#and then he stalks off. too fast to see the way Soap flinched at his words.

[forestshadow-wolf]

He don't think he can be loved so he settles fir giving love because, well- love is love, right? It doesn't matter who's giving or taking because it's still love...

I mean he can be loved, his family loves him, but they didn't always like him. So really, he supposed that he had to choos between being loved and being liked.

And at least with Ghost he gets to choose, and he chooses to be liked. Because love would force him to stay, he wants Ghost to want to be near him. So he'll settle for being liked and not loved.

He's okay with it. He's long accepted it. And he'd let ghost live him a thousand times over, fo a million years if he could. And if ghost never truely fell in love with that, he's could live with that, he already is living with that.

Simon "I love you" Riley

John "no you love what I can do for you, but that's okay, I'm fine with providing what you need" Mactavish

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 4)

part 1 tw: obsessive behavior, mentions of killing, harm, and potential danger to the character

The house was too perfect. Books she’d mentioned in passing lined the shelves. A cardigan she’d lost months ago was draped over a chair. Every detail screamed of his attention, and it unsettled her more than the silence.

One evening, she found him by the window, staring out into the dark forest that stretched for miles. His mask was off, but his shoulders were tense.

“You think this fixes anything?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

Simon didn’t turn around. “It’s not about fixing things.”

“Then what is it about?” she snapped, stepping closer. “Control? Punishment? What do you want, Simon?”

Finally, he turned, his eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing every detail. “I want you alive.”

Her breath hitched at the rawness in his voice, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Alive isn’t the same as living. You know that, right?”

He took a slow step toward her, his movements slow. “You don’t get it. If you knew how close they were—how close I was to losing you—you wouldn’t be standing here arguing with me.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Because normal people don’t stalk their coworkers and kidnap them for their own safety.”

Simon flinched, and for a moment, she thought he might actually leave her alone. But instead, he closed the distance between them, his voice low and steady. “You can hate me all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that someone out there wants you dead. And I’m the only thing standing between you and them.”

Her anger faltered as his words sank in, but she refused to let him see her fear. “You think that justifies this?” she whispered.

“No.” His answer was immediate, almost startling. “But it’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

She stared at him, searching for a crack in his resolve, some sign that he wasn’t as unshakeable as he seemed. And then, quietly, she asked the same question she repeated every day, “Why me?”

For a long moment, Simon said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “Because you’re the only person who’s ever looked at me like I was more than...this.” He gestured vaguely to himself, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Her chest tightened at the vulnerability in his words, and she hated the way it made her feel—like the ground wasn’t as solid beneath her feet as she’d thought.

“This isn’t how you show someone they matter,” she said, her tone softer now but no less firm.

Simon’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them. She wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but the exhaustion of the situation weighed her down.

Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there in the dark. For now, she didn’t know if she could forgive him. But she knew one thing: he wasn’t going to let her go without a fight.

-

She was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, flipping through channels without watching a single thing.

Simon came in from outside, brushing snow off his jacket. He glanced at her, then at the TV. “Anything good on?”

She gave him a flat look. “No. Not unless you count reruns of cooking shows and soap operas.”

He smirked faintly, hanging his jacket by the door. “Could be worse. Could be a 24-hour news channel.”

She snorted despite herself, and the unexpected sound made Simon pause. For a moment, they just looked at each other, no one dared to say something.

“Do you even watch TV?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Not much,” he admitted, leaning against the doorway. “But I’m guessing you’re not big on it either, considering how fast you’re flipping through.”

“Not much else to do,” she said, shrugging.

He tilted his head slightly. “We could play cards.”

“Cards?” She raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-skeptical.

“Yeah, cards. You know, a deck of fifty-two? Clubs, hearts, spades, diamonds?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know what cards are, Simon.”

He held up his hands. “Just making sure. Could’ve fooled me with how bored you look.”

Something about his dry humor caught her off guard. She sighed, sitting up straighter. “Fine. Got a deck?”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Never leave home without one.”

Moments later, they were sitting across from each other at the small dining table, a deck of cards between them. He shuffled with practiced ease, the motion almost hypnotic.

“What are we playing?” she asked, watching his hands.

“Rummy. Unless you’re scared of a little competition.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

The first round was quiet, both of them focused on their hands. But by the second, she couldn’t help but comment. “You’re awfully good at this. Spent a lot of time in casinos?”

Simon chuckled softly. “Nah. Just something to do on long deployments.”

It struck her then—this moment, this normalcy. It was almost easy to forget the circumstances that had brought them here. Almost.

By the fourth round, she was laughing—actually laughing—when he groaned after losing to her for the first time. “You cheated.”

“You just can’t admit defeat,” she shot back, grinning.

“I’ll admit defeat when I see it. This? This is sabotage.”

For a fleeting moment, the house felt less like a prison and more like...a home. She didn’t know what to make of that feeling, but for now, she decided not to question it.

-

The house was warm, but the storm outside howled relentlessly, making her feel even more irritable than she already was. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, glowering at the kettle on the stove like it had personally offended her.

Simon walked in from the other room, his footsteps careful as if he could sense the storm brewing inside her. “You’ve been staring at that kettle for ten minutes. Something wrong with it?”

She didn’t even look at him. “It’s taking forever.”

“It’s a kettle. Not a time machine.”

She shot him a glare that he could immediately know something wasn't right. “Do you ever stop talking?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning against the counter. “Alright, alright. Just thought you might want some company.”

“Well, I don’t,” she snapped, tugging the blanket higher over her shoulders.

Simon tilted his head, studying her for a moment. Then his eyes softened. “You’re not just grumpy. You’re in pain.”

She froze, the accusation hitting too close to home. “I’m fine,” she muttered, but her tone lacked conviction.

“You’re not.” He walked over to the cabinet, rummaging until he found a box of tea. “You could’ve just said something instead of trying to set the kettle on fire with your eyes.”

“I don’t need—”

“Just sit.” His voice was low but firm, and to her surprise, she obeyed, sinking into the couch with a huff.

A few minutes later, he placed a steaming mug in her hands, then disappeared into the other room. She stared after him, half expecting him to return with something ridiculous, but when he came back, it was with a small, unfamiliar heating pad.

“Where did you get that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“Came with the house,” he said simply, plugging it in and handing it to her.

She hesitated but eventually took it, the warmth seeping into her abdomen almost immediately. “Thanks,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Simon didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed the edge of her blanket and, to her shock, slid onto the couch beside her, pulling the blanket around them both.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Keeping you warm. Relax, I’m not gonna steal your precious tea.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest when his arm rested lightly along the back of the couch, just brushing her shoulders.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the storm outside. She leaned back slightly, the warmth from the tea, the heating pad, and Simon's presence making her eyelids droop.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” she murmured, half-asleep.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Didn’t think it did.”

But when she shifted closer, letting her head rest against his shoulder, he didn’t say another word.

-

The room was dim, the single desk lamp casting long shadows across the scattered papers and photos spread out before her. Each document felt like another piece of a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

Simon leaned against the doorframe, his masked face unreadable as always. She didn’t bother looking up; his presence had become a constant, for better or worse.

“I still don’t get it,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “Why would someone want me dead? I’m not exactly a threat to national security.”

“No, but you’ve seen things,” Simon replied, his tone calm but laced with something she couldn’t quite place. “Heard things. That makes you valuable—or dangerous.”

She slammed her hand on the desk, sending a photo sliding to the floor. “That’s not an answer! It’s just another vague excuse.”

He pushed off the wall and walked toward her. “You think the people coming after you are the type to leave behind a calling card? ‘Here’s why we’re trying to kill you, love.’”

“I didn’t ask for this,” she muttered, sinking into the chair and running a hand through her hair. “And I didn’t ask for your help, either.”

Simon crouched beside her, his dark eyes narrowing. “You didn’t have to. If I hadn’t stepped in, you wouldn’t be sitting here asking questions. You’d be six feet under.”

She looked away, his words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. “Fine,” she said quietly, “but that still doesn’t explain why you care. Why go through all this trouble for me?”

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his voice low and full of a dangerous edge.

"Because I’m the only one who understands you," he said, his words dripping with something darker. "You think they care about you the way I do? You think they’d protect you? No one else would go this far."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she opened her mouth to protest, but he was already moving closer, his presence engulfing her. The air between them grew thick, suffocating.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was barely a whisper now, and there was something almost possessive in the way he said it. "They think you're weak. They think you're disposable. But you belong to me."

Her stomach twisted, a mix of confusion and something else she refused to acknowledge. “What do you mean, ‘belong to you’?” she demanded, her voice trembling despite herself.

Simon’s lips curled into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze was intense, almost feverish as he took another step forward, his body crowding hers. “I’m the one who’s been keeping you alive, love. The one who’s watched your back when no one else cared. I’m the one who knows everything about you, and I’m the one who will make sure no one else gets close enough to take you away from me.”

Her pulse quickened at the intensity of his words, and the space between them felt like it was closing in, suffocating her. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You don’t get to question it,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re mine. No one touches you, no one gets near you. Not even them.” His fingers lingered on her skin for a moment too long before he stepped back slightly, but the possessiveness in his eyes never wavered.

She wanted to push him away, to yell at him for being insane, but something in her stomach churned, making it hard to focus. He wasn’t just saving her. He was keeping her for himself.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

“I won’t let them take you,” he added, voice low and deadly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll make sure of that.”

"You don’t have to do this," she said quietly, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But Simon only smiled, a smile that sent chills down her spine. "I don’t have to, but I will."

-

She tossed and turned in the bed, her breath shallow, her mind trapped in the nightmare that had become too familiar.

The shadowy figures circled around her, their faces blurred, their footsteps echoing in her ears. They were so close now, so close that she could feel the cold breath on her neck, the promise of something terrible looming.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. Her body was frozen, and the nightmare only grew darker. The figures reached out, hands like claws—then—

"NO!"

Her voice broke the silence as she shot up in bed, gasping for air, her heart pounding against her chest. Sweat slicked her skin, her body trembling from the terror she couldn’t shake off.

For a moment, she was still, trying to calm her breathing, her eyes wild and searching the darkness. Her fingers clenched the sheets, but the nightmare lingered, the fear still gripping her, even though she was awake.

The door creaked open, and before she could react, Simon was standing there, his figure a dark silhouette against the dim light of the hallway. His voice was soft, but it cut through the thick tension in the room.

“You’re alright,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “It was just a dream.”

She didn’t answer him immediately, her hands still trembling as she rubbed her face, trying to chase away the lingering panic. The nightmare felt too real. It always did.

“I’m not okay,” she whispered, voice barely audible. She hated how weak she sounded, but she couldn’t help it. She was scared, terrified of what they might do to her, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

Simon walked toward the bed, his heavy boots making barely a sound on the floor. Without a word, he sat beside her, the heat from his body drawing her in like a lifeline.

“Shh…” he murmured as he pulled her gently into his arms, his embrace firm. “You’re safe here.”

She didn’t say anything, letting herself melt into him, letting his warmth chase away the lingering chill from the nightmare. His heartbeat, steady and sure, was the only sound in the room now.

“Are you—” she started, but her voice cracked, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to be weak in front of him, didn’t want him to see how terrified she truly was. But when he was this close, it was hard to hide anything.

“You’re safe,” Simon repeated, his voice lower now, like a promise. He tightened his hold on her slightly, pulling her even closer. His breath brushed against her forehead as he spoke again. “I’ll make sure no one ever gets close to you again. No one will touch you. I’ll kill them all before they lay a finger on you.”

Her chest tightened at his words—not with fear, but with something else, something that made her heart beat faster. She didn’t know what to say, but the way he held her, it made her feel… safe in a way she couldn’t explain.

She closed her eyes, leaning into him, the soft rhythm of his breathing soothing her as she tried to forget the nightmare. Slowly, the darkness of the room began to fade, the weight of the night lessened by the comfort of Simon’s presence.

In the quiet, as she drifted back into sleep, Simon’s voice was the last thing she heard.

“I’ll protect you. Always.”

And with that, she finally allowed herself to relax, the nightmare slipping further away as the warmth of his arms surrounded her.

PART 5

------------------------------------------

I've got so many ideas for these two...

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate

[thejokersenigma]

Nygma x Reader - Opposites Attract Part 4

Hiya!

Sorry this has taken a while - I'm back at uni now so it takes a while to get things done. I've been sat on this chapter for a while now, spending forever to edit it so I'm just going to go for it and post it!

Sorry if its not great, hope you enjoy it anyway!

P.S If you want to be tagged, let me know

PP.S If you want to send in a request for me to have a go at writing, just send me a message!

MASTERLIST

  Once I was sure everything in my house was locked and bolted I allowed myself to stop, leaning my hip into the kitchen counter as I caught my breath, and finally allowing myself to address what had just happened. I could already feel my mind trying to lock the image away deep in my mind to never confront again. But I couldn’t do that. The memory of the scene, the chase, the fall, the escape, all flashed back across my eyes and I felt my legs give way underneath me so I slid down the counter till I was curled up on the floor, by knees tight to my chest and the tears flowing hot and fast from my eyes.

I was fast questioning my own eyes. Could that truly had happened? You heard about it a lot in the news – Gotham was famous for its crimes – but it had never quite sunk into with me that these things truly happened. Especially not right in front of me on my usual route home.

My mind raced as I tried to come to some sense over what I had just witnessed. That man. The mysterious unnamed man from the coffee shop. The one I had practically fawned over in my mind for the past week. He was a murderer. I had seen him murder someone.

And then he’d come after me.

I gazed down at my grazed hands, the skin peeling over in places on my palms from where I had collided with the floor. He’d been so close. If I hadn’t managed to take him by surprise by fighting back I could well be dead right now. I shuddered at the thought.

Something in the house creaked and I froze. Was he here? Had he found me? I held my breath, my heart loud in my ears and cold sweat on the nape of my neck.

But nothing came.

My senses were on overdrive, every groan in my ancient house sounding like a set of footsteps coming for me, the strong wind on the windows at the front of the house sounded like someone trying to break in. I was too terrified to look up and confirm or deny my overactive imagination, simply keeping my eyes on the tiled kitchen floor, rocking slightly. If I couldn’t see it, it couldn’t get me.

I waited for my life to end.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, hugging myself tightly in the hopes of obtaining some comfort. Eventually, the exhaustion of the night caught up with me, overpowering my fear and giving me a false sense of almost calm. I pushed myself to my feet.

But he still wasn’t here yet. Maybe he couldn’t find me.

I shuffled over to my bag that sat a few feet away from me where I had thrown it down when I had raced into the house. I pulled out my phone. Why hadn’t I done this an hour ago? I dialled the police.

 At least I tried. The only answer on the other side of the line was static that then cut to complete silence.

I frowned at the screen before trying again. Nothing.

I had tried a few more times, even moving around the house to see if it was my signal. Same result.

I couldn’t reach the emergency services, there was clearly something wrong with my phone or the connection.

I began to panic. It was just me. I was on my own and vulnerable. I just prayed that the man couldn’t find me.

But I couldn’t lie to myself. The man worked for the GCPD, but – thought I barely knew the man – he struck me as someone whose knowledge didn’t end with his job. I didn’t think it would take too long to figure out a way to find me.

I stumbled, almost dazed, to the sofa and sunk myself down into the cushions, waiting for the inevitable.

 I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. The constant fear that the murderer could be stood outside my house right now was constantly at the forefront of my mind. Every noise made me flinch and send my heart racing painfully fast. I’d wish he’d just get it over and done with. This was worse than simply killing me. This was a slow painful torture.

Eventually I had flicked on the TV, turning the volume up loud to drown out the sounds of the house, the voices from comedic soap keeping me company and making me feel less alone. I had stayed up all night, never feeling tired, adrenaline and fear far stronger than any caffeine.

It was only when I began to see a dim light behind my tightly drawn curtains that my eyelids began to feel heavy. At that point I finally moved from my position on the couch and made myself some coffee. I wasn’t going to let myself sleep.

I couldn’t believe I had survived the night. I wasn’t sure why I had. Throughout the night I had fruitlessly tried to contact the police again and again. Still to no avail. So why wasn’t I dead?

I rubbed at my eyes, splashing some water from the sink onto my face, the cold making my skin tingle.

I had made it through the night, I thought as I stared out my kitchen window, through the old, lacy blinds, the white no longer white. But now I had to survive the day.

The rest of the morning I debated leaving the house all morning. Trying to figure out what I did now. It reached 6am, around the time I would leave to open the café, but I didn’t want to open my front door. It had become my shield. As long as that door was shut I was safe from every horror in the outside world. I didn’t want to go to work. I shouldn’t go to work. But I couldn’t afford to not go to work – I was barely scraping the barrel as it was.

If I left I could get murdered and therefore there was no point in making the money. But if I didn’t go, I might not get murdered but I would lose all my money and therefore I would lose my job and then the house that was sheltering me.

Clearly, the fact that the murderer hadn’t paid me a visit during the night, meant he didn’t currently know where I lived. Therefore, I had to leave before he did. I couldn’t hide in my house forever and the police was clearly not an option right now. Not on the phone anyway.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t report this in person.

I needed to get to the police station. And soon.

A few hours later I found myself sat on a bus heading to work. I never got the bus. It was a waste of money that I didn’t have. But it wasn’t safe for me to walk. It was barely safe to take the bus - not when I was most likely being hunted down by a murderer - but it had felt the only option left to me.

Now I anxiously sat in the grimy passenger seats, my eyes itchy and aching from exhaustion, and the vibrations of the bus persistently trying to lull me into sleep. But I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to let down my guard for even a second. I had covered as much of my face as I could, thankful the weather was so cold that I could get away with a woolly hat pulled low and a thick scarf I could use like a cowl. My eyes watched the streets none the less, desperate to get a glimpse of him again, but also terrified to prove to myself that he was real and that he remained free to stalk the streets after me.

The bus would drop me off a street from my café - which itself was only a short walk to the station. I ran the risk of the him waiting for me at the station – after all he worked there – but it was also a building full of cops. He couldn’t touch me.

The minute I stepped off the bus I felt like I was on a timer, that I only a brief period to get myself to the ‘safehouse’ before the monsters in the shadows got me. The truth was, I was probably fine, that the killer was nowhere near me, but I still felt like eyes were burning into my back, his breath at my neck. I didn’t hesitate, hightailing it along the pavement, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a jog.

I didn’t breathe properly till I was under the archway that framed the entrance way of the police station. I could feel sweat dampening my skin and my cheeks burned as I pushed from the cold air into the warmth of the station. I was out of breath as I made my way over to the main desk, my eyes searching each side for any sign of the unnamed man.

“Miss [L/N]!” I jumped out of my skin, my head snapping forward again to face the person that now blocked my path. I stumbled back, putting space between me and the man before me. He was as I remembered him, tall, gangly, dressed in a cheap-looking suit, his hair neatly combed back. As I examine him again, everything about the guy told me I shouldn’t be afraid of him, but I was. I had watched him stand over a man, laughing after having stabbed him multiple times.

I tried to turn away from him, side stepping and attempting to move around him to reach the desk. “Miss [L/N]! Please! A moment!” He begged, grabbing my arm to prevent me escaping. I struggled against his grasp and he seemed to realise I wasn’t giving up without a scene so he released me. “Please, can I talk with you?” he pleaded earnestly.

“So you can murder me too?” I demanded angrily, “Fat chance!” I pushed past him now and stormed to the desk, leaving the skinny man behind me. “Excuse me!” I called across at the desk sergeant who was placing a few files away in a drawer, his back to me. “I need to report a crime.” I said ruthlessly, holding my head high – I didn’t care that the man was behind, or that he wanted me to stop.

The policeman behind the desk finally turned around to face me, “Yes ma’am, how can I help?”

I fought down the annoyance that rose at his blatant snub of my previous comments. “I need to report a crime.” I repeated, interlacing my shaking fingers and placing them on top of the desk, trying to keep myself calm after the shock of seeing him. “Last night, when I was walking home, I came across a fatal stabbing down Huldin street.”

“Ok, ma’am.” The sergeant said, finally appearing to take me seriously, “And who was the victim?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, “I just ran - the murder saw me.” I explained and I couldn’t stop the panicky feeling creeping back on me as I remembered the night.

The man nodded, “And can you identify the assailant?”

“Yes.” I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, “I don’t know his name, but I believe he works here.” I turned my head, craning behind me for a glimpse of the man that only a moment ago had grabbed hold of me. “He’s very tall, wears glasses, works in you forensics department.”

The desk sergeant looked at me blankly, “You think that one of the forensic teams committed a murder last night?” He asked clearly, clearly beginning to doubt my sanity.

“Yes, he was here a moment ago.” I added, desperately searching the room.

“Hey Jen!” The man behind the desk called to a passing woman in police uniform, “This woman seems to think one of the forensic team was out last night committing a murder!” H chuckled, a grin on his face, “What’d ya think of that?”

She snorted, “Which one? The one who lives with his mother, the one who says all those annoying riddles, or the one that is afraid of the dark?” She laughed.

“The riddle one!” I cried, snatching at the nugget of information, “He was the one I saw last night! He was stood over a man in the street, laughing!”

“Look lady, people might be killers, but no one laughs when they murder someone unless their insane – do you think we’d hire an insane person?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at me, and I knew I couldn’t answer truthfully without getting myself in more trouble. “Do you think you drank something funny last night, one too many bottles of wine?”

“I wasn’t drunk!” I yelled in frustration, “I hadn’t had anything to drink! I was coming back from work!” I cried desperately, pleading for him to believe me.

“Look, lady.” The policeman began, turning his full attention back to me and talking slowly in an attempt to calm me. “Do you have any proof? Because we can’t just arrest people without proof.” He explained.

“I – uh – well if you – maybe at the street, there might be – be something?” I asked, now seeing quite clearly that I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this man.

“Uh-huh.” He muttered with a nod, diverting his eyes away from mine and down to some paperwork he began to shuffle through on his desk, done with my time wasting.

I sighed, irritated. “Look.” I huffed, “Will you at least send someone over to the area – check that there’s nothing there? Please?” I begged.

The man looked back up at my beseeching face before letting out a heavy, laboured sigh, “Alright.” He huffed, “I’ll get someone to check it out.”

“Thank you.” I said, hesitating, wondering if it was worth pushing for him to do more, but I knew it wasn’t and I shoved myself away from the desk.

I turned back to face the exit, unsure what to do now. My life could be in danger and the police didn’t even believe me. I didn’t feel safe, but I didn’t know what to do.

I began to wander slowly towards the doors, hesitating under the large arch by the doorway. If I walked out of this building I could well be murdered, but this building itself held the murderer I was running from.

I stared blankly out into the grey morning, unable to make a decision. It had started to rain and a few drops dribbled down the dirty panes of glass held in the large solid doors.

“Miss [L/N]?” Came the voice again. I jumped slightly, but I didn’t turn this time. I didn’t want to face that man that was tearing my mind to pieces. “Miss [L/N]?” He persisted.

“What?” I snapped, throwing a sharp glance over my shoulder at him.

“Hi.” He greeted with an innocent grin, but I just scowled at him darkly before turning my face back to the window. “Look, I know what you think you saw last night –“ He began.

“What I think I saw?!” I repeated back at him angrily, turning sharply to face him, not afraid of him – in this moment he was just an annoying – admittedly cute – guy who wouldn’t leave me be. “I know what I saw!” I snarled, “I saw you stab that man over and over till he fell to your feet,” The man backed up warily as I leant into him, jabbing my finger at his chest. He glanced nervously around to see if anyone was listening in, “I watched as you laughed – laughed! – at the fact he was dead!” I cried furiously.

I could feel my breaths coming in sharp short breaths as I worked myself up. I was hit once more with the fact that I was lucky to be alive. I was sure that last night, had I not escaped him in that moment on the pavement, I would be a dead body alongside the other man. No one would have been left to stop him. “I will stop you.” I growled angrily at him.

He looked taken aback, like he didn’t know where this was all coming from, then he looked nervous and slightly panicky. “Please, [Y/N], I need to explain!”

“How can you possibly explain anything to me?! How can you justify murdering a man in anyway?” I demanded, but I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Look, leave me alone!” I told him angrily, “And if you even dare to come after me again – whether the police believe me or not – I will not be afraid to defend myself in anyway necessary!” I threatened, though I knew the threat was empty – just because he wasn’t afraid to cross a few lines, didn’t mean I could - but I hoped he couldn’t read that in my eyes. I needed him to be at least a bit wary of me. It would be the only thing that might just keep me alive for now.

With that I turned and marched out the door, leaving him once more in my dust. I was surprised he didn’t follow me, but I didn’t look back, I didn’t stop. I went straight to the café, opening up as usual and getting everything ready for a normal. Because it would be a normal day. I would carry on my life as usual, but I would also stop that man. Whoever he was. I couldn’t stand by and watch him get away with it.

But at the same time, the man who had pleaded with me, grabbed desperately at my arm. He didn’t scare me. His eyes were soft and vulnerable, his hands – though they had gripped at me – had still been almost gentle, and he hadn’t raise his voice at me once.

But he was a murderer none the less. I had to remember that. I couldn’t forget it.

I had to stop him.

[lilyharvord]

Song of Fire part 1

Warning spoilers if you haven't read kings cage. Enjoy children, it’s time to get rekted again. (: 

MARE IS TOTALLY PREGANT AFTER KINGS CAGE AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME DIFFERENTLY!!!!! (AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH EVIL LAUGH IS SO EVIL LIKE THIS HEADCANON!!!!!!!!!!)

It starts small, little things, like feeling nauseous in the morning, and thinking I just ate something bad last night, which wouldn’t be a surprise considering how terrible the rations are. Then it becomes bigger things though, like my pants not fitting right and my body aching in very odd places. It terrifies me at first, because the first thought to come to mind, is not what the truth is. The first thought is that there’s something wrong with me, I’ve come in contact with some disease, and now I’m going to die for real. The truth comes in pieces though.

        A long time ago my mother told me that a woman knows she’s pregnant because she dreams about it. I didn’t believe her. I laughed about it, and told her that was an old wives tale meant to scare young girls who were fooling around before they were ready. She had simply narrowed her eyes and told me to come check back in with her on that when I was married and with child. I’d waved my hand, dismissing it, because that was a position I planned to never, ever be in.

        I dreamed about a baby a few nights ago. About reaching down and putting my hand on my stomach and feeling something kick and move. I’d panicked, and screamed that something was inside of me, that I needed help. I’d been enveloped in soothing warmth then, and the smell of burning pine, while soft lips traced the line of my neck, and he whispered that he was there with me. I’d cried in the dream, and tried desperately to see him. It felt like he was always right behind me, warm arms wrapped around my middle and warm hands caressing the mound under my shirt. No matter how fast I tried to turn and find him though, he always disappeared.

        I’d woken up sobbing, clinging to my blankets for comfort. I hadn’t slept the rest of the night, even though my body wanted to. And a few hours later, I’d been hunched over the toilet, heaving up the contents of my stomach.

        Now, the truth is impossible to deny, and it is only a matter of time before someone point out that I’m wearing looser shirts, and not training in hand to hand combat anymore. How did I tell anyone though, who would I tell? I could tell Farley, she would listen, she would understand. But I cant tell her, I cant look her in the eye and whisper the truth, about how I was as stupid as her newborn daughter. I’d been stupid, so very stupid, so caught up in the moments, so caught up in everything that I hadn’t been careful. Now, I pay the price.

I descend the stairs of the house, my bare feet making little to no noise on the steps. Its predawn, barely even moring, the damn Piedmont birds aren’t even up yet. I grimace at that, and then stalk into the kitchen. No on in the house is awake, but I’m starving, and I’m not going to sit around and wait. I open the fridge, shift aside somethings, shift other things and then slam the door closed. Nothing looks good, absolutely nothing. I storm into the living area then and slouch down on the couch. When I do, I feel my midsection scrunch up, something it’s never done. I straighten immediately and put my hand down there. Bump, a bump is there. My eyes water, and I stand immediately, forcing my hand to my side.

I shove my fist in my mouth to stifle the sobs and then run into the kitchen. I fill a glass with water and then down it, trying to chase the feeling away in my throat. It won’t dislodge though, and I end up throwing open the back door and hurling the glass at the trees. It shatters and I slowly sink to my knees, wrapping my arms around my middle before I digress into pitiful sobs.

The screen door opens slowly, and then closes with a clang. I notice it between the hitches of my breath. The next thing I notice, is two soft hands on my shoulders and then the smell of Gisa’s soap as she breathes, “It’s okay Mare, it’s going to be okay.”

I turn and throw my arms around her, and she sinks down to my level to hug me as well. I sob into her shoulder, all the while knowing that nothing will ever be okay again.

********

Farley is in her office with Clara. Her daughter coos in her arms and I freeze in the doorway, my fingers threatening to run across the bump my pants are trying to hide, and failing miserably. She looks up, as if sensing my agitation in the doorway and her eyes darken with understanding before she nods to the door. It’s a silent code we have. I come here when I need to talk, and she nods, and I close the door.

I lock it behind me and then step forward, my eyes on the verge of watering again. She blinks for a moment and then whispers, “What is it, I can’t help unless you tell me.”

The words almost dont want to come up, but in the end they explode out like a storm raging under my skin. “I’m pregnant.”

She blinks stupidly for a moment, and then stands so fast her chair topples back. It crashes to the floor and Clara lets out a startled sound. Farley comes at me from behind her desk so fast that for a moment, I think she might tackle me. I got to take a hesitant step back but she catches me anyway. Instead of taking me to the ground though to beat some sense into me, she grabs the hem of my shirt and hikes it up almost to my throat. The evidence is unmistakable. The button on my pants threatens to break, and the bump spills over it slightly. She inhales, and then looks up at me, her eyes like sparkling diamonds as tears gather there. She slowly lowers my shirt and then whispers, “Who knows?”

“Me… and you.” I whimper as I pull away and then sink into the only chair in her office. She shifts Clara in her sling and then whispers, “Sara.”

“No,” I choke on the word, Sara Skonos cannot know, nor can Julian.

She furrows her brow and then growls, “Barrow, you need to tell them, they can get word to-” “NO!” This time the word doesn’t stick. I’m out of my chair again and advancing on her now. “Dont say his name. It will change nothing. What is this compared to a crown? Another thing to tie him down, another thing to get in his way.”

Her eyes narrow even further until their almost slits and she hisses, “This could turn everything on its head Mare, think! If there is a child involved, he may…”

“He’ll tell me to come with him, he’ll beg me to come. It’s an heir, Farley.” I spit. She flinches at the word, and then lowers her eyes and nods. I’m not just caring any child, I’m caring an heir to a throne now, a burner throne, a crown I’m trying to destroy, without necessarily killing the man trying to put it on. Maybe now more than ever, because deep down my heart sings a new song. This is a child, he can’t turn his back on this, he won't. He doesn’t have it in him.

Her eyes meet mine again, and she whispers, “It’s worth the effort. The Primer is still there, we could set up a meeting. Meet face to face, instead of over radio.”

My heart hammers against my ribs though, and my thoughts go in circles. No, I won't do it. It would be worse in person. He would light up like a sun, and then he would take my hand, tell me it was fate, that it was a sign. I would pull my hand away, and tell him he was delusional, and that he should hurry back to his crown before it gets too cold. He would deflate, and the same cycle from the balcony would repeat. No, I won’t do it.

Farley pulls away slightly, already throwing herself into the plan, knowing that in the end I will do it, because deep down, I want to do it. “We’ll give you time, plenty of it, wait for this to be more obvious.”

I shake my head, I have half a mind to go to a healer and get a procedure right this second. To take this future away before it consumes me. But procedures are dangerous, no matter how good the healer is, silver or red, or not. Farley seems to read it on my features though, because she grabs my hand in an iron grip, careful to avoid my wrists, as she hisses under her breath, “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare do that to yourself, Mare Barrow. I am here, look what I got through, I went through it all Mare. You will get through this.”

I shake my head, fresh tears coming down because dammit, he would have been happy. He would have been elated, terrified, but elated nonetheless. He would have swept me off my feet and carried me to Sara Skonos. We would have talked it over, we would have discussed options. Now though, now it’s just me. Me, and the ball of cells multiplying at an exponential rate inside of me.

Clara yawns between us, and I look down at that tiny child who looks so much more like Shade everyday as she grows by leaps and bounds. One of my tears plops on her forehead. She winkles it in response and whines. I wipe my eyes then, and Farley smiles softly as she whispers, “I am here, we are all here, Mare. And given the chance. I think he would be too.”

I’m not sure if she’s right, but I hold onto that hope.

[cr4shposts]

Jesus christ, the tags

Simon "I love you" Riley

John "no you love what I can do for you, but that's okay, I'm fine with providing what you need" Mactavish