#hemlock mentioned

[chopper-base]

Plan 99

Day 5 of @tbb-appreciation-week (which yes, I know im very late to)

Summary: Tech finds himself alive but in the empires hands. Extremely injured and alone, he can only hope his brothers managed to escape as he fights to escape with the help of a brother long lost.

Warnings: mentions of torture and death, hurt/comfort, Crosshair needs a kriffin vacation.

Prompts: Crosshair, Whump, Hiding face in neck, "I'll keep you safe"

Chpt1 | Chpt2

Chapter 2

Crosshair awoke to a sharp ache, a pained groan slipping past his lips. He took a shaky breath, a migraine quickly forming. It was no surprise when he realized he couldn’t move, restraints tightly bound over his wrists and ankles. He knew it was only a matter of time before Hemlock or one of his assistants noticed he had regained consciousness. It was a hellish routine. Every second the sniper was awake, he was being probed and prodded, a rat for them to use however they pleased.

“Crosshair?” A small voice whispered his name and Crosshair hoped to the Maker he was hallucinating. “Crosshair, it’s Omega. Can you hear me?”

Maker, kriff it all…

He forced his eyes open a crack, looking out of the corners of his eyes to see two very young and tear filled eyes staring back at him. The young girl's hair was longer than he had last seen it, hanging down just above her shoulders. Small bruises littered her face and neck, a hint of blood staining the collar of her shirt. Crosshair couldn't stop the seething anger that came over him as his eyes scanned over every scrape and bruise on her skin.

He opened his mouth to speak, wincing at the pain it caused but he forced himself to look his little sister in the eye, "...Who did this to you?"

She forced a small smile onto her face, reaching up and setting her hand gently on his bicep. "I'm okay, Crosshair."

If he wasn't strapped to this damn table, Crosshair he was sure he was gonna murder whoever the unfortunate soul was that stepped into this room next. The sniper was never one for physical contact but he wanted nothing more than to hold the terrified child next to him. He looked around, surveying the room, noticing the two were strangely alone. "Where's the rest of the batch?" He asked, hating how his own voice scratched out of his throat.

Omega's face fell, tears beginning to collect in the corners of her eyes. "Hunter and Wrecker escaped but…" Her voice broke, the tears rolling down her bruised cheeks. "Tech… he…" the choked sob that escaped her lips was enough for the sniper to realize what she meant.

He desperately searched her face for some sort of lie. Tech couldn't be dead. They had survived so much. He couldn't…

"Omega." He said as calmly as he could muster. "What happened to Tech?"

She couldn't look him in the eye, holding his arm like a lifeline. "We got- we got your message. Tech convinced Hunter to… to look for you. He- we were stuck on a rail car and was just hanging. We tried to pull him up! But he- he shot the connector and- I'm sorry!" She sobbed, her grip on his arm tightening.

Plan 99… Tech had sacrificed himself to save his brothers. Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. He looked back at Omega, choked sobs racking her small frame.

"Omega." He said softly. "Do you know if anyone is outside this room?"

Omega finally met his gaze, shaking her head. "I don't think so. They locked the door and left me in here. Nala Se convinced them to let me see you."

Crosshair glanced down at his restrained body before looking back up at the girl. "You think you could get these restraints off?"

Omega scanned over his body before nodding, freeing his head first before moving down. Her face scrunched in concentration as she fiddled with the controls for the metal cuffs restraining his arms and legs. A small smile worked its way onto her face as the cuffs snapped open, freeing the sniper completely.

He lifted his arms slowly, rubbing his sore wrists before slowly sitting up. Omega put a supporting hand on his back as he swung his legs over the side of the table. He knew they didn't have much time but he took a precious second to pull the child into an embrace which she gladly accepted. He pulled away, lowering himself to the floor, grabbing the table to keep himself from falling as his legs shook under his weight. Omega held onto his hip, helping steady him, her eyes locked on his. He looked around the room again, looking for anything he could use as a makeshift weapon, his eyes landing on a shelf stocked with different tools. He recognized every one as Hemlock had used everyone on him at some point during his unfortunate stay in this hell hole. He slowly made his way over the shelf, grabbing the electrocution rod, flipping it on and watched the electricity dance along the end before switching it back off. He turned to Omega who was watching him intently. "The next person to walk through that door is going to have a very bad day." That got the small smile to return to her face.

The sound of the lock disengaging had the sniper quickly crossing the room, standing against the wall next to the door. The door hissed opened, and two TK troopers stepped in, their gaze fixed on Omega. The first one dropped with a grunt, the other barely able to turn to see the sniper before he too lay in a heap on the floor. Crosshair quickly picked up one of their blasters, turning the stun off before handing it to Omega and grabbing the other, doing the same. "Stay behind me and shoot when I tell you too." He instructed, peeking out of the room to see an empty hallway. Omega remained glued to him, peeking out from beside him with a death grip on the blaster in her hands. It was almost cute to see such a small child holding a blaster but he was reminded of that dreadful day when the batch first fled Kamino. When that same child expertly shot his firepuncher out of his hands. He knew she had no blaster training and yet she made that perfect shot. He knew there was something special about this kid, he just didn't quite know what it was yet.

He made his way down the hall, making sure Omega never left his side, listening closely for any footsteps or alarms but the hall remained silent. Too silent for the snipers taste.

Finally, those dreadful footsteps began to echo down that damned hallway, forcing Crosshair to pull Omega into the closest door. He had snaked his arm behind her back, lifting her up enough to press the child against his chest as he slammed the door controls. The door hissed shut, both clones holding their breath as they heard thundering footsteps echoing down the hall. They were alone in the room, the lights dimmed as far as they could go leaving the two in near darkness. The blaster was still gripped tightly in Omega's small hand, her other hand made its way around his neck. She made no move to get Crosshair to put her down, holding tightly to the sniper. The footsteps faded letting them both finally breathe. Omega turned slightly, her face burying into the side of his neck.

He could feel her begin to shake, her other arm wrapping around the other side of his neck. He lowered them both down, his knees landing on the cool metal floor. Her feet were still barely touching the ground as he held her tightly, unable to bring himself to let her go. "It's ok, ad'ika." He whispered into her ear. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

She pulled back, her feet finally flat on the floor. Her gaze met his, tears brimming her brown eyes. A small smile decorated her face as she looked at her brother.

Crosshair forced himself to return the small gesture, trying to keep the child as calm as he could. He finally broke his gaze away, looking closer at the room they had taken refuge in. The room was basically empty. All that stood in there was a small control station and what looked to be three bacta tanks. Crosshair's breath caught in his throat as his gaze met the face of the man suspended in the first tank. Omega turned, searching for what the sniper had noticed and it was clear the moment she did.

"...Tech?"

Tag list!! (Let me know if you'd like to be added!!)

@rain-on-kamino @idoubleswearimawriter @staycalmandhugaclone @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kalykat

#tbbaw2023 #crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair tbb #day 5 #fan fic #tbb fanfic #mentions of death #mentions of torture #past trauma #whump #hiding face in neck #i'll keep you safe #omega tbb #tech tbb #tbb tech #tbb omega #hemlock mentioned

[tricornonthecob]

I feel like one of the milestones of being an adult, aside from liking birds and getting excited over socks, is figuring out your favorite tree.

Sound off American Sycamore and Hemlock crew and ofc Sequoia squad

#american sycamore #trees #eastern hemlock #pour one out for the hemlocks in the Shenandoah #honorable mention to the Redwoods and Sequoias ofc #honestly they’re a given #are you even American if you don’t go feral for Sequoias #adulthood

[redbean-nom]

star wars by silm logic

for the silm-sw dual citizens:

I was wondering what would happen if star wars (particularly tbb bc that's the currently-releasing bit of star wars) adhered to silm logic:

Hunter is the local leader of a hidden city (Pabu)

Omega is the heir

Rex is the overall leader of a warring people (clone rebellion)

Hemlock is the local leader of a branch of the Forces of Evil

Palpatine is the overall Enemy

so therefore

Rex and Echo gather an army of escaped clones. They rescue Cody or Wolffe from the Empire. Song and fire are greatly involved.

Themes of rising hope are invoked as they make a stand against the Empire. The clone rebellion grows further.

They are initially victorious and manage to rescue the clone prisoners from Tantiss with few casualties. Hemlock is ousted and flees to the heart of the Empire (but his operation will return in time)

Echo goes to check on the Batch on Pabu and ask them to ally with him and Rex in the upcoming battle.

They march on Coruscant. Things suddenly go disastrously wrong. Cody is killed in battle. Rex faces Palpatine in single combat.

Rex dies tragically.

Eagles.

Echo tells Hunter about the battle. They are delayed on their way and attempt to ride to the rescue. The Batch arrives just after the deaths. Echo is sad.

Pabu is betrayed while the Batch is on Coruscant.

Pabu is invaded by the Empire. Hemlock subjugates the people into his weird clone experimentation program.

Dragons.

The Batch returns to destroyed/invaded Pabu and is unable to intervene.

While attempting to protect their city most of the Batch dies.

Echo is very sad.

Hunter is captured and killed in front of Omega.

Omega escapes and swears an Oath mourns the Batch.

Echo is broken by grief for the ghosts of his past and vanishes.

Omega later becomes a Rebellion leader, carrying the memories of the failed clone rebellion and the haven of Pabu with her.

Echo fades/dies on some random planet as the forgotten remnant of the GAR/Clone rebellion.

#star wars #tbb #the bad batch #tbb s3 #redbean talks #um. very much not spoilers? #unless you count hemlock #tbb rex #captain rex #tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb echo #Also the rest of the batch (tech; crosshair; wrecker; gonky) are not named anywhere outside Manuscript B of The Lost Unfinished WIP #which is only released 20 years later as part of an entirely different series and is also only one episode #and they each have one line of characterization; zero lines of dialogue (one if they're lucky) and are only mentioned in their death scene #can you tell i'm a FoG fan lol #seriously i wish we had a full novel FoG #alas #tbb: Fall of Pabu edition #next i need to do a silm by star wars logic! #imagine tFoG by tbb logic #everyone is about to die - oh look! morgoth just nabbed idril and ran away! #finrod somehow arrives to rescue turgon and the Lords! #everyone survives! #omg though silm by star wars logic #feanor dies; cremates himself; and then three chapters later is miraculously back #SOMEHOW FEANOR RETURNED #and given reembodiment it's actually more plausible! #star wars by silm logic everybody dies. silm by star wars logic feanor is alive and even more people die (because feanor)

[hersurvival]

Gentle PSA:

You deserve someone who enjoys it when you go on a tangent about your interests or the knowledge you have about a subject.

You deserve someone not just willing but excited to go on that journey with you. To let you feel and encourage your passions.

#we were listening to a podcast in the truck #they mentioned water hemlock #and i got so very excited #to tell him everything i knew #“yeah” #“i remember you mentioning it before” #then rafflesia was mentioned #i showed him the scientific notes i took #for my parasitic plant poem #he got mad #he couldn't hear the podcast #same thing happened watching fallout #i let out a small “what why” #and he pauses it #“are you done?” #“can i press play now?” #rant #updates

[authorred]

Hell's Gate (Part 2) (Hemlock Grove) (Roman Godfrey x Fem!reader)

Preface: Coming back from the dead is no easy feat. You're left stumbling by yourself through the town to the Godfrey Estate. Peter is there, Olivia is not, and Roman's in a coma.

Warning(s): Cursing, blood, some description of bodily injuries, and death threats (and actual death, maybe)

Part 1 here Part 3 here Part 4 here Part 5 here

As per requested, @pearlstiare

"I'm going to fucking kill her. Maim her to hell and to fucking back again. Rip her damned throat out and shove back in her mouth to choke on." Leaving a faint trail of bloody footsteps behind you, you stumbled through the outskirts of town and up the only road that led to it. Dressed in a white shirt and pants, red soaked through the cloth. You looked like a walking criminal case.

"And when she's begging me for mercy through her excised larynx, I'll rip her limb from limb and feed it to the fucking Vargulf!"

When you had exited out of your grave, it was touching down dusk. The faint warmth of the sun leaked through the bare trees and hit your face. If you were honest, that only fueled the burning anger and hatred coursing through your body. You felt warm. You felt hot. And not the good kind of hot.

From behind you came the gravelly crunch of car tires on the road. You stopped walking when you could see headlights come over the hill. You turned to see a truck travelling towards you, and without much thought, you stepped out into the middle of the road. You heard the driver yell and curse out in alarm before slamming the breaks. The car stopped a few inches from your body. You watched him wave his arms out in frustration before the driver-side door opened. You were on it immediately, coming chest to chest with the taller man.

"Give me your car," you ordered, staring up at him. The driver just blinked in indignation.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy bitch--" He didn't get to finish his sentence because you had his throat gripped tightly in your hand.

"That wasn't a fucking question." You lifted him from the ground, to which he let out a panicked, choked gasp. With a small grunt, you threw him to the side and into the ditch, where he rolled down the hill with several pained yells. You replaced him in the driver's seat and closed the door before flooring the truck down the road.

You haphazardly pulled into the Godfrey Estate's property, not even bothering to put the truck in park. You kicked the driver's side door off the car itself, stepping barefoot on the clean and tidy ground. From what you could smell, Olivia was not home, but Roman was. Good e-fucking-nough.

You stormed up to the front door, ripping out wooden splinters from your skin, which healed immediately. You practically tore the door off its hinges. No doubt it drew the attention of whoever else was inside the house. You stepped into the lavish entry hall and sniffed around, smelling two more scents that were familiar. You eyed the spiral staircase where the scent trails led to and padded up the carpeted steps.

"Roman?" You called out loudly. "I know you're here. Where the everloving fuck is your goddamned mother?!" You paused halfway when you heard two sets of rapid footsteps coming towards your direction. Sliding into the hall, and consequently at the top of the stairs, was Peter and Letha, who had come from the attic.

For a moment, the three of you just stared at each other. Peter's and Letha's jaws were slack--eyes as wide as if they saw the ghost of their dead loved one.

You just inquisitively raised a brow. "Why are you two here? Where's Roman?"

"How--?" Peter choked out, face twitching in compensation for his brain trying to wrap around the fact he was seeing you. Alive. "We. . . we saw you. . . at the morgue. . . you were. . . and Roman was. . ."

"Yeah, you did," you agreed. "I was dead. Now I'm not. Sur-fucking-prise." You continued to walk up the stairs, and Peter backed up, taking Letha with him. You just scrunched your face up at him.

"The fuck's your deal? Do you not think I'm me, or something?"

"I--I don't know. . . there's no way that you're. . . you're dead, we saw you." Letha's voice cracked.

You just sighed irritably and rubbed your face. "You got pregnant by an angel, but somehow this is unbelievable?"

Letha's face blanched and she nervously looked at Peter, who glanced at her. "Are you really. . . I mean. . . how are you. . . alive?"

"We can go over that later," you hastily replied. "Where's Roman?"

"He's in the attic," Peter replied.

"Why's he in the attic?"

Peter hesitated for a moment before saying, "He's in a coma."

A tense moment of silence fell over the three of you. You stared at Peter as if he had said the dumbest thing a man could've uttered. In fact, you genuinely thought he did. "What? How did that idiot get in a coma? How long have I been 'dead', exactly?"

"He overdosed," Peter replied. "And it's been close to two weeks."

"Overdosed?" You repeated, crossing your arms. "On what?"

"Just. . . drugs," Peter shrugged. "They didn't specify what."

"Roman doesn't even do drugs--aside from the occasional coke line. And he hasn't done that since we've been together. Only thing he's an addiction to is smoking, and I'm trying to get him weaned off that. I don't even kiss him when I can smell that cancer on him. Ugh, disgusting just to think about."

"That's what Dr. Pryce said," Letha further explained. Your lips twitched at the mention of that man's name.

"Right. Well, I trust that man as far as I can throw him. Which, evidently, I'm not willing to throw him that far." You moved past them and made your way up to the attic. The steady beeping of a heart monitor echoed from the room. When you passed under the doorway, you focused on the stationary hospital bed set up in the middle of the floor. You slowed your pace when you got closer, nervously peering past the bed's frame. You stopped walking when you saw Roman lying in it, unconscious.

"You fucking idiot," you sighed, traipsing to his side. You gently cupped his cheek, brushing some hair out from his eyes. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm letting you know right now, that when your mother comes back; I'm killing the hell out of her." You leaned on the side of the bed and gently pet his face, taking extra care not to jostle him too much.

Eventually, Peter and Letha slowly reentered the room, having want to give you time with Roman.

"He's been. . . doing shit since your death," Peter spoke carefully. "He really loves you."

You looked over your shoulder at him and nodded slowly. "Yeah," you agreed. "I wasn't ready to go. To leave him. To leave you all hanging with this. . . well, you know."

Peter nodded in understanding. "He'll be happy to see you're alive. . . somehow."

You snorted. "Yeah. I'll explain it to you guys soon. Also, can I ask a favor of you two?"

Peter gestured for you to continue.

"Don't tell Olivia I'm alive."

Something seemed to have clicked in Peter's mind because he nodded almost immediately. "Not a word." He nudged Letha who also agreed, albeit slightly quieter.

You nodded at them gratefully before turning your attention back to Roman. "Can't go one day without getting yourself in some shit, huh?" You whispered with a small smile. "That's fine, though. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

With a tired sigh, you slumped on the couch across from Roman's bed. You got tired of standing and there wasn't enough room on the hospital bed for both of you. You sprawled out on the couch and stared up at the arching ceiling. Wherever Olivia was you don't even know--and Peter was speaking--or rather yelling--with Letha downstairs. About what, you didn't care to know.

Your eyes suddenly shifted over to the dark figure standing in the corner of the room, body having the appearance of ink in water; but it was glitching. As if it was inside of a tv screen losing reception.

Ö̵͓̫̮l̸̻̹̺͗͒̎͊̊̚ḯ̴̯̈́͂͒v̷̢͙̺͉̋̃̂i̵̼͋̿ä̴̗̜̩̟́̄̑ ̸̻͎͕̻̬͖͋͛̕͝G̵̝̜̤̹̰͗̌ͅo̸̹̣̎̉͠d̸͈̻̆̎̀̅̔ͅf̶̞̪̋̈́͐̋͘͝ṛ̵̰͕̫͋̾̇̆͊̾è̶̫͖̙̤̦̽͗͐ͅy̸̲͇̺̓̋ ̸̪̉̈́̑s̴͓̯̝͖̘̀̈t̷̰̭̯̲̝͇̅͛͆̕i̴̧͈̠͕̿͜ͅl̸͍͇͐ľ̵̹ ̶̹̻̠̍̎̚ḷ̶͈̼̕i̷͓̔v̷͕͗ê̸̢̖͐s̷̙̜̪͂͛

"Yeah, I know," you spoke out. "She's not here. She doesn't know I'm alive. It's perfect, is it not?"

W̴̹̥̤̐̒̈͗̑i̸͕̬͆͝l̷͍̩͋̀̌̆̑͝l̸̨̳̔ ̴̢̮̼̠̈́̇͝ͅt̷͉̩̟̺̽ẖ̴̭̒̿ỉ̴͈̮s̷̟͉͈̼̬̾͐ ̶̜̖̩̝̼̈̂b̸̗̥̙̽̓̓̄̚͘é̶̬͔͑ ̶̖͆̌̆̀̄t̶̝̖͖̔̂͜h̷̬̿̔̒͘e̶̼͉̭̜̬̓͛́͊͝ ̵̽͒̃̅͆ͅf̸̛̮̦̈͐̊̋̃ĭ̷̲̄́̒̚r̸̝͖̳̠̰͍͐͛͂̚š̸̠̼̘̝̖̜͊̈́̊ţ̸̭̹̜͓̹̃̈́̀͝ ̵̘̇̎̅͗͗͝t̷̞̗̲̤͔̬̀͑͗̈́̌͗i̷̺̺͑͌͒m̴̮̠̈́ę̶̳͚̣͖̠̆͑͛͝ ̶̭̄͌̐̉ͅy̸̤͚̮̍̈̄̕ȫ̷̝̉͑̈́̉ṳ̵͎̭̟̝̠̀̆́̑͛͝ ̶̢͓͇̋w̶͉̬̮̻̅ò̴͉̥̫̦͚̒̂́n̶̹̄̕'̶͖̂́̐̊t̸̡͇̺͙̍ ̶̧̳̬̾͐̑͊́̊b̸̨͖̼͇̮͖̽̽̓̀ĕ̸̙̹̆̏͂͊ ̷̼̀̏̿̿̊ͅǎ̴͙̦͕͓̞b̷̧̤̮̙̄̃͒̑̐͘l̷̨̜͙͖̜͉͘ȩ̷̟̀̈́̊̄ ̶̨̧̖̖̰̦͋͑̿̏̔̅t̸͙̊ǒ̵͍̟́̾͒͋ ̵̹͍̮̆̓̿̎̚e̴̩̘̥̜̿ͅṋ̵̨̖̱̬̈̌̋a̶̢̛̘͎͉̙͊̑͌̉͑c̸̨̨̰͗͗͑͗͗͜͝t̶͍͇͙͇͊̓͐́̉̄ ̸͚͝͝r̶̘̠̩̬̮̍̈́e̷̦̦̍̈́̅̎̆v̵̞̯͎̔̑̚ḛ̵̣̠̈́̀̈́͊n̸̨͔̬̑͒̐̍̇̏g̴̨̣̒ë̷̗͆́̋̀?̶̲̽̈́̏̀͋

"No," you immediately replied. "I'll pay my blood debt with her life. Don't worry about it."

The inky shadow being bled into the walls, body leaking back into the cracks of the house.

You sighed heavily. "I fucking hate you Olivia Godfrey."

#writerslife #fanfic writer #writers #writers of tumblr #headcanon #relationship #black and white #writing #gifset #hemlock grove #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey #peter rumancek #letha godfrey #female reader #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #romance #loving #love #death and dying #tw death #death mention

[knightprincess]

Forgive Me (Echo x Medic Reader) Part 23

Words: 1.9K Warning: This one is a little heavy - mentions of depression, PTSD and Torture (Reconditioning) Pronouns Used: She/Her - (use of Y/N) Note: I am having trouble accessing the series masterlist. I will link it as soon as I can.

5 Months Later

(Y/N) wandered around her lab on Tantis, a depressed sigh escaping her as she continued her repetitive routine—one she hated as much as she did the empire. Snap should have been happy, even hopeful Omega had escaped the secret scientific base with Crosshair, but instead, she felt the opposite: terrified. The empire had discovered how valuable the young clone was and would hunt her down as if she were their prey. 

"We have a new subject for you," came a demanding voice from behind (Y/N), the voice of a female scientist. Snap hadn't bothered to learn her name, as she hadn't expected to be there for so long. The plan was to get as much information as possible within a four-week period, and then she'd be extracted. (Y/N) turned, nodding silently, before retrieving her datapad, if only to find out who the poor soul she had been charged with tormenting this time was. She preyed on the maker. It wasn't another clone she knew, a prayer that was quickly rejected as her heart sank the moment her saddened eyes found the identification number. CC-3636. 

"Wolffe," quickly whispered Snap, as her voice became trapped in her tightening throat and the familiar anxious feelings of the walls closing in around her and being trapped reared its head again. She'd hoped to see the Commander again, but not like this. She still hadn't forgiven herself for turning Tech into a Shadow, one of the many operatives at the empire's beck and call. She knew Wolffe wouldn't be as terrible, but it wouldn't be easier either. He was a friend, a brother to her, and now she was tasked with turning him into another of the empire's shadow assassins. 

(Y/N) soon left her quiet lab, and with dread clouding her mind, she headed toward the large round room reserved for the reconditioning she was to put all shadow operatives through. The torture room as she had unceremoniously labeled it. Ever since Omega and Crosshair had escaped, security had been far tighter; Mistress Nala Se had been locked away in a cell as punishment for her part in the breakout. Where as Emerie Carr had been promoted to head scientist of Project Necromancer. The base seemed colder and grew colder the more the empire strangled the wider galaxy. 

The moment Snap entered the rounded room, she was met with silence. Two TK Troopers stood guard over Wolffe as if he were a dangerous criminal; the Commander himself at least seemed peaceful. There was little doubt in (Y/N)'s mind that he'd been dosed with something before being transported to the secretive scientific base. 

"You may leave," spoke Snap, her voice cold and sharp as it cut through the silence and ricocheted off the durasteel walls. Both plastid-clad men seemed confused by her dismissal of them, sharing a glance before turning their attention back to her. 

"Negative, Ma'am," replied the taller of the two, shaking his head as if to convey the message quicker. "We have orders to stay for your safety. The clone is a dangerous insurgent," he uttered; the unnamed soldier had expected to see fear flash across (Y/N) features. Instead, her expression remained neutral, even more so as she buried the truth she knew. Wolffe wouldn't hurt her, although she'd admit she was terrified he was there. She questioned whether Tarkin had figured out where Wolffe's loyalty truly lay or if the commander had done something to earn the wrath of the empire. 

"That was not a request," replied (Y/N), her bottled-up anger and self-hatred slipping through ever so slightly. "If you wish to stand guard, then do so outside the room. Being within will only distract me from my work," she added, turning her attention back to the datapad as she walked over to the small office and storage area, retrieving the medical supplies needed to complete the first of many tasks. 

Wolffe seemed to regain consciousness as Snap went about the assessment. His sight blurry as he glanced around the room, but as it began to focus, the commander panicked, even more so upon becoming aware he was in an unknown place, a laboratory of some kind, restrained by the wrists, ankles, and several other areas, including his head. He'd been able to yell out to be let free of the restraint demand even when (Y/N) came into view, reaching to release the restraint around his head and loosening those around his torso and wrists. 

Although some relief had washed over his clouded mind, it was quickly overcome with concern. (Y/N) was before him now but far different than he'd observed her to be in the past. There was no warmth to her now; she had closed herself off completely as if to protect herself and what remained of her fractured heart. Her touch was still gentle but didn't have the same comfort as before. It was as if the empire had broken her down and molded what remained into something else. As they did with his slowly disappearing brothers.

"(Y/N)," whispered Wolffe, wanting to reach out to her but found it impossible with the restraints. "Snap," he called, thankful that she had turned her attention to him. She quickly moved to wipe away the stray tear running down her cheek as if rubbing away any sign of weakness the empire could exploit. But despite her best efforts, she couldn't suppress her true self when someone called her by the affectionate nickname. 

"They want to repurpose you," whispered (Y/N), a ragged sigh escaping her as she tried to recompose herself long enough to explain what she was tasked with doing. "I'm supposed to recondition you and ensure you're loyal to the empire. You'll become a shadow like Tech and Cody," she added, unsure how to feel when Wolffe had understood so quickly what that meant, what he'd be put through to achieve the goal. 

"Were they successful?" questioned Wolffe, digging for even the littlest shred of hope. (Y/N) only nodded, Cody had been one of the first she'd succeeded with, he stopped fighting after she took over from Rampart. Tech had been successful, too, although his deviant nature had yielded some interesting results and a slither of hope. "Remember Wabani?" asked the commander, resigning himself to the fate ahead. He would have fought tooth and nail to escape if it were anyone else. He would have made things as difficult as possible. Snap was different. Only now did it truly resonate with Wolffe the meaning behind Gregor's words. Snap was the weapon the empire had against the clones. 

"Forgive me," voiced Snap, gently squeezing his hand before the interrogation droid floated closer. Just like with Cody and Tech, she intended to botch the reconditioning, if only so it could be reversed. However, it didn't bring her any comfort, knowing each of them would remember the torture, the agonizing pain, and the scary after-effects of it all. Like Crosshair did, although (Y/N) wondered if the sniper had realized he was the key to finding the secret scientific base. 

The reconditioning had only partially worked on Crosshair; his deviant and defiant nature had prevented most of it from sticking. Although the torture had left its mark, the nerve damage was a constant reminder, as were the flashbacks and nightmares. Upon realizing nothing wouldn't permanently stick with the sniper, Snap had taken a leap of faith, implanting a small microchip with the information she'd recovered and the coordinates of the base. Crosshair had everything, even if unknowingly. Even if she were caught, her mission would succeed the moment those fighting against the empire recovered the information. 

"Mistress," voiced CX-2 from beneath his helmet, his voice mechanical and unrecognizable via it. With his return, Snap knew he had successfully retrieved Omega. The civvi medic knew why he'd come to her. All Shadow troopers knew to find her upon return to undergo a medical evaluation. 

"Are the others okay?" questioned Snap, adverting her eyes away from Wolffe's torture. His screams and howls of pain would haunt her, just like the others before had. CX-2 could only nod, moving to block her view of the interrogation droid and Wolffe helplessly strapped down to the operating table. As if shades of his old self shone through, the shadow operative reached for her datapad, turned off the droid with little hesitation, and completed the actions that Snap was paralyzed to do. 

Carefully, he nudged her to the small lift, the round observation tower servicing as her medical bay for all the Shadow Operatives. Upon perching on the end of the examination table, he removed the black helmet, placing it at his side, his vision turning blurry now, only outlines of objects and shadows moving across the room. (Y/N)'s presence being the clearest thing there. 

"Your injuries are almost healed," spoke Snap, her voice calmer now as her gentle hand traced the scars scattering his face and neck. "Is there any pain? Your eye, neck, or cybernetics?" she asked, detecting Tech's inner struggle. His deviant nature had prevented the reconditioning from permanently sticking but had resulted in what was equal to two worlds colliding within his head, essentially doubling his suffering and pain. "The migraines, are they any better?" 

"Anyone else would have deemed me a lost cause," Tech commented in response, focusing his blurred vision on her. His miss-matched eyes were similar to Wolffe's now. One is golden brown, and the other is a cold, clouded silver. "There is little you can do to fix my vision, Cyare. My goggles shattered the way they did, and the shards from the train did more damage than I care to admit." 

"And I did further damage with the reconditioning," replied (Y/N), stepping back in an attempt to regain her slipping composure. She'd reached her limit weeks ago but forced all her feelings into a little box and buried them at the back of her mind to try and fix those she was forced to break. She did this to pull off a facade of confidence and hide the true terrified little girl she truly was inside. 

"CX-2," called Hemlock the moment he entered the tinted room. As per usual, he had a calm and reserved aura about him, yet his eyes glistered with anger, even malice—an unusual sight, to say the least. "Take her into custody. Ensure she's properly secured in a cell," he ordered, ignoring the confusion and fear appearing across Snap's features. Instead, Hemlock's attention turned to Wolffe, helplessly strapped to a table, in and out of consciousness as he tried to order his scrambled thoughts and senses. The recent call with Tarkin only proved to shake Hemlock's trust in those around him, even more so if the admiral's theory was correct. (Y/N) was working with the tormented commander and against the empire. 

"It's only until my investigation is complete. Admiral Tarkin brought a concerning theory to my attention," reported Hemlock, cluing the civvi medic in and alerting her to her dire situation, even more so when it dawned on her that her time for escape and rescue had passed. The only way she was likely to leave the facility was if the empire wanted her to. 

Series Masterlist

#the bad batch #star wars #reader insert #reader interactive #star wars fanfiction #forgive me (echo x medic reader) #echo x medic reader #medic reader #cx 2 #tech bad batch #dr hemlock #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on inkitt #cross posted on quotev #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on neobook #part 23 #commander wolffe #mentions of commander cody #mentions of crosshair #star wars fanfic #x reader

[cjorgens2022]

Bad Batch Season 3

I was asleep for a good moment. Then I saw visions of Hunter and Wrecker being the ones to die at the end of the season while Omega, Crosshair and Echo are too survive.

another thing is that in another part of my bad batch dreams is that Tech, as CX-2 had Hunter in binds whole guiding him to the shuttle silently before holding a deep conversation with Hunter.

then, Wrecker would seize Tech aka CX-2 much to the latter’s displeasure while, an unusually alive Plo Koon watched!

#Plo Koon #Bad Batch Season 3 #CX-2 #Tech is CX-2 #Imperial Tech #Imperial!Tech #Clone X reconditioning does not change Tech’s mind #Galactic Empire #major deaths #Original characters #angst #mentions of Order 66 #Wilhuff Tarkin #Edmon Rampart #Royce Hemlock #Emerie Karr #TK stormtroopers #Project War Mantle

[annwayne]

Y’all don’t need to “ignore canon” to think Tech’s not dead…. It’s Star Wars.. He fell from a cloudy-obscured-depth-height….

If these guys can all come back, under much worse and more dangerous situations, then so can Tech.

#not to mention all the foreshadowing that he's alive #like #Hemlock having Tech's googles? Foreshadowing #Hemlock saying Tech is dead-even 'struggling' to remember his name??? Foreshadowing #tbb spoilers #tbb season two spoilers #tbb season 2 spoliers #the bad batch spoliers #the bad batch season two spoliers #the bad batch season 2 spoliers #also #There's so many options for people who could have saved him #Hemlock. Phee. Saw. #Tech saving himself??? #I'm just so annoyed at all the 'im ignoring canon!!' posts #yall don't need to ignore canon #canon's already told you everything you want to know #'but you can't know for sure!!' #yeah I guess #but I trust the writers more than that #like its really shit writing to try and 'one up' your viewers and confuse them #no one likes that #and I just can't see the writers acting that way with this show #is this an emotions thing?? #like people see the foreshadowing but are too emotional about seeing Tech fall?? #im so confused

[thecoffeelorian]

CW: I will be discussing a very ugly side of history in this post, so if you would rather not go into comparisons between Hemlock and another known "doctor" that was pure evil, please avoid this topic entirely. You were warned.

...now, for the adults that can discuss this without devolving into heated arguments about "graphic content"... let me first say this.

I came into this world on February 7, 1983.

Mengele left it on this same day 4 years earlier, meaning that I, a woman with autism and therefore a disability, got to enter a world where he no longer existed. Even as I'm typing this, the thought gives me chills several months after I learned of this fact.

That being said...I won't make a single comparison between this very real threat that could now re-emerge at any time, in any country, and the character Royce Hemlock, without giving it a great deal of thought as to whether or not such a discussion could, or would, downplay the horrors of the Holocaust.

Tags go solely to @skellymom until further notice, at least as far as replies go.

#the bad batch #royce hemlock #tw: holocaust mention #ayyy skellymom

[piers-official]

My favorite type of pokemon is ice. My Cryogonal says hello!

How do you guys feel about Weavile, since it's ice dark type?

I like 'em enough. Cute lil' buggers with giant claws. Never had a chance ta catch one though. Plus M'not too sure how ta raise ice types.

I like 'em too! But I a'ready got a cute little dark type with blades on it's hands, hehe~ How about you dad?

Who, me? Oh! My mum had a weavile when she was younger, back in Unova. She had it since she was, well, probably a bit younger than Marnie, actually! It stayed with her until it passed away due to old age. They're very good companion pokemon.

#H: And hello to your Cryogonal! #answered asks #hemlock texting #pkmn irl #pkmn rp #death mention #back from the dead (arc) #double battle #piers rp #marnie rp

[eladrins]

this character has basically ended up with like. 2 levels of backstory there's the full backstory for me/friends/online people, and there's a shallower version for a bunch of dudes I don't know

#like. one he's bi and i doubt any of them would be overtly homophobic but idk if even mentioning that in the context of his past would be #like something to avoid? i feel like a lot of dnd dudes see like. mention of a guys wife in backstory as Fine but you mention he had an #ex bf and suddenly its too political or you're making it all about lgbt issues or something #but yeah like the guy who got him involved in the crime guild was his shitty older ex and it was a bad situation he got out of #like this dude was an asshole and the last time he saw him they had a massive fight during a botched burglary and #now Hemlock is living his best life with fey warlock powers and yeah he cant ever go back because theyll kill him but he can Eldritch Blast #thats all you need #i dont want it to be an arc about getting out of an abusive relationship or anything like hes already done that its more like #this is theoretically a fun whimsical fey adventure and he's gonna enjoy it after years under this dude's thumb

[lovejustforaday]

2023 Year End List - Introduction and Honourable Mentions

Here we go again! 🤘😤🤘

Continuing the tradition of making this harder and more drawn out for myself every consecutive year, I've decided to do a top 20 records + some honourable mentions for my 2023 year end list.

But in all seriousness, this has been the most exciting year in the new decade so far by quite a wide margin, and I have so many projects that I've been really wanting to gush about on this blog. Suffice to say, this year's round up is gonna be a little bit lengthier.

And I hope you really enjoy going all in as much as I do, because the reviews are also probably gonna be longer as well. I have at least one definite 10/10 record at the #1 spot which I am incredibly hyped to write about, and I will try my best to limit myself to twenty paragraphs max, but I'm not gonna make any hard promises.

But first off, I wanted to honour 3 LPs that almost made the list + an EP that doesn't qualify for the list proper (LPs only). Just gonna be dishing out a few quick thoughts on each of these projects.

So let's get down to it!!

Knower Forever - Knower

Main Genres: Jazz-Funk, Synth Funk

A decent sampling of: Jazz Fusion, Jazzstep, Art Pop, Nu-Jazz

My dad actually introduced me to Louis Cole's work properly last year, but my first exposure to him was that "Bank Account" meme song he did back in 2017 (simpler times...). My old man sang the praises of his "Weird Part of The Night" and I definitely have to agree - some very solid funky stuff.

So this year, I familiarized myself with his band, Knower, and their latest LP.

Knower Forever is a very clever, silly, sometimes vulgar jazz-funk record with some kickass virtuoso musicianship, and I totally love its vibe. It doesn't take itself to seriously; the technical skills of the performers really speaks for itself.

Lots of snarkiness on "I'm The President" with iconic lyrics such as "Mount Rushymore has some tits" and a frigging brilliant piano solo breakdown. "Nightmare" sounds like funky Mario Kart DS music for some reason. "It's All Nothing Until It's Everything" is screeching nu-jazz insanity which turns into an ethereal cacophony of intense pleasure.

Definitely front-loaded and could've been slightly edited down. Some of the second half feels redundant. I almost considered putting this at #20, but the other record was just slightly better for me + the other half of this duo, Genevieve Artadi, was very busy this year with making her own jazzy solo record which will actually be making an appearance later on this list. Still, don't skip this one if you like music with a hell of a lot of personality.

8/10

Highlights: "I'm The President", "Nightmare", "It's Al Nothing Until It's Everything", "Real Nice Moment"

Norm - Andy Shauf

Main Genres: Chamber Pop

A decent sampling of: Lounge, Twee Pop, Soft Rock, Folk Pop

Norm is one fucked up little record. If you know anything about cuddlecore band Heavenly's 1993 EP Atta Girl (an all-time fav of mine and possibly the best concept EP ever), then you'll recognize this LP as having a very similar concept. Additionally, this is similarly also probably best enjoyed as a going-in-blindfolded experience, so I'll put a spoiler warning riiiiiiiiiiiiight.........HERE.

SPOILER WARNING

DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU WANT TO RECEIVE THE FULL SHOCK FACTOR OF THIS RECORD.

Yeah, so this record is about a seriously disturbed stalker with a crush (from the stalker's perspective), but you wouldn't know that if you were just vibing to the breezy, laidback folksy chamber pop tunes that Andy Shauf writes.

Incidentally, this is perfect for a lazy autumn afternoon on a warm, partly-cloudy day. Andy's voice is such saccharine softboi material, that it makes the darker underbelly of this record all the more sickening. "Wasted On You" feels like a crooked smile once you understand the context, with that little uncanny plucked riff.

Admittedly, it's a bit too one-note at times for its concept and (again) could've been edited down. Definitely will lose some less patient listeners with its lackadaisical flow, and I would totally understand why. But the narrative is really well-written. Andy does a great job somehow both humanizing his character while incredibly disturbing us, the listener, with his unreliable narrator. Very Nabokov.

8/10

Highlights: "Wasted On You", "Halloween Store", "Paradise Cinema", "Catch Your Eye"

Pollen - Tennis

Main Genres: Soft Rock, Psychedelic Pop, Indie Pop

A decent sampling of: Sophisto-Pop, Twee Pop, Pop Soul

I had to include this somewhere, even if it didn't make the full cut.

The adorkable, young 'old married couple' turned retro-loving soft rock duo Tennis were responsible for my #1 favourite 2020 record with the glorious shimmer of their anniversary album Swimmer, a record that channeled and ultimately rivaled the greatness of 70s feel-good pop mega-acts like ABBA, The Carpenters, and Fleetwood Mac.

A difficult act to follow, for sure. So what did the band do? Took the gauzy, psychedelic tones of a few of the tracks from the previous record and turned it into a full-length album sound. Pollen is Tennis on some very nice, light edibles.

"Let's Make A Mistake Tonight" sees Tennis embracing a very detuned, sequin disco soul sound, like the music your parents/grandparents (idk how old you are) probably listened to while cruising down the country side streets with their old camper on the way to their honeymoon destination. "Pollen Song" is like laying in a field of flowers and feeling the soil underneath you giving you a nice warm back massage.

This was a very solid effort to follow up a very stellar record in their discography. It doesn't come all too close; The best tracks here feel like Swimmer B-sides. Nevertheless, Tennis very much retains the talent to write a golden melody that feels like it was a smash radio hit from 50 years ago. Still plenty to love here.

8/10

Highlights: "Let's Make A Mistake Tonight", "One Night with The Valet", "Pollen Song", "Never Been Wrong"

going…going…GONE! - Hemlocke Springs

Main Genres: Synth Pop, Indie Pop

A decent sampling of: Indietronica, New Wave, Zolo, Art Pop, Dance Punk

This is the EP that I wanted to shout out. I'm sure many of you TikTok savvy zoomer indie kids have already heard of Hemlocke Springs after "Girlfriend" exploded last year on the platform.

Tiktok as a music sharing platform seems to do be doing one of three things every time a song gets popular: a) it's boosting some talentless influencer hack making music designed to be memeable and forgotten a month later b) it's boosting already fairly popular indie songs from a few years ago to mega-popular status (look what it did to "Space Song"), or c) every now and then a fresh face with a lot of genuine talent is blessed by the algorithm and skyrockets them to early critical success.

Hemlocke Springs falls into the latter category. She deserves every bit of hype and the catapult to indie fame that she has received in the last year. Her music sounds like it's carrying the torch of Talking Heads, Jun Togawa, Marina And The Diamonds, Helen Love, and Javiera Mena all at once. She is one of the quirkiest, most colourful fun-loving pop artists to have emerged in a long time and I am HERE FOR IT.

After releasing a string of singles across the last two years, she finally dropped her debut EP going…going…GONE! in September earlier this year. It includes several of those singles plus some new cuts.

The aforementioned "Gilrfriend" is a stroke of genius, with zolo vocal weirdness over sugary girlish synthesizers, a killer fucking chorus, an energy that builds and builds across the entire track, and a ridiculously manic bridge that even trumps the chorus. I get giddy even just thinking about this track. It's no wonder it blew up; a pop song this good being part of an artist's debut rollout is almost unheard of.

"Heavun" is like a new wave glitter dream of flying through Akihabara with butterfly wings. "Enknee1" is an anthemic, longing plea for love set to baby-pink-tinged indietronica synths. "pos" is a goofy cut with bubbly mutant disco influences that makes me feel very light-headed.

I WISH she included "Sever The Blight" on this EP since it's arguably every bit as good as "Girlfriend". But for now, I'll just say that THIS is how you make your debut as an artist.

Hemlocke Springs is the hyper-imaginative, nerdy underdog hero that we all need right now. She really feels like she could be the next big thing that everyone in the music world could agree on. Keep this one on your radar - she's still only just cooking. Even greater things to come I'd bet.

9/10

Highlights: "Girlfriend", "Heavun", "pos", "Eknee1"

#album review #music review #2023 #EP #aoty #year end list #honourable mentions #hemlocke springs #tennis #knower #andy shauf #norm #knower forever #going...going...GONE! #Pollen #Soft Rock #Jazz funk #synth funk #psychedelic pop #indie pop #synth pop #chamber pop

[kratosfan6632466]

The finale ending but zimas in it

After omega was stunned zima was knocked out and taken into the empire’s ship

Wrecker: ZIMA NOOOO!!!! First tech crosshair now her and omega?!!!

Wrecker saw hunter

Hunter : we need them back now!

Hemlock got her in the interrogation room as she was tied down

Omega woke up with zima

Zima : before you ask me anything just know that I won’t tell you anything torture me all you want I am keeping my mouth shut

Crosshair woke up and saw her

Crosshair: Zima listen to me …keep your heart beating….no matter what happens keep it steady

Dr hemlock electrocuted her as she screamed out in pain

Omega : ZIMA !!!! No!

She pants

Dr hemlock : you really aren’t getting us anywhere mrs zima tell me what I wanna know and the torture stops

Wrecker sensed zima

Wrecker: can this thing go any faster?????

Echo : it is in hyperspace

Wrecker: she needs us ! She’s being tortured! Please…I cannot lose her too !

The ship got out of hyperspace

Wrecker: don’t worry my love I’m coming just hold on ….

Dr hemlock electrocuted her again screaming in pain

Wrecker gasped hearing her screams

Wrecker: ZIMA IM COMING!!!

Zima pants as he heard him and was relieved but didn’t show it to hemlock

Zima : please…. Please no more…..

She saw hemlock getting close to hitting the shock button as he was immediately shot in the head

Zima : wrecker!

Wrecker: nobody touches my cyrare !

Wrecker ran to her and freed her from the rope that tied her down

Wrecker wrapped his arms around her as soon as she was freed

Wrecker: it’s ok zima I’m here…..

Omega ran to her *

Omega : mrs zima im so sorry! I feel so bad not being able to help you

Wrecker responded for her : don’t worry about it kid at least she is ok

Omega freed crosshair as well

Wrecker : I could sense what he was doing to ya ….I would’ve came here faster

Hunter : omega thank goodness you’re ok!

Hunter said as omega ran to him and hugged him

Wrecker: let’s go back home

Everyone went home

Zima was on the couch as wrecker was in the kitchen

Wrecker microwaves one of zimas favorite dishes to eat

Wrecker: hey zi….I brought you your favorite meal

Zima : aw thank you wrecker ….

She winced and sat on the couch

Wrecker: I’m sorry he did that to you you deserve better….

Zima : I’m just glad that I’m home with you

Wrecker winced from the neck pain

Zima : here babe let me

Wrecker winced as she began healing his neck

Zima held his hand with the opposite hand

Wrecker: h-how much longer????

Zima : aaaand done

Zima gave him medicine for the pain as he removed the neck brace

Wrecker: now what about you ik he shocked ya but he could’ve done other things to ya

Wrecker said as he inspected her body looking for any blood cuts or burns or bruises

Wrecker: hm seems that was the only thing he did to you which means that I saved you in time before he could do anything else to you thank goodness…….

Zima was in tears

Wrecker: aw zi….

Wrecker said as he hugged her close as she sobbed on his shoulder

Zima : it hurt so much….. I-i didn’t know it i could handle the pain anymore…..

Wrecker: shhhh…..

Zima : if you weren’t coming back i -I probably would’ve let myself die…. I really couldn’t handle it

Wrecker grabbed her hand

Wrecker: don’t say that baby i don’t want you to die!

Zima : I’m sorry! Idk why I wanted that but I did!

Wrecker: zima listen to me please…..I have already lost someone…..the last person I’d want to die is you or my family you mean so much to me …

Zima : I’m sorry…. AGH!!

Zima said as her heart was aching

Wrecker: what’s the matter????

Wrecker noticed her clenching her hand to her chest

Wrecker: oh no ! I’ve got you cyrare don’t worry

Wrecker said as he kissed her lips softly as it made her blush he kissed her neck and collarbone as well she blushed red as it stopped the aching

Wrecker: there we go…. If tech was still here he’d tell us the voltage range he used on you

Zima : yeah …..

Wrecker watched as she ate her food

Wrecker: i mean what I said zima your very important to me….

Zima : I know

Wrecker saw zima curling up on his stomach

Wrecker smiled and wrapped his arms around her cuddling her

#((yes I referenced twilight breaking dawn part one #zima lurzo #my ocs #tbb wrecker #star wars #the bad batch #clone trooper hunter #tbb echo #dr hemlock #tbb s2 finale spoilers #tw: mentions of torture #Tw: mention of suicide

[storystartsanew]

Double Para: You’re Bleeding

TW: Mentions of Abuse, Blood

It’s early afternoon by the time Hemlock makes it home. She sneaks in the back door, hoping to avoid anyone who might be awake yet after staying up all night for New Year’s. Tears stream down her face as she closes the door as quietly as possible. 

“That’s quite the costume change.” The voice startles her more than it should. She whips around to see Yarrow sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee, comfortable and relaxed, like he lives here. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

A soft smile makes its way onto her face despite everything. She tugs on the sleeves of her sweatshirt to cover her hands before crossing her arms. “It was cold. Decided to change.” 

It’s not a lie. It is cold outside, and she did decide to change. She just decided for other reasons as well.

Yarrow frowns at her, his eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what to say to her. “You’re bleeding.” He finally decides on, setting his coffee mug down on the counter softly.

Hemlock doesn’t ask how he knows, she has her own theories. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

He shakes his head and stands, ready to stop her if she decides to bolt. For someone without a memory, he sure knows her well. “I’m not asking you to. But you should let me look at it, at least.” 

She knows it’s a useless battle. “First aid kit’s under the sink.”

He grabs it as she sits down with a wince. Her whole body aches. It was the price of making sure everything went smoothly last night, and she’d expected to pay it. Aneela had been livid, especially after Keefe… She shakes the thought away, wiping tears off her face before slowly pulling the hoodie over her head. A hiss of pain comes with it as she tries to move. Her torso and arms are littered with bruises. Several cuts range along her sides, already bandaged and bleeding through. 

“Jesus, Hem.” Yarrow looks her over, shock evident in his eyes. 

“It’s not th-”

“If you finish that statement with ‘that bad’, you’re only fooling yourself.” 

“I pissed her off more than normal tonight. But it worked. She thinks Ash is out for good, at least for the time being. I just need to keep playing sad and dejected, and eventually she’ll get tired of me too.” Hemlock knows if he’s still here that means Ash already told him. Why else would he be keeping watch? 

He gets to work, pulling out fresh bandages and tape before gingerly peeling the first one off of her. “I have to hand it to her, she knows what she’s doing at least.” 

Hemlock can’t help but chuckle, wincing at the pain afterwards. The cuts are small, aimed to cause pain and discomfort without major tearing of the muscle. She’ll hurt like hell, but as long as she doesn’t move too much for the next day or so, she won’t bleed to death. “You don’t have to do this, you know? I’m more than capable of patching myself up.” 

He doesn’t look at her, just keeps cleaning and rebandaging her wounds. “You shouldn’t be. You realize how fucked up this is, don’t you?” 

Hemlock winces. She knows it’s not the best situation, but it’s no worse than what other people went through on the Isle. They did what they had to in order to survive, and she’s just living with the consequences. “Yarrow-”

“Loriss. And don’t pull that with me. I’m not Cal. I’m not going to back down just because I’m afraid of losing you.” His eyes flash yellow when he looks up at her. Damn. She owes Cal twenty bucks. 

She can’t meet his eyes for very long, focusing on playing with her hands instead. “I’m getting out, okay? I know it’s not good. Just remember you’re missing sixteen years worth of context before you judge me.” 

“I’m not judging you. I’m worried about you.” They sit in silence while he finishes up. He gives her a once over after he’s finished. “Tylenol, not aspirin, and drink water. Do you need help getting to your room?” 

She slowly puts the sweatshirt back on, tears springing back to her eyes. “No, I got it.” The stairs are daunting, but she’ll make it. She’s made it farther in worse conditions. He looks ready to scoop her up and take her anyways, but she glares at him. She’s got this. Yarrow backs down, moving to clean up the old bandages and blood instead.

One step at a time. She can make it. It hurts like hell, even more so now that they’ve been messed with and aggravated, but she can do this. After what feels like an eternity, she makes it up the stairs and into her room. Tylenol and water are already waiting by her bed, courtesy of herself from yesterday afternoon. Always plan ahead. She all but collapses into bed, absolutely fucking exhausted. Happy New Year’s to her. May this be the last time she has to deal with this shit. 

#tw: blood #tw: abuse #tw: mentions of abuse #bite me and find out: hemlock waltz #the instinctual need to survive: loriss devineaux

[historiaxvanserra]

These Violent Delights | Chapter Two

Summary: A High Lords meeting goes awry and you find yourself thrust into the foxes den.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)

Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter 1 of These Violent Delights on my Masterlist

The Hewn City’s state rooms are ugly, you think as you stalk the emissary of the Night Court through the winding, narrow corridors of Hewn City. The palatial chambers had been carved into the dark stone of the mountain by the Gods of old; and the high, domed ceilings are held in place by onyx pillars decorated with twisted carvings of beasts and fornicating demi-gods that line the Gothic archways.

Lurid, ill-fated omens, you think. 

Harbingers of your undoing. 

The emissary appointed with escorting you is adorned in ceremonial robes; a fine damask tunic in a deep indigo silk that is almost iridescent in the artificial light. You fall into step with him as he approaches a set of gilded iron gates. Two armored sentries fall into rank as you cross the threshold of the council chambers and you offer a courteous nod to the sentry as he meets your eye.

The antechamber of The Moonstone Palace is plunged in a suffocating blue-darkness with only the silvers of silver faelight, like artificial stars, to light the faces of the High Lords. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of hemlock and moonflowers stain the stagnant air. For a few moments, while you’re lost in thought, the world is silent and still. Feigning peace. But there is no peace. Not here, where the eyes of every High Lord in Prythian are upon you. 

Hewn City is a dark mirage. A metropolis of hedonistic desire and vulgar frivolity

It is here in the dark that you find yourself adrift; lost somewhere to the sea of time. You abandon yourself to the tide of memory. The happy recollections of your childhood; to the thought of home. Someplace far from here, where the sunlight touches your skin and the smell of salt from the coast becomes tangled in your unbound hair. Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, where you know your mothers love and your fathers face is something more than a mere memory. 

It occurs to you that this is a home that never existed.

Home had always been burning; the acrid smell of woodsmoke beckons you like a funeral pyre and your salt-cracked lips chafe and bleed in the wake of blistering winds from the violent sea. And that’s the thing about mothers, you and she exist as some wretched mirror or one another; as hatred and guilt. 

You’ve been thinking of your mother a lot as of late; something in your dreams, the echoing of a coming storm. A fine line between love and hate. It is something strange and prophetic that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably from your body.

In a flurry of movement against the black you are brought back to the present as you take your place amongst the ranks of the Inner Circle. 

The silhouettes of the other High Lords, that had been flickering wildly against the dark stone of the mountain, cease to move. Cease to be, as shadows envelop the room, melting into the darkness as Rhysand glides into the room his violet eyes glinting in the dark. His eyes shine with a cold violence that draws you from thought and the visions of a home long forgotten turn to ashes in your trembling hands. He’s dressed all in black and violet, his tan skin looks pallid in the low light. By his side Feyre’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in starlight against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch the scent of chamomile and moondust in the air. 

It smells like Nyx you think, smiling lightly to yourself at the thought of your nephew.

A tremor of dark power ripples through the air and you feel the shift in the atmosphere when shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and his retinue of courtiers. The shield that Rhysand had already placed around the Inner Circle; made stronger in response. Night magic glitters in the air like stardust and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. That same cold rage and an essence of icy violence fortifies you against the hostility in the room and you school your expression to remain neutral when you seek out a pair of strange amber eyes in the crowd. 

A gentle warmth burns though your chest and your eyes scan the crowd. 

Eris Vanserra moves like a predator; resolute and obstinate. Amber eyes burn like fire glow in the dim light and each of his long strides are punctuated by the echo of boot clad feet on the marble. In this light, his face is almost ethereal. Unearthly even. Set in a painfully neutral expression as he slinks through the halls of the city below the mountains of Velaris. Eris Vanserra burns bright against the other Lords of Pryhtian; his copper hair, like burnished gold in the dim lights, and his eyes. Those fucking eyes. Haunting and evocative as he meets your gaze with a feline smirk. 

It is a wicked, false thing, that glitters with malice.

  He watches you with a wrathful sort of reverence. He is so very lovely, even in the pallid light. Even as his father and brothers flank his sides like a pack of hungry foxes; hungry and baying for blood.  

You watch him carefully as Eris takes his seat at the foot of the large black table, he’s careful to make a show of the way he languidly reclines in his chair, rolling his shoulders back and angling his hips in such a way that the whole room is displayed to him at once.

It’s almost voyeuristic in nature.

That summons a storm within you; a violent, lonely, sort of thing, that washes over him with the force of a raging tempest down the scarcely accepted bond and his eyes, glittering and amber in the dying light, finding yours again. For a moment, Eris Vanserra sees himself through your eyes; for the first time in centuries he doesn’t hate the man staring back at him. 

By his side Eris’ mother’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in fireglow against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch her dark glassy eyes and she smiles softly at you. There is a deep sorrow there, in the depths of The Lady of Autumn's eyes, that feel kindred to you. 

A  shared pain, perhaps.

Turning as Rhysand and Feyre push further into the darkness of the antechamber, you are drawn from thought once more.

The rest of The Night Court look like some savage celestial army as they enter on a night-kissed breeze. Cassian and Nesta look like warriors hardened by war and ruin, all dressed in black and faces coloured with cold caution. They’re followed by the Shadowsinger, who is shrouded in dark wisps of shadow and his skin glows golden against the dark. His face is set in an unreadable expression, though, when your eyes meet a flash of recognition flashes in those hazel eyes.

Rhysand stops dead in his tracks when he regards the High Lord of Autumn.

Beron Vanserra; cruel and tyrannical, keens when he notes the flash of surprise in Rhysand’s violet gaze. His eyes simmer with a dim fire as his eyes land on you. Beron’s teeth are like crow-picked bones as he offers you a feral smile. 

“We weren’t expecting you, Beron.” Feyre’s voice is distant and cold as she speaks to the High Lord and his sons. 

Rhysand rises to his feet from his throne, waving his hand to the attendants, “Fetch the High Lord and his Lady a seat.”

The attendant presents Beron with a chair and he settles between Helion and the Lady of Autumn, neither Helion nor the lady seem to acknowledge each other but you can feel the shift in their demeanors as Beron’s ire sparks in his eyes. He doesn’t even spare The Lady of Autumn a glance before he moves on to inspecting his fellow High Lords. 

You pay Beron no heed and instead your eyes find the Lady of Autumn as she settles into her seat beside her husband and eldest son. The Lady of Autumn is like one of Feyre’s paintings; arresting and darkly beautiful. Her romantic eyes are shaded in the colors of sunset; a warm amber that looks almost golden in the low light and her dark auburn hair glitters in the dying fireglow and her eyes-- so rich that you get lost in their glassy depths. Those haunting eyes. They’re Eris’ eyes you realize as they meet yours. Though she doesn’t linger long she gives you a soft smile before returning her gaze to her long slender fingers that twitch in her lap. They’re adorned with many gold rings and crystals that she wears like armor to fortify her against the hostile atmosphere. 

You see something of yourself in her you think, looking down to your own attire. An opulent and finely boned corset, cinched so tight, that even breathing feels like a luxury and the heavy black damask that covers you in swathes of pleated fabric acts as barrier between yourself and the many eyes in the room that trail over you without care or warning. 

“Nor was I expecting to be here,” Beron drawls, “But alas, it seems we have business to discuss.” Beron’s fire rages dangerously against the black. Torrid and angry, his face unflinching and cruel as he turns his gaze upon Rhysand. Something treacherous passes between the two High Lords at that moment and something in your chest begins to stir like a storm inside of you.

A warning of a coming storm.

“Rumor claims that your allegiances are elsewhere, these days.” It is your voice that counters and Beron croons. The High Lord of Autumn assesses you keenly, his gaze shifting-- from the darkness of your eyes-- down. To the sulk of your lips. Further still to the exposed slope of your shoulders and coming to rest on your chest, where the swell of your breasts spills over the corseted bodice of your gown. His eyes darken luridly as his eyes meet yours again. Beron Vanserra scrutinizes every minute detail of your dark armor; every errant hair, every nervous twitch of your jaw, every flutter of your dark lashes.

It’s disarming the smile that spreads across his handsome face and his eyes shine with a maniacal sort of joy that sparks a wave of fury that runs through you like water-- and you swear you can feel Eris’ own fiery rage in answer. 

“And what would you know of my allegiances, girl?” The false smile he offered is soon replaced with a deep loathing in Beron’s eyes that practically burns through you. 

In a way, it feels strangely comforting to feel his ire. 

To feel anything at all that isn’t paralyzing dread or hirearth for a home to which you will never return. 

Helion waves a scar-flecked hand in front of him, “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” 

The High Lord of Day glows with the radiance of the golden sun and he looks at you with such a strange mixture of boredom and curiosity that almost seems like reverence. He doesn’t dare look at The Autumn Lady in her seat though you notice the careful glances she makes towards him in those spaces between the seconds when no one is paying much heed.

“I know you met with rhe Prince of Rask.” you say and all the idle chatter in the room dies at once. “And he’s working with the Koschei, isn’t he?” 

Beron opens his mouth and you brace yourself for the torrid flames of his wrath. You see the violent delight dance across Beron’s eyes and Rhysand just holds his stare. Hold it with a face like icy death. And beneath the surface you see untempered wrath as it ripples beneath his carefully curated mask. A sharp pain in your chest has you seeking out Eris at his father’s side. His face is the picture of cataclysmic rage; writhing and burning in those eyes. 

To anyone else Eris Vanserra is the image of infernal rage. A righteous son to a wronged father. But to you-- all his fear comes home to you. 

A warning fire. 

“Never mind, we can discuss the happy news of your heir’s birth another time,” Beron smiles again at Rhysand and Feyre. It is Feyre who regards him with a snarling fury at the mention of the son she had almost died to bring into the world. 

She would give her life again if only to protect him from the clutches of a tyrant like Beron. Of that you were certain. 

“I believe we have business to discuss?” Beron questions again when no one responds to his taunt. 

All the eyes in the room turn to you when you loose a laugh, “I didn’t realize we were in the business of discussing plans with our enemies.” 

Eris Vanserra looks as though he might just vault over the table and silence you himself. His eyes smoulder in the dark and the scathing look he sends your way is enough to make you weak in the knees. 

“Make no mistake girl,” Beron muses, his eyes sparking with feral delight, “I am not your enemy,” 

“You are advised to keep it that way.”

In that moment you are bereft of every thought and sound in your mind as the room stills. 

Rhysand and Feyre falter and look between you and The High Lord of Autumn-- and his heir.

Your mate. 

Eris himself remains poised, his fingers wrapped around the arm of the chair, the wood straining under his cruel grip until his knuckles turn as pale as the sea foam that swirls atop the Sidra. 

It is the Shadowsinger who rises from his seat in response, “Threaten her again, old man-- I dare you.” Azriel’s voice wraps round you like cold death and you can’t help but stare impassively as he places his body between yours and Beron. The flicker of flame is smothered by Azriel’s darkness. 

Beron sits in his chair without so much as a word. Though you see the taunt in his eyes as he looks at you again. Azriel’s imposing figure still stands over you, a scarred hand that strokes languid circles into the skin of your shoulder. The bond in your chest hums violently. 

“Call off your dog, Rhysand.” Eris’ voice is dangerously low as he eyes Azriel. 

Rhys shrugs, smiling faintly “Very well,” he muses. 

Azriel takes his seat beside you, though his scarred fingers remain fixed on the arm of your chair. 

“Tell me, Azriel?” Eris laughs coldly, his voice devoid of any humor and he opens his mouth to speak, “Does it pain you knowing that both of your brothers have been given a sister as a mate?”

“And yet the Mother still deems you unworthy of a Mate -- desitined to pity fuck the spare sister.” Eris muses with a lilt of his voice when he realizes he has the upperhand. 

A twinge of heat in your chest from the bond makes your scowl deepen. 

Azriel blinks at first, his face twisting in rage before rising to his feet once more, barrelling over the table with an inhuman growl. Azriel grips Eris by the lapels of his emerald tunic. Coming together in flashes of flame and smoke as they struggle against one another. Eris swings a leg over Azriel’s thigh bringing them both tumbling to the floor, while the other High Lords watch on with varying degrees of amusement and frustration on their faces. 

Your face heats under the scrutiny. Unable to move or speak-- your stormy facade rendered useless as the tears begin to well in your eyes. 

You are a storm-- but in the face of their wrath there is naught you can do but watch and abide.

Rhysands commanding voice cuts through Azriel’s cursing and Eris’ insults. The room falls silent as the males pull away from one another. Azriel’s nose is bloodied and his hair falls around his face in messy strands. Eris’ lip is split, spilling crimson along the column of his throat. You trace the line of scarlet as the droplets stain the neckline of his white shirt. You can hear his heartbeat as it flutters wildly. His eyes meet yours and a look of resignation and shame crosses them for a moment; obscuring the perfect amber of his gaze. 

Azriel wipes his blood on his leathers; wears it like armor as he turns to Eris “Something to remember me by.” 

Azriel spits the words like venom at Eris whose face radiates with a dark and fiery wrath.

Feyre looks between the two males and then to you; her face softens then as she regards you. Your hands shaking wildly, and a heartbeat like an echoing war drum, the bond in your chest singing a mournful song as it rages inside you. 

You look utterly devastated. 

She’s not used to seeing that kind of defeat on the face of her elder sister; the sister who had weathered so much, always headstrong and ardent, who had suffered every injustice with a straight face-- she hadn’t quite prepared herself for the type of sorrow that realization would bring with it. 

Taking in the scene unfolding before you-- the descent into violence and the blood that pools like rubies at Eris Vanserra’s feet you loose a shaky breath. “Enough--enough” You wave your hands between Azriel and Eris. 

The males both take a tentative step away from one another and further from you. 

“Who shares my bed is of little concern, I assure you, My Lord,” You insist firstly, setting your shoulders straight and facing them now with all the stormy determination you can feign in that moment, “from what I’ve heard you yourself have quite curious bedfellows.” 

Beron sneers and scoffs from his seat at the foot of the table at the insult. A lie, at that. If anyone does share Eris Vanserra’s bed they are a mystery to you. 

“Preferring the company of hounds  - or so I am told.” Azriel adds.

And in truth you and Azriel haven’t so much as locked eyes since that night in Hewn City. After the mating bond between you and Eris had made its home in your chest you hadn’t been able to think about anyone or anything else. 

Just him. And those amber eyes.

“We are here because once more someone is threatening the tenuous peace we have established here,” Helion nods his head thoughtfully and Thesan, who had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal looks at you with genuine encouragement and utters his agreement. Kallias and Vivianne remain silent and imposing on the other side of the table.

“It is our duty-- our privilege-- to ensure Prythian and its people are not ravaged by war again.” You look to Kallias then, unimpressed by the needless violence that had passed but somehow enamored by your words.

“Hyburn took so much from us-- from all of us.” You say, gesturing around the table and the High Lord’s faces are all shaded in sympathy and regret for all they had lost, “and Amarantha made slaves of you all.”

You cast a glance to your sister; who had fought and died for these great men and their courts. And to Rhysand who had subjected himself to being her plaything. Something like grief flashes in those violet eyes that sparks a storm in you. 

“I will not be a slave again,” You vow and you notice then how all the High Lords seem rapt withal as you speak to them, and the storm inside you rages on, “to anyone.”

The tensions around the table seem to dissipate when Helion raises a chalice and smirks fondly at you and it seems that they see you as more than a bed warmer to a dark God or the mate of some High Lord’s heir. Talons scrape menacingly along your mental shields and Rhysand’s dark presence makes itself known to you. Bed warmer? Darling you are a storm-- everyone here knows it. 

A force to be reckoned with.

The rest of the meeting seems to come to pass as intended, laborious hours of negotiating and political games as you come to terms with each High Lord in turn. By the time the moon hangs in the sky like cut quartz, almost all of the High Lords have already departed, leaving only The High Lord of Spring and The Autumn Court’s entourage. 

“Where did you find this one, Rhysand?” Tamlin asks, his tone measured and light. 

Rhysand looks between Feyre and you smiling lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I heard they found her in a Hyburn cell, after the war was over.” It is Beron Vanserra’s voice that cuts in, “what was left of her anyway.”

“Perhaps we should be asking where your loyalties lie?” It’s the middle Vanserra brother that speaks. His russet curls glow warm in the dim lights and his stare is cruel and malignant as he hones in on you. 

“Hyburn whore” It’s whispered, accusatory, on an inhale of breath. 

They way it is uttered with an air of repulsion and venom reminds you of those stories told in human villages; of woods women named ‘witch’ by those who do not understand. 

People fear what they do not understand. 

It seems that Fae are no different than mere mortals in that respect. 

“You’d be wise to bite your tongue, brother.” Eris’s voice is a cold echo as all thought and sound eddies out of your mind. Flashes of black and gold as the visions come back to you; those days spent cowering in the darkness of your cell, your feral anger directed at any man who came too close-- all biting fury, canines and claws, and the screams they tore from your like the howling wind over a violent sea.

A fury spreads through you, taking root in the dark caverns of your chest, slowing your heartbeat to a dull aching thud as you lose yourself to it; give yourself over to the tempest of emotion that courses through you. You try to fight it as the first ebbs of that dangerous storm embrace you. Lest you surrender yourself to the tempest; let it open you up and pour out into the world in floods of ravaging power. 

It brings forth a storm the likes of which the world has never seen; a thing of ugly rage.

You were born angry, your mother had told you once.

But rage is a learned thing. Your rage. It had been your mother’s first, before that it had her mothers, and her mother before her. 

It is an inherited curse; a wicked and wretched thing.

It is a storm enough to drown in. 

A howling wind whips around you and for a moment you are standing at a great precipice. From the cliff’s edge, peering down at a violent sea as it coils and breaks against the jagged cliff face of some distant shore, where the world looks as though it is dappled in fireglow, the smell of woodsmoke and bonfires wafts from inland. The sea-soaked wind is so palpable that you taste its salt-kiss on your lips with the ardent fervor of the most savage lover. 

There is something sacred in salt, you think.

For a moment you consider what it would feel like; to plummet into the watery abyss. How the sunlight would look as it fractures and splinters on the water's violent surface. 

How it might cascade into the murky green depths. A secret held between you and the sea.

“My Lady,” It is Eris’ voice, practically feral and dripping with an aching desperation as he all but vaults around the corner of the dark wood table, parting his brothers with a rehearsed type of brutality as he claws his way to you. His commanding aura draws you closer to him and his pale hand offers a strong and comforting weight on your arm as he takes your trembling palm in his rough hold.

“You’re bleeding,” Eris says, cupping your palm into a fist with his own, applying light pressure to the wound while he assesses it. Turning it over in his tentative grasp. Through your lashes you take a moment to assess him as he towers over you. He’s tall and much broader than you remember but he moves with an inhuman grace. His nose is long and straight and his jaw strong and regal. His amber eyes linger dangerously over the hand cupped in his own. You hadn’t even realized you had stood up. Nor had you registered the blood you had drawn from your own palms until you see the crescent moons, indented in the tender flesh, like a taunt as they stain Eris’ fingertips scarlet as he presses the fabric of his handkerchief to your grazed hand. 

“It’s nothing, My Lord,” You say softly, your voice low and you feel his eyes burning into yours; it is a slow, searing ache that almost feels like a kiss. A fragile thing, full of reverence and a strange tenderness. A vein of hurt throbs through you, quickly soothed by the press of his palm to yours. 

Eris Vanserra holds a power over you; commands you in a way that should feel unpleasant. The knowledge that you would give yourself over to him if only he asked. 

“It is only a little blood.” The words live and die on tongue, they fizzle out just as soon as they are uttered before he is calling for Rhysand -- his voice is swallowed by the din and your heartbeat echoes like a wardrum in your ears and the sound of the violet sea breaks against you and you feel your body go lax. 

You wait for the dull ache as your body meets the cool marble of the floor only it never comes; instead your weight is suspended in the embrace of Eris Vanserra’s arms, you vaguely hear your name from his lips before the world turns to darkness. 

You feel like lull of his heartbeat as he brings you closer against his chest. 

The smell of cedar and smoked bergamot follows you into the abyss. 

The room seems to come back to you like the tide; swiftly and cruelly as it materializes before you. It comes back in flashes of the dark; the oppressive pillars of dark marble that hold the domed, onyx ceiling in place, the silver fae lights like pallid stars and the visage of contorting demons and chimera’s like half formed ghosts. 

“What happened?” You ask looking around the darkened council chambers; once filled with the idle chatter of courtiers and High Lord’s and their entourage now only the Inner Circle is gathered in the darkness contained between these walls. 

And Eris. 

He burns golden against the black. 

“Well one thing is for certain,” It is Morrigan who stands over you, her shoes shine like rubies in the low light, “You know how to make a scene.” Her voice is light and jovial, laced with concern. 

“You fainted,” Feyre says plainly as she sinks to her knees before you. It is then you feel Eris’ solid frame as he radiates warmth behind you, where you are propped against his chest. Your body feels foreign and unlike your own as you move, transferring your weight from his arms and into the arms of Feyre who helps you stand on uncertain feet. 

“I’m sorry,” You say earnestly to both Rhysand and Feyre and turning to Eris again to mutter your thanks. He looks displeased at that. The distance between your body in his, the unfamiliarity you regard him with as if you hadn’t just allowed yourself to revel in the feel of his arms wrapped securely around you. “I’m sorry.”

“You should return to your father, My Lord.” You laugh humorlessly, using the hand that isn’t wrapped tightly around the lip of the chair to smooth a hand down the pleats of your gown reflexively.

A knock, resounding and resolute echoes through the chamber and the Inner Circle seem to bristle at the intrusion. Through the blanket of the dark a figure emerges; Keir stands tall with an air of arrogance about him as he steps into the antechamber. His hair is dark and graying and his face, though handsome, has begun to show signs of age. His eyes glitter menacingly as he finds you amongst the inner circle. 

“My apologies for the intrusion, High Lord.” Keir says, his voice full of dark promise as a second figure steps from the shadow, “but it appears there is a rather urgent matter that has come to our attention.”

The rooms seems steeped in solemn silence as Beron Vanserra reveals himself through the din; dressed in fine merlot robes and embroidered with gold threads and leaves. He looks like Autumn personified. All fire and wrath as he stalks into the room. 

“It appears you have been keeping secrets from me, Rhysand.” Rhys takes a step forward approaching Beron with little regard for the fury that burns behind his hazel eyes. The High Lord of Night laughs cruelly as Beron advances further into the room, seeking out his son, who reaches for you almost without thinking. His fingers flex around your forearm and push you further into Feyre as he steps in front of you both subtly. 

Beron looks suspiciously between the three of you. 

Beron smiles.

It is not a thing of fondness or affection-- It is dark and laden with malevolence. A whisper of amusement lights in his golden irises and Eris feels like a boy again; alone and afraid as the shadows of his fathers wrath descend upon him.

“You knew,” The High Lord of Autumn charges forward, tearing through Azriel and Cassian, as he raves. His voice is dangerously low and full of malice as he advances towards Eris. His eyes blaze against the dark as he casts his wicked gaze upon his eldest son.

“You knew,” He repeats frantically, “That whore is your mate, and you lied to me.”

Accusatory.

Without thought or care, Eris lunges forward and takes one long stride so that his body shields yours from Beron’s grasp as his fire burns vengeful and angry as it bands around Eris’s arms. The putrid smell of burned flesh brings bile rising in your throat and you feel Rhysand’s shields fortify around you and the rest of the Inner Circle in response. 

You wait for someone to do something, but as is the nature of these things Rhysand is not permitted to interfere in the affairs of other courts. And whether he likes it or not, Eris is subject to his High Lord and father. 

And as it stands he is a traitor to both. 

Eris falls to his knees before you and you feel the bond die in your chest; his scream is something akin to dying. It sears through you, burning like fire until you feel like a phoenix rising from its own ashes as your body moves of its own volition. 

“Stop, stop!” You plead with Beron advancing a pace towards him as you pull away from Feyre’s secure hold. Not even Cassian dares hold you back when you claw your way from the safety of his arms, “Please, he didn’t know.” 

Beron pays you no heed as his wrath brings Eris to his knees. 

“Please.” you beg, your voice aching and angry as you address the High Lord, ignoring the warnings of Azriel and Cassian, “He didn’t know.” 

“W-we hid it from him.” Your lie desperately, your voice though strained comes out in violent waves of anger as Beron continues to inflict his fire upon Eris.

Your mate.

In a desperate bid to spare him you beg once more. 

“Please, whatever you want, you can have it, I swear it.” And all the fire ceases.

Eris heaves a heavy breath and he collapses in a swath of burnished gold and emerald, strewn lazily against the marble. You sink to your knees beside him, his hands, though shaking, are firm against you as they grasp at the many layers of your skirts as he hoists himself up. Even on his knees he towers over you. His hair drapes like spidersilk over one side of his sculpted face as he peers down at you with dark amber eyes. Despite all the eyes in the room Eris brings a tentative hand to cup your cheek and all his remorse and grief flood down the bond that runs golden and brilliant from your body to his; as if to say no use hiding now, little fox. 

Eris rises to his feet before his father who looks on with a mixture of feral delight and complete apathy as Eris’ pain subsides. 

Keir retreats into the shadows and with him the air shifts; the room, once shaded in the smell of hemlock and moonflowers, is tainted with something more. Something darker. Earthy. 

The smell of wildflowers; smoke-kissed juniper and foxglove, all undercut with the smell of salt and iron. 

It occurs to you then that it is the smell of your mating bond. 

Beron loses a dark laugh and approaches you slowly, like a predator circles its prey. Deliberate and calculating as he takes your chin in his bony fingers and commands you to look at him. His eyes are much darker than Eris’, so dark that they almost look black in this light and even in his age you admire their depths, haunting and arresting. Beron cuts an intimidating figure, you think as he flashes you a smile that is all Eris. 

You sometimes forget how alike father and son are; though Eris is undoubtedly more striking; with his strange amber eyes and baring a broader physique than his father, with strong arms and shoulders and that beautiful copper hair which he had inherited from his mother. 

“Anything I want?” Beron muses deathly quiet as he brings you closer to him, so close that the heat of his breath against your face causes chills to rise along the skin of your arms and neck.

“Anything, that is within my power to give.” You clarify, unwilling to be tricked into a more heinous bargain than you had prepared yourself for. Feyre protests loudly, calling your name, begging you to see reason though her pleas are useless against the thunder of your heart in your chest; like the sound of a storm rolling in from the sea. 

Rhysand holds his wife by her forearms as she attempts to fight her way to your side. 

A bargain offered of your own volition cannot be undone or unmade. 

All that’s left to do is come to terms. 

Beron smiles again, a saccharine smile that turns your stomach as his free hand cups your hip harshly, his brows rise in question and you realize how he’s looking right through you to his son who stands defeated behind you.

“And if I want you?” You swallow hard as his hand on your hip tightens to a bruising grip.

The High Lord of Night protests and a dark ripple of power separates you and Beron, you stumble backwards until you’re pressed up against the dark wood table as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Beron laughs playfully and raises his hands in mock surrender to Rhysand. Keir smiles with a sense of sick satisfaction as Beron nods for Eris to join him. 

Eris joins his father on the side of the room and Beron inspects him in carefully; scrutinizes every furrow of his brow or the tick of his jaw as charred flesh gives way to pale unblemished skin. 

Beron claps a hand over his son's shoulder and offers his half-hearted explanation. 

Filling his ear with poison. 

“Your mate has deceived you, my son; she is yours by right,” Beron preens like an over-satisfied cat, offering a wave of his hand as he gestures to you, “Is she not?” 

Eris swallows thickly and through the bond you can feel his wrath as it burns silent and deadly through you. His fire burns ferocious and wild. Dark and untamed. It ignites a similar storm in the pit of your stomach as Eris regards you with feigned malice much to the appeasement of his father.

His gaze, once soft and vulnerable, is cold and predatory as he takes his time to trail over the swell of your chest and the curve of your hips like a hungry animal. 

“She is,” His voice is sharp-edged as he nods impassively to his father, the glimpses of his true self now little more than a trick in the light as he adorns his facade like a suit or armor to spare him his father’s fire. 

“You mean to claim her?” Eris questions pointedly. Eris’ eyes move around the room with a careful, almost pensive, precision.

He can’t pretend that he doesn’t want it. Some primal, territorial part of him wants it more than anything. It’s animalistic and carnal. 

Wholly perverse. 

He wants you, terribly; he aches for you in a way that he has never ached for anything.

And you want him.

But not like this. 

Not as a pretty pawn to bring him to heel. 

“She will do well in Autumn,” Beron says in lieu of an answer. 

Rhysand and Feyre stand firm against the hostility in the room even as Beron approaches them once more. “An alliance between our two most ancient and noble courts,” Beron says in a celebratory manner, his arms outstretched in a show of arrogance, “made strong by the oaths that you will swear to my son and my court.”

“Very well, High Lord.” You acquiesce and Beron smiles as his words hit their mark

You swear that Eris could burn the city to ash then and something in him cools then under your watchful gaze; it burns blue under the surface and you can see it tempering to a cold unmoving stare cast in his father’s direction.

It’s grotesque, the anger that runs hot in his veins that sears its kiss into the place where your body and his are joined. 

You seethe. A raging tempest that comes off of you in violent waves of temper that threaten to swallow the room whole. And Beron Vanserra with it. It is almost enough to bring you to your knees before him as your skin burns under his rising fury.

Your eyes meet the strange amber eyes of Eris Vanserra at his father’s side and you think then, that you will happily suffer his fire if burning always feels so profound.

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #pro eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris fic #eris headcanons #eris vandaddy

[tech-tbb]

Since there are a lot of theories coming up at the moment, I want to join in now. Especially since a few theories make me question whether these people have ever ACTUALLY watched Clone Wars, Rebels, and Bad Batch.

It's about the new CX-2 clone from the latest episodes, season 3 episodes 6 & 7.

Many assumed it was Cody. Others say it's a clone of Crosshair itself. Others and most believe it's Tech, that I have to go along with.

And not just because he's my favorite, but morally in general.

First point:

Many say it's Cody because of the vibro knife and the art of using it. But if it had been Cody, he would have already had one and wouldn't have had to steal it first.

First of all, he didn't have the vibro knife with him from the start, he stole it from the clone he killed in the security room.

Second, if this CX clone was Cody, why is this never mentioned further elsewhere? It's never mentioned in Rebels, nor is it mentioned further. And Cody betrayed the Empire by running away. At best they would give him death, but not a second life as one of their own. And Cody, like Hunter, is a master with the vibro knife. Crosshair would never have been able to fight him off if it had been Cody. But he was able to keep up with him and even get the knife out of the CX clone's hand. With Cody, Crosshair would have died.

Third. The Bad Batch are more highly trained soldiers than Cody himself probably was, after all, the Bad Batch are special commandos. Accordingly, every single Bad Batch member could handle a vibro knife.

Second Point:

The theory of many that this CX-2 is a Crosshair clone. The technology and excellent knowledge to clone is in Nala Se's head. However, it was only with Omega's presence that Hemlock was able to get her to research and work for him. Accordingly, Hemlock only had access to the DNA and the knowledge of cloning and the knowledge of the Clone Force 99's DNA for a few months, if at all. He only had Crosshair himself in his hand for a few months, including his DNA. As we all know, growing too quickly is not good for clones, the best and sad example is Clone 99, who bravely gave his life in the fight for Kamino. He had grown too old too quickly and he was unfortunately disabled and unable to be a soldier. Therefore, the only thing the Kaminoans could do was double accelerated aging. Clones would have to grow for at least 10 years in order to be able to be a soldier without such complications. But Hemlock has only had DNA and cloning science in his hands for a few months. A Crosshair clone would therefore not be possible, as this clone would then be disfigured, similar to Clone 99. And yes, CX-2's shooting abilities are identical to those of Crosshair. But let’s get to point three first.

Point Three:

Here now to my last point. Tech. I most likely think it will be Tech.

Here is the explanation at the end of my second point. Shooter skills. CX-2 has equally excellent marksmanship capabilities as Crosshair. But I know the final episode of season two is emotional. But the shot Tech took to fall was excellent. So the next best shooter to Crosshair is? Exactly, it would be Tech. The connection that Tech had shot down on the wagon was out of reach and very far from Tech's position and he still had the entire wagon in the path of view of this connection. Nevertheless, he only fired a single shot, which went through the glass of the wagon and hit the connection, severing it. *A shot Crosshair would have praised him for.* So it would be highly likely that this CX-2 could also be Tech with this rifle and the accuracy. But not only that. His movements and his voice and his accent are also added. The helmet's modulator allows us to hear a voice in the undertone that a Reg doesn't have. It sounds a lot like Tech's voice, even if it's heavily filtered. (But clearly noticeable with headphones and increased volume and honest concentration). In particular, his grunts of pain, gasping for air, and moving the stones are identical to the grunts Tech made when he broke his femur and so on. His movements are also identical. Kicking Crosshair with his outstretched leg was identical to the kick Tech gave a clanker on Kaller. His posture when walking is also a little slouched, like Tech. *Like a shrimp, I've often read many posts once.* His intelligence to destroy all ships so that there are no means of escape. His tendency to simply disobey Wolffe's orders. *(When have we ever followed orders).* Infiltration, alone, unnoticed, fast, agile. And he knew exactly where to shoot to destroy the desk that Rex his clone friend was working on to connect the communications to get a rendezvous with Echo.

Ah, his equipment is also different than the other CX clones we've met so far. He always carries the backpack. He doesn't have a datapad, but he now has something similar on his right upper arm. He also has a visor that folds down, and the movements he makes to do so are identical to those that Tech always did with his visor. And the pocket around the thigh and the one pocket on the right lower leg. This is very unusual for the CX clones.

And he recognized Omega immediately. He had only been activated relatively recently and not much time had passed since then. He had no way of knowing for sure that this girl was Omega he was looking at. He also hadn't checked any holos of targets during screen time. Which means this CX-2 clone knew Omega and knew exactly that this girl was her. Many also claim it can't be Tech since he said clones instead of Regs when talking to Scorch (maybe Scorch). Maybe it's the change in himself. But if not, Tech would know full well to avoid using Reg. It is the Empire and the word Reg is not used by any of the Empire's clones, especially the CX clones. And then to his accent. Tech's British accent is very noticeable among all the clones. But even among his own Bad Batch brothers, his accent is very audible. And this CX-2 clone has a strong accent and its modulator in the helmet is even stronger than the other CX clones. If it were a reg, then a very strong modulator wouldn't make sense. All in all, this CX clone is very talented. But we all learned from Season 2 that Tech is the same way. He is a genius in all possible aspects. And he is a fully trained commando soldier, like his brothers. And if he is, he definitely received further training to become a CX clone.

Extra point: the memory wipe. Many also claim that it couldn't possibly be Tech because Crosshair said he himself was too defective for that. But let's take another look at the first episode of season 1. Tech said they're more deviant than defective. And another thing is the condition. Tech definitely didn't come out of this crash unscathed if he really is this CX-2. Accordingly, his mind and especially his body were perhaps very weakened and vulnerable to attack and take over. Crosshair was never healthy under Hemlock's care, but he wasn't very close to death's door. Tech, on the other hand, might have been.

And almost forgot to mention. His height has been changed from 1.93m to 1.82m, but why change his height when he is dead?!

Another extra point. It is the story of Clone Force 99, i.e. Crosshair, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo and Omega. It's not Cody's story and, in fact, it's also not just Rex's. Rex appears often at the moment, but he is not one of the protagonists. The protagonists are the members of Clone Force 99, and their story is written, not others. That's exactly why I believe that the CX-2 clone has something to do with the Clone Force 99, i.e. Tech, the only one missing from the group, the family.

So yes, it could most likely be Tech, alive.

But it's not canon, not yet. I have my own theory as you all have your own. I hope it was still informative and that you can get a little more out of it.

#clone trooper tech #tbb tech #tech tbb #tech the bad batch #bad batch #tech #cx-2 #tbb crosshair #commander cody #tbb omega #my opinion #tech is alive maybe #tech lives maybe #i am concerned #that #he #is #alive #! #tech lives #tech is alive #theory