#enough to send someone to get them as their most valuable asset was gone beside all the mouthwash l

[dykedvonte]

I think Anya only failed out of me school because she couldn’t afford it.

She’s a very aware and intelligent woman, she figures out things and knows the composition of the mouthwashing makes it useless as anything but what it’s for. She kept Curly alive for so long, something that would be impossible for someone with no medical prowess. Doctors would’ve struggled to stabilize him. A training that good couldn’t have been cheap. She had to work and work a lot. Work hard to scrap by even though she knew the material and was passionate about it. Enough to enlighten her but not enough to keep her enrolled.

But why is she on the ship? Because all it takes is a trip or two and you’re set!

[theladysexpistol]

since you're taking Mista requests, can I ask for our favourite man saving the reader? like idk, a mafia gunfight or something like that I just want to see him showing off 👀👀

Thank you for my first request darling 🥺🥺 and honestly with the ultimate dream of a request I’m losing my mind over it 😩

I see you and I are fellow bi’s and lovers of the stinky man as well 🥰

~~~

There weren’t supposed to be any problems on this job.

Giorno had done all the reconnaissance as usual before the night fell, and under his direction Fugo had prepared several methods of extraction for you. It was all routine, gathering information on a group of gangsters who had decided not to pledge their lives to the new boss, and had broken off from Passione. Rumors of an attempted coup or even assassination had made their way up to the don’s ears, so naturally he wanted to know how viable the threats against him were.

You had worked under Passione for several years as quite a valuable asset with a Stand that allowed you secretly listen in on conversations, like a fly on the wall. Because you had been employed by the previous boss, Giorno insisted on using your skills; as you learned by listening in on a conversation between him and Mista, it was in order to assess your loyalty to him. That was how you found yourself working with the men now at the top of gang quite often. While you weren’t sure if they entirely trusted you yet, you had found a bit of kinship with them that you hadn’t had with the elite guards of the old boss. And if you were being honest, you had grown rather fond of the company of one talented gunslinger.

You only hoped you were important enough to the group that they would realize something had gone wrong.

Currently, you had been tied to chair and were placed in front of the desk of the former Passione capo who had decided to split from the gang when Giorno took over. Surely every member had dreamed of snatching the position of boss eventually, but most were scared off by displays of power. It seemed this bastard hadn’t been; that much you had gathered through the use of your Stand before you had been caught. Guards and gangsters had been accounted for; what you hadn’t expected was that another one of the thugs’ escorts would get jealous enough of all the attention on you, the “new armpiece”, to follow you down the hallway and figure out you were actually a mole.

“I don’t recognize your face, but I’d bet my entire teams’ lives that you’re workin’ for the gangster prince,” the leader sneered. “I’d better give him some credit. You don’t look like someone who works for Passione. But you’ve got no way out now - just give it up and tell me what you know. I might let you keep your life for it.”

“You of all people should know you wouldn’t last one day as a mafioso if you let a threat like that shake you,” You spat back in his face. Under the previous boss, you’d never been afraid of dying. Now, you felt bitter bile gathering in the back of your throat at the thought.

Before you could reply however, several gunshots and shouts came from behind the closed doors of the room you were trapped in. Your head, which had been lulling forward after being struck by the man’s thugs, lifted slowly to find a frustrated fear over your captor’s face.

A grin appeared on your face. He had no idea what was going on, which meant you knew exactly who was here.

“Who the hell are you?!” A voice yelled from right outside the door, before more gunshots rang out, much closer than before.

The double doors swung open violently, and the familiar gangster swathed in red and blue swaggered into the room. Normally very calm and collected in stressful situations, you couldn’t recall ever seeing Mista with such a furious expression on his face. As if stunned by his appearance, the two thugs on either side of the doors were too slow on the uptake. By the time they’d drawn their own guns, Mista had shot them with the same cold precision you knew him for.

“Miiiiiista! We found them, we found them!” Several small voices cheered through the silence that followed the gunshots, and the relief building in your chest only expanded once you saw three members of Mista’s Stand, float over to you and broke your restraints.

You went to get to your feet, but found yourself too exhausted to stand and suddenly slumped toward the floor. Your head was throbbing; even though you didn’t recall being struck, that must be how they had incapacitated you. A strong arm hooked around your waist and pulled you back to your feet before you could collapse, and the familiar, oddly comforting scent that belonged to your companion.

“You-!” The gang’s leader began, fury and recognition in his voice, before Mista rose his gun and shot him too.

“Mista... I didn’t finish gathering intel...” you told him weakly, though you were really just so glad to see him.

“Doesn’t matter. I think the condition I found you in tells us enough. It’s been taken care off early,” he replied as he helped you out of the room, the gun remaining in his hand should anyone else appear to ambush the two of you.

“How did you know...?”

“I was getting antsy about sending you in alone anyway, but it was Fugo who made the call when you didn’t show up as planned,” Mista grunted. “I might’ve acted before we could make a plan but... I’m tired of losing people i care about.”

You recognized Fugo sitting in the driver’s seat of the car that Mista led you to, barely containing his simmering anger under the surface as the gunslinger helped you into the backseat and then slid in beside you.

“It’s been handled. Let’s go back,” Mista crossed his arms and let out a sigh.

Fugo only sighed and mumbled angrily under his breath as he pulled onto the main road. You glanced over at the man beside you, smiling to yourself and leaning your head on his shoulders as Mista’s words floated traitorously through your head.

You hadn’t realized you meant that much to him, but you were incredibly glad to hear it.

[keldae]

Drastic Measures (Chapter Twenty-Six)

Even with Corellia effectively under siege, the Coronet spaceport was remained busy: The sight of civilians, pilots, and CorSec personnel hurrying about on their business was not uncommon. Since the attack on the Green Jedi Enclave, the comings and goings of the Green Jedi were a slightly more unusual sight, considering how few members of the Order survived. Few left the Enclave now, and even fewer left Corellia, but departure wasn’t unheard of.

It didn’t stop Annya Emrys, twin lightsabers swaying against green-clad hips, from feeling as though she rather stood out as she hurried to a private hangar in the spaceport. Owned by her father, Hamilton, it had served to funnel numerous members of the resistance to and from Corellia. One might never guess that the hangar itself  was technically owned by CorLion, LTD., the Emrys family logistics firm. Two ships currently waited within the hangar — it a tight fit, but hardly the first time they had made efficient use of the space.

She finally emerged from the lift to see Balance of Justice emblazoned on the hull of the Defender-class corvette, all but towering over a small, two-person shuttle. A small gathering of personnel stood between the ships. She made her way toward them as the tallest among them saw her first and raised a hand in greeting. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it.”

“Uncle Connall wanted to talk at me for the last hour and express his displeasure with this entire idea.” Annya rolled her eyes as she finally came to a halt beside Jonas.

“He’s really against you leaving Corellia, is he?” Jonas asked with a slight smirk.

“Half that, and half something about Imperial-spawned bastards not being worth time and effort, even if the other half of them is Corellian.” The redhead sighed and shook her head. “I’m making it back after this, if only to prove that Green Jedi who leave the system don’t always wind up dead or defected like dear cousin Airna.”

“Oh, I don’t count?” Jakar Forseti snorted. “If I didn’t know the old man, I would be offended. Essi isn’t overly enthused about this idea either, but she’s worried about Xaja too. She’d be coming along if the girls didn’t need care.”

“The struggles of half-Tythonian Jedi,” Jonas deadpanned. “You’re the last one we’re waiting for. Cole’s staying to keep a haven open for us and to keep CorSec running. Risha’s had to run back to Dubrillion for some sort of a gong show there. The rest of us are heading to Alderaan.”

“And no word yet about your cousin or Agent Shan, from official channels or otherwise,” Bey’wan Aygo finished. “I can’t get hold of Corso on the comms systems, and according to Balkar, the SIS has no news.”

Annya frowned, turning her focus to the Force. She had trained with Xaja Taerich on Tython, years before the two discovered they were second cousins. She considered herself reasonably familiar with the petite Jedi’s Force-signature, but when she reached out, she felt nothing. Of course, if she was still alive, Xaja was likely in the Dantooine system, far distant from Corellia. “If she’s still alive,” she finally said, “I can’t feel her.”

“Neither can I, and I’ve known her for over a decade,” Jakar murmured. “She’d better still be alive when we find her, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“As in hunting down the Zaks who may or may not have done them in, or dragging her spirit back to the realm of the living for an ass-kicking?” Jonas asked with a grin.

“Pick one.” Jakar shook his head as he started walking to his ship. “Or both. Are you sure you don’t just want to ride along in my ship, Agent Balkar? I have plenty of space available.”

“Thanks, but I’ll need my shuttle. The Director’s promising to send me all over the damned galaxy in the next few weeks.” Jonas flicked a lazy salute at the Barsen’thor. “My next stop is Alderaan, same as you, so I’ll just follow you there.”

“I’ll send you the rendezvous coordinates when you arrive in the system,” Jakar nodded. “May there be good news waiting for us there.”

“Preferably tangible good news -- like Master Taerich or Agent Shan themselves being there,” Bey’wan muttered as he turned to follow Jakar to the Balance. Annya could hear the engines already powering up as the Jedi and the Admiral walked up the ramp into the ship. Looking up with a squint, she could just see Jakar’s Trandoshan companion in the cockpit of the ship.

Annya started to take a step toward Jakar’s ship before she felt a hand cradle her elbow. “Y’know,” Jonas drawled, a smirk pulling at his lips, “there’s more than enough space on my shuttle if you didn’t want to share breathing space with one of the Council.”

Despite her worry for her cousin, the redhead grinned and slipped an arm around Jonas’ waist as they walked toward his shuttle. His came to rest over her shoulders. “You’re just saying that so you don’t get lonely in transit.”

“Me? Ulterior motives? Never. I’m rather offended, Master Emrys.” The SIS operative couldn’t help the grin that curled across his lips.

The Green Jedi shook her head, her grin a suitable echo of his. “Shut up, Balkar.”

Aside from Thunder’s leadership, the Resistance had learned that mobility was arguably their most valuable asset: sitting down and getting comfortable was never going to be an option for them while the war waged on and Zakuul’s banner flew over the galaxy. Still, Sorand was impressed with how quickly the Tatooine cell had managed to pack up what they could, and wipe or destroy what they couldn’t. He supposed it helped that a solid three-quarters of the cell was comprised of Mandalorians, who were more accustomed to bas’lan shev’la  than others. Add Lana Beniko, former head of Sith Intelligence herself, as the taskmaster overseeing the evacuation, and things happened quickly.

He drew to a halt beside the aforementioned Sith as she looked up from a datapad. “We’re proceeding on schedule,” she informed him. “The first shuttles are departing now, and the last of us should be gone within two hours.”

“Good. The sooner we’re gone, the better.” Sorand looked up at the cave roof, as though he could see the Star Fortress construction and the two freighters flying around it. “Any updates from Corey and Korin?”

“Rudimentary shields are in place — the Star Fortresses rely heavily on the ground bunkers for stronger deflection. The station’s not equipped for life support systems yet, but it seems to be habitable for droids. Weapons systems are online, so they’re attempting to keep the Skytroopers and droids distracted enough so our evacuation can proceed.” Lana frowned down at the datapad. “Tee-Seven transmitted back something about a star in the centre of the fortress as well.”

The dark-haired Sith frowned in confusion. “A star? Inside the fortress? That can’t be right.”

“He’s insistent. And with your brother and Corey too busy trying to keep themselves from getting shot, they can’t exactly clarify what he means.”

“Hmm. We’ll debrief them when we’re all away from here.” Sorand looked back down at Lana, feeling nervous worry clench around his heart. “Any word from Dantooine?”

“Nothing.” The look Lana exchanged with Sorand reflected her own fear of what the end result of that attack had been. “No further word from Riggs, and no reports of survivors from other cells or independent assets.”

“It’s still early,” Sorand murmured, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the mostly-empty cave in front of him. “They could have escaped and still be running.”

“It’s possible.” Lana reached over, placing her hand on his forearm. She offered a comforting squeeze. “There is one glimmer of hope, however: Zakuul has made no statement regarding elimination of a resistance cell, nor capture or demise of either your sister or Theron. Arcann would be gloating to the entire galaxy, had he apprehended them.”

Sorand slowly nodded. Lana did have a point — Arcann was enough of an egomaniac that he wouldn’t have been able to stay quiet about his triumph over the ‘assassin’ and ‘terrorist.’ Unless they’re in transit to Zakuul, or the Empire or the Republic got there first. Wait, the Republic wouldn’t have attacked them like that, not with so many Jedi there… would they? “I still need confirmation, one way or another,” he said.

“You’re not planning on going there yourself, are you?” Lana’s eyes widened. “You’re as valuable a target as they are!”

“I’m aware.” Sorand sighed and uncrossed his arms, running his hand over the scruffy beard he’d let grow in. It would help disguise his identity a little bit, he thought. Besides, the look was rather growing on him, and Shara seemed to like it. “If we’ve heard nothing by the time we’re on Alderaan, I’m sending someone out to investigate. Right now I need all hands to get this cell moved out quickly.”

Lana nodded, then glanced down at her datapad as a small ping came through. “The second set of shuttles is away. We had best get to the Shereshoy and be ready to leave, my lord.”

“Lana…”

“Apologies. Changing four years’ worth of ingrained habit is difficult, Sorand.” Lana shot the taller Sith a small, tight smile. “Come.”

Nar Shaddaa never slept, and neither did the security systems of the Zakuulan bunker. Fully staffed, Knights and Skytroopers took shifts to guard the site and the control panels for the shields of the orbiting Star Fortress. They believed each potential vulnerability had been secured. But, in their arrogance, there was one significant blind spot that they hadn’t thought to guard against.

Reanden grunted as he slowly made his way through the narrow maintenance tunnels snaking through the sector, a blueprint of the area displaying itself through one of his retinal implants. It was an area usually left to rodents, droids, and the occasional vagrant. Needless to say, it had seen better -- and cleaner -- days. He tried not to think too hard about the puddle he planted his elbow into, crawling to the next intersection. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he grumbled into his comm.

“This was your idea, Legate,” Kothe retorted, voice crackling in the earpiece Reanden carried. “Vette could have gotten in there easier.”

“Vette’s a bright girl, but she doesn’t know how to do my job.” Reanden muttered a curse as his head bumped against a pipe that had no business being in his way like that. Gingerly rubbing the sore spot through his greying hair, he blinked at the blueprint he was following. “I’m under the bunker.”

“Good work. Standby.” The former Jedi went quiet for a moment; Reanden knew the other spy was tracing his position on sector maps. “The comms centre should be about six more metres north, then two metres west. Be careful; that’ll put you right under the shield generator.”

“I’d still like to know how they managed to get their own power station in here to run the damn thing,” Reanden mused as he resumed crawling forward. He scowled as his implants started to quietly hum, picking up the energy of the Zakuulans’ shield generator.

“Heh. You should see some of the intel your son sent back about the Tatooine fortress they got a look at. Miniature suns inside the damned things.”

“Wait, what?” That report was concerning, but Reanden couldn’t spare the time to think about the apparent interior structures of the Star Fortresses. That was something to concern himself with at another time. He had another job to do. “On second thought -- fill me in on that later.”

The old spy reached the corner in the tunnels and turned to the west, grumbling about the stupid things he did for his job and the sake of the galaxy at large. “Remind me again why I didn’t retire, Kothe?” he muttered into the comm.

“You tried once, if Marcus tells the story correctly, and lasted perhaps half a day before getting bored enough to take apart the Shadow’s comms systems and put them back together.”

“That bastard knows far too much,” Reanden groused as he pulled himself forward the last few feet, ignoring Kothe’s snort of laughter. Yes, that was a peculiar pipe running through the middle of the maintenance tunnels, only a few metres from the bottom part of the power generator. “I’m here.” He blinked to take a snapshot of the area; another series of blinks sent the image to Kothe.

“That looks about right. You find an access point?”

“Not yet — oh, there we go, you look promising.” Reanden grunted as he pulled himself around the side of the pipe and started removing an access panel. From how difficult it was to remove, he suspected it hadn’t been touched since the bunker was under construction. With a few more muttered expletives, he managed to pull the panel off, exposing a series of wires and transmitters to his cybernetically-enhanced eyes. “Jackpot.”

He smirked tightly to himself as he reached into his belt pouch and retrieved some small, barely-noticeable parts. With almost forty-odd years of experience behind him, installing his own transmitters into enemy feeds was a task he could practically do in his sleep -- even on the advanced Zakuulan tech. It still operated on the same basic premise as Republic, Empire, and Huttese technology. Thus, slipping a transmitter onto the main conduit remained a simple task. “Test.”

“Standby…” Kothe went quiet for a moment. “Receiving. Force, I’m seeing everything: comms, transmissions records, security logs, personnel records…”

“Excellent. Hang tight while I set up part two.” Installing a systems override without being detected was a fair sight more difficult, and Reanden spent several long minutes sweating in the stifling tunnels as he delicately wired in the tiny device. He swiped at his forehead with the crook of his arm. “Give that a try.”

“Let’s see…” Kothe gave a low whistle. “Looks like that took. I’m not gonna try pulling anything with Zaks awake in the bunker, but I should be able to override their system controls from here.”

“Still got it.” Reanden smirked, then gingerly extricated himself from the tangle of wires, carefully replacing the panel cover. “Can you open the surveillance feed enough for Thunder to observe? Or Marcus?”

“Marcus for sure. We’ll have to wait to get Thunder’s latest encryption key. They’ve got some people hiding them who’re damn good at their jobs.”

Damn straight, Reanden thought. He’d been the one to make Sorand’s ‘Thunder’ signal nigh untraceable, and had taught his son how to maintain the scrambling. “Works for me. I’m heading out before I melt down here.”

“Salt doesn’t melt that quickly,” the spymaster remarked.

The double agent gave a snort of laughter. “That’s another drink you owe me.”

Kothe chuckled. “Then get your sorry shebs back here. You can collect on the way out of the system.” He paused a beat. “In case I didn’t mention it, good work, Legate.”

Trying to find somewhere quiet on a Republic warship was like looking for dry land on Manaan. The small briefing room that Xaja had eventually found still wasn’t what could be called a ‘relaxing environment’, but at least it muffled most of the noises of Commander Malcom’s troops and the Jedi refugees.

“I don’t get it,” Theron quietly murmured to her as they sat on the floor of the briefing room, legs crossed and knees just touching each other's. “I wasn’t imagining it — my mother saw it too. It…”

“After all this time…” Xaja took one of Theron’s hands in both of her own, fingers slowly tracing the calluses earned over the years. “Shouldn’t this have shown up with Master Zho’s training?”

“I dunno.” Theron frowned, twisting his hand in hers to run his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m kinda wondering if it’s not the bond that’s doing this. I mean, I couldn’t feel anything before the Voss ritual.”

“But even then, you could only feel what I was channeling.” Xaja bit on her lower lip in thought. “There isn’t really any records of this ever happening before, with a Force-user bonding to a Force-blind person and making them Force-sensitive.”

“How many records are there of people walking around with Sith ghosts in their heads?”

“You might be surprised. Sorand had some stories.” Xaja shook her head at Theron’s rising eyebrows and turned her focus back to the perplexing question at hand. “You don’t think another Jedi could have pushed your blaster back to you?”

Theron shook his head. “It didn’t feel like that at all. It… I could feel it, Xaja. It was… kriff, how do I explain it…” He sighed. “… It was like I could feel the blaster, and feel something connecting me to it. I could feel it being pulled back to me.”

“And it wouldn’t have been me you sensed,” Xaja murmured. “I was trying to not die.” She hummed in thought, an idea glimmering in her mind. “Do you think you could do it again?”

“Maybe?” Theron shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “I don't know. I guess it’s worth a try?”

Xaja nodded in agreement as she looked around the briefing room. Someone had left a datapad behind on the table; she reached out a hand and, using the Force, drew it toward them, setting it down a couple of metres away. “See if you can pull that over?”

Theron frowned at the datapad, then stretched his arm out. “Kriff, how the hell did I do this last time?” he muttered. Xaja watched his forehead wrinkle as he stared down the length of his arm. She could just feel the Force shifting around him faintly, erratic ripples pressing against her senses. It was like she was watching a new Jedi Youngling trying to touch the Force for the first time— which, she supposed, wasn’t inaccurate. This particular ‘Youngling’ just happened to be thirty-three years old.

The bond prickled. “Youngling?” Theron mumbled, raising one eyebrow incredulously at Xaja.

“Sorry.” Xaja offered him a cheeky grin. “Would ‘Padawan’ feel better?”

Theron broke his focus long enough to very maturely stick his tongue out at Xaja, earning a giggle from the Jedi. “Brat,” he muttered.

“And you keep me around anyway,” Xaja retorted with a smile as she reached to take his other hand.

“Yeah, for some reason. The things I do for cute Jedi girls.” Theron grinned and shook his head before turning his focus back to his task. Xaja watched as his smirk fell away, replaced by a frown. Amber eyes narrowed as the spy honed in on the datapad, a muscle in his jaw twitching. The ripples in the Force grew more pronounced, but not quite strongly enough for any visible motions.

Xaja’s gaze darted between Theron’s frown and the datapad, anxiously watching for any movement. When Theron had told her about the blaster returning to his hand, she almost hadn’t believed it. She desperately wanted to know if it was possible for Theron to touch the Force, even if his odds were astronomically low. And he wanted it just as badly as she wanted it for him, likely even more. For all his offhanded comments about not needing the Force, she knew he was always bitter he hadn’t shared his mother’s aptitude for it.

She squeezed his hand as she turned back to look at him. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead with the effort he was putting into his attempt to move the datapad, every muscle in his neck and jaw rigid. “Breathe, Theron,” she said quietly.

Theron wordlessly nodded, not taking his gaze from the datapad. Xaja felt a burst of growing frustration mingled with desperation along the bond. “Come on…” he whispered. She could feel the strain building within him. The hand not stretched out to the datapad squeezed Xaja’s fingers in his lap tightly.

Maybe thirty seconds later, Theron slumped in frustrated disappointment. “Must’ve been a fluke,” he muttered. “I can’t do it again.”

Xaja sighed and reached up to caress Theron’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry, Theron,” she murmured, reaching out with the Force in an attempt to soothe his frustration. “Maybe the Force answered you in a high-stress situation? We’ll figure something out.”

Theron rested his forehead against Xaja’s, jaw clenching with his disappointment. He had so desperately hoped that he could repeat it, she knew — that he would be able to live up to the Jedi lineage that weighed on him. “Might have been another Jedi flying it back to me in the fight, or my mother might have unconsciously done something. It doesn’t matter.” He sighed heavily and waved his hand in a frustrated motion in the datapad’s direction. “It’s not going to happen for me—”

The datapad didn’t move much, but it did noticeably wiggle in the direction of Theron’s push.

Xaja felt her jaw drop as she felt Theron freeze. Shock flared in the Force, and it was impossible to tell who radiated it more. Slowly, she turned her stare from the datapad up to Theron’s face, as his shock mingled with the strongest sense of joy and relief that she had felt since the moment he’d broken her out of carbonite. “So, what were you saying about that being a fluke?” A grin pulled at her lips.

“That… it actually…” Theron stared down at his hand, then at the datapad in disbelief. “I…” When he looked back at Xaja, his eyes were wide, a smile starting to appear. Elation radiated from him strongly enough that Xaja could almost physically see it. “You saw that, right?!”

“Yes, I saw it!” Xaja beamed as she lifted her hands to caress Theron’s face. “Force, Theron, you—” Her words were lost as Theron abruptly pulled her in to kiss her hard, too much at a loss for words to try to verbalize his joy. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back, pulling him closer to her in turn—

They both heard the sounds of the sublight engines kick in as Malcom’s warship dropped out of hyperspace. Xaja reluctantly pulled back from the kiss and looked upward. “Is this another one of the false-trail jumps your father’s doing to keep the Zakuulans off our necks?”

Theron blinked in the odd way that told Xaja he was interacting with his implants. “Yes,” he finally said. “We’re approaching the Rhen Var system, next detour looking like it’s going to be past Onderon.” He sighed as he loosened his grip on her. “Want to go find somewhere more comfortable to crash?”

“Consider my rubber arm twisted,” Xaja said as she got to her feet, Theron a second behind her. She watched as his gaze still went back to the datapad and a smile pulled at his mouth again. “We’ll make a Jedi out of you yet,” she said with a grin.

Theron just shook his head as though disbelieving what had just happened, even if his elation hadn’t subsided much. “I still can’t believe it,” he whispered as he reached down to take Xaja’s hand. “After all this time…”

“The Order just gave up on you too early,” Xaja laughed as they started walking out of the briefing room. “It—”

A stabbing pain lanced through her head, badly enough to make her wince and stop walking. She could sense Theron’s sudden worry, but couldn’t hear him speaking to her as another voice filled her mind, a cold, malevolent whisper. So your pet can now do parlour tricks. So very impressive. Certainly the apex of Revan’s line. Vitiate was still as cruelly sarcastic as Xaja remembered from her carbonite nightmares.

Shut up! Get out of my head! Xaja ground her teeth as she tried to wedge a mental wall between her and Vitiate, even more than what the Voss had done. The Emperor chuckled coldly before the icy, painful pressure lessened on her shields, and the waking world came back into focus.

“--ja? Xaja!” Theron was lightly shaking her shoulders, eyes wide with fear this time. “Look at me, sweetheart, please…” His hand came up to caress her cheek; Xaja could feel moisture on her skin when his thumb traced her cheekbone, and realized she had shed a tear. “The hell was that?”

Xaja had buried her face in Theron’s chest almost before she realized she was moving. Fear raced through her veins, fear of the monster inside her head and what she knew he was capable of, fear mingled with hatred. “It was him,” she whispered, and felt Theron tightly wrap his arms around her, his earlier joy dissolving into mingled anger and dread. “He’s watching, Theron. He’s… he’s trying to get in.”

A cruel laugh echoed in the depths of her mind. .

With a whoosh, ships of the Eternal Fleet dropped out of hyperspace in Tatooine’s orbit. At first glance, all seemed normal and deceptively peaceful... until one of the GEMINIs registered the two light freighters being chased around the Star Fortress skeleton by the station’s rudimentary fire. But those pilots had seen the Fleet’s arrival, and were already diving away from the warships. The Paladin overseeing the battle group scoffed derisively as the ships, likely owned by the miscreant smuggler types that ran rampant in the Core Worlds, fled from the Fleet. He watched as the ships opened fire on the freighters, then raised an eyebrow, begrudgingly impressed, as the pair vanished into hyperspace. The Core Worlds did produce some decent pilots, it seemed.

But two spacers playing chicken with the Star Fortress weren’t his concern. He sharply barked out an order to deploy ground troops to Tatooine’s surface. He would get his answers for the blatant attack on the bunker there.

He turned to march away from the bridge, but glanced back just in time to see another ship leave Tatooine’s orbit and jump to hyperspace before they had quite broken out of the atmosphere.

The bunker was destroyed. As far as the Paladin could tell from the reports of his droids sent in to analyze the ruins, the rebels had managed to overload the generator under the desert’s sandy floor. The scattered remains of demolished Skytroopers still littered the ground around the bunker, but little remained of the human inhabitants. It was likely that the barbaric rebels had left their bodies for Tatooine’s wildlife.

The Paladin snarled in rage at the disrespect of the rebels, stalking back toward his transport. “Tear the planet apart if you have to. I will have their heads!”

Two hours later, he stepped into the hidden cave labyrinth, seeing everything tinged with red. The rebels had been here — they hadn’t vacated the caves fast enough to take everything with them, and there were empty crates, blaster parts, and ration wrappers left laying about. But the few computers still around had been destroyed with a barrage of blaster shots. There were no datapads or scraps of flimsi left behind. And there was no information to be gleaned about the recent inhabitants of the caves.

He stalked through the caves, noting the different alcoves filled with abandoned items from the resistance. Some caves, and even whole open parts of the canyon floor, bore the signs of recently being occupied by starships. When he held his bare hand against the sand, he could still feel lingering warmth, despite the cooler interior of the cave. The last rebels must have fled within the hour, barely a step ahead of the Zakuulans. He glowered at the stone walls of the cave before whirling on one of his subordinates. “Get me every departure log from Anchorhead and Mos Eisley!”

“We’ve been trying, sir,” the corporal stammered. “But this part of Tatooine is considered no-man’s land. Neither the Republic base nor the Imperial has any control over who takes off from here. And if the rebels are this good, they will have been able to dodge any identification attempts —”

“I did not ask for excuses. Get me answers!” The Paladin stormed through the caves, seeking to return to his shuttle. Which resistance leaders had been here? Had Thunder themselves been present to oversee the attack? Either way, he needed answers. Emperor Arcann would accept nothing less.

[hvproductions]

Series: Who Will Save You Now? Fandom: Peaky Blinders Pairing: Reader x Michael Gray I Reader x Peaky Blinders Word Count: 1246

Warnings: Slight mentions of torture.

@paradiseletters I @tynabyna  I @moonlightsong I @araceli91103 I @theasskickingiowan  I @hemmo-hottie 

PROLOGUE I CHAPTER 1 I CHAPTER 2 I CHAPTER 3 I CHAPTER 4 I CHAPTER 5 I CHAPTER 6

Chapter 7

The first thing you did after opening your eyes was desperately gasp for air. The darkness around you was replaced by a beautifully decorated room. It looked quite fancy, indicating that your location was a house of somebody who owned quite a lot of money. When you tried to move you failed to do so due to the ropes that were used to tie up your hands and legs. You felt yourself panicking, unsure what to do to get out of the situation you were in. Someone would surely start looking for you when they noticed you were gone. The only problem was that no one knew where you were, including yourself.

The door flew open and you saw Sabini walk inside with his most trusted employee. The smile on Sabini’s face indicated that he was very glad to see that you had been caught. After all, you were a valuable asset and a very powerful tool for negotiations. Kidnapping the daughter of one of the most powerful gangsters in Birmingham was surely a way to gain what he wanted. Every other parent would give their life for their child, yet as you sat on the stool you wondered whether the same applied to your father. There was a time in your life where you knew that he would do and give up anything for you, but ever since the death of your mother you weren’t so sure. There was a huge strain between you and him like you were responsible for your mother’s death which was not true at all. And as you sat on the stool you wondered whether your father would do anything to save you.

“Y/N Pierce. I have to say, this turned out even better than I expected it to.” Sabini mumbled, grabbing a cigar and lighting it as he stood in front of you, his smile never leaving his face. It was more like a grin really; everything had gone according to his expectations. Or like he had previously said, it turned out even better than expected which left you feeling quite uneasy.

“Now the question is, what to do with you? Your father agreed to my terms, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t have some fun with you before letting you leave. After all, I didn’t say anything about you missing a limb or two.” He announced, taking a drag of his cigar before it hit your skin, making you let out a high pitching scream.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

“Sir, Thomas and Arthur Shelby are here to see you.” Lucas announced as he stepped into your father’s cabinet. He was sitting behind his desk, his arms spread wide on the table as he stared in front of him. For a second there was complete silence as Lucas stared at your father, unsure whether Raimond had heard what he had said or not.

“Sir, The Shelb-” He started again, but stopped when Raimond Pierce grabbed his drink from the table and downing it in one go. He jumped up, walking out of the room and past Lucas. As he entered the main hall he saw Thomas and Arthur Shelby stand still, their eyes fixated on him. Without even blinking he went to Thomas as he grabbed him by his collar, inches away from hitting him which he desperately wanted to do.

“You were supposed to watch over her.” Raimond exclaimed as he stared into Tommy’s cold blue eyes. There was no emotion in Tommy’s eyes, yet he did feel guilty, not that he would admit that to anyone. He was supposed to watch over you, but he let his own vendetta get the best of him. Now, because of that, you were missing as no one had no idea where your were. If anything happened to you he wouldn’t forgive himself. Besides, that would mean a war on his hands, more innocent blood on his hands which he couldn’t bear to think about. 

From the corner of his eyes Raimond Pierce saw Arthur step closer to him, ready to tear him off of Thomas. Thomas on the other hand did not even blink and for a second Raimond was sure that he did indeed want to get punched. Instead he let go of him, stepping away from Thomas and turning his attention towards Arthur.

“Sabini called me an hour ago. He wants 10,000 pounds for Y/N.” He announced, his hand going through his hair as he let out a loud sigh.

“I’m going to meet him in half an hour.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

A tear slipped down your cheek when Sabini stared deep into your eyes, a smirk on his face. Yet as you stared at him the only thing you wished was that your hands were free so that you could wipe away that tear. You were Y/N Pierce, and letting Sabini see you cry was humiliating to say the least. Sabini stepped away from you, turning his back towards you as he went over to a desk, taking a glass before smashing it against the table. Small pieces of glass flew everywhere before he picked up one of the small pieces, wrapping his handkerchief around it before walking back to you. He placed the glass onto your cheek, and as on cue you closed your eyes. You were scared, terrified even and couldn’t dare to open your eyes. He applied slight pressure onto the glass, but not enough to cut into your cheek. 

“Tell me Y/N, who will save you now?” He asked, a chuckle escaping his lips. You didn’t reply, desperately waiting for the pain to come. But it didn’t. Instead you heard a loud thud and as you sat in the stool you were hoping that when you opened your eyes you would see your father standing in front of you. But when you opened them the first thing you saw was Sabini lying on the ground, the back on his head bloody. For a second you thought he was dead before you saw his chest slowly moving.

The second thing you saw was Sabini’s trusted employee also lying on the ground a couple of feet away from you. You couldn’t detect any visible wounds on him which led you to believe that he was drugged or something of that sort. The third thing you saw was an unknown man, all in black, staring at you. In his hands was a bloody gun, probably the one that he used to hit Sabini with. For a couple of seconds the two of you stared at each other, him completely quiet while you tried to slow your breathing down.

Without any warning he started walking towards you, and when he reached you he cut off the ropes around your hands before doing the same to the ropes around your feet. The man was quiet, not saying anything or not even paying slight attention to you. The second he cut you loose you grabbed your wrists, wincing in pain, yet trying to hide it as well as you could.

“Did the Shelby’s send you?” You asked, looking at him. His instant reply was a smirk appearing onto his face before he hid it, taking Sabini’s handkerchief and wiping the barrel of his gun clean.

“You can tell your father that Mr. Solomons will contact him to figure out the reward for saving you.” He said before walking out of the door, leaving you all alone into the room with an unconcious Sabini and his employee.

[leatherlaceandblades]

Off the Table

"Shh...it's alright. Can you open your eyes?"

The voice sounded, at first, as if it were coming from underwater; slightly garbled, distorted, hard to make it out. By the end of the sentence, however, it was clearer. The mind was amazing at filling in where it was only guessing what had been asked. Moka shifted, feeling like something heavy was pressing down on top of her making it hard to breathe, hard to even turn her head. Her eyes were shut, yes and like the rest of her felt as if something was weighing them down. 

The only reason she tried to open them at all was the sound of the voice. A reflex action. Like she had to take it as a challenge whether or not it was within her capability to do. Gummy stickiness blurred the light, which was annoying...and then quickly she wished it had lasted longer, since there was an overhead light that clearly had no cover to soften it's glow. 

Ow....

"There. Well done.", the voice was still just as kind. Almost proud. Like Moka had actually done something worth being proud of. Moka was too groggy to be annoyed by that, but she so badly wanted the light to be turned away, or turned off. It was -so bright-....

There was a clatter of what sounded like metal pinging off of metal. Sliding across a surface. Something being shuffled through? 

I know that sound...I -know- it...

Her mind was throwing images at her, associating not just the sound as a whole with something, but what each sound individually was. It was disorienting; she barely had had time to figure out where she was, let alone had a bunch of information thrown in her face all at once.

"No, no. Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."

Hands appeared...and that amazingly helped. At least the arms attached to the hands did some job of blotting out the light. There was someone leaning over her. Pulling Moka's own hands away from where she had tried to desperately start searching herself. This room was an operating room. She was on one of the high tables you only got put on when it was time for work to be done. Blood to be drawn. Tests. Enhancements... But what? Where?!

"I told you not to take the restraints off yet. They usually always wake up like that."

This was a different voice. Female, like the first. It was colder, older...someone who had been doing this longer. Resigned to fact in black and white. Moka didn't need any special intuition to know that one...it was what she was more accustomed to.

"Her fingertips were turning white."

There was a grunt from the defense of the first woman; obviously her more blunt companion didn't see a point in pursing the argument. She would learn. They always learned. As soon as they got one that took a swipe at them or turned on themselves. 

Nobody liked seeing the doctors. Everyone wanted out of the door, one way or the other.

The hold on Moka lessened, and the shadow fell away, leaving the Miqo'te squinting briefly in to the light again before mustering the energy to turn her head to the side. Her face felt hot...muggy. Something was covering her nose and mouth. One of those breathing aids, but she hated it. She thought to move again in defiance and try to take it off, but just...couldn't. Better awake, cranky and uncomfortable than unconscious and having no idea what was going on. 

"....shouldn't really talk just yet. We'll have to keep you here a few more days. Make sure everything is taking. Someone will be in to see you later, probably to take notes and make sure you're cared for."

Moka worked her tongue across the roof of her mouth, licking at the dry surface with an even dryer feeling muscle. Blegh. But no wonder it felt extra bad - if they had decided that was where they were going to put to task, then...Where she wasn't able to physically touch herself, she let her senses expand. More awake now, they were a bit more clear...Her nose picking up the alcohol and bleach smell of the clinic. Metal from the tools. Undertones of sickness either far away or stale from time ago. The bedsheets fabric smelled almost plasticy. As for her present company, she could see some of her now as she moved around and talked. Medium height, a little round, even under her lab coat. Garlean, most likely, with sharp blonde hair with streaks of paler almost white threaded through. Young...older than me. But not much. 

Must be new. 

Doesn't matter. A coat is a coat is a coat...

The lady turned to face her and smiled. White teeth. She was pretty enough, in a friendly sort of way. Which could be sometimes hard to find in a world of general indifference. And better that than the actual hate that was occasional encountered. There was a needle in her hand, but hells if Moka wasn't used to those too.

Life of a Subject. 

The visit of the needle went without incident, the sensation leaving a sort of burning up the subjects arm, but that was all. "I figure since you can't...Rather, since you're in recovery, the least I can do is keep you from being lonely. Everything went well, and I'm sure it won't be long before you're back with the others. If you stay lying still, we can go ahead and leave those bindings off too.", the way she said the word, Moka could tell she had a extreme general distaste of them. 

Weird.

"It seems I've been assigned to you so long as you're here, Subject 174.", another smile. Moka still wasn't sure how she felt about them. Or the fact that this woman really meant what she said about filling normal quiet recovery hours with chatter. "Vivian jen Gabris.", her hand touched Moka's hand, larger but with fingers that were surprisingly soft for someone supposedly not just a laboratory medic, but also a field one. She didn't like it - only her birth mother had ever really touched her like that, and she didn't want the memory of it tainted by some stranger. 

As if sensing her care's reaction, the jen withdrew her touch, but maintained her smile. "It'll be alright. I'm going to go do my rounds, but I'll return later, most likely after the highers have been in to check you themselves. Then we can..."

But Moka didn't get the chance to hear what the other female thought they were going to do. Whatever had been in the needle was taking effect, her lids settling shut and the world going back to black.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As it turned out, the jen hadn't been lying. The people that came in some time after she had departed were far less kind. The bindings around her wrists were replaced for the duration and bit painfully in to the exposed skin when she moved. Poked and prodded in all the places she really didn't -want- to be told her exactly where all the new workings had gone in to. Bandaged ears had been unwrapped, and of course plucked at, careless of the matted fur that stuck uncomfortable to rubber gloves, fanning out the new expanse of them and jotting notes. Regardless of station, she wanted to growl at them, but struggled to swallow it down lest she end up being noted as something too hostile and was put down instead.

Enter problem number two, anyway...

And that was her throat. The gauze there was allowed to stay at least, warding off where they had done far more intensive work rather than just straight up removal and replant; there was something new -in- there, and for whatever reason that was completely beyond her, the examiners and the ones explaining the new technology felt the need to try and -feel- it in there, each in turn, as if it would somehow make it easier to understand. 

The one she was about ninety percent sure was the lead in suggesting these modifications actually dug his finger in and made her gag and choke.

Stupid jerk.

Finally after what seemed like forever, they had gotten all the information they wanted for the time being and took their leave. On their way out the door, in came that Vivian woman again. Same smile. Same willingness to talk. And talk. And talk.

"...pleased with the results, they were saying. It shows promising signs that it could become a very valuable asset. If everything keeps going as planned, you'll be given the opportunity to advance. Be given letters. I'll be sending my report along with their's too. I've also been considering what sort of tests it is that would could employ with your particular...case. Others have been working with these types of abilities before, but your's is one of the first to go this far and succeed! Here!"

Paper rustled a heavy sound in Moka's ears. Her eyes crossed over the breathing apparatus, trying to make it out and why it was so close to her right then when all she wanted to do was wallow in pain and worry about her fate. "It's music!", well, that solved that. The Miqo'te relaxed her eyes, letting them recenter out to take in the Garlean's face that was just beside the pages in question. "I don't know if this was ever part of the education they had for you here, but now it will be. I'll teach you how to read the notes while we go over the exercises. It'll work out the voice box modifier we've install-...er, adapted for you. Your whole vocal range should have been expanded, and we need to see just by how much."

Singing? Singing. They wanted her to...sing. If she had the energy, she would've laughed. That and she was half certain it would make the pain worse. The jen didn't seem to notice. She was sitting down beside Moka, the sheet music shuffled to the bottom of a clipboard she was now wielding in the manner only Doctors could. "Not today, of course. But at least in the next two days. All of your vitals have stayed stable...good, good...You must be one of the lucky ones with the above average healing. That'll work to our advantage. The sooner we prove success, the sooner you get out of here."

Yeah...right back in to the line of fire. Small and delicate looking, she had every appearance of prey. She was strong, but they were bigger. She was fast, but many of them were faster. Her teeth were sharp, and her voice was loud...but that didn't always deterr her from being a target, nor did it guarantee the guards came in time or even wanted to get involved in breaking them apart...

"...was really excited to get assigned to this. I suppose they figured some of my...background could be useful. My parents worked in sound research, too. Well, my -father- specifically. My mother was in to another sort of it."

Moka squinted at Vivian. Why was she bothering to go on so? She didn't know how to respond to this sort of treatment; she'd rather have stayed blended in to the background where nobody, including all these techs and scientists, didn't really notice her. If she stayed just strong enough, she was allowed to live. She didn't care about this female's life or...business or...upgrades...

"Oh, I see. Yes, right...the surgery. You must be exhausted. You sleep, and I'll be quiet for now."

Moka had turned her face away and shut her eyes, laying her ears back against her sweaty, matted down hair, trying to block out the sounds her brain was still rushing to identify as each echo-ed out.

[luninosity]

A Demon for Midwinter, Screenplay Version, Opening Scene (do I know anyone who buys screenplays?), part five:

Justin runs self-conscious hands through the hair in question anyway. He’s blushing. Now it’s awkward.

 And despair lands like a ton of chestnut-shaped lead. This can’t be anything. Surely it can’t. Justin’s too young and eager and, yes, lovely for Kris’s aging cynicism, surely? Besides, they’ve got a professional relationship. Wouldn’t be fair. Wouldn’t be right.

 Kris therefore yanks sudden emotions, all of them, back behind walls. Abrupt. Noticeable.

 Justin notices the retreat but assumes it’s related to the previous conversation.

 JUSTIN

(trying to be reassuring)

Honestly, it’s not hideous. The last song, anyway. It doesn’t feel like you’re happy, which is a problem, I know, considering it’s you. But it’ll sell. People love Midwinter sentimental fluff, and Starrlight’s still a big name. You’re a big name.

 KRIS

(thinking about Justin)

Me…

 JUSTIN

(still trying to clarify)

It’s just I don’t feel the happy. And you know your empathy has trouble anyway when it’s not live, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to depress everyone at their Midwinter parties, so maybe we can work on that? Not calling yourself hideous would be a good start?

 KRIS

(diverted back into this conversation)

I’m not sure I’m even an empath anymore. Tired. Worn out. Antique.

 JUSTIN

You were always a better projective talent than you were receptive. You could make crowds laugh, or cry, or hold their breath, or sing along. We all felt what you feel.

 KRIS

You shouldn’t’ve even been at those concerts. You’re a kid.

 This isn’t entirely fair, but he’s trying to process the twin newfound realizations that he’s in love with Justin and that, as far as he knows, Justin’s far too good and young and kind to ever be interested in a battered old once-star. Words aren’t coming out right. He’s walking faster. Justin keeps up.

 JUSTIN

Dad took me to the final reunion show. It was a father-son bonding experience. Magical. Look, my point is, maybe you should reconsider the holiday album. I know they’re pressuring you to do it, nostalgia and themed sales and your contract obligations and all, but I can tell you hate it. We can come up with something else.

 KRIS

Shouldn’t you be trying to promote my career choices? To support anything that’ll make a profit? For you, the record label, whatever.

 He means: I love you and I know you don’t love me, this is professional for you, I hate that, I love you.

 JUSTIN

(not taking it personally, or trying not to, anyway)

You’re my client. And my friend. I’m here to help. I’m trying.

 This absolute unshakeable patience and tolerance is even more awful. Kris stares at a decorated shop window, blindly. He’s about two heartbeats from shouting at something or somebody, or throwing a proper rock-star tantrum, petty and elaborate and gratifying. He knows it’s unfair. But he’s only just figured out that he’s happiest around Justin, and now everything hurts.

 Justin’s phone interrupts. A text arriving. A snippet of some pop-punk song, bouncy and fast. Justin checks it, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Kris’s growing frustration with the universe.

 JUSTIN

Sorry, I’m just confirming some contract details for The Enchantresses. You know The Enchantresses, right? If not you should, I’ll send you something, they’re right on the verge of breaking out, totally awesome, all five of them are related and they’re all witches and—

 KRIS

(unable not to)

Why are you here, anyway?

 They both know Justin doesn’t need to be. In the background someone calls to someone else, “Happy Midwinter!” and a reunion happens. More holiday lights flicker on and build shields against oncoming night.

 JUSTIN

(slightly confused and hurt by this)

Because I’m helping you? Because we’re friends?

 KRIS

(more or less in despair over this response—they’re friends—which comes out as irritation)

I’m your job. You must have better things to do. Don’t The Enchantresses need you? Or some other on-the-verge almost-famous groups?

 JUSTIN

(still confused, and getting more hurt, and willing to defend his other bands)

I don’t have anywhere to be until later, and I can do most of that from anywhere as long as I can answer the phone—and that’s not fair, come on, they’re great, you were there once too—

 KRIS

So you do think I was great once.

 JUSTIN

I think—

 He stops, bites back other words, crosses arms. He’s nearly Kris’s height but built more lightly, a woodsprite or a dryad, slim and long-legged. Not fragile, but visibly hurt now, and unashamed to let it show. He’s also getting concerned.

 JUSTIN

(cont.)

You know what I meant. And I can feel—I can tell you’re not happy, you’re broadcasting it across like three blocks, can we talk about it? Did I do something to upset you?

 KRIS

No. You—

 And what can he say? He’s thinking: you said we were friends. We’re not friends. You’re a kid and you’re assigned to babysit me and I’m a washed-up has-been and I’ve only just realized that you’re everything nice and good in my life and I think I want to kiss you and instead I’m making you practically break down in tears on a street corner.

 KRIS

(with desperate self-loathing, which of course comes out wrong again)

You should go home. Or back to your office. Wherever. You can get more done if you’re not hovering over me, can’t you? Or is that part of your job too?

 Justin flinches. That one’s landed. Hard, and not inaccurately.

 JUSTIN

Is that really what you think? That I spend time with you because the record label told me to keep an eye on their longest bestselling asset?

 KRIS

Did they?

 Their eyes meet. There’s one truth there. Not the right one.

 JUSTIN

(extremely quietly, an admission)

Yes they did, but, and this is the truth, I would’ve anyway, because I like talking to you, most of the time.

 He’s angry but not the way Kris is. Deliberate simmering calmness. Kris belatedly figures out that he himself might’ve said something unforgiveable. They’re a few feet from a subway entrance; a stream of people arrive and flow past, splitting around where they’ve stopped.

 Kris opens his mouth.

 JUSTIN

I think I am heading back to the office, actually, and I’ll be over at the Palace playing talent scout tonight, so call me before ten if you need anything. I’ll answer. It’s my job.

 This might’ve been sarcastic. It isn’t. Justin’s trying hard to be nice. To be a friend. To end the argument here and walk away and let it go.

 KRIS

(recognizing this, and horrified)

You—Justin, I didn’t mean—

 Someone taps his arm. He turns. A FAN. Middle-aged, curly-haired, beaming at him, wearing a Starrlight Shooting Starr Tour ’89 shirt and reindeer antlers, clutching her phone.

 FAN (DONNA)

(giddy and sweet and well-meaning)

Oh my gosh you are, it’s totally you, I said to Susie that I thought that was you, and she said it wasn’t because what are the odds, but oh wow it is, you are, can I get a picture with—

 KRIS

(searching around, searching past her)

Justin—

 Justin’s vanished. Possibly just out of sight behind the crowd. Possibly already getting on the subway. Possibly gone in some other more magical fashion. In any case: not here.

 FAN

My name’s Donna—can you sign my shirt, oh no do I have a pen, oh please tell me I have a pen—

 Kris is enough of a performer—a professional, too, in that sense—to turn back to her and give her a smile. He even holds her phone and takes the picture. And signs her shirt, once she finds a pen.

 Snow, magically conjured and evaporating, begins to fall over the square. Children squeal in glee. Midwinter carols are being sung somewhere.

 Kris, finally freed, turns toward the dark open mouth of the subway. Too late now.

  INT. JUSTIN’S OFFICE – EARLY EVENING

 Record-label corporate, with exactly the permitted amount of punk-kid decoration: a few signed posters, a troll pen with fluffy orange hair lying sideways on his desk, some sticky notes scattered over his desk and computer monitor. It’s not a big office, but it is an office. He’s young but he’s good at finding the next hit, the next big group or sensation, the trends; he’s valuable. He’s got a view of the street below.

 The door’s shut. Most other people’ve gone home or out for drinks or dinner. The office is empty.

 A second later Justin steps out of thin air and a wisp of smoke, a hint of bonfire. A suggestion of heat around him. This should feel unusual, and slightly eerie.

 He’s also perceptibly upset. He’s in love with Kris. Who just yelled at him, told him to go home, and got him to admit aloud that the record label asked him to keep an eye on Kris Starr. Which is true but irrelevant, given the love. He’d be there anyway.

 He’s pretty sure Kris hates him now.

 He slumps back against his door. Slowly, slides down to land on the floor, and buries his face in his hands.

[chuuteau]

The Bonds that Break Us ~ Dazai Osamu & Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Did someone ask for angst? No. Yet here it is, spewing out of me like a fucking geyser. Feel like this had a lot of layers??Have I finally turned my stories into onions?? It's 2:08 and I haven't slept in three weeks. Might make a second part or a full story, idk, probably not because I suck. Spoiler most of the other stuff I have planned out is fucking angsty as hell too although it has happy endings, kinda sorta maybe.

Everything was so cold. You could feel the temperature drop and the shivers wracking your body. You couldn't tell why you were shaking. Cold, fear, rage, sorrow, shock, or some disgusting mix of all of them. The hair on the back of your neck was standing on end, and the silence that rang through your ears was deafening. 

Fyodor stood there, the cold enough to make his bones ache, but he stood unwaveringly and without a single sign of vulnerability. 

When Dazai had approached the empty alleys in the abandoned area of Yokohama, he was expecting it to just be him and Fyodor, as well as whoever the man set up to trap Dazai. It was going to be their final battle of wits, the defining moment to settle this war between them. Dazai didn't account for you showing up. 

You were a beautiful Port Mafia agent, known for your powerful ability and closed off heart. You were ruthless and saw others as either beneficial or irrelevant. Iron walls surrounded you, and you carried out all of your tasks without a shred of emotion. But Dazai was the famous demon prodigy, and your walls were paper thin in his all seeing eyes. 

His words charmed you, to say the least, his silver tongue caught you off-guard. But you were never one to easily accept someone, and the gleam in his eyes made you wary. He wooed you, weaseled his way into your routine and life until his presence had almost become part of your identity.

The two of you weren't lovers, the two of you had never put a label on your interactions, although sometimes you wondered. When his skin grazed against yours, even for simple things like grabbing a pen, you felt as if you were on fire. When you leaned against him after he invited himself into your home without permission, you could have sworn you heard his breath hitch in his throat. 

It broke your heart when he felt the Port Mafia, and the only sense of familiarity was pulled out from under you, sending you crashing down. The barriers he had craftily passed through became more solid than ever, and the blood that stained your hands only accumulated as you threw yourself into your assignments.

The tenderness he had given you in his looks had to be forgotten, instead you just had to remember was the expressions of hatred and blood lust your targets gave you.

Your ability would no longer be beautiful like he said it was, it must go back to being nothing more than a tool to slaughter. 

When Dazai left you behind, it was like he took the human part of you with him. If you had known how much he wanted to take you with him, you would have cried. You never spoke to each other again, and there were only brief glimpses on the street.

You heard he had defected to the Armed Detective Agency, and that he had changed into a different person. You tried so hard not to listen. The less you knew the better, and if that made you an ignorant fool, you were more than willing to take on that label. 

Fyodor had heard rumors of you floating around, and when he finally looked into your records, he was intrigued. The files were vague, you were almost a ghost. All he had to go on was an impressive kill count and a few blurry pictures of your ability picked up on traffic cameras. You were a valuable asset to him, and he wanted you to play right into his hands. 

He meticulously planned out everything, this moment where he would finally have everyone exactly where he wanted them. The genius had crafted this series of events so he could break you apart, and when you were completely exposed, put you back together in a way where you would never be able to recover from his influence. 

When Dazai entered that ally, he knew there would be a trap waiting for him. He wasn't surprised when he sensed another presence above him. 'A sniper. If he hits me, I'll just make sure it's in a non-vital spot,' he thought to himself, unconcerned by the assassins presence. Fyodor stood ahead of him, his eyes unreadable, but Dazai could sense an air of confidence.

This was truly the ultimate battle, two prodigies ahead of their time going head to head, all other things were irrelevant. No words had been spoken between the two men, the thick silence said everything they needed to know. 

His spine stiffened when he heard footsteps tapping down the ally behind him, he could easily recognize your distinct walking pattern.

The same feet that would patter down his apartment hall in the middle of the night for a glass of water after he managed to convince you to spend the night with him.

The footsteps that hesitated by the edge of his bed when you returned as you wondered if this was really normal like he had said.

The slippers you would kick off onto the floor as he cajoled you into crawling back between the sheets.

The legs that tangled with his when he pretended to be asleep and wrapped his arms around you like it was nothing more than something any acquaintance would do. 

When Fyodor sent him a smile, casual but terrifying, Dazai whipped around to face you. Your face was as closed off as when he first met you, but the second your eyes locked, there was something there. Your (e/c) orbs displayed how you crumbled at the sight of him, and what Dazai hope was affection. 

The gleam of the barrel was in the corner of his eye, and he put his body in front of yours, moving on instinct. He wanted to protect you. His survival and safety were number one. But when it came to you, priorities just didn't seem to work they way they used to. 

The bullet tore through his chest. The flesh and bone that was ripped apart in the path of the unforgiving metal were in agony. He tilted forward, and you reached out to catch him.

His breathing was labored, and blood leaked from his gasping mouth. Dazai could feel the fluids building up in his punctured lung, and breathing felt like a challenge he wasn't sure he wanted to undertake.

As your arms steadied him, and your eyes grew wild with panic, another shot rang out. The sniper was a professional and didn't let the chance escape from him to take out the vulnerable bandaged man. 

The air had already started to get colder as another bullet tore through one of his arteries, lodging near the organ he wished he had admitted long ago belonged to you. 

You sank to your knees, supporting him on your lap. The temperature of the atmosphere kept dropping as you pressed your hands against his cheeks, looking into his chocolate pools that you used to drown in. 

"I'm sorry. I wanted to take you with me," Dazai said with an apologetic smile. 

You know what he was really trying to tell you when he said that. He knew that you knew, as a wave of emotion surged on to your face. He had never really been one for sentiments, and this was the closest thing to a confession that you'd ever receive from the elusive man. 

His eyes slid shut, the galaxies you saw in them dying out as his ragged breathing no longer reached your ears. 

The air was frigid, and ice had already started to coat the ground around your hunched body. It crept out along the paved street, crawling up the sides of buildings, coating the area in a white sheen. 

You clung to Dazai, tears starting to drip down onto his face as you stared at him. You were experiencing more emotions swirling around inside of you now than you had felt in your entire lifetime.

The silence was the most oppressive things you had ever felt, and you felt as though you were suffering. Your breath created small clouds, and you felt your body start to go numb. 

Fyodor stepped back, out of range as you let out a wail. All of your feelings had died out, and the only thing you had now was raw despair coursing through you. As you screamed out, sharp, jagged crystals erupted from the frost you had emitted. They coated the area, shielding you and the barely warm body you clung on to like a lifeline. 

Razor sharp geysers protected you from the rest of the world, but what else was there left for you to protect? Your own well being was far from your mind. 

The sniper was gone, his body torn apart by your outburst. Fyodor had one thing scratch on his arm, blood trickling down the appendage and falling from his fingertips. He was smiling nonchalantly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

The only possible man who could rival him had been wiped off this plane of existence, and a powerful ally was waiting for him to rip apart like a piece of prey. 

He couldn't lie to himself in thinking he was just interested in your ability. He couldn't deceive himself into thinking that he didn't see something in you besides potential.

The stoic mask you usually wore irritated him. Seeing it crumble sent a jolt of exhilaration through his body. He looked forward to seeing the other faces you would make whole he had you wrapped around his finger.

Since he discovered your existence, your fates had been inescapably intertwined. The red strings that were your lives had been tied into a knot, and he was planning on choking you with your own thread. 

Fyodor's hands were warm against your face, and you let your arms fall to your sides, your empty eyes looking to him. He could practically taste the desperation, and he used his thumb to wipe away a stray tear.

You were spent, you were tired. Like an animal caught in a noose, you had exhausted yourself and no longer had the energy to fight what was about to happen. You couldn't resist it, so you embraced it. 

You lifted your hands to cover his, gripping onto his warmth as the one in your lap faded. 

[jamesandlilys]

ok so I may or may not have been going thru your Peter tag and I'm loving your defence of him (or rather your insistence that he was a person before he betrayed the Potters, he wasn't an Evil Automaton from Day 1 like a lot of ppl seem to believe). I was wondering if you have any headcanons as to why he ended up a traitor? I always seem to struggle with this and I just wish JKR had given us more canon info to work with... but I'm curious what you think :)

YO OK THIS IS MY JAM

Maggie and I have come up with a darn good list of headcanons for Peter’s behaviour ( we also have some kick ass playlists) and, if she doesn’t mind, I’m going to list them right now:TW for torture, murder, pain, and swear words

So Peter was not a traitor. Or he never set out to be anyway. It wasn’t his intention to be malicious and cruel, or to get his best friends and their baby killed, incarcerated, shunned, or turned into a horcrux. That wasn’t his intention at all.

He loved his friends. He loved them so much. And clearly they loved him just as much. They saw something in him that was important to them.

His friends knew him. They knew him so well - he would never have abandoned them. There is no way on this earth that he switched sides willingly. He was so attached to them.

They made him Secret Keeper for christ’s sake. That is not a task someone is given lightly. I’m sure James an Lily’s reasoning behind the choice was not “oh, he’s been following us for so long now, don’t really trust him but hey lets pick him over Remus and Sirius for shits and giggles. absolutely no reason why we would trust or like him”

He wasn’t just “a lump of a boy always trailing after them”. He was their friend.

He didn’t mean for any of this to happen he just wanted to protect his friends but he couldn’t… he just couldn’t. Imagine what they put him through to get him to give his best friends up. Imagine how much pain he was in.

So anyway, Peter goes out on an Order mission, alone because really he was only picking something up for them and it wasn’t even that valuable and they were certainly short on numbers so it wasn’t like they could spare more than one person for an errand anyway.

So off he goes, about 3:30pm, he says goodbye to his friends after a hearty lunch at the Potter’s and it’s just getting dark and cold and is that snow? It is. But no matter, he has a task and he’s going to see it through.

He apparates to the location. Kind of stupid when you think about it really, but what choice does he have? He can’t portkey because that’d be about as smart as dancing naked in front of a DeathEater with the words “crucio me” written all over his bod in lipstick. 

But the point is, he’s there. So he gets what he’s there for in the first place and makes to leave which is right when, you guessed it, he finds himself surrounded by not one, not two, but three DeathEater’s grinning wildly and pointing wands. 

And theres not really a way out of this situation is there? Three to one. He’s scared shitless. No one to back him up. Put yourself in his quaking boots. You’re fucked. 

And he thinks they’re going to kill him. He’s not ready for it, he’s not. I mean he’s thought about how he might die before, everyone in the Order has. These are dark times so of course they’ve discussed it at length. But he never expected it to be like this! Three to one, nowhere to run, no one to hear him scream. Hell, he throughout he’d go down on the battlefield with his three best friends beside him.

But oh god no, it’s not gonna be as simple as a quick killing curse. Oh no. They want something from him. And now he knows he’s majorly fucked.

Flash forward 24hours and he’s begging for death. 

They were as nice as Death Eaters could be expected to be at first. They tried coaxing what they wanted to know out of him. Where was the boy? Where could they find the Potter’s? What were the Order’s current and working operations? Where were they located? Why couldn’t he just be a nice helpful boy and he could walk out of there? Did he want to feel the burn of the Cruciatus curse? Guess he did?

 And oh did it burn and sting and hurt like nothing ever had before. It was like burning alive from the inside out. And this didn’t go on for minutes. It went on, intemitantly, for hours. He felt like every bone in his body was on fire. Like every bone, every tendon, every muscle was about to snap or rip to shreds. It was a wonder he didn’t go the same way as Frank and Alice.

It went on until he was in enough pain that he had blacked out each round, wet himself, and he was ready to do anything to make it stop.

He knew death wasn’t coming. Not unless his heart failed him, and god did he will it to.

But wait. Here’s the part where we get to ask ourselves: did anyone even notice he’d been gone much longer than anticipated? Did they think he was lost? On another mission? WHERE DID THEY THINK HE WAS? It had been longer than 24 hours now? Why hadn’t he checked in? 

Did they actually have any way of communicating with each other when they were away? Surely the must have. Would he have had a chance to send for help anyway? Did anyone respond?? Why was no one searching for him????? Surely he must have been gone long enough to raise alarm bells.

It’s a wonder the Death Eaters didn’t actually kill him

But of course, he was still useful to them. He knew everything about the Order. He knew their most recent battle plans and missions, he knew their safe houses and their defences. He was an asset to the Death Eaters. A tortured, poorly treated, starved, and beaten asset. And nothing he told them made the pain stop.

And so he told them what they wanted to know. He gave up his friends, his family, his life - because he wanted desperately to live.

He was catatonic for days afterwards. His body was beaten and exhausted. He had wanted to live, but at what cost.

And now he had a choice. He could join the DE’s and live - and possibly find a way to get information back to the Order. Or he could die. Here on this damp, smelly cellar floor. And he couldn’t do that. That wasn’t how he was supposed to die.

Of course, he wasn’t supposed to get strangled by his own hand seventeen(?) years later either, but thats neither here nor there.

When he found out James, Lily, and Harry were dead (he could hear the laughter ringing down the cellar stairs) and their safe house destroyed, he knew it was over for him.

And when he found out that the Dark Lord was gone and the Death Eaters had disbanded??? When he had regained his strength and fought his way out of that shithole of a house, he fled.

No one would ever trust him again. No one would love him the way his friends had before he had betrayed them. And betrayed them he had. My poor son. All he wanted was for the pain to end.There’s no way he didn’t know exactly what Sirius and Remus would do to him if they every found out it was him. If they didn’t know already.

He was fucked one way or another. 

WOOOOOOW that was long, but there it is. Also, I’m high on flu medication right now so actually quite a lot of this is not how we HC’d it. I just went off on a tangent. Sorry it’s shit, yeah