#some violence

[ashensgrotto]

Protective (Part 2 of 'Am I Feeling Love')

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,328

Part 1 Part 2 (You Are Here) Part 3a Part 3b

I had someone ask if I was going to do a continuation of ‘Am I Feeling Love?’ that was orinally written on my main blog @kiy-anna after I rewrote the story to fit the tags better. I was mulling over the idea and my poor sea-rotted brain decided “Screw it, Mari! Just write the damn thing!”

It took a bit to figure out how I wanted to execute the process, but I’m honestly more curious to see what you guys think as well. Also, don’t forget, I have a poll that ends in a few days that will help me decide what sort of fanfiction I will be posting going forward, so please vote! It ends on Wednesday!

Warnings: yandere behavior, beatings, manipulative behavior, and foul language

***

The world is cruel, the world is wicked

It’s I alone whom you can trust in this whole city, I am your only friend

How can I protect you, girl, unless you always stay in here

Away in here…

***

Azul tapped the desk he sat behind impatiently. 

For the past hour, he had been cooped up in the VIP Room of the Mostro Lounge dealing with those poor unfortunate souls that sought him out - the pathetic fools making deals with the octomer as his patience thinned by the minute. All he wanted at this point was to get out of his office and watch you.

You, the magicless guest of Octavinelle, had been living in the guest rooms of the dorm for a little over two months and were working within the Mostro Lounge to pay for said room - not that you needed to, it was merely a lie so Azul could keep tabs on you. The other students of the Octavinelle dorm did not completely understand his reasoning; some thought that he was merely being a nice housewarden to a poor soul with no one else to turn to, others that knew the housewarden too well thought that he was using you as a way to lure in unsuspecting victims for his contracts. 

Whatever their thinking was, only Azul and his vice-warden, Jade, along with the problem twin, Floyd, knew the real reason as to why you were kept close by. 

Soulmates were rare and finding that ‘other half’ is like the story of the mermaid princess and her longing to be with a human. It’s a rare occurrence that only happens once in a millennium if not longer. Many times, people - humans, fae, and merfolk alike - often settle for someone they are content and happy with, someone that isn’t their other half. Azul, at the time he first learned about soulmates, wanted nothing more in the world than to find them - to have that one person who would see him for himself and not the pathetic octo-twerp he had been called during his youth; thus, he began working on himself, his powers increasing as he lured his victims in and stole away their most treasured gifts - a beautiful singing voice, powerful magic… all of it. 

But even with the changes and his new found strength, Azul had no luck in finding the other part of his soul - that was until about two months ago when you first appeared in Twisted Wonderland.

Azul had been ecstatic the first few weeks after you had taken up residence in his dorm; consistently coming to check on you, making sure you weren’t too tired, asked if you had eaten… and sometimes just watching you from the darkness of the lounge as you shifted from table to table, taking orders and bringing food and drinks to the guests. Nearly two weeks into working at the lounge, the clientele number increased slightly - making Azul at first wonder what had happened. 

Turns out, some of the students who had frequented the lounge had made mention of you in passing and how you were nicer compared to the other staff members - hence the students came to the lounge to, not just get a glimpse of you, but to also shoot a chance at getting you as their waitress. Jade and Floyd, who were consistently in the lounge and operated as Azul’s eyes and ears - especially when it came to you - informed Azul of what was going on. Hence, Azul decided to restrict your hours to only working when he, Jade, or Floyd was. When you asked if you had done something wrong, Azul merely rested a hand on your shoulder, eyes shining with a possessive kindness, as he explained there were certain students who had been watching you - and he was only doing this for your protection. After all, it wasn’t like he could monitor you twenty-four-seven - he still had his grades to keep up and you weren’t a student, technically.

It worked momentarily, but then Azul was back to the drawing board again when Jade had mentioned Riddle Roseheart’s overblot in passing.

Turns out, you had asked Azul for a day off the same day Riddle went berserk. Azul had asked what for, but you merely said you wanted to explore the school grounds, specifically the rose gardens that surrounded Heartslabyul. He knew that you had ‘made friends’ with two freshmen from the dorm - Deuce Spade and Ace Trappola, both who had been collared by Riddle because of their bad behavior. If Azul could work his will, he would have locked you up in his own room and thrown away the key to prevent anyone from looking at you or speaking to you - but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. Even so, he had agreed, allowing you to go to the unbirthday party that was randomly held on different days during the year, with the promise that you would come back as soon as it was over and not a minute later.

Turns out, the ‘unbirthday party’ had been a lie since Deuce and Ace both had challenged Riddle for his position as headwarden and you wanted to go to support them in their fight. However, Ace made a valid point about the rules that had been pressed upon the students of Heartslabyul and practically turned the whole dorm against Riddle - which caused his temper to flare up and the overblot to happen. Luckily, you didn’t get hurt during the fight between Riddle, Deuce, Ace, Trey, Cater, Crowley, and the pyromaniac demon cat-weasel, Grim - but you had been the one to smack sense back into Riddle with a slap to the face when he had gone after you next. 

And it was because of that slap and knocking some sense back into the headwarden of Heartslabyul that those who heard about what happened began to flock to the Mostro Lounge in search of you once more.

Azul pressed his face to hands and rubbed at his skin hard enough to turn it red as he thought and thought. What was he going to do? He couldn’t let anyone else get close to you! You were his! His soulmate! You should be putting your entire focus on him and him alone! Was that too much to ask?!

“What’s with the face?” the unwelcomed voice of Leona reached Azul’s ears as the octomer sat up and righted himself.

“What’s it to you? Nevermind, I’m busy at the moment, Leona. If you wish to speak with me, you have to make an appointment…”

“I already did, did you forget?” The beastman prince strolled into the room and plopped on the couch, arms dangling behind the rest and feet landing on the table before him, “I need to make a contract with you for a potion.”

Azul shifted his glasses into place before reaching into his desk and pulling out the familiar golden paper he used for his contracts, his pen twirling in his fingers as it shifted into a fishbone and began to write, “What sort of potion?”

“An enhancement potion,” Leona answered, side eyeing the Octavinelle headwarden before explaining, “With the Spelldrive Tournament coming up in a few weeks, and with all of these little mishaps that have been going around the campus lately, it would be a shame if something were to befall a particular headwarden we know too well.”

Azul did not need Leona to explain any further nor to question who he was referring to.

It was no secret that the Diasomia dorm had taken first place in the Spelldrive Tournament for the past two years straight - practically overrunning Savanaclaw who usually held that spot. The dorm’s success had been due to the new headwarden - Malleus Draconia - who had taken up the position the year before Azul arrived at Night Raven. Malleus was a dragon fae and one of the top ranking mages in Twisted Wonderland - so powerful that he alone was the reason for Diasomia’s success, making ninety percent of the scores by the dorm’s team. He probably would be the only player if Crowley had allowed it. 

Many of the other headwardens were disgusted by the losses and damage that had been dealt to their teams over the course of the past two years - even Azul had been winded by Draconia once and had no desire to be the dragon’s dinner again; due to this, the headmage had made the offer to place Draconia in the hall of fame, which would prevent him from participating in any more of the Spelldrive matches this year and next year. At first, all of the headwardens were in agreement - but Leona argued that it wasn’t a fair fight, claiming that they were acting like a bunch of cubs. Azul had twitched at that remark, but agreed that the fight wasn’t fair - as much as he hated it, he agreed that Leona did have a point about allowing Draconia to continue; he wanted to prove that Draconia wasn’t invincible nor was he immune, he wanted to prove that anyone could beat the Diasomia headwarden - even if it was just another individual.

Azul adjusted himself in his chair, thoroughly invested in the deal now, “If we’re thinking the same thing, Leona, you must be willing to offer something in agreement of equal price. How about that speciality spell you’re so fond of? You barely use it.”

“‘King’s Roar’?” Leona arched a brow in his direction, “I may not use it, but it does come in handy from time to time. How about my nephew instead?”

Azul twisted his features in disgust, “No thank you. I’m not Rumplestiltskin, nor a babysitter.”

Leona laughed, his voice shaking the settee for a moment, “I was only joking, Faleena would never allow me to hear the end of it. Well, then… perhaps a little advice on that soulmate of yours?”

Azul nearly dropped his pen, surprise appearing on his normally calm face before his pale blue eyes narrowed at Leona menacingly, “What do you know about that?”

“It’s not a surprise given your behavior as of late,” Leona curled his fingers inward as his gaze shifted toward them as if to inspect his nails, “Besides, I heard from a few of my dorm members that frequent here that you’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on our magicless guest.”

‘The sneaky lionfish,’ Azul sneered at Leona, feeling his temperature rising as his gloved hands curled inward.

“Personally, I have nothing against wanting to keep (Y/N) close,” Savanaclaw’s headwarden continued, “She’s cute and pretty, nevermind that fact that she’s a hard worker and kind - sucks big time that she’s a female. She probably would’ve done well in Night Raven if she was a boy.”

“What’s the point you’re getting at?” Azul seethed.

“Merely that everywhere she goes, she is welcomed. (Y/N) has made a few friends without your knowledge by working the floors of the Mostro Lounge. Every time she shares a smile, a laugh, or anything - someone undoubtedly falls for her charm.”

Azul leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his chin in thought. Leona had a point - (Y/N) may have been his precious pearl, his soulmate, but she was also well liked by any and all who encountered her. Deuce, Ace, and Grim were just the stepping stones, Cater, Trey, and Riddle also fell in line with her presence and kind words - and even many of the Octavinelle dorm that worked alongside her in the lounge had gotten close with the magicless guest. However, the students of the Octavinelle dorm knew that Azul had marked (Y/N) as his - those that did not understand the process, such as the humans of Heartslabyul, would always be a threat to the octomer’s happiness; they might even go as far as to ask the headmage to allow (Y/N) to stay in their dorm!

Azul clenched his hand tighter at the thought, ‘No! She’s mine! I will not allow anyone to touch nor taint her perfection or soul.’

The headwarden of Octavinelle leaned forward, fingers crossing together as his elbows rested on the desk and his chin on his folded hands, “I’m willing to make a deal with you, Kingscholar.”

Leona arched a brow as Azul continued in a dark voice, “(Y/N) is very important to me, the other half of my soul - as you know. Her recent encounter with Riddle Rosehearts’ overblot has left me worried that she might attempt to leave Octavinelle. I know that I promised I would help her return home, but I need to keep her close by in order to do so. Soulmates are rare - whether they are humans, beastmen, faes, or mers - and they need to be kept close to each other. I do not want to put (Y/N) on a leash nor lock her up, but she is far too free for my liking. I will create the spell enhancement potion for you in exchange for your help with (Y/N)’s freedom.”

“What is it you have in mind?”

“... Merely a little scare that will show her how cruel and twisted this world can be.”

***

It was a few days later when the plan was set in motion.

You had been helping with the set up for the vendors surrounding the colosseum where the Spelldrive tournament was set to take place in a few days; setting up tents and tables, covering areas with cloths and helping move heavy objects. You wiped at your brow as a bit of sweat dribbled down before a cloth was pressed to your face.

“You’re working too hard,” the familiar voice of your employer pulled your attention to him, a smile appearing on your face as Azul’s lips quirked into a grin.

He was dressed in the headwarden’s dorm uniform - a black tuxedo with a white dress shirt and purple tie and the dorm’s scarf hanging loosely around his neck, a pale gray overcoat that hung on his shoulders, and a black fedora perched on his head. He was leaning against the silver tipped cane with the large octopus on the handle - the mage stone held securely between its silver tentacles. It was strange to see for someone who was working on setting things up, but Azul was in charge of overseeing everything and making sure everything was where it needed to be and making changes as needed, using maps and planograms as reference points. 

“Well, I always believed in the phrase ‘working hard or hardly working,’” you answer, taking the offered handkerchief and wiping away the sweat and grime from your features.

“Quite an interesting phrase,” Azul nodded, resting his hands on his hips, “Care to enlighten me on the meaning?”

You shrug, “I’m not really sure, honestly. People in my world use it for small talk or to point out a person’s laziness. For example, if someone wasn’t doing anything, someone might ask ‘working hard or hardly working?’”

Azul hummed in thought, “I suppose it is a good phrase to use - maybe it might actually get Floyd to do something for a change… however, as I’m sure you know, that eel will whatever whenever he wants to, regardless of what I tell him.”

I giggle, nodding in agreement, “Yes, and half the time he dumps his work on his twin - poor Jade.”

“Jade’s used to it,” Azul waved his hand dismissively, “but speaking of ‘dumping things onto others,’ I hate to ask this of you, but I do need you to do something for me.”

“Hmm? What is it, Azul?”

“I have an order waiting to be picked up at the school store. You’re familiar with Mr. S’s mystery shop, yes?”

You nod with a smile, “Yep, I’ve been there a few times.”

“Good, I need to go there and get the parcel. It has a few items that we’ll need for the Lounge and for the tournament. I would get it myself, but I have to keep things going here and Jade and Floyd are working on their own projects for the tournament. Would you be willing to go pick it up for me?”

“Why not have it delivered to the dorm?”

“It’s easier to travel to the store instead of going to the dorm and back. I had intended on getting it earlier, but it completely slipped my mind until now.”

You frowned a bit as something crawled up your back and tingled behind your head, a feeling that something didn’t sit right with the whole situation. However, Azul had slipped to your side as his arm came around your shoulders and pulled you close enough for you to smell the expensive cologne he always wore.

“Please, (Y/N), it’s very important that you do this for me. I’ll reward you, too, for your efforts - a drink of your choice from Mr. S’s shop or from the Mostro Lounge, on the house. Besides, you’ve been working so hard as of late that you need a little bit of a break. Take this as an opportunity to stretch your legs and cool down a bit.”

A refreshing beverage was starting to sound good. You had been working in the sun for a while like everyone else that was part of the setting up, never mind that your bottle of water had been drained a while ago and you had yet the opportunity to refill it. Perhaps just going to get the parcel for Azul as well as a small drink wouldn’t be so bad.

“Ok, do you mind if I finish up here?”

“Of course,” Azul pulled away before resting a hand on your head and messing your hair, “but as soon as you finish, please go and get the package. I need it as soon as possible.”

You nodded in understanding before turning back to your tasks as Azul walked away.

***

The parcel wasn’t big, thankfully, but it was awkward - an odd shape that looked spherical, but was flat with pointed edges. 

‘I wonder what’s on here?’ you shake the package gently as you walk away from Sam’s shop, heading back toward the colosseum. You discard the thought, tucking it under your arm and taking your time, enjoying the shade the trees provided and the gentle cool breeze of autumn ruffling the changing leaves of the school campus and pulling some off and away from their homes. The colors reminded you of home - how the trees in the parks would shift from greens to yellows, reds, and oranges before fading into dark browns. It was strange to see all the trees do the same thing here - it made you wonder if Twisted Wonderland celebrated holidays like your world did.

You were so busy admiring the colors and deep in thought that you didn’t see where you were going and ran into the back of a very large student.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you smile apologetically, “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Well, then, watch it,” the student growled.

“Hey man, look what she did to your jacket,” another student pointed at the sleeve of his uniform’s coat.

The charcoal gray coat that all of the students were required to wear was typically a heavy cotton and ridiculously hard to damage - however, low and behold, one of the pointed ends of Azul’s mystery order had put a decently sized tear in the student’s coat. The tear revealed the golden yellow of the student’s vest, traveling from his mid back to just the top of his waist. You covered your mouth in shock as the student took his jacket off and examined the tear, rage budding on his features.

“You stupid - look what you did!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident -” you try to explain.

“Do you know how much this cost?” the student shook the coat at you, “Now I have to buy a whole new one!”

“Just make her pay for it,” another student spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“P-Pay?”

“You damaged it, didn’t you? So, you’re the one who's going to buy me a new replacement.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money…” you bit your lip as you felt your heart rate jump up, clutching Azul’s package close to you, “I-If you give me a moment, I’ll go talk to my employer and see-”

“Oh, no way,” the student grabbed the front of your borrowed button down shirt, “You’re going to pay for the jacket one way or another.”

Something within you snapped, you had tried to be reasonable with these three and had apologized for the trouble; however, it seemed now that you could only run and hope that you got to Azul before these guys did something to you. Your face hardened as you gave the student holding you a kick to the groin with your knee, the student releasing you as he groaned in pain at the sudden attack. Once you were out of his clutches, you took off in the opposite direction as the three students shouted at you and chased after.

You clutched the package close to your chest as you bolted into the school and down a corridor, staying close to the windows, hoping for someone to see you as you shouted out for help. Your cries echoed off the high ceiling, alerting a few students and staff members - but it seemed everyone elected to ignore your screams for help as the three pursuers gradually came closer and closer. 

You threw yourself around a corner which led out into the courtyard to throw them off.

Unfortunately, an uneven stone caught on your shoe, causing you to stumble forward and land on the ground, Azul’s package flying from your hands and landing with a sickening crack against the side of the wishing well. You tried to stand to move, but something heavy came down on your ankle, a loud snapping sound and a cry of agony echoing across the lawn. 

“You stupid bitch! All you had to do was pay up,” the student’s voice from earlier came in your ear as a large fist grabbed a handful of your (h/c) hair, pulling your head up to look into his rage filled eyes, “but nooo, you just had to kick me then run and tried getting help.”

“I think punishment is in order - after all, what can someone without magic and a broken ankle do now?”

Something heavy collided with your face as tears welled up from the punch, the pain coming again from the opposite side. Your hair was released before you felt a heavy boot collide with your stomach as you were kicked across the lawn like a football, landing a few feet away from the wishing well. You tried to sit up with a groan, your arm coming around to clutch your side as you spat out blood. Your entire body was shaking and was sore - you were beginning to wonder if they had hit any vital organs. A large hand came forward and grabbed at your hair again, pulling you up as you cried out.

“Piece of fuckin’ shit, you don’t know when to give up, do you?”

You bit your lip, fighting to hold onto consciousness and the tears that were slowly slipping from your eyes. You were scared and were still wishing beyond a doubt that someone would find you and stop these three from beating you up more. However, the wish was short lived when you were dropped to the ground, causing you to wince as more pain came from your side. 

“Time to say good-bye,” your eyes widened as you pulled your arms up toward your face, the student rearing his foot back with his aim clear in his dangerous eyes.

“Care to explain yourselves?” a familiar voice asked, stopping the students as their eyes widened in fear.

You peered out between your fingertips as the familiar figure of Azul came forward, his dorm overcoat fluttering behind him in the breeze as his walking cane tapped against the dirt. His face looked difficult to read as he came forward, eyes sharp and filled with rage.

“H-Headwarden Azul,” the student put his foot down and backed away from you, “W-We thought you were over by the colosseum.”

“I was - I was looking for my errand runner,” Azul’s gaze shifted between you and the three students before repeating, “Care to explain yourselves?”

“I-It’s nothing, honestly,” one of the students visibly shuddered.

“Y-yeah, just a m-misunderstanding is all!” the third student smiled wobbly.

“A misunderstanding, hm?” Azul cocked a brow, eyeing the students, before lifting his walking stick and tapping the head against his gloved palm like a baseball player would, “I will only ask one last time. What. Did. You. Do.”

“S-she destroyed my jacket!” the first student tried to explain, “She wouldn’t pay up for a replacement so-”

“So you decided to attack a defenseless angelfish who is under my protection?” Azul snickered, “How very foolish and pathetic…”

He snapped his fingers as Jade and Floyd appeared before the students. Azul came over and lifted you into his arms, “I’m taking her to the infirmary to get patched up - Jade, Floyd, have some fun.”

You ducked your head close to Azul’s chest, a headache slowly forming as he carried you away. You swallowed and began to open your mouth to speak, but Azul hushed you.

“Rest, (Y/N). You’re safe - there is nothing to be said nor to say. Just relax - I won’t let anything harm you.”

***

You must have fallen asleep because when you opened your eyes, you were in your room back in Octavinelle’s dorms. Azul was there, resting in a chair beside your bed with his arms folded over his chest and eyes closed. You shifted slightly, which caused the octomer to open his eyes - blinking rapidly before they fell on you as a smile crossed his face.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, standing and coming to sit beside you.

“Sore, tired,” you answered.

“That is typical after a fight,” Azul nodded, handing you a glass of water that had been perched on your bedside table, helping you to drink the cool liquid.

You smiled as he returned the glass to its spot before your face fell, “I’m so so sorry, Azul.”

“Whatever for, (Y/N)? You did nothing wrong.”

“Your package - you entrusted me to get it, but it probably got broken after that fight…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Azul’s fingertips curled under your chin, lifting it up to force you to look at him, “I’m not going to be concerned about a package that was damaged when you - someone I’ve been tasked to keep an eye on - was hurt severely. You’re very lucky. But, I do need to ask, what in the world happened? What did you do?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I… I accidentally ran into him because I was taking my time and admiring the changing colors of autumn, not paying attention to where I was going. When I ran into him, one of the parcel’s sharp points must’ve caught onto his coat and when I pulled away, it tore it.”

“NRC’s required suits are relatively expensive, so I can see why he was upset,” Azul nodded thoughtfully, “However, why did he attack you? You could’ve come to me and explained you needed money for a replacement jacket - ”

“I tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t listen and grabbed me. I kicked him so I could get away and was intending on going straight to you, but he…” you didn’t want to say anymore, the memory of what happened only a few hours ago was still painful in your mind.

Sensing your distress, Azul cooed to you, pulling you into his arms as his head landed on top of your head, hands running up and down your spine gently. You sniffled into his suit coat, hand coming up and gripping the back of his jacket, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort that was  Azul Ashengrotto.

“Shh… it’s alright, (Y/N)... you’re safe now,” Azul murmured, his voice soft and soothing in your ear, “I know, I know… I can only imagine how afraid you were…”

You nod as you sniffle more.

“It’s alright, though… I’m right here beside you. Those monsters can never touch you again… but you have to promise me something.”

You look up at him as his eyes shine with pain and… something else.

“This world is cruel and wicked, (Y/N),” Azul reached up, resting a gloved hand against your cheek and wiping away the tears that gathered in your eyes, “It’s only I you can trust in this place - Jade and Floyd as well - your only friends. We can’t protect you if you are away from our sight, so you must stay here in Octavinelle - where we can always be within an arm’s reach.”

“B-But, what about the others? Deuce? Ace? Grim? Surely they…”

“(Y/N)... did they come to help you during your darkest hour? Who was there when you were getting beaten by those mongrels?” Azul asked, eyes narrowing slightly, “I did not see Deuce or Ace. Nor did I see Grim or Trey… the twins did not see any of them nor Riddle or Cater either. Who came for you?”

“...You did.”

“Exactly,” Azul nodded, “I will always be there for you. Jade will always be there. Floyd, as strange as it may seem, will also always be there.”

You nod slowly, tucking yourself against his chest as you realize the dark truth. They had abandoned you, left you to fend for yourself while you were getting hurt - it was Azul that came and found you and it was Jade and Floyd that put the trio in their place. The three of them were the only ones who cared about it - showing you love and support through these last two months in this strange, dark, twisted world. Tears fell faster as you sniffled under the calming strokes of Azul’s fingertips.

If you had happened to look up at that point, you would have seen the octomer grinning devilishly down at you, his eyes of pale blue filled with possessive love and adoration. 

***

Azul ventured out later after you had fallen asleep with the twins in tow. The trio met with Leona in the lounge of Savanaclaw’s dorm, the octomer pulling out a vial of strange green liquid.

“As promised,” the headwarden of Octavinelle presented the vial to Leona, “for services well rendered.”

“This is it?” Leona snatched the vial, inspecting it closely, “I thought there’d be more.”

“Too much and the power will cause the user to overblot,” Jade explained, “We don’t want a repeat incident.”

Leona hummed in agreement, looking back toward the trio, “Speaking of which, what do you intend on doing since you hurt three of my best players with that little incident?”

“If anything, it’s compensation for us after what you did to three of our best players,” Azul let out a shrug, “but remember, Leona - there’s a much bigger fish to fry in the ocean that has nothing to do with me or the twins nor anyone in Octavinelle.”

Leona grumbled, turning his head, “Ruggie!”

The hyena appeared out of nowhere, landing next to Leona with a soft thump, “You called?”

“Take this,” Leona handed the vial to him, “On the day of the Tournament, you know what to do.”

Ruggie snickered with a nod.

“Well, we’ll be going,” Azul smiled, turning away, “pleasure doing business with you, Kingscholar.”

“And I hope that you live a long life with that soulmate of yours.”

“Oh, after that little incident - I doubt she’ll be going anywhere… at least for a while.” 

***

You do not comprehend (You are my one defender)

Why invite their calumny and consternation, stay in here

Be faithful to me, grateful to me

Do as I say, obey

And stay in here…

#twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #twst azul #twst floyd #twst jade #twstファンアート #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere #yandere azul x reader #leona kingscholar #fanfiction writer #fanfic #yandere x reader #tw yandere #bully #bullying #language #some violence #yandere soulmate au #twst soulmate au

[mara-xx217]

Albert Wesker x You Commission P.2- Caught His Eye

Part 2 commission by @prettycutebuny! I hope you enjoy! Part 1 here

Warnings: Poisoning, Blood and Violence, Light, Fluffy Smut

From best to worst to best to worst-

   The night that you slept at Albert Wesker’s home was, perhaps, some of the best rest that you have had in months.Maybe the best you’ve had in years… You awoke well rested but anxious. This wasn’t something a faithful married woman would do… Even if you despise your so-called “husband”... Nothing happened. Albert, who was in the living room as he said he would be, asked you how you felt. 

   “Slept well? Feeling better?”

   Yeah… yeah, you do feel better. 

   You didn’t want to impose any further on your friend’s kindness but he insisted you at least eat something before you left. When you started to hesitate Albert turned to you and smiled.

   “It’s what friends are for, are they not?” 

   It could have been the way it was said, or perhaps the circumstances of last night, but your heart skipped a beat and you felt the blood rush to your head. Fumbling with your shirt, you looked down at the ground. 

   “Y-Yeah… yeah, of course!” 

   Albert loved the way you beamed at him. Colour dusted your cheeks a light pink as you shifted from foot to foot. Not uncomfortable, no. You felt safe enough to let your true emotions shine clear and bright. How could he resist smiling back? He couldn’t- He wouldn’t deny you the truth of his own emotions, even if he had to keep the intention behind them a secret. 

   For now. 

   Something was… off. Albert didn’t want to take you back to work. He didn’t want you to be anywhere near Umbrella. Especially Spencer. For once, he had no proof, not even any inklings, of wrongdoing happening to you, but he couldn’t stop the pit in his stomach from growing larger and larger. The unease he felt grew more still when talks of a new “trial” began to rise around the company.

   A trial for a new bioweapon. It wouldn’t be the first or last time it would happen. An accident there, some terrible misfortune here, a kidnapping or two somewhere else. Albert didn’t really think much of it. Umbrella is as crooked and twisted as they come, it’s no wonder their hands are positively filthy. 

   It’s for this exact reason why he hates you working in that cesspit. 

   Umbrella is dangerous and you have no idea what kind of place you willingly work at every single day. You don’t even know who the man you’ve married is. It’s enough to make his blood boil. Albert’s anger isn’t directed at you. Oh, no, he could never be angry with you… No, Albert hates that you are here, at Umbrella, in an unwanted and loveless marriage to a man that has no care for you at all. 

   You deserve better… 

   Friendship slowly became warmer. Steadily, you found yourself drawn closer and closer to your friend. You swore that night, when you stayed in his home, would be a one time occurrence and something you wouldn’t make a habit of. It happened again but you were so tired! Then again but you were actually sick! And again and again, until it was happening the majority of your week. Albert promised you he didn’t mind and you believed him.

   It did feel wrong that you had several changes of clothes over at his home. You felt guilty for having your own showering supplies that you’ve left in his bathroom. Ashamed, even. You were trespassing into his life unfairly. You were burdening him with your problems when he surely had enough to worry about. You felt… You don’t know what you feel anymore. It’s only platonic love, of course! 

   Isn’t it? 

   Showering at Albert’s home was no longer a strange occurrence for you. The water was pleasantly warm, washing away the tension that had built up over your long day at work. Even though you use your own things to shower with, you don’t really try to stop yourself from cracking open one of Albert’s own bottles of shampoo. You take a whiff, closing your eyes as you enjoy the smell. It’s probably the creepiest thing you’ve ever done, so you quickly close it as though you are worried he’d bust in and catch you red handed. 

   Wait, you're showering. Albert wouldn’t just come in! 

   You blushed at the thought, tuning the knob of the shower so you are doused with cold water. You yelp in surprise and knock over some bottles. They land with a loud BANG! 

   As much as you had hoped he wouldn’t, Albert knocked on the door and asked if you were alright.

   “Y-Yeah! J-Jus-st clums-sy! Haha…”

   Treating his home as your own was nearly normal for you. Occasionally you felt awkward, out of place, even, but it was not because you were unwelcome or overstepping your boundaries with your friend. You felt you were staying too long but Albert always waved off your concerns and reaffirmed you are welcome to stay as long and as often as you like. 

   “Feel free to treat my home as your own. I certainly don’t mind.” 

   Albert really didn’t mind. This was exactly where you belonged. 

   Whenever you were there, with or without him, he felt at ease. You were safe here and even safer with him at your side. It felt right, you living in his home, using his things, showing the most vulnerable and precious parts of yourself with no hesitation or fear of rejection or disapproval… Albert gladly does your laundry, makes sure you are comfortable, well fed, clean and happy while you are under his roof.

   He does so even if you aren’t… 

   Occasionally, you worry him. Bouts of dizziness, lethargy, fatigue. Sometimes you sleep in hours at a time, sometimes you can’t sleep at all. More than once he feared you fell in the shower, only to have you laugh nervously and merely say: “N-No… Just knocked something over…” Perhaps you have overworked yourself more than either of you had realized at first. 

   Albert desperately hoped it would be that simple. 

   It never was.

  You felt ill. It was subtle at first. A little groggy, feeling under the weather, sluggish. You were checked out at work and you were told “Probably just a cold or a sinus infection. Nothing to worry about as long as you get plenty of rest and drink more fluids.” 

   It only got worse with time. When the world started to tilt you nearly bashed your head on the table of the breakroom. You barely managed to crawl onto one of the couches the company so graciously provided for those that decided to stay during the long, overtime nights they all pulled at some point. The moment you just barely pulled the majority of your body onto the couch you passed out. 

   It was nearly an hour later when Albert finally managed to find you.

   You weren’t just under-the-weather with a standard cold, this was something much, much worse. He had no proof, only a hunch, but it was more than enough for him to jump into action and take matters into his own hands. 

   High fever, cold sweats, lethargic, likely experiencing pain in the joints from how you are squirming- he was almost certain you had a virus. 

   Was it natural or man-made? 

   What he was about to do was very, very much against company policy but Albert couldn’t care any less. He had to keep an air of detached composure about him so as to not draw any unnecessary attention to either himself or to you. It’s likely he would be able to trick any low to mid tier employee that he is in on whatever experiment is being conducted. Anyone higher on the chain, though?

   Albert was determined for no unwanted attention to be garnered. Any test results would take a few hours to complete at the earliest. In the meantime, he has picked you up and taken you to an examination room. Empty. There wasn’t much traffic in this section of the facility at this time but there was still a chance someone would stumble upon you both. 

   He’ll worry about it should it come to pass. 

   You flinched and hissed in discomfort as something sharp pinched your arm. You tried to open your eyes… so heavy… Your entire body is heavy. Stiff. Aching… You feel something cold run up the side of your arm. You pulled away reflexively only to have someone gently grab your elbow and replace your arm at your side.

   “It’s only a basic IV Fluid. For your dehydration.” A cool hand brushed against your forehead. You sighed as you leaned into the touch, instantly recognizing who the hand- and the familiar voice- belonged to. 

   “A-Albert…” 

   The way you looked at him, so relieved, so relaxed, made his heart pound in his ears and beat hard against his rib cage. It took great restraint on his behalf to remain just distant enough so as to not tempt either himself or you to lean into a kiss. Albert smoothed down your hair, wild from your uneasy rest. 

   “You will be just fine… Don’t worry, I’m here with you…” He had to appear confident in your eyes, even if he wasn’t. 

   He doesn’t know what you have been infected with. Is the contagion still infectious? What is the incubation period? How long have you been displaying symptoms? Have they even created a vaccine for it…? 

   Albert had to leave you for a period of time. You were weak, fighting to stay conscious. He told you to rest and that he would be back soon. 

   There was something he must confirm. 

   No proof, hardly any inklings, yet Albert is certain you have either been infected with something or, at the very least, poisoned. There was only one way to confirm this. 

   He snuck into the security station that covered the section of the company you worked in. As careful as Umbrella is with its vetting, hiring, and security measures, it’s down right laughable in practice. Albert isn’t new to this and it’s not even the first time he’s done so inside the company, regardless of the reasons behind it. Now, more than ever, he needs to do it correctly and quickly. 

   Albert’s knuckles turned ghost-white as he gripped the edge of the table the security monitors rested atop of. He set his jaw as his exact fears played out before him, mere hours ago. 

   He knew  this man, the one that snuck into the lab you were working in and spiked your water with an unknown substance. It was subtle enough that it would have been missed by an untrained eye, something someone like you would easily miss. If you were even there to witness it. Albert’s teeth strained under the pressure his jaw placed on them as he grinded them together, seething in rage as the world faded at the edges of his vision. All he saw was him, an ultimate betrayal done by the worst scum of the earth.

   It only took a few seconds of flipping through the camera feed for Albert to find who he was looking for. Once he did-

   “You.” He grabbed the man by his collar, snarling as he yanked him into a less monitored and less trafficked hallway. The man almost starts fighting back but stiffens and calms once he realizes who has grabbed him.

   “Wesker.”

   Calm. Casual, even. Albert is seething and this assassin merely grabs his wrist and wrenches his hand from his shirt’s collar.

   “Do you mind?” Albert shoved him against the wall as he glared at him. 

   “Spencer has already grown bored, has he.” It wasn’t a question. The assassin narrowed his eyes.

   “Bored and annoyed. He’s tired of that little whore ruining his reputation.” He glared back at Albert. He gritted his teeth. His fingers popped and strained as he clenched them into a tight fist.

   “Unlike you, she isn’t irreplaceable-” 

   Albert grabbed the man by the face and slammed the back of his head into the pristine, white wall behind him. A sickening CRACK was followed by a stain of red. He felt nothing as the assassin slid to the floor, dazed but not quite dead. Albert rummaged through his pockets, finding only one thing of note. 

    A vial.

   You were poisoned, not infected. It was more of a relief that Albert was willing to admit. He can work with blood toxicity. Your symptoms had manifested early enough that most damage could be circumvented. He hopes… Albert couldn’t keep you here, though. Not here… You shouldn’t be moved but he had no choice. 

   He took you home.

   You were incredibly ill yet the treatment you needed was so very simple. A blue and red herb, combined… Albert had to help you sit up, cradling the back of your head as he fed you the concoction. You nearly couldn’t swallow the medicine, it was so bitter! Somehow you managed and you practically fainted the moment your head rested against a pillow. 

   It was nerve wracking to merely sit aside and monitor your condition. For the first few hours, you didn’t improve. As Albert grew concerned you began to stabilize. Over the coming days, your health continued to improve. Sporadically, you would regain consciousness. You were confused but not wholly disoriented. Good. You often asked for Albert to hold your hand which he obliged without another word. Warm but not clammy. 

   You were getting better every single day.

   One week later and your symptoms all but vanished. Albert was insistent you not push yourself too hard and get even more rest. You did feel a little off still… You acquiesced to his request. “What if I become a bother? I don’t want to-” He never would let you finish. Every time, without fail or faltering, Albert would reassure you that you were right where you needed to be.

   With him, you were safe. 

   You sometimes pretended to sleep while he was around. You weren’t doing anything nefarious, you swear! Sometimes you were tired and you were resting your eyes while he happened to be there… and sometimes you didn’t let him immediately know you were awake. 

   Albert sat beside the bed, in a chair he pulled from his living room. It was uncomfortable, you thought, but he didn’t show it at all. He shifted and you closed your eyes fully. He’s closer… You just know it. A hand brushes against your forehead then gently smooths your hair down. Your ears burn. 

   He always knew you were playing possum. He didn’t mind indulging you, though.

   So pretty- No, so beautiful. Albert’s fingers trace your cheekbone, then down towards your ear. He rubs it between his thumb and forefinger, smiling as you couldn’t hide a smile of your own. You might have the covers pulled up to your nose, but your eyes crinkle when you smile. Unable to hide any longer, you giggle.

   “H-Hey…” You blink up at him, shyly. Albert smiles down at you.

   “Hmm?” Albert strokes your cheek with his thumb. You sigh and find yourself leaning into his touch. 

   What did you want to say…? “Thanks for saving my life.” wasn’t it at all. There was so much you wanted to say, wanted to thank him for, but nothing came to the forefront of your mind. Your heart slammed against your throat, stubbornly screaming exactly what you wanted to say. No… What you wanted to do. 

   Everything you felt bubbled to the surface. The long nights together, working side by side, Albert sheltering you from your shit homelife and now saving your life?! 

   How could you hide what you felt for so long…? 

   You peeled the covers down from your face. Maybe you aren’t so attractive at the moment… When have you showered last? Albert looked at you like you were the only person on the entire planet that he’s ever seen with his own eyes. Just you. Only you… You carefully grazed your fingers against his, until they slipped in between them. He closes the gap, bringing your trembling hand to his lips as he places a kiss against your knuckles. 

   Things that, not so long ago, held you in check no longer mattered to you anymore. Work? Marriage? You didn’t care. It wasn’t real, anyway. You- You were still… 

   You looped your arm around his neck, pulling him down and into a slightly rush, awkward kiss. It was ungraceful but you are scared to miss any more chances you were given. Instead of being taken aback, or at least surprised, Albert returned the kiss! He deepened it, gently guiding you to a more natural and more relaxed position. The tension you felt evaporated, leaving only the want that you have been feeling so long in its place.

   A rush of emotions crashed into Albert. You kissed him first! Giddy. He felt featherlight and giddy as your lips moved against his. A little clumsy, unpracticed. He didn’t want to rush… but you pulled him closer and closer, until he was over top of you, breaking any resolve that he had to take things slow for your sake. 

   He’s waited for so long… 

   Albert slid a hand underneath your shirt. Your skin was warm but not feverish. He was still worried about you… You furrow your brows and lightly pull away from the kiss as he cupped one of your breasts. He immediately stopped.

   “Are you-?”

   “Mhmm- D-Don’t stop…” Your heart was slamming against your ribs. The touch was foreign, new. You liked it even if you were greatly embarrassed. 

   Albert made sure you were comfortable every step of the way. Did he know…? Maybe… You had to collect your thoughts and mentally prepare yourself when he asked if it was okay if he removed your undergarments. 

   Yeah… you are okay with it… You still hid your face in despair as he slid your underwear down and between your legs. 

   “It’s okay if we-” You shook your head, lowering your arm as you met Albert’s eyes. 

   “I-I don’t want to stop… It’s- I-It’s just nerves…” You laughed pathetically. His face softened. You stopped laughing and broke eye contact. 

   The way he touched you soothed your fraying nerves. Gentle but not ticklish. Deliberate but not forceful. He asked but didn’t demand. You felt safe enough to be nervous. Nervous but not scared. You weren’t scared of what Albert was doing to you. You welcomed it. 

   You wanted him even if it would hurt. 

   “Are you-?” You kissed him, silencing the question.

   “J-Jus- do it… Make me yours…” 

   You wanted your first time to at least be somewhat meaningful. Even if you didn’t spend the rest of your life with the person, you wanted to be able to think of it fondly. Albert being your first was everything you had hoped for and then some. 

   It did hurt, or at least, was uncomfortable. He was considerate of you, making sure you were okay, kissing you and dragging his fingers along the sensitive bundle of nerves that made your legs twitch and made the discomfort all the more bearable. You begged him to move and he did so. Slowly. Soon the pain was replaced with mild discomfort, then-

   “O-Oh…” 

   You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you kissed him deeply. He made you feel so good. There wasn’t a moment where either of you were apart from the other. You felt tears wet your eyes as he climaxed with you. 

   Perfect. Perfect. Perfect- 

   You never wore that damn wedding ring. You never would, either. You renounced that bond, whatever it was supposed to be. A joke, if anything. This is what you’ve been missing out on. Albert held you close, promising you that he would always be here, at your side, no matter what. You can forget that bleak chapter of your life- no, maybe you could even celebrate it. It brought you to him… 

   No matter what would happen to you, you wouldn’t want to be without Albert. If you are together, then you could overcome anything. He promised you that he would always find you, should the worst come to pass. You laughed. “Worst? Nothing can happen to us now!” 

   He didn’t laugh with you that time. Only one thing could happen to you two now.

   Umbrella. 

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire

#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #dbd #dead by daylight #paid commission #light smut #some violence

[birthdaycakeplate]

It’s only a year late, Anon, but I hope you find and enjoy this, because I ✨LOVED 💖this request. I really hyperfixated on Optimus being appreciated for once (and being doted on, respectfully). Thank you for making it, you are so good and wonderful for this ask💕 (((I FORGOT TO HIT ANSWER WHEN I POSTED THIS EJWKWKKEKEME, OH MY LORD)))

As a PSA to all the readers, this got WAY out of hand and somehow ended up being monstrously long AGAIN, so-

⭕️ BEWARE THE READ MORE⭕️

(Go to my page and open it there so you aren’t stuck ruining your dashboard and can leave the fic easier)

Warnings in the tags💕

——————————————- 

On a painfully uneventful evening such as this, stuck in a room with bots old and frail enough to evaporate into thin air from the weight of their air headed blather, Megatron was looking forward to doing some private reading later- someplace far away from this mockery of a court with all its prejudice.

This was how the Autobots did things? No wonder nothing ever got done- If Decepticons took this long talking in circles, talking at all, they would have been beaten back by their enemy faction by a sly, cunning leader, too, by now.

Megatron resisted sighing outwardly.

Reading would be such a sweet consolation for having to sit through these nearsighted windbags running their mouths all cycle. If only he could be certain he could survive this with half a processor in tact.

Besides Ultra Magnus’ obsession with flight tariffs in civil frame cities driving Megatron to a powerful processor ache, there was also the matter of this proud, little idiot stood here before him- so enveloped in his own heedless jargon it was threatening to dull Megatron’s logic center, if nobody put a stop to his rambling.

This one’s ego was much too big for him, continuously having to make himself known. He, Sentinel Prime, shouldn’t even be here.

And then the other mech so abysmally out of his depths here -Optimus Prime- was only here at all, because he’d been crowned a hero for having offered these council mechs Megatron’s head on a platter some months ago. Too bad he’d left it attached to the rest of him- Megatron would make sure the Prime would come to regret it by the end of these ‘negotiations’.

If he somehow hadn’t already, constantly being tortured by Megatron instigating his dear, precious Magnus from across the court.

Judging by the exasperated glare Prime sent Megatron’s way every few arguments, and Megatron purposely ignoring his very existence, it was only a matter of time before Optimus caved and would have to excuse himself to collect the necessary patience. And Megatron would watch him go with a smirk, thinking how it was all too bad the little firetruck couldn’t be helped to finally learn his place in this big mech world -far bigger than him- and spare himself this misery.

There was much to be ungrateful for during these sessions, and yet still, probably the most enraging offense on Megatron’s person of all -even keeping company like this, with council mechs considering his rights as casually as if they were discussing the weather- was that the very same bot who’d made a fool of him and delivered him in stasis cuffs to the Auotbot’s mercy kept injecting himself into matters too important for him… on Megatron’s behalf.

Defending a (capable) nefarious warlord in front of the masses like an absolute martyr.

At least so when something truly as appalling as treatment for ground sickness in civilian spaces was disregarded as a priority, and not considered a sanity-threatening emergency, was suggested. Proving that Optimus Prime might be the first Autobot to possess a modicum of honor.

Suggestions as flippant as that quickly became few and far between, as Optimus’ constant pestering was driving everyone up the wall- every Autobot quietly disgusted by the notion of rights for war mechs, anyway. Which appeared to be the entire panel in Megatron’s only slightly biased opinion, as he was sat here before them.

Optimus paid them no mind- had started out quiet and humble, so uncertain of his place here. Appropriately so, if you asked Megatron. But Primus had he found it when Sentinel had suggested ‘docked wings’ on Decepticons who broke the new laws…

“I wasn’t talking first time offenders!” The plow tried to correct, like that wouldn’t burn a hole through Optimus all the same from the sheer, righteous indignity of it.

Optimus, who was rarely ever sat with his aft properly in his podium seat and spent much of the deliberation bouncing around on his pedes, pointing fingers and making wild gestures the more his patience thinned, met his limit then.

“We will never modify their frames in any nonconsensual way, Sentinel! Primus, what is wrong with you!?”

Megatron could answer that question for the little firetruck. These out of touch bigots were terrified of him -despite their proud, ‘fearless Autobot’ front.

They were scared of Megatron and the other war machines, and they’d be wise to hold strong to those insecurities, lest they have anymore ideas of a faction wide extermination that would ascend into yet another eternal war.

It’d be the same subject matter, at least.

Sometimes, it became exhausting keeping up with of all the atrocities that’d transpired between them over the years, and he’d rather like to keep his thumb between the pages, holding his place for when this treaty inevitably fell through and he had to pick up right where he’d left off. Somewhere around escaping prison thanks to idiot, imposter Magnuses to come skewer the real one. 

Even now that things had become slightly more progressive -given they Autobots had been forced to concede to him- there was still the odd daydream of his of striking Magnus from off of his throne. Most recently for making him sign documentation of all the war mech’s in his faction under an ominously familiar act to keep designations on close hand.

How…uncanny.

In fact, Megatron had signed it purely out of his own shock and amusement to see if Ultra Magnus would realize what it was he was resurrecting from the dark depths of their shared history by demanding such a thing.

‘To keep record of everyone entering into the new era of peace accounted for’.

Well, then. How convenient an excuse. Clearly, Megatron wasn’t the only one without a single hope for their unification.

In support of that depressing thought, Ultra Magnus had said little to protest or encourage what his council mechs were offering -pushing- other than when he was strictly needed to make great speeches to quiet Megatron’s kin of their outrage. Often just sat there staring listlessly out over the chaos of council members and Decepticon high command at Megatron’s back, ranting and raving over one another. Looking more and more forlorn, more and more distant.

He must have walked into this as sure as the Earth’s sun that this would be a lost cause. He’d only bothered placating any of this, because the other option was simply to concede and die…

Megatron, to be contrary -despite his own doubts in this movement- was becoming more irritated that Magnus expected him to be such a lost cause. These talks of merging their species a chore and an impossible one…

That Optimus was spurred on all the more by Ultra Magnus’ silence, trying to take the reigns in an effort to lead the others with his boundless, pitiful optimism towards the notion that there was any value to them fighting for this forsaken, ideological future was perhaps a tiny bit comforting. It was, after all, Megatron’s only real source of entertainment during these talks, as Strika had insisted on presenting herself seriously, unwilling to make small talk while Autobot bureaucrats were speaking.

Useless. This was all wasted time, Megatron was sure of it… As sure as Magnus…

Somehow still, he managed to weather an entire cycle more of this undignified dressing down of his rights and quickly stood, eager to push his way out of the chambers first before he could be tethered to another post council scourge where the Autobots fought amongst themselves to push their own opinions upon an absent Decepticon faction. Too self-indulged to realize the underhandedness of such a thing.

Perhaps he should reconsider killing them during another of Magnus’ speeches instead. For the sake of dramatics and some much needed entertainment.

On this particular exhausting cycle, though, Optimus Prime -absolutely fuming- seemed to have the same idea as him about being the first one out of the Council’s logic leeching vacuum. That he was the main cause of said scourging amongst his leaders and peers -and Sentinel, the instigator- allowed Megatron a moment of calm to slow his steps some ways behind him and enjoy the sight of one puffed up Prime getting exactly what he deserved for bringing Megatron onto this cursed planet with a functioning sparkbeat.

He looked ready to kick Sentinel’s podium on the way out, if he were the type of mech to lose his temper Lin such a way.

Megatron remembered the trip back to Cybertron being not at all how he’d imagined it. Beaten, torn to pieces, and struggling to vent, Megatron had seen a fair glimpse of the kind of mech Optimus Prime really was when battle and desperation weren’t marring his processor. 

He couldn’t say he was impressed with a bot with such… he was just so… Optimus was so…

The only way Megatron could describe the humiliating -though enlightening- encounter without sacrificing his ego was to simply say that he hadn’t the opportunity to meet an Autobot Elite as unexpectedly humble and sincere as Optimus Prime before.

How embarrassing to have been beaten by such a bleeding spark…

The little mech cared about… everything. And he cared too much.

Unfortunately, the effort he put into it was quite misplaced. If he could only have the foresight to see who his genuine nature was being expended upon, who was taking advantage of it, he’d have turned to the Decepticon’s for guidance and a purpose.

Not that Megatron wanted him there.

Megatron gave a huff and removed himself from those thoughts, lest he provoke the unfortunate memories that’d came with them -stuck at the mercy of what he’d just discovered at the time to be a Primus forsaken maintenance bot, serving him back his own aft like he’d been doing it for centuries prior.

The discovery had been too humiliating too bare…

His little consolation for everything the Prime had put him through on Earth was that he was still a nobody here. He was spoken over, talked down to by Ultra Magnus on occasion, and largely ignored. Which is what Megatron intended to do himself for the rest of this pretend peace he was forced to serve under.

Pretend Optimus Prime was a bot without an ounce of worth behind his false title, something to be forgotten in the history of Megatron’s millions of years of fortitude and success.

And as he looked down at his retreating figure, hustling towards the doors to rid himself the indignity of todays events, Megatron knew in his spark that this would be the most he’d ever spare in acknowledging the Prime- only enough to delight in his suffering.

He could survive these sessions with that in mind, if it could only have stayed true.

“They don’t seem to know what’s good for them.” The Decepticon, a jet, said blithely. He was standing guard by the entrance on the Decepticon’s floor. That Optimus didn’t bother with his faction’s floor in a means to get out of there sooner was another odd consolation for Megatron against the withering glares from the council mech’s at the tiny fool’s backstrut.

Optimus didn’t seem to pay this mech any mind either.

“No, they don’t.” He snapped back at him, without a single glance at the jet. And yet, there was something there in his tone Megatron couldn’t quite place when he heard it -nor cared to- as he lazily followed behind him.

In the split second the jet had to respond before Optimus was good and gone, stomping and storming off as fearsomely as any ‘Con about triple his size, the guard tilted his helm his way to try and extend the last few moments they had.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Prime.”

To Megatron’s confusion, Optimus stopped. His shoulders losing some of their tension as his helm fell back on a sigh.

“Sorry… I’ll try... And Thanks.”

The jet smiled at him, and from this angle, Megatron could just make out the corner of Optimus’ lip plates tilting upward, returning it.

‘Familiarity’… That’s what it was.

———————————————-

Boredom was about Megatron’s only motivator to look into the odd spectacle he’d witnessed. Waiting for the council room to fill and the doors to close, preparing for another arduous cycle of negotiations, Megatron leant back in his chair, hardly built for his massive size as it was, and hissed nasally into Strika’s audial.

“Who is that?” He cut his optics over at the chipper looking jet.

How dare he not be sharing in Megatron’s crushing despair for having to be here.

“Jou know who jour mechs are.” Strika answered back.

Megatron considered the mech a moment. He was silver and rather tall for a jet. A sleek frame with black indentations up the underside of each wings- one of his more noticeable features. One a Decepticon might think attractive with its cutting edges and sharp angles.

Megatron certainly did know him, granted he’d gone through several reformations since joining the cause.

He tried to remember why.

This jet proved significantly more capable of handling injuries than most other winged mechs of his slender, shorter stature. He’d seen some extensive upgrades, and if Megatron was correct, had managed to deserve each and every one of them under his field commander’s favor.

Oh, right- and Starscream hated him. Pretty to look at, easy to grab, obedient and a good listener, as well as a good fighter. Of course Megatron would have agreed to special treatment like reformations for a mech like that, so long as he was sure Starscream would wind up jealous and bitter about it.

Considering his near civil mech size, this one was a powerhouse -and a good choice for their chamber room guard post then. Not that Megatron could believe a room full of even the most capable Autobot warriors could subdue him without the jet‘s aid.

But that image conjured up another one- the memory of this jet streaking across a scarlet sky with Energon dripping from his wingtips. A splash of it falling down and momentarily blinding Megatron’s opponent before he’d decapitated them.

Saberswipe, Megatron finally recalled. A winged mech who dissected enemies using a unique blend of speed and force. How fitting then.

Megatron didn’t like him…

“He vants to frag Prime.” Said Strika, then. Unnecessarily.

Megatron cuts his optics at her next.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be such an unbearable pain then.” He said rather stuffily.

“Optimus Prime has too much time on his servos to be as meddlesome as he is. He needs a hobby.”

“Like fragging a flighty, pint sized jet?”

“Like fragging himself, more like.” Megatron scoffed, then surveyed the platforms opposite him, looking for said nuisance to come and claim his seat soon, and the pestering to begin.

“Vatch your mouth.” Strika snarled into his audial, immediately drawing Megatron’s attention back.

He looked at her, slack jawed and optic ridge pinched. Completely offended by her outburst. She didn’t look the least bit repentant.

In fact, as war frames often did with one another, she stared him right back in the optics, challenging him. Her permanent frown somehow impressively deepening.

Megatron’s processor slowed to a tick.

“What was that, General?” He ground out, finally grasping that one of his subordinates had just had the gall to openly disrespect him in such a way.

The tank leaned into him, drawing a curious glance from the old and foolish Trion who frequently attempted to keep tabs on the Decepticon board from across the way. Looking terribly unsubtle about it, too.

“Vatch what jou say about Prime.” Strika rumbled.“He does not deserve jour ridicule, too.”

Nearly lost for words in one debilitating moment of insanity, Megatron needed time for his processor to climb back up to a functional rhythm.

Strika’s gaze did not waver, shockingly. Staring him down with all the confidence and reassertion she only ever expended defending the honor of her delusional mate, Lugnut.

Which this was….. odd…

“He deserves every ounce of it.” Megatron said slowly, gobsmacked. Because had Strika forgotten how they’d gotten themselves here?

Had she forgotten how her suddenly precious little Prime had gotten him here?

“He is the reason we are being forced to kneel to the Autobot’s.”

“He is za reason we may all have a chance at peace, finally. He is za reason zese negotiations have gone on for as long as zhey have vithout falling through.”

“Because he won’t stop inserting himself-“

“Which is the reason we’ve had a voice for ourselves on that half of the chamber.”

Megatron felt a very childish rebuttal coming up any second now.

“We are strong enough to be our own voices!”

They’d had to be for lifetimes now.

Where had it gotten them, though?

“They von’t listen to us.” Strika said simply. Obviously.

They both already knew, despite how much it pained Megatron to think he was worth so little respect from even Ultra Magnus these days as to be heard, when he had gone and conquered worlds. Had posed as the single most monstrous threat to Autobot society for generations.

“Prime is making zem listen.” Strika reinforced, a tad more gentler. Which was worse than her disrespect.

Megatron felt the tension in his shoulder joints loosen, defeated yet again by Strika’s superior logic unit. One reason she made such a brilliant general, and did just a good enough job to help him remember his own place in things.

Help him remember his undoubtable greatness and value as a warrior and intelligent mind still weren’t enough to sway the narrow minds and bigoted forces of the Autobot Commonwealth. She was just objective enough to understand her loyalty for her master wouldn’t translate for some- for many. And she was right -had probably saved these negotiations countless times without him even knowing- to help him see that for himself.

He’d be feeding her her spike for it later.

“It shouldn’t be that way…” He huffed, all but pouting like the 14 million year old warlord he was for anyone tracking the conversation in the room to see.

“I agree- and he doesn’t zink so, either.“ Strika said, turning back to face the finally full room with her optics settling over the little Prime, entranced in his own tireless note taking.

“How fortunate are we, zhen to have a such a find listener? Zhat isn’t a question, by ze way. Now shut up and vatch.”

The session began as it always did- with the little red Bumblebee lookalike announcing the designations of all parties present and then the article of debate. In today’s case, it was about the mythical Decepticon housing distribution problem.

Optimus’ finials pricked up in interest, readying himself to take a stand.

Megatron turned away.

“You hate peace, Strika.” He said mournfully. His servos crossed over his chest, as he stared over at Saberswipe diligently standing guard. His optics also settled heavily over the brightly colored Prime. But he was only safe place in the room at the moment for Megatron to rest his optics.

Megatron was always happiest with his processor busy plotting, and he had much to think about when he set his optics on the tall, agile jet.

—————————

Despite feeling like a part time prisoner still, which was somewhat true, Megatron was glad to spend a cycle outside of that court of self-aggrandizing windbags, and in the beautiful plated streets of the lovely Iacon City for a change. Standing in the place he’d once stood millennia ago, screaming at the top of his voice box until his synthesizer was stripped raw for the helm of the mech who’d signed the miner outpost off and left him and his kin an empty future.

He remembered his fellow war mech’s at his back, looking to him -the bravest of the lot- to get them answers. To take it from the first senator to get down off his high podium and face them all. Having finally reached a point in his life where he was willing to throw his life away, if that was what it would take to be heard.

Civil frames avoided him, splitting perfectly down the middle as they went, trying to avoid him. Dodging eye contact, apologizing for having to pass by him at all- those who didn’t cross the street entirely.

One such mech was not so cowed by his domineering, gravely presence on their clean, shiny streets.

“Hiya, Megatron. You’re needed in the chambers today.”

Megatron looked the large, green swat van over. Twice. Wondering when and where he had gotten the audacity.

“Are you an errand boy, now?” He jabbed, looking for a weak spot in Optimus’ most even tempered, well adjusted ex-crew mate.

“Nope. Just doin’ Prime a favor. He, uh, wanted to discuss the housing issue some more the other day, but Ultra Magnus said it’d need to be done in an official setting. You’re the other faction leader, sooo… y’know.”

So one of Optimus’ post meeting scourges had pushed enough frayed nerves to get itself a platform.

Megatron was not about to subject himself to Optimus -an Autobot- openly condemning Megatron’s -an actual Decepticon- insistence that Decepticons did not need the ‘frivolities’ that civil types did in their hypothetical habsuites, and that he was ‘thinking like a pampered little civil frame’ when he had insisted each Decepticon be given a balcony and sky view for easy take off.

Optimus did not know what Decepticons needed, Megatron -a Decepticon- obviously did. Why hadn’t he left it alone? Why did he always have to go behind his backstrut?

Because he knew having one less oppressive opinion of Optimus’ place there in the room would be enough to force himself to be heard?

And if he was as great as Strika (confusingly, peculiarly, horrifically) had said, then he would know they ‘needed’ an open, more communal space for their habitats. Once, when he’d cared to hear it, Megatron had recalled somebot saying that seekers didn’t do so well when separated, and seekers made up a large part of his flyers.

Which speaking of-

“That is why Starscream exists.” Megatron glowered at Bulkhead.

Yes, Starscream was here as his no good, useless second in command. It’d been torture having to reinstate that rank at the start of this jumbled negotiation mess.

Bulkhead only shrugged.

“She didn’t show up.”

Megatron sighed, palm coming up to cover his forehelm.

He did love his cycles away from the council room, as their newest instrument of torture -them opening their mouths- too much for his poor, weathered spark.

But today was not his day to indulge.

He turned away and left Bulkhead standing there, shrugging off the taller mech’s awful attitude -used to Prowl’s and Bumblebee’s- and marched himself away from the council chambers. He took flight in the middle of a crowded city of startled grounders and off towards the Nemesis’ docking bay, stationed in the vacant hollow of the once prosperous Kaon, where it was sat idly. His poor ship.

On a day like this, where Starscream had been summoned to preform and had unsurprisingly failed again to do so, the useless seeker would no doubt be hiding away in the command quarters, rather than out enjoying the city skylights from the shuttle ports. Lazing about precarious platforms and swinging a pede over an edge into the open air, enjoying herself.

She’d be smart enough to know with that alarming sixth sense of her that Megatron would be out looking for her today. Looking to tear off some wingstruts.

Decepticons cleared the way as their thunderous leader landed and stomped his way up the deck, much like the civil frames had in the Iacon Plaza.

Megatron was marginally saddened to find Starscream hadn’t taken the opportunity of his absence to claim ownership of his throne and do all her sulking there, as he always felt it was a bit instigative of him to shred the seeker to pieces when she hadn’t gone and stupidly earned it.

When he finally found her huddled in on herself in a bulkhead, he had to forced his claws to retract.

She stood there, facing away from the quiet commotion of the bridge with her servos crossed, staring at the floor with a scowl. Processor deep in conniving thought.

Some threatening on Megatron’s part was still in order, at least.

“Get… your scrap metal wings… your lazy skidplate… down to the council chambers!” Megatron roared, startling the seeker out of her trance, as she spun around to access the danger she was in.

Megatron stood before her, towering and menacing, impossible to make out the expression of in the lightless war ship. Though she did catch the distinct glint of fanged denta baring themselves from the glow of monitor stations.

“Now.” Megatron rasped, pointing for target enhanced optics to see at the vague location of the Autobot Council Chambers. Miles and miles away.

After a moment looking him over, frown stuck to her faceplates, Starscream immediately assumed her usual dramatics, ‘scrap metal wings’ challenging Megatron in a high arch.

“Never,” She hissed back, baring her own sharp denta. Already protesting against his authority and he’d only just gotten there.

Megatron, finally having been able to get some fresh air in his vents away from the horrid hell hole Prime was trying to shove him back into, was able to find the strength to summon his ire over his exhaustion.

His optics glowed dangerously as his plating ruffled. Making his already impressive frame seem somehow bigger.

“Starscream. Go. At. Once.”

Starscream still was not cowed. Curiously. Worryingly.

She brought her claws out to her sides, extending them, readying for the first strike.

“No…”

Megatron was only slightly surprised to see how affected his selfish, self-absorbed seeker was by attending the lengthy meetings of Autobot jargon that did little, if anything, to center themselves around her haughty presence there. Because of course she wouldn’t want to whittle her time away there, it was never about her.

It was always about Megatron and his great presence and incredible intellect. His ability to have every last one of the sniveling Autobots wiped clean as a species, should they cross him. Starscream could never stand being overshadowed by his-

“I’m not going back there!” She screeched at him.

Megatron reached for a sheathed sword he wore in purposeful protest of Magnus’ law forbidding war frame’s of dawning weapons in the presence of civil mechs, as it hadn’t yet been set into motion.

But then her words suddenly clicked.

“What do you mean, ‘go back there’? You’ve been excluded from sessions while in my company… Because I barred you.”

Lord, had he.

“I barred myself, when you wouldn’t stop gloating about ridiculous, ancient, irrelevant history!” Starscream countered, giving Megatron a sudden and strange feeling that reason was a fallacy.

“Nobody cares how you handled the pre-faction Destrons- or how ‘great you are’ at leading a washed out, embarrassment of an ex-faction! It doesn’t make you a good leader, it doesn’t mean you deserve anyone’s respect! Especially not mine!”

Megatron’s optic twitched.

AllSpark, give him strength.

“Your presence has not been requested or necessary for a decacycle, Starscream. I’ve been handling everything- this was my one cycle away from their pointless rambling-“

“That’s what you think!” Starscream said snidel. Igniting equal parts worry and confusion in Megatron’s fuel tank.

Because she had better not been stepping a single heeled thruster into that fucking joke of a council of theirs, or else he’d-

“You don’t care about the needs of streamlined frames, you know! I have to be there!”

Megatron blinked his confusion, but he made sense of things rather quickly.

“You mean you and your clones?”

“Yes!” Starscream instantly recognized which insufferable tone Megatron was using on her.

“Obviously, you old fool!”

“Starscream-!”

“I have a skeletal scaffold to pick with them, too, you know!” Starscream flittered her wings in agitation, ignoring whatever danger she was in and rambling over him.

“You may not have the spacial awareness to see it for yourself, but I’m in there plenty! You never think to address the feuling crisis for streamlined frames! The clone seekers have varying needs, we aren’t genetically identical, or have you somehow overlooked Skywarp’s built in warpdrive?! What about Thundercracker’s sonic boom?!”

Thundercracker’s what…?

Oh, Primus.

“They are seekers of my own making,” Starscream screeched so loud, the nearest star outside the viewport flickered, hearing her call.

“They’re not… not thoughtfulness productions and weapons!”

Megatron’s lip curled.

“Your missing spark is an enigma. Who would bother learning every special delicate need your radiated, mutated miscreants require in order to find their shoddy, miserable existence in this world like the rest of us?”

“Optimus Prime would.” Starscream muttered more to herself, rolling her optics.

Megatron’s look of disgust was quickly wiped from his faceplate. Confusion and -oddly- betrayal took its place, as he searched Starscream’s frowning face for answers he dared not ask for.

Starscream looked conflicted as well- beneath the prevalent, thick layer of spite, anyway- and conceded to an explanation.

“He’s working to reduce the classification the clone seekers are subjected to- the Auotbots think they function like workerbots…” Starscream’s derma twisted up at the thought of those nameless mechs, existing without identities, being compared to her wild, wayward clone brothers.

Megatron very consciously chose not to feel anything when he noticed those bots slinking around, doing typical maintenance work and looking unnervingly devoid of a processor.

“That little Earth Prime,” Starscream’s wing flicked.

“He’s taking note of my seekers, what they each need to survive here, how much they need. He isn’t just throwing them together and hoping the new laws and resources sort them all out- that’d be like throwing me and Bonecrusher into a blind conjunxing so you could be done with me.” She shivered violently at the thought.

“He knows the clones aren’t inherently compatible with one another… we’re… that we’re… different people. You know?”

Starscream pulled a face.

“Maybe you don’t know... It’s all a wasted effort anyway. Like you, no one seems to care long enough to learn even the most basic needs of our individual maintenance.”

Starscream shuttered her optics and balled her servos up.

“No one cares to know. Starscream will slip her way out of any mess, but what happens when the mess is about to become your only option to a better future? It’s this or live with nothing in a stockade underground somewhere…”

Starscream was sounding eerily alike she was trying to stave off a watery edge to her vocalizer. Looking away to hide her despair.

Megatron would admit he hadn’t been aware of the existence of this issue -stood there dumbstruck into silence- but it made some molecule of sense to him.

Shockwave had said something about environments and Energon sources as being large factors in issues with accurate cloning. The crazed and unethical servos of their scientist inventors didn’t help with that either, Megatron imagined.

….As they had seen all of such with Toxitron and Nemesis.

Despite Optimus’ stilted, but eventually genuine welcome of the two newest Decepticons into his existentially horrified life, they were both problems for another day. And thankfully, too, ones Optimus was willing to tackle. Seemingly feeling responsible for their creation in some nonsensical way.

Which was also good for him, as Megatron did not want to have to deal with another argument about his inexcusable, abhorrent lack of ethics from Ultra Magnus after what he himself had approved to have happen to the young, susceptible jet twins.

But for now, he was far too tired to deal with anymore insufferable self-doubt, and waved a single servo towards the exit while his other clutched at his aching helm.

“Just go, Starscream. You are needed- do your one and only job.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” She shrieked, energy boundless.

“I’m not going back!”

Megatron tried to ignore the terrified mechs typing away at their monitor stations, fields all buzzing with nerves at their two temperamental commanders’ increasingly passionate spat.

Then the sharp edge of Starscream’s wings spreading out wide at her back brought his attention to the suddenly conflicted looking faceplate of his dear SIC once more.

“They want to silence him!” She continued, failing suddenly to mask the indifference in her voice.

“That idiot with the hammer told him to stop pressing the matter!”

Starscream’s attempt at dressing down the Magnus was a frail one. Desperation was muddling her clever tongue and making her optics blur (to Megatron’s mounting horror).

“Then that, that… useless garbage plow told him it ‘didn’t matter’! He said it wasn’t important! Can you- you believe that?!”

Megatron stood in frozen terror as her vocalizer caught. Watching helplessly as she waved about, fighting back a very real danger to cry.

Blitzwing, formerly a seeker, appeared to be the only bot left in the room not glued faceplate first into his monitor. Wings pricking in interest.

He seemed oddly invested in the whole thing, in Megatron’s opinion. Megatron, who tried not to believe in such things as dwelling on one’s former self. He’d thought Blitzwing wouldn’t worry about something like that either, but… maybe there was something more there he wasn’t seeing.

“And that stupid, little fool…” Starscream hadn’t enough sheer willpower to keep her opinions to herself and avoid the threat of finally crying her optics out in the most un-Decepticon like fashion, in front of a room full of them…

“He told Prime to ‘be quiet’.”

Like Optimus asking for these powerful mechs to hear the voices of others was some ‘annoying inconvenience’.

Or more like Optimus was some annoying inconvenience to them.

They’d certainly done nothing to welcome him there since these negotiations had began, trying to talk over him. Trying to silence him. Trying to bully him.

He’d done more than any of them had in reuniting their peoples with next to nothing to do it with.

And that may only be because he was the only one who wanted to so badly…

The coolant evaporated from the corners of Starscream’s optics in an instant -a god delivered blessing. Instead, it was outrage taking it’s hold and possessing her.

Megatron’s self-perseveration protocols surged to life.

“I’m going to gut them for talking like that,” Megatron’s sparkbeat began to pulse rapidly, knowing that look in her optic then.

“I’m going to pull out his glossa and feed it to Skullcruncher- I’m going to do it right now, in fact! I’m going to the council-“

It was that fearless look where vengeance blinded her and became more important to Starscream than basic logic- of shabby promises of truces.

And Megatron of all mechs was about to be the one to save a board full of outdated models from the wrath of the pit itself, despite knowing they deserved it.

He reached out and caught her by her sensitive wings, unnerved by the way she didn’t so much as flinch in pain from it. This was that mad- mad, that ‘you’ve disrespected a self-appointed Decepticon Prince’ mad.

“No, Starscream. That will undo everything we’ve accomplished-“

“What have we accomplished?!”

“It will undo everything I’ve had to waste my time sitting through, then. Starscream- Starscream-!”

The seeker twisted out of his grasp and, before she could attempt to take flight and race over to the senate to claim herself a pretty, new neck piece, Megatron caught her about the waist and struggled against her sheer force of selfish will to keep her thrusters grounded. Possibly the first time the foolish creature had ever posed such a real and bothersome threat to him.

She attempted lift off again anyway, squashing Megatron’s face into her cockpit as she scratched and clawed and fought for freedom. Mechs typing away at their terminals, desperately trying to ignore the chaos behind them, were inches away from breaking their far less bendable struts than the average civil mech’s by crouching so far down into their stations, some of the mechs with kibble were scraping against raw protoform.

Hiding from emotional conflict like true Decepticons.

Megatron hadn’t been met with this level of danger from the seeker in years. He was afraid he was about to meet his match when, finally, another pair of servos circled her about the waist from the other side, and she was brought back down between Megatron and her other captor.

She didn’t struggle, preserving some ounce of dignity after that extremely unbecoming display.

But the mournful look in her optic was back, and the hitch in her vocalizer was fresh, as she hiccuped an aborted sniff. Muted only by the grind of her denta in a valiant effort to compose herself.

“He was jus- t… trying to help me… No one’s…” She steadied herself.

“No one’s ever done that before…”

Megatron stared, unable to think of a single thing to say to break the uncomfortable spell cast over them, as he looked at his normally carefully distant Second. So careful not to be vulnerable- and never in front of Megatron, for Primus’ sake.

What had these negotiations done to them?

His fearless warriors…

Perhaps he could say to her that Optimus Prime was just one mech, and a young, inexperienced one. No more a crucial factor in her getting the representation Megatron was hard pressed to say her obedient clones didn’t actually deserve, even if she herself did not. But then, Optimus was apparently also the only one pushing this issue that Megatron hadn’t even been made aware of- because the admittedly accurate assumption of Starscream’s was that he hadn’t cared to be.

What he was mortifyingly close to understanding now, though, was that Optimus Prime was important to Starscream’s cause, and far from worthy of the routine mistreatment he received from of his own people.

Unless, of course, Megatron thought that his people secretly deserved such mistreatment themselves- the kind Optimus was tirelessly fighting against, though somehow failing to establish for himself. Like, if Megatron didn’t explicitly know better, Optimus was attempting to put the needs of a few Decepticons, the deserving ones, before his own… Like their proper treatment was at least worth fighting for…

He could say instead that Starscream was letting her behavior consume her and was looking a pitiful mess for it, and as vain as she was, that’d be devastating enough to hear that she might drop the issue. She had only recently established a change in the designation of her pronouns without receiving a reformation with it, garnering plenty of odd looks and outright rejection from the sleek and well-defined frames of civil types and those identifying similarly. The way they’d rejected Strika and Blackarachnia for not fitting certain standards.

It’d left Starscream feeling more fragile about her appearance and reputation lately, and such a thing would be shattering to have to acknowledge when her anger finally subsided and the weight of it all settled upon her.

But goading Starscream for something Megatron himself was constantly struggling against felt undeservedly hateful- the fight to be accepted and respected as well, as a Cybertronian with rights.

Though he couldn’t believe that Starscream didn’t seem deserving of a perfectly effective punishment he could inflict upon her.

“Thundercracker helps jou all ze time.” Said Blitziwng then, finally breaking the overwhelming tension of the moment. His grip still carefully settling her in her place.

Megatron blinked himself out of his stupor, out of his embarrassing lull of feeling guilt and concern for the seeker, and loosened his grip on her then.

Starscream took the opportunity to push both their arms from off her frame and sulk away with her wings indeed held pitifully low. They watched her go, and cords unwinding and struts re-straightening could be heard across the bridge in unison.

“Seekers are moody.” Blitzwing suggested, after a look over his unusually beaten master.

As evidenced by said former seeker’s split personalities, Megatron would agree with that assessment, and spun around in a hasty retreat from anymore emotional confrontations.

————————————

He didn’t allow himself to miss any deliberations after that, lest Starscream subject him to anymore of that guilt still weighing heavy in his spark with another pent up tirade about discrimination in her own faction some ways down the line.

This, watching Motormaster -a recent addition to high command and a poor one- barter for ‘derby rights’, however, wasn’t much better…

“Street racing is illegal.” Optimus said simply- something he’d picked up from Fanzone that had interestingly never been applicable to a race of sentiment, self-driving vehicles before.

Motormaster and his Stunticons were a… different breed, however. One which demanded a new definition for what qualified as ‘safe and legal driving’.

“You mean it’s illegal for war types ta’do it.” Motormaster growled back at him.

Plenty of other Decepticons here today would agree with that false assumption, simply for the sake of being contradictory. Flight frames included.

These talks hadn’t really done a thing to change the relationships between their peoples. They were all still viewing one another as an enemy threat, which, while true, would do nothing to help their goal of changing that viewpoint later on for their futures together.

Megatron wasn’t sure he wanted that to happen, though.

“Why in spark is this bolt head here?” Sentinel said loudly then, turning to Optimus. The only other mech there brave enough to speak over the terrifying Stunticon leader.

Interestingly enough, Sentimel Prime wasn’t particularly frightened to speak his mind at the insubordinate bastard either.

Megatron made a note of it for future blackmailings. He couldn’t send someone the airheaded Prime wasn’t afraid of to do his manipulating.

“Motormaster is Polyhex's defence garrison.” Optimus sighed, having a rare moment of sharing in Sentinel’s distress during one of these meetings.

“Uh-huh. Which you should be the one voicing all the complaints of.” Sentinel said, pointing at the Polyhexian governor, Straxus. Who Megatron had been embarrassingly forced to welcome into the senate, as his mostly made up position also came with lots of mostly made up authorities and responsibilities.

Then Starxus had the audacity -in front of Megatron- to speak.

“Well, yes… I suppose so. Would you… like me, too?”

Strika whipped her helm back to send Megatron a withering look of disgust- which he could share the sentiment of.

Straxus, never soft spoken and never one to acknowledge when he was speaking out of turn and not worth the hot air he was blowing out of his pincered mouth, had been using that tone in regards to Sentinel every time he spoke to the other mech for several weeks now.

Alpha Trion had, again, not so subtlety raised curious optics towards the display. Making his own list of alarming mental notes that Megatron would rather him not be keeping on even his most useless of subordinates.

“Our needs are individual.” Straxus said simply to the court at large.

“Burning excess energy is not a staple of my function, as it is a Stunticons. I’m a big mech. I need to conserve Energon, you know. Might I say, a very big mech…”

Straxus finished by staring pointedly at Sentinel again. Optimus watched from the corner of his optic, extremely invested in his colleague’s reaction- which was only to shuffle his datapads in front of his obnoxious face to hide it, like his notes were more important than addressing the issue he himself had caused by challenging the High Governor himself.

It was a rare moment the plow had been effectively silence.

“Alright then…” Optimus began slowly, clearly disappointed there wasn’t anything more to that interaction.

“Motormaster, war frames are obviously built with fewer limitations than civil frames. Releasing all your frustrations out on the public will result in injuries… To say the least.”

“So we’re just s’posed to fly over to Polyhex anytime we want to spin our wheels!? Get our exercise in?! It’s our right, y’know!”

“No, there are city destinations specifically designed for war frame inhabitants.” Optimus countered, much too calm in Megatron’s foul-tempered opinion. He’d like to see Motormaster verbally whipped to pieces in one of Optimus’ scathing sass-attacks from having lost his patience.

“Where are they?” Motormaster asked smugly, knowing the little Prime had just set himself up for another bout of endless bickering over the inadequacies of care the prejudiced Autobots were bleeding them of.

Which, true, but-

“They haven’t been built yet,” Shockwave -the biggest slight on the company of the proceeding council of any Decepticon mech here- answered on Optimus’ behalf. Though his presence had been won through the stipulation of Megatron agreeing to sign Magnus’ Decepticon Registration Act Part ll, he regretted nothing for the sake of the joy his place on the council had brought him.

“They are scheduled to be completed in less than another decacycle.” Shockwave leant over to stare at Motormaster.

“You can wait a little longer to run your tires to bare threads, can’t you?”

There was an air of irritation about the secular mech. Megatron eyed him several seat podiums down. Sitting as far away from the Magnus as Shockwave could be put.

Shockwave didn’t wait for the other mech’s answer, of course.

“Optimus Prime has personally seen to the construction and collection of the resources needed to make it so. He’s single-handedly enlisted the help of the specialists needed to build these destinations, no less. Much of whom, surprisingly, are volunteers.”

Megatron tried…… VERY HARD…… not to think about the lowly Prime’s status as a former maintenance bot at that.

And yet, the searing reminder kept persisting -as it always did- because Megatron could only imagine with a reputation of such casual dislike amongst a good many of his peers these negotiations had garnered Optimus, there were only so many ‘specialist builders’ he could think of who were going to volunteer the first hand construction of Decepticon resources. And one of them had been severely -possibly permanently- hospitalized because of him in the heat of their final Earth battle before his capture…

“Optimus Prime this, Optimus Prime that.” Said Hook suddenly from a seat behind Megatron.

Hook, the studious, current chief Decepticon medic -after Scalpel had proved both morally unstable (Megatron’s favorite thing about him) and unwilling to subject himself to negotiating with Autobots. He was happy preforming horrible medical services inside his medbay in or out of an everlasting war either way, so it was up to the newly integrated member of Scrapper and Mixmaster’s gestalt to appear before them all today.

Megatron turned his helm to see the insufferable mech speaking his mind -also out of turn, as was his mech’s habit- and caught a worrying glimpse of Strika at his side, looking murderous and ready to stand and punch a new hole in the Constructicon’s head.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

“When exactly is Optimus Prime going to get a seat in the center of the court, so he can delegate all these matters for you?” Hook said, speaking as a whole to the Autobot chairmen across the room. Likely just upset still that he’d been denied special medical privileges to Autobot hospitals.

Probably for questionable access to the resources and records.

But the offhanded comment struck a devastating chord with the audience it’d been addressed to. Megatron watched curiously as facial plates twisted in disbelief and some in outrage.

“Preferably where jou are sitting, Magnus.” Said Strika then, and hardly in jest. Significantly adding to the problem.

Megatron’s field flared beside her in quiet despair for her to silence her vocalizer. His processor spinning with the implications that he had just become the sole protector of the Autobot High Command by trying to keep his mechs civil long enough to give this peace an honest try.

Optimus, constantly challenging the council mechs himself, certainly wasn’t there to do it.

What were these negotiations doing to them?

“I second that.” Said a voice from out of the blue.

It drifted in over the polished floor from afar. Indeed, far, far beneath the deliberators’ notice.

All the way to where Saberswipe was stood guarding his respective door at full attention.

He was relatively young for a war machine and stupidly charismatic, thinking both were enough to buy him some leeway in to injecting his opinion on matters 30 sectors above his ranking. Megatron bit back an almighty need to show him which level he was on with his fusion canon then.

“You are not to speak!” Said Sentinel Prime, having recovered from Straxus’ unwavering optic-ogling assault across the way.

“Agreed,” said Alpha Trion. Not one to allow nonsense of even this caliber. Though Megatron suspected he enjoyed a lower form of it in these drawn out meetings when the mood allowed for it.

“Leave at once, guardsmen. There is no a place for you here.”

“I’ll see him out!” Said Optimus suddenly. Standing and, without anyone’s permission, making his way down the platforms and over the length of the cavernous room to greet a happily surprised looking Saberswipe.

Megatron watched with furrowed optical ridge as the taller jet’s charming smile convinced a timid smile out of the shorter mech, before they awkwardly shuffled towards the door.

“This conference will proceed without you, Optimus Prime.” Came Ultra Magnus’ first articulate sentence of the exhausting cycle, as he watched the little truck with tired optics.

“Are you sure you wish to conclude for the remainder of it?”

Optimus had stopped walking with a far too close Saberswipe at his side to address his leader then.

“I’m causing you all too much trouble.” He said as way of shoddy explanation, barely suppressing an amused smile at the Decepticon portion of the room.

“Pheh. That’s everyday.” Senator Botanica seemed to say rather warmly as the little firetruck went on his way. She was possibly one of the few who were steadily becoming too fond of the brash little mech to think badly of his efforts.

Megatron sat, watchful optics taking it all in as the two retreating mechs came even closer together as they exited the door to the chambers, centimeters apart. And feeling somewhat… disappointed all at once.

While this wasn’t an issue Optimus needed to be present for or press anymore, as hopefully the council wouldn’t deign to change subjects of debate and infringe on anybot’s rights while he wasn’t around, his presence was still…. Necessary.

To Megatron’s gargantuan surprise, Optimus Prime, creating a steady pace of good deeds and commendable civil works for even some of Megatron’s more undeserving of mechs, was, in fact, necessary.

Of all the things Megatron expected to hear during the proceeding conversation in Optimus’ absence, Shockwave leaning forward to jab a talon at Motormaster and hissing, “You just ran him off! The only sensible Autobot here!” Was not one of them.

A Decepticon as unfeeling as a slab of dead durasteel tissue, and thinking favorably about a nobody little Autobot?

Not at all…

Apparently that irritation he was sensing off Shockwave from earlier was on behalf of the little Prime’s shockingly genuine efforts for the Decepticon Cause, and not because Prime kept inserting himself into issues.

It was worrying to think the ‘Decepticon Cause’, though, had somehow shifted to a cause centered on finding themselves a place on this planet. A semi-peaceful one. One that didn’t speak of domination and death.

But even that was not more worrying than thinking his arguably lost monstrously devoid mechs would be so supportive of one little Autobot’s attempts to make that so.

————————————

It was only a matter of time until someone was going to snap. Tensions between their two peoples were too high, and Prime just had to keeping shoving his olfactory into places it didn’t belong.

Megatron was contacted almost immediately after a team of medics were by a suspiciously blocked frequency. Meaning whoever they were, they may have been involved- which didn’t narrow down who that could possibly be with so many bots on both sides making questionable choices all throughout this merging.

What he was certain of, was that Rippersnapper had seemed to have wandered too far from the other Terrorcons and was doing his damnedest to make a mess for everyone.

Which meant Megatron was now looking for a mecha sized shark-former with a thousand tonnes too many to be laying his hands on a little, overly assertive Prime- most likely having been there ordering him to leave the civilian gallery for his foul, reckless behavior. Stepping on the crystalline garden dividers and biting at the air below where terrified civilians scurried out of range to keep their helms in tact.

Megatron was beyond furious to be reduced to playing dog catcher, but with peace as precarious as it was, this was too severe an offense to go beneath him. Being their faction wide leader, Megatron was already out of his berth from a restless recharge and bounding out the docking bay to put a stop to it.

Knowing his Terrorcons (about to be the newly dubbed ‘Torn-to-pieces-Cons’ once he got ahold of him) Rippersnapper would have steadily become more and more deranged in the time Megatron had taken to fly there. Which would have been sooner, if he’d just agreed to temporary housing in the city limit already.

And Prime for his part would have surely been an overwhelming nuisance who’d deserved what Rippersnapper had served to him, no doubt. Standing up to an entire war machine and telling him that he should literally watch his mouth and learn to act like a decent mech- even if he wouldn’t have been in the wrong for it…

Megatron’s men knew what was expected of them now- what was expected of them even more so at the moment, while they hoped to outlast the final phase of these negotiations until citizenships were finally trusted to be granted to them.

And while he couldn’t fault any of them for feeling disrespected and belittled by a mech from a faction that’d had them all disgraced from their own home planet in the first place, Megatron had had to do the unthinkable to make this union work and set aside all personal grudges for the sake of his people. He’d had to let go.

At least, he had to look like he had, and so they did, too.

And now he was going to be forced to make an example out of one of them… just to prove how seriously he was going to take his massive warriors acting out in public. Just to assure the Civilian Council that he could be trusted to conduct himself professionally enough for them to take a gamble on attempting a trial of peace with him.

Beyond the fury he felt at realizing now how desperate he actually was to see this union succeed, Megatron was carefully calculating all the ways to tortuously take out his frustrations on the Terrorcon for having forced him essentially to defend the Prime who he hated most in the infinite universe.

Megatron reached the city limit and prepared to land soon.

He was going to grab Rippersnapper by the sensitive dorsal fin and pull his mechanical gills out- make him choke around Megatron’s strangling servo stuffing itself down his intake. Help him to understand, and any present to witness it, that this was intolerable, and that their master would be eating the sparks of any wretch foolish enough to do such a thing in the future.

Jeopardizing all the humiliating work Megatron had put into sitting through those brain numbing Council calls at heinous hours of the cycle in an increasingly more unordered fashion (which was somewhat bound to be the case, since they had Decepticons keeping chairs in the chambers)….

And he was in danger of losing l all of that, because one shark shifter had the split second insanity to put their hands on one of Primus’ precious chosen ones. Even a disgraced nobody Prime who was only important in title.

When Megatron arrived at the open gallery with the anonymous coordinates he’d been sent, he soon realized that none of his fantasies about brutalizing Rippersnapper would even be necessary.

To his amazement, the commended portion of Optimus Prime’s reputation as a burgeoning enthusiast for cross-faction equality had reached far and wide in the Decepticon’s ranks, and while Megatron wasn’t sure what he’d done to elicit the favor of the brilliant Combaticon leader, Onslaught, Megatron now suddenly found himself rather desperate to know.

Just how far out of the loop was he? How lost had he been to all the mountainous changes in his mechs while he was allowing his mind to focus on Magnus and the stale moving parts of the senate that’s he’d missed this?

The wondrous world he was only catching the tail-end glimpses of that Optimus Prime was hand building?

At this point, Megatron had to wonder if in the event this all did fall through, if whether it would even be a real loss, now that they had such a widely liked, capable mech like Optimus Prime so openly advocating for them.

What it would matter, though, purely beyond sentiment, amounted to very little, and their people were not attached to ideas such as that.

Megatron blinked himself back to the present so that he could assess the damage, as crowds of traumatized civil bots, watching with their backs flat to the surrounding buildings as Brawl beat a hole into the opposite side of Rippersnapper’s sternum. Missing his spark by an inch, blessedly preferring his victims to live long enough to remember the lessons he enforced. Megatron would rather not have his mechs be publicly broadcasting an infighting casualty.

Vortex was cheering Brawl on from over his shoulder, hovering too close again, about to receive another accidental, friendly-fire medbay visit.

Megatron was starting to see the necessity in Sentinel pushing for divided recreational sects in the cities, despite Optimus’ best intentions to see everyone coexist and treat one another with the proper respect.

The average civil mech didn’t possess a quarter of the foul tempered, carnal aggression a Decepticon gestalt did. Feeding off one another and causing a ruckus, encouraged further by the other supportive members of the group, aiding in some way to the destruction.

Megatron debated which position to take then.

Whether to do damage control and hoist the heavy mechs up and away from the near lifeless body, Energon puddling up beneath its cold frame, or to focus on calling for someone of Autobot authority to come separate and treat the horrified civilians present for the mental strain of what they’d just witnessed. Were still witnessing.

He’d finally had the processor to deduce that the mechs on the scene at the time that somebot had called for the ‘authorities’ must have been of Decepticon descent themselves- and they had naturally missed the point of calling for authorities entirely by calling upon a mech they assumed would allow them to finish the job first. And while he was certain now whoever they were they’d had some kind of part in all this, Megatron would admit that their assessment that he would rejoice in his warrior’s hardy bloodbath first would have been an accurate assumption in any other setting. In one where he was not currently issuing for the position of a willing protector of Cybertron.

As the Decepticon medics that’d been alerted were being painfully slow to respond to the anonymous caller -and would not have had the understanding to do so themselves- someone was going to have to tell Ultra Magnus about this…

Out of time since one breem ago, however; Megatron would have to deal with this before anyone actually useful to Prime could arrive.

His optics tracked back over to the incredibly damning sight he’d been subconsciously avoiding since he’d glanced optics over it.

Optimus was there being cradled like a broken doll against Onslaughts’ massive chestplate. Being held higher than any horrified Autobot’s brave enough to collect their mess of a Prime could reach.

There were evidently no takers around at the moment, though, which caused something odd to shift in Megatron’s core beliefs, as he considered for himself the notion that acts of blind bravery would predominantly be their jobs soon- war machines. As it had been once before the divide of their peoples.

It was the only exchange he could offer the Auotbots for the new age of peace- to protect. To fulfill once more their shackling roles as the guardians of weak, ungrateful, prejudiced little civil mechs, and face the atrocities lurking in the cosmos in lieu of the pampered, privileged, sheltered little things doing it themselves.

Oh, how these things had a way of repeating themselves. It’d left a bitter taste in his mouth… at first.

But now… seeing how easily Onslaught had resumed control of the situation so abysmally out of the little ones’ depths, undoubtedly the one to thank for saving the Prime’s life as he had…

Civilians weren’t entirely useless to their species by any means, but a Decepticon easily outweighing them in strength size and ferocity were only the start of their problems in a galaxy much, much bigger than them.

As bad as it was, this could have been far worse.

Megatron looked twice and noticed that Swindle had materialized out of thin air at some point, possibly having been there the whole time, expertly sneaking about his brother with his shorter stature. Busy trying to talk Onslaught into purchasing a cushion to elevate Prime’s dripping helm, as Onslaught wasn’t capable of much in the way of a delicate touch.

Pink dribbled down the Combaticon��s torso as he shifted the body in his servos.

Megatron did a quick sweep next to locate the only brother missing, Blast Off, and decided whatever his involvement, it was not detrimental to him securing the crisis finally.

Megatron chose action over dissertation, leaving the innocent bystanders to console themselves -thankfully a rather hardier lot than Megatron had come to realize he’d given them credit for. Some of them shaking themselves from their stupor at the sight of him and doing what the others present had neglected in their shock by calling the Autobot forces.

There, now Magnus knew…

With that decided, Megatron marched over to the supervising Combaticon leader to work towards fixing the most pressing problem at the moment.

Fixing Prime.

Onslaught’s visor dipped in his direction, as Swindle used the magic of monkey business to all but disappear again.

“Let me have this.” Megatron said as he took the Prime away.

There was no quarrel as he was unceremoniously dumped into Megatron’s single servo, as Onslaught watched their leader whisk him away to someplace unknown.

Despite having had his servos around Prime’s waist once before, hefting him up as weightlessly as a cube of Energon, he felt even lighter now.

Worried he’d lost his grip on him, Megatron stole a look down at a peek of white denta behind full lips. The badly bruised Prime slack jawed and unmoving, beyond his helm as it was lifted and supported by Megatron’s servo.

He thankfully didn’t get very far toting a battered Prime off before a pair of civilian medics arrived well ahead of his disgracefully arrogant ones.

Protocols hadn’t been set in the event of something like this. And he was considering forgiving everyone who’d done well enough to become involved for treating the situation as casually and non-life threateningly as it actually was. Few would have the foresight and understanding that walking away from a mauling like this wasn’t nearly as common a shift-end activity as it was for Decepticons.

He could have Shockwave conduct a thorough lecture on the matter later and instill in them the severity of situations like this.

He allowed the civilian medics to carry the unconscious trucker away, decidedly too awake now to attempt sleep again.

He wandered a bit, deep in thought about the behavior he’d witnessed from the fearsome, calculative, rather far removed from even the appeal to sentiment itself, Onslaught. Holding the husk of a Prime, shielding him carefully from any potential threats- essentially anybot that wasn’t himself or a mech of higher rank than him.

And he considered how easily Onslaught could protect him- any civilian. How easily they could protect these hapless, idiot things that went well out of their jurisdiction as maintenance bots to tip the world upon its head and demand it show them respect.

How fitting their new role on Cybertron felt all at once.

How wasteful it felt to think that their natural abilities would have easily been provided and cherished and appreciated by all if they had had a mech like Optimus around to fight ruthlessly for their chance to be. They’d been missing respect and loyalty, not a proper calling.

That thought struck him to the core, and he quickly dismissed it. The Cause he’d given the Decepticons was founded in spark-deep, honest conviction. They had thrived and conquered for millennia, even from the shadows, by standing proudly in their beliefs that they had been onlined with the natural born rights to.

He couldn’t… let himself… forget that. Be manipulated so carelessly astray.

Megatron noticed yet another Decepticon gestalt in the form of the ever expanding, newly banded Constructicons, moseying their way down the street to go put Rippersnapper back together again.

At their heights, it was easy for them to spot one another and salute him. And then he noticed some of their optics catching on his chest plates.

Once they had moved on to finally fulfill their roles here -leaving Megatron to wonder when Constructicons had been given the title of ‘acting medics’, beyond the carefully appointed Hook- he looked down to where they’d been staring at the single, Energon soaked palm print one little Autobot had left there.

———————-

END PART ONE, YOU’RE SAFE NOW. I split this thing up cuz HOO damn, I am just unstable when I made this. Even now there’s like two other parts, I can’t stop talking about thiiiis

For all of you that read this far, you deserved a better proofread then what you got. I know there are lots of mistakes, but if I had proofread this even twice after indulging myself as deeply as I had with all this fluff, I would have died.

Appreciation AU will be the connecting tag I use to the other parts

#Appreciation AU #Crude Aggressive language #swearing #Some Violence #Cultural differences and marginalization #Megatron is a conniving exploitive bastard #Alien blood and some emotional torment #SLOW BURN HOLY SHI #transformers animated #megop #Megatron #Optimus Prime #Strika #Shockwave #Starscream is baby too and transfemme #Onslaught #Secretly jealous Megatron over random oc #I accidentally shipped Sentinel with a heartless miscreant And this is the first time I’ve had courage to admit this #tfa Megatron #tfa optimus #tfa

[pursuitseternal]

Your drive to read should “Instinctually” make you read this chapter of “Dark Wolf of the Woods:”

Ready to read on AO3

Fandom: Saurondriel, First Age

Rating: Mature for graphic wolf-related violence

Summary: Red Riding Hood AU inspired by @meohme-thedorklord ‘s post. First Age Sauron trapped as a werewolf after failing at Tol-in-Gaurhoth. His sulking world turns upside down when he meets a certain She-elf coming to save her brother, conveniently dressed in a red cloak.

#my fic post #red riding hood au #pawron #Sauron gets Scritches #good boi #some violence #mind the tags #sauron #the rings of power #haladriel #lotr rings of power #rings of power #saurondriel #lotr rop #haladriel fanfic #sauron x galadriel #halbrand

[bespectacled-bookwyrm]

Spliced - Chapter 1

Summary: It was a fate he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy - and yet it befell an innocent.

Let me know what you think! :)

#My writing #Fanfic link #AO3 link #Colress #Grimsley #falsepretensesshipping #Horror #Inspired by Fullmetal Alchemist #Body horror #Some violence #Chimera AU #Chimaera AU

[herarcadewasteland]

Protection Comes At A Cost

A/N: For the wonderful and overly sweet, @orchidyoonkook. It's.... dark ish.... but still your concept and I hope it satisfies your craving for a complete fic even though its a oneshot.

-CEO!Jungkook x Bodyguard!Reader (reversed bodyguard!jk because brain said no, hope its okay still though)

-violence and confusion from my brain. This got sad... and is very fast-paced. curse you, brain

~~~~~~~~~~

You followed him like a shadow, his safety your only goal as he walked through the streets in his expensive suit with his bouncy, fluffy and downright sinful hair. Your job was simple. Protect Jeon Jungkook at all costs. Easier said than done as he went around town doing the stupidest things. Just last week he had pulled you by your bulletproof vest to watch a drug exchange in the dark alleyway behind a hotel near his office. The men hadn’t noticed your intrusion until Jungkook had laughed at something they said, leading the two of you to be searched for weapons, your silenced pistol and throwing knives being removed from your person as Jungkook was robbed of the money he had in his wallet. 

Attempting to negotiate your way out of the situation led to Jungkook being held back while you were kicked and stomped on until your breaths came out wheezed as blood pooled around your outstretched hand that had been stabbed in the hustle of the whole thing. Your training kicked in soon after and you had taken them down one by one as Jungkook sat and watched you beat the life out of men who had almost done the same to you. Your hand ached further afterwards but broken ribs and a stabbed hand were the least of your worries when Jungkook grunted in pain. At this point in your career as his bodyguard, you had learnt his different noises. This one, even to the untrained ear, was clearly pained. And it made sense when you turned to him after strangling a man with his shoelace to see him holding a bullet wound in his leg. 

The event led to physical therapy for your hand and a large scar running across the inside of it while Jungkook limped through his building with his usual smile and waves. Your paid leave for healing was boring in short, your days filled with Youtube and some Netflix while praying that your boss just stayed within the safety of his building until you were cleared to go back. Your co-workers told you he had done just that, staying in the building except to leave with a group of 6 following him closely. Your relationship with the other 6 was not unknown as you frequently… entangled in the throes of desire with them. Jungkook knew of those days, he always knew everything about you somehow. It never surprised you. He had to keep his tabs on employees to be sure they were being legal and not doing anything dumb. One of these nights is what he approached you with on your return.

“Y/N. My lovely bodyguard and personal assassin~ You see, I’ve been keeping tabs on my guards as always and it’s been made blatantly clear that you’ve been indulging in sexual behaviors with the others. I have no issue with this, just so you’re aware. I’m very glad you’re relieving yourself in that way.”, his jealousy and nervous tone seeped through your ears as his small boyish smile lit up his face, “All I ask is that you don’t do those things in the guard room… with security cameras…”

He chuckled anxiously as he turned his laptop to face you, your own ass being shown to you with the one and only Min Yoongi, hacker and bodyguard, pounding into you. Your face turned red as you coughed, his eyes avoiding yours as you deleted the footage. 

“I am so sorry, Mr. Jeon. It won’t happen again. You have my word. I’m truly sorry you had to see that.”

He mumbled his acceptance with something that suspiciously sounded like ‘I’m not’. Shaking it off, you turned to leave the room, not having to be in the same room constantly when he was secure and very safe. People passed your station with nods and brief conversation of how your hand was doing. “Fine, just stiff.” was your response to everyone who had asked you until your beloved break. 

Entering the guard room was always fun but having that security footage in your mind was making it slightly less fun. The boys greeted you with enthusiasm as always, Yoongi and Seokjin on their breaks with you. Conversation turned from topic to topic as you ate in peace, a smile on your face for the first time that day that wasn’t forced as you relaxed with your friends… with benefits. The truth was, you hated Jeon Jungkook. His cocky smiles and walk made you seethe and the events of the alley made you hate him more. He had caused so many sticky situations for the two of you that you just couldn’t stand him anymore. At first you had enjoyed your work around him but he got more confidence, more money and more stupidity. It evolved enough for you to hate him. And to think you had a crush on him when you started as an intern in business. Bodyguarding, if that’s what you called it, was much more suited to your strengths in the end when you stopped a pickpocket with a blink of an eye, Jungkook not even noticing the old man attached to his pocket. That was the turning point of your crush. If he could be so distant from his body and not feel that, how in the hell would he handle a relationship? The continual decline in his competence in your mind left quickly. It wasn’t difficult to live with though, his constant attention for everyone else giving you reprieve from it until you were alone with him. 

A stab wound was not all you were willing to take to keep him safe despite your hatred for him, but as you chowed down on your beloved pizza pockets, you didn’t care. At least until the building went into shut down and Hoseoks voice filtered into your walkie talkie from his CCTV station in the building. 

“10-33. Copy? 10-33, Jeon in danger.”

You shot out of your chair instantly, hands gathering your gun as you sprinted through the halls, gunshots ringing from above you as you took the stairs 3 at a time. Safety off, you burst through the doors of the 7th floor, Jungkooks office door wide open and his secretary dead on the floor, blood winding down her head to hit the carpet. You shook your head and pushed forward, steps light and finger on the trigger. Stepping into the office with a large stride, your gun was knocked from your hand before you could react, your arms being wrenched behind you as you noticed Jungkook being held at gunpoint by Park Jimin, his biggest competitor. For businessmen, this was extreme, you thought as you were forced down onto your knees. The struggle tired out your captors, clearly not used to being fought so intensely. 

“Now, Jungkookie. We have you and your little pet. It’s either you cooperate with me and accept my deal or you both die in a tragic homicide-suicide.” Park's voice hit you like a wall as you focused on Jungkook's reactions.

Something had happened that you weren't partial too. You didn’t care what per say, just that Jungkook had put himself, and others, in danger once again. He was infuriating you at this point. But you were here to protect him. And that's what you would do. Swinging a leg out to kick the back of Jimin’s leg, he fell forward, gun firing off towards the windows as his head hit the desk. Park knocked out cold, the two holding you were your next focus. Their arms snapped back in unnatural positions, their cries cut short as you punched them once your hands were free. Pain shot through your hand as you punched, the pain making you see white until you were punched in return. The new ache in your pushed you forward as you knocked the men to the ground, Jungkook standing and watching with a proud smirk. That annoyed you enough to swing a man at the large windows, his body flying through it and sailing down onto the street, the screams of pedestrians meeting your ears to let you know he had landed in a grizzly scene. 

“Just. fucking. die!”, you shouted at the last man as you slammed him to the ground.

A slow clap filled the room as you stood straight and fixed your loose hair with a sigh, removing it from your vision. Your gaze snapped to Jungkook in anger as he chuckled and walked around the desk to place his hands on your shoulders.

“That was awesome. We should do that more often!”, he clapped you on the back and started out of the office, his eyes tracing the blood soaked hallway.

A click caught your ears and you froze. Another click. A third. A spin of metal. A click.

Thud. 

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your heart rate picked up as you heard the revolver being loaded for use. Your eyes landed on the guy you body slammed, his breathing very slow. Eyes moving to the other CEO, you inhaled sharply. The revolver in his hand caught the light as he lined it up with Jungkook’s fluffy head of hair. Your mind going blank, you sprinted for Jungkook, his body turning to question you with a large smile until a gunshot rang through the space, your ears ringing as the force of something colliding with your back sent you flying into Jungkook. Bodies tumbling on the floor, you heard a distant laugh that clearly belonged to Jimin. Your hands searched Jungkook for a bullet wound shakily. Weird, you thought, your hands were never shaky. The gasp your boss let out was enough to have you concentrating on his gaze. Following it to your chest, the large red splatter on your shirt and the hole in it was enough for you to freeze again. 

A painful cough wracked your body as you fell off of Jungkook, blood spilling from the corners of your mouth as you lay in shock. 

“Oh.”, you said in a small voice, fingers probing the exit wound. “That's less than ideal-”

A cough ran through you again and you spluttered blood out onto the floor. Jungkook's hands removed your own from the wound, pressure causing you to cough again as your coworkers ran into the hall with varying gasps of surprise and despair. Yoongi was at your side instantly, helping you sit against Seokjin as his hands pressed on the entry wound. Words of comfort filled the space as you coughed some more, distant sirens letting you smile as your head got heavier. A third set of hands held up your head, but noticing the slick feel of them, you gathered Jungkook had instructed someone else to apply pressure to the exit wound. 

“You can’t die on me, Y/N. Not after everything. I won’t allow it. I know you hate me, I know. But I love you. I have since you stopped that pickpocket. You were so cool to me at that moment… I knew I had to gain your affections at some point.”, he trailed off before rambling about every moment his love grew for you.

The alley incident. A shopping mall mishap. The pizza thing and today. Little moments in between had helped his love for you grow but each moment you showed your dedication to keeping him alive, even if it meant a serious injury and possibly a collapsed lung. It made your head spin. Or perhaps it was the blood loss. Either way, as his sweet voice filled your entire being and his eyes traced your features lovingly, you realized that maybe you hadn’t stopped liking him at all. Despite his annoyance and constant want for danger and adrenaline, you loved him like he loved you. It was funny how blood loss and being so close to death let you realize just how much you appreciate something you believed you didn’t. 

“I- Jungkook, I know.”, you paused to cough, “I realize I love you too. Your stupid-”

Cough.

“Your stupid face and beautiful hair…”, you groaned in pain as someone applied more pressure, “Your dumb jokes in the morning and the spring in your step when we go out somewhere…”

Jungkook chuckled and shushed you, tears in everyone's eyes as your voice got weaker and rougher. His hands cradled your face as you heard people rushing through the building, people shouting over each other at bodies until a paramedic reached your floor. The stretcher following behind him made your heavy head fill with confusion until you glanced drearily over at the blurred figure of Hoseok, phone in hand with a sad smile, acknowledging your unspoken thought.

You were content dying in that moment. You had told Jungkook the truth you were denying yourself, your friends were around you and you protected him. At that point, you couldn’t ask for more. The light people talked about came closer, the comforting cold that came with it drawing you in as your grandparents stood to the side of it. Beckoning you. It was so comforting and tempting, Jungkooks panicked voice as you went limp in their arms falling into the abyss surrounding the light. 

That was where you were supposed to be. You had a feeling about it just nudging you towards it. But you focused. Suddenly you were above the scene. Jungkook nearly sobbing as he shook you and lightly slapped your cheeks to wake you up, Yoongi crying silently as he pressed harder on your wound, Namjoon’s hands on your front now doing CPR as tears trailed down his face. The paramedics lifted you onto the stretcher, your limp hand falling over the edge and into Jungkook's larger palm as you watched from above. It wasn't right. You couldn’t leave him. Not him. Never him. Pushing through the abyss towards your own figure in the stretcher, you reached. You lost sight of everything in the next moment, darkness filling your being as you faded.

—---------------------------------------------

Bolting upright in the bed, you gasped, your chest aching with pain as a voice filled your ears. It was frantic, excited, almost overbearing as you heard a more calm voice quiet the voice. 

“Miss L/N. Can you hear me? I’m going to have to ask you to look at me now.”

Your eyes focused slowly, the blue threaded blanket leaving your view as you took a deep breath. That was a bad idea, you thought as you winced and focused on the person with the white coat. Ah. The hospital. You managed to survive it all apparently. Open chest surgery, the ride, your recovery and one more surgery. The doctor ran through basic diagnostics, your eyes were focused on Jungkook though. The bags under his eyes, his thinner frame, weak smile. It was clear he hadn’t taken care of himself during your recovery. Doctor Chen left soon after, your vitals fine and everything functioning well, your stitches closing nicely. 

“You’re awake.”

“You look like shit.”

“Says you, Miss ‘I’m going to take a bullet for you now’”.

You huffed a laugh, careful of your stitches as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I had no choice. Protection comes at a cost, y’know. This was the cost, so be it.”

Your voice scratched at your throat after so long without use, your hands reaching for the cup of water and Jungkook's hand as you sipped on the cool water. A cough left you and you groaned, Jungkook's arms wrapping around you gently in a hug as he whispered over and over how glad he was to have you in his life. You interrupted him with a small laugh, a smile on your face as you guided him to make eye contact with you.

“This first date kinda sucks, Kook. You’re gonna have to do better for the rest.”

Laughter filled the space, your friends and family came and left and your hand held his the entire time.

Now, years later and walking down the aisle, your daughter bouncing by her father at the altar, you would never not say that protecting him was worth all of this and more. All you had to do was protect your daughter now. And fuck if that wouldn’t be a large task. She took after her father that way.

#reader insert #herarcadewasteland #bts #fanfiction #bts jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #some violence #orchidyoonkook

[dominimoonbeam]

And That’s Why We Broke Up

Obviously this isn’t for everyone (nothing really ever is though...) and if you’re not into Vega AT ALL, don’t worry about skipping this. You take care of you and I’ll just keep supplying different fics! <3

(I personally like to just pretend that horrible Caelum moment didn’t happen, okay? Caelum still finds out about Ivan and hatches a plan to rescue the humans from the sadism daemon. Vega is still a mega jerk but just, you know, not a Caelum breaking jerk… because that shit was bad. But you do you!)

And I absolutely gave Vega galaxy eyes because of the recent art @pearl-kite did with the galaxy skin! <3 <3 <3 I asked first. They said it was okay.

Cam/Vega

Vega pays his long ago ex, Cam, a visit after escaping the Department only to discover Cam in some danger of his own.

tags: Vega isn’t being Vega level bad here but he is in it so if you hate him maybe skip it?, drugging, threat of danger, protective Vega, non-con feeding. 

And That’s Why We Broke Up

Vega was not checking on him.

He absolutely wouldn’t do that.

But he drifted close, sliding backward through this world just to watch the other, physically bound, demon’s face.

Cam didn’t lose step or flick his gaze toward where Vega was, he just sighed. “Have you come to gloat about your jailbreak?” he spoke aloud.

Vega grinned even if no one could see it. “You didn’t come to see me, Camelopardalis. Not even once.”

“How would I see you, Vega? You don’t take form.”

“You want me to take form? You want to feel me?”

“Stop.”

Vega did. The words that had been rising in his mind withering like poison blooms with too little water. He had always stopped when Cam said to—at least when it was about Cam. “I could tell you were in the building,” he went on.

Cam shook his head a little, but Vega saw that twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. “No, you couldn’t,” he argued, turning down another street.

Why did he walk? Why not just rift? How many times had they argued about that exact thing? If Vega asked again, would he finally be able to explain it after all these mortal years? “Of course, I could. I always know when you’re close. Don’t you know when I’m close?”

The almost-smile was gone, that cold mask in place again. His gaze locked with Vega’s, even when Vega had no form at all. “No.”

Vega laughed. “You always were bad at lying…”

Cam had stopped walking, standing on the sidewalk in the night with his hands in his pockets. His shoulders were back and his body screamed comfortable ease. He wasn’t afraid. He had no reason to be. They both knew Vega would never hurt him. He loved that Cam still knew that, it might have broken something in him if he’d doubted it. But so much time had passed since they had any sort of relationship, let alone a good one.

“I asked you to come with me,” Cam reminded, his voice softer when he spoke of what they had once been. His voice had always been soft with Vega then, sometimes edged in playful banter and sometimes whispered intimacy.

“I didn’t want to go,” Vega snapped.

“I told you I’d be back,” Cam sighed.

“I didn’t want to wait.”

Cam looked right at him, into him. There was a sadness in the serenity daemon that hadn’t been there when they’d been in Aria together. There was a weight bearing down on his soul that had formed in this world over all those years since, because of the humans. “And that’s why we broke up.”

Vega seethed. It was true and he hated that Cam could always fall back on that. That what ended them hadn’t been arguing over the treatment of their food or any unresolvable difference in their personalities. It had been location and impatience. Cam hadn’t even faulted him for refusing to spend more time on Elegy back then or saying he wouldn’t wait around for moments of Cam’s time. Cam, the son of a bitch, had been understanding. He had let Vega go. Really, he had called his bluff and Vega was too stubborn to admit it.

They both waited for the other to say something, but Cam finally shook his head and started walking again. Dismissing him? Ignoring him? Few would dare.

Vega lingered on the sidewalk, not yet decided on where to go. He wanted to follow Cam but he couldn’t—wouldn’t.

But then Camelopardalis staggered, drawing Vega’s full focus once more. His body listed to the side until he had to put a hand to the wall of a building to steady himself, head down. What the fuck? Vega came closer again, drifting around him and in front of him, getting a look at his face. His eyes were struggling to focus and his breath coming fast. Vega was familiar was the looks of distress and panic. “What’s happening?”

Cam dragged a breath but didn’t use it to talk. His other hand touched his neck like he was feeling his own pulse. “I don’t know. I feel… I don’t know…”

“Rift,” Vega snapped, immaterial hands ghosting over the other daemon’s arms, shoulders, neck, and cheeks. “Go home.”

Cam’s breath came faster and the panic that had started to bloom turned to fear. “I can’t.”

The way he said it, Vega knew he’d tried just now and gotten nowhere.

A group of empowered humans lumbered out of the dark mouth of a street, closing in. “Camelopardalis,” one called, butchering the name with his sloppy human tongue.

Cam turned, leaning his back to the wall. He rolled his eyes like this was a nuisance rather than a nightmare. He leaned his head back to the bricks and cut his gaze to the advancing group. “Go,” he told Vega without looking. Vega realized he was taking care not to let them realize the other daemon was there—to keep them thinking he was all alone. “Go back to Aria.”

“I kind of love when you demons play human,” the man at the lead of the group said when he came to stand in front of Cam, grinning big even though his aura screamed contempt and rage. “You make it so easy to hunt you.”

“Why?” Cam asked, almost a growl to defy the way he still hadn’t moved. Would he fall down if he stepped away from the wall? Had they drugged him?

The dreamwalker shrugged one shoulder. “You’re not really worthwhile, but you’ll get in the way, you understand? We have plans and we can’t have your kind just walking around…”

Not worthwhile?

One of the men behind the dreamwalker, an elemental, took a metal collar from his deep pocket, holding it open and at his side. Vega recognized it. A power dampener. They meant to cage Cam? The thought was repugnant. After everything, the serenity daemon had done for these meat sacks? Vega understood why they would try to judge him and contain him, but Camelopardalis? The idea of him in one of those cells, being mistreated and spoked down to, like Vega had been in the Department facility, had a tendril of fury rippling through him. But this wasn’t Department. These humans were something else. Their loathing was sharp and acidic with an undertone of lusty excitement.

“Go away,” Cam sighed, looking like he might pass out any second now. He was barely hanging on.

The humans laughed like they thought the words were meant for them. They weren’t. They were meant for Vega and the idea that they thought otherwise was acutely offensive.

Cam’s breathing was slowing, his lids visibly heavy.

The human stepped forward and Vega felt himself straighten, felt the disbelief turn to outrage when this piece of shit reached out toward his serenity daemon. He was going to put his dirty human hand on Cam’s neck.

He didn’t have to think about what to do, and it never once occurred to him to leave.

Vega caught that wrist before the man could touch Cam. He took form at the same time, and not just any form, he took a form they’d fear and loath on instinct. He was more than a head taller than them, not counting the high points of his horns. His eyes were washed black with a sea of moving galaxies between his lashes. Bystanders screamed on the street and the other men jumped back.

“Do not touch him,” Vega growled in their minds and then drank deep from the well of their hate and violence, growing taller before their eyes. He didn’t sip or borrow or skim the tops of those feelings either—he took them. He cut them on the points of his teeth and swallowed them down where they could never get them back, leaving them quieted and passive for the moment. Oh, they would find their violence and anger again soon, that well never ran dry, but not just yet.

The man in his hold trembled, eyes growing big with fear. Sweet, sweet fear.

Vega flashed teeth with lots of points. It wasn’t quite a smile. He tightened his grip, feeling those fragile bones in his hand. It would take so little effort to snap them. He could kill all of these humans with barely more than a thought. He could—

Cam touched his back, palm to skin, and all of Vega’s thoughts stilled. When was the last time they’d touched? Actually touched in any meaningful way? Why was it still the same, even in these forms, in this place, so far from who they had once been to each other? Why did it quiet his soul and send a shiver through his spirit? “Vega…” Cam said, his voice strained. How long had it been since he said his name? It cut through him in the most amazing way. All at once, he realized that he had missed him, for years, for lifetimes—he just hadn’t thought about it. Vega did not miss anyone, or so he’d thought. He had no trouble finding companionship when he wanted it. He was a sadism daemon, which made him truly rare. He turned his head to the side and down, not letting the humans go or entirely taking his attention off them.

Cam pushed off the wall, not just touching Vega’s back but leaning against him for support. There was so much trust in that one act, in complete contrast to the way everyone else on the street was running or gawking at his glorious, nightmarish, form. Cam’s eyes closed, finally too heavy to keep open, and he pressed his forehead against Vega’s spine, his breath against his skin. “Get me out of here.”

It wasn’t a question or a plea. It wasn’t even a demand. It was just the easy instruction of someone that trusted wholly in being heard by the other. It was the way Cam used to talk to him when they’d been a couple. If he didn’t want to be someplace anymore, even if Vega was still in the throes of a party or a conversation, he would just quietly come up and tell him to take him home. Cam was not a selfish person by any means. He didn’t say it like that because he didn’t care about what Vega wanted—he said it because all their many years together had taught him that Vega would want what he wanted in that moment. They’d never discussed it, Vega had never admitted it, but they both knew how much he loved being the one that took Cam home.

He let go of the human and turned, collecting Camelopardalis against his chest and rifted off the street. It wasn’t as easy as it should have been. It was like Cam couldn’t reach his own magic, couldn’t pull himself through time and space, so Vega had to do it. It was no trouble, but it was worrisome.

He rifted to Cam’s apartment but didn’t immediately let him go, both of them still veiled from the human world. Really, he wanted to take him to Aria, but he wasn’t sure what that would do to him if he was poisoned and couldn’t use his magic. Plus, he knew that wasn’t what Cam had meant when he told him to get him out of there. It was the tone he used for home and Aria wasn’t quite home anymore. The apartment was empty, no trap or humans lying in wait. He unveiled Cam but didn’t take a physical form himself this time, carrying him across the big loft to the bed.

Vega laid him down and then hovered. What should he do? Would he get better on his own? Would he get worse?

“It’s a drug. It’ll wear off,” Cam muttered like he could hear his thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes, but he reached up and settled a hand on Vega’s wrist, gently pulling his hand down to his chest.

Vega stared, his not-entirely-there palm over Cam’s heart. Which was very much there, thudding inside his chest in slow steady beats. He took form again, wanting to really be there with him—to really have his hand to his chest in this world, in their skin.

“Thank you,” Cam said, voice quieter. His hand twitched, holding on to Vega’s. “Can you stay? Just… Until I wake up?”

Vega exhaled hard at the little note of uncertainty there in his voice. Was it fear? He had never heard his Camelopardalis afraid before. Angry, sure. But afraid? He moved, sitting on the bed with his back to the mound of pillows against the headboard. Why did one man need so many pillows? He easily pulled Cam into his lap, reclining him against his chest so that he could drape his arms around him and feel his breath and pulse through his back, echoing into his chest. Cam sighed and leaned back into him.

The big windows to one side of the loft looked out on the city. It was almost beautiful from this angle, just the tops of buildings and stars.

“You knew where I lived…” Cam mumbled.

Vega tensed. He heard the smirk in the other man’s words. With a sigh, he stroked Cam’s hair back from his face and then trailed the points of nails behind his ear and down his neck. Cam didn’t flinch or tense. The trust reminded Vega of what they had been to each other—of all the moments that had been just like this one.

Yes, of course, he knew where Camelopardalis lived. Elegy was dangerous and growing worse every decade. What if they needed to escape? What if he needed to find him?

“This world is terrible,” Vega whispered viciously.

“You like terrible things,” Cam reminded.

It was true. It had always been true. Cam had never been to Elegy before Vega dragged him along to see that ridiculous, awful, dimension. Vega enjoyed the nightmarish people of that world and all the possibilities and easy meals. But Cam? Cam had seen it differently. He had seen a sadness and a need that he could help, even if just for a handful. Vega wished bitterly he had never dragged him along that first time. This world was cruel and Cam could not save them all. Vega had realized what that would do to the other daemon over time—what it had done. “But you don’t,” he reminded, not for the first time, but this time he added, fingers still stroking skin. “I should not have left you alone to face that.”

#redacted asmr #redactedverse #cam/vega #i know! we're trying things out! #romantic #protective vega #some violence #scary humans #attempted abduction #cam and vega go way back #old flames never burn out #<3 #dominimoonbeam #fanfic

[wonderlandleighleigh]

“Listen to me, you’re safe “

She does a set at the Troubadour, and she's about to head towards Lenny who's hanging out at the bar, presumably waiting for her (and if he wants to be just friends he needs to stop getting her fucking hopes up for more), but she's distracted by the two men sitting right up front.

"Frank. Nicky. What-"

"You were great, Midge," Frank tells her, getting to his feet along with his friend. "Just fantastic."

"Sensational," Nicky agrees, wrapping an arm around her.

She swallows a little and tries to dislodge, but his arm gets a little tighter.

"We need to have a quick word with you outside, though," Nicky tells her. "Won't take very long."

"Outside?" Midge asks warily. "Can't we talk here? At the bar, I have drink tickets, I can-"

"That's real nice of you, Midge, but we gotta talk outside."

And so they do, because they're two very enormous, imposing men, and she tries to catch Lenny's eye, but he's talking to the bartender, and Midge...

Winds up in the alley behind the club.

"Guys, whatever is going on-"

"Here's the problem, Midge," Frank tells her. "Susie owes us, and she keeps putting it off."

"Kicking the can down the road, as it were," Nicky adds.

"And we need to send her a message that we're serious this time," Frank explains.

Midge swallows hard, trying to back away, but just bumps into Nicky.

"It's nothing personal, you understand," Nicky says. "It's just business."

Frank nods in agreement. "Exactly. So when you wake up, we want you to let Susie know. She owes us. We're serious. You got it?"

Midge looks from one man to the other. "When I wake-"

Nicky grabs her and slams her head against the brick wall of the club, and the world goes dark.

*****

He's pretty sure she went to the bathroom.

That's got to be it, right? He looked away for a second and Midge was gone, and he figures - he figures she just needed to take a piss, and she'll be back.

But fifteen minutes go by, and no Midge.

And Lenny gets a bad feeling. He turns to the bartender. "Hey - did you see the comic leave?"

The bartender nods. "Yeah, two big guys escorted her out. Looked like she knew 'em, but she didn't look too happy to see 'em."

That bad feeling gets worse.

He pays for his drink and heads out of the club, looking around. No sign of Midge. That bad feeling only grows as he glances back towards the alley, but his feet carry him there anyways.

And there she is, crumpled on the ground, and his feet carry him faster.

"Midge? Midge." On his knees, gathering her in his arms. "Midge. Midge, can you hear me?"

The wound on her head doesn't look bad enough to do permanent damage, but it's not good either. Her dazed eyes start to blink open, and she starts to struggle, squeaking out a protest.

"Midge- Midge!" He takes her shoulders. "Midge, listen - you're safe. It's okay. It's okay."

She starts breathing hard, sitting up as best she can and looking around, before her eyes settle on him. "L-Lenny?"

"What happened?" he asks.

She looks around again as he helps her to her feet, practically holding her up. She's obviously dizzy. "Susie's friends...they came to my show, and they...they wanted me to give her a message."

"Friends? What friends?"

"Her mob friends," Midge explains.

"Fuck," he mutters. "Okay. Come on. You're coming home with me."

"I didn' get paid..." she mutters, still obviously dazed. "An' my family..."

"I'll let everyone know you're safe," he promises. "And we can come back tomorrow for your pay."

Soon, they're in a cab, headed for his place, and it's strange how the tables have turned.

Kind of. When she found him on Eighth Street, he'd been high and it was entirely his fault. Finding Midge beat up in an alley is hardly her own doing.

"I warned Susie," Midge mutters as her head rests on his shoulder. "Warned her..."

He takes a breath and wonders if she felt this amount of worry when she was hauling him into her apartment.

*****

He helps her out of her dress and corset and into one of his shirts. He figures she might as well be as comfortable as she can be, and he lets her do most of the work, not really looking, and only aiding her when she seems to need it.

He tucks her up in bed, and cleans off the wound before fetching some ice from his icebox, dumping it into a towel and coming back to her to settle it against the ugly bruise on her forehead.

"You're always so nice to me," she says, seeming more like herself. Less out of it.

"We're friends," he reminds her.

Midge nods. "Friends. Right."

He knows she wants more. Hell, he does too. He's just not certain he can give it to her. Or anyone really, but especially her.

"How are you feeling?" Lenny asks.

"Better," she admits. "The headache is gonna hang around, though." She sighs. "You could have just taken me home."

"Your parents would have lost their shit," Lenny mutters as he adjusts the ice. "Made it worse."

Midge nods, grinning a little. "I love them, but yes they would have."

He shouldn't be thinking about what it would be like to hear that word directed at him. He is anyways.

Lenny brushes her hair from her face carefully. "Who am I calling first? Your parents, or Susie?"

"I can call," she says, taking the ice from him and starting to get up.

"Nope," he says, stopping her gently. "You stay here. You rest."

Midge gazes at him for a moment and then nods, before leaning in and kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Lenny."

He's a weak man, Lenny Bruce is, and before she can pull away, he turns his head and kisses her softly, his hand resting on her bare arm, his thumb stroking her skin.

Her free hand comes up, cupping his jaw as she returns the kiss, and when it ends, she blows out a breath, her eyes still closed. "Friends, huh?"

"Friends...possibly with certain...privileges," he tries.

"Funny man," she tells him, settling back against his pillows and replacing the ice. "I don't want this only some of the time."

He nods, thinking that over. "Let me go make those calls."

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge/Lenny #Midge x Lenny #hurt comfort #some violence

[ffxvreversebang2022]

Today’s team: @ammyc-art & @/Leila27082063 (Twitter)

There's Power in Saying You're Not Afraid was written for the FFXV Reverse Bang 2022 and can be found on AO3 here.

Rating: Mature

Promptis, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Description: In the space of a week, the whole world had gone mad. She was just lucky, she supposed, that the person who found her was a good man.

Even if he was the destitute prince of a country her grandfather had spent the last fifty-odd years trying to destroy.

#ffxv reverse bang 2022 #ffxv reverse bang #fandom event #fanart #fanfiction #medieval AU #fantasy AU #some violence #swearing #final fantasy xv

[gardenfaerie222]

Get in the Water: One-Shot

Pairing: Elain x Graysen (? sorta lol)

Rating: Mature

Summary: Elain kidnaps Graysen from his family home and forces him into the cauldron so he understands how she feels and what happened to her, and so they can be together forever.

Content Warning: violence, loss of a child, angst, PAIN

Note: This work was inspired by the lovely @bookishlyaries on tiktok! She kindly gave me permission to write this and anyone who reads this should watch the tiktok that inspired it! I guarantee it's a million times better haha

tiktok linked here! :)

Elain didn’t think there was such a thing as quiet in this new life. She sat silently on the bed in the room given to Nesta and her in the mortal manor, no effort left in her body to rinse the blood from her face and from the clothing given to her by the pale, white haired woman. Vivianne, she reminded herself, and she wasn’t a woman, she was a female. Just like Elain. Her hands were curled into fists in her lap, and the short nails bit into the skin of her palm as she clenched them. The coppery, metallic taste, still left in her mouth, stung with reminders of earlier in the day. What she had done. She wished she felt something, anything, about it. The only thing left in her heart was a dull ache, there was no room for remorse about who she had killed.

Murdered.

Stabbed in the back, fitting, Elain surmised.

In theory, she understood none of the people involved owed her any loyalty. They only owed their loyalty to Feyre, but didn’t that apply to her by association? The priestess, the man Feyre died for, her red-haired friend. Elain’s mate. They all owed Feyre some inkling of loyalty. At least the priestess was dead, and neither man would ever have what they wanted. She couldn’t bring herself to care. That man, male, she corrected, owed her nothing. No loyalty, no protection, nothing. She owed him nothing. Not forgiveness, or love, or her heart. She would give him nothing. She would never forgive him for what he took from her, what he tried to replace in her heart.

She was to be married, to a man who never even spared her a glance once all the fighting was done. He was supposed to love her, to care for her, to protect her. He promised, as good as made those vows to her. She had given him everything. Her maidenhood, her heart, her chance at any respectable match if he decided to cast her aside and anyone found out what they had done. She had done it for love. They had done it for love. Love that was supposed to overcome everything, love that would never change. It wasn’t supposed to change. She loved him with her whole heart and he promised her he felt the same. She knew he still did.

She twisted the iron band around her finger, enjoying the cool touch of it against her burning skin. It was still had the splattering of red crusted around it, and would have stained her fingers had they not still been covered in the blood of the man who ruined her life. They weren’t far from the fortress that would have once been her home, in a different life. In this life, if the fae thought about anything outside of themselves. She could hear everything. The slither of a snake in the grass, the clang of metal outside, amongst tents housing celebrating mortals and fae, drinking themselves into a stupor. Elain couldn’t recall a time she had ever been drunk. She had drank, of course. A glass of sparkling mortal wine, maybe two if she was feeling bold enough to endure the stares of mothers sniffing down their noses at her.

She had taken it all for granted, then. The happiness, the dancing, the demur looks shot at the most handsome lord attending that night. She was a princess in that world, and this one too, she supposed. The sister of the first High Lady of Prythian. A poor recreation of how her life should have been. A princess, dancing the night away with her knight on her arm.

She could still feel the perfectly respectful glide of his hand against her arm, her waist, their hands barely touching as they danced. He had filled her dance card all night, a not perfectly respectful thing to do, but she didn’t mind. She felt an instant connection to him, fated, to dance together all night. She remembered smiling up at him through lashes, his eyes like pools of glistening water, crinkled at the edges with the smile on his full lips. He was so handsome, her knight. Tall, with dark hair that reminded her of the warmed chocolate drink her father had once brought her from a ship when she was a child. They complimented each other, dancing together. Her own honey colored hair shining under the lights of the ballroom, almost brushing the hand he held at her waist.

They had glided around the room, her satin skirts twirling around her legs. She had been beautiful, and Elain knew he had agreed. She didn’t care that the face she didn’t recognize in the mirror was now somehow more beautiful than she had been. She had, she had been beautiful and Graysen knew it. He instantly started courting her, calling on her, leaving her gifts to showcase his affection. He was going to marry her, and her heart ached at the thought of what happened after. The night they spent, tangled together and underneath the blanket covering them. The love that had poured from her heart as he kissed her, and then kissed the ring on her hand, whispering his vows into her ear like it was something sensual. It had been. Those promises of love, and care, and providing. She knew he had meant them. Meant them in that moment they shared, and forever.

She could still feel the whispered caress of his breath against the shell of her ear as he promised, “I’ll love you forever Elain, no matter what. No matter what happens. You are mine, and I am yours. Mind, body and soul.”

It had felt like a prayer, and she the goddess he was worshipping. Everything had gone wrong after. The fae, and the creatures in the night stealing her from her bed. Somehow, they were different, those men with wings who came with her sister with warnings of war. They had vowed to protect Nesta and her, but she was coming to the conclusion that all fae were liars, unlike the stories said. The opposite of what the stories said, actually.

After days of false promises, they came in the night. Those creatures that ripped her from her bed in nothing but her nightgown, barefooted as she fell unconscious and woke in a small cell that stunk of urine and vomit, Nesta holding her protectively to her side, barring her teeth and snarling at anyone who looked too close at Elain. Already more fae then human, Elain realized, looking back. She could still feel like bite of their claws in her arm as they tugged her up and away from her sister, dragging her into the mockery of a throne room by her hair as she had cried out. There had been so many people in that room. Her sisters, those fae who had vowed to protect them, the beautiful blonde who she would later learn was the priestess who betrayed them. The red-headed male and the male Feyre had died to protect were there too, as well as what was left of the mortal queens, and the fae king. Some laugh, and some cried, as the king ordered she be put into that dark abyss they called the cauldron.

The first thing she remembered was the bite of cold, and the darkness. She felt like she lived in there for an eternity, twisting and turning in the water feeling something slithering against her skin but never turning fast enough to catch a glimpse of it. She could breathe normally there, somehow. Some kind of magic, most likely. It had felt like days before the cool caress against her body gripped her arms, holding her still, as it finally spoke to her.

“What do you desire, Elain Archeron?” it had hissed into her ear.

“I wish for nothing,” She whispered back, keeping her eyes ahead even as her body trembled under it’s grasp.

A mockery of laughter echo’d around her at her answer.

“I don’t believe you,” it had purred, the grip tightening, curling further around her.

“I swear I wish for nothing,” her voice was still terrified, her eyes still fixed on nothing in the murky darkness, “All I want is to go home,”

It seemed to study her for a moment, that essence of the cauldron surrounding her.

“You have something we wish for Elain Archeron, in exchange, we will let you escape with your life,” She startled, once again trying to twist in it’s arms to look at it, to demand what it wanted from her face to face.

“I don’t understand,” She whimpered, the tears starting to race down her cheeks, “I have nothing I can offer you.”

It laughed at her again, distorted and cruel, something she couldn’t see brushing away the tear that dripped to her jaw.

“You do,” it whispered, cold hands gripping her hips, fingers curling around her lower stomach.

They didn’t feel right. The fingers too long, too thin, too sharp to be human. Horror rushed through Elain’s body as the realization hit her, fighting in the grip it held on her, her tears pouring hotter and faster, her legs kicking. She was screaming, she realized, screaming for what it wanted to take from her. Something she didn’t even realize she had.

“No, no, no,” She begged, the word a prayer on her lips even though she had no gods to pray to, “please, no.”

“We will take this from you,” it murmured, a cruel mockery of a lovers whisper, “and in exchange, we will give you a gift. A pretty gift, of equal value."

She didn’t stop fighting, or screaming, or pleading, not as she felt the beginning of the change. She was changing. It hurt. Gods it hurt. She was screaming from the pain now, the pain of something being ripped from her, and the pain of feeling herself be remade. Her body like clay in the hands of the creature that held her, pulling and tugging and reshaping her in it’s image. She screamed for hours, the pain unbearable. She screaming until she was sure she had torn her vocal cords and she could make nothing but a sort of pathetic whining sound. She pleaded for it to just kill her, in that broken whisper she was sure it understood. She never stopped crying, not until the grip on her lessened and she rapidly approached some kind it light above her heard, and it left her with a whisper echoing in her mind as she breached the surface and was washed onto the cold stone, her nightgown sheer and even the leering laughter couldn’t clear the last thing the creature said to her, cruel humor in it’s tone,

“We give you our gift, Elain Archeron, and thank you for ours.”

The days and weeks after that passed in a blur. She had lived a lifetime in the cauldron, had  died in the cauldron, and everything else felt like borrowed time. She wasn’t allowed out of at least one person’s sight. Normally Nesta. Nesta was scared she would try to jump out of one of the airy windows with no glass, and Elain couldn’t entirely fault her for that. She had lost everything. Her fiancé was on the other side of the wall, and what the cauldron had taken from her, what she had lost. She couldn’t even think the word. The mere thought of her brought her to tears.

Then, Feyre had returned, and the humans, gods, the humans. She had felt the wall fall, and she knew who could help them. Who was true of heart. Who would do the right thing. She went to him with her sisters and she had begged him to help them, and deep in her heart to help her, to accept her as she was, glamoured or not, and he had cast her aside. Like she was nothing, like he didn’t love her the way she knew he did. He had whispered his love in her ear like a prayer days before she was taken from him and when she returned, she was nothing better than trash in his eyes. He had even demanded his ring back, the ring she still wore for comfort, twisting around her finger when she was nervous.

She knew he was just scared. Scared of the war, of the fae converging on his home, of her. She could make it better, she knew she could make it better. She could make him see her again. Show him her heart was still the same no matter was skin she wore, what torture she endured. She just needed him to understand. To see her again. To be like her again.

Her fingers curled into the blanket underneath her as she stared blankly at the wall in front of her. That was the issue, wasn’t it? They were different now. He couldn’t understand, he couldn’t be like her. Even if he did, she would stay like this, she thought with disgust, a sneer curling it’s way across her lips, forever. Young and beautiful, and doomed to watch her beloved grow old without her, die without her.

She would be alone for eternity, because she could never make Graysen understand.

***

There was whispering outside her door, too low for ever Elain’s fae hearing to truly pickup. She gently tossed the soft blankets off of her recently cleaned body and changed clothes, glancing quickly at Nesta, sleeping soundly beside her. She must have washed the blood away, Elain surmised. She placed her feet on the ground, near silent, as she inched closer to the door to hear what was being discussed. She pressed a pointed ear to the crack, and waited.

“… Worried about her,” The voice of her sister murmured, and she heard the inhale of breath from her sister’s mate.

“I understand, Feyre darling, truly,” His voice murmured back, and she could imagine him grabbing her sister and pulling her close, by the sounds of their scuffling feet.

She heard the sharp intake of breath her sister took, “She killed someone Rhys, that’s not something someone just gets over,” Her sister breathed back to her mate.

Elain could picture Rhys nodding his head, holding her sister lovingly, all the things Graysen would have done for her, as he replied, “One thing at a time, Miryam and Drakon will take the cauldron tomorrow, and then we can worry about your sisters.”

She listened to their feet shuffle off, obviously trying to be quiet as to not wake anyone. The Cauldron, gone. That looming presence over her life. Always calling to her, it’s song on the wind like a siren. She took the moment to briefly wonder if she would still hear it’s call to her in that hidden city across the sea. That final link to her past life, what was stolen from her life, gone. She couldn’t bear the thought.

All links to Graysen gone, tied up with a neat little bow to keep her family happy. He hadn’t even looked at her, for her, in that final stand. She needed to know he still cared for her, outside the watchful eye of his father and the fae that eyed her carefully, like she was a porcelain doll set on the corner of the table, centimeters away from tumbling off the edge. She listened closer for a moment, trying to hear any more scuffled feet or hushed voices, but all she heard was silence. That’s when she made her choice.

***

Elain paid no mind the branches scraping at her face or arms, the twigs catching in her hair, or the unsteady ground underfoot. A determination had settled in her bones as she made her way to the Nolan Fortress. She hadn’t shared with Feyre she knew a way in, around the guards where no one would ever see her. A way shone to her by a boy in love. A man in love. Her fae footsteps were near silent as she finally made it into the fortress. It was practically a compound, with all the human soldiers and civilians housed within. She didn’t think she could ever forget the steps to get to Graysen’s chambers no matter how much her body had changed or when her human memories began to fade from her mind and her heart. This walk would stay burned in her subconscious forever.

She silently pushed the door open, stepping inside and inhaling the familiar scent of pine and brandy. It was so much stronger to her fae senses, intoxicating as she breathed in deeply. She could see him sleeping, sprawled across his bed, through the open doorway from the sitting room to the bedroom. He looked no older than a boy like this, the worries that plagued his waking thoughts and creased his brow smoothed over in the world he walked in his dreams. Elain hoped she was in it, something he still yearned for, if not in his waking moments, then perhaps in his subconscious.

She carefully moved towards him, keeping an eye on her steps as she stood next to his bed and took him in. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, she mused, sweeping the hair from his brow. He stirred slightly in his sleep, his brow furrowing, and she leaned forward to press her lips to it, to smooth the worry of whatever was plaguing him. She watched his eyes flutter open, and she took the moment to enjoy his sleep muddled gaze on her face as he took in who, exactly, had kissed his brow before he shot straight up in his bed, moving as far from her as he possibly could.

“Gray,” Elain murmured, careful to keep her voice quiet but loud enough for him to hear, worry coursing through her veins as she just looked at him, “it’s just me, it’s okay.”

He looked bewildered, taking her in, still in her nightgown, barefooted and hair down, loose leaves caught in the long tresses.

“You need to get out,” he whispered harshly, still leaning as far as he could from her.

“Gray, I love you,” She pleaded, feeling the tears bite at her eyes as she held a slim hand to her breast, “Gray, please.”

“You disgust me,” he snarled, looking more fae than she did in that moment. Elain felt something in her break as she recoiled as if he had hit her. She wished he had hit her. The undiluted hatred for her on his face made her chest burn. She felt the salty burn in her eyes as she just started at him.

“I haven’t changed,” She whispered, begging the man in front of her to see her, “I’m still the woman you fell in love with.”

He laughed, and it tasted bitter in the air, polluting the room they occupied, “You’re not a woman Elain, you’re not even human.”

She heard it then, that song on the wind, calling to her, letting her know it was there for her, it wanted to care for her, help her. She felt it in her bones, if she called to it, it would answer. She inched closer to Graysen, and as he moved to push her away, she gripped his arm and they disappeared from the stone fortress.

Once Elain’s vision cleared, she took in room they were standing in. All of it was wooden, and the creaking and swaying gave away what they were on, a boat. One of Miryam and Drakon’s, if she had to guess from what Feyre had whispered to her mate earlier. She noticed it then, that purr that filled the small, dark, and damp room they were standing. That purr the cauldron released in her presence. It remembered her, remembered the gift she had given it, Elain realized with nauseating clarity. She turned, quiet and trancelike, to the man she had brought here who has huddled in a corner as far away from her as he could get. She tilted her head, taking him in.

“This is what made me, Gray,” Her voice was no higher than a whisper, but it filled the whole room, “this is what I was forced into, turned against my will, and I disgust you?”

Something seemed to stutter from his lips, but Elain cocked her head to the side, letting the ache in her heart be replaced with resentment and anger, his snarled words a brand on the muscle.

“I would have given anything for you Graysen, I gave you everything,” there was a calm to her voice, a resignation even with her eyes lined with silver, “you vowed to protect me, and where were you when I was stolen from my bed?”

“Elain, I-“ He started but she snarled, stopping him.

“Don’t talk over me,” His eyes were glued to her face, distinctly avoid what was so obviously taking up most of the space in the room, “You made me vows, Graysen, and you never upheld them. You turned your back on me, you left me to ROT!” She was screaming now, she didn’t know when she started to raise her voice, but by the end he was shaking, that self-righteous disgust in his eyes replaced by fear.

“I love you, Gray,” She pleaded, reaching a hand for his face, but the sting of him still turning away from her pulled her heart further in two, “and I know how we can be together forever.”  

“Elain no,” He moved, trying his hardest to back further against the wall, “Elain, please, don’t do this-“

She cut him off with a shake of her head, nodding towards the cauldron bubbling in the center of the room, like it expected it’s new gift any moment.

“Get in the water,” Her voice was calm, but the tilt of her head and the silver rimming her eyes betrayed her desperation.

He shook his head at her, not even standing, and she repeated herself, “get in the water,” She watched as she started to shake his head again, and she held up her hand to stop him, “or I’ll release this on the humans and you can tell your family goodbye.”

She could smell his fear, his stumbling steps as he pushed himself to stand, but made no further movement, “get in the water,” she ordered, a bead of silver leaking from her eye. She didn’t want him to be afraid, she wanted him to understand. He’d never understand unless he’d been through what she had.

“Wait,” He tried to plead with her, but she shook her head, more tears leaking from her eyes as she took a deep breath and looked up before meeting his eyes again.

“Get in the water,” She ordered again, nodding her head towards the cauldron which just seemed to bubble more in anticipation.

He stepped closer to her, begging as he said, “Stop this, please,” but she stepped further away, shaking her head at him.

She felt the pain blooming in her head, her tears running fast down her checks, “I would drown for you! I did drown for you!” her voice broke on that memory, that pain she refused to speak about, “Your wife and your son drowned and you won’t do the same for us?” She didn’t even know if he could understand the words pushing through her sobs as she took him in, as her heart broke, “We DIED!” She cried, the rage bubbling in her gut exploding.

“No!” Graysen’s voice broke, stepping closer to grip her arms.

“Get in the water!” Her voice was still raised, her soul still pouring out through the tears flowing furiously from her eyes.

“A Son?” He wept, stepping close enough to grasp her upper arms, and placing his back to the cauldron.

She pressed against his shoulders, forcing him against the lip of the cauldron, “GET IN THE WATER!” she screamed, pain and heartbreak written across her face. The life she would have had with her child lost in the same depths she lost her humanity in. Then, she pushed, her fae strength overpowering him as he lost his balance and tumbled backwards into the inky, bubbling depths.

She didn’t know how long to leave him in it, how long she had been in the cauldron. She couldn’t take it much longer, the ache of being alone in the room with this thing, no one to comfort her or to care for her, and after a few minutes she pushed the lip to dump it over, and in a torrent of waves crashing against the walls of the small room, Graysen fell out with it. She breathed a sigh of relief, rushing to his side. She gripped him in her arms, smiling as she called him name, but he was cold, and his eyes didn’t flutter open as she shook his shoulder. She shook him again, harder, and then again, calling his name over and over with a more frantic need each time. He never responded, and he stayed cold.

That was when Elain let loose a gut wrenching, heart piercing scream.

Note: Sorry if it starts getting a bit loopy towards the end, I wrote this all in one sitting and finished at 1 in the morning haha. I hope whoever reads this thoroughly enjoyed my take! Also I couldn't for the life of my figure out if the cauldron fell over on it's own or if it was pushed over and I didn't want to go grab my ACOMAF book so sorry for inconstancies if there is any! Also can't remember if Ianthe is in the throne room when the sisters get turned so if that's wrong too I'm sorry!

Thank you so much for reading!!

#the elain/lucien is so so so minor #not an elucien fic at all #honestly not an any ship fic #no love #no smut #all angst #some violence #minor descriptions of torture #not graphic though #at least i dont think theyre graphic #loss of a child #PURE PAIN #minor character death #elucien is literally just mentions it's not elucien #no beta sorry #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #king of hybern #Graysen Nolan

[nonbinaryroyalty43]

Loceit Week Day 2

This one I am really excited for. @loceitweek2022

Prompt: Orange Side

Characters: Logan Sanders, Janus Sanders, Other Sides mentioned, Orange Side as Wrath, Thomas mentioned.

Pairing: Loceit (duh)

Warnings: Threats, Some violence, food, mentions of kidnapping.

Summary: The Orange Side decides to make his appearance in Logan's body. Janus is not having that and will stop at nothing to get Logan back.

__________

It was small things at first.

Janus hardly even noticed them. Logan would pull away from a kiss just a little too quickly or he'd stare blankly at one of the other Sides when an event was brought up that he seemed to not remember. It was only when a huge change in personality hit Logan that Janus realized something was wrong.

That change was jelly.

Janus and Logan were in Imagination (Roman's side of course) enjoying a picnic that Patton had put together for them. They were enjoying themselves until Logan bit into a sandwich and made a face.

"What's wrong?" It was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Surely Patton couldn't have messed that up.

Logan smoothed out his expression, giving Janus a tight smile. "Oh, it's nothing. It seems as though Patton used Crofters instead of Smuckers. Oh well." Logan took another bite, unaware of the effect his words had on Janus.

Everything that had been going on in the past week suddenly made sense. The little inconsistencies in Logan's personality all added together and Janus knew it was not good.

"What are you doing here? What do you want with Logan?" Janus stood, facing his boyfriend; the body of his boyfriend.

Logan looked up at Janus, his eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about, Jan? I am Logan. There's no one else here."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Wrath."

The moment Janus had said the function, the façade of Logan disappeared. Wrath smirked in such a vicious way, a smirk that did not belong on Logan's face and his eyes glowed orange.

"I'm surprised at you, Janny. Usually you smell a lie from a mile away. Guess you must be getting out of practice now that you're with the sunshine squad."

Janus balled up his fists. He annoyed at the insult aimed towards him, he was more bothered by the fact that Wrath had taken over Logan's body, leaving Logan trapped inside his own mind.

"Let him go, Wrath. You do not need to to take over Logan's body," Janus practically snarled the last words. At any other time, Janus would have maintained a straight face, treating Wrath as though he was less than Janus. But this time Logan was involved and Janus would be damned if he would let Wrath get away with this.

"Of course I need his body, Janny. I'm not strong enough to create my own form. Besides," the vicious grin returned, "little Logic's anger at the other Sides is so filling. It's delicious." Wrath took a deep breath, sighing when he released it. "I thought you'd like this. You don't have to pretend to be interested in Logic anymore! I mean, he is nice to look at, but the whole nerd persona is so dry. I can make this more fun."

Janus grabbed Wrath by the arms and pulled him to his feet. He slammed Wrath into a tree, being careful not to hurt Logan's body. He got right into Wrath's face.

"You do not get to decide what I like. You are not my friend and we are not on the same side anymore. Now let Logan go."

Wrath's grin still didn't fade. "Or what? You'll hiss at me?" He giggled at his own joke, looking straight into Janus' eyes.

Janus smiled coldly. "Perhaps you are not afraid of me. Fair enough. But I know who you are afraid of. Remus. Roman. Patton. Virgil. All of them have grown quite fond Logan." Janus leaned forward until he was whispering right in Wrath's ear. "Can you imagine what we'd be able to do to you in we combined our abilities? If all of us worked together towards the same goal? You would become nothing more than a figment, a whisper in Thomas' mind. So I say again. Get. Out. Of. Logan."

For the first time in this exchange, fear diminished the orange in Wrath's eyes. That was all the warning Janus got before Logan suddenly went limp as Wrath left his body.

Janus caught Logan and laid him on the ground gently. Logan's eyes blinked open, quickly finding Janus' face.

"Jan." The name was nothing more than a breath. "I'm so sorry, he caught me by surprise and I couldn't fight him."

Janus kissed Logan's forehead. "It's alright, darling. He's gone and he won't be coming back anytime soon. I promise you that."

As Janus comforted Logan, Wrath lurked in the subconscious. His fury over his plan being ruined seemed to crackle in the darkness. He had thought Janus would be on his side, but it appeared friendship meant nothing to him anymore.

If Wrath had a mouth, he would have smiled. All the Sides cared about Logan, did they? Then perhaps Logan might need to disappear entirely. His orange energy crackled again, imitating the sound of evil laughter.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #loceitweek2022 #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #thomas sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #orange side #orange side theory #orange side as wrath #some violence #threats #kidnapping mention

[movieexpert1978]

Hi! I don’t know if you’re still taking requests, but if you are, could you do a doc ock x fem reader. Where it’s set in NWH and the reader is a black widow. And Otto is just absolutely astounded that someone could fight like that without any enhancements and freak accidents? I love your wrting and the way you potty’s Otto. Keep it up!

here you go!!! Sorry it took so long to get out, hope you enjoy it.

some violence, spoilers of NWH, happy ending

tag list: @illiana-mystery @randomfandomtrash28 @doctoraceus

@curbitkirby @tsukiakarinobara

He should have seen it coming sooner. It was a miracle that Peter sensed it. Norman was gone and the Goblin took over. When he had been knocked out of the building by Electro, he feared the worst. He thought his new chip was destroyed already. It was an instant relief when he felt the chip was still sturdy and intact. Now Otto wasn’t sure what to do next. He walked in allies so familiar yet so foreign to him. The Daily Bugle was going off on every screen Otto could see. Even in his own world he never liked that paper. He learned that one female was DOA. He had no doubt it was May.

“I’m sorry Peter,” Otto said quietly to himself. He did hope the kid was physically ok at least. He did his best to hide in the shadows for the moment and figure out his next move. However, he could feel someone watching him. The arms looked around quickly trying to find the stalker. He heard the shuffling off feet someone was moving. He decided to go on the attack. The arms shot out and made his opponent jump. It was a woman in all black as she used the arms for leverage to land on her feet.

“Leave me alone!” Otto shouted as the arms started moving again. She dodged and weaved just right to get closer and land a punch at his chest. He grunted and one arm grabbed her back and literally threw her away. He scaled up to get more space on the rooftops, but it seemed like the woman was just as fast almost.

“I said get away!” He snapped.

“I can’t do that.” She answered as she kept dodging the arms. She noticed a metal spike appeared out of one of them. She times it right and the spike slams into the concrete roof.

“Damn it!” Otto growls. She takes her chance and manages to get her knife up to his throat to make him freeze. “Stop! Please don’t kill me!” He pleads.

“My name is Doctor Otto Octavious. I know this is going to sound ridiculous but…I’m from another universe.” He explains. She pulls her knife away and tucks it back into her belt.

“Truce.” She states holding up her empty hands up. Otto is puzzled but doesn’t attack.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“No, I just want to talk. My name is Amber.”

“Amber…after your hair?” Otto smirks.

“I know, I get that a lot, but I was born with that name. Fall is my favorite season hence the orange hair.” She adds. “Trust me Doctor. I’ve heard a lot of weird shit especially these last few days with all these other…odd characters moving around. New York city has seen a lot of crazy shit,” she smirks.

“Fair enough…who are you exactly? Are you working with Spider-man?” Otto asks.

“No, I’m on my own. Although I used to be a Black Widow a.k.a. a master assassin,” she says casually.

“Oh…just that.” Otto shrugs. What else could he say? She lowers her hands and holds hers out to shake his. Otto carefully shakes it.

“I’m guessing you’re not with the others since you ran away from that mess in Queens.”

“Yes…I’m worse. I’m a coward,” Otto admits shamefully. “I was only worried about myself. I should have gone back to help Peter.”

“What happened?”

“Peter saved me. When these arms became fused to my body, there was a chip I had installed to protect myself from their AI it was destroyed. Peter fixed it and gave me back control. I was so worried that the chip was broken again I just ran.”

“I take it the chip is still intact?”

“Yes…I’m not exactly sure what to do now. By the way…do you have any powers?” Otto asked curiously.

“No,” she smirks. Otto blinks in surprise.

“You move fast.”

“Thank you…I always practice.” She says with a little twirl.

“I can’t believe you did that. I don’t think I hit you.”

“Oh you did, I’m just trained to react later.” She smirks. Otto nods slowly, kind of in shock at how casual she is about this. Suddenly they hear a beeping noise and Amber pulled out her phone. “Daily Bugle stuff…what are they doing now?” She grumbles “The only reason I watch this idiot is because they like to follow the odd characters like you or Spider-man.” Otto nods as she taps the screen.

“Peter!” Otto gasps. The kid was talking to Jonah with some kind of box in his hand and giving away his location at the Statue of Liberty. “I have to get there! He needs my help.”

“The kid has a plan for sure, but still I can get you there. I got a boat.” Otto looks around to get his bearings finally before he picks her up and they’re moving. She squeaks in surprise and holds onto him tightly. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that,” she yelps. They get to the pier in no time, but it looks like the fight has already started. The sky is flashing yellow and sand is blowing all over the statue. In no time they’re on their way. “So what did he mean by help you?”

“Peter wanted to cure us. He wants to give us a second chance once we go back to our worlds…although I’m not sure he’s going to help the Goblin,” Otto frowns. They were coming up behind the statue quickly.

“Well, good luck Doctor. Maybe we’ll see each other in another universe sometime.” Amber smiles.

“Thank you…good luck to you too.” Otto nods. She can’t help but give him a good luck kiss on the cheek to make him blush. Once they get close enough the arms take him the rest of the way. She manages a wave at him before she turns the boat around.

Xxxxxxxxx

When Otto is returned home he gets to work on taking apart the ark reactor he took from Electro. The power of the sun…in the palm of his hand now. It was going to revolutionize the world. Once things got settled down, Otto started plans on adjustments for his arms too. He needed help a few of the people that applied didn’t seem to fit right. One night he got so caught up in working he lost track of time. The arm spotted her first and nudged his shoulder.

“What!? Ohhh…hello!” Otto gasped when he saw the woman in the room.

“Hello Doctor…I’m here for the interview.” She says. Otto takes his dark googles of and his eyes go wide.

“Amber?!”

“Yes Doctor,” she says politely. Her dyed hair is wrapped up in a ponytail. Flo nudges him gently to remind him that this isn’t the Amber he met before.

“Oh…sorry…you looked like someone I met before.” He shrugs quickly. “I like your hair color. Let me guess, you like fall.”

“Yes, it’s my favorite season,” she blushes.

“Good, ok le me show you around the lab.”

This would work out just fine.    

#alfred molina #doc ock #otto octavious #fanfiction #request #no way home spoilers #swearing #some violence #doc ock x oc female #fluff #happy ending

[gerrysherry]

The Grant Identity

A Moon Knight prequel I poured my heart and soul into.

During his brief stint with the CIA, Marc jumps at the chance to temporarily 'get rid' of the other two alters. The consequences for this choice come to haunt him almost immediately as he discovers he can't exactly function without Steven and Jake, and that the latter is the only alter who remembers a very important password.

TW for brief depictions of hypnotic mind control and mentions of eating disorders.

#tw eating issues #tw mind control #some violence #moon knight comics #moon knight prequel #moon knight #obscure villian from volume one #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #gena (moon knight) #bertrand crawley #marlene alraune #my writing #my fanfiction

[sarcasticdolphin]

Killing FJ chapter two outline:

Bit of a time gap - Rudolf has gone from 1812 to the Franco-Prussian War.

Part of a day. In medias res with the council meeting.

Goal: Establish political situation

1. Council meeting. Main problems are the Hungarians. Minor problems are the Adriatic/Italian question and attempts by the triple alliance to get England in the alliance. 

2. Rudolf venting re: council meeting (historical context). Basically “It’s too late, he’s already driven us off the cliff.” And then Tod soothes his fears and points out that it is not quite true. More historical exposition - context not given in 1.

3. Tod being a manipulative shit. Tod pushing Rudolf in certain directions. A great deal of seduction subtext. Tod has Rudolf write a letter to the Hungarian leaders.

4. Military exercises prep. Franco-Prussian War. Just how bloody it was.

5. Dream with Tod. Sacrilege. Smut. Tod is proud of Rudolf.

#todolf #my fic ideas #mirrorverse #some violence

[winterfromwof]

Tw: blue blood, some violence,death(?), iykyk

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Oop it's artic

#wof fanart #wings of fire #wof art #some violence #artists on youtube #artists on tumblr #art

[harttiklr]

Under the Fade of Heaven

Preface This is a completely original work. David is a recluse who lives in the woods at the base of a mountain all by himself with his dog, Jack. The other singular relationship he has in his life is with Kate, the vet whose small clinic is in the nearby town of Fisher. Although David has a history with that town, it isn’t until he finds himself involved with Kate that things start drastically changing in his life for the first time in many years. What develops between a lonely recluse and a vibrant woman gives them both a new direction in life, but when David’s past comes out, and mysterious circumstances evolve around him, it tests the very fiber and strength of their relationship.

Read on my blog - Also on AO3

#fighting #language #male-female exclusive #mystery #original characters #Original work #reference family member death #romance #Slow Burn #some violence #suspense #Threats of Violence #Verbal Abuse