#she’s the one that eventually has to explain it to him

[shanastoryteller]

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[lemonlinelights]

@dialup-dragon YES HI HELLO!!!!!!!! The can has been opened I hope you like worms XD

The diva's name is The Question aka Vic Sage My Beloved. He's my favorite superhero like EVER in DC and Marvel I love him so much. I can say like SO MANY THINGS ABOUT HIM!!! Idk where to start UHHH the other person in the art is Huntress aka Helena Bertinelli she's a badass character with a lot of cool stories of her own. Cause it's ya know ✨comics✨ it depends on what you're reading/watching but they're sometimes lovers and I love them together so much.

The Question is from DC comics and he's from Hub Cap City which like a lot of cities in DC comics is corrupted and full of crime.

Vic DOES have a face! He just has a special mask that makes it look like he doesn't. The mask is weirdly very important in the start of his alter ego. He uses a gas to take the mask on and off and it also changes his hair color in the process. His skill set is martial arts and his detective skills. but later on he sort of starts to be able to communicate with cities? And also understand coincidences, comic book logic lol.

Uhh I'm trying to keep this short without going into an essay XD

For awhile his main struggle was seeing things strictly in black and white, until he's basically beaten to death by Lady Shiva which starts his entire journey into morals and learning that not everything is what it seems (I've a post that explains this a lot better hopefully I can find it) A LOT of other stuff also happens, many tragedies and character growth as is the life of a comic book superhero. Skipping all his dramatic adventures Vic eventually dies from lung cancer, and his successor is someone who he's been training-

Renee Montoya! She is AWESOME! I don't know her as well yet but she's amazing as The Question I love her. While Vic is alive their dynamic together is SO fun and Renee on her own is also neat. Again comics so the story changes a bit but shes a former cop struggling with alcoholism and her girlfriend leaving her when Vic enters her life giving her something to work for again. Renee usually has a relationship with Kate Kane (Batwoman) and I love it just wkhxenhdben💕

So yes there's two Questions, sometimes at the same time! Vic Sage has some appearances  in Justice League Unlimited that a fun watch. He and Huntress are together in it <3

They're my beloveds I love them a lot. I think it's mainly their personalities that draw me in a lot of the time. They're entertaining :-) ✨Divas✨

Uhhh also at some point when the universe got rebooted (this is usually done once the comics get too complicated even for the creators) they tried giving The Question a fresh coat of paint by making him a cursed guy who will be able to solve other people's Questions but never answer the biggest one, his own identity. Also this version doesn't actually HAVE a face he legit has no face. The version also has some superpowers? It didn't last long though and I think they've just been ignoring it. So uh yeah we ignore that one.

A whole bunch of JLU Question doodles

Shout out to these comments that changed how I saw certain scenes + Jeffrey Combs' entire performance (his voice is so goodd)

Adding another compulsive nerd to my "favourite compulsive nerd characters" collection

[aaagustd]

friends & lovers | jww (m)

title: friends & lovers pairing: jeon wonwoo x female reader genre/rating: fluff, smut, best friends to lovers,  idiots to lovers; 18+ summary: Sometimes the love you’re searching for has been right beside you all along. Patience is the key…the right moment will present itself eventually. wc: 2.2k warnings: swearing, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), restraints (wrist pinning), grinding/dry humping, clit stimulation, slight orgasm control, cumshots, crying, begging, soft sex, pet names, nipple play, cum play, aftercare release date: february 9th, 2025; 9:23pm est author’s note: Hello!! This was a bday gift I wrote for @beomcoups a while back. Huge shoutout to @hobeemin for beta reading it for me at the time. I’m currently moving all of my old content here, so if you’ve read this before don’t be alarmed lol. I’m the original author.

playlist: My Boo by Usher ft. Alicia Keys | Focus by NCT 127 | ‘bout you by Seventeen | Let Me Hold You by Bow Wow ft. Omarion  | Tonight I Celebrate My Love by Peabo Bryson & Roberta Flack | Candy by Baekhyun | By My Side by JUNNY | Boo’d Up by Ella Mai | Like You by Ciara & Bow Wow

masterlist | inbox | join my taglist | read on wattpad | read on ao3 | divider credit

“People are staring at us.”

You both giggle as the carousel makes its final round, shyly peeking over your shoulders at the crowd of people watching you. Somehow, Wonwoo managed to get the ride operator to start it up with just you two on. 

Both of you hopped from seat to seat like you used to do when you were kids, and your parents had to threaten to take you home if you didn’t remain seated. Although you’re adults now, you’re still fond of the old habit.

“So, let them,” you shrug. “Maybe they’ve got eyes for the cutie on the horse.”

“Can you stop?”

Wonwoo throws his head back when he laughs and clutches his stomach, giving you a glimpse of the smile you haven’t seen in months.

Ever since he and his girlfriend broke things off, he’s been cooped up in his apartment, feeling down and not wanting to be bothered. You’re glad he accepted your offer to go to the fair and take his mind off things. He says he’s fine and looks better than he did five months ago, but you know that something’s still bothering him, and you hope that tonight you can dig deep enough to find it.

“Why would I? This is fun.” 

You both step off as the ride stops, feeling high with adrenaline. Suddenly, you feel his fingertips at your sides, and he playfully tickles you, making you shriek and squirm. 

“Wonwoo!”

On-lookers coo and clutch their chest, mainly older couples and romantics. Neither of you even notices the admiration they have in their eyes until someone grabs your attention.

“You two are such a beautiful couple. May my husband and I have a picture with you? You just remind us of our younger selves,” a lady in her golden years asks with a genuine smile.

Immediately, you begin to break the news to her, but Wonwoo interferes.

“Oh, ma’am, we’re not—”

“Sure! I’ll take it. I have long arms,” he insists, taking her phone when she hands it to him. Wonwoo throws his arm over your shoulder and holds it high enough to capture all four of you. He takes the picture but doesn’t stop there. “Now one for us.”

After returning the woman’s phone to her and her husband, he pulls his device from his pocket and takes another, but this time he brings you in a bit closer. He wraps his arm around you a little tighter and whispers in your ear as he snaps the picture.

“For new memories,” he says to you.

You release a shaky breath when you disperse, and you can’t do anything but smile and wave as the couple bids their farewells. 

You never could explain the butterflies in your stomach whenever Wonwoo would be so close to you in that way. It always seems so intimate, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud. You know it’s only those buried feelings that are causing you to react this way and nothing you should feed into.

When you’re finally alone, you turn to him and ask, “So, what now? Are you ready to go?”

“A little bit,” he answers. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you up. I’m probably just gonna go grab something to eat until my roommate’s done fucking her boyfriend. I had fun, so thanks for coming��”

You pause when Wonwoo shakes his head.

“I said I was ready to leave here,” he informs. “Not leave you.”

“Oh, okay. So umm, where do you wanna go?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” he quizzes. “We can go grab something.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he continues.

“Or…we can meet at my place, and we can order something. You can stay over if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I don’t mind,” he assures.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you—”

Your mouth shuts when he gives you a look, but your smile grows when he turns away and starts walking toward the parking lot.

Both of you get in your vehicles and drive towards his apartment, the tingling sensation still coursing through your veins. You try your best to calm yourself before you get there, but as you get out of your car, your legs are wobbly and shaky, indicating that you are far from okay.

Wonwoo turns to you as his door opens.

“Wanna shower?”

Gratefully, you sigh. “Yes, please.”

After a shower, slices of pizza, and a couple of movies, you and Wonwoo lay awkwardly in his bed. Both of you scroll through your phones, trying to ignore the thick tension in the air. There’s something on his tongue; you can hear it. You want to ask him, but you don’t know how.

Eventually, you start to believe it’s just your nerves. You haven’t hung out like this since before his two-year-long relationship, so you figure you just need some re-adjusting. You wiggle your way towards him so you can familiarize yourself with the feeling of being so close to him.

It isn’t long before his fingers start playing in your hair, making your eyes slightly heavy. You roll over on your back so you can look at him and try to stop yourself from falling asleep so quickly.

His smile greets you and leaves you slightly curious.

“What?” you giggle.

“Nothing, I was just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighs. “I missed you. That’s all.”

When his eyes begin to wander, you follow them once they’ve set on a particular sight. It just happens to be your thighs, and you start tugging down your borrowed shirt upon the discovery.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

You clear your throat. “Wonwoo, I’m glad you’re feeling like yourself again, but I don’t think I can be your rebound. I’m not—”

“What? No, love. It’s definitely not like that. It’s just…Fuck it.” He shifts in his spot so he can speak to you face to face, leaving you no option but to look at him, even though you’ve been avoiding eye contact since you got here. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“It’s about the breakup…why it happened,” he explains.

You blink a few times. You never knew the reason behind the split or how it happened; it wasn’t your place to ask. Now that he’s finally telling you, there’s an uneasy feeling growing inside of you.

“We broke up because we liked other people. She wasn’t over her ex, and I…”

“And you?...”

He takes a deep breath as if he’s about to lay it all on the table.

“I had to be honest with myself and admit that I’m really in love with my best friend,” he confesses.

Your eyes widen, lips ready to run a mile a minute, but he speaks before you do.

“I thought about this before, but the timing was just never right. And now…” he sighs. “I don’t know. I just feel like we’re on the same page, but then again, you’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”

“Wonwoo, I—”

“I know. You don’t feel the same.”

The disappointment in his voice gives you all the courage you need to come clean, and you do so before you can change your mind.

“I do feel the same,” you admit. “I’ve loved you since we were teenagers. I just never knew how to tell you.”

He seems a little shocked after hearing this.

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.

“Yeah.”

Your best friend just stares at you, not saying anything. You hold his gaze and never break eye contact. Moments go by like this, until eventually, his lips begin to hover over yours. They become more inviting the longer you lay there waiting for something to happen.

However, Wonwoo toughens up and makes the first move on your behalf. His mouth presses against yours delicately, and he lowers his body so that you can run your hands through his hair.

You envelop each other and get lost within the first shared kiss between two best friends who have been denying their love for one another for over a decade. The pit of your stomach goes into a frenzy as the butterflies rise and flutter wildly.

Dizziness clouds your mind as you’re swept away by the feeling. You’re light as a feather, so high that coming down seems impossible. 

It doesn’t help that Wonwoo’s lips have become greedier, and his desire is growing by the second. Your legs part to allow him in the space, and he takes the opportunity instantly. Your wrists get pinned above your head while he slowly begins to grind his crotch against yours.

A moan slips out, and he takes the chance to invade your mouth with his thick muscle. Your tongues begin exploring each other’s crevice, and you become drunk off his taste. You can’t get enough of him but the need for oxygen exceeds your lust-driven fantasies.

“I want you,” you say without much thought. Your breathing is labored and rough, but you still try to speak.  “I need you.”

“Fuck, same. But…”

“But what?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “No condoms.”

His voice oozes with need, and his bulge is straining against his shorts. He’s as desperate as you are, but he’s trying to hold back.

“We’re good on this end. It’s okay,” you assure him. “Are you?...”

He nods. “Yes, of course. I haven’t since…”

“Well, can we?” you try again. “Please?”

“Okay, baby.”

Wonwoo lets go of your wrists and pulls down his shorts, letting his dick spring out freely. A small gasp escapes you when his length slaps your thigh. You lift your head to see it and instantly become mesmerized by its girth. You crave it and want it to fill every inch of you just like you’ve always fantasized about in your room alone.

“Like what you see?” He smirks when you nod and starts to run the tip up and down your slit, coating it with your arousal and secretly stimulating your throbbing clit. “Let’s see if you can take it.”

When he slowly enters you, your mind goes completely blank. You arch into him as he bottoms out, and he holds you and places kisses up your neck.

“Wonwoo,” you call, and he smiles against your skin.

“Ready for me?”

“Yes, please. I want to feel you.”

Wonwoo’s movements start strong, and he makes sure to hold you in place while he thrusts into you, preventing you from flying off the bed. You cry his name over and over with each powerful snap of his hips.

He lifts your shirt and exposes your breasts to his greedy mouth, taking his time with each stiffened peak and making your eyes roll back from the multiple sources of pleasure you’re receiving. 

The coil inside you tightens until it can no longer stand the pressure, and you blurt out a warning to inform Wonwoo of your orgasm.

“Wonwoo, I’m so close!”

“Me too, baby,” he moans in your ear. You run your nails down his sweaty back to ground yourself because it feels like your soul will leave your body any minute. Wonwoo goes deeper and deeper until you can no longer stand the build-up growing inside of you. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And on his command, your body gives in, and the pleasure takes over you. Tears roll down your cheeks, but Wonwoo kisses you before the salty droplets can reach your trembling lips. Your entire body is set aflame by the heat coursing through you. The intense feeling leaves you a panting mess beneath Wonwoo, and you just lay there as he fucks you through the rest of your orgasm until he finally reaches his release.

“Fuck, where can I?”

“Anywhere you want,” you answer. “I don’t mind.”

He can only nod as he pulls out and paints your stomach with his warm cum. Wonwoo uses the tip to smear his arousal and spell his name on your skin, making you giggle and slap his arm.

“You’re nasty,” you tell him.

“Anywhere you want… I don’t mind,” he mocks but still leans down to kiss you. 

You pout when he pulls away and disappears into his bathroom for about a minute. When he returns, you’re grateful to see him with a warm washcloth and a new shirt for you. He cleans you up and helps you change before he turns out the lights and joins you in bed. Neither of you say anything at first, but eventually, he can’t hold his tongue anymore.

“I really am in love with you. I would have never done this had you not asked. You’re more than a rebound—”

“I know that, Wonwoo. We’re good, okay?”

You turn on your side so you can hug him, and he nestles in your embrace.

“So, are we keeping this a secret or…?”

You release a breath before you answer, absentmindedly playing in his brown locks. You think about your answer for a moment, and then you reply.

“As much as I want to keep you all to myself… I’ve waited all my life to call you my boyfriend.”

“So what does that mean?” he asks shyly.

“It means…” You tilt his head so he can look at you. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them the truth.”

Wonwoo smirks at you and returns to his position buried in your chest. He whispers as he drifts into his slumber.

“That’s my girl.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

[promptedwordsmith]

Hiyaaa

I have a request , if that’s fine with you?

So Reader is MC’s long lost twin sister, they reunited a bit after and have been close ever since.

Reader is much different to MC , she likes the opposite things that mc likes and has different ticks and such.

She has a crush on (any of the LADS boys) and slowly watches as he falls in love with MC. She doesn’t say anything as she knows MC likes him too.

She gets invited out by sylus and slowly hangs out with him as she isn’t a hunter but does work in the N109 Zone. They soon get close and get into some sort of relationship , she then notices he keeps buying stuff that MC would like for her.

She brushes over it but he keeps doing stuff that the Mc would like usually, the food she’d like, the clothes she’d like.

She gets sick of being in her sisters shadow and confronts him and leaves.

OK, so I literally watched this ask come into the inbox and it was like a lightbulb switched on and I NEEDED to do this I love writing angst, this is also my longest fic yet - 5.2k! Wow

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the quiet city streets. The air was cool for a spring evening, a gentle breeze tugging at the edges of your jacket. You adjusted the strap of your bag, sighing as you looked down at the study materials clutched in your hand. The exam was tomorrow, but the words in your textbooks felt like they were swimming in a fog. Your mind kept drifting, not to the dense chapters of history or theory, but to her—your twin sister.

It had been years since that night, the night that shattered everything. You could still remember it as if it was yesterday—your parents' sudden, tragic death, the screaming sirens, and the confusion. And then, the moment you looked for her—searched frantically in the smoke-filled wreckage—only to find that she was gone, just... gone. You were left alone, confused, scared, and eventually, separated from the one person who had always understood you. Your twin.

The accident had changed her. The doctors said she was lost, somewhere deep inside herself, locked away in a mind that didn’t remember you anymore. But what hurt even more was that you had no one to ask. No one to explain what had happened, or why you had been torn apart. Your adoptive parents had been kind, if a bit too overbearing at times. They tried to fill the void, but they couldn’t. No one could.

You had learned to adapt, to bury the ache in your chest, and to focus on your studies, your goals. But even now, on the eve of the exam, you couldn’t stop the thoughts of her. You couldn’t forget.

Turning a corner, you stopped in your tracks.

There, standing under the flickering streetlamp at the end of the block, was a woman. She was looking down at a piece of paper in her hands, dressed in a long, dark coat, her hair flowing gently in the breeze. Something about her was oddly familiar, like a half-remembered dream, pulling at the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your heart hammering in your chest. It was as though the universe had conspired to throw you back into the past. Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a tentative step forward, hesitating with every step.

She looked up, and your gazes locked.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the bustling city noises blurring into a distant hum. The world became small—too small, as if everything else had faded and there was only her. The same eyes, the same face... The face you had longed to see for so many years, and yet, the years had passed, and there was something different about her now.

The wind picked up, swirling the air between you as you took one more step forward. She looked... older, wiser, more distant. But it was her. It had to be her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Neither did you. You just stood there, staring at one another, time stretching thin between you.

“...Are you real?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, your chest tight. The question escaped your lips before you could stop it.

She blinked, her expression softening, and then she took a step toward you, as though testing the waters, unsure if the reunion was truly happening or if she was simply dreaming.

“You... don’t remember me?” Her voice cracked slightly, almost as if she, too, had been carrying this pain for all these years, but had somehow forgotten how to reach out. Her words hit you like a wave, and you couldn’t breathe.

You opened your mouth, the years of unspoken words flooding your mind. “I’ve been looking for you,” you whispered, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “I thought you were lost.”

Her hand slowly reached out, trembling. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before placing it gently against your arm. “I—I’ve been lost,” she admitted softly, her gaze lowering for a brief moment. “But... I think I’ve found something again.”

And in that moment, standing there with your twin sister after so many years, something broke open inside you. All the hurt, the loneliness, the anger... it all began to pour out, mixing with the relief and joy that surged in your chest.

You didn’t need words for a while. You just stood there, side by side, as the cool breeze tangled in your hair, the world beginning to shift back into place as though the years had never happened.

You had found her again. And she had found you.

From that moment on, you were always together.

The years apart had created a distance, not just physically, but emotionally, and it was clear you had to relearn everything about each other. Every day was a new discovery—a moment where you would uncover something that had once been second nature between you. It was like rewinding time, only to realize how much had changed and how much still remained. It wasn’t easy at first. Trust was something you both had to rebuild, piece by piece, like constructing a puzzle you’d once finished but now had to start anew. But as the days passed, that bond, that unspoken connection, began to stitch itself back together in ways you never expected.

You learned so much—how different you had become over the years. You realized you had vastly different food tastes—she loved spicy, you preferred sweeter dishes. She always gravitated toward bold, vibrant colors, while you found comfort in softer, more muted tones. Even your tastes in men were different, and that was a shock at first. You would laugh at the things you found so amusingly out of sync—how she was drawn to a certain type of guy, while you found yourself leaning toward someone else entirely. And yet, every difference felt like another piece of the puzzle, making you realize how beautifully unique you both were.

You adored the differences. They were like little windows into the person you had missed all these years. Every new fact felt like an adventure, and the more there was to discover, the better. There was something so exciting about learning her quirks, her preferences, the subtle shifts in her personality you hadn't seen in years. And whenever you discovered something that you shared—whether it was a similar reaction to a movie or the same favorite childhood memory—it felt like a victory. It wasn’t just the similarities that made it fun, it was the process of rediscovery. And those small shared moments, they made you feel closer, like you were stitching the fabric of your connection tighter with each day.

As you spent more time together, you naturally introduced each other to your friends, and you couldn’t help but notice something that piqued your curiosity. Your sister, with her charm and warmth, had a lot of male friends—attractive male friends. You could see it the moment they walked in the room—the way they gravitated toward her, how they’d exchange casual, easy banter as though they had known each other forever. It was a little surprising at first, but not entirely unexpected. She had always been the social one, effortlessly making connections wherever she went.

But there was one guy who stood out among the rest.

Caleb.

He was different. There was something about the way he carried himself—confident, but not overly so. He had this easy-going charm, with a touch of mystery that made him hard to read. You noticed the way he looked at your sister—like she was something worth admiring, something worth protecting. But it was also the way he looked at you. Subtle glances, the kind that made your heart race for a moment longer than it should. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Caleb than he let on.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, the pull that seemed to draw you toward him. It was more than just physical. There was something in his presence that made the air feel a little warmer, a little more electric.

And it wasn’t lost on you that Caleb was always there. Always around, always at the edge of the conversation, casually participating, but never intruding. He made you feel like you had to pay a little more attention, like you needed to be aware of everything happening in the room, even when it was just your sister and her friends hanging out.

The more you spent time with him, the more you realized that what you felt for Caleb wasn’t just admiration—it was something stronger. Something unspoken, something that pulled at the edges of your consciousness, making it impossible to ignore. You were drawn to him, and yet you couldn’t tell if it was just your curiosity or something more.

What made it even more complicated was your sister. She was so open, so comfortable with him. She trusted him in ways that made you question just how much you really knew about him. Could you both be seeing the same man in such different lights? Or was something else at play here—something you weren’t sure you were ready to face?

And so, as you navigated this new chapter of your life—one where your sister was back by your side and Caleb was somehow intertwined with everything—it was impossible to ignore the sense that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

But maybe, just maybe, that was the fun part.

You had always been so happy for her. When you saw the way your sister looked at Zayne, the way she couldn’t stop talking about him or looking for him, it was clear that she was head over heels. You had never seen her so alive, so full of excitement. You were thrilled for her, even if, deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone like that in your own life.

And yet, it all seemed to shift so suddenly.

You didn’t expect to walk into your bedroom that evening and find Caleb leaning over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. You stopped at the doorway, your heart sinking in your chest. The moment felt like it stretched for an eternity, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling suffocating. Caleb’s lips were so close to hers, so tender, and in that instant, everything you thought you understood about your connection with him seemed to slip away.

You had spent weeks getting to know him, laughing with him, sharing subtle glances, those moments that made your heart race. You thought you were beginning to get somewhere with him, slowly, cautiously building something, but now it seemed like he had already found what he wanted.

Your sister.

The realization hit harder than you expected. You hadn’t spent enough time with him, hadn’t made him see you in the same way she had. Maybe you had waited too long, or maybe Caleb had simply been drawn to the one person who had always captivated him—your sister. The thought was like a weight on your chest, suffocating you, but you couldn’t let it show. Not now.

You cleared your throat, the awkwardness of the moment making your voice sound more strained than you intended. "Oh, sorry," you muttered, trying to sound casual, like walking in on them didn’t sting at all. "I didn’t mean to interrupt."

Caleb pulled away quickly, looking genuinely embarrassed, while your sister turned to you, her cheeks flushed with the same warmth that had been on Caleb’s lips. You could see the joy in her eyes, that sparkle that was so unmistakable. She was happy. That much was clear. And you were happy for her too... right?

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart was shattering into pieces. "No big deal," you added quickly, hoping your voice didn’t betray the devastation you felt inside. "I didn’t know you two were, um... together now."

Your sister giggled, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yeah, it kind of just happened," she said, her words soft and dreamy. "I didn’t even know I saw him that way before, but now... I can’t stop thinking about him. Caleb’s all I can think about."

You swallowed hard, nodding even though your chest felt tight. Caleb's all she can think about. The words echoed in your mind, each one a reminder of how you had misread everything. You had spent so much time hoping that maybe, just maybe, Caleb was beginning to see you, and yet here he was, kissing your sister, the one person who had always been in the center of everything you cared about.

"That’s... that’s great," you forced out, your smile faltering just for a second before you caught yourself. You couldn’t let her see. Not now. Not when she was so happy.

That night, as you both sat together on your bed, your sister gushed about Caleb to you—how she had never really seen him in that light before, but now that she had, he was all she could think about. She talked about how incredible he was, how easy he was to talk to, how he made her feel seen. It was clear that Caleb had become her world in a way you hadn’t expected. The excitement in her voice, the warmth in her words—it was everything you had wished for her, and yet, the sting of jealousy cut deeper than anything you had ever felt before.

But you didn’t let it show. You buried those feelings deep, far down where they wouldn’t be seen. She didn’t need to know that the happiness she was expressing had left you in a state of quiet devastation. You couldn’t make her feel guilty for being happy. You loved her too much for that.

So, you sat there, nodding, smiling, laughing along with her excitement, all while hiding the fact that a part of you was crumbling on the inside. You pushed the hurt away, because you wanted her to feel supported, to feel that you were there for her, no matter what. And if that meant hiding your feelings from her—hiding how much it hurt that Caleb, the man you thought might be yours, was now hers—then you would do it.

After all, she was your sister. And she deserved this happiness. Even if it meant you had to sacrifice your own.

In the weeks that followed, you worked hard to move past your feelings for Caleb. It wasn’t easy—those emotions had been strong, intense, and they hadn’t just vanished overnight. But you did your best, gradually pulling away from him, creating more distance, more space between the two of you. Every time you saw him with your sister, you pushed back the ache, burying it deeper, focusing on the things that mattered.

And Caleb? He didn’t seem to notice. At first, you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it was a relief. You didn’t have to explain yourself, didn’t have to confront those feelings head-on. On the other hand, it left you feeling... invisible. Was he so wrapped up in your sister that he couldn’t even tell that something had changed?

It was both painful and freeing.

But then, just when you thought you might stay in that stagnant space forever, someone new caught your eye—Sylus.

He was different. Tall, broad, and absolutely HOT. From the moment he joined the group, you couldn’t help but notice him. He had this presence, an undeniable aura that commanded attention without even trying. His voice—deep, rich, and full of a kind of quiet authority—carried across the room and made you pause every time he spoke. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew you in. And unlike the others, Sylus seemed more... open to spending time with you one-on-one.

You couldn’t explain it, but whenever he was around, you found yourself wanting to be near him more than anyone else. The way he spoke to you, the way he listened—it felt different. His attention felt genuine, unlike the usual banter you shared with the others, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to every chance to spend time with him.

In those moments together, you found yourself forgetting about Caleb, especially when Sylus’s attention became focused entirely on you. It wasn’t just that he listened to you, but that he actually seemed interested in what you had to say. And his compliments? They were always on point—never too much, never too little. It was just the right amount of praise to make you feel noticed, but never over the top.

The more time you spent with Sylus, the more you realized that your feelings for Caleb were truly fading, being replaced with something new. And this time, it was something stronger. You weren’t the type of person to rapidly shift who you liked, but there was something about Sylus that you couldn’t deny.

There was an intoxicating mix of calm and excitement in his presence—his voice, the way he held himself, the way he challenged you with his wit. When he spoke, it was like everything else fell away, and all that mattered was the conversation between the two of you. It was thrilling. Sylus had this ability to calm you with a single glance, yet rile you up with every word he said. The duality of it all was intoxicating, and you found yourself more drawn to him with each passing day.

And it didn’t go unnoticed. Sylus seemed to enjoy your company as much as you enjoyed his. You could tell by the way he teased you, the sly smile that would tug at the corner of his lips whenever you got a witty retort in. He would praise you, telling you that you were one of the few people who truly kept him entertained. It felt different from how he interacted with the others—more personal, more real.

It was almost like you were the one person he didn’t have to try too hard with, the one person who could match his sharpness, his intelligence, and his sense of humor. Every time you spent time with him, you felt like you were getting closer, like a bond was forming that you couldn’t ignore.

And you didn’t want to ignore it. You didn’t want to bury it.

The problem was, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same way you did. But the moments you shared together, the laughter, the conversations, the way he looked at you—those small, intimate exchanges made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.

As time went on, you began to wonder... Could there be something real between you and Sylus? Something beyond the friendly banter and the chemistry that had begun to grow between you two? You weren’t sure, but the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to find out.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like you were starting to feel again. And this time, it wasn’t with Caleb—it was with Sylus.

It all changed that day.

You had thrown out another one of your usual witty retorts, something playful but sharp, and the way Sylus laughed made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just any laugh—this was different. He laughed harder than you’d ever heard him laugh at anything you’d said before, as if your words had truly caught him off guard. It was genuine, deep, and there was something about it that made you feel... alive.

But it wasn’t just the laugh that had you on edge. It was the look that followed it—the way his gaze lingered on you afterward. It was almost imperceptible at first, but the intensity of it hit you in an instant. His eyes darkened just a little, like the playful laughter had shifted into something else entirely. Something... charged. Smoldering.

You had felt a twinge of attraction before, but this was different. This wasn’t the kind of attraction you could brush off with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. This was real. Undeniable. The kind that made your pulse quicken and your breath catch.

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as you realized what it was. It wasn’t the easy chemistry you shared during your banter—it was something deeper. Something dangerous in the best way. Something that left you craving more.

And that moment marked the beginning of a whirlwind.

The next few days felt like a dream. Everything moved fast, but it was all so right. Sylus and you, the two of you together—it was like the world fell into place. You spent hours talking, laughing, and simply being together. Every time he smiled, every time his gaze met yours, you felt the undeniable pull between you. And he wanted you. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he leaned in just a little closer than necessary. There was no mistaking it. This wasn’t a fling. It was real.

For five weeks, it was bliss. You felt happy in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. With Sylus, you didn’t feel the weight of anything—no doubts, no second-guessing. It was pure, it was exhilarating, and it felt like everything was falling into place.

Your sister, ever the cheerleader, was beyond excited for you. She practically glowed with happiness whenever she talked about your relationship, always praising how great Sylus was for you, how perfect you seemed together. She was genuinely happy for you, and that made everything even better. You had always dreamed of being there for each other, no matter what, and now, here she was—celebrating your happiness right alongside you.

Even Caleb, for all the tension and unspoken feelings you had shared with him, came to congratulate you. It was strange, but in a way, it felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders. He wasn’t resentful. In fact, he seemed to mean it, offering you a smile and a casual, "You two seem good together."

And for the first time in ages, you felt like everything was aligning in the way it was supposed to.

You were happy. Your sister was happy. Caleb was supportive. And you had Sylus—your Sylus. The man who had brought something back into your life you hadn’t even realized you were missing: passion.

It felt like the perfect little bubble—one where everything was harmonious, where there were no complications, no unresolved tensions.

But as you basked in that bliss, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder—could it really stay like this? Would it always be this easy? The kind of happiness you were feeling, the intensity of your connection with Sylus—it was almost too good to be true.

And yet, you pushed those thoughts aside. For now, everything was perfect.

At first, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was small things, subtle things that didn’t make sense at first—until they did.

Sylus’s behavior began to shift. At first, it was easy to ignore. You were happy. He was happy. It was bliss. But then, the little things started to slip through the cracks.

He would do things—small gestures—that felt like they were meant for someone else. Like when he gave you a plushie that looked oddly similar to one your sister would love. Or the little trinkets he’d bring you, clearly in your sister’s favorite color, her favorite pattern. You’d laugh it off at first, joking about how he must’ve gotten confused, but it kept happening. And it wasn’t just the gifts—it was the way he started to interact with you. Sometimes, it felt like he expected you to react the same way your sister would. When he teased you, the way he smiled at your response, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for you to be your sister.

At first, you dismissed it. Maybe it was just a quirk of his. Maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing. You told yourself that he must just be a little... forgetful, or perhaps overly fond of your sister's personality. After all, they were close friends before you came into the picture.

But soon, it became too obvious to ignore.

You caught him. More than once. His gaze would linger on your sister when he thought no one was watching. The longing, the desire—it was palpable in the way his eyes followed her movements, the way his expression softened whenever she spoke. And you saw it. You saw it all.

You thought it was just you. That maybe you were reading too much into things, that maybe you were imagining the way his attention seemed to always drift toward her. But then you started noticing how often his attention seemed to shift, how you could feel him becoming distant in the moments when your sister was around. When the two of them would talk, you could sense it—something you couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t just in the moment with you anymore. It was as if he was waiting for something, waiting for her, always comparing you to her.

That’s when it hit you. The truth that you’d been avoiding for so long.

You weren’t really the one he wanted.

You were a stand-in. A placeholder. A substitute for your sister. The realization was like a punch to your gut, a sharp, jagged truth that twisted inside you. Sylus had been drawn to you because you reminded him of her, because you were the closest thing he could get to her.

It hurt more than you ever expected.

You thought you were special. You thought there was something between you two that wasn’t just about her, but now you realized that you had only been the next best thing. A consolation prize for the woman he truly wanted.

You tried to push the thought aside. You tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t true. That you were more than just a stand-in, that Sylus could see you for who you were—not for who you resembled. After all, you were funny, witty, confident—you had your own charm, your own uniqueness. You weren't your sister. You were you. And surely, that should have been enough.

But still, you couldn’t ignore the truth that simmered beneath the surface. Sylus seemed to be looking at your sister with an intensity that he never directed at you, no matter how many times you tried to make him see you as more than just a shadow of her.

You told yourself that if you just kept being you—if you kept showing him that you were interesting, funny, and as unique as you truly were—then maybe, just maybe, he’d see you. Maybe he’d see that you were more than just a stand-in. That you deserved more than to be a shadow in your sister’s light.

But the doubt lingered, gnawing at you. Every time he smiled at you with that distant look in his eyes, every time he gave you something that seemed like a gift meant for her, you couldn’t help but feel like you were chasing something you couldn’t quite reach.

And you hated that. You hated how much it hurt to realize that the person you were falling for might never really be falling for you.

It was that night—the night everything snapped.

He had come home with a beautiful pair of earrings, the kind that glittered in the light and caught your eye the moment he handed them to you. You were taken aback by their beauty, thinking, maybe this is the turning point. Maybe he was finally seeing you, you for who you were, not a reflection of your sister.

But then he spoke.

“You’ve been eyeing these for a while now, haven’t you? I thought I’d surprise you with them. You said you wanted to start saving for a pair like these.”

Your stomach sank. That wasn’t you. You hadn’t ever seen these earrings before, and more than that—they weren’t even your style. They were elegant, delicate, beautiful, but they looked like something your sister would wear. Something she would pick.

Your hands trembled as you stared at the earrings in disbelief. He had gotten them for her. They weren’t for you.

It was as though the fog had lifted in that moment, and the truth came crashing down. Your heart, which had been trying so hard to hold on to the illusion that Sylus saw you for who you were, shattered in an instant. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

“Wait… you thought I wanted these?” You forced the words out, your voice shaky. “These aren’t mine. They’re hers. They’re for her.”

The shock on his face, the confusion that washed over him, made your chest tighten even more. He tried to explain, tried to cut in with some excuse, but you didn’t want to hear it anymore. You had been so patient, so willing to let him see you, to let him find what was special about you.

But this? This was the final straw.

“No,” you cut him off, the anger and pain bubbling over. “I’ve been ignoring it for so long, hoping you’d finally see that I’m not her. I’m me, but you never did. You’ve been treating me like I’m a substitute for her. A stand-in for someone who isn’t even here.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop.” Your voice was harsh now, sharper than you ever thought it could be. “I’m done with the excuses. You’ve made it so clear that I’m just the next best thing. You’ve made it so clear that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough. I’m not her.”

Every word you spoke felt like a knife twisting deeper, but it didn’t matter anymore. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep hoping he would finally wake up and realize you were more than just a stand-in.

Sylus tried to step forward, to apologize, but you weren’t having it.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your heart pounding, your emotions raw. “Don’t even try. This is over. We’re over.”

You turned away, your vision blurring as your emotions surged. You grabbed the things he’d given you—the gifts, the memories, the little trinkets he had left scattered around your apartment. Each one felt like a betrayal now, a reminder that you were never really his first choice. You packed them hastily into a bag, shoving them into his arms before he could say another word.

“I’m done. Get out,” you forced out, each word a struggle to maintain composure. You shoved the bag into his chest, feeling the finality of it. This was it.

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to see him.

Sylus stood there for a moment, the shock still etched on his face. But you didn’t care anymore. Your heart was too broken to care.

With one final glance, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, the door slamming behind him with a deafening finality.

And in that moment, you knew. It was over.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

[vettelsvee]

I'M SORRY, JULIET | Mick Schumacher

Mick Schumacher x Secret Girlfriend Vettel!Reader

SUMMARY: You're secretly dating Mick, both of you hiding it from everyone in your families until you get so happy about him getting his first points in Formula 1 that your father, Sebastian, ends up finding out

WORD COUNT: 2404

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of teen pregnancy (age 17 from Seb and Hanna), angst. Settled on 2022 British GP

VEE'S NOTES: I missed so much posting about Mick so I had to bring him back... even that means Seb is the "bad guy" here. Hope you like it and thanks for reading! I'll be waiting for your opinions <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You hadn’t attended a Formula 1 race for longer than you could remember, and truthfully, you never thought you would again until Mick Schumacher started turning your world pink.

The boy had known you since you were a child, back when you would occasionally attend races hand in hand with your grandfather, Norbert. Your relationship deepened every time you saw each other in the paddock or at family gatherings, and despite the age difference between you, you grew closer and closer until you eventually fell in love with each other.

Even before your relationship began, you were both fully aware of the obstacles in your way. It wasn’t just the fact that Mick was six years older than you, but also that you were the children of two drivers who weren’t just former rivals and friends, but also were like family.

All of that, combined with the inevitable pressure from the press if they ever found out about your relationship, mattered little to Mick. One afternoon in mid-June, when the Schumachers and the Vettels had gathered together, he had decided to confess his feelings for you. At first, you were completely in shock, hearing from the lips of the very boy you had loved for years that he loved you too.

So, of course, when Mick asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you didn’t doubt to say yes.

Neither of you cared what others might say because, for now, no one knew about your relationship.

And there you were now, standing in the Aston Martin garage alongside your mother and your three younger siblings, watching the race with great enthusiasm as Sebastian drove the emerald-green car.

To the outside world, it might have seemed like you were simply there for one of the most important days in your father’s career since it was his 35th birthday. But in reality more than watching your father, you wanted to see your boyfriend.

Hanna noticed the tense expression on your face. Smiling warmly and without taking her eyes off Emily and Matilda, who were playing tag nearby, she stepped closer to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N? You seem like you’re in another galaxy.”

Your body tensed at the question, something that happened every time someone in your inner circle mentioned directly or indirectly your secret boyfriend. You tried to hide what was on your mind, but the combination of your mother’s presence and your nerves made you say more than you actually wanted.

“I’m nervous because I want dad to finish in the points,” you said with as much conviction as possible, though it wasn’t enough to convince Sebastian’s wife. “And well… I’m also worried about Mick.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow, curious, but not pressing. She had once been seventeen too. More than that, she had gotten pregnant with you at that age, and she knew that your concern for Mick went beyond simple friendship. Mothers developed a sixth sense when it came to their children, and she knew you too well to be fooled.

“Mick? Why would you be worried about Mick?” she asked, making sure not to pry too much or reveal how much she already knew.

“Well… he’s having a really good race today,” you replied, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’d like him to get a high position,” you explained, “even though with the piece of crap car he has we can’t expect much.”

Hanna nodded understandingly, reading between the lines of your words.

“I get it, sweetheart. I was the same way with your dad when he started racing,” she said, deliberately choosing her words to make you overthink. “Mick has a lot of talent, but he’s not in a team that helps him shine, so I understand why you care so much.”

“If you ever need to talk about Mick you know you can trust me, right?”  Hanna added,

You appreciated your mother’s words, though you remained cautious just in case she was digging for something that might expose your relationship. How naive you were to think she didn’t already know you were dating one of Sebastian’s best friends’ sons.

When the checkered flag waved and the twenty cars crossed the finish line, your eyes remained glued to the leaderboard. Not only had Carlos, one of your best friends, taken his first victory, but both Mick and Sebastian had finished in the points, placing eighth and ninth respectively.

Your father earning two points on his birthday was amazing. Your boyfriend earning three? Even better, especially since it was his first time scoring points in Formula 1. Saying you were emotional was an understatement, and no matter how much you tried to hold it in, a few tears escaped down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly to avoid drawing attention.

Hanna, still by your side as she fed the youngest member of the family, noticed you approaching with a hesitant expression, as if you wanted to ask something but were afraid to.

“Can I go to Mick’s garage to congratulate him?” you asked cautiously. “It’s his first time scoring, and I’d like to say something to him in person before we leave for Switzerland.”

“I know you’re excited for him,” your mother said while burping the baby, “but I think it’s better if you stay here. It’s your dad’s birthday, and honestly? I doubt Haas would even let you see Mick.”

You nodded, though sadness crept in. You looked at the monitors, seeing the top three drivers already celebrating on the podium. Even from your location, you could hear the Spanish national anthem playing over the speakers.

“Mum,” you tried again, “come on, let me go congratulate Mick. I’ll be back quickly, and I’ll be here by the time dad gets back!”

Your exaggerated gestures and the way you waved your arms were too adorable, and Hanna couldn’t help but see herself in you. She remembered how she had felt when she started dating Sebastian, wanting nothing more than to see him every chance she had. As much as she tried to be the responsible mother, sometimes she just couldn’t help it. This was one of those moments, one where she gave in to the charms of her eldest, the spitting image of her father.

“Make sure you come back as soon as possible,” she relented with a small smile. “I don’t want your father calling me a bad mother for letting his baby do grown-up things.”

“Thank you, mum!”

With that being said, you sprinted off, weaving through mechanics, fans, and celebrities scattered around the paddock. You checked your phone to see if Mick had texted you, but there was nothing. That only made you hurry toward the Haas garage. Seeing it empty, you quickly turned around and headed toward the hospitality area, which was further away. While dodging anyone in your way, you sent Mick a message telling him you were on your way and that you had to be quick before your father returned.

When you arrived, the first thing you saw was Mick soaked in champagne, holding a bottle in his hand. The Haas team members, including Guenther, were celebrating. You felt out of place and your insecurity crept in, making you want to turn around and leave. But then Mick saw you, and the moment your eyes met, you knew you had made the right choice.

Mick immediately broke away from the group and rushed to your side, hugging you tightly. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, even if just a quick peck, but his rational side reminded him that now was not the place.

“Congratulations, Mick!” you exclaimed, your excitement taking over you. “Oh my God, oh my God! I’m so proud of you!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I finally get to see you, princess. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to,” he murmured playfully. “Although, I’d love to do a few other things with you.”

Your face turned bright red, something you had grown used to ever since you started dating Mick and were used to hear his endless compliments.

“How was the race?” he asked. “Did you like it, even though I probably looked like an idiot who doesn’t know how to drive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mick!” you scolded, lightly hitting his arm. “You scored points for the first time. If that’s being an idiot, then I don’t know what that makes me.”

“That makes you the love of my life.”

Mick pulled you even closer, and just as he was about to kiss you, completely ignoring the risks, a voice interrupted.

Or rather, someone did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mick Schumacher?!”

As soon as you heard your father’s shouts, you and Mick pulled apart. You stood frozen, your face turning completely pale as Mick began cursing himself. How was he supposed to explain to the man who was like a father to him in many ways that he was dating you, his daughter?

You didn’t stay silent. You, who had a temper as strong as the man who had given her life, stepped between Mick and your father, trying to ease the tension that had formed over a simple show of affection.

“Dad, stop! It’s not what it looks like!” you exclaimed, nervous but determined.

“What do you mean it’s not what it looks like?” Sebastian scoffed, unwilling to believe your words. “Come on, Y/N, you were about to kiss him!”

“Yes, because Mick is my boyfriend,” you stated without hesitation. “We’ve been secretly dating since last month because we didn’t want to say anything just yet,” you explained without caring about the consequences. “So don’t act like this and use your fucking head and be reasonable for once.”

The Aston Martin driver was stunned, unsure how to react to the news that his daughter had a boyfriend, and that it was none other than the son of the man he considered his best friend, who had once been his mentor.

Mick watched as Sebastian looked at you in disbelief before shifting his gaze back to you, focusing all his attention on you.

“Y/N, this is insane… Mick,” he gestured toward him, “isn’t just any driver, he’s the son of—”

“I already know, Dad!” you interrupted, your tone sharp. “And? Does it matter? I don’t care who his father is, or who mine is, or the relationship between you two,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “We love each other, we take care of each other, and that’s the only thing that should matter to you.”

Mick alternated his gaze between father and daughter, finally mustering the courage to say something. But, before he could even open his mouth, Sebastian raised his right hand, silencing him immediately:

“Stop trying to fix this. You’ve fucked up, Mick,” he muttered as he stepped closer, his voice low enough that not even you could hear it. “My daughter is too young, and you know you could get into serious trouble if this gets out,” he added before stepping away and moving back toward you. “ I just sort of saved you from shit talks about you, so consider yourself lucky.”

“You can’t blame Mick for this, Dad,” you interjected defiantly. “We’re adults, and we can make our own decisions, so just leave us alone already.”

“You are not an adult, Y/N Vettel, you’re still a kid,” Sebastian snapped, his voice filled with unfiltered anger. “Stop acting like you are, because all you are is a reckless little girl.”

“Let me remind you that when you were 17 you fucked mum and you got her pregnant.”

You threw it out without thinking, and immediately, you regretted it, placing your hands over your mouth as if that could fix what you had just said. You knew you had been the most beautiful mistake your parents had, but you didn’t think about the impact it could have in their lives, especially in your father’s.

"I'm sorry, Juliet," the older driver began, trying not to let his anger and, especially, the pain he felt from your comment show. "But it's time to leave."

"Dad..."

"Not 'dad' or anything, Y/N," Sebastian said, raising his voice and making it sound harsher than he had intended at first. "Do you think it’s funny for me to see my daughter rubbing herself up against the one I consider my son?"

Mick paled as he heard his mentor’s words, feeling completely awful because he knew Sebastian was right. You threw him a look, but didn’t have the strength to answer. You were so in shock that you didn’t know how you hadn’t just left yet.

"And you, Mick," he said now, shooting a penetrating look at the young man, "I thought you could show a little more respect for our family and everything we’ve built together all these years."

Having said that, Sebastian took you by your shoulders carefully and started walking back to where the rest of your family was, not giving you or Mick a chance to say goodbye.

"We don't choose who we fall in love with, Sebastian," Schumacher blurted out, still frozen in place.

Your father and you turned around. The look of disappointment on Seb’s face made Mick feel a thousand times worse than he ever thought he could, but it was the sight of your tears falling rapidly that made him start crying.

"I expected you, more than anyone, to agree with this," he continued, pointing at you and himself, "because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that your daughter deserves someone good who can make her life the best it can be. If I can’t be that person because you won’t let us..." he pointed at himself, "...then I’ll be okay with it being someone else."

Vettel swallowed hard, not knowing what to say to the German’s words.

"I just want Y/N to be happy," the boy said again, "and if I have to let her go for now until you can accept and see that I’m really in love with your daughter, and that she’s the love of my life, I’ll be willing to do so."

With that, the young man turned around, trying not to look back, hoping to hear some words from those he had considered his family for so many years.

But, unfortunately for him, you and your father didn’t.

[rainbow-beanie]

Just thought of a crossover between poppy playtime and undertale, where poppy playtime takes place in the same universe as the events of undertale. So I’m thinking the playtime factory would be stationed near Mount ebbot. And by this time frisk had long since broken the barrier and them and the others are already in the process of settling down on the surface.

Till one day, while frisk is wandering through the woods, they see something that makes them still. They find doey standing right in front of them, stuck frozen just like they are. The creature doesn’t look like any monster they’ve ever seen in the underground, but they could tell it looked scared, from the way it seemed to nervously fidget the more time passes. Eventually frisk breaks the silence by introducing themselves, and the creature eventually does the same, introducing himself as doey, which frisk thinks is a cute name.

They invite doey to meet their friends, which makes doey hesitate, since all he could imagine was a bunch of humans, who would no doubt be afraid of him. Noticing his hesitation, frisk reaches up and grabs his hand and explains how their friends are really nice. And looking down at the small child looking up at him with such kindness and sincerity something he doesn’t deserve he reluctantly agrees, letting frisk led him to the village where their friends lived, being surprised that all of them were creatures just like him, or at least similar.

They were of course surprised upon seeing him, but upon frisk explaining how they found him wandering through the forest, they reluctantly agree to let him stay, cause a friend of frisk is a friend of them, doey feels touched by the sentiment.

Since doey is the component of three consciences, in the undertale verse, that would translate to souls, the souls colors are as follows.

Michael: patience 

Kevin: justice

Jack: kindness

Dory’s relationship with the other monsters:

Toriel: doey thinks she is really nice, she has a soft motherly presence that all three need, and reminds Jack of the mother that he lost, which causes doey to cry one day while helping her in the kitchen (with safety gloves, cause toriel quite isn’t sure how her food will turn out if it has bits of doe stuck it in, doey understands) and toriel is quick to comfort him, he doesn’t explain why he got so sad all of a sudden, but toriel comforts him all the same, knowing that something is wrong, and promises him tjat she would do everything in her power to protect him, which just makes him cry harder

Asgore: doey thinks he’s really nice to be around, and enjoys the time he gets to hang out while trying his tea. Asgore doesn’t quite understand how sentient dough can be able to ingest tea and food, but he remembers that the slime monsters are perfectly able to digest food, and pushes it out of mind) that is till he inevitably finds out that he had killed children in the past, which causes doey to understandably be afraid of him, till frisk explains that he only did that so he could find a way to break the barrier to save his people, which doey understands. And while not liking the fact that asgore had to go to such lengths, understands the importance of taking care of the people you care about. At least asgore succeed where he failed…

Alphys: upon being told that one of frisk’s friends is a Scientist, he doesn’t react well to it, his only interaction with any scientists being the doctor, so he doesn’t want anything to do with her till frisk, after managing to calm him down, explains that she’s really nice, and is one of their closest friends, and says how alphys has no intention of hurting him. It takes awhile, but with frisk by his side, he goes to meet alphys, and is presently surprised at how nice she is, and while she has questions of her about him, backs off the moment he gets uncomfortable, which he deeply appreciates. She eventually introduces him to anime, something that doey is very surprised about, since he’s only known cartoons from the grainy small tv’s from playcare. So seeing a cartoon so vibrant makes him very happy.

Sans and papyrus: he likes both of them equally, he enjoys sans for his laid back nature, and his puns that he readily enjoys, exchanging some of his own, much to papyrus’s chagrin. Doey enjoys his time with papyrus, learning about the different types of puzzles, and papyrus make spaghetti, even if the kitchen burst into flames from time to time. The first time it happened, doey was so frightened that he wrapped his arms twice around Papyrus and bolted out of there screaming, all while sans calmly walks in the flaming kitchen with a fire extinguisher, acting like things like this happen all the time.

Undying: safe to say doey was very surprised at how over the top she was, especially since she asked to spar with him in their first meeting, which he politely declines, content in watching her and papyrus spar from the sidelines, quickly awed at how cool they both are while fighting, it kinda reminds him often fights in alphas’s anime’s he’s watched, especially when undying suddenly strikes an iconic post from one of the characters in an anime, causing frisk next to him to cheer. One day he eventually he ends up sparring with undying, while making sure to hold back, not wanting to hurt her, finding out that he didn’t really need to, since the fish monster seemed perfectly in her element. in the process doey finds out that sparring is more fun then he expected, and he quickly looks forward to sparring with her more often.

That’s all I have rn, I just really want doey to be surrounded by people who grow to love and care about him, while not having to constantly be on guard. He deserves the world

[weepingtalecowboy]

Names have power some names destiny can’t let turn into myths

I am in a mood so legend gets it again

Fanfic prompt :

We have no idea where cadence of Hyrule fits in timeline wise as it potentially can be whatever

But since link is a toon in that one I kinda want him to be a lil teen still when it happened

So I had this very horrifying thought

Since link can die literally endlessly

What if he can’t truly age as well like every few decades he will come back being a lil guy and it will literally not stop

Any death brings him back to being a lil teen a few years short of his age during linked universe

Be it a quick death or a very slow one

Even dying from old age won’t be his end

But that gets even more horrifying when we consider that the theory of which link is in link between worlds

Because the Zelda from the original games canonically has a different appearance

But the Zelda in link between worlds also looks different initially which made many people wonder what timeline this games belong in

So what if link to the past along with oracle of seasons and link between worlds have literal decades between eachother

Because that way the Zelda kidnappings will not even be ridiculous

Like link to the past was one Zelda

The final oracle game Zelda was a descendant of the other who was kidnapped much later

and link between worlds was the descendant of the descendant

And fable is actually the great granddaughter of the first Zelda that legend met

(If we go with the legend is related to Zelda theory it gets even worse because that is his great grand niece.. the angst)

And he is centuries old and Ravio had no clue that he moved in with a centuries old being

Because that would be hilarious if Ravio is like 20 at most while legend barely remembers the joy of being just twenty

A romance between them would literally be both the worst most painful thing because legend knows Ravio will leave as well one day

And they will never truly grow old together and he will just be alone again after a few decades

And the most bitter sweet thing in existence

As legend cherishes every moment he has with the people he still has left knowing that hylia will never let him leave this earth

He once wished to end his life because after Marin he thought he deserved to join the women he killed

Only to realize living on without this closure was the punishment he so desperately sought for

To live on and on knowing that he will never get to explain himself to all the people he lost

His uncle he will never get to tell how he felt

Marin he could never hope to explain why he killed her or even apologize to her for that

Zelda and her little girl are long gone he cannot tell them how much he loves their little girl how much he wants to protect the newest Zelda just as he protected all the others before her

Din and her troupe , Nayru , Ralph , styla and his fellow heroes from hytopia are long dead and….

He is the only one still there all alone

And that way all the Zelda re designs would make a tragic amount of sense like all of them being different people reminding him of his sister

Fable knowing that her great grand uncle has been hanging around since her birth and therefore relying on him despite not truly knowing him because he keeps a distance she tries to break so much

Ravio who has such happy memories who knows that his life with link is very very short, knowing that one day he will die as well yet link will never follow he will wait for all eternity but his husband will never come join him

The chain who eventually became more people legend loves so dearly who legend grew to love he knows that some he will never see because they are in different timelines.

Yet he has his very vast memories of all those people

Remembering fighting time and Wild for the title old man (he unfortunately didn’t win)

Remembering teasing twilight , skyand warriors (and totally losing half the time)

Remembering when wind wanted to sail with him claiming they were pirates together

Remembering so much fun and excitement

hoping that he will meet hyrule some day if he just keeps living on (knowing he has no real choice)

That there is one thing worth looking out for when he already lost so much over and over…

Yet hyrule never fell like rulie said it will instead of it falling down , somehow it persisted

And he met a new descendant the granddaughter of fable's

For all his hope of meeting hyrule ,he met echo instead

And a new adventure began for him once again

But for all his hopes where crushed he at least know that at least in this timeline another boy wouldn’t have to fight his battle

For as often as he fell in battle

Hylia brought him back to keep fighting them

His battles will not fall on another child this time

For he was the hero of legends

And legends never die

[megamhafan]

(tw: mentions of csa, abduction, drug usage and domestic abuse) if you were to take away the monsters and fantastical elements in will Byers’s story, you’d straight up get a child struggling with the effects of csa along with it being allueded to that it has happened before. go read the theory made by @greenfiend for extended information https://www.tumblr.com/greenfiend/769426126766522368/lonnie-byers

season 1 part 1

we don’t see much of will in the first season but we do learn some things about him.

in s1 episode 1, we learn from joyce that the town has been insinuating/ suspecting that will might be gay.

we also get from Joyce and hopper’s conversation in the police department that will’s father lonnie, used to call him slurs. (keep a note of that)

in s1 ep 2, we actually see lonnie byers for the first time and we get information about him without it being verbalized when jonathan goes to his house to look for will.

he’s definitely an a abusive father as seen when Jonathan goes into his house and checks the cupboards ( for will)

we see lonnie push Jonathan, and then remark “you’ve gotten stronger” which seals the deal.

(if the bike isn’t evidence for the lonnie kidnapping theory, then. i don’t know what is)

eventually when jonathan is about to leave, he gives lonnie the missing poster of will. and makes a comment

“incase you forgot what he looks like”

and lonnie’s weird girlfriend, cynthia walks out and says this weird line…

“he’s kinda cute, maybe i should trade you in for the younger model” (talking about jonathan)

she also could be talking about will, considering she did glance at the missing paper beforehand.

but i want to click those two stated lines together.

as we can see, lonnie’s girlfriend is very much a young woman in her 20s, while lonnie is a man in his late 40s approaching his 50s. so it is very weird for him to be involved with her.

lonnie has always be interested in people who are barely adults/ still teenagers.

lonnie was 25 when he started dating a then 17 year old joyce.

in child predators, they don’t repeat the actions of going for younger and younger people because they actually are attracted. they do it because it’s taking advantage of someone younger, someone who might not know better.

if we’re going based off the theory that lonnie abused his sons that way, then the pattern of preying on younger and younger people clicks in with the “incase you forgot him” line.

lonnie abused jonathan first, then when will came along, he abused both. and when jonathan reached puberty, lonnie left him alone.

(note: people who prey after children, specifically boys sometimes stop when they reach puberty as they begin to have bodies that don’t resemble girls anymore)

he continued with will, and never stopped. only seeing will as a smaller and younger jonathan, and thus “forgetting what he looks like”

because his sons blended into one person in his head.

in s1 ep3, troy and james walk up to the boys and start joking about will being dead. troy even says that “he was probably killed by some other queer”

he also adds a little bit of context to where he heard that. “at least that’s what my dad says”

troy says that his father told him that. and if you look at the home lives of troy and will, they’re very similar.

abusive dad

worried mom

not too well off financially

now we know that the duffers like to drop hints and clues about characters in the background and also about the lives of certain characters so that i can’t take away from the main story.

so what if troy is being used as a mouth peice essentially to explain why the town came to the conclusion that will is gay.

if you move around the things he says, you get…

“he was probably killed by a queer”

“at least that’s what dad says”

lonnie was the one who started the rumor in town, he’s the one who eventually started saying a queer person killed will.

s1 ep4 & ep5 will’s “body” is found in the quarry and hopper has to tell joyce that they found him.

this is also when lonnie shows up, he plans to sleep on the couch for a few days and attend the funeral.

he does something that always confuses me.

when he is arguing with jonathan in his room, he tells him to take his evil dead poster down because it’s inappropriate.

i assume he means that because the house is grieving, they shouldn’t have anything up on the walls.

but i think it’s more than that.

as stated by other theorists, lonnie’s name means oak tree, and the woman in the poster is being grabbed by a oak tree.

i’ve always seen that it was supposed to represent what lonnie did to Jonathan.

but with all this moment from episode 2 in particular…

it has me thinking that lonnie wants it down because it brings to light what he did to his son, how he took him and what he’s been doing to him for years. specifically it’s Jonathan making it visible what his father did to will.

and now that will is “gone”, lonnie wants it hidden forever. buried with his child.

which makes the moment where Joyce finds the check for the money that lonnie wants to take out because of will’s “death”, even more compelling.

it’s joyce not just confronting what her ex husband is doing via taking money out to pay his debts, essentially using their dead son for money.

it’s her confronting that lonnie has been using his son for things that you don’t use a child for.

she kicks him out, making sure that he doesn’t come back to harm her or her children again.

while all of this is going on, mike and the rest of the boys are at school attending will’s memorial service, when they hear troy and James talking about will.

after this, mike confronts them angrily, because it’s a messed up thing to do.

troy then says these lines

“what’s there to be sad about anyways?”

“he’s flying around with all the other little faries, all happy and gay”

this moment would then cause mike to snap and push troy.

also to note that mike was absolutley ready to fight troy, if it meant protecting the image of his friend.

when troy gets up ready to go and attack mike, he looks like he's going to punch him, but is stopped when el secretly squeezes his bladder with her mind, causing him to pee himself.

(note: troy’s face is of uncomfortableness, rather than embarrassment)

when we get to part 2, we’re going to talk about this first, along with a intermission

[orangez3st]

Coruscant's Finest Detective

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.10.25: Introduction | Event Masterlist

Part 1 of 5 | Next to Part 2 ↦

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

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

— Eat Your Young - Hozier [X]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you were ambushed.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry I'm late!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're saying I'm dipping the hand?”

“Dipping the hand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if he isn't?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hums, urging him to continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No delivery confirmation from the detective, sir.”

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...sir?”

“You heard me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It then whirls around, taking its surroundings almost questioningly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fox lets out a snort and waves them off.

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

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

“And you know it just how?”

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

BD-6 lets out a confirming trill.

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

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

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

Thorn snickers. “Sir, yes sir.”

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

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

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

He catches Fox staring too long.

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

“No,” he says coldly.

The droid boops in disappointment, his head dropping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caf, Marshal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He suddenly forgets what he's annoyed at.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

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

#1 Person of Interest

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

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

BD-6 lets out a series of boops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, more skimming and more logging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And…

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

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

So, Lesiil graciously takes that as her cue.

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

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

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

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

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

A hand comes up from the crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Marshal Commander meets her gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Detective.”

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

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

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

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

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

Right. How dare he, right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fox is feeling so kriffing smug right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“‘Our internal network’?” Thorn snorts.

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

“You're her CO.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That's cold, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of those remind Fox of himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bnyf]

sharing is caring ♡

yandere best friends x female reader

can you imagine?

yandere invites his closest friend over, they're both hanging out and talking.

yandere goes to get a few more refreshments and that's when you took your oppurtunity to try and catch his friend's attention.

you were locked up in a little cage in your yandere's closet, only big enough for you to move some of your limbs.

you started shifting about and making noise to catch the friend's attention and eventually you did it!

your heart was pounding in your chest when he'd notice the strange sound coming from the closet, and when he got up to go investigate, the taste of freedom had finally graced your lips. what do they say? "it's so close i can taste it?"

and when he opened the closet, to his surprise, a girl trapped in a cage meant for a small animal with pleading teary eyes was begging for him to call the police, the save her! please! please save me!

he was shocked, his pupils dilated. and for a few split seconds, as you beg and try to explain the horrifc things his best friend did to you, he'd only stare at you blankly.

before smiling, of course.

"awe, so cute, now i'm jealous! why wasn't i the one to kidnap such a cutie like yourself first. bro, why didn't you tell me about your pretty little secret?"

he tilt his head and exclaimed, with a siniter chuckle and wide grin. his monolid eyes now slanted looked like they were almost closed.

your yandere's sick laughter also echoed along with his friend's as he entered the room, placing the refreshements down on the table and coming over to the closet.

"i don't like sharing, plus i don't think she can handle both of us"

they laughed.

they both kneel down at you, petting you like some sort of house animal. they both looked like nothing was happening, like you were just a cute pet to observe and play with, to stroke and feed, like this was all normal. nothing unusual of course.

your heart sank.

this... can't be real right?! the has to be some sick joke, some twisted nightmare... right?!

no...

nononono.

NO! NO! FUCK, GOD PLEASE SAVE ME!

that's when you lost all sanity and started screaming at the top of your lungs for someone, anyone, please, just hear and save you.

"there's no use, the walls are heavily sound proofed and our nearest neighbour is 10 acres of land away. so give up, and just allow yourself to be mines completely, darling."

your whole world crashed, along with any last hopes you had. here? forever, till i die?... your mind was splitting, you just starred dully at them like a broken doll.

this made your blood boil but there was nothing you could do, and now, you were trapped with not just one, but two sick manics.

"well not like i'm going home and minding my own business after this, i want her too~"

"can you really be a good girl for both of us, princess? i mean, not like you have much of a choice anyway."

"that's mean. do it again lol"

"bro don't encourage me, i already have such little self control."

"oh my bad for supporting your ideals, i'll call the police then."

they may absolutely no mind to the way your shaking, and the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. rather, they're making light of the situation, touching you wherever they'd like to, trailing your skin with their cold fingers.

"darling, you have every right to crash out right about now..."

[son1c]

thinking about sonic in my movie rewrite and uuuu... guy who has so many questions and no way to answer them...

being alone on earth for so long, sonic has had more than enough time to stew in his thoughts. who were those warriors that killed longclaw? why did they kill her? why was she even protecting him in the first place?? who is he??? these questions upset him, so he tries not to think about them for too long. he fills his time with other things--reading, exploring, etc.

eventually, he comes to see earth as his home. the realization comes to him suddenly, while he's admiring the view from a cliff at yellowstone or something equally as picturesque. it doesn't matter where he came from, because he's here now, and there's so much beauty in the world. sure, he's lonely, but honestly... isn't this better? he'd never say he hated his time with longclaw--he loved her--but it was suffocating. at least now, he can roam free.

but is he truly free? the weight of staying hidden crushes his spirit like a rock. he's on earth, but is he truly part of it? there's this self-imposed wall between him and everyone else. it's true that he interacts with nature--his best friends are the birds--but he's still an outcast from society. he hates feeling like he can't connect with them. he hates that he's being restricted by his promise to longclaw to stay safe.

and maybe he does break it at some point. before he meets annie, i mean. he tries talking to a human, but they understandably freak out and get aggressive. (maybe a cop who pulls a gun on him? LOL.) thankfully, nothing bad comes of it because no one believes the person who saw him when they start raving about an alien monster they saw, but that negative experience at least would explain why sonic just. resigns himself to following his dead mom's rules. because maybe she was right, y'know?

[whatsfourteenupto]

Today Rose gave the Fourteenth Doctor a t-shirt that simply said “Spiders Georg.” He’s got no idea what it means, but it’s a gift from his favorite niece so of course he’s going to wear it.

[akkivee]

we have three people who’ve been affected by the true hypnosis mic and two of them, nemu and kuukou, have physical items that represent their bonds, kuukou’s matching bandana and nemu’s aohitsugi bracelet

sasara’s the odd man out so i wonder if it’s smoking that represents the mcd bond????? but the fact that sasara’s trying to quit instead of already sober is striking me as strange, like the bandana and bracelet are notably missing but sasara’s is still lingering???? 🤔

[wewerebornsextuplets]

parentce 👍

[maegalkarven]

A future fic carcass I'll write when I write (after I finish 9 ungoing fics)

King Viserys dies at the wedding celebration of his daughter, Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

No one else does.

I am a firm believer Otto and Viserys are the rot on the face of the House of the Dragon and without these two everything would be fine-ish.

Unfortunately, we need Vissy T for his kids to be born, so Viserys dies soon after Aemond is conceived. Sorry, Daeron, not this time.

Joffrey doesn't die because he doesn't manage to provoke Criston before the king dies.

Rhaenyra overrules his father's decision and marries Harwin Strong.

Their son Jacaerys Targaryen is the heir to the throne, Lucerys Targaryen is the heir to Harrenhal.

Daemon marries Laena and lives at Dragonstone (Rhaenyra grants him that), their firstborn is the heir of Driftmark.

Laenor joins the Queensguard and is sent to Dragonstone to protect Prince Daemon (ha) and his future heirs.

Criston Cole becomes the Commander of City Watch while still retaining his white cloak (what? He did it in canon, can do it here).

Rhaenyra removes Tyland Lannister as the master of ships and appoints Corlys Velaryon (back).

When Baela and Rhaena are born, it is decided to betroth Prince Aegon and Lady Baela, making him future lord-consort of Driftmark (and successfully removing him out of succession of the iron throne).

When Jace is born, his and Helaena's betrothal is announced.

Baelon is born without an issue and the royal family meets at the celebration on Dragonstone, where Aemond claims Cannibal and loses an eye in the process.

(Kinslayer, everyone. It fits).

Afterwards Luke is sent as a ward to Harrenhal with his father. A huge ass scene ensures there Luke clings to Aemond and refuses to go.

Aegon makes a greasy comment and gets punched.

Both Aegon and Baela are sent as wards to Driftmark.

Lucerys still leaves.

Harrenhal doesn't burn bc even if Larys kills Harwin and Luke, there's still Lyonel and Joffrey in the equation. Lyonel keeps serving Queen Rhaenyra as her Hand.

Years later the royal family meets at the wedding celebration of Baela and Aegon, where Luke and Aemond behave very much like Rhaenyra and Daemon at Rhaenyra's not happened wedding.

Rhaenyra and Alicent clutch at their pearls, Rhaenyra suggests father died because of seeing something like that.

Daemon asks if she implies they killed Viserys, then asks where is Baelon.

Laena replies Baelon is playing knights with Joffrey.

Rhaenyra and Harwin Strong (no) have three more children, Aegon, Viserys and Visenya, all silver-haired like their mother (her uncle).

Laena is fine with it, they have a poly. Laena doesn't have more children because Baelon's birth was a ghasty one.

Baelon claims the Grey Ghost.

Otto is never called back to the capital because (suprise!) Rhaenyra didn't rush to kill her 3 y.o brother or the other one who was born after Viserys' death. Instead she marries Aegon off so he's no threat.

Aemond eventually joins the Queensguard and is appointed to the future lord of Harenhall.

Lucerys refuses to marry and appoints his brother Viserys as his heir, who marries Visenya. They have a very good life in Harrenhal.

The reason Luke skips over Joffrey is because Joffrey is always at the sea (with Baelon), and Aegon the Younger is bethrothed to Baela and Aegon the Elder' firstborn, Laena.

Everyone lives happily ever after, Otto gets to be the head of the house Hightower after he successfully plots against his own kin, since his blood is secured on the throne, if in unconventional for him way.

He once tried to manipulate Aegon, but was cut off sharply by Rhaenys and Corlys, who kind of adopted the boy as theirs.

Aegon enjoys wandering about Essos very much, he, of course, whores around, but he and Baela have an agreement. One of Baela's children is born from Alyn of Hull, but no one is any wiser, since everyone just thinks the child looks like her.

Jacaerys and Helaena have three kids, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and then Maelor.

Jaehaera is oldest and so is the heir.

Oh, and Rhaena is happily married to Corwyn Cobray. They have a daughter, Rhaenys.

[jazelock]

8 Books I Read Growing Up: A Poem

"The Intrusion," Banquets of the Black Widowers - Isaac Asimov || The Witches - Roald Dahl || Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie || The Giving Tree - Shel Silverstein || The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde || The Return of the King - J. R. R. Tolkien || "A Scandal in Bohemia," The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle || The Eyes of the Dragon - Stephen King