#R; matching revolvers
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“Anybody seen my fuckin phone? I had it a second ago.”
Feat: @ofcoretanima, @ofterrafirma, @mytarnishedsilver, @causticprayer
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Nsfw alphabet for Jataka
Pretty please with cherry 🍒 on top
Sorry for the wait, I was pretty busy with school...🌻
JATAKA NSFW ALPHABET!
A: aftercare <what they're like after sex>
Jataka is very sweet when he has to take care of you: he makes you lie on his chest while he feeds you grapes, serving them with his lips. He serves you water himself and pampers you like a queen, you don't mess with this man!
B: body part <their favourite body part on them and you>
I'm pretty sure his favorite part of his body is his chest. Seeing as how Jataka has grown tired of life in chains in his temple, seeing his chest rise and fall when he breathes heavily reminds him that he is alive. While he praises your lips, the same ones that make him feel every kind of sensation and love; your kisses are like a drug to him.
C: cum <anything to do with it, really>
Jataka has no preferences, it asks you and adapts based on your choices.
D: dirty secret <a dirty secret of theirs>
Jataka has a thing about feeling your mouths eating the same thing, he sees it as a symbol of love and unity. It's possible that he might feed you a berry while you both taste it with your tongue, your teeth sinking into the same pulp...
E: experience <how experienced are they>
I'm not going to lie, he may have had concubines given his social rank. Jataka has experience, facts!
F: favourite position <self-explanatory>
SPOONING! Especially in the morning as soon as you wake up, when you feel his erection pressing against you and his arms wrapping around you from behind. The hot breath of your king warming your neck, while Jataka leaves kisses here and there on the back of your neck.
G: goofy <would they use humor in the moment?>
Well, I don't see why not. I see Jataka as someone who tries to never bore you, so a joke every now and then could be in order.
H: hair <how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the courtains?>
The carpet matches the curtains and everything is really clean!
I: intimacy <are they romantic in the moment or they do not care?>
He is definitely the most romantic you will ever meet: strives to make the experience pleasant, with scented petals on the sheets or a hot bath full of aromas, massages and caresses while you make love...10 out of 10!
J: jack off <...self-explanatory part 2>
He doesn't see the point in doing this if he already has you.
K: kinks <their kinks>
Besides the accent of a food kink, I see him as a dom rather than a bottom. It all revolves around the concept of letting him vent and making him feel alive, free to do whatever he wants, to make decisions for once.
L: location <where they usually do the do>
In his temple there is a very large bathtub, with the entire bath surrounded by a beautiful mosaic window. At sunset, the sun filtering through makes that place shine even more and Jataka loves to spoil you there.
M: motivation <what turns them on>
When you wear the jewelry and clothes he gives you. Your body decorated with all his gifts is simply beautiful and a big turn on.
N: no <things they refuse to do>
Hurting you in any way is something he can't bear, it's strictly opposite to the idea. It must be pleasant for both of you...why hurt you?
O: oral <do they like giving or receiving?>
Jataka likes to receive and enjoy your mouth while lying on his sheets, but he's not opposed to return the favor.
P: pace <are they slow and sensual or fast and rough>
It changes according to your mood. Jataka will follow the mood and atmosphere, your movements and desires, satisfying every request of your body as best it can.
Q: quickie <would they fuck you for five minutes or wait until you wait home?>
He isn't a fan of quickies, he prefers having his way with you.
R: risk <...DUH>
I don't see him as a risk taker, every now and then he agrees to take them to try, but it's really rare that it happens.
S: stamina <how long can they last?>
He has good stamina! Something he's even proud of, seeing as he can hear your breathy voice all night...what a man...
T: toys <do they own any? do they use them?>
I don't think Jataka has any, but the idea shouldn't be ruled out! Who knows, maybe if you introduce him to yours...
U: unfair <how much they like to tease>
HELL YES. He might tease you to set you in the mood and to slide better inside you. Your walls are so nice, slippy and warm after Jataka teases you.
V: volume <are they asking for a noise complaint, or are they quiet?>
Jataka can be quite loud, plus, he wants to hear your voice properly. But even if he were, no one would dare contradict him or give him orders, so you're good to go!
W: wild card <a random headcanon☆>
Neck kisses are his weak point: bite it, kiss it and lick it! Torture his neck and Jataka will be on his knees.
X: x-ray <what to they look like under there?>
Jataka isn't the bigger, but isn't the smaller either. His dick is perfectly straight, the tip is of a beautiful and bright light pink.
Y: yearning <are they in the mood to fuck or are they tame?>
Jataka is usually tame since his commitments tire him considerably, so you have to keep up the libido.
Z: zzz <how quickly they fall asleep afterwards>
First he waits for you to fall asleep and everything is perfect for you, then he collapses like a little angel!
#record of ragnarok#request#ror x reader#ror x you#snv x reader#snv x you#shuumatsu no valkyrie#shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader#ror jataka
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if ur requests r still open and u rnt overwhelmed AND if youre okay with what im abt to request...
heres a thought. euronymous and like opposite style innocent reader (mb i love dark guys and innocent bimbo-y girlfriends)
so theyve had sex before obvi. and typically she just lays there and is disinterested because frankly.... he has a little fear of breaking her and shes like "this isnt enough for me :((" so one day she just looks up at euro like "smack me." and it shocks him ! and when he does it opens a door for both of them. they like impact play 🤷♀️ and sprinkle a little bit of euro breeding kink but not rly breeding just more like "im cumming in u coz ur mine and i want everyone to know it when your bellys full and round" not rly like "i want u to have my babies" coz i think he wouldnt like babies.
mb that was a bit tm ranting woopsies
i love opposites attract type of stuff, im obsessed!!
"he dyes his hair black, i dye mine platinum blonde" | euronymous
me & my boyfriend. - lana del rey
p.s. this story has nothing to do with oystein aarseth. this is rory's portrayal of the character.
bimbo!female!reader x euronymous
contents: spanking, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie
you two were as different as could be. you were like day and night. he went around trying to instill fear into the souls of all who made the mistake of looking in his direction. and you always looked like a child's doll, the way you were always dolled up making you extremely pleasing to the eye.
you never showed any interest in the dark and evil stuff that euronymous invested all his time into. you revolved your life around looking good and geting everything you wanted, giving the impression that you were soft and fragile.
that's why euronymous always tried to be as gentle with you as possible when it came to sex. he would go painfully slowly, always asking if he should stop. you had always appreciated him being so kind to you, but you couldnt help but yearn for something more than all that.
so the night you asked him to completely have his way with you, he was completely taken by surprised. "a-are you sure? i wouldnt wanna hurt you or anything, y'know." you continued to insist, but he kept on resisting. this went on for a while before you snapped and decided to take matters into your own hands.
without any further communication, you took off your miniskirt and tight shirt, throwing them to the side. you sat on the bed, only in your hot pink thong and matching bra. he attempted to speak, but his words got caught in his throat as his eyes wandered down your beautiful body. no matter how many times he saw you like this, his reaction would never change.
you turned around and stuck your head into a pillow, putting your ass in the air. "spank me." your voice was slightly muffled, but he heard you loud and clear. he hesitated, but seeing that you were actually serious made him want it almost as badly as you did.
you got behind you, his hands on your hips, gently rubbing your soft skin before he raised his hand and laid the first slap. you winced in pain, but you kept yourself together. you heard euronymous chuckle, and you knew that it was about to get a lot worse. finally, your fantasies were being fulfilled.
he lands another hard slap on your ass, this on stinging even more, making you whimper enough for him to hear. it sounded like music to his ears. he continued to spank you, each slap getting more and more painful. you could tell that he was enjoying this. this was something that he'd been dreaming of for a long time.
your hips got a little sore from keeping them up for so long, so you lowered them a little. euronymous started to unbuckle his belt, throwing it to the side. he slapped your ass once more. "ass up, whore." he said, his voice lower than usual.
you whined as you stuck your hips back into the air. euronymous undid his pants and pulled out his already hard cock out. he ripped your thong off of you, your little pussy aching to be fucked. he smiled at the sight, thinking of all the things that he was going to do to you.
he rubbed your slit gently with his thumb before stuffing you with his cock. you let out a loud, slutty moan. euronymous had never heard anything like it before considering how gentle he always was with you.
he wasted no time quickly thrusting into you, his hips coming into contact with yours making a loud slapping sound each time. you started falling apart instantly. you had never felt this way before. he was being so rough and wreckless with you, but you loved it.
your moans got louder and louder, along with the sounds of euronymous slapping your ass. he fucked you at an inhumanly fast pace, finally letting out all these years of sexual tension. he had always fantasized about being able to destroy your insides and make you go completely dumb on his cock.
he kept a firm grip on your hips as he pounded into your sore little pussy, whispering things that couldnt be heard underneath the sound of your moans and whimpers. you felt you pussy tightening around his cock, signalling your orgasm coming.
his groans became more audible as he felt you getting tigther around him. he wanted to make you cum harder than you ever have before. he reached a hand forward and started rubbing fast circles on your throbbing clit, sending you over the edge.
your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came all over his cock, which was still pounding into you at lightning speed. you felt your vision going blurry as he started to overstimulate you. you sobbed as you started cumming even harder, making his cock throb inside of you.
he started speaking to you in between strained groans. "a-ah... gonna fuck my cum into you... gonna fill you up real good..." you felt your body completely surrendering to him as you felt a second orgasm about to him.
with the feeling of your pussy squeezing him, he started releasing his hot cum into you, making you feel so warm and full. his nails dug into your skin as he reached hit orgasm, throwing his head back as he continued to fuck you. he kept going until you were leaking his and your cum.
he finally pulled out of your sore little cunt, flipping you over so he could see you. your mascara was completely ruined, your lipgloss was smudged, and your cheeks were flushed, making you look like a total mess.
euronymous grinned before giving you a kiss on the forehead. "such a pretty girl... i think i like your makeup better this way." you rolled your eyes. euronymous spread you legs and sat himself right infront of your pussy.
he used his fingers to spread your lips so he could watch all the cum drip out of you. needless to say, sex got a lot more entertaining from then on.
author's note: so sorry this took a while to come out, i can procrastinate for the olympic i swear. im working on another request rn dont worry yall :))
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NSFT Alphabet: Antonio Paganini
@turbulentscrawl screaming wonderwall with me
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Antonio massages the sorest parts of your body (wrists, arms, hips, legs), and would draw a bath for you both to enjoy (def the type to enjoy stay intimately close). If the devil was in charge though, you need to supply the emotional aftercare, yes you may have granted permission but it is taxing on Antonio. Would def cuddle after sex and likes the weight of you on top of him, again likes skin-on-skin contact.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His face especially his nose, has a beautiful profile and he knows it. Hands but like Frederick is a man of his time and would like your feet too.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Realistic he has none, his body is technically undead`` So yay no cleanup (sorry ppl who like creampies) but unrealistically I wish he had glowly cum hbfvhbbvbv (devil skin and crescent knight)
D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He is an older man and like Luchino and Alva he pretty open with what he likes (he is this way with your wants too be open about it)
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
No virgin, there is no way this man didn’t get laid (ps though most of them was when he was drunk)
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
He likes to be ridden
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)
Can match your energy with this so if you start giggling he will too (esp for those who are ticklish this is great!)
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Ngl prob a brush down there and you know it prob soft and you just touching it cuz wow it soft wtf
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)
Again bounces from your energy
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Stress masturbate probably or the devil does it (sir go get your own body!)
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Foot fetish, bondage with his hair, spit in his mouth or he spit in your mouth, you pulling his hair
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Okay so if you are in-game with him, he might get frisky but not always but happens, has fucked in the music room (fuck off Frederick!), his or your bedroom
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Flirting can get him good, but so can deep conversations the type where you are genuinely trying to get to know him. There is something very intimate about that for a man whose whole life revolved around his talents and people being fake about their intentions with him. The deep connection gets him going and when you are expressing romantic intentions after awhile that gets him going.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
Will say devil but he does not have a choice in that manner, it will come out and he hates it. It is complex and he fears one day hurting you-- The devil hurting you but again there is not much of a choice in this.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
This man, this man’s fucking nose, bye working legs.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Depending on the mood he can be fast and rough or slow and sensual or between that or a damn tease; maestro just built like that
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Depends on the situation but not one for quickies (the devil is though)
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)
Because of the Devil’s involvement, you need to expect risks. Whatever Antiono has, he expected to know he will be forced to share.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)
He can go as long as you need him to go
T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Use them on him, no really use them on him. I think it important to show him he can be safe and in control while being the one submissive. Show him is safe while using these and constantly be with him
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
You both need to be unfair but not too much there needs to be an endgame
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Antiono can be vocal, and you might even try to be quiet just so you can enjoy how pretty his voice is
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Looks at that Devil that trying to get in your pants….
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
IT GOOD OKAY (it got bigger)
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Antiono has the average sex drive but then you got the hellion that is always ready to go so…
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
He doesn’t actually need to sleep but he does relax with you enjoying the peace
#idv#reader insert#idv violinist#idv antonio#identity v x reader#identity v#idv x you#idv x reader#antonio x reader#antonio x you#violinist x you#violinist x reader#antonio paganini#identity v x you#idv reader insert#the violinist#identity v violinist
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☆ Arthur Morgan ☆ - I gave you all
[pt. 1]
Summary: You meet a ghost from your past several years after splitting ways. Only, he isn’t as kind as you remembered him being. And perhaps, it’s been too long for him to still forgive you.
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: violence, gun use, graphic scenery, injury, blood
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
“Y o u c a l l i t h o p e-- t h a t f i r e o f f i r e!
I t i s b u t a g o n y o f d e s i r e.”
Trees rushed past in a blur of green and brown. Small patches of wildflowers added a splash of color every now and then. The sun was setting.
It'd been at least 9 hours since you'd entered this train car, and your fatigue was beginning to form a pulsing headache. The idea of sleeping now greatly outweighed your initial excitement.
It wouldn't be long now, you thought, perhaps only a few more hours before you arrived at Blackwater. How long had it been since you'd stepped foot in that town? It would never seem to be long enough. The last image you had of it was stained an ugly red, and you along with it.
But still, through Blackwater, you had a one-way ticket to a new life, to leave this god-forsaken country behind, to shed your wolf-skin and live amongst the fold again.
With one last glance towards the dimly-lit horizon, you watched the last few golden streaks retreat behind the mountains before sinking into the red velvet seating and resting your head against the glass. Feeling the chill of the oncoming night breathing through the window and fogging up the glass, you let the gentle shaking of the train lull you to a peaceful haze; Your last thoughts were of what the coming times might bring.
But that's silly, isn't it? To always be certain of the future-- or better, to think that anyone can change the rolling tides once they've already reached the shore.
It was dark when the train lurched to a shaky halt. The brightest source of light came from the lanterns hanging on the exterior of the train. Thinking that you may have arrived, you glanced through the window, only to be met with a wall of trees and thick foliage. The train was still a ways off from civilization-- at least a couple dozen miles from what you had to guess, and from the nervous whispering of your fellow passengers, it was clear that something was off. They fidgeted with their watches and sleeves, trying to catch light of why the engine died so far from it's intended destination. It didn't seem this stop was scheduled.
Sitting up, your mind flashed with a number of possibilities. Maybe the train had broken down, maybe a stowaway was just being thrown off, maybe something had fallen onto the tracks just up ahead.
But then the rear-facing door swung open, and a guard crept down the aisle. The man was dressed in plainclothes of a brown suit and matching pants-- not policemen. This was the type you would hire to protect cargo from thieves, not to commune with passengers, or by any means to help them. He held a well-worn rifle in one hand, and with the other, he loaded bullets. On his belt hung a singular revolver, visibly in worse condition than the rifle. You only heard three bullets being loaded.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, there's no gentle way to explain our situation," He was sweating, never sparing a glance towards anyone. His eyes remained trained on the clearing of the other cars ahead, flashing at each and everything that moved. He sounded beside himself, yet still attempting to keep everyone else calm. "We are facing a robbery, it seems."
The whispering quickly evolved into panic, elicited even more so when an array of gunfire went off just up ahead. The guard raised his arms, commanding silence from the travelers.
"I know this might be a very alarming situation for all of you, but please, try to stay calm," He was hardly calm himself. The grip on his gun was tight and trembling. And with only three bullets, he must have already known what his terms were. "The best thing you can do is stay quiet and comply. I don't wish that anyone here suffers to something like this, but if I am unable to keep you all safe, then it's a better bargain for you to lose your valuables than to lose your lives."
A familiar feeling sunk in-- despair. As though a past life was coming back to haunt you. You hadn’t felt such harsh degrees of terror like this in years. As panic set in, painful memories clawed their way from your head. Of the money you'd burned. Of the scars left beneath your garments. Of the guns left buried in Rhodes. Of anything, leaving those guns behind hurt the most. They had been a gift after all, from someone once special. But times like those were far gone in the past, left behind by what you'd sought to bury and destroy.
The guard opened the side door toward the front of the car. Visibility was finite through the pitch-black air. What light the exterior lanterns did provide was meager and a garish orange. He took a final breath and stepped forward.
His head ended up hitting the ground faster than his feet could.
A bang.
A splat.
And then a thud.
The gun misfired as it landed, startling you from your seat. All within three seconds.
His body collapsed in the mud, and the entire side of the train car's windows was mottled with blood. Someone behind you screamed. A woman. A few more followed her. Someone started to cry, clutching their pearl-lined purses, and silver coated rings. Yet, you had nothing to hold, nothing to give. Nothing to pray you don’t lose. You had nothing left except the ticket in your hands and your life.
Had this man really been the last one left? Nothing but a hired escort? And yet, knowing this, instead of playing the docile part that could have saved his life, he stepped into death's hand.
What man could ever be such a fool?
Now standing, an arrangement of ideas rushed through your head, with one message shared among them: 'Get out. Leave.' Your feet carried you, eyes guiding each step. The rear-facing door was still swung open. It could very well be your only chance.
Quietly backing away from the front, ignoring the pitying pleas of others as you passed through them. How scared they seemed-- how helpless to their unfortunate circumstances. You wanted nothing to do with their situation, however, a small sight instilled a small pause in your movements-- a little girl, saddled in the lap of her mother, who tried in these moments to comfort her child. A fleeting thought went to her, perhaps of a sort of sympathetic appeal, and then you continued to move. Perhaps if you did not already know how things would end, you might have offered to help. But you would not make the same mistake as the guard. You were no fool.
Small dapples of light began to spread from the front of the train, quickly approaching. Time was against you. A hand went to your hair, tacitly removing the hair pin keeping several strands pinned up. A knife would have been preferable, perhaps even a gun, but a thin needle would have to do. The pointed end barely stuck out much farther than your palm as you held it closely.
Just a few more steps now.
You let out a breath once you felt your free hand hit the handle to the wooden framing. Turning, you were just about to make it when--
The barrel of a gun stared you down. Behind it, a masked man. It seems you weren't quick enough. They had gone around the side, closing any exits.
"Going somewhere, little lady?" You didn't recognize the voice, but there was a snideness in his tone, thinking he'd just caught a little bird trying to escape. He stepped forward, onto the car, and you mirrored by taking a step back. "I suggest you turn back around."
The gun's hammer was cocked, a death sentence if you chose to disobey. You would have to wait a moment more. Sitting in the closest empty seat, his eyes gleamed in satisfaction. He made his first mistake in moving the gun away from you. The second mistake was taking steps past you, leaving himself open from behind. And thus, the moment had arrived.
Suddenly lunging back up, your arm swung down, piercing the skin of his neck. Digging it further, you kept pushing until all that was left of the hairpin was the decorative gold head.
"Fucking bitch!" He hollered, his hand defensively starting to swat at his neck. Giving him no chance to rebut, you turned heel and ran back to the door, giving it a singular, hearty shove, and jumping down to the muddy ground. The gun fired, lodging itself into the wooden frame of the train, but its damage was dealt. Four men, all armed, one with a lantern, immediately became aware of your presence on the opposite end of the car.
The lantern was of a kind you had seen only used by watch-men and hunters, except for the few times that you had used one during your more active hours. The kind that blocked most of its light, except through a small glass sight, allowing for handlers to focus a solid beam in any direction. Right now, that light was focused on you, a quivering form, half-crouching on the muddy tracks.
Behind you, an open meadow sat, its own invitation laced with bad omen. The only hope of getting through such an exposed field would be to run, and though the grass may be tall, hiding would never be an option. Ahead of you, the trees loomed, almost screaming at you to break from your spot and find solitude in its foliage. Through the trees, you would at least have the chance to lose them.
So, truly, what were your choices? To hide, or to run?
Hiding surely. You doubted your body could outrun 4 grown men, none of which seemed to be any less athletic than men in their prime. Their were a few eerily moments of silence. Everyone was deciding what to do next, including you.
With an unstable breath, you quickly gathered the ruffled layers of your dress, hoisted the heavy fabric, and took off towards your only chance at freedom. There would only be a minute head start before they would the chase. Every moment counted. Every second decided how this would end.
Your shoes were not made for running, evidently, as the heels dug further into the mud with every step, causing a shot balance and a slow start. Some indistinct yelling sounded from behind. Three of the four men followed in pursuit of you, the other likely told to continue operations with the other passengers. Six pairs of feet quickly crept up on you, pounding into the ground heavily, the forest floor was practically quaking beneath you. You were correct in choosing the forest over the meadow. These men were apt, keeping a steady pace on you, like bloodhounds hunting down fresh game.
The ground was uneven, hardly visible. You would find yourself falling for brief moments with sudden dips in the ground, and crawling when it rose again just as swift. The farther you went, the more you prayed that the moon would continue to guide your eyes. But, the forest grew thicker with every step. And soon, the canopy overhead of Elms and Alpines would completely consume what little help you had left.
The sounds of footfall faded, first six, then 4, and then just 2, until ceasing altogether, and for a moment, you were hopeful that they'd given up. Taking a quick glance, you almost froze in place, still slowing down significantly. They had indeed stopped their chase, however it wasn't from a lack of interest. From the small glance, only one had managed to stay on your trail, however, though he longer chased, the outline of a well-worn rifle was clear. He was watching your form retreating. It was obvious their intentions weren't to let you live, and instead of wasting their energy, they must have decided a quick and steady aim would be more efficient.
He missed the first shot. The bullet struck the ground just by your ankles. It would take him about 4 seconds to reload the gun. There was doubt he would miss again. Running wouldn't do you any good anymore either. Your energy was on reserve, and the heavy dress dragged your body down. But what could you do in just 4 seconds? There wasn't time to think, no time to escape the scope of range.
The tree's trunks were thin and narrow, but it was all you had. Running to the closest stump, your back slammed into the bark, skin pulsing with adrenaline. Bracing for the sound of another misfire, but the trigger wasn't pulled. For precious seconds, you waited, catching your breath, eyes flying wildly around for any sign of movement, but your panic was met with silence.
And then you realized, he was waiting for you. Why should he waste another bullet? You would eventually need to leave your spot, and he would wait until you did. Better make it count, then.
Around, you could barely see. Various pillars of other trees and bushes was about all you could make out. But just ahead, was what looked like a large divot in the forest floor. Perhaps a ditch or a small creek. You couldn't hear any running water, but the blood hammering in your ear-drums would surely deafen a small creek. Still, it was likely your best shot at survival. If you could just make it into that trench, you might be able to avoid any further gunfire, and you could follow the channel out of the area. If you could just make it from this tree to that ditch.
Funny, you thought for a moment, that despite how much you tried to bury it, you still ended up on the end of a gun. Perhaps, not the end you would have preferred. There was nothing left to do. Death would meet you regardless of what you did now. Stay, and he would eventually lose patience. Move, and likely be shot before you could make more than a few feet. But only one option had any chance. With a deep breath, you stepped out.
You thought to your mother then. Of her, you really couldn't remember much, but her words have lasted far longer than any other memories. In this moment, as your foot met the ground, digging in to the cold mud an old warning of hers slowly drifted to your cerebral thoughts.
"Such a little dreamer, such big ideas.... . Some day, you will need to face the world, for how it works, and not for how you wish it to.”
Your other foot foot kissed the ground, Of your mother, and her words, one thing you knew was certain about life. Death would one day meet you. Of course, this was inevitable, but to think that it would have come so soon.
Your third step was your final. Finally, the bullet's target was found. It lodged itself snugly in your upper calf, ripping through muscle and tendon, completely eviscerating the lower half of your leg. A strange sort of yelp, like an injured dog left your lips. Your body turned parallel to the mud, half falling, half diving into the sticky muck. The rough impact caused your neck to snap down, snagging your upper lip on a root, and many more dug into your skin roughly. The taste of blood was strong, but the pain was almost numb compared your shredded leg, which now felt like it had been caught in a meat grinder. You didn't need to look to tell that you were losing blood. There were little droplets of blood spattered along fallen leaves, mixing into the brown sludge. The warm, sticky liquid could be felt leaking down your leg.
Wheezing, trying to lift yourself up, your body was crying itself along the ground. Unwilling any mobility, your blown leg shook involuntarily, muscles trying to constrict despite no longer being connected to each other. The feeling of shock was starting to creep up the rest of your leg, spreading through waves of heated chills. But still, despite the inability to stand, you tried dragging yourself. By now, from the pain, and the exhaustion that you felt growing, your breath sounded more like shrill, desperate wails. Frustration and despair ebbing with every exhale. The tears couldn't be restrained any longer. Letting out a sob, your head pressed against your outstretched arm, fingers clawing against the mud, filling the underside of your nails with mud.
Footsteps quickly approached.
A string of blood infested saliva hung from your lips, stretching thickly to the ground. The man towered over you, the lantern hanging from his hand, a poorly-taken care of rifle supported by his shoulder.
"Thought we'd let a pretty little bird like you get away, did'ya?" Your wheezing suddenly broke. Familiarity. The Irishman set the lantern down, letting the light bleed into the proximate area. "Let's see what good of a catch you are."
A gloved hand, reeking of gun oil and tobacco, snatched your cheeks, squeezing your face, forcibly making your lips pucker. He raised your head sharply upwards, causing you to grimace in discomfort. Clearly, despite the tears and sweat that clouded your eyes, Sean's face was unmistakable. But despite the pain, and the misery, you glared defiantly.
"Are my eyes deceiving me...?" For a rare moment in his life, Sean sounded faint, equally shocked at the possibility at such a reunion. But, it was brief, for after a moment of quiet, he began chuckling to himself. "Been awhile, hasn't it, Sweets? Thought'd we'd see the last of each other after what happened. I almost can't believe this."
Choosing to remain silent, Sean hummed and allowed your face to fall.
"Can't say I haven't missed you, though. Can't say I'm the only one either..." His voice changed again, seeming a bit more dull, as though the thought of your absence all these years held genuine weight. "Oh, I'm forgettin' my manners... A lot's changed, y'know."
"Sean, please listen to me..." He circled around you, kicked back the ends of the dress that covered your leg.
"Agh! I really did a number, didn't I? " Sean knelt, gently grasping the lower half of your leg, turning it from one side to the other to discern the damage he'd dealt. "Sorry 'bout that there. But, well, uh, I guess thank god it wasn't some poor innocent girl, right?"
"Sean, I need your help." It was pathetic, begging to someone who was once a friend. Someone who knew many secrets, and shared even more. He stood up, circling back around to face you. The other two grunts finally caught up, though neither spoke up.
"Oh, do you now? Here, I wanna see your face all proper." He smiled to himself, rustling through his coat pockets before presenting a small handkerchief that was partly matted with dried sweat. He offered it to you, and hesitantly, you accepted. "Well, I don't know. Seems like you were just fine with leaving all us so suddenly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say's you might just be trying to appeal to my soft side. But not you, right?"
"This isn't funny, Sean." Using the rag to clean your mouth and face. "I don't want to be any part of this."
"So, we ought to just leave you here then, that's your solution? Poor little thing bleeding out? Hand me another rag, pal." After being given a small rolled bandage by one of the other men, Sean dropped to the ground next to you, and began to lowly unwind the roll. "That just don't sit right with me. You can't even stand at this point. But that's not really what's so concerning. You caused a bit of a mess behind you. Don't you want to see the rest of the group? One last 'fare-thee-well'?"
He wasn't being genuine, it should have been clear from the start that trying to barter with him would be a waste of time. The last few words dug especially deep, almost as though he was finding your helplessness a tad too funny. You fell silent, opting to guess how this would go. Sean said a few words, none of which you really listened to, until he picked the lantern back up, conclusively.
"Tie her up. I'm off to get tha' Big Boy." They complied, Sean flashed a wide smile. When they finished their binds, Sean flashed another look that screamed with excitement, "Don't run off now, we're all in for a real treat."
Bitterly, you waited for his return, expecting perhaps Dutch to be in tow. However, when the light of the lantern pierced through the tree line once more, it was evident that Dutch was not the man returning with Sean. Another figure sat broadly on a black shire.
You thought you'd seen a ghost.
Perhaps you had.
The one tiring you couldn't bury, the sole reason that you tried to leave. Upon you, the sight of an early grave closed in. you felt hollow through your chest, like your soul was trying to leave you then, but both body and soul were trapped, unable to flee from this horrid sight The man you once thought had the prettiest eyes, and such a gentle face.
All of that was gone now. It had been long before either of you had last seen each other. Trees whispered to each other, gossiping with the wind. All wondering what would happen next. Upon his horse, he descended, Adjusting a pair of riding gloves as he did. A dirtied facecloth hung from his face, masking his current emotions from the outside world. Silence lay, as though the forest itself lay uneasy with such solemn presence.
"Leave us."
{The gif provided is actually the Arthur from my own save file}
#arthur morgan#yandere#yandere arthur morgan#rdr2#rdr2 fanfic#yandere rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x reader#yandere x reader#yandere red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan fanfiction
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pillow dilemma | r. d
summary ; Ruben Dias and Y/n, fierce football rivals, grapple with an uncomfortable compromise during a team retreat, leading to a surprising and intimate connection that transcends their competition
masterlist
In the heart of a bustling football stadium, the fiery rivalry between Ruben Dias and Y/n was the talk of the town. Their fierce competition on the pitch was the stuff of legends, captivating fans and pundits alike. Each time they faced off, the intensity of their clashes reached unprecedented heights, as if the very essence of their beings clashed in a monumental struggle for supremacy.
Off the field, their animosity was equally palpable. Their encounters were marked by icy glares, sharp exchanges of words, and an unyielding determination to outdo one another. The media feasted on their bitter rivalry, fueling the fire and ensuring that every match between them became a spectacle not to be missed.
Both players hailed from different football clubs, with Ruben Dias being a defensive stalwart renowned for his uncompromising tackles and exceptional leadership on the field. Y/n, on the other hand, was a dazzling attacking force, blessed with speed and agility that left defenders in her wake. Their contrasting styles only added fuel to the fire, as they battled for supremacy in every aspect of the beautiful game.
Beyond football, Ruben and Y/n moved in separate circles, avoiding any interaction beyond the obligatory formalities during league events. Their lives seemed destined to revolve around the perpetual tug-of-war on the field, with little room for anything else.
As the football season reached its midpoint, both players found themselves facing burnout and waning team morale. It was then that their respective coaches devised a plan to bring their teams closer together—a bonding retreat in a secluded countryside resort.
Reluctantly, Ruben and Y/n found themselves on the same retreat, surrounded by teammates who were blissfully unaware of the underlying tension between the two stars. The resort was picturesque, with lush greenery and serene landscapes, seemingly a world away from the football pitch.
As the sun dipped below the horizon on the second day of the retreat, the teams retired to their respective rooms. To their dismay, Ruben and Y/n discovered that, due to an administrative oversight, their room was equipped with only one pillow.
On the first day of the retreat, the teams participated in various team-building activities, intended to foster camaraderie and unity. Despite their competitive natures, Ruben and Y/n's coaches hoped that the activities would help break down the barriers between the two rivals.
In the past, this trivial matter might have been resolved without fuss, but given their longstanding feud, neither was willing to back down. They stood at opposite ends of the room, their arms crossed, and stubbornness etched on their faces.
"I can't sleep without a pillow," they declared in unison, their voices dripping with irritation.
The room was tense, and the air seemed to crackle with the animosity between Ruben and Y/n. They stood at opposite ends, their arms crossed, each unwilling to back down.
"This is ridiculous! How can they mess up the room arrangement like this?"
"They probably did it on purpose just to see us squirm"
"Well, I'm not giving in to you, Ruben. I need a pillow to sleep properly."
"And I'm not giving you the whole pillow. We'll have to find another solution."
"Like what? Sleep on the floor?"
"No, but maybe there's an extra pillow in the closet or something"
"You really think they would have an extra pillow hidden away in a tiny closet?"
"I don't know, but it's worth a look."
"Fine, go check, but I doubt you'll find anything." Ruben marched over to the closet and began rummaging through the limited contents. He pulled out a couple of blankets and a towel but no sign of another pillow.
"No luck. They really did mess up."
"I told you so."
After several minutes of fruitless arguing, Y/n finally broke the deadlock. "Fine, let's split the pillow then. I'll take one half, and you can have the other."
Ruben was equally unwilling to give in but realized that any other solution would mean conceding to the other's comfort. Reluctantly, he agreed, and they prepared the bed, each taking half of the pillow.
As they lay down to sleep, their heads were merely inches apart. They were closer than they had ever been, and the proximity felt strange yet strangely comforting.
"Is this okay?" Ruben asks.
"Yeah, it's fine."
In the dim light of the room, their eyes briefly met, and for a moment, the rivalry seemed to fade into the background.
"We're still rivals, you know."
"I haven't forgotten." Y/n smile.
As the night wore on, exhaustion slowly overcame their animosity, and their guards started to lower. In this gentle intimacy, the walls between them began to crumble. Y/n turned to face Ruben, her face just inches away from his. The dim light filtering through the curtains highlighted her features, making her look surprisingly beautiful. Ruben couldn't help but notice her soft lips and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle.
Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she saw Ruben's handsome face up close. Despite their rivalry, she couldn't deny the attraction she felt for him. The tension in the room shifted, and they found themselves drawn to each other like magnets.
Without a word, Ruben's hand found its way to Y/n's cheek, and she leaned into his touch, their lips meeting in a tender and unexpected kiss. In that moment, the world around them faded away, and they were left with nothing but the electricity of their newfound connection.
The night was filled with whispered confessions, tender touches, and a newfound intimacy that neither of them had expected. The rivalry that had consumed them for so long seemed insignificant compared to the sparks that ignited between them that night.
*****
As the season progressed, Ruben and Y/n's performances on the field seemed to be influenced by their newfound connection. Their rivalry remained intact, but it transformed into a spirited contest marked by mutual respect and admiration.
The media, eager to unearth any drama, caught wind of the subtle changes in their behavior. Speculation ran wild, and whispers of a secret romance circulated throughout the football community. Yet, despite the pressure, Ruben and Y/n kept their love shielded from the spotlight, choosing to explore this uncharted territory on their terms.
#ruben dias#ruben dias x reader#ruben dias x y/n#ruben dias x you#ruben dias fanfic#ruben dias imagine#football imagine#footballer imagines#football x reader
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Kassandra x Fem!Reader - Bulletproof .001
Summary: A series of bureaucratic catastrophes left you, the daughter of two oligarchs, a prime target for attack. With the threat of assassination imminent, the need for a strong security detail was critical. And the woman hired to oversee your personal safety was – well, easy on the eyes, to start, but nothing short of a lethal enigma.
Without her, you’d be six feet under. [mature]
Warnings: gun-violence
Word count: 3712
AO3 link here.
Return to Bulletproof masterlist here.
Minors, men and ageless blogs DNI. You will be blocked immediately upon interaction.
Quite honestly, if anybody other than the chief of police had introduced Kassandra to you as your new head bodyguard, you would have laughed. She had no air of sternness about her. Nothing about her screamed ‘I will give life and limb to protect you’; she greeted you with a lopsided smile, leaning against a doorframe, unfolding her arms to wave at you with two fingers.
Physically, however, you had no difficulty believing that she was a security hire. The Greek was exceedingly tall, her sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, corded forearms, leaving little to the imagination about the rest of her build, especially with her suspenders straining against the broadness of her shoulders. With her flawless olive skin, you might have believed she was a model for an athletics wear company who stumbled into the wrong job, if it wasn’t for the revolver holstered to her belt.
Sceptical, you offered her a smile and your gratitude for her service, knowing full well that there was a sizeable target on your back. She simply shook her head and laughed, “No need to thank me. The pay is a-ma-zing.”
From that encounter alone, you knew immediately that Kassandra was going to be nothing like anyone previously employed within your security detail. Initially, you had mixed emotions about such a realisation. While her casualness made her breathable to be around – which was welcomed, given how much time you’d be spending in close proximity to her – you couldn’t help but fret over how well she’d perform if someone was to make an attempt on your life.
Hopefully, of course, that would never happen.
After a few days under her protection, your queries about her professionalism were swiftly resolved. Kassandra was anything but lackadaisical, despite her laid-back manner of conversation with you. She didn’t see the merit in formality, reasoning that it would only make things uncomfortable with the amount of time you spend together. You warmed to her very quickly, for two reasons: her amicability, and her lack of concrete rules to your protection. Listen to her when she tells you there’s a threat, and don’t look inside her briefcase.
Naturally, the latter request warranted some curiosity from you. But she justified it with the fact that she kept an automatic firearm stowed inside at the very top, and she wouldn’t want you handling it to get to the files underneath. Reasonable enough, you thought, although her words sparked an interest in the contents of those files.
When she wasn’t contacting security organisations between your public appearances and meetings, she spent her time chatting to you as though you were a close friend, or working out, using the heaviest objects she could source in your temporary accommodations as weights, and fuck, if that wasn’t a sight. Oh, and offering you flirtatious remarks. Luckily for her, you couldn’t hope to resist that kind of attention from a woman matching her description. For your comfort, though, she never escalated things to a level that placed any pressure on you.
Asides from a couple of impromptu relocations, for three months, Kassandra never had to take an active role in your protection. That is, if one was to exclude the nights where she mysteriously excused herself from your company, never elaborating as to why beyond “it’s a security matter.” After the first few instances, this became the norm. You stopped giving your role as her principal much thought, except for that burning curiosity pertaining to the files in her briefcase.
Said curiosity was somewhat satiated one night. A sleep-disturbed night, for a reason you couldn’t quite place, holed-up in a safehouse. Kassandra had left on one of her security matters an hour before you retired to bed. But when you groggily trudged to the kitchenette to pour a glass of water, you noticed a folder spread out on the counter.
Quizzically, you inched towards the compilation of documents, observing a red sharpie left uncapped on top of the paper. A series of greyscale photographs of faces were messily stuck to the two-page spread on display, all of which had a name scrawled underneath them in biro, some accompanied by arrows and notes hastily scribbled in Greek.
Most interestingly, each portrait was annotated with a mark in bold red ink. Some had a large cross over them – you recognised a few as oligarchs whose deaths had been somewhat recently announced via the news – whereas others were marked with ‘INCARCERATED’. Two had a question mark by the corner. One had a series of numbers, separated by periods. “An IP address…?” you mused under your breath.
Frowning, you flicked through the folder, finding pages upon pages of the same contents but with different faces. The dreadful notion that all these people had it out for you made a lump form in your throat, one that was exceptionally difficult to swallow.
You flinched away from the folder when you heard the titanium door to the safehouse click open, followed by a resounding beep, signifying an authorised entrance. Eight smaller beeps sounded as the relocking code was punched in, followed by a sigh you recognised as Kassandra’s.
Rolling her shoulders, your bodyguard strolled into the kitchenette, pausing in her tracks when she saw you standing there. “Maláka,” she cursed softly.
Fumbling over your words, you rushed to form an apology. “I’m sorry, Kass. I know it’s none of my business—”
She simply smiled at you. In an instant, that guilt melted away.
“Of course it’s your business,” she shook her head. “You have a right to know about my sources, and the people who want you, well…”
“Dead,” you finished, having to steady yourself at the admission.
“Yeah,” she grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck. Taking a careful breath, Kassandra continued, “I only kept this from you because of how many people there are. I didn’t want you panicking.”
You forced a small laugh. “Probably easier to keep me in one piece if I’m calm, right?”
She gave you a sympathetic glance. “You,” she pointed at you, “are perfectly safe, okay?”
Nodding, you picked up your glass and twisted the faucet, focusing on the trickling of cold water to try to quell the newfound nausea you were feeling. “I trust you,” you said instinctively, just loud enough for Kassandra to hear over the tap.
Turning the faucet off, you spun on your heel to face your protector, taking a small sip. “Have a good night, Kass,” you bade, headed off to bed, despite being almost certain that you wouldn’t get a wink of sleep with this new knowledge of just how many people wanted you killed.
Thankfully for her, in your sleep-deprived state, you failed to notice the splatter of crimson decorating the sleeve of her shirt. Nor did you distinguish the sound of the sharpie being dragged in two lines across the portrait annotated with the IP address.
The two of you had a silent, mutual agreement to try to reinstate normalcy after that incident. The banter resumed full-swing, which served as a pleasant distraction from the paranoia clouding your judgement. Kassandra received the all-clear to escort you out of the safehouse after a few excruciating days, just in time to transport you cross-country to an important meeting.
Part of you found the usual extravagance of being welcomed into a fancy hotel ahead of your meetings exhausting. Another part found the high-society ordeal rather enjoyable.
At the present, though, with so many metaphorical rangefinders aimed at your forehead, extravagance was out of the question. You were covertly ushered into a room in a dingy single-story motel that Kassandra checked out, urged to keep your silhouette hidden from view as she swept the place and drew the curtains shut.
Ignoring the automatic rifle your protector left on the vanity for ease of retrieval, nothing seemed extraordinary within the cramped motel room. Two cup noodle pots sat empty on one night stand, your small suitcase unzipped and open on the other. Kassandra sat, resting her elbows on her knees, thoughtfully on the vanity chair, staring at the conundrum before her.
In each hand, you held a dress, having just posed the question of what to wear to your business meeting tomorrow.
“Well?”
“This is hardly my area of expertise.”
“You don’t need to be Anna Wintour to help me here,” you smiled, rolling your eyes light-heartedly. “Does the red one come across as a bit…much?” A car’s headlight illuminated the room from behind the curtains; with rehearsed ease, you stepped into the shadows of the room.
“A bit much as in ‘ooh-la-la’, or…actually, I don’t know what else you could mean,” she shrugged, leaning back into the chair, glancing at the window, eyes lingering until the lights shut off.
Eyes widening, you gave the garment a tenth once-over. “So your first thought was ‘ooh-la-la’?” Pouting, your gaze zeroed in on the bust. “I didn’t think the cleavage was dramatic.”
“The cleavage? I was talking about the skirt.”
“Oh, god, really? Is it that distracting?”
Kassandra grinned slyly. “I would be very distracted.”
Fighting off the warmth settling into your cheeks, you giggled at her implication. “Okay, the yellow it is, then.” Alas, your smile faltered as soon as a realisation dawned upon you. “Shit, wait, this was a gift from a rival brand. I can’t wear this.”
She feigned a dramatic gasp. “Scandalous,” she tutted, making you snort. “What a shame. I guess you have no choice but to wear that lovely red—”
A shriek pierced the night air from down the corridor.
Ice flooded your veins. You froze, mouth running dry. “Kassandra—”
Kassandra stood up immediately, her face void of any prior trace of amusement. Her expression hardened, her posture straightened. Without hesitation, she moved to the side of the bed, bending down and hooking her fingers under the frame. “Put your vest on and stay low,” she ordered. Authoritative. Methodical.
Unable to even blink, you remained deathly still.
Sternly, she repeated herself, eyes dark with lethal focus, “Vest. Now.”
A tremor set into your hands as the gravity of the situation began to dawn. Nodding, you shakily reached for the bulletproof vest in your suitcase, fumbling as you pulled it over your head while lowering yourself to the floor. Grunting, Kassandra quickly repositioned the bed, tugging the frame until it occupied the diagonal between the door and the window.
Sets of footsteps thudded through the hall. The violent rapping of fists against doors grew louder as the aggressors neared the room you resided in.
She dropped to her knees, reaching for the rifle on the dresser. “Is it on?”
Your fingers struggled to secure the velcro straps in your anxiety, the borderline arrhythmic hammering of your heart against your ribcage all but deafening. The fabric slipped from your fingertips every time you pinched it between them.
Steeled with concentration, she pulled you behind the bed. Momentarily, she let go of her gun, forcing your heart into your stomach. Deftly, she worked at the last couple of straps on the vest, unflinching when the car headlights filled the room with bright light once again. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered. Hearing the weakness in your voice only heightened your fear.
The Kassandra you were acquainted with would have offered you a few words of reassurance at the meagre apology.
This wasn’t her.
“Keep your back to the mattress and tuck your head into your body,” she instructed, resecuring her grip on her rifle. You wordlessly followed her order, making yourself as small as possible. “Don’t move until I tell you to. Don’t make a sound.”
A gunshot echoed from the room next door. You cried out in fear, quickly muffled by her hand. She didn’t move to shush you, nor did she remark about the teardrop colliding with the side of her palm.
When she removed her palm, she withdrew her phone from her pocket, punching in a few numbers, keeping her tawny eyes glued to the door. She dropped it the second she hit ‘dial’, army-crawling with the gun until she reached the vanity table, firmly out of your sight.
The world felt cold. Eerily cold. Cold, quiet, cold, cold—
Glass shattered as a tumultuous round of bullets soared through the window, effortlessly penetrating the mattress in an ear-splitting sweep. Lead speared itself into the wall in front of you, either side of your trembling, curled form. You clutched your head, forcing it further into your body as some of the bullets thumped against the Kevlar of your vest, dull pain bursting at across your back at the points of impact. You sobbed, obscured by the sound of open fire, too paralysed by fear to flinch.
Bile had reached the hollow of your throat by the time the bullets stopped. You didn’t know if Kassandra was hurt. You couldn’t tell if you were hurt. Teeth clamped down on your tongue until it bled to fight off the instinct to scream for her.
Petrified, you remained perfectly still.
The door swung open.
Two men’s voices muttered something unintelligible. You heard footsteps cross the boundary into the room.
Shattering the silence, a second round of lead ripped through the air, this time fired from within the motel. A shorter round. More precise. The moment it ceased, you could hear the sound of corpses crumpling to the floor.
You couldn’t, shit, you couldn’t fucking breathe. Not with a man’s silhouette peeking through the holes in the curtains, the murky shadow projecting itself partially onto the wall in front of you.
One-Mississippi.
Two-Mississippi.
Three-Mississippi.
Four-Mississippi.
Five-Mississi-
A short burst fired through the destroyed window from inside the room, the thunderous sound ricocheting from the vanity.
Kassandra.
The disjointed shade on the wall dissolved into blanket light.
You couldn’t have counted the next few seconds if your life depended on it. Time slowed, then rapidly sped up, then froze altogether when you heard the quiet call of your name through the nauseating fog in your brain.
“Are you hurt?” came the soft voice of your bodyguard.
You cried when your mouth wouldn’t open out of terror.
There was a panicked edge to her tone when she repeated the question.
Please, please, fucking talk.
Finally, some sound escaped the tightness of your throat. “I-I don’t know,” you stuttered weakly, mouse-quiet. But that was enough for Kassandra, even if she didn’t vocally acknowledge it.
Sand poured endlessly from the world’s hourglass, forming a dune large enough to host a desert before the sound of a helicopter sliced through the night. The chopping of the blades drew closer and closer to the motel. From a distance above, a loudspeaker boomed, “All clear.”
Faintly, over the roaring blades, you heard Kassandra shuffle out from under the vanity. Her shadow loomed over the mattress as she made her way to your side.
Leaning down, she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, her other hand still maintaining a vice-like grip on her rifle. “Stand up for me, angel,” she whispered, a familiar warmth now present in the syllables.
At first, you couldn’t shift from your position, the petrification having yet to wear off. But after a few murmurs of “you’re okay” spilling from her lips in a mantra, you uncurled yourself and found your footing.
Kassandra shepherded you over to the window frame, helping you through the jagged pane, ensuring you didn’t slice yourself on the broken glass. Following suit, she eased you onto the lower rungs of the airborne ladder, shielding you with her body from the air whipping at you. She held on with one hand herself, sweeping her sights for any lingering traces of your assailants as the ladder gradually ascended.
Two pairs of old hands helped pull you into the body of the helicopter. You blinked up, vaguely registering the face of the police chief through your shock. He ushered your trembling self towards a bench while his uniformed associate placed headphones on your ears, drowning out the blades with a painful ringing as Kassandra joined you inside.
Slowly, your hearing returned to you, albeit substantially muffled and coupled with a shrill tinnitus. The helicopter’s hatch closed, and after a short while, the headphones were lifted from your ears.
A paramedic approached you with a first aid kit, moving to kneel by your side, only to wind up face-to-face with the barrel of a rifle.
“Kassandra, what the fuck are you doing?” hissed the chief.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” she spat, unrelenting. You had never heard her with utter anything with such venom before.
“Stand down.”
She forcibly positioned herself between your body and the chief’s. “No. Someone fucking tipped us off. I’m not trusting anyone, and that includes you.” Heart still pounding erratically, you hugged your knees, wincing at the sting in your back as you closed in on yourself.
“Christ, Kass, be reasonable here.”
She laughed bitterly, “Oh, I’m being unreasonable, am I?” The chief reached forward, and the direction of her aim shifted towards him. “One task force knew where she would be staying and what vehicle would transport her. You have a fucking mole, Jameson!” she snapped, thrusting the weapon forward until the barrel was flush against his chest.
The chief – Jameson – retained his composure. Hell, you were more disturbed by her performance than the person with a firearm digging into his ribcage. “And you have enemies. Lots of them, in case you forgot that you’re a hitwoman.” Your heart stopped. What? Before you were able to process the statement, he continued, “You may have been the target, not—”
“Bullshit, those were Verduci’s thugs. I recognised the watches. Family sigils on the straps, same blue-dyed Italian leather. I’ve been tracking that cunt for weeks. Trust me, she wants her dead.”
He sighed irritably, but nodded nonetheless. In the brief silence that followed, you mulled over the sinister elephant in the room.
Hitwoman?
In your post-traumatic state, the idea seemed initially implausible. Kassandra was a bodyguard. She was a kind woman, who diligently worked to secure your safety. As alarming as this…this violent side of her was, she operated on the defence, not the offence. She fired reactively, not proactively. At least, from what you saw of her.
Out of your sight, though, there may have been a different story. As your pulse settled into a rhythm once again, the puzzle pieces began to weave themselves together. The disappearances into the night. The folder; the name she gave, the one beginning with ‘V’ – that was familiar to you, having popped up a few times underneath various photographs. The red crosses. The IP addresses.
Kassandra was disposing of your assassins before they even had a chance to load their guns.
That terrified little part of your brain screamed for you to cower from her, but you were fortunately able to rationalise it into disappearing. Whatever her job description entailed had just saved your life, and she showed no signs of betraying that commitment.
Jameson’s was the first voice to cut through the uncomfortable quiet. He took a step back from you, flattening his palms in the air. The rifle remained poised in his direction. “I’ll contact central intel when we get to the hospital about your suspicions,” he breathed out. Pensively, he rubbed his chin, before turning to you. “She won’t let the medics near you, so I’ll ask now, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“I think I’m just bruised up,” you declined, forcing a small smile.
He nodded. His head tilted towards Kassandra, no longer fazed by the gun. “She’s in deeper shit than we thought.”
“I can take her off-grid,” Kassandra suggested, exhaling through her nose. Finally, she handed over the rifle. “Get me clearance to relocate her overseas. I can’t trust anyone in special forces with the location.”
Your tongue darted out to moisten your lips as you glance up at her. “Why would you need additional clearance?” you asked shakily.
She softened slightly, morphing back into the Kassandra you were better acquainted with. “I won’t be taking you anywhere traceable,” she explained. “And your parents can’t know about where you’re hiding. Nobody can. Without clearance, this would be an abduction. Especially since I’m outsourcing the pilot.”
“You’re what, sorry?” Jameson blinked.
Anxiously, you scratched at your wrist. Kassandra leaned against the curved shell of the helicopter. “You have a mole. I can count my contacts on one hand, and I trust Barnabas explicitly.” She challenged him, sighing, “Look, you can get me clearance, or it’s going down as an abduction. Her safety is paramount – I couldn’t give a shit about what the bureaucrats think.”
“Alright, alright. Do what you need to do. Just keep her in one piece,” he relented, throwing his hands up in defeat, making for the cockpit with his associate. The paramedic had long since left your side, leaving the two of you as alone as you could get.
Kassandra took a seat next to you on the bench, gingerly rubbing your upper back. “How are you feeling?”
Shrugging, you relaxed into the warmth of her palm. “Disoriented, I guess. Still processing what happen–ow—” you winced as she accidentally put pressure on a tender part of your spine. She swore, immediately retracting her hand, apologising. Smiling, you waved it off. “I’ll be fine, though. You seem to have a plan in mind.”
“My plans aren’t exactly orthodox,” she admitted, pulling a face. “But this is the safest option for you. We’ll get you somewhere off the map – somewhere warm. See it as a hopefully uneventful vacation.” Her hand found purchase on your shoulder.
“And if it becomes eventful?” you frowned.
Kassandra squeezed you reassuringly. “Then all you’ll need to do is what I tell you to, just like you did tonight. I won’t leave your side. You’ll be sick of me by the end of the week.” A laugh escaped you, slightly hoarse, but genuine all the same. “You will be. I’m insufferable,” she grinned.
Without realising, you leaned into her half-embrace, comforted by the weight of her hand and the notion of her remaining firmly at your side. Truly at ease, with the whistling of bullets miles in the past, you spoke in earnest.
“I find that very hard to believe.”
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lysa wanted to marry sansa and robert arryn, does that debunk the ashford theory?
I haven't read the Hedge Knight so this isn't my thing, anon, but Martin has talked about how much he knows regarding the as yet to be written story, and it is a lot. Not only do we know of certain mysteries he's unraveling across the series (R+L=J), he's spoken about how he likes to have things readers will catch on rereads, so it makes sense to me that Martin knew Sansa had been betrothed to to Joffrey, would be marrying Tyrion, that he also knew her endgame romance, and that while writing the novella, he created a little nod to it. Aligning it completely doesn't need to be the goal, anymore than we would expect a carbon copy of pre canon events replaying in canon in any other scenario, but we certainly see the echos and references of pre canon in canon, and I have to think that's the case here.
Also, Sansa is about to be present at a tourney in TWOW, she's talking about her favor, there's this whole pre canon thing about a Stark girl and Targ at a tourney, so it doesn't feel weird to think maybe Sansa was on Martin's mind. And of course, in canon, Sansa is the maiden fair which is interesting when the Ashford girl is referred to as fair maid, and this idea of a revolving door of champions is very reminiscent of Sansa's unfortunate experiences thus far, with men who help her, fail her/hurt her, and then on to the next (the Hound, Tyrion, Dontos, LF...).
A potential match with Sweetrobin doesn't feel like an obstacle to everything that does make this feel like a thing, especially when, it is not merely the matching names that connect the two, it's the details that create all sorts of parallels with Jon, making him seem like the canon Targ this will ultimately be about. Let's revisit that revolving door of "champions" for Sansa, who is the guy who killed her monster in canon? 🤔 butterflies-dragons wrote a lengthy meta in 2021 about all of the Jon hints, and I find there's too much pointing to it all as quite intentional, even with a missing Robin.
Since I've been digging around in old posts and saw a bit of the evolution on this theory, I'll just point out, a lot of people were happy to consider this foreshadwoing for Sansa and Aegon, but the "Sansa is going North" fans rejected that, and it's funny that when people started to consider that her likely path, the theory had to be abandoned when, there's a Targ in the North too.
I'll go ahead and link to a several more posts I saw about it, in case anyone is interested. 2017 post (show verse), possible reference to it in GoT, and a 2018 meta that also considers Jon.
These two 2015 gifsets use the Ashford theory for the Sansa x Aegon pairing (1, 2), these two use Jon or Aegon (2016, 2018), and here's a Jonsa one.
There's also a Jonsa fic inspired by the theory, originally posted in 2016.
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how much is the bid for your heart?
Summary:
“How about a bet Hiori?” Isagi looked at him with a gleam in his eyes that sent his nerves skyrocketing inside of him.
“About what exactly?” Hiori arched a brow at him and masked the havoc that the other was wreaking inside his heart.
“Whoever wins this practice match gets to be the other’s slave for a week.” Isagi replied with a crooked grin on his lips.
“Are ya really sure ya wanna do this Isagi-kun?” Hiori asked with a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
“I wouldn’t suggest it if I’m not.” He retorted.
“Then prepare yourself to be my slave for a week because I can see yer defeat miles away from here.” Hiori shot back with a cheerful yet ruthless smile on his face.
Or Hiori and Isagi played with fire until one of them gets burned.
Characters: Isagi Y., Hiori Y., Reo M., Chigiri H., Tokimitsu A., Kurona R., Nagi S.
Chapter 1: the bittersweet taste of success and defeat
(A/N: Spoilers ahead. This was inspired by the latest chapter of the manga which is chapter 240 so read it at your own risk. Some dialogues and scenes are excerpts from the latest chapter hence the spoiler tags. Lastly, I don’t own anything from this franchise except for this fic of mine. Respective ownership belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura for this wonderful manga.)
“Now the top 23. Remember, the top 23 players will be selected to represent Japan in the U-20 World Cup.” The static voice of the announcer resonated across the field and the large screen glowed back to life with the updated list of the rankings of the players and their latest offers.
“Ah... I’m in...” Tokimitsu looked relieved and happy at the same time as he read his name being on the 23rd spot.
“Oh. Mini up, up.” Kurona commented with his usual expression on his face.
Raichi pumped his fists into midair as a wild grin appeared on his face. “18 mil baby!”
His aquamarine irises scanned over the list on the screen curiously until he saw his name on the 18th spot.
“20 mil, huh? Guess that’s good for now.” Hiori remarked to himself.
He wasn’t disappointed with his latest ranking as objectively speaking it was his first match and he only got subbed in during the latter part of the game.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to idly sit by the sidelines and accept it passively.
He was done with that phase in his life.
Now that he got a taste of what it felt like to play and win in his own terms courtesy of his awakened ego, he needed to make sure that he will be chosen again for the next line up and possibly one of the players for the U-20 World Cup in the future as well.
If he wanted to pursue his own goal of producing the best striker in the world, then he needed to play his own brand of soccer independently from the expectations of other people such as his parents.
However, his eyes strayed towards Isagi’s direction who seemed to be watching the screen intently as the announcer moved onto the announcement of the top 10 players and their latest offers.
While it was true that he wouldn’t be playing tag-team any longer for the blue-eyed striker himself and fulfill the other’s selfish demands in the future matches, he also found out that he wouldn’t mind playing alongside with Isagi himself on his own terms.
Before he could even stop himself, his own heart did a weird cartwheel inside his chest at the mere thought of being partner of Isagi again on the field and recreating that goal again that sent an electrifying sensation on his veins and a morbid satisfaction of watching the opponents’ crestfallen faces as they shattered their hopes and dreams with that final, conclusive goal itself.
He took a deep breath and tried to clear his head of these unwarranted thoughts within himself.
He doesn’t need to get excited and revolve his thoughts around Isagi this soon lest he might end up like Ness who was skittering like a damn, lost puppy excitedly over his master who wouldn’t even look his way and treat him with some respect.
He didn’t need to bend himself any longer and accommodate the others’ selfish demands and expectations around him.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t stop the way his brows spoke in volumes or how his lips twitched slightly upwards at seeing the vibrant yet dissatisfied look on Isagi’s face as the name of Itoshi Rin flashed across the screen and hit them with the reality that he was the top 1 in the ranking and offer of the club.
‘Huh. I wonder what you’re really made of Isagi-kun?’ His mind wandered idly on the ace player himself that continued to occupy his thoughts that day.
“C’mon Kunigami. Stop tagging along with me.” Chigiri commented with a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he watched the screen display the current top 10 players after the match. An air of satisfaction swirled around him as he found out that his value increased, and his rank is now tied up with Kunigami himself.
His training with the team finally paid off and he was seeing the fruit of his labors when he scored another goal again for their team even if he was up against Rin and the PxG themselves.
“Why is our value lower than last time?”
He heard Reo’s surprised voice and Chigiri snapped his attention towards him who wore a look of incredulity and indignation.
“Well, it can’t be helped, we were trash today.” Nagi replied in a monotone voice. It was difficult to decipher the lazy genius’ emotions sometimes but since Chigiri has been his teammate for quite some time now, he could tell from the lackluster look on his gray eyes on how he wasn’t surprised yet still disappointed with the outcome itself.
“We need goals to increase our value. Switch gears, Nagi. We're gonna get wild in the next game.” Reo replied grimly.
“Yeah.” Was all Nagi could say as his eyes remained fixed on the latest tally of their offers.
Chigiri turned away with a small sigh leaving his lips as he started to walk outside the field.
There was no room for celebration tonight for their team.
Two losses in a row?
Chigiri didn’t want to delude himself on the small victory that he made for the team. Even if he was the sole scorer for their team today, it didn’t change the fact that they got smoked by Rin and PxG made them taste their own defeat for the second time.
It didn’t bode well with him.
The only way to rise again from the ashes was for them to win the next match and there’s no other acceptable answer for that.
Nevertheless, the image of Reo’s face earlier continued to flit across his mind like a broken record inside his head.
That look was reminiscent of his surprise and defeat when they lost against Isagi’s team during the second selection of the program back then.
He had seen Reo’s improvements, and his amazing skill of Chameleon displayed more than once during their matches.
But a niggling feeling continued to scratch at the back of his head.
For a charming and confident guy like Reo, he was surprisingly insecure and had a fragile ego that he’d seen in the past. He possessed a defeatist attitude when the plan didn’t go his way especially when Nagi wasn’t around by his side to play.
However, Chigiri had believed that the lavender-haired boy had overcome this already because he’d seen his improvements so far.
But was it enough?
He should be happy that Reo and Nagi were somewhat... in good terms now... and they’re playing with each other in the same team.
But was it even effective?
Even their duo wasn’t enough to stop a monster like Rin on the field itself.
And he was worried...
…
He was worried about Reo overthinking things again and couldn’t move past it.
‘Fuck. Stop thinking like that damn it.’ Chigiri berated himself harshly as he slammed the door of his locker with a bit of force and went inside the shower area.
For now, he needed to clear his head and take a rest even though a small part of himself continued to dance around the thought of Reo earlier.
(A/N: The latest chapter of the manga inspired me enough to create this multi-chaptered fic with two of my favorite ships in the fandom. There's never enough love and angst for them so I’m here to deliver a multi-chaptered Hiosagi and Chigireo fic for this fandom. Reviews and kudos are much appreciated.)
#blue lock#fanfiction#spoilers#blue lock spoilers#hiosagi#chigireo#angst#pining#drama#eventual smut#alternate universe#canon divergence#isagi yoichi#hiori yo#reo mikage#hyoma chigiri#nagi seishiro#kurona ranze#tokimitsu aoshi#raichi jingo
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hey icon! revolver era george harrison (non famous au) record store meet cute? legit make up the rest, i wanna see what you do with it!!! needing some georgie content aaaaa
YES especially today is literally ab George :(( but yes we need light hearted content ab bby
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Era: 1966
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You decided to stop by the record store because you wanted to buy a new album that was realized by the band, “The Who” they were your absolute favorite band and you had to see if your local record store had any vinyls, once you walked in, you saw the cashier standing in front, of course, you usually would just not bat an eye and mind your own, but this was different, this man, whoever he was, was very, very handsome to say the least. He himself was looking at a vinyl, it looked to be Bob Dylan’s, “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” which was another album you loved, you saw that no one else was in the store at the moment, so you just decided to walk up to him, which obviously made him look up at you.
“Oh, sorry miss, can I help you?” He asked, you blushed crimson red as he looked into your eyes, you were so mesmerized by his slightly messy dark brown hair and his dark brown eyes to match.
“Oh uh, actually, no. I liked the album you were looking at.” You said, pointing at the album he had still clutched in his hand.
“Really? Yeah, I love Bob Dylan, he’s such a creative genius, I think. Very good inspiration for aspiring musicians.” He boasted, his eyes slightly lighting up that you had something in common with him.
“Me too! That’s actually my favorite of his, and some of his other work.” You said, this then turned into a long conversation about the types of music you two liked, and some talk of wanting to be musicians yourselves.
“Hey, uh, if ya don’t mind me saying, you’re actually quite attractive.” He confessed, red slightly painting his cheeks. Your heart felt as if it had skipped a beat as you processed what he said.
“R-really? Well, I mean, I do too, well, you’re attractive too, I mean. Would you wanna go like, get some coffee?” Your throat went dry as you waited for his response, you just hoped it wasn’t too soon.
“Of course, love, here.” He said as he picked up a sticky note and wrote down his number and handed it to you.
“Call me anytime, I’m free on Saturday.”
_
STOP THIS WAS SHORT BUT THIS WAS SO CUTE TO ME HSHHDHDH IM SORRY BUT I HOPE IT WAS CUTE
#classic rock#classic rock imagines#george harrison#john lennon#paul mccartney#ringo starr#the beatles#john lennon x reader#the beatles x reader#60s
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📱 october & jill
[Message Unsent] I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you're my daughter and I'm sorry I'm your dad. You deserved a dad who was there, who came to your birthdays and christmas and taught you how to ride bikes and took you to amusement parks.
[Message Unsent] You didn't deserve a dad like me. I should have been there. I should have loved you. When I was the only thing on your christmas list I should have left that tour and showed up at a house in the middle of Wyoming with a stupid fucking bow on my head and told Jack I was sorry for the intrusion.
[Message Unsent] I should have loved you. I should have loved you and I didn't and I'm so sorry. We're as good to each other as strangers and I look at you and I see myself and I see Jack and I see someone who deserved more than either of us could have possibly given.
[Message Unsent] Even writing the word sets my chest on fire in a way I can hardly stand. I should be shouting it from the rooftops until there's no question about it no matter how much it kills me. I should have made it clear. I should have been there for you and your brothers.
[Message Unsent] I don't want to hurt you now that you're here. I see a baby in an incubator and a three year old metalcore screaming on the coffee table because she wants to be just like me. I love you so much. I should have been man enough to do something about that 22 years ago.
[Text: Tyke Tyson] Hey if you want milk for movie night you should pick up a carton, the one in my fridge is old because I don't eat and the only other person I hang out with can't handle the spicy cow juice.
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Okay, so here's the thing
A headcanon of mine is that Emmet has brown eyes.
Why?
Emmet is described throughout the first movie as extremely generic, and because of this he was continuously demeaned and insulted because of his 'generic' nature. He was so generic and hard to distinguish from the crowd to the point that even Lord Businesses systems had trouble finding him because of his generic features. Now, this could be easily translated to him having brown eyes, as that is a very 'generic' eye color.
I think that after he finds the Piece of Resistance, and gets his visions, he starts to develop a more reddish tinge to his eyes, as a small side effect of the magic, and being able to see into the realm of the man upstairs.
Now other than this, I also happen to headcanon Rex having green eyes, like a bright green that's similar to the color of the R on his vest.
I want that to be his actual eye color, not him using contacts, no no no. and you may think 'Oh well Emmet has brown eyes, how would Rex have green??'
HAHAHAAH
I have ideas
Uh, I have seen some art in which people draw Emmet with green eyes, and while that would be a cool thing to relate him with Rex, I think that it really would not work for the 'generic' appearance that revolves around him for the first movie.
But yeah, my headcanon is that the change in his eye color was half intentional, half unintentional.
I think that with all of the time travel he's been doing, and the new exposure to master breaking, these things did affect him physically, but edging more on the unintentional side.
Like, you're bending space and time, you're bound to change a little bit.
For the intentional part, I'm still not entirely sure how he would go about doing it, but I think he would do it purely as a way to further set himself apart from his past self. Maybe using weird science and all to do it.
Actually, there's this one post that I think matches pretty well with what I'm going for
https://www.tumblr.com/shaampoo/719196392185315328/screw-it-im-headcannoning-that-emmet-had-reddish
I think that the idea of red and green being complementary colors, with the red representing Emmets naivety to some things in the world (The red being him looking at the world with rose-tinted glasses), and Rex (The green being completely opposite to red) being hyperaware of the things that happen around him, and thinking the worst of things first compared to Emmet.
I mean this headcanon mostly started out as a design choice, and then it turned it this.
Might add more later I dunno
#rex dangervest#emmet brickowski#the lego movie#the lego movie 2#Does this answer thy question#:)#was planning on posting this eventually#uh#the technicalities more or less came after the#'green eyes cool' part#just me tryin to organize my thoughts over here#it began as a design choice#and it turned into this#take the content#saffi's rambles#saffi's headcanons#lego movie#lego movie 2#lego movie au
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Day 7: Of Amores, Per the Prophecy @arcvmonth
My favorite pairing is Fruitshipping by far. Initially, I wasn't too into it. Yuya and Yuzu had plenty of cute moments in season one that showed off their friendship and hinted at some romantic feelings between them, most noticeably their cute moment after Yuya gives Yuzu Polymerization back and when Yuzu's second round victory made Yuya smile, but I didn't become a fan of the pairing until season two. Yuya openly crying when he thought that Yuzu had been carded just broke my heart. He always wears his heart on his sleeve, but he would try to hide his tears with his goggles, even when he was a little kid. Not even attempting to hide back his tears just showed how losing Yuzu hit him hard. He already had been through a few really difficult days at that point, but Yuya clearly can't handle losing people well after his father disappeared. Just seeing Yuya go through such a raw emotional breakdown and attempting to punch Reiji after blaming him for what happened just made me love the pairing instantly.
I think it also helped that their friendship and connection never felt one-sided to me. Yuzu's entire world didn't revolve around Yuya. Their relationship was always important, but it didn't mean that she couldn't have other important relationships either. They were supporting each other throughout the series. It wasn't just Yuya reaching out to save Yuzu. She would reach out to him through her first match in the Friendship Cup or when she made that speech during the riots near the end of the Synchro arc. Even during the last stretch of the series, Yuya wanted to save Yuzu and Reira after they had saved him. While having a love confession during the finale would have been nice and appealed to my inner hopeless romantic, I don't think it was necessary. Whether people saw their relationship as romantic or platonic, they clearly loved each other. Both Yuya and Yuzu had gone through so much throughout the series to find each other again, so it was clear that there was love between them. Reading their relationship as platonic isn't worse than romantic or vice versa, which gives the pairing a kind of universal appeal in a way.
I also like Appleshipping. While it is primarily through flashbacks, it's still enough to give the audience a good insight into Yugo and Rin's relationship. Even Yugo's gag with mistaking both Yuzu and Serena as Rin can be taken as as sign for just how much he cares about her. Yugo always looked so excited at the idea of Rin suddenly appearing and he was over the moon when he kept seeing Rin while dueling Serena. It’s just really cute and sweet pairing. Much like Yuya, I don't think Yugo realized how much he cared about Rin until she was gone. Their reunion at Academia was emotional and I'd like to think that right up until the creepy smile, that was really Rin talking and crying to Yugo. Their duel was also pretty emotional and shocking. Now I actually do like the ending as a whole and don't read their ending as depressing or tragic either. They are permanent fusions with their respective counterparts, but they still exist and are reunited through Yuya and Yuzu.
I also really like Genesisshipping. While it seems unlikely that Zarc and Ray knew each other in the Original World, I just like the idea of what if they had been able to form a connection. Zarc's downfall obviously had to happen since without it, we wouldn't have a story or any of the characters. Not just the counterparts, but none of the different characters throughout the four Dimensions would have existed either. But the idea that Ray's friendship could have helped Zarc is just appealing. Almost all of the Bracelet Girls were able to develop strong connections to their respective Dragon Boy, which always made me think that Zarc and Ray could have become friends if they had been able to meet prior to Zarc's downfall. It would have helped Zarc to have a connection, but I think it would have been able to help Ray as well. Seemingly no one else besides Zarc and Ray could understand monsters' feelings in the Original World, so having someone else who knew what that was like could have been helpful to both of them.
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RWDE and the Very Nonsensical, Half-Assed, Deeply-Telling "Poll"~
So something that's popped up in the RWDE crowd was a poll for the "Worst RWBY Choices". At first glance, you can tell this is a trainwreck because of how they've formatted the "tournament" itself:
As you see, you arbitrarily have certain entries that get a head-start without winning lower tiers, random numbers of match-ups...I feel like any rational person would say, "You can't do a tournament layout with 26 options" but RWDE are not rational people. (But as you'll see, the majority of these are RWDE scraping desperately for any excuse to hate anything from the show.)
Now, what are these "options" for what this RWDE blog sees as the worst writing choices in RWBY? To summarize in advance, they're very telling of the way RWDE looks at not only stories that do anything they don't like, but stories that dare to have women be heroes or have women love each other or anything like that.
A. Jaune. Just Jaune.
The RWDE hate for Jaune is almost confusing, given the way RWDE blogs desperately want white men to be the real heroes of the story. But then you recognize that the white/light-skinned men they stan for all possess toxic-masculinity qualities, whereas Jaune's character development is about him growing out of said qualities. In short, Jaune is a rejection of the kind of character they want RWBY to actually be about.
That, and he's voiced by one of the writers (at the request of the creator they claim to respect so much) so attacking the character lets them feel like they're being personally abusive to the writer himself.
B. The rushed nature of Weiss's racism redemption arc.
This is probably the closest I've ever seen RWDE get to proper "criticism", but even then, I can understand the writers wanting to get past the early "Weiss is a jerk" characterization that a lot of the early plot threads revolved around.
C. Demonization of the Faunus rights' movement. (This includes everything about the White Fang.)
Oh, here comes the "big" one.
RWBY's stance is that fighting for equality is a good thing, with that fight for equality being supported by its protagonists and continued by many members of what was once the White Fang. Its only objection is the use of extremist and terrorist tactics that the White Fang adopted—and even then, those who genuinely believe in the cause are portrayed as sympathetic and respected by other characters.
The only character "demonized" are those who do not believe in the White Fang's cause, most prominently Adam Taurus—a man who murdered senselessly, happily threw away his soldiers' lives, took part in a terrorist attack at the behest of human villains, attempted to murder respected Faunus leaders, and attempted to murder dozens of Faunus out of spite for his plans at Haven being foiled.
The reason why RWDE is unable to dissociate the story's portrayal of Adam with that of the White Fang is because they wanted Adam, a white man, to be the real hero of the storyline. Because he is a white man. To the point that they erase, minimize, or lie about the women of colour whom he takes advantage of or even murders.
So tl;dr, the Faunus rights' movement is always treated as a good thing, the White Fang are questioned for their extremism but acknowledged as fighting for a good cause, and Adam Taurus is the only fucko the story "demonizes". Which RWDE fuckos demonize, because they wanted a white guy to be the hero of a story about racism.
D. Killing Pyrrha.
This is the first of what I'll call "zero-argument complaints", in that the poll gives zero rationale as to why the writing choice it's complaining about was a bad writing choice.
The reason, of course, being that RWDE cannot make that argument. It is entirely about complaining about the story being anything except what these people wanted it to be. So let's start a count for that:
Zero-Argument Complaints: 1
E. Only mentioning Pyrrha's death in regard to Jaune's grief.
This is completely false, as Ruby is shown to have been affected by Pyrrha's death, and in fact has the first reaction to Pyrrha's death, that being the awakening of her Silver Eyes.
In fact, the image the poll uses is that of Jaune training to Pyrrha's video, a scene that is preceded by Ruby being woken up by nightmares about Pyrrha...thus literally invalidating their own "complaint" in an instant.
F. Lack of Ilia after Vol. 5.
RWDE often complains about "cast bloat", which in reality is about how minor characters exist in the story and the story doesn't bring back the same handful of characters in every setting.
Even ignoring their idiocy on minor characters, this isn't even true. Ilia appears at the start of Volume 6, and during the transmission in Volume 8—in fact, her scene shows her receiving a call from Ghira, implying future significance for her.
G. Cinder/Neo villain pair.
Zero-Argument Complaints: 2
H. Salem's backstory.
Zero-Argument Complaints: 3
I. Using Oscar punching bag.
RWDE is bizarrely indignant about Oscar suffering physical harm in an action show, despite the fact that a major theme of his character is how he's dragged into this conflict without a choice, in contrast to the protagonists and their allies.
But really, it's about treating it as so terrible and unfair to have a male character harmed in any way.
J. Making jokes about Yang's disability/prosthetic.
Humour is a coping mechanism for many, and when humour is made regarding Yang's prosthesis, she is almost always the initiator of that humour, the one making the jokes—and the jokes are never at her expense. It's her way of lightening a situation—and coming to acceptance with what happened to her.
This "complaint" belies both a lack of empathy for people with disabilities who partake in similar humour...and let's be frank, RWDE solely wants Yang to angst about her disability, for the edgy.
K. Not addressing Adam's "SDC" scar.
The show very much addressed it, in a way that perfectly summarized Adam's character. He was someone who had been victimized, and could have fought against those who hurt him and his people...but instead, he used his scar in an attempt to gaslight Blake. He cared more about hurting those who had hurt him than Faunus rights.
L. RWBY & Co.'s fight with Cordovin.
Zero-Argument Complaint: 4
M. Weiss's lack of relevancy after Vol.5(ish).
Weiss plays a significant part in the Atlas arc, reconnecting with her family and exposing her father's criminality. She also understands Ruby's grief more in Volume 9, due to her own sorrow over the fall of Atlas. So Weiss maintains clear relevancy.
N. Blake losing personality, autonomy, & motivation after Vol.6.
Yeah, let's not mince words on what this is really about. It's about RWDE being pissed off over her relationship with Yang following the end of Volume 6 that they don't see anything to her character except for that, and thus claim that's all that exists to her character.
O. Decline of Ruby and Yang's sister relationship.
Ruby and Yang continue to show their sisterly relationship in various ways, whether it be Ruby encouraging Yang when Yang believed she was dead or Yang stepping in to be big-sister during Ruby's outburst. This is purely about trying to vilify Yang for, again, having a relationship with Blake—not to mention the idea of treating a woman as obligated to be her little sister's caretaker, a misogynistic attitude towards both Ruby and Yang.
P. Forgetting about the Faunus rights' movement after Vol. 6.
Largely yes, because the White Fang storyline was concluded with the end of Volume 5. Faunus rights are still touched upon during the Atlas arc, due to discrimination from the Atlas elite. So no, it isn't forgotten about at all.
Q. Lack of Sun after Vol. 5 & erasing his relationship development with Blake.
And to no one's surprise, "woman not belonging to man" and "man not being main character" show up on the list.
And needless to say, their relationship received development—it just wasn't "Blake gives herself to a man who doesn't respect her wishes", so RWDE thinks she's a bitch for that.
R. Ironwood's villain turn. (And all the ableism along the way!)
Ah yes, the time RWDE decided a military authoritarian was entitled to leave all of the poor and disadvantaged people of his kingdom to die and that four women were horrible people for not enabling him or obeying his every action, and trying to use disability as a shield for his actions (thus blatantly dehumanizing disabled people themselves).
Also, for all their insistence of "ableism", many RWDE blogs genuinely believe that a disabled woman should have had her disability aids taken away or shut off to punish her for disobeying a man. Really.
S. Queercoding Qrow & Clover's relationship before killing Clover.
Qrow and Clover were never implied or stated to have romantic feelings in any way. None of their interactions were romantic in any way. Yet RWDE insists there was totes queerbait going on, despite insisting Blake and Yang openly flirting and embracing meant nothing. (And yes, Bumbleby is claimed as "queerbait" on this list later on.)
T. Penny "becoming a real girl" at the end of Vol. 8.
Zero-Argument Complaint: 5
U. Penny's second death in the Vol. 8 finale.
Zero-Argument Complaint: 6
V. Jaune coming to the Ever After alongside RWBY & Neo.
Zero-Argument Complaint: 7
W. The existence & execution Ever After
Zero-Argument Complaint: 8 (and yes, it is really worded like that in the initial list)
X. Queerbaiting Bumbleby from Volumes 6 to 9 only to make it canon in a very awkward part of the story.
So...it wasn't queerbait, then?
And of course, this is about indignance at two women being allowed to have a canon romance between themselves. Not to mention, the Bumbleby kiss served as significant plot levity, during a time when Ruby's arc continued to darken. We all knew the light at the end of the tunnel was there; the kiss served as a shining beacon midway-through.
Y. Ruby's suicide attempt being framed as a necessary step in her growth in Vol. 9.
Not whatsoever; in fact, the story makes clear that having attempted suicide did not help Ruby whatsoever. She's still hurting and burdened during her time with the Blacksmith, and it is the Blacksmith's support and encouragement—akin to therapy—that serves as the actual catalyst to Ruby's recovery.
Z. Ruby, instead of properly acknowledging her mistakes and changing, learning to “be herself” post-ascension.
And of course, we conclude with a RWDE blog being pissed off that our heroines aren't being vilified for abandoning thousands of people to die because a man wanted to, and blaming everything that happens on them and them alone.
And that's all of the entries on the RWDE poll-tournament. Most are just bitching about anything they can, others are just blatantly being pissed off at women and queer people, and others are indignation at men not being the only people who matter. Y'know, like your average RWDE post anyway.
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☆ Arthur Morgan ☆ - I gave you all
Pt. 2
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
“E v e r y t h i n g, i n t i m e--
a l w a y s d y i n g, n e v e r d e a d”
“Leave us," Arthur removed the sweat-stained rag, allowing it to hang from his neck. The vision of a once angelic face, now burdened with sun-aged skin was revealed. As Sean passed him by, he grabbed his arm. He whispered a slew of words, too faint to understand.
"What do you plan on doing?" Arthur only released his grip, and began to unfasten the buttons of his gloves. "Come on, Arthur. I at least deserve to know what you're gonna do with her."
"Just resolving unfinished business," From his coat pocket, he retrieved a cigarette and a lone match. He struck the head against his belt, and you watched the fire illuminate his face.
His eyes had finally gone cold. The little body of fire reflected in his hollowed eyes, surrounding the orange glow with a halo of lurid blue. Hands idly lighting the cigarette and shielding the flame from wind, he stared into you with that sickening gaze.
Sean obeyed without contest. He waited, staring off into the tree line as his men retreated. You watched the Irishman's shadows slowly disappear. And then, just two remained in the forest. The woods, you realized, would be your only witness to what would happen now.
He dragged a long breath from his chest. Embers burned along the end of the cigarette, illuminating his face dimly in the stark night air. He thought for a moment, taking his eyes off of you, until, after taking another drag of his cigarette, he snickered at some strange thought. You always hated when he smoked.
"Not how you expected your night to go, is it, Junebug?" Eventually, once ridden down to a nub, he finished his smoke and crushed it underneath his boots. Once the embers had died and gone dim, his attention shot to you again.
You couldn't say it didn't hurt. Seeing him now, the lack of warmth in his eyes, a sight you still missed despite having such a soiled history.
"Shit, I almost feel bad for you," His ungloved hand reached out, first to run through loose strands of hair that hung over your face. There was something strange about his touch. It was something you'd heard once, that the body can only remember another person's touch for about a year before it forgets the feeling. But this man, it was like the way he felt would remain seared in your mind for lifetimes beyond your own. He was strangely gentle as he cleared away your face. Uncertain and profoundly confused, you did nothing in the moment to stop him, though you couldn't understand his motives.
One hand drifted to your chin, lifting your head just enough to be constraining. You found yourself struggling to calm your breath. Years of distress began to resurface, bubbling in your chest and causing a meek display of terror-induced tears that ran down your face in quick and silent, hot streams. There was some quiet sort of rage, the rekindling of some deep buried emotions that were beginning to resurface in his eyes. The softness of his touch was spoiled by the violence that was written in his gaze.
Nothing could nave truly been worse than this. not only to be at your knees in front of this man, but being so helpless to the sense of grief that consumed you now. How weak you must have looked now, how strange for such a creature as you. A murderer, and thief, and now, in this man's eyes, a traitor. But it was helplessness that left you sniveling at the feet of your enemy.
"But seeing you like this, well..." He dropped your head, his actions vacant of all the gentility that was used just moments before. Another laugh left him, this time pointed directly at you. "It'd be sad if it weren't so fitting."
Nothing was more unnerving than what ideas might be concocting in his head. What would he do, then?
Arthur decidedly pulled out a white, pearl-lined revolver. You knew it well. It had been a gift, after all. And it seemed fitting. That something given should be the same to take. He stared at it for a while. The weapon must have been something of a sentimental token once. Perhaps, it still was. After all, he’s kept it all these years.
"Sometimes, I get to thinking, nights when I can't sleep and nobody's around to hear my thoughts..." He counted bullets within the gun's wheel, then rolled it back into place. His thumb rested on the gun's hammer, but he waited, allowing the sight to settle in your mind. "About seeing you again, some day. A few months after, when your absence was still fresh in everyone's mind, I almost thought about going out to find you myself. For… a long while, nothing seemed better to me than the idea of putting a bullet right here."
Lightly, the barrel of the gun pressed itself in the middle of your head. It seemed, that such a violent fantasy still lingered along his fingertips. They twitched with excitement. He held it there, something toying with his mind. He stared placidly. Though his face bore a numb manner, you knew the sadistic visions that played feverishly in his head. His mind was like a rabid dog in a cage. It was like watching the approach of a hurricane through a large glass window, waiting for the illusion of safety to break.
"But, since you’re here now, you know that didn't happen." He raised the revolver away, however it remained held with a stressed hold. "But things just work like that, I guess. Makes all those years of hiding and running pointless, doesn't it?"
"And now, you're here, just wasting my time," He waved the gun in your direction, and he stepped away for a moment. His voice was shaken, tense, filled with a rage he must have been suppressing for years, waiting for the day that it could finally be let out. He spoke his next words lowly, in a gruff, sort of apathetic tone. "What do you think will happen now?"
"I suppose you'll kill me." The fear for your life was instinctual. Really, you should have died long ago. You, for longer than you'd known, resembled something more of a walking corpse. Something that thought, by lying to itself about what it was, could convince itself it was something else.
"What I do doesn't really make a difference anymore, does it?" He was right. The growing concern of blood loss was leaving you vulnerable. It was apparent now that if you were left untreated for more than a few hours, the possibilities would narrow to one singular decision. "Now, I could just wait. Let time will finish the job for me."
"Why didn't you?" He sat against a nearby trunk and removed his hat. His hair was deeply disheveled, matted to his head from a day's worth of sweat. It was just as easily rejuvenated when he ran a hand through it a few times, revealing thick layers of hair. The gun was set to the ground beside his thigh.
"How do you mean?"
"You could have found me easily. So, why not?" A small, patient smile graced his lips.
"I don't know, Junebug." Hearing that name, though it hurt the first time, hurt worse the second. Knowing how sentimental it had been once, and then hearing it now. Such a stark contrast. "I just kept thinking karma might deal with you on my behalf. Or, maybe a little speck of something thought that maybe I'd see you again. Not like this, but-- well, doesn't matter now, anyways."
"So, what are you waiting on now?"
Sitting there, his eyes never left you. His expression never changed; his grimace remained steady. It was almost as though he hadn’t heard you, but you knew he was thinking.
"A reason, maybe.”
“For why I left?” You. The answer was obvious, but he seemed inept to it.
He opted to remain silent, staring expectantly at you. Of course.
With eyes idly looking downward to the side, your mind lulled to memories you had not wished to relive. A grimace of a dull ire echoed behind your gaze, and haunted your visage.
It was clear he was opting to buy himself more time, a longer chance to consider what he would do now. Perhaps, in his mind, he imagined that he was being merciful. To him, this was your chance to convince him not to kill you.
And if you had any of the slightest intentions to survive this night, you would have to play along.
#arthur morgan#yandere#yandere arthur morgan#rdr2#rdr2 fanfic#yandere rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x reader#yandere x reader#yandere red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan fanfiction
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Mayhaps... would it be possible for me to get a Papa match-up?
I am a 5'4 agender dude, I kinda dress like a bunch of alternative subcultures we're chewed up then spit out. I have light brown hair that's kinda a bowl cut if I don't style it at all. I've got a bit of a dad bod and I'm currently studying mortuary science in hopes to open my own mortuary one day (who knows). I've been interested in death and the macabre since I was a toddler and thats kind of become my main personality trait.
I play electric bass and the drums in my spare time. I also cook, crochet, collect rare items (comics, action figures, etc.) I love basically any music from the 1920s to 2000s (with the exclusion of R&B, hip hop, and country. Nothing against them just not for me).
[I'm really not sure what to put I've never done this before😭]
Your match is…Secondo
Secondo is also fascinated by the macabre and death. Every now and then he'll find fun days out for you to do that revolve around these subjects.
He's more than happy to help you study. However, sometimes he gets carried away. He'll bring large, leather bound books back from the library and drop them on the table in front of you.
"Extra reading for you." He'll say seriously. "No one else will have access to these texts. They will teach you the ancient ways. Things that have been handed down from Papa to Papa, Cardinal to Cardinal and so on…” Some of these books include bringing people back from the dead, how to use magic to embalm and contacting those on the other side.
He gets you work experience at the clergies mortuary, that is an interesting assignment to say the least.
You learn the Ghouls who work there have quite a unique approach.
He'll happily help you set up your own mortuary. He'll give you whatever funds and advice you need.
He loves your varied taste in music, he'll let you pick out whatever you want from his record collection. As he settles on the sofa with a glass of wine.
He is even more happy when you join him, he’ll put his arm around you, and the smile on his face, no one else ever gets to see that.
You tried teaching him to crochet, it didn't go so well. "I am not so old that I cannot learn a new skill." Secondo had said as he held his hand out for the crochet hooks and yarn.
You both had fun as you tried to teach him, even when Secondo chucked the stuff across the room and huffed. You started laughing first, telling him it was fine he doesn't have to learn. You apprecaite him at least trying it. Secondo is now more than content to read his book while you crochet.
If you feel like playing bass or drums he'll often get some Ghouls round to fill in the other instruments and he'll sing. It doesn't matter whether you all get it right or not. He's happy enjoying the beats you come up with as he loses himself to the music.
~
This post is a part of Match-up Event. The Event ended on July 15th.
Written by Nyx
#match up event#match up#edward-lygma-ballz#ghost band#ghost bc#ghost band x reader#ghost bc x reader#ghost x reader#papa emeritus ii#papa emeritus ii x reader#secondo emeritus#secondo#secondo x reader
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