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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 22 days

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The Witch's Bodyguard

(2) I hide and cower in the corner, conversations getting hard

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda has to do an interview and is a little anxious about it

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: None this is just a set up and establish chapter

A/N: I'm so glad you're all looking forward to this series!

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsromanovaa @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69

Your fist collided with the sand filled bag, stopping it dead in its tracks. Breathing hot and heavy after a two hour workout. You grabbed for your towel, sitting down to wipe away the sweat from your face as the feeling of a cold water bottle hit the side of your neck.

“I heard you finishing up so I figured I'd bring some water.” You hear Wanda say from behind you. Your tumbler is forgotten beside you as you take the bottle from her. You'd been here only a week, but Wanda quickly learned you're a creature of habit. The early wake up time, workouts that lasted the same amount each day. She was taking notice of the little things.

“Thank you. We have to go out for that interview soon, right?” You ask as you receive a nod. Your eyes flicked down to her hands. Her fingers fidgeting with the rings on her other hand. You could tell she was nervous, but it wasn't your place to say anything so you simply stand up. “I'll be ready in 10. Is Bucky ready?” Your voice is firm, commanding, but devoid of any unnecessary inflection. Bucky's reliability is another aspect of your job that you've come to depend on. Wanda simply nods as the two of you leave the at-home gym.

You head back to your room in the house, taking a quick five minute shower before dressing in your army pants, boots, and a plain white top. You also put on your bulletproof vest and holster your pistol.

As you swiftly gear up, the weight of the bulletproof vest is a familiar comfort against your chest. You've worn it through countless missions, and now it's become a staple of your attire as Wanda Maximoff's bodyguard. The pistol snug in its holster feels like an extension of your body, a tool of protection that you've trained with extensively.

Exiting your room, you find Wanda pacing in the living room, her nervous energy palpable. Bucky stands nearby, his posture relaxed but alert, a testament to his own years of military training.

"Ready to go when you are Ma’am," you state, your voice steady and authoritative. Wanda nods, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she gathers herself. She's still adjusting to having a constant shadow, someone who anticipates her needs before she even realizes them. You can sense her wariness, the uncertainty lingering beneath her composed façade.

As you escort Wanda to the awaiting vehicle you place your hand on the small of her back. A small gesture to reassure her that you’re here. You keep a vigilant watch on your surroundings. Every passerby is a potential threat, every noise scrutinized for signs of danger. It's second nature to you, this constant state of alertness, but you can see how it unnerves Wanda, the way she glances around nervously.

During the drive to the interview location, Wanda remains quiet, lost in her own thoughts. You respect her need for space, allowing her the silence she seeks while remaining vigilant for any potential threats. Bucky engages in small talk, attempting to lighten the mood, but you remain stoic, your focus solely on the task at hand.

Arriving at the interview venue, you scan the area, assessing the security measures in place. Satisfied with your observations, you usher Wanda inside, your presence a silent reassurance amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Your hand once again finding it’s place on the small of her back.

Throughout the interview, you remain at the perimeter, a silent sentinel watching over Wanda's every move. You catch the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the way she navigates the questions. To most people she probably looked normal, but to you it was obvious she was anxious as she waited for questions to come her way with her other coworkers. She fidgeted with her rings again as she looked over the crowd. When she catches your eye you can fully see the panic and you do something that surprises you both. You make a silly face and she starts smiling with her brows furrowed. So you make another and get a chuckle out of her. It made you happy to be able to ease her tensions.

As the interview draws to a close, you guide Wanda and Bucky back to the vehicle. Once safely inside, you exhale a silent breath of relief, the tension slowly dissipating from your shoulders. You looked over at Wanda you also seemed to be much more relaxed now that it was over.

======

You sit in the dim glow of the fire, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows across the room. The warmth seeps into your bones, a comforting embrace after the long day's work. With a book in hand, you delve into its pages, immersing yourself in a world far removed from the reality of your duties.

The rhythmic tapping of keys fills the room as Wanda works diligently on her laptop, her focus unwavering. You steal a glance at her from time to time, noting the furrow of her brow as she concentrates. There's a sense of determination about her, a drive to excel in everything she does.

The silence between you is companionable, each lost in your own thoughts yet connected by the shared space. It's a rare moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of your lives, a chance to simply be without the weight of the world pressing down upon you.

As the night stretches on, the fire burns lower, casting elongated shadows that dance along the walls. You reach for your cup of tea, the warmth seeping into your hands as you take a sip. The aroma of chamomile fills the air, soothing and calming.

Eventually, Wanda closes her laptop, the soft click of the lid echoing in the quiet room. She stretches, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she settles back into her chair. You close your book, marking your place with a gentle touch before setting it aside.

"Long day," Wanda remarks, her voice breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, the events of the day still fresh in your mind. Despite the challenges, you feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you've kept her safe once again.

"But a good day," you reply, your voice low yet filled with assurance. Wanda meets your gaze, a hint of gratitude shining in her eyes. In that moment, you realize that despite the differences between you, there's a mutual respect that binds you together. "Time for bed?" You ask, but Wanda shakes her head, making you raise an eyebrow.

"A little longer." Her voice is soft. "Just want to relax without work for a bit. Let my mind shut off." She looked at you, eyes looking so tired. Like she could fall asleep in her chair as she curled up her legs and rested her chin on her hand to look over at the fire.

You let her be, picking your book back up to read a little more. It was only a few minutes until you heard her breathing even out, looking up from your book to find her asleep. A small smile on your face. This seemed to be a thing. Half of the week Wanda was falling asleep somewhere other than her bed and you'd have to take her to bed.

You lift Wanda effortlessly, her slight frame feeling feather-light in your arms. She stirs slightly as you gather her, her grip tightening instinctively as she nestles closer to you. Her warmth seeps into your skin, a comforting presence amidst the quiet of the night.

As you ascend the stairs to her room, you navigate with ease, your steps sure and steady. Wanda's soft breaths tickle the nape of your neck, a gentle reminder of her vulnerability in this moment of repose.

Reaching her bedroom door, you push it open with a gentle nudge, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the night. The room is bathed in moonlight, casting a silvery glow upon the familiar surroundings.

Carefully, you lower Wanda onto her bed, tucking the covers around her with a tender touch. She sighs contentedly, her features relaxed in sleep. For a moment, you simply watch her, the moonlight casting shadows across her peaceful face.

With a sigh, you turn away, leaving her to her dreams. It's become a routine, this silent vigil over her rest, a duty you've come to embrace with quiet determination.

Exiting her room, you pause in the hallway, your gaze lingering on the closed door. In the stillness of the night, you can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over you, a silent vow to always keep her safe.

With one last glance, you continue down the hallway, the echo of her soft breathing lingering in your mind. As you settle into your own room, you can't help but reflect on the complexities of your role as her protector, the unspoken bond that binds you together even in the darkest of hours.

And as sleep finally claims you, you find solace in the knowledge that for tonight, at least, she rests easy under your watchful gaze.

#ley speaks #ley writes #ley writes series #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #celebrity!wanda #bodyguard!reader #the witch's bodyguard #TWB

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growingfunwithaimain · 3 months

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Amidst the rainbow of sweets, Lily hesitated over a single candy. Its shell shimmered with a mysterious blue hue, calling to her like a siren's song. With a flick of her wrist, she snatched it off the shelf and brought it to her lips. The instant she bit down, her senses were assaulted by a burst of flavor.

But the surprise didn't end there. As she savored the delight, her skin began to transform. Starting from her fingertips, a wash of indigo washed over her limbs, spreading like ink through water. By the time she finished the last crumb, her entire being had been dyed a rich shade of midnight blue.

Yet, the crowd within the candy shop carried on as though nothing had changed. Their laughter echoed against the glass cases, their voices mere background noise to the surreal tableau unfolding before them.

Just when Lily thought things couldn’t get any more interesting, her hips decided to join the party. They began to widen, expanding like a balloon filled with joy. Soon, they were rounder than ever before, hugging her frame with a confidence that matched her newfound color scheme.

Meanwhile, her thighs grew thicker, like two ripe melons ready for plucking. The denim of her jeans clung to her legs, emphasizing every muscle and curve. Even the most stoic customer couldn’t resist the urge to ogle her backside.

In the midst of all this, Lily found herself reveling in her new form. She twirled around, watching the reactions of those who dared to look. Some turned away in shock, while others openly admired her figure. For Lily, it was a moment of pure euphoria, a celebration of her own beauty.

And so, she stood tall, proudly displaying her metamorphosis to anyone brave enough to catch a glimpse. After all, what better place to showcase one's newfound glory than inside a candy store?

With each passing minute, Lily grew taller, stretching towards the ceiling like a beanstalk reaching for the sky. Her abdominal muscles flexed beneath her skin, creating ripples that would make even the strongest gym rat jealous. And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly expand anymore, her shirt gave out, exploding in a shower of confetti.

Beneath the rubble lay her bare bosom, nipples standing at attention like sentinels guarding her treasure trove. The sheer audacity of her outfit malfunction drew stares from every corner of the shop. But Lily wasn’t fazed—she knew exactly how powerful she looked.

Her gaze locked onto a young man who had been eyeing her since the beginning. He blushed furiously, his cheeks turning redder than the cherry lollipops he held. Without saying a word, Lily extended her hand, beckoning him closer. With a nod of consent, he approached, his steps hesitant yet eager.

Together, they left the candy store, arm in arm, heading toward whatever adventure awaited beyond its doors. As they walked down the street, Lily felt invincible, knowing that wherever they went, they would turn heads and start conversations. Because sometimes, the best kind of candy isn’t something you eat; it’s someone you can take home.

Another request for @realmofgoddesses! I think this has been my favorite request to work on so far! It was a lot of fun and took a long time to get it the way i wanted it but that's why im taking requests! to learn more and improve!

#breast expansion #expansion kink #breast growth #giant breasts #growth #ai art #ai girl #artificial intelligence #ai #giantess

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hunnylagoon · 5 months

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Wayfaring Stranger

PREMISE: After your husband refuses to check a concerning sound outside, you do it yourself only to find a beautiful stranger bloodied up on the beaten road beneath moonlight. The events that follow soon after turn your once quiet world on its head.

DISCONTINUED

A/N: Forgive me if there are typos or confusing sentences. I was high asf writing this and I am high asf posting this. I have a series outline posted on my page right before this post, idk how link it, I’ll figure it out sometime. I’m releasing another Ellie fic tomorrow, it’s a modern AU and will be two parts. As always, thanks for reading!

WARNING: Murder, mentions of violence and injuries

The night hung heavy over the isolated homestead, a sea of inky darkness punctuated only by the sparse glow of stars scattered across the expansive canvas of the western sky. You, wrapped in a weathered shawl, stepped cautiously onto the creaking wood floorboards leading to your bedroom window. The pristine planks groaned under the subtle weight of your movement, echoing through the stillness of the night. "Sawyer, did you hear that?" You ask, turning your head to look at your husband who lay with his back to you, His blonde curls falling upon the satin pillowcases. "Sawyer!" You hiss, trying to capture his attention.

"It's just some cattle," He dismissed, not bothering to look at you; in fact, he pulled the covers even farther up his figure to conceal himself from you.

"Can you go look?"

"Why would I do that?" He groaned, it was a genuine question. He couldn't figure out why you would want to investigate a concerning sound.

"Because it sounded like gunshots and screaming, someone could be hurt!"

"All the more reason to stay inside."

"Well, I'm going to go see what it is if you refuse to." You spat, grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside stand and using your shawl to clear it of debris. You swipe a match across its box, watching it ignite, small sparks dancing around your fingertips. You move the match to light the exposed part of the wick before blowing it out and discarding it on the spruce floors.

"Okay, don't get hurt," He said flat, nuzzling back into the feather pillows.

A solitary oil lamp, its flame shifting with every step, cast feeble shadows that clung to the edges of the wall like silent sentinels. Under the flickering light, you made your way down the stairs and slipped on a pair of worn leather boots, dusty from the day's toil. As your boots met the uneven wooden surface of the porch, you shivered, you hadn't anticipated just how cold it would be.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of sagebrush and the distant whispers of the unseen nocturnal creatures that inhabited the wilderness. A coyote's distant howl painted the night with an eerie soundtrack, a reminder that the untamed landscape surrounding your home was both beautiful and treacherous.

As you descended the porch steps, your eyes, accustomed to the darkness, scanned the horizon. The landscape unfolded before you in nothing but shadows and silhouettes, the distant outlines of distant hills and mesas barely visible beneath the cosmic tableau above. The isolation of your homestead, far removed from the flickering lights of the town, cocooned you in an otherworldly silence, a solitude that carried the weight of the untamed frontier.

You looked back towards your home as you moved down the dirt road; weathered limestone walls, adorned with ornate ironwork, bore witness to years of harsh sun, and dust storms, though the relentless passage of time wasn't easy to spot as Sawyer had constant maintenance on it. Standing proudly against the dark backdrop of endless prairie, the mansion's presence was a testament to opulence in the rugged west. The home sat on the top of a hill, the trip down being somewhat steep, though the main path was easy to trek, other ways down would send you tumbling.

A soft breeze rustled through the grass dunes, creating a gentle whistle that you liked to believe carried every secret ever whispered in the town.

With a deep breath, you ventured beyond the perimeter of the homestead, your silhouette becoming one with the night. The crunch of your footsteps on the gravel path echoed faintly, a lullaby for the wilderness that watched over you. You move with hesitation, trying to consider that your husband may be right and you should've ignored the clash and tucked yourself back into the king-sized bed, despite this, you keep moving, leaving only the echoes of your presence behind.

You were surrounded by almost nothing but darkness, you could only see the shapes of rocks and cacti reflecting the moonlight along with whatever was immediately around you, thanks to the shine of the oil lamp.

Writhing in the rocky dirt path you saw a figure. It hadn't been an animal or an article of clothing that somehow found its way to you, it had been the slender silhouette of a person, just as you suspected, someone was hurt. As you carefully approached you could hear their shaky breathes that made you sure it was a woman. Her chest rose and sunk as she shuddered in the cold air; she was soaked through with blood, you had never seen someone in worse shape. "Ma'am?" You ask, your heartbeat speeding up. She looked visibly startled, trying to grip the ground and crawl away from you out of fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise, I can help you." Your eyebrows furrowed in skepticism at the sight before you.

"No," She shook her head, the woman could hardly get words out of her mouth, just ragged breaths.

"You're shivering," You slowly crouched down, gingerly sitting her up, she winced in pain when you did so "I'm sorry," You hooked an arm around her waist while she slid an arm behind your shoulders, she used her other arm to clutch at a wound in her stomach, you ignored your shaking at her additional weight leaning against your own, you just had to get her up the hill. "SAWYER!" You shouted as loud as your lungs allowed you "SAWYER!" You screamed again, waiting for your husband to be standing on the porch.

You hauled the woman to your porch just as Sawyer finally emerged "What do you- WHAT IS HAPPENING!" His annoyance quickly turned to panic when he saw who was clinging onto you, behind him the door was hanging open letting the light from the foyer break apart some of the darkness. In the light other than the moon you finally got a better look at her. You couldn't even tell what colour her hair was beneath the blood matting it to her head, streaks of red ran down her freckled face and soaked almost every inch of clothing she adorned.

"Ride into town, get the doctor and bring him back here." You ordered, pushing past him, into the living room where you laid her gingerly onto the white gold crested sofa, feeling relief of the added weight gone.

"Well, there goes my coach-

"Sawyer!" You yell again, urging him to leave, he finally does, slamming the door behind him. You run around, hastily lighting candles to brighten the room; you bring a bucket of clean water to her side, drenching a rag in the water, you bring it to her face and begin to wipe away the blood. You noticed her shudder at the touch of cold water on her raw flesh "It's okay," You muttered, in an attempt to comfort her. You weren't quite sure what to say, she must've been terrified but it's not like you were feeling okay with the whole situation, you just didn't want to worsen anything.

More than anything, you wanted to know what had happened to this woman. Of course, you weren't going to ask at that moment, you didn't have to ask though, it's like she read your mind.

"I'm, Ellie," She said between ragged heaves. Just when you were beginning to make up your own backstory for the wayfaring stranger. The picture you had formed in your mind was that her name was Maybelle and she had taken a loan from a gang, and gotten herself into some serious trouble. Nope. Her name was Ellie and what was most logical was that she had been robbed by bandits.

You smile softly, trying to put her at ease. You thought back to all of the ways your mother used to calm you and your little sister "Well, Ellie, doctors gonna be here any minute and you'll be stitched up, good."

Ellie could've sworn that she made you up inside her head. She had heard stories of people on the brink of death imagining an angel guiding them to security just to be told when they recovered that person never existed. She was sure that she would get some rest and would wake up in some clinic with you nowhere to be found. You looked like an angel too, features illuminated in the soft candlelight. "Are you real?"

Her words had you thinking she was ebbing closer to the brink of death, blood loss making her woozy. "I sure am," You said, indulging her "I can tell from your accent that you're from as far west as west goes."

"That you would be right about, ma'am," She smiled with half-lidded eyes, her head lulling back and forth from the spot it rested on the sofa arm.

You soaked the cloth again, wringing it out in the bucket, the once clear water already becoming a foggy reddish hue. You used your free hand to push hair away from Ellie's face, with your other hand you held the cloth and gently wiped the blood from her forehead, clearing the way for you to see more of her freckles. "There we go," You moved your free hand to the back of her head to support it, now using the rag to wash away at the grime on her cheeks and button nose. "I can finally see that pretty face."

"pretty," She murmured, eyelids fluttering.

In the dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls like ghostly spectres, and the air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood. The wounded figure lay sprawled on the once pristine white sofa, the echo of a recent struggle still reverberating through the stillness. Moonlight filtered through tattered curtains, casting an eerie glow on the scene of desperation.

A crimson pool formed beneath Ellie, soaking into Sawyer's beloved couch. The rhythmic breathing echoed in the silence, a macabre lullaby that seemed to accompany the fading pulse of life. Ellie against the encroaching darkness, the battle for consciousness etched across a face pale and drawn.

Every breath was a laborious effort, a struggle against the body's betrayal. Her once vibrant eyes, now dull and distant, glistened with a mixture of pain and determination. Beads of sweat clung to a furrowed brow, evidence of the fevered fight within.

Trembling hands clutched at the wound, desperate to stem the relentless flow of a life's essence escaping through her fingers. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain through the body, threatening to pull the fragile thread of consciousness even thinner. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of mortality, and every passing moment whispered of the inevitability of the abyss.

Amid this struggle, fragmented memories flickered like distant stars in a fading night sky. Faces and places, fragments of life now hanging in the balance, flashed before weary eyes. The pulse, once strong and steady, faltered like a distant drumbeat threatening to fade into silence.

Yet, amidst the darkness, a fierce will to survive burned like a defiant flame. The wounded soul summoned reserves of strength, drawing upon reserves untapped in ordinary times. Each laboured breath was a testament to an indomitable spirit, a refusal to yield to the encroaching void.

The room itself seemed to pulse with a quiet urgency, bearing witness to a solitary struggle against the inevitable. Shadows clung to the edges of consciousness, threatening to pull the wounded figure into an abyss from which there might be no return. She saw your lips moving but the words fell upon death ears, she couldn't make out whatever you were frantically telling her, all she knew was that she was tired and she couldn't fight to stay awake much longer.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Though Ellie had believed you to be an angel, you proved yourself to be real.

As the first rays of the Southern sun began to pierce through ornate curtains, casting a warm golden glow upon the opulent bedroom, she stirred beneath the layers of soft, embroidered linens. The mattress cradled her like a sanctuary, and the pillows plumped to perfection, offered a haven for dreams. The room itself exuded a rustic elegance, with intricately carved wooden furniture standing proudly against the walls adorned with rich tapestries. The air carried the subtle scent of cedar, a nod to the untamed wilderness just beyond the ornate windows. Lace curtains danced in the morning breeze, revealing a breathtaking view of the rolling hills and vast plains. The room, a luxurious oasis in the heart of the frontier, embraced her in a cocoon of comfort, providing a stark contrast to the rugged landscape outside. As she slowly opened her eyes, the lavish details of the room unfolded like a dream, and for a moment, she forgot about the events of the night before, until the throbbing pain of stitched wounds hit her once more.

Ellie was no longer in the drenched clothes from the previous night and was no longer nose-blinded by the sickly sweet stench of blood. Though she didn't remember everything from the night before, she remembered you

What had woken her up was the incredible smell filling whatever room she was in. Cast-iron fried bacon, its savoury perfume mingling with the tantalizing scent of freshly steeped tea that wafted through the air. The aroma of flapjacks, golden and perfectly griddled, hung thick, inviting all who caught wind of it to indulge in a culinary celebration of the morning.

A bounty of farm-fresh eggs scrambled to perfection, adorned the table alongside a bowl of vibrant, sun-ripened tomatoes and sliced avocados, their colours mirroring the vivid hues of the sunrise. A basket brimming with flaky biscuits, warm and buttery, beckoned with promises of melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

In the center of it all, a heaping pile of wild berries and succulent peaches offered a burst of sweetness, a reminder of nature's abundance even in the rugged expanse of the frontier. A jar of homemade preserves, bursting with the flavours of sun-ripened fruits, awaited its turn to grace the breakfast spread. All of it meticulously placed on the breakfast tray beside her.

She had never been blessed enough to get such a thoughtful breakfast, or meal, or anything for that matter. Ellie had grown up around ruffians who showed love through gunpowder and chewing tobacco.

Every bite tasted just as good as she had anticipated, most people wouldn't have thought it smart to eat a meal in a stranger's home that magically appeared to wake her up and maybe Ellie wasn't smart but she sure was hungry.

In the corridors, you hummed along to a song you used to sing on the piano when you were a girl while you rearranged and tidied bits and pieces of your shared home so everything was in its place. Your ears pricked up at the sound of rustling, it could have only been one thing. You knocked on the door of one of your guest rooms.

"Yeah?" She said through a mouthful of food.

You pushed the spruce door open, closing it behind you "Good mornin'," You smiled "Or afternoon, I suppose. Feelin' any better?"

She felt embarrassment well up in her throat, there you were looking so effortlessly stunning and she was a half-baked mess laying in one of your beds, swallowing back the food you slaved away to prepare. "Ma'am, I am so very sorry for imposin' on ya' last night, I will be out of your hair in no time."

"Stay as long as ya' need," You dismissed her "Truth be told, it gets a little lonely in this house, Sawyer goes away all day and when he's home he's too tired to speak, so it's just me."

She furrowed her eyebrows "You own a house this big and you haven't got a maid or servant or something?"

You shook your head "We used to have one but Sawyer fired her, said I needed some chores to keep me busy. We do have a stable boy, name's Jerry, nice kid just can't speak English all that well. He comes by a couple of days a week and has tea with me during his breaks. I won't keep ya' here if you don't want to though."

"I'd just feel too guilty eatin' your food and givin' you nothing," Didn’t seem guilty one minute ago. She moved the tray of food from its spot on her lap to the empty bedside table. She began to push the covers off of her, trying her best to ignore the ache in her bones. When her feet hit the ground she felt extreme agony course through her body like a million little knives swimming through her bloodstream. She crumbled over into herself on the ground.

You rushed over to help her back up "Easy," You say, your tone soft "You're hurt, remember?"

Ellie couldn't even stand on her own at that moment, her legs shook with each step she tried to take, you leading her gingerly. "Can't feel a thing," She lied through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?"

"Nope, I need to sit back down," She said and you helped her to sit on the side of the cushioned bed. She couldn't remember feeling that weak for a very long time, not since she had been a child. Ellie almost wanted to laugh at how stupid she felt, needing you to help her take a few steps like she was elderly, instead, she looked up at you "How did I get so lucky as to have you take care of me?"

"Sometimes we just meet someone at the right time." You shrug. You were no longer able to bite back the question that had kept you up all night "If I may ask, what happened to you last night?"

She sighed, scootching herself back in the bed to get comfortable "I'm nothing more than a travelling merchant ya' see, last night while I was headed out of Palecliff, I was raided by a group of bandits, took my horse, my wagon, everything I've ever known gone in one night along with my dignity."

Your eyes went wide and you clasped a hand over your mouth "What did they look like?"

You had a million questions for her and you didn't waste time in showering her with them. It had been so long since you had someone to talk to, not your stoic husband, not a fourteen-year-old who didn't understand your language, but a woman your age who indulged your questions and laughed at your jokes, adding her witty remarks to them. When you married Sawyer it was like you were thrown into the life of someone you did not know, it went from sixteen-year-old you playing piano every night, serving food, chatting up locals to being isolated in a stark mansion on top of a hill, watching the ghost of what your life used to be from what felt like a cage. You were allowed to enter town once a month, beyond that you would sneak off to the creek and the far-off forest where there was no one to report to your husband, his father was the mayor so out of fear they would never keep their mouths shut.

It only made you ecstatic when Ellie had agreed to stay with the promise of doing house and stable work when she recovered to pay you back in whatever ways she could.

Mornings with Ellie began with the aroma of herbal tea and the comforting crackle of a wood-burning stove. You, now a dedicated caregiver, tended to the injured woman's wounds with gentle hands, your touch a balm for both body and soul.

Conversations flowed like the pages of a well-worn novel, each chapter revealing the layers of their respective histories. Shared laughter echoed through the homestead, a melody that resonated against the backdrop of the vast wild wind. In the quiet moments, as the injured woman gazed out of the window, she found peace in the sight of the rolling hills and endless skies.

Through the nuances of daily life—shared meals whispered confidences, and the unspoken understanding that transcended words—the two women became intertwined, bound to one another almost.

Sawyer wasn't fond of how his wife had come to spend her time. Something about the sound of her laughter echoing through the halls had angered him, knowing that he wasn't the one who made her laugh.

Sawyer, a figure of striking contradiction to his gentle and nurturing wife, cut a commanding presence beneath the harsh sunlight. His tousled locks, framed a face chiselled with the unforgiving lines of both nature and a life forged on the frontier. A mane of wheat-gold hair fell over piercing blue eyes, cold and calculating like the steel of a Colt revolver. His tall, lean form moved with the languid grace of a predator, exuding an effortless confidence that bordered on arrogance. Dressed in the finest of suits, Sawyer's appearance belied an innate cruelty that simmered beneath the surface. A well-defined jawline, framed by the hint of stubble, spoke of a man who had faced the harsh realities of the untamed West, and yet, it was the glint in his eyes that hinted at the darkness that mirrored the vast, shadowed canyons of the frontier. In the presence of Sawyer, the air seemed to thicken with an unspoken tension, a reminder that you belonged to him and him alone.

When Ellie had healed enough to hobble around the house and assist you with chores as well as join you and Sawyer at the dinner table, he had made sure to be vocal. "Ellie, I think you could ease up on the help a little as much as we appreciate it," He said across a table of food you spent hours preparing "I don't want my wife to forget to be grateful for the life that's been handed to her if she relaxes too much she just slips away into some progressive madness."

You look towards him, a subtle rage simmering inside of you "Sawyer, I'm not being ungrateful, I'm just tired from-

He raised a hand to stop your talking "I don't think we want those womanly emotions to get in the way, do we?"

You pushed yourself away from the table, slamming your serviette down and storming out.

Sawyer only chuckles at this, turning to look at Ellie who had found herself constantly having to bite her tongue around him "Just wait until she has children, she'll cry every day and make up even more things to complain about." Before Ellie, he had never felt such a sense of possession over you, typically he just treated you like an ornament.

All good things must come to an end and so they did; Ellie had healed almost completely after two months, the Southern winter had passed and spring was arriving. You both lied to yourself, pretending that it was still sensible for Ellie to be living in your house. You convinced her to let you take her to your favourite spot.

In the early embrace of spring, a hidden gem sat in the heart of nature—a beautiful creek that meandered through the landscape like a serpentine ribbon of liquid silver. The air, still sharp with the vestiges of winter, carried the invigorating scent of damp earth and awakening foliage. Along the banks, delicate shoots of vibrant green grass peeked through the remnants of melting snow, heralding the arrival of a season draped in renewal.

The creek itself murmured a gentle melody, a harmonious symphony composed by the bubbling riffles and the soft percussion of water cascading over smooth stones. The water, crystal clear and pure, reflected the azure canvas of the early spring sky, creating a mirror that captured the fleeting beauty of budding trees and the emerging wildflowers that lined the water's edge.

Beneath the surface, the creek harboured secrets—shimmering pebbles, polished by the tender caress of the water's passage, and tiny aquatic organisms that stirred with the promise of life. The sunlight filtered through the burgeoning leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the creek's surface like nature's stained glass adorning a cathedral of serenity.

On the banks, clusters of delicate wildflowers began to unfurl their petals, their hues ranging from the soft pastels of violets and blues to vivid bursts of yellow and pink, something you didn’t see much in the South. The air resonated with the hum of awakening insects, drawn by the allure of this watercourse oasis. Overhead, the first tentative flights of butterflies painted the air with ephemeral strokes of colour.

As the creek wound its way through the landscape, it carved miniature canyons and pools, inviting creatures to quench their thirst and revel in the burgeoning abundance of the season. The stones lining the creek bed, smoothed by centuries of flowing water, became stepping stones for adventurous critters and skipping stones for the whimsical heart.

The beauty of the early spring creek lay not just in its visual splendour, the soothing melody of flowing water, the caress of a gentle breeze, the fragrance of blossoming life, and the dance of sunlight playing upon its liquid surface. This pristine sanctuary embodied the very essence of renewal, inviting all who encountered it to immerse themselves in the sublime poetry of the changing seasons.

The pair of you just sat in silence, neither wanted to say what had to be said so you decided to drown beneath the weight of the words that went unsaid.

"I can't stay here anymore," Ellie said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She sat on the lush grass with her knees pulled into her chest. Her chestnut hair, the colour of fresh earth, cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, occasionally stirred by the whispering winds that danced across the plains. Almond-shaped hazel eyes, reminiscent of the vast prairie skies, held a depth that spoke of an untamed spirit. Ellie's sun-kissed complexion bore the subtle traces of a life lived under the relentless Western sun, and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks hinted at days spent amidst the open range. Clad in practical yet well-worn attire she had borrowed from you, her hands, calloused from the rigours of the mysterious life she lived before meeting you, spoke of a resilience that mirrored the vast landscapes she navigated. In the unforgiving wilderness, where strength and grace were as vital as the air one breathed.

"I know," You said back just as quietly, you both looked at the creek ahead of you, not able to meet each other's eyes.

"I don't want to leave you."

"I can't leave." You said, a newfound sense of sadness washing over you. It had just hit that you would return to the dull life you lived before her, days filled with nothing more than silence, loneliness, and regret.

"I wish you could," She picked at the grass, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Silence stretched between you like birds on a wire "Just stay, one more night and then I'll let you go for good, I won't pester you anymore."

She smiled softly "Sure, I'll stay another night."

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

You had left town at the crack of dawn that morning to gather supplies for Ellie before she left, and the night before you had babbled on and on to Sawyer about how excited you were for your plans before you turned in for the night. You had used the only day that month that you were permitted to leave to do something special for Ellie. After paying a brief visit to your father and sister you began the trek back up.

After you returned home from the short trip you had intended to go into the house and bundle up your goodies for Ellie but you had been detoured by a sound from the stable. You hadn't expected Jerry to be there, it was one of your days to man the stables, not his. Despite the confusion, you followed the crashes and bangs from the stables.

As you approached the stables, the familiar sounds of horses' hooves and distant howls of coyotes were overshadowed by an unfamiliar murmur and groan. A knot tightened in your stomach, foreboding lingering in the air like an impending storm. Pushing open the creaking door, your gaze fell upon a sight that froze her to the core.

In the muted light of the stable lanterns, you saw your husband, a man you slept beside every. night, entwined with another woman. The hay-strewn floor became an unwitting witness to the betrayal unfolding before your disbelieving eyes. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on their entangled forms, revealing a scene that would forever alter the course of your existence.

The air hung heavy with tension, the silence punctuated only by the stifled gasp that escaped your lips. The two figures, caught in an embrace that spoke of deceit, turned to face her with eyes filled with shock. The other woman, a fleeting presence in your life until this moment, bore the weight of her transgressions. Horror pushed tears from your eyes "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" You screamed, watching as the two shamefully and frantically dressed themselves.

"Can you blame me?" Sawyer buttoned up his trousers "You're always sad or angry around me, I love you, I just need a break sometimes-

"You make me feel that way!" You felt sick to your stomach like you were going to vomit "I have turned myself inside out trying to love you but I don't even like you!"

You could see your words hit him when his jaw began to tense up, the familiar tell that he would be raging soon "I don't even think you like me!"

"I don't!" You shout "I hate you I wake up every morning and I feel so empty when I have to look into those dull eyes of yours!"

"You won't even touch me."

"You only show me a sliver of kindness when you want your dick taken care of." You spat, the look of complete rage on his face made you smile; that was when he struck you. His backhand landed firmly on the side of your face, forcing you to stumble back, shuddering at the stinging sensation.

He put his hands up, trying to show you that he wouldn't hit you again "I'm sorry-

Before you could finish your sentence you were screaming, grabbing the shovel from its resting place on the stable wall and slamming it across his head. Sawyer didn't even stand for a moment, the second the shovel made contact with his head, he flopped to the ground. You audibly squeaked, watching blood ooze from the newly formed gash in his head.

"Sawyer?" You crouched down, poking at his limp body with the shovel to see if he would shift. Nothing. His eyes fell lifeless along with the rest of him. The shovel clattered to the ground as you brought both hands to cover your mouth.

You stood over his body, your actions registering in your head, you had killed him. You had taken the life of someone.

You were only snapped away from your thoughts when you heard a thud. Your head snapped to where the sound had come from, only to find the black-haired woman he was cheating on you with stumbling back up from her fall, she cast a look back at you, terror written across her pale face.

Feet moving faster than your mind, you ran after her, she had already got a good headstart on you. She was beginning to rush towards one of the steeper sides of the hill, you knew you wouldn't catch her in time; so instead of pursuing her, you grabbed the gun off the front porch and aimed it at the woman.

The metallic tang of gun oil hung in the air as you cradled the shotgun, the weight unfamiliar in your hands, you were only going off of what your father had shown you all those years ago. The overwhelming sun cast long shadows across the open range, painting the world in hues of amber and gold. With trepidation etched on her face, you squared your shoulders and took a deep breath. The gun felt cool against your trembling fingertips as she aimed at a distant woman. The tension in the air was palpable as you squeezed the trigger, the gunshot echoing through the vast expanse. The recoil startled you, and a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty danced in your eyes. At that moment, as the echoes of the shot reverberated through the silence of the frontier, you felt a seismic shift watching the raven-haired woman fall, now rolling down the hill.

Still gripping the shotgun, you ran over to the spot where you had seen the woman collapse.

When you bore down the hill, her body was nowhere to be found.

Your head shot up to search the plains for her but you didn't see a sign of where she had gone, aside from the small pool of blood, seeping into dead grass where she had initially fallen.

"What's wrong?" Ellie shouted, running over to where you stood, frozen in fear for what lay ahead of you "I heard a gunshot."

"Ellie I-" You were stiff where you stood, grasping the shotgun so tight that your knuckles had turned white "Sawyer was cheating on me in the stables and I saw him and I was just so mad that I-I hit him with a shovel, I didn't think he would die, I just wanted him to be as afraid of me as I was of him. That woman he was with, she saw me kill him so I shot her but she got away and now I'm good as dead."

Ellie didn't seem as mortified as you thought she would be, she took the shotgun away from you, slinging an arm around your waist with her free hand and guiding you back to the house "It's okay, not as bad as it could be, you took care of me now it's my turn to take care of you."

"It's not okay, I'm gonna be strung up at the gallows in front of everyone, I killed the mayors son." A breath hitched in your throat "My dad's gonna watch me hang."

"Only if they catch us," Ellie said nonchalantly, steering you up the porch "Pack what you need, we'll be out of here in no time. It only feels fair to tell you now that I’m not actually a travelling merchant.”

#ellie williams #wild west #ellie williams x you #cowboy #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us #the last of us ellie #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #cowboy! ellie #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader fluff

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

Note

Hello, how are you?

Can I get a TFA request?

A gender neutral bot Buddy who is Bumblebee's twin sibling and who ends up dating Prowl later on?

Bumblebee and his twin look exactly the same, same body-type, same paint job, they even have the same alt mode.

However, you can tell who is who by watching how they act, Bumblebee is loud and outgoing while Buddy is quiet and introverted around anyone who isn't Bumblebee or Bulkhead.

"Buddy" is not their original designation, their designation used to be "2.0", they changed it to Buddy because Sari called them that one time and they ended up loving it so much that they urged the rest of the team to start calling them that.

Also, when Buddy Bumblebee and Bulkhead met prowl, Buddy slowly approached him kinda like-

Buddy: Hey.

Prowl: …

Buddy: Are you… okay?

Prowl: Do you mind?

Buddy: Oh! You are alive!

Buddy thinks that Prowl is very cool and has a tiny crush on him.

Prowl didn't mind Buddy that much in the beginning, he just saw them as the calmer twin.

However, the more he got to know them, the more he wanted get closer to them.

Yeah, Prowl also has a tiny crush on Buddy.

I think this become too long so I'm gonna cut the request here.

I will the send you the second part soon!

I can just see Buddy explaining to people and bots on the daily that they aren't Bumblebee. They are exhausted.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy who's Bumblebee's twin

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Hinted romance, Cybertronian reader

TFA

It was hard having a twin like Bumblebee.

It’s not that they didn’t love him, they loved him to bits.

It’s the problems that always seemed to follow him around.

Being from the same protoform mold, same horn, and even the same paintjob; mix ups were bound to happen.

The best way to figure out which twin was which was to listen to them.

Their twin was loud, extroverted, and much more sociable.

They on the other hand were much quieter, calmer, and less of a chatter box.

Thankfully their twin took responsibility for most of his mistakes.

Most of his mistakes.

How their twin managed to rope them into coming to the Autobot bootcamp was beyond them.

They knew they weren’t going to end up in the Elite Guard or even in the bootcamps.

They didn’t even want to be in the Elite Guard, that was their twins’ dream, not theirs.

But being too loyal twin they were, they followed.

They ended up getting recruited to being one of the maintenance bots for the bootcamps.

It wasn’t the ideal job or position, but at least they would be a bit closer to their twin. The job mainly required them to clean around and occasionally fix ships that would head out for space bridge repairs. If they were lucky enough, they would head out to space with the repair crew in case something went wrong.

Their twin didn’t like being away from him, but he managed to convince himself that this could be a good thing.

He was going to make top marks, letting him have some more freedom to roam around and then have more time to spend with them.

Full proof.

His twin slapped him upside down his helm when they heard his logic.

Everything was going great for him until he met Bulkhead and got his name.

It’s not like he didn’t like him, it was just that he didn’t want to associate himself with the guy so he wouldn’t look bad.

Sentinel was already bad enough; he didn’t want to add to the list.

He did end up meeting his twin a couple of times for cleaning duty though.

That’s where they got to meet Bulkhead.

Bumblebee’s twin waves nervously as the larger green mech waves enthusiastically.

“Woah! Bumblebee look it’s another you!”--Bulkhead

“That’s not another me Bulkhead! That’s my twin!”--Bumblebee

“Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee flinched a bit but quickly covers it up with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s my new name now. Hey, weren’t you going to get named today?”--Bumblebee

His twin nods a bit.

“Oh, cool what’s your name?”--Bumblebee

“…2.0”—2.0

“What?”--Bumblebee

“That’s my new name now. 2.0”—2.0

“Oh… but it could be worse right?”--Bumblebee

2.0 huffs a bit.

“I guess it can.”—2.0

Bulkhead reaches their servo and shakes it.

“Well nice to meet you then 2.0! I hope we can be best friends like me and Bumblebee!”--Bulkhead

2.0 smiles at him and shakes back.

“I hope that we can be friends too—”—2.0

“2.0! I thought you were going to clean my office! Or do I have to name you Maintenance bot!”--Sentinel

2.0 flinches at the loud noise.

“Was that…”--Bulkhead

“Sentinel Prime? Yep…”—2.0

“He named you? But I thought your boss was supposed to do that.”--Bumblebee

“He was but after a little ‘discussion with Sentinel Prime… he got the rights to name me…”—2.0

Bumblebee’s servos clenched.

2.0 quickly holds his servo.

“Please don’t do anything dumb for me? Please?”-2.0

He looks angry but eventually lets it go.

For his twin’s sake.

After that talk, 2.0 wouldn’t see Bumblebee again for the rest of the month due to their schedules being more demanding on cleaning and repairs.

Soon enough 2.0 was going to be sent out on their very first field repair with their new team.

Imagine their surprise when they saw Bumblebee and Bulkhead’s names on the roster.

“Bumblebee! Bulkhead!”—2.0

Both bots turn around to see 2.0 come towards them.

Bulkhead happily waves at them.

Bumblebee shrinks a bit seeing some fore behind though soft optics.

Optimus and Ratchet look at the two smaller yellow bots.

“…What?”--Optimus

2.0 looks at the newer bots and quickly goes over to them.

“Hello there. I’m 2.0 and I’ll be your maintainer and ships repair bot.”—2.0

Ratchet looks at them and Bumblebee.

“Definitely a lot quieter than the other one.”--Ratchet

“Hey!”--Bumblebee

The older pair quickly found the difference between the twins, much to their relief.

They didn’t know if they could handle two Bumblebee’s.

The day they met Prowl was memorable.

It was 2.0 and Bee who got the cyberninja’s attention and had convinced him to come with them.

2.0 found themselves gravitating more to Prowl than anyone else on the ship.

Not that they didn’t like their team.

2.0 already hung out a lot with their twin and Bulkhead whether on duty or not, much to some of the team’s dismay.

But didn’t mean that they would join the two in their shenanigans.

2.0 looking at their twin and Bulkhead with arm’s crossed.

Prowl is right next to them mirroring the same stance.

Both of them had somehow gotten intangled in Bulkhead’s wreckingball wires.

“…”—2.0 and Prowl

“I know this may look bad—”--Bumblebee

“Understatement of the year.”--Prowl

“—But wouldn’t you like to hear how we got into this and get us out?”--Bumblebee

2.0 raising an optic.

Bumblebee doing his best puppy dog eyes.

“That won’t work on me Bumblebee. Try again.”2.0

“Please 2.0?”—Bulkhead

2.0 looks at Prowl and sighs tiredly.

“…Fine. But I’m doing this for Bulkhead.”—2.0

2.0 starts getting their tools out to fix this mess.

“Wait why just him? I’m your twin!”--Bumblebee

“Yeah you are, but I also know that he got literally roped into this mess because of you. Prowl, mind holding this wire for me?”—2.0

Prowl sighs but holds the wire as 2.0 starts loosening the pair.

“I hate you.”--Bumblebee

“Love you too Bee.”—2.0

2.0 got along well with Optimus.

Being the default leader of the group, 2.0 did have to report to him a lot of the time.

They often saw the poor bot looking stress and they made it their mission to help him with that invisible weight on his chassis.

“Hey Prime.”—2.0

Optimus looking up from his history videos.

“2.0. Is there something wrong?”--Optimus

2.0 just takes a seat next to him.

“Nope, well not yet at least, you seemed a little lonely and looked like you could use a friend.”—2.0

“I’m perfectly fine 2.0.”--Optimus

2.0 raises their optic at him.

“No one is ‘perfectly fine’. But I do get it if you don’t want to talk about it. I just want to be there for my friends, even if its as small as a conversation.”—2.0

“We aren’t having a conversation.”--Optimus

“We are talking back and forth. This is a conversation, checkmate Prime.”—2.0

Optimus sighs a bit, but a little smile does peak out.

“You’re usually hanging out with Prowl by this time, something show up?”—Optimus

2.0 shrugs a bit.

“He thought I was Bumblebee and kicked me out. I’m just waiting till he realizes his mistake.”—2.0

“Really?”--Optimus

“Give him a few minutes, that’s how long it usually takes him to realize.”—2.0

Ratchet and 2.0 had grown a special type of bond.

It had formed while looking through the ships wires making sure that everything was running smoothly.

Some things were some hidden stories that popped up, but never explored more in depth.

2.0 under one of the panels as Ratchet was in charge of handing them the tools.

“These circuit breakers need some replacing soon. These are as old as the war.”—2.0

Ratchet huffs a bit.

“It’s not that old.”--Ratchet

Buddy raises their optic at this comment but ignores it.

“Pass me the wrench, I need to bust some of these—”—2.0

“You will be doing now such thing to him!”--Ratchet

“…”—2.0 and Ratchet

2.0 rolls out from the panel and gives him a sad smile.

“This isn’t your first time on this ship, isn’t it?”—2.0

Ratchet huffs but doesn’t answer.

“If it makes you feel any better, I just the wrench to hold a screen in place while I run some diagnostics. Nothing major, just want to make sure the ship doesn’t stop on us while we’re outside the ports.”—2.0

“…Fine, but be careful with him.”--Ratchet

2.0 smiles and gives him a thumbs up before going back into the panel.

Ratchet smiles when they go back into the panel.

Prowl comes into the room.

“Ratchet have you seen 2.0?”--Prowl

2.0 pops out of the panels.

“Hi Prowl! What can I do for ya?”—2.0

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for kicking you out of my room.”--Prowl

Ratchet raising an optic to the both of them.

2.0 takes time to clarify.

“He thought I was Bumblebee and kicked me out.”—2.0

Ratchet nods.

“The kid can get annoying.”--Ratchet

“Yeah, and I forgive you Prowl. It’s a common mistake.”—2.0

Prowl was different from the rest.

He was one of the quieter and calmer souls on the ship.

Prowl did find 2.0 annoying at first.

Mainly because he thought that Bumblebee had come over to mess around.

It took a while for him to finally tell apart which twin was which from a glance.

Their personalities were like night and day, but physically that was the challenge.

2.0 and Bumblebee standing side by side in front of Prowl.

“What are they doing?”--Optimus

“The kid is trying to see if Prowl can figure out which twin is which after being blindfolded.”--Ratchet

“Good luck with that. Unless one of them talks, there’s no telling—”--Bulkhead

Prowl points at 2.0

“2.0.”--Prowl

“How?!”--Bulkhead

“Lucky guess, next time we’ll get you!”--Bumblebee

Timeskip to after Starscream’s attack and Optimus reviving again

To everyone’s surprise, Sari was the first person to tell the twins apart after the first mistake.

Of course, no one had ever got it the first time, but second time was a first.

“So, your name is 2.0?”--Sari

“Yep. I’m Bumblebee’s twin.”—2.0

“2.0 doesn’t suit you.”--Sari

2.0’s shoulder sag a bit.

“Yeah, but that’s the name they gave me.”—2.0

“But what if we gave you a new name?”--Sari

“A new name?”—2.0

“Yeah!”--Bumblebee

Bumblebee throws an enthusiastic arm around his twin’s shoulder.

“That sounds great! What do you think?”--Bumblebee

“Let’s give it a shot.”—2.0

“Oh how about—“--Bumblebee

“Buddy!”--Sari

All the bots look at Sari.

“What? They are super friendly, and they look like they would be nicknamed Buddy. So why not Buddy.”--Sari

“That has to be the—”--Bumblebee

2.0 carefully holds Sari up smiling.

“—The greatest thing ever! Everyone! My new name is now Buddy!”--Buddy

“But—”--Bumblebee

“Buddy! I like the sound of it.”--Buddy

The team was fine with the change in the end.

Sure, there were a few hiccups here and there but the name 2.0 soon left everyone’s minds when they thought about them.

Sari was also thinking about giving Buddy a new paint job in the future.

Maybe something Prowl might like…

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x reader #tfa x platonic reader #tfa optimus prime #tfa bumblebee #tfa ratchet #tfa bulkhead #tfa prowl

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haitani-bruvz · 9 months

Text

FAMILY AFFAIRS

Chapter 4 preview

previous part

Shinichiro x Reader, Mikey x Reader, Izana x Reader

Please enjoy an excerpt of chapter 4 :) Full chapter coming soon!!

DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Series TW: Yandere, smut, murder, noncon/dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, pseudo-incest (reader is considered a sibling but not blood-related), physical abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of child abuse, and neglectful parents, ages of characters are shifted around a bit (Shin is younger)

Sept. 6th ****

Groggy and disoriented, you slowly pried open your eyelids. The world around you was hazy, senses dulled as if emerging from a deep slumber. A persistent ringing echoed in your ears, making it difficult to tell what was happening and where you were. As your vision cleared, you found yourself lying on a couch in an unfamiliar room, bathed in the dim light of the street below.

Before you stood a large window that framed the Tokyo skyline in the distance. Amongst the towering structures, a familiar luxury boutique stood like a sentinel from your past. Rapponggi? you wondered before your attention turned to sudden sounds.

Muffled voices reverberated around you, distant and fragmented. your gaze shifted to two figures in the room—tall, imposing, with vivid purple hair that seemed to shimmer in the subdued light. Matching tattoos adorned their necks- odd symbols that sparked something in your mind. It triggered a vague sense of recognition, but the details remained just out of reach, obscured by the daze.

They conversed as if you were not present, their words dancing just beyond the grasp of comprehension.

"… and both leaders sent us looking for her. The irony, right?" one of the figures mused, a touch of amusement in their tone. "I wonder who'll be more pleased to see her— boss or Hitto. Its been over a decade for both after all"

The other figure chuckled in response, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Could've saved time if we knew Shiba was the one helping her. Wasted three years chasing that idiot from the pet shop."

The conversation swirled around you, but you struggled to focus, to understand the significance of their words and their connection to your existence. Why were you hear? Who were these men? Were they the ones who got your parents? Were you next? Were they even talking about you in the first place??

Just as their voices began to fade, a door creaked open and a lanky, dark figure began to make its way inside the room. Panic surged within you, the instinct to flee gripping your mind. But before you could react, a touch brushed against your cheek, grounding you in a moment of clarity. With a start, you awoke, heart racing as you found yourself back in the familiar confines of the orphanage.

Izana's concerned gaze met yours, his fingers still lingering on your skin. The echo of the dream clung to your thoughts, flashes of the figure in the doorway making you shiver and grip your blanket. As you struggled to shake off the remnants of the dream, your eyes fell upon the earring adorning Izana's ear. Its design bore an uncanny resemblance to the symbol on the tattoo—the symbol etched on those figures' necks. Panic swelled within you, but you quickly dismissed it as your mind playing tricks, reassuring yourself that it was all a dream. ' the earring must have been the last thing I had seen before I fell asleep' you thought. but still, it felt too real, the men, their voices, the room...

You shook your head, trying to dispel the unsettling feeling that lingered. As your gaze lifted, you found Izana's concerned eyes locked onto yours. His brows furrowed, and you realized that the distress you were feeling must have been evident on your face. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

a/n: didn't want this sitting in my drafts for too long :) also, hope you guys caught the hints of some new faces, one of which was mentioned a few chapters ago :)

TAGS @wildartist @rosemary108233 @devils-blackrose @teesissy @jcrml @soushswag @inurmom00 @spookychaossuit @shinslover @stalkergirl512 @miyuaditt @lurvelybones @kthyyxz @missanonymous1999 @kokonoiscoconut @ang3liclov3ly @josuke8 @bunn1rabb1t @gata-preta08 @chocomori @whyulyinggurl @Imbiafandbored @kazusbby @jcrml @the-grimm-writer @tamaki-jiki-reblogs @kookieszme @Berriesandcrem @bloobewy @thetruepair @madness-puppy @spookychaossuit @caramelcandescence @pongster @lostsomewhereinthegarden @k1nkyshoto @luno-614 @a-cult-leader @imbiafandbored @lovlessbish @kenmasbimbo @hnmashji @valeriinee @mel-star636 @mikeyaki @bontensbabygirl@luffysbaee@lostinahaze@reveluv-wendy@junolikescats@jkeluv@hells-jester@evvie8@randomsoba

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #izana x reader #mikey x reader #shinichiro x reader #tw.dark content #tw.yandere

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kylobrens · 8 months

Text

SIGNAL BOOST THE FUCK OUT OF THIS.

22 people recently have died at tinker air force base in oklahoma.

someone like a brother to me, my brother's best friend, and the death that caused this investigation specifically, is one of them.

christian bellmore, who died unexpectedly on june 19th. he was 19 years old.

if you actually open and read the article, it gets worse.

he was in the best shape i've ever seen someone. he was in track in high school. he had no known health conditions, no genetic health conditions, etc. and all of a sudden he drops 21 POUNDS in the couple of days before he was found dead? absolute fucking bullshit. all of these deaths are being labelled as "unknown cause of death" or "natural causes". you're telling me a bunch of young people, in their prime, with no known health issues are dropping dead all within a really short time of each other, on this one base? 5 IN A QUARTER, SPECIFICALLY? absolute fucking bullshit.

spread this around like wildfire. we need to figure out what the fuck is going on at tinker air force base, and figure out why they're keeping such a tight-lip about the people that have died.

rest in peace, christian. i'm so sorry. i hope we can get answers soon, we love you so much.

#signal boost #death tw

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zapreportsblog · 8 months

Note

Yandere Aemon Targaryen ( Jaehaerys 1 son)

❝you and I will rule together❞

✭ pairing : yandere aemon targaryen x reader

✭ fandom : game of thrones

✭ summary : aemon targaryen is a known as the ruthless prince and it’s a wonder to the people how he managed to get with a sweet young women such as (y/n), wherever she goes, he lurks in the background watching her every move.

✭ authors note : yeo I turnt his picture around and now it’s fucking with me 😭

✭ yandere masterlist

In the realm of Westeros, tales of the Targaryens had always been shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Stories of dragons, madness, and power were whispered through the halls of King's Landing. Yet, amidst the legends and blood feuds, one Targaryen stood out in a different way - Prince Aemon Targaryen.

Aemon Targaryen was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Ruthless Prince. His demeanor was cold and calculating, his words sharper than Valyrian steel. His reputation for cunning, ambition, and a ruthless determination to achieve his goals preceded him wherever he went. Many pondered how such a man could ever find solace in the arms of a woman, especially one with a reputation as sweet and gentle as his wife, (Y/N).

(Y/N) was a stark contrast to her husband in every way imaginable. Her smile was a beacon of warmth in a world that seemed perpetually shrouded in shadows. Her kindness and compassion had won the hearts of all who had the privilege of knowing her. But what truly puzzled the court and commoners alike was how Prince Aemon, the feared and obsessed protector of his wife, could ever have found love in the first place.

Their union had been a source of endless fascination, for Aemon had always been notorious for his affairs and dalliances. He had indulged in passionate liaisons with countless women, including his younger niece, before the day he married (Y/N). Yet, as soon as their wedding vows were exchanged, a transformation occurred. Aemon's infidelity ceased, and the relentless pursuit of his desires turned towards his wife.

It was said that he had been obsessed with her long before their marriage, though few dared to speak of it openly. Some whispered that he had been captivated by her ethereal beauty, her radiant kindness, and her unwavering loyalty to him. Others believed that it was something darker, an obsession that consumed him entirely, making him willing to forsake all others for her.

Regardless of the reasons behind their union, one thing was certain: Aemon Targaryen was fiercely protective of his wife, (Y/N). Wherever she went, he was never far behind, though often he remained concealed in the shadows, lurking like a silent sentinel. It was as though he believed himself to be her unseen guardian, sworn to protect her from any harm that might befall her.

The courtiers of King's Landing often gossiped about the strange relationship between the Ruthless Prince and his sweet wife. Some speculated that he kept her locked away in their chambers, a delicate bird in a gilded cage. Others claimed to have witnessed tender moments between the two, glimpses of a love that defied the prince's reputation.

As the tales of Prince Aemon and (Y/N) continued to unfold, it became clear that their union was far more complex and enigmatic than anyone could have imagined. The Ruthless Prince had indeed been tamed, but the reasons behind this transformation remained hidden, buried beneath layers of secrecy, obsession, and the shadows that clung to them both.

The court of King's Landing was always abuzz with rumors and speculation about Prince Aemon and his sweet wife, (Y/N). Some said that their marriage was nothing more than a strategic alliance, a move to solidify power and alliances in the ever-shifting game of thrones. Others believed that there was something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface.

(Y/N) moved gracefully through the courtly affairs, her gentle smile lighting up even the darkest corners of the Red Keep. She was a beloved figure among the nobility and commoners alike, known for her charitable deeds and her ability to bring a sense of calm to the chaos of the capital.

But as beloved as she was, there was always a lingering unease whenever the conversation turned to her husband. Aemon Targaryen was a man of sharp edges and unpredictable moods. His obsession with (Y/N) was undeniable, and it was often the source of hushed whispers among the courtiers.

Whenever she attended social gatherings or events, Aemon's presence was felt, if not seen. He remained hidden in the shadows, a vigilant guardian who watched over his wife with unwavering devotion. Some found his protectiveness endearing, a testament to the depths of his love. Others couldn't help but feel a shiver of discomfort at the way he loomed, unseen but ever-present.

Aemon's transformation from a notorious philanderer to a devoted husband had been abrupt and mysterious. It was as though a switch had been flipped on the day they were wed, and his former pursuits were cast aside. No longer did he entertain the company of other women, no longer did he engage in reckless liaisons that had once been the talk of the court.

The court's intrigue only deepened as time passed. (Y/N) seemed content in her role as the beloved wife of the Ruthless Prince, but there were moments when glimpses of unease flickered in her eyes. Those who were closest to her noticed the subtle changes in her demeanor, the way her laughter sometimes sounded forced, and the hints of sadness that occasionally clouded her bright spirit.

As the court's whispers grew louder, one question remained unanswered: What had driven Aemon Targaryen, the Ruthless Prince, to forsake his past and become the shadowy protector of (Y/N)? What secrets lay beneath the surface of their marriage, and what price had been paid for their union?

The sun hung high in the sky as (Y/N) strolled through the bustling marketplace of King's Landing, her heartlighter than usual. The aroma of exotic spices, the calls of vendors haggling, and the vibrant colors of fabrics and trinkets surrounded her. Despite the lively scene, there was a persistent absence by her side, a shadow that never strayed too far.

"Sweet King," she whispered, her voice gentle as a summer breeze. It was the affectionate nickname she had bestowed upon her husband, Prince Aemon. She paused her steps, glancing over her shoulder towards the concealed figure lurking among the crowds. "Would you come out from the shadows and walk beside me today?"

Aemon hesitated, his silver hair concealed beneath a hood as he observed his wife from afar. He had always been vigilant, his eyes sharp and wary. But at her request, he reluctantly emerged from the shadows, his presence sending ripples of unease through the marketplace.

His tall figure materialized beside (Y/N), and for a moment, the people of King's Landing seemed to hold their breath. The Ruthless Prince, now visible in the daylight, was an imposing sight. But as his wife took his arm, her smile warm and welcoming, some of the tension dissipated.

As they strolled through the market, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Her husband had a reputation as the ultimate protector, a guardian that lurked in the darkness. Yet today, he had yielded to her request, stepping into the light by her side.

Amidst the stalls and vendors, (Y/N) stopped at a jewelry merchant's cart, her eyes sparkling as she admired a delicate necklace adorned with sapphires. She exchanged a few words with the merchant and handed over a few coins, and he, in turn, reached out to give her the purchased item.

Aemon's watchful eyes never left her, even for a moment. He saw the merchant's hand brush against (Y/N)'s as he handed her the necklace, a seemingly innocent gesture of transaction. But to Aemon, it was an intrusion, an unwarranted touch that sent a jolt of anger through him.

Later, in the privacy of their chambers, Aemon summoned the merchant who had dared to touch his wife. The man, trembling with fear, stood before the Ruthless Prince, unaware of the storm that was about to descend upon him.

With a swift, merciless stroke, Aemon ordered the man's hand to be severed, a gruesome punishment for what he had perceived as an act of disrespect towards his beloved (Y/N). The merchant cried out in agony, his life forever altered.

When (Y/N) came to her husband with questions in her eyes, her voice trembling with concern, Aemon held her close, his arms a shield around her. "My perfect little dove," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with an underlying intensity. "I saw that man doing something unspeakable with his hands before he touched you. I couldn't let him near you."

(Y/N) was mildly horrified by the brutality of her husband's response, but she didn't doubt his words. She had always trusted Aemon's judgment, even when his actions seemed extreme. Nestled in his protective embrace, she nodded and whispered, "I know you'll always keep me safe, Sweet King."

The enigmatic shadows that clung to their marriage deepened, and the secrets that bound them together remained hidden from the prying eyes of the court. As they held each other close, Prince Aemon and his sweet wife (Y/N) faced a future filled with uncertainties, their devotion to each other stronger than ever, and their love veiled in mystery.

Late that day, as the moonlight gently cascaded through the curtains, Aemon lay beside his wife, watching her peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but be captivated by the delicate contours of her face, tracing his fingers softly over her features.

Whispering tenderly, he shared his deepest promises, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "I'll always be there for you, no matter what," he murmured, his words filled with unwavering devotion. "When I am king, you will rule beside me as queen, sharing in the power and responsibilities that come with it."

His heart swelled with affection as he imagined a future where she stood by his side, their love a beacon of strength and unity. "By my side is your rightful place, your birthright," he continued, his hand resting gently on her stomach, envisioning a time when it would be rounded with their heirs.

In that moment, the room seemed to hold an air of anticipation, as if the dreams they shared were on the brink of becoming reality. Aemon's mind raced with thoughts of the legacy they would create together, a dynasty built on love and unity.

As he watched her breathing steady and calm, he felt a surge of gratitude for the woman lying beside him. She was not only his partner in life but also the embodiment of everything he held dear. Her strength, grace, and unwavering support were the foundations upon which his dreams were built.

With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips against her forehead, sealing his promises with a silent vow. In that quiet moment, Aemon knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them with unwavering determination. For his wife, his love, and the future they would forge together, he would give his all.

As sleep finally began to claim him, Aemon held her close, cherishing the warmth and comfort they found in each other's embrace. The night was filled with whispered dreams and the tender hopes of a future that seemed closer than ever before.

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mychlapci · 3 months

Note

I think I got the main stuff from memory. I lost the more detailed sex scene (RIP, Bulkhead's spike ruined Sentinel pussy), but plot ideas remained. I hope you feel better soon.

Sentinel has been lonely since he got promoted to right under Ultra Magnus. He has no higher to climb until Ultra Magnus dies and with the exception of chasing off an occasional political rival he's now got a lot of free time. Time enough to actually notice the absence of friends and, more easy to process, regular spiking.

Because Elita and he had sex regularly and she'd made Sentinel even pickier about who he slept with and then promotion and political aspirations further smothered his choices.

None of his current coworkers were options either committed monogamously (Magnus), into vastly different kinks (he and Jazz had tried), or uninterested (Who turns down a celebratory promotion blowjob? Last time Sentinel tries to do something nice for Longarm.).

So Sentinel is desperate at this point and trying to find the right mix of timid enough to be bullied into never mentioning it, big enough to interest him, and lacking in political or personal motivation that could bite him in the aft. Which is when he finds Bulkhead celebrating his dream assignment in the bar Sentinel is scoping out. Sentinel does quick math and figures this is his best shot so goes to chat Bulkhead up and get him a celebratory drink as his “former bootcamp instructor”.

Bulkhead is wary but relaxes as Sentinel remains friendly for him and actually listens for a bit when he talks about Space Bridges and his new position heading off Cybertron for years. Sentinel actually perked up and asked questions letting Bulkhead gush a bit. He didn't mind when Sentinel cut in and his stories were a little mean but also kind of funny and lively with gossip about people Bulkhead never heard of. It was nice and so was the attention Bulkhead was convinced he'd imagined until Sentinel traced a hand down his arm and asked if he'd like to come back to his place.

Bulkhead rushes to say yes.

They both have a good night. Bulkhead is just as big as Sentinel hoped and with a little encouragement is pleasantly rough while still listening to Sentinel's orders until Sentinel got too into it to do much more than rock back and moan. He even cleaned him up, made sure he was in bed, and left food for Sentinel in the morning. It was Sentinel's food but still.

Sentinel was considering it a success until two month later he finds out his birth control had expired when Jazz finally strong armed him into making an appointment and he got the news just in time for Bulkhead to get killed by the Decepticons before Sentinel could shove this off on him.

The population is too low for him to get approved for termination. If Bulkhead was there as the higher ranked he could shove the parasite off in him and be done with it but without him Sentinel's career was going to stall. He's horrified going through worst case scenarios before he recovers and vows to simply become a working single parent and prove that he is in fact so much the Best he can do this. They can't legally make him leave after all, especially if Sentinel ensures there are arrangements made in advanced given the extended lengths of carrying.

Sentinel, to everyone's surprise, becomes a champion of right to work, reproductive rights, and daycare and parental support in the workplace. Sentinel's surprised to find it actually gets him political allies and a following? Having a distinct political stance instead of dancing around it. He's also actually able to use up any favors, good will, and blackmail up in time to make sure there is a daycare and job security by the time his secret gets out.

He's been deliberately slowing development by not getting transfluid donations though his parasite clings on. He's fond of it in a distant way and a little prideful about it raking after him. Jazz catches on and at this point he has the Jettwins and has made them attached to the point they are double insurance about the government being unable to get rid of him. He'd even managed to swing Bulkhead being his tragic lost co-creater to his benefit. He's a political darling and reveling.

Sentinel is very, very smug about his success when he works from home after he is forced to post birth and grudgingly fond of his baby. Dion is at least orange and blue even if he is huge. The sex dreams about Bulkhead that had been off and on for years are ignorable.

And then Bulkhead has the audacity to be I've after Sentinel spent years propping him up as an emotional vulnerability to make himself “relatable”. Of course he has to volunteer to go to Earth. Not to reunite like the Jettwins are excited for him to but to pin the bastard down and get stories straight before he ruins anything.

Sentinel is the perfect single mother, media darling success story, and people's Magnus. He is not letting a Space Bridge Tech destroy his carefully maintained card castle of lies. He doesn't care what he's got to do to make sure.

(Apparently dropping the baby bomb was literally the only thing needed to get him to Conjunx and shut his mouth. Sentinel is a little let down after the in depth personalized planned threats. Although he doesn't stay disappointed long given Bulkhead's desire to “celebrate”.)

single mommy Sentinel becoming an icon for working class parents solely as a political strategy to keep his position in elite guard through being in the public eye… he would, wouldn't he? He grows begrudgingly fond of his large baby and everything is just fine until it turns out that the space-bridge crew fucking survived. He can't have Bulkhead running his mouth about how instead of a spark-splitting, secret romance, what they had was a drunken one-night stand that only happened bc Sentinel wanted to take the biggest spike he could find.

Bulkhead 100% turns into mush because holy hell he has a little baby toddler and it's adorable and he loves it already. He doesn't really care about Sentinel's story either way so he just goes along with it. Sentinel likes that he knows when to shut his mouth.

I hope Bulkhead gets him knocked up again. A few too many nights of “celebrating” (Sentinel really missed that giant fucking spike) end up with Sentinel growing a pretty little baby-bump. He's got a large toddler bouncing on his knee while another grows inside of him. Great.

(it's really great for me)

#valveplug #single mommy sentinel #pregnancy mention #texty #tfa

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written-in-flowers · 2 years

Note

oh my! time for a request! I imagine something like, maybe, a Stark girl coming to King's Landing and she's all fierce and trains with ser Cole (or maybe uses bow and arrows idk) and Aemond sees that and is like "I want that, that's wife material" and just like falls for her and wants her. I know it sounds stupid but I believe you will write it beautifully.

The Dragon and The Wolf

(Note: I have SO MANY OC characters for this universe, so I'm definitely putting them to use lol)

***

She didn't like King's Landing, she quickly realized. The city was too hot and too crowded. It took their wheelhouse ages to get into the city, let alone up to the Red Keep. felt the heat through the holes in the windows; so much so, she removed her furs after a while. Peeking out the windows, she realized how disgusting the city looked. Buildings leaned on top of one another, creating narrow streets. Children ran barefoot or half-dressed through muddy, stinking streets. The worst smells back home were in the stables. Dyana missed the cool, crisp summer air; the tall sentinel trees that filled the forest and their godswood. She missed her brothers and little sister, who stayed behind because only she'd be leaving home.

To make a proper political alliance, Lord Stark and King Viseryes decided to bind their houses through marriage. She found it strange, since northerners married northerners or people from south of the neck, like her Riverland-born mother. Her mother tried convincing her marrying the prince would be beneficial to everyone. Yes, everyone but her. Dyanna did not mind doing her duty to her house. She always knew she'd marry a lord, run his castle and bear his children. She did not mind it at all. Dyanna might enjoy roughhousing, riding horses, and shooting her bow, but she liked dressing for balls, dancing with fine gentlemen, singing songs and reading and writing poetry. She became the noble lady her mother expected and her father approved of.

But, a part of her felt disappointed as the wheelhouse arrived inside the Red Keep's courtyard. She'd hoped to marry in a Northern lord, who'd understand her nature and customs. A southern lord, a prince no less, might not approve. He'll expect her to be a dutiful, compliant woman who will honor and obey him. Dyanna supposed she had no choice. Women in her position did not have one.

The wheelhouse stopped in the courtyard, and her father climbed out first. He didn't very much like the south either, but he wouldn't be living here like her. He'd go home to Winterfell, where snow covered the ground and hot water ran in the walls. She stayed frozen inside the wheelhouse, not moving even when he offered his hand to her. If she hid inside the carriage, maybe she wouldn't have to marry. But, that logic did not work on a grown woman.

"Dyanna," her father whispered, "Come now. You cannot sit in here forever."

"Father..."

"The King is waiting on you."

Dyanna took a deep breath, and stepped out of the wheelhouse. In front of her, a few yards away, stood House Targaryen. King Viseryes sat in a chair, a golden half mask covering the particularly nasty part of his face. Leprosy, she heard, claimed the king's eye and parts of his cheek. He appeared half out of his mind, someone drooped to one side on his chair with a walking stick. Dyanna pitied him. It must be difficult living in such a condition, where every moment was filled with pain. Beside him was the queen, Queen Alicent, wearing a green silk dress and emerald tiara. She truly was beautiful like people said. A proper queen, she stood tall and proud with the seven-pointed star of The Faith around her neck.

She saw the princess, Helaena, with two blond children at her sides. A dress of pale pink and gold, she seemed shy and timid. Dyanna figured she might as well get to know her, if they'd be sisters soon.

The prince Aegon, Heaena's husband and brother, was beside his father. His square face somewhat cantankerous and sleepy, she saw all the signs of a man post drink. She'd heard vile things about the king's first born; it made her sick considering they might be true after all.

Then, she saw Him. Standing straight, arms crossed behind his back and feet apart, Prince Aemond exuded power and strength. The first thing she saw was the eyepatch he wore on his left eye. She spotted the scars leading out onto his forehead and on his cheekbone. His long blond hair fell down past his shoulders, and shone in the sunlight. Ladies she knew said he scared them. He did not smile or show any emotion other than coldness when she approached. A soldier. That’s what he reminded her of.

Her father, the King and Queen all exchanged pleasantries. When he introduced her, she curtsied and thanked them for inviting them to their home. She was then led down the line, being introduced to the rest of their household. When she reached Aemond, she’ll admit he did frighten her. Not because of his eye, but because of the cold stare in his one good eye. She tried not focusing on the patch. She didn’t want her betrothed thinking her rude. She’d heard he was deadly with a sword, and flew the largest and strongest of their dragons.

“I heard you fly Vhagar,” she said, finding something kind to say.

“I do.”

“She is the mightiest of them. I’ve read all the stories.”

“Hmm.”

She’d punch him if they let her. The King then led them inside, being carried in his chair by footmen, saying they must be tired from their journey. Queen Alicent led them to their quarters herself. She asked after her mother, who she’d met months ago. Dyanna remained polite and cordial like her father expected. She never mentioned her dislike of the city outright. She simply said she found the captial interesting. But, it wasn’t the keep she wished to see.

It was their training yard.

After settling into her quarters, Dyanna slipped into her breeches, shirt and under bust vest. She told her septa she’d be in the yard, to which the woman protested as she rushed out the door. Calling on some of her father’s men, she led the group outside where she heard the familiar sounds of clashing swords. She spotted people watching her as she rushed down the steps into the courtyard. She saw men in leather armor dancing around one another with swords, morningstars, maces, and other weapons. Dyanna smiled, feeling the adrenaline rush beginning to flow through her as she reached the armory section. The man there told her the yard was no place for a lady, to which she and her men chuckled.

“Trust me, good ser, I am more than capable.”

She took up one of the lighter swords. She weighed it in her hand, and flipped it as she tested its balance. She expected nothing less from the King. Dyanna came back into the space, seeing all the men in front of her. She noticed a small crowd gathered around one side of the yard, catching the sight of two figures in the center. She recognized the white blond hair of Prince Aemond, and the dark figure she knew to be Ser Criston Cole, a member of the kingsguard. Dyanna came closer, the people moving aside as they lady appeared. Ser Cole waved around a mace, while the prince did his best to dodge. No, not his best. He expertly moved out of each swing, blocking one with a wooden shield that the weapon broke right through. He tossed the shield aside, and worked with only his sword. Dyanna admitted he was good. It reminded her of her older brother, a great swordsman in his own right. Finally, the prince took one more dodge from the mace and then went around Ser Cole and put his blade to the man’s throat.

“Well done, my prince,” Cole said, yielding to Aemond. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he replied. He flipped is sword handle and turned to Dyanna, “My lady, what brings you here?” He noticed her attire, and appeared confused.

“I wish to see your yard and to train with Ser Cole.”

Ser Cole looked at her quizzically, “Lady Dyanna?”

She smiled, realizing her recognized her, “Hello, Ser Cole. It’s been a while.”

“A very long while,” he agreed. They shook hands, and he turned to Aemond, “Lady Dyanna is quite the swordsman, Your Grace. I saw her spar against one of the Baratheon boys at Maidenpool.”

“A woman wielding a sword?” it was not discouraging or judgmental. He sounded curious, though he tried to hide it. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“My father says I have wolf’s blood in me, Your Grace,” she replied with a grin. “I picked up a sword as a little girl, and never put it down.”

“Your lord father allows it?”

“He does. My mother doesn’t approve exactly, but as long as I keep up with my lessons and womanly duties, she tolerates it.” She looked back to Ser Cole, “I’ve been waiting for us to meet again, I will confess, ser. We never got the chance to go toe-to-toe at Maidenpool.”

“No better time than the present, my lady. That is, if His Grace doesn’t mind?”

Prince Aemond stared her up and down. He studied her, she knew. She tried standing straighter, putting her shoulders back and chin up. “Not at all,” he said, “But none of us are responsible if you are injured.”

“I don’t expect anyone to take responsibility except myself.”

She did her best to not appear disagreeable. Dyanna met men like Aemond all the time. Men who doubted her skills. She enjoyed proving them wrong.

***

It amused him to see her standing there, sword in hand and wearing boiled leather. Not because she was a woman, but because she appeared so confident. When his father told him he’d be marrying Dyanna Stark, his brother Aegon had snorted. “A dragon bedding a she-wolf,” he’d taunted. Aemond didn’t care. He’d marry Dyanna no matter what happened; it was his duty to his house. A person of his station needed to marry well, and who better than a Stark of the North? It allied the crown with the vast, wild North beyond.

People spoke of Dyanna’s tomboyish ways, but they never said anything about her beauty. Gray eyes stared at Ser Cole with determination as they began clashing swords. Brown hair stayed braided back from her face, the long braid swinging behind her. Hours of training must have given her the shape she had, making her stronger and faster. Aemond stood to the side and watched her expert footwork, her swift dodges and fierce blows. He noticed the work Ser Cole put into the fight. Dyanna would not go down easily, he saw. He liked it. House Targaryen needed strong women; not only with their minds, but their bodies. He observed her throughout the tough match. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When Dyanna’s sword stuck into Ser Cole’s shield, Aemond expected him to stop due to her being a woman. He’d been wrong. Ser Cole charged at her, and Dyanna rolled out of the way. She grabbed the broken shield Aemond discarded moments ago, and blocked Cole’s next blow. She swung it so his shield went to the side, then took the open opportunity to kick him back. Taking up her fallen sword, she swiped it at the fallen knight, who rolled away in time and stood up. He retrieved his shield, and blocked her next few moves before he swung the shield up into the side of her face. People around his gasped, but Dyanna did not quit. She fell to the ground hard, falling flat on her front before Cole put his blade to her throat.

Dyanna laughed, being lifted to her feet and starting to talk with Cole. He saw the man begin showing her moves he’d used against her, which intrigued him. Perhaps marrying her would not be so bad. If anything, he’d gain a good sparring partner.

“You fight well,” he complimented. “I never expected the rumors about you to be true.”

“What rumors?”

“That the She-Wolf of Winterfell was a fierce as they believe.”

She smiled shyly, “I do well. I’ll never fight in a battle or a war, but I still like knowing how to defend myself.”

He stepped closer, Ser Cole taking the cue to leave them, “But, if you had a husband, you wouldn’t need to defend yourself. He’d protect you.”

She paused, “What if he isn’t around?”

“He’ll always be around.” He twirled his sword in his hand, “Care to spar with me now, my lady?”

She grinned, “I’d be honored, Your Grace.”

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

***

A/N: thanks for putting this in! I know I took a bit from his fighting scene with Cole, but I really liked that part so I couldn’t help it. I hope you still enjoy it!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd drabbles #hotd fanfiction #got #game of thrones #asoiaf

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random-thot-generator · 11 months

Text

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 2

(Tenderness AU)

TWO: The Myth of a Rainy Night

Simon Ghost Riley x Frenemy Fem Reader

Summary: Simon returns home after another deployment and stops by the pub after hours to see you, but an off-hand comment has your reunion taking an unexpected turn.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, Yearning, Simon is conflicted, So are you, no use of Y/N

(Notes: This one got away from me, so I had to split the chapter. I’ll post chapter 3 as soon as I give it a re-write. The village I mention, Banfield, is from my own addled brain. As far as I know, no such place actually exists. I just wanted Simon to finally find himself a place of peace and quiet, so reunited him with his old captain/father figure Ollie Turnbull (also made up) and lovingly planted them in a rural country village.

This chapter was heavily influenced by Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’ and is used as a plot piece within the story.

There’s a bit of a time jump, but nothing major. Simon and Reader are still in the process of working out this tentative new relationship, neither sure of where this is going. Simon is feeling conflicted, so exhibits typical ‘Ghost’-like behavior to cope with it. There will be some angst, but no need for tissues. It’s not that bad.)

Word Count: 2395

CHAPTER: 2

🖤💀🖤

“It was a rainy night. It was the myth of a rainy night.” ― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

It was close to midnight by the time Simon made it back to Banfield.

The village was dead, not a soul in sight, only the streetlamps standing sentinel in the pouring rain. He drove through the heart of the village, past the closed shops and the empty expanse of the green, eyes trained on the pub across the way. There were no cars parked at the curb or people smoking beneath the front awning, the outdoor lights doused. The neon ‘Open’ sign in the window was off as well, which meant the pub was well and truly closed; there would be no one inside but you. He circled round the green and parked in front of the building, hand reaching out to snag the book lying on the passenger seat.

Tucking it inside his coat, he exited his truck, hitting the lock button with his key fob as he hurried beneath the awning in three big strides. He could feel the cold rain patter his balaclava, soaking into the material, creating chilly points of dampness against his face and ears. He gave a light shiver at the sensation before raising his hand to knock three times, waiting a beat, then knocked once more.

"Coming!" you called from the other side, voice muffled by the door and the pouring rain. A few moments later there was the rattle of locks turning and the door was pushed open, Simon stepping to the side to get out of the way. You peered up at him, a crooked smile on your lips. "Well, look what the rain washed up. Didn't expect to see you tonight."

"'Ello, doll. Ya miss me?"

You scoffed but grinned. "Like a thorn in my side,” you quipped, then motioned for him to come inside. You turned away from the door, calling over your shoulder, "Don't forget to lock it.”

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, stepping inside and closing the door, an amused little smirk forming beneath his mask.

After showing up late one night and being met at the door by you with one of Ollie’s old cricket bats, he had suggested using a special knock, so you would know that it was him. The memory of that night came back to him every time he used the knock now.

He locked the deadbolt as he glanced up to see what you were doing. "Slow night?" he queried as he shrugged out of his coat.

"You know it," you replied, wheeling the mop bucket down the narrow hall toward the loos. He heard the thump and bang of you propping open one of the doors with a waste bin. "Rain kept everyone home, I suppose. Ned didn't even stick around tonight. He was gone before last orders." He heard the squeak of a stall door, then a disgusted scoff. "I swear, you blokes can't hit the broad side of a bloody barn after you've had a few. Should bloody well sit if ya got no better aim than this."

Simon huffed a laugh at your fussing as he pulled out his usual seat at the bar and hung his coat over the back. He tossed your book on the bar, a copy of Jack Kerouac's 'On the Road'. "Brought yer shite book back," he called out, making his way ‘round the bar to fix himself a drink. "Ramblin' bit o' nonsense, that was."

You cackled, the sound echoing in the tiled room. "Not your cup of tea?" He could hear the sarcasm oozing from your words.

"No bloody point to it," he answered, distracted. He couldn't find the bottle of Dewar's. "Where's my scotch?"

He heard the slop of a mop hitting the floor. "Check the other end. Trainin' a new girl to help on the weekends. She probably left it down there."

Simon grumbled as he went down to the other end of the bar, and sure enough, the Dewar's was wedged in between two bottles of gin. He plucked it out and took it back to his waiting tumbler. He tried to pour it like you did, but couldn't get it quite right, spilling a few drops when he attempted to do the little twist you gave the bottle at the end of the pour. He mopped up the small mess with a towel, shaking his head. He'd have to watch the way you did it again to see where he was going wrong.

Taking his seat, he took a sip of his drink before picking up the book to thumb through its pages. It was an old copy, well-loved and worn. He wondered how many times you had read it. There were certain pages that bore smudged thumbprints and underscored passages in light pencil. They were like clues he would find, a trail of meandering breadcrumbs scattered throughout the pages. He couldn't count the number of times he had re-read these special blocks of text you deemed worthy to note. He flipped to one of his favorites and read it again.

'Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.'

He hummed low as he read it, picturing the scene in his mind so easily. On those bleak, cold nights in the safe house when it seemed like dawn would never come, he would read this passage and close his eyes, imagining he could feel the warmth of a setting sun on his face, hear the swish of tall grass swaying in the breeze around him. It was his own secret respite, a private moment of reprieve.

There were other passages you favored that he had ruminated over, words that held some deep meaning for you that he tried to fathom, that he tried to read with your eyes, your thoughts. He wanted to perceive it the way you did, but often felt like he failed in that regard. Still, he tried, wanting that extra bit of insight into what made you tick.

You were like an enigma to him, deeper than you let on, deeper than an ocean and just as vast. It sometimes brought him up short, a feeling akin to intimidation welling up to fill his throat. Reading this book, pondering your favored quotes, made him feel small at times, like a lone soul adrift in a sea of words and profound thoughts, but you swam in these waters, so he wanted to as well, even if he floundered every now and then.

You finished cleaning the bathrooms and came back to the bar blowing out a tired breath. You cast a critical eye over him, looking him up and down in that way that made him feel naked and exposed. It always made him want to squirm in discomfort, but he liked it, too, that feeling of really being seen by another person. He was just a soldier named Riley to you, with no rank or reputation to taint that image.

"You look like you've lost a stone since I saw you last. Doesn't the army feed you? What do they do? Just dump you out to forage in the wild?"

Simon grunted in amusement and tossed the book back down on the bar. "Nah. It was yer shite book. It ruined my appetite."

You rolled your eyes and snorted a soft laugh, a little smirk tilting up a corner of your mouth. "Aw. Does a man expressing his thoughts and feelings make your tummy ache, Riley?" You laughed when he sneered at you and flipped you off.

It had been four months since you'd loaned him that first book, and although he'd been deployed for half that time, the two of you had managed to settle into a comfortable rapport. Social niceties and good manners fell by the wayside as the two of you discussed the books you loaned him. Your coaxing, gentle prodding and snarky banter drew him out of his hard shell despite his set-in-stone intentions to keep you at a distance. Now he willfully sought you out, eager to see how you'd challenge him next while relishing the warmth he found in your presence.

He watched you pull a bottle of white grape juice from the mini fridge beneath the bar and take a long drink, wiping at your top lip with the back of your hand before you replaced the lid. Setting it aside, you sauntered over to where he sat and leaned on your elbow to peer into his eyes. It always unnerved him when you did that, but he held your gaze with a hooded, stoic expression, giving nothing away.

"You look like a zombie, Riley. When's the last time you slept?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Caught a few winks on the plane."

Your backhanded concern was something else that made him want to squirm in discomfort. He wasn’t used to it, someone seeing past his mask to the man behind it. You were a perceptive bird, though, quick to notice and point out subtle changes while calling him out on his bullshit with equal aplomb. A straight shooter, Ollie had called you, a keen observation from his old captain.

“Her kind o' honesty keeps a man humble," he'd said with a chagrined chuckle, and no truer words had ever been spoken. That’s exactly how he felt around you most of the time: humbled.

It irked the hell out of him.

He picked up his drink and drained it, clunking it back on the bar with a solid thunk. “How’s Ollie been?” he asked, changing the subject.

You sighed, allowing him to shift the conversation away from himself. “Same ol’ Ollie. Think he’s been feeling a bit down, though. He just found out his daughter Hillary’s pregnant. His first grandchild.”

Simon huffed a dry chuckle. “Feelin’ his age, is he?” He leaned closer, tilting his head. “Tha’ bird Miriam still chattin’ him up?”

A mischievous grin split your face. “She was in here last weekend just mooning over him. He acts like he doesn’t like it, but he does. She seems nice enough. I think he should go for it.”

He scoffed. “Don’t tell me yer goin’ to start meddlin’ in his love life, like the rest o’ the ol’ birds in the village.”

“It’s not meddling. I’m just stating my opinion, which I’ve kept to myself, thank you very much.”

He gave a derisive grunt and shook his head. “Yeah. Right.”

You took his empty glass and placed it in the dishwasher, closing it back with a snap. “Keep it up and I’ll start meddling in yours,” you teased. a devilish glint in your eye.

“Huh. Good luck with that, doll. Can’t meddle in somethin’ tha’ don’t exist. I don’t bother with tha’ mess. Got no time ‘r patience for it. Never ends well, anyway.”

You blinked, a small frown furrowing your brows. You pressed your lips into a firm line, some inner debate playing out on your face. You were silent as you mulled over his words, long enough that he began to feel uncomfortable in the tense quiet. There was an odd expression on your face when you finally looked at him again. “At least you’re honest about it, I suppose. Most blokes aren’t.”

With that, you stepped away to finish loading the dishwasher, running the water to fill the vacuum of awkward silence he had just created with his thoughtless comment.

Simon studied your subdued demeanor, not sure how to fix this or even if he should try. He knew he was beginning to get attached to you already, and he didn’t want to encourage that, didn’t want to encourage you. He knew he couldn’t give you what you deserved, but he had ignored that fact in favor of indulging in your attention. Now, he found himself in too deep, emotions long-buried disturbing the stony soil of his heart. He could no longer lie to himself that it was just physical attraction that had him sitting at your bar every night, because now...

Now, he caught himself thinking about you on missions. As he searched through the pages of your books for signs of your presence, he wondered what you were reading. He wondered what book you would pick out for him next. He wondered who you talked to when he wasn’t there. He wondered if you missed his company when you cleaned up at night. He wondered if you thought of him when you were lying in the dark, alone in your bed. He wondered if you ever wondered if he thought about you, too.

Because he did. More than he should.

Bloody hell...

He shouldn’t be thinking about you at all. He should never have let it get to this point. You were just some chatty bird who tended bar at his local pub and owned a lot of books. You were never meant to be more than a pretty distraction, just someone to occupy his time while he had a few drinks. Perhaps it was best to cut ties now. Let you go and fade into the background. That’s where blokes like him belonged, in the rearview mirror. This could never have gone anywhere, anyway. It was doomed from the start.

Climbing to his feet, he tossed a few quid on the bar for his drink and slipped his coat back on, aware that you were watching him, but unable to look your way. He adjusted his mask, making sure it was firmly in place, falling back on Ghost to get him through this as his eyes went cold and flat. He didn’t bother saying goodbye, instead smacking his hand on the bar twice, before turning away. Still avoiding your gaze, he strode to the door and stepped out into the night without a backwards glance.

You stared after him, letting his rejection sink in, and listened to the rain.

- Prev. Next

@stillinracooncity

@cumikering

@cutiecusp

@deadbranch

@glitterypirateduck

#simon ghost riley x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon ghost riley x frenemy reader #Frenemies/Tenderness AU

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cleavetheclover · 19 days

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Clver, think about it...shadowire (platonic or romantic) domestic fluff,,, or just fluff,,, angsty fluff? ps this is just my sleep deprived ramblings

Like...

- Post Hourglass Omen being found by Cypher (probably willingly i don't see Cypher going to go see Omen if he'd rather not see Cypher) and just...a talk. Omen venting. Cypher comforting Omen and listening quietly. And then cuddles. A kiss when Cypher leaves Omen be again and an orange, "for luck," Cypher would say (knowing it had no such meaning)

- Pre Hourglass, Omen coming to see Cypher at night, cuddles and physical intimacy mixed with quietness, because if nothing else Over feels just a little more grounded when Cypher is holding him.

- Cypher noticing little quirks Omen has. Sometimes Cypher tells Omen about what he's noticed. Omen enjoys it because it at least means he's still human if nothing else. (I mean, what kind of monster has a preferred sitting position or a certain kind of wool they enjoy knitting the most?)

- Above, but roles exchanged. Omen notices things about Cypher that makes him Cypher and some that makes Amir. It's weird, Cypher thinks, I'd hate being known but it feels natural with Omen. (Inspired mostly by hermit card, which normally means like being known by no one but yourself)

ehh welp thas all i got in the brain goodnight I'm by no means asking you to draw any of these i just saw your ask thingy and went "bet lemme think"

Noooooo stop I stg every single member of the cyphmen community has the exact same headcannons please 😭😭😭

(Not that I’m complaining, that just means more food for all of us)

ANYWAY all of these are wonderful ideas and I definitely want to write all of them!!! Unfortunately I am rather swamped right now bc senior design is kicking my ass and job hunting is harder than ranking up in val, and my current hyperfixation is a game called Noita…

But I’ll definitely get back to writing as soon as my life stops being as volatile as a bucket of acetone.

Also I wrote a short thing for the hourglass thing I hope you like it! I’ll respond to the other prompts later

Post hourglass Omen:

I think he would shut himself in his room for a while and just sit there, completely overwhelmed and not sure where to go or what to do next.

Since it’s cannon that Omen can sense others emotions, I think pre-HG Omen would have already sensed a timid friendship and significant fear from Viper, but it wasn’t until post-HG that he knows why. He’s having this world-shattering realization that one of the few people he has trusted and befriended in this lifetime not only doesn’t return that friendship, but actively fears him, and for good reason.

Imagine learning that your best friend fears you, for an incident you would have never learned of—had you not hired a shady information broker to find it out for you.

Confirming that she sees you as a monster— something you never wanted to be.

Yeah, I’d be pretty lost and upset too.

So Omen is gonna be hiding in his room trying to figure out a path forward and simultaneously avoid thinking about said path forward.

Cypher, being the nosiest man alive, a friend of Omen’s, and also the guy who helped orchestrate the mission in the first place, is not gonna sit there and let Omen feel so alone.

He shows up and Omen really wants to just slam the door and tell him to fuck off, but he really doesn’t have the energy (and also can’t really afford to burn more bridges at the moment). So begrudgingly he lets him in.

Cypher softly says his name, “Omen,” but the shadow doesn’t dare look him in the eye. Instead he stares at the sentinel’s belt. Browth leather. Battle-worn. Probably replaced several times over, like Omen’s own combat gear.

The sentinel approaches, and Omen can feel a protective sentiment befitting his role as a Sentinel. It’s soothing, he’s felt it before, but he really wishes he weren’t the subject of such a keen emotion right now.

Cypher’s gloved hands come up to rest on the sides of his own shoulders. The intent is to be reassuring, but Omen doesn’t find it to be such. What is he supposed to do with his own hands, anyhow? Touch Cypher’s shoulders? His belt, or chest?? His waist???

Well, the chest option is gone, because the next thing he knows Cypher’s chest is pressed against his own. And his arms are wrapped around his back.

Omen always knew humans were warm, but for some reason, he had always imagined Cypher to be cold. Maybe it was the utter lack of skin showing. The minimal expressions in his mask. The way he never so much as brushed hands with anyone else in the Protocol, as if he were a robot like KAY/O. Hell, the literal killer-bot had a warmer attitude than Cypher most of the time. Maybe it was…

Whatever.

Cypher is warm. Like any other human. Embracing him without any reservations at all.

No fear. No pity. No grief.

It makes him feel like, for one moment, that maybe he isn’t a monster after all.

Omen responds in the only way he can think of: he ducks his head down and buries his face in Cypher’s collar, and lifts his hands up to Cypher’s back and pulls him as close as he can.

He smells like bar soap and leather. And something else more organic, musky almost like sweat, but that can only be described as subtle and pleasant.

Alas, their embrace cannot last forever. Poor Cypher is a man, not a scented candle or a stuffed animal that can be basked in or embraced forever. Omen releases him, already missing the warmth and the scents and the textures and the intimacy, but he would rather save face and keep Cypher comfortable than anything else.

Cypher seems… satisfied.

Omen isn’t sure how he feels.

There’s a long pause.

“I am not my past,” he blurts, immediately wishing he didn’t. He almost says something else to brush it away, but he knows that doing so will only dig a deeper hole for himself. He says nothing more and hopes Cypher will have the courtesy to do the same.

But the Sentinel, as always, has other plans.

“Neither am I.”

Omen’s gaze snaps up at that.

The Sentinel then reaches into a bag of items that he had discarded upon entering, and produces a ball of yarn and a small tin box.

“I have spent the last decade of my life paying for crimes too heinous to be named.” He comes to stand in front of Omen once again. “They called me everything from a villain to a monster to, well. ‘Villain’ and ‘monster’ in more callous terms.”

Cypher chuckled humorlessly. Omen dared not ask who ‘they’ was referring to, but got the feeling that he didn’t need to.

“I am not absolved from my past. I cannot fix the innumerable lives I have ruined or the things I have destroyed.”

Then he lifted the little tin up to his face. “But then again, what kind of monster has a favorite type of tea?”

In his other hand, outstretched to Omen, was the ball of yarn. “Or a favorite type of wool?”

Omen just stared at it. Cashmere imported from India, said the label.

“To the best of my ability— which admittedly isn’t much— I left it all behind.” Cypher somberly bushes the tips of gloved fingers across his masked cheek. “My name. My face. My skin, even.”

Omen tilted his head at that last one. It sounded painful. But then again, what about Cypher’s existence wasn’t?

“Like me, you might carry the legacy of a monster. But that does not mean you are one.”

The cashmere is soft in Omen’s hands. He runs his thumb along each strand, marveling in the gift. On its own, it didn’t feel deserved. But when he looks back sees the tin of tea being cradled in Cypher’s own hands, it does.

Former monsters sitting under a warm roof with their silly little domestic joys: the thought of it almost makes Omen laugh.

Cypher must have seen the way the tension eased from Omen’s shoulders, because now he is chuckling too.

Bastard.

“Omen,” the informant takes the revenant’s hand and says his name with that dratted melody of affection in his voice, “Would you like to knit while I brew us some tea?”

———————————————

Since you suggested an orange:

It’s a very cute idea— I think oranges are for luck and wealth in Chinese culture, not sure about other ones tho.

Unfortunately I’ve come to kind of associate them with mourning. My grandma passed away last summer, and my grandpa and I leave flowers and oranges on her gravestone when we visit. So I didn’t feel like writing that into this little story lol

And yeah I also incorporated your “what kind of monster has a favorite kind of wool?” Thing in here wahoo

#valorant #cypher valorant #cyphmen #omen valorant #shadowire #cypher/omen #cypher #omen #fanfiction #asks #send me cyphmen prompts of any kind #I love them

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draguta · 1 year

Text

.a court of ash and smoke | twenty-seven.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 2516

a/n: final chapter of the first book, oh my goodness! i can't believe the first book in the series is finished already! but don't worry, there's plenty more to come soon!

🩸 series masterlist 🩸

please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

🩸 tip jar 🩸 🩸 tag list 🩸

Velaris

“Stay calm,” the figure said, voice soft and smooth like butter. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“W-Who are you?” You stuttered, glancing over your shoulder at the door you were pressed against. If you screamed loud enough, perhaps Lucien would come to your aid, if not him, then the sentinels guarding your door at the very least.

“My name is Azriel.” The figure stepped forward once more, now cast in a ray of moonlight. He was visible to you now – a great, muscled male who towered over you, likely at least twice your size. He wore what looked to be some kind of leather-clad fighting uniform, and various blue gems glinted from his body. But those weren’t what caught your eye – no, it was the large, membranous wings, like that of a bat, that stretched out behind him that you couldn’t stop staring at. “Rhysand sent me, to make sure you were alright.”

Rhysand had sent this male into your home? Rhysand, of all people, had somehow known that, in actuality, you were not alright at all.

“Are you alright?” Azriel asked again, taking one more hesitant step toward you.

“I-I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. You didn’t know, couldn’t know exactly what your feelings were in that moment. There was too much rattling around in your brain for you to make sense of it all. It was too much, and it was also nothing. It was chaos, and yet it was at the same time emptiness.

You felt empty. Because Tamlin had betrayed you. Because you had been kept away from Lucien. Because that power that you had been so terrified of had exploded out of you and somehow made you feel something again, only for it too to be locked away at Tamlin’s hand.

“H-How did Rhysand know?” You asked quietly, looking up to meet the figure’s hazel eyes. They were locked onto yours, but his face told you nothing, gave away no clues. A pure sight of indifference.

“He said he felt the surge of your power,” he explained. “That he could sense it, even in the Night Court. He figured Tamlin wouldn’t be too pleased.”

“And he’s there, in the Night Court, right now?” You asked slowly. Azriel nodded. “You’re going back there tonight?”

“I am,” Azriel confirmed. His eyes seemed to linger on the collar around your neck, no doubt able to sense – or scent – the faebane locked into those emeralds. “As soon as I ensure that you’re okay. But right now, I don’t think that you are okay.”

You drew in a shaking breath. You knew what you had to do – knew what your only option was. Because now that Tamlin had seen your power, you were sure there was no going back, no taking back what had been done. What you had done, and what he had done. And then there was Lucien - what if you had hurt Lucien like you had Tamlin? You would never have been able to trust yourself again. You had to learn to tame it so that, if anything, it gave you even a small chance at a future with him. That was all you wanted, after all, a future with him. Lucien. Your mate. “Take me with you.” Surprisingly, Azriel looked taken aback. “Rhysand said he could help me, right?”

“He can.”

“So, take me with you, to the Night Court.”

“Fuck!” Lucien shouted, slamming the draw shut once more and turning to lean back against the counter. Alis’ collection of keys in the kitchen had been his only hope of getting you out of that room, but it would seem that the key for your room, and your room alone, was missing. No doubt Tamlin had already taken it into his own possession. He sighed, curling down and leaning his hands on his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut, replaying the moment he had seen you, through that crack in the door.

You had looked so…defeated. He had seen you like that before, Under the Mountain. But that wasn’t how things were meant to be here. Here you were meant to be free and happy, to have a home that you could call your own, to never have to relive those dark moments again.

You both were meant to be happy. Together. That’s how he had pictured it.

“Is there something I can help you with, Master Lucien?”

He started at the sound of Alis’ voice, and almost toppled over as his grip on his knees slipped. Lucien straightened out, brushing a hand down the front of his shirt, and threw her his best attempt at a smile.

“It’s been a rather long day,” he said, willing his voice to remain calm and collected. “I was just looking for a little snack and perhaps some tea.”

Alis narrowed her eyes. “Really?” She said slowly, approaching him on feather-light feet. “So, you weren’t looking for this?”

Lucien’s eyes widened as he watched her reveal a key from the pocket of her apron – the key to your room.

“You took it?” He asked, reaching forward to take it from her. But Alis pulled away, holding the key out of reach of Lucien.

“I will give you it,” she said slowly. “Under one condition. That girl is good, and fair, and kind, and strong, and she deserves better than this, I can see that. So, if I give you this key, you have to promise me, Master Lucien, promise me, that you will take that girl and get her as far away from here as you can. Get her somewhere safe, get her help. Make sure that she is happy. Do you understand me?”

Lucien blinked slowly, swallowing hard, but nodded firmly. He knew he would do those things regardless of a promise to Alis, and Alis seemed to know that too. Alis scanned his face for any sign of mistruth, but eventually, with a deep sigh, handed the key over to him, pressing it firmly into his palm.

“Now go,” she said. “Go and help her. She needs you.”

Lucien didn’t even stop to thank her. He had never run so fast in his entire life, had never felt his heart beat at such a quick pace. He scaled the stairs, two at a time, and skidded down the hallway toward your door.

He would need to think of some excuse to get the sentinels away from your door, just long enough for him to get in there, get that barbaric collar from your neck, and winnow them somewhere safe – anywhere but here.

But as he reached the end of the hallway, as he approached your bedroom door, what he found was not what he had been expecting. The sentinels were still there, but they were no longer guarding the door, rather peering through the open crack there. The door was unlocked, and two voices drifted through into the hallway.

He pushed himself inside, coming to a stop when he found Tamlin and Silas stood at the end of your bed. Your presence was no longer here. Your scent was there – he could smell it, jasmine and lavender – but it was mixed with something else. Mist and cedar. A scent that did not belong to anyone here; did not belong in the Spring Court.

“What’s going on?” He huffed out, fearing the worst already. His golden eye whirred, scanning the room for any sign of her. “Where is Y/N?”

“She’s gone,” Tamlin said.

“What do you mean?” Lucien asked, eyes wide and frantic with panic.

“I felt someone trespass onto the grounds through the wards – didn’t take me long to work out that they were coming here,” Tamlin explained. His face was pale, and he gripped at the column of the four-poster bed with enough strength to turn his knuckles white. “By the time we got here, they had already taken her.”

“Who?” Lucien snapped, a pain wrenching its way through his chest at the thought.

“The Night Court,” Silas chimed in.

No. No, they couldn’t have taken you there. Rhysand wouldn’t dare take Tamlin’s family – a member of his court. He was powerful, but he didn’t have the guts to start an all-out war against Spring, especially when he knew that the other courts would no doubt ally with Tamlin.

And you. His sweet, beautiful female, who he loved with everything that he had. You were in the Night Court, a place he had never stepped foot in even once, a place that legend told was a court of nightmares itself. No better than Under the Mountain.

You would be destroyed in that place.

His head felt hazy and light, dizzy, and he stumbled back, leaning against the vanity in the hopes of yielding some kind of strength in his legs to hold himself upright. That was when he saw it, the little white envelope tucked neatly into the frame of the mirror. Addressed to him.

“We’ll have Silas send out a guard to patrol the borders in search for her tonight,” Tamlin was saying, but Lucien wasn’t listening. He was too busy grasping for the letter, ripping it open. “After that, if there’s no sign of her, we’ll go to the other courts for help.”

Lucien ignored them, even as their voices drifted with their departing footsteps into the hall, ready to begin their night-long search. Instead, his eyes trailed the words on that page, written with such delicacy in looped letters, each one oozing with love and adoration for him.

And he wept.

My dearest, darling Lucien,

I cannot begin to explain how much it pains me to write you this letter. How much it genuinely hurts to know that these will be my parting words to you.

I need to tell you that I have gone to the Night Court. Rhysand has promised to help me learn how to control my powers, and I believe him to be true to his word. I have gone willingly, as I know that this is something that I must do. Not only for me, but also for you.

I cannot idly sit by any longer. I cannot be trapped in that house, in that collar, for another second, knowing that it was all by my own brother’s hand. It feels too familiar, too much of a burden to carry around those memories with me each and every day, knowing that my situation at the Spring Court was no better than it was Under the Mountain. But this is not Tamlin’s fault, and it is certainly not yours.

I need you to take care of Feyre until I am able to come home. Tamlin cannot be trusted with her safety, I can see that now. And she needs a friend, more than anything else.

This decision was not something I made lightly. But I know now, from the way that Tamlin looked at me today, that I am dangerous, and I will become even more dangerous should I not be able to control this magic within me. I must learn, otherwise we can never be together. I could never put you in danger, my love. Not for a second.

Because you are everything to me. When I was lost, I found you, and you brought my back to life, and guided me home like a beacon. You, my Lucien, have my whole heart.

I know, without a doubt, that we will find our way back to one another. I do not question that for a minute. But you must give me time to learn how to not be a threat to you anymore.

Do you remember what you told me? That no matter where what happens, and no matter where either of us go, we will always be together. I believe that, and I know that you will be with me everyday until I see you again, and I will be with you too.

I adore you, my love. I love you with everything that I have.

Your Y/N.

“That was quite the show of power you put on in the Spring Court,” Rhysand said as he, to your surprise, embraced you in a tight hug. Azriel had transported you both as far as he could, before flying you up, and up, towards what he had called the House of Wind. You had barely opened your eyes once during the entire flight, terrified to look down at what might lay beneath you; to the Night Court, that Tamlin and Lucien had spoken such terrible things about. But you were safe now, on solid ground, and you knew that Rhysand wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him.

“Well, it wasn’t entirely intentional,” you replied. “And it certainly landed me in some hot water.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes, glancing to Azriel who still hovered behind you. Azriel motioned to the band of gold and emerald around your neck, and Rhysand, after sniffing once, widened his eyes. Immediately, his hand was against the cool metal, and after a second, the entire thing simply cracked, falling to the ground with a clatter in pieces. You stared down at it in awe.

“We don’t have faebane in my court,” Rhysand said firmly. “And we certainly don’t hide people’s powers here.”

“Thank you,” you whispered out.

Rhysand smirked. “Don’t mention it.”

“Is she here yet?” A gruff voice sounded from somewhere inside the house. You realised then that you were standing on a balcony, overlooking the Night Court, and your stomach whirled, unsure of what you would see beyond should you turn around in that second.

“Yes, she’s here,” Rhysand called back, rather monotonously. He turned back to you then. “Sorry about them. We don’t see a lot of new faces around here.”

Suddenly, a burly male, with dark hair and similar leather to Azriel’s, showcasing gems of his own in blood-red, appeared in the doorway, grinning maniacally. If Azriel was twice your size, then this male was at least three-times your size, with those large wings curled up behind his back. At the male’s side was a small, slender female, with silk blonde locks and a truly beautiful face. She beamed happily at you.

And yet, you couldn’t focus on them. Instead, something pulled you, urged you to turn around, and when you finally did, letting your feet bring you to the very edge of the balcony, your jaw dropped in awe.

It was nothing like what you had been expecting. A sprawling city lay below you, tucked between mountainous skylines. Buildings jutted up all over the place, their golden, warm lights glinting off the reflection of a river running straight through the middle, almost like starlight itself. And there, in the darkened night sky, were the real stars, more than you had ever seen before, shining blissfully down upon you.

Figures moved to stand beside you, Azriel to your left, and Rhysand to your right, the other male and female on Azriel’s far-side. You all looked out across that city, and you couldn’t help but gasp as you caught a glimpse of a couple of faerie children walking down the street, hand-in-hand, laughing happily to themselves as their mother trailed behind them.

Rhysand leaned in, smirking, but never once taking his eyes off the city below us.

“Welcome to Velaris.”

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swiftyangx12 · 11 months

Text

“With great power comes with great responsibility…”|Valorant x Marvel #1

[Synopsis]: Marvel inspired Valorant agents and the first one is a Spider-Man based agent.

[Gender Neutral!VP Agent]

[(A/N)]: The characters may be OOC and I’m open for criticism/help to improve.

[TW]: Possible spoilers of ATSV and some cursing

Let’s start with the first recent addition to the Valorant Protocol.

They’re from Queens, New York.

Somebody whose like the neighborhood’s friendly savior.

Well, I think it’s best if they introduce themselves to you…

Arachnis: “My name is [Y/N] [L/N]. I’m a Spider-based Radiant who got their powers from the First Light and not bitten by a radioactive spider. For about two years, I go by Arachnis, swinging around New York, stopping robberies, beating bad guys, protecting people and loved ones, the usual stuff. Then I was recruited by an organization called The Valorant Protocol where there are other agents like me who defend our world, Alpha Earth, from Omega Earth that keep stealing a material called Radianite that powers almost everything. I get to travel around the world and it was my first time using firearms. I’m one of the Sentinels of Valorant and sometimes I can go too far when defending my colleagues…

When I don’t have missions, I visit New York and reminisce about everything that happened before and after getting my powers.

I hope nothing goes wrong in the future…”

《🕷️》

[Valorant HQ]

Breach: *with his booming voice* WHO’S UP FOR GAME NIGHT?!

Arachnis: AH! *Jumps up scared and now stuck on the ceiling*

Brimstone: Breach, you scared them again.

Breach: Whoops, sorry!

Arachnis: You’re good. I’m coming down. *Lowers back down with a thread of silk* Hey.

《🕷️》

Phoenix & Yoru: *Arguing and being dumbasses*

Jett: *Frustrated* When are they gonna stop?

Arachnis: *Shoots their web at the two and sticks them against a wall*

Phoenix & Yoru: [Y/N]!

Arachnis: *Shoots more web at their mouths to shut up* Unless you two behave, stop arguing like Pre-K brats!

《🕷️》

[Location: SPLIT]

Arachnis: *Spider senses triggered* Fall back! Fall back!!!

Skye: ‘Rach? What is it?

[Something crashes in front of the VP team and they readied their weapons. It seems the threat obtain mechanical tentacles protruding through its backside and it look pissed.]

Chamber: What is that?

Arachnis: I don’t know. Just shoot at it! *Starts shooting at the suspect*

[Its tentacles intertwined together forming a shield and the bullets deflect.]

Arachnis: Fuck! *Sprints at the enemy*

Skye & Jett: Arachnis!

Arachnis: *Shoots their web and yank themselves towards the enemy* *Kicks it with great impact and traps the individual in more webs* *Then starts swinging it around, slamming the body left and right like the Hulk beating a Pre-Infinity War Loki*

[Far away from the map]

???: I think the anomaly is taken care of.

[The strangers watch Arachnis tears off the tentacles with their bare hands. They were horrified by the sight.]

???: Definitely taken care of.

《🕷️》

[Hours later]

[Arachnis ties the enemy up with more web and knocks it out of conscious with the butt of their Phantom.]

Skye: Wow. You tore it up worse than a pack of wolves.

Jett: We need to tell Brim about this.

Arachnis: We should. You guys go ahead. I think I dropped my melee somewhere. *Walks around the area*

[They crawl up on the walls of the structures, swinging around with their webbing, searching for their knife until they get introduced by some figures.]

???: Excuse me? Is this what you’re looking for? *Holds out the weapon*

Arachnis: Oh, my knife! Thanks. *About to grab it but Spider Senses triggered again* No way. Are you two also Radiants?

???: Radiants?

???: Sorry, we’re not. We came to pick up the anomaly. *Points at the unconscious suspect*

Arachnis: Anomaly?

???: And if it’s alright, could you come with us?

Arachnis: *Suspicious* …One second. *Speaks through their ear piece* Team, I think I’ll find another way back to base. Inform Brimstone that I’ll be back soon and I need to take care of something.

《🕷️》

[Earth-928, Spider Society HQ]

Arachnis: You mean to tell me there are others like me?

Gwen: Yes, and I think Miguel could use more people like you.

Arachnis: I…don’t think so. I’m part of the Valorant Protocol and already dealing with doppelgängers attempting to steal our power supply.

Gwen: We’re here. Miguel!

[Up on a ascended platform with hologram screens hued with neon orange, the one and only Miguel O’Hara whose back is facing out.]

Arachnis: Does he always do that? His back facing us?

Gwen: Always.

Miguel: You’re the one who took down the Doc Ock variant. *Finally turns to face down at them* All by yourself.

Arachnis: 씨발… [Ssi-Bal…] (Fuck…) You guys didn’t tell me he’s part Goliath Bird eater.

Miles: *Coughs from the sudden response*

Arachnis: He’s huge.

Miguel: Are you finished?

Arachnis: Yeah. Also I’m not joining as I’m already an agent with another organization.

Peter B. Parker: *Barges in* Wait! Before you go and never come back, would you at least tour around the place?

Arachnis: Okay? It won’t change my final decision.

《🕷️》

[Lobby]

Peter B. Parker: You were never bit by a radioactive spider?

Arachnis: Nope. I’m a Radiant. Got my powers from The First Light.

Miles: Have you always experienced near-deaths?

Arachnis: I dodge bullets everyday.

Pavitr: Have you lost a favorite family member?

Arachnis: My family and I had an Uncle Benny and he died.

Pavitr: Oh no. I’m sorry for your loss.

Arachnis: It’s cool. Nobody liked or missed him because he was dick to everyone.

Spider Gang: Oh.

Arachnis: We celebrate his death before, during and after his funeral like New Year’s Day.

Spider Gang: Oh.

Arachnis: Does that count as a canon event?

Jess: It’s better than never.

《🕷️》

[Back in VP HQ]

Arachnis: *Exits through the portal*

Brimstone: [L/N], where were you?

Arachnis: It’s a long story, sir. You may want to sit down for this one.

[Hours Later]

Arachnis: …And that is how I came back here.

Brimstone: It’s long, all right.

Arachnis: Told you. They offered me to join, but I can’t accept it. How can I fill in both organizations at once?

Brimstone: Have you discuss this with their boss?

Arachnis: *Frowns* Yes, and he scares me.

Brimstone: What are the arrangements?

Arachnis: I come by every Tuesday and Friday as their fighting instructor in that universe.

Brimstone: Anything else?

Arachnis: Some of the younger Spider-people want to visit this world.

Brimstone: *Sighs* More chaos.

《🕷️》

[Friday at the Spider Society]

Arachnis: *Babysitting Mayday this time* “'Cause we don't need permission to dance! Da-na-na-na-na-na-na, da-na-na-na-na-na-na!” *Dancing to the song*

Mayday: *Giggling happily at the little performance*

Arachnis: *Twirls around and spots HIM* *Throws a knife at his direct*

Miguel: *Dodges* Was that necessary?

Arachnis: Yes, and I got scared. I’m on Mayday duty so I’m protecting her. *Picks up Mayday* See you around, O’Hara. *Walks away with the baby in their arms*

[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]

[Tagged]: @hhurric4ne @l0serloki @luckyowl @radianights @redrage71890 @theladyheroine

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cybertron-after-dark · 2 months

Note

what is wayward sparks :0?

YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD >:3

This is gonna end up being a long ass post about my very goofy iterations of my blorbos and the unbelievably fucked up version of Cybertron they inhabit, so to spare those of y'all that mostly follow me for the canon tf content, I'll just put all this under the cut

To summarize, wayward sparks is the non-existent tf cartoon I've been Envisioning for a few months that starts off goofy and low-stakes but gets progressively more and more fucked up as it goes. The absolutely BRAINLESS lookin bumblebee I keep posting is supposed to be from this AU, as well as the borderline catgirl skywarp, the really grumpy Optimus, and most of the other tfa-esque redesigns I draw.

The Story

Cybertron's been at war for millennia, everyone's sick and tired of it, especially the Decepticons. They're backed into a corner, being captured and killed left and right, and a loss is just around the corner if they don't do something drastic.

So Megatron does something very drastic indeed.

He steals the Allspark, in a heist that, frankly, should've gotten his entire high command killed (though, very suspiciously, they suffered no casualties and got out unscathed, save for Blitzwing, who clipped a wing), with the intent to ambush the Ark, and finally neutralize the greatest threat to his movement and his people: Optimus Prime. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the Allspark doesn't particularly like being used as a weapon and instead decides to put everyone in timeout on an isolated little backwater planet called earth until they can learn to get along and stop trying to kill each other.

Team Prime (Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack and Prowl) are all WOEFULLY unprepared to be stranded on an alien planet with only each other, Decepticon High Command (Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Shockwave, Blitzwing, and Lugnut), and the very strange, very small, and VERY trigger happy humans populating the tiny rural forest town they managed to crash near.

Meanwhile, back on Cybertron, the remaining Decepticons are trying their damnedest to keep hidden, and survive underground, and the Autobots try to figure out what to do while their leader is missing. While the Autobots are left floundering without Optimus, the other active Primes and their followers (Sentinel Prime, Rodimus Prime and Windblade Convoy (yes I know she's not a prime anywhere else but let her girlboss)) try to garner favor with the Senate by picking up the slack, and taking the Decepticon problem into their own hands.

The Autobots

Aka, Optimus Prime's merry band of dysfunctional freaks.

Optimus had to find out the hard way that being a Prime means a direct connection in his mind and spark to an eldritch, incomprehensible god that likes trolling. So now he has to hear Primus in his head at random saying shit that does not make sense. And now that he's in there it's kind of a no takesies backsies situation

While being a Prime is supposed to grant you a degree of divine power, that power is only made manifest through strong dedication to a bot and to a cause. That intense loyalty is also what allows you to handle the connection in the first place. Primes that become disillusioned with their masters have a track record of going completely mad. Unfortunately for Optimus, pretty soon into his career as a prime, the Senator he swore loyalty to disgraced himself hard enough to be sentenced to shadowplay and empurata. Senator Alpha Trion ended up taking him in so he could keep functioning as a prime. It'd be a shame to lose such a talented bot. And with the whole threat of lovecraftian madness looming over his head, he pours his whole spark into following his every order.

Bumblebee is not a Prime, nor is he even particularly religious (even though his boss has a god that's taken up residence in his head) but for reasons nobody can quite seem to decipher, Primus absolutely loves the little gremlin, which manifests as Bumblebee having impossibly good luck.

There's not a situation he can't fling himself into headfirst and wildly intoxicated that he can't come out of with barely a scratch. It's actually given him a pretty warped perception of the war and hardship in general. He really wants everyone to just stop worrying so damn much. Everything always works out in the end, right? So why does everyone gotta be so grouchy all the time? Especially Prowl.

Prowl cannot fucking stand Bumblebee.

This mostly stems from the fact that the little yellow bastard seems 100% intent on making him "happy" and refuses to leave him the fuck alone. Prowl is, to put it bluntly, really fucking depressed. Originally, his function was law enforcement, but he became quickly disillusioned with the job when he realized just how corrupt the Praxus police force really was. When he quit, he felt he lost his purpose, stuck living with nothing to make of himself. Joining the Autobots was supposed to fix him, but even though he's started to turn his life around, he can't say he feels much better. He spends most of his time holed up in his quarters, either maintaining the team's weaponry or just binging old datatrax on teletraan-1.

Oh, and ever since he got to Earth and found out about anime, he's gotten to be a bit of a weeb

Taking care of the team's medical affairs is Ratchet, and even if he wasn't a massive perfectionist he'd have his work cut out for him. His entire team is prone to making stupid, reckless decisions that end in somebody getting disassembled somehow. Their erratic, chaotic behavior makes his processor ache just thinking about it. Unfortunately Ratchet is pretty paranoid, and generally unable to think about anything other than how wrong everything can go all the time.

He typically tries to put forward a very straight laced, very orderly image of himself, but it's a bit difficult to keep up that demeanor when the overthinking spiral takes him. And nobody makes him spiral quite like Wheeljack.

Wheeljack is generally just here to blow shit up and do some Weird Science. Typically this results in Jackie himself getting blown apart with whatever he's trying to explode, but he had a blocker installed for most of his pain sensors ages ago, so he doesn't mind too much. Especially not when there's a top notch medic he loves to annoy that can put him back together when that happens.

And when the good doctor gets completely tired of his shit, he's got his good buddy and lab partner Bulkhead to help him out too.

Bulkhead is a sensitive type, and largely considered to be the voice of reason on the team. Unfortunately, he often has trouble making his voice heard to begin with. He tends to be pretty quiet and really bad at voicing his thoughts, especially when those thoughts are about something that stresses him out. Given he works with Wheeljack, it's a miracle he isn't nonverbal entirely.

He loves his friend, he really does, but it gets frustrating seeing him get blown apart so often Bulkhead worries for his safety because Wheeljack seems to be incapable of worrying about his own. It's pretty easy for him to get caught up in Ratchet's overthinking episodes with his own anxiety until someone snaps them both out of it

How all of them have managed to survive this long, let alone nearly win the war, is anyone's guess.

[Apparently I just hit the image limit so I'll do the cons in a reblog lmao]

#maccadam #transformers #wayward sparks #fan continuity #fan au #art tag #might post some of the pics on their own just because i worked pretty hard on them #and i think they came out nice

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in1-nutshell · 3 months

Note

Hello! If it's okay to request could you do another part of this request (Elita One's twin sister w/ Sg Blackarachnia)?

The reactions/interactions of Starscream's clones;

Or Reactions/Interactions of Dinobots (you can add other bots/cons, Wreck-gar, Soundwave, or other)?

also, if it's okay to make one of them as a separate request?

(PS. I apologize if I’ve been putting in a lot of requests. feel free to reject this. Also, take your time, and thank you so much!)

The Queen is back!

The second part of this request is coming soon, don't worry!

Hope you enjoy!

Elita One's Twin sister reaction from Dinobots and Wreck-Gar

SFW, Platonic, Hinted romance, Cybertronain (techno organic) reader

TFA

Set Pre- Sentinel and Elita reunion.

Buddy needed some space.

She and Megatron had gotten into a petty argument that day.

What was it about? She couldn’t tell you.

She just knew that she was angry and well she was good at holding grudges.

Was fighting with the Decepticon leader the smartest thing to do? Probably not

But she knew Megatron, he wasn’t that kind of mech towards her.

She decided to leave the base at night and go on an evening stroll.

Buddy walking by the docks still a bit fuming.

“Stinkin’ Megatron… and his arrogant, dumb face… and big frame… and lovely red optics… I’m losing it, aren’t I?”--Buddy

“I’m losing it!”

Buddy jumping nearly 20 feet in the air.

“Who’s there?!”--Buddy

Figure on the junk ship waving.

“I’m losing it!”

“…”--Buddy

Buddy swung up to the ship and made her way towards the figure.

She was surprised to see a mech sitting in the center of the pile playing around with the junk.

Buddy asked if he needed help.

He just starts playing with junk.

That’s when Buddy noticed his pede stuck on one of the ships gears.

How wasn’t he in pain!? At least complaining?

“Primus how aren’t you scream?!”--Buddy

“I can scream if you want!”—Wreck-Gar

“Maybe don’t do that.”--Buddy

Buddy pulling on his pede over and over again trying to get it out.

One last pull, Buddy yanked it out landing on another pile of junk.

The mech belly flopping on the junk next to Buddy.

“This is fun! Fun! Fun! Wreck-Gar having the best time with new friend!”—Wreck-Gar

“Wreck-Gar? Is that your name?”--Buddy

“Yes! I am Wreck-Gar and I Dare to be Stupid!”—Wreck-Gar

“… well, you’re not wrong I guess.”--Buddy

“And you are?”—Wreck-Gar

“Oh, I’m Buddy.”--Buddy

“Buddy? Buddy. Buddy!”—Wreck-Gar

“Yes, that’s my—”--Buddy

Wreck-Gar stands up and marches around happily.

“I like the sound! Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Buddy!”—Wreck-Gar

Wreck-Gar gets down on one knee in front of Buddy.

Buddy backs up a bit with the most surprised look on her face.

Wreck-Gar pulls out a little box from his subspace.

“Wreck-Gar! What are you doing?”--Buddy

Meanwhile with Megatron…

Megatron tossing and turning a bit in his berth.

His servos clenched into fists.

Back at the docks…

Wreck-Gar opens the little box revealing two friendship bracelets.

“Buddy, will you make me the happiest bot on this junk pile… and be my Best Buddy for life!”—Wreck-Gar

Buddy sighing with so much relief, slipping the bracelet into her subspace.

“Sure Wreck-Gar, I’ll be your friend.”--Buddy

Back at the Decepticon base…

Megatron sighing so hard he falls back to sleep.

The two talked for a bit more before Buddy decided to start heading home.

Wreck-gar simply waves bye before going back to his junk crafts.

Strange bot indeed.

She continued her walk when she heard a bunch of footsteps heading her way.

Quickly she hid in one of the open cargo containers.

It was fine.

Until they closed the door.

Sure, Buddy could have easily gotten out, but she didn’t want to freak out the human dock workers.

The best ones were hard to find now a days and she didn’t want them to suffer for her mistake. She thought to herself that it would be fine if she stayed there for a bit.

She could go for a nap anyways.

Buddy thought she slept for a couple of minutes max.

Not an entire hour!

Buddy rubbing her helm a bit while sitting in the container.

“Maybe I should get more sleep… Nah.”--Buddy

Buddy looks around the container.

“I should probably start opening the—”--Buddy

SNAP!

Suddenly she felt the entire container go on its side and a short free fall before it hit the ground.

Buddy now truly freaked out kicked the opening, shattering its locks and ran out.

She was not expecting to find herself waist deep in water.

Carefully she wadded to the nearby shoreline.

Once she got to the shore, she panted a bit before looking back at her old container.

The chains that were supposed to be holding the container were rusty and broken.

Maybe they snapped while the ship was out.

Good news for Buddy, the ship didn’t travel too far.

Bad news for Buddy, she couldn’t swim to shore.

The downside to having an organic part.

She figured that she would radio in for help in a bit.

Afterall, she hadn’t been on this island before. Maybe there was a new type of bird or cute animal she had seen in those nature documentaries.

So, she wandered into the bush.

It wasn’t as exciting as she thought it would be, but it was defiantly a nice spot to come to clear one’s mind.

A mighty roar pierced the once tranquil night.

Buddy nearly jumped out of her frame when she heard it.

She turned to run the other way when the roar came back sounding more in pain.

…curse her medical coding…

That thing was going to get her in trouble one of these days.

She carefully trekked deeper into the bush following the sounds of the anguished roar.

Buddy was not expecting other Cybertronians.

Certainly not ones who had animal alt modes.

It did make her feel a bit comfortable seeing other ‘odd’ alt modes out there. Sure, they were techno organic like her, but still, it was nice.

If she remembered the one movie about Dinosaurs correctly the two bots on the side were a Pteranodon and a Triceratops. The hulking figure laying on the ground behind them was a T-Rex.

The smaller ones took notice of Buddy and stood in front of the larger being.

Like they were protecting it.

Buddy raising her servos in the air.

“I mean no harm.”--Buddy

The two dinos look at her confused.

“Umm… I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help.”--Buddy

Dinos look at each other, hesitantly, before making a way for Buddy to come in.

Buddy makes her way to the hulking T-Rex laying on the floor in the pain.

Buddy starts walking around slowly inspecting him.

“My name is Buddy. I’m here to help you.”--Buddy

The mech huffs in pain.

Buddy scans his joints.

“I like your alt modes. Having a car alt mode is overrated.”--Buddy

The mech huffed again, but it sounded more amused.

Then she found the problem.

A thick branch had wedged itself in between some of his important joints.

With one swift motion, she took out the branch.

The mech then stood up testing his joints.

Then he transformed and the others followed.

… Buddy was really hating how small she was right now.

The biggest one looked down at her and patted her back strut so hard she was sure that something came out of place.

Buddy trying to recover from the pat on the back.

“You’re welcome big guy.”--Buddy

“Grimlock better thanks to you! Grimlock strong again!”--Grimlock

“Grimlock? Is that your name?”--Buddy

Grimlock nods and points to the others.

“That Swoop! He flies highest! Other is Slag! He shortest of Dinobots! Me Grimlock the strongest and King of Dinobots!”--Grimlock

Buddy just trying to soak in everything.

Grimlock picks Buddy up and places her on his shoulder.

“Grimlock!”--Buddy

“Buddy now part of Dinobots.”--Grimlock

“Wait what?”--Buddy

The four of them walked further into the bush talking and having good laughs.

They did this until Buddy realized that dawn was fast approaching.

She asked if Swoop could give her a ride back to the mainland to go home.

They weren’t happy that she was going home, but Buddy promised to visit them as much as she could.

This seemed to make them happy enough.

Swoop was careful flying her and landing on the docks before returning.

Buddy walked into the base as the sun was coming up.

Thank goodness everyone was still in their habsuites.

Buddy finally saw her beautiful berth and fell face first on it.

She sighed a bit before finally closing her optics.

Buddy opens her habsuite taking in the sight of her lovely berth.

She smiles as she faceplates on it, sighing, and closing her optics.

SLAM!

Lugnut burst into her door.

“WHAT IS IT!?”--Buddy

“Why aren’t you in the med bay? You are usually there by now.”--Lugnut

“… So, you decided to come to my room and wake me up… because I wasn’t up?”--Buddy

“Umm… yes?”--Lugnut

“…”--Buddy

Buddy gets up from her berth slowly walks up to Lugnut.

“Buddy?”--Lugnut

Buddy swiftly picks up Lugnut over her helm and starts marching down to the main room.

“Buddy unhand me!”--Lugnut

“Quiet Lugnut or I will throw you across the room.”--Buddy

“Hehe, I’d like to see you try.”--Lugnut

Everyone just stares at Buddy holding Lugnut above her helm and throws him across the room.

Buddy turns to everyone.

“I will be in my room for the next four hours. No. One. Is to disturb me unless it is a life-or-death situation.”--Buddy

Buddy turns on her heels and marches back to her habsuite and slams the door.

“…”--Everyone

Starscream looks at Megatron.

“That’s who has your spark in a chokehold?”--Starscream

“Ye—No!”--Megatron

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x reader #tfa wreck gar #tfa dinobots x platonic reader #Elita One's twin sister

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