#“I'm afraid you won't be using enough violence”

[mybworlds]

Wintry dance

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: You, after a very long trip alone across the country, arrive in Jackson. Joel is a very lonely man and after Ellie broke up with him, he's even more alone and grumpy. Tommy and Maria decide that you're going to stay at Joel's house for a while, at least until more houses are built. Will your cohabitation be easy? Or will it be more complicated than everyone thinks?

Warnings: use of you, use of alcohol, loneliness, suicidal thoughts, a short story about sexual assault that occurred in the past I won't go into details, violence, blood, lots of sexually explicit content, use of petnames, dirty talk, fluff elements, mutual pining, the main characters spy on each other for a while, the image of the female character has the sole purpose of representing the character, but you can imagine her however you want, unspecified age gap, no physical description of the female character except for long hair often gathered in a ponytail or braid, she wears a bra and jeans (most of the time).

A/N Hey there, I'm sorry to make you wait almost a month between one chapter and another, but I really care about writing everything well and so I often take more time to write. I hope you like it as much as I do and if you don't like it, please be merciful. Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

Masterlist

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Taglist: @harriedandharassed

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

Winter comes and even the first snowflakes begin their wintry dance.

You love snow, from time immemorial. It gives you the idea of magic. You find yourself to smile behind the windows of the house.

Your life is finally regular, no unexpected events, no runaways, nothing. Everything is. . . strangely normal. You still struggle to get used to all this!

It's good for you. Finally you are not afraid anymore, you sleep in a really comfortable bed, you have a regular breakfast, lunch and dinner. You started going out with guys around your age a few days ago, you get out with Dina and Jesse even if they're younger than you, but it's okay. They are funny. And all you need now is to relax and let go a little, at least as much as you can.

From time to time, Jesse or Dina or sometimes Tommy call you for patrols and you go. You are really good to shoot with a bow, it's what people say about you and it's okay because it means you became part of a community, part of something and it's not bad as you thought.

Well, that's not all rosy. . . there's Joel who never changes his icy courtesy, after those strange moments you experienced together a few days ago. Not a word to you more than necessary, not a glance more than necessary. You don't know how long you can stay here in his house. Sooner or later he will tell you to go away, you're sure of it.

Where will you go? Probably you'll go to Dina's or Maria's. . . no idea.

Today it's your 40th patrol and you'll go with Joel. The idea doesn't excite you, but you don't want to be a troublemaker for anyone. Joel's annoyed look is enough.

The only sound is the hoof of horses in the snow, it's a good sound. Snow doesn't fall and at least you can find the way to go back to Jackson.

The two of you don't say a word, you often look at each other to point to a prey or if one of you see an infected. You kill at least three of those clickers before to get off the horse and heading into the forest. Joel is by your side, he's quiet, precise and a couple of times kills two runners who tried to reach you. You look at him surprised, "Thanks," you say.

"Uh, uh," it's his only reply.

After ten feet you ask him, "Those things were uhm. . ." you whisper.

"Runners, yeah." he says in the same tone as your.

"But it means. . ."

"It means they have recently turned into infected."

"So, it's probably. . ."

"Yeah, it's probably some of those things are somewhere around here."

You swallow looking at him, you are not afraid, it's not your first time. But you usually kill them alone and so you didn't have to think to anyone else except you, "Afraid?" he asks.

You look at him "No, but I always faced 'em alone. I never watched someone's back before."

"‘s okay, you won't start today," he says before to start to walk turning his back to you.

In some places, snow is deeper so your steps are slower and you often sunk, a couple of times Joel gives his hands to you to reach a higher point or to help you to walk, his hands are bigger than yours and his grip is firm. He holds you until you don't reach him then he abruptly lets go of your grip as if the mere contact with you bothers him.

Finally you see a deer, it's a good prey, you hold the string and then you let the arrow fly, the deer has no escape. Your arrow hits its neck, the poor deer tries to escape, but it falls to the ground dead.

"You really good," Joel says when the two of you reach the deer and he pulls the arrow away from its neck "I thought everyone was exaggerating,” he adds, bringing you right back down to earth.

"Thanks, let's take it away," you say tying it with a double rope so the two of you can drag it away.

You two don't talk on the way back, partly because of the cold and partly because you don't know what to say to each other. You hoped that that half-compliment would bring about a slight change in your relationship, but instead he immediately underlined his opinion of you. You only glance at each other from time to time and then return to focus on the road ahead of you.

The two of you reach your horses where you double rope the deer and then take off again and head towards Jackson.

"I can't wait to drink two large glasses of wine and fall asleep," he says, closing his eyes almost as if he's already savoring that moment, you notice how two dimples form on the sides of his cheeks when he gets that rare relaxed expression and you can't help but smile "What? Why d' ya smile?"

You shrug your shoulders, "When you make that face you're funny" you say unable to get your smile back.

"Glad to hear that! So, I'm some kind of clown!" he exclaims.

"No, clowns have always made me sad." you reply by wrinkling your nose.

When you look up at Joel, you see him staring at you, you frown in confusion.

“So, what is it that you like?” he asks you.

"Tsk, I know you're only asking out of politeness, not out of interest," you say.

Joel doesn't answer, you probably hit the nail on the head, you look ahead, you know he can't stand you.

It's evening. It's snowing again outside and it's very cold. Joel prepared the fire and strangely he didn't freeze you with his gaze nor did he give you the usual look with which he chases you away, you prepare a soup with meat and you bring him a plate that you place on his coffee table, then you turn your back and go to the kitchen, you're used to act like this with him. On the kitchen island there is also a hot dish for you that you prepared earlier, after two spoonfuls you hear a husky voice coming from the other room, "Why don't you come over to the fireplace? It's cold tonight."

You turn towards the fire and see Joel looking at you with the dish you prepared for him in his hands, "Come, won't bite" you look at his face as if to understand if he is joking or serious, his gaze is concentrated, but not hostile as usual so you nod, you get off the stool and you join him taking your dish with you.

He's sitting in an armchair, while you sit on the sofa in front of the fireplace. You look at him furtively at least a dozen times, then seeing him calmly eating, you imitate him.

The fire produces a familiar and pleasant crackling sound which heats both of you quickly and paints the walls and your faces a deep orange and black nuances.

"‘s good this soup!" he says savoring your dish down to the last spoonful.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, "is there any other dish you might like to eat? I can't guarantee success, but I'll try!" you exclaim trying to talk civilly with him without being attacked or cold-shouldered by his words..

He shakes his head, "Whatever it is, it'll be fine," he reassures you.

You nod.

For a while you only hear the crackling of the fire and the creaking of the burning wood, it's a strange but pleasant silence.

"You asked me earlier what it is that I like." you say after a while "I love the snow, seeing the snowflakes swirling in the air creating those little swirls. I love the expanses of wild flowers in spring or see a pristine meadow. I love going to the beach to see the ocean waves crash on the shore when summer arrives and then in autumn I love the carpets of red, yellow, brown leaves," you smile staring at the fire.

"You like nature, but. . . nothing about relationships with other people," he notes, you look up "You don't trust ‘em or is there some other reason?" he asks looking at you.

You bite your bottom lip, you find yourself looking at his face for a few moments before sighing, "Never mind. It's none of my business and I don't even care," he replies, suddenly freezing the room "Have you finished?" he asks you, getting up from the chair and pointing to the now empty plate in your hands, “Sure,” you reply.

"Good, gimme," he says, holding out his hand to take the plate that you immediately hand him, "If you wanna, stay close to the fire a little longer." he says as he's about to take his leave.

"Joel," he pauses, "I know I'm a burden to you, someone to get rid of, but I promise you, I'll try not to make you feel my presence too much, I know you don't wanna me around" you tell him, turning your torso partially towards him "when maybe they build more houses, I'll leave."

Joel stares at you in the semi-darkness and then he walks away without saying a word.

Actually, you love many other things, but you still don't feel completely at ease with Joel and above all he just admitted that deep down he doesn't really care what you like or what you're interested in.

Joel washes those two plates and those two spoons at least twenty times. He doesn't know what to replicate to your words and therefore he delays the moment when he will find himself alone with you again. The truth is he doesn't know what he wants right now. You're still a burden, you're still a hindrance to his routine, but it's become harder to treat you badly now. Maybe it was Tommy's words, maybe Ellie's or maybe it was you with all your unspoken words, your sweetness, your attitude, your look that made him understand that he's not the only one who suffers from something.

He pours himself a drink, he places his lips against the glass, but then he thinks better and puts the glass down.

"Fuck!" he exclaims, then dries the dishes and finally joins you.

By the time he reaches you, you are fast asleep. You're on your stomach and hugging the sofa cushion.

He watches you, he runs a hand through his hair, then takes two blankets and he places them on you. You visibly relax, Joel can even swear he saw you smile and twice in the same evening is a lot.

He sits in the armchair and turns on the small light on the side table, he puts on his reading glasses and then takes a book from the drawer of the side table.

He reads several pages, stopping every now and then when he hears you moan meaningless words in your sleep or when he sees you wrinkle your forehead. He takes off his glasses and places the book on the side table, he puts out the fire and puts on the spark arrestor, then fixes the blankets for you, he gives you one last look and then leaves. When he gets into bed, he realizes that it's the first time in probably months that he has reached his room sober.

When you wake up the next day, you have two warm, thick blankets over you. You stretch and yawn loudly, then you sit up and realize you're not in your bed, but in Joel's living room.

Did he let you stay here to sleep? This is really weird.

You get up and fold the blankets to the side, then you go to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee, it has a unique taste, but it's not that bad.

It's been a long time since you drank coffee. . .

You decide to make one for Joel, he's an asshole, but he'll still host you at his house. You take a cup that you imagine is his with an owl on it, you smile. The owl actually represents him very well, it's a nocturnal, solitary and extremely territorial animal.

You pour the coffee into the cup and go upstairs, the door to his room is almost completely closed, you knock weakly a couple of times, then open it. Joel is lying face up in the center of the bed, his arms completely open so that he takes up the entire bed, the pulled aside covers show his exposed torso.

You watch his thick fingers full of small cracks and cuts, his hands relaxed, his face is a mixture of sweetness and masculinity, the wrinkles are barely noticeable, the lips parted, his chest is broad as it looked and you watch a lot of scratches and a very large old scar on his abdomen.

You swallow, you lower your head unsure about what to do or what to say, maybe you have to go back to the hall and knock again and pretend you didn't stare at him for so long. You can almost hear his voice thundering against you.

Yes, you'll do so.

You are about to get out, when you hear him move into the bed and mumbles something to you, you clearly hear your name so you slowly turn your back to the door again, fuck. . .

"Hey, that's my mug!" he says with a sleepy expression and tone of voice.

You clear your throat and then you offer his cup, "Yeah, it is. Here."

He sits in the center of the bed exposing even more his torso. You look at him or rather you look at his bare chest.

He follows your gaze, “Oh, fuck. . . sorry, I'm wearing a t-shirt," Joel apologizes, as you see him lean towards a nearby chair and cover himself.

You look everywhere but him who is now wearing a grey shirt and reaches out a hand towards the cup you're holding out to him and begins to sip his coffee.

"D' ya feel uncomfortable?" he asks you all of a sudden.

You look at him again, "N - n - no," you say barely hold his gaze.

"‘s okay, darlin'. I won't bite." he says putting the cup on his bedside table "Comin' in a while, I'll see ya downstairs, okay?" you nod before to leave.

Darling?

No one has ever used these nicknames and above all you don't expect them from a person who is so openly hostile towards you.

Joel is a living enigma. He says such harsh words, but then he does such sweet things like tucking you in. You don't understand.

You walk down the stairs slowly feeling your heart beating wildly in your chest. When you reach the kitchen, it almost feels like someone has sucked the air out of your lungs.

Ralph. . . the thought of him suddenly comes back violently before your eyes.

You pour some cold water into a glass and sip it slowly, “Fuck...” you murmur sitting on a stool, you place your hands on the shelf feeling your head spin, you close your eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply, counting from fifty backwards.

When you regain control of yourself, you get up and go out onto the porch, you find yourself thinking that you need to get out of this house as soon as possible.

In a certain sense your life has improved, you think, you have friends, days that are almost identical to each other, you have a roof over your head, food in your stomach, but your nightmares continue to haunt you.

You have pain everywhere. He beat you mercilessly, he punched you under an eye, he violently squeezed your wrists while he raped you, you stagger, you want to report what you lived, but in the QZ, when they saw you in that state, they thought you had been bitten and they pointed all sorts of weapons at you. You were shaking, you peed on yourself, you were raped and they were pointing guns at you and looking at you like you were filthy. After verifying that you were not infected, they listened to you, but their response was that they have much more serious problems than yours, that's what an officer told you when you told him why you were covered in blood and bruises. You are treated and a nurse gives you a painkiller, the same scene repeats itself before your eyes without stopping, you can't breathe. You fall asleep seeing Ralph push himself inside you with increasing violence and feeling your flesh tear under his thrusts.

You wake up with a start, screaming and waving your hands in the air to free yourself from his grip. You sit up and bring your knees close to your chest, you place your hands on your ears and burst into tears.

NEXT CHAPTER ➢

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

You will notice the image has been slowly getting control over your body.

You will notice you have found you need more of what I am giving you.

These attention horizons

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐗-𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: charles xavier, erik lehnsherr, logan howlett, marie lebeau, and peter maximoff

↳ warnings: x-man type violence maybe? nothing much

↳ notes: just some self indulgent headcanons about how the gang would deal with someone who hates skin on skin contact. this is based on my own personal experiences, so it might not cater to everyone. charles and erik are written to be more of themselves around the first class era, peter is himself as seen in apocalypse, and marie & logan are more set in the first movie's portrayal of them

↳ song: heavy metal lover—lady gaga

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 [𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐗]

• Oh this is not one bit of a problem for Charles

• He's never needed physical contact to connect with people. Whether that's because of his powers, or his 'natural charm' as he calls it, you aren't sure, but your strange request for no contact never seemed to put him off his friendship with you

• Charles has his own ways of bonding with you, no hugs or handshakes required. Instead of nudges used to alert the other of a particularly funny joke, he'd just send you flashes in your mind regarding the situation. The end result was always the same; with the both of you grinning at each other while the rest of the room was left to make their own assumptions as to what you were thinking about

• "Seriously, it's creepy when they do that. They could be talking about anything." Alex whispered to Hank one day as you and Charles stood across the room from each other, not caring if the Professor was able to hear him or not. The only sign that you were even talking was the occasional huff of laughter Charles would let out as you scrunched your nose up in a toothy grin

• "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Hanks eyes gleam from behind his glasses as he watches the two of his friends. "Charles tells me most of it is just really bad jokes, if you want to know."

• As if on cue, the spell between you and Charles breaks as you delve into a laughing fit, and Alex and Hank can't help but shake their heads at each other in slight amusement as they watch

• He does an excellent job at speaking for you when you can't quite explain to new people why you are the way you are—as long as you'll let him, of course

• Maybe it's because he's been in your head, or just because he knows you so well that he can say exactly what you're thinking before you even know it. And sometimes, he doesn't even need to explain much at all. One carefully worded sentence backed with that steady tone of his is enough to make even the most ignorant of people understand

• "No handshakes for them, please." Charles had found himself saying that sentence more times than he could count since getting to know you, but he never found himself growing tired of it; even when you eventually found the awkward courage to start speaking on your behalf. Especially when you started speaking on your behalf

• Charles is a very patient man, and he couldn't be happier than to wait for you to open up to the world like you had done for him, even if it does take a while

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫 [𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐨]

• I'm going to be completely honest with you. At first, Erik finds your habit of avoiding touch annoying

• It's a weakness in his eyes that you have every opportunity to avoid acquiring. He doesn't see the point in being afraid of something so miniscule

• When he first meets you, he's probably an asshole about it. Erik doesn't go out of his way to touch you on purpose, but he won't take extra steps to stop himself from doing so. If the back of his hand brushes against yours as he storms away from another one of Charles' annoying lectures? Then so be it. Who cares if you pull back from him like you've been burned, clutching your skin tightly as you glare at his retreating form

• It will take a while for Erik to begin to understand you, much like it does for him to understand a lot of things about the rest of the world. I won't say that he ever officially apologizes for his past behavior toward you, but he definitely drops hints that he does regret it

• "Never thought I'd live to hear the Erik Lehnsherr himself say sorry for something he did. Next you'll be telling me you've always liked humans." Your eyes were wide in faux surprise as you stared at him one day, looking like you had just heard the best news of your life. It was a good thing you and Erik had a much better relationship than when you had first met, otherwise he wouldn't have had a second thought about shutting you up

• "All I said was that maybe I maybe could have been a bit nicer to you." He sighed, already regretting this entire interaction

• "Oh, you're not getting off that easy." You were already scrambling for the door, completely missing the way Erik rolled his eyes and flicked his hand up in preparation. "Charles! Charles, you'll never believe what just happened—"

• He ended up using your belt buckle to drag you across the room before you could embarrass him any further

• Once he's warmed up to you, I'd like to think that he's definitely used the fact that lots of people wear rings and bracelets to his advantage to stop people from touching you at bars or in crowds

• He swears up and down he doesn't get attached to anyone, and especially not someone that associates with the X-Men of all groups, but you've definitely have had a few people look at their hands around you in confusion while he's around. Almost as if someone else had a say in their actions

• "Big softie."

• "You do know I could kill you if I wanted to."

• "I'd like to retract my last statement, please and thank you."

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 [𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

• Logan doesn't give two shits about your strange request

• Not in the way that he ignores it like Erik, but rather in the way that he literally doesn't give a fuck if you want to be touched or not. He wasn't planning on touching you anyways, so it's not like he really has to think about it

• If anything, Logan is one of the only people who can even begin to understand your mindset. He's never been too fond of people just outright touching him without a warning first, especially if they were strangers, but that's what you get after being experimented on for years

• He'll have to get to both know and like you before he starts taking your words more seriously. Otherwise, all you're getting from him is a gruff noise of disinterest and a roll of his shoulders as he blows past you

• Or ar least that's what he'd like you to think

• "Watch it, pal." You barely had time to process what that noise was next to your ear before Logan was standing dangerously close to you. You were about to ask him to back away before you saw his hand up, and when you looked at his hand you saw it was closed around a strangers wrist; the likes of which was outreached in your direction and just about to make contact with you

• Logans rough tone and sharp glare had sent the fellow stumbling away with an apology, and left you standing there with a bewildered look on your face. It only grew larger when he refused to look at you afterward

• "Don't let it get to your head." Was all he huffed out in your general direction before walking off to continue the mission the both of you were on. Through the com's in your ears, you could hear the rest of the team asking you what was going on, and with a slow upward tick of your lip you finally answered

• "I think Wolverine here has gone a bit soft on my end guys."

• You were given the cold shoulder for the rest of the week by Logan, and every time he glared at you, you couldn't help but try to hold in laughter

• "See, this is why I'm not nice."

• "No no no I take it all back, I swear. You're so mean. You're the meanest, toughest person here, never done a good deed in your life—"

• "Shut the fuck up."

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮 [𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

• She doesn't understand why you'd choose to have people not touch you

• For Marie, not being able to hug someone— to even so much as hold hands with the people she loved —is a curse. She wasn't such a fool to think that her mutation itself was the curse, Charles had managed to drill that thought out of her head a long while ago, but the side-effect that came with it would forever haunt her

• So when she found out that you actively took strides to make sure no one ever touched you (if possible), she was in disbelief

• "I just don't get it." She'd confessed to you out of the blue once. "How can you stand it? If I were you—"

• "But you're not." You cut her off and shrugged, voice devoid of any meanness or annoyance at the turn of conversation. "I get it. I must seem crazy to you. I'd imagine that you'd jump at the chance to be able to touch someone again. But that just isn't me. I can't stand the feeling of being touched. Makes me feel gross; inside and out. I don't ask you to understand it, just that you respect it. Yeah?"

• She had nodded slowly at you, not expecting the sudden explanation. It wasn't unwelcome, however. Quite the contrary. She'd rather understand you than stew in quiet confusion

• From that moment on, even if Marie thinks you're a little crazy in the head, she does her best to make sure that both herself and others take your wishes to heart

• You have to admit, it's nice having her look out for you. And it helps that she's one of the most powerful mutants on campus; one sideways look from her, and she could send anyone in the opposite direction from you if you need

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 [𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫]

• You're constantly having to remind him that you don't like people touching you

• It's not Peter's fault he forgets sometime. His brain is always going going going from one thing to the next. Thinking about the next mission, the quickest way to get from one end of the country to the other, how to beat that stupid kid at the arcade that keeps leaving him and his high scores in the dust—

• Okay so maybe he could do a bit of a better job of trying to listen

• "Peter, reach for the back of my neck again and I'm gonna break both of your legs." You didn't even have to turn around to know that he was itching to latch onto your neck, most likely to take you on a surprise trip a few states over. Or maybe just to the mall. He was spontaneous like that

• When you did manage to look up from your notebook and back at him, you found that Peter was already a good few feet away from you, holding up his hands with a deceivingly innocent smile; but respecting your wishes all the same

• "You sure you're not a secret nun or something?" He poked fun at the way you refused to let anyone touch you, even going as far to squint at you in an unconvinced manner. You ignored his clear misunderstanding of nuns to snort in amusement

• "No."

• "Could have fooled me, babe."

• He sped away before you had the chance to throw your papers at his head

• Peter's probably the kind of guy to constantly tease you to your face, but the moment you're not in sight and someone's ragging on you, he'll shut them down. He's done it many times to stray students in the hallways of the school who talk just a little too loud about your personal boundaries

• "I'm just saying, man, they're a little weird. The other day, I asked to borrow a pencil, and they threw it at me. While standing less than a foot away. It's just strange—"

• Less than a second later, the student was sent falling to the floor over his shoelaces, which were suspiciously tied together in contrast to moments ago when they had been placed in neat little bows

• The only sign that this hadn't been a freak accident was the telltale burst of wind that sped by the student and their friend, a faint laugh following in its wake

[nastybuckybarnes]

Street Mouse

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.

~*~

The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.

You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.

The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.

Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.

Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.

A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.

He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.

You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.

He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.

He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.

"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"

Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.

You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.

For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.

Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.

Which makes it a perfect place to hide.

And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.

And so you begin to follow him.

The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.

Which is how you find yourself here.

You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.

Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.

And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.

The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.

"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.

You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.

He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.

"Show yourself."

You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.

A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.

You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.

'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.

Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.

"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.

He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.

Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.

You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.

He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.

Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.

This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.

It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.

And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.

The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.

"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.

He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.

On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.

He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.

He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.

What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.

Hostage rescue.

But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.

That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.

Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.

Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.

"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.

He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.

"A little mouse told me," is his reply.

Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.

As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.

Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.

On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.

With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.

Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.

"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.

Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.

His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.

~*~

You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.

It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.

Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.

"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.

He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.

"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.

One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.

"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.

You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.

He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.

"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.

This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.

"Do we?"

The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.

The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.

Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.

"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.

"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.

Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.

"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.

The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.

Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.

"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.

You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.

"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.

Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"

The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.

"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.

"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."

With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.

He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.

As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.

"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.

You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.

He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.

"You speak English?"

You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."

Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.

His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.

"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.

He nods, pointing to the little drawing.

"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."

You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.

Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.

You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.

But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.

He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.

"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.

"Or at least don't get caught."

[artbyblastweave]

Heroify: Kingpin

Compared to some of the other characters people have sent in today this is like shooting monkeys in a barrel!

Part of the reason Fisk is such a good Daredevil villain is that he's already got a lot of the basic elements you need to make a street-level hero work- the will, the drive, the protectiveness, the territoriality, and the quote-unquote "badass normal" peak human fighting ability that, let's not fuck around here, is absolutely a superpower even if the chickenshit writers won't directly admit to that. It's just that he uses those abilities to be a crime boss rather than to fight crime bosses. To put himself in charge of his childhood bullies instead of fighting his bullies. A classic case of "If only he'd used his immense capacity for interpersonal violence for good." What would make him stand out from all the other heroes in his niche is his propensity for Empire-building, his complete inability not to build up some kind of organization from scratch, and what that impulse might look like in a superheroic context.

I'm imagining that his initial schtick is that of a Bully Hunter. After getting ripped and wiping the floor with his childhood bullies-or maybe this is one of the versions who offed his own father for beating on his Mother- he embraces the specific high of the "pick on someone your own size" routine, and he becomes The Big Man, the guy you go to when you need somebody who's been getting away with something for a while cut down to size. Upstairs neighbor is beating his wife and kid senseless, and nobody does anything because his brother's a cop? Call The Big Man. Real Estate Baron's using his connections to try to muscle out the residents of a tenement? The Big Man's gonna pay them a visit. Boss at the diner's withholding your paychecks and getting away with it because you're undocumented? You get where this is going. He usually doesn't kill people- not out of any particular code, but out of a combination of pragmatism and sadism. He's smart enough to engineer situations in a way that he can claim self-defense or frame someone's tumble down the stairs as an unfortunate accident or rely on the unexamined illegality of whatever his target was doing to prevent them from getting the police involved. He's got a bit of a financial cushion, as well, because all of this is actually his side gig- he's still a very successful, if not as cutthroat, local businessman, because hospitalizing domestic abusers doesn't pay the bills. As a power move, he does most of this under his own name- he's got a "costume" in the form of the distinct suit, and a nominal codename, but part of the bit, part of the point he's making, is that he's slightly better at weaseling out of the consequences of his actions than the people he targets. Always a bigger fish, after all. Power is relative. His thematic niche is distinct from Daredevil's abstract sense of idealized justice. It's not Frank Castles mechanical eye-for-an-eye approach. It's about the satisfaction of leaving a certain category of wrongdoer alive, so that they can remain very, very afraid.

Of course, since his entire bit is that he keeps putting untouchable assholes in fullbody casts, the attempts on his life start stacking up- First it's Ed the domestic abuser and his buddies from the bar coming around for a rematch, and then goon squads, then hand ninjas, then low-rent supervillains- and because The Big Man toes the line of being an actual superhuman, he's usually winning these things, and coming out ahead in the PR game for beating down a bunch of costumed thugs attacking his Perfectly Legitimate Art Gallery- but it's a pain that his office keeps getting firebombed. And this is where you start to reap the benefits of having done under-the-table favors for hundreds of people all over New York- The Big Man has a network now. The Big Man knows guys who knows guys, some of whom owe him favors, some of whom are just really afraid of him coming back for round two. The Big Man can pull together a hundred guys with crowbars and hammers on a day's notice, if he happens to need something like that. If he doesn't know someone with a backdoor into Tombstone's fortified penthouse or Hammerhead's mansion, if he doesn't know someone with incriminating information on Silvermane or Norman Osborn, well. He knows their cousin. And once he thinks to begin leveraging this? If the people escalating things have specific addresses, by the end of the week they very likely don't.

It's not as if he eliminates all criminal activity. He's not even interested in doing so. Like half the painting's he's selling are really convincing forgeries. But things hit a point where there's simply a hard practical limit on how imperial a supercriminal's ambitions in New York can become, how domineering, how visible to the man on the street, before The Big Man decides it's time to make a point and starts calling people, who in turn start calling people.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

In My Time of Dying | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ?)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hospitals and death and fun stuff like that

Word Count: 2997

A/N: Surprise! It's time for season 2! And as an extra treat, I'm gonna publish episode 2 with this one since it's a little short. Happy reading!! Thank you guys for all the love and support!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

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You were completely pinned down beneath the side of the car that had been pushed into your lap in the accident. You clung to Dean still, afraid to move your upper-half and unable to move your bottom. You listened to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat and willed him to stay alive for you.

Your eyes opened at the sound of Sam groaning.

“Sam!” you exclaimed. 

He groaned again, moving his head a little to the direction of the sound of your voice. “(Y/N)?”

Suddenly, the hinges were ripped off the driver’s side door to reveal the demon-possessed driver of the eighteen-wheeler that had struck the Impala.

“Back. Or I'll kill you, I swear to god,” Sam stated firmly.

“You won't. You're saving that bullet for someone else.”

Sam cocked the Colt. “You wanna bet?”

You looked on in fear before the demon poured out of the man, and he collapsed to the ground. You heard the sound of the gun uncocking, and Sam dropped his head back in relief.

“Oh my god!” you heard the trucker’s voice say. “Did I do this?”

“Dean, come on,” you whined. “Please.”

Sam called his brother’s name and told the trucker to call 911. He did so despite his panic. After what felt like forever, emergency services were to you. The EMTs had to pry you off of Dean, and you wailed in agony as they moved your sore body away from him. “No, please! I have to stay with him!”

“Ma’am, don’t fight us, please. We don’t want to hurt you more,” the EMT strapping you into a stretcher and neck brace said. She began to shout your blood pressure and vitals to the uniformed people surrounding you as you called out to Dean again. “Please! Just tell me he’s okay!”

No one would answer you.

“Is he even alive?!”

***

As soon as the doctors told you you could go see Dean, you leapt out of the bed as well as you could on your throbbing leg and bruised rib cage. Thankfully, that was as serious as your injuries got. You had no idea what the Winchesters’ situations were. 

You limped down the hallway to Dean’s room just down the hall from yours and took a sharp breath in horror. Wires were hooked up to every part of him. He was intubated, and machines steadily beeped around him. His chest was exposed with electrodes hooked up to it. His forehead had a deep cut running down the center of it, and his body remained lifeless. You tentatively walked over to his bedside and sat in the empty chair next to it. You held his hand tightly and kissed it repeatedly. “Dean, you have to come back to me, please.” Tears streamed down your face.

Sam walked in the room just after you did, giving you his puppy dog eyes at the sight of you holding his brother’s hand and Dean’s body. “Oh, no,” he said.

You dropped Dean’s hand long enough to hobble over to Sam and hug him as tightly as your damaged body would allow. “I’m so glad to see you, man. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Are you?”

“All things considered, yeah,” you replied.

A doctor entered the room behind you and Sam. “Your father's awake. You can go see him if you like.”

“Doc, what about my brother?” Sam asked.

“Well, he sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema,” the doctor explained.

“Well, what can we do?” You looked between Sam and the doctor worriedly. 

“Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up.” The doctor paused. “If he wakes up.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “If?”

“I have to be honest, most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations.”

Your chest felt like someone was squeezing the air out of you. You began to hyperventilate as you made your way back over to Dean. Using his bed for support, you eased yourself back down into the chair and picked up his hand again.

Sam looked at you sadly before exiting the room, presumably to go see his father.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you muttered. “John ‘ll know what to do. You’re gonna wake up, and I’m gonna tell you everything. You have to come back to me, so I can tell you.” Tears streamed steadily down your face. “You have to come back, Dee. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man. I… I need you here. I need you.” You brought his hand up to your lips and just held it there as you sobbed. After a while, you drifted off, crying and holding onto Dean tightly.

***

It had been hours of sitting next to Dean and praying to a god you didn’t believe in that he’d wake up and this would all be over. You needed to tell him the feelings you’d been holding in for the better half of a year now. You needed him to know how much he meant to you.

You just needed to talk to him. And so, you did. “Dean, I’ve never told you this— in fact, I feel weird saying it now— but you matter more to me than anybody else in my life has. You just… you make my day better just by being in it. And I hope I do the same for you.

“Y’know, I never really hated you. You frustrated me so fucking much, but I could never hate you.” You drew in a breath. “I figured out that the reason I thought I hated you was because you challenged me. You told me you found me intimidating, but you never treated me like I was. That’s the difference between you and most other people. You’re fearless. Completely. It scares me sometimes, honestly. But you make me stronger, Dean. And I just… I hope I make you feel half as much as you make me feel. There’s so much I have to tell you when you wake up. I probably won’t say any of this to you while you’re awake— y’know, vulnerability and all that— but… I just needed to say it in case—” Your throat caught. “In case I never see you again.”

***

Another hour had gone by of you sitting with Dean. You refused to move from your spot to eat or drink or go to the bathroom. All that mattered was that you kept your eyes on him. You told yourself that if you could still feel or see him, then he was here. And that was enough.

You stared at his peaceful features. You remembered for a moment what he’d looked like sleeping, and you could almost see it now. However, the wires and tubes obstructing your view kept you grounded in the horrible reality that was the present moment: you and Sam may be leaving without him.

Your heart rate picked up as that thought crossed your mind and began to race even more as Dean flatlined.

“Help, help!” you screamed. You raced out into the hallway. “Code Blue, room 202! Code Blue!” 

Doctors and nurses immediately responded to your call and rushed behind you into the room. You watched in horror as they began to try and resuscitate him.

Sam had apparently heard your cries and ran down the hallway to you.

“Sam, he flatlined, he—” You buried your face in his chest, and he guided you into the room against the far wall. 

“Still no pulse,” a nurse said. You couldn’t bear to watch as they shocked his lifeless body.

Sam suddenly stiffened against you just as the frantic beeping of the monitors quieted. 

“We have a pulse. We're back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse said.

You let go of Sam and breathed deeply as you turned to his brother. You couldn’t get to him due to the doctors and nurses still fussing about, but you smiled briefly at the fact that he was still here. You looked up at the younger brother. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just thought I heard something,” he said looking around confused. “It felt like Dean.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don't know if it's my psychic thing or what, it— But do you think it's even possible? I mean, do you think his spirit could be around?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the things you’d admitted to Dean’s unconscious body. “Anything’s possible.”

“Well, there's one way to find out.” Sam began to leave Dean’s room. 

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta pick something up. I'll be back. Let me go tell my Dad.”

***

About an hour later, you still sat holding Dean’s right hand. You couldn’t let go now that you’d almost lost him a second time. Sam reentered the room. He was clutching a brown paper bag with an oblong object in his arms. 

“Welcome back,” you said. “What’s that?”

Sam seemed embarrassed. “I, uh, almost don’t wanna say.” He pulled out a Ouija Board.

You snorted. “Seriously?”

He ignored you and looked around the room at nothing. “Hey. I think maybe you're around. And if you are, don't make fun of me for this, but um, well, there's one way we can talk.” He sat the box and board on the floor in front of Dean’s bed. You looked on eagerly.

“Dean? Dean, are you here?” He put two fingers on each hand on the planchette. Moments later, it moved to “YES” on the board.

“Sam, don’t tell me you’re doing that,” you breathed out. “Or do, I don’t know which answer I want.”

“It's good to hear from you, man,” Sam laughed. “It hasn't been the same without you, Dean.”

The pointer began to slide around the board. “Dean, what? H? U? Hunt? Hunting? What, are you hunting?”

The pointer slid back to "YES."

“It's in the hospital; what you're hunting? Do— Do you know what it is?” Sam paused and gained his composure. “What is it?”

The pointer slid across the board too fast for you to read from your position next to Dean’s body. 

“A reaper. Dean. Is it after you?”

You watched with bated breath as the pointer slid to “YES.”

“If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it,” Sam murmured. “Man, you're, um—” He got up from the ground and began to pace.

“No, no, no,” you said, looking over to Dean’s peaceful features. “You’re not fucking leaving me, dammit. There’s gotta be a way.”

“Dad'll know what to do.” Sam rushed out of the room, leaving the Ouija board on the ground.

You slowly stood and moved over to the board. You immediately missed the feeling of his hand in yours, even if he couldn’t hold back. You sat before the board and let out a shaky breath, placing your hands on the planchette. “Dee, you still here?”

The planchette slid to “YES” before returning to the middle of the board.

You huffed out an anxious breath. “Did you, um, did you hear what I said earlier?”

It slid back to “YES.”

“Oh, God, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you until you were awake again,” you rushed out. “I didn’t— I’m sorry— Can you—”

“S” “L” “O” “W” “D” “O” “W” “N” the board spelled out.

You laughed shakily. “Sorry.” You paused. “Do you— Do you feel the same way?”

The planchette hesitated before sliding over to “YES.” A smile you couldn’t contain spread across your face. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you die now.”

Sam returned moments later carrying his father’s journal. “Hey. So Dad wasn't in his room.”

“Where is he?” you asked.

“Who knows? Maybe there's something here.” He tapped the journal before leafing through it. He stopped on the page that said “Reapers.” 

“How’s this supposed to help us, Sam? We already know we can’t kill ‘em,” you stated.

“I know, I know, I just… I thought maybe there’d be something else here. A way to… bargain with ‘em or something.”

You smiled at him sadly. Not knowing what else to say, you told him, “I know he appreciates that you’re not givin’ up on him, Sammy.”

***

Hours later, Sam had poured through almost every page of the journal. He paced around the room and began talking to Dean’s spirit. “Dean, are you here? I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting.

"I mean, come on you can't, you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that.” He stopped and stood over you, looking down at his brother. “Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again. Can you hear me?”

***

You had even slept with Dean’s hand in yours through the night. Sam had gone in and out of the room a few times, but never John.

“Sam, what do we do, man?” You brushed a hand over your eyes, feeling exhausted and fueled by emotion all at once. 

He shook his head. “I’m thinkin’, okay?” he snapped.

“Sorry,” you muttered after a moment. 

“Me, too,” he said. 

Suddenly, Dean shot up and gasped, choking on the tube in his throat.

“Help! I need help!” you called into the hallway. 

***

“I can't explain it. The edema's vanished,” the doctor explained. “The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You have some kind of angel watching over you.”

“Thanks, doc,” Dean said. 

Your stomach sank knowing Dean didn’t remember what you’d said to him while he’d been unconscious, but you felt comforted knowing he felt the same way. You’d tell him when he was out of that crummy hospital gown, that somehow, he still managed to make look attractive.

Dean turned to his brother. “So, you said a Reaper was after me?”

You and Sam nodded.

“How'd I ditch it?”

You shrugged. “We don’t know. You really don’t remember… anything?”

“No. Except this pit in my stomach. (Y/N), something's wrong.”

The three of you turned your head to a knock at the door. John limped in for the first time you’d seen him since the accident. You fought the urge to start yelling at him about how he hadn’t come to see his son.

“How you feeling, dude?” John asked his son.

“Fine, I guess. I'm alive.”

John smiled sadly for a reason you couldn’t place. “That's what matters.”

“Where were you last night?” Sam was angry.

“I had some things to take care of.”

Sam scoffed. “Well, that's specific. Did you go after the demon?”

“No.”

“You know, why don't I believe you right now?”

John half-smiled despite the situation. “Can we not fight?” he pleaded. “You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I— I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Dad, are you alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, son, would you, uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

Sam left you and Dean with John.

“I, uh, have a thing. At a… place,” you mumbled awkwardly, leaving the room. You stood outside and waited for Sam to return, bouncing on your heels and thinking about how and when you were going to tell Dean how you felt for the second time.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by John putting a hand on your shoulder. Strangely, he pulled you into a hug. “I’m happy I ran into you in Jericho. Thanks for watching my boys.” And with that, he left. You watched him retreat back to his room for a moment before heading back in to see Dean. 

“Hey,” you said awkwardly.

“Hey,” he responded, seeming a little out of it. “What’re you nervous about?”

“I feel like the timing’s really bad for me to tell you,” you responded. "Especially with your dad and his cryptic thing he did just now."

“Well, now you definitely have to,” Dean half-smirked.

You took a deep breath. “While you were… out… I told you something.”

He looked at you expectantly.

You huffed out a quick breath. “You remember that stupid pinky promise I made you make? You told me I confuse you, and you promised to tell me why someday. Is… Are you? I mean— Jesus, I’m never like this—” 

Before you or Dean could continue, you suddenly heard Sam screaming, “Help! Somebody, help!” from down the hall. You and Dean jerked to attention and looked at each other briefly before leaping off the bed and running down the hall. When you reached the doorway, John was being taken away from Sam and Sam was shoved out of the room.

A nurse tried to shove you and Dean away as well. “No, no, no, it's our dad. It's our dad!” 

She stopped pushing you and allowed you to stay by the door.

“C’mon, John,” you muttered. “C’mon.”

“Okay, stop compressions.”

Your heart sank watching Dean’s horrified face as they called the time of his father's death.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[heartfullofleeches]

Look, I don't want to sound like a presumptuous person but I just read your OC Vendetta and Healer Darling.

Now please consider Healer Darling that will beat someone till they almost died but Darling went "Not so fast-", will revive/heal them again with the power of healer because in their mind the beating is not enough. Then this cycle will go on and on till the Darling is satisfied. Just- just a healer person who are not afraid to use it for bad...

[Yan Magical Boy + Healer Reader Blurb]

[Tw: Violence, implied attempted assault]

"On your feet."

Choked sobs spill from blacked and bruised lips. Blood dirties your colthing and the filthy alley streets - kissing your aching knuckles and some even splattering on your face from the spray. Your would be assailant clutches their right leg, glazing up at you with their good eye and silently pleading for mercy.

You almost laugh - saving all your energy for the fist you throw at their jaw.

"I said - get on your feet."

"I...I can't...I'm sorry.. My.. leg.. my leg I think it's broken. I can't put any weight on it. Please, please just let me go. I won't do anything like this again, I swear-"

"I know you won't."

You place a hand on their leg, nails sinking into the damaged flesh as they jerk in a feeble attempt at kicking you away. Radiance emanates from your palm - the discoloration of their flesh peeling away as it flares brighter. Your attacker can only watch on in horror as the feeling returns to their battered limb. You beckon them upward.

"Come on. Get up. No excuses now."

They stumble to their feet. Silence falls over the scene say for their labored breathes as they stand there, weighing their options. Clenched fists relaxed around their cracked. They already underestimated you once tonight. Your attack takes a step back to leave the opposite way they came-

Ending up right back where they were moments ago as your foot connects with their chest.

Some of your shots may be cheap, but you'd have to be a coward to hit someone while their back was turned - and tonight alone you've proved you're anything but.

"You didn't actually think we were done, did you?"

The wet crack of flying teeth bounces off the alley walls. A molar lands at the feet of the shadow hiding just beyond a collection of dumpsters outside of your range of sight and rage - followed by another soon after presumably from the same placement. He probably should've stepped in by now, but the only time he cared to was before you threw the first punch and knock your attacker off their feet.

Vendetta waits until you're fully invested in pummeling the poor fuck before reaching out and scooping up the collection of teeth to keep as a trophy. Maybe he'll make matching necklaces to surprise you with some day in the future. For now he had to focus on regaining the strength in his own limbs so he could get the hell out of here before you noticed him. Who needed porn when he got to witness something like this? He was dying to meet you in person, but approaching you in this state probably wasn't the best idea for a first encounter. He'd probably ask you to punch him too and climax on the spot.

"h....help....."

Vendetta looks up - lips curling into a cruel smile as his eyes meet with the source of the pathetic whimper. He presses his fingers to his lips, hushing your attacker as they're dragged away screaming. Vendetta clicks his tongue as he pockets the handful of teeth - heartbroken over the fact he can't join the fun just yet.

He'll just have to settle for the leftovers once you're done.

[vampyrekat]

cant believe i forgot about maleficent and her emo boytoy omg thank you for cleansing the timeline🫶

I am so pleased to bless the timeline with a fine vintage ship, come join me in savoring it. I checked out the novelization on a whim (commuting) and I was like, oh right! I forgot this movie and specifically this ship was made in a lab for my brain. So now I've rewatched the film and I'm lost in the sauce.

I love that Maleficent/Diaval is the story of two people accidentally raising a baby into a teenager together and the whole time Maleficent is oblivious (not her fault! she has bigger things going on!) while Diaval is like "that's my wife, she's terrifying. i love her. <3" Even when Aurora meets them properly as a 15 year old, Maleficent is Going Through It™ while Diaval is just so hype to finally introduce himself to his child.

Pictured above: moments that really did a number on me. He raised this kid and now he gets to finally meet her properly and they're both so delighted by it while Maleficent watches from the corner like }:-(

I really feel like the most beautiful and unique part of it is the genuine backtalk; Diaval might start out subservient and he certainly maintains that position but as time goes on he proves himself perfectly willing to correct or backtalk Maleficent. He basically functions as a reminder of her heart and moral compass while she is recovering from her hurt (and subsequent revenge bender) and it's delightful to watch because you rarely see a position where a male character is so open and honest while the woman gets to have the delicious redemption arc. Maleficent is going through an enemies-to-godfamily relationship arc with Aurora while Diaval is patiently waiting for her to realize he's got heart eyes (AND for her to realize she does actually love Aurora, that's another great element, he realizes this LONG before Maleficent does and tries to gently nudge her over to that revelation). But also this:

He really said "I am just pretending to be afraid of you; I know you won't hurt me even if you push me around" and he was right. What a lovely thing to be playing out as the B or maybe C-plot. There's enough insane drama happening, it's nice that there's something a little lighter and more steady in the background of the story.

Another thing I was musing on through the book and film -- as much as I adore found family and platonic love, it's nice to see a story where a victim of what is clearly coded as sexual assault and is at least intimate partner violence finds love again. I know Maleficent & Diaval isn't technically 'canon', but again, the film was juggling enough relationship arcs with Maleficent & Aurora and Maleficent & Stefan. It's okay, in my eyes, for the romance element to be subtext, when it's clearly still important and given some narrative space and weight.

I had a more coherent thought but finally found a gif of just this moment (thank you, @raainstorms, you spoil us all) so instead you get this. I love it. Maleficent really said "go defend our kid who I haven't realized yet is our kid" and Diaval said "understood". Never proposed but nevertheless they've been married for years.

"Who fell first vs. who fell harder" is defunct. "Which one is the evil minion who adopted the baby on sight and who is the Evil Empress who had to slowly realize they love the baby" is the vintage yardstick everything else has to measure up to. I will read 100,000 fanfics of Maleficent only belatedly realizing that somewhere in the process of acquiring her goddaughter she also acquired a husband. Maybe she acquired the husband first, she certainly does not know. Diaval understands this and is okay with it, Aurora probably doesn't understand in the slightest how her godmother did not pick up on anything.

And the sequel! I realized after reading some other posts that I did NOT remember the sequel correctly because my memories are "fairy genocide and also Diaval and Maleficent are co-parenting". Apparently somewhere in there Maleficent is shoved into a love triangle with two men who are not her long-term boytoy/coparent/external moral compass, which is ridiculous, because the film ends with them attending their daughter's wedding in matching outfits.

If Maleficent 3 (boo hiss at Disney, make something new, cowards) isn't about Aurora parent trapping them I am going to riot in the street.

TL;DR: My roommate described maleval as this post and I have not been able to shake it from my mind because it really, really fits:

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

Chapter 4

CW: jealous neteyam, angst, restless neteyam, obsessive and toxic behavior, mentions of violence, neteyam's current mental health is not the best out there (let's put it that way), the word "bloody" being mentioned in someone's thoughts, TRIGGER WARNING for dubious consent and slight NON CON, angry thoughts, melancholic reader, hints of depression on reader, anxious reader, mentions of breeding kink, reader thinking a lot about neteyam, reader finds out she's crushing on neteyam, reader is afraid of neteyam + attracted to him, neteyam stepping over reader's boundaries, creepy yandere vibes, slight nudity, sexual tension, neteyam almost trying to have sex with reader (if you squint)

Not proofread… as always 😂 I'm so sorry PLS don't give up on me, my babies! My readers are my lil rays of sunshine! No false praising here, I'm way too much of an honest, and sometimes blunt bih to do that! Ahaha you guys have changed my life. Having you guys reading my stories, appreciating my art… I'm still speechless. I love y'all until the end! 🥲🥺🫀💕 when I'm sad, you guys cheer me up with your comments, reblogs, asks, likes… I'm forever thankful ✨ I'm sending A BIG KITH to everyone that commented on the other chapters! I didn't have enough time and mental/physical health to answer everyone bc I've been going through some tough things in my personal life lately. Like, REAL tough. But I always do my best to try and show my gratitude to all of you <3 hope you enjoy this chapter. Leave comments below if u wanna I LOOOOVE READING YOUR COMMENTS 🥰💕💕💕

Chapter 3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Watching me, wanting me

I can feel you pull me down

Fearing you, loving you

I won't let you pull me down

Haunted (Evanescence)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Hours had passed since Neteyam Suli had appeared to you in the window of the kitchen you worked in.

It was late at night already and you should be sleeping but, you just could not stop thinking about what had happened. How weird it had been to see a real na'vi - not an Avatar - real close. How odd he looked in your eyes, massive in size and so, so blue...

You laughed alone in your small room in the back of the laboratory after taking a quarter of a second to realize that the thought you just had was actually really funny.

Neteyam looked like a huge and thick brushstroke of sky blue paint. Still, he was… incredibly beautiful. He was eerie, weird looking compared to the human guys you're used to, but… something about him made his face linger on your mind.

You did not know how it was possible that you were finally having to admit to yourself that you felt attracted to Neteyam Suli, even after he appeared to you only once and, let's not forget, he appeared completely unanticipated, saying he had seen you before, multiple times.

You knew that raised like a billion red flags. Yet still, even though you did not feel safe enough to trust him or let your hair down when he was around, he intrigued you immensely.

༊⁀➷

You woke up the next morning feeling anxious. You did not know what it was exactly, but, lately, you had not only been depressed, but anxious too. You knew you probably would be diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety if you cared to go to the mental health department of the laboratory, but the thing was… you did not care to. You did not want to. The real reason for your lingering sadness was already so familiar to you: you did not like the life you were living.

You looked to be free like the na'vi. To not have deadly boring obligations everyday, to not have to care so much about so many strict rules of what was socially acceptable and what was not. You thought your own race to be too complicated. Humans don't really say what they mean just so many times. Humans care too much about money and power when, in reality, deep down, we all know that's not what's gonna make us happy, what's gonna keep us warm in a cold night.

But you were never really like that.

Not to pretend you were a golden, precious jewel, so incredibly hard to find, so utterly different from everybody else but, in all honesty, as much as you did care about money and having a comfortable life - to some extent - you were never a greedy for riches kind of person. You had always felt perfectly happy and content to just have a few things to keep you cozy, like your earbuds, a good book, your favorite sweet treat… You liked it simple. Calm. Balanced.

You believed that everything needs to be balanced to work well.

Chaos and light. Pain and happiness.

People need all of it to learn, grow and live a good life, that doesn't get painfully boring and unbearable with time.

But humans lacked balance.

Too much greed, too little contentment. Too much hate, too little compassion. Too much selfishness, too little altruism. That's why your kind was, as unfortunate as it was, doomed to misery. The human race dug their own grave. God, they couldn't even respect and take care of their own planet, their own home, the place that kept them literally safe and steady in the middle of the immense galaxy, let alone being able to take care of each other, to consider other's feelings before their own because, sometimes, we all need to do it.

And that's one of the reasons why you admired the na'vi so much. They were so much more wise than your own race.

How many times you had wished, talking to yourself in the dark of the night, that you could have been born na'vi. Why was fate so cruel to you? You did not even believe in fate. But it is only an expression, anyway.

༊⁀➷

Neteyam was tossing around on his mat since he went back home from training.

Yesterday he was way too busy to try and go see you or at least watch you from afar.

Sometimes he truly felt exhausted from his hectic routine and just wished he could be like Lo'ak and the other Omatikaya young men and just be able to relax more, to have more free time to engage in hobbies or, Eywa... to have more time to sleep... Sometimes he went back home all sore. He was as athletic as one can be but it did not mean he could not feel jaded after pushing himself too hard.

But Neteyam tried to always keep in mind the noble, sacred reason why he did all that. He was going to be the next leader of his clan, a privileged position, blessed by the Great Mother. A position that so many wished to have and he was lucky enough to be waiting to take on.

He was the current Olo'eyktan's son. It was a gift, he should not be ungrateful. He felt bad for thinking that was exactly what he was being... His father, Jake, was Toruk Makto. He was brave enough to earn that title. Neteyam felt it was his duty to be as brave and fearless as his father, to honor him and all his efforts to defend their tribe from any danger, specially from the Sky People.

Everything was going as usual, if it was not for only one thing: Lo'ak seemed to be suspicious of the fact that Neteyam was out for so many hours, almost everyday (meaning, every time he was free to just do whatever he wanted and not training to become the next Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya) and nobody had a clue of where he was.

His parents seemed to be too busy being the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahìk to notice something seemed off about Neteyam's behavior lately. And it is understandable. It was anything but easy to be the clan leader and the clan healer and spiritual leader. Mo'at was getting old and had passed the position of Tsahìk to Neytiri a while ago. So, Jake and Neytiri already were making such a huge effort to be able to live up to their duties, be parents of a little girl, Tuktirey, three teenagers and still keep their sanity. It was a lot, indeed. But they tried as hard as they could to still be good enough for their clan, their family and for each other, as a mated couple.

Neteyam decided he was way too restless to be able to sleep that night. He could not stop thinking about the way that human male talked to you, looked at you... He wondered if he really was your mate. He was not sure but if what he thought when he saw you two together was true, he knew it would not be a problem. He hated to get violent, his natural self was calm and composed. But he was going to fight for you, and, if it needed to get bloody, then so be it.

He decided to go outside his and his family's home, to breathe some cold, fresh eclipse air. It helped him to calm down a bit but it was not enough. He missed you. Like crazy. Deeply. He craved your scent… your delicious human scent. He did not even believe he was saying that about the way a human smelled. But he would always insist in saying you were different. You had a na'vi heart. Just like his father, back when he was still all pink and small.

He decided he wanted… no, he needed to see you. And it could not wait. It had to be now. He craved you and that craving would not go away like that. It was stronger than his rational brain. You woke up his animal side more than anything else did. He wanted to mate with you as soon as possible. He dreamt about the day he would be able to breed you, have you carrying his offspring on your womb. He would make you so happy, give you everything you've ever wanted, everything you need. And while you were still not permanently living inside your Avatar body, he still wanted to have you, even if it meant having you in your demon form. You were a pretty, lovely demon. His cute, sweet demon girl. His yawntutsyìp. (little loved one)

༊⁀➷

You just could not believe it was really happening, how the hell you got into those circumstances.

Right before that moment, you were almost sleeping peacefully, finally (you know that state when you're not awake nor asleep?), after having been awake, tossing around on your bed for hours for the most ridiculous reason you could ever think of: you were undeniably crushing on that weird alien boy. Neteyam Suli.

Yes, he acted like a creep when he tapped on your window. You knew it was pathetic but… he just would not leave your mind. He was shamelessly living rent free in your brain. All cozy there.

But the worst and craziest part was: you were still afraid of him.

Ok, the na'vi were a peaceful, highly intelligent (arguably much more smart, interesting and wiser than humans) alien race but he was still almost 10 feet tall and was so freaking intimidating. You shivered at the thought that he could ever hurt you, even by accident, one day.

Still, you were now here with him. Outside the laboratory. Because he put his goddamn eerie but cute (the guy is a complete paradox) looking ocean colored fingers through the tiny gap you left open in your bedroom window - a passage you left for air to come in when it was really hot and dry, like it was that night - and that made a strange noise, enough to put you in alert mode.

Damn, what a bad habit… Leaving the window open, even slightly, was not even permitted by the people who took care of the lab's security norms. That could be dangerous. But you had always been a stubborn little thing.

You were now regretting your decisions, though. 

Neteyam approached your window being what he could be like a pro: a crazy stalker.

How you were still attracted to him… even though you were fearful of his na'vi build and strength… that was a question that maybe a mental health professional could answer. It was weird and problematic and you knew it. But you never imagined you would feel like this about Neteyam Suli. You really did not. When you first saw him, he seemed cute and handsome in your eyes, but he was still an alien. You had never considered being attracted to one. But now… nothing made sense anymore, things were getting weird.

Stupidity took over you when you were so sleepy and groggy and you saw it was his huge hand on the wooden window, so, you wanted to ask him why he ran away the last time you two spoke. You know when you're so sleepy, you make the most unimaginably silly mistakes? So… there you go. You dragged your heavy with slumber body out of your bed, grabbed your oxygen mask that was kept inside your closet and opened the window.

But why, though?

In the beginning, you two were having a trivial talk about mundane stuff, like how he learned the English language (his father, of course), he started to ask how and why you got an Avatar etc 

He acted suspicious but still normal-ish, for a na'vi. They always looked mysterious when interacting with humans. But then, when he was telling you about his little sister, Tuktirey, and your eyes were slowly falling shut, your body begging for some hours of sleep… you felt a change in the atmosphere around you.

Your eyes had closed for a while, on their own, and suddenly, you knew Neteyam was really close to you, now. He had been keeping a respectful distance in the beginning. But now… now he was inches away from your body. He had moved closer, his fleshy but toned blue thigh almost rubbing against your leg, as you were sitting sideways on the window frame, your legs hanging in the air, making you feel a bit cold because of the nighttime Pandoran air.

You woke up from your 5 seconds long involuntary nap really startled.

"Hey! Why are you… so close?" You looked at him, dazed and nervous, visibly shaken

"Sorry… Is it too much? You're just… so pretty…" Neteyam says, looking at you like he's looking at a graceful, otherworldly being.

"Yeah. It is." You warn him "Can you… step away a bit, please?" You said, looking into his eyes. Your gaze serious but amiable.

Neteyam respected your request and did what was decent. But you did not expect that he would soon change his demeanor, just like something was taking over him.

You were so distracted with your chat with Neteyam but so utterly sleepy too that you did not notice when your nightgown's thin strap slipped through your right shoulder, leaving your breast exposed, your nipple out for Neteyam to see.

It was like a beast had replaced that nice-but-weird-vibes guy you were previously talking to.

Neteyam had just lifted you off of the window with amazing ease, your feet now touching the ground and he got closer to you again. He had you with your back against the lab's outer wall, keeping you there just by being in front of you, looking at you.

His size was enough to keep you still. You did not want him to maybe get mad at you if you tried to run away. That could become terrifying in a heartbeat. You were brave since a child, but you were also realistic. Your height and body strength was nothing compared to Neteyam's.

He looked at your exposed breast with such desire, you felt like his amber gaze was scorching your sensitive skin.

"Neteyam! What-?"

"You're so… perfect." His breath was labored while he stared down at your nipple, hardened by the cold temperature of the eclipse air "Sevin…" (pretty)

"I'm so afraid of you, Neteyam... You're too big and honestly...scary. I'm so sorry. I'm always trying to pick up signals that may indicate you're gonna hurt me. I don't feel comfortable at all right now. Please, let me go" You said as your cold, anxious hands took your nightgown strap back to where it belonged, covering your boob again, feeling ashamed of the vulnerable way you had just been seen by Neteyam, ashamed of the fact that he, a boy you barely knew, had just seen your naked breast, even if it was only for a brief period of time

"My cute little 'emyu…" (cook, cooker) "You don't need to be afraid of me." He smiles at you in such a sincere way, trying to show you he means no harm whatsoever. 

Though Neteyam felt his heart tightening way too much inside his chest, hurting so much it was like you had crushed it when you said you're afraid of him, he was carefully trying to make you see he would never in a billion years harm you, his precious little yawne (loved one).

He wished so hard, even prayed to Eywa, in a millisecond, inside his mind, that you would soon realize he loved you so much he would kill anyone who ever hurt your precious, frail human body. He could not understand how you could think he himself would do such a horrible thing towards you.

When Neteyam saw you did not show any sign that you were beginning to trust him more, he said:

"Hì'i," (little, small in size) "please... I need you... I love your scent so much. I miss it everytime I'm away from you. I love the way your human skin smells. I do. I dream about you at night... " He gets closer to you slowly and carefully, caging you between the wall and his broad, crazily tall blue body, leaving no way for you to get away from him "C-can I touch you? Touch your skin?" Neteyam breathes, begging for you with his wide eyed gaze "Just for a little while, please..." He kneels down at the ground to be as close as he possibly can to your height "See? I'm not so tall anymore. Am I a little less scary now?" He smiles faintly, trying to cover his pain with a fake demonstration of joy.

Neteyam feels so insecure, without any guarantee that you will eventually let him in. But he will never give up on trying to be worthy of your love.

"You're always gonna be scary to me. Even when I'm in my Avatar, I think." Using a sharp na'vi knife to stab Neteyam's heart repeatedly would have hurt him less than that statement "I'm not as skilled as you are or experienced as you are when it comes to using a bow or anything like that. God, I can't even work a bow right. If you'd ever hurt me, even by accident I-"

"I can teach you." He interrupted "I will teach you everything I know about archery. I'm a great archer, you know? I like to call myself "Mighty Warrior". " He smiles, frowning a bit, trying to make a joke to make the situation a little lighter.

You seemed so afraid he was starting to not know what to do anymore to try to make you see you were safe with him. That he would defend you from any danger without any hesitation and not be the danger himself.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@kitsunefirewail

@tumblingdevils

@a-blog-name-2003

@xylobee

@nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

@henhouse-horrors

@lala-1516

@xylianasblog

@samistars

@lik0

@crazy4books1

@explosiongamora

@your-girl-mj

@darktyrantwinner

@sereisstuff

@yeosxxx

@die4niyahhh

@iman-lu

@manumanulau

@im-in-a-pansexual-panik

@hana-yuri

@thehoneymushroomhealer

@melllinaa

@annaibansworld

@siriuslysmoking

@avatar4eva

[otogariado]

only halfway thru the new frieren episode i was almost tearing up because the theme of protecting each other and caring about life more importantly than winning is so poignant. not all the characters are human in species but once again the humanity is blossoming in frieren's story. i was so afraid they'd actually get killed last ep but i mean it's so funny now what was i even thinking. this is frieren. they won't kill unless it was really necessary.

the reveal that richter raised the platform not to make his fight with lawline and kanne easier but actually to protect them from denken's attacks was so good. the "magic is nothing if you cannot imagine it" line is so wonderful because i'm a big fan of magic systems that revolve around that logical "science-y" aspect of like. understanding how it will work in order to do it. (same reason why i love the magic in "world's greatest assassin".) laufen getting caught by frieren even though she knows it's a trap just bc she didn't want denken to get hurt was also so good. the reveal that denken didn't have a grander motive to be a first class mage beyond "i wanna go back to my hometown and visit the cementary there but only first class mages are allowed to enter" was so painfully human and so reflective of real life. it also strikes you because he was introduced as a high-profile, politically influential mage.

i love what denken says about not going out without a fight. i love that the episode ends in a fistfight for him. i love it when media uses fistfights and punching in such an emotionally-charged human way, beyond the violence, instead depicting it as some sort of catharsis really. because sometimes all you need is a good rough n tumble. in denken's case, it's his way of not giving up without a fight. i like that. i also like that this was foreshadowed by denken telling laufen to cut the tree down instead of trying to cut the restraint. "we don't have any mana" "neither do they". sometimes all it takes is to find a differently way to approach your problems and sometimes the solution is simpler than you think.

i'm a big fan of frieren breaking the barrier because she thought it was unfair to cut kanna (and by extension lawline) out of her source of magic, giving her an unfair disadvantage and honestly a handicap. it's a short part of the episode but it's so important, because it shows that if people are given the right tools and the accessibility, they can do for themselves what they want and need to do. i love that frieren is like "can you imagine winning against a water manipulating mage with water around? i can't."

i'm a fan of how the "basic" combat and defensive magic are depicted and treated as in this show. yes, people more on from traditions, but traditions are there in the first place. richter's explanation of magic history in their world provides an insight to how modern magic evolved from the foundations. but the foundations were still foundations for a reason. they made it a point with fern saying "frieren doesn't restrict me from spells" (even tho it was the setup for a small joke) that the point isn't to pick a side between tradition vs modern, but rather to learn from both and decide for yourself what you want to apply to yourself. the depiction of fern and frieren winning with traditional magic and richter and kanne overwhelming each other with modern magic makes it clear that the show isn't trying to preach to either side.

i also like the theme of "pursuing magic out for the sake of magic is enough". it's nice to hear that denken shares this mindset with frieren, because again he was introduced as someone influential and you'd think he thinks like he could use magic as a source of power. and that's the impression i got of him too from previous episodes, but a lot of first impressions of mine were proven wrong later and i'm so happy for that bc these characters have so much depth packed into them in so little time.

what else have i missed...

[hotchfiles]

passenger seat.

pairing: seth cohen x fem!reader.

summary: you try so hard to help your best friend seth recover from his broken heart you forget about yours

content warnings: underage drinking, mentions of sex and drunk sex. the timeline is like... beginning of season 2, when seth comes back and finds out summer is dating zach. yes i'm gonna work on a part 2 i'm not that mean.

word count: 1,8k

      Summer Summer Summer Summer, it's honestly annoying how Seth can not seem to be able to talk about anything else anymore. And sure it has been like that since you were children, but since he was able to catch a glimpse of what dating her would be like and then lost it, well, he was down right impossible to be around.

      "Cohen, you're getting out of this bed right now, and you're getting some good music in your brain." You pull the cozy blankets from him with full strength while he tried to fight for it.

      "First of all, my brain is always full of good music. And second of all, My Summer is gone, my sun, all I have right now is the cold of winter and the solitude of being single, leave me in the warmth of my bed, please."

      You rolled your eyes and actually felt like you could reach enough to see your brain, his antics were usually amusing but Summer Summer Summer, you almost felt like warming up his face with a punch, but instead you took a deep breath, let go of the blankets and got closer to him, taking advantage of the element of surprise and pushing him out of his bed.

      "I have concert tickets, whiny baby, and Suuummeeer won't get back to you ever if you look that lame." That sparks his interest, you can see, and you're left to pretend it doesn't sting just a tiny bit, what matters is that he gets up and gathers some nice clothes before heading to his shower.

      "You're mean today, stop hanging out with Ryan," he yells from a distance, probably hoping it won't give you enough time for a snarky comeback. Obviously, he was wrong about that assumption, you both grew up together, you could almost predict what he would say already, you were always with a reply on the back of your mind.

      "We're taking turns so you stop being an ugly crying whiny mess."

      "Oh... That's why we took a cab."

      You stare back at him hoping he won't open his big mouth as the bartender serves the several, several shots of tequila you ordered using the not so good fake I.D you handed him. Although Orange County wasn't the best at keeping minors away from alcohol (beachy city full of rich kids) you still didn't want your plans to be ruined at the very beginning of the night.

      "Seth, I'm getting you hammered so you feel better for a night, and I don't hate you for a night." He seems concerned for a second, but knows you well enough not to argue, just as much as he can be annoying with his longass monologues, so can you, and you're not afraid to use violence if needed, misogyny needs to come in handy somehow, and not having your best friend fight you back has got to be it.

      You slide his half of the shots towards him and start quickly gulping yours, only half way in reality sets that maybe, maybe, that was not your best idea. But by then Seth was also doing his own shots and laughing as the tequila burnt his throat, his nose and lips twisting around each time.

      You hear screams and realize the band is probably beginning the set, so you get your beer and give one to Seth, and he makes a comment about how you weren't kidding about getting him hammered, but you almost can't hear him as you pull him by the shirt running so you both can get a reasonably good spot.

      Cohen was a Death Cab for Cutie fan, you knew it, everyone knew it, and if there were any concerts, meetings, or if you had their addressees, you would've chosen them for tonight, but Coldplay was all you could get last minute to get your curly haired boy out of his fortress of solitude at least for one night.

      You both enjoyed some indie rock music so the concert was fun from the start, especially with the alcohol that went straight to your brain as company to the songs that made your body move ever so slightly. Seth obviously didn't dance, he made it quite the point not to, "this is music to enjoy, not to dance, don't disgrace us like that," he says in between laughter and hiccups, giving his beer a tiny sip only because honestly he can not stand the smell of alcohol anymore.

      "Stop being such a looooser, dance with me!"

      You took the bottle from his hand and threw it along with yours on the nearest bin, leading his hands to your waist. This isn't weird. You don't think it's weird, but weirdly, Seth doesn't think it's weird either.

      You're more than thirty minutes into the concert and it's not a slow song at all, Don't Panic roars from the stage and from the audience, you both try to keep up to the rhythm, guiding him to twirl you around and showing him a two step easy peasy dance to follow.

      Seth almost falls down, you both laugh uncontrollably, he's way too drunk for this, you're way too drunk for this, his hands go back comfortably to your waist, as if it was a rooted reaction already, you felt your stomach turn as the music notes changed and you knew what song was coming.

      You looked up and Seth was already looking at you, his beautiful brown eyes staring at yours like he had just discovered something new.

      He wanted to kiss you, he really did, was that weird? Was that bad? Maybe he was too much in his head, and maybe he was too drunk, but he was single and you looked at him like that and you were oh so beautiful and trying so hard to make him smile and maybe he shouldn't because he was still hooked on Summer—but was he really? The more he looks at you, and the more you don't look away, the more he thinks that maybe this is just how things are supposed to be.

      And he didn't even notice what song was playing, too busy paying attention to your breathing, only when your drunken self decided that for some reason this was the time to confess, if anything, you could just play it off as if you were just singing along to Shiver "you know how much I need you, but you never even see me," and before you can hide your eyes and glue them to your feet, Seth pulls you by your neck for a sloppy drunken kiss, your hands grab his shirt but you waste no time and kiss him back.

      Both of you couldn't even wait for the concert to end, leaving and getting into the nearest cab you could find as soon as you can let go of each other for air. His address at the tip of your tongue not mattering how drunk you were.

      You get into the mansion tripping around as you try to kiss each other, not make a sound that could wake his parents, and also find his room, and when you do you almost fall on your ass due to his goddamn skateboard being right in front of his bed, you end up laughing out loud, but Seth closes the door before anyone can hear it.

      "I'm starting to think your parents won't like me sleeping over."

      Guilt starts creeping in and you're not even sure why, like you're doing something bad, something that won't be approved of, your best friend looks at you with a warm gentle smile, pulling you to him by your hand and having you sit on his lap as he's on the edge of his bed, both of your legs on each of his sides, your arms go to his neck.

      "My parents love you, they probably love you more than they love me. Ryan loves you more than he loves me." An overreaction, that's what that is, and you know it, very dramatic that boy, but it gets you giggling and you lean in for a tender, long kiss. but a question pops your mind and you stop it, you're not sure if it's the time to ask it, you might be ruining your only chance to have Seth.

      But you have to.

      "I know that. The real question is... Do you?" Your teeth nervously gnaw on your bottom lip, and Seth knows he loves you, he would never hesitate on that, so it's easy for him to get you close and touch your forehead with his, even if he doesn't know right now if it's the love you're looking for, he knows right now he wants to be with you, so it must be right.

      "Of course, Dumbo."

      You roll your eyes and push him till his back hits his bed, continuing what you two had started and leaving sloppy kisses to his neck as your hands found themselves under his shirt, your hips purposely taking advantage of your position and grinding slowly down his crotch, you imagined it would be easy to get Seth moaning but you didn't think it would be that easy. You loved it.

      You were both horny drunk teens, it took minutes for your clothes to be on the ground and for Seth to be inside of you, your legs surrounding his waist and your fingers pulling on his hair. And it isn't weird, it's familiar, it's hot, it's sensual without the need to pretend to be anything else. It's the best you've ever had simply by how connected you feel to Seth.

      You sleep into his arms, feeling his scent and you're afraid this is a dream you're soon to wake up from.

      You do panic when you wake up at 5A.M, not feeling like facing the rest of the Cohens after what you did to their precious son, Seth was still sleeping like a beautiful baby and you wouldn't wake him up, you hoped he wouldn't be mad at you for leaving without saying goodbye, but you brush your lips against his before sneaking out and you feel like the world is about three times brighter.

      That is, until 8A.M. you took a nap in your own bed to at least pretend you were home during the night, and woke up to Seth's texts after he woke up.

cohen: i rmbr coldplay cohen: i rmbr tequila cohen: nd i rmbr laughing a lot cohen: so even tho i might die of a hangover, thx cohen: might txt summer yellow lyrics dont stop me

      The lightweight bastard had forgotten everything, everything that made your night special. And went right back to Summer talking, maybe you should've just punched him the first time you thought about it.

[yanderes-galore]

I'm almost afraid to request him because he's bad enough in canon without being yandere, but... yandere! Roose Bolton (ASOIAF/GOT, I don't mind if you mix book and show canon) romantic concept? I think you'll have fun with this if you want to get really dark >:)

Oml... I may not have finished GOT yet, but I am fully aware that this man and his illegitimate son are horrible. You're mentioned to be a Stark in this for the plot I came up with.

Yandere! Roose Bolton Concept

(FT. Stark! Darling)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Controlling behavior, Grotesque descriptions, Blood/Blood drinking, Murder, Violence, Forced marriage, Angst, Sadism, Mature themes, Trauma, Forced relationship.

Ah, yes, Roose Bolton... an opportunistic traitor who has an odd association with blood.

Not only that, but the Bolton house is infamous for what they do to their enemies.

Flaying.

They're known for it to the point of their House banner being a flayed man.

That alone is terrifying and I haven't even made this man a Yandere yet.

Just by what I've said so far, I can confidently say you will be seeing blood.

So much blood.

When it comes to Roose Bolton, I imagine his obsession would be a Stark or any House supporting Robb.

For example, maybe you are one of the oldest Stark children.

You were adamant on following your mother and brother into this war.

You even offered advice to Robb the best you can.

Which occasionally irritated Roose, as Robb would listen to you more than him at times.

You never really trusted Roose.

He was always too quiet and cruel for you, but you held respect for him because he was one of Robb's generals.

You have good reasons to not trust him, honestly.

We don't talk about how Ramsay came to be.

I personally feel a Stark obsession would create the most drama in this situation.

Roose originally doesn't pay you much mind, just another Stark blindly following their family through rebellion.

It's not like he hates you, really.

Robb gets on his nerves at times due to not listening to his advice.

Yet you're a... behaved wolf pup.

You may not enjoy his presence, but at least you listen to orders.

You may not be as cruel as him, yet you try to find a middle ground with your brother.

You've admittedly caught his interest.

Granted... Courting barely exists when it comes to Roose Bolton.

He's a cruel man who cares little for honor.

He just cares for strengthening his House and his own needs.

You're cautious of him, yet still naive.

In that sense, you remind him of your brother.

Your brother, Robb, is too trusting.

Roose noticed this as a rift began to form between them.

He trusts him enough to be his general... but won't listen to Roose's advice.

Roose finds your loyalty to the older wolf amusing.

You think he's going to succeed in his little rebellion.

Roose doesn't feel bad when he speaks with the Lannisters about betraying the Starks.

No, in fact, he has plans for you.

But before then, Roose tries to make a connection with you.

He can practically smell your discomfort when you two speak.

You're a smart wolf, sensing inevitable danger within Roose.

He commends that... A useful and cute trait to have.

Although... Too bad none of your fellow Starks have it.

The Red Wedding is one of your worst days in Roose's obsession... yet it's Roose's best day.

You're the only one spared that night, by Roose's order.

Everyone knows you shouldn't piss off a Bolton, meaning you're left unharmed...

Physically, that is.

The Red Wedding is a night you're forced to watch your mother and brother die.

In fact, you witness Roose stab your brother in the heart, a grin on his face.

You even see a Frey slice your mother's throat.

You're too frightened to scream or cry.

There's so much blood.

The sight is pleasant for Roose's eyes, many know of his love for blood and torture.

You can't find the words to speak....

The blood of your mother, your brother, and so many others covers your clothes and skin...

It covers Roose too, you swore you saw him take a lick or two.

You're only snapped out of it when Roose approaches, ordering those who follow him to tie your wrists in chains.

You're the only survivor of The Red Wedding.

By this point, you're clueless as to why Roose kept you alive.

But you have your ideas.

The Freys find it curious that Roose Bolton kept you alive, a hound leashed like a proper dog.

However, they don't bother pushing your execution.

If Roose wants you as a prize, so be it.

Instead of Lady Walda as his chosen partner... He picks you.

Or maybe, he has Lady Walda as his own for politics... and you for sadistic desire.

It would not surprise me if he simply took two partners.

You despise the idea... but how can you fight?

By the time you're brought to the Dreadfort, you've seen flayed men.

You don't want to end up like them, do you?

Roose makes you his loyal little lap dog.

All other Starks shall die, but you're his hound.

He's taken a liking to you, and while he beds his new wife for heirs, he attends to you for other reasons.

Roose may even tease you, saying you'll go home to Winterfell soon.

Except, Winterfell will be under Bolton rule by then.

Soon you're forced to witness Ramsay Bolton become Lord of Winterfell... While Roose becomes Warden of The North.

What do you get?

To be a dog to Roose.

Roose even seems cruel enough to taunt you once Winterfell is under Bolton rule.

He asks if it feels good to be home.

All the while he rubs your head, petting you like you really are a dog.

Winterfell may have once been your home... but it's been a long time since then.

With Roose Bolton keeping you close, it feels even less like home.

You are not the only Stark forced to listen to the Boltons.

Depending on the media you choose... You'll see either Sansa or "Arya" (Who isn't really Arya).

But since I'm more versed in the show currently, you see Sansa.

You're two Starks stuck in similar troubles.

She's forced to wed Ramsay, while you're meant to entertain Roose.

However... It appears you're better off, based on how Roose treats you compared to Ramsay and Sansa.

Roose is possessive and controlling, often giving you commands to follow.

Since The Red Wedding... It feels like you've been on autopilot.

You keep seeing the deaths of your brother and mother.

Now you're forced to watch Sansa be mistreated by Ramsay.

Meanwhile, Roose makes you sleep in the same bed as him.

His wife refuses to protest, she already knows what a Bolton can do.

It's often an awkward event when you sleep... Roose's wife facing away from Roose as Roose faces you and holds you close.

When his wife isn't around, Roose is biting your flesh until he draws your blood.

He enjoys lapping at the substance, all while you disassociate from the situation.

However, there's times he'll hold you in his lap and display what seems like affection.

You can never tell if it's true.

Is it really even a mercy when Roose is killed by Ramsay?

Now Sansa and you have to deal with Ramsay.

It scares you more when you witness Ramsay kill Roose's wife and child.

Yet another family torn apart by a Bolton in your eyes.

Honestly, when Sansa kills Ramsay, it's only then you feel free.

You only feel free when you hug Sansa close and reunite with your surviving family... The Boltons may be gone now...

But you'll never be the same... You'll always remember what the Boltons did to you and your family.

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part two

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: the playlist is up now and i think it's cute so far!! if you have any song suggestions that should go on it please let me know!

the songs in this part are "Into the Unknown" by Idina Menzel, "Never Enough" by Loren Allred, and "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" by Celine Dion !!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

four months earlier

"Hey, what did I say about breathing, hun?" You turn on your piano bench, stopping your playing abruptly. "You sound strained."

The little girl giggles, shaking her head. "I'm sorry! I always forget!"

"Okay, well, forgetting to breathe won't do you much good, will it?" You ask, smile on your face as you raise an eyebrow at her.

"Probably not, miss."

"Definitely not!" You laugh, placing your hands on your knees to push yourself up from your seated position. "Here's what we'll do. No music, we'll just go through the first verses together without breathing. Go as long as we can, yeah?"

The little girl nods, and you take a deep, dramatic breath before you start your part with the three big interjections so she would know when to start. You smile as you watch her take a big deep breath too before her part comes in, and you continue with her.

"You're not a voice, you're just a ringing in my ear. And if I heard you, which I don't," She giggles at the spoken line, which you know is her favorite. You smile and motion for her to keep going with you. "I'm spoken for, I fear. Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls. I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls."

That's the part where she can't continue, her singing voice fading into a strained whisper as she tries to get it out, but you can keep going.

"I've had my adventure, I don't need something new. I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you..." You don't make it much farther, considering you had started much sooner and had some belted interjections, but you try your best. You both laugh as you gasp for a deep breath when you're done, chest feeling tight.

"Even you can't sing for long without breathing!" She laughs, and you nod.

"See? That's what I'm saying! I lasted just a little longer, but that comes with years of practice, so you've gotta focus on your breathing now, and you'll outsing me in no time."

"Now," You start, walking up to her and grabbing her hand, molding it to be held out flat in front of her. "Hold your hand right here, and every time you breathe, you should be feeling your tummy hit your hand. Big, quick breaths. You got it?" You ask the little blonde girl.

Coryo watches from the crack in the door as she tries it out, and you make sure her hand is in the right place. He smiles a little to himself, seeing how good you are with her. You had just started teaching a few months ago, and you told him you loved it, but he had never stopped by during your lessons before.

"Yes, just like that. Are we ready for music again?" You smile, and she nods, arm held out firmly in front of herself exactly where you placed it.

You gently pat her shoulders and head back over to your piano seat, flipping back to the first page of the old yellowed sheet music in front of you.

He watches your hands as you play at the same time as you sing, looking back over your shoulder to cue her and play her in.

"Big, big voice!" You remind her as she reaches the chorus, wanting her to really push.

"I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you, into the unknown!"

"Yes, good! You're an angel!" You smile when she nails it, pushing into the piano keys.

"Keep going, let's do the whole thing." You encourage her, normally you would do it in small sections to work on little bits and pieces, but you wanted her to try out the full thing at least once before her lesson was done for the day.

With your waiting room at the academy just a little ways down the hall, Coryo is sure he could still hear your accompaniments from there, so he goes to sit and wait for you to be done.

"Alright, you did amazing today! What are we going to work on tomorrow?" You ask, holding the door for the little girl as she walks out with her backpack.

"Breathing!"

"Yes, good. Now remember your hand, where does it go?" Coryo assumes she's showing you when he hears you praise her. "Yes! Good girl. Go through the whole thing ten times tomorrow with your mother, and I'll see you on Thursday, okay?" He stands up when he hears you say your goodbye, grabbing his bag and preparing to go.

"Thank you, miss! See you on Thursday!" He can hear her skipping off down the hall, followed by the main doors opening and closing before he walks over to your training room.

He peeks through the open doorway, watching you gather up your sheet music and put it carefully into your book bag.

"What song was that? I've never heard it before."

You jump, turning quickly and staring at him with wide eyes, which quickly relax when you see your best friend. "Coryo." You laugh softly, shaking your head. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." He chuckles, taking that as permission to come in, stepping in and looking around.

"It's from an old, old movie. I've never heard of it, but the company that composed them for the films had tons of pieces more suited for children." You explain, holding out the unpacked bit of sheet music to him. He takes it carefully from your hand, flipping through the old book, labeled 'Disney' across the front. "Those ones are harder, a bit above her level, but I wanted to try pushing her, and she likes it, which helps." You explain, holding your hand out for him to pass it back when he's done.

"Did you learn many of these?" He asks, tilting his head at you as he hands it back.

"Oh, all of them." You laugh, carefully tucking it into your bag. "I performed one from that same film when I was about... twelve? Yes. Twelve. My teacher accompanied me for the sirens' part."

"Is that what you were singing in hers?" Coryo asks. He's sure he must be annoying, laying into you with question after question, but he was truly interested. He loved hearing you sing- he wanted to know everything you were willing to share about your life. Especially the massive part of it he knew he would never quite fully understand; your music.

"Yes, it is." You nod, cheeks flushing as you close up the piano. "It's so beautiful, I've always wanted to try that part. If she excels at it, maybe I'll accompany her at the gala."

"Oh, right. Where can I buy tickets again?" The music academy had a gala at the end of every year, and the students would all perform something- you were one of very few who got a solo. You'd gotten one every year since you had enrolled officially at five, and every year the people of the Capitol looked forward to it. Tickets were hard to come by, but that's because they were held for family and friends of the students. This year would be your last, and next year, no one doubted you would have a residency performing for the elites. You had done so a few times before, but Coryo could never afford a ticket- though, that never stopped you from offering them up first. Another benefit to be added to the list of things he can afford after he wins the Plinth Prize.

"I have spares, they're all yours if you want them." You smile at him, heading for the door and flicking off the lights. "But you don't have to come."

"It's your last gala, of course I'll come." He insists, closing the door behind himself as he follows you out.

"Yay! Then I'll get you the tickets." You grin, heels clicking as you walk alongside him down the hallway.

"Thank you." Coryo grins. "Hey, do you want to work on that English assignment together tonight? We could go to that coffee shop you like."

"I have rehearsals." You sigh. "Sorry, but maybe tomorrow? After I practice?"

"Rehearsals? Already?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. That was a stupid question and he knew it.

"You're right. That was dumb." He laughs. "Can I come?"

"To rehearsals?" You ask, stopping as he opens the door for you. He nods. "I guess so. You'll just have to hide in the back so Miss Cornelia doesn't see you."

"Alright, guess I'll be hiding then." He smiles.

It doesn't take long to walk across campus to the theater, and you and Coryo part ways when you take the stage entrance.

He walks around to the side of the building, sneaking in through an emergency exit. He can hear you warming up already, your voice carrying through every hall and stairwell in the theater.

When the door at the very back upper level of the theater creaks open slowly, you have to keep yourself from looking or drawing attention to your friend's entrance as you continue with your scale. You were already warmed up from your lesson, but Miss Cornelia always insists you do anyway. Realistically, there was rarely a moment when you weren't asleep that you weren't "warmed up."

"We're starting with 'Never Enough,' " Your instructor tells you, and you nod slightly, taking a final sip of water while she signals for whoever was in the booth today to start the instrumental record. If you were to perform this live, you would have the orchestra there, but it was difficult to get forty people to agree to come practice just for your rehearsals. By now, everyone knew you didn't need it anyway.

You didn't want to start with this song- you didn't even want to perform it anymore, but she liked it. It was below your skill level, by this point, but people liked to hear it. It was a beautiful piece, but ironically, it wasn't enough anymore if you wanted to progress your career.

Coryo pulls out his homework on his lap, finding the sound of your voice very relaxing to work behind.

"Stop- stop!" Miss Cornelia calls out, and you're hardly past the first chorus. The music cuts out, and Coryo looks up from his book. You look at her with a furrowed brow. "You're listening to yourself. Stop that. You know better. Now, start again."

The piano starts, but your argument makes it halt again. "I'm listening because I want to hear something different. I've been doing this song for years, I want to at least improve somehow if I must keep beating this dead horse."

Your instructor raises an eyebrow at you. "Oh?" She asks, dropping her pen down on her notepad. "You think you've perfected it, have you?"

You swallow your fear, nodding slightly.

"Okay, well, you still sound stiff in the bridge, and the final chorus is still under-supported." She critiques you, challenging you with her stare.

Coryo watches the interaction, confused as to what on earth this woman was talking about. He knew little about the technical terms and what she meant, but to him, it sounded perfect. He had heard it before several times- you definitely knew what you were doing.

"I'm not performing this." You reply simply, shaking your head as you reach for your water bottle. You had enough self confidence with your singing to know she was just letting the music fall on deaf ears- so familiar with the piece and your particular voice that she would never find it perfect. "Let me do something else."

"Not until this is perfect."

"Sorry, allow me to rephrase: I won't be performing this. I'll be doing something else." You insist, bringing the bottle to your lips and Coryo wants to cheer you on for standing up for yourself, but he stays silent.

"Okay." Miss Cornelia replies, clapping her hands together. "What do you suggest? Since you're the professional."

"I Will Always Love You." you offer, placing your water bottle back down, screwing the lid back on. "Or Skyfall, or Human, or Time to Say Goodbye, Memory, With or Without You, Mandy, Praying, I don't know- any of these other songs that I have been working on for years!" you exclaim, speed and volume increasing with every title you throw at her. "Don't you think any of those could be more representative of my range?"

"No." Your instructor shuts you down quickly, pushing her glasses up her nose. "We have been preparing this for your final gala for too long to change it now. That's not fair to the orchestra or the board. The university is expecting it as well."

"It's All Coming Back to Me Now." You demand, and the theater gets so silent in the moment that follows that Coryo is sure you could hear his breathing from the stage if he wasn't already holding it back.

He doesn't know the song, but the deafening silence that followed your suggestion led him to believe it was something difficult or different than what he's used to hearing from you.

"That piece isn't difficult, the orchestra doesn't even have to learn it. I can play for myself on the piano and they will be that much more impressed, no? The hardest part is the vocals and I know I can do it- I've been practicing it for years. My family says it's outstanding." You continue, determined in your every word.

"Your family? Oh, well, that's wonderful. Maybe they should coach you, then. Since they're experts." She scoffs in response. "Like I said, the university scouts are expecting 'Never Enough.' We couldn't change our submission now if we wished to- and even if we could, the unprofessionalism you'd be displaying would be astounding. So no, absolutely not."

You sigh. You don't need that stupid scholarship- you probably won't even need to go to university for anything more than the title you'd get after you graduate. You were essentially promised a residency at the opera house already, but she was right. It wasn't fair to the orchestra to throw something new at them only one semester away from the gala, or remove them from the plan altogether.

"Again." She says, not giving you the chance to fight with her before the music meets your ears again.

You shake your head, waving a hand dismissively at the sound booth. "Let me play it for you, then decide."

Coriolanus could feel the tensity of the situation somehow increase as your coach nodded in unenthused approval.

She was willing to hear you out, that was good.

You take a deep breath, turning on your heel to go over to the piano on the stage. Every footstep masks the pounding of your heart at the small victory, your nerves only spiking when you remembered your best friend was there to listen today.

Oh, but when he hears you play...

He did not expect the intensity at which your voice came in as he tried to make out your hands moving across the keys, eyes straining from the back of the large auditorium to try and hold on to your every word and note. You didn't even have any sheet music, and your eyes were closed as you played. You had certainly been practicing this piece for quite some time.

This was unlike anything he had ever heard you perform before.

"There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than any laws would allow..."

Particularly, he realized, in subject matter.

You were not kids anymore, that much he had to come to terms with very suddenly. He didn't expect you to be so comfortable with the verses leaving your lips, but if you were nervous by them, it was unreadable.

God, this song must be like ten minutes long.

Every time he thinks you're done you're not, and with every high note, every borderline scandalous line, he's not sure how you haven't fainted. Well, no. He knows better than that, but he knows for certain that he definitely would have.

No one in Panem can sing quite like you.

"The flesh and the fantasies, all coming back to me.

I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now."

Coryo wonders if you even know the implications of every word. If you understood and just didn't care, or if you were innocently ignorant. The idea of sex wasn't something you ever spoke of, but he figures himself foolish to hear you sing this with such clear passion and assume that you didn't understand. To sing about heartbreak and lovemaking and complex emotions all in one song and belt it like you felt every word, well, he didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he couldn't hold it anymore.

Coryo, you're both eighteen. If you get it, she gets it. Be realistic.

Maybe that day, homework long abandoned in his lap, your best friend started looking at you just a little bit differently.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[pedros-husband]

someone else flirts with you

pedro pascal characters x male reader

characters included: javier pena, joel miller, javi gutierrez, marcus moreno, ezra, din djarin, frankie morales, agent whiskey, silva, oberyn martell, dieter bravo,

Javier pena: this man is possessive, like to the point that he thinks any man/woman looking at you wants you. Because of this he is never too far away from you, he likes having an arm around your waist/torso, or holding your hand. but if he had to go away from you for a moment to go to the bathroom or something else, the moment he gets back his whole demeanor changes, his smile drops. he furrows his eyebrows and clenches his fists at his sides to stop himself from completely beating the person to a pulp. he takes a deep bretah and casually walks back up to you, kissing your neck or your lips, snaking his arm back around your waist. he'll say somehting oalong the lines of :

'hey baby, who's this?' if you give him an 'i'm uncomfortable' look he won't refrain from using violence on the person. if you know them or aren't uncomfortable he'll just be really touchy and try to whisk you away at the first moment. the second you get back home he's on you, pinning you to the wall and reminding you who your boyfriend really is.

Joel miller: (pre-breakout)- joel pre-outbreak is a lot more tame and controlled, he is still possesive and protective but he shoves it deep down. howwever if he sees someone flirting with you he slightly looses controls and will lash out, if you give him the go ahead he won’t refrain from teaching the person who flirted with you a proper beating. If you know them/ aren’t uncomfortable he will be more touchy and possessive, pulling you onto his lap and keeping his hands firmly on your hips. If the person makes a flirty comment or gets too close he’ll slightly dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your skin and bury his face into the back of your neck, inhaling your cologne to remind himself that you only have eyes for him.

(Post-out break)- it’s been so long and he’s lost so much that he is more protective of you than ever. He has little shame in public and is much more open to pda and a lot less afraid of showing people your his. If your uncomfortable he will grab the person by the collar and slam them against the wall/ ground, his face full of fury and his teeth gritted, veins bulging in his biceps.

‘That’s 𝗺𝘆 boyfriend you prick’ he’ll growl, if the person is scared enough he’ll drop them from his grasp and take your hand, dragging you back home. If they’re feeling bold and retort back, especially if it’s an insult towards you; he’ll move his hand to their neck and squeeze until their face goes red, eyes bulging and their trying desperately to choke out an apology as spittle rolls down their lips into their chin.

If you aren’t uncomfortable/ know them he won’t hurt them but he will pull you onto his lap with his hand on your inner thighs, rubbing his fingers over the materials of your jeans and closing his eyes to keep calm. If they continue being flirty he will put them in their place and tell them to back off.

Javi Gutierrez: he’s just a sweet boy so he may sit uncomfortably and twiddle with his fingers/ glass, biting his lip and reassuring himself that your his boyfriend and you only love him. If it gets to the point where your uncomfortable he will step in and stand in front of you protectively, asking the person to respectfully leave you both alone or just fuck off. If they leave he’ll turn around and pull you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck and gently stroking your hair. He’ll whisper about how much he loves you and how he’ll always be there to protect you. If they don’t leave he’ll call over one of his guards to escort them away and deal with them accordingly.

Marcus Moreno: he is less bothered about it because he knows you only have eyes for him but if he’s particularly annoyed that day he’ll huff and pull you closer to him, interlocking your hands and pressing kisses to your knuckles every so often to cam himself down. If your uncomfortable he will use his powers to tip their glass over onto them, as a way to get them to leave for a moment whilst he whisks you away back home where he’ll pull you onto the couch and cuddle you for the night.

Ezra: he also doesn’t care much and will just continue to sit there and watch you carefully, maybe resting a hand on your thigh to show the person that your together. If your uncomfortable he would pull out his gun and press it tk the side of the person head and whisper in their ear what he’ll do to them in detail if they don’t leave you alone. If the person is scared enough to leave you alone he’ll drag you back to the camp and remind you how much better he can treat you than anyone else…

Din Djarin: he’s so sweet and soft he wouldn’t know what to do, he’s never had a boyfriend before so he’s never had this problem. He’d shift in his seat and play the straps on his armour or he’ll pretend to be busy with grogu. If your uncomfortable he will immediately stand up and walk ignorant of you protectively, blaster out pointed at the persons throat.

‘I suggest you stop harassing my boyfriend or I’ll take you in cold no questions asked.’ His voice has dropped a few octaves and even though he’s wearing his helmet the person could feel his death stare piercing through them. If they leave he’ll turn round and scoop you up into us arms, marching back to the razor crest and anxiously fussing over you. He won’t stop until he’s completely reassured that your unhurt and okay. He’ll make you go to the bunk room to rest with grogu for the rest of the day/night

Frankie morales: he has little patience with people who think they have the right to flirt with you. He’s been through so much, and lost so many people to care anymore. If your unbothered/ know them he’ll walk up behind you and snake his arms around your waist, whispering in your ear:

‘Can we leave sweetheart? I’m bored’ he’ll nibble under your ear gently and pester you until you eventually give in and go home. If you are uncomfortable he’d walk right up to the person and whisper into their ear

‘Leave him alone before i snap your neck’ and walk back to you with a smile, kissing your cheek. If they leave he’d stay and you’d both enjoy your night dancing or just sitting in each others presence. If they don’t leave he’d then back around to them and walk them into a wall, hand on their neck threateningly until they get scared enough and run away.

Agent whiskey: he has zero shame and self restraint around intolerant assholes who think they have the right to flirt with 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻. No matter if your uncomfortable or not, if he thinks the person is overstepping a friend level of talking/ touching he will be on them or out of there as quick as possible, depending on his mood. If he’s happy he’ll just grab your hand and leave, pulling you into his car and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, his eyebrows furrowed so far it must hurt. The second your home he’s on you, and he’s gonna be rough..

If he’s in a bad mood he will stand up, his chair falling over in the process and he will beat the person till they’re unrecognisable then pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, his knuckles bloody and face splattered in blood. He’ll lick some of the blood off his lip then walk all the way home, even if you have a car he’s too angry to care or remember.

Silva:he’s sweet but when it comes to you he’s a whole new level of possessive, he knows his way around a gun and lasso and he’s not afraid to use it. If your uncomfortable especially, he will beat them up and take you home, pampering you and fussing over you until you feel better.

Oberyn Martell: he’s not too bothered really, he’s used to sharing his partners around and taking others himself. But sometimes he has to remind himself that it’s different now that your both princes. He’d monitor you from his spot on his throne, sipping his wine and not taking his eyes off you for a moment. If you show a hint of uncomfort he’ll have it known he doesn’t need the guards to deal with this one, he’ll get the prince himself. He’ll stride up to them with a face contorted in anger, he’d choose a punishment, on a good day he’d punch them into the table and whisper in their ear to stay away from you, but if he’s particularly angry or they stepped way too far, he’ll challenge them to a duel or stab them with his dagger. Then he’d take your hand and lead you to your chambers, giving you a sensual massage and a night to unwind in his arms.

Dieter Bravo: he’s not used to being in a committed relationship and doesn’t really know how to go about the situation. He may try to intimidate the person and end up escalating the situation, ending up in him in the ER with a black eye, a poured lip as you hold his hand and stroke his hair. You’d end up having to save his ass instead of the other way round.

[kittensinribbons]

ghost's favorite medic pt. 2 | pt. 1 here

wc: 619

a/n: i'm sorry for being gone for so long, but i knew i had to come back to do a part 2 for this, so here it is!! this is also very angsty bc i was in the mood for it, so be warned ♡

cw: simon's trauma holding him hostage, mentions of violence and weapons, gender neutral reader, overly dependent simon, no caps

he's never been a good lover, simon. not since he worried his father's rage was as genetic as his hands (too big and tough to hold anything fragile) and eyes (the dead, haunted look in them) and hair (blonde buzzed short so it would never grow long like his). so the hands that were (are) his father's are kept far, so they can never hurt anyone again.

(soldier boy, don't you know what you signed up for?)

he wasn't scared of hurting them all, though. not johnny or price or gaz, because they could beat the ugly thing the way simon beat his dad.

but he was always, always afraid of hurting you. you, beautiful medic, you. not because he didn't think you couldn't beat him. he's felt the knife strapped on your thigh when he holds you. he knows that you (beautiful medic, you) learned to kill so you could learn to mend.

it's about how close you've wormed into his heart. not just because you were pretty. [you were. the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. but simon was never one of those people who fawned over things just because they looked nice.]

(his father told him, more than a hundred times, how his mother was the most gorgeous girl in town. "until she had you lot. now look at her."

his mother was always pretty, when she would look at him.

maybe those dead eyes weren't his father's. maybe they were hers.)

it's about how you remind him that the ugly thing is just his father's shadow, and you turn on the light (you are the light) that makes it go away. he needs you, needs you to make him soft, make his hands gentle, his eyes excited and warm. puppy-dog eyes, johnny calls them, you giggling (harmony, melody, aria) when you overhear. it makes simon spare johnny from a smack to the head. you make him okay with the idea of growing his hair out. and he does. (but he makes sure to keep it short.)

simon's scared because he feels like a bull in a china shop, every piece a part of you he's trying not to crush. you're not delicate, and he knows, but he's bashed in enough heads to know he could bash yours in, too. it's been difficult. simon knows his own strength, and he knows yours, too. his burly body and your wits. he doesn't want to undervalue you, but he doesn't want to put you at risk, either. he needs you to remember who he can be. he needs you to be safe.

simon can't leave you, he knows, can't pull away from warm when he's so cold.

but you can.

so he tells you, one day- you're stitching a gash on his shoulder while he buries his head into yours- "'m not a good man t'have around, lovie. i'll ruin ya."

and you laughed (harmony, melody, aria). replied, "no, you won't."

he tried to put some bite into his voice, use that ugly thing, but it's never been able to show its face around you. "i will."

"you won't, si," you gently chastised, eyes never leaving your sutures and stitches (he's tried to listen when you explain what you're doing, but your voice makes him feel too warm to think. all he knows is that you're fixing him). "you're a good man. and even if you tried, do you really think you could?"

and you're right. because killing is one tug of a trigger, a slash of a knife, bloody fists. simon's strong enough to kill, but you're tough enough to mend. tougher than he'll ever be, you. beautiful medic, you. tough enough, it seems, to deal with him.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞? [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Hey! This is just the beginning of a voluminous work, the full version of which can be read on my Boosty. This job was very hard for me, and I have never seen any other work that would touch on such a terrifying topic in its plausibility. I'll be glad if you want to read it in its entirety~

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: yandere!Blade x fem!reader  

Warnings: NSFW, NSFL, dark content, Red Room*, captivity, illegal broadcasts and filming with scenes of cruelty and violent acts of a sexual nature, physical violence, gang rape, dry sex, rough anal and oral sex, cumshot, detailed descriptions of blood and bodily injury, mention of necrophilia and murders (both strangers and the reader), Stockholm syndrome, the reader has pronounced mental abnormalities from the beginning to the end of the work.

*Red Room — hidden sites on the darknet that host interactive live broadcasts with torture, violence and murder of people, where anyone can donate any amount in cryptocurrency and order any torture or method of murder via chat, thus telling the executioner exactly what he needs to do with the victim.

The Red Rooms, of course, are closed, and the average user will never be able to access these broadcasts.

Until now, the existence of such broadcasts is questioned, but there were also real cases that indirectly had something in common with the description of the Red Room. However, scammers mostly use such a legend, deceiving people for considerable sums, promising to give them access to a cruel event.

art by Dakotchi

Darkness, through the thickness of which a dim light occasionally breaks through, so weak that every time it loses to the darkness, dying somewhere in the distance of a spacious but empty room. The rotten smell of dampness and metal, causing nausea. Plaintive screams, begging to stop… You're not entirely sure if you're actually hearing them, or if they've already settled in your head, depriving you of sleep day after day.

Day by day… More than one day has passed behind the high metal doors, and you don't even know when the sun rises and sets again.

The darkness and the cold from the rusty metal bars scratching your cheek. Rot and screams. Then only silence and nausea. Even the outlines of your own body are gradually blurred, swallowed up in pitch darkness, in which you can't even see your own hands. It's so cold, so lonely and so scary. Even the dreams that you see when you disconnect from impotence and hunger repeat what your eyes see, your ears hear and your skin feels in a disgusting reality. Or are they not dreams at all? Have you slept at all since you got here?

The steps. Every time you hear that heavy clatter of boots on metal, it is drowned out by the frantic pulsations of the heart in your ears. When will these steps catch up with you? What will their owner do to you? Even the most heart-rending screams that reach you from somewhere far away outside the cage in which you are locked, at some point subside. They dissolve into a deafening silence that greedily swallows them, forever erasing them from the face of the Earth.

It will consume you, too, won't it?

No, no, there must be some way out of here. People are never abducted for no reason, right? If the person who locked you in here needs something, all you have to do is give it to him and everything will return to its place. Your little apartment, friends, family… Daylight. You'll see it all. It's going to be very soon.

Humans are such strange creatures. We are afraid of the unknown, but we are inevitably drawn to it. Your body shudders instinctively, and a chilling shiver runs through your skin every time you hear someone approaching this room, but you still hesitate.

«Come in here, please...»

«Let me go...»

«No, don't come in...»

«I'm hungry, I want to talk to someone, please...»

«ENOUGH!»

Your own voice in your head sounds so loud, contradicting yourself. Over and over, he whispers, screams and grates. When will he shut up, when will he leave you alone? You want silence, the very silence that carries away the voices of strangers begging for mercy. Why can't that drown out your voice? He is unbearable, so annoying that you want to crack your skull, pull it out by the roots and throw it into the dense thicknesses of darkness that slowly absorbs your feet and fingers.

«Enough… Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, please...»

— Help... someone…

Chapped lips stretch, trembling flesh tingles with burning pain from salty tears rolling down your cheeks. What have you become? Why can't you just calm down? The sharp claws of fear dig into the frantically pounding muscle in your chest, drawing blood from the throbbing flesh. Red-hot metal spreads under the skin, and a hand reaches for the wounded organ, clutching the fabric of a tear-soaked shirt in desperation. So you still have clothes on…

The disgusting vibrations of the grinding of metal on metal make your spine shiver, and bright light obscures your eyes, forcing you to squint, reflexively hiding even deeper into the corner of the cage. The sound of boots now sounds so close, driving chaotic thoughts out of your head with each new step. Has someone come to save you? Really come? Won't you be alone anymore?

You sniffle, crumpling your shirt tighter with your fingers before hesitantly opening your eyes. The unfamiliar silhouette triples and blurs in a blinding glow, and you blink several times, trying to focus your vision on the figure standing in front of you. The first thing you see are dusty black big boots and long legs in gray trousers splattered with something dark. A man, right?.. His gaze slides higher over the slightly rumpled fabric of a black shirt with sleeves rolled up on muscular scarred forearms and long fingers adjusting leather gloves on his wrist. Long dull maroon strands wave slightly at the level of the man's hips before he crouches in front of your cage. Your heart constricts in fear, and you look away, afraid to look into his eyes, but then slowly turn your head back, noticing a black mask hiding his face on the stranger's face. Even the eyes are hidden behind a thick shadow, and only the disheveled ends of the hair scatter over the matte surface when the man tilts his head to the side. You can't see his face, but you can feel his gaze with every nerve in your body. Heavy, piercing, as if seeing through you.

The mere presence of this person in the room makes your blood run cold, and the words do not add up to sentences in any way, leaving your mouth open and your lips trembling in pathetic attempts to close back. Can he... help you in any way?

— Get up, — the man's voice is even darker than the oppressive aura surrounding him as he pulls the keys out of his pants pocket with a loud ring of a bunch that makes you flinch with fright when opening the cage door.

— You... — you mumble incoherently to yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. — What do you want from me?..

How difficult it was for you to ask this short question. If this stranger has the keys to the cage, then he locked you in it. If he heard the same screams that you heard, then at least he didn't do anything about it, or worse, he was the cause of these people's suffering. If his trousers are covered in blood…

The man ignores your question by reaching into the cage and casually grabbing your shoulder. The grip is so strong that you feel the blood rush with a painful burning sensation to the place where his fingers roughly squeeze your flesh, and your body reflexively shrinks even more, tearing a dissatisfied clucking from the stranger's tongue.

— NO! PLEASE! — it's been so long since you've speak, that your voice already sounds hoarse and pathetic, as loud as the constricted lungs allow it, desperately spitting out air while the man indifferently pulls you forward. Your head hits the rusty threshold of the cage, and your screams are replaced by stifled sobs.

— Stop it, — the man spits out irritably, picking you up by the hand from the floor like a doll.

For a moment, the stranger is silent, staring intently at how a thin trail of blood slowly flows from the scratch on your forehead as you tremble in his grip, unintelligibly repeating «please» over and over again, making weak attempts to get back into the cage.

— Please… I'll give you everything you ask for.… Let me go…

How many times had he heard something like this before? Even in this state, you feel how deeply he doesn't care about your meaningless babble, but what else can you do? You are so weak that you can barely stand on your feet, keeping your balance only by a painful grip on your shoulder until it forces you to drag yourself towards the open door.

— Wait! Where are you taking me?!

The corridors outside are so narrow and stink with an even more nauseating metallic smell, which only gets worse as the stranger takes you further away from the cage, which now seems to be the safest place in this endless maze-like building. You stumble, almost falling, still hoping to escape from the grip of a man who absolutely doesn't pay the slightest attention to your pathetic attempts. No matter how hard you try to cling to the walls, you don't have enough strength to make yourself at least try to stop. The tenacious grip of a large gloved hand is so strong that it seems as if a stranger's fingers are pushing through your skin and flesh to the bone, pulling out more and more screams and sobs from your strangled throat.

Through the tears blurring your eyes, you catch the outlines of large open doors somewhere far ahead of a long corridor, and panic even more strongly engulfs the poor heart, ready to break ribs, tear flesh and fly out onto the dirty sticky floor under your feet.

— Please don't be silent… Just tell me what you need, and I'll...! — a salty-sour taste accompanies a sharp pain when you bite your tongue from a sharp blow on the cheek, forcing you to shut up instantly. The skin burns and throbs in the area of the red thumbprint that has appeared, and the lungs contract painfully, unable to take in air.

— Shut your mouth, I don't need anything from you.

«Don't need anything...?»

Are you a hostage? Is this man blackmailing someone close to you? No. He lets you see the place where he's holding you, doesn't even handcuff you, and doesn't bother to bring you at least water.

It's been so obvious all this time, but for some reason a terrifying realization is covering you with an icy shiver just now.

You'll only get out of here in a black bag.