that darkness."

Misako shifted (Y/n) in her arms, her expression softening as she gazed down at the child. Despite everything, there was something in (Y/n) that calmed her, something pure that whispered promises of hope, even in the face of the shadows. She met Garmadon's gaze, her voice steady. "But she's also just a child. We can't let her past define her future."

Wu nodded in agreement; his fingers laced together on the table. "Misako's right. We can't let fear of her lineage cloud our judgment. If we truly want to help her, we have to give her the chance to make her own path. We must guide her."

Garmadon leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if seeking answers in the cracks of the stone. "I've seen what the darkness can do. It can consume. I've been consumed by it." He paused, his voice thick with a bitterness Misako could taste in the air. "I don't want to see her go down that path. I can't..."

Misako's heart tightened as she placed a gentle hand on Garmadon's. "We'll make sure she doesn't. You don't have to do this alone, Garmadon. We're in this together."

He met her gaze, his expression softening, though his skepticism remained. "And if she's like me?" he asked, the question hanging heavy between them. "What if she wants the power, wants the destruction, and the chaos? What if she's like the Overlord, born to bring ruin?"

Wu spoke, his voice more hopeful but tinged with concern. "We won't know until we try. (Y/n) is still just a child. We have time. But we must be careful. Her connection to the darkness.. that's not something to take lightly. We'll need to prepare her, teach her how to control the power within her."

Misako looked down at (Y/n), who stirred slightly, her small fingers curling around the blanket. "I think she already feels it. The power within her. She's more aware than we realize. But we can't force her to become something she's not. We'll teach her about balance. About responsibility."

Garmadon looked at her, his face softened by years of regret and longing. "Balance... I didn't learn that until it was too late. And by then, the damage was already done."

Wu placed a hand on Garmadon's shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding. "That's why we're here now. To make sure (Y/n) doesn't make the same mistakes. We're her family now. We'll teach her the way of light, the path of discipline and self-control. But we must also teach her to embrace the darkness within, without letting it consume her. The key is acceptance, and that's something she'll need to learn from us."

Misako nodded; her eyes thoughtful. "But it's not just about teaching her control, Wu. It's about giving her a purpose, something that drives her beyond her heritage. She needs to see the good in the world, to learn kindness and empathy. She can't grow up thinking that destruction is her only option."

Garmadon remained silent, deep in thought. "What if... what if we don't have enough time? What if, one day, the darkness overwhelms her, and she does become what we fear? What then?"

Misako gazed at him, her expression firm. "Then we fight for her. Just as we've fought for each other. We can't let fear dictate her life. We can't live in the shadows of what might happen. We'll protect her, Garmadon. We'll make sure she sees the light. It's all we can do."

Wu nodded slowly. "Exactly. We cannot allow her to be defined by her heritage. We must raise her to understand that there is more to her than the darkness that flows in her veins. She is our responsibility now, and we'll shape her future together."

There was a long silence as the three of them sat in the room, the weight of their decision sinking in. Outside, the wind blew softly through the trees, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

After a moment, Misako stood, her movements deliberate as she cradled (Y/n) close to her chest. The child's eyes fluttered open, revealing the same intense, ancient gaze that had both unnerved and intrigued her. But in that gaze, Misako saw something else—something more than darkness. There was innocence. There was potential. And as long as Misako and Garmadon stood together, they would make sure (Y/n) would never lose that.

"We'll raise her with love," Misako said softly, her voice full of quiet conviction. "And we'll teach her that it's okay to be both light and dark. It's what makes us human. She's our daughter now, and we'll guide her toward the light, even if it means walking through the shadows."

Garmadon stood, his posture still imposing but his gaze softened by the weight of the decision. "I'll do my part. For her, and for you, Misako."

Wu smiled; his eyes warm with hope. "Then we begin now. One step at a time. We'll teach her what it means to be truly strong—not just through power, but through compassion, understanding, and control."

And as they gathered around the child—(Y/n), their daughter and niece — there was a sense of unity between them. They didn't have all the answers. They didn't know what the future would hold. But together, they would face it, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

(Y/n), cradled in Misako's arms, was not just the child of darkness—she was a child of hope. And she would find her way.

𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖊𝖉...

<- Home •❅✧-----❅✦-----❅✧❅• Next->

[thestoryteller-thedreamer]

Dragons Rising S3 P1 E10

Oh baby Lloyd.

This whole scene I just gaped at the tv, watching Thunderfang hunt him down. 

Lloyd’s faced worse. Though this dragon’s talons are three times his size, Thunderfang really doesn’t seem anything near the threat level of his dad, or the Overlord, or even Morro. But that doesn’t mean Lloyd should suffer this way- barely dodging his swipes, thrown back by a bolt of chaos lightning, pounded into a cliff, his soul ripped from his body… 

Who am I kidding? I love the angst XD

(And then he just shrugs it off like it’s nothing, but whatever…) 

[selfless-solipsist]

°˖✧ The McYum's ✧˖° [Brad Starlight]

「 ✦ "Fear not, fair maiden. I shall vanquish this... culinary beast."✦ 」

╰┈➤ Brad Starlight x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Basically: Sir, this is a McYum's...

The midday rush at "McYum's Galactic Bites" was a symphony of chaos. The faint sizzle of grease harmonized with the mechanical droning of the fryer, and the smell of overly salty fries mingled with the faint whiff of cleaning fluid that was barely masking the shame of spilled soda. You stood at the drive-thru window, your expression as lively as a boulder, staring blankly out into the horizon of the parking lot as if contemplating the vastness of the universe—or maybe just waiting for the sweet release of your shift ending.

"Welcome to McYum's," you droned into the mic with the enthusiasm of a deflated balloon. "Where your hunger goes to die and our dreams went first. Can I take your order?"

Before the crackling speaker could belch out another complaint about soggy fries, a rumbling noise came into earshot. It grew louder, more dramatic, like someone had cranked up the bass on a particularly intense soap opera soundtrack. And then you saw it.

A motorcycle-esque vehicle roared into the drive-thru lane, shining so obnoxiously it could have blinded a star. Sitting astride the metallic monstrosity was a man who looked like he had just escaped a Renaissance festival and gotten lost in space. He was decked out in red knightly armor that practically sparkled with smugness, his billowing blue cape trailing behind him like it had been professionally wind-blown for dramatic effect. His chin, oh his chin, jutted forward like it was auditioning for a role as the eighth wonder of the universe. His vehicle screeched to a halt with all the flair of a low-budget action movie. And then he struck a pose, casually flipping back his white hair as if the sun itself had requested a better look. A sword dangled at his hip, because of course it did.

You stared at him, unblinking, your face as expressive as a Moai statue.

"Ah-ha!" the man bellowed, voice dripping with grandeur. "I, Sir Brad Starlight, have arrived! Fear not, fair maiden, for your suffering is at an end!"

Your brow twitched, just barely. It was the only sign that you were, in fact, still alive. Internally, however, you were holding back the kind of laugh that bubbles up when someone trips in slow motion. This guy? Really?

Not taking into account the fact that you didn't swoon, he leapt off his bike as if he were dismounting a dragon. He stomped toward the drive-thru window, his boots clicking dramatically on the greasy asphalt. "How could such a radiant jewel of grace and beauty be trapped in a place so... so wretched?" He gestured wildly at the McYum's logo, his lip curling like it had personally offended him. "This—this is no place for a princess! You should be in a castle, surrounded by adoring subjects! Not slinging... what is that, fries?" He leaned in, squinting at the bag sitting on the counter. "Do people actually eatthose?"

You said nothing. Your face was a perfect mask of apathy, but inside, you were howling. A princess? You? Did this guy not see the ketchup stain on your apron that looked suspiciously like it spelled "help me"?

"Say no more!" Brad declared, pointing his sword (yes, his sword) toward the sky. "I, Sir Brad Starlight, shall rescue you from this culinary dungeon! You deserve better! I shall build you a throne from the finest star metals and drape you in fabrics woven from nebula dust!" He turned back to you, grinning as if he had just solved every problem in the universe. "Now, fair maiden, tell me—who has ensnared you here? Was it a vile sorcerer? An evil king? A... uh... corporate overlord?"

"Corporate overlord," you deadpanned, finally speaking. "I work Tuesdays through Saturdays."

Brad blinked, clearly thrown off by your monotone. "Er... what?"

You shrugged, staring at him like he was an overenthusiastic puppy. "I clock in, I clock out. Rinse and repeat. You want fries or what?"

His jaw dropped. "Fries? Fries?! I offer you salvation, and you offer me fries?!"

"Medium or large?" you replied, stone-faced, though inside you were losing it. This guy was a gift. A ridiculous, over-the-top gift.

He clutched his chest as if you had just stabbed him. "Alas! Such wit, such resilience! Truly, your spirit shines brighter than any star!"

Oh, this was going to be good.

Brad leaned closer to the drive-thru window, his chin now so prominently displayed that it could have been sold as a limited-edition collectible. "Fair maiden," he said in a tone so dripping with drama that you were concerned it might short-circuit the fryer behind you, "do not let this foul grease pit extinguish your inner light. I shall not stand idly by as you are crushed beneath the weight of—"

"Minimum wage?" you interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

He gasped like you had just slapped him with a soggy burger bun. "Yes! That is it exactly! Such injustice is unacceptable. A creature as luminous as you deserves only the finest treasures the cosmos has to offer." He straightened, his armor creaking audibly, and held his hand aloft as if summoning a dramatic orchestra. "From this day forward, I vow to—"

"You're holding up the line," you said flatly, jerking your thumb toward the car behind him, where an angry alien with three heads was gesturing wildly at its watch.

Brad didn't even glance back. "Let them wait! For this is a matter of destiny!" He whipped out his again sword and pointed it directly at the McYum's sign, as if preparing to challenge it to a duel. "No maiden of noble bearing should suffer under the tyranny of the fry basket. Nay, I say! Nay!"

"Right," you said, folding your arms across your chest. "Because slinging fries is the greatest hardship in the galaxy. Totally worse than space pirates or laser dragons."

His eyes lit up, and for a moment, you worried he might actually combust. "You've faced laser dragons?!" he exclaimed, his voice climbing several octaves in excitement. "Of course you have! Such a feat is fitting for one as extraordinary as you!"

You stared at him, deadpan, your expression betraying nothing even as your inner monologue screamed, Is this guy for real? "Yeah. Big scary lizard. Glows in the dark. Real terrifying." You reached for the soda machine and poured yourself a drink. "You want a cup of water or something? You're gonna dehydrate with all that yelling."

"Water?" Brad recoiled, aghast. "No! A knight does not require such mortal sustenance. My strength is drawn from my noble cause and my devotion to—"

He trailed off as the intercom crackled to life behind you. "Order 42 is up!" your coworker barked, their voice so monotone it made yours sound like a motivational speaker.

You turned away from the guy for a moment, grabbed the bag of food, and slid it out to the waiting alien in the car behind him, who muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "about time." Then you turned back to Brad, who was now dramatically leaning against the drive-thru window like he was auditioning for a romance novel cover.

"I meant what I said," he declared, his voice dropping to a heroic whisper. "You deserve more than this life of servitude. Let me take you away from here. We'll ride into the stars together, where no fryer oil can touch you."

You took a long, slow sip from your soda. The silence stretched out as he waited, his hopeful gaze locked on yours like he was expecting you to leap into his arms and declare your undying gratitude. Instead, you said, "Does that thing even get good mileage?" and nodded at his shiny motorcycle-like contraption.

Brad blinked, clearly not prepared for this particular twist in the script. "Uh, well, it's not about the mileage, you see. It's about the—"

"Gas prices are crazy right now," you cut in, still stone-faced. "Just saying."

At that he looked like his brain had just short-circuited. "I... er... that is to say..." He fumbled for a response, his previously endless confidence suddenly sputtering like a flickering lightbulb.

You leaned on the counter, watching him flounder with the faintest hint of amusement in your otherwise blank stare. "You sure you're ready for a whole princess if you can't even budget for gas?"

He sputtered something incomprehensible, his face turning redder than the ketchup packets lining the counter. It was the most entertainment you had had all week. Then, he stumbled back, clearly caught off guard, as if you had just punched his ego square in its very shiny armor-plated gut. His hand reflexively went to his sword, gripping it dramatically, like he might challenge you to a duel over your insult to his...honor?Wallet? It was unclear. "A knight's steed is not measured by mere practicality!" he proclaimed, his voice quivering slightly from the sheer force of his indignation. "It is a symbol! A testament to one's bravery, gallantry, and style!"

You tilted your head slightly, your expression still resembling that of a marble bust at a museum, the faintest hint of a smirk threatening to break through. "Oh, yeah. Super gallant. Nothing screams 'hero' like a half-empty tank of gas."

Brad clutched his chest, dramatically gasping as though you had just struck him with the harsh truth of the universe. "You wound me, fair maiden! Are you suggesting that I, Sir Brad Starlight, am unworthy of whisking you away to a life of splendor?"

"Not unworthy," you said, stirring your soda lazily with the straw. "Just impractical. What's the plan, Sir Shiny? Ride off into the sunset on that thing and hope there's a space gas station between here and wherever you think princesses hang out?"

He floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before regaining his footing. He pointed at you with renewed fervor, clearly deciding that defeat by logic was not on today's menu. "Do not underestimate the ingenuity of a true hero! My destiny will pave the way, fueled by courage and—"

"Diesel?" you offered flatly.

He froze, his grand proclamation derailed yet again. "N-No! Not diesel! I use... uh..." His eyes darted to the sleek controls of his vehicle. "...Space Hero Fuel. Yes! A special blend, rare and expensive, but perfect for heroic journeys!"

You blinked at him, unmoved. "Right. And how much is that a gallon?"

Brad faltered, his hand dropping to his side. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "a lot," but then, as if remembering his shining mission, he straightened up again and struck another pose. "No matter! A knight does not concern himself with such trivialities! The road to heroism is paved with sacrifices."

"Bet the sacrifices are just your credit score," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

He didn't seem to hear you, or maybe he was just ignoring it as he carried on with his impassioned tirade. "Fret not, my lady! For even if my noble steed should falter, my resolve shall never waver! You deserve to be swept off your feet, away from this dismal existence, and into a world of—"

"Yeah, yeah, splendor and blah blah blah," you interrupted, leaning against the counter and gesturing vaguely. "So, you want a milkshake or what?"

The question hit Brad like a slap in the face. He blinked at you, utterly baffled. "Milkshake? Milkshake?! Do you not grasp the gravity of my offer? I am here to rescue you, not partake in... in frozen dairy beverages!"

"Your loss," you said, taking another long sip of your soda with the enthusiasm of someone who no longer cared about any of this. "Our milkshakes are the best thing here. Might even rival your space hero fuel."

Brad's face twitched, caught between offense and intrigue. "Rival? Surely, you jest."

You smirked, just barely. "Try it and find out."

There was a long, tense pause. He stared at you, as if weighing the options in his very shiny, very dramatic brain. He glanced back at his "steed," then at the McYum's menu, then back at you. Slowly, with a mix of hesitation and indignation, he reached into his armor and pulled out a glittery pouch. "Fine," he said, huffing like a sulking child. "One milkshake. But only because I, Sir Brad Starlight, am unafraid to explore new frontiers."

Swiftly, you turned and made one, and then handed him the milkshake with all the enthusiasm of a DMV employee handing out license renewals. "Enjoy your 'new frontier,' Sir Shiny."

Brad took the beverage, clearly unsure how to hold it in one hand while still maintaining his heroic air. He sipped cautiously through the straw, his eyes widening slightly as the taste hit him. Then, he froze, locking eyes with you like you had just handed him a trophy for his 'good deeds'.

"This..." he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. "...is delicious."

...

"Cool," you said, deadpan. "That'll be $3.99."

The awkward silence after your delivery  hung in the air like a particularly pungent batch of over-fried chicken nuggets. Starlight froze mid-sip, his glittery little pouch suddenly looking very empty as he patted it with increasing desperation. His smug, heroic aura deflated like a balloon losing air, complete with a mental phhhhbbbttt sound effect. "Well," he said, dragging out the word as he desperately fished through the pouches on his armor, pulling out random nonsense like a crumpled map labeled "Quest for the Ultimate Comb" and a shiny rock that was probably just tinfoil. "I, uh... it seems my, uh, royal treasury is currently... indisposed."

You didn't even blink. "No cash?"

Brad stiffened, clearly offended by the notion. "A knight doesn't need cash! He needs... valor! And, uh, occasionally a generous benefactor..."

Before you could reply, the sound of a door being slammed open rattled through the kitchen like the ominous tolling of a death knell. The air grew thick with tension, as though the grease-soaked walls themselves were holding their breath. And then, like the wrath of a thousand suns compressed into a single being...

...Big Hal emerged from the shadows of the employee room.

Built like he had bench-pressed planets for fun, Hal was less a man and more a towering slab of cosmic intimidation. His McYum's Galactic Bites hat sat on his head like a crown of doom, and the golden arches embroidered on his shirt glowed with the malevolent aura of someone who had seen things. The mere sound of his boots against the tile floor sent shivers down the spines of the entire kitchen staff. Somewhere in the back, a fry cook dropped a basket into the oil out of sheer fear.

Brad turned toward the sound, only to immediately regret it. "By the stars," he whispered, his voice quivering. "An ogre..."

Hal's booming voice cut through the drive-thru lane like a laser cannon. "WHO THE HELL IS HOLDING UP THE LINE?"

Every single alien in the parking lot immediately stopped honking, the atmosphere plunging into absolute silence. Hal's eyes zeroed in on the 'knight', his gaze so intense it could have curdled the milkshake Brad was still holding. Without breaking stride, your boss stomped past the counter, stepped through the drive-thru window like it wasn't even there, and landed outside with a crash that made the ground tremble.

Brad, for all his delusions of grandeur, actually squeaked. "Stay back, foul beast! I am Sir Brad Starlight, champion of—"

Hal didn't wait for the rest. He never did.

With a single, Herculean movement, he grabbed the pretty boy by the back of his flashy cape, hoisted him like he weighed nothing, and hurled him through the broken drive-thru window. Brad sailed through the air with all the grace of a bowling ball someone had dipped in glitter. Yet somehow, mid-flight, he managed to twist his body into a pose that could only be described as "cover model for Cosmic Hero Weekly." One hand brushed his hair dramatically, his other rested on his hip, and he gave you a wink as he soared past.

You stared at him, unimpressed, as he crashed into the tile floor next to you with a sound that could have been a combination of armor, dignity, a milkshake, and misplaced confidence shattering simultaneously.

Hal stepped through the window with a menacing calm that made the entire restaurant fall silent. He pointed a finger at you, then at Brad, whose attempt to push himself up resulted in him sliding comically on the slick floor. "You," He barked, his voice reverberating like the wrath of an angry god. "Off drive-thru duty. You're supervising the newbie."

You blinked, pointing at Brad like you wanted to confirm the obvious. "This guy?"

"Yes," Hal growled, looming over the hero, who was now frantically trying to pose while scrambling to his feet. "If he wants to freeload our milkshakes, he's going to earn it. Get his ass a uniform."

Bradley looked up at 'the ogre' with wide, horrified eyes. "But I'm a knight! Knights do not—"

Hal bent down, getting right in his face. The sheer force of his glare made Brad visibly wilt. "Knights don't freeload either. You've got five seconds to put on a hat before I make you."

At that the self-proclaimed knight gulped audibly, then glanced at you like you might save him. You sipped your soda with the slow deliberation of someone who wasn't paid nearly enough to intervene. Then, before he could utter another dramatic protest, Hal turned to the counter, grabbed a McYum's Galactic Bites shirt and hat—standard issue, a dull maroon shade that could make even the most flamboyant knight look like they had given up on life—and hurled them at Brad with the precision of a sharpshooter. The items hit him square in the chest with a satisfying thwack,sending him stumbling back a step.

"You've got ten seconds to suit up," Hal growled, looming over Brad like a brick wall that had decided to take up yelling as a hobby. "And if I see one wrinkle, you're scrubbing fry grease off the ceiling!"

Brad caught the shirt, clearly mortified, and held it at arm's length like it might burn him. "But—this—this is an insult to my knighthood!" he sputtered, his face turning red. "I am Sir Brad Starlight! Defender of—"

"Five seconds," Hal interrupted, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Brad froze, looking from the shirt to Hal and then to you, as if hoping you might step in and restore his dignity in the end. You took another long sip of your soda, your face betraying nothing, but internally? Oh, you were cackling. This was the most entertainment you had had since that time someone accidentally set the deep fryer on fire by trying to cook a frozen pizza.

So finally, with all the reluctance of a man being marched to his doom, the knight sighed dramatically and got up. "Fine," he muttered, puffing out his chest. "But know this: I do this not because I fear you, ogre, but because a true knight is adaptable and—"

"Four seconds," Hal said flatly.

Brad huffed and began unbuckling the various bits of his armor, tossing them onto the floor with a series of loud clanks. As the pieces came off, you couldn't help but notice... well, let's just say he had been doing more than polishing his sword. His physique was, annoyingly, exactly what you would expect from someone so obsessed with themselves—muscular, and entirely too distracting.

Your grip on your soda tightened slightly as you suddenly became very interested in drinking it.

Faster. Much faster.

Brad peeled off the cape next, tossing it over his shoulder in what he probably thought was a suave move but ended up draping it over the soda machine instead. Finally, he yanked on the maroon McYum's shirt with the flair of someone donning battle armor, the hat perched haphazardly on his head like it was offended to be there. He looked down at himself, visibly horrified. "I look like... like a peasant!" he wailed, tugging at the ill-fitting shirt. "This is outrageous!"

You cleared your throat, your voice coming out slightly tighter than usual. "Welcome to the club. Want a name tag, too?"

Hal, who had been watching the entire ordeal with the patience of a particularly grumpy volcano, finally nodded. "Good. Now, since you're already dressed like a fry cook, you're making the fries."

Brad's eyes widened in horror. "What? No! A knight's hands are not meant for—"

"Make the fries," The ogre said, his voice dropping to a tone so low and dangerous it could have made a black hole nervous. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing through the kitchen as everyone else collectively exhaled in relief. You couldn't help but notice that even the fryer seemed quieter in his absence, like it, too, was afraid of him. After, you glanced at Brad, who was standing there slack-jawed, his sword still at his side, as if the sheer weight of the fryer's existence was breaking his brain. With a sigh, you stepped over to him, your soda now empty after your frantic chugging spree.

"C'mon, newbie," you said, grabbing the nearest bag of frozen fries and holding it out to him. "Time to get your hands dirty."

Brad stared at the bag like it was a dragon egg. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," you said, smirking ever so slightly. "Think of it as a quest. Only instead of saving a princess, you're saving the lunch rush. Heroic, right?"

His face twisted with a mix of indignation and reluctant acceptance. "...Fine. But I do this under protest." He snatched the bag from your hands with a flourish, clearly trying to make even this menial task look like part of some noble ritual.

And as he dramatically prepared to dump the fries into the fryer, you leaned against the counter, watching him with that same stone-faced expression you had perfected over years of working at McYum's. Inside, though? You were losing it. This was going to be the longest, most ridiculous shift of your life. Brad hefted the bag of frozen fries like it weighed as much as his over-inflated ego, glancing nervously at the fryer. The bubbling oil popped and hissed menacingly, and he took a step back, clutching the bag like it was about to leap out of his hands and attack.

"This... contraption," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "is clearly enchanted by a dark wizard. I can sense its malice."

You raised an eyebrow, already grabbing another soda from the machine. "It's hot oil. Not exactly a cursed chalice."

He ignored you, straightening his back and dramatically rolling up the sleeves of his ill-fitting McYum's shirt. "Fear not, fair maiden. I shall vanquish this... culinary beast." He hesitated, then added under his breath, "How do you vanquish a culinary beast?"

You leaned against the counter again, sipping your drink and watching the show. "You dump the fries in. Slowly, unless you want third-degree burns and a really bad day."

Brad turned toward you, his face an exaggerated mask of disbelief. "You mean to tell me this... monster can be defeated with such simplicity?"

"Yep," you deadpanned. "Legend says those who survive gain ten percent employee discounts and a lifetime of disappointment."

He visibly shuddered but squared his shoulders, clearly determined to see this through. He ripped the bag open with a flourish, fries spilling dramatically onto the counter like a wave of potato-based tragedy. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Then, he grabbed a handful of fries, his movements exaggerated and knightly, as though each one were a sacred artifact. After taking a deep breath and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer, he held them out over the fryer. "Sir Brad Starlight fears no scalding foe!" he declared, dumping the fries into the oil with the theatricality of someone tossing treasure into Mount Doom. The fryer responded immediately with a loud sizzle-pop,and Brad yelped, jumping back like he had just touched a live wire. "It's fighting back!"

"It's called cooking," you replied, biting back a grin. "Congratulations, you've started your first batch of fries."

Brad looked at the fryer like it might leap off the counter at any moment, but a flicker of pride crossed his face. "Truly, I have conquered a great evil this day," he said, puffing out his chest.

"Sure, let's go with that," you muttered, setting a timer and turning to grab more supplies.

He, however, wasn't finished basking in his perceived glory. "Mark my words," he continued, "this tale shall be sung across the stars! Sir Brad Starlight, slayer of the Fry Beast! I shall—"

"PRETTY BOY!"

Hal's booming voice echoed from the kitchen doorway, making everyone—including you—flinch. The big man reappeared like a storm cloud rolling into a picnic, glaring daggers at the self-proclaimed knight. "You're on a time limit. If those fries burn, you're eating the cost!"

Brad froze, looking between Hal and the fryer like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. "Burn? But... but I—"

Hal didn't wait for him to finish. "And if you spill another bag of fries on my floor," he growled, "I'll have you mopping it up with your cape."

His jaw dropped, clearly appalled. "You wouldn't dare—"

"Oh, I would," He snapped, pointing a finger so sharply that it felt like it might physically poke Brad in the chest. "Now focus, or you're scrubbing grease traps till closing."

The 'pretty boy' turned to you, his eyes wide with panic. You gave him a slow, deliberate sip of your soda in response, the universal sign for not my problem. Hal grunted and turned on his heel, stomping back to his office with the authority of a man who could—and would—crush your spirit in under five words. The door slammed behind him, leaving the kitchen in awkward silence.

Brad turned back to you, visibly rattled. "Does he... does he always behave like that?"

"Hal?" You shrugged. "Only when he's in a good mood."

His face paled. "Good mood?"

You smirked just a little. "Welcome to the team, newbie."

The fryer dinged, signaling that the first batch of fries was done. You pointed at it, watching as his eyes darted nervously between the bubbling oil and the basket handle. He reached for it with all the caution of someone disarming a bomb, but when he lifted the basket out and saw the golden fries glistening beneath the fluorescent lights, his face lit up with triumph.

"I did it!" he said, his voice breaking with joy. "I have conquered the Fry Beast!"

"Cool," you said, taking the basket from him and dumping the fries into the warming tray. "Now do it like a hundred more times before lunch rush."

Brad looked like he might cry.

And so it begun. He stood at the fryer, his posture stiff as if he were on the frontlines of a galactic war. Each time he poured another handful of fries into the bubbling oil, he muttered something dramatic under his breath—likely some internal monologue about courage and sacrifice. You were at the counter nearby, packing the fries into their little red cartons with all the enthusiasm of a rock counting raindrops. It was a rhythm, you supposed: Brad dumped, you packed, and the fryer hissed angrily like it wanted a union. Finally, the lunch rush began, and he was starting to sweat. Literally. His face glistened under the heat lamps, his perfectly coiffed hair now slightly frazzled, though he still tried to strike heroic poses whenever he thought you were looking.

"Fair maiden," he whispered as he slid the next basket of fries toward you. "How do you endure such trials daily? The heat, the grease... the ungrateful peasants—err, customers..."

You smirked faintly, not looking up from the order you were packing. "Mostly caffeine and spite."

Brad blinked, visibly processing this. "Spite... as fuel for survival? Fascinating. Perhaps I too could—"

"ORDER UP!" the drive-thru headset screeched, cutting him off and making him jump like someone had set off fireworks behind him.

You grabbed the nearest order bag and passed it out the window to the waiting customer, who, after an obligatory grunt of acknowledgement, peeled out of the parking lot. The next car in line—a bulky alien driving what looked like a spaceship mashed into the shape of a minivan—rolled up with a hiss of hydraulics. You greeted them with your usual deadpan tone. "Welcome to McYum's. Please pull to the next window."

Everything was going relatively smoothly for a galactic fast-food joint until one particular customer—a round, gelatinous alien with three mouths and an attitude the size of a black hole—shuffled up to the counter inside. They slammed their tray down with the fury of a thousand suns. "EXCUSE ME!" one of their mouths bellowed, while the other two smacked in unison like some horrifying applause. "These fries are an insult!"

You glanced at the fries in question. Perfectly golden, not a single one burnt. They looked like they belonged on the cover of a fry enthusiast magazine. "What's wrong with them?" you asked, voice devoid of any energy.

The alien huffed, all three mouths inflating slightly. "They're too salty! I demand a replacement!"

You resisted the urge to sigh. "They're literally salted the same way every batch is salted. By a machine."

"Then your machine is broken!" they snarled, pointing an accusatory... appendage? Tentacle? You weren't sure. "I demand an apology! And new fries!"

Brad, having been eavesdropping from the fryer, decided now was his moment. He stepped forward with a dramatic flourish, his sweat-dampened McYum's uniform clinging to him like a cape of despair. "Fear not, noble customer!" he declared, voice booming across the kitchen. "I, Sir Brad Starlight, shall right this grievous wrong!" You pinched the bridge of your nose as he grabbed the tray of fries and held them aloft like they were the lost Ark of the Covenant. "These... foul impostors of potato perfection shall be replaced with fries worthy of your palate!"

The alien stared at him, three mouths agape, clearly trying to process what on several planets was happening. You leaned against the counter, watching Brad with the detached curiosity of someone observing a strange new species. He spun dramatically toward the fryer, dumping the offending fries with unnecessary flair and tossing a new batch into the oil. "Maiden!" he called, looking over his shoulder at you. "Prepare the sacred cartons! A true knight ensures swift justice!"

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. "It's just fries, Brad."

"To you, perhaps," he said, scoffing, "but to them, it is a matter of honor!"

The alien gurgled something unintelligible that sounded halfway between approval and confusion, and you just shook your head, reaching for a fresh carton. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sir Spud."

Brad, ignoring the jab, pulled the fresh fries from the fryer with an overly dramatic flourish, shaking the basket like he was performing some sort of ceremonial dance. He tossed the fries into the warming tray, sprinkled salt with a theatrical flick of his wrist, and slid them toward you with a bow. "The fries, fair maiden. Please, package them with the reverence they deserve."

You packed the fries into the carton without even a flicker of expression. "Wow. Incredible. What a hero."

He turned back to the alien, puffing out his chest. "Here you are, good patron. Fries, freshly cooked and salted to perfection. Go forth and enjoy your meal!"

They grabbed the tray, glared at the knight with all three eyes, and muttered, "Finally." They waddled off, leaving you and Brad in an awkward silence.

"Well," Brad said, brushing imaginary dust off his uniform, "that went splendidly, don't you think?"

You glanced at the grease-covered counters, the spilled salt, and the now-empty fryer. "Yeah. A real fairytale ending."

Brad gave you his most dazzling smile. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your soda.

Lunch rush was far from over.

Soon, as you expected, his initial confidence, fueled by the triumph of his "heroic" fry rescue, began to wither under the relentless onslaught of lunchtime chaos. As the line grew longer and the orders more complicated, the cracks in his delusional armor started to show. He fumbled with the fryer, spilled salt everywhere, and somehow managed to send a batch of fries flying onto the floor, where they were promptly trampled by a passing coworker carrying ten trays at once.

And then came the complaints.

A spindly alien with a head shaped like a bowling pin stepped up to the counter, holding a burger with a single lettuce leaf askew like it was a crime scene photo. "What's this?" they screeched, jabbing a bony finger at the burger. "I said no pickles! No pickles!"

Brad, still trying to sweep up the fallen fries with all the grace of a penguin on roller skates, straightened up and forced his most charming smile. "Fear not, noble patron! I shall personally—"

"Did I ask you?" the alien snapped, their beady eyes narrowing as they turned to you. "And you! What kind of incompetent fool lets this happen? Honestly, they should fire you."

The insult barely registered. You were used to this; it was just another Tuesday in the world of galactic fast food. But Brad? Oh, Brad snapped.

"How dare you?" he bellowed, stepping between you and the alien with a flourish so dramatic it made his ill-fitting uniform billow. "This maiden is the backbone of this establishment! She is a shining beacon of efficiency, a culinary goddess! And you—" he jabbed a finger at the alien, who was now visibly regretting their life choices—"are a cretin, unworthy of even the fries she so graciously serves!"

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. The person recoiled, sputtering incoherently. "I—I just wanted—"

"Silence!" Brad roared, his voice echoing through the restaurant like a battle cry. "Do you not see her stoic courage in the face of such mundane horrors? Her unwavering dedication to this thankless job? She deserves praise, not your pitiful whining about pickles!"

The alien, now thoroughly cowed, muttered a quick, "Uh, sorry," and scurried off, burger in hand. You stared at Brad, still processing what just happened.

But he wasn't done.

The next complaint came from a two-headed alien who claimed their fries were "too crispy." Brad rounded on them with the ferocity of a knight defending a besieged castle. "Too crispy? TOO CRISPY?! Do you know the effort it takes to achieve such perfection? This maiden stands at the gates of fryer hell every day to deliver you this masterpiece, and you dare insult her work and mine?!"

The two-headed alien exchanged nervous glances before backing away, their fries clutched protectively.

More complaints rolled in, as they always did during lunch rush, but the newbie intercepted every single one like an overzealous goalie. Each time someone raised their voice at you, he met them with an impassioned tirade about your "valor" and "unparalleled skills in the sacred art of fast food." The kitchen staff, previously indifferent to Brad's antics, began peeking out from behind their stations to watch the show. Even Big Hal wandered out of his office briefly, arms crossed as he observed the chaos with a mixture of confusion and faint amusement. By the time Bradley had finished defending you against a particularly grumpy alien who complained about their soda being "too bubbly," the entire restaurant had fallen into an awed hush. Customers who had previously barked orders at you were now murmuring polite thanks, clearly afraid of incurring Brad's wrath. Even your coworkers, who normally left you to fend for yourself, started stepping in to help with orders.

You leaned against the counter, sipping your soda as he marched back to the fryer, chest heaving with righteous indignation. He dumped another bag of fries into the oil with the intensity of someone launching a battle charge.

"You okay there, champ?" you asked, your tone as dry as the Sahara.

Brad turned to you, his face flushed with frustration. "I don't know how you do this every day," he admitted, slumping slightly. "These... peasants! Their ingratitude knows no bounds!"

You shrugged, your expression as unreadable as ever. "Spite, remember? That, and the paycheck. Barely."

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide with what looked like genuine admiration. "You are... incredible," he said, his voice softening. "Truly, I have never met someone with such strength of character."

"Uh-huh," you said, brushing a stray fry off the counter. "You want to keep waxing poetic, or are you gonna grab the next batch?"

Brad sighed deeply, his heroic spirit clearly fraying at the edges. "Very well," he muttered, reaching for the next bag of fries. "But only because you asked, fair maiden."

You smirked, watching as he fumbled with the fryer yet again. As he stood there, carefully pouring in another batch of fries as though he were conducting a high-stakes potion brewing session, his tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, and for once, he wasn't trying to strike a dramatic pose or monologue about valor. So you leaned against the counter, your second soda finally empty, watching him with a faint hint of amusement you didn't bother hiding anymore.

"You're getting the hang of it," you said, your tone lighter than usual.

He turned to you, blinking as if startled by the compliment. "I am?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

You gave him the faintest of smiles. "Yeah. You only spilled half the bag this time."

He groaned, dragging a gloved hand down his face, and you couldn't help but laugh—actually laugh, not the internal cackle you usually reserved for customers' idiocy or your own snarky observations. Brad froze at the sound, his head whipping toward you like you'd just performed a miracle. "You laughed!" he said, pointing at you with a grease-stained glove. "By the stars, you dohave a soul!"

You snorted, shaking your head. "Don't get used to it, Starlight."

"Oh, but I must," he said dramatically, leaning against the counter and tossing his hat askew like he was posing for a romantic holo-drama cover. "For such a sound is rarer than the sight of a double rainbow in a solar storm!"

You rolled your eyes, but the small, genuine upturn of your lips stayed on your face. For all his ridiculousness—and, oh boy, was there a lot of ridiculousness—Brad had somehow managed to make this shift more bearable than usual. Which was no small feat.

And so finally, after what felt like eons, the lunch rush finally wound down, leaving the kitchen in a state of relative calm. You glanced at the clock, counting the minutes until the end of your shift. Brad had collapsed onto a nearby stool, his hair sticking up in every direction and his McYum's shirt now thoroughly stained with grease. He looked like a knight who had just fought an entire army of deep-fried monsters—and lost.

"You survived," you said, grabbing a rag and tossing it at him.

"Barely," he muttered, catching the rag and wiping his face with it. "I still don't know how you endure such torment day after day."

"Spite," you reminded him, tossing your empty soda cup into the trash. "And the fact that I'm off in ten minutes."

Brad straightened up at that, suddenly alert. "Oh, then surely you'll allow me to escort you to your quarters! Or... your castle? Do you live in a castle?"

You laughed again, shaking your head. "I don't live in a castle, Brad. But tell you what—I'll let you hang out with me after the shift's over. My treat."

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Your... treat?"

"Yeah," you said, smirking. "We'll grab some milkshakes. Workers get discounts, so I can splurge on both of us without breaking the bank."

He gasped, clutching his chest like you had just proposed to him. "You would bestow such a gift upon me? Truly, you are the most generous of maidens!"

"Don't push it," you said, though the smirk on your face betrayed your lack of actual annoyance. "C'mon, finish cleaning up, and we'll head out."

Instantly, he jumped to his feet, suddenly full of energy despite the grease stains and exhaustion. "At once!" he declared, grabbing the rag and scrubbing the counter with the enthusiasm of someone who thought they were preparing a royal banquet.

You shook your head, chuckling softly to yourself. The guy was a walking disaster, sure, but maybe—just maybe—he wasn't so bad.

You were just grabbing your bag from the employee locker when a deafening CRASH echoed through the restaurant, rattling the already overworked soda machine. The both of you froze, your hand halfway to the strap of your bag. Brad instinctively reached for his sword—which, of course, wasn't there because Hal had confiscated it hours ago.

The source of the commotion revealed itself almost immediately: Big Hal. But not through the office door, oh no. Instead, he emerged Kool-Aid-Man style through the wall next tothe office door, drywall crumbling around him like confetti at a parade. The man didn't even flinch as he stepped into the room, brushing a bit of plaster off his uniform with all the casual menace of a warlord surveying a conquered kingdom.

Bradley, of course, yelped and immediately struck a pose as if ready to defend your honor (or maybe just his own skin). "Ogre!" he cried. "Have you come to exact your revenge upon me for taming the Fry Beast?"

Hal ignored him entirely and fixed you with his signature glare that could turn even the rowdiest customer into a weeping puddle. "Hold up, you two," he boomed, his voice shaking the air like a thunderclap. "Got unfinished business."

You stopped in your tracks, raising an eyebrow. "Unfinished business?"

Hal turned to Brad, who was still in his dramatic pose, visibly sweating. "You. Fry Knight."

Brad blinked, standing up straighter. "Y-Yes? What about me?"

Hal's expression didn't change as he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and shiny. "Your milkshake debt? Paid in full."

The knight's mouth fell open, his jaw dropping so far you briefly considered calling maintenance to put it back in place. "You mean—my labor here today has satisfied the cost of my earlier indulgence?"

Your boss nodded gravely, stepping closer and holding out his massive hand. "Yup. And for your... 'services' to the establishment..." He revealed the item in his hand: achild's sticker.A sparkly one, shaped like a star, its holographic sheen catching the fluorescent lights. Hal leaned down, towering over the newbie like a sentient skyscraper, and stuck the sticker right to Brad's forehead with surprising delicacy. Then, as if he were addressing a room full of knights at a royal ceremony, he clapped a heavy hand on Brad's shoulder. "You earned this. For screaming at those customers. They deserved it."

The room fell silent for a beat. Even the fryer seemed to hold its breath.

Brad's eyes widened, his expression shifting from confusion to awe. "This..." he whispered, reaching up to touch the sticker with trembling fingers. "This is the greatest honor I have ever received."

Hal straightened, folding his arms over his chest and nodding solemnly. "Don't spend it all in one place, kid."

At that the ridiculous man immediately fell to one knee, bowing his head dramatically as if he had just been knighted by the Emperor of the Universe. "Thank you, Sir Ogre, Keeper of the Fry Kingdom, for bestowing such a gift upon me. I shall treasure it for all eternity."

Hal gave him a single nod before turning to you. "And you—" he said, his voice snapping you out of your stunned silence—"you're off the clock now. Get outta here before I find something else for you to do."

You saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir."

With that, Hal turned and walked back through the hole he had made in the wall, brushing more plaster dust off his hat as if nothing unusual had happened. The staff and remaining customers, who had all frozen during the spectacle, resumed their activities with a newfound respect for Big Hal and the unspoken rule of don't question it. Brad stood up, the star sticker still proudly displayed on his forehead. He turned to you, his eyes sparkling with genuine joy. "Did you see that?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I have been... recognized."

You couldn't hold back a laugh this time, shaking your head as you motioned toward the door. "C'mon, Fry Knight. Let's get those milkshakes before you end up working here full-time."

And so, after the battle, the two of you sat on the hood of Brad's ridiculous motorcycle-like vehicle, parked under the glow of the McYum's neon sign, sipping your milkshakes like battle-hardened warriors basking in the spoils of war. The night was surprisingly quiet, the chaos of the lunch rush now just a greasy memory.

Brad took a long sip from his milkshake, his eyes widening with every taste. "By the stars," he murmured, staring at the cup in awe. "This... this is truly divine. It is as though the heavens themselves crafted this beverage."

You smirked, leaning back on your elbows as you savored your own shake. "Told you. Worth the labor of love, huh?"

"Labor of heroism," he corrected, puffing out his chest. The star sticker on his forehead caught the neon light, giving him an almost ethereal glow of ridiculousness. "Today, I have proven my worth as a knight—and as a fry artisan."

You snorted into your straw, trying not to laugh too hard and choke. "Sure, Brad. You totally saved the day. Can't wait for the bard's epic about your battle with the Fry Beast."

He turned to you, his expression a mix of playful indignation and admiration. "Mock me if you must, fair maiden, but I shall not forget your kindness this day. You not only invited me to join you in this most sacred of milkshake rituals, but you... you smiled. And laughed."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. "Yeah, well... you earned it. Even if you're, like, ninety percent ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" he said, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. "I prefer valiant, thank you very much."

"Mm-hmm. And totally not a drama queen," you teased, taking another sip of your milkshake.

He grinned, leaning closer. "Admit it—you enjoyed my company today."

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it. "Well, you did yell at customers for me. That's worth something."

"Something?" he echoed, placing a hand over his heart. "It is worth everything, my lady."

You shook your head, laughing quietly, but didn't argue. For all his over-the-top antics, Brad Starlight had managed to turn one of your most tedious shifts into something... fun.

As the two of you sat there, sharing milkshakes under the neon lights, you couldn't help but feel like you had stumbled into the middle of a bizarre but strangely charming fairytale. And maybe you didn't mind being the princess for once. Even if your knight was a Fry Beast-slaying disaster in a grease-stained uniform.

[sczawr]

the most insane part of shadow generations is that it expands Neo Metal Sonics lore, esp the part when he becomes Metal Overlord

his changes in personality - turning from someone calculating and calm into an unpatient angry tyrant; in design - having stripes, turning into a dragon like creature with a weird mouth (idw panel after Shadow punches him) and single eyes on; his abilities - being able to perform chaos control and freeze time; everything of that comes from copying Shadows data? yes, but no, bc it was Black Dooms data all along, since his forms name is a freaking. Neo Devil Doom. it makes Metals statements in being an ultimate lifeform reasonable in a way

it all becomes more insane when you see that all bosses from this game are related to Shadow (Biolizard being the first project and Mephiles copying Shadows appearance), all of them faked him in a way, even Sonic has a relation to this. and Overlord being a third boss makes me remember... False Dmitry I, who also was the third pretender

also many complained that Overlord shouldve been voiced by Sonics voice actor, but now. i see him having a very really similar to Doom voice. so it fits it well. it just... makes sense

in a nutshell this game is insane and we're so back

[miqotepotatoe]

I like putting Cole through various scinareos

breif explaination bellow

⬇️⬇️⬇️

Crystal King - Overlord uses Cole as its vessel in Crystalized because Harumi has a sick sense of vengence. What better way to get back at the guy who nearly unknowingly ruined your whole plan by having him be a vessel to the embodiment of darkness, evil and chaos

Source Dragon - The Source Dragon of Strength chooses to live among humans by fusing its soul with a newborn baby. Cole is unaware of his true nature until Dragons Rising when Ras captures him and unleashes the Source Dragon within him

Traveller - Cole leaves the ninja after DoTD thinking they don't need him anymore (still hurt from being forgotten). He does his own vigilantie thing until SoG where he learns of the SoG's plan and steals the Mask of Hatred from both the SoG & the Ninja. To make sure no one will ever get their hands on it, he travels to the other realms with help from Mystake

My Nonexistant Friend - DoTD bad end, Yang returns to life, Cole is stuck at the temple forgotten by everyone. Until 300 years later where the current Master of Earth finds and befriends him. I have a fic written and completed, give it a read if you wish

Elemental Anacondrai - Chen is a bitch. Chen brands all the loosers of the Tournament of Elements as his slaves, meaning they also get snaked in the last few episodes of the season

First Realm - Cole is from the First Realm and lives among the dragons. The ninja meet him when they're stranded and he helps them out by taking them to Firstborne. He ends up in Ninjago in March of the Oni when the First Realm is destroyed so tbe ninja adopt the feral elemental master into the found family

Oni - Omega's a bitch. The Oni find Cole on deaths door after The Fall and turn him into an oni both to save his life and add him to their army. It doesn't work Cole just goes back to help the ninja, now a demon cat

Master & Student - Yang's a bitch. Yang wipes Cole's memory and treats him a like a student, all in a way to manipulate him and make him more willing to take on the temple's curse so Yang can be free. Yang is like a mix of both Mother Gothel & Pink Diamond

[sealiz123]

Recently, I thought about an au when Lloyd became the antagonist.

After defeating Overlord, he just accepts his nature (being a half of a dragon and a half of oni) and used his goddess powers to erase and rebuild the world... Like what if the "Ninjago Movie" was just the world created by original Lloyd?

Lloyd probably was tired of sh*t that riuned his family and life (like the prophecy), so he simply changes the story.

- In the new world they hadn't the profecy about the green ninja

- Koko is the better mum than Misako for Lloyd

-Garmadon also isn't "pure evil" or anything... It's just he enjoys the chaos

- ecc...

But Lloyd couldn't be the part of the new story because he knew that he can't fake his feelings anymore, he was just too tired. He only wants his friends and family live the better life. So... He created his clone that becomes the "La-Lloyd" (the movie Lloyd) and let him be the new green ninja. And the original Lloyd end to be the god of this world, watching and making sure that everything is going like he wants.

(sorry for my English XD)

[penofwildfire]

I saw you mention Oni and Dragon as the opposite, respectively. Order and Chaos, yes? I wanna know more is das alrighr

Ah well I've talked about it before but basically I see the world of Ninjago as having 3 dichotomies that balance eachother, those being Order/Chaos, Creation/Destruction, and Light/Darkness. Generally Oni represent "Destructive Order" and Dragons "Creative Chaos" (for a good example of what I mean by this, look at the Lego Movie. Lord Business is Destructive Order and the Masterbuilders are Creative Chaos). Anyone of any species can represent Light or Darkness though. My reasoning for assigning Oni and Dragons their respective aspects is that the Oni are generally more organized and their form of attack is to freeze everyone in Ninjago to stone (again very reminiscent of Lord Business's Kragle weapon), meanwhile Dragons are more wild, less organized, and attack more randomly. It's a militia vs a pack of animals, though obviously there are exceptions and the categories are never going to be airtight.

An aspect of this that I find particularly interesting is how it applies to Wu and Garmadon. Wu is typically perceived as more Dragon as opposed to his more Oni brother, but to me that's more clear when you look at them as children. Wu as the chaotic brother who gets the pair into trouble, Garmadon as the responsible older brother who's forced to get them out of it. By extension, this means that Garmadon actually leans more into his Dragon side as the venom starts to take hold. This actually makes sense when you consider that it was the Overlord who infected the Devourer. The Overlord's ultimate goal is to corrupt the powers of Creation with his Darkness, and as Creation belongs to the Dragons, it makes sense that he would bring out the Dragon side of Garmadon (even manifesting as a Dragon during the Ultimate Battle).

Anyway you probably weren't looking for a whole essay so I'll leave it there, but thanks for asking!