#like WHY have I been IGNORING these DYNAMICS

[enviedear]

flirt!reader who has somewhat of a reputation in gotham—constantly in relationships—a chronic coquet. you’re fun, you’re interesting, and above all, you’re a lover. you’re just a romantic misunderstood by the press and general public…

…until you meet DICK GRAYSON. similarly monikered—a playboy, of the billionaire variety—he’s the first person in all of gotham to understand you. to pass zero judgement upon meeting your fourth date that month, to giggle with you as lead conversation at parties, and to match your frequent headlining romantic blunders.

though, that’s not what dick and you would call them. necessary evils, maybe, blunders—never. instead, the pair of you referred to all failed relationships as stepping stones. you learn from person to person, “gathering intel.” grayson will smile.

but sometimes—when gotham social events grow too taxing, bleary, or greedy—you’ve found yourselves pulling away from the crowds, your dates, security, drivers, and media. sometimes it’s a few drinks on a rooftop, other times it’s processed food and wine coolers at his place. it’s…sweet. in a way you’ve never tasted before, you almost crave it when he’s gone.

towing the line between reassurance and utter devotion to eachother is frequent within your friendship. you’re two reflecting pools of unprecedented levels of love, both searching relentlessly for the one. that one romance that’s gonna stick—it’s a strange religion to be subscribed to, but both of you are.

and that’s the pleasant part about it, that you’re not alone. that someone else in the world, in gotham, has the capacity to hunger for it the way you do.

but that’s also the most dangerous part. because the longer you orbit each other, the harder it becomes to ignore the way your worlds have begun to collide. the way your stepping stones are less about ‘gathering intel’ these days and more about passing time.

sometimes, you’ll be at a gala or a dimly lit lounge—seated beside your latest conquest—but you’ll catch dick’s eye from across the room. leaning into his date, flashing a signature grin, but his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to you. and in that split second, it’s like the whole room vanishes. like the two of you are the only ones who truly understand the strange script you’re acting out.

it’s intoxicating, this unspoken thing. this quiet knowledge that neither of you have voiced, because why would you? what you have is easy, comfortable. there’s no need to risk it for something it isn’t, something uncertain.

but then, in the quieter moments—when you’re sitting on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, half a wine cooler forgotten in your hand—he’ll say something that just about makes your breath catch. something about how maybe love is about timing, about knowing when to stop looking. and you’ll hum in agreement, staring at the way the light catches in his eyes, playing it off as expert listening.

because if you say it—if either of you acknowledges the real reason you keep coming back to eachother—then everything changes. and neither of you are quite ready for that. not yet.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ this idea has been plaguing my mind for weeks so i had to write a drabble. sue me. this dynamic is sweetly toxic and i love it and i love when dick grayson meets his match (it’s always yummy, we love two lovers being freaks about it) askbox open for more of this or any other thoughts! moodboard for this drabble here 🫂 !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[marsdql]

Never Really Over [P.SH]

synopsis: No matter how many times you and Sunghoon break up, you always find your way back to each other. Love, obsession, or something darker—you’re too deep to escape, and he refuses to let you go.

toxic!Ex!Sunghoon × Reader | g: Angst, Toxic Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Smut | cw: Toxic relationship dynamics, possessiveness, jealousy, arguments, implied smut, emotional manipulation, obsession, mild cursing | wc: 0.6k | @teddybeartaetae

You don’t want to open the door.

You shouldn’t open the door.

But you do. Because it’s him.

Sunghoon stands there, soaking wet from the rain, his breathing uneven like he’s been running. His knuckles are red, split in some places, like he’s punched a wall—or maybe something worse. His jaw is tight, eyes clouded with something that makes your stomach twist.

Desperation.

“You blocked me.” His voice is hoarse, accusation laced in every syllable.

“I had to.” Your grip on the doorknob tightens. “I can’t do this anymore, Sunghoon.”

He exhales sharply, his head tilting back like he’s trying to keep himself together, but the second his gaze locks onto yours again, you see it—the cracks in his composure, the madness brewing underneath.

“You say that every time,” he murmurs, stepping closer. You step back, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already inside, kicking the door shut behind him like it’s second nature. Like he still belongs here.

Like you still belong to him.

“I mean it this time.” Your voice wavers. “We ruin each other.”

Sunghoon scoffs, his fingers running through his damp hair. “Then why do you still pick up? Why do you still open the door?” He steps closer, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “Why do you still let me in?”

You don’t have an answer.

His hands find your waist before you can move away, fingers digging into you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through them. His touch is possessive, desperate.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. “Tell me you don’t miss me. Tell me you don’t think about me every night. Tell me you don’t—”

“Stop.” Your voice cracks, and that’s all it takes. His lips crash onto yours, and you break just as easily as you always do.

His kisses are bruising, hungry—like he’s trying to devour you, trying to punish you for ever thinking you could leave. You push at his chest weakly, but he just grabs your wrists, pinning them against the wall, swallowing your protests with another kiss that makes your knees buckle.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he whispers, pressing his body flush against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Tears sting your eyes because you know he’s right.

And that’s the worst part.

You’ve tried. God, you’ve tried. You’ve blocked him, ignored him, sworn you’d never fall back into his arms again—but you always do. Because Sunghoon isn’t just a person to you. He’s an addiction. A poison in your bloodstream that you can’t purge. As much as you hate it, you know you’re the only one allowing yourself to keep going back to him.

“You don’t get to move on,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “You don’t get to forget me.”

“I want to,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He shakes his head, a humorless chuckle slipping past his lips as he presses kisses down your neck, slow and possessive. “Liar.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands curling into fists. “We’re not good for each other, Sunghoon.”

“I don’t care.” His hands trail lower, gripping your waist even tighter. “I don’t want good. I want you.”

It’s sick. It’s twisted. But when he lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bedroom, you don’t stop him.

Because he’s right.

It was never really over.

And deep down, you know it never will be.

[reveriebae]

Mamacita

pairing(s) : Choi San x reader

word count : 2551

summary : After a reckless night out, you return home to find San waiting—possessive, dominant, and unwilling to let you go. The tension between you explodes into rough, desperate passion, leaving no room for resistance. By the end, you're breathless, ruined, and undeniably his.

genre : smut

warning(s) : explicit sexual content, rough sex, dominance and submission dynamics, choking, degradation, spit play, possessiveness, jealousy, slight emotional manipulation, alcohol consumption, and intense themes of control and obsession. Let me know if I missed anything!

part of Songfic

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

The sound of your heels echoed down the hallway as you made your way back to your apartment, the alcohol still buzzing in your veins. It had been one of those nights—tequila shots, loud music, and no real care for consequences. You hadn’t planned on coming back this early, but something about tonight had you feeling reckless.

As you reached the door, you found it slightly ajar. The living room light flickered in the dim hallway. You didn’t need to knock—you knew who it was.

San. Your roommate. Your chaos.

You slid inside, your body moving instinctively towards the kitchen. You needed something stronger than water—tequila, preferably. You grabbed the bottle, pouring it into a glass, ignoring the fact that your head was already spinning from the last round.

Behind you, the sound of a door creaking open made you freeze. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. His presence was enough to make your pulse race. San was like a storm—you never saw it coming, but when it hit, you were left breathless, unable to escape.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his lips curling into a half-smirk. You could already tell from the look in his eyes that tonight wasn’t going to be any different. He was hungry. And for some reason, you knew you were the one he was after.

“Tequila again?” San’s voice was smooth, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Thought you were done with that shit.”

You smirked, turning to face him. “What’s it to you? I like the burn.” You took a slow sip, meeting his gaze without flinching. There was something dangerous in the way his eyes darkened, something primal, like he was trying to figure out your next move.

His gaze dropped to your lips, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. He pushed off the doorframe and slowly walked toward you, his movements deliberate, controlled. When he stopped in front of you, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. His presence was suffocating—an intoxicating mix of power and desire.

You didn’t move, didn’t back away. It wasn’t the first time you felt this pull between you two—this unspoken, undeniable attraction. But tonight, something felt different. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your body, maybe it was the way his gaze felt like it was stripping you bare. Whatever it was, you couldn’t ignore it.

“You’ve been out there, fucking around with everyone else again,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “You know that’s not gonna keep me away, right?”

You scoffed, setting your glass down. “And why would you care?” You knew what he was getting at. The unspoken agreement between the two of you had never been clear-cut—no feelings, no attachments. Just physical. Just need.

San leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Because I’m the only one who can handle you.” He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye. “And you’re the only one who can make me lose control.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. You felt your breath catch, the familiar fire igniting in your stomach, pulling you toward him, making your body ache with a need you couldn’t quite satisfy.

Before you could even react, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards the couch. The force of his grip was enough to send a shiver down your spine. He didn’t care about your personal space—he never did.

San sat down first, tugging you onto his lap. You straddled him, the pressure between your thighs already unbearable. The air between you and San thickened the moment you sat down on his lap, your body already aching for him. He wasn’t the type to wait for permission. His hands moved with hunger, and his lips crashed into yours with such force that it left no room for anything else.

His fingers slid roughly under your shirt, pulling it over your head in one fluid motion. You gasped, the cool air hitting your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from his body. His chest pressed against yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart as his hands gripped your waist with bruising force, pulling you impossibly closer.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but suddenly, you were on your back, San’s body hovering over yours. His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with need, and his lips twisted into a devilish grin.

"You want it this bad, huh?" he growled, his voice rough and full of dark promise. He was already pulling your legs apart with force, his fingers gliding down your body, tracing your curves before finally stopping between your thighs.

You bucked against him, the pressure almost unbearable, but he didn't give you what you needed. Not yet.

He leaned down, lips trailing over your throat, leaving hot, wet kisses along your sensitive skin. His mouth moved lower, his hands gripping the edge of your panties before tearing them off in one swift motion, not giving a single fuck about being gentle.

Your breath hitched as his lips found their way between your legs. You were so wet already, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn’t control. But he wasn’t going to let you have the release you needed. Not yet.

"Beg for it," he whispered against your skin, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in his gaze making your insides clench.

You shook your head, feeling a burst of frustration mixed with need. You didn’t want to beg, but the way his fingers were toying with you, teasing you, made it impossible to think straight.

San’s smile was predatory as he finally gave in, his mouth moving back up to meet yours. His lips were hungry, demanding, and as he kissed you, his hand found your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch. You gasped into his mouth, and that was when he spit into it.

The feeling was filthy, unexpected, but it sent a wave of heat through your entire body. You moaned softly, your fingers digging into his back as you kissed him harder, tasting the salt of his spit on your tongue.

San chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. "You like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, rough, and full of arrogance.

You couldn’t even respond. All you could do was nod, your lips swollen and your body burning with the need for more. You hated how much you craved it, hated how much you needed him to take control, but it was undeniable.

Before you could speak, his hands were gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, his mouth descending once again, this time with more urgency. You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and hungry, as he finally pressed his tongue into you, taking you in with brutal precision.

Your body reacted immediately, hips bucking in response to his every move, but you still couldn’t get enough. San was relentless, his grip on you tight as he continued, his tongue working faster, harder, until you were gasping, shuddering beneath him.

"Tell me," he growled, voice thick with lust. "Tell me you need it, need me."

"I need you," you choked out, the words coming out in a desperate gasp. "Please, San, make me come."

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, that twisted smirk playing at his lips. "You begged for it," he muttered, and then he was up, his body positioning itself above you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he slid into you in one swift, punishing thrust.

You screamed, the sudden stretch making your body tense before relaxing into him. San’s hands tightened on your hips as he began to fuck you harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

But you weren’t going to let him dominate you completely. Not this time.

You shifted beneath him, rolling your hips to match his rhythm, pushing him deeper inside of you. He groaned, his hand moving to grip your throat again, choking you just enough to send a burst of heat through your body.

You responded by grabbing his face, pulling him down into another desperate kiss, tongues tangling together as you fought for control. But he wasn’t having it. Not tonight.

San pulled back again, his eyes dark and burning with that familiar intensity. He spat down onto your chest, the saliva trailing down your skin in thick, warm rivulets. It was filthy, it was wrong, but it made you want him more. You moaned loudly, your body tightening in response to the overwhelming sensation.

"You like that, don’t you?" he hissed, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust harder, deeper.

"Yes, fuck—yes!" you screamed, the heat building in your core until you couldn’t hold it anymore.

San didn’t stop. He only went harder, faster, making you lose yourself in the feeling of him. Your world was nothing but the pressure, the friction, the heat. He was everything you needed, everything you wanted.

When you finally came, it was like a tidal wave crashing over you—violent, messy, and completely overwhelming. You cried out his name as you clenched around him, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him.

San wasn’t far behind. He came with a loud groan, his body freezing above you as he released deep inside. His hands remained gripping your body, holding you in place as he rode out his high.

Both of you were panting, sweat-slicked bodies tangled together in the aftermath. The room smelled of sex, tequila, and something darker. Something you both couldn’t ignore.

He pulled away slowly, eyes still dark with desire as he looked down at you. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his lips were curled into a satisfied grin.

“That’s my mamacita,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You lay there beneath him, too exhausted to even speak. You knew you were his, in every twisted, fucked-up way.

And deep down, you hated it. But tonight, you needed him. More than you wanted to admit.

San’s breath was still hot against your skin, and you could feel the remnants of his release dripping down your thighs, mixing with the sweat that clung to both of you. You were panting, completely undone, but that wasn’t enough for him—no, not tonight.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he leaned down, his lips brushing over your neck before they traveled lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbone. You squirmed beneath him, your body still on fire, but you knew he wasn’t done with you. Not yet.

"You’re not getting away that easily," San growled, his voice thick with need as he moved his hands to your wrists, pinning them above your head. His lips met yours in a deep, possessive kiss, tongue pushing past your lips in a desperate, greedy exploration.

You moaned into his mouth, but before you could fully respond, he was dragging you up against him, his body pushing yours back into the couch, his cock still hard and ready. His hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping between your folds, and he groaned when he felt how soaked you still were.

“Look at you,” he said darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re fucking insatiable.”

You didn’t even have the chance to respond before his fingers pushed inside of you again, his thumb rubbing over your clit in rough circles. You gasped, your hips involuntarily bucking against his hand, wanting to feel him inside of you again.

San smirked, watching you squirm beneath him as he slowly pushed two fingers deeper, making you arch your back. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the desperate sounds bubbling in your chest, but he wasn’t going to let you stay quiet.

He pulled his fingers out and immediately replaced them with his cock, his pace rough and unrelenting. You cried out as he filled you once again, stretching you, making you feel every inch of him.

“Tell me you need me,” he demanded, voice raspy with lust. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him as he fucked you harder. “Tell me you fucking need me.”

"I need you," you gasped, the words slipping out between moans. "Please, San... don’t stop."

San chuckled darkly, his hips snapping into yours faster now, each thrust deep and punishing. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "You want it like this, don’t you? Rough. Messy. Filthy."

"Yes," you whimpered, your body trembling with the force of his thrusts. "I need you. Fuck, yes."

San's grip on your hips tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he fucked you harder, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your body tremble uncontrollably. His mouth found your throat, sucking and biting, leaving bruises that would remind you of tonight for days to come.

You could feel the tension building again, that familiar pressure coiling tight in your core. San's hand moved between your legs, his thumb flicking over your clit as he fucked you even harder, making everything in your body go wild.

“I’m gonna make you come again,” he growled against your skin, his voice laced with arrogance. “You fucking love it, don’t you?”

"Yes, San, I fucking love it!" you screamed, your body jerking beneath him as the tension in your body finally snapped, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You could barely catch your breath, your nails digging into his back as you came undone around him.

But San wasn’t done. Not yet.

He fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts still brutal, unrelenting, as he chased his own release. His pace never slowed, never faltered, as he fucked you harder and harder, until finally, with a low, guttural groan, he came deep inside of you.

You could feel the heat of him filling you, his cock twitching as he collapsed on top of you, both of you covered in sweat, panting in the aftermath.

But even then, he didn’t let go of you. He kept his body pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling with every breath, as though he was marking you, claiming you completely.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath, but the room was still thick with the heavy scent of sex, the tension between you two still palpable.

Finally, San pulled back, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as he gazed down at you, his eyes still dark with desire. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he whispered, “You’re mine, you know that?”

You could only nod, exhausted, but wanting more. You were his, in every way that mattered.

[rei-ismyname]

Cyclops, Masculinity, and the Hellfire Club

After Jean walks in on Emma's 'therapy session' with Scott, the two women have a long discussion in which he is not welcome. Scott deals with his feelings by getting drunk by himself at the Hellfire Club. People just will not leave him alone though, starting with this unnamed psychic dancer. She's presumably doing her job under the assumption that this is what men are here for. It's a normative and reasonable assumption, but Scott is pointedly uninterested in participating in this marker of masculinity.

The dancer's words remind us of Emma - telepathy, seduction, and a call to let loose - though there's markers of Jean there too, the wife he hasn't been able to communicate with. He rejects the whole thing as 'sexless and unarousing' instead of a 'no thanks, I'm not in the mood' or similar. Instead of rejecting Emma by proxy, my read is that he's rejecting the physicality of it, compared to the mind sex that's been going on. Also, Scott does a lot of 'calling the shots' - too much even. Exercising sexual, gendered power doesn't appeal to him.

This is nothing Scott hasn't been told before. I'm reminded of the butte sex incident specifically, where Phoenix urged him to 'get out of [his] head' so they could have sex. The dynamic and the power differential made the traditional gender roles hazy.

I think Scott agrees with the dancer here in some ways. He's been viewed as uptight his whole life and there's so many instances where Scott isn't the instigator of sex and intimacy. Here in the Hellfire Club with their regency cosplay the gender roles are super patriarchal. Scott rejects or tries to escape the expectations of traditional gender roles and the art reflects that - shifting from the male gaze to Scott's famous gaze. Interestingly we never see the dancer's face so we don't know who she's presenting as. It's Jean who has the significant association with black lingerie and red hair but it's Emma who's associated with BDSM.

Scott gives an awkward apology and explanation, doing his best to strip the illusions away. I can't help but feel like he's trying to convince himself that his complicated feelings for Emma aren't real but he's not doing a very good job. Why did he even come to the Hellfire Club? There's plenty of places to get drunk without running into people he knows or people that know him. He's wearing his X-Men jacket and his unique visor, not exactly incognito.

He completely avoids eye contact with the dancer and everything is tinted red, suggesting we're seeing everything through his POV. His gaze has a long association with angst and self doubt - I have to wonder how well he 'sees' the person he's making assumptions about. He's not exactly denying her personhood, but he's not especially interested in it either. It's ironic that he'd go to the one club that has a intimacy-free version of both his significant relationships with women at this point. One thing's for sure, he's not interested in performing masculinity, but he's in a space where he can't escape the expectation.

The faceless, nameless dancer eventually leaves. Scott's brief solitude is interrupted by a particular kind of toxic masculinity turned up to 11 - Sabertooth. He approaches from a dominant position in the ancient greek sense, from behind - while pointedly calling Scott 'boy.' He ignores this, and Sabertooth gets in really close to smell his drink, describing it as 'gay.' Deeply childish, but explicitly challenging Scott's masculinity. Creed accuses Scott of 'having issues' in a pretty egregious pot/kettle situation.

Scott responds, but simply by telling him to get out of his face. 'Seriously.' Creed switches to that other marker of masculinity - violence, or at least threats of it. Scott ignores that too, rejecting chest beating and puerile verbal sparring. Sebastian Shaw intervenes and orders Creed to leave Scott alone. Shaw has his own thoughts on exercising patriarchal power, but leaves when Scott isn't interested.

Scott is about to leave because 'his pride can't take it anymore.' He doesn't elaborate on this because he's accosted by probably the most prominent uber masculine person in his life - Logan. Logan accuses Scott of 'making the X-Men look like losers' and it's hard to read this as anything but a gendered challenge. He expands on Creed's judgment of Scott's choice of beverage by implying it's not 'real' (ly masculine) - slamming a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. Scott's not interested in that either.

Logan doesn't really give Scott a choice, framing it in the context of a challenge. Denying that he's here to convince him to return to the X-Men, he tells Scott that Emma was murdered after he left. Leaving him to chew on that, Logan lays out the stakes of the challenge and departs for the urinal - that most bioessentialist of masculine spaces.

Making the subtext text, Creed follows him in for some insecure dick measuring. Rejecting any kind of serious discussion with an uncharacteristically cerebral Sabertooth, Logan issues violent threats and returns to Scott. It's got massive ex vibes in the best Creed/Logan homoerotic manchild way.

Scott finally opens up, discussing his relationship woes with Logan of all people. He shares how each of them makes him feel, explicitly tying the tension to the boy/man dichotomy. The 'pressure' and 'expectations' feel significant, something he should really talk to Jean about. Unfortunately he's got Logan instead, who's not especially interested in listening at all. He chimes in about Jean, of course, but he's here for tough love.

Scott ponders how anyone could think he'd shoot Emma. Above all he's not going back to the mansion and he's not drunk (or so he claims.) Logan, asshole that he is, suggests Scott should be grateful for what he has. 'You always get the best girls' which has got to be the worst possible thing to say (and super gross). Sure, he's having relationship troubles, but he's trying to figure out his emotions and his trauma. Logan frames this as 'all you do is whine' which is both not true and very rich coming from him.

I've never identified with Scott more than when he says 'I hate you.' Logan manages to make it all about himself, explicitly stating his jealousy. 'All I ever wanted was what you got' accusing him of throwing 'it all away to run wild with the White Queen.' He's right that Jean would like it if he came out of his shell, to a degree, but their problem is one of trauma and communication. Logan's possessive, reductive, and frankly ignorant diagnosis misses the forest for the trees. Scott's problems aren't his problems yet he gets the kind of advice one might expect from this hypermasculine space.

Further minimising Scott's issues, Logan shifts the conversation focus entirely to him. He outright says that Scott's problems are nothing compared to his and guilts him into helping assault The World to uncover Logan's past. He probably would have said yes if he just asked as a friend, but instead he kidnaps him when he passes out. Logan says he's 'trying hard' but doesn't finish the sentence before urging him to put aside his problems.

So instead of talking with his wife or getting to brood alone, Scott ends up hungover on a black ops mission. He got to verbalise some things he'd been keeping bottled up, but in a sense he was assaulted by masculinity and toxic expectations at every turn. Dude needs better friends. The narrative doesn't portray this as a positive thing - in fact it's pretty messed up. I wonder if he regrets going to the Hellfire Club.

Despite the superhero context, Grant Morrison does a swell job of portraying an AMAB person withdrawing from masculine-coded spaces and expectations, at least in my experience. Especially when you're friends with people like Logan, whose only mode is toxic hypermasculinity. I think if he was framed as being unequivocally right it'd be overpowering. Morrison's issues with writing women are on display, but overall this issue is powerful, especially for the time.

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Part 14

Lando Norris x sister!reader

Max Fewtrell x norris!reader

Daniel Ricardo x Norris!reader

summary: You and Max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

not proofread

series masterlist | previous | next

-

yn

liked by carlossainz, landonorris, danielriccardo and 839.547 others

yn an idiot, fav people, and visiting my private chef 🦋

*tagged maxfewtrell, landonorris, carlossainz*

maxfewtrell Can you stop posting these horrible pictures of me?😭

yn why would I do that?

maxfewtrell cause you like me?

yn HAHAHAHA

maxfewtrell 😐

carlossainz private chef, sure hermosa.

yn you love me

carlossainz sure, whatever you say

yn ☹️☹️

lando carlos.

carlossainz yes, yes I love you.

yn 😊😊

user isn’t yn’s boyfriend a bit weirded out that she’s always hanging around Fewtrell?

user why would he? He’s lando’s best friend and has his own gf

user do you know their lore? Everyone thought they were dating when they were younger. HE LITERALLY KISSED HER HEAD ALL THE TIME

user oh. yeah but still, maybe they see each other as siblings. Lando also does that w her

user hm..

alexandrasaintmleux 🤍

user I love the norris duo + carlos dynamic

-

“You wanna tell us what happened now, or are we gonna sit in silence?” Kelly said, raising an eyebrow. Alexandra nods “Yeah? Did he say anything? Do we have to ask one of the boys to run him over?” You laugh “No Alex, please don’t run him over”

“Alright, then spill” She claps in her hands. You just blush and look down “Oh my god, you did it” “She did what?” Kelly asked confused “It” Alex says, making a ‘catch up’ face.

“Oh, Oh!” Kelly’s eyes widened “That’s good, right?” You hide your face in your hands “How was it?” Alex teased “Alexxxx” You whine “Just a yes or no, then I’ll leave you alone” She chuckled “Yeah” You say quietly, still hiding your face “Then that’s great”

“Yes, I agree. As long as you’re happy, this is amazing” Kelly smiles and so does Alex. Alex looks behind you and her smile falls “Why is he here again?” You turn around and see Daniel, Lando and Max walking towards you. Max looks like he’d be happier if he was in a pool full of piranhas while Lando talks enthusiastically with Daniel.

Before Max can sit next to you, Daniel pulls out the chair and sits down. You try to scoot away unnoticeable. Lando sits next to Daniel, making Max sit away the farthest from you.

Alex and Kelly give you a look, which you return. Daniel finally turns to the three of you “Hello lady’s” “Daniel” Kelly is the only one who acknowledged him, while you and alex set up fake smiles.

You feel max’s eyes on you and you look at him, feeling yourself relax just a tiny bit. You give him a little smile that he returns.

“So? How’s it going?” Daniel asks in the round “Good.” Alexandra answers with a sharpness that he didn’t miss. Kelly nods along and Daniel’s eyes land on you “Great. Me and my boyfriend have been spending quite some time together, actually” You smile.

Lando shoots you a look that you ignore “How about you Daniel? Anything interesting happened since you’re unemployed?” The sharpness in your voice was obvious too.

“Yn.” Lando hisses “What? It’s just a question?” You shrug “He asked, I answered and asked the same question. It’s fine.” Before you could respond, two shadows appeared next to you “Hey guys.”

Oscar says, lily waving into the round “Could I steal the girls?” Lily asked, making the three of you get up. You wave to Lando and wink at Max, who’s cheeks turn light pink.

After the four of you left, Oscar looks at max “Could I borrow max? I wanted to talk to him about something and Mom wanted to see him” Lando nods unsure. Max gets up and walks away with oscar.

When they’re out of ear reach for Lando and Daniel, Oscar sighs “You okay?” Max nods “Yeah, why?” “Daniel is being a dick and sits next to your girlfriend.” Max head snaps to Oscar “What?”

“I’m not stupid, and neither is lily. We probably figured it out before you two did. Which wasn’t that hard tho.” Oscar shrugs “Come on. Let’s meet the others.”

-

As Oscar and Max round the corner to the Ferrari hospitality, Kelly, Alexandra and charles, lily and nicole, max and kelly and you sit there. You sit up once you see Max, but keep it down. Lily had obviously told you three the same thing.

Max sat down next to you “Rescue mission accomplished” Lily laughed and high fives oscar.

“Rescue mission? You two are crazy” You chuckle “You looked absolutely miserable over there, what else were we supposed to do?” Lily shrugged.

“I have no idea, Thank you tho” You smile at her, which she returns. You see max fidget with his fingers. You lean a bit closer, lowering your voice only for him to hear “Everything okay?” He smiles at you “I’m okay.”

You raise an eyebrow, not believing a word he’s saying. But before you can interrogate him any further, someone is calling your name. It’s Lando.

He’s coming towards you and the group, without Daniel. He stops and waves into the group “I need my sister for a moment” “Can’t that wait?” “No” “I’ll tell them either way afterwards, so spill.” “You don’t want me to do that.”

“Lando.” “No, really.” He gives you a look. You sigh and get up “I’ll be right back”

-

“So what is it?” You ask him once he pulled you into a quiet corner “What was that earlier? Did you ask them to get you two away?” “No. We talked and then sat down with oscar’s mom and with Max. It had nothing to do with you.” “I’m not talking about me”

“Neither Daniel.” “I don’t believe you. I mean, I talked to him. I don’t think he means any harm anymore” You raise your eyebrows “Lando, he hates max and doesn’t want us together. That was his goal all along.”

“No he didn’t mean it” “Lando, he’s in love with me.” “Yeah but he isn’t gonna harm your and max’s relationship” “You’re so gullible, Lando.” You clench your jaw and walk away from him, tears welling up in your eyes.

You walk with quick steps back to the group. Alex sits up as soon as she sees you “Hey? What’s wrong?” Her face scrunched into concern. Max’s head snaps to you and he also sits up.

You don’t say anything and grab your purse and jacket. Before you can stop it, one tear rolls down your cheek and Max is up in an instant “Hey, hey what’s wrong” One hand comes to rest on your back.

A sob escaped you and Max immediately wraps you into his embrace. His hand cradles your head. Max gets up “Let’s go into my drivers room, nobody needs to meddle” Max walks with you in his arms after max.

He opened the door to his drivers room but steps aside to let you two in. Max nods thankful and max closed the door after you two and leaves back to the group.

-

Once you calmed down, Max held you hands in his hands “What happened?” “He’s believing Daniel” You sniff “Oh baby” His thumb gently caressed your cheek “What did Daniel say?” “I’m not sure. But he believes that Daniel means no harm”

Max laughs “Sure, and i’m driving for redbull” He scoffs but his gaze softens once it lands back on you. “If there is one thing I learned in the last few weeks, then that we can’t care what others think. Look what it almost cost us. It’s just us against them.” He says with a warm smile.

You nod “His support is great, but we don’t need his approval or anything else to work. Okay?” “Okay” He wipes away the remaining dampness on your cheeks and presses a kiss to your temple, his arms once again pulling you into his chest.

-

yn added to their story

[cap1: 10/10 sleep quality,would recommend arm pillow | cap2: 💐❤️]

alexandrasaintmleux: Did you fall asleep during the race?😂

yn after that cry session, yes 😂

alexandrasaintmleux on a serious note, don’t let it get to you. It’s not worth stressing over 🤍

yn I know, we talked about it 🤍🤍

franciscagomez cutie 😂❤️

yn 😘❤️

user still soft launch 🫠

-

f1gossip

f1gossip Yn norris has been spotted around the redbull hospitality yesterday. Fans have spotted her watching the race from there with Max Verstappen’s Girlfriend, Kelly Piquet and Max Fewtrell, who is her brothers best friend. Is once again trouble between the norris duo?

user with Max? First they rip each other’s heads off and now they’re going against Lando? Sounds fake to me.

user she got nothing better to do than break up friendships of her brother??

user maybe she just watched with Kelly and max didn’t wanna be alone?

user oh please, he stayed alone in LN’s garage countless of times

user hear me out, what if they’re actually soft launching each other?

user let’s get you back to bed grandma

-

-

“Be honest, am I being dramatic?” You look at Kelly, who shakes her head “Why would you be dramatic for expressing how you feel. Not to mention that Daniel does not like Max. He stated that multiple times. And you’re brother is someone who easily switches sides.” She sighs.

“Just focus on you and Max, then no one can destroy what you have. Be there for each other. Trust me, once the internet gets wind of this? You’re gonna need each other” Sophie, Max’s mother chimed in as she held her grandchild.

P was laying asleep, sprawled out on your lap. You sigh “I know. It’s probably the most scary thing. But if we don’t tell soon, what If daniel does it ? What if he convinces Lando to do it? At this point, I wouldn’t put anything like that past him”

“If you two are sure about each other, no one else matters” Sophie says softly, giving you a warm smile. You nod “Have you called your mom about this? Or your dad?” Kelly asked “No, why would I?”

“So they’ll talk to him. It’s getting ridiculous” Another voice chimed into the conversation. You all turn your head to look at Max, who just entered the room.

He quickly kissed Kelly, smiled at P’s sleeping form and goes to hug his mom, gently placing a kiss on the small child’s head in her arms.

“I know. But they don’t have to be involved in our drama” “They’ll get wind of it either way. The media is fast.” Kelly shrugs “I know, I know” You sigh. They were right. Daniel was gonna try to ruin everything. He had taken the person who was against him, on his side. That was a disadvantage and a heartbreak.

It was time to really talk things through with Max..

-

You open the door to your apartment, hearing max move around in the kitchen.

“Max? I’m home!” You yell as you take off your shoes. Footsteps make your way to you and Max smiles “Hey you, how was it at Kelly’s?” “Eye opening” You sigh and sling your arms around his neck.

“Really? How?” He hums and pecks your lips “I think we should talk” “Sounds serious” “I think it is” He nods in understanding and leads you to the living room.

You both sit down on the couch, his hand resting behind you on the couch.

“What do you want to talk about?” “Us” You say fidgeting. What you didn’t know is, that Daniel may or may not have set a little lie into Max’s head, then even he wasn’t free of insecurities.

His insecurity? Franco colapinto. Something Lando had overshared once when he was drunk to Daniel. Something the Aussie had recently used, making a pit form in Max’s stomach now…

-

Like I said, we’re only getting started people.. 👀 I specifically left out some of the scenes you’ll be getting soon, that will paint the whole picture 🤭

The whole franco thing might not make sense now, but trust me its there (I haven’t mentioned it beforehand tho🤭)

[iiheartarc]

MY TAKE ON THE CAITVI DISCOURSE

total wordcount: 1591

I will say that I've briefly commented on their dynamic in the past, but it was worded really badly so I feel like I need to defend my writing skills a little bit as well with this, but that's just a sidenote. 💀

I think what a lot of people are missing when people do criticise CaitVi is that they aren't necessarily hating on the ship, it's what writing choices have done to it.

I'm not even going to even say I'm a CaitVi hater, I'm not (S1 CaitVi my beloved, you deserved better), but I do think the choices that writers made this season heavily effected how audiences portrayed the ship, even including myself.

Idk I hope this insight might give some people more perspective on why CaitVi became so hated in this season, people rlly need to start looking at both sides and not taking criticism as a personal attack. It really could've been avoided too if the writers had added more time or extended the series onto a third season, but that's another issue on its own.

1. Caitlyn hits Vi

I really don't get why people are so quick to defend Caitlyn on this one, especially considering the amount of hate Vi got when she hit Powder. Are both inexcusable? Yes. But I do think that the situation is a little different when it's a fifteen year old child who had just witnessed the death of her entire family and a twenty something year old woman who took out her anger and grief on the woman she loved because she blocked her shot.

I do think that people also do ignore the immense amount of trauma that Caitlyn suffered at the hand of Jinx, but unlike when Vi 'abandoned' Powder, (again, that's a whole other conversation, we know she was not abandoned), Vi was not that direct source of anguish to Caitlyn the way Powder was to Vi. (Pls lmk if you want me to expand further on this)

Again, not excusing Vi hitting Powder, I'm pointing out the differences.

It's then also incredibly tone deaf when Caitlyn hits her on two more occasions with the same gun, the third time being played off as a joke. It really doesn't come off well, especially when Vi had been a victim of police-brutality even before the abuse she faced at the hands of the enforcers in Stillwater.

And then, even after all this, it's never addressed. It's brushed over, like Vi's entire trauma in the show, the most we get is Caitlyn brushing her hand over Vi's abdomen in the cell scene. Again, can be taken as an apology, but I think that for some very specific things (like hitting your romantic partner), verbal apologies do need to be made in order to communicate healthily and somewhat build a healthier relationship.

I don't really want to talk about the abusive implications of this, because I don't think I'm someone who can talk about it with a full understanding because that's something I've fortunately never been through, but the blatant disregard and shunning of abuse survivors when they pull up the red flags raised because of this is disgusting. In real life, or if it had even been someone else in the show, if the ship had been a heterosexual relationship, people would call Caitlyn an abuser and would be outraged that Vi had been paired with her in the end. But I digress.

1. The cell sex scene

Initially I hadn't been too bothered about this when I had first watched the episode, but when you really think about it, it shouldn't have happened. Hell, they could've had sex in Caitlyn's office and half of the criticism wouldn't have happened, the ship wouldn't be so hated and the fandom wouldn't be half as divided as it is now (from what I've seen).

First and foremost, the cell.

All I can say is wtf. It was such a poor choice it's actually unfathomable to me now. I don't know why the writers thought that it'd be a good idea for Caitlyn and Vi to have their first time in a jail cell, not only the one Jinx had been locked in, but the one Vi had herself been locked in for what we can assume to be hours. The place of her abuse should not be somewhere where the writers could possibly think would be a suitable for a victim to have such an intimate moment with her partner.

Then there's the fact that Vi had looked to have had some sort of breakdown, we see she's sh and there are literal crates in the wall from where she punched it as well as her knuckles bleeding. As soon as she sees Caitlyn, there's a parallel to when they first met, to when Vi is quite literally caged. She's clearly not in the right state of mind, and so when the scene eventually happens it inevitably comes off as wrong because Vi is incredibly emotionally vulnerable in that moment.

"But Vi initiated it!" That still doesn't make it okay. I do think that this also came with an issue of timing, but then again, as I mentioned earlier, it literally could've been in the office as they argued and it would've been recieved so much better then the cell scene was. Vi wasn't breaking down, she wasn't locked in a reminder of the abuse she faced and her sister hadn't just ran off to do goodness knows what (in Vi's POV, us as the audience know exactly what she's about to do). They could've even have it fade to black and cut to the next scene tangled in bed doing whatever they would've been doing in the cell, Vi would assumably have had time to calm down, would be having sex in a warm and safe environment, and guess what? The audience would've been even happier.

Sure there would've been criticism, but Vi could literally save a thousand babies and adopt them all and still face hate, because a lot of the hate is being directed to Vi too because of the situation with Jinx. That, again, is a whole other situation.

3. "Dirt Under Your Nails"

Again, for the love of god, there can be so many takeaways from this sentence but do not be surprised that people didn't like it. I didn't, it made me cringe horribly.

And before people throw 'media literacy is dead', this whole post (practically essay), is analysing a piece of media that I love. To be literate, you can draw different interpretations and conclusions and that's exactly what I'm doing. It's like saying literacy is dead if two people were to disagree on what the meaning of Macbeth's quote 'I am in blood' meant.

I digress.

I think the main issue here is the class difference between Vi and Cait. Caitlyn is from the aristocracy, a direct heir to a position of power in Piltover, while Vi is lower class, effected indefinitely by growing up in poverty. Even though she grew up as Vander's kid, they were still 'scraping for scraps'. The wealth margin between the two is almost immeasurable, and with the difference in money comes a difference in experiences, as we - the audiences - know.

It especially comes off wrong considering the class tensions and political themes heavily focussed on within the first season. The conflict between Piltover and Zaun, the abuse of power and exploitation of Zaunites by both topside and the chembarons, the prevalence of police brutality on the streets of the Undercity. Again, Vi is someone who is directly effected by this, while Caitlyn came into this blissfully naïve. She did learn yes, and in s1 she was so determined to help, but when then this progress reverts into her calling zaunites 'animals' and using the grey as a weapon, it again makes Vi's words feel uncomfortable.

Again, I think this was a massive timing issue, I would've love to see Caitlyn succumb fully to a villain arc. It would've been so interesting to delve into.

I think Vi has always had the image of herself that she'll always be viewed as less by Piltover, that she herself views herself as less. She says it herself to Vander in s1 ep2 while they're on the bridge, "I grew up knowing I'm less than them." So when she then says as her final words in the show, "I'm the dirt under your nails" obviously, that's going to come across as tacky.

People are free to think of romantic connotations for this, I won't stop you, but when you think about how the show was so focussed on class tensions, police brutality, oppression and exploitation, it doesn't come off right. Idk, that's what got me so interested with the show in the first place, the way these themes were explored so deeply but subtly in a way that didn't feel forced, so Vi's words really rubbed me the wrong way.

Conclusion

So I hope everyone that read somewhat gets where I'm coming from, this was my attempt to try and explain what I think needed to be, badly. Again, you can like the ship, I'm not saying I don't, but it also needs to be acknowledged that there is so many things that could've been worked on properly, done properly or addressed properly, and ignoring criticism won't help these issues to be fixed in the future.

Feel free to ask any questions and thanks for reading this long ass rant :)

[sunwoniie]

REVENGE

Pairing: idol!virgin!soft dom!Jay x idol!virgin!brat!Isabella

Synopsis: Lately, Isabella has been ignoring Jay, which is pretty weird considering she usually loves messing with him until he’s absolutely furious. At first, he’s just confused, but when he finally figures out why she’s avoiding him, he realizes it’s the perfect chance to get back at her. And he’s not about to let it go to waste.

Warnings: virgin jay and isa, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (pulling out before coming), bathroom sex

Old scenario

English is not my first language

Lately, I’ve been getting familiar with cold showers. They’re known for their health benefits, but that’s not why I take them. Cold showers are also used to calm people down—especially when their urges become overwhelming. Like me. Right now.

I’m ovulating, and it’s driving me insane. The need is so intense that I might actually call an escort just to get some relief.

My ovulation periods have always been wild, but things got worse when I practically started living with a bunch of ridiculously attractive guys. And yet, despite being surrounded by them, my fixation is on Jay. When that started, I have no idea.

Jay and I have always had this bickering dynamic. I don’t hate him—if anything, I love to annoy him. Seeing that irritated expression on his face is pure entertainment. Pranking him is my specialty, and nothing amuses me more than watching him turn red with frustration when he realizes it was me. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and the moment he spots me, he yells my name before chasing me down.

Running while laughing? Impossible. He always catches me, pinning me down against whatever is closest—the floor, the wall—before tickling me until I can’t breathe.

It’s fun.

But not when I’m ovulating.

When he pins me down, holding my wrists above my head with one hand while tickling me with the other, my thoughts spiral into something else entirely. Something not-so-innocent.

That’s why, from the moment my ovulation started, I began avoiding him. No teasing, no pranks. I knew exactly where it would lead, and I didn’t trust myself to handle the consequences.

It’s late at night, and the boys are having a sleepover in our apartment. I can’t sleep—not with these thoughts clouding my mind—so I decide to take a cold shower, hoping it will help.

I step out of the tub, wrapping my bathrobe around me before opening the bathroom door—only to freeze.

A sharp gasp escapes my lips before I slap a hand over my mouth, as if that could undo what just happened.

Jay is standing right in front of me, his messy hair and relaxed posture making it clear he just got up. His hands are buried in the pockets of those gray joggers I hate—because he looks so damn good in them, and I would never admit it—but also love, because they fuel my fantasies about something I’ve never seen.

“Y-you scared me,” I stammer, lowering my gaze to the floor, unable to handle the intensity of his stare. The normal me would be mortified at how easily he’s intimidating me right now.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t let me pass.

I shift to the side, hoping he’ll take the hint and enter the bathroom so I can leave, but he remains planted in place.

“Jay… are you okay?” I whisper, mindful of the others sleeping in the living room.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” he finally speaks, his voice low.

I swallow. “W-what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?”

His words make me tense. “Jay, can we talk about this later? The others are sleeping.” I try to keep my voice quiet.

He moves at last, but not the way I want. He steps toward me. Instinctively, I step back.

My breath hitches when he enters the bathroom, swiftly turning around to shut the door behind him.

“Jay—w-what are you doing?” My voice trembles, my pulse racing at the thought of being alone with him in a closed space while I’m barely dressed.

“You’re not leaving until you tell me what I did wrong,” he says, arms crossing over his chest.

I exhale sharply, playing with my fingers, eyes glued to the floor. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Jay steps closer.

“Stop,” I blurt, taking another step back. “D-don’t come near me. Please.”

His eyes search mine. “Why?”

I sigh, my shoulders dropping. It’s too awkward to tell him the truth. That I’ve been fantasizing about him. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance.

“I’ve been… feeling weird lately,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “Especially around you.”

Jay watches me carefully. “What do you mean?”

I force myself to meet his gaze, inhaling deeply before confessing, “I’m ovulating.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I shut my eyes, hating how vulnerable I feel.

Silence.

I peek through my lashes to find him smirking. His lips curl into that maddeningly smug grin, his expression laced with amusement.

“Are you masturbating to the thought of me?”

My breath catches. My whole body stiffens.

Jay steps forward, closing the distance between us inch by inch.

“Jay…” My voice is shaky, betraying my rising panic—and something else I refuse to name.

His gaze darkens with mischief. “Are you having nasty thoughts about me?”

I keep retreating until my back meets the sink. There’s nowhere left to go.

“Jay,” I breathe, barely able to get the words out. “D-don’t come any closer.” My hands lift instinctively, a feeble attempt to stop him.

His smirk only deepens. “Why?” His voice drops to a husky murmur. “I can help you. But you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

I stop breathing altogether.

“Jay.”

“Yes, Isabella?”

The way he says my name—slow, deliberate, seductive—sends a shiver down my spine.

He never calls me by my full name. Never.

It’s always Isa like the rest of the group. Or Bella, when he’s feeling playful.

But Isabella?

That’s new.

And it’s dangerous.

I feel wetness slowly dripping between my thighs as I instinctively press them together. My breathing is uneven, and before I even realize it, Jay has already closed the remaining distance between us.

His hands gently cradle my face, tilting it upward so our eyes meet. “Aw, look at you… so red,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “It must be really hard, huh?” His smirk deepens, clearly satisfied with the effect he has on me. Now, it’s his turn to tease, to watch me squirm.

Annoyed, I slap his hand away. “S-stop playing with me,” I stammer, turning my head to avoid his gaze.

“Who said I was playing?” he counters, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him again.

His voice is low, teasing, dripping with control. “Tell me… how can I help you?” His lips hover just inches from mine, and I know he’s enjoying every second of my struggle. He knows exactly what I want—he just wants to hear me beg for it.

“I-I need you,” I breathe, leaning in, desperate to close the distance between us. But he pulls back at the last second, his smirk widening. He loves this. Loves watching me writhe, loves making me desperate.

“What do you need me to do, Bella?” His voice is a taunt, a challenge.

I let out a shaky sigh, surrendering to the inevitable. “I need you to fuck me… please.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s all he was waiting for.

His smirk turns predatory. “Took you long enough to say it,” he murmurs before crashing his lips against mine.

The kiss is messy, desperate—our first, but I don’t care. His hand slides down my back, pulling me against him as we devour each other, tongues tangling, teeth grazing. My hands grip the sink behind me, my knees weak, barely holding me up.

I’m already addicted—to the taste of him, to the way his lips move against mine, to the heat radiating from his body.

He pulls away, leaving us both breathless, but he doesn’t stop. His mouth moves to my neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, sucking, teasing. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, and in embarrassment, I slap a hand over my mouth.

Jay halts immediately, his darkened gaze locking onto mine. He reaches up, prying my hand away. “Don’t hide those pretty little noises from me,” he murmurs.

His fingers move to the knot of my bathrobe, untying it with excruciating slowness before sliding the fabric off my shoulders. It pools at my feet, leaving me bare before him.

His eyes finally break away from mine, traveling down my body. I watch as his pupils dilate, his jaw tightening. His gaze is hungry, devouring every inch of my exposed skin—from my round breasts and hardened nipples to my wide hips and thick thighs.

I shiver as his fingertips ghost over my stomach, tracing a slow path upward until he cups one of my breasts. A soft groan escapes me at the sensation, and he watches, fascinated, as my chest rises and falls under his touch.

His thumb brushes over my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. My thighs press together instinctively, desperate for friction.

“W-why are you acting like that? Haven’t you ever seen a—ahh—a woman’s body before?” My voice is shaky, my breaths uneven.

He smirks, his hands kneading my breasts, applying just the right amount of pressure. “No, I haven’t.” His voice is calm, but there’s something darker beneath it.

I let out a breathy chuckle. “Y-yeah, I… ahh… I kinda figured.”

His head tilts slightly, amused. “Oh?”

“You’re always so irritated,” I manage between gasps, my body arching into his touch. “I just assumed it’s ‘cause you’re a virgin… and you just needed to get fucked.”

He chuckles at my state—flustered, desperate, unraveling under his touch. But instead of responding, he pinches my nipples, drawing a strangled moan from my lips.

“I find it funny how you’re still being a brat,” he muses, “when I’m here to help you.”

Then, without warning, he leans down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. A sharp gasp leaves me as he sucks, his tongue flicking, teasing, driving me insane.

I’m losing myself in the pleasure, my body greedy for more. “You can play with my body another time,” I pant, barely able to form words. “Just hurry up and get this done before someone wakes up.”

Jay pulls back slightly, licking his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So… you’re planning on doing this again?”

Realizing what I’ve implied, I quickly look away. “Shut up and hurry up.”

He chuckles again, the sound deep and rich, before I feel his hands leave my breasts. When I glance down, my stomach tightens—he’s sinking to his knees, eyes never leaving mine.

A thrill of anticipation runs through me as he lifts one of my legs, placing it over his shoulder. My heart pounds when I realize how close his mouth is to my dripping heat.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” I stammer. “Just go straight to—ahh!”

My sentence is cut short as his tongue flicks over my clit, a low groan vibrating against me. The sensation sends a shockwave through my body, making me moan.

What starts as soft, teasing licks quickly turns into a full-blown assault on my pussy. His tongue moves with precision, alternating between slow, sensual strokes and intense, desperate sucking.

“Jay~ ah! Jay~ ngh! Please!” I can’t control the words spilling from my lips, my head thrown back as pleasure overtakes me.

His grip tightens on my thigh as his tongue dips lower, teasing my entrance before sliding inside. His fingers replace his tongue on my clit, rubbing circles that have my legs trembling.

A wave of pleasure crashes over me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My fingers tangle in his hair, my hips moving against his mouth, desperate for more. “Fuck, it’s so good!”

Then, without warning, he slides two fingers inside me.

I cry out, the sudden intrusion sending a jolt of sharp pleasure through my core. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust—his fingers pump into me, curling, stretching, filling.

I’m overwhelmed, completely at his mercy, my walls fluttering around his digits. The coil in my stomach tightens, my breaths turning ragged.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant mindlessly, gripping his hair harder as my body starts to tremble. The pressure builds higher and higher, an unstoppable force surging through me.

“Jay—ahh! I’m—I’m gonna—ngh!”

My orgasm crashes over me, violent and all-consuming. My body jerks, pleasure detonating in my veins as I come undone around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he continues—licking, sucking, fucking me through the aftershocks. My body twitches, my nerves overstimulated.

“Ja—Jay, stop, stop! I can’t take it anymore!” My voice is high, desperate, as I try to push his head away.

But he just smirks against me, completely ignoring my pleas.

Because Jay doesn’t give a fuck if we get caught.

Eventually, I stop feeling any movement inside me—the friction of his fingers, the warmth of his tongue on my clit. He withdraws his hand, and I hear the slick sound of him licking his fingers. My head is tilted back as I try to regain my senses, so I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can picture it in my mind. The thought alone sends a shiver through me.

Slowly, he stands, taking his time to admire my body. When I lift my head, I find his eyes locked onto mine.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I ask, struggling to believe he’s really a virgin after what he just did.

"YouTube tutorial," he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, pulling down his joggers.

I watch, my gaze trailing down to where his erection strains against his boxers.

"Yeah, right," I scoff, rolling my eyes at his broken humor.

"I'm just naturally good at this," he says, his dark eyes never leaving mine as he slides his boxers down, revealing his thick, veiny length. My breath catches. How is that supposed to fit inside me?

"Wait, we don’t have condoms," I say, snapping back to reality as he steps closer, his bare chest now fully exposed. He’s fit—lean, toned, perfect.

"I’ll pull out before I cum," he assures me, positioning himself between my legs.

His gaze flickers down to my chest, rising and falling with my heavy breathing, before meeting my eyes again. He can tell I’m nervous. But I’m not scared—at least, not in the way he thinks. I’m more excited than anything, overwhelmed by the anticipation of something so unfamiliar.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asks, his voice softer now.

I swallow hard. "Yes. Keep going."

But he still doesn’t seem convinced, so I lean forward, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. When I pull away, I whisper again, more confidently this time, "Keep going."

"Alright, but this time, try not to be too loud—"

"Hey, you’re—"

Before I can finish, he presses forward, the thick head of his cock stretching me open.

"Ah," I gasp, my body instinctively clenching around him.

It hurts, of course—just like any girl's first time—but the need for him overshadows the pain.

"Does it hurt?" Jay groans, his voice strained as if he’s holding himself back.

"Just a little, but I’m fine. Keep going."

He sinks deeper, my walls fluttering helplessly around him. I bite my lip hard, my gums aching from how tightly I clench my teeth.

A low, guttural moan escapes him. "Can you—ah… can you try not to clench so much?" His eyes remain shut, his brows furrowed as if he's using every ounce of willpower to keep himself together.

"S-Sorry, I-I can’t control it… but I’ll try."

He pushes in further, stretching me open inch by inch. The more he fills me, the harder it is to breathe.

By the time he’s fully inside me, I can feel his cock twitching slightly, making me clench around him even more. His breath is shaky against my ear as he wraps one arm behind my back, pulling me closer while his other hand keeps my leg hooked around his waist.

We stay like this for a moment, giving me time to adjust—or maybe giving him time to focus, to keep from losing control too soon.

I feel his warm breath ghosting over my skin. "Jay… y-you can start moving now," I murmur, my hips rocking unconsciously to create some friction.

Instead of answering, he straightens, his arm still bracing my back as he slowly thrusts forward.

"Ah," I moan, louder than I intended, before quickly covering my mouth.

I try to stay quiet, but it’s impossible. The way he moves—the way he fills me—makes it feel too good. Too good.

"Fuck, you’re clenching so much," he groans, voice tight with restraint.

"Mmnh… fuck, fuck, fuck," I whimper under my breath.

Jay suddenly lifts my other leg, leaving me completely at his mercy. The new angle makes him reach deeper, thrusting faster, harder, hitting a spot inside me that makes it absolutely impossible to keep quiet.

"Jay! Jay!" I whimper, feeling an intense, familiar pressure building deep in my core.

"Yes, Bella," he groans, voice raw, his thrusts growing more desperate. His cock twitches inside me.

"Don’t stop—I’m going to cum~" I cry, my walls spasming violently around him.

"Fuck—I-I’m not planning on stopping, Bella," he rasps, pounding into me a few more times before I shatter around him, pleasure crashing over me in waves.

My body shakes from the intensity, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps fucking me through it, chasing his own release.

"J-Jay—too m-much," I whimper, my body twitching from overstimulation.

"I—I know, I’m sorry. I’m about to cu—ah—ah," he groans, pulling out at the last second.

His breath stutters as he strokes himself frantically, his release spilling hot and thick across my stomach. His head drops against my shoulder, both of us struggling to catch our breath.

"Do you still think my dick is small?" he asks after a moment, a teasing smirk creeping onto his face.

"Yes. Very much," I lie, refusing to feed his ego.

He chuckles, lifting his head. "Ngh, so big," he mimics, tilting his head with a playful smirk. "Isn’t that what you said?"

"Shut up," I mumble, smacking his arm lightly, making him laugh.

Suddenly, he hooks his hands under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly.

"What are you doing?" I yelp.

"We’re taking a shower," he says simply, carrying me toward the bathroom.

Once inside, he sets me down gently before turning on the water. The warm spray cascades over us as he grabs a washcloth, squirting body wash onto it before rubbing it across my skin, cleaning away the sweat and the mess he left on my stomach.

His touch is slow, deliberate, almost tender. And as he moves the cloth over me, I can’t help but think—I never expected this from him.

And yet, I never want it to stop.

[nabi-unveiled]

With each rewatch of When It Rains, It Pours, I had become increasingly uncomfortable. A question had begun to plague me.

How did I miss it?

It's no secret that I've been in the "don't trust Fujisawa" camp for a while. But I felt bad for him during the early episodes. After all, it really is a nightmare situation for him too. Why did it take me until my THIRD watch of ep4 to fully convince myself of Fujisawa's nature?

Missing sounds? Not a surprise.

But COMPLETELY missing something that's literally GLARING at me? Not even having it on my radar? That's unusual.

I always have multiple theories and numerous potential scenarios running in my head. It's not like I was watching this series casually.

And make no mistake - the man's been glaring since episode 1. It wasn't constant, but the glaring is not a new development.

Even Fujisawa's words have never been subtle.

So how did I miss it? Why did it take me so long?

I realized the answer yesterday, and I don't like it.

I missed the signs, because I was trained to miss them.

I see these dynamics all the time in my community. And when you see something all the time, you begin to notice it less.

Being uncomfortable with sex?

Growing up ensconced in purity culture means I know A LOT of people with very complex relationships with sex.

Some want it but would NEVER dare talk about it.

Some see it as something shameful.

Some see it as something to be feared.

It's what happens when you're constantly told libido is a swamp.

So this...

I didn't see it as a problem beyond them wanting different things. Either Fujisawa was ace or had issues with sex. He had been open about it with Sei, and he was doing the best he could.

This is fine as long as both parties are content. But Fujisawa is controlling and manipulative. Note the "bars" in the picture above.

Matching your partner's preferences?

I was taught catering to my partner's commands was an expectation. It was required to be a "good" partner. So this....

At one point WAS me. And even if I don't obey the rules anymore, I still see this type of "consideration" in most relationships around me.

IT'S NOT HEALTHY.

Consideration should not mean self-sacrifice.

At one point I thought, "Well, it's Sei's choice."

And that's true. But I know better than to fall for that logic.

It ignores his trauma.

It ignores his low self-esteem.

It ignores his fear of being left alone.

It ignores the difficulty of leaving those you care about and the life you know.

It ignores the manipulation.

Because this type of statement? It's tricky. It can be completely innocuous. But it can also be controlling, and a lot of that comes down to the power dynamics of the relationship.

Fujisawa holds the power here. He HAS been controlling and trying to manipulate Sei. I questioned last week what the purpose was of the editor if Fujisawa wasn't having an affair. However, it became clear when watching for the sizzle. Sei says he will go to the party and Fujisawa IMMEDIATELY says "I'll introduce you to my editor."

The unspoken words are if you don't go to the party. Mentioning the editor was a manipulation tactic. A subtle one, but it was there.

I give Sei credit. He went to the party. He kept emailing Hagiwara. He pushes back on occasion. He doesn't always follow commands.

But well.... damn.

I thought I could at least recognize when my raising was influencing interpretations. I thought I had worked through those issues.

So thanks When it Rains for reminding me not to forget my ID.

I sure as hell don't plan on getting trapped in that room again.

Break out Sei. It's not easy, but BREAK OUT.

There's a beautiful world waiting.

[orangez3st]

All-Nighter Work High

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.11.25: Quality Time | Event Masterlist

↤ Prev | Part 2 of 5 | Next ↦

Summary: One step closer to uncovering the truth. In the domestic comfort of her apartment, Lesiil unravels the web of reasons behind the murders while Marshal Commander Fox is finishing his mundane flimsiwork. Tags & Warnings: inaccurate criminal investigation & its related process, domestic fluff, "he fell first x she fell harder" kinda dynamic, wholesome convo, a smidge of grief and angst, lots of light friendly banter, serial killer case, author wrote an intense analytic background of the case, typical murder investigation, author watches true crime for reference Pairing: Fox × Det. Lesiil Thrace (OFC Crime Investigator) Word Count: 7.4k A/N: Second day of the event! This is one of my faves to write 😄 So giddy to find out you lot are enjoying the previous part so much! Here's fluff as a treat, hopefully you find them cute and amusing 🫶🏼 and a really comprehensive detail of the case for which I turned my braincells on.

𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐

— Routines In The Night - Twenty One Pilots [X]

The initial drama that surrounds the case, Lesiil thinks, is utterly ridiculous.

The first time these murders - or more like the first ten or so victims - occured, the Grand Army of the Republic quite blatantly ignored the bleak reports. Because ten clones mysteriously killed during patrol usually meant nothing as they are always replaceable. At that time, the interval between the murders were quite far apart.

Until the number increased. Concerningly.

Twenty-eight more murders in one week, as if the Corrie Butcher himself took a day off work, took a walk, and went on a spree in that span of five days – five to six victims a day on average.

Naturally, it sparked attention from the inner circle of the Galactic Senate, the politicians feared whoever this serial killer was. If the Corrie Butcher targeted the shock troopers, who stood guard by these important figures, then there was a chance where they would be targeted as well. With that, the conflict won the ultimate scrutiny by the Supreme Chancellor himself that he issued a direct order for the Coruscant Guard to finally investigate the accumulated murders – a total of fifty-five cases by that time, after a whole month of being ignored.

And now, after three whole months, the number increases to a shocking total of 164 cases. Since Lesiil got assigned to the Coruscant Guard, three more of these troopers had fallen to the brutal stabbing of the Corrie Butcher, bringing the total to 167.

Not to mock Coruscant Guard’s previous investigation team, but what have they been doing all this time?

Lesiil had broken this down to the Marshal Commander in one of her daily reports.

One; with 160 or so cases within three months, meaning 54 cases each month on average. The Corrie Butcher makes quick work with his killings, probably went on an uncontrollable and opportunistic spree in one of those nights, as he never sets a target of how many he wishes to kill in one night. There’s always another body near the first one, so the forensics and coroner are able to pinpoint the time of death, additionally with HUD timestamp. Following the victims’ patrol route, Lesiil concludes that the brutal Corrie Butcher is an opportunistic man. He’s aware of the intensity of Corrie patrol routine, blends with the dark, and strikes. Once he strikes, he sees another approaching, and repeats. Every other night – not only a serial killer – the Corrie Butcher is also a spree killer.

It’s as if these clones walk into their deaths, without even seeing it coming. All they saw was a hooded figure before choking on their own blood, the first strike being to the neck. 

Two; why shock troopers? This has been the question since the beginning. Although Lesiil has thought of several theories, nothing is certain, even when the variables aren’t deemed too abstract. She favors one that is most probable, though.

Coruscant Guard shock troopers would only have direct altercation with civilians during, most notably, riot control. Escalation of violence incites more pushed force from the Corries, and that incites more violence, but directed towards the troopers this time. Talking about the motive of personal vendetta; there should be something that might be related to the entire case about riot control in particular. Lesiil holds onto that belief, careful not to announce it aloud with utter confidence, yet.

Three; the obstacle that is the Corrie Butcher himself. His criminal record is squeaky clean, his DNA profile that some of the victims’ armor plate or gloves had acquired in shape of spit or sweat doesn't match anywhere in any police database. All that means he was once an innocent civilian, but then something happened, then his sanity was provoked. Right after that, he leaves 160 cases of serial murders across only three months for the Coruscant Guard to desperately chase after. A daring, heinous act like this…

If one wonders how Lesiil's mind works, that's it. For now.

So in conclusion; the Corrie Butcher, once was an unprovoked man, is now a merciless, opportunistic, trauma-driven serial killer who seeks vengeance to the Coruscant Guard. The deepest, darkest shadows of Coruscant had become his best friend, aiding him delivering that vengeful thirst while slipping through coverings beneath the dark and striking men who merely had only been doing their duty.

The Marshal Commander has been understanding and had taken her considerations to his own. Though, Lesiil knows better, so she refrains from being vocal until the situation needs her to – avoiding throwing caution to the wind. She works with her own mind, and her mind is hers only, not for others to judge. Lesiil knows her assumptions aren't for most people, since most people look at her assumptions like the dirtiest filth on their clothes. For these people, her spoken assumptions are nothing but krayt spit.

That's okay. Her mind is her own.

The next week, with the grim note that the victim count has escalated to 173, Lesiil is one step closer.

She had chosen to dive into her Corrie riot control theory. She can always assemble another probability if one fails, anyway.

Thorn kindly provided her with the necessary reports; a total of 11 times since exactly last standard year. From there, she filtered through. She looked for the ones where peace wasn't an option for these civilians – where violence had escalated to the point that non-lethal force had to be used.

She found 7.

Another filtering through. This time, she looked for the ones where people died unfortunately due to escalated violence.

She found 3.

The Marshal Commander glances back and forth between her and the datapad where she stores her findings of the day.

“These are all, Detective?”

Lesiil nods, keeping her expression neutral as always every time she sits for her daily end-of-the-day reports. A glance here and there to his demeanor and a little listening to his skeptical tone, she knows the Marshal remains cautious to her confidence. She's surprised he's got that amount of patience to face, as people dub it, her ‘krayt spit’.

“And where will you take this to?” the Marshal asks again.

“If it isn't troubling, sir,” she starts, “I would like to gain access to the citizen database so I'll be able to filter through again. I need to look at the profile of all these victims, aiming to see their names, physical features, associations, and familial connections.”

That's right. After jotting down the mentioned 3 riots, her search had to stop. To access the profile of these victims, she needs additional access to the central database of Coruscanti citizens. The party who may grant her that access is her own CO, no less.

Sighing, the Marshal leans back into his padded seat. “I can do that tomorrow,” he says finally.

“With all due respect, I need it tonight, sir,” Lesiil affirms, meeting his baffled expression. “Because if I’m right and we need to detain this individual as fast as possible, the whole process of obtaining a search and arrest warrant and assembling a house raid squad afterward takes time.”

The Marshal Commander waves her off. “No offense, Detective, but…” He trails off, glancing away momentarily, and lets out a long sigh. His hand goes to his face, dazedly rubbing his stubble in consideration. She waits. “How confident are you?” he then asks carefully.

“9 out of 10,” she says calmly, “And I am always right.”

A scoff escapes him as he shakes his head.

Lesiil's gaze remains stubbornly fixated onto the man.

Another sigh. “Very well,” he concedes, “But I have other matters to attend to.”

“Flimsiwork, I hope? Not patrol?”

He lets out a low chuckle, “Yeah. One of your luckiest nights.”

Lesiil feels her cheeks slightly heat up in embarrassment. Did she sound too desperate? Was there something the Marshal deemed amusing? Or is it about his crow's feet that emerge whenever he smiles? She won't lie, such a kind of smile that reaches one's eyes is attractive.

“How soon do you need it?” his voice breaks her trance.

“As soon as possible,” she replies calmly, “I'm already willing to work through the night till morning.”

The Marshal looks at her concerningly. “I won't, and can't, allow you to stay overnight here in HQ.”

Lesiil shrugs. She's grown a bit too casual with the Marshal this past week. “I've planned to continue working elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Why, my apartment, of course,” she answers lightheartedly, “24-hour public co-working space is costly, and while my own dwelling is free, I'd hate spending credits for something I do have myself; private space.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens in thought. She notices a brewing conflict in his amber eyes, sparking and reflecting the lighting of his office. His luscious dark curls have long forgotten to be combed back and fallen to his brows, the silvery strands kissing his eyelids, making her wonder why he isn't choosing the regulatory haircut. But if it's personal preference and is a quirk, among millions of clones, she's glad her CO is a little rebel himself when it comes to his hair underneath that helmet.

“So,” she interrupts softly to not startle him, “Is it a yes, sir?”

His amber eyes pierce her with an intensity she can't quite define. “That data is sensitive and prone enough to security breach. I can't risk it, so as your CO, I’ll have to supervise you while you work and make sure you utilize it accordingly.”

Lesiil hums, nodding. “I’ll brew you some caf, then.”

“It's not–” the Marshal lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes momentarily. He places his jaw in his hand propped on the arm of his padded chair. “It won't look appropriate,” he mutters.

That's what he's worried about?

“I don't see any issue? I work, you watch me work, and we will be doing that till sunrise or till I can't help my fatigue, or you with yours,” she demands, “I solemnly promise I won't continue my work if you somehow fall asleep.”

The Marshal remains unamused. “You could just wake me up, Detective.”

“Could I?”

“I'm serious, Thrace.”

“I am as well, sir,” she counters as respectfully as she can, “Maker knows how many hundred hours of sleep you've lost. If you fall asleep, I will take a break as well and retreat to my room.”

Another pause as he takes it into deep consideration. Lesiil steals the moment to appreciate his pronounced jawline, how the lighting graciously gives his bronze skin a mysterious silhouette despite his caf-less and fatigued countenance, and the white scar across his nose.

It's an old wound for sure, but she silently wonders if it's still sensitive to the touch.

Before she knows it, those amber eyes are already staring at her, one scarred eyebrow slightly raised in question.

The Marshal catches her staring.

“You're gonna have to brew me that caf,” his gruff voice says with a certain inflection that indicates total smugness in her book.

Refusing to give away any cadence that signals shame and embarrassment, Lesiil lets a smile slide seamlessly into her face. “A deal's a deal, Marshal.”

Fox regrets taking that deal.

Lesiil Thrace’s apartment radiates nothing but comfort, haze, and warmth that once he took off his helmet and stepped foot inside, the serene ambience itself lulls him, persuading him to plop down onto one of the plush seatings and then catch some z’s. Upon the invitation she had said to make himself at home, he was actually tempted to lay down and pass out.

Their respective piles of datapads sit on the cleared dining table, flimsiwork ready to be tended to. What's funny for him is that the table is so huge he could dine there with the usual command vode, despite the fact that the detective lives alone.

BD-6 hops onto the table.

Well. Alone, with the droid.

While the host and current occupant of the refresher down the hall is not around, Fox takes the unspoken invitation to observe and prod about the space. One section of the apartment that intrigues him is the spot where he now sets his feet on, the eyes within hung holostills on the wall staring back at him.

They're all, as expected, images of family and coworkers. There are several holostills of the detective and two people which he easily identifies as her buire and there are another of her with a man about her age, all ranged from the age of childhood to maturity, one of those images is them posing in their university graduation toga, wide grins adoring both faces.

Vod.

Just one, instead of millions.

Soft pitter-patter echoing down the hall catches his attention. Detective Thrace adorns some casual set of sleeved shirt and long pajama trousers, void of any patterns, stripped from the usual sight of a punctual set of shirt and jacket and trousers usually seen in HQ. Dark curly tresses, thick and unbound and looks like just has been blow-dried, fans about her shoulders voluminously.

Thrace is heading down the kitchen, not paying a second glance at him standing by that part of the apartment, and straight up switches on the caf machine.

“Is that your brother?” Fox asks to break the silence.

Thrace grabs two mugs from the top cabinet. “Yes. My twin, actually. Railuu Thrace,” she answers, her back to him as she busies herself. “Friendly to everyone he met. Sociable. Silly man, he was.”

Fox tilts his head down upon instinct.

“Was he a detective too?”

“No, sir.” Thrace finally turns around, leaning back against the counter, hands joined in front of her. “But he served aboard the Triumphant as the one and only natborn deck officer. I believe you’re familiar with Jedi General Plo Koon’s flagship incident?”

He stills. “Abregado... yeah.”

Thrace nods absentmindedly, her storm grey eyes fixing elsewhere. “The General personally delivered the news to our family. He was fond of Railuu, and said his sincerest apologies for being unable to retrieve the body due to the… tragic incident.” She looks up at him with a faint smile. “Railuu was as close as family to the entire 104th. He never stopped talking about the unit whenever we got on holocall.”

He wonders if she had befriended a certain commander of his corps because the man reminds her of her late twin brother.

“My condolences,” he offers quietly, “Must be a good man to earn the favor of a Jedi General and his entire battalion.”

“Thank you,” Thrace nods solemnly, “He was. Really was.”

At the given silence once she turns her back on him again, he can't help but think.

Is that why she regards the clones with so much respect, unlike most people?

Thrace calls out from the kitchen, “I hope you're hungry, Marshal, because I'm starving.” She gets back to her feet after retrieving ingredients from the food preservator, smiling his way welcomingly. “I suppose a little break from mess rations wouldn't hurt, would you agree, sir?”

Fox allows himself a small chuckle. Who, even among clones, would deny a good home-cooked dish?

“Drop the ‘sir’,” he says curtly as he makes his way to sit at the dining table, “We're not in HQ. Fox is fine.”

Thrace turns around. “But we're working.”

He gives a pointed gaze at the half-chopped vegetables.

“Later,” Thrace insists, turning back around to resume her food cutting endeavor. “I may be the host tonight, but you remain my commanding officer.”

BD-6 beeps from his current spot on one of the chairs, something about him making Thrace glaring subtly at him.

“What did he say?” Fox prompts.

Thrace openly lets out a long sigh. “Beedee said he took your side, that I should loosen up now that I'm in my own home.”

“Even the droid gets it,” Fox says, nodding towards the droid, “Why wouldn't you? Should I make it an order?”

She lets out a dry laugh. “I do not think it's necessary, sir.”

From this angle, he can't quite see her from his seat, but he'd be willing to bet she's slightly blushing, if not. Merciful as he is towards his coworkers (that's a lie), he decides to drop it altogether and reaches for the top datapads of his pile to start working on awaiting spreadsheets, settling comfortably on the padded chair, the absence of his top armor has never been so relieving.

Within the hour, they have a quiet hearty dinner, clear the table once again, and start working.

Fox tosses her a data stick. “That’s the key to gain access to the database. I'll have to have my eyes on you while you work,” he reminds her.

Thrace, on her way now to her working space to grab her holocomputer, nods in acknowledgment.

He goes back to his mundane spreadsheet. Letters and numbers and statistics hold a menacing glare at him, promptly smacking him right in the nose for even sighing.

They had collectively decided that working on the dining table isn't helping for the back and shoulder pain that pop up after two hours of sitting. And so they’d moved to the living area and settled down on the rug, legs tucked underneath the caf table while leaning back against the couch.

The Marshal had thrown most courtesy and air of professionalism out of the airlock, seeing him now casually lounging across the plush couch by absolute not pulling ranks earlier.

“Getting comfortable are we, sir?” Lesiil teases without looking away from her datapads.

“Can't resist a good couch, DT,” the Marshal then yawns. Taking it as a cue, Lesiil pushes his caf mug an inch further towards him.

The Marshal sits up and reaches for the mug, observing it for a few seconds before sipping. “Do all your caf mugs have poor police puns like this?”

You have the right to remain silent sleeping

Lesiil chuckles softly. “If that’s your way of saying that I have an excellent sense of humor, Marshal, then I appreciate the recognition.”

He looks at her in disbelief. “No way you made these lines.”

“Of course not. Don't be silly, Marshal. I don't make jokes.”

“Understood. No humor coming from you then, DT,” the Marshal sulks.

“Huh. So you believe that, sir?”

“...I appreciate your humor now.”

“Why, thank you,” she grins widely, but then suddenly she grows concerned. “Are you certain you aren't as jittery as supposed from someone being so high on caf, sir? Because this is very highly out of character for you.”

The Marshal pointedly takes another sip. “Not strong enough to break my character. And did you just say I was never funny?”

“Thorn once said you're ruthless and very exhausted that you never have time to make jokes.”

Her guest and commanding officer merely scoffs, replacing his mug, and reclines back on the couch to return to his mundane flimsiwork.

“Thorn told me you're from Alderaan,” he says a minute later, “You a member of the noble houses?”

Lesiil, not even turning slightly to face him as she's still busy on her works, explains, “I was, but I renounced all my royal titles and the duty that followed. I’ve chosen to serve the people by doing the field work. Not too keen on forever being prim and proper.”

The Marshal goes quiet behind her, probably surprised and all learning the new information. “Is that why you sound too formal to everyone's liking when you speak?” he asks again.

She nods. “I was taught such etiquettes, yes.”

Silence for a beat or two, and then…

“Do you swear?” the Marshal prods again.

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “Internally.”

“Really?” he lets out bemused chuckles, “Like what?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Marshal, I do not owe you anything to the point I have to disclose what swear words I use whenever I like.”

“What, afraid to break character?”

“I’ve always been like this.”

The Marshall snorts. “Krayt spit.”

Lesiil shrugs. “Colloquial speech has just never been in my favor, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir’,” he insists, his tone serious coming from behind her, “Just Fox.”

A loud sigh flies off her lips. “If I call you by your name, will you stop pestering me about my use of swear words?”

“I solemnly swear,” he mimics her saying earlier.

Another sigh.

“Okay, Fox.”

The Marshal bursts out into a fit of cackles. “Yeah, it doesn't suit you.” He coughs, clutching his stomach. “Sounds kriffing weird comin’ from you. And it's just a single word. It's like your accent just changed, too.”

Despite the sheer embarrassment for being so bold, Lesiil merely shakes it away and sends him a smirk instead. “I believe you see why now, Marshal.”

Good food. Good caf. Good couch. Good company.

Fox is spoiled as kriff.

If he'd rejected this idea earlier, he'd be stuck in his office till late without selfishly getting familiar with such domestic comfort. He's sure if he'd rejected this idea earlier he'd be dead by now by the rawest form of sole regret alone.

The chronometer now shows 0140.

Fox stretches. “You don't wanna take a break?” he asks the detective.

Thrace huffs quietly. “I’m still trudging through these 52 victims one by one and copying the essentials manually to my datapads because the access key is not even giving me full access.”

“Protocols, Detective,” he reminds her, “Can't give you full access.”

She nods. “Perfectly understood, Marshal.”

“Call me Fox,” he says curtly after rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Fox.”

Then before he can stop it, “Can I call you Lesiil?”

Her tone earlier had been meaning to be deadpanning. He knows it. She only wishes to focus on her work.

But the detective now slowly turns to face him, grey eyes greeting his amber ones. The edge of her lips lift momentarily, driving him to glance at them hoping she doesn't notice. But of course, with the Lorrdian blood, maybe she does? Remembering just that, and how accurate the read can be, he suddenly feels his cheek burn the life out of him. But he never backs down from a challenge. He stands his ground.

Accompanied by a certain twinkle in her stormy orbs underneath the warm lighting of her dwelling, he lets himself think he's certain that he's lost it when her voice, absent of any apathetic deadpan and formality, comes out as soft and sincere.

“Yes you can, Fox.”

He holds her gaze steadfastly, relishing how his given Basic name had rolled off her courteous tongue.

“Well,” he starts, leaning away, “I'm taking a break for an hour, Lesiil. If I suddenly stop talking, don't wake me.”

Lesiil smirks cheekily before turning away. “Never planned to, Fox.”

Seemingly grateful for the eventual silence, Fox notices Lesiil is working almost twice as fast, leaving him almost feeling guilty for distracting her, although the purpose was to build a friendlier rapport. Now watching her tapping and running her dainty fingers across datapads, he considers it somehow as a therapy and, really, a break.

After what must've been half an hour of being awake thanks to Lesiil's good caf still running through his system, suddenly she turns to face him again.

He almost scowls. “What?”

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “First off, that tone is unnecessarily rude,” she says calmly, “Second off, I was just checking if you had fallen asleep. As promised, if you do, I will stop as well and take a break.”

“Why break?” Fox mumbles into the throw pillow under his cheek, “Why not a nap?”

“Caf is running within my veins as we speak. I am now quite awake,” she explains gently, the grey storm in her orbs sparkling at the right angle, “And I do not have the mighty tolerance as you do.”

He smirks. “Just watching you work as I'm supposed to do, Detective. It's not as boring as my reports.”

“It is mentally stimulating,” Lesiil admits with a nod of agreement, “It’s always either something new or something familiar, whilst yours is always the latter.”

“That supposed to mean as an insult?”

“What an outrageous accusation, Marshal.” She turns away, unable to hide her smirk. “I would never insult the very system I am working in.” For yet another minute or two, she finally sighs loudly. “And we're now finished. Finally. Beedee!”

The droid, faraway, trills in attention and immediately makes his way over.

Currently, the chronometer shows 0238.

“What will you do now?” Fox asks when BD-6 starts to tinker about datapads.

Lesiil is still acknowledging the droid's questioning boops before answering him, “Beedee will be helping me with the compartmentalizing as usual. This time we're cataloguing the cause of death of these 52 profiles.” She disengages the data stick from the holocomputer. “It’s a quick process, then we narrow it all down.”

He watches her sipping her caf and sighing afterward. “Isn’t 52 too much?” he asks, concern tinged in his voice.

“I admit, yes,” she says, “I would gladly take your generous helping hand if you are offering.”

Wordlessly, he plops down next to her and takes the datapad she hands him. “Catch me up to your thinking, DT. What should I be looking for?”

“Something that catches your eye,” she answers vaguely, “We’ll wait for Beedee first.” Then, as if cued, their datapads ping. BD-6 beeps in confirmation. Lesiil pats his head. “Thanks, Beedee. Now, let’s sort.”

Fox gobbles down the list, swallowing every now and then as he skims through the written manner of death – which all of them were deemed as accidental – and the cause of death – which varies through traumatic asphyxia to blunt force trauma to cardiac arrest.

“What about parents?” he blurts out as he stares at a still of a senior citizen. “What if parents?”

“Statistics show a person is likely to be reacting more emotionally to the death of spouse or spawn. But there have been more cases involving a murderous parent of a dead child,” Lesiil asserts, “So we're using this as the base of our assumptions that we may be looking for someone younger.”

Acknowledging, Fox manages to cross off a third of the list which consists of senior citizens.

“Some of these are parentless,” he says again, “We're looking for someone that comes out of legal marriages?”

Lesiil looks at him with thought. “If we are dedicated enough to go along with this theory, then yes. Good observation, sir. Fox.”

He scoffs, both at her statement and her slipup. “Still a theory, huh?”

“We’re utilizing whatever data is available and making sensible assumptions. Seeing that we have nothing on the Corrie Butcher, not even a clear screencap of an entire face let alone a name, we take another route to find who his name is and what he looks like.” She gives him a look. “No thanks to your hasty investigation team to overlook everything else there is.”

Fox resists rolling his eyes. “In our defense, we were processing this strictly by the book.”

“The book sometimes hinders you,” declares Lesiil, looking deep into his eyes, “If there's another angle, however improbable or implausible that is, rather than wasting time mulling over nonexistent data and waiting for it to pop up, one must dedicate themselves to approach that angle.”

A smirk slides into his face. “Wise words, Lesii.”

“Those wise words circulate around the Criminal Investigations Department quite regularly since it takes shape as our very job description,” she deadpans, then does a double take. “And did you just call me Lesii?”

“What? Don't like it? Own it.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Sir, yes sir.”

His gaze on her lingers on her and her luscious coiled hair for a little longer before he reels himself away from the trance, and begins working on his share.

Emptying his already full cup; that's what he's doing right now. Dipping his hands into investigative police work, a far cry from his usuals; planning senate security detail, mapping out patrol routes, sniffing criminal activity, studying the cruel and hazardous structures of the underworld, securing every sort of security breaches in a moment's notice, bringing in enemies of the state. As quick and intelligent as he is trained, he can never match Lesiil Thrace's level of intellect.

Working with the woman has been pleasant, albeit the presumptive rambling and mind maps at the end of any day. Lesiil knows what to anticipate, what's sensible, and what's critical to prioritize firsthand. The trait puts her several steps ahead.

It's only been a week, not even a month, since her arrival, and now Fox is presented with a good chance of identifying his brothers’ killer at any moment.

Had she been brought in much earlier… many wouldn't have to die in the hands of this ruthless individual.

“Intriguing,” Lesiil hums next to him.

Fox perks up, leaning closer. “What?”

She tilts her datapad in his direction. “This one. Female, Kayl Brando.” A still of a blonde woman. “Her name had been mentioned in the media. Her family sued the Coruscant Guard for her death, caused by asphyxia, because she attended one of the riots where your division had to use tear gas. The media, backed up by the family's given statement and medical records, mentioned she had a generational severe lung injury so the use of your tear gas had been fatal.”

Fox rubs a hand over his stubble as he recalls. “I remember that, yeah. That was seven months ago.”

Lesiil scrolls more. “Seven months ago, correct,” she confirms, shifting slightly to face him. “Could you please provide more context?”

Fox lets out a long sigh as he runs a hand through his curls. “Charges were dropped. Using tear gas when violence escalates is simply within regulations. Technically not our fault she had that injury in the first place.” He shakes his head. “But if I'm not mistaken, that family had been vocal. Raising awareness from the empathic community and pushing more hostility towards the Corries.”

Lesiil takes another glimpse at the shown data. “And right after that, the trend dies, the talks dwindled to nonexistence,” she nods in confirmation, “It seems everything went into a downward spiral for this family.”

Fox shrugs. “Well, they already lost the lawsuit before it even began. Charges were dropped ‘cause the Coruscant Guard, or GAR, did nothing wrong.”

They continue searching. Fox goes to refill his mug with that beautiful caf blend and snatches a packet of Saleucami cheese biscuits from the little basket on the kitchen counter. Lesiil notices but says nothing, yet the look in her eyes is quite encouraging.

Welcome to my humble abode, Marshal. Make yourself comfortable. And I'd very much like your boots off, please. Refresher’s just down the hall.

He meets her gaze daringly, walks backwards to her food conservator, and opens it.

He gasps.

“Never thought of you as a beer drinker, DT,” Fox eyes the three glass bottles inside. “Stressful times call for desperate measures, huh?”

“You may take one if you'd like, Fox.”

“Tempting. Sticking with caf tonight. Maybe another time.”

Lesiil smiles, but says nothing.

About ten minutes later, she asks again, “Did you find anything yourself, sir?”

Gulping down the last of the cheese biscuits, Fox hums in confirmation next to her. “5 more people followed the notion of that lawsuit.”

Looking down at her own datapad, Lesiil skims through the marked profiles, taking the typed footnotes into careful consideration. Maybe there are actual gears inside her head that whir whenever she thinks, Fox thinks.

“Then we are rounding this up,” she says suddenly.

He does a double take. “We're done?” 

“Hm, not quite.”

It's 0317 now. Lesiil grabs her work commlink. 

“I have to make a few calls to the forensics at CSF and my supervisor beforehand, for the permit and the go. We still have to match DNA samples between these victims and the Corrie Butcher with hopes we’re about to get somewhere.” She looks up at him and Fox catches her knowing smirk. “That must interest you.”

“Yeah, finally, something by the book,” Fox deadpans. “Will that take more time?”

Lesiil shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “I have friends in the division whose sleep I am allowed to interrupt for all I care. This is for a high-profile case, after all.”

“So now they're doing the work? Thank Prime. I'd really like to catch that break right now.”

“Was all that not ‘break’ enough for you, Fox?”

“Oh, it was refreshing, but if I spend another minute looking at a screen, I think I'm gonna develop aneurysm on the spot.”

Another new thing about the Marshal Lesiil has just learned tonight; several cups of caf does absolutely nothing to one extremely fatigued commander to the point she's actually concerned for the prospect of acid reflux.

That, and he is now asleep. Still in a seated position by her side on the rug, arms folded loosely across his chest, legs stretched out under the caf table, head back and flushed on the padded cushion of the couch.

And nothing seems to wake him, even as of now she's contacting her fellow detective partner.

“You’re lucky some of the guys in the lab are still up by this hour, Les,” Eisen the Nautolan speaks through her commlink, “They’re going through it as we speak. Inspector commed me earlier to supervise the whole thing for you as well. It's top priority now.”

“Thank you, Eisen,” Lesiil says in a low voice, being considerate to Fox's state either way, “And about the 6 profiles I've sent you? Is there anything you've found in your search?”

“Yeah. One of them, just recently. Last night, actually. Related to a, uh, Kayl Brando.”

Lesiil draws a sharp inhale. “Before you dive into the explanation, will you please kindly hold for a moment?”

“Yeah yeah, sure. I've got all day, Les. Or morning, whatever. It's 0400 anyway.”

She presses the mute button and turns to the sleeping commander.

“Marshal.” She grabs his forearm and shakes him. “Marshal, wake up.”

Still asleep like dead. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be in Thorn's position, though she's doing the exact opposite of what he'd do.

Lesiil reaches out, muttering an apology under her breath, before carefully pats his cheek. “Fox? Wake up, come on. Fox?”

The Marshal stirs just as she retracts her hand swiftly. But just for good measure, she keeps shaking him awake by the forearm. His lids crack open, drowsy amber eyes peeking through thick dark eyelashes.

“Wha’?”

“We’ve made progress,” Lesiil announces, “I’m currently in contact with my partner, he's gotten something.”

Fox merely nods, yawning and scrubbing his hands all over his face before sitting up properly and cracking his back.

Seeing him refreshed enough to listen to a whole critical conversation, Lesiil disables the mute button and raises her commlink near her mouth. “You may talk to me now, Eisen.”

“Okay, about this Kayl Brando,” the Nautolan instantly replies, “I'd like to confirm again that she really tragically passed away in that riot due to respiratory failure. Underlying cause, as written in her death certificate, is chemical irritant exposure. Tear gas. Right?”

Recognition sparks in Fox's amber brown eyes.

Lesiil locks her gaze with his. “That is correct.”

“That's what I found. Additionally; Kayl Brando was the only daughter to a now divorced couple, Jai Brando and Helne Firrda, both still living on Coruscant. And last night, Ms Firrda called our line to suggest a welfare check on her ex-husband’s house.”

Lesiil recognizes both names as the ones she saw in multiple holonews articles about their lawsuit. Fox wordlessly shares her expression.

“What for? Something happened?” she inquires hastily.

“Hadn't heard of him in three days. Usually they keep in touch, with her being some kind of a support system. According to her and a brief examination of Jai Brando's medical files…” Eisen lets out a long, heavy sigh, “He’s suffering from PTSD and dissociation. And hell of a track record of substance abuse to cope with his grief, too. As personal commentary, Les, I'd say this is chronically messed up.”

She takes a deep breath. “I have to agree.” Fox nods at her in agreement. “And the welfare check?”

“We had someone there just last night at, uh, they knocked on his residence at 2056. I can send you the bodycam feed and transcript real quick, if you're interested. It was just a brief interaction. The ex-wife calmed down.”

Sounds like another hour of observing, but this time with more certainty. “I'd very much appreciate that,” Lesiil says.

“Okay. Sending,” the Nautolan responds. Not long after, her holocomputer beeps in receival. “I'll keep in touch with you when the test results are in.”

“Thank you for your tremendous aid, Eisen.”

“And you doing great as always, partner.”

“What test results?” Fox asks her once the comm call ends.

“DNA, sir. I sent samples of the 5 victims, Kayl Brando included, and the unknown one found on the victims' bodies to the CSF forensics lab,” Lesiil kindly reminds him, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Right,” he nods slowly, “So we're onto this guy?”

“For now, the anticipation is overbearing and I hope I am not wrong, or all this will be for nothing.”

“It won't be for nothing,” Fox disagrees, his unapproving gaze bearing down onto her, but there's a softness to it that she can only register as fondness. “It's still progress, Lesii. Don't be so hard on yourself.”

With her mug of caf running out two hours ago and the slower flow of adrenaline pumping through her veins, Lesiil allows her tense body to relax and let herself take a breath.

“Thank you, Fox.”

She meets his gaze lazily as the littlest bit of fatigue begins to catch up on her burnout body, with gratefulness blossoming inside her chest for his tremendous trust and support.

Marshal Commander Fox has been nothing but a man appreciative of everybody's work, even though in possession of a blunt mouth and patience as thin as flimsi. Weird, because Thorn said he's especially impatient with everyone, always urging them along and biting back with a bitter and snarky remark. But not with her.

He respects her in return, it makes her feel… recognized. Not recognized as in fame and notoriety, but for her genuineness, her tireless efforts to restore justice, and her sacrifices; time, mental, body, and shame, when bizarre looks are thrown her way whenever she opens her mouth.

But why treat her like she's anybody different?

Among clones, it's understandable.

But when it's only the two of them like this?

Lesiil is no idiot. She notices his signs. The Marshal has been holding himself back. Sitting an inch closer, peering in when interested, acting so freely and relaxed, holding her gaze a bit longer than supposed to, his beautiful amber eyes softening, catching her lips for a split second just a little while ago. The ridiculous amount of trust and bluntness, as if exhibiting his true self behind all the hard shell of a stoic commander of his corps.

Maybe there will be a time, when it's right, when it's fitting, to give in.

But not now.

As much as she perhaps wishes to curl her fingers into his luscious curls, mindlessly counting each of his silvery strands with the pad of her thumb, caressing his shapely jawlines, tracing his scars and kissing every inch of his skin…

It's not now.

Now, there's murder to solve. A serial murder of Fox's own brothers. Thinking about them makes her think about her own brother, who died along with the crew aboard the Triumphant. Railuu loved the 104th like they were his own brothers. To honor his beautiful memory, maybe she would be willing to completely open up so she can share that fondness with the Coruscant Guard and its Marshal Commander as well.

Fox gets up, his mug and hers in his hands. “I’ll get you more caf, DT.”

A small laugh escapes her. “Ah please, no more. Or I’ll be jittery for the whole day. I prefer not to.”

Not saying anything, he continues his pace towards the caf machine for his refill. As the rich liquid pours in, Fox puts her caf mug in the sink and retrieves a new one from the top cabinet before filling it with cool water.

“We still have work to do, Detective,” he says when he returns to his seat next to her. Her glass of water sits nearby. “Don't fall asleep on me.”

Lesiil had been putting her head on her folded arms atop the table. “I am falling asleep on the table as we speak,” she mutters, letting the caf-induced uneasiness in her body calm down.

“The point stands,” Fox says firmly, almost commanding, “I don't want you sleeping when we're one step closer to the truth.”

Her dark curls form a curtain before her eyes as she shifts. “Possible truth.”

“You're the one 100% confident about this, Lesiil.” His tone gradually grows sharper. “Since when we trade places? I'm the one convincing you now?”

She blinks away her fatigue and sits up straight. “Yes, sir. Apologies,” she mumbles, scooting closer to the holocomputer.

His glare on her dissipates. “Don't sulk. Don't be insecure,” he encourages, “Won't do good for morale. You're doing well.”

Because of all that he is, the smile she directs at him is wider and glowing with genuineness.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly her commlink beeps, startling the serene atmosphere.

“Thrace,” she answers.

“Les, have you watched the footage?” Eisen’s voice rings through.

“Just about to.” She catches urgency in his tone. “Has something come up with the tests?”

“That's the thing. You haven't watched it right? I have, so here I'll save you some time.” Eisen takes a big breath. “The guys checked on Brando. He was cooperative at first, but when they asked about how he's been coping with the loss because the ex-wife mentioned it during the call, he straight up went defensive. There was a bit of verbal altercation, but the worse is when he spat on them. Like, literally. Literal ball of spit.”

Lesiil scrambles up and begins to pace. “Please tell me you took it down as a sample.”

“Oh yeah, they did,” the Nautolan tells her smugly, “Wiped it down and sent it to the lab, initially to put it in the system in case they wanted to press charges against him for assault. I love these guys, alright? Karking smart. They didn't even know this gotta be related to the Corrie Butcher case, and the coincidence is amazing. Ocean spirits are loving me right now.”

“Eisen, I am aware your jittery is most likely caf-induced now, but please can we swerve back on track?”

“Sorry sorry, I'm just excited.” He clears his throat. “So yeah, all that. And I didn't even know about it until like, forty seconds ago. Labs done, by the way.”

Fox's eyes are trained on her, his body rigid in anticipation for what's to come.

“And the results?” she asks.

There's a sniffle. “Oh they're positive, Les!” Eisen exclaims into the commlink, “Everything! Everything came back positive. Everything matched. The DNA found on the dead troopers, Kayl Brando's DNA, her dad's DNA. Everything matched, Les!”

Lesiil is already running to change.

“Jai Brando is the Corrie Butcher!”

“Search and arrest warrant has been obtained,” Fox says to his commlink, the machinery hum of Lesiil's speeder filling the space around him, “The Detective and I are heading down to the suspect's dwelling to arrest him as we speak.”

Thorn acknowledges from the other side. “We'll take over everything here in your place, vod. Stay safe.”

The sun is barely on the horizon as Lesiil expertly swerves her speeder through the early morning traffic with lights and sirens, the air of urgency blaring louder and louder every second.

“I must ask you to relax, sir,” she says from beside him, eyes focused on the front.

Fox doesn't even realize he's anxious until he stops his fingers from tapping against his thigh plate, bucket already donned upon his shoulders.

“Brando isn't going anywhere,” she assures him. “We’ll be having an entry team and the command post ready in no time.”

“You're handling this right,” he dryly comments, not knowing what to say.

“It's standard, sir. And, not meaning to set a joyous atmosphere in the middle of a grim setting, but,” Lesiil offers him a reassuring smile, “I hope you’re ready for your first ever civilian house raid experience, Marshal.”

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

[unhetalia]

i like to think that alfred's history and troublesomed relationship with both arthur and matthew contributed to his mental health issues. speaking of mh issues, do you think human psychiatric medication would work or would there be some nation specific kind?

Gosh, I've been thinking about this on and off, and it's interesting. I talked about physical and mental health conditions I think some Nations have, and I definitely think in that universe, medications would work, but I think the dosage would have to be a LOT more than what a regular human would/could take and it's effects would never last as long, partially because I think the same thing that allows Nations to heal super fast interferes with medications.

ON THE OTHER HAND, you've also introduced me to a different concept - one where Nations are so outside of human (despite being human shaped) that they just work Differently to us. I think in this case, the idea of mental and physical illness would work completely different. Human medication wouldn't work because what they have isn't something human. However, I don't love the idea that things are connected to the economy or what's happening in government, so I'm drawing a blank on WHAT causes them illness. I don't think they would, either.

In the case of Austria, for example, no one knows why exactly he became unable to use his legs, and whether or not it's temporary. (I like to think this results in Austria doing a lot more research on Nations' health and becoming a kind of expert - though there's still a lot they don't know).

MENTAL HEALTH. Even more than physical health, this would have to be different from humans. They're immortal, and that means there's so much more trauma that they have to encounter. Two countries having a bad personal relationship will have to go on the back-burner because maybe Alfred and Matthew have a shit relationship but US and Canada have an incredibly close one (recent events notwithstanding).

However, I do think his relationships with them have had an impact on his personality. Alfred was a child raised by the wilderness and then all of a sudden he's sort of made to be part of politics and this society with a lot of rules, and the people who should have helped guide him either hated him or didn't have time (France was going through it for a bit there). No one teaches him the rules, only gets angry when he breaks them. He develops defense mechanisms to cope. Wilful ignorance and casual disregard.

I think his relationship with Arthur and Matt, who everyone views as his family, also creates an Al who desperately believes you choose your family. Our guy is a found family stan. EXCEPT he has such a hard time being part of the convoluted Nation dynamic that it's also hard for him to obtain that found family. THIS leads to my ultimate headcanon that Alfred is stray animal adopter, because animals are easy. You love them and they love you and that's enough.

[pritong-baboy]

Evil shockdad versus healthy blitzbee relationship who would win/j

none! :D

but to be for real for a small bit, been getting asks about romantic stuff in my au and i've been kinda ignoring them, so i'm gonna use this as an opportunity to set some things straight.

no, i'm not gonna add any romantic relationships (assuming this ask is about romantically shipping blitzbee) to this au. i have made the mistake before of adding romance to a fanfic/au when it didn't really need it and i was adding it just so people would be inclined to read. i ended up being disinterested in it and never continuing it.

i want to stick to what made people like this au in the first place, as well as stick as to why i created it. this au and the fanfic i'm writing doesn't need any romance and i'm not interested in adding anything remotely romantic.

sorry for the long reply to this ask, i know it's just a joke but i've had countless of asks asking me for ships that don't belong in this specific piece. (and i know some people might skew this in the wrong way and say that i don't like shipping period. but you can take one look at my other works and my art and see that like many people, i can like platonic/familial dynamics as well as romance...)

[the-stove-is-divorced]

YES! LOVE ranting furiously about a show. Like it pisses me off so much. I can't get enough of it. Everyone should watch.

That's such an interesting point, too, because yeah, that's the entire premise of the idea, no? At least the start? Evil Superman, with bootleg copies of agencies and Leagues and heroes, outright banking on audiences' general knowledge of these to skip out on some important groundwork, world-building wise to me, but don't really take advantage? Like why really explore Evil Superman, son of colonizers, and bootleg Justice League? Even just for comedy purposes, like why not? I haven't seen that video in a while to bring up any specifics (+ I am a diehard Batman fan than Superman) but truly!

Man, you make me wanna rewatch Justice League for those team dynamics and YEAH, stuff like Martians being shapeshifters! That's fun and so COOL! I also just plainly love their dynamics and interactions. Watching some snippets and clips myself, it tickles me how much of Batman's standoffish-ness could be used for Nolan, if they wanted to show team dynamics. I want it so bad. Off topic somewhat, but went down a youtube clip rabbithole and ended up seeing one of my favorite action sequences for animated movies, Madagasar 3's driving scene, and MAN, I wish we got like a fun fight or action scene for Invincible as well. Well aware there's a big diff of genre, general tone, but ONE TT or GoG scene that play off powers and personalities in a fun way would be everything to me. Internally sobbing I'm not an experienced storyboarder/animator to storyboard it myself.

Lazy shipping will forever be the bane of my existence, because I don't care so violently but it'll refuse to be ignored, and LIE to my face about how much these characters MUST be in horribly love, while having the audacity to be boring. Literally get this off my screen. Please go on your gift of jewelry rant by the way, I've already expressed the "get OTHER characters to lazily comment about how these two characters are LOVEBIRDS!" makes me consider abandoning humanity for the woods. JUST WRITE THEM LIKING EACH OTHER. GENUINELY. HAVE A CONNECTION. and for the love of all things entertaining, don't make it BORINGGGGG. But seriously, the fact Mark can't get a DAMN BREATHER, like is Eve a rebound like??? And the refusal to explore their potential and bond makes my ass itch. Like, ethics!!! Superheroism!! Shitty family!!! CHICAGO! Literally the fact they're not in groups like YOU said!

Just have them fly together tbh, like easy short hand of longing looks and excitement together is flying together. Showing off tricks and eventually talking or something.

Mark outright not improving drives me utterly insane. We OPEN with him improving and then nerf him immediately. Throwing my TV. TRULY I DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHY EITHER DIDN'T GO FOR THE OTHER HEROES from the START. Eve, you are an experienced hero, unlike Mark, who JUST got SOME training that's clearly strength based, not strategic. Literally just elevating the danger/situation and using characters' flaws could have been so beautiful but NOOOO. Like, have Mark struggle focusing on both protecting AND fighting, (lethal enough to kill the monster, but careful a giant monster doesn't fall on top of the trapped heros for example), or flinging a monster into the ground / getting smacked and the ceiling collapses faster. Now, Eve's gotta deal with a crumbling ceiling AND rescuing them, maybe she's even rusty working with a team! Heck, have Eve direct Mark to rescue instead of fighting, and he struggles not stepping into the fight, or gets distracted by approaching monsters?

ALSO HECK? JUST USE ANOTHER VILLAIN? You're telling me the original GoG didn't have some seriously menacing, intelligent, heavy hitting supervillains who wants to eliminate the newly weak GoG??? The one that even said they're BAD at teamwork?? How has the dismantling of the GoG not created a whole power scramble of villains trying to prove themselves by taking out the NEW GoG???

Also FOR REAL. CAN DEBBIE BE A WHOLE PERSON PLEASE? Like, how is part of the Super Hero Family Drama: The Show, and we don't even know her HOBBIES? WHO IS THIS WOMAN????? How are we on s3 and I still don't know. Utterly insane. Slow the fuck down, I don't care about some stupid mummy curse of the last episode of s2, a weird alternate Eve demanding her teenage crush to confess to her after he thought he was gonna die in a desert, or the Lizard League, but I DO care about who these characters ARE so I can feel more about the stakes!

Invincible (barely resisting to bash my head into the wall in rage) & Invincible (giggling, kicking my feet, gasping in delight) can function in the same breath istg.

That's exactly why I want Cecil as a mentor so fucking badly 'cause it's like quasi Dad/mentor would sacrifice this mf in a heartbeat, like immediately interesting. Plus the dread of a another inevitable betrayal would be chef's kiss! Plus I'm surprised he hasn't tried it like??? This mf never tried the whole "catch more honey with vinegar" approach? Mark's a kid with too much on his shoulders, he is outrageously In-Need-Of-A-Mentor-Shaped. I mean, we're dealing with Viltrumites and potential Omni-Man Junior, I'd want that kid to trust me, believe me, so I'd know if something's off. Keep your potential emotional unstable nuke closer rather than farther and far less irritable, perhaps? Attempting to slowly chip away at a oneshot as we speak tbh. But again, no GDA counselor/therapists to be snitches? Where's the paranoia, invasive plans, here?

No fr, like ???? She has unexplained beef with him and never tells Mark to avoid him, or even a classic "I told you so"???? Like, another setup and we just??? Don't do anything? You already think he's a liar??? Gimme Debbie eyeing the babysitter, trying to check for microphones/cameras more often or something. Do something with this, I BEG.

Also hitting that on the nail here, I was writing a WIP and Mark kills a guy and I'm just kinda scrambling cause on one hand Cecil doesn't want Mark TOO cool with killing he's uncontrollable, but also this is good if Cecil wants Mark to kill people. And I'm just staring at my screen like ?????? Like give me mentor Cecil so I know how he would act for fanfic, for it for me specifically.

Aso insane over the fact Mark's moment of paralleling his Dad doesn't go farther enough for me, like this is the moment for shit to go crazy and it's GOOD enough for me to feel insane but lacking enough for my insanity to triple of what could have been??? I am this close to adding another WIP of just fun what-ifs/scene rewrites for my own sanity! Like, why not have Mark slamming his fist into the ground while he's got the shriek in his ears? Slamming his head in agony just to make it stop? Or even clawing towards Cecil, on the ground, eyes burning with hatred from the pain? I would fucking love a moment of Mark trying (but still failing) to walk, crawl, move, while in pain to ADD to the scene, even if he just stumbled back down and writhed on the floor.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

I will now present some Ghostbur dynamics I have absolutely been sleeping on for two years:

Ghostbur and Quackity

Ghostbur and Fundy

[aroanthy]

i love how fraught and complicated discourse around various utena characters ‘dying’ is when anthy is literally stabbed to death eternally by a million swords imbued with human hatred. and then utena gets stabbed to death by them also. like. ‘death’ is incredibly interesting in rgu because most of the time it’s this ambiguous figurative thing that has interesting implications re: ohtori as a closed-off world one can escape. we are all trapped in our coffins. mamiya is the only named character with a grave. nemuro memorial hall functions as one all the same. ruka is implied to have died in the hospital— was he dead all along? who was the boy we saw for these two episodes? is this dead boy the same boy, or is this just another coincidence from the shadow girls, cutting like a knife? it’s heavily implied that akio and anthy murder kanae by poisoning her, adding to the previous implication that they were poisoning mr ohtori too, but there are no perceptible consequences of this. kanae’s absence is not felt. she’s fed an apple slice. what happens to the bodies? we know what happened to the 100 boys, but what about everyone else? and so on and so forth. ‘death’ is a tricky thing in utena, i think it’s constantly functioning on figurative and literal levels in very different ways for very different purposes. dios died. dios was dying. dios didn’t die. he grew up. etc etc

[the-way-astray]

alright everybody can we please stop tagging me/talking about me in the notes of pro keefe/sokeefe posts. i know strieefe has made it so that it's really funny to talk about how much i love him and how much i'm in denial when i say negative things about him under those posts (and that's all in good fun and not the problem), but we have to think about the fact that the ops are just trying to make a positive post and probably don't want a keefe hater in their notes /srs

[arcane-ish]

Hmm, I think the more interesting thing is where he compared Silco to abusive fathers like the fathers of Beethoven and Mozart. maybe one aspect is that I think if you look at the s1 planning boards they clearly thought of Silco initially picking Powder up with the intention to use her. And only growing to care for her over time and always interlaced with the idea of pushing her and maybe they personally don't see that as very "real" fatherly? Like maybe the implication is "depends on what your definition of fatherly/daughterly is")

Personally, I'm a big believer that all media is a collaborative effort (on tv that is like writers and directors and actors). And the only thing that "counts" is what makes it in screen. So whatever his headcanon is doesn't really matter if it doesn't make in on screen.

I think one can see traces of that "like the father of a genius musician" in the scene where Silco pushes her to finish the bomb (and with the visit to the water being the gentler version of encouraging her talents and breaking her inventor version of writer's block). Imo it also rings kind of true with some of the season 2 interviews about Jinx not hearing Silco's voice and having to decide who she is in her own (again something that made it in on screen in the scenes where Jinx us in his empty office and upset that he isn't speaking to her).

I dunno, there's an interesting dynamic there with the whole father of a musician versus father of an inventor. But again Christian's headcanons and references don't matter more than what makes it on screen. And on screen we at worst saw Silco talk slightly harshly to Jinx in that regard but also sensitively. So a far cry from  "There were few days when [Ludwig] was not beaten in order to compel him to set himself at the piano", related one childhood friend of Ludwig.[9] A court councilor reported that Johann occasionally locked Ludwig in a cellar.

So I don't think we need to take it literally and I don't think he even means it literally. Speaking more of the kind of vibe that would make a father pressure his kid like that and creating a weaker version of that (personally I think it's already a charitable/colored interpretation that the fathers of Mozart and Beethoven were motivated by seeing their children's genius as opposed to hoping their kids would make them money)

So much if the "bad father" discourse has been about

- did Silco genuinely believe he was doing the right thing (did he genuinely think Vi was going to hurt Vi or did he lie in desperation because he was afraid of losing or did he lie in a calculated manner because he didn't want to lose his "asset")

- how true/necessary are his lessons (I think there they actually show some sympathy by mentioning that he lives in a harsh world. I do think it should be noted the context is the person asking the question saying "if Silco considers her a daughter why does he do such fucked up things to her")

- how much is him acting according to Jinx's genuine interest versus his own. And again I think the traces were there in s1 already made explicit in s2) that this area is at least murky. That she shares some of his views but not to the same extent

I think that despite all complaints makes the Isha storyline interesting. Because it says that if Jinx was given a choice she'd rather have a friend than be out there fighting (suggesting that Silco either ignored or did not see her wishes). But that friend also gets killed (harsh world = more Silco's domain, just because you want something doesn't mean it's a good thing or even achievable).

Btw when it comes to insensitive Christian statements, I think there more potential in what he says about not blood related families and that he almost sounds like he has some sympathy for the Beethoven fathers or at least asking yourself if happiness is more important than greatness.

I don't understand how he doesn't know if Silco sees her as his daughter when he was one of the people who wrote the episode where Silco calls Jinx his daughter while alone at Vander's statue with no reason to lie. Perhaps he isn't taking a stance to prevent further controversy considering what happened last time he said something was canon. But at least he's got the genuine care Silco has for Jinx and the way he empathizes with and feels he can trust her down.