#Being Vat Registered

[georgeshutcheson]

Benefits Of Being Vat Registered

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Benefits Of Being Vat Registered

Being VAT registered can have numerous advantages for your business. From streamlining your accounting processes to enhancing your credibility with suppliers and clients, VAT registration brings a host of benefits. By registering for VAT, you can reclaim any VAT you pay on goods and services, reducing your expenses and increasing your profit margins. Overall, the benefits of being VAT registered can significantly contribute to the success and growth of your business.

Benefits of Being VAT Registered

If you are considering starting a business or already have one, you might be wondering whether it is necessary or advantageous to register for Value Added Tax (VAT). VAT registration has several benefits that can greatly impact your business operations and overall success. In this article, we will explore the various advantages of being VAT registered, including reduced admin burden, claiming input tax, enhanced reputation, potential for price advantage, improved cash flow management, ability to issue VAT invoices, eligibility for VAT exemptions, and compliance with legal requirements.

Reduced Admin Burden

One of the key benefits of being VAT registered is the reduced administrative burden it brings. Although initially there may be additional paperwork involved in registering for VAT, once you are registered, you can streamline your accounting processes. Being VAT registered allows you to submit VAT returns regularly, which helps to keep your financial records organized and up to date. This simplifies your bookkeeping, as you can easily reconcile your purchases and sales with input and output tax.

Claiming Input Tax

Another significant advantage of VAT registration is the ability to claim input tax. When you purchase goods or services for your business, VAT is typically included in the price. As a VAT registered business, you have the opportunity to reclaim the VAT you have paid on these purchases. This can result in substantial savings for your business, allowing you to offset the VAT against the VAT you charge on your sales.

Enhanced Reputation

Being registered for VAT can also enhance your business’s reputation. Customers perceive VAT registration as a mark of credibility and professionalism. It shows that your business is established and operates within the parameters of the law. VAT registration can instill confidence in your customers and differentiate you from competitors who may not be VAT registered. This can give you an edge in attracting new customers and building long-term relationships.

Access to VAT-Exclusive Markets

Certain markets and industries require businesses to be VAT registered in order to operate in them. By registering for VAT, you gain access to these VAT-exclusive markets, widening your potential customer base. Whether it is dealing with other VAT registered businesses or entering into contracts with government entities, VAT registration can open doors to new business opportunities that would otherwise be unavailable to you.

  Eligibility for VAT Refunds

VAT registration makes you eligible for potential VAT refunds. In certain circumstances, you may find yourself in a position where your input tax exceeds your output tax. This could be due to a decrease in sales or an increase in expenses. In such cases, being VAT registered allows you to claim a refund of the excess VAT. This can be particularly beneficial during challenging economic times or when your business is going through a period of expansion.

Potential for Price Advantage

Registering for VAT can create a potential price advantage for your business. As a VAT registered business, you have the option to include VAT on top of your prices or absorb it within your pricing structure. By including VAT in your prices, you can compete on a level playing field with other VAT registered businesses. Alternatively, you can choose to absorb the VAT and potentially offer lower prices, making your products or services more attractive to price-sensitive customers.

  Improved Cash Flow Management

Effective cash flow management is crucial for the success of any business. VAT registration can assist in improving your cash flow management. When you charge VAT on your sales, you are effectively collecting the tax on behalf of the government. This means that you have a source of funds that can be used to cover your VAT payments. By effectively managing your cash flow and setting aside the VAT collected, you can avoid financial strain when it comes time to make your VAT payments.

Ability to Issue VAT Invoices

Being VAT registered grants you the ability to issue VAT invoices, which provide detailed information about the VAT charged on your sales. VAT invoices are required for business-to-business transactions, and they serve as evidence for input tax claims. Issuing VAT invoices demonstrates transparency and professionalism in your transactions, contributing to a smooth business relationship with your customers. Furthermore, VAT invoices enable your customers to reclaim the VAT they have paid, strengthening their purchasing power.

Compliance with Legal Requirements

Last but certainly not least, VAT registration ensures compliance with legal requirements. Depending on your business activities and annual turnover, there may be legal obligations that necessitate VAT registration. Failing to register when required can lead to penalties and legal consequences. By voluntarily registering for VAT and staying up to date with your obligations, you can avoid unnecessary fines and complications, demonstrating your commitment to operating within the bounds of the law.

In conclusion, the benefits of being VAT registered are numerous and can positively impact your business in various ways. From reduced administrative burden to enhanced reputation, access to VAT-exclusive markets, eligibility for VAT refunds, potential price advantage, improved cash flow management, and compliance with legal requirements, VAT registration offers a range of advantages that can support your business growth and success. Consider the specific needs and goals of your business, and consult with a tax professional or advisor to determine the best course of action regarding VAT registration.

[madisonellie1]

VAT Flat Rate

At Account-Ease, we demystify and help our clients, businesses, to conform to the provisions of the VAT Flat Rate scheme and the UK Gov VAT return. Irrespective of the kind it is whether a quarterly VAT return or even managing with monthly VAT returns, we explain the same to the clients. Tutorial on how to complete a VAT return an example of a fully completed VAT return proves that you have explained this process adequately. Here at Flat Rate VAT Calculator, we harness the most effective software for VAT returns Flat Rate VAT, to enable you determine your flat rate VAT appropriately. It is important to comprehend how flat rate percentages work more so when implementing VAT on digital services. By using Account-Ease, one not only gets to appreciate the benefits of being VAT registered but also does not get fined with the penalty for late filing of VAT return as well as the VAT late payment penalty. We make sure our VAT accountants avoid any problems with regard to delayed VAT payments. We make it our responsibility to make sure your VAT returns are submitted in time to avoid penalties while keeping your business on schedule. That’s right, let the lenient experts of Ease manage your VAT properly so that you can handle what is most important—your business.

[acorviart]

Europe VAT laws not changing any time soon, recent. If understand FAQ well, mean shipping to Europe impossible for several years minimum?

That's correct, I won't be shipping to the EU for the foreseeable future due to some import packaging regulations that either have already been implemented or are planning to be implemented in the future.

Note that this is for EU countries only—I can ship to all other non-EU countries like Switzerland, except for the UK due to the UK's own convoluted VAT system.

The only workaround I can offer for EU folks is that you can have a friend or family that lives in a non-EU country place an order to deliver to their address, and then they are able to ship that order to you marked as a gift. Not an option for everyone, I know.

Longer explanation under the readmore for those curious:

As it stands now, each EU country has its own system and fees that I can't keep up with (for example, France would cost me 80 euros per year), I'd need to individually register and report to each country, some require reporting and tracking of what sources of packaging I use, I believe? It's all very complicated, and it makes my head spin just trying to figure out what the requirements actually are, so that's why I stopped shipping to the EU entirely out of an abundance of caution. I also just don't get enough sales to the EU to justify the headache, I'd probably actually lose money paying all the fees. Actually, while I was looking up details while writing this post, apparently there's a new PPWR that's going to replace the old EU Packaging Directive? This is why I can't handle this (ಥ﹏ಥ)

As for why this doesn't seem to be affecting all companies—corporations can obviously afford their own professionals whose entire job is to handle this stuff, and the requirements are also different for large vs small volumes. Meanwhile, a lot of other small or 1-person businesses straight up don't know about these requirements, because it's not like there's a memo passed around about updates to international shipping law. It's also even more confusing because some packages are slipping by without any issue, probably in part due to how the regulations are still new and still being implemented, so I assume it's kind of a mess.

I know of a few people who are willingly taking the risk and shipping to the EU anyway and have had no consequences (for now at least), but I'm not risking the fines ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now for the UK, their VAT system doesn't have anything to do with packaging, but what it does require is similar registration with the government, and I'm required to collect and pay the VAT myself. No thanks!

TLDR; laws hard. laws also expensive. too stupid to figure out and too fearful of fines. no ship to countries

fun story: someone also once emailed me this long diatribe about how they think I'm shit at research and that I'm just making all this up (specifically just to screw with europeans or something, I guess?), so I sent them a few links to the literal official government websites where I got my info (like that UK one), and they never responded. lol

[haggishlyhagging]

Women were also regularly employed in brewing, at least as much as men. Medieval peasants drank rather a lot of small (or low-alcohol) beer and ale. In the tenth-century Alfric's Colloguy, which records theoretical dialogues between a teacher and his students, one young man states, "I drink ale, usually, if I drink at all, and water if I have no ale. . . . I am not rich enough to be able to buy myself wine: Wine is not a drink for boys or fools but for old men and wise men." By the late medieval period, in brewing centers such as České Budejovice, from whence the name Budweiser comes, beer was being made on a large enough scale that it was being exported to Bavaria.

Medieval people desired to drink beer and ale not because water was unsafe, but because farmwork is extremely hard. Small beer and ale added additional calories to their daily uptake in an enjoyable way. Although the wealthy were probably able to procure professionally made and imported beers, most people, especially in the earlier medieval period, made their own ale or bought it from nearby producers. Ale was brewed primarily from barley and did not include the hops of beer, which meant it could not be stored for long before going off. As such, those who wanted ale had to be constantly brewing it to ensure a steady supply, making brewing a very common cottage industry. Women who brewed for their families would often brew excess for sale, allowing them to bring in a bit of money. Because brewing was a craft that could be learned at home, women could be employed as brewers in larger commercial breweries.

We find women in the brewing trade consistently: records show them paying taxes on their gains from brewing, and registering with the authorities who oversaw standards. When someone performed below these standards, they were frequently written up, so we can find the women who were not meeting them. The Durham Court Rolls from 1365 record that Agnes Postell and Alice de Belasis were fined twelve denarii for selling bad ale, about the equivalent of two days' work for a skilled craftsman. Similarly Alice de Belasis was separately fined two shillings, or the equivalent of five days wages, for poor-quality ale, which a court proved had no strength at all. Punishments for brewing bad ale could range from fines to ritualized humiliation. In England, the Domesday Book first recorded the use of the cucking stool (which would become the ducking stool in the early modern period) in Chester to punish those who sold bad ale or ale in incorrect measures. They would be forced to sit in a chair out side their home and be jeered at by locals. Fourteenth-century Scottish laws noted that any alewife who made "evil ale" was either fined "eight shillings" or placed in the cucking stool, a nod to women as the primary brewers in the region who could face the largely gendered humiliation as a result.

We also learn of women in the brewing profession through records of accidents. For example, one coroner's roll indicates that at around noon on October 2, 1270, Amice Belamy was carrying a tub full of gruit, an agent for flavoring ale, with Sibyl Bonchevaler at her work in Lady Juliana de Beauchamp's brewhouse in Staple, Eaton Socon. As they went to dump the gruit into the boiling vat of beer, Amice slipped and fell into it and was trapped by the tub that fell on top of her. "Sibyl immediately jumped towards her, dragged her from the vat and shouted; the household came and found her scalded almost to death. She was given the last rites of the church and died on the day following. This harrowing story reminds us what a physically tasking and dangerous job brewing, especially in large quantities, could be.

This episode is also interesting because the two women were working for another woman, and a lady at that, Juliana de Beauchamp. Brewing was commonly associated with women across class lines, since the brewhouse is listed as belonging to the Lady Juliana. All in all, during these years a woman was just as likely to be brewing ale as a man, if not more likely in some instances.

-Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society

[sky-scribbles]

Shepard holds a funeral for her clone.

The paperwork is almost harder than the ceremony. Turns out it’s tricky to register the death of someone whose birth - creation? Decanting-from-vat? - was never recorded to begin with. Then there’s some kind of question about whether the clone needs to be retroactively registered as a Council space citizen to have her death put on the official record, and if so, whether she counts as a member of the Systems Alliance or as an ‘undocumented alien’. Which is pretty fucking ironic, considering how utterly she’d have loathed having the word alien attached to her.

And once Shepard’s ground her teeth through a dozen calls and bludgeoned through the first layer of formwork - a death certificate still needs a name.

‘I have to put something,’ she says. She’s aware that her voice is ragged, and that Kaidan is watching her as he brews her fourth coffee of the evening with concern heavy on his face. She must look barely alive, up near midnight in a kitchen that was Anderson’s and still feels nothing like hers, hair falling forward, eyes shadowed grey. Datapads and empty mugs strewn around her. Fine. She’s felt barely alive ever since she woke up in a Cerberus lab.

‘You could choose one for her,’ Kaidan says gently. A lot of people speak to her gently, these days.

‘She’d hate that. A name makes you individual. She didn’t want to be an individual; she wanted to be me.’

The cofee machine whirrs softly, sounding louder than it is in the open space of the apartment. It still doesn’t feel right, all this space for one person. Someone could drown in this much space.

‘She didn’t want to be you, though. Not really.’ Kaidan pours out the coffee, his eyes only leaving her face for a moment. ‘What she wanted was to be the symbol. The face on the vids.’

He carries the mug over and sets it down beside her hand. Shepard grips it tight. The unfinished form blinks up at her from the datapad screen, and she looks away.

‘I’m not asking this because I don’t support you doing it, or to judge you for it, or anything,’ Kaidan says, after a moment. ‘I just want to understand. Can you tell me why this is so important to you? I mean - I get that you were trying to save her, and she... she let go. But...’

He hesitates, and in his silence Shepard hears, she tried to kill you. She tried to take you away from me, and everyone who cares about you, for a second time - because she was jealous.

Shepard sips her coffee. It hasn’t had time to cool down, and her lips smart. She ignores it. She thinks.

‘What you said about... being the symbol,’ she says at last. ‘I get why she wanted it, or thought she did. I understand feeling that Commander Shepard is someone bigger than you are.’

Kaidan breathes out slowly, and takes a seat beside her.

‘I get feeling that you’re so small, so nothing, next to everyone’s idea of what Commander Shepard is. And when I fall short -’ She sees him prepare to protest, and cuts across him. ‘I do, I do all the time - I feel like it’d be easier if I were the symbol. Not...’ She waves a hand, indicating all the sleep-starved mess of her. ‘This. I don’t even know when what would Shepard do and what will I do stopped feeling like the same question.’

She lets her hand fall back onto the table. Kaidan takes it and holds it tight.

‘And I think of her, the clone, waking up in some Cerberus med bay. Confused. And Brooks - Brooks was there, feeding her things to believe, manipulating her, turning her into the symbol she wanted. And I get it.’ Shepard bites her burned lip. ‘Because I woke up in a Cerberus lab. And I was scared. And they used me, and I let them.’

What she does not add is, and sometimes I don’t feel any more real than her. I don’t have any way to prove that I’m the woman who died in the wreckage of her broken ship. They wiped away that woman’s scars. There could be all kinds of tech in my head, feeding me a lie, telling me I’m real.

She swallows. Her throat feels raw. ‘And now the clone’s dead, and no one cares. We’re planning a fucking party. If I don’t push for a funeral, she’ll just go unregistered and undocumented and everyone will keep joking about how crazy this whole mess has been, how I fell through a fish tank and a mad clone tried to steal my life, and it’d be like she never existed at all. I don’t have to fill in these forms. I could take the easy road and let her be a ghost. But I can’t do that, Kaidan. I can’t.’

He looks at her, his eyes steady and patient and full of worry. Then he slips an arm over her shoulder and pulls her in, and Shepard leans into him, needing the surety of his touch, his warmth. Anything that tells her she’s something more than a force piloting a set of N7 armour.

Kaidan presses a slow kiss to the top of her head. He holds her until she stops feeling ready to howl. Then he sits with her and helps her fill in the forms, helps her choose a name for the clone, one that fits. When morning comes, he calls C-Sec and stays on the line until they agree to release the body to the Normandy, into the custody of the only person who could be considered the dead woman’s relative. 

He doesn’t ask Shepard any more questions as to why she needs this done.

In the end, they bury her in space, as Shepard would a crewmate. And no one has stories to tell of what she meant to them. They have nothing to say about the achievements of her angry little life. But they wear their dress blues, and speak softly, and they turn the lights down low.

Shepard doesn’t know if this is what her clone would have wanted. Maybe she never learned to want anything for herself at all. It doesn’t matter. A funeral doesn’t help her clone; it helps her.

They lift the casket into the airlock. EDI opens the outer door. And the casket leaps away into space in a blur of silver-grey, like the body within is hungry for the stars.

[cupcakeslushie]

Could you elaborate on Venus being a cyborg? I want to write a scene where Donnie performs maintenance, but I’m still not really sure which parts of Vee are metal and which aren’t.

Are any of her limbs detachable? Or is it all a metallic skeleton? Do you think she deals with phantom pains if Donnie has had to amputate anything?

Venus info dump!

@nintendogirl106734-blog Main boys with cloaking broaches!

Not a ton of peaceful moments, but when Draxum would leave the two would be able to relax and spend the day by Three’s wading pool.

Venus mask is stitched on. A lot of her skin/limbs was lost thanks to a combination of spending most of her life in a vat and also her illness. Three has to constantly perform maintenance and update her cybernetics and to make sure the transplants are healthy. So far whatever was causing her body to fail has been stopped from spreading. She does deal with a lot of general daily pain, less from Three’s cybernetics, because he did such a good job on them, and more on the joined spots where Draxum replaced with “spare parts”. It does however hurt when Three has to do mechanical repairs, but it’s normally so light and moves amazingly realistic that Venus often forgets that arm isn’t real.

Venus’s shell and plastron had to be replaced. The shell is mostly metal and much more sleek than her old shell. Three made the plastron replacements look realistic since Venus asked.

@phoenixanddust

Venus will be kind of a sad character for a while, but she will be happy in the end! Donnie and Mikey are the brothers she’s closest to. Donnie spoils her to the extreme, and Mikey is of course her twin so Vee likes to drive Mikey crazy. She is technically the baby of the family, but her and Mikey together are unstoppable when their wants align. Splinter stands no chance of saying no.

Venus does have a very dry sense of humor which leads to Three sometimes not even registering them as jokes. When she gets rescued she’s very much a girly girl. She likes dresses and bows and pink.

Three’s mind doesn’t really think of anything when he’s being rescued. It’s very much a “Savage Donnie” moment where he’s there and talking, but he’s so upset that his mind has gone blank. But even then, Big Mama has kept Venus away for nearly a year, so Three thinks he’s been abandoned and Venus isn’t really on his mind…. Their reunion Cont👇

@cavern-of-shenanigans @orderedchaosthings2

Venus will see Donnie again somewhere in the middle of “season one”. It won’t be a long reunion, but enough for Donnie to realize he’s been enjoying living with his family, while Venus has been stuck being Big Mama and Draxum’s errand girl. He feels extremely guilty for basically giving up on her. He allowed his bad thoughts, and visions (yes he does see her as well) to convince him that she has abandoned him, but it turns out, all this time, it was the other way around.

Unfortunately, Donnie was the only one to see Venus, and he thinks the fam won’t believe him when he tells them about seeing her, but he’s surprised to find out that they do and they all promise Donnie they’ll rescue her.

In season 2 they run into Venus again, and Donnie is able to have a better conversation with her, but Big Mama has done such a good job spinning lies, that Venus runs off before Donnie can convince her he’s sincerely sorry about leaving her behind. This is when the family learns that Mikey and Venus are twins. Mikey feels bad that Venus seems to have fallen into Big Mama’s web, we will see him angry with Big Mama for the first time on Venus’s behalf.

At the season 2 midpoint Venus agrees to help with Draxum’s cleansing ritual.

At the s2 finale we will see her still aligned with Big Mama BUT….[spoiler] and she will disappear to get her mind together.

She will make a short appearance in the movie.

S3 will be very Venus and Jennika heavy, and it’ll all be about their integration into the family unit. Jennika has her own life in the Hidden City, but Venus will split her time with the family and [spoiler].

The boys really all treat Venus as the little, baby sister, but all to varying degrees. April, Donnie, and Raph dote on her, Leo is wayyy too overprotective and Mikey rubs being slightly older in her face all the time, but they will team up to be The Ultimate Youngest™️. Out of all the “sister group” April and Venus get along the most like sisters. April really helps Venus be girly and learn it’s okay to enjoy these things, to be more than just a mindless drone (Leo will very often help with this mindset as well, and it allows them something deeper to bond over).

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Salvation - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

So my darling @zablife put this in my brain, and it was going to be smutty, but it took a much more tender turn in the end. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.

Words - 1,034

Warnings - Brief mentions of violence.

In Luca’s world, his status dictates he acts as judge and jury, but not often executioner. Usually, it’s another to squeeze a trigger, send a ballistic of hot lead into somebody, their final lesson learned in never crossing the men who loom like reapers within the shadows of the New York underworld.  

Until the code of omerta is forsaken so badly, he has no choice but to execute vengeance, when it’s on a level so personal, there’s no one else but him to bring down the final blow. For omerta, any bond is pushed aside. Friendship, blood, oaths, everything.  

And it never gets easier.  

The weight of it pushes down on his shoulders, the deed trailing along after him, like a restless phantom vying for attention, swirling dark as it flits through his mind. It casts its shadows, seeds itself, an implanted haunting no exorcism will ever remove. The stains of blood can be washed away, cleansed by soap and water. Stains of the soul take a much deeper scouring.  

For the wages of sin is death, so says the holy book. He knows it’ll come to him eventually, unless he’s particularly fortunate. It shan’t be the sacrilege of breaking omerta that ends him, though. He knows whatever reaper comes for him in the end will be nothing less than his own wages of sin have earned him. 

He examines his hands again in the car, although it was a gloved hand that pulled the trigger and sent his own blood down to check in at the gates of hell. They only contain the usual brandings, no blood to mark the deed, nothing outward giving it away. If his appearance matched the carnage in his brain, he would look as if he’d been launched headfirst into a blood-filled vat, dripping sanguine, no skin left without the slick wet of a crimson stain.  

He feels like he is walking through clay as he enters your home, feet heavy, limbs turned to stone and concrete. Luca Changretta is nothing if not a pillar of strength, but as with anything, if the pillar is subjected to blunt force trauma too many times, it begins to show cracks.  

It’s always you who patches them up again.  If anybody has a chance of banishing the phantom, it is you.

He moves through the house wordlessly after removing his coat and hat, his feet upon the stairs echoing through the hallway. Slow, heavy footfalls, his shoulders drawn up as you stand at the bottom to view him, biting your lip nervously.  

“Want me to bring you a drink up?”  

He never means to bite your head off, show his fangs like an agitated viper, but it does happen. When the tall Italian turns at the top to look down on you, though, it’s with a softened face. “Please, doll.”  

A little pang of worry nestles itself in your chest, his voice even quieter than usual. You knew he wouldn’t walk away from that particular hit unscathed, the damage being on the inside. It’ll be like a feral cat scratching against the inside of his skull in the days to come, sore, repetitive, vying for release.  

After all, it isn’t every day a man has to put a bullet in his cousin, after discovering he was a rat. 

Knowing he needs a little time, you wait downstairs until after the sound of running water has ceased, giving him a slither of peace before padding up, a large whiskey in your hand. He hasn’t bothered switching the lights on, some of your candles over in the corner lit instead, the room bathed in a dark gold glow.  

He seems to have been taken by the storm of his thoughts, not immediately registering your entrance into his calming space, a wounded, green gaze finding you eventually as you pass him his drink, seating yourself on the side of the tub. Your hand reaches for his face, cupping his cheek, the dark stubble grainy in texture against the soft of your fingertips.  

A sigh sweeps over your palm as he leans into your embrace, your thumb skimming his lips, a kiss pressed as finally, he smiles. ��Thank god for you.” Leaning forward, he shuffles to the centre of the tub, the water whooshing around the narrow, muscular form as it cuts through it, Luca jerking his head back. “Come hop in here with me.”  

It’s usually you who lies between his long legs, legs you once coined sexy giraffe legs and made him laugh until his stomach hurt, a rarity for a man usually so taciturn, so quietly still. Your place now is to be the bearer of support, the bolster rod knocked in behind the great pillar to prevent it from toppling, ready to take the weight and repair the damage.  

His head rests between your breasts, eyes falling shut, long legs jutting out of the water where he’s bent them at the knees to make room for you. The steam rises from his skin, and you watch it curling up through the air while your fingers weave into his wet hair, nails combing through the raven strands and swirling over his scalp.  

It’s a practice he’s always found soothing, and you know he needs it, needs something to counteract all that is sharp and screaming in his mind. Your presence alone is tonic enough, but for him, it’s your touch which truly pours healing elixir over the emotional wounds lacerating him deeply. Your fingertips begin to squeeze and rake, easing the tension pulling tight over his head, a soft, relaxed grunt rumbling his throat.  

Your caress moves to his neck, the muscles hard and unrelenting, tension cording every muscle. It leads to his shoulders, your hands working with diligence, stroking, kneading and pinching until you feel them begin to become malleable. He feels it leaving him, the exorcism that is the pure brilliance of your love banishing all that hangs heavy upon him, the phantom chased away, shrouding itself from your light.  

“Feeling any better?” 

He lifts his chin, turning his head, the smile finally reaching the green twinkle of his eyes, picked peridot in the candlelight. “Always am whenever you’re near.” 

[normal-internet-user]

Hi! First of all, I wanted to say that I love your blog 💕 reading your posts always cheer me up :D

So, I had an angsty thought about the big sis!reader ask, remember that part where shredder uses karai as hostage and accidentaly mutates her? How do you think things would go if reader was the one who got mutaded instead? It could be a snake or something else if you wish!

English is not my first language, but I think I made this understandable enough kdksjdk

Anyway, Have a lovely day/night 💕💕

I've actually had a few ideas about this before, just a little context, Reader is mutated into a humanoid spider.

2012 BOYS WHEN THEIR BIG SISTER GETS MUTATED

A recon mission gone wrong.

That's how you ended up dangled over a giant vat of mutagen.

The rope was tight, and you heart was pumping.

One wrong move, and your whole life would be changed.

Hell, who knew what would happen if you came in contact with that much mutagen.

You just hoped the boys would get here in time,

And then you could all go home and laugh about this over some pizza gyoza.

When your brothers ran in, you let out a silent cheer, then you started trying to gain momentum to swing yourself to one of the catwalks.

To bad you were unaware of Shredders eyes on you.

The rope was cut before you knew what was happening, and then the fear set in.

You cried out as you came in contact with the slime like substance, and one thing you never expected was the pain.

You struggled for a moment, then pulled yourself out of the vat, a searing pain coursing through your entire body while you groaned.

"(NAME)!" The collective shout of your siblings barely reached your ears as the pain flared, you felt your body reshaping itself, and it hurt.

It hurt so much.

You collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain as your skin changed to a light shade of purple,

As your jaw reshaped itself along with your teeth,

As brain rewired itself to account for the new spider like appendages sprouted from your back.

It felt like your veins were made of fire, and you didn't seem to notice when your vision changed.

You didn't feel it when one of your brothers picked you off the ground.

You continued to stew in your own agony as your entire being shifted.

You didn't feel the softness of your own bed, or the gentle hand of your father resting on your forehead.

Then as soon as it started, the pain stopped.

Your body was sore, and even attempting to open your eyes hurt.

The low, painful whines went unnoticed by you, but not your father,

"Rest, my daughter. You need rest." He whispered, stroking your hair.

Rest...

That sounded nice.

Rest...

You drifted off, unaware of the turmoil amongst your family...

Donnie sighed as he examined your new appendages, you had grown something akin to spider legs along your back, and you were now sporting two new arms along your torso.

"She'll be fine..." he said, turning to his family, "It may take a while for her to get used to this though, she had a completely new set of eyes and arms to learn how to use. Hopefully I can finish that retromutagen soon.."

You woke around 2 hours later, you blinked open your eyes, and panicked.

What happened?

Everything looked so red.

Red.

Redredred.

You tried to stand, but you felt off balance, and you fell catching yourself before you hit the ground.

The sight of two extra hands greeted you.

Your heart began to pump louder,

So loud you could hear it beating.

Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump-

"GUYS! KYOUDAI? OTOU-SAMA? DOKO NI IRU NO?"

You heard six pairs of feet rush to your side, but you struggled to see.

Everything was blurry and red.

"I can't see. I can't see. Otou-sama, Dōshite mienai no? D-dōshite mienai no?" your voice cracked, and Splinter pulled you into a hug.

The soft voice of April sounded through your own heavy breathing, but you didn't register, "What does that mean?"

Leo replied in a shaky tone, "She's asking why she can't see..."

"It's so loud." you whispered, "It's all so loud."

Splinter held you close, replying softly, "Hush, my dear. koko desu."

"Where are the boys?" you asked, quietly, "Are they ok? Please tell me they're ok."

Mikey whispered softly, "We're ok, Ane-chan. We're ok, I promise."

You pulled away from Splinter and shakily pulled them into your arms, and you felt tears fall onto your skin, "Naka naide kudasai. Please don't cry, kyoudai. Please..."

It took you accouple days to get used to your new body.

Your vision was your biggest problem.

You found yourself bumping and stubbling into things, and you took to just moving around as little as possible.

You cut your lip on your own teeth more than you should have, and couldn't wear any of your old clothes due to your new appendages.

April bought you some new ones with holes cut into them.

You were terrified to hug your family.

The last time you did was when you woke up, and one of your new spider arms cut Mikey's cheek,

After that, you stopped trusting yourself to touch them.

Donnie was working overtime on developing retro-mutagen, he hated seeing you so scared and lost.

All of them did.

You always knew what to do,

But not this time.

Splinter knew what you were going through,

The exact same thing happened to him,

He did his best, but you were so scared of yourself, he didn't know how to comfort you.

Mikey was the most noticably affected.

He tried so hard to help you get out of your horrible state of mind,

But you always pushed him away, scared you might accidentaly hurt him again.

Life was different,

Life was stressful, and the tone of the Lair was definitly alot less cheery.

Everyone was worried about you.

And you were so, so scared.

....................................

I know I said I was taking a break, but I swear I'm just finishing some drafts-

translations:

Kyoudai: Little brothers

Otou-sama: Father

Ane-chan: Big sister

Doko ni iru no: Where are you?

Koko desu: I'm here

Dōshite mienai no: Why can't I see?

Naka naide kudasai: Please don't cry

[astermath]

hey aster, happy 1k!!! love your work and you fully deserve all the love💗💗

so i’m sending in a prompt from idiots to lovers (“you’re so cute.” “what did you just say?” “i said you look like a boot.”) for robin buckley because this literally SCREAMS her

aww tysm that’s so sweet, hope you enjoy and ty for sending in a request! <3

♡ aster's 1K celebration ♡

wc: 0.9K

tags: lovestruck robin, crushing, fem!reader (duh), just some pining lol, not rlly proofread! normal sized font below

Robin is a girl that tends to fall hopelessly in love. She can’t simply have a crush, or think someone is cute, no, she always falls head over heels, straight into a vat of hearts and sappy confessions.

And usually that’s fine, that works for her. Her crushes give her a reason to go to school, to get stuff done, to put extra effort into her appearance. But she tends to admire from a distance. She knows how much she talks, and how hard it is to stop talking too.

That’s why she usually just sticks to looking at you from a distance, cheek leaning against the palm of her hand as she daydreams about the dates you could go on. In the timeline where she musters up the courage to talk to you.

But it seems that the universe has other plans. The universe being your English teacher, and the plans being a duo project about a country of your choosing.

You couldn’t choose your groups, which you didn’t mind, you could work with just about anyone. You’re smart, you could probably do this whole thing by yourself.

But to Robin, this was a huge deal. She’d never even talked to you before, besides the one time she had to apologise for bumping into you in the hallway. She still dreams about that interaction.

And now she’s gone for embarrassingly daydreaming about you to sitting in your room, surrounded by books about Italy, writing down interesting facts and discussing the order of the presentation.

But her mind is only halfway there. It’s hard to focus on wine, Rome, and pasta when you’re sitting right in front of her like this. The sunlight coming through the window is hitting your skin just right, she can smell your perfume, and your PJ shorts are the cutest she’s ever seen.

“So, do you have anything to add, or can I start writing out my part of the presentation already?”

“You look so cute.” The words leave her lips before they can even register in her own brain. It’s like her body has decided it needs to tell you how adorable you look, without her mind being able to pull the brakes at all.

You look up, quirking an eyebrow, clearly confused by what you’ve heard. “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“Ah! I, uh—“ She sits up straighter, her eyes averting to the papers scattered in front of her, cheeks tinging pink from embarrassment. She’s not great at coming up with excuses, but she doesn’t exactly have a choice right now.

“I said you uh… You look like a boot.”

Shit.

She could have slapped herself right then and there.

'Seriously, Buckley? A boot? That’s the best thing you could come up with? Not fruit, or something else nice?'

“Oh,” You look up, scratching the back of your neck for a moment. “Well, like a nice boot?”

“What qualifies as a nice boot?”

“I don’t know,” you smile, leaning backwards onto your hands. “I like cowboy boots. And gogo boots are cute too.”

“Huh. I see.” She tries not to make it seem like a big deal, but she enjoys learning small things like this about you.

A few moments pass, and she’s already got her nose shoved back into a book while you try to write down a good introduction.

“Did you actually have something to add though?” You ask, looking up from your paper.

“To the presentation?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I don‘t know.” She puts the book down, thinking it over for a moment. “Maybe that the word America comes from the Italian language?”

"Huh, seriously? That's really cool." You smile, and it makes the blood rush straight to her cheeks again. You're already noting it down under the 'fun facts' section of the presentation, your pen scribbling away as Robin tries to compose herself.

"Yeah, uh, Vespucci came up with it. Italian explorer." She fiddles with the bit of frayed fabric at the hem of her shirt to keep her hands busy.

"You're really smart, aren't you?" You flash her another smile, and she thinks it actually might kill her this time. There's no way someone could look this pretty.

"Oh, uhm... I-- I guess." She chuckles bashfully. "You're pretty smart too, though. You always know the answers to like, every question in class. Even though you never raise your hand."

You grin, knowing damn well that's out of pure laziness and not shyness at all. "Yeah, I guess so. 'M glad I got stuck with you on this assignment though. You're full of interesting facts, Buckley."

She smiles, averting her eyes in hopes of not looking like the complete lovestruck fool she is. "Yeah, well, maybe I'll teach you some Italian here and there too."

"Wait-- you speak Italian?" You sit up straight, eyes practically sparkling after finding out this new juicy bit of information.

"Well, only halfway so, but I like learning languages. Keeps the brain juicy, you know?"

You chuckle at that, leaning your elbows onto your knees and letting your cheeks rest on your palms. "You're somethin' else, you know that Buckley?"

"You're one to talk."

"Well, you did say I looked like a boot. I guess that counts as 'something else'."

The both of you start laughing, and suddenly she doesn't feel so bad about her slipup from earlier anymore. Or this project. Bless the universe for putting her in your room that day.

-

-

-

[loveinhawkins]

the ‘Eddie & Scoops Ahoy’ vague fic idea was the winner of my WIPs poll so here’s another post about it! ❤️

first preview post has more background here

them crossing paths before s4 is one of my many fave things to thing about & thinking of Eddie being a people-watcher in Starcourt makes me so happy (side note, i also love the thought of Eddie “just missing” events, imagining him in the background thinking what the fuck when Robin runs out to break the code is just so fun).

in this fic unfortunately Robin has to be absent for part of it for plot reasons (Eddie ends up roped into kinda working there for a day!) expect Eddie POV, Scoops Ahoy & slice of life vibes. ❤️

“Harrington, you dropped these—” “Shit,” comes Steve’s voice from the back, followed by an almighty clatter. Eddie hesitates before his curiosity inevitably wins out. He goes behind the register, through the door and finds the aftermath of complete disaster: Steve standing in front of an entire vat of ice-cream that’s been dropped onto the floor. It’s splattered all up his legs, cookies and cream clinging to the hairs. Holy shit, stop thinking about his leg hair, Eddie thinks.

[nobrashfestivity]

I want to send a gift to a friend in Berlin, however no one at the post office seem to understand the VAT tax laws. I'm stopped at every turn either not being able to register for needed paperwork or worrying that if I just send it, it will end up stuck in customs without proper paperwork.

Any German friends here have an idea what i actually need to do?

Thanks

[randomwriteronline]

Pohatu's dreams are messy.

Anybody's would be, if they had been alive and conscious for nearly one hundred thousand years without ever losing their memory.

In his nightmares he hears the howls of many Av-Matoran as the storm descends upon them far too fast for him to drag them away in in time, and he feels Hydraxon's hand yank him from the shoulder where it hurts most to set him back on his feet because training isn't done yet, it never is, not for a failure like him; he sees his siblings, and that's enough to make him squirm.

In his dreams, most often, he sees the Makuta.

He sees their laboratories, their viruses, their experiments - he used to run from one to the other all the timeto look at them work, because he had no duty nor destiny left to his name, and their tireless tinkering was so mesmerizing, and he was allowed to loiter around them so long as he did nothing except what he was told, which usually meant not touching anything.

But sometimes, sometimes they would let him help: they would let him fetch them components, or give his two widgets worth of an opinion, or they would explain to him the creation process to find the errors in their thinking.

In his dreams he conjures Rahi coming from the vats that would perplex even Mutran. You and horns, he would grumble - he used to grumble - what is it with you and horns?

Who knows what it is, with Pohatu and horns. He just likes them, or so it would seem.

He still remembers when the Vako were created. He likes the Vako: they are fast, and strong, and they have a big horn right in the middle of their heads. It's a shame they can't be tamed, really.

He still remembers it because it was a gift, in a sense. The Makuta that created them (who were they? He can't figure it out: their name, their mask, their appearance were washed away a long time ago, and all he remembers are the long claws, like those of all Makuta, capable of such terrible harm and yet so careful and precise) had called him to see the very first one, and had told him he'd been the inspiration for such a beast. The surprise had caused something warm and good and pleasant to spread through him, a sensation akin to a joyful, beautiful, prideful embarrassment.

He's forgotten a lot of Makuta with time. A lot of them have died, after all - maybe it's for the best, since the living ones have grown so cold towards him.

He doesn't even remember the Makuta who found him heaving loud sobs as he laid pitifully in a tunnel outside of Karda Nui and trying to bend his body to produce tears so that some of his shame could at least leave him. He remembers she'd been a female, because in his dreams her role is often filled by Gorast: he remembers her voice as she'd called him little Toa whilst towering above him in a way no other being ever had; he remembers her eyes going wide and her posture growing stiff as he'd introduce himself with a full title that sounded as hollow and useless as he appeared, spoken softly as he confessed to her his lack of worth: I am Toa Pohatu Mata and I have failed.

He remembers then her claws on his body - cradling him with a graceless clumsiness typical of someone who has never held anything too kindly (and this, too, is something she had in common with Gorast) that was still sweeter than the closest thing that could have been called a caress from Hydraxon's hand. He'd been so awed by the tentative tenderness he'd been offered despite his failure that he had barely registered their journey.

After that, it's a mess. He was so tired. He thinks he might have been laying somewhere, on his side, curled up pathetically, buzzing in and out of sleep. There were voices talking about him, of course, he knows: the whole Brotherhood must have congregated when their sister had dragged him to their door like that.

He remembers arguments on what to do with him, who should keep him, if he should be assigned to a group, to a team, to a fortress, if leaving him anywhere out in the vast terrible world where so many things could have so easily overwhelmed and killed him when he was so valuable to the survival of the Great Spirit would have been a good idea to begin with.

He remembers a voice saying something loudly, and silence. Then steps in his direction, and then...

Miserix looks strange in his dreams.

Miserix had asked him about his siblings, where they were. Pohatu had answered with the truth: I don't know. They abandoned me.

Miserix had thought over it, and decided that it was too dangerous to leave a Toa Mata - possibly the last of them - to fend for himself, alone in the universe; so, the Brotherhood of Makuta welcomed him.

Miserix was nice, despite it all.

It's a shame he didn't follow the Plan.

The Makuta had all been nice to him at first, despite it all.

He'd never been this small before. Hydraxon was tall enough, and his siblings were taller than him as well, but until then he'd been sorrounded by Matoran that barely reached his hip; now he had to twist his neck to look the beings around him in the eyes, and they had to hunch their back to look into his. And there was their awkwardness, too - they had no clue what to do with him, especially at first, when he was barely anything more than a sad sack of depressed rocks sitting in the corners of their labs.

They had little to talk with him about, little for him to keep busy with. But it was very nice, when they did acknowledge him, when they did allow him in their lairs, when they had him test the Rahi to see how they reacted.

They were polite, as he was to them, and he liked their company, and - it seemed - they did not mind his.

He is a fast learner: he knew what to do and what not to do in no time, and what to expect too. For example, you can laugh at Chirox and Mutran's spats but only very quietly, and you can touch anything in Antroz's lab so long as you do not lift any of it from where it sits; you need to steer clear of Tridax because he hates visitors, and if you absolutely have to go to Kojol or Gorast you need to send a message at least half a day earlier so neither will accidentally try to vivisect you for spooking them; neither Vamprah nor Krika will say a word to you but they will know if you leave anything a single centimeter out of place, and so will Icarax - though he will tell you as much, asking if you're looking for a fight, and if you're not careful he will land a punch; Bitil usually has at least one time clone at the ready to keep you out of his face at all times, Miserix is never in the mood for fooling around, and Spiriah is very, very fun to bother without suffering repercussions.

And Teridax...

Teridax is kind.

(Pohatu believes in few things strongly: he believes his siblings don't care for him, he believes he loves the Matoran more than himself, and he believes Teridax is kind.)

(He believes Teridax is kind, because Teridax speaks to him kindly: because Teridax always saw value in him and alway told him as much, always reassured him of his usefulness and worth even when he had no unity nor duty nor destiny; because Teridax was always kind.)

(Few beings are born truly, irrevocably, incontestably evil, and despite his reputation Teridax is not one of them. But it has always been in his nature to plan, to consider his options and scheme for contingencies, and a Toa as powerful as a Mata is always better as an assured ally than a distant acquaintance. He just hadn't realized how starved Pohatu had been for attention of that kind, how desperately he craved it: sooner than he could train himself to stop flinching by reflex upon seeing him so suddenly he had the Toa shyly, eagerly trotting after him, anxious to be helpful, to be useful, to be told that he was more than a waste of space, that he had a purpose and a meaning and a reason to be cared about. Teridax gave him everything he needed, everything - at the cost of everything else.)

In his dreams, memories of kindness are muddled. Certainly, he knows, all the Makuta must have been kind and gentle to him; certainly, he knows, they must have all treated him well. But in his dreams the Mask of Shadows is the only one that presses its forehead against his Kakama so very gently.

Teridax visits him often in his dreams when he's had a nightmare, or when he's too worried, as though sensing his distress.

He likes to dream of his laboratory, so safe and welcoming, of his kraata crawling in his hands curiously, of his claws so carefully shifting him in the right place.

Once he dreamed of being a kraata, curled on his father's lap.

It was one of the best dreams he's ever had.

It was so immediately, terribly obvious that Pohatu had a favorite among the Makuta. (So terribly obvious and terribly disquieting, as his dependency on Teridax grew.) Bitil sneers about it still - about the leash tight around that neck of Stone, about his brother being the only one who gets to have a pet. Pohatu never understood the joke he and the rest of the Brotherhood seem to share about him, and has grown to hate it. He has grown to hate -- no, that's a word reserved for his siblings; he has grown to resent the other Makuta.

It's not a stable feeling, it ebbs and flows, depends on the day; but they are not shy about their acquired distaste for him as they regard him distantly, coldly.

In turn, he is not shy about not appreciating their disgust either.

If they had not deserted him all of a sudden, if they had not found his company so bothersome, perhaps this wouldn't have happened.

(Pohatu is a frail thing, so easy to win, so easy to lose: Teridax knows this, and in his wisdom isolated him. So the only love he can gain, the only one that matters, is the one Teridax rewards his obedience with; and in his blind and deaf servitude he is ecstatic.)

Sometimes he dreams of Matoran.

It's much less common, as those can quickly become paralyzing night terrors in little to no time - though the Island of Mata Nui has been calming his fears so far, since it's much easier to beat back a Rahi than it is evading an energy storm.

He's started dreaming of Takua often, in truth.

It was a pleasant surprise, despite the Nui-Jaga and the momentary blindness. He was convinced he'd never see any of the Av-Matoran again, and here is Karda Nui's local troublemaker, all mismatched colors and no memories and still the same exact wanderlust putting his little feet to work trudging miles upon miles. At least the island is big and the Wahi well connected enough for him to go from one place to another without putting himself in too much danger.

It's a shame he doesn't remember him. Takua once asked him for kicking lessons and made a proper fool of himself at the first attempt, but it was good fun. They could have laughed about it again.

He might be the one thing he truly could have missed from Karda Nui. He's glad to see him enjoy himself.

Lewa has started dreaming of him too, he's confided in him, because Pohatu is easy to talk to and everybody confides in him. Gali as well, and Onua mentioned it in passing - even Tahu answered him positively when he asked. Kopaka says nothing if he can help it, of course, but the long sleep must have made him sloppy enough to cave in after only the slightest insistent pestering.

This sort of thing reeks of destiny.

It's not like Mata Nui hasn't had all the time to get on his nerves - for his siblings, for his chosen Toa, for the undeserved zealous idolatry he demands of the Matoran without ever looking at them.

He and the Turaga must have something in store for his little Light brother, he's certain. Something that will drag him to his death.

His muscles seize when he sees the Avohki bathe Jaller in light.

Ah... Of course.

Of course.

His nightmares become bright when Takanuva bursts to smithereens within them, torn apart by his own glow, screaming in fear.

He whispers for Teridax to help him as his heartlight flickers erratically, and when he shuts his eyes he breathes deeply, deeply, until what he sees is Takua and Jaller and Akhmou playing with the docile, gentle kraata on the floor of the Makuta's laboratory, as Teridax soothes the Toa in a kind embrace, like a parent soothes a child: see?, his voice rumbles so gently. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.

[zeroducks-2]

Could I ask for a number 10 or 21?? Whatever you want. Both sound insane for sladick. <3

10. "Don't you dare" + 21. "Say my name" - Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

(TW drowning, non-descriptive torture)

Waterboarding isn't the type of torture that should be attempted by amateurs, given that everything can go very wrong in a matter of seconds.

Dick is well capable of holding his breath underwater for more than five minutes. Not that much more than five minutes, but still. And it's probably because of it that his "interviewer" gets a bit overexcited, and decides to just... hold his head into the metal vat, without letting him up. At all. Dick makes a show of thrashing and trying to kick after less than ninety seconds, but it doesn't work and the asshole clubs him at the base of his back, strong enough for something in his pelvis to break, and Dick's focus is gone.

Water starts getting in his lungs and panic is quick to set in, but adrenaline fuels his burning muscles as Dick forcefully emerges with a snap, nape colliding with that fucker's face accompanied by the telltale crack of a nose breaking. And just like that he's out of the water but he still can't breathe. Regardless of how much he tries to cough and hack, his lungs stay full and it's with more rising panic that he realizes to be suffocating on the floor of the interrogation room.

He doesn't really feel it when someone lifts him up and cuts the rope around his wrists, he just registers that his arms now are free and there's pressure just below his rib-cage, then nothing, then a blow that forces him to bend over and expel a mouthful of water.

«Don't you dare.» A snarl comes from behind his back, then there's another blow to his upper abdomen, upsetting his already broken ribs, and Dick would likely scream if it wasn't that there is no room for air in his lungs. More water comes out. «Don't you fucking dare, kid. Breathe.»

Dick tries his best, fumbling for air and managing a strangled cry when more pressure forces him to cough, and finally he manages to gasp and draw a sliver of air in.

Again he's not sure exactly what happens after that, but at some point he's being held against someone's side, still mildly coughing but he's pretty sure he isn't going to die at this point. He chances a look around and sees the man who was interrogating him; he's lying face down in a pool of blood, and Dick's eyes narrow, he can't have killed him. He broke his nose, didn't he? But just that, the man shouldn't be dead. What the hell.

«There you are.»

Dick's head gets pulled up as he's held more upright, and he manages to sit up with a grunt, ignoring the pain all over. He frowns at the black and orange of the man's mask, and his addled brain puts together that Deathstroke is the one who killed Dick's torturer; all that blood comes from a bullet in the head, not a stupid broken nose. «Look up here.» There's a quiet hiss of smoke and then the man's helmet goes, showing gray hair and a sharp blue eye. Dick winces at his frown and looks away, but the other snaps his fingers and makes him reflexively look back. «Say my name.»

«Hn. Slade.» He croaks, but a moment later he's surprised to see the man's expression distend in relief.

«Yeah.» Slade roughly runs a hand through his damp hair on the nape, and weird as it is to acknowledge it, holds him tighter for a moment. «You're okay.»

«Were you... hah... doubting it...?» He rasps out, forcing a grin, and the man replies with a glare.

«What the hell came into you.» Slade pinches his chin with his usual "no arguments" tone, his glower staying. «I'm the one who decides when you work alone and when not. You were not supposed to take initiative.»

«What are you gonna do?» Dick coughs, having to turn around to expel more water. Slade lets him, helping him stay up in the process. «...punish me?»

«You know very well that I should.»

That's what Slade would normally do for a job badly done. It hasn't happened in a while though, and it's not like Dick remembers it fondly, but also... well, he kind of thinks he deserves it, because he really did mess up this time. He's gotten himself captured, to name one. Fledgling nonsense, that's what this is. At least he didn't speak a word and revealed absolutely nothing, even if it resulted in almost an entire week of starvation, a leg broken in two parts, a dislocated shoulder, contusions over the entirety of his back...

«Did they-» Slade narrows his eye and a flash passes through it, something wild that in another situation would make Dick wary. «Did they touch you...?»

Dick knows what that means. He shakes his head, not that it would change the fate of the people who captured him. He knows they're all dead already, or anyway they will be soon. But... at least it can help Slade's peace of mind. It's going to take a bit more convincing though, given the searching stare and the way the man grips him tight. Dick sighs and it sounds wet like he's had a chest infection, and tightens both hands on the man's biceps, forcing his swollen left arm to move.

«They didn't.» He says, trying to sound as assured as he can. «They didn't, Slade, I swear. They just beat me up. They wanted to know about you but they didn't make it personal... just this one,» he nods to the body of the man who went this close to drowning him. «I guess he had a few screws loose. But the others were, heh... pretty professional.»

The lines of Slade's face remain hard but there's something that unspools in his expression, Dick can tell. «Alright.» He concedes, touching a thumb to Dick's cheek subtly and briefly enough that Dick isn't sure he hasn't imagined it. «Now let's get out of here.»

Thank you for asking anon ♥ Here's the prompt list for whoever wants to peruse it, or send me another prompt :)

[halofcrged]

@orphanedshadow continued from [x] Everything was so fascinating. The creature could feel its…no her vessel, the wispy tendrils flowing from her scalp, the strange limbs, the way the hunger collected in her core instead of spreading through every cell. It was all so stable, not like she was constantly falling apart and pulling herself together. Of course her other form was there, it would take only a thought to allow this odd scaffolding to return to being undifferentiated cells… but why would she, when this form was so new and exciting. The creature didn't really realize that the noises she was making were audible, not when her newly-formed senses were echoing with the sound of her own shadowy blood rushing through her veins. But the growling felt good, it made things rumble in new ways, and opening her mouth let her taste things, like the cellular fluid that dripped down her face in bloody trails. It also revealed far too many extremely sharp teeth, not that she realized it meant anything. She was so caught up in the sensations that it took a moment to register the sounds of her kin's attempt at communication. With her mind feeling clearer than ever it only took a second for her to try and copy one of the signals he always used, clumsy fingers, actual fingers, how fascinating, attempting to signal that it was all clear, no threats present.

There was very little about the last few days of his life that made a great deal of logical sense to him right about now; maybe, one day, after he had the time necessary to process how he'd gone from being transported from the Halo to this once Covenant controlled world, to fighting for his life against the remnant creatures of the Flood that had somehow managed to survive and perpetuate themselves here for ... decades, centuries? to ... watching the inky shapeless entity that he'd dubbed Rex in honor of his childhood dog sink into a vat of goop and come out .....

Human shaped?

Maybe. One day, very very far from now, he might have all the pieces he needed to put the particulars of this puzzle together.

The creature had started out as little more than a shapeless entity, the feeling of eyes on him that he couldn't shake. Only after he'd winged it with a spray of bullets had it even taken any form that he could recognize as anything other than shadows and he still wasn't entirely clear as to why it hadn't retaliated and tried to eat him, and instead, settled for consuming the Flood entity that had been moments away from trying to swallow him whole, but here they were.

He'd taken to talking to it, maybe just to keep him a little more sane, maybe to convince himself that there was some kind of sentience in there for his own comfort. It hadn't taken him long to realize that maybe there actually was.

By the time they'd made it to the safety of the underground bunker of the original owners of the foundry, he'd accepted that he was stuck with it -- and it hadn't been the worst partnership he'd ever found himself in, though maybe the most unlikely.

He'd watched, equally wary and fascinated, as the entity had slurped its way out of the vat of ... nutrients, that it had consumed, fascinated by the attempt it had made to find form and function. Or at least form. The helmet that he'd removed on entering the safety of the bunker was recording everything. He expected Cortana would have much to say about this later on. "Right." His brow furrowed a little as fingers formed, and conveyed a response. "Right." Definitely not a dog.

"No biting. That seems like a good first ground rule," John said. "You don't bite me, and I won't bite you." Sounded like a good plan.

"I'm John. John 117." He tapped a finger to the number on his suit. "Do you have a ... designation? A name?"

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Assassination? (chapter 2)

----

Roman has been asleep for three and a half days, that doesn't make Janus' companions any more welcoming towards him when he wakes up.

----

| Ao3 | Previous part |

Warnings: None that I'm aware of, other than Virgil being kinda a dick.

Pairings: pre-romantic roceit,

Word count: 3319

Notes:

Honestly I wasn't sure I was going to make a part two for this, I might write a third part, to get a real insight into their flirting and being cute whilst on the road, this one's more just a 'direct aftermath' lol.

I would like to put out a warning now that I might not be able to update every week from here on, since I have exams from now until late June. I do still have a bunch of chapters pre-written for the anaroceit Royalty au though, so whenever I don't have something new finished, I'll probably post that!

Also I will be putting out a poll this week, I just completely forgot about it, lol.

Please enjoy!

It had been three days since they left the city and Roman still hadn’t woken up. Janus’ trio had picked up the reward for the prince’s assassination (carefully hiding Roman under blankets and bags while they did so) and hadn’t stopped travelling since. Word of the prince’s death travelled just as fast as they did, though, and no matter where they stopped someone was talking about it. The flying rumours made it difficult to stop anywhere for long, especially with the still breathing prince himself concealed in their wagon, so they’d been taking turns to sleep on the road instead. At least things should get easier when Roman wakes up.

Janus wouldn’t say aloud that he was worried about the prince - three days was far too long to be asleep - but he was also certain that Virgil and Logan had picked up on his stiffness regardless. It didn’t help much that Virgil was still angry with him for kidnapping the prince in the first place and Logan was irritated that they now had to take all sorts of detours to avoid villages that did wagon checks to make sure no-one checking for illegal produce found him or guards who might spot the prince and raise the alarms. 

He didn’t blame them for being upset with him, really. He had messed up the mission and put all three of them in danger by bringing the prince here. But at the same time… those amber eyes still haunted his dreams and Janus really hoped the prince would wake up soon…

—

Roman woke up slowly to bright light behind his still closed eyelids and a painful, throbbing headache hammering at the inside of his skull. He felt groggy, like his mind was stuffed with cotton wool and he was floating through a vat of honey. His limbs were heavy, feeling more like blocks of wood than arms and legs, and his mouth was dry as sandpaper. 

As his senses slowly returned, Roman registered that he was wrapped in some form of blanket, all the way around like a cocoon, up to his neck. His head rested on something lumpy, a little scratchy against his cheek and just left of firm. Stupidly, Roman’s foggy mind provided the idea that… he definitely wasn’t in his bedroom back at the castle. 

Slowly, as he laid there with his eyes still closed, Roman began to piece together the memories of what had happened. His mind still felt as though it was stuffed with wool, but slowly he put together the puzzle, an assassin, the vial of poison, the deal, multi-colored eyes - blue and yellow - snake scales that had glistened in the candlelight…

Part of him had expected Janus to bail on him. It would have made sense, he could have ran whilst Roman was asleep, it would have been the most logical thing to do. He would've gotten his reward and been able to move on. That same part of him hadn’t even minded the idea. Poison - or even a knife to the throat, if Janus had so chosen - whilst he was sleeping wouldn't have been the worst way to go.

But nevermind all that, because Roman was apparently not dead, just… incredibly uncomfortable. 

When he did eventually manage to move his limbs - starting with just a twitch of his finger - he realised that not only did he feel stiff and like all his joints had locked up, but he ached basically everywhere, his shoulders, his back, his legs and arms, his neck. It left him wondering just how long he had slept for - and where. He could smell the barest hint of salt in the air. Maybe they were by the ocean? 

Roman took a deep breath - he really could do with some water right around now - and peeled open his eyes only to shut them again when the blaring sun above him made the pounding in his head almost double. When he slowly opened his eyes again, he saw not the sun this time, but an unfamiliar face staring back at him which… least to say startled him quite a bit. 

Roman was pretty sure he was tall, though he couldn’t quite tell exactly how tall, considering he was lying on what was likely the floor and this guy was standing almost directly over him, which… a little weird, but he already knew this wasn’t going to be like what he was used to. That was fine. His hair was long and unkempt, scraggly black mixed with purple and a little dull green and blue, skin pale as milk and a little sunken with eyes that looked a little too big on his face and were an almost ghostly pale blue. Roman found himself thinking he looked pretty creepy before correcting his thoughts, sure he looked a little creepy, but that was just because he was different from Roman. He wouldn’t let his parents' biases speak for him here. 

Though the way he was silently and unblinkingly staring at him was starting to become increasingly unsettling regardless.

Roman shifted, attempting to ease the ache in his neck, and the stranger seemed to come out of a trance, turning away and yelling something that Roman’s brain refused to comprehend with his throbbing headache and the stranger’s unfamiliar accent. 

Whilst they were gone, Roman tried to sit up and found that it just made his head spin and throb even more. He settled instead for stretching out his limbs and trying to regain feeling in the rest of his body. 

Moments later, something was pressed into his hand by another unfamiliar figure, this person was crouched next to him, so he couldn’t discern his height in comparison to the other stranger, what he could discern was the strangers blue-tinted dark skin, dotted with silver freckles, his eyes like pools of murky blue water and hair resembling what Roman thought might be seaweed which also seemed to be dripping with water. After a glance Roman realised the object in his hand was a waterskin, which he went to drink before a thought struck him.

“Why should I-” Roman coughed at the dry feeling of his throat as he tried to swallow, he’d really like some of that water, but he didn’t fake his death and escape the palace just to get poisoned for real, “Why should I trust this? I don’t- I don’t know you, where is Jay?”

Roman thought it would be best to use the cover name Janus had given him. He knew how unwise it was to give out your true name to suspicious creatures you couldn’t pinpoint the identity of, especially ones you didn’t know.

“Jay is currently out getting supplies,” The one with seaweed for hair told him, “And this is just water, but you should sit up to drink it or you’ll choke.”

“How do I know you haven’t poisoned it,” Roman narrowed his eyes at the stranger, he still felt a little woozy, but the sensation was ebbing away by the second thank goodness. The first stranger appeared standing behind him with folded arms and a scowl on his face.

“Just drink the damn water,” He said, “It’s not poisoned, Jay made us swear not to hurt you.”

Roman… still didn’t trust that, but while he wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, he did know that he felt like he’d been stuck in a desert for a week and the waterskin in his hand was looking more and more tempting every moment. Eventually - under one’s passive gaze and the other’s scrutinising glare - Roman slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and tilted his head back to drink the water. It tasted normal, as water should, thank goodness. He must have drank half the waterskin in one go before looking back at the pair of strangers. Somehow the pale one looked even more annoyed now. He wondered distantly what he had done to offend the guy. 

“You may call me Lo,” The blue one said, and after a moment that made it clear the other wasn’t going to offer a name, he spoke again, “He’s Vi.”

Roman opened his mouth to offer a nickname they could use for him too, before ‘Vi’ cut him off, “We already know who you are, Princey.”

“Princey?” Roman asked, with an offended gasp.

“Yeah, cuz’ you’re the prince?” Vi said, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you stupid?’.

“No I get it-” Roman huffed, already irritated, “Just-”

“What?” Vi said, “Don’t like it? Well deal with it, just like I have to deal with you.”

With that, he turned around and walked away, hopping down from wherever they were right now. Roman watched him walk over to the large horse that was tied up to a post there and begin angrily brushing her fur. Eventually, Roman turned back to Lo, hoping to communicate all his questions with his expression alone. 

“Vi is- a little prickly towards strangers in general,” Lo explained softly, “And, no offence, but neither he nor I are very happy that you are here, he is simply more overt about it.”

“I get it,” Roman shrugged, “I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Yes,” Lo said, pushing a pair of silver glasses up his nose, “You are.”

“Right,” Roman said with a sigh, so this was just going from one miserable existence where everyone hated him to a slightly less comfortable existence where almost everyone still hated him. Wonderful, Roman was really glad he made this decision now.

“Yes, Jay insisted we keep you around and that we do nothing to harm you,” Lo explained, “But please refrain from causing us trouble, or I may have to rethink my agreement.”

Roman shivered as Lo stood and walked away towards Virgil, well, that was terrifying.

All he could really do now was sit here and hope that Jay would be back soon and also hope that Jay following the plan and making Lo and Vi swear not to hurt him meant that he at least didn’t hate Roman like the other two seemed to. Roman wasn’t sure how long getting supplies typically took, but he really hoped it wasn’t too long. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the scathing glances Vi kept shooting his way as he talked quietly with Lo over by the horse. 

Growing up, Roman had learned all too well how to tell where he was not welcome, and he was most definitely not welcome here.

—-

It was approaching sundown by the time Janus got back to their makeshift camp. He hadn’t intended to be out for so long, but he had struggled finding a few certain items they desperately needed - one being a certain lotion for his scales. He’d also gotten some extra clothes for the prince, because while he absolutely was not comfortable changing his clothes whilst he was sleeping (Janus thought that would be a horrific breach of privacy) he was sure Roman would want something to change into from the gala outfit he was still wearing when he woke up. 

When he did arrive back to camp, Virgil approached him almost immediately, looking stormier than usual. 

Janus very quickly found out why.

“Your prince is awake,” Virgil told him shortly, “he’s already annoying.”

“Don’t judge him so quickly,” Janus said, inwardly relieved, so he had woken up, finally. He was a little annoyed that he hadn’t been here, but it didn’t matter. 

“Just because you want to get into his pants, doesn’t mean the rest of us do, Jay,” Virgil said, crossing his arms, but pointing towards the path that leads further towards the cliffs, “He walked off that way, dunno where he went.”

“You weren’t keeping an eye on him?” Janus asked, frowning.

“I’m not babysitting a stupid adult royal,” Virgil told him, practically glowring now, “He’s your responsibility, you brought him here.”

Janus just huffed, rolling his eyes and passing one of the bags - with all the supplies for the group - to Virgil, keeping the bag with his own things and the clothes he had gotten for Roman in his hand and stormed off down the coastal path.

Really, he hoped this rift that he’d caused between them by bringing Roman here would fix itself soon. He hoped Virgil would warm up to the prince - though he doubted it would happen for a while. Either way, Virgil would have to get used to it, it’s not like they could just abandon Roman now.

The trail was winding and overgrown. The wind picked up as he approached the coast too, ruffling his hair and tugging at his clothes. It was getting dark - though he couldn’t deny that the sunset looked beautiful - and with night came cold. He really hoped he found Roman soon. He couldn’t help a pang of annoyance towards his companions for letting him walk off. 

Luck must be on his side, though, because as he approached the cliffs his eyes caught on the bright red, gold and white of Roman’s clothes where the prince was sitting in the grass, knees pulled up to his chest and chin set atop them. Janus sighed softly and walked over, of course Roman was upset, he’d woken up somewhere unfamiliar surrounded by unfriendly - and possibly outright hostile, in Virgil’s case - strangers. No wonder he’d run off.

“Hey,” Janus said softly, though loud enough to be heard over the wind, “May I sit?”

“Jay?” Roman said, looking up, and looking immediately relieved, “Oh, you’re back.”

“Indeed I am, I hope the others didn’t cause you much trouble,” Janus said, though he’d known Virgil long enough to know how he would have reacted to Roman anyway. The way Roman sighed and looked away again told him everything he needed to know.

“Your companions do not like me,” Roman said, uncurling from his position just a little, “But I understand why.”

Janus hummed, not having an answer to that. He had to remind himself that he barely knew Roman, he didn’t know what he was truly like, didn’t know his mannerisms or how he would react to certain things. It made it difficult to interact, and was the main reason Janus didn’t like strangers in general. He thought he should try, though. Especially with this one.

“How are you feeling?” Janus asked, “You were asleep for a while.”

“I have a pounding headache,” Roman said, reaching to rub at his forehead for emphasis, “And I’m incredibly hungry, otherwise fine, how long was I out for?”

“Three and a half days,” Janus told him, “There should be food back at camp, if you want it?”

“I’d rather stay here,” Roman said, looking back up at him, he was sad to see that the fire in his eyes had dimmed slightly, “Your friends have made it abundantly clear that I am not welcome.”

“I know their first impressions were just wonderful,” Janus said with a sigh, “But you cannot write them off so quickly, they will warm up to you in time, trust me, I know from experience.”

“What do you mean?” Roman asked, tilting his head a little, Janus smiled, pulling his knees up to mimic Roman.

“I don’t think we know each other well enough for the full tragic backstory,” Janus said with a small smile, “But, they are as close as siblings, Lo and Vi, and they brought me into this group later after certain events.”

Roman nodded, looking back out towards the sunset, “Alright, I’ll trust what you say, and for the record, thank you for sticking to your word and bringing me along, even if your friends are a little prickly.”

“You’re welcome,” Janus said, nudging Roman’s arm to regain his attention before passing him the bag, “I got you some new clothes at the market - assuming you don’t want to remain in your gala attire?”

Roman laughed, “That is a kind gesture.”

“The reward we got for your assassination more than covered it,” Janus huffed, “So you basically payed for yourself.”

“Thank you,” Roman said, and Janus was started to realise how earnest his tone was.

“What… for?” Janus asked, frowning.

“I just- you’ve freed me, and - whilst Im sure you’ve had it worse - my life was hardly enjoyable back there, and you got me out, protected me, bought me clothes?” Roman said, trying to subtly wipe away a tear Janus was sure he wasn’t supposed to notice.

“As much as Vi is mad at me for it, I’m glad I could get you out of there,” Janus said softly, placing a hand on Roman’s arm, “I don’t know you well, but… back in the castle, it was clear you were unhappy.”

“Thank you, again,” Roman said with a small smile, “And I can- once I’ve gotten my barings I can leave, if you need me to, I’m happy to go alone.”

“Absolutely not,” Janus said sternly, “I didn’t kidnap a beautiful prince just for him to run off into the wilderness.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Roman asked, blinking those oh-so-beautiful eyes of his, Janus blushed- because oh dear he totally just said that.

“I didn’t say that.” Janus said, wonderful.

“I do believe you did,” Roman said, grinning, “awee- you’re all blushy! That’s adorable!”

“I have reconsidered, you can leave in the morning,” Janus mumbled, looking away.

Roman laughed, loud and free, “No take-backs! You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

“Oh no,” Janus huffed, “not petnames-”

“What, you don’t like them, darling?” Roman said, batting his eyelashes. Janus tried to cover the half of his face not covered in scales - which just happened to be bright red for no reason whatsoever - with one hand as he shoved Roman with the other.

“Stop it!” Janus cried, “I did call you beautiful, ok? Is that what you wanted?”

“Thank you!” Roman grinned, nudging him gently, “So are you, you know.”

Janus paused for a moment, while yes, those ‘pretty’ comments back in Roman’s bedroom at the palace had flustered him, he hadn’t really thought that Roman was being genuine, he still wasn’t entirely sure now, “Really?”

“Mhm,” Roman hummed, “I’d even go as far as to say you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve been presented with many suitors.”

Janus choked, “That’s unfair, you can’t say that.”

“Whyever not?” Roman asked, looking almost genuinely offended, “Who are you to stilfel my truths?”

“Previously, the only person in this group able to lie,” Janus countered, “But now you’re here, so I suppose that title is invalid now.”

“I’m not lying to you, Janus,” Roman said softly, “That would be horrible of me, to lie about something like that.”

“I never said I thought you were lying,” Janus said, frowning, how the hell was this guy so perceptive? And on top of that, how had he earned such a reputation that painted him as some arrogant idiot. Really, it made no sense.

“Maybe not,” Roman said, reaching for Janus’ hand, “But you certainly implied it.”

“I did?” Janus asked, frowning further.

“You did,” Roman nodded, “I saw it in your eyes.”

For a moment, Janus couldn’t think of anything to say in return before sighing, “Are you sure you’d rather stay out here?”

“For now, yes,” Roman nodded, seeming to accept the topic change readily, “The sea is calming.”

“Alright,” Janus said, standing up, “In that case, I’ll go back to camp and bring you back something to eat, make sure you stay here?”

“Of course!” Roman smiled, “Thank you!”

Janus smiled softly as he stood up, turning to walk away, “You’re welcome, Roman.”

He’d barely moved a few paces before Roman called out again.

“Oh, and Janus?” He said, Janus turned, raising an eyebrow, “Do make sure you come back? It would just be so sad if I had to watch such a beautiful sunset alone.”

Janus laughed softly, “In that case, I’ll make sure I hurry.”

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[choccy-zefirka]

Garrus leans forward, arms criss-crossed over the balcony railing, and slowly, deeply, breathes in a lungful of air.

It is warm, slightly damp, and carries a very particular scent that he has by now learned to identify as briny water, and seaweed, and rock that got wet overnight when the tide rose, and is now drying off.

This place is not exactly tropical. Not like in the human travel ad vids that Garrus scrolled through when this crazy thought first skittered, klixen-like, across his mind — retire with Shepard! Or take a vacation at least; just the two of them…

It seemed like such nonsense back then. He almost smacked himself with his own data pad so he’d stop being a sap and go back to his calibrations.

And yet, here they are. Vacationing. Again, not in the tropics, but somewhere warm for sure. Very, very warm.

So warm, in fact, that he even spotted a few other Turian tourists flocking in here. They, like him, are probably not huge fans of that endless, flat expanse of — Garrus shudders — water. Stretching on and on, swallowing the horizon, shimmering like molten silver, whispering something vaguely threatening in its miriad rustling foamy voices. But the Turians have to appreciate the way the afternoon heat radiates off the stone embankment, turning the air into a hazy, rippling veil. Really makes you think of Palaven.

And as a nice bonus, the humans that were living here a couple thousand years ago had some… unexpected cultural similarities with the ancient Turians. Shepard has been talking about this non-stop lately, eager to take Garrus to a museum and show him all the… What was the word? Chitons? That does sound like something a Turian of old would wear.

Historical fashion is not really his thing, it’s hers. A hobby she can now give all of herself to, what with the galaxy more or less… fixed. But this time around, he does feel curious about what sort of exhibits she’ll rush him to. And if there’s something he does not understand or find particularly interesting, he can always just watch her face. Marvel at how her eyes light up with so much passion while she talks about textiles and dye vats and loom counterweights. He will never get enough of that light.

His mandibles fan out in a blissful smile. It still lingers when he slips back into the room and grabs a plaid blanket off the back of an armchair that’s been conveniently moved next to the balcony door. Not by the hotel staff, obviously; this armchair is part of a set meant to face the TV — but Shepard knows that Garrus likes to soak up the sun on the balcony, and then has to come back inside, where the air conditioner is roaring like a wounded Krogan to keep *her* comfortable.

Plus, rolling an armchair across the room with nothing but biotics seemed like a fun thing to do. She actually laughed while doing it. And since the war ended, Garrus has somehow become more… aware of every time she laughs.

He wraps the blanket carelessly over his shoulders — like a chiton? — and braces for the wave of cool climate-controlled air. The smile is still warming his face, but not for long.

He is about to remind Shepard of their museum trip… when he stops in his tracks.

She is sitting in the armchair’s twin, which remains in front of the TV. The green upholstery casts a sickly shade over her features. Spirits, despite all her excitement for their journey through human and Turian past, she is still so thin, still recovering from her ordeal at the Catalyst’s chamber…

And she is crying.

Not with a lot of eye secretions, not this time — but her mouth is twisting and quivering in that certain way that has always made the floor spiral from under Garrus’ feet. And not in a good, walking-with-Shepard-to-a-fancy-party way.

Garrus’ frightened, icy stupor turns to sizzling anger when his eyes flick to the TV set and he registers what the news channel is showing.

There’s a picture of them flashing all over the giant display. The frame mostly focuses on Shepard, who’s getting out of a flying cab on the hotel rooftop, but there is also a fragment of Garrus’ elbow, offering her support (he has watched plenty of human vids about that, too).

How the blasted paparazzi got them at this angle, is beyond him. Hoverboard? Another cab stealthily tailing theirs? A giant flock of immaculately trained birds, carrying the sneaky bastard up and concealing them?

Garrus’ mandibles meet and part with a series of anguished clicks.

Maybe he should have brought up his plan to being his sniper rifle on vacation — with no ammo, of course — and point it at everyone who points a camera at him and Shepard.

But the picture is not the worst thing. It’s the bloody running text at the bottom of the screen.

“SPACE WHALE” NO MORE.

Garrus bares his razor-sharp inner fangs, unsure if he should console Shepard or claw the screen apart.

This is not the first time he heard the word. He remembers human mercenaries in some seedy warehouse or other screaming, “Let’s go whale hunting!” when they’d get Shepard in their gun sights.

Kaidan later explained to a confused Garrus that whales are enormous Earth mammals living somewhere out there under all the… endless… water. And while he did not go further than a polite cough when Garrus asked him about the other meanings of the word, it was not so hard to infer that it’s an insult. For people built like Shepard is — or used to be, before the damned war, and the damned Reaper mind games, and the damned people always asking, asking, asking things of her, nearly drained her to the bone.

Garrus moves to stand behind her and places his hand on her shoulder, not saying anything yet. Not at a frequency she can hear anyway. His subvocals, though, keep hissing at the TV.

She leans into his touch, also remaining silent save for a quick, ragged breath, with a harsh, bubbling noise at the back of her throat. His stomach sinks a little.

She really is the shadow of that beaming, rosy-faced woman, all soft folds with steely muscles underneath, who shook his hand briskly on the Citadel, welcoming him on Team Hunt Saren… And those bloody news people act like that’s a good thing!

But then… He shouldn’t be surprised.

Humans, as Garrus has discovered, favor thinness. For some reason.

Sure, he himself grew up among beings with tall frames and wiry limbs and narrow waists, but… There is not much variety among Turians, as far as bodies go. Oh, there are the subtleties of fringe and talon shapes, each with centuries of rapidly changing fashion trends surrounding it, but when you look at the general built — this is pretty much it. Can’t really stray from it, with all of you neatly packed into a carapace.

Humans, though — the soft, squishy, pliable humans, whose legends (that Garrus may or may not have looked into ahead of the museum run with Shepard) often talk about the gods making them from clay… They come in such an incredible variety of shapes, that it is beyond odd that they paint just one as desirable, and insist that everything else is comical at best and monstrous at worst. Odd — and stupid. Demeaning.

Shepard used to laugh off the insults — both the guffaws of the mercenaries, which soon would turn into a dying gargle, and the snide remarks from posh people at the upper Wards, “concerned” that the Citadel would go beyond the weight limit now that Shepard has stepped into their shiny little world. Once, she asked a passerby how to get to the elcor embassy, and the way they snickered when they said “Ah, of course you would want to go *there*!” was certainly not flattering. To her, or the elcor.

But even as Shepard appeared carefree, the discomfort would still linger in her eyes, ricocheting like a sharp rock straight into the middle of Garrus’ chest plate. And now… Now this has to be the last straw. Finally bringing her to tears after all she’s been through.

Garrus is so caught up in his own inner raging that he does not even realize that first that there’s a voiceover too.

“Commander Natalie Shepard has been spotted recently doing some island hopping along the Old World coast of planet Earth,” says the news presenter, almost with more urgency than when the news agencies were keeping track of Geth and Reaper sightings.

“She is, of course, accompanied by the Normandy’s Turian officer Garrus Vakarian, her indispensable right-hand man and rather unusual romantic partner.”

A scathing blue flush grips at the unplated flesh of Garrus’ throat.

“…While some of our viewers may have doubted that this union — Shakarian if you will — would ever last, especially considering that our heroic Commander is built nothing like the ideal Turian woman, perhaps there is hope for them yet after Shepard’s remarkable weight loss.”

Shepard chokes on another breath and balls her fists over the arm rests.

“I kept dying and coming back to save their asses, and *this* is all they will ever see!” she blurts out, chest heaving. Never was Garrus more heartbroken to see that his hunch was right.

“I didn’t ask for this!” she pinches the skin on her arm. “I… I don’t feel… ideal, or even pretty, like this! I feel weak, worn out, no matter how hard I try! I…”

She cranes her neck, and faces him at last.

“I am sorry, you didn’t have to see this. Give me a moment, and we’ll head out to the museum, okay? I do want to do this, it’s just…”

She sighs. And Garrus, feeling that ricocheting pang all over again, moves — nearly sweeps — to the other side of the armchair and folds himself down in front of her, kneeling.

“Hey.”

He grasps one of her small, many-fingered hands — painfully smaller, bonier, than he is used to — pulls it gingerly to his face and nuzzles against it. If he had lips, he would have covered it in countless tiny kisses (like in the human vids!).

“Hey… Remember that one time when the guns on the Mako’s roof started acting all wonky in the middle of a mission, and I wanted to climb up there and calibrate them manually? And the Geth kept on firing at us, so you followed me to give me cover, and let Wrex take the wheel?”

Shepard blinks, as if roused from a bad dream. Her eyes — deeply sunken and darkly bruised, albeit less so when she first crawled out of the Citadel’s heart — sharpen into focus. The light slowly blooms within, and Garrus holds his breath, like an awestruck kid watching the evening’s first star.

“Great, now I will be haunted by Wrex’s maniacal laugh!” she says. “And the mental image of us skirting along the edge of that mountainside track… Good times.”

Garrus feels his chest spread, like something had terribly mangled his carapace and was only now letting him go.

“Good times,” he beams back.

The mental image he is getting, though, is a little bit different.

He remembers how Shepard balanced on top of the wildly lurching car, solid and sure, protective, unwavering… And how a swirling sand cloud hung behind her, with orange sunlight sifting through, scattering into sparks that intermingled with the searing-blue flashes of her biotic barrier. And how that dual lighting hit her messy, flying hair, and sculpted her soft human face, and then the rest of her… All those curves that would later fit perfectly into Garrus’ embrace, like they were puzzle pieces that had finally clicked.

“Yeah…” Shepard trails off to hushed wistfulness.

Before the light in her eyes fades again, Garrus blurts out,

“You know, back then, when I looked at you, I felt a… a feeling.”

Despite herself, she rolls her eyes.

“Eloquent as ever, Vakarian.”

He clears his throat. Yes, he needs to do better. Especially right now.

“Wait, let me, uh — I’ll try and describe it… There was this sharp thud in my stomach, like on a speeding elevator… Sharp, but also sweet. Made me lightheaded, like a nice liquor shot. At first, I thought…”

He clears his throat again, nearly wheezing but determined not to, how did Vega call it, chicken out halfway.

“When we returned, I snuck off to flip through some Fornax issues, look at human models, try to figure out what it was about humans that made me feel this way.”

Shepard quirks an eyebrow, but her lips set into a tightly pursed line.

“I can’t imagine many of them looked like… like I used to, back then.”

Garrus’ subvocals make an embarrassing squeak, as he rapidly begins to panic. He did not make it worse, did he? He… He needs to get to the point, stat!

“It’s not that they did not look like you. They *weren’t* you,” he mouths, resting his head in her lap now and looking up at her.

“It was never about humans, about what your people, or mine for that matter, find ideal or not… It was about *you*. That feeling I, well, felt that day — it was me realizing I was in love with you. And I always will be. Those journalists have no idea what they are talking about.”

She swallows.

“I — Thank you, Garrus. I… I know that you love me, I never doubted that for a second, but… hearing you say it out loud… It helped a lot.”

“Mhm. Always at your service.”

He closes his eyes and, absentmindedly, slides the back of his hand along her thigh, talons facing away.

“Does that mean you will model some chitons for me?”

The cheekiness in her voice startles him awake — delighted.

“Only if they compliment my eyes,” he drawls, meeting her gaze again.

It is so full of light now, his heart could burst.