#because the rain DOES come less and less often and lasts for less and less time and is of less and less intensity

[unityrain24]

february is usually the coldest month of the year around here, and the one we are most likely to get snow... but it's been relatively warm. Like spring weather. And not even a wet, rainy spring like what's normal around here. It's been somewhat dry and even sunny.

February, the deepest winter month of the year, is a dry spring....

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 2

[prompt: mutual masturbation] male reader x jang wonyoung 4k words

If nothing else, Jang Wonyoung is a creature of habit.

Always orders her americano cold. Brown sugar and cinnamon cream cheese on her bagel. Walks three and a half steps behind her manager whenever they make their rounds: hair salon, corner pharmacy, the office, local record store. And for as long as she's been sharing your bed, she's insisted on that horrendous alarm clock from the late 90s that chirps the early-morning wakeup like a dying robot-parakeet.

All of it has worked for her so far, she’ll tell you. Which you find hard to argue with.

So - when she arrives home later than usual on an ordinary Thursday, she doubles down on routine. Where there's comfort in predictability. Coat on the third hook, boots below, fingers in her hair twisting to undo a messy bun, and a soft, delicate, "It's me," once she steps over the threshold.

“Hey,” you say to her, tilting your head. "You look, bedraggled."

"Well," and Wonyoung brushes aside the handful of her damp hair not stuck to her neck. There are faint marks just at her temple, in a faded half-circle, not unlike what would happen if your pillow wasn't comfortable. Or, you know. Some boyfriend that she's not supposed to have getting a hand tangled into all that long hair and pulling tight, like she tells him not to do. "That's probably true."

"Is it raining?"

"It was earlier." She eyes the spoonful of yogurt you're about to lick off, leaning back against the counter and tapping at the ceramic bowl. Frowns. "Is that one of the last blueberry ones. I take those for my lunch."

"I can always get more."

"Uh-huh." She drops her phone, keys, and spare change from her pockets into the large wicker bowl that lives near the end of the hall, by the closet and coat hooks. She has a sort of despondent energy about her when she comes into the kitchen. Less a look, more of a stance. A rub at her shoulder, this back and forth in her neck like she's working out a kink.

And because she looks tired and her hair is damp and she isn't busy kissing you right away, that's when you reach out. Let a finger slide across her skin, under her collar, pull aside the cotton.

"I'm going to go take a shower."

"Mind if I join you? You could use a hand." You end up holding hers in your own for a moment. Just, looking. "If you want."

There's something unidentifiable in her stare. She might have gone on believing nothing was different if not for the length of that pause - you, and the warmth from your body and the warmth of your hands on her shoulders, sliding into her neck, then-

She rises up on her toes and presses a light, almost shy kiss into your chin. And, well, if she had the strength to reach anywhere more than that, she'd let her fingertips find and curl around the smooth curve of your ear and say, very softly - barely audible - "take your clothes off. I'm already soaking wet. If you don't help, I'll run out of hot water before the conditioner's worked its way through."

But it's not for tonight; she's tired, wants it simple, maybe. Maybe wants to leave it for a better day.

"I just want to get cleaned up. It's been a long day."

"Fine by me." You point your spoon at her. "That's what it's for."

“Such a fucking gentleman," she murmurs, patting a palm at the front of your chest.

You smile first, playful - just this side of annoying - the exact thing she's kicking herself months later for having fallen for. And with another spoonful of yogurt, "you know me."

In your defense, Wonyoung has always had the cutest reaction to it. The quirk that she tries to keep from forming in the corner of her mouth, small and contained, like if you asked her about her day, she'd play it off. Let a sentence out with no punctuation. Which she often does: she's been fine, and that's the full length of her response.

But later, when she climbs into bed - when her face is in your hands and her lips are brushing past your cheek - when her hair smells like peach shampoo, and your chin is tucked into the nape of her neck, just the beginning of all the ways you plan to spoil her, you have to tease. Always, "I thought we weren't fucking until tomorrow, or was that a lie?"

A little bit of distance to keep your mind on track, and not thinking about her spread out under you, wide-eyes, and saying: yes.

You’re propped up against the headboard. You were reading, or watching tv. It doesn’t matter which when Wonyoung straddles your legs and drags her hand up your chest. Up and under her nightgown, the silky, thin, light blue material, until she has the collar cupped in her fist and her knees straddling your thigh. "Am I not allowed to change my mind?"

"No. Not allowed." Your breath catches. Because she is gorgeous, especially like this: tired, and pretty, and sweet, and thinking, deeply and meticulously and with great consideration, of climbing into your lap and asking if you'd help. If she'd be distracting enough - if she had the words to entice you into staying very close, without actually promising anything, because this, what she's wearing, how it's so tight to her form and how it is easily torn or bunched aside when she reaches down with both hands and starts to fiddle with the fabric at her waist, near her navel - is all entirely purposeful.

Wonyoung raises her eyebrow in question - silently: an exception, maybe, for me?

The way you're talking her up with both hands at the very smallest dip between her ribs and the bones jutting out above her hips, thumbs rubbing into the sensitive places along her thighs - pressing, a steady rhythm.

"Do you want it bad, princess?"

"Stop." Wonyoung wrinkles her nose at that and glares. But she knows better than anyone else. She lives in that contradiction, visible as it plays across her face when her back arcs and arches. When her breathing does this slow and deep in and out and you've leaned in with just enough pressure to make it feel good, in your kiss, a soft tug, a bite. A slow laving tongue leaving lazy patterns across her skin.

"Just want to make sure," you insist. Then, the question is being murmured against her chest. Then it's being whispered into the crook of her neck - which earns the single most content of sounds:

"A little, yeah, you ass."

"My mouth? My fingers? Or are you looking for something more... involved?"

"Maybe I'm looking," she says, pulling a curtain of glossy black hair back over her ear, "for you to figure that out."

"Aren’t you coy." You grab at her hair again - the second time today, for the second-worst of reasons. To tilt her head and gaze up at her like you're willing to live in the space beneath her. "We'd start slow?" you ask, and with a press of your open mouth against her collarbone, she brings her arms around you.

"Very slowly," Wonyoung says. She has one hand curling through bedsheets to feel if you're anywhere near as hard as she is wet. Her touch is fleeting, barely a whisper. "We don't have to rush it. Maybe we could do that thing."

You laugh out loud, and the vibration of it alone, coursing through your chest, your waist, up between her legs, has Wonyoung wanting. "That could mean anything at this point."

Wonyoung just looks down at you, fingernails grazing over your stomach, your chest, as she peels your shirt up over your head and tosses it aside the bed. And then, the idea, "get your phone."

"Hm. I'm going to say something that might come off as a little... something, but I mean it in the most respectful way." It's not a far reach, to where yours is charging on the nightstand. You're tapping in the passcode to your lockscreen when you spell it out for the girl in your lap: "you're low-key kind of a freak."

Wonyoung closes her eyes. Smiles. Her hair is spilling over one shoulder, some strewn across her chest, where she cups the underside of her breasts and sits her elbows into your shoulders and wriggles her ass a little lower in your lap. Until the tips of her hair are brushing the space below her belly-button, teasing-soft at the warm, pliant flesh.

"Pot." She bites into her lip, just slightly. "Meet kettle."

It doesn't take long to find what she's looking for; twitter's full of it. A video of her that'd gone viral. Or not quite viral, but circulated - bounced from account to account, thousands and thousands of hits - the shot by shot of the choreo that sees her bending over at the waist, touching her fingertips to the hem of a plaid-checked skirt, with this perfect posture, straight up through the hips to arch the back and lift and turn her shoulders at the right angle, so there's no mistake she's looking straight at the camera.

“You look good here,” you remark, scrolling a little further. She's grown so used to it that she doesn't even look.

Instead, it's her fingers that do the talking: moving a little faster. Touching a little deeper and harder over the gray cloth of her underwear. She runs a circle over the spot that has her rubbing her hips forward, breath shaky, back in your ear. "I always look good, don't I?"

"Obviously."

Her jaw falls into the crook of your neck. There's no escaping it: this heat, and she sighs. Mumbled and warm. This is the worst thing, she mutters - like you can't feel how incredibly hard it's getting to see her touch herself and act all shy, so the words are half-concentrating on her own breath, the other half focused, hazy. In her face. In her chest.

So, again. Wonyoung swallows a sigh. Breathes and runs her touch along the edges. That spot and where the wet has started to soak through the fabric, her thighs rubbing and sliding and finding new pressure.

“Here’s a particularly nasty one," you tell her.

Wonyoung turns her mouth into your neck, lips leaving these kisses while she presses down her fingers and rides. Hard, heavy strokes where her hand moves quicker with a sharp huff to her inhale. You click open another thread - another snapshot of that tight little ass of hers, the smooth skin over the dip of her hips, and the long curve of her back-

"Read it."

And with the music all distorted and choppy through tinny phone speakers, you say: "some guy can't decide if he'd like to spank you or pull your hair."

"Uh-huh." You feel her chin dig in where it's placed itself, over the flat of your shoulder.

"Then there's an awful lot here about how much the commenter wants to rail you. They get pretty vulgar." You look up from the screen and raise an eyebrow, the words coming into place, "Wonyoung has grown up so well," and the next part is so easy, "this little cocktease has been begging me to drain my balls for her for too long. I have to fucking oblige."

"God." She slips a finger into her panties to rub at her pussy - you know because the contact is audible, wet - and she drags a palm up and down, pressing in hard. Her lips part over a shaky punched out breath - this hot, wet puff of air - when she drags her mouth over the smooth skin of your collarbone. Where she feels at liberty to bite a hickey into the taut line of your neck, and draw her mouth, open and hot, up into your jaw. "Cocktease, huh?"

"Always the impression you leave." And with one, long, indulgent swipe, and a pinch on the wet material that's plastered itself, sheer and transparent and a beautiful outline to your cock, you glance to see Wonyoung smiling. That one that's all cheekbones. All teeth. All sort of sly.

"Can you," and there's not even an attempt, not even a sliver of an ounce of thought toward trying to hide the ache in her voice.

(You're there before she has to ask.)

“The concept of ‘Baddie’ does suit her, I think,” you start to read, “no one would believe it, but Wonyoung is the perfect little slut. Grade A baddie. Capital 'b'. She keeps teasing us with that tight, toned body and her slutty expressions. Someone’s ruining her on the regular. Not a doubt in my mind. A piece of ass that fine doesn’t go a week without it.”

"I do like when they talk about you," Wonyoung purrs out, and her hand slips down your chest. A touch, always warm and heavy and searching and all your fault lands right at your waist. On the bone that juts out at her thumb and forefinger. Which is exactly where she'd start palming you over your underwear, but with something close and confident in her eye, this mischievous idea taking shape in her gaze. You can't deny it: she has something dangerous in store.

"About how they think I am."

And when you place your hand back at her hairline, trailing her neck, her shoulder, Wonyoung sighs. From the top of her chest.

"What else does it say?" She breathes out a desperate exhale. This low-slung sort of groan. She looks hungry, and so unafraid to be. Eyes all smoldering. Hips all wriggling. Pushing a rhythm with those desperate grinds over your leg. The mess, in the softest sense, of her mouth, panting against the smooth line of your jaw. And voice, hoarse, murmuring something about: "how are they planning to ruin me?"

"Princess, you-"

Wonyoung angles her hips just that inch. A moan, just at the barest amount of friction, barely a grind, her soaked pussy rubbing against the flesh of your upper thigh, that feels like an earthquake hitting your throat. That makes your eyes flutter closed for just one second and groan, your whole chest singing for her.

You swallow hard. "How can anyone go on calling this innocent-"

Wonyoung’s fingers slip past the elastic, your cock springing free against her thigh and bobbing gently. "Play along," she tells you, this hint of command, and maybe a tease - playful and familiar. "I don't want to be the only one ruining their underwear." She smiles like she has plans, and it's downright infuriating in the best way.

“In the song, she even calls herself a ‘pretty little risky baddie’ and means that whatever happens, happens. She’s announcing that she’s not on birth control and that she knows all she’s good for is getting fucked and used and bred like a toy.”

“And?” she asks, the fingers between her legs fluttering out tiny circles of respite - moving fast, faster - 

It takes more than a couple seconds, because your breath halts in your throat the moment your fist finds the blood pulsing through your cock, joining her in slow, full-length, smooth motions, watching, always. Seeing her, all the way: with every slow and steady roll of her hips that moves her slick-covered-panties along your skin. The expression in the hooded eyes, this flash of her pink tongue and the way it curls over the seam of her plush-soft lip. That subtle shift in the arch of her back and the clenching muscle up her arm and leg-

Watching is where you find yourself at: all the way, everywhere. The tremble in the flex of her spine to the sound she makes from her throat at the same time. When Wonyoung moves closer. How you breathe, ragged, but eager. You're both all nerves, the damp heat building up the soft and quiet parts of the both of you and neither of you are bothered about the sweat sticking the shirt to her skin - this wet heat, a daze, a smell in the air that has Wonyoung rocking and rotating on your lap.

"I would start," you continue reading, paraphrasing slightly the unhinged words of someone typing one-handed, and your voice comes out odd, thick. "-start with my cock forced into that little throat, she'd look so perfect with her eyes watering while she gags on my cum, the filthy sounds she would be making. She'd beg for more like the slutty princess she is-"

Wonyoung shifts her weight, and lets out this moan.

"-I'm not convinced Wonyoung would even be satiated by being railed in her pretty little pussy until she's crying. Wouldn't be enough if she only choked on it while cum dripped down her chin, leaving those little dollops along the edges, slipping and glazing on her tongue. Probably wants the messiest, hottest load. No condom. Lying flat. Clenching. Could you imagine, bare? Wanting to be used for real, want us filling her so badly she'd barely even be able to move, or think, or process anything except how much of an overstimulated slut she would be: helpless. Soaking."

And you look at her as you stroke - the same tempo. Pre-cum leaking from the flushed head. Making a show of it. Watching her lips drop into something slack-jawed. This isn't even the filthiest thought she's ever heard - the roughest fantasy brought to life she's ever imagined - and yet.

"They go on for a long time about breeding you."

Wonyoung manages this incoherent half-word - a word of want, more of the kind of fucking she'd be receiving with her knees and palms to a mattress, her throat dry and face sticky with cum and tears and sweat. You know her body and what she likes, and this:

"-I would fuck her while she screams, her fingers tearing at the bedsheets and her vision so blurry and brain all fogged over, only able to respond in pained moans and deep-seated need-"

Her throat bobs.

You don't need to turn the phone over to find the end. Wonyoung lets it fall faceup onto the bedspread as she pulls your wrist toward the heat between her legs, all messy and slick. "Touch me," she's murmuring, guiding your hand lower until you have the thin strip of fabric tenting just off her lips and you press a digit inside, another - until Wonyoung clenches all around you - until she brings her wet fingers to your own ache, the hot length of your cock, pumping up and down, a stroke. Until she licks them, and places her forehead into the center of your collarbone, mumbling this broken, "Just... put-your-fucking-hands-" and her next breath, like a sharp and sudden wind.

When she’s this worked up, it doesn't take long: Wonyoung arches, slow and sinful, her shoulders curving down to present her chest, to make her small breasts and pert, hardened nipples visible even through the cotton of her shirt, her lips falling open - you slip two fingers to the base, then three. Plunging them in quick and ruthless, Wonyoung bucking into the heel of your hand, fucking her pussy on you so her thighs are slick, squelch after squelch-

“Fuck,” she whispers, this long note of exasperation, right into your cheek, and the intensity and urgency has her fucking her hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers, working her cunt like it's made for pleasure alone, and your cock-

The base of your throat burns. “Yeah,” you tell her, “just like that. Jerk that cock just like that, Wonyoung.”

Both of you are there, cumming into each other's hands, in the dimmed lights of your bedroom, heaving short, wet, sinful breaths into each other's mouths, because it's become one: her eyes and yours, blown wide. Her thighs shaking, your hips stuttering.

You roll and curl and spread your digits, holding Wonyoung's ass into her strokes. Tug the strap aside to hook a thumb in and press into her hot skin and warm muscle, driving further, deeper. Harder and firmer - pressing down, fast and vicious until she's making a series of sounds, whine-like and so soft.

"With me," she chokes out, swallowing down on the noise that falls out of her chest as fingers continue to slide around you like a vice. Her palm on you with so much pressure. "Fuck. I want you to cum."

It hits you - at first, not even particularly surprising, the rush of blood through your head.

"I wanna see it," she demands in a small, not particularly loud voice, so shy and small as the backs of her feet scramble for a hold on the mattress and she comes so hard - again, a sigh. "-feel your cum all over my knuckles, baby, cum on my-"

As to whether you or Wonyoung release first, tension coiled like a spring - well, it's anyone's guess.

"Wony-" Your mouth is open, eyes clenched tight, when Wonyoung bites a kiss down on your lip. All-consuming is the only way to describe the kind of desperation in her noises. It's everything, the sound and feeling, her wanting, her needing. All that wet heat - your stomach tightening, then slack, muscles stiffened up and falling loose as your grip becomes too tight, too heavy around the girl whose fist you're fucking and jerking and riding through this white-hot-blinding-orgasm, her wrist buckling to let you use her.

It's all that cum, lathering Wonyoung's palm, the space between her fingers, wrist and your shaft, slipping, easy. A whole puddle.

It's a few, careful strokes of her thumb and she's holding you up through that oversensitive high, forcing all that cum onto her belly, the hem of her nightshirt, all sorts of slick and messy. "Fuck, shit-" your hand still over her hot cunt, while hers just lays her weight over you, her lithe, slender body landing like it had lost any preference for form, for structure.

"Ugh," Wonyoung finally manages to get out.

"God." You collapse, leaning into the headboard behind you. With Wonyoung wrapped over your chest. Into your arm. Around your waist and mouth buried somewhere into the sweep of your neck: exhausted, entirely.

When she comes around, she does, however, make it an effort to use her tongue. Teasing along your jaw. A slip. And that makes you wonder.

"Messy," she says, wiping the back of her hand on your thigh, because where else should the proof end up.

"Ah."

She bites in, then tugs - lips on yours, until you lean up and wrap around the middle of her back, down into her hair and her hips. Because this part of her has never had a preference: to be treated either with the kind of affection and reverence afforded to an object of worship, or manhandled like someone, someone, no doubt has their fingers on her the instant she turns her ass this way or that.

"I could," she says, eyes unfocused and foggy - licking over the swell of her lip, "use a hand cleaning this up."

"Shower?"

“Mhmm.” Wonyoung slides her long legs off you, and in a look that's all too intentional, turns to move away and slip her nightshirt up, and-

Oh.

Right over her head. Then she tosses it aside like it's nothing. Wears the same sort of look that someone who hadn't had your fingers buried between their legs might. "Or, a bath sounds nice, if I’m allowed to change my mind."

"Say less, princess."

[everparanoid]

how genshin men hug you

various genshin men x gn! reader

characters: Alhaitham, Diluc, Itto, Neuvillette, Wriothesley

Alhaitham isn’t one for hugs, but he’s not against you snuggling into him as he reads, seated between his legs. You might have to ask him several times for a hug, and more often than not, you’ll be met with a ‘no’. However, on those rare occasions when he’s feeling tired and lazy, he might just pull you into a hug as he lounges around. If you try to talk while he’s resting his head on yours, he’ll shush you, not wanting his break to be disturbed. So, with Alhaitham, it’s less about the hugs and more about quiet, shared moments.

Diluc is a man of few words, but his hugs speak volumes. He may be reserved, even in private, but he won’t hesitate to give you a hug if you ask. He might not initiate them often, but he does enjoy these moments of closeness with you. His hugs are warm and comforting, making you feel safe and cherished. They might not last long, but they’re always memorable. If you were to hug him when he returns from defending Mondstadt in the middle of the night, he would welcome you into his side. He’d wrap an arm around you gently, allowing you to listen to his steady heartbeat, a reassuring reminder that he’s returned safely.

Itto is a true enthusiast when it comes to hugs. He’s the kind of person who will envelop you in a warm, enthusiastic embrace, regardless of where you are. Public or private, it doesn’t matter to him. His hugs are playful and full of energy. He’ll lift you off the ground, spinning you around in a whirl of joy. Especially after a rare victory in a Beetle Brawl, you can expect a celebratory hug from him. His hugs are innocent and endearing, often accompanied by a wide grin and exuberant cheers of happiness. It’s clear that Itto enjoys these moments of shared joy just as much as you do. His hugs are not just an expression of affection, but a testament to his vibrant and joyful spirit.

Neuvillette is a man who is reserved and formal, and he’s not familiar with the concept of a hug, even though he’s seen them during his time in Fontaine. The first time you hug him, it might be a bit awkward until he gets used to the close contact. Every time Neuvillette hugs you, it’s gentle and cautious, as if he’s still trying to figure out the correct way to do it. He doesn’t often ask for hugs, but when it starts to rain, that’s your sign that he could use one. His hugs can be unusually long because he doesn’t understand the socially acceptable duration for a hug, and you don’t want to correct him. Alternatively, they can be short but meaningful. If he’s feeling down, he might hold on a bit longer, and of course, you’re perfectly fine with that.

Wriothesley is a man who cherishes private moments of closeness. He’s the type to give you a full-body hug, much like the comforting embrace of a teddy bear. If he happens to retire to bed before you, he might fall asleep on top of you, his arms wrapped around your waist. More often than not, you’ll already be asleep when he comes to bed. In these instances, he’ll spoon you into his arms, providing a sense of security and warmth. While he may not be one for overt public displays of affection, when it’s just the two of you, he’s all about the hugs. You might often find yourself sitting in his lap as he reads the newspaper, one arm casually draped over your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder. It seems that Wriothesley has a particular fondness for your body heat, especially in the chilly depths of Meropide.

masterlist

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[flyingcakeee]

Rah, Strollonso fic with Nikola as their son (Fernando does not retire because do we really expect him to honestly?)

It's also fluff (with a little angst mixed in but you can easily ignore it)

“No, Dad, it's all good here,” Lance sighed into the phone, watching as his son had moved around the driveway on his small kart Fernando gifted the mere five year old, little cones set up in the form of a track. “I promise, Dad, it’ll be fine. Nikola takes after Nando, I’ll make sure they're both safe.”

Sure enough, their son took a lot after his husband. He had his competitiveness, his drive to race, and already was taking after his humor. At least he had Lance’s looks, Lance could at least claim something of their son.

“Nikola, slow down at that corner, you're going to hurt yourself,” Lance called out, covering the speaker of the phone with his hand. In return, he got a thumbs up from the kid who then immediately missed his turn and took out a cone, forcing a huff out of Lance. “He’s going to need a bit of training,” Lance commented to his dad on the phone. “No, I don't know when Nando is getting home — Turn 5 needs to be a tighter line! — Maybe next week if you have time you can come visit your grandson. He loves you, you're his grandfather and he misses you too.”

The conversation on the phone went sour quickly after, Lance hanging up with a curt “bye” less than five minutes later. He doesn't know why he offered, Nikola isn't meant to be loved by everyone, not when he took Lance out of motorsports and caused his grandfather money for that. At least Fernando was still racing, getting podiums and chasing that 40th win in the British racing green car.

Fernando just finished Monaco, a P2 finish. So close, yet so far. Now he needs to return to Spain as soon as possible due to the next race week practically already started. Lance was tired, maybe Fernando wouldn't mind bringing their son to the karting track for a bit while Lance recovered from the exhausting weeks he had while Fernando had been busy with Aston.

Due to his soured relationship with his dad, Lance didn't attend races and Nikola rarely attended them as Fernando wanted him to keep Lance company since he knew how lonely Lance could feel. The last time Nikola traveled with Fernando, Lance was breaking down every night over fear of both Nikola and Fernando somehow finding themselves hurt. It was not pretty. However, for the first time in around six years, Lance would be back in the paddocks for the entire weekend for the Spanish Grand Prix, cheering on Fernando as Nikola sat with him, their son.

Maybe this time Lawrence can look at his grandson with love rather than disgust when he sees how much of Lance’s features he inherited, including the small love for hockey and the willingness to wear whatever he was dressed in. Just maybe, Lance could only pray.

~<>~

“He is fast, no?”

“Just like you,” Lance murmured as he leaned his head on Fernando’s shoulder, trying to escape the rain rather unsuccessfully. “He's like me though now, fast in the wet. You saw that overtake? He gets that from me, you can't claim everything,” Lance added.

“Ah, no, he gets it all from you. He can be a world champion, I am sure of it.”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe he'll go endurance.”

“He will win no matter what,” Fernando affirmed, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Lance’s head.

Nikola was a lion on the track. He knew when to attack, when to defend, and he did them both well. He was fast and nimble like Fernando, a cunning fox who knew when to strike when it was unexpected. He was sharp and composed, calm as often as possible like Lance. The best of both worlds Esteban had said when he was visiting Lance last week while Fernando and Nikola went karting. Eight year old Nikola was championship material they all said. Lance wanted to deny it, his son could be hurt.

~<>~

Nikola wasn't meant to be here. He wasn't planned, he wasn't known about until he was born. Lance knew cryptic pregnancy was a thing, he never expected it to happen to him. Yet here he was, holding his twelve year old son tightly as he had won his karting championship and got to advance to more competitive karting leagues. The lion had been let out of it's cage and Lance couldn't put the cat back, he could only watch and hope nobody was hurt.

“I did it, Dad!” Nikola had screamed when he got home, Lance unable to attend due to a mild flu that would be worsened by the damp weather. “I won! I won the entire thing!”

Lance laid on the couch with his growing son on top of him, his husband to the side of him brushing both of their hair.

Fernando and Lance rushed a marriage, their son couldn't be raised with dating parents according to Lance’s parents. Lance took Fernando’s last name to add to his, making Nikola’s surname seem more fitting to match Lance’s. His name too had been taken from Lance’s origin.

Nikola Dimitrov Strulovich-Díaz, the lion born of a champion, but Lance was not the champion. Nikola was loved in the paddock by the fans, the cameras, the drivers. However, he had Lance’s need to hide from cameras, finding himself pushing his face into Fernando’s shoulder or shirt when possible. He had Fernando’s determination and Lance’s shyness around cameras, all until he had his helmet and suit on, then he was himself.

~<>~

Lance stood with the ART team, watching his son lift the trophy on the podium above. He was leading the F2 championship, Fernando standing right beside him. Both got to witness their son winning in Spain, his home race. Fernando may have been crying a bit and definitely should be preparing for his own race, but if the cameras saw he didn't care.

Nikola Stroll-Díaz, the European Lion as he was called (completely erasing Lance’s Canada since Nikola was born in Montréal), the son of Fernando Alonso and Lance Stroll. The eighteen year old who was leading the F2 championship by quite the margin so far, being eyed up by teams such as Red Bull and Ferrari. Fernando wanted to race against his son once, and tried to get Lance back, but Lance declined.

Lance was no longer suited for motorsports because if something happened to him, Nikola and Fernando would be left alone and he couldn't manage that. Nikola hadn't still the best relationship with Lawrence, but at least he had a pretty good once with Lance’s mom.

“That's our son,” Fernando whispered into Lance’s ear, happiness radiating off of him as they prepared to play the Spanish anthem. Nikola chose to race under Fernando’s flag, in F2, it gave him more sponsorships, so Lance couldn't blame him. “He's us all put into one.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, leaning slightly into Fernando’s smaller frame, “he's our son, he'll always be.”

Once the anthem concluded, Lance felt himself tearing up. That was his son up there, winning his home race and in front of both his parents. That was his son, an almost spitting image of him with some of Fernando morphed into him. He learned to be wary of the cameras but not to hide, he learned how to laugh with the other drivers and make friends. That was Lance’s son, and Lance raised him as well as he could.

~<>~

Lance stood underneath the podium’s platform again, muddled in the crowd of British racing green and the occasional red. There, both his men stood. His husband, eyes gleaming with the 50th win of his career. His son, a second place right next to his father in the same colors. A father-son 1-2 podium, a sight to behold and Lance got to witness it himself here in Monaco.

There may have been a few tears but could you blame him? Lance was looking at both his husband and his son take the top steps of the most prestigious race in the calendar.

Nikola looked down at the team and immediately spotted Lance, the biggest smile appearing on his face as he looked at his dad. His dad was there, both of them. One right next to him, the other watching from below. He was Lance’s son but he was also Fernando’s. He was their son, he will always be. Lance got to watch him grow from a fussy but clingy baby to a F1 race winner and a favorite name within the sport. However, to Lance, he was not only always his son, but also his small baby boy who Lance will always love and care for, no matter what. He was his baby lion.

[tkthrilla-writes]

hii I hope you’re doing well!! i saw your requests were open and decided to ask! This is just a small idea i had, if you don’t want to do it you can ignore this!!

Could you write Alastor with a Fem reader who kind of dresses like Morticia or Elvira, but with like really long black hair that’s always in a ponytail, like long to the point it’s a few inches above the ground long. Alastor really loves her and also loves her hair, and if Angel or like anyone else try’s to touch it he just gets really protective.

Ask and you shall receive anon! It’s Saturday so let’s make it rain! Since it wasn’t specified, I am going to make this request in the form of headcanons hope that is ok with you. Just going to make slight adjustments as Y/n does not know the people of hell and only Alastor, who due to a ritual possesses and resides in Y/n’s body. But don’t worry I got chu.

“My my what is the occasion my dear?”

The second this demon sees your new hair style and new get up this man is tripping all over the floor.

Since when was your hair that long?

Since he is more used to the both of you getting up in the morning and trying to look presentable for the day, more often than not that hair is always up in a bun or ponytail, or if you are feeling up for a change, the rare and occasional braid. But wow, the second he sees that floor length black dress with that floor length black hair, his smile went past his ears with how deadly you look.

“It’s for Halloween, thought I’d dress up for the trick-or-treaters who stop by,” you said in full enthusiasm getting the candy ready.

“And who exactly are you dressed as? Surely not yourself,” this man tried to be smooth and seducing but all this got his was you looking this demon dead in the eye with the most blasphemous and shocked look on your face.

Bare with him, he died before he could know about the Adams family and the beauty that is Morticia Adams.

So you bombard him with quotes like, “The light,” “I am just like any other mother,” “But my dear you are not a mother? And what is wrong with the light? I thought you liked the sun for the Vitamin D as you call it” easy to say he does not get it and you make it a sheer point that before kids start coming over asking for candy you both sit down and watch the damn movie.

When it finishes it is very easy to assume which character he likes and what was his favourite part from the way his shadow parts from your body and his shadow form makes an eerily familiar black suit with thin red strips. Alastor loves his red.

“Begone with thee!” he exclaims as he fake attacks the sun through the windows; but his absolute favourite “My Dear, how long has it been since we last danced?”

“Hours,” and he proceeds to dance with you throughout the entire apartment.

Now timeskip a couple more hours into what is now the night, carrying on with the theme you decide to show him the more modern adaptation of the Adams family, and since you know that he might enjoy the horror aspect to it. “We’re going to watch Wednesday tonight!”

“THERE’S A SHOW ABOUT THE CHILD!” he’s excited. He does get mildly annoyed of having to pause it so frequently because of all the people who keep ringing, but he enjoys it none-the-less.

That is until a group of very, let’s say, particular people… come ringing at your door. There were some kids in what you could guess very early teens all decked up in their costumes who yell out “TRICK OR TREAT” but the people behind them are who really catch your attention.

The pervy dads

To put it simply they kept whistling at you while you gave out candy to the kids. One dad even started catcalling you.

It wasn’t until one of the dads actually tried to reach out to actually touch your hair, but before he could actually do that his arm snapped mid-air.

First a sickening SNAP resounded that made everyone stare and be silent, next came the deafening scream of the dad who just had his arm mysteriously snap. This just made everyone leave you alone immediately as they tried to see what was wrong… before realising it was completely broken and damn near flopping in the wind.

You simply took this as your cue to slowly close the door, and take a few steps back. “Al?” you asked knowing damn well how this demon, “Yes Cara mia?” he replied. “Hmm, thank you,” you said, “You are very welcome, another man should not be touching another’s spouse.” “Possessive much?” you ask coyly, “and since when were we married?”

“My dear we have been in this arrangement for many years, we might as well be,” Alastor’s shadowed figure reached down for your hand to place a gentle kiss on the knuckle.

“I don’t remember you proposing, so how can we be married.”

“Don’t tempt me my dear, because I promise you, you were mine the day you made this contract and arrangement. And I absolutely vow that nobody else will place their filthy hands on what is mine.”

[pokemonshelterstories]

this might be a little long so bear with me.

I have a Xatu called Tokko (for the sound he makes when he clicks his beak on his favorite plastic cup) who I raised since he was a Natu. Over the years Tokko has done strange things since he's evolved into a Xatu, ranging from expected Xatu behaviors - like standing on the roof of my apartment complex or in my backyard once we moved and intently observing the sun, meditating for tens of hours at a time, to less expected but aligned to partner Pokémon behaviors like using Psycho Shift to steal my colds and high fevers, using Rain Dance to create a localized storm when he didn't want me going to work and (psychically?) turning down the TV when it's too loud for me while he's indulging in nature documentaries and old movies.

I happen to work as a court reporter. I trained for a long time to properly use my stenotype and as it happens, Tokko came into my life around the time I was finishing up my prep for my certificate course to properly enter the profession. Since, Tokko has known that my stenotype is invaluable to my job. I've been professionally doing this for years now, and Tokko has been observing me more and more since I started going at it in real court cases. He's even started insisting on coming to court with me after an incident with a particularly irate defendant, for which I was thankfully issued a permit. He now flanks me basically at all times in court, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, he's calm, typically meditates and does nothing or simply observes the proceedings. He even teleported my stenotype repair kit from home to me so I can fix it up before recess ended.

Then last week happened. You'll understand why I'm anon now. I woke up to a rainstorm that morning, an obviously manufactured one when I looked out the window and saw the neighbor's house dry as bone. Tokko was just doing his usual bit of standing at the window and staring out at the rain like he's in a 60s album cover, but this is typical for him not wanting me to go to work, so I just gave him a pat on the head and told him bills don't pay themselves. As I'm sitting down with my freshly made instant espresso, Tokko suddenly teleports my stenograph onto the table in front of me, then slowly, ominously floats over and intently stares at it, like he wants me to read it. I take a paper out of it and am mortified by what I see; a perfect, court-procedure conscious record of a trial. To my knowledge, Xatu are known to be highly intelligent when properly raised and educated and I spared little expense in doing that. What scared me was that the record was of a case that hasn't been seen in court. It was for a case due in two days. Tokko probably sensed that I was scared by this and immediately started doing his little apology dance that he usually does when he knocks something over.

Timestamps, notes about witness behavior, down to the exact wording in the evidence used to prove the defendant's innocence, all appearing multiple times, all of it flawlessly written out with only an occasional grammatical mistake. And lo and behold, two days later it all plays out exactly as reported by Tokko.

What do I do. What CAN I do? Do I just keep this a secret forever? I'm not gonna experiment with future sight and I'm not very keen on punishing Tokko for what he probably only thought was helping me with work! I already communicated to him that using my stenograph without asking is rude, so hopefully he won't be giving me early morning heart palpitations anymore, but he's been insisting on trying to use the Stenograph more and more often, he seems very taken by it. I don't know if it's a toy to him now, like some Incineroar might steal home appliances they like and hold onto them just because, so taking the implications into account, would taking the stenograph away from him be like depriving him of enrichment? He only seems to want to use it when it's on, and he pretty much only seems to type out future things.

Any advice MORE THAN welcome

please

//hey so i think this is a REALLY cool story you've come up with and you've captured some really interesting vibes! unfortunately, it also goes against established worldbuilding i have for charlie. a xatu just doesn't have the cognitive capability to do this from her perspective. i do think it's a really neat idea to pursue and i didn't want to have charlie reply and just dismiss it for not being something that would happen, but you might want to send it to another pokemonirl blog where pokemon have that kind of ability.

as a reminder, please read the faq before sending an ask! it'll help make sure that whatever you send is something charlie can answer

[talkethtothehandeth]

As much as I agree that people who have EDS shouldn’t talk over people who have worse disabilities than us, and as firmly as I believe that disabled people should let other disabled people speak about their struggles without comparing it to EDS, I need you to know that having EDS, especially my type— the one you find more often than other types, is not just “being bendy”.

I was diagnosed with EDS when I was a baby. I was very lucky, and was able to receive treatment (whether good or bad) quicker than others. However, EDS caused my hip dysplasia, it caused the condition that affected my mobility to the point where I needed three corrective hip surgeries; it was the cause of my bone not forming, I needed a bone donor to aid in correction. I have three long scars on my bikini line where Dr Caroll (from Shriner’s in Utah) cut into me in order to give me a better chance of having less limited mobility.

EDS isn’t just me being able to play bendy straw with my hands, it isn’t just me having to deal with “fake dislocations, it’s subluxations so it’s not that bad”. It caused my scoliosis, it caused my arthritis from my joints going out of place so often. I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis as a child, but as I got older, my arthritis spread to more places. I have burning nerve pain that makes me want to die, I have partial paralysis whenever my body decides to attack me spontaneously, I have dystonia, I have hearing loss, allergic reactions, and pain in every joint in my entire body. From head to toe, all of my joints, all of my muscles.

EDS is something that has severely impacted and negatively effected my entire body. It took everything from me, it took my already limited mobility, it took my peace, it took my mental health, it took my most beloved hobby ever— riding horses. I cannot sit to play piano, use my hands for my guitar, sit in a chair for more than 30 minutes without my back muscles screaming.

I took 14 pills every single day with multiple prescriptions because of what EDS has caused. I am undiagnosed with something that nearly killed me last year, everyone was preparing for me to die, and it has been dismissed by anxiety or an eating disorder, it is caused by my disease. EDS will affect me for the rest of my life.

EDS isn’t “just” being hyper mobile. This isn’t just a small disease that people go through, it is life altering and life compromising and life threatening from all of the comorbidities that come along with it; it is debilitating, it is isolating, it is pain that cannot be treated with even IV morphine, it is a constant, unrelenting acid rain condition just as many other physical disabilities.

People who have EDS shouldn’t try to play the Sick Olympics, we shouldn’t go to someone’s page and say “I’M JUST AS SICK AND DISABLED AS YOU ARE”. We should take the time to listen to people who have it worse, because so often they get ignored by abled people, they don’t need other disabled people to say that their conditions aren’t worse just because we have it bad. So many people are definitely more disabled than I am, and that absolutely does not erase my struggles.

Every physical disability affects the body in different ways, and every physical disability isn’t necessarily comparable to others. My degenerative arthritis isn’t the same as someone’s ankylosing spondylitis. My joints are fucked and my mobility has been significantly decreased as my disease has progressed. I am not going to compare my knees that will need to be replaced to someone whose spine is literally fusing together. Even though it’s a form of arthritis, it isn’t the same as mine and it isn’t my place to pretend it is.

But someone saying “it’s just hyper mobility” is perpetuating a harmful narrative, because people already don’t believe us, our stuff doesn’t show in labs and it only shows during further and extensive testing that many doctors don’t want to pursue because we’re “faking” or “being over dramatic”, because it isn’t “that bad”, it’s just bendy joints, it’s not debilitating./s It isn’t just being bendy, it is so much more and doesn’t need to be dismissed solely because it isn’t the same or as severe as someone else’s condition. Even if someone does have it worse, it doesn’t mean that EDS isn’t bad, and just because someone has EDS, it doesn’t mean it’s always comparable and needs to be shouted to the world on people’s posts about a completely different situation.

[blindvogel]

A companion piece for my previous Mourn Watch Rook background exploration, this time from Emmrich's perspective. I can't wait to learn more about him!

~~~

His first memory of her is also of his first day in the Mourn Watch. He’s nervous and tries very hard not to let it show, surrounded by a hallowed institution and impressive people he is only too fortunate to call his peers. And then suddenly there is a little girl barreling down the hallway, black hair flying behind her in an intricate braid he’s usually only seen on another Watcher. She slides to a stop in front of him, such a serious look in her rain cloud-grey eyes. He bends down to greet her. “Kamari Ingellvar, pleased to meet you.” A pause. “You’re tall.” He is no longer nervous.

He is exhausted and certainly not feeling his best. Definitely not looking the part either after a tussle and a fall down in the catacombs, and not looking forward to trudging like this past any of his colleagues. Then he notices her walking towards him, is surprised for just a moment at how much she has grown, how he somehow had missed that she gained a few inches.  Absently he tries to brush the grime off his coat, and luckily just stops himself from dragging his hand through his hair. The girl with the serious eyes doesn’t seem to mind. “Hello Mr. Volkarin. Was your expedition a success?” she says as if his harried appearance was the most unremarkable thing in the world.

He is far less nervous nowadays and he finds he truly loves the time in the lecture hall, loves teaching. Most of the younger Watchers attending his lectures even listen. At least she always does. No matter when he finds himself turning away from his presentation and to the attendees, he finds her face turned towards him, focused with her full attention. He’s a little proud of that.

He is searching for a specific book on the revered dead in the library, and instead finds her - and the book. She appears to be reading but he knows her by now, knows that the look on her face is one of distant absence, lost in thought. She has changed recently, or perhaps he is simply late to notice again.  He startles her, and yet in a heartbeat is holding a pile of books in his hands, including the one he was looking for. She still calls him Professor, no matter how often he asks her to use his name. The formality feels awkward, especially coming from her.  “Just one more time,” she says with a rare smile. He cherishes it because it is the last he sees of her for a long time.

Emmrich opens his eyes to her fingers in his hair, her black hair unbound and cascading over her shoulder, the rain cloud-grey eyes looking down at him with a softness that still surprises him. Even now. He doesn’t think he could ever get used to it.  She smiles at his endearment, a blush dusting her cheeks and creeping all the way up into the points of her ears. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that either. 

“Morning, love,” she says and leans down to kiss him. Or that.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Random ghoul Headcanon 2

Dew hates sleeping alone. Ever since he was summoned he’s hated it and he doesn’t know why. He normally ends up snuggled up with aether in his nest but he has been known to fall asleep on mountains chest like a little cat.

Mountain is like them big dogs that think they’re really small. He doesn’t even realise how big he is and you will end up with a lap full of giant ghoul.

All ghouls can see in the dark. They have the same reflective eyes as cats do.

Copia once got the ghouls catnip as a sort of prank/joke present. It was less of a joke when the ghouls went absolutely feral over it. He’s getting them all some more for Christmas.

Swiss and aether go absolutely ham in ikea. They’re not allowed to go unsupervised anymore.

Cumulus licks the incense sticks they use for rituals. Nobody knows she does this.

Aether has an impressive collection of awful dad shirts. And they really are ugly. He tries to get on from each country they’ve visited. Mountain and Swiss steal them sometimes.

Rain eats salt right out the tub. Sometime he’ll pour it into a bowl and add water to make saltwater cereal.

When dew was first summoned he was really scared, especially of sleeping, so copia gave him a plushie. It was one of the ikea rats that someone gave him as a joke and he half expected dew to toss it aside like he had done but dew became really protective over the little thing. He slept with every night. If it ever went missing he’d flip out. He still sleeps with it sometimes. Copia did the same with sunshine when she was first summoned but with a blanket. She still sleeps with wrapped around her.

Candles are banned from the ghouls den because Swiss was caught drinking the melted wax. He got cumulus to join him but she never got caught.

Copia very quickly learnt that the ghouls loved laser pens. They have no idea where the little red light comes from and will chase it around for hours. He once put a disco ball up in the den thinking it would work the same. It was even better. He walked into the den to see all the ghouls spinning in circles trying to chase a specific reflection while crashing into each other. It was a mess. No chores got done that day.

Ghouls can’t get drunk on regular human alcohol so mountain makes it for them. It’s strong enough to get even the biggest ghoul off their face. He also grows weed.

Aether always keeps a hair tie in his wrist for dew. He knows his hair gets in his face sometimes and bothers him but he never had a hair tie with him so aether keeps one for him.

Cirrus and dew both have their nipples pierced. Cirrus has bars and dew has rings. They’ve gotten them stuck together more then once. Mountain laughed so hard trying to untangle them he had to get rain to help him. Rain was no help.

Mountain is terrified of rabbits. He runs to cirrus for comfort whenever he sees one.

Swiss loves working in the nursery. He loves babies and thinks human babies are fascinating. The feeling is mutual the babies love him just as much.

Mountain currently reading twilight to dew upon dew’s request. They’ve made it into new moon. Dew got so mad that “Edward would leave Bella to a dog” he nearly set the book on fire. They’re both team Edward.

Most of the ghouls are early riser's, often rising with the sun. Except rain and cumulus. They can both sleep forever if you’d let them.they’re often found still curled up together asleep at midday. They’re often the last ones to leave the bed or the nest.

[pockymun]

Maps of Tenebrae by Pockymun

Tenebrae was such a beast. I thought Galahd was difficult; Tenebrae is so much bigger and has continental climates to deal with. Like last time, I nearly lost my mind trying to make sense of the climates, so I kind of gave up.

Most of the writing I've done for FFXV has skirted around Tenebrae, focusing moreso on its politics than the landmass itself. It's been in the background for the most part, largely because I didn't have a proper map to explore with! I copied it the best I could from reference images.

Tenebrae is not as cold as I initially assumed it was. It has a warm ocean current on its western side that brings much rain and warm winds that keep the northern reaches largely temperate. The eastern side of Tenebrae is hit with a cold ocean current, getting far less rain and winds. The fishing is better on the east coast. The southern half of Ulwaat was given a temperate rainforest climate based on what we saw of Tenebrae in Kingsglaive; it had that dark green flora of a rainforest.

I base a lot of my headcanons for Tenebrae off of Western Europe primarily, with a little bit from Northern Europe. The way I figured the latitude lines of Eos, Tenebrae is still well below the subartic circle (assuming Eos has one). It's climate is based upon Ireland, the UK, and Scotland, but those three have only two climates: oceanic and subpolar oceanic. I chose climate terms that best described the forests found in Tenebrae. Because Tenebrae is nothing but forests, mountains, and hills.

Tenebrae is the land of high altitudes and trees. What reference images we have of Tenebrae seemed to have a lot of peaks on it. In the glimpse of Tenebrae that we saw in the movie, there are large rock islands that just float above the rest of the land. While Galahdians have a knack for using magic, Tenebrae itself is a land of magic. These floating islands are unique to its mountains mostly, although a few clusters can exist separately.

Water also seems to be a theme for Tenebrae, with its northern cape, the southern sounds, and a few small bays all around. Where there are mountains, there are rivers running down to the ocean. I imagine there are natural springs all around the country, used as a natural remedy for several ailments.

I will dump my headcanons about Tenebrae below:

I've been talking with @groovytimetravelflower, who has the theory that Niflheim's airships are powered by stones or ores mined from the floating islands. It just makes perfect sense. Niflheim had several reasons to invade Tenebrae: to dominate the whole continent, to establish complete control over trade, and to get their hands on whatever magic exists in the land.

Much of the magic is not well-known nor understood beyond the floating islands. The forests of Tenebrae are old, especially in the north.

The only other country close enough for Tenebrae to trade with is Niflheim. Though Tenebrae has a couple ports of its own, these are not large enough for massive shipyards and international trade. Trading with Niflheim allows Tenebraen trade goods to go farther in the world. The downside is that Niflheim can control all trade that Tenebrae does, taking things for the Empire and blocking imports.

The country is very difficult to navigate because of the terrain. Roads are often winding and go around obstacles; this was done moreso out of the belief that the land could not be damaged by man-made endeavors. Trains have only been established in Ulwaat. There may be a few antique cars, but the most common mode of transportation on main roads are chocobo-drawn carriages, or riding chocobos.

Tenebrae is behind on technology overall: this is a result of Niflheim conquering them so long ago. Niflheim doesn't often invest in the lands they conquer. You can see this in how mainland Lucis has such outdated technology, which was left to languish once the Imperials seized control. Most high-technology Tenebrae is exposed to comes from the Imperial Army and is only used in their operations. Ulwaat is the most developed province. The railroad in Ulwaat was developed by the Empire to more easily transport the stone and ore they mined in the mountains.

The further away one gets from Fenestala, the less modern technology there is. In Morrith, Krahage, and Bruiral, indoor plumbing is a recent technological advancement. Not all places have it; it requires electricity, which is difficult to establish in Northern Tenebrae. Because Tenebrae is such a mystical place and the population is probably very religious because of the Oracle, not a lot of people mind being behind in technology.

Cellphones are unheard of, and you wouldn't get reception in most of Tenebrae anyway. Fenestala Manor probably has a couple TVs, but similarly, reception is terrible. Radio signals come through a little more clearer, mostly because the Imperial Army needs them to.

The architecture of the capital and towns of Tenebrae is Victorian and Edwardian, with art noveau used in Fenestala Manor. Villages typically are full of cottages of wood or stone and roofed with thatch. The typical fashion is also Victorian and Edwardian, although more of the youth have recently begun to wear the modern Western clothing imported from Niflheim. People further north of the Breksos Mountains dress in traditional Celtic and Norse garb.

The Breksos Mountain Range naturally divides Tenebrae into a North and a South. These regions do not strictly adhere to the cardinal directions; it is just what people have referred to it as. Travel through these mountains is especially difficult. There is one passage near Woudoord, but it becomes blocked by snow in the winter, completely isolating the north.

Queen Sylva frequently sent aid in the form of doctors, vaccines, and schoolteachers to Northern Tenebrae. She did a lot to improve the relations across the mountains, although the past few Oracles have never gone north of the mountains. All aid stopped with her death. The Northerners became even more apprehensive of Southerners as they appeared to submit to the Empire.

Northern Tenebrae is even further behind in technological advancements than Southern Tenebrae (ie the indoor plumbing). Northern Tenebrae is very isolated from the rest of the world, especially in the winter. It's rare for a Northerner to travel south, and vice versa. The South views the North as barbarous, and the North view the South as weak. Southerners are prim and proper; Northerners... are not. Both greatly revere the Oracle.

As I said before, Tenebraens are religious, largely in part to the Oracle's presence. Tenebrae has become known as a land of healers, with many practicing natural remedies. The people are generally modest and proper. Victorian and Edwardian social customs still run strong.

Tenebraens are seen as mysterious and exotic to the rest of the world. Niflheim hasn't allow Tenebraens to leave their country since they attacked Fenestala Manor, so it's very rare to see one in Lucis. The rest of the world doesn't really understand the difference between North and South Tenebraens. The differences become clear when putting one of each side by side and listening to the bickering.

-

Feel free to use these maps when writing your own fics or headcanons! I would greatly appreciate being credited. These maps are just my interpretation, and don't stand in for canon material. They are flawed, but I worked with what I had. I made these using Inkarnate.

[kokusfluffyhair]

Their Thoughts on Winter

(Demons can go out in the daytime/sunlight here)

Kokushibou

+ It isn't his preferred temperature, but he can tolerate it

+ He doesn't want to show weakness, so he won't complain

+ He gets a little calmer when it gets dark earlier -- the less sun reminds him less that he can't do Sun Breathing

+ He likes to cuddle up at night with his s/o, and colder weather is good for that

+ But still, he doesn't like feeling cold when he's outside

+ His long, luscious hair helps keep him warm

+ He tries not to let the season change ruin his vibe

+ The cold air does dry out his eyes some, so he needs some eye drops for that

Muzan

+ He likes it -- it keeps the riff-raff away

+ He's relieved when there are less crazy summer people on the streets

+ Everyone gets paler in the winter, so his own skin colour is less evident than in warmer months

+ He does get very angry that the sun isn't out as long

+ He wishes it could be colder but with long hours of sun

+ His little experiments aren't as productive as in the summer because he's always gritting his teeth about how it gets dark so fast

+ His patience wears thin easier and he kills more humans during the winter

+ If you're Douma or Gyokko, you probably get your body slashed in half more often during the winter

Douma

+ This one gets seasonal depression

+ He hates having to wear a coat or layers

+ He hates having to wear a hat to cover up that gorgeous hair of his

+ He complains a lot

+ He says that his bubbly personality needs the sun to give him energy

+ Because he gets depressed, he requires more intimacy with his s/o to get through the winter

+ The only joy he finds in the cold is working on ice sculptures

+ Still, the quality of the natural snow and ice is subpar compared to what he can create during any season

Gyutaro

+ His first words are "fuck, man" whenever he walks outside

+ He's bundled up in so many layers but it's not enough for his skinny ass

+ He can see his breath in the air before anyone else does

+ Sometimes he pulls down his hat so far that it's almost covering his eyes

+ He doesn't understand how or why Daki is still not covering up and wearing skimpy clothes in this weather

+ His skin gets paler and it makes his birthmarks more evident

+ He gets bad dry skin in the winter too

+ Someone give him moisturiser and force him to use it, please

Tahomaru

+ He wants to build snowmen and play in the snow but he always gets sick when he does

+ "Already?" he asks every day when it gets dark early

+ He's pretty tolerant to the cold

+ He likes having warm drinks and soups

+ If his s/o or best friend gets depressed in the winter, he'll feel bad and try to cheer them up

+ He would make candlelight hand-puppet shows

+ He loves to cuddle under blankets

+ He likes that he doesn't get as sweaty but wishes that the winter wouldn't last as long as it doesn

Daigo Kagemitsu

+ He hates winter even more than I do

+ He gets really cranky and angry when there's less sunlight

+ It reminds him of when it used to flood all the time and he gets anxiety from it

+ He's very sensitive to the cold but won't tell anyone

+ He looks like he wants to burn down the world whenever he has to walk in snow

+ He has a hard time waking up in the morning knowing that it's going to be grey and cold

+ This man really needs sunshine and he's struggling

Saburota

+ He's invincible to the cold

+ But he's very sensitive to being wet

+ He's fine, as long as there's no dampness or freezing rain or snow

+ He gets sick when there's snow

+ He uses the cold weather as an excuse to cook more and experiment with food

+ He uses the oven a lot so he can leave it open and let the warm air come into the house

+ He gets tired when it gets dark early

[khaotunng]

can't believe i'm doing this but. queen of tears post sad ending vignette:

Hyunwoo doesn't know how it happens, or why he cannot simply walk way and live life differently, now that everything is different. Maybe it's just the way he is, the same way he fell in love with Haein without knowing all the important details —or anything at all, to be honest. He is not a stupid man but he is a fool in the way he loves: he is lucky to have found Haein the way he did, and not a placid intern that could never become the love of his life. He just did not expect to keep seeing her brother so often, long after Haein is gone.

During Haein's last month, the one that went by syrupy slow but also way too fast, slipping through his fingers like the warm seasons of his sunny childhood in the fields, Haein sometimes forgot her age, mixed up faces and places and lived in a world that made sense only in her head. She was happy, she said one evening where it was just the two of them watching an old drama, that they had met so young, because this way he could be a good influence on her brother. After a few beats of silence –his heart breaking, splintering, while his hands remained steady as he held her–, he asked her to elaborate, in a roundabout lawyer-like way she would have seen through if she weren't sick.

"Imagine if I'd found you later, after school," she explained. Even when her voice faltered from exhaustion, the tone remained the assured one he knew, the one she'd use to explain why she was actually always right in their playful first year of marriage. "Soocheol needs a good role model."

She mentioned her brother almost as often as Hyunwoo, while others in the family (her mother, her long lost brother) were not forgotten, but perennially out of focus. Hyunwoo was happy that wherever she ended up in her head, he always seemed to be included.

The truth is that a tiny part of him hates seeing Soocheol. It's that side of him capable of hate, of deep-bone exhaustion that buries every good thing deep inside of him until he forgets why he loved in the first place. He hates Soocheol's happiness, his lockscreen showing the last picture his ex sent of Geonu, now less chubby and nothing like his father, he hates the rare moments where, maybe out of desperation, Soocheol says something that makes him think of Haein alive, and not Haein as she was at the end, as she is now. A shadow who loved him.

In Soocheol's eyes, they both made up with Haein before the end, and that's a good thing. He said as much over soju, one rare evening where it was him to witness Hyunwoo getting drunk and not his best friend. But Soocheol speaks of Haein dying happy, of resting in peace, and while Hyunwoo was raised catholic he cannot stand the thought. Haein should be angry at him. She should be alive and blazing brighter than everyone else and he should be trying to win her back. To make it work better the second time around.

(He dreams of surprising her with flowers, of running after her in the rain, of doing it all again from the beginning. Of marrying each other a second time without Haein too weak to walk down the aisle.)

He cannot stop thinking that the Haein he forgave, who forgave him in return, did it all for his sake. She loved him too much to end things differently. The one factor that would make her choose a losing hand was always Baek Hyunwoo, after all.

Today, he meets Soocheol with the intention of it being the last time for a while. They'll have the anniversaries to meet again, after all, and he can always see Soocheol's face on the news while the other fixes the Hongs family reputation one donation at a time (they don't trust him with much else, but Soocheol surprisingly does well when it comes to delivering teary speeches at every charity gala involving kids, or cute seal cubs).

He doesn't expect to see Geonu. Soocheol probably texted him a million times to tell him his son was visiting, but Hyunwoo is working late and sleeping little. The kid hangs from Soocheol's hand and kicks the pebbles as he walks, and he has his mother's eyes. Mother and son have started to look at Soocheol in the same way, a puzzled, pleased blink that betrays fondness.

"Look who's here!!" Soocheol laughs. He doesn't call Hyunwoo uncle to his face, but that's how Geonu refers to him, and Hyunwoo's heart can take it. Mostly.

(If they'd had their baby, would he remember different years before the end? Would she have Haein's face?)

Geonu tries to bow, or maybe crouches down to pick up a good rock. His big head is so close to the ground that Soocheol panics, but just for a moment.

(Haein as a mother.)

A thought: what if he talks to Geonu about his aunt who lives far away. She's in Germany. She has a big company and works all the time but if he behaves, she will bring him the best present ever. She's Hyunwoo's wife but they don't live together because sometimes love is hard and complicated. By the time he'll finish trying to make sense of who they were, Geonu will have moved on to a more interesting game.

He walks towards the entrance of the Hongs mansion and is betrayed by habit, his feet finding the path before his brain. His heart skipping a beat at the promise of memories of her, the house brimming with them until it becomes bearable to enter.

[mastermindmp3]

I feel its no secret that I try to analyze the songs within the context of the album and that alone. I think there's so much artistry that is often ignored when trying to focus so solely on passing paternity tests about parables told by the potential paramour's songs. ( ok, I really reached for that alliteration, sorry. )

But like, I've been a Swiftie since 06. I do know that these songs are about Taylor Swift's life, and frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Empathy and connection are what, I think, her music is about. How deeply personal is absolutely part of the appeal.

I feel like this acknowledgement will definitely be more prescient in analyses to come, but... god, god, this song is heartbreaking, and it feels so personal. Some songs are vertical slices of the author's life, and dear god, does this feel like one.

Suppose the only thing left to do is place the slide under the microscope, yeah?

There's so much to go into here. The song is so mired in death. There's loss and grief, but this one feels more potent. The speaker isn't trying to justify her grief to other people this time, isn't trying to preempt it (see: Down Bad, saying she was heaven struck, even if for such a short time.)

We open on the title, framed in the same interval as church bells ( and Big Ben ) and throughout the song, we realize that the bells are for a funeral. Cause of death: disaffection and depression.

Can I say? I really love the delivery on the very first verse. I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist. She delivers it so softly, so warmly, with the last bit of hope the song holds. Fairy lights could be so many things - it could be literal, the fairy lights on someone's porch. It can also be literal for the homophonic meaning: ferry lights, seeing the boat leave as she says goodbye to London. It could be the mythic suggestion of the will o' the wisp, which exist to mislead the traveler who sees them. Perhaps our speaker's later actions are all in vain, because she was following ghostlights.

She tells the audience all she did to try and save her love. Kept calm and carried the weight of the rift. Keep Calm and Carry On being, memeticly, a piece of propaganda distributed in Great Britain during the lead up to WWII. This tells us that perhaps she tried to ignore the ways her relationship was failing, and then, when that didn't work, pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

Then, she tells us how her clinging hurt her. To hold so tightly to someone causes muscles to ache, and even the speaker says, [Her] spine split from carrying [them] up the hill. The speaker is starting to lose hope, here, I think. As she sees how much she's putting in, and how little her lover is giving back.

I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the heath. / I stopped CPR / I was going down with [the ship.]

It is so clear, through vocal desperation and how deep Taylor's notes get, that the speaker gave everything she had to try and save this romance. But she was only given "quiet resentment" in return.

I try to only pull from TTPD for these posts, but the talk of going down with the ship, the imagery of rain ( wet through my clothes ) it all brings to mind just... One thing. Well, actually, two things:

Rain as a symbol of depression is very classic shorthand. We call rainy days "gloomy." I feel like, very obviously, the Speaker's lover is depressed, but I think, less obviously: the speaker is too.

How much sad did you think I had in me?

For me, it calls to mind an old friend, who was going through a dark spot at the same time as me. They... refused to work on getting better, and I hate to say it, but yes, getting better is such nasty work. In a way, the Speaker is expressing that too. She was putting in the nasty work of keeping their relationship together, but also, of putting herself back together.

And her lover didn't. He swore he loved her, but the speaker died on the altar waiting for the proof. You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days. Refusing to care, allowing yourself to wallow in depression when someone else is doing the work for you, will be the final straw in many relationships.

I think, by tying the two together, over this running beat, the speaker is explaining why she has to go. Why, for her own mental health, the relationship must end, before she, too, is sacrificed.

I founded the club she's heard great things about.

The speaker put so much work into the relationship (and by proxy, her lover's mental health) that she feels she reinvented her lover. And as he finds new loves, ones who've heard 'great things' about him, she feels resentment... And yet, she also doesn't. After all, she still says that they:

Had a good run / a moment of warm sun / but I'm not the one

In the end, though worsening mental health played a role, the death knell was the all too real: changing hearts and minds. Life went on, and the speaker and her lover fell out of love with each other. The Speaker could no longer choose to stay, not when their love was so obviously corpse cold. I stopped CPR, after all, it's no use.

She knows she'll take blame (You say I abandoned the ship,) for being the one to officially pull the plug. In the context of this song, though, the blame lays with everyone and no one. Some romance can't be resuscitated, and to continue to try well beyond expiration only creates dull, dying pangs.

Taylor creates such a living picture, for such a dying love, and it's genuinely such good songwriting.

[shkika]

Do you have a post explaining your SoS = Saint headcanon (like the hows and the whys)? I think it’s a super cool theory but I can’t find anything you’ve written in depth about it :(

Yes sure!

I have realized it is extremely difficult to search through my asks related only to a specific topic oops..

My theory stems from a specific Moon dialogue. The one in the void where she explains that the solution was something beyond their understanding. A variable out of infinity that EVEN if they found, the wouldn't know to test. Basically this this finding one single thing out of an infinity of options. Not only that, but the only way to know the answer is to cross into the void and escape the cycles. Which would mean that upon discovering it, you would ascend.

Hey. Did you know that Sliver of Straw's name suspiciously much sounds like the saying "Needle in a haystack".

I've rambled about her name before it's extremely clever. I mean it literally translates to SOS while she's known for sending the triple affirmative signal and perishing.

In my theory I want to give the idea that Sliver didn't find the answer on purpose. She stumbled on it and forcefully ascended before she had enough time to explain, share or do anything more than send it out.

So then okay she's in the void. Why did she come back as Saint. What's going on?

Well the void is described as a dream. Which would mean it gives those who have departed the cycles a peaceful existence. Think of Hunter being embraced by NSH and Survivor finding their family in the home tree. Monk finding their sibling as well.

Well Sliver no doubt went through the same experience as well... however..

You can tell it's a dream. Or at least the iterators can, because they are much more intelligent. Sliver would know that her dreams aren't real. Her loved ones she sees are still stuck in the cycles, somewhere she can't reach. And she's stuck unwillingly, it was all an accident she can't escape from. And she had friends! She often bet on animal fights like a dumbass, you cannot tell me she was fully devoted and did nothing else, but work with that silly hobby in mind. It's a very goofy detail to add to her character.

I think she suffered a lot in the void. Being all alone and stuck. It was unfair to be the only one free of the cycles, especially when her accomplishment wasn't even purposeful. So she attempts to escape. More or less swim up just how we see Saint doing.

But there are in fact void worms guarding the sea. I imagine they dragged her back down. Again and again.

What goes in the void can't leave. That's a rule!

So what she does is basically destroy herself. Take herself appart in any way she can, mentally and physically so that she can ascend as something anew.

Which is where the last challenge in arena mode makes more sense. It's non canon. Sliver didn't die, because of Saint. But it is more so symbolic! She is ascended so that Saint can take her place.

It is difficult and painful, but she manages. It is also beyond cool how the motif of the game, but inverted is use for Saint's swim back to the world. I did a lengthy ramble about it here I highly recommend you give it a read, because even the music used adds to this theory! > (x) < Here it is.

All the creatures in rain world are helpless from the big iterators to the smallest of slug cats.

Sliver takes her fate in her own hands refusing to follow the world's rules, becoming Saint. This was he can give the answer to his family. To every creature he can save from the repeating cycles. Comic about that here > (x) Even if Saint's goal is unachievable he chases it anyway. Which is what makes him an echo!

As Moon and Pebbles understand.. he's the only one that can. And it is why his journey is so incredibly important. He's the only one who has seen beyond the void sea and can bring back that knowledge to others! And it's what Saint does. This is why Sliver can never return to a peaceful existence in the void sea.

[stephaniebrownslover]

Main Characters' Relationship With The Others[Jeff The Killer]

This is for my main AU and there will 9 more posts with this style for each main character.

Remember, asks are always open!!

Jeff The Killer

Romantic relationship: none

Clockwork: He feels nothing but a sense of respect and need to protect towards her. It can even be said that they have a good relationship because their traumas are similar to each other and they often understand each other better than everyone else. They constantly make fun and threaten each other, but this is their way of acting friendly, and they are friends anyway, because no one but the two of them can handle their sense of humor. A friend he can knock on the door whenever he wants to hang out randomly.

Hoodie: He doesn't like him. Because he hates Slenderman and his brainless minions to death, Hoodie is worthless in his eyes. It can even be said that he does not consider him a human being. He also tries to use Hoodie's being a more understanding person than other proxies to the end.

Masky: He hates the stupid bastard. He wants to kill him, he tried to kill him, and his hatred increased even more because his ass was kicked bad. Masky treats him like a stupid dog, and that's why he's the proxy he hates the most. He will kill him at the first opportunity he gets, without hesitation.

Ticci Toby: It could be said that they have an interesting relationship. He makes fun of Toby all the time, but on the one hand, he sees him a less loser compared to the others. A little weirdly, he doesn't hate him, but he doesn't like him very much. Still, he thinks he's a strange person, and he doesn't hang out with him much since he doesn't want to get injured in one of his unstable moments.

Eyeless Jack: Their relationship is based more on Jack putting up with his stupidity. If Jack hadn't been such an understanding and calm-built demon, they definitely wouldn't have had a relationship, and Jeff would have already died. He's kind of grateful that he's the only doctor who's agreed to treat him, and he's trying not to end their relationship. He's not someone he'll talk to much unless he needs something, because Jack is too calm. But chatting with him usually relaxes Jeff, and the rest of the time it makes him incredibly angry.

Jane The Killer: Although he regrets ruining her life, these feelings turned into pure hatred when Jane ruined his life as a sense of revenge. He would have liked to forgive himself to her, but Jane killed even the last crumbs of compassion left in him. He thinks she's an obsessive bitch and just wants her to let it go.

X-Virus: It can't be said that he has much to do with him. He thinks he's an idiot for helping Slenderman even though he's not a proxy. Every time they talk, they insult each other and continue to argue until someone comes to separate them. He doesn't see him as anything but a stupid nerd.

Nina The Killer: They have a complicated relationship. He took advantage of Nina's admiration for him and left her as a heartbroken person. He might be a shitty person, but he didn't want to be a girl's first disappointment. On one of the anniversaries of Liu's death, Nina brought him an umbrella while he was crying under the pouring rain and at the head of his younger brother's grave. He was quite drunk and his crying became even more violent. He apologized to Nina, who was in a state of not knowing what to do, and said that they could be friends if she wanted. Nina also took the drink bottle from his hand, and after calming down a little, she took him to her house. He doesn't remember that night, but he's glad that Nina gave him another chance. He's trying to be a less shitty person towards to her.

Kate The Chaser: He's scared of her. She's an extremely dangerous creature, and he's almost sure she would jump on him the first moment they're alone. He knows that she and Nina have a close relationship, and even though they are good now, he thinks that she hates him with a burning passion. He tries to stay away from her as much as possible. He knows that if they have to fight, he can't win.

[selffulfillingshipper]

Exit Wounds: Mark Hoffman / Reader

Summary: It wasn’t often that Mark Hoffman was shown true, unconditional kindness. Kindness with no strings attached. However, once he met the perfect stranger, it didn’t take long before he was obsessed with them. Soon he wanted all he could take from them - and he wanted them to see him as their savior.

Warnings / Tags:  Manipulation, Stalking, Not a Happy Ending, Gender-Neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort, mark does both the hurting and the comforting, red flags galore

Word Count: 6780

A/N: This is based off this post by @tokoyamisstuff​ and Exit Wounds by The Romanovs! Thanks for the inspiration~

The first thing I noticed was the sound of rain. It was coming down hard, pounding on the metal roof to wherever I was. I opened my eyes, but there was something wrapped around my head, blindfolding me. It was heavy and cold - is this metal? I tried to reach up to feel whatever had been placed on my head, but my hands were strapped down to the chair I was sitting on. “Hello?” I called out, desperate. There’s probably no one there, and even if there was, I doubt they’d be here to help me.

No reply came. I struggled against the restraints and pulled my head forward when I heard the sound of a pin coming loose, and then a voice that made my blood run cold.

“Hello, ______.”

There’s only one voice that could be - the Jigsaw killer’s.

Everyone in the city knew the sound of that voice. I suddenly wanted to scream, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. All I could do was listen to the instructions and try to survive. My entire body was shaking with the fear of whatever task was coming my way, and in my mind, I saw flashes in my mind of the very few encounters I’d had with any news of the Jigsaw killer, trying to remember anything useful.

- + -

It was almost a year ago when I first heard of the Jigsaw killer. I read about one of the murders in the local newspaper - a murderer who had been killed in a pendulum trap. The thought of someone’s last moments being nothing but absolute horror as a pendulum comes down to tear them in two was horrifying, and I couldn’t help but imagine how stomach-turning it would be to have to investigate that death. To walk into the room where such a graphic death had taken place, and have to stay and look for the details.

Despite how horrific the crime was, it piqued my curiosity. However, it was less on the crime itself and more on the method. I couldn’t help but think of a story I had to read in one of my college English classes: The Pit and the Pendulum. It was the only one of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories that had ever chilled me, and the murder I had read seemed like an intentional reference to it. A dark, deviously curious part of me was curious to whether or not all the deaths were in some part literary references, and if they were - why? I knew it didn’t matter and there was no use trying to get into the head of a killer, and I tried to let my curiosity die there.

Then, a few months later, I heard about another death.

I was out driving late one night, trying to clear my head after a stressful day, when I drove by an active crime scene. There was already a small crowd, and because I took a bad turn I had taken down the street, my car was blocked from proceeding by the car of someone who had pulled over and parked to see what was going on. Damn, I thought, looking behind me to see if there was a good way to back out. Right as I thought I had one, a car pulled into the small side street and parked behind me, a man getting out of it. Oh, come on! I thought, not believing my bad luck. I rolled my passenger-side window down, deciding to take a chance and call out. “Hey, you there!” I shouted towards him, hoping to grab his attention.

The man stopped and turned to me, and that’s when I noticed a flash of gold and noted the badge around his neck. Oh, he must be one of the investigators, I thought, my heartbeat suddenly rising. “Can I help you?” he asked, approaching my car. Though his words were short, he sounded more tired than annoyed that I called out.

“Oh, um, you parked behind me and I don’t have a better way to get out of this street. I’m not trying to stay and pry, I just want to get out of this street, and it looks like it’s already packed with on-lookers,” I told him. “I’m not trying to get in the way, I promise.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” he looked around, seemingly analyzing my situation. “Are you any good at three point turns? It would be a little tight, but you can get out of here that way. Would be a lot safer than backing out onto the other street, too. I can spot you if you need it.”

“Really? That would be great, thank you,” I told him, stopping for a moment to think about the surroundings. It’s getting kind of loud and rowdy out there, people are talking and taking photos, it’ll be hard to hear him guiding me. “Sorry if I’m being difficult, but would you be okay getting in and guiding me from the passenger seat? I’m just worried I won’t be able to hear you, and I’ll definitely need the help - I can’t promise that I’m a great driver.”

The detective came closer to my car, pausing for a moment to peer inside. “As long as you’re alright with it.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t,” I told him, unlocking the passenger door. The detective opened the door and climbed inside, taking a seat and buckling in. “Thanks for the help, Detective…?” I asked, fishing for his name.

“Mark Hoffman,” he responded simply, leaning his head out the window. “I’m not parked that close behind you, so you should have enough room to reverse about five feet.”

I followed his instructions, and as I started to back out of the way, a line of three cars appeared from around the car that originally was in my way, attempting to get through the street. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath as I was boxed in for a second time. “I’m sorry if this is holding you up - you can get out and I can figure this out by myself, I’m sure you have to get back to that scene.”

“I blocked you in, so I’ll stay around long enough to help you out,” he told me. “I can see past this car that’s blocking the way, and this line should clear out relatively fast. Don’t worry about it. What’s your name?”

“______,” I told him. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but I am curious - what happened? There’s a lot of people trying to get a look in there.”

He sighed. “People in this city start to gather around any crime scene since the Jigsaw murders happened, trying to find out when he’ll strike next. Unluckily, they’re right this time around.”

“Wait - this is a murder scene for a Jigsaw trap? What are you still doing here, you have more important things to do!” I exclaimed, surprised. “I feel like the last Jigsaw murder wasn’t that long ago, that Pit and the Pendulum trap.”

Mark raised his eyebrow at me. “Pit and the Pendulum?”

“Oh, sorry. That’s what I call it in my head - I read that it was some kind of pendulum device, and it reminded me of the Edgar Allan Poe story. Are you familiar with it?”

“I am. A man is sentenced to death and wakes up in a room with a pit and a pendulum, and he gets strapped down to a table where a pendulum starts to come down to kill him. He gets the help of rats to escape death from the pendulum, but falls into the pit.”

“Exactly! Anyway, when I read the news article about the death, I couldn’t help but think about the story. I have to admit, though, when I read the article, it was hard to sympathize with the victim.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, pulling his head back in from the window and turning to look at me, as if I had fully grabbed his attention.

“Oh! Uh, forget it - it’s not in good taste to speak ill of the dead, especially a murder victim when we’re at the scene of another crime. Just forget I said it at all,” I said, suddenly flustered to be on the spot. “How’s the line of cars looking?”

“Shorter, there’s just a few more,” he told me, sticking his head out again briefly. He leaned back in the passenger seat, silence hanging in the air briefly before he spoke up again. “I know what you mean about the last victim, Seth Baxter. I know the news mentioned - so it’s public knowledge - that he was a murderer, and it was one of the reasons he was chosen. He was a killer - he brutally murdered his girlfriend. I’ll say that there wasn’t too much sympathy on the scene that day.”

“Justice of Jigsaw,” I muttered. “I don’t pretend to know what Jigsaw wants, or how to avoid getting on his bad side in order not to be targeted. I really respect what you guys are doing in that respect - living in a city where seemingly any day I can be targeted and put into a traumatizing trap is horrifying.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much - we’re finding out more each day.”

“You would say that, you’re trying to keep the peace and not incite fear,” I sighed as I saw the last car in my way turn down the adjacent street “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap - like I said, I’m grateful. It’s just shocking to hear this kind of crime is happening so close to home, you know?”

The detective stuck his head out the window again. “Pull forward, and I’ll let you know when you’re too close.”

A little awkwardly, I followed his instructions, and after more of a five-point turn than a three-point turn, I was on the correct side of the street. “At last,” I smiled, glad to finally be free to leave. “Thanks for staying around to help, try and have a nice night,” I told him, unlocking the doors.

“Stay safe,” he told me, starting to open the door before pausing. “I do mean it when I tell you that you shouldn’t worry. Jigsaw does seem to work off some kind of moral code, he’s not targeting just anyone. Try and get some rest, okay?”

“Thanks,” I told him, giving him a half-smile. “Good luck, detective.”

- + -

The tape continued, and I tried everything to keep myself from getting lost in a panic, knowing it would only make things worse. “You are always looking out for others, seeing the best in people, but you never seem to turn that lens onto yourself. You neglect to take care of your own emotional needs, telling those around you white lies to make their lives more comfortable while devaluing your own comfort. Today, your sight will be taken to gain insight to yourself. In order to cherish your life, you must cherish yourself as you do others. In order to survive, you must free yourself from the chair and find the key in this room within five minutes. If you fail, the device around your head will puncture needles through your skull. Live or die, ______. It’s your choice.”

How the hell is helping others a crime?! I thought. What does he know about me anyway?

Just then, I heard the timer start. I could hear each tick in the device around my neck, and I knew I didn’t have time to waste. I started yanking hard at the restraints, hoping they’d give easier than I originally thought they would. As I pulled, I tried to think about where the key could possibly be. From what I’ve heard, everything he says on the tape is somehow a clue. Insight to myself - maybe the key is on me? I could check if only I could get one hand free.

Suddenly, I was grateful for the knowledge I had about Jigsaw, however little it was. I wouldn’t know anything more than what the papers led on if it weren’t for a chance encounter with one of the detectives barely two weeks ago.

- + -

Every morning, like clockwork, I always went to a café near my job in order to start my workday with a nice drink and something to eat. I was there two weeks ago, just as usual, when I saw a familiar face walk in as I was waiting for my order. Isn’t that the detective who helped me move my car? “Detective Hoffman?” I asked, approaching him slowly. I wonder if he’ll even remember my face.

He turned around, a seemingly surprised expression on his face. “Look who it is. ______, right?”

“Wow, you remembered my name. I didn’t expect that. How are things going?”

“As well as you could expect,” Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I usually stay late and sleep in during mornings when I can, but they found another clue for the Jigsaw case this morning, so I’m getting something to wake me up. Something has to energize me better than two hours of sleep.”

Wow - he must be out of it if he’s talking about a case to a stranger out in the open, I thought. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he looked disoriented just to be up and walking. “Here - why don’t you let me buy your drink?” I offered. “You seem exhausted, and you sound like you have a long day ahead of you.”

“Really? That would be nice, but you really don’t have to.”

“No, let me. How are you doing? Outside of your work, that is.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t have much of a life outside of work,” he lightly chuckled. “This Jigsaw case has been eating my whole life.”

“I don’t know if this is a good place to talk about that sort of thing. What kind of coffee do you like?” I asked as we approached the counter.

Mark looked up at the barista, quickly parroting off an order. “Large black coffee, no sugar, light cream,” he requested. “You’re probably right. God, this job is draining.”

“I can’t imagine spending time around all that death,” I mused aloud. He’s really having a hard time with this case - I can’t imagine having to try and get into the mind of someone like the Jigsaw killer for a living. I should do something nice for him. I leaned in to the barista and handed her a gift card I grabbed off the counter. “Can you put fifty dollars on this?” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low to surprise him. He was so tired, I don’t think he noticed for a second.

We moved aside as the drink was crafted, and I tried to keep the conversation going. “I can imagine that there’s no real way for you to take a break with something like this, but you should try to do something to take care of yourself. You deserve something like that, you seem like you’re really working yourself to the bone.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I assure you, I’m fine. You caught me on a bad day, I’m usually not this exhausted,” he told me. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m doing okay,” I told him with a shrug.

“Still having worries about living here with Jigsaw?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I’m surprised how much he remembers our conversation, I thought as he continued. “Well, I did tell you we’re finding out more each day, and that’s still true. We’ve found out more about how he operates - on top of his traps and deadly little games, he seems to enjoy word games too. I find it a little cruel that he plays word games on his tapes, subtle enough where someone with a time crush won’t usually notice it.”

“That makes sense - throw a riddle at the person in a time crunch for their lives. They’ll have enough time to crack that for sure,” I shyly handed the gift card out to him. “Here - I bought this for you. It has enough money to get you enough coffee for at least two weeks.”

There was a look of surprise and confusion on his face, and he didn’t take the card from me. “I can’t accept this,” he told me.

“Why not? It’s a surprise for you - a random act of kindness. You’re working hard to find Jigsaw, and if you do, you’ll make a whole lot of people feel a lot safer walking these streets. It’s also thanks for helping with my car last time we met,” I assured him, keeping the card outstretched to him.

“You could’ve backed out if I didn’t park behind you.”

“You were right, detective - it was a whole lot safer to do a five-point turn than to back out into the street.”

He reached out and took the card with just a little hesitation. “Thanks. You can call me Mark, by the way. It’s a lot less impersonal.”

“Okay, Mark it is,” I smiled at him. Just then, a barista called his order out from the counter. “I should get going, but it was nice to see you again, Mark. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks, ______. I’ll see you around.”

- + -

I tried to keep track of how much time I had left by counting the ticks on the timer behind my head. I had wasted somewhere around a minute of my time trying to get just one hand free, and once I finally got my right hand free, I felt accomplished. Based on the feel of the material, it was packing tape around my wrists and legs. Strong, but not perfect. I tried using my nails to pick at the edge and rip it off, and with another thirty-seconds wasted, both my hands were free.

Finally.

My hands instinctively moved to the device on my head, and I gave it a pull even though I figured that wouldn’t do any good. I was right, it was securely in place. When I pulled, I felt how it was secured to my head: four needles were puncturing my head in different spots - two were dug into my cheeks, meaning if I pulled up too hard, I’d rip that part of my face off. The other two pressed into the back of my head, keeping the device securely in place. It covered my eyes entirely but stopped before the bottom of my nose, making it just a little easier to breathe. This is a nightmare.

I searched my clothes for a key, hoping that would be where it was placed. I didn’t have enough time to pull both legs free if I needed to, so if the key wasn’t already on me, I had no idea how I was going to survive. It felt like I was in a jacket, but after searching those pockets, I found nothing. I felt the pants I was wearing to check for pockets, but no luck - I was wearing leggings.

About two and a half minutes wasted - half my time is gone.

I threw my arms in front of me, trying to reach around and feel if it was perhaps hanging in front of my face from the ceiling. That wasn’t the case, and my panic rose as I reached down and worked to get one of my legs free. Maybe I can walk around with one leg still stuck to the chair, surely it isn’t bolted to the ground.

I started crying in my panic, the tears forming a small pool since they couldn’t go down my face due to being trapped in the mask. Between my crying and my panic, I nearly didn’t notice when a door slid open. Almost. “Help! Help me!” I started to scream, hoping it wasn’t Jigsaw himself who had just entered the room to watch my downfall. “I can’t find the key! Help!” Footsteps approached me as I pulled at the packing tape around my leg, but I wasn’t getting any budge. “Help, please!” I tried again.

The voice that answered me sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “A key?” the deep voice replied, a hint of panic in his voice. “Where is it supposed to be?”

“Around here somewhere - I don’t know! The tape said it was in this room, please, I have only a little more than a minute!”

I heard shuffling, paying close attention to the ticking behind me. “I found something!” I heard him say, approaching me. “Where’s the lock?”

“On the top!” I told him, remembering where I felt it before. “Please, please get me out of this thing!”

I felt his hands at the top of my head, heard the lock unclick, and the device loosened, expanding as it unlocked in order to get pulled off without more injury to where the needles had been pressing against my head. He pulled the device up and threw it, and I squinted and flinched back as light hit my eyes, struggling to adjust to the light. About thirty seconds later, the device went off, and I opened my eyes just as four needles jutted out with such speed, if it had still been on my head, I would’ve died. Whoever had just saved my life was still behind me, and spoke up. “Are you alright?”

I turned my head to see who it was, and shock ran through me as I recognized his face. “Mark?”

The last time I had seen him was a little over a month ago.

- + -

Around nearly two months after I had last seen Mark at the cafe, I was out late with a group of “friends” on Saturday night. However, after I was already three or four sours deep and thinking about heading home, they had decided that they wanted to join another group that was doing a bar crawl. I told them I would prefer not to, and though we had a designated driver who had promised to take me home, I was out-voted and they ditched me to join the other group, taking the designated driver with them.

Great, I thought to myself, stepping outside into the cold night. It was early December now, and the nights were biting cold. I pulled my thin jacket closer to me, shivering as I calculated the best route to get home. I was paranoid about the taxi service in town after hearing bad reviews from friends about drivers who try to get a little too friendly with them when they were drunk, so I preferred to take my chances walking. I always carried pepper-spray with me at the ready, and a small keychain blade as well. You can never be too careful.

My apartment was about three miles away, and as I started heading that way, I daydreamed about sitting down in front of my heater, making myself something warm to eat, and wrapping myself in a blanket. I was roughly a mile into the walk when I heard someone should from behind me. “Hey there,” I heard someone catcall in a voice laced with an uncomfortable amount of lust. “Walking home all by yourself?”

I ignored them and kept walking, at which point, I noticed them start to follow me. I held my pepper spray tighter in my head, bracing myself. They called again, “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Their shout this time was followed by a wolf whistle, raising my discomfort. “Hey!”

Just then, I heard another noise. A short siren that rang once, followed by a flash of light a police car pulling over. I stopped in my tracks and looked over, shocked to see who it was in the car. “Detective Hoffman?” I asked as the window rolled down. “Is that you?”

“Hey - what did I tell you? Call me Mark,” he told me. “I was out helping patrol tonight since we’re short staffed, and it looks like you’re being followed. Are you alright?”

I looked back to see the catcaller had stopped walking and leaned against a wall, trying to look casual. I looked back at Mark and gently shook my head. “My designated driver ditched me, and I thought it would be easier to walk home, but this guy has been following me for a few blocks and whistling at me.”

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked. “It would be a whole lot safer this time of night.”

“Really? I’d love that, actually!” I smiled.

“Great. Now get in, you look like you’re freezing out there,” he commented, and I heard the doors unlock. I looked back at the man who was following me and got into the car. “Do you want me to turn the heat up?”

“That would be great,” I told him, and as he rolled up his window to keep the cold out, he turned the heat up with another hand. “Do you mind if we actually drive around directionless for a few minutes? I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but I don’t want to risk that guy watching us head to my apartment and somehow find out where I live. I know, it sounds unreasonable, but it would make me feel better.”

“That’s no trouble at all,” he reassured me, giving me a light smile. That’s the first time I’ve seen any expression on his face other than exhaustion or concern. “How’ve you been doing?”

“Usually better than this,” I told him, finally starting to warm up. He started turning at random, following my request. “How about you? You seem a whole lot less tired than the last time I saw you.”

“It’s been up and down with work, but things have been calming down a little. I suspect it’s just the calm before the storm, though.”

“Oh! I read the news - you discovered Jigsaw’s identity right? It’s been over a month since I’ve heard any news of new victims, too. Is that why things have gotten quieter?” I asked.

“In a way, yes. We suspect he might just be lying low and planning something else, so we’re still actively investigating, but it gets easier once the bodies aren’t piling up.” Mark reached into the center console and grabbed a drink from the middle, taking a long drink. “At least for now, most of my stress is in our short-staffing.”

“I hope he isn’t just lying low,” I muttered, still shivering and pulling my jacket closer. My eyes drifted to the clock in the car. “I didn’t realize it was already almost midnight. Is your shift almost over?”

“My shift just started,” Mark laughed dryly. “Don’t feel too bad for me, I volunteered for this shift - graveyards don’t drag on as long for me.”

“I can’t imagine what your sleep schedule looks like,” I leaned back in the seat. “Thanks for doing this, I really appreciate it. Do you know where Third Street apartments are? That’s where I live. I can give you directions if you need it.”

“Third Street apartments - got it. I spend a lot of time driving around this town, don’t worry about me needing directions. I could tell you how to get anywhere in this town,” Mark turned down the next street, heading in the direction towards my apartment. “Do you need any help getting to your unit at all?”

“I should be fine on my own, I would hate to keep you any longer. Seems like I’m always doing that,” I waved my hand at him. Once we pulled up to the complex, I was about to tell him which parking lot would be closest to my unit when, without my input, he pulled into the exact right one. “Wow, lucky guess. This is the exact lot I usually park in.”

“Lucky me. I figured if I made a mistake, you would’ve corrected me,” he told me, parking in a free guest spot. “Have a nice night, and stay safe. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to your unit?”

“I’ll be okay, I promise. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, Mark,” I told him with a smile, getting out of the car.

- + -

I thought if I did see him again, it would be under better circumstances. I never could’ve imagined this.

“What are you doing here? What’s going on?” I asked, panic rising in me.

“______,” he said my name with some semblance of shock in his voice. “I had no idea it was you - are you alright? Do you know who put you here?”

“No, I have no idea,” I pulled at my feet, still secured to the chair. “Please help me out, I’m still stuck in this chair. What are you doing here?”

“No idea, I woke up here, just like you,” he told me, bending down to my still-taped up legs. He pulled a knife out of his pockets, and I flinched. He noted this, looking up at me. “I had to use this to get out of my trap. Do you trust me? I can peel it off if that’s more comfortable, but this’ll be much faster.”

“I trust you,” I told him quickly. “You just saved my life, I doubt you’d turn around right after that and hurt me.”

He nodded and put down the tape, pulling it away. Once I could finally move freely, I left like a weight was lifted off of me, and Hoffman stood up and towered above me. He reached his right hand out, gently cupping my cheek. “You’re bleeding - how are you feeling?”

I reached up, felt my face, and pulled my hand down. I gagged at the sight of blood on my hands. “It must be from that device,” I swallowed the growing saliva in my mouth. It gathered like a pool in my mouth, my body getting ready for the possibility of throwing up. “I feel nauseous.”

“Let me help you,” he told me, starting to search his pockets. He produced a single handkerchief from the inside of his jacket. He pressed it to my face, starting to wipe away what blood he could.

“We need to find a way out of here,” I told him, analyzing his face. “Where did you come in from? What was your trap?”

“I had a minute to cut myself free from some ropes with that knife,” Hoffman gestured to the knife he had left on the ground. “It may look sharp, but it’s duller than you’d want it to be for something like that. I nearly didn’t make it.”

“If I only had a minute, I’d be dead,” I shivered. “Why us? Why would we both be put in a trap here at the same time? Did you see anyone else?”

“I don’t know why we were targeted. I didn’t see anyone else, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone here,” he pulled his hand back, pocketing the handkerchief. “Can you stand?” he asked, reaching a hand out for support. I took it and let him pull me to my feet, where I stumbled slightly. He caught me, putting his hands on my shoulders to help steady me. “Woah, how are you feeling? Still nauseous?”

“A little bit,” I told him, leaning against his arm. “I’m sorry, do you mind me leaning on you? It’s a big help.” It’s also comforting that I’m not here alone.

“I don’t mind at all. Come on, let’s find our way out of here. I think I found a way out further down the hallway I was in before, so we should head in that direction.”

“Got it,” I wrapped my arms around his right arm, hoping to both steady myself from nausea and to gain some kind of comfort from him.

I followed Mark’s lead as we went into a dilapidated hallway, moonlight providing the majority of the illumination. It was so dark I could barely see two feet in front of me, so I was impressed that Mark seemed to be treading on like normal, as if he could see everything around us perfectly. “Do you know where we’re heading?” I whispered to him in the dark.

“My eyes have adjusted a bit, so I can see more than you’d think. I want to check the end of this hallway for an exit, just stay with me, okay?”

“Didn’t plan on walking away,” I thought, squeezing his arm harder.

We walked slowly down the hallway before reaching the end, no exit door to be found, but instead a fork in the hallway. We both stopped and looked both ways, wondering what to do next. “Maybe we head left?” I asked. “It seems to me like either way has an equal chance of being an escape -”

I was cut off suddenly by the sound of an explosion. I pulled away from Mark in a panic and spun around to where the sound was coming from. The hallway was lit up by sparks and fire as different sealed rooms we passed had their doors blown off and a fire started. “Get down!” Mark shouted at me, grabbing me and pulling me to the ground, putting me beneath him and leaning over me like a shield. The sealed door closest to us was suddenly blown off, and a large chunk of wood flew right into the spot Mark had just pulled me out of. He just saved me for a second time, I thought. As the explosions came to an end, he looked down, and I could see his face clearly in the firelight for the first time. “Are you injured? Did anything hit you?”

“Nothing hit me,” I told him, shaking beneath him. I felt like I was about to cry, the stress and fear of being thrown into this catching up to me. “Are we going to die here?”

“Shh, calm down,” Mark told me, staying atop me and bringing his hand to the top of my head, slowly stroking it. Although it seemed like a bit of a strange action, it was comforting, so I didn’t say anything. “We’re not going to die here, but we should focus on getting out in case any other explosions go off.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him, trying to wipe tears off my face. When I looked at my hand, I noticed my tears were mixing with the blood still on my face, and I wanted to gag again.

“Don’t apologize - what you’re feeling right now is normal. It’s perfectly normal for you to be overwhelmed and crying. We need to keep moving though, we need to get out of here before the fire catches up to us.”

“Okay, let’s go,” I told him. He stood up and offered me his hand again, pulling me to my feet. As he pulled me up, I thought I saw something silver shine in his pocket, but it looked nothing like the knife that he was carrying before. What is that?

“Good, let’s head left,” he took my hand and intertwined my fingers with him, and I followed him down the hall with more haste this time around. I staggered behind him by a step or two, letting him pull me along. I kept my eyes on what I saw in his pocket, trying to figure out what it was. The fire followed us, and as I got a better look as a flash of firelight hit it, I recognized what it was.

Why does he have a remote?

I used my free hand, the one that wasn’t being held, to reach forward and reach for his pocket, pulling out the remote and stopping in my tracks. Mark stopped as well, turning around to see what was going on, and I saw his face drop once he realized what I had grabbed. There were two switches on it, one labeled ‘doors 1-8′ and the others labeled ‘doors 9-15.’ The first switch had been pressed, and the second one was left alone. My heartbeat raised in fear, and I looked up at Mark to meet his eyes. “Mark, what is this?”

I was met with silence in response before he spoke again, avoiding the question. “Come on, ______, we need to keep going.”

He reached for my arm, but I pulled away. “What’s the remote for, Mark?” I asked, louder and more determined.

“I can explain, it isn’t what it looks like.”

I looked behind me, down the other hallway we could’ve chosen. The path we’d chosen didn’t have any sealed doors, but the choice we left behind did. There’s only one way to confirm my suspicion, I thought. “It better not be,” I said, flipping the switch.

I heard more explosions behind me. I flinched, and as I felt a wave of shock and anxiety from what I had just learned, Mark grabbed me and pinned me to the wall, pressing his body against me and taking the remote, throwing it to the ground. “You just had to find out, didn’t you?” he asked, his whole demeanor changing. “This had almost gone perfectly.”

“Get off me!” I yelled, trying to push him. It was no use, he was essentially a wall with how strong he was. “You tried to kill me, you maniac!”

“You were never in danger, I promise, just calm down and let me explain,” Mark told me, grabbing my wrists as I attempted to hit and push him off me and pinning them against the wall. “You were never going to die, I was there the whole time to make sure of that.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!” I yelled in his face, attempting to get out of his grasp. “What do you mean you were there the whole time?”

“Since it’s out in the open, I may as well admit it - I put you in that trap. I put you in it to save you, so you would see me like I see you. So you’d trust me. So I might become the center of your world, just as you’re the center of mine.”

He’s lost it, I thought. “Whatever trust you may have gained with me is shattered. Get off of me.”

“Maybe it’s gone for now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t earn it again,” he held my wrists tighter. The room was beginning to get unbearably hot as the fire around us grew. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me, ______, and I want - no, need - you to feel the same way towards me.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t know me!”

“I do, though. More than you know. You awakened something in me, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I want to care for you. I would hurt you just to nurse you afterwards. I want you to need me completely, and then you’d understand how I feel about you. I’ve done nothing but dream about how we can be together for weeks, it took everything I had not to make a move and try and kiss you the last time we met.”

“You’re insane!” I shouted in his face, my voice raising as I got more panicked. I was essentially screaming at him by this point. “Let me go, we’re both going to burn alive in here! Get off me already!”

“Shh, keep your sweet little mouth shut,” he told me. “It’s just us here, no one else can hear you anyway. You have no idea how much you mean to me. I promise, you’ll soon beg me to kiss you.”

“That will never happen.”

“Maybe, we’ll have to see,” Mark pulled away but kept a firm grip on my wrists. “Now come on, we’ll die if we stay here any longer. I have a car outside - at least you finding out saves me the trouble of walking to our next destination.”

“Our next destination? What are you talking about?”

“We’re far outside of town, but there’s some abandoned shelters and places to stay. Somewhere for us to be together.”

This can’t be happening. “How long have you been planning this?”

Mark turned to me. “Since the night we met,” he confessed. He moved his hands to hold both of my wrists with one hand, an impressive feat, and wiped some stray tears off my face. “I knew you were special from the moment I saw you - and as we talked, you showed how kind you were. I’ve never felt something as sincere as I do towards you, and I won’t risk that being taken away. I’ll do anything to keep this feeling, and you, safe.”

Despite his words, I felt more unsafe than ever.