#he instead leads survivors into death traps!!

[madstwd]

Haunting Memories

Daryl Dixon x reader

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: FLUFF, Kidnapping of reader, Manipulation, attempt to kill reader, survivors guilt (Daryl)

Season: before Negan

Summary: Daryl mourns the loss of the reader, whilst she fights to escape a strange woman in the woods that 'saved her'

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Ashes fell from the sky like smoke, the fire illuminating Daryl’s face as he watched the element engulf the last known location of you. The rain was futile against the large flames, his crossbow held limp in his arms. Unsure whenever there was rain or tears streaming down, he dirtied face. “Daryl. We need to leave” Rick spoke, the officer coming into his view. Daryl's eyes drifted to Rick's face, “Walkers will be drawn here, we have- have to leave”

The man shook his head, gripping his crossbow and began to walk toward the entrance. Rick grunted as Daryl shrugged him off, struggling to stop the heartbroken man as he approached the building. “Daryl stop! We have to go”

Daryl stopped, his legs started to feel weak, collapsing on the ground. His head hung low as his shoulders shook  as he cried. His heart is fighting with his brain over your loss. Not wanting to believe you were trapped in the death trap of someone's mistake. “She- she's still in there” he sobbed. Rick laid his hand gently on his brother's shoulder as he tried to stand him up. “I know”

“We have to…she can't be,” he cried. Rick helped him up, guiding him to his bike. Daryl took one last glance before promising to return to find you. He knew you could get out, unless you were trapped. 

Rick glanced back at the basement door as he cropped up the last of the meat they had. He was unsure if the room was even occupied by its owner. Days had passed since the warehouse they were scavenging went up in flames. An error of someone who clearly paid the punishment. One of the few bodies they were able to retrieve from what was left of the wreckage. Their graves added up the count of the many they had lost over the years. The culprit's body was barely recognizable, their body scarred, bones and skin bubbling. A slow death that everyone hoped you didn't get. It didn't matter how many piles of debris they removed they couldn’t find yours. Daryl didn't eat. He didn't leave the room he was given upon his arrival. The room is haunted by your things, shirts, boots and weapons littered around like a memory. Taunting him over his failure to keep you safe, the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he could no longer hold you. That he could no longer feel your angelic lips decorate his scarred skin with kisses. Rick walked over to the white door, sighing before knocking. 

Daryl sat on his bed, his hand dangling between his knees. His body felt numb, cold. Like the warmth was taken from him. You. Eyebags had collected underneath his eyes from all of his sleepless nights, his brain wracked with thoughts on how he could have saved you, how if maybe he was in your group instead he could have made sure there were no traps.  A knock broke him from his thoughts. He knew who it was and knew he wouldn't leave him alone until he got an answer. Daryl had spent most of his days out in the woods hunting what food he could before the snow fell. His poncho is filled with holes that you promised to fix when you both god back. Daryl hesitated opening the door, he didn't want to face Rick. A man who had already seen so much of his emotions, one that sat on the porch in silence whilst he snuck outside to smoke. He knew the former sheriff didn't want Daryl to turn away from his family. Isolate himself whilst they all grieved the loss of someone so bright as you. “Daryl” the man breathed as he opened the door. Giving the hunter a soft smile. “I'm making food from the last of that rabbit…do you want any? You haven't eaten in a few days” rick questioned, glancing at daryls hunched over form. Before Daryl could refuse, he grabbed his hand. Leading him to the kitchen where he allowed the archer to sit and mourn in silence but with company. Daryl fiddled with one of Judith's crayons, remembering the many times he would return from a hunt with you and the young girl playing around. Everything reminded him of you, there wasn't anything in the town that didn't remind him of you. Alexandria was a wet sheet that suffocated him with the memory of what he lost. “I was thinking, tomorrow we could both adventure out to the…site. See if we can find anything before the show falls later in the week.” Rick announced, looking at the broken man. Daryl nodded, he brought his attention to his friend. Rick's eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. Mourning the loss of someone that was like a sister. Another reminder that everyone else within the community also mourned you. “Sure” he grumbled out, his voice harsh and gravely due to many days of silence. “Gabriel has put a rule of 4 in place for going out. I was thinking of Aaron since he knows the area well, but I can’t think of anyone else” he said. Daryl shrugged. “It doesn't matter to me. I just want- want to find her” he sighed. Rick nodded. “We will” 

Daryl watched the bare trees as they drove past them, the car was silent. All of them are desperate for answers for your disappearance. Most expecting to find a body, a small glimmer of hope that they might find you. The group approached the site carefully, waiting to see how many infected still remained and lingered around. “We will go in pairs, you find anything. Shout and the others get there fast” rick said. The group nodded. Rick and Daryl split off whilst Aaron and Carol went the other way. Daryl’s eyes stayed trained to the floor, hoping for footprints or shuffle marks as the both of them made their way upstairs. “She might have gotten out, she was smart like that. Quick-”

“I know what she was like Rick. but she also would have tried to save everyone she could before herself” 

Rick knew he was right, it was another thing he was grateful for, a constant reminder there was still good in the world. The two left footprints in the ash and dirt as they tracked through the corridors. “She could have escaped. I know that, I just want to find her. Or at least a sign” daryl mumbled, he looked up to his leader, hoping he could find the same glimmer of hope he had. Rick nodded, giving him a warm smile before turning back to the corridor. “We only have a few days before the snow settles in, not sure if we will be able to come out and look again until after winter” Rick sighed. Daryl stayed silent, almost like if he agreed he was accepting the face you were definitely gone. Words left unspoken to you left a bitter taste in his mouth, reactions to future events he had planned would stay only as dreams. Dreams that everything was okay, dreams that he knew would never come true no matter how much he wished upon it. 

“This is the only way I could think someone could escape,” Aaron said, pointing towards a window that was cracked. The window faced the woodlands, an area that no one ever really ventured to unless they had to. “And if someone did escape, who knows what they have run into. This place was crawling with walkers when we finally left, ``Carol added, looking over to her friend who was dazed looking out the window. “So there's a small chance she's alive and could find home '' Daryl spoke softly, his fingers in his mouth, crossbow leant against his leg. The group nodded, a few offering a comforting smile. “I think what's best is making sure she can, and making sure there's a home to get to '' Aaron suggested, the bitter wind chill now creeping in fast. Rick nodded, looking at Daryl for a silent approval to move on until it was safer to look. Daryl glanced out the window one more time, scanning the treeline for a clue. Looking for muddy footprints anywhere. He sighed before picking up his crossbow and leaving the ruins. 

Your arms hurt, the heat from the fire still felt so fresh as you awoke with a soft blanket around you. Prying open your eyes, blinking a few times until they cleared up. You noticed the wooden walls of a cabin, the fire next to you warming you up, with a large black pot hanging just above it. “You're awake! Good good” a woman said. You moved your head carefully looking towards the other side of the room to find a woman, grinding what looked like herbs in a pestle and mortar. “Wh-where am i?” you questioned. The woman smiled warmly, “my house. I was finding herbs last minute before the storm reached the area, and found you lying in the river” she said. You nodded, propping your arms up to begin to sit. Your mind racing with many thoughts, your surroundings strange and unfamiliar, worrying. “You had a nasty fall and hurt your head. Your arms too, covered in burns.” the woman spoke. You nodded slowly, pinching your eyes as the warm glow of the sun began to hurt them. “What happened darling? '' she said, you heard the clank of items she was holding on the counter. Footsteps slowly made their way towards you, towards the fire. You watched her carefully as she poured out a drink, the cup warm and filled with steam. “Its not much but the best i could do i'm afraid. This winter doesn't look very nice, not much food hanging about.'' she said, handing you a warm cup of tea. You nodded, a breathy thanks leaving your chapped lips as you bought the liquid to them. “My name is Louise '' she said, another warm smile placed on her face again. “Y/N '' you muttered. “What happened?” she asked, pouring her own cup of tea. You looked into the cup of the hot liquid, watching it swirl around as you thought about the events. Not having time to process them after you fell being chased by the walkers. 

“My group. We were looting for any medical supplies we could gather before the storm came. The place was rigged with traps, once you set one off they all went off. My partner, he set one off. Flames engulfed the corridor, I listened to his screams as he danced around trying to get them off. I-i couldn't do anything to help him.” 

“Im so sorry dear” 

“The fire spread fast, there was this window I broke to get out. I just ran as fast as I could. The fire had caught my arms, I didn't even feel it until I realised I was being chased. I tripped and rolled down a hill, I just remember being cold and slipping again, smacking my head and then black” you cried, your fingers grasping at the cup seeking comfort. Louise placed her cup to the side of her, walking over to you and bringing you into a warm hug. She smelt like the fire, and the trees that surrounded the area. “I don't even know if they have tried to find me,” you whispered. She pulled you closer, thinking about if she had seen anyone pass recently. You felt her shake her head, her blond hair falling over your shoulders tickling your neck as she moved. “No one comes to these woods darling, its too close to the storm for them to be looking for you” 

“No. Daryl would. He wouldnt leave me” 

“Honey- it's too dangerous” 

You looked over her shoulder, watching the door, hoping for him to bust down the door and take you home. Longing to smell the cigarettes and sweat that lingered on his bedsheets. “You can stay here this winter, we can survive together” 

Louise pulled herself back from you, her soft cold hands cupping your cheeks. Her thumb rubbing your jawline. You nodded, you needed to heal and get better. Besides you would be walker food if it wasn't for her. She smiled, though instead of this one being warm she had a glimmer of malice in her eyes. 

The months have passed slowly, you often spend your time reading on the wooden seat by the window. Hoping one day you'll see the familiar figure of your lover in the snow storm. Louise had you helping out with smaller tasks before your injuries were fully healed, often washing the dishes or clothes she had lent you. Tending to the fire if needed. As you healed the daily chores began to develop into hunting, picking up firewood until the kind woman you thought you met made you become her slave. Each night you grew angrier that you had yet to be rescued from this place. Creating a plan to not only escape once the snow has thawed enough but to seek out your lover as him for answers on your rescue. Why doesn’t he care enough to come and get you. 

Daryl on the other hand moped around Alexandria, collecting firewood in just his poncho for the elder members who couldn't do it themselves. The harsh colds numbed his body for a while, something else for his brain to focus on other than his lack of effort to find you. He wanted to watch you make snowmen with the local children, be dragged into snow fights again from you. He wanted to see the pout on your face when he accidentally hit you in the face with a snowball. “Hey! Daryl I found this. Looks about your size” Michonne spoke, holding out a fur coat towards the broken man. Daryl shook his head, shrugging his poncho over his head as he collected his knives. “Nah . I'm good” he grumbled. Michonne sighed heavily, shaking her head. Daryl didn't wait for a response, his hand reaching for the door knob. “Daryl. I know Gabriel said not to go out, but what if we looked for her. Can your bike go through the snow?” she questioned looking at him. Daryl nodded, turning to face his friend. “You have to wear the coat though, I don't want you dying in my hands' ' she smirked, holding out the heavy item again. Daryl grumbled under his breath, walking back towards the woman grabbing the coat before making his way towards his bike. “I know everyone has forgotten her but I haven't, I never could. She deserves to be found, ``Michonne said as she tucked herself into the fur of Daryl's coat. The two of them sped through the town, ignoring the hollars and disapproving shouts from their companions. 

The ruin site was decorated with a soft layer of snow, the history of the place buried beneath the icy blanket. “We found this window that went out to the woods, her tracks would be long gone now but items might be around” the hunter spoke. Michonne nodded, waving her hand to signal him to lead the way. Daryl felt the snow crunch under his boots, small snowflakes falling into his brown hair. The pair scanned the landscape for anything that could be yours, looking for items of clothing, guns or even your rucksack. They were ready to stay out as long as they needed to look for you, enough time being wasted mourning the loss of something that might still be alive. “You have done really well handling this Daryl. I think i would have gotten myself killed over a stupid mistake trying to find her long ago.`` Michonne complimented. Daryl sighed, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled. “I feel like I'm haunted by her loss, like she's always there. Disappointed I'm not doing enough to find her. Her scent and items suffocate me at home” he spoke. Michonne was surprised he was so open, Daryl often came across as trapped in the recent weeks. Itching for the chance to do one final check. The archer is haunted by memories of past losses where he didn't do enough, or was too late. Promising to never make the same mistake again. “She’ll be proud knowing what you have done for the community. She knows it’s not your fault” 

Daryl nodded, silence falling on the two of them again as they continued to trudge along the snowy woodland. 

Michonne tripped, letting out a small yelp behind him. He wasn't fast enough to catch her, watching as she rolled through the snowy bank towards the small stream. “Michonne! Are ya alright?” he yelled, most walkers being frozen in the ice for him to care about noise. “Yeah! I'm alright! Come down here, I found something” she shouted back, he could vaguely see her brushing the snow off her pants. Daryl stumbled down the bank as gracefully as he could. Grabbing Michonne's hand to stabilise himself at the bottom. “Here” she said, leading him over to a backpack that laid in the river. He knew it was yours, you keychains and pin badges that littered it, decorated in spite after a comment he made one night. “It’s hers,” he said, his eyes not drawing away from the bag. “Theres no sign of footprints or anything. Not even walker footprints, ``Michonne said. Daryl's eyes scanned the surrounding area finding no other tracks except their own. The woods were silent, and the forest floor oddly clean, no loose twigs or logs from the recent storm. “Someone is in this area, all the fire wood is gone” he added, picking up the soaking wet bag examining the contents. “What do we do then? There’s no start to finding her” she said. Daryl pondering for a moment, mind racing if this is even worth it, they could return home with the backpack. Avoid frostbite and getting lost in a storm. Maybe they could bring a bigger team to search the river bank. The situation becomes all too familiar to a distant memory looking for someone lost in the woods. Another reminder of Daryl's first failure, his first taste at survivors' guilt. He sighed heavily, “someones taken firewood” 

“So?” 

“We look for a fire” 

Your hands were sore and cold, the frost nipping at your fingers through the gloves now wet from the snow. The axe was heavy in your arms as you swung it against the logs, watching as the splinters flew around the air. Louise was around, watching for any frost walkers as she called them. Your body hurt and ached from all the chores she had you doing, you were trapped, frozen in this woodland hoping your family didn't think you were dead. Hoping he wouldn't give up. “Shall I get tea darling?” Louise said with a sickening grin as she emerged through the trees. You gave her a soft smile, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “Sounds lovely,” you said. She grinned widely. “Hurry up with that chore dear, it's getting dark” she said entering the cabin. You watched as the door shut, before turning and picking up a log. The axe went faster and harder each log. Not intentionally, if it was up to you, you would never go back inside. Take off and try to find your way back home or at least someone different to take care of you. 

The cabin was warm, a huge difference to the bitter winter outside. Your fingers tingling from the change of temperature, the logs cold on your forearms as you hauled them inside. “Oh love, you look freezing! Quick sit by the fire and warm up.” she exclaimed, running to grab a blanket. You sat on the floor staring into the flames that danced, your body slowly warming up. She draped the blanket around your shoulders offering you a cup of tea. You accepted it, not drawing your attention away from the flames. “Oh look at you, you remind me of my daughter. Snowflakes covered in your hair” she chuckled. You felt her brush your hair, knots and tangles leaving as she tugged her way through it. “You would have liked her, my daughter, she was a lot like you. I showed her to be independent to be able to survive on her own. Didn't last long, but now she protects us. They all do, ``Louise muttered. 

“All of them?” you asked, your attention moving to the cup into your hands. “Why do you think there aren’t any walkers? If you keep them fed they leave you alone. Shame it's rare to find people most days' ' she said. Your heart dropped, the mug slipping out of your hands onto the floor. “How-how do you feed them?” you stuttered. She giggled, “find them people of course. Good job i found you, i'm sure they'll enjoy like the rest” 

Her statement prompted you to stand up, alerted cowering towards the door as she looked over at you shocked. “Come on now, don't make this harder. Some people are made to survive. I’ve told you this. You can't keep anyone safe, you stumbled down a hill and almost died. You’re weak. You’ll die soon anyway. It’s a worthy sacrifice to make sure the strong survive, ``Louise said as she stalked over towards you. Your hands fumbled with the door knob behind you, thankful you were the last to enter meaning the door wasn't locked. Your breathing quickened, legs weak with fear. You didn’t know where to run or how far. She knew the area better than you. “It’s locked dear. You’ve got nowhere to run” she laughed as she approached you. You didn't wait a second longer, opening the door and bolting as fast as your legs to take you. The harsh temperature hits you fast. “I’LL FIND YOU, WON’T GET FAR” Louise shouted behind you, her footsteps louder than the beating of your heart. 

Daryl and Michonne were almost lost in the woods, thankful that it wasn't snowing and their footprints were still visible in the snow. “We’ll have to turn back soon. It’s getting darker and colder” Michonne said, uncurling her fingers regularly from her sword to give them a feeling. Daryl grunted, his mind focused on the surrounding area, listening intently for any movement. “It’s too quiet,” she whispered, looking around the frozen wonderland. Daryl nodded, “wait-” he said, stopping in his tracks, eyes scanning the treeline. Far in the distance he spotted a person, running fast. “Look” he said, pointing at the sprinting figure. “Might be her,” Michonne said. The two of them nodded, running towards the person, hoping to cut them off. 

You glanced over your shoulder, your side hurting from the running. Louise wasn’t that far behind, you could hear her as she cackled behind you calling your name tauntingly. Your mind raced with thoughts of your family, of him. Imagining how they would be as you sprinted to their arms, being enveloped by his strong arms, safe from her. From the cabin. The fire. Protected by nature. You longed for his scent, feeling the scratch of his beard against you as he kissed your neck, his hands moving across your waist as he held you close, pouring his love into you. “Y/n, they think you are dead. You have no home. No purpose. I'm giving you purpose ``Louise cackled behind you, her voice closer than you remembered. Your weak body becomes weaker, the cold attacking your joints as you struggle to keep your body moving. That was until you saw it, two figures moving next to you, running towards you. “HELP” you screamed, your voice harsh and broken. Tears spilled from your eyes, close to giving up. Maybe she was right, maybe you would never find him again. Maybe he was never looking like you thought, thinking you were burnt alive like your partner.  

“HELP PLEASE” you screamed, waving your arms. You almost gave up until they came to a stop, the sword shone in the sunlight, the figure behind them was recognisable. Remembered by you in your dreams. “DARYL. MICHONNE” you yelled again. They turn towards you, watching as you sprinted towards them, your heart beating faster. Giving you the energy to sprint faster. Tears freezing on your cheeks. “Y/N?” Daryl yelled back, dropping his crossbow into the snow. His boots thumped on the forest floor as he sprinted towards you. Arms ready to fold around you, protect you from the crazy woman behind you. 

You laughed as you finally felt him, smelled him. His hair tickled your neck as he folded himself around you. “I found you. I found you” he whispered. Michonne laid a hand on your shoulder before you turned to give her a bone crushing hug. “Shes- she's close. We have to go” you said, grabbing their hands, dragging them away. “Whose close?” they asked at the same time. 

“Well, this is awkward isn't it y/n? '' Louise said, her footsteps crunching in the snow as she stalked over. “You found them, I needed you. I counted on you to trust me, allow me to use you, to protect me” she snickered. Daryl's hand tightened around yours, his body moving in front of you. Protecting you. “But it's okay, all three of you will keep them busier for longer” Louise grinned. You stared at her, frozen in fear. Her lies, false claims of not protecting what you loved. Her gaslighting telling you, you couldn't save the person in the fire so how were you going to keep him safe. Keep him out of danger. Your hand swipes Daryl's knife, the action jolting him loosening his grip on your hand. He watched as you stalked over to her, standing in front of her. Another situation feeling all too familiar to him, as he watched the person who even helped him find the guts to ask you out. The person who listened to him rant and scream about how he failed to keep anyone safe after he gave up the search for the governor resulting in her fathers death.

 “I can protect them,” you said. Daryl and Michonne launched themselves to you as you stabbed her in the head, falling back on her repeating the action. Every stab caused you to sob, each stabbed caused by her lies, caused by your fear to run away. Daryl dragged you away, causing you to drop the knife, Louise's blood staining the snow as it spilled out. Daryl hid you in his body, holding you close as you wept. 

The car ride was silent, Michonne was driving as you laid on Daryl's lap in the back seat. Fearing if you let go of him it would be all a dream. “Everyone will be happy that you’re back, no matter how much shit we get into '' Michonne jokes, causing Daryl to chuckle. The sound rattling through your body, spreading warmth faster than Louise's fire could. You could see Rick figure as you approached the gates, arms raised on his hips ready to shout at your saviours as soon as they got out, his voice faltering when he saw you. A wide smile replaced his frown, running towards you holding you like you were his sister. “He never stopped looking for you,” he whispered as you hugged him back. A celebration caused the community coming together to celebrate your return. Daryl and Michonne plastered as a hero. The true details of your disappearance were never spoken, nightmares coming often as she haunted you. But he was there, his breath tickling the back of your neck and ear, his breathing becoming a rhythm to fall back asleep. He kept you safe and you kept him safe. 

#daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead x reader

[s-brant]

Anonymous128

After being ditched by her friends on a night out, Y/N is saved from an attempted assault by a masked hero known as Spider-Man. He takes it upon himself to make sure she gets home safe and figures he’ll never see her again only to come face to face with her the next day. This time, he meets her as Harry Styles. (or the spider-man au)

12k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, violence, attempted assault, PTSD from the death of family members, grief, survivor’s guilt, and some mild sexual tension.

The sky is starless.

Y/N knows that hoping for a sky full of stars in London is useless. In any major city such as this one, light pollution prevents anyone from getting a view of a stray star, let alone constellations, and it's needless to say it's been depressing.

The stars, however, are the least of her worries right now.

Her footfalls roll like thunder on the sidewalk as she runs as fast as she can in the opposite direction of the men chasing her down. In all honesty, she probably shouldn't have punched one of them hard enough to hear a loud 'crack!' when he tried to pull her into the alley, but she didn't know what else to do. She didn't think about how it'd probably anger him more, or that he might have friends coming out of the bar too, all she could think of was her dad's warning to stay safe on her first venture out in their new city.

She feels the sharp winter air enter and exit her heaving lungs like breathable fire, and her hair whips against her face as she flips her head to look back at them over her shoulder. Every time she checks, they appear closer than they had the last time, so she decides not to look anymore. Instead, her focus pours into throwing one foot down after the other with as much strength as possible.

The time she spent out at the bar with her new friends was fun. They danced, laughed, and drank round after round of cocktails after they arrived, crammed and smushed in the backseat of an Uber, together. She met them on the first day at her new job and found herself adopted by the friend group like a shiny new toy. The two other girls are a few years older than her and work at the bakery because it's run by their mother, who was kind enough to give Y/N a job to help her dad pay for college.

It's an indefensibly bad salary, but as long as she's contributing, however little it is, her dad allows her to continue living with him for free. Plus, every little bit helps. It can't hurt to chip away at tuition costs with her barely above minimum wage pay.

They left early to meet their other friend at a club a half hour away, leaving her behind to find her own way back, and that was when she ran into the man outside of the bar. Her Uber was a street away when she felt a pair of hands seizing her hips to guide her out from the safety of the sidewalk, and, before it could get worse, she stomped on his foot and spun around to sock him square in the face.

"Get back here, you bitch!" one of them screams after her.

She thinks it's the one she punched, but there were about four of them the last time she looked back, so she can't be too sure. The loud smacking of their footfalls on pavement echos on the walls of buildings around her as she banks left into another alleyway to come out on the other street.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

Y/N makes it more than halfway through the alley before her eyes widen at the sight of a dead end leading into the brick wall of a building. It looms over her like a titan, trapping her in with no chance to leave except for the way she entered, and she turns to sprint out before they come after her, but it's too late. They're already turning into the alley.

She stumbles away until her back hits the wall and screams for anyone who will listen, "Help! Somebody, please, help me!"

The brick is freezing against her hands, which flatten against the wall behind her for stability, while she shrinks into it in an effort to put as much distance between her and them as she can. Who knows what they'll do once they catch her. It's hard to say whether they're in it to rob her, assault her, or flat out murder her, though she supposes she'll soon find out whether she wants to or not.

The group of five men, not four, closes in on her faster than she can prepare herself. They look like normal, average men, and that's what's terrifying about them. How could such normal looking people chase a woman down for not allowing their friend to kidnap and assault them without a fight? Monsters lurk beneath the skin of unassuming people at all times, but something she often forgets, especially at a time like this, is that heroes do as well.

One of the men turns to the initial guy who touched her and asks, "Is this the one that punched you, Reggie?"

Her attacker has shortly chopped blonde hair, a short build, and a lithe body like that of a teenager. Hell, he might even be a teenager. If he were alone, she could take him on without a hitch and leave him bruised at her feet. With his friends, it's a different story. It's clear that he acts this way because he has his more muscular, older friends to back him up—a chihuahua surrounded by a pack of wolves to fight his battles for him.

They stand a few feet apart and keep the gaps between them too small for her to make a break for it without the entire posse closing in, so she doesn't bother doing that.

Think, she wants to scream at herself, do something! But she's frozen. They say people are either fight or flight in a situation of survival, but she's the third, lesser-known reaction. Paralyzation.

Reggie steps forward a few paces for the sake of winding her up and smirks in satisfaction at how she presses back harder on the wall. At least she can derive satisfaction from the fresh blood trickling from his subtly crooked nose. The mere sight of her must bring back the minutes-old memory of the forceful punch because she watches his nostrils flare with rage at where her eyes are locked onto his face.

"Yeah, it's her."

It's a jarring pattern of speech that leaves her guessing what he'll say or do next. He advances a step, and she prays silently for someone or something, anything, to intervene and put an end to this before they violate or kill her.

Suddenly, beneath the paralyzation reaction and fear that takes hold of her body like poison, she's angry. His rage seeps out of him and into her, leaving her with nothing but contempt for the situation unfolding. If this is how she's going to die, she's not going to be happy about it. The least fate could do for her is make it better than this, better than falling prey to a gaggle of losers with pungent beer breath and botched haircuts. Seriously, who is their barber and why did they let them leave the chair like that?

She gathers the saliva in her mouth from the back of her throat and hacks it up to spit at Reggie. A tiny dollop of spit slaps his cheek right on target with a satisfying splat.

"Go fuck yourself," she snarls.

Just like that, a switch is flipped. The combination of the attack with spit and her telling him to go fuck himself sends him rushing forward at her through the last bit of space left between them.

The world moves in slow motion in the time it takes for Reggie to pounce into action and take two running strides to reach her. Her wide eyes watch in terror as one of his hands strays to reach for the knife stashed at his hip. It occurs to her that angering the scary men with knives might not have been the best idea. His brows are set with a serious streak of frustration and his mouth is moving with a spew of derogatory insults, but she hears nothing. There's nothing for her to do except kick her legs out to shove him away and hope his face isn't the last she sees.

Right as his fingers graze her wrist to tug her off of the wall, something strange happens.

His hand is yanked from her wrist as though pulled by an invisible string from the masterful hands of a puppeteer. Then, when he reaches with the other hand, the same thing happens, and she realizes that the string isn't invisible at all. Under the light of the full moon illuminating the alleyway, she sees that the substance sticking to his hands glimmers like the spun silk of a spider's web.

It clicks with her what's happening, and, with the realization, time starts to fly past at a quicker rate again.

"What the fuck—"

One of his friends who came up behind him to help is yanked back by the string of web fluid and slammed face-first into the building wall she stands against. He hits it with enough force to make her wince, but she can't lie, it's a little funny considering what they were about to do to her. She doesn't give a reaction at all, though. Not a wince, or a laugh, or even a gasp. All she does is watch in shock.

He moves, swinging and jumping from place to place with the practiced skill she's seen a multitude of times on the news and widespread social media videos. There's no denying his talent as he shoots out strings to lasso every single one of the screeching men that attempt to flee now that they realize who's here to save her.

With four of them restrained in a heap against the brick wall with his webbing binding their hands and feet, there's one left. The last attacker rushes down the pathway in the direction of the street lamps lighting the way back to safety, yet he's no match for her savior. The masked man swings from his perch on the balcony of one of the surrounding buildings and lands with a splash in a puddle midway through the alley.

His arm extends with a flourish, hand flipped back to shoot another string of fluid from the inside of his wrist, and that's it for the final man. He comes barreling back into the standing dog pile of his friends in a matter of seconds. The five of them groan in unison upon impact. Yet the groans can't overshadow the sound of more webbing shooting out once the last guy is wrangled to adhere them all together.

A minute and a half ago, Y/N was certain she was about to be assaulted or killed by these people. Now, the group is smushed together in a sticky web right next to where she stands with their feet dangling off the rain-soaked pavement.

The man in the mask rolls his head on his shoulders to crack the bones there, likely tense from the work he just did. His footsteps patter on the ground. They grow closer and closer before, finally, he stands in front of the group of men he just stuck to the wall like flies and scoffs.

"That'll teach you not to pick on innocent girls, you sick fucks," he mutters. Though she cannot see his face beneath the blue and red mask, decorated with one-way eye holes that allow him to see the outside world but prevent her from seeing his eyes, she can hear him scowling. "You're lucky m'not gonna do worse to you, you know that?"

Part of what made his role as a vigilante acceptable to the general public, and his oddly large and mildly cultish online female fanbase, is that he has a strict no-killing rule. Even his fiercest villains are defeated in non-lethal ways, then left to law enforcement or the government to handle. The police aren't fond of him, they see him as a threat, but he's doing everything he can.

Reggie retorts from the bottom of the dog pile, "Lucky? You call this lucky? I think my ribs broke!"

He scoffs, about to go in on this guy and give him a piece of his mind about how he wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't put his hands on a woman, before being stopped by the sound of her voice emanating through the quiet alley.

The first thing she thinks to say is, "Holy shit."

His attention shifts from the pile of human shit stains to the young woman crouched against the wall beside them with her arms hugging her legs. Mascara is smeared in tear tracks down her cheeks as she looks up at him with an expression of surprise, giving him the random impulse to reach out and wipe his thumbs across them until the makeup is cleaned off.

The thought jolts him out of the seconds-long daze her voice put him under. What was that? Maybe it was because he pitied her for what almost happened, or because her voice sounded so sweet even when it was dripping with shock from seeing him, but he got the instant urge to comfort her when their eyes met. It struck him like a bolt of lightning that he tries to shake off now that the thought has passed.

Weird.

Nevertheless, he bypasses the odd urge and ignores the grumbling guys swearing they'll get back at him for this to walk over to her. On instinct after the scare they gave her, she flinches at his approach before remembering with a clear mind that he's the one who saved her.

Y/N opens and closes her mouth like a fish at the man standing tall above her crumbled-up form before finding the gall to speak up again.

"You're"—she sputters with no real thought in her head except the thought it takes to perceive him—"You're Spider-Man."

Anyone with access to the internet, even back home in New York, knows the name Spider-Man. Of course, those who live in London are more personally entwined with the web-slinging vigilante, but he's known worldwide for saving the city from malevolent forces multiple times. He's building up a decent reputation whether you love or hate him.

When she moved here, her awareness of him shifted from a fleeting curiosity every time he'd pop up on her phone to researching him after hearing rumors of where he'd been fighting crime recently from the girls at the bakery. Their obsession with him is what prompted her to Google him after a lecture one day. As far as the general public is aware, he's native to the country and has been active for a year, but that's about all they know about him. Everything else paints him as this masked enigma that appears to patrol the city and protect the population to the best of his ability.

"In the flesh," he says.

He crouches down with his arms draped over his knees to make himself seem less of a threat to her. Like animals do, he makes himself smaller in an act of submission. The action settles her tensed up shoulders and forces an exhale out without her knowing it.

His voice shifts from an exaggerated friendliness to a tone of worry.

"Are you okay? I saw them chase you, but they didn't touch you or anything, did they?"

And though she cannot place why or how he does it, everything about this man radiates comfort. With him crouched down in front of her, asking her how she is and looking at her through his mask, she can't find it in herself to be afraid anymore. Safe. The feeling is warm and cozy. It floods her heart with a sense of belonging she had yet to feel since moving here.

She gets why so many people adore this guy now. How could she not, anyway? After he saved her life, she guesses she'd be somewhat ungrateful to not view him in a flattering light from now on. Most people would sit back and let something bad happen, or at the very least call the police, but he didn't. He saved her. His entire brand revolves around helping others, around being kind, not causing pain or harm.

Her throat bobs with her swallowing thickly and shaking her head to tell him no, they didn't get to touch her inappropriately. Not yet.

"I punched the little one so hard his nose broke, so, no, they didn't get to touch me before you got here," she admits.

With both of them ignoring the offended, "Little?" coming from him in the background, he chuckles softly, and the delightful sound sparks her laughter too. Since she can't watch his face as he laughs, she catches on to how his chest stutters up and down in time with it.

"Serves him right," he says, then pauses and stands back up with an outstretched hand. "Do y'want me to swing you home?"

It takes a second or two for her to notice he's giving her his hand to help her stand up again, but once she does, she takes it. Her soft palm slides against the material of the suit covering his large hand and interlocks their fingers together for him to pull her to her feet. His strength startles her at first when he tugs her up, but he's being gentle for his standards, even if it sends her intoxicated body off balance enough to need him to steady her.

She stumbles right into him, face ramming into his solid chest, and he has her scooped up in his arms before she can dare fall back onto the dirty ground. Her face appears from where it was buried into him to give him an apologetic smile. To herself, she savors the scent that comes off of him. It's kind of funny to imagine Spiderman spraying on cologne before he suits up and swings around the city.

Spider-Man looks down at her with raised brows, though it's not like she can see it, as the young woman clings to him. She appears about his age, objectively pretty, and the one thing that strikes him as odd is her accent. Definitely not from around here.

Y/N flashes a sleepy smile and stares at him through her curled eyelashes.

"You smell nice."

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting her to say. Perhaps an appropriate, "Thank you", "I'm okay, no thanks", or, "I would like some company to walk home, actually" but not that. It's not to say he doesn't appreciate the compliment, he does, it's just not what he thought she'd say.

"And you're drunk," he says matter of factly, "How are y'getting home?"

With that, she squirms her way out of his arms despite being the one holding on tightly enough to cut off his circulation in the first place and digs through her crossbody purse for something. Her body sways as she pulls her phone from the main pocket of the small bag, and he remains on high alert to catch her at any moment.

Manicured fingers tap the lit-up screen a few times and, before he knows it, she's shoving the phone up at him to display the fruits of her drunken effort to secure a safe passage home. The phone is held up an inch from his face, so he squints against the harsh light and pushes it away with a hand on her arm until he's able to read what's on the screen.

The Uber app is opened and displays that a driver is a minute away. On busy weekend nights like tonight, he's sure that people employed by these apps hang out right around popular bars and wait for responsible people like her to book a ride rather than drive drunk, so her driver isn't far.

Why was some part of him hoping she'd want him to walk her, or swing her, home? It's not like they're friends or anything, all he did was save her.

"Oh," is what he says.

They plummet back into silence, and she's turning the phone back around to check her messages the second the one-syllable word escapes him. He really isn't trying to read what's on her phone, but the way she holds it makes it hard not to see the fifteen unread messages indicated by the red bubble above the app. The messages are opened and read within the span of thirty seconds before she swipes out of the conversation with a sigh.

It was under a contact named Eric. Fleetingly, he wonders if it's a friend from the bar or a boyfriend worrying himself sick over where she is and why she's ignoring his messages. Not that it's any of his business. As soon as he sees her glance up at him, he shifts his gaze away from the screen and internally scolds himself for being a nosy little bitch.

"He's sooo mad," she whines, "Why does he act like I have to ch-check in with him every single time I do so much as breathe? It's like, I'm not a kid, you know? I'm grown, I can handle myself! He ignores me whenever we see each other anyway."

The part of him that wants to point out she accidentally ordered an UberLux for six people instead of a normal one, which would cost way less, keeps his mouth fixed shut. He's sure she's capable of handling herself when she isn't seven drinks deep into the night. She handled the one guy pretty well after all. His nose is crooked and his face will have a gnarly bruise to show for that.

Instead, he asks, "Can I borrow your phone for a moment?" And when she eyes him up skeptically, he looks down at himself and admits sheepishly, "I can't carry my own in this suit, I'll just need it for a second. I forgot to text my aunt that I'm coming home late. She needs to keep the door unlocked f'me."

Whether it can be attributed to her being drunk or plain stupid, he doesn't know, but she passes him the phone.

His gloved thumb swipes the screen as far as it'll go until he's able to see every single app she has and zeroes in on Venmo. Does he know why he's giving this girl money to cover the cost of her expensive Uber mistake? Absolutely not. In all honesty, he might regret it this week when he needs to skip a few meals as consequence, but right now he's being charmed by her pouting face and knows it'll be the cherry on top to wake up to a hangover, an angry boyfriend, and the most expensive ride cost of her life tomorrow. It's the least he can do.

It's not like his Venmo profile shows his name or face anyway. He finds himself by searching his handle and requests a £45 payment from himself on her account. The actual cost of her ride is a smidge more but that's the most he can afford to spend without impeding on his actual "I need this to survive" money. Looks like he won't spend money for pleasure until he gets paid again. It's only a few days from now.

By the time he's handing her phone back to her, an overpriced luxury car is pulling up on the street at the end of the alley right on time.

Y/N is in a relieved yet tired daze the entire walk over, and it isn't until he's opening the car door for her that she speaks again. Faintly, they both hear the driver asking, "Is that Spider-Man?" and she shushes the older fellow by telling him it's his Halloween costume. Seeing as it's January, the response garners a confused look in the review mirror at her, but he assumes it's some college kid having fun. Tons of people dress up as him for laughs.

"Well," she says as she slips into the backseat and buckles up, "thanks for not letting me die. Keep smelling good."

He nods.

"Keep throwing those killer right hooks."

This causes an adorable giggle to erupt from her, head thrown back in glee on the headrest at the memory that will be much more traumatic once the alcohol and adrenaline wear off come morning. As long as she's not thinking too deeply about the attack until she's safe at home, he's fine. It's not safe for her to be out at this hour if she's this intoxicated.

Her hand is on the door handle to swing it closed.

"Will do, bug boy," she says, then slams it shut.

The driver up front distracts her attention from watching Spider-Man walk backward from the curb to answer his typical questions about how she's doing and if she wants a mini water bottle, which she so graciously accepts and cracks open the second he hands it back to her. Her sore throat is thankful for the relief given by the swig of water, and she shuts her eyes with her head tilted back in gratitude.

At the feeling of the car rolling forward and driving away from the alley where she narrowly escaped being injured or killed, her eyes shoot open to catch one last glimpse of the man who saved her.

Through the fog of her hot exhales on the chilled window, she sees that he's already gone.

-

Harry is stupid.

​​He knows that. Obviously, he knows that, but now that he's sitting across from his best friend at his favorite bakery for an "emergency" afternoon study session, he's positive he's the most stupid man to walk the earth.

Why did he pay for that girl's Uber last night? Probably because he couldn't handle the thought of her waking up to a hangover, as well as an overpriced Uber charge, and did it without thinking of things like this. That's why he's sitting at the corner table with no food and a grumbling stomach. Zayn offered to get him something, but he also has this complex about not letting others buy him things he should be able to cover on his own, so here he sits. Hungry and stupid.

The display case of baked goods looks downright mouthwatering as he eyes it from across the room and zeroes in on a tray of fresh croissants. His heightened senses allow him to see each detail handmade with love into the flaky delicacy, and he has to turn his head so as to not start drooling.

One of the first complaints he had after he woke up with his new powers was this: how everything, from his strength to his senses, is heightened to a degree he'd never known before he was bittem. At first, becoming Spider-Man wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure, super strength, speed, spider-like agility, and so much more seem fun when taken at face value, but when you're a confused teenager waking up with more power than you know what to do with, it's not as exciting.

"Are you okay?"

Zayn snaps him out of his thoughts.

He looks up and pretends that he wasn't spacing out in the first place, shifting in his seat to appear more engaged with the course far below his abilities. He's working on becoming a biophysicist and working as a professor eventually, yet that requires a PhD, so he's stuck in college for quite some time. It's admittedly difficult for Harry to balance his coursework, being a photographer for the paper, and protecting London from crime, but he makes it work.

Harry takes a swig from the reusable water bottle he filled on his way out of his place this morning and shrugs.

"I'm fine. Just tired, you know how it is."

The words left unsaid between them couldn't be any louder. Neither of them acknowledges it, the mutual frustrations they share as best friends with their agreement to disagree on Harry's lack of transparency surrounding certain aspects of his life.

It took weeks of him promising his aunt, Anne, didn't abuse him for Zayn to let go of the bruises and injuries that appeared after Harry disappeared at random for hours at a time in secondary school. His friends secretly theorize that he's gotten into an illegal underground fighting ring, hence the bruises, injuries, and why he's no longer the string bean with no muscle that he once was, and he lets them. Better than them discovering the truth.

"Yeah, anyway—"

He swears he means to pay attention to him after spacing out for what must have been the third time today, but as soon as his friend begins asking a question again, the door opens with a delightful chime and a familiar face draws his focus away.

Oh no.

Harry slumps in his seat again on the instinct to hide himself from the woman he saved last night before he remembers that she doesn't know what he looks like beneath the mask. On her name tag, it reads the same name he found on her Venmo username.

She looks better in the afternoon light shining through the windowed walls of the bakery. Her hair is swept up from her face with wisps framing her face, and he can tell she used extra makeup under her eyes to conceal the leftover mascara smudges from the early morning. Before he can get a full look at her clothes, she's swiping an apron off of the rack behind the counter and clocking in for the next eight hours of managing the cash register.

His stare remains fixed on her the entire time she waits for new customers to approach the counter. Her lips twitch into a closed half-smile as she checks her phone behind the cover of the register.

In harmonious timing with her clicking a button on her screen, his phone buzzes in his lap. The Venmo notification opens under a sly move of his thumb under the table to keep Zayn from noticing.

y/n paid you +£45 i'm not taking your money but thank you for everything

He goes to look up at her again with narrowed eyes, not that it matters since she doesn't know who he is, to find her standing beside their table. It takes everything he has to not jump in surprise, swallowing the lump in his throat and clicking the power button on the side of his phone to shut the screen off.

"Is there anything you gentlemen would like? Maybe a coffee refill for you," she says to Zayn, then turns to Harry, "Or something for you?"

Fuck. She probably came over because he wouldn't stop staring and figured he wanted something.

He starts to say, "No, m'good actually—"

"Actually, Harry will have one of those croissants over there," Zayn interjects.

He looks at his friend with wide eyes, nudging him under the table with a silent instruction to tell her never mind, but he gets a swift kick to the shin instead. The part of him that wants to call him out for ignoring his pleas to not spend money on him is silenced by the part that's grateful to have such a generous friend. Even when he's distracted and spacey while he should be helping him study, Zayn is kind enough to get him a pastry.

For a second or so, Y/N stands and watches the quiet kicking fight that's not at all concealed beneath the table with amusement tugging at her features until Zayn wins. He comes here every time after class on days he has them, so they're well acquainted enough for her to feel comfortable laughing at this, but it's the presence of his buddy that stops her from commenting.

The first thing she notes about Harry is how quiet he is, at least with her. Before she came over, he exchanged a few low-volume sentences with Zayn that she couldn't pick up on, but he hasn't said a word to acknowledge her. Little does she know, the smooth, confident hero she met last night inhabits the same body as the reserved man sitting in front of her.

There are two sides to him. One side is the legend that is Spider-Man and the other is just, well, him. He's Harry, plain and simple. Some aspects of who he is when he wears the mask have seeped into who he is the other ninety percent of the time, but, for the most part, he's the same guy as usual.

She smiles.

"Alright, but don't worry, it's on the house," she says with the same sweetness he recalls melting his heart last night, then adds, "Are we still on to go to that pottery place together? Millie flaked, so it'll just be us. I hope you don't mind."

Whereas with some people, the third party to their platonic date dipping last minute could indicate that Y/N secretly has feelings for him and wanted an excuse to hang out alone, but with her, that isn't the case. Though she can admit he is ungodly handsome, she and Zayn are friends. That's it.

That's why he smiles and says, "Tomorrow at five."

After she walks off to retrieve the raspberry pastry, he can tell Zayn is preparing to launch into the story of how he met her. He's ready to listen with rapt attention, curious to know anything he can about the pretty woman he saved from peril yesterday, when his phone goes off again. This time, it isn't the typical buzzing vibration of a text or the Venmo notification he got five minutes ago, it's the ringtone he set especially for the police scanner notifications he feeds through his phone to alert him of crime.

The notification banner flashes on his screen a transcript of the police dispatcher rattling off the exact location, and as it continues, he wants to groan and throw a tantrum at the fact that it's not a minor call. They'll need his help.

Harry pushes his chair out with enough speed and brute strength to send it flying back off of it, then trips onto his ass over the legs of it trying to amend his mistake. Damn superhuman strength always making him look weird. Even the other girls employed here look up to see what the fuss is about, and he offers a tight-lipped smile as an apology. None of them except for Y/N seem to accept it based on the looks they give.

He swipes his backpack off of the back of it and swings it onto his shoulders.

"M'really sorry to do this, but Anne just texted saying she needs help right now. Something about a family emergency," he strings together something believable to get out of here as quickly as he can. "I'll make this up to you. I promise, I owe you one."

There's nothing for his friend to do except watch him, at a loss for words but understanding of the situation all the same, as he pushes the front doors to the bakery open and disappears into the fading afternoon sunset.

-

Y/N is stupid.

She knows that. Obviously, she knows that, but now that she's shutting the door to the apartment she and her dad live in together, it's becoming more apparent than ever.

This "home" is more of a ghost town to her as of late. Back home, before her mother passed away, there was once a time when he behaved the way a father is supposed to. He made a point to take interest in her interests, make time for her outside of his job, and show her in casual actions how much he loved her, but she can't say the same for him today. The difference in how he treated her last year versus now is unfathomable to her.

She used to be his angel, his most prized creation, and now...It isn't the same. Now, she comes home every night to an empty apartment and no matter how hard she wishes, he refuses to put anything above his work. The hours at Syco Industries are long and they work him to the bone, so she tries to cut him slack. Perhaps after he's been there longer, they'll give him leeway with forcing him to work late each night, but as it is today, they hardly see one another.

Is it bad if she admits she's torn between wanting things to be the way they used to and enjoying his absence? The thing is, whenever he's home, it feels as empty as it does when he's gone. They don't interact or bond, so what's the point? Isn't it better if he's not here at all?

Y/N comes out of her room in her favorite pajamas, a pack of makeup wipes clutched in one hand and swinging with her steps as she plops down onto the living room couch with an exhausted exhale. The television was running all day, it seems, after her dad forgot to switch off the news before he left for work this morning. She leaves it up for white noise while she checks her phone for the first time since clocking out at the bakery.

Messages? Dry. Instagram? No activity. Tumblr? Void of new content to devour. Twitter? Filled with pointless online discourse she doesn't feel like sorting through after a long day...Venmo? No notifications from her friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Disappointment sinks into her at the sight of the untouched payment she made midway through the day while Zayn's hot friend was staring at her. Was she actually expecting him to send it back again just to talk to her? For fuck's sake, he's Spider-Man, he has a lot better to do with his time than text a random drunk girl he saved via Venmo payments.

The news report diverts her frowning face from her phone at the mention of the very stranger she was blindly hoping to hear from. Speak of the devil. Swinging from building to building, he appears on the screen the same as he did the last time she saw him. Though it's already written at the bottom of the screen in bold lettering as the headline, she listens in to hear everything said by the bottle-blonde news anchor.

"Good evening. Here we are watching footage from two hours ago of police putting culprits of the bank robbery heist into custody. Authorities are still uncertain of how the group managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded vault, however, Spider-Man showed up to save the day."

Her voiceover continues while the camera cuts to footage of him hanging from the roof of the bank with his feet planted on the wall, watching the thieves getting loaded into the backs of the police vehicles. And, just as fast as he appeared to help, he slips into the night and swings away to wherever it is he calls home.

There's a voice in the back of her head asking why she cares so much, why she's so curious about him, but she can't find it in herself to care. The guy has plenty of girls swooning over him anyway, so what's another one with a harmless crush gonna do? Either way, it turns her cheeks hot with embarrassment enough for her to pull the remote from between the couch cushions to click the red power button that turns off the television.

The exact moment the screen goes black, her phone goes off, and she's starting to get a little freaked out.

Upon reading the source of the notification, Y/N takes a few seconds of pause to sit back and stare off at the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment. It's as if he's haunting her. First, she noticed his Venmo payment at work. Then, he came on the news as soon as she came home, and now he's sent her the money back again. The banner at the top of her screen doesn't divulge who the payment is from, but it doesn't need to. There's only one person it could be from.

After debating whether or not the universe is torturing her over the mini crush she developed on a man she doesn't know, she opens it.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 I'm not letting you pay for that yourself.

Across the city, Harry is sprawled out on his bed with his suit still clinging to his skin and the bedroom door locked (just in case) to keep Anne out. His typically well-kept head of hair is damp with sweat and tousled from being trapped beneath spandex for the better part of three hours. With his phone clasped in one hand, he uses the other to brush it out of his face and allow him to see his Instagram feed better as he scrolls through it.

He's not the type to post much on social media. His account, which he's thankful is named @harrystyles so the girl with his Venmo cannot find his true identity, has pictures uploaded every four or so months. He doesn't follow anything but his aunt's and close friends' accounts either, so his timeline is flooded with things he actually cares about, not mindless drivel. One account he does follow that isn't someone he knows is an updates account called @spideyupdates which he found a few months ago out of morbid curiosity.

It's odd to think that he has fans, especially since they're not fans of him as a person, but rather fans of the persona he takes on whenever he dons the mask. Some of them are rude despite claiming to like him, some are overly protective, yet he finds that most are sweet. He doesn't really know why he follows it, though, it's a little weird.

The most recent post from them was uploaded a half hour ago detailing the robbery he halted this afternoon. He's about to finish reading it when his phone buzzes with a new Venmo notification.

y/n paid you +£45 take it back bug boy 🕷

She leaves the app open this time in anticipation of his response.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 🖕

For the next few minutes, she and Harry go back and forth in a neverending fight with the final objective of getting the other to break and take the money. The message section of the payments is either filled with joking threats or nothing but the middle finger or spider emoji used as taunts, and he isn't quite sure why he's engaging with her by the time she stops and sends a normal message.

As soon as he heard her soft voice speaking to him from where she sat with her knees hugged to her chest, he felt himself surrender a little. As crazy as it'd sound to say, he knew when they met that he felt a sort of gravitational pull to her.

He isn't sure what to make of it. He hasn't had a crush on anyone since being turned into this, so he doesn't know if this is how attraction feels now. The Spider-Man side of life keeps him so busy, he hardly has time for the Harry Styles part. He hasn't gotten laid in a year. There's no time.

y/n paid you +£45 thought i saw you limping in the video they took on the news. are u okay?

Y/N leans against the kitchen counter with anxious delight swirling in the pit of her stomach once she hits the button to send the same forty-five dollars back to him. The spoon she's using to shovel mouthfuls of yogurt into her mouth dangles from her lips and threatens to slip out to crack her phone screen at any minute. Her original intention was to fetch a yogurt from the fridge to eat on the couch, but her internal struggle about choosing whether or not to start a regular conversation with him made her stop where she is.

The message she sent would probably make Harry ghost her if he hadn't seen firsthand how genuine her disposition is. Rather than asking it to probe for information about the man behind the mask the way others would, she's asking because she cares about people. Because she cares about him.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 I'll survive. I just twisted up my ankle a bit. Don't worry about it, sweetheart.

Looking down at his right ankle, he rolls the foot around to test out how painful it is when he moves the joint. Thanks to the rapid rate at which he heals since the spider bite, there's none.

The day he was bitten has turned blurry in his memory but he remembers enough. It was after his desire to discover more about his late father was reignited by finding some of his old belongings in the attic. He never saw his mom or dad again after they left him with his Aunt Anne and Uncle Rob. But finding his things in the attic awakened a part of him he hadn't known was there and sent him scrambling to follow the clues of the top secret Syco Industries folder left behind from when he used to work there.

His phone pings with a new notification a half minute after he sent the last payment, but his mind doesn't stray from the memory just yet. It holds him hostage.

He hangs on, recalling how he stumbled into the intricate web behind him and shook what must have been dozens of the altered spiders onto him. He swept them of off his clothes, ripped them out of his hair, and fled from the room with the paranoia of the arachnids crawling around on him still.

From then on, the rest is history.

The seconds blend into minutes of Harry staring off into nothing before he remembers he hasn't answered her message yet.

y/n paid you +£45 who said you can call me that? i'll have you know i can be very un-sweet at times.

His lips upturn into a grin that makes his dimples appear. If she were able to see him smiling like this, she'd probably go weak in the knees.

When her phone buzzes on the coffee table after six long minutes of going unanswered, she lets out a soft, inhuman-sounding shriek and fumbles for it with one hand while the other wipes her makeup off. Her empty yogurt container is long gone now. She sits crisscrossed on the couch with her head down to read his message. It warms her heart that he answered. She was starting to think he got bored of interacting with her and left like the girls did at the bar last night.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 Then stop calling me bug boy.

Her response is immediate.

y/n paid you +£45 absolutely not. you are, in fact, a bug and a boy.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 **Bug MAN

The apartment living room is overtaken by her giggling with her head tipped back on the back of the couch and the TV continuing the next loop of the bank robbery news in the background. In her peripheral vision, she can catch the swift movement of him swinging through the city not long ago.

y/n paid you +£45 you do realize i'm never letting you win this one, right...bug boy?

And he can see it in his mind, how she must look right now. He imagines her curled up in bed with a fluffy blanket engulfing her while the phone screen illuminates her prepossessing features. Those nude varnished nails he saw when her hand was clutched in his must elicit a soft clicking sound whenever she types him a new message.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.

Y/N smiles down at her phone. God, the pet name! She's about to respond again when the sound of the front door unlocking prompts her to click her phone off and drop it onto the couch, trying to appear as casual as she can when her dad walks in.

He appears to her as he always does: detached, tired, and willingly overworked to a degree of numbness that has stolen away his previously vibrant personality. With his briefcase clutched in one hand and his tie undone around his neck, he walks past her into the kitchen without a word spared in her direction. The smile that she made in response to Harry's message, which then shifted into a smile existing from the excitement of getting to see her father tonight, disappears.

A ghost. That's all she is anymore.

Y/N endures another three minutes of waiting for him to acknowledge her existence and staring ahead at the news broadcast playing before she's had enough. It takes three minutes of him fixing himself a quick dinner for her to stand and pad her way over to the kitchen to force him to see her. Her arms cross over her chest as she leans against the counter, watching him.

After a beat of silence, she asks, "How was work?"

His work doesn't interest her in any capacity. He isn't allowed to tell her the interesting details seeing as they are classified as top secret by those in charge, so he only tells her insignificant details about paperwork or butting heads with coworkers over disagreements in their experiments. But she also knows that it's what matters most to him, so he's more likely to engage if this is the topic.

As to hibernate in his room as soon as possible, his post-work dinner consists of a questionable frozen meal that's been sitting in a box in the bottom of the freezer for the past month or so. Since his back is turned to allow him to poke at the microwave buttons, she scrunches up her nose at the "meatloaf" sitting in its plastic container with flakes of ice coating it in a thin layer.

"Work was work," he says flatly.

Wow, what riveting detail! Part of her wants to quip something along the lines of, "Thanks for such an enthusiastic contribution to the conversation, sperm donor," but what ends up happening falls far short.

She presses her lips together in firm restraint, wishing she hadn't bothered, but now that she's already trying to pull something other than the usual monotonous tone and neglect from him, she switches topics. Perhaps a bit of current events will wake him up.

"What about that Spider-Man?" she asks with butterflies in her stomach at the thought of her mini-crush on the stranger. Well, she supposes they qualify as friendly acquaintances now. "It's kind of amazing what he does. He singlehandedly stopped that bank heist. It was all over the news. He seems like a really nice guy."

His posture, which had been slumped from a twelve-hour long day of experiments, mathematics, genetics research, or whatever the fuck it is he does at Syco that she cannot pretend to understand, turns rigid. As soon as the web-slinging hero was mentioned, one would think a bucket of ice water was thrown over him. He turns around to face her suddenly enough for her to hold herself back from retreating a step in reaction.

"He's not nice, he's a pest that can't mind his own business and let the police do their jobs. We think he—"

He stops short, catching himself as his passionate tirade against Spider-Man starts drifting into a territory he didn't intend it to, at least not consciously. It makes her brows furrow, her forehead creasing with an expression that is equal parts confusion and suspicion. Not suspicion against her new friend, either, but against her dad.

"What do you mean "we"? What do you think he did?"

For an extended second, their eyes are locked in an intense gaze he can't escape, then the beeping of the microwave sounds off as his conveniently-timed savior to her mild interrogation. He turns to retrieve the hot container from it and reaches behind her to swipe his fork from the counter with a scoff. As if she's overstepping for even wanting to know.

"You got class tomorrow, right? Try to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. I don't wanna hear you walking around at three AM, alright? I'm gonna go get some sleep," he says as though nothing else happened before this.

She can't do anything except stand there in silent shock at his refusal to engage with her further on the topic. It almost makes her feel crazy to see him leaving for his room after that. That did really happen, right? He actually said that cryptic thing about her new friend. It wasn't another product of her fanciful mind...right?

Harry, after watching his phone for a ridiculous amount of time for her response, stepped away to toss his suit in the washer while Anne slept and showered off the mixture of sweat and grime off of him from the day. Though he got a glowing review of how he smelled from Y/N last night, if he's been genuinely exerting himself in the suit all day, it gets gross.

He flops face-first back onto his bed with damp hair and a towel slung around his hips when he finally returns from his shower. Surely, she would've responded by now, he thought mid-washing his hair. However, his notifications are empty, and he doesn't know why it disappoints him. The conversation did come to a natural conclusion, but he has a feeling he wouldn't have been satisfied no matter how long it continued.

-

The last thing Harry was expecting to open his phone to while he took a break on his midday patrol of the city, swinging onto the nearby roof where he stashed his backpack, was two missed calls from his best friend and five messages. At first, as the nature of his role as a vigilante conditions him to, he jumped to the worst-case scenario. His mind created images of his friend bleeding out in the street with a bullet through his chest, then jumped to a new scenario where one of his enemies somehow discovered his true identity and found his dearest friend to lure him in.

Once he opened the text thread, though, he sighed with an initial rush of relief, then let himself settle into an attitude of contemplation.

Zayn I need help

Zayn Like a huge favor

Zayn I hate to bring up that you said you owe me one so soon, but my mum just went to the hospital. She got into a car accident. She's okay, but she has a concussion and I need to go see her. She'll need a ride home.

Zayn Here's where the favor part comes in... Zayn Remember how I promised Y/N I'd go to that pottery thing with her today at five?

That is how Harry ended up here: waiting outside of said pottery class at 4:56 pm with a pair of sunglasses on to conceal his bruised eye from last night's scrap with the bank robbers. His response was immediate as soon as he glanced up at the time to see it was a mere half hour until he had to be there. He didn't even formally agree. In such a rush to fill in for Zayn and not be the shittiest friend in the universe, he was frantically stripping off his skin-tight suit and changing into his street clothes while yelling at Siri to ask for the address.

Is it weird of him to not want to be here? Despite his crush on her and his wish for the Venmo messages to never end, this feels different. Fantasizing about her was one thing, but what if they got along? What if they ended up having a genuine connection and—Oh my God, she's right there.

"Harry?"

Y/N approaches with confusion written across her face.

With the sun, or, the bit of light that manages to escape from the heavy cover of moody clouds overhead, haloing her, she looks like a dream to him. He prefers this version of her to both he's met thus far—the dolled-up party girl and the bakery worker he saw from across the room yesterday. It's clear to tell that this is her. This is her when she's planned on going out with someone she feels at ease with. The clothes are comfortable yet chic, and he wants to taste the mulberry-hued lip gloss off her cute mouth.

That last thought has him scolding himself. What is wrong with him? He should be explaining himself right now rather than gazing longingly at her lips from behind the shades of his sunglasses. He promised himself this would never happen again after what he went through before...

He pushes off the wall and steps up closer to her in acknowledgment of her noticing him, saying, "Um, did Zayn tell you?"

Based on her face, it is evident that he didn't.

"His mum's in hospital," he says, then rushes to clarify the severity, or lack thereof, of the situation when she gasps, "Not like that! S'not bad. Well, it is bad that it happened at all but the car accident wasn't that bad. Just a minor concussion and some bruises. She's getting discharged soon and he asked me to come with you. I hope that's okay."

"Oh..."

It's not that she's upset. She isn't. After all, Harry seemed nice enough at the bakery and it doesn't hurt that all of Zayn's friends are unrealistically gorgeous—like come on, how does her friend know so many hot dudes?—but she had this vision of what the afternoon would be and this isn't it. So it isn't the feeling of being upset, it's the one of being mildly disappointed.

Nevertheless, she tries to hide it.

Bless her, he thinks as he sees her utter failure at trying to conceal her true feelings. He can see why his friend spends so much time with her. Now that they're interacting as much as they did in the alleyway, this time sober and with him as himself instead of his alter ego, he can sense how sweet she is without the biases of being the one to save her life swaying her treatment of him.

In her surprised quiet, he searches for something to say to make it right.

"We can skip it if you're not comfortable. I won't take it personally—"

"No!" she exclaims, then realizes her volume and tones it down several notches to continue with a reassuring tone, "I've honestly been meaning to find myself a new hobby and it took forever to get into this class, so, I'd love to do this with you...unless you don't want to? If that was your polite way of trying to let me down easy and get back to whatever you were doing, then it's okay, I swear. I know pottery might be boring to some people."

As if he's gonna ditch her and let Zayn down in his time of need. No way. Never happening. Crime, as well as his studying, can wait an hour or two. Not to mention...she needs him too. However much he pretends it isn't about her, a small part of him can't stand the thought of letting her down either.

He shakes his head.

"I love pottery."

-

It is clear based on the misshapen wet lump of clay spinning on the potter's wheel in front of him that he has never done this before. Despite claiming to love pottery, which she, naturally, took as him having experience with it, she doesn't need him to take the sunglasses off to know he likely looks like a lost puppy at the moment, eyes wide and searching.

The woman at the front of the room doesn't give anything but encouragement whenever she makes her rounds around the room, but this time, when she stops in front of their table, her brows raise halfway up her forehead before she can mask her reaction.

"Wow!" she says, then peeks at the name tag sticker on his shirt before taking another glance at his vaguely bowl-shaped clay lump, "Harry, that's...creative! Very creative."

It's a beginner's class, a one-off most people never return to, so she isn't going to be critical of the people here. Most of them are grandmas who got a free class for Christmas, and Harry sure as hell isn't intent on coming back, so he's thankful she isn't embarrassing him in front of the old ladies who have grown quite fond of him since the class started. They like his tattoos. One of them said he looks like a "hunky sailor". Whatever that means.

It's actually infuriating if she thinks about it too long. He's so likable and charming, enough that when he screws up his pottery into an unrecognizable mess, he still has several old ladies stationed around them turning around and complimenting his "bowl".

When Barbara, the instructor, walks away, she has to press her lips together in restraint as she turns to look at him and his creation. The look on her face has him shaking his head with a smirk growing on his face.

"Quit laughing," he says under his breath so as to not interrupt whatever Barbara is telling everyone to do now.

Even if she weren't looking at him, she'd hear the smile in his voice, and it does nothing to prevent her stifled giggles from escaping. The clay spins on its own and becomes more deformed as the seconds pass, and it takes every bit of self-control for her not to burst out into cackling laughter. It takes her back to being in grade school, being in a class with her best friends seated next to her while they tried not to laugh.

"I'm not laughing, I'm just, uh," another giggle escapes and she has to slap a hand over her mouth, "I'm in such awe of your work that I can't help myself—"

Whatever it is she wants to say is cut off by the full-on, obnoxious laughter she wanted to let out as soon as Barbara left, and he can't help but join when she shoots them both a look of warning at the sound.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her fight against her laughter and force her face back to its resting expression to no avail. It's moments like these that startle him, making him wonder why he feels so drawn to her. Nevertheless, he resists it. He doesn't even entertain the thoughts shooting around in his head. It doesn't matter, he reasons, she probably has a boyfriend. Her texts from the night they met made that clear. Plus, she's better off anyway. Being around him can only put her in danger.

Though he's laughing, she can tell it's not fully there. It's buried beneath a sense of sadness or something that distracts him from staying in the moment. She likes to think she's a very perceptive person, and she can tell he's thinking about something else. The laughter dies down into silence. She can tell there's something haunting him, something she triggered.

Suddenly, the giddy moment turns sour.

There's a pause, then—

She leans a little closer and asks softly, "Are you okay? You spaced out for a second there..."

In all honesty, Harry is a weird guy. He's wearing sunglasses inside on a cloudy day, he doesn't offer up much information about himself, he's astoundingly terrible at pottery, and that's all stuff she can take in stride. But she can't allow herself to ignore the voice inside of her that urges to look after other people. It's hardwired in her to do so. When she noticed his mood take an abrupt nosedive, she reached to place her hand on his shoulder and ask if he was okay without thought.

One would think her touch burned him with how he pulls his arm away. A second of tense silence passes, then his face softens as he sees the initial flash of hurt on her face. In his defense, they aren't close enough to have the Uncle Leo conversation yet, even if he includes the conversations they've had without her realizing he's Spider-Man.

One moment, they were laughing and having fun, then next, he had visions of her dead on the sidewalk with blood oozing from her chest. What if he falls for her, then she suffers the same fate? What if he can't save her like he couldn't save him? He doesn't know if he couldn't bear it.

Harry says, "Yeah, m'fine. I didn't sleep much last night. I'm sorry."

She nods, and they're so engrossed in each other that they don't notice Barbara wrapping up the class and instructing everyone to bring their bowls to dry.

Her gaze flickers over his handsome features, noting the little things about him that she hadn't taken the time to when they first met. The sunglasses conceal the seafoam shade of his eyes that she remembers fondly from yesterday, but they don't stop her from appreciating the rest of him. In a strange way, he seems familiar to her beyond their short interaction at the bakery.

"Can I say something that might sound weird?" she asks.

He watches her search his face with his breath hitched in the back of his throat, then nods.

"I feel like I've met you before." At the (forced) confused expression he makes, she elaborates, "I mean, before yesterday. You're so familiar—"

Thankfully for Harry, who is about three seconds from becoming nauseous with anxiety, the new direction their conversation has taken is disrupted by Barbara walking up behind them. She braces a hand on the edge of the table to glance at Y/N's bowl. The contrast of hers next to Harry's is downright embarrassing. It turns his cheeks a bright red to see her face as she debates how to acknowledge it.

It's not even bowl-shaped anymore after he let it spin on the table for a minute straight while they shared a moment. One side has collapsed in on itself, the other protruding out in a point. Both she and Y/N can't help but wonder how he managed to make it look like that, but they bite their tongues.

"That was a wonderful effort, Harry. I'm sure if you keep at it, you'll get better," the older woman says.

To himself, he thinks, That just sounds like you want me to keep paying for more classes, but okay.

She and Y/N talk to each other about the class, the former asking her how she has such natural ability for a beginner, and he pretends not to love how she looks when she blushes at the compliment and looks away. Her masterfully crafted bowl is swept away to dry on a rack for her to return and finish it in a week—a genius way to get people to continue their classes if he's to say so himself—while his sits on the stationary potter's wheel in its deformed glory.

Both women pause after they come back from the drying rack, but Y/N is the first to speak upon seeing the shy, near-embarrassed look on his face at the sudden attention on his failure. Her throat bobs with a thick swallow, as though she's working up the nerve to ask something that may overstep boundaries.

"Would it be okay if we stayed a little longer so I can help him finish his? I'll pay extra for taking up more time if you want me to," she says.

Barbara opens her mouth to respond without a second to spare, then hesitates. Her gaze bounces from her to him, then the bowl in front of him, and after a long ten or so seconds, her lips curve into a hint of a smile.

"I have to switch some of last week's pieces from the drying rack to the kiln, you can stay until I come back. But once I need to clean up in here, you guys have to leave, okay?"

-

With Y/N helping, it seems a lot simpler than he previously thought.

He sits in front of the wheel with fresh clay so generously given to him by Barbara before she disappeared to work on the other pottery pieces from another class, this time with a little less confusion.

Harry is a person of many talents, most of which come naturally to him and are aided by his unwavering work ethic, so it isn't often that he's this bad at something. On his first bowl, it was disappointing. On this one, he actually enjoys the process. Her stool is pushed close to his. Their knees knock with any slight movement made, and considering that he's moving his hands and arms constantly, their legs might as well be glued together.

Little does he know, it steals her breath away too. How could it not? He may not be her web-slinging crush, and they just met, but the girl has eyes after all. His face is as carefully sculpted as the advanced pottery pieces sitting on the drying rack behind them. She tends to get lost when her eyes roam up from his hands to steal a glance at the prominent edge of his jaw or the curve of his rosy lips at the Cupid's bow.

That's another thing: his hands.

Having to focus on them in order to guide him through the motions of forming the bowl is one thing, but when he doesn't understand her critique and she's forced to reach out to help him, it approaches on unbearable. The number of unspeakable things coming to mind...

The clay slathered on his hands wets her palms and fingers as they mold overtop them to physically show him what she's saying to do. Her touch glides over the cross inked beside his thumb. Their eyes are fixed in stares at the work they're doing rather than each other, both not wanting to look at each other in fear of amping up the tension even more.

"So," his voice is a deep hum, their shoulders pressed together as he demonstrates what she showed him to save this bowl from succumbing to the fate of the first, "Like this?"

This time, before she can stop herself, she turns her head to see his face with an encouraging smile, but when she does it, he's much nearer than she thought he'd be. The full impact of making eye contact with him is hindered by his sunglasses, but she can feel him looking. He also turned his head when he asked her the question, so their faces are one wrong move away from their lips brushing.

For an instant, she wonders about doing it, about leaning across the limited space and satisfying the curious side of her that has wondered how his lips taste since he first spoke to her. Though outwardly quiet and mildly intimidating, she imagines he's a gentle kisser, the type to stroke her cheek with his thumb or soothe the nip of his teeth tugging her bottom lip with a soft peck as an apology.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, and, for a second, she thinks he's thinking about it too before the sound of Barbara coming back to the room makes them jolt out of their trance.

"How'd it go?"

She asks the question with her back turned to them, already picking up the supplies stored in the cabinet to further clean the workstations, and Y/N takes the opportunity to slip off of her stool to clean off her hands in the sink. Coincidentally, she picks the sink farthest from him.

"Good," she answers a little too fast, "Look at it, he's practically a pro."

"Pro is a bit of an exaggeration, sweetheart."

The nickname has her head whipping around to look at him over her shoulders as her hands sit beneath the stream of running water. It strikes yet another chord of familiarity within her, this one relating to the fact that Spider-Man likes to tease her with the same nickname. It's not like it means anything, people use it all the time, but it catches her attention all the same.

Harry doesn't make the same connection.

He stares back at her from where he stands with his body leaning against the table. His bowl is now placed amongst the others on the drying rack, right next to hers. His hands, covered in the muddy color of wet clay, stain his black skinny jeans as he lets his arms hang at his sides. He doesn't care, though. He just smirks at her from across the room, then makes his way over to her sink to wash his hands too.

Once again, they're shoulder to shoulder. Barbara being in the room forces them to remain silent, and he can't help but wonder what they'd talk about if she weren't here. Would she flirt with him? He can't help but wonder, even if he knows he shouldn't. There's something about her that makes his brain turn stupid in the heat of the moment. When his spidey sense picked up how rapidly her heart began beating in the seconds before Barbara interrupted them, all of his apprehension shifted to impulsivity. After all, he's a nineteen-year-old guy, and if a girl he's been crushing on since they met looks at him like that, there isn't much to hold him back.

She leaves the sink as soon as she can. Her cheeks still burn from the almost kiss, specifically the knowing smirk he gave her after it. Even as minutes pass in the time it takes her to gather her things and wipe down their area, it doesn't subside.

It isn't until she's following Barbara out the door that she turns back at the sound of the drying rack rattling, followed by a string of curses and a strange thwip! sound, to see him. Based on the frustration of him cursing under his breath, as well as the rattling rack, her chest tightened with anxiety and she prepared herself to see the pottery pieces on the floor, yet she doesn't.

Instead, she sees Harry standing there with his flannel sleeves rolled back down and his backpack slung over one shoulder. Not a single strand of hair is out of place, no sign of what sounded like a struggle when her back was turned. He flashes her an awkward smile and shrugs.

"I dropped my backpack."

She returns the smile and offers a sweet, "Well, come on then," before turning to leave the room.

Harry tips his head back on his shoulders and lets out a heavy sigh of relief as soon as she's out of sight. Barely hidden behind his back, a fully dried vase dangles from the ceiling by a web he shot out at the last second to save it from breaking on the tiled floor. Thank God he snuck his web shooters back onto his wrists after washing his hands.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #one direction fanfiction #fanfiction #spiderman!h

[love-beyond-space-war]

Hello! i'd like to request an Emile x F!Reader. Where they had both been in Alpha Company as kids but got separated right before everything went south. Him going off on one mission then her on another, but they reunite on reach when she takes the place of noble 6? But instead of them nothing being trapped on reach when it gets glassed they're able to escape with Cortana?

Oh I love this idea 🥺 I'll see what I can do for it!

Survivors

Emile-A239 x Female! Reader

Synopsis: Emile had always known Carter, Jun, and Thom in Alpha Company. Yet back then he also knew a young girl who was a cadet like him. After graduation he thinks he'll never see her again. Turns out... that changes when NOBLE needs a new member.

Content Warnings: Romantic Pairing, Female Reader/Male Character pairing, Halo Reach AU where Emile and Noble 6! Reader do not die, Canon typical violence, Mass death/family death mention, Spoilers for Halo Reach, Jun is still alive he's just not around, Swearing.

Emile had considered you a comrade when you were in Alpha Company. It was you, Emile, Carter, Jun, and Thom along with many others in training. Despite having such comrades, Emile still only ever craved vengeance for what happened to his previous family.

The Covenant killed them all.

Even though Emile only ever trained with revenge and murder on his mind when he was very young, you still came up to him with a friendly tone. You, like some many other Spartans, had your family wiped out by the alien threat. Despite such a blow it looked like you were able to keep your head up. You were quite the hopeful young girl.

You always greeted Emile with a smile. Even during harsh training you still tried to keep your team's spirit up. Call it childish but ever since the age of ten he managed to develop a crush on you. You two were a great team, only made better when Carter, Jun, and Thom aided you.

Unfortunately romantic relations, especially at such a young age, is frowned upon in the UNSC. This lead to Emile hiding such thoughts that managed to slip past his conditioning. He hid them right up until his graduation at age 13.

After his graduation you two were sent your separate ways. It hurt to know he may never see you again. You're sent to two different teams, two different missions...

Emile deep down feared you'd perish, but he had a goal to reach.

Despite such a fear he pushed away his irrational feelings of puppy love. He managed to make his way onto NOBLE team with Carter, Thom, and Jun. He even met Jorge and Kat. Emile still thought of you from time to time but he bet you were fulfilling your own goals.

You were probably keeping your team happy too... he almost envies it.

It isn't until after the Battle of Fumirole and loss of Thom that Emile sees a new member of NOBLE. It's hard for everyone to lose Thom, even Emile struggles but keeps looking forward to making the Covenant pay. Yet a new NOBLE 6 must be picked.

Emile was never expecting it to be you.

The only people who didn't recognize you were Jorge and Kat. Yet they could tell from how the other three acted that you were someone they could trust. Carter greeted you as a leader and a friend. Jun teased you and asked how your other missions went. Emile waved but could only watch in stunned silence as you asked Carter about Thom.

You had your own customized armor. You still held yourself well and didn't look like you cracked under pressure. You even managed to lighten the mood when things seemed tense. He could tell even Kat and Jorge noticed the way you improved the team already.

Despite such happy behavior, Emile knew you were still just as vulnerable as anyone else. You may encourage those around you... but deep down you have your own fears. You didn't like being alone... you hated the idea of losing soldiers.

Even after you met with your new team you gravitated towards Emile, he could tell the news of Thom settled in after the introductions.

"I'm so sorry about Thom..." You say softly, your tone quiet as you speak with Emile. "He made s great sacrifice out there."

"Soldiers die." Emile mutters to himself, he's seen it many times before. Spartans were often just meant to fulfill a purpose and that's it. "... but I'm glad you're here."

"How long has it been?" You ask, referring to your time at Alpha Company.

"Long time now. Not really that important. All that matters is the mission and stopping the threat, yeah?" Emile hums towards you, signaling that it was time to move.

"I guess you're right." You answer, waving towards Emile before following Carter.

"You'll do great out here... Noble 6." Emile manages to say before following his squad.

It felt just like old times. Fighting beside you reminded him of Alpha Company, when you were all just little kids. Little kids groomed for war... a bitter thought, but a necessary evil.

You weren't some little girl now, you're now a grown woman while he is a grown man. Both nearing your 30's and trained killing machines, he didn't realize how much he missed you until now. Even now you still seemed like yourself despite seeing the horrors of alien combat.

Although he was keen enough to notice the times where you appear more dulled than usual... that happiness from when you were little now seems more forced. He can't blame you. It must be taxing.

The whole thing is for him.

He will admit having you on the team made things easier. You got the job done, you're always careful, and you always look out for your team. You're a great soldier.

He tries to suffocate the feelings within him.

All he should think of is the mission. All he should think about is revenge for his family and all of humanity. That's all that matters. Everything else is second.

However, as Emile lost comrades left and right, he worried for you. Each time one of them was lost you seemed to dull. You still tried to encourage those around you, most of the time it was him even when he didn't need it, but he could tell you were growing hopeless. You didn't like the loss.

Your biggest fear was coming true.

By the time Carter sacrificed himself to take down the Scarab tank, Emile could tell your whole demeanor changed. You didn't bother even acting happy anymore. You looked broken down... yet he could see you were still determined to deliver the package to Keyes.

Emile promised himself he'd protect you until the package was secured. He tried not to think of you as he used the MAC gun to take down incoming Phantoms. You could handle the enemy down below, he'd handle the enemy in the sky. He didn't stop clearing the sky until he heard you on his through his helmet.

"Package secure."

"I've got your back."

"No, you're coming with me, Emile."

"We won't make it."

"Bullshit we won't."

It's then he sees you signal for Keyes to stop before rushing towards him. Emile slides out of the MAC gun but prepares to fight when Elite Zealots make their move in him. He thinks he'll die here for you and wishes you just left.

Instead he's met with the spray of gunfire and you pulling him along. He can tell you're determined as you make sure the Elite threat is dead before ushering him onto the Pelican with Keyes. For now, the sky is clear, clear enough for Pillar of Autumn to take off along with the Pelican.

It's then the Pelican heads for the Pillar of Autumn with you and Emile on it. The air is tense around you but Emile can tell you seem relieved. He's thankful you cared for him... even if it was against the mission.

Emile knows why you saved him. Even with the visor on he can tell. You went against orders for one reason and one reason alone.

You don't want to be alone...

- AFTERMATH -

Until you could be moved to somewhere else, Keyes had said you two were going to be put into Cryo sleep. It wasn't right away however, so you both had time to recollect yourselves. Emile admittedly couldn't stop staring when your helmet was off.

"Risky call to save me back there." Emile comments and you look over at him. He winces when he sees the look in your eyes.

"Was I supposed to just let you die like all the rest?" You say softly, sadness in your tone. "You're... we're lucky to even be alive right now to keep fighting."

"All thanks to you." Emile admits. "... thank you."

"It's no problem, it's what we're supposed to do."

Silence overcomes both of you as you contemplate the future. Supposedly Jun had gotten out okay so you both wonder if you'll see him again. Emile is the one to break the silence and your train of thought.

"You look really pretty without the helmet." Emile comments and you turn to him with a flustered yet confused expression.

"Emile...?"

"Look, can I be honest?" Emile asks, leaning back on the wall.

"Sure."

"I've had a thing for you since Alpha Company." Emile admits. "Thought I should at least get it out there now...."

"Poor timing." You sigh but smile at him. "Yet I guess I've felt similarly."

"Really now?" Emile asks.

"Yes, but of course, can't really express such a thing with war raging on." You sigh softly. "I'm... just happy I never lost you."

Emile shoves himself off the wall to walk closer to you. He grabs your attention and pats your back roughly. It's friendly and innocent, an attempt to keep your hopes up.

"Again, all thanks to you. I owe you for that."

"You don't owe me anything." You smile softly, kissing his cheek/visor softly. "I'm fine just knowing we both care for each other."

"Always have, always will." Emile promises. "Now, shouldn't we prepare for Cryo sleep as the Captain said?"

"Yes, Emile." You agree, putting your helmet back on. You then adjust your helmet's comms before speaking again. "This a secure channel?"

"Yes?" Emile answers, confused.

"I love you." You say softly and Emile feels his face heat.

"You too...." Emile replies back before reporting back to Keyes with you on the Pillar of Autumn.

#halo x reader #halo reach x reader #emile x reader #emile-A239 x reader #x female reader #female reader

[rogue205]

Unpopular Opinion Rant

I’m still in my Teen Wolf phase and re-watching the show. 

Holy. Hell. I can’t stand Scott. I hate how much of a hypocritical, seeing in straight black and white with no grey, thinks-he’s-got-the-moral-high-ground, self-serving, egotistical prick he really is. He constantly whines about being a werewolf but happily uses his new abilities to become better at lacrosse, increase his popularity, and basically betray Stiles’ friendship because he got better than him. Maybe it’s just me but I really don’t see anywhere in his attitude that warrants him being labeled a “True Alpha”.  I guess it’s all about “willpower and strength of character” but the show implies that one only achieves this level by being good and Scott is not as good and right as he thinks he is. 

Also what gets me a lot is the ending of both season one and season two. (3-6 don’t exist for me, especially the whole Jackson/Ethan thing. Seriously? Ethan? No. Why not Danny or anyone else?! I also hated the whole turning Jackson into a Kanima/Wolf hybrid. He is NOT a damn hybrid! Once he completed his transformation at the end of Season 2, he became a WEREWOLF!!!)

First, yes, I get that the writers wanted to depict Peter as a psychotic bad guy but maaaaaaaybe don’t have him go through a hugely traumatic event where he saw near his entire family burn to death, something he himself also barely survived. He also went feral because of broken pack bonds and the fact that his new Alpha just abandoned him to die. So all that, and the “morally superior good guys” decide the only way to stop him was to set him on fire. Again. Explain to me how that makes them better? Because they pretty much set a burn trauma survivor on fire again and didn’t care. 

Second, I hate Scott’s actions regarding Gerard Argent and the fact that he forced Derek to bite the bastard against his will. Sure, he had a plan but did he actually tell it to anybody? Hmmmm. It seems he does that a lot. Scott also didn’t seem to give a damn that Gerard had all but tortured Stiles, a person who was supposed to be his best friend but who cares about that as long as Scott gets what he wants and people do what he wants. That last part was never mentioned in the show anyway so I guess... 🤷‍♀️. 

I know Scott was also one of the few who wanted to save Jackson as opposed to killing him, but let us not forget Peter helped to save him too, even if it is unclear here whether he had an ulterior motive for it. (It’s really too bad that Colton Haynes left after this season because I am completely convinced that Jackson would have been revealed as Peter’s son given all the buildup thus far. But it’s very likely that the writers would have eventually reduced Jackson to a prop to hold up Scott as well eventually so maybe Colton actually did himself a favour.)

Back to Peter, I know many will disagree with me on this, but I like him. Peter is what one would call a “chaotic neutral” and Ian Bohen’s acting is just so incredible, he makes it very hard to hate this guy even when he’s being a snarky smartass. (Or is that he’s so good that he makes you hate the character like you’re supposed to? In that case, he failed with me). Yes, he killed his niece, but it’s also heavily implied that he wasn’t all there mentally during that part because of all the trauma, the psychological damage of being trapped in his body for six years, and the fact that Laura abandoned him, as mentioned before plus wasn’t Jennifer manipulating him? Do NOT even get me started on how unbelievable the whole “Peter willingly working with Kate” thing is. Seriously, if season one was any indication, he should’ve immediately tried to kill her again once he realized she was still alive. 

Another thing that irks me is Derek and the pack’s constant need to hold everything over Peter’s head when it was actually Derek who gave Kate everything she needed to wipe out his family. But Derek gets all the slack for that instead. I don’t hate Derek at all but come on! 

This leads me to my final point of the rant and that is the writers reducing the Hales to props to try and keep Scott credible as an Alpha and nothing more, even dismantling the Hale pack entirely at one point. Yes, Derek does it to save Cora but they officially wiped out a powerful, centuries old werewolf pack just like that. Only way I’ll get over this is if they eventually give the Hales a spin-off much like the Originals from the Vampire Diaries. I mean more young Peter? Hell yes!!!! Young Derek? Sure, I’m game! Actually showing Talia as a fleshed out character? 🙋‍♀️ Me!!! Also it may get me to like Laura as it would take her beyond this one-dimensional person that we know now. Who knows.

#anti scott mccall #Peter Hale #derek hale #teen wolf discourse #teen wolf #dont try and preach scotts virtues at me #if he has any #you will not change my mind #and i tagged this ANTI SCOTT anyway soooooo #My ranting #my opinion #i also really like Peter's character #dont bother attacking me for that too #your comment will be ignored and deleted #unless you can be civil #i still may not respond #my thoughts are above

[yakool-foolio]

Shinigami in the Silent Ward AU

At first, I wasn't planning to include Shinigami at all in this AU. But after some conceptualization in my head, I think I've got her role in the story down pat!

Shinigami isn't necessarily a character, but moreso an omnipotent force. While the megacorp's underground cult worships the god Amaterasu, Yuma prays to Shinigami in contrast. It's a practice he's performed ever since he heard the myth from fellow WDO members that the god of death watches over all detectives, giving them the strength and conviction to find the culprits they're searching for. The more a detective encounters death, the deeper their connection grows to Shinigami.

After the events of the Amaterasu Express Massacre, when a cult member disguised as one of the detectives set many of the drugged investigators aflame to protect his god from the plague of outsiders, the surviving Yuma exits the train with death clinging to him from all sides. That night, in the safety of the Furio home, Yuma prays to Shinigami once more, wishing for the strength he needs to see this mission through to the end. His cry for help does not go unheard. In his sleep, he's granted visions of an uncertain future, painted in unfamiliar colors. He doesn't know it yet, but in those moments, he's viewing the world through the eyes of a bedridden Makoto, weakened from losing half his spirit and using up all his power. And so, every night before he sleeps, Yuma prays, then gains visions of this mysterious man in his sleep in return, learning more and more about the cult as he does so. While the other detectives, including his own adoptive father Yakou, think Yuma is just having guilt-ridden dreams as a result of the massacre, one survivor knows better.

Vivia Twilight is all too familiar with the god of death Yuma prays to, for he worshipped her back when he was only a child. He wished for an escape from the cruel world he was trapped in under his abusive parents' roof. But the escape he was given wasn't the gentle cradle of death he had hoped for. Instead, he was cursed, plagued by unending visions of vengeful spirits and lost souls stuck in the mortal plane. They cried out for salvation, but Vivia could only listen. He endured the wails for his whole life, leading up to this point in time where Yuma claims he's been given a gift by Shinigami. Deep down, a burning rage sleeps within Vivia. But he keeps quiet, opting to observe Yuma and wait for the right moment to arrive. The moment when Vivia can tear down Yuma's beliefs and make him see what he sees, even if the only way to truly understand is for Yuma to die.

#shinigami is a bit of an asshole for this au #her thought process with vivia was #'hm lets make this child appreciate his life by forcing him to see ghosts for the rest of his life so he wont want to end up like them' #and it kinda worked but also backfired cause now vivia hates her and anyone who prays to her #yuma got real fuckin lucky that she likes him because hes supernatural and has ties to the cult of amaterasu #cause shinigami wants him to destroy the cult from the inside out #amaterasu and shinigami arent on good terms as gods ill say that much #silent ward au #master detective archives: rain code #rain code #rain code spoilers #yuma kokohead #vivia twilight #shinigami

[prompts4merlin]

15 +1 Merlin prompts to make up for my lack of posting lately. Free to use without asking, please link to final product if used because I love to read them.

1. Character A discovers a mysterious diary that seems to predict the future and must decide whether to trust its predictions or not.

2. Merlin, Arthur and the knights take a camping trip in the woods, but soon realize they are being hunted by a dangerous creature.

3. Arthur and his friends are survivors of a shipwreck and washes up on a seemingly deserted island and must find a way to survive and escape. They come across Merlin, who claims to live on the island but is the only one.

4. Character A is a government agent goes undercover to infiltrate a dangerous criminal organization. Character B is the only one suspicious of them and is the child of the head of the group.

5. Arthur and his family moves into a new home, but quickly discovers it is haunted by the spirits of its past residents, one of which is Merlin.

6. The group of coworkers, Merlin and the knights, along with their boss, Arthur, gets trapped in the office during a snowstorm and must work together to survive without escape, power, limited heat, and a low supply of food.

7. Merlin and group of strangers are mysteriously brought together on a deserted island, with no memory of how they got there. They must work together to figure out what happened to them and how to get off the island.

8. Modern jumanji-ish and free guy: Arthur gets a new vr game system and is hooked. While playing he comes across a strange Npc named Merlin who seems much more aware than a normal npc. When facing the final boss, Arthur is suddenly brought into the game at the very start. He must work together with Merlin, learning the supposed NPC was actually a boy like him who has been in the game for an uncertain amount of time. They must work together to beat the game and escape

9. Arthur is a detective and must solve a string of murders that all seem to be connected to popular urban legends. He must enlist the help of a local weirdo and outcast, Merlin to solve the mysteries. Now if only they could get along for five minutes.

10. Arthur accidentally sends a romantic text meant for his girlfriend to a random, leading to an awkward yet entertaining response. The texts between the two continue and Arthur finds himself drawn to this mystery person. Who would have thought they lived in the same city?

11. Arthur, a man who's never been in a serious relationship gets set up on a blind date with Merlin, a who's been burned by love a few too many times in the past.

12. A small group of people live in a desolate town, where once every week the town's clock tower chime at midnight, causing the town's inhabitants to experience a phenomenon where they switch body with another random person in the town for a whole day. Arthur or Merlin, who has never experienced the switch, starts to investigate the reason behind this strange occurrence and uncovers a dark secret about the town's past.

13. Merlin is forced to confront the darker side of his powers as he battles an ancient demon that threatens to destroy Camelot.

14. The group stumble upon an ancient artifact that grants them supernatural abilities, but at a high cost.

15. Arthur is called to investigate a series of bizarre deaths in a small town, only to discover that they are all connected to a cursed object that brings death to anyone who possesses it. The only problem is, the newest owner of the object, Merlin, seems unconcerned by the curse and refuses to give it up. When Arthur steals the object from Merlin he finds he has bitten iff more than he can chew. Now up against a deadly curse he can’t handle, Arthur must accept the help of Merlin to break the curse before it claims another victim.

16. After discovering Merlin’s magic and unfairly banishing the warlock, Arthur and the knights discovers a portal to another dimension, where they encounter their alternate selves of what would have happened had Merlin been the one to turn on Camelot instead of Morgana. With the help of their alternate selves, they must find a way home in fear of having triggered the same event with their impulsive reaction.

#bbc merlin #prompts4merlin #merlin prompt #writers of tumblr #fanfiction prompt #merlin #arthur pendragon

[progg]

Nihilism in the Succession Arc

I’ve written extensively about Togashi’s existentialism and how it permeates Hunter x Hunter’s story. However, in the Succession Arc, Togashi seems to be employing nihilist themes much more, likely to create an even greater distinction between the two philosophies.

Theta

Firstly, the idea that Theta is “trapped” is reiterated throughout the Tserriednich plot.

Salkov explains to Theta that she is the only one capable of stopping—or at least, slowing—Tserrednich’s rise to power. It’s actually Theta’s own competence, ironically, that locks her into this position. Like she says, it’s not fair: She doesn’t have a choice regarding her fate.

The idea of fairness is closely tied to nihilism in that a nihilist world can essentially be broken down into random, chaotic events. Things don’t happen for a reason—in fact, they specifically happen for no reason at all. It would seem that, thus far, there’s no special reason Theta in particular was forced into this quest. A quest which, even if she successfully completes, means death:

Alternatively, if she fails, an even worse fate awaits her:

If there is a meaning to Theta’s quest, it seems like something akin to divine punishment. But, as far as we know, Theta hasn’t done anything to deserve such a thing. To quote one of my favorite games, “is there no punishment greater than that for which we do not know the reason?” (Blasphemous)

Her entrapment is restated when she tells Tserriednich she knows Nen.

She has to do it. She has no choice. This contrasts starkly with the existentialism of previous arcs. I suspect, however, that this is all setup for a massive existentialist turn later on.

Keeney

Probably the most overt example of nihilism in this arc, Keeney chooses to take the fall for Kacho and Fugetsu’s escape by taking his own life.

Keeney’s last act is a desperate grasp for meaning. His wife and daughter died in an accident—in other words, a random event, and one he had no control over. There was no reason for them to die, and this weighs heavily on Keeney. As a consequence, he decides his death (and what remains of his life) will serve a greater purpose, helping to save “two wonderful girls” (a phrase that could also be used to refer to his own wife and daughter).

However, Keeney’s plan seems to fail miserably. He succeeds in taking the fall for the escape, but the escape itself is unsuccessful, and actually leads to Kacho’s death. Not only that, but it’s discovered the two princes were actually trapped the whole time. So we have a concrete representation of being trapped (the wall of hands outside the ship) and a metaphorical representation of being trapped (Theta and Keeney, among others).

The escape chapter, for me, is not only one of the best but also one of the darkest. Hunter x Hunter has never shied away from dark themes, but there always seemed to be light at the end of the tunnel. Chapter 383, however, is incredibly bleak, and while we can imagine the escape attempt eventually benefitting our protagonists, there’s no guarantee that it will.

Kurapika

When considering the nihilist themes of the Succession Arc, it would be a mistake to forget that nihilism is at the core of Kurapika’s character arc right now.

Kurapika believes that, after collecting the last of the Scarlet Eyes, his life will have no purpose. He is, of course, wrong, but he doesn’t realize that. Instead, he has trapped himself in a self-destructive cycle—one that punishes him for no reason other than his own angst and survivor’s guilt.

Conclusion

There are a few other characters I believe embody the philosophy of nihilism (i.e. Sandra, who makes the brave decision to stay by Woble’s side only to quickly meet her demise), as well as others who may in the future (i.e. Halkenburg). Togashi is setting up a contrast between nihilism and existentialism, which I believe will culminate in a massive existentialist turn at the end of the arc. In the case of Theta and Keeney, it’s easy to see how their actions may have a great influence on the later story. Theta could be the one who informs others on the nature of Tserriednich’s Nen ability, while the existence of Kacho’s Nen Beast and Melody’s detainment will have trickling effects.

The climax of this arc will likely involve Kurapika’s rejection of nihilism and acceptance of his future. Freed from his quest, he will no longer be “trapped”.

<source>

#meta #analysis #kurapika #theta #succession arc #hunter x hunter

[a-student-out-of-time]

I’m talking about Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571.

Ah yes, that story...

I haven’t heard that one.

It was a plane that took off from Uruguay on October 13, 1972, carrying 45 passengers and crew, including a rugby team that was due to play against a team in Santiago, Chile. But they never made it there.

The pilot made a critical error when crossing the Andes mountains, and by the time he realized they were too close to the cliffs, it was too late. The plane crashed, killing 12 passengers immediately and badly injuring several others, many of whom succumbed to their injuries days later.

That wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was that the survivors were trapped in the snow, over 3,500 meters up, with only the ruined plane for shelter. They tried to get the attention of some passing planes, but the wreckage blended into the snow.

They were stuck in the mountains for 72 days, and out of 45 people, only 16 made it back home.

Holy crap...how the hell did they manage that?

Pretty ingeniously, actually. They used things like the seat cushions to make snowshoes, pieces of shiny metal to melt snow into drinking water, made coats and blankets from wool seat covers. They even used rugby balls as toilets, since it was safer than going outside.

They also had a medical student with them, 19-year-old Roberto Canessa, who cared for the injured as best he could.

But...after 9 days, they ran out of food.

So, what? Did they have to go hunting?

No, at that altitude, there are no animals and no vegetation.

But the cold temperatures also meant the bodies of their fellow passengers were well-preserved.

...

It was not an easy decision for any of them. Not only were the dead all friends and family members, the survivors were all devout Christians, and many of them refused to eat for days, praying to God and asking for some kind of guidance.

But there was nothing else for them, and they knew if they waited too long, they wouldn’t have the strength to survive. They also all had other friends and family waiting for them back home, including children.

And many of them asked, if they’d been the ones to die instead, wouldn’t they have wanted their loved ones to survive?

Dang...

Canessa-san helped ease their burden by having them see it as an act of communion. That their loved ones were helping to keep them alive, and it brought them closer together, physically and spiritually. The survivors even offered to donate their own bodies to the group if they didn’t make it.

Which, after an avalanche on day 17, eight more of them didn’t. Even after their pact, it wasn’t an easy decision, but they had to survive.

So...how’d they get home?

Well, even after the crash, they did have a functioning transistor radio, and when they heard that the search for them was being called off, Canessa-san and another survivor, Nando Parrado, set off to get help themselves. They hiked for 10 days before they finally reached the bottom of the mountain.

Thanks to some farmers living down there, they made it back to civilization and lead a rescue mission to find the crash site. After over two months of being stuck in the mountains, the survivors of Flight 571 were able to make it home.

But...the public wasn’t happy when the news got out.

A lot of them took issue with the fact that the survivors had resorted to cannibalism. In the days afterward, rumors circulated in their home country that they’d taken to murdering their fellow passengers for food.

It took five days for a press conference to be called, where they could explain the truth of what happened. Thankfully, that’s when public outcry started to diminish.

A Catholic priest even told them that they’d be forgiven what they did, since it was their only real chance at survival.

Personally, I don’t judge them for it. When it comes to life and death, a lot of people will do whatever it takes to survive, and to make sure the people they love survive.

...

#danganronpa #nwpm #neo world program monitor #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #Estu Deguchi #Masa Esumi #Hajime Hinata #Kyoji Nakamura #a student out of time #DR #The Price of Fate arc

[mugoki]

'Stuck in one place' horror movies 💀 part 1

Cube (1997)

Six strangers find themselves in an empty room with each wall carrying a latch - leading to another similar room. Each room either have deadly traps or clues for their sweet escape. Are these strangers capable of finding the exit before falling apart without vital necessities? Apparently there's a whole franchise behind this movie now, but i've only seen 1 and 2 (Cube 2: Hypercube) and they're vastly different from each other, going from realistic escape room premise to a more sci-fi slasher approach.

Buried (2010)

The truck driver of an ambushed convoy gets kidnapped and buried alive with a cellphone, to which he quickly have to find help from before the coffin runs out of air. I remember my brother telling me he went to see it at the cinema with friends, and they all left a little bit traumatized by it, oof.

Below (2002)

A military submarine picks up 3 survivors from a shipwreck, but the passengers might have brought something else with them too. Being deep under the ocean in a malfunctioning submarine is a phobia i didn't know i had, thanks!

Oxygen (2021)

Similar to Buried, a woman wakes up trapped in a very small space. However this is a modern pod with technology and our main character have lost her memory. This movie is about finding the password to unlock the pod, but also who and why she was put there.

Circle (2015)

Correctly described as a horror reality show, a group of people are stuck standing in a circle and have to vote each other off - having to decide what skills and experiences are more of value when it comes to life and death. I think maybe some people will get bored by people standing around talking and voting but i found it really stressful !

Await Further Instructions (2018)

This movie takes place in a whole suburban house, where a family have gotten together for a traditional dinner. The household is already made of toxic people but when the building completely locks up, insanity slowly start to set in between the family members.

Sanctum (2011)

When you think of caves in horror movies, i feel you automatically think of monsters? But Sanctum have no monsters, instead it's about a diving team finding themselves stuck in a cave system as it slowly start filling up with rain water. I saw this one in cinema years ago and still find it so terrifying.

Frozen (2010)

Imagine getting stuck in a chairlift with your friends after some fun skiing. You're too high up to jump off, too far away to be heard screaming for help and not clothed enough to endure serval icy nights. This is exactly what happens to these characters, pushed to find a solution before freezing to death.

4 x 4 (2019)

A very underrated horror movie that i highly recommend! A man tries to steal a car, but the car has been tampered with and he is unable to get out. The windows are coated and the vehicle soundproof, the thief has to get out before slowly cooking to death in the summer sun. What would you do?

[ Part 2 ]

#horror movie recommendations #horror movies #me #personal #movie review #movie rec list #movie recommendation

[godstrain]

The night before they were to tackle the mansion, there came a dream. More like a nightmare.

Of that time as a child, helplessly unable to do anything. Rather, more like you were witnessing it happen to others, as a bystander in your own dream. Unfamiliar, yet familiar girls were being treated poorly within this 'home' that had them all trapped.

Yet, somehow, it didn't seem hopeless for them. Something in this house, was now starting to stay the hand of cruelty. Like a silver wisp, ethereal like moonlight. It was protecting these children, these lost souls, as there was no better way to describe them.

There was an unfamiliar gentility when you try to grasp this elusive light. You do not know it, but you can recognize a force of good, as alien as it might be to you. You fleetingly think of Chris, who, in such a situation, would have done the same; helping these lost souls. Aiding where he could.

Now the question was, when you wake up, just what would you do?

--thescarletmansion

there had been something rather peaceful about staying at the shrine for the days leading up to this mission / this looming sense of deja-vu. lady aya was a wonderful hostess, polite and wise- it was easy for him to relax, to fall asleep. and that was about where the sense of peace ended. his dreams had been strange at best, but this? this was a dagger to the soul.

at first, he sees himself as a child, standing silently among many others. he listens to some lecture about how humans had failed. how the children (himself included) were better. superior to the dead ends of mankind. he turns to look at the little girl beside him- platinum blond with pale blue eyes- she says her name is alex. she says something else, but he can't really figure it out. he blinks, and when he opens his eyes, she is different- she looks softer, her hair is dark and her eyes are a warm but sorrowful brown. she says her name is kohaku.

there had been a rather eerie balance of boys and girls when he'd started his life as albert wesker / buried albert wilde. they were all ambitious in their own ways, but one by one they disappeared. sometimes, he wanted to disappear, too.

kohaku holds out her hand, an invitation of some sort. he wants to say that they'll get in trouble if they leave. the home they live in is strict. the punishments will be severe, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. he takes her hand and they walk quietly down familiar yet foreign hallways. she's quiet while they walk, and he's not sure where they're going- he catches their reflection in the windows / the dark haired girl and the blond boy, both no older than ten- until the lightning flashes and the thunder crashes and the screams start.

kohaku isn't there, and wesker's no longer his ten year old self. instead, he feels the familiar weight of the tactical vest from his days as captain of S.T.A.R.S. he finds comfort in the samurai edge in his hands. he notes trails of blood and follows the path he knows all too well. arklay was his home, once, wasn't it? but this isn't arklay, is it.

when he finds kohaku (why was he following her? why was he searching for her?), she's quite dead. her body is broken and she lays among ninety-eight other girls- some her age, some older. he sees a woman standing there- beautiful and deadly, adorned in silks and wearing strange jewels. and she sees him. the lightning flashes and the thunder crashes and the woman (chi-yuu, he knows from the reading he had done) is no longer there. but oswell spencer is. at his feet are the bodies of the children who had once been called superior, now deemed failures. oswell takes a step forward and wesker takes a step back, stumbling over the body of another candidate / another girl. chi-yuu reaches out when his back is against the wall and spencer whispers that there was only one survivor. the result of his project w / her quest for immortality- the apotheosis they've been waiting for-

he expects death, but it never comes. instead, there's a silver warmth and the horrors slowly fade. the wesker children / lost girls regain the color and vibrance of the living. a gentle hand rests on his arm. the silver warmth speaks in a voice that he knows, because of course he'd know chris redfield anywhere. chris, who, for all his recklessness and disobedience, was always his best man- chris' voice telling him that they could still be saved. chris' smile- chris- !

wesker wakes with a startled gasp, looking around the room. he's in the shrine. nearby, his faithful hound perks up and comes to lick his hand to ground him in reality. this reality. chris isn't here- but neither is spencer. he finds sorrow in the former but relief in the latter. still, it takes time for his breathing to steady / he knows that not all of what he saw was real, but a great bit of it was an omen. of course it was. he's going into a place that reminds him too much of the past, and of his failures. of the things he loved most / only realized when it was too late.

this time would be different. if only he could share the moment with the team he had lost.

#thescarletmansion #event ╱ mansion incident 2 #ask to tag #anyway i gUESS im crying huh #even when he noclips through reality wesker is going to think about chris thats truly incredible

[tortadecereji]

Remember mastermind komaeda? Well, I made some doodles of him again before I throw him in the limbo.

Tw for blood, death and sharp objects,,

.

.

.

.

Some stuff I didn't get to tell you about this au:

Before the tragedy he would spend all of his free time with nanami and hinata, who were his lovers back then. Of course chiakis death would couse him to fall into complete despair, plus he discovered hajime had ""died"" to become izuru(who wasn't interested a bit on him). Junko used this and the hope obsession to lure him to become the next mastermind, since she already had plans for 78 class and knew the possibility of her own death.

She kind of regrets this decision, but choices has already been made.

He also hates AI!Nanami. He thinks that creating an ai based on his beloved nanami who had died long ago is just straight up disrespectful(this leads to him killing her later).

"You're not her, you'll never be" where the last words the ai heard.

I can't decide an ending for this au, so I made 3:

-He "dies" in the last trial, the survivors scape the simulation and he's trapped in the nwp forever(this leads to hinata having nightmares evolving komaeda, chiaki, the tragedy and how they could have been if none of this ever happened)

-He wakes up with the survivors after the last trial and hinata tries to redeem him(he fails, but komaeda respects him enough to not kill anyone anymore)

-And the one I made for fun: Komaeda convinces hajime to stay in the simulation with him so he could still be himself instead of kamukura. Hinata agrees, so somehow the others survivors get to leave and he stays. Now he has to live the rest of his life in a fake island with a giant komaeda(who refuses to go back to normal, bcs I want it to be this way)

,,man, I can't believe I finally put an end to this au, I can die happy now.

#my art #danganronpa goodbye despair #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #chiaki nanami #komahinanami mentioned #mastermind nagito #izuru kamukura #junko enoshima #tw blood #tw sharp objects

[punksarahreese]

📸!

Autumn | Bloodletting

CW: survivor’s guilt, mention of Sarah’s trauma, mention of family death, catatonia

One thing Sarah’s psychiatrist asked her had stuck around for months, clinging to her mind. It had been the end of a particularly gruelling session, where the patient refused to say much but was clearly worked up about her memories. The other woman left her with some homework then, something to think about until their next appointment.

“What part of all of this is the hardest for you?”

The expected answer was probably something along the lines of “the memories” or her fears. Some might even think the nightmares were the worst part, leaving her unable to sleep out of fear of her own subconscious. Still, Sarah couldn’t say for certain those were the hardest thing to handle. She was an ex-medical student; she knew insomnia and fear like the back of her hand and could handle it in time.

All of those things were hard, sure, but she couldn’t say they were the worst. All things considered she was pretty good at coping with them, mainly because Natalie hadn’t recently had to drag her away from the water’s edge at four in the morning. It wasn’t until one early morning that Sarah realized the answer, immobile on her lumpy mattress as the sun rose behind the canopy of trees.

The worst part of all of it was the guilt. The sinking feeling in her chest that came with every sliver of memories was enough to suffocate her, though it was not fear like everyone would expect. Instead, it was the heavy reality that she was alive, but not in a suicidal sense.

Survivor’s guilt. She remembered it from a behavioural therapy book she had read ages ago. She was suffering from a textbook case of feeling culpable for her mother’s death. The logical of her was aware that none of it was her fault; she couldn’t have known her dad would show up, much less what he would do. Still, Sarah’s brain had long since convinced her that she was somehow responsible for it. Maybe she just hated that she was still alive when her mother didn’t have that luxury anymore.

Regardless, it left her feeling pretty shitty, especially after a particularly good day. There was something despicable about the way her brain worked, convincing her that she was doing something wrong by healing. Any time she was enjoying herself, whether it be spending time with Ava or relearning how to live life, she felt a nagging feeling in her gut. Sometimes it would overwhelm her, leading to meltdowns that ruined her good mood. For some reason Sarah believed that she was selfish for moving on or trying to heal, which sounded utterly ridiculous when she spoke the thought out loud.

“Your mother would want you to keep living, darling,” Ava had told her one evening, gentle fingers dancing through her curls. Sarah knew she was right, Ava was always right, but it simply couldn’t change her mental process. Not when she was alone; not when the memories overtook her and she could only see her mother’s terrified face plastered over her mind’s eye.

Sarah tried to move, reaching for her phone to type out a message. She needed to tell her doctor the answer to her question, before the thought slipped away until the next moment of clarity. She couldn’t, though, the mental decision to reach out not quite meeting her hand. She felt frozen in place, as if she had been pulled from reality in her sleep. Wiggling her toes, Sarah concluded that she wasn’t suddenly paralyzed or dreaming. She couldn’t get her arm to do what she wanted, but she was able to move her fingers slightly. Her brain was foggy, almost trapped in that fuzzy, half asleep haze between reality and dreams. The more aware of these things she became, the more suffocated Sarah felt.

Catatonia is a symptom of panic and mood disorders. She remembered that clearly from her psychiatry training. She was surprisingly aware given the situation, since these episodes often came with agitation and confusion. Instead she just felt trapped, almost in a similar way to how she felt watching her mother die at her father’s hand. Her remaining movements were twitchy, almost as if her body was glitching. All she could do was track things with her eyes, a pained sound escaping her as she realized she may be stuck like this for some time.

A sudden weight on her hip would have made Sarah jump out of her skin, though she wasn’t exactly able to react. A flash of orange fur was all she saw before whiskers tickled her cheek, sighing inwardly. Not enjoying the lack of response from her owner, Autumn pushed her nose against Sarah’s face. The cat could probably smell her frustration, she realized, or just sense her shift in mood and loss of coordination.

Even when she tried to move her hand to rub gently over Autumn’s head, Sarah couldn’t quite get there. She gave up with a huff, which startled her cat a little. She didn’t jump down, though; instead she settled down to lay on Sarah’s chest. She couldn’t push her off if she wanted to, but Sarah had to admit the pressure was a reassuring comfort despite her situation. Sometimes touch would make her more agitated during catatonic episodes, but Autumn was trained to respond to these things and knew what the woman needed most.

With paws folded under her, her wise green eyes kept close watch over her owner. The gentle hum of her purr filled the room, a familiar sound that was meant to relax them both. It certainly didn’t hurt, helping keep Sarah’s mind from wandering back to her previous thoughts. She could count the amount of times Autumn blinked slowly at her or the number of breaths each purr lasted for. Repetitive mental processes had always kept her memories at bay for some time, thankfully.

If she was going to be stuck living a life she didn’t feel like she deserved, at least Sarah could find comfort in the tiny orange creature who only wanted to see her live.

#okay idk what happened with this one #it barely fits the photo prompt but ??? I guess it’s okay?? #chicago med #sarah reese #my aus #bloodletting #occult!au #asks #mutuals #daisy tag

[hopeymchope]

I know the surviviors get some flack for not grieving a whole lot for Kokichi, but Kokichi was horrible to everyone and wheverr people tried to question him, he'd push them away because he wanted to work on his own because of severe trust issues and he also did some questionable things that can't exactly be forgiven. They weren't exactly friends and it's a lot to take in.

Six total Kokichi-related asks in one post, now incoming!

WAAAAAAAHAHA Kokichi Time

Yeah, I agree with everything you're saying. I think that they eventually appreciated and respected his final effort to ruin the killing game, but for most of the trial, it was just deeply infuriating and upsetting for them. And even after that, there's a lot leading up to that trial that could only be infuriating for them. And in the end, Shuichi considers Kokichi just a frustrating enigma and utterly unknowable - "the very embodiment of a lie," as he says.

So you suspect that he has some personal connection to Killing Games in his past? Could it even be from a previous DR "season," then? I don't know how/why he'd have the luck thing, though. There doesn't seem to be anything to indicate that. I often wonder whether we'll get some kind of direct V3 sequel someday, in some medium. I'm sure there's got to be a temptation to explore where things wound up for the survivors and what the outside world is really like, who the survivors really are or aren't, etc. But if Spike Chunsoft eventually does this without Kodaka's involvement, it's going to ring hollow. Such a instance could easily become a story that openly defies and/or flies in the face of the implications of V3.

Interesting point. Even when he's seemingly treating Gonta nicely, it's just an attempt to get something he wants - trapping everyone in the "bug meet-and-greet," maneuvering Gonta into murdering Miu, etc. What's interesting about that is how he seems to genuinely befriend Gonta in Danganronpa S: Ultimate Summer Camp. But of course, his treatment of Keebo is always the same...

You may or may not have seen, anon, a previous Ask wherein a Japanese person said that bullying is a major issue there, but people tend to stay silent instead of calling others out. (I can’t seem to find the post where I responded to that ask now... ) So this might be part of that same cultural issue, then; Keebo is making it very clear how much he is upset by Kokichi’s behavior, but nobody really makes much effort to stop Kokichi anyway.

Well, I guess Kaede does try to distract him away from bothering Keebo in the very beginning. It’s something?

Actually, the fandom doesn’t even seem to hold this against Kokichi at all! Maybe they really do see Keebo as some kind of lesser being unworthy of any kindness just because of his physical nature??

(Friendly reminder to everyone that Kokichi is made aware very early on how much his behavior offends and upsets Keebo. So naturally, he keeps doing it anyway forever, in every single timeline - UTDP and Danganronpa S are no different. Because Kokichi’s just a really shitty person.)

Definitely. A big part of why his plans ultimately fail to lead where he'd hoped is because of the bridges he burned behind him. It's another reminder of the recurring "attempting to deal with the situation alone = misfortune and death" undercurrent through the series.

I get that, although he’s kind of a major part of V3′s narrative. He really drills home much of the “truth vs lies” theming. But, just like some previous antagonists, there are definitely things that would go much more smoothly if he wasn’t being a little shit about everything and was just telling people what he knows. Obvious solution: You excise the character who inexplicably knows everything about each trial but never wants to share any of his information from the entire equation.

But I think he’s still an important part of the story and its central focus, so maybe we could just... not make him be some kind of super-analytical secret detective? Because that always felt like it was kind of bullshit to me anyway. Much like his inexplicable ability to instantly know any time any character is lying about absolutely anything, we can just delete these traits and subsequently make him more believable as a person. He can still have his elaborate scheme to stop the killing game and still be an annoying liar who lies, but he doesn’t have to also be a mind-reading super-detective. Kill that element and I’d feel better about his role. 

#kokichi time #waluigi kokichi #asks #anon #anti-kokichi ouma #anti-kokichi oma #danganronpa #drv3 spoilers

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: Journal of Gurd Harofsen

This appears to be scattered pages from an old journal. The handwriting is barely legible and filled with spelling mistakes:

“They told me not to go, but I did. I had no love of mountains. Red-Lion Hold raids for goats and chickens. There are better fights in the lowlands. I am tall and strong, and they think me a great warrior. I bed many women with my tales. Why would I go back?”

Several pages have been torn out or scratched over until the next legible section:

“The darkspawn struck Red-Lion Hold. I heard the news in a tavern in Redcliffe. The Blight took the land. The Lady sends no messengers to blight-touched bodies. My kin will know no peace.

I curse the Lady. I curse Korth. I curse all the gods who let Red-Lion fall. The people did the rites, sang the songs. Why would the gods abandon Red-Lion?

I left the mercenaries I traveled with. They understood. Many have lost kin of their own to the Blight.”

Several more pages are illegible, and then:

“I have taken the survivors. I know how to travel better than they do. The thane is dead, but many warriors survive. Many people died from blight-sickness. Harof Talespinner was among them. Those who live say they asked the lowlanders for help, but they let Red-Lion die.

We must find a path. We have no need of Korth or the Lady, not if they would abandon my people like the lowlanders did. The only god I will forgive is Hakkon, for the tales say he was stolen by the lowlanders when the Jaws of Hakkon bound him to flesh and bone.

Red-Lion Hold is gone. We are the Jaws of Hakkon now. We will build no home, for homes can die. Instead, we will bring Hakkon back and teach the lowlanders to fear the Avvar again.”

These appear to be somewhat recent pages from a journal:

“We have searched for months and found nothing. The tales tell of this area, but the Stone-Bears, a hold of fishermen and chicken farmers, have lived here for generations and seen no sign. If we see nothing, we must keep moving. I will not let my hold falter. We will move on lest we die.”

After several torn-out pages, another section is legible:

“We have found it. Hakkon himself welcomed us. An ancient Tevinter fortress, sheathed in a wall of ice. It was untouched by lowlanders, who could find no way to breach the walls. Our mages alone, blessed by Silent Hakkon with the gifts of ice, could part the wall for a few heartbeats, giving our people time to climb inside.

The wall resists common fire, and even the flames from our mages did little to melt the magical ice. We are safe. The northerner markers lead to a shrine that our mages say reeks of magic. I have sent warriors to guard it, lest it hold some spirit who can part this wall with lowlander magic.

We have found Hakkon, bound in silence where the lowland warrior trapped him for ages uncounted. Our trials have not been in vain. They were a test.

Hakkon will come again.”

These appear to be very recent pages from a journal:

“The lowland warrior trapped our god in some strange magic the mages cannot understand. They say time is twisted upon itself, a knot inside a knot. They say it may be the old Tevinter magic of this place that made it possible, spirits and old Tevinter power like blood and wine.

The spirit of Hakkon remains in the dragon. That much is clear. In the tales, the Jaws of Hakkon tamed it like a hold-beast, then fed it demonweed and other herbs the healers use to bring spirits. We cannot unravel the magic binding the dragon, but perhaps we can bring forth Hakkon himself and bind him anew to some other worthy beast.

Red-Lion Hold's beast died with genlock blood in his jaws. It was a good death, but a death still. As Jaws of Hakkon, we have no hold-beast, but the soft-limbed fools at Stone-Bear Hold have one who is tamed and ready.”

The next several pages are illegible, until:

“The winter-cursed Inquisition has come. The bear is free and our wall of ice shattered by Tevinter magic. We have no time and no beast.

I will eat the herbs myself. The mages say I may not be strong enough to bear such a great spirit as Hakkon. I would rather die trying than fail. I will not abandon my people. I will bring death to the lowlands.

The Jaws of Hakkon will not fail again.”

#dragon age #codex entry #letters and notes #avvar