#but despite learning how to she kept saying commander

[thetimelordbatgirl]

OC Halloween Challenge 2023 Costumes Tell A Story Day Thirty: I Can Be Anybody I Wanna Be

NOTE: These are all alternate universe counterparts on my OCs from various AUs me and my friend, @disneyfan50 , either discuss or write based on disneyfan50's stories.

Featuring (from left to right): *Love From The Stars AU Reese as her eventual adopted father in the AU, Commodore Jim Hawkins of the Pleiadean Fleet (something said Commodore didn't realize at first until Reese said her costume (saying 'Commander' instead as usual, much to Jim's amusement), given Reese tends to dress like him anyway). *Songbird And Sleight Of Hand AU Jayla as her adopted father in the AU, Caleb Covington (who is honored by the costume...in his normal dramatic fashion, of course). *A Million Dreams AU Malachi as his eventual father figure in the au, Ilasqar (whose honored but also proceeds to want to know every detail about how Malachi made the outfit).

[nosyp]

Hi Nosyp!, yandere player 120 (I don't remember her name) and fem reader.

Platonic, 120 is like an older sister to her.

(reader is the youngest of the team)

--🥬

Heyhi 🥬anon! Ty for the request🥰 and her name is Hyun Ju if you wanted to know

Title = Protective Bonds

Warnings = yandere behaviour, fighting,

Pairing = Yan! Hyun-Ju (Player 120) & fem! reader

Summary = Player 120, your older sister figure, has always had your back. When you're attacked, she’s there in an instant, her protective instincts turning dangerously possessive.

Word count = 1.5k words

The world around you felt like it was on the edge of breaking. Every day, you were forced to play a game you never signed up for. With each challenge worse than the last. But… amidst the chaos, there was one thing that survived loads of other games with you and that was Player 120.

She wasn’t like the others. Warm, nice, and caring, she had a presence that you adored. Despite being trapped on an island and forced to play sick games, she was still very caring towards you. Even though she had a cold and rough exterior, inside she was caring. She often checked up on you and teamed up with you for group games. She insisted on letting her go first or stuff like that since you’re pretty young. 

You’d never understood why she took an interest in you. Maybe it was the fact that you were small, quieter than the rest, or maybe it was just your sheer luck. Either way, she always made sure you stayed out of the crossfire, out of danger.

“Stay close,” she’d say, always with that same calm authority and warmth she had. “I’ll look out for you.”

Sometimes, you wondered if she really meant it, or if it was just her way of getting onto your good side, though you had no idea why. But no matter how much you tried to read her, she always seemed a step ahead. She was actually quite quiet, collected, and always vigilant. Everything she did was for you. Even if sometimes you didn’t realize it and how much you insisted you were fine, she still did it anyway. 

Of course, you couldn’t help but feel safe with her around, you could feel yourself starting to depend on her every second you spent with her. In a world where every ally, friend or partner could easily turn a quick 180, into an enemy, there was something oddly reassuring about having her by your side. She didn’t show much emotion often, and didn't let her guard down. But the way she always seemed to be watching over you. She kept an eye out for you when others or even you didn’t.

In this game of survival, you hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone to trust. Usually, the players that had no relationships or connections with others lost the fastest, especially in team games.

The tension in the air never eased, it was unrelenting. The games grew harder, the stakes higher, and every time you thought you could breathe, something new threatened to crush you. But she was always there for you. Hyun Ju moved strategically, aware of everyone and everything. 

You learned to trust her instincts over time from prior games with her. Ever since you got close with her, you started listening whenever she gave a command, even if it was just a simple ‘Stay close’ or ‘Follow me,’ you always obeyed without hesitation. It wasn’t just because she was good at what she did. It was because, in this game, she was the only constant. The only thing that made sense.

One evening, as you sat against the cold wall of the holding room, trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing at your insides, you felt a familiar presence beside you. 120 didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she just sat down, her posture slightly stiff and body alert as always. But there was something different in the air tonight. Something that made your chest tighten with unease.

"You look like you're thinking too much," she said quietly, her voice low and steady as usual.

You shrugged, though the weight of your thoughts was hard to ignore. "It's hard not to."

She turned her head just enough to catch your eye, her gaze soft but still intense in a way. "This game… It makes everyone think too much. Don't let it consume you."

You wanted to say something. Something to push the conversation deeper, to understand her better but the words caught in your throat. There was always this wall between you two, no matter how many times she told you to stay close or how many times you’d shared the same space. She was always so… distant. Not cold or anything, but distant. And that distance made her even more unknowable.

Suddenly, a sharp noise broke the silence. Fuck. There were heavy footsteps nearing the room. Your heart raced, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Without a word, Hyun Ju was immediately on her feet, her hand outstretched to you, pulling you up with a force that didn’t let you question it. There was no time to hesitate.

"Stay behind me," she ordered, her tone shifting, sharper now.

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. This was different. The calm before the storm had ended.

The air was thick with tension as you followed her, hiding yourself behind her shadows. Hyun Ju was already positioning herself at the entrance, her eyes narrowed as she peered through the door’s small gap. Every muscle in her body was coiled like a spring, ready to react at a moment’s notice. It was a stark contrast to how she had been only moments ago. Opposite to her calm and collected side, now there was something darker in the air.

She wasn’t the type to show fear, but in that moment, you could sense it. Her every movement was precise, her eyes flicking between the door and you, keeping you close but not making it obvious. She viewed herself as your protector. And you viewed her as your protector as well. But even the bravest protectors could be afraid.

As the footsteps grew louder, you held your breath, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Hyun Ju didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The command in her presence alone was enough to make you freeze.

The door creaked open, and a masked figure stepped inside, their silhouette barely visible in the dim light. Hyun Ju was already moving before they could even fully enter, stepping between the intruder and you without hesitation. Her body was positioned between you two, blocking any potential harm from reaching you.

“Get back,” she muttered to the figure, voice colder now and laced with authority.

The intruder didn’t seem to flinch at all, but they hesitated for a moment. The silence was deafening. Then, with a quick movement, they lunged. Hyun Ju reacted instantly, sidestepping with a grace that was almost unnatural. In one fluid motion, she grabbed the attacker’s wrist, twisting it to make the intruder stumble, causing their body to crash onto the cold concrete floor.

You barely had time to register what had just happened. She was fast, faster than you could even process or react. The air around you felt charged, crackling with a dangerous energy. Hyun Ju was not only a shield, but also a force to be reckoned with.

She stood over the figure now, her eyes cold but focused. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” she said, her voice low, almost deadly.

The intruder groaned, but didn’t move, clearly having underestimated her.

You stood there, frozen. You had seen her handle fights before, but this was different. There was something almost predatory in the way she moved. Something that told you she would do whatever it took to keep you safe. Even if it meant crossing a line she didn’t want to.

But the thought didn’t last long. The figure, clearly realizing they were outmatched, scrambled to their feet, quickly backing off. With one final glare from her, they disappeared through the doorway, leaving you both in a tense silence.

Hyun Ju didn’t relax immediately. She was still poised, waiting for any sign that another threat might appear. You, however, couldn’t stop your heart from hammering in your chest. It wasn’t just the fight that had your blood pumping. It was the way she had acted, like your safety was the only thing that mattered to her.

She didn’t look at you yet, but you could see the tension in her shoulders slowly fading. It was as if the weight of the moment was only just starting to settle in.

"You alright?" she asked finally, her voice quiet, almost like she didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence that had fallen.

You nodded, though your throat was tight, unable to form any words at first. The reality of what had just happened hadn’t fully sunk in yet.

“Stay close,” she repeated, the calmness returning to her voice. “We need to keep moving.”

Her hand brushed your shoulder briefly, the contact so brief you almost thought you’d imagined it. But it was enough. Enough to remind you that, even in the chaos, she was there for you. The only thing constant in this maddening game.

Without waiting for a response, she turned, leading the way forward. You followed, still trying to steady your breath, but there was one thing you knew for certain. That was… with Hyun Ju by your side, you might just make it through this.

[yanderes-galore]

in love with the platonic yandere aegon ii and the greens too, will you please write more? 🥹💖 i cant imagine the thrill he’d feel when you bond with a dragon, and maybe even actively seeking him out and being there for him when the maesters treat him. i would love to see reader be so caring for helaena and their little sister, training to fight for the purpose of protecting them from harm. i can also see reader being inquisitive of their lineage as a targaryen, asking their uncle aemond to let them see vhagar and learn about their family. i can also see queen alicent being weirdly caring like seeing reader as another chance of being a better mother?

This is extended thoughts based on the Darling in this concept I'm linking here. Kept Darling Female as she was in the previous concept.

Based these extended thoughts on the Anon comments you made ^^ I don't mind making a few other cute ideas. Sorry it isn't all that yandere, I wanted to make cute content with the subtle echo of a threat without forcing unnecessary conflict.

Yandere! Platonic! Team Green Extended Thoughts

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Overprotective behavior, Isolation, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Fear of loss, Violence, Dubious companionship.

While Aegon is nervous about it, a good Targaryen princess and queen needs a dragon of her own.

So eventually you'll be given one of your own.

Dragons are rideable rather quickly, so within a year and a half you'll have a rideable dragon.

It's a hatchling of your own with pretty scales and piercing eyes.

Aegon himself would want to teach you the ways of having a dragon.

Although he often comes off as arrogant with his explanations, using Sunfyre as an example as he shows you how to properly command a dragon.

Uncle Aemond may be the one to teach you High Valyrian to not only hold conversations and mess with Aegon... but to give better commands to your mount.

Even if Aegon was burned, he still asks for frequent updates on your progress.

Of course the burned king feels thrilled to see and hear you able to control a dragon of your own.

While he was anxious at first, he feels quite prideful to see his eldest daughter prove herself.

Aegon loves you the most out of his children, even if laws limit you due to being a woman.

You're just so determined to do good for your father.

Aegon usually doesn't want you to see him suffer when the Maesters treat him.

Yet you often go out of your way to show up and stand beside his bed.

You love him even if Aegon tries to isolate you from the world.

Aegon only wants you to focus on your family....

It makes him happy even if he's pained when you hold his hand.

You're loyal, staying by your father's side as he's treated after being burned.

Although, eventually, Aemond will call you away to teach you more.

Be that swords or ancient languages and history... Aemond takes a great deal of enjoyment when becoming your mentor.

He even offers to help you with your dragon bonding, showing you Vhagar and teaching you how to treat your own mount.

Aegon would hate you being shown Vhagar but Aemond knows he can't do anything about it.

Since you've been taught to care for family, you care for Helaena after the death of one of her sons.

You often help her parent your younger brother and sister, sitting quietly in her chambers as you watch the two babes coo to each other.

You beg Aemond to teach you more in order to protect your family.

Your uncle is amused yet teaches you of course.

Sometimes people wonder if Aemond is trying to gain your favor instead of Aegon...

Aegon was never into history or very dedicated to swords or language.

Which means Aemond spends a lot of time preparing you.

Your grandmother, Alicent, may wish her sons taught you like a proper lady.

Despite it, Aemond usually ignores her and gives you the lessons you desire.

Speaking of Alicent, you're right when you'd say she'd want to parent you to try and be a better mother.

You may be Aegon's kid, yet she finds herself also attentive to you.

She usually visits Helaena's chambers when you're there to interact with both you and your mother.

Alicent loves you too... and with how you're being brought up... she's happy at least one Targaryen seems to have their heart in the right place.

Even though Aemond, Helaena, and Alicent are usually the ones who have your attention... you still return to Aegon.

You lay beside him as he rests, telling him of your progress as a young Targaryen princess.

Aegon is pleased with it all... you're almost fit to be a queen... you just need a husband...

Although Aegon dreads the idea of promising you to anyone.

Sure, you'll have heirs of your own someday...

Yet for now Aegon wants to keep you to himself for a while.

You're his promising princess... more precious to him than anything...

The rest of the family feel a similar way, you're like their trump card.

None of them would ever let anything happen to you.

Blood has already been spilled in this war, so them executing anyone else in your name isn't too unheard of.

The last thing The Greens want is to let The Blacks have you.

They don't want you being tempted and betraying them... or being kidnapped... or worse.

So, for now, Aegon and the rest want to keep you isolated...

If you ever got captured by The Blacks... or were tempted to leave your family by other means...

Fire and blood will follow.

[hisfavegirl]

A Forbidden Flame - Modern!Daemon Targaryen x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary : The story of love, loss, and regret began in the shadows, but it would soon unfold in the most painful way. Daemon’s heart would be shattered as the consequences of his reckless love echoed through his world. What had started as a passion-driven affair would become the deepest regret of his life—a regret that would haunt him for as long as he lived. And so, as the storm brewed on the horizon, Daemon Targaryen was about to learn that the greatest cost of love was not the sacrifice of the heart, but the devastation of losing it all.

Daemon Masterlist.

You never imagined that working with Daemon Targaryen would lead you down this path. What began as a professional relationship quickly spiraled into something far more complex, far more dangerous. The world knows Daemon as the charismatic and ruthless executive, always a step ahead in the cutthroat world of business. But behind closed doors, he is something else entirely—yours.

Your relationship is a well-kept secret, hidden from the prying eyes of the public and, most importantly, from his wife, Rhaenyra. She often travels abroad, handling international ventures or attending exclusive events that demand her presence. Whenever she’s away, it’s as if the world belongs to you and Daemon alone. In those moments, he is yours, and you are his—completely, passionately, and undeniably.

Daemon made it clear from the beginning: you are his and only his. His possessiveness is both thrilling and terrifying, a constant reminder of the precariousness of your situation. He whispers it to you in the dark, his voice laced with a promise that no one else will ever have you. “You are mine,” he says, each word a declaration, a claim that leaves no room for doubt.

Despite the secrecy, the stolen glances, and the heated moments in his office when the world outside fades away, you can’t deny the intensity of your connection. It’s a dangerous dance, one that could unravel everything if ever exposed. Yet, you find yourself unable to resist him, the allure of his presence too strong to deny.

You know the risks, the consequences that would follow if anyone ever found out. But in the quiet of the night, when it’s just the two of you, none of that seems to matter. All that exists is the fire between you, burning brightly in the shadows of your hidden world.

The grand hall is alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the soft glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the gathered elite. You stand by Daemon’s side, your elegant black gown hugging your figure in all the right places. It’s daring, yet refined, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Tonight, you are his companion, the one who stands beside him when Rhaenyra chooses not to.

Daemon’s hand rests possessively on your lower back as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t like how they’re looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with a quiet warning. “They forget that you belong to me.”

You chuckle softly, a delicate sound that only he can hear over the murmur of the crowd. “Let them look,” you tease, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “It’s not as if they can have what’s yours.”

His grip tightens slightly, his gaze flickering with a mixture of pride and frustration. He enjoys the attention you garner, but only to a point. It feeds his ego to have the most captivating woman in the room by his side, yet it stokes his possessiveness to see others admire what he considers his alone.

Before he can respond, a movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. Aegon and Aemond, Daemon’s nephews, approach with their usual confident stride. Both dressed impeccably, their sharp features mirror the unmistakable Targaryen lineage. Their eyes, however, are locked on their uncle as they draw closer.

“Uncle,” Aegon greets with a smirk, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to Daemon. “Mind if we steal you away for a moment?”

Aemond, more reserved but no less observant, nods in agreement, his single eye—hidden beneath a patch—studying you with quiet curiosity. “There’s something we’d like to discuss.”

Daemon’s hand lingers on your back for a moment longer, a silent reassurance before he turns to face his nephews. “Of course,” he says, though his voice holds a trace of reluctance. “But make it quick.”

As Daemon steps aside with Aegon and Aemond, you’re left momentarily alone, the weight of their curious glances lingering on you. You can feel the subtle tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the complex dynamics at play. Though the room continues to buzz with conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that eyes are still on you—not just from the crowd, but from the two young men now engaged in a hushed conversation with Daemon.

You take a steady breath, reminding yourself of your place beside Daemon. This world, with all its secrets and power plays, is as much yours now as it is his. And no matter how many eyes linger, you know that in the end, Daemon’s attention—his fierce, unyielding devotion—belongs solely to you.

The lively chatter of the room falters for a moment as Daemon’s voice, sharp and heated, cuts through the air. He’s nearly shouting, his usual calm exterior cracking as he glares at Aegon, his frustration bubbling over. You can feel the tension escalating, the attention of the nearby guests subtly shifting toward the unfolding scene.

Concerned, you step forward, placing a gentle hand on Daemon’s arm. “Daemon,” you murmur softly, your voice soothing, “please, not here.” Your eyes plead with him to calm down, aware that the spectacle is drawing too much notice.

But before Daemon can respond, Aemond reaches out, his hand brushing yours as he grips it firmly. “Everything is fine,” he says in a low, measured tone, his gaze steady and composed. There’s something about his calm demeanor that contrasts sharply with Daemon’s simmering anger, and for a brief moment, the tension seems to ease.

Daemon’s eyes darken as he watches Aemond’s hand on yours, a flicker of possessive fury flashing across his face. Without a word, he steps forward, swatting Aemond’s hand away from yours with a forceful gesture. His jaw clenches, and his hand finds its way to your lower back again, guiding you firmly away from his nephews.

The air between the four of you is thick with unspoken words and lingering tension, but Daemon doesn’t look back. He leads you through the crowd, his grip firm, as he maneuvers you both toward a quieter corner of the hall, away from prying eyes.

Once you’re alone, his gaze softens slightly, though the remnants of his anger still linger. “Are you alright?” he asks, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His concern is genuine, though tinged with the frustration that moments ago had threatened to boil over.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, your hand resting on his chest. “But you need to calm down. This isn’t the place for confrontations.”

Daemon takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for a moment before nodding. “I just can’t stand them interfering,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Especially when it comes to you.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, Daemon. No one else’s. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of seeing us rattle.”

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as he sighs. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I won’t let them ruin our night.”

Together, you both turn back to the gathering, a united front once more. The storm that had threatened to erupt has passed—for now—but the undercurrents of tension remain, a reminder that in this world of power and pride, nothing is ever truly at rest.

The evening had begun to settle into a comfortable rhythm once more. Daemon, though still watchful, allowed you a moment to yourself as you requested permission to fetch a drink. His eyes lingered on you as you moved through the crowd, a quiet reminder of his ever-present vigilance.

As you stepped away, the cool air of the corridor offered a brief respite from the heat of the crowded hall. But before you could take more than a few steps, a sudden, forceful grip seized your arm, yanking you into the dimly lit hallway. The world around you blurred as you stumbled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You barely had time to react before a sharp blow landed on your shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through your body. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the cold, unfeeling floor rushing up to meet you.

Back in the grand hall, Daemon’s unease grew with each passing moment. He checked his watch, his gaze flickering toward the spot where he had last seen you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as he waited, his foot tapping anxiously against the polished floor.

When you didn’t return, the knot of worry in his chest tightened. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of you. His heart began to race as he realized you were nowhere to be seen.

Daemon moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he pushed through the crowd, calling your name under his breath. The anxiety clawed at his composure, each passing second feeding the growing dread in his gut.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed your number, hoping to hear your voice, to hear anything that would reassure him. But the shrill ring echoed from a distance, pulling his gaze toward the far end of the hallway. There, lying carelessly on the floor, was your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Beside it, your handbag lay discarded, a stark and chilling testament to your sudden disappearance.

Daemon’s blood ran cold, his mind racing through the possibilities, each one darker than the last. His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched down, picking up your phone with a trembling hand. The realization hit him like a blow: you were gone, and someone had taken you.

Without wasting another moment, he rose to his feet, his jaw set in a grim line. Whoever had dared to take you would pay dearly. Daemon’s fury burned just beneath the surface, a dangerous storm brewing as he vowed to find you—no matter what it took.

Daemon’s fury was barely contained as he stormed towards Aegon and Aemond, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the corridor. His eyes burned with a cold fire, his jaw clenched tight in frustration. Without a word, he reached out and roughly grabbed Aegon by the collar, yanking him closer.

“Where is she?” Daemon’s voice was low, dangerous, as he demanded an answer. “What have you done with her?”

Aegon recoiled, his eyes wide with confusion. “I don’t know, Daemon,” he replied, his voice shaky. “I swear, I don’t know anything about where she is. I haven’t seen her since you sent me away.”

Daemon’s gaze hardened as he released Aegon, his grip tightening into a fist at his side. Aemond stepped forward, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Daemon’s seething anger. Without hesitation, he placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, pulling him away from Aegon.

“Let’s take this outside,” Aemond said, his voice steady and measured, but with an underlying urgency. “We need to think this through, away from the prying eyes of the guests.”

Daemon didn’t hesitate, following Aemond’s lead as they both made their way out of the hall and into the cool night air. The tension between them was palpable, but Aemond knew this was the only way to prevent Daemon from exploding in front of the crowd.

Once they were safely out of sight, Aemond turned to Daemon, his face thoughtful but wary. “It could be the Lannisters,” he suggested, his voice low. “The rivalry between our families, the business competition… they have always been opportunistic.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered, considering the possibility. The Lannisters were indeed ruthless in their pursuit of power, but something about this felt wrong. “Why her?” Daemon muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Why take her and not my children? Not my wife?” The confusion in his voice was evident, the question lingering in the cold air between them.

Aemond’s expression darkened, and he looked over at his uncle. “It could also be the Baratheons,” he suggested, his tone now tinged with suspicion. “The tensions between you and Borros… that conflict was months ago, but who knows how deep their grudges run? Maybe they see her as leverage against you.”

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his gaze hardening as he turned back to Aemond. “But why her?” he repeated, his fists clenching as frustration built inside him. “She’s not a pawn, Aemond. She’s not some piece in this damn game.”

Aemond’s silence was deafening as he considered Daemon’s words. He understood his uncle’s pain, but he couldn’t help but acknowledge the possibility that whoever was behind this might have had other reasons—reasons beyond simple political strategy.

Daemon’s mind raced with possibilities, but none of them made sense. Why take you? He couldn’t fathom the reasons, but one thing was clear: whoever was behind this had made a grave mistake. They had just provoked the wrong Targaryen. And Daemon would burn the world down to find you and bring you back, no matter the cost.

Daemon’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles pale from the force. His eyes were narrowed, burning with a fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves. The road ahead was a blur, his mind consumed by thoughts of you, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing second.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sound of it echoing through the car’s interior as frustration and desperation collided inside him. “Find her,” he growled into the phone, his voice a low snarl. “I don’t care where you have to look, I want her found now.”

The voice on the other end of the line stammered, trying to reassure him. “Sir, we’re already—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Daemon cut in, his voice sharp and commanding. “I want results. Now. If I have to tear apart every Lannister and Baratheon stronghold, I’ll do it myself.”

The words hung in the air, a promise to burn every bridge and destroy anyone who stood in his way. He couldn’t afford to lose you, not now, not when everything in his life felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The thought of you in danger, out of his reach, made his blood boil with rage.

He disconnected the call abruptly and sped up, ignoring the speed limits as his mind raced. He wasn’t sure where to go, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time. Each second felt like a lifetime, each mile that passed without finding you adding another weight to his chest.

Daemon’s thoughts drifted to the last time he saw you—your smile, your warmth, everything about you that made him feel alive. He could still feel the lingering touch of your hand, the warmth of your embrace. And now, you were gone, taken by someone who dared to challenge him. The person who did this had no idea who they were dealing with.

“Come back to me,” he whispered under his breath, his voice hoarse with emotion. He had to find you. He would tear down the world if that’s what it took to bring you home.

His phone rang again, the voice on the other end speaking quickly, urgently. “Sir, we’ve checked the Lannister and Baratheon estates. There’s no sign of her.”

“Keep searching,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what it takes. Someone has her, and I’m going to make them regret it. Keep me updated, or I swear I’ll handle this myself.”

He hung up and stared out into the night, his mind swirling with thoughts of the worst possible outcomes. The silence of the road stretched out before him, but Daemon couldn’t feel any peace. All he could feel was the burning need to find you, to ensure that nothing had happened to you, and to make those who took you pay for their sins.

Daemon parked his car haphazardly in the driveway, not caring about the angle or the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. His mind was a whirlwind of rage and desperation as he stormed into his home, his steps quick and purposeful. He was heading straight for his study, the place where he could think, plan, and command the search for you in secrecy.

But before he could reach the sanctuary of his workspace, a familiar voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. “Daemon?” Rhaenyra’s soft, inquisitive tone echoed through the hallway, laced with concern. She appeared from the shadows, her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Is everything all right? You look… tense.”

Daemon’s heart clenched at the sight of his wife, her eyes filled with worry. He couldn’t let her know the truth. The affair, the disappearance—it was a storm he had to weather alone. Quickly, he masked his turmoil with a feigned calmness, his lips curling into a tight, unconvincing smile.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice steady, though his hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “There was a misunderstanding with the Tullys at the party. It got a bit heated, that’s all.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched his, trying to read the storm behind his words. “Are you sure that’s all?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “You seem more than just upset.”

Daemon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. “It’s under control,” he lied smoothly, though his mind was anything but. “I just need some time to cool down.”

She nodded slowly, though the concern never left her eyes. “If you need to talk, I’m here,” she offered, her voice softening. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Daemon replied, his tone warmer, though guilt gnawed at his insides. He kissed her forehead, a gesture meant to end the conversation. “I’ll be in my study. I just need to gather my thoughts.”

With that, he turned and continued towards his study, his expression hardening once more as soon as he was out of her sight. The weight of his secrets bore down on him like never before. The thought of you out there, missing, possibly in danger, consumed him entirely.

Once inside the study, he shut the door firmly behind him and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He walked to his desk, picked up his phone, and began dialing furiously, issuing commands to his men with a voice that brooked no argument.

“Find her,” he repeated, his words a cold, unwavering directive. “I don’t care how you do it, just find her. And whoever is responsible, make sure they understand what it means to cross me.”

His fists clenched as he ended the call, his mind a battleground of fear, anger, and longing. He couldn’t let Rhaenyra find out, couldn’t let this scandal unravel the life he had carefully constructed. But above all, he couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Daemon sat at his desk, his laptop glowing dimly in the darkened room. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as he contacted everyone he knew—old allies, informants, anyone who owed him a favor. His messages were short and urgent, each one a call to arms in the desperate search for you.

But then, a soft chime pulled his attention away. A notification had appeared at the corner of his screen. His brow furrowed as he clicked on it, the screen shifting to reveal a video file. Hesitation gripped him for a brief moment, but he couldn’t afford to wait. He clicked play.

The video opened to a dimly lit room, the shadows swallowing most of the details. But what stood out, stark and undeniable, was you—unconscious, bound to a chair, your head slumped forward, strands of your hair falling across your face. The peaceful expression on your face, despite the circumstances, tore through Daemon like a blade.

His breath caught in his throat, the image of you in such a vulnerable state igniting a firestorm of rage within him. His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared at the screen. The room around him seemed to blur, his focus narrowing solely on you.

The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears as he watched, helpless for the moment but brimming with a dangerous resolve. Whoever had done this had made their move, taunting him with your captivity. The video ended abruptly, leaving the screen black, but Daemon’s anger blazed brighter than ever.

His hand trembled as he shut the laptop, the echo of the closing lid reverberating in the silence. Standing abruptly, he paced the room, his mind racing with possibilities. Every second counted, every delay felt like an eternity, but now he had a clue—a glimpse into where you were and what you were enduring.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed his phone again, his voice cold and cutting as he barked out new orders. “I have a lead. Find that room. Check every dark corner, every abandoned building, every place those bastards could be hiding. I want her found now.”

His gaze drifted back to the laptop, the image of you seared into his memory. His jaw clenched as he made a silent vow. He would find you. And when he did, there would be no mercy for those who dared to hurt you. They would learn the true extent of his wrath.

Daemon’s eyes were fixed on the video replaying on his laptop, scrutinizing every frame for any clue that could lead him to you. His mind raced through possibilities, trying to piece together the puzzle of your whereabouts. The dim lighting, the faint sounds in the background—every detail could be crucial.

But his concentration was broken when the door to his study creaked open. He looked up sharply, his expression softening just enough to mask the storm within as Rhaenyra stepped in, cradling their child in her arms. The sight of them, serene and innocent, was a stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside him.

“I wanted to let you know,” Rhaenyra began, her voice gentle but tired, “that I have to leave for Dragonstone tomorrow. There are matters I need to attend to.”

Daemon rose from his chair, crossing the room swiftly. He cupped her face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course,” he murmured, his tone warm, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “You should rest then. We both should, if you have to leave early.”

Rhaenyra nodded, leaning into his touch, unaware of the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface. “Come to bed,” she whispered, her voice laced with concern. “You’ve been tense all night.”

“I will,” Daemon promised, guiding her out of the study, their child nestled between them. He walked alongside her towards their chambers, his steps steady, his demeanor calm. But beneath the surface, his mind remained a battlefield.

As they settled into bed, Daemon lay beside Rhaenyra, holding her close as she drifted off to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts consumed by you. The frustration and fury he had buried for her sake simmered just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over.

He couldn’t let Rhaenyra suspect anything, not now. Not until he had you back, safe and sound. For now, he had to wear the mask of normalcy, playing the role of the devoted husband and father. But once the lights were out and the house was silent, his mind would return to the search, driven by the burning need to find you and end the nightmare that had gripped his life.

Cold water splashed over your face, jolting you awake from the darkness that had claimed you. Gasping, you blinked rapidly, your vision blurry as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. The air was damp and stale, the faint hum of distant machinery the only sound in the dimly lit room. Your wrists and ankles were bound tightly to a chair, the rough ropes biting into your skin.

As your vision cleared, you focused on the figure standing in front of you-a woman, unfamiliar and stern, her eyes cold and calculating. She watched you with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, as if deciding what to do next. Before you could speak, her hand lashed out, striking your cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The force of the blow left your face burning, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Please," you choked out, your voice trembling.

"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

The woman didn't answer. Her expression remained stoic, devoid of any empathy. She stared at you for a moment longer, then turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing as she walked away. The heavy door creaked open, casting a sliver of light into the room before it closed behind her with a resounding thud, plunging you back into near darkness.

Left alone, fear surged through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest. You struggled against the bindings, but they held fast. Tears streamed down your face as the weight of the situation settled over you. You had no idea who this woman was or why she had taken you. The uncertainty was suffocating.

In the silence, your thoughts drifted to Daemon. You knew he would be searching for you, relentless and unyielding. He wouldn't rest until he found you. Clinging to that hope, you steadied your breathing, determined to stay strong. You had to believe that he would come for you, that this nightmare would end.

Your voice, hoarse from hours of shouting, echoed weakly in the oppressive darkness. You had called for help, screamed until your throat was raw, but there was no response, only the deafening silence of the cold, damp room. The chill from your soaked gown seeped into your bones, causing your body to shiver uncontrollably. The thin fabric clung to your skin, offering no protection from the relentless cold.

You had lost all sense of time, the absence of windows or any sign of the outside world leaving you disoriented. The darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly, an eternal night that left you feeling isolated and vulnerable. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing, anything to anchor you in the present.

In the depths of your fear, your thoughts returned to Daemon. You could almost hear his voice, calm and reassuring, promising to protect you no matter what. You clung to that image, whispering silent prayers into the void, hoping that he could somehow sense your distress.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Find me.”

Your heart ached with the longing to see him again, to feel his arms around you, safe and secure. The bond you shared with him was your lifeline, the only thing keeping you from succumbing to despair. You knew he would be relentless in his search, that he would stop at nothing to bring you back.

As the minutes dragged into hours, your body grew weaker, the cold sapping your strength. But you refused to give in. You had to hold on, had to believe that rescue was on its way. With each breath, you summoned the strength to endure, hoping that the next sound you heard would be Daemon’s voice calling your name, pulling you out of the darkness and into the light.

Daemon stood on the tarmac, his eyes following the private jet as it ascended into the sky, carrying Rhaenyra away to Dragonstone. As the plane disappeared from view, he reached for his phone, immediately dialing one of his most trusted men.

“Any updates?” His voice was clipped, laced with barely contained fury.

“Not yet, sir,” came the hesitant reply. “We’re combing through all possible leads, but nothing solid has come up.”

“Then dig deeper,” Daemon snapped. “I want every contact, every informant pressed for information. No stone unturned. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll find her.”

Daemon ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. The frustration of your disappearance gnawed at him, the helplessness an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation.

He turned and strode towards his car, his steps quick and purposeful. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine and sped away from the airstrip, the roar of the car echoing in the crisp morning air. The road blurred as he drove, his mind racing with thoughts of you—where you could be, who could have taken you, and why.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he navigated through the city streets. Every moment you were missing felt like an eternity. The image of your phone and handbag abandoned in that corridor haunted him, a grim reminder of how swiftly you had been taken from him.

As he neared the house, Daemon’s mind shifted gears. He needed to remain composed, at least on the surface. Rhaenyra might be away, but the rest of the household staff would be watching. He had to maintain the façade, to keep suspicion at bay while he orchestrated the search behind the scenes.

Pulling into the driveway, Daemon parked the car and took a moment to gather himself. His gaze hardened, determination flickering in his eyes. He would find you. And when he did, there would be hell to pay for those who had dared to take you from him.

Daemon entered his study, his sharp gaze immediately falling on Aegon and Aemond, who were seated casually, their expressions a mix of curiosity and impatience. He had summoned them here, knowing he needed all the resources and connections he could muster to find you. But the tension in the room was palpable, each man bringing their own agenda to the table.

Daemon moved to his desk, leaning against it, arms crossed as he assessed the two men before him. “We need to strategize,” he began, his voice low but commanding. “Every minute we waste is a minute she remains in danger. We need to track down every lead, every possible motive for this abduction.”

Aegon nodded, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness. “I’ve already contacted a few people who might have information. We’ll get some answers soon.”

Aemond, ever the tactician, added, “I’ve dispatched a few of our men to shadow known enemies. If this is a power play, we’ll have something to leverage.”

For a moment, there was a semblance of unity, a shared goal. But then Aemond’s gaze hardened, his curiosity turning to skepticism. “But I have to ask, Daemon,” he said, his tone cold and calculating, “what makes her so important? She’s just your mistress, isn’t she? Is she worth all this effort?”

The question hung in the air like a blade, sharp and poised to cut. Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. A flash of anger crossed his features, his control slipping for a brief moment.

“She’s more than that,” Daemon growled, his voice laced with venom. “She is mine. And no one takes what is mine without consequence.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground, a subtle challenge in his gaze. Aegon shifted uncomfortably, sensing the rising tension. “We’re all on the same side here,” Aegon interjected, trying to diffuse the situation. “Let’s focus on finding her first.”

Daemon inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. His priority was finding you, and petty rivalries would only slow them down.

“You’re right,” Daemon conceded, though his eyes never left Aemond’s. “We find her first. Then we deal with everything else.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their mission pressing down on all of them. Despite the underlying tension, they knew they had to work together. Time was running out, and you were still out there, waiting to be found.

Daemon was pacing the room when Aegon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Daemon, wait!” Aegon called, his eyes fixed on the paused frame of the video on the laptop screen. “Look here, in the corner,” he pointed, enlarging the image to reveal a faint but unmistakable symbol etched into the shadowed wall. It was the sigil of House Baratheon.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing as the implications of the discovery sank in. Without hesitation, he grabbed the keys to his car and a pistol from the desk drawer. He was already halfway to the door when Aegon spoke again, his voice filled with urgency.

“Daemon, we need to plan this out!” Aegon shouted, moving to block his path, but Daemon brushed past him with a determined stride.

“Don’t be reckless!” Aemond added, stepping forward, his hand reaching out to stop his uncle. “We’ll go with you. You can’t just—”

But Daemon was already out the door, his mind singularly focused on one thing: getting to you. The roar of the engine echoed through the courtyard as he peeled out of the driveway, leaving Aegon and Aemond behind, their shouts fading into the distance.

The drive to the Baratheon estate was a blur, the city lights streaking past as Daemon pushed the car to its limits. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white with tension. His mind played through every possible scenario, each one ending with him bringing you back safely. The pistol on the passenger seat was a silent promise of what would happen to anyone who stood in his way.

As the grand gates of the Baratheon estate loomed ahead, Daemon slowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of a trap. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve was unwavering. He was here to reclaim what was his, and nothing would stop him.

Pulling the car to a stop just outside the gates, Daemon stepped out, the pistol now firmly in his grip. His gaze hardened as he approached the estate, his mind a flurry of tactics and determination.

The hunt had begun, and Daemon Targaryen was a man on a mission.

The stillness of the night was shattered by Daemon’s furious shout. “Borros Baratheon! Get out here!” His voice echoed through the vast grounds of the Baratheon estate, filled with rage and desperation.

Behind him, the rumble of several cars pulling up signaled the arrival of his reinforcements—his own men, as well as some from Aegon and Aemond. Their presence added to the tension in the air, a silent promise of the lengths Daemon was willing to go.

The grand doors of the estate creaked open, and Borros Baratheon emerged, flanked by his guards. His expression was a mix of confusion and indignation. Before he could utter a word, Daemon raised his pistol, aiming directly at Borros.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice like a whip. “Where are you hiding her?”

Borros raised his hands slightly, signaling his men to hold their fire, though they kept their weapons trained on Daemon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Borros replied, his tone measured but firm. “You’re making a mistake, Targaryen.”

Daemon’s grip on the pistol tightened. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “I saw your symbol in the video. She’s here, and I’m not leaving without her.”

“I don’t have your mistress,” Borros said coldly. “If someone used my symbol, it wasn’t with my knowledge.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe him. Without lowering his weapon, he pulled out his phone and called his men. “Search the entire estate,” he ordered. “Every room, every corner. I want her found.”

Borros stiffened but remained silent as Daemon’s men and their allies stormed the estate, searching every inch of the property. The tension between the two men was palpable, each second stretching into an eternity as they waited for news.

Minutes turned into hours, and one by one, the search parties returned, their expressions grim. The leader of Daemon’s men approached, shaking his head. “We’ve searched everywhere, sir. She’s not here.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his fury barely contained. He lowered the pistol but kept his gaze locked on Borros. “If I find out you had anything to do with this,” Daemon warned, his voice low and dangerous, “there will be no place you can hide.”

Borros met his gaze without flinching. “I suggest you find out who really took her,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

Daemon turned on his heel, marching back to his car with his men following closely behind. As he got behind the wheel, his mind was already racing, considering his next move. He knew time was running out, and failure was not an option.

Your head snapped to the side as the door creaked open once more, the dim light casting a shadow over the figure stepping inside. The woman approached you with a cold, calculating expression, her eyes filled with disdain. Without warning, her hand shot out, gripping your face roughly, her nails digging into your skin.

"Why?" she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "Why would Daemon betray Rhaenyra for someone like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding with fear and guilt. You remained silent, unable to find the words to respond. If this was the reason for your capture, you cursed your own feelings, the forbidden nature of your relationship with Daemon now a bitter weight on your soul.

The woman's patience was thin. Frustrated by your lack of response, she struck you across the face again, the sting of her slap burning your skin. "Answer me!" she demanded, her voice rising with anger.

Your body trembled, the cold seeping into your bones, exacerbated by the dampness of your dress. You could barely manage to whisper, "I don't know."

The woman's grip tightened, her face inches from yours. "You don't know?" she spat. "You ruined everything, and you don't even know why?"

You sobbed softly, the pain of her words cutting deeper than the physical blows. "| never meant for any of this," you choked out. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

The woman released you with a shove, making you stumble back against the chair. She paced the room, her anger simmering. "You're nothing but a distraction," she muttered, more to herself than to you. "Daemon will pay for this."

You watched her, fear knotting in your stomach. The reality of your situation pressed down on you, the hopelessness of escape looming large. Yet, through the haze of fear, a glimmer of hope flickered-Daemon would find you. He had to.

Daemon stormed into his home, his emotions a whirlwind of rage and despair. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hallways, his heart pounding with frustration. In the dimly lit living room, Aemond and Aegon rose from their seats, their faces lined with concern as they awaited any news.

“Did you find her?” Aemond asked cautiously, his single eye narrowing with unease.

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his expression dark. He shook his head slowly, the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. Without a word, he lashed out, flipping a nearby table with a ferocious roar. The crash of wood against marble reverberated through the room, a violent symphony of his anguish.

He didn’t stop there. His fists found a vase, shattering it against the wall. Chairs were hurled across the room, curtains torn down in his fury. The servants, startled by the noise, peeked nervously from the corners, unsure of whether to intervene or flee. The house quaked under the force of his anger, the once serene atmosphere now a chaotic tempest.

Upstairs, the muffled sounds of Daemon’s rage reached the ears of his children. They huddled close, fear and confusion etched on their young faces. Their father, the formidable and controlled figure they knew, was unraveling before their eyes, a man consumed by his desperation.

Aegon stepped forward, trying to reason with his uncle. “Daemon, stop. Destroying your home won’t bring her back.”

But Daemon wasn’t listening. His chest heaved as he stared at the mess he’d created, his mind a storm of worry for you. The thought of you alone, frightened, and at the mercy of unknown captors drove him to the brink. “I should have protected her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Aemond, always the more composed of the two, approached cautiously. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “But we need a plan, not chaos.”

Daemon’s eyes finally met Aemond’s, his gaze filled with a mixture of hope and helplessness. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to regain control. “I can’t lose her,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Not like this.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged a glance, understanding the depth of Daemon’s feelings. They knew this wasn’t just about possession or pride—it was about love, however complicated and forbidden it might be. Together, they resolved to stand by Daemon, to do whatever it took to bring you back safely.

The sound of the door creaking open made your heart race with a mix of hope and dread. You turned your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that Daemon had found you—had come to rescue you. But instead, the figure that walked into the room was none other than Rhaenyra.

For a fleeting second, relief washed over you. She was here. But that feeling of comfort vanished in an instant when Rhaenyra’s hand collided with your cheek with a sharp, unforgiving slap. The impact stung, both physically and emotionally, and you recoiled in shock, your body trembling.

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury as she stepped closer, her grip tightening around your face. Her voice, usually calm and composed, was now a mixture of anger and disbelief. “How could you?” she hissed, her words cutting deep. “How could you betray me like this?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find the words to explain, to justify the feelings that had developed between you and Daemon. Rhaenyra shook you, her voice rising as she continued. “I brought you into our lives, to help you, to make something of yourself—not to betray me! Not to sleep with him!”

Her accusations struck you like a thousand daggers. Every word felt like it was tearing apart the bond you once had with her, the trust that had always existed between you both, now shattered beyond repair.

You wanted to explain, to tell her that your feelings for Daemon were never meant to hurt her, but the guilt and shame suffocated you. “I never wanted to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rhaenyra scoffed, releasing her grip on your face with a forceful shove. “You’ve already done that,” she spat. “You’ve betrayed not just me, but everything we’ve built. You can’t be trusted.”

Her words, cold and final, left you feeling empty. You had no defense, no way to undo the damage. All you could do was look at her, the woman you once admired, and feel the weight of your choices crushing you from within.

And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else in Rhaenyra’s eyes—a flicker of pain, a wound she was trying to hide. It was clear she didn’t just feel betrayed by you. She felt the devastation of losing her trust in you, and in some twisted way, it mirrored your own heartache.

But it was too late for apologies. Too late for explanations. The damage had been done, and no amount of regret could undo the betrayal that had transpired between you.

Daemon’s frustration reached a boiling point as he paced relentlessly in his office, shouting into the phone to his men. His voice was harsh, desperate for answers, for any clue that might lead him to you. The tension in the air was palpable, his every move filled with the weight of his failure to find you.

Then, Aegon, who had been quietly sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, caught his attention. He gestured toward his phone, his face a mix of concern and urgency. “Daemon, you need to see this,” he said, his voice laced with an unspoken dread.

Daemon turned sharply, his mind already clouded with worry, but the moment his eyes locked onto the screen in Aegon’s hands, his heart sank.

The video was dark, cold, and haunting. You were sitting in a dimly lit, damp room, your body trembling with the cold. Your hair clung to your face, your clothes soaked through. You were calling out for him, your voice breaking with desperation as you screamed his name, pleading for help.

“Daemon!” you cried, your voice filled with anguish. “Please… help me!”

Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening around the edge of the desk. The raw emotion in your voice sent a shockwave through him. Every instinct within him screamed that he had to act now, but the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

He knew that room.

He recognized the cold, desolate walls, the isolation. It was a place he had used in the past, a place where he kept those who had betrayed him, where he sought to punish those who had crossed him. It was hidden deep within Dragonstone, a place known only to a few, a place no one dared to venture unless they were prepared to lose everything.

And now, as the truth settled over him, Daemon’s mind raced. His own wife, Rhaenyra, had taken you. She had done this. She had taken you, and she had orchestrated your capture.

Daemon’s heart burned with fury and disbelief. Rhaenyra had known. She had known everything. The betrayal, the secret he had kept hidden from her, it was all out in the open now. The woman he had once trusted, the woman he had built a life with, had taken the one person who meant the world to him.

He turned away from Aegon, his chest tight with anger and guilt. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. His mind was a storm of emotions—rage, confusion, sorrow.

“Dragonstone,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course… it’s always been Dragonstone.”

The weight of the realization crashed down on him. Rhaenyra had known what was happening between him and you. She had seen through their lies, through their deception. And now, she had made a decision. A decision that would change everything.

Daemon’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he turned to Aegon, his voice low and cold. “Get the men ready. We leave for Dragonstone now.”

There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for doubt. He would not let Rhaenyra have you. Not now, not ever. Whatever it took, he would bring you back.

As the plane soared through the sky toward Dragonstone, Daemon’s mind was consumed with the chaos that had unfolded. His thoughts spiraled back to the moment when Rhaenyra had asked for permission to go there, to handle affairs with the family. How had he not seen this coming? How had he been so blind to what she was capable of?

The weight of his own failure settled heavily on his chest. He had always thought he could control everything—his desires, his actions, his relationships. But this, this was different. The connection he had forged with you was a mistake he couldn’t undo. And now, that mistake was costing you dearly.

His eyes closed, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. The image of you, cold, wet, and trapped in that dark room, calling for him, was all he could see. He could only imagine how terrified you must have been. The fear in your voice echoed in his ears, and the thought of you suffering because of his choices made him sick to his stomach.

Aegon and Aemond, sitting silently across from him, exchanged glances, their faces serious. They had witnessed Daemon’s descent into turmoil but said nothing. They knew better than to disturb him in this state. His guilt, his frustration—it was palpable, suffocating even.

Daemon gripped his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “This is my fault,” he muttered under his breath. “I should never have let this happen. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to fall for you.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and his breath hitched. The last thing he wanted was for you to be caught in the crossfire of his own mistakes, yet here you were—taken, frightened, and alone—because of him.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bottle of water beside him, but it did little to calm the storm inside. His thoughts raced with a thousand scenarios, a thousand ways he could’ve stopped this, ways he could’ve prevented Rhaenyra from ever discovering his betrayal. But what was done was done. All that mattered now was finding you, bringing you back safely.

Aegon, who had remained silent for the duration of the flight, finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “Daemon… this isn’t just on you. Rhaenyra made her choices too. She knew what she was doing, and she knew exactly what kind of effect this would have on you. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Aemond, usually the more stoic one, nodded in agreement. “But you still have to fix it. You owe her that much… and you owe yourself the chance to right this.”

Daemon clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he looked out the window, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea below. A storm was brewing inside him, one that would only be quieted once he had you back, once he had righted his wrongs.

“I have to make this right,” Daemon finally spoke, his voice a whisper full of determination. “I’ll bring her back, even if I have to tear down everything I’ve built to do it.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Aemond and Aegon said nothing in return, both of them fully aware of what Daemon was capable of when pushed to the edge.

And now, in this moment, nothing else mattered. The world could crumble, alliances could shatter, but as long as you were safe, Daemon would do whatever it took to fix the destruction he had caused.

Daemon stormed into the grand house at Dragonstone, his steps heavy with urgency. His voice echoed through the halls as he called out for Rhaenyra. The tension in his chest was unbearable—he needed to know where you were, needed to find you, to make sure you were safe.

Minutes passed before Rhaenyra appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a mask of calm, as though nothing had happened. Her poise was unsettling to Daemon, who was consumed by the fear of losing you. He stared at her, his eyes wild with desperation.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice sharp with anger and panic. “Where is she, Rhaenyra?”

But Rhaenyra did not immediately answer. Instead, she looked at him with a cold gaze, her lips barely parting as she spoke. “Why, Daemon?” she asked quietly. “Why would you betray me for her? Do you really think I would not find out?”

Daemon’s frustration reached its peak, but he didn’t have time for her questions, for her accusations. He was done with this. The only thing that mattered was finding you. Without another word, he pushed past her, his steps quick and determined as he moved toward the basement.

The door ahead of him was close—he could almost feel it. But as he reached for the handle, a voice stopped him. Rhaenyra’s voice.

“Daemon,” she called softly, the weight of the gun in her hand becoming clear. “Stop.”

Daemon froze. The cold, unmistakable sound of a pistol being raised sent a chill down his spine. His heart pounded, but he didn’t turn around. He knew what she was capable of, and yet, his focus remained solely on the door in front of him, on you, who he had to save.

His voice was low, a growl of frustration. “Move aside, Rhaenyra. This isn’t you. Don’t do this.”

But Rhaenyra remained silent, her presence behind him a looming threat. He could feel the tension in the air, but he didn’t let it stop him. Not when your safety was on the line. He was ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting Rhaenyra, even if it meant sacrificing everything to get to you.

In that moment, Daemon understood the true cost of his actions. But no matter the price, he would not let you suffer. Not again.

Rhaenyra slowly approached Daemon, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. She snapped her fingers, signaling her men. Immediately, they moved toward you, their grip firm as they dragged your trembling body from the shadows. Weak and drenched, you were thrown to the floor at Daemon’s feet, your body shaking violently from fear and the cold.

Daemon’s heart shattered at the sight of you—helpless, vulnerable—and yet, he was powerless to act. His body tensed, his hands itching to rush to your side, to hold you, to protect you from the torment Rhaenyra had subjected you to. But he couldn’t. Not with Rhaenyra standing in his way.

You let out a soft whimper as you were unceremoniously thrown onto the cold stone floor, your body unable to bear the harsh treatment. Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, but his focus remained solely on you. He wanted to rush to you, to pull you into his arms and promise you that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t move.

Then, Rhaenyra moved toward you, her expression twisted in anger. She grabbed your hair roughly, yanking your head back so that you were forced to look up at Daemon. Her eyes gleamed with fury, a twisted satisfaction in her movements as she forced you to face the man who had betrayed her.

But what happened next was not what Daemon had expected. His gaze met yours, and what he saw made his chest tighten—your eyes, filled with pain and desperation. You looked at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke through your trembling lips, “Please, Daemon… save our child…”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Rhaenyra froze, her gaze flickering between you and Daemon, as if processing what you had just revealed. Daemon, too, stood frozen, his heart racing, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what you had said. His world tilted in that moment.

You were pregnant. With his child. And he hadn’t even known.

Rhaenyra’s face twisted in shock, the shock that mirrored Daemon’s own. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with betrayal, confusion, and the weight of unspoken words. Daemon’s emotions surged—anger, guilt, and a deep, aching need to protect you, to keep you safe, to fix everything he had broken.

Rhaenyra’s hold on you loosened slightly as she processed your plea, her eyes wide with disbelief, but the damage had already been done. The truth had come to light in the worst possible way.

Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with fury as she screamed. Without a second thought, her foot connected with your belly, sending a wave of pain coursing through your body. You gasped, curling up as the cold stone floor pressed against your aching limbs.

Daemon’s body stiffened in reaction. He took a step forward, instinctively wanting to rush to your side, to stop Rhaenyra from hurting you any further. But before he could move, one of Rhaenyra’s men stepped forward, the cold, metallic gleam of a pistol aimed directly at Daemon’s head.

Daemon froze. The cold barrel of the weapon left him helpless, his body taut with frustration. He stood there, powerless, unable to do anything but watch, his heart breaking with every agonizing second that passed. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and helplessness.

He wanted to comfort you, to ease your pain, but there was nothing he could do. He was trapped.

Rhaenyra, her chest heaving from the intensity of her emotions, turned toward Daemon. Her face was contorted in anger, but there was something else there—something raw, something deeply wounded. She marched up to him, face flushed with fury, tears streaming down her face as she shouted at him.

“How could you do this to me, Daemon?!” she cried, her voice cracking. “How could you betray me like this?!”

Her words were laced with heartbreak and rage, the agony of a woman who had been deceived by the man she had trusted most. She was breaking before his very eyes, unable to hold back the emotions that had been building within her for so long.

Daemon stood there, helpless. He had never seen Rhaenyra like this—never imagined that his actions would lead to this kind of pain. His throat tightened, and though he wanted to speak, to explain, to beg for her forgiveness, the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was look at her, his eyes filled with regret and sorrow.

Rhaenyra’s anger didn’t subside. She screamed, her pain evident in every movement, her hands trembling with emotion. Her voice cracked as she shouted again, “You have shattered everything, Daemon! Everything I ever believed in!”

Daemon wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, but he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. He knew he had caused this, and now, there was nothing left to do but watch as everything he cared about crumbled before him.

And through it all, you—his love, his future—lay there in the shadows, suffering, while he remained a prisoner of his own guilt and her wrath.

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with rage as she glared down at you, her breath shallow and erratic. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone in the dark, silent space. Her hands trembled slightly, but her resolve was absolute as she aimed the gun straight at you.

Daemon’s heart skipped a beat. “Rhaenyra, no!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation. He took a step forward, reaching out, but it was too late. The sound of the gunshot rang out, echoing in the small, dimly lit room.

The world seemed to slow down in that instant. You gasped, feeling the searing pain as the bullet found its mark. Time stood still as your body went limp, the excruciating pain taking over. You couldn’t process it fast enough. You tried to call out, to beg for mercy, but all that left your lips was a strained, choked gasp.

And then, chaos erupted.

Aegon and Aemond stormed into the room, their men following behind, moving quickly to subdue Rhaenyra’s guards. The air was thick with gunfire, the sound of combat mingling with the sharp cries of men in battle. Aegon was the first to reach Daemon, grabbing his arm to steady him as the sight of you bleeding on the floor shattered his composure.

Daemon didn’t look at them. He didn’t hear the chaos around him. All that mattered was you. His eyes locked onto your limp body, and without hesitation, he rushed toward you, his legs moving faster than his mind could comprehend.

“Please,” he whispered as he knelt beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hands shook as he cradled your body, the warmth of your blood staining his shirt. “Please, stay with me,” he begged, his voice cracking, the despair evident in every word. “For me, for our child… please.”

His hand pressed against your wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but the effort felt futile. He could feel your pulse—weak, faint, like a flickering flame in a storm. His mind raced, but there were no words that could fix what had just happened. All he could do was hold you, praying that somehow, you would pull through.

His breath hitched as he looked down at you, his world crashing around him. “I’m so sorry,” Daemon whispered, his voice broken. “This is all my fault. But you can’t leave me… not like this. Not now.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time, Daemon felt truly vulnerable—his entire life and everything he loved hanging by the thinnest thread. He was terrified. The sight of you slipping away, of losing you, broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He didn’t care about his wife, the betrayal, or anything else. All that mattered was you—your life, your future, the life growing inside you.

Aegon and Aemond stood back, unable to offer more than their silent support. They knew the stakes were higher than ever now. But in that moment, all the Targaryens could do was wait and pray that it wasn’t too late for you.

Daemon, his heart shattered, held you close, desperate to keep you alive.

Without hesitation, Daemon scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear gripping him tighter with each passing second. Blood seeped through your clothes, staining his hands, but he couldn’t let himself think about that now. He had to get you to safety.

“Out of the way!” he roared at the men surrounding the house, his voice laced with panic and fury. He didn’t have time to waste on formalities. His only focus was you.

He carried you to the car, his movements hurried yet careful. Placing you gently in the back seat, he climbed in beside you, pulling your fragile form close to him. The driver, sensing the urgency, started the engine and sped off, the tires screeching as they left the estate behind.

Daemon leaned over you, his face inches from yours. His fingers brushed against your cheek, trembling as he traced the outline of your face. You were growing pale, your breaths shallow, and it terrified him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, stay with me. We’re almost there.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued to stroke your face, his lips pressing against your forehead. “You’re strong. You can fight this.”

He clutched your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly. “I need you,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I need you. Don’t give up now.”

The car sped through the streets, racing against time. Daemon’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. The weight of his guilt pressed heavily on him, but he couldn’t let it consume him. All he could do was hold on to hope that you would make it, that the universe would grant him one more chance to make things right.

As the hospital came into view, Daemon shouted to the driver, “Faster! We’re almost there!” The car skidded to a halt at the entrance, and Daemon didn’t wait for help. He lifted you into his arms again, rushing inside, yelling for assistance.

“Help her!” he begged the medical staff, his voice filled with desperation. “Please, save her!”

As they took you from his arms, Daemon felt a part of himself break, his soul aching with the thought of losing you. He watched as they wheeled you away, his heart in his throat, praying to every god he knew that he wouldn’t lose you tonight.

Daemon sat in the dimly lit hospital corridor, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the turmoil within. His leg bounced uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside him. His hands covered his face, fingers digging into his skin as if trying to claw away the guilt and fear threatening to consume him.

He couldn’t sit still. The wait was agonizing, every minute stretching into an eternity. Somewhere behind those closed doors, you were fighting for your life, and the life of the child you carried. The thought of losing both of you was unbearable.

Aegon and Aemond had taken charge of the situation, dealing with Rhaenyra and her man. Daemon barely registered their presence. His mind was trapped in a relentless loop of regret and fear, replaying the events that had led to this moment. His betrayal, his recklessness—it had put you in danger. He had failed to protect you, and now you were paying the price.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unchecked. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. His chest heaved with silent sobs, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He was no stranger to violence, to conflict, but this—this was different. This was personal. This was his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible. “I’m sorry for everything.”

He thought about the last moments before you were taken into surgery, the fear in your eyes, the trust you still had in him despite everything. He had promised to keep you safe, and he had failed. Now, all he could do was wait and hope that fate would be merciful, that he would have the chance to make amends, to be the man you deserved.

As the hours dragged on, Daemon remained in that chair, his body tense, his soul tormented. Every sound, every movement in the hallway made him jump, hoping for news, dreading what it might be. His heart clung to a fragile thread of hope, praying that you and the baby would survive, that he wouldn’t lose the two most important pieces of his life.

Daemon’s head snapped up as the doors to the operating room swung open. He rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest, as a doctor approached him, a somber expression etched on his face.

“The operation was successful,” the doctor began, his voice gentle yet heavy. “She’s stable, and we managed to save her. However…” He paused, his eyes filled with sympathy. “The baby didn’t survive. The pregnancy was still too early, and with the trauma she endured over the past few days, it was just too much.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Daemon’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the weight of the news crashing down on him. His hands covered his face as the reality of the loss hit him like a tidal wave. His child—your child—was gone. His reckless actions had brought you both to this point, and now he had to live with the consequences.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled himself together, forcing his body to move, to be with you. Once you were transferred to a recovery room, he entered quietly, his steps hesitant. The sight of you lying there, pale and still, tore at his heart. He approached the bed, sitting down beside you carefully.

Daemon reached out, his hand trembling as he gently brushed his fingers along your cheek. Your eyes remained closed, your breathing steady but shallow. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve failed you. I’ve failed our child.”

His thumb caressed the back of your hand as he continued, his voice soft, almost a plea. “I’ll make it right. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. I swear it.”

He sat there, holding your hand, hoping that when you woke, you could find it in your heart to forgive him. But for now, he remained by your side, consumed by guilt, yet determined to never let you suffer alone again.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[babey-fruit-bat]

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.

—————————————————————————

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.”

[blingblong55]

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

[electrikworm]

Playing Pretend: Chapter 1

next

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.

[snurtsnurtcreations]

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!

[darkstarofchaos]

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.

[uses-for-fics]

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.

[kelzthalassunwhisper]

Reflecting on the past year, what is the most memorable moment that's happened for Kelz'thalas, or what has been the wildest?

The most memorable moment would be connecting with her father, Adonis. For many years he's become reclusive and closed off to outsiders and family. And with Kelz'thalas' return to her family, she's been steadily chipping away at that wall he put up. But it was when she had that breakthrough - that was an incredible scene to write with @grumpyoldfker.

Here's a snippet of the exchange:

The question she first posed rumbled in the back of his mind, as did many other things. He furrowed his brow slightly at it. Had he not explained it before? Had he not made it clear? Clearly not. Then, he realized, he had never explained it clearly at all. When she said his name and recalled her accomplishments, he turned his head towards her and arched a brow. "I am well aware of what you have done and what you continue to do. You are a Warrior. A Commander. It is expected..." he then turned to face her entirely, his broad shoulders leaning forward. A lesson was to be taught here. "You expect recognition? Praise?" he shook his head, "this is the level that is -expected- of you" he raised a finger as if silently commanding to halt whatever reaction she might have to his words. "You are a force, child. I have raised you to be as such... a leader. One that I had hoped your brothers would follow in..." He lowered his gaze and sighed, "You still have much to learn" Clearly, he also knew of her blunders "and when you do learn you'll not receive praise for it. You will be expected to do more. That is the trait of all creatures that go beyond their limitations..." he lifted his eyes once more, "but do not think that this old soul's heart is so cold that he does not have a measure of pride for his only daughter." ---- What had formerly been a matter of nerves and uncertainty now shifted to frustration and disappointment. Her eyes narrowed as she heard his response to her accomplishments. Despite being aware of these matters, he did not live them. He wasn't there for her, so what did it matter if he knew? She wasn't wanting acknowledgement of the deeds in the sense of doing them. She wanted him there. "Father with all due respect... I know this is a thankless job. No matter how much you put yourself out there and do a world of good for everyone, it's taken advantage of. But you and I have a different relationship, or rather... we should." Her voice was strained with growing emotion as she hadn't noticed the hand that now braced on the table's edge while she spoke. She didn't realize that it had dug so deeply into her soul that her body was cowed into reacting. Though his follow-up comments stung just badly and she kept her gaze on him. "Yeah, because the person who could give it to either of us is dead! The one person who knew how to show love and compassion to us is gone! I never got to mourn her, and you aren't the only one who feels her loss, father! You think I go on doing my job because it's an expectation?! I do it because I want to give people hope and know there will be a better tomorrow! You can't lead with discipline and adherence to policy or traditions alone. We can harden our resolve to be a force in itself, but without compassion, we are no better than those that would take it away!" She had at this point rose and sought an elevation above his eyes as he often put her in the same tier of those, he saw beneath him. She did know her place as a leader, and she had often navigated the path of caution when it came to him because of her admiration and respect for him as the Patriarch. But their house couldn't move forward if she let that be the only presiding factor. "We need people to like us too. I know I need to learn more. But you have taken the route of least resistance so that my experiences would be shaped in the worst of fashions. To say you have pride in me after a lecture does not amount for what I know I deserve from you." Her body had visibly trembled, and her lips formed a tight line as tears raced down the length of her cheeks. "I want you to teach me, Dad. I'm not your enemy. But I shouldn't be something that you should hone to lose too. You need to trust me too. Or we're going to lose everything again!" --------------

Adonis' face went tight. His eyes looked at his daughter in warning... she was crossing into a dangerous path. It was that moment when she mentioned the fallen Matriarch that his eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Old, buried wounds were reopened. Old pains were reapplied. He felt a torment twist within him that he had thought he had long since hidden and it was at that moment that he understood that burying something and ignoring it did not make it go away... in fact, it would grow and fester and rear its ugly head much like it did now. Then... rage. He would fight this. He -had- to. He could not take such words from his own daughter... she was meant to listen to -him-. Her words, the emotion behind them, fuelled his anger. But he hung onto that anger in desperation as it other emotions clawed at him. No it is a weakness. They are all weaknesses. He shot to his feet and curled his lips back into a roar. The Light answered his call and drove its strength into his fist as he drove it into the table. The table effectively shattered at the impact point, buckling from his blow and sending the cutlery and utensils flying to the ground. He lifted his eyes at his daughter with a paternal fury. She is perfect. The voice. That voice echoed in the back of his mind. I shouldn't be something that you should hone to lose too. His daughter's words reverberated back and echoed for what felt like an eternity. Whatever rage, whatever anger he felt was suddenly sapped from him. He looked at her and didn't see the woman before him. He saw the small baby within her crib reaching out to clasp his outstretched finger, he saw the small girl playing with her brothers in the courtyard, and he saw the young warrior swing a sword for the first time. He saw her. He saw his kin. His breathing was ragged as he pushed past the debris and fell to one knee as he levelled himself to her seated height.... He ignored the hushed whispers, the scowls from the staff, the rumors that would swell from this moment. He focused on her... and his arms reached out to clasp his arms around her, pulling her into his large frame. He blinked back the tears that threatened to flood his cheeks as he whispered: "I can't lose you too...."

As for the most wildest? That was definitely the narrative I wrote labeled "Fruits of Loop." Again, for context here. I attended the Succulent Tart show on Kelz'thalas "All I want for Winter Veil" alongside Madame Naralinthe Emberdawn. While there, Greatfather Winterveil was handing out gifts. My understanding is that the pets and things could be associated as plushies and what not. But I took a spin on it to say, Kelz received a pet toucan. So, after getting shitfaced, she brought it into her family's estate and left it in her father's study - demanding that it had a place to live there since it was given to her by 'Greatfather Winterveil.'

If you haven't read the story - you can check it out here.

But yeah, I'd say that was pretty wild how she got home and went through the motions of 'convincing' her father to keep the damn bird. Though he had a response to that as well in his excerpt titled "De-Looped." You can read it here.

As always, it's a pleasure to get an ask from you @safrona-shadowsun - Hope this sates your curiosity for the ask!

Tagging @grumpyoldfker & @themadamelioness for the mentions and to thank them for this roleplay journey we have been embarking on with growing characters in a more story-driven and compelling fashion. It's been revitalizing to write like this again <3

[devilsarchives]

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.

[wintertraumaposting]

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.

[shiratamako]

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?”

[aslightaddity]

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.

[ink-flavored]

“God is absolute. It is my duty to carry out His Word at any cost.”

CHARACTER INTRO: PRIDE & JUSTICE Name: Honesty, Keeper of God’s Truth Pronouns: she/her Being: Angel Stock photos from Unsplash and Pexels

Background:

There was nowhere Honesty would rather be than deep in her studies. Throughout all her centuries of life, she took upon countless responsibilities with grace, led her fellow angels with determination, and learned more than ever the truth of what it meant to carry out God’s Word. Despite her blessed existence, her service to the Lord, the one place she knew would always call to her was the repositories of knowledge—the truth of all existence—kept in the highest cathedral library in all of Heaven.

Knowledge would always call to Honesty. The blessings and limits of her virtue throttled her tongue to speak only the truth. The more she knew, the more she could say. The more of God’s Word she learned, the better she could carry out His Will. And nothing was more important to her than that.

Unfortunately, one particular subordinate did not share her devotion.

Justice betrayal was not a surprise to her. Honesty had overseen his division for centuries, and there had always been something… off about his devotion. He could never accept when enough was enough. He spoke out of turn far too often for her liking. He claimed to serve God and God only, but insisted His Will could be improved upon—and never seemed to realize his gall in saying so. Absconding after the embarrassment of that runway demon was unexpected, but not a surprise. He’d escaped true damnation, but in Honesty’s eyes, he had forsaken the Lord many times over.

When he disappeared, Honesty sent multiple search parties at once, as expected, and retreated to her studies. She absorbed countless tomes of knowledge on Lucifer’s rebellion and all that came after his failed coup of God’s throne. The traitor and a vast majority of his army were cast out of Heaven, where they created Hell to seethe in for eternity instead. Yet, some among the treacherous army surrendered, swearing to repent if only to be spared God’s wrath. Forgiving as He was, the Lord accepted their pleas, and offered the wayward angels a second chance at service.

It surprised her, that even her loving God would go so far as to forgive the foulest of conspirators. But, she supposed, there was always more to learn.

Far too late for her liking, one of her search parties returned. A pair of armor-clad Angels of Diligence and Fortitude interrupted her studies. She stood as they saluted her.

“I’d like a report,” she said.

“We’ve located the area Justice may have escaped to,” Diligence said.

“You only know the general area?”

“Yes, Commander. It’s on Earth, but his signal disappears far too quickly for us to pinpoint a precise location.”

Honesty pursed her lips. “I don’t understand. He hasn’t been missing long enough for it to have completely faded.”

Her subordinates glanced at each other. “We… suspect he may be intentionally masking himself,” Fortitude explained. “The closest we came to tracking him is near a large human population.”

“Even so, an angelic presence would be easy to spot.”

“There was also demonic presence in the area we searched, Commander.”

She raised her brows. “You suspect he’s using a demon to escape your search.”

Diligence nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. And we further suspect it’s the same demon he claimed to have killed before his escape.”

Honesty nearly choked on her own tongue trying to speak. No matter what she wished to say about that report—no matter how wretched she knew it was—any mistruths would fail to pass her teeth. Anything that was not a fact of God’s Kingdom would strangle her silent. She took a breath and collected herself.

“I commend your dedication to your work and the Lord,” she praised. “This is troubling information for us, I’m sure you’re aware. Our next steps must be swift if we mean to capture Justice bef—”

“You can’t!”

All three of them jumped as another angel burst into the repository, one that Justice was rarely seen without. Kindness, double-set of wings streaming behind her in a panic, raced to Honesty and her subordinates.

“Please, I don’t know what you’re planning,” Kindness babbled, fear plain on her face, “but you can’t—you shouldn’t hurt my brother!”

Honesty took another breath, allowing a placid smile to come over her face. “You think we’re going to hurt him?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I know what it looks like. Justice isn’t a traitor.” She glanced at each one of them. “He’s just—he’s idealistic, and gets in over his head sometimes. Please.”

Kindness was all but begging for an ally. Honesty could have dismissed her right there, ushered her away and continue with her orders… but Kindness and Justice were very close when he was in Heaven. They modelled their human appearances after each other. Of any angel to know where he would go, what he would do next, it would be her.

“Diligence, Fortitude,” she said. They both snapped up. “I dismiss you both. We’ll continue the discussion of your report and next orders at a later time.”

The two of them saluted and marched out of the repository, leaving Honesty and Kindness alone. She opened her mouth, urgent, but Honesty spoke first.

“My main goal in finding Justice is to bring him back to the Lord,” she insisted.

Kindness closed her mouth, blinked, then opened it again. “Really?”

Honesty pulled out the chair at her desk and invited her to sit. She did, finally folding her wings back, but still tense in her other limbs. Honesty stood above her as she did at any altar, or before her subordinates—tall, knowledgeable, sure of herself. And she was.

“My search party reported Justice may have joined the demon that escaped custody,” she explained.

“But he killed that demon, didn’t he?”

“We suspect he may have lied.”

“Why?”

“For now, nobody knows except Justice and the Lord. Taking an educated guess, I believe the demon may have taken advantage of his good nature.”

She shook her head. “No, that—that can’t be it. Justice is a bit too optimistic, but he isn’t stupid.”

“A demon doesn’t need any particular trait to manipulate others. It will use whatever it can to gain a foothold. Justice is no more immune to temptation than any angel that has ever fallen.”

Kindness slumped in the chair, pressing her hands over her face. “I don’t know what to do. It feels like it’s my fault for teaching him about my virtue and...”

“His choices are his own, Kindness.” Honesty reached out and put her hands on her shoulders. “But if you join the search, you may be able to help him make different ones.”

She peeked between her fingers. “How?”

“There was no one in Heaven he talked about more highly than his sister.” Kindness smiled fondly to herself. Honesty smiled back, despite the sour way that truth tasted on her lips. “If we’re able to find him, you might be able to draw him away from the demon.”

 “If we find him.”

“Only one search party has come back, and I’ll send more. He’s not a lost cause.”

Kindness dropped her hands into her lap, still slumped, but finally at peace. “Do you really think he can be brought back to us?”

“Only the Lord knows for certain. I trust His plan.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I should too.” Kindness stood and looked up at her, hardened with determination. “I’ll do anything I can to help find him.”

Honesty embraced the poor thing, glad to have her on Heaven’s side. She wasn’t convinced Justice could be saved. But she would do her best to save others from his treachery, at the very least.