#Part 2: Agent 7 is Back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ckret2 · 7 months ago

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Above: Bill showing off the messed up things he can make the Nightmare Realm do.

Below: Bill literally an hour later.

Here, have a fic. In which the gods try to figure out what to do about the new omnicidal chaos god who would rather destroy reality than politely exit Dimension Zero so they can arrest him for burning down multiple dimensions.

This is part 7 of a ???9-ish??? part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and then getting repeatedly slapped in the face with all the atrocities Bill's committed. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, five, and six.

####

There was fresh fear amongst the many gods crowded around the site where Dimension 2 Delta had once stood.

The perimeter around Dimension Zero's turbulent border had pulled back dramatically, leaving a barren no man's land between the police cordon and the triangle's territory.

The fires in the 1D and 2D universes, for a moment so close to doused, had returned with a vengeance—and by the sound of some chatter amongst the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force agents, they suspected it was a literal vengeance. The storm cloud heading the ATTF operations had needed to personally visit the burning dimensions again—see which previously contained fires had reignited or jumped their firelines, and see which new fires had broken out so that it could redistribute the available firefighting forces appropriately.

The Time Giant had gone along to inspect the damage and figure out which dimensions could be repaired—provided they ever stopped the fires—and which would ultimately needed to be rebuilt.

And anyone who wasn't actively engaged in trying to control the fires was still trying to process the newest crisis: the leader of the mortals who'd fallen into Dimension Zero wasn't a fellow mortal victim, but an out-of-control new god with the power to move and burn entire universes who didn't seem to understand that he was about to destroy all of reality, himself included.

VENDOR had finally run out of excuses to avoid the media, and was now reluctantly holding an impromptu press conference with the reporters on the scene—and THEY looked so miserable the Axolotl nearly felt bad for THEM. He overheard THEM blurt out, probably far louder than intended, "I will not be remembered as the god who was in charge of the emergency response efforts that got the entire multiverse destroyed!" and he wondered whether VENDOR remembered either that THEY weren't in charge or that, if the multiverse were destroyed, THEY wouldn't be remembered at all. No one would be.

From the conversations he overheard, the Axolotl got the impression that no one, even the most senior ATTF agents on the scene, had ever dealt with a threat to the multiverse this dire. No one knew what to do about the triangle—least of all the Axolotl, who was only here because everybody still hadn't realized that he wasn't supposed to be.

So while everyone else was arguing, privately panicking, or actually doing something useful, he was floating at the cordon holding people away from Dimension Zero.

####

There were a few stars and rocky bodies on the wrong side of the cordon. The triangle's sun—the star that had once shone down on his 2D world before it burned down (before he burned it down)—was still out there. Once again, it was falling toward Dimension Zero.

He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then swooped under the cordon, scooped up the sun, and carried it back to the safe zone. He opened a portal to his tank, slid the star inside, then shook out his forefeet and inspected the burns on the soft skin. He'd been playing with a lot of fire today.

"Axolotl!"

The Axolotl looked up. He wasn't surprised by the familiar sight of his Oracle's soul emerging from the aether—she'd already come by once—but he was frustrated by it. One more person he had to protect in this mess.

"Something happened—"

"I know." He quickly curled around her, doing his best to shield her from the other gods in case any of the nearby arguments escalated—or the triangle decided to lash out at the third dimension again. "You shouldn't be here now. It isn't safe."

Of course, she ignored him. She wouldn't be the kind of person he picked as one of his Oracles if she weren't the kind of person who ignored gods' warnings. "Our seers heard the whole sky scream in pain, and then saw a vast eye—"

"Over there." He lifted his tail out of the way just enough to let her see the border of Dimension Zero.

No matter where you looked at Dimension Zero, that golden fleck of light seemed to twinkle in the center of your field of vision. The Oracle squinted. "The little flat yellow creature?"

"He was bigger earlier."

"What happened?"

"A showdown with the cops."

The Oracle paused as she tried to reconcile that with the seers' apocalyptic vision. "Who won?"

"He did."

"Good." And she wouldn't have been the kind of person the Axolotl picked for his Oracles if she didn't say that, either.

On most days, he'd agree with her. But after seeing what the triangle could do—knowing what he would do... The cops weren't the answer, but he had to be stopped somehow.

(He could feel the triangle's eye on them. Was he listening to them now?)

"He's shaped like a triangle. Is he connected to the blind seer's final vision?"

The seer who'd seen the sky burn and collapse into a blinding triangular light. "He is. He's the last survivor of the first dimension to burn. His people called him the Magister Mentium; he was a seer to his people, too." It tore the Axolotl's heart to say more than that—but he wouldn't mislead his Oracle. "Somehow, he started the fire."

Before the Oracle could ask him how, a faint voice yelled, "Hey!"

They turned toward Dimension Zero. The triangle was on the border, looking straight at them. He shouted again, "Hey! You with the pink freak!"

"What?"

"How many fingers do you have!"

She gave her four arms a puzzled look. "Twenty!"

"Wow!" The triangle sounded genuinely impressed. "What do you use 'em all for?!"

"Normal finger things?" She asked, "Why's your hat so skinny?"

"What hat?"

She paused. "Never mind!" She turned back to the Axolotl and whispered, "Is the hat part of his body?"

"I don't think so. He didn't have it the last time I saw him."

She kept trying to look at the triangle until the Axolotl curled around her to stop her staring. "That's the seer who's destroying universes?"

He wanted to make excuses for the triangle. He wanted to defend him. "Yes."

She was silent a moment before asking the question she'd really come for: "Is my world in danger?"

"Not yet. Not directly. But... if he isn't stopped, it eventually will be," the Axolotl said. "He's fallen into the center of the multiverse and is trying to build a kingdom there. If he fails, it will collapse and kill him; but if he succeeds, it will destabilize and kill all of reality."

"Wh—?!" She gave him a look of disbelief. "But—that doesn't make any sense! He loses either way!"

"I know."

"So why is he endangering everyone for nothing?!"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to find out."

"Wait—!"

The Oracle's astral projection could be very slippery when she wanted; she was already past the Axolotl and flying toward Dimension Zero. "Hey! Magister Mentium! I want a word with you!"

"Don't cross the border between dimensions!" The Axolotl clutched the police tape in both forefeet as he watched.

After five minutes of shouting and death threats, the Oracle flew back to the Axolotl.

"I think he's stupid," she said.

He smiled sadly. "I fear it's something much worse than that."

He had the skin-crawling feeling that the triangle was staring at him. He forced himself not to turn and find out for sure.

####

The Time Giant was the first to return from the frontlines of the fire. She joined the Axolotl next to the police tape, muttered something about needing to pick up some "stuff" from "a couple centuries ago," snapped out a length of time tape, and returned three seconds later in a different shirt with sleeves rolled up and carrying a folding table, a bundle of blueprints, and an energy drink. She unfolded the table in the void, spread out her blueprints on it, chugged her drink, hunched over the table, and ignored the rest of the universe.

The Oracle gazed up at the Time Giant and instantly fell in love. The Axolotl politely pretended he didn't notice.

VENDOR was the second to float over—slumped forward, lights dim, looking like THEY were returning from a war zone rather than a press conference. Heaving a weary sigh, THEY positioned THEMSELF next to the cordon with the Axolotl and Time Giant; which was the point at which the Axolotl realized he'd accidentally formed a club of people who didn't want to be in charge of this mess but were. "Any change?"

The Time Giant grunted distractedly. The Axolotl said, "No." The Oracle said, "I accidentally taught the triangle an obscene gesture."

VENDOR turned toward Dimension Zero.

The triangle sprouted two extra arms and gleefully pantomimed something filthy.

VENDOR turned away from Dimension Zero and sighed even more heavily.

When the storm cloud drifted over, VENDOR said, "Go away unless you have good news." The arrogance had drained out of THEIR voice; what little pomposity THEY had left was a thin mask over exhausted fear. (The Axolotl could sympathize; he felt the same dread weighing low in the pit of his stomach.)

Before the storm cloud had left to check on the other dimensions, it had still been hailing in fear; by now, it had whipped itself up into a furious blizzard. It had to stay back from the group to keep from freezing them too, and even at that frost still crept across VENDOR's glass and the Axolotl had to shield the Oracle from the cold. "Well," it said stiffly, trying to rein in its rage and sounding even colder as a consequence. "Almost all the new fires have already been contained. I'll say one thing for that—" It paused as it mentally glided over what was no doubt a long and creative list of insults, "—guy; at least he's making an effort to be more careful of where he kicks the neighboring dimensions so the damage doesn't spread as fast." It sighed a chilly, angry gust of wind. "Unfortunately, he's gotten more aggressive about kidnapping mortals from other dimensions. He's narrowed his focus, but he's kicking ten times harder."

"That wasn't very good good news," VENDOR whined.

"Sorry. Fresh out," the cloud said. "Fact is, if we don't stop him, we're toast."

Nobody was surprised by that. VENDOR asked, "How much time do we have?" THEY turned to the Time Giant.

While VENDOR had gotten pathetic and the cloud was seething with barely-restrained rage, the Time Giant had only grown more stoic. Her face was set in a stony mask; her jaw was tight enough that she could bite an airplane clean in half. Since she'd come back, she hadn't glanced up from the stack of blueprints she'd retrieved.

It took her a moment to realize the question was directed toward her. She jerked her head up as if ready to snap at whoever had interrupted her; but caught herself as she processed the question. "Uhh, pffff..." She squinted toward the horizon of time, face scrunched up to expose her teeth. "If we get the fires put out? Few years. Couple decades at the outside. Reckon it's more than enough time to jury rig something that'll keep reality propped up while we get in a construction crew to set up a new Big Bang, no problem."

The Axolotl whispered reassuringly to the Oracle, "A couple of decades to us is over a thousand of your people's generations."

"A couple of decades," VENDOR muttered, voice rough, a few stray moons rattling around behind THEIR product dispenser door. "This multiverse was built to last an eternity. To think it could be destabilized enough to collapse within a couple of decades, all because of one..." THEY fell silent. They could all feel the steady staring eye watching them from deep within Dimension Zero.

The cloud said, "And if he doesn't let us stop all the fires?"

She pursed her lips, brows knit tightly. "If the fires keep spreading and that triangle keeps destabilizing things, the whole thing could collapse in a week tops."

"That's still a few years for your people," the Axolotl told the Oracle optimistically.

She swatted his paw. "Aren't you powerful enough to, just—stop him? You're gods." They must have seemed undefeatable to her—living beings the size of mountains and vast world-moving machines and forces of nature. That was how the gods always looked to mortals.

But unfortunately, when you got right down to it, they weren't much more than weirdly big people.

VENDOR muttered, "Well, I don't have the authority to call in the kind of reinforcements that can take that thing down." (More cautious now that THEY realized this wasn't a threat THEY could effortlessly crush in THEIR gears, weren't THEY.)

The cloud said, "The Apocalyptic Threat Task Force can make that call in any situation that poses a credible threat to multiversal safety and security, but..." It asked the Axolotl and Time Giant, "Just how strong do you think he is?"

"Could be omnipotent," the Time Giant said. "Wouldn't be surprised."

The Axolotl reluctantly nodded in agreement. "He doesn't understand what he's doing yet, but he's already manipulating the fabric of reality with his bare hands."

VENDOR made a tiny noise like a malfunctioning motor at that.

Grimly, the cloud said, "I could put in a call to HQ. We have a few higher dimensional types on call. Creator gods and the like. They're probably the only ones who'd stand a chance against an omnipotent god that can make a whole universe do a barrel roll. But if we aren't sure we could win the fight, and fast..."

The assembled group of gods cast a nervous look at the gaping hole into Dimension Zero.

The triangle, smaller than one of the Axolotl's fingertips, stared back from the border. He solemnly spread his arms wide. "You wanna go? Come at me."

They did not want to go. They turned away.

"Bad idea," the Time Giant said. "If the laws of physics are unstable, even the strongest god wouldn't have an advantage. It'd be like putting the fastest sprinter in the multiverse on a racetrack without gravity. And since he's the one running the physics, he could practically hand himself a win."

"And on top of that, any fight down there risks knocking the multiverse down," the cloud said. "It's too dangerous. We can't risk attacking him."

"We'll just have to hope he doesn't attack us first," VENDOR muttered.

The Axolotl's stomach flipped. He knew something they didn't. "Actually, I... don't think he can."

All attention was on him. VENDOR said, "Please tell me you have some actual good news."

"I don't know." He wasn't sure whether it would make any difference. All he knew was that he felt like he was betraying the triangle. He lowered his voice to what for him passed as a whisper. "But, I think... I think his power is limited to the borders of his realm." As he said it, he knew he was telling the truth. Some beings got like that when they were old enough; they could just feel when something was right. "He can't impact anything that isn't touching his dimension. He's essentially harmless to the rest of the multiverse. The only real threat is... well." He gestured helplessly at the frothing chaos. "The fact that the dimension is like that."

Voice hushed, the cloud said slowly, "Hold on. So... he's trapped in the crawlspace beneath reality."

"No—he's trapped in the 'dream realm' he's built inside the crawlspace. He can drag the realm out with him, but... we saw what happens when he does that." They'd all heard how existence had howled in pain. They'd seen how even the triangle had been scared enough to stop.

"So we have no hope of fighting him in his bunker—but if we drag him across the threshold... the fight's over." THEY turned to the two cops THEY'd been leading around all day.

The crab and burning wheels tried very hard to look like they hadn't noticed the conversation at all.

VENDOR and the cloud exchanged a frustrated glance. Sarcastically, the cloud muttered, "Yeah. Easy."

The Axolotl said, "I'm not even sure we can drag him out of his bunker. I don't know if he won't leave, or physically can't leave—just that his power stops at his borders."

VENDOR sighed, "So we're back where we started."

The Time Giant smacked her mess of blueprints, making the other gods start. "No we aren't! If his influence can't spread outside his dimension, then I've got a fix." She held up a thick binder. "It's a fiddly chrono-construction technique to shore up brittle dimensions. It can work as a stopgap measure to stop him from destabilizing any more dimensions." She looked at VENDOR. "It'll make a lot of extra work for the urban planning committee."

VENDOR's lights flickered off. The Axolotl could see the numbers on THEIR digital display as THEY slowly counted to ten. Then THEY turned their lights back on and said, with an air of forced calm, "All right. I don't think there is any getting out of this without extra work. Tell me the idea."

"Right now, all our dimensions are connected adjacent to each other—corner to corner and edge to edge. It's simple that way. But, if we restructure the dimensions parallel to each other, we can use the pressure of the outside dimensions to press in on the crawlspace and keep its contents in place. It's gonna be a mess. Forget about the Dimension 1, Dimension 2, Dimension 3 system we have right now; by the end of this we're gonna have Dimension 143 and Dimension M and Dimension 6.5 and Dimension -17 and imaginary number dimensions and quadratic dimensions..." She shrugged helplessly. "But if we can't get this bozo out, it might be our only option."

"Parallel universes? It sounds ridiculous." VENDOR let out a low moan of pain, "We'll have to restructure the whole multiverse."

"Yup. Probably."

"Everything's so nice and tidy now. A perfectly arranged planned community. Nice, straight, gridlike dimensions..."

"Parallel dimensions do have some potential benefits over adjacent dimensions," the Time Giant offered comfortingly. "Easier interdimensional travel—"

VENDOR grumbled, "Oh, I know, I know, Municipalitron's been pushing to experiment with parallel dimensions for the past two hundred billion years. He won't shut up about how it would benefit mass transit."

The cloud said, "All I care about is the multiverse surviving long enough to worry about mass transit."

The time giant said, "The biggest downside is that once we've completely closed up the crawlspace, when that dimension he's set up inevitably collapses, there's no easy way to get back all that energy and dark matter. If we ever decide to rip open a rift big enough to drain it out, it could take trillions of years if we don't want the flood to destroy the receiving universe. We might never clear out the rubble. But on the other hand, if it's sealed up well enough, it won't matter if the ruins are left to rot."

"What about the hostages?" the Axolotl asked. "Won't that trap everyone inside?"

"We'll have to leave manhole covers and maintenance shafts, obviously. Until the fabric of reality's finished unraveling, we'll have a chance to get them out," the Time Giant said. "Even that 'Magister' can leave if he decides to surrender himself. Assuming he's willing to leave his construction project behind."

If he could leave it.

VENDOR let a heavy whoosh out THEIR vents. "Balls. Very well, submit your proposal to the committee. I'll vouch for it. But I won't like it." THEY muttered, "Municipalitron's never going to let me live this down."

The storm aimed its sunbeam at the Time Giant. "Can't start construction as long as he's still starting fires and picking fights, though—can we? Unless you can build new dimensions on top of an active inferno?"

"N—Hold on." She squinted toward the future to check. "Nope. Though once I get down a fireproof foundation, we won't need to worry about it anymore. Got a trick called timeline splitting: you reformat a dimension so that the timelines fork infinitely, any time a choice is made. If he tries to burn 'em, they split: one timeline he burned and one he didn't. He'll just add more timelines and thicken the foundation every time he tries to attack the neighbors."

Horrified, VENDOR said, "I've been trying to pass an ordinance to ban timeline splitting for an eon."

"Has it passed yet?" the storm asked.

"No!"

"Great. Then that's our plan," the storm said. "We just need somebody to talk him down long enough to put out the fires and get the fireproof foundation in place." Its sunbeam turned toward the Time Giant. "Maybe if someone explains the stakes to him—?"

She shook her head, expression flat. "I'm a civil engineer, not a hostage negotiator. If he didn't get it the first time I laid it out to him, he ain't gonna get it the second time."

VENDOR asked the cloud, "Isn't the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force trained in talking down apocalyptic threats?"

"Yes, but no," the storm cloud said.

"What does that mean! Just... go up to that thing"—THEY tilted toward Dimension Zero—"and keep him calm."

"Are you kidding? I'm not suicidal!"

"This is your job, you're an apoc cop!"

"Apoc agent!" It raised its voice, "And talking down threats is not my speciality! I was sent because we thought this was a structural issue, not an actively malevolent entity!"

"Hey!" the triangle shouted. "Who are you calling malevolent?! Hey! Hey! Look me in the eye and say that again, I'll kick your base! I'm the most benevolent entity you've ever met!"

They wordlessly avoided eye contact with the triangle, scooted another solar system farther away from Dimension Zero, and lowered their voices again.

The storm cloud asked VENDOR, "Shouldn't this be your department? We're dealing with the possible genesis of a new god, and his first act was destroying a dimension and destabilizing reality. Sounds like politics to me."

Delicately, the Axolotl said, "I don't think THEY're the best choice."

"I'm certainly not. I handle the urban planning committee's budgeting," VENDOR said. "I deal with accountants, not terrorists! The only reason I'm here is to provide planets for those flat refugees, and I am sick of being at every humanitarian crisis in the multiverse just because I vend planets—"

The Axolotl had taken all of VENDOR that he could. He rounded on THEM, snarling, "Why are you even in politics, if it's not to help mortals? Is that not why you accepted the title of 'god'?" He flared his gills and his eyes glowed in rage. "Because it's why I did! I wish there was more I could do to help! And you, you can do more than anyone, and you're complaining about it?!"

VENDOR jerked back from the Axolotl. For a moment, the whole group was stunned silent. The Axolotl's eyes stopped glowing. He had to fight the urge to shrink back self-consciously from their staring. His Oracle patted his side comfortingly.

And then VENDOR's lights brightened. "You know how to talk to mortals like that. This triangle is just like the omnicidal monsters you represent every day." THEIR camera whirred as THEY sized him up. "If you want to help more, then why don't you?"

Ah. The Axolotl paused to swallow his anger.

He glanced down at his Oracle, who had been hiding in his shadow as she took notes and attempted to surreptitiously ogle the Time Giant. He said, "I think..."

She nodded. "I'll wake up." And then she faded out as her spirit sank back down to a lower plane.

The Axolotl tried to avoid looking at VENDOR—how could someone without a face look so smug?—and focused on the Time Giant. "What do you need me to get him to do?"

####

Biologically there was really no such thing as a god, in the same way that botanically there is really no such thing as a vegetable. Tomatoes are fruits; spinach is a leaf; carrots are roots; broccoli is an unfinished flower. The word "vegetable" just indicates the cultural role a plant performs in the kitchen.

The word "god" indicated the cultural role an entity performed in cosmology: a god was anything that people considered powerful enough to be worth worshiping.

A trillion trillion priests and philosophers and theologians and politicians had attempted to pin down a firm definition—but any definition was only ever valid to the worshipers who agreed it was right. The simple truth was that a being who had created a universe could be called a god, and a particularly impressive tree could be called a god, and a con artist who used clever stage magic to convince people he could teleport and raise the dead could be called a god, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to prove than any one of them "really" was or wasn't a god, no trait that universally separated the false gods from the true. If other gods thought you were a god, or if enough mortals worshiped you that the other gods had to bow to public pressure, that meant you were a god.

Different beings honored with the title "god" handled it in different ways. Some, unsurprisingly, developed a god complex. Some picked up debilitating scrupulosity in an effort to be perfect enough to be worthy of their people's worship, and their people developed scrupulosity in an effort to live up to their god's perfect example, and so it went in a vicious cycle until somebody finally got therapy. Some printed their titles on the party invitation flyers they tossed out on busy streets. For the Axolotl's part, he thought it was a useful designation to help with networking, but mostly it was a pain that meant he was put up on a pedestal for doing his job.

The Axolotl was a god of justice. Not the god of justice, but one. He held dominion over an abstract concept; over millions and billions of years, his words and decisions slowly, inexorably altered the idea of "justice" on a multiversal scale. Mercy, retribution, punishment, rehabilitation, equity, equality, fairness, and righteousness were like multicolored clays he could twist, squish, sculpt, and blend in his wet little salamandrine grip, permanently altering what those ideas meant to the mortals they affected.

Which was to say: he was a lawyer.

He was also known as a god of rebirth. Which was to say: he specialized in afterlife law. Before going into law he'd only been a psychopomp, but after having to escort too many despairing souls to afterlives he felt were too severe for their sins, he'd decided he wanted a say in where he took his souls. For a while, he helped clients get their charges reduced so they were eligible for a higher-tier reincarnation, or got their purgatorial sentences reduced. Though for a long time he'd steered away from damnation cases. He didn't always win—and those ones were too depressing to lose.

And then he'd thought he should be doing more. It wasn't enough for him to help his clients get the best option available under the system to which they were subjected; he wanted to change the system. He'd started pursuing bigger cases.

Now, he had a reputation.

For the past few centuries, he'd been working on a damnation case. He was defending a supervillain who'd developed a weapon that could slice open the fabric of spacetime so severely it could rip clean into another dimension—a mortal who'd committed an interdimensional crime against reality. The villain had died in the jurisdiction of an afterlife that had legalized eternal damnation.

Case law had long established that, unless other arrangements had been made premortem, the dead were to be sent to—in order—the afterlife of their birth, their death, or their choice, provided that the afterlife in question accepted them; and that they would be judged and sentenced by that afterlife's laws.

But if this villain had been extradited to his home world, the heaviest sentence he could have faced was a thousand years purgatory with an option for early reincarnation for good behavior after a hundred years.

So the jurisdiction he'd died in had summoned up some bureaucratic red tape to dismiss his native afterlife's extradition request, and he'd been sentenced where he'd died. Crimes against reality were often handled differently from regular sins; and the gods of vengeance in the domain where he'd died would love to see the courts declare that the gods who'd brought down a criminal against reality could call dibs on punishing him, rather than hand him back to his motherland. They hoped they would get away with it just for lack of anyone protesting the move. After all, everyone involved would much prefer that a mortal wicked enough to damage spacetime and obliterate multiple populated planets receive eternal punishment.

Everyone involved except the Axolotl.

Taking this case hadn't made him many friends. He didn't care; he had his principles. Let an interplanetary supervillain be dragged away to a foreign afterlife just so that he can be forced into damnation, and next it'll be a planetary dictator; let a dictator be dragged away, and next it'll be a murderer; and next it'll be a burglar; and next it'll be a jaywalker that a psychopomp has a personal grudge against. If the Axolotl could establish that even the most undeserving mortal imaginable still deserved the right to be sentenced in his home afterlife, then he could ensure that everyone less evil received the same right.

If he had anything to say about it, in two or three trillion years he'd see eternal punishment outlawed completely; but until then, he was not going to sit idly by and let this flagrant abuse of interdimensional law become the new meaning of justice! He would get that supervillain out of eternal damnation, personally escort him to his native afterlife, and see him reincarnated on his own home world; and mark his words, he would rain so much bureaucratic hell on the judges and psychopomps that had let this abuse of justice take place—he would wreak such vengeance upon the vengeance gods who had tried to claim his client—that no god would dare keep a soul from its rightful afterlife ever again, or he wasn't the Axolotl!

All of which was to say:

Yes, unfortunately. This triangle was like the omnicidal monsters he represented every day.

And so he was appointed hostage negotiator.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 7 of a probably-9-part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl almost fucking die.

It's ALSO chapter 67 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: okay THIS is now probably the least cosmic-horrifying chapter of this arc. Which is a necessary interlude, because NEXT CHAPTER is the big climax woohoo!

Even if not much horrifying happens this chapter, I like the worldbuilding in it. The section on what being a god of justice means to the Axolotl was one of the first things I wrote for this arc.)

#(Dimension Zero doesn't actually look like in the art above btw.)#('Then why did you draw it like that?' because it was way easier than figuring out how to draw it accurately and i'm on a deadline.)#(the weirdmageddon imagery would make it instantly recognizable—)#(—and save me from figuring out how to draw a surface that simultaneously looks spherical while being too vast to see its curvature)#the axolotl #gravity falls axolotl #bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(this chapter is barely edited because i couldn't be assed lmao)

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tacoguacamole · 29 days ago

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ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 8

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn, Splice of Life]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Chapter Word Count: 7.9k+]

[Chapter Summary: It started with a name—spoken softly, like a memory asking to be heard. Then a place. Then a past neither of you meant to revisit, but somehow did. You weren’t looking for closure. Just something kind, something true. And maybe that’s what this was: remembering not just where it broke, but where it once began.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The city hadn’t even stretched itself awake when you slipped through the doors. No voices down the hall yet, no click of heels against the concrete floors - the low thrum of air vents and your own footsteps weaving past half-sealed trunks and hanging garment bags.

Somewhere, a coffee machine sputtered to life on a timer, too early even for Mark. Normally, this hour belonged to someone else—slow mornings, routines back to familiarity, the quiet before the day’s storm.

But today, you came in first. Not because you had to. Just... because you wanted to be here. To catch the calm before everything scattered.

“You trying to put me out of a job?” Mark’s voice carries in with the soft squeak of the door, followed by the telltale shuffle of him juggling too many things — coffee tray, folders, a tablet under one arm. He stops when he sees you already pacing near the open trunks, brow arched.

“Just making sure you don’t misplace passports again or send the team to Thailand instead of France.” You grin, moving toward the open trunks.

Mark gasps, loud and dramatic. “That happened once. And I fixed it.”

“By sobbing at the gate agent.”

“I did not sob.”

“Oh, so it was more of a weep?”

“Rude,” he says, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I’m a very composed, grown ass man.”

“Ah, so you’re admitting you’re old.”

He groans, setting the coffees down. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

He snorts, doesn’t argue, just shrugs, sets the coffee down. “No breakfast with him today?”

“Eggs and toast can wait.”

“You skipped your list? That’s new. What’d Jeongguk say?”

“Flooded me with voicemails. Had to listen to at least seven versions of ‘Why?’ even after I told him I’d be here for the pack-ups – right before my phone died.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “No way he’s extra like that.”

“He hasn’t been – not for a while. Kind of weird to have my phone crash and burn again because of his dramatic ass.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look — unreadable, steady, with a flicker of something thoughtful behind the curve of his grin. You clock it, but let it pass.

The day rolls on like it always does before a big departure – too loud, too fast, and never enough hands.

Someone’s yelling across the hallway about adapter plugs, two interns are bubble-wrapping show shoes like they’re glass heirlooms, and the printer’s already jammed twice. Mark’s playlist, a chaotic blend of Parisian jazz and 2000s R&B, blares from someone’s open laptop in the corner.

You find yourself floating between rooms, checking tags, nodding at garment bags zipped too tight, pretending you don’t notice the way your limbs tire faster than they used to. The interns still come to you for sign-offs. The stylists still panics for second opinions. And you still offer them, clipboard balanced against your hip like nothing’s changed.

It’s nice, in a strange way. Just how normal it feels. The way time moves—hour after hour, slipping into each other without rush—makes it feel like it still belongs to you. Like today could’ve been any day, part of the usual rhythm of everything that came before and everything still ahead. A moment you just want to stay in.

But of course, there’s work to do.

“Okay, scoot,” you reach for one of the team’s duffel bags, tugging at a corner of the zipper. “I’ll take the accessories box. You never know how to layer the feathered ones.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Mark swats your hand away with a horrified gasp. “Last time you touched those, we had glitter in customs for three days.”

“That was an artistic choice.”

“That was a biohazard.”

You laugh, easing onto the nearby chair as he returns to another half-packed trunk.

The room feels fuller now – buzzing with tape guns, double-checks, voices in half a dozen languages. Still, there’s a quiet thrum beneath it. One only he seems to notice.

“You okay?” Mark doesn’t look at you when he asks. Just keeps folding the last of the statement pieces with careful hands. “Spaced out for a minute.”

You hesitate, then let the words slip out. “Been thinking when we started planning for the first show a few years ago – the excitement, the late-night calls, the endless what-ifs. Was really looking forward to being there this year. Wish I still could.”

Mark pauses, his expression softening. “Hey, you’ve done so much already. More than enough.”

“Would’ve been better if I was there to do more,” you force a small smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “But I know you all will be okay. You will be okay, right?”

“It’s always better when it’s with you,” there’s a steady calm in his voice. “But we’ll be fine. You’ve already left so much of yourself in this – in us. That doesn’t go away just because you won’t be there this time.” He adds with a faint smile, “Besides, I know you’ll find a way to tweak the line up from here.”

You let a quiet laugh. Knows he’s not wrong. And maybe that’s the comfort in all of this – that even now, with everything shifting, Mark remains your constant. Your partner. Your friend. Someone who’s always been easy to lean on, from the very beginning. Someone you trust to be there, no matter what.

The hours pass quietly — soft footsteps, the sound of tissue paper crinkling, the smooth pull of a zipper. slips off the table and falls to the floor. Mark glances down, smirks, and shakes his head. You let out a small laugh, and the moment moves on, light and easy, like a breeze passing through.

Tapping the clipboard lightly against your palm, you break the moment. “Hey, did we ever finalize the medical clearance forms for the team?”

Mark doesn’t look up from the garment rack. “Pretty sure Jae handled that with the travel coordinator last week.”

“Then why didn’t I see it with the rest of the emails?”

He hums, still adjusting the shoulder line of a blazer. “Could’ve been sent directly to the coordinator. Jae mentioned something about looping in their assistant.”

You nod, but your pen still hovers over the clipboard. “I’ll just go to the hospital, check anything else we might need for any last-minute documentation to be cleared.”

That gets a glance from him. “Since when do you run health paperwork?”

“Since one of the team members got held up last year when we forgot their vaccination attestation. We nearly missed the flight. Almost rebooked with the entire quarter's budget.”

Mark winces a little, remembering. “Fair. Want me to come with?”

“It’s fine,” you’re already tucking the clipboard under your arm, reaching for your bag from the corner stool—halfway out the door before he can offer again. “Hold the fort here.”

The hospital feels quieter than usual as you step inside, the familiar hum of activity muted by the early hour.

At the front desk, you offer a polite nod and slide the folder of team’s forms across the counter, the receptionist flipping through them with practiced ease.

This part is routine – a formality, really. Follow-ups, final stamps, the kind of thing you’ve done a dozen times before each major trip. You settle into the waiting area, glancing around at familiar faces and the soft buzz of footsteps nearby.

Before long, a familiar voice calls your name. Yoongi steps into view, wearing that small, knowing smile you’ve come to know better than most.

“Still testing foundations that could double as poison,” he says dryly, “or have you finally switched to something less… flammable?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nope. I’m trying to keep it rain-friendly this time. Took your advice, promise.”

He lets out a brief, amused sigh, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Well, that’s a relief. Come on in.”

The office is still, the muted buzz of fluorescent lights blending with the faint scent of antiseptic. Afternoon light filters in, softening the usual clinical quiet of the hospital. You take a breath, steadying yourself as a quiet calm settles over the edges of the day.

He gestures toward the chair by his desk. “How’s the team holding up with all the prep chaos?”

You settle in, managing a small smile. “They’re hanging on – Mark’s got it together but I know that old man’s hanging on caffeine and his last strand of hair.”

Yoongi chuckles softly. “Sounds about right. You, though? You look like you could use a break.”

You shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “One last stretch before I take a long ass vacation. Years of pouring myself into Seora, think I deserve it yeah?”

He nods, knowingly. “You deserve it more than anyone, Sunshine.”

You reach into your bag, pulling out a small, neat folder with a faint logo stamped on the corner. The paper inside looks official but worn from being handled.

Yoongi glances at the folder, then back at you. “Everything in order for the team’s clearance?”

You give a quick nod, “Thanks for the contacts,” then slide the folder toward him. “There’s this one form – nothing too serious. Just needed when moving certain personal effects, stuff that needs legal backing, you know.”

He flips it open, brows knitting slightly as he scans the documents. “This looks straightforward. Just some signatures?”

You nod, watching him quietly, letting the soft hush of the office settle in around you. The faintest tension slips from your shoulders as Yoongi signs the paper with his usual, deliberate care, folds it neatly, and hands it back without arguments.

“Done,” he says simply. “You’re all set on that front.”

You tuck the folder away, voice even. “Thanks, Yoongi. Means a lot.”

He offers his signature gummy smile. “You know where to find me. Just don’t bring paperwork next time, bring tangerines.”

The afternoon sunlight filters softly through the leaves of the old oak trees lining the city park. You’ve wandered here without much thought, drawn by the quiet comfort of children’s laughter in the distance and the steady rhythm of footsteps on gravel paths. For a little while, it feels like the world has given itself permission to slow down—unhurried, uncomplicated.

You settle onto a weathered bench tucked just outside the flow of the afternoon bustle. The wind threads gently through your hair, and you let it. You let it all happen without resistance—just sit there, still, pretending for a moment that the ground beneath you isn’t shifting in ways you haven’t found words for. Your shoulders ease—not entirely, but enough. Enough to stay. Enough to breathe.

Your phone buzzes in your hand – Jeongguk’s name glowing bright on the screen.

“Lunch. One hour.”

“Uh, hello to you too?” A breath of laughter slips out before you can stop it, easing something in your chest. “I’m not going to lunch with you.” You lean back against the bench, eyes tracing the slow sway of tree branches overhead. “Too late for lunch and we’ve got dinner in a few hours.”

“Consider it early plans.” His tone is light, teasing. “You missed breakfast.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers. You tuck the phone closer to your ear. “Had to be at the office. Told you that.”

The line goes quiet, you think he’s dropped the call. Then, “Le Petit Jardin.”

The name stills you.

A soft wind stirs against your cheek, and the city seems to hush with it. The memory surfaces—delicate, familiar, tethered to a night you never fully unpacked. A moment left hanging between the past and the present. Something old presses behind your chest—quiet, aching.

Your voice falters. “What?”

Jeongguk exhales on the other end—measured, careful. “Please? I’ve just got somewhere to drop by real quick. Reservation’s under my name. But I promise…”

Pauses.

“…I’ll show up this time.”

Le Petit Jardin is still the same.

Tucked away on a quieter street just outside the buzz of central Seoul, the place has a quiet charm that doesn’t try too hard—brick walls, ivy climbing iron railings, and wide windows open to let in the light. The smell of herbs and butter floats through the air, mixing with soft conversation and the sound of cutlery.

You’re sitting by the window. Sunlight comes through the thin curtains, catching the dust in the air like something trying not to be noticed. Your fingers run along the edge of your water glass—once, then again. The tablecloth is cream. Neat. Familiar.

A small vase sits in the center. Fresh flowers. Pale ranunculus today—not quite the same as before, but close enough to stir something.

Outside, people walk by. Talking, laughing, just going on with their day. And under all of it, there’s a quiet pull in your chest—not sharp, not overwhelming—just the soft weight of a place time never really left.

You reach for your glass again, only to pause as a faint shift in the air catches your attention — the subtle hush that follows when someone familiar steps into a room.

He doesn’t spot you at first. Jeongguk hesitates at the entrance, eyes scanning the space. There’s a touch of uncertainty in his stance, like he’s afraid he’s too early or too late. Then his gaze brushes past you… and briefly keeps going.

Your lips twitch.

It takes a second — maybe two — before something in him stills. A blink. A furrow of his brow.

Then he sees you.

Something shifts on his face. Not quite surprise — more like a quiet recognition, something deeper. You’re not sure if it’s the light or just the way he’s standing, but he’s smiling with his whole self, and somehow, it feels warm.

And then — you see what he’s carrying.

A bouquet. No — not a bouquet. A field of purple tulips, practically spilling out of his arms, their soft heads nodding with every step he takes.

You blink. “What... is that?”

He shifts the tulips carefully, like they might tip over any second. “Your favorite?”

You stare at the flowers, then at him. “What? The usual wasn’t available?”

“It was,” He meets your eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Just thought this might make you smile.”

You shake your head, lips curving despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But?”

You glance at the tulips again. “But they’re pretty.”

His shoulders ease. Just barely. “Thank God! I was ready to cross the city for something bigger.”

You pause, not sure what to do with the sudden warmth that creeps in. Your throat tightens for a moment — quick, but enough to notice — before you roll your eyes and gesture toward the empty chair across from you.

“Sit your ass down before someone accuses us of stealing from the restaurant’s garden.”

He laughs quietly, settling into his seat, the bouquet taking up half the table like it was always meant to be there.

The menus are still sitting between you, a little worn at the edges from time or warmth, but neither of you picks them up. Sunlight stretches across the tablecloth, lighting up the side of his face — and for a moment, the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, like something shared.

The words on the menu blur, making things more confusing than helpful.

You used to know every page well — not exactly by heart, but from memory. You remember the meals you and Jeongguk always ordered on anniversaries — made sure this place had them too, the wines you both liked, even though he used to joke that your choices were too pricey and that the highball you made at home was better anyway.

Your eyes stop at the dessert section, and you notice the cheesecake — the one you made sure was on the menu for the first anniversary three years ago — isn’t there anymore.

Now your fingers hover a little too long over the appetizers. Not because you’re unsure — but because you know exactly what’s there. And somehow, that knowing feels heavier than you thought it would.

Across the table, Jeongguk watches you, gaze steady, soft, like he’s trying to listen to the space between your breaths. There’s a small smile on his face — quiet, a little unsure — but it’s enough to let you know he’s here.

“Are you okay with the confit duck, with the cranberry jus? Maybe a truffle risotto and the mushroom tart with gruyère?”

You don’t mean to smile, but it slips out before you can stop it — small and quiet. The feeling in your chest picks up, steady and light, like something that’s always been there, just waiting. “It’s perfect.”

“Okay, let’s go with that.” His eyes light up, warm and round, the corners crinkling with something close to relief. “There’s a dessert place a few blocks from here. Reviews say their Biscoff cheesecake’s the most popular… if you’re up for it after?”

You tilt your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Are you feeding an army? It’s just me.”

Jeongguk chuckles softly, eyes kind. “Just making sure you don’t go hungry.”

The plates come one by one, each dish a quiet reminder of flavors you’ve known for years—flavors you never had the chance to try here but always hoped you would. They settle slowly on your tongue—steady, sure. Around you, the restaurant buzzes softly, a gentle background to a moment neither of you speaks, but both feel.

Jeongguk watches you with quiet amusement, his eyes following the same stray lock of hair that’s fallen across your face for the third time.

You don’t notice at first — too wrapped up in the comfort of the meal, the calm of the afternoon, and the quiet feeling of belonging that food brings in moments like this.

But when more strands keep brushing against your lips, tickling your cheek just as you’re almost done saving your favorites, your patience starts to run out. You sigh, already annoyed you grabbed a bag today that didn’t have your usual stash.

“You know,” Jeongguk says, resting his chin on his hand, “I’ve always loved watching you lose this fight with your hair.” He pauses, a smirk playing at his lips. “But you’re about one tick away from breaking that plate in half. I’d really prefer not getting banned from this place.”

Then, silently, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a black hair tie—worn thin and stretched from years of use. A small sun charm swings gently from it as he sets it down and nudges it toward you.

You stop.

A faint scratch near the edge catches your eye – still there after all these years.

That blazing summer afternoon comes rushing back. The heat was thick enough to stick to your skin. You loved summer—always had—but that heatwave that year was brutal. You thought you might actually die.

You were about to tie your hair up, your wrists slick with sweat, when Jeongguk, ever the menace, reached for the fruit salad with a bottle of hot sauce in hand.

“The fuck, Gguk! You and your weird food combos!”

Jeongguk just grinned, unfazed. “But baby….you said you wanted something different.”

“That doesn’t mean I want food poisoning!”

You lunged forward, trying to snatch the bottle from his hands, but he tugged back. In the scuffle, he caught your hair tie on his fingers and yanked it off. It flew somewhere across the kitchen.

You laughed, half annoyed, half amused. “That was my best hair tie!”

He just smirked like it was a victory.

Now, here at the table, the worn black hair tie with its tiny sun charm lies in front of you — proof that he picked it up and held onto it all this time.

You’re not sure what tugs at you more — that he brought up something he loved seeing you do, like it meant nothing, like it was natural for him to hold onto pieces of you; or the quiet way he holds back that familiar boyish grin you haven’t seen in a long time, as if hoping you won’t notice.

“You had this?” you murmur, still looking at the band.

He shrugs, casual — or trying to be. “Has a good grip, honestly. Total lifesaver when mine snaps.”

But the faint flush rising on his neck gives him away.

You don’t press. Just reach up, gathering your hair with practiced ease. The charm brushes against your skin as you twist it into place, familiar weight settling like it never left.

“I’ve probably got more of these lying around the house somewhere,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Could give you some… if you want to stock up. That poor charm looks like it’s hanging by a lifeline.”

His eyes light up far too quickly. “Yes! I mean—yeah. That’d be nice.”

You tilt your head, eyeing the way his longer hair falls just below his jaw now. “Ever thought about going short again?”

He leans back slightly, brow raised, playful. “If I’d known you were, I would’ve tagged along.”

“Long looks better on you.” You almost say more—about how you missed making little sprouts stick up on the top of his head when he’d nap on your lap—but even the thought feels too soft to say out loud.

The first few words had already slipped out before you can stop it, a quiet heat blooms across your cheek. You clear your throat, eyes darting away. “This new thing wasn’t even planned. Wasn’t even sure I’d pull it off. Didn’t think how annoying it’d be after. Stupid shit won’t stay in place.”

Jeongguk laughs, quiet and warm. “It suits you. Think you look more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.”

Your heart fumbles—just for a breath—before you recover, nudging your foot lightly against his beneath the table.

“Finish your food, Gguk,” you mutter, lips twitching. “Before I make you wear the mushroom tart as a hair accessory.”

The streets hum beneath the early evening sky, bathed in that golden lull between day and night. The city’s warmth lingers in the pavement, in the breeze, in the way your shoulders brush now and then as you walk side by side. The soft murmur of passersby, the clink of dishes from open-air cafés, and the distant notes of street music fold into the rhythm of your steps.

Jeongguk walks beside you, one arm full of the bouquet – the full-blown meadow. The petals flutter gently against his coat, catching the amber glow of storefront lights and people’s curiousness along the way.

He carries them like it’s second nature. Not as a burden or a favor, but with something close to quiet pride — like holding them is just another extension of holding space for you. Like he’s done it a hundred times before.

You glance over, lips curving. “We should’ve left that in the car. You’re struggling.”

He shifts the bouquet in his arms, sniffing a soft laugh. “Did you forget I deadlift twice this in warmups?”

You raise a brow, biting back your grin. “Okay, macho bunny. Settle down.”

He doesn’t even flinch at the nickname, has gotten used to being called your bunny since the beginning — just smirks, eyes still forward. “This bunny’s got range.”

You let yourself look — really look — for a second longer than you probably should. At the mess of stems tangled in his arms. At the tulips brushing his coat like they belong there. At the soft curve of his smile that’s lingered all evening. At how absurdly, unintentionally gentle it all feels.

And somehow, it makes the walk feel slower. Sweeter. Like you could carry the rest of the time in your pocket if you tried.

The street narrows here, the city’s noise softening into a gentle murmur. A warm glow spills from the shop’s windows, inviting shadows onto the pavement. The faint scent of sugar and vanilla drifts out as the door swings open, welcoming you into a quiet refuge from the evening bustle.

Inside, the shelves are filled with colorful slices and delicate pastries, each one a small promise of something sweet. Soft music plays in the background — something old and piano-heavy — weaving in with the quiet clink of teacups and low voices. It feels like stepping into another bubble entirely, slower, softer.

Jeongguk scans the display, then stops at a cake swirled with dark chocolate and bright green. He nudges you, grinning. “You’re really missing out.”

You wrinkle your nose. “If I wanted to brush my teeth for dessert, I’d just use toothpaste.”

“If Mint Choco had a hate club, you’d be the president.”

“Obviously.”

He laughs, eyes lingering on the cake like he’s thinking of defending it, but lets it slide. Instead, he nods toward the Biscoff slice you both noticed earlier — golden, dense, topped with just the right amount of crumbs. “Truce?”

Your lips twitch. “Only because you didn’t try to sneak that abomination into our order.”

“Small wins,” Jeongguk grins, then turns to head toward the pickup counter — shoulders loose, a little bounce in his step.

You’re tucked into a quiet bench just outside, the shop’s soft light spilling through the window behind you. The night air is gentle, brushing cool against your cheeks.

Jeongguk sets the bouquet down beside you, then carefully balances the small box between you, popping it open to reveal the single slice, two forks tucked neatly inside.

“You gonna share nicely?” you ask, elbow brushing his.

He catches your glance, a flicker of something warm — maybe even a little mischievous — in his eyes before he smiles.

“You always get first bite; I’m not even going try.” Then he leans back, arm resting casually behind you, like this is easy—like sharing space, and sweets, and silences with you still makes sense.

The quiet settles in — not heavy, just soft around the edges, like a song paused mid-melody. A breeze drifts through the alley, lifting the corners of napkins and carrying with it the scent of caramel and something faintly floral, like spring still unfolding.

You watch the way the light catches the corner of his mouth as he chews, the soft curve of a smile barely there. The easy lines of his face seem even gentler in the fading light. For a moment, everything else—the past, the ache, the waiting—feels far away.

Slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing over his hand resting near the edge of the table. He doesn’t pull away. You curl your hand into his, a quiet touch that says enough.

Your voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me there. I never thought I’d get to try it—or see it again, really—not after all these years. It’s more than I hoped for.”

He turns his hand slightly and gives yours a gentle squeeze, then looks up — eyes holding something fragile. Hope, maybe. Or just the quiet weight of someone still trying. “I just wanted to give you a new memory – something better to hold on to.”

You squeeze his hand back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And I’ll never forget that.”

Jeongguk’s thumb moves lightly over your knuckles, like he’s taking in the moment without needing to say more. For a while, neither of you move.

The background fades — the café noise, the passing footsteps, bits of laughter carried off by people heading somewhere else.

Then softly, with a tilt of his head and something unreadable in his eyes, “There’s one more place I want to take you. If you’re okay with it?”

You blink, brows lifting. “Is this where you tell me you booked out the carousel at Lotte World?”

He snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Why would I do that when you throw up after three spins?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yet you still fed me meals good enough for a whole year.”

“That was different,” he says, trying not to laugh. “That was calculated. Was aiming for full, not motion-sick.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest now – softer, steadier.

“So... where are you taking me, then?”

Jeongguk shifts, tone quieter now. “Somewhere before either of us had titles. When you still carried your sketchpad everywhere, and I still wore dress shoes that didn’t fit right.”

Your smile fades, just slightly — not gone, just stilling.

“It’s not far,” he adds quickly. “Just... thought it might be nice to see it again. Only if you want to.”

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push. Just waits—like he’s offering, not asking. Like he’ll be okay no matter what you say.

You watch him for a moment, the weight of the day resting warm in your chest. Then, quietly, with a faint smile tugging at your lips, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Jeongguk smiles – nothing wide, nothing dramatic. Just something real. Something you haven’t seen in a long time – something your heart is happy to see again. And quietly, the world around you move.

The roads stretch ahead, soft and calm in the mellow evening hush. The sun has already slipped below the horizon, leaving a faint gold glow lingering at the edges. Streetlights flicker on one by one, bathing the city in that in-between light — softer, almost like a memory’s filter.

You lean your head toward the window, watching storefronts slide by as signs flicker to life. Someone’s walking a dog in a neon raincoat. Someone else hurries past, clutching a melting popsicle. A delivery scooter zips past on the left.

He drives with one hand on the steering, the other laced with your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s not some list making him do this, like he’s not even thinking about it. Or maybe he is — quietly, carefully — like he always did when he was trying not to mess things up.

You glance over at him. The light from the window catches the line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow as he takes a turn, and the way he still checks his mirrors twice—like he’s being extra careful.

“You still drive like you’re one mistake away from failing your test,” you say softly.

He looks over, mock-offended. “Forgetting I aced it the first time?”

“You parallel parked into a bike rack.”

He grins. “Never gonna let that go, are you?”

You smile, drop it, deciding to give him the last word for now. The light changes, and the soft rumble of the engine fills the pause that follows.

After a while, the roads narrow, shifting from wide city lanes to quieter residential streets. The buildings lean in a little closer, and the traffic thins to a soft hum. Tall, old trees line the sidewalks, making the road feel like it’s leading somewhere that matters.

You know the place before he even slows down.

The museum’s silhouette rises between the trees, hidden behind ivy-covered brick and a rusty iron fence that was once painted navy. The cracked stone path is still there out front — and the same flickering porch light by the side door.

He pulls into the gravel lot and cuts the engine.

For a second, you both stay still. Then, quietly, you murmur, “You remembered.”

Jeongguk looks over at you, his voice quiet but sure. “I did.”

A soft, familiar feeling stirs in your chest — something gentle and quiet, like it’s been waiting to come back, or hasn’t left at all.

The doors open with the familiar creak of old hinges — soft and slow, like the building is waking up after a long sleep.

Inside, the museum is quiet. Not empty—just still. Just slow.

The lighting is low and warm, pooling beneath each exhibit in deliberate halos. A soft classical score filters in from hidden speakers overhead, more felt than heard, like the architecture itself is humming.

Your footsteps echo lightly on the polished floors as you walk into the first gallery. The smell of old paper, fabric dye, and clean wood fills the air, wrapping around you like a familiar memory.

“They changed the layout,” you murmur, eyes scanning the room. “Used to be textile displays up front.”

“They moved them to the second wing,” Jeongguk says. “That rotating exhibit you liked is still here, though. The color study room.”

You feel a small smile tug at your lips as you start walking, naturally drawn to the hallway on the left. Your fingers lightly brush the wall as you pass—the plaster cool and smooth beneath your skin, something steady and familiar in the quiet space.

And then something flickers at the edge of your mind.

The lights were brighter back then. Or maybe it was just the two of you—when everything felt a little clearer, a little more alive.

You had rushed inside first, sketchbook in hand, oversized blazer slipping off one shoulder as you moved quickly from sculpture to sculpture, eyes wide and thoughts half-spoken.

“God, look at that form—look at the geometry of it. If I layered that in satin... no, organza. Maybe with a cutaway bodice—”

“You’re talking to yourself again,” Jeongguk called after you, walking behind in black slacks and a shirt that was a little tight, his hair messy from running to make the reservation.

You spun around, smiling. “I’m brainstorming. Some of us build entire empires off talking to ourselves.”

“And some of us are just trying not to get kicked out.”

You stuck your tongue out and dropped onto the nearest bench, already sketching quickly—lines curving, eyes focused, lip tucked between your teeth.

He didn’t interrupt. Just sat beside you, silent, watching.

Later, he would say it was in that moment—watching your fingers move across the page as you quietly described colors, pleats, and shapes—that he decided to pitch for Creative Director after all.

That if you could believe in beauty that strongly, maybe he could too.

Now, the bench is still there.

So is the sculpture—though it’s been re-centered beneath a glass ceiling skylight, lit from above like it’s more sacred now than it used to be.

You step a little closer to the installation, pause, let your eyes trail the clean curve of the structure, the shadows it casts against the floor like memories that never fully faded.

“You once told me this shape reminded you of possibility,” Jeongguk stands just behind you, a quiet presence. “Said it wasn’t perfect, but that’s what made it feel real.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, something flickering in your chest. “You remember that too huh?”

He nods. “I remember a lot of things.” There’s no weight in the way he says it. No edge. Just quiet truth.

You don’t answer right away. Just linger there, in front of the sculpture that somehow still makes you feel like you’re twenty something, dreaming big and everything is barely out of reach in the best way.

Then, softly—“You’re really taking me through time today.”

A small smile curves his lips, tugging gently at the edge of something unspoken. “Thought you might like the detour.”

You look back toward the installation. The moment stretches.

“I do,” you say. “I really do.”

The museum folds around you in that kind of silence again—the kind that feels full rather than empty. A hush with weight. Like the walls are holding something, not withholding it.

It’s a silence that’s known you—watched you grow up, shift and reshape. Watched you become who you are, who you were, who you’re still figuring out how to be.

You drift into the next room without speaking, your footsteps softened by the muted flooring. This wing is newer—redesigned sometime in the last few years—but the bones remain. Familiar archways. The soft hush of focused lighting. The faint click of a motion-sensor light blinking on as you pass beneath it.

Here, the walls bloom with a sequence of evolving color studies—paintings and mixed media that shift gradually from restrained monochromes to riotous saturation. A slow unraveling in hue and form, like someone learning how to feel out loud.

A plaque near the entrance reads: The Shape of Time.

You pause in front of the first canvas—washed in pale blues and muted grays. “I forgot this exhibit was here.”

Jeongguk hums beside you, eyes scanning the transitions on the wall. “It wasn’t. Not back then.”

He steps closer to a piece painted in shades of rust and amber, texture so thick it almost looks like it’s still drying. His gaze rests a moment, then drops to the artist’s note tucked just beneath the frame:

We carry color differently the longer we live.

Grief stains. Joy fades.

But memory—memory blends.

You don’t realize you’ve stepped closer until your shoulder brushes his. “I used to think time was something I could manage,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Like a collection. A project. Color-coded calendars. Five-year plans. All of it”

“You made it look easy,” he says, eyes still on the wall.

You shake your head once. “It never was.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Just... reflective. The kind of pause that asks nothing from either of you, but holds everything anyway.

Then Jeongguk says, quieter now, “You made it meaningful.”

Maybe it’s the lighting, or the way the artwork wraps around him, but something in his expression looks younger. Or maybe not younger. Just... closer to the boy who once trailed behind you through this very building, watching you fall in love with color and shape and the quiet magic of imagining what could be.

You don’t answer him. Don’t need to. Just let the feeling of him noticing you, of seeing you sink in for the moment.

He shifts slightly beside you. Then, silently, his hand brushes against yours—barely a graze at first. Testing, waiting.

When you don’t move away, he lets his fingers slip between yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for nothing but hoping for yes.

You don’t look at him, but your hand curls back around his. Gently. Like love never left—only waited.

You make one last pass through the gallery, slower this time—like your body knows the visit’s almost over, and isn’t quite ready to let go of the stillness just yet.

There’s no need to speak. The quiet does all the holding for you.

Jeongguk walks with you in step now, his hand still lightly folded around yours, thumb brushing soft arcs across your skin like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The two of you move through the corridor together, past a hanging textile piece that ripples gently with the shift in the building’s air—like even the room exhales around you.

You glance back one last time before the exit comes into view.

“I used to come here looking for something new,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Now I think I come here to remember how it used to feel.”

“Which part?”

You tilt your head slightly. “The part where everything felt possible.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, softer, “You made it feel that way for everyone else, too.”

The quiet’s your response, giving his hand the faintest squeeze instead, as you pass through the final archway.

Outside, the evening has folded into a soft hush. Streetlights blink on like old friends. The air carries the faint scent of rain that never quite arrived.

As you cross the gravel lot together, the mood eases — not light exactly, but lighter.

“You know,” you say, glancing sideways, “this is the first time you actually kept up with a long day and didn’t complain about your feet.”

“That’s ‘cause my cardio’s better now,” Jeongguk says, feigning pride. “These legs were built for endurance.”

You snort. “Okay, calm down, Olympic hopeful.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, opening the car door for you. “If there was a stair-climbing event, I’d podium.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you slide in.

Behind you, the museum’s windows glow like distant memories.

The ride back is quieter. Not in a heavy way—just... settled.

The sky has deepened into a softer shade of indigo, and the roads are near empty now. Shop signs flicker as they wind down for the night. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbles through a turn. The city feels less like a machine and more like a heartbeat.

Jeongguk walks you up to the gate. He doesn’t try to follow. Just waits, hands in his pockets, as you key in the code.

“Thanks for today,” you say, glancing back at him.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” you smile. “Just want to.”

He nods, and for a second, it seems like he might say more. Instead, he steps closer, his hand lightly brushing a stray hair from your forehead before his lips press a gentle kiss—soft, unhurried. The world seems to still for a breath. Then, without a word, he wraps you in a brief, warm hug, holding on just long enough to say everything he won’t.

When he finally steps back, the small smile on his lips feels different — quieter, sincere. He waits until you’re safely inside before turning away, leaving behind a quiet warmth that stays with you long after the door closes.

Inside, the house is dim but warm. A single hallway light hums from the corner. You toe off your shoes by the entry bench, letting the quiet wrap around your shoulders.

There’s a faint clatter from the kitchen. Your mother’s voice calls softly—“You’re back?”—and you answer, just as softly—“Yeah.”

You don’t say much more. Just place the tulips on the end table near the stairs, where the light can find them in the morning. They lean slightly in the vase. A little wild. A little soft. Still holding more than they show.

Your phone buzzes from inside your coat pocket.

| Jin 🍷: Anniversary dinner. Soirée. 7 PM. Bring your appetite and your patience. I fully intend to be insufferably sentimental.

| 🌞: You should be. It’s the one day your wife expects you to be a sap.

| Jin 🍷: I’m telling her to hide the desserts from you.

You lock the screen. Let the silence settle around you. Let the weight of the day land, not like a burden—but like something you’re allowed to carry, just for yourself.

And somewhere behind your chest, that ache you’ve kept at bay all day curls up quietly, and sleeps.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts fanfiction #fanfic #bts jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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waywardangel-wilds · 21 days ago

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Things / silly moments Peeta Mellark would have during or after the growing back together era. I’m doing a sequel, Peeta edition lol!

1. Receive a breadmaker for Christmas. Who gave it to him? Haymitch? Johanna? His own traitorous wife? The possibilities are endless. Regardless, he is not amused (hahaha).

2.Repeatedly say he’s “okay with that,” regarding: kitchen organization (no he’s not,) loud noises (no he’s not,) people over staying their welcome (no he’s not, he cannot keep his friendly face on as long as he used to).

3. Somehow still have it in him to be surprised / honoured / brought to tears by Katniss wanting to be with him. Katniss thinks he’s silly.

4. Incapable of making stew at the level Katniss Everdeen can. He doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing, but he always falls asleep on the couch right after. How is she doing this?? How much butter is in this stuff??

5. Continue to be an insanely nosey person. He knows everyone’s business and yet no one suspects him. He’s like a sleeper agent.

6. Wake up one day confused by Katniss’s slow migration into his house. He opens a cabinet expecting to find his stuff only to find what Katniss thinks is a subtle stash of miscellaneous junk crammed in there. Is this something he can bring up in conversation? She can just move in, it’s fine. Would she run away if he says anything?? He’ll keep it to himself and see where she’s going with this.

7. After a period of shell shocked silence on Peeta’s part, he returns to what eventually becomes a tradition: shit talking Haymitch over a game of chess. Haymitch thought himself a grade A smart ass, but he’s got nothing on the kid. It’s not so much verbally abusive as it is insanely hilarious. The old mentor would have never thought of stringing that specific bouquet of words together.

9. One day, randomly, he watches as some rich person on the news announces that they’re auctioning a painting of his from his victory tour. He doesn’t take this well.

10. Finds the whole concept of hiring people to help him run the bakery deeply odd. It’s also a practice in realizing his parents did not worry about their kids safety enough when they were working.

11. Is just the type of person who, infuriatingly, cannot stay still. He needs a task, constantly. Oh, Katniss talked him into not going to work for once? He’s trying to clean the gutters. He’s down with the most nasty cold of all time? Perfect opportunity to regrout the bathroom tiles.

#headcanons #hc #the hunger games #thg #peeta mellark

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hellcifrogs · 1 month ago

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Student's Students AU Part 13

Prev / Start

Ino's big time to shine and Sai's moment of truth!

Ino is finally considered a powerful enough Yamanaka to be sent to retrieve information from the Akatsuki spy. The spy's identity is, of course, a secret, but they know he must be dangerous. Not only that, but this is the first time in many years he has offered any contact.

Ino is ready for the job, however she is not ready to the realization that she in fact knows the identity of the special agent.

Ino finds the information Itachi had, about the Akatsuki's plans and future moves, what Obito/Madara knows of Konoha's interferences and how they have added a target to Jiraiya's back for suspecting his involvement in it. And takes it back to Ibiki and the Hokage.

After that she would like nothing more than to go straight to Sasuke to tell him about his brother's current position, but 1. She can't because that's supposed to be confidential and 2. She realizes she doesn't have all the facts. So she makes another stop to confront someone about this new development.

For a while, Sai had been consistently approaching Ino and hinting about the secrets he cannot fully disclose - such as, the real reason he'd been put in team 7, who ordered he be placed there, what branch he really works for, what his boss' true intentions were, the connections he has and sacrifices he's willing to make and most important, the sacrifices he has already made.

She had not taken him seriously for most of those times, until he finally suggested she take a look for herself, by using her clan's techniques, which surprised Ino - he shouldn't know that, so she does her own investigation. She had been hitting only dead ends up until she'd been sent to meet up with Itachi.

And so she takes him up on that offer. She finds out about the Root, learns about Danzo's connection to the Uchiha massacre, and confirms Sai's suspicions about Itachi's innocence. She also realizes that Sasuke and Naruto (and through him, Nagato and his movement) could all be in danger if Danzo decided to turn his attention to them.

More of the AU

#ffreire art #naruto au #yamanaka ino #yamanaka sai #uchiha itachi #students students au #i cannot believe a random doodle of anko taking over sasukes training got aaaall the way to this point #this is THE POINT i wanted to get to!!#naruto #naruto shippuden #i need to draw them holding hands now #i need to get their true friendship out!!!

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deliciousangelfestival · 12 days ago

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The Director's Obsession - Phase 4

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.

Word Count: 6.926

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻

Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , Phase 5 , Phase 6 , Phase 7 , Phase 8 , -

Headcanons

Phase 4 : Death Star

The private dining lounge was perched high above the city, wrapped in towering glass that offered a breathtaking view of Coruscant’s endless skyline. The lights below shimmered like stars trapped beneath their feet. It was the kind of place neither of you would have ever dared dream of when you were young.

Mia entered first, and to your surprise, two small shadows trailed closely behind her. Before you could speak, they rushed forward, their tiny shoes tapping excitedly on the polished floor.

"Auntie!" they both squealed in unison, their arms flung wide.

Their immediate joy washed over you like warmth you didn’t know you needed. You knelt instinctively, catching both girls as they wrapped themselves around your arms and waist.

"You didn’t tell me you were bringing them," you said softly as you looked up at Mia, blinking through the sudden warmth stinging your eyes.

Mia’s smile was soft, but full of quiet intent. "When I heard your voice earlier... You sounded like you were slipping. Like you wanted to give up. So, surprise."

You exhaled, your chest tight. "You always know when to show up."

The four of you settled into the plush booth by the window. The atmosphere was elegant but intimate, a place for Coruscant’s powerful and polished. The vast city stretched endlessly beyond the glass, the speeders slicing through the glowing traffic lanes below like silver darts.

Mia leaned back, gazing out at the view, her tone laced with amazement. "Who would’ve thought? If someone told me decades ago that one day we’d sit here, I’d say they were insane."

You smiled faintly, but your attention was stolen by her daughters, who had finished eating and were now spreading their coloring books across the table. You quietly reached to help them steady their pages, smiling as you guided the youngest's hand along the edge of her drawing.

After a pause, the question that had been pressing on you for days finally escaped.

"Do you think I’m selfish for joining the Empire?"

Mia’s gaze shifted to her daughters, her eyes softening. She spoke with quiet certainty. "If you're selfish for wanting to survive, then so am I."

She gestured subtly toward the large windows. Outside, down below, stormtroopers stood guard, their pristine white armor gleaming under the city lights.

"Look at them," Mia continued softly. "We don’t even have to protect ourselves anymore. They’re the first shield. If something happens, they’ll take the blaster first. That wasn’t our childhood. Back then, we were our own shield."

She ran her fingers through her eldest daughter’s hair as her voice lowered. "We grew up hiding under old transports, trading whatever scraps we could find, always hoping today wouldn’t be the day someone turned us in." Her voice trembled but never broke. "Being part of the good side didn’t protect us. The Rebellion... the Resistance... they were supposed to stand for something better. But what did they give us? Hiding. Starving. Running. Watching leaders argue while the rest of us suffered for decisions they made in safety."

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the memories that resurfaced. The cold nights. The stolen rations. The endless running.

Mia's voice grew bitter. "And what finally killed our parents wasn’t blaster fire from the Empire. It was a betrayal. The same commanders we trusted made choices that sacrificed entire camps for their escape. They left us behind to cover their retreat."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting her words hit like old wounds reopening.

She continued, her voice steadier now. "That’s why I chose this life. That’s why I married into the Senate. I wanted stability. And now, because of your work, I feel safer than I ever have." She looked directly at you. "You helped the Empire become something more stable. And for that, I’m proud of you."

Mia smiled and gestured toward her eldest daughter, who was busy sketching in her coloring book, carefully copying a sleek version of your ISB uniform.

"Look at your niece," Mia said warmly, both of you are not related by blood, but the sisterhood is strong. For her, you’re the closest person she could see as family. "She’s proud to have an aunt who works for the ISB. Look at her hair — she even asked me to braid it like yours."

The little girl glanced up, cheeks flushing as she realized you were watching. You smiled, heart swelling with a strange mixture of pride and sadness, and gently patted her head.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Mia’s eyes softened as she looked at both girls. Her hand rested gently on her youngest’s shoulder.

"This kid's grandfather — my father-in-law — he’s greedy, arrogant, obsessed with power," she admitted, her voice low. "But even so, he cares about his family. He makes sure there’s always food, credit, and comfort. He ensures his grandchildren get the best education Coruscant can offer. He may chase power, but at least he knows how to protect his own."

You sat back, holding the drawing in your hands as the lights of Coruscant reflected in the glass around you. Her words lingered, pressing deep into places you hadn’t let yourself think about for years.

Mia exhaled one last time, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. "We made a promise when we were young. We said we’d never let our children grow up like we did. Starving under trees. Hiding in caves. Waiting for leaders who made speeches while leaving people to die. Even if the Empire isn’t perfect, at least it’s organized. At least someone pays for failure. The chaos we came from? That was far worse."

The city lights continued to blink silently beneath you as the quiet between you filled with shared, unspoken truths neither of you could deny.

"You’re good with words," you said softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Mia winked playfully. "Well, I learned from the best."

The rest of the evening unfolded gently, without tension, without weight. For the first time in weeks, the heaviness in your chest felt lighter. You walked side by side with Mia, guiding her daughters toward the waiting speeder at the curb. The city’s glow reflected off the polished surface of the vehicle as you helped the girls climb in, fastening their restraints carefully while they chattered, still excited from the night’s dinner.

Mia turned toward you, her voice warm. "I could drop you off."

You shook your head, exhaling softly. "I want to clear my head. The walk will help."

"Alright," she whispered, leaning in to hug you tightly. "Just… take care of yourself, okay?"

You returned the embrace before stepping back, watching the speeder lift off and disappear into the endless lines of traffic above.

Left alone beneath the towering skyline, you began walking, the hum of speeders above fading into a low, distant hum. The cool Coruscant breeze brushed across your face, threading through your hair. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to breathe. No datapads. No reports. No ISB eyes are watching from across sterile halls.

Your boots clicked softly against the walkway, and for a brief moment, you let yourself remember why you came here in the first place.

You had once stood at the edge of survival, watching leaders speak of hope while your stomach ached from hunger. The Rebellion had promised freedom but delivered starvation, fear, and betrayal. The Empire was flawed, yes—but at least here, you had risen. You had power. You had stability. You weren’t sleeping beneath collapsed transports or begging smugglers for ration scraps. You had control over your life in ways you never thought possible.

For years, that was enough.

But now?

Your steps slowed. The distant hum of traffic suddenly felt… too distant.

You glanced behind you.

A man. Walking too close. Too steady. Not one of the civilians was hurrying home for the night. No hesitation in his pace. His face was down, but his attention was locked on you.

You quickened your steps. Slipping between crowds, crossing lanes, and ducking beneath pedestrian overpasses. Every turn you made, he followed. His distance remained constant. Close enough to see. Far enough not to confront.

Your pulse quickened, your breathing shallower. You turned sharply into one of the narrow service alleys running beneath the platforms, slipping between tall stacks of cargo crates. The hum of speeders was muffled now. The shadows wrapped around you.

Footsteps echoed behind.

He was still coming.

You didn’t wait any longer. Pivoting sharply, you darted down a smaller path, weaving between steel columns, pushing past maintenance droids and service lifts. The noise behind you faltered. You ducked under a scaffold, pressed yourself into a dark recess, and held your breath.

The footsteps slowed. Hesitated. Then faded.

Gone.

You waited several minutes, your heart hammering against your ribs. Only after you were certain the man was gone did you finally slip out of hiding, your pulse still racing, the cold sweat clinging to your back.

Whoever he was, he hadn’t been random.

You straightened your coat, forced your breathing to calm, and continued your way back home with sharp, alert eyes.

Tomorrow, you will report this.

Whoever was watching you tonight… wasn’t done yet.

******

The following morning, you walked with purpose into Partagaz’s office. His sharp eyes glanced up as you entered, already sensing the weight you carried.

"You have something to report?" he asked calmly, setting down his datapad.

You inhaled, keeping your voice steady. "Last night, I was followed."

Partagaz’s brow lifted slightly, his face unreadable. "Followed?"

"At first I thought it might be random," you said. "But it wasn’t. Someone was tracking me deliberately. I evaded them, but it wasn’t an accident."

He leaned back, fingers steepling beneath his chin. "I’ll assign additional security. You’ll have an escort until we locate the source."

"Thank you, Major."

A thin smile crept across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "So. They’ve heard it completely, and now they’re panicked."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

Partagaz exhaled softly, as if reminding himself to choose his words carefully. "Oh, it’s nothing." He waved his hand lightly. "Director Krennic’s larger project… it has reached completion ahead of schedule."

Your breath caught for a moment. The realization sank deep, twisting something inside your chest. So that’s why Krennic hadn’t appeared these past days. The secret project. The one no one spoke of openly. The one you were never allowed to ask about, even as your propaganda had helped secure resources for it. Even now, you didn’t truly understand what you had helped him build.

Partagaz noticed your silence and studied you for a beat longer. "I assume Director Krennic hasn’t personally informed you." His tone was neutral, but not without a hint of quiet observation. "Regardless, congratulations, Agent. Your contribution will not go unrecognized."

"Thank you, Major," you replied quietly as you stepped out, the door hissing shut behind you.

He nodded once and returned to his datapad. As you turned to leave, his voice dropped into a low murmur, meant only for himself. "Good thing she told me. If not, he would have my head."

*******

The days passed. You resumed your assignments as usual, filing reports, attending briefings, reviewing propaganda drafts. But the absence remained. No visits. No sharp remarks. No sudden orders from Krennic sweeping into the office with his cape billowing behind him.

The silence was unsettling.

Had he grown bored? Or perhaps he no longer needed you. With his project completed, maybe you had served your purpose. That thought sat heavier on your chest than you cared to admit.

Several days later, you made your way home as the evening descended. Heavy rain fell across the city, droplets pelting against your coat as you walked beneath the towering skyline. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft slap of your boots against the slick durasteel walkway.

But even beneath the rain, you felt it again.

The sensation crept along your spine. That same shadow pressing behind you, silent but unmistakable.

You quickened your pace.

Behind you, faint footsteps quickened as well.

Your breath came faster as you slipped between market stalls and pedestrian bridges, weaving through the narrow back corridors of the district. The rain made every step slicker, every turn more dangerous. You glanced back.

Three figures emerged from the shadows, closing in.

You ran.

They followed.

Your lungs burned, your pulse roaring in your ears as you pushed through side streets and low alleys, but they stayed on you. There was no escape route this time.

Rough hands grabbed at you from behind, yanking you backward as you struggled. The cold wetness of the rain soaked through your uniform as they forced you into a dead-end corridor. One pinned you roughly against the wall while another blocked your only exit.

"You Empire filth," one of them hissed, his voice venomous. "You think your lies keep you safe? That propaganda you spread? You’re as guilty as the ones pulling the trigger."

You struggled against their grip, but the third man shoved you harder against the wall.

"Rebel scum," you spat, though your voice wavered.

The man snarled. "You chose the wrong side. And tonight, you pay for it."

You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Three against one. There was no winning this.

But instead of pain, you heard it — a single sharp scream. Then another. A blaster shot cracked through the rain-soaked alley, followed by another. You opened your eyes just in time to see one man drop lifelessly to the ground, then another falling hard beside him.

The third barely had time to react before his chest was hit squarely, his body collapsing against the wet durasteel.

Your breath froze as you turned toward the alley entrance.

There, standing like a shadow in the rain, a Death Trooper held his blaster steady, scanning the bodies with cold precision.

You knew immediately who had sent him.

Only one person.

Only one man ever placed his Death Troopers this close, this quietly.

Even when absent, his reach never truly left you.

******

The report had spread through ISB faster than you expected. You should have known the moment it happened, but still, when Heert and Jung arrived unannounced at your quarters early that morning, you hadn’t fully prepared yourself.

Heert’s eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of you. His gaze swept over the faint bruising along your jawline and the darkening mark beneath your cheekbone. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice low with concern.

Jung, always less subtle, winced openly. "You look dreadful."

You rolled your eyes. "Thank you for the honesty."

Heert shifted awkwardly. "We’re here to bring you in."

"For what?" you asked, irritation prickling under your skin.

He glanced at Jung for a brief second before answering. "Interrogation orders."

The word hit heavier than it should have. "Interrogation? You’re serious?"

"Orders are orders," Jung said, avoiding your gaze.

No further explanation came as they escorted you through the stark white corridors of the ISB Headquarters. They led you deep into the restricted levels, past areas you rarely visited, until you reached one of the isolated basement interrogation rooms.

The door slid open. You stepped inside, and the air shifted instantly.

The room was blindingly white. No corners. No shadows. No furniture beyond the single chair where you now sat. The scent of sterilization clung to every surface — sharp, clean, unnatural. It was as if nothing had ever lived inside these walls.

You sat still, your shoulder aching from the bruises left by last night's assault. The questions circled in your mind with increasing weight. Why bring you here? Why now?

Then you saw it.

Through the glass panel ahead of you, a familiar silhouette emerged.

The white cape flowed behind him with slow, deliberate grace. His gloved hands were folded behind his back, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you from the other side. Krennic.

His stare was impossible to read. Cold. Calculating. Yet behind that mask, something else flickered. You couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or something far more dangerous.

The door hissed shut behind him, sealing you both inside the blinding white room.

Krennic advanced slowly, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow that refused to let you breathe. He circled you without speaking, the faint click of his boots against the polished floor marking every beat of your racing pulse.

He stopped directly in front of you, standing close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with rain and sterilized air. His gaze traveled downward, stopping briefly on the darkening bruise along your jaw. His lips twitched into something that was not quite a smile.

"You seem to attract danger far too easily," he murmured. His voice was smooth, almost gentle, but that only made it worse.

You kept your posture firm. "I do not control who chooses to attack me."

He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "No. But you control what information might make you desirable to certain people."

You met his gaze fully now, refusing to blink under the pressure of his stare. "There is nothing I could give them." Your voice was steady but low. "I do not know what they wanted."

Krennic's eyes narrowed, though his voice remained calm. "You underestimate your value. Your work touches far more than you are allowed to see. You forget how many eyes are watching the ripples you create."

He took a step closer, closing the already narrow space between you. His gloved hand lifted slightly, hovering near your chin for a heartbeat as though he might touch the bruise, but he did not. He simply let the air between you thicken.

"I protect my assets, Agent," he whispered, his tone silk wrapped in steel. "And make no mistake, you are one of my most valuable."

You swallowed hard but refused to look away. His proximity, the weight of his voice, the quiet certainty of his control, it pressed against your chest like gravity.

"I only write words," you said quietly. "The Rebels know that."

"Words," he repeated softly, almost savoring the weight of it. "Words that have reshaped the Empire’s image. You have made entire sectors bend willingly to Imperial order. Citizens trust what they once feared. Systems that might have resisted now offer loyalty before resistance can even form."

He let the silence linger, his gaze cutting straight through you.

"The Rebels see you as a threat. Not because you carry a weapon, but because you have weakened their voice. Their influence fades while ours grows stronger."

His voice dipped lower, more personal.

"And because of you, I secured every resource necessary. Not by force. Not through costly suppression. But freely. Efficiently. Without a single drop of unnecessary blood. You gave me order without the chaos."

"I did not choose to become this important," you whispered.

"No," he said, his voice almost like a caress now. "I chose you."

His words hung between you, heavy and intimate. For a moment, the room did not feel like an interrogation chamber anymore. It felt like something far more dangerous.

You forced yourself to steady. "Thank you," you finally said, breaking the tension just slightly.

"For what?" he asked softly, though he already knew.

"For sending the Death Trooper."

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Of course. You are mine to protect."

The weight of his words was deliberate. Possessive. And yet somehow gentler than you expected.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could speak, his voice dropped again into command.

"Stand up."

You blinked, your pulse jumping again. "Where are we going?"

He did not answer. He simply turned and walked toward the door, his voice calm but absolute.

"Follow me."

Your feet moved before your mind could fully process. The ache in your shoulder pulsed with every step, but the ache was nothing compared to the pulse pounding in your chest.

You followed him out of the interrogation chamber, into whatever awaited you next.

*******

You followed him silently across the landing pad toward his shuttle. The Juggernaut. It was only the second time you had ridden inside the vessel, but the sight of it still left you momentarily breathless. Sleek, imposing, and more advanced than anything you'd ever been permitted to board within the ISB. Of course, as Director of the Imperial Department of Advanced Weapons Research, Krennic had access to the finest craft the Empire could construct. Every piece of metal, every inch of polished surface, radiated raw power.

You climbed the ramp behind him, your boots echoing softly against the steel flooring. As you settled into your seat, your voice finally broke the long silence.

"Where are you taking me?"

He barely glanced at you, his tone smooth and almost indulgent. "I am going to show you how effective your words have been in securing my life’s work."

The shuttle engines roared to life as it lifted off the landing platform, breaking through the dense traffic layers of Coruscant and into open space. The stars unfolded around you as the Juggernaut soared higher, faster, leaving the planetary surface behind like it was nothing.

You watched silently as the stars twisted into lines, the ship entering hyperspace. Moments later, the shuttle emerged from light-speed. Before you stretched a view you could never have imagined.

Suspended against the emptiness of space loomed a colossal structure. Its enormous, moon-like sphere dominated the void, its surface covered with docking bays, exposed superstructures, and blinking lights that spread endlessly across its surface.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The shuttle slipped easily into one of its many docking ports. As the ramp lowered, Krennic stepped forward, motioning for you to follow. You descended behind him, eyes scanning the countless Stormtroopers standing in perfect rows along the hangar bay.

"Follow me," Krennic ordered calmly.

You kept close as he led you through the gleaming corridors, passing officers and specialists who straightened their posture the moment he passed. As you followed behind him, you noticed something strange. One by one, many of them nodded slightly toward you, as if acknowledging you personally. You frowned, confused by the unexpected attention.

"Where are we?" you asked finally, your voice quieter now.

"This," Krennic said with deliberate pride, "is called the Death Star."

The words landed with a weight you could not immediately process.

The Death Star.

Your steps slowed, mind spinning as you tried to grasp the enormity of what you were seeing. You had heard whispers in passing over the years, but nothing more than vague rumors. Now you stood inside it.

He led you deeper until you entered a vast observation platform. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the planet of Jedha below. The room was filled with high-ranking officers and officials, all wearing their pristine uniforms and polished rank badges. The air itself seemed heavier under the collective weight of their presence.

As you entered, a cold voice greeted you. "Director Krennic."

You turned toward the speaker and immediately recognized him from briefings and files. Governor Tarkin. His sharp cheekbones and pale eyes were as cutting as his reputation. He stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded behind his back.

"I see you are late," Tarkin continued, his voice cool. "Bringing company, no less."

Krennic’s smile was thin but controlled. "She is the reason this project was completed ahead of schedule." His voice carried with it something strange, almost like pride. "Her contribution was... crucial."

For a moment, you froze. It was the first time you had heard him speak of you that way in public.

Tarkin’s eyes shifted to you, studying you like a specimen. You straightened instinctively and spoke. "Governor," you said with a formal nod.

"At least she possesses better manners than you, Director," Tarkin said without a trace of humor, his gaze returning to Krennic.

You watched the brief flicker of tension between them. It was unmistakable. A subtle battle of egos played out silently between their glances. There was bad blood here, and you could feel it.

"Shall we proceed, Governor?" Krennic said calmly.

"By all means," Tarkin answered.

Krennic turned toward the technicians standing at their stations. The mood shifted instantly as his voice rang out with quiet authority.

"Prepare the weapon."

You followed his gaze to the massive superlaser slowly aligning toward the distant planet of Jedha.

"Target locked," one of the technicians confirmed.

Krennic’s voice was cool, almost casual. "Fire."

The chamber vibrated softly as the giant green laser beam erupted from the weapon’s dish, piercing the darkness like a god’s judgment. The beam struck Jedha’s surface, burrowing deep before erupting into a massive explosion that consumed the horizon. The planet’s crust tore upward into the sky, collapsing into itself as waves of dust and debris billowed into space.

The room fell silent.

Even you could not breathe. You had seen power before, but nothing like this.

"Ooh... it’s beautiful," Krennic whispered, almost reverently. His voice seemed to bring the others back to life. There were collective breaths, but no one dared speak first.

"Dear stars," you whispered under your breath, barely able to process what you had just witnessed.

Tarkin broke the silence next. "I believe I owe you an apology, Director Krennic. Your work exceeds all prior expectations."

"It is impressive, is it not?" Krennic replied, though his eyes first met yours before shifting back to Tarkin.

Tarkin’s expression remained neutral, but his words held weight. "The Emperor himself was briefed on today’s demonstration. He was most pleased."

Krennic allowed himself a faint smile. "His Excellency has authorized a formal celebration to honor those who contributed to the project’s success."

Tarkin gave a nod, his voice cutting as always. "Quite fitting. After all, stability must be recognized as well as enforced."

The tension between them simmered beneath every word. It was clear neither man intended to surrender control easily.

Without another word, Krennic gestured for you to follow him once again. You obeyed, still dazed, your mind struggling to keep pace with what you had just witnessed.

He led you away from the observation deck, the hum of the blast still ringing faintly in your ears. The corridors of the Death Star were pristine, cold, and humming with restrained energy, but you could barely focus. You followed behind him, still trying to process what you had just witnessed.

Then Krennic stopped, turning to face you fully. His voice was calmer now, but thick with the kind of pride that made your pulse catch.

"You saw it." His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you. "But what you do not fully see is how it was made possible."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, his words deliberate and sharp.

"The Death Star is my creation. The culmination of years spent pushing against incompetence, interference, and delays." His tone darkened for a breath before softening into something far more intimate. "But your work, Agent… your words allowed me to silence all of it."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching your reaction.

"Your propaganda campaigns stabilized the sectors that resisted my resource allocations. You gave the governors and the civilians comfort while I took what I needed behind their backs. The materials. The labor. The funds. No questions. No rebellions. No blood spilled."

He gave a small, almost pleased smile.

"While others fought with weapons, you fought with language. Your words became my secret weapon long before this superlaser ever fired."

You felt your stomach tighten, his words hitting heavier than you expected. You had always known your assignments were important. You had never fully understood how close to the center of his war you truly were.

Krennic’s voice lowered even more, like a quiet confession meant only for you.

"And that," he whispered, "is why they will never replace you."

******

The shuttle descended toward Scarif’s glittering coastline, where glass towers cut into the sky and pale blue waves lapped rhythmically against the shore. This was Krennic’s domain, far removed from Coruscant’s politics and shadows. Unlike the polished marble of the ISB, Scarif pulsed with quiet, absolute authority.

You followed him as he disembarked. The moment you stepped into the facility, you could feel the difference. The personnel moved with precision, efficient and almost reverent. Each time you walked behind him, you noticed it again. Officers and technicians nodded toward you as you passed. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

You leaned slightly closer, your voice quiet. "Director, is it just me, or are they nodding at me?"

Krennic did not slow his stride, but the corner of his mouth curled faintly. "They are."

"Why?"

"They acknowledge the one who made this project move forward." His voice was smooth and controlled, as if the statement required no further explanation. "Your work allowed this station to exist."

The statement struck deeper than you expected. He said it so matter-of-fact, like discussing routine supply manifests. But you knew the weight behind it.

As you continued, the two of you stopped before a medical suite. The durasteel doors hissed open, revealing pristine examination rooms within. The faint scent of sterilization lingered, cool and sharp.

Krennic signaled the physician with a small gesture of his hand. "Examine her." His head tilted slightly toward you, eyes briefly meeting yours.

You blinked. "Me?"

"I am treating my assets with appropriate care, Agent."

The physician nodded briskly and gestured for you to sit. The medical scans passed over your shoulder, the familiar whirring sound filling the quiet. A soft blue light pulsed across your skin, reading beneath the surface.

The doctor spoke after a moment. "The soft tissue in her shoulder is strained from impact trauma. She should minimize upper limb activity for a short duration to avoid further damage."

"But she may continue her duties?" Krennic asked, voice as calm as ever.

"Yes, Director. With caution."

"Good. Very good," Krennic said, almost pleased, as if the outcome had been preordained.

When the examination concluded, you rose once again and followed him out of the sterile room into open air.

The beach stretched endlessly before you, waves glittering under the pale twin suns. White sand glistened at the water’s edge while Scarif’s massive shield array shimmered faintly above like a second sky.

Krennic stopped at the edge of the platform and raised his hand, pointing upward.

"See that?" His voice was quieter now, but carried the same weight it always did.

High above the clouds, like a second moon, hung the silhouette of the Death Star. Even from this distance, it radiated silent dominance, its superlaser dish casting a faint shadow against the stars.

You stared up at it, your breath catching. That massive sphere, capable of destroying entire worlds in seconds. You had seen it fire, seen Jedha reduced to ash. And now, here it hovered, its size dwarfing everything beneath it.

Krennic spoke again, his voice distant with memory. "I have spent almost twenty years building that."

He exhaled softly. "Years of setbacks. Delays. Sabotage. And endless pressure from the Emperor and Tarkin." His jaw flexed at the name, but he let it pass.

"I nearly lost it all more than once. Resources dried up. The Senate grew restless. The Rebels attacked supply lines." He paused, then looked directly at you, his voice turning deliberate.

"Until I recognized the simplest truth. Words."

He took a slow step closer, lowering his voice into something more personal. "Words are a weapon far more efficient than any blaster or starfighter. They can reassure the frightened, enrage the loyal, and bury opposition beneath waves of false comfort."

He let the weight of it settle for a moment before continuing.

"Your propaganda was my weapon long before the Death Star’s superlaser. While others fought in the Outer Rim, I secured the resources quietly. The ore, the labor, the funding, all came willingly. You drowned their doubts before they could speak."

For a heartbeat, his voice softened, more honest than you had ever heard. "I carried the weight of this station for years. And in doing so, I failed to see how much of that weight was crushing my right hand."

You stared at him, the words hitting heavier than you anticipated. "So you see me as your equal, Director?"

Krennic smirked faintly, recovering his usual confidence. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Agent." The sharpness returned to his voice. "I said I acknowledge your work. The Emperor does as well. Together, we have built the greatest weapon in the galaxy, unlimited power delivered with flawless precision."

Your stomach tightened as you stared once more at the massive sphere in the sky. The reality of it all pressed hard against your chest.

Krennic spoke first, his voice softer than usual but still edged with pride. "It is magnificent, is it not?"

You kept your gaze on the death star. The weight of its existence still pulsed inside your chest. You answered simply. "Yes."

So this is the result of the propaganda you created. Your sleep and rest had been stolen for the sake of this deadly weapon. No wonder Krennic had made your life so stressful. He had been under pressure to finish it.

Krennic turned his head slightly, almost as if he had expected resistance, or at least hesitation. But you offered none.

"The Empire will be stronger," you added. Your voice remained even, almost cold, as if you were stating a fact rather than expressing any excitement.

For a brief second, Krennic studied you. The admission caught him off guard. He had anticipated the usual careful neutrality you often carried when he spoke of his work. But not this.

"You surprise me," he said finally. "I half expected you would quietly disapprove. That you would fear what it represents."

You exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the massive sphere above. "The Empire. The Republic. It is the same story, Director. War. Death. Chaos. Shifting sides, new banners, different names. The outcomes rarely change."

He gave a small nod, watching you with renewed interest. "So you understand how politics work."

Your voice lowered, a small flicker of something more dangerous beneath your calm exterior. "I learned long ago that morality does not feed you. Righteousness does not shelter you. And loyalty to a side only matters when you hold the power to protect yourself."

Krennic’s eyes narrowed as if studying a rare specimen. "That is a very Imperial perspective."

You allowed yourself a faint smile, though it did not reach your eyes. "I grew up beneath insects, Director. Hiding. Starving. Waiting for leaders who spoke of hope while sacrificing those beneath them. That is what the rebellion gave me."

The wind shifted slightly, carrying the salt air between you.

"Now," you continued, "I have a name. A position. Influence. I am not that girl anymore. I will not go back to being powerless."

Krennic's lips curled, both pleased and intrigued. "You are full of surprises tonight."

"Survival changes people," you said. "Ambition keeps them alive."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Only the soft crash of waves filled the silence. The Death Star loomed above as a symbol of everything both of you had become part of.

Krennic finally broke the pause, his voice regaining its smooth, commanding tone. "I have arranged something for you. Since the Emperor wishes to celebrate our success, there will be a formal gala. I have already secured an appointment for you with one of the finest tailors in the capital district."

You turned your head toward him, mildly surprised. "Why?"

His smile was faint but calculated. "Because when you stand beside me that evening, I expect every eye to see precisely what you have become. And perhaps I owe you something for what you have given me."

The way he spoke made your pulse tighten once again, though you kept your face composed.

And once more, Krennic studied you in silence, as if savoring every moment of your quiet acceptance.

You slowly nodded, your voice soft but steady. "Alright. I will go with you. At least this time you asked nicely."

Krennic allowed himself a small smile, one that was less sharp than usual, almost genuine beneath his polished exterior. "Consider this a moment for you to finally stand where you belong. You have played a far greater role in this project than most in that grand room ever will. It is time they see that."

For a brief moment, you felt a strange shift in him. The usual weight that always hung over his shoulders seemed lighter. Perhaps now that the Death Star was finally complete, the burden he carried for years had started to lift. The man standing before you still carried his arrogance, but there was something else now. Relief. Satisfaction.

Then his voice softened again, almost contemplative. "I realize something. Both of us share a trait."

You lifted an eyebrow, already preparing for whatever twisted comparison he intended to draw. "I am not narcissistic, heartless, or an egomaniac," you replied, your tone cool but edged.

He let out a low scoff, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No. Though your courage in saying so has grown." His voice lowered, turning thoughtful. "What I meant is this. We both started at the bottom. Neither of us was handed anything. No family legacy. No favor. No safety net." He paused, his eyes holding yours. "We had to claw our way here. Alone."

You exhaled slowly, the truth of his words sinking deep. "Yes. We did."

For a moment, the wind whispered between you, carrying the scent of saltwater and polished metal. And in that silence, you both stood there, beneath the shadow of the very thing your sacrifices had built.

******

Next day, you arrived at the exclusive boutique in Coruscant. Elegant, quiet, expensive. The kind of place without a name on the door, only invitations.

The assistant greeted you with a respectful nod. "Ah, Miss. Director Krennic informed me you would arrive. Please, come in."

Inside, the boutique gleamed with shimmering fabrics, subtle lighting, and holographic displays projecting design options. You tried not to gawk. This was far above your usual world.

"It is my first time here," you admitted awkwardly.

"Not to worry, Madame," the tailor said with a grin. "The Director brings only the most special clients. First time he has sent a lady."

You blinked. Lady. Special. The words made you hesitate.

Before you could respond, the tailor continued, smiling as he prepared his tools. "Such a lucky man, your husband. Shall we begin the measurements?"

You froze. Husband. Your mind screamed to correct him, but your mouth failed to respond. The fluster settled over you like a fog. And then, the door chime rang softly.

You turned.

Krennic entered, white uniform pristine, cape swaying behind him, gloves removed, hands folded behind his back. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, the smug satisfaction clear in his gaze. He planned this.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved faintly as he stepped further into the room. "I construct the greatest weapon in the galaxy. I oversee advanced military engineering beyond anything this Empire has seen. You would be surprised how easily I can also oversee the design that will make you the most… commanding presence in the room."

You exhaled quietly, biting back the remark forming on your tongue.

"Ah, Director," the tailor beamed. "We were just starting with Madame’s measurements."

Krennic’s gaze flicked briefly between you and the tailor. He heard the word Madame. He could have corrected it. He chose not to.

"Excellent," he said smoothly, his amusement barely restrained. "I trust you will ensure my wife looks flawless."

You inhaled sharply, shooting him a glare that he met with quiet satisfaction. His eyes glinted as he basked in your discomfort.

As the tailor worked, taking your measurements, Krennic circled like a predator observing its prey. His gaze trailed along your neckline, your waist, your hips. It never turned vulgar. It was calculated. Territorial.

"We will want something that commands attention," he instructed the tailor. "She must be the star of the event. Not gaudy. Powerful."

"Of course, Director," the tailor responded with enthusiasm. "Understated dominance. Grace with impact."

"Exactly," Krennic whispered, his eyes locking with yours.

Your pulse quickened. You tried to focus on the tailor’s measurements, but you could feel Krennic’s gaze on your skin like a slow, burning heat.

When the tailor excused himself briefly to retrieve fabric samples, the heavy silence returned, thick and charged.

"Wife, huh?" you asked softly, testing him.

Krennic stepped closer, entering your personal space. You felt the heat radiate from his body without a single touch.

"You did not correct him," his voice lowered into a velvet murmur.

"Neither did you," you countered, challenging.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping even further. "There are worse assumptions. And perhaps not entirely inaccurate. Professionally, of course. After all, who else polishes you, shapes you, perfects you like I do?"

Your breath caught sharply in your throat, the heat rising under your skin. The air between you grew electric, heavy with the unspoken tension neither of you dared to fully acknowledge. Your defiance met his authority in a silent collision, neither backing down, both dangerously aware of the invisible line being drawn between you.

His voice dropped lower, slipping into a whisper that laced every word with quiet possession. "When you walk into that gala, they will not see you as mine because of a ring. They will know it by how you shine."

The words wrapped around you like silk, both intoxicating and suffocating. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightened, but you forced your face to remain composed, unwilling to give him the full satisfaction of seeing you unravel beneath his gaze.

At that moment, the tailor returned, completely unaware of the charged atmosphere hanging between you. He beamed, his voice cheerful as he broke the silence. "Perfect. The final design is ready. You both will be the stars of the gala."

Krennic’s smirk was slow and deliberate, full of satisfaction, like a predator savoring a silent victory. You kept your posture still, your eyes carefully avoiding his. But despite your best efforts, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the subtle flush betraying you.

And Krennic watched, drinking in every flicker of your restraint, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

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wandascosmic · 4 months ago

Text

typical tuesday night (10)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part ten of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 1796

tags: swearing, mostly just fun, one-sided pining as usual, sam being insane as usual, wanda and y/n best friendship, y/n may or may not making moves/internally screaming, they're very very cute

taglist: @reginassweetheart @rroyale-109 @marvel-posts @sheriffhaughtearp

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

“Okay, she had done a background check on me,” Bruce says. “She had it printed out.”

“No way,” you say.

“Yeah,” Bruce nods. “And she was asking me stuff line by line while we were having dinner.”

“That’s unbelievable,” you answer as everyone laughs in agreement.

Suddenly, Wanda walks into the kitchen holding a mug of tea, smiling as she walks over to stand next to you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Oh, we’re doing worst first dates,” you answer with a smile.

“Oh my god, I win,” Wanda says, eyes widened.

“What?” you laugh.

“Okay,” Wanda starts, and you look over to her curiously. “It was a minor league hockey game, he brought his brother,” she pauses. “A when I went to the bathroom, the game ended. And they forgot about me.”

“Okay, that’s a joke,” Bruce says.

“No,” Wanda shakes her head. “They had to come back for me.”

“Wait, when was this?” you ask.

“Um..it was not that long ago,” Wanda gives a small laugh.

“Wait, no way it was Vision,” Natasha says, putting down her sandwich.

Wanda laughs awkwardly before looking over to you.

You smile, walking in front of her and starting to lead her out. “Want to go play Dwight’s mug basketball?”

Wanda nods with a relieved sigh, following you out eagerly.

You keep a happy expression on your face, because now you finally know why Wanda’s always refused to go to sports games with Vision.

“Shield Industries, this is Wanda,” Wanda answers the phone.

“Wanda, it’s Tony. I need you to go into my office and read some data for me please.”

“Okay,” Wanda says, picking up the book Tony’s requested her to read in his office. “You want me to read the jokes for you?”

“Yes, please,” Tony responds on speakerphone.

“Okay, um, a fisherman is walking down 5th Avenue leading an animal behind him–”

“No, no, nope!” Tony cuts Wanda off. “I already told that joke to Fury earlier at the dinner. Pick another one.”

“Okay. There’s a transcript between a Naval ship–”

“Oh, yeah! Bingo,” Tony says. “Great, thanks, Wanda!”

“Sure,” Wanda says awkwardly. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. But would you be able to put all those joke books back where you found them?”

“Sure,” Wanda agrees, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

Opening up the drawer to return the books strewn across Tony’s desk, Wanda’s eye immediately catches a thick stack of paper. Picking it up, Wanda has to cover her mouth to stop from bursting out in laughter.

You’re mindlessly clicking your mouse when suddenly, a huge stack of stapled paper is thrown onto your desk.

Reading the title, your eyes widen as you look over to Wanda who leans against the table casually.

“Is this real?” you ask, near giddy.

“It’s a screenplay,” Wanda pauses. “Starring himself.” “Agent Iron Man,” you read out.

“Of the FBI,” Wanda finishes.

“How long is this?” you laugh, flipping through the pages. “Oh my god, Wanda. Good work.”

Wanda laughs.

“Oh, no way,” you say, finding the last few pages and holding them up. “Drawings.”

“What is that?” Wanda asks.

“Oh, those are drawings,” you respond easily. “In case the writing didn’t really put a picture in your head.”

Wanda snickers, biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard.

“And there he is, in the flesh,” you say, pointing to the drawing. “Agent Iron Man. Now we know what he looks like.”

“So, do we all have our copy of Armored Adventures, by Tony Stark?” you ask the office staff gathered around the conference room table.

Everyone makes a sound of agreement.

“Great, so, let’s get started. I’m gonna be reading the action descriptions,” you say. “And Steve, I would like you to play Captain America, the first Avenger.”

“Oh, cool that’s the name of the character?” Steve asks.

Suddenly, Sam barges into the room, and angered expression on his face. “Okay, you guys should not be doing this,” he states firmly.

“Why not, Sam?” you ask. “This is a movie. This is for all of America to enjoy.”

“You took something that does not belong to you,” he responds.

“Sam.”

“You brought it in here, you made copies–”

“Sam, do you want to play the lead role of Agent Iron Man?” you ask, giving him a questioning look.

Sam pauses.

“Okay, sure.”

“Inside the FBI, Agent Iron Man sits with his feet up at the desk,” you read. “Captain America enters.”

“Tony, you have some messages,” Steve reads.

“Not now!” Sam reads emphatically.

“They’re important,” Steve says.

“Fine, what are they?” Sam asks.

A few moments pass, when suddenly, a knock on the door is heard.

“Vision,” Wanda says, making you turn around suddenly, noticing the man.

Wanda runs up, greeting him with a kiss. “Hey, um, I have to work late,” she says.

Vision gives her an incredulous look, hearing the absurd scene between Spider-Man and Agent Iron Man currently being read in the conference room. “You’re joking, right?”

Wanda shakes her head.

“Agent Iron Man takes out a nine millimeter gun and shoots the cake to bits,” you read.

Sam imitates the shooting of the cake.

“Ha ha ha, Agent Iron Man, you’re so funny,” Peter says.

“A man sitting several seats down who has clown makeup on, turns to Agent Iron Man,” you turn to Bruce. “Bruce, want to play the Joker?”

“Sure,” Bruce nods, clearing his throat. “Agent Iron Man, perhaps you would be more comfortable in my clown car?”

“Yes, perhaps I would, Joker,” Sam says. “Spider-Man, get my luggage.”

“Sorry, I forgot it,” Peter reads.

“God, Spider-Man, you’re a terrible assistant!” Sam reads. “I can’t believe I hired you, Sem.” Sam pauses. “Wait, who’s Sem?”

You turn to Wanda with an amused smile, who matches your expression.

“I don’t think the search and replace works on typos,” Wanda says to you through a burgeoning smile.

“So, Spider-Man is the terrible assistant ‘causing the downfall of the United States?” you ask, holding back your laughter.

“Also known as Sam Wilson,” Wanda chuckles.

You and Wanda look over to Sam, who before your eyes, realizes what Tony has done, making the man throw the script onto the table in anger.

“Okay, you know what, this is stupid. I’m done,” he says, abruptly sitting up from his chair and leaving the conference room.

“Sam, some of us want to keep reading,” you tell him.

Sam turns to you. “Uh, you don’t speak for everyone, Y/N,” he responds, crossing his arms, before turning to the rest of the office. “Okay, announcement. My uncle bought me some fireworks. And anyone who wants to see a real show come outside with me right now.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” you nod, starting to sit up from your chair. “We’ll all take a brief intermission.” You turn to Wanda. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Wanda says, grateful you’ve asked.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Okay, come with me.”

While you may have had plans to meet a friend tonight, which you’ve now had to cancel, spending your evening preparing grilled cheese sandwiches for you and Wanda in the office kitchen isn’t something you’re upset at whatsoever. In fact, you would say it’s pretty great, and you’re not really a complainer either.

“Hi,” Wanda says, greeting you as you make your way up the ladder to the roof of the building, holding a box of accessories for the two of you as you watch the fireworks together.

“Hey,” you laugh, setting the box down before making your way to sit in the chair next to hers. “What’s that for?” you ask, pointing to the candle she’s attempting to light.

“For the bugs,” she answers easily.

“Nice,” you nod, before turning to grab the sandwiches you’ve prepared. “That’s great, because bugs, tend to love my famous grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Them and me both,” Wanda laughs, grabbing the plate you’ve made for her. Then, after a moment, she speaks, “I can’t remember the last time someone made me diner.”

You pause, before grabbing your sandwich from the bag as well.

“Oh, look,” Wanda points to the fireworks Sam’s beginning to light. “Wow,” you say, finally enjoying something Sam has created in the 7 years you’ve known him.

“They’re really nice,” Wanda states, before resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you spend the evening watching the sparkling lights together.

“They really are,” you say quietly.

“So, I guess I’ll see you in,” Wanda pauses to check her phone. “10 hours,” she grins.

“Mhm,” you nod, following her out the building.

“What are you gonna do with your time off?” she jokes.

“Travel,” you answer easily with a nod. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” You smile. “I’m gonna really find myself, you know?” you finish, fishing your phone out of your pocket and putting in one of your earbuds.

Wanda looks over to you curiously. “You have new music?” she asks.

You look down to your phone. “Oh, yeah! Want to listen?” You offer her the other earbud.

Wanda nods, smiling as you hand her the earbud she immediately places in her ear, the two of you standing within inches of each other as you share your song.

“Wanda,” you run up to her desk excitedly the second you walk in the next day.

“Yeah?” Wanda laughs.

“I think Tony might’ve gotten together with someone from corporate last night,” you say, making Wanda gasp. “He didn’t come back for his car.”

“Oh, my god, that makes so much sense! That’s why Tony had me read out his stupid jokes over the phone,” she says in realization.

“Well, good for him. I don’t think he’s had a first date, in like ever,” you laugh, before looking over to her. “You know, some might say we even had our first date last night,” you smile.

“Oh really?” Wanda asks. “Why might some say that?”

“Uh, ‘cause there was dinner. By candlelight,” you answer.

“Mhm,” Wanda nods.

“Dinner and a show, if you include Tony’s movie,” you continue. “There was a bit of dancing, and fireworks. So, pretty good date.” “We didn’t dance,” Wanda says, chuckling.

“You’re right,” you say, suddenly feeling very awkward as you put your hands in your pockets. “But um, it was more like, swaying.”

“Right,” Wanda says. “Pretty good first date with you.”

You perk up. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Wanda nods. “Now, I have some faxes to get out, okay?” she says, standing up from her chair, giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading to the fax machine.

You smile, watching her leave, forgetting for a moment that it truly isn’t a date if the girl goes home to her fiancé at the end of the day.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wandamaximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel mcu #mcu #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda marvel

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hackfixation · 5 months ago

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rewatching episode 1

1) something about the detail of Mark swapping out his watches drives me mad. They're not even allowed a single *hint* of their external personalities. It's just a decal watch, but thats enough for it to be contraband

2) "You look hungover" Mark S. knows nothing about his outie, so this comment from Ms. Cobal is definitely a form of emotional manipulation.

3) This show really hits right in the feels of being an office employee

4) So much blue in this series. Blue is associated with calm & tranquility, a type of peace. On the other hand blue can also be associated with order, superstition and depression. Also associated with Medicine & Tech

5) "I've wanted to pummel mark myself bit I'm his employer" "one part of your orientation that mark can't possibly derail" Manipulative af. Scapegoating & Underminding Mark.

6) "Every time you find yourself here it's because you chose to come back" Mark S. sounds so dissociated while saying that line. As if he's tried to convince himself of it.

7) Imagine if he had hit Helena, the fucking shit show of a news circus. "Maybe his innie influenced him subconsciously?!"

8) Devon and Mark have such a great sibling dynamic, I love it

9) The Severance "Dinner" Talk is such an awkward and succinct display of College Educated Liberal-Progressive political conversations. They can easily discuss a topic in vague terms "Life & Food" but the minute you confront them with actual corrections "No one would've called it ww1 as ww2 hadn't happened yet", Mark wasn't questioning his intelligence but the look the man gave suggested that he took it that way. Plus the minute it's revealed he's severed through someone "outting" him, everyone stares at him as if he's something fascinating or horrifying. They care about the optics, ethics and politics of his lived experience than about him. "I stand by you with no reservation" yet lists all the reasons why its controversial? "So well said" "I definitely stand by mark" meaningless commentary, nobody there actually *cares* about Mark ( besides Devon ) because they're all just performing compassion

10) THEIR SIBLING DYNAMIC IS SO AMAZING

11) Ricken is so hard to describe. The actor captures that balance between well-meaning & self-aggrandozing liberal so well? Hes caring & compassionate but completely not reading social cues.

12) Racecar means something but couldn't tell ya

13) PETEY!

14) "Sorry, I had to drown out the memory of mom & dad switching out our beds when we were kids" I love these two so much

15) "Hi, Kids Whats for Dinner" Good try at the sleeper agent bit, Petey

16) "I'm your best friend, you're my very good friend" Love this line because if a stranger told me that, I would be mildly offended lowkey.

17 ) The Ms. Selvig reveal. Even if shes not severed, still a commentary about who we are in our personal lives vs our work lives.

#severance #severance spoilers #severance season 1 #ep 1 #god i love this show #mark scout #mark s #helena eagan #helena e #devon scout hale #devon #ms selvig #ms cobel #the dinner scene #rant #rambles #thoughts while watching

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scary-grace · 7 months ago

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Shigaraki x Reader masterlist

Here's my attempt at collecting all my Shigaraki fics in one post! We'll see how it goes.

Last updated 6/3/2025, and under a cut because it's now really, stupidly long.

One-shots

reentry - Established Tomura/f!Reader, no quirks AU, angst with a happy ending. Mind the content warnings.

these things I've seen - As you lay dying in the aftermath of your hometown's destruction, a necromancer's path crosses yours. (rated hard M, Tumblr exclusive)

Gift-Wrap - Tomura buys himself a birthday present, but you're the one who gets to open it. (rated E, available on Tumblr and Ao3)

fallen - You were a double-agent, but you failed your mission, and you're expecting to pay for your betrayal with your life. Shigaraki doesn't see it the way you do. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

enemies to lovers forehead kiss - villain!Tomura, MLA!reader (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

enemies to lovers forehead kiss - villain!reader, pro hero!Tenko (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

wanted (if you want me) - You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (Demon AU, explicit, available on Tumblr + Ao3)

casual - You and your roommate Tomura have been hooking up for six months, and you caught feelings in spite of yourself - but before you can confess, he snags a Valentine's Day date with somebody else. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

among the wildflowers - You were raised to hide your magic, but Tenko didn't learn about his until it was too late. When it erupts with deadly consequences and splits the two of you apart, you turn to your own magic for a solution, even knowing that it could change you for good. If it brings Tenko back to you, it'll all be worth it - no matter how long it takes. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

ascension - You couldn't escape the sinking ship in time, and now you're trapped in an air pocket, waiting to die. But the being who appears outside your window might have more to offer you than the chance not to die alone. (Mer!Tomura, human reader, 3k, Tumblr exclusive)

the crying game - You gave up on love a long time ago, but you keep getting invited to weddings, and after eleven receptions spent at the single's table, you're almost at the end of your rope -- until first-time wedding guest Shigaraki Tomura asks you to show him how it's done. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive.)

magnum opus - you're a crime scene photographer, and serial killer Shigaraki likes your photos a little too much. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3. part 1 of the serial killer AU)

videre licet - Six months after he kidnapped you, the Symbol of Fear's laid out his most gruesome crime scene yet - and this time, he's taken the victim's heart hostage. While the rest of the police force grasps at straws, you follow the clues Shigaraki Tomura left you, hoping to find the heart so his victim can be laid to rest. Tomura is hoping for something else. (Rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, part 2 of the serial killer AU)

d-o-l-l-h-o-u-s-e - spooky AU based on the movie The Boy. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3)

Best Practice - Taking the night shift at a 24-7 emergency vet hospital isn't for the faint of heart, and you've seen a lot of crazy things. But on one particular shift, it's Tenko Shimura and his service dog who make the biggest impression on you.(rated T, Tumblr exclusive.)

camera shy - You're a villain who likes catching heroes in compromising positions, and when you can't do that, you put them there yourself. It's not until you capture Tenko Shimura that you lose the upper hand. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive.)

Somewhere in the Crowd - Tomura tells himself he's content with singing backup in the band he founded, and most of the time he is. But when he takes a song request from you during the biggest concert the League of Villains has ever played, he realizes that there might be a few advantages to claiming the spotlight. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

taking care of boyfriend!Shigaraki when he's sick (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

hands-off, hands-on - Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (rated E, available on Tumblr + Ao3)

now with a follow-up: hands-free

Radio Silence - For the last year, your best friend has been somebody you've never met. When Tenko suddenly stops answering your messages, you don't know what to do. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)

Tam Lin - When a child from your settlement goes missing, you go willingly into the woods to rescue him from the entity that dwells there. You're not at all prepared for what you find. (Based on the tale of Tam Lin. 7.1k words, afab reader, rated M with warnings for dubcon + smut. Tumblr exclusive)

you and Shigaraki try to survive your zombie-infested high school (rated M, soon to be expanded, currently Tumblr-exclusive.)

watching a scary movie with Shigaraki (rated T, Tumblr-exclusive.)

Multi-parts/Series

the new postmodern age - Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, complete)

blind date i + ii - After endless failed attempts to help Tomura up his game, his friends have settled on their last resort: A blind date. Even before you show up, it's not going well. No quirks AU, female reader. (rated T (for now), Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

needle, compass, north:

what I can't remember now - Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (No quirks AU, rated M, angst + triggering content, available on Tumblr + Ao3, complete.)

if my heart was a house - It's been nineteen years since Tomura was sentenced to death, and you've built a life in the space he left behind, braced each day for the worst. You're prepared for everything - the questions your daughter asks, the memories that sting a little more in the winter, the specter of the news you've been afraid of for years. But of all the things life's thrown your way, it's the one you haven't dared to hope for might be the one thing you can't handle. (No quirks AU, rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing.)

(secret) santa, baby - Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive, complete)

Hana Lives AU - you have a crush on your best friend's little brother, and you don't know how to handle it, except that you're probably doing it wrong. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

Pariah - Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you. Nosferatu AU, multi-POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you. (rated M, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

Guitarist!Tomura AU - The walls are so thin in Tomura's shitty apartment building that he can hear everything going on around him -- including your singing as you go about your day. One day while he's tuning his guitar for band practice, he finds himself singing along. (College band AU, rated T, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

one way to live (not recommended) - Tomura doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about his one and only ex-girlfriend, but winter always brings back the memories a little more strongly. When he runs into you again, ten years after the breakup he instigated, he's not opposed to seeing where things go. After all, he hasn't changed much -- but you have. (two-parter, angst, Tumblr-exclusive)

red cap au - Your quirk forces you to witness the last moments of any person who died a violent death when you walk over the place they died, and you've been haunted by Shigaraki's last moments for eight years. But placing flowers on his death site every year has consequences, and you're not at all prepared for them when they arrive. (Post-canon, angst with hope, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing.)

still life, with hope - You're an art student with a crippling fear of birds and an assignment to create art from life, so when you're assigned to study swans, you're pretty much dead in the water. And there's something strange about the swans you find on a secluded lake, something all too human. As your artwork grows increasingly surreal and your suspicions about the swans continue to build, you can't help but ask yourself the question: Are you losing your mind, or have you walked into the middle of a fairytale gone wrong? Whatever it is, you'd better figure it out fast. Seven lives depend on the answer. (Swan Lake AU, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing.)

the one - You made a deal with Fate to grant Shigaraki Tomura a long and happy life, but that came at a cost - in the world your wish created, the two of you never met. But his life isn't the only one your wish changed, and as you struggle to carry the burden of a past that exists only in your memory, you find your path crossing with old friends and former enemies in a way you never expected. Can you build a life worth living in the aftermath of everything you've seen and done? Can you do it without the person you changed everything for? Or will you and Tomura, against all odds, find your way back to each other one more time? (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Call Me Sometime - You work the dispatch desk at a phone sex line to make ends meet, and you're used to handling some strange calls. But the caller you're babysitting tonight is the strangest by far -- and that's before you find out why he called. (rated M, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

certain stars - Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do. (rated M, Tumblr-exclusive, complete.)

terminator AU - you walked in on your boyfriend's murder, but for some reason, his murderer let you live. the fact that his murderer is a robot from the future who can transform to look exactly like him only makes it worse. Terminator 2 AU, Shigaraki x reader, T-1000!Shigaraki, kidnapped!reader, discussions of murder, threats of violence, etc. (rated hard M, Tumblr-exclusive, ongoing)

a tainted heart - In a dangerous and uncaring galaxy, the rich and powerful turn to specially raised, genetically manipulated humanoids called Nomu to protect themselves and their own. You were created to guard a single person, to kill anything in your path in order to keep them safe, all to make up for a failure you barely remember. You have no other purpose, until the day Shigaraki Tomura gives you one. (rated M, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK - You're a hero who specializes in water rescue, and you've been captured by the League of Villains. It only gets worse when you find out why. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)

Longfics

Anomaly - Ever since he was rescued by All Might from All For One, Shimura Tenko's led a charmed life - except that he's a beta, in a society where alphas are privileged, omegas are prioritized, and betas are an afterthought. But when Tenko finds himself investigating a series of designation-swaps that have devastated the lives of the victims, he comes face to face with the terrible truths at the heart of society's placid, inflexible structure, and the enigmatic villain who's bent on exposing it all. The one they call Love's Executioner - otherwise known as, you. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Designated Villain - You loved BNHA's ending, mostly, but a few weeks after the last chapter is published, you get isekaied into BNHA on the day the story begins. That would be a dream come true, except you ended up in the body of a common criminal, and instead of enjoying life in your favorite fictional world, you find yourself struggling to survive in a world that's much crueler than you ever imagined. Armed with nothing more than BNHA Tumblr brainrot and a highly suspicious iPod Shuffle, you set out to fix the few things that are wrong with BNHA's ending. But as you learn more about the villains you hated and every change you make pushes the plot further off the canon storyline, it's not long before your feelings about the ending start to change. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Bloody Valentine - When you get to school on Valentine's Day, your biggest worry is how you're going to give chocolate to your lab partner and crush, Shigaraki Tomura, without him knowing that it was you, and when it all goes wrong, you can't imagine how your day could possibly get worse. But when a plague of zombies erupts within the halls of UA High and the evacuation leaves you behind, you find yourself trapped with Shigaraki, both of you left behind. You've been forgotten. There's no help coming. Forget being each other's valentines - now you're each other's only chance to get out of this alive. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Expiation - Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Enough to Go By - Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Off-Script - Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Opposites Attract - Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Skin Hunger - There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation. You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Haunting for Beginners - Ghosts summoned and bound to the human world have one purpose - haunting - but Tomura's never met a human he could stand long enough to haunt them, and he's pretty sure he never will. When you cross the threshold of his house, you capture his interest, and for the first time, he finds himself with a chance to do what ghosts are meant to do. It's too bad he doesn't know how. Scenes from Love Like Ghosts, through the eyes of the ghost in question. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)

Love Like Ghosts - You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, complete)

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shimura tenko x you #tenko shimura x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door

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hellfirebarnes · 25 days ago

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Slow-Burns - Part 2

PART 1 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.7K words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky didn’t notice the quiet at first. Not right away. It started small - like the absence of a scent he couldn’t name until it was gone. The Tower hadn’t changed, exactly, but it felt different. Like it had lost its rhythm.

No laughter echoing from the kitchen at 7 a.m. No Bob poking his head into rooms asking, “Have you seen Sunshine?” like a lovesick Labrador.

No high-speed bickering between you and John that always ended in someone getting hit with a throw pillow. No weird, glittery mugs mysteriously appearing in the sink. No occasional brush of your hand on his shoulder when you passed by; always casual, always enough to leave him dizzy. No you.

You’d been reassigned - temporary intel work, some cross-team stuff with Agents of Atlas, maybe S.W.O.R.D. He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t want to seem obvious.

It had been eleven days. And he hated how he knew that.

He was sitting alone in the gym, the punching bag swaying slightly after a missed swing, when John wandered in eating a granola bar like he was doing it competitively.

“You hit that bag any more and it’s gonna call HR.”

Bucky said nothing.

John eyed him. “Let me guess. You’re in a mood because someone isn’t here to mock your brooding.”

Bucky kept his gaze forward.

“Or maybe,” John continued, “you’ve gotten so used to her being around that now the Tower feels like a crypt with bad lighting and even worse protein shakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” John took a bite. “You should’ve said something before she left.”

“Said what?”

“That you’re in love with her, dumbass.”

Bucky turned, sharp. “I’m not—”

“Oh, right. You just stare at her like she invented air. Totally normal.”

Before Bucky could respond, Alexei burst into the gym wearing compression pants and a tank top that read ‘PAIN IS JUST FRIENDSHIP’ in Comic Sans.

“She is gone too long,” Alexei declared. “The team has lost its most beautiful asset. I am surrounded by men who don’t moisturize and women who threaten me.”

“You deserve it,” Yelena said from the doorway, holding a smoothie. “And she will be back. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Alexei echoed mournfully. “It is too long. I miss her glitter mugs.”

Bucky said nothing. But his silence said plenty.

Three days later, Bucky found himself staring at one of your coffee mugs in the cabinet. White ceramic. A chipped handle. The words ‘DANCING QUEEN’ in bold letters.

You’d left it behind by accident. Or maybe on purpose. He turned it over in his hands. Stared at it longer than necessary. He missed you.

Not just in a general, I-like-having-you-around way. He missed your voice. Your presence. The way the team was louder when you were here; and yet somehow, he felt quieter when you were near. Like the chaos around you never touched the core of who you were.

And maybe that’s what he liked most. That you weren’t trying to fix him. You just saw him and didn’t flinch. He missed being seen.

By day 16 he was walking past the comms room when he heard it.

“—just got in. Yeah, I’m unpacking now. No, Alexei, I do not want to go on a double date with your cousin. Because he’s married. Yes, still.”

Bucky froze. The voice sent a jolt through his chest. He turned slowly toward the room.

You sat at the desk, headset on, typing into a report. Hair pulled up, hoodie half-off one shoulder. Like you’d never left.

“I’m not high-maintenance,” you were saying into the headset. “I just have boundaries. You should try it sometime, John. No, that’s not a dare—hey, don’t—dammit, I heard you grab your car keys—JOHN—”

You looked up then. Saw him standing there. And you smiled. Like he wasn’t just a teammate. Like maybe you missed him too.

“Hey, Buck.”

He swallowed.

“Hey.”

There were a thousand things he wanted to say.

I missed you.

The Tower sucked without you.

I hate that I only feel right when you’re around.

But he just stepped forward, nodding toward the desk. “You back?”

You shrugged. “They needed help with some data extraction. Valentina said I was too valuable to waste on a desk job. Also, Bob threatened to cry if I didn’t come back.”

Bucky cracked the tiniest smile. “I believe that.”

“I’m glad to be back,” you said, more softly now. “I missed you guys.”

He looked at you. And he almost said it.

I missed you too.

But instead, he just nodded again, awkward and quiet and entirely overwhelmed. “Welcome back,” he said, voice rough.

You smiled. Then stood and closed the distance between you with a few casual steps. And before he could brace for it, you hugged him. Not a quick team-hug. Not a side-pat. A full, wraparound, warm-press-of-your-cheek-to-his-shoulder hug.

His brain short-circuited.

You pulled back after a moment, but didn’t step far. “You okay?”

He looked at you, caught in your gravity.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”

The briefing had barely ended before Bucky’s heart pulled a somersault in his chest.

“Agent, you’re riding with Barnes,” Val said, snapping the folder shut. “He needs someone to interface with the target’s comms network and your track record with extraction’s clean. You’re his second.”

You looked up from your notes and nodded, calm as ever. “Got it.”

Bucky, meanwhile, forgot how to breathe.

The Mission was in Istanbul, the objective was to infiltrate a secure facility, extract one scientist and one suitcase, avoid setting off alarms, and get out clean. Classic Thunderbolts assignment, but without the usual chaos.

You worked like you’d done it a hundred times. You beside Bucky in the shadows, your voice clear and low in his ear.

“Firewall’s looping. You’re clear.”

Bucky moved silently through the corridor, taking out guards with silent precision. You trailed behind, disabling cameras with almost casual ease.

“You move like you’ve done this before,” you murmured as you covered his six.

“I have.”

“…Show off.”

He smirked, just barely, but you saw it, and he caught the glint of approval in your eyes.

The suitcase was secured. The scientist retrieved. Extraction clean.

No explosions. No alarms. No Alexei flying through a wall. Just the two of you, moving as if you were calibrated to each other’s pace.

When the quinjet door shut behind you, and you dropped into the seat across from him with a victorious sigh, Bucky finally exhaled.

“You did good,” he said quietly.

You looked at him, surprised - not at the words, but at the fact he’d said them. You smiled. “So did you.”

His chest warmed in that familiar, traitorous way.

That Night in the Thunderbolts Tower post-mission drinks were happening. Team tradition according to Yelena.

Alexei kicked off the night by pouring vodka into what looked like a flower vase. Bob wore a party hat. John brought out a Bluetooth speaker and started playing aggressively patriotic rock songs. Yelena threatened to destroy it twice. Possibly three times.

You showed up in jeans and a black tee that showed off your form, which made Bucky forget his own name for at least six seconds.

And then he did something no one expected.

He walked into the room. With a beer. Voluntarily.

Conversations stopped like someone had hit a mute button.

“Holy crap,” John said, eyes wide. “He emerged from his Brood Cave.”

“I thought he only came out for missions and dark vengeance,” Ava deadpanned.

Bucky rolled his eyes and settled into the corner of the couch, ignoring the way every pair of eyes kept sneaking glances like he was a ghost made of sarcasm. But one pair of eyes - your eyes - lit up when you saw him. And that made everything feel… less terrible.

You were mid-conversation with Yelena and Bob when John inevitably slunk over and started poking at you like a bored older brother. “Be honest. I carried this mission. You all just followed my lead.”

“You got stuck in a hallway mirror because you thought it was another room.”

“It was an optical illusion.”

“It was a hallway.”

Bob burst out laughing. “I liked the part where you walked into a glass door. Twice.”

“You’re all traitors,” John muttered into his drink.

Bucky watched it all - the easy way you leaned against Yelena’s shoulder, the way Bob circled you like a moon around a star, and the way you just fit, seamlessly, into the madness.

He wanted to talk to you. To walk over, say something - anything. But every time he tried, it felt like a wall went up.

Bob was telling you a story now. Something about a rogue kitten he rescued on a rooftop. “—and then it bit me, right here,” Bob said, pointing to a spot on his hand. “But I respected its boundaries.”

You laughed, bright and genuine.

“I named it Waffles,” Bob added, eyes shining. “It lives on the roof now. We’re friends.”

Bucky gripped his beer tighter. He had nothing to compete with Waffles the rooftop cat.

Across the room, Yelena caught his expression and muttered under her breath, “Oh for God’s sake.”

“What?” Ava asked.

Yelena pointed with her chin toward Bucky. “Barnes is having a romantic panic attack and none of you are helping.”

Alexei leaned closer, whispering, “Should we intervene?”

“No,” Yelena said. “He must suffer until he says something useful.”

You finally peeled yourself away from the chaos when Bob disappeared to get Waffles-related photos on his phone and John wandered off to argue with the Spotify algorithm.

You walked toward the kitchen, passing by Bucky. He looked up, startled.

“Hey,” you said casually, pausing near him. “You doing okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Still recovering from Bob’s smoothie-to-Waffles ratio. But otherwise? Pretty good.” A pause. Your voice dropped slightly, more sincere. “It was nice working with you again.”

His chest tightened. “Yeah,” he said, and then, before he could stop himself, “I missed it.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

“Missed working with you,” he clarified, barely covering.

A beat passed. Your smile warmed. “I missed it too.”

And just like that, the wall between you cracked - just a little.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes

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badplayerana · 8 months ago

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Current favorite cherik fics

And I really mean 'current' because this changes every other week lol but for now I'd like to give back and rec them, if the cherik nation is looking for some really good stories

Stars Will Tumble From The Blue by Baamon5evr

“Just one night, no fear, no shame, no blame or rage. Just serenity. Just us. Just one night to acknowledge that there is more here and then we go our separate ways and you go back to being angry and hating me.” *missing scene* set between First Class and Days of Future Past

One Life for Yourself and One for Your Dreams by endingthemes

When 00 Agent Raven Darkholme manages to capture the elusive Magneto and bring him in for questioning about a dangerous arms deal involving international criminal Sebastian Shaw, it’s up to Quartermaster Charles Xavier to get him to talk. With time running out, Charles needs to convince Magneto to trust him, but they’re both far too good at keeping secrets, and the growing attraction between them is only making things more difficult.

Dark Flowers by Niphrehdil (I made a post dedicated to this one a while back but this might be my all time favorite, so here it is again)

When Charles is captured by a secret organization and used as a weapon for searching and destroying other mutants, Erik has to go after and save him. Erik keeps telling himself he does it only for the mutant kind. At least until he finds Charles.

the way it travels in and keeps emitting light by populuxe

Charles and Erik aren’t friends: their mutual dislike was both instant and enduring, from that very first day Raven introduced them. But when Charles gets into a life-altering accident, the connections between all three of them start to fundamentally shift, too.

Robbers by dsrobertson (mind the tags/warnings!!)

1933. Bank robber AU. The Bureau of Investigation are after Public Enemy Number Two, bank robber Erik Lehnsherr. Charles Xavier is fiancé to Special Agent Moira MacTaggart. A closet homosexual, Charles visits the Manhattan pansy club scene and meets Max Eisenhardt. Only as time goes on, Max Eisenhardt turns out to be Erik Lehnsherr. Public Enemy Number Two. Charles learns exactly what happens when you accidentally fall in love with a male bank robber in 1930s America.

#cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #xmen #cherik fic #cherik fic rec #cherik au #fic rec #current favorite

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wandascrush · 8 months ago

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Bruised, bandaged, kissed

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Part 2 of my DIWK series

Summary: Natasha comes to you, and only you, for help. Wanda finds out about one of your little secrets. You were surrounded by blue all around you, limbs moving in slow motion...until you saw her. Dark brown hair danced in the water, a harsh contrast to the terror on her face. Eyes big as the moon, she stared directly at you. You tried to swim to her, kicking your tired arms as fast as possible, but you were too late. Wide and unblinking, she sunk down, down, down...lost to the sea forever.

You gasped as soon as you woke up, sweat covering your chest and neck. At HYDRA, Agents practically slept in dark, dusty cells with one huge bed in the middle and a desk off to the side. You were free to come and go as you pleased as long as you kept getting more info from the team and your burner phone was on you at all times. Of course you knew that with this privilege, some way somehow, they had somebody watching you 24/7. When you finally rubbed all the sleep out of your eyes, glancing at your phone, it was half past 6. Back at the Avengers compound, everyone woke up at around 8, latest, to start training, breakfast, paperwork, or meetings. It would take you at least an hour to get back to the compound, you hauled ass as you quickly threw your belongings into your black leather bag.

You tried to keep quiet along the corridors to not wake the other, less than pleasant, agents…they didn't particularly like you. It came to your surprise one day during training that one of the AIT'S, or agents in training, tried to suffocate you on the mat until you tazed them. Hydra had four levels of leaders: Captain, Commander, Supreme Hydra, and Imperial Hydra. Imperial Hydra, the leaders of everything, are four guys that no one has access to. The commander of the HYDRA branch you collected “intel” for took a particular liking to you, assigning you to the Avengers initiative that everyone wanted to work on. Your task: hack into the registry that contained personal information about all powered individuals. HYDRAS task: build a different type of super. Your morning luck ran out before you got to the security check, running into one of the most annoying coworkers you'd ever had.

"Samantha."

"Y/N. You're looking particularly awful today."

"Right. Well- it's always a pleasure," you gave her a sarcastic smile before pushing past her to the security check.

Finally you were out of there.

Back at the much more vibrant, and lively Avengers compound you quickly threw your bag into the embarrassingly large walk in closet that Tony had supplied you with. He was Marie Kondo at this point, decorating everyones room in the compound with the joy of a little girl in a toy store. It was funny to watch.

As soon as you walked out of your bedroom, you were met with the sight of a brunette, looking you up and down with a slightly tilted head. Something gave you the feeling that this Wanda Maximoff girl wasn't your biggest fan at all.

You nervously tucked your hair behind your ear before you spoke, "Hey Wanda-what uh- what's up?"

She didn't respond.

You cleared your throat expectantly. Her eyes narrowed, “Where were you off to so early this morning?"

Shit, she saw you come in.

"Nowhere, just had to grab a few groceries. I hate crowds so I thought I'd get there a little early," you let out a nervous chuckle and fiddled with your keys.

“You put your groceries in a leather duffel bag?”

“Hate to waste plastic, what can I say,” you shrugged. What a shitty excuse.

It seemed to suffice her, however, as she gave you a one up and walked away. It was hard not to notice her beautiful silky hair bounce off her back, but it didn't change the fact that you still didn't like her very much.

By 12 pm you had finished your weekly report to Fury about how you're adjusting to the Avengers initiative and how your last mission went.

You liked Nick a lot to say the least. He was stern but caring, and he would check anyone that pissed him off. He remind you a lot of Natasha, the girl that took a liking to you.

Her knock is what pushed you out of your dazed thoughts. She pushed open your door with her head down, trying to hide one side of her face but failing miserably. The first thing that caught your attention was the cut adorning her lips. The second was the large, blood stained bandage on her shoulder.

You knew better than to visibly show your concern, it would only make her upset. You posed a casual question instead, "How's the other guy look?"

You saw a glimpse of her secret smile, "Not too hot himself, actually."

As a double agent, you weren't supposed to catch feelings for anyone on either side, but there was something about that raspy voiced, careful Avenger that made you smile. You figured out how to help her without getting pushed away. Just ask.

You casually walked over to her and lazily motioned your head to your bathroom door, "Mind if I help you with that lip cut?"

"Tryna tell me I look bad Y/N?," she gave you her most judgemental one over that she could muster.

"Not in my wildest dreams, Romanoff."

Sitting on her lap, you had to steady yourself with one hand on the counter to clean out her lip wound, dabbing hydrogen peroxide on it with a q-tip. Her jaw clenched each time, stinging her a little more.

As you shared a quiet moment with Natasha in the bathroom, you didn't even imagine that a certain witch was using her abilities to keep your bathroom door locked and search your room.

Nimble hands quickly explored every drawer within your wardrobe and finding nothing but a charger, melatonin, water, and a...special toy. Then she saw the black bag tucked into the corner of your closet. Her heart rate sped up a little as she approached the bag and grabbed the first file she saw, hidden under a jacket.

Later that night, as you thought about the way Natasha kissed you while you were on her lap and ran off, Wanda Maximoff would be in her bed, turning and tossing until she finally opened up the manila folder sitting in front of her.

Her eyes widened.

"I knew there was something off about you."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fluff #natasha romanoff fic #wanda maximoff fic

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ladykailitha · 10 days ago

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Murder in the Heartland Part 9

Hey guys! This story is just moving along! I can't wait for you see what I have coming for you!

In this we have why a wild Robin appeared and Eddie does a case pro bono.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Interviewer: I’m guessing it was a substantial amount.

Steve grinned at her: Oh yeah. I traveled the world for a few years just taking in the sights and enjoying my freedom.

Interviewer: What was it that sparked your interest in true crime and murder mysteries?

Steve’s smile slipped a little: I’m from Hawkins, IN. Which if you’re familiar with true crime at all knows about the Carver killings. It always impressed me that there was a lone investigator who put an entire police force to shame and revealed the real killer, instead of scapegoat, Eddie Munson.

Eddie sat across from Robin as they ate at his favorite diner. It was a little hole in the wall kinda of place with the best most mouth water burgers imaginable.

“Holy shit, Eddie,” she said after a single bite of her burger. “That is heaven.” She spent the next five minutes just eating.

Eddie chuckled and let her enjoy the meal.

She wiped her mouth on a napkin with a sigh of happiness. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to McDonald’s burgers after that.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Gareth hates me for introducing him to this place. It’s a little pricier than fast food but the quality is worth every cent.”

Robin nodded happily. “Agreed. So you know how I told you I would tell you if I ever found out who beat Jason’s head in?”

“Sure,” Eddie said with a half shrug. “Like I promised if I found out, I’d tell you.”

“It was Steve, Steve Harrington.”

Eddie settled back against the booth bench and crossed his arm, slowly licking his bottle lip as he took that information in.

“When did you find out?” he asked as he stewed with the thought a moment or two longer.

“Last week,” she admitted. “This was the earliest I could get away and I didn’t think you’d want me to tell you over the phone.”

Eddie straightened up. “You’ve got that right. Did he tell you why?”

Robin shrugged. “Right place, right time. He weren’t going to tell anyone he did Jason in because there had still been a lot of talk after the fact that whoever it was, wasn’t a hero and that Jason was right to get rid of the queers by any means necessary.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. She was right as long as no one knew who had done it, he could get off scotfree and not after answer questions about why he’d want to save a known a queer. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“So yeah,” she hedged. “Now you know!”

Eddie chuckled. “Thanks, Robs. It is a huge weight off my shoulders knowing that.”

“I had a hard time convincing him to let you know,” Robin admitted with a shrug. “I think he was concerned about it getting out, so you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

Eddie made a cross in front of his chest. “Cross my heart. Your secret is safe with me.” He cleared his throat and sat back again. “So what is the amazing Robin Buckley doing these days?”

“Got my degree, working as an agent in the publishing business,” she said with a big grin.

“Yeah?” Eddie said and she nodded. “That’s fantastic. You rep anyone I’d recognize?”

“Steve Harrington,” she said smugly, her grin as big as it could get.

“No way!” Eddie said, leaning forward in surprise. “Ha! That’s hilarious! I’ve read ‘Home Sweet Homicide’. It’s pretty good. I liked the twist at the end.”

“I didn’t see it coming,” Robin agreed. “Like I thought for sure that the killer was the daughter of the second victim for sure.”

Eddie nodded as he paid the waiter for their meals. “My bet was on the sheriff. I thought for sure that’s why he was pushing so hard for it to be the little rich kid.”

“Oh I know, right?” Robin said gleefully. “I can’t believe he managed a double red herring on that one.”

“I was glad to see he made something of himself after his parents threw him out,” Eddie said with a contented sigh. It was nice to be able to talk about the book with someone as Jeff was taking forever to finish it.

“Me too,” she said as they gathered up their stuff and she threw down some money for the tip. “I was surprised to see him when I did my exchange year in Italy.”

“What was he doing in Italy?” Eddie boggled, holding open the door.

“Spending Grandmama’s money apparently,” Robin said as they walked out to Eddie’s truck. “His grandparents had set up a trust fund for him as a baby and they kicked him out when he found out about it.” She paused for a moment. “And you know, the gay thing.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I would have pegged Steve-o as bi or pan.”

Robin snorted. “Yeah him, too. But when he got to Europe and that sort of thing wasn’t as frowned on over there, he realized that he wasn’t attracted to women, he just thought he was.”

“That’s rough on the poor guy,” Eddie said with a wince. “It’s bad enough knowing straight up you aren’t attracted to who you’re supposed to be, but thinking that you are and then finding out, NOPE! That’s as brutal as it gets.”

“Yeah,” she said as she climbed into his truck. “He traveled the world quite a bit before finding something warm and sunny to settle down and write books.”

He started the truck and pulled out into traffic. “Yeah? Where is ole Stevie hanging his hat these days?”

Robin shrugged. “I’m not supposed to say. It took a lot of convincing to get him to let tell you about Jason Carver.”

“Really values his privacy, huh?” Eddie said. “I can respect that I guess. I wouldn’t want everyone up in my business either.”

Robin breathed out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you understand, the publishing company is upset that all his checks go through me instead of me giving them an address to send it to.”

“Assholes,” Eddie said with a snort of derision. “If he wants his private life private then that his business and as long you two have all your ducks in a row legally, who the fuck cares.”

She pushed his shoulder playfully. “Look at you, being all knowledgeable about the law and shit. You’ve come a long way from a scared kid facing down a murder charge.”

Eddie scoffed.

“If Steve had been a little bit more forth coming,” he said with an eye-roll, “I wouldn’t have become a PI, so... I guess I’m grateful for his discretion.”

“That’s certainly one way to look it,” she said, shaking her head.

They pulled into the office parking lot and said their goodbyes. He waved her off and made his way back into the office. He was grateful that everyone else had gone as he pondered the information he had received about Robin and Eddie’s savior.

He shook his head. He hadn’t even considered Steve as one of the candidates because he had been so sure if it had been Steve he would have stuck around to make sure Robin was okay. Something she had never explained and he refused to pry.

With Brian following his kidnapping case to Florida and Jeff and Gareth in Colorado, Eddie was enjoying the peacefulness of an empty office when this couple came in with a teenaged boy roughly sixteen years old.

He had bright red curls that took after his mom and gap-tooth grin like his dad.

“Mr. Munson?” the woman asked tentatively.

Eddie flashed them his biggest dimpled smile. “That would be me. How can I help you?”

“I’m Janet Stephenson,” she said sticking her hand out for him to shake. “This is my husband Ollie and my son Mark. We’re wanting to hire you.”

Eddie shook her hand. “Pull up a seat. Mark, why don’t you grab a couple more from the desks over there. They aren’t here to mind.”

Mark nodded and went to do as he was told.

Once they were all seated Eddie set his laced fingers together on the desk. “So wat’cha got for me?”

“Did you hear about the incident regarding the high school and the herd of cows in the gymnasium?” Ollie asked with a light twang of southern drawl.

Eddie nodded. About two weeks ago, the basketball team showed up to practice to find that there were roughly two dozen cows milling about shitting all over the place. “Yeah, it was pretty impressive, but it would have taken more than one person to...” he looked at Mark. “Ah. They blamed it all on you, didn’t they?”

Mark nodded back. “The cows are ours. But Ma and Dad were in town celebrating their anniversary and I was over at a friend’s house.”

The way Mark said ‘friend’ sent bells ringing above his head. But not alarm bells, oh no. The kind used in old game shows. Ding, ding, ding.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “And you guys want me to find out who really did it?”

Janet nodded and put her arm around Mark. “His uncle offered to pay for his schooling after he graduates from high school, but now he’s threatening to take it away unless we prove he didn’t do it. With all our money tied up in the farm we can’t afford to send to college, so we’re really relying on that money.”

“I’ll take the job,” he said. He held up his hand when she reached for her purse. “For free. I know what’s it like to be railroaded just because of who you are.”

“We know,” Ollie said, looking him in the eye. “It’s why we came here first. But we won’t be taking no charity, we’ll be paying like honest folk.”

Eddie looked him in the eye, man to man. “This isn’t charity, this is honor. Had they released the name of the kid, I would have come to you myself. This is a miscarriage of justice and wrong I am to see righted.”

Ollie stared at him for a moment and then nodded. He put his hand on Janet’s. “We’re counting on you.”

“And I will do my best to figure this out,” he acknowledged. “Now tell me everything you remember from that night. And leave nothing out.”

The Stephensons proceeded to do just that.

Once they were done, Eddie stood up to shake their hands. Janet was tough but honest in a way that reminded him Claudia Henderson. Ollie quiet and soft spoken, let Janet do most of the talking but with a sharp wit and even sharper mind. Rich toffs might think him simple but he could look at a flatbed trailer of feed and tell you down to an ounce how much it weighed from doing the math in his head.

Mark was a sweet kid. He was a mathlete and was in several honors classes. He was a very passionate kid who could solve world hunger if given the chance to go to college. But with this black mark hanging over his head, that might all go up in smoke.

But not if Eddie had anything to say about it.

He thanked them for calling and then made a phone call to his favorite person. “Linda, darling! How goes the hallowed halls of Hawkins High?”

Eddie showed up at the school office twenty minutes after the final bell rang, knowing full well that the principal left at 2pm every day.

“Hello, my beautiful belle!” he greeted Linda warmly, setting the chocolates and beer in front of her.

“I’m only helping you because I don’t think that Stephenson boy would risk the harm of his dad’s animals because a couple of boys on the basketball team called him a nerd.”

“You know this school better than anyone,” Eddie agreed, leaning on the counter as she put her contraband away. “Was Stephenson being bullied or was it just a couple of remarks here and there?”

“No,” Linda said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t even that. Like the only reason Petey Dickenson was even calling his names in the first place is because his girlfriend was being tutored by Mark and got a little jealous they were spending so much time together.”

“So it was not only new,” Eddie said with a nod, “it wasn’t even more than one member of the team?”

“Right in one,” Linda said, standing up and getting a file out the filing cabinet. “If Mark was going to do anything, he would have spilled milk in Petey’s locker. A far more effective way of dealing with the problem.”

She handed him the file. “This is one is yours. I made copies for you earlier. Also don’t bother talking to the cops, they weren’t even called.”

Eddie let out a pained sigh. “There should have been a report at the very least.”

“Rupert Higgins is many things,” she said darkly, “but a smart man is not one of them.”

Eddie sighed, but agreed he cared more about how things looked then about truth. He tapped the edge of the file against the counter. “Thanks for this!”

As he walked away she called out, “When are you going to tell me where you get these chocolates?”

“When you retire!

Tag List: TWO SLOTS REMAINING

1- @niniel-karenine @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @gloomysoup @cryptid-system @kultiras @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006 @yikes-a-bee

5- @awkwardgravity1 @oopsallgender @fearieshadow @stedestielfrattficlover @dragonmama76

6- @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars

7- @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gutterflower77 @wheneverfeasible

8- @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss @steddieislife @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale

9- @stripey82 @kroymu09 @chaotic-waffle @tartarusknight @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff

10- @mags6422 @johannamry @themoonagainstmers

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #murder mystery au #private investigator eddie munson #mystery writer steve harrington #ladykailitha writes

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andmineisyellow · 7 days ago

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Could Tyler be The Disciple?

A follow-up to this post

I'm going to preface this by saying that none of the evidence I have is concrete. A lot of it is just me trying to look at the show's narrative from a different perspective. I was also coming up with new thoughts as I was writing, so this won't be super organized (and barely proofread). I'm just having some fun, and if I'm wrong, I'm wrong! No harm done.

Okay, let's get started

(This is kind of a long one, so feel free to jump around to the points that interest you the most)

Suspects

Season 18, Episode 7 started raising several alarm bells for me. I think we can officially say that the show is building up to a reveal with the Disciple, and if we're leading to a reveal, it can't just be some random guy. We need suspects. Emily, Rossi, Penelope, Luke, Tara, and JJ are off the table. They are our protagonists and the characters we are supposed to trust. We have to instead look at our main recurring cast. Rebecca, Ochoa, and Evan. We can rule out Rebecca because she's been way more vital to Tara's personal life than the Sicarius case (despite her role as prosecutor).

So here are the remaining suspects:

Evan. He is suspicious, but also likely dead, lol. Evan joined very late into the season, and most mysteries introduce all of their suspects in Act 1 (or in this case, by episode 3). Could he be the Disciple? Yes. But he's the least interesting choice in my opinion, especially if it ends up being a "Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me." kind of reveal (which would feel very lazy).

2. Ochoa. She is my top suspect whom we've already discussed at length. She's extremely suspicious. She did weird things with the brain scanners, she pushed religion on JJ, and she could have messed with Voit's medication. The only thing we don't have for Ochoa is a motive.

3. Tyler. One might think we should cross out Tyler's name because he's been on the show for two years and he's now a part of the BAU. But then that only leaves one major suspect and one minor suspect. That's not much of a mystery. It just makes it obvious that Ochoa is involved. There is a possibility that Ochoa and Evan could be distractions. After all, who would suspect a member of the BAU?

"When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."- Sherlock Holmes

Like Ochoa, a lot of Tyler's behavior can be perceived in two ways. He's a new agent with impostor syndrome, or he has a more nefarious plan hiding below the surface. Tyler could very well be genuine in wanting to be apart of the BAU, but we must consider that he might not be.

Let's break down Rossi's and Emily's profile of The Desciple:

"His disciple has incredible influence over the remaining members of Voit's network." We know Tyler can be manipulative and influence people. He admitted to Penelope that he used her empathy against her to help find Sicarius back in season 16. "If I told her that people would die if she didn't help, she'd give me whatever I want."

"Except, unlike Voit, he's asking for them to take actions that are contrary to their natural psychopathy." What did Tyler do after Penelope tried to cut things off with him? He used her empathy against her again. "When I first reached out to you, I had this hate in my heart. I just wanted to find who did this to my sister. And then I was gonna end it. But, I don't feel that way anymore, and the only thing that changed is that I met you."

Penelope was responsible for her own actions. She never should have slept with a witness. But Tyler said all of the right things to pull at her heartstrings. She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she did it anyway, which appeared contrary to her typical behavior.

That doesn't prove Tyler has done anything with the network, but it does tell us what he is capable of.

"Not only is this Disciple as good on computers as Garcia..." This is the clearest piece of evidence that it could be Tyler. Ochoa is very smart, and she could make for a good hacker. But Tyler is the only character (other than Voit himself) who we know has similar talents to Garcia.

"The unsub must know that we would be tracking his signal." Ochoa was not in this episode, so it's unlikely she knew. Evan could've known, but it's hard to say where he would have gotten that information from. Tyler definitely knew.

"He had to have lured [Orlov] into a false sense of security." Maybe Tyler lured the BAU into a false sense of security as well. The show has been really hammering home the "You belong here," "You've earned your spot" thing with Tyler more than we've seen with any other new member. This could just be due to Tyler's impostor syndrome. They want to reassure him. It could also be the writer's way of setting up a betrayal that the entire time will feel the impact of.

Some other things of note:

Tyler pushes Voit a lot harder in 18x07 than he did in the episode prior. He gets very forceful when Voit doesn't agree. Maybe he needs Voit to cooperate in order to set up the conversation with Deepfake Cyras later.

As @mortalscience mentioned, the show goes out of its way to tell us that Voit has groomed a killer before. Is that foreshadowing?

And as @impossiblepearl pointed out, Voit lets Tyler into his inner circle. He saw something in him. This may have only been brought up to establish that Tyler is trying to escape that darkness, but it could also be a big clue about his true nature.

And then there is the six-month time jump. None of the main cast was all that affected by the jump, which made me question why it existed in the first place. I initially thought that it would be used to cover Tyler's time away at training. Except it was actually the opposite. Tyler was training with the BAU the whole time, and when we came back, he was set to leave. So why not show us his training? Why start the season six months later? Overall, the "I'm leaving- No, I'm actually staying" in episodes one and two is needless unless it's supposed to be recontextualized later.

So, let's alter the perception. The first case we picked back up with was the first time the network had shown its face since Voit got arrested. The Network reactivated before Voit woke up from his coma. They went active the same week Tyler was set to get his new assignment. Suddenly, the Sicarious Network is back, and it looks like the BAU is going to need Tyler's expertise. What a coincidence!

A six-month time jump would give Tyler time to plan and integrate himself into the team's lives, gaining their trust, which he does successfully.

You might be wondering how Tyler could possibly be the unsub when we've seen RJ in a ton of behind-the-scenes photos with the BAU for season 19. What if the Disciple is only revealed to the audience (and possibly Voit) at the end of season 18? Maybe we are setting up a transition from one Big Bad to another?

#that image of him at the beginning of 18x07 #is it a visual clue?#foreshadowing?#criminal minds evolution #criminal minds spoilers #criminal minds #cme #tyler green #dr. julia ochoa #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #notbridgerton #cm theory

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deliciousangelfestival · 13 days ago

Text

The Director's Obsession - Phase 3

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Word Count: 10.153

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻

Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , Phase 5 , Phase 6 , Phase 7 , Phase 8 , -

Headcanons

Author’s Note: This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. She will confront her annoying director.

Phase 3: The Third Date

The weekend finally arrived. For the first time in months, no alerts. No sudden summons. No unannounced visits from Director Krennic sweeping through ISB Headquarters with his sharp boots and perfectly staged cape. Silence. A rare luxury in the Empire.

You stood before your mirror, momentarily stunned by your reflection. The rigid ISB uniform was gone, replaced by something far more revealing of the person you kept buried beneath duty. The dress hugged the figure you worked relentlessly to maintain, dipping just enough at the neckline to suggest confidence without inviting scandal. Tonight, for once, you chose to be visible.

Faint perfume misted your skin, replacing the cold, sterile scent of regulation cologne you usually wore to disguise endless hours trapped behind datapads. Your heels clicked softly against the floor, earrings swaying gently with every movement. A bold color stained your lips—something you rarely allowed yourself.

Then you noticed it: a strand of silver glinting beneath the soft lighting. You leaned closer, cursing under your breath as you spotted the beginnings of grey threading through your hairline. The cost of service. The silent inheritance every ISB agent earned sooner or later. You quickly brushed it back and masked it beneath styled strands. Not tonight. Not here.

For once, you would carry your stress quietly and not let it own you.

******

Marlon waited at the restaurant entrance, scanning the passersby until his eyes caught yours. His expression shifted instantly—surprise first, then something like awe. His mouth parted slightly, words failing him for a moment.

“Wow,” he finally exhaled. “You look... incredible. Honestly, I feel a bit underdressed now.”

You allowed yourself a rare, quiet smile. “Thank you. It’s not often I get the chance.”

He offered his arm. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, and together you walked inside, entering an atmosphere designed for exactly this kind of evening—expensive, refined, and carefully curated not to appear desperate. Soft lighting glowed against gold accents. Gentle music floated beneath murmured conversations.

The food lived up to its reputation. The wine was smooth. Marlon, as always, remained effortlessly charming, his words filling the air with stories of narrow escapes, dangerous trades, and encounters with both smugglers and aristocrats. A Rodian dealer who nearly scammed him. Pirates he outwitted by posing as a wedding singer. His world of art, trade, and danger painted vivid pictures.

But as his monologues unfurled, you began to notice what wasn’t said. Not once did he ask about you. Not your work, not your ambitions, not even your simple preferences. Every story returned to him.

And beneath it all, annoyingly, another voice whispered in the back of your mind.

‘Progress. Status. Deadlines.’

Krennic’s demands seeped through even here, uninvited. His presence haunted like a ghost that refused exorcism.

You shifted in your seat, forcing the thoughts away. Not tonight.

Then it happened. You felt it before you saw it—a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The temperature seemed to drop, conversation lulled, and Marlon’s expression turned rigid.

You turned your head slowly.

Director Orson Krennic.

Stood beneath the restaurant’s golden lights, immaculate as ever. His stark white uniform and gleaming cape practically demanded attention. Flanking him were two Death Troopers, their black armor catching the dim reflections like polished obsidian. The soft murmur of diners evaporated into suffocating silence as he advanced.

Your stomach knotted. Not again.

Krennic’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk, the one that always sat halfway between amusement and warning. His boots struck the marble floor in sharp, deliberate rhythm as he approached, removing his gloves one finger at a time like a performer entering center stage.

“Well, well.” His voice was smooth, polished. Condescending. “Imagine finding you here. And with... company.”

He cast a dismissive glance toward Marlon, who stiffened but managed to meet his gaze.

“Director,” you said flatly, masking the burn beneath your ribs. “What brings you here?”

“Pure coincidence, I assure you.” The humor in his voice dripped like venom. “You know how small Coruscant can feel.”

Marlon straightened his posture, trying to project confidence. “Is there a problem, Director?”

Krennic’s brow arched ever so slightly, as if amused by the audacity. “No problem at all. Simply... curious.”

His attention returned to you, the smirk deepening. “You’ve chosen a rather theatrical companion this time. Quite a contrast. Though, truthfully, not your usual caliber. A bit... loud.”

Your jaw clenched. His words weren’t just insults—they were deliberate reminders of who held the higher ground.

You inhaled slowly, voice tight. “Fine. Let’s not waste time. I’ll return to the assignment.”

Krennic’s smile widened. “Excellent. We wouldn’t want to keep the Emperor waiting, would we?”

At that, Marlon’s composure cracked. His head snapped toward you, confusion rippling across his face. “The Emperor?”

Krennic’s expression feigned surprise. “Ah. He doesn’t know.” His gaze cut back to you with mock sympathy. “You never told him you're ISB?”

You exhaled, already exhausted. “Director—stop.”

But it was too late. The damage had been done. The veil Marlon thought existed between you and the Empire had shattered.

Krennic’s voice dipped into silk-wrapped cruelty as he turned back to Marlon. “See, this is your problem. You dine with a woman whose world you don’t even begin to understand. You’re playing far above your station.”

Marlon’s face flushed, his bravado crumbling into quiet humiliation.

You’d had enough. Rising from your seat, you locked eyes with Krennic, who was already signaling to his Death Troopers to fall into step.

The evening was over. Again.

You followed him wordlessly into the chill of Coruscant’s night air.

Peace, it seemed, remained out of reach.

********

Before the Interruption

Before Krennic ever stepped into that restaurant, his day had already been long.

He had returned from an inspection of the Death Star’s latest developments, personally summoned to deliver his progress report to the Emperor. The conversation, like all their meetings, was brief, cold, and precise. Palpatine listened without expression, his pale hands steepled beneath his chin as Krennic delivered updates on resource acquisition, worker efficiency, and technical advancements. No praise followed. The Emperor’s silence was its form of judgment. His standards remained absolute.

Krennic left the throne room with pride tightly coiled against the ever-present pressure riding on his shoulders.

The moment his shuttle touched down on Coruscant’s private landing pad, he wasted no time. No return to his suite. No unnecessary delays. His transport moved swiftly through the city’s corridors, directly to the ISB Headquarters.

His polished boots echoed sharply against the sterile floors of the ISB’s secured division. Late hours had thinned the halls, but a handful of agents remained scattered at their desks, quietly finalizing reports. The tension shifted the instant he arrived. Paltargaz, Dedra, and Jung glanced up from their workstations, their expressions carefully neutral as Krennic advanced with steady, controlled strides.

Without slowing, his voice cut through the silence.

"Where is she?"

Paltargaz straightened, adjusting his collar with the faintest hint of discomfort.

"She finished her assignments, Director. She’s at home."

Krennic’s lips twitched, not into a smile, but something far colder.

"At home? Or indulging in another one of her little adventures? With some... low-grade man?"

Paltargaz exhaled through his nose, exasperated. "Why don’t you simply tell her how you feel? A simple thank you might serve better than all this posturing."

Krennic’s eyes narrowed, the edges of his voice sharpening. "She’s crucial to my operation. Thanks to her propaganda campaigns, resource acquisition across the Outer Rim has been streamlined without conflict. Entire sectors are bending quietly to Imperial need. Efficient. Effective. And this time, there will be no delays."

Paltargaz met his gaze with carefully measured calm. "You’ve been haunting her, Director. She barely breathes under your scrutiny."

Krennic’s smirk returned, thin and humorless. "That, Major, is a privilege she earned."

The moment hung in the air, taut and heavy. Then a quiet clearing of a throat broke the silence behind him.

Krennic turned his head slightly, voice low and dangerous.

"Yes?"

Heert stood stiffly at attention, his eagerness barely contained beneath his rigid posture.

"She went on a date, sir."

Dedra’s glare sharpened instantly, shooting daggers toward him. Jung’s eyes widened, silently mouthing the words, ‘you fool.’

Krennic froze for a breath, processing the information. His jaw flexed once, twice. Slowly, methodically, he began tightening the gloves on his hands, pulling each finger snug with deliberate precision. Every movement radiated barely suppressed fury.

"We stand on the edge of absolute greatness, and she chooses to entertain distractions."

The words dripped like oil, heavy with venom.

Without another word, he pivoted sharply. As he approached the lift, the two Death Troopers waiting nearby snapped to attention. Krennic spoke with cold authority.

"Two men. With me. Now."

The doors hissed open, swallowing them into the lift.

Once the doors sealed shut, the tension in the room snapped like a brittle wire.

Dedra broke the silence first, her voice clipped. "Why did you tell him?"

Heert shrugged, far too pleased with himself. "We had a bet, remember?"

Jung threw up his hands. "For stars’ sake."

Paltargaz simply sighed and rubbed at his temple. "Now you’ve done it."

******

Back to the present

Inside the speeder, the hum of the engine filled the tense silence. You sat rigidly in the back beside Krennic, arms crossed tight against your chest as your gaze locked on the passing cityscape outside.

You were livid. No—furious.

The moments dragged until, inevitably, Krennic broke the silence. His tone remained infuriatingly composed, laced with quiet smugness.

"I must say," he drawled, "your taste in restaurants has improved."

Your head snapped toward him.

"You followed me. Again."

He smiled, turning just enough to meet your eyes.

"I didn’t follow," he corrected smoothly. "I intervened."

"Intervened?" you spat. "You’ve humiliated me. Twice. In public."

His voice never wavered, the mocking undertone lingering beneath every word.

"If you consider saving you from mediocrity a humiliation, then I question your standards."

"You think you're doing me a favor?" Your voice was sharp, rising.

"I know I am." He smoothed out a crease along his glove, deliberate, composed. "You're valuable. Far too valuable to waste yourself with someone who can barely withstand the presence of two Death Troopers without trembling."

You threw your head back, teeth clenched.

"You don’t get to decide who I spend my time with."

"But I do get to remind you," he said, voice softening but growing heavier, "that you have potential. You're not like them. You deserve to stand beside power, not beneath it."

His words landed like a slow, poisonous seed.

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"This isn’t about my potential. This is about your control."

He leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. The glow of Coruscant’s endless skyline sliced across his features in brief flashes, illuminating the glint in his eyes.

"Control?" he echoed, as if savoring the word. "No. It’s about focus. Discipline. You forget where you came from."

He paused, letting the words pierce deeper.

"You were nobody," he continued, his voice low but precise. "A low-tier clerk buried in ISB archives. Forgotten. Unseen. You scraped through years of bureaucratic waste, desperate for recognition that never came. Decades, wasn’t it? Staring at meaningless reports while promotions passed you by."

Your jaw tightened.

"You joined the Empire to rise above your station. You wanted more than scraps. Yet, even within the machine, you remained an extra—expendable, replaceable."

His gaze sharpened.

"Until the Directorate announced the contest. The Department of Imperial Propaganda sought a vision bold enough to reshape loyalty across sectors. A voice powerful enough to realign systems without the need for constant war."

He smiled then, slow and measured.

"And you delivered it."

Your chest tightened as his words sliced through your defenses, because beneath your anger, you knew they carried truth. You had spent years clawing toward relevance. You joined the Empire for stability, to escape the miserable life you came from. But stability was never enough. You needed more. And when that contest was announced, you poured every ounce of your skill into it. You crafted the campaign meticulously, desperate to stand out.

You never imagined your submission would be pulled from the thousands and placed into the hands of Imperial Advanced Weapons Research. Into his hands.

Krennic’s voice lowered, almost reverent.

"Your work gives us a new kind of arsenal. Words, imagery, loyalty. The unseen weapon. Through your designs, planetary governors yield resources willingly. Citizens embrace compliance. Entire sectors stabilize without a single shot fired."

His gloved hand lifted slightly as if gesturing toward some invisible grand structure.

"It is the perfect complement to power itself. Control through ideology. Defense through loyalty. Unlimited efficiency through order. This is what makes you irreplaceable to me."

You turned away again, glaring back out at the endless neon blur of Coruscant’s traffic lanes. Fury still burned in your chest, but beneath it churned something heavier. A sickening knot of bitter acknowledgment.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

You had fought for years in obscurity. You had clawed upward through endless layers of meaningless assignments. And now, finally, you stood in rooms you once only dreamed of—rooms he placed you in.

Manipulative. Calculated. But never without purpose.

Krennic watched you carefully, sensing every unspoken fracture beneath your silence. His voice softened into something nearly tender—though no less dangerous.

"One day," he whispered, "you’ll thank me for protecting you from yourself."

The speeder glided effortlessly through the city’s darkened sky, carrying you both back into the cold, suffocating arms of the Empire.

*******

Inside Krennic's mind

The first date had been unexpected. Krennic never anticipated seeing you that night. The restaurant was one of his regular choices whenever Partagaz forced him to socialize outside of ISB Headquarters. It offered him the illusion of blending into Coruscant’s upper-class elite, though even stripped of his cape and dressed in civilian precision, Krennic never truly blended anywhere. He carried command with him like a second skin.

Then he saw you.

At first, he questioned his own eyes. You were laughing, seated across from some insignificant fool. The man was young, nervous, and barely capable of holding himself with proper composure at a dinner table. His posture irritated Krennic instantly. The awkward way he fidgeted with his utensils, his over-eager smile, the cheap confidence of someone who had never understood real consequence.

But you. You were radiant in a way he had never seen at ISB. There, you wore discipline like armor, your features locked into a professional mask of composure and quiet ambition. But here, your smile was softer, your eyes lit up when you laughed. You almost looked free. Something inside him twisted at the sight. You did not belong here. Not wasting your time with mediocrity. Not offering that smile to someone who would never deserve it.

Krennic found himself watching. Studying. You had not noticed him at first, too focused on keeping the conversation alive. But he saw it — the way your hand twitched slightly, the polite smile beginning to stiffen. You were already growing bored. Of course you were.

Then your eyes drifted across the room. You saw him.

Perfect.

Your expression shifted instantly. Caught off guard. Uncomfortable. Exactly the reaction he had anticipated. You tried to maintain composure, but your body betrayed you. Your shoulders tensed, your laughter faded, and the carefully constructed charm cracked.

Krennic allowed himself a small, private smirk.

Good.

Buckle up.

He would save you from your own foolish choices.

The second date had been worse. A singer this time. An artist. Laughable. Krennic did not even bother leaving his office. Once his Death Troopers informed him of your location, he dispatched them to retrieve you. There was no point in standing by and watching you slip further. If you could not choose wisely, then he would make the decision for you. You were far too important to risk on men who played music for credits.

Then came the third date. This one was different.

The moment he arrived at the restaurant entrance, his eyes found you immediately. Marlon. A merchant. Krennic recognized the man’s type at a glance. Wealthy enough to buy entry into the establishment, charming enough to entertain you, but still fundamentally beneath you. He lacked the refinement, the purpose. He was not fit to sit across from you.

And then his eyes moved to you.

For one breath, Krennic’s control faltered. Just for a second. You looked magnificent. The dress hugged your form perfectly. Elegant, restrained, but daring enough to command attention. The earrings, the heels, the faint trace of perfume that lingered as he approached — all carefully chosen details that unsettled him more than he would ever admit. The way others in the restaurant turned their heads to admire you sparked something sharp in his chest.

No one should see you like this. Not them. Not this man. That should belong only to him.

For a flicker of a moment, something almost painfully human stirred beneath the cold discipline he always wore. Desire, perhaps. Or something far more dangerous. But it vanished quickly, buried under the layers of control he had perfected for decades.

And now here you were. Caught again. Helpless to stop him.

He smirked. And approached.

Yet the truth of why he kept interfering went far deeper than possessiveness or jealousy. It gnawed at him quietly. Something inside him refused to release its grip.

When his department first began struggling to gather resources for the Death Star, the task had seemed simple. The citizens would obey, or they would face the weight of the Empire’s forces. But reality was not so accommodating. Fear bred defiance. The citizens grew uneasy. The Rebellion spread like a sickness. Fear alone could not fuel construction indefinitely. What the Empire required was something more effective than terror.

Stability.

Hope.

He needed the citizens to feel safe under Imperial rule. To believe the Empire was the only shield standing between them and chaos. That was the true weapon.

Propaganda.

Krennic turned to the ISB, knowing Partagaz controlled the best propaganda units in the sector. He demanded material. Dozens of proposals followed. Some were impressive. Many failed instantly beneath his standards. But every promising designer who entered his orbit eventually crumbled beneath the weight of his demands. None could withstand him.

Until you.

Your submission stood out from the first moment he read it. The precision, the message, the understanding of Imperial ideology without veering into blind fanaticism. It was bold. Clever. Powerful.

When he summoned you for the first review, he fully expected you to shatter under pressure. Most did. You almost did. He could see it — the way your breath caught, the way your hands trembled ever so slightly when he delivered his brutal expectations. But you stayed. You didn’t cry. You didn’t break. You adapted.

And you delivered.

Because of your work, the Empire faced no further delays. The resource flows stabilized. Public morale shifted. Planets previously on the brink of rebellion accepted Imperial control with resigned comfort. Sectors flourished. The people no longer feared the Empire; they trusted it. That trust fueled the Death Star’s construction with unprecedented efficiency.

You were no longer expendable. You were essential. To the Empire. And to him.

And now, after everything, you chose to waste your time on men so far beneath you that they barely understood what world they were living in.

Fools who would never comprehend who you were becoming.

Who you belonged to.

Krennic would not allow you to squander what he had built. What you had built together. Not for cheap distractions or meaningless indulgences. He saw the larger vision. You belonged beside power. And if you refused to see it, then he would continue to remind you.

Again. And again.

Until you finally understood.

*******

The next morning, you arrived at ISB earlier than anyone expected. You bypassed the usual ritual of caf, ignoring the sharp pangs of exhaustion burning behind your eyes. Your jaw locked into place, the muscles aching from how tightly you clenched your teeth. Only one thing kept you steady, kept you from erupting under the weight of your frustration.

Vengeance.

You would channel every ounce of fury into your work. You would weaponize your assignment. You would shove this project straight down Krennic’s throat and make him swallow his arrogance with it.

Sliding into your chair, you barely acknowledged the datapad booting up before your fingers attacked the console. Phase 5 spread open like an enemy before you, and with each keystroke, you struck it down. Every paragraph you drafted dripped with venom, with cutting precision, with the raw energy of defiance. He demanded a masterpiece. You would give him one. Not because he ordered it, but because you would show him what you were truly capable of. He would see it, and he would choke on his smug satisfaction.

The entire office had fallen into a quiet awe as they watched you work.

Across the room, Dedra leaned in toward Jung, lowering her voice to a whisper as her eyes flicked between your furious typing and the storm written across your face.

"I’ve never seen her like this before," she whispered.

Jung nodded slowly, voice equally hushed as though afraid to disrupt the force radiating from your desk.

"She’s possessed," he murmured. "Look at her. She’s unstoppable."

Heert, seated nearby, glanced up from his datapad, the corner of his mouth curling into a smug grin.

"Well," he said softly, "at least I won the bet."

The comment rippled through the office like a stone dropped into water. Nearby agents stifled giggles behind hands and datapads, the whispers spreading quickly from desk to desk like wildfire feeding on dry leaves.

"I heard Director Krennic showed up again last night," one agent whispered behind a screen.

"Third time in a row," another added. "That man is relentless."

"It’s not even about the assignments anymore," someone else breathed. "He just doesn’t want anyone else near her."

Paltargaz sat quietly at his desk, eyes flickering to your furious pace, observing you the way a scientist might study a volatile reaction inside a sealed chamber. His hand moved thoughtfully to his chin, rubbing slowly as he exhaled through his nose. A trace of a sigh followed, edged with reluctant amusement.

"If I weren’t supervising," he muttered under his breath, "I’d have joined the betting pool myself."

Their eyes remained locked on you. Your fingers flew across the datapad, striking each key like a weapon, your shoulders rigid with concentration. Your face was carved in stone, cold, focused, unyielding. The storm inside you fueled every word you constructed.

You heard none of it. You felt none of their attention. The whispers, the jokes, the bets, even Krennic’s suffocating interference faded into nothing behind your singular focus.

You would finish Phase Six. You would deliver something sharper, faster, and more ruthless than he could have dared to imagine. And when he reviewed it, when he saw what you created, he would be forced to swallow his arrogance whole.

At least, that was the plan.

*******

Around you, credits quietly exchanged hands. The ISB floor buzzed with muted amusement, but you ignored them all. Your mind was sharp as a vibroblade, slicing through data, proposals, and projections. Every keystroke, every calculated edit, every adjustment to the propaganda material was a blow struck in silent defiance. Your hands danced across datapads and holoscreens, feeding the insatiable beast of Imperial perfection.

Hours blurred into days. Sleep became irrelevant.

Krennic appeared often, drifting into your space like a predatory bird circling its prize. He never announced his arrivals, simply materializing behind you with his hands clasped behind his back, pristine white uniform immaculate, his cape billowing with every measured step. His eyes gleamed whenever he examined your newest work, displayed neatly on your screens like offerings to his ambition.

"Excellent," he murmured one evening, his voice sliding over your shoulder as you finalized yet another flawless projection.

"You’re finally embracing your full potential," he said, his words smooth, coated in silk.

You kept your eyes on the screen, your voice flat.

"I am simply doing my job, Director."

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a possessive whisper.

"No, my dear. You are fulfilling my vision."

You gritted your teeth and kept working.

******

Three days later, the summons arrived. Encrypted. Direct. Absolute.

FROM: IMPERIAL PALACE, HIS EXCELLENCY. SUBJECT: IMMEDIATE PRESENCE REQUIRED.

There was no mention of Krennic. No courtesy notice. No explanation. Only an order.

You obeyed.

The next morning, your desk sat cold and empty. You were gone before most even arrived. But not before Krennic.

When he entered the floor and saw the vacant station, his voice sliced through the office with lethal precision.

"Where is she?"

Partagaz barely glanced up from his reports, his voice calm, almost indifferent.

"Summoned to the Emperor," he answered. "I assumed you had been informed."

Krennic’s smile held, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him.

"No," he said quietly. "I was not."

His mind raced. She was his project. His design. His creation. How dare they bypass him?

Without another word, he turned sharply, storming from the floor with his cape trailing behind him like a blade. His Death Troopers flanked him in perfect sync.

Two clipped words followed, cold and absolute.

"With me."

The ISB agents exchanged uneasy glances behind him as he vanished.

"Why did you do that?" Dedra hissed at Heert, her voice low but sharp.

"We had a bet," Heert said, trying to sound defensive but shrinking slightly beneath her glare.

Jung sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, stars help us."

********

The Emperor’s audience chamber loomed vast and oppressive, bathed in dim, unnatural light. The air itself seemed to pulse with cold power. You stood perfectly still, spine straight, head bowed, while the Emperor’s sickly yellow eyes peered down at you from his throne. Lord Vader stood beside him, silent as a shadow, the hiss of his respirator filling the heavy silence like the rhythm of a looming execution.

"Your work has been... most impressive," Palpatine rasped, his voice echoing unnaturally through the chamber.

"I serve the Empire, Your Excellency," you answered, voice steady despite the weight of the moment pressing against your ribs.

"Indeed," Palpatine continued, his tone curling like smoke. "And perhaps it is time you serve it more directly."

Your heart caught. For a brief moment, something like hope tried to surface.

"Director Krennic has done well, yes," Palpatine said, almost savoring the words. "But your talents should not remain buried under supervision. There are greater projects that require your skills."

Vader’s respirator hissed again, as though punctuating the offer.

"You would report directly to me."

Before you could respond, the heavy doors hissed open. Krennic entered with the fury of a storm contained in human form. His uniform gleamed under the chamber lights, every step precise, controlled, his cape flowing behind him like a silent threat. Though his face remained calm, his eyes burned with something barely contained beneath the surface.

"Your Excellency," he bowed sharply. "Forgive the interruption."

Palpatine’s gaze narrowed.

"Director Krennic. You are late to this meeting."

"I was unaware of this discussion," Krennic replied smoothly, his voice polished but tense. He allowed himself a glance toward you before returning his focus to the Emperor.

"We were discussing your protégé," Palpatine said, clearly enjoying the tension building in the chamber.

"My greatest achievement," Krennic answered softly. "Polished. Refined. Molded through years of careful design."

He stepped forward, lowering his voice, his words sharpened by possessive resolve.

"With all respect, my Lord, no one understands her capabilities better than I. She is not yet prepared to be removed from structured development. Premature elevation may jeopardize her long-term refinement."

Palpatine’s lips twisted ever so slightly, entertained by the display.

"You are possessive, Director."

"I am invested, my Lord."

For several long seconds, only Vader’s mechanical breathing filled the chamber like a metronome counting out the weight of Krennic’s defiance.

Finally, Palpatine raised his hand.

"We shall revisit this matter. For now... continue."

"With gratitude, my Lord," Krennic replied, bowing once again.

As the two of you exited together, Krennic’s gloved hand brushed lightly against the small of your back. The gesture was subtle, proprietary, and no one dared acknowledge it.

Once safely away from Imperial ears, his voice dropped into a venomous whisper, sharp as a blade sliding beneath skin.

"You belong to me. You are not finished. And you will not be taken from me... until I say so."

Krennic’s grip locked around your arm, firm but not cruel, though every bit of it radiated authority. You could feel the tension vibrating beneath his perfect facade.

"You. On my shuttle. Now."

His words sliced through the air, quiet but deadly. You opened your mouth to respond, but his eyes met yours, freezing any protest before it could form. They were cold, dangerous, filled with a fury barely restrained beneath the tailored layers of his uniform.

"Do not argue. Do not speak. Wait for me."

The shuttle ramp hissed open behind you. Two Death Troopers stood silently as you stepped aboard. The doors sealed shut with a cold hiss, enclosing you within the sterile chamber. Through the viewport, you watched as he marched toward the towering black spire of the Imperial Palace, his cape slicing through the air behind him like a banner of war.

*******

Krennic knelt before the Emperor, head bowed, posture locked into perfection. Yet beneath that polished exterior, a storm churned. His fury simmered just beneath the surface, coiled tight beneath the flawless seams of his immaculate white uniform. The tension in his shoulders betrayed what his face refused to show.

The Emperor’s voice echoed through the vast chamber, calm, cold, and laced with unsettling amusement.

"Director Krennic. We were just speaking of your agent."

Krennic forced a smile to his lips, but it was too sharp, too tight. A blade disguised as courtesy.

"Yes, my Lord. My finest project. The crown jewel of Imperial propaganda."

Lord Vader’s voice followed, low and resonant, filling the cavernous hall with its ominous weight.

"And yet you presume to keep such... assets under your control."

For the briefest moment, Krennic’s composure faltered. The tight balance he maintained slipped as his words came quicker, sharper, the edges fraying beneath pressure.

"With all due respect, Lord Vader, without my guidance, my resources, and my vision, she would still be another faceless ISB file. I extracted her talent, honed it, and transformed it into Imperial success."

He dared to step forward, bold, reckless. His voice grew firmer, layered with defiant conviction.

"The citizenry grows obedient. The rebellion’s recruitment shrinks. My programs have unified the Outer Rim’s support. The Death Star advances without interference. It is working."

The Emperor narrowed his yellow eyes, the smallest curl of his lips betraying how much he enjoyed watching the desperate defense unfold.

"Do you claim sole credit, Director?"

Krennic’s tone sharpened further, dangerously close to slipping into unguarded arrogance.

"I claim credit for recognizing talent when others overlooked it. For shaping her work into the weapon the Empire now wields. She is mine, my Lord."

“Urgh!”

The words hung in the air like the barrel of a loaded blaster. The silence that followed was heavier than the oxygen in the chamber, suffocating in its thickness.

Vader’s breathing deepened, the mechanical rasp slowing and stretching, like a predator savoring the moment. Without a gesture, without a word, Krennic’s throat constricted violently.

The choked sound broke free from his lips, harsh and involuntary. His hands shot up instinctively, clawing at his neck as the invisible grip tightened around his windpipe. Dropping to his knees, he gasped, his breath rasping, his body trembling under the crushing force. The polished boots of the Sith Lord stood motionless as the invisible hand squeezed tighter.

"Do not forget your place, Director," Vader warned, his voice a low growl steeped in dark authority.

Krennic’s face flushed deep crimson as the blood rushed to his head. His vision blurred, his eyes watered, but he refused to cry out. Pride held him upright, even as the invisible hand threatened to rob him of breath entirely. He would not beg. Not here. Not in front of them.

The Emperor watched, mildly entertained by the display unraveling before his throne. His voice rasped through the tension.

"Ambition is a dangerous flame, Orson. Temper it."

At last, the crushing pressure relented. The grip released suddenly, and Krennic collapsed forward, gasping, drawing in harsh, broken breaths as he coughed violently. His knees struck the cold floor, his body shuddering with each breath. But even as the tremors coursed through him, he forced himself upright once more. Stiff. Shaking. Yet still standing. His hand instinctively rubbed at his bruised neck, but his chin lifted with unyielding resolve.

Vader turned, his towering figure retreating into the shadows. His voice carried back across the vast chamber, low and chilling.

"Be careful not to polish your diamond until it cracks."

The Emperor followed behind him, his robes trailing like smoke, leaving Krennic alone. Humiliated. Alive. His breath continued to rasp in the heavy silence, the taste of shame bitter on his tongue.

And still, beneath it all, the fire in him refused to die.

*******

The shuttle door hissed open. Krennic stepped inside, his shoulders rigid, his complexion pale beneath the taut lines of his face. His jaw clenched tightly, one gloved hand rising instinctively to rub the bruised flesh of his throat where Vader’s grip had left its mark.

You stood as he entered, worry flashing across your features. He waved you off with a sharp, dismissive motion before you could speak.

"Director?" Your voice was careful, cautious. "What happened?"

For a long moment, he offered no response. You could see it in the way his breath remained shallow, the way his nostrils flared slightly, struggling to control the fury pulsing beneath the surface. His pride bled, his dignity battered, but not broken. The silence between you hung heavy, humming like a charged wire.

At last, he turned to face you fully. His eyes were cold, distant, his posture slowly pulling itself back into the familiar posture of control. His voice, though measured, carried a distinct edge of venom.

"Nothing that concerns you."

You hesitated, studying his expression, but the mask was already in place. Then his tone shifted, lowering into that dark, possessive lilt that always made your stomach twist.

"Just remember something."

His words slid like silk-wrapped steel, each one deliberate and heavy with meaning.

"It was me who found you. It was me who saw what no one else did. And it will always be me who knows exactly what you are capable of. No one takes what I have built. Not Vader. Not even the Emperor himself."

A faint smile played at the corner of his lips, but it was not warmth. It was a reassurance spoken only for himself, a quiet, dangerous promise.

The shuttle lifted off, the engines humming steadily beneath your feet. As you stared out into the cold void of Coruscant’s skyline, one truth weighed heavily on you. The game between you had grown far more dangerous than ever before.

********

The next day, you standing before Partagaz’s desk. You held yourself together, but your composure felt fragile, as if one wrong word would shatter you completely. He studied you in silence, his eyes narrowing with something surprisingly close to understanding. Finally, he nodded once.

"You have endured quite enough, Agent. Take a few days. Rest. Gather yourself."

You swallowed hard and managed a brief nod, retreating quickly before anyone witnessed the crack forming behind your carefully built walls.

It did not take long for your absence to stir the office once more. The ISB vultures circled eagerly.

Jung leaned forward, voice hushed but eager. "She’s not here today."

Kallus arched a brow. "After what happened? Not surprising."

Dedra’s voice dropped. "The Emperor summoned her. Vader nearly choked Krennic in front of her. She’s earned the leave."

Thorne smirked "Yes, but does Krennic know?"

*****

Far from the sterile cold of ISB, you walked through Coruscant’s lower districts. No datapads. No reports. Only a simple basket filled with fresh fruit, pastries, and modest groceries. Your sick leave was real, for now.

You paused at a flower stall, your eyes drifting across bright blooms, trying to decide which bouquet felt the least depressing. For a rare moment, there was peace.

Then, from behind you, a familiar voice pierced the fragile quiet.

"We meet again."

You turned sharply. Marlon stood beside the vendor’s counter, leaning casually with that same easy smile he always carried, as though fate had placed him here.

"Marlon? What are you doing here?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying your surprise.

"I could ask you the same. I thought the great ISB officer would be chained to her desk as usual."

His tone was light, teasing. Familiar. Soothing, after everything you had endured in recent days.

He offered a small, playful bow.

"If you are free, perhaps we could sit for a caf. Unless, of course, your shadow would disapprove again."

You knew exactly who he meant. Krennic. He always meant Krennic.

You hesitated. For a brief moment, you could almost feel it — the sharp swish of white fabric, the billow of his cape, the weight of his eyes watching you even here. But there was no one. Not yet.

Later, you sat with Marlon beside a wide glass window. The warm afternoon light of Coruscant spilled across the table. No Death Troopers hovered nearby. No sharp voice pulled you back into protocol. Only clinking cups and the low murmur of other patrons surrounded you.

Marlon watched you carefully as you stirred your caf.

"You look pale. Tired."

You forced a thin smile and sighed.

"Stress. The job doesn’t allow much breathing room."

His gaze softened.

"I can only imagine. Especially with your unique boss."

That earned the faintest chuckle from you.

"Unique is one way to put it."

Marlon leaned back, his grin widening.

"Let me fix what he ruined."

You blinked, unsure.

"What do you mean?"

"The last date. The restaurant. The public humiliation." His voice dropped slightly. "There is a diplomatic gala in two nights. Neutral ground. Beautiful venue. No Imperial ranks. No capes allowed."

He offered a playful wink.

"I want a proper chance to spend time with you. Uninterrupted."

Again, you hesitated, feeling that invisible presence looming somewhere in the back of your mind. Krennic’s shadow followed you everywhere. But there was no one here. Only Marlon.

The temptation for something simple, something normal, was too sweet to resist.

"All right. I’ll come."

Marlon’s smile broadened.

"Excellent."

He raised his cup in a small toast.

"I promise. No Death Troopers. No interruptions. No capes."

********

The moment you returned the following day, refreshed but cautious, the vultures resumed their circling. The ISB office buzzed with that familiar, predatory energy the moment your boots crossed the threshold.

Jung grinned broadly as soon as he spotted you, his voice already thick with amusement.

"So, sick leave treated you well, hmm?"

Dedra lifted a curious brow, her eyes gliding across your face, sharp and observant.

"You have color again," she noted, as if studying you for weakness.

Kallus added his dry remark without looking up from his datapad.

"And our Director...?"

Partagaz, ever the calm observer, watched you with that cool detachment that rarely revealed his full thoughts. His voice, however, carried enough weight to still the others momentarily.

"Director Krennic was not pleased by your absence," he said. "He has been asking questions. Frequently."

Thorne grinned, sensing fresh entertainment brewing beneath the surface.

"Well, prepare for round two. He’s due here any moment."

As if summoned by their words, the doors hissed open.

Director Krennic entered with his usual precision, every line of his uniform immaculate, every step calculated. His cape snapped sharply behind him, its movement almost alive, reflecting the tension coiling beneath his carefully controlled exterior. The air in the room shifted instantly, as though oxygen itself thinned in his presence. His eyes found you immediately, locking onto yours with unsettling intensity.

"Agent," he spoke, his tone smooth but tightly wound. "Back, I see."

The office fell into a tense hush. Every agent paused, every breath seemed to freeze as the familiar game resumed. All eyes flicked between you and him, waiting for the storm they fully expected.

But instead, his voice cut through the silence, soft, deliberate, almost gentle.

"Agent, how are you feeling?"

The question struck like a thermal detonator dropped in the center of the office.

Your heartbeat faltered for a breath. This was not the man you had braced for. No venom. No sharp-edged accusations. No thinly veiled threats. His voice carried none of the cold cruelty they had all come to expect.

You kept your expression composed, your voice even.

"I’m... better, Director. Thank you for asking."

He nodded, the slightest tilt of his head. No retort followed. No sarcastic observations. The sharpness that usually accompanied his words was absent, replaced by a smooth, unreadable calm.

"Good. I trust you’re ready to return to your propaganda when you're able."

"Yes, Director. Fully ready."

His gaze lingered for a moment longer, those pale eyes calculating, weighing something invisible between you. Then, without another word, he pivoted with military precision and strode away, the pristine sweep of his cape following him like a banner. The doors hissed shut behind him, sealing the strange encounter in a vacuum of tense silence.

The moment the sound faded, the office erupted into a flurry of suppressed whispers.

Jung leaned in first, his voice barely more than a breath.

"Did you hear that?"

Kallus shook his head, wide-eyed, his voice touched with disbelief.

"He asked. About her health."

Dedra continued to stare at the door, as though expecting Krennic to return and restore the balance by lashing out.

"He didn’t insult anyone," she murmured, as if struggling to believe what she had witnessed.

********

Later, in the quiet of your apartment, you stood still while your best friend, Mia, applied the final touches of your makeup. She leaned in, her fingers steady, her voice light with a teasing grin.

"Hold still."

You and Mia had grown up together, both chasing a better life beyond the streets you came from. But Mia’s life had shifted after she married a senator’s son. Now she moved through luxury with ease, her styling flawless, her confidence polished.

You stared into the full-length mirror. The dress shimmered like liquid metal, catching every flicker of light. It clung perfectly, elegant and commanding without desperation. A statement of power.

"You’ll turn every head in that room. Trust me," she said.

A faint smirk tugged at your lips. The thought made your stomach twist.

"I’m not sure that’s a good thing."

"Oh, it is," she answered, her voice filled with sisterly pride. "Especially for a woman who’s been dragged through the dirt by the Empire."

You kept your gaze locked on your reflection, studying the version of yourself staring back. Flawless. Composed. Dangerous. And yet unfamiliar.

"Mia," you said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"If I think about it… I’m pretty unhappy right now. Even after the promotion." You hesitated, voice lowering. "And I wonder... would I still be this unhappy if I had stayed in my old job?"

Mia paused, her hand lowering, her expression softening. Her voice dropped, gentler now.

"Maybe. Or maybe not. But power doesn’t erase emptiness. You climbed higher. That doesn’t mean you climbed where you wanted."

********

The grand hall glittered beneath massive chandeliers that poured light like cascading crystal waterfalls. Diplomats, senators, officers, and Imperial elites moved through the space like predators and prey sharing the same hunting ground. The air was thick with ambition, veiled threats, and invisible power plays.

Marlon escorted you inside, his arm light but steady around yours. As you crossed the threshold, conversations paused, eyes turned, and attention shifted. You felt the weight of their stares, but for once, you were not standing in anyone’s shadow. You were the center of the storm.

"You’re the star tonight," Marlon whispered near your ear, his grin warm and charming.

Across the chamber, two figures watched with careful intent. Luthen Rael’s sharp gaze locked onto you while Mon Mothma offered a diplomatic, distant smile. Their presence was not a coincidence.

"There she is," Luthen murmured under his breath.

"The one polishing Imperial lies," Mon Mothma replied softly. "But perhaps ready for something else."

Luthen’s eyes narrowed slightly. He studied you like a fragile object waiting to be fractured. "Krennic’s masterpiece," he said quietly. "But even diamonds crack under the right pressure."

Marlon’s hand gently rested against your back as the two approached. Even before introductions, you recognized them from countless classified ISB reports. This was no chance encounter.

Luthen smiled as if greeting an old friend. "Ah, so this is the Imperial prodigy I’ve heard whispers about."

You accepted his hand with polite firmness. "I simply serve the Empire, Mr. Rael."

Mon Mothma’s voice followed, graceful and composed. "And serve it exceptionally, it seems. Director Krennic rarely praises anyone, yet your name carries far."

You returned a carefully measured smile. Beneath the surface, your instincts prickled. This was not harmless flattery. There was intent woven into every word.

Luthen’s tone remained warm, his charm effortless. "We appreciate excellence, regardless of where it comes from. It’s rare to meet someone who understands both power and persuasion as you do."

You offered a polite nod, staying neutral, guarded, and aware.

Suddenly, Kyla approached quietly, leaning into Luthen’s ear to whisper. "ISB officers entered. Private room. Not officially on the guest list."

Luthen’s smile never wavered, though you caught the flicker of irritation flash behind his eyes. ISB’s shadow was never far.

He turned back to Mon Mothma, lowering his voice. "The Empire always finds a way to slither in."

Her expression remained controlled. "If they are here, it’s not by accident. We tread carefully."

Luthen drew a slow breath, calculating. The gleam of opportunity returned to his eyes. He shifted attention back to you and Marlon, voice warm and inviting.

"Forgive me. The noise in these events grows tiresome. Would you join me somewhere quieter? The gallery holds artifacts I think you’ll appreciate."

Marlon smiled, effortlessly composed. "That sounds lovely."

You hesitated for a breath, feeling that invisible presence creeping once again, but nodded. "Lead the way."

********

The gallery was dim, bathed in soft golden light, filled with ancient relics from forgotten empires. Sculptures, broken tablets, and artifacts stood like ghosts of old power, many likely acquired through Luthen’s silent channels. The air was heavy with unspoken history.

Luthen closed the door behind you, lowering his voice into something far more intimate. "I find the past fascinating. The old regimes. Fallen rulers. Empires that believed themselves eternal."

You arched an eyebrow but remained silent. His words were deliberate, layered with meaning.

Mon Mothma spoke softly beside him. "History repeats itself until someone chooses to break the cycle."

Marlon glanced at you, the message clear in his eyes. This was the conversation they had planned.

As you moved deeper into the gallery, the tension grew heavier. Then, echoing through the space, came the familiar sound of laughter. The laughter of powerful men entertaining each other beneath layers of empty politeness and carefully masked threats.

Luthen’s jaw tightened for a moment. Then his polished smile returned. His voice projected with effortless diplomacy.

"Gentlemen."

The group turned.

And there he stood.

The pristine white cape. The polished gloves. The immaculate uniform.

Director Orson Krennic.

His attention remained briefly on the officers at his side until his gaze found you. For a moment, his smile faltered, the smallest crack in his flawless mask, before it snapped back into place.

Krennic’s voice came, smooth and precise. "Mr. Rael. Senator Mothma. What an unexpected gathering."

Luthen studied him carefully, absorbing every nuance. This was the moment he had orchestrated.

Krennic’s eyes shifted to Marlon. His gaze froze on the hand that rested lightly at your waist. That quiet intimacy burned across his nerves.

His jaw tightened for a breath. The voice stayed level, but the undertone was unmistakable. "Agent. I was unaware you would attend tonight’s festivities."

You met his stare, keeping your voice composed. "It was a personal invitation, Director."

His lips thinned. His gaze darkened. "Ah. Of course. I trust you’re enjoying yourself." His pause sharpened the words. "You seem well accompanied."

Marlon’s tone remained courteous, unfazed. "Director Krennic, isn’t it? I’ve heard of your impressive record."

Krennic extended his hand just long enough to maintain protocol. His tone was clipped. "All earned."

The handshake was brief but thick with silent competition.

Luthen watched them, his smile pleasant, his eyes sharp. "The Empire produces many talents," he said softly. "Though some shine more uniquely than others."

The bait dangled between them. Krennic recognized it.

He offered a sharp smile, eyes locking onto you. "Indeed. But every diamond requires careful polishing. Otherwise, it may crack under pressure."

His words were aimed at everyone, but meant for you.

Luthen pressed forward, his charm intact. "True. But sometimes the Empire forgets how much can be gained through understanding. Wouldn’t you agree, Director?"

Krennic refused to take the bait. Instead, his gaze returned to you, his voice lowering. "I trust you are enjoying your evening, Agent?"

You answered calmly. "Very much so, Director."

The pleasantries were growing suffocating. The silent tension squeezed tighter with every word. Luthen’s eyes never left Krennic, watching him like a predator studying prey.

Needing distance, you excused yourself. "If you’ll excuse me."

You slipped away without waiting for approval. Your pulse raced. This gala was far more dangerous than any battle. No blasters. No blades. Only politics, manipulation, and the slow tightening of invisible strings.

********

You hid yourself in the refresher. Standing there was suffocating. You wished you could run away. When you have gathered the will to leave the party.

Then you hear someone said, "Leaving so soon?"

You spotted him waiting, exactly where you knew he would be. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, perfectly composed, as though nothing had happened. The pale Coruscant lights reflected off his white uniform, casting him in the same cold authority that had suffocated you for so long.

You stopped, your chest tight, heart hammering as fury built inside you like pressure behind glass. You couldn’t hold it anymore. The words came fast, raw, almost desperate.

"I think I need to say something before I lose my mind completely."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.

"Mm. Go ahead."

The moment shattered.

"You’re selfish. And a goddamn masochist," you spat, your voice shaking with pent-up rage. "And I wish you had never chosen me as your propagandist."

His smirk faltered, caught off guard by the venom in your tone.

"What?"

"You had all the power," you continued, breathing hard. "You had choices. You could have left me alone. But no, you chose me. You dragged me into your world and stripped away every ounce of freedom I had."

Krennic’s expression tightened, his voice still controlled, but colder now. "I offered you an opportunity. I pulled you from obscurity. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" you nearly laughed, but it came out broken. "You kept me close because I made your life easier. You used me to shield yourself from everyone breathing down your neck. You didn’t lift me for my sake. You did it because it served you."

His jaw clenched as his pride flared.

"You have never been more important than you are now."

"No," you snapped, the words cutting sharper now. "I was important to you. Because I gave you control. You could run your projects, you could keep everyone off your back — but at what cost? You took everything from me."

His voice dropped, stubborn and cold.

"You wanted success. I gave you that."

You shook your head, feeling the cracks in your voice start to form.

"I wanted a life. A real life. A chance to breathe. To talk about something other than reports and targets, and quotas. Maybe even fall in love, just like everyone else. But you took even that."

He drew a breath, his voice harder now. "I never forced you to stay. You knew what this role meant. You were ambitious. You chose this path."

You looked at him, eyes burning.

"You really believe that, don’t you?" Your voice trembled, but you pressed on. "You think I stayed because I wanted to be trapped under you. But I stayed because you made it impossible to leave. You controlled everything around me. Every decision, every assignment, every connection I had left, every failed date that I had. You made sure I couldn’t go anywhere."

For a brief second, Krennic faltered. The steel behind his eyes flickered. But his pride shoved forward again. "You wouldn't be here if I hadn't seen your potential. No one else ever noticed you."

"You’re jealous." The words came before you could stop them. Bitter. Truthful. "That’s what this is. You can’t stand that the Emperor, that Vader, that others noticed my work. You hate that someone beneath you was praised. That their attention wasn't just for you anymore."

His expression hardened instantly, his jaw tightening like iron. "Don’t confuse my frustration with envy. What I hate is how quickly you forget who brought you here."

"Yes. You found me. Pushed me to the limits. But are you going to point that out for the rest of my life?" Your voice broke as you forced the final truth forward, unable to stop the tears now welling at the corners of your eyes.

Krennic froze, caught off guard. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came. For a brief moment, his confidence faltered, and all he could do was stare at you, stunned by the weight of your words.

"I never wanted this... not like this. I wanted to succeed, yes, but not at the price of becoming yours. Your tool. Your puppet. It’s exhausting. You’ll never feel enough."

His mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came. His control faltered again as his eyes caught the tears falling down your cheeks, tears you hadn't even noticed.

You wiped them away quickly, furious at your weakness.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling. "But the way you’ve treated me... It’s destroyed me. I deserve better."

Krennic stood there, silent. The weight of your words hung between you like a chasm. His arrogance, his justifications. They had carried him through every confrontation. But now, for the first time, something cracked. He saw it. The damage. The pain he had dismissed for so long.

The realization struck him with a coldness even his pride couldn’t shield. And yet, still, he said nothing.

You stepped back, breathing hard, wiping your face once more. The wind caught the edge of your coat as you turned and walked away, leaving him standing beneath Coruscant’s towers, alone beneath the heavy city lights. His cape shifted slightly with the breeze, but he remained frozen, caught in a silence even he could not control.

Above, hidden in the balcony shadows, Kyla watched everything unfold. She tapped her communicator, her voice quiet, still stunned by what she had just witnessed.

"She’s... probably the only one daring enough to scream at Krennic."

On the other end, Luthen, Mon Mothma, and Marlon exchanged glances.

Luthen spoke with quiet satisfaction.

"Good. She’s perfect."

Mon Mothma’s voice was calm but resolute.

"If we move carefully, she will turn."

Marlon spoke softly, his words personal.

"She just needs a hand when she finally lets go of him."

Luthen’s eyes narrowed, his mind calculating every outcome.

"And when she does, Krennic won’t even see it coming."

********

The next day arrived, but the ISB building was as cold and clinical as ever. Still, something in the air felt off. You stepped into your office, bracing yourself, half-expecting Krennic to storm in at any moment with his cape flaring dramatically and his demands flying. But nothing happened.

He didn’t show up at all.

No messages. No calls. Not even a single Death Trooper lingering outside your door.

A part of you almost wanted him to burst in, to yell, to confront you. The silence was worse.

Later in the day, you brought your report to Partagaz. He barely looked up as you placed the datapad on his desk.

"Director Krennic informed me that all progress reports should be delivered to me directly for now," Partagaz said, raising an eyebrow.

You frowned, careful with your tone. "Did he say why?"

"No," Partagaz answered dryly. "But frankly, I enjoy the quiet." A small smirk played at his lips before he returned to his work.

That was unsettling. Krennic never surrendered control without reason.

After work, you left the ISB building late, your mind swirling with unanswered questions. As you crossed the plaza under the dim evening lights, you saw him. Marlon. Standing there like he had been waiting for hours, his tailored jacket catching the soft glow of the streetlights, giving him a charming glow that made your chest tighten.

"Hey," he greeted with a warm smile. "I was hoping I might run into you."

You stopped, surprised but cautious. "Marlon."

"Don’t worry," he said softly. "I’m not upset about last night. I understand. That wasn’t exactly a comfortable situation for you."

You nodded, the exhaustion simmering beneath your skin weighing on you. "You shouldn’t have been dragged into all that."

He chuckled lightly, dismissing your concern. "Well, dating someone with a very unique boss comes with certain risks."

A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. But then his tone shifted, becoming more serious, more careful.

"But it’s not just him, is it? I see what this place does to you. The stress. The constant pressure. The control. You deserve more than being someone's tool."

You stiffened at his boldness. "Marlon."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. "Look. I don’t blame you. You’ve done what you had to do. But there are others out there. People who see your value. Who would give you freedom? Purpose."

The unspoken word hung heavy between you. Rebellion.

"You picked the wrong person to approach for this," you said coldly.

"Why?" he pushed, still calm. "Because of him? You stay because you think you owe him something? Or is it because you're afraid of what would happen if you walked away?"

You didn’t want to fight anymore. You had been there. You had lost your family. If you died, at least it wouldn’t be from starving and hiding under a tree. Your jaw tightened. Anger and uncertainty rose like bile. "You don’t know anything about it."

"Don’t I?" His voice softened, but his gaze hardened. "I’ve been watching since last night. He holds you so tightly because he knows you’re slipping."

The wind sliced through your skin as you turned away, fighting the heat building in your chest. "Goodnight, Marlon."

You walked away, leaving him standing there alone, patient as always, still planting his seeds.

For days, Marlon kept reappearing. At the market, outside the archives, near the transport stations. Always patient. Always calm. Always waiting. It started to gnaw at you. Some nights, you even left work with Dedra. Not because you needed protection, but because her cold pragmatism made you feel less exposed.

One evening, after a late shift, you walked alone through one of the quieter plazas. And once again, he was there.

"You keep avoiding me," Marlon said softly as he stepped out from the shadows.

You exhaled sharply. "Take the hint, Marlon."

"I can't. Not when I know what you're worth. Not when I see what he’s doing to you. You’re trapped. You’re brilliant, and he’s caging you like you’re his prized possession."

"This again?" Your voice rose with frustration.

He stepped closer, his tone shifting into something dangerously persuasive. "He doesn’t deserve you. You don’t belong to him. You belong to yourself. Or you could belong with us. With people who value what you could become."

The words with us burned like acid. Your fists clenched.

"Why do you keep defending him?" he pressed. "Why do you let him hold you like this?"

Your anger finally boiled over. "Stop."

But he kept pushing.

"Is it fear? Or is it because deep down you need him to own you?"

Your hand moved before you could think. A sharp slap echoed through the quiet plaza. His head snapped to the side, his cheek turning red.

His smile vanished. His voice turned bitter. "So it’s true. He owns you."

You stood your ground, breathing hard, voice cold as ice. "No. He doesn’t own me. He discovered me. He saw what none of you ever could."

For the first time, Marlon was speechless.

You turned and walked away, leaving him frozen behind you.

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