#the other ducks would just stand in my way and glare at me until i went a different way

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

Lucifer you love ducks but what’s your thoughts on geese, also have you ever heard of the mandarin duck its a colorful and exotic duck species native to East Asia. The males are known for their vibrant plumage, featuring bright orange, blue, and green feathers.

They look so pretty I hope someone shows you a picture of them

"I have seen mandarin ducks - they're gorgeous! My personal favorite are crested ducks, though - their little afros are so cute!"

"Geese, though... look, I made the duck first! And then Gabriel thought he could 'make it better'! And he was wrong. Ducks are definitely better than geese."

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[wileys-russo]

hi! laura freigang, 'can i use a picture of you as my phone's background?', locker room please?

lockscreen II l.freigang

you woke up to a flash in your face, ducking your head beneath the covers with a groan. "go away lau!" you moaned kicking out at your best friend who only grinned, tugging the covers away from you.

"it was for the collection!" laura explained as if that was completely normal as you tiredly glared up at her. "get out of my room, its not even eight yet!" you realised with a groan, shoving her a little harder than intended as she went rolling backwards off the bed.

you sat up with a start, covering your grin with your hand as the blonde moaned clutching her head which had collided with the carpet.

"sorry?" you tried with an innocent smile as she sat up and fixed you with a venomous glare. "idiot!" she huffed unappreciative of your efforts. "in my defense i have warned you before about not waking me before nine unless its an emergency." you reminded with a shrug.

"i was waking you because i made breakfast but now i think i will go give it to that cranky lady next door, she would be more appreciative!" the blonde grumbled standing to her feet with a shake of her head, stretching out her back.

"no no, no need! thank you." you shot up from bed, kissing her cheek in thanks before racing off toward the kitchen too fast to see the way the girls face burned beetroot red at the tiny gesture of affection.

laura had been pining over you for months now, and it was painful that it was obvious to absolutely everyone but you, even her teammates teasings only causing you to roll your eyes and dismiss them with a wave when they joked you were secretly dating.

laura could only wish to be so lucky, and only wish you'd finally see that all the little things she did for you was because she was crushing on you hard.

ever since you'd moved to the club the girl felt her knees wobble a little when you were introduced to the team, the first to put her hand up to show you around and within a couple of weeks the two of you were thick as thieves and laura had offered you her spare room while you hunted for a place of your own.

it was an offer which beat the pull out sofa you were currently sleeping on in an old school friends one bedroom loft who'd moved to germany for university and just never come back.

you'd be lying if you said without laura you'd have lost your mind and probably quit to move back home. she helped you set up everything, get better at the language, offered friendship and a comfortable bed beneath your back, cooked everyday for you and showed you around new places each weekend between matches.

you hadn't realized it just yet but you were also crushing hard on the blonde, only you'd grown up with four older brothers and attributed nearly every strong feeling you had toward a woman as just a longing for friendship.

it was idiotic how blind you were really.

"so." you looked up from your spot at your cubby, training finished for the day as you were icing your ankle you'd rolled, most of the team having already left for the day laura was kindly waiting around until the physio came back to check you over, currently in a meeting.

"as you know i've been making my phone look nicer." laura started as you chuckled, amused by her sudden interest in aesthetics which was spurred on by a late night tiktok doom scroll as you lay together 'hanging out' in complete silence in her room the other night.

"i found a lockscreen-" she turned to show you a photo she'd taken at the markets on one of her film cameras, smiling at the familiar setting. "-but, can i use a photo of you as my phone background?" she asked hopefully as you groaned.

"what!" she huffed, a little offended by your reaction. "not if its one of those awful pictures you always take of me sleeping, or eating, or at that gross zoomed out angle but super close and-" you started to protest making her frown switch to a grin.

"no schatz, not a bad photo." she patted your knee reassuringly, sliding closer to you as your head fell to her shoulder, missing the way she tensed up a little, clearing her throat.

"i have nice ones. i will even let you choose!" laura promised as you hummed and she clicked into her camera roll, selecting an album with a little sun emoji.

"see? look these are all candid ones of you. at the farmers market, out at dinner, cooking at home, when we went to ikea, when we went to the night festival, getting coffee-" as she scrolled slowly through, something suddenly clicked in your mind.

in nearly all of these you and laura had been hanging out, but always just the two of you. you took turns paying for things, you were always laughing, she was always surprising you with little adventures or taking you to new places and forcing you out of your comfort zone.

but it was always just with laura, and then it clicked for you, it was laura, you loved laura.

the girl was too busy recounting the story behind one of the hundreds of photos in the album with a soft smile on her face to notice you pull your head away to look at her, finally seeing the slight blush on her cheeks and not missing the twinkle in her eye.

so maybe, just maybe, laura loved you too.

"lau." you interrupted, cutting her off mid sentence as she looked up and caught your eye, blush intensifying as she did. "was i rambling? oh god i was rambling wasn't i? i told you when that happens to snap me out of it or tell me to shut up or-" she started again making you smile.

"lau?" "yeah?" "shut up." you grinned as she did too, tips of her ears flushed pink which you found quite cute, suddenly now noticing a lot of little features you'd taken for granted.

"do you trust me?" you asked softly and the blonde nodded without a moments hesitation, but in her most wild of dreams she'd never expected what came next as your hand moved to settle on the back of her neck and you leaned in until you were barely a hairsbreadth away.

"is this okay?" you whispered, checking one last time as all the german could do was nod, dumbfounded and unsure if this was actually happening until you leaned in just that tiny bit further and pressed your lips to hers.

this was really happening, and as laura dropped her phone into her lap, tugging you even closer and kissing you back like you were her last breath of air, you realised that yeah, your laura did love you back, and this was the start of a brand new adventure together.

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

[inserts Starscream next to Hashtag-] Seriously, its so hard getting a good view of their bunker, and there's never a screenshot of Star at their place so i can only manifest lmao

But yeah! Starscream is now amidst the Malto family and oh boy is this era of the fic complex to write oml. This chapter certainly matched the previous in length, and i feel like that might become a pattern with tryna wrap up these types of interactions/scenes.

Starscream is full of so much hekin anxiety dude, but this time he actually does get a bit of assistance!

Previous Chapter: The Illusion of Freedom

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: Bee's Good Guy Crash Course

Chapter 9: Settling Into Circumstance

Finally. 

After an absurd amount of kliks being knocked around the blasted box the bots had apparently needed to throw him in, they reached their destination. Signaled by the gradual slowing of momentum, paired with a collection of conversation, and the trailer door beginning to be pulled open. Starscream was not going to allow either of those femmes to wrestle him out of his predicament, he needed some dignity. So, he maneuvered himself as closely to the entrance as he could to prepare his exit. 

The effort was extremely uncomfortable, but he didn’t care, as long as he got out of there with at least a scrap of his pride intact. As soon as Elita-1 became fully visible, he shoved her aside with one servo while pushing off from the edge of the trailer with the other. “Out of my way!” He’d almost stumbled into a faceplate full of dirt, but instead ducked into a haphazard roll with an involuntary yelp. Not exactly as graceful as he would hope. Starscream’s wings fluttered and twitched in relief from finally being able to move, although it perhaps too could reflect his lingering embarrassment. He quickly picked himself up and dusted his servos with an air of disinterest. “I will never understand the choice to travel by way of wheels.” 

Arcee had the audacity to laugh. “Aww, someone’s cranky.” 

He glared at her, up until he noticed Elita-1 staring him down in turn. A rather malicious grin came upon her faceplate as she approached him. “Have fun at con daycare. Don’t make me come pick you up early.” She hit her shoulder against his as she forced herself past. “C’mon Cee.” Arcee shrugged and they made their oddly hasty retreat, as if they had something better to do.

Starscream flapped his servo in a mocking gesture as he muttered their words in a perfect imitation of what they sounded like. Then flinched to rigid attention when the Prime called his designation. Who was followed by the bug trailing behind him with a pouty squint to his optics. 

“Starscream. Will you follow us to the barn please?” The Prime was apparently quite fond of phrasing his orders as if they were requests. 

“You talk as if I have a choice in the matter.” Starscream tossed his servo at the absurdity before making his way by their side.

“Tough Screamer. We aren’t exactly thrilled about this either.” Bumblebee kept pace if only to point a digit at Starscream to display his clear frustration at the seeker’s intrusion on his human hideout. “But Optimus is trusting me with this assignment–so just know that we’re not here to mess around. This is very serious.” 

“I’m sure he’s aware, Bumblebee.” The Prime was standing right at Starscream’s wing opposite to the bug. Great. Boxed in between two bots to be chaperoned away to a different wooden box. He was thrilled. 

So much so in fact that he began to ignore them in favor of scanning his surroundings. They looked to be in a patch of wilderness cleared out for an organic farm of some sort. Beside the “barn” was assumedly where the humans took residence. The Malto’s human femme guardian, he couldn’t quite recall her designation, was loitering at the entrance. Talking with Megatron. 

Starscream stopped walking. 

What were they conspiring about over there? That human was the leader of their odd family if he remembered correctly. Was that the “Dorothy” Megatron had referenced in the brig? The buckethead already had an inside agent with full control over the operation! She’d report any measly thing Starscream would do–to him. Of course they would put Megatron in charge of this little scheme of theirs. They were probably discussing all of what he should be notified about. Starscream could vent incorrectly. Or tip over one of those fences. Or get one of their designations wrong. Or not stand right. Talk too much. Or not enough. What other things might he be able to do wrong? Megatron would surely be sent to rip his wings off if he didn’t behave how they wanted. But Starscream didn’t know how these mechs thought he was supposed to act! Even when he’d thought he’d known how to navigate the Decepticons, he always had found a way to anger Megatron! 

Primus, he was doomed.

“Are you alright?”

Starscream jerked and shuttered his optics. “W-what?”

It was the Prime. Had they been trying to get his attention and realized he had started to ignore them? Scrap–he’d been ignoring them! And Megatron had certainly seen him shove the femme aside earlier… He was so, so fragged.

“I asked if you’re alright.” The Prime repeated, and Bumblebee was looking at him weird.

Megatron was looking at him.

“YES–never better–in here, you said? So sorry for the delay.” Starscream was trying his oh so innocent tone on the mechs who hadn’t given a single slag back at the Titan; but hey, maybe it’d work this time. He quickly ducked inside the door, and only the bug followed him. He supposed the Prime was breaking away to meet up with Megatron and that Dorothy human. To report Starscream's obvious insubordination no doubt.

He hated it here already.

Red lightning flickered between his wings, and the cracks running from his optics began to burn. When had those gotten there? He suddenly became very aware of how flammable this structure was. 

“You know, I zapped myself with one of the chaos clouds once to beat Breakdown. How come I didn’t get some perma-buff? What, ‘cause I didn’t slap the whole artifact itself on my arm?” Bumblebee complained casually as he hovered his ped above a particular portion of the floor. 

“Trust me, you don’t want this curse.” Starscream absentmindedly responded in a far away whisper. 

“Riiiight. Well, get ready for the drop.”

“The wha– AAh!” The ground beneath his peds pulled apart in a smooth yet abrupt motion that tripped him off his peds and into the opening. Apparently that was what the bug had been up to. He stumbled down the stairs until he fell on his tailpipe with a metallic thunk, which made Bumblebee burst out laughing. Starscream’s wings flicked and his optics flickered red. “Don’t laugh at me! You did that on purpose, you slagging glitch!” 

“Pff– I did warn you, fly boy. But, yeah. Mmmaybe a little bit.” The damn bug looked so smug as his doors fluttered with lingering amusement. “And make sure to watch your language ‘round the kids will ya? Already have to worry about human curse words as is.”

Starscream growled with a roll of his optics, “No promises,” and shakily stood to follow him down the short, newly visible hallway. It quickly opened up into an artificial cavern, which looked like a rudimentary undercity. Well, an extremely small one in comparison to Cybertron’s. And with far too many silly nicknacks strewn about with questionable use. Even so, at least he actually wasn’t going to be staying in the horrible shack above them. And the Terrans apparently did have their own stylized residence that wasn’t falling apart. Perhaps that is why they actually liked their humans. Although a reliance on the creatures would always prove precarious regardless. 

“Here comes his highness.” Bumblebee announced flatly like it was some form of satire, as he entered in front of Starscream to join the others. There were so many of them. That dinobot brat, the avian beastformer, the three wheeler, Sprite’s twin, Hashtag, and those two blasted human twerps. They were all staring at him with varying levels of contempt or apprehension. 

Starscream’s optics flitted across the crowd and hesitated far longer than he should have as his vocalizer betrayed him. “Uh, yes… right, hello.” That displayed too much anxiety, try again. He straightened his posture to exude more confidence and attempted a friendly smile that might have looked a bit more sinister than he intended. “I’m sure you all are absolutely ecstatic to be graced with my presence. So, what redemption inducing activity do we have on the agenda for today?” He couldn’t help but focus his gaze upon Hashtag, who looked too uncomfortably tense. Starscream approached the group carefully with one servo behind him, and acted as though he didn’t notice. 

The human femme brat–it was Mo, he remembered–crossed her arms. “We’re just settling in right now.”

Her brother, Robb something, seemed to finish her thought as he stepped in front of her defensively. “Yeah. Hold your horses Decepticreep.” 

Starscream looked down at him with a twinge of confusion and annoyance. What on Cybertron was a horse? And why in this context would he need to hold them? Regardless, he forcefully kept a smile on his faceplate as the others continued with their own comments. 

The dinobot trotted up with a hunger in his optics that made Starscream inadvertently centihic away from him. “If he tries anything, I can bite ‘im! I’m good at that–”

Bee patted his head with a fond grin, “Cool your core there J.B., remember, a good scout needs to be patient.” Yes, conspire their bloodlust right in front of him why don’t they. Certainly feeling the love around here.

The three wheeler Trash–no, Thrash–stepped up beside the dinobot, “Optimus wants us to give you a chance, Starscream, but don’t think for a second that we’ll fall for any of your sweet talk or poor me con business.”

Starscream put a servo to his chassis in faux surprise at such an accusation. “I would never dream of doing such a thing! I agreed to y–our glorious leader’s generous offer, in a true aspiration towards change!”

“...Not just to get out of the brig?” Hashtag asked skeptically with a tipped servo. 

Starscream’s optic twitched red for a split nano-klik. “Of course not! Our conversation really made me realize my wrong doings, my dear Hashtag.” When he tried to step closer to her, Spitfire’s red clone Twitch inserted herself between them. 

“Give her space Starscream.” The little drone had a stern glare that reminded him of the scowl Sprite so often gave him in the Titan. “Whatever reason you wanna give us, you’ll have to prove it.” The rest of them nodded in agreement.

Except the beastformer–Nightshade was the designation, Starscream was nailing this–who interjected with an effort to diffuse the tension. They raised a servo and put it on Hashtag’s shoulder, while looking at Starscream with a strange…indifference, in their optics. “Come now siblings, let us engage in more friendly conversation. For instance, we can display the room we constructed for our new house guest!” They broke away to begin walking toward a corner extending from one of the structures.

“A room, you say? How exciting.” Starscream’s vocalizer slipped a twinge of sarcasm, although he could admit he did harbor some surprise at the idea. They were providing him with his own whole in the wall where he could potentially keep things from them in? Why would they trust such a thing? There was certainly something sinister lurking within this ruse of hospitality. 

He began to follow them, with Bumblebee doing the same, while the others lingered a bit further behind. Whispers prodded at Starscream’s audials, but those were of no use to him. Let them scheme or complain all they want. He was used to bots talking behind his back.

“I do hope you like it.” Nightshade said earnestly as they gestured a servo in an invitation for Starscream to enter, while they stood to the side. “I did not have as much reference in terms of personability as I did my siblings. So, the decor is primarily influenced by us having a bit of fun with it, admittedly.”

The door was actually constructed perfectly for Starscream’s height. He hesitantly took a step inside with a servo gripping the doorframe, in case a forcefield decided to shut him in immediately. There was a berth fixed against the corner wall, with a couple odd panels that could be distinguished across it. One even seemed like there was an attempt at hiding it with the odd array of colorful, plush squares littering the berth. The walls were painted in accordance with Starscream's own colors, although tainted by a horrendous assortment of human transformers propaganda. Including one that was an offensive illustration of him plastered to a “hang in there” poster. The black ceiling speckled with glowing star decals, barely made up for it. Even if they weren’t arranged to resemble favorable constellations as one would expect from such an effort. The only attempt he could make out was a string lined in a way that vaguely resembled a valve wrench. Although the strangest addition was a human sized lamp that could resemble Bumblebee placed in a corner. Which was backdropped by a sign that read in bold letters: “No evil allowed” with an X’ed out Decepticon emblem. How subtle. 

“So…what do you think?” Nightshade asked hopefully after a stint of silence. 

“They didn’t rig the place to explode, the kids actually tried to put some thought into this thing. So how about maybe a thank you, or something?” Bumblebee had become far too close to Starscream’s wings, and was obviously gearing to shove him inside to make a point. 

Starscream forced himself to release the doorframe from his hold to gain some distance from the looming mech, and made his way over to a different poster. The least disgusting of the bunch, which displayed three familiar seekers soaring through the sky with a burning city below. “Yes, well, it is certainly far more lively than my most recent arrangements.” A groveling thank you at such a ridiculous thing, seemed hardly appropriate. Still, he should probably sound more enthused than that to appease them. “And I appreciate that so much, my sweet little Terran friend!” He tipped his helm to the side with a grin aimed toward Nightshade and ignoring the bug. Then dropped it as soon as he turned away from them again, although still made certain to control his tone. “I see you all have quite the humor about you.” He commented in a vague gesture towards one of the more absurd posters displaying a Decepticon defeat. They’d obviously gone for some acute air of irony in their approach. 

“Ah yes, the others did enjoy adding a couple playful jabs, as one could say, when it came to the posters.” Nightshade shrugged with a grin at the memory. “The stars were my idea. Do you like them? I simply assumed, with star being in your name and all, that it might be something that could appeal to you.”

Starscream could simply say that he did, with some exuberant air of elation. It wouldn’t be a complete lie, after all, the stars were indeed the room’s best feature. Yet his curiosity got the better of him as he hesitated, glancing back at them discreetly. “Why do you care whether I like it?” The whole thing was rather excessive despite their clear disdain for his presence. Why had they bothered? 

“I want to make certain that I did a satisfactory job in making you feel welcome.” Nightshade fiddled with their servo’s anxiously. “This is a rather… odd situation we have come upon. I wish it to go well.”

“That so?” Starscream brought his servos behind him, turning to fully face the Terran again with a smile. “I assure you, your addition trumps all others! Well, except perhaps that poster displaying Megatron getting blasted across a ravine.” As he gestured to it, Starscream threw his ped backward to knock the Bumblebee lamp to the floor with a satisfying clunk. “That is certainly my type of humor.” He succeeded in distracting the Terran from his petty action, yet not the bug, who glared at him from the sideline. Good. He flashed him a sparring glance and a smirk before smoothly shifting attention back to Nightshade, approaching the door again to make his exit. “You and your siblings did a wonderful job, Nightshade.”

The Terran lit up at the praise and clapped their servos together. “I am glad! Perhaps as we all get better acquainted in the effort at becoming allies, we can add upon it with your own input! I promise to not take offense to any changes you wish to make.”

Starscream came up beside the Terran, then began to trace the perimeter of the cavern as he was followed. The other children seemed to have taken to their own perches while still keeping watch of his movements. Did they really have nothing else explicitly planned? The loosely structured nature laid before him made Starscream uneasy. 

“You seem more hopeful than the others.” He began while entertaining his optics with every little detail of his surroundings. “Does… Hashtag share such a sentiment?” Her focus seemed to only be hard locked with whatever was on her datapad. Perhaps it was foolish of him to yearn for some sort of connection with the kid now. She too did think him worse than Megatron, after all…

“Yes. I believe she does.” Nightshade responded decisively with a nod. “Although if I were to disclose further, I fear it would cross a line of privacy for her feelings on the matter.”

“You can’t expect her to be jumping with joy right after you blatantly threatened her back at the brig.” Bumblebee added snarkily as he continued to be a diligent little shadow. “Get a grip on reality, why don’tcha.” 

As if Starscream wasn’t already quite aware. As if he didn’t remember. As if the damned bug thought he was stupid. Why did these bots keep acting as though he couldn’t understand the situation they’ve thrusted upon him? Did they really think so low of his competency? Starscream had a perfect grip on reality! His processor never deleted things without his knowledge. Or bent his perception in any way. He knew exactly what was happening–

Starscream in-vented sharply as the crimson lightning sent a surge through his frame that shot pain through his spark, and stopped him in his tracks. He felt a sudden urge to purge his tank–which had apparently obtained a higher energon level at some point–as the cracks from his optics burned. Why had it flared up so much?! Nightshade had given him a positive response hadn’t they? Frag the bug, he needed to focus on what the kid said. Which was…?

That, maybe, Hashtag didn’t hate him after all. Right? That was good.

But he still couldn’t move.

Quintus’ curse was intent on imbueding him with an intense desire to strangle that Autobrat until his smartaft voice box broke. Or whip around and snap at him with a verbal assault that would no doubt lead to a larger altercation. But he knew he couldn’t. Even as it was increasingly difficult to discern the difference between the curse’s power over his processor, or if it actually was what he wanted to do. 

When the bug decided to kneel down in some attempt at gaining his attention, Starscream couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was too close. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Starscream threw his servo at Bumblebee, which the lightning empowered to send them both stumbling backwards. Starscream gripped his helm and furiously struggled to will the blasted power to stop shaking every centihic of his frame, and force it back into whatever crevice it’d made for itself. “J-Just–GIVE me a nano-klik to– AUGH COME ON!” He needed control. If he couldn’t even trust his own frame to work with him–

“Dude, Starscream, buddy, you need to chill– just sit down and uh…take deep breaths or something?” Bumblebee sounded as though he were trying to help, but all he seemed to be able to do was state the obvious.

“Don’t you think I’m trying, you slagging fool!? This is your fault! I am NOT delusional, or crazy, or any of those things you idiots want to think!” Starscream growled while throwing his servos around wildly in his sudden burst of anger. The others were coming upon them after having sprung to their peds at his outburst. For once, a large crowd of optics on him was the last thing he wanted. This was bad. If Megatron wasn’t going to be sent to blast him into next week, he certainly was now. They’d stick him with that needle again. He needed to get this blasted power under control. But it just kept cycling in on itself. He felt tired. Yet overcharged all at once. 

Bumblebee put his servos up in some form of surrender but his vocalizer betrayed his own frustration, “How is it my fault??”

“Let me try!” It was Hashtag. “Okay, there’s a 5 point countdown grounding thing I found.” She knelt down a couple hics away as she held up her servos. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Starscream stared at her with confusion addled with frustration as his optics flickered, but managed to answer, “...Six.”

“What color’s my paint?”

“Violet.”

“What about yours?”

“Red…blue, yellow–” This seemed stupid.

“Good. How about four things you can feel right now?”

The burning in his spark was slowly beginning to subside. Starscream intentionally scraped his servo down his faceplate to distinctly connect the sensation in his processor. He couldn’t name those things, could he? Not the lingering pain in his patched wing. Or the crick in his knee joint. Those things would surely elicit an awkward reaction.

After his silence, Hashtag continued on with her strange strategy. “What about three things you can hear? Like my voice right now.”

“I suppose…Bumblebee's incessant tapping of his ped. Or perhaps the fact that those lights over there are emitting a ridiculous affront to music.”

Hashtag laughed at his apparent audacity, “Hey, that’s our LED stereo and that music is awesome! I think you could grow to appreciate the glory that is Hatsune Miku. She’s kinda like us! I mean, in a way…”

“What is the point of this…?” Starscream’s wings clicked back into their neutral position as the last traces of lightning retreated from them, and he straightened his posture.

“Well, he stopped tweaking out, so I guess it worked.” Thrash noted with an air of surprise, “Nice work sis.”

Hashtag grinned with a bit of pride as she put her servos on her hips, and kept her focus on Starscream. “To get ya out of your head! See? You don’t have that weird red junk all over you anymore.”

Starscream blinked and realized that he did in fact feel far calmer than he had just moments before. He looked down at his servo and tested the workings of his now only slightly shaking digits. “Hm…” He hummed with the intent of adding something further, but became transfixed with the strangeness of the whole interaction. Thus only continued to blankly stare at his servo, for a long, arduous stint of silence before he found the words. “Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

“No problem.” Hashtag had a rather sorrowful look in her optics as she brought her servos up to hug her frame again. What was that about?

Starscream narrowed his optics at the group. “Don’t tell Megatron about this.” He phrased it as a stern warning, despite knowing his inability to make threats at the moment.

“Still afraid of ol’ Megs there Screamer?” Bumblebee had a quirk of amusement on his faceplate, even as there was that odd, pitying expression lingering behind it as he crossed his arms. 

Starscream scoffed, but moved on. Any topic but that. He could deal with it at a time that decidedly wasn’t now. “What is this Miku you speak of Hashtag? Perhaps you could attempt to convince me.”

Hashtag’s attention perked and she bounced in place, “Oh that is SUCH the rabbit hole–” She whipped out her datapad and ushered him to follow her to some sort of seating area. “Get ready to be absolutely dazzled by the sickest lore and the most bangin’ of bops!”

Starscream followed and sat by her side as the crowd began to find their own places again. “That could be questionable, but I suppose that is what you will be attempting to convert me into believing.” He grinned at her in a way that encouraged a challenge. “Try me.”

After a surprisingly long and passionate presentation; he couldn’t say that he was wholly convinced of why this Hatsune Miku character deserved to be on such a pedestal with millions of mindless followers. Although he could admit that some of the messages were rather intriguing. And some of the music, not half bad. He might even consider a servoful of them borderline good. Particularly that “Rolling Girl” one. 

Perhaps between Hashtag and that Nightshade Terran, Starscream might actually be able to stay sane in the Autobot’s newest prison. At least there was some semblance of room to move. At least he wouldn’t be alone. 

He could focus on the rest later.

[ramblingoak]

Naps With Copia

Nap #9: A Nap to De-Stress

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

For @visiosatanae 💙 who wanted a post stress nap

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

These are all stand alone chapters so you do not have to read one before the other! This series came from my post about wanting to nap with Copia all around the abbey. The stories will all have gender neutral readers and soft Copia naps.

Warnings: Primo, Secondo and Terzo being annoying, job related stress and a loving nap with Papa, some cursing but sfw, 1,300 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

If the phone rang one more time you were going to smash it to pieces.

All day you had been dealing with this.  Not even just the phone, but it seemed like no one could handle anything on their own today.  You had been visited by what felt like every Sibling in the abbey, most asking questions that they should have been able to handle on their own.  Even a few Ghouls had come by, pestering you about band practice schedules and whether or not the delivery truck had been by.

You probably could have survived the nonsense from the Siblings and the Ghouls, you were used to having them wander into your office.  It was when the Papas decided to join in that you reached your limit.  One of your jobs was keeping the front entrance area clean and ready for any visitor that came in and so each morning you took the time to sweep and mop the entrance.  That way the intricate tiles on the floor would be shiny and impressive, they’d be practically glowing as the sun beamed in through the stained glass windows.

Or they would have if Primo hadn't tracked mud all over them.

“What the fuck, Papa?!”  Primo had turned and raised a delicate eyebrow your way, no doubt ready to snap back at you until his eyes fell to the mess he had left.  You waved away the apologies you knew he’d start muttering and trudged back over to the mop and bucket.  “At least take your stupid crocs off before you come inside!  Look at this!”

Behind you there were some hurried whispers in Italian and when you turned around you saw the back of Primo’s robes as he quickly ducked around the corner.  In his place was Secondo, looking tall and imposing as usual.

Like that shit ever worked on you.

“The answer is no.”

“I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“Yes but you always ask me the same three questions,”  You turned and held up your fingers, ticking them down as you listed what he always bugged you about,  “Have my packages arrived?  No, I haven’t gotten anything from Pure Romance or Buttercup’s Bunny Boutique.”

“Those are completely diff–”

“I don’t care what they sell.  Moving on, I also haven’t gotten a call from the car dealership so I’m imagining whatever new Italian monstrosity you’ve ordered this time isn’t ready yet.”  You raised your eyebrow when he started to say something but thankfully he took the hint and closed it.  “And finally, your fri–”

A frantic knocking at the front door interrupted what you were going to say.  You pointed a threatening finger Secondo’s way before hurrying to the doors and swinging them open.  It took all your self control not to let your face fall at the sight before you.  At least twenty children were staring up at you with wide eyes, most of them clutching onto the hands of the adults with them.  A tour, a tour that was not on your calendar this morning.

“Um.”  Your usual professional demeanor seemed to have left the building and you couldn’t stop yourself from just staring and blinking at all the faces in front of you.  “Are you he–”

“Ciao, ciao!”  The hurried voice of Terzo came up behind you quickly, his shoes squeaking loudly on the still wet tiles.  “Thank you darling, I will take it from here.”

“You’re giving a tour?”

“SÌ, I happen to give the best tours.”

“Yeah, but only when you want something Terzo!”  

A throat clearing from the steps had you and Papa breaking your death glare on each other.  One of the adults with them, a younger woman who seemed to only have eyes for Terzo, stepped forward with her hand out.

“Oh thank you Papa!  We’re so lucky you took the time out of your busy schedule to show m– uh, I mean us around!”

“No, no dolcezza, I’m the lucky one.”  He gently took her hand, dropped a lingering kiss on the back before tucking it into the crook of his arm.  “Shall we?”

You stood there, trying to keep your smile on your face as the group started following Terzo like a bunch of lost ducklings.  He led them around the corner, daring to turn and give you a mischievous wink before disappearing down the hallway.  You didn’t move for a moment, your feet frozen in place and your fists clenched.  Secondo was gone, no doubt using the distraction as his chance to run away.  This was the last straw for today.  You didn’t care if Satan himself was going to knock on that door next you were done.  

The door to your small office banged against the wall as you flung it open.  You’d just grab your laptop and phone then you could hide out somewhere else.  Imperator owed you some sick time anyway.  If you stayed here any longer you’d be too tempted to burn the whole abbey down.  There was only one place in the abbey you’d be able to relax after a day like this and your feet quickly took you there.  The door flung open right when you were grabbing the handle and you nearly had an armful of an irritated Secondo. Your mouth started moving before you could stop yourself.

“Whining to mom, Papa?”

“I’m not whining to anyone, I’m just telling mio fratellino that maybe he should take you on a vacation before you kill someone.”

“Yeah?  Well you’d be the first one Mr. Buttercup Romance!”

“Ok, ok!”  Copia rushed over to the door, pushing himself between you and his brother.  “Let’s uh, let’s take a breath here and maybe, apologize.  Can we do that?  Hmm?”

With a huff from you and a growl from Secondo you both walked away from each other.  Secondo quickly leaving down the hall and you brushing by Copia to throw yourself on the plush couch he had in his office.  He mumbled something under his breath as he closed and locked the door behind him before wandering over to look down at you. 

“I want to go to Venice first.”

“Venice?”

“Then Verona, Milan and Florence.”  He had that adorable confused look on his face and you had to hide your grin in one of the throw pillows for a moment.  “You know, for our vacation.”

“Oh!  SÌ, sÌ of course.  Well, he’s right amore, you do deserve a vacation.”  Copia dropped to his knees next to the couch, cradling your face in his hands for a moment before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your nose.  “We should do something else first.”

“And what’s that?”  He grinned as he stood up, groaning briefly when his knees popped.  With quick movements he moved to your feet and gently took your shoes off before sitting on the edge and working on his own.  “Copia?  What are you doing?”

“We are taking a nap.”  Copia noticed the confused look on your face and smiled softly, dropping his shoes on the ground and then sliding in next to you.  “A nap can do wonders, yeah?”

“I suppose.”  He chuckled against you, sweeping a hand over your head and rubbing your scalp.  With a sigh you melted against him, all the stress from the day seeping out of you by his presence alone.  “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Probably not, but you can tell me about it later, eh?  We should rest for a bit first.”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”  Copia laughed again and you felt his lips brush against your forehead.  You slipped your arms around his waist, getting as close as you possibly could.  Close enough his warmth alone began to lull you to sleep, the comforting beat of his heart under your ear helping as well.  “We’ll talk about Italy later.”

“Of course, amore.  Whatever it takes to keep the abbey standing.”

You grinned against his shirt, inhaling breaths of his cologne and letting everything that was Copia help relax you to sleep. 

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

[alexa-yukiyu]

Zoro and Sanji accidentally becoming parents to a little girl. Maybe they saved or protected her during a fight. She's a little sassy especially when Zoro kinda snaps at her but she's just standing up for herself. Other than that she's a complete sweet heart?? Only of you're okay with it!!!

Dual Training ( Sanji x gn!child!reader x Zoro)

A/N Reader heres is a little older, close to teen but not quite I tgink this is a flop, I din’t know where to go with jt so it kinda ended up pretty weak and im pretty sure this is not at all what you had in mind but I couldn’t come up with anything, im sorry Anon 😭 I have fail you

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

They frown, ducking to avoid the kick sent their way, swinging their bo staff Sanji’s way, forcing him to retreat. Just as he did, Dokucha turned to block Zoro’s attack, slowly sliding their staff up the sword until they were able to push him off; forgetting about the blond behind them, they charged towards the swordsman, trying to deliver a hit in his upper body, only to let out a groan as the attack was stopped by Sanji

“Okay, Okay, I give!” They exclaimed as Sanji kicked away their bo staff, Zoro having taken the opportunity to hold them at knifepoint, the sword inches away from their neck

“You’re too slow in your attacks,” Zoro commented, sheathing his sword

“My speed is not the problem.”

“Then what would you say is?” Sanji questioned, handing them their staff

“That you guys are absolute tanks!” they exclaimed

“You’re just weak,” Zoro quipped back, rolling his eyes

“And you’re just a jerk, but you don’t hear me saying that, do you?” The snapped back

The swordsman sends them a glare but doesn’t reply, opting to lie down

“Mon amour, we want you to strengthen your reflexes; that’s why we have you spare both of us at once,” Sanji explains

“Why both at the same time? Can’t even beat one of you, so why have both of you come at me at once?” The child whined

“Because your fighting style mixes both the use of weapons and the use of the body to fight," Zoro muttered, opening his eyes to glance at them

"Oh."

Sanji chuckles at their reaction, lighting a cigarette and blowing and exhaling a cloud of smoke

“I don’t use weapons nor my hands to fight for that matter, so I can only help you improve your fighting with your lower body; musclehead over here is a savage and knows about fighting with brawn and no brain and can help you work your staff.”

He lets out a scoff at that

“Say’s the one who fights like a mule, kicking his way out of everything.”

They sighed as, once again, the bickering resumed between the two

“Knock it off,” they call, standing in between them breaking the fight off as they glared at each other

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“For always looking out for me and helping me become stronger,” they exclaim, sending them a grateful smile

“It’s no problem, mon/ma chéri”

Zoro just let out a grunt at their proclamation, at which they grinned, knowing the greenhead struggled with expressing himself verbally, easily understanding the underlying meaning of his actions

Im sorry yall, but I have an idea for the next one, I think it’s gonna be a cook

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[stellarsturns]

Twisted Hate

part 1

pairing: dom!chris x reader, enemies to lovers.

summary; you and you’re enemy chris, are forced to go on a vacation. Yet, you both don’t hate each other as much as you think.

warnings: Swearing, Angst.

Was originally going to make this a one-shot but, i’ll make it a series if it does well!!

authors note: Hi y’all first fic thats decent imo! I hope you love. Its based on Twisted Hate by Ana Huang. (Not FULLY, just inspired ig)

Nick comes rushing into your room, you look up immediately. “Yes Nick?” You ask curiously.

“Omg, y/n! We are going on vacation and we have an extra ticket would you like to go?” He asks excitedly.

I smile, “Yeah, sure!” I state. Nick grins, “Omg, Okay!! Thank god. Start packing, we leave tomorrow!” Nick then leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

** TIME SKIP **

I had finished packing when Nick walks back in, “Alright, so meet us at the airport tomorrow at 6am, okay?” He states, I smile, “Yeah! I finished packing by the way.” I say.

Nick grins “Alright, i’ll leave you get sleep! Night y/n!” He states leaving the room. Once the door shuts, it turns to complete darkness.

** TIME SKIP **

I arrive at the airport right on time, I expected that Matt and Nick didn’t want Chris to come, but I am greeted by the tall brunette, which once he notices I’m here, he has a disgusted expression on his face.

Nick speaks against the silence, “Let’s go check in guys. Cmon!” He waves. We all follow Nick like baby ducklings following the Mama Duck.

Once we check in and start to board the plane, Nick and Matt have seats together, which means I am sitting next to Chris.. Which we all know isn’t gonna go well.

I sit down in the window seat, then a familiar and annoying voice peeps up, “Can you move? I wanted to sit there.” The brunette boy states. I glare at him, “Why should I have to move?” It was now Chris’s turn to glare at me.

“Because I asked you to move.” He snarls. I roll my eyes, standing up so Chris can claim the window seat, forcing me to have the aisle seat.

The plane ride to Malibu was quiet between the two of us. Not one person muttered a sentence.

Nick and Matt were talking to me though which made the flight less boring for me, while Chris was just starring out the window with his foot up his ass.

** TIME SKIP **

When we landed in Malibu, we all took an uber to the hotel we will be staying at. We get the room-cards and we all head up to room “509”

Once we arrive at the room, Nick swipes the room-card and the door opens. The hotel was nicely decorated, the bathroom was very nice and comfortable. Then, we moved to the “beds” where it all went wrong.

“Why the fuck is there only one bed?” Chris states, anger passing through his voice. I glare at the bed in pure disbelief. I am praying I won’t have to share with-

Matt interrupted my thoughts, “Seems like Chris and Y/N will have to share a bed.” He says. Chris looks at Matt in disbelief, “Is this a joke? Are you trying to get us to be friends again or something?” Chris States.

Matt looks at Chris, “No, me and nick are just across the hall. Holler if you need us. Have fun!” He states laughing as they walk away.

I place my suitcase on the bed, Chris sitting in the armchair scrolling through his phone. I begin unpacking my clothes and putting them in the drawers before Chris interrupts the silence, “Don’t take up the drawer space.” He says no emotion showing at all.

I look at him and roll my eyes. “Asshole” I think to myself. I didn’t pack much clothes anyways.

Once I finished unpacking, I grabbed my suitcase and put it out of the way so none of us trip. He totally ignores me until the phone starts ringing.

** Beep Beep **

[florencetypemaniacs]

How would the Ro's react if someone was flirting with Mc?

(In crushing and dating stage)

I already did the crushing stage right here.

RELATIONSHIP STAGE: COUPLE

💛 Marcel

It would depend; he trusts you completely, so Marcel wouldn't be bothered, but as soon as the other person gets too close or you look uncomfortable, he is by your side. 

"Excuse us, I need to see my girlfriend/partner/boyfriend for a moment."

Marcel's voice was tight but still quite friendly, even as his smile was almost tiger-like as he stared at the person who instinctively backed away a little. Marcel doesn't even wait for a response from the person, as he takes you by the arm gently until both of you are in private. 

"Are you okay, darling?" He touched your cheek. "They didn't bother you too much; I can go out and talk to them for you. Make them leave you alone." 

🧡 Margaret

It would take some intense flirting for her to notice, not because she isn't paying attention but because she wouldn't realize that the other person was flirting with you, but once she does, she is jittery, like she drank five cups of expresso due to her nerves. 

Oh, poor Margaret, she would awkwardly stand between you, hating how jealous she is feeling but just watching the conversation like a tennis match. 

She would place her hand in yours under the counter, worrying if you were going to leave her. 

If you were to flirt back, that would absolutely break her; she would have to excuse herself and go break down in the other room

❤️ Owen

Owen would just put his arm around you, which would be surprising. Owen isn't the PDA type, but he would be that day. 

The person looking at Owen's size and muscles backed away a little, but if they were to continue talking to you, he would just stare the person down as he kissed your cheek, hugging you from behind, and whispering in your ear. 

Every so often, he would say little jabs at the person, not overly aggressive but enough to make the person get the hint to hit the road before Owen hit their face. 

If you were to give him a worried or confused look, Owen would just raise an eyebrow at you as if acting this way was completely natural.

When the person finally leaves, Owen would go back to normal, leaning against the counter. If you were to question him about it, his only response would be

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lass/Duck/Lad."  

💙 Rosemary

If Rosemary and you are a couple, then she has gotten over her relationship truma, has complete trust in you, and doesn't feel the need to be the center of your attention, even if it bugs her just a smidge. So unless the person is making you uncomfortable or bothering you, she wouldn't do anything besides glare at the person flirting with you. 

When she saw a sign that you needed help, Rosemary would tell that person to get out. 

"Alright, sweetheart, I think it's time for you to go." Rosemary said, her voice dripping with something dangerous as the person backed away a little. 

"What? I just got here. Plus, me and this lovely-" 

Rosemary squeezed your cheek, interrupting the person. "Ah, they are sweeter than sugar, aren't they, but as they are MY lover, I say you should take rejection like a champ and get the hell out before I take you out by the ear like a kid." Rosemary said brightly, watching as soon as the person ran out of the shop. 

The next thing you know, Rosemary pulls you into a deep kiss. "Now that that is over, why don't we have a nice cup of tea?" 

🩵 Tai

Yeah no. That's not happening. Tai would be so jealous, like smoke coming out of ears jealous. 

Insults and berating about whatever the person was talking about would fly out of his mouth in such a way that it would leave you even amazed. Tai would have that classic, stoic look on his face before he drove the person away with his comments. 

If you were to question him about it, he would blush a bright red. "They were flirting with you as if I weren't standing right here; what did you expect me to do?" 

Tai would mumble about the person under his breath for the next hour about anything really—all negative comments, of course. 

💚 Zane

Honestly? It is likely the same as the crushing stage, where he tries to kill the person flirting with you. 

Although one thing is different, Zane isn't waiting for you to turn around before he gets in a person's face.

"Get out." Zane hissed like a snake. 

The person looked taken aback. "Excuse me? Dude, you can't just..." 

The white in Zane's eyes disappeared, replaced with black that matched the iris, making the person cower and jump back in surprise before running out of the store.

Zane then put you on the counter, placing himself in the middle of your legs before pulling you into a deep kiss then.......dragging you to the bedroom. 

[bluemooniegif]

A college!Ihareno ficlet that will most likely turn into a full-blown fic? on your dash? More likely than you'd think!

Some basics that I'm gonna work into the story as a whole if I ever get around to writing it:

Iharu Furuhashi as a third-year biochemical engineering student. Do I know anything about biochemical engineering? No. Would he be the best employee Izumo Tech has ever seen? Absolutely.

Reno Ichikawa as a first-year music composition major. I do know a bunch about music... not that I've ever set foot in a composition class. I've heard the horror stories, though.

Anyway. Two idiots who think they have Absolutely Nothing In Common until the clubs start their meetings, and it turns out most of their interests (and friends) align. Chaos ensues. I'll shut up and give you the fic now okay I'm sorry here we gooooo !!!

"I told you you should've submitted your application earlier," Haruichi gripes, surveying the empty dorm with slight contempt.

"Well," Iharu snarls, "I was fucking busy. Housing wasn't exactly my priority when I was being fucked five ways to Sunday by literally everything in my life."

"You can just say the breakup was bad," Haruichi sighs, and Iharu's scowl deepens.

"Whatever," he drops his backpack onto the nearest desk chair, "it's done. I'm here now, I'll fuckin' deal with whoever rooms with me when he gets here."

"He's a first-year," Aoi supplies, opting to ignore Iharu's gawking as he shoulders his way in, two heavy boxes stacked in his arms. "Said so on the board. You should really start checking those."

"A greenie?" Haruichi whistles. "Bad luck, Furu."

"Thanks guys," Iharu quips, using his keys to tear into the first box Aoi sets down with more vigour than is probably necessary. "Always good to know I've got your unconditional empathy and support."

"We got you, man," Haruichi claps him on the back hard enough for him to wheeze, then slips quickly to the other end of the room. He fishes out a textbook and pretends to consider it to avoid being glared at.

Another hand falls onto Iharu's shoulder, much more gently. "It might not be that bad," Aoi says in that annoyingly passive tone he uses when he wants Iharu to shut up and calm down. "We can't judge anything about a person without meeting them first."

Iharu rolls his eyes and shifts away with an armful of clothes. "You know how greenies are, though," he pulls open the closet door with his foot, half-ducking inside to shove whatever he can into the drawers. "They're loud, and annoying, and have no sense of general etiquette. They dunno how to use the campus map, or the dining hall, or the fuckin' rotating doors. They're useless! Plus," he shoves the now-full drawer closed and wonders absently why the other two have gone so quiet, "I've done my time rooming with one. Having to do this again is, like, divine punishmen-"

When he closes the closet door and looks back towards Aoi, Iharu notices that there's someone standing in the doorway. Two someones, both with varying degrees of disgust written across their faces. The boy in front is staring at Iharu with an eyebrow raised, and he thinks to himself, Oh. Beautiful.

"Hello," the boy says, deadpan. "Annoying greenie roommate, Reno Ichikawa, here to deliver divine punishment."

"Oh," Iharu sputters, and he thinks he hears Haruichi drop something heavy with a curse- the textbook. He hopes it landed on the bastard's toes. "Oh, shit."

//

heheheeeeeeee

This is what inspired me to choose their majors btw:

Whew... anyway

[jelzorz]

153.

Rayla is back a week, maybe two weeks, and honestly, Opeli is not happy about it. It was too easy, she thinks, too forgiving. When she came home with the boys the first time, it was fine because they promised she was their friend and had nothing to do with King Harrow's death and Callum obviously loved her with all of his heart. Opeli was willing—and happy—to sort of adopt her into the royal family, just another orphan, another child needing a home, and then she left and—

Well. Callum and Ezran might be happy to let such a thing slide, but she is not. She did not watch Callum break two years ago for Rayla to come sidling back in like nothing happened. She did not watch him mope around the castle, miserable and heartbroken, for Rayla to return without even an apology to him. Opeli stands for Justice, and Justice will not be denied.

When they return from the Sea of the Castout, Aaravos' shining prison in Ezran's arms in need of somewhere safe to hide, Opeli welcomes the boys back gladly, relieved that they're safe and they're home once more, but she regards Rayla coolly and does not offer her the same warmth. Rayla shuffles a little under her glare, but she says nothing about it.

It's not until dinner that evening that anyone mentions it at all.

"We do not keep weapons at the table," Opeli says crisply, when Rayla takes a seat, resting her mentor's bow against the chair next to her—the same bow that Rayla broke into Callum's office to steal; the same again that killed King Harrow.

Rayla withers a little, her eyes on the floor, even as she gets up again to put it away, but Callum sets a hand at her elbow and glares back.

"Since when?" he demands. "Soren doesn't put his sword away for meals."

"Soren is captain of the Crownguard," says Opeli. "There are reasons for him to carry weapons, and none so good for this elf—"

"Her name is Rayla, Opeli, and she can do what she wants."

"Prince Callum, if I may—"

"No!" Callum slams a hand against the table, rattling the silverware in his wake. "Don't think I haven't noticed! You've been kind of an ass to her since she came back and it's not okay! What the hell's the problem?"

Opeli scowls at him, affronted. "Language like that is not appropriate for a prince and high-mage—"

"And the way you've been acting isn't appropriate for a high cleric," snaps Callum. "The castle is Rayla's home, the same as the rest of us. Back off."

It comes off like an order and Callum's eyes are hard, so Opeli ducks her head and mutters an apology to him without further argument, but she sees Rayla shift uncomfortably all the same and is pleased to know that she has not let herself off the hook so easily. It's still a surprise, though, when, just before bed, there is a knock on Opeli's office door.

Opeli rises and blinks to find Rayla on the other side of it looking guilty and uneasy but there all the same.

"Can we talk?" she asks, and Opeli nods stiffly if only because she doesn't know what else to say. She steps back to let Rayla in, and Rayla waits until she's seated again before she takes a seat herself. She takes a breath. "Did I do something wrong?" she asks at last.

"You tell me," says Opeli, her lips thin.

Rayla pauses and fiddles with her fingers. "I know it's not just about the bow," she says after a moment. "I just... I don't want to keep causing trouble. You've all been so kind to let me stay here but—"

"If you leave again, you will not be forgiven," snaps Opeli, and then she scolds herself for making it so obvious, for giving it away at all. She wrinkles her nose and presses on. "My duty is to Lady Justice and to the Crown, Rayla, and I will not see either insulted by someone so cruel. Do you know what you did to him? Do you know how broken he was in your absence? And for you to come back thinking all would be fine, and then to break into his office to steal that bow, and then to leave again—"

"I'm sorry, okay?" says Rayla at last. "I mean it. I can't do that to him again, Opeli, it killed me the first time, and I knew the whole time—"

"Why do it then? Why be so selfish?"

"Because—" Rayla swallows and looks away. "I just didn't want him to get hurt. And we left for the Bookery, and ran into so much trouble and he got hurt anyway, for me, and I—" She sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry I hurt him. I'm sorry he keeps getting hurt. I just... want him to be safe."

Opeli says nothing for a moment. She studies the way Rayla curls in on herself, shoulders bowed with grief and guilt and regret. And for all her devotion to Lady Justice, for all her talk about Justice not being denied, Opeli sighs, pulls another teacup from her desk drawer, and slides it across the desk.

"You and I have that in common," she says, pouring Rayla some tea. "And I see that all he wants is the same for you."

"I—" Rayla flushes. "He shouldn't."

"That choice is his to make," says Opeli. "Have you made yours?"

Rayla presses her lips together and nods, her eyes shut to dam up the moisture welling at the corners. "Yes," she promises. "I can't do that to him again, Opeli. I won't. I mean it."

"I should hope not," says Opeli. "Drink your tea. It's not so comforting when it's cold."

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

68 + 96?

68 Husbands In Love + 96 “Take That” Kiss/“Shut Up” Kiss

Hello!! Thank you for sending, I know the prompt was husbands in love, but I've been writing husbands non stop and was feeling nostalgic for boys in love (and denial) and thought i'd have a little fix it fun

as always my fics exist in my own cinematic universe where the cta is not a centrally organized transit system and is actually the most convenient form of public transit to use

“Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” Ian asked suddenly.

“Jesus Gallagher, keep asking pussy fucking questions like that and you’re going to get us kicked out for being underage,” Mickey huffed lightly, picking at his beer bottle.

Ian flushed with anger and indignation. Mickey was the one being a fucking pussy, he kissed Ian before robbing Ned’s house, he ran back to the van and kissed Ian like he fucking meant it and for a few minutes while they robbed Ned’s sleeping wife blind, Ian’s mind spun out of control with the possibilities that kiss opened up. 

He’d ridden that high the whole drive back to the Milkovich house, running home like he promised to help dig up the body in his backyard. He even avoided a near disaster with the CPS workers waiting innocuously on the sidewalk, turning the misnamed Gallagher charm up to ten and convincing them to come back later in the week. 

“It’s just that the county is doing rolling water shutoffs this week-and I know it will be a demerit if we don’t have water. But it’s unfair to put us at risk for something entirely under the county’s jurisdiction.” Ian reasoned easily, trying to make sure they don’t walk onto the property as soon as someone unearthed Aunt Gingers rotted corpse. 

They agreed to come back after Friday, because Ian could be incredibly persuasive when he needed to be. And thank god for it because the scene he walked into was a fucking horror show, and that was before Fiona walked in with a femur in her hand. 

They’d all hustled to make the house presentable and keep it that way, and his whole family left to find Frank, so he would actually show his ugly fuckin’ face when they called to talk with the social worker, so Ian was the only one home when he heard a knock at the door.

The last person he expected to see was Mickey Milkovich waiting wide-eyed on his porch. He was wearing jeans and a clean teeshirt with he sleeves in tact. They stared at each other for a moment before Ian finally opened his mouth to ask if Mickey wanted to come in. 

Mickey just scowled and nodded his head towards the street to say come on, Gallagher. Like it was obvious and Ian was the one being difficult, but Ian was just shocked to see Mickey on his porch. Not trying to blend in with the shadows on the street, but standing under the flickering porch light, so he just followed the shorter boy. 

Mickey led him up the stairs to the L, then over the turnstiles and onto the train, they leaned on the pair of train doors and got two stops before Ian worked up the nerve to ask where they were going. 

His question was met with a non-committal shrug, “already pawned a couple of the overpriced trinkets we stole from naughty grandpa, figured I could buy you a beer for bringing us into the deal.”

From the way Mickey was looking up at him through focused eyes, rocking from the wobbling train car, his answer was a long winded way to say I’m taking you out to a bar, please be cool about it for once in your fucking life, Gallagher.

Ian grinned, ducking his head and trying to play it as cool as he possibly could. They got to the bar okay, it was divey little place on the Westside that Ian couldn’t believe Mickey would ever set foot in. Sure, it wasn’t very nice, but Ian wasn’t emitrely sure Mickey knew there was a whole city beyond Chicago’s southside.  

The bartender tried to give Ian a funny look but Mickey just stood in front of him with a nasty glare until she handed over a couple of Old Styles.

The question came when they sat down at a table tucked cozily in one of the corners, Mickey grunted and mumbled at Ian when he tried to coax him into a normal fucking conversation, like they usually did when they hung out at the convenience store. His eyes were bouncing around, scanning the room anxiously, or boring into Ian in a way that made him want to squirm in his seat. 

He seemed cagey, uncomfortable in the bar and in Ian’s presence, so the question was: “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” 

Mickey’s eyes snapped back to his face, searching and evaluating. “If I wanted to shut you up, kissing wouldn’t be my first option.”

Ian rolled his eyes, “whatever, I just don’t really get what we’re doing here. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you kissed me because you’re jealous and you brought me out here on a date.”

He watched Mickey’s face twitch as the word date fell out of his mouth, so he sighed and continued after a sip of his beer “but I do know better, you kissed me to shut me up and I don’t know why the fuck we’re here. You don’t need to worry about me fucking off completely just ‘cause I like going out with Ned, you’ve got a great ass and we have fun. If that’s all you’ve got for me, I can live with that, but don’t jerk me around like you’ve been doing today.” 

Ian finished his beer and moved to get up. He was playing it a lot cooler than he felt and knew he would probably crumple when he got home, but in that moment he didn’t really care. 

“Gallagher, wait- just sit down” Ian looked at where Mickey was staring up at him with a hand outstretched on the table, finally he added a quiet “please.”

And because Mickey was wearing his hair in that slicked back, pretty boy way Ian liked, looking up at him with pretty blue eyes and worrying his pretty bottom lip, Ian sat back down hesitantly. He tried to stare him down from across the table, but doubted he could pull off threatening to someone like Mickey. To his surprise, Mickey’s bitchy, nonchalant expression crumbled into something sad.

“I don't want to shut you up or anything, you’ve got it all wrong. I did want to… go out with you tonight, like that” Mickey admitted. “But I’ve never really - I don’t date. I don’t have a lot of friends, or hobbies. I’m not very smart, or funny and I think that as sad as it is, my life is going downhill from here, so I’m not really sure what we’re doing here either.”

“I’m a fucking asshole” Mickey looked up at him finally, daring him to disagree “and this, this thing we’re doing is stupid, and dangerous but I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Ian sat in shock, his mind spinning. Of all the things Mickey could have said, that was nowhere near what he was expecting. 

“I think you’re really funny” was the first thing he could think to blurt out “and probably pretty smart, if you actually tried to use your head for anything.”

Mickey stared at him with a blank expression and the air turned awkward around them, Ian exhaled a quiet sigh “Can you just be normal with me? I like you, a lot. I would want to be your friend even if we weren’t hooking up, so let’s just hang out. Can we do that?”

That earned Ian a grin, finally. Mickey was easy to talk to when he wasn’t so deep in his own head spinning himself into agitated circles. He was surprisingly non-judgmental of Ian’s blunt, stupid humor and unusual moralistic view of the world, as much as he had a worldview at sixteen years old. 

Ian got buzzed off three beers and they left when the bar closed down. The streets were pretty empty since it was a weeknight, and Ian boldly grabbed his wrist in a hard grip and pulled him into a darkened ally. 

Mickey pushed a little but mostly allowed himself to get backed against the warm bricks of a nearby building by two of Ian’s strong hands snaking down his sides to settle on his hips. It felt like he’d wanted to do this a hundred times before, so Ian took just a second to grin, joyful and a bit gloating, before leaning in.

Hope you had fun!! :)

[nightxcreature]

Old MacDonald

Summary: On a hunt with Sam, Dean, and Bobby, Reader finds herself navigating an uncomfortable situation.

Warnings: Cursing (obvs), Claustrophobia, fear of snakes (mentioned), Prob grammar mistakes (sorry), Reader and Dean fighting for a brief moment

Pairing: Bobby Singer x Daughter!Reader, no established relationships

A/N: Sorry i went on a little hiatus, we're prepping for vacation, and I've been distracted getting everything ready for that. I hope you enjoy this one, its just a fun little hunt.

The small axe in my hands hadn’t touched the wooden floorboards since we arrived at the creepy cabin in the woods several hours before, the three men in front of me having taken it upon themselves to try and pry the wood apart with various other tools. We had been looking for the bones of an old farmer from 1780 and had been led here, in search of a tunnel where he had supposedly been disposed of. Dean had been using anything he could find to tear apart the old building, claiming demolition was his ‘specialty’…and I had rolled my eyes so many times at this point that I’m surprised they hadn’t gotten stuck in the back of my head. The three hunters had yet to find the tunnel under the home, throwing boards and dirt around the cabin haphazardly when Sam finally broke through into blank space below his feet.

                “Found it.” He called, bracing himself against the wall in front of him as he regains his footing, “Doesn’t look like any of us are fitting down there though.”

                I pushed off from the stool I had been sitting on to duck under his arm for a good look. The hole was roughly the size of a laundry chute, big enough for a child or small adult to fit through. I grimaced and shook my head, my thoughts already racing at the idea of someone having to go down there; I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I certainly wasn’t interested in developing the fear.

                “Any other ideas?” I ask, still staring down at the tunnel entrance. When no one answered, I slowly looked up and made eye contact with the two men across the room who were looking at me as if I had two heads. I glance up to Sam and raise an eyebrow, “Is there something on my face?”

                He chuckles awkwardly and shakes his head ‘no’ before pulling me away from the edge as he steps back, “I think you misunderstood me…”

                I look between him and the two men currently avoiding my gaze before pointing at the hole in the floor, “You said none of us are fitting down there. I’m not sure how I could misunderstand that.”

                He shakes his head again and gestures between himself, Dean, and Bobby, “None of us are fitting down there.”

                I gape open mouthed at him before bursting into a fit of laughter, “You’re hilarious.”

                None of the men reply, each avoiding my gaze in their own way before Dean mumbles under his breath, “You’re the smallest.”

                My laughter dies as quick as it started when I snap my head in his direction, “Yeah, the smallest, not the stupidest! If you want those damn bones so bad you go down there yourself.” I pointed a finger toward the hole, my other hand placed high on my hip as I glare at him.

                “Me? I couldn’t fit down there if I wanted to!” He yells back, crossing his arms across his chest.

                “So, you admit that you don’t want to?”

                “Who would want to go down there?!”

                “Exactly!”

                A shot goes off in the middle of the cabin causing the two of us to snap our mouths shut. Bobby stands in the center of the room, his shot gun smoking and a harsh look of annoyance on his face. He raises a single finger and points toward Dean, “I raised you boy, if I hear you yell at my little girl like that again I’ll skin your hide, you hear me?”

Dean nods his head and looks back at me, mouthing, “Daddy’s girl.” From behind Bobby’s shoulder.

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him until Bobby turns that menacing finger in my direction, “And you,” He gruffly starts, narrowing his eyes and frowning, “Stop being a wussy and do your damn job. Ain’t a single one of us in this room that’ll let you die.”

A deep sigh leaves my lips as I hold his gaze, “He started it.” I mumble as I cross the room and grab a flashlight from the duffle by the door.

“I don’t care who started it, I’ll finish it.”

I shake my head, patting his back as I pass him on my way back to the hole, “Yeah, I know, Old Man.” I squat down by the tunnels edge and glare back toward all three of them, “If I die, just know that none of you can reach my bones down here and I’ll haunt you for the rest of your miserable lives.”

Sam nods, a slight smirk on his lips as he wraps a rope around my waist, tying it in a knot and grabbing the other end tightly, “Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

I let out a little laugh and glare at Dean playfully, “Better keep that magazine collection in a safe place…ghost me’ll be gunning for it.” I turn back toward the tunnel as he lets out an awkward chuckle, the smile on my face falling as I stare into the darkness. I take a deep breath and brace my arms on the edges before dropping down into the darkness below.

A quiet grunt leaves my body as my feet hit the rough dirt at the bottom, the flashlight had fallen from my loose grip causing the inky blackness of the tunnel to surround me. My breathing was heavy, and a shiver ran through me both at the temperature down here and at the thought of not being alone in this darkness. I scrambled on my hands and knees in search of the light, running my hands cautiously over the ground where I finally found the plastic tool.

“You good, Sweetheart?” I hear from above me, Dean’s baritone echoing down the tunnel as the sound reaches me.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.” I click on the flashlight and crawl my way down the narrow tunnel, as quickly as I can, “Be right back!”

“It smells like ass down here.” I whisper to myself, squinting ahead to try and make out anything that even closely resembles bones, “You better be down here, Old McDonald, or I swear to god on this farm you’ll have my foot in your ass.”

At that, my light lands on a large brown bag thrown against the wall ahead, it looks to be empty save a small bulge at the bottom, “Bingo…” I point the flashlight up toward the ceiling and shimmy my way over the rocks and dirt between the bag and me. Gripping the mouth of the bag, I slowly slid my hand inside.

“Please don’t be a snake, please don’t be a snake. Please, please…” I breathe out a sigh of relief when my fingertips brush the brittle surface of aged bone, “Oh, thank God…”

I dump them out in a pile, glancing at them quickly to make sure they’re real before dumping salt on them and backing down the tunnel again, throwing a lighter as I go. I make my way quickly back to the entrance and stand, bracing one foot on the dirt wall in front of me, “Pull me up!” I yell, feeling a strong tug as one of the guys yanks on the rope. I climb my way up, grabbing onto Sam’s hand as he lugs me the rest of the way out.

“That wasn’t as bad as…” I glance between the three of them, each looking like they’ve had the shit kicked out of them and I grin, “Did he finally show up to stop us?”

Dean rolls his eyes, throwing dirt at me and grabbing his duffle bag, “Just get your shit and lets go.”

I let out a loud laugh, grabbing my bag and throwing it over my shoulder, “You wish you would’ve been the one navigating the tiny hole now, huh?”

[gracexthoughts]

of violent delights chapter 1

duties and dementors

1 september 1995

Euphemia's POV

"Ugh, I have to get changed and go to the prefect meeting," I groan, leaning my head on Fred's shoulder. I had been secretly hoping the duty would pass me by and be handed to someone else, but of course Dumbledore had other plans. As if I don't have my hands full with school work and Quidditch. Not to mention trying to keep my brother from getting himself killed, again. Last year, he nearly died because he decided taking on a basilisk by himself was a smart idea. 

My little brother is Harry Potter, yes that Harry Potter. Oh, and my name is Euphemia Potter. I am two years older than Harry and, since our parents passed away, he is the only real family I have. Although we were technically raised by our Aunt and Uncle Dursley, really all they provided was the most basic necessities, often in the form of hand-me-downs and locking us in the cupboard under the stairs when we misbehaved. This summer, Harry accidentally blew up our Aunt Marge (she deserved it) and, anticipating the beating of a lifetime, I decided it was time to leave once and for all. I turn 18 in January and I was already planning on petitioning for custody of Harry at that point anyway. We spent the last of the summer living off the inheritance left to us by our late parents and staying at the Leaky Cauldron. When we leave school next summer, I'll find us a real apartment but the old inn was good enough until we left for Hogwarts. 

"Poor, Mia. She's all the teachers' favorites," Lee says leaning forward to sarcastically pat my knee in fake sympathy.

"Shut up, I am not," I scoff, pushing his hand away and standing to pull my robes out of my trunk.

"Don't lie to yourself , Mia!" Angelina laughs. "What's so bad about being a prefect anyway?"

"It's just more work that I didn't ask for and everyone is going to assume I got it just because Dumbledore plays favorites. And Kenneth Trowler is the other for our year," I state turning around.

"Ooh! Awkward!" Fred whoops. I swat down at his face, which he ducks easily, pushing himself into his twin, George.

"Oh, is he still hung up on you?" Alicia asks, looking up at me. Kenneth and I dated for 4 months last year. It didn't end badly but he definitely didn't want it to end at all and had sulked for the last month of the term.

"Let's hope not," I say, rolling my eyes. "I just hope I don't get paired with him for rounds. I've gotta change, I'll see you guys after the meeting," I call over my shoulder as I exit our compartment, robes in hand. After I change, I head to the front of the train. As I near the front, suddenly a body steps out of a compartment right as I am passing, making us run into each other.

"Uh! Sorry, I-" I start with my hands out in front of me, moving away from the body in my way, as I look up into the eyes of none other than Mattheo Riddle, the son and heir of the most evil dark wizard of all time, Voldemort. Mattheo Riddle always has such a knot in his wand and makes it everyone else's problem. He is always getting into fights and intimidating others. Most of the other students are terrified of him, but I have never been. In my opinion, he is just a spoiled rich kid who throws a punch when he doesn't get his way.

"Watch where you're going, Potter," he spits, glaring down at me.

I scoff, irritated by his tone. "I was, Riddle. You stepped out in front of me. Maybe it's you that needs to watch where you're going," His jaw clenches, as I notice a shiny green prefect badge on his chest. Great, I think, this will be fun. Riddle has had it out for me for years and makes his distaste well known. 

"Hi Mia," a kind voice says to my left. I turn and see Astoria Greengrass, standing in the door of the compartment Mattheo came out of. She is wearing a green prefect badge as well.

"Hi Astoria, how was your holiday?" I say, stepping back so she could exit the compartment. Astoria is one Slytherin I actually tolerate- even like. While most Slytherins' attitude towards me ranges from cool distaste to outright hatred, Astoria has always been kind. We were potions partners last year so I actually know her fairly well. She steps between Riddle and I and pushes him forward by the shoulders.

"It was lovely! How was yours?" She asks over her shoulder, throwing back an apologetic smile over her shoulder.

"Yeah, it was alright," I respond simply, not wanting to get into all the details. I hear Riddle scoff ahead of me and I roll my eyes. Astoria and I chat while we walk through the train;  Riddle continues to sulk ahead of us.

We arrived at the first car to most of the other prefects already there. Percy Weasley was chatting with Penelope Clearwater who's wearing the Head Girl badge. According to the Twins, Percy had been insufferable since he got his Head Boy badge in the mail, wearing it at all times and constantly polishing it. The twins told me they had changed the wording and hid it a few times earning Percy's wrath and quite a few scolding's from their mother.

Percy gives me a small nod as I move toward the table with the other Gryffindor Prefects. Kenneth is already here as well and lifts his hand to wave eagerly to me. "Hi, Kenneth. How are you?" I ask, sitting down across from him along with Harper Crane and Jaden Filly, the sixth year prefects for Gryffindor.

"I'm good, Mia. Excited to be a prefect?" Kenneth asks eagerly.

"Uh yeah I guess," I shrug, looking around the car.

"Don't worry. It's not really as much work as it seems," Jaden says, leaning his head towards me, oddly conspiratorially, his eyes trailing over me. 

"I hope not," I say politely.

"Alright, everyone!" Percy calls, getting the meeting started. Percy and Penelope talk about duties and such and go around handing out the common room passwords and the round schedule for the year. I scan the schedule looking for my name. "Oh, bloody hell," I whisper, wanting to bang my head against the table. Under Tuesdays and Thursdays my name is written with my partner being Mattheo fucking Riddle.

"I can't believe they'd pair you up together, I mean c'mon. He's dangerous." Kenneth shakes his head, disbelieving.

"Its fine," I say curtly, pushing the paper away from me. Looking around the compartment, my eyes meet Mattheo's who glare at me. I narrow my eyes back and he turns his head, eyes leaving mine. The meeting drags on for an hour; Percy is very... thorough. Finally, it's called to an end and everyone gets up to leave. Grabbing my papers, I say goodbye to Kenneth and the others. Before I can move through the door, Riddle moves into my path blocking my way yet again. "Excuse me," I say looking up.

"Meet me outside the Slytherin Common Room tomorrow at 8:45," Mattheo says before going to turn. I scoff, and head out the door behind him. He thinks I don't know where it is, probably hoping I will be late so he can rub it in my face. Lucky for me, the twins and I found the Marauders' Map four years ago which is a map of the entire Hogwarts castle. I head back to the compartment my friends occupy and groan, sitting down heavily and laying my head on Fred's shoulder.

"What's wrong, Mia?" Alicia says as Fred moves to rub my shoulder.

"I've been assigned perfect rounds twice a week with none other than Mattheo Riddle." I sit up in the seat, pushing my hair out of my face and wave the schedule. "I'd rather have Kenneth." Everyone's head whipped around to me, their eyes wide.

"What?!" the twins said in unison.

"You're joking!" Lee says, as Angelina takes the paper with the schedule on it out of my hands.

"Why would they pair you two together, of all people?" she questions, looking over the paper.

"Ask if you can get it changed! I'm sure McGonagall would understand you not feeling comfortable around him." Alicia suggests, looking over Angie's shoulder to look at the paper.

"No, I'm not going to fuss about it. If I do that then, Riddle will just think I'm afraid of him like everyone else in this school. Fuck that, I won't give him the satisfaction" I shake my head and pull the paper back, standing to put it in my bag.

"No, Mia, it's not safe. He isn't safe, especially not for you!" Fred says, pulling me back down to sit so he can look at me.

"Please, Riddle is just a spoiled brat who's never been told no in his life. He doesn't scare me any more than Malfoy does." I say, looking down at Fred while I try to convince my friends I can take care of myself. Fred and George have always been protective of me. When I started at Hogwarts I was a shy, nervous kid. All I'd ever known was protecting myself and Harry, from our aunt and uncle, our cousin, the kids at schools. Fred and George found me on that first train to Hogwarts and never let me go. They were my first friends and the first people, besides my brother, who were willing to stand up for me. 

"Phe, you can't be serious! I mean now that Black escaped, do-"

"Freddie, Riddle is not going to kill me in the middle of the bloody school!" I cut Fred off, not currently of the mind to be lectured by one of the most reckless people I've ever met. I can't deny how his mention of Sirius Black sends a chill down my spine, though I'll never admit that to Fred. This summer, a Death Eater known as Sirius Black escaped the most secure prison in the world. Just this morning, Mr. Weasley had pulled me aside to tell me the Ministry believes Black has escaped to come after Harry and I. 

"Mia, c'mon. He's the last person you should be around," George adds.

"It'll be fi-" Before I can finish my sentence, the train grinds to a halt.

"Oh thank god, we're here. I hate how long the train takes," says Lee jumping up.

"We can't be there yet," I shake my head and look at my wrist watch, "It's only 5:15, we should have almost another hour." George and Alicia, who are sitting in the window seats, peer out the windows trying to see through the gloom and rain surrounding the outside of the train. The train jerks again and the lights go out.

"We must have broken down," Angelina says, pulling out her wand to provide light to the compartment.

"I think someone is coming aboard!"

"What, Ali, who would be coming aboard? We're in the middle of nowhere," Fred shakes his head.

"Guys, look," I whisper, pointing to water laying on the bench between Angelina and Lee. It was frozen solid when it had just been liquid minutes ago. We all looked around noticing the windows had an icy layer on them and our breath was visible in the air. "I gotta find Harry."

I bolt up from my seat and move out of the compartment as quickly as I can, moving quickly towards the back of the train. I vaguely hear one of the twins following me but I'm more focused on finding Harry. Finally I reach the last compartment and burst through the door. "Harry!" My brother stands, confusion written on his and his friends faces.

"Mia, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"I don't know, but I-"

"Mia, seriously, how are you so fast?" Fred says, panting slightly as he steps into the now cramped train car. I look around the car at the other. Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom are inside as well as a man sleeping in the corner. Besides the mystery man, I know all the others well, even Neville. I eye the man in the cloak. I've never seen an adult taking the train that didn't work on it. "Who is that?"

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Hermione says, pointing up at a case. The train jerks again causing Fred and I to lurch forward. I turn back around to look out the compartment door. Suddenly, a dark figure emerged in the hall outside our compartment, its long bony hand reaching for the door pulling it open. Its face was completely hidden by the dark cloak it wore and it made my stomach twist in knots. Fred reaches his arm towards me protectively as an intense cold swept over the already frigid room. What sounded like a raspy breath was coming from the creature as it flouted closer into the compartment turning towards us. I feel my breath quickening and my eyesight disappearing; feeling as if I'm being dragged downward as a rushing in my ears takes over all my other senses, growing louder and louder. Then I heard a voice, a voice I only hear in my nightmares, a voice long lost to this world.

"No! Please! Take me, leave them be! Please!" The voice pleaded as a bright green light erupted and a baby's crying took the place of the screams.

"Mia! Mia, wake up!" A different voice breaks through the cries and I realize I'm being shaken. I open my eyes to see Fred's face hovering over me, shaking me. The lights were back on and the train seemed to be moving again.

"Freddie?" I move to sit up but a wave of nausea overcomes me and I lean forward. Fred catches my shoulders as I dry heave slightly. "Harry?" I look up, fighting the nausea as I look for my brother. I turn, seeing him sitting up between Hermione and Ron. "Are you okay?" I ask, pushing myself up and hovering over my brother. He nods, looking behind me. I turn to see the man, R. J. Lupin, sitting across us, a distant but caring look in his eyes.

"Was that a-"

"Dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban, looking for Sirius Black." Lupin says.

"What happened? I-" I ask, still confused as to what had happened after the cloaked figure, the dementor, appeared.

"You and Harry passed out," Ron says, holding tightly to his rat, Scabbers, who is squirming in his hands. 

"Here, eat this, it helps," the man says, handing me a small piece of chocolate and splitting the rest of the bar between everyone else. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a little word with the driver." Lupin stands and moves to the door, pausing only to look back for a moment, "Eat, you'll feel better," before turning back and disappearing from view. I sigh, taking a bite of chocolate and turning back to Harry. "You okay?" he nods.

"You?" Harry asks me and I nod. "Did you... hear anything?" He asks, looking down at his feet. I look up at our friends surrounding us, and pull Harry to standing, nodding for us to talk in the hall.

"Did you hear something?" I ask, afraid he will hear the same things I did and hoping desperately I was wrong. He nods, looking at me through his eyelashes. I pull him back into a hug. "I did too, it's okay. It's just the dementors, horrible creatures."

"I heard screaming. Was it-" his voice breaks slightly, "Mum?" I take a deep breath and nod.

"Dementors, they feed on horrid memories. I heard her too, just before..." Harry nods looking down at his shoes. "It'll be okay, Haz," I say, putting on my best brave face. My eyes find the lighting scar on his forehead peeking out from underneath his hair; the one that matches the one on my left wrist. 

No one really knows why Harry and I both have curse scars from that night when Voldemort came after us. Best guess I have is that Harry was sitting in front of me when it happened, and my arm had been wrapped around him, covering his eyes or something similar. Although his pains him whereas mine never has. 

I say goodbye and leave Harry and his friends to go back to my own compartment, ready to get off the train, Freddie following in my wake. For the rest of the ride, Fred lets me lay on his shoulder and I try not to think about my mother's last words. 

Once we were off the train, McGonagall pulled Harry, Hermione and I into her office. Madam Pompfery checked to make sure Harry and I were okay and then talked to Hermione about her schedule before the three of us could head to the Great Hall. Hermione was upset we missed the sorting but I was secretly glad. I never liked the Sorting Hat's song and the ceremony drags on for what seems like hours. I take a seat amongst the other fifth years, sitting between Fred and Alicia, as Harry and Hermione move down to the third year table in the Gryffindor row. I whisper to my friends that they were just checking to make sure Harry and I were okay as Dumbledore stands up for his welcome speech.

"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast...." Dumbledore clears his throat and continues, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises -- or even Invisibility Cloaks," he comments blatantly. I look ahead at Harry who is staring at Ron wide eyed.

"It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors." The twins scoff as Percy, who is sitting down with the seventh years, puffs out his chest very importantly. I can't help the anxiety settle in my stomach as Dumbledore speaks. 

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continues, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There is mostly scattered applause for the man who gave me the chocolate. I watch him as he stands and bows slightly in greeting. He looks weary and tired and ill, scars marring his face and peeking out from his clothes.  "As to our second appointment, well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs." At this a few laughs ripple through the student body. "However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

"That explains the biting book Ron and Harry had to get," I whisper to Fred and George, laughing.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," finishes Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!" At this, the goblets and plates in front of us are suddenly full of food and drinks. It is a delicious feast as it always was. Fred and George started brainstorming pranks ideas with Lee while Angelina, Alicia and I started talking about Quidditch. It's Oliver's last year at Hogwarts and we are certain he will be vying for the Cup this year; probably pushing us harder than ever before. After dessert, Dumbledore excuses everyone and students start scrambling to leave the hall.

"I have to escort the first years. Password is Fortuna Major. I'll see you later," I say to my friends, standing up from my place. I wave goodbye and find Kenneth to walk the first years to the common room. 

"Hey Potter!" I hear a familiar voice call from my left. I turn and see Elladora Lestrange leaning over the Slytherin table looking at me. Next to her standing Evan Rosier Jr, Theodore Nott and Lorenzo Berkshire; the rest of Riddle's friend group.

"What do you want, Lestrange? I'm busy."

"Is it true you fainted on the train? Were the big scary dementors too much for you?" She mocks and the boys laugh. I turn and throw her the middle finger over my shoulder, not bothering to come up with an insult. Their laughter follows me as I walk away. 

[biohazard-anon]

Summary: Kel'ath calls a meeting, Tovoth asks his brother a question

Content warning: none, ask me to tag

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Tagged: @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog

@egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Authors note: sorry this chapter took so long, hypomania is a bitch

Chapter 7

Apophis and the unnamed custodian stood out of the way of the incoming group of word bearers. He counted six in total.

Two of the marines split from the group to presumably set up a perimeter. The other four go to set up a stretcher to carry the body with.

Apophis looks up at the custodian.

The custodian appears to be glaring at the group of word bearers as they work. They then go to unclip their cape and walk towards the body.

A few of the word bearers back up with what he assumes is apprehension. The marines look to each other then back to the golden giant.

The custodian covers the body slowly with the cape.

They walk back over to Apophis.

"You. False salamander." The custodian states.

'Way to blow my cover' Apophis thinks.

"Yes?" He asks.

"Take me to your commanding officer. Now." The custodian demands.

Apophis nods and turns away to start walking back to base with the custodian in tow.

~~

"C'mon Tovoth! We're gonna be late for the meeting!" Iskandar says, grabbing onto Tovoth's armored hand and pulling him along.

Tovoth looks back to Sephariel.

Sephariel nods to him.

Tovoth speeds up with Iskandar. As they turn the corner they almost run into Zykord.

"Watch it!" Zykord snaps at the younger marines. He mutters to himself as he goes down the hall.

"What's his problem?" Tovoth asks.

"He hasn't seen his bonded human since last month, that's enough to make anyone grumpy." Iskandar replies.

"Bonded?"

"Short version, tied together by the warp." Iskandar explains.

"Oh."

The three marines reach the mess hall just as someone starts to talk.

"Alright everyone! settle down, settle down."

The murmuring of the other marines begins to quiet down just as the chaplain steps up onto a table in the middle of the mess hall.

Vandrur goes to say something but is interrupted by the approaching steps and the sight of a custodian ducking under the doorway to the mess hall.

The custodian is followed by captain Kel'ath and Apophis. They walk towards the front of the table Vandrur is standing on.

Vandrur grumbles as he steps down from the table and Kel'ath gets up onto it.

The salamander looks around as he adjusts his vox before he begins to speak.

"I have bad news, we have recently discovered the body of a custodian in the woods north of town."

The murmuring starts up again. Kel'ath waits until it quiets down before he continues.

"We don't know who, or what, has caused it. But what we do know is that it was murder. I would like to ask if anyone knows anything or has seen something suspicious that they share that information either with me, or with our new resident custodian Abraxas here. I am also issuing out a warning to stay in groups of at least two until we can find the culprit. That is all."

Kel'ath steps down as the room bursts with the sound of many marines talking at once.

"I cannot believe someone actually managed to kill a custodes." Tovoth says.

"They don't know that yet." Iskandar retorts.

"Then what do you think killed them?"

"I'm not quite sure myself."

Sephariel's attention drifts to the sound of someone calling his name. He looks towards the door to the mess hall, confusion written on his face under the helmet.

"Seph? Brother?"

Tovoth reaches a hand out to his brother's pauldron.

Sephariel's helmet snaps towards Tovoth.

"Iska wanted to know if he could come along to check out the ship." Tovoth says.

"Yes, he can come with."

"Oh thank you thank you!"

Tovoth then jumps up and hugs his brother. Their helmets knocking against each other. Sephariel wraps his arms around his Tovoth.

They separate and stand up, Iskandar stands up with them.

The three marines get up to leave, waiting until the other groups leave to step out of the mess hall.

Sephariel watches the two scouts as the talk excitedly about their sleepover, a smile on under his helmet.

[fallenclan]

Violetkit would always remember the faraway, almost whimisical manner in which Lavendertail used to describe willow trees. Her especial favorite was the Howling Willow, the largest and most ancient willow in ShallowClan's territory. Even as Lavendertail grew scrawny and sick with hunger, she would whisper, "If you sit up high in the Howling Willow's branches, you can hear the voices of StarClan cats."

Now Violetkit sat patiently, tiny claws curled into the ancient tree's bark as she waited upon one its highest branches. Waited, patiently, to hear Lavendertail's voice. I'm here, mother. Where are you?

"Violetkit? Violetkit, where are you?" A shrill, panicked voice brought Violetkit lurching back to reality. Nighthawk. The shadowy warrior was supposed to be watching Mothkit and Violetkit, but Mothkit had created a distraction which had allowed Violetkit to slip away undetected.

Violetkit sighed, irritated. I'm not going back to camp until my mother speaks to me.

"I found her!" Yarrowstem's voice sliced through the air like a hawk's talons. Violetkit bristled, dread worming its way into her belly. Inching along her branch, Violetkit forced her head between the willow's wispy tendrils, peering down below. She was met with the furious glares of Nighthawk and Yarrowstem. There was a third set of eyes, too: Floodstar.

Floodstar's gaze held no anger, however. His demeanor was surprisingly calm, a tranquil pond compared to the blazing fury of the warriors standing beside him. "Come down, Violetkit."

"No!" Violetkit retorted, causing Nighthawk and Yarrowstem to swap horrified glances.

"She's just a stupid kit-" Yarrowstem began hurriedly, but Floodstar lifted his tail, silencing her. With a shocking amount of strength, ShallowClan's leader launched himself up the willow tree, springing from branch to branch with the ease of a veteran squirrel.

When the tom finally landed beside Violetkit's perch, the she-kit took a few hesitant steps backward. Floodstar's peculiar, ice-blue eyes were locked on her. "It is impressive that you managed to trek so far, and then climb this great tree, while only being a little thing yourself."

"I'm not little. I'm three moons old." Violetkit lifted her chin, heart beating frantically like a caged bird.

"That you are."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Nighthawk is the cat I'm angry with. She had one job, and she failed spectacularly. You, on the other paw. . . no." Floodstar was watching Violetkit with careful consideration, as if turning around some equation in his head. "You will still need to be punished, of course. However, you have proven yourself to be a rather versatile young cat."

"Thanks." Violetkit was pretty sure 'versatile' was a compliment. At this rate, it was fairly evident that Lavendertail had nothing to say to Violetkit. Maybe she doesn't love me anymore. "I'm ready to come down now."

"Very well."

...

Violetpaw's claws sang through the air, slicing across Rabbitface's muzzle so fast the tom barely had time to react. The warrior made a clumsy attempt to swipe at Violetpaw, but the apprentice rolled out of the way, springing to her paws and ducking around Rabbitface's side. Rabbitface whirled to face her, but she was ready, moving with him and snapping her jaws shut on his spine, back paws kicking Rabbitface's legs out beneath him.

"That's enough." At the sound of Floodstar's voice, Violetpaw immediately released her grip on Rabbitface, stepping off of the tom. Shakily, the tom stood, running a paw over his bleeding muzzle. The fur along his back was also torn, the spot where Violetpaw had bit him now bleeding profusely.

"Are you okay?" Mothpaw trotted forward, craning their neck to inspect their mentor's wounds.

"I'm sorry, Rabbitface. I didn't mean-" Violetpaw had barely spoken when Floodstar interrupted her in a harsh snarl.

"Don't apologize. Rabbitface is a grown warrior; he should have easily been able to counter those attacks." Floodstar scoffed, eyeing his son coldly. "Regardless, you performed excellently." Violetpaw felt her heart swell with pride at Floodstar's praise.

Mothpaw's approval was softer, their gaze gleaming with admiration. "I would like to train with Violetpaw next, if that's okay."

"No," Floodstar rumbled. "We're done battle training for the day. Rabbitface needs to go see Lakelily." Secretly, Violetpaw was relieved at Floodstar's decision. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to injure Mothpaw in a fight.

It was different with Rabbitface. He was just a clanmate, not a friend. Floodstar's words rang clear in her head: Sometimes, you must face clanmates with claws.

...

"How dare you." Floodstar's furious hiss rang across the clearing. Rabbitface stood, ears pinned in defiance, while Floodstar continued. "Rogues, loners, kittypets. . . they are less than us. They are vermin that taint any clan they manage to worm their way into. And yet you would share prey with a loner, knowing that there isn't enough prey to go around, knowing that ShallowClan needs it more--"

"She was starving!" Rabbitface yowled. "It can come from my share."

"Oh, it certainly will," Floodstar sneered. "You won't be eating anything off the freshkill pile for three days." Rabbitface looked about to protest, but Floodstar continued mercilessly, "And you will need a punishment." The tom's gaze swept the clan, eventually coming to rest upon a certain brown tabby. "Violetfang, what is the proper punishment for a code-breaker?"

Violetfang felt her spine go rigid. Every pair of eyes seemed to land upon her. "Exile, but as this is Rabbitface's first offense. . . he should receive a punishment befitting of the crime." Violetfang paused. "He should have to hunt down the rogue and make her give the prey back."

"And if she refuses to do so?" Floodstar drawled. When Violetfang didn't answer, Floodstar returned his glare to Rabbitface. The unspoken answer burrowed its way into every cat's heart.

Then he must kill the rogue.

...

"I just--I thought--" Owlpaw stammered, eyes wide as saucers.

"You thought what?" Violetfang spat. "That you would walk into ShallowClan's camp and tell us how to solve our problems? Typical FallenClan arrogance."

"Enough." Mudsplash stepped in front of her apprentice, lips peeling back in the beginning of a snarl.

Violetfang could feel rage brewing in her chest, a furious beast scratching at the walls of its enclosure. "If FallenClan is so well off that it can waste cats as mediators, then they should be willing to give ShallowClan a portion of their territory."

"FallenClan territory is non-negotiable," Mudsplash replied, only incensing Violetfang further.

"Violetfang is right!" Ravenspot hissed. "We should claw these so called mediators' ears off!"

"Perhaps then FallenClan cats will stop thinking themselves so superior to ShallowClan," Ravenspot's brother, Lichenstep, sniffed, standing with his pelt pressed against his sister's.

"No FallenClan cat thinks themself 'superior' to ShallowClan," Mudsplash argued.

"Then why are you here?" Dustfeather growled.

"To help you!"

"Yeah, right," Dustfeather scoffed. "FallenClan just wants to know our secrets so they can chase us out."

"This is absurd," Mudsplash snorted. "Owlpaw and I are going home." Floodstar simply nodded, watching the FallenClan cats impassively. He had barely said a word for the entire duration of the mediators' visit.

As Mudsplash and Owlpaw turned to leave, Violetfang felt a familiar pelt brush against her own. "Why do you think Floodstar allowed this little charade?" Mothwhisker's silky voice tickled Violetfang's ear. She could feel some of her fury ebb at the presence of her friend.

"I don't know."

"Perhaps he wanted to see how you would handle things," Mothwhisker murmured, voice low. "Do you see the way our clanmates look at you?"

"What do you mean?" Violetfang tensed. Mothwhisker brushed their tail against Violetfang's shoulder, an attempt at soothing her that only caused her heart to flutter uncertainly.

"Floodstar is old. He wants to make sure you will be a good sucessor. The clan certainly thinks so." Mothwhisker's honey-gold eyes gleamed with certainty. "I think so."

"Thank you," Violetfang whispered, not quite sure what else to say.

...

"You just couldn't wait for him to die, could you?" Lakelily hissed scornfully.

"Excuse you?" Violetfang was fighting to keep the waver from her voice. Floodstar couldn't actually be dead, he couldn't. . . I can't do this without him.

"Don't play the fool," Lakelily snapped. "Floodstar was poisoned. As his deputy, you certainly were aware he was on his last life."

"He never told me." Violetfang's tail was lashing now. Poisoned?

"I don't believe you."

"Wait," Thistlepaw mewed. Violetfang whipped around, gazing sharply at the young she-cat. She had only just been made a medicine cat apprentice a few moons ago.

"Thistlepaw?" Lakelily frowned.

"I-I told Rabbitface." Frosty talons hooked around Violetfang's heart. "He's Floodstar's son so I thought--well I thought he should know. I mean, he asked and. . ." Thistlepaw trailed off.

"I see." Violetfang had grown very still.

...

Violetfang hooked her claws into Rabbitface's shoulders, tearing bloody trails across his flesh before shoving him against the ground. "You foxheart," Violetfang hissed.

ShallowClan's camp had grown eerily quiet except for Violetfang and Rabbitface, facing off in the camp's center. "Everything I did, I did for ShallowClan," Rabbitface wheezed, a pleading edge to his voice. "Floodstar was a cruel and-"

CRACK. Violetfang swung her paw into the side of Rabbitface's head, causing him to wail in pain. "Your own father." Violetfang refused to cry. She wouldn't. She could feel the intensity of her clanmate's gazes upon her. She must show them strength. She must prove herself worthy of Floodstar's legacy.

"Y-you can be better," Rabbitface stumbled to his paws, swaying slightly. "You aren't a bad cat, Violetfang, I know th-that."

Violetfang loomed over Rabbitface. What should you do if the rogue refuses to return the prey? Violetfang's paw hovered over Rabbitface's throat. You kill the rogue.

"Stop!" Thistlepaw darted into the clearing, vision blurring with tears. "Please, Violetfang. Don't kill him. Exile him instead."

Violetfang flicked the blood from her claws, expression turning to stone. "Exile. That is what we do to traitors, isn't it?" She stepped back. "Rabbitface, you are hereby exiled from ShallowClan. Any cat who finds you on our territory after sundown has explicit orders to kill you." Violetfang made sure to let her voice sound all throughout the clearing. She wanted every cat to hear.

Rabbitface's gaze was darting from cat to cat, as if hoping someone would step forward in his defense. No cat moved.

"Leave, and be lucky to keep your life," Violetfang growled. Shaking, Rabbitface took a few lurching steps towards the camp's entrance. . . and then he bolted, disappearing into the marshes. "Ravenspot, Honeywater. Trail him. Make sure he leaves," Violetfang ordered.

As she turned to stalk off to her nest, Violetfang briefly caught Boulderpaw's gaze, finding something unexpected: fear. She didn't know if he was afraid of Rabbitface, or afraid of her.

She didn't know which one she wished to be true.

...

Violetstar's first act as leader had been to declare war on FallenClan. FallenClan had a larger territory, more cats, more prey. If ShallowClan claimed even a portion of FallenClan's land, they wouldn't need to ration prey anymore.

Now, Violetstar was ending the war with less than nothing to show for it. Fernshadow's leg was permanently disfigured. Boulderpaw had run away to join FallenClan, betraying ShallowClan. Poppyfrost and Nighthawk had been killed by rogues. Dustfeather had bled to death after a particularly vicious fight with FallenClan.

"I thought I'd find you here," Mothwhisker's voice crept up the willow tree's branches.

Violetstar didn't reply until Mothwhisker landed upon the branch beside her. "It was my mother's favorite spot."

"I know."

"I've failed ShallowClan."

"Have you?" Mothwhisker tilted their head, causing Violetstar to scowl.

"We're worse off than before. Cats are constantly breaking into fights. No one can agree on anything. We're starving. Dustfeather, your father, is dead. You should resent me."

"FallenClan killed Dustfeather," Mothwhisker replied, tone so trivial they could be talking about the weather.

"I don't know what to do. This isn't a problem I can solve with my claws. I need this to be a problem I can solve with my claws."

"You'll figure something out," Mothwhisker mewed breezily, resting their chin on Violetstar's shoulder. "You always do."

...

"Have you got bees in your brain? We don't need more mouths to feed!" Fernshadow yowled. His mate, Honeywater, stood beside him, their kits tumbling around near their paws.

"Be silent!" Violetstar hissed icily. A sliver of panic crossed Fernshadow's gaze, as if fearing Violetstar would attack him. His fear wasn't entirely unfounded.

Violetstar took a deep breath, trying to remember the breathing exercises she had been working on with Branchlight. "With more cats in our clan, we can be taught more skills. Rogues and loners already trespass and hunt on our land. We simply don't have enough cats to patrol our borders and keep them out."

Violetstar could see several of her clanmates swap uneasy glances. "If we let them join instead, we won't be losing any prey."

"I've seen loners hunt for fish before," Thistleheart piped up. "We could learn how to hunt fish, too, if there was a cat to teach us!"

"Floodstar said rogues are vermin," Applepatch mewed uncertainly. "He said they're a blight to the clans they join."

"Floodstar was wrong." The words felt so foreign in Violetstar's mouth, she felt as though her pelt was crawling with spiders.

Yarrowstem stomped forward, tail bushed out. "How dare you insult Floodstar's memory with this--this herersy!"

"Floodstar got us into this mess," Ravenspot snarled, whirling on her mother. Yarrowstem's eyes widened, as if completely and utterly shocked to be challenged by her beloved daughter. "If Violetstar says we should let in outsiders, then letting in outsiders is what we'll do." Lichenstep nodded in agreement.

"I suppose this could work," Lizardfang added.

"This won't immediately solve our problems," Violetstar rose her voice.

"But it's a start." Violetstar felt a jolt of shock upon hearing Lakelily speak. The ancient tom was watching her thoughtfully.

"Indeed." Violetstar swallowed. "If we hope to save our clan, we need to do it together."

"Together," Mothwhisker's soft voice rang out in reply.

"Together!" Several more warriors cried, until the word was echoing about the camp.

Together! Together! Together!

Perhaps this unity would last.

-🐉 (a shallowclan fic! a lot of these cats/concepts came from the discord. i tried to encorporate everyone's ideas about these characters together--hopefully i did a good job! i did a collection of moments before and after the war, but none during as i felt those had been covered quite a bit already

anyway. i will be starting a silverapple fic next, then a blizzardcrow fic. so there are those to look forward to if you enjoy fallenfics--would this be considered a shallowfic? lmao

i've made another request to ao3 for an account since it's been a month, so hopefully i can EVENTUALLY start posting my fics there, esp since some of them are quite long and i have yet to find any way to hide them behind a cut---pretty sure this isn't possible but please correct me if i'm wrong and i'll start doing so promptly

also when i saw russetflare having a slight romantic like towards cinderstone i started giggling and kicking my feet,, russetcinder ftw

lastly---this is dedicated to the discord & everyone who obssessed over shallowclan with me. seriously though, if you're a fan of discord considering joining the fallenclan discord.....................shameless promotion moment)

DRAGON THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD!!!!!!!! your writing is fucking spectacular as always,,,, i love the new pov of Violetstar more so being manipulated than being outright cruel,,, so interesting to explore. and the little tidbit with owlpaw and mudsplash--AUGH.

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

A Swallow's Symphony In Spring (4/19)

Chapter 4 - And Watch the Swallows as they Fly

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Warnings: Physical abuse (both on and off 'screen'), implied past abuse, injuries, touch starvation.

Word Count: 3191

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It became a routine. 

The library was quiet and usually fairly empty. Roman had no problem with the extra hours spent reading if it meant he could let Virgil rest at least a little bit, goodness knows his poor guard hadn’t been getting enough sleep up until this point, the bags under his eyes and gaunt look on his face proved that much. It had taken quite a lot of effort on his part to convince his guard that he wouldn’t go anywhere before Virgil felt confident to fall asleep on the comfortable couches as Roman curled up with a familiar book. He’d taken precautions to make sure they weren’t caught too. 

Being trapped in this palace for the last six years had its perks, and one of those was the fact that Roman was well aware of not only the secret servant’s passages all across the palace but also the guard’s schedule, he thought he’d be able to protect them both.

Roman should have known he could do no such thing. 

—-

“A little bird told me that you’ve been getting up to things you shouldn’t,” The Queen said with a smile one night at dinner, Roman tensed, glancing back at Virgil behind him immediately - had Virgil told on him? But why?

“Not your guard, dear,” The Queen said grabbing Roman’s attention again. “One of our more loyal servants informed me that the two of you have been spending time in the library - talking informally, and that your guard has been sleeping on the job,”

“I- wait-”

“Is this true Roman?” she asked him harshly, narrowing her eyes. 

“...Yes, Your Majesty.” He says, ducking his head and praying that she won’t react too badly. 

The Queen simply hummed, before standing up gracefully from her chair, she snapped her fingers before pointing to the spot before her. “Wynter,” she said, tone commanding. Roman watches with worried eyes as Virgil quickly makes his way over to stand before her. 

A resounding crack echoed through the banquet hall as her gloved hand made contact with Virgil’s cheek, his head whipping to the side. A heavy silence enveloped the room as a speck of blood dripped from his cheek where one of her heavy rings had cut him. Virgil’s head remained bowed as she readied for another slap before Roman jumped up. 

“Wait!” he cried, moving over. “Your Majesty - please, it’s not his fault, it’s mine . I told him-”

“Roman dear, you must stop taking the blame for these filthy peasants,” the Queen says, glaring down at him, he thinks for a terrible moment that it wont work, but she sighs.“But if you insist, I hope you learn to have more respect for our rules, both you and your insolent guard,” she once more snaps at Virgil. “Out of my sight, now.”

A moment passed in which they shared a glance. Virgil’s expression concerned despite the blood slowly trickling down his cheek and Roman scared of what would happen once he was gone. An angry huff from the Queen had Virgil - and every other servant - rushing out of the room and Roman turned back to her so he could face Virgil’s punishment - that he’d only received because of Roman’s own actions anyway. He deserved this, he told himself that as his head snapped to the side and he felt the bruise begin to form. He didn’t even make a sound, used to all of this by now. 

—

By the time the Queen was through, Roman was kneeling, holding back tears just until the heavy doors closed behind her. Salty tears flowed freely now across Roman’s bruised face, he ached - and he knew he’d have more training tomorrow even though he was supposed to have a free day. Everything hurt, even the parts of his body she hadn’t damaged. He’d move soon, make his way back to his room and try to sleep on it - oh, he had to check whether Virgil was okay. He cursed himself - how could he possibly have thought any of this was a good idea? She always found out eventually. 

He hadn’t heard the doors open, but suddenly someone was putting their hand on his shoulder. He felt his whole body jolt, but he was gently hushed by a familiar voice as he knelt down before him. 

“Hey Roman,” Virgil said softly. “Come on, you gotta get up - I’ll get you back to your room, okay?”

We need to get somewhere safe to talk, wasn't said, but Roman could see it in the look he gave when their eyes met, Virgil’s stormy eyes full of worry, concern for Roman’s safety. No servant had ever come back for him after he’d taken the fall for them before. 

Slowly, he stood with Virgil’s help. He kept an arm around him in order to keep him steady and Roman found himself appreciating it immensely when he stumbled again and Virgil caught him easily. As they walked back, Virgil let him go, but he found himself yearning for that warm touch to come back. He knew it was unrealistic, after everything that had just happened, to expect that Virgil would still want to be friends with him, he would probably want to go back to how they had been before that first day in the library. Small glances and waves as they walked away were safe. This? This wasn’t.

“Come in here,” Roman said softly when Virgil went to split off into his room, Roman gestured for him to follow into his own chambers, “Please?”

Even if they went back to normal afterwards, Roman still needed to talk to him - he had to know if he was okay.

Hesitantly, Virgil followed him in. 

As soon as the door shut behind them, Virgil was right in front of him, gentle but shaking fingers tilting Roman’s chin up to the light. He blinked as Virgil examined his face - lightly tilting it back and forth to inspect the bruises. Roman just stood there, hands slightly raised, unsure what on earth he should be doing with himself in this situation. 

“How badly does it hurt?” Virgil asked him, still holding his face gently.

“Um-” Roman said, lost for words, “I’m fine, really - you don’t have to -”

“I could’ve handled it,” Virgil said, looking sad now, “That’s what I’m here for, I’m supposed to protect you, now - you didn’t answer my question, how badly does it hurt?”

“But- but it was my fault?” Roman said, confused. “I deserved - I’d told you to sleep, you didn’t deserve the punishment for it-”

“It doesn’t matter who deserves what,” Virgil said forcefully, “You’re hurt, it’s my duty to protect you from things that might hurt you. I failed. So now I want to make it better, okay?”

Roman didn’t know what to say to that, but he suddenly felt like he would start crying again if he wasn’t too careful. He also felt all warm under the pain and couldn’t tell quite why. 

“Will you please let me help?” Virgil asked, taking his hand back and suddenly looking wary. “I’m sorry if I overstepped- but-”

“No- no, it’s okay,” Roman said, raising a hand. “I’m just- overwhelmed, I don’t…” he takes a deep breath and shakes his head, “It hurts, a lot - aches, but I’ve had worse- it’s-”

“Is this why you have nightmares?” Virgil cut him off bluntly. Roman blinked. “Because they hurt you?”

“I- no? I mean- this is normal, isn’t it?” he asked, suddenly confused. No-one had ever done anything about what his parents did, or even told him otherwise. Even their doctor had said nothing about it when he patched Roman up after some of the worse ones, though he had always looked upset. “Doesn’t everyone…?”

Virgil’s gaze went from sad to sympathetic to furious in the span of about two seconds, it shocked Roman into silence once again. “I… Roman, no… not everyone’s parents do this. Just because they’re in charge doesn’t mean they should get to- fuck Roman! She hit you!”

“I don’t…. I don’t understand,” Roman said weakly. He didn’t understand why Virgil was so angry, he didn’t understand why no-one had helped him - and his brother too - if this wasn’t normal, did that mean he really did deserve it? Something flashed in Virgili’s eyes again, though he wasn’t sure what it was. 

“I know and I’m sorry,” Virgil sighed. “Just- go and sit down, I’ve got something that might help…”

Muttering to himself, Virgil turned away to head to the door that connected their rooms. Roman watched him go - a little sad that he’d left so soon - before following his instructions and taking a seat on his bed. Whilst he waited he removed his crown and some of his jewellery, placing the glittering pieces down on his end table before sighing. He locked his hands together in his lap and glanced around nervously. His leg started bouncing but he quickly stopped it with a press of his hand - movements like that weren’t proper, that’s what his parents always told him. 

He’d just started to doubt that Virgil was really returning when he appeared once more through the door, pushing it open with his foot since his hands were full. One hand holding a small glass jar and the other carrying a steaming mug. Walking over, Virgil gave him a small awkward smile, before offering him the mug. Roman took it carefully, inspecting the contents before sniffing it, frowning at the smell. He looked up at Virgil - trying to communicate his confusion with a look - he got a laugh in response.

“It’s tea,” Virgil pointed out. “It’s cinnamon and lemongrass - helps with pain.”

“You’re sure it won’t poison me?” Roman gives him an incredulous look. 

“If I wanted to kill you, do you not think I’d have done it already?” Virgil said gruffly, raising an eyebrow.

Roman looks back down at the tea. “I suppose,” he said, before taking a tentative sip and wrinkling his nose. “It tastes strange.”

“They’re peasant’s herbs,” Virgil says. “Your parents probably deem them unworthy of their taste buds, but they help.”

Taking another sip of the tea, Roman sighed and allowed himself to relax, letting the drink warm him. The flavour wasn’t terrible, it just wasn’t something he was used to. 

“And what’s that?” Roman asked a few moments later, placing the tea to the side and gesturing to the small jar in Virgil’s hands. His guard glanced down with a frown - as though he’d forgotten he was holding it.

“It’s a cream my uh - my friend made me,” Virgil said, the hesitation confusing Roman. He wondered why he was so unwilling to call whoever he’s talking about a friend. He supposed it wasn’t really any of his business, was it? “I don’t have much, but I can use this on the worst of your bruises - may I?”

“I… suppose I could allow you, but only if you let me put some on yours, too.” Roman said. He knew his bruises were a lot worse than the one Virgil had, but he wanted to help him too. It almost felt like a duty, since he was the one who had gotten Virgil hurt in the first place. 

"You- want to?" Virgil asked, "I mean- I'm sure I could handle it myself, I've done it before…" 

"Please?" Roman asked, "I got you hurt, so I want to help." 

“But you…” Virgil said, looking at him for long enough that Roman shifted in discomfort. “Alright, I suppose, but let me do yours first, yours are worse.”

“...Fine,” Roman agreed. If it meant he’d be able to help Virgil too then he’d let him. He took another sip of the tea, he thought it might be helping - he wasn’t certain.

Virgil smiled that small, rare smile and nodded. “May I sit with you?”

“I- yes, of course,” Roman nodded, slightly surprised by the question.

“Good - now stay still for me, okay?”

With permission granted, Virgil shifted to sit down next to him on the bed. Roman put the tea down so that nothing would be in the way as Virgil hesitantly dabbed the cold creamy substance onto the worst of the bruises - his cheek - before beginning to gently rub it in. The touch was slow and steady, gentle and hesitant but practised. It was clear that Virgil knew what he was doing. Trying to stay obediently still led to him barely moving a muscle whilst Virgil gently worked the cream into his skin. He couldn’t help a few winces when he pressed a little too hard on the tender skin, but Virgil didn’t get upset at him for it, simply shifted so he wasn’t pressing so hard. 

When Virgil was eventually finished with the cream, Roman found himself yearning for his hands to come back, even if it wasn’t a realistic thing to expect - he still wanted Virgil’s hands back. 

Finally it was his turn. Virgil watched tentatively as Roman removed his white gloves, something he wasn’t supposed to do at all in the presence of anyone, let alone his guard. Touching things got him dirty, made him impure, that’s what his parents said, and touching people was supposed to be even worse. That didn’t explain, though, why Virgil’s gentle touches had been so nice. If they were evil, then surely they wouldn’t have felt so calming. Frowning at his thoughts, Roman carefully dips two of his fingers into the pot of cream, just as Virgil had, before beginning to apply it to the now purple bruise on Virgil’s face. 

It took him much longer than Virgil had to do the exact same thing. Roman was more hesitant by a landslide than Virgil had been to touch him. Clearly sensing his worry - the first time Roman’s fingers came in contact with Virgil’s skin he had flinched away in surprise before coming back - Virgil leant into his hand, trying to show him that this was okay. It wasn’t evil or wrong to touch and by the time Roman had finished gently rubbing the cream into Virgil’s skin he found he was starting to realise that. 

The room was silent for long enough that Roman started to feel a sense of restlessness that made him need to break the silence, “I’m sorry any of this happened,” he settled on eventually. Virgil frowned, taking a handkerchief and reaching for Roman’s hand to wipe away the excess cream, leaving Roman’s hand tingling when he released it again.

“Don’t be - you were trying to help,” Virgil said once he was done, shaking his head.

“But-”

“No,please - I don’t want you to be hurt, but - I feel like… maybe I understand, a bit better now.” Virgil said, tucking away the handkerchief and frowning. 

“Understand what?” he asked. 

“You.” Virgil shrugged.

“...Oh,” Roman says, looking down. Like he had done many times, Virgil reached for him, only to stop himself halfway and join his hands in his lap. 

“Sorry,” Virgil said softly, “I mean - my apologies, just- some of the ways you act make much more sense now.”

Roman tilted his head, “Like what?”

“Oh just- it’s like - earlier when you admitted to her what had been going on when she questioned you and - I kinda expected you to argue back? Or like - lie? Because that’s what I’d react if something unfair like that happened - and I got kinda angry that you’d throw me under the cart like that - and then all of that happened,” Virgil screwed the lid back onto the jar harshly, “And now I get why you didn’t try to argue.”

“It would’ve been so much worse for the both of us had I tried to go against her,” Roman says, looking down at his hands. He wished he would have fought, he should have been able to, to protect Virgil from her cruelty if not himself, but he hadn’t. 

Virgil nodded, holding tightly to the jar in his hands, “Has… has she always been like that?”

“Yes.”

“And - your father?”

“He sits and watches it happen.” Roman says, looking away.

“But that’s… that’s not what causes your nightmares?” 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Roman said, tone turning sharp. He regretted it barely a moment later when Virgil flinched back a little, eyes wide. 

Both of them took a deep breath before Virgil spoke, “Okay, we don’t have to.”

A few moments passed in silence before Roman pulled himself together, “I offer my apologies - for snapping at you.”

“Roman, considering you were raised with her as your example I’m genuinely surprised you’re even a somewhat decent person,” Virgil huffed. “Snapping at someone once isn’t that bad. Thanks for the apology, though.”

“Well - you deserved one, and I’m still sorry that you got hurt at all, I thought the library would be safe,” Roman sighs. “I don’t know where we can be to talk, now, if you still wanted to at all.”

“Well you’re better company than the walls in my room.” Virgil shrugged. 

“I quite agree,” Roman nodded. 

“We could - excuse me if this is intruding - but we could use our rooms?” Virgil suggested with a tilt of his head, “No-one comes in here, do they?”

“Not aside from the maids who deliver my meals and clean every so often, no.” Roman said. He supposed that would work, though he was still a little apprehensive about the idea. His chambers were still practically the only private place he had left, he wasn’t sure how he felt about allowing Virgil to be in here frequently. Then again, Virgil was in here now, wasn’t he? And Roman didn’t particularly mind all that much. 

“Then we could use here? Or my room?” Virgil suggested.

“Not your room,” Roman said immediately. He’s not sure he could even walk through that door - not with all the memories that came with it. Laughing, crying, talking for hours and hours into the night with just a single candle to light the room - he just couldn’t do it.

Curiosity crossed Virgil’s expression, but he was grateful that his guard chose not to question it. “Well - okay then, do you have any other ideas…?”

“No, no- we can use my chambers, that’s alright,” Roman said eventually, shaking his head, it’s not like they had any better options. “We’ll just have to - to make sure we’re careful about the guards outside, but- this is probably the only place she doesn’t have her spies - that’s the real reason she hired you, I think.”

Virgil seems to hold back a laugh. “To spy on you?”

Nodding, Roman takes Virgil in for a second. “Why is that humorous?”

“Hm? Oh - it’s just that she expects me to snitch on you like that,” Virgil huffs. “Why would I? Especially now I know what she’ll do to you.”

Although he already knew that Virgil wouldn’t tell the Queen about what they were doing, the reassurance still washed over him like a wave. The constant fear that she would somehow find out about everything he hid - his nightmares, his journals - abated just a little by those simple words. 

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman said softly, “I appreciate that very much.”

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