#ill allow . the murder tag though

[lowpolyshadow]

based off a tweet from shadow's prime va

[petit-etoile]

Oh oh I have an AU I haven't had the chance to write anything for. It's pre-vampirism magistrate Astarion and criminal tav who is incredibly well-versed in law. They keep committing crimes and getting caught in purpose just to see Astarion who fucking hates their guts because he can't ever convict them of anything bc they find loopholes and somehow manage to evade the law. It's an "at each other's throats" kinda romance and they kiss with teeth between cases

darling,  if  you  love  me  say  it  back

pairing  .  ⊱   astarion x tav wordcount  .  ⊱   3,604 content warnings  .  ⊱  canon compliant temporary character death,  tav isn't a human but can be whatever else you like,  astarion isn't a vampire yet,   tav is gender neutral other tags  .  ⊱   canon compliant,  canon temporary character death,  introspection,  p.orn without plot,  oral s/ex,  desk s.ex,  inappropriate use of a cravat,  c.reampie archiveofourown  .  ⊱   here.

taglist  .  ⊱  @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added  .  ⊱   here .

summary  .  ⊱   The Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin has a soft spot for you. You like to exploit that fact.

‘I need to see you in my office,’ Astarion hisses  —  and the tips of his ears are so red you think they might catch flame. He grabs you by the elbow roughly and tugs. ‘Now.’

‘Let’s do it, baby,’ you say smugly. ‘I know the law.’

Knowing the law might be an overstatement. You have studied the law for only one purpose, and that purpose you know like the back of your hand. So when Astarion presses you, you don’t argue. You do as the magistrate says and allow yourself to be dragged across the court. He admonishes you like one would get onto a dog who misbehaves. You can’t help but laugh.

It isn’t like Astarion isn’t a super serious magistrate with a focus on criminal prosecution. He wants to nail you for your sins, for your crimes. The only catch is that no matter how amazing Astarion is at his job, you’re simply better. If you’ve stolen something, you’re more than capable of hiding the evidence. If you’ve murdered someone, you know all the best ways to hide a body. It comes naturally.

Astarion is wearing that ever familiar frown as he marches through the elegant halls. It’s a frown that says you’re in trouble and there’s nothing that I can do. But that isn’t necessarily true. Astarion will do anything you ask so long as you ask nicely, and you’ve been getting good at asking nicely lately. He prides himself in training you even if it isn’t that simple. He calls it rehabilitation. You call it sex.

‘You can’t keep doing this, you know,’ Astarion snaps at you. ‘At some point you must give it up!’

He isn’t good at whispering when he’s riled up. He runs his free hand through his curls in anger, pushing them away from his face like his bangs being wild make it hard to think. It makes him more attractive.

‘You don’t mean that,’ you say with a shrug.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘very much mean that.’

You grin. ‘You would miss me,’ you tell him lasciviously, and he groans. ‘I know you would.’

He huffs. ‘The only thing that I would miss is the peace after the headache you’ve given me. It’s as though you aren’t even aware of how vexing you are.’

You laugh, and the fine line of Astarion’s temper snaps. He all but throws you in his office and locks it behind him. He’s annoyed with the way you stagger dramatically to one of the velvet couches before his desk. You lean over the arm and kick your feet up.

‘Does the idea of cuffs around my wrists excite you?’

You look over your shoulder. Astarion clenches his jaw. It must hurt to frown as hard as he is. You pull yourself onto the cushions and sit demurely. You study him. His rigid lines, tense gaze. He comes and sits on the edge of his desk, pressing his forehead into his hands as if that will relieve him of his headache. You’re determined to make it worse.

‘I apologize,’ you say sweetly. ‘I’ll behave from now on.’

‘We both know that you are not capable of behaving,’ Astarion says thinly.

He shouldn’t have said that. You can’t help yourself, but most of the time, Astarion makes it so easy for you to dig into his weaknesses and exploit them. You stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

‘You should teach me,’ you suggest.

Astarion’s patience snaps. ‘I beg your pardon? Have some decorum, please!’

‘Having decorum is so boring,’ you say, pouting. ‘Life is much more fun when you live freely.’

‘And committing crimes is your definition of living freely?’

‘What is the point of living if not to live?’ you ask. ‘Why confine myself to rules of good or bad when I can choose what makes me happy.’

‘What exactly makes a criminal like you happy?’ Astarion asks bitterly.

You’ve always been possessed by a sense of otherness. You rise from the couch and carefully twist your fingers in his cravat, tangling yourself in him as he has become entangled in you. The Silverymoon lace tickles your skin. You pull Astarion closer and he begrudgingly caves to your strength. Your lips barely brush against his and already you can sense it. The barely contained restraint. The hunger. Astarion longs for you. He’s carefully hidden it beneath the scent of bergamot.

Slowly, you slide him free of what pressures him most. The cravat slides from his neck easily. It excites Astarion. His eyes glitter like you’ve never seen before. Being a magistrate isn’t about caring about the laws he’s vowed to uphold. It’s about power. You give it to him. You hold your wrists together with a wicked grin.

You balance the fabric on your fingers. Astarion swallows. Being proper isn’t really his thing. It’s thrilling to watch as he changes his mind. You annoy him  —  he detests you, wishes you gone. You are the object of all his improper late night dreams.

But as if he’s moving through water, he takes his cravat from your hands. You almost think it’s going to be a rejection. Astarion bundles your wrists together with an expertise that suggests he’s done it before. The binding becomes tight but not too tight and you relish in the way it twists your wrists. He fastens the knot into a pretty bow.

And then he kisses you. He grabs you so roughly by the back of the neck that your teeth slam together, but Astarion sighs so prettily against your mouth you decide you could withstand anything.

It’s a passionate kiss made up of teeth and spit and tongue. Astarion is both pushing you and pulling you. He can’t make up his mind. Does he want you and the stain you’ll bring to his reputation? A magistrate with a weakness for a criminal is such an interesting dynamic, but Astarion is a proud man. You are almost certain he would throw you into harm’s way if a situation ever occurred that deemed it necessary. You would do the same given the chance. This is simply a tryst.

You like to pretend it is, at least. You hate coming across as a romantic. You chase a freedom so exquisite no one will ever understand it, but when Astarion pushes you towards the couch, you don’t complain. You fall across the cushions with ease and catch him as he falls between your thighs.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses hotly, ‘are an irrevocable annoyance I may never be cured of.’

‘You are so very frank in all the ways you despise me,’ you say, moaning softly as he kisses your neck. ‘I think you’re capable of being freed after all.’

‘I am glad to see you are finally aware that it is hate that drives me,’ Astarion murmurs thickly. ‘It repulses me that you think you could possibly be endearing.’

You laugh and Astarion sucks a bruise into your collarbone. He’ll pretend to be aloof and noncommittal to your very presence, but he’s invested. You can feel the weight of his pleasure against your thighs even as he denies his feelings for you. Astarion doesn’t bother with your shirt or his own. He clings to your waist as he finds the lace of your breeches and tugs you free.

Astarion pushes his hand inside of your smallclothes and touches your flushed skin, spreading his fingers so that he can touch every inch your body has to offer. The fervor of the motion is what causes you to gasp. He’s a man on a mission, and he touches you at your core so adoringly it makes the bite of his words all but disappear. He fondles you like he’s never touched your skin before. Your gasp turns to a sultry whine, and he bites your neck like a punishment. You almost think he’s going to admonish you, that he’ll say your silence is worth more. He doesn’t. If anything, the echo of your voice spurns him to go further.

Astarion presses two fingers inside of you and the laughter dies in your chest. He’s trying to rearrange you through a perverse method. If he fucks you good enough, crime’s appeal will turn to dust within your mind. It makes you wonder what it would be like to dote on a magistrate. Would it be enough? Could it be enough? Sinning feels just as sweet.

He curls his fingers against your core and your back arches prettily off the velvet cushions. You bite your bottom lip and try to quell the pining, but then you catch a glimpse of him from beneath your eyelashes. Astarion is watching your every move. His lips are parted. His pupils are dilated. His cheeks have colored at the sound of your voice. He is torn between watching your face for your reactions and glancing down at his hand underneath your breeches. You meet his gaze bravely, chin lifting, and smile.

He adds another just to watch you struggle. The angle, the curve of his wrist, and the situation are enough to make your thighs squeeze together, but Astarion doesn’t let you. He roughly throws himself between your legs so that you can’t, and it’s hot, too hot that you cry weakly. He grins at the sound like he always does, like he always will. It’s his victory this evening. 

But as quickly as Astarion deigned to touch you, he releases you. He stands up and drags you by the wrists, turning his cheek the other way when you try to taste his skin.

‘The prosecutor is ineffectual  —  ’

You snort without meaning to, and Astarion digs his fingers into the swell of your hip. You allow him to maneuver you, bending at the waist while he presses you forward, chest against the chilled wood of his desk. You have to rise on your toes to stand comfortably.

‘Is that what you’re thinking about?’ you ask breathlessly.

‘I’m thinking about the necessary reform,’ Astarion snaps.

You press your cheek into the wood and stare at his door. The prosecutor, the defense. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Astarion is the only one who cares. You’re somewhat glad he does. It means he’s taken your case to interest, and when he presses himself to your lower back, you’re excited. He shoves your breeches to your ankles.

‘Are you going to take me here?’ you murmur. ‘On your desk. Where is your propriety?’

‘You dare speak to me of decency?’ Astarion snorts.

‘The weight of my sins will be forever embedded on your desk,’ you say. ‘You flatter me, your honor.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ Astarion asks. You can hear his patience snapping.

‘Well, you’re just so boring,’ you say, laughing. ‘Why don’t you do something that  —  ’

Astarion kneels down behind you and shoves his way between your legs. You shiver when he presses his lips against your core. He mouths at you hungrily. He grunts low in the back of his throat and digs his nails into your thighs. It steals your breath away. He’s so determined to change the very essence of your being that his tongue and mouth searching where his fingers first were makes you go weak in the knees. You whine.

You press your fingers into the dark, rich mahogany of his desk and try to keep focus. You want to taunt him. You want to tease him, but that wanton desire is almost forgotten entirely by the way Astarion feasts upon your flesh. He parts you with his thumbs and groans against your skin and you almost forget who you are. This is what he wanted. He wanted to pull your desires from you and replace them with his own.

You let him. He works you up as easily as anyone can be worked up, his fingers and his mouth exploring every inch of your skin that’s exposed. He goes to slide a finger in curiously, but you twist your hips away. Astarion is all work and no play. He will tease you relentlessly as it suits him, and he will do what interests him. You interest him more than he’s willing to confess. That’s why he works so hard for your pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he kisses the base of your spine soothingly. Your legs tremble beneath you. Astarion smooths his hand across your hip. You glance at him.

‘Perhaps I can fuck some sense into you now,’ Astarion mumbles.

He has the audacity to sound inquisitive. It’s not like it’s possible, but he seems determined enough to try it out regardless of his intuition. His hands are warm against your skin, and the excitement only builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel Astarion’s skin touch yours. You hear his clothes rustle and his breath catch in his throat. You hide a smile against your arm.

When Astarion slides into your core, it’s like a possession. The breath steals from your lungs. His touch is a familiar constant  —  you would recognize him anywhere by scent alone. You cry weakly. Your toes crunch from the angle, but there’s nothing you want more at this moment than to learn to be good.

Astarion hums behind you as well, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to steady himself. The desk crunches uncomfortably against your belly but it’s a welcome pain. It keeps you focused. You still have the energy to wiggle back against him as his cock slowly pushes in until there is no more room left to explore.

‘Be good,’ he whispers, ‘and I will give you what you deserve.’

What do you deserve exactly?

It’s hard to say. You enjoy your life of crime almost as much as you love the way Astarion bends you over his desk. You’re good at stealing, you’re good at killing, but you’re good at being soft and pliant as well, giving in to that sentimentality that keeps you coming back from more.

At first it was an elaborate game. What could you do to ensure that Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin looked your way? He was a noble elf, and your hands were covered in fresh dough from the baker you stole from. There was a curious glint in his eyes when he looked over you, yet somehow the gods had deemed the yeast and honey on your fingers was not honest enough to be proof.

You are smitten. You bounce taller on your toes with every aggressive thrust, arms struggling to support your weight. Astarion fists his fingers into your hair and pulls until your throat is exposed. He wants you to sing for him, so you do. You arch your back and moan loudly. The sounds of it bounce around his little office.

‘You wouldn’t shut up before,’ Astarion says breathlessly, a hoarse laugh.

‘Do something  —  worth talking about  —  ’

Astarions laughs incredulously, but he does fuck you harder for it. He releases your hair without much flourish and focuses on dragging your hips back onto his cock, punching forward so hard you see stars. It’s wonderful, it’s powerful. If Astarion’s entire goal was to make you forsake the world, he’s done a good job of turning your life around. The cravat rubs against your wrists as you try to seek purchase on the desk. Your fingers drag across the polished wood, and you shudder as you clench down around his cock.

You sound so breathless and silly, groaning while he fucks you against his desk. He fills you full until you’re certain you can take no more. You press a hot cheek against the wood and try to catch your breath. You hook a foot around his ankle for support, twisting on his desk. You tuck your arms beneath your chest. You feel as though you’re coming undone. All your years of villainy, and it comes undone by the consistency of Astarion’s presence.

Your arms are stiff from constantly being up, but you’re almost grateful when Astarion pauses. He helps you turn on top of his desk so you’re on your back instead, and even though the edge digs into your lower back, you prefer that to anything else.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He tells you he hates you, that he wishes you were out of his hair, that he despises you, but the gentleness of his eyes tells you otherwise. He slides back into you with a small moan, and you wrap your legs around his hips to guide him in further.

‘It’s good,’ you gasp. ‘It’s good, you’re good  —  ’

Astarion doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You can see it clear as day in his eyes. Astarion won’t say he loves you, that in his ardent fervor he seeks you out, but he knows that you know. Why else would fate lead you back together? You reach for his face with your hands, and his eyes flutter closed to avoid the wistfulness. He leans into your touch.

You cry softly as Astarion begins to grind into you again. He helps carry you as he does so. And it feels so good, feels so overwhelming that you briefly consider the fact that he has changed you for the better.

A spirit that slides into your very marrow. Astarion is hauntingly beautiful, and if he is a spider then you are a fly tangled in his web. He calls you a pretty thing and you give into the struggle. You press your wrists against your forehead and strain against his cock, unable to hide from the waves of crashing pleasure.

Astarion finishes inside of you with a low moan. He presses a rough hand against your belly to stabilize himself, and shyly, you touch his wrist with your bound hands just to feel his pulse. As soon as he’s caught his breath, he releases you from your bonds.

You almost miss him when he pulls away from you. He uses one of his hanging cassocks to clean himself with and is kind enough to do the same for you. You’re almost certain that your legs won’t work, so you sit up on his desk to rest and damn his paperwork to the hells. You kick off your breeches from around your ankles and sit, legs crossed, while Astarion tries to fix his reflection in the mirror.

‘You are truly an astute teacher,’ you say casually. ‘The art of lockpicking is all but gone from my mind. Thank you, your honor.’

Astarion snorts and shakes his head, torn between ignoring you and giving into your wiles. He curls his hair back into place and then walks back to you, leaning forward until you’re nose to nose.

You think he won’t kiss you, but then he does. His lips taste like summer oranges and you taste him until it’s the only thing you can think of. He hugs you tenderly. It isn’t the same as when he admonishes you. It makes your chest feel warm. You almost feel weaker for it. Your bite is being taken away.

‘I can’t keep protecting you,’ Astarion says softly against your cheek. ‘You torment me day and night. When I lie down in my sheets, I find myself consumed with worry.’

‘You think about me?’ you tease. ‘In your sprawling manse?’

‘Move in with me,’ he murmurs. ‘Then you can be inferior yet vain inside my sprawling manse.’

Astarion is not there that evening. You try to wait as long as you can without seeming suspicious. There are maids, family members, and their admirers who come inside and out throughout the evening  —  but not Astarion, never Astarion. You wait until the sun sets and fireflies light up the streets of the Upper City but eventually, the malaise of abandonment guides your feet away. You walk the streets aimlessly until a shiver runs down your spine. A chill so violent turns you away from the courthouse.

But in the morning, there’s a fuss. It draws you back into where you left and you can’t help but to lose yourself. Astarion is dead. His mother sobs. The members of the city watch who bear the bad news look equally as morose. Astarin’s father nearly falls to his knees in despair.

When you break into their manse that evening, you look for one thing. You steal a cravat from his wardrobe and tie it around your neck.

Then, you leave Baldur’s Gate.

You aren’t sure where your feet are going to take you.

Part of your yearns for the Underdark. Baldur’s Gate is a cursed city, you decide. You wander back to it after two hundred years of avoiding it like the plague, and not an hour within the city are you spirited away on an adventure you never longed for.

You have changed. You can’t really remember who you were all those years ago, or the hopefulness you might have felt in your chest once. You’re different now. A folk hero. You used to steal from the rich and give to the poor before the mindflayers fed you their parasite and stole that part of you. But you aren’t alone this time. You wander the beach for hours searching for anything that can be of use and pause over a love letter that makes you sob.

It isn’t all bad. You meet a half-elf who scowls as much as she mumbles to herself.

On the other side of the beach, you meet a ghost.

His eyes are different from what you remember. The warmth he once looked upon you with is gone and replaced by unfamiliar sanguine.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twenty-three

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 5.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: yayyyy s3 is here!! this has SO much potential and there is so much i want to do with this from here but i believe this will be the last season!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You had the train car all to yourselves. Few peacekeepers were allowed to leave in the wake of the murders, and for that you were thankful. You were able to let Tybalt out to explore the car, but he mostly stayed on your lap.

You felt guilty about taking him, you didn't even want to ask until your mother insisted, and Coryo wouldn't deny you bringing him. You thought about maybe taking him to a vet when you arrived. There were hardly any in Twelve, none of which made time for domestic animals that weren't livestock of some kind. You had to assume that in the Capitol that was a completely different story, so maybe this would be good for him.

It was dark by now, and Coryo was fast asleep on the bench next to you, head pressed to the window. You suspect he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"Sejanus." You whisper. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah." He replies quietly, sitting across from you at the small table.

"Are you okay?" Your question is met with a few beats of silence.

"I was meant to go with them." He whispers. "I didn't want to go back there."

"The Capitol?" You ask. "Why not?"

"It's not my home." He answers simply. You can hardly see his face in the dark, but you can tell he's sad. Grieving the life he could have had.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Sejanus?" You whisper, leaning forward to try and see him.

"Hm?"

"Was Lennox going too?"

"No." You can see the shadow of him shaking his head in the dark. "He was only going to bring some supplies for us out to the cabin at the lake and leave them for us to pick up on our way."

You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. He couldn't have left. You knew you couldn't bear it- and your parents would not cope well losing another child. You thought he wouldn't do that, but you weren't confident enough to say for certain. You'd much rather have a rebel for a brother than never see him again. Though, to you, helping friends was hardly an act of rebellion.

"What... what are you going to take?" You ask, hoping to change the topic. It was nice to have him talking again. "At the university, I mean."

"Medicine. I'd like to be a doctor, I think. I want to help people, maybe out in the Districts."

"Of course." You grin. "That's so like you. Your patients will be very lucky people."

"It'll never be enough." He shakes his head and you frown. "I can't help everyone. And everyone outside the Capitol needs it so bad. Did you know my father is the head of munitions in District Two? I'll never be able to make up for the pain my name has caused. Never."

"Well..." You look down at the cat curled up next to you. "You saved Tybs. I can't even tell you how much that means to me. Everything you do will mean so much to people. Even if it's just one person, I think that is more than enough. To try is more than enough."

You see the ghost of a smile twitch on his lips. "Thanks, Y/N. You're gonna do good things, too."

"How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself."

Sejanus sighs. "Extremely."

A few hours later, it was your turn to sleep. At least, to try. It was hard to get comfortable, curled up on one of the benches with a bag of your clothes as a pillow and Tybalt insisting on sleeping on top of you.

You were just drifting off, you could hardly keep your eyes open, when quickly a nightmare jolts you awake. Bang! The sound of a gunshot- in your dream state you know it's the bullet that found a home in Cole Harlem. The next 'bang' was the sound of your head hitting the table next to you when you shoot back up, unintentionally scaring your cat off of your side.

You hiss, placing a hand on the side of your head and rubbing it through the pain. "Ow..."

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You hear Coryo ask quietly, followed by footsteps across the centre aisle of the train car.

"Mhm." You hum, trying to squint to see him in the poor lighting. It must be almost morning- there's a blue wash beginning to paint over everything onboard, including his form as he's crouched down next to you.

"Let me see..." He says softly, hands already lifted ready to touch you. To see if he can help.

You move a little closer, dropping your hand so he can gently cradle your face in his larger ones, using a finger to turn your head to the side as he examines the bump on your temple.

It's impossible for him to see in this lighting, but if there was blood he would be able to tell. "Just a bump." He whispers. "You'll be alright."

You just nod slightly under his grip, eyes searching for his in the dark. Neither of you want to move. Being this close to you, having you come home with him is a gift he wouldn't dare miss by blinking too slowly or letting his hold on you drift.

"Nightmare?" He asks quietly and you just nod again. Without a word, you're moving back on the bench to the window and he is sliding into the spot next to you. "Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?"

"No." You answer softly, giving a slight shake of your head.

"Can I ask what it was about?" He asks. "Tigris always told me talking about it helps."

You chew your lip, looking away from him and down at the empty table. "Cole."

Coryo tenses next to you, his jaw clicking from the small movement. "I... I am sorry." He doesn't know what to say besides that- and he feels like telling you that dirtbag deserved it would do little to help the situation.

"Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper, voice mostly steady.

He nods, watching you expectantly. You take a deep breath. "I'm glad he's dead."

You must be a changed woman. It was hardly like you to say something like that- let alone feel it, but keeping it in would just keep you up at night. Coryo wouldn't hate you for it, you're sure.

He looks at you, head tilted while he confirms with himself that you did, in fact, just say the words he heard. You were the most gentle soul in Panem, he was sure, so what on earth could he have done to you to make you say something like that? Now he was more sure than ever that he did deserve it. "What did he do to you?" His gaze softens as it finds yours, and you slightly shake your head.

"It's... kind of a long story." You whisper.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

He sees the ghost of a smile tug at your lips, and you look down at your lap to process your thoughts. "He just... doesn't, didn't know how to take no for an answer." You try to explain it briefly, but the way Coryo's eyes widen makes you backtrack. "I mean, no. I'm sorry. He didn't hurt me. Well, he did, but not in the way that that sounded like." You take a deep breath. "He asked me if I would like to go on a date with him, and I said no, thank you, because I knew him and I knew he had a temper and I didn't think we would work. So, he would wait outside my school and follow me home everyday. He kept asking, I kept saying no, but he didn't listen. It only made him more mad."

It was a rare occasion that you felt so numb talking about someone who had died. "Then, about three months before the games, I guess he couldn't take the rejection anymore and he dragged me away and... I don't know how to describe it... beat me up. I suppose." You laugh dryly, only noticeable to Coryo because he was watching. "Lennox found us, really got into it with him and then had to literally carry me home with his own black eye and bleeding nose."

He nods slightly in understanding, holding himself together from throwing a fist through the window. He was right. That piece of human garbage did deserve it. Now he had every right to be glad he was dead, and so do you. It makes sense to him now, of course you'd only be pleased with a murder if it was someone who had hurt your brother- the fact that he had hurt you the way he did had nothing to do with it.

"You have every right to be happy." He tells you. "Shit, to be honest now I'm wishing I shot him myself."

"Coryo..." You sigh, frowning at him.

"Too far?" He laughs, and you can't help but join him.

"Yes!"

"'Kay, sorry, love. I'll keep it to myself." He raises his hands defensively, cocking his head to the side.

You're quiet for a moment. It's torturous for you both. "He's the reason I went in after you." Your voice is lowered now, noticeably. "He said that I had to go out on that date with him after you left, otherwise I shouldn't be shocked if my Pa ends up executed for treason."

Coryo swallows, staring at you in absolute shock. It just kept getting worse.

"I was terrified, I didn't know what to do, I couldn't be alone anymore. You would have left the next morning and I would have been with him. And I knew he wouldn't have let me talk to you ever again, and I was so scared you would hate me and you'd never know that I didn't have a choice."

"I could never hate you." He says, taking the calculated risk of reaching out to touch your hair, rolling the ends of the soft strands between his fingers. "It'd break my heart, but I wouldn't hate you."

"That's almost worse." You laugh quietly, eyes locked on his hand at your side.

"I'm glad you're coming with us. I don't know how I could live without you." He glances down at your lips, only a shadow in the dark as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Morning without you is a dwindled dawn." You agree, and that's all he can handle before he has to kiss you again.

He's so gentle when he holds your jaw in his hand and presses his lips to yours that you aren't sure if there really was a static shock that accompanied it or if that was just your body reacting to his skin on your own.

"I love you, Y/N/N." You almost swallow his words, smiling against his lips. "You know that, right?"

"I love you too, Coryo."

You tried to get as much sleep as possible over the two day ride, waking when the sun rises and you could feel the heat on your skin. You could see the tall buildings that made up the city in the distance.

People say that a ride back always feels faster, because you're familiar with the path; that your mind chooses to forget the uneventful sections. You believe it. The ride home had felt like it took an eternity, but this time it felt too fast. You were nervous; scared, more than excited. Even though this is supposed to be a good thing.

If Coryo had just asked if you would like to go with him, what would you have said? No matter how many hours you put into the question, you really don't know. Not until Cole threatened your family, anyways. You would have had to turn him down, then. Regardless, you were never given the privilege of a choice.

This isn't about him. You have to remind yourself. This is about saving your family, in more ways than one.

Maybe it really was a good thing that Cole was shot. You curse yourself for even thinking such a thing, but with him alive the only possible outcome was him having your father killed. You could only be the perfect girlfriend for so long- you knew him, one mistake from you and he would make true on his word. Then you would have to marry him in order to have another income. Your winnings from the games would only take you so far on your own.

You're not sure if it's the swaying of the train that's really making you sick.

You would get your answer an hour later when your train crossed the bridge over the river, and the Capitol was in full, glorious view.

You could physically feel the blood draining from your face as you stare out the window, unable to look away. You looked like a deer in headlights.

"Y/N/N?" Coryo hums, placing a hand on your leg. "You okay?"

You nod slightly, but you're hardly processing what's happening around you.

He frowns, leaning forward to be able to get a closer look at your face. You look like you're about to vomit or faint or both. "Look." He smiles, patting your leg and pointing out the window. "That tall building there, you see it?" You nod slowly, watching where he's pointing. "Up on the top floor there's a restaurant with big floor to ceiling windows that overlook the river and the mountains. It's beautiful." He's never been there, but he's heard it's incredible.

"And over there, that smaller, longer building is a mall." He tells you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and sliding closer as you continue to follow his hand. "On the outside there's this ice cream shop that makes the most amazing flavours. Literally anything you can imagine." He chuckles slightly. "I'll take you there."

You smile slightly, and the colour begins to return to your face with a slight rosiness in your cheeks.

"After the tunnel we'll pass the university." He grins. "It's a really nice campus, you'll love it there. They have a massive library."

You close your eyes as the train plunges into the darkness of the tunnel, nodding slightly.

"What would you like to do? We can go anywhere."

"I... today I'd just like to go home." You answer quietly.

"Of course, love. But another day, sometime in the future."

You think for a moment. "Is there a vet here?" You ask and he nods.

"I'd like to take Tybs to get looked at. He's not sick, or anything... but he's never been to the vet before so I'd just like to make sure he's in good health." You explain.

"Yeah, we can definitely do that." Coryo agrees. "And there's this bookstore that's three stories tall, you'll love it." He adds.

"Can I meet your cousin?"

"Yes, love. Of course. She'll live with us, you'll be the best of friends." Coryo explains, squeezing your shoulder. He hadn't yet considered you meeting his family, he didn't even have the chance to tell them you were coming. It would be fine, he knew that. They had the room and the funds to support another person now, that wasn't even a question. Tigris had been dying to meet you, wanting to know every detail about you before the games and especially in his phone calls home while he was in Twelve.

He realized suddenly that maybe he should be worried about his Grandma'am. He knew she had a prejudice against people in the Districts, she had voiced as much during his mentorship. She had even influenced a similar attitude in him his whole life- but you were different. You weren't like them, and she would have to learn that, but that didn't make him any less nervous about what she might say to you until then.

"I'm excited." You tell him, forcing yourself to only think about the good things to come.

Your hands are shaking as you pull into the station. You can already see it's a different one than you were pulled from last time, the first place you met Coryo. You grab your bags, holding the one containing Tybalt close to your chest as the door opens and you walk out. He wasn't too fond of getting back inside after having the freedom of roaming the train car, but you were grateful he was not a very temperamental cat.

Mostly, the station was deserted. There were a few peacekeepers here and there, but you still felt as though all eyes were on you.

You didn't notice when your friends were greeted by their waiting family members, still looking around and processing your surroundings.

"Y/N/N?" Coryo's voice brings you back to reality, and you realize you hadn't taken a single step away from the train yet. "Come here."

You smile as you walk over, eyeing who you assume to be his cousin.

"Hello, there." You grin, giving a slight wave but still holding tightly onto your cat.

"Y/N." Tigris smiles, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders in meticulously styled curls. "It's so amazing to meet you! I'm Tigris, Coryo's cousin."

"Yes, you as well." You nod, trying to mask your nervousness with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm amazing, I am just so pleased you're here. What a great surprise!" She claps, and you take in her outfit. You've never seen such fine materials, outside maybe the silk scarf Coryo gave you that is now tucked in the old suitcase sitting next to his feet. You wonder if she made the clothes she was wearing, remembering he said she was a designer.

"Coryo has told me so much about you. I've been excited to meet you."

"I really wanted to come see you before the games but I couldn't get away from work, I'm so sorry this is the first time we're meeting." She says and you swallow, nodding slightly in response. "Will you be staying with us?"

"If... if that's okay." You say, looking to Coryo who nods.

"Of course that's okay." He answers on her behalf, but she nods in agreement.

"Yes, you're always welcome. We're so happy to have you."

"Thank you." You breathe a silent sigh of relief.

"We should get going, yeah?" Tigris says and you nod, adjusting your hold on the bag in your arms.

They start to walk, already talking about all the excitement of the trip when you get a tap on your shoulder. You jump slightly, turning and pulling your bag closer to your chest.

"Sorry, dear. I didn't mean to startle you." The woman smiling sadly at you must be Sejanus's Ma. He's standing with her, so it was the only assumption you could make.

"It's okay." You reply quietly, smiling at her politely.

"Y/N, this is my Ma." Sejanus introduces you, confirming your suspicions.

"Nice to meet you." You smile, and she brings her hands up to place on your shoulders, gently rubbing them.

"It's so good to meet you, dear." You feel so greatly comforted by her already. "Sejanus told me you would be staying for a while."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You call me Ma." She quickly corrects you, and you match her smile. You could cry- the burning behind your eyes is telling you that you just might. "We know damn well how hard this transition is, so if you need anything at all at any time, you call us. Okay? We'll help you however we can. With anything."

You smile at them, tears filling your eyes. "Thank you." You sniff, and she pulls you into a hug.

Graciously, and awkwardly with Tybalt still between you, you accept. You never want her to let go.

"Of course, dear. You'll always have a home away from home with us if you need it."

"I can no other answer make, but thanks, and thanks." You say, tears flowing now. You never seem to stop crying- but for the first time in a long time, it was from real happiness.

"Twelfth Night." Ma says as she pulls away, still holding your arms.

You laugh slightly, biting into your bottom lip and nodding. "Yes! You've read it?"

"I brushed up after Coriolanus came around asking for Romeo and Juliet." Ma shrugs, letting you go and letting Sejanus give you a hug as well.

"Coryo has our number. Call anytime, I mean it." He tells you and you nod against his shoulder. "But I'll see you soon, okay? We'll hangout all the time."

"All the time." You agree as he lets you go. "I don't want to keep them waiting, so..."

"Yes, of course. It was so good to meet you." Ma smiles.

"You as well, Ma. I'll see you soon I am certain." You wave goodbye and catch up to Coryo and Tigris, who stopped just a little ways away to wait for you. "Sorry..."

Tigris wipes the worried expression off her face. Coryo probably just had to explain why you were there. "Don't worry about it! Ready to go?"

"Yes." You grin, quickly wiping your eyes. "Lead the way."

There are so many things that you hadn't considered on the train ride. Such as, where was the nearest post office? Or how is Tybs going to handle being indoors constantly? You'll have to get him a litter box- you've never had one before since he was mostly an outdoor cat, and would he need toys now that there probably wouldn't be mice or birds for him to hunt?

Also, there was the immediately obvious fact that the stares you were getting were endless. People even stopped you asking for pictures on the way back- Coryo had to tell them no. Several times. It wasn't any longer than a twenty minute walk.

Everyone seemed so excited to see you, to talk to you. Or, talk at you, rather. It was uncomfortable, but it was so different than what you were used to at home. Especially after the games, people tended to literally cross the street to avoid talking to you. Here, it was the opposite. You were some kind of celebrity. You knew Capitol people liked the games, but you didn't know it was like this. You tried to be polite, but being celebrated for something so awful is hard to swallow. You almost preferred the shame that came with being avoided.

"Is it normally like that?" You ask quietly as you walk into the lobby of a tall building, the floors and pillars lined with white marble. You had never seen anything like it.

"I'm not sure." Coryo answers honestly. "You are the first Victor to ever come back, but like I said, people loved you. Thousands of people watched just for you. That's why I won the Plinth Prize- you boosted the viewership beyond what's ever been seen before."

"Oh." You answer simply, following them into a set of silver sliding doors in the wall.

"When we get up I'll make you something to eat, you guys must be starving." Tigris says as the mechanical doors slide shut again, and you tilt your head.

"Uhm... I-" Your question is halted by a steady shake of the small room you're in, and it feels like you're moving.

Coryo looks over at you and your wide eyes, furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Are we moving?" You ask, looking around. You're surrounded by mirrors, only seeing endless reflections of the three of you.

Tigris covers her mouth to hide her smile, and Coryo laughs. "Yes, love." The two of them look at each other briefly. "This is an elevator, in a second the doors will open and we'll be at our apartment."

"Oh, wow." You laugh slightly, in a small amount of shock.

"I didn't even think that you might not know what it is, I'm sorry." Coryo chuckles, gently rubbing circles onto your back as the doors slide open again and just like he told you, you were somewhere new.

"That's okay, I just have a lot to learn apparently." You giggle, shaking your head as you step out of the so-called "elevator". You look back inside it as the doors slide shut. "So, how does it work?"

"Honestly, I am not entirely sure of the mechanics of it but there's a motor up top, and when you press that button it lifts to you and then lowers to where you want to go." He explains as Tigris pulls out her key to unlock the door. "It didn't work for over ten years, so it's kind of new to me too."

He's trying to make you feel less embarrassed, and that makes you smile at him. "I see. That's neat."

"It is, isn't it?" Coryo grins. He was in absolute awe of you everyday, but now that he's realized that there are so many things you don't know, even as the smartest person he's ever met, and that he wants to show you absolutely everything. Had you even tried ice cream before? What else would be new to you? There were certainly no cars besides peacekeeper trucks in Twelve, not that he had seen anyways, so it must have been jarring for you to see civilian vehicles on the walk back. He should have asked.

As adorable that it was that there were things you had never seen before, it almost worried him in a way he hadn't considered before. You would need him around a lot- not that he minded one bit. He had liked that about the games, he knew where you were while you were caged up at the zoo and he could leave and come back with the comfort of knowing you would be there waiting for him.

His thoughts are interrupted when Tigris gets the door open, shouting for their grandma'am. He takes a deep breath, smiling as he holds the door for you. It is good to be home.

"We have company!" Tigris calls out as you walk in, and you look around focussed on keeping your mouth shut as not to physically gawk at their home. Their apartment was beautiful, with a somewhat open concept and halls that spun off in all directions from the main foyer.

"Oh, lovely! We haven't had company in ages. You should get the tea on, dear." You hear his grandmothers voice before you see her, sparing a glance at Coryo. If he's nervous, he doesn't look it.

She looks like the sweetest old lady, her white hair matching the shade of her silk robe and slippers. "Oh, Coryo!" She smiles, heading straight to him and giving him a hug. "How we have missed you..."

"I missed you too, grandma'am." He sighs, gentle as he hugs her back. When he lets her go, it seems like she has noticed you for the first time.

The excited smile on her face fades instantaneously as she looks you up and down. "Who's this?"

"This is Y/N. You remember I told you about her, right?"

"I do." She nods, a sour look on her face as she stares at you.

"Hello, you must be Coriolanus's grandmother, it is so lovely to finally meet you." You smile, readjusting your bag so you can hold it in one arm in order to extend your hand to her to shake. She doesn't take it. "You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Snow." You continue when she doesn't answer you, holding your smile and trying not to seem terrified. It was like the lead-up to the games all over again.

"What's in her bag?" She asks Coryo when she sees it move, ignoring you altogether as you awkwardly drop your hand.

"That's Tybalt, her cat. He's the softest thing, you'll love him." He smiles, an apologetic look in his eyes as he glances over at you. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

"A cat?" His grandmother gasps, taking a step back with a hand to her chest. For a moment, you were scared she was about to have a heart attack.

"Grandma'am, you love cats!" Tigris says, stepping back in from the kitchen with a kettle in hand. "Y/N, come join us in the sitting room. I'm just getting some snacks together."

"Not feral ones!" She replies, appalled.

"Oh, he's not feral, Ma'am." You assure her. "Unless you're a mouse or a bird, he's the gentlest animal alive."

"Coriolanus Snow how dare you bring these... these strays into our home!" Now she's talking like you aren't even there, and you can't help but laugh nervously.

You look away, anywhere but at either of them. Maybe you would be calling Sejanus and his Ma for somewhere to stay by the end of the afternoon.

"They aren't strays." He defends you quickly, frowning. Okay, this was what he was afraid of.

"Here, come sit, Y/N." Tigris says quietly, placing the kettle back down and guiding you out of the room with hands on your shoulders. "I am so, so sorry." She whispers as you walk away.

"It's quite alright." You insist. "She didn't know I was coming, it was all so short notice. I completely understand." She didn't even know you were staying yet.

The sound of Coryo talking down his grandmother faded into muffled sounds as Tigris closes the door to what looks to be a bedroom. "No, no it's not right." Tigris frowns, shaking her head. "I don't want to make excuses for her but the war and the dark days were so hard on her, a lot of the blame was placed on the people from the Districts. She lost both her children and she never really came back from that."

"No, I do understand." You smile sadly. "I'm so sorry you and your family went through that. It must have been so difficult."

"The war was awful for everyone." Tigris shakes her head. "Please, don't apologize to us. No one came out of that unharmed."

"Do you mind if I let Tybalt out?" You ask, eager to change the subject.

"Please." Tigris grins, clearly just as relieved that you weren't horribly offended by their grandmothers behaviour. "I'm excited to meet him."

You smile, crouching down and opening up the carrier for him to hop out. He does so promptly, taking advantage of the opportunity.

"He's so cute!" Tigris squeaks, crouching down to pet him. He was a little jarred at first by new surroundings, but he quickly accepted them when she began petting him. "It'll be so nice to have a fluffy friend here."

"Thank you for being okay with me bringing him." You smile, taking the time to look around the room yourself. Everything looked hardly touched, all sparkly and new with corner windows lighting up the space beautifully.

"Our home is your home." She smiles, standing up again and Tybalt is quick to run over to you, rubbing up against your legs. "That applies to both of you. Grandma'am will come around."

"Thank you." You smile. "The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience."

When she smiles, you can see outside of the blonde hair how her and Coryo are related. "You truly are something else."

"Oh, I hope that's a good thing..." You laugh.

"Yes, absolutely." She laughs. "I'll go get that tea going again and get the guest room all set up for you. The bathroom is right across the hall if you need it, and Coryo will come get you when grandma'am has relaxed a bit."

"Thank you." You say again, watching your cat hop up onto the desk against the back wall.

She gives you a quick hug. "Welcome home." She says softly, shutting the door behind her as she leaves.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[loudclan-clangen]

Hey there!

Checking out Loudclan? That's great! Thanks so much!

Loudclan was originally planned to be drawn as I played the game like most other clangen blogs... Then I got frustrated about how slow it was moving and played ahead. Just a little bit, nothing to worry about, only about 1000 moons. So this blog should be running for A WHILE. I also take pretty big liberties with the designs and events. I think it's more interesting that way! Also it's been several real life months since I started playing and some things I just... forgot. Or lost. Either way, it's fun to stretch my creative skills.

As for the mechanics of the blog:

General Content Warnings Include:

Death, Animal Death, (Cat Death specifically), Death in Childbirth, Violence, Murder, Illness, Gore, Grooming, Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cheating, Affairs, Drama, Cursing, Language, Dirty Jokes, ECT. (if i missed something please let me know)

Start Here

Allegiances

Lore

Discord

RedBubble

Updates are not going to be on a consistent schedule... ever. I'm a college student. I just don't have the time or energy.

The style is going to vary wildly. It's been years since I've consistently drawn cats and I wasn't ever really happy with the way I did it back then anyway. Come along for the ride with me! I'm just as surprised by what my hands create as you guys!

Overview:

Loudclan is set in a fictional location that is based on South Central Alaska. A group of rogues fled up the mountains to get away from the deep snows of the valleys at the beginning of a particularly harsh winter. The clan follows three "Leaders" in the form of the Leader, the Lead Healer, and the Lead Mediator. These leaders will each pass their position on to their oldest heir, the closest related member of their direct family. Issues regarding what happens when two cats have similar claims have yet to be sorted out by the clan, and may never be fully decided... *insert mysterious foreshadowing sounds*

If you are interested in more of a deep dive into the lore check out this post: Lore, or anything tagged #loudclanlore .

Asks are welcome! I will do my best to answer them quickly and efficiently! I am happy to talk about characters, art, process, gameplay, pretty much anything. (I probably won't be showing sprites though, just because I've played ahead so far and a not insignificant amount of them are just... gone. Lost to the ether. Sacrificed so that my laptop could keep running the game.) All asks are tagged #loudclanasks .

Also fanart/writing/edits are more than welcome! You guys are so cool and talented and I am honored that you would want to make something based on my dumb little pixel cats. Referencing or imitating my style/designs/layout is absolutely allowed, just make sure to mention me so I don't miss them! All fan contributions are tagged #loudclanfan .

I will never complain about anyone "blowing up my notifications" or spam liking. I think it's so neat to see people go through the blog liking as they go. Don't worry about it. I enjoy seeing you enjoy my work!

A little bit about me, you can call me "D"! I use any pronouns, I'm pretty ambivalent about them but the majority of people use she/her for me and I'm fine with that. I'm 20, I live most of the time in Alaska and part time on a ranch in Texas and I'm working on my BA in Elementary Education. I started reading Warriors in 2nd Grade and stopped in 6th Grade but the brain worms never die. If you know me in real life no you don't: It took me all of high school to kill the furry allegations I'm not going through that again. Oh, and my main blog is @restinginpiecesofpizza but warning, there's spoilers for Owlstar's family tree for like 8 generations posted on there.

If you think Loudclan's cool and want to help me out consider checking out my RedBubble!

Anyway, thanks for checking out my blog! I hope you enjoy!

[staylovesmiley]

request 👉👈: Han as a pirate crew member falls in love with The captain's (Chans) younger sister(also a crew member,doctor of the ship)and how they sneak around chan to see eachother, tooth rotting fluff

(please)

author’s note; I really hope I did your request justice~ I know you said tooth rotting fluff but I couldn’t help but thrown in some angst near the end with this prompt hehe-

If you want to be tagged in any future skz reqs or reqs of other groups I write for pls see here

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Han Jisung x Female!Reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; fluff, angst, reader is Chan’s little sister, implied sexual relationship between reader and Han, fluff could have been more tooth rotting pls forgive me-, threats of s*icide (kind of? Putting this here just in case), illness, and murderous Chan oops-

Neither of them had intended for things to end up like this, but neither could be truly saddened by the out either.

It started as just him being clumsy, the raven haired man often ending up in the little room she used to treat the crew of various injuries and ailments.

Y/n, ever the diligent doctor, though she only achieved the title since the man she was under apprenticeship with had fallen ill himself and succumb to the sickness while they were still at sea. Her brother wasn’t so fond of the idea of putting her in a position where she was at risk of the same fate treating the sick constantly, but she had insisted that this was her way of being able to contribute more to the crew and after weeks of pleading with the captain he finally allowed it.

Ah yes, Captain Bang’s little sister. She had joined the crew along with her brother under the previous captain’s charge as they were orphans. When the old man finally kicked the bucket and handed over the title to the young Christopher Bang, he had half a mind to drop his beloved little sister off at a convent where she would be safe away from the life of pirating they had always known, but upon seeing her tearful eyes at the thought of being separated from him he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

She was the only woman on board, and the first thing the young captain would tell anyone who set foot on his ship was that she was off limits. No one was to make a pass at her, one lingering glance and your eyes would be gouged out he would say with a smirk that let you think he was merely teasing though the look in his eyes said he was serious.

Han Jisung had no intentions of falling for her, though he had always found her beauty to rival that of the finest jewels, he knew better than to enter those waters under the heavily watchful eye of her older brother, his captain.

But one day after he had cut his palm something nasty while helping out in the kitchens he had been escorted to where the young maiden did her duties. She had welcomed him in with a smile like sunshine and a voice so soft it felt like he was dreaming. Gentle hands worked on his wounds carefully as she kept up small talk to distract the pirate.

It wasn’t the first time he would find himself being tended to by her delicate hands, he was just so clumsy after all.

From a sprained ankle or wrist to splinters or even a mild concussion at one point, y/n took care of it all with a warm smile and gentle care as to not harm him any further.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you just want an excuse to come and see me.” She teased one evening after the crew had all gone to sleep and the raven haired man ended up knocking on the door to her private quarters with a mild case of sea sickness. “Would that…would it be so wrong of me to admit that it could be the case?” He spoke just above a whisper as she looked through a trunk for something to soothe his sore stomach.

Her hands froze on the bottle of tonic. “Is that so?” She said softly, slowly moving back over to the young pirate with the bottle after a moment to regain her composure and attempt to mask the glee she felt at his confession. “And if it is?” His eyes locked with hers, hand moving to grip her wrist lightly where she held the bottle up to his lips. “A-A sip of this should help calm your-“ before she could finish her instructions, Jisung had moved the tonic away and brought his free hand to cup her cheek gently.

“H-Han we can’t-“ she spoke softly, eyes wide as she knew how protective her brother could be. “Just once, please y/n…just one kiss is all I ask.” Her resolve withered rapidly as soft brown eyes gazed deeply into her own, filled with desire and longing she had never witnessed before but had always craved. Silently she nodded in acceptance, letting him pull her to him slowly until their lips brushed against each other softly.

Her breath hitched in her throat at the contact, though it was barely there, and she took the initiative to close the rest of the distance and press her lips to his firmly. It was a bit clumsy, laced with inexperience as neither party had ever shared a kiss with anyone before, but it didn’t stop the butterflies that erupted in either of their chests as her hands found their way to play with the hairs at the back of his neck and his fell to rest gently on her waist.

Once they pulled away for air, a silent promise was muttered that they would never speak of this to another soul, and that was how it began.

It continued just the same, mysterious ailments and injuries plaguing the young crew mate and causing him to have to visit the young physician often. Because of his clumsy and over exaggerated nature no one seemed to be the wiser to the truth of their meetings.

That was until one afternoon while working in the kitchen, first mate Lee Minho happened to slip and land awfully on his hip causing it to pop out of place. He limped his way to y/n’s little office on the ship, stubbornly refusing the help of the crew to get there and when he pushed open the door he was glad it was only he who was there to witness what was behind it.

There, on the cot she laid underneath one of the crew, someone he considered closest to him, Han Jisung. The two of them had pulled away from each other at the sound but it was obvious by the way his shirt was untucked and the first few buttons on her blouse were undone what the situation had been.

Y/n sat up so quickly she almost bumped heads with the man on top of her, the both of them scrambling away from each other and frantically trying to explain away what he had witnessed. “Save it, I saw nothing here. Now, miss y/n, please assist me in getting my hip back into place?” Minho closed the door behind him, moving to lean against the small desk in the room as both Jisung and Y/n looked from the intruder to each other. “Well- I don’t have all day and I’m in an awful lot of pain standing here.”

As if snapped back to reality she went into action, helping her brother’s first mate get his joints sorted before giving him something for the pain. “Please get some rest, Minho.” She spoke softly, giving him an anxious smile. “I will, and you need to learn to be more careful…had it been anyone else that walked through that door and this would have been a different story.” With wide eyes the couple nodded in understanding and Han moved to help the elder crew mate out of the office and back to the bunk room below.

They continued like that for months, meeting now under the security of moonlight while the rest of the ship was deep in slumber, the pair would lay together in her private quarters on the other side of the ship from the captain and crew. As the pale light shown through the single window down onto their naked forms, Jisung would trace slow shapes on her skin as they spoke of what life could be like if they didn’t have to hide their love. Jisung always made sure to leave just before she drifted asleep, whispering apologies and how he wished he could stay till morning but unless they wanted to be found out he needed to return below deck to the rest of the crew before they woke for the morning chores.

Just as autumn began, a chill settling in the salty sea air, the crew began to fall ill one by one. A fever would settle into their bones and though most recovered after a week or so of care and rest, there were few fatalities among them that had those fortunate enough to not fall ill hoping and praying that it wouldn’t be them next.

Y/n was in her office, taking stock of her supplies as she heard the door swing open and yet another sick crew mate dropped onto the cot in the corner of the room. As she stood to make her way over and examine the pirate, her movements froze upon seeing the identity of her newest patient. Her lover, Han Jisung, lay clammy and shivering on the cot and her hand flew to cover her mouth with a gasp.

Minho and another crew mate, Seo Changbin, had brought him there and while Changbin regarded her reaction curiously, Minho sent her a look that told her she had better compose herself and do her job. Y/n quickly covered the lower part of her face with her handkerchief and tied it into place before getting to work.

She had Minho boil a pot of water and once it was brought to her she worked to calm the chills that wracked the body in front of her, administering some of the medicine that had seemed to help those of the crew who had recovered. Working late into the night, y/n tried her dammdest to bring Jisung’s fever down but to no avail.

As the days went on and he didn’t seem to be getting any better, Captain Bang found his sister waiting for him in his cabin on morning with fear and desperation evident in her expression. “Brother, please…can we dock at the nearest town so that I can find him a doctor- a real doctor, please.” She begged, clutching onto his forearm tightly as she looked into his eyes with her own full of sadness he hadn’t seen there since when he had threatened to separate from her all those years ago.

Shaking his head, he was firm in his decision. “You know I can’t do that, y/n. That town isn’t very keen on pirates and we are likely to be captured the second we are within their waters.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she continued to plead with the captain, suspicion beginning to rise in her brother at the rate of her desperation.

“Over the course of this illness you haven’t once begged for the life of another crew mate like this. Pray tell, what is so special about Han Jisung?” He tone was taunting and cold, his dismissive demeanor causing desperation and fear for the wellbeing of her lover to boil into anger and frustration at being disregarded by her older brother. “We have a strong crew still, if he is to perish then we will mourn him but it is just the way of our life.” With a wave of his hand he motioned for her to leave and drop the subject and the motion seemed to snap something within her.

“His life be meaningless to you but he is all I hold dear in this world, brother- please.” This seemed to pique his interest and he turned to face her once again. “Y/n what are you saying…” With a new set determination and anger coursing through her she stood her ground. “Christopher I am telling you that I love him.”

The captain only let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. “So the rumors I have heard are true, is that we’re he has been sneaking off to in the evenings? Several crew members have reported him absent at bunk checks several nights now…he’s been going to meet with you, hasn’t he?” Taking a deep breath, now seeing the rage in her brothers eyes at the blatant disregard for the rules he had set in place as captain, she regretted admitting her feelings to him.

“If this is true then he’d better pray the illness takes him before I can get my hands on him.” He said lowly while staring towards the door as if his gaze could pierce through the wood and across the ship to set the sick man ablaze in the bed he rest in. “Christopher please- I’m a grown woman. I know you care for me but if you wish to show me that you will spare him.”

Christopher only shook his head, grabbing one of his pistols from his desk before making his way to the door. “Better to put him out of his misery now and spare anyone else from catching his fever.” Y/n eyes widened and she began pulling frantically at her brothers arms and coat. “Christopher please! Please don’t do this-“ fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she used all the strength she could muster to stop him. “If you end his life I- I will go overboard. I’d rather be without life than without my beloved!” Her screams halted him where his hand pulled at the door.

At the realization that she was serious, seeing the fire burning in her eyes he sighed, running his free hand through his curly dark brown hair before going to set his pistol back on his desk. “I can’t dock at the next town, I’m sorry. You’ll have to pray he makes it through without.”

Nodding, y/n would accept this now if it was only a small victory to spare the life of the one she held dear from certain death as now it was all she could control before making her way back to the office to check on his condition.

It was a long week of praying and working throughout the night to keep his fever under control but all the lack of sleep she received during was made worth it when the fever finally broke and Jisung recovered well, as if the secret of their love was what was holding him back from healing, plaguing the both of their souls and preventing treatment from being effective.

As he fully regained consciousness, y/n explained to him what had happened, tears rolling down her cheeks as she recalled how terrifying her brother had been in that moment and how horribly she had feared for his life.

“Hey, y/n, my love….it’s over, I’m not going anywhere.” His soft, heart shaped smile seemed to calm her instantly and she quickly launched herself at the pirate causing laughter to erupt from his chest as he held onto her tightly. “I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you…” she mumbled into his chest as she clung to him tightly, as if he would disappear should she let go. “Like I said…I’m not going anywhere.”

[orangez3st]

Coruscant's Finest Detective

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.10.25: Introduction | Event Masterpost

Part 1 of 5 | Next to Part 2 ↦

Summary: Following the mysterious series of murders that involved countless shock troopers, Marshal Commander Fox, on behalf of the Coruscant Guard, had been advocated to seek the famous natborn investigator Detective Lesiil Thrace from CSF Criminal Investigations Department for her exceptional expertise. Tags & Warnings: serial killer case, typical murder investigation, brief graphic condition of murdered victim, author watches true crime (on regular basis) for reference, intellectually bamf oc (incl. her rambling), inaccurate criminal investigation Pairing: Fox × Det. Lesiil Thrace (OFC Crime Investigator) Word Count: 8.2k A/N: Huzzah, posting 6 hrs earlier from schedule! First of my three clone x oc pairings spanning from Day 1 to Day 4/5 – allow me to introduce you to my child born out of my fixation on true crime videos. I have fun studying body languages in interrogation footages (tho I perfectly know how unreliable that is), so that inspires me to make Lesiil and her story with the Coruscant Guard involved. Also Lesiil is read LESS-EEL. Enjoy!

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆

— Eat Your Young - Hozier [X]

Standing atop the landing pad underneath the artificial warm Coruscant weather, Marshal Commander Fox watches the door of the transport gunship slide open.

It isn’t usual for them to issue a gunship for civilian transport, nor did they ever do, but they are the Coruscant Guard.

And their guest, after all, is an ad hoc recruit to aid in their investigation over a series of murder that's been occuring in the last three months – the ill-fated victims being Fox’s own shock troopers. Even as resourceful as they get with abundant security footage, plus the ones from the victims’ HUD; their own investigation, quite frankly, has been leading nowhere. With the pressing demand to solve the case, someone had to call the shots.

The investigator steps out, raising a bronze-toned hand to momentarily shade her eyes from the sun. With them being on the top landing pad of the building, the slight breeze sends her curly dark hair that’s bound over one shoulder aflutter. Fox notices one of her arms tucked into a sling. She catches him observing her, even though he’s got his helmet on dutifully that it supposedly gives away nothing, and briskly makes her way over.

“Ah. Morning, Marshal!” she greets him with a polite smile, taking his offered hand and shaking it. “So kind of you to welcome me personally.”

Fox nods, replacing his hands behind his back. “Just abiding protocols, Inspector Thrace. Welcome to Coruscant Guard Headquarters.”

A brief glint of amusement flies across storm grey eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she says, subtly shrugging, “And it's Detective, actually. Inspector Thrace is my father.”

Fox swallows his embarrassment. “Of course, Detective Thrace,” he mutters stiffly, loud enough for his voice to carry out through his bucket’s vocoder. He nods towards the sling. “What happened to the arm?”

She glances down. “Unfortunate physical altercation in what was supposed to be a good ole by-the-book crime scene investigation,” she explains, smirking ever so slightly, “Turns out, the culprit was hiding in the attic the whole time.”

“So you were ambushed.”

“Got hit, wrist shattered.” Fox notices a slight uplift in her tone to mask her sheer embarrassment. “But the others managed to prevent him from escaping and eventually subdued him.”

Fox nods along, a glance to over her shoulder watching one of his men pushing a hover cart of her necessities out from the gunship. 

“Why didn't they treat you in a bacta tank?” he asks again, noting how obviously dumb that is, even if by her own choice.

“Because I’m having an appointment with the Coruscant Guard the next day,” the detective lets out a chuckle, “I sort my priorities. Work comes first. Bacta can wait. This'll do for a while until I decide to schedule an appointment when the coming days seem free.”

Fox resists the urge to roll his eyes. Just great. In his hands now is a stubborn detective who prioritizes work over their physical wellbeing. Who knows what more of her personality is yet to come out.

“Sorry I'm late!”

Fox turns around to the voice. Upon looking who’s running towards them, he audibly sighs, his voice filtering through the vocoder gruffly.

“Unforgiven, Commander Thorn,” Detective Thrace quips before he could chide, the action done so casually with a wide grin that gets Fox slightly surprised.

Thorn lets out a noise similar to a whine that makes Fox shudder a little in disgust. “Aww, don't be like that, Les,” he laughs, clasping her good forearm in greeting. He turns to Fox and nods. “Sir. Apologies for running a little late. Got to straighten up some shinies on the way.”

Fox grunts a reply. He waves a finger between the two. “So you two know each other personally?” he demands. Though he knows Thorn had been the one most vocal in their particularly decisive meeting, he’d only thought he and the natborn detective were strictly professional acquaintances.

“We’re keeping comms two days prior, and yeah,” Thorn answers colloquially, “And I bumped into her on my caf run a few months ago.”

The detective lightly shoves an elbow into Thorn’s ribs. “A delightful accident that involved spilling yours all over my white top.”

Thorn brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

She throws a smile his way. “Now that I’m happy to land myself up here to aid in CG special investigation, that might be as good as my forgiveness.”

Fox straightens up and mentally swats the warm and casual fog away, remembering the current circumstances. While he admits he enjoys knowing his batchmate acquires himself perhaps some friends outside their ranks, the casual yet punctual cue from the detective steers him back to the grim, pressing matters.

The detective gestures forward. “Shall we, Commanders?”

Fox nods wordlessly, motioning them to follow him back out the landing pad and into the building. He hears Thorn muttering to the detective, “You go on ahead with Fox. I'll handle your hover cart.”

He sneers inside his helmet. They’ve got a shock trooper for that already. Is Thorn trying to woo her or something with that act of service?

He leads them through a series of hallways and an elevator ride, and more hallways, passing by a few troopers either standing by or in their downtime.

“Do you think your injury would hinder your work today?” Fox asks the detective.

“Negative, sir,” she answers, “I'm perfectly capable of doing flimsiwork with just one arm.”

Fox looks at her a second too long. He bites back a sigh. “We have bacta tank in our medwing. I can comm our CMO so we can treat you firsthand if it's not in use.”

The detective nods curtly. “That’s very kind, but instead of brooding for hours in the medwing, I'd like to start my first day in the Coruscant Guard working,” 

Fox keeps his eye straight forward. “You may as well do both.”

“You're saying I'm dipping the hand?”

“Dipping the hand.”

She lets out an amused noise. “That's actually a sound idea,” she quips, “But until I agree to accept your offer, I'd like to see my office first.”

The edge of his lip lifts momentarily. So far in their conversation, he's been taking notes of the detective's Coruscanti accent and the littlest roundness in it – a telltale of someone who definitely lives topside.

He quickens his pace. “Right up this way, Detective.”

“You know,” Thorn says later after Fox left, his helmet off as he's helping to unpack the crates, “you can just call him Commander.”

Lesiil hums in acknowledgment while adjusting her sling. “I call him Marshal to tell him apart from you lot.”

“Yeah, anyway,” he says, “If you ever accidentally call him by his name when he's on his good side, he'll let it slide.”

“And if he isn't?”

“He'll make it clear it's your problem, too.” He throws a playful yet sympathetic smile her way. “What I mean is, don't mind him. He's like that. Almost everyone's scared of him, anyway. Too demanding, too stern. But honestly? It's just his physical exhaustion.”

Lesiil pauses in her effort in unpacking the other crate. She turns around to him. “So he rarely rests?”

“A sleeping Fox is a myth nowadays in the CGHQ,” he sighs, looking like he’s taken the plunge himself to look after his marshal commander several times. “He's dedicated. We respect him. Respect and loyalty is everything to us clones. He makes sure everything is in perfect order, he tolerates no failure, he's the one head of our corps planet-wide. I'm sure you understand. So, sleep is never on his mind.”

She goes quiet for a moment, conflicting between the Marshal's condition and all the positive outcomes that would've come from a properly run circadian rhythm. “But… surely he realizes how dangerous that is?”

Thorn shakes his head, chuckling. “You tell him.”

For the past half an hour after arriving, so far so great, she thinks. The Marshal Commander has been welcoming, and Thorn's presence is such a friendly comfort. As a foreign presence in a clone-only institution, it suffices just enough.

There's something about the Marshal, though. Lesiil does notice he doesn't treat her any differently – but then again she wouldn't go far to think about what's supposed to fit as ‘different’ in its context. She notes his gait; hands behind his back, shoulders back – signs of being observant of his surroundings, ready at any moment's notice while being neutral.

And clone trooper helmets. Those buckets prevent her from reading facial expressions and making a verdict of what these people actually think.

It saddens her sometimes. How these soldiers are put to marshal themselves behind masks of indifference and identical stoicism.

“You know him a lot, Thorn,” she prompts again, “What do you think is his first impression of me?”

“Really?” The commander's tone is high-pitched in surprise. “That's what you're worried about?”

She sighs. “Not worried. Just curious. I'd know, but I need some more words of affirmation here. Plus your helmet prevents me from spotting any facial expression to back up my initial assessment.”

Thorn had been gaping incredulously at her as she said that. “You're practically an A-list celebrity in all of Coruscant police ranks!” he boasts, “Kriff, you're famous, Les! You're the talk of the week among the Corries, y'know? All that, and you're worried about the Coruscant Guard Marshal Commander’s first impression of you?”

Lesiil stares at him, both hands on her hip as she demands further, “You know he's practically my CO now, so yes, and I'd love to know.”

Thorn rolls his eyes skyward at her stubbornness. “Well, when I vouched for you, he seemed pretty much convinced,” he says, “He's determined to catch this serial killer and solve and close the case, so I'd say he'd put some good credits on you.”

She hums, urging him to continue.

“Well,” he shrugs, “Tooka’s ain't out of the bag yet. I can tell you tomorrow if Fox and I get to talk later today.”

“Of course,” she smiles. Both then continue to unpack and set things down where the detective wants. Not ten minutes later, they’ve moved the empty crates away to one of the corners. Glancing around her office, Lesiil rubs her hand together and hums in satisfaction. “This looks decent enough.”

“For now,” Thorn gives out a smile of his own, “You need some decorations here and there.”

“Already on my to-do list,” she winks at him. “Now, would you please be a dear and fetch me everything you've got in this case?”

Thorn blinks. “But we haven't briefed you yet.”

Lesiil looks at him incredulously. “Well I wanna start right away, Commander, because you stated ‘urgent matters’ in your request letter last week, so help me here, yes?”

“Droid repair delivery for a, uh, Lesiil Thrace.”

After sparing a second more of his helmeted apathetic look towards the delivery guy, Fox turns to watch the front desk officer tapping away on the holoterminal. It beeps.

“No delivery confirmation from the detective, sir.”

“What?!” the delivery guy blurts out, “I swear to Maker the address is headed to the Corrie headquarters.”

“And this is the Corrie headquarters. She’s here,” Fox deadpans. He faces the desk officer again. “Comm her to come down and pick up her package.”

“Yes, sir.”

The poor delivery guy shifts uncomfortably. “Well, sorry for this, but I don't think I can stay any longer. I've got more to deliver.” He thrusts his datapad towards Fox. “Would you just please sign here as prove that someone’s received it?”

Fox glares down at the datapad, the delivery confirmation form glaring back at him, before dutifully deadpanning, “I can't do that.”

And that'll be the exact moment where Thorn comes out of nowhere. Again. Twice today.

“Here, I'll sign it,” he offers traitorously.

With the stylus and the datapad in hand, he offers a series of vigorous head nods as he drinks in the content of the form with a ridiculous amount of meticulousness. Fox watches his commander jotting down his CC number before returning the things back. The delivery man flies out the door without so much as a second glance, the package quite ceremoniously left by both commanders’ feet. The air about the front desk goes silently awkward for a while.

Until Thorn squats down to unclasp the locks on the tiny crate.

Fox clicks his tongue in reprimand. “The hell are you doing, Thorn?”

Thorn glances up at him before continuing his endeavors to peel off the many layers of safety wrap inside the crate. “This is just Lesiil’s droid,” he casually explains.

Fox blinks. How close they are that the detective presumably trusts Thorn to unbox her delivery is beyond him. That, or Thorn just acts out of kindness. If opening someone else's package is called kindness. But since it's for security purposes and the front desk is not a delivered package post, that'd be sensible to do.

With a soft grunt, Thorn picks up a small bipedal droid with a rectangular head and large pair of lenses from the crate. He gets to his feet in reined excitement. “A BD unit! Always aids in her investigation. Had to be broken previously, somehow.”

“Detective Thrace hasn't responded, sir,” the desk officer behind them chimes in.

Thorn sighs audibly, clutching the offline droid close to his torso. “I'll get this up, then.”

Fox’s hand on Thorn’s arm stops the latter. “I want confirmation that’s her droid. Run a scan on its serial numbers,” he says to another strooper on stand by. He turns back to Thorn. “Put it down and power it on.”

“...sir?”

“You heard me.”

Thorn stares at him almost incredulously for another second before reluctantly putting the droid down right on the desk. He fumbles for some kind of switch for a good minute or so, until the trooper with the scanner aids him while starting to run the ordered scan.

The small droid goes online with a rousing beep, its lenses blinking to life. Its bipedal legs extend and remind Fox of some avian creature. Throughout his life, he’s never seen this kind of droid before, not in the Senate Building or even in the GARHQ.

The BD unit tilts its rectangular head down, examining and wiggling its feet and beeping out all the way a little noisily, the binary voices filling the dull lobby.

Thorn crouches down to its level and catches its attention. “Hey, BD-6.” Fox can hear the excited grin in his brother’s voice. “Remember me? It’s Thorn.”

Its lens whirs in examination for three long seconds, before chirping and hopping up and down on its feet.

Thorn chuckles. “I'll take that as a yes.”

It then whirls around, taking its surroundings almost questioningly.

“You're in the Coruscant Guard Headquarters,” Thorn mindfully provides, “Lesiil works here now for a time being.”

The trooper with the scans steps forward and begins to check all over it. The droid beeps in alarm.

“Don’t worry,” Thorn puts a hand out to calm it down, “They’re just checking you over for a bit.”

Fox can’t contain his snickers any longer. “Since when you’re speaking binary, vod?”

Thorn looks at him straight on, the helmet helpfully provides a deadpan expression. “I don’t. Just a feeling. He looks anxious– oh, hey!” Upon completing the check, the droid had jumped onto his back with a trill. “He likes getting to people’s backs once allowed,” Thorn chuckles, reaching a hand backward to pat its head, “Hey, Beedee-bud. Yeah, good to see you again.”

“Commanders,” the scans trooper announces, “It’s registered as Detective Lesiil Thrace’s droid. BD series, sixth model.”

Thorn deadpanningly tilts his head at Fox, the droid on his back following the motion a second after.

Fox lets out a snort and waves them off.

The droid beeps again, and suddenly Fox gets hit by a vertical ray of red light coming from its lens. Once he's done scanning, he lets out a questioning beep from Thorn’s back.

“This is Marshal Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. He leads our corps,” Thorn introduces. At Fox’s inquiring stance, Thorn shrugs. “I think he's putting you in his memory banks.”

“And you know it just how?”

“He just met you and he just scanned you. You're, uh, noticeable, sir. You have distinct markings on your armor. The droid’s just doing his thing.” Thorn tilts his head slightly. “Right, Beedee?”

BD-6 lets out a confirming trill.

“Satisfied, sir?” Fox is certain of the shit-eating grin manifesting behind Thorn’s helmet right now. “He looks like you, though.”

He does have crimson red paint on its entire rectangular head.

Fox sighs harshly. “Don’t start, Thorn. I’ve got a lot on my mind, my caf machine broke, I have a meeting with the Chancellor before lunch break, it's not even 1100 and I'm tired.”

Thorn snickers. “Sir, yes sir.”

“I’ll take him up to her office,” Fox says. He points a finger to the droid. “You, follow me.”

One short goodbye between the BD unit and his batchmate later, Fox leads the droid to the main elevator area. His pace is surprisingly quick, swerving around and through seas of walking feet seamlessly and shooting down empty corridors with a beeping noise.

Fox is grateful for the quiet elevator ride. Besides that it’s empty throughout the ascend, the droid is too busy observing the planet-wide city through the transparisteel view panel. Fox throws subtle glances to check he's still there. The droid is just so kriffing small he’s almost afraid it would suddenly vanish out of existence. Well, not that small, but maybe it’s because he’s never seen it. The situation is a bit bizarre for him.

He catches Fox staring too long.

Then, he beeps loudly at him, scurrying by his feet hopping and nudging the rectangular head towards his back almost pleadingly.

“No,” he says coldly.

The droid boops in disappointment, his head dropping.

From the elevator area, the walk to the detective's office is short. The droid easily keeps up with his wider strides, seemingly excited to meet with his owner again. Fox is really set to get it back to his owner, and to demand why she hasn't been answering her comm.

The door swishes open almost instantly after he knocks, and it makes him flinch when the detective stands in front of him in an unexpected proximity, a sight of storm grey eyes and dark bronze skin and bound dark curly hair over one shoulder abruptly greeting him. Kark, he needs caf. He prays to whatever divine being there is that she didn't notice him jumping out of his skin.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Marshal. I was drowning in work,” Thrace says sincerely, commlink in hand, seemingly having only just read the messages.

The excited, long trill that comes out of the droid shakes Fox out of his trance. Detective Thrace lets out a small pleased laugh when she crouches down and extends her uninjured arm, and Fox watches how she's letting the little droid run up her arm and settling onto her back the way he did to Thorn moments ago.

“Good to have you back, Beedee,” she grins, earning a series of happy beeps from the droid. Thrace gently turns back to Fox, a modest smile slides into her lips. “Thank you for bringing BD-6 up, Marshal.”

Despite earning himself a view of a happy reunion between the droid and the owner, Fox gets reminded of the little predicament in the lobby.

“Please inform the front desk every time you’re having an incoming package, Detective. I nearly had to summon a bomb disarming unit just to make sure this isn't a bomb threat or any sort.”

Well it isn't true, but it usually serves well enough as a warning to his troopers.

Thrace acknowledges seriously, nodding once and sending him a look of apology. “Yes, sir. I'll be careful. It won't happen again.”

Fox murmurs a silent acknowledgement as he cranes his neck over the detective's shoulder, spotting piles of datapad on her table, empty crates of her things tucked into a corner, and a totally operating caf machine on the side table.

“Yeah, Beedee, new work here. Take your time scanning and prodding, will you?” He didn't notice the detective had stepped back into her office and showed her droid around. After letting BD-6 jump down from her shoulder, Thrace turns around, noting Fox still standing there expressionlessly.

She regains his precious attention when she marches towards her totally operating caf machine.

“Caf, Marshal?”

“Please,” he replies too quickly. In an instant, he hates it. He sounds desperate and he hates it, kriff’s sake.

Fox steps in, the door sliding close behind him. As the detective is busying herself making a fresh cup for him, he takes the graciously given opportunity to glance around the room. Despite being on the middle floor of the building, the first wall offers a decent span of busy Coruscant skyline through transparisteel, the vast compound of GARHQ a modest size in the distance within the military district. It provides so much natural light, something Fox thinks an average natborn would appreciate.

There are small mementos scattered around the room. A small artificial pot of plant on the desk, her holocomputer, and holostills of various people that Fox guesses as her natborn family and coworkers. The pile of Corrie datapads, however, intrigues him the most.

“Starting?” he prompts, “We haven't even briefed you on anything yet.”

Thrace glances at him. “I understand, but seeing now that I took it into my hands myself due to the nature of the urgency, the brief you're talking about now, though no less necessary, has turned into a mere formality.”

At the audacious proposition, Fox scowls in annoyance. He isn't ready for insubordination this early. Just great.

A mug of hot caf is suddenly thrusted in his direction. Steam rises from the red-colored drinkware and wafts through his helmet's breath filter, deliciously overwhelming him with sweet promises of surviving the long day. Its enticing aroma is nothing like mud water sprouting out from his caf machine or the one in the mess hall. It's rich, nutty, and dancing all over his taste buds already.

Thrace’s storm grey eyes fixate on his visor, as if piercing through it and straight into his eyes. “Though, if you've got any input, sir, be it trivial thoughts or factual, please send it over.”

He suddenly forgets what he's annoyed at.

“Understood,” he mutters, accepting the mug carefully with both hands. About that input, he does remember putting a personal commentary in a few of those cases due to the bizarre nature of some.

Fox shakes out of his trance, trying to not fall into the caf’s inviting aroma again. He clears his throat. “We'll be having a meeting with the entire CG command at 1500, Detective,” he says somewhat softly, the usual sternness in his tone already dissipating. This beautiful damn caf. “You're required to attend. You'll have to formally introduce yourself to everyone.”

Thrace’s dark brows furrow. “Why, it's in the middle of my peak work hour.”

Fox allows himself a sigh. “It's set. And I won't take any complaints.”

“I have already emerged deep in my progress, as you can see,” Thrace gestures around her table, datapads scattered all over it and BD-6 is downloading the data into its memory banks. The detective looks at him almost pleadingly, though her polite tone remains the same. “And as you perhaps may understand, a break of another activity in the middle of progress may hinder and slow it down.”

Fox lets out a breathy scoff. “And not a shattered wrist on a sling, Detective?”

“And not a sleepless and constantly caffeinated shell of a body, Marshal?” Thrace shoots back with a lift of her eyebrow. Fox inhales a breath. She glowers him down. “But I'm working, aren't I?”

“And so am I, Detective Thrace,” he grits his teeth, already feeling a migraine forming. “You're going to introduce yourself to command in this meeting. Share your portfolio, your previous cases, your methods. When we called the shots to whether or not to recruit you ad hoc, some were skeptical. Roughly put, you'll have to prove yourself that bringing you in today isn't a bad decision the entire command of the Coruscant Guard has made.”

Thrace breaks her glare, the hardness on her countenance breaking apart as well and softening as she nods in acknowledgment. 

Fox puffs out his chest, satisfied with her reaction. “Commander Thorn was persistent and fought to the end to convince everyone.”

“Thanks to him, I'm here. And I'm honored,” she says back without missing a beat, the corner of her lips lifting momentarily.

“The honor is ours,” he replies easily. With a single nod, he departs towards the door, “I'll come by and escort you to the meeting room. 1500, Detective.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The second the door closes behind him, Fox clicks off his helmet, the pressurization giving away with a hiss. Curls of dark hair fall into his eyes, yet it doesn't hinder him from the dark exotic drink in his hands. He lifts the mug to his nose, almost moaning to the exquisite aroma. Then, he catches the printed Aurebesh around the side of the mug.

#1 Person of Interest

And at that moment, for the first time that day, he lets out a laugh. At some poor excuse of a casual police pun, no less.

Once the Marshal Commander walks out the door, Lesiil allows herself a deep sigh. “And there goes my second favorite mug.” She then shrugs, turning to her ever loyal companion. “Did you hear that, Beedee? We have to prove ourselves.”

BD-6 lets out a series of boops.

“Of course we're taking that as a challenge. Aren't we always?” Lesiil grins, slurping her caf and turning back to the datapad pile on her table. “Now that you've scanned all of these, I need you to run a match scan for me. It's perfect timing that they've finished repairing you today.”

Hours fly by with more skimming and more logging. In the past three months while still at the CSF, Lesiil had heard about a serial murder in which the Corrie shock troopers had fallen prey to. She did try to poke around for more details, but seeing it was guarded behind the very walls she's currently in right now, she is easily, quite simply, invigorated, showering herself with all the details.

BD-6 keeps her company, chirping a few possible inputs of his own based on the data he’d downloaded earlier from the humongous pile of datapads.

Between the hours, with BD-6’s guidance (who had acquired a holomap of this very building including the ventilation and sewer system and the sublevels – the very notion that screams plausible deniability for when suddenly a shock trooper would knock on her door and ask around about a minor security breach – so she never asks Beedee just how and when and the ethics and the like), she takes the elevator down to the mess hall at lunch time.

It's bustling with sans helmet troopers, queuing for their share of meal that day and picking at them once sat. Lesiil grabs her own tray and scoops accordingly, mindful to show some neutrality in her countenance to not offend these troopers about the choice of food. She's had military-grade rations several times, anyway. When she takes a bite at the one in front of her, honestly, that's not the worst she's tried.

Several troopers pass by her lone table, politely asking her business. Those who know her, or more like, know her fame, well, they don't hesitate to ask for her autograph or holostills with her. The last thing she wants is to make bad impressions, and she wants to make an impression that she enjoys being here despite the bleak serial murder case, so Lesiil takes each and every request kindly until they're satisfied and her food unfortunately has gone cold.

After that, a quick elevator ride back to her office, BD-6 loyally perching on her back.

Then, more skimming and more logging.

A knock resounds at the door, and a quick glance at the chrono tells her that it's time.

“How many are you on the command board?” Lesiil asks the Marshal Commander as they march side by side heading for the designated meeting room, somewhere a few floors down from her office.

“64 commanders plus myself,” the Marshal answers curtly, his helmeted head straight on ahead.

Lesiil hums. “Did you like the caf?” she asks. It's one of those artisan blends she likes to pick up every now and then.

The Marshal throws a glance at her, almost in surprise, as if caught off guard by the question.

“It's… good,” he replies, before adding, “Thank you, Detective. I'll make sure to return the mug.”

Lesiil merely nods in return, and they talk no more past that, both enjoying the silence, safe for BD-6’s curious boops every time he catches a passing trooper's bewildered glance.

The meeting room is packed once they arrive. What's better is, they all have already taken off their helmets, talking among themselves either in quiet or in a playfully boisterous manner, showing all these facial expression variants of glee, seriousness, and gloom.

Lesiil is reinvigorated and almost giddily sweeps her gaze across the room, mentally taking notes of their reaction as both her and the Marshal Commander stride further into the room.

Thorn calls for her, waving her over and patting down the empty seat beside him. She abides, grinning, BD-6 trilling in excitement upon seeing the commander, whose several coils of dyed russet hair escape its bun stop his head, adorning his hairline messily.

“Hey, Beedee-bud,” Thorn instantly pats the droid's rectangular head once he perches on his spot on the desk.

After a few introductions to the commanders around her with Thorn's prompt (she now knows some of them are pretty close to the Marshal and practically forms a clique with him), Lesiil settles into her seat with eyes to the front of the stage, only to fail to be mindful of her own facial expressions to the sight up in front.

Her lips part. Her eyebrows, raised. The Marshal Commander, with the usual stance of his hands behind his back, sweeps his gaze around the room sharply. It is only then she realizes his crimson bucket is absent from its usual place.

Dark curls sit on top of his head, slicked back and away from his forehead by the necessary combing of gloved fingers, grey streaks of hair adorning his temples, each silvery strands a sign of constant wariness in corporate work and planet-wide security. Faded lines of scars mar his tawny face – a slash across his nose and a gash on his left cheek. Five day old stubble and the faint dark bags under his eyes that echo the very air of weariness and the hectic nature of his lasting career. Even then, his amber brown eyes don't fail his blasé countenance; always sharp, always critical, sparking with indefinite authority.

The Marshal leads the introduction briefly and goes past it quickly, almost startling Lesiil out of her seat since she's used to many welcoming speeches before getting to the main course.

But now, she's among clones. And that spells enough difference.

“I know I've only been here for a few hours, but that doesn't hinder me to say that I'm honored to be recruited ad hoc to work with the Coruscant Guard,” Lesiil begins promptly after being taken to the floor. The Marshal has retreated to his designated seat that happens to be just next to hers.

With another vigilant glance around the room, spotting every nonverbal cues at her talking, Lesiil inhales a soft breath before continuing, “In the grim circumstances of this serial murder case, I promise I shall do my best to help, and to serve justice for the souls of your lost brothers.”

Thorn is starting to clap his hands, ever showing support and making the others follow suit. Lesiil now could see some excitement and relief in few of those faces – looks like they know of her notoriousness.

And…

Lesiil knows that's her cue to step off the stage, plus the Marshal himself is starting to get off his seat to join her, but if she's not mistaken, he did tell her to prove herself.

“Now about this serial killer case, whose perpetrator has been labeled with the nickname The Corrie Butcher…” she begins unwaveringly, trailing off to catch the commanders she knows. Thorn is expressing every kind of being surprised while the Marshal has settled back into his seat and is smirking so subtly she almost misses it.

So, Lesiil graciously takes that as her cue.

“Not long after I settled in my office, I asked Commander Thorn to pull up everything there is about this case.”

“We haven't briefed you yet,” the Marshal pipes in, seemingly to disclaim to the audience in the room.

Lesiil’s stare bears down on him hard. “Yes, you already said that a few hours ago in my office upon finding out and again, Marshal, I apologize.” It invites a few chuckles from the audience. She exhales softly. “But what's one or two protocol breaches if compared to peace and justice served quickly? It's only a matter of time.”

Thorn discreetly gives her two thumbs up from his seat, and Lesiil throws a smile his way.

She starts to pace to regain her confidence. “I've skimmed through and reviewed at least an eighth of 160 or so case files along with some of the footage, enough to place a profile on our killer with a great level of confidence,” Lesiil orients thoughtfully, “So the Corrie Butcher's profile, unsurprisingly and quite anticlimactically, is an anti-clone middle-class natborn male worker. Unfortunately I haven't been able to provide more than this finding yet.”

A hand comes up from the crowd.

“I get anti-clone,” the clone commander states once Lesiil permits him, “But middle-class worker?”

“Out of all 160 or so of HUD footage, I ran a match scan on the timestamps at the time of the murders. Narrowed down, our killer goes with the murder between 1700 hours and midnight. 1700 is a typical time for most middle-class workers to get off work.” Lesiil inhales a sharp breath. “Not to mention the advantageous cover of the dark. So, our killer ventures and prowls the streets of Coruscant to hunt for unsuspecting shock troopers when he gets off work.”

Lesiil notes how it sparks some reactions. Some are nodding thoughtfully, some others are frowning to grasp.

“There's a reason why I brought up about him being an anti-clone,” she picks up again, “And it's not about how he despises your very existence in general as stated by the statistically huge number of other Coruscant citizens who feel the same.”

“So what would that be, then?” someone from the audience shouts.

Lesiil ponders for a while. “I have confidence that you'd somehow know about serial killers. I do know this because of my study and experience being involved in several serial murder cases.”

Yeah you're great, someone remarks loudly, inviting another round of chuckles. Lesiil smiles appreciatively at the spot she thinks it came from. Well, at least some of them know who she is and what she can do.

“The thing about serial killers,” she begins after a moment, “is that they have the same trademark and typically the same motive when they go for the kill. Our killer goes for the shanks. Thirty stab wounds on average 95% of the time. After they died, he'd run his knife into their forehead and carve the word ‘why?’. A message of anguish. The Corrie Butcher is an attention-seeking individual with personal vendetta in his agenda. A killer who seeks attention for their heinous act to be noticed by the public and the police is typically a trait or symptom of, say, about three different mental disorders, but I digress. This is a validated disturbed individual, though I think it doesn't need a thorough personal judgement to notice.”

The images are harrowing. Lesiil has grown to be used to the sight of blood and body horrors that follow her steps everywhere she goes, but even seeing another holostill of a fallen victim lying in the pool of their own blood still leaves her head blank for a moment, like walking with a hollow stomach and cotton-stuffed ears, no matter how calm she tries to be.

“But… that's kinda just describing every single anti-clone natborns out there,” another from the audience states hesitantly. “Kind of.”

“But not everyone kills shock troopers. Not even 160 times,” Lesiil rebuts firmly, “Nor stabbing them thirty times. One might be a crime of passion, two or three might be premeditated murder, but thirty? Thirty is overkill. Thirty is too much. They drive their knife in, over and over, even after the victim has passed.”

She pauses to give them a moment as some begin to draw deep, distressed breaths and clench their fists. Their brothers sitting next to them offer some words and comforting pats to the back.

She knows they're all tightly knitted, being brothers in arms and in blood. And those fallen men must be the very ones under their commands. This must be affecting them too much. However, no one abruptly marches out of the room. They're all hanging on, putting on solemn expressions, though perhaps a part of the reason is to respect the one currently talking on stage.

“Thirty is driven by extreme emotions, and not just for the sheer murderous thrill of it,” she continues, gentler this time, being mindful of those who still haven't looked up from their feet. ”I place my bets on, perhaps, a particular revengeful motive. There has to be a reason why the Corrie Butcher goes for the overkill, and with that carved message, he wants attention. He needs to deliver his revenge. The catalyst that leads our killer to do so is yet to be discovered, but I'm confident that we will manage to unravel this part by part.”

The Marshal Commander meets her gaze.

Lesiil takes notes of his arms, folded across his chest, and his foot over his knee, red-trimmed black kama spilling around him and onto the seat. Is he cold? The room is warm enough. Closed off demeanor, then. Defensive. But what for? Is he still skeptical?

She breaks his gaze, placing the Marshal's expression in the back burner.

“If everybody has gathered their bearings, I'd like to continue for a few more moments.” Lesiil rubs her hands together. She turns to her droid still perching on Thorn's desk. “BD-6?”

The droid boops in attention, drawing everyone's attention to it.

“Come up here and show the class, please,” she waves her good hand over, “And pull up that footage.”

BD-6 scurries along the table, passing Thorn and the Marshal Commander and completely unaware of the latter's following eyes.

Its holoprojector lens activates, casting a blue projection of an HUD footage it had downloaded from one of the datapads earlier. Lesiil begins to direct it to fast forward and rewind to get to the perfect frame she spotted earlier while trying her best to steel herself. This is, after all, merely seconds before the HUD feed got abruptly cut off, assuming the helmet had been forcefully removed without properly disengaging the feed and internal comm systems.

Seconds later, BD-6 manages to pause on a particular frame they'd been looking for. Among the blurred motions indicating a clear struggle between the victim and the Corrie Butcher, is close-up of a hooded figure, lower part of the face covered with a mask to obscure his identity, leaving his eyes and forehead to peek through the hood, along with stray strands of blond hair sweeping across his forehead.

“This is one of the clearest moments we could get about the culprit from HUD point of view,” Lesiil finally presents, “I'd like to personally thank whoever this man is for not wearing any eye covering because it's easier for me to do my job, but that would be inappropriate. Now,” she points, “His eyes. His stare. His look. Full of anger, full of passion, he's manic. Not exactly excitement nor for the mere thrill unlike most serial killers diagnosed with psychopathy, but there's a very distinctive rage in his eyes. This, I think, aligns with those thirty overkill stab wounds.”

“Detective.”

Another raised arm. This time it's coming from the front row. It's the one two seats down from Thorn with a shaved head. He was introduced as Commander Stone earlier, and had been the one overseeing the investigation before she got called in.

“With all due respect, this profiling method of yours is highly unusual, not to mention unconventional,” Commander Stone argues, “It's based on assumptions and not concrete evidence. We're looking for security footage, any traces of DNA, and the likes to help us identify this serial killer. Not assumptions.”

“My analysis isn't based on assumptions,” Lesiil asserts neutrally, as it's not her first Kessel Run to face such doubts, “I've managed to compare this to serial killer cases I had my hands in. I have the baseline experience to recognize a serial killer's motive.”

Commander Stone had been acknowledging her with nods as she spoke, waiting for her to finish before rebutting, “It’s only due to all your behavioral analysis, which lacks concrete evidence such as the killer's statement, cannot be taken for granted. You’re not a licensed psychologist, you are a detective.”

Lesiil watches how Thorn and the Marshal crane their necks over to glare warningly at the other commander.

Right. How dare he, right.

She takes a deep breath. “And a detective seeks deeply to find a killer's motive,” she counters, “It can always be done presumptively by reading their emotions, and if we’re also able to identify not only how they act, but their nonverbal cues as well.”

Commander Stone lets out a low scoff. “Nonverbal cues are subjective and thus not valid.”

She exhales. “Wrong. They could be valid, helping you to build an initial profile of the perpetrator.”

“Why are you so insistent about this behavioral analysis thing?”

“Why, because of my Lorrdian lineage, of course.”

The entire room suddenly breaks out into loud chatters of amazement.

Yes, well… it's a close guarded secret. Not even every personel in CSF knows. The public – the media that documents her – has no idea.

“Being a part-Lorrdian provided me the gracious opportunity to train and learn from them. I am a master nonverbal communications analyzer, if that wasn't clear enough,” Lesiil clarifies. She does catch some confused looks among these men. Moreover, it's actually documented in her portfolio.

“I've been trained to read people for half of my life, so much so that I am capable of telling the difference between ambiguity and sincerity,” she declares, “And that is exactly why I make an excellent detective even among my peers. Have I mentioned my specialty is interrogation? One incriminating move of the hands, and I can pull the guilty or not guilty verdict and throw life imprisonment without parole in their face right there and then had I been the judge.”

Fox is feeling so kriffing smug right now.

Not only does he generally enjoy watching people losing their shit and slam the other back down with intellectual savagery that makes them look dumb in the end, but he's chuffed he put his foot down yesterday to bring in Lesiil Thrace.

“So, that's the entire anti-clone behavioral analysis of the Corrie Butcher for you. All I ask is your full support. And with all that said, we can move on with the investigation and hopefully subdue this serial killer before the increasing number of victims bears too much,” she concludes firmly, and she turns in his direction, meeting his gaze in faint bewilderment.

Fox realizes his face muscles are creasing – he's been beaming at her.

“That is all, Marshal Commander,” Thrace cues him with her own contented smile, “Thank you for letting me have the floor.”

He then closes the session and dismisses everyone as fast as he can, knowing the others and himself have matters to do.

Fox lets his gaze trail the detective as she exits the room with her droid on her back alongside the other commanders, engaging in small conversation about some of her notorious cases.

“So,” Thorn starts, approaching Fox on the stage, “Start throwing in your opinions, vod. What do you think of her?”

Fox hooks his fingers into his belt and shrugs. “Didn't know she's a Lorrdian.”

Thorn sighs. “Yeah, me neither. I'm as surprised as you are.”

“Really?”

“She told me her home planet is Alderaan. So yeah, her being part Lorrdian is a sure shock.”

Fox stores that piece of information in his brain. “Is she a member of one of the noble houses or something?” he wonders, gesturing with his hand, “With that… formal tone. Courteous speaking mannerisms and whatnot.”

“Her record didn't say anything about that,” Thorn shakes his head, unsurprised. He continues to prod as Fox gathers his helmet. “So. What do you think?”

“I reckon she'd be a challenge to our internal network and to outside forces,” Fox admits.

“‘Our internal network’?” Thorn snorts.

“Thorn,” Fox begins almost sharply, “did you see how she went against protocol?”

“To work faster, Fox,” his batchmate defends with an amused look in his face, “And we asked for her help, remember? We want this case solved, and she wants nothing but identifying the Corrie Butcher and having him detained.”

Fox is silent for a moment before stating, “She's in Corrie territory.”

“Uh huh.”

“Doesn't mean she can do whatever she likes.”

“You're her CO.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That's cold, sir.”

“She’s stubborn as kark,” Fox sighs, leading out of the meeting room, “Refused a bacta tank when I offered just because she didn't want to brood in the medwing.”

Thorn catches up beside him, bucket clutched under his arm. “Stubborn is the first thing that comes to your mind? Mine is friendly,” he says, “Talks when the situation is fit for her to. Knows her boundaries. Wouldn't prod your privacy.”

“So is it ‘friendly’ or those three points that flew across that head of yours?”

“All of the above, but across time and time again,” Thorn remarks cheekily, “What else?”

Fox suddenly remembers their first meeting he'd just learned about this morning. Thorn, the son of a droid, accidentally spilled caf on her.

“Her caf is nice,” Fox finds himself mumbling, before donning his bucket because he's about to mull. Face obscurity is the very first thing he needs.

“Oh so that's her mug?” Thorn laughs, having noticed the red drinkware with the person of interest pun on Fox's table earlier that day. “Makes sense. You'll never come up with that kind of joke, you're too gruff.”

Yeah, that's right. Fox does admit he's gruff and stern and stiff and whatever krayt spit his brothers come up with about his uptight personal branding. The contrast makes him wonder about that pun line on the red mug; did she come up with that and commission that thing or is it a gift from a cheeky friend? She looks like the kind of person that does have that kind of friend. Thorn, for example.

Lesiil Thrace is courteous. Utter professional. Blunt around the edges. Resilient, though sometimes it comes as annoying because of how smart the words that come out of her mouth are. Duty-bound. Focused.

Some of those remind Fox of himself.

He understands those traits, drawing him to be considering being a little lenient to her in the future.

But declaring her appreciation to be working with them, what could that possibly mean? Coming from a shared background of law-upholding authorities, perhaps, then yes, Fox can understand.

But she's a natborn. In fact, the one and only natborn in the clone-only institution called the Coruscant Guard.

Why the honor that simply manifests by working with… clones?

Whatever that is, Lesiil Thrace has gained Marshall Commander Fox's respect already.

“Stubborn. Workaholic,” are the things that fly out of his mouth instead, “An apparent professional, but if she goes against even the most basic protocols again, m’gonna go ballistic.”

Thorn snorts. “Ain’t that you, vod? Maybe you and her do have something in common.”

Fox kicks his shin. “Shut your shebs up.”

And shut his brother's shebs did, and Fox is grateful because he thinks he's captivated by the detective, but of course, as the most dutiful Marshal Commander of his corps, he would downplay and bury that bit of feeling deep into the earth and pray someone wouldn't notice the soil has been upturned.

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @msmeredithrose @filamentlights

[obsessive-valentine]

I just adored your mad scientist hc post and was wondering what their life would be like. Like would y/n go to school? Would they be allowed friends? Would the scientist ever seek out a mother figure for his child? (Or make one himself???) I'm srry if this is a ramble I just love platonic yandere fics lmao.

Platonic!Mad-Scientist + Experiment!Reader (PT2)

We love rambling around these parts anon, the best ideas come from conversations ❤️

Some world building of life after escaping the lab with platonic mad-scientist. TW brief mention of murder

Life would be pretty simple in the little terrace house on the quiet part of town, the house is kept clean and homely a very harsh contrast to the office he lived in for most his life back at the lab. He still collects specimens, making his home office like a little museum - he also still fiddles with things making odd inventions from the locals scrap.

In fact that’s how you both have become beloved members of the community, he offered to fix something for a neighbour and did such a good job people sought him out. He also makes things for you, like how you loved music so he’d fix up music boxes or how you loved a certain animal or bug that he made a little mechanical figure of it that swam/flew/walked.

He wouldn’t see the point in letting you go to school though, despite how friendly the people are, mostly because he’s smarter than any teacher they have; he’s practically a genius when it comes to math, science and history. But it’s also because he doesn’t want you becoming to independent.

Despite not going to school you’re still seen by the towns people-very often- when you tag along with the scientist when he’s running errands or shopping. You’re always well dressed, good manners and happy so there aren’t any suspicions, if anything, admiration for such a dedicated father. Most of your ‘friends’ are the older people who run the shops, there’s not many opportunities for you to play with other kids your age and he makes sure of that.

Definitely takes you to the pictures and restaurants often, probably a weekly thing or more. I mean he’s basically retired due to being payed plenty during his days in the government labs, so aside from small favours for the towns people and personal hobbies (dissecting and mechanics probs) he really is just a house father; leaving ample amount of time to take you out on cute little evening dates.

Because he’s so dedicated to your upbringing it’s very unlikely he’ll become romantically involved with a woman and no chance he’d seek it out for himself. He might if it benefited you but truly doesn’t believe you need anyone but him, he’s incredibly smart and not just book smart but emotionally evolved with you, there’s nothing he can’t do that a mother would do for you. He himself isn’t interested in romance but I wouldn’t rule it out completely, just unlikely.

You both spend most mornings doing school work together then he lets you have free time as he cleans or cooks, then in the afternoons he’s usually in his study fixing, building or dissecting and recording in one of his thousands of accumulated note books. He doesn’t mind you sitting with him while he does this or even better helping. After this sometimes you both go into town or if it’s a quiet day you both stay home and cook dinner.

At some point you’re sent to bed, he sticks to a strict bedtime only to be broken on birthdays or holidays. He will tuck you in and read a chapter from the book he bought not so long ago. He doesn’t sleep as much as you, usually he returns to his study or sometimes he sneaks out and gets rid of a certain problem person that’s been a bit rude to you or him, he only tolerates stuff from his darling child who can do no wrong, other than that he does have a bit of a temper. No one will miss a ill-mannered person anyways.

[kalpeavaris]

MD: Echo Info Post #1 (Character Edition)

So I reblogged this image about wanting to (over) share about OCs... and then I got a mysterious message telling me to speak about my OCs... 👀(*cough* @inkyprince I said I'd tag you hehe *cough*)

So I've decided to just do it, lmao. I love sharing stuff about my OCs, stories and whatnot and this is my blog, imma do what I want!

Gotta lay out some trivia & information about my Murder Drones AU, Echo! Wether it be characters or concepts, because maybe it'll get some people interested :D All of the info is below the cut, and for the first iteration of this I've chosen Kira, aka "ZWEI", for this!

Kira - "ZWEI" - White Witch

A lot of her information can also be viewed on her ToyHouse Profile (logged in user only, sorry!)

Playlist - Pinterest - Voice Claim - Theme Song

Content Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts (non-explicit), chronic (terminal) illness (in... robot-terms?)

(older art, but it does the trick lmao)

Kira was one of the Drones that were tested and infected with the Absolute Solver code back in the 3040s and 50s in the Cabin Fever Lab Cathedral with her number being 24.

As a Communication Drone the Solver's abilities affected her in a different way than her fellow Worker Drones, causing the humans to become aware of certain powers that she exhibited which weren't displayed in other Drones.

Her "exorcism" (or, well, patch) was botched as Kira's OS wasn't capable of adapting to the patch version, causing it to corrupt and allow for a vunerability that lead to Echo (a mutated version of the AS) planting it's own code inside of Kira's, which jump-started Echo's influence on Communication Drones.

Kira's Solver is always active - that's why her eye doesn't return to normal and only ever displays the emblem. She overheats extremely easily all the time and is prone to physical pain and tinnitus due to her being unable to block out inbound signals if she picks them up.

This has her health deteriorating quickly over the course of the MD: Echo story, slowly succumbing from it, though she keeps on pushing forward to stop ECHO and it's hosts. She needs actual medication to keep the pain at bay and constantly consumes Oil at a high rate to stop overheating. If her Solver was to deactivate she'd most likely pass away within a few days.

Her secondary name, "ZWEI" means "Two" (or could also be interpreted as "the second") in German. It is a reference to her part in the story, as well as her connection to ECHO. (won't be spoilered for now 8D) She associates alot of trauma with it and doesn't like being referred by it.

Personality wise Kira seems fairly withdrawn from everyone around her except her friends and partner/family. If she's in a good headspace she's fairly open and confident, almost fierce in the way she appears to others. Kira's keen on keeping up a strong facade to not show strangers her weaknesses or true condition.

"But what are Communication Drones?"

I'm glad you asked! Communication Drones look like normal Workers, though the one thing that sets them apart are the two antennas on their head which can vary in size & style depending on their desired function (short-range, long-range, ground signals, air signals etc.)

These antennas function as ears for them, so if they're removed, their hearing is damaged (not entirely deaf, but definitely worsened). So if a "normal" CD loses their antennas they're having a harder time adapting as their intake of sound is greatly reduced.

As an AS user/host, Kira's able to pick up on stronger signals from far away or even sending out signals to stun/manipulate others around her in a short radius. This effect doesn't stay though, it'll wear off over time and actively consume energy from the Drone using it.

Disassembly Drones can also have the subtype of a Communication Drone as shown in the sketch below (left DD) - their antennas are usually shorter and made for short-range and aerial signals as they're capable of flight, too.

(I almost made them a polycule not going to lie they all hot as fuck) wish that was me-)

--

(Kira on her way to cast 'gun, prepare to meet god' in the face of a fucking angel-robot-AI that believes to be god itself)

Kira plays a big part in the MD: Echo universe next to some minor characters & canon characters. Her main motivation is to help stop Echo, as it also tries to infect her via the unstable Solver code in her OS.

--

Crucifix Symbolism

(the power of christ compels you!)

Something very important to Kira is her botched patch / "exorcism". She's obsessed with crucifix looking symbolism which continues to haunt her almost 30 years later during MD: Echo's timeline.

She's desperate to break free from this, but cannot help herself. She compulsively collects cross-shaped imagery and in the first few months after her escape from the Lab she actively built crosses from all sorts of materials.

It's mainly coming from her OS being overwhelmed by the botched patch and the crucifix imagery of the USB burning itself in her memory files as some sort of "salvation" she has yet to achieve. Luckily, this started to fade out over the years, especially after meeting T who helped her to overcome the trauma of the incident.

--

(CW: Mentions of Self-Harm)

After being infected by the Absolute Solver, Kira desperatly tried more than once to remove her antennas to keep the voices from appearing. It talked to her from the inside, but she didn't realize this yet. Like almost all other AS Users however she kept on regenerating, unable to escape the inner turmoil of the Solver's possession and Echo trying to get inside of her OS as well.

--

Effects of the AS on her psyche

(holy shit have you ever seen a centipede that big? what is this? australia?)

Haunted by visions of the Solver, it's communications with the other Drones and later on the landing pods of the Disassembly Drones Kira had a hard time to tune out these visions she got from time to time. Similar to Nori in that regard Kira wrote everything down she heard through these intercepted signals, amassing hundreds of pages of logs she was able to get.

--

Meeting her partner

("Girl I swear I have normal hands too don't be distracted by my sexy claws")

In the 3060s, she stumbled upon one of the Disassembly Drone squads outside of the colony's Outpost she was seeking shelter in. She had intercepted their landing pods signals and was "curious" to seek out whoever had arrived, trying to solve the mystery of whatever the Solver had her experience.

That's when she found Serial Designation T - the navigator of the squad, who at first attempted to kill her like he'd been tasked to do. After all, Kira was a Solver Host that couldn't be fully mind-controlled anymore. But in the middle of him attacking her T's code was halted by Cyn herself, deactivating his executive task to kill the Host he had infront of him. He himself didn't know why exactly the Solver did this, but in hindsight it was due to the fact that Kira was still able to be of use to it later on.

(POV: you deleted system32 from your PC because some random kid on roblox told you to)

Now neutral, T got curious about Kira whom he tried to speak to with her Kira (driven by curiosity on why he had stopped being aggressive all of a sudden, being able to intercept the communication he had with Cyn) staying to talk to him.

Over the following weeks the two grew acustomed with each other, slowly building a friendship that later on evolved into a more romantic nature. Kira hid him in the Outpost and brought in food for the two of them as she constantly needed oil as well.

[aristenfromwarsaw]

All About Your Tav/Durge and Their Romantic Interest

Thank you so much for tag @judasiskariot, for me it's always a pleasure to write about Aristen and Astarion - they are my favorite fictional couple 💞. It took me a while due to illness, but I finally finished it 😁.

~ Your Tav/Durge's Name and Their Partner ~

💞 Aristen Rosegrove and Astarion Ancunín💞

~ Tell Us About Your Character - Anything at All! ~

~ High Elf ~ Sorcery ~ Storm Sorcery ~ Redeemed Dark Urge ~ (her full story and personality)

~ Aristen is very nice and always tries to be very empathic and looks for something more in people than others.

~ As a child, she grew up in an elven village, so she appreciates nature very much.

~ Hates her true origin and she constantly worries and thinks about that what she did when she was under Bhaal's influence. She hates herself for being Bhaalspawn and considers herself a monster. She tries to atone for all her sins by helping others. The person she hates the most in the world is herself.

~ What Do They Enjoy Doing Together? ~

~ They love to cuddle and stare at the stars in the evenings, for Astarion this is a very important moment because he is still struggling with his trauma.

~ They often sew something together - inscriptions on scarves, small puppets and other things that come to their mind. Astarion is great at sewing, and Aristen is still learning with his help.

~ Aristen likes to write stories and poems, so Astarion often helps her find a rhyme or write a story.

~ Astarion teaches her how to open locks, he stands behind her and helps her to use her hands - these lessons often end in a bed or other surface adapted to physical ecstasy 😅.

~ They love to do what couples in love usually do 😈. ~ They like to sit in inns, watch others and be happy that they can live a normal life.

~ What's Something Your Character's Partner Loves About Them? ~

~ Aristen is grateful that Astarion does not judge her past when she was under the influence of her murderous father. He doesn't see her as a monster and has never been afraid of her, even when she wanted to kill him one night. Conversely, Aristen has no problem with his dark past.

~ They believe they were made for each other and a whole number of strange coincidences allowed them to come together.

~ For Astarion, Aristen is not only a lover but also a best friend. Among other he loves her because she saw him as something more than a handsome vampire and, most importantly, she saved him. She saved him from becoming a Vampire Lord, where he would have lost himself. She loved him as he was and allowed him to live again and get to know himself. He loves how Aristen can be gentle and very caring towards him.

~ They think that in their imperfection they are the perfect couple - an immortal vampire spawn and an immortal demigod, former child of Bhaal. They are like two drops of blood and they understand each other perfectly.

~ They feel safe with each other. No matter what happens, they always support each other and are loyal to each other.

~ Their Life After Baldur's Gate? ~

I wrote their lives after the events of game in Aristen's story. But in short: Aristen regained her memories (especially those when she was in the care of a foster family) and found her family. Aristen and Astarion managed to get a pendant that protects her lover from the sun. And finally, after many years of being together, they got married

~ Something Your Tav/Durge Loves About Their Partner? ~

~ Aristen loves cats, and for her Astarion is like a kitty, only elven.🐈‍

~ Aristen sees herself in Astarion because of her past - when she realized that they were very similar that she slowly started to fall in love with him.

~ Even though Aristen tries to be a very nice person, she loves Astarion's sarcasm and his honesty towards others.

~ She loves his stupid sense of humor.

~ She is impressed by the fact that Astarion, after such a huge trauma, tries to live a normal life and tries to be a slightly better elf.

~ Aristen loves that Astarion is not interested in most people, but for her he would go to hell. Many women have tried to hit on him, but he just turns it into a joke and stays with her.

~ Aristen loves that Astarion very rarely says "I love you", but when he does say it, it is always a very magical moment - they are in some beautiful place or in the middle of love. Then he has such a gentle and happy expression on his face that Aristen loses herself.

~ She loves how passionate and affectionate Astarion is during lovemaking. Then she feels like the true queen of his heart.

~ Sometimes Aristen has bad days, she cries, thinks she shouldn't have been born and thinks she's a bad seed because of her past - then Astarion hugs her and lets her cry, which helps her a lot.

~ Something That Your Character and Their Partner Both Hate (about anything): ~

~ They hate it when someone judges them based on their past, which they had no control over.

~ When someone is not nice to cats.

~ When someone doesn't realize what dangerous creatures full vampires are.

❤️

I tag @lazysload, @anacdoce @vaelastormreaver ~ feel free to ignore it or do it 💜.

[tyxoxo]

Ylang Ylang

| summary: while being close to you and your family’s extinction, a promise needs to be broken to save the lives of your people

| pairing: fairyhunter!jeno x fairy!reader au w/fairy!xiaojun x fairy!reader (if you squint)

| genre: suspense, angst, smut, fantasy, multiple nct/wayv + aespa character inserts, jeno and hendery are brothers

| words: 11.6k

| warnings: murder, blood, torture, knife play, noncon smut + suggestive scenes, blackmail, exhibitionism, caging/imprisonment, degrading, unprotected sex

(this is purely fiction, warnings in bold mean potentially triggering content, everything is tagged accordingly)

a/n: @jenomov and i came up with this concept out of nowhere also, so massive thanks to them for the inspiration, ideas, summary, and endless brainstorming! they practically helped write this <3 also jeno’s look in the header is essentially how i envisioned him to look for this story but imagine him however you want 

playlist: 

livv? - ylang ylang

weatherby - fleeting frozen heart 

datfootdive - stars

alicks - 7 laps later

tame impala - one more hour

“C’mon Xiaojun, spit it out already!!” 

You teased at your loving best friend, shoving him playfully with a single finger as you watched him struggle to speak lucid sentences.

The two of you were in your favorite and most “private” hang out spot—in the trees on the outskirts of your shared village. Far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the community, but close enough for comfort. Though you tried your best not to drift into the terminology of “safety”, “danger”, or “warnings.” 

It was a sure way to initiate ill omens.

Both of your parents were aware of your shared infinity for exploring; venturing past the municipality limits. But as long as the two of you shrunk to “the size of a quail” outside of the village, they allowed you to bask in the wonders of blaring curiosity, to your heart’s content. Your species could never truly bring your guard down…

“Sorry…I just can’t form my words today.” He scratched the back of his head as he peered down at his lap, rustling the Crane's-bill flower crown perched atop his mauve hair in the process. 

“Since when do you ever really form your words?” 

This time you gave a subtle laugh to pair with your smile, hoping to ease his obvious discombobulation. 

“You’re right. I don’t.” 

His eyes met yours, his wings even twitching, which always signified when your kind was flustered.

He continued again, pulling at his own thumb as he drifted his eyes up to the newly blossomed tree leaves; an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact.

You could try to deny it for as long as you lived, but there was something within you that adored him more than he probably ever knew.

It was his tenderness, his soothing voice, his patience, whether it was those nights you stormed out of your house in search of him, as a form of solace from the constant nightmares of your genocide, or the days that you wanted to rant about your parent’s overprotectiveness (though they’ve eased up in recent years).

Anything you needed, he was there. And you always tried your best to do the same, despite having the feeling that he bottled up some of his troubles to keep from feeling like a burden himself.

“Well…I w-wanted to tell you, that I really appreciate you.” 

He gave up on his own finger trap, to tug at the bottom of his white flounce shirt, finally meeting your eyes again with another twitch of his translucent wings.  

“I appreciate you too Xiaojun, always.” 

You leaned forward, so light that you barely caused the branch underneath you to stir. He froze upon witnessing your close contact, only his brown irises lowering to watch as you took both of his hands into your own.

“Is everything okay?” 

You didn’t mean for your voice to come out in a whisper, but his stuttering had become more frequent, and this only made your thoughts whirl just as loudly as his.

If only you knew that he was on his way to confess his true feelings to you, if only he could get his mouth to work as fast as his brain, maybe then he could finally pull the weight off his shoulders.

But you made all of this difficult without even trying. His love for everything that was you, was infinite. 

Even your constant teasing.

And the glimmer in your eyes was no match for his composure, let alone the way you held his hands. 

You scanned his face in search of an answer, that definitely took too long for him to spill.

“Yeah don’t worry, everything's fine.” 

You tilted your head in confusion, wondering where this could possibly be going, knowing he was aware of your ever-so-apparent “what’s the deal” persona. 

He cleared his throat, and geared himself up for the revelation of a lifetime,

“I’ve been m-meaning to tell you that I really like you…that I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like to have this moment with you.”

You felt your wings twitch, more noticeable than his own. And the warmth that flooded your entire body could’ve lit the entire forest in a swarming blaze. 

“W-would it be crazy if I asked you to be mine—”

His lips seemed to come at a rest in slow motion, eyelashes fluttering in stark contrast as he heard your breath hitch in your throat.

Not even the sun’s rays that flashed through the white pine tree could’ve taken you out of your shock. 

You used what seconds you had left, to replay his confession in your head,

“…I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like to have this moment with you”

Xiaojun, your best friend since childhood, had always dreamed of this?

But the thoughts of responding were ripped away, as blood-curdling screams roared from the direction of your home. They weren’t light hearted nor playful by any means, and with the ability to hear great distances, the agony that bestowed upon your ears caused you both to wince in fear. 

Xiaojun turned his head to look through the leaves, skin turning pale upon hearing further destruction. 

Most of the branches obscured your vision, but it didn’t take much longer for the despair to continue. 

“They found us!” 

That voice, sounded like Karina.

And her frenzied words gave the answer—after two years of hiding, the hunters were back. 

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, the ability to breathe becoming a distant memory.  

You squeezed Xiaojun’s hand as you crawled through the thick pine, your best friend eventually grabbing your waist to stop you from venturing out too far.

“Stay back!” His hushed tone was never this turbulent, bringing all the more truth to the chaos brewing just a mile away. 

“We have to go help!”

“It’s too dangerous, I can’t risk you getting hurt!” 

Your adrenaline was too much for Xiaojun, as you managed to fight through his tight embrace or rather his hold on your longing to see your family and friends for what could be the last time. 

“Let me go! We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

You attempted to gear your wings for flight as you broke through his hold, hands raking through the leaves to get a clear view through the sea of green.

As you hovered past the pine tree, a familiar being appeared to be flying this way, the telltale sign being the blush colored wings that matched the embroidered dress swaying through the win at high speeds.

It was Giselle. And upon getting a closer distance, you saw the blood spatter that painted her arms in fresh crimson. 

She was her natural size, like what your kind all chose to be while in the comfort of your home, and the only guess as to why she didn’t choose to shrink was the amount of energy it took to do so. She seemed to grip at her side as the blood continued to stain her silk dress, not once looking up at which direction to fly. Her Dahlia flower crown was nowhere to be found, something that she cherished more than anything in the world.

You had to help her, get her to safety within the trees, whatever you could to secure a better fate. But the constant screams kept you too terrified to react, and being out in the open like this was indeed risky. 

Before you could muster the strength to call her name, Xiaojun was behind you, the vibration of his wings filling your senses. He leaped at you once again, this time pulling you back towards the trees with labored breaths.

He couldn’t just do this to you…prevent you from saving a life, from saving not only your friend, but his friend too.

You managed a measly call of her name, knowing her advanced hearing would be enough. And successfully, she glanced up for the first time since her escape, to watch as you motioned for her to join together in the same tree.

Her face, lit up with hope, was the last sanguine expression to ever grace her face, as the all too familiar sound of a crossbow arrow being loosed from its quarrel sped towards her injured frame.

Your scream, one just as gut-wrenching as those that continued from your home, was muffled against Xiaojun’s palm as he pulled you back within the tree. You were forced away from any further intervention, forced away from burying your guilt.  

Giselle flung forward from the sheer impact of the arrow as it shot through her heart, her umber strands flying through the air in the same intensity; entire body falling face forward onto the red speckled bermuda grass.

You couldn’t look away, not while you witnessed her final moments—eyes drifting up to meet yours within her last breath, wings falling lifeless against her spine, and a faint smile from knowing you would be the last person she would ever see, instead of the hunters that were walking towards her. 

Your entire body shook against Xiaojun, trembling in fear that her killers would surely discover the two of you here.

“Fuck! Hendery I had her!” 

An unfamiliar voice, but one you would never forget, roared through the clearing that led to your dead friend. 

You never felt so much anger from a person before, someone that you could only imagine was seething at the teeth.

Xiaojun finally took his hands away from your mouth, allowing you to inhale as much as you could before they got too close. But he still kept his arms wrapped around you, fighting through his own sobs that hit against the back of your neck.

“No Jeno! I’m not letting you fuck this up anymore! Remember what Johnny said?”

Yet another unfamiliar voice, but you were able to put the faces with the names right as the two humans approached just meters away, barely appearing disheveled despite the chaos they just unleashed. Thankfully their lack of enhanced senses worked in your favor, as you and Xiaojun remained undetected during their inspection of the area.

The one holding the crossbow was Hendery. And the one to speak first with the serrated knife was Jeno. 

These had to have been the hunters your family warned about. For the two years since relocating to this new area, all of the last surviving elders made it their mission to describe these two, for if the day came that they scoured the land again, you would instantly know it was them. 

They were just as menacing as your parents described, especially the blonde, Jeno. 

Whether or not it was on purpose to instill fear within all of your kind, you were always taught to never underestimate him or his brother. 

The two of them could’ve passed as supernatural beings themselves—flawless skin, chiseled features, intimidating height, and the perfect build…you could’ve spent your time describing their otherworldly looks, but their tyranny overshadowed everything else in your mind.

Your breathing finally began to steady as you stared them down like hawks within the evergreen tree, watching with glossy eyes as they stood over Giselle.

Maybe it was the tactical black clothes they wore, or the shared onyx in their eyes. Either observation caused a shiver to run down your spine; they screamed carnage.

You and Xiaojun both jumped as Jeno sheathed the knife in his left hand into his thigh holster, the ear-grating sound bringing you back down to the harsh reality of your near-death experience.

“The others should be on their way any minute. Let’s go.” 

Hendery spoke again and pointed downward with his crossbow at Giselle’s lifeless body, signaling for Jeno to carry her now.

The blonde obeyed, but not without a  furrowed brow as he bent down to gather the fresh corpse.

You were sure his disgruntled expression was due to his brunette counterpart taking away his kill, and a part of you knew that his method of disposal would have been way more barbaric than Hendery’s. 

You felt sick to your stomach to admit that maybe Giselle didn’t suffer too much of an agonizing death, as an arrow to the heart was the quickest way to an end.

Jeno loves the thrill of a chase. Once he has his sights on you, his frenzy doesn’t stop… 

The warning that your own mother gave you stuck ever since she first told you. And it all made sense now: Giselle was part of the hunt.

The last you would ever see of her, was a delicate, lifeless body slumped over Jeno’s shoulders as the two brothers walked back the way they came. 

The two of you could’ve stayed hidden in the trees forever, passing the time by staring at the way the grass moved in the wind. Especially now that you had to face the aftermath of being found after such little time.

Xiaojun’s arms slowly unwrapped around your body, falling onto the branch in defeat.

You couldn’t help but fight back more tears as you looked back at him, eventually failing as you saw how red his own eyes were.

“What did they mean by “be here any minute?” 

You asked in a trembling tone, voice slightly breaking from the sobs that overtook your chords.

“I fear they’ll stay close by for a while, but maybe it’s a chance we’ll have to take to see what’s going on.”

His cool breath touched your lips as he spoke, and you could only give a nod. No amount of talking could take away the pain you felt. 

The two of you cautiously exited the trees, remaining in your shrunken size to stay undetected. 

You gave one last look at the grass below you, soaking in Giselle’s blood that splattered onto the now-soiled greenery. 

Xiaojun led the way, choosing to duck behind the trees along the clearing, as you did the same.

The area seemed too quiet now…

The wisp of arrows no longer filled the air, and the crashing of what sounded like housing structures were no longer drowned out by the screams of your family and friends.

Considering the two of you purposefully ventured out past the village limits, it seemed like hours before you reached the entrance to your once-forever home.

The destruction seemed picture-perfect to what your elders had experienced in the past.

Xiaojun reached behind to interlock your fingers with his as you both approached the gates. You could only let your wings carry you now, barely reacting to his physicality…the numbness had become too overbearing. 

No sign of life could be caught within your sights, only smoke and dwindling flames littered the landscape.  

Houses were barely standing, with sunken ceilings and crumbling timber.

Could everyone truly be dead? Even your parents?

You tried your best to peek over Xiaojun’s shoulder, trying as best as you both could to find your respective homes. And considering how small the two of you were now, the billows proved to be difficult terrain. You both covered your faces in defense of the embers, fending off the irritation to your eyes.

Xiaojun was the first to look towards what was left of your home, eventually dragging you along despite your best efforts to protect your eyes.

Upon stopping and hovering in front of your disheveled porch, it was obvious your parents were gone; though you didn’t want to think about the manner in which they were gone. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to rummage through the chunks of burnt siding, as every piece was scorching hot to the touch.

“Why even fucking bother?” 

Your anger began to overshadow your grief, and despite the fumes emanating off the burnt mahogany, you kicked at what remained of the entryway.  

Images of your parents flashed through your brain; undoubtedly giving it their all to fight back, not even caring that they would ultimately fail against them. 

They never thought about the aftermath of their bravery…going out in glory seemed like the best way to go.

Xiaojun could only choke back tears as he hovered beside you, knowing that no amount of condolences would render you healed. He wasn’t a ghost to this kind of pain either.

You were there for him when his parents found their end at the hands of the hunters years prior.

And he knew he had to do the same for you. 

“I’m sorry…” Xiaojun sniffled with a squeeze of your hand. You met his bloodshot eyes, blinking away yet another tear. 

Your focus soon shifted past your best friend, as your eyes drifted over to a familiar piece of pink flower nestled under a heap of singed plywood. 

Xiaojun noticed, and followed closely behind as you flew over to your discovery. 

Somehow saved from the flames, was Giselle’s flower crown. 

You steadied the speed at which your wings fluttered to keep the smoke at bay, and in one fell swoop of your hand, you held onto the only remnant of your dear friend. 

Maybe this is why your kind wore these, not only as a form of self expression, but for moments like this. So anyone gone, would never be forgotten.   

“We should go…” 

You were sure it pained him as much as it did you to not give a valid response to his shared grief, but staying here out in the open was suicide. You clutched onto the Dahlia flower crown as the two of you flew south, with no real destination in mind.  

Maybe a change of scenery or something less-desolate would clear your head. 

—

Jeno tried his hardest not to tear a muscle in his jaw as he clenched down with every exhale. 

He was left fuming ever since the end of their hunt. 

He knew why Hendery intervened, and the thought of someone trying to control his methods disgusted him.

It didn’t even matter if that certain someone was his own brother.

No one got in the way of his kill.

Although he wanted to body slam Hendery into the ground, all thoughts of getting his vengeance were cut short as Yuta and Sungchan were arriving to help load the bodies. The brothers were waiting just outside the village in a clearing, with high hopes that more fairies would cross paths with them in the process. 

Jeno passed the time by tossing his knife up and down in the air, purposefully avoiding conversation with his brother to bring more tension into the air. It worked somehow, with Hendery only kicking a few pebbles along the dirt instead of discussing how uneventful their slaughter was. 

Yuta and Sungchan eventually drove up in the shared sport utility vehicle courtesy of Johnny, that had definitely seen better days: waves of mud caked along the fender from transporting bodies to buyers all over the county, along with a few specks of dried blood on the front tire rims from a raccoon Hendery hit the other day.

The fellow hunters skidded along the rough terrain with the help of four wheel drive, successfully parking in front of the pile where only four fairies lay stacked on top of each other.

The sun was beginning to set along the distant horizon, seeming faster as the entire land lay nestled on a hill. That still didn’t stop the golden hour from illuminating the-now blackened blood painted along their lifeless bodies, even decorating a few of their ruined flower crowns like black ink.

Yuta was the first to exit the driver's seat, putting out his cigarette in the portable ashtray just beneath the car stereo. Sungchan followed suit, but not without towering over his comrade as they came to a stop to view the brother’s labor. 

“I feel like there should be way more than this…” 

Yuta’s crimson locks swayed in the breeze as he broke the silence, eyes darting from the bodies, then to the blonde, then to the brunette. 

He was sure such a statement would tick Jeno off, who’s excess pride always managed to bring home the most kills. 

“There’s definitely more out there. I saw a handful scatter south.” Hendery tilted his head in the direction as he kicked the final pebble over towards the pile of bodies.  

“Yeah well if you didn’t get in the way half the time, I would’ve gotten them.” 

Jeno spat as he sheathed the bowie knife back into his thigh holster. His dissatisfied expression only grew as Hendery scoffed in response. 

“What, you have nothing to say?” Jeno finally looked over to him, who’s tongue-in-cheek appearance was almost the final straw to his mania. 

“Can we just load these up already?” 

Sungchan, the timid pacifist, was the only one to stick to the task at hand, bending down to gather one of the bloodied corpses.

Yuta walked over to open the trunk as he texted Johnny with an update.

They each gathered one with ease, and despite being in their full size at death, all four managed to fit with a few pronounced shoves.

“Seems you went easy on them this time Jen…” Yuta took one final glance at the trunk, making sure Jeno heard his side comment before closing it. Based on the way Jeno slammed the rear passenger door, he succeeded. 

Yuta couldn’t help but light yet another cigarette as he put the car in reverse, even offering one to Jeno and Hendery who both declined with a shake of their head. 

It would take at least forty minutes before they reached headquarters, and anything to diffuse the obvious tension was worth a try.

— 

You subconsciously thanked whatever God that your kind didn’t need food and water as often as the humans who co-inhabited this earth.

If you did, the hunger and dehydration would’ve befallen you a long time ago. 

Neither you nor Xiaojun had eaten anything since the attack. 

It was now dark, and based on the abundance of nocturnal animals scouring about, it had to be late.

And unfortunately, the smell of petrichor began to fill your noses. 

Rain was definitely not your best friend while in this size or without proper shelter.

“Let’s stop here before it starts pouring.” Xiaojun guided you over to yet another tree, choosing to fly high up along the weeping willow for extra protection. 

He had become so steadfast in a small amount of time, and you were sure it was because of his familiarity with this type of tragedy. 

At least he was holding himself together better than you were. 

Each time you glanced down at Giselle’s crown, you couldn’t help but tear up. And the thought of potentially finding more along your journey scared you.  

Just as you nestled yourselves within the leaves, the rain began to pour and soon came the thunder.

Regardless of mother nature’s wrath, the comforting sound of raindrops hitting every leaf soothed away your stressors, as it did for Xiaojun. And not soon after, you found yourself laying back into his body for added warmth. 

He welcomed your embrace, and let his head rest on top of yours as the two of you tried to drift off to sleep.

Giselle’s crown never let you, perched just above as some sort of guardian that you hoped would watch over you for a lifetime.

“I love you.” 

Xiaojun’s whisper stirred you from your near distant slumber, and as you rose your head up, you found your lips just millimeters away from his own. 

“I love you too…”

—

2 years ago

—

“Sorry to cut the training short but I need everyone in my office now.” 

Johnny’s stone cold appearance into the gymnasium-sized training room caused everyone to freeze in place. Even YangYang, the newest recruit, had a hint of worry in his eye from what his boss could possibly want at this time of day.

The new offensive tactic he was learning from Hendery felt too liberating to be interrupted.

Nonetheless, all five hunters dropped their practice weapons, and began following through the halls of their headquarters. Jeno walked close behind, exuding annoyance with every step, followed by Hendery, Yuta, Sungchan, and YangYang, who all seemed less vexed. 

“Fresh meat” as Yuta liked to call the newest recruit, found the Brutalist architecture of the entire headquarters difficult to get used to. Nothing felt welcoming, but what could he expect from a group of ruthless hunters who’s only form of entertainment were killing or training? 

YangYang hoped that maybe he was jumping to conclusions, and that maybe they actually engaged in more leisure activities.

Eventually they made it to Johnny’s office. YangYang mentally recalled the first time he ever saw it, back when he was interviewed.  

Not much self-expression, or color for that matter; only strange and usual murals of taxidermied animals, and a few plaques of outstanding achievements in “Guerilla Warfare.”

The newest hunter felt awkward in the sea of black, not knowing if he seemed “lazy” for wanting to sit in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the carbon grey desk. Though, his pondering was short lived as Hendery and Yuta swiftly shoved between him to claim the only two seats.

Everyone except Jeno stayed in direct view of their boss, instead opting to lean against the wall with a few kicks to the fine carpet below. YangYang could already tell from his fifth day here that his blonde-haired comrade was the hothead of the group, intimidatingly so. 

“I called this meeting to discuss our sales…they’re unacceptable.” 

If only YangYang had known that this wasn’t the usual topic of a meeting, nor was it a common issue, though he did notice that everyone had their undivided attention, especially considering Johnny’s succinct tone. 

Yet there was a hint of relief in the hunter’s exhale, as there was no way he attributed to whatever poor sales his boss was referring to, when he’s only been here for less than a week.  

“I wanted to wait and see if maybe there was a mistake in my counts before pulling you all out of training, but it’s quite obvious that we’re down 20%.” 

Based on the way Sungchan and Hendery dropped their heads, the news was transparently bad. And despite the amount of bodies in the room, the atmosphere grew cold in the span of a heartbeat. 

“I don’t understand, we’ve killed thousands. How is that bringing us down?” 

Yuta was the first to speak after what seemed like minutes; eventually sparing the room of awkward silence. He leaned forward in his seat with intrigue, ultimately showing concern that was shared across everyone’s faces. 

“Precisely. It’s not the numbers, it’s the method.”

Johnny leaned far back in his chair with a cross of his hands over his abdomen—typical posture for someone trying to keep their composure.  

Was there confusion? Definitely. So much so that Hendery finally raised his head with a dumbfounded expression which might’ve garnered a slap from his displeased boss, though the thickness of his chestnut bangs spared him of the reprimand. 

“With each receipt that I get, there’s been a pattern...some sort of complaint.” 

Johnny paused to grab the binder in the corner of his desk that housed all of the “receipts”, eventually flipping it open to show the large stack that could barely stay organized due to the lightweight paper.

“Specimen AG — parts not salvageable due to maiming of thoracic cage and surrounding viscera…

Specimen BH — parts not salvageable due to debasement of intestines, including prolapse…”

The list seemed to go on and on—fifty pages worth to be exact, and it wasn’t until Johnny read the sixth one that the group of hunters finally caught on to the stress brewing within his chords.

“There’s a reason we don’t use bombs or any explosives, but based on the condition of these bodies, doesn’t fucking matter if we do!”

Johnny slammed the binder shut; seeming to resort back to his previous posture with equanimity. 

His voice barely above a shout, surely to get louder if no one spoke up soon.  

“But there’s one thing I won’t do, and that’s babysit. I have way too many important things to take care of while you guys are out there. So you all need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I might have a clue…” 

YangYang’s peripherals shifted to Hendery, who was the second to speak with a brief raise of his fore and middle finger. 

“I don’t think it helps that there’s someone in this room that likes to go overboard with their methods.”

YangYang was the only one to scan the room for the person in question, and eventually his suspicion bloomed upon setting his sights on Jeno.

He would never forget his first day hunting, nor would he forget the lingering smirk that painted Jeno’s face with every kill. 

Each fairy met their end in the most gruesome way possible, and somehow even his own brother had less sadistic methods to his madness. 

Limbs torn, torso’s gutted, throats ripped…

That was one way for Jeno to distinguish himself from the more quick and painless deaths of his counterparts. 

Easily…

“You piece of shit…” 

Jeno’s bark was just as hefty at his bite, and snapped YangYang out of his recollection. 

Thankfully his laconic response was towards Hendery. 

“I should’ve known.” 

Johnny produced a heavy sigh as he leaned forward to put his head in his hands. 

“Jeno you’re one of the best hunters i’ve ever known, you and your brother both. But you can’t do this. I’ve had countless buyers not only documenting but telling me that the parts are too mutilated…”

Johnny’s tone surprisingly stayed neutral, but the disappointment in his face didn’t falter.  

“Why criticize me for doing what we are trained to do?” 

Though Jeno remained still against the wall, it was evident his fists were clenched inside the pockets of his combat pants to resist the urge to punish his brother for “snitching.”

“They can’t possibly buy that junk Jeno!”

“Okay, next time I’ll just sit out and let everyone do the work then.”

Jeno’s solution to the problem was only a smart-ass response, one that tensed the room more than it already was. 

“Everyone seems to understand but you…”

—

Present

—

[0900]

Two hours of laying in bed with his eyes open when he could’ve been doing something more productive ate away at Jeno’s soul. 

Perhaps the best way to take his mind off the disappointment from yesterday’s hunt would be to train, even better if he could do it alone.

Considering it was still early, he was sure that could be arranged.

He couldn’t stand to hear the soft “tick” of the analog clock any longer, eventually rising up and navigating across the dimly lit bedroom; being especially mindful of YangYang’s crutches that lay in between their separate beds.  

Just a few weeks ago he sprained his ankle while training with Yuta, and never heard the end of it from the red-haired bully. The teasing was warranted, as his clumsiness made him miss out on the second hunt of his career. 

Before YangYang was recruited, Jeno was lucky enough to have a room by himself, but for the past two years he’s had to share. And despite his constant gripes with Johnny over that decision, there had been no changes in his room and board. 

Thankfully, YangYang wasn’t as much of a headache as he thought he would be. 

Just as Jeno reached for the doorknob, he was interrupted from YangYang’s awakening. 

“How was yesterday?” 

His groggy morning voice was a far-cry from his more upbeat tone that tended to blossom throughout the day. 

“You didn’t miss much.”

Jeno refrained from turning his head to address YangYang’s curiosity, and as a result, missed the frown that littered his face.

“Guess that makes me feel a bit better about being a klutz then.”

YangYang had grown accustomed to Jeno’s uninterested personality and expected nothing in return: no reassurance nor words of encouragement, but it still left him feeling cold as Jeno exited the bedroom with a harsh slam of the door. 

—

After freshening up in the bathroom, Jeno eventually walked through the maze of minimally designed hallways, with the constant reminder of how the entire building matched his current mood—arid, dull, and grey.

The gymnasium was just off in the distance and past Johnny’s office, which he suspected to be empty.

But to Jeno’s surprise, it was occupied by not only his boss, but an unfamiliar person. 

Their voices still seemed hushed to a low volume as Jeno decided to pause just past the partially open door. The brief glance Jeno gave in between wielded a weak observation of the boy, but just enough to know that there was no way he could survive here—he looked barely old enough to even drive. 

“Even though you still have yet to gain experience in the realm of hunting, I think you’ll be a great new addition to the team Jisung. We have plenty of approachable people here who would be more than happy to assist you on your learning curve.”

“Such a relief to hear that.”

The voice matched the ingenuous appearance of the boy, and somehow Jeno already had an irked nerve creep under his skin from the thought of gaining a new inexperienced “co-worker.”

“Due to tight restrictions on sales and making sure everyone gets equal pay, you’ll probably be the last hire, but I'll make sure we get you trained to expectations in no time.”

Last hire? 

Jeno immediately fell into the depths of suspicion. 

There was only one possible meaning in Jeno’s eyes: and the answer was replacement. 

The mere thought of deception plagued the mind of the seasoned hunter, and to such a degree that he could’ve easily torn down the door and stormed in to give both of them hell. 

If anyone saw Jeno now, they would see a raged monster—veins pulsed along his arms and down to his fists where he aimed to punch the wall nearest to him. The impact from his knuckle to the grey wall proved to be successful, and no amount of sting could’ve prevented him from giving another punch. 

Of course they heard it. And he didn’t want to stick around to see their faces when they came out to check. The self- control Jeno possessed, would ultimately spare the two of his wrath. 

The thought of training no longer sounded appealing; only real damage…real blood, could diffuse his anger. 

And no one could stop him from killing the way he wanted to. 

Not even his own brother, that just so happened to unveil himself from his shared room with Yuta. 

Hendery was just beginning to start his day, having already decided to sharpen his crossbow arrows, as training with them weakened the aluminum overtime.

He heard the loud “thud” just as he opened his bedroom door, and to his surprise, Jeno was storming off in the direction of the courtyard.

Something had to have bothered him, especially to the point that a large dent was made into the plastered wall on the other side of Johnny’s office.

Did he have an impromptu meeting? 

As Hendery began to jog towards his impetuous brother, he heard the creak of the office door, but couldn’t bother to look back at who appeared from inside.  

“Jeno! What’s going on?” 

His call yielded no response, and it seemed like miles before he got in arms reach of him.   

Just like Hendery predicted, Jeno made it to the frosted glass doors of the courtyard, violently pushing them open to the point of almost cracking the inorganic material. 

Hendery managed to lunge forward, ignoring the voices of Sungchan and Yuta in the distance as he cupped the back of Jeno’s shoulder.

“What the fuck’s going on?! Stop!” 

Without conscious thought, Hendery’s reflexes erupted from the center of his body, branching out towards his limbs to forge protection from the sudden backhand Jeno tried to give with his left hand. Hendery adjusted his footing to keep from falling backwards, but it seemed that he had to be one step ahead to handle Jeno’s blind rage. 

Sungchan and Yuta halted side-by-side, just in time to see Jeno practically attacking his own brother, with the first strike barely missing, though another seemed to be winding up from his right hand.  

“What could you possibly do, huh? I’m getting fucking replaced!” 

Sungchan was the first to look at Yuta with confusion as they heard Jeno’s explosive response. Even from their position at the doors, they could see every contour of Jeno’s muscles contract along his arms, with veins bulging against both sides of his temple as he seemed to hold back a snarl. 

Regardless, the two hunters felt relieved to know they weren’t the ones trying to console an absolute maniac. 

They knew better. 

“What the hell?” 

Within minutes of the brawl, a flurry of bodies appeared at the door. Johnny rushed down the steps after uttering his shock, followed by Jisung—and in the process of his first appearance, earned a scoff from Yuta as he brushed past. YangYang was the last to reach the ensemble, teeming with frustration at his inability to get accustomed to his crutches. 

If any outsider saw the scene before them, they would question if there was any proper authority amongst a group of murderous men. 

“Jeno! You have to stop!” 

No amount of pleas from Johnny could tear the two brothers apart. And whether or not it was to make a good first impression, Jisung lunged into action to separate them both as best as he could.

With the assistance of Johnny, who was undoubtedly stronger than the three combined, the heavy strikes to each other's bodies eventually ceased…followed by bruised cheeks, puffed lips, and labored breaths that flooded the hostile climate. 

Clearly, Jisung made the mistake of keeping his hands glued to Jeno’s shoulders as he rose from the dark granite rocks, shoving away the unwarranted contact. 

“After all these years of me outperforming everyone you’ve ever known, you’re going to throw me away?” 

He spat in Johnny’s face, even bucking towards him without shame before turning his attention back to Jisung. It was clear that Jeno wasn’t done, and Hendery’s intuition seemed to outshine everyone as he noticed his brother gearing up for another strike. Maybe it was the fact they were both bound by blood, as the two were always one step ahead of each other’s intentions. 

Despite the pain burning at his body, Hendery put himself in between Jeno and Jisung, yet again taking another punch, this time for someone he hadn’t even propely met. 

He took the brute force of Jeno’s knuckles, with plenty of newtons to make him stumble back. 

Jisung barely had time to flinch, but the aftershock left him feeling indebted towards Hendery. 

“I don’t want to lose any of you! If you came to me in private, I would’ve explained, but instead you go absolutely insane thinking he was your replacement?!”

For the first time, Jeno let his fists unclench with a harsh grimace. If it was to hide his disgrace or combat the raging headache, no one would ever know. 

Johnny stepped closer to Jeno, seeking out a valid response, but he was met with an ungracious exit. 

Hendery held onto his aching cheek as he watched Jeno walk away, presumably to never come back. 

His final act of longing to reach for his brother was interrupted as Johnny spoke,

“Just let him go…”

The entire courtyard turned to silence as Jeno pushed past his two comrades at the door, eventually disappearing in the adjacent hallway. 

Jisung was surprised to find that even after all of the chaos, Johnny remained calm. How? 

—

“Xiaojun…Xiaojun wake up! Do you hear that?” 

Off into the distance and below the same tree you both had been sleeping in for the past night, you heard the sound of flapping wings. 

Through the breeze, you couldn’t discern if they were from your kind or an animal, but you desperately needed a second set of ears to assist with your discovery.

After rubbing your companion’s arm, he finally awoke, albeit at a snail’s pace. The flapping stopped just as he stretched his upper body, and it didn’t take a genius to realize your disappointment.

But there again, you heard the high frequency sound of those same wings down below. 

This time Xiaojun heard it, and even his eyes grew an astonishing amount,

“I hear multiple sets of wings…do you?” 

Maybe his advanced hearing fared better than yours considering your lack of proper rest, but after concentrating enough with closed eyes, you heard it too.

“We should go check.”

You wondered if Xiaojun felt like risking his life yet again, but if this was anything like you hoped, then there was a better chance of survival with more than just two to a team.

He agreed with a subtle nod, and stayed close behind as you both crept towards the edge of the weeping willow. 

You paused before going any further, deciding to reach back and grab Giselle’s crown as it was practically your security blanket. 

Once you reached a safe distance, you scanned the twilight sky for any signs of aerial life. But that observation was soon forgotten as four pairs of living bodies were flying across the fescue grass. 

Myrtle, Canna, Red Flax, and Black Pansy rested atop each of their heads and you immediately recognized them.

Karina, Jaemin, Renjun, and Winter. 

You clutched Giselle’s crown close to your chest as you dove towards them, almost forgetting that Xiaojun was right behind you. 

Their hearing proved to be just as fruitful, as they each turned in the direction of your swift flight. 

Their faces, lighting up just as bright as the peeking sun over the horizon, gave you all of the strength in the world. They seemed to be alive and most importantly well considering the disaster that befell the community just two days ago. 

No words were spoken, just tears of relief as an assembly line of embraces filled the atmosphere.

Due to your excitement, you didn’t notice that they too had flower crowns, with Karina being the one to carry all three. 

Chenle, Ten, and NingNing. 

You felt a tight squeeze on your heart as you eyed the only evidence of their unforgettable beauty, but to see remnants of their existence was more than enough closure. 

Winter was the first to speak as you hugged her last, 

“I can’t believe you both are here! I’ve been crying ever since we made it out.”

She kept one hand on your shoulder as she used the other to rid the tear trailing past her chin. 

The abundance of emotions even managed to make Jaemin tear up, as he was someone who never cried. 

Karina seemed to keep her eyes trained on Giselle’s crown nestled in your hand, and as her lip began to quiver, you immediately rushed over to hug her again.

The two were inseparable—sisters who never missed the opportunity to experience life’s wonders together. 

You knew no amount of words would take away the pain, but you hoped that your affection would forge an era of healing. 

Based on her steady heartbeat and the collective encircle everyone decided to share, you knew it would happen eventually. 

“Have any of you seen my parents?” 

You waited until the group hug dispersed before asking, as you needed a solid look at each of their faces for any signs of an answer.  

The silence was deafening, but unfortunately more than enough to answer your question.

“I can barely recall what happened. Everything seemed like a blur…” 

Renjun’s statement garnered a collective nod. Nonetheless, you simply appreciated their existence as it didn’t seem like there was much left. 

—

Jeno had finally found a reason to keep going.

There, in a clearing upon chance, was the source of his thirst.  

Had the fight with his brother not happened, he would’ve missed the six fairies huddled in a circle amongst the teff grass. 

They seemed delighted in their reunion, albeit shaken up from recent events. 

Despite Jeno’s lack of supernatural abilities, he could still sense the wariness looming over their pitiful bodies…he could still feel the magnetic pull that drove him to be their absolute nightmare.  

If he was a dog, he would be salivating, shamelessly so. 

Ever since storming away from the courtyard, Jeno rushed back inside towards the training room to grab all of his signature weapons, along with any other utilities that would be of good use for his inevitable soul-searching. 

Considering Sungchan was quite intimidated by him, he doubted the tall lanky hunter would mind if he took some of his homemade smoke bombs.

Might as well make use of what’s here…

Jeno had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to go back home, especially now that he saw you. 

An absolute spectacle, perfect to use as an example of why your race was so  weak…so obsolete. 

Maybe it was the way you cautiously scanned the clearing ever so often, or the way you tugged at your opposite forearm to calm your nerves. 

Nothing stood out more than your doe eyes—even more gratifying if he was the reason they widened in fear. 

He clearly missed the opportunity to see that fiery emotion the first time he scoured your home. 

Now he couldn’t let the chance slip away. 

As he readied the smoke bomb in his left hand, his own eyes shifted into something sinister, like daggers ready to gouge at your delicate figure.  

A toss was all it took to unleash chaos, and though the plume of white smoke covered your initial shock, Jeno knew he would see more of you, eventually.

It was like muscle memory how effortlessly his throwing knives flew through the air, hitting three in quick succession, spurts of scarlet shooting from their collarbones, tainting the ground yet again at the hands of a homicidal aficionado. 

Their cries of pain were melodic, practically a sextet of symphony that grew louder the closer Jeno got.

Just like he had planned, you were unscathed, attempting to assist one that collapsed from his attack. 

There was something different in the way you gathered your arms to lift him, something special in the way you practically ignored the obvious face of danger to make sure he felt your presence. 

Jeno wasn’t the only one that noticed—the two that lucked out from the assault called your name, practically begging you to save yourself.

But based on the caresses you gave this frail boy, you would rather die than leave him.

How was it possible that a surge of jealousy brewed within his chest just as quickly as your selflessness?

—

Jaemin and Karina continued to shout your name as they made their way towards the weeping willow trees. 

Besides them, you were the last one standing.  

Every hit replayed in your mind upon impact.

Renjun, Winter, Xiaojun—with every blink, their bodies flailed from the sheer power of the flying daggers. The wisp of each knife was just too fast for your hearing.

You couldn’t let your world stop, not with Xiaojun gasping for air as the knife protruded from his neck. He needed you, and even if he didn’t survive, you begged him to be the last person you saw.

“I’m r-right here!” 

You attempted to wrap your arms around his upper body to drag him away, but each attempt only garnered more of a struggle. 

Specks of blood continued to paint his eyelids, with blotches of purple spreading where the knife lay buried. 

The only sounds that managed to escape Xiaojun’s quivering lips were labored sobs, and the determination to reassure him began to crumble beneath your feet. 

All thoughts of an escape melted away as you heard the sheath of a knife coming out of a holster.

—

Your eyes fluttered open just as fast as your wings, though there seemed to be something restricting the full momentum at which you could generate flight.

The feeling of cold metal gave you chills all throughout your body, and the realization of where you were made you feel even colder.

You were full size, surely because the stress you endured however long ago was too much for your body to endure. And somehow, there was a cage large enough to fit you as you hung from the ceiling like a lantern. 

You gave up on trying to keep your wings stimulated as it constantly hit the black steel bars holding you hostage. None of that mattered anymore as you took in the setting before you. 

A wooden shack, rusted tools leaning against the walls, and the same dome-shaped cages hanging from the ceiling, with your friends inside. 

They each had their own confines, but the only thing separating them from you was the lack of movement and familiar pulses within their chest. 

You slammed your eyes shut to focus on any signs of a heartbeat in case your eyes were deceiving you. 

Your hearing was substantial enough to catch two—Renjun and Xiaojun.  

It only took a second for your eyes to flood with tears as you realized Winter was silent…no sign of life in her once-rosy cheeks, no luster to her auburn strands, no apparent warmth to her skin.  

Everything was cold.

And the only lasting memory you would have was her body slumped in the cage—eyes staring blank towards the exit that was so close, yet so far. 

Jaemin and Karina were nowhere to be found in the garage-sized space, but you hoped to whatever god that they managed to escape. 

If they had, they were the last ones left.

There was no ounce of hope in your survival.

“Renjun! Xiaojun! Wake up…please!” 

Your hushed cries were just enough to wake Renjun as he lay cramped in the cage. He was slightly larger than you in stature, so you could only imagine how uncomfortable he felt as his wings failed to even twitch inside the metal bars.

He grimaced before raising his hand to touch the wound on his collarbone. Blood has pooled underneath his Victorian blouse, ruining the once pearl-colored fabric.

The dagger was out, and thankfully his body generated enough clotting to seal off the gash. The same could be said for Xiaojun too.

He shifted once more before scanning the room, eventually settling upon your crying eyes.

“Where are we?”

He choked up the same curiosity your own mind had garnered, though your wishes for a proper answer were slim to none. 

“I don’t know…just please try and wake Xiaojun!” 

Renjun was closest to him, merely centimeters away.

Just as he slivered his arm through the bars to shake at Xiaojun’s shoulder, he froze upon seeing Winter.

Your eyes whirled over in the same direction, but you regretted every blink spent on viewing her lifeless body; you were sure Renjun felt the same. The pain emanating from his expression told you so.

As he fought through his blurry vision, you focused your attention back on Xiaojun, who miraculously began to shift within the cage. 

Despite his brutal awakening, you couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful he remained through all the chaos.  

He winced from the stinging in his collarbone, blaring his ivory teeth that were just as bright as the moon, and just like Renjun, he too was stained all over.

The way his eyes immediately fell upon you would’ve made any flame last for an eternity. 

You would give your life for him.

The chance to do it would be soon, crashing down like a comet that would scorch your entire body in a blaze.  

A few clicks of what you assumed to be locks chimed throughout the room, and  there standing in the oak doorway was the end to your existence. 

Jeno.

To no surprise, he stilled in the door frame with heartless eyes, gleaming with the satisfaction of his catch.

He captured four of you on his own and could’ve easily taken two more. 

He stood in silence for what felt like fifty pendulum ticks, probably deciding how to execute each of you. 

Regardless of the fact that you were his prey, and prey were never meant to stare into the eyes of their predator, you couldn’t look away.

You had gotten a good look at him when his brother killed Giselle, but seeing him in this state made all the more difference to the stories your family told of him. 

He stood in similar black attire, with plenty of tactical accessories to compliment his status as a hunter—a knife holster on his left thigh, a belt assembled with the same smoke bombs he used earlier, and a few throwing knives tucked into an ankle holster on his right side.

There was a reason he was the most brutal one of them all. 

It didn’t take a lot to kill your kind, but it made his job more enjoyable if every method imaginable could be used.

Your trailing eyes proved to be a mistake, and your upcoming death all the more damning because of how flawless he appeared in front of you. 

His looks were even more deadly up close. Your eyes could’ve melted in their sockets at the sight of his sharp jawline, or even his cheekbones that heightened the electricity of his blue eyes. 

Maybe dying at the hands of someone so unbearably perfect would make the sequence into the afterlife a little less daunting.   

It was just a shame he wouldn’t make it quick. 

Finally you closed your eyes, only using your hearing to verify that his footsteps were coming towards your own personal cage. 

Your entire body flinched as you heard him unlock it and swing the door back, the gust of air rustling your eyelashes, forcing you to open your eyes wide.

He barely had to maneuver his body to wrap one hand around your entire waist, pulling you out of the cage like you were a feather from an owl.

You were nowhere comparable in size to him—the entire length of your body was easily a difference of a foot or more but your attention to those details were the least of your worries. 

The aroma of bergamot and cedarwood filled your nose, stemming from his neck and chest. Each beat of his pulse seemed to push the scent further into your senses, intoxicating enough to distract you from the fact he slammed you into the adjacent wall.

Your entire head recoiled against the weathered hardwood, causing your vision to multiply. It wasn’t until you felt his calloused hand wrap around your throat and lift you meters above the floor, that your sights finally settled. 

The cyan in his eyes had shifted to cobalt, though the diameter of color seemed to disperse as his pupils dilated. It was enough to make you wince, but showing fear would only fuel more desire.

“Please don’t…” 

You barely heard Xiaojun’s sniffled cries in the background, as the trance Jeno put you in was too much to decipher anything else. 

He continued to speak for you, but it didn’t seem to garner any second thoughts in Jeno’s mind.

You wished to be some sort of sacrifice; a guaranteed exit for what was left of your friends. There had to be something you could do to warrant that. 

The only other possibility was actually right in front of you, though you shuddered at the thought of breaking such a promise.

You were never one to plead for your life, but that seemed to be the only viable option to please the sadist in front of you.

With one final gulp that seemed to get caught in between his palm and continue down into your stomach, you brought up your hands to wrap around his own. 

His snarl only grew more intense as he watched, and there you saw a beast unleashing.

You opened your quivering lips, making a pitiful attempt at appearing even more pathetic than you already were.

“Take me…not them.” 

Just as you expected, he forced you forward by your neck, only to slam you back against the wall. It was definitely rougher than before, enough to make your brain feel like it would pop out of your skull. 

This time he stepped forward, using his chiseled thigh to separate your twisted legs.

His face was merely millimeters away from your own, and the coolness of his breath hit your lips like a blizzard.

You wondered why he didn’t verbally challenge your need for survival, but the reason was evident once you felt his groin make contact with your torso. 

He let his length speak for him. 

And with every squirm that you gave, it  continued to twitch under the confines of his combat pants. 

What you assumed to be the tip poked right underneath your breasts, and with that came the realization of how minuscule your kind truly was in comparison to his. 

Your eyes attempted to follow his other hand as he reached for his prized bowie knife attached to his left thigh. The brief yet ominous sound of it being unsheathed caused Xiaojun and Renjun to rustle in their cages.  

From where you were positioned, you could see Xiaojun just past Jeno’s shoulders. 

During this entire ordeal, you kept your eyes away from him, as the indignity of the situation was too much for your soul to bear. But now that it seemed your death was near, it was only right that you gave Xiaojun one final look of goodbye.  

You shifted your eyes over to the one person that remained with you through it all. 

Through your peripherals you could see the glimmering metal rush towards you, but instead of feeling a sharp twinge of pain, you felt a rush of cold. 

You could hear Xiaojun and Renjun’s breath hitch from afar as they both realized too that you were completely bare in front of them. Your clothes had flown off to the side, shredded from the sharpness of his trusted blade. 

Despite the coolness in the air, the warmth emanating from your core served as an invitation for the monster prodding at your stomach. 

Your entire body began to tremble uncontrollably, maybe as some sort of coping mechanism for the humiliation brewing deep within.

“Look at me!”

Your teary eyed shifted immediately back over to Jeno as he bellowed out his command, the cluster of veins in his neck shifting as he clenched his teeth. 

Your shaking didn’t seem to help as he positioned the tip of his blade at your collarbone, pressing inward to break the skin. 

“Keep looking…just like that.”

He spoke again, barely above a whisper; his speech matching the slow tempo of the knife being dragged down the centerline of your body.

The pain was nowhere near the worst to be endured, surely it was sharpness of the blade that kept the stinging bearable. 

A trail of blood followed, a fine line that only stopped once the tip of the blade reached your clit. 

You jumped considerably at the contact, which was enough to slice the bundle of nerves if you weren’t careful. 

As you tried to keep your composure, Jeno stared deep at your struggling frame, marveling in the way gravity caused all of the maroon fluid to pool around your warm mound. 

“Did you think I would kill you so soon?”

Any means of a response were thwarted as he tossed his knife to the floor. 

You were shocked, as that seemed to be his most prized possession, but in mere seconds you realized why.

In two swift motions he finally let go of your throat, leaving you to stumble onto your feet and gain a few recovering breaths. You weren’t even sure how to stand on your own two feet anymore, as you’d grown so accustomed to being one with the atmosphere, flying so freely before any of this mess started.  

Your chances at running towards your friends to set them free were all in vain as you heard the harsh sound of a zipper and belt clasp being undone. 

The sight of his cock snapping out of his briefs was enough to make you press your back as far back into the wall as you could. 

His length stood upright, with a glistening tip that managed to refract in the dimly lit room.

Time seemed to go slow as you watched his veins continue to pulse blood throughout his cock, keeping it just as red as your flushed cheeks. 

Precum dripped like a broken faucet with a distinct patter as it continued to hit the ground just as fast as your racing heartbeat. 

Your knees buckled as he used one hand to spread the clear liquid throughout his shaft in a slick up and down motion. 

He seemed to be sensitive already as he bucked into his own hand, trying his hardest to keep his self-pleasure to a minimum. 

You looked down to your feet to see that there were two puddles on the floor, one of your blood and one of his essence. 

The way they attempted to mix together kept your senses distracted, completely missing that Jeno stepped up to you with his pants at the ground and his tight shirt pushed up to his muscular chest. 

Your legs gave out just as he used one hand to grab at your hip, and the other hand to position his cock at your entrance. 

“First time I get to fuck anything like this…”

Your brief pleas of no were cut short at his pistoned inside you without warning, attempting to tear you apart without sympathy. The guttural groan he produced from his evil chords echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls louder than your friends screams.  

There was no way to respond to that, or to any of his actions for that matter. Not when you were being stuffed full, way past your limit. 

All you could do was cry out at the pressure as he came to a standstill. 

His mouth hung open in complete awe…somehow through his infliction of pain, you were wet. 

And the addition of your blood made the entry all the more gratifying.

He was barely a few inches inside, but he was already touching your cervix, and the bulge present in your stomach confirmed it.

Burning began to surge throughout your core even as he stood still to try and accommodate more for himself. 

“You can’t—nngh it’s too much!”

If he continued any further, you weren’t sure you would be able to voice your horror any longer. 

He was too enveloped in how tight you were to care; the pleasure way above anything he’s ever killed.

Your attempts to lift off his cock only made the burning grow and eventually, earned you more inches to try and take.

Now, both hands were on either side of your hips with a death grip strong enough to leave bruised handprints on either side.

You had no choice but to wrap both legs around his waist to alleviate some of the pressure. 

It wasn’t long before his groin finally made contact with yours, and shockingly you were able to breathe through all of the discomfort as he seated himself one final time.

The only thing keeping you grounded to reality was the continuous blood that seeped from your sternum and the grunts coming from Jeno’s drooling mouth as he began rocking into you at a steady pace.

You had long forgotten the others in the room—you couldn’t focus on that now or else you would go into shock. 

But it seemed the more rhythm and sounds that grew between your connecting bodies, the more inclined Jeno was to remind you of your broken state. 

You hoped the pleasure building within your core was strong enough to overshadow your guilt…the way he continued to hit every spot within your dripping pussy made you confident enough in that fact. 

Through it all, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice how full you felt. 

Your lips remained pursed together, sometimes even gnawing at the puffed skin to silence the sounds trying to escape your throat. 

It wasn’t until you and Jeno’s eyes met in sync, that a whimper managed to slip. 

Your eyes grew in horror, completely ignoring the skin slapping prodding at both of your ears. 

You failed, but it seemed to fuel every fiber of his being. 

He leaned forward to bury his face into your neck, allowing his tongue to paint a shiny picture along the side of your jawline. 

You whimpered again.

Like the puppet you were, you found your hands having a mind of their own, lifting to rake your fingers through the back of his platinum locks. 

“I could kill everyone you love, but you’ll still beg to take my cock…”

He groaned into your ear, tugging at your lobe for added effect. 

That was enough to feel a wave of disdained euphoria wash over your entire body. 

There was a band that seemed to snap at every nerve ending, causing you to squeeze your walls as tight as you could around his length until you came apart. 

Your back arched involuntarily, finally giving your wings a break from the wooden wall that continued to tear the skin open with every snap of his hips. 

“Fuck!”

He turned his head to roar against your cheek, hips slowly losing their rhythm the more your orgasm continued.

You voiced your displeasure with a whine as you felt him slide out of your weeping hole, only then did you realize that he wasn’t done with you.

He managed to face you to the wall despite how limp your legs were, and within seconds he was inside you again. 

This new position was even more intense than the last. 

Your hands grabbed at any crevice you could find on the wall for support as he drilled into you from behind.

Your eyes shifted down to see your juices splattering past his cum-laden pelvis, eventually mixing where the blood had turned black against the rustic oak floor.

“I’ll just keep you for myself, nothing more than a cock hungry slut…forever alone, taking everything I give you.”

His words stabbed at you worse than any knife. 

It was too late to self-loathe any longer. The deed was long overdue, as his own release was nearing.

You felt those familiar twitches deep inside your torso, coming all the way from his scarlet-covered cock. With one final snap of his hips, heat shot deep into your womb, coating your insides in milky white. The rest pooled against his groin, spilling onto the floor to join the rest of the filth the two of you created.

His animalistic sounds had morphed into more subdued moans that played over and over like a broken vinyl as he came down from his raptured high. 

Every word of caution from your family about Jeno seemed to be nonexistent now, because of you. 

You were nothing more than a toy for him to use. 

His exited you in a single breath, allowing your bruised body to slump onto the floor.

Convulsions soon followed as you felt his juices ooze out of your swollen hole. 

You were catatonic, barely even reacting to how shameless he was in fixing his attire. 

Only your hearing guided you to what he would do next. 

Maybe it was in your favor that your eyes were stuck facing the door, away from the eventual slaughter of your friends. 

You heard Jeno pick up his knife from the floor and walk over to what you presumed to be Renjun’s cage first. 

The rustling of the metal grew just as loud as his hysterical cries.

But there was something else in the distance that you could hear, outside of the cabin. 

Footsteps.  

They grew in speed until a brief stop. 

Luckily you were facing the door, hoping for some sort of savior.

It couldn’t have been Jaemin or Karina, as you would’ve heard the flutter of their wings instead. 

Through your frozen state, only your eyes could widen as you heard the door crash open. 

There standing with frenzied breaths was…Hendery. 

“Jeno I’ve been looking every—”

You watched as he dropped his hands, eyes scanning the sickening scene in front of him. There was a deafening pause, where you hoped the last bit of humanity rested within Hendery. 

You could only listen as he lunged at Jeno with a scream.

“You can’t fucking do this!!!” 

There was an obvious power struggle, enough to knock over various items in the cabin that crashed to the ground, but not enough to make you flinch. 

“Stop!! Jeno—”

Another pause, and this time you heard a knife enter someone’s skin. A rupture of what sounded like muscle tendon rang through your ears, followed by gurgling.

Time seemed to slow down as Xiaojun and Renjun entered your vision. 

Without a second thought, they lifted your broken body into their arms, a collaborative effort considering your current state. 

It was then that you saw the aftermath. 

Jeno was sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, with his knife peeking out of his neck. 

The entire struggle was the claim of a life. But through it all, Hendery had set you all free. 

Your tears seemed to match that of the dark-haired human as he fell to his knees, mourning the loss of his brother by his own hands. 

A lasting memory that was etched into your mind instantly. 

Soon, the smell of petrichor entered your nose and then came the moonlight that illuminated your skin.

As the two of them flew up into the sky, you felt Renjun place Winter and Giselle’s flower crown into your arms as you were carried to freedom. 

—

to read about the lore, click here!

//tagging:

@tddyhyck @tsumuu @devinitysann

@oleoleniall @wingsss45 @onlyoursol-ace @xusbabe @cheyehc @derywinkle

[neonhellscape]

so i got ideas about mr haneumann and the local murder elf being compatible so. this is with the tone of them getting together as a couple, though theyre both insane enough they would never call eachother boyfriend yknow??

reminder ive not played the game so if i characterise them wrong or whatever please forgive that. im running off my partner's discussions and screenshots, one video of the party members chatting to eachother, and then just my own pure undiluted mental illness.

idk if this needs warning tags, like. theres some details where wow these two are freaks but all pretty par for the course with tech priests and drukhari yknow? if you're interested in that lot youre used to them being a bit fucked in the head, theres nothing startling i dont think. let me know if otherwise

wibbly wobbly keep reading link time

It was a slow discovery of his- that perhaps flesh may yeild some purpose in this life beyond being a target to strive against. Soft, squishy bits of pale meat interspersed between severing masses of silver… it was clear which he preferred.

Despite what may be presumed were he to word such observations, this was not a statement contradictory to his faith. Rather… one that coexisted, within his personal classification of it. While some permitted their metalwork to rust or tarnish, some polished it to a bright shine. He personally had tended to a delicate patina over many years- a cultivated, gentle age that took time and life to create, and became a point of pride. There was purpose to his cleaved respirator, scarred as it might be, remaining his, rather than being replaced as another might insist upon.

His skin bore the same scar as it. For weeks his reflections had considered that perhaps, by logic of his own fondness in that unique mark, his skin should be cultivated in the same tender way. Where he desired it be kept, at least. There was at least a small list he intended to act upon yet.

Leaning further into the mirror, he squinted. Then opened his eye wide. Blinking once, then looking left, then right. The lens of his optic allowed him to observe the function in entirety, not drifting in the same manner as the organ embedded in his skull. In tandem, it was optimal- a demonstration of his latest discovery. Manifestation and observation within one unit. Flesh and machine working cohesively.

A trilogy of satisfyingly tuned clicks permitted him to see closer in increasing magnification, the creases settling heavy around his eye seeming cavernous with the observational closeness. It downturned from the central point, practically heavy with itself and lending to a sadness or dismissiveness that had been inquired of cause from him numerous times- often followd by frustrated statements noting how his expressions were little showing even within the expanse of his face that remained uncovered. More recently, the frustration was instead an apparent care, expressed by a Rogue Trader keen to know his emotional wellbeing and not satisfied with the statement that his emotions could be vaulted and were already minimal in days before then.

Sparse, fine hairs darkened the border of each eyelid- he had forgotten the term for such hairs, likely so obscurely referenced and commonly known he had purged the record of it to provide space for another. Web-like blood vessels sprawled across the white of his sclera, and with the soothing touch of metallic fingers he prised away the lower lid to see where they stemmed from. With it gapping away, he could see closer inside himself than he'd found possible without wounding, a mass of veins and a… squishy casement.

Everything about flesh was squishy. There was no better word that contained both the textural description and the inherent desire to poke or squeeze. It… was gradually losing the sickening revulsion that it had previously held for him. Fascination at the intricacy distracted from the goreless yet undeniably visceral sight.

A slight pain, weak enough to be felt purely by his original nervous system rather than entering the network of alerts, appeared in his cheek. Permitting it the focus it meekly requested from him, he looked to the staples still decoratively lacing his scar, and the slight soreness between the two that had pinched together with his inspection. Pressing the cool fingerpad of the fourth digit between them, a cascade of neural connections expressed themselves in a marginally deeper, relaxing exhale through his respirator. A fascinating cause and effect.

Perhaps the Omnissiah would impart news of his yeilding to the Biologis who once argued so feverently to her cause.

Of course, there was reason to these new contemplations beyond the practically ancient conversation with a Magos of whom he could scarcely recall. A reason that he had long believed was rejected through petty ignorance, now more than ever, yet endlessly unnerved some part of him aware of repercussion.

It was no longer enough to deter him. Were he to be challenged, he would have argument enough to any wise Magos and the protections of the intriguingly considerate Rogue Trader to excuse him- a feral devout would brand him for any number of more minor transgressions, and he cared little for their opinion as a result. There was no need to justify himself to anyone lesser. With no sign from the Machine God to the contrary, he held confidence in their mutual safety.

If a threat were to emerge against those odds, Marazhai was certainly capable of defending them both. Getting him to cease and retreat when was wise instead of following the delighted urge to create more bloodshed would be the issue.

Depicted in a bloodstained memory was his smile. A sharp, taunting thing that even on recall brought a small flutter to the complicated systems that comprised his vastly spanning heart. The sensation made him feel somewhat queasy with awareness of his internals and their movements, yet… he decided to settle with that awareness, rather than seek to avoid it.

Marazhai had often mentioned such things, talking about it more casually and knowledgably than any other. Enjoyment seemed not just in tandem with the concept for him, but directly tied to it- within it, inherently part of it. The internal sensation of a pulsating circulatory organ rotating the order of contractions within its chambers at an elevated rate was apparently part of what was thrilling to him. Particularly in unison with one of said circulatory organ held in his hand. Whether it was somebody else's or his own seemed open for discussion.

Hand raising to his chest, he felt the bulky plating that simultaneously served as armour and external structural support to keep the sheer weight of his own body from punching clean through the select parts of his ribcage he had kept. Aware that concealed beneath the plate and gently threaded into it's supports was a structure of spokes of different lengths throughout his torso, at least three requiring openings be constructed through the artificial lungs that connected directly to his respirator. The various extended chambers, sub-chambers and adjoining injectors that marked the core of his circulation laced between it all like vines about a trellis, cables threading into the thick plating encasing his spine to relay fuel and power back and forth.

Slim, prising fingers had already forced their way through that casing once, nails scraping along the brittle vertibrae without the reasonable fear of the metal clamping down and crushing the spindly, intruding digits. Perhaps- 80% chance- even enjoying the thrill of the threat. One that had never manifested- it had taken diverting and shutting down a number of automatic systems, but he had remained curled up on himself for the curious touch, head bowed to the floor and back curved to keep the spacing as wide as possible without permenant damage. The most he had moved was to constrict a mechadendrite around the skinny figure looming over him, squeezing his waist in need for a grounding touch that earned shallow, gasped breaths and nails raked down the patches of skin at his sides. In sheer overwhelm, he'd forgotten himself, beginning a binharic trilling that concisely conveyed every alert, sensation of panic and pain that he'd felt. Not once had he requested cessation, and enjoyment had been interspersed far more frequently than he'd anticipated- the recall could never be misinterpreted as begging.

Marazhai's feelings on the matter required no clarification. Prising through the tubation of his respirator to grip his throat and draw his head close, hissing praise and encouragement for the sounds. Nails finding the seam where his skin had been tucked in against the metal, splitting it away slowly, sinking in to his knuckles with audible desire in his voice at the distorted screech it earned. Encouraging him, taunting him, urging him for more-

There were things that needed to be done. Recalling this before doing them was unwise.

The first step he took was with weak enough legs to sway, instinctively driving his mechadendrites into the ground to stabilise himself.

Certainly unwise.

-

It was rare to see pure, untainted anger in the Drukhari- an expression of unenjoyed frustration. The matter brought an ominous intensity to him, intimidating between his towering stature and the unusual shuffling clicks of his armour.

Turning his back, he began finalising his prayer to the machine spirit, raising a hand in a request for a moment he hoped would be respected.

With the wrenching snap of two metallic digits and the firing of a spring into some distant corner of the voidship, it was not.

"Iron mon-keigh!" his voice boomed, spinning the unit away from his task to hook a fist around the collar of his chest plating, weaponising knowledge of his precarious balance to lean him back and force him to stagger into the wall and be pinned. The snarl on his face was one of hatred, yet by that uncomplicated existence openly proclaimed vulnerability. The fact he had taken to petty name calling and careless damage only reinforced that fact.

"What am I to you?"

Hesitant to provoke him with misinterpretation, the list of potential answers was kept aside for a moment. "This unit requests clarification."

"Well, let us see. The teachings you devote yourself to demand my eradication, and yet here you are- pliant in my hands. You are taught to deafen yourself to the words of the xenos, and yet we have had any number of conversations to date. I am keen to know- am I a curiosity to you? A thing to observe while you have the chance, to prod and poke with no intention of indulging anything to completion, let alone satisfaction? Or am I perhaps here to prove to your fellow mon-keigh that their path is correct, informed by our inevitable- mutual- destruction in your idiocy." A snarled smile then crossed his face, the taunting look hollow compared to its usual enthusiasm even as his fingers flexed in a dramatic display of squeezing the main intake line of his respirator. "Or am I perhaps a contradiction that you are oblivious to, unable to differentiate between the feelings of your meat from the determination of your metal…"

Feeling his lungs seize as the automation attempted to cycle air that never came, he latched on for stability, staring into his eyes with an unchanging expression. Marazhai's pupils had contracted somewhat, revealing more of his iris colouration than could usually be witnessed.

"Remove the obstruction of the air intake and this unit will provide an answer."

With a hiss, he squeezed tighter, presumably then seeing the flaw in demanding answers while inducing a loss of consciousness. Sighing, he released the pipe, permitting a few seconds for him to recalibrate before snatching his hood. Leaning in close, sharp elbows resting on his shoulders in a way that no doubt tore into his robes, flicking the magnification lenses over his optic idly with a sickly tone to his voice. "Now, indulge me. Explain."

Briefly reducing the function of the optic to ignore the irritating distraction, he turned his head enough to compensate and maintain a direct visual contact. "The observation of the x-" he stalled, refiling the name allocation in a way that only seemed fair given context of his impending argument, noting the curiosity masked behind impatience in the face looming close to his own. "-of the unit Marazhai lends to new observational data of the unit Pasqal."

It had captured his focus, if not his approval yet- with a twitch to his eye that eluded to a smirk, he continued his infuriating assault on the magnifiers. "An unusual statement. Elaborate on… 'the unit Pasqal's' observations."

It was hard not to be irritated by the accumilating taunts, encouraging him to employ the division of such emotions from himself. Automatically announcing, "This unit has employed emotional vaulting procedures due to persistent irritating behaviour."

Had he not already removed such feelings, he'd have been annoyed further at the fact Marazhai stopped his fidgeting in response. He could've at least had the courtesy to continue after that effort. "Summary: this unit has taken note of numerous observations contradictory to it's prior stance."

"So-"

Clamping his hand over the impatient Drukhari's mouth to prevent him speaking further, he was consequently reminded of the damage dealt as the two damaged digits hung slack. Despite the damage preventing proper silencing, it enabled the same result with apparent compliance. "The prior stance concluded the teachings of the Biologis to be inferior and misguided, and that of the common attachment to the flesh to be deluded. Flesh could not be refined and moulded in the manner of metal- an inherent degredation and deterioration that cannot hope to compare. With observation…"

Despite his emotional containment, he felt dread. A combination of truth and fear combining to form an abomination assaulting his being, an internal conflict spanning a lifetime that had been entertaining to contemplate until now. Until offering it to a location it may be witnessed. The increasingly bored eyes watching him pressed him to proceed. Taking granular comfort from the nature of the man recieving the discussion and the near impossible threat of a betrayal from him, he continued.

"This unit has observed xenos processes that warrant the maintenance of flesh. Through the application of Drukhari cultural phenomena, there is merit to the study of the flesh."

"What does this mean, iron-"

Snapping, he allowed a static hiss to briefly distort his communication. "Name-calling is beneath you. Demand for cessation, communication will resume once applied." On being met with an exhausted silence that made his pulse deafening, he continued. "The statement was intended to notify an observation of compatibility in practices. This statement is not to be relayed further."

"My, my…" his voice practically purred, "your fear… Is your conviction truly so fragile in such an obscure statement?"

Allowing his eye to close, he bowed his head in a way that caused his hood to slip and obscure Marazhai from his vision. Rapidly, the fear melded into hollowness- if nothing more, he had hoped for the statement to yeild a conversation of interest to merit the risk it posed. Instead, it seemed…

"No- no! What is happening within you? This-" he trailed off in frustration, seeming to struggle articulating his feelings. "Why does your fear retreat in such a manner? Surely you had not hoped I would be pleased with this wittering-"

"It was this unit's belief that, by communicating an alteration in perception of practices, it would convey a keenness for discussion. Academically or recreationally. It would seem this statement is false, it will be logged-"

"You speak in such riddles. If I am forced to to entertain myself in the midst of further droning I will prise those sweet, shrill sounds from you once again-"

"Compliance with will identified. This will be satisfactory."

Somewhat taken aback, he allowed his weight to sway to one hip. "Satisfactory? Do you wish for me to make you scream once again?"

"Keenness to experience, observe and analyse expressed."

"…do you wish to learn from me?"

Taking his broken fingers in the opposite hand, he began inspecting the damage for repair. "An exchange. To learn and to educate."

Scoffing, the Drukhari settled his hands on his hips with an aggressive sneer. "And what could you possibly teach me?"

Extending his hand forward abruptly, he insisted plainly, "Repair." On recieving a confused look and hesitation to comply, he insisted again, "Repair."

"You mistake my intentions and my skill, I-"

"This is the education this unit will provide."

"And why would I allow a creature such as you to learn from me, let alone indulge the concept you could educate me? The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a mon-keigh, and there is no knowledge of value that you possess which I do not already know."

Allowing silence and contempt to build, he began the process of repair, returning his hand to primarily functional use- the loss of the spring prevented the flexing of the last knuckle on his index finger, and he mentally logged to locate a replacement for later. By the time he was done, Marazhai was leaning in to watch, some depraved concept visibly concocting in his mind.

"This is the education the unit will provide. Relay, edited: 'The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a xenos'. Relay end." Grasping his face with the now repaired digits, he squeezed, pressing the metal into the hollow of his cheek. "Magos is a title and knowledge bestowed to few. Unit Marazhai has previously identified and expressed keenness toward this unit's persistent suffering under the rites of augmentation. Unit Marazhai would learn to better utilise the blessed machine within his… lifestyle."

"If you intend to express yourself as my equal-"

"Equal to or greater than," he hissed, squeezing tightly enough to make him decide: part his jaw or grit his teeth and permit them to be broken. The former was selected, adjoined with a rough shake to pull free- hooking his fingers in Marazhai's mouth, he pinched behind his lower teeth and under his chin to create a steel loop that all but pierced him. Watching his attempts to wrench free at the indignity, biting fruitlessly into metal that would not yeild to mere bone and drooling as he was held, snarling as it was used to pull him down to an even height. "My lifestyle has been earned through the blessings of the Machine God and precise augmentation to craft the body into a unit even the great Marazhai has expressed appreciation and desire for," he spat, allowing a sarcasm protocol to emphasise the 'great'. "To aspire to perfection through agony is to aspire to this unit. You have much to learn. Proposal to begin education: a more satisfying purpose for that ignorant, sharp tongue."

The wording held a significantly more sexual implication than he had intended. Marazhai's eyes lit up on it being expressed- in both desire and amusement, all encapsulated in a desire to taunt. He refused to correct the implication for the risk it would be misconstrude as yeilding. A swift redirection back to the point at hand.

"The proposition is one of equal exchange. It requires mutual cessation of ignorance and mutual acceptance of equal role in varied manner or expression. It requires unit Marazhai learn to repair and maintain this unit in proper fashion and timeliness. It requires unit Pasqal learn to repair and maintain unit Marazhai in proper fashion and timeliness." Leaning closer, he used his free hand to tenderly wipe the line of drool from where it threatened to drip from his sharp jaw. "It includes a bond that, on severing, revokes all access to each unit beyond baseline social protocol. Is the proposition understood?"

Head held still by the grip on his jaw and pride, the resulting nod was felt rather than seen, followed promptly by a tongue openly dragged along the fingers in his mouth in some convoluted statement of… presumably an oddly expressed approval. Perhaps a request to speak. Withdrawing his hand before there was risk of drool seeping between the joints, he offered the opportunity, noting how Marazhai rubbed his jaw and almost hesitantly straightened- not through fear, but through something else. An unusual submissiveness.

"I will say, that was quite the experience. An intriguing proposition too, much akin to arrangements I have had before, although… I retain one question."

"Ask."

"You have not clarified what I am to you in satisfying enough terms."

Nodding, he pressed his fingertips together as he considered the best way to conclude what he had struggled to articulate. "You inspire curiosity for this unit's flesh, in ways that had been previously unrealised. In this way, in the parallells to the state of xenos, you are my flesh. A thing containing many marvels and yet neglected for a not insigificant quantity of time, now entering a period of research where it may be better enjoyed and appreciated. …does this satisfy your question?"

Seeming lost in contemplation for a moment, he finally returned to the conversation with a smirk. "Only if I am permitted to truly indulge us in our mutual education, Magos."

[farfromstrange]

Carpe Noctem [Masterlist]

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Don’t Eat, Vampirism, ANGST, blood (lots of blood), religious imagery & symbolism, blasphemy, referenced drug addiction, lots of mental illness (tw), murder, suicidal ideations, corruption kink, obsession, dark themes, referenced sexual assault, referenced abusive relationship (not Matt), referenced child abuse, canon typical violence, diary entries (gets gradually less heavy), eventual smut, blood play, BDSM undertones, flashbacks, transcending into insanity (kind of), no happy ending, Additional Tags Added Before Every Chapter

Summary: Over the past centuries, nothing could have stopped Matt Murdock from wanting—no, craving—everything, even what he could not have. Nothing though has him in quite a chokehold like the insatiable hunger for blood. Nothing could have stopped him from getting what he wanted until you stepped into his life. Matt has stolen, beaten, and killed without care, but corrupting a child of God is a line he dares not cross. You, a nun. It’s unthinkable. The part of him that longs for the life he was torn out of—the boy still riding the waves of Catholicism, that Matt Murdock—would rather see him impaled on a wooden stake than allow him to take your blood. The same walls of Clinton Church that house you would incinerate him, and he still wants you. But he can't have you. For you, devoting yourself to God saved you from the abyss, but returning to Clinton Church, the place where it all started, might have been a mistake. It is only a matter of time until the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen gets what he wants. Matt Murdock. A vampire. Thanks to him, your world drastically changes for what you realize might be worse than death. Mortal death, at least.

Note: Having fleshed out the characters and the storyline, I added a few more additional warnings that are important, and I adjusted the summary from my original preview when it was still just a concept. My vampires are heavily inspired by Anne Rice. Imagine this story as a sinus rhythm; there will be ups and downs, and then a lot more insanity, but there won’t be a happy ending. Also, we will be having a lot of guest appearances from established DD characters and original characters, and since this is an alternate universe, forget everything you know about the show, like, right now. The characters and some defining incidents are the same, but that's it. Anything else? Oh, this work is strictly 18+ and I would encourage you to heed my warnings!

Read Me On AO3!

One: "All these spindly roots"

Two: TBD

Three: TBD

(…)

[my-crown-in-red]

Hello! ♡ I'm Deamy ⋆˚꩜｡

Pronouns are they/it but I really don't mind he or she either!

I love being my true self, which is why I made this blog!

Welcome to my special hell!

On here, I talk about a Mario related story I call "My Crown In Red" or MCIR for short. Why? Because it's killing me. It traumatized me, and it ruined me. And yet I can't stop loving it.

I want to talk about the dark aspects of hyperfixiation, as well as mental illness caused by things that may differ from the norm. On here, I'll explain my story and blur the line between reality and fiction ⋆˙⟡

Here's the masterpost for those interested! Tagging system is in one of the sections below the cut!

Stay if you'd like, I'd love to interact with others ♡

Trigger warning for unreality, as well as discussions self harm, suicide, murder, grief and guilt ⚠️‼️

You seem curious... Allow me to explain then! Read whatever you find interesting ♡

♕- What is MCIR?

My Crown In Red is an original story based on the Mario and Luigi games! It follows a dimension traveling teen who utilizes their powers to travel to the Mario universe and befriend two individuals called Fawful and Cackletta.

However, things take a dark turn once Deamy (short for Demonsoul (don't ask)) makes a grave mistake and has to hide it from her newfound friends, while things around them keep on escalating. Can they resolve the situation peacefully?

No. That's why this blog exists 😔

♕- Why did I make this blog?

The character of Demonsoul is heavily based on myself. I see myself in her to the point were my sense of self has been completely mangled. I am Deamy and Deamy is me.

Because of this, MCIR is a huge part of my identity. I remember every scene as if I was there myself, I felt Deamy's pain as if it were my own. And I feel guilt for the things she did. The things I did.

But I've always felt too ashamed to talk about it. It's just a silly Mario story with an overpowered self insert after all...

But a while ago I heard of a creepypasta called "A one, are you?", which is the retelling of an extreme and traumatizing nightmare the author experienced IRL. It affected them deeply, and even though it is just a silly Mario creepypasta, they still shared it. They shared it and people listened.

There's many different people in this community. Many of them care a lot about Mario. If they can express their passion without being ridiculed, then so can I ♡

♕- So you're delusional?

To you, I most likely am, and that's okay. I've accepted it. I used to be ashamed of my experiences, but now, I simply don't care anymore. I don't care if people laugh at me behind my back, I just want to be myself

Is MCIR... Healthy? No. Absolutely not. But I can't switch off my emotions- This blog is my way of coping ♡

♕- Is it okay if I...

Want to ask a question?

Yes of course!! My asks and DMs are always open, and you can always send anonymous asks if you want to!

You can ask me about the story, about myself or just tell me about your day! :3

Want to draw your characters?

Dude, I'd be honored!!

Make my own soul character?

Absolutely!! If you have any questions, just ask me ♡

(Sorry if this sounds as if I'm trying to make myself sound important lol-)

♕- Tagging system -♕

#my crown in red (everything my crown in red related!)

#mcir (art tag specifically for the story!)

#deamy explains (here's where the lore goes!)

#mcir memes (memes about mcir)

#deamys scribbles (should I actually write this story, you will be able to find snippets and dialogue here!)

#fool's empty words (tag for me writing little messages, mostly to Fawful and Cackletta)

#mcir souls (art of canon soul characters)

#march 13th - #may 7th - #july 26th - etc (posts talking about these events)

#not canon (if I post art that's not canon, I'll use this tag)

#the story by others (mcir art from people other than me ♡♡♡)

#mcir oc (apperantly there's mcir ocs?? This tag is for them ♡♡♡)

#deamys complaints (vent tag! Feel free to block this one!! :3)

I will ALWAYS tag the triggering topics listed above the cut!

Aaand that's it!!

My main is @federthenotsogreat so I'll be interacting from there! (I also post my regular mario art there if you're curious >:3c)

[armoredone]

I'M A POPULAR MONSTER. #ARMOREDONE / an independent low activity & selective portrayal of REINER BRAUN of ATTACK ON TITAN

Written by DJ ( they/them ) / 29 ( blog is under HEAVY construction. )

an exploration of mental illness, ptsd, childhood trauma, indoctrination, brainwashing, compulsive heterosexuality, sexual repression, redemption, forgiveness, learning to live again, never ending guilt, and a broken man. ( reiner's canon story is full of triggers and heavy themes, look under the cut for a more specific trigger warning regarding his canon and my own personal portrayal. )

**TRIGGER WARNING** Reiner's canon story involves s*icide attempts, child abuse, murder and all around a lot of trauma. I will not shy away from dark topics on this blog, Reiner is a character who has suffered a lot and has put suffering on others. When I write angsty meta or meme / thread responses they will be angsty and heavy, and I will try to tag everything appropriately.

Furthermore, my own personal portrayal will also include internalized homophobia ( for at least his time pretending to be a soldier ). I write Reiner as gay, his mental illness and multiple personalities along with some compulsive heterosexuality ( Marley comes off as a h*mophobic society to me ) made him repress this part of him, something he only explores with Bertolt whenever he allows himself, and more often than not he forgets about it after. My Reiner was absolutely in love with Bertolt and his crush on Christa was a figment he created for the persona he crafted to fit in with the rest of the scouts.

**RULES**

First and foremost, the mun is named DJ, I use they/them pronouns and I’m 28 years old. I have been roleplaying on this website for over a decade now and I have seen pretty much every drama known to man on here. I will NOT be getting involved in whatever drama is unfolding in the RPC these days. I’m here to write my muse and enjoy myself. Because of this you will never see me reblog a call out. I don’t want to see them, though I will block if the person in question is truly dreadful / a predator, but I will not involve myself. In turn, I will also unfollow if you continuously spread call outs, I personally am not here to get involved in petty drama.

...

I cannot stress this enough. Reiner is not that great of a person, he has committed some terrible acts, things he carries around on his shoulders constantly. It's very important to his character and I will not sugarcoat how much of a hypocrite he is. If you're a puritan who can't handle nuanced characters and character growth or need every character to not be PROBLEMATIC!!!! Then do not follow me, this blog is not for you.

...

When it comes to formatting I have grown past the need for fancy formatting, small text with a few bold and italic words here and there and maybe an icon, but that's it. You can format all you want, but I won't go all out and make anything crazily fancy.

…

As I am very much over the age of eighteen, I will not be following blogs that are written by anyone below the age of 20. It’s just a personal preference and I apologize in advance for it. That being said, this blog may be NS//FW at times whether it be more adult themes or plain smut.

I love shipping, I like writing romance, plotting is usually required for longstanding ships, but feel free to send in shippy prompts to test the waters. Usually chemistry with our writing is required though, so please don't assume!

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I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best at plotting. I have ideas here and there, but I’m actually way more better at continuing prompts or winging it. Please keep this in mind when you ask to plot.

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My discord is open for plotting and chatting but I will not write on there.

[bleach-your-panties]

Intro:

Hello babies!!🖤🐦‍⬛

So, if you know a little bit about me, I am a big fan of horror stories and dark content. (Though I am a scaredy-cat in real life)

This collab idea came to me as I thought about the type of stories I like to read on Tumblr. I also enjoy reading creepy reddit threads like r/Backwoods Creepy and r/creepyencounters. Shoutout to Tallulah ( @antizenin ) for making me get back on Reddit, lol.

So! The theme of this collab is urban legends, myths, fairytales, weird irl encounters; and, fantastical stories (that may or may not be true). Think of Ripley's Believe It or Not and Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction.

How to Join:

🖤Send me a message and tell me a bit about the story that inspires your submission, your chosen fandom(s), and character(s). Joining multiple times is allowed.

🖤Keep in mind that the entire theme of this collab is dark, unsettling, weird, creepy, and horrifying. So 18+ will be required to join.

🖤If you have a real-life experience that inspires you, feel free to use it!

🖤Inspiration may be drawn from existing urban legends and myths (Candyman, Bloody Mary, Creepypasta, etc.) but do not copy them directly! I want to see you make up your own!

🖤Any fandoms are welcome, not just anime.

🖤No submission deadline. Take your time, dearies~

🖤Please tag your posts with appropriate content labels/trigger warnings, and use the 'read more'. Tag me in completed posts and tag #🐦‍⬛fantastic once you're done!

🖤I look forward to reading what you've written!

📜✒️Posts:

🐦‍⬛Haikyuu!!

the abhorrent tale of the scandalous semen six

character(s): seijoh 4 + kuuro tetsurou and kozume kenma

cw: murder, semen in food, kidnapping

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Jujutsu Kaisen

false prophets

character(s): geto suguru

cw: incubus, religious themes, manipulation, coercion, dub-con

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Tokyo Revengers

title tbd

character(s): haruchiyo sanzu

cw: tbd

told by: @ranspuppy

never be a wedding plan for the heartless

character(s): kisaki tetta

cw: mental illness, torture, murder, more tbd

told by: @ksakiswh0re-xo

My Hero Academia 🐦‍⬛

hardest to love

character(s): todoroki touya "dabi"

cw: stalking, voyeurism, self-harm, pyromania, f! masturbation, dubcon, coercion, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!), degradation

told by: @sincerelyzee

🐦‍⬛fantastical myths collab ©bleach-your-panties 2024.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

Greenie logic found in the Team Black tag:

“As to who makes a better Queen, this is another long argument as per the books. At the same time, hotd Alicent has displayed a natural inkling toward ruling the kingdom, she’s interested in the smallfolk’s peace and wellbeing whereas Rhaenyra (and Daemon) like to be ostracized and feared “for what they are capable of.” That tells a lot, in my opinion about where their interests and ambitions lie.”

Wow!

1. Alicent having a natural inkling towards ruling the kingdom? Wow…based on what? Her sass? Her deviousness? Her hypocrisy? Her cruelty? Her “great” ideas at the Council meetings (which Rhaenyra perfectly dismissed as being what they are - stupid). She wants power she wasn’t supposed to have in the first place so she can do things her way. That hardly makes her an appropriate queen, especially considering how she got that position (by secretly sneaking into the king’s rooms and seducing him after his wife died). All I’ve seen her do around Court as “Queen” is stalk Rhaenyra, gossip, wear green dresses (which is treason), sexually please a sadistic psycho to commit crimes for her, and tattletale like a child. She completely lacks the kindness, grace, honor and decency Queen Aemma had.

2. She’s interested in the smallfolk peace and wellbeing? Don’t make me laugh. Episode 9 confirmed that while she and Otto took advantage of Viserys’ illness to rule in his stead, they didn’t do anything to help the smallfolk. She doesn’t care about anything other than advancing her family’s position, and making sure the women her son rapes keep quiet.

Peace? Well-being? She took part in a coup which ended up terrorizing, imprisoning and killing people.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, held off on war FOR THE PEOPLE.

3. Rhaenyra and Daemon like to be ostracized and feared? Where exactly is the proof of that? Not wanting to become a weak ruler like Viserys makes Rhaenyra unfit? Fear is necessary. It ensures order and stability. Otherwise, people will be allowed to walk all over you. This is a monarchy. There is a difference between imposing fear to keep people in line and untrustworthy opportunists (like Otto Hightower) at bay, and being cruel.

When Daemon was in charge of the City Watch, he ensured the smallfolk safety through fear, by keeping thieves, murderers and rapists at bay. There is a reason the smallfolk love him and proclaimed him “Prince of the City”.

What have the Hightowers done for the people those 7 years they ruled in Viserys’ stead?

Absolutely nothing. They ignored every single problem the smallfolk had. Alicent was even looking bored at the Council meeting in episode 8. Unlike those pompous nobles who dictate from the safety of the Red Keep (Otto and Alicent), Daemon was practically part of the people and took a clear interest in making the streets safe for everyone (as he explained in episode 1).

Otto and Alicent have proven to be nothing but a bunch of social climbers who practically forgot where they came from (and the positions they received at Court was not due to their talents but rather taken through deception, murder and seduction).

So, greenies can create only assumptions on Rhaenyra’s part at this point (and use the book argument whenever it suits them - even though the Alicent in the book is a colossal manipulative b*tch who knew exactly what she was doing and wasn’t playing the constant “victim”). With Alicent, we have already seen the “best” she can do. And it’s not very attractive.

4. Ambitions? Let’s not get into the topic of which side is more ambitious. The Hightowers staged a coup and usurped the rightful Heir through closed doors, forceful bowing of subjects, forcing the hands of the Lords present, keeping people prisoners and killing Lords who wanted to warn the rightful Queen of these treasonous acts.

I already made a very long list of the crimes the greens are responsible for (you can find it on my page) in one season alone (spoiler alert: more will follow, including a whole village of innocent smallfolk at the hands of Aemond the one-eyed freak and Daeron the dumb kid).

And they have the nerve to question Queen Rhaenyra and make these types of presumptions?