#that knife there is my safety knife I’d never let go of it

[ohtobeleah]

Vee, I genuinely want you to fly to Australia so we can go get coffee and talk about all the Middle of Nowhere lore. I need you to understand this is *chefs kiss*

Below are some of my favourite moments.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches.��

^^^ Describing this situation as bone-chilling is an understatement. The idea that going backwards means certain death, while moving forward may lead to safety but also death, is incredibly complex.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

^^^ The visuals surrounding this moment will stay with me forever. Something about this moment changed my brain chemistry. I think its the way that even when running for your life, danger wasn't far off.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

^^^ Although a serial MURDERER….Jake ate with this.

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

^^^ Jake is giving us a glimpse into just how deprived and crazy Rooster really is.

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

^^^ YAAASSSS QUEEN FUCK HIM UP!

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 4)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: As the hunt begins, you try to make it back to town before one of your captors can carry out their murderous plan. But it isn't long until one of them finds you... Word Count: 6037 TW: NOT ALL TWS MAY BE MENTIONED SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Language, Hunted for Sport, Knives, Blood, Reader has hair long enough to grab, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thanks to @green-socks for the beta read and to @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, and @blue-aconite for all the constant love, and encouragement in my DMs 💕

Series Masterlist

The freshly fallen snow stretches for miles in all directions. Your head is still pounding where Rooster drove his elbow into it but at least your vision has mostly returned to normal. Now that you have left the clearing with its electric lanterns, your eyes begin to adjust to the natural lighting around you. Luckily—or maybe not so luckily—the moon is nearly full and reflecting off the snow around you, allowing you to avoid crashing into the trees directly in front of you. That doesn’t stop branches from snagging on your jacket or underbrush from scratching at your bare legs and feet and you still can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but you are trying to find any positives in your current situation.

Who are you kidding—there’s nothing positive about your current situation.

You’ve been drugged, assaulted, stripped down, and are being forced to flee from a pair of psycho killers who plan on murdering you in ways you can’t possibly even fathom. All while you’re barefoot and wearing a jacket that stands out so starkly against the snow that it might as well be a neon sign saying “come and get me”. 

But on top of all that, the worst part is that there’s no way to cover your tracks as you go. The snow is several inches deep and with every step you take, you sink into the soft powder leaving a clear imprint behind that either of the men chasing you can easily follow. You could try to take the time to cover your tracks, but that’s much easier said than done, and even in the best-case scenario, it would still be noticeable something had disturbed the snow. Besides, it would just stall your escape, allowing them to get closer, and it would further numb your already frozen hands as you dug through the snow.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches. 

The only slight advantage you may have over them is that neither man seemed too familiar or comfortable in the snowy terrain. You, on the other hand, have lived in this area your entire life. Hell, you’ve been coming out to these woods for as long as you can remember. That has to count for something, right? Maybe under normal conditions it would, but between the lingering effect of the drugs they used on you, the throbbing in your head from Rooster’s blow, the burning pain in your hands and feet, and the cold making it difficult to even breathe, you aren’t able to navigate as easily as normal. So once again, whatever upper hand you might have come up with is snatched away from you.

Even knowing it is a useless endeavor, you still refuse to give up without some sort of a fight. So, with your hands jammed deep within your jacket’s pockets and your hood pulled as tightly around your face as possible, you continue to run forward in a straight line as you try to think up some way to fight back.

You aren’t sure how far you’ve gotten or how long you’ve been running, but you freeze as you hear something from the direction you had run from. The voice echoes around the barren woods and you manage to make out the last few words. “—run. Hangman’s coming.”

Shit. It seems as though your head start is over and the hunt has officially begun.

The fact you are still close enough to the clearing to be able to hear Hangman’s whoop of excitement sends a shiver through you—one not caused by the cold. While you’d much rather deal with Hangman than Rooster every time, escape or evasion from both men is still your ultimate goal. If only you had a weapon or some sort of protection against the two heavily armed men. But they must have emptied your jacket pockets before handing it over and your tank top and boy shorts barely provide any protection from the cold, let alone anything that could be used against your pursuers. For now, your only chance is to keep running and hope, by some miracle, you can evade them. 

As you run, time seems to stand still. You feel as if you are on a treadmill, running as fast as you can yet remaining in one place. You have no idea how long it has been since you took off from the clearing, but everything looks the same. The same towering trees and bushes reaching out from the darkness towards you, the moonlight only seemingly illuminating a few dozen feet in front of you at one time. The same unmarked snow stinging your feet as you sink into it with every step, a troublesome numbness spreading from your little toes across to the others. The same silence enveloping you, the only sound breaking it is the sound of your panting and chattering teeth. 

But then…another sound breaks the silence.

There is a soft whoosh from behind you seconds before something drives itself into your left shoulder. You collapse into the snow with a cry of pain, twisting around to see a long, thin knife jutting from your shoulder blade. Luckily, your coat managed to deflect most of the damage, but you can still feel hot blood oozing down your back, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

You hear another whoosh and you just have time to roll sideways as another knife lodges in the snow, exactly where your knee had been seconds ago. The move had saved you from being incapacitated, but the quick jostling causes the knife still in your shoulder to sway violently back and forth and you are forced to bite your lip to keep from wailing. The taste of copper fills your mouth, but you would rather bite through your tongue than give Hangman the satisfaction of hearing you scream. 

You take a deep breath before yanking the knife out of your shoulder with a stifled moan. 

Flexing your hand, you’re relieved to see the knife didn’t seem to cause any nerve or mobility damage. You didn’t need another thing to add to your growing list of disadvantages. 

Grabbing the second knife as you heave yourself to your feet, you spin around brandishing both knives in front of you. Hangman is close enough to nail you with a knife, but he is still far enough away to remain cloaked in darkness. This means the next attack could come from any direction, and, if you’re not careful, it could be deadly.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

You shutter as you recall the feeling of his tongue in your mouth back before you knew what a psycho he was. His voice continues to taunt you from the darkness. “Or, better yet, I want to watch his face as he stumbles on your corpse hanging from one of these trees. Remind him exactly why they call me Hangman.”

“You sick fuck,” you cry, still brandishing your knives in the direction of his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we enjoy it.” His voice now comes from your right and you nearly trip over your frozen feet as you face it. “Because we can. Because there’s nothing better in this world than snatching someone like you and dropping them into a place like this where they don’t stand a chance. It’s the natural order of things that humans have either forgotten or hidden away because we’ve been told it’s wrong. But what is more right than a predator hunting its prey?”

Panting slightly, causing large puffs of your breath to bloom in front of your face, you call out, “This is where you made your mistake, dickhead. I’m not your timid ‘little fox’ who you threw into an unfamiliar arena. Around here, we’re raised in these woods. Taught to hunt almost before we can walk. So if you think I’m gonna just lay down without a fight, you’re about to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got me all wrong.” You whirl around, knives raised, to face the sound of his voice behind you. “I don’t want you to give up or give in. I’m ready for a fight. That’s what makes this fun.” 

With that last word, another knife shoots out at you from the darkness. You have just enough time to dive backwards before it passes over you, inches from your face. But before you can scamper back to your feet, Hangman is charging out of the woods towards you. As he reaches you, knife raised, you thrust your feet up, driving them into his stomach. Using his forward momentum, you flip him over your head and he ends up on his back gasping in the snow. The knife he had been holding in his hand disappears into the snow somewhere to the left but far enough away he can’t reach it.

As Hangman continues to struggle to catch his breath behind you, you scamper to your feet. Grinning as you approach your would-be attacker, you chuckle, “And my ex said those self-defense classes were a load of bull.” With your hands resting on your knees as you peer down at him, you ask Hangman in a cloying voice, “How’s those solar plexus feeling? Little winded there, buddy?”

He glares up at you with murder burning in his eyes but even as he struggles to sit up, he’s helpless until he has a moment to collect himself. That thought only makes your grin grow wider. 

Stepping over his waist, you sit down—hard—on his stomach, causing him to let out another oof as the air is knocked out of him once again. Pressing the knives he had previously thrown at you against either side of his neck, you drop the smile as you growl, “Now listen, you fucker. I’m not like you. I haven’t enjoyed a second of any of this and I’m not the kind of person who likes hurting others—even pieces of shit psycho murderers like you. So, I’m going to walk away from here and you’re not going to follow me. In fact, you’re going to go find your psychotic friend and you’re both going to get back in your truck and drive the fuck out of my life forever. And for that small gesture of human decency, I won’t turn you in to the cops when I reach town. We all just go about our lives like this never happened and you never come after me again. Do we have a deal?”

“What if I say no?” he pants, the murderous glint in his eyes suddenly taking on a more mischievous gleam to it. “You said it yourself, you’re no killer. So what’s your plan if I decide I’ll take my chances against you? You really think you can plunge those things into me? Watch the life fade from my eyes as my blood soaks onto your hands? That’s a stain you’ll never be able to wash out. Me? I’d bathe in blood every day if I got the chance. But can you live with that stain on your hands for the rest of your life?”

“Considering it meant I lived through this nightmare you put me through, I think I’d be fine. But should we test that theory?” You press the tips of the blades deeper into his neck and you feel him flinch beneath you. The movement is slight and he maintains a blank expression, but that little, involuntary motion is enough to boost your confidence in your plan. Seems you are making your point. “Besides, I said I don’t like hurting people, not that I wouldn’t. Believe me, if it comes down to either you or me, I’ll choose me every time. But I’d rather not kill anyone if I have another option. So, what do you say? You let me walk away or you get skewered with your own knives? Your choice.”

Hangman glares at you for a long time and you can almost see his mind at work trying to figure out another way out of this. But when you drive the knives in deeper, blood trickling down his neck into the white snow, he snarls, “Alright! I’ll let you go. But I can’t make any promises about Rooster. Once he starts a hunt, there’s no stopping him until he’s tasted blood.”

You consider this for a moment then nod. “Fine. But he said the rules are that if I make it to town, I’m free. Right? So that means he’ll have to stop then.”

Hangman hesitates. “Yeah, those are the rules. But…”

“But what?”

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

Pressing the knives further into his skin, you growl, “How the fuck do you know I live in an apartment?”

“Your driver’s license was in your wallet,” he grunts, squirming under the pressure of the blades. “It’s one of the first things we look at. The anonymity of a random victim is more fun, but we have to make sure your disappearance wasn’t going to be noticed before we could leave town. So, we did a little research while you were still unconscious.”

Which means they probably know everything about you. Your real name, your address, your social media which means your friends and family. Even if you escape, there’s nothing stopping them from biding their time then returning to finish the job. However, none of that matters if you can’t survive the night.

You know this is a horrible idea. There is nothing to stop Hangman from coming after you the moment you remove the knives from his neck beside his word. And considering he’s a lying, psychotic serial killer, there’s very little doubt he’ll do just that the moment you let your guard down. But what else can you do? You think what you said to Hangman is true and you could kill him if it came down to it, but there is still a lingering doubt in the back of your mind. 

You had been hunting many times with your dad growing up and had killed your share of smaller animals before. But killing a squirrel and killing a person were two very different things. If you try yet fail and Hangman sees you can’t go through with it, then you lose any leverage you currently have which means there’s nothing left to stop him from overpowering and killing you. 

Then, there’s Rooster. Even if Hangman does hold up his side of your deal, you know deep down Rooster won’t. He was practically coming in his pants at the thought of all the unthinkable things he was going to do to you if he got his hands on you—and that was before you seemingly broke his nose. After that, there’s no way he’ll agree to let you go as long as you are still in the woods. And while you may have gotten lucky with Hangman and gotten the upper hand, you doubt you’d be able to recreate that feat with Rooster. Not when all he can think about is mutilating and murdering you. But maybe it would slow him down if he finds his friend and Hangman explains what happened. Maybe it would give you just enough time to reach town before he got his hands on you. Then there would be nothing stopping you from going back on your part of the deal and heading straight to the police station so these two could be stopped before they could finish their hunt.

Yet that unlikely plan hinged on Hangman truly agreeing to let you go which put you right back to the issue of not being able to trust him not to kill you.

Suddenly, you remember the noose he showed you back at camp he kept tied around his belt. Dropping one of your knives, you reach down and begin blindly reaching for the rope with one hand as the other still holds the knife to Hangman’s throat.

He chuckles as your hand brushes against something that is definitely not the rope. “Whoah there, sweetheart. If that’s what you wanted, I’d have given it to you back at the bar. All you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, you perverted bastard,” you mutter as you continue to fumble around his belt. Your fingers finally brush against something thin and coarse and, instinctually, you glance down to confirm you located your target.

It is a dire mistake.

Instantly, Hangman thrusts up and slams his head into yours. The knife you had pressed against his throat cuts a thin line across his skin, drawing blood, but isn’t deep enough to slow him down. His forehead drives into yours and the world goes black for a second as your head snaps backward, the knife flying from your grasp. You feel yourself fall back into the snow as Hangman climbs to his feet. By the time your vision begins to return to normal—though your head is once again throbbing in pain—he is standing over you in a similar gloating stance as to how you leered down at his prone body moments before, blood streaming down the side of his neck.

As a malicious grin slowly spreads across his face, Hangman holds up the rope. “Was this what you were looking for? Well, sweetheart, if you want it so badly, who am I to say no.”

Winding back his arm, he throws the noose end of the rope high into the air where it arches perfectly before soaring over a limb of a nearby tree and dropping back down just within his reach. It is the kind of throw only a trained athlete could pull off and, especially given his physique, it wouldn’t surprise you if you learned Hangman had played some form of pro sports at some point in his life. He also has the ego for it.

You try to crawl away from him across the frozen ground, but the world still hasn’t completely cleared and you slip and crash back into the snow. As you prop yourself up on your forearms once more, you feel yourself yanked to your feet as a hand grabs a fistful of your hair. A ripping, burning feeling tears at your scalp as you struggle in Hangman’s grasp, but it’s too strong. Tears sting your eyes in the frosty air as he begins dragging you on your stomach over to the limb where the noose swings ominously. 

It’s over. You had your chance to put down your attacker and you pussied out. Now he is going to kill you and there’s nothing else you can do to stop him. You wonder if anyone will ever find your body or if everyone will always just wonder where you disappeared. Maybe one day there will be an episode of 20/20 or a True Crime documentary on the bartender who just vanished one night after her shift and the theories of what might have happened to her. That makes you wonder how many of those shows or stories you’ve seen over the years were actually caused by these two and their group of psychopathic killers. 

Hangman releases his hold on your hair when he reaches his noose causing you to faceplant into the snow. You want to just lay there and just let the cold embrace of the snowbank take you, but of course, Hangman isn’t that generous. His foot drives into your side, kicking up slightly so it flips you over onto your back. Groaning, you clutch at your aching ribs but he isn’t giving you a moment of relief. He learned from his previous mistake. 

Grabbing the noose, he pulls it over until he is standing over you with it swinging in his hand. Grinning, he tugs on the knots as he stares down at you. “You know, I planned on drawing this out and making it really satisfying for me. But seeing how you weren’t a fan of my knives—or maybe enjoyed them a little too much—” he gestures to his neck where blood is still freely flowing from the slash you put there “—I think it’s time to move on to the grand finale, don’t you think? It’s my favorite part after all.”

On your back looking up at him, you try to scuttle away as he leans down to slip the noose over your neck. He lunges at you but you pull your legs away just in time to avoid his grasp. As you continue to crawl away, you notice the other side of the rope that is dangling from the limb is slowly unfurling and all the slack is getting pulled up into the tree as Hangman drags the noose along with him. In a moment, it’ll all slip up out of his reach or even all the way off the limb. The smallest smile flashes across your face at the realization.

Hangman must have noticed because his brow furrows for a moment before he looks over his shoulder. In doing so, he unconsciously pulls on the noose as his body turns and the rope jumps another few inches into the air. 

Hangman’s eyes grow wide as he mutters, “No, no, no, no.” 

Releasing the noose end, Hangman leaps up just as the other end of the rope goes soaring past. He just manages to snag the end of the rope between two fingers before it is out of reach. Then he crashes back to the ground.

Seeing your chance, you snatch the noose as it begins to rise up into the tree and, bounding forward, tackle Hangman just as he is sitting back up. He flails underneath you and one of his fists collides with your jaw, snapping your head back. You can taste blood as it begins pooling in your mouth, but you ignore it and the pain. Instead, you weave between Hangman’s continued flailing limbs and, just as he raises up to snarl at you, you slip the noose over his head. The action surprises him enough that he pauses for a few seconds as he processes what just happened.

But that’s all the time you need.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, you heave with every ounce of energy you have left. Hangman is a muscular guy, but somehow your efforts manage to tighten the noose around his neck, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. As he claws at the rope, you heave again, practically dragging yourself across the snow to get the needed leverage. The rope moves a little further and Hangman is lifted off the ground. It’s not much, but it’s enough that you can see he is struggling to breathe. Not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him again, you give the rope one final pull. Given the energy you expended on the first few pulls, it was a much weaker effort, but it does the job. Hangman’s full body weight is now suspended by the rope.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood into the pure snow, you tie off your end of the rope on a nearby limb. After ensuring it won’t give him any slack, you take a few steps closer to where Hangman is thrashing on his rope. Grinning at the sight of his face growing redder and redder, you lock eyes with him and sneer, “Turns out, I’m really enjoying this grand finale after all. It’s my favorite part too.”

His lips move as he tries to snarl something back at you, but the rope around his neck is making it difficult for him to manage much more than some grunts and rasps. As his breathing begins to grow more frantic and strained, you see a shadow of fear pass over his face as his fate begins to become clearer to him. It is a sight that warms your entire body despite the frigid environment around you. 

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

Almost all the fight has gone out of Hangman as he weakly wheezes and meekly pulls at the rope. His eyes have become bloody as the blood vessels burst from all his straining and his face is so red it's almost purple. 

No longer afraid of the man who had beat, stabbed, and almost murdered you, you step closer until your face is nearly touching his chest. Looking up at his face swaying above you, you put all the fury, all the pain, all the fear you’ve felt over the past few hours into your words as you hiss, “I hope in whatever Hell I’m sending you to that you’re forced to relive this moment for all eternity.”

If Hangman heard or understood you, he makes no sign of it. Instead, it seems as if all his remaining energy is focused on getting out his last word or words. Even as you watch the last sparks of life flickering out, his lips continue to move as if trying to say something even as his chest begins to spasm due to lack of air. 

And, just as you think he’s done, he manages to force out a single breathy word that is only decipherable because you are practically pressed against him. 

“Bra-Bradley…”

Then his hands drop from his neck as his entire body goes slack and the woods fall silent. 

You stand looking up at him for a long time, holding your breath in anticipation of one last jump scare or resurgence. But this isn’t a movie. The evil is gone and Hangman’s not coming back for more. 

As the realization that it’s really over finally washes over you, you stumble back and collapse to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline that had kept you going since that first knife struck you in the shoulder, suddenly vanishes. 

For the first time, you feel the full impact of the injuries you’ve sustained. Your shoulder cries out from all the strain you’ve put on it, all with a stab wound still bleeding down your back. You just now notice how your tank top clings to your skin from all the blood and sweat that has soaked into it. Your jaw throbs from where Hangman’s fist collided with it, and you can tell it’ll be swollen and bruised in an hour or so. At least you have plenty of snow to press against it. Your scalp still stings from where Hangman pulled you across the ground by your hair and you really hope he didn’t make a bald spot somewhere. But it’s your ribs that hurt the most. It’s doubtful they are broken, probably just bruised, yet each breath sends a fresh stabbing pain into your side. It’ll cause the most issues as you continue on.

That thought almost makes you cry. Taking on Hangman had been difficult enough and you had barely escaped with your life. However, Rooster is still somewhere in these woods actively looking for you. Any head start you had is gone after all the time you took tussling with Hangman. And you have a feeling if Rooster was out for your blood before this, when he discovers you killed his friend, he’s going to want to carve you up with a rusty knife piece by tiny little piece. 

But maybe…

The only reason you were able to get the advantage against Hangman was because he underestimated you. He was too distracted by his own fun and games to really pay attention to what you were doing. Now, while you seriously doubt Rooster will make that same mistake—not after you headbutted him in the clearing—maybe he has a different distraction that will work on him. Namely, his rage and blood lust.

If you can get him so angry and ramp up his need to kill you so high, then maybe, just maybe, he will get sloppy and you’ll have a chance to take him down too. Maybe you can make him see red so strongly, that he won’t be able to see you going in for the kill.

Glancing back at Hangman’s limp body, you wonder if there’s a way to use it in this new plan. Maybe carve something into his skin with one of his knives? Like a message to Rooster saying you have Hangman’s weapons and he’s next? Very Die Hard of you.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to do. After all, Hangman isn’t that far in the air. In fact, the toes of his boots softly kiss the snow beneath him as he continues to sway.

His boots!

Ignoring the way your muscles scream at you as you move, you scramble to your knees and crawl over to Hangman’s dangling body. Your fingers are so numb and swollen from the cold that untying the tight laces is nearly impossible but you refuse to give up. By the time you can slide the second boot off his rapidly chilling body, your nails are cracked and your fingers are bleeding, ruby droplets coating the snow around you.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too morbid to also take his socks. However, the boots are several sizes too big and your feet are so frozen that you need to take whatever extra padding you can get. So you slip off his thick, woolen socks. You do draw the line at taking his pants though. As much as you would love some covering for your bare legs, you knew the fit would be way off and just slow you down as you tried to plan the rest of your escape. So, you resign yourself to your new socks and boots.

As you pull them on, the heat radiating from within the soft wool and worn leather feels like Heaven wrapped around your frostbitten feet. However, you can’t help but shudder at the knowledge this is the last warmth Hangman will ever give off. It’s almost like you can feel his hands wrapped around your ankles and trailing up your shins. 

You try your best to push those thoughts aside. After all, you only did what you had to do to survive. If the roles had been reversed and Hangman had won the hunt, he would currently be doing fuck knows what manner of twisted, ungodly things to your body. 

Just the thought of what he might have done reignites the fury and fight in your chest that had blazed when you watched Hangman get a taste of his own medicine. 

Turning back to his now shoeless body, you begin to doubt your original idea of carving a message into him. For one, you really don’t want to do it. Killing him was one thing but mutilating his body is a whole other ball game. Plus, you have terrible penmanship using a pen or pencil. There’s no telling if your message would even be legible when using a knife as a writing tool and then you just wasted time for no reason. Then there is the fact you are in a massive wood at night in the dark. Even if Rooster is tracking you, there’s no guarantee he’ll come across Hangman’s body, especially with his dark denim jacket and jeans helping him blend into the night. 

But that gives you another idea. 

Stripping off your burnt-orange jacket, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare arms. Trying your best to ignore it, you grab Hangman’s jacket, wrestle it off of him, and put it on yourself. Though denim on the outside, the interior is sherpa-lined and it is as warm, if not more, than the jacket you just traded him for. 

Feeling something in the pockets, you are overjoyed to discover his phone in one and the keys to the truck in the other. Checking the phone first, you see it’s locked. However, the key is a facial recognition scan. You know it’s a long shot, but, standing on your toes, you line Hangman’s face up to the screen and nearly squeal when you see it unlock. Your joy deflates somewhat when you see there’s no service but you remember Hangman mentioning the terrible service in these woods when he got that call from his missing hunter friends back in the clearing. Hopefully, as you walk, you’ll find a spot with at least one bar so you can call for help. Going into the settings, you disable the lock function so you won’t need Hangman’s face next time you try to access the phone.

Turning back to what you had planned, you do your best to fit your jacket onto his body. It’s too small but you manage to get it pulled up almost to his shoulders, enough that it’ll stay on. Then, taking a few deep breaths, you slowly pull on the end of the rope. It’s hard going without the adrenaline rush to aid in your efforts, but eventually, you manage to raise Hangman until his head almost brushes the limb the rope is thrown over. Hopefully, between the height and the flash of color, Rooster will be able to spot him if he is anywhere in the area. 

However, that means you need to leave this area as soon as possible.

Now that you have Hangman’s phone and truck keys, your best bet is to try to head back to the clearing. If you can make it there before Rooster catches you, you should be able to steal their truck and head for town. Or at least get somewhere where you can use the phone. 

And if for some reason that plan doesn’t work, at least the clearing will make a good place to make your final stand against Rooster.

Collecting all of the knives that you can find that had scattered around during your fight, you tuck them into the inside of your new jacket. Then, taking one last look at Hangman’s limp body hanging high overhead, you turn and head back in the direction you came from.

They wanted you to be a fox, fine, you’ll be a fox. A fox will do whatever it takes to free themselves from a trap and survive, even if that means gnawing off their own foot. So while it might take doing unspeakable things that will haunt you for the rest of your life in order to survive, it’s a price you’re willing to pay to be the one who walks out of these woods at the end of the night.

One down. One to go.

Thank you all for reading, reblogging, and commenting! There are two more parts coming soon in this series (Part 5 in Bradley's POV and Part 6 in Reader's POV). But I also have more planned for this universe beyond that so stay tuned for updates!

Taglist: @nerdysuperchick, @mayhem24-7forever , @the-untamed-soul , @hederasgarden

@inglourious-imagines , @straightforwardly , @srry-itshockeyszn , @flyinlove, @fandomhopped ,

@wanderdreamer , @callsign-phoenix , @forever-sleepy-sloth , @notroosterbradshaw , @dezthegeek ,

@cherrycola27 , @phoenix1389, @smells-like-perfect-senses , @boringusername3,

@petlaufeyson , @cycbaby, @fantasticcopeaglepasta , @writercole , @onebigfangirlworld ,

@ravenmoore14 , @clancycucumber230 , @kmc1989 , @ohtobeleah

@sunlightmurdock , @sparrows-corner , @ryebecca @slightly-psycho-multifan , @mads-weasley , 

@trencher4lyfe , @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @je-suis-prest-rachel,

@shanimallina87 , @mak-32, @blue-aconite , @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1,

@desert-fern , @withahappyrefrain , @roosterforme , @dingochef , @littlestatesman

@sorchathered

[designernishiki]

it’s kinda funny to me how that dumb scene in kiwami 1 of majima getting shot and left for dead in the harbor was basically just added as a half-assed way to explain majima not being around for a bit of the plot, but they accidentally(?) just made it seem like start of a chain reaction where majima ended up feeling slighted and heartbroken after being abandoned like that and then lashed out about it via smashing a big truck into the building kiryu was in. and yeah that isn’t inherently a romantic thing as-is but then they go and add the part where majima grabs a hostess and performatively hits on her as in-kiryu’s-face as possible, she says she’s already in love with someone, and majima lets her go immediately, no questions asked, making a big fucking point of it just to say see THAT kiryu? I appreciate when people are HONEST about their FEELINGS. people who won’t just BACKSTAB someone who CARES about them to save themselves. is that so crazy kiryu?? huh??? anyway make it up to me get down here and fight me right fucking now

[willowed-wisp]

ghost as a dad [ simon riley ]

part two | part three

- Never wanted kids, he was so careful not to get you pregnant but with the amount you guys fuck, it was bound to happen.

- You’re scared when you get that positive test… you cry out of fear that you’ll have to get rid of the thing you had always wanted.

- It took you a week to gain the courage to tell him, you just left the pregnancy test on the kitchen table and left for work. You wanted to let him sit with it for a few hours.

- When you did return home, he sat on the sofa- elbows to knees looking down at the test. How long had he been like that?

- You waited for him to speak, while you shuffled around with that nauseous feeling bubbling in your stomach.

- It was late in the afternoon so you started chopping some vegetables for dinner, “I’ll call the termination clinic in the morning…” Your voice mulled over the slices weighing down on the wooden chopping board.

- Fingers crawled along your waistband as he rested against the sink. “No. You’re not.” You rested the knife down.

- “I thought you didn’t want kids…?” Your eyes on the verge of tearing, looking back at him. Your cool, mysterious man… finding purchase in those deep dark eyes.

- His bare hands wrapped around you- resting under your shirt. “I can’t put you through tha’,” His light hair tickled while his chin rested on your shoulder, “You’re the only person I’d wanna do this with.”

- He was there for the first and second of your pregnancy. Simon held your hair back while you threw up almost every day and he rubbed your back.

- Simon is very careful when having sex with you, but he soon realised that you feel everything 10x as much. And your sex drive is through the roof, he’s never been so needy in his entire life… you were so desperate for him and he wanted you just as much.

- Simon gets deployed during your 7th month. He doesn’t want to go… nearly refuses. Unfortunately he can’t do that.

- You’re stressed after he leaves. But his family takes care of you- he asked for them to.

- When he lands back on British soil, he immediately phones you. You pick up, and the cry of a baby is all he hears before he drops the phone and falls to his knees.

- He’s crying, actually in tears. “Is Y/N alright, LT?” Of course Soap was the one to see him like that.

- Simon nods, laughing, “I’m a dad…”

- He’s never driven so fast in his life, and you’re there on the sofa he had been 8 months ago with that test in his hand. This time you cradle a little human in your arms, swaddled like a bundle.

- He drops to his knees once more, ripping his mask off. And your warmth covers him with the little sighs coming from the now awake baby.

- Simon fell in love. He didn’t know if he was looking at a son or a daughter.

- You two didn’t want to know the gender.

- “Simon Riley… meet your daughter…” He melted again, face red and brown eyes bloodshot as he cradled the little one in his arms. Dotting into the identical eyes staring up at him.

- That’s when he held her close, head against his chest. “My little princess…” He hummed so gentle, rocking her slightly.

- He is so girl dad coded. He’ll be so sweet with her and she’d always come to her dad if anything was wrong

- Your little girl would play with his masks all the time, it never annoyed him- only making him giggle. Telling her to stop so playfully and boyishly, that you’d never seen him so soft-hearted before.

- You most likely have at most two more children after your daughter- maybe one girl and a boy.

- Simon definitely teaches your children self defence from a young age. Safety was everything and he wasn’t always around to protect them.

- He’s there every award ceremony he’s on leave and is the most doting father ever.

- Your children’s friends are terrified of him, until they get him talking- then they’re like ‘your dad’s cool.’

Did you want a part 2 of this?

Part Two is posted!

——��

masterlist

[kitkat13001]

⋆｡°✩🎃 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚝

>> tomura shigaraki x civilian!reader

>> cursing, reader is scared of horror movies, mentions of serial killers, weapons, typical halloween stuff etc

tomura’s pretty sure your ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream can be heard across the entirety of japan. 

all he had done was tap on your window, same as he had every time he visited you. except that he had done so as you were in the middle of a horror movie, and now he’s pretty sure his ears are bleeding. 

he’s quick to climb inside and cover your mouth, shushing you gently with his arms around you while he waits for your heart rate to return to normal. 

“your neighbors are going to start asking questions,” he grumbles once he lets you go (after you’ve stopped shaking). 

you wave a dismissive hand. “they don’t give a damn. they’re all ten times worse than i am. ‘sides, if any of them give me shit, i’ll just send my evil villain boyfriend after them.”

this elicits a laugh from him. 

you settle back onto the couch while tomura makes himself comfortable, hanging up his coat and taking off his shoes before coming to lay out beside you. 

he squints at the screen, the horrified face of jamie lee curtis staring back at him. “whatcha watchin’ that’s got you so freaked?”

you bunch up the blanket all the way up to your face, burrowing into his side. “halloween, 1978. one of my coworkers bet i was too scared to watch a horror movie, so i’m gonna show her.” you murmur a spiteful ‘bitch’ under your breath and it makes tomura chuckle. 

“oh yeah,” he agrees sarcastically, nudging your leg with his own. “you and your little blanket against the world.”

you shoot him a look, sitting up to glare at him. “i can be brave!”

tomura just stares blankly, not dignifying you with an answer. he knows you can’t, but he doesn’t want to burst your bubble. 

you huff at him before collapsing back against his side, hitting play on the movie. 

the actress is mid-scream—you had to have known based on the way the movie was paused—but you jump anyway when she screeches. 

tomura tries not to laugh. 

it goes on like this for the next hour. you’re watching the movie from behind your blanket, nails digging into tomura’s arm, and he’s watching you as you jump and flinch and bury your face in his side. 

you sit, horrified, as the credits roll. 

“that was awful.”

“yeah,” tomura agrees, throwing a piece of popcorn at the screen. “the kill scenes were shit.”

“but the music was so damn creepy!” you insist, shivering. you lay against him for a while longer, letting the credits roll as you get comfortable. 

tomura’s nearly dozing off when he feels you tug on his sweater sleeve. 

“tomu, i have to pee.”

he peeks one eye open at you to give you a look before he leans his head back again. “okay?”

“come with me!”

“to pee?!”

“what if michael myers is in the bathroom?!” you cry, pulling on his sleeve insistently. 

he groans loudly, grumbling and complaining the entire way to the bathroom as you drag him with you. 

you shove him inside first, flicking on the lights with a yelp. 

“now check behind the shower curtain,” you tell him with a shooing motion. 

“you’re shitting me.”

“tomu!”

he huffs, knocking your curtain aside to check for serial killers. “see? no psychopaths in here.”

“except for you,” you giggle as he scowls at you. you make your way to the toilet, but he flicks the light off and you scream. 

he snickers at your cursing, dodging the roll of toilet paper you throw at him when you come out of the bathroom. 

“you’re such an asshole!”

he pulls you in as you grumble, but succumb to his warm embrace. 

“don’t be such a baby. you know i’d never let anything happen to you. some psycho with a knife’s got nothin’ on me, sweetheart. it’s me they should be scared of.”

you give a little ‘hmph’, but his words ease your nerves a little. that, and the warmth and safety of his arms around you. 

the way you burrow further into him, hands gripping the sides of his hoodie, makes him smile a little. tomura’s not capable of a significant amount of good, being a villain and all. but protecting you is, and will always be, second nature to him. 

i just watched halloween for the first time and was thoroughly creeped out. i hate horror movies, in case it wasn’t obvious. but i wanted to write something for tomura for the spooky season! stay tuned for spooky dabi :p 👻

- 𝚔𝚒����𝚝𝚢 !

[enigmakiwi]

I got comic relief (which I mean yeah kinda… I’d go through phases. Probably freaking out so hard I’m useless -> coping only through humor -> dead inside and will kill the killer if given the chance. Assuming I don’t die in phase 1, which is incredibly likely.)

Saw this little trend on twitter so I’m bringing it here for fun!

Take this uquiz to see which horror movie stereotype you are.

Then create your 70s/80s horror movie self!

Here’s mine:

Unfortunately this is very true.

Tagging: @aprincessnotaqueen @art-by-mira @courtneyenthusiast @catastrophicmind @darkmasterofcupcakes @drunkonabroomstick @doitcody @elskamo @hollowboobtheory @heysatanitsyourgirl @marshunter06 @pink-daydreamer @ragamuffin-bites @sentimentalslut @straighttxhell @sugarlesswriting @sukisactualgf @unawarer @webui1tgwensface @withjust-a-bite @xwhatababex @youllnevergetmealive

[karasimpno]

haikyuu men reacting to you getting followed on your way home

I had something pretty scary happen to me last night, so what better than fictional volleyball men to seek comfort in! (lmao this was actually a year and a half ago, it’s literally been sitting in my drafts that long. happy 1.5k, friends!)

featuring: iwaizumi, bokuto, daichi, sakusa

contains: mention of being followed, fear, comfort, gn!reader

Iwaizumi starts when you slam the door behind you and fall back against it, letting out a heavy exhale. He looks up from where he’s slicing vegetables for dinner with a concerned expression. “Babe?” he asks, concern lacing his voice, not used to you waiting by the door before kissing him hello. He sets down the knife and walks over to you calmly. “Are you okay?”

The lump that forms in your throat threatens to break as you purse your lips together to keep from crying. “No,” you barely manage to whisper, and before the syllable is even off your lips, one of Hajime’s strong hands is on your waist, pulling you closer. His other hand gently but firmly cups your cheek, drawing your gaze to his, all fiery intensity at seeing his love hurt like this. “What happened?” he whispers.

It comes out in a jumbled, rushed mess - “there was this guy - he was following me, I - whenever I would speed up or - he would walk faster. And I tried to get away, but he crossed the street too and - ” you don’t realize it, but you’re trembling, heart racing again at the memory. It ignites something in your boyfriend.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Hajime growls, and you don’t doubt him for a second. Your resolve crumples at that very moment, and you fall forward into his sturdy chest, his safe, strong arms instantly wrapping around you. “I was just so scared,” you whisper, and Hajime’s thoughts turn to nothing but you, holding you tight and reassuring you: you’re safe.

~

You don’t actually realize how scared you were until you see the look on Bokuto’s face when you walk in the door. 

Big, warm, owlish eyes find yours and something inside your chest heaves, sending a shudder through your body. Your boyfriend is already whipping around the kitchen table before you reach can an arm out to steady yourself on the wall. Usually so strong and buoyant, Bokuto almost startles you with his softness as he pulls you into his embrace. Big, strong arms wrap around you and you allow yourself to collapse into the safety they provide.

“Baby...” he whispers against your forehead from where you’re nestled into his neck. A hand snakes up to tangle in your hair and press you closer against him. His fingers are strong, tense, and you can practically read his thoughts - if only I’d been there...

Bokuto bends down and scoops your legs up, which you eagerly wrap around his waist as you bury your face farther into his neck. He smells like sunscreen and cologne and you could almost cry at how comforting that exact scent is. Supporting you with one hand and using the other to rub comforting patterns up and down your back, he gently carries you back to your shared bedroom, where he holds you for the rest of the evening and lets you know - you’re safe, you’re safe.

~

“Oh my love,” Daichi murmurs, pulling you into his embrace on the couch. His thumb had been gently rubbing over your knuckles as you calmed yourself down enough to tell him what had happened on your way home, but now he can’t keep himself from holding you close. If he had lost you...

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say firmly. You’re not sure whether you’re reassuring him or yourself, but feeling his strong arms around you is a hell of a lot better than trying to regulate your own heartbeat. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I could’ve...” but he trails off. He knows right now is not about him.

Instead, he pulls you fully into his lap and tucks your head under his chin, running reassuring fingertips up and down your arm. You feel safe, like he’ll never let you go. You feel your elevated heart rate receding, and you relax into his embrace, feeling better already. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and the two of you sit in silence like that for a long time. 

At one point, after it feels like you two are essentially part of the couch, Daichi puts his hand on your head, his fingers gently scratching your scalp as a low humming begins to resonate from his chest. You always used to catch him singing under his breath when he cooked for you, and the vibrations from his sternum lull you into an even deeper sense of peace now. You forget your worries and for a moment the world is just you and him.

~

“Come here.”

The words are the first thing you hear when you finally make it back into the safety of your home. If you didn’t know the man any better, you would be sure the words were angry, even aggressive. But no, Sakusa’s voice was just urgent. You exhale shakily, feeling numb, and slip into Sakusa’s quickly-approaching arms.

You had texted him what had happened after hiding in a late-night grocery store to call a ride home instead of walking. Sakusa had demanded to come pick you up but you had insisted on just calling a car instead, because you wanted to be home as soon as possible. Now that you were here, locked in his warm embrace, you just wanted to lay down, the fearful adrenaline leaving your body in a rush.

“Can we just...” you slip out of his arms and barely have the strength to lead him to your shared bedroom and flop onto the mattress, feeling his weight dip onto the comforter alongside you. Intertwining your legs, he takes your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, knowing you need peace and comfort right now. His thumb brushes gently across your temples.

“Breathe,” he whispers, and you do, your chest rising and falling in time with his. “I’m right here,” he says, pulling you closer. “I’m not going anywhere, you’re safe, right here.” You don’t even notice the tears forming until they’re dripping onto his shirt, but he just holds you even tighter and grounds you with his touch.

[wandering-winchesters]

Who Did This To You?

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 4,077 (Oops) Summary: Sam and the reader are close friends, Dean on the other hand is kept at a distance. The reader has a boyfriend, who turns out to be abusive. What will happen when Dean finds out? Trigger Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence, bruises and brief mention of blood. Requested: No, just something I thought up. A/N: I am really happy with how this turned out, please let me know what you think. <3

Masterlist

I press the accelerator down further, hot tears brimming in my eyes, frantic to get back to the bunker. Back to safety and Sam. I need to talk to Sam, he always knows how to calm me down. My boyfriend, Chris and I had fought tonight and it had been bad, he had gotten in my face and screamed at me over the smallest thing. I put up with it for almost an hour, before I got up and left. What had started out as utter rage had slowly turned to gut wrenching sobs throughout the long drive home. I pull into the driveway for the bunker, parking next to the Impala and quickly making the walk from the car to the door. I unlock it quickly slipping inside, I kick my boots off at the front door and head to the kitchen hoping to find Sam. Much to my dismay, the face looking back at me is indeed not Sam, but the other Winchester, Dean. He looks up at me, his eyes searching my face and his brows drawing together when he notices my expression and the tears on my cheeks. I sniff, quickly wiping them away but it’s too late, he’s already seen them. 

“Where’s Sam?” I ask, drawing on every ounce of strength within in me to keep my wits about me for a few more minutes. Dean takes his time to answer, taking a sip from the beer he is holding as he studies me carefully. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting anxiously for his reply. 

“He went out for a bit, said he needed to get out of the bunker. Can’t say I blame him.” He says, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before taking another sip of his beer. I give Dean a short nod and mutter a thanks before turning on my heel, intent upon heading straight to my room but his voice stops me once again. 

“You’ve been crying.” He states, matter-of-factly. I freeze in my tracks, weighing my next options carefully. Why does he care? He’s seen me cry before and it hasn’t exactly made him kinder to me. I square my shoulders and turn around to face him once again, his eyes still locked on me. He looks as if he is carefully analyzing my every move, every breath I take and every word that I speak. He’s leaning against the counter top, one leg bent resting on the cabinet behind him. His arms crossed across his chest, supporting the hand that’s holding his beer. 

“Why do you care?” I ask, my voice a bit more volatile than I initially intended. I am too tired to put effort into being nice to him, a sentiment that he rarely ever gives to me. He is slightly taken aback by my words, a fact made obvious by the way he holds his hands up to the side, shrugging his shoulders slightly. 

“Just thought you might want to talk about it, since Sam isn’t here.” He replies, his tone soft and gentle, something I’d never received from him before. It wasn’t like we were enemies or anything, but he didn’t particularly care for me and I shared the same sentiment about him. We butted heads over everything, he always tried to hold me back on hunts, making me feel incapable and inferior. 

“Ill be fine.” I mutter, moving to walk away once again, and once again he stops me his words cutting through me like a silver knife. 

“Did he hurt you?” He asks, his voice unreadable, but his face screams danger, depending on my answer. I look at him, my eyes searching his face for any explanation of where this was coming from, but he’s impassive other than anger. I don’t trust my voice, so I shake my head no. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he hadn’t physically hurt me, he didn’t need to his verbal threats were enough. 

“I’m just going to go to bed. Thanks anyways.” I say and he nods slightly but he’s not fooled. I turn and actually walk away this time and make it to my room before my tears start to fall again. I sit down on the edge of my bed pulling my phone out of my pocket, intending to send Sam a text, but I am distracted by the multiple messages flooding the screen. Beginning with anger and threats, before changing to apologies and begging for my forgiveness. I toss my phone onto the floor, too tired to deal with the nonsense tonight. The interaction with Dean replays in my head, his kindness strange and cause for reflection. It isn’t as if he was ever a complete asshole to me, but he was never fond of me. I had always been Sam’s friend and Dean just put up with my presence. Neither one of them ever intended for me to start hunting with them, it was a matter of wrong place wrong time. Sam and I had met in college and I went looking for him when he disappeared from classes, the week I found him happened to be when the yellow eyed demon came calling a few years ago, and I had stuck with them ever since. Intent upon learning everything I could about the supernatural. Sam had welcomed me in with open arms and Dean had been dragged along kicking and screaming, metaphorically speaking. Well, mostly metaphorically, he did a lot of yelling. So the concern Dean had for me tonight, was well concerning. It was throwing me for a bit of a loop, curiosity sparking within me. Did he actually care about me and his disdain for me was just a front? No, surely not. I had been with them for three years and this was an utter first. I brush the thoughts aside and close my eyes, hoping that sleep will over take me. Hours later, it finally does. 

I wake to knocking on my door, I yell out a muffled come in, and Sam sticks his head in, his expression apologetic. 

“Hey sorry to wake you, I am about to head out but I wanted to check in on you before I do. Dean said you were upset and looking for me last night, you could’ve called me Y/N, I would have come back earlier.” I had sat up in bed to look at him and he had opened my door the rest of the way. I smiled softly at the tall man standing in front of me, his hair messy and the collar on his flannel offset. 

“Its okay Sammy, you have a good night out?” I ask and he grins sheepishly, nodding his head in response. 

“Yeah, actually, I met a girl at the bar. I am heading back to her place now actually. You doing okay?” He asks me, his smile contagious. I chuckle, shaking my head slightly, but smile back at him. 

“Yeah I am good, go get ‘em tiger.” He laughs at my response, and jogs off down the hallway yelling a see you later over his shoulder. He had forgotten to shut my door behind him, I sigh throwing my blankets to the side and standing up beside my bed. 

I stretch my body, groaning slightly as the tension in my shoulders works it way out. I throw on the jeans I had worn yesterday, before finding a new shirt to wear, I settle on my favorite green tee, a memento from my college years. I pick my phone up from the floor, scanning the mass of texts and calls all from one person. Before sending him a quick message,

8:33 A.M.  I’ll be over shortly, I just woke up. 

I take a deep breath and grab my keys from my dresser and head towards the entry to the bunker. Dean is in the kitchen again, this time making himself breakfast. He gives me a slight smile as I walk past him towards the door. I smile back but keep on my path to my boots, still left haphazardly by the door where I had tossed them last night. “Need breakfast?” Dean calls from the behind me, I look back over my shoulder and see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, skillet in one hand, towel in the other.

“Not hungry, thanks though. I’ll be back later!” I say, beginning to head out the door to the bunker. I hear him call out something along the lines of ‘be careful’ but I don’t stop to question it, our interaction from last night still weirding me out. 

In hindsight, I should’ve gone back inside this morning. Had breakfast with Dean and ignored Chris’ frenzy of messages. Going over his place this morning was probably the worst idea I have ever had, it hadn’t gone well, worse than I had ever imagined. His messages to me last night and this morning had me convinced that he would apologize for his actions and yet that is the farthest thing from what happened. By the time I had gotten there, he had switched from apologetic to angry again. Instead of his words, he let his fists do the talking. The first time catching me so off guard it knocked me off my feet successfully splitting my lip, the second time I had dodged his blow, stepping out of his reach and yelling at him to keep his hands off of me and trying to leave. But the third. The third landed square on my jaw, knocking me unconscious. 

I had come to from Chris shaking me and crying apologies. His touch sending waves of nausea through me, revolted by the thought of him. Glancing at my reflection in the surface of his coffee table I noticed the rapidly forming bruise. A mark that would serve as a vivid reminder of his actions and my inability of acting like a good, obedient girlfriend. Or so he said, after spending the morning accusing me of cheating on him with Sam. No matter what I said, it wasn’t enough to convince him that we were just friends and he had just lost it on me. I had left in a rush when he went to the bathroom, leaving everything but my phone and my keys behind on his couch. The ache in my body spurring me to move faster out of his place and into the safety of my car. The seconds it took me to get from his living room to the drivers seat, felt like an eternity. I had driven as fast as I dared back to the bunker, checking my rear view mirror constantly watching and waiting for him to appear behind me, but he didn’t. So here I sit, outside the bunker, debating the best way to get into my room without someone noticing the bruises still forming on my face. Not wanting the attention or, more likely the “I told you so’s” from Dean. I grabbed the hat from my passenger seat, tugging it low over my face. I rearrange my hair, framing it around my face in such a way that it covers as much of my jaw as it can. I take a deep breath and exit my vehicle, taking the few steps required into the bunker. 

I shut the door as quietly as I can, taking soft steps towards my room. I hope to make it into the safety and silence of my room without anyone noticing, I am not even sure who is home at this time but I don’t want to see either of them. I had nearly reached the safety of my space, but I head Dean’s door swing open behind me. 

“Y/N, you’re home sooner than I expected. Sam isn’t back yet.” He says and I freeze in my tracks, praying he doesn’t continue the conversation. 

“Okay, thanks!” I say, my voice coming out shrill and unsteady, the opposite of what I was trying to sound like. I hear him move to close his door, but he hesitates and I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. 

“What happened to your jeans? Why is there blood on them?” He asks, and I internally curse myself out for my stupidity. I had wiped my hand across my thigh after wiping the blood off my busted lip. I must have taken too long to give him an answer, because I hear him moving closer to me and I close my eyes waiting for the moment that I had hoped to avoid. “Y/N, look at me.” He says and I can feel him ever so close to me. I turn around, keeping my eyes trained on the ground and my face angled away from him. He reaches out and gently grabs my chin, pulling it towards him so he can see me. I bite my tongue to keep the slight gasp from slipping past, his touch on my bruised jaw causing a ripple of pain to travel throughout my nerves, but he notices and his touch lightens. The opposite of his face, his expression darkens, eyes traveling over my skin. His other hand comes up and pulls my baseball hat off my head, revealing all of the color spreading through my skin, reds and purples mainly at this point in time. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, not waiting for a response his hand drops to my wrist and tugs me behind him. I follow his lead back towards the kitchen, when we get there he points to the counter muttering one word through his angry stupor, “Sit.” I don’t, but he doesn’t notice immediately, his attention turning to something else. He walks over to the freezer and digs out the ice packs that we kept frozen for any injuries that might surface. 

When he turns around, his eyes are trained on me, a scowl engrained in his features. He sets the icepack down, before he turns to me, grabs my waist and lifts me up onto the countertop. I am caught off guard by his actions, a gasp leaving my lips from his sudden movements. His hands on my hips the most amount of physical touch that has ever been shared between the two of us. 

I train my eyes to the floor, not daring to meet his gaze. He had stepped away again, digging through the cabinets for what I think is the first aid kit. I begin to let my thoughts wander, the dull ache in my jaw pulling me back to the moment that it happened. The pure evil hidden behind his eyes, the look of absolute enjoyment he had as he watched me struggle, his hands rough and violent against my body. But I am snapped back to reality by Dean’s gentle touch, his fingertips gingerly raising my chin to look at him. Tears are beginning to form in my eyes, adrenaline wearing off and emotion taking back over. I take a deep breath, hating the way my lip quivers, still dreading showing weakness to the older Winchester. He notices, he notices all of it, but he doesn’t say anything. He gently wipes away my tears and brings a cold cloth to my lip, cleaning up the cut from the first punch. I can feel anger radiating off of his skin, even though his touch is displaying the complete opposite. 

“Did Chris do this?” He asks, his attention moving from the split in my lip to the gash on my forehead. I hiss as he wipes it clean, an antiseptic wipe pinched between his fingers, he mutters a slight apology, but continues patching me up.

“Yeah, he did. He lost it on me this morning, over nothing. It’s my fault though, I ignored all of his messages after I came home last night, so he was angry.” Dean freezes, his fingers stilling on my skin. I look up at him, confused as to why he stopped and I notice his jaw is clenched so tight that it has to be painful. 

“Don’t ever say those words again, you hear me?” He locks his eyes on mine, fury absolutely radiating off of every inch of his body. “None of this, none, is your fault, you got it?” His words are sharp and pointed, his intent clear. I nod in response, he obviously didn’t want to hear anymore, got it. I would keep my mouth shut. 

He continues patching me up, before he stills, looking me over from head to toe once more. He hands me the ice-pack he had laid out and instructs me to keep it on my jaw. He turns his back to me and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. 

“Where does the fucker live?” He asks, his voice low and so calm that it scares me slightly. 

“Why Dean?” This is when he snaps, the anger that has been coursing through him coming out in one big tsunami of a wave, now that he knows I am okay. 

“Because I am going to go beat the absolute hell out of him, show him a bit of his own medicine.” He says, each word leaving his lips like a bullet leaving a gun. Dangerous and aimed at one specific target. 

I sit quietly, unsure how to respond. 

“Why? I didn’t think you’d care this much, figured-“ 

“Oh for fucks sake!” He interrupts me and I jump from the sheer volume of his voice, he walks back over to me and stands directly in between my knees, he rests his hands on my thighs and his eyes meet my own once again. 

“I have always cared about you Y/N, from that day you showed up at our motel. Your search for Sam finally at an end. I have watched you let men into your life that don’t give two shits about you, I have watched how they treated you and I have hated every single one. None of them deserve you, they are all pitiful excuses for boyfriends. I heard you crying to Sam, each time one of them broke your heart and I had to sit back and not do anything about it. You deserve more than anyone can give you, including myself. Which is why I never said anything, I kept you at a distance. I can’t do that anymore, I can’t keep watching you put yourself into these situations. God, if you hadn’t left, he could have killed you. Probably would have killed you, and then I never would have been able to tell you that I-, that I love you.” He says, his voice growing less angry after each word leaves his mouth. My brain is spinning by the end of his speech, his words swirling around my head making me dizzy. He squeezes my leg gently, causing me to snap back to reality once again. 

I blink at him, once, twice, three times before his words finally settle over me and I am completely speechless. I never saw this coming, I admit I have feelings for him, but I had pushed them so far away because of his hatred for me. 

“Dean, I-I don’t know what to say. I always thought you hated me, so I supressed my feelings for you, I dated other men because I thought you would never want anything to do with me. I’m sorry, that I hurt you. I love you too.” I whisper, my hands coming to rest on top of his. He tugs me towards him, his fingers digging into my hips and sliding me across the counter into his embrace. 

“God, Y/N, I am so sorry he did this to you. He will never lay a finger on you again, I promise.” He says, his voice barely registering because of how quiet he is speaking. I can hear how close he is to tears, but don’t mention it to him. I hug him back and relish the way his touch makes me feel. How safe I am in his presence, every fear melting away. 

I hear the door to the bunker open and Sam calls out a greeting. Dean pulls away from me slightly, but keeps his hand resting on my thigh. 

“In the kitchen Sammy.” He calls out, and gently squeezes my leg in reassurance. 

Sam rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes locking on my bruised face and anger quickly replaces the initial shock. 

I look away from him, shame creeping over me. I put myself into the situation and this was the outcome, now both of them are aware of what I got myself into and it is crashing down on me in waves. I hear Dean talking to Sam, explaining everything that had happened. By the end of it, both boys were rearing to go track him down and give him a taste of his own medicine, or worse. Little did we all know, they were about to get their chance and they wouldn’t even have to leave the bunker. 

A knock sounds at the door and Sam trails off mid sentence, glancing between Dean and myself, an obvious attempting at asking if we were expecting someone. Neither of us were, and suddenly it hit me. He’s here, he had followed me. My heart is in my throat, my breathing is heightened and shallow. My eyes meet Deans and he knows exactly what I am thinking. “Stay here, sweetheart. Sam, let’s go.” He says, giving me one last look before the two of them walk out of the room and towards the source of the incessant knocking. I don’t listen however, I slide down off the counter and hurry after them. Not wanting to be left alone and waiting to find out the outcome of this visit. Dean throws open the door to the bunker, immediately grabbing my now ex-boyfriend by the collar of his shirt and pushing him backwards away from the entrance. Sam is quick to step outside next to Dean, the boys creating a wall between me and Chris. Dean withholds the fury of his fist and issues quite a few colorful threats, instilling a healthy fear into Chris. He pulls him up by his shirt again and shoves him towards his car. They stand, watching him leave before turning and heading back into the bunker. Sam is quick to be by my side, pulling me into a hug. Apologies flying from his lips. I reassure him that I am okay, my eyes remaining locked on Dean. Hoping that the moment that we had shared wasn’t a one time thing, dying to once again be in his arms. 

I excuse myself from the two of them, heading to the bathroom to clear my head. I spend a few minutes in there, my hands gripping the edge of the sink. Taking breath, after breath, trying to pull myself together. The whirlwind of a day, completely blindsiding me. I open the door to the bathroom and scan the hallway, empty. I take a chance and cross the hall towards Dean’s room. Knocking on the door and being beckoned in by his voice on the other side of the door. 

I open the door and cross the threshold, closing the door quietly behind me. His eyes are on me immediately and I stare back at him, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. Four words hang heavy in my throat, fear of rejection constricting my voice. I clear my throat and finally utter the words I had been thinking. 

“Did you mean it?” 

“Of course I did, Y/N. I will always mean it.” He whispers, and that is all it takes for me to cross the room and throw my arms around him. He immediately hugs me back, tugging me as close to him as physically possible. His lips press against my forehead, sending shivers down my spine. The warmth his body provides is all consuming and like heaven on earth. A feeling that I had never had before, it was clear that this was where I was meant to be.

“I will always keep you safe Y/N, I promise you that. I love you.” Dean says, his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks. I knew he meant it with all of his heart and that was more than enough for me. 

[multifariousqueer]

Miles cheating fic pt.2

Request: Ok here’s my request and it’s not smut so don’t worry lol.

What if like Yn tried sneaking into Mike’s room with some good news or smth and she catches him doing the deed with another girl so she decides to leave and then he’s blowing up her phone but she cuts him off. Idk just angst angst and more angst lol

A/n: AHHHH ENJOY Y’ALL. I wanted to make this story a bit different so lmk if you like it❤️

Warnings: cheating, toxicity, mentions of alcohol and knives, Miles being annoying, lmk if I missed one

“no” you said simply, running to the kitchen to grab a knife to get Thomas down and to defend yourself against Miles

“Listen, I’m so sorry and I know that doesn’t change anything” he started

“no it doesn’t. Listen, I’m giving you three minutes to get the hell out of my home. What is wrong with you, seriously? Have you been stalking me?” you asked rhetorically because you knew Miles had been

Miles would stalk you all the time, mostly for safety and to make sure you were happy but ever since the breakup, he had been stalking you to see where you would be and to see when he could quietly slip into your life again. When he realized you were 1000% done with him and had a new boyfriend, he realized it was now or never and he was already out on patrol. You had been packing stuff up and getting ready to leave and Miles would quietly watch you through your window and sometimes, when you weren’t home, he would come into your apartment and walk around taking in the very essence of you that he missed so dearly.

You had consumed Miles’ thoughts and dreams and he knew he couldn’t just let you leave without saying goodbye, right? Even though he got into your dream school and had every intention of going so he could stalk you more and make sure you were still safe(and available). 

“Hermosa, I love you way more than this guy and I mean, he couldn’t even fight back so what does that tell you about him?” Miles chuckled dryly 

“I DON’T CARE! GET OUT BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE” you shouted, waving your knife at Miles as he walked over to you

“Call them, I’d love to say hi to my dad. And stalking is a bit of a stretch, more like watching you from afar” he said

“that’s stalking cabròn”you said

“I never thought you’d call me that. I gotta say, it hurts” he said, putting a hand on his chest

“What do you want?” you asked, already knowing

“you, mami. I miss you so much and I haven’t been the same since you” Miles confessed

“Where’s your blanca? I thought you were happier with her” you said, tears in your eyes and Miles was hovering above your face

“She wasn’t you and she’ll never be you, y/n. I love you and only you and if I could go back in time and fix it, I would in a heartbeat.” he said

“hm. Well I’ve moved on and I have a boyfriend and I got into (your dream school) so I guess we won’t see each other anyways” you said

“Oh wow! This is a wonderful time to mention that I got in there too!” he smiled brightly, disregarding the boyfriend thing

You wanted to sob right there. Miles was a bit of a better student than you and he could get into your dream school without even trying and that’s what pissed you off. You had to struggle while Miles got off Scott free and still got to be Spider-Man. On top of that, the feeling that you would never get rid of Miles, no matter how much you tried ate away at you in that moment.

“You’re lying” you said, knowing it was true

Miles pulled out the letter and smirked at you

“see you there mami. And as for your cabron, that isn’t going away for another 6 hours, that’s your formula” Miles said, walking past you to your window

You had designed some web fluid for Miles and you weren’t shocked he was still using it, I mean you are a fantastic engineer when it comes to Spider-Man stuff.

You walked over to Thomas and he made a joke:

“I should’ve just went home” you both chuckled

You had hugged your parents goodbye as they left you alone in your dorm. You had dreamed of this moment since you were eleven and now that it was happening, it brought tears to your eyes. You met your roommate and went to greet some of your classmates. 

When Monday came, you sat next to a cool girl and made conversation:

“I love your bag, Marc Jacobs?” you asked

“yeah, your shoes are so cute.” she said

“Thanks. I’m Y/n” you said, holding out your hand

“I’m Mia” she said shaking your hand

You two spoke a bit more before someone interrupted your conversation:

“Is this seat taken?” you immediately recognized the voice and placed it as Miles’

“oh no!” Mia spoke

He put his books down and gave you a smug look. You scoffed and class had started. 

The class was relatively easy since it was one most people were required to take, its just nothing was ever easy when Miles was there. He kept proposing study dates or just hangouts and you always declined but he asked in front of your new friends this time so you couldn’t just say no without them thinking something was wrong. So, you accepted and offered for your other friends to come which they happily accepted. Miles let out a bit of a sigh and gave you an expressionless look but you could tell he wasn’t thrilled

Eventually, he became apart of your group because he was nerdy and cute so people really liked him. He kept trying to get you alone with you to talk but you never allowed it, instead you surrounded yourself with people and made sure to lock your windows. Whenever your roommate questioned it, you would say:

“I don’t want any spiders to get in” 

She would always agree and y’all would go back to doing what you were previously doing

Y’all got invited to a party and you all met up at your dorm. Most of y’all crowding around your sink and doing your makeup while the guys sat on your bed and read some of your books and looked at their phones.

When you emerged from the bathroom in your dress and makeup, Miles gave you a slacked jawed look and his eyes lit up. You walked over to him in your heels and closed his mouth for him before walking out the door

The rest of the girls got ready and y’all left your dorm and took some alcohol with incase it wasn’t good at the party

All eyes appeared on you when you walked in, your girls leading you to the dancefloor where they danced on you and you danced back. You felt a sense of Euphoria and ecstasy as you swayed to the music with a red solo cup in your hand as you smiled. Most of your group split up and it was just you and Mia dancing together. You went to fill your cup when you saw Miles already there

“hey, y/n” he said

“oh hey” you smiled, being friendly and a bit jaded

“you enjoying this?” giving you a “really?” look

“mmm yeah. Well I gotta go, I hear my song” you said, rushing back to the dance floor and twerking on your friend

Miles had a bit of a somber expression until a girl started talking to him and asked him to dance with her. At first, he was gonna reject but he saw how happy you were and he decided to try to make you jealous.

She twerked on Miles and he didn’t know what to do at first until he got in his groove. He still watched you intently until the girl came up and grabbed him before turning around and trying to kiss him. She kissed him and he reciprocated, pretending it was you. 

You saw this from across the room and you decided to have some fun. You walked over to them and whispered in the girl’s ear:

“careful, he might cheat on you” 

Miles decided he had enough and grabbed you by the arm, dragging you outside, you remembered how strong he was and you knew this was gonna leave a bruise

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” he asked

“just tryna make sure she dodges a bullet” you smirked, almost laughing

“Are you drunk?” he asked

“no, im just done with your shit” you said before trying to walk away but he cursed at you

“Ven aqui, mami” 

“I’m not your mami, i’m not your hermosa, i’m not yours, miles.” you said, sternly

“Haven’t I apologized enough? Can we just kiss or fuck and make up? I’m sorry, I still love you and I’m willing to do anything to fix us” he pleaded, sensing your sudden sobriety

“There is no more us Miles. I told you from jump that cheating was the one thing I couldn’t forgive. Let me go before someone sees us.” you said

He let you go as you strutted back in the party and went back to dancing, knowing you weren’t going back.

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 1

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

“Tell me again how it happened.”

It’s a standoff in the kitchen. Ellie’s face, flushed and furious, twists in a pout. Joel grips the back of a dining chair with one tight fist.

One week. It’s been one fucking week since school started, and Ellie has already come home with the pink slip of all pink slips.

“She tried to take my pen. Twice.”

“And?”

“So I…I took my knife out…”

“Uh-huh.”

 “...and I stabbed it into her desk…”

Joel winces.

“...and I told her if she tried that shit again I’d do the same to her fucking finger.”

“Ellie–”

“It’s not my fucking fault no one taught her to keep her hands to herself!”

“I know, and she–she shouldn’t have done that, Ellie, but you can’t just–”

“It’s not like I actually stabbed someone, Joel!”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, kid. You can’t–you can’t do that shit here. This ain’t FEDRA. There’s no hole. Keep it up and they’re liable to put us outside the damn wall.”

“Tommy wouldn’t–“

“He doesn’t run this place. An’ Maria’s already on my ass about…everythin’.”

“Maybe we should leave, then,” she huffs.

“You don’t mean that.”

“We made out okay. We could do it again.”

“Ellie,” his voice softens. He draws his palms down his face. The start of a headache pulses behind his eyes. “Look, I know it’s…different. But we’re here now. We gotta make do.”

Four months in Jackson. Four months since he shot his way out of a hospital in Salt Lake City and carried the unconscious girl to safety. Four months since she asked for the truth and he told her the whopper of all lies instead.

When he thinks about it that way, things are going about as well as he has any right to expect.

He’d hoped going to school would give her some structure, that she’d make a few friends, but so far, every morning has been a trudge, every night a standoff. When she’s not clinging to his side like a lost lamb or waking from nightmares to crawl into his bed, she’s hurling sharp words and slamming doors and stomping around.

Months on the road together, but he’s never seen her so goddamn bratty.

He’s taking a lot of deep breaths. He’s counting to ten. He’s trying not to see the judgmental frowns from his sister-in-law when Ellie storms out of a family gathering or calls him an asshole at the caf in front of the whole fuckin’ town.

She’s never had the space to act out, he reminds himself. She’s never been fed enough, warm enough, safe enough, loved enough, and he gets the brunt of her anger. The way Sarah would come home after a long day at school and turn into a grouchy wildebeest for him after being an angel for her teachers.

It’s normal, he tells himself on the worst nights. Ellie’s making up for fourteen years of repression.

But he’s tired and she’s strumming his last nerve like it’s a fuckin’ guitar.

She’s holding out another note, this one hand-written and co-signed by members of the council. He notes Maria’s signature at the top with some disdain.

“Counseling,” Joel sighs, skimming it. “Mandated. Twelve weeks.”

“You’re not really gonna make me go, are you? C’mon, man, it’s a death sentence!”

“Hardly. You’re lucky they didn’t suspend you.”

“I wish they had. Then I wouldn’t have to go to that stupid fucking school.”

“Ellie–”

“I hate it here,” she spits out. Her lower lip trembles and he has to look away, eking out a tight breath.

“Yeah, kid. I know. But you gotta give it a chance.”

“I did, and it sucks.”

“You’re not giv–”

“Going to my room,” she huffs, already moving for the stairs. 

“You need to eat first,” he says, gritting his teeth when she rolls her eyes. “And you’re grounded.”

Those words have never come out of his mouth. He doesn’t even know what being grounded looks like in this day and age.

“What?! Joel–”

“You heard me,” he says, making it up as he goes. “Two weeks. You’re back here every night after your assignments. No wanderin’ around with your friends.”

“Lucky for me I don’t have any fucking friends.”

“That ain’t–“

“This is bullshit,” she seethes, then turns on her heel and stomps up the stairs.

“Damnit, Ellie, you need to eat–”

“I’m not hungry!”

The door at the top of the stairs slams shut, ending the conversation and leaving Joel to collapse into a chair with his face in his hands.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Yeah, this is bullshit.”

One week later she’s sulking over breakfast at the house.

“The guy wants to talk to you,” she says through a mouthful of eggs.

“‘The guy’? And close your mouth when you chew.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose, opening her mouth wide to show him her half-chewed breakfast, a move that’s painfully reminiscent of a different time, a different kid.

“I told you at dinner. The counselor guy.”

He frowns. “It’s a guy?”

She rolls her eyes. “And women can even be doctors! Dude, you are so old .”

“S’not what I meant, smartass,” he mutters. “I just…I know you’ve had some, uh…issues with…guys.”

Since Silver Lake , he doesn’t say.

“Only the creepy ones,” she says, stabbing a piece of potato. “Ezra’s not creepy. He’s, like, cool. He has a huge record collection.”

“Uh-huh. An’ he needs to see me why?”

“I don’t fucking know, dude. Unlike you, I didn’t give him the third degree.”

He bites his tongue. “Alright. When?”

“Before school. Today.”

Joel looks at the clock, then back at Ellie. 7:50 .

“So we need to go…right now,” he mutters, draining his coffee and gathering his dishes to put them in the sink. “Thanks for the notice.”

“I told you last night! Not my fault you’re deaf.”

Admittedly, she’d talked a lot at dinner last night. Mostly about how some kid named Dina was a jerk who deserved to have her finger taken off for being a ‘fucking klepto’ with her pen. But he’d been so tired and the headache behind his eyes won’t give him a rest.

“Alright, let’s go,” he sighs. “Don’t forget your bag.”

They step out into the streets of Jackson on a mild September morning. It’s the rush hour–if a town of a few hundred can be said to have a rush hour–with shift changes on the wall and everyone off to their assigned duties. They pass familiar faces; neighbors Joel still doesn’t have names for, kids he recognizes from Ellie’s school who give them a wide berth. Joel hunches inward, following the maroon cast of her sweatshirt through clusters of Jackson residents.

“You don’t have a brother, do you?” she says out of the blue.

“You know I do,” he frowns.

“No duh. But you don’t have another brother, right?”

“Not that I’m aware of, kid.”

“Like, what if your dad had a secret family–”

“Christ, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“C’mon, it can happen! I just–I wondered–”

“What the heck are you gettin' at, kid? Spit it out.”

“It’s nothin’,” she says, but there’s a weird little smile on her face. “You’ll see.” 

She leads him to the little house at the other end of town and knocks on the blue door. Ellie keeps looking up at him with the same funny smirk.

A dark-eyed man answers, peering through the screen. Dark, fitted T-shirt, slim black jeans. Younger than Joel by at least ten years, probably more, with a wide smile and messy black-brown curls with an odd streak of white at his temple.

He looks like a fuckin’ punk.

“Hi, Ezra,” Ellie says breezily. “This is Joel.”

“Hello, young prodigy,” he smiles, drawling in a southern accent that Joel can’t quite place. “Come in, come in both of you…join me in my humble abode.”

He leads them inside and to the right, to a little den just off the entry. It’s a snug office with a couch and chair, a coffee table in the center, and bookshelves lining the walls on either side. A record player sits on a podium in one corner.

Joel puts out his hand, realizing too late the other man isn’t able to reciprocate, lacking an arm with which to do so. Ellie watches with a smug smirk, lips twitching a little as Joel drops his right hand and fumbles through a handshake with his left. He shoots her a glare.

Couldn’t have mentioned that?

She shrugs, feigning a wide-eyed innocence, then looks between the two men with a kind of manic glee, as if waiting for something.

“...what?” Joel finally asks.

“You don’t see it?” She gestures to the other man.

“I don’t–”

“Jeez, I know you’re deaf but I didn’t think you were blind, too,” she groans. “He looks like you! If you weren’t, like, ancient.”

Joel’s face flushes as Ezra tries to hide a smile behind his hand.

“Enough of that, you little shi–smartypants,” Joel mutters.

“I suspect your young prodigy here gets the sense we might be of blood relation based on a similar, uh, distinguished profile.”

“That’s not, uh…that’s not possible, kid.”

“I agree,” Ezra says smoothly. “The universe is rife with serendipitous occurrences, and I do believe that’s what we have here. The mind is a funny thing. We see what we want to see, Ellie.”

“Seriously?!”

“Your dad here–”

“He’s not my dad,” Ellie corrects automatically. Joel can’t help but feel a pang of indignation at the speed with which she pipes up.

“My apologies,” Ezra murmurs. “I stand corrected. This is your…?”

“He’s just Joel.”

“Of course, gem. Just Joel,” Ezra smiles in his direction. “So I asked your Joel here to ensure you understood what we’re doing. As your guardian, Joel needs to be an integral part of this process.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that–what exactly are we doin’ again?” Joel asks.

“I suspect your young prodigy here is finding the adjustment to life in Jackson a bit…finicky. I’m here to help ease that transition in whatever way I can.”

“You can start by telling the other kids to stop fucking touching my stuff,” Ellie adds.

“Christ, Ellie–”

Ezra holds up his hand, cutting off Joel’s growl and addressing the girl. “Let’s not get weighted down by the minutiae of the situation we find ourselves in, gem. Suffice it to say, we have some work to do, and we need to do it cooperatively.”

Ellie crosses her arms and huffs, but Ezra’s easy manner seems to soothe something in the girl.

“Now that you’ve delivered your…Joel…to me, he and I are going to have a little tête-à-tête . Nothing damning, just the facts. And you, if I’m not mistaken, will be late to school.”

He leans down to scribble something on a notepad, then hands it to Ellie. “Give this to your teacher.”

“You go straight to school an’ home after chores,” Joel adds, watching the late slip disappear into the pocket of Ellie’s jeans. “You’re still grounded, ‘member?”

“Like you’d let me forget,” she mutters, trudging out the door, leaving it cracked slightly.

They hear the front door open and shut, but Ezra holds up one finger, watching the entry with sly eyes.

Wait.

Joel catches his drift.

“Ellie,” he says.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” she grumbles from the entry. “If you’re gonna talk about me, I should get to hear it.”

“We’re not going to talk about you, gem,” Ezra says. “But this is a private conversation between your esteemed guardian and myself. Please give us your discretion and make haste.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Ezra goes to the office door and gently shuts it. Suddenly closed in the small room with a stranger, Joel feels a familiar but unwelcome prickle of fear take root. It’s the same feeling that has him sleeping with a gun under his mattress and locking his door at night, despite Tommy’s assurances that Jackson is safe as houses.

Without thinking, he reaches for his holster–the holster that isn’t there, because he doesn’t wear it unless he’s on patrol, because Jackson is a community and not the fucking QZ. It’s a subtle tic, but Ezra notices.

“We can open it if you’d prefer to partake of the fresh air.”

Joel swallows his fear with a dollop of shame. “S’fine.”

Ezra nods. “Have a seat if you like.”

He takes the chair across the small room, considering Joel through thick lashes. His face is kind, but something about the man’s gaze leaves Joel uneasy, like a bug under a magnifying glass. There’s a warm, simmering coil of tension in his gut that he can’t place.

Indigestion , Joel decides. Too much coffee.

He settles on the couch, old cushions and springs protesting, then leans forward on his knees, glancing around.

“You, uh…you like music?” he says, gesturing to the shelves of vinyl just behind Ezra.

“I do,” he says. “I was fortunate to find this sizable collection in the attic upon being assigned a house. I’ve added to it as I find new treasures to trade. And you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you enjoy music, Joel?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his lips self-consciously. “Play a little here and there. Guitar.”

Ezra’s face lights up. “Ah! A musician!”

“Hardly.”

“Speaking as one who can’t carry a tune in a bucket, color me impressed.”

The office window is wide open, a cool autumn breeze floating through and rifling the other man’s already unruly hair, but a deep heat has settled at the base of Joel’s neck and the room suddenly feels like a hot summer’s day.

He clears his throat. “So, uh…Ellie says you’re a counselor?”

“Indeed.”

“An’ you have, uh, qualifications? Somethin’ that says you’re the man for the job?”

Ezra grins at this. “I know I don’t look the part of the sage, and I can appreciate your frank concern. I do have some experience in this area, surprising as that may be. Before the outbreak, I was a Master’s student in clinical psychology. Although I didn’t get much opportunity to practice for reasons that should be quite obvious.”

“Right.”

“The fine folks of Jackson have been kind enough to give me a place and a profession that suits my abilities. I’m not much use drawing a plow or riding a horse, I’m afraid,” Ezra continues, nodding to his right shoulder.

“But before we proceed, I should like to understand your expectations and to set a few of my own. For one, I’m not here to play Freud. And I’m hardly qualified to make a diagnosis of any sort,” he continues. “A diagnosis isn’t worth a damn in this day and age, and I suspect you’d agree.”

Joel bites his lip. “Look, uh, I’ll be honest. Last time I set foot in a place like this, it did jack shit and ended in a divorce. So you’ll forgive me if I ain’t entirely comfortable with my…with Ellie…comin’ in here and talkin’ your ear off.”

“Trust that you are not the first to express concern or have a, let’s say, downright suspicious quality about this particular practice. But I hope you’ll humor me when I say that I, like you, only want what is best for Ellie. She’s a bright girl, that one. Very perceptive.”

Joel huffs softly. “Too damn smart for her own good sometimes.”

This elicits a tiny smile, leaving Joel worried he’s spoken too harshly.

“But she’s a good kid,” he adds quickly. “A really…good kid.”

Ezra nods. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I think she could benefit from the ear of a friend. As I said, she’s bright. I wanted to try to get a clearer picture of her through your eyes. Your family dynamic, if you will. I take it there’s no Mrs. Joel? Or…Mr. Joel?”

Joel snorts. “Just me an’ her.”

“And she’s adopted?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel murmurs, scratching his chin. “We, uh…I had a job to move her out here. From Boston. Was supposed to find, uh…her relatives…but that didn’t work out and my brother, Tommy, gave us a place here.”

Ezra nods but doesn’t say anything further. He sprawls in the chair, legs spread, almost slouched, one forearm draped over the side. Relaxed but intent, eyebrows drawn together with an unspoken question. Joel swallows, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

“You, uh, need to write this down or anythin’?” Joel coughs, gesturing to the notepad on the coffee table in front of them.

Ezra shakes his head, smiling slightly. “No…no, we’re just having a conversation. No need to put it on the record for now. So…Boston to Jackson. That must have been quite the excursion.”

“You could say that.”

“I expect it wasn’t exactly uneventful?”

“No,” Joel says, almost too quickly. “No, it was, uh…she went through a lot. Stuff no kid should have to see…to do. You’ll have to ask her about it, though. S’not my place to talk for her.”

“I intend to do that,” Ezra nods. “I look forward to getting to know her over the next twelve weeks. And hopefully beyond, if she’ll give me the chance.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Joel mutters. “She’s a bit…gunshy. Especially around, uh, men. Even Tommy…she can’t be alone with him, an’ he’s about as tame as they come.”

“But she feels safe with you?”

“Think so. I mean, I’m all she had for months…out there,” he shrugs. “But that went both ways. We’re prob’ly what you shrinks call, uh…codependent.”

Ezra nods, voice softening. “A little codependency can mean the difference between life or death in a difficult time. And I imagine it’s been an adjustment…all this. I know we–I–found it difficult at first. Even the thickest of walls aren’t enough if we don’t feel truly safe in the heart and mind.”

Joel bites his lip. “Yeah…yeah. It’s different.”

“And how about you, Joel?”

“How ‘bout me what?”

“You’ve been through a similar ordeal, I presume, traveling together. And now you find yourself the unexpected father figure to a dynamic and spirited young lady–”

Joel bites back a scoff. “This ain’t about me.”

Ezra shrugs. “I don’t mean to pry, and you’re free to pass on anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, of course. I’m just trying to build a picture in the interest of aiding my work with Ellie.”

The temptation to pass is strong, but that heat in his gut is still there, a distraction loosening his tongue. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s, uh…it’s been a lot. For both of us, but mostly her,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She’s not used to havin’ someone in her corner. She’s…she was an orphan…before.”

He sighs, allowing himself to sink back into the couch cushions, shoulders loosening a fraction.

“I told her not to bring that damn knife to school in the first place,” he says, glancing down at his broken watch. “But she needed it when we were on the road. She’s prob’ly needed it all her damn life. Seems wrong to ask her to give that up when we’ve only been here a few months. Not that she’s s’posed to be waving it around at folks, or…y’know.”

“Mmm,” he says. “Well, I don’t intend to lay blame here. Raising a child…alone…comes with its fair share of hardships and trials. Regardless, it’s a noble endeavor, to take one into your care.”

He snorts. “Think she’s done more to take care of me than the other way around.”

“If I may be so bold…I suspect you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you,” Joel says drily. “Kid’s not one to hold back.”

Ezra grins. “I sensed as much.”

He stands, offering his hand, and Joel takes it. The man’s grip is firm and warm and the memory of his touch lingers on Joel’s skin long after he’s left. That warm flare in his gut throbs, a not-unpleasant heat licking gently at the base of his spine, and he finally places it.

It’s been so damn long since he’s felt that particular burn, being on the road for months, never safe, never alone given Ellie’s constant companionship. There was probably a time or two in his early days with Tess when he found himself surprised by desire, but it was easily smothered, tamed, wrested into submission.

That night, Joel tosses and turns and finally gives into the low-level arousal that’s plagued him all damn day, palming himself roughly through his sweats until he’s fully hard.

He imagines Ezra’s eyes on him, watching, remembers the feel of the man’s skin against his palm. He bites back a groan of pleasure when he eases his waistband over his cock and takes himself out, allowing his grip to tighten and find a familiar, easy rhythm. He can’t get the younger man’s voice out of his head, that low, rumbling baritone, so oddly soothing.

He presses his face into the pillow to muffle the sound when he comes.

[mollywog]

I knowww I seem to remember a discussion about Peeta’s “mutt” programming but I can’t find it now … I want all the analysis about how it works and how Katniss is able to snap him out of it … the effect she has …

Ughhhh I spent a stupid amount of time looking for the old reblog chain and came up empty 😩

So let’s do it again!

"Katniss." I jump at the proximity of the sound. Look frantically for its source, bow loaded, seeking a target to hit. "Katniss." Peeta's lips are barely moving, but there's no doubt, the name came out of him. Just when I thought he seemed a little better, when I thought he might be inching his way back to me, here is proof of how deep Snow's poison went. "Katniss." Peeta's programmed to respond to the hissing chorus, to join in the hunt. He's beginning to stir. There's no choice. I position my arrow to penetrate his brain. He'll barely feel a thing.

Suddenly, he's sitting up, eyes wide in alarm, short of breath. "Katniss!" He whips his head toward me but doesn't seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. "Katniss! Get out of here!"

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. "Why? What's making that sound?"

"I don't know. Only that it has to kill you," says Peeta. "Run! Get out! Go!"

After my own moment of confusion, I conclude I do not have to shoot him. Relax my bowstring. Take in the anxious faces around me. "Whatever it is, it's after me. It might be a good time to split up."

The Peeta’s programmed-to-respond idea comes from Katniss, but I don’t know that I agree (though now I have an image of smoke coming out of Peeta’s ears as his chip malfunctions during the stay-with-me kiss)

Peeta jolts awake and his first instinct is to ensure her safety: He isn’t fighting to restrain himself like I image he would be if he was under some programming. It’s more like he was having a nightmare (ooo or premonition?) about the impending danger and he’s trying to pull the information through from sleep to wakefulness.

It’s also interesting to compare this instance of sleep talking to the nightmares he described before:

"Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" I say.

"I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says.

"You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down.

"It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I'm okay once I realize you're here."

When the danger is real and not just in a dreamscape, Peeta calls out (for his love to flee) and springs to action.

Another thought; This recalled the moment after the rule change

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart. Peeta raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame.

Also pointing out her choice to aim at the heart/brain in each instance.

But I’d love the Fairytale version of this chapter because it already has true-love’s-kiss breaking ‘the curse’

[supernaturalgirl20]

The Viper

Pairings: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ (not with reader), explicit, cursing, kidnapping, sexual thoughts, violence, mention of assault (very brief), mind games.

Summary: Oberyn is becoming enamoured by you, stirring feelings he thought long buried. His plan is set in motion. Temp you to the dark side.

A/N: completely forgot to post this earlier. Anyway, here it is 🥰 it will be told in dual POV. Each part jumps from reader to Oberyn.

Series Masterlist

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

He could feel the ghost of your touch as he walked away from your room. The warmth of your hand on his thigh sparked something in him that he didn’t think he would ever feel again. Certainly not for a Lannister, but he couldn’t deny that you were different. That something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame. 

It didn’t help that you were beautiful. Or that the dress you had on clung to your curves in all the right ways. You were a temptress sent to test him and he was loath to give in. He was going to have to be careful. He couldn’t let you get under his skin. Or into his heart. He had plans and catching feelings, wasn’t one of them. 

***

The sound of laughter pulled him from his thoughts as he made his way through the house. Specifically, Ellaria’s, and he knew there was only one person who made her laugh like that. 

Jaron. 

Oberyn was furious. His mind replayed the way he had been with you and a burning rage filled his veins as he stalked towards him. How dare he touch you like that. How dare he touch any woman like that. 

He wasn’t in the habit of hurting women, never had been, but even more so now after what happened to his sister. So, when he entered the doorway of your room and saw the way he was touching you, had heard the words he spoke, he wanted nothing more than to drive a knife through his heart. 

“What the hell was that?” He snarled, his voice echoing through the air. Jaron had been sitting with his arm around Ellaria whispering into the shell of her ear when he flinched at the sound of his boss's voice. 

“Boss.” He stuttered as he jumped to his feet, eyes shifting nervously around the room, hoping one of the other men would step in and save him. They didn’t. 

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” His fists were clenched at his side as he tried to restrain himself. 

“Come on, boss. I was just trying to scare the girl. Wasn’t gonna do anything.” He chuckled, shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Didn’t look that way to me,” Oberyn growled, his breaths becoming shorter with each word he spoke.  “You know how I feel about the matter.”

“Don’t know why you’re getting so worked up anyway, ain’t she a Lannister? If it were me, I’d have my way with her and then throw her to the wolves.” Oberyn growled, charging toward Jaron and pinning him against the wall.

 The sound of Jaron choking as Oberyn cut off his air had caused Ellaria to stand and gently place her hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. Just like it had many times before, but it didn’t ease the rage that was burning like wildfire within him. 

“Get. Your. Hand. Off. Me,” he roared, and she flinched, quickly removing her hand from him. His gaze remained focused on Jaron as he began to slowly lose consciousness. “You ever touch her again, and I won’t hesitate to kill you. Lannister or not, while she remains here, she’s under my protection. Got it?”

He releases his hand from around Jarons neck and he quickly takes in a gasped breath. He nods his head, avoiding Oberyn’s gaze. 

“That goes for everyone in this room. The Martell family doesn’t hurt women. Anyone who thinks otherwise will be killed by me.” 

“Got it, boss.”

“Understood, boss.” It chorused around the room, the men moving aside as Oberyn moved passed them towards his office. The door slammed behind him and once in the safety of his own space, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. 

Opening them slowly again, his gaze turned towards the monitor which gave him a clear view of your room, of you sitting on the bed where he’d left you. 

His jacket was still draped over your shoulders, and he couldn’t get the image of you standing in front of him with nothing on, only his jacket, out of his head. His cock stirred to life for the second time tonight and as much as he wanted to whip his cock out and wrap his hand around it, tugging himself as he came to the sight of you on his screen, he couldn’t. 

Reaching into his pocket he grabbed his phone and dialled Trystane, “Boss?” His voice sounded through the phone. “I want someone for the night.”

“Anyone in particular?” Trystane asked, the sound of his keys jingling on the other end. 

“Rosa,” Oberyn says before hanging up. If he couldn’t have you, then he would bury himself in someone who resembled you. 

***

Twenty minutes later a knock sounded at his door, and he lifted his gaze from the paper in front of him. “Come in.”

Rosa sauntered in, closing and locking the door behind her as she swayed her hips with each step, she took towards him. 

Oberyn’s gaze trailed up and down the curve of her body and it wasn’t lost on him how the dress she wore was very similar to yours. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

Perfect. 

Rosa gasped when he stood suddenly and grabbed her, flipping her around and bending her over his desk. 

He didn’t have time for foreplay tonight. He needed to get relief, and he needed it now. He undid his trousers, letting them fall to his knees as he lifted Rosa’s dress finding her bare beneath. 

He groaned and a small squeak escaped her lips when he spanked her ass. Grabbing her hair he pulled her back toward him. “The only sound I want to hear from you is you moaning my name. Got it?”

Rosa shivered, feeling his hot breath on her skin. “Yes sir.” Pushing her back down onto the desk, he ran his lined himself up and thrust into her. 

Her moans echoed through the room, and he kept his grip on her head so she wouldn’t look back at him. He needed to keep the illusion that she was you. 

His eyes drifted to the monitor and the sight of you pulling his jacket tighter around you had him cumming hard. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hips faltering to a stop. 

“That was amazing,” Rosa said, groaning when he pulled out of her. Oberyn pulled up his trousers and fixed himself before turning to her and ordering her out. 

“I thought you’d like it if I waited and sucked your cock.”

“Get out,” he shouted, his face stern as he watched her scramble out the door.  There was only one set of lips he pictured wrapped around his cock, and it wasn’t hers. 

***

Oberyn sat for what felt like hours in his office, watching you on the screen as you flitted about the room. He was going to find it hard to give you up and he didn’t even know you. 

“Trystane,” he called through the radio. “Yeah, boss.”

“Take Y/N to my room and let her shower. Give her a new set of clothes and have dinner brought to my room.” Oberyn sat back in his chair lifting his feet onto his desk. 

“Sure thing, boss.” The radio crackled to life again as Oberyn held the button. “And Trystane, make it dinner for two.”

Oberyn couldn’t help the smile that threatened to make its way onto his face as he watched you curl into a ball on the cot. You were a sweet innocent little lamb, and he was the devil sent to corrupt you. 

The sound of his phone vibrating with a text pulls his gaze away from you. 

Tell me when and where. And don’t you lay a finger on my daughter, or I’ll end you, Martell. 

Oh, I won't lay a finger on her, I’ll put my goddamn hands all over her. I’ll reach out and grip her close as she rides my cock. Oberyn thought as he looked at the monitor again.

He was going to take you from your family, in more ways than one.

Part 3

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan25 @angstismydrug @everythingfan @pedrosbum @ryangoslingstanktop

[inevestigator]

THE FALL OF MINRATHOUS.

So I'm posting this on AO3, here's the link if you want to read it not on tumblr. Or you can click through. It's almost 8000 words, there's your warning. if you see tense errors no you didn't. i really tried.

tw violence, death, blood... etc.

UNTIL IT BURNS.

Minrathous has its good days. It has many more bad days. But it’s never had a day like this. The city has stood for Ages through sieges and blights, repelling invaders and would-be-conquerors with barely any effort at all.

So where are the defences now? I hear you ask. Why does the Archon’s palace sit dark and unmanned? Why do the juggernauts not jump to the cities defence as they were created to do? Where are the magisters and their magic?

The answer is simple. There’s been a coup. Like a knife sliding between ribs, the Venatori have made a play for the heart of the city. They’ve wrested control and likely killed anyone who didn’t immediately pledge their loyalty. They had an easy enough time of it. How? Well, they brought a big enough distraction. It flaps around overhead and roars sparks and flames into the night sky- and down onto the streets.

The heat is everywhere, all encompassing. Buildings tremble like leaves in the wind. People are screaming and running. Where are they meant to go? When the safest city in Thedas is burning?

A girl in her father’s arms drops a nug shaped toy in the crowd. Only then does she begin to wail, adding to the cacophony.

It bounces from foot to foot until it hits my boot. I pick it up and find the wailing child. I wish I could tell her it’s going to be alright, but the outlook is grim and I’ve never been good with kids. I hand the nug over and look at her father. “Get underground, there’s a safehouse not far from here.” I point in the direction of one of many entrances to Shadow Dragon safehouses. Even from this distance I can see someone waving people inside. The smoke makes it hard to tell exactly who it is. The list of Shadow Dragons isn’t as long as I’d like, but longer than I’d expected.  

I turn my back once I’m sure the crowd is moving the right way and throw my hands out to extinguish the nearby fires.

Wingbeats sound overhead, a roar- if it can be called that- followed by intense, searing heat. People further down the street scream an agonising sound- and then they don’t. The stench is acrid and the cobbles are melting. I pull the freezing air back to me, cloak myself in it until my eyes and lungs stop aching from the hat and the smoke. A metal shop sign melts in slow drips.

I try not to look at the charred marks that used to be people.

I let my feet take me back towards The Shop, taking the obvious routes, the ones a non-native might take. I make it three streets before my plan works out and Lace comes barrelling towards me, bow drawn, chest heaving. There’s an echo of my own agony in her expression. And something else.

“Rook-“ She falters. It’s tough being the bearer of bad news.

“-Isn’t coming.” I finish for her. A knife between the ribs. But there’s only myself to blame. There isn’t time to dwell on it. I cut her off before she can speak again, we’ve no time for excuses, either. “There’s people trapped in the temple. Can you get to them?”

Harding looks more focused for being handed a mission. She nods.

I see Bellara appear, out of the smoke- she’s holding the hand of a young boy.

“Neve!” She sounds relieved. I try to echo some of her expression back to her.

“Nice to see you too, Bel,” I assure her. “You’ve made a friend.”

She looks uncomfortable at the thought. “He was lost-“

“I’ve got it.” I hold my hand out. “Go with Harding. I’ll get him to safety.”

We exchange responsibilities. Harding and Bellara go back the way they’d come and I find my way to the nearest safehouse. Hector hovers by the door, looking ashen and afraid, but gripping his sword just the same.

“Lost kid, get him somewhere safe.” I hand over the boy.

Hector stops me before I can leave. “Viper and Tarquin- they’re out by Dumat Plaza. There’s a safehouse out there- we lost contact.”

“Of course they are. I’ll find them.”

I walk away, already forming the best route to the water’s edge in my mind.

It takes me longer to get there than I wanted, but by the time I make it there’s a few less tenement buildings on fire.

True to Hector’s tip, Ashur and Tarquin are a couple of streets east of Dumat Plaza. The wing beats are louder here. People rush past in an effort to get inside the hatch Tarquin is holding open.

The dragon screeches. There’s another rush of heat. I whirl around, throwing up a barrier against the flames but I still feel it scorching through the ice.

There’s a scuffle. “They’re going to kill each other to make it in here!” Tarquin yells, as if Ashur and I couldn’t see that for ourselves.

“I’ll draw it off,” Ashur says and fires a beam into the air, it hits the dragon on a blight boil and the thing hisses and circles. Sparks form in its mouth.  

“Great, you’ve got it’s attention, now what?” I ask.

“Now, we move.” He says, and takes off, firing magic from his fingertips again. I watch him grab a zipline- brave and stupid- and disappear out of sight. Tarquin makes a sound of devastation. We share a look- and then we both follow him off the edge.

Turns out, we’re all a little brave. And very stupid, when we want to be.

The Viper actually looks surprised as we drop down next to him, beside Our Lady of Victory.

“You didn’t think we were going to let you have all the glory, did you?” Tarquin asks, with a voice that doesn’t match the tremble in his hand.

There’s another rushing sensation and I throw up another barrier around the three of us. It staves off the worst of the flames.

“We have to get it to land!” I yell over the sound of wings and fire and roaring dragon.

“Over here!” Ashur moves into an open area and starts drawing magic from the Fade. A lot of magic from the Fade.

We follow him. Two mages and a templar against the worst.

“Alright.” I brace myself for an attack. “Light it up.”

Ashur does. I feel the veil ripple in response to the power of the beacon, watch a magical bomb land a hit on the dragon’s shoulder and detonate, rocking everything. The dragon screeches as it finds a new target.

Tarquin stands with his sword held tight. Ashur stands with his hands up, ready. I stand with my staff in the vice my fingers have formed. Andraste stands over us, unmoved.

The ground shakes as the dragon slams into it, its breath is hot and foul.

We attack as one.

The dragon doesn’t care. We’re practically useless against it.

We do a damned good job of keeping it on the ground, but everything we throw at it seems to slide right off.

Just as I’m beginning to think we might have done some damage to it, it lashes out with its claws and Ashur goes down. Someone yells. It might be me.

There’s nothing I can do, I’m rooted to the spot by a jet of flame from the dragon’s maw- barely holding my own as I replace shield after shield of ice.

I see Tarquin run to help Ashur through the flame. He’s not looking at the dragon.

I can’t help either of them, I can barely help myself.

Ashur’s hand is limp as Tarquin rolls him over. There’s too much blood.

How poignant, I think, that Ashur might die at the feet of Andraste. Burned to death at the foot of the martyr herself. You could laugh at the irony.

The dragon blasts me again. I feel the magic weaken. I use the last of it to push myself aside on an icy slick. I cower behind a rock to catch my breath and wait for the flames to come again.

They don’t. The dragon, untethered and no longer under attack, flaps its wings and takes off into the air. I don’t want to be relieved but another hit would have killed us all- and instead of going back to burning down the city, it seems to be retreating. Though not because we’ve hurt it in any meaningful way.

I scramble to Tarquin’s side. Ashur is bleeding, but breathing. I manage to muster the energy to slow the bleeding to a crawl whilst Tarquin performs some kind of templar rudimentary field healing. Together, we drag him into a nearby building and onto a box to do a proper once-over.

Part of me wishes we hadn’t.

The wound is infected, with blackness oozing from it. The blight.

All our work for nothing. Ashur is still going to die.  

I find a functioning candlehop and send for Harding and Bellara.

Imagine my surprise when Rook turns up instead.

--------

UNTIL IT’S GONE.

Sometimes the world is nice, it gives you things without you having to ask, it provides. And sometimes a bad night turns into an even worse day, and right when you think you have nothing more to lose, you find out you do.

Watching the city burn had been bad enough. Hearing people roasting in locked or blocked off rooms and streets, or people choking on the smoke, or consumed by the blight, or trapped under rubble had been worse. After Rook left (see: was sent away before Tarquin could stab them) I spent the next several hours helping rescue efforts, pulling people from razed homes, taking notes and names to pass bad news onto next of kin, if I could find any.

I am helped by the templars. Or at least, a few of them. Knight-Captain Jahvis and Knight-Templar Rana Savas found me just as dawn was breaking. They look as terrible as I feel. Jahvis’ already banged up armour was dented and cracked and I’d never seen Rana’s hair so messy. There’s a bruise on her face and a deep, nasty looking cut on her arm. Where I’d normally be able to see my face in her armour, to assess my own appearance, it’s smudged with soot and plaster and streaked with blood.

She quickly assures me most of it isn’t hers.

I can’t do the same.

We argue about it, but she can’t stop me helping. At least, not until I stumble and almost crush Kight-Captain Jahvis’ foot with a lump of rubble and find the world swaying too much to get back to my feet.

“Templar Savas, please get her out of here,” he says, with more authority than I feel he has any right to, since it’s me he’s talking about and I am fully capable of standing up on my own. Just as soon as the world stops swimming.

“Neve.” Rana’s voice is firm, but caring. Truly, she has a gift. The gift is making me grind my teeth. “You need to sleep.”

“Or you could give me one of your templar issued lyrium potions and I could get back to work.”

Her face tells me everything I need to know about what she thinks of that plan. It’s almost worth it for the exasperation alone.

“Now, Neve. Go home. That’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” I snap, looking up at her too quickly. The world spins again.

She hooks her arm into mine and lifts me to my feet. She’s stronger than I give her credit for.

I don’t pull away. She walks me away from the rescue efforts.

We both know she already knows where I live, so she simply waltzes me back through the tattered streets in the direction of the Broken Spine bookshop where I reside.

The daybreak does what it does best and resets the streets to business as usual. Everyone climbing out of the safe houses and starting to pick up the pieces. People chatting and sweeping and throwing buckets of water onto the fires that were still burning.

I want to stop and help.

Rana doesn’t release my arm.

We round the corner and I watch a cat wind its way through the legs of a woman with a broom, mewing for food. Business as usual.

Rana stops. I do not- and am unceremoniously jerked back by our connection.

“Neve-“ There’s something broken about her voice that makes my head snap around.

Then I see the booksellers.

Or more accurately, see what’s left of it.

People are still throwing water onto the flames.

I unhook my arm from Rana (she lets me) and surge forward, exhaustion be damned.

I call for the Fade and it answers, reaching the doorway of the shop, I throw my hands out, ice spilling from my fingers. There was a decisively final hiss from the fire as it fizzles out. Someone cheers. I look around at the devastation.

Soaked ash and pages stir in the sea breeze. I peer up through the hole in the ceiling at the space that used to be my apartment. My bedframe is a half-melted, tangled mess, looming down through the floor like a metal spider.

Rana’s armour clanks as she catches up to me.

“Neve…” she says, again. I hate the pity in her voice.

“You’d best get back to work, Knight-Templar Savas. Looks like you’ve followed your orders. Best go see if there’s more.” It’s cold, even for me.

Rana sighs. “You know where to find me.” Then she leaves like the good soldier she is.

I test the stairs. They’re not very stable. I stabilise them with magic. My head throbs.

By some miracle, I still have a front door, so I unlock it and watch it swing open to reveal the true extent of damage done. The front and centre of the room are destroyed, open to the street and the bookshop below.

There isn’t even enough floor for me to walk across. I don’t have the magic left to make one. I can already see there’s no point. My clothes trunk stands melted, the fabrics within turned to ash, the bed twisted, my desk and documents burned.

Everything I had.

Everything not currently at the lighthouse, that is.

Hollowness settles inside my chest, something deeper than sadness. Something hungry and gnawing. Something black and bleak. The emptiness of having nothing.  

I turn my back on the remnants of my home and walk away.

I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t have anywhere to go. Nowhere that won’t be full of dozens of refugees that need the space far more than I do.

“Neve. Neve Gallus.” My name is enough to stop me from walking on. It usually is. The voice is coming from my neighbour (call me Birdy, it’s what the grandkids call me!). I can’t muster a pleasant expression. She doesn’t seem to mind. She beckons me over. “Come! Come with me. I see what happened to your apartment. You can’t stay out here on the streets in these dangerous times. Please, come on in here, sit down, have something to eat.”

I don’t have the energy to fight it, I barely have the energy to be suspicious about it, so I find myself ushered into a threadbare living space, with second hand cushions on the ground around a low table. Nothing seems to be damaged. It’s a small win. It’s what I need to be able to take a breath. Not everything is lost. Not everyone is suffering.

Birdy gestures at the cushions and I sit down. “What do you-?“ I start to question what she wants, but she shushes me.

“None of that paranoid nonsense, child, you think word doesn’t travel these streets? You think we don’t know who was out there fighting that dragon? Sit right there and let me fix you up a plate.”

I want to object to being called child, but it dies in my throat. The air smells of spice and jasmine, instead of ash and death. The cushions take the weight of my aching bones. The darkness welcomes me with warm embrace.

I swear me eyes are closed only for a moment, but when they reopen there’s already a plate of food in front of me. “Khinkali?” I ask.

Birdy smiles. “My grandad’s recipe. That’ll set you right. And there’s some tea there for you too.”

If she’s poisoning me, there are worst ways to go. My stomach growls in agreement. I reach for the plate.

I devour the dumplings in a way that most people might deem impolite. Birdy just adds more to my plate. I eat those too. The tea is warm and comforting. My blinks slow, like a particularly affectionate cat.

“There now,” Birdy proclaims. “You just lay your head down there and get some rest.”

If it’s poison, it’s painless. The weight is overwhelming and the darkness is coming whether I want it or not.

I fall asleep right there on the cushions.

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

UNTIL THE LAST.

They say sleep is important, that it can save your life, they don’t know how true that is.

It’s dusk when I wake, the dim light shining into the room cut with the red-gold colours of evening instead of the brightness of dawn. It takes a moment to orient myself in the room. This is not my room. It’s not my home. It’s not the Lighthouse. There’s a pan on the stove, a lit lamp on the table and a homemade quilt over my shoulders but Birdy is no-where to be seen.

I stretch and stand up. Something is missing, but I can’t place it. Until I do. It’s too damn quiet. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to The Lighthouse where it’s always quiet, because it takes me far longer than it should to recognise that dusk in Minrathous should be loud. There’s a distance clanking sound and one muffled voice outside, but that’s not enough.

Stealthily, or as stealthily as possible, I make my way over to the door. From there I can hear a low rumble of more voices and the sound of stones scraping. I push aside the door curtain and find that Birdy is standing in the doorway right on the other side.

She doesn’t look at me, but reaches behind to push me back into the house. “Stay outta sight,” she hisses through clenched teeth and I take two steps backwards.

Naturally, as a being of an inquisitive nature and not one for following orders, I make my way over to one of the narrow windows instead. The street is full of people, most of them people I recognise as my neighbours. They’re all standing quietly. It’s so eerie I start feeling for blood magic.

There’s a crash and a yell and I realise it’s coming from roughly the place my apartment used to be. A templar in full golden guard armour walks into my limited line of sight, pointing at the gathered crowd in exasperation.

“I say this again-“ convenient for me, who missed the last act.  “Anybody who is found to be harbouring the dangerous criminals known as the Shadow Dragons will face a swift and brutal punishment. Anybody with information on the traitor known as the Viper and his cohorts will be rewarded. We know one of them was here. Bring me Neve Gallus and you will be given riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

They’re looking for me. Of course they are, they’re answering to the Venatori and I’ve made myself a thorn in their side. I make my way swiftly to the door again, this time taking up a stance beside it, back against the wall. I wait for someone to confess, to point their finger. I wait for the templars-who-are-probably-venatori to burst through the doorway of this tiny home. I mentally apologise to Birdy for starting a fight in her house. I prepare to fight them off, drawing magic to the palm of my hand.

It doesn’t come. The silence is deafening. No-one moves. No-one speaks. No-one turns me in.

The silence draws itself out.

That means if someone is going to stab me in the back, they’re not going to do it in front of a crowd of people.

I let the magic dissipate from my hand. I let my head fall back against the wall. I let my eyes close.

How could I have expected this? My neighbours don’t know me. Why would they stand up for me?

“You’re not welcome here!” calls a voice I don’t recognise.

“Go back to your high tower!” yells another.

The silence quickly deteriorates into shouting. Pretty soon it’ll be violence.

The templars seem to sense the shift too, because they start packing up. At least from the sounds of their movements and grumbling.

Only once they’ve gone does Birdy come back through the curtain. I want to tell her how grateful I am. I want to ask what was happening. Why people chose not to hand me over. I know I don’t have the time.

“It won’t last, someone wants that gold,” I say.

She nods her agreement, setting about folding the blanket she’d laid over me. “Someone always does.”

“I can’t stay here. They’ll be coming back soon.”

“No, I don’t suppose you can. Take a bite with you.” She potters around the kitchen and hands me a bag of cheesy rolls.

“Thank you.” It’s not enough. It’s all I have for her.

“Take this, too.” She hands me a cloak. Nothing like my usual attire, but enough to buy anonymity in a city like mine. I put it on and take the bag.

“Really, thank you.” I duck out of the curtained doorway into the long shadows of the streets. It’s almost completely dark. The lamps are lit, where they aren’t knocked down or broken.

I pull the hood up on the cloak, against the light drizzle that has started. At least I have a valid reason to keep the hood up.

I have to warn the Shadows, if they don’t already know. I travel along the winding streets, head down, gait quick. It wouldn’t do to get stopped and caught now.

Rain drips from overhead, black where it’s mixed with soot from the rooftops. The streets are still strewn with blood and wreckage. I travel up past the Eastern Wharf Crossing, up through the double gates, towards The Shop and I’m stopped dead in my tracks.

The square is awash with wreckage and blood, the shopfront equally so. Shelves have been emptied and thrown aside. There are no friendly faces. No Hector on the door. Just an eerie sort of silence and several sets of cart tracks in the blood- slowly being washed away by Dock Town’s perpetual rain cloud.

There are silent, gold-clad guards on the door and slaves on the street building something out of wood. A stage? New stalls? Something worse? I don’t dare walk any closer, instead turning and walking back to the tunnels. To the Anvallenim. There are no guards back there and I slip easily into the tunnels beyond without being seen.

I sense around for Fade tears or demons and listen out for a resurgence of darkspawn. Nothing hurtles out of the dark at me immediately and so I trudge through the tunnel network until I reach the secret door into the hideout.

It hangs crooked and open. Beyond it, there is carnage. The safehouse, the beds for refugees and escapees and anyone else who has ever needed help from the Shadows are destroyed or coated in blood. Or both.

There’s not enough bodies on the ground for the blood that’s been spilled.

Maybe it’s my mind trying to compartmentalise the horror, but the facts are easier to focus on. Most of the bodies are missing.

I pick my way through the scene, through the bedrooms to the stairs- only to find they’ve collapsed. Or been collapsed. No access to the hideout from down here, then. But it’s clear the Venatori have been through.

It’s obvious that someone has sold out the Shadow Dragons.

And that the Venatori considered them enough of a threat to make a raid on their home base within a day of their successful coup.

And that I’d slept through it.

And that I was next.

It’s a lot to process.

There, in the dark, at the bottom of a collapsed stairwell and among the blood of my friends and allies, my knees give out.

I sit at the bottom of that stairwell for almost fifteen minutes before I pull myself back together long enough to make my way back to the streets.

I don’t have a plan, I don’t have anywhere to go, I don’t have anyone I can trust. What’s a girl to do, alone in the city on a night like this?

I couldn’t get back to the eluvian even if I wanted to. Well, not without fighting at least two templars. Which I could do. But I was beginning to feel like keeping my presence a secret gave me the best chances of survival. And I didn’t want the Venatori figuring out the eluvian. If they hadn’t already.

I spend the rest of my night going around to all the safehouses- and dodging searchlights from the Archon’s Palace. It’s a similar story at each, doors thrown or blown open. Blood and gore in a trail out the door. There are Templars on watch everywhere.  

In a street full of charred bodies I stop to place a bloodied nug shaped toy in my pocket.

I really should stop being surprised at finding knives in my back, but this went beyond anything I could have imagined.

The very people who had been sheltered in those safehouses during the attack had sold out the Shadow Dragons to their newest overlords, the Venatori. The position of every hideout, compromised. The Shadows, missing. Or dead.

To have survived the dragon attack only to be slaughtered in the aftermath by the Venatori. Where was the justice in that?

The answer was, there is no justice. Not in Minrathous. Not in the world the Gods were creating. There was strength and there was weakness. Unfortunately, it looked like the Shadow Dragons were on the weak end of the scale.

There’s no satisfaction in being right all the time.

I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing left to ease a troubled mind.

I check on Hal.

The stall is closed, it’s late and the barred dock houses by the cobbled swan look full to bursting and surrounded by Templars, so I don’t risk getting closer.

Finding my way to his house is easy, though the streets are emptying faster than I would like, removing some of the anonymity a crowd provides.

I’m relieved to find the house intact and the lights on.

I don’t go in, don’t even make my presence known- just knowing me is a danger today- but I catch a glimpse of Halos through the window, with his daughter. They’re both smiling. It’s a win. I breathe it in, then head for the shadiest place in town. Somewhere someone who wants to lay low might find a secluded corner to disappear into. Somewhere the Archon’s Palace can’t see. Somewhere underground.

The Threads Market looms up to greet me, mostly undisturbed. The underground vantage really helping in keeping the worst of the dragon attack at bay. It’s more crowded than usual. Lots of people have lost homes to the dragon attack and now even the usual safe spaces have been cleared out.

I try to remain inconspicuous as I pass through the market, avoiding puddles of unknowable liquids.

“Neve Gallus,” a voice from behind me startles me with familiarity. Thankfully, it was one I recognised. Sadly, it was Elek Tavor.  

“Elek,” I greet, pushing the hood back from my face. No need to hide if he knows I’m here. “How did you know?”

He looks down at where the cloak stops, just below my knees, and then back up. I sigh, heavily.

“If you’re planning to hand me over to the Venatori- I’d prefer it if you just stab me yourself instead. It’d save me a lot of trouble.”

“Relax, Neve,” he says, easy smile never faltering. “We’re friends. I’m not going to hand my friends over to the Venatori for a few measly coin. How low is your opinion of me?”

“You don’t want me to answer that question. Are we friends?” I wasn’t in a position to question offered friendship, but I did it anyway.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re paranoid?”

“Frequently.” A friendship based off him almost getting me killed and me getting him arrested didn’t sound like a good friendship, but I was running low on options.

“What about ‘you’re a mess’? Anyone ever told you that?”

I narrow my eyes at him, he shrugs.

“Hey, cool it with the daggers. Only a true friend would tell you that you look like shit… You look like shit.”

I can’t even argue with him. It’s been less than a day since the dragon attack ended and I haven’t changed my clothes or washed my face.

“Some of us haven’t had the time to spare for sprucing up appearances,” I say, dryly.

“Oh, is that it?” He’s angling to something. “So it’s got nothing to do with your little flat going up in smoke? And the Venatori search parties that have been sniffing around?”

It’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. Leave it to the Threads to know about things happening in this city. That’s why I go to him for leads, though. I just wasn’t expecting it to turn into such a double edged sword.

“What’s your angle?” I ask, tired of being given the runaround.

He looks offended for a moment. It’s a very convincing ruse, I almost believe him. Then he seems to remember who he’s talking to and plasters his smile back on.

“No angle, just offering a neighbourly hand. Get you all cleaned up, get you some food, give you a place to rest free of Venatori, guaranteed.”

“And you get what?” He must think I was born yesterday if he thinks I can’t see the looming shadow of debt. Being indebted to the Threads isn’t something I’m interested in.

“Nothing, we just want to help out.” I can feel the slime dripping from his tone. Too sickly sweet to be real.

“Forget it. I’m not interested.”

“Alright, fine. You caught me. One job. You owe us finding one person of our choosing, we protect you in the here and now.”

I consider my options. Turn around, go back to the streets where the guard patrols have my name, where I don’t have a house, where the safehouses are gone and I’m public enemy…probably number five or something. I don’t warrant top of the list, I have no delusions about that.

Or agree to a nebulous job in the future. Finding one person for Threads. Probably someone who’s skipped out on a debt to them. There’s no clause saying I can’t warn them once I find them and the Threads are good for protection rackets. It’s one of their biggest markets. “Fine. One job.”

Elek smiles and points his finger at me. “You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.”

True to his word, I’m given a change of clothes and some kind of soup. It goes well with the cheese bread Birdy had given me.

I decide to eat first and clean up after.

I’m given a small room with a partially collapsed wall that has been hastily repaired with wooden planks to afford some privacy and stave off the worst of the sea breeze. It’s mostly full of boxes, leading me to believe it was probably a store room before it was turned into a rudimentary guest suite.

It’s enough that I can strip down and wash the ash and blood from my skin using a washcloth and a basin of freezing water that I expend a little magic over to bring up to room temperature.

I can also give myself a thorough check-over, following the dragon attack. It looks like the enchanted robes and hastily applied ice magic have protected me from the worst of the fire damage, there’s no obvious burns. Though, there’s bruising all up my left side. I must have hit something pretty hard at some point.

I check for broken ribs, just in case I haven’t felt it by now. Nothing.

There are scrapes and cuts almost everywhere I had exposed skin- and some places I didn’t. But nothing major or life-altering.

I also take a moment to remove my prosthetic. The relief is instantaneous, it’s not designed for days of wear on end. The end of my leg is tender to the touch. What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath. I lay an icy palm over it instead. That helps too, but reminds me to be quick about changing.

The clothes I’ve been provided are nondescript, beige trousers and an overlarge once-white shirt. Elek has included a scarf in my signature colour of choice- and I wrap it around my waist as a makeshift belt. To keep the shirt cinched and stop it slipping.

There’s a knock at the door and I consider the option of putting my leg back on to answer it, in case I have to make a run for it. But the Venatori are unlikely to knock, so I use my staff for support instead. It’s not the intended purpose, but it allows me to move the two steps to open the door.

Elek is on the other side. He eyes my make-shift cane and raises an eyebrow.

“Looks like I was right, and you could use this.” He holds out a real cane. I take it gratefully and swap my weapon for a walking stick. I miss the crutch that used to sit beside my bed for late night stumbling around the apartment, topped with a cushioning enchantment to make it easier on my arm.

The stick will do. I’ve had worse. Elek looks like he’s waiting for something.

“Thanks,” I say, after thinking about it for a moment.

“Right. Thought you’d like to know that we’ve got people posted at every entrance to the Market. If they get so much as a whiff of Venatori or Templars they’re to report in. So, we’ve got eyes out.”

He almost means it to be comforting. I almost appreciate the effort.

“You’ve had your eyes all over the city all day.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question. I know he has, because I would have done the same if I were him.

“Sure. What about it?”

“What happened to the Shadows, Elek? I can’t get near their base. The place is trashed. Someone sold them out.”

He has the good grace to look cut up about it.

“Look, Neve, not even we knew where the hideout was until today-” he stammers.

“I’m not accusing you, I’m asking for details.” I’ll save my judgement on who sold out the Shadows until I have enough information to make a correct accusation.

“Right. You might wanna take a seat.” He gestures at the pallet bed in the room behind me. I can almost believe he cares. Almost.

“I can handle it.” I sit down anyway, because my arm is aching where I’m gripping the cane.

He hovers in the doorway. In another life I might have made a joke about him being a gentleman.

“The hideout,” I prompt, when it feels like he’s never going to start speaking again.

“Right.” I’m fed up of hearing that word. I grit my teeth. Elek continues, “there was no word from the Archon’s Palace at all last night. Not since the reports that there had been dozens of Venatori agents spotted heading into the Magisterium. The dragon- well, you saw it. The Palace didn’t fire on it once. They were totally cut off- for hours. And then just after dawn there was some paperwork dropped off to the Templars. Along with a boost of recruits.”

“The Venatori,” I say. He nods.

“They took charge of everything, and around mid-afternoon- they attacked the Pawn Shop. At least, that’s what it looked like to people outside. Like I said, we had no idea the Shadows were in there… Until they started dragging people out and tossing them into slave carts, prison transports, whatever else they had. Some of them badly bleeding, some of them not moving at all… we don’t have an exact number. But they dragged them all away.”

The soup was starting to feel like it was about to come back up.

“Where did they take them?” Maybe if I focus on the details, I can stop thinking about the blood on the steps.

“Some of them went down towards the docks, to the warehouses, to the templar holding pens- wherever there was space.”

That explained the miscellaneous cart tracks I’d seen in the plaza outside the Shop and the crowds around the dock slave pen.

“Did you recognise anyone being taken away?” It was worth asking. Elek didn’t know Ashur or Tarquin and I intended to keep it that way. But The Viper is recognisable, especially in his current state. “Or see anyone distinctive?”

He shook his head. “No, just a lot of people in grey jumpsuits. And a lot of slaves.”

The refugees. Anyone who had been hiding out in the Shop while Ashur secured them a way out of the city. They were going to get sent straight back to the slave pens, or their old masters, or the slave market.

And it would be foolish to think the Dragons were just going to be imprisoned. That wasn’t nearly public enough for the Venatori. They had to prove they had control.

I had to prioritise.

“Thanks, Elek. You’ve given me a place to start.”

“What are you going to do?”

I reach for my metal leg. “Whatever I can.”

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

UNTIL THE DROP.

They say the city never sleeps, it just does a very good impression of it. There’s always a shady deal happening in a nearby alley, always someone or something curled up in a doorway, always a virtuous soul looking to fall. The work never stops, and I should have known that would also be true for the Venatori.

Elek manages to get my clothes cleaned and mended, I don’t ask how and he doesn’t offer the information. I feel better in my armour, even though I know it makes me more noticeable, more obvious.

The thing is, I’m not really hiding.

It’s easy to see that most of the templars aren’t doing their jobs, or don’t care enough about the regime change to properly screen every person walking past them and who could blame them? A city this big?

Finding one criminal is like finding the cursed gem in a chest of jewels.

Easy, if you know what you’re doing.

Luckily for me, the templars don’t. And unluckily for the Venatori, I’m not currently for hire.

And I’m an expert at remaining unseen, if I do say so myself.

I keep my head down as I weave through the morning market. It seems almost normal, if not for the empty stalls and added guards on every corner. They’re too busy picking on a beggar who has the misfortune of being an elf to take notice of me in the early crowds.

The cheese seller yells about finest Orlesian offerings and the fruit seller offers 30% off bruised apples. I move past them both. The Temple of Andraste looms up on my right, just over the bridge. There’s dozens of people crowded outside the gates. Crowded, I realise a moment later, close to the Wall of Light.

I jut out my chin and keep walking.

That’s the other thing about the templars- they’re going to be looking for someone suspicious. They’re not going to be looking for someone acting like they own the place.

There are people weeping openly under the covered walkway. That’s not unusual.

What is unusual is the crowd gathered at the other end of the street. Someone is talking over the top of the chatter and opinions seem to be divided. There are some shouts of encouragement and some jeering and each step closer opens up the pit in my stomach, filled with the fear that I’m not going to like what I see when I round the corner.

It isn’t too late to walk away- but I already know I won’t. I make it to the back of the crowd and push my way forwards, brandishing my staff at anyone who dares turn to snap at me. It makes them back off.

The horror, it turns out, is warranted.

The structures the slaves had been building the day before, the ones I’d mistaken for stages or market stalls, stand as fifteen foot monuments to the new regime. In the form of gallows.

And on those gallows, familiar figures. Both the hooded Venatori agents holding onto the levers and the…equally hooded Shadow Dragons, standing on the raised plinths.  

My blood is ice, and so is the air around me. The temperature plummets. People in the crowd edge away.

I adjust my grip on the staff in my hand.

There’s some small, sensible part of me that tells me this isn’t. That I’m surely hopelessly outnumbered and that giving up my life to try and save four people isn’t worth it.

I don’t care.

The Fade is within easy reach and I summon blades of ice as if it was nothing, throwing my arms wide and watching the ice arc and slice through rope and Venatori alike. Blood splatters the walls and cobbles. The Shadows on the gallows are free from immediate danger. I’m not.

Chaos erupts in the crowd. I’m pushed and jostled as people attempt to flee. Alarms are raised. Armour clatters as Templars try and control the crowd, or maybe just try and push their way through it to get to me.

I move without thinking. There’s a slave cart between the two sets of gallows with people still in it. At least one of them yells my name. I freeze the lock and smash it to pieces with a solid blow from my metal foot.

If it had been chaos before, it’s pandemonium now, as the freed Shadow Dragons shove out of the cart and start wrestling weapons from Venatori agents and Templars alike.

There’s a rush to help the hooded, bound Shadows still on the gallows stage and I lose track of where they go as I’m dived on by two Venatori with their usual bloodletting tools.

I push them back with freezing blasts and thrust my arm upwards to convince the ice to follow suit, going right through a zealot. I barely have time to admire my handiwork before a blade skims across my ribs as another zealot swings at me. My coat takes the brunt but I still feel the bite. I toss him away with another freezing blast of magic.

More Templars pour into the plaza.

“Run!” Someone shouts. And the Shadows do.

Say anything you want about the Venatori, but they know how to pick a staging ground with few options for exits.

There’s the way the Templars are coming- from the direction of the Chantry and the Market, or the way that leads down towards the Wharf Crossing and the docks.

Everyone chooses the latter option.

There’s no sense to it, only a mad scramble through the streets. Some break away towards the tunnels, some towards the southern docks, some towards the northern docks. It’s a blur of shoving through crowds and past Templars trying valiantly to block the route.

But they can’t catch everyone, and most of the people running aren’t Shadows or wanted criminals, they’re just scared civilians.

The scattered crowd begins to blend in with the regular crowds. The Templars seem out of their depth.

I take the opportunity to slink away, towards the docks, hood pulled up over my head, staff shoved hastily between the folds of fabric.

I am stopped, abruptly, as I reach the Wharf Crossing, heart sinking, blood running cold. Again.

More gallows. Only these gallows have bodies hanging from them. They sway in the breeze, ropes and wood creaking. The Shadow Dragon basic gear the only identifying features.

The dawning realisation that this must be happening across the city is chilling. That there could be untold numbers of dead and that I hadn’t so much prevented a tragedy as released a basket of chickens inside a slaughterhouse.

“Dumat’s Teeth…”

I’d been stood still too long, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the gently swaying figures. The regular day crowd moved around me, at odds with the scene unfolding. The bar was still open, the paper seller still shouted from the corner, the food vendors still peddled their wares.

The only indication that something was wrong with this picture was the sidelong glances people kept giving the gallows. And the smell.

And the extra guards posted on the exits.

I struggle to maintain control of my breathing, of the anger that bubbles up again.

I can’t fight forever and I shouldn’t sacrifice myself for the sake of the dead. The dead don’t care.

So I walk away, with confidence, strolling past the guards with a steady, even gait and a determined air.

One of them turns, I hear the armour scrape slightly. “Hey, you-“

So much for that plan. I break into a run.

There’s a clattering sound as the Templars give chase.

My foot aches.

My knee hurts.

I long for my bed.

I miss my home.

I really miss not being hunted down like a dog in my own city.

I don’t look back and I easily outpace the Templars.

I take turn after turn, side streets and narrow alleys and rooftop highways until I’m sure the Templars are gone and there’s no-one on my trail.

Or at least, I thought there was no-one on my trail.

“Neve.” Tarquin appears out of an alley. I stare at him blankly, not sure how he managed to find me, but not angry that he has. His expression is an echo of the rage and grief I feel. I brace for more bad news. Instead, he says, “Come on. Ashur needs you, we’ve got lots of work to do.”

Ashur was alive. Ashur was still fighting. Ashur had a job for me.

A job. I could focus on a job.

And get back to making Minrathous better.

One step at a time.  

This…was going to take a while.

Time to send a letter to the Lighthouse and get to work.

[catiecat1320]

Sonadowtober Prompt 18: Claws/Fangs

Sonic discovers some perks of having the Ultimate Lifeform as his boyfriend

Sorry for the delay 😓

Read Below🔽

“Hey Shads,” Sonic hummed, shuddering with pleasure as Shadow ran a hand through his quills. A rumbling purr bubbled from within his chest, eliciting a soft smile from his boyfriend.

“Yes?”

“I. Uh.” All words seem to leave his brain, drowning in the comfort brought on by practiced, rhythmic movements. Sonic huffed and laid his head against that white poof of fluff, grabbing Shadow’s free hand and admiring tan paw pads. They looked so squishy… “Uh— hm. Why don’t you have claws?”

The pets stopped, and Sonic whined involuntarily at the loss. Shadow just swatted him and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, these things.” He gestures at his fingertips. “Mine are dull ‘cus I trim ‘em so I don’t stab people. My quills are stabby enough, yeah? But you don’t have ‘em.”

“Yes I do,” Shadow says, voice almost indignant in tone. He flexes the hand that Sonic held, and suddenly five very sharp, curved claws extended like gimmicks from a swiss army knife.

Sonic breath hitched with a squeak, eyes lighting up with childish wonder. “Woah…” He giggles and taps the sharp tips, inspecting them closely. “It's like a cat’s…”

“Well, they are genetically derived from a cat,” Shadow responds. He closes his fist self-consciously and retracts his claws, much to the disappointment of his boyfriend. 

“Aw, c’mon Shads, I wanna see…” Sonic paws at his hand, chasing it when Shadow pulls away. “C’mon!”

“No.” The hybrid smacks his head, not forcefully enough to hurt but firm enough for Sonic to flinch and back down. Emerald eyes well with false tears as the so-called hero puts on the most ridiculous pleading face possible, eliciting a groan from Shadow. “Are you sure you aren’t the cat?”

“Nah, you’ve got the cat genes. Which is insanely cool by the way. How come you never told me?”

Shadow can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “It never came up. Retractable claws are more for practicality and safety than anything else. But…” He runs his tongue over his teeth as Sonic sits up to attention.

“But?”

“Gerald gave me fangs too. I can’t think of a logical reason for that aspect, so I’d have to assume it was unexpected or added for looks only.” Shadow tilts his head back and bares his teeth, revealing sharp canines to his very interested boyfriend.

“No way.” Sonic cups his face in both hands and squeals, gently prodding at his teeth. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Shadow says, but with his mouth held open, it came out more jumbled than intended. He patiently waits for the other to stop fangirling over his fangs and let go, which takes quite a while. It’s cute how much genuine interest Sonic has in features he’s come to accept as irregular.

“Dude, you’re like the coolest guy ever,” the blue hedgehog chirps as he finally pulls away, sitting back on his haunches.

“Ultimate Lifeform.”

Sonic laughs. “Right, right. Any other ultimate thingies I should know about?”

“...I can see in the dark?” Shadow touches his eye subconsciously. “Tapetum Lucidum. Reflective tissue that helps animals— like cats— see in low light settings. If my eyes didn’t glow from chaos energy, you’d be able to see them reflect light and shine.”

“Woah.”

“Yes. I think if I wasn’t built in the image of that mural of you on Angel Island, I’d have been a Mobian cat.”

“Mhm.”

“Maria loved cats. It’s something she passed on to me.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re not listening anymore.” Sonic flinches as Shadow flicks a finger in his face. Seeing the hybrid’s deadpan face, he smiles sheepishly and coughs.

“What was that…?”

Shadow shook his head, sighing. “Nothing.”

“Sooo…” Sonic pursed his lips like he was thinking over his thoughts. But the consequences of his actions have never quite hindered him. “Can I look at your claws again?”

The hybrid groaned and held out his hand, claws extended. Sonic lit up with joy as he held them up to his face, grinning widely.

Idiot. Shadow was in love with an idiot.

[bhaal-baby]

Just a bit of Astarionx GN! Dark Urge angst. Hope you enjoy!

Sleep refused to take you. 

You tossed, and you turned, counting backward from one hundred and back again, and still, you lay there, staring at an endless sky, exhausted and frustrated. You blamed the rock you’d accidentally placed your bedroll on for the night, or the slight chill in the air that caused your sore muscles to groan in protest, or Gale’s incessant snoring that you were going to have words about in the morning. But you knew in your heart that none of those things had anything to do with it. 

It probably had more to do with the fact that only a few nights ago, you nearly murdered the man you love. 

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw yourself waking up covered in blood and viscera. Dazed, confused, and most disturbingly, satisfied, the same way it had been with that poor bard back in the grove. Only this time, the blood on your hands would be even more precious. You imagined white hair, stained red, and a bloodied pale face, lifeless and still. You imagined the bravado with which he carried himself would fade away in death, his meticulously kept walls crumbling as your blade ripped through him. Would he look at you in hatred in those last moments, or would those crimson eyes be filled with only terror? 

He is so, so afraid. Of everyone, besides you, who he ought to fear most. 

You shuddered violently, blinking away the terrible thoughts that plagued you. Sighing, you stood up. If sleep wasn’t an option, you may as well take a walk to try and clear your head, and patrol the perimeter of your campsite, ensuring the safety of your traveling companions that had become so much like family. It was ironic, you thought, given that you were probably the biggest threat to their well-being as they slept peacefully by your side. You wondered not for the first time if it was selfishness that kept you traveling with them. Your companions were strong enough to stop the Absolute on their own. You knew that. They would all be safer without one who kills in their sleep and battles the dark thoughts that you do. 

“Going somewhere?” 

Astarion stood just a few feet behind you. One of these days, you swore you were going to put a bell around his neck. He was far too good at sneaking up on you. 

“I thought you were asleep.” replied nonchalantly. 

 “An attempt was made, but truthfully, I’m still getting used to sleeping at night.” He shrugged. “When I saw you sneaking out of bed, I thought I’d tag along and make sure you weren’t off to sate some of your more bloodthirsty desires.” 

His words sent your heart into your stomach. He must have noticed your gaze fall to the ground because he added. “Really, as long as your knife isn’t to my throat, I’m not too concerned.” 

You knew that was meant to soften the blow that he never meant to land. Still, it hurt to be reminded of what he thought you were capable of. Not that he was wrong. You couldn’t explain your murderous nights any better than he could, but a part of you wished he never had to see you like that, let alone nearly becoming one of your victims. He had been so kind to you the other night, even as you writhed against his bonds, desperate to make minced meat of his pretty face. He had told you then that he didn’t hate you for what you’d done, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he saw you differently because of it. 

You decided to change the subject. “I’m going for a quick walk. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.” 

“Ah yes, a quick nighttime jaunt through shadow-cursed lands. Splendid idea. Do you think some of those wretched shadows will invite us to tea?” 

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “We won’t stray far from camp.” You sighed. “I just need to clear my head.” 

Something that looked like concern flashed across his features. “Of course, I’ll join you. Maybe we’ll even sneak in a cuddle afterward.” 

His flirting rarely phased you anymore, though you were often unsure of his sincerity, even after the nights you’d spent together. You could tell that, to some extent, it was simply something he hid behind. He must have found it easier to be the charming man who could lure anyone with eyes into his bed than what he really was. You saw the hurt and the fear behind it all, even if he didn’t want you to. And after the other night, you knew with certainty that he was capable of so much kindness. Not many people would do what he did for you the night your urges almost took his life. 

He walked beside you silently for a while. You weren’t sure what to say to the man when thoughts of accidentally butchering him kept you awake. You plopped down on a fallen tree, motioning for him to join you. You could still see the faint glow of the dwindling campfire a ways away, but walking was doing nothing for your nerves. 

It was nice just sitting with him for a moment. Without words, without touch. Just being in his company lit something inside of you. He tilted his head towards the starless sky and you took the opportunity to look him over. He was beautiful, that was certain. In the moonlight, he looked like a statue, something carved by the most skilled hand.

“Something is on your mind,” Astarion observed, catching you staring.

You scoffed. “You mean besides our impossible task of saving the entire sword coast from the Dead Three? Or the tadpole burrowed in my brain waiting for an opportunity to turn me into a mindflayer?” 

Astarion leveled you with a knowing look. “Yes, besides the obvious. Now tell me what it is you’re stewing over in that pretty head of yours.” 

You didn’t know how to answer him, but he deserved something from you. “I just wanted to thank you. For the other night.” You stared at your boots, sighing deeply. You could feel your cheeks warming. The words didn’t do it justice, but you didn’t know how else to show him what his actions meant to you. 

He looked taken aback for a moment. “Oh. You needn’t thank me for that. It’s not as if I wanted to meet my grisly end at your hand anyway.” 

You caught his gaze, fighting the hurt that threatened to well up inside you. “But it was more than that.” You protested. “When you had me tied up, you could have killed me. You probably should have. You would all be safer that way.” 

Astarion’s easy expression morphed into one of shock. “I wouldn’t – I couldn’t.” He stumbled over his words, for once seeming unsure of how to react. He took a deep breath. “I meant what I said, you know. We’ll find a way to save you.” 

Your heart clenched at the look on his face. It was softer than usual, almost vulnerable. You fought the tears welling in your eyes. “But at what cost?” It was almost a whisper. “How many innocent lives will I take before then? What if I hurt you?” 

Astarion took your hand in his, and lifted it to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the top of it. “I won’t let that happen.” 

The gesture sent a pang through you and the tears began to fall but he continued. “You are the first person I’ve ever truly cared for and I am not going to let this take you from me.” 

The sincerity of his words struck you. He meant that. He cared about you. Maybe as much as you cared about him. Maybe more, because if you truly cared about him that much you’d go far, far away so he could be safe. “Astarion, none of that will matter if I kill you. You can care all you want until my blade finds its way into your throat and then that’s it.” The words came out harsher than you wanted but you knew you were right. He wasn’t safe with you. 

“I am not afraid of you.” he said, reassuringly squeezing your hand. 

You jerked your hand away suddenly. You didn’t miss the way he flinched as you did so. The man had been through too much to die by the hand of the one he cares about most. “You should be.” 

 You stood up, turning to leave, when his hand shot out to grab your arm. You tried to shrug it off but he held tight. “You don’t get to decide that for me.” he hissed. His voice was harsh and almost angry but when you turned to look at him you could see the hurt in his eyes. “If you don’t want me, that’s fine. But don’t you dare pretend that walking away from this is somehow for my benefit. I may not be entirely free yet, but for the first time in centuries I can make my own choices, and I’ll be damned if you take that away from me.”

You opened your mouth, stunned by the desperation on his face. You couldn’t find the words to say. You’d only wanted to protect him but instead, you’d hurt him by being self-righteous and overbearing. You had no right to tell this man, who’d known only slavery for centuries, what to do. “I– I’m sorry.” you choked out, taking a step towards him. “I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, unsure what to say. 

Astarion’s face softened, tugging you nearer to him. “Please,” he breathed, placing a hand under your chin and lifting your gaze to meet his. “Let me stand by you through this. We don’t even know if we’ll live through tomorrow with how things have been going. I don’t know what this is, or how it will end, but I know that I want to try.” 

You could only nod, else the sob that had been building escape your throat. 

Astarion looked at you and smiled, that charming smile that you were helpless to before leaning down and kissing you softly. It wasn’t like the other times you’d kissed, lustful and frantic, tasting your own blood in his mouth. It was gentle and lingering and spoke of a longing neither of you had the words for. 

When his lips left yours, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you tightly. “Now, how about that cuddle?” 

Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you prefer this Y/N style fic or if a third person gender neutral "Tav" would be better! I was really torn on which way to write this.

[heyitsme1040]

Swing By [spider-man]

summary : Reader just finished her shift at the coffee shop near campus. Wanting nothing more than to nap in her dorm before her study session, she walks home. Being pulled into an alley by two muggers wasn’t on her to-do list for the day. Neither was being saved by New York’s very own friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Swung to safety, she thanks her masked savior. With the promise of not leaving her until she’s home safe, Spider-Man gets a kiss on the cheek as goodbye minutes before Peter arrives to study for the exam with his lab partner. 

pairings : TASM!Spider-Man/Reader 

warnings : Swearing (I think it’s literally one word), mention of a knife, attempted mugging, mention of feeling the need to be sick (it doesn’t happen), and I think that’s it.  (If I forgot any please let me know!)

word count : 1,980

AO3 (x)

a/n : Day one of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘safe’.  

With a tired sigh, I wipe down the counter around the espresso machine one final time. Tossing the rag back into the bucket filled with soapy water, I begin to untie my apron. Finally finished with the closing process, I was ready to be back at my dorm so I could take a quick nap before studying for my biophysics exam with my lab partner. Hanging my apron on the hook I claimed in the back, I emerged from behind the counter with my backpack and headphones for the final time today. Turning the lights off, I finally close the door behind me and lock it.

I began the quiet walk to campus instead of waiting on the bus today. The sun is starting to set as I weave my way through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. Passing a quiet alley, I’m suddenly pulled into it. A hand covers my mouth before I can shout, and two more hands hold my arms against my side. 

“You’re going to stay quiet,” a rumbling voice tells me. “No need to disturb those nice people’s day,” the man pointed at the opening to the alley with a knife, “don’t you agree?”

All I can do is nod, hoping that if I cooperate they’ll let me go faster. 

“I’m so glad you agree,” his voice mocks me. “Now, I’m going to keep an eye on you while he takes your bag. Got it?”

Before I can nod again, my backpack is ripped off my shoulders. I look past the man holding the knife toward the mouth of the alley, debating if I can make it back into the crowd before he could catch me. 

“This shit’s useless,” the guy behind me grumbles. “It’s just binders and textbooks,” he complains as I hear my things being dropped to the ground. “This kid has nothing.”

“Well she’s gotta have something,” the man in front of me slowly drags his eyes over me. “Empty your pockets or we’ll–”

He cuts himself off while looking over my shoulder. I hear a faint thwip followed by a choked shout. As the man in front of me turns to run I see webs stick to his feet and the ground. 

“What, can't you stick around?” A voice comes from above me. 

I stay frozen in place, unsure what to do. In a streak of red and blue, Spider-Man lands in front of me. He quickly webs the knife to the wall before trapping the man’s hands to himself. 

“Are you okay?” He automatically asks while turning to face me. 

My tongue feels like lead. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Obviously I knew of Spider-Man, but never thought I’d need to be saved by him. I was stunned by this hero, that he happened to notice what was happening in the alley. 

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe now, did they hurt you?” His tone softens. 

I can’t see past the white lenses of his mask, but I feel his eyes searching me for some kind of injury. The thought of having his attention focused on me snaps me out of my shocked trance. 

“I’m fine,” I blurted out, “thank you. I, uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

I nod to myself while mentally slapping myself over the word vomit that just escaped me. Looking down, I suddenly remember my bag dumped behind me. I turn around, hoping to hide the embarrassed flush on my face, and crouch to grab my textbooks. Shoving them into my bag, I pick up my binder. As soon as it leaves the ground all my notes start to float out of it into the wind. 

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter while rushing to grab the papers. 

“Here,” Spider-Man offers me some pages. 

“Thanks,” I squeak out. 

“No problem.” 

Finally zipping my bag shut, I hear sirens approaching. The flash of red and blue lights reflect at the mouth of the alley. 

“Did you let them know they needed to come here?” I groan once again, not wanting to deal with the police.

“I, uh, it’s just–you were being mugged.” I was shocked to hear Spider-Man fumbling over his words. “I reported it before I stopped it. Don’t want these two mugging more people. Y’know the whole ‘friendly neighborhood’ thing isn’t just to describe me.”

I sigh heavily, “I get it. I just don’t want to deal with the cops today. I need to get home soon and don’t have the time to deal with this.”

“The cops don’t like me–”

“Then why did you–”

“So I can swing you home before they arrive.”

Spider-Man holds an arm out to me. I don’t have much time to think as I hear the sirens get louder. Slinging my backpack on, I step closer to him. He wraps his arm around my waist. 

Keeping me facing him he warns, “Close your eyes and hold on as tight as you want,” before he leaps us into the air. 

I quickly bury my face into where I have my arms wrapped around his neck. The rush of us swinging through the air has my head spinning and my stomach dropping. Within minutes I feel him stand on steady ground, my feet landing moments after his. I don’t move yet as my head continues to swim. I feel a warm touch against my hands as he gently pries my hands away from behind his neck. He doesn’t move to push me away from my hiding place in his neck, but he does slowly guide us to sit on the ground. 

“You’re okay,” he reassures. “The head rush is intense the first few times. Putting your head between your knees helps with the dizziness.”

I nod at his guidance, not moving yet. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

“That’s normal, too. Putting your head between your knees also helps with that.”

I slowly unbury myself from him and carefully place my head between my knees. The spinning sensation lets up a little, but I still can’t move from my position. I look at the gravel beneath my shoes, focusing on the pebbles to keep my vision steady. 

“Thank you,” I whisper out, barely audible.

“No problem,” Spider-Man chuckles, “just part of being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re on top of the Saratoga children’s museum.” 

“How?” I incredulously demand. “That’s like a mile from the coffee shop. And it’s been only, what, a couple of minutes?”

Spider-Man shrugged, but I heard his amused snort. “It’s the same as if you would have driven here.”

I shook my head in disbelief, finally lifting my head to look at him. I couldn’t believe the nonchalance of his answer. He casually swings through the city at like forty miles an hour. And he acts as though that’s nothing. 

“Where do you need to go? Spider-Cab can drop you off wherever you want to go in New York. Free of charge,” he jokes around his offer. 

“Empire State college. Back toward the coffee shop. Then another half mile and you’ll be at the dorms there,” I explain. “But I can get a cab there. You’ve already saved me, and I’m sure someone else out there could use the assistance.”

“I can take you. It’s part of the job. Saving them from danger and keeping them safe. If that means taking you to your dorm, then I promise to keep you safe until then.”

“Alright,” I concede. “Do you have to swing that fast though? I don’t think I can take it.”

Spider-Man stands and offers me a hand, “I’ll go slower this time.”

Taking his hand, Spider-Man pulls me to my feet before pulling away. He turns his back toward me this time and squats down a little. 

“What are you doing?” I tilt my head. 

“Hop on,” he looks over his shoulder. “It won’t be as bad if you’re facing where we swing.”

I hesitate a moment longer before putting my arms around him. His hands grab behind my knees and he shrugs me higher onto his back. He moves one hand to my ankle and crosses it around his waist. Understanding what he’s suggesting, I wrap the other around him. 

“Hold on tight. We’re going to be slower, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hold on tight. I’ve got you, but it’s a bit trickier with someone on my back. Are you okay with this?” He places his hand on top of mine across his chest. 

“I trust you,” I admit. 

I barely hear him say, “I’m glad,” as he stands on the ledge. “Here we go!” He shouts.

And just like that we’re swinging through the city again. I squint against the rushing wind, but keep my eyes open. The city looks so different like this. We’re soaring through the air, people below us unaware we’re here. The sounds of traffic can’t be heard over the wind. It’s peaceful. 

All too soon it comes to an end. Spider-Man swings us past the coffee shop again, and soon we’re at the college campus. I shout over the wind which dorm building is mine and laugh as he gently lowers us to the roof. I feel adrenaline rushing through me alongside the excitement of having swung through the city. 

“Here we are,” Spider-Man announces. 

“I don’t think I can move,” I giggle out. 

I feel him laugh more than I hear it. He once again carefully pries my off of him, unwrapping my legs from his waist before turning in my hold. I don’t feel as dizzy this time, but with how close he is my head is spinning for a different reason. 

“Home safe and sound,” he murmurs. “Just like I promised you.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. 

I finally release my hold from around him, but he doesn’t move. Remaining close to me, I try to imagine what he’s doing behind the mask. If his eyes are searching me the way mine are him. With a lot of courage (and reckless abandon) I kiss him on the cheek. 

“Good night, Spider-Man,” I whisper against his cheek. “Thank you again for saving me.”

I turn away before he can respond, opening the door to the roof access. 

“Good night,” he calls after me. 

I turn to look at him. He hasn’t moved from his spot, but now his hand rests over his cheek. I wave as the door shuts behind me. I feel like I’m floating as I make my way down the stairs to my floor. Unlocking my door, I flop onto my bed with a sigh. Looking at the alarm clock near my head, I see the lights blinking ‘5:45 PM’. I smile in relief that I made it back before my study session at six. I lay still as the feeling of excitement fades away with the adrenaline. Soon, I hear a knock on my door through the haze of a nap creeping into my mind. I look at the clock again to see it’s only been five minutes. Getting up, I crack the door open to see who it is. Recognizing Peter, I quickly close the door and remove the chain before opening it up all the way. 

“Hi,” Peter cheerily greets. 

“Hey,” I smile, “you’re early for a change.”

“I’m usually on time. I’m just chronically late to classes,” he jokes. 

I laugh at his comment. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You ready to cram for this exam?”

“This professor’s exams are the worst. At least I brought snacks this time,” he groans. 

I close the door as he enters and lock it. Turning on my laptop I opened the study guide the professor emailed us. As we study, I turn the radio on low, smiling as the voice of J. Jonah Jameson starts to bark on about the most recent Spider-Man sighting earlier tonight. 

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[starryskiescottagepies]

★ Marauders (mostly wolfstar) fics I have enjoyed recently ★

I think most people are already familiar with these, but I figured I’d compile a list for at least my own sake, if not for the fuck of it. No particular order, just whichever one popped into my mind first. Also I almost exclusively read regular magical fics, not muggle aus, though sometimes I will branch out.

1.) The Horcrux Hunt - lostmy_keys

He is a Slytherin, a Black, and an ex-Death Eater. Of course he makes it out of the cave.

Regulus sets out to destroy the Dark Lord's Horcrux with no one but a house-elf to help, until he realises his task is bigger than he alone can handle. Reluctantly he turns to the only man Voldemort fears for assistance - Dumbledore - who loans out his pet wolf for the job, much to Regulus's dismay. Together they embark on a hunt for Horcruxes - a long and arduous journey that both makes friendships and destroys them. And a few people get hurt along the way.

Slowburn Wolfstar, Regulus character development, a very flirty (but platonic) Regulus and Remus friendship, and a canonically manipulative Dumbledore.

This is by far one of my recent favourites. It’s too good. I’m not super into jegulus, but if that’s your thing, the sequel has them as a kind of background development :]

2.) Let Nothing You Dismay - montparnasse

There are a few things Sirius really didn't count on for Christmas of 1979. The extreme sexual confusion is one of them; Remus Lupin is approximately seventy-eight of the rest.

I bookmarked this with a note saying “this writing style is gorjus. Gongepus” at 1:30 in the morning, and that’s all I have to say about that.

3.) disintegration - moonymoment

Okay I won’t even bother putting the summary here, almost everyone has read it, it’s fantastic. Knife cutting vampire themed sexual tension, kak long too. Sound good? Lekker. Thought so.

4.) Stealing Harry (and its subsequent cinematic universe) - copperbadge

On a dark night long ago, Sirius Black took a wrong turn and never found Peter Pettigrew. Instead of Azkaban, Sirius settled down in Little Whinging to keep an eye on his godson, and hired Remus Lupin to run his bookshop for him. Then one day when Harry was eight, Sirius found out how the Dursleys treated him, and stole him away.

I’m going to make a whole separate post about this one because it’s a work of art. It’s so sweet. Ahh. It’s an iconic old series too, started before I even existed. It’s been one of my favourite things as of late. I wish it had been completed, but I also love it as it is, and I don’t feel I need any more than that. The first story is beautiful, but frankly it’s the alternative universe which comes after that I keep rereading. So so so so so good.

5.) Remain in Light - veeagainst

What if Sirius Black didn’t die? It’s been done many times. Here’s my take on it.

One of the best “wolfstar kind of adopts Harry” sorts of stories in my opinion, and done so in such a graceful way too. Blood sweat tears and six whole years (!!!!) of writing went into this thing and you can really see how no word was wasted. What a beautiful story

6.) The Bent - earlybloomingparenthesis

1985, London. The wizarding queer art scene revolves around a gallery called the Bent, where conceptual artist Remus Lupin and photographer Sirius Black exhibit their works, and a club called the Bush, where they spend time with Jane and Lily Potter, who work at a nearby heath clinic. Although war with Voldemort was averted, the wizarding world is still simmering with tension. In the face of increasing intolerance and calls for censorship, Remus’ art takes a riskier, more political turn, and he must figure out how to balance self-expression and safety. Also, he might be falling in love with his best friend.

It’s been a while since something ive read has caused my to need to go on a walk and just think. This story will make you do that. Queer truths and families and mess and art. That’s it that’s the book. It’s one of the nine fics I’ve thrown into my “lifechanging fanfics” collection and it’s there for a REASON! You will not regret reading it.