#chrono navi

[nattnattkatt]

DAY 101

I still have no clue about Ai chans lore ⁉️⁉️

[catcantnavigate]

honkai impact 3 pixels

[btxtyuri]

this official art is driving me INSANE

[hoyotunes]

Welcome from The Day of Transcending Finality Silver.J, HOYO-MiX

[ksera-sera]

Just updated the store a bit ago. I have Gate earrings inspired by Chrono Trigger and a Fairy/Navi earrings for your LoZ fans out there.

I’m starting to sell earrings. I have nature and pride designs with plans for some fandom ones down the road.

[nahoney22]

Liar Liar (Part 8/?)

Part 8 - Aftermath // <<< Part 7

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧 word count: 2k

🫧 Chapter Summary: Devastated, you seek comfort in your best friend as you try to make sense of everything from tonight.

🫧 Warnings: angst, lots of crying, comfort, explicit language, embarrassed and emotional reader.

The walk to Pia’s apartment was nothing short of humiliating.

Tears stained your cheeks, mascara smudged beneath your puffy eyes. The heels you had worn with such eagerness were now your sworn enemies, their straps digging into your blistered feet until you finally snapped. With a strangled noise of frustration, you yanked them off and hurled them into the nearest alley, not caring who saw.

“Oh, just fuck off!” 

A few passing strangers turned to stare, some amused, some concerned, others just pitying. You didn’t care.

Barefoot and emotionally wrecked, you made your way toward Pia’s apartment in the lower sector, each step a mix of aching feet and the weight of betrayal pressing down on your chest. The only silver lining was that Pia didn’t live far—though you were sure walking barefoot through Coruscant’s streets had already knocked a few years off your lifespan.

When you finally reached her door, you fumbled with the keyfob, your hands shaking as you swiped it against the panel. The lock clicked open, and relief flooded you as you stumbled inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, your body gave out. You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Instead, you collapsed onto Pia’s curved sofa, faceplanting into the dark navy cushions with a long, muffled groan of despair.

For a while, you just lay there, motionless. If someone were to walk in now they would think you were dead. Considering a part inside you died it wouldn't be so far from reality.

The fabric beneath you soaked up the remnants of your ruined makeup and tears, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Why me?” you croaked into the cushion, your voice muffled and pitiful.

What were the chances? How did this even happen? The man you had been falling for— Whisky —wasn’t real. He was Fox, your boss. Considerably the more prominent Commanders in the squad.  The same man who had been nothing but cold and unapproachable toward you at work, the same man who barely gave you the time of day. 

Ugh, it was like something out of a karking holofanfic you used to read. But now it’s your reality.

Eventually, you rolled onto your side, wiping at your blotchy face before grimacing at the black smudges you left on Pia’s cushion. You quickly flipped it over, pretending you hadn’t just defiled her furniture with the evidence of your emotional breakdown.

Sitting up, you exhaled shakily, hands running over your face as you tried to make sense of it all.

You hated yourself for not realising it sooner.

Fox had always been so different with you—so distant —yet Whisky had been warm, charming, even funny in his own way. But the signs were there. No one else knew this so-called ‘Whisky.’ You had never even questioned it, never pressed for more details, never even thought to ask what Fox looked like beneath his helmet to realize it had been him all along.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. Not amused. Not ironic. Just… hollow.

Somewhere out there, Fox was probably scrambling for an excuse. You wondered if he had even tried to defend himself to Pia—or if he had just stood there like a coward, letting her chew him out.

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

And Thire.

Your breath hitched as the realisation hit you again that Thire had been there. You hadn’t stuck around long enough to see his reaction, but the possibility that he andother troopers knew about this, that they had been possibly in on it, makes your skin crawl.

You cast a glance at the chrono on the wall. You hadn’t noticed how much time had passed since everything had fallen apart. The night cycle had already settled in. Shivering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking down at the dress you had once been so excited to wear.

“Typical,” you muttered.

You needed to change. You needed out of this dress. This damn colour.

Without hesitation, you raided Pia’s closet (you knew she wouldn’t mind), grabbing the first oversized sweater you could find. It was bright orange and garish but you couldn’t cope to see anything Red. You matched it with some a pair of comfy lounge pants after peeling your dress off. You folded it neatly though a part of you wanted to burn it along with the memory of this entire night. 

But it was expensive so maybe another time. 

Settling back onto the couch, you switched on the holoscreen, mindlessly scrolling through options before picking something random. The movie played, colours flickering across the walls, but you barely registered what was happening. Your mind was of course elsewhere, circling the same thoughts, the same questions.

Was Fox looking for you right now? Had Pia ripped him apart? Did he even feel bad about what he had done?

The faint beeping of the apartment door jolted you from your thoughts.

You straightened, quickly pausing the movie as the door hissed open.

Pia stepped inside, her movements sharp, her expression thunderous. If you had been a mess of emotions earlier, she was barely containing the steam blowing out her ears.

You swallowed, watching as she stormed toward the kitchen, already grabbing two cups and fixing a drink. Hopefully something strong.

You hesitated before finding your voice. “What did he say?”

Noticinghow her shoulders tensed from behind, you almost shudder as you see her small hesitation. But then she turned to you, jaw tight, eyes filled with unfiltered anger. “He didn’t say a single thing.”

Your stomach dropped. “W-what?”

She scoffed, setting down your drink with a sharp clink . “Yeah. I let him have it, and the bastard just stood there like a statue.” She took a long sip of her own drink before shaking her head in disbelief. “Didn’t even try to explain himself.”

Your grip tightened around the cup once you picked it up, anger bubbling up beneath the hurt. “Not even an apology?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just looked guilty as sin that he got caught.”

At least he had some sense of shame other than being a deceitful little-

“Thire had no clue either.” Pia leaned plopped down on the couch beside you, eyeing you carefully.

That made you sit up straighter. “He didn’t?”

“No.” Pia exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. “He was just as dumbfounded as I was. Told me to ‘calm down,’ so I told him where to stick it too.”

Despite everything, a short laugh escaped you at the mental image. “And did he promise to… you know… not say anything.”

She nodded. “Yeah. He promised.”

That was something , at least. No one else at work knew. That you were aware of, anyway.

A heavy silence settled between you. Pia quietly turned the movie back on, giving you time to collect yourself. The soft glow of the holoscreen resumes its flickers against the walls but neither of you really paid attention to it. You just sat there, processing, breathing, letting the worst of the emotions settle. 

When the credits rolled, you finally spoke again. “Pia?”

She turned her head toward you.

“Does Fox… go to 79’s often?”

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Not as much as the other boys.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed back the lump forming, eyes starting that familiar sting “And did he…?”

Pia didn’t need you to finish. She knew exactly what you were asking even if you would not, could not, directly say it. She heard the pain in your voice, the embarrassment in plain sight in a gaze you could not share.

“No, love,” she said softly. “He was always reserved. Didn’t speak to anyone else.”

You exhaled, a strange mix of emotions flooding you. Relief. Confusion. Hurt. Supposedly, it’s always nice to hear that the guy who completely screwed with your emotions wasn’t a total gashead.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered as you slink further back into the couch, playing with the cuffs of this awful sweater.

“He’s so stupid,” Pia corrected with an eye roll. She scooted closer, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “He let a good girl go.”

You smiled, but it was weak. “I can’t believe I was falling for a lie .” Your voice wavered, “Like, was he ever going to tell me?”

Pia sighed and shrugs “I don’t know. But isn’t it better that you found out now rather than later?”

It was now your turn to shrug. “I wish he’d just told me from the get-go. Saved me the humiliation.” You sniffle, nose and eyes still a little bunged up with emotions.

“True, true.” Pia hummed in agreement. She then ponders for a moment before saying, “I take it his persona of ‘Whisky��� was different to how he is really.” 

“Super different.” You exasperate. “When I first spoke to him at 79’s he was mysterious and a bit quiet which is kinda like Fox I guess but the more I got to know him, the messages, the meadow he took me too… It was like a different person.” 

Pia nods in understanding. “But it wasn’t.” 

“Sadly not.”

You stared down at the sweater you were fidgeting with, voice barely above a whisper. “The worst part is… I trusted him. I told him everything about me. And he told me nothing .”

Pia pulled you into a hug just as the next sob strikes you in the heart. 

“And I really liked him.”

   It took a while for you to calm down again after that. Every time you thought you were finally done crying, another wave would creep up on you, spilling over in fresh tears. Pia being Pia, did everything she could to help.

She played with your hair, gently combing her fingers through the strands in a way that was oddly soothing. She grabbed you snacks, refilled your drink without you even asking, and—perhaps her best idea yet—put on a compilation of clankers getting destroyed in the most ridiculous ways.

A battle droid getting thrown around by a Wookiee. Another one getting its head stuck in a ship door before being dragged off into hyperspace. One standing idly as an AT-TE foot came crashing down on it with a squeaky, pathetic "Uh-oh."

Eventually, it worked. The tension in your chest eased, and the last of your tears dried on your cheeks. The exhaustion settled in, pulling at your limbs, making your eyelids heavy.

By the time you were halfway through the two-hour compilation, you turned to Pia, only just now registering the lovely dress she was wearing.

“Wait…” You sat up slightly, frowning. “Weren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?”

Pia blinked, then looked down at herself, as if only now remembering her outfit. A grin tugged at her lips before she glanced back at you. “Yeah, but I had more important matters to attend to.” She reached over and patted your head playfully.

You squirmed, laughing as you swatted her hand away. “You sap.”

But then another realisation hit. Your brows shot up as your tired brain finally connected the dots. “Wait—what the stars? Was your date with Thire?!”

Pia had the audacity to cackle at your wide-eyed expression, nodding as she popped another sweet into her mouth.

Your jaw dropped. “ Pia! ”

“What?” she said through a smirk.

“What are you doing here with me then?”

She shrugged, leaning back against the couch as she grabbed another handful of sweets. “He was late anyway.”

You gaped at her, gobsmacked. Grabbing a piece from your own bowl, you tossed it at her. “ I thought you didn’t like him! ”

“ Never said that,” Pia mused, expertly catching the sweet you threw at her and popping it into her mouth. “I just don’t like him dancing on tables and making me fill out accident forms.”

You snorted. “Did he do it again?”

“Oh, yeah.” Pia grinned at the memory. “He was wasted .But… he was being cute. Asked me on a date. I said yes. And now here I am with you.”

You frowned, your guilt creeping in again. “Kriff, Pia, I’m sorry you missed your date because of me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s alright.” She glanced at you, her expression softening. “And like I said, I had more pressing matters.”

Your heart swelled a little at that.

Pia had always been a good friend. But tonight? Tonight, she was the best friend.

“Wait, is that my sweater?”

“Well it’s definitely not mine. It’s ugly.”

“Hm. Suits you then.”

🫧 Next part coming soon

🫧 Or stay up to date and head over to my AO3

🫧 Liar Liar Series Masterlist

🫧Please reblog to support artists and writers ♥️

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[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O4

“𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒”

"You’ve never been trained physically past the basics. Yet your body seems to know exactly how to counter every single one of Taehyung’s movements. Jimin doesn’t like you. And everybody seems insistent on not answering any of your questions."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 3,5k

content: waking up in a stranger's room (but is it?), Jimin choosing violence before coffee, training room shenanigans with TaeKook, ability reveals that definitely break several laws of physics, and Y/N's body remembering combat moves she shouldn't know.

— author’s note

Y'ALL. I've been DYING to write this training sequence since day one because holy shit, the ABILITIES. Remember when I said everyone had their own temporal powers? No? WELL.

Let's talk about Jungkook casually breaking physics because he can, Taehyung being done™️ with everyone's shit, and Y/N discovering she has powers while getting her ass handed to her. Also featuring: Jimin choosing violence before breakfast, mysterious golden sparks that definitely aren't supposed to happen, and Y/N's body remembering things her mind doesn't (again).

Also can we appreciate Jimin's "above my pay grade" energy while deliberately withholding information? And don't even get me started on Jungkook doing that thing where he copies other people's abilities just to be annoying. The CHAOS of this team, I swear.

Special shoutout to everyone who's been wondering about Y/N's room situation because BOY do I have some spicy implications for you. That empty space in the bed? The missing personal items? The way her body keeps remembering things her mind doesn't? Yeah, there's a reason for that 👀

Fun fact: I actually had to create a spreadsheet to keep track of everyone's abilities because they kept doing cool shit I wasn't planning. Looking at you, Jungkook, you weren't supposed to be able to do that yet but here we are.

Anyway, get ready for some quality action featuring: precise measurements of ass-kicking, clinical descriptions of supernatural abilities, and Y/N's analytical brain trying to science her way through literally impossible situations. Also temporal physics continues to be completely ignored in favor of plot convenience because I said so.

— read on

ao3

wattpad

The first thing you notice is wrong is the color of the walls. 

Navy blue instead of regulation black, the shade precisely 27.4% lighter than standard temporal housing requirements. 

Your analytical mind automatically begins cataloging the discrepancies: king-sized bed versus your assigned individual unit, missing digital chronometer from the nightstand, non-regulation bookshelf filled with texts you can't quite make out from this distance.

The sheets pool around your hips as you sit up, cotton instead of the standard-issue synthetic blend. 

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:00:13 AM—back in normal time flow. The device's presence is oddly reassuring, though something about that feels wrong. 

Weren't they against CHRONOS? Your memory of last night fragments when you try to access it.

Most concerning is the inexplicable sensation of absence beside you. The mattress holds a phantom warmth your body seems to expect, though you've never shared sleeping quarters with anyone. The feeling triggers a 2.3% increase in your heart rate.

The door opens without warning—no knock, no announcement. You're beginning to detect a pattern in their disregard for entry protocols.

Pink hair appears first, followed by tactical gear that wouldn't look out of place in a CHRONOS security unit. 

Jimin. Your mind supplies the name with surprising certainty.

"So you finally decided to wake up." His tone carries carefully crafted disinterest as he surveys the room. "Thought you'd sleep through training at this rate."

"This isn't my room." The statement comes out more observation than protest.

Jimin's eyebrow arches as he lets out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Technically, it is. You just don't remember." 

His fingers find a bobblehead on a nearby shelf, setting it in motion with deliberate precision. The object's presence feels simultaneously foreign and familiar.

"My assigned quarters have regulation black walls," you begin listing discrepancies, falling into analyst mode. "This bed is 76.2 centimeters wider than standard issue. The furniture arrangement violates temporal housing code 7.3 regarding—"

"You know what's interesting?" He cuts you off, voice filled with mock curiosity. "For someone supposedly waking up in a strange room, you're being remarkably calm about it." His eyes meet yours. "Don't you find that... odd?"

The observation washes over you like temporal feedback. 

He's right—your response pattern doesn't match standard protocols for displacement scenarios. Your heart rate should be elevated, stress hormones spiking. Instead, you feel an inexplicable comfort, marred only by that persistent sense of absence beside you.

You don't answer. Can't answer.

"Come on, up." Jimin picks up a book from your shelf—your shelf?—and drops into a bean bag by the dresser. "You've got training with Taehyung."

"I don't require training." The words come automatically, though you're not entirely sure what training he's referring to. "My temporal monitoring certification is complete."

"Trust me," he drawls, flipping pages without looking at you, "you do. But don't worry, you'll pick it up quick. You always do." Something in his tone makes your temporal readings fluctuate by 0.4%.

His eyes flick toward the dresser. "Training gear's in there."

You glance at the dresser, then back at him. "Changing attire in the presence of an unrelated male violates temporal conduct regulation 15.2."

The laugh that bursts from him carries genuine amusement. "Now that's ironic."

"I fail to see the irony in basic temporal compliance."

"Doesn't seem to bother you with Yoongi," he mutters, still pretending to read.

Your pulse jumps 7 beats per minute at the name. 

"I have no personal relationship with Agent Min." The words taste wrong on your tongue, like reciting equations in the wrong order.

"Sure you don't." Jimin rolls his eyes, standing with fluid grace. "Get dressed. You've got 5 minutes before Taehyung starts getting impatient." He replaces the book with suspicious familiarity, then pauses at the door. "And don't worry about modesty, Noma. I don't swing that way."

The door closes behind him with a soft click that somehow sounds amused.

You stare at your Chrono-Sync Watch: 09:03:47 AM. 

Time moving normally, yet nothing about this feels normal. Your fingers trace the empty space beside you in the bed, a gesture you don't consciously initiate.

You have 4 minutes and 13 seconds until Taehyung expects you.

You wonder why that knowledge feels like muscle memory.

The sheets slide from your hips as you rise, cool air brushing against your skin in a way that feels sharper than it should. 

Your Chrono-Sync Watch ticks forward—09:04:02 AM. 

You note the time automatically, as if logging it for a report you're no longer required to submit. The absence of your digital clock on the nightstand is disorienting, but not enough to stop you from crossing the room.

The dresser is unassuming—plain wood, slightly worn at the edges. You hesitate before opening it, fingers pausing on the handle. There's a strange weight to the moment, like you're performing an action you've done countless times before but can't consciously recall.

Inside, neatly folded, is tactical gear. 

The fabric is matte black, fitted with precision you recognize as military-grade. It's similar to what you've seen Jimin wear—what most of them wear here, except for Jin and Namjoon with their white lab coats. 

Your fingers trace the sleeve uncharacteristically, following the line of the material until it transitions seamlessly into a glove.

The design catches your attention. The ensemble covers everything—head to toe. Efficient, practical. Yet something about it feels... deliberate. A choice made with more than function in mind.

You pause, catching on an inconsistency. Skin coverage isn't unusual; in fact, it's standard. Public regulations discourage unnecessary exposure under the guise of "professionalism" and "efficiency." 

But this? This feels excessive even by CHRONOS standards.

Your thoughts shift to Protocol 47.3, the regulation governing physical contact during temporal operations. 

The directive is drilled into every trainee during certification: Direct skin-to-skin contact during active temporal anomalies is prohibited unless explicitly authorized by a superior officer. The reasoning is sound—skin contact can destabilize temporal signatures, increasing the risk of anomalies or detection by hostile forces. 

But here? They’ve mentioned Protocol 47.3 repeatedly since your arrival, almost obsessively. Yoongi's gloved hands, his careful avoidance of direct contact even through fabric barriers—it all aligns too perfectly with the regulation's stipulations.

And yet...

Your fingers linger on the glove's edge as you consider what Jimin said earlier: "Doesn't seem to stop you with Yoongi." The words echo in your mind like feedback from an unstable temporal loop.

Why would he say that? You've followed every protocol to the letter since arriving here—or at least since waking up here. Haven't you?

Your hand pulls back from the gear as if burned, though there's no logical reason for the reaction. The tactile memory of Yoongi's grip on your wrist surfaces unbidden—the precise pressure of his fingers over fabric, the way his thumb shifted against your pulse point like he was measuring something only he could perceive.

You shake off the thought and refocus on the gear in front of you. Practicality wins out over discomfort as you begin changing into it piece by piece. The material fits snugly but not uncomfortably, designed for optimal movement without excess fabric that could snag or slow you down.

The gloves slide on last, their reinforced seams pressing lightly against your fingertips. You flex your hands experimentally, noting how they feel both foreign and familiar at once.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:07:16 AM when you're fully dressed. Three minutes and forty-four seconds since Jimin left—not quite within his five-minute deadline but close enough to avoid reprimand.

Still, as you glance at yourself in a mirror mounted above the dresser—a mirror that shouldn't be there according to housing regulations—you can't shake the feeling that this uniform means something more than just practicality or compliance.

It feels like armor.

And for reasons you can't yet explain, that thought unsettles you more than anything else about this place so far.

You gather your hair into a ponytail efficiently, the motion feeling oddly routine despite never wearing your hair this way for work. Something about the weight of the tactical gear suggests you'll need the visibility. 

Your fingers work through the strands with mechanical precision—exactly three loops of the hair tie, tight enough to secure but not so tight it would cause temporal pressure points.

09:08:49 AM. 

You exit the room to find Jimin examining what appears to be a modified Chrono-Sync Watch, his fingers tapping against its surface deliberately.

"That's more like you," he comments, eyes flicking up to your ponytail.

"I have never worn such attire," you state, the words feeling hollow even as you say them.

His lips twitch, something between amusement and irritation. Without further comment, he turns and starts walking, his stride purposeful. You follow, mind already cataloging questions that need answers.

"Where exactly are we?" It's the most logical place to start.

"Underground facility, Boston sector." His tone suggests he's answered this before. Many times.

"That's impossible. CHRONOS maintains detailed structural maps of all underground facilities in the Eastern Seaboard. This location doesn't exist in any database."

"Exactly." He doesn't even look back.

You frown, calculating possibilities. "The energy requirements to maintain a facility of this size off-grid would be—"

"Let me guess," he interrupts, "astronomical? Impossible with current technology? Breaking several laws of temporal physics?"

"Yes, actually."

"Fascinating observation. Any other obvious statements you'd like to make?"

Your jaw tightens at his tone. "Why haven't you removed my watch? If you're against CHRONOS, it seems inconsistent to let me keep it."

Jimin actually laughs at that, the sound sharp. "Remove it? You want Yoongi to be your personal temporal stabilizer 24/7? Because that's what would happen. Your signature's too unstable without it."

"My temporal signature is perfectly synchronized with the Network," you counter.

"Is it?" He glances at your wrist. "Check your variance readings."

You do. The numbers make your head hurt—0.7% off baseline. That shouldn't be possible with an active Chrono-Sync connection.

"What training could I possibly need?" you ask instead of dwelling on the implications. "I'm already certified in temporal monitoring."

"Oh honey," he drawls, "you're certified in what CHRONOS wanted you to know. Not what you need to know."

"That makes no logical sense. CHRONOS exists to maintain temporal stability and prevent—"

"Chrono-terrorism?" He cuts you off, voice mockingly sweet. "Tell me, what exactly do you know about these supposed temporal terrorists?"

You open your mouth to cite historical records, then pause. The data feels... rehearsed. Memorized rather than learned.

"And what about Protocol 47.3?" Jimin continues, his pace never slowing. "Ever wonder why skin contact affects temporal signatures so much?"

"It creates destabilization patterns that—"

"That what? That CHRONOS can't control?" His voice carries an edge. "Ever think maybe that's the point?"

Your mind catches on the way Yoongi avoided touching you, even through fabric. On this full-coverage uniform that leaves no skin of yours exposed. 

Jimin is not wearing gloves, you note.

“The memory integration yesterday,” you say, mind catching on the failed procedure. “It didn’t work. I still don’t remember anything.”

“Wow, really? Shocking. Absolutely unprecedented. Whatever shall we do?” Jimin’s voice drips sarcasm as he checks his watch again. “It’s not like this happens every single time or anything.”

“If you know it won’t work, why attempt it?”

“Because Yoongi insists.” His tone shifts slightly, almost tired. “And because sometimes hope trumps statistics. Even if those statistics are currently,” he pretends to calculate, “zero for seventeen?”

“Seventeen what?”

“Attempts. Resets. Take your pick.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Though I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. You always do.”

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Many, many things." His tone shifts slightly, almost tired. "But that's not my call to make. Ask Min, if you're so curious."

"I don't know Agent Min well enough to ask such questions."

"Right," he sighs, continuing down the corridor. "Of course you don't."

You quicken your pace to match his stride, questions tumbling out faster than you can analyze them for logical sequence.

"The temporal dampening field in this facility—how is it maintained without detection?"

"Through the power of not telling you everything." He doesn't break stride.

"Your Chrono-sync watch. It’s modified. These modifications, they're not just cosmetic, are they?"

"What gave it away? The temporal stabilization or the fact that CHRONOS can't track them?"

"But that's impossible without access to the Master Clock's base frequency—"

"Lots of impossible things happening lately, aren't there?" His tone drips with false sweetness.

"How did I become an Outlier? My clearance allows me such information but I feel there is more to it—so what does the term actually mean?”

"It means you ask too many questions." He takes another turn.

His constant dismissals are becoming more and more frustrating.

"The 25th hour shouldn't be possible. The human circadian rhythm—"

"Is as manufactured as your temporal compliance programming."

"I'm not programmed."

"Said the robot, robotically."

Your jaw tightens. "The golden traces when Agent Min touches things—"

"Above my pay grade." 

"You keep referring to events I haven't experienced—"

"Haven't you though?"

"The temporal resistance patterns the doctor mentioned—"

“Technically not a doctor.”

“—are confusing, so I would like—”

"Still not my story to tell."

You press your lips together, not understanding why he’s so particularly snappy. But that only makes you want to ask further questions. 

"And why does everyone seem to know me—"

"Weird how that works, isn't it?"

Your frustration finally peaks. 

"You don't like me."

Jimin finally stops, turning to face you with surprising intensity. 

"No," he says simply, "I don't."

The words carry weight—history you can't access, grievances you can't remember. You open your mouth to ask why, but he's already pushing open a door you hadn't noticed.

"Training room," he announces, effectively ending the conversation. "Try not to die. Paperwork's a bitch."

The casual reference to your potential death should probably concern you more than it does.

Jimin gives Taehyung a curt nod before slipping out the door. "Hobi!" His voice echoes down the corridor as he leaves. "Your turn to make coffee, and don't you dare let Namjoon near the machine again!"

You walk further into the training room, the soft click of the door locking behind you making your temporal readings spike by 0.3%. 

"Who locked the—"

The lights dim without anyone touching the controls. You immediately begin calculating the probability of automated systems in a facility that supposedly doesn't exist.

Taehyung stands with his back to you, but something about his posture suggests he's been aware of your presence since before you entered. Your footsteps are silent against the mat, yet he looks over his shoulder with precise timing.

You remember him from yesterday—the quiet one who arrived with Jungkook. He hadn't spoken then either, just watched you with that same unreadable expression he wears now.

He motions to the mat with a slight tilt of his head. You nod, calculating that perhaps he'll be more forthcoming than Jimin.

"The temporal dampening field—is it connected to the facility's power grid or does it run on an independent system?"

He assumes a ready stance.

"The resistance mentioned multiple teams. How many sectors are you operating in?"

No response. Just a slight shift in his weight distribution.

"Your tactical gear appears to have modified temporal shielding. Is that standard issue for your organization or—"

He moves.

The attack comes without warning—a precise strike that should have connected. Your body reacts before your mind processes the movement, sliding into a defensive stance that feels impossible yet natural.

"What the hell?" The words come out sharp as you regain your balance. "A warning would be standard protocol for—"

Another strike. You deflect it automatically, muscle memory you shouldn't have taking over.

"This is highly irregular," you try again, analyzing his movement patterns. "Combat training wasn't part of my temporal monitoring certification—"

He drops low, leg sweeping out in a spinning kick that connects despite your inexplicable reflexes. Your back hits the mat with enough force to knock the air from your lungs.

"Are you insane?" You glare up at him, calculating the statistical probability of internal bruising.

"Terrible." His voice, when he finally uses it, carries no emotion. Just clinical assessment.

You stay down, anger mixing with confusion as you try to understand how you knew those defensive moves in the first place.

"Up." He steps back, ready stance never wavering. "Again."

"Fuck you."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. 

You freeze, horror washing over you as you realize what you’ve just said. Profanity violates temporal conduct regulation 23.1 regarding professional communication standards. The vulgarity alone could result in a citation from the Temporal Compliance Office—

Wait.

Your head throbs as you try to reconcile your automatic recitation of regulations with this new, inexplicable defiance.

Taehyung just watches, something almost like satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

"Up," Taehyung repeats, his voice flat, almost bored. 

He steps back, giving you space to rise, though his stance remains ready, as if expecting you to lunge at him—or maybe expecting himself to lunge at you.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:23:47 AM. 

You push yourself up slowly, your muscles protesting from the impact of his earlier kick. The mat beneath your palms feels slightly uneven, or maybe that's just your frustration skewing your perception. Either way, you have a sinking feeling this is not going to be an easy feat.

The door creaks open behind you, and you barely turn your head to register the new figure entering the room. 

Jungkook. 

You recognize him from yesterday’s brief introduction—silent and watchful, standing beside Taehyung like a shadow. His tactical gear is identical to Taehyung's, though his presence feels lighter somehow, less weighted.

You don’t have time to fully process him before the floor beneath your feet shifts—not dramatically, but enough to send your balance spiraling. It’s as if the ground itself wavers for a split second, like a ripple through solid matter. Your body reacts instinctively, stumbling forward before Taehyung's hand shoots out to steady you.

The jarring gentleness of his grip catches you off guard. 

This is the same man who had been trying to knock you flat on your back ten seconds ago. You glance up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

"Not funny," Taehyung says sharply, his gaze snapping toward Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t respond verbally. He simply lifts the corners of his mouth in a faint smirk, his dark eyes glinting with something that feels both playful and calculated. The two lock eyes for exactly five seconds—long enough for you to notice the tension between them isn't hostile but... Familiarity? Understanding? 

You swear they’re communicating without speaking.

"How do you do that?" you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to you for the first time since entering the room. His expression doesn’t change—still quiet, still unreadable—but something shifts in the air around him. And then—

<Sup.>

The word isn’t spoken aloud. It’s not even whispered. It’s inside your head. A voice that isn’t yours but also doesn’t belong to anyone you've ever heard before.

You freeze, eyes widening as your brain struggles to reconcile what just happened. 

“What the heck is going on?" The words come out sharper than intended, but can anyone blame you?

Taehyung frowns, his grip on your arm tightening slightly before he lets go. His attention snaps back to Jungkook with an edge that wasn’t there before.

"Stop mimicking my abilities," he says coldly.

Jungkook shrugs one shoulder with infuriating nonchalance, as if he hasn’t just violated every known law of communication and physics. His smirk widens by a fraction—a silent admission of guilt—and he leans casually against the wall like he has all the time in the world.

Abilities? Mimicking? What are they’re talking about?

The floor shifting beneath you, Taehyung steadying you without hesitation, Jungkook’s voice somehow echoing inside your head—it all feels connected in ways that defy logic.

"You can interface?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

Jungkook simply smiles, the expression holding a hint of mischief that makes your temporal readings fluctuate. You've seen that same look on children testing boundaries.

"Focus." Taehyung's voice cuts through your analysis.

Your gaze snaps back to him just as he launches forward. His movements are precise—too precise, like he's done this exact sequence countless times before. You force yourself to concentrate on his approach rather than the questions burning in your mind:

How did Jungkook manipulate the floor's temporal stability?

Why can Taehyung interface with physical matter?

How did that voice end up in your head?

The analytical part of your brain wants to calculate the energy requirements for matter manipulation, to understand the quantum mechanics behind consciousness transfer. But Taehyung's fist is already moving toward your face, and somehow you know that theorizing about abilities right now will only end with you back on the mat.

So you focus.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:24:13 AM.

Training has officially begun.

And the golden sparks erupting from your skin seem to know that too. 

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[lowstakesvampires]

Welcome to the tumblr home of my vampire comics!

I make these for fun, so I don't really put too much pressure on myself to keep up with deadlines and such.

It's chill. It's chaotic. It's not written in the correct order. It's... well...

Low Stakes is my rather light-hearted comic about my queer vampires - I don't really try to restrict myself to any genre, so anything is possible really. Friends have described it as a supernatural slice-of-life, which probably isn't too far off.

Essentially, this is just me thinking about my OCs and documenting it on paper. Bits and pieces of their undead lives.

It all started with an unwanted turning, and it just kinda snowballed from there! :D

Tag system and navigation below the cut.

The Tag System

A mobile-friendly, brief overview of the tags I use here. For more information and on-blog chrono tags, click the headers. (desktop only, probably. also very WIP.)

Sketchbook tags

01 small beginnings 02 the pink one 03 teddy bear 04 linnanmäki 05 moomin 06 duct taped spine 07 the green one 08 navy blue --- 📚 misc sketchbooks

- Story tags

📕 main story Things from the main story section of the toyhouse mirror. The red book emoji notes that it is in sketchbook order - so yes, it will be a bit jumbled up, as it is appearing in the order it appears in my sketchbooks. The order I draw them in. Sorry to say, I do not always make these in a linear, chronological order. This became a coherent story by accident.

📗 bonus bits Things from the bonus section of the toyhouse mirror. Mostly still canon, unless it has the "old and outdated" tag!

📘 linear story Not really a thing yet, though ideally, this will be the version of my comic that you can read linearly on tumblr. Singular page per post. Flip through them like a book. Will it ever happen? Who knows! For now, if you simply want to read the whole thing chronologically, there's always this.

The chapters Titles are, of course, subject to change, in which case I will change the names of these links.

📕 prologue 📕 obliviously undead 📕 batventures 📕 slayer intermission 📕 getting used to this 📕 the hunt 📕 vanpires 📕 viking discovery 📕 sailing 📕 abandoned grounds 📕 more sailing 📕 home to mother 📕 most pathetic slayer

📕 there has been a timeskip

-

Cast tags

For when you'd like to see specific characters!

Vampires 🦇 Main guys: Morten | Bat | Rune | Einarr More: Helena | Loki Nyx | Eli | Rupert | Stone | Pyrite | Moonie | Aurinko | Simo Ancients: Tiberius | The Lord | Laugar | Hvasshár | Kvikindi

Humans 🖐️ Morten's family: Maria-Elise | Bjørn-Sigurd | Torstein Rune's family: Frida | Ravn | Kråke | Nobuya | Gunnar | Ada | Sverre | Inger + Ingrid | Anne Slayer club: Liv | Solfrid | Leif | Jonas Miscellaneous: Vegard | Damien | Katrine Viking times: Auðvin | Helga | Þórulfr | Haraldr | Sǫlrún | Sigmundr | Tølir | Arnþóra

Werewolves 🐺 Malene | Thomas | Ylvi | Taija

Others ✨ Oleander | Valerian | Trolls | Ann-Elena

-

Miscellaneous tags

from main vampire lore

backstories: einarr | bat | rune | morten | helena

More tags may be added as time goes on. (...and I remember to update this post)

[al-astakbar]

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 5/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [1.9k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ brief sexual language > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

>series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

>posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

You are awoken in the dark by a shrill, persistent whistle. Disoriented, you twist in the sheets and fumble for your data pad to check the time— before it registers in your brain where you are. The Chimaera. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s personal quarters. Your data pad isn’t here but where you left it on your night table back on Coruscant. Or, more likely, your room has been cleared out for the next trainee. Your personal effects will have been collected and reissued. 

The whistle plays again over the loudspeaker— which you know must not be the correct term for it in the Imperial Navy. You’ll have to refer to it as such in front of Thrawn and see if he gets annoyed enough to correct you. Then, an announcement. 

“Now reveille, reveille. All hands heave out and trice up. Reveille.” 

Just as you are about to flop back down, the door zips open. Thrawn is there, in silhouette. 

You groan in annoyance. 

“Good morning.”

“Is that loud speaker gonna be an every morning type of thing?”

You are slightly disappointed by his lack of reaction. “The time now is—“ he checks his chrono “— one minute past zero six. In twenty minutes, you will accompany me to the bridge. You’ll find your additional daily wear robes in the wall locker, and personal hygiene items in the fresher.”

You just sit there, and contemplate flopping back down and pulling the covers over to block out the light. 

“I recommend you make a start now,” he says. “Whatever state of dress you are in at 06:21 will be what you wear for the rest of the day. Including on the bridge.” He turns and goes back down the short corridor to his office, leaving the hatch open.

Surely he’s bluffing, you reason. Bringing his pleasure companion to such a place would likely embarrass the crew, and damage his reputation. As much as you’ve heard of Grand Admirals and other Imperial elites flaunting their hedonism, few would take such a risk.

On the other hand, testing him seems foolish. 

Mustering great willpower, you swing out of bed, wash and dress, and go to his office. The lights are dim again, and he makes no move to turn them up when he sees you enter.  

“Why do I have to come to the bridge?”

 “I believe you will find it interesting. Alternatively, you may stay here in my quarters, under guard.”

“Would they also watch me pee?”

His eyes narrow. He very deliberately sets down his datapad and walks over to you. Measured, stalking steps, hands behind his back. He does not look to be in a permissive mood. He comes to stand in front of you, close so that you have to look up to his face, and when he speaks, his voice again has that soft, dangerous quality that had made you want to get on your knees for him. 

“I was remiss, last night, in not laying out my expectations for you.”

Last night… you shift on your feet, trying to press your thighs together in a way he won’t notice. There is a dull, sweet ache between your legs, from his size, and the way he had fucked you, hard and thorough. And the low, breathy moan he had given just before he came a second time…

He is much too perceptive, however, and asks if you are sore, or in discomfort. 

You scowl at him, not caring that you’re being a brat about everything. “Like you care.”

“But I do,” he says. “You are mine to use as I wish.”

You feel another swell of arousal, against everything you tell yourself, that it’s wrong and obscene and a betrayal. It’s not how you should feel about him, not when he speaks about you like you’re an object for his pleasure. You blush, looking out the viewport and refusing to meet his eyes. 

He finally speaks out of the heavy silence. 

“My expectations are simple. First, that you will be obedient and respectful. I will not tolerate disruptive behavior.” 

You barely— just barely— restrain yourself from interrupting him to ask for a precise definition of disruptive. 

“Second, when we are alone, you are not to cover your face.”

You realize the pause he leaves is a prompt for you to obey this rule. You sweep your veil back and pout at him, annoyed more so about being told what to do than the rule itself. 

“Of course, you could also do away with it altogether, if you wish.” 

“But I— I can’t!” The mere suggestion of it is scandalous, and coming from a Grand Admiral, no less. 

He only gives you a dispassionate look, then directs your attention to the dining  area where breakfast is laid out. The same two droids that had served dinner are standing by.

Thrawn pulls out your chair for you, and you accept his courtesy with ill grace. 

“You could even wear different clothing,” he says, taking his own seat across from you. “The robes are beautiful, but impractical. Especially on a starship.”

You consider this for a moment, then tell him, “I’ve been wearing them for a year and I still trip on them pretty often.” 

The droids move in, pouring drinks-- juice, water, caf-- though you wish you could ask for tea. When you reach for some jam, somehow your veil falls down over your shoulder, making you accidentally dip your sleeve in the caf creamer. You swear quietly, trying to sponge the light blue liquid out of the fabric.

“Why do you think I’ve set this rule?” He asks. 

It takes you a moment— another one of his non- rhetorical questions, and a confusing non-sequitur until you recall the earlier thread of conversation. A quirk of his mind, perhaps, that you’ll have to get used to. “Assassins!” You blurt out, almost knocking your toast to the floor. 

Looking pleased, or perhaps amused, he sits back in his chair with a nod and goes back to whatever he was doing on his datapad.  One of the serving droids pours him a cup of caf without him gesturing for it, though he doesn’t touch it.

Between bites, and not caring that you’re interrupting his work, you ask why, if he’s so concerned about attempts on his life, he has you staying in his quarters, sleeping in his bed, taking meals with him.

“What if I’m the assassin?” You challenge. 

“Are you?”

“No,” you say petulantly.

“I have explained and believe you understand the consequences of such an action. Have I overestimated your mental faculties?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to kill me?” 

You frown at him. “I could be past reasoning.” Might try, you leave unsaid. 

“And how would that benefit you, in the long run? What do you envision as the outcome?” He makes it sound more like an invitation for a thought exercise than a threat. 

So you pause to consider. “Well, if I made it past intent, and actually tried, I’d probably have to surprise you. If I failed, and you could tie it to me, I’d probably get the rest of my life breaking scrap in the Aamiqh Deeps  if I’m lucky. Or you’d just vent me out the closest airlock.” 

“An efficient solution,” he says, and you look at him sharply, wondering if you mistook that dry tone for sarcasm. “How would you attempt it?”

“Attempt it after this conversation, or before?”

The corners of his mouth twitch, a small smile, and you feel absurdly pleased at that reaction. “Let us keep things simple for now. Before.”

You wrack your brain for what little you’ve been able to observe about him so far. It hasn’t even been a full day. Any habits that could be exploited, parts of his daily routine you could slip into unnoticed. You have yet to see him eat, drink, or sleep, and at this point, no matter how near-human he looks, have no reason to assume he actually needs rest or sustenance the way you do. Sex, then? 

You begin speaking all this aloud, and he nods or comments at particular lines of reasoning. “It would be best if I could wait longer, make more observations.” Part of you can’t quite believe you’re saying all this to him-- and in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably foolish, and could be taken as evidence of intent to harm him, but he already holds all the power anyway. “But if I couldn’t, or found out that none of the obvious things would work--”

“Those being?”

“Poison in your food or drink. Or get you while you’re sleeping. I couldn’t even be sure that what works on humans would work on you. I guess maybe I could--” you stop yourself, feeling silly for playing along with all this, but he urges you to continue.

“Go on.” He sounds entertained and intrigued.

You take a bite of your food, which has gone cold. “Med bay. Could be a way to access your records. I don’t even know what species you are. And there would be medications in there, if I did figure out something that would work.”

“And if not?”   

You tilt your head, gazing out at the serene, beautiful starscape. If you had thought there was even a chance that he would allow you to have embroidery supplies-- well, there would be no way he’d let you possess needles after this conversation. “There must be someone on the ship who doesn’t like you. Maybe even someone relatively high up?” You look back at him, taking in the striking sight of him: his gleaming red eyes, keen and alert and fixed on you, and his sharply handsome features and dark hair, his perfect uniform and heavy rank plaque that seem made to fit him and only him. You hesitate on your next thought. It would be hurtful. “Someone who doesn’t like that you’re…”

“Non-human,” Thrawn says. 

You nod, not willing to cross the line and ask him why he serves an Empire that, by law and creed, considers him inferior. “I think it would be easy to take advantage of. People who think like that can be… single-minded. They wouldn’t like that you’re more successful than them.”

“Perhaps,” he allows. 

“That could also solve the issue of getting off the ship, after I… you know.” You shift uncomfortably. It’s a strange thing. You had always thought, the whole year on Coruscant, that upon meeting whoever you ended up with, you’d want them dead. 

Thrawn is not what you expected.

You squeeze your thighs together, trying very much not to think about how he had looked at you last night, how it had felt with his singular, searing focus on you, how he had sounded when he’d felt you almost lose control.

He regards you intently, letting you squirm, before he finally answers. “A clever thought. Yes, there are certainly those who resent being under my command.”

“Were you trying to get me to convince myself that trying anything is a bad idea?”

“No.” His expression softens just a little, so briefly you might have imagined it. “I simply wished to hear you reason through a problem.” 

He lets you be, then, no further incisive, testing questions. He returns to his datapad, and you sip idly at your caf, watching distant ships and stars through the viewport.

Exactly at 06:21, he stands and indicates for you to come with him— finished with breakfast or not. 

“Keep up,” he says mildly, when he sees you dawdling. “Or you will find yourself on a leash.”

☆ link to part 6 ☆

☆join tag list☆ <- this is the easiest way to make sure your request is recorded, however anyone is also welcome to dm me if they want to be added.

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[queensqueercourt]

Gman from half life and Chronos from hades 2 are terrible husbands that run the HOA like the navy and go to chili's every Friday. Yeah.

[threshergm]

Eulogy

A little scene from my upcoming John and Talia slow-burn titled Missing Pieces. Wanted to see what the tumblr community thought of it first before I really committed to a serious writing schedule and started hammering out word count. @lpmurphy @authortobenamedlater @mrtobenamedlater @fabulaprima @silverpelt3600

@t65flyer @ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask @sarnakhwritesthings @makowrites @morganas-pendragons

@ageless-aislynn @pelgraine @inafieldofdaisies @helix-studios117 @littleneonlily

2327 hours, April 5th, 2552 (military calendar) UNSC Halcyon-class light cruiser Pillar of Autumn Slipspace transit on randomized vector per Cole Protocol Leaving the Branta system, bound for Reach

"Have you seen Corporal Perez?"

Even in just his techsuit, the Master Chief seemed to fill the corridor. Which is probably why the crewman apprentice he was addressing was trying to disappear into the bulkhead. Even with Cortana gone for six months now, he could practically hear her hum, "Social graces, Chief," and took a step back.

The E2 - name tape obscured by the apron he still wore upon emerging from the galleys - gaped and pointed down the corridor, muttering, "On the right," indicating a sliding steel door opposite the entrance to the forward enlisted mess.

Chief nodded once, gruffed a perfunctory, "Thank you," and stalked down the corridor. The Pillar of Autumn, functioning on military standard timekeeping now that they were underway, was in night mode. The chrono above the enlisted mess hatchway glowed a red 2327 hours, and the main lights overhead were off, leaving the only light in the corridor as one lonely lamp over the door labeled FREEZER A-19.

Chief snaked his hand into the recessed handle and yanked the door aside on its track, and stepped inside. He found a single light on inside as well; illuminating shelves and racks of frozen foods, three black body bags on the floor, and next to them, wrapped in a gray Navy-issue blanket, dark hair cascading off her shoulders, sat Corporal Perez.

Master Chief took two firm steps forward, stopping a stride from where the young Marine sat, legs tucked under herself. He stopped and settled into parade rest.

"Corporal Perez, why are you not at your post? Our shift began over a half-hour ago."

She didn't budge, save for breaths that came shallow and a little jaggedly, as if she'd been crying.

"Corporal Perez?"

Silence hung in the artificially frigid air, and Chief began to wonder if he should walk to the wall intercom and summon a medical corpsman. He glanced around, as if missing something, then returned his gaze to the small woman on the floor before him.

"Rand had a thing for me," she croaked out suddenly. So she had been crying. She didn't turn, didn’t move, except to reach a hand out from her woolen cocoon to stroke the bodybag nearest her.

"He always used to sit next to me in the chow hall on drill weekends, but he never knew what to talk about. 'Are you enjoying your chicken, Corporal?'" She laughed weakly, "'Rand, it's just fucking chicken. The same chicken we had last month and every month before that.'"

Her accent thickened alongside the sorrow in her voice. "We picked him up on Midvale back in '49, after the Red United Front bombed that dam. Pulled him off the roof of his family's ranch house with his two sisters. His sisters settled on Culloden, but he stayed. He was one of our full-timers; the Colonel found a job for him as the armorer's assistant. He lived on-base and sent all his pay to his sisters so they could buy land and start again."

She took in a shuddering breath, shoulders trembling underneath her blanket. "He said he saw something in the fog. Country boy, you know? Grew up hunting and I… I should have believed him."

She seemed to shrink in on herself for a moment, hunching against some wordless pain, until a low keening wail escaped, “He was only 19!” She shook her head, and Chief saw hot tears fly, while she bit her lip and fought to get her emotions under control. After a moment, with a grunt of pain, her hand shifted from one body bag to the next.

"Zara Bennett. She was our linguist. I loved her accent. She was from London, and she was the first person from Earth that I'd ever met. Her dad manages a titanium mine out in Tengeri back home on Reach. They're loaded, but you'd never guess it from Zara, we used to go thrift-shopping together. Her parents have a penthouse in downtown New Alexandria, and she could have gone to university back on Earth, easily. But she enlisted. Said she wanted to protect her new home." 

She patted the body bag fondly, black plastic crinkling in the silence, and her hand extended a little further.

"Milo Alvarez. He used to bag groceries down the street from my grandparent's place. He was an atheist, and we always used to argue and… oh, God!" Her voice broke. "I don't know where he is right now…" 

She bowed her head, leaning into the body bag, as if shielding it like Chief had shielded her from the glassing beam on that mountainside, sobs hitching her shoulders, "H-he didn't know you, Father, but take him home… take him home."

She lapsed into Spanish, a language Chief didn't know, and he fervently wished Cortana was there to translate. His brow furrowed; the lack of knowledge a gap in his preparation, the gap in his understanding suddenly a splinter in his mind. Without thinking, he took a step forward, closing the distance between the miserable scene before him, and kneeled beside Perez.

“You speak well for them.” He spoke in low tones; he wasn’t sure why. It simply felt right to do so. Perez stopped, turned upwards to face him, dark eyes reddened and slender face puffy in the dim light of the freezer. “God, I h-hope so. They’re m-my friends.” Tears still flowed freely down her cheeks, and her voice was hoarse. Umber eyes - the color of rich soil Chief had seen on a dozen worlds - held his gaze steadily in the dark, despite the pain swimming in them. “What were you saying, just now? In Spanish?” Chief cocked his head in question. Perez smiled weakly, eyes unfocused for a moment. “Yes, Spanish. I’m from Santiago Circle. I grew up speaking it at home,” she took another breath, steadier this time, “I-I’m Catholic. It was our Prayer for the Dead.” Her eyes met his own in the dark, and she held his gaze for a long moment. Chief wasn’t sure why, but he needed more. The name of a prayer wasn’t enough. He needed to understand this young woman sitting in a pool of her grief beside three corpses. “Tell me what you said,” he rumbled gently. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an order. He just needed to know. Perez kept his gaze for another long moment, then began to slowly recite, in English. In your hands, O Lord,

We humbly entrust our brothers and sisters.

In this life you embraced them with your tender love;

Deliver them now from every evil

And bid them eternal rest.

The old order has passed away:

Welcome them into paradise,

Where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain,

But fullness of peace and joy

With your Son and the Holy Spirit

Forever and ever.Amen.

The freezer-turned-mortuary fell silent as her recitation ended, and her eyes remained locked with his. “Thank you, Corporal.” The Master Chief rose suddenly, took three steps back, and turned to face her, once more at parade rest, his expression unreadable.

“Corporal Perez, I am not rated in cryotube maintenance or repair. You are. There are 1,042 cryotubes in our area of responsibility and all need to be monitored and, if necessary, serviced without compromising function or the occupant inside. I need you to --”

“I can’t leave them,” Perez croaked, voice thickening once more. Her eyes were pleading, her head shaking slowly. Chief’s augmented heart ached to see it, but he couldn’t say why.

“Corporal Perez,” Chief started slowly, not sure how to proceed. “You’re no good to anyone watching over three bodies. What made them your friends is gone. There are 1,042 men, women, and children packed into an identical number of cryotubes, all constructed by the lowest bidder, housed in compartments that were never designed to support them. They need us. They need you.”

The Chief stepped back into the hatchway, turning to look at Perez out of one eye, half his face painted into shadow by the dark of the corridor outside.

“The living need you, Corporal.”

[dragaliareferencearchive]

Model references for Leisurely Melody (Ai Hyperion Λ) - Honkai Impact 3rd

[timeclipsed]

A delicate bouquet of white peonies, blue delphiniums and a couple of green carnations waited for Chronos right at the bottom of the stairs. A small note is attached to the ribbon holding together the flowers and their protective layer of paper. Said note had writing on both front and back—someone had a lot to say. My dear Chronos I wish that I could give you this bouquet in person, though circumstances regarding school had me have to leave in such short notice. I could not wait any longer to be able to show you my gratitude for caring for me in my moment of vulnerability, and a simple text would not suffice. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for sacrificing your time and rest for me. I hope you have been able to rest. I wanted to mention something else before I run out of paper. You're lovely, none of the words that horrible man said about you are true. Not only that, but you're delightful to have around. I know my words may not mean much, but I promise they are true in my heart. May we see each other again soon, I am hoping to make it for Easter. Yours, Skyros Kintobor.

— ☆⋆˙ WANDERING INSIDE TOWARDS HIS BEDROOM, shared with his little brother (who is currently assisting him with carrying paper bags full of medicinal product and other things to treat), a slight confusion breezes past him when he sees the bouquet and its note. Maybe Blossom left her stuff on the steps?

Handling the gift gently, turning tail in preparation to bring it straight to her room, the name on the attached paper catches his attention, and he freezes in place. A gift for him.

❝What…? But why would anyone wanna leave me a gift?❞

— ☆⋆˙ EYES GLAZE THE ELOQUENT CURSIVE in navy ink, taking in every word so delicately crafted and all entirely intended for his eyes. The signature at the bottom leaves his longing heart thumping in his chest: Skyros Kintobor. Although the boy had stubbornly taken off without waiting for a face-to-face departure, the mere visage of those snow white quills and lustery cyan eyes drives him wild enough to let out a few soft giggles, clutching the paper close to his chest.

Observing the articulately-designed bouquet now with full attention, a deep whiff of the fragrant blooms is taken. Tails waggle wildly, admiring the alluring hues of pearl, ocean, and lime. Tears prick at the edges of glittering eyes as they, too, are cuddled close to his chest.

❝Oh, Skyros… you idiot... You didn't have to do this for me… thank you…❞

[whydoibe]

What if jay was working with ras in season 2, part 1 of dragons rising so basic outline jay and jordana relationship is like unwilling friends and bickering siblings? jay is volatile and destructive. jay fights with purpose and intent and ras has taught him to use his words he is nearly as great as manipulator as ras often pocking the bear with a stick that quickly becomes a sword aka jay will bully you till no end. So, to the story.

Arin and sora stood watching the shop until sparks and a bright flash a figure in a dark navy and black with yellow lighting detailing stood his hands waved and suddenly all the lights of the cross roads went out as he walked to the store lighting sparking and shattering the glass and grabbing what looked like a mallet.

Arin and sora drop down blades drawn, ready to fight. The figure turned eyes glowing blue, taking note of their stance correcting his to better counter thiers hands flickered with yellow.

"I suggest you run," he spoke vioce full of venom, "or the power won't be the only things dying tonight." he finished pulling black nunchucks eltricty running along the chain

"What the that's an element?" sora murmed, eyes wide arin nodded they charged at the figure

"You want to dance little kids, let's dance." his yellow detailing started to glow, charging at them blades meeting the chain he was gaing the upper hand until a green glow stricken his side he turned to face the green ninja the ninja turned to sora and arin.

"You guys ok?" Lloyd asked

"Yeah I think so" arin muttered standing up

"Me too," sora added hair hand slightly standing on end.

"Oh, realy 3 on 1 that's not fair Lloyd," the figure snarled, eyes glowing a deeper blue. His hands glowed a bright blue, sparking his nunchucks, taking it in the dragon eyes on each end, glowing a bright yellow as it took in his power.

Lloyd eyes widened. "No, no," Lloyd cried "run" he commanded, grabbing arin and sora riyu following them. The figure cackled and disappeared.

----'

As they returned to the monstary, nya met them seeing Lloyd looking pained.

"What happened Lloyd are you hurt?" nya asked Zane and kai, meeting them

"No, I'm not hurt, but" Lloyd stopped processing what he saw lighting either that was jay, but jay wouldn't.

"But what?" Zane questioned.

"The elemental master was the master of lightning," Lloyd finally admitted the others' eyes widened. "It couldn't be jay he was evil"

--------

The ninjas were fighting Lloyd hyperventilating. That's when the figure in blue smircked under his mask, fighting kai fire and lighting striking each other.

"Your predstor would be very disappointed in you," kai roared fire, striking the figure shacking it off.

"Realy, I'm sure every master of fire would wish it all away to make sure you don't get it," he snarled, lighting stricking kai

"I'll admit it, you have better aim then jay," kai cried fire, blasting the figure dogging.

"Use the mask," ras called the ninja stared as he placed the mask over his hood. ras struck the gong red, growing around the red figure. Suddenly, his hood was visable again. Sharp amour stood on his shoulders, his eyes glowing an eye patch over one eye a smirck his aurburn hair curly and messy the ninja caught thier breath as they wittnsed the man staring at them intent with rage eyes glowing red his hand glow blue he charges at kai preforming shatterspin nocking kai to the ground grabbing him by the throat.

"Let him go" nya called jays hand tightened he walked to the edge of the cliff smirking.

"Fine," he dropped kai. The ninjas' eyes widened as they all ran to catch kai he was falling off the cloud kingdom.

-------

The administration surrounded them. Cole indicated for bonzal to go down into the cave.

Bonzal was scared the golden light showing her way forward until she saw a red glowing eye and the blue gi wearing, lighting wielder stood before her his nunchucks chain clacking as he moved a scyth drawn lighting emanating through it chrono steel he looked to bonzal she could feel his evil hate rage but also good thiers good in this person.

"Oh well, well, well, what do we have here?" he sneared in a mocking tone, lighting sparking over his body. Bonzal stood scared he cracked his neck. "Let's not make this difficult give up"

"Uhhh, no," bonzal replied. The figure looked at her with the most confused look

"It wasn't a question," the figure sneared, vioce sounding almost concerned.

"Uhmm, no, thank you." The figure looked at her with pure confusion. He shook off the feelings of concern, running and picking her up bonzal, attempting to break free, but the figure restrained her with chains.

The figure ran up to the monstary getting up he turned to see 2 ninjas and one socceres.

"Uhh, realy, the tin can," he sneared, grabbing his scyth.

"Wait, what realy the administration and this asshole," Cole complained, grabbing his hammer Zane, drawing his katana gandloria activating her crystal ball. The figures eyes widened with fear.

"T-t-the administration,"he stuttered, dropping bonzal "No no I need to escape, but ras will kill me if I don't. The administration is scarier than ras." Paused, turning to bonzal release the chains confusing Cole and Zane."I have a deal you help me take these administration monsters down, and I say to ras I never found the spell got it"

"Her names bonzal Cole corrected" the figure blinked blankly

"Bonzal for letting me kill some agents deal"

Zane didn't need to think they lose nothing or the very person they need to protect "fine"

Lighting sparks around the figure as barges down the door and the ninja watched with pure. Horror as they herd pleas for mercy and screams but for not because after they saw lighting rain down. "This is what you get for hurting me and taking my past," he cried. Blood fell the the agent slowly moved in as one came into his reach he grabbed thier neck and started pushing it waiting for that sweet crack they fell still blood faling form thier mouths more tried to escape jay insured they could not run soon it went from a fight to a masscure hundreds of agents layed dead unmoving broken. The figure turned to the ninja buy agent, ran up, and pulled his hood down. The agent died less than a second latter, but it had been dun, and his face was exposed. Cole moved forward, eyes widened at the sight of the figures face. One bright red eye stared back at him, lighting shaped burns covered one half of his face, his other eye concealed by an eye patch his teeth had blood stains and unusauly sharp canines but what made Cole want to cry was the fact of who it was jay stood thier. Zane walked up and turned to pure fear and confusion as he saw jay

"Gandloria, you get bonzal somewhere safe. Well, stay here"

Gandloria nodded her and bonzal disappearing

"Jay," Cole began the figure, tiring to them rage I his eyes. "Jay brother, why don't you know why would u"

"Cole I don't think that's our jay" Jay smircked

"Well, you have to die now, sorry." Red gatherered Cole realised he won't survive

[exodus-au]

Exodus - Chapter 1 - Lon Lon rupee farm

We begin on Halden, on Lon Lon ruppee farm.

It was a normal day on the Lon Lon rupee farm.

Chronos, an older man clad in a checkered green vest and brown patchwork trousers. Had just finished tending to his part of the field. Having rotated the rupee crop that day he slowly made his way back to the farmhouse. Waving to Fen, his adoptive son. Wiping dirt from his brow the farmer smiled. His blue shirt was stained with mud, the farmhand wiped his hands on his leg. Giving a small salute in acknowledgement before continuing his work.

“Chronos! Chronos!” A voice from across the field got his attention. A man younger than him in grey and green ran over. Long jacket shifted behind him as the fir on the top section moved in the wind. He’d come from the direction of his home.

That was Twilight, his dark blond hair and blue eyes smiled as he approached rather quickly. He was the only blood-related Son he and Malon had between them.

“Twilight?” He raised an eyebrow as the farmer crossed his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got a call from Castle.” The younger man paused as he stopped his sprint. Placing his hands on his knees before standing quickly.  “It's Skipper!”

Skipper, an old friend of the family. A captain in Castle’s navy. Or at least he was. “Skipper?” He tried to hide his surprise, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken to Skipper in months. Why was he contacting him now? “Did you bring a Coms chip with you? Let's see it.”

Twilight rummaged around in his pocket before pulling out a triangular object. Throwing it over to the head farmer before crossing his arms. “Wonder what he wants?”

The farmhand gently cradled the coms chip in his hands before activating it.

“Chronos.” Flickering to life the small hologram of a tall man appeared in the palm of his hand. The projection cloaked in a shade of yellow held an armoured man. A tale-tale scarf fell over his left shoulder. He held his arms crossed as his face held a serious tone.

“Captain, to what do I owe…” He smiled, the holoprojection of Skipper raising his hand to quiet him.

“Chronos I’m sorry, I can't talk for long.” His voice held a tone of regret. But that was the captain for you. He was always business first. “We intercepted a distress call coming from a ship that appears to be headed towards Halden.” He paused, pulling out a small tablet and pushing a few buttons on it.  The holoprojection shifts to the trajectory of the ship.  “We’ve found the ship but we can't Identify it, and our hails have gone unanswered.” He paused. “If our calculations are correct it's headed right for you. We think it'll land in one of your southernmost fields.” He paused as the holoprojection shifted showing a map of the farmland and highlighting three possible locations. “I suggest you clear the area. And take cover in the farmhouse.”

“That’s not good…” He paused, looking over the map, they were rotating some of the fields for crops, and two of the fields indicated were empty fields. “Any signs of the pilot?” He asked to the air, continuing to look over the map. If he was understanding this correctly, the ship would land in the left-hand field near the back of his farm.

“We’ve identified a singular, all be it weak, life sign inside.”   Skipper’s voice sounded across the holoprojection “But the unusual make has us interested, the ship is highly damaged but…” The pause from the captain put the farmhand on edge “I’ve got a team headed towards you, and I’m going to join them.” The hologram flicked back to Skipper. Who looked between the two men at they looked to each other. He looked solum and had a hand to his chin.

“What do you want us to do?” Twilight asked. Crossing his arms and looking towards the captain. “We can help. Fen recently came back from Castle. We have supplies.”

The captain looked towards Twilight with a hint of hesitation but seemed to hold it. “Alright…” He turned to Chronos. “I want you to investigate the crash once the dust settles and find the pilot. But remain inside until it’s safe first. They might still be alive in there. But I don’t need you guys injured too.”

“You got it, captain.” Twilight gave a face salute before turning to the farm and sending a shrill whistle through his fingers.  It pulled the attention of Fen, who began to make his way over. While Twilight made to meet him halfway. Leaving Chronos and Skipper alone.

“By the way, It’s just Skipper now. I’ve been promoted to admiral.”  

“You have my congratulations. It’s a well-deserved title.” He smiled, he’d known Skipper a long time, he’d always been after higher positions in the Navy. It was good to see the man achieve his goals.

The two stood in silence for a while, they watched Twilight speak to Fen. Before they ran back towards the farmhouse.

“Chronos.” The sound of his name made him turn towards the holoprojection, Skipper looked worried.  “Looking at it from here it's badly damaged, damage which is mainly located on the back of the vessel, whoever’s flying this ship was fleeing.”

Skipper paused, his eyes drifted to his gauntlet as he fiddled with some of the plating. Chronos raised an eyebrow as he looked across, He’s seen this movement. A nervous tick. He knew something.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Chronos…” Skipper paused, and sharply inhaled. “I think it’s a loftwing class…”

His eyes widened. That couldn’t be possible. “A loftwing class?” The last time they saw a loftwing class ship… “But we’ve not seen loftwing class ships in over thirty cycles… Easily during the Time-shift wars.”

“I know. That’s why I’m concerned.” Skipper crossed his arms. “The implications alone of seeing one, let alone one that’s fleeing…” His voice shook. Worry plastered across it.

“You think Bolt’s in trouble? It’s a huge source of TR3”

“I wouldn’t mention it if I didn’t.” He made to speak again but turned to something outside of his vision. “Looks like the ship is entering the atmosphere. I’ll see you soon.”

“Understood, Admiral.” He smiled, Skipper returned the gesture before he turned away. The projection faded from view as Chronos placed the Coms chip in his pocket.

His eyes turned to the skies as a large object came into view, it was red in colour, with a yellow portion at its front. Smoke billowed from the engines as it entered his view from far in the northwest. It appeared to be headed towards the northmost field.

Turning, he broke into a run, making his way over to the farmhouse where Twilight and Fen were ready with a yellow box. A crash kit. “I’ve never used this but thought it would be useful.” Chronos nodded as the air around became charged. The sounds of engines spurring out filling the air.

“DOWN”

The ground shook as the rattling of steel and grass being torn from the ground echoed through the air.

The three of them got to work immediately. Fen grabbed the small health kit and threw it to Twilight. As he and Chronos ran ahead. Running off to the nearest barn to the crash site.

The crashed ship was in bad shape, flames erupted from the engine bay as black smoke billowed from the back. The viewfinder bay cracked as it sat half-buried in the ground.

“Chronos!” Fen appeared a purple handle in one hand and a hose in the other. The man in question turned and recognised in immediately. Opening a hand as it was thrown to him.  Pushing the pommel against his hand made the weapon spring to life. Energy spiralled up the weapon and two halves erupted. A holographic axe head appears from its blade. Energy humming through his palm.

Twilight took the hose from Fen as the smaller farmer came over to Chronos. “I think if you break the viewfinder here, I can get inside.”

Chronos nodded, swinging the axe over his head and sending it firmly into the viewport. Sending cracks through the glass. “That’s… worrying.” He said to himself as he continued to hit and hit at the glass.

CRASH

Glass smashed as light seeped through into the smoke. Stepping back smoke flowed through the hole they had created. “Fen!”

Moving over, Fen examined the gap in the ship before jumping through the hole, covering his mouth with a wet rag as he crouched to the floor. Looking around in the darkness as an alarm fizzled out. He saw a shadow slumped up against the wall. A piece of stray metal plating pining it down to the ground.

“There’s someone trapped in here!” He shouted back up through the hole. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get him out myself. Gonna need you down here Chronos!”

Chronos looked down too, as smoke filtered through the ceiling and out of the room. The air slowly became clearer. A wind flowed across the entrance as smoke filtered out of the entrance.

“By Farore’s light…” He looked at the metal plating across the shadow before moving over and grabbing the metal plate. He gave a yell as he began to lift the plate straining against the weight.

“comeon comeon comeon!” He said quickly as he struggled against the weight. “Pull him. Get him out.” Fen crawled under the plate to see a man, in a green shirt and tan trousers which came to his knees. He was covered in blood. “By the three…” Eyes closed the man was limp, blood stained his blond hair. Lighter cuts littered his arms as several pieces of metal protruded from the wounds.

“Is he breathing?” Chronos asked. 

“I don’t know,” Fen said, worry laced in his voice as he grabbed the man and pulled him out from under the metal plate. Chronos dropped the plate when they were free and moved over to him. Looking over the wounds across the man's body.

“He’s been flung around like a rag doll.” He said, as he pressed a hand to the man's head. Blood soaked into his fingers. Looking down at the man he watched closely.

His eyelids fluttered.

He was alive.

“Twilight! Get Skipper down here now!” Fen, Set up the stretcher, we are going to have to pull this guy out.” He spoke quickly as he changed his movements.

 Twilight pulled the man out. Moving him out of sight from the two men below. Equipped with the medical supplies he started to perform medical care.

“I’ll jump up and throw the rope to you Chronos.” The Fen stepped below the opening, green light shining through his eyes as he crouched. Then springing from the ground he leaped from the wreck. A burst of wind in its wake.

“Hey? Hey!” Twilight’s voice echoed through the room from above them. “Can you hear me?”

Chronos looked around the room. It had been years since he’d seen a ship like this. But with Skipper's tip, he knew this ship was skyloftian. There was no mistake. The metal structure was laced with skyloftian handiwork. Engraved sheet metal laced with other alloys to increase strength. The broken remains of the pilot's chamber in the middle of the room. Wiring sparking from its snapped remains.

His eyes scanned the room as the smoke finally cleared, his eyes landed on a large crystal thrown haphazardly against another wall. Red feathers fanned out from the sides of it while white feathers lay beneath.

This was a set of wings. Skyloftian Wings.

“A wingless Skyloftian?” He asked himself, grabbing the device and turning it in his hands.

“Chronos! You okay?!” Fen shouted down, standing at the top of the makeshift hatch.

“Yeah, I found something. But I’m coming up now!”

“Okay!”

Before grabbing at the rope with the other hand. He hooked his foot into the stirrup as he was pulled out of the hole. His first sight was of Twilight applying healing salve to a bandage and placing it on the mans head. Fen was beside him, holding a wound in the side of the man's torso.

“A little help!”

“Right!”

Chronos sprung into action, moving down beside Twilight. Eyes looking to the sky briefly. “Come on Skipper… hurry up.” He grabbed a bandage himself and moved to apply healing salve to it. Hovering his hands near where Fen’s hands were before replacing the young man's hands with his own.

Fen rushed to get more bandages, wrapping what he could. “We can't remove these here. We’ll need to get inside.”

A groan escaped the man's lips.

“Hey!” Twilight leaned over the man's face. “I saw his eyes move!” Looking up briefly before looking down again. “Hey…!”

“Come on kid,” Chronos said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Worry covered his eyes.

The sound of a ship landing in the background sounded as voices sounded. In the background.

“Get the stretcher! I wanted Teams at that crash site yesterday! MOVE!” Skipper…

Thank the three.

“Chronos! I’ve got men here. We’re here to help!” A group of four medical personnel flooded from the ship behind the admiral. Carrying medical supplies and a stretcher.

“Thank you, Skipper. Thank you!”

“We are not out of the warp yet. We will take care of him.” Skipper smiled, reassuringly. As the injured man was gently moved to a stretcher. His eyes scanned beside Chronos. To spy a set of Wings.

“So he is Skyloftian…”

“Yeah.”

“Then I suppose we have to hope he pulls through. We need information.”

Watching as the skyloftian was carried towards Skipper’s ship the three farmers managed to take a breath. The admiral took a breath before walking after him. The three of them walked behind him.

They needed information. And the only one with it was in critical condition.

[animeacro]

Updated footage of Honkai Impact's Chrono Navi's ultimate, without Youtube compression this time as I was able to get the character myself thanks to @phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing 's advice.