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ophelia-writes-stuff · 3 years ago

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♥ power of my love . part 1 ♥

. pairing : yandere!austin!elvis x reader

. summary / request : you're a pretty small and local fashion designer, so you are both thrilled and nervous when you get a call from a long-time friend of yours, steve, who tells you that he's got a job for you in vegas for no other than elvis presley. when the two of you meet, sparks fly, but you can't help but notice a more sinister underlining to your friendly relationship as time goes on.

. notes / warning : swearing, usage of drugs (i.e. cigarettes), nothing too dark for this chapter. though i have to say that elvis isn't seen very much in this chapter as i was setting things up, but he'll certainly be much more prominent in future chapters. and, i was wondering, i'm pondering between doing a slowburn and more of a quickly-paced fic, so if you have a preference, please leave it in the comments! thanks, and enjoy!

. word count : 4k

(♥) . . . request something . masterlist . taglist . navigation

(♥) . . . next part

(♥) . . . series masterlist (for all parts and warnings)

tags: @venus-haze, @luckyevansstan, @rxsesss, @ggxsan, @sydneyyyya (if you'd like your name to be removed/added, pls just ask me!)

You'd always loved designing and sewing clothing. Even when you were younger, you remember picking up knitting remarkably fast with your grandmother, who, of course, loved to teach you. Scarves were a thing of the past in only a month, and you had the impressive ability to knit sweaters and stuffies when you were only seven. Sewing, however, proved to be more challenging, as your grandmother managed to teach you the basics of it, but died before you turned ten.

Although, instead of discouraging you from pursuing your passion in clothing, this only motivated you to improve quicker. You could remember going to every library and bookstore in town and finding ever book you could find on sewing to try to get better at the meticulous craft of clothing design and making, and it without a doubt paid off. By your teens you near-perfectly knew the ins and outs of making clothing, and already new some things about design.

You had always appreciated your parents' supporting of your passion in the clothing industry. They eagerly payed your college fees once you had been accepted into one of America's top fashion design schools, and listened intently when you spoke of your future as a clothing designer. You always felt so fortunate to have such wonderful parents in your life.

During your time in college you made many friends, including a certain Steve Binder, and although he didn't technically go to your school, you did spend a great deal amount of time with him as he was skilled in the art of helping anyone find themselves, which not only helped you a great deal when it came to designing clothing that you loved, but made you realize that style was another outlet for just that.

After college you were welcomed home with many job offers, a couple of which you accepted, but you found that you didn't appreciate the stress and pressure that came to being in the public eye of the fashion industry. A little disheartened, you searched for other types of jobs to pursue for people with your type of skill. Luckily, you were able to land some gigs as a personal fashion designer for some somewhat wealthy people near your hometown, and soon found that you greatly enjoyed designing personal outfits for people, and so, you decided to pursuit a career that line of work.

It didn't take long to start climbing the social hierarchy, you soon found out, as in no less than a year you were working for some rich fellows and occasionally some people leaning more on the famous side, all while remaining under the radar of the general public.

And now, almost a decade later, you were happy to report to anyone and everyone that you still love your job, although you had to admit that it could be lonely at times, but you always had music to accompany you.

Swinging your hips side to side as you softly hummed the tune to the song that was currently playing on the radio, the name of which you couldn't quite remember, you smiled as you stared at your newly finished piece of clothing. Mr. Wilson would most certainly love it, this, you were sure of. The suit was perfectly formal but not too over-the-top, and managed to capture the man's essence in it effortlessly.

A wringing from your phone snapped you out of your thoughts, and you hastily walked over to it and picked it up.

"Hello, this is personal clothing stylist Y/n L/n speaking, how may I help you?" you recited, your smile never once faltering. You'd learned through your years of work that smiling while you were talking was crucial when it came to sounding friendly, even when the other person couldn't see you.

"Ah, Y/n. It's been a while, hasn't it?" a familiar voice on the other line spoke. Though you couldn't quite decipher it immediately, once you eventually did, you let out an amused chuckle and muttered a "hey Steve," into the telephone.

"How have you been?" asked your friend.

"Good, good. Busy, but I suppose that's always a good thing. You know what they say: if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life."

"Well said, well said."

"And you? How's your work been?"

"Same as yours. Been able to travel quite a bit," you heard Steve let out a quiet laugh. "Actually, that reminds me, I've got a job for you."

"Oh yeah?" You tried not to hide the slight disappointment in your voice as you spoke. It wasn't that you were disappointed by the fact that he had a job for you by any means-- you'd simply let your hopes go up and assumed that Steve was calling you for leisure, not work.

It was irritating, truly-- to think that your small crush on the man from when you were younger had developed over the years, and although you had come to accept that he simply wasn't that into you, but you couldn't help but hope something would suddenly change out of habit-- that a fire would somehow spark in his heart for you and he'd realize after all these years that you were someone that'd he'd consider liking as a bit more than a friend, but you were glad to have him as a friend, nonetheless.

"Yeah. Got an especially big client this time, too. Says he wants to find himself again. I couldn't help but feel like you could help him with just that."

You felt your cheeks heat up at the complement.

"I'm flattered, truly, Steve, but I must ask, how can I really help with something like that? Clothing can only help people so much, and I can't help but feel like whoever you're talking about may need something more than just a new change of clothes."

"I'd agree with you if the situation were different, but this one's pretty special. My client has a show coming up, and he's trying to change up everything and anything he can. The outfit is definitely going to be an important part of that, and I couldn't think of anyone more skilled in the art of making the perfect clothing for the perfect person other than you."

You felt your hands grow clammy at the high praise. You knew Steve was never one to bullshit, and he'd worked with many people like you in the movie industry, so when he said that, he meant it. He truly believed you were one of the -- if not the best clothing stylist in all of America. "Oh, you mean it, Steve? Little ol' me?" You shook your head and couldn't help but grin widely. "Who is this client, anyway?"

"Elvis." He didn't offer up more info, and you couldn't help but gawk at the news.

"Elvis-- you mean the Elvis Presley? The king of rock-and-roll, sole owner of the heart of every woman in America? That Elvis Presley?"

"The one and only." You couldn't understand how Steve seemed so calm about this.

"And me? You want me to be the one to make his outfit? Steve, I don't think I'm very qualified for this position..." You simply couldn't believe it. Though you'd worked on some attire for some people with some important titles, you'd never done something this big. It all felt so surreal. You, a local clothing stylist, were being offered to make an outfit for the Elvis Presley.

"The gig's in California. The flight'll be paid for and so will the hotel, so don't worry about the bill. Can I book you a plane ticket for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow!? That early?"

"Be at the airport at 7:30am at the latest. Wouldn't want to miss your flight and be late. I'll make sure you get your ticket before the ride. I'll be there to pick you up once you land."

You attempted to protest, but your efforts were futile as Steve had already hung up the phone.

The sneaky bastard.

You tried to think ill of Steve as you started packing your things for the next day, but much to your dismay, you couldn't help but feel thankful that he'd given you such an amazing opportunity. After all, it wasn't just anyone who had the opportunity to design an outfit for the one and only king of rock-and-roll. You couldn't think badly of him for providing you with something like that, even if he was cutting the timing a little short.

Letting out a sigh, you stared at the finished suit that you had only recently just been completed. I'll have my parents send it over, you thought to yourself as you folded your clothing. Your parents had always been good with that.

The night before your flight to California was, arguably, one of the worst night of your life in terms of sleep. You hadn't even managed to fall asleep until around 3:00am, thoughts of meeting Elvis Presley buzzing through your mind. You had tried many times to settle your thoughts and tried to convince yourself that you were barely going to spend much time with the man, and that the most interaction with him that you'd surely have would be a conversation on the topic of what he wanted and a brief period to measure him, but nothing could cease your restless mind.

When you had, in fact, woken up at 6:00am, (which was annoying, as you would have preferred to have gotten up earlier and to have been much more early when you came to the airport) you were without a doubt completely and utterly exhausted. You wished that Steve would have been kind enough to provide you a week to prepare, or to at least get ready to meet one of the most famous men on the planet, before you had to jump on a plane ride to California. But, alas, Steve was never truly one for waiting-- this was something that was undeniable.

Your limbs ached as you brushed your teeth, threw on some clothes, brushed your hair, and even when you ate breakfast. Once you had finally been able to get on the road, you found yourself pressing abnormally hard on the gas pedal as you knew you were cutting it short on time, since the airport was about forty five minutes away at best.

Once you had, in fact, gotten there in one piece, you dashed towards the front to have yourself and your luggage checked in, which was able to be done in a somewhat timely manner. You were sure you must have concerned the woman at the front desk you were talking to with your franticness, but you tried to pay no mind to that fact as you entered the plane as you sat down between two older gentlemen (which, mind you, felt very awkward and uncomfortable).

Regardless, you couldn't help the gradually increasing excitement you felt as the plane got closer and closer to Burbank. You could hardly remain still on your seat once you had finally landed-- it took everything in you to simply take a few seconds before you unfastened your seatbelt and sprung up from the seat you had been confined to for ever so long.

Once you had left plane you were in, you were pleased to find Steve standing only a few meters before you, offering you a friendly wave.

"Hey, Steve," you greeted, offering the man a kind smile. He, in turn, did the same.

"Y/n! Good to see you."

"Not like I had much of a choice."

Steve raised an eyebrow and gave you a slight smile. "So would you have denied the job if you were given the chance?" A more cheeky smile spread its way across Steve's lips-- something rare that wasn't perceived by many, but something you has the opportunity of seeing-- in response to your silence. "That's what I thought. Now, why don't we get in my car and head over there?"

The drive itself wasn't too long, but similarly to how the plane ride felt, seconds seemed to last for an eternity. When you two had eventually arrived, you were practically shaking in your boots. Though you knew you'd most likely have some time before you met Elvis, just being in the same vicinity as the musician spiked your anxiety.

Steve seemed to have noticed this, however, as he offered you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. EP's a nice guy, trust me. I was just as nervous when I first met him."

At his confession, you let out a skeptical chuckle. "I can almost guarantee you that you were not as nervous as I am right now."

Steve merely shrugged at this, before slipping a cigarette out of his pocket with his right hand and a match with his other. He plopped the cigarette into his mouth and lit it. "Now, let's go find your hotel room," he said, and you didn't miss the way his hand was placed delicately behind your back as he lead you inside.

"Oh wow-- this place is quite extravagant," you mumble mostly to yourself as you stare in awe at the gorgeous architecture and the high ceilings. The fancy jewels and furniture that were placed around the room alone would have most likely been worth more than all of the money you'd ever made.

"Yeah, well, I supposed the Presley Enterprises thought it was wise to have everyone stay in the same hotel, which I suppose is nice." Steve's hand was slipped into his pocket as he abruptly stopped. "We've arrived."

His hand then came right back out of his pocket as he handed you a key. You smiled timidly as you accepted it and placed it into the keyhole, and you felt yourself smile as a satisfying click was felt once you inserted it in and turned it.

To say that your breath was taken away once you entered the room would have been an understatement, and although you were sure that this room was one of the cheapest the hotel had to offer, it was beautiful nonetheless.

"Feel free to run up room service as much as you'd like. I'll leave you here for a couple of hours but I'll come back around noon. You can catch up on sleep or prepare for anything you feel needs to be prepared for."

You smiled, "Thanks, Steve. This means a lot."

The man, in question, shrugged and gave you a small smile in return. "Don't mention it."

Once your friend had left, you placed your room keys somewhere safe and started unpacking the fabric samples that you had taken out for Elvis Presley. You'd decided to only choose the most expensive materials as you knew something cheap would never suit a man with his kind of title.

Once you had made sure they were thoroughly organized, you let out a tired yawn as you dragged yourself over to your new bed. You took a solid moment to stare at the neatly tucked in sheets and the meticulousness that must come from whoever laid the bedding, and felt almost guilty as you ever so carefully ruined it and slipped underneath the covers. You didn't bother putting on any pyjamas-- you were simply much too tired. And, besides, you'd have to get up soon enough, so what was the harm?

Though short, your nap was somewhat enjoyable. The bags under your eyes (which you'd only learned were there once you'd decided to go to the bathroom right before your head hit the pillow) were less pronounced, though you still hastily chose to add some foundation and powder to make them seem less noticeable before Steve came.

Having nothing much to do as you weren't very tired, nor did you need to organize or prepare anything else before you inevitably met Elvis Presley, you placed on some high heels and started fidgeting with your hands. It had always been a habit of yours that you could never quite shake off, but you were fine with that, you supposed. It was much better than many of the vices that some of your colleagues and friends had picked up.

A knock on the door startled you out of your thoughts, and you smiled meekly as you walked up to the entrance of your room and greeted no other than Steve.

"Glad to see you're ready," he said, taking a quick peer into your hotel room. "We're just going to set you up at the studio today, so you can bring your materials and supplies with you. I'll explain how things will work when we're there." You nodded attentively and grabbed your things when your friend finished explaining the current situation.

You came outside and noticed that there is already a cab inside, and when the driver spotted the two of you, seemingly having expected Steve's arrival, he beckoned for the both fo you to enter to which you obliged.

The drive-- luckily-- didn't take very long, and in roughly ten minutes you were standing in front of an NBC studio. It practically screamed for attention, the letters and light all around in flashing in a hypnotizing manner.

"After you," said the man beside you, who, you ever so suddenly noticed, was not beside you any longer, rather, he was opening the door open. You muttered your appreciation as you walked through the studio doors, and all but gaped at the large interior. While, yes, you'd expected to studio to be large, nothing could compare to its truly colossal size.

Steve didn't even bother staring you as he, too, gazed at the room.

"Pretty big, huh?"

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Huge."

You followed Steve through the studio as he started meandering around the halls.

"Were are we going?" You asked curiously, after a couple of moments.

"Just to your new office. Then I'll lay some ground rules." At this, an eyebrow of yours quirked.

"Ground rules?"

"Yup."

Steve didn't offer you any more information about the topic.

Once the two of you finally entered what you presumed to be your new office, Steve motioned for you to take a seat, and so, you did just that. You stared up at him, with a hidden interest as to what his next words would be.

"Ok, so, ground rules," he starts, pacing around the room in a peculiarly formal manner. "Firstly, you aren't to speak to the Colonel to tell him what you are designing." To this, your eyebrows raised, and you stared at Steve in a way as if to say, please explain.

"The Colonel is Elvis's manager-- you know this much, yeah?" You nodded at his statement. It was unlike any normal person not to know the Colonel. He was a publicly hated figure, known for practically stealing Elvis's pay check and being the most greedy man on the face of the Earth. "Yeah, well, the thing is, he doesn't know about Elvis's plans. He believes that Elvis is supposed to and is going to do a Christmas special."

"A Christmas special? Elvis?" You echoed incredulously, resulting in a nod from Steve.

"That's what the Colonel and the investors believe. But, as I'm sure you could imagine, Elvis isn't a fan, so he's decided to take on a new path to this whole thing-- but the Colonel doesn't know, not just yet. I'll try to make sure he doesn't talk to you, but if he does, just talk about something Christmas related you've got in the works." Your brows furrowed. Was this job even legal?

"Now, since most of the clothing is made, your job is simply to provide the perfect outfits for Elvis--" Upon seeing your now worried expression, Steve tried to offer you a reassuring smile. "--Who you'll meet today, but won't yet work with, so don't worry about that too much right now."

"That-- that's good. Yeah. That works." Your heart was racing at the mere prospect of being in the same building as Elvis-- so the simple idea of meeting him made your knees weak. You could barely speak without fumbling over your words.

Of course, you weren't quite like how some girls were when it came to fawning over Elvis, but there was no denying that you loved rock-and-roll, and you never minded a pretty face to accompany it. And, after all, you were going to be meeting America's most popular icon of the decade. It was only natural to be a bit nervous.

"Alright," Steve seemed to nod to himself. "I'll give you about... ten minutes? Then I'll introduce you to Elvis."

The moments that followed felt much longer than when you were on that plane ride.

You wasted no time in unpacking your materials and placing them in an orderly manner around the room. Once you had finished, you sat back down in the chair you had previously been seated on. Your knee bounced up and down as your mind wandered and tried to find something interesting to think about.

Unfortunately, however, your mind was clouded with thoughts of Elvis. You tried to bury them deep down as you occasionally readjusted your tightly-fitted dress and toyed with your hair. More than an eternity seemed to have passed before Steve had finally entered the room, and didn't give you so much as a word as he nodded in your direction, as if beckoning for you to follow him, to which you obliged.

Upon seeing the back of a black-haired man in a suit, your eyes nearly flew out of their sockets. He was presumably waiting for the both of you-- and with slicked back and an iconic greasy hairstyle, there was no denying who the man before you was.

Elvis Presley.

"Elvis," Steve greeted in a formal tone. The man, in question, turned around, and right you were. It was undoubtedly no other than Elvis Presley.

"I'd like to introduce you to your new clothing designer, Y/n L/n. She's the best that I've ever seen in the industry." Now, this peaked Elvis's interest. He knew how stingy Steve was when it came to compliments, so you truly must have been something.

Elvis's eyes briefly raked over your body, and, feeling unable to help it, you pulled down your dress as low as you could and offered a small, shy smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Presley."

Elvis could only shake his head bashfully at the formal greeting, and in a deep, husky voice, said, "Pleasure's all mine," and offered you the most charming of smiles. "And, please, call me Elvis."

Once Steve had left and allowed you two to chat for a little while, you knew that you were visibly shaking, but Elvis was kind and tried to offer you as much reassurance as he could, and it was endearing-- his humbleness, his caring nature. Conversation flowed like a river between you two when the ice finally broke and you were able to become a little bit more open.

Regardless, the two of you had to cut the conversation short when Elvis got called over by his manager, and he bid you a quick farewell and offered you a grin before leaving you to your own devices.

And watching him walk off, you couldn't shake off the sense that something had just blossomed between the two of you-- something new, something raw. Something that you couldn't quite decipher the connotation of, but you knew would grow.

Your thoughts didn't get too far as you were immediately called over by Steve, who assigned you to a couple of tasks before claiming you were done for the day. At this, you, of course, after a long day, practically ran to your hotel room and collapsed on your bed when you got there. Although you were most certainly excited by the day and had whatever one could consider as "fun" considering you were working, you were still exhausted by your lack of sleep the previous night, so you wasted no time in changing into your pyjamas and clambering back into your bed.

And when your head hit the pillow, your eyes closed as you let fatigue take you over, but couldn't help your whirlwind of thoughts about the show, and Steve, and Elvis, before you truly lost your consciousness.

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engie-ivy · 3 years ago

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(High school AU! Well, I suppose Hogwarts is also high school, but the more cliché high school AU😋 And the first fic where I've written Sirius as not being super popular😲)

Remus and Sirius are all the way at the bottom of their school's social hierarchy, but Remus can't help but admire the popular group, with their easygoing manner and confidence. So of course, when one of the popular guys starts showing an interest in Sirius, Remus feels a little jealous. Just not in the way he expected.

Newfound Popularity

“Glad you could make it!” Fabian Prewett smiles brightly at Remus, holding the door open to the ice cream shop that’s right next to their school.

“Yeah,” Remus says, his cheeks slightly reddened. “Glad you asked me.”

They walk inside and stop in front of the counter. Fabian Prewett turns to Remus. “What would you like?”

“Eh, I’ll have a chocolate milkshake with caramel syrup?”

“A chocolate caramel milkshake for him, and a plain frozen yogurt for me please,” Fabian Prewett tells the employee with another one of those charming smiles, who blushes and nods.

They sit across from each other at a small table, Remus awkwardly fiddling with the lid on his milkshake. Maybe he should’ve ordered something cooler, something less sweet? Sirius is always teasing him about his love for sugary drinks...

“So, I don’t think we’ve ever really talked much, huh?” Fabian Prewett asks.

“No.” Remus scrapes his throat. “No, not really.”

Fabian Prewett is really handsome, looking at him with those sparkling green eyes, and those cute freckles. Not to mention that, as captain of the swimming team, he’s in excellent physical shape. Tall and lean, and those shoulders... Which immediately explains why Remus and Fabian Prewett have never really talked before. They are in completely different leagues. Remus at the bottom of the social ladder, Fabian Prewett all the way at the top. Remus was shocked when Fabian Prewett asked him out for ice cream, to say the least.

“So...” Fabian Prewett drawls. “I actually wanted to ask you about Black.”

Remus’ eyes narrow in suspicion. “Sirius? What about Sirius?”

At the start of high school, the social hierarchy is established, and people are looking for easy victims to pick on to make their own position more secure. Remus was, unfortunately, the perfect victim. He was a pale, sickly boy, and because he was so often sick as a child, he had grown up isolated, making him socially awkward to top it off. Another easy victim was the boy who came from that weird, posh family, who lived in that creepy old manor just outside of town. The Blacks were known for acting like they still lived in the middle ages, thinking they’re better than everyone else and looking down their noses at other people. They dressed their son up in stuffy old clothes and cut his hair in a weird, outdated style. On top of that, Sirius had prominent cheekbones and exaggerated features that did not match his boyish face and gave him an awkward appearance.

Fabian Prewett might be all handsome and charming, but if he thinks he can talk crap about Remus’ best friend in front of him, he’s got another thing coming! Even if Sirius and Remus aren’t on the best of terms right now, they will always have each other’s back. While Remus was all excited after Fabian Prewett’s invitation, Sirius had reacted irritated, and had cut Remus off whenever he spoke of it. Almost as if he were jealous, or in any case, like he just couldn’t bring himself to be happy for Remus and that stung.

Remus and Sirius were forced together solely due to the fact that no one else wanted to be around them. At first, Remus had been reluctant to spend time with the odd boy, thinking that maybe having no friends would be the preferable option. Sirius had a permanently haughty look on his face and was very blunt in his interactions. But then again, could Remus really afford to be picky?

He had given Sirius a chance, and that was the best decision he ever made. Upon getting to know him better, Remus found Sirius to have his heart in the right place, and to be intelligent and funny. Sirius, in turn, seemed appreciative of Remus’ kindness and dry wit. They hit it off, and what had begun as a forced companionship, became a deep friendship. Sure, people still made nasty remarks and there was the occasional ‘shoving against the lockers’, but honestly, high school wasn’t all that bad with a best friend you can always rely on.

At one point, Sirius went with Remus to Remus’ house after school to work on a project together. From that moment on, it became customary for Sirius to go to Remus’ after school, and he was there every day. Remus started noticing that Sirius was reluctant to go home. Whenever Remus mentioned his home life or his family, something haunted would appear in Sirius’ eyes and that usual mischievous glint would disappear. One day, Remus’ mother came home much later than usual due to a flat tire, and Sirius and Remus were still watching a movie in the living room, having completely lost track of time. Worriedly, his mother asked Sirius whether his parents won’t be missing him for dinner and whether he’d told them he’ll be late. “Oh no,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Both my parents and I prefer me being around as little as possible. The maid will sometimes leave some food on the fridge, but most often, she forgets...” Remus’ mother had been horrified. It was never discussed, but from that moment on, she cooked extra large portions and set the table with one extra plate.

It was Remus and Sirius against the rest of the world. Well, the rest of the school at least, but when you’re in high school, that is the rest of the world. That was another thing Remus had learned and come to appreciate about Sirius: his fierce and unwavering loyalty. Sure, they would tease each other and poke fun at one another, but when it came down to it, Sirius was always on his side. He ignored what people said about him, and barely batted an eye when people would shove him against a locker. Yet, he was often in detention for getting in fights, as he refused to let anyone get away with targeting Remus. He was very protective of Remus. The same fierce protectiveness Remus felt when Sirius had been with his parents and quickly pulled down his sleeve to hide the bruises on his arm, claiming it was ‘nothing’.

Where they were different, was that Sirius didn’t care what people thought of him, and he scoffed at that pretentious, popular lot. Remus, on the other hand, had inherited this very unfortunate trait from his mother, namely a desire to be liked. He looked up to the popular kids. It were almost never the popular people who were mean, and sometimes even cruel. The ones who were really popular were comfortable and secure enough that they didn’t need to put others down to make themselves feel better. People like Fabian Prewett and his brother Gideon, Caradoc Dearborn, president of the student council, Lily Evans, captain of the debate team and according to many the cutest girl in school, maybe only equalled by her best friend Marlene McKinnon from the gymnastics team, and of course James Potter, captain of the football team, weren’t necessarily mean to people like Remus and Sirius, but they just lived in their own perfect worlds and simply didn’t know Remus and Sirius existed. Actively bullying was more the way of those lower on the social ladder themselves, such as Severus Snape, who was desperately trying to get Lily Evans’ attention, or Peter Pettigrew, who was continuously following James Potter around and craved his approval, or Mary McDonald, who lived to gossip and spread rumours, or Avery, Mulciber, and their little friends, who just enjoyed throwing punches and being mean for the sake of being mean.

Remus admired the popular people in some way. Not because of their looks or status or money, but because of their charm and charisma that draws people in, how they make everything look easy with their easy-going confidence that Remus knows he will never possess, and is therefore intrigued by. His admiration has lead to quite a few, admittedly embarrassing, crushes, of which Fabian Prewett was just the latest one. Which is why it was so shocking Fabian Prewett invited him to get some ice cream together.

“What’s his deal?” Fabian asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

“His deal?” Remus repeats still eying Fabian Prewett suspiciously.

“Yeah, like, is he single? Does he like boys, girls, both, neither? Does he even date at all?”

Remus blinks. “Why do you want to know that?”

Fabian Prewett raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Lupin. Surely you must’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Remus asks, taking a sip from his milkshake.

“Lupin,” Fabian Prewett says pointedly. “Black has gotten hot.”

Remus chokes on his milkshake and starts coughing violently. “W-what?”

“It’s true,” Fabian Prewett says. “He’s so fit! He might be the hottest guy in school at the moment.”

Remus stares at him incredulously.

“Really,” Fabian Prewett says, shaking his head. “You can’t have missed that!”

Well, Remus isn’t blind. Of course he has noticed Sirius doesn’t look the same anymore as when they started junior year.

There’s the growth spurt, for starters. Sirius has teased him too often about getting his growth spurt before Remus for Remus not to have noticed. And after Sirius discovered that working out is a way to get away from his family even more, and a great stress relief at that, he got physically rather fit, so instead of short and scrawny, he’s now lean and muscular. Yes, you can definitely say that Sirius has really grown into his features, and those sharp angles that looked so awkward on a little boy, have turned out to look quite striking on a young man.

Sirius started to seek more stress relief and started working out even more when the situation at home became more dire after his sixteenth birthday, when he came over to Remus’ house late at night, saying that his parents had forgotten, and pretending not to care. Though he did swear that night that he was done. Done talking like they wanted him to talk, done wearing his hair like they wanted him to wear it, done dressing like they wanted him to dress, done trying to be what they wanted him to be. And he stayed true to his words. He has grown out his hair, that is now reaching his shoulders and is long enough to wear in one of those messy buns. Instead of old fashioned formal clothes, he now wears ripped jeans, with scuffed sneakers or even combat boots, band shirts, and of course, the leather jacket.

So yes, Remus has noticed Sirius changed his style, and he’s proud of him for it. And now that he thinks about it, people in school have been looking at Sirius differently. Before, Sirius was mostly invisible, and if people did look at him, it was mockingly or with disdain. Now, Remus realises, people are always looking, and there’s something entirely different in those looks. And yes, Remus may have found himself looking as well, staring at Sirius’ hair at times, amazed at how effortlessly elegant it falls over his face and how soft it looks, and all right, perhaps also wondering if it would feel just as soft. Or when Sirius and he are making homework together, Sirius will sometimes glance up at him, with those striking grey eyes behind that raven black hair, and Remus will feel this tightening in his chest... And yes, he has also admired Sirius’ new, edgy style, and in particular how broad his shoulders look in that leather jacket, or when he walks up the stairs wearing those tight jeans, maybe, Remus has once or twice...

Remus’ face turns red. Fabian Prewett leans back in his chair with a smirk. “See?”

“I know so little about him,” Fabian Prewett sighs. “He’s so brooding and mysterious.”

Suddenly, another idea strikes Remus. The idea of Fabian Prewett eying Sirius as he walks up the stairs! He feels a wave of anger rush through him. Fabian Prewett has no right to be ogling Sirius, Sirius isn’t his to ogle! He’s not yours to ogle either, a voice in the back of his mind says. But Fabian Prewett has never liked Sirius before, he has always liked Sirius! But not romantically, right? ...Right?

Mysterious? Remus scoffs. Sure, someone can seem damn bloody mysterious if you’ve never made any bloody effort to talk to him!

“Do you have any idea whether he might be interested in going on a date?” Fabian Prewett asks.

“I... I don’t really...” Remus trails off.

“Right.” Fabian Prewett nods understandingly. “I reckon it’s not a topic you have really been discussing.”

He doesn’t say it, but Remus hears it anyway: since no one ever wanted to date either of you before.

Fabian Prewett scribbles something down on a note, and slides it over to Remus. “Here, my phone number. Give it to him and tell him to text me, okay?” He gets up from his chair and flashes Remus a smile. “Thanks, Lupin. You know, you’re actually a pretty decent guy.”

As Fabian Prewett leaves the ice cream shop, having eaten at most three bites from his frozen yoghurt, Remus stares at the offending piece of paper. If someone would’ve told him beforehand that this would end with Fabian Prewett giving Remus his number, he would’ve been delighted, but now, he wants to burn the paper and flush its ashes through the toilet.

But that wouldn’t be fair to Sirius. He thinks back on these last days, and how, whenever he would mention Fabian Prewett, Sirius’ mood would turn sour. Perhaps he wasn’t afraid his friendship with Remus would change, or envious that it seemed to be Remus, and not him, who got the attention of one of the popular guys, which Remus had already found hard to imagine. Maybe he just genuinely liked Fabian Prewett himself. It would be wrong of Remus to keep this from him.

Remus tries to imagine it. Fabian Prewett and Sirius on a date, holding hands, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, their shoulders brushing... He feels sick.

Which is normal, of course. He fancied Fabian Prewett himself, he had hoped that maybe Fabian Prewett would be interested in him, only to find out he just wanted to ask him if his best friend would be up for a date, and well, that straight up sucks. What’s not normal, is that the mental image of Sirius in Fabian’s arms makes him want to punch Fabian in the face, and pull Sirius away into his own arms, where he belongs.

Oh no.

“You’re late,” Remus’ mother says while stirring in a pan of sauce.

“I was out with a friend,” Remus replies absentmindedly.

His mother frowns. “Sirius wasn’t with you.”

“An other friend.”

“You don’t have any other friends,” his mother says plainly.

Remus wants to deny it, but the problem is, she’s not wrong. So instead, he just crosses his arms over his chest and says “Sirius and I ate not attached by the hip.”

“Yes, you are,” his mother says plainly.

Remus opens his mouth to protest, but closes it, because, again, she’s right. They are, and Remus has never truly realised what that means to him.

“And I don’t like it one bit,” his mother continues. “Going out with other boys behind Sirius’ back.”

“It isn’t like that.”

“Just be careful, Remus.” His mother waves her spatula at him. “You know what they say, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Any more wise words, or can I go to my room now?”

His mother ignores the sarcasm in his voice, and thinks for a moment. “Just this: sometimes what you’re looking for is right in front of you.”

Remus walks up to his room. It was never a question for Remus that Sirius would be there. Even without Remus being there, even with the tension between them lately, it was never a question that Sirius would come here.

When he opens the door, Sirius is lying on his bed, pretending to be reading a book, but Remus knows him too well to be fooled. He can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand tightens around the cover, and how his eyes are too fixated on one point. Also, what Remus supposes he subconsciously already knew, is now clear as day: Sirius is incredibly handsome.

Remus scrapes his throat, and Sirius makes a big show of looking up from his book and pretending to be surprised to see Remus standing there. “Oh, hello there, Remus. I didn’t see you there. Where have you been?”

Remus shakes his head. Sirius knows very well, but Remus decides to humour him. “I was meeting Fabian Prewett today, remember?”

“Oh, was that today?” Sirius might have the face for it, but really, the boy should never pursue an acting career.

“It was,” Remus says. “But you don’t have to worry. Fabian isn’t interested in me.”

Sirius immediately sits up on the bed and tosses the book aside. “He’s an idiot. It’s his loss. You deserve better. The guy smells like chlorine anyway.”

Remus smiles softly. Sirius always has his back. He never needs to doubt that. He sighs. He owes it to Sirius to be honest with him and support him. “Here,” he says, dropping the piece of paper in Sirius’ lap, that, no, he definitely did not want to throw in a trash can on his way home.

Sirius just looks at him. “What’s this?”

“Fabian Prewett’s phone number,” Remus says sourly.

“What on earth do I need Prewett’s phone number for?”

“You should text him,” Remus replies.

“To... tell him he’s an idiot?”

“What? No! No, he’s... Well, he’s into you.”

Sirius stares at Remus like he has grown two heads. “Fabian Prewett hates me.”

“Nah, he doesn’t,” Remus says. “And if he did, it doesn’t matter anymore, because you’re hot now.”

“I am what now?”

“It’s true,” Remus shrugs, trying to act casual about the whole thing. “Apparently, you’re the hottest guy in school now.”

“That’s crazy!” Sirius says incredulously.

“And all the things that made you ‘antisocial’ and ‘weird’ before, apparently make you ‘brooding’ and ‘mysterious’ now that you’re hot.”

Sirius shakes his head. “People are so weird.”

“Anyway,” Remus says. “You should text Fabian.”

“I still don’t see why,” Sirius points out.

“He wants to go on a date with you.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like his problem.”

“Look, Sirius,” Remus says, taking a deep breath. “I know what you’re doing. I was hoping that Fabian Prewett might’ve been interested in me, and you don’t want to hurt my feelings. I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary. I saw the way you acted when it seemed like Fabian Prewett had asked me out. You were jealous, weren’t you? Well, if you like Fabian Prewett, then I’m going to be supportive.”

Sirius stares at him, then presses his hand to his forehead. “God, Remus, you’re such an idiot.”

Well, that surely wasn’t the grateful response Remus had expected after his grand gesture.

Sirius gets to his feet. “Yes, Remus. I was jealous. But I wasn’t jealous at you because I thought Prewett liked you. I was jealous at Prewett because you like him!”

“You... What?” Remus stammers.

“For the love of- Do I really need to spell it out for you? I. Fancy. You. You. Not Fabian. You.”

“You... you do?”

“Yes, Remus. I do. I have done for a very long time.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Remus exclaims.

“What would’ve been the point?” Sirius retorts. “You were always fancying the next popular hot guy. Artsy Dearborn, jock Potter-”

“We agreed never to talk about that!”

“And now preppy Prewett. Guys all much better than me...” Sirius trails off.

“Oh, Sirius,” Remus says, instinctively cupping Sirius’ cheek. “They can’t hold a candle to you.” He takes a deep breath, readying himself for his Grand Romantic Love Confession. “It has always been you.”

Sirius snorts.

Remus glares at him and swats his arm. “I’m trying to be romantic here! You’re ruining the moment!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Sirius chuckles, holding up his hands. “But you can’t say that like you weren’t hoping to stick your tongue down Fabian Prewett’s throat just ten minutes ago!”

Remus crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, so maybe not always.”

Sirius smiles, but again, Remus knows him well enough to see the insecurity behind that smile.

Remus runs a hand through his hair. “But I need you to know that there’s some truth to it! I’ve had feelings for you for longer, I just didn’t realise those feelings were more than friendship. And it’s not just because you’re so hot now! I mean, sure, I like looking at you. Who wouldn’t like looking at you? You’re so ridiculously beautiful!”

Sirius blushes, and frustratingly so, that makes him even more beautiful.

“I only realised when I imagined you and Fabian together, and it just made me so angry. No, that’s not right, now I’m making it sound like I just want you because someone else wants you. I still would’ve wanted you ugly and unwanted!” Remus lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m really screwing this up, aren’t I? I’m just trying to say that I like you for you, your annoying jokes, your stupid sense of humour that no one ever gets, how bloody stubborn you are, the way you never think before you act –”

Remus doesn’t mind when Sirius cuts off his rambling. He minds even less with Sirius’ method of choice being to press his lips against Remus’.

When he pulls back, Sirius is grinning broadly. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #high school au #unpopular remus lupin #unpopular sirius black

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inkykeiji · 2 years ago

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lovelessdagger · 3 years ago

Text

Starlight - Chapter Thirty-One: The Devil Rings His Bell

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

Warnings: Explicit Language. Horror.. Angst. Suicidal Ideation. Gore. Light Medical Horror. Nonconsensual nonsexual touching. Panic Attacks. PTSD. Everything goes to hell.

Words: 13k

Summary : “There was a point to this, there should’ve been anyways.”

A/N: This chapter is A LOT. I usually advise to read with caution but specifically here

Starlight Masterlist Here

Read Chapter Thirty Here

Read on AO3 Here

Objectively, this isn’t what Senior Officer Horix Kelis signed up for when he joined the Imperial Academy some twenty years ago. Stalking through thick branches with dying embers while being drowned from above. Oxygen tubes connecting from the boxy filter on his back to the front of his helmet does little to mitigate the fumes.

The mission briefing was short, conducted from whatever pseudo base was constructed on whatever Outer Rim scumhole that was chosen for the moment. It’s pointless to keep track of locations anymore, setting up only to relocate hardly a month after. Just another worthless planet filled with worthless natives who hadn’t the decency to learn Basic. Who dressed in animal hide and painted their faces with ash.

He heard his superiors talk the day before, bitterly recalling the memory. Moff Gideon and the Thirteenth Sister specifically requested the second best team. Being chosen was no honor.

It started off as twenty men packed into a cargo hold like a can of Naboo sardines. His personal team consisted of five, they crowded over a glitchy hologram. Prerecorded messaging allowed no questions.

“Your mission is to acquire one asset.” Gideon couldn’t be assed to give the report himself, and Horix assumed this Inquisitor was no better. The voice was the same as other report requests, some female lead on Gideon’s cruiser. “Target is female, estimated height 163, an estimated 25 to 28 years of age. Black hair, grey eyes, brown skin.”

A matching hologram appeared before them, a blue tinted figure. One of his men, Coltin—someone who never had much respect for hierarchy and basic rules—leaned over to him. “I’d fuck her,” he said.

“You’d fuck your sister if she offered,” Netru, his second in command snorts at his other side.

He works with idiots, running his hand over his pale face.

“—accompanied by Mandalorian, Din Djarin.” Another hologram, the man from the rumors of Nevarro. “Master Assassin, Fennec Shand—”

“Ain’t she dead?” Furge muttered.

“—Bounty Hunter, Boba Fett—”

“Isn’t he dead?” Horix found himself saying.

“And an alien.” Ugly, but not the most threatening way to end. “Moff Gideon orders that under no circumstance are the Mandalorian and Child to be harmed. The asset is to be obtained unharmed. Lethal methods are strictly forbidden. Intelligence suggest active harm of any kind will result in your own termination. If captured, Officer Kelis is to inform Moff Gideon via coded signal immediately.”

The cylinder stick pokes from his belt, a single red button protruding from the top. His hand covers it when the others look.

“The asset is invaluable Imperial property, it must be kept in prime condition,” she says. The word strikes them all in different ways. Property. Like the clones who taught them how to shoot blasters as children, or the cards for sabbacc they could buy from the commissary.

Her throat clears through the recording. “I’m sure you are all familiar with the tale of Lord Vader’s daughter—“ They all look to each other, tension in the stuffy room. “Private operatives have located and confirmed this being to be her. The asset shares the same abilities and skill of her father. Perhaps more.”

“This is a fuckin’ suicide mission,” Furge says. “We’re supposed to go after one of them devil wizards?”

Suddenly second best makes sense.

None of them stood a chance, they were never meant to. Another expenditure by the Empire. They weren’t esteemed soldiers from a dwindling lot, they’re as worthless as the rest of the galaxy.

Horix steps in a puddle, wincing at his foot stuck in the mud. He could still have a chance to make it out alive, comm chatter indicated other surges retreating throughout the morning. It’s a tough decision, to leave with his life a coward or leave this life a forgotten sacrifice.

“How are you all holding up?” he asks to the open communication line. “Any updates?”

“Same as they were ten minutes ago.” Coltin. “They already sent and called back the Dark Troopers. Why are we still out here?”

“The Moff specifically requested for us to head this mission, because we’re the best.” Almost. “We’ll stay as long as we have to until it is complete.”

“Reports onboard Gideon’s cruiser said the Inquisitor came down to engage the Mandalorian.” Triemp, the youngest of the group. He never got to properly graduate from whatever academy he came from.

Lothal, Horix thinks. He’s still too skittish, like a frightened kitten.

“Bitch is crazy,” Furge says. “They said we couldn’t do that.”

“Thirteenth Sister can do what she wants. She doesn’t concern us—“

“Wait,” Triemp says. “Wait. I’ve just gotten word—The Mandalorian has been… taken care of?”

“Elaborate.”

“It’s just that. We weren’t the only ones instructed not to harm him. My source says the Sister and Moff Gideon were screaming at another on board.”

“Is he dead?”

“Gideon?”

“No genius, the Mandalorian.”

“Uncertain. If not completely, close to it.”

Netru speaks up, “…The Mandalorian is down?”

“Correct.”

“Have you heard anything about the alien?”

“Acquired by the Inquisitor,” Triemp says, gulping his words. “She’s directly gone against orders.”

“If she’s alone we have to get back to the ship or else we’re fucked.”

“Let’s not be dramatic,” Horix cuts in. “This was the Inquisitors fuck up, not ours. We still have a job to do. There’s no reason for panic.”

“You think they told us to stay away for kicks?” Coltin asks.

“I’m only saying we don’t know why, it’s foolish to assume.”

“She’s Lord Vader’s daughter,” Netru says. “What else do you need to know?”

It is a valid point. He—whether it be fortunate or not—never had the pleasure of meeting Vader. But his paternity isn’t the only story told throughout camps.

“You honestly believe she’s his child?” Horix huffs. “That’s disappointing.”

“Disappointing?”

“Well, if she is his child… they must share more similarities other than abilities.” A chorus of ohs echos. “I always believed Vader looked more like us.”

“I heard the Jedi kid that blew up the Death Star was his too,” Coltin says. “That kid doesn’t look a thing like her.”

“It is possible she is from a different mother,” Triemp says.

“A bastard?”

“Or he is. She is the one Vader kept after all.”

“Kept the wrong one then,” Furge says.

For once, they all agree.

“Focus,” Horix interjects. “We’ll regroup at the ship, figure out a new plan. Netru, what’s your status on location?” On their initial spread they planned on no more than fifty yards of separation. But he’s always been a wanderer.

With no other man speaking, he’s met with static.

“Netru? Come in. Report your location.” The static pops, crinkling. “KT-9248 come in.”

“Net,” Coltin says.

“The idiot must have walked outside of comm bounds. Furge, what’s your status?” Reluctantly, he answers with coordinates. Not too far off, closer to where Netru was meant to be. “Will you find him?”

“On it.” He drops the connection.

“The rest of you—“ Thunder cuts him off, a lightning strike over the mountains. “Get to the ship on your own.”

“What about you?” Triemp asks.

“I have a mission to complete. I’m going to find and report the asset to Moff Gideon.”

A female voice breaks through the line, honeyed and smooth. “That’s bold.”

“Sir?” Triemp says.

“You can contact Gideon?” Then more to herself she says, “But I thought…”

“Who is this? This is a private channel.”

“Dammit,” she mutters under her breath. “Stupid.”

“This is Senior Officer Horix Kelis, KT-7392 of Imperial Corp 7254 of the Galactic Empire. I demand you disclose your identity.”

There’s shuffling, a cough then steady breathing. “KT-9248,” she says, like she were reading it from a manual. “Netru Bolts,” she sighs, “Junior Officer.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s what his arm says.”

“How do you have Bolts?”

“Just his arm,” she corrects. “The rest of him is… here and there.”

“Holy shit,” Coltin says. “It’s fucking her.”

Triemp whispers, shaking, “Lady Vader.”

More breaths come from the end of the line. Spiking chills run up Horix’s skin. Breaking into a sprint , feet snapping twig and splashing in streams. “Back to the ship! Back to the—“

“I don’t know if I like that name.” She’s completely mellow, sounding dazed. “Lady Vader… Sith are given names—” She stops short, and humming enters his ears. “Hello. Which one are you?”

“Furge! Furge get out of there!” Horix shouts.

“Hi Furge,” she says. “I’m—oh, this is a lightsaber—an arm… I couldn’t figure out how to it take off. It’s in poor taste I know, but… yes, it’s his… I only wanted his help,” she snorts, “things got out of hand. Clearly. I won’t hurt you if you help me. I promise.”

The connection turns to static again, the surrounding rain and winds blowing out the mic.

“Sir,” Triemp says.

“Get on the other line, Tri. Contact the remaining, order every man to return to the ship immediately. After that I want you onboard, locked in.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Colt, get off the comm, I’m sending you my coordinates. We’re furtherest out, right now we’re stronger together.”

“Understood.”

The girl’s voice comes in again, more on edge, pointed. “Horix, is it? May I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Is Furge lying to me?”

“What?”

“He says they took the Child. Is he lying to me?”

Stuttering, Horix answers no. Distant from the rest, a scream to awaken hibernation sounds. Breathing follows. Five inhales, six exhales.

“How many of you are there?”

“Twenty.”

“Eighteen now.” Cold. Missing the sickly sweetness it was coated in just moments ago.

Sick to his stomach he can hardly repeat it. “Eighteen.”

The humming stops, and her voice comes directly from the microphone on Netru’s detached arm. “Officer Kelis?”

He swallows collecting spit. “Yes?”

“You should start running too.”

---

“Wake up Mandalorian. Wake up.”

Groaning to life, every muscle inside of Din tenses and every joint cracks. It starts with ringing in his ears, ending with vision restored to his eyes. His side is prodded by a blunt object, later discovered to be Fennec Shand’s foot.

“Lu…”

“Wrong Fett,” Fennec snorts above him. “I think he has a concussion. Should get checked out.”

He finds Boba, or three Bobas, the world a dizzy mess.

“Where is she?” The Bobas ask.

Din blinks, struggling to focus on the data within his helmet. Heart rate is at an all time high, blood pressure the same, oxygen levels too low. He considers the possibility of being dead, a void filling his mind. “Who?”

“Maker he’s lost it,” Fennec says. “Your girlfriend. Where is she?”

“Girlfriend?”

Concern now etches into Fennec, she crouches, face pinched. “What the fuck happened to you? Your girlfriend,” she says slower. ”Lumina. The one you were going to propose to this morning?”

“What?” The Bobas say.

“There was no good time to tell you.”

“Why was I not consulted first?”

“I don’t think that matters right now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Later,” she says. “Mandalorian, where is Lumina?”

Din groans again, pants unheard through his modulator. If this is how she feels after her increasingly common fainting spells, well he can’t blame her for getting sick each time.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Where’s the kid?”

The Bobas nod to Fennec. “Search the ship.” Then to Din, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Since when?”

“Since…” He frowns. When did he see her last? She was there last night. This morning before she left on her walk… Din coughs, the sludge of soil uncomfortably wet under him. Nothing comes back to him as a clear picture, fuzzy understandings lingering in his mind.

There’s a fire, a storm… Imperials. She came out of the woods at some point with the Child…

Din blinks, only now noticing wetness on his face, too cold to be blood. It hits him like a ship thrown out of hyperspace.

“Lumina,” he says panicked, sitting up far too quick. He speaks again, surprising himself with the anger it comes with. “That fucking bitch.”

A blaster bolt flies against Din, sparking beskar right over the left side of his chest. Knocked back fully to the ground again, the three Boba’s turn back to one with proximity. His soiled boot keeps Din pinned, blaster and wrist gauntlet pointed to his head.

“What the fuck—” Din gasps.

“Ne shab'rud'ni,” Boba says. “I don’t give a fuck what she did to you. If you ever disrespect her again, you’ll wish she got to you first. Am I understood?”

“Fett!” Fennec stands at the top of the Crest’s ramp, unfazed by the scene. “We have a situation.”

“I’ll say.”

“The Child is missing.”

While Din’s head snaps the best it can to her direction, Boba removes himself, holstering his gun. “What do you mean missing?”

“As in he’s not here.”

“The Jedi took him,” Din says. He tries to stand again, slow, an eye constant on Boba.

“What Jedi?”

“She came with the TIE… had a red one of those laser swords.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Fennec asks, jumping off the ship.

“Inquisitors,” Boba says.

“They’re all dead.”

“So are we.” He points to he sky. “And the Empire. And her. We’re all supposed to be dead, none of it matters.”

“But if they’re here then—“

“We’re too late. It’s already happened.” Boba grabs Din by his shoulders, despite the height difference and with significant strength. “Mandalorian, where is she?”

“She left,” he says.

“Left where?”

“I don’t know. She was talking about Gideon and—“ His hand leans against his head. “Fuck.”

“He needs a medic,” Fennec decides, approaching. “Concussion, internal bleeding, who knows what they did to him.”

“Mandalorian,” Boba says.

Din doesn’t mean to snap, or at least he doesn’t think he does. Nothing feels like himself. “What?”

“I need you to tell me everything you remember.”

“She said—“ It’s like he’s filled with static, memories glitching from one thing to another. “She… wanted to talk to him and—I don’t know. I…” He takes a breath, collecting his thoughts with the ground. “I was with her and she was crying and I— we… I had her. She promised she wouldn’t leave anymore. She promised she’d stay.” He looks up. “Then all I wanted was to get away from her. So I took the kid and I left.”

Fennec looks dumbfounded, he’s sure Boba shares the same expression.

“Let me ask you something,” Boba says. “Do you love her?”

“What?”

“You wanted to marry her right? Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather she be here then?”

“…No.”

“Why?”

Din sits with himself, silent. He doesn’t have an answer, not one that won’t result in another assault from Boba. He can’t say the thought of her makes him irrationally angry. That he gave her everything, every piece of himself and she still left. Again.

But… he’s the one who left ultimately. He grabbed Grogu, he agreed to it, he knew what it meant, the conditions she set.

Pounding intrudes on his head again, the conflict more painful than the blows from the not Jedi.

“She’s in trouble,” Boba continues. “Do you understand that? We have to find her—”

“My kid is in trouble,” he counters. “She can take care of herself. What I need to worry about is getting him back.”

Boba’s arm sticks out behind him. “Fennec, hand it over.” She places a metal disc, the size of her palm in his. Painted black, it flashes red. “Do you know what this is?”

Din nods. “A tracker.”

“Found it on my ship after you left. Whoever put it there knew we would come for her. All of this was planned. All of it. Do you know what that means?”

He says nothing.

“It means she knew. She knew the Empire was coming.”

“You don’t know that—“

“That girl can sense the energy of a city on the other side of moon if she damn well pleases. She spent her whole life on my ship, you really think she couldn’t tell there was a tracker?” His voice lowers, a whisper with killer instinct. “They want her. You will never understand how valuable she is to them.”

“Why? She’s not special like the kid, she doesn’t have—“

“Abilities? Powers? Never mind everything else, you know she can feel energy, that she hears things we could never. What do you call that? They have your kid and they’re not gone. Why is that?”

“…She said she made a deal with Moff Gideon.” He says this slow, coming to his own realization. “That’s why she wanted me to leave. Said he wouldn’t hurt us, the kid. That he’s scared of her.”

“She knew exactly how this would go. They fucked up Mandalorian. If she finds out they have your child—you’re the only one that can bring her to her senses and stop her.”

“I don’t understand. Stop her from what?”

“From killing herself.”

---

Horix never met with Coltin. He took the girl at her word, sprinting before the last syllable dropped. He doesn’t care about being a coward, all he wants to do was live. Honor be damned. Being exiled, put on trial, discharged. He’d rather all of it.

He found Triemp first. The poor fucking kid, he looked just as scared as he always did. The others he’d rather not remember, though he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the smell.

There are five left, including him. Could be less and he just hasn’t found them. Coltin is out there still, but Horix doesn’t intend to look for him. He has to get to the ship, fly away, leave the sector, the Outer Rim.

He has to never look back.

It’d be easier if he knew how to get out of the labyrinth. If it weren’t for the fact that he has yet to see the same body twice, he’d be convinced he’s been running in circles.

He has no time, and yet it dares to feel infinite.

Horix sees Coltin first. He’s held against a tree, four feet in the air. His hands grip around his own neck, feet kicking out. Then he sees her. At the base, hand passively raised only to her shoulder. She’s drenched in rain, possibly other fluids he won’t spend time imagining. She has a lightsaber, red, prominent from the rest of them.

“Don’t move!” Horix shouts. His blaster rattles in shaky hands. He switches the setting off of stun. “I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you I swear.”

She listens. He catches how her eyes roll, annoyed, pushing her hair out of her face. The lightsaber turns off, and attaches to her hip. She turns.

“I said don’t move!”

“Officer Kelis?” she asks. “You came.” He could swear she’s relieved, voice like a lullaby. She looks at Coltin, tilting her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t need you anymore.”

Her wrist turns, and so does his neck.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says, turning to Horix. “I’ve been looking for you. I need your help.”

“You killed him. You fucking killed all of them,” Horix pants. “You’re a monster. You tore them apart—“

“And I apologize for the mess. It could have been cleaner, I got carried away. That doesn’t matter now. I need you to help me, I won’t kill you.”

“No. No! You’re just like him—I’ve heard stories. Of your father—”

“Then you’ve heard about me. You know what they want with me, don’t you? What was your mission objective?”

“I don’t—“

“You’re the one in charge,” she snaps, then breathes. “You should know. What did they tell you to do?”

“Capture you.” He says this shaking, suffocating under his helmet. “To not hurt you. Not hurt the alien. Or the Mando.”

She frowns. She frowns like it were a personal insult. “What do you do after you capture me?”

“I contact Moff Gideon.”

“How?” He fumbles, pulling out the cylinder. His thumb hovers over the red button. “Do you have a rendezvous point?” He nods. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“You’re going to turn me in. Contact Gideon, if you can tell him you have me, do it. Then you’ll take me to your point.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to talk to him.” She walks forward, his finger waver on the trigger. “I gave him my terms, he didn’t listen. So you either help me, or I’ll call him myself and you can join your friends. It’s your choice.”

---

Wiping her cheek, Lumina’s hand turns a dripping red, washed down her arm by the rain. Her chest heaves, soaked hair sticking to her skin. Her left hand clenches, nails biting into her palm. She smiles, the closed kind, full of relief.

There was a purpose to this, there should’ve been anyways. She looks to her lightsaber, drawing a scorch mark in the mud. It crackles with the wetness, a putrid smell coming with it.

She looks behind her, the troopers head—Horix—stares at her beyond the helmet. It flew farther from the body than she intended. She used to be better at that.

Decapitations are few and far between these days.

Her lightsaber attaches again to her belt, a breaking twig snapping her head to attention. She grabs the cylinder from his hand, cringing at the loose muscles.

It’s never not disgusting.

She clicks it, listening for the subtle whirling inside. It shouldn’t be too hard. Wait for the hold or TIE to descend from the heavens, make an entrance. Looking at Horix, she briefly considers bringing him as a gift. She decides against this, too tacky.

It’s his fault for not agreeing. All her plans have turned to shit, she should have expected this would join the list. Now she can’t play the prisoner angle. Not that Gideon would have believed it. But she likes having intent, it’s all lost now.

Dammit.

It takes two minutes for a ship to be spotted entering atmosphere, blinking lights closing in by the mountain range.

It’ll do.

Moff Gideon is a shorter man than Lumina expected. He stands by the entrance of a modified cargo shuttle, arms crossed in front of his body. He holds himself like a giant, gaze solid as stone, pointed forward.

The head would’ve been a nice distraction right now, the storm at last fading away for thick humidity. Taking a breath, Lumina pats down her now straight hair, pulling her shirt to not stick to her chest.

It’s important in times like these to make a good impression. To be presentable.

Lumina storms into the clearing, arm out stretched. Gideon slams against the hold before recognition arrives. His body lifts into the air, gasped breath and bulging eyes.

“I warned you what your insolence would cause,” she bites. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that child of yours. If you find such pleasure in direct disobedience and taking mine, just you wait until you see what I can do to yours.”

Words being too strangled to be understood, she releases her hold, just enough.

“It wasn’t me,” he coughs. “I told them not to—“

“Who?”

“The Inquisitors! I can’t control them, they’re like animals—”

Her body stalls before her mind, and she sounds like a little girl. “Inquisitors?”

“They need a leader. A voice to answer to, someone to fear, to show them the way. You—“ he coughs again, ”—they can all be yours.”

The notions tickles something inside of Lumina, hers. Nothing has ever been hers before. Always someone else’s, a temporary possession, a loan. Inquisitors would be useful… if not difficult all the same. They’d only want more power, her position, her favoritism. They’d be overgrown toddlers fighting over a toy. Then again, a toy can be powerful leverage. It’d give them a goal, ambition, meaning.

A reason to obey.

All useful to her, true. She wouldn’t have to bother in gaining their respect, it comes with the name.

Lumina shouldn’t listen to any of it. She knows the ways of Sith better than any living sentient in the galaxy. Then again… what else does she have to lose?

She lowers Gideon, keeping him against the durasteel. “Tell me more.”

“Some were recovered from Project Harvestor, runaways,” he says, face ready to flinch. “Others new followers, lost, greedy. Insubordinate.”

“How did you get them?”

“They found each other, and they found me.”

“Why?”

“Why else? Connection. Common goals. Three of your peers remain. Four including yourself. 324. 306. And 313.” Gideon catches the twitch in her brow, the split second of a dropped facade. It’s his moment to strike and he’d be a fool to not engage. “I would argue 313 is most eager for a reunion.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” He takes a step forward, she takes one back. “You’re spiritual, I’m sure you can find the answer in yourself. In fact, it was 313’s idea to recruit you in the first place. Something about… making good on a promise? Does that ring any bells?”

“Shut up,” she bites.

He takes another step, and she trips on a rock. “You are nothing but a scared little girl. Understand I am offering you the galaxy.”

Her hand shoots forward again, trembling while he’s only that short distance away.

“Hurt me and the Child dies,” he says.

“Where is he?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Gideon—“

“Do you realize how much of my time you’ve wasted playing your little game?” He cups her cheek, ignoring her ragged gasp. His touch is warm, dry. “Look at you,” he mutters. He strains her neck up and to the right. Thumb and middle finger pressing into her jaw. “You’re perfect.”

Spit flies to his face, streaking down his cheek. He shoves her head away, hard enough to throw her to the ground. Mud splatters in her hair on impact.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. “I have never wanted to hurt you.” He kneels to her level, gripping her hair to force a stare. “If you only listened to me before. You could have avoided all of this.” Her eyes meet Gideon’s, he stares at her cold, unapologetic. “What would your father say if he saw you now?”

“Do not speak of him,” Lumina mutters. “You have no right.”

“Don’t you want him to be proud of you?”

“Stop it.”

“He chose you for a reason. Everything Lord Vader did was for you, and you threw it away. And now,” he stands, circling her like a vulture. “You’ve thrown that away too. Look at the mess you’ve made. Do you honestly believe you can go back after this? That the Mandalorian, that anyone could ever accept you when,” he waves outwards, “this is what you do? What you are?”

Lumina’s gaze hardens, head shaking.

“Did you think you could change? Take a hand at playing someone else? That is not how this works.” Gideon’s voice turns honeyed as he says, “Wouldn’t you rather be somewhere you’re wanted? Accepted? Where you’d never have to hide again?”

Gideon would make a good Inquisitor, she thinks. He turns into warmth, stopping behind her, kneeling once more. His hand grips her shoulder, the flesh of it bruising her. It’s as if a shadow follows him. It’s an enveloping darkness, pulling her hair behind her shoulders, stroking down her arms. Her back hits his chest, and shakes.

“Look at this place,” Gideon whispers. “You enjoy this.”

She’d prefer to sleep now, an exhaustion filling her bones. The ground is comfortable, softer than when it’s dry. Maybe if she did, she wouldn’t have to wake again.

“If you join me, I will give you everything you ever wanted. How does that sound?”

The shadow strokes her cheek, beckoning the rest of her to follow. It’s a hypnosis, singing to her in the echos of the Force.

The dark side has a way of dominating destiny. Forever a winding path, guiding the hopeless follower into the abyss. Ahsoka may have been wrong about her, about all of this. In thinking there could ever be more to her. Everyone was wrong. She is helpless.

The shadow whispers this in her ear.

Lumina doesn’t think it’s Gideon, non-Force Sensitives rarely have such palpable an aura to them. It can’t be her own either, she’s too friendly with it, too much a part of herself to be this distinct. The shadow is the same as it was this morning, before it all began.

Her hands are still red, darker now.

“Doesn’t it sound nice?” Gideon asks her again, but she can’t hear his voice anymore. It comes from the darkness, gentle still, familiar and old. “It will be like it was always meant to.”

“Yes,” Lumina whispers. Her muscles relax, head drooping forward. The shadow circles to her front and holds her chin up.

“You’ve been wronged,” it says. The shadow touches her again, a shiver flooding her skin. “With me, you can make them finally hear. Don’t you want that?”

She says, “Yes.”

The shadow presses, words hissed. “Yes, what?”

Lumina falls against Gideon’s body, eyelids heavy. “I want Din,” she mumbles, the whiny sort.

“He means nothing,” Gideon says, distinct from the fog. “He only holds you back. I give my allegiance to you, my Lady. ” Her head is light, fumbling to reach her lightsaber. His hand falls on top, a strong grip. “Don’t.”

“Relax,” the shadow urges, and she does.

“What do you get out of it?” Lumina asks.

Gideon’s answer is simple, coming without thought. “You.”

And the shadow responds, “All of you.”

Then Gideon says, “All you have to do, is come with me.”

---

When news first broke about Corellia, Din never thought much about it. It was everyone else in the galaxy that became obsessed. They questioned how a high functioning Imperial base could run in the core worlds, what that meant for the rest of the regions, and the effectiveness of the New Republic.

The location of the base was in plain sight, a presumably abandoned warehouse, tucked in some alley. Pedestrians watched storm troopers walk in and out every day without qualm.

As soon as the first report came out, written by some novice journalist on Coruscant, the whole of Coronet City was put on lockdown. Residents were arrested by the dozens, security footage from every business within two miles was seized for inspection. New Republic guards stood at check point bases on every other street, chain codes became mandatory upon inspection.

No one got in. No one got out.

To the citizens of Corellia, the new occupation meant the Empire never truly left.

The Senate didn’t care, no one did. They cared about image, brushing away their frayed edges behind riot gear and impromptu searches.

Din caught a glimpse of a news broadcast after Greef Karga told him of the incident. Some senator, a princess and former Rebellion leader, was the first to speak up. Spewing nonsense about needing to be strong and how the resolve of the Republic will not falter.

No one ever mentioned how the base was exposed. Only the initial report credited the discovery to the Red Axe Syndicate. No one else spoke of the so called atrocities found inside the warehouse. No one else gave mention to the reported dozens of storm troopers slaughtered like livestock. Not one word of the hazard crew called in to clean it all up.

As far as anyone was concerned, a base was found and promptly ‘dealt with’. End of story. Should they find it, Din wonders how the New Republic will cover up this disaster. If they’d even care.

It makes Corellia look like child’s play.

He can’t all together describe it. If a bomb went off there’d be no disparity to the current scene. Storm troopers aren’t just dead. They’re unrecognizable and thrown about like cheap Life Day decoration. Bodies are broken and bent into inhuman positions. It could be debated if some bodies are still to be considered bodies at all. Or just pieces of it.

“Keep your eyes forward,” Boba tells him, leading ahead. “No use lamenting.”

“I’m not.”

“No use for thought then.”

“…Do you know how this happened?”

“Like I said, thought isn’t helpful right now.”

“What does Lumina have to do with all of this?”

A cargo shuttle enters their eye-line, parked with the oversized droids from earlier acting as guards. “I’d wager that’s Gideon. Hurry up.”

“What does he want with her?”

Boba steps over a torso—just a torso—and ducks under a branch. “If she’s with him, you’ll have to go in alone. There’s no telling how much he knows. If he’s smart, his goal is separation. He’ll tell her anything he has to to get her on his side. If he knows what I fear he does, I won’t risk being the one to cause her turning.”

“And what exactly would he know?”

Boba comes to a full stop, and he turns. “You should consider yourself lucky you’re not interesting enough to have anything to hide. Over time, it devours you.”

---

The cargo hold of deliverance for Moff Gideon stands surrounded by droids larger than man. They wear an imitation of black armor. Red lights acting as eyes scan the area, their heads turn from left to right and back again.

The export door to the shuttle is prompted wide open, the Moff himself paces around the inside. His hands clasp behind his back, cape blowing with every sharp and unnecessary turn he makes.

An officer stands at attention in the doorway to the cockpit. Were it not for his rising chest Din would believe him to be a droid as well.

The inside of Din’s head feels like a steady vibration, his neck twitches. Maybe Fennec was right, a concussion would explain the weight of pounding dread in his mind.

Boba already circled back to camp, were he here Din would have it in his right mind to make him stay instead. What does he care about finding her? The idea of her alone ticks a bomb in his heart.

Boba should be the one here, not him. She’s his child whether he’d be keen to admit it or not. Din has his own to look after, to look for. All she is, is a distraction from the real issue.

She wanted to leave, Din reminds himself. She saw him. He gave her everything and she left. He shouldn’t be here, not for her.

He doesn’t see her until it’s almost too late, turning in the bushes to make an escape.

From the very beginning, the very first day in the mechanic’s hangar on Tatooine, Din Djarin has inexplicably been drawn to the girl. Possessed in a way to consume nothing but her, to live only off her smile and steel eyes. He’s lost himself in her, finding a horrifying discovery that whoever he is, whoever he was before, no longer exists.

She is a curse that has stripped him bare to all his inhibitions and he has so willingly granted this. He should despise her, he wants to. Everything in his head drives his logic to the conclusion that she must be left. To allow her to do whatever it is she does when she runs away. To take the opportunity and leave. Leave her, leave for good. That he would be happier beyond measurable belief.

And Din believes this.

But then he sees her. The same way he’s seen her every morning in the sun and every night in the moon. He can’t help himself anymore than he could on Arkanis, seeing her again. Barely an hour away feels like a lifetime apart.

The universe and all of its gods have guided him to her, and for what reason? What path could be so necessary he must face this constant torment? She holds a part of his soul he never knew was missing.

Try as he might, he can’t leave her.

Not yet.

Not without leaving himself.

Lumina sits in the hold, back to the outside on bent knees, head bowed. Muscles tremble, a constant shiver from the incoming wind. She’s tied up, shoulders forced back, rope digging into her wrists. Moff Gideon paces in circles. He grabs something black at her hips, handing it to a droid.

Gideon raises a hand against her but the strike never hits. Instead he’s frozen inches before contact is made. The droids pull their weaponized arms against her, a unified step forward. All at once Gideon’s hand falls, as do her shoulders.

Din alters the inner mechanics of his helmet, sound readjusting to a new frequency covered in static.

A rush comes over Din, pricking from inside his throat. His muscles turn rigid, his vision almost red. He’s never had a clear grasp on her abilities, they make as much sense as the kids. But if there’s a chance… he may have a plan.

“Fascinating.” The voice comes from Gideon, paused in front of her. “What your peers accomplish with action, you do with thought alone.” He reaches out. “I see why he chose you.”

“I told you don’t touch me,” she mutters, riddled in exhaustion.

“Lumina,” Din says, just louder than a whisper.

Her head lifts like a startled kybuck, turning to the left.

“Lu, can you hear me?”

“Don’t bring him into this,” she whines. “You can’t do that.”

“Who do you speak to?” Gideon asks. “What do you hear?”

“I’m sick,” she whispers, though not as a response to him. “I’m sick. He’s making me sick, none of this is real. None of it matters.“

“Sarad,” Din says. “It’s me.”

She stiffens, looking both directions. “What?”

“Get Dr. Pershing on the line,” Gideon says to the officer. “She needs an immediate evaluation.” The officer nods once, he disappears into the cockpit and Gideon follows.

“Lumina,” Din says again.

She doesn’t waste time. “Where are you?”

“East. Behind the shrubs, twelve degrees to your right.”

“I can’t turn around.”

“But you can feel me. Can’t you?”

It takes a second, but her head nods. “I thought—How are you here?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Din groans, shaking his head as the pounding returns. “I came to bring you—Fuck.”

“You have to leave,” she says. “It’s not safe here.”

“How did Gideon get a hold of you?”

“Din you can’t be here. I mean it. You have to leave, tell Boba I’ll be fine. If Gideon sees you—“

“Can you stand? I’ll distract the droids, you can make a break for it while they aren’t looking.”

“Din—“

“Can you?”

“…Yes.”

“Okay.”

Scared, breathy she asks, “Are you real? How am I talking to you?”

He shrugs. “I have helmet hearing. You have super hearing. It’s convenient.”

She scoffs. “Yeah… yeah it’s you.”

---

Plans, as Din Djarin has long come to find out, are far better in theory than in action. What he expects to happen as soon as he spots his opening—as he aims down the barrel of his pistol, pointed at the exposed mechanics of the droid furthest in the ship—is for the bundle of wires to collapse into a heap of itself.

In time he will learn reality will never match expectations.

The droid doesn’t even stumble in its assigned position, eyes lifting from its harder gaze on Lumina out into the forest. The others follow its direction.

Their march synchronizes like soldiers, filing out the shuttle two by two. Unfortunate, but not impossible. He shoots again, now to the first in line. In their hive mind, they approach him, guns raised.

Shit.

The droids block his view of the ship, but he picks up the sound of shuffling. “If you can run, I suggest you do that now!” His pistol fires, each shot directed and with no impact. “What the hell are these things?”

“More than you can handle. Get the hell out of here before they kill you.”

“What about you?”

“Do you actually want me to go with you?”

The shutdown of his mind is one Din never expects or intends to have happen. All thoughts disappear into an opening abyss. He loses focus of aim, sight, consciousness even. The ability to process the wind, the approaching droids, her words. It all vanishes.

Because he doesn’t. The simple and frankly obvious answer in his mind is no. He never wanted to do any of this, but he can’t say that. Not to her, not here, not in the middle of his failing rescue mission.

“Din?”

He wants his kid. He wants to go back to the Razor Crest and get the hell away from this place.

“Din?”

He wants to get away… from her.

“Din!”

Before he can act, let alone think, a hand of the front droid grips him. He’s lifted by the neck, dangling like a baby tooka from its mothers mouth. Despite his protest and struggle, he’s returned to the ship. Thrown to the ground he lands right in front of her. She hasn’t moved an inch.

Lumina pulls against the ropes that hold her, shuffling the best she can. “Be careful with him!” She barks. He isn’t sure they understand much of anything. “Din? Din, are you okay?”

An automatic response, the display in his visor runs through a heap of diagnostics, scrolling past his vision in orange text. Nothing’s broken, not yet anyways. Head trauma is suggested, whatever that means.

“I think I’m fine,” he mutters. “What—“ He stops short, seeing her. She’s drenched and bloody, red smeared across her cheek, her hands… dried mud caked in the creases of her pants, clumped in her hair. “What happened to you?” Gathering the strength, he rises to his knees. Cupping her face the way he has a thousand times before, his thumb wipes her cheek. “Is this yours? Did Gideon do this to you?”

Her face drains of color, the same emptiness he found in her on Corvus taking her features.

“You can’t be here,” she whispers, pulling away. “You’re not supposed to be here, it’s all wrong.”

“Shh.” He pushes hair from her eyes, leaning forward. “It’ll be okay. We’re together, we’ll find a way out we always do.”

She’s misty, distorted in motionless air. “No, Din, you don’t understand—“

“Gideon took the kid—“

“I know.”

“You know?”

Lumina leans against his helmet, shallow puffs of air fogging his vision. “Din, listen to me. I have to do things my way now, I can’t—I can’t have you mess this up. You have to let me go. You’ve done so much, you have to stop. Okay? You have to stop now.”

“Lu… I don’t know what’s going on. I feel—something happened. I can’t remember anything it’s like… I don’t know. What I do know, is that the kid is gone. Someone took him, I can’t get him back without you—“

“I know,” she mumbles. “That’s why I have to do this.”

“You, promised me Boba Fett.” Gideon stands above them in the doorway. Lumina slides her body in front of Din’s. “What is he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” she says.

“You told me—“

“I know what I said,” she snaps. “I can’t—I can’t control him. I don’t know why or how but nothing I do works.”

“Then what good are you?”

“Plenty. You’ll learn that, but you have to let him go. He doesn’t have anything for you.”

He stares at the Mandalorian, face twisted in a scowl. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Gideon, you have what you want from me,” Lumina says. “That should be enough. Let him leave.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Din Djarin.” Moff Gideon says. “I should have given the order to kill you when I had the chance.”

“That’s your own mistake,” Din retorts. “Whatever she has for you isn’t worth all of this.”

“You have no idea what she’s worth.”

“Destroying an entire moon? Have you taken one look at the damage you’ve caused? Your own men are massacred because of what you’ve done. Does it mean nothing to you?”

To Din’s own surprise, Gideon lights up. “What I’ve done? You don’t honestly believe that I am capable of all of this. What aim do I have in gutting my own forces like fish?”

“What aim did you have in destroying Mandalore? I don’t care what information you want out of her. I came bring her back and that’s what I intend to do.”

Gideon paces around them, the heels of his polished boots click on the floor. Each step heavy with purpose. “She isn’t going anywhere. Not anymore. She will be returned to exactly where she was always meant to be.”

“She doesn’t belong to you.”

“Of course not. Just like her father, she is property of the Empire.”

Beside him, Lumina turns rigid, biting her bottom lip raw.

“CF-318,” Gideon says. “How is he immune?”

The signs are the same as they always are. Her emotions become distant before disappearing completely, her eyes lose herself, her chest heaves, panicked and desperate for air.

Din’s reaction is muscle memory. His arms wrap around Lumina, the touch of his beskar cooling her feverish head. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay, just breathe. I’m right here, Lu. It’s okay, don’t listen to him.”

“Lu,” Gideon mocks on his tongue. “Midnight. Gloves. Tracker. Ayy’Numa. Marie. Nebula. Estelle. Ellian. Omani. Atikya. Lu. Why do you insist on hiding who you are?”

She strains herself to speak. “Do not—”

“CF-318. You are Imperial Assset, CF-318F1.” He kneels to her level, squinting. Were it not for the combat droids Din would have his hands around his neck. “I believe I asked you a question. How is Din Djarin immune?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Gideon says. “Tell me. Are you not strong enough?”

“I am.”

“So tell me why.” Snapping leather fingers, the droids form a new position. They circle the trio, guns all aimed… at Din. Before Lumina has a chance to react Gideon grips her arm, pulling her away.

She struggles against him, yanking until the rope burns her skin. “No, no! Gideon!”

“Why has he not listened?”

“I told you!”

“Don’t. Lie.”

“I’m not! Don’t hurt him!“

“Fire on my command. In three. Two—“

“It’s the beskar!” Lumina shouts. The light behind them shatters at its base, glass spilling on the floor. “I can’t get past it, it’s blocks everything! That’s all I know. I promise.”

Gideon, never one to be satisfied, throws Lumina at Din. She crashes into his chest, they almost topple over. “Mandalorians,” he mutters. “You lower yourself with him. Do you realize this?”

“That’s not true,” Lumina says.

“And what do you suppose they’ll say when they’ve realized you’ve broken the first rule of your programming? You have no credibility with him.”

“Lu,” Din says. “What is he talking about?”

Gideon’s expression flickers. “Does he not know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she mutters.

“Do you have any idea who she is?” Gideon asks. “The power she holds?”

“I don’t care about that, that’s behind her. It’s behind us.”

“Oh but you should,” Gideon laments. “Since the death of her father, she is the rightful heir to the Empire. Hand selected by the Emperor himself to one day rule at his side.”

“What?” Comes in unison from both Din and Lumina.

“That’s not true,” she says.

“Do you deny your inheritance?” Gideon asks.

She says nothing.

“Lumina—“

“Palpatine tried to kill me. He never wanted me, he wanted the other one.”

“The Jedi,” Gideon says.

“He had a choice. It wasn’t me.”

“And yet here you are. Alive. Why do you think that is?”

“My father saved me. He wanted me alive.“

“Do you honestly believe, the Emperor did not know you survived? That he is capable of making mistakes?”

Her tone strikes with hesitancy. “You don’t know him like I do. He is selfish, and greedy, and his arrogance blinds him. I spent my life studying his weaknesses. I know exactly what that man was capable of. Mistakes are high on the list.”

“He sees you as his granddaughter,” Gideon says. “Your return is of his demand. He wants you. He needs you.”

Only now, Lumina falters. Din can’t tell what comes over her. Why her head falls back, why her breathes come from her mouth, or what she stares at on the back wall like she’d seen a demon.

“Stop it,” she whispers. “I don’t want—I don’t want you. Shut. Up.”

“What are you doing to her?”

“Nothing. She’s deranged,” Gideon offers.

“She’s sick. Has been for weeks. You’re making her worse.”

“No. She’s only rediscovering herself, her anger, her loyalties. And you my friend, are the final piece.” He looks at the droids, waving his hand. “Allow Din Djarin to stand.” So he does. ”Follow me.”

Moff Gideon guides him to a wall of screens, he twirls a code cylinder between his fingers. “I believe it’s time you discover the truth, Mandalorian.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your girlfriend.” He snickers from the word, plugging the device into the computers terminal. “I’m afraid, has been harboring a dangerous secret from you.”

Lumina stops talking to herself, short, all at once. “What are you doing?”

On Gideons command, two of the droids haul her off the ground. One grips her arms together, the other keeps its gun to her head.

“What are you showing him?” She pulls at her hold, to no avail. “Gideon let me go. This wasn’t part of the deal! I told you he can’t know about it!“

“What deal?” Din asks, facing her.

“Moff Gideon,” Lumina ignores, to his surprise sounding like a politician. Strong. Powerful. “I command you to stop and release me this instant.”

Display monitors come to life, static and blue. All fill with the same frozen with an image of Lumina. Sat in the Razor Crest, a growing bruise under her left eye.

“I apologize,” Gideon says, regretfully melodramatic. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

On the screen, Lumina comes to life. Rustling plays through speakers before her voice. “Red Axe, Crimson Mission Report,” she says. The date and time follow. Over four months ago. “Current location: Trask. Previous location: Arkanis. Destination is currently uncertain, but I assume somewhere in the Outer Rim. I’ll update when I can. Contact with target has been successful. Relationship with target known as the Mandalorian is—” Lumina, the current version of herself, pulls against the droids. She strains herself shouting Gideon’s name, “—uncertain, and in development. No news of interest to report.” She sighs, hand rubbed over her face. “You know I really fucking hate you for sticking me with him again. I was better on my own. I left for a reason. As soon as you clear me to come back I’m gone.”

The next video plays:

“Current location: Hyperspace. Previous location: Llanic. Destination: Ryloth. Relationship with target…” Smiling, Lumina says, “Good.” Noise rattles in the background, she turns to it. “One second!…Get a better ship and I’ll be faster!” She looks back at the camera, grinning. “Really good. I gotta go, bye Lena!”

The next she dates hours later, bright red marks littering her neck. She pulls her hair in front of her shoulders. “I’m doing my job. You said to get close to him… I am not being disrespectful… no I know I’m not allowed to but… All of it?” Her eyes roll. “Red Axe, Crimson Mission Report…”

The next plays, cut to the middle. “Relationship with target is decreasing and really fucking annoying.”

Then the next. “Relationship with target, satisfactory.”

---

“…Acceptable.”

The videos never end.

“…Stupid.”

They play one right after the other.

“…Fine.”

Din hasn’t said a word.

“…Increasing in my favor.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s breathing at all anymore.

“…The best its ever been. He’s really great—at falling for it, I mean. No I just—it’s pathetic. Naboo is really nice though, it’s the most at home I’ve ever felt… I don’t know, it’s familiar.” The clip stays uncut after this, Lumina nodding, tying up her hair. “Technically I’m not ‘diverging from the mission’. My job was to follow the Mandalorian, I’m still doing that…”

“Turn it off,” she says. “We didn’t agree to this, turn it off!”

“Don’t.” It comes from Din.

No one dares to move.

“…I’m not that horrible,” Lumina says. “I can pretend to not be horrible. Very well, might I add. You know this.”

“Pretend?” he repeats.

“Din, I can explain.”

“This whole time. This whole time you were pretending?”

“No! No, never.”

“He is!” Lumina laughs in the video. “He’s been very… sweet to me, in his own way. And he’s started taking his helmet off. I haven’t seen anything, obviously, but, well it feels important to report that.”

Finally, he looks at her. She can envision his face, every line, every hair with perfect clarity. She wishes she couldn’t.

“You didn’t know her lineage,” Gideon says. “You don’t know her worth, her power. You have no idea what she is capable of. How she,” he points, “alone produced what you’ve seen out there.” His attention returns to the screen. “This is my favorite part.”

“I’m not attached,” Lumina argues. “I do not love the Mandalorian. I will not ever love the Mandalorian. And he certainly does not love me. I am perfectly capable of staying on my mission and completing it. Whatever it is, I can and will do it.”

The montage ends here, glitched and stuck in the middle of her eye roll.

“These are doctored,” Din swallows, “it’s easy enough to do. You have the technology.”

“I ask you this,” Gideon muses. “What benefit do I gain in creating a false narrative? When she excels at spinning her own web? Mandalorian, how well do you really know her, when she has been my payroll from the beginning?”

Din remains stuck on the screen, her broken image. “Tell me he’s lying,” he says. His voice holds no inflection, no emotion to bear vulnerability. He speaks like it were a term of business. Another arrangement between them, agreed upon over a contract. “That’s all I need. Tell me you don’t work for him.” He turns to her. “I promise nothing else you’ve done matters to me. Just tell me those are fake.”

“Din.”

“Tell me.”

Her mouth opens to close again, shaking. “Din—”

He stands in front of her in an instant. He stares at her the same way he did on the Razor Crest. Before it all began, stuck in the cockpit arguing about her return to Coruscant. “Are they real?” He’s venomous, rasped in a growl. “Yes or no.”

Quietly, she responds, “Yes.”

He says the same thing he did then too, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I quit right after Naboo,” she defends in vain. “I never knew it was for Gideon until it was over, I promise. I would never take a job for the Empire, you know that. Lena never told me why I had to follow you, I thought she was getting back at me for Corellia, that it was another punishment or a joke. Din you have to believe me.”

“Why? You said so yourself, you lied about everything. It’s what you do. So why the hell should I believe you on this?”

Lumina has no response to give.

And he says, “I’m done with you.”

Nothing inside her is intact. “What?”

“I’m done. I’m done, Lumina. All of this. Everything that’s happened, everything we’ve done. Everything I’ve done for you. It meant nothing.”

“No, no it meant everything—”

“You lied to me.”

She pulls against the droids, bruising her arms. “You think I wanted to?”

“Trust me you don’t want to know what I think.”

“Relena owned me. If I didn’t do what she wanted I—you know what they did to me. You know what everyone has done to me. I have to listen! I had no where else to go.”

“You had me!” She can’t remember the last time he shouted at her, and she flinches like he were any of the others. “You had me, and you left. That was your choice. I told you then, I’ll tell you now, it’s always been your choice. You left. You went back to that shit hole. You took the job. You work for the Empire. Not Relena. Not Neri. Not your father. You.”

“I told you, I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know?” he mocks. “Who the fuck else wants anything to do with me Lu?”

“I wasn’t hurting you, I didn’t think it mattered.”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Din scoffs, shaking his head. She thought there was nothing left inside, that her tears were spent. “Cara was right about you.”

She was wrong.

“Don’t say that—“ she whispers.

“You’re a selfish entitled brat. You can’t stand one second away from yourself to think about who you might hurt. Or you and you just don’t care. The moment anyone tells you anything you break down like a child because you know exactly who you are.”

A dam breaks inside. The light above pops and burns out, her jaw clenched. “Stop it.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Oh I’m sorry your highness, did I offend you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m past being fair.”

“Din—“

He steps to her, like it were instinct with a clenched fist glued to his side. “Say my name one more time.” He shakes his head. “I gave you everything I had. Everything you never got. Not because anyone told me to, because I wanted to. Because I was stupid enough to think you had an ounce of good inside of you. I wanted to marry you. I trusted you with my son—“ He stops. He looks at Moff Gideon whose sly smile only grows.

“Where’s my kid?” Din asks. “Do whatever you want with her, I want my kid.”

Moff Gideon shrugs at the Mandalorian. He’s leaned against the entrance of the cockpit and he shrugs. “Ask her. The attack on you was her idea. I thought we had an agreement you were to be left alone, or else I would’ve done it myself.”

Lumina manages her voice before Din, who whips his head so fast it might actually break. “What?”

“318, now is not the time to be daft,” Gideon says. “The jig is up, you’ve been caught. It’s best to admit it, there’s no going back for you.”

“What did you do?” Din sneers.

“Nothing!” she stutters, a laugh, as panicked as ever coming out. “I would never—I don’t know what he’s talking about. You—You know how much I love him, I would never. He’s my baby too, I wouldn’t—“

“He’s my kid,” Din interrupts. “He’s only my kid, you are nothing to him anymore. Do you understand that? What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

Another light goes out.

Gideon’s tongue clicks the roof of his mouth. “318, I’ve told you I have no use for the Child anymore. Clearly your plan has again failed. I implore you to tell him the truth for once.”

“Shut up!” she snaps.

“Where’s the kid Lumina?”

“I already told you, I don’t know.”

“If you lie to me again I swear— I’m only here because Boba didn’t want to look for you himself,” Din admits. “I didn’t want to be here to begin with. I never came for you, I came for him. What did you do?”

Slow, Lumina’s head turns to Din. Her mouth partially opened, her eyes to match beskar, glare. “You…” she begins. She speaks with deliberate pause, dark from her chest. “You don’t want to look for me.”

“I don’t want to look for you,” he agrees.

“You want the Child.”

And he nods. “I want the Child.”

Huh.

Considering all possibilities… Lumina ultimately decides Gideon is right. There is no going back. She does an awfully good job at ruining herself, its happened again with greater consequence but so what?

What reason does she have to care anymore?

At the end of the day she’s still alive. She still has herself. That’s should be all that matters. And it is.

Tears sting at her eyes, she tries to blink them away but they fall with no regard for herself. For six years she’s had nothing but headaches and nightmares. She isn’t proud, she can’t see herself as a victim. She only is what she is, no matter how horrible that may be.

What other choice does she have?

She sees in Gideon the same thing she’s seen in so many people. In Neri, Sully, Relena. What she saw in the mechanic who homed her on Tatooine. In Omera as her wounds were nursed and her body washed. In Tidhel and her stupid pretentious friends playing dress up in greed. In Petiko before his head left his body.

She almost smiles.

It’s exactly what she saw in Din. Sees in Din. And what Vader saw in her.

Opportunity.

Lumina looks between the Mandalorian and Moff Gideon. She can hear the analog clock tick away further in the ship. She counts the seconds.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven…

At thirteen she nods to Din, her lips pursed. “You think… I… kidnapped my own kid. My child. You think I’m that dumb to take him like this, and not the million times before that I’ve been left alone with him.”

The Mandalorian’s head twitches, and his fist unclenches.

“You, think I’m selfish and entitled and that I’ve been manipulating you from the very beginning. You have to hold yourself back from hitting me.”

Now both his hands turn to fists.

“You hate me,” Lumina says, eyes searching whatever lays beyond the visor. “You actually hate me now. You don’t think I ever loved you.”

“You never did.”

“Yeah? Maybe I didn’t. Then what? You saw this coming.”

“I saw it coming.”

“You knew this would happen. You knew I never loved you. You always knew.”

“I always knew,” he mumbles. “I…”

She instigates, pushing forward. “What else do you think of me Din? Huh? I lied about loving you. So fucking what. Tell me how much you hate me Din. Tell me.”

The answer is instinctual. “You’re evil.”

“I’m evil.” Lumina scoffs, biting her tongue. “I’m evil. I spend my whole life trying to be good enough to be called evil, and you—I have been nothing but good to you. You, have never seen evil in your life,” she snaps like a whip. “Never.”

The hull shakes, the Dark Troopers holding begin expel black smoke from their chests.

“That’s enough!” Gideon barks.

“Evil is letting your kid get murdered because of some blond cunt you don’t know. Evil is blowing up an entire planet because some princess won’t tell you where the Rebels are. Evil, Mandalorian is dying and leaving the only person who loved you, who you conditioned to love you without any closure!” The display monitors shatter, glass flies everywhere. “You want to talk about evil? You wanna call me evil? You don’t know the first thing about evil!”

“Does it make you feel better?” Din asks, as always only having eyes for her. “Hurting people like your dad hurt you? Do you think that’ll make him give a fuck about you?”

“What did you just say?”

“You ever think about why Boba doesn’t want to call you his kid? It’s because you’re psychotic. He hates your dad, and you’re probably just like him.”

Without a second to waste, every source of light in the room flickers on and off. On and off until the bulbs explode one by one. The computers of the ship power down to reboot three times over. The droids at her side collapse.

Lumina feels herself burn.

“Get him out here,” Gideon orders the remaining droids. “Now!”

“Where’s my kid, Lumina?” Dark Troopers grab Din by the arms, forcing him back. “Lumina, where is he?”

“Don’t touch him,” she mutters, pulling at her rope. “Don’t touch him. Gideon! Gideon don’t touch him!”

“Hold her back,” Moff Gideon instructs two others. They do and she is once again helpless.

“Lumina what did you do to the kid?” Din shouts.

“Get rid of him,” Gideon says. They drag him out of the ship, the squad of them with guns raised.

“I said don’t touch him! Din! Din!”

Lumina screams until her throat is raw and the doors shut, trapping her inside. She screams promised threats at Gideon, throwing everything she knows. His mother, his sisters, his daughter, his status. He doesn’t so much as blink.

Not until she starts laughing.

“You stupid fucking cunt. You’re a fucking idiot if you think I’ll ever help you,” she spits. “You were so close… You’re a mistake, Gideon! All of you are the same. You. Fucked. Up.”

“Sedate her,” Gideon says. “Two doses.”

“You’re a coward! I gave you two rules! You think what I did out there was bad? Just you wait until I get my hands on you. You’re going to wish you were dead by the time I’m done with you.”

Lumina screams until a needle pricks her neck, blood running cold. She collapses, and the lights never turn back on.

---

“Where is she?”

The Mandalorian pushes past a questioning Boba Fett without a comment to spare. He limps, shaking out his arm. The droids threw him at a tree, and took off when he hit the earth. Surveying the area, there are less bodies scattered, and he sees Fennec at cliff’s edge wiping her hands.

That’s one way to do it.

“Where’s Adi?” Boba asks again, grabbing his shoulder. He’s stronger than before—or Din’s getting weaker, they’re both reasonable—forcing his entire body to turn on his heel.

It might be a Mandalorian trait, the ability to discern emotion despite the helmet. They both wear theirs, but he can still make out Boba’s tight jaw, his fleeting eyes darting back and forth.

“Who is she?” Din asks, hoarse.

“What?”

“Who the hell is she, Fett?”

“What’s happened?”

Din laughs. Shaking his head he points to where he came. “What happened? What happened is that she’s a maniac and apparently the Emperor’s granddaughter—“

“Who told you that?”

“Did you know?”

Boba shakes his head. “That’s not—she’s not.”

“The heir to the Empire? The chosen one to take over for her father? You’re the one who wants her as an advisor, all that education had to be for something.”

“It was the vision of my employer, I never wanted that for her.“

“Gideon says the Emperor chose her.”

“Impossible. Palpatine never knew her, we made sure of that. We both knew how dangerous it would be if he found out about her.”

“She’s working for Gideon,” Din says. “This whole time she’s been working for Gideon, spying on me. You want to talk about dangerous? Let’s start there.”

“She would never do that, she loves you.”

“I saw the video myself, Fett. She confirmed it!”

“Where is she?”

“She’s with Gideon still, wherever he fucked off to. Hopefully it’s hell.”

“Shit,” Boba spits. He moves from Din, speeding to the Slave I. “Fuck!”

“What’s going on?” Fennec asks. She holds a trooper helmet like it were a toy.

“We have to go,” Boba says. “Ready the ship.”

“Context?”

“Gideon’s taken her too.”

“Unfortunate, but I’m sure she can save herself.”

Boba leans over, whispering. Din can’t make out a word, but Fennec’s expression changes from passive dismissal to real tangible fear.

“You’re certain he’ll find out?” she asks.

“They wouldn’t wipe data like that. One test and she’s caught.”

“Would they tell her?”

Boba shrugs.

“I told you you had to tell her yourself—“

“Now is not the time for a lecture. We have to go. I made a promise to keep her safe, I’m making good on that.”

Fennec motions at Din. “What about him?”

“He’ll come with us.”

“I’m not doing anything that benefits her,” Din says in defense. “I’m going back to my ship. I’m looking for my kid. I’m done with this.”

The moment comes as if on cue, and Din will forever consider himself nothing but a cursed joke of the galaxy. A green bolt of energy blasts from the atmosphere, shooting between the clouds until an explosion ruptures miles away.

In the exact location of the Razor Crest.

“You’re fucking with me,” he says.

“Like I said.” Boba comes from behind, a hand on his shoulder. “You’re coming with us.”

---

Din Djarin is perpetually stuck in a vacuum of space and time where he is forced to watch its continuance with no say of his own.

His body jostles with every movement of Boba Fett’s ship and he has nothing of value or importance to occupy his vision but the rifle belonging to her. Laid against the wall, propped and looming with shadow.

It is shadow.

Everything is shadow.

He’s too reflective to be devoured by famine.

Fennec and Fett are upstairs, talking. Arguing. He can’t hear their exact words and he doesn’t want to. They can talk about him. Of her. Of them. None or all of the above. He’s lost the ability to care for any of it.

The only thing he feels is the weight of whatever he could save from the Razor Crest; two ingots of beskar, the ball Grogu played with, and his spear.

Nothing else remains.

“All I’m saying,” Fennec says. She jumps down to the hull, and Boba follows. “Is we could at least try.”

“No,” Boba replies. “I’m not involving her in this.”

Fennec holds some frame that she waves around haphazardly. “She’s been involved in this.”

“The answer is no. You don’t know for certain if she’s alive, and I won’t allow them to meet like this. We can do this on our own. I said I’ve found her before, I can do it again.”

With an exasperated sigh, Fennec tosses it onto the seat next to him, landing face up. “How do you suggest we get coordinates to Gideon’s cruiser?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“We’re on limited time.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Your sister—“

“Meg is the last person I want to talk about right now.”

Meg, or whoever, Din assumes is the girl in the photograph. Young and blonde, sat in the middle of a group of armored men. Each different than the last.

He looks at the photo then to Boba, and back again.

And again.

And a third time for good measure.

Or not so different after all.

“I know someone,” he says. The first he’s spoken since entering the ship. “He can get us coordinates… If we go to Nevarro, I can get the assistance I need to contact him.”

They stare as if he’s grown a head, and Boba nods.

“I’ll reroute,” Fennec offers, and leaves the way she came.

The helmet does nothing to hide his stiff glare and tight jaw. “We’ll need more numbers if we don’t want to die on that cruiser. I know other Mandalorians we can contact on Trask. They can offer assistance.”

“Who?”

“Bo-Katan Kryze. Her gang. She owes me, or… her.”

“She’s met Bo-Katan?”

“You know her?”

“Of her. She’s a reluctant friend of the family. To put it simply.”

“Reluctant?”

“My people aren’t welcomed in most circles. Specifically hers.”

“Is she going to be an issue?”

His head nods to the side. “She might be.” Boba steps back once, then forward, then back again. “I’m sure you have questions, and although it’s not my place to answer them… do know I understand how you feel.”

Din lifts the frame, tilting for examination. “These your people?”

“Some.”

“How many left?”

“Of them? None.”

“Except her.”

To this Fett says nothing.

“Anyone else?” Din asks.

“There might be more of us laying around still. I never kept track of that, it was more her thing.”

“Anyone else?” he asks again.

“I have a nephew,” Boba says after a moment. “And a niece.”

Din nods, slow, careful. “Do you have children of your own?”

“No. She’s the closest I’ll ever get—”

“And you don’t claim her as a foundling?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t want to hear you say that you understand how I feel. I’ve lost my home. My child has been taken from me. I have been lied to, for months. I wanted to marry her this morning and she is the reason all of this happened, and now she may be dead. You do not understand an ounce of how I feel.”

Boba’s squint can be confused for a glare, or maybe it is and they are one and the same. “You blame her for this?”

“She should have told me.”

“And what would that change?”

The snap is as heavy as cut rope, and burns just the same. “I wouldn’t have gotten involved with her to begin with.” His chest aches, and the fire of the forest has moved to rage of grief inside him. “I wouldn’t have trusted her with my child. I would have never looked at her if I knew this would come from it.”

The glare now, is unmistakable. “She didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I.”

Din leans while his hands grip the plates of beskar on his thighs. “I’m getting my kid back,” Din says. “And if she’s still alive, you’re getting yours. I don’t care what happens after. That is where it ends for us.”

---

An Imperial Starcrusier drifting through hyperspace with no real urgency, rumbles and creaks. Inside the sterile white room, florescent lighting blinds. A male, appearing middle aged, paces. He wears latex gloves and a lab coat, wire frame glasses perched on his nose. He clicks a recorder in his hand, the mechanics whirling awake.

“Hello. Greetings. This is Doctor Pershing,” he says to the holoscanner opposite him. “Let this be documented as HoloLog Twenty-Seven in the Harvested Project. The first in the category subtitled: CF-318F1. Unfortunately, all known documentation on the subject prior to adolescence has been completely wiped. I will have to begin again. There is a lot of ground to cover, so for simplicity sake, I’ll make this as quick as possible.”

Behind him, a girl lays on an operating table. She’s strapped by all her limbs, completely unconscious. An IV hooks into her arm, wires of an EEG covering her head. Her heart rate projected on a second monitor, oxygen levels on a third.

“While enacting my employment under Imperial remnants to Moff Gideon, it has been my task to properly assess all Force Sensitive assets acquired. Mainly, these have been of the remaining Inquisitors. These were former inductees into Project Harvestor. This one, however, is different.”

He sits in a rolling chair, spinning to see her. “She is quite special. Imperial archives have listed this being as CF-318F1, marked terminated some thirteen years ago. The reason for speciality is that this is the alleged daughter of Lord Vader. Whether it is a genetic relationship or not is unfounded. The Daughter has become a myth in Imperial circles. Legends tell of a child raised and trained in the ways of the Force by the Emperor’s right hand. She has been kept hidden for years. Intellectuals such as myself all believed her to be dead or simply nonexistent. Until now. I am proud to say the forces of Moff Gideon have successfully acquired her for my studies. The question has plagued the minds of my colleagues, myself, and my superiors as to why she was favored, saved, selected. I aim to discover this.”

Releasing one of the girl’s arms, he turns it in examination. “It is completely organic, and appears human. Blood samples indicate an M-Count far exceeding that of the other surviving Inquisitors I have examined.” He snorts, pushing up his glasses. “It really is quite extraordinary,” he says to the camera. “I am currently awaiting the results of a DNA sampling.”

“Ah, it is best I mention now. Data logs from a recovered ship of Lord Vader’s details several times over documents listed under the code 631-120-282-024-618.” Doctor Pershing reads this from a notepad on his lap. “Almost all the information has been redacted, save for the name and one mention of a female. Should this be his child it is not unreasonable to presume the file is on her.”

He ties down her arm again. ”I believe Moff Gideon knows more than he is telling me. He’s instructed perfect preservation of the subject’s—.”

“Doctor.” An Imperial Officer stands in the doorway. He jumps. “Your lab results.” She holds out a data pad. “Moff Gideon wishes to meet with you to discuss your findings. He says you may proceed with any questioning and studies you wish.”

“Ah, thank you,” he stutters. “Yes. Please, tell the Moff I am thankful. I will meet him before days end.” Doctor Pershings walks out and reenters frame, the doors shut behind him.

He gawks at the data pad. “Maker above,” he whispers, grip tight enough to turn knuckles white. “This is… this is marvelous.” He throws the tablet onto his desk, scurrying around the girl. “I can’t believe it.”

He laughs, a loud singular clap to follow.

“More research is needed,” he tells the camera. “Hundreds of hours perhaps. But should my theory prove correct—“ he motions around the body, waving over her core, “—then I am in the presence of the greatest scientific achievement known to man—so far.” He shrugs. “I never thought I would see this come to fruition.”

The lights in the room begin to flicker. Medical equipment powers on and off, the room fills with beeping. The girl begins to move, reanimating limb by limb.

“No no no no,” Doctor Pershings whispers. He grabs a needle, injecting a relaxant into her arm.

She groans, weak with a scratchy throat. “What…” She pants, blinking awake.

“Hello.” He crouches by her head, her eyes lazily blinking and soon blinded by a miniature light. “Have no alarm, I don’t wish to hurt you. I am Doctor Pershing, you are currently in my office. I have waited a very long time to meet something like you. If you don’t mind, I have some questions I’d like to ask.”

---

Chapter Thirty-Two: An Image of Perfection

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inhuman-obey-me · 4 years ago

Note

Do you think there's a difference between being a fallen angel and a demon in the devildom? I like to imagine that part of the reason the brothers are so high up in the hierarchy is the angelic heritage at least

There is a difference, but not quite in the way that you'd think.

In our view, fallen angels are, for all intents and purposes, not considered to be a special high-ranking status among demons. From everything we've seen, the brothers are known to everyone as powerful demons, their angelic history not one to be brought up often.

(spoilers for up to the latest season/lesson 60)

Firstly, each of them has their own feelings on the fall, but we believe that, generally speaking, the brothers like being demons now. They don't necessarily want their angelic pasts constantly following them in their present lives.

Lucifer, in particular, is fully aware of the haughty and biased opinions he used to hold of demons before meeting Diavolo and rebelling against the Celestial Realm. It's been shown repeatedly that he does not look favorably back on his days as an angel, and cares little for the Celestial Realm outside of a diplomatic capacity.

Secondly -- demons don't have a fond view of angels, and vice-versa.

There is a lot of bad blood and history between the Devildom and Celestial Realm, meaning that other demons aren't going to be giving them any kind of extra respect or status for being angels - just the opposite, in fact. It was probably a contentious issue at the beginning.

The demon nobles, who have been often described as stuffy and traditional, probably didn't take too kindly to suddenly having to be on equal footing with those who were formerly their enemies. And lesser demons likely didn't love the idea of fallen angels immediately outranking them. At this point, the brothers are well-established as the top of the demon elite, but early on, they probably had to fight to be accepted. This is probably part of why Lucifer is so insistent on propriety and respectability!

And, let's not forget - not all the brothers are fallen angels. Though Satan is born from Lucifer and split off from him, he was actually born a demon. So if they were getting special treatment specifically for being fallen angels, that wouldn't actually apply to Satan. And yet, he's exactly the center of the brothers' ranking.

That's not to say we don't think their high rank in society isn't related to being fallen angels at all, but we think it's a bit more indirect.

Devildom rank comes largely from how powerful a demon is, and they are known as the most powerful demon brothers. However, if you think of angel society, they also have ranks. We can't say for certain yet how much those ranks depend on power, but it does seem like it's probably a factor. And out of those ranks, seraph is highest - but Lucifer was the only seraph among the brothers. We know Mammon was a throne and that Beelzebub was a cherub, but we are unaware of the other brothers' angels ranks. According to Christian angelology, presumably where the game drew the angel rankings from, that means that we know three of the brothers were in the highest tier, with Lucifer being at the Top.

The hierarchy of angels for reference:

Highest Order: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones Middle Order: Dominions, Virtues, Powers Lowest Order: Principalities, Archangels, (Other) Angels

Side note: Oof, that demotion for Simeon.

That being said, it doesn't make sense that the other brothers immediately became the strongest of demons right alongside Lucifer, because that would imply a massive power imbalance between angel and demon strength. If that were the case, the historical fighting between angels and demons should have actually had a very clear winner because it suggests that angels at all levels are stronger than virtually all demons.

The explanation we've sort of headcanoned for this is that angels have their powers artificially restricted by God. They are meant to serve him, and as we know by the rebellion and the brothers getting cast out, he does not like his authority to be questioned. So, angels may actually have far more potential for power, but we think that in their angelic roles, that power has been restricted. However, when the brothers fell, they turned to demons, which would have removed those restrictions from them, thereby unleashing far more power than they had as angels and making them strong enough to be considered top demons.

In short, there isn't a difference in how fallen angels and demons are perceived day-to-day in the Devildom, but in the case of the brothers, their true strength became unleashed after they fell and thus put them at the top of the demon hierarchy -- but they certainly had to put in the work to get the respect they now have.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me worldbuilding #demons being demons #ask and ye shall be answered #ask and ye shall receive (essays)#thank you anon for your patience!!#we're getting to our drafts we swear :')

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untaemedqueen · 4 years ago

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SandB Series

Alpha Werewolf!Taehyung x Mate!Reader

Chapter 12.

Genre: Werewolf!AU, Smut, Angst

Warnings: Feelings of Inadequacy, Use of Oc's Powers, Dirty Talk, Begging, Praise, Lactation Kink, Sexual Acts Involving Jeongguk, Jimin, Yoongi, Use of The Term: Bitch, Pregnancy Kink, Milk Drinking, Cunnilingus, Knotting, (Minor) Jungkook Handjob, Cream Pie

Being in Summit is eye opening on levels you never thought you would begin to grasp.

It's not just discovering you have powers, it's seeing how these two species you once considered mythological act around each other.

Even how they act within their own groups.

You've come to understand recently, or feel more accurately, that the Fae do not actually like the werewolves. In fact, there's a film of hatred that pours from their territory into the wolves.

It's shocking in all honesty, how do they keep up the charade? How do they keep the wolves from not knowing their fervent hatred?

It astounds you almost everyday.

What you've also come to realize is how different packs are than the one you're in.

Yes, even though you're a human, you've been told very rigorously by the servants that you are indeed still a part of the pack.

With your mate being pack Alpha, it seems that you're also held to a higher standard than all the other wolves in this group.

You can feel constant judgement from other female werewolves when you pass them in the streets or when they just pass by you on a whim.

Sylai, a female Omega you've been spending time with almost as much as Namjoon has been, seems to know all the hot gossip at the drop of a hat. However, she is timid and skittish at times whenever your best friend Alpha is around.

The pretty Omega is always quick to tell you why you're an outcast here and although you shouldn't be upset about it -- you almost always are.

You've come to terms with the fact that werewolves don't normally find their mates in humans, you've heard it from Taehyung's lips on more than one occasion, but you didn't think it would disgust others as much as it does.

When you've had the chance to view other packs, they seem to operate on levels of hierarchy you've never seen before.

The Alphas are always on top, the Betas a close second and the Omegas, most times, are treated like play things. Which is why you can understand that Sylai makes herself so small around Joon.

When you've been able to see other Alphas mates, they're very accommodating and docile. They're almost always pregnant which you understand and they bow to their Alphas every wish.

Sometimes you recall your past fights with Taehyung and lump forms in your throat. You can remember how he wished that you would just listen sometimes or not make comments and it truly makes you wonder… what if you aren't right for him?

You feel strong, thick muscled arms curling around your waist as you stare at the other packs down below your bedroom balcony.

"Hi, beautiful," your mate whispers, spreading his hand over your small belly.

"Hi," you breathe, letting your eyes flutter shut.

He's been away a lot recently, most because of the High Council asking his opinions of what to do with the rabid werewolves still at large -- including his parents.

"I missed you, baby girl." he coos, drifting his lips slowly over your mate mark.

You hum in agreement, running the tips of your fingers over his arms.

He peeks over your shoulder to look down at the random pack near the forest's edge.

He watches the Alpha snarl and snap his teeth at a Beta when he gets to close to his mate. Your fiance chuckles, burying his face in your hair.

"What's funny?" you inquire softly.

"Betas don't know how to behave sometimes," he replies, lifting the hem of your shirt to caress your growing belly.

Sometimes you feel completely out of your element and this feeling has been growing ever since you found out you're one of the Fae.

Maybe it's because you feel like you don't even know yourself anymore. You don't know who you are or who you should be.

The soothing scent of pine and musk breeches your senses once more and you allow yourself to be calmed by your mate at this very moment.

"Sylai has been spending a lot of time with Joon." you comment to him.

He hums in agreement, wanting to ignore his Alpha duties for just one minute of the day. If he accepts this fact, then his wolf will have to welcome someone new into the pack and he would just rather have these moments alone with you.

"I've seen it." he murmurs, pulling you closer to his body.

"Are you going to let her join your pack?" you ask, turning around to him.

You really like Sylai and you would really appreciate more female company around.

"Probably, Joon deserves to be happy." he answers, not wanting to dive head first into the matter.

"I mean, she's really sweet. I think she would be good for your pack."

The words 'your pack' don't sit right with your mate for a second. And he voices it openly as he pulls you over to the bed. "Why do you keep saying that? You keep saying 'your pack'? It's our pack. You're my mate, you're in this pack too." he inquires with a raised eyebrow, sitting down on the bed.

He pats his lap, leaning back on his elbows and like always you straddle him immediately.

"Well, I'm not a wolf. I'm a Fae or… just human so…"

He can smell your timidness, he can hear your heart hammering with worry and his wolf suddenly feels protective.

"What's wrong, baby?" he whispers, dragging his thumb over your lower lip.

You shake your head slightly, running your fingers over his tight black t-shirt that seems to hug each and every sinewed muscle on his chest and stomach.

"Hey now," he breathes, flipping you over so you're laying down beneath him.

You don't make eye contact with him, you don't so much as look above his stomach as he lays down beside you.

"Y/N?" he murmurs, kissing your temple.

It's stuffy in the room, you've come to realize or it just feels that way with his prodding questions.

"Y/N?" his voice is more forceful and you're just embarrassed to speak.

Werewolves aren't known for their patience. They need to know what's wrong, why this is happening and how to immediately fix it or there's very little in the world that will calm them down until the problem is solved.

The growl Taehyung emits throughout the room is a warning to you. It's a warning for you to speak up.

But you've seen Alphas immediately give in to their mates when they bare their necks. So you do so as well.

Taehyung's heart clenches in the recesses of his chest and he can almost scoff at your meekness. "Don't do that," he breathes, nuzzling your neck with his nose.

"Where's my spit fire mate today? What's wrong, baby?" he gasps, burying his face into neck.

"I'm sorry," you bleat.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? You're perfect, baby."

Your fiance can quite literally feel his heart panging with worry. He can hear some of your thoughts like you're screaming in the quiet room.

Inadequate

Unaccepted

Different

Human

Disgrace

"No, baby, no." he hisses, turning your face to look at him.

When your eyes don't meet his, he can only swallow thickly.

"I love you, baby girl." he promises, drifting his lips over your jawbone.

"I love you too." you mumble, looking down at your engagement ring.

"If-If you wanted to get another mate… maybe a wolf… I would understand."

The sharp breath Tae takes between his teeth, makes you shudder beside him. "Don't you dare, ever, suggest something like that. You're my soulmate, do you understand? You're my woman. My mate. I don't want anyone else, I could never be with anyone else."

"I'm not a wolf," you explain, turning to face him.

"So?! What does that have to do with anything?" he scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Well, most other wolves are disappointed that I'm a human. I'm not-"

"Who fucking cares about those newborn pups?! Who cares what the fuck they think?! They aren't in my pack and they aren't my mate!" he curses, sitting up and carding his fingers through his silver mullet.

You can see his chest vibrating with growls and snarls. You know you're pushing him to the edge but you just can't help it -- your insecurities are trumping everything right now.

"Are you embarrassed of me? Embarrassed of our children? Our pups?" Taehyung inquires, looking at you with hardened blue eyes.

"No," you reply, turning your body away from him.

"Then what is going on in that head of yours? You feel inadequate? Because wolves look at you differently?"

You stay silent, squeezing your eyes closed.

"Answer me, Y/N." he urges, running his hands over your back.

"They...They just look at me like I'm a disease or something. Like I'm not worthy of being with you. And… I don't want to be a burden to you or your pack."

He scoffs loudly, hooking his arm around your body and pressing his chest flat to your back.

"I don't care about others. You're not a disease. You're not a burden. You're mine. You're my beautiful, precious, headstrong mate who is just as much a part of my pack as Guk or Jin." he breathes.

When your silence bleeds throughout the room, he doesn't think he can stomach it for another second.

His canines drop out of instinct and he clamps his teeth softly down on your mate mark. If you were a wolf, you would be arching back into him needily already but it grounds him to know that things aren't so easy.

Yeah, you're stubborn and reflexive but you're his. And he loves that so much that if the Earth was crumbling he wouldn't care as long as you're in his arms.

Taehyung lifts the hem of your shirt, cupping your small belly. "I don't need anyone else but you, Y/N. You're a fierce woman and I count myself lucky to know you and to have you as mine."

"I'm sorry… I was just embarrassed… I don't want to burden anyone." you hiccup, looking down at his hand.

"Never, baby. You're never a burden." he promises, pulling the straps of your tank top down.

From your belly to your clothed core, his hand digs beneath the band of your leggings.

"Why would I want a meek little wolf when I can have a fierce fairy in my bed." Tae quips, turning you flat on your back.

Your breath hitches and you gasp gently when his fingers part your lower lips.

"T-Tae," you whimper, allowing him to position you as he sees fit.

As he climbs above you, his eyes roam over your body as if you're prey and you can't help the excitement that begins to bleed from your pores.

"Do a little magic for me, babe," he quips, kissing down your neck.

Snapping your fingers, you relish in the deep growl he gives when you both are stark naked.

"Pretty girl," he drolls, palming both of your breasts in hand.

When your nipples begin to bead milk, he can almost surely feel his knot twitching to expand already.

"I love you." his voice is a purr that echoes throughout your limbs.

"I love you too."

The kiss he captures you in is passionate and heated. You can feel the sharp points of his teeth raking over your bottom lip until your aching with need at your center.

"Flip over for me, my wolf wants to show you how loved you are." he coos, suckling at your nipple.

Flipping over onto your front, you perch your ass in the air for him and the complete sense of dominating ripples through your mate.

His eyes harden over, pupil dilating as he stares at the puckered mate mark that scars your skin.

"My bitch is so pretty full of my pups," the Alpha growls, knocking his forehead against your temple.

His movements are fluid and firm, spreading your legs to situate himself between them.

The head of his cock glides through your now sodden folds and you quiver with anticipation.

"Alpha, please," you beg, lowering your forehead to the pillow.

His sharpened nails dance over your spinal column, purring at how submissive you sound beneath him.

"What is it my pretty mate? You're aching? You need Alpha's big cock in you? Want me to split you open so well you don't even remember your own name?" he prods, rutting his cock to your core.

"Yes! I need it!" you preen.

His hands grip onto your hips, massaging the flesh within his large, warm grip.

"Well, if that's what you need," he hums, entering you in one intrusive motion.

Your mouth drops open into a silent scream, your hands fumbling to grip the sheets until your knuckles turn white.

This sex is primal and mind shattering -- and everything you need.

Taehyung can hear your thoughts screaming once more and he's pleased with what he hears this time.

More.

Complete.

Mine.

Ours.

Nuzzling your neck, he lets your cunt accept the intrusion of his large cock. He takes to caressing your three month pregnant bump to distract you.

"That's it, baby. You look so gorgeous stuffed with my cock inside your pregnant pussy." he mumbles against your ear.

You can feel his muscles contorting and hardening against your back.

"I would never love someone like I love you. I would never wish to be buried in someone like this, baby girl. Let them talk all the shit they want, because you're the one that gets this hard cock at night." he growls, rolling his hips for you to feel every inch of his cock within you.

Your mouth waters and a sharp moan emits from you at the feeling.

"No one takes my knot but you. And no one would ever take it so well."

Taehyung lets his prideful thoughts bleed past his lips because he knows you need to hear them. He knows you need the assurance. And he may be Alpha, but he's a slave to your love first and foremost.

When he pulls his length almost all the way out, your body sings with hot pleasure -- it's every thick vein and ribbed muscle along his cock that gets your mind numb.

"Only my beautiful mate," he thrusts back in to prove his point, "gets fucked stupid by my cock."

Your back arches, his name falls from your lips like a prayer and you don't even have the strength to lift your head up and look back at him.

He creates a dazing, relentless pace, fucking you just hard enough to keep you babbling but not hard enough to get your orgasm to approach.

He's proving a point. He's making you his again and again with every thrust.

His canines sharpen longer and they clench down on your mate mark just hard enough for you to feel a sting sing through you.

"Hey, Tae-" the door is thrust open and you can barely focus on who's just intruded but your mate just chuckles against you.

"Come in and sit." he orders, pushing your hair away from your mate mark.

His fingers glide over your distending skin, kissing down your back with soft, open mouth pecks.

"My mate thinks she's not enough for our pack." he announces and fuzzily you can hear murmurs of shock.

"She thinks she's not worthy of my knot and my pups," he growls, fucking into you harder.

"Tae!" you whine, pushing your hips back to meet every thrust.

"But she's a pretty bitch that still bends to my will," he coos, focusing on how much of your arousal has coated his long, thick length, "Yoongi, come."

He pulls you up by your shoulders, pressing you up against his chest with a snarl.

Yoongi sits before you, not knowing where to look but licking his lips hungrily.

"You want him to suckle? You want our pack to need you, bitch? Is that it? You want your scent all over all of them? To show these filthy mutts who live in this city that you're a queen amongst mongrels?" he inquires, kissing the shell of your ear.

You don't know what's driving you, you don't know if it's the insanely arousing thought of being above everyone else or it's the thought of being on top of this pack. But the sharp 'yes' you moan out has Yoongi growling with anticipation.

"Feed," he orders the Beta.

You gasp loudly at the foreign feeling of Yoongi's lips against your puffy nipple. You adore how his eyes screw shut at the taste of you. His hands grip onto your sides and you're lost for words when he ruts his clothed hard cock against your thigh.

"See, my beautiful mate, you're above all here." Taehyung coos, pressing his hand to the apex of your thighs and rubbing smooth circles to your swollen clit.

"Jimin." Taehyung calls and you hear the earnest whimper of your best friend.

"No, I don't think I should… I'm-" Jimin breathes nervously.

"Well fuck, if you won't I will," Jungkook groans, pushing Jimin out of the way.

Your head lolls back to your mate's shoulder and your vision becomes blurry with the attention your body is being given.

Taehyung knows that his wolf is sharing you for the sake of proving a point but he can't help the way his cock twitches within you as he watches Yoongi hump your leg like a dog in heat.

Jeongguk's lips on you are familiar and suddenly you can smell the forest from that fateful day when your fiance shared you with the youngest pack member.

"You gonna cum? Hmm, beautiful? I can feel your pregnant cunt trying to milk my cock," your mate growls in your ear.

The small whimpers of the wolves suckling from your breasts, sends you over the edge and Yoongi is quick to press his hands against your rib cage to keep you from falling.

"That's a good little bitch," Taehyung gasps, fucking you with a fierceness to cum inside you.

"You want it, baby? You want my cum?" he goads, kissing over your mate mark.

"Yes, please," you cry out, carding your fingers through both Yoongi and Jungkook's hair.

Jimin lets out a sharp whine, feeling conflicted on what to do. But, this probably will never happen again in his lifetime and even though you're his best friend… he's not missing this. "Fuck it," he curses, jumping onto the bed.

He eyes you wearily for a second, avoiding your stomach which he knows is solely the Alpha's property and heads straight for your swollen, over-stimulated clit.

Your mate on instinct cups your growing stomach, growling as his best friend makes his dissent.

Your body shivers like a leaf when Jimin's plush lips kiss at your bundle of nerves.

"Oh God!" you cry out, gripping onto the boy's hair harder.

Yoongi curses against your breast, pulling off your nipple to catch his breath as his shorts become sticky and slack against his golden skin.

"Fuck, baby girl. I'm cumming," Taehyung murmurs breathlessly.

The swiftness of Jimin's tongue knocks the wind out of you and you spiral into another orgasm with ears filled with white noise and eyes seeing stars.

"Shit! Y/N!" your mate growls, pulling you back roughly to his cock until you’re squirting your arousal onto his thighs.

Jungkook whimpers needily, guiding your hand to his swollen cock.

"Pup," Taehyung warns him, stilling your hips as his thrusts become erratic.

He takes a sharp breath between his teeth, cursing loudly when he begins to cum inside you.

His lips tremble against your mate mark when his knot begins to inflate and you can only whimper at the stretch.

"Good girl taking my cock so well," your fiance coos, pressing his index finger beneath your chin and turning your head to kiss him.

"Noona, please. God!" Jungkook whines, nuzzling his face to your breast.

Taehyung can only give a breathy laugh against your lips. "See how needed you are? Guk is going to explode if you don't help him."

Jimin pulls away from your core with innocent eyes and he kisses your forehead gently.

"I'm gonna go check on Baek and Chan." he murmurs, hopping off the bed.

Your mate's eyes follow him as he leaves the room and he doesn't appreciate the bloom of pheromones that bleed from the Omega. Almost as if he's caught feelings for you.

You haven't noticed with your attention on the youngest.

He suckles eagerly from your breast, whimpering and whining as he fucks up into your hand.

"Gonna cum, noona. Oh shit," he whines, burying his face into the valley of your breasts.

You hum sweetly, combing your fingers through his long black locks.

The warmth that explodes onto your hand is a knowing sign of the youngest's release and he cries out softly against your skin.

"Clean her up," Tae warns him and he's quick to do the Alpha's command.

You can feel your tiredness beginning to exhaust you and your mate knows it right away. "She's sleepy, let me lay her down," he whispers, laying on his side with you.

The tug of his knot has you wincing slightly but he makes up for it with his sweet kisses to the back of your neck.

"One time thing," he tells them.

Yoongi pulls at his cum covered shorts with a grimace. "Good enough for me."

Taehyung's large hand caresses over your head and he can't help but think of the scent that was drifting off Jimin in waves.

"I love you," you mumble, closing your eyes.

"I love you too baby girl. You and our pups," he replies, drifting his hand over your belly.

He knows your asleep when his breathing gets shallow and his knot finally deflates after a while.

Taehyung turns onto his back, perching his hands beneath his head as he closes his eyes. His ears perk up and he takes a sharp breath through his nose when he hears Jimin mumble across the mansion.

"I-I don't know. I just felt so-"

"Don't let Taehyung catch you talking like this! She isn't ours," Yoongi hisses to the younger Omega.

"I almost had her before Taehyung y'know, is it so wrong of me to still want her?! You all wanted her at that moment!" Jimin scoffs.

"Jimin, what we did was to help a member of our pack feel safe. You are becoming obsessed with her." Jungkook accuses.

Taehyung's eyes spring open, a deep low growl emitting through his chest. He can feel his canines and nails sharpening themselves. Gripping his shorts, he jumps out of bed with one thing on his mind -- vicious anger.

He can hear the maids and servants whispering nervously as he stalks through the wolframite hallways.

Your mate isn't in the headspace to calm anyone down at the moment, he can't possibly think of others when his wolf is yearning to tear out his best friend's jugular.

Slamming the doors to the dining room open, his eyes scan his pack before finding him.

"Oh shit," Jin mumbles, cupping his mouth.

"GET OUTSIDE!" Taehyung barks to the Omega.

The whole pack avoids eye contact even Jimin.

Taehyung is fast -- so fast that Seokjin's hair blows in the breeze he creates.

The pack Alpha grips the Omega by the neck, hurdling him over the wooden bench he's currently sitting on and dragging him towards the large glass doors that lead out to the backyard.

"Taehyung!" Jimin whines but he's quick to shut up at the feral snap of Taehyung's teeth.

"Someone go wake up Y/N! This is so bad!" Jin yelps, rushing after both of the wolves.

SandB Taglist- @jvcqneliue, @gooplibrary, @imaforeigner, @wickizer, @mychemical-friendship, @justmewondering-recs, @stories1907, @stressedinmedschool247, @taeslittletiger, @claireelise19, @neobanguniverse, @kb-bangtanenthusiast, @almosthappysublime, @thedarkwinterrose

#silver and blue series #sandb #werewolf!au #werewolf!taehyung #alpha werewolf!Taehyung #werewolf!bts #taehyung series #taehyung smut

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radishreader · 3 years ago

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It has become fashionable for modern workplaces to relax what are often seen as outmoded relics of a less egalitarian age: out with stuffy hierarchies, in with flat organizational structures. But the problem with the absence of a formal hierarchy is that it doesn't actually result in an absence of a hierarchy altogether. It just means that the unspoken, implicit, profoundly non-egalitarian structure reasserts itself, with white men at the top and the rest of us fighting for a piece of the small space left for everyone else. Group-discussion approaches like brainstorming, explains female leadership trainer Gayna Williams, are "well known to be loaded with challenges for diverse representation," because already-dominant voices dominate.

But simple adjustments like monitoring interruptions and more formally allocating a set amount of time for each person to speak have both been shown to attenuate male dominance of debates. This is in fact what Glen Mazarra, a showrunner at FX TV drama The Shield, did when he noticed that female writers weren't speaking up in the writer's room--or that when they did, they were interrupted and their ideas overtaken. He instituted a no-interruption policy while writers (male or female) were pitching. It worked--and, he says, "it made the entire team more effective."

–Caroline Criado-Perez, Invisible Women (2019)

#caroline criado perez #invisible women #quotes

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kittymsmithwritesstuff · 4 years ago

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Octane likes to fuck with people

You know there was a statement from a Respawn writer on Twitter months or even a year ago that basically summed up Octane as, “he’s really, really smart about stuff he cares about, but if he doesn’t care he literally just doesn’t bother”.

Going off of this, a lot of people in fic seem to put Octane up as a dude that has no true idea how high society fashion and manners go because he doesn’t care (which is totally valid) but I think the idea of him absolutely knowing all about it for the express purpose of breaking every convention possible on a whim is hilarious.

He knows all the movements, mannerisms, which fork to use and what color handkerchief to put in his suit pocket dependent on the occasion, he knows how to speak to whomever based on their place in Psamathe’s bullshit hierarchy. He knows how to get a good fitted suit (admittedly that’s pretty easy for a trillionaire’s son). He knows all the shit he should know, and actively uses that knowledge to go against it.

Black tie affair (S7 comic)? Motherfucker showed up in a green suit jacket, purple tie and waistcoat and black undershirt and pants. He knew what was expected and subtly rebelled against it by wearing something that could be considered gaudy and at the very least was inappropriate enough to be attention grabbing and invite disdain from stuffy types, but not quite over the top enough to get kicked out.

There’s also a mentioned time during the lorebook where he recalls his dad forcing him to go to some meeting, and that he went and walked off a bridge just to “feel something”. He went to the meeting, but we can’t say he didn’t do something like he did at the gala, with wildly inappropriate colors or dress arrangement, or mannerisms that he could just get away with, cause just enough of a fuss to bother people or get kicked out but not to get him in any lasting trouble.

He did and does stunts and chases an adrenalin rush wherever he goes, but fucking with people had to be this dude’s original pastime for at least most of the time. There would definitely be a threshold that he could only break a certain number of times before the consequences started to actually outweigh the reward.

There was a reason he went off planet; besides being better places to pull his shit, there’s pretty much no consequences on Solace or Talos, and Gaea, despite it’s arguably stricter laws than Psamathe, didn’t have the “close to home” aspect that could make doing stupid shit difficult. So he figured out the best way to fuck with the people around him and did it. Dude doesn’t have the socialite flair that comes from purposeful practice, but he’s smart and knows how to fuck it up.

TLDR: Octane knows all the high society bullshit because while he didn’t care about the high society practices, he really enjoyed using it to fuck with people in the best way possible and whatever way kept him from overfilling his “before shit REALLY hits the fan” meter.

#octane #octavio silva #apex legends #apex legends headcanon #apex legends headcannon #octane apex legends #octane character study #apex legends character study

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teletraan-meets-jarvis · 4 years ago

Text

Savior

AO3 Link

Pairing: Commander Thorn x Fem OC (Mayakel Renspou)

Summary: Maya's first night on the job as a cleaner in the Senate building resulted in her being on the receiving end of a Senator's wrath. Thankfully a kind Commander on patrol arrives to defuse the situation.

Warnings: 12+, none really, bit of aggressive language at one point.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Notes: This is the start of a little short series involving my OC Maya and her interactions with the Corrie Guard over the years. As always, feedback is really appreciated, along with reblogs! Thanks so much for taking the time to read.

The air in the grand senate corridors was cool this evening. A regal smell lingering from those who’d graced said hallways earlier that day. The only light source being the flares of bright colours that shone from the city beyond the window, dancing an array of patterns onto the golden decor.

Smooth jazz flowed through Maya’s headphones, keeping her in her own world and breaking the otherwise eery silence of the political capital. Her feet shuffled slightly to the beat as she continued mopping, drawing patterns with the wash solvent as she went.

It was her first night on the job as a junior cleaner for the Senate’s contracted company. She still hadn’t quite got over the shock of finally managing to get herself a good, honest job. This was it, the steppingstone that would help her haul her way out slowly up from the lower levels of Coruscant where she currently resided. It’d taken a lot of dodgy jobs and keeping her head down while continuing to study for qualification after qualification, hoping that one day she’d find that golden opportunity. The one which would lift her to the upper levels where the air was fresher and the people nicer. Well, that’s what she’d heard anyway. Now finally, she was on the way up, the hard work paying off. The job paid well, it was an honest day’s work and, according to her Pantoran colleague, apparently the Senate building had some of the juiciest gossip around. It seemed the Senators forgot that other beings existed in these hallways, leaving plenty of criminalising evidence just hanging in the stuffy air.

Maya chuckled to herself at the thought, still not quite believing it. These Senators were fancy folk who were taught word play and etiquette from birth, surely they had a bit more about themselves to be able to keep their private lives private.

She was pulled from her thoughts once realising that she’d finished her mopping in the corridor. Taking a moment to admire her handiwork with a small smile, she grabbed her bucket and made her way back to the supply cupboard to get the wax needed to make the floor sparkle.

The dirty water in the wash bucket swished and splashed as she lugged it back to her station, still singing away in her head to the music that played from the small datapad, tucked into the leg of her grey, utility trousers.

Still in her own world, she wrenched the door of the cupboard open. The view she was met with however caused her to drop the dirty bucket in shock, spilling its contents all over the floor she’d just spent the last hour cleaning.

Maya’s mind wasn’t focused on the mess though and instead she locked gazes with Senator Liss and one of the core world senatorial aides, who held each other in a rather compromising position, both in various stages of undress. Her brain had shut down from the sheer shock and awkwardness of the situation, leaving her mouth hung open with no words coming out.

The Senator apparently wasn’t a fan of her gawking. He made that abundantly clear once he clocked the cleaning uniform and proceeded to start screaming obscenities at her for invading his privacy. I mean you were in MY cleaning closet, pal.

The onslaught was ruthless as the large man emerged from the small space, backing Maya up until she was stuck between the man’s awful words, his even worse breath, and the ornate corridor wall. “Who do you think you are, you sick, disgusting, lower-level scum.”

“I’m so, so sorry sir, I had no idea. Please forgive me.” She replied, throwing all her effort into backing down and taking the verbal abuse from the renowned Senator.

“I swear they hire dumber staff each and every time. What of it now filth, you going to run to the holonews?” He bellowed, shattering the silence that had descended on the Senate building that evening.

“Sir, please. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again. I saw nothing I swear.” She pleaded, Kriff she really couldn’t lose this job.

“When I’m through with you there won’t be a planet in the entire galaxy that will hire you, you stupid waste of-”

“That’s enough, Senator.” A modulated voice cut through the tension, pulling the Senator’s wrath away from Maya for a few moments. The man whirled around to stare down the Clone Trooper, who was ironically far taller than him, forcing the Senator to drag his eyes upwards until they were level with the soldier’s dark visor.

The Trooper’s armour was different from the others that usually patrolled the building, he wore white armour with red accents on the upper chest and shins. His helmet was red in the face, adorned with a grey visor. Above the visor two wings were visible either side, their red colour making the images pop against the white plastoid. It was all finished off with a grey Kama which fell to his knees in length, the red piping around the edges pulling the whole ensemble together. He looked like authority personified. Like he could command the attention of any room, as he was currently doing.

“And what of it Clone? Move on, this doesn’t concern you.” He spat out the name like it was bitter in his mouth before turning back to face Maya. However, the Clone Trooper made no effort to leave.

“It’s Commander, sir.” The red and white soldier stated boldly, making her eyes widen at his confidence as he closed in on the Senator. “And my duty is to protect all occupants of the Senate building, including our cleaning staff, and I don’t think being screamed at by a Senator for doing her job was in her contract, do you?” He was standing before the Senator now, his armour-clad form towering over the small man.

“What’s your number Clone, and who is your superior officer?”

“It’s CC-5870 and that would be Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, Senator.” the trooper deadpanned back, nearly making her chuckle. Eventually the Senator backed down, knowing that going to the Chancellor about one Clone was a waste of time.

Grumbling, the large man grabbed his remaining clothes from the floor of the closet and dragged the young senatorial aide behind him, trudging away in embarrassment. Just before the pair departed, the Senator span back round on them both “A word about this to anyone and I’ll end the both of you.” While the power of this Senator was quite strong, neither Maya nor the Commander could quite take his threat seriously as he stood there in his underwear, having lost this battle.

“Of course, Senator. Have a nice evening.” The trooper replied, a clear smirk in his voice, making the man scoff before finally leaving the pair in peace. Maya took a deep breath and wiped away the spittle that had landed on her face from the Senator’s outburst. The Commander looked over to her, his helmet hiding whatever expression his face held. “Are you okay? I know the Liss can be a bit rough.” His voice had softened tremendously. The authoritative tone replaced with a friendly gentleness.

“Uh, thank you, Commander sir. I’m fine.” She replied with a slight smile “I’m so sorry about this. I didn’t know they were in there. I would never want to cause any trouble I-” she started blabbing, panic settling over her mind as the prospect that she could very much loose this job became real. She didn’t know much about armies or their hierarchy, but she knew Commander was a high position and she wanted to make sure he knew it was an accident.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. He’s all bark and no bite, I guarantee he would’ve forgotten your face by the time he’s finished his little affair.” The nice Commander reassured, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, Commander. I hope you’re right.”

“You can call me Thorn.” He replied.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Thorn. Given the circumstances.” Maya’s small attempt at humour made him chuckle and the sound brought another smile to her lips. Considering the short amount of time she’d spent with this trooper, he seemed to be an expert and making her lips turn upwards.

“You too, Mayakel” She was about to question how he knew her name until she’d clocked the massive name tag attached to her bland, grey uniform.

“Ah, my friends call me Maya.”

“Oh, are we friends now?” Thorn teased. Maya’s eyes widened once again as she started stuttering before the Commander chuckled and assured her, he was only messing with her. “I’d like to be friends.” He left the statement out there, her cheeks beginning to ache as she smiled yet again at the soldier.

“Well, I best get back to work and clean up the mess I made.” She gestured to the dirty pool of water that sat on top of the marble flooring. “Quite the first day on the job.”

“You’re doing better than most.” He said, his tone light. “Well, I hope you don’t get fired.” He raised his hands and actually proceeded to shoot finger guns at her. Finger guns. And this guy was a Commander?

“Gee, thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she chuckled at his childish antics.

“See you around.”

Maya felt her cheeks burn as she smiled, having turned her back to the kind Commander who continued his patrol. Despite the evening’s events, should she return back to work the next day, Maya felt confident that she’d at least have one ally in the Senate Building from now on.

Back to Masterlist

#star wars #clone wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #clone wars fanfic #clone wars fic #commander thorn #commander thorn x oc #coruscant guard #star wars oc

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honestandsincere · 6 years ago

Text

musicality

O C T O B E R 2 0 1 9 / / E L R E Y T H E A T R E ‘ S B A T T L E O F T H E B A N D S

There are certain moments in life in which one can tell are important. Even without the benefits of hindsight, you just know that whatever is happening is pivotal, memorable. Life is appreciated retrospectively until you are submerged in scenarios and situations that seem significant.

Ethan knows this is important, he's known this for a while. He's had time to mentally prepare himself for the sudden surge of dread that washes over him, the stickiness of his palms and the tsunamis of self-doubt. This is a big moment, it will be a big moment, and he does not need hindsight to figure this out. He feels as though he's in some coming-of-age Disney Channel movie his sister used to watch when she'd monopolize the television during summer vacations. Ethan's worked hard for this, he just doesn't want to play a sepia montage of childhood to understand this moment's importance.

He thinks of his first-ever music lesson, with Mr Schumer in first grade. He remembers the maracas being nauseatingly sticky and the tambourine's tiny cymbals being stuck together by some unidentifiable congealed substance. His backside was numb from being sat crosslegged on the linoleum floor, his legs tingling with pins and needles, but he remembers feeling overwhelmingly happy. The tinny ringing of the background disk hummed in the stuffy classroom air as innocently unrhythmic arms shook instruments violently, grins plastered on lunch-stained faces. Ethan tastes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

He ran into Mr Schumer a few weeks back, in the supermarket. He was buying wine for his wife, he'd told Ethan it was their fifteen-year anniversary. This made Ethan feel old, he recalled a clean-shaven young man bringing his girlfriend into their classroom on a Friday afternoon, subjecting her to their inquisitive eyes and naively inappropriate questions. Mr Schumer knew about the band, he said he'd seen them on posters plastered on street corners, even heard the odd song on the local radio station. Apparently, he always knew that Ethan would pursue music, or at least something creative. This was strange because Ethan was never prodigal or exceptionally good, he must have been enthusiastic.

Ethan thinks about the first time he really listened to music. It was when he and his father had taken a drive out of town to fetch the Christmas tree from a family friend's farm. Grayson could barely breathe through his clogged sinuses and Cameron was helping their mother assemble a gingerbread house, too afraid to face the cold. Ethan reckons he must have been around six. Just him and his dad in their car. This was when he'd first been introduced to The Beegees, his father urging him to appreciate 'proper' music. Ethan relives the fact he was unable to comprehend why Barry, Robin and Maurice were singing in such high-pitched voices, marvelling at their ability to not sound stupid. 'I know your eyes in the morning sun' were words he'd soon know but not fully understand, as familiar as the taste of cinnamon and cloves.

"You nervous?"

His brother's lumbering entrance cracks open his blissful reverie. Grayson looks positively terrified, his face pale and eyebrows drawn inward into an unsettling crease. His frame fills the doorframe, blocking the neon lighting of the hallway. The dressing room falls dim. Ethan licks his lips in search of words but decides to shake his head anyway.

"You know, nerves are good. They mean you give a shit, and that's important."

Ethan doesn't reply. Grayson, suddenly alarmed by his silence continues. "Everyone believes in you, E. You guys have got this in the bag - like you've basically already won. Pretty much everyone in the crowd is wearing a SU t-shirt."

Ethan turns to look at himself in the mirror. Sadly, it is not framed with dying lightbulbs, it's not particularly atmospheric. He notes that he doesn't look especially nervous or apprehensive, he looks normal. Griff had told him to dress nice, Ethan does not really know what that means. He settled for black jeans and an oversized white t-shirt, he looks like himself. "If you wanna talk about it, you know, vent and like let everything out, you can-" "I'm fine, Gray." "That's the kind of shit nervous people say." "I'm not nervous." "OK," Grayson does not sound very convinced, he rolls his eyes at his brother's stoicism, "Griff and Manny have gone for a drink." "I know." "Are they planning on getting drunk or something?" "They're getting coffee." "Oh."

Ethan runs a tattooed hand through his hair, purposefully dishevelling it to his desired look. He gives himself another glance in the mirror, then turns to sit on the fake leather couch the venue has provided them, crossing one leg over the other. Maybe he should have accepted Griff's invitation to join them on their venture for coffee, he feels encased in the grimy walls of their dressing room. Grayson appears jittery; he fiddles with the signet ring on his index finger, twisting it relentlessly. This is his first time backstage and it shows.

"Mom and Cam are in the audience," he says once he's bored of his heirloom jewellery. "Mom's here?" Ethan can't tell whether the knowledge of his mother's presence in the crowd makes him feel better or worse. "In merch and all." "Jesus."

Ethan imagines his mother being thrown about in the sweat-drenched mosh, her perfectly styled hair getting tousled by rambunctious, inebriated youths. He can picture her grimace, grinning through the pain for the sake of her son, singing words she's not too fond of but were written in her garage. She never really wanted him to pursue the band, she didn't think it would amount to anything worthwhile; a trio of slightly overzealous boys writing songs about girls who listen to The Smiths and drink vodka straight. Ethan's mother loves him, she wants the best for him and until the video of the boys performing a Beatles song when viral on YouTube, she had assumed law school was the way to go.

"Don't let Manny curse," Grayson's eyes are wide with trivial fear. "I can't make any promises."

It's incredibly naive to assume that Manny won't speak profanely onstage, it's very rare that he does not. Being on the synthesizer, he is restricted from engaging with the crowd the same way in which Griff, their frontman can. Manny has developed an affinity for screaming various explosives into his mic as the beat drops in their more upbeat songs, grinning wide with unabashed pride as the audience cheers in response. Both Ethan and Grayson know their mother will not be impressed, it's almost as though they are constantly trying to prove to her that this was the right decision. Letting them move to Los Angeles to follow their dreams was not an easy thing for her to do, they knew this all too well.

"Do you know which song you're gonna play?" Grayson moves to perch himself against the precarious dressing table, his broad frame covering the mirror entirely, "Probably There's a Reason Why." "Nice," he elongates the vowel. "It's the video that has the most views, we're assuming that it's the one that people are most likely to know." "Smart move."

Griffin Fraser is trustworthy. Of all people, Grayson Dolan would know this. When he scuffed his knee on the kindergarten tarmac on their first day of school, to when his collarbone popped out on the football field during their championship game, Griff was there. With floppy hair and a tendency to speak almost irritatingly slowly, Griff has always been a hit with the ladies, swanning his way through school at the top of the hierarchy. As Grayson's best friend and Ethan's bandmate, it's almost as though he's their triplet - a third Dolan brother. His voice sounds like the lovechild of a Gallagher brother and an indistinguishable eighties superstar that everyone's uncle adores. Griff calls the shots and nobody complains.

"What are Patchwork gonna play?" "I overheard their Stefan talking to one of the runners, I didn't recognise the song's name. That can't be a good thing."

Ethan shakes his head in denial, Patchwork are good. LA natives with catchy melodies and heavy bass, they're popular at house parties and with those lighting spliffs in their parents' basements. Ethan listens to them himself, he likes their stuff. With three edgy musicians oozing sex appeal and singing about problematic boyfriends and systematic sexism, they are always crowd-pleasers. This battle had become a war as soon as El Rey had announced that the competition would pit Sunday’s Unrest (Ethan’s band) against Patchwork. Things get personal when bands are compared, particularly when they are familiar with one another. Ethan is too familiar with Patchwork. Too caught up in figuring out whether this familiarity is a blessing or a curse. "I wouldn't worry about them, E." "This is a competition, I'm supposed to worry." "Not if you're the best band." "That's not up to you to decide." "Unfortunately."

There's a laugh from outside. A loud, ferocious female laugh that has Ethan and Grayson sharing a confused look. She waltzes into the room without knocking on the opened door, her hair fanning behind her. "No way were you just listening to our conversation," the younger twin groans, running a hand over his face. "This is a competition," she mocks, a smirk taking over her flushed face and Ethan wishes he doesn’t recall how her lips taste, "I'm supposed to eavesdrop."

Ethan rolls his eyes at her, not being able to believe the fact he hadn't seen this coming. The intimidation tactic. Sending Y/N Y/L/N into their dressing room as a means of psyching the band out, getting into his head. Dangling the most brilliant prize in front of him, only to snatch it away with his own regret. It’s just him and her. And his brother. "Nice to see you, Y/N," he deadpans, untangling his legs and sitting upright on the couch. "You too, E," she leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest.

Y/N Y/L/N could easily be the face of her generation. She's just too cool. In a worn looking Paul McCartney T-shirt and a black miniskirt, Y/N exudes confidence. Her effortlessly messy hair has been tucked behind her ears, showing an array of silver studs in her lobes. An embodiment of edgy, the perfect frontwoman. Patchwork burst onto the music scene a few years ago, garnering attention with their memorable choruses and ability to soundtrack melancholy lyrics with an upbeat melody. Y/N, a personable and eccentric vocalist and guitarist, is venerated by many a journalist. Her interviews go viral online as she giggles and charms her way through somewhat tricky questions, always relatable and consistently loveable. There's Maria on the drums. She's rather quiet, not usually partaking much in press events but is gorgeous nonetheless, in a mysterious nobody-can-tell-what-she's-thinking-but-they-want-to-know-everything-about-her kind of way. Sara is on bass, she's the funny member of the band, hilariously clumsy and adorable. Her self-deprecating sense of humour makes her a hit with audience members as she cracks jokes at her own expense during their sets. Patchwork are the whole package, people either want to sleep with them or be them. It's almost irritating how perfect they are.

"How've you been, Y/N?" Grayson asks politely, cocking his head to one side as though the analyze her every detail. "Not too bad, I'm a little nervous though," there's an edge to her voice that sounds sincere, Ethan wants to feel sympathy for her because he can empathize wholeheartedly. But, she's competition and he desperately wants to detach any feeling from her. Grayson nods his head slowly, unsure of what to say. It's as though he doesn't want to offer her comfort in fear that it might give her a sudden boost of confidence which, in turn, would lead to Patchwork winning the competition. Is he a sadist?

"What song are you guys playing tonight?" Y/N looks at Ethan almost hopefully. He figures there's no harm telling the truth, "There's a Reason Why." "I like that one." "Yeah, me too."

Grayson senses some uneasiness in the room, as though they're dancing around a topic that he is utterly unaware of. It's like they're communicating telepathically or something. He feels a slight pang of jealous, telepathy is his and Ethan's thing. "What about you, Y/N?" he asks, despite knowing the answer. "If I Could Change Your Mind," she shrugs, "it's kind of an old one." "I know it," Ethan says with a certain intensity that makes her pout a little, her bottom lip jutting outwards ever so slightly. "I expect to see you singing along then," Y/N says, looking at him intently before turning on her heel and walking out through the opened door.

"May the best band win!" she calls from down the corridor.

---- D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 8 / / A N U N K N O W N B A R I N L A

The room is gently spinning. The edges of objects like tables and chairs are soft and blur into one another. This is a suitable state of tipsy. Appropriate. Enjoyable but sensible, knocking the edge off. Ethan, Manny and Griff are celebrating. Charlamagne just went gold and they could not be happier. They're not even twenty-one but their management (consisting of a middle-aged man named Stefan) snuck them into this indistinctive bar downtown, buying rounds of drink and clapping each of the boys on the back.

"We've made it," Manny slurs, "We've actually fucking made it. Shit. Fuck." "I know," Griff's eyes are wide and he looks as though he's seeing in colour for the first time in his life, "this is insane." "Really insane," is all Ethan can manage.

He sips at his whisky, unable to distinguish whether he enjoys the burn it leaves in his throat. He's never gone out drinking before, only ever passed around a bottle of wine or gotten pissed of Manny's dad's beers in their basement. This is what being a rockstar tastes like, he thinks. Ethan called Grayson a few hours ago to tell him the news. Then he'd called his mother and then his grandmother and then his aunt and then he'd shoved his phone into his back pocket and shaken his head in disbelief. The song he's written. The song he'd shown Griff and asked for some help with. The song Manny said was shit, to begin with, but then actually really liked once they got to play it. Charlamagne. Gold.

"We're fucking famous," says Manny, puffing out his chest a little. "Sort of," Ethan half laughs. "Three boys from New Jersey with weird music tastes," Griff muses, "this is the kind of shit they make movies about." "Indie movies," Ethan clarifies.

He lets his eyes roam across the room for a second, dancing over the warped figures in his drunken haze. And that's when he sees her. The girl he'd hooked up with within the first month of moving to Los Angeles. The one with the weird taste in music like him, with the messy hair and wide smile and obnoxious laugh. It had been at Griff's apartment, (it was essentially a room in an almost dilapidated building, Griffin used words like 'rustic' and 'charming' in order to describe it) she'd flirted nonchalantly with him and he was slightly enamoured. Ethan thought she was perfect; her snide remarks at Manny's bad jokes, the way she and her bandmates acted like sibling rather than colleagues and the way she told him his Jersey accent was impossibly strong. Ethan doesn't think he has an accent. They'd vanished into Griff's 'bedroom', high on adrenaline and Manny and Sara's secondhand smoke. Neither of them was intoxicated, and yet the night is a blur of tangled limbs and sheer excitement with flashes of clarity in her laugh and smile.

Y/N Y/L/N.

She's here with her band too, he remembers that Stefan is also their manager. They are good. Stitchwork? Crochet? Patchwork. "Holy shit! It's Maria! And Sara! Fucking hell, Y/N!" Manny yells, drawing the attention of all the drinkers in the velvet-adorned room.

The three girls seem so glide towards them, catching eyes and throwing smiles in all directions like confetti. Ethan notices that Stefan catches them before Patchwork meets Sunday's Unrest. Their manager is gesticulating wildly, causing Y/N to chuckle, Maria to snort and Sara rolls her eyes mockingly. He thinks maybe Stefan is warning them of the state of the boys' drunkenness as if to preface their meeting with a few words of caution. Ethan figures this is sensible.

"Get over here!" Manny howls, waving his heavy arms above his head like he's drowning in a cola and Bacardi riptide. "If it isn't Captain Fuckboy and his devout followers!" Sara retorts, swaggering past her manager and straight towards the boys' booth. Griff's eyebrows draw inwards, "Sara, are you pissed?" "Pissed off," she shrugs, folding her arms over her leather-clad chest and glaring at Ethan Dolan with intensity.

Shit.

"Oh," Manny is as smug as a younger sibling, grinning at Ethan with little camaraderie, "you're talking about Ethan." "You know I am." "Listen, neither Manuel or I am responsible for our bandmate's endeavours," Griffin attempts to sound unfazed. Ethan has nothing to say, he feels his cheeks heating up with what could be embarrassment or shame, but he's reached the stage of drunkenness in which all emotions bleed into a melancholic mess.

Sara ignores both of the floppy-haired boys, her stare focusing on Ethan, "You could have called her, or texted her. She really liked you."

Ethan Dolan is not a douchebag. He does not mess girls around, he never has and doubts he ever will. But he slipped up when it comes to Y/N Y/L/N. To say he is intimidated by her is a pathetic excuse, but it's the closest he can come to an explanation. Guys like him do not get with girls like her, she's too cool. He was scared, terrified of his imminent failure when it comes to dating. So he decided it would be best if he pretended their encounter never happened. It gave him peace of mind for maybe an hour or so. "I didn't think Y/N wanted to pursue anything," is what comes out of his mouth, his voice sounds alien.

"You're a dick, Ethan."

----

O C T O B E R 2 0 1 9

Grayson Dolan waits until the girl in the Paul McCartney t-shirt is out of earshot. He listens to the rhythmic clicking of her ankle-boots on the hallway floor, hearing them fade until he and his brother are sat in silence. "Remind me when you wrote the song," he says. "Excuse me?" "Remind me when you wrote There's A Reason Why." "I don't know, man. Like this time last year?" Ethan knows exactly when he wrote it, he can tell you which room it was written in. "Right," his brother doesn't sound convinced.

It's about Y/N. It's blatantly obvious that Ethan Dolan wrote the song about her. Or at least about that night in the unknown bar, avoiding her the whole time they were there. It's about how she tried to make conversation with him, asking him if he's been busy, fishing for clues as to why he never replied to her texts or answered her calls.

Y/N does not chase anyone, she gets chased. Ethan Dolan was the only exception. He was worth chasing. She reached out to him maybe five or six times, kicking herself when she'd been ignored. She's better than that and she knew it.

Ethan puffs air through his lips, drumming his palms quickly on his thighs and stands up. He stretches his tense arms out in front of him, shaking away his apprehension. This is too important, this opportunity is too big. He can't let himself fall into the chasm of anxious thoughts, all the 'what ifs' and 'maybes'.

"I'm gonna go find Griff and Manny," he rasps.

----

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 8

He can't feel his hands. He watches his fingers press down on the stiff keys, he hears the sound it makes. But his hands are numb. His head spins, his chest burning with the leftover alcohol. He'd staggered into his apartment, making a beeline for his bedroom. Ethan needs to write, or at least map out a melody for a tune that's swimming around in his head. He's a drummer by nature, rhythms are practically ingrained in his identity, but this melody is so salient in his mind that he has no choice but to get it out.

'There's a reason why I never returned your calls I wish I could forget it all But I never returned your calls 'Cause I'd fall in again'

He hums as he mixes various chords. The electronic ring of the Casio comforting his dissociated haze. Seeing her has brought it all back, the fear. Ethan needs her out of his system and the best way to dispel her lingering legacy is through his lyrics. He won't sing them because he's not a singer, he can't slur notes together smoothly the way Griffin can, his pronunciation is not as seductive or as nice to listen to. Ethan carries the tune. Pulling out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, Ethan records the succession of chords he's just haphazardly composed.

G. C. G. C. D. C.

It's lighthearted, it sounds like a synth-pop song that his mother would hum in the car as she drove him and his brother to football practice. The chords are simple and memorable, but his lyrics need to explain what he's feeling. How he has felt.

'Don't talk I'd have run to kiss your mouth Is it me Or just a dream that never dies?'

The words are forming effortlessly, flowing into one another without much of a struggle. Ethan reminds himself that he is very drunk and it is very likely that this sounds really awful, but he keeps going, somehow recording a few verses and the skeletons of a bridge. He likes it. He'd listen to it if it was being played on the radio, maybe he'd even turn it up. Manny could work wonder with some kind of synth-riff melody hybrids he conjures up when they rehearse. Griff could add some quirkiness with his performance, maybe changing up the melody a little to suit his voice. Ethan plays the recording back to himself, cringing at how bare his voice sounds. It's raspy and sonorous, but the melody is clear and is catchy. He taps out a beat on his legs, imagining the song post-production. He closes his eyes, trying his best to picture the band onstage, seeing the faces of thousands of enthused fans belting the lyrics he's just written. The music video would have to be eighties inspired, perhaps they could hire some dancers or something or film it in a proper studio.

He's tempted to crawl to his drum set that currently lives in his living room. He wants to play on top of the recording, hear it properly. Ethan's limbs are too heavy, his body weak with tequila and guilt. How was he to know that Y/N actually liked him? Jesus, he is stupid. Ethan wants to apologise to her but he knows that would make him look bad, desperate even. As if sliding back into her text messages to say sorry for pretending their little rendezvous didn't happen would somehow make her want him again. Sorry is a great word, but it only goes so far.

Ethan must have fallen asleep at the keyboard. He wakes the next morning to light streaming through his opened blinds. Head pounding, nausea pulsing through him. He needs water and an aspirin.

This song is a fucking bop.

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O C T O B E R 2 0 1 9

She's gorgeous. Otherworldly in the misty blue lights of the stage. She looks back at Maria, watching the brunette hits out a count of four with her sticks. Sara strums a chord, enticing the audience into the introduction of their song; a twang of the guitar and a heavy beat. On each accent, she throws her head back, her grin lighting up her face. The lights change colour to dusty pink, framing the girls and encapturing their beauty. Everyone has been sucked into their world, desperate to live in it.

Y/N presses her lips to the mic, tucking her hair behind her ear to keep it from her eyes. She glances at the people lining the front of the stage, smirking knowingly. She has them wrapped around her finger. On the cue of her voice, the beat drops. Maria pushes on with the pounding rhythm, hypnotizing and sharp. Sara quickly plucks a riff that has even Manny cheering.

'No Please don't cry I've never done this before Drove a million miles'

She's breathing melodically as if music pours from her soul. Y/N doesn't even look like she's trying, hitting every punch of the beat with her body. Swaying side to side as she fills the auditorium with high tempo melancholy. Ethan is so in awe of her. He wants her presence, wants to be that good of a performer. He's jealous of Maria's ability to keep perfect time, even as they play live. He wants to play the bass guitar with Sara's dexterity and verve. He wants Y/N.

'If I could change your mind I would hit the ground running It took time to realize And I never saw it coming Forgive my lying eyes Gonna give you all or nothing If I could change your mind I could make you mine, make you mine'

It's a great song. Like Grayson had mentioned earlier, it's not one he recognises. However, as he looks out into the mismatched faces of the audience, he notices that the majority of them seem to know the words. People are singing along, screaming and dancing. He wonders if his mother is enjoying, if Cameron is impressed. He certainly is.

"They're good, E," Grayson yells over the amps from behind him. "I know." "I wonder if this one's about you."

He does not have to turn around to see the smirk on his brother's face. This song is not about him, Y/N would never immortalise him in music. He's not great enough. There’s nothing to say that Maria or Sara did not write this song, it’s not exactly explicit. This song has a deep sentimental value to someone, his relationship (if it can even be called that) with Y/N is not one of deep sentimental value. Yes, it’s the main cause of all his daydreams - but it’s not love. He loves the idea of being in love with her, reckons he probably could fall in love with her within a few days. It’s utterly terrifying when it’s put into practice.

She turns to the wings, grinning at Manny who is bopping fiercely along to the tune. It’s as if the world presses the fastforward button on its remote when her eyes meet his. Everything rapidly speeds up, it’s almost headache-inducing. She’s narrowed her glitter-lined eyes gently, as if to focus on his features, to gauge whether or not he’s enjoying her performance. Y/N brings the mic to her lips, juts out her hip and sings to him. Regardless of whether or not the song was written about him or even written by her, this bit stings;

‘But if I was to say I regret it Would it mean a thing?’

Battles in the music world are dangerous, in the same way they are common. Battles in the music world with unexplored and unfinished feelings are incredibly perilous, in the same way they are uncommon. Ethan takes a deep breath.

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Hello! Long time no see! I’ve been so confused recently, but I was inspired by the lovely @ethanhes‘ post of a sort of band-inspired collage. I hope you guys like this! I’ve used Blossoms and HAIM’s music for each band, I just really love the vibe of the music and the lyrics seemed too appropriate! Lots of love x

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan one shot #ethan x reader #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan one shot #grayson dolan x reader #dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins oneshot

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sweetserenityrp · 5 years ago

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“Took those sticks and stones showed ‘em I could build a house. They tell me that I’m crazy but I’ll never let them change me till they cover me in daisies.”

Katherine WINGATE is thirty one years old. She/her is the owner of Chic to Chic Boutique.

☆ PAST

Katherine Rose Wingate was born into the inner circle of Serenity’s hierarchy. One would assume that any southern bell would be delighted for such an honor. Not this one. Katherine couldn’t stand the idea of being that prim and proper beauty that was only ever seen and never heard. Serenity and its infallible memory, reminded the patrons of the beloved city that they were always being watched. Not a moment of let up or breathing room to make mistakes unless you wanted to be some pariah. No Wingate could dare rival the grandiose legacy that had been blanketed at their feet. Not even the wonder girl with auburn waves and freckles.

From an early age, she had learned the importance of always looking perfect; even when you didn’t feel it. In this small town, she felt anything but perfect. Not that she cared anyway. The only bright side of the stuffy nature of her family’s proper nonsense was the doors it happened it open for Katherine. There was something so liberating about fabric and the way clothing could make you feel. Katherine felt at home nestled up next to a yard of silk. She used to make her dolls custom dresses and dreamed of one day designing her way into New York’s fashion empire. Yet, those big dreams seemed too big for the Wingate name. Her mother and father wanted her to stay home and marry into the tight circle. The thought made her cringe. Katherine’s wild heart begged to be freed from the rules of southern life. Between debutant practices and tutoring, Katherine took to adventuring with the one person in this world that truly saw her. To her mother’s dismay, she spent the better half of her time mirroring the legendary footsteps of the most loving and independent Wingate, Aunt Frances. The woman danced against the grain but seamlessly integrated into every aspect of the town in way no one could ever explain. Katherine wished she had the courage to dance like no one was watch and to sing at the very tops of her lung. Aunt Frances gave her the valor to chase her independence right out of this town. She loved her family dearly but the way in which they carried themselves only furthered her rebellion.

Katherine worked hard to build up not only her academic portfolio but her designs to submit to the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City. When she revealed her plans to her parents, they laughed at her desire and said she wouldn’t make it in a big city by herself. They did propose a compromise. If she got into Duke University for business, they’d pay for it in full and allow her to go. Katherine tucked her New York dream away and accepted. It was at Duke where she met William, the man who captured her heart but couldn’t quite reign in her soul. The two danced around each other for years before she agreed to consider marriage. Although, destiny and fate played devilish game when William’s mother fell ill, the two went their own ways. Katherine knew that he needed to be in Charlotte with her and that she needed to find her place in this world.

Katherine finally got her wish and settled in the Upper West Side of Manhattan to begin her developing her brand with her shiny degree in business and new found confidence. On a late friday evening, she stumbled into the fearlessly driven man who tied her heart up in twine so many years ago. It wasn’t long before the two began dating. Their relationship continued on and off throughout his law school career but when graduation loomed, he was offered the incredible opportunity to become a prosecutor in New York. The two were happy but love wasn’t easy or always enough to keep people together. Katherine got the news of Aunt Frances’s fraying health. She knew that the only place she needed to be was in Serenity with the woman who fanned the flames of her confidence. She knew that William had a real opportunity in New York and urged him to stay. If they were meant to be, they’d figure it out one day.

☆ PRESENT

Since moving back to Serenity, Katherine opened her own chic little boutique to bring some of that New York flare into Serenity.

In the fall, William returned with a sweeping gesture of love that endeared distance and difficulty. It took her some time to deal with the idea of being a kept woman but she loved him so dearly. The two were married in a quaint little ceremony in the church her grandmother got married in. Things were great until the dreaded conversation about children came up. Katherine wasn’t ready to commit to being a mother. Her own mother hadn’t been the best example and she didn’t want to put her own kids through the unhappiness of an unfulfilled woman. William wanted to dearly to be a father for the duel benefits of instant love and the boost to his campaign.

One day, a week or so after another argument about having kids, William made the mistake of hiding Katherine’s birth control pills from her in the hopes that he could get what he wanted if he reworked the path once again. In this instance, however, the action backfired and caused a rift between the two that wasn’t proving easy to mend. He has now secretly living in his own apartment across town and the two are estranged. Katherine is playing along with their happy couple image to protect William’s career but she didn’t know if she could handle coming second to his glory or being forced into some image of a perfect wife and mother in Serenity.

The Role of Katherine WINGATE is played by MEGHANN FAHY and is currently TAKEN.

#katwingate #meghann fahy #the bold type #bio rp #taken female #fc

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years ago

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I’ll Handle It

Negan x Reader x Bart (OMC)

A/N: This was written for @letsby ‘s 500 Freestyle challenge. My prompt was: “What’s bothering you.” The line is bolded in the fic. This was my first time really writing Negan, so please be gentle.

Summary: After working her way up the ranks in The Sanctuary, (Y/N) is tired and has had enough of one other Savior’s forward advances. When Negan gets wind of what’s happening, he gives her the opportunity to handle it.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Assault, non-consensual groping, angst, character death

WC: 4K

Tags: @kazosa / @sorenmarie87 / @negans-wife / @wings-of-a-raven / @buckyscrystalqueen // @crowleysreigningqueenofhell // @rawr-bitchess // @fictionaldemon // @thewalkingbucky // @spnhollis // @hanaissupergirl // @sourwolf-sterek32 // @alyisdead // @gemini0410 // @his-paradox // @mrsalliej47

Getting stuck on clean-up duty wasn’t too bad unless you were doing it outside in the middle of a heatwave. Things around the Sanctuary were always hardest when the temperatures rose. If you were inside the factory, it was stuffy and warm with not nearly enough functioning windows to allow a breeze in. Outside, it might as well have been a sauna. Throw in the stench of the dead ones rotting on the fences, and it was almost impossible to stomach.

But you did. You had too. You learned early on how to handle your shit.

Being new there meant you had to work your way in; earn your keep. It was worth it for protection from the decaying world around you. Too many unlawful men and women roamed the world now, and you had plenty of that before the world went to shit; no need to continue the same patterns while also fighting for survival.

A couple months had gone by, and by doing everything they’d thrown at you, you were granted an upgrade in accommodations. You understood the hierarchy and worked hard to prove not only your worth but also your loyalty. The Sanctuary was ruled with an iron fist, all the highest tier people keeping a watchful eye over the day-to-day operations; while Negan watched over them. You kept your eyes down but ears open anytime they were within earshot, never knowing when you could pick up something useful.

The taller one, Simon and his friend Bart liked to talk shit behind Negan’s back. The minute the big boss was anywhere close, they would fall right back in line and kissing Negan’s ass. This went on for a couple more months and as you settled into a new life at the Sanctuary, your past traumas from time out in the wild were starting to fade.

Until it was brought back, thanks to that drunk piece of shit, Bart.

The hard work and understanding of your place in the pecking order, helped you move quickly up the ranks. It was those swift promotions that put you in direct contact with Bart Richmond, who answered directly to Simon. You were part of the canvassing crew, one of the groups that were treated well and with a good amount of respect when you walked the floors of the home base. You were out risking your life, looking for others to take in, new resources, supplies, other groups—whatever you could find really.

Coming back from an outing, it was late, and the rations had been low, so you were hungry and beyond tired. Before that run, Negan had Simon move you into one of the small apartments where you had your own bathroom, small television, and a kitchenette. For the last day or two of the trip, all you could think about was getting back to the Sanctuary and your little slice of Heaven there. As you were winding the halls back to your room, a looming shadow cut off the minuscule bit of light that guided you towards your room.

“Where ya goin’?” Bart asked casually. You couldn’t really see his eyes or his expression, but you could feel them on you which was not pleasant.

“Going home,” you mumbled and tried to move past him.

He blocked your path and grinned in a way that reminded you of the Grinch. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’m tired, Bart. Please move.”

“Aw, come now, sugar. You can’t be too tired for me?”

You looked at him incredulously and crossed your arms over your chest. “Move.”

“No,” he growled and took a step closer, ultimately pushing you to step back and hit the wall with no way to get around him. “I won’t. If you like that cushy little room you got and wanna keep it, you might wanna be polite and invite me back there…”

The closer he got, the more you could smell the booze on his breath. It was repulsive on him and mixed with the sweat from the day made him downright nauseating. The rank odor he wore reminded you of that night out on the road, weeks before landing at the Sanctuary. The men that found you sleeping in the hollowed-out tree had smelled similar; you could still feel their hands on you, holding you down and trying to rape you…

You shook the memory away and tried to maintain your composure but remain firm.

“What is your problem? I’m sure there are plenty of women here that would be thrilled to ask you back to their room. I, however, am not one of them. You wanna threaten me, Bart? Go ahead. I’d rather go back to cleaning rotted guts off the pavement then have you anywhere near me,” you growled and quickly ducked under the arm he had blocking your way.

Before you could get far, he spun and grabbed the top of your arm and squeezing hard enough to make you cry out. His other hand pressing against your stomach working its way towards your breasts.

He went to speak but was immediately cut off by a piercing whistle cutting through the halls. The ping of Negan’s bat, lightly bouncing off the metal railing that ran down the adjacent hallway wall caused Bart to stand up straight, immediately releasing your arm. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t before Negan saw the forceful grip, he had on you.

“Well, hey there, Bart,” he purred, flashing his eyes your way, squinting slightly as he tried to remember your name.

“Negan,” he said and went to kneel, as did you.

“No, no, get up, it’s fine. I was just shuffling by, thought I heard a little scuffle. Some sort of shit I can help take care of here?”

“No sir,” Bart said, standing straight as he could despite his mild intoxication.

“Wasn’t fucking asking you,” Negan frowned, then met your eyes. “I was askin’ the lady, here. Everything alright…?” he trailed off, still uncertain of your name.

“(Y/N), and yes, everything’s fine. Bart was just saying goodnight,” you answered, the second part came through gritted teeth as you glared at him from the corner of your eye.

“Seems to me that maybe Bart was a little too rough with you, (Y/N). You sure there isn’t a problem?”

“No sir,” you reaffirmed.

“If there is, I want you to know you can come to me. Especially if Bart here is getting handsy. You know Lucille’s rule, Bart… if the lady says no, she says no. No forcing yourself on anyone while under my roof.”

“Y--Yes sir, I know the rule,” Bart’s eyes twitched towards Negan’s companion Lucille, the dim light once again reflecting off her barbed wire accents.

“If you’ll excuse me… it’s late and I’m exhausted,” you said, cutting through the tension. “Night Negan,” you smiled at him gratefully and then threw another piercing look to Bart

As quickly as you could, you moved passed him and into your room, promptly closing it and locking the door.

By the time you were safely locked away, your heart was pounding, and your hands had begun to shake. You only hoped Negan hadn’t noticed. He had no use for a nervous and jerky soldier on his front lines.

Bart didn’t bother you again for several weeks. Until that afternoon he cornered you in the garden, you thought he was purposely steering clear of you. Negan, however, had seemed to take an interest in your day to day activities. Ever since that night he inadvertently stopped Bart from coming after you, you felt his eyes on you more and more.

Normally that unnerved you. Even if it wasn’t Bart or Simon… anyone that looked too long or eyed you in a certain way made you uncomfortable. Trusting people in this world was almost impossible; not that you could do it more easily before. Your life had been a series of bad choices and bad relationships. Always trusting the wrong person, whether they be a friend, employer or lover, you’d find yourself on the bad end of it because you trusted the wrong person.

Yet, when Negan was around, you felt safe and confident in what you were doing. The man himself was quite the showman, always making big entrances, a grand show of his power over the people, and how generous he could be. It was grating at times, but in a world where everything else was in decay, there was something about his arrogance that was alluring.

That afternoon In the garden while gathering food for a two-day supply run, Bart once again tried to get you in his favor by being an overbearing prick. Grabbing your ass as he walked by was not new, but then taking you by the shoulder, spinning you around and pushing you forcefully into a corner was not something you were going to tolerate.

“So, you change your mind on me yet?” he hissed through his filthy teeth.

“Fuck off,” you growled and brought your knee up into his balls.

He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, giving a huge sense of satisfaction. Bart was on his side, knees were drawn up into his stomach and groaning with pain. You crossed your arms over your chest and was about to make a snide comment when he suddenly got up, and as he went to lunge at you, you were once again saved by Negan’s timing.

“Bart!” he yelled sharply from the doorway. Negan, Dwight and Simon stood in the entryway between the garden and the interior of the Sanctuary. All three wearing scowls of dissatisfaction. “What in fuck’s name is going on out here?”

“She kneed me in the balls!” he whined. “This bitch should be kicked back down to the fence crew!”

Negan rolled his eyes and then looked in your direction. “(Y/N), did you kick Bart here in the nuts?”

“I did. He grabbed my ass and pushed me into the corner. Not the first time he’s done it, either.”

Negan clicked his tongue several times as his expression oozed disappointment. “Seems Bart here needs a reminder of the rules. Simon, take him up to my office please so he and I can have another fucking conversation about fraternizing with his peers.”

“Yes sir,” Simon replied and grabbed Bart by his collar, yanking him inside.

Once they had left, Negan approached you carefully, but his gaze remained intense and curious as he tried to read you.

“How long as this shithead been giving you a hard time?”

“Its nothing I can’t handle,” you said stoically.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said, his mouth frowning and his head ticking back and forth in consideration. “I don’t want him to get away with anything. But as big of a dipshit asshole, as he is, he’s one of my best scouts. You see my dilemma here?”

“No need for any severe punishment, I can handle myself where Bart is concerned. What’s best for The Sanctuary comes first.”

Negan was more than a little amused by your answer. “Hot damn, I think we got ourselves a keeper! You know, I gotta say, I love it when you strong ass women pop up and take me by surprise. Too fucking bad your type is in short supply.”

His tongue ran over his bottom lip, as he studied you. “Tell you what. We’re going on a run tonight, two days… max--”

“Yes sir, I was out here gathering food for that when Bart approached.”

“Great. Because I want you with us. You ride with me. 10-4?”

“Yes sir,” you repeated, pushing your shoulders back and standing up a bit taller.

“Good. Be ready to go in an hour. Don’t wanna waste daylight.”

On the second night of the trip, the necessary supplies had been loaded up into one of the following vehicles, but since it had taken longer than planned, Negan opted to set up camp for one more night before starting the trek back home.

Part of the haul had been several crates of liquor, including bourbon, scotch, vodka, and tequila. He handed out a few and told the group to enjoy, but still stay alert to any of the dead that may be lingering around their camp.

A few hours into the night, you went with Arat to go to the bathroom. Traveling in pairs was mandatory, and having her with you made you feel more comfortable then it being one of the men. Before you headed back, a twig snapped from behind, causing both you and Arat to unsheath your knives and prepare to kill. Bart appeared from the thicket instead and Arat put hers away, but you hesitated.

“Sorry ladies, had to take a squirt and got lost comin’ back,” he slurred, clearly intoxicated. “Arat, go on back, I need to talk to (Y/N) here.”

Being her superior, she gave a hesitant nod and did as was asked. The second she was out view, Bart swiftly moved around and blocked your path back to camp. He grabbed your bare arm and squeezed tight enough that you feared he may snap it.

“You fucking little bitch… you got me in trouble with the boss again. What’s with you, huh? I should snap your fucking neck,” he growled, bearing his teeth and his toxic breath.

“Get off me,” you warned through gritted teeth and tried to pull away.

He tightened his grip, pulled you in and grabbed one of your breasts with his other hand.

“Just let me get a feel,” he breathed, churning your stomach as his hand twisted your flesh under his fingers. “At least make gettin’ in trouble worthwhile.”

Struggling to get away, he yanked you further in towards him, then shoved you away, and your other arm straight into a branch jutting out from a tree. It was sharp enough to leave a cut that instantly began to bleed.

Bart just laughed and went to walk around you. He didn’t see the foot you stuck out just enough for him to trip over, sending him face first into a sticker bush.

“You bitch!” he roared and tried to get up to his feet.

You took off through the woods and found your way back to the camp, bursting through the bushes that lived at its perimeter. Conversations stopped as you came through, as all eyes turned to see what caused the commotion.

Ignoring them, you went back to your seat around the fire, and one person away from Negan. Once you sat down, you took a piece of rag from your backpack and used it to clean the blood off your arm. You were too intent on what you were doing to notice Negan swap seats with the person next to you until he spoke up.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Fine. Tripped coming back,” you lied, annoyed that you had to deal with Bart once again.

He leaned forward, got a good look at the arm Bart had squeezed and saw the very clear remnants of a handprint.

“Tree do that to you, too?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, but you continue to wrap your cut.

“Yep,” you replied, even surprising yourself with how short you were being with him.

"Don't you ever get tired?” he asked with an amused tone.

"Of what?"

"Carrying around that big, goddamned chip on your shoulder?"

“I don’t have a chip on my shoulder. I do what I need to in order to survive.” If you didn’t stay steely against all these incidents, even more of these shitheads would try to take advantage of you.

"Woman, you are exhausting." Negan smiled, "I'm not gonna lie, I'd like to see that energy put to better use."

From out of the same brush, Bart stumbled out and tossed a glare your way. When he saw you talking to Negan he quickly averted his eyes and found a place off the main group to sit. You noticed Negan’s eyes following him, then looking back to you for confirmation that Bart was once again at the center of your problems.

“Sure you’re alright?” he asked again, still calm in tone, but his dark eyes were ablaze with trouble.

“Yes si--”

“Negan. You can drop the sir, bullshit. You aren’t an ass kisser like them. I like you, (Y/N) your a ballsy chick. You handle your shit and I appreciate that.”

Unsure of what to say, you just nodded and thanked him. He sat, staring at you, then turned his gaze into the fire for a quiet, contemplative moment. You watched curiously as he suddenly stood up and garnered the entire group’s attention.

“I just wanted to raise one last salute to a job well done. When people can come together, work for a common goal and understand that their own personal needs don’t outweigh the needs of many, it always warms my big fucking heart.”

He moved slowly around the campfire, Lucille resting on his right shoulder as he smiled and praised the group for the haul they were returning home with.

“It just reaffirms what I’ve said from the beginning. We are all Negan. Working towards making the Sanctuary a place of order and safety. Giving to those who work hard, and caring for those workers that make our lives that much easier. The offer of food, shelter… protection, it's what brings the people in. For the most part, it works. The people I trust the most, work hard for me and that means I have to work fucking hard for them.”

Negan paused and searched the attentive faces in the small crowd. You watched as his eyes flickered from person to person until he landed on Bart.

“Unfortunately, there are some in this that don’t like the fucking rules. They think, in their dipshit brains that they can kiss my ass, then go behind it and do, whatever the FUCK they want.”

A soft murmur began to trickle through the crowd, and Negan paused long enough for it to happen. Something was coming, but you never really could tell with Negan, so it was anyone’s guess what he was about to do.

“Now… before we left on this trip, I had a talk with Bart. Didn’t we, sunshine? We had ourselves a nice fucking chat up in my office and he did just that… kissed my ass then comes here and breaks the rules, again.”

You swallowed thickly, and as if sensing your unease, Negan turned towards you and extended a hand for you to stand up.

“Twice in the last few days, Bart has decided to put his hands on (Y/N) in a manner to which she did not approve of. Did you?”

“N--No. Negan, this isn’t--”

“Shh, shh, just let me finish…” he winked at you and placed an arm around your shoulders, walking you around the campfire towards Bart.

“Bart here told me you were being a tease… said you’d flirt and then when he would make a move, you’d reject him.”

A sudden burst of anger filled you, and you wanted to choke the life out of the drunk.

“But you see, what I think happened is that he forced himself on you, and had you not fought back, would have committed one of the Sanctuary’s biggest sins.”

Bart stood up, his face twisted in anger. “Bullshit! You can’t prove nothin’! I don’t know what she told you but that gash is a liar!”

Negan gently raised up your arm marked with Bart’s handprint, that was already showing hues of a bruise in the shape of his long, gnarled fingers.

“I may not be a fucking expert, but this doesn't fit your fucking narrative,” Negan purred, taking great delight in the fear that washed over Bart’s face.

“Negan… I--I--she’s lying! I didn’t--I never--”

“Fuck you, asshole!” you yelled, unable to stay indifferent any longer. You thought about all the times he’d made sexual remarks or grabbed you as he walked by, the time he cornered you in the hall or in the garden, and especially just now. You could still feel the heat of his sweaty hand on your chest. “You’re a vile piece of shit who doesn’t understand what no means unless its Simon asking you if you want the ball gag out!”

Negan roared with laughter. “God, DAMN, I like this girl!” Once he stopped laughing, he turned his attention to Bart.

“Bart… I just… I can’t let this shit go anymore. You know Lucille’s rule, no force, no rape and you tried to break it after being warned to stop. So…”

Negan took Lucille from his shoulder and held her out to you. Your eyes went wide with surprise. Negan never let anyone use Lucille; hold her as an intimidation tactic, yes, but actually, use her to hurt someone… only he had that honor.

“Woman to woman,” he smiled big, clearly amusing himself, “Lucille wants to help you manage your shit. Have at him, sweetheart.”

Negan nodded towards Bart, and the two men on either side of him each grabbed a shoulder and shoved him into the middle of the camp to face you.

Taking lives wasn’t something you enjoyed doing, though you had taken more than you cared to remember. With everyone’s eyes on you, and Negan so close, watching every twitch of your muscles, you had to make a choice.

Bart was a cancer to the community. You knew you weren’t the only woman he harassed, and chances are he did force himself on the workers or weaker willed women. Your mind flashed through all the times he’d put his hands on you, or had you cornered in fear. It was what compelled you to reach out for Lucille.

The weight of the wood in your hand felt good. You saw why Negan liked it. You turned to face Bart, he tried to struggle away from the men still holding him.

Good, you thought, struggle against them, I hope they’re squeezing the fuck out of your arm.

Negan leaned close to your ear, so only you could hear him.

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart? Don’t you want to see justice served? Bart broke the rules,” he purred lowly, his voice causing you to clench your fingers against the handle. “Show him how you handle your shit.”

Suddenly, the fear in Bart’s eyes gave way to something darker, less scared and more scary.

“Go ahead, you fucking cunt. Hit me. Take me out in front of all these people. Show them what a badass you are. But you watch, one day it's gonna be you here, while he taunts someone to do this to--”

You swung, hard, bringing Lucille to hit Bart right between the legs. His light blue jeans instantly staining red with blood as the barbed wire tore at his flesh. No one made a sound except for Bart, who screamed out in pain which gave you a sick sense of satisfaction.

Your breath was heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you cocked the bat back to swing again; this time hitting him in the arm, right where he had grabbed you as he continued to writhe on the ground.

As Bart continued to bleed out in front of you, you turned around to see Negan’s satisfied expression. His grin went from ear to ear as his dark eyes were drinking you in. Even over the unending moans of intense pain from Bart and the growing murmurs from the crowd, you could pick up Negan’s deep, throaty chuckle.

Negan took a few steps closer to you, then slowly cast his eyes down at the bloody mass on the ground.

“Going to finish him, or are you going to make the rest of us suffer having to hear him whining?”

That was when you took notice of everyone watching you again. All the best scouts, Negan’s inner circle and a handful of workers looked on as you decided Bart’s fate.

With one last encouraging wink from Negan, you picked up the bat one more time and raised it over your head. “You should’ve followed the rules, shithead.”

Bringing the bat down with all the force you could muster, Lucille impacted the side of Bart’s head, finally making him quiet. You stepped back from his lifeless body and nearly dropped the bat to the ground. You had the presence of mind to instead turn around and hand it back to Negan, who seemed appreciative of the gesture.

Reclaiming his girl, Negan exhaled deeply and turned back towards the onlookers, who were half scared, half unphased by what just happened.

“And THAT, my good friends, is how we handle our shit here at the Sanctuary. Now, who's got the Polaroid? Let's add him to the wall for prosperity!"”

#letsby’s freestyle challenge #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x reader insert #negan x y/n

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