#series preview

“HA!” you laughed sarcastically, sitting up and adjusting yourself for the 30th time in the past 10 minutes, “Very funny. I’m just the loser that sits by the end zone and takes pictures of their butts while seemingly talking to myself,” your voice grew quiet as you focused on the players on the field, snapping a picture of Evans as his body leaped into the air, catching the ball one-handed, “Fuck, look at that one, that might be featured on the website!” You quickly skimmed through the pictures on your camera, admiring a few of the action shots, “458 and 460 are good.” 

Any of the pictures that you took were automatically uploaded to Lacey’s computer so she could review and edit them before sending them off to ESPN. They usually required a fast turnaround and after a few games, this was the system that worked best for you.

“He’s a cutie,” she teased in a sing-songy voice, the clicking of her mouse in the background indicating she was already going to work on the picture you’d just snagged. 

You hummed in response, keeping your focus on the field as the viewfinder raised in front of your eye again, “He is… but he’s a player. Don’t tell me you don’t see those articles about him? He’s got a new girl on his arm every fucking week.” Your eyes and camera focused on the running back, but she knew you were talking about Chris. 

“I didn’t say you had to date him. Just be another girl. Fuck him and walk away,” She responded, her tone unbothered. If she were standing in front of you right now, she’d be shrugging. 

Shaking your head, you opted for no response to her comment. The ref’s whistle blew, a flag on whatever play they were running. You never paid attention, you didn’t understand the football lingo, nor did you care. It wasn’t your job to know, it was your job to take pictures of these men throwing balls or chasing each other. You could do that without knowing what hell 1st and 10 meant. 

You took a second to comb through some of your pictures, flagging the ones you thought Lacey would like, making her job a little easier. The whistle blew again and you brought your attention  back to the game, “Who do I need pictures of?” 

There was a moment of silence before she responded, “Stevenson, #38. Taylor, #42.” 

Searching the field, you tracked down one of them, standing from your cross-legged position on the ground and squatting while raising the camera to snap a picture. You followed him with the lens for a second before there was a ball tucked in his arm, left hand extended. You stood up straight and snapped a couple of pictures, keeping up with him as he ran, not noticing the play getting closer and closer to where you sat. 

“Y/N!” you heard Lacey’s voice call out over the earpiece, but before you could react or respond, you were knocked back, hard. A large hand secured around your waist as you fell, another reaching behind you in an attempt to break your fall. It didn’t… just for the record. Your head fell back, smacking against the turf with force, your vision blurring as a splitting headache shot through your brain.

“Fuck, sweetheart, are you okay?” 

You groaned, trying to roll, the lights from the stadium blinding you. Lacey was screaming something in your ear, making your head pound, so you yanked the earpiece out, tossing it to the side. 

“Stay still, hold on. Don’t move,” a voice commanded, his voice low and raspy. His hands left your body as he stood, towering over you, “Get Link over here!” You weren’t sure who was yelling, but you knew that Lincoln was the team's trainer. 

You groaned again, a heavy hand pushing you down as you attempted to move. 

“Stay down, Y/N.” 

Y/N? Who down here knew your name? Everything in your body told you to keep your eyes closed, but you ignored it, slowly peeling them open. You winced at the bright lights, blinking several times to focus on the man whose feet were planted on either side of your hips, “Evans?!” You tried to keep the surprise and excitement from your voice but failed. 

He chuckled, striking blue eyes looking down at you, “Yeah, Evans. Are you okay?” 

You shook your head, “How the hell do you know my name?” 

His brows furrowed, looking down at you, “That’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Well… yeah. Why else would I be worried?” 

“A concussion?” 

“Even if we did decide to turn her in, going against everything we stand for now, there’s no tracking fob, we have no connections with the Guild—we don’t know who wants her!” Karga spoke in a hushed tone, and you could feel his eyes on you, unsure and at a loss. That made two of you.

Letos’ cold voice spoke from somewhere behind you, “I was never given that information when I took the puck. And it seems the agent who gave it to me met a messy end over on Tatooine,” he paused, and you imagined he was now gesturing at you as his next words rang out, “I’m afraid I have no need for the girl, so if you won’t accept her, I’ll be proceeding to execution. She is too much of a liability and I intend to leave the Outer Rim for good after this.”

He stopped talking abruptly at the sound of a door sliding open to your right. At first, the room was silent and you thought perhaps no one had entered, until Karga’s companion gasped after a beat.

“You’re back!”

Greef moved past you to the silent newcomer, and you follow his path with your eyes, turning your neck and flinching at the stiffness. There’s a few moments of greetings that you miss as your ears thrum with the pain, not just in your neck but everywhere. When you can finally focus again, which takes quite a bit of concentration, you see a tall figure covered entirely in beskar, and you have to search for the word.

Mand—Mandolorian. Yes, that was what, or rather who, you were looking at. A Mandolorian warrior. You had never seen one in person before, but there was no mistaking the helmet, the head to foot beskar armor, or the way Letos’ grunted in irritation tinged with concern as he surveyed the man.

“I hate to interrupt, Karga,” He hissed, and you heard him take a step closer to you. Not wanting to show the fear you felt—because you’d certainly heard his declaration just before the Mandolorian appeared—you worked slowly in your kneeled position to sit straighter. Head held high. “But I do need to make my leave.”

You felt all eyes on you in that moment. The too-thin, scraggly little creature you’d become when trying to flee your past. You hadn’t been raised in a way that made you tough when it came to starving night after night, even if you could hold your own in hand to hand combat or handle a blaster well enough. It didn’t matter when you continued to wither down and then just as you finally found a decent group and started to settle and feel safe, Letos’ stole you away and put you in carbonite.

All you wanted was a hot meal, long bath and to fall asleep in a real bed. And for the nightmares to stop.

Instead, a group of strangers were assessing you, deciding your fate despite none of them even knowing who had originally hired bounty hunters to track you down. If you told them, they wouldn’t believe you anyway. You had no proof. You consider speaking, just to say that you’re pretty sure you were meant to be kept alive, but it seems so feeble a plan you close your eyes briefly as the weight of imminent death settles on your shoulders.

When you open your eyes again, the Mandolorian is looking right at you. His helmet tilts, ever so slightly, and you aren’t sure how you know, but you do—you’re looking straight back at him, and you school your expression to ensure he doesn’t see your fear.

Letos’ patience runs thin, “I’ll take her and—“

“No.”

The modulated voice that comes from the helmet is deep, the tone eerily calm. The Mandolorian takes a few steps—around Greef and the Marshal, his head moving only slightly, though you think he’s looking from you to Letos’, and then something shifts in the very air. Maybe your adrenaline is running so high that your senses are on overdrive, because no one else reacts to the sudden tension.

But the Mandolorian does stiffen, he does turn his head a fraction as if beneath the helmet he’s fixing Letos’ with a mighty glare. And then, in the space of a breath, he moves. Moves like lightning, so fast you can’t even blink before there’s a groan, a wet ripping sound, and then a dull thud as Letos’ body slumps to the ground behind you, dead.

You gasp, petrified, as the Mandolorian pulls the blade from your captors chest and turns to you. A whimper does escape now, though you manage not to wet yourself despite the fear. You want to say something, beg for your life or simply scream, but then he speaks.

“Burc'ya, don’t be afraid,” The modulated voice is softer now, almost a soothing whisper. He drops the weapon and rips the gloves from his hands, revealing golden-tanned, calloused skin. He raises them as if in surrender, “Gedet'ye udessi! You’re safe, you’re safe.”

You’re shivering now, your eyes moving from the helmet to the blood pooling on the ground next to Letos’ body. You don’t know the language he speaks, but you can guess the meaning behind the words. Still, you can’t do more than tremble. As if sensing your thoughts, he speaks again, this time only in basic.

“No one will harm you again, little one.”

You stare at your reflection in the helmet for a moment before pulling in a slow breath. You hold his gaze—at least, based on your best guess of where his eyes are—and your voice comes out softly as you say your name. He should know you have a name.

Another brief pause, and then your body gives out as the adrenaline fades and you sag forward. Your vision pinpricks just as you see him reach out to catch you, and then there’s nothing but darkness…

Sanctuary — Coming Soon 2022

Burc'ya - friend/my friend

Gedet'ye udessi - Calm down/calm yourself

It’s late, when you see him by the riverbank. Too late at night for men of sense to be out near muddy shores where an errant foot might lead to an uncomfortable end in a shallow pool of mud. The man before you, nervously affixed to the dim moonlight to guide his vision, is seemingly unaware of such conventional wisdom.

You watch him with cautious eyes, gleaming yellow in what little silver filters from above. Like the rest of his people, heart and mind occupied by more mundane fears, he does not notice you. Not at first, not even as he seeks you out.

Dark waters have been your home for longer than you can remember, longer than you have been here in these icy ones. Dim as the night is, the stars and watchful moon above are enough for you, enough to see the things mortal men rarely notice. The silver beam of moonlight a halo around a shadow-painted form, glad warm in furs. The furrow of a brow made heavy with though, memories of youthful play buried under new responsibility. You know your wolf to be… handsome, even when he was a pup, but those were memories of a tadpole, when others lived to remind you of the ways of men.

Are you here? His voice is as you remember it and different all at once, deepened with age and made innocent with hope, seeking and wishing all at once, as if he’d rather be disappointed and find you not at all, find you a rumor complained about in naught more than a hushed whisper and a cautionary bedtime story.

You could let that be. Could allow him to leave, leave thinking you a nothing, a myth and a dismissal, leave him to tell those who complained about your presence that you were no such thing.

You could.

You could punish him for the forgetting, leave his memories confused with the things your once and only friend left behind in the wake of the growing a princeling must do.

For the L/N family, they had come from money. Their wealth bought their freedom from the vampires. For the two children in the family they'd never have to fear being human. For the eldest, Alexander, he wished to continue their bloodline to ensure there was a truce between the vampires and the humans of their family. But for the youngest, Y/N, she wished to become a vampire and when she was younger, her parents made a deal with the Mikaelsons to ensure her status would carry over as a Vampire.

While most girls in her age dreamed of becoming something of themselves in the world that was created around them, Y/N wanted nothing more than to be a vampire. One that wanted to change things for the better. And the way the L/Ns had it, their children were going to mend bridges.

Unfortunately, the matriarchs of the L/Ns were killed in an accident that left them as orphans. Alexander being the eldest was given the burden of being the head of household and he uncovered his parents' secrets. Before their death, his parents made a deal with another Vampire. And with their death, it broke the deal between them. It left them on the verge of bankruptcy and being tossed in with the other humans.

Y/N stood outside the double wooden doors as she listened to the muffled sounds of her brother arguing with a vampire. Alexander was in there for more than an hour speaking with the vampire that held the deal with their parents. Seeing as it was a matter for the head of house, Y/N couldn’t be in the room. But where she stood she could pick up on her fair share of things.

Most of it had been about money, or the lack thereof. Being in debt to a vampire left any human feeling unease and Alexander was no different. Especially as he looked across the table at Tristan De Martel. If there was one thing they learned, the De Martels were the downgrades of the Mikaelsons. Where the Mikaelsons held their deals in good faith, the De Martels could find a loophole within the contract to work in their favor. And that was what happened with their parents.

Y/N’s heart dropped when she heard her name being brought up in the conversation. While She couldn’t hear what was being said, she knew it had upset her brother. His voice had raised while the vampire’s remained calm. The longer her brother yelled, the more worry filled her. And the words she picked up on hadn’t made anything easier.

When the doors opened, a chill ran through Y/N as she looked over at her brother, attempting to ignore the way Tristan had gazed at her as he walked passed. The look on her brother’s face had told her this wasn’t the end of things. That the conversation he just had wasn’t an easy one and he was left with hardly any choices.

“Were you able to come to an agreement?” She asked as soon as she knew Tristian would be out of earshot, even for a vampire.

Alexander nodded as he ran his hand over his face. “One that I do not fully agree on.”

“Well?” She asked after a moment of her brother not saying anything. While she may have been able to pick up on bits and pieces of the conversation, it wasn’t everything she needed to know. And when her brother hesitated once more fear filled her.

“What did you promise the De Martels?” She asked as she took a step towards him. He didn’t know how to answer her. Not when it had to do with her. But the guilt she saw written on his face had told her everything, causing her to shake her head. “No.”

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He said as he kept his eyes on hers, even as they filled with tears.

Y/N took a step back in disbelief. “No.” She repeated. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I had no other choice.” He said as he watched the tears form in her eyes.

“I have a deal with the Mikaelsons, you can’t just go and make a deal with the De Martels to hand me over.”

“If it means keeping our family name in good standing, I’ll do what is needed.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. But they had been true. Tristan had offered a deal and Alexander jumped on it. Tristan would clear the family’s debt and void out his parents contract if he got Y/N in return.

“You’ve sentenced me to die.” Anger began building within her. “Tristian’s humans never last.”

“You were going to die anyway.” He responded quickly, earning a hard slap across his face.

“On my terms!” She yelled. “Not by the hands of a vampire that keeps his own psychotic sister locked up! When Elijah finds out-”

“Your ties with Elijah no longer matter. Yes he gave our parents his word that you would join them. Your infatuation with each other sealing that deal. But this decision can’t be easily taken back and you know that.”

While they both know going against either families was a risk. But with the De Martels, there was a deadline that was fast approaching them. Y/N ran her hand along her face and shook her head as she turned away from her brother. She couldn’t handle this.

“Elijah might know how to get-” Before Y/N could even finish her sentence, her brother knocked her over the head with the nearest object he could reach, leaving her unconscious.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." He said as he crouched down beside her. "But I refuse to become one of them."

_____

The De Martels knew what Y/N would ment to the Mikaelsons. She was to be their saving grace. A chance to mend the world with siblings as a Vampire and her Human brother. She was also Elijah’s soon to be wife. Tristan knew he was playing a dangerous game. And because he knew her worth, he kept her hidden, away from any prying eyes that could possibly leak where she was.

Much like the other humans in De Martel's care, she had been drugged, used and abused by those within Tristan's circle. As she laid in the dark damp cell, all she wanted was to die. Her colorful dreams of the future faded to black and white wishes of death and peace as time passed.

Anger had filled Elijah the moment he stopped by to see Y/N and Alexander told him what happened. While furious with her brother he knew he'd always keep his word to Y/N to not ever harm him. It took him over a month to find Y/N's whereabouts. The moment he had her location there was no stopping him.

Elijah stormed through the De Martel home. Anyone that dared to stand against him had their hearts ripped out in a split of a second. Bodies and hearts had been left in his wake as he made his way through. Each one brought him closer to finding Y/N.

When the door keeping her in was forced open, Y/N whimpered in fear at the sound, unable to see who walked in from her position. She hadn't even begun to heal from the last time that door opened. But even as the footsteps neared, she couldn't get herself to move, her body too weak to try. Panic filled her as the footsteps ceased right next to her.

"Shh, shh," Elijah began, trying to keep Y/N calm. "It's me."

As he did, it wasn't hard to see how beaten and bruised she had been. Bite marks covered her body in several places. He had never felt so much anger before at seeing her injuries.

"'Lijah." It had been a whisper, but he heard it loud and clear.

"I got you. I promise I'm going to take care of you, okay?" He had every intention of never letting her leave his sight. He even made the promise to himself that he'd kill the De Martels with his own two hands.

But before the comfort and relief of being free set in, Y/N was rudely awakened by the sound of the door opening and shutting by the unwelcome guest.

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