#when the fact is that it's something i have no control over

[lowgothree]

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ━━ ❛ 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ❜

chapter no. 001!          

𝗈𝗈𝗈.               ⠀CONTENT : paige “with” another girl (for the plot). reader is so terribly down bad. also, i don’t proofread so if you see typos or grammar mistakes i’m sorry. and this chapter is kinda boring but it's necessary soo.

𝗈𝗈𝗈. ⠀      WORD COUNT : 1.5k

𝗈𝗈𝗈.   ⠀AUTHORS NOTE : yall seemed to like the prologue so i hope yall like this too!!

THEY’RE KISSING. and she’s enjoying it, by the looks of it. you can tell because she’s doing that thing where she pulls the other person closer like they could never be close enough. the thing she used to do to you. 

it’s almost comical that the first time you see paige again, she’s kissing some other girl with eyes like yours outside the diner where you and the girls were. she thinks she’s being sneaky (she’s not). she always thought she was sneaky, you remember that much. in fact, you somehow remember everything about the blonde except what her lips tasted like. so of course you’re a little jealous, feeling a bit out of the loop. that’s normal. right? and maybe definitely it’s stupid to mourn so deeply over a relationship that you ended but, whatever, you can’t help that you miss her.

there was nothing human about the feeling, it was more like a typhoon or a volcanic eruption, something so completely out of your control. it was purely sickening…but whenever you see the peroxide-blonde with someone new, you  find yourself apprehensively scanning their hair, their skin, the words that they would say –– always finding a hint of yourself within them. the delusional part of you wanted that to mean she still wanted you, but logic said that maybe she just started having a type. but then you’d think back to before…the paige before you never had a specific type. but since you? there’s an unmistakable one. but that’s not enough proof that she still feels for you. in fact, it’s nothing. it’s hard not to see yourself when you’re actively looking for it. you’d keep up with the torture by staring at paige kissing that girl through the window but then you feel a sharp kick to your shin from underneath the table. 

“stop staring, perv.” nika mutters, rolling her eyes lightly. although nika was one of the few people who knew about the dead relationship, she didn’t know that your feelings for paige still lingered. she only knew what paige told her, that the two of you were friends.

“i wasn’t ––”

“you were.”

okay –– maybe you were. you sigh silently to yourself, taking a sip of your milkshake. this is the first time you’re actually hanging out with your friends together rather than just one on one (which you only did because you didn’t want to see paige). the two of you agreed to be friends but that was clearly not going to happen. however, you felt bad for denying your friends every time they asked to spend time with you. so, you sucked up your pride. you could spend an hour in paige’s presence, it wouldn’t kill you. at least not literally.

angel, a redhead who shares a dorm with nika and a major with you, is sitting in between azzi and you. she’s eyeing you carefully, after all, the two of you are very close and she knows why you and paige broke up. she also knows that you still care about her. her gaze is simultaneously suffocating and protective.

“...are you okay?” she whispers only loud enough for you to hear. you simply nod, munching on your fries trying not to look out of the window again. in truth, your head was spinning. you haven’t seen paige face to face since the breakup. you were hoping you’d never have to again…

then she finally enters, walking up to the booth. every step she takes is just as confident as they always are. her hair is down, running across the length of her back. her eyes meet yours, they’re more familiar than your own name. her beauty is still unquestionable –– but you wouldn’t admit it. it would make looking away from her even more difficult. so instead you pretend not to look as she sits down at the booth right next to nika…right in front of you. she pokes nika’s side just to piss her off  before snatching a fry from angel’s plate and dipping it in her own milkshake. angel rolls her eyes but says nothing.

“that’s disgusting.” nika turns up her nose as paige bites it. 

“don’t knock it till you try it.” paige dramatically licks her fingers. nika makes a fist, gently hitting the table a few times with her knuckles. you chuckle at nika’s attitude.

“what are you giggling about? you used to like it too.” paige mutters, smiling lightly but her words send a pang to your chest. nobody else seems to catch the bitterness in her tone….but you do. her eyes look almost guilty when she sees the sharp intake of breath you take. but before she could say anything else, you look away. you avoid her eye contact like it’s deadly.

nika clears her throat, eventually sensing the tension, and turns her attention to azzi whose eyes are close and head is rested against the booth. “you okay?”

“mhm…just really tired.” she mutters, opening her eyes to sip her lemonade. 

you chuckle. “i bet you are, we stayed up all last night studying.”

“finals?” angel questions.

“yeah…” azzi mumbles.

“can we please not talk about that right now?” paige groans.

“says you, scholar athlete.” azzi mutters, rolling her eyes at the blonde.

“she’s too busy with that girl to focus on studying these days.” nika chuckles. angel looks over at you for a quick moment but you keep your gaze steady on your plate.

you nearly jump out of your skin trying to relax your tensing shoulders before someone notices. you ended things with her…she couldn’t even call you her girlfriend. so why did it hurt so much to even hear of someone else in your place? this wasn’t exactly the plan, you were meant to move on by now. but seeing her…again…all you can wonder is what she’s thinking about right now.

“who? cleo?” paige snorts. “we’re not talking about that either.”

cleo. cleo. the girl who just had her tongue down paige’s throat no less than ten minutes ago. you feel sick to your stomach at the mention but you hide it well, then you feel sicker when you think about how pathetic it is that you even felt this way to begin with. it’s just another indignity among many.

“why not?” nika mutters. “it’s more interesting than talking about studying.”

“true.” azzi adds.

paige looks over at you, her way of saying that she’s not going to talk about another girl in front of you. “where’s aubrey?” 

you appreciate the conversation shift even if you know it’s in vain. they want to know about this mystery girl and honestly, so do you.

“late.” nika mutters.

“i ordered her food for her.” angel smiles softly. 

“and she’s gonna wanna talk about the girl too.” azzi chuckles. angel’s leg shakes underneath the table, she’s clearly empathetic for you. she knows the girls don’t mean to hurt you but she also knows that it is hurting you. you wanted to relax her, make her feel less guilty for not saying anything even if she wasn’t participating in the conversation.

so you chuckle lightly, pretending to be completely fine and say, “can you please be still?”

“can you please be still?” you sigh softly, braiding her hair in its signature style. paige is sitting in front of you on the bed with her legs crossed. she has a game later, and she asked you to braid her hair for her. 

“you’re pretty.” paige mumbles as you finish up her first braid, still squirming at your touch. 

for a second you almost forget yourself, paige being damn near sickeningly sweet. she seems to notice how her words have temporarily struck you, pride swelling within her since she loves making you happy. 

you shrug it off and remember that her back is facing you, so you chuckle at her commenting on your appearance. “you can’t even see me.”

“i don’t have to. i’m thinking about how your face looks right now.” she turns back to look at you over her shoulder. “pretty.”

you bite back a smile, turning her head back so you can braid the other side. “you’re corny, you know that?”

“i’m enamored.”

“oh, someone learned a new word.” you snort, continuing braiding her hair, being as gentle as you can with her. (though it gets increasingly difficult when she won’t stop moving).

“shut up.” she mutters. “i’m super smart.”

you finish braiding her hair, tapping her side to let her know that you’re done and she can go look. she stands up from the bed, long legs taking her to the dresser which has a mirror over it, she eyes her braids carefully. “they’re a little crooked, babe.”

you roll your eyes. “cause you wouldn’t stop mo––”

she turns back your way, walking back to you. paige towers over you while you sit on the bed, she puts a hand under your chin and kisses you. “i’m joking. they’re perfect. thank you, baby.”

“anything for you…” you whisper back and your words make her smile. it’s wide and toothy –– the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

#anything but you ✹ꯣ #paige bueckers x reader

[emeraldborealis]

Grotesque

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FEM!reader

TW//CW: DARK FIC, stalking, vibes of somnophilia ish, sexual harassment, nonconsensual touching, threats, mention of cannibalism but no cannibalism, threatened necrophilia, a creep calls reader a whore, murder, graphic depictions of gore, blood, shock induced mania, talk of human taxidermy, no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

Words: 4,641

A/N: Now you may be wondering, Emerald, what the actual hell is this? Well, I wanted to know if I could still write dark fics. And I thought it was time to remind everyone this started as a horror writing blog.

STOP! Have you heeded the warnings on this fic?

People say something special happens when you fall in love, that suddenly everything else doesn't matter. That there's a warmth and gentleness that grows inside of you towards the other person.

But not for Ghost.

Ghost doesn't deal in warm gentleness. Simon did, but Simon is dead and buried in Mexico.

When Ghost saw you he did feel something sudden, an urge to keep everyone else away from you, an urge to protect, an urge to keep and shepherd. 

So he did.

From a distance he kept his eye on you, watched you go through your days, completely unsuspecting. Or so he thought.

You knew he was there, you knew from day one. Knowing he was there was more of a comfort than a fear, so when the sound of your front door opening in the middle of the night came to your ears you were more than content to pretend you were still asleep.

Keeping your breathing even and deep, keeping your expression neutral, letting nothing tip him off to the fact you were awake was a skill you learned in your youth, one you needed to survive the house you grew up in.

You were lonely, and you were alright with him taking advantage of that. You wanted him in your life because there was nothing else in your life. A phantom, a ghost willing to watch over you. Something that stayed in the dark, content with silent control.

His footsteps were light coming down the hall, almost silent, if you weren't listening for him you wouldn't have heard him. You wondered how many times he'd come and you hadn't woken up.

Hearing him pause in the hallway you imagined him looking at your photos, committing them all to memory, each one of their locations and if they were perfectly level or not. You knew he'd take in every detail before moving on, he just seemed like the type.

Your door used to make noise when it opened, but a month back it suddenly stopped. A reminder of his silent presence ever lingering, you often wondered if he'd fixed other things for the convenience of his watching, of his sneaking.

Nothing was allowed to jeopardize his stalking, nothing was allowed to tip you off to his presence. Nothing was allowed to give you evidence to stop him.

Listening, you heard him move silently through your room, coming to stand beside your bed, your acting was imperceivable, especially when you weren't looking for it.

You didn't react when the soft feeling of a gloved hand trailed over your face, the glove was rough, but he used it gently, kept his touch featherlight, barely even there.

His hand went from your face down your exposed arm, feeling the lovely skin of your appendage sticking out of the blankets for the sake of regulating your body temperature. The feeling nearly made gooseflesh blossom on your skin, nearly made you shudder. Do sleeping people shudder? Looking into that could be good for future visits from your stalker.

You felt his figure lean over you, breathing you in like a bad habit, when he was satisfied he moved from your side of the bed to the other side. Gently, he laid himself down, stiff as a board laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. You were familiar with this routine by now.

He laid like a corpse, his hands clasped together over his chest. He never did more than this, never touched, never hurt. He just laid beside you for a few hours before leaving just as silently as he came, always making sure to whisper 'sweet dreams' to you before leaving hours before your alarm for work would blare into your room.

Every once and a while you would dare to put your arm over him, sometimes he moved your arm gently off of him, sometimes he let it stay.

Sometimes he watches you sleep, either facing you in bed or sitting in your desk chair.

You wished you understood him, understood why he does the things he does. Wish you understood why he didn't do certain things.

He really was a ghost, your Ghost. A mystery you weren't sure you'd ever figure out.

Rolling onto your back you flopped your arm on him, not holding him, just touching him, testing him. He didn't remove your arm this night, he let it stay, resting right above where his hands were.

You had no clue what he looked like, not really. The few times you dared a peak he was wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. But you'd grown familiar with how he breathed, the rise and fall of his large chest. That was what mattered to you, not his face. Not who he was under the skull.

Feeling him beside you didn't feel wrong, it didn't feel nauseating or dangerous. He had the capability to do harm, but he'd never left any indication that was his intention. He just seemed interested in watching you live your life. Why? You didn't know.

Sometimes you thought about what would happen if he decided to have malicious intent, how far he might go. What he might do. He was a strange man stalking you, and you were letting him. 

You were just asking to be an episode on a true crime podcast, solved or unsolved? What would it be? You suspected unsolved, even if you lived.

If he killed you how would he do it? It was interesting to think about. Would he hack you into pieces? String you apart, pull at your nervous system. Dissect you like a frog. Maybe he'd fillet you, hang you up and eat you. Or perhaps he'd take it slower, break your ankles and watch you starve to death helpless on the floor, he did like to watch you.

If he hurt you, if he touched you, he'd want to watch you as he did it. He'd want to see your face as it contorted into pain.

Really at the end of the day he was a man, no different from any other, you were risking just as much being around him as any other man. At least you believed if he witnessed another man trying to attack you he'd intervene, protect his territory.

His belongings.

Did he see himself as your keeper? Or more like a guard dog? What were his intentions here? Why was he this little shadow in your life? It seemed like he was always there, a force that lingered around you.

Your Ghost, something that was becoming a more common name for him in your mind. It seemed fitting.

To say you weren't attached to him would be a lie, he's grown on you, something consistent, something you could make yourself believe was there to be good for you. You were becoming just as infatuated with him as he seemed to be with you.

You were comfortable falling asleep beside him, letting him stay as long as he wanted before leaving. He always locked the door on his way out, after all, he was the only one allowed to creep into your home.

Shifting in bed you got more comfortable, you needed to let yourself fall back asleep if you wanted to be able to function well at work tomorrow. Your Ghost paid no mind to your shifting, he's watched you sleep in actuality and faking it enough to believe he'll never get caught. Not knowing he already has been.

At some point in the night you vaguely feel the bed shift, faintly hear his deep voice whisper something in your ear, and his soft footsteps as he leaves.

In the morning there was no trace of him, nothing tipping you off to the fact he was ever even there, nothing but your memory.

You dreaded your arrival at work, dreaded seeing him. 

Brian.

A creep in HR, you would have reported him by now but he was who you would file those reports to. You didn't know who else to file a report to, nothing was serious enough for police intervention. 

At least there was no evidence serious enough for police intervention.

Sometimes you hoped your Ghost knew about him, that he was watching your back, though you doubted he watched you at work. Still, the thought of him handling this was not unwelcome. You took a strange comfort in it actually.

Brian was not welcome in your life, he was pushy, touchy, didn't understand boundaries. Something about him gave you the heebie-jeebies, like he was doing all sorts of nefarious things to you in his mind, planning them out, waiting to execute them.

You hated how he watched you, he was doing more than just undressing you with his eyes. Something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he wanted to do more to your skin than just molest it. Do more than possess and sink under your surface.

He looked to covet. Your Ghost looked to encroach and observe.

You liked how your Ghost watched you, like a guard dog willing to be sicked on anyone, to be your defense, to get them off of you, to keep them away from you.

"Come on, doll. When are you going to agree to come over? Let me pour you a drink, I promise I can mix you up something you'll like. Or at least let me drive you home sometime, there's no need to take the train when it's raining. Don't want you catching a cold." Brian cooed to you, walking with you as you made your way to the elevator, he always waited for you.

You'd only step into the elevator with him when it was crowded, otherwise you'd wait, make an excuse and talk to the lady at the front desk until you saw someone you knew would go up to your floor or above.

You refused to be alone with him. Not even for a second.

"I don't drink. And I like the rain." You shot him down, trying to step around him, but his arm caught your waist, stopping you.

"Okay, how about we watch a movie? Play a game?" He gave your waist a squeeze, testing your patience. He was a persistent man who believed he would get what he wanted. You wondered how many times he had. How many girls came before you.

"I'm not interested." Spinning out of his hold you continued walking towards the elevator, a good group of people already waiting.

"Come on, doll. I'll make it worth your time." He trailed after you.

You didn't like the thought that he had access to your address, that he might know where you lived, that all he'd have to do to figure it out is look at your personal records.

"I have a boyfriend. We're serious, he stays the night almost every night. I'm not interested." A small lie, laced with truth, you did have a man who stays the night. Your Ghost. You needed him to know you weren't alone at night.

There was a warning light in your brain that was starting to predict something. Something was coming. How does the quote go? 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.'

Something was coming, something you were not sure how to stop. You were in terrible danger, you could feel it in the way his hands defiled you with their touch. Scorching and burning with how atrocious it was.

"That's alright, I just want to spend time with you. Nothing serious." Everyday he grew more bold. A predator closing in on their prey.

You were not going to be a boiled frog, you knew when this started, and you know the temperature is rising to dangerous peaks.

How many girls has he done this to?

How many.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like that, he's protective." Joining the others waiting on the elevator you watched the floor indicator, nearly holding your breath waiting for it to reach ground level.

"Protective? I'm no danger." Leaning in closer he whispered in your ear, careful now that you were surrounded by people. No witnesses. No one else could hear his persistence, it might one day arise suspicion.

"I like to spend time with him when I'm off work. I'm a busy person." You took a breath as the elevator doors opened, stepping inside with everyone else.

"We'll talk more about this later. I just want to get to know the next employee of the month better." His voice was sickeningly charming, his words derailing your train of thought.

"What?" You hadn't heard anything about that, you weren't even super important in your department. He was baiting you with reward. Setting himself up as innocent, someone who was rooting for you. A devastated work friend when he hears of your inevitable disappearance.

He played this game too well.

How many girls came before?

How many times has he gotten away with this?

"I pulled some strings, got you some well earned recognition. We need to celebrate it." His smile was all teeth, unnatural. It was a threat.

You really couldn't tell anyone about this now, not after he's painted himself as the good guy. Just trying to get employee's recognition. You'd sound like an ungrateful asshole. No one would listen.

No one would listen.

"Today, we will celebrate today." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. 

Whatever he was planning, whatever he was going to do to you, he was going to do it today. Nothing was going to stop him or get in his way. He was coming for you, going for the throat. 

You worked in paranoia and unease, took an early lunch just to avoid any possibility of running into him and completely left the building, went to a very public place for lunch. Didn't even pay attention to what you ordered, not even sure you paid before walking away. You got your food though, so someone paid.

In your panicked state you were struggling to pay any attention to the people around you, only looking for one person in the crowds of people. But he wasn't there. Brian wasn't there. Not that you could see.

Running into someone on your way to the door out of the restaurant you apologize, catching his eyes, they were brown. He was tall, well built. Dirty blonde. He oozed an energy that settled you, like your body knew him. Of course it didn't, you'd never seen this man in your life. There was just something about him.

"No worries, love." You couldn't shake your feeling of deja vu hearing his voice. "Keep your head on straight, no ones goin' to get you."

What an odd thing to say to a stranger.

"Um, thanks." You didn't know what else to say. How else to respond. You stand in front of him a moment more, awkwardly looking at him. There was just something about him you couldn't place. 

Checking the time you turned to walk away, you were going over your thirty minute lunch break. You needed to get back to work. Even if you'd rather have your eyes gouged out than have the possibility to run into Brian ever again. 

You were jumpy the rest of the work day, hypervigilant to everything around you. It wasn't atypical for Brian to interrupt your work, but he didn't come to bother you today. 

You tried to leave work early to avoid him, but he was already waiting for you when you reached the main floor. 

"I missed you at lunch today." There was something sinister in his eyes, something that didn't match his tone of forced pleasantry. "No matter. We'll go to that new pub tonight. We can meet there or I will pick you up." It was a threat, a subtle way to make sure you knew he knew where you lived. That he would come for you if you tried to skip out on him.

You'd rather he come to your house. Maybe your faithful watchdog would step in, maybe he'd help you. Maybe he'd stop him. Protect what's his. 

If not, you'd rather have whatever's going to happen, happen somewhere you know. Somewhere you've once felt safe. You'd rather die surrounded by your memories than wherever he'd take you, somewhere probably cold and unfeeling. 

"Okay." You had nothing else to say, rejection wouldn't work. This wasn't ever going to be a date, this was always going to be an assault. 

You were scared. A cornered animal with no way out. Despite your best efforts the water was starting to boil, and you had let it happen. 

Getting home didn't calm your nerves, it almost made them worse. Waiting for the arrival of the beast, waiting to be devoured, bones and all. 

Is this how the spring lambs feel? Screaming as they go down the line to the slaughter. All just to satisfy a man's hunger. 

Is that all women are good for? Satisfying men's hunger, lust, need for violence. Has it always been this way? Women are fucked and murdered. Will they ask what you were wearing? Blame the victim like they always do. 

Like they always do.

Maybe this would have eventually happened with your Ghost too, maybe this was just how the world works. Maybe men just have that right.

It was inevitable, unpreventable. 

It was late when the knock finally came, the sun long gone. There was nothing, no one who would shine a light on what was about to happen. Only the women with their podcasts will ever wonder what really happened to you. What led to this. 

Making eye contact with your front door only death stared back. Wicked wasn't coming. Wicked was here upon you, waiting for you to open the door for it to come in and take you. 

The knock came again, like the toll of a bell. Ringing through your ears like a sick mantra. There was no way out of this. There was nothing you could do.

Your feet shuffled towards the door, it was like walking down death row. 

The bell tolls for you. 

There was a hope inside of you that you'd open the door to your Ghost, that he's come to save you. That you could let in your stalker rather than your murderer. 

Grasping your doorknob felt like grabbing red hot metal, scorching and branding your skin, the last thing that would probably ever have your full set of fingerprints. 

You wondered if you'd fight, if you'd fight to survive or if you'd let him kill you.

It's a strange feeling, coming face to face with your mortality. 

Slowly you twisted the doorknob, letting the devil in. 

"I knew you'd let me in." The door was pushed open, pushing you back, removing your last barrier. Bringing you face to face with Brian. "A whore like you was probably just waiting for a guy like me to come along. You wanted this. Didn't you? You want me to ravage you, don't you? So needy."

He was clutching his stomach, he was bleeding. He'd been stabbed. 

You couldn't make sense of it. Was it your Ghost? Where was he now? Was he dead? Did he try to stop this? 

Brian reached for you, making you stumble back, out of his grasp. 

"Don't." Your feet wouldn't take you farther, they wouldn't let you run away. They'd take you right where he couldn't reach you, but they wouldn't let you get away. 

Maybe you did want this. Maybe every girl wanted this. Maybe that's why men thought it was okay.

"Come on, don't be like that. I know I kept you waiting but I got held up." He took a step closer, stalking towards you. "You'll look so good with the others."

No.

You didn't want this. You never wanted this. No one ever wanted this. 

This wasn't right.

He didn't have the right.

Your mind was flittering, it was hard to make it work, hard to force yourself to stay present. It's always been hard to make it work in situations like this, it hurts less when you just let yourself get hurt. But you didn't want to be hurt anymore. 

"Don't touch me." You took another step back, he was blocking the front door, but you could get out the back. Maybe someone will help you, maybe your neighbors will let you in.

"Come on, you knew it'd always come to this. I'm taking you home." You should have done more, should have opened the door with a knife. Should have been ready for him.

"No. You're not." Turning you ran, struggling with the backdoor for a moment in your adrenaline and panic, but you got it open. Slipping out you held down a scream, it wouldn't help you right now to lose your mind screaming. You needed to get away.

You didn't get far before he was on you.

Hands pushed you down to the ground, flipping you on your back, his hands found purchase on your neck, pulling you up before bashing you down, knocking the wind out of you. "A pretty doll like you would be better stuffed, skin perfectly preserved and taxidermied. Of course it would be better if I could have killed you without leaving damage, your bastard friend made sure that couldn't be a possibility. He got his, and you'll get yours."

Hands squeezed at your throat, the pressure in your head overwhelming, your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your skull. Maybe that would help with the pressure.

"I'll separate your head from your body, that will take care of these marks. I'll figure something out for the rest of the damage. But don't worry, I'll turn you into a work of art. You'll be the prettiest out of them all." 

Wrestling with your panicking body he slotted himself between your legs to continue to choke you, pressing uncomfortably into you. A promise of what would come once you stopped moving.

You were going to die. He was going to kill you.

You were going to die.

Your hands desperately reached out, searching. Searching for anything that could help you. This couldn't be it, he couldn't do this. You couldn't die.

Finding a large rock you took hold of it with all your might, bashing it against his head, making him fall limp on top of you, blood from his head soaking into your hair, his face partially on yours.

His open mouth wreaked of Benson & Hedges cigarettes and tooth rot, saliva leaking onto your cheek. Pushing with all your might you shoved him off, adrenaline didn't allow for your hand to relax enough to drop your rock, the veins in your arms rising to the surface.

When his face scrunched and his body twitched you could hear a scream. Was that you? You didn't know anymore. Your body moved without prompt, bashing him again. And again, and again.

You hardly flinched as the blood peppered your skin, drops of crimson spraying your face. You bashed to the symphony of bones cracking, it was the only thing you could hear, the only thing filling your ears, and yet you continued, bashing until the rock in your hands was hard to hold, slippery and covered in red and grey matter.

You bashed until you felt the rock connect with the damp grass through where his face once was, nothing recognizable left of his head, nothing but the skull fragments and brain matter. Everything else was unidentifiable.

Horror and shock filled you at the sight, he wasn't dead was he? He couldn't be. He can't be dead. He wasn't a person who was dead, so he couldn't be dead.

Desperately you felt for a pulse on his neck. You didn't find one. As a last ditch effort you checked the hole of his stab wound in his stomach. It was warm. He was still warm.

He was okay. He was alright. Dead people aren't warm.

But that warmth meant he wasn't done, he wasn't done killing you, he hadn't succeeded yet. The thought made you scream. He wasn't done with you.

He hadn't succeeded yet, and he was supposed to succeed, that was his goal wasn't it? He couldn't fail. You couldn't have stopped him, you weren't capable of that. You were just a girl. You didn't have that right.

You needed more of his warmth, needed it coating you. Needed him to finish his task. His warmth was proof he would.

Searching for more you pressed your fingers inside, warmth squishing around your fingers, it felt good. Familiar almost. A familiar squelch. 

It was what you needed. More. More. More.

Wriggling your fingers inside you tested the limits of the wound, it wouldn't stretch farther, you couldn't get to more of his warmth.

But you needed more.

Getting fingers in from both hands you searched for grip through the unending amounts of red liquid around your hands.

Finding it you pulled, tearing it apart, the feeling of ripping flesh a rewarding feeling.

You were getting more, getting to the warmth. 

Your digits were digging now, puncturing into his gut, ripping and tearing, pulling out viscera and entrails. Blood perfectly coated the scene, coated you, painting an elegant picture in rouge, and most importantly, warmth.

There was a need, a desire, this couldn't be over yet, he couldn't be done yet. He wasn't done yet. You weren't dead yet, so he wasn't done.

Something pulled tight around your neck, a scarf of the small intestine, wrapping, suffocating. Pulled this tight it almost felt like his hands lovingly around your neck once more, crushing your windpipe. This was that beautiful feeling you were looking for, this was what you needed.

He wasn't done, he hadn't finished yet. You weren't dead yet, but now he could finish, now his slick warmth could finish the job.

Pulling tighter on the two ends of the thin warm viscera that same pressure in your skull was building again, a fuzziness in your vision. You couldn't breathe. It was perfect.

You needed more.

Pulling harder the scarf tightened, it wasn't enough yet, you needed to pull tighter, harder.

With the grotesque sound of tearing the pressure around your neck was gone. Air now filling your lungs in gasps, a burning feeling accompanying each inhale.

Looking down you were still holding the intestine, now in two pieces, the fluids from inside of it making your skin irritated and itchy.

He'd failed. Again.

Hearing a sound from behind you didn't startle you, turning your head your eyes met the hollow eyes of your Ghost, the white of his skull balaclava nearly glowing in the dark. "I broke him." You mumbled, disappointed, presenting the two ends of his guts to him. "You would have finished the job, right? You wouldn't have broke?"

"Of course, love." Crouching beside you he wiped the blood on your check. "I wouldn't break on you like 'e did."

"He wasn't done. He was supposed to kill me. And now he's just a mess. A useless mess. And I'm covered in him." Tears fell from your eyes, your voice whining out of your sore throat.

"Don't cry, you're perfect." Your Ghost pulled the intestine from your hands, letting it fall onto the heap of Brian's unidentifiable carcass. "Come on now, let's get you cleaned up."

The feeling of his arms slipping around your back and under your knees wasn't repulsive like it was when Brian would touch you, your Ghost's touch wasn't nauseating.

Hoisting you up your Ghost carried you away from the scene. "But what about the mess here?"

"I've called people who will come take care of it, I 'ave connections. The police will get involved, 'is victims families deserve to know what 'appened to them. But nothin' bad will happen to you. You'll be just fine. I'll make sure of it. I'm takin' care of you now, love. There's nothin' to worry about." His voice was soothing, the nose of his skull balaclava pressing against your temple. "I've got you now."

#x reader #oneshot #reader insert #cod fandom #cod #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley call of duty #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost cod #simon ghost fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #dark fic

[ovaryacted]

i feel like Leon also would be a bit dominant in bed, since he doesn’t really have much control over his life, that would be the one aspect he can control

Oh yeah absolutely. This is actually one of my favorite things to think about when it comes to Leon in particular, how his current place in life dictates how he acts in the bedroom.

I've said this like a hundred times but if Leon is more dominant, he's a soft pleasure dom if anything. He lives to please, to serve, and that may sound like he still lacks control, but in this sense giving his partner pleasure would satisfy his personal needs of being able to do something other than bring pain.

I also think his dominance would pop out in certain instances because he would hold himself back unintentionally. It's not that he doesn't have the capacity of being dominant, it's the how that really gets him thinking. He doesn't want to cause harm unless it's asked for, and I'm going to assume a man like him probably has the ability to seriously hurt someone as we've seen. He's trained to kill people, he's an actual government trained hitman, and people don't realize it but that's what he is.

In the earlier stages of his life, I don't see him as having any dominant qualities only because he lacks the experience. I'm not saying this to ruin people's fantasies, but he just gives soft pretty boy vibes that needs reasurance. He doesn't give me the vibes of "#realfucker" yet you know?

Now in RE4R and beyond, I definitey see the dominance coming through but it won't be something that happens right away, nor will it be intense the first go-around despite the fact that Leon can be an intense guy. I think the dominance goes more in hand with how comfortable he feels with himself and his strength, and feeling safe in taking control and being selfish with his pleasure.

It would probably be best reflected in being commanding and praising in the bedroom and being vocal, wanting to hear his partner's approval to what he does so he can get a read on the situation, on what is good and what he has to tweak. It's little things like:

"Eyes on me"

"You can take it"

"Keep your hands above your head"

"That's it, doing so good for me"

Not to mention his touch would be more intentional, harsher in the sense of not being scared to grip too hard. He'd knead the skin, kiss deeper, and if it were really up to him, he would leave faint marks all over someone's body to be found the next morning. The things that he would do are done in an act of poessession, where he wants to own something even if it's just for one night, and that's both owning the ability to dictate what happens in the bedroom, and to be with someone that cares enough to let him explore.

On the plus side, whenever Leon is a bit more dominant, I think he cranks up the aftercare higher for the session. Depending on how harsh he is, and trust me he can be and it gets worse as he gets older, the need of reassurance after moments like that will be in higher demand.

#ovaryacted asks #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #ovaryacted thoughts #now I'm missing writing dom Leon #godammit

[ladybugsimblr]

Dizzy Des on the Music Industry, Bailey Kay, Money vs Marriage, His Legendary Career & More | JUICE CHAMPS R E B E L. T V - 118K Views - 10 hours ago

Comments 43K

wakeupmrwest Best interview yet! You don’t want to skip a second of this. Thank you Dizzy for joining us and schooling these dudes.

Dizzy Des This is why I started this network. A platform to speak our truth!

redpillscholar I knew Bailey Kay was just like all the other 304s. Using 🐱 to get ahead. No talent. You don’t want a female like that Dizzy. She’ll ruin your brand.

BadKidForLife King shit! Mad wisdom! I was taking notes!

kingb 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢

bkstan 🦋🦋🦋

futuretoxicex Did you even listen to the interview before coming in here with your stupid butterflies? Take your twerking somewhere else. Dizzy was spittin facts.

rubberbandshan Reported dot com. Let me get outta these comments before I puke.

Ocsar: So you really suing BK?! How did it get this bad?

Dizzy: I don’t know! I’ve been asking myself the same damn question. One minute we’re all good, reconnecting, and then next thing you know she’s skipping out on business deals.

O: We know things started going downhill after your album release party. What really happened that night?

D: I had an amazing time and I made sure Bailey did too as everyone saw. But I don’t think she was able to handle those old feelings coming back. Instead of being honest with herself and going for what she really wants, she turned on me instead.

O: Wait. Wait! Run that back. Old feelings? You two had something going on?

D: We have history.

O: What kinda history? You smashed the Queen?

D: Let’s just say when Deangelo brought Bailey Kay to my door she was crackable. She was willing to do whatever it took to get put on. We worked hard, partied hard. Wild times back then.

O: Woooow!

D: Unfortunately we couldn’t make it work as a team. I tried but she chose a different direction. I guess she thought Khalil would do her- I mean do it better over at Blueprint. Obviously she chose wrong. I’m the King of this shit. We could have been on top of the world. True music royalty.

O: I mean BK is definitely on top of the world right now. Are you trying to take her down?

D: Funny choice of words but nah. I want her to keep winning in this industry. But I also want what’s owed to me.

D: Once I win my court case, get my simoleons and maybe a thank you, I’ll be waiting for her with open arms. Ditch those cornballs you got controlling you Queen. You need a high value sim like me to make you be the beautiful butterfly you claim to be.

#bk history: the toxic male version #longest heaviest sigh #gross #hate it here #why are they so fine tho? #bc the toxic problematic ones usually are 😭 #bklegacy #bklgen2 #bailey kay #dizzy des #oscar west

[southparktexts]

Hi, could you do like, period comfort w/ main four? No pressure though, of course

ofc anon !!

Period Comfort w/ Main 4

stan ;

- when you got your period, he was kinda like ‘ok’

- he has a sister so he already knows all about periods and stuff

- i feel like he knows how to help you already

- if you got your period at his house he’ll grab you a pad

- i can see him just being a support man on the time of the months

- only letting you rest on the bed as he does everything

- mainly cuddles with you as the big spoon

- he knows you needa man at this time to make you feel better!

- if you take days off school because of your period, he will come over after school with your favourite snacks

- kisses and reassurance

“stanny.. my stomach hurts so much..”

“i know baby, i know.. ill go get a heat pack for you, okay?”

kyle ;

- deffo grossed out at first

- *ahem* microbiome episode

- but anyways…

- doesn’t know what to do, he either gets his mom over or you have to explain it

- his mom is so fucking nice to you as well, shows you where the pads / tampon cabinet is and pill cabinet

- after that his mom lectures him on periods and he learns

- next time you message him or get your period over at his house he runs to grab you stuff

“..shit..”

“whats wrong babe?”

“i got my period”

- this man is S P R I N T I N G.

- immediately throws in a heat-pack in the microwave

- running to grab pads and spare underwear for you and painkillers

- would deffo make gift baskets for you

- filled with teddys that have heating inside, chocolates, your favourite snacks, soups



kenny ;

- this man knows nothing

- literally nothing

- the ONLY and ONLY way he knows about periods is either the internet

- or he heard his mom explain it to his younger sister

- would slightly panick when you got your period

- like what does he do

- COMFORT TALK.

- saying shit like “you’re okay..” “just breathe f’me..”

- hes definitely panicking but not like tweek type of panic

- this can ONLY go two ways:

“shit.. i just got my period.”

“oh.. whats that.”

OR

“fuck me.. i think i got my period”

“oh shit do you need anything?!?! water????”

- probably treats you so delicately on your period

- like your pregnant or something

- read online that sex can help with period cramps..

- yk where im going w this.

cartman ;

- GROSSED OUT.

- more of the fact that he touched a bloody tampon once and fondled with it without knowing thats blood coming from your vag

- *AHEM* the one scene where cartman finds stan’s mom’s tampon in the trash

- definitely makes a face but definitely knows that you can’t control it

- WILL DEFFO MAKE REMARKS LIKE “couldn’t you make it later”

- when you got your period near him he immediately called his mom

- but not for you

- because you got blood on the couch.

“MOOOOMMMM Y/N GOT BLOOD ON THE COUCH.”

“bruh.”

- cartman’s mom would be like kyles mom but a lot nicer

- talks you through where everything is

- next time you get your period you basically know where everything is and you tell his mom and him

- cartman cuddles you and puts blankets on you silently

- while cartman’s mom is basically support

- if you have cravings and you tell him.. well..

“MOMMMMM Y/NS CRAVING COOKIES”

“nono its fine mrs. cartman-“

“oh of course honey”

#kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #southpark #southparkheadcannons #southparkimagines #stan marsh x y/n #eric cartman #eric cartman x reader #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #southparktexts

[vivitalks]

man. derek is such an interesting character in season 1, especially when you can look at him through the lens of having seen the whole show, because he's like an unreliable narrator for scott, even though he's not a narrator for the show.

the thing is, derek in season 1 is the primary vehicle for werewolf lore. as new viewers, we're reliant on his character to explain to us the rules and conceits of the genre, but once you've seen the whole show, that role is no longer necessary. but for scott, in season 1, derek is the sole source of werewolf intel. derek is werewolf jesus. which means that everything scott initially learns about being a werewolf is filtered through the Derek Hale Trauma Matrix, and neither of them know it.

for example: in 1x05, derek tells scott that pain is what keeps you human (which is a mantra that gets repeated and referenced a ton over the course of the rest of the show). scott has been a werewolf for all of five seconds, and has no choice but to take the word of this obviously much more knowledgeable werewolf. in that way, derek operates as a kind of narrator for scott, giving him information and context he couldn't really get any other way. but it's unreliable info. don't get me wrong - derek isn't trying to be an unreliable narrator; he's not aware of how much his life experience has colored his understanding of his own species. it's just that...well...derek is a twenty-something with the kind of trauma that eats other trauma for breakfast. of course he would say that pain is what keeps you human. at this point in the show, pain is all he has.

this is the same guy who, in the next episode, says this:

DEREK: You getting angry? That's your first lesson. You want to learn how to control this, how to shift-- you do it through anger, by tapping into a primal animal rage, and you can't do that with her around. SCOTT: [defensively] I can get angry. DEREK: Not angry enough. This is the only way that I can teach you.

except we know, and scott quickly learns (in that very same episode, in fact), that this isn't true. anger doesn't work for everyone, and it doesn't work for scott, who's not an angry person. the things that work for derek won't work for all werewolves - but how would derek know that? he's never had to teach someone to be a werewolf before. he's not actually werewolf jesus.

to scott, derek is the only trustworthy source of information on being a werewolf, because he's the only werewolf scott knows. and from derek's perspective, everything he knows about being a werewolf must be true, because it's true for him. derek is the narrator, and it's only as his backstory unfolds that the viewers, and scott, learn just how much his history and trauma have obscured the reality of things, even for derek himself.

pain is not what makes you human. it's what makes derek human. because the moments in derek's life that stand out to him most are all tinged with tragedy. mercy killing his high school girlfriend. losing his entire family in a house fire. the death of his sister. for derek, to be human is to be in pain, and to be angry about that is the only way to be in control. after all, he doesn't have anyone teaching him otherwise.

#stuff #derek hale #teen wolf #scott mccall #teen wolf meta #tw meta #derek hale meta #tw #expanded thoughts from a throwaway message sent in twl #hoo boy this took some brainpower to get into a coherent post with a logical series of sentences #my head hurts #i had a headache before though. i took ibuprofen in the middle of typing this post #so ironically my head actually hurts less now than it did when i started typing this #i literally saw the meta mondays thing on my dash AS i opened up tumblr to type this #and i thought about saving it for the pain day #but that is a whole entire month away and i can't delay gratification like that #anyway unreliable narrator derek i love you and im so sorry they forced you to be the narrator in your own tragedy #'pain is what makes you human' girl. animals feel pain. what do you mean. pain is one of the only things that ISNT only human

[cinnamonest]

Just an ask, what does heizou consider to be an almost successful escape attempt?? Was it the fact he can't follow your trail, or was it the fact he almost let you escape by boat to other Nation.

If you were already to escape a few time from him, then I assume the next time you got a chance to run away you probably already thingking of a master plan to not be found by him.

And knowing heizou with his tendency to show off his deduction skill and his past crime he able to solve, you probably learn bit by bit from that to cover your track from him. Maybe a bit misleading track here and there, while also going to a route that you never even think of going through before (place that is highly risky to be in, yet is probably heizou think a place you won't be setting foot in a million year's)

Well that is untill suddenly heizou stop you from getting in a boat, or when he actually find you in the sea of crowd. What would be his reaction, what is the punishment for your escape attempt (consider this one is one string away to being successful), what are the consequences of your escapes attempt.

(Also a just a question, I've been searching for that heizou fanfic of him as a step son, I think this is one of your fic, but I can't find it. Did you delete that or it was just buried by other fic?)

-anon R🎭

(Sorry anon, that fic is actually not mine! But if anyone else knows the fic anon is talking about, feel free to comment!)

---

To him, there’s no statute of limitations on the offense of running away.

Detectives never really give up on cases they can’t seem to solve — sometimes they put those cases on the proverbial back burner while they’re busy with newer ones, but detectives will sometimes spend their lives returning to the same case over and over, hoping to one day find a missing piece or see something from a new perspective.

Perhaps if you manage to escape long enough for him to truly never find you again, or if you manage to get him locked up, then you could say you’ve “successfully” escaped him… but as long as the opportunity to find you is anything less than zero, “success” would be too strong of a word for your evasion of him that will ultimately prove temporary.

He's self-aware enough, though, that he's one of a few that feels genuinely guilty when you try to run away. He knows deep down that keeping you locked up is no way for a person to live, that it's unfair to you, that you have every right to try and earn your freedom... but he can't allow it, he's long since accepted that he can't control the urges and no longer tries to hold himself back from following those urges.

So while he's mad, it's a quiet sort of anger. He doesn't say much, he just acts, ensuring he brings you back without a trace... he'll still talk to you once you're safe and sound back in his place.

He's exasperated and relieved, but admittedly, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit proud of himself for being able to find you after all, so the smugness does seep into his tone just a bit. You'll have to be kept restrained to the wall or bed frame from this point forward... but you have no right to complain, since it's your fault anyway.

#.hz #q

[bittersweetbeet]

Idk if this is a hot take but I genuinely believe that victim and Chosen’s fight in The Box episode is one of the most well written scenes in AVA/M and one of my favorite scenes in media in general.

One of the reasons is because of how uncomfortable it is, and I mean that in a good way. Seeing this strong, powerful being who we’ve seen do some crazy things, be beaten treated like an animal, especially with how hard he tries to fight back, is hard to watch. We’ve seen how strong Chosen is but to see that all get taken away pretty easily is very scary n I feel we don’t talk about that enough!

(More under cut, I go a LIL insane)

Not to mention, the scene is just,, I’m not sure how to put into words but it’s just, needless violence. Again, I mean that as a good thing. There wasn’t any real reason for victim to go and do ANY of that to Chosen if his only goal with him was to interrogate him about Alan. Like vic had the power to restrain Chosen easily without a big fight but he CHOSE to draw it out, chose to have this man fight a battle he couldn’t win. There was no real reason victim had to go about this the way that he did, and there was especially no real reason for THIS;

It establishes victim’s whole thing around his need for control, something he lacked when he was created. His need to establish dominance over others to make up for the fact he’s really not that special, at least compared to the other hollowheads. And what better way of showcasing that than by putting one of the strongest characters on a leash.

Not to mention, victim could’ve had all of Chosen’s powers taken away and just ended the fight there no? Like I said, he could’ve restrained Chosen in a bunch of different ways without a fight but vic WANTED a fight. vic wanted Chosen to feel as helpless and powerless as he did all those years ago, for him to feel the pain of putting all his strength into fighting for his freedom, only for it to all be in vain.

That’s also why this scene is so hard to watch; it’s a one-sided losing battle. The odds were stacked against Chosen from the minute he was placed in the Box. He wasn’t going to win even if he tried and by god, he TRIED. He gave victim a run for his money while being severely nerfed n victim being heavily buffed. But even though he tried so hard to fight for his freedom, he still lost.

What makes this fight scene so hard to watch is that you can argue it’s not even a fight scene, it’s more of a beat-up.

#Listen I love Chosen he’s like my fave probably #but victim #good heavens the things this fucker has down to my brain chemicals #such an amazing concept for an antagonist #I hope he gets his ass kicked lmao #bean rambles #animator vs animation #animator vs animation victim #animator vs animation the chosen one #ava tco #ava victim #alan becker #ava the chosen one #animation vs minecraft

[daemon-in-my-head]

No actually, im not over the fact that Durge get treated the way they are. On a good run they helped everyone, they helped Shart, Laezel and Minthara to escape a cult. They helped Astarion to start healing. They helped Gale and Wyll realise they're worth more than their might, their goddess or their feats. They helped Halsin to lift the burden that has been weighting on him for centuries, allowed him to be free after 300 fucking years.

And what did they do for Durge? Jackshit. At best one of them helped them once to make it through a horrible night, by tying them up and watching over them. Once. After Durge tried to kill them. In an act of self-preservation. Jaheira at least offers her 'support' when she finds out what Durge is. But that's it. They did not help with the temple. They did not mourn Durges' very apparent death. They did not offer any comfort when they killed everyone they must've once held dear. They stood by as Durge duelled for their life. For a Tav this might work since they don't have any specific troubles or quests, but Durge does. And they get fucking ignored. By everyone except the deadbeat mother and the loveable fool that is Minsc. The people they met only recently. But the people who spent weeks or months with them, who could escape their personal hells thanks to them? Lol get ignored fucker.

Yes, yes, they all have grey stories. Nothing is black and white except Durges' story. It's black. There's no nuance. They're fucked regardless of what they do. Their choice is mind control and death or presumed immortality and endless suffering from being a Bhaalspawn, as well as not having their memory and working for yet another Dead God, and nobody gives a damn. As cruel as Durge is, as fucked up as they might've been, they, too, were a victim of an evil deity and cult. Hell, Orin can straight up tell you 'bro, that Gortash guy? Kept manipulating your ass since like ever'. And if we're being real, he does just that the second durge is back too. 'He did miss this' and he wouldn't want you to submit, but at the end of the day, he's still the person with the last word, and everything goes exactly how he wants.

Durge was manipulated and exploited like fuck in the past, by everyone around them who survived. Just like most of the other companions. But fuck Durge in particular I guess. The game is very much like 'fuck Martyrdom it's not worth it' but when it's Durges turn, your choices are Martyrdom or falling right back into the abuse. Oh, or becoming something less than an animal and essentially just a sentient doll to be used by their guardian.

#istg this is so infuriating every time #'we can handle dark stuff with the sensitivity it deserves' #except that one guy whos only here for shock value and so we can pull edgy jokes #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 durge #durge #dark urge #bg3 critical #larian critical

[teecupangel]

I had an idea for an Altaïr that accepted Al Mualim’s teachings and became his true successor after he dies, basically keeping Masyaf the same after his death with the apple. What would happen if a reincarnated Desmond just appeared in Masyaf one day? I was thinking of Altdes but like super Yandere Altaïr

You wanna make it all the more morally questionable?

Altaïr finished what Al Mualim failed to do.

He managed to use the Apple to control everyone in Masyaf.

When Desmond is transported into the past, Altaïr had already gotten to Saladin and is slowly getting the men King Richard trusts the most under his command.

Desmond was reborn as a nobody in this land… is what he would like to say.

Unfortunately…

Or maybe fortunately?

He was reborn as Jalāl al-Dīn Ḥasan III, the only son of imam of Alamut.

Meaning he’s 22 years old younger than Altaïr…

He was kept in the harem as a child and it was hard to run away from an entire castle filled with Assassins who knew their little prince liked to run away.

He had only met Altaïr once when he was growing up, being able to take peek even after his father ordered him to stay in his room while the mentor of Masyaf was visiting.

He had been sixteen years old.

And Altaïr looked just as handsome as he remembered.

Their eyes met and there was something in his eyes that made Desmond feel… something.

Something both enticing and… dangerous.

One of the Assassins saw him and escorted him back to his room before his father found out.

The following day, his father asked for him and he had been worried that he learned of Desmond sneaking in last night.

Instead, he ordered Desmond to show Altaïr around Alamut which he agreed easily to.

Altaïr’s stay in Alamut was short and Desmond savored every moment of it. He was a bit different from Desmond’s image of him.

More open in his curiosity of Alamut and…

Of Desmond himself.

He knew that Altaïr already had two sons by now.

But Altaïr laughed when Desmond asked about his wife.

He didn’t have a wife.

Desmond thought he was joking.

So Altaïr explained…

His sons’ mother was not married to him. She did him a ‘favor’. In exchange, he ‘assisted’ her in taking over the Templar Order. It’’s because of their ‘trade’ that Altaïr was able to secure an alliance with the newly reformed Templar Order.

Something was wrong.

Desmond has no idea why the timeline was this skewered. He sure as hell knew it wasn’t him.

It couldn’t be him.

He had been too young when Altaïr became a mentor to do anything even when he wanted to.

So he had to find out what happened to change the ‘past’ this much.

And the fact that he knew that there was something between them, something simmering under the surface with each graze of the back of their hands, of each brief touch on the arm, the shoulder, and back…

There was something between them that Desmond knew he was powerless to stop.

He didn’t want to stop.

So he asked his father if he could stay in Masyaf for a while, be some kind liaison or something.

He had been surprised when his father said yes.

He should have questioned it.

Instead…

He was just glad that he could stay with Altaïr longer.

.

[Why are you bringing that child?]

“Jealous?”

[You do not need that child.]

“He’s not a child, is he? He doesn’t feel like one.”

[He knows nothing.]

“No one does. Only we know how this past must become to pave way to a better future. Is he not part of your Calculations?”

[He is inconsequential.]

“Then it doesn’t matter if I have him then if that’s true.”

[…]

“He sounds a lot like you. But he’s more… not innocent. No. That’s not the right word… ‘mortal’.”

[Altaïr, do not forget your pact with me.]

“I prefer to call it our vows but what do I know? I am but the first of your many, aren’t I? But he… he’s mine and mine alone.”

[Do not let him distract you.]

“When have I ever failed you? I know what he is. I can see it in his glow. He’s like you… he is you, isn’t he?”

[…]

“Is he my reward for being your loyal puppet king, my dear Reader? Or is he an anomaly I can do as I please?”

[… do as you wish but do not forget who you belong to, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.]

“I belong to you but you do not belong to me. But he… Desmond. He will be mine.”

Altaïr stared at the Apple on his table.

The Apple glowed dimly.

[Fine. Do as you wish.]

“I will.” Altaïr tapped the Apple, letting it roll an inch away from him, “Relax, my dear Reader. Aren’t you curious?”

“Who decided to place your human self here in our fixed past?”

#i don’t know if you wanted the mystery nonny #but you’re getting the mystery XD #no usual tags because #altdes #oh yeah #this is a complicated yandere situation between the three

[leggerefiore]

Have you ever done HCs for characters tending to their partner’s wounds? I feel like Ingo would be externally panicking but ultimately know what to do. Emmet would be the reverse, outwardly calm, but hiding the fact that he doesn’t know what to do for your sake.

Colress and Cyrus would be really analytical about it, but I feel like for different reasons.

Grimsley, being the vampire that he is, would like…try to drink your blood or something.

I did the reverse (caring for their injuries), but this is also cute....

cw: light injuries, blood mentions, uhh a little angsty with some comfort

characters: Ingo, Emmet, Cyrus, Colress, Grimsley

~~~

An afternoon walk with your boyfriend was supposed to be relaxing and casual. It was a sort of catch-up after he had recently been busy with work. The two of you walked side by side on city streets, mumbling in conversation. Whatever had been spoken was not of utmost importance, but the feeling of being out with him was always nice. Everything had been going well. The sun was out, the streets were not overly busy, and the temperature was pleasant. Yet, all that had been interrupted by a single loud pokemon cry.

A young child called out after it. It ducked and weaved through pedestrians on the sidewalk before changing right into you. The surprise of hitting something solid made the nervous thing raise a claw and scratch you. Your boyfriend quickly was reaching for his own pokeballs to settle the situation in case it grew desperate, yet the small child finally caught up and returned the pokemon to its ball before any further harm could befall you. They sheepishly apologised, regretful that they had been unable to control it. You reassured them it was alright before finally parting ways with the child to sit down at a bench nearby.

Your boyfriend's face grew pale, and his expression distressed at the sight of your arm, which had been the target of the pokemon's attack. A straight line bubbled up with a familiar red liquid. Your hand quickly moved to stop the bleeding, but your boyfriend seemed to move faster…

▲Ingo▼

● The Subway Boss was trained in first aid. He knew that knowing both CPR and first aid could benefit his duties should any emergency situations arise on the trains, yet his trained calmness was out the window when it came to you. His anxiety was already up from what had just happened, and now this was unfolding before him. His handkerchief was fished out of his pocket and immediately pressed to your arm, applying pressure to the bleeding area. All the information and techniques he had memorised flew out of his mind when he saw you yet apparently his body remembered.

● His normally stoic face shifted with worrying and panic as his eyes remained big and focused on the fabric, which quickly was beginning to stain with blood. Admittedly, the wound was not anything overly serious. It was not longer than a few inches, nor was it deep, yet he felt as if somehow it would claim your life. His hands followed procedure despite how messy his mind appeared to be. You could see him carefully lead you through the streets of Nimbasa, ordering you essentially not to come “uncoupled” from him. His grip on your arm certainly provided good pressure until you both were in your shared home.

● Ingo sat you on the toilet as he quickly collected everything he needed to tend to the wound. The bleeding had thankfully stopped, yet he seemed on high alert still as he cleaned the skin carefully with water and then an antiseptic spray. A bandage was carefully applied over the wound. It was at that point afterwards his arms wrapped around you tightly. “Oh, I'm deeply sorry, dearest,” he apologised. His body shook. “I should have acted faster!” You reached an arm to hug him and pat his back. Reassurances came from you that it was no one's fault. The wound was properly tended to, and there was no more risk for anything to happen. A sniffle came from him as he finally freed you. His eyes were red, but the emotion was forced down. Another apology attempted to leave him for how he was acting. You kissed his lips to silence him.

▽Emmet△

○ His expression was eerily calm as his hand held your arm tightly. Blood continued to ooze from the wound. His jacket that he had been wearing was slipped off and pressed to the wound. While his face might have reflected both focus and a level of confidence. Inside, however, Emmet was screaming louder than his brother ever could during even the busiest hours at the station. He had barely been able to do anything about a pokemon suddenly attacking you, and now you were bleeding. Granted, it did not seem serious, but everything was collecting together and making his heart race. Ingo had made them take first aid and CPR classes, but Emmet apparently nearly forgot everything when it came to you.

○ You whined when he suddenly began to pull you away from the busy street. No words had been spoken. Emmet was dead silent as he navigated the streets of Nimbasa with an ease provided by his years dealing with questions about locations in the city. His jacket was growing stained with your blood, yet he was completely apathetic. The Subway Boss even pushed through people without a single “excuse me.” No one dared say anything after catching a glimpse of his expression, however. His grip was deathly tight as he led you into your shared home and right to the bathroom.

○ You sat on the toilet as the jacket was carefully removed to check the status of the injury. Upon seeing that the blood had stopped, he pulled away the jacket and wet a cotton pad to clean your arm and the wound. An antiseptic was applied, followed soon by a bandage. For a moment, he knelt at your side completely frozen. Then, Emmet suddenly sprung up and pulled you into his chest. His hold was ironclad around you. “Darling,” he whined, voice warbling, “I am verrrry sorry! It is my fault! I failed to anything…” You sighed. His facade had dropped entirely. Soft hiccups came from him as you began to rub his back. This cuddle session would last a while.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The blue-haired man's expression was almost unreadable as he held your wrist and simply stared at the bleeding wound on your arm. His thoughts scrambled to process everything. He had thought to deny your request for a walk before, unfortunately, relenting. You had seemed desperate for some kind of date, and Cyrus wished not to deny you and make the situation worse. Yet, this had happened! Your voice calling his name broke his mind from its trance. Right. You were bleeding. A handkerchief came from his pocket as he used it to apply pressure to the wound. The urge to shudder was forced down. Blood… blood was not a pleasant thing for him, but he knew you did not have anything that should concern him.

☄️ The public setting grew to make him more frantic. Too many people kept speaking and walking around you both as he held your arm up above your chest. Eventually, Cyrus asked for you to follow him. The streets of Veilstone were easy to follow as he quickly led you back to the apartment. His mind was all over the place still as he brought you inside and froze for a moment. A few frantic breaths left him before you softly pulled yourself away from him to head to the bathroom. He followed behind you wordlessly.

☄️ Before you could check the bleeding yourself, Cyrus moved to do it. Upon seeing that it had slowed immensely, items were retrieved from a nearby cabinet. His hands shook as he brought a wet cotton pad to wipe away the blood around the wound and once again while applying an antiseptic and a bandage. A sharp breath left him after he had finished. The room's air was tense. You thanked him for helping you, but he only reached to grasp your hand. His lips were pursed, and his eyes could not meet yours. A red tint seemed to flood his face. “… Beloved,” his voice wavered, “… I apologise. I should have declined your offer as it led to this situation–” You grasped his hand back and brought your free one to hold his chin. Upon hearing that his Weavile had once done worse damage to you, he felt mortified yet silenced. He supposed there was no one to blame in the end.

🥼Colress🛸

🧪 There was no panic, nor worry even, on his face. The scientist might not be a medical doctor, but he does have some formal training in that area. Granted, it is for pokemon, but he doubts that matters too much. He knew what to do, of course. Lab accidents and first aid do go hand in hand. He pulled out a handkerchief from his lab coat's pocket and pressed it against your bleeding arm. Your arm was then raised above your heart by Colress. He almost forgets that you two are in public as he contemplated how the connection between that kid and their pokemon was. You had to call his name a few times to break that focus.

🧪 Upon realising that he probably should further tend to your wound, he asked you to keep pressure on your arm while leading you back to the hotel you were staying at in Alola. He began to tap away at his keyboard. You could only wonder what it was while you followed him through Heahea towards the hotel. He hummed to himself as he noted various things, from how the pokemon had reacted to the type of slash on your arm and the severity of it. He almost failed to notice that you both had made it to your floor and room. Finally stopping, he opened the door to the bathroom.

🧪 Once inside, Colress checked on your bleeding and discovered it had slowed to a manageable amount. He took a wet cotton pad to wipe away any remaining blood and possible debris from the sight before applying an antiseptic dutifully. Watching him go was like seeing an automaton move, but it all came to an end with the bandage being placed over the wound. The blond sighed and readjusted his glasses. “Are you alright? Any chills or pains?” he asked, almost sounding like a doctor. He took your replies seriously before nodding. “… I'm glad that you are okay,” it was genuine coming from him, as was the small smile on his lips, “I don't think those two have any potential with their bonds. How unfortunate.” … And it was gone. The ways of Colress were often like that. You sighed. A soft kiss was then pressed to your bandage. “Our bond surely will accelerate your body's healing process,” he commented. At least he stopped madly ranting about Z-Crystals, you supposed.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ His expression was unreadable, but when was it not? Grimsley gazed at your wound, oozing out your precious lifeblood by the moment. It was before his eyes, and temptation called him… Is what he would be thinking if he were not more worried about where that pokemon's claws had been. He sighed as he pulled out his handkerchief from his suit's pocket. It was pressed against the wound. As fun as free blood could be, your health did take priority. He also felt frustrated that luck had called out this result. If the pokemon had just leaned more to the right, it would have run into him instead. His luck must have beat your own… How unfortunate.

♡ Grimsley held your arm up above your head while asking you to follow him back home. The slash, in truth, did not seem all too worse than the ones his Liepard usually gave him. Of course, any injury was still a risk to your health. The gambler actually liked you, so he did not intend to let anything bad happen to you. Which was another reason that he was frustrated. He forced his feelings down. You did not really need that right now, after all. He grumbled as you both navigated through Black City. Trainers and passers-by seem to move out of the way unconsciously for the Elite Four member. He supposed it was convenient enough.

◇ When you both entered his apartment, he sat you down in the bathroom as he quickly gathered a few things. The wound was wiped down before being bandaged. He sighed at the wasted opportunity but figured it was for the best. “Unlucky, isn't it?” he shook his head while bringing a finger to trace the covering on your arm. You nodded in reply while also voicing an agreement. “At least I've gotten better at wound care,” Grimsley cupped your cheek and leaned in close, “… Too bad that one was too much of a gamble. Maybe I'm getting too soft for my favourite thrill.” He pecked a teasing kiss to your cheek. You could only wonder what he meant by that.

#pokemon x reader #ingo x reader #emmet x reader #cyrus x reader #colress x reader #grimsley x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokemon emmet x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon colress x reader #pokemon grimsley x reader #ingo/reader #emmet/reader #grimsley/reader #colress/reader #cyrus/reader

[eponastory]

I'm just going to go and say it...

I love the fact that Zuko is not fully reliant on his bending. Yeah, he uses it, but he is not completely reliant on it. He can choose to use it when he wants and when he doesn't need to. We see this many times, and that makes his character interesting.

The entire time he is in Ba Sing Se he relies on his non-bending skills. When he's running around as the Blue Spirit, he is in total control of himself. It's a huge credit to him because that means he does have total control over what he can do. Because of this control, he has the ability to become much stronger as he learns.

Even after the Sun Warriors and the dragons, his mastery over fire still had a lot of potential, and this is something I'm exploring in After the Rain. I purposely wrote him not relying so much on bending because it's kind of like a wild card. He has a whole deck, but you don't know what has happened and how much he has learned in seven years.

So his deck is loaded.

He just needs to know what card to play and when to play it.

Anyway, yeah, I'm working on chapter 27, and this kinda came up.

Also, Katara using her bending more is actually pretty important.

#zuko + throwing knives vs innocent melon #zutara

[iwaasfairy]

no cs omg fairy my big big brain is working !!

what if atsuko wasn’t an only child? what if he had a little brother who loved mom too?? sibling rivalry??

tw implied incest, jealousy, manipulative tendencies on ko WhATS new

if atsuko x mom!reader had an even more complicated situation

Ryota’s eyes are dragged from the pretty shape of the falling cherry blossom petals with a force greater than him. He looks over his shoulder, hands tightening slightly on the bike handles— just in time to avoid Atsuko’s attempt at slapping him in the back of the head. As he dodges, he pushes the meathead away by the arm, and kicks out his leg at his shin. “Heard you coming, motherfucker.”

“For once,” Atsuko grins when he still manages to land a mostly good-spirited squeeze at the back of his neck, and the younger man’s shoulders jerk up in protection. When he falls into step next to him, they both turn the last corner as the warm, evening sun makes harsh shadows. “Don’t you have volleyball training to get to, brat?”

“Don’t you have some teachers to bribe, dick?” He sighs. “Practice is canceled because our captain is home with a fever.”

Ryota’s dark eyes stay on his brother’s face when the grin curls up onto it. Of course Atsuko doesn’t falter. “Ah. My good name got you into school without a scholarship- you should be thankful.”

As they’ve grown older some of the edge has splintered away from the accusations, and now only a smooth surface remains. One that keeps the peace. One that doesn’t leave bad impressions. The older brushes his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face, before sliding his hands back into his pockets.

“Is Tooru getting mom anything for Mother’s Day?” Ryota asks after a brief break, and his brother just shakes his head.

“Well, except the usual… treatment on a holiday,” the lighter brunet’s mouth pulls into a slight line, absentmindedly scratching his arm, “I don't think so. No trip or anything at least, they just had their anniversary trip.” He doesn’t hesitate to swing an arm over his shoulder as he squeezes him under his shoulder. “And you can call him dad.”

That’s something he doesn’t feel the urge to respond to.

“Are you gonna do something?” He ends up asking.

The older man now frowns at Ryota, who raises a hand in flimsy protection. It’s not the first time he’s gotten into trouble for less. His arm slips off as soon as it came when he straightens up with a frown. Ko nii can’t truly think he’s subtle. No, in fact, there is no way that anyone with eyes can mistake it for anything else. Still Atsuko asks. “What kind of fucking question is that?”

“It’s a fucking question, anii,” Ryota bites back, frowning too now. It doesn’t last long before he forces it off his face though, seeing the house come up at the end of the street. You don’t like seeing them not get along— and for what it’s worth, when Atsuko’s not acting like a possessive tool, they get along fine. “D’you wanna do something with mom as a family?” He adds after a few seconds of silence.

Silence where Ko nii seems to mull his answer around in his mouth until it becomes acceptable to say, or maybe until the bad taste fades. He’s got a glint in his eye, and his mouth stays shut for too long. It’s almost like he’s debating just telling him after all. But the unspoken knowledge is enough, isn’t it? It doesn’t need to be more than that.

That way he can still pretend. Ryota laughs. “Right. Forgot you wanna have it be a private audience. Should I stay at someone else’s house for the day or can you control yourself?” Atsuko’s grin can’t be wiped from his face. If it was Ryota, he’d at least have some fucking shame about it.

It seems like that thought hasn’t even crossed his older brother’s mind. And without meaning to, he lets the slight sourness on his tongue fall out with a complaint, rolling his eyes. “You should probably re-learn about sharing. She’s my mom too-”

“Yeah?” The older basically skips a few steps ahead, before running his tongue over his teeth and grinning as he takes off towards their garden. “Too bad. If you wanted a bite you should’ve been born first.”

He makes a face. “That’s fucking gross, anii.” His bike clicks as he rolls it behind, and his eyes scan the green for you. Only one thing gets his brother that giddy- his eyes stop to run over you where you’re reaching up to the branches of the trees, and picking out some early apples. Atsuko tackles you into a broad shouldered hug, before picking you up under your legs and into him, and he can hear how your giggles echo the street. You look good, pretty. The sweetheart dress you’re wearing clings to your waist and with how Ko nii’s hands are glued to your ass, he does see it.

He’d have to be blind not to see it. You are pretty. You let Atsu kiss you on the mouth but pull back when the big fuck probably tries to slip his tongue in. Freak. Not that that stops the barrage of love the guy heaps on you as Ryota drops his bike onto the grass. You only pull away from where Ko’s pretty much biting kisses down your throat to aim your beautiful smile on him instead, and he can’t help but feel warmer when holding up his hand.

“Hi, ma.”

Your tangled fingers pull from Ko nii’s hand to reach out to him as you rush over on sandals and your love glitters at him when he gets close. It’s like a tidal wave that coats everything in heat, warm and soft and kind like you’ve always been. What Atsuko’s doing is fucked up, but he does get it. “Baby~” You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down, and he lets his hands clench tight around your waist.

“I missed you so much.” He doesn’t pick you up, or kiss you, or basically make out with your neck— and you place a loving kiss on his cheek before wiping your hands on your dress. “Thank you for coming home, I know you’re busy at school.”

“It’s really- it’s fine. Missed you.” He doesn’t mean to stoke the flame, but as he looks up through his lashes he meets eyes with Atsuko. Who’s chewing his bottom lip to get rid of the ever so slightly agitated grin— that only tightens when Ryota finds himself winding his arms around you a bit tighter. Enough to pull you off your balance and make you laugh, before pushing away as you look between them both.

“Do you guys want to take a dip before dinner?” The sun casts the pool in perfect dappled light. “I took a dip earlier and the water is just right~ if you get the chance.”

Atsuko only waits a second before he reaches his hand back to you to stroke his thumb along your neck, then pulls you in when he softly tangles his fingers into the base of your hair. “I’ll go if you go.” You don’t hesitate to brush that off and roll your eyes, but your hand still lands on the lighter brunet’s chest. His eyes shift to where the younger brother is still standing in the front yard, slips his hands into his front pockets. “Ryota wants us to do something for Mother’s Day in a couple days… Any requests?”

The hand that’s still on your neck now moves down your spine, lower, lower- until it traces over the fabric to brush along the edge. When you don’t respond, your face turns to his questioning, and a bit shocked. But Atsuko isn’t. “What about a repeat of last year, mom?” He asks, and drops his lips to your temple after a self-satisfied grin. “Maybe I’ll keep it a surprise for now. I know what you like.”

He shrugs as he walks away with you still left in your spot on the deck— taps the door frame on his way inside. “Ryo’s back, dad! I’m gonna give mom a massage in the master bedroom. She worked so hard today.”

#tw.incest #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #honey mail #🍯.honey pot #💫oc.atsuko

[projectbluearcadia]

Just Luci Brainrot :)

(GN!MC)

Just imagining you (MC) sitting on Lucifer's desk in beautiful lingerie as an "apology" after you make him do something stupid with your pact, and Lucifer flat-out ignores you. Or, I should say, he pretends to ignore you, and he does a good job doing it.

Internally, however, the sight of you in that skimpy underwear that highlights every lovely part of you is driving him to borderline madness. Man is edging himself just to keep up the appearance that he's annoyed. Really, he wants to take off that underwear in his teeth, take those luscious thighs in his hands and make you scream your pretty little head off.

And yet, all he does is take a paper out from under your ass and starts working like his brain isn't conjuring all kinds of things he could do to you right in that second.

Of course, you're annoyed that he doesn't even seem to care that you've gone to such a length to say you're sorry for embarrassing him, so you decide to slide down onto his lap instead.

"Lucifer," you say. "I'm rea---"

"Do you mind?" Lucifer cuts you off sharply, giving you his most irritated glare. You're really testing his self-control now. God, how he wants to just take two handfuls of that barely-clothed ass and sit you on top of the friend that was currently struggling to not make itself known. "I have a lot of work to do."

You pout.

"Can't you put me on your to-do list? I said I was sorry earlier, Luci."

"Don't call me that," he retorts. "You can wait."

You might have been able to, but he certainly can't, as much as he's denying that fact.

Which is why, when you rub against him a little bit, you're already roughly bent over his desk, his fingers teasing underneath the pathetic fabric on your hips.

"You... really love testing my patience, don't you?" Lucifer growls, and you gasp. What a lovely sound. He'll be getting plenty more of those out of you. "You should know that an apology isn't anywhere near enough to make me feel better... I need to know you won't do it again."

Lucifer's gloved hands sink into your thighs as he squeezes, clearly admiring the view he has of you. The view of your dripping sex destroying your underwear, twitching at the thought of what he'll do. And, oh, he's been thinking long and hard about it since he caught sight of your lewd form.

You hear the click of his belt, the rustle of his pants as they drop off his hips. In another moment, the bottom half of your ruined underwear is ripped to shreds, and his throbbing cock is deep inside you. He takes the time to lean his body over yours, lightly pulling your hair at the root, forcing you to arch your back a little as he whispers against your ear:

"I'm not letting you off easy this time."

#I have consumed far too much smut today #this is just a tame little byproduct #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #fanfiction #obey me! #shameless self indulgence #obey me lucifer smut #lucifer x mc #lucifer brainrot #dom lucifer brainrot

[cottonlemonade]

A Simpler Life [Part 3]

word count: 2296 || avg. reading time: 10 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, neighbors to lovers

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: In pursuit of a calmer, simpler life you flee the city to move to the countryside - only to fall in love with your neighbor.

[part 1] [part 2]

____________________________________________

The next day you waited in the front yard for him on his way home and invited him for dinner again. And the day after that. And after that. Before long, you offered a standing dinner invitation and he happily accepted.

Now, Kita’s steps quickened when he called it a day. It became rarer that he stayed until sundown to maybe do something that could be easily taken care of tomorrow. Having dinner with you every night was almost as if … almost like… coming home to you. The first thing he did when he stepped through your gate was go check on your plants. The tomatoes were doing really well and your radishes, while a bit on the puny side, also weren't too shabby. He wound a few of the newly formed pea vines around the trellis, then went to knock on your door.

A wonderful smell wafted in his nose but his heart only jumped when he saw you. You were setting the table, an apron around your plump hips, your hair tied up to a bun. It took every ounce of self control he had not to greet you with “I‘m home“. But maybe you‘d find it funny if he did? He tucked the thought away for later. Right now he dusted off his clothes, took off his shoes and stepped inside.

With the rainy season came a new routine for Kita. He loved this time of year because his fields thrived in this weather and it was fun for him to go check on their growth every other day when there was a break from the downpour. While the rain splattered loudly on the roofs and puddle-strewn streets, he stayed inside, doing the paperwork that came with farming, going over numbers and making phone calls to ensure the supply chain was in order once it was time to harvest mid fall. Before, he would have used the remaining time in his days to read or do some maintenance around his home, fixing little things he noticed or building a new piece of sturdy furniture to then deliver to his grandmother in the little hamlet he grew up in 40 minutes away. And while he did do all those things, he made very sure to keep aside more time for you as well. You met up in town for a cup of tea or to go to the grocery store together or drove to a neighboring town for a famous fish market he had told you about, eating your fill of gorgeously fresh sashimi and having a drink under the beautiful traditional awnings of the shops while looking out onto the stormy waves of the ocean. You never called it a date. You always made sure to refer to it as an “outing” and while he was glad to spend time with you, no matter what it was called, he couldn’t help but deflate a little whenever you clarified it to the people in your town who had gotten curious and suspicious about how often you two were spotted together. “Our Kita never spends this much time with anyone, let alone a pretty thing like ya. Ya should pay Yumie a visit soon, I reckon.”, one of the grandmothers had noted the other day and Kita had vehemently shaken his head behind your back to make her stop. The last thing he needed was word getting back to his grandma. She would want to meddle or as she would put it “help”. She would probably invite you over for dinner and ask all kinds of embarrassing questions, strongly hinting at the fact that she wasn’t getting any younger and Kita should hurry up and give her a pretty wedding and plenty of great-grandchildren. It wouldn’t matter that her grandson hadn’t made any romantic advances to you yet or that you perhaps didn’t even see children in your future. In all honesty, Kita would be happy with whatever you wanted. You would want children? Alright, he could get started on that straight away as far as he was concerned. You would want to spend your days with him alone and get those little goats you were gushing over the other day? He would gladly comply and build their enclosure as soon as you’d say the word. But as much as he was yours, you weren’t his. He was accompanying you on outings and although you were incredibly sweet and initiated contact often, he had learned that this was just the way you were. And he was foolish to read anything else into it.

He almost didn‘t hear the knock over the rain. It was early in the morning and he sat on his couch with a cup of tea and a book but looked up when he heard your voice calling his name.

Opening the door he came face to face with a pitiful pout.

“My home flooded.“, you announced.

“What?“

“Apparently the roof isn‘t roofing as it should and now there is a huge puddle in my living room.“

A few minutes later he stood in your doorway, marveling at the myriad of blankets and towels laid out on the floor while in the middle of the room a big flower printed bucket was steadily filling up with water trickling in from the ceiling.

He would have a word with the town‘s realtor later for selling you a house that was anything less than perfect.

“Once the rain calms down a little I’ll have a look at it. Weather report said it should be dry in the afternoon.”

You threw him a hopeful smile.

“Really? Thank you so much! Can I make you lunch in return?”

He shook his head and upon seeing your face falter he immediately followed it with, “Ya’ve been cooking for me for weeks. Lemme do it for once.”

Personally, you thought you deserved an award for not drooling all over Kita‘s kitchen table. Seeing him shake out his wet hair when he returned from a quick run to the greenhouse for some fresh veggies was already testing you but now he was preparing said fresh veggies to turn into omurice and you were just about ready to lose your mind. There was something so wonderfully cozy and domestic about seeing this man prepare his produce with a little unconscious smile on his lips. His shoulders, broadened by the field work, moved smoothly as he fried the rice and you didn‘t hear him at first when he asked you a question, because your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. The meal immediately turned into your new favorite dish and his cheeks blushed when you couldn’t stop gushing about how good his rice tasted. You learned a while ago that it was a big source of pride for him when people complimented his produce, so you made sure to do it whenever possible, suppressing all the squeaks rising in your throat when you saw him turn shy. As you two enjoyed lunch, he requested more stories about your traveling and how you came to Japan, listening intently and asking for more details here and there. Laying a hand on your well-filled tummy you leaned back and let your eyes wander through his pristine home and out the open window, watching the continuous streams of collected rain drizzling from the shingles of the porch awning. Your eyes fell onto the little open shed next to his gate and the curled up form of his dog lazing around underneath.

“Shouldn’t we let him in?”, you asked and Kita followed your gaze.

“Hm? Why? Roku is a guard dog. He lives outside.”

“But… it’s wet outside.”, you mumbled.

“It’s nice in the hay, I promise.”

“Hm…”

“Don’t worry, he is doing well. If he’d be in here he couldn’t do his job properly to guard ya.”

Using his chopsticks, Kita placed a red bean mochi for dessert on a small plate with more fresh strawberries and handed it to you. You accepted and chewed the sweet treat thoughtfully, still looking outside, unaware of his adoring smile.

The rain did let up in the afternoon just as predicted and together you carried a ladder and some supplies over to your house. You insisted on helping and although you couldn‘t do much to assist, you noted that you could still cheer him on and make sure the ladder didn‘t fall.

Moving slowly on the wet roof he went to work. The leak was fortunately nothing major and it didn‘t take long to fix. On his way back to the ladder however -

He drew in a sharp breath when he felt a muscle pull in his shoulder.

“Oh my gosh, are you alright?“, he heard you call from the ground.

“Yeah. Just slipped.“

Kita almost missed a step on his way down when he suddenly felt your hand supporting his back. He was really trying not to enjoy you fussing over him but when you led him inside and ordered him to sit on your couch while you prepared an ice pack, he couldn‘t help but play it up eeever so slightly. And then regretted it instantly when you offered to apply a muscle relaxant balm. Ears and cheeks burning, stomach stirring, skin tingling and thoughts racing, Kita focused on a wood knot on your floor, telling himself to calm down as you rubbed the balm onto his shoulder.

With the start of the new week he was once again busy with errands in town and the city and only got to see you for your daily dinner - by now his favorite part of the day. When he got home on Friday night, he was surprised that Roku didn‘t come to greet him as he stepped out of his car. Kita looked around and found the black and white dog snuggled in the open shed in his usual space but now lounging luxuriously on a very plush dark blue pillow. He sighed as he knelt down to pet the soft floppy ears, Roku blinking sleepily up at him but not moving from his new bed.

It looked like you made it yourself, it even had the dog’s name embroidered on the side.

“She really spoils us both, hm?“, Kita muttered and Roku grumbled in agreement.

And so, with another sigh, he decided to confess to you. Soon. Even if just for his own peace of mind.

Once you had left after dinner and he was alone with his thoughts, Kita tried to focus on his book but his mind kept wandering. He had never confessed to anyone before. Quite honestly, as much as his grandmother would have been disappointed, he had been fully prepared to be alone for the rest of his days. He never would have guessed that a gorgeous foreigner from the city would take up residence in his heart. You reminded him of the little wild tulips that dotted the fields with white each new spring. They had always been his favorite because although maybe unassuming and almost delicate at first glance, when you looked closer they were resilient and just… beautiful. He should probably write you a letter to let him choose his words carefully. Yes. And he’d deliver the letter to your doorstep to then patiently wait for your response.

“Did ya already get this one?“, you asked. Deciding to use the break in between downpours Kita had suggested to do some pruning in your veggie patch. The soil was soaked and muddy but the stone plates he had laid down a few weeks ago kept both of you from sinking in.

He smiled and nodded, working on the tomato plants while you went over to trim the superfluous sprouts from the bell peppers. He noticed some days ago that you had started to use his dialect in a few words here and there and every time it happened, his stomach did a little somersault.

“Thank you, by the way. For everything else, too.“, you said suddenly. He looked at you for a moment before continuing his task.

“Don‘t worry about it. It‘s not a big deal.“

“I don‘t just mean the pruning. I mean everything. It‘s a huge deal!“, you exclaimed, “You helped me with my garden, I don‘t know what you did to that realtor but I got compensation for the leaky roof and a whole handwritten apology letter. You give me advice, share your phenomenal produce for free, built me a planter, fixed my roof“, you gave a nervous chuckle while he blushed at the list of your appreciation, “and you mean to tell me none of that is a big deal?“

“Because they‘re only natural when ya love someone.“, he shrugged and froze a moment later mid-snip when he realized what he had just said.

“What?“

“I…“

“You… you love me?“

He took a silent deep breath. “Well… yeah.“, he then said in a tone as if confirming the sky was blue, “I thought it was rather obvious.“

When you didn‘t respond, he went back to pruning, trying to exude his usual air of calm but his heart pounded in his chest. There it was. And you didn‘t say anything. So you didn‘t feel the same after all. But at least it was out now. He examined the leaf of a momotaro tomato when he felt your hand on his cheek, turning his head to you. His eyes widened when your lips touched his. Short at first. You looked at him, probably waiting for a reaction, then leaned in again.

Kita squeezed his eyes shut to drown out the rushing sound in his ears. With trembling hands he needed two attempts to get the gloves off his hands so he could cup your cheeks and pull you closer.

____________________________________________

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you so much for sticking it out. I really really loved writing this. Because this is truly everything I love 😌 the next part will have a little spice in it but if you’d rather keep this story sfw this is where is “important” plot ends 🌟

art: coloring done by @keiko-chan

#kita x chubby reader #kita shinsuke x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #kita shinsuke x y/n #kita shinsuke x you #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu kita #kita shinsuke #kita fluff #hq kita #kita x reader

[anthurak]

So I thought I’d do a writeup on my current theory(s) about what state Summer might be in. Shoutout to @mikey-polo420 and @tumblingxelian for the ask and discussion that got me working on this one.

Simply put, after everything we’re seen over the last three volumes, we can now safely assume that Summer is NOT in fact dead, and is actually being held captive or is under the control or even employ of Salem, as well as being some kind of Grimm Hybrid. Specifically, that she is the ‘Patient Zero’ of Salem’s Grimm Hybrid project. As Ruby deduced after seeing what the Hound truly was; “When she met mom, she learned she could do something new…”

So what could this all actually mean? Is Summer stuffed in a stasis tube somewhere, or is she operating as one of Salem’s agents? And in case of the latter, is she simply being puppetted like the Hound was, brainwashed, or even serving Salem willingly as some people have started suggesting? What is even the state of Summer’s hybridization compared to what we’ve seen with the Hound or Cinder's own hybridizing?

Well for one, if Summer IS operating in the field as one of Salem’s agents, then I imagine our best bet is that she’s been overseeing the search for the Crown of Choice at the ruins of Beacon. As some have already posited, Summer could have been the one Salem was talking to in Volume 4 about searching for the vault under Beacon.

As to what state Summer herself might be in and the nature of her hybridization, my theory is that Summer is essentially a ‘Perfected Hybrid’. Rather than the desiccated corpse shoved into a grimm-suit that the Hound/TR was or the incomplete jumble of implants and prosthetics that we see in Cinder, I imagine that Summer at first glance is going to be the mythical ‘Humanoid Grimm’ that many people have been theorizing we might see sooner or later. As in, minimal animalist features and covered in a full-body ‘suit’ of grimm-material that looks just as much like armor or an exosuit as standard grimm ‘hide’.

Basically, think Darth Vader by way of grimm-hybridization. Complete with face-obscuring helmet that can be removed or knocked off for a big dramatic reveal.* As to what Summer might actually look like under all the hybrid armor? Well, I have a hunch she’ll look all too similar to Salem herself.

Because I have a feeling that the way Salem ‘learned that she could do something new…’ was when Summer fell or was thrown into one of the Darkness Pools. As in, precisely what happened to Salem HERSELF. Perhaps it was by accident while fighting Salem, or perhaps Salem was feeling dramatic and wanted to execute a defeated Summer in some poetic fashion.

However it happened, even Salem was surprised when Summer DIDN’T die and instead crawled out of the pool just like she did all those eons ago. Thus, a now EXTREMELY curious Salem subdued Summer and began the experiments.

THIS is what I imagine to be the start and goal of Salem’s Grimm Hybrid Program and what she’s been working on these past near-twenty years: Trying to research and replicate what happened to Summer.

The thing is, while Summer is effectively a perfect hybrid that Salem has been able to outfit with all kinds of grimm components, for whatever reason Salem just hasn’t been able to replicate what happened to Summer with other Silver Eyed Warriors that she’s captured. Hence where the other hybrids like the Hound/TR and even Cinder come in.

They’re all developments, extrapolations or off-shoots of Salem’s experimentations with Grimm Hybridization that all started with Summer. The Hound is essentially a very rough ‘beta-test’, ‘experiment’ as Salem calls it. Possibly the first hybrid she’s managed to get into a functional state.** Meanwhile Cinder likely in part represents Salem experimenting with more gradual hybridization as well as seeing how well the hybrids work as vessels for the Maiden Powers. As in, I would not be surprised at all if Salem actually has a few hybrids set up as ‘backup vessels’ for the Fall Maiden powers in the event that Cinder bites it.

So that just leaves to question of Summer’s mental state, ie; why is she working under Salem? Is she simply a puppet? A brainwashed slave? Or even a willing follower?

Personally, I think it’s a mix of the latter two options, though mostly brainwashing. For one, Summer simply being a mindless puppet rather diminishes the impact of her working for Salem. Conversely, I think it’s hard to imagine Summer being some fully loyal and willing servant of Salem like Cinder, Tyrian or the others, if for nothing else than it’s kinda hard to square that kind of loyalty with Summer also spending years being subjected to horrific tests and experiments for Salem’s hybrid program.

I think our most likely scenario is one wherein Summer has been completely and utterly BROKEN psychologically. Via a combination of her plan to defeat Salem utterly failing, the pain and horrors of both being turned into a Grimm Hybrid and Salem’s subsequent tests and experiments, along with Salem providing a hearty dose of ‘Would you like to hear all the things Oz was lying to you about all this time? Somehow it’s actually MORE than everything.’ Not to mention likely being told whatever Salem’s REAL goals are (ie; Oz is COMPLETELY wrong about Salem’s goal being a suicidal cosmic temper tantrum).

All of which have combined to give us Summer as a psychologically broken shell of a woman who ‘believes’ in what Salem in trying to do, only in the sense that this is what Salem has groomed her into.

In effect, Summer now represents both an extreme version of what Cinder has/will become AND the dark, twisted final result of where Ruby’s self-destructive hero-complex will lead.

--

*Bonus points if all present are shocked… except for our heroines, particularly Ruby who’s been dreading yet expecting this since Volume 8.

**I think it’s worth noting that we have no idea just how long Salem had the Hound on standby before Volume 8. It’s clear that Salem was using retrieving Oscar and the Lamp as a ‘test-run’ for the Hound, and there really isn’t a time in the show prior to the attack on Atlas that Salem had an opportunity to run this kind of test.

#rwby #rwby theory #rwby analysis #Summer Rose #Salem #grimm summer #rwby the hound #cinder fall #Ruby Rose