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babey-fruit-bat · 1 month ago

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Warmer Places

Logan x Fem!Reader

Content: Logan comes to your rescue after a day spent on the lake doesn’t go as you hoped ⛸️❄️

Author’s notes: Author can’t write dialogue, I’m from the south- this is SOOO self indulgent so apologies for northern inaccuracies - I know nothing about skating or ice on lakes hee hee

TW: reader gets hurt, Logan feels sad and GUILTY, fluff with light angst- obvious inaccuracy- This is my fanfic and I say logan won’t fall through the ice with his adamantium bones because I said so.

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Tranquil, homey, picturesque. All could be said of the last eight months you’d spent with Logan in his home in Cold Lake. Moving so far away to Canada had been a big adjustment for you. Logan did his best to make it bearable. With a lit fire under the mantle every night and trips up town to Spanky’s, the local bar, warming yourselves with blackberry brandy and whiskey- the long cold winter had faded away into a blissful spring welcome.

Your newest favorite pass time, besides snuggling up with Logan watching whatever movie played on his dated box TV, was to travel to your backyard and lace up your new skates. Well, that and Pepper- his painfully cute St Bernard he’d had for a few years. She’d warmed up to you quickly with temptations of Milk Bone and bacon from your breakfast plate. This morning she trailed after you as you gathered your skates from the mudroom.

You remember your first time on the ice didn’t go as expected. Your favorite pass time back home was similar, roller skating had been one of your favorites with the gravel road beneath your feet it carried you everywhere. The sun, hot weather, and wind in your hair as you flew down the boardwalk by the beach. It felt worlds away as logan led you further out onto the ice. The black skates created patterns as he skated backwards effortlessly. Your wobbly legs liken to a fawn shifted, trying to balance on the thick sheet of ice.

“C’mere baby, you can do it” he pleaded with you, he’d been nothing but patient and encouraging while teaching you time after time how to balance and move.

“I can’t Logan, I’m gonna fall..” you’d slipped serval times already, him catching you effortlessly every time.

“I won’t let you fall angel, you gotta trust me”. True to his word you slipped again, caught in his solid arms and warm embrace.

He’d set a few non negotiable rules when starting your new hobby. He had to keep you safe- especially if he was away from the house.

One- Never skate alone at home

Two- Never keep Pepper inside while you’re out.

Three- Never skate too far out in the lake- unless he’s with you. Stay in the little bay by the cabin.

Simple enough, and those rules kept you safe. As you improved he lightened up slightly on the first one believing you’d learned enough to not have him there every second. Though it was only with your convincing, and managing to skate around the lake by yourself, that he believed you. As long as Pepper stayed right there, snoozing by a fire.

The last two were absolute, pepper was trained to fetch help or fetch him if ever needed, who understood her commands in a heartbeat- loyal to her little family to the core.

This morning Logan had woken up early as usual. He threw on one less layer, claiming it would heat up come mid day despite the chill outside. You’d woken up along side him, packing the lunch and sending him out the door with a breakfast, coffee, and a kiss.

“Well, better now than never!” You said to no one in particular. You’d looked forward to your morning skate sesh since yesterday- being too busy with chores left you no time to stretch your legs before the weekends storm was set to move in.

You bounded up to your room to suit up for the cold weather outside- Logan may be used to the cold, but even with the sun coming out more you still needed to bundle up to take on the brisk Albertan weather.

Pepper barked as you opened the backdoor trailing off to her favorite spot by the fire pit. You sat on the small bench Logan built for you and him and laced up your skates. They were a soft white with sheer black bows on the back, a contrast to the sturdy black skates he wore.

You picked up yours about two months within moving there, an insistent welcome gift from Logan after you’d expressed how nervous you’d be even thinking about setting foot on the ice. He was determined to show you one of his favorite pass times and how much fun you could have just like back home.

You sat up after lacing your skates and pushed off gliding in a soft loop around the edge of the lake. You skated further out to practice your spins, you’d gotten good at them in the last few weeks and decided to keep practicing.

About an hour later you sat on the bench sipping your water. The sun had come out heating the day just like Logan said. He was always right when it came to weather. You pulled out your phone switching from your music to TikTok scrolling through the For You page deciding to search new skating tricks before landing on one you just had to try next.

A gorgeous figure skater demonstrating a beginner level jump. Yeah, you could do that- you thought to yourself. Setting up your phone you skated out a little and skated the beginning positions. You stopped, watching her jump, then skated back to your starting point to try it a few times.

After a few attempts you were ready to try a small jump- you began again and lifted yourself slightly- nearly slipping- but you landed! You actually landed.

“Pepper, Did you see? I did it!” You laughed as she ‘boofed’ in response un-phased by your triumph. You skated further out wanting more room to try a slightly bigger jump, surely it couldn’t be that different than roller skating? You’d jumped plenty of times, even once over a garbage can at the skate park.

You kept the video playing as you followed her instructions- you lifted yourself higher this time. A stomach dropping crack sounded as your skate nearly twisted off after the toe pick stood solid in the ice. You’d landed too hard and the force sent you tumbling down cracking the ice below further.

“Ahh, oh..Oh shit Mngh-ph!” A sharp pain cascaded up to your knee, tears welling in your eyes immediately. You shifted to sit up trying not to move your leg too much. You started crying as you unlaced your skate slowly pulling it off along with your socks. The sight was already awful- the chilled air not helping in any way. Your ankle now swelling before your eyes a bright angry red and painful to the touch.

“Pepper!” You hollered for her, “Fetch phone!”

She hopped up darting forward snagging it in her mouth and plopped it in your hand. She scanned the area knowing something was wrong and sat against your back for you to lean on.

Unlocking your phone you paused before calling Logan. Would he be upset with you? It was probably not the smartest idea to try this today, and if you called he wouldn’t hesitate to leave work. You quickly brushed those thoughts aside as your ankle throbbed worse than before. You needed him here.

The phone rang as you tried to collect your breathing.

“Hey Darl-“

“Logan, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” You panted into the phone

“Slow down Darlin, sorry for what?” He snickered over the line.

“I’m out on the lake with Pepper, I- ItriedtodoanewtrickandIfellandnowmyanklesbroken-“

“Hey hey slow down Angel, what are you saying? You’re still on the ice now?”

“I tried to do a new trick and I fell and now I think my ankles broken..”

“Angel, oh no you can’t be serious?”

“Yeah” you sniffled “It hurts Logan, I can’t get up it hurts so bad I’m sorry”

“I’m on my way now, just stay put with Pep, and I’ll take you to the hospital” You heard the door of his truck slam shut and the phone call end.

He pulled into the drive way 15 minutes later- which you’ll have to scold him about because his commute is 30 minutes on a good day.

It mattered less now as he trucked down to the lake stepping onto the ice and carefully lifting you up as you groaned. He walked you to the truck and opened the door with one hand, you tucked away in his other arm. He shut the door and called Pepper to let her inside. She whined watching you leave out the front window.

Logan grabbed your soft blanket you kept in the truck and wrapped it around you and pulled onto the highway.

You lived about an hour from the hospital and you couldn’t get there soon enough.

He pulled a snack from the lunchbox in between you in the front seat and handed it to you- the puppy chow you’d made him as a sweet treat for his lunches.

“Here, you should eat something, take your mind off the pain for a bit, yeah?” He grunted.

“Maybe” you sat in silence watching the pines fly by out the window.

“Logan, you should slow down a bit- I’m not gonna die, I’ll be okay” you prodded softly.

He flashed you a worried look and kept driving in silence.

You reached the hospital quicker than expected and were seen just as quick- thanks to the intimidating looks Logan dished out to every nurse, admin, and doctor who kept walking by without seeing you.

Finally X-rayed, they’d concluded you had a broken ankle though not terribly so. You’d be in a cast for about 4-6 weeks and would need the occasional check up. They sent you off with a pain medicine prescription to pick up and you were home before you knew it.

Now once again resting by Logan on your couch your mind drifted back to earlier, the feelings of upsetting him and worse worrying him over something you could’ve avoided by listening to him.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?” He hummed softly.

“I’m.. I’m really sorry about today- If I had known I’d never have tried that stupid trick..”

“It’s not your fault, Angel, accidents happen and it’s part of being on the ice- you slip the wrong way and it’s blam- lights out sometimes” he trailed off wrapping his arms around you.

“Really, it’s my fault- even if you didn’t try a jump you still could’ve fallen and hurt yourself. The ice gets too slick when the sun comes out, and it’s starting to thin the ice too”

You mulled over his words in a stunned quiet.

“I should have thought of that, should’ve told you..” he sighed out.

“Logan, there’s no way either of us could’ve known” you grabbed his chin to look at him softly. “Like you said- accidents happen”

“But that’s not enough, it’s not okay- you’re hurt because of me, I miss one important detail, and it’s some kind of pain for someone else all over again” he muttered

“I’m just so sorry, this shouldn’t have happened Angel, and it’s my fault for not telling you sooner..”

“Logan, you didn’t do anything wrong even if I got hurt” you spoke- searching for his eyes

“What if it’s not just a broken ankle? What if next time it’s worse- I just cant stand the thought of losing you- ever.”

You felt destroyed and reborn with his confession. You knew Logan certainly liked you but to hear him express the way he cared for you rocked you to your core in his quiet moment of vulnerability.

You pulled him in closer capturing his lips in a passionate dance.

“Good thing you never will.”

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine fluff #wolverine #logan howlett x you

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morganas-pendragons · 2 months ago

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wash away the blood | celebrimbor

gif by beaulesbian

this idea was WAY too good for my little brain to pass up. I'm gonna keep writing these regardless of what happens to him (I have 2 hurt/comfort fics for Celebrimbor in my drafts... let me know what else you want to see!) and this was born from my desire to hug Celebrimbor and never let go.

this still follows the elf reader for my past fic Ease and is a female reader + the prompt is ''river'' and ''blood'' (which I came up with myself LOL)

LIGHT SPOILERS FOR 2x07 READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

His entire being aches down to the very core of his soul. His hands are bloodied, and his cheeks are cut up and bruised, but Celebrimbor cannot help but allow himself this one moment of comfort as Galadriel stands in front of him and cradles his face like he is the most precious thing in this world.

The hearts of his kin were always far bigger than he could comprehend.

"I built this city. My place is here."

Galadriel shook her head. "No," She replied. "Your place is with her, far away from Sauron's influence. I will take The Nine for you. You dare not face him alone."

Like a being straight out of his dreams, Celebrimbor watches you emerge from the darkness of Eregion's ruins with all the desperation of a woman just trying to save the man she loves.

That is the promise you made to him, after all.

It was the one thing he could count on amid the illusion.

"Celebrimbor, my love," You slip your bow over your shoulders and approach him with haste, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as he leans his weight into the warmth of your embrace. You have been an embodiment of safety and security since Annatar showed up. You had proven to him that despite his misgivings, his pride, and his arrogance, he was worth more than simply the skills he had to offer Middle Earth. "She's right. We have to go. I distracted Annatar enough that he'd be struggling to look for The Nine for a while. We have time to flee the city if we go now."

"Go to Lindon. You will be safe there," Galadriel assures. "Tell them it was I who sent you. I will buy you time."

You don't tell Celebrimbor that you've regained your memory of the spells you grew up learning or how you successfully kept yourself shielded from Sauron's manipulations. You don't tell him that the staff slung across your back is your own either. He will surely find out that you've regained your magical capabilities soon enough.

Your face crumples when you feel his hand come to cradle your jaw and find it slick with blood. His thumb is missing. You feel the weight of him sinking into you further and shifting to accommodate as you turn yourself and Celebrimbor toward Galadriel. She has no argument. The Commander of the Northern Armies simply nods her confirmation and disappears into the shadow and flame.

Celebrimbor's quiet, agonized confession echoes soundlessly in your ears as you lead the way toward the Dwarven tunnel.

"All that loss, all that death... And it all remains on my hands."

You don't have anything to say to him. Bracing your hand against his hip, you lead the Smith you love to the horse at the end of the tunnel and help him into the saddle first. He is barely conscious by the time you sit behind him and gently pull his body into your own so he will sit upright.

A quiet sigh breaks past your lips as you press your chin into his shoulder and allow silent tears to fall. Celebrimbor follows suit, swallowing the knot in his throat as tears fall down the blood on his cheeks.

He can only manage a strangled whisper of, "I love you." before your fingers are pressed against his stomach, murmuring in Quenya under your breath as he falls into unconsciousness.

***

The first thing Celebrimbor feels upon waking is warmth. His entire being is warm. The crackle of a fire echoes beside him as he slowly opens his eyes, greeted with a twilight sky and the gentle hum of a voice somewhere above him as fingers card through his hair.

He feigns sleep for another moment to bask in the moment. It is the first true moment of safety he has felt in weeks.

"Good morning, my love." You murmur. Celebrimbor forces his eyes open again to gaze upon your face and softens. You look the picture of beauty, even with your unkempt hair and ash and blood upon your cheeks. "You've been asleep for two days."

Well. That was mostly true. Sauron's influence had not fully lost its grip until you were well out of Eregion's reach, and in that time, he had attempted to attack you twice and had left bruises on you. You chalked it up to exhaustion and delirium. He would not. Celebrimbor would never forgive himself for it.

"I seem to be a mess," He said quietly. You pressed your hands against his shoulders and slowly helped him to sit up. The forest around you was quiet save for the chatter of creatures and bird song. There was no war to be seen for miles. "And here you are, taking care of me yet again."

"I love you. What happened in Eregion and what Sauron did does not change that." You said firmly. Reaching over him, you produce a bag of fruits and nuts you'd obtained earlier that morning while he slept. "I do however want you to try to eat."

He almost immediately complies, were it not for the shock of seeing his hand healed.

Celebrimbor's eyes snap to you in astonishment as he runs his other hand over where his injured thumb is. He remembered being in agonizing pain, remembered the gentle lull of your voice and the warmth of silver light engulfing him.

It was you.

"You..." His voice falters, leaving you an opportunity to interject if you so wish to. You did not dare. His voice had been taken from him for so long that you would never put him in a position where he could not speak his thoughts and feelings again. "It was mangled when we left Eregion. Bloodied. What did you do?"

You tap your circlet and wiggle your fingers. "I told you I have healing magic. It's just one thing I've remembered how to do." You said. "But I cannot heal weariness. That only comes with time."

Your eyes are fixated on his mouth as his tongue slides across one of the berries before disappearing behind his lips.

The air between you is thick with tension, electrified by your growing desire for him. He knows it. So do you, but you do not wish to overstep, especially when he is in this state. That is what prompts Celebrimbor to motion toward the river and then to his robes.

"I believe we are both in need of a cleansing. I am too weak to do it on my own." He states. Realization flickers behind your eyes as he sets the bag of food aside before gesturing for your hand. "Would you guide me to the river, My Lady?"

How are you supposed to say no when he's looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon in the sky, like you are an emissary sent straight from the Valar themselves, ever the image of true beauty?

Despite knowing you love him and he loves you, he still has such capacity to reduce you into a stuttering mess.

You nod wordlessly and stand to your feet. He's still hesitant to be in the open, as is expected, but there is something about your protection in Celebrimbor's most vulnerable moment that puts him at ease as you two trek the distance to the river.

It only occurs to you upon spotting its banks that this is the first time since you will see him fully unclothed. It's not like the massage when you met. It's more intimate. It's vulnerable.

"My love," Celebrimbor's voice breaks through your reverie as you step into the sand. "I believe I may need help removing these old things. I don't know what use they will be anymore. Can you assist me?"

You don't know why you're hesitating. You love him. He's made it clear he loves you too, and no one else in this world has ever made you feel so safe. He'd taken such good care of you when you arrived in Eregion. Alone and destitute, The Lord of the Elven Smiths had brought you under his wing as you sought out refuge from the world around you. From your lack of memories, from your lack of trust.

And then he'd shown you what pure love looked like. You had been his ever since.

"Lift your arms." You murmur low in his ear. Celebrimbor complies, wincing as the fabric grazes a wound on his side before he finds himself free of the confines of his robes. His underclothes do not fare much better. "I'm sorry, Celebrimbor."

"Whatever for? You are not to blame for this."

"I'm sorry that he inflicted such pain upon you. You have a kind and gracious heart that only wished to fulfill a legacy you feel is an expectation of being from the House of Feanör," You state as you slowly lead him into the water just enough to where it dips beneath your waist. You are still dressed in your own clothes. The armor you'd worn during the Siege has long been discarded. "And I'm sorry he used you as a means to his own end."

"I survived." He replies. You lean outward as his good hand catches your face, seeking out the warmth and comfort of a desired touch as his thumb traces your lips. "You were my only truth amid all the deceit."

You allow him to draw you to him as he bends his head to meet your mouth, sighing softly in response as you press your hands to his chest. It is a sweet and short kiss that conveys nothing short of Celebrimbor's gratitude that you have stood by his side throughout it all.

When you are the first to pull away, you bend down to cup your hands and fill them with water. "It'll be easier for me to wash your hair if you are kneeling. Would you?"

"Of course."

The next few minutes pass in silence as you wash the blood from his hair. The water of the river tinges red as you continue, working your fingers through his curls and deep against his scalp to ensure you have removed all of the dirt and grime that has settled there. He tips his head into your hands, at your total mercy, and allows his eyes to flicker across your aspect as you continue.

"Okay," You remark. "That is your hair. The rest-"

"I would very much like it to be your turn, My Love." He interjects. You raise a brow at his forwardness and laugh as his cheeks tinge pink. "If you'll allow it."

You turn your body toward him and lift your hair to allow him access to the fastenings of your clothing. You are just as bloodied as he is, skin smeared with orc and elf blood as you had spent the majority of your time during the Siege at the front when Elrond had shown up.

A shiver runs down your spine as Celebrimbors fingers graze the curve of your back, loosening each fastening before your shirt is loose and heavy with water. You nod your confirmation and watch it fly back in the direction of the shoreline where his robes sit.

You kneel and peer up at him through your hair. You're so glad he's here. You were so sure that Sauron was going to kill him before you could get back to the Tower.

''Hey, hey. What are these tears for?" He asks, urgency and concern lingering in his tone as he kneels to meet you in the water.

"I thought-" You swallow your fear and screw your eyes shut as your forehead seeks his own. Celebrimbor softens. He's always admired your ability to be vulnerable with him. To let him see your heart in a way no one else ever has. "I thought Sauron was going to kill you. Kill you, make me watch-"

He'd thought the same thing.

Celebrimbor runs his fingers over the bruises on your cheeks before shaking his head. "You and Galadriel made me see reason. You got me out. You took care of me and tended to my wounds. No one else would have been able to break through his influence like you did. And now that we are here?" You open your eyes and sigh as water descends through your hair and down your neck. "Let us be cleansed of Him."

So that's exactly what happens. Minutes feel like hours as you keep him afloat atop the water and help him wash his body of the war you have left behind. Even though Celebrimbor struggles, he does the same to you, cradling you with such a tenderness that it makes your heart ache.

When you are both cleansed, you stop him from returning to the shore with a kiss that takes his breath away. He is only just able to return the kiss with equal fervor when he manages to get your feet out from beneath you and topples you into the water.

Laughter echoes in the air as you sink below the water before you pull yourself back up, flabbergasted that he'd pulled such a move.

Then you see why.

Celebrimbor is smiling.

He may not be as whole as he once was, oh no, but he's still the most beautiful person you know. That soul is so gentle despite all he has endured.

Precious.

"You're staring."

You snap to attention at his remark and grin. You can't help it. "I love you." You reply. His response is immediate: That smile you love so much as he slowly chases you through the water with all the strength you both can muster before you both collapse on the boulder where your clothes are drying.

It is there in the light of the sun with you wrapped in his embrace that he finds the courage to ask the question.

Sauron has no influence here. Not anymore.

"Will you marry me?"

#Celebrimbor #Celebrimbor x Reader #rings of power fan fiction #rings of Power

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blingblong55 · 1 year ago

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If I could lie to you-Philip Graves

Based on a request:

! jealous ! Phillip Graves x F! Reader??? Hera me out🙏🙏 Ok so let's say shadow company & TF-141 (reader is like a sergeant in 141) are like working together for a mission, but graves has a crush on reader, but we'll just tells himself that he doesn't like her even though he really does...Let's say graves explored around the base cause she was curious on how it looked but just his luck he went into room where training usually happens and he saw reader sparring with one of there recruits seemingly helping them improve their skills, And graves did not like it one bit. The way reader holds the recruits arms, hips, shoulders everything. Despite she was just trying to help he felt jealous. That should him who she's touching like that. Not that recruit. He watched as the sparring session between the two, his attention was at her(reader) and her only. When he saw that she pinned down the recruit he felt even more jealous considering how close they were. The rest is up to you🙏🙏 sorry if it's long🙁

A/N: Don't worry anon, nothing is ever too long...well...you know what I mean

---- F!Reader, fluff, romance, soldier!reader, jealous!Graves ----

Task Force 141 and Shadow Company worked together on another mission and intel operation. You and Gaz were sent first to help Commander Graves gather intel from a base located in the Middle East. After coming back with a successful amount of intel and a day-long rest, Philip found you training and sparring with the men on his team. Velikan was instructed by Gaz himself to be rough with his training and sparring session with you, he was hesitant at first but soon warmed up to you. Graves admired you from far away the whole time, always in the back just observing and chuckling to himself when you'd win or lose a sparring match.

This kind of day has become usual for you all. So much so that you grew close to the people in Shadow Company. Eventually, Laswell instructed you to leave back to the Task force's base. Time passed and you heard little from Shadow Company.

Months pass and eventually, the task force needs the help of Shadow Company. As all the others get settled in the bunks, Graves walks around the base. He checks out all the training rooms and overall enjoys his walk around the base. From afar, a lit room could be seen. He gets curious and when he walks in, he sees Velikan and you. Originally he asked for some tips back at the Shadow Company base and this time was no different, you were teaching him ways to improve his stance and some other easier ways of fighting.

Graves leans on a darkened wall, lights dim on that side where he was at. All those months when you stayed with Shadow Company, he admired you from afar, rarely talked to you but was always so polite. If you asked Gaz about why Graves was that way with you, he would smirk and shrug. It eventually created a small fixation in Graves's head, liking you was more of a hobby when he would learn things you liked, all so he could impress you someday. When that someday didn't arrive and Gaz and you flew back to England, he lost hope in confessing. After that, he told himself he didn't like you, that it was just him being some desperate single military man and that, that was the reason behind him improving himself for you. It had to be, right? Not because you were so smart, funny, strong and beautiful…not that.

Now as he watches a man from his team be so close to you, it seems unfair. What does he have that Graves doesn't? Not charisma, that's for sure. So, he kept cool and walked away. With time, he got close to the others in your team. He was brave enough to command an army of men and women yet he couldn't confess that he liked you and that he would do his best to be the man you deserve. And then…your hand went to his shoulder, Velikan's hand on your hip as you taught him one of your favourite yet best moves. You and he laughed trying to stay serious and as he and you fought using all the moves taught that is when Graves walked to you both.

Before you even noticed him, Velikan was pinned to the ground. It was impressive but Graves did not like it at all. He was supposed to be the one there, to have you in his arms, both for comfort and for other activities. Maybe for lovemaking. "Sergeant, get off my soldier and Velikan, get out." He said through gritted teeth. Shit, did Soap get him in a bad mood again? You thought. "Graves we are training-" the man tried to explain. "Do not give me a reason to make you run around the base- a matter of fact go fucking run." He snapped his fingers in the direction of the door. "Don't abuse your power-" Velikan tried once more but failed. "OUT!"

When he left the training room, Graves turned to you. "You know, you didn't have to be rude to him," you speak calmly. "I did, especially with what he was doing." Your brows furrowed, "What was he doing?" Graves shook his head in disbelief, it was as if you didn't notice how the man touched his girl…his fucking girl. "He was touching you, what's more to explain." You chuckle, "Oh that? No we were sparring," you explain but still, he didn't see it that way.

"No…not the way he looked at you, not how he grabbed you and especially not how he stared at you. What, are you training him on how to get women?" You sigh, a stubborn man he is. "No, and besides that is still no reason to get mad." "Maybe it isn't but-…fuck it- I like you…no I feel strongly about you. I like you Sergeant R/N, you are a sweet girl and you are so independent and funny and so cute and…why can't you see me?" You were taken by surprise and before a smile fully formed on your lips, he continued. "Do you have any idea what I'd do for you?" "…I don't think so-"

"And that is our problem. I would do it all. I like how you are so positive and so naive, it's absurd how it took me so long to say this. If one day you look up to the sky and see no stars, it's because I stole them for you. Even if you weren't real I would make you up, I'd brag about how beautiful your heart is, even if it gets me killed. I like how smart you are, and how you glow when you share a fact about something, it's beautiful to watch you stand up for yourself and how gorgeous it is to see you be so independent and I'll admit I want to be the guy you depend on for basic needs."

He walks closer, "I wouldn't disappoint you, trust me okay? I want to see you shine, want to see you glow and be the centre of a room. I want to be the guy you go home to. I want you, the good, bad and everything you can give me." His hands hold yours, placing them over his heart. "If I could lie to you, I'd say I don't believe in love at first sight. But when I saw you be you, how you didn't change no matter the situation, that's when I fell in love."

"Graves-" "Let me confess it all, R/N…please just let me say the words I've been dying to say." One nod from you and he goes on. "One stare from you, just one and it makes my day. You pat my back after a long day and I go to my room excited to prove the next day that I am worth more than a pat. That I can be the guy to watch from the stands as you shine. I get it now, I get why those romance films get you excited, why you read romance, I do because now I know and understand how good and strong real love feels."

"What if I'm not the girl you think I am?" "You see, that's where you are wrong." "I am?" "Yes, let me explain, okay?" "…okay." your voice small "With every girl I've ever met, I never felt this strong about them. With reason, I know now that all those kisses from past lovers were missing something, they were missing you…" "But-" "My love, please let me explain further." He takes a deep breath and looks at you with conviction, "I was full of doubt, I was scared of why I didn't feel so strongly about someone." He kisses your hands and places them back over his heart. "It's so lovely to get to know you, truly. I promise that someday, when we get married, you'll be the one who runs it, whatever you say goes and that is final." You chuckle and he smiles. "I'm being serious here."

"I want to give you reasons to fall for me every day of our lives. I need to be the guy who you look at and smile and go, 'Yeah…I did right' and I swear to be that forever."

"What if you are fooling me?"

"I'm not, I swear by all that I care for that I am not."

"Pinky promise?"

He chuckles and holds his pinky finger out, "I pinky promise to always love you, to be the man who stands here today and pours his heart out. I pinky promise to be good…to be excellent and never make you cry…well unless we laugh too hard…or if we get rough when we make love…" When both of your pinkies link he kisses them and wraps his arms around you. His warm lips are on your forehead as he kisses it repeatedly and whispers sweet nothings.

If this were a lie, your heart and his wouldn't sync, and your heartbeats wouldn't beat for each other. If he could lie to you, you wouldn't be preparing to walk down the aisle a year later. If he could lie to you, you wouldn't be home, sitting on the sofa, his arms wrapped around you as you chose names for the child you carry. The same one that was made out of pure love. If only he could lie…

A/N: isn't he so perfect....besides the war crimes of course....

Tags:

@puffinhp @chicfille222 @rowrowrowyourboat13 @fanofstuffidk @staniyabuns @underwatertales @graesage @liyanahelena @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frazie99 @viomast @night-mare-owl-79 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @luvecarson

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electrikworm · 1 month ago

Text

Playing Pretend: Chapter 1

Relationships: Crosshair & Wrecker, Crosshair & OC (one-sided)

Content Warnings: Torture, whipping, Forced to hurt somebody, Blood and Injury, Zygerrian Slavery

Summary:

Being part Zygerrian, infiltrating a Zygerrian gang is all too easy for Crosshair. Things get significantly more difficult when Wrecker is captured. Crosshair is forced to torture his own brother as to not blow his cover. As things keep getting worse, Crosshair begins to wonder how Wrecker will ever be able to forgive him when he can't even imagine being able to forgive himself.

Chapter 1 written for @ailesswhumptober day 22: Forced to hurt somebody else and whipped

Written for @squad-724 Hybrid au, with amazing art by her as well :)))

Word count: 5,336

Read on Ao3

Despite his best efforts, Crosshair frowns when the whip is handed to him. It's an old-fashioned thing, made from heavy leather, thinning out towards the end and tipped with three heavy metal spikes. "What's wrong?" The Zygerrian that handed him the whip asks. She's the second in command of this little crime ring Crosshair's infiltrated, going by the name of Asesh. "Weren't you boasting about your ability to torture?" Crosshair scowls, ears flicking. His supposed skill in interrogation is the one of the reasons he was hired by the gang in the first place, beside his Zygerrian heritage. Whilst he hasn't got training in that area, he's certain he can improvise. Only issue is, he never anticipated he'd have to do so on one of his brothers.

The mission had been going fine. Infiltrating a Zygerrian gang isn't all too dificult when you're part Zygerrian yourself. They were all too ready to involve Crosshair in their group. Which was great of course, that's why he was chosen for the mission. Having Zygerrian blood will make Crosshair seem more trustworthy. It'll make it more likely that vital information will be shared with him.

All Crosshair needed was confirmation on if this gang was involved with the disappearance of two important senators. But things went slower than anticipated. He didn't want to push them to share something, worried he might cause them to distrust him. Maybe he should have been more persistent, than maybe things wouldn't have went so badly. With no way to safely contact his brothers, he had no way to inform them of the delay. They arrived for his extraction like planed and Crosshair had to hastily send them away. They'd gone unnoticed, or at least, that's what Crosshair thought until he was called for a meeting and Wrecker was dragged in, bound, gagged and beaten. He's not looked at Crosshair once since he's been manhandled onto his knees in the middle of the room by two of the larger gang members. "Whips aren't exactly my style," Crosshair says, trying to hand it back.

Asesh smiles, far too softly for someone asking Crosshair to torture his own brother. Of course, if she finds that out, they'll both be in Wrecker's position.

“You've never used a whip before? You've truly been kept from your heritage for far too long,” she says, shaking her head. “First I find out you don't speak Zygerrian, now this. Next you'll tell me you're against slavery.”

Asesh laughs, loud enough to make Crosshair's ears hurt. Crosshair joins her, faking amusement at the crude joke. It's not the first horrible thing of hers he's had to pretend to find funny, but this time hurts the most by far.

“I'll give you advice, don't worry,” Asesh says with a grin, patting Crosshair's back. “It will do you good to learn, to connect with your heritage. Whips also make for good exercise.”

Crosshair forces a smile.

“Don't we usually use a different type of whip?” Crosshair asks, inspecting the object in his hand.

Electro-whips are extremely painful, but to Crosshair's knowledge, are designed not to leave permanent damage. The leather whip he's holding looks vicious, if given a choice, he'd swap it for the electric variant. He's not getting out of doing this, might as well try and reduce the harm done to Wrecker.

Asesh scoffs. “Electro-whips are good, but are to keep merchandise from losing value. And we don't need this little intruder in good shape by the end of this.” She closes the gap between her and Wrecker, grabbing his face and laughing. “And have you seen him? Hideous! A few more scars won't make him uglier.”

“What even is he?” one of the guards asks, wrinkling their nose. Asesh shrugs.

“Part Lasat,” the second guard speaks. “Look at his feet and ears.”

The first pulls a face. “Never seen one of those.”

“You know, big, hairy, weird legs,” the second continues. Asesh shuts him up with a wave of her hand. Crosshair doesn't say anything. Best none of the Zygerrians know he has any familiarity with Wrecker or his species.

Crosshair has to fight the urge to put himself between Asesh and his brother as she prods at his face, dragging her claws across it near his blind eye. Wrecker's always nervous when someone's on his blind side, Crosshair can see the discomfort in his eyes as he tries to twist out of her grip.

“I did not know Humans could even breed with Lasat, but I can see why they don't do so often. The mix isn't very pretty, is it?” Asesh laughs as Wrecker mumbles something.

Pulling the cloth used to gag him out of his mouth, the fabric catching on Wrecker's sharp teeth, Asesh leans close.

“You can make this very easy for yourself, half-breed. Tell us who you work for and what you were doing sneaking around our property and it will all be over.” Asesh smiles, tipping Wrecker's head back far enough to make Wrecker squirm. She runs a hand over his short, purple hair, trailing her claws along his pointed ears, first the intact one, then the one torn by the blast that took Wrecker's eye.

“Kriff off,” Wrecker growls. “You don't scare me.”

Barking a laugh, Asesh looks back at Crosshair, gesturing to him with her free hand. “See him? He lacks experience, yes, but Cross will more than make up for that in the passion he shows for cruelty.” She leans in close enough for Crosshair to have to strain to hear what she hisses into Wrecker's ear next. “Once he's done with you, you won't even be able to crawl out of this room.”

Doing his best to remain neutral, Crosshair swallows. He's been laying it on thick the last few days, telling the Zygerrians all kinds of tall tales about how much he enjoys the suffering of others. He really wishes he'd just kept his mouth shut.

Not only will he have to torture his brother, he will have to pretend to enjoy it. Crosshair swallows thickly against the nausea building steadily.

After motioning for the guards to turn Wrecker so his back's towards them, Asesh splits Wrecker's plain shirt with her claws. Once torn enough, Asesh slips the ruined item of clothes of his chest. Lines of fresh blood run down Wrecker's skin where she's raked her claws over it.

Wrecker barely flinches. Crosshair knows things won't stay that way for long.

Turning to Crosshair, Asesh grins, flicking the blood off her claws. “Try it,” She says, indicating the whip.

Crosshair watches the weapon unfurl onto the floor, testing its feel. It's heavy. Aiming at an empty spot in the room, Crosshair swings it weakly. If he proves how bad he is at using it now, Asesh won't suspect anything when he goes easy on Wrecker.

Asesh hums as she watches Crosshair's pathetic display. Putting her hands on her hips, she narrows her eyes at Crosshair. For a moment, Crosshair thinks she's caught on to him. If so, he'll have to get out of here as fast as he can. With Wrecker of course. There's no way he's leaving him here alone.

“You really are bad with whips,” Asesh says, laughing to herself.

Crossahir fakes mild offense. “I said so, didn't I?”

“Let me show you.” Asesh moves to Crosshair's side, putting her hand over his on the hilt of the whip. She moves his arm for him, showing him the correct way to swing it.

When Crosshair swings it again, still holding back, it cracks loudly. Wrecker flinches at the noise, catching Asesh's attention. She leans close to Crosshair.

“See that? He may act tough, but he's terrified already. He'll be crying at your hands soon enough.” Her teeth glint as she smiles widely, making Crosshair want to shove her far away from himself. She turns back to Wrecker, speaking loudly again. “Now, anything you wish to share?”

Wrecker stays silent.

“Seems he wishes to do things the hard way. Cross, don't worry yourself too much about aiming. Just hit him as hard as you can.”

Crosshair hesitates. He can't miss Wrecker, it would be obvious he'd done so purposefully. He also can't let Asesh see he's not giving it his all. Holding his breath, Crosshair draws his arm back.

He tries to avoid the organs he knows are relatively exposed on Wrecker's lower back. The thick leather of the whip leaves an immediate welt of Wrecker's back, but Crosshair's aim really is bad, and the thin tip hits Wrecker's shoulder, splitting the skin there. The sharp tips even wrap around his shoulder, digging into the muscle at the front.

Wrecker cries out, making Crosshair's heart drop.

Asesh lets out a delighted shriek. “You are a natural! It's in you're blood, as I have been telling you.”

Wrecker's ears twitch nervously as awaits the next lash. Crosshair just holds the whip, unsure how to proceed. The Zygerrians will want him to continue, but he won't do so unless told so.

He glances at Asesh, hating himself for having to execute what ever order she'll give him. She gives Crosshair an encouraging nod and smile, leaving him both no option but to smile back and swing the weapon at his brother again.

Crosshair longs for his helmet as he brings the whip down on Wrecker's back again. It's bad enough having to hurt his brother, Crosshair could do without having to pretend to like it as well.

He avoided hitting Wrecker's shoulder with the tip again, but he's fairly certain it caught the muscle on Wrecker's upper arm.

Wrecker doesn't cry out this time, a bit back noise of pain being all that leaves him. Crosshair feels sick.

Asesh circles Wrecker as Crosshair is forced to continue. The lashes begin to layer across one another, clearly hurting a lot worse when the do judging by Wrecker's reaction. He's nervously retracting and extending the claws on his feet, even when Crosshair isn't actively hitting him.

Crosshair almost gasps as a particularity badly aimed swing leaves a deep cut diagonally across Wrecker's upper back, quickly having to cover the noise by faking a laugh. There's pride in Asesh's eyes as she watches Crosshair. It makes him want rip her throat out.

“It's good to laugh when you are having fun,” she says. “Don't let anyone here make you feel like you can't.”

Asesh stands directly in front of Wrecker as Crosshair strikes him the next three times, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes focus on Wrecker's face.

“Give me that,” Asesh says, pointing at the whip in Crosshair's hand. He thinks he's done something wrong until she continues. “His expression is amusing, you have got to see it.”

Willing his body not to hesitate, Crosshair walks around Wrecker, handing Asesh the whip as she passes.

Wrecker can barely look at Crosshair, only glancing up at him shortly. Kark, are those tear tracks? Crosshair's made his brother cry in the past, they've all done so at one point when they got into arguments. Never like this though.

When no one is looking, Crosshair one handedly uses their squads apology sign at Wrecker's eye level. He isn't sure Wrecker's seen it, and even if he has, Crosshair's not sure how Wrecker could ever forgive him.

Asesh cracks the whip without letting it hit Wrecker, delighting at the way Wrecker tenses. Wrecker looks up at Crosshair, expression almost neutral if it weren't for the pain he's covering up.

Then the whip lands on his back and Wrecker's face scrunches, teeth clicking at how fast he clenches his jaw. It takes every bit of willpower Crosshair has not to react to his brothers distress. He has to force his ears and tail from flicking as he watches Wrecker suffer, willing his expression and body language into one of enjoyment.

Asesh wastes no time before continuing, bringing the weapon down on Wrecker over and over in quick succession. Wrecker's hands shake where they're bound in front of him. He's barely able to keep upright, Asesh only giving him a break if the guards have to right the way Wrecker kneels.

When she stops, breathing heavily from exertion, Crosshair can see blood splattered on the floor either side of Wrecker.

Smiling at Crosshair, Asesh motions hims to move closer to Wrecker. “Go on, interrogate him. And get your claws involved. It's a beautiful experience, sinking your claws into a lowly creatures flesh.”

With a quiet, shaky breath, Crosshair grabs Wrecker's face like Asesh did, keeping his claws away from the skin. Instead, he sinks those on his other hand into Wrecker's shoulder where Asesh can see them.

Wrecker hisses in pain, making Crosshair want to let go. He doesn't.

“Tell us who you are and what you were doing here,” Crosshair hisses.

“You'll get nothing from me,” Wrecker barks, voice strained and breathy. Crosshair has to tighten his grip as Wrecker squirms, making him cry out again.

“Speak,” Crosshair yells. Wrecker just keeps fighting against his grip in response. He manages to shake Crosshair off, falling onto his side in the process. Asesh finds this extremely amusing.

“Take over for me Cross. You are young and have a lot of energy,” Asesh orders, Extending her hand holding the whip. Drops of Wrecker's blood fall from it and onto the floor in the time it takes Crosshair to walk to her.

Wrecker's back is in a sorry state, almost making Crosshair react to the sight. Deep, bleeding marks layer the skin, tearing it to shreds in places. Crosshair's hand trembles slightly as he allows the whip to unfurl again.

If Asesh lets this go on much longer, Wrecker will die.

She asks Wrecker questions as Crosshair continues as slowly as he dares. Wrecker screams every time he's hit now. Crosshair isn't sure he'll ever be able to forget the sound.

When Asesh finally calls an end to the torture, Crosshair feels like collapsing.

“A night on the floor will make him more agreeable,” Asesh smirks. She's about to walk off when Crosshair stops her.

“What about infection?” he asks. He's pushing his luck, but with how open Wrecker's back is, it's worth the risk.

“Why would we care about that?” one of the guards huffs, only to be shut up by a hand gesture from Asesh.

“No, he is right. Our prisoner will die on our terms, not from some infection.” She pats Crosshair's back affectionately, before gesturing at the guard she interrupted. “Find something to use as disinfectant, alcohol or salt, I don't care. And bring a large piece of cloth. We don't waste medical supplies on prisoners.”

It dawns on Crosshair that Asesh is going to use this to hurt Wrecker even further.

The guard leaves and Wrecker is forced onto his stomach on the floor, bound hands stretched out far in front of him. Asesh takes the whip from Crosshair's hands and his stomach drops.

“Watch this,” she says, nudging Crosshair's side playfully. Asesh brings the whip down on Wrecker's exposed lower legs. She catches him right near the ankle, making him kick his legs up.

Asesh naturally doesn't leave it at that, ordering Crosshair to straighten Wrecker's legs each time he squirms away from her. Thankfully, Crosshair isn't forced to use the whip on his brother this way as well as Asesh stops when the guard returns.

Wrecker's still left with bunch of new welts and cuts, a few ugly ones across the bottom of his feet, damaging the pads situated there. Crosshair cringes at the sight, playing the motion off as him shaking his arms out. He knows that Wrecker has a lot of feeling in his feet and a lot more range of motion than a human would. The damage will affect him badly.

“What did you find?” Asesh ask the guard.

“Salt,” he says. In addition to a package of salt, he's holding a blanket, made from rough material by the looks of it.

Upon Asesh's order, he hands both the items to Crosshair.

“Have fun,” she says genuinely, pointing at Wrecker.

Faking a laugh, Crosshair kneels down next to Wrecker. He's panting for air, cheek pressed to the floor. The skin on his back is in shreds, even peeling off in places.

Nausea threatens to overcome Crosshair as he watches his brother's chest rise and fall, shifting his back, glistening with blood.

Crosshair tips some salt into his hand. The situation would be bad enough, but the guard's managed to find particularly coarse salt. Its rough edges will only add to the way it will irritate Wrecker's wounds. He's not sure this is better than the risk of infection. Once again, Crosshair wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

Just as he's about to pour the first of the salt onto Wrecker's back, Asesh interrupts him.

“Is he purring?” She exclaims, laughter bursting out of her.

Now Crosshair's been made aware of it, he hears it too. It makes his heart hurt. The urge to lay down beside his brother and purr as well, to maybe make him feel just a little better, is near overwhelming.

“Like a scared child! Pathetic,” Asesh continues. She kicks Wrecker in the ribs, making him gasp. Crosshair laughs automatically, not even fully realizing that he's doing so anymore.

When Asesh signals him to continue, Crosshair empties the content of his hand onto Wrecker's back. Wrecker writhes as the salt clings to his open wounds, whimpering and gasping as the sting sets in. Continuing, Crossahir pours salt directly from the container, moving as fast as he can.

“No need to rush,” Asesh intervenes. “Enjoy yourself! Really get the salt in there. We wouldn't want our prisoner to get an infection.” She smiles at Crosshair, encouragingly. Crosshair looks down at Wrecker's back before nodding. That way, he doesn't need to manage his expression too much.

Being mindful of his claws, Crosshair starts using his hands to rub the salt deeper into Wrecker's wounds. Wreckers howls in pain, struggling to get away from Crosshair. He pushes his torso off the ground, but Asesh is there to stop him, putting a boot on the back of Wrecker's neck.

She nods at Crosshair, looking pleased.

Crosshair does his best to block out both Wrecker's screams and anything coming from Asesh as he continues. His hands soak with blood as he works. Crosshair doesn't want to imagine what the rough crystals of salt must feel like rubbing against open injuries,

Once he's done, Asesh hands him the blanket. “Wrap it around his chest. It will stop the bleeding.”

The material of the blanket is awful to touch, the kind Hunter couldn't stand. Having it used as makeshift bandages should classify as a type of torture in and of itself.

As carefully as he dares, Crosshair wraps the fabric around Wrecker's torso, having to force him onto his back to tie it at the front. The wounds on Wrecker's arms and legs remain open, salt acting as the only barrier between open skin and the surrounding world.

Asesh, with Crosshair's help, maneuvers Wrecker to his knees. He sways slightly as he sits slumped.

“You will talk,” Asesh hisses, grabbing Wrecker's face again. “It is only a matter of time.”

Wrecker growls, lunging forwards to snap at her. Asesh laughs, avoiding his bite easily.

“You are amusing,” she says. “I like hurting creatures with a little fight in them. Makes breaking them all the more fun. Maybe I'll keep you.”

With a hand wave, Asesh gets the guards to pull Wrecker onto his feet, dragging him out of the room. He can barely keep his legs under himself, leaving bloody marks where ever his feet make contact with the floor.

Asesh follows the guards, so Crosshair won't stick out doing so. At least he'll know where Wrecker is being kept.

It's a small room, smaller than the one used for interrogation. Maybe it was once used for storage, but now, it's been fashioned into a bare cell. Asesh wasn't kidding about making Wrecker sleep on the floor.

Swiftly, Wrecker is shoved to the ground, hitting it hard. Crosshair just about catches how Wrecker curls up on his side and the sound of him purring quietly to himself before the door is slammed shut.

The only thing Crosshair wants to do now is be alone, somewhere dark where no one can see him.

But Asesh asks him to follow her, so he does.

She steps out of a door towards the back of the base the gangs set up. It leads into a narrow ally, barely illuminated by a humming neon tube just over the door. Asesh leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette. She offers one to Crosshair, like she does every time. He declines.

“Suit yourself,” Asesh shrugs. She smokes in silence for a while, at least having the decency not to exhale smoke in Crosshair's direction. There's small specks of blood on her hands, making Croshair want to look away from her.

Looking at his boots, he spots the state of his own hands. Dry and drying blood is caked on his skin, concentrated around his claws. The contrast to his pale skin is stark. Crosshair's skin itches. He wants to scratch at it until any trace of Wrecker's blood is gone.

“You've never been taught how to break a slave, have you?” Asesh asks, cigarette barely held between her fingers as she gestures.

Crosshair shakes his head.

Asesh clicks her tongue before taking another drag of her cigarette. “Never even owned one, have you?”

Crosshair shakes his head again, looking anywhere but where Asesh is standing.

“I guess it is not uncommon. Not everyone can afford them, especially with large portions of our trade being ruined by this Galactic Republic,” Asesh scoffs. “It is sad that you have been kept from your culture. It is hardly your fault you have inferior blood running through your veins. That is no excuse to keep you from who you really are.”

Crosshair nods, turning his grimace into a smile. “You've done a lot to make that right.”

He looks at Asesh, regretting the action when he spots the soft, fond smile on her face. Crosshair needs the gang to like him if he's going to get any information from them, but he doesn't like this one bit.

“We'll get information from the prisoner sooner or later, but I plan to keep him. I will use him to teach you the slave trade,” Asesh says, putting a hand on Crosshair's shoulder. “If your work today is any indication, you will make a fine slaver.”

Crosshair feels sick. He hasn't felt this unwell since he was a cadet. But all he does is continue smiling. “I'd like that a lot.”

Asesh laughs. “I knew you'd agree! After how much fun you had with the prisoner, there was no doubt in my mind!”

He'd fooled the Zygerrians, Crosshair just hopes he hasn't fooled Wrecker.

“Now, go, eat, get some rest. No need for you to keep an old woman like me company,” Asesh laughs. “Think of some other things you'd like to do to that prisoner as well,” she says with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Crosshair's about to turn away from her when she grabs his arm. “And Cross, don't let anyone say your human blood defines you. You're a truer Zygerrian than many pure-blooded ones will ever be.”

“Thank you,” Crosshair says, playing off his disgust as modesty.

“I mean it. You're made for this.” With a smile, she lets go of Crosshair's arm and goes back to smoking.

Crosshair doesn't stop or let himself get distracted the entire way to the quarters he has set up in the gangs base. He barely breathes the whole duration of the way.

Once he's in the small room, he drops himself on his bed, going limp.

The day couldn't have gone worse. Not only did he fail to get the mission done in the time frame he should have, but his slow progress has landed Wrecker in a horrible situation.

He must hate Crosshair, there's no way he doesn't. Crosshair has to believe that Wrecker knows Crosshair would never enjoy hurting him like that, but even so, Wrecker must hate him for getting him stuck in this situation in the first place.

Shifting onto his side, Crosshair stares at his bloody hands. There's nothing he can do to fix the situation now. All he can do is continue the mission. If he doesn't, Crosshair's put his brothers lives in danger for nothing.

He can't risk bringing Wrecker any useful item or giving him medical help. If anyone notices, Crosshair could blow his cover. But Crosshair has to check on him, just to see what kind of state Wrecker's in.

When most of the gang is sleeping, then he'll go.

It's agony, doing nothing as he waits. He only leaves his room once to wash his hands. The blood doesn't seem to come off. It's like it's soaked under Crosshair's skin.

He doesn't eat. Crosshair feels like he should be hungry, but the thought of food just makes his nausea worse.

Crosshair hates being like this, useless. He's done nothing, achieved nothing this mission. Except for torturing his own brother of course.

The Zygerrians trust Crosshair, but not enough to share valuable information with him. And all Crosshair can do is keep playing this game, keep hurting Wrecker until he completes the objective.

What's worse is, Crosshair actually liked Asesh.

Crosshair's young, a new member of the gang and not even a full Zygerrian. Other members made sure to remind him of this. Not Asesh. She was nice from the start, looked out for him, was easily impressed by his skills and made sure to point out when he did something worthy of praise.

Asesh treated Crosshair like an actual living, breathing sentient being. Natborns don't do that often.

It didn't matter to Crosshair that she was a horrible person, none of that affected him. It's easy to play along with someone's bad behavior and values if none of them are directed at you.

But now Wrecker's their prisoner, now Crosshair's forced to act on those opinions he pretended to have.

Even after washing his hands, Crosshair can still smell the blood. It's like the scent clings to him, his clothes, his hair, his skin. He can't escape it.

Once the lights in the hall are turned off for the night, Crosshair wastes little time in retracing his steps to the cell Wrecker's been left in.

Only standing at the door does it dawn on Crosshair that he doesn't have a key or code to get in.

Staring at the panel next to the door, Crosshair thinks. The guard didn't use a code or key card, did he?

Hesitantly, Crosshair pushes a button on the panel, than another. He repeats the process until inexplicably, the light at the bottom of the panel flashes green and the door slides open.

That isn't very secure, Crosshair thinks to himself.

The inside of the room had it's door panel removed. Crosshair groans. That makes the chances of one of the Zygerrians seeing him much higher. He'd have preferred the privacy of a closed door.

The room is dark, but it's easy to make out Wrecker's curled up form on the floor near the wall. He's shaking, purring quietly.

Glancing into the corridor behind him, Crosshair waits. When he can't hear anyone approaching, he moves to Wrecker's side, moving slow as to not spook his brother. Once close enough, he crouches next to Wrecker, hovering his hand just above Wrecker's shoulder.

“Wrecker?” Crosshair asks, carefully letting his fingers brush across Wrecker's skin.

Wrecker flinches, gasping in pain as he crawls away from Crosshair's touch. Crosshair watches in horrified silence as Wrecker struggles to avoid being near him. It's entirely justified, still hurts to be exposed to that truth.

Stepping over Wrecker, Crosshair goes down to his level again, this time in his line of sight.

“Please, stay calm,” Crosshair pleads. “I'm not here to hurt you.” The last thing Crosshair needs is the Zygerrians being alerted of his presence in the cell.

Wrecker shifts, eyes widening as he looks up. He's not struggling anymore at least.

“Cross?” Wrecker's voice is hoarse. Crosshair mentally kicks himself for not bringing any water for his brother. Groaning weakly, Wrecker tries to sit up. Crosshair makes him stay down, hating the way Wrecker seems to shy away from his touch.

“I'll complete the mission soon, I promise,” Crosshair says. It would be easy to leave with Wrecker now, but there's no telling what will happen to their squad if they fail a mission this vital. The lives of important people are at stake. The Republic will value those over the life of clones, especially experimental ones. “Things will continue tomorrow, but I'll get you out of her. I just don't know when yet.”

Wrecker nods, laying his head on the ground. His eyes are barely open, half lidded as he goes back to purring. Quietly, Crosshair joins him as he looks him over. The blood on Wrecker's arms and legs is drying, wounds still looking wet. The blanket has red stains where it covers Wrecker's back.

“Does it hurt?” Crosshair asks, immediately regretting the stupid question. Crosshair can't get anything right today.

Humoring Crosshair for some reason, Wrecker nods. “S'okay if I don't move or breath too hard,” Wrecker mumbles, eyes falling closed.

Crosshair almost puts a hand on Wrecker again, but stops himself. Wrecker clearly doesn't want Crosshair touching him. Crosshair has to respect that.

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry,” Crosshair says, knowing his apology is entirely worthless. Wrecker's silence seems to indicate that he agrees.

That's when footsteps echo down the corridor. Crosshair leaps to his feet, looking for a rout of escape. Maybe if he's fast he can slip out of the cell unnoticed.

No, the person approaching is too close already. There's only one way Crosshair's getting out of this without blowing his cover.

With a quiet apology to Wrecker, Crosshair kicks him in the ribs, just hard enough to make Wrecker cry out.

“Speak!” Crosshair yells, surprising himself with how loud he is.

A familiar laugh filters into the room.

Crosshair looks up to find Asesh leaning on the door frame.

“I thought I would find you here,” she smirks.

Crosshair freezes. Does she know? Has she known this whole time?

“You're so eager to cause suffering, aren't you, Cross?” she continues.

“He should have spoken by now,” Crosshair says, hoping Asesh isn't just toying with him.

“These things take time, don't worry.” Asesh walks closer, threateningly. “But you are right. It does help to keep prisoners from getting any rest.”

She laughs. Swiftly, she hooks the heel of her boot over Wrecker's chest, flipping him onto his back. Wrecker gasps for breath as he arches off the floor, short, pained noises leaving him.

Asesh puts her weight on Wrecker's ribs, leaning forward towards Crosshair. Wrecker whimpers.

“You however need your rest. I admire your passion, but sleep is important. We will continue tomorrow,” Asesh says, leaning far enough to pat Crosshair's arm.

Soon as she takes her weight off of Wrecker, he turns onto his side. Asesh begins to escort Crosshair out of the cell, not before kicking Wrecker in the back for good measure.

Standing outside the cell, Crosshair feels worse than he did before. He'd managed to make life more miserable for Wrecker, just because he wanted to make himself feel less guilty by fishing for forgiveness.

“Sleep. I need you in top form tomorrow,” Asesh speaks as she closes the door to the cell. Crosshair catches one last glance of Wrecker's form against the far wall.

Crosshair nods, making his way back to his sleeping quarters. There's no way he's getting any decent rest. Not when he knows Wrecker is suffering a few corridors over.

#cw blood #tbb #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #whump #wrecker whump #my writing #cw torture #zygerrians #I had so much fun with this #ailesswhumptober2024 #tbb fanfiction #oc asesh

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snurtsnurtcreations · 2 months ago

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The Fisherwoman Pt 4

Call of duty pirate au outline part 4 (links: part 1, part 2, part 3)

Pirate captain Soap x Former navy officer now pirate first mate Ghost x fisherwoman reader

Welcome to my most recent brainworm :D Enjoy!

Warnings: uuhhh fights

What happened was the HMS Force, Captain Price’s ship, breached the pirate ship and took no prisoners. They were surprised to find Mrs. Shepherd on board, and she begged them to get help for the poor girl that had kept her company all this time. Upon seeing that the woman on the ground was, in fact, alive, they took you to the on-board medic, who did his best to help seal up the wounds. Certainly not as bad as it could have been, they must have only gotten her with it a few times, he deduces.

You come to once during the night, moaning in pain, but fall back unconscious quickly.

When you wake again, you suck in a sharp breath as you gain a crystal clear observation of your surroundings. There are unfamiliar voices outside the door. You are laid out on your stomach on a cot, dressed in a man’s shirt and pants. On edge, you force yourself to sit up, back stiff and mercilessly throbbing in pain. A hesitant hand reaches back to brush along your back, feather-light, and you hiss at even that sensation as your fingertips come into contact with bandages.

You recoil as the door opens, an unfamiliar group of men casually walking in and pausing when they see you’re awake. You stare at them wide eyed.

“Oh, you ought not to be up right now.” One of them says. Gentle though his words may be, it sets you off like a trigger.

You scramble up to grab something to defend yourself, and quick as snap you’re holding up a metal pan that once held medical supplies but now looks ready to send someone to the medic.

“Woah! Woah, let’s calm down there.” A dark-skinned man with a bandanna covering the top of his head puts his hands up placatingly, “My name’s Kyle Garrick.” He patiently explains that he is a soldier in the Royal Navy, that they rescued you and your mistress from pirates, that you’re on the HMS Force, under Captain Price’s command, that you’re safe here, and they’ll get you home.

He introduces the man that spoke earlier as the doctor of the ship He’s been treating your wounds for the past couple days that you’ve been unconscious. No one has done anything untoward during your stay here, and it was Mrs. Shepherd who changed you into a sailor’s spare clothes.

You relax minutely but demand to see Mrs. Shepherd, for your own peace of mind. The last sailor that hadn’t been introduced is sent to go fetch her. In the meanwhile, you tentatively ask the doctor about the state of your back.

He explains that it seems to be on course to heal quite nicely, two, maybe three weeks, tops. There will naturally be some scarring, but it’s hard to tell to what extent as of yet. He offers you a drink to help with the pain, but you politely decline.

Mrs. Shepherd bursts through the door, babbling on and on about how worried she was and how good it is to see you awake and how she thought for certain that pirate would go easy on you but all pirates are the same, scoundrels the whole lot of them, and on and on she goes.

You listen patiently, now much more relaxed since it seems the sailors were true to their word - even if they did still think you were a serving girl for the lady. Perhaps it is safer this way. The sailors excuse themselves and let the women a moment to themselves.

You pick out bits and pieces of information through Mrs. Shepherd’s rant about the state of the ship and the food and the stink of the men-! You learn that Captain Price’s crew had just happened upon the pirate ship and decided to take it out on a whim, as fortune would have it. The ship was originally a mission to eliminate a different pirate captain. Despite the sudden civilian addition, the ship stays its course to the Cape of Good Hope.

Now that rang an urgent bell in your head because that's where Mrs. Shepherd had claimed, some weeks ago, the trap would be set for the pirate captain Soap. Could it really be that some convoluted luck would send her directly to them? Is this the very crew that are meant to be the ambush?

You spend the next couple weeks healing aboard the ship. You’re initially guarded around the sailors, but you soon realize they are just men like any other, simply sailors fulfilling their duty. You cannot hold onto any resentment against them, not when Kyle offer you a meal everyday to make sure you eat something. Not when a sailor, just barely grown, always makes sure to politely take off his cap when greeting the ladies. Not when the men gather round during dinner, telling stories of their wives and children waiting at home. The bushy faced captain is kind, though gruff. And the crew are jolly and respectful, though dutiful.

They board in the Cape of Good Hope, and set the women up in a respectable inn, with a sailor as chaperone for the time being. Mrs. Shepherd, nosy as she is, asks all about the plan her husband had cooked up. The sailors points out a wealthy beach house a ways out, and explains that the pirates would be lured here thinking that they would catch General Shepherd off guard on vacation, but instead, Captain Price’s crew will be waiting there for them.

“Don’t they have a crew of their own, isn’t there a fair chance they might beat you even with your advantage?” You ask, genuinely curious, and partially trying to convince yourself they would be fine.

“Don’t say such things!” Mrs. Shepherd gasps, scandalized, “Our boys will surely be victorious.”

The sailor shrugs.

“There’s always teh chance, but.” He pauses, looks around. Then lowers his voice, “You didn’t hear from me, but I swear, Captain’ Price must have known Ghost before he was a pirate. He knows how his brain works.”

And that was certainly an interesting piece of information, but you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t adding up. For how adamant the General had been that the pirates would be dead, there seemed to be too much left to chance here. What if the HMS Force had been held up at sea? What if somehow, the ambush doesn’t work?

Somehow, Mrs. Shepherd had needled her way into getting a tour of the make believe vacation house she would have stayed at in the scenario. The sailor relented, but he was quick with the tour. Living room here, bedroom there, kitchen, bathroom, moving on-

But an odd pattern started emerging for you as they went room to room. You had almost thought it was a fishing line when it had first caught your eye, and you had to do a double take. But no, it was a write behind that cabinet. In the next room, another along the frame of the bed. Another pressed into a crack in the floor. The further you went, the harder you had to look for them, the more convoluted the hiding spots were.

As the sailor hurries them back out of the house, you catch one last wire stretched around the porch at the back of the house and out of sight. It was hardly visible, only found because you were looking for it, but you were certain it was there.

Before you had a chance to point it out and ask about it, Captain Price had the sailors marching inside, and scrapped for the sailor escorting the women to take them back to the inn and return post-haste. The Stalker had been spotted on the horizon, the sunset blazing behind them.

The sailor did as he was told, herding the two back to the inn, and Mrs. Shepherd perched at the window excitedly. You barely got her attention to tell her you weren’t feeling very well and would run to the store and the lady was already waving you off. “Don’t be long! It looks like it’s about to start!”

You rushed back to the vacation house, counting down the minutes in your mind, but it was a fair distance away and you were out of breath from the sailor jogging you back earlier. But still, you made it, and crept to the back of the house, keeping low behind bushes so as not to be spotted by the men inside. A glance at the sea showed the silhouette of multiple rowboats slipping through the water, silent as the breeze. A glance at the house showed a dark, homey place, a single lantern lit in a bedroom, and it sent a shiver down your spine at how convincing it looked to be a true vacation home, how little you would expect to find a whole crew of men armed to the teeth.

It took some time for your eyes to adjust to the creeping darkness that was quickly overtaking the sky, to find the wire you saw earlier, but after a moment- there! There it was, stretched down the porch beam and through the bushes. You followed its path out, out, away from the building and then there it went, stretching out over a grassy field and up a hill. Out here it was easier to spot, with no furniture or wood to guide the eye away, but it was still difficult to follow, pressed low into the ground and shrouded by tall grass.

Up the hill you followed, further and further, to the cliffy top of the hill. A glance behind at the house in the distance, at the ship, at the beach, and- oh! The shadowy silhouette of men creeping up the sand. Surely, surely, within that group were your beloved Simon and Johnny. You could go down there, stop them, tell them of the ambush, but-

But you know what this wire means, where you’d seen it before, when Makarov was rigging your cousin’s ship to explode. It had been activated by a person at the end of the wire, so there must be someone at the end of this one, waiting for an ambush of their own, willing to blow up both Price’s and Johnny’s crew.

You had to get there now.

Hurriedly, you reached where the wire trailed into a shady alcove carved out of the cliff, and within it-

You caught sight of the back of a man crouched behind a rock, watching the silhouettes below creep closer to the house. Your breath caught in your throat when the last dregs of sunlight glimmered just so over the planes of the man’s face.

Graves.

Your stomach churned violently, but a rock solid anger hardened in your gut. With a running start, you tackled the man, first and foremost wrenching the detonator out of his hands. It tumbled down the side of the cliff, it’s wire pulling taut, and then it is left swinging.

Blindly, you hear the start of combat down below, the shouting of men and the shot of guns, but now you’re focused on wrestling with the man on the ground. The one who’s had you tortured. The one who’d been about to blast your husbands to pieces

The two of you twist and writhe on the ground, kicking and clawing at each other. He pauses when he catches sight of your face.

“Wh- you??”

“Me.” You bare your teeth in a scowl, then punch him in the face. The fight continues. He reaches for his knife, you kick it away, you flip over each other a couple times, rolling to be just outside the alcove now.

You don’t notice it but the fighting below has quieted. Midfight, Ghost spotted the explosives the wire was attached to in the house and shouted at Price, enraged. Price, upon seeing the wire, paled. The crews were ordered off each other and swiftly evacuated.

“Shepherd never planned on either of us returning.” Price growls as the realization dawns. The two captains and their first mates hurriedly follow the wire trail up the hill. They catch sight of the scuffle outside the alcove.

Johnny and Simon can’t believe their eyes, but their feet instinctively quicken in stride.

Meanwhile, Graves had gotten the upper hand, straddling you, huffing and puffing from the effort he just exerted. He’s got his hands around your throat, slowly constricting the air out of your body.

“I should have just killed you when I had the chance.” he snarls. Face red and losing oxygen fats, your hands scramble around yourself for something, anything-

“Yeah, you fucking should have.” You grunt out, and slam a fist sized rock against his head. He topples off of you, groaning and cradling his head.

You finch as somebody’s boot collides with Graves’ side, and suddenly you’re aware of four more men that had ascended the hill. You clamber upright, hands scraping up the cliffside to help you stand, eyes wide and panicked, and your back positively burns. You can’t fight four more men, you barely got out alive with the one and-

Wait, you recognize these men. That’s Captain Price’s bushy mustache. That’s Kyle’s bandanna. That’s- Johnny’s gentle eyes, bewildered at the sight of you but so full of love- there’s Simon, mask and all, apprehending Graves-

Oh.

Oh, how you’ve missed them. You throw yourself at Johnny with reckless abandon, filing your arms around his neck.

“What- how did yoo-” he can’t seem to figure out what question to ask, but he wraps his arms around you all the same. You flinch when his arm brushes against your back, and his eyes fill with concern.

Captain Price and Kyle, stood off to the side, look completely baffled by this turn of events. Before they can even open their mouths to ask, Ghost has thrown the bound Graves into their arms, and turned to put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Now how did you end up all the way out here, love?” He asks, and you can barely make out his eyes from behind the mask in this darkness, but he care in his voice is unmistakable.

“So fucking much has happened,” You throw your head back and laugh, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Try.” Johnny implores. You can see the possibilities running circles in his head, each thought making him fear worse and worse.

“Alright, alright,” You concede, pulling away from him, “but let’s find somewhere to settle down, my back is killing me- oh! Captain Price, did the explosives go off? Did anyone get hurt?” You direct the last question to both captains.

“Nothin’ they cannae take.” Johnny grumbles.

“Nobody exploded.” Price reassures you, shaking his head wryly, “All thanks to you, huh?”

You blink and look around. “I guess so.” Simon steadies you with a firm grip on your forearm, and you open your mouth to ask why, confusion written all over your face, but then you realize your entire body is trembling like a newborn lamb. “I think… I’m going to sit down.”

Easing yourself down on shaky, shaky legs, you take a seat on the grass. Simon settles right next to you, and you readily lean into him, whilst Johnny ccrouches nearby, giving the two sailors the stink eye.

Kyle quickly excuses himself, leading Graves away, and Price leaves only after getting confirmation that they’ll have a chat later.

Watching as the two crews work together to disable to explosives under a moonlit sky, you start your tale from the beginning. The suspicious man at the market, your decision to go, meeting your cousin… the disastrous trip that landed you in Makarov’s ship, the lashing, Price coming to the unwitting rescue…

You tell them everything, and they listen with rapt attention. Johnny lays a comforting hand on your shoulder when you speak of your cousin’s demise. They both stiffen at the mention of Makarov, but you continue. When you skim over the lashes, Simon squeezes your hand, eyes pained and searching as he asks, “How many?”

“Was supposed to be twenty.” You glance away, attempting a noncommittal shrug, “Price’s men attacked the ship just after the eleventh.”

“Oh, luv…” Johnny murmurs, pressing a kiss to your palm with trembling lips. Simon’s taking off his mask, and his face is heartbroken, and- well, shit, now you’re crying right along with him. He bumps his forehead to yours.

“Y’were supposed to stay safe, you stubborn woman.” Simon huffs, smiling gently.

“You were too, but you were this close to getting blown up just now.” You tease.

Anyway, that’s as far as the outline goes. Y’all go home, Price kills Shepherd, happily ever after The End!

If i were to really write this id add in a whole lot more scenes where we get to see the boys doing dangerous pirate stuff, protectin each other, being in love, talking bout their wifey, etc. But as is, here's the outline, will probably never be fully fleshed out so enjoy!

#snurt writes #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #pirate au

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darkstarofchaos · 1 year ago

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It is finally time to talk about Megatron and Starscream.

Spoilers for Transformers EarthSpark under the cut.

So to start, it's fascinating to me that people are only now complaining that Megatron's characterization isn't consistent. I've thought it was inconsistent ever since episode 8, and it's only after episode 21 that I finally feel satisfied with his portrayal.

Way back in episode 3, Bumblebee asks Megatron what he would do if his troops weren't listening to him. Megatron's answer was, "When I commanded legions of Decepticons, my strategy was always intimidation. A little brute force, make a show of my weaponry, that sort of thing." He also mentions a "signature move" called the Turbo Twister, and while the details of what that is are lost to an explosion, it's pretty clear that he was using violence to keep people obedient.

Compare that to episode 8, which he spends complaining that Optimus has no problem locking up Decepticons despite not trusting GHOST. He doesn't want to use excessive force on the Cassettes when fighting them, rejects the use of devices that trap bots in their altmodes, and generally just doesn't like how the Cons are being treated. At the end of the episode, Optimus allows Megatron to let the Cassettes go, and Megatron tells Optimus that, "Perhaps your leadership style is not so different from my own."

Um. Excuse me, sir, but did you or did you not advocate for violence as a means of controlling your troops?

That's a blatant contradiction, and honestly, Starscream's "You don't know the real Megatron," sums up my problem with Megatron's redemption perfectly: we don't know the pre-redemption Megatron. We don't know what he was like when he led the Decepticons. We don't know why none of the Decepticons joined him when he allied with the Autobots. We know nothing about pre-redemption Megatron. Nothing beyond his own, cheerful anecdote about how he kept his troops in line through intimidation, and a later remark in episode 16 that, "A human soldier showed more compassion for my people than I did" (note that there is no contradiction between Megatron's self-assessment and his approach to disobedience).

Except now, thanks to the newest episodes, we do have something else. We have Starscream's assessment, and he describes Megatron almost the same way Megatron described himself: "The ruthless tyrant who ruled over us with fear and intimidation." Starscream did not say anything Megatron himself hasn't been telling us, and yet it's only now that Megatron's behavior gets labeled a contradiction?

But that's not why it's being called contradictory. I know it's not. So let's get to the heart of the issue: it's not just any Megatron who hears that Starscream has escaped and Does Not want him roaming free. It's a redeemed Megatron. It's a Megatron who argues against Decepticons being kept in cages, has a human partner, and shows nothing but patience in dealing with the Terrans.

It's a Megatron who, on learning that one of his most troublesome soldiers has escaped, falls straight back into old habits.

We have no direct evidence that Starscream was as rebellious in this continuity as in others, but I think it can be inferred. Megatron described intimidation as his approach to dealing with disobedience, and Starscream starts to treat Hashtag the same way when she refuses to obey him - then backs off when she calls him on it. So we know Starscream wasn't very obedient, and that he was "disciplined" often enough that he outright tells Megatron he doesn't feel safe with him ("Nowhere is safe if it's with you").

This matters because, when Megatron hears about Starscream's escape, it's not just some Decepticon. It's a mech Megatron could never properly control, who probably ignored orders and did his own thing constantly. Starscream isn't just an escaped Decepticon: he's a bot Megatron has been controlling with violence for who knows how long. And when that bot is no longer contained, Megatron slips back into unknown years' worth of learned behavior. Because he never had an opportunity to unlearn it. How could he, when Starscream has been locked up and Megatron didn't have to think about him?

But he doesn't stay in that mindset. Yes, he attacks Starscream on sight. But he backs down when Hashtag intervenes (he's already lowering his weapon before she's even said two sentences in Starscream's defense), and he makes no further attempt to capture Starscream. Quite the opposite: at the end of the episode, he extends an offer of safety, and when Starscream rejects that offer, Megatron just... lets him go. Just like he let the Cassettes go back in episode 8.

Megatron's redemption wasn't somehow undone because he made a bad decision on impulse. Not if all it took for him to change his mind about Starscream was seeing him try to save Hashtag from the Dweller. If anything, it showed that Megatron is committed to his new ideals. Even if he slips up sometimes, he isn't going to return to his old ways. And I don't know about anyone else, but I needed that.

I have spent the entire season doubting Megatron's redemption. It didn't feel like redemption; it felt like the writers just wanted a nice Megatron, and his old mindset could be handwaved as, "Well, he was bad once, but he's good now". Seeing him default to old behavior, even just a little, connected the Megatron we know and the one we only hear about in a real, tangible way. And at least to me, that makes his characterization stronger.

Of course, there's still that contradictory comment about Optimus' leadership style being "not so different" from Megatron's. But I don't think a single line of weird dialogue is worth getting worked up over.

#transformers #Transformers Earthspark #Earthspark spoilers #Spoilers #Megatron #Starscream

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uses-for-fics · 19 days ago

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Balance | Eric Bouchard

Pt .2 to Love is Embarrassing x

The next few days on set were nothing short of surreal for YN. The date with Eric had been incredible! Simple, quiet, but filled with an intimacy she had only ever dreamed about. They’d sat at a small café, tucked away from the chaos of the city and their work, talking for hours about everything and nothing. She learned things about him she hadn’t known before, like how he loved reading mystery novels and how he often second-guessed his directorial decisions, despite his confident exterior.

Now, back in the chaotic world of 'Tecto', they were faced with a new challenge: balancing their personal feelings with the professional boundaries they had maintained for so long.

Eric was as professional as ever on set, his sharp commands cutting through the air as the crew worked to get through a particularly grueling action scene. YN was seated in her usual spot, sketchbook in hand, as she watched him orchestrate the chaos. She couldn’t help but smile to herself—he had no idea how attractive he looked when he was in his element.

As soon as their eyes met, a silent understanding passed between them. YN quickly averted her gaze, focusing on her sketches again. The last thing she wanted was for the crew or, worse, Adam, to pick up on anything. She hadn’t forgotten how quickly Adam had caught on to her feelings before.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Adam’s voice came from behind her, causing YN to jump slightly. 'Speak of the devil.' She thought. “Still sneaking glances at each other when you think no one’s looking?”

YN scowled, trying to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Adam slid into the chair next to her, a grin plastered on his face. “Sure, you don’t. Listen, I’ve been watching you two dance around each other for months, and let me just say, it’s about time you made a move. I can’t take credit for all of it, but I’ll graciously accept a thank you gift at some point.”

She sighed, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break through. Adam had become somewhat of a constant nuisance—one that she weirdly enjoyed. He had this infuriating ability to tease her just enough to make her blush, but never enough to push her over the edge.

“Anyways,” Adam continued, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “just a friendly reminder to be careful. You know how people talk. Last thing you want is the whole crew gossiping. Not saying some people are noticing but people are noticing. It's kind of hard to not notice when your eyes have literal hearts in them when you stare at Eric.”

YN scoffed. “I do not have heart shaped eyes, you asshole but I know what you mean. We’re being careful. I promise.”

Adam gave her genuine smile. “Good, because if Eric gets in trouble, I’m blaming you.”

YN shoved him lightly, laughing as he got up and sauntered back to his mark, ready for the next take. Despite his teasing, Adam’s words stuck with her. They had to be careful—more careful than they’d been so far.

As the shoot dragged on into the late afternoon, Eric called for a break, and YN decided to step outside for some fresh air. She found a quiet corner near the trailers, away from the hustle of the set. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow over the lot. She leaned against the side of a trailer, flipping through her sketches absentmindedly.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out to see a text from Eric.

'Meet me by the craft services tent? I need a break. :,)'

She smiled and tucked the phone away before making her way over. The craft services area was mostly deserted, with only a few crew members milling around, grabbing snacks. Eric stood near the back, sipping coffee and pretending to study the catering options.

When YN approached, he glanced at her, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I’ve been craving some peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet on a film set? Good luck with that,” YN teased, stepping closer.

They kept their conversation light, discussing the shoot and the next day’s schedule, but there was an unspoken tension between them. She could feel it in the way Eric’s eyes lingered on her a little longer than they should, in the way his hand brushed hers when he handed her a coffee cup.

“How’s everything going with the storyboards?” Eric asked, his voice soft as if he was trying not to disturb the fragile bubble they were in.

“Good,” She took a sip from her coffee. “I’m almost done with the next sequence. The action scenes are a bit tricky, though.”

Eric nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. “You’re incredible at what you do, YN. I hope you know that.”

Her heart fluttered at the compliment, but she didn’t want to let it show too much. “Well, I learned from the best,” she said, smiling.

Before they could continue, a voice called out, interrupting the moment. “Eric! We need you on set!” Daniel looked a bit more frazzled than usual not even noticing the woman standing next to Eric.

Eric sighed, glancing at YN apologetically. “Duty calls.”

She nodded, giving him a small, understanding smile. “I’ll see you later?”

As he walked away, YN couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. She was falling for him more and more each day, but there was a part of her that worried about what this meant for her career, for their relationship, (if she could call it that) and for their work. They had to keep this under wraps, but every time they were alone, the lines between professional and personal blurred a little more.

The next few days passed with the same delicate balancing act. YN and Eric kept their relationship under the radar, meeting during breaks or after hours when no one was around. The strain of keeping things secret started to weigh on them both. YN felt like she was constantly looking over her shoulder, worried that someone—especially Pat, the studio's rep who kept fucking with Eric's vison of the film—would figure it out.

One evening, after the crew had wrapped for the day, YN found herself back in the quiet corner near the trailers, her go to spot to relax at this point, trying to unwind after a long day. She didn’t hear Eric approach until he was right beside her.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning against the trailer beside her. His face was tired but still held that warmth she had grown to love.

“Hey,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Rough day?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. “I’ve been thinking…”

His voice trailed off, and YN’s stomach twisted with sudden nerves. “About what?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “About us. About how we’re hiding, sneaking around. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some kind of secret.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t feel that way, I just… I don’t want to complicate things for you. For either of us.”

Eric met her gaze, and for the first time since they’d crossed that line, his calm, collected exterior cracked. “I don’t care about complications, YN. I care about you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. YN felt her breath catch in her throat as she stared at him, trying to process the weight of his words. She had known, deep down, that this was more than just a casual thing, but hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way she hadn’t expected.

“I care about you, too,” she whispered.

Eric smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then maybe it’s time we stop worrying about what everyone else thinks.”

Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, soft and tentative at first, as though testing the waters. YN melted into the kiss, her worries forgotten, her mind consumed by the moment.

When they finally pulled away, Eric rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily.

“We’ll figure this out,” he murmured. “One way or another.”

And in that quiet moment, YN knew he was right. No matter what challenges lay ahead, they would figure it out—together.

#x reader #my fic #fanfics #my fanfiction #eric bouchard #eric bouchard x reader #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #the franchise hbo #the franchise #eric bouchard the franchise

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devilsarchives · 6 months ago

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The lies of a Rose “Part I”

Disclaimer: This headcannon series depicts themes that some readers may find disturbing, such as an inappropriate relationship between an adult and a minor. With that said, this is not a romanization of those themes so if y’all take it that way that’s on you.

The Lady in Red’s identity has always been a mystery. Who was she? Where is she now? And how come despite the fact that she’s Nero’s mother, the eldest son of Sparda has no recollection of her? Well, having put in a ridiculous amount of thought and time into this subject, I think I’ve finally come up with an answer;

Our story begins on Fortuna on April 5th, 1997. (2 years before the events of Devil May Cry 3) Vergil, who was 16 at the time, had traveled to the remote island in search of the truth to his fathers fate. As soon as he enters the city, it doesn’t take long for the demons to attack, unaware that he had noticed their presence the entire time. Like the cutscene from dmc4 se, Vergil cuts his foes down swiftly and moves forward.

As he walked through the crowded streets trying his best to blend in, a young woman watched from afar.

Her name was Beatrice, a 21 year old member of the Order who, like the majority of Fortuna’s citizens, had spent her entire life worshiping the legendary dark knight Sparda, believing that he would one day return and free humanity from demon kind once and for all.

She had passed by Vergil in the cities marketplace, catching a small glimpse of his white hair. She had never seen anyone with that color, at least, not someone as young as that boy appeared. Apart from that and his cloak, Beatrice quickly deduced that he was a visitor who clearly had something to hide, so when she saw him entering the local library, she followed.

Trying her best to remain unseen, Beatrice watched him speak briefly with the librarian before heading upstairs to where all the historic records were kept. She asked the librarian why the visitor had gone up there, to which the older woman replied “He wanted to learn about the Savior.”

Beatrice found this news interesting to say the least. An outsider coming to Fortuna seeking knowledge about Sparda wasn’t unheard of. In fact, a vast majority of the city was made up of travelers who had been converted. But if that was the case, why had he not gone straight to the Opera House? Surely if the visitor had questions about the Order, he’d want to speak with his holiness, right?

Confused by all this, Beatrice decided to visit Fortuna Castle, the current base of operations for the Order’s highest members. There she requested a meeting with his Holiness, but was denied this request by her brother Sanctus, his holiness’s 2nd in command/ lieutenant. When told he would pass the message along, Beatrice informed him of the visitor with white hair wandering around town. Sanctus had already received a similar report from the guards posted at the entrance and was aware of the strangers presence, as well as their impressive abilities in combat. He had a hunch about the visitors true identity, but if he was going to convince his holiness of anything, he needed proof.

Sanctus gave Beatrice the task of observing the boy and reporting anything else she learned about him, which she gladly accepted.

For the next few weeks, Beatrice followed Vergil wherever he went. When he wasn’t at the library reading up on the legends of Sparda, he would secretly spectate during morning worship at the Opera House. Sometimes she would catch him snickering a bit during the sermon, never figuring out why as nothing his holiness preached had ever been humorous.

For whatever reason, the stranger didn’t spend his nights in an inn or a hotel. Instead, he sought refuge inside Port Caerula warehouse. It was hardly ever in use and guard patrols rarely took place in that area, making it the perfect place to lay low. Beatrice would go to the warehouse and remain outside, but not by choice. Vergil had place a barrier around the door, obliterating demons instantly once they made contact. Fearful that she would meet the same fate, Beatrice decided to remain oblivious to whatever went on inside that building, telling Sanctus that she could never figure out where the visitor spent the night.

After a month of fruitless observation, Beatrice began to think that maybe the visitor was just that, a visitor with zero ulterior motives. She was prepared to give up on her assignment entirely, until it happened…

Scattered across the island were many Hell Gates. In the past, the demon king Mundas had built them to transport his armies into the mortal realm to aid in his conquest of the mortal realm, however, upon being defeated by Sparda, the hordes were repelled and the gates were sealed off.

Centuries later, a mining expedition would take place near one of the gates. There would be a few encounters with demons, but nothing the city guards couldn’t handle, and so the worker could do as they pleased along as they followed one simple rule; Never touch the Gate.

Of course, like all rules, they would eventually be broken. A group of workers who were drunk from a party and had wandered far away from the others. They approached the gate and began daring each other to lay one finger on it. The “bravest” of them eagerly agreed to the challenge and recklessly placed his entire hand on the stone. There was a moment of silence before the ground began to shake and dark, demonic laughter invaded the workers mind. Before he or his friends had time to react, a hellish portal opened within the gate, allowing a monster to step through.

In the underworld, he was known as Berial. As one of Mundus’ many offspring, he was a true force to be reckoned with, proclaiming himself as the conqueror of Hellfire itself. He had been hellbent on making the traitor Sparda pay for his crimes against their kind, and now that he finally had a way into the Mortal Realm, he wouldn’t stop until that goal was achieved.

Stepping into the earth, he let out a roar that unleashed a supernova, laying waste to the structures around him, as well as the foolish workers that had opened the gate. Mass panic spread throughout the city, guards rushing people to safety while Sanctus led his best men towards the threat. As Beatrice ran with the others, she spotted the visitor running in the opposite direction. Against her better judgement, she did what had been doing from the start and followed, eventually finding herself standing with Sanctus. Both watched as the visitor approached the demon lord and discarded his cloak, showing no signs of fear or hesitation. Berial instantly knew who the young man one, saying he had Sparda’s blood flowing his his veins, shocking everyone, especially Sanctus.

The visitor took hold of the hilt of his blade and drew it, revealing that his name was Vergil and proclaiming that the demon would die by his hand. Angered by the young man’s complete disregard for his might, Berial moved to strike Vergil down, but to his and everyone’s surprise, the young man countered it with ease, initiating a fierce battle between the sons of two rivals.

Though Berial’s size and strength made him a fierce opponent, he truly was no match for Vergil. The teens inhuman speed and reaction time were astonishing to witness as he had accurately predicted the demons lords every move, allowing him to break through Berial’s defenses and land every single attack effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Sanctus, his men, and Beatrice were left speechless. They had all grown up hearing about Sparda’s power, yet never imagined they would witness it for themselves. It was clear to them who Vergil really was, and for Sanctus, this revelation opened to door to many opportunities, ones he was more than willing to exploit.

Pushed to the limit, Berial conceded to Vergil, swearing to return for a rematch once his power was restored. Though displeased at his opponents cowardice, Vergil honored the beasts word and allowed him to escape through the Hell Gate.

With the threat gone, Vergil retrieved his cloak, making direct eye contact with Sanctus before using the Yamato to teleport away from the seen. Sanctus ordered his men to go looking for Vergil immediately, waiting until they left before addressing his sister;

Sanctus: I know you’ve been lying to me.

Beatrice: Lying to you? What would I have to lie about?

Sanctus: Don’t play me for a fool, I know you’ve been aware of where that boys has been staying this entire time.

Beatrice: I-I’m sorry brother! I c-can explain-

Sanctus: No need, I understand completely.

Beatrice: You do?

Sanctus: Of course, after all he is an impressive young man.

Beatrice: I suppose…

Sanctus: Quite handsome too.

Beatrice: Well yes- what’s your point?

Turning to face Beatrice, Sanctus placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

Sanctus: My point, dear sister, is that you have my blessing to pursue him.

Beatrice: As…what exactly?

Her brother grinned darkly.

Sanctus: As a lover of course!

And that concludes Part I of my multi-part Lady in Red headcannon series. Sorry for this first one being so long, there was a lot to cover and tbh I can’t promise Part II will be any different. I’ve had this headcannon for a good minute now and while I’m not quite ready to turn it into a full fledged fanfiction, I really wanted to get it out there. Ill try to post a new entry every day, so if anyone has any questions or thoughts please feel free to comment and please reblog as Likes unfortunately do little to bring attention to posts on this app 🙃. Anyway, bye for now.

#devil may cry #vergil #dmc vergil #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc lady in red #nero #dmc nero #devil may cry headcanons

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wintertraumaposting · 8 months ago

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Learning the Ropes Part 1

Draft of part 1 of a story about a subby switch finding their confidence and style as a dominant.

No gender given to the reader (the learning dominant). The sub is described as a girl and feminine, but undefined much beyond that.

********

Learning the Ropes

The friend of your domme is all too familiar, although you've never seen her quite like this. She kneels on the ground in front of you, entirely naked, save for a blindfold and pair of noise cancelling headphones. By her expression, you can tell she's excited, but unsure of what's to come.

"Doesn't she look precious?" Your Domme asks as she steps in behind you. Her voice is enough to send a submissive shudder down your spine, which she immediately notes. "Ah ah ah, my pet. You wanted to practice being dominant, so you must put aside those feelings for the moment."

"Y-youre right," you answer, although the shaky uncertainty you feel is still obvious in your voice.

Your Domme steps beside you. She has such a natural dominating aura. Even when she's doing nothing more than standing in place, you dream of being on your knees before her, feeling her control washing over you.

The snap of her fingers brings you back to reality. "Focus, my sweet. You are in control here, and that comes with responsibility. I made sure your playmate would be unaware of your first reaction, but once she is following your command she needs to know that you know what you are doing." As if sensing your continued uncertainty, she gives your shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

"Yeah. I'm in control." You whisper under your breath, trying to convince yourself. You've wanted to be dominant for such a long time. It's just so difficult making all those decisions, dealing with the responsibility, and the anxiety about doing anything wrong. "So, what should I do?"

The sadistic glint in your Domme's eye tells you exactly what she wants to do to the eager submissive kneeling before the both of you.

"That is not for me to say. You are the one in control here. You know your submissive's kinks and limits. She is eager and awaiting instruction. She wants this. She wants *you*. So the question is, what do you want?" Her question is followed by her stepping over to a seat in the corner. "Remember, my sweet, you are not me, so do not try to be. Be yourself. Find your own style that suits your desires. Now, I think you have kept this beautiful flower waiting long enough."

You turn your attention back to the kneeling girl. Despite her lack of awareness, she really does look eager for whatever is to come, and you know exactly what is off the table. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a breath and centre your thoughts. You're in control. You can do this.

Stepping forward, you remove the headphones from her head. There's an immediate shift in her posture to a more attentive state. Just seeing how ready she is for you gives you a flicker of understanding about why your Domme finds controlling others so fulfilling.

"Hi," you say, unsure of how to begin.

"Hello. How may I serve you...?" She tilts her head, unsure of how she should refer to you.

"Your highness," you state with a confidence that surprises you, especially considering you hadn't even thought about honorifics.

"How may I serve you, your highness?" She repeats her question, now referring to you correctly.

"Present yourself." Your mind runs through the multitude of submissive positions your Domme has drilled into you. "Hands behind your head, leaning up and out," you continue before you can get stuck in a loop of indecisive thoughts."

The girl before you immediately obeys your command. She leans up from her kneel to push her beautiful body out towards you. Her legs spread out along the soft floor, giving you a perfect view. At the same time, she brings her hands up behind her head, locking her fingers together.

"Good girl," you tell her, after you've spent a few moments admiring everything she has, everything that you can play with.

You step past her to a table by the bed which has all sorts of toys laid out. Nothing too complex for your first time taking charge. Your Domme took the time to make sure you could safely use everything on display.

Before you can grab the collar you came for, you notice her head slightly turned in your direction. Despite still being blindfolded, she is trying to be attentive towards you. Reaching back, you take a soft hold of her hair, which is enough to make her shudder. You tilt her head so she's facing forwards once more.

"I'm sorry, your highness," she quickly says. She gives no explanation or excuse. You can hear the genuine submissive joy in her voice over even the simplest form of control. It fills your mind with more ideas of what you can do with her, just to know you're making someone feel so fulfilled.

Turning your attention back to the table, you pick up a soft, black leather collar with a D ring on the front. It has enough weight to always be noticeable, but not so much that would draw attention from other stimulation.

"Hold your hair up for me." You're still getting used to someone so eagerly following your commands. Leaning down, you wrap the collar around her throat, and are met with a sharp intake of breath. You recognise that excitement at the feeling of something being wrapped around your throat, making you feel owed, knocking you deeper into a subby haze. Not dwelling on how much you enjoy being collared yourself, you buckle it in place. Tight enough to be a good reminder of your control, but without restricting her breathing or blood flow.

After stepping back in front of her, you note just how perfect she looks with a collar around her throat. It seems like it should've always been there. And the satisfaction you feel from knowing you were the one that put it there is priceless.

In her current position, her legs are bent up in a way that puts strain on her muscles. For a short time, this is fine, but you know--from personal experience--she won't be able to maintain it forever. That knowledge gives you a delightful, if mean, idea.

"Remember, you are to keep this position until I release you from it." The confidence in your voice still shocks you. Fake it till you make it you suppose.

"Yes, your highness." Somehow she manages to sound even more submissive now. Impressive.

Kneeling down, you trace a hand down her cheek, moving towards her mouth. Her lips part just enough to make it clear she's ready to accept whatever you might put inside, but your fingers continue on. They trail downwards towards her chest. Now your other hand joins, this one dragging your nails just enough to be slightly painful.

Your hands take their time, stopping to circle, moving back up. It's thrilling to watch how she responds to just the slightest touch, how you're getting her worked up without even touching her intimate areas. It's almost enough to make you remove her blindfold so you can see the needy look in her eyes.

While you do enjoy drawing this out for a lot of reasons, you're mainly buying time for the muscles in her legs to tire. She'll have to choose between obedience and giving into her body. You have no idea how long she will last, but you can see the struggle beginning to settle in. Her legs quiver, and her deep breaths of excitement are mixed with ones of concentrated exertion.

To take your teasing up a notch (or a few), you lean in close, putting your lips to her ear. "You're doing such a good job for me. Obediently following my instruction. Good girl."

Your words alone are more than enough to elicit a desperate moan from her, but at the same moment, you start to tease her nipples. For just a second, you're jealous of just how sensitive they are. Then, you realise just how fun that makes them to play with.

Her breathing quickly becomes ragged and desperate, all the whole intermixed with noises of whiny need. Yet she still manages to hold herself in place.

Your right hand leaves its post, teasing down to between her legs. As expected, she's dripping. Just that clarifying touch is nearly enough to make her legs buckle. She shifts out of place, but manages to correct her posture.

"Y-your hi-highness... P-please." You don't have to be looking at how her hips are trying to buck forwards into your hand to be able to know what it is she desires.

"Please give you a taste? Since you're doing so well." Before she can reply, your fingers are pulled away and pressed to her lips, which she readily accepts. The delighted moan she gives is one that tells you you've just knocked someone to a new level of subspace. That knowledge is as delicious to you as the taste of her own arousal seems to be to her. "Such a good little *slut*," you whisper directly into her ear, before giving it a playful bite.

That seems to knock her struggle to remain still up to the next level, so before she can slip back onto her heels, you ease her into your arms with gentle reassurance. "So good at following your highness' orders," you coo.

With a momentary princess carry, you get her settled onto the comfort of the bed. Still blind to the world, she has little choice but to await verbal instruction. The way her hands grip onto the covers does betray how badly she would like to touch herself. It brings a smile to your face to see that she knows better than to take pleasure without permission.

While you've avoided her gaze for fear of being knocked into your own subby headspace, you spare a look towards your Domme. There is an expression of happy pride on her face. She knows she taught you well, but more than that, she enjoys the opportunity to witness you exploring yourself (Plus it's hot as hell to watch her sub teasing and dominating a pretty girl.).

Turning your attention back to the table of toys, you decide what you want to do with your eager submissive next.

#softdom #kink writing #Winter's Stories #d/s #teasing #bd/sm kink #obedient sub #sensory deprivation #writeblr #nsft writing #original writing #bd/sm switch #t4t nsft #t4t #nsft #Winter Writes Stuff

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shiratamako · 2 months ago

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For the NPC ask game: I nominate Aymeric!

Aymeric only caught glimpses of the fabled Warrior of Light with Haurchefant before the two of them had entered the intercessory. The white snowscape and fall of sleet obscured much of what he could make out of the two figures. He gave his salutations to Commander Leveilleur, the young Elezen following suit. Arriving at the intercessory with the taciturn Lucia, he was at last able to glimpse on the figure of the Shira Tamako.

He was certain before he entered, he heard Haurchefant try to speak words to rouse the Warrior’s spirit. Observing them here, the two seemed fairly intimate — though one could certainly say the same for the close proximity that Lucia gave with him, a faithful shadow. There was seemingly something more than trusted friendship. He could sense Haurchefant’s fondness for her in every gesture he made. A wry smile was on his lips, faint as it was. The Silver Fuller was an exuberant man, though in Haurchefant's eyes that were constantly obscured by his hair, Aymeric did sense that Haurchefant's eyes sparkled with wholehearted passion.

He wished to see what stoked Haurchefant's zeal so — this Warrior of Light.

Shira was much shorter than he envisioned, waifish and perhaps even shy. Despite that, she commanded a noble presence. She cut a clean, elegant silhouette with her black attire. Her hair was neat, and kept short. Her scales seemed to contrast greatly with her pallid skin, noticing the dark patches that graced the sides of her cheeks, neck and hands.

“Speaking of reputations, yours towers over us all. Does it not?”

His voice remained even, low, and soft-spoken. Peering at her with his light blue eyes, he did his best to be gracious. He turned his head ever-so-slightly to Lucia, acknowledging that she too, had full respect for the Warrior of Light.

Lucia tilted her head in reverence. “It does indeed, Lord Commander.”

Haurchefant nodded in fervent agreement. Aymeric could see that Shira was becoming flustered over this display of generous support, casting Haurchefant a concerned glance. It was rather endearing how much she seemed to depend on him. In truth, Aymeric felt somewhat guilty. If anything, she had the grace of eschewing noble customs as the one he requested be here.

Finally, she looked at him. In the dim lighting, an annular glow surrounded her irises. Au Ra were but near exterminated in Ishgard, that Aymeric was unaware of the phenomenon of limbal rings and their eerie crepuscular glow. No doubt upon her arrival to Coerthas would she have been called a heretic. He was starting to understand perhaps why Haurchefant comforted her so before he arrived at the intercessory.

“A… pleasure to meet you, Ser Aymeric,” Shira’s voice was cheerful, strained perhaps due to nerves. She offered him her best smile, meek as it was.

Perhaps, if he offered something more candidly, he would see her more at ease.

“I am not too proud to admit that I have followed your activities with an interest bordering on fascination. Full glad was I to learn that you would be joining us.”

Aymeric did his best to assuage her, though Shira still seemed rather furtive and withdrawn. Perhaps the idea of a diplomatic meeting was something more intimidating to the Warrior of Light. As much as he would have loved to listen to her tales and exploits, there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Now then, shall we begin?”

#ffxiv #ffxiv oc #ffxiv wol #warrior of light #ffxiv warrior of light #aymeric de borel #haurchefant x wol #Haurshira #Sorry that I couldn't come up with a better concept #Aymeric is a bit of a mystery to me still even in late Heavensward #I also have a friend who is in Early HW so I wanted to write something more accessible!#ffxiv writing #ffxiv fanfiction #my writing

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midnightcreator12 · 1 year ago

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Chula Verd Ref Sheets 2023

Read about where she's at in the Hunter and Turtles Series

More about her under the cut

Chula Verd is a hybrid between a Mandalorian Human and a Lasat. She weaves pieces of both cultures into her lifestyle but, since her mother died very shortly after she was born, she was raised by her Father and thus, leans more into her Mando heritage.

Sadly, the Mandalorian Clan War's end also brought the death of her Father. The pair had been with Death Watch for a time but Chula's Father did not agree with the plan Pre Vizsla was making. He had planned to sabotage the first attack on New Mandalore but Vizsla's followers learned of the plan and Vizsla ordered Chula's father be killed for treason.

Despite managing to escape, Chula's father was mortally wounded and died, leaving Chula orphaned and labeled a traitor to Death Watch at fifteen.

Chula traveled a lot over her next few years of life, her father had instilled a love of the star in her early on. She was angry and reckless but her Lasat heritage plus her fathers armor and training let her walk away from just about every fight unscathed.

In her Early twenties, she was in a cantina when a Jedi approached her. The Jedi, Astra Ader, had been tasked with recovering the local royalties daughter from kidnappers, since the ransom demanded for the princesses return was not at all feasible and her abduction had put a very delicate peace treaty in jeopardy. Astra said that she had planned to go alone but she heard a few whispers of a very skilled bounty hunter that happened to be in the area and since this mission was time sesative, she wished to hire Chula to track down the princess. Chula didn't much like the idea or getting mixed up with so political garbage but...the Jedi was offering a good sum and she was pretty and Chula was a little starved for some action.

The mission took only a few days, mostly because the kidnappers had moved the princess off planet, but Chula did her job. The Jedi was grateful and paid as she promised, Chula was surprised to find a little extra, and the two parted ways.

Chula assumed she'd never see Astra again but they kept meeting. The time between them meeting varied but, somehow, Astra kept approaching her in shady bars or crowded markets, with the promise of handsome pay for another job.

Eventually, Chula just gave Astra her communications code, saying that if she was going to be on the Jedi's payroll, might as well have a direct line. Astra seemed more than happy to call upon Chula's service anytime finding a person or persons was needed in her missions.

All the mission together drew the pair closer. Chula almost didn't notice how hard she was falling in love until years down the line. She never said a word, very aware that the Jedi frowned on their Knights courting people.

It didn't make it sting any less when the Clone Wars started and Astra's calls suddenly stopped.

Chula figured that she wouldn't see the Jedi again and, eventually, she'd move on. Except a few month into the War, Astra called, sobbing and begging Chula to help her becasue she didn't know what she was doing and she'd frozen and it had gotten her men killed. 'I lost so many, I killed them, I failed, please, I need help.'

Chula ran to Astra, because how could she say no? And helped the Jedi to be a proper general. It was at this time that Astra confessed that she had feeling for Chula. It wasn't an easy relationships, because Astra still held her duty to the Republic and Jedi over all else, but Chula would take it.

Chula became the honorary Commander of the 244th Battalion. She helped Astra with her tactics and working in active war zones, she started training the ARC troopers in Mandalorian fighting styles, she would spend days at a time on the star-ship, just bonding with Astra and the Clones. She planned to whisk them all away after the war (they were all to invested to even entertain the idea of a successful kidnapping during the war) because she knew that the Republic would not take care of them after the war ended.

But one mission threw all those plans out into the deepest voids of space

Chula is passionate, loyal, and adores children. She is very eager to help those she dubs friends and will not hesitate to crush her enemies. And despite the fact she doesn't like staying in one place for very long, she also doesn't do well when left alone for too long (depression, thoughts of suicide disguised as 'missions') And she wants to raise a little child of her own but, somehow, she keeps adopting teens and young adults.

#rottmnt #tmnt #lone hunter and turtle #star wars #tmnt au #fanfic #oc #mando oc

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aslightaddity · 1 year ago

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Dappy!verse lore The Penguin

Born the daughter of Gertrude Kableput after an affair with Salvatore Moroni. He was an only child as his birth was incredibly traumatic for his mother, he was born prematurely and with cerebral palsy.

His mother was fiercely protective of him. He barely left his home, when he did it was to the doctors, the store, the library, or the park but always with his mother. He was homeschooled by his mother and his neighbors as a child due to his difficulties speaking and the lack of accessibility in the Gotham public schools.

As a child he knew he was different, past his condition, he knew he was truly a boy, he had no way to communicate this, he had no word for what it was. Until he made a friend, a pen pal really, named Helix, who was like him. She too was trans and sheltered. They bonded over their letters, they shared photos, books, songs they loved, and their crazy stories.

For his seventeenth birthday he was surprised with his own set of arm crutches that his mother and neighbors had pooled together money for and was finally had more mobility that he didn’t need to rely on someone else for.

That was the same day he saw his first dead body. He finally had his own way to visit Helix on his own so he went to visit her but when he arrived at her home the doors were unlocked and in the middle of the room was the bloodied corpse of Helix. The only thing the killer left was a ransom note.

Oswald took the note and went to the worst place he knew to try and find answers, fish mooney’s club. He demanded to know if the person could be identified but Fish refused to tell him anything without assurance that he was loyal. In trade for the information Oswald began working for Fish.

As one of Fish’s employees he was given a spare tuxedo, it wasn’t as fitted as the others had them but he was greatful as he finally looked more like a man in it. He worked as a greater for the club and kept tabs on who came and went, like a look out, lord knows the security was just there for show and the heavy lifting. He also helped Fish hide items, often bringing them home and hiding their food hem under a loose floor board.

His mother wasn’t too happy that he got a job but he assured her it was a good job and that the extra money would be nice.

Over the years he slowly got closer to finding Helix’s murderer and he got closer to Fish herself. She was nice but strict, like a mother, and doted on him, saying how he looked like a little penguin in his suit. A nickname that quickly caught on. With the money he earned he was able to pay for his mother’s dream home in another, safer, city and was even able to pay for gender affirming care and better mobility aids on his own.

Then the day came when Fish called him aside to talk to him. They had found who they believed killed Helix and due to his dedication it was up to him what happened to him. Oswald had long made up his mind, he was going to kill them himself.

When the day finally came he went along with Fish and some of the other men to the man’s apartment. He was given a gun, not a nice one but by no means cheap. It was quick and slow the moment when he shot and killed the man he didn’t even bother to learn the name of.

He finally got revenge but there was more he realized his own potential. He could be just as great as Fish.

Fish realized this too and slowly he improved and became her second in command. She drunkenly told him one night that if she to die that it would all be his.

It was an uncharacteristically sunny day in Gotham when that statement would become true. While in a meeting with Falcone the all to familiar sound of a gunshot rang out. Oswald rushed in the room to find Fish bleeding out. Despite his insistence to help and try to save her, she already resigned herself to the death and reminded him that he was going to be a great man.

Usually when he returned home with blood on his hands from work he would wash it off as soon as he could but when he returned home he found himself unable to wash off her blood.

He took up Fish’s position, cozied up to Falcone despite how much he hated the man. But Falcone didn’t care about him, instead of treating him with the same respect he gave Fish, he made Oswald look after his daughter Sophia. Sophia insisted they were friends but it was very clear that they weren’t. They talked but it was mainly Sophia talking and Oswald responding in short answers.

Becoming more and more irritated with Falcone he began scouring to find others that disliked him and Moroni. Which, naturally, was a lot of people. He promised them better, to his ability he gave them better. It wasn’t long before people started denouncing Falcone or Moroni in favor of Oswald. Far too many people to just kill, far too important too.

It wasn’t long before he was confronted by both Falcone and Moroni. Who had nothing by colorful things to say to and about him, the threatened to kill him if he didn’t put an end to his growing claim on their crime empires.

Oswald wasn’t a fool. He had learned from them and so many other men like them how business worked, after-all he was doing a fine job running his own ‘business’. He knew that all men have a weak point you have to gouge, blackmail was a man’s best friend. So he told them what he had over each of them. For Moroni, it was the knowledge of his slew of affairs and illegitimate children he never cared to be responsible for and reminded Falcone that he knew every detail Sophia did. The blackmail alongside the dwindling support forced them to accept the change.

And for years it went like that, he ran the club, now the iceberg lounge, and managed his empire, both with the threats and attempts on his life that came with them. Never once being tied back to it all. He even took in an orphan that reminded him all too much of his long lost friend Helix, the boy was named Martin and he took him in as his own. But he grew paranoid as the years went by smooth.

Paranoid that someone was out to kill all that he loved, paranoid that every new face could be a threat. It quickly became a habit to blackmail and manipulate people. Afterall it was the only way he kept control. But then he met a man that defied his control, Ed Nygma. A man who when faced with blackmail pulled a knife and aimed for an artery. A man he would become so close to and soft with as the tell him his entire story. A story no one else knew in full.

In some ways he had gained the family he had long thought he lost.

#:) <3 #Dappy!verse #the penguin #oswald cobblepot #penguin #dc the penguin #Batman #batman villians #the riddler #martin cobblepot #lore #long post #text heavy #this took so long to figure out 😭#gotham

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rileytwenty · 2 years ago

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Leyra || the Albino Na'vi

(Neteyam x OC)

MASTERLIST/PLAYLIST/PICS

Chapter 1

Out in the forest, it was too easy to pretend that everything was perfect. Within the Nantangs' calls and the Ritis' chirping and the Pa'lis stamping about, peace was not hard to find.

Leyra could forget about her life in the village for a few fleeting seconds here and there. But then the little reminders, such as her particularly makeshift bow, or her ratty clothes, or her unusual white skin, would send her crashing back into her reality like a tidal wave.

Said reality included spending most of her days alone, with trees for friends and bugs for company. Her father, the only clan member who would willingly converse with her, spent all his days hunting or planning hunts as Jake Sully's--the Omatikaya Olo'ektan's--second in command.

Sometimes she liked her father's position. She'd get a heads up on where not to go to avoid the hunting parties and training sessions, and he'd occasionally come home with interesting drama for her regarding the other clan members.

Her mother had died on the frontlines of the Battle of the Tree of Souls. She had been an amazing warrior, well-renowned in the clan. Leyra's father won't say it outright, but her mother had been devastated when she was born. A perfect warrior giving birth to an albino freak show. She didn't have to live with the shame for long, as she died only one month after Leyra had been born.

Her father had been an amazing parent to her, supporting her and taking care of her the best that he could under Mo'at's rules. He brought her portions of the meals to eat separate from the clan so she could avoid the stares and whispers that still occurred even though she was bordering on seventeen.

Over time, the forest had become her safe space where she spent most of her time, despite the amount of times it had almost killed her. Though, she had learned a lot through experience and developed her own way of surviving in it.

Currently, she was perched in a tree beside some harmless little birds and was watching the Pa'li stampede around and drink nectar.

The sound of twigs snapping caught both her attention and that of the Pa'li. Another crunch had the horse-like creatures herding themselves away from the source of the sound. Leyra leaned back to look around the tree and see what animal had made the sound, only to find a young Na'vi boy stumbling his way through the underbrush.

He must be lost, she thought. Hopping down from the tree soundlessly, she approached the young boy.

"Hello," she spoke softly, startling the boy only a bit. "My name is Leyra," she flicked her finger away from her face in Na'vi greeting, "are you lost?"

Unbeknownst to them both, Neteyam had already spotted them, but kept his distance as he was surprised to see such a different-looking Na'vi teen.

The little boy returned the gesture sheepishly and muttered a, "yes, very."

She let out a small giggle at his honesty. "What were you doing out this far in the forest in the first place?"

"Neteyam agreed to take us kids out to see the hunters train, but I got distracted by a bug and was separated."

"Ah, I see. Would you like me to take you back to the village or to the training grounds?"

"You know the way?" He was bewildered. Leyra found it refreshing to speak to someone who had no hatred or pity or really any opinion of her at all.

"Yes, of course I do. I am not lost at all, I never am."

"Wow. But how? The forest all looks the same everywhere!"

"There are differences. I can teach you once you're older, if you want. That way, you'll never get lost again."

"Yes, please! Umm, could you take me back to the village? I sure would like to see my mom."

"Of course. It's this way, let's go."

The kid grabbed her hand, and it startled her. No one had made skin to skin contact with her in a long time. She tried to play it off and gripped his hand in return, which made him smile at her. It all but melted her fragile heart.

"There you are, Zi'um!" Neteyam finally emerged from the brush, a serious look on his face meant to scold the boy.

"Neteyam!" The boy leapt into the future Olo'ektan's arms. Neteyam chuckled, picking him up and holding the youngster over his hip.

Once the boy had comfortably settled, Neteyam's focus drifted to Leyra. He kept asking himself, since when had there been a white Na'vi in the clan? Had he really been so busy as to not notice such an extraordinary being? "Hello."

His presence was making her sweat. Her father always told her to avoid unnecessary attention, and here the future Olo'ektan was, trying to hold a conversation with her. "Hello, Neteyam."

Her voice was softer and nicer than he had been expecting from such an unusual creature. "Do I know you?"

"Oh, uh, no. I don't think you would. I just know of you, with you being the up-and-coming Olo'ektan and all."

He cursed himself for assuming they had met before and making things awkward for her. He had forgotten that his name was a well-known one. "Oh, right, yes. I think I would have remembered someone who looks like you."

A light blush tinted her cheeks in embarrassment and she looked down. Even the Olo'ektan's son was making fun of her. There really was no end to it all.

Neteyam took her blush to mean that his half-flirting attempt at pointing out her Eywa-given beauty had worked, and that she was flustered by his charm. He was, on this rare occasion, very wrong.

"Walk with us back to the village?"

Leyra was puzzled by him offering this after he had just insulted her, but she knew better than to try to disobey him. "Alright."

The three started off towards the mountain village entrance. Neteyam shushed at Zi'um, who was now whimpering about seeing his mother and apologizing for wandering off. Neteyam reassured him on both accounts.

Leyra enjoyed getting to see the soft interaction between them. People usually reserved their worst selves for when she was near.

Not long into the journey, the emotionally exhausted child fell asleep in the warrior's arms.

"What were you doing out in the forest, all alone?" Neteyam questioned her in a whisper once he was sure Zi'um was going to stay asleep.

"Oh, I-" she wasn't sure of what response he was expecting, "I was exploring, like usual."

"So, you spend a lot of your time in the forest, then?"

Yes, her father dropped her off to the forest floor on his ikran each morning after breakfast and picked her up each evening in time for dinner. "Yes, practically every day. I like having only the forest for company."

Neteyam hummed, intrigued by her response. In his eyes, the forest was a beautiful ecosystem best watched from afar. Too many dangers lurked just beyond one's line of vision. It was definitely a great circle, one that he was a part of, and it provided the clan with shelter and food. Though, he much preferred to look down on it from his ikran rather than from on the ground.

Leyra resisted the urge to ask him what exactly his indistinct hum had meant. Silence fell over the pair, and Leyra savored the adorably relaxed expression on the young boy's sleeping face.

She was smiling at the boy's face when Neteyam turned to look at her, wondering what she was thinking about in the silence. She averted her eyes upon making eye contact with him, the smile quickly fading.

Though, not before Neteyam saw it. And he decided he liked her smile.

They continued until they reached the bottom of the cave entrance and Neteyam called for his ikran to take himself and the boy up to basecamp.

As he mounted himself and Zi'um onto the animal, he opened his mouth to say something to Leyra, but nothing came out.

He didn't want her to walk off again and continue being alone in the forest. He knew firsthand how dangerous that was. Though, he could tell by her slightly turned away body that she had no interest in returning to the base with them.

"Be safe," he settled on, accompanied by a sturdy nod.

She smiled at him, but it wasn't like the smile he had gotten a glimpse of before. This was polite, obligatory.

"You too, Neteyam."

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