#prophet reader

[threepandas]

Bad End: Witness

"Specimen '873 is starting to disappoint me. He was showing such promise. These numbers, however?" My keeper muttered to himself, distaste painting his face as he watched the feed in front of him. "Unacceptable for a battle class. He might as well be spare biomass at this point."

He was supposed to be wearing his glasses, not holding them. They may have been called "reading" glasses? But they were not, technically, just for that. They also had a blue light filter. Helped with headaches and eyestrain. He just hated wearing them because he thought they made him look old.

A God Forbid ANYTHING remind him of the passage of time.

He did NOT take it kindly.

I managed to avoid THAT landmine by virtue of having witnessed his receiving them. An "incident" that resulted in his head slamming against a screen. Protocol demanded he get checked. In the process, they discovered his eye sight was declining. It was a... bad day. I brought him things to break and stayed very, very quiet.

He bounced back fairly quickly, though. Once the arrogant researcher who had arranged for the incident to even OCCUR? Tried to come lord his "weakened old man" status over him. It was one thing to "accidently" let the battle class get unfettered access to weapons before loyalty train. But to be dumb enough to step into his lab, call him weak, and gloat about it?

Dr. Raghnall Periculum was many things.

But "unwilling to bludgeon a man to death with the nearest object" was not one of them.

He was dangerous like that. Murderous. It came and went like shifting storms, all you could really do was learn to read the triggers. Get good at knowing when to back up. When to hold really, REALLY still. After all... this was a lawless, immoral place. No one here could or WOULD stop him.

They were all just as bad.

Gritty Sci-Fi Otome games are... a lot less fun to LIVE. To be honest? They are actually pretty horrifying. Traumatizing, really. Hellish. As in, I am pretty sure this is a futuristic version Of Hell (but that is a personal opinion). I regret EVER playing a single damn one. But... BUT? I CLING to the knowledge I gained from it. So I can not regret it completely. Because through them? Through KNOWING this world?

I KNOW this will end. KNOW we will be free. That these monsters will pay for what they've done. The epilog promises a golden age. A beautiful, peaceful dawn after this long and terrible night, filled with horrors. I just... I just have to survive. Hold on. Keep my head down and pray.

I may be trapped in hell, but I'm not broken.

We will be Free.

I have SEEN IT.

Sometimes the greatest defiance is just refusing to die. Just keeping hope alive. I... I can do that. May not be able to fight my way out. Not smart enough to hack or sabotage these nightmares. But I can stay alive. I... I can do that. Bear witness, that someday I may stand against them in trial. Record. So no one is forgotten.

It doesn't feel like enough. I feel tired and angry. Hateful and small. But for the sake of my sanity? I make myself feel nothing. Compartmentalize. I've... I've become unfortunately quite good at it. Good at a lot of terrible things. Like placating. Making myself small. Being invisible. A retail smile. Being one with the furniture.

See, just like the poor souls on the screens in front of him? I'm a Clone. Of who? I have no idea. None of us do. They use old DNA databases. From when it was first commercially available, I think. Like those ancestry tests. Here it was squirrelled away, kept for later use. Which... was us.

My template has been dead for centuries, I think. Or perhaps? She would have considered herself my mother? I hope she would have, strange as I turned out to be. We are all children of the dead. It'd be nice to think they'd have wanted us.

Dr. Periculum's cup lifts lightly as he take a drink, more focused on his work then anything else. That heft is about midway point. I've discovered if I begin brewing now, it will be done by the time his cup is empty and he wants more. A glance at the closest screen gives me the time. Food too, is a good idea.

He likely won't eat it. But if it's there? The chances are higher. And when he comes out of his focus, it'll be available. Less chance of him getting irritated by hunger.

On a well practiced route through piles of notes and projects I know better then to touch, I quietly make my way to the coffee machine. Begin another round of abomination the caffeine tar. It is, quite honestly, a wonder he hasn't accused me of trying to poison him to a heart attack.

A few granules of salt, a bit of cinnamon, some expensive fatty creamer, aaaand? There. Unholy bitterness gone. "Just" a cup of liquid tar so potent it could make a rhino taste time.

I also grab one of the meat pies and put it on a little paper plate.

Ah... what has my life become? That I am so well practiced in make snacks for a monster? Picking them up, I don't dare answer that. That way lies madness. Don't think about it. It can wash out in therapy. After. Because there WILL be an After. There HAS to be an After.

Careful steps and...? Just as I estimated. He just ran out. I nearly silently tap the paper plate down to the edge of the table then slide it forward, with-in ease of reach, but not too close. Then I swap the cups. Go to step away. Only to freeze. As, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of his hands briefly leave his keyboard to make a nearly dismissive "one moment" gesture.

Stay put. Don't move. I'll address you when I'm done with my, more important, thoughts. I feel the flash of fear, of panic, but let it go. There is nothing I can do. I will be hurt or I won't be hurt. There is no use suffering twice, through speculation and fear, I remind myself. Force my mind empty and pleasant. Retail smile. Happy to serve.

He finishes. Leans back, dissatisfied with some project or other, and finally slips on his glasses. Gestures imperiously for the cup in my hands. I do not question of course, merely hand it to him. He takes it, passes it to his other hand, and sets it aside. Then, casually, leans slightly over and wraps a thickly muscled arm around my waist. Dragging me off my feet and into his lap.

"You know, girl? B-21873 really was, actually quite promising. I was starting to think I'd keep him. Decent speed, good stamina, excellent problem solving. His test scoring was exceeding all expectations. Really thought I might have gotten you a little friend to play with. A gaurd so I could send you out on some chores safely. But no, he just HAD to be a failure." He said, leaning forward to grab his cup.

I was crushed awkwardly close. Could feel every moment. Acutely aware of his woody and sea air cologne, the coffee on his breath as words were spoken far to close, the beating of a heartbeat I could feel against my arm. Hyper aware of him. Why was I in his lap? This felt dangerous. I should not be in his lap.

Between sips, he turned his head and pressed his lips to my temple, not kissing... somehow worse. Just... just breathing me in. Slow, deliberate, and deep. Like savoring a scent, a sensation. The subtle back and forth, as though rubbing his lips against my hair. Enjoying the feeling against sensitive skin. It could almost be a cuddle on any other man. It took everything I had not to shudder.

"Unlike you of course. You pet, could never disappoint me. If these rejects tried even half as hard as my perfect darling girl? The world'd be a better place." He paused his almost nuzzling. To simply rest his head against mine, pulling off his glasses so he could tuck his head closer. His breathe was hot against my ear. His voice gravel and distain as it spoke of others.

"It's disgusting. Like they don't even try. We spend countless resources breeding, feeding, and training them... for what? Failure? I'm starting to think those bastards are deliberately sending me bad specimens."

Every word he said was horrifying. I could not cry. Dare not. But my heart screamed for those poor souls. They were just kids. Trapped in hell. Tortured from birth. Disposed of when they no longer met some arbitrarily impossible anime standard. If I turned my head, even slightly, I KNEW, I would be faced with screens of untold suffering. Feeds of "testing". So called training. Autopsy reports and datapoints.

Lists of who... who had been deemed "not good enough".

Who were scheduled to become "recycled biomass".

But if I looked? I would weep for them. And that? That was dangerous right now. Right NOW? I had to be pleasant company. A child's doll to be dragged around. No thoughts, no differing opinions. Preferably no opinions at ALL. Just warm and huggable. Soft. A beloved pet who serves coffee and brings things when told. Endure. I just... I must simply ENDURE.

The night will end. Dawn will come. Believe in her.

J-Just empty your head... and Believe In Her.

An alert pops up. I can hear it on a screen somewhere behind me. Dr. Periculum turns his head to look, reaching for his snack. Freezes. Then, a sharp bark of laughter. It's violent, like the strike of a lightning bolt, jostling me. The ones that follow just as harsh. He's not a man that laughs often. And it's not a kind sound.

Filled with schadenfreude, his laughter is like the vicious barks of hunting hounds. The shots of a weapon. A short and harsh to the ears sound, over and over. Delight in the suffering of an enemy. The fall of a rival. It strikes through his body like seizures. Making him lean forward to read. Brace against the desk, tighten his grip around me, widen the brace of his legs.

Glancing up, his eyes are alight with manic glee. His grin is vicious.

He looks Feral.

"Well, well, WELL! What do we have HERE?! Is that Jack ANDERSON'S facility I see? Mr. 'Master of the genome' himself? Looks like SOMEONE got AHEAD of themselves! Ha!" Raghnall cackles spinning his chair so I can see the screen. Leaning back to grab his cup and toast with it. "Look what we have here, pet! Some fucking KARMA! I knew that little shit wasn't worth the paper his degree was printed on! See this? THIS is what happens when you can't control your own damn compound!"

"Rest in PIECES, you worthless little SHIT!"

I sat. Frozen. As Dr. Periculum laughed and laughed, his mood viciously pleased. Because... because I recognized that facility. Chapter Two. There was an animation that played. The... the BREAKOUT! Joy filled me. Like the first rays of dawn. That was HER. S-she was OUT! Free! She DID it! Oh god... oh god she was COMING! It had finally BEGUN!

I caught myself. Barely.

My eyes felt a bit wet so I disguised it with a fake yawn. I dare not show empathy. NEVER show empathy. Keep it guarded like diamonds in your chest. If he thought, for even a moment, that I empathized with anyone but him. CARED about anyone but him? They wouldn't last the hour.

And it would be the longest, cruelest, hour in existence, as they died.

You make that sort of mistake exactly ONCE.

"Ah~ todays a GOOD day. And you know what we should do?" He hummed, nearly a coo as he spun us almost lazily around on his chair. In whimsical circles like a bored child. "We should celebrate. Ding dong, the fuckers dead~ HA HA! Not to mention? It's been entirely too long, pet, since I've spoiled you rotten. We should get a cake, hmm? You want a cake? Lil treat? Sweet lil treat for my girl?"

"I could get you that new dress I've been looking at. Bet you'll look like a classy lil princess, won't that be nice? Can even make it match the trackers I'm finishing up! No more uncomfy collars when we go out! Just pretty lil bracelets, ain't that nice?"

I force myself to smile. Nod. Ignore the fear and anger, the humiliation and helplessness. It's not time yet. Bid your time. You will LOSE your chance for True Freedom if you give in to your anger. Your hurt. Patience, THEN strike. Remember! Chapter two! There are FIVE.

It is COMING.

He stopped spinning, planting his feet on the floor. His manic grin softening. No less unhinged, less full of teeth, but perhaps the closest a man like him could come to loving. His eyes obsessive as the roam my face. Cataloging everything.

"You know, pet? You really might be might greatest creation. Best thing I've ever made or done. Anyone wants you? They'd have to pry you from my cold, dead hands. I'd burn EVERYTHING down. Kill just about EVERYONE." His voice was the sort of whispered confession meant for churches, not the heart of this hell he had built. It felt unholy. Dangerous.

Exactly like him.

"Once I figure how to take humanity to it's next stage? Reverse aging? Heck, even stop it. I promise, pet. Gonna take you with me. You're coming along for the ride. Straight to the end. Heat death of the universe. Well become GODS, pet. Live forever and a day. Bet you can't wait, huh?"

"Don't worry. The futures going be BEAUTIFUL. Just you wait."

[jazzmasternot]

Vox came to me in a dream and told me to post this.

[greengoblinswifey]

this is fucking sending me😭😭😭get the fuck outtttt

[edb954]

A Toast (Slightly Dark Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

(Summary: Y/n & Coriolanus have always loved each other but someone has always gotten in the way of you too.)

Masterlist : Request Info

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/n: I’ve been having this in my drafts for to long as well as many others.. but I’ve had this idea for way too long! Sorry if it’s a mess but let me know if y’all want a part 2!!)

(Warnings!: ANGST ANGST ANGST! Heartbreak, Livia being a b¡tch, Lucy Gray mentioned, Slightly Dark Coriolanus Snow!)

"A toast to Emily.. Always the bridesmaid, Never The Bride..."

~~~~

You didn't know why you were here at Coriolanus wedding.. a wedding to Livia Cardew of all people. You couldn't believe what he said to you that night you had found out about the engagement.

~~~~

"Y-your what..." Y/n said, looking at Coriolanus. Hurt and confusion filled your eyes.

"Look I know it's out of the blue." He said, reaching out to her. She moved away feeling her heart start to break. "But I'm doing this for a reason.. n/n-"

"Don't.. just don't.." Y/n said putting her hand up to stop him.

"I-I have to go.." She said getting up and grabbing her coat and purse. Coriolanus looked at her confused.

"What?" Coriolanus asked before grabbing her arm.

"Let go Corio..." "Why are leaving like this?"

Y/n wanted to slap him so hard. Before turning to look at him tears filling her eyes.

"You're getting married Coriolanus." He winced a bit at her using his full name. "And I'm not going to be your mistress or the other woman or whatever this between us has been about!"

"N/n you know Livia means nothing to me.." Coriolanus said. She gave a look.

"Then why marry her? Because of her money?" Y/n asked, Coriolanus looked away. "Oh my god. That's it isn't it? It's just another way for you to get more ... power.."

"T-that's why it'll never be me.." Y/n whispered as the realisation she'd been avoiding for so long hit her full on. Coriolanus looked at her, hearing her words.

"Y-" "No! g-get off me.." She spat pushing him off her and he tried to grab her again but wasn't fast enough as she made a dash to the door and left leaving him alone.

~~~

The realisation she had finally faced that night shook her to the core. She'd known. Of course she'd known. How could she not? He would never go for her he'd pick someone higher more powerful with money or someone lower... but beautiful and talented something she wasn't.. something she never will be.. like Lucy Gray Baird.

The girl he had mentored and helped during the 10th anual Hunger Games and followed her to District 12 after getting caught cheating in the games as a peacekeeper.

~~~

"W-what?" Y/n whispered in disbelief. Sitting up in her bed as Coriolanus had just climbed up to your bedroom from the fire escape.

"I cheated in the games their sending me to 12 as a Peacekeeper.." He spoke. She knew he was lying.

"You're following her aren't you." She whispered. He looked at you confused and a mixture of shock and guilt. "I.. Dean Highbottom told me that you were getting sent to 8.. he didn't tell me why.."

His jaw clenched as he tried to reach out to her but she pulled away and looking away as tears formed.

"H-how long?" She asked.. he looked at her with an unreadable expression."20 years.."

She nodded wiping away her tears and sniffing. "Maybe.. it's for the best.."

Coriolanus froze at her words. Wondering what the hell she meant by that. It made him feel angry hurt confused.. numb.. he could tell she was crying.

"I-I think you should go.. Coriolanus.."

He winced at her using his full name the girl that he'd known for years always by his side. Now feeling impossibly far away even when she's right here next to him.

Y/n swallowed thickly before speaking.

"Tell Lucy Gray I'm happy she's alright.."

With that he gave her one last look before leaving back out her window as she finally let out a choked sob as her heart broke.

~~~~~

When she saw him at her front door only months later she didn't know what to do or say but he pulled her into a kiss telling her he was stupid for picking a low life District girl over you.

You met up with him or well he'd turn up at your apartment to talk or in the simplest terms to fuck. He was your first love, first kiss, first time. Of course a greed selfish man like him would take all of your most important firsts. At this point you were jealous of Lucy Gray for getting away from him. Whether she ran up north like Coriolanus told her or if she was dead.

Now here you were standing alongside of guests in an offset purple dress at his wedding to Livia Cardew. Feeling his gaze almost all night with Tigris next to you giving you a sad almost pitiful look.

"I was really hoping that it would be you.." Tigris whispered to you in hushed voice. You gave her a small sad smile back. Before looking to the direction where a glass was being clinked as everyone turned the way to see the devil herself Livia Cardew clinking her glass with a spoon. Raising her glass with a sly smile.

"Hello I'm Livia Cardew- well now Snow." Livia started a speech earning a few laughs from the crowd and a slight scoff from Coriolanus.

"I'd like to make this toast in thanking you all for coming to my-our big day! It's means so much to Coriolanus and I that you are all here!" She earned a few appreciation points from the crowd.

"Oh, I almost forgot! A Toast to Y/n Always the second choice. Never the first!" Livia Cardew Toasted, her speech made some gasp and others laugh.

  Y/n froze in her spot as the reality of the unknown truth in Livia's speech. And before she knew it tears start to perk up into her eyes.

Coriolanus looked at Livia in shock and anger. His eyes drifted to yours. You stood their hurt, shocked once reality set in you saw almost if not everyones eyes on you and the last thing you saw was Livia Cardew smirking at you. After, that you moved your way through the crowd tears slowly falling from your eyes as people laughed and made comments.  After snapping at Livia and having her bridesmaids go after her Coriolanus got up to go after you and Tigris grabbed his arm.

"I think you've done enough Coriolanus.." Tigris said but Coriolanus didn't listen as he tried to get through the crowd.

  The last thing you heard before you exited was the sound of a bright flash. Sure enough everything will be on the front page of the prophet and you were right.

~~~

  The next morning, your face was on the front page of the prophet. Headline saying ‘Chaos at Future Presidents Snows wedding. Y/n Reinswood at the center of it? (Read page 294 for more details!)

Y/n rolled her eyes as she threw it in the her trash can before going back to lay down in her bed curled up into a ball. Thinking about last night.

She knew Livia wasn’t wrong. She was in fact right. Y/n Lyn Reinswood was and will forever be the second choice, Especially when it came to Coriolanus Snow. Remembering last night made it hurt more.

~~~

Y/n rushed to her apartment closing the door with a slight bang. Where she finally let all the tears and sobs escape her lips. Her heart shattered in a million pieces. Feelings of heart ache and embarrassment. She had decided then to move somewhere he wouldn’t find her or care to look.

After what felt like hours, her tears had dried and breathing had calmed she heard a frantic knock on her door. Y/n sighed getting up figuring and hoping it was just Tigris coming to check on her.

“N/n. Please.” She froze in her spot hearing Coriolanus voice on the other side of the door. “Please.. open the door..”

Y/n put a hand on her mouth going to the floor as she let out muffled sobs he kept almost but practically begging for her to open the door. Coriolanus was many things but he was never a begger.

He didn’t know how long he stayed out there for pleading for her to let him in. Y/n was the only thing he had left and because of power once again he had lost you. His own foolish antics. And Livia Cardew how could he be so dimwitted in that decision.. he wasn’t going to let her go not like the songbird from 12. No… not her..

Was it love? Or obsession? Or fear of losing her that made him feel this way. That he kept crawling back to her. He wasn’t sure but he wasn’t ready to let her go all he needed now was to get rid of Livia..

[brittle-doughie]

Imagine in the Ancient Beast au, we have ruler y/n cookir squaring up with one of the ancient beasts saying, "You want my kingdom? You'll have to go through me!"

Then Beast!Vanilla just smiles & says: "Why would we do that when we can simply take you with the kingdom?"

- 🥀 Anon

The Prophet: “All these cookies, trembling in fear for their lives. Don’t you worry about a thing, Y/N Cookie. I will save them all and you’ll have a full view the whole time…”

Y/N Cookie: “O-on, second thought. You can just leave with me…”

[awionetka]

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞! ➢

3, 2, 1, go! love and deepspace boys become street racers (while possibly romancing you in the process)...

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: slight angst (?), drabble. street racer!Caleb x reader. they're estranged childhood friends with inconsistent communication, he's not abusive btw... bear with me on this one, there IS hope at the end of the tunnel!

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 / 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 / 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 / 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 / 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…

➢ killing me; conan gray

➢ closer to you; jungkook, major lazer

➢ sour candy; lady gaga, blackpink

"...in the streets of Linkon City. Our experts agree that it has become a rather serious problem. Who is going to protect us from such dangerous activities when we don't even know who to look for?"

The evening discussion panel you'd turned on mixed with the vinyl record you put on in your bedroom, creating the perfect background noise for you current endeavours. Humming absentmindedly at Tara's words, you flipped through the pile of clothes growing dangerously with each rejected outfit.

"Yes. Well... It is best to remember that we, as Linkon citizens, are being thoroughly protected by police forces. We shouldn't act rashly here, especially when it comes to such important matters as illegal racing, oftentimes held purely for monetary gain. Such environments could be dangerous to those who have no experience in the matter. However, when it comes to the identities, there are a couple of things to look out for. Most racers have unique aliases and codenames, ones we can be wary of in our day to day lives. Some of the most infamous ones are, for example, Onyx, Orion, Malamute..."

You returned to the living room once again, this time wearing a different top, twisted phone cord trailing behind you like a puppy with attachment issues.

"I just don't know, Tara, this doesn't look... Ehh, I don't know." You sighed, holding up two skirts in front of you while your friend tried her best to advise you over the phone. "What's that? Oh, just the TV. Hold on, let me switch it off. Yeah, so, like I've been saying..."

Suddenly you paused, turning away to face your front door.

"You're here!" You smiled brightly, already halfway there, but then stopped abruptly at Tara's words. "Oh... I hope it's not another noise complaint..."

Not expecting much, since it was, in fact, a late Thursday evening in a building full of the elderly and families with young children, you took a half-hearted glance through the peephole.

But what you saw, who you saw, on the other side of the door, made your blood run cold.

"It's... It's..." you attempted to give Tara an explanation, but then the person standing in the corridor spoke up, voice muffled by the barrier between you.

"Hey, Pipsqueak..." He cleared his throat and you pressed your forehead to the door. "I... I came to talk. Yeah? I'm sorry about last time, it was never my intent to upset you."

"Well, too bad," you replied before you could stop yourself, already full of annoyance. "Because you did, Caleb. What do you want now?"

You didn't look through the eyehole again, you couldn't make yourself to do so. But you saw him in your mind, shoulders relaxing slowly at the sound of your voice, that you decided to respond to him, even like this, even angry.

"Just to talk. I couldn't call or text you for some time. I just want to... see how you're doing."

Still on the phone with Tara, you placed it carefully on the shelf next to you, not hanging up. Just in case.

"I'm doing fine," you quipped back, but your resolve had already begun to falter. You missed Caleb terribly, the tone of his voice, that roguish glint in his eyes. How he brought you cute keychains from his travels and let you crash at his place when you didn't want to be alone. How he held you in his arms when you cried, gentle and reassuring, yet still at some sort of distance. Even if shortly afterwards he didn't text you back for ten days.

"I'm– I'm glad, Pips." Pause, brief. Then, "Will you let me see you...? Just for a minute. Please."

You glanced over at your phone, laying screen up on the shelf. Tara had texted you, mindful not to make herself known by speaking up, and asked if you'd be okay. Biting your lip, you replied, promising to give her a call as soon as he leaves. You hoped that'd be soon. You hoped she'd come over soon too.

"Okay..." you muttered cautiously and then ended the call. "Just... give me a second."

Hurrying back to the living room, you grabbed one of the skirts that were thrown on the couch, hastily putting it on so Caleb wouldn't see you basically half-naked. He waited patiently until you opened the door for him and scooted to the side to let him pass.

"Hi," he muttered breathlessly, hands twitching at his sides as he took in your figure. "You... going anywhere? I hope I'm not an inconvenience."

There was a gentle smile on his lips, one you felt you hadn't seen for centuries. Aside from that, Caleb looked as Caleb-ish as ever; broad shoulders, bright, attentive eyes and messy hair, now slightly overgrown as you were always the one to cut it. His arm brushed yours when he entered your apartment and he tensed.

"No, it's fine." You closed the door behind him without locking it. Just in case... "So...? Are you going to tell me where the hell you were last time we were supposed to hang out?"

"Pipsqueak..."

A single laugh escaped your chest, more akin to a bark. "Don't 'Pipsqueak' me, Caleb. It's a simple question. I would like to hear a simple answer."

He leaned against the built-in closet, respecting your privacy and not moving from the spot by the entrance. As his head hit the wood with a dull thud, you noticed a wide stripe of gauze sneaking past the hem of his jacket, right at the base of his neck. If Caleb noticed you staring, he decided not to mention it.

"It's... not as simple as I'd like it to be." There was a certain amount of defiance in his voice, one you knew almost too well. "I can't– I couldn't contact you. The matter was out of my hands."

"Caleb, you stood me up!" you pointed out, refusing to meet his eyes, even when he slightly bent over in order to see you better. "Do you even know how long I waited for you back then? I've always known you were busy but this? And then you wouldn't answer my calls, wouldn't text me back? For a second I... I thought something had happened to you."

It seemed like your sudden confession made Caleb, in some wicked and unexplainable way, more upbeat than just mere seconds before. He reached out, but not even to touch you, just to hover. "I wish I could tell you more, so you wouldn't worry..."

"Worry?!" Now, that pissed you off. How would someone who clearly didn't give a damn about you make you worry for him? "You worry about yourself for once, Jesus fucking Christ. Where the hell were you, where you couldn't find two fucking minutes to send me a text?!"

"Pipsqueak–"

Waving him off, you stormed off into the living room, not wanting him to see how emotional it all made you. It took Caleb a moment to follow, quietly and cautiously, as though he was approaching a wild animal. The couch dipped slightly when he sat down at its edge.

"You used to be different," you whispered, more to yourself than to Caleb, really. "We used to be different. There wasn't a single thing we wouldn't talk about. You know there wasn't. And now... It feels like I don't even know you anymore, Caleb."

You looked up to face him, now wide eyed and tense as he stared back. A speck of dust flew in between you, illuminated by the cabinet lamp.

"I don't even know you."

There was a long moment of silence after that. Caleb appeared to be thinking about what to tell you and you, well, you were done talking. You couldn't keep wasting words on those who wouldn't give you any in return.

Suddenly he stood up, shoulders slumped forward, like a long forgotten puppet. Not even looking at you, let alone saying anything, he turned around yet again and made his way to the door.

You sighed. Deeply, unashamedly. With relief.

But then, just when you thought it would all end like this – with Caleb letting you have the last word. Leaving you behind, finally, for good.

He spoke.

Quietly, utterly devoid of emotion.

"I was in jail."

Your breath hitched. "I... I– W-What...?"

"They didn't have any usable evidence," he continued, still turned away, still at a distance (just in... case?). "So they let me go. I didn't want to call. You'd know. You'd know where it was coming from."

"Caleb..." You didn't even notice when you got up from the couch and walked close enough to feel the faint smell of gasoline lingering around him. "What have you done...?"

He glanced at you above his shoulder, smirking. "Don't worry 'bout it. Soon all of it will be gone. Everything will be just how it used to."

And before you could think of anything suitable enough for a reply, he left, closing the door behind him so delicately, you didn't even hear it click.

The air seemed hot that night, sticky. The fact that it was so horrendously crowded too, obviously didn't help and if it weren't for his height, Caleb wouldn't even have anything to breathe with.

He wanted to go home.

Real home, not the college dorms or even that cold, rigid apartment he was renting. You. He wanted, no, he needed to be where you were, see what you saw, hear what you heard. There wasn't a day he didn't spend cultivating the slightly blurred image of you he kept safely in his mind.

But what you told him just a few days before...

Caleb shook his head, as if to physically get rid of whatever resided inside of it at that time.

The past was just that – the past. For a reason, too. If he was to be present in your life still, he would have to earn his spot.

And he was willing to do anything for that to happen.

His racing team was almost finishing up, so Caleb decided to take a quick stroll through the garages. Being observant came naturally to him, so he oftentimes used those moments to spot his rivals' weakest points. That, plus the change of scenery helped him clear his mind, at least a little.

That night he would be up against five other drivers. Plenty of people to beat, but Caleb wasn't exactly a newbie, so he had calculated his chances as pretty high. High enough, he hoped at least. He was also competing with Sage and that was something he wasn't anticipating in the slightest.

Leaning against the garage doors, he observed, taking notice of anything out of the ordinary or potentially dangerous. Sage's Mitsubishi, a Toyoya, two Hondas. The last one was apparently a Mustang but Caleb was yet to see it with his own eyes, so he recoiled from making any rash assumptions. The crowd was vibrant and ever-present, adding to the unique flavour of Linkon's underground scene. There were also many teenagers, something Caleb had noted with confusion, as those who were underage had a way harder time getting in. And right next to a couple of school kids, stood a group of people not too much older, talking excitedly and trying to appear seasoned.

Caleb smiled to himself.

A part of him wished hypocritically that cops would swarm the place that night, making a whole show of cuffing people left and right, just to make those who didn't belong stay away afterwards. It was horrible of Caleb to think that way, considering he had to start somewhere too, but in all honesty he didn't wish his life on anybody. So, in a way it was justified, at least to some extent.

The start of the race was approaching and Caleb was almost about to go back to his trusted Subaru, when two more people with colorful drinks in their hands joined the group he previously observed.

The guy was relatively tall, a little lanky and wore a hoodie with a giant bird on the back, a raven maybe, or a crow. His eyes would shine whenever he looked at the girl beside him and it was clear as day that he was waiting for the right moment to make a move. She was chatting, gesturing animatedly and making him laugh in the process. He bent down to hear better, resting his hand on her hip.

And the girl... The girl was you.

[chuluoyi]

thinking of clan head!gojo x prophet!reader x curse!sukuna in a modern-day story of arranged marriage, reincarnations, prophecies, and a twist of danger —

it’s for prestige that you are marrying the strongest sorcerer, and it’s beneficial for him to utilize your power of foreseeing the future.

united with gojo satoru in an utmost holy matrimony is the start of your life as the unwanted wife. for 3 years, both of you have been living separately and he could be having mistresses out there and you wouldn’t care either. to him, it’s you chaining him down and to you, it’s him robbing you of your freedom.

until one day, you think you don’t want this stifling marriage anymore and demand a divorce. oh but gojo doesn’t want to—there’s too many at a stake here (most of all, both of your reputations) and hey, it’s an insult for him, a ladies man, to have made his own wife demand a divorce from him!

so he barges into your residence and actually starts acting like a husband. for once, he’s showering you with attention. living with him suddenly becomes your new routine and you’ll be damned… because after many days and nights with him, you’re finally falling in love with your husband.

everything is good… until you see the most terrifying dream — him dying at the hands of ancient curse sukuna.

it’s tale as old as time that sukuna was sealed thousands of years ago by the combined powers of sorcerers, but beyond the toned-down storybooks, his downfall was actually instigated by the greatest betrayal of his own subject, his bride — the high priestess, a prophet princess just like you, your ancestor.

and so now, possessing yuji’s body, he’s out for your blood too.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 6: A Dagger In One Hand

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas

Note: I'm really sorry for how long it took for me to write this chapter. Life's been a bitch lately. Keeps kicking me while I'm down, so to speak.

Someone asked about a taglist, so I'm starting one! Please comment if you want to be added :)

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Abby fell asleep surrounded by Scars but woke up alone.

She sat up, blinking away the stubborn remnants of her dreams. Images of her father, alive, and simpler times.

Sunlight shone in from nearby windows, indicating that it was probably already late morning, if not early afternoon, meaning that she’d slept much later than she’d meant to. Much later than she normally would.

But the last couple of days had been anything but normal.

The sound of voices in the hallway brought Abby to her feet and out the door.

Lev and Yara stood just down that hall, arguing, their voices low and insistent.

“Even if you make it, she’s not going to come with you,” Yara said.

“I can convince her.”

“We broke the rules, Lev! That’s all she’ll care about!”

Abby didn’t know who or what they were talking about, and she wasn’t nearly awake enough to begin to decipher it. Behind her, a door opened, across the hall from the room she’d come from.

“Abby?”

Your voice was quiet. Almost surprised. Like you hadn’t expected to see her standing there.

She shivered, as if you’d touched her.

She wished you would touch her.

Jesus. She really needed to get her thoughts in check.

She turned to face you.

You smiled, a stark contrast to the tense words being exchanged just around the corner. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Abby might have just woken up, but she could’ve sworn there was a halo of light surrounding you.

Maybe she was still dreaming.

Her too-recently-conscious eyes could only take in one thing at a time. First, your eyes. She was stuck there for a while. Probably much longer than what was socially acceptable. You had beautiful eyes.

Then, your mouth. Lips still slightly upturned in a warm smile. She wanted to know if you greeted everyone like this. If that smile was a common sight to those around you or if it was just for her. She couldn’t imagine she’d done anything to deserve special treatment from you, but looking at you smiling at her felt like a gift. One that she couldn’t possibly have earned.

It was at that moment that Abby remembered that she was looking at the Seraphite Prophet.

Isaac had warned her about you just over forty-eight hours ago. He’d said that the greatest threat you posed was in your ability to win people over, earning their loyalty even at the cost of their own morals. Their life-long allegiances. Their people. 

She understood now why you had been chosen to be the new Prophet. There was something about you that drew people in – had them letting their guard down – with or without all of the Seraphite brainwashing. 

Hell, Abby met you two days ago and she was already prepared to leave the certainty and security of the Washington Liberation Front to follow you wherever you wanted to go.

There was something magic about you. You must have a similar effect on everybody.

Abby was momentarily relieved, feeling like she’d solved an equation. She wasn’t losing her mind. (At least not any more than anyone else around you was.) This wasn’t her fault. It was yours.

Even as she thought it, it sounded stupid to her. But the only alternative was that these thoughts and feelings were uniquely, inherently her own. And that could only lead to the hope that you might feel the same way about her. 

She finally managed to pull her eyes away from your face and noticed that you were carrying a small, neatly folded pile of clothes. 

“Mel gave these to me,” you said, following her gaze. “She said that they don’t really fit her anymore.” Abby only blinked at you incredulously, not understanding. If she hadn’t just woken up, she would’ve known what you meant. “You know. Because of the–” You trailed off, using your hand to make an arching motion over your own stomach, as if to represent a pregnant belly. “–the baby.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Abby looked away, running a hand absently over her braided hair. “Makes sense. That was… nice of her.”

You nodded, falling quiet as Lev and Yara’s voices grew louder just around the corner, the two of them still arguing.

“I can’t believe she’s on her feet already,” Abby said after a minute.

Your worried look gave way to another small smile. “Yes, well, Yara’s always been tough.” 

There was so much that Abby didn’t know about you. And Yara and Lev. And about your history together. She’d been picking up on bits and pieces of it, especially yesterday with Lev. It had taken some time, but he definitely started opening up to her as they traveled to and from the hospital.

He had even turned things around on Abby and asked what was going on between you and her. And he seemed to find it funny when she got flustered and dodged the question entirely. 

But you had not been such an open book. And Abby wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything. 

She just didn’t know where to start.

“What are they fighting about?” she asked instead. 

“Lev is worried about their mother,” you explained, just loud enough for Abby to hear. “About what’ll happen to her because of them.”

“Should he be worried?” she asked.

“He needs to focus on his own safety right now.” 

“What could happen to her?” If she had to guess based on what she knew about the Seraphites, it couldn’t be good.

You looked away. “Sometimes parents are held responsible for their children’s sins. But their mom is so devout that she’ll probably be fine.”

“Are there options? For helping her?”

You frowned. “Lev wants to go back to the island to get her. But he would never be able to convince her to leave. I’m not even sure that I could, and I’m–”

“The Prophet?” Abby finished.

You moved on without acknowledging that truth. “Yara and I are more worried about what she might do to him.” Before she could think of a response to any of that, you looked back at her, shaking your head like you were shaking those thoughts away. “They’ll work it out. Lev’s not unreasonable.”

“He’s a kid,” she said frankly. “I’m not an expert, but aren’t kids supposed to be hard to reason with, especially when they’re emotional?”

“He’s a Seraphite,” you corrected her. “Seraphites are never really kids.”

Again, Abby felt the urge to ask you to explain, to tell her more about what you meant by that. 

“I could use your help with something–” you said, hesitant, “–if you wouldn’t mind. I would ask Yara, but she’s occupied. And she’s also down one arm.”

“Yeah,” Abby said, sincere and probably far too eager. “Of course. What do you need?”

You smiled gratefully and gestured for her to go back into the room where you had all slept. She followed without question, shutting the door behind her. 

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” The look on your face told her that you wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t have to. “It’s this dress,” you said. “It isn’t meant for me to be able to take it off myself. One or two of my attendants would always have to help.” And then you turned, just enough to draw Abby’s attention to the back of the dress, where there was an admittedly overly complicated looking corset thing going on. It looked cool, but yeah, she could see how it would be difficult, if not impossible, for you to undo it by yourself.

“They might as well have sewn me into it,” you added, doing your best to look at it over your shoulder. Then you turned back to face her. 

She took a beat before she found her voice. “You have attendants? Like maids?”

You shot her an exasperated look. “I had attendants. But they are on the island and I am here, and it’d be really great if someone would help me get out of this thing once and for all.”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Abby said, smiling now. “Turn back around.”

You sighed but did as you were told, tossing the pile of clean clothes on the couch for the sole purpose of being able to cross your arms over your chest. Abby chuckled, surprised but amused by your sudden attitude. 

She stepped up behind you, taking a closer look at the fabric contraption that had you trapped in this dress. It suddenly occurred to her that, in order to help you with this problem, she would have to get very close to you… And that she’d have to touch you… And that this would inevitably end with you taking off your clothes. Hell, she was (technically speaking) the one who would be undressing you.

She cleared her throat and tried – not for the first time that day and probably not for the last – to get her thoughts under control. You weren’t coming on to her. You just needed help. You probably would’ve been just as likely to ask Mel to do this. 

Abby shifted on her feet behind you, lifting her hands to start what was sure to be a very long untangling process, but she paused before actually touching the fabric that hugged your back. “Can I…?” she asked. It felt important to have your permission before she touched you. 

“Hmm?” you hummed, glancing over your shoulder before you realized what she meant. “Oh. Yes. Please.”

A thrill shot through her at the sound of you responding to her request to touch you with please.

God, there had to be something wrong with her.

No one – genuinely not one single other person in her whole life – had ever had this effect on her. 

She got to work on the dress, trying to convince her stupid, horny mind that the ribbons and fabrics beneath her fingers were not, in fact, attached to your body. She was unsuccessful.

“Jesus, they really did not want you getting out of this thing,” she huffed. “What? Was trapping you in your clothes their way of keeping you chaste?”

Since when did she say shit like chaste? It did sound like some bullshit the Seraphites would do though.

To her surprise, you laughed. “I think the idea was more likely to keep me dependent on others. Trapped both physically and mentally, you know? … It’s a dress, Abby. You don’t exactly have to take it off to have sex.”

Abby’s fingers stilled, her eyes went wide, and her face warmed. And she was glad you were facing the other way so you didn’t see any of it.

She changed the subject before she did anything stupid, like ask you literally anything else about that subject. “So… have you always worn this dress?”

It was a stupid question, but it’s the first thing she could come up with under these conditions.

“This exact dress, no,” you said. She could tell from your voice that you were smiling, and she couldn’t be sure but she thought you might be teasing her. “But some version of it, yes. Since the day I turned twelve. New ones were made for me as I grew and if they tore or got dirty, but it was always something like this.” You paused for a few seconds before going on. “It’s strange. I haven’t worn pants in eight years. I’m kind of excited.”

Abby couldn’t imagine being excited to wear Mel’s hand-me-down pants. But she also hadn’t been forced to wear the same virtually inescapable dress for nearly a decade. The thought alone made her chest feel tight. 

She had made a small amount of progress with the dress, but not as much as she would have wanted, and she was getting frustrated with the whole thing. She yanked on something that she thought would loosen it, but ended up making it much tighter. You let out a sharp hiss.

“Sorry,” Abby said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do tha–”

“Do you want to just cut it off of me?” you asked, spinning around to face her again, clearly even more eager and annoyed than she was. 

“Umm.” Abby thought her brain might be shutting down entirely. “Yeah. I can do that. If you’re sure you’re not gonna want to wear it again.”

“I’m not going to want to wear it again,” you confirmed.

Neither of you had taken a step back when you turned around, which left very little space between you. Something that Abby was painfully aware of.

“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Then I guess I’m cutting you out of the dress.” But she didn’t move from where she stood, just a breath away from you.

You were the first to move, walking over to where you had all dropped your stuff yesterday and returning with your dagger. 

“Here.” Face unreadable, you offered the deadly blade to Abby handle-first. She took it as you spun back around.

She gripped the dagger’s hilt in her hand tightly. The trust that you must’ve had in her, to hand over your weapon and willingly turn your back to her… It made her feel brave.

Or maybe she had bravery and stupidity mixed up.

Abby began carefully cutting through the same ribbons that she’d previously been attempting to untie.

“Are there rules,” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, “about abstaining from sex? I’ve read about a few Old World religions that were strict about that.” 

You were entirely unfazed by the question. “Seraphites have rules for everything. Some of them always made sense to me. But most of them are ridiculous. Meant only to ensure that our Elders are able to maintain complete control.” 

The top of the dress loosened and began to sag as Abby continued to slice through the offending constraints, until it was only held up by the straps. She had done enough for you to be able to easily get out of it. If you were to let those straps fall from your shoulders, the whole thing would fall to the floor, gathering at your feet. 

She looked away from the smooth expanse of skin in front of her and tried to force that image out of her mind. 

“Should be able to get it off now,” she said, deciding that it would actually be better for her to take several steps away. 

An earnest ‘thank you’ came from your lips as you grabbed the new clothes from the couch. You didn’t ask her to turn around, but she did anyway. And she was decidedly not thinking about what was going on behind her.

“To answer your question from before,” you began as you got dressed. “Yes, there are rules about that, but they’re wildly unimaginative. We are not permitted to be alone with someone of the opposite sex – outside of our family members – until a spouse is chosen for us. At which point, that person becomes a family member. So technically, we’re never allowed to be alone with someone of the opposite sex.”

“That sucks,” she threw out, not knowing what else to say as she stared at a random stain on the wall and forced herself to wonder how it might’ve gotten there.

“Probably. For most people. But I never really had a problem with it.” Your voice was much closer now, just behind her.

“Why not?” Abby’s question of if it was safe to turn around yet was answered with the light touch of your fingers against her wrist, trailing down to meet the dagger still grasped in her palm. She relinquished the knife to you, letting her hand linger against yours as she turned to face you, taking it all in.

You were, indeed, wearing pants. And also a shirt. And they both fit you pretty well.

And you were beautiful. There was always that.

You passed the dagger from your right hand to your left, and the look of determination on your face was nearly the same as it was moments after she first saw you. When Abby was hanging by her throat and you were going to kill her. Only this time the feeling coursing through her body wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. 

Whatever you were planning to do next, she wanted it. 

“Why not?” Abby had asked a minute ago.

“Because I’ve never had any interest in the opposite sex,” you answered as your right hand found its place against her jaw.

Time slowed as you stood there for a moment, holding a dagger in one hand and Abby’s face in the other. 

She thought you might kiss her. She was hoping you’d kiss her.

And then the door flung open and your hand fell to your side.

Yara was crying or yelling or both, and it took Abby way too long to process the words she was saying.

“Lev’s gone! He took a boat! He’s going back to the island!”

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Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it felt good to end it here for now. Also, I want you to know that I'm dedicated to finishing this fic, and I know exactly where I want to go with it, so expect more updates soon!

Taglist: @h0meb0dyi @lmaoo-spiderman @quinnsadilla @rew1nds @sapphicontherun

[alphamecha-mkii]

Star Wars: Prophets of the Dark Side - Scardia Station by Drew Struzan

[b1mbodoll]

double penetration but s just big dick heeseung and a monster dildo

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Star Wars: Prophets of the Dark Side Cover Art by Drew Struzan

[writingpotathoes]

IM FUCKING SOBBING WHY IS YOO JOONGHYUK WEILDING A GUN AND WHY DOES LEE JIHYE HAVE A RIFLE WHEN HER CONSTELLATION MARITIME WARGOD WAS FUCKING SHOT TO DEATH ALL HOPE IS LOST I HAVE GIVEN UP ON HUMANITY

[moongreenlight]

[brittle-doughie]

Attempt number 5What if Beast Ancients found out that y/n cookie is ticklish? Especially I would have found out the Beast PV. Can I have a headcount about this? I think Beast PV I would like affection and attention from my adoration, and for this, Beast PV stole y/n cookies. (But the rest of the Beast Ancient order would be jealous.)

The Prophet would aim to take advantage of this little quirk of yours if it mean you lightened up around him.

He could see how tense you can be whenever he tries to initiate affection, he didn’t think that bringing cookies to peace and salvation would hurt you that bad…

Yeah, it might bring you a couple of laughs when he finds a weak point of yours, but can you really let your guard down around him?

The Prophet will be doing this often as you spend time with him, it would help to grow closer to you if he can get you to laugh more around him, to be comfortable enough to do that around him….

The others might not be so happy when they hear that he’s been able to make you laugh (and thus happy) when they’re still trying to get you to open up with them…

Maybe they should try adopting his tactic…

[artpoplibrary]

“Gods aren’t called upon, rather, they are made. They are made with blood and tears and the strain of muscles; bones crushed under the feet of the first ‘heretic’ prophet to preach your gospel. Gods are made in battle, in the solace of the night skies, or, in your case at least, in the obsession of one human; your prophet, with you as their muse.”

God!reader x m! or gn!worshipper

How do we feel about this idea, broskis? Is this the vibes? It would most likely have some toxic codependency stuff going on (but in a romantic wayyy), and also some Yandere behaviour directed at reader—

If folks vibe with this I’ll probably drop the actual first post about this concept on the weekend?

[whereslynx]

can you write one where the reader and spooky are dating and they’re outside on a walk when a prophet rolls up on them with a gun and spooky protects the reader so at the end it’s kind of fluff

a/n: 🕺🕺

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You and Spooky strolled through Freeridge, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The familiar sounds of laughter and distant music filled the air, wrapping you in a sense of belonging. You often took walks with Spooky, catching yourselves in the comfort of reminiscing on stale memories back when you were young. You could tell Spooky grew to rely on these walks—a chance to escape the reality of being a gang leader, and enter a bubble of sweet nostalgia of life before it got heavy.

Growing up here, you learned the unspoken rules: know your block, stay alert, and avoid unnecessary drama. But being alongside Spooky all your life, some of those rules got a bit too difficult.

“Yo, remember that time we almost got caught stealing snacks from the old corner store back in middle school?” Oscar laughed, brushing his shoulder against yours, his casual confidence making you smile.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you replied, shaking your head at the memory. “Maybe if that bag of chips didn’t fall outta your shirt, Mr. Cano wouldn’t have chased us down the street with his broom.” You teased with a faux frown, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

Before Oscar could answer, a sleek green car rolled up beside you, the tinted windows reflecting the golden light. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as the window slid down, revealing Latrelle, a notorious member of the Prophets. He leaned out, smirking with a cocky flair. “Well, well, look who we got here. Spooky and his girl. What a cute little scene.”

Your heart raced as you caught the dangerous glint in Latrelle’s eyes. Years of growing up in Freeridge had taught you the unspoken signals of trouble, and that smirk was a clear warning. Oscar’s playful demeanor shifted in an instant; the lightheartedness faded as he instinctively stepped in front of you, his posture tense and protective. “What do you want, Latrelle?” he asked, his voice steady but low, each word heavy with warning.

Latrelle chuckled, leaning out of the car, his tone dripping with mockery. “Just wanted to see if you’re still pretending to run these streets. This block ain’t safe for you, man. You know how it is.” He leaned back, surveying the two of you with an air of casual menace, his gaze lingering on your intertwined hands.

You squeezed Oscar’s hand tighter, feeling your heartbeat quicken. “We’re just out for a walk, nothing more,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm despite the tension tightening around you. Inside, however, adrenaline surged through your veins, preparing you for whatever might come next.

Latrelle’s grin widened, revealing a mix of amusement and menace, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. “Walks are nice, but I don’t like it when my territory gets disrespected. You know how it is, Spooky; the Prophets don’t play nice, especially with your kind strolling around here.” He leaned casually against the car, but his eyes were cold, scanning you both like prey.

The outline of a gun peeked from Latrelle’s waistband, its presence sending an icy chill down your spine. Oscar’s instincts kicked in; he stepped protectively in front of you, his body rigid and poised for action. “You Prophets think y’all the only ones strapped ‘round here?” he rasped, venom lacing his tone as he lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a strap of his own, gleaming menacingly in the fading light.

The air crackled with tension as they exchanged heated glances, each man sizing the other up. You could feel every heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears, a primal instinct urging you to prepare for anything. “Guess it’s a show to see who reaches first,” Latrelle shot back, bravado dripping from his words, challenging Oscar to make a move.

Just then, the distant sound of a siren pierced the thick tension, causing Latrelle to hesitate, his bravado faltering for a split second. He glanced toward the noise, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “This ain’t over, Santos,” he muttered, retreating into his car with a final glare, his expression a mix of frustration and anger, before peeling away into the shadows of Freeridge.

You exhaled, relief flooding your veins as the immediate danger passed, the adrenaline slowly receding. Oscar turned to you, concern etched across his features, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of fear. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though you could hear the undercurrent of worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… that was too close,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly, the weight of the moment still heavy in the air. You couldn’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, a chaotic mix of fear and exhilaration that made your heart race.

Oscar pulled you closer, his arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders, creating a barrier against the chaos of the streets. “I’m not letting anyone mess with you. You know that, right?” His grip was firm, reassuring, and a surge of safety washed over you.

You hesitated, your brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, I know,” you said, but uncertainty lingered in your voice. The warmth of his body next to yours helped ground you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this unpredictable world.

He gently grabbed your shoulders, locking his gaze onto yours. “Hey,” he said softly, squeezing your shoulders. “Nobody. You hear? Nobody.” The repeated reassurance hung in the air, wrapping around you like a protective blanket. You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest, knowing you could face whatever came your way as long as he was by your side.

Oscar’s laugh sliced through the tension like a knife, lightening the air around you. “Come on, let’s bounce before those fools decide to come back for round two. How about we hit up that taco spot we used to go to after school and pretend this whole mess was just a bad dream?”

His playful tone drew a genuine smile from you, the fear of moments ago melting away. “Tacos sound perfect,” you replied, imagining the warm tortillas and savory fillings that always made everything better.

As you strolled hand-in-hand, the vibrant pulse of Freeridge began to surround you once again. The rhythmic beat of reggaeton floated from a nearby block party, mingling with the laughter of kids playing in the streets. The familiar scents of street food—cilantro, lime, and sizzling carne asada—filled the air, bringing with them memories of carefree days spent in this lively neighborhood.

With Oscar beside you, his energy infectious, you felt the lingering weight of danger lift. It was as if the vibrancy of Freeridge had embraced you, reminding you that life could still be sweet amidst chaos. Together, you walked into the heart of your neighborhood, ready to savor not just tacos, but the warmth and safety that came with shared moments, knowing that with Oscar by your side, you could face anything the streets threw at you.