#spoils of war | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 3 months

Note

prefacing this by saying I have absolutely no information on this period of history, but Rome was sacked and ultimately destroyed by Germanic tribes.

And naturally, the first thing I thought of upon learning that was Invader!König X Roman Maiden!Reader. Similar to your story, I’m thinking he decides to take the Reader as a trophy of war similar to his comrades. You and plenty of other maidens are tied up, thrown across horseback or across shoulders, and dragged off back to Germania. Depending on how dark you want it, König could wait for his little prize to want his cock, or he could have no patience at all and fuck her as soon as he gets a chance. Of course, he’s still somewhat of a gentleman, he’ll make sure she enjoys it, but like it or not his cock’s going in her.

I think this is an opportunity to lean even further into the barbarian König idea, with varying levels of darkness.

Save me dark barbarian!König... 🖤💋

CW: dark content, noncon groping, noncon cuddling, fear of SA, König's idea of hot sex is problematic to say the least, reader's level of enthusiasm/consent is ambiguous

He doesn’t care about your delicate sensibilities or noble background, he’s here to bring your Empire down and your weak men to their knees. It’s about time someone burned Rome to the ground; no amount of foreign perfume can cover the smell of shit in these streets…

But he won’t say no to gold or jewels, they might some day decorate his future wife's neck and wrists perhaps. Neither will he ride homeward without a slave to keep him warm. He hasn’t had a woman in months, the only thing closest to a cunt has been his calloused fist and he’s grown tired of that, nothing can compare with the real deal so a soft little female is exactly what he needs to keep him company when he and his warriors return North.

Your options are either freezing to death or crawling inside this giant’s cloak when he holds it open for you come nightfall, the voyage to Germania bringing with it the first snow and cold winds straight from Hades. You have no option but to go to this man for some body heat, the low rumble in his chest resembling the pleased purr of some untamed beast as he envelops you in wool and a hungry embrace.

He never speaks to you, only talks with his hands that roam all over your body as you cling to him with clattering teeth. Examining the wideness of your hips, the plumpness of your ass and tits, he serves himself a handful and some pinches as if he’s sampling fruit at the marketplace. Rubs your nipples between the pad of his thumb and pointer until you flinch from pain, mutters something pleased when he sees your skittish reaction. He won’t allow you to pull away however, not when you’re finally here, so back to his arms you go as he crushes you against his chest.

He’s amused at your attempts to both huddle closer and squirm away: why are you being so difficult when clearly, you want this too?

He saw how you looked at him back there when he was drenched in blood, that’s the reason he chose you. You’re sweeter than an apple, didn’t even scream when he swept your hair from your face to have a better look at you, you only eyed him with challenge when he inspected your lips, waistline and hips. A scared female would have avoided his eyes and begged not to be killed or worse, but you only lifted your chin and spat on his face, practically begging to get fucked…

And now you’re acting like you don’t want his cock while at the same time, you continue to stare at him like a deer in heat. If you don’t want him to fuck you then you should stop making him hard, but in truth König is only glad that he chose you out of all women. The ride back home won’t be dull with a fiery fox woman like you, he has to be careful that he doesn’t get bitten and bruised… How his men would laugh in the morning if they found out that the vixen he stole has made him hers, little teeth marks decorating his skin and betraying everyone your claim.

He would only be proud of you if you did that; women are quite adorable when they have some fire in them. But make no mistake, he won’t let you go no matter how hard you act like you hate him… Everyone here knows you want to jump on his cock; had he decided to inspect your pussy too while covered in your husband’s blood, he could’ve bet all his fortune along with his horse that you were already wet for him.

He could take you right now on this cold, hard ground, try to see how long it takes to make you wet and pliant. The only thing really keeping him from doing so are his men, no doubt wanting to see how a Roman lady takes their giant leader's cock. But he’s not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you naked, let alone watching him fuck you, he'd have to kill them all afterwards...

So he settles for making his naughty little slave warm, and both of you a little breathless. He can find a more discreet place for you tomorrow, order a break or two to ease the heaviness of his sacks, the aching hard ons he’s had ever since he saw you. He has to be careful not to break you, and remember to kiss you on your neck, he heard that that’s the key to make women wet and willing.

You seem so fragile and frail when you fall asleep, finally surrendering to him, your body yielding and molding against his. In the morning, you whimper sweetly when he squeezes your now warm, plush body, and plants kisses on your face, your neck. You have no idea that the warriors are already mocking him for “making you wait so long”, that he has listened to stupid jokes all morning with you securely tucked inside his cloak. You bite him when he tries to come too close, all the brutes around you burst to laughter as he howls from pain.

Not feeling at all sorry for him when he rubs his neck and looks at you with drowsy curiosity, you rise and spit again on the ground as if you had just tasted something vile. He can’t stifle his smile then, your idea of foreplay is much more fun than what he had in mind…

And you aren’t flung over his horse, but actually get to ride it with him, the arm around your middle like iron as he keeps you as close to him as possible. You don’t know that he’s reluctant to take an unwilling woman, and that this preference makes him the laughing stock of the group. Neither do you know that König has already pictured you inside his hut, baking bread and scolding children like the firebrand that you are, giving him a naughty little wrestle and a fistfight every night before bed... Shuddering from want like you do now on his horse as he exposes your breasts to the approaching winter.

You are about to faint as tiny snowflakes land on your nipples, melting instantly as this man starts to fondle your tits. Slumping against his blazing form, you can do nothing but accept your fate as the horse keeps walking and the men around you shout and whistle at the sight of your breasts. The rough barks of your captor quickly end their excitement upon seeing your exposed tits, the whistles stop and the men turn their eyes quickly away from you.

The man behind you is now perfectly content, riding in the crisp morning air while pawing your breast with one hand and holding the reins with the other, his groin grinding against you with the movements of the horse, making it clear that he might soon stop this torture altogether and take you to the nearby woods for a quick fuck…

#barbarian!könig #dark content #spoils of war #historical au #tw: slavery #tw: dark themes #cw: dark content

482 notes · View notes

trapezequeen · 2 months

Text

Hunter Being Omega’s Dad -> Spoils of War (1/2)

205 notes · View notes

azertyrobaz · 1 year

Photo

I am seldom wrong.

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb #tbb spoilers #omega #echo #tech #clone force 99 #star wars #spoils of war #my edits

2K notes · View notes

sowhumpful · 10 months

Photo

‘‘ I have a few questions that need to be answered. ’’

208 notes · View notes

hellpopgroove · 26 days

Text

"Sex, violence, trauma and triumph all collided at Zheani’s first-ever NYC show on the Australian artist’s first-ever U.S. tour.

Drunken with the blood of the saints, the spoils of war were hers."

#zheani #zheani sparkes #spoils of war #the new babylon tour #revolver magazine #the tinfoil biter #mypost

39 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 1 year

Note

I beg of you- on my hands and knees- to please write more Warrior! Ghost and Spoil! Soap-

I crave it-

Totally chill if you don't wanna tho! Take your time, do what you wanna do!

Love your writing and TikToks regardless!

Hell yeah! I've been getting a ton of requests and I'm super excited for this part!

Also, I did put this on ao3 under the same name. If any of you guys are on there!

Soap was slow to get out of the bathtub. Very slow. He waited until the water had went from tepid to bone chilling when he slunk out of it.

It gave him plenty of time to think about his… predicament.

The thing was, he wasn’t scared Ghost was going to kill him. Despite grabbing his weapon, he didn’t look like someone who was about to stab a man.

He looked at him with a disturbing hunger. Soap had stared into him, seeing something half starved stare back. And then Ghost had left him.

Soap carefully reached his hand out of the door to grab the clothing. He couldn’t see Ghost but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

The clothes were far too big, falling around him almost comically. Ghost’s shirt hit his mid thigh and Soap had to lace the pants up tight to keep them from falling down his hips. He chanced a look in the mirror, a little surprised.

Soap had dalliances before. Mostly with women but men too. He looked like them. Some pretty lass or lad who had stolen his shirt. Was that on purpose?

No. Ghost was just tall and big and Soap was… a little more average sized. The comparison was just in his head.

He finished getting dressed and that’s when he made a decision. Clearly Ghost wasn’t as nice as he was trying to play himself to be. His reputation had preceded him by quite a bit. Playing coy now wasn’t going to get Soap to trust him.

So Soap was going to test him. He unlaced the top part of the shirt slightly, letting it show off a bit more of his chest. He fixed his hair so it fell a little more artfully and a little less staticy mess.

Maybe he could convince Ghost to get him some things to fix his hair better. Seducing him might make him a little more apt to give him stuff. Though, Ghost hadn’t exactly been treating him badly.

Soap thought of the hunger in those eyes again and shuddered.

Sick bastard.

He left the bathroom and went looking for him. Ghost was on His bed, laid out, still fully clothed. He had taken his boots off but still had his socks off. If Soap didn’t know any better, he’d think he was asleep. His arms carefully crossed across his chest.

The floor under Soap creaked and he looked up, staring at Soap.

“I knew those clothes would be too big for you.” His eyes stayed on his face the entire time.

“Why did you give them to me?” Soap puffed his chest out a little, hands going behind his back.

“I don’t want to deal with your corpse when you die from the cold.”

“Ah…” Soap flushed down and he saw it. Saw Ghost’s eyes follow the color down.

“Come here.” Ghost mumbled and Soap followed. Here it was. Proof that Ghost whatever his last name is was an monst-

Ghost had gotten leather cuffs with fur inlining. He shoved Soap to his side of the bed and rolled over, facing away from him again.

Soap blinked, looking down at himself. No, he looked good. Had he misjudged the situation? Or was Ghost just very good at self control?

Only one way to find out.

Keep pressing.

In the morning, Soap watched Ghost cook instead of looking around. He had done plenty of that yesterday. Nothing in the house held any particular interest. There were no escape routes besides the door. The windows were either too narrow for him to fit through or led straight into someone’s garden. Not to mention almost all of them were covered in thick fabric or pelts, basically anything that would prevent someone from looking in.

Ghost was interesting though. He cooked quickly, efficiently and, in what was a shock to Soap considering where Ghost was from, did season his food. Maybe not as well as Soap would’ve, but it explained why the stew was so good.

A plate was shoved at him.

“Are you seriously still not going to eat with me? You saw me as naked as the day I was born yesterday. Can’t even lift up your mask?”

“I didn’t look.” Ghost stared him down.

“What?” That caught Soap off guard. “Are ya suddenly a gentleman? You threw me over your shoulder like a rowdy toddler the other day but you wouldn’t take a look?”

“I didn’t look.” Ghost said a little more firm. He looked away from Soap, like he was ashamed, but Soap had a feeling he was telling the truth.

“Do you want to? I have some stunning tattoos.” Soap was taunting him again, testing him. Ghost just needed to push a little. It’s all Soap wanted.

“No.” Ghost turned away from him and fixed himself a plate, leaving Soap to stare at his back. He walked off with it, disappearing somewhere in the house. Soap didn’t go looking for him.

The food was, again, pretty good. Fancy a warrior knowing how to cook so well.

Soap waited until Ghost was polishing his blades to take one, gently throwing it back and forth between his hands. “They’re pretty. Make them yourself?”

“No. Have a friend that does it.” Ghost watched him carefully, hand following the blade as it arched through the air. “Be careful. Don’t want you cutting yourself.”

Soap hummed. “You should know I’m good with my hands by now.” Ghost’s hands clenched hard and he glanced away.

“Don’t need them rusting.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. They must be expensive.”

“A fair penny, but quality is worth it.”

“Aye, just like whores.” Ghost flinched. The action caught Soap so off guard he took a half a step back.

“Aye. Just like whores.” Ghost echoed his statement, looking at him heavily. “Considering you were free, what does that make you?”

Soap flushed all over. “Ah fuck off you bawbag.”

“Speak English, MacTavish.” With Soap still standing up and Ghost sitting down, he had to look up. Unlike when Soap was on that couch, Ghost could actually make out his features. But Soap could see his eyes. This close, with most of the kohl rubbed off, Soap could make out his eyelashes. Pretty, blond and full.

“You a bonnie under that mask?” Soap asked softly, feeling the sudden tension as he leaned forward. “That why you cover up?”

Ghost looked trapped for once and it sent a thrill through Soap. “Ah. Worried I’ll jump your bones?” He leaned a little closer.

The hit wasn’t hard. It clearly wasn’t meant to hurt him, just get some distance. Landed right in his gut though and took his breath away.

Ghost stood up and it wasn’t that hunger Soap had been searching for. It was rage. Harsh and unsettling and directed right at him.

Stupid. Stupid fucking idea.

Soap started to back away desperately. Hoping for a way out he knew wouldn’t be there. He hit the wall and froze as Ghost advanced on him.

When Ghost’s fist came up, he tensed and his eyes shut quickly. The blow never came. After a moment of quiet, he opened his eyes to see Ghost’s not even an inch away from.

“Don’t ever fucking talk to me like that again. Don’t fucking call me pretty or a bonnie or whatever dumb shit your brain comes up with. Understood?”

Soap nodded slowly, finding it hard to breath.

“Listen to me, closely. Because I’m not going to repeat myself. You’re here because I wanted to piss off my general. That’s it. I don’t want sex from you. I don’t want your compliments. I don’t want you to appeal to my better nature because I don’t have one. If you need something, tell me and I’ll try to get it for you. But we’re not fucking friends.”

Soap stared into those eyes. He thought he had seen them once. A sword had went through his side and there he had met death.

Today, he must’ve met him again.

“Yes, sir.” Soap got out. “I’m sorry.”

Ghost pushed away and Soap realized the blow he had been expecting had landed by his head. The wall had a slight dent from it. He tried not to think about that.

“You cut yourself.” Ghost commented after a moment. Soap looked down to see that yes, he did indeed do that. He also tried not to think about the fact that he had a weapon and it did not cross his mind once to use it.

Ghost grabbed alcohol from his cabinet and bandages.

“I can do it myself.” Soap tried weakly but Ghost just ignored him. He took off his gloves to bandage him. Soap decided to focus on those instead of his own. Ghost could handle his cuts.

They were callused. Little scars all over them, probably from similar things to what Soap had just done. The guy handles knives for a living and you have to start somewhere.

No rings. But right at the edge of his shirtsleeve, Soap thought he caught a flash of a bracelet.

“Done.”

“Thank you.”

Ghost grunted in response and put the alcohol away. Soap took note of that.

“What’s your name?”

“Ghost.”

“No. Like.. your actual name. Doesn’t have to be the full one, but I’m curious.”

Ghost was quiet a while. So long that Soap assumed he was being ignored. He watched him put everything up and then clean the bloody blade.

“Simon. Haven’t been called it in a long time, but it’s Simon.”

“Simon. Good name. Suits you.”

#Johnny Soap Mactavish #Simon Ghost Riley #Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Soapghost #Ghostsoap #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Macriley #Call of Duty #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare 2 #spoils of war

262 notes · View notes

cirilee · 1 year

Text

YEAH im claiming them as OCs. don't know what will happen next, but have another scene

#now i just need new names for them ahahahah the only one i'd keep is jack #cirileeart #enemies to lovers shenanigans #old scars #old gay men #playing catch #spoils of war

197 notes · View notes

spockvarietyhour · 1 year

Text

Stargate Atlantis "Spoils of War"

#Stargate Atlantis #SGA #spoils of war #Wraith Queen #Rodney McKay #sgaedit #stargateedit #GIF #my gifs #it's not a stargate rewatch rewatch

212 notes · View notes

writingsofwesteros · 8 months

Note

spoils of war.

Whenever gwayne walks into their bed chambers, he will always find her sat on the floor sewing a new outfit for him, she’s always asking him ‘if her mother has send any letters’ when gwayne always says ‘no’ she just hums and says ‘she must be busy’ with a soft smile on her face.

Gwayne would always sit on the floor with his pretty pet wife, pulling her into his lap and start kissing her neck, he can’t tell his pet wife that her mother is gone because she might go into another screaming fit and start throwing stuff again; so he just hums and continuing to give her neck kisses, leaving his mark on her.

Poor thing, one day she stops asking but for now; Gwayne lies to keep the peace.

Her body melting for him as she giggles into his ear.

#spoils of war

77 notes · View notes

renegadesstuff · 25 days

Text

CHENFORD x DENSI PARALLEL ❤️‍🩹

32 notes · View notes

silens-oro · 1 year

Text

Spoils of War: 2. The Great Division

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Spoils of War Masterlist

Masterlist

Synopsis: Every action has a reaction. The Reader sees a less than desirable side to Aemond. She gets some (manipulative) council. The wheels fall off the proverbial wagon.

Word Count: ~4,072

Warning: 18+. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), heavy angst, blood, injury, manipulation.

AN: Thank you all so much for the positive feedback regarding the first chapter! From this chapter onward, the wheels are falling off this badboy! We're getting stranded in miseryville! It's alllllllll downhill.

**This series is inspired by Muse's Absolution album. Give it a listen!**

Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

You wished you weren’t right sometimes -like you were at this very moment. The tension had only seemed to rise as toasts were said around the table. Up until this point, your brothers had kept to their word of being on their best behavior. They ignored their uncles for the most part, even as those uncles tried to jab at them with vicious and salacious words. You were proud of them for holding their tongues as you knew neither would’ve done it had they not sworn to it. Alas, there was only so much jabbing one could take when it wasn’t intentionally made in jest but out of maliciousness.

As each offspring stood to say their piece, every person around the table waited on bated breath at the next words to tumble out in prettily-laced spite. Your foot shook nervously under the table as Jace stood along with Aemond. Jace spoke first, still keeping to his word he gave you. It was also for your mother's sake too, you were sure. He was dignified as he extended multiple branches to the family at the other end of the table. Your mother looked proud. Your eyes met Aemond’s over the cacophony of candles and food, and you pleaded with him silently to not speak. Please, you begged in your mind, do not make this worse.

As Jace finished his toast, your family’s side of the table raised their glasses along with the Queen. Your eyes remained locked on Aemond’s until he merely sat back into his chair without a word.

Daemon, ever observant, looked between his nephew and yourself when he felt your shaking foot stop. You closed your eyes as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. When you opened them, your father was staring at you with a brow raised. The look held the promise of a later conversation, but for now, he’d leave it be.

The King demanded music to cut the tension and Jace, once again, extended his friendliness to the other half of the royal family by offering to dance with Helaena -who agreed wholeheartedly. The King himself did not last much longer and was carted off to rest almost as soon as the music started.

You signaled the cupbearer to refill your wine with a twitch of your hand. As she refilled it, you lost count of how many you had at that point, but you were only just beginning to feel the effects of the sweet wine through the stress.

The night seemed to be leveling itself out, and you had thought that maybe the worst was over. The climax had happened and you -as well as the rest of your family- had gotten through it unscathed. A scoff and giggle to your left from Luke caught your attention. Your eyes followed what caught his eye, and yours widened.

A roasted pig had been laid before Aemond and your previous mention of the Pink Dread made you wince externally. You immediately pinched Luke’s leg from under the table to stop him before he escalated anything.

“Do not,” You warned through tight lips. Sparing a look at Aemond, he seemed to let it go once you had reprimanded the boy, but when Luke ignored you entirely and giggled once more knowing he had Aemond's attention. He did not count on his uncle doing anything about it.

Aemond slammed his fist onto the table and stood. You jumped in your chair with the sudden noise. The music stopped immediately and silence overtook the hall. You held your breath, eyes shifting between Aemond and your brother.

Dread encompassed your entire body as your false sense of security melted away. It felt as if your blood had been drained from you as you heard the words of Aemond's final tribute flow so freely from his lips.

You were left out of his quips about Strong heritage, for obvious Targaryen featured reasons, but the words still hurt you to your core. You looked over to your father who watched along with that look once more. He was entertained by this nonsense as he drank his wine. The Queen tried to silence her son, but he kept speaking under the guise of just how proud he was of his family, just to rile your brothers up into a frenzy. It was like blood in the water of a shark infested lagoon.

The sheer degradation that fell from Aemond's lips stunned you.

Jace left Helaena on the dance floor and took purposeful strides back to the table, ever vigilant in defending your mother’s virtue regardless of the true validity of Aemond’s words. Seeing this as a challenge met, Aemond moved towards Jace. Luke stood as well to jump in, but Aegon immediately shoved his face into a plate of food on the table to humiliate and subdue him.

Your body did not feel as if it was your own when you stood, much to the surprise of your father. He did not move to stop you, though your mother had shouted to not get involved and tried to reach over Daemon to grab you. Just as you did when you were a child, you slithered out of her grasp before she could catch you.

Baela and Rhaena were against the back wall, Baela holding Rhaena from intervening in the pair you had your sights on.

You tried to pull Aegon from Luke to get between them. Food and drink flew from the table. Cutlery and plates clashed to the floor in the struggle. In the flailing of three sets of arms, you nearly had Aegon off of your brother when Aegon's elbow pulled back sharply and hit you square in the face. White hot pain flashed over your eyes as you dropped to the floor within a second, blood gushing from your nose and mouth in a torrent of red.

Baela screamed from behind you at the sight and Aegon looked down to where you fell in shock. Luke took that moment as an opportunity to push the Prince off of him and before he could get his own hit in for maiming his sister, a King’s Guard grabbed his raised arm and pulled him away. Jace, after hearing the scream of his betrothed, abandoned Aemond to charge after the eldest Prince, but was held back by a guard as well.

Rhaena and Baela both dropped to you after pulling cloths free of the table to hold to your face as Aegon scurried back to his family’s side of the room. Every face turned to where you lay sprawled on the floor, yet no one else moved a muscle. Aemond, himself, was horrified but his mind could not will his body to run to you. Not when all of the eyes of the room shifted from you to himself and Aegon.

You did not catch the horrified look from the Queen as she bore witness to the chaos, but when she saw you go down, she could do nothing but watch on in terror, not daring to think of what the outcome of this would be for your fractured families.

Guards continued their hold of your flailing brothers and your mother did not know which child to turn to in order to see you all to safety.

Your choking and sputtering was the only sound in the room, other than the grunts your brothers gave as they tried to break free. Blood poured steadily down your throat, the taste of it turning your stomach something fierce. Your vision did not clear for a few moments, your brain absolutely stunned by the hit.

Your mother held her rounded stomach in stress as she looked down at you splayed on the floor -spitting out your own blood, horrified and absolutely helpless to do anything. You did not know what had been exchanged between the men as the table blocked your view, but when your father kneeled down beside you his face held deep regret.

Daemon pulled you to your feet gently without a word and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to lead you to Jace. The guards let both of your brothers free at his nod, your father giving the boys a silent warning to not act out any further. It did not stop them from glaring daggers across the room to their uncles.

Jace wrapped your arm around his waist and held the bloody cloth to your face as he escorted you from the hall. Your blurry eyes caught Aemond in a silent stand off with your father before the scene cut from your vision as you rounded a corner.

Luke, Baela, and Rhaena followed silently behind.

Your head felt like it was being crushed under a dragon’s foot as you rode through King’s Landing via horseback with your family to prepare for your departure. Your riding clothes felt uncomfortable, rubbing every which way the wrong way. They were no different than they normally were, but you were in pain and you were irritable.

The mood was smothering, just as your head felt. Your nose was definitely broken, as confirmed by the Grandmaester the previous night. He straightened it as much as he could through your screams and tears of pain, and packed your nostrils with cotton to stem the bleeding. Deep butterfly winged bruising cascaded from cheek to cheek and pain radiated from the top of your head to the soles of your feet.

“Are you sure you are well enough to ride?” Your mother asked as her carriage stopped in front of the Dragon Pits. The sights, smells, and sounds of King’s Landing were starting to get to you, shrinking your patience and growing your irritability even further.

“Yes, mother.” Your voice was tight. You tried not to let it slip, but you felt like an injured animal, ready to bite the next hand that came upon you. “I need to get back to Dragonstone as quickly as possible. I will surely throw myself overboard if I have to stay on a ship for the next two weeks with this injury.” She merely looked at you for a solid moment, then nodded with a sad smile from the open window of the carriage where she and little Joffrey were sitting inside. He waved from beside her and you waved back, promising to see him soon.

You dismounted your horse as your party came to a full stop at the steps of the Dragon Pits and hauled your bag over your shoulders. Your father called your name from atop his own steed as you began your ascent up the steps. Turning, you looked to him.

“Do not forget what I told you.” His voice held seriousness to it. “I do this to prolong your life, not ruin it. Please remember that.” A moment passed before you nodded without a word and turned to continue your journey to Maestron.

"It seems you've been up to something..." Daemon started from his seat in front of the fireplace of his solar as you entered. The door wasn't even closed completely before he spoke. "And what I've seen since your arrival to the Red Keep has only confirmed it." You did not open your mouth, merely looked at him carefully. He let you bathe in the uncomfortable silence before he let you in on his knowledge.

“The match will not work,” Your father stated plainly. That knowing grin was planted firmly on his lips, but the look in his eyes told you that this would not be a pleasant conversation.

“The match?” You played dumb, voice nasally from the fresh cotton packed into your nostrils. It would not work, you knew this, but this conversation had already started off on the wrong foot. Your father sighed.

“I know you’ve been conspiring with my nephew. I am not blind to the letters and your secret meetings. I know everything that goes on under my own roof. Seeing it in the gardens yesterday only confirmed my suspicions entirely.” You were stunned. Of course he watched your every move. He was a master schemer, after all. You should've known better. “I am telling you now that this will not work.”

“And why shouldn’t it?” You challenged naively. Surely you had to fight for this? You were still mildly drowsy from the minuscule amount of milk of the poppy that the Grandmaester had given you for comfort, so your thoughts of what had transpired just previously were not entirely clear. “It had the potential to work up until this very moment!” He stood from his seat and stood before you, looking down on you as if you were still a child pulling at his coat for attention. Your father cupped your bruised cheeks carefully in his calloused and scarred hands -just as you had with Luke- and kept his eyes firmly to yours as he spoke with finality.

“You know just as well as I do that when the King dies -and it will be soon-, the seven hells will break loose upon this Kingdom. Rhaenyra will be crowned Queen, but she will not go unchallenged. The Lady Hightower and her father will do all they can to put the little cunt Aegon under a Usurper’s crown. I know this to be true. If they have you, then they have leverage. Your mother would kneel if it meant keeping you safe, do you understand me? Is this a position you would put her in? Put us in? You would be his hostage, not his wife. You, as my daughter -as my flesh- deserve more than that.” His words were sincere, and you admittedly had been shortsighted with the whole affair regarding Aemond.

“He would not hold me hostage. He cares for me, I know he does! You don’t know him like I do, father.” You felt foolish for even arguing, but your heart ached terribly at the reality before you. A tear slid free down your cheek. Daemon’s thumb caught it before it could descend completely.

“I know he puts duty to his mother above all else. There is nothing, and no one, that would come between that. Not even you, dōna hāedar. You saw how he lashed at your brothers, how quick he was to strike when given the opportunity. You think he would not turn that to you eventually?” He did not expect an answer, but he let you think on it. “Do not let fickle matters of the heart cloud your judgment. You are smarter than this. You are fiercer than this. You were born of my flesh, and that entitles you to greatness. He will only bring pain and misery. I need you to trust me with this.” Closing your eyes, you nodded. Like with most things…your father was right. Matters of the heart were fickle and when it came down to it, you would not turn your back to your family.

Your bag felt heavier and heavier with each step into the Great Dragon Hall than it did when you arrived. The vast domed ceilings were always a sight to behold every time you walked through. You began your descent down into the pits through a torch-lit staircase that took you down, down, down, and even deeper still until the staircase opened to the room that housed a shrine of Balerion the Black Dread’s massive skull surrounded by hundreds of burning candles.

Placing your heavy bag onto the ground for a moment’s rest gave your body much needed relief.

“Not even you” rang in your mind. Your chest tightened and you bowed your head, begging the long passed dragon to give you strength.

“My Lady, I was hoping to see you before you departed.” Aemond spoke softly behind you as he materialized from the shadows. “I cannot apologize enough for what transpired last night.”

“You’re right…you cannot.” You turned to let him see you. Aemond’s whole face dropped as he took in your battered face. The bruising and swelling only got worse overnight. A vessel had broken in your left eye, staining the white of it a rich vermillion. He rushed to you, closing the space between you and as Aemond reached his hand to touch you, you took a step out of his reach. His brows furrowed, not understanding your movement. You shook your head, lip quivering with pent up emotion. “I do not know you, it seems.” Aemond’s jaw dropped ever so slightly.

“I do not understand. Of course you know me, just as I know you.”

“If you knew me as you say you do, you would’ve taken one look into my pleading eyes last night and stopped dead in your tracks before the night could’ve erupted the way it did.” You spat. “You and your brother were antagonistic, vicious, and cruel. There was no reason for it-”

“-No reason for it?” His jaw dropped even further.

“No reason for it!” You doubled down, voice echoing in the room. “I know you hold no love for my brothers, Luke least of all. They were on their best behavior. They swore to me that they would be and they were.” Aemond scoffed, laughing humorlessly. His body turned away from you to pace.

“Then you are blind.” He stopped with his words, looking at you once more.

“No,” You shook your head. “I do not fault you in your disdain for Luke. I’ve told him as much. Jace has done nothing to you that you haven’t done to him! Time after time after time he turned the other cheek to you and your brother last night. Had I heard the way Aegon spoke of Baela, he would've left in worse condition than I." Jace had spoken to you when he delivered you to your parents' solar after the fight. You could not believe your ears. "Both you and Aegon were grown men reduced down to children. Joffrey, whose name you also dragged through the mud, would never act in such a way at his age. The things Jace let you get away with saying before he stood up is generous. How many times must you strike a dragon before it strikes back?”

“He is no dragon, my dear.” His grin was cruel as he shook his head. “Or do you have the same delusions as my half-sister?” What you saw of Aemond last night was no illusion, that much was clear. Cruelty truly did nestle itself into him, grasping firmly onto his heart with its poisoned tendrils. You set your face firm as you spoke sternly. Your father’s words continued to ring in your mind.

“Jace is a dragon! Just as Luke is! Just as I am! As is Joffrey. My brothers may not look as I do, but they are of my mother and they have Targaryen fire in their veins all the same.” The pain in your head only got worse as the conversation went on.

“So you too will turn a blind eye to them?” Their legitimacy, is what he meant.

“They know who they are, Aemond.” Your voice held anger. “You need not remind them at every turn as if it is a new discovery!” Aemond looked disappointed with you. He bit his lower lip and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“My heart belongs to you," He breathed. "but my kindness will never extend to them.”

“Then let your indifference! I beg of you! I will not do this any longer, Aemond! My heart cannot take it.”

“And what of mine?” His voice was laced with frustration. “Or is it only your brothers that you hold so dearly?” And bitterness, it would seem. For once, he had begged without saying it, choose me.

“Up until this point I have only shown you kindness and affection. I bent over backwards to assure that last night did not turn out the way it did because I know how they can behave. I’m not blind to it, but it was you and Aegon who could not help yourselves. Never did I think it was you that I would need to worry about.” Heartbreak was clear in your eyes as tears laced your voice, and it killed Aemond to not only see it, but hear it in your words. You continued:

“I shall never again feel the way I felt at that table, Aemond. I should never have to feel that anxiety -that dread and misery- in your presence, something that I craved and welcomed wholeheartedly just hours before.” You shook your head, letting your tears fall. “You did not care, Aemond. As I bled on the floor because of your brother's recklessness, you did not care. All that mattered was making sure my brothers were nestled squarely under your boot at every turn and I will not stand idly by while that continues to happen.” Aemond had been reprimanded his whole life by his mother, his father, his grandsire. The list went on and on. None of them, however, hurt the way this did.

“The man I witnessed last night was not the Aemond who spirited me away in the fields of Rosby in the cover of night. He was not the Aemond in your letters. He was not the Aemond who greeted my arrival not two days ago. He was not the Aemond who has caressed me and given his affections so wholly to me." You panted as you caught your breath. "Have I slighted you?" You pointed to yourself. "Wronged you in any way that would warrant your cruel treatment? Every lash you extend to them hits me just as hard and it absolutely shatters my heart, Aemond.”

“You are not them and you refuse to see it!" His voice raised. "By coddling those boys, you give them no consequences! Consequences they’ve never faced in their lives! Constantly they are shielded regardless of what they do, while I deal with the brunt of the punishment just as I am now! So yes, you have slighted me!” His voice, normally stoic and contained, held raw emotion as he fought back. Laughing humorlessly through your tears, you replied:

“To you I coddle them! To them I coddle you! It seems I cannot win.” Aemond could see the defeat in your eyes, the sagging of your shoulders, as clear as day. The air hung heavy between you as silent tears continued to fall.

“If we were to marry,” Aemond started once he got himself together. “would you still run to their side with every call?” You didn’t want to answer, so instead you deflected.

“You still believe there is a chance that we could marry?” You asked rhetorically, brows furrowed. “Has your mother given her approval as a final means to bring the family together?” You laughed cruelly, knowing that was the only reason she would agree -if she even agreed to begin with.

“Do not deflect.” He spoke through gritted teeth, seeing right through you.

“They are my brothers, Aemond!” You shouted, making Aemond flinch just the slightest bit. “My flesh and blood! I know it hurts you to hear it, but I will not turn my back on them! I will not choose between my brothers and the man that I love.” Your voice was stern, eyes pleading. “The man that I love would not make me choose.” Shaking your head once more, you wiped the tears from your face gently. “This will not work, Aemond.” You shuttered as you spoke. Aemond felt a painful twitch behind his sapphire as he remembered his mother’s words from the night before.

Alicent stared at Aemond as if he had grown a second head from his shoulders, stunned by his words. The stress of the catastrophic dinner, in no short part due to the man standing before her, still weighed heavily upon her shoulders. Her frown seemed to pull her face down even further.

“You think Rhaenyra, much less Daemon, would willingly hand their only daughter over to you on a silver platter after what transpired tonight? Has your mind left you completely?” Aemond had the wherewithal to look down in shame. “They would never do it, and I do not blame them for it.” Aemond schooled his features, as he taught himself to do long ago, and straightened his back as he looked to his mother.

“It would bring the families together, just as father wants.” Rarely did Aemond try to please his ailing father. Not anymore, anyways, but he was grasping for anything that would stick. “Rhaenyra would do it if he commanded it, you know this. As his final request to her, she would fulfill it.” He reasoned, “Father wants peace between the families and this is the way to do it.”

“My sweet son,” Alicent held his shoulders as she shook her head, tears lining her eyes. “I fear the division has been cleaved too great. This will not work.”

“I beg you to reconsider,” Aemond approached you slowly. When you did not move out of his reach, he caressed just behind your ear with the gentlest of touches. “There are no excuses for my behavior, past or present, and I take full responsibility for everything that transpired last night. For this,” His thumb ghosted over the bruised apple of your cheek. “There is nothing I could do to warrant your forgiveness for this.” Your hands came up to rest on his strong forearms, the muscles tensing beneath your fingertips.

“I know he puts duty to his mother above all else. There is nothing, and no one, that would come between that. Not even you, dōna hāedar. You saw how he lashed at your brothers, how quick he was to strike when given opportunity. You think he would not turn that to you?” You heard your father’s voice and you made your decision. You removed Aemond’s hands and held them between you. You squeezed them as you spoke.

“To fight the inevitable is foolish. This is something neither of us will compromise on, Aemond.” You began, voice devoid of emotion. “You’ve always held duty in the highest regard, and I do not fault you for that as I too have a duty of my own that I must adhere to.” It hurt you to look at Aemond, but you owed him your sincerity at the very least. “I love you, and I will probably always love you, but I cannot,” Your voice choked. “I cannot do this. When it comes down to it-”

“-You would not choose me.” His voice was broken, shattered. Devastation created a film over his remaining eye as he looked down at you. Once more he has been overlooked for his nephews. He felt the proverbial blade push and twist. It was a feeling he was familiar with. He only wished it was real.

Your eyes mirrored his as you looked back at him earnestly.

“Would you choose me?” Over your mother, over Helaena was the implication. Silence followed.

Taglist: @nina2697 @visenyaverse @crazymusicgirl104

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #game of thrones imagine #x reader #angst #spoils of war

221 notes · View notes

trapezequeen · 2 months

Text

Hunter Being Omega’s Dad -> Spoils of War (2/2)

96 notes · View notes

nightmonkeysstuff · 10 months

Text

This may have already been noticed and pointed out by someone much smarter than me, but I just realized something about The Bad Batch that solidifies my opinion on how amazing it is.

Okay so we all remember this gorgeous clone

This was Captain Wilco, who appeared in the episodes Spoils of War and Ruins of War from season 2.

He met his untimely end at the hands of rat bastard Rampart as follows:

Now get this, the name Wilco comes from the military and radio voice abbreviation for “will comply”. HMM?? The writers of this show sat down and thought, “oh what should we name the clone that will get killed for disobeying orders from a pompous monster?”

How about fucking WILL COMPLY. Like- Bro.

The absolute detail and thought they put. Because not only did his name contradict his actions, it truly symbolizes the clones were so much more than soldiers. Even after Order 66, they were people who knew good from bad and right from wrong, they didn’t live to just follows orders.

So yeah that was my little rant, sorry if someone else had already pointed this out but I had to share. RIP Captain Wilco you were too good for the galaxy and RamFart can rot in hell.

#star wars #the bad batch #captain wilco #admiral rampart #ramfart #the bad batch season 2 #tbb #spoils of war #ruins of war #wilco #clones #the clones

102 notes · View notes

alexanderlightweight · 10 months

Note

Hello! For Writing Wednesday could we please have some more Spoils of War or Created for Death? I’m obsessed with both of these to an insane degree:

What I love about SoW: tentative!Alec whom Magnus has to work at gaining trust from? I love it. There’s a line in one part about Magnus having to fix how the Clave broke Alec before Magnus can gentle him and I just—gorgeous, perfect, headcannon accepted. Veiled consorts? Hooooooly that’s so cool omg I swear I heard a symphony in my head when I realized where you were going. The mask? Alec’s hesitance and obedience, thinking everything is out to hurt him but doing it anyway because what choice does he have, is so beautiful, and Magnus mourning a little that he didn’t have more time to make the experience better for Alec but not willing to risk the delay and risk Alec growing even more distant is just 😍—lmao I could write an essay about how much I love this universe.

CoD: I fucking love eldritch angel nephilim and this is giving EVERYTHING. Nephilim who are cobbled together projects of the angels, their biology so skewed by angelic power that even the nephilim don’t know what their children will look like/heal like/die like. Mostly the difference being subtle, but sometimes Not. Raised to hate and fear their full potential, anything that is Too Angelic, and Alec a living hearsay/blasphemy even when his blood was only 30/70 because if it. AND THEN. It’s not losing Jace that tips Alec over, it’s Magnus dying—demon-born prince/king of edom enemy of the Clave. So gorgeous, holllyyyy. I can’t even think too much about Magnus collaring 6-winged Alec, about Alec kneeling for him, about the terrible kindness and protection in Izzy disowning her brother, about the gentleness of Magnus hiding Alec away and covering his eyes and hushing him because even the ANGELS wouldn’t know what to do in this situation, with this new body, and then Team Immortal coming in and IMMORTALITY and wow

Anyway yeah sorry for spitting up my lovestruck brain in your asks but I had to make sure that you knew you’ve struck me deeply with your writing and that’s why I’m begging on your doorsteps for literally any content in either one of these verses 💜

i'm very glad both stories are being enjoyed so much and please don't apologize i love stuff like this! it's a huge compliment but also it's just really nice to see that other people are as into and obsessed with my verses as i am. because sometimes i wait for my sleep meds to kick in and i just plot where i'm going and end up passing out in the middle of a mental scene being written lol

so i wrote a thing for spoils of war and thank you! i'm glad it was enjoyed because i have this big headcanon about how consorts are really magically important to warlocks and magical kings if dominion magic is in the fic and a big thing about that is protecting the consorts identity. via masks but also cloaking the consort in so much magic that you can't even tell anything abut them besides what the warlock allows you to know. and there is a lot of history thats hinted at

for created for death

izzy was fucked up about that, okay. but she had to relinquish alec as a brother because otherwise the clave still had ties to him. since they don't need them anymore, the clave sort of doesn't let true nephilim have any rights. so alec had to be disowned as a nephilim and then magnus was basically like 'okay but my magic is on him so hes mine since i calmed him down' and izzy was like 'he totally counts as a weapon. yours now. because thats the safest thing for alec atm

so alec is actually 70/30 and most nephilm are 30/70 in a angelic/mundane equation. which is why he was being kept watch over by the clave but uh, the fear of magnus dying kinda made him lose it

i hope you enjoy this!

<3 lumine

spoils of war

—

Alec doesn’t know what’s going on.

Magnus didn’t bother explaining what the ritual was or what it did beyond that it was yet another bonding ceremony. But even their political wedding that signified the end of a war didn’t feel this elaborate.

Alec knows it doesn’t really matter, that he’ll be taking part in the ritual whether he knows what it does or not. In fact, it's almost better not to know than to know what he might need to do.

Alec can’t say no to whatever is going to happen and he knows that, so he takes comfort in the fact that he can still see. The mask has magic in and through it and Alec tries not to consider where it’s from and why he can feel nephil magic still fading from it.

Instead, he concentrates on Magnus and his magic and puts out the thoughts and details of his surroundings, like being watched by over a thousand warlocks and their companions, all hidden with their faces hidden behind a variety of masks.

It’s daunting to be here, to be taking part in something that feels so old and sacred when Alec was supposed to be no more than chattel. Fodder for a war built on the blood of innocents that Alec’s own people started. It feels wrong to be here so defenseless and yet know that Magnus’ magic will protect him better than any weapon.

—

Carefully, Magnus uses magic to take off Alexander’s ceremonial collar and he instead replaces it with a loop of pure magic that will slowly take on more and more power until the image of it will always become whatever Magnus wishes it to be.

For now, however, it is a tight loop of deep purple magic that pulses with Magnus’ magic and power in time to Alexander's every breath.

It’s a show of power to summon a single adamas arrow — one that Alexander gave to Magnus by his own hand — and hold it without harm. Alexander sucks in a startled breath — perhaps at the sight of one of his own arrows or that Magnus can hold it with ease — and Magnus can feel him quiver under Magnus’ palm.

“My protection is absolute. When you bleed it will be because I wish it, for no other is allowed to spill your blood.” Magnus uses the arrowhead to nick Alexander’s upper lip — just as he cut the lower with the stele — and then he leans forward to lick it off and suckle the cut until he earns a whine of pain.

“The flames of Edom will devour all before allowing anyone to touch you without my permission.” Magnus promises and his fingers dance with flames that brush harmlessly over Alexander’s neck — the shard of Magnus’ soul claiming Alexander in an undeniable way that will protect him from harm in Edom.

Alexander seems torn between leaning forward and stepping away and Magnus knows his boy better now than he did when they were wed. Alexander needs no leash as Magnus first thought, just a steady hand and Magnus’ voice.

The bonds between them are the only tether Magnus will ever need with Alexander.

“Sweetheart—” Magnus teases, his voice caressing Alexander with magic and he can see how his boy shudders at the sound and feel of it. He steps forward unconsciously, he's been instinctively drawn to Magnus from the very beginning and Magnus croons and reaches out. His palm blooms with hellfire before settling on Alexander’s hip and Magnus pulls him closer still.

“Should any look at you without being graced by my benevolence, their sight shall be consumed by my magic. A payment for stealing a glimpse of what is only mine to see.”

Magnus’ vows are instinctive and there is a primal surge of delight as he takes the ritual a step further, cursing any being who would dare look at Alexander’s uncovered face without his blessing.

It’s an old tradition.

Older still than the ritual Magnus is using and it’s something that has been out of style for over three centuries. Magnus still remembers the stories of how the legend of Medusa started. A warlock desperate to protect her gorgeous consort cursed her love with a vicious, loving protection.

Magnus knows now that Alexander expects to be a spectacle.

A disgraced nephilim in the eyes of his own people, traded away for a peace bought with his soul and virginity. Alexander expected to be paraded around as a mockery, a whipping boy for the clave to offer to the warlocks and it’s clear that’s what the clave told him he was.

But Alexander is not something to be gawked at.

He is not someone who Magnus will allow others to see, not to admire and certainly not to laugh over. Alexander is his consort and if that means that Magnus veils him in magic and curses all those who dare look upon him, then so be it.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #spoils of war #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters

75 notes · View notes

kybercrystals94 · 3 months

Text

Absolute Privilege

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 5 | Prompt 5: Rope Burns

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Burns

Rated: G | Words: 1091 | Summary: Missing scenes from S2E2: Ruins of War, Omega struggles with what her brothers have had to do because of her. [Character Focus: Omega, Tech]

Omega leans over the cliff, staring into the dark, gaping mouth of the container yawning up at her. She can do this. She has to do this. It is the least she can do for all the trouble she’s brought to the Batch.

Sitting back on her heels, Omega tests the borrowed cable one more time, tugging on it with all her strength. It should hold her weight. She’s been practicing knots with Echo, and she’s pretty sure she did it right.

The rappelling part though…Omega isn’t scared of heights as a rule, but she doesn’t like the idea of free falling if she loses her grip. If only she had a carabiner to latch herself to, and gloves like her brothers instead of her bare hands. Her palms have gained some calluses over the months since she left the sterile halls of Kamino, but they won’t be enough to prevent rope burns.

She sighs. While she doesn’t have the proper equipment, she does have a mission. She has to do this.

Standing, Omega puts her back to the ledge, gripping the cable in both hands. Breathe. She steps back until the heels of her boots are over the lip of the cliff face. Now or never. Omega leans back, allowing the cable to slip slightly through her grip while keeping tension. Another skill she’s learned from her brothers; however, there has always been one of them present to give her instructions. She’s never been alone like this.

If her brothers were here, in her place, they’d be down to the container in moments, taking several bold leaps down the wall. Omega doesn’t have the resources for that kind of bravery, and even if she did, she’s not sure she could muster up the courage. Instead, she practically creeps down the wall. Very slowly. She doesn’t want to think about how hard it will be to climb up with her pack full of precious items. That’s a hurdle for future Omega to face.

Every few steps, Omega stops and glances down to see how close she’s getting to her destination, but it seems to loom an eternity away, further with every step closer. Her hands already ache from the pressure of the cable against her weight. She needs to hurry, to get this over with. Tech and Echo are going to notice she’s gone eventually, and they’re going to know exactly where she went. She hopes to meet them on her way back to the house, a bag of treasures in her possession as a peace offering.

Because it is about time she earns her place on the squad. She isn’t a child, she is a part of a team. And all the players have to pull their weight. It makes sense why Echo was frustrated by the trouble she’s caused to the squad, forcing them to take jobs to take care of her instead of living as they should be living. Whatever that life looked like.

Finally, Omega’s feet step onto the edge of the container. She smiles. That wasn’t going to be as hard as she thought it would be.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega glares at her hands, at the ugly, painful tracks the cable left on her palms when she and Echo nearly plummeted to their deaths. In hindsight, Omega realizes she caused more trouble to her brothers trying to help. She almost got Echo and Tech killed. So much for being a team player.

Echo’s talk with her had helped a little; however, the fact still remains that she is more of a liability than any sort of asset.

“Omega, would you assist me?” Tech asks. He is in Wrecker’s bunk, injured leg propped up. He looks miserable, having been banished to the barracks until their return to Ord Mantell per Hunter’s orders.

Omega jumps up. “Sure, Tech! What do you need?”

“The med kit,” Tech says.

Omega frowns, baffled, but she goes and gets the med kit from its place, bringing it back, and setting it next to Tech on the bunk. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Your hands,” Tech says, as though it is obvious. “You have burns from where you slipped down the cable.”

Omega scowls, crossing her arms so that her hands are tucked out of sight. “I’m fine.”

“You will be fine just as soon as you allow me to treat your injuries,” Tech says.

“They don’t even hurt,” Omega lies sourly, “and I already cleaned them. They’re fine.”

Tech gives her a calculating look, as though she is an intricate problem he is trying to solve. She squirms under the scrutiny. “If they are fine and do not cause you discomfort, then why do you keep staring at them?” he asks.

“Because it’s my fault!” Omega cries, trying to keep her voice steady and firm. “All of this is my fault.”

“Pardon?” Tech looks confused and mildly horrified at the outburst. “I fail to see the correlation between you and this failed mission. Granted, it was unwise of you to seek out the lost war chest on your own, but…”

“No! I mean the only reason we took this mission is because of me. And then you got hurt, and then I almost got us all killed going back for the treasure, and…” Omega cuts herself off before she starts rambling. She swallows back the sob in her throat and glares at the floor.

“Ah, I see,” Tech says. “I suppose that is true.”

Omega huffs. Of course, Tech, of all her brothers, would finally see and understand the truth. She doesn’t want to be pacified. She wants her share of the blame placed directly on her shoulders where it belongs.

“However, I fear that you have misunderstood our motives,” Tech says, voice softening. “We took this mission not out of a place of obligation to you, but out of a sincere desire to give you the best life we are capable of giving. We took this mission because we want to take care of you, Omega, not because we are required to.”

Omega looks up, eyes wide. “But I cause so much trouble,” she argues weakly.

Tech shakes his head. “It is our absolute privilege to have you in our care, Miss Omega. Troubles are of no consequence, I assure you.”

Omega sniffs and nods.

“Now,” Tech says, “about those rope burns. May I help take care of that for you?”

With a shaky smile, Omega sits down on the edge of the bunk, holding out the offending wounds. “Thank you, Tech.”

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!✨

Taglist: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday5 #prompt 5: rope burns #Bad things happen bingo #prompt: burns #star wars #the bad batch #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #tbb tech #tbb omega #missing scene #Spoils of War #stories by kyber #fics by kyber

24 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 1 year

Note

MJ!! HOLY!! That warrior AU is freaking amazing!!

I'm humbly begging for a part 2 🙏🙏🙏

I'm way to invested now haha

A ton of people sent me Requests and i appreciated all of them so much!! Here y’all go. Part 1 here

Also I am so willing to make a 3rd part (and possibly more I maybe have several planned already) so feel free to just ask!

Ghost was a great sinner. He had perfected the art of it. Had broken every command. Coveted, killed, used God’s name as a curse. Slept with many people and had never been married.

But right now. This might be his greatest one.

Soap had fallen asleep. He had moved in the night, gently leaning into Ghost. This was the sin that would damn him.

Soap’s gentle breaths. He could feel them through his shirt. Gentle and even. Ghost should get up. Should shove him off. He didn’t. He enjoyed the heat of Soap’s body, relished in the false vulnerability.

The morning light fell over his features, illuminating him. He looked so relaxed. His strong features catching the light in a way that made him look ethereal.

Soap began to stir and Ghost quickly sat up, trying to erase what he had been doing. He stood up easily and pulled his coat back on. The house was well insulated, but it had still gotten cold in the night with no fire.

“Finally, you’re up.” Ghost glanced down at him, watching him slowly blink awake. He reached down and cut his binds. Soap rubbed his wrists and Ghost noticed with a wince how red they looked. He’d have to find something a little more permanent soon.

Soap looked at him with soft hooded eyes. “Ah.”

“Hope it was a dream?”

“Aye. Was dreaming you were a pretty blond lass. Real disappointed to see you.” Soap huffed and sat up. He stretched, muscles rolling under his skin. “How long are we going to share a bed?”

“Until I can find a way to make sure you don’t escape. Thought this was slightly better than tying your ankles to your wrists and leaving you in the living room.”

“Sick bastard.”

“Never said I’d enjoy it.”

“Don’t have to. Can hear it in your tone.” Soap rolled his shoulders before shivering. He looked... so tiny. So cute.

Ghost looked away. “I’m going to be busy. A guard will be outside the door. They’re instructed to kill you if you try to escape.”

Soap looked at him with a small glare but nodded. “Fine.”

Ghost glared at him. “Soap. Don’t make me have to hurt you. Just stay put.” He really didn’t want to. Just needed him to stay there. Stay safe.

Ghost was not honest with himself if he could help it. He tried to avoid it to the best of his ability. But he had already lied to Soap and Shepherd, no use also lying to himself. Shepherd believed he wanted Soap to torture him for all he did on the field. That wasn’t even close to true. Soap was told that Ghost did it so he wouldn’t boost Shepherd’s ego. That was slightly closer.

Ghost thought of Shepherd talking with Price. Price had looked uncomfortable, but Shepherd was there leader so they had to bite their tongues. Shepherd detailed what he would do to Soap. Described how he’d break him. Make him a concubine by a different name.

Ghost had felt a strong mix of feelings at what he had talked about. Disgust at how casually he discussed assaulting him. Nausea as he remembered his own time as a “Spoil” under a cruel man. A heavy amount of hate.

But underneath it all was a current of seething jealousy at the thought. It had caught him off guard. Even now, something possessive curled in his organs. He honestly didn’t want to hurt Soap. Soap was defeated after all. No need to be a sore winner.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to do other things to him. But lust was a sin and sinning was something Ghost excelled at.

He’d never let Soap, or anyone for that matter, know any of this. He barely admitted it to himself.

Before he left, he gave Soap some water and told him to cook if he wanted.

“Don’t burn my house down.”

“Or what?”

“We’ll be homeless.” Ghost had deadpanned and Soap had laughed, looking shocked before he quickly looked away to fix his expressions.

“Aye. Suppose we will.”

Ghost nodded and walked away. He pulled on his gear, feeling Soap staring at him. He tried to turn around to catch him in the act but Soap looked away just fast enough. His hands clenched hard, taking a deep breath.

Ghost didn’t touch him. Not once that morning.

Price waved him over and he went to sit next to him. “You knew Shepherd wanted him.”

“Yes. That’s why I asked for him. Knew he couldn’t say no to me in front of everyone.”

“Simon. Careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ghost reassured. “It was worth it.”

Price didn’t looked convinced but he let it go. The two of them talked about any news in their town. Price kept him up to date on things since he avoided leaving his home unless to go fight. His sword felt heavy on his hip.

Alejandro and Shepherd joined them after a while, letting them finally start the stupid meeting. Ghost hated these. It was full of useless strategizing based on information that was probably fake. They weren’t on the field and none of them would agree on how to handle it, they never did. Inevitably, whoever was out commanding people would make a call and they’d pretend they never had the meeting in the first place.

It was cycle. A vicious one that Ghost hated.

The nice servant brought Ghost tea though. It was good tea, strong with sugar. He sipped it as they talked.

“So, about MacTavish.” Alejandro spoke up and Ghost tried not to look at him, feeling an intense feeling of betrayal. “He still kicking?”

“Yes. He’s still alive.”

Price looked at him, seeming to have just now realized Ghost never said what was worth it. All three of them were staring at him.

“Wait. He’s still alive?” Price asked.

“What are you doing to him?” Alejandro sounded slightly scandalized.

“What is he not doing to him?” Shepherd sounded a lot more interested.

Ghost thought over his options. “He’s... alive. He makes a good bedfellow.” Lies. He stole the goddamn blanket. But the double entendre was enough to throw them off.

Shepherd hummed. “Details?”

“No.” Ghost continued to sip his tea. He could feel Price’s disappointed stare piercing through him. Part of him wanted to explain that it wasn’t like that, that he hadn’t actually done anything, but if they thought he was keeping Soap for that, they wouldn’t question him not killing him. Soap would stay safe. His reputation could take the hit. Hell, may even raise it among certain of his men. He made MacTavish his whore.

The idea made his nausea return.

“So that’s why you wanted him. Should’ve known.” Alejandro smiled, but Ghost could see the tension in his shoulders. He was a tiny bit insulted by how easily they believed this now.

“Are we done?”

“Yes. We’re done. Go enjoy the gift, Ghost.”

Ghost nodded and stood up, his gear hugging his skin comfortably. The others were using the rare opportunity to wear just a shirt and pants with their coats, but Ghost preferred the leather gear. The weight of it kept him grounded.

He left with no more fanfare, hating fucking meetings.

The guard outside his home was still there. Their blade by their feet.

Ghost waved him off and went inside, rolling his shoulders. The place had been cleaned. Not very well, but there was significantly less dust everywhere.

Soap jumped on him, blade in hand and Ghost disarmed him easily.

“I’m wearing armor. That knife wouldn’t even… stop struggling.” He held Soap, watching him wriggle like a fish on a hook from where Ghost had his wrists. Soap looked at him defiantly. Ghost felt his breath catch.

Fucking pretty asshole.

“You done?”

Soap grumbled. “Fine. I’m done.”

Ghost nodded and took the knife from him. He pinned him to the wall and ran his hands along his sides, checking for weapons.

Soap flushed hard and went still as possible until Ghost pulled away. He turned around, back flush against the wall. His eyes found their way to Ghost’s and he didn’t move.

Ghost stared, confused. Soap’s clothes were clinging to him like he had been sweating. It hit him then that he didn’t have anything else Soap could wear than his own things. Fuck, he’d have to let him borrow his clothes. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad yet.

Unbeknownst to him, Soap was waiting for him to hit him. He had just attacked Ghost. In his own home. Honestly, he was half expecting to be flogged. Maybe beaten with in an inch of his life.

“Do you want a bath?” Ghost didn’t care that he had attacked him. He’d do the same thing.

“What?” Soap stared at him, hopelessly confused by his jailer.

“A bath. Your clothes look gross. I’ll have a tailor make you some but for now you can just borrow mine.” Ghost tilted his head.

They stared at each other for a long while before Soap nodded. “Alright. That… sounds nice.”

Ghost nodded back and pulled away. He luckily had the money and time to have a bathtub set up, but he had to get the water from nearby. He set some to boil so the water wouldn’t be cold.

The entire time, he considered which clothes he’d let Soap borrow. He couldn’t give him any of his nicer ones. Those were his.

If he looked hard enough, there might be some of his old clothes somewhere. They’d be a little smaller so they might fit Soap just a little better.

He finished setting the bath and told Soap so, still very clearly in the bathroom.

Soap started to undress, seemingly bothered at all about getting naked in front of Ghost. Ghost looked away, not sure if he was ready to commit such a sin yet. He made sure he didn’t see Soap’s body, not sure he wanted that to haunt his dreams.

“You can leave you know. If you’re going to be such a prude.”

Ghost took a deep breath. “What if you escape?”

“You know, if you want to see me undressed, you could’ve just ordered me to undress. Not lured me in like this.”

“You would’ve fought me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Soap sounded amused. “Are you going to avoid bathing with me here as well? You won’t eat in front of me.”

“I’ll tie you up in the other room.” Ghost was pretty hungry. He’d wait until Soap fell asleep to eat. It wasn’t the longest he went without food, but probably best not to get faint while holding someone captive. “Get in before it gets cold.”

“You warmed it up?” Soap sounded genuinely surprised. “Thank you.’

Oh. Ghost felt a flicker of something intensely warm in his chest. He didn’t respond. He could hear Soap sink into the water.

Soap moaned softly at the feeling of the warm water on his muscle and Ghost tensed, hands clenching. The atmosphere in the room changed. He could feel tension like a goddamn storm.

Soap let out a small sound under his breath, a shuddering shaky thing. Like he was scared.

Only then did Ghost notice how this probably looked. Ghost’s hand on his weapon, his other hand clenched tight. His posture had tightened, making him look even taller. He was also looking at Soap, though he couldn’t remember turning his head.

Soap looked afraid. Ghost was only available to see above his chest, but he could see the soft curly hair though.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare him.

Ghost was out of the room, door clicking behind him.

Fucking hell.

He went in the kitchen, finding that Soap had cooked. Nice. He pulled up his mask long enough to scarf down some food, not wanting to waste too much time.

Unfortunately, none of the clothes he wanted could be found, so he pulled a random shirt and pair of pants and set them in front of the door. “Clothes are right outside when you’re ready to get out.”

Ghost perched on the bed, thinking hard.

This was sustainable, but he couldn’t let him go. He’d have to figure this out. Somehow.

#Johnny Soap Mactavish #Simon Ghost Riley #Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Soapghost #Ghostsoap #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Macriley #Call of Duty #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare 2 #spoils of war

250 notes · View notes