#to add more to let this grow - what else could make sense for us

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS - LN

lando x fewtrell!reader (cos who doesn't love a bit of brother's best friend?). no content warnings for this part. pls lemme know what u think of this pls and thank u.

part 1 -> part 2 -> part 3 -> part 4 -> part 5 -> part 6 -> part 7!

y/n was a bit of an enigma in the fewtrell family. yes, she’d grown up karting with her older brother and his best friend, but it wasn’t a career for her. not like it was for max, who took his love of karting to championships and content creation and especially not like lando, who made it all the way to F1.

no, y/n fewtrell wanted a career, for now at least anyway. which leads us to now, she’s sat in a second year lecture, not listening to a single word as a slew of messages from her brother almost vibrate her phone off the desk.

she didn’t really need to think about it at all, of course she’d be there. whilst she had no interest in her actually involvement, she loved motor sports, and loved supporting lando. the amount of times she’d been recognised in her uni towns sports bar, watching the F1, was getting concerning. not to mention the time she’d finished a 10 hour shift and somehow fell asleep in said sports bar, made worse and more recognisable to lando fans by the quadrant hoodie and LN4 beanie - max had not let her live it down since the moment the photo came on his twitter feed. it just seemed odd that lando all of a sudden wanted, no, needed her presence - after all, he'd had minimal contact with her for almost a year.

but, she weighed up in her head, getting to see lando was somewhat of a reward. yes spending the day with her brother would be good, although she could sense her summer would potentially be spent with him anyway. but lando, what could she say about lando. he was always around growing up, and yes admittedly there had been a few moments shared in her early adulthood that would indicate something more but it always remained unspoken. lingering touches here and there, the night they spent dancing together in a club, though written off as drunk friendliness, and most notably an interrupted moment where he whispered “max would kill me if he knew the truth”. y/n never got to find out what the truth was, as max himself came barrelling into the room, equally as drunk as everyone else at the gathering. from that night on, she barely saw or heard from lando, well, until now supposedly.

ultimately, y/n decided that dwelling on what could’ve been, whilst lando jets off around the world, was simply not worth it. she focused on her studies, and began declining offers to watch lando race on the other side of the world. y/n fewtrell was a strong independent woman who did not need the validation from her brothers best friend.

didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it.

as predicted, the academic year ended and y/n found herself moving a bag of clothes into max’s spare room. people started spotting her in the background of streams again, fans excited to see the fewtrell’s back together and in full force - y/n now adorning a lovely bruise down the side of her arm from where max had shoved her too hard off a chair and onto the floor. sore losers run in the family.

“MAX! that hurt,” y/n whined from her new found position on the floor.

“oh did it,” max asks mockingly, “sucks to be you i guess” he adds with a shrug, although letting her use his arm to pull herself back up.

he moved back to playing his game when a text popped up on her phone making her giggle.

“what? what are you laughing at?”

“lando said “push him back”. lando,” y/n said, looking at the camera, “if i could, i would - but i quite like having somewhere to live and my own personal chauffeur,” she laughed, max laughing with her.

a month later she was in the passenger seat of max’s car, him pulling in to park outside the silverstone track. it was hours before the public would show up, so she instantly spotted the curly haired man. yes, the bright orange jumper was like a bat signal for lando, but y/n’s eyes were immediately drawn to him naturally. max had just about pulled the handbrake on when lando bounded over to the car, pulled the passenger door open and lunged himself around y/n.

“you came! it’s been too long since ive had my little lucky charm in my garage,” he says, looking directly into her eyes. a red flush runs up her cheeks, hoping that the boys will put it down to the loss of air conditioning. any awkwardness she had anticipated between the two dissolved almost instantly.

“i know, i’m sorry. i should just drop out of uni and follow you around the world, i know. forgive me,” she jokes holding her hands up, and lando quirks an eyebrow up, as if saying “you should”.

“don’t do that, y/n. one of the fewtrell’s needs to be properly educated,” max jokes, ”besides, not having his lucky charm around all the time keeps his ego in check.” lando chuckles in response, finally moving to stand fully out of the car and allowing y/n and max to climb out and join him.

“so, home race in 2 days - how you feelin’ mate?” max asked lando, raising his hand to do one of those bro hand grabs. they continued talking, y/n trailing just behind them as they walked into the building and around to the mclaren area. it was always a spectacle, coming to races. the teams, the drivers, the media, the celebrations - it was somewhat overwhelming. it was weird to see the place so empty, then again, it was 7am on FP1 day so the only people walking around were the odd driver and mechanics.

they continued to walk through the paddock, y/n just listening to the boys discussing an upcoming quadrant project, eventually reaching his drivers room. the sofa looked so inviting, especially to the girl who was dragged kicking and screaming out of bed at 5am. whilst lando distracted max, showing him his helmet for the home race, y/n crawled over to the sofa, curled up in a corner and shut her eyes.

“y/n? you good?” lando asked, after clocking her new found position.

“shut up.”

“ouch.”

“she threatened to rip my eyeballs out and shove them down my throat this morning when i tried to get her up. being told to shut up is nothing,” max laughed, ruffling the top of his sisters head and messing up her hair, “she just likes her sleep.”

“yes, she does, please let her have it,” y/n mumbles bluntly, met with chuckles from the boys.

“we’re gonna get breakfast. ill bring you back something if you want to stay here?” lando asks, her eyes perking up at the thought of food.

“yes please,” she says, with a soft smile directed towards him.

-

“next time, me and you are getting separate hotel rooms,” y/n groaned, rolling around the sofa of her hotel room trying to get comfortable.

“next time, tell me you want to come with me early enough for me to book you a separate hotel room, y/n,” her brother grumbled back.

“i’m gonna see if there’s a gym here. i need to tire myself out if i’m going to sleep on this…thing,” she said, poking at the solid leather of the sofa.

max didn’t respond to his sister, instead he rolled over to face the door and shut his eyes. y/n grabbed her key card and her shoes, and walked out the door, happy to be away from her brother. she loved him, she really did, but after spending the entire day in lando’s small driver room with him - she really just needed some brother-free air.

she barely reached the lift at the end of the hallway when she got a text, diverting her entire plans for that evening.

i’m bored. come on a drive with me?

going on a late night drive with lando was not out of the ordinary, but usually max was there. had he sent max the same message? either way, she responded with a quick yes and thumbs up.

cool. im outside btw. hurry up.

have you just turned up assuming i was going to say yes?

was i wrong?

shut up im coming down now

[worldlxvlys]

control

dealer! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: smutttt, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, p in v, cream pie, cursing, oral (male + fem receiving), 69, drug use

summary: the effects of the weed that you and chris were smoking made you horny enough, but add his recent insta pictures into the mix ? any sense of self-control you had left your body and suddenly, all you could focus on was making him a trembling, whiny mess under you.

a/n: idea credits to my love @hearts4chriss <33

everything was hazy.

my red eyes drooped ever so lightly, eventually fluttering closed as i took a hit from the joint that chris and i were sharing.

the smoke floated around in the air while we spoke about whatever came to our minds, giving each other our full attention.

well, i was paying attention, just not to his words. i wanted to listen to what he had to say, but i couldn’t help but find myself fixating on everything else.

the way his tongue darted out every now and then, wetting his dried lips.

his cheeks, which were lightly dusted with a rosey tint to match the color of his lips.

his hair, strands messily sticking out in every direction, only adding to how good he looked.

the veins in his hand protruded from his skin as he dug into the ice cream he brought over for us, causing me to clear my throat as i attempted to regain my composure.

i watched as he shoveled the sweet dessert into his mouth, just before the half-melted treat could spill anywhere.

“and i was gonna ask you which pictures you think i should post today, but i ended up picking-”

"wait, you posted?” i asked, grabbing my phone from its place beside me on the bed.

my eyes widened slightly when i saw the pictures, he looked so good.

he always looked good, but these pictures in particular turned me on a little more than they should have.

“you’re joking, right ?” i asked, the words flying out of my mouth before i could stop them.

“what?” he asked confused.

the weed seemed to have taken any self-control that remained in my body, as i immediately straddled chris’s lap.

“you didn’t think you were gonna be able to post those pictures without getting your brains fucked out, did you?”

he stared up at me, mouth hanging open while his hands held onto my waist.

“i mean, i don’t-” his mouth opened and closed like a fish, while a jumbled mess of words fell from his mouth.

i hooked my fingers onto the waistband of his shorts, effectively shutting him up as he squirmed in anticipation.

i moved from my place on top of him, situating myself on my knees between his legs.

i pulled the fabric down slightly to reveal his happy trail, immediately adorning the newly exposed skin with kisses.

he let out a low whine at the feeling, hips bucking up into my face.

i quickly pushed his hips down, holding him steady as i ran my tongue along his skin.

“fuck” he sighed out, eyes falling shut as he swallowed harshly.

i could tell that the weed was affecting him, his sensitivity to my touch growing with every movement.

“lift” i told him as he followed my instructions, raising his hips while i pulled his shorts down.

i brought my hand to his clothed dick, which pressed against his boxers angrily.

i pressed a kiss to his crotch, eliciting a low whine from him.

“what do you want, chris?” i asked as i began to palm him.

“need your mouth” he moaned out.

“lay back, take off your boxers” i told him, watching as he eagerly did what i said.

when he was laid fully naked on the bed, i stripped for him.

i joined him on the bed, sitting behind him with my chest pressed to his back.

i wrapped my arms around his waist, my hand finding its way to his dick.

"i- fuck- i said my mouth” he groaned out as i collected the pre-cum that leaked out of his tip in my hand.

“you’ll get my mouth” i spoke as i squeezed his base, his hips jerking up in response, “when i feel like it”

he remained silent after that, only moans and whines leaving his mouth as i continued to move my hand up and down his length.

“does it feel good, chris?” i asked, whispering into his ear while i nibbled the lobe.

“fuck, yes. please don’t stop” he groaned, thrusting his hips up into my hand.

“tell me when you’re close, baby” i spoke before beginning to take the skin of his neck between my lips, sucking harshly.

i littered his neck with dark bruises while he continued to fuck himself against my hand.

“so eager, my love. but if you want to cum, you’ll have to slow down” i told him.

“n-no, please ! i need to cum so bad” he spoke, his pace remaining the same.

“chris. slow down” i spoke again, causing the pace of his hips to slow against my hand.

“there you go, is it so hard to listen?” i asked as he let out a groan.

“fuck” he whispered out as his veiny cock moved against my hand slowly.

“i’m close” he spoke, his breathing picking up.

before he was able to let go, however, i moved my hand away.

“shit” he whined as his cock twitched, but he was left unsatisfied.

“you don’t get to finish that easily, baby. you gotta work for it” i spoke, chuckling as he went to move his hand towards his dick.

i quickly grabbed his hand before he got the chance to touch himself, “keep your hands behind your back. i swear to god, if you move them i’ll tie your ass up” i spoke into his ear.

he did as i said, but never acknowledged that he heard me. i turned his face to look at me, tilting my head at him, “you got that?”

“yes” he whispered as he stared at my lips.

i wrapped my hand around his neck, bringing his face up to mine to pull him into a heated kiss.

he moaned into my lips, while our lips molded together.

“you ok?” i asked him, noticing the dazed look on his face.

“you’re such a freak” he smirked up to me.

“and you’re such a submissive bitch” i answered, letting go of his face and moving my hand back down to his length.

i circled my thumb around his tip, pushing it against the slit, making his hips jolt up into my hand.

“such a tease” he mumbled under his breath.

in one swift motion, i moved to his side and pulled his shoulders back to lay down.

i moved so that each of my legs were on either side of his body.

“you obviously need some help in shutting the hell up” i spoke before moving to sit on his face.

chris immediately hooked his hands around my thighs, working my pussy with his tongue.

i leaned forward, taking his dick into my hand and swirling my tongue around his tip.

he groaned into me, the vibrations intensifying my pleasure.

i moaned against him in response, making his noises increase in volume.

i took as much of him as i could, using my hand to stroke the parts of his member that my mouth couldn’t reach.

he pulled my lower body harder against his mouth, his tongue focusing on my clit while his nose nudged against my needy hole.

i focused on his tip, teasing it as much as i could with my tongue, causing him to push his hips up in need.

i could tell he was getting close, so i removed my mouth from him with an audible pop.

he let out a whine of disappointment, his hands loosening around my thighs.

“you wanna cum so bad? fine.” i spoke as i moved down his body, making my way between his legs.

he sat upright, watching wordlessly as i turned around to face him.

he stared up at me with his mouth hung open while i aligned him with my entrance, sinking down onto him.

his hands automatically flew up to my waist when he bottomed out, stopping me from moving.

“god, i could cum right now if you start moving” deciding to test his limits, i spoke “good” before beginning to move anyway.

“fuck- oh my god” he groaned out as he began to shake underneath me.

i knew his frustrations from his previously ruined orgasm were building up, but i didn’t think it’d actually make him finish so quickly.

“i can’t- holy shit” he shuddered as he shot his load into me.

i gave him a minute to regain his breath, his grip on my hips tightening slightly.

“i still- i wanna make you feel good. please let me fuck you” he begged.

“yeah? give it to me, baby” he lifted me up slightly before beginning to thrust his hips up into mine.

the feeling of his hot cum being fucked into me sent me into a frenzy, only making me wetter.

i could tell he was struggling, overworking his already spent muscles to make sure i felt good.

“you’re so good to me, chris. let me take care of you” i whispered down to him.

his thrusts came to a hault, allowing me to take over as i rocked my hips into his.

“fuck, yes. oh my god” he shakily moaned as his head fell onto my shoulder.

i brought my hand to his hair, raking my fingers through it slowly while i rolled my hips on top of him sensually.

“look so pretty like this, oh” his face scrunched up as he began to whimper under me, making me clench around him at the sound.

“fuck- i’m so sensitive” he spoke.

“i know, baby. can’t help it, love hearing those sounds you make” i breathed out.

“still feeling ok?" i asked.

he nodded his head at that, “yes, so close. can i cum?” he asked as his hands slid to my ass, groping and massaging the skin.

“wait for me, i’m almost there. can you hold it w little longer?” i asked, reaching between us to rub my clit.

“t-too much” he whined, his face scrunching up while a few tears fell down his face.

“take it, chris” i told him, wiping his tears away while he twitched inside of me.

his legs began to shake involuntarily, increasing the friction between us.

“fuck” his voice broke as he moaned out, eyes rolling back as he bit his lip.

“go ahead, chris. let go” i told him, his hips stuttering as his head flew back and he filled me up with his cum.

it wasn’t long before i finished on top of him, my release dripping out of me and onto his dick.

we took a minute to catch our breath, staying in the same position for a while.

“here, let’s get you cleaned up” i spoke, moving to get up when he stopped me.

“wait, can we just stay like this for a while?” he asked, his arms wrapping tighter around me.

“of course” i told him, wrapping my arms around his neck to hug his body close to mine.

“you ok?” i asked as i rubbed soothing circles into his back.

“when i’m with you? always” he spoke, placing a kiss to my shoulder.

🍑🍑🍑🍑

dwb! chris masterlist

main masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nicksmainbitch @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

[sleekswosobession]

ignored

alexia putellas x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: this photo is my roman empire and new tiktok pfp 😜 (my titles on fics or SO over dramatic icl)

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

Being the second captain of Barcelona, meant coming with a few responsibilities. Like showing new players around, and trying to include them in the atmosphere to make the whole move less daunting. It probably makes sense considering we are the best in the world.

Which is what’s happening right now, we’ve signed a new centre-back, considering we barely have any due to injuries. Currently we rely on a defensive midfielder, and anyone we deam can do it. Not ideal. January transfer is like heaven.

We walk around, talk about our lives a little bit as I try to make conversation more homey. Apparently she has a girlfriend who plays for PSG and I talk about Alexia, my other captain and long-time girlfriend. Who may (definitely) have a slight jealousy problem.

After a while of talking and walking, we make it to the gym and I announce the arrival.

“Everyone! As you know, we have a new person joining us! Make her feel welcome, included and we won’t have any problems. Got it?” They nod their heads going back to their respective activities as the new recruit smiles fondly at me, something which doesn’t go missed by Alexia.

I turn to face the CB.

“Now you, let’s get you headed for the locker room. I’ll show you your area and then you can go home for now. I’m assuming Jona has emailed you a schedule of everything?” She nods.

“Alright, now message me if you need anything and I’ll add you to the main group chat all of the girls are in.” She smiles and I lead her toward our changing rooms showing her where she’ll be.

“You can decorate a little bit, add some personality like some of the girls have. Anything you need can be kept here.” I point to a door at the end of the room.

“That’s the showers, obviously if you’re going anywhere after trainings. I know Patri likes to play music, so I suggest some strong noise-cancelling headphones if you don’t like the music. Any questions?” She shakes her head, I smile.

“Well then, go home. Settle into the new apartment, Ale and I live pretty close to you. Same with Ingrid and Mapi, who are also willing to answer anything else you have in mind.”

I pause.

“Now, if that girlfriend of yours ever comes to visit I’d like to meet her, I know it seems straightforward but I do like meeting new people.” I notice the recruit blushing, and pat her shoulder before leaving.

- - - - -

Over the next couple days, I ensure the new defender is fitting in well and she is. Hanging out with Ingrid and Frido but also Keira and Aitana, it’s good to see.

Alexia might think differently. I noticed her getting worked up over something but I can’t imagine what. I can but I don’t know how when a quick instagram search could cease any of her worries. She’s too straight headed for that.

It’s after training when I see her approach, I’m speaking on tactics in the locker room when Alexia slides in next to me, her arm wrapping protectively around my waist. I smirk then hear what she has to say.

“Ready to go home amor?” She says, kissing my neck softly, something she’d rarely do in such a public setting. I stifle my laugh nodding and saying my goodbyes to everyone else, getting in the passenger seat of our car as Alexia insists she always drives.

I sigh, her jaw is set and I can tell something is wrong.

“Alexia, qué pasó?” She shakes her head, her knuckles growing whiter as she grips the steering wheel. I know I can’t do anything but I seem so helpless at the moment.

It’s a completely different change from the confidence in the change rooms to now not even speaking to me.

We head inside without saying a word, I head straight for a shower to hopefully get a grip on where the conversation with Alexia will lead.

- - - - -

After the shower, I walk into the living room and Alexia is sat with her legs crossed in the couch, staring straight ahead at the blank TV. I break the silence.

“If you stare at the poor TV any longer I think it’ll break.” She doesn’t say anything, just nodding slowly her eyes darting toward me before back in front.

“I will not do this Ale. You need to tell me your feelings or we can’t work this out.” She huffs leaning back.

“Lo siento, I just… missed you.” Her voice quiet, I nod in understanding, I spent a lot of time with the new defender.

“So in other words, you’re jealous?” She blows an air bubble between her lips. (do you guys know what i mean by that)

“Maybe.” I can barely hear her voice but I don’t need to.

“Well baby, nothing to worry about because A. she has a girlfriend and B. I love you more than anything. Never forget that. I’ll try make more time and maybe we can meet the new ones girlfriend when she comes to Spain.” She nods slowly.

“Sorry I acted this way.” I shake my head.

“No, it’s ok. I understand, I sort of put you aside. I’ve learnt and I’ll prioritise your feelings a little bit more in the future.” She nods, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Te amo Ale. Remember it forever.” I place my lips against hers, gently and full of passion that I’d never give to anyone but her.

When oxygen gets the best of us I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in everything of this moment. Oh, I never want to leave.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

hangman request incoming ‼️‼️

so the reader is best friends w rooster and whenever she’s around hangman he’s always quite rude to her, only bc he’s harbouring huge feelings for her which he isn’t very used to. then maybe he goes too far and rooster needs to talk some sense into him (reader could be a pilot or just a close friend of rooster’s)

SORRY i’m not great and giving requests but i hope there’s something in there that you like !

Ahhhh I LOVE this request!! And I really loved writing this piece, which may or may not turn into a series.. oops I couldn't resist haha

Less Talk | Part I

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Masterlist

“Do you ever not have an opinion?” Jake watches you irritably before taking a long swig of his drink. He needs the alcohol to calm his nerves so that he doesn’t inadvertently push you off your chair.

You glare at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice, safe space for Seresin to dominate the conversation without opposition.”

Jake lets out a steady breath. No one riles him quite like you do. “We’re talking about food, Y/N. It doesn’t exactly have global ramifications.”

“Actually, it does,” you respond matter-of-factly. “And are you saying I shouldn’t have an opinion unless it is ground-breaking in nature? Maybe I should just sit here quietly and look pretty.”

“Ha!” Jake cackles. “I would love to see you try.”

“Hangman!” Bradley, who’s sitting to your right, gives him a disapproving look.

You make a grimace. “I will never give you that kind of satisfaction.”

Jake meets your gaze with a hostile look. The thought of you satisfying him in any way sort of disorients him. He makes a face at you because he can’t deny that if you were to just sit there in silence, you would be exceptionally pleasant to look at. Pretty, even… maybe. Instead, he says, “How the fuck does eating avocado toast for lunch have global implications? I would love to know.”

“The recent surge in consumption of avocados - thanks to health nuts such as yourself - has led to an unprecedented increase in price to the point where those people whose culinary staple for generations has been the avocado cannot afford to keep it their diet.” You fold your arms over your chest to drive your point home while Jake just stares at you, speechless. No other woman in the world has ever rendered him that. He glances over at Bradley who is looking back at him with a slight grin. Just when Jake thinks you might be all talked out, you add, “And don’t even get me started on the environmental burden of growing enough avocados to sustain the whole of North America’s health culture.”

Jake blinks at you. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“The avocado trade is contributing to local violence and extortion” – you continue, but Jake cuts you off.

“Okay, okay!” he says. “I’ll never eat an avocado again.”

“Just quit spreading your avocado propaganda!”

“It’s not propaganda! They’re actually good for you!”

“How wonderful it must be living in a world where your needs come before everybody else’s,” you say bitterly.

“Can we please talk about something other than avocados?” he says tiredly, his eyes sliding to Bradley in a plea for assistance.

“If you’re looking for a topic on which I do not have an opinion” – you say, but Jake interrupts you again.

“Does such a topic exist?” he asks flatly.

You roll your eyes at him. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re the one who should talk less?”

Jake nods. “Certainly. I should talk less to you. Because you’re driving me crazy, lady.” He stands up after having downed the rest of his drink. “I’m getting another beer and, when I return, I’m going to have a conversation with my good friend here, Rooster.”

Bradley shakes his head and looks over at you. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bitter, bitter man.”

“A bitter man who needs to be schooled on occasion,” you mutter.

Jake turns to look at you with wide eyes. He slides back into his seat. “I heard that,” he says dangerously, inclining into the table.

“Good,” you respond, leaning forward so that your noses are nearly touching. “You were meant to.”

“You are so fucking annoying,” he whispers, his eyes slipping momentarily to your mouth as you lick your lips.

“Hangman, come on, don’t be a dick,” Bradley says, also putting his weight into the table in an attempt to intervene.

Jake’s eyes are still scanning your face as you glare at him without moving away. The truth is, he could probably listen to you talk about the problematic export of Mexican avocados for hours just to watch your mouth move and to hear the passion in your voice. But he’s tired of the tunnel vision he experiences every time your boyfriend ditches you and you end up going out with your best friend, Bradley Bradshaw. This is the fifth time this month that you’ve accompanied Rooster to ‘guys’ night out’ and it’s becoming more and more difficult for Jake to shake you after each successive evening of relentless verbal sparring.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake can see Bradley slowly inching off the table, having realized that he may be a third wheel. But Jake doesn’t need him to be some sort of wingman in this bizarre scenario where he may or may not be completely in love with an unavailable woman who happens to be an expert at pushing all his goddamn buttons. Normally, he would remedy this kind of matter with a good old romp in the hay but, considering the fact that you are in a relationship, this option is, unfortunately, off the table. Besides, he’s not entirely sure it wouldn’t have the opposite effect on him, anyway.

But, despite all the reasons for avoiding your pull, Jake can’t look away, not even for a second; not even to get another beer. He moves his face a millimeter closer to yours, just to see what would happen; not because your breath smells like Peach Schnapps and not because your eyes are absolutely destabilizing him. His nose is about a split second away from brushing yours when your phone buzzes on the table. You flinch, withdrawing immediately, leaving Jake to watch you try to frantically pick it up. You shoot him one last intimidating look before rising from the table.

“Hey, babe,” he hears you say as you walk away.

“What’s your deal, man?” Bradley says as Jake watches you step outside.

Jake shakes his head solemnly. “Doesn’t she have other friends to play with?” he asks. “Why’re you always babysitting her?”

Bradley fixes Jake with a knowing look. “Hangman,” he says with a suggestive squint to his eye. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to tell you that your bestie is a pain in the ass, Rooster.”

Bradley’s jaw hardens. “You’re way out of line.”

“Come on, I can’t be the only one who finds her absolutely infuriating. The girl never shuts up!”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “And you don’t, at all, find that sort of thing attractive?” he says sarcastically.

“Attractive? I find it immensely aggravating, actually.”

“So aggravating that you argue right back every time,” Bradley points out with a smirk. “Movies, books, social constructs. Last week, I heard you guys bickering about space waste. What do you even know about space?”

“What does she know about space?” Jake responds angrily, pointing toward the door with his entire arm.

Bradley leans back in his seat with a sigh. “I know that you don’t actually hate her, Jake,” he says. “You can stop pretending.”

“Who’s pretending?” Jake looks up at him aggressively.

Bradley purses his lips. “What if I told you that her boyfriend is a shithead?”

Jake’s jaw tightens but he continues to stare at Bradley coldly. “Why the fuck would I care?” he says.

Bradley returns his callous expression before looking away. “Been trying to get her out of that relationship for months.”

Jake lets out a sigh. “She’s a grown-ass woman, she can decide for herself if she wants to end it.”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Jake rises from his seat, his eyes unintentionally drifting up to check if you’re still outside. He sees you pacing back and forth through the big window of the bar. You look like you’re arguing. Big surprise. “Want another beer?” he asks Bradley.

“Please,” Bradley says.

Jake nods at the cocktail you’ve been drinking. “She going to have another one?”

Bradley shrugs. “Probably, unless you’ve pissed her off enough that she decides to leave early.”

Jake scoffs. “She’d be doing me a favor.”

Bradley shakes his head with a laugh. “I don’t even know what she’s drinking, man.”

Jake shifts his jaw. “I do.”

Bradley gives him another piercing look. “Shocking,” he says with a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up, Bradshaw,” Jake says under his breath as he walks away. He glances back at the window behind which you’re now waving your arm around aggressively and yelling into the phone. He tears his gaze away from you, frustrated with himself for even giving a damn.

For some reason, he feels a painful pang in his chest, like he’s jealous of whomever it is you’re tearing into. You’ve never gone off on him quite like that and he can’t help the resentment this fosters. He tries to suppress the impulse to go out after you and rip your stupid phone right out of your hand. That would surely reclaim at least a fraction of your attention. Then maybe he could do something unexpected; something that might persuade you to channel your passion in a more constructive way.

He orders three drinks and walks back to the table with the beers before going back for your cocktail. When he returns, he exhales sharply, giving Bradley a humorless look. “Why’s her boyfriend a shithead?” he says, feeling his hands forming into fists before Bradley even has a chance to respond.

But, right when Bradley’s about to speak, you walk back into the bar.

Read Part 2

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this piece! It's my first Hangman story, so let me know what you think!

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[asterias-record-shop]

𓆩[in our next life || II]𓆪

𓆩[masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[next part]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 4.1K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - baby bombs (not literally like Gale) || talks of getting pregnant || thoughts of having a baby || reader is like extremely sex positive || Katniss is a bitch at first || Haymitch is lowkey in love with you, but like nicely but like romantically if that makes sense (he thinks you're super hot) || you lowkey hit on Katniss and Peeta || of course cursing and such || smut warnings, being walked in on, Finnick feels guilty during sex, breeding kink, dom! Finnick, sub! reader, degradation and praise, name calling (whore, good girl, bad girl, cum slut, etc.) (All of the warnings I can think of, lemme know if you think i should add anything else! warnings for full fic in the masterlist)

When Mags’ name was drawn, you stepped forward immediately, your voice announcing, “I volunteer as tribute.”

The cheers get louder as they hold up yours and Finnick's hands, but when they let go, he pulls you into his chest, kissing you passionately. You can hear the cheers grow louder, and your eyes water as you pull him lower. You sniffle as he pulls away, stroking his cheek as you look over at Mags and nod. “I love you,” you whisper, but you’re both taken by hand into the back room. She pressed her hand to her lips and blew you both a kiss as you wave. Finnicks hand stays in the small of your back as you see Cinna, hugging him tightly as he sighed.

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

You giggle, shrugging. “Just make me look good when I’m about to go out, Cinna darling.”

He winks. “That’s what I do best, sweetheart.”

Finnick sighs as he kisses your temple, all of you slowly going to the shuttle where Cinna leads you to the table, softly patting your shoulder. “I have a gift for you both.”

You raise a brow as Finnick pulls you into his lap - he was always more protective around Cinna, even since the beginning of your games where Finnick was your Mentor and Cinna designed your outfits.

Cinna slowly takes out two boxes, opening them to reveal matching gold bracelets. “A gift from Effie Trinket.”

Your nose scrunches as you look over at Finnick who looks up at Cinna. “Effie Trinket, the mentor for District 12?”

He nods. “Yes, the tributes are-”

You giggle. “Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen. The fakest couple in all of Panem,” you look back at Finnick, smiling. “They wish they could be us, darling.”

Cinna just laughs as he slowly takes them out of the boxes and puts them on each of your wrists, smiling. “Now Y/N, you know they’re only doing what they can to survive.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Well then she should be a better actress. It’s sad because he seems so in love with her. I hope he finds someone to love him like he does her.”

Finnick laughs with you, kissing your neck. “Why are we getting gifts from their mentor, hm Cinna? What does she want?”

“For you to make an alliance,” he explains as he slowly sits down. “Is there anything specific we want styled this time around? I’m thinking for the parade we go with something… netty.”

You purse your lips, thinking before looking at Cinna dead in the eye. “I want to get married before the games.”

His jaw drops as Finnick smiles against your skin, your eyes catching the blurring scenery outside of the train. “Married? I get to design the Prince and Princess’ of Panems wedding outfits?!”

You giggle, nodding. “If you would do us the favor, Cinna.”

He inhaled, dramatically waving at his face. “This is going to be amazing. Amazing, I say.”

“I want white,” Finnick says, Cinna nodding as he grabs a sketchpad from… somewhere, Finnick staring down at you with a smile. “It’s going to be the best day in the world when I marry the love of my life.”

His words make you giggle as you press a soft kiss to his lips, Cinna sighing. “I wish it was under better circumstances,” he says, smiling at you both before gasping. “Rings! I need to design rings!”

You giggle as he runs off, looking back at Finnick before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I… I don’t want to meet them.”

He paused, raising a brow. “The District 12 tributes?”

You nodded, but then shook your head. “Any of them. Johanna especially. They all survived their games and were promised that they would never have to suffer through it again, and now,” you inhale shakily as he kisses your temple, shushing you softly. “Now we’re all going back. My nightmares have barely gone away, Finnick, I can’t-”

He shook his head. “No, no darling, calm down. I’ll be there, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You inhaled, nodding into his neck before the blaring voice announced your quick arrival to the Capitol. He stood, carrying you in his arms as you both walked out, immediately being taken to the area where you would be prepared for the games, being cleaned, shaven, everything.

This could’ve been the one thing you missed, gentle hands caring for your body and cleansing you of whatever- it almost made you feel relaxed and calm.

But when you stood in front of the dark horses of the District 12 horses, you felt anything but.

You stroked their face, cooing softly at them as you watched them eat a sugar cube from your palm. You paused when you heard soft footsteps, smiling before looking up at Katniss who stood next to their side.

“Katniss Everdeen, as I live and breathe,” you say, giggling as the horse nudged into your shoulder. She was dressed extremely differently from you, your outfit going along with Finnick’s with a netted bralette covering your chest and a bikini-like bottom covered with a golden threaded net acting as a see-through skirt. You felt exposed, but you had definitely been more exposed to the Capitol’s eyes before. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled, even though it was obviously fake. She was not a good actor, you could tell that. “Y/N, Panem’s Princess. I never thought I’d meet you.”

You giggle in response, taking another sugar cube from your other hand and giving it to the other horse. “Oh? You’ve wanted to meet me, hm?”

Her face flashed between annoyed and the mask she wore, smiling wider at you. “Oh, always. My mother adored your reality show.”

You hum as you look over your shoulder, another pair of steps heading your way before you see Finnick. “You should work on your acting skills, Everdeen,” you say, turning back and smiling at her. “And your lying skills. They may have fooled Panem, but they will never fool me.”

Finnick comes behind you just as Peeta goes behind her, Cinna already walking toward you both. “I’m sorry you both had to cancel your wedding,” you say, Finnick’s arm immediately going around your waist as he pressed a firm kiss to your jaw. “But I do thank you for it. It gave us, people who are truly in love, space to get married. I hope to see you both there.”

“Now, Y/N, play nice,” Finnick mumbles against your skin, hand wrapping around your throat and squeezing slightly as his teeth graze your cheeks. “We want alliances, darling, not enemies.”

You just giggle, leaning into Finnick’s grip, even though you could feel Katniss glaring a hole into you. You finally look at her, her jaw clenching. “How do people pay for the pleasure of your company?”

You couldn’t stop giggling around Katniss, not when she acted so serious. You put out your hand, watching as she tensed under your touch. “Finnick takes secrets as his form of payment,” you say as he finally lets go of you, leaning close to her ear. “I take bodies. And not in the way you’re thinking.” You squeeze her arm, smiling at her before turning to Peeta. “I hope to speak to you later, Peeta. You definitely seem more fun to talk to.”

You take Finnick’s hand as he leads you away, Cinna quickly coming to fix your outfits before you mount onto your carriage. “Snow wants a show,” he whispers to you both, sighing. “I have a little surprise for our Princess,” he hands you a remote, pointing at the button. “You click this here and everything will happen, alright?”

You nod, smiling as the music begins to play. “Thank you, Cinna.”

He winks at you before jumping off, Finnick quickly taking your hand as the first carriage runs out. You tap his cheek, smiling as he compliantly looks down at you, pulling him down for a firm kiss. He smiled, his hand slipping to your hip before your carriage started to move. You pull away, tongue pushing into his mouth before your carriage emerges and you pull away. You turn back just enough to stare at Peeta and Katniss, winking at them as Finnick grabs your hand.

You wait until you’re in front of Snow to press the button, loud chants of your own and Finnick’s name filling the arena until loud gasps form instead. You look down, the golden net on your body slowly extending, a flowing blue skirt blowing into the wind almost like a waterfall. It extends off the edge of the carriage, long as the cheering gets louder. Your names turned into chants until District 12 came out, but Caesar’s voice was still praising you until the parade ended.

You both walk down the hall when it ends, that was until Haymitch caught you both and introduced you to Katniss and Peeta all over again. “It’s so nice to meet you both,” Finnick says with a grin, pulling you as close as possible to himself. “I wanted to speak to you guys earlier, but my pretty fiancée did all the talking.”

You pout as his hand goes around your throat again, but lean your head back as he softly squeezed. “Forgive me if I came across rude,” you say, smiling at Katniss. “I hope we can be allies in the games.”

Katniss scoffs. “What's the point when you’ll try to kill us?”

You paused, giggling as Finnick kissed your temple. “Nicely, darling.”

“If I wanted to kill you, Katniss, you’d be dead already,” you look at Haymitch, smiling. “I would love to be allies with your tributes if you can get her under control,” turning to Peeta, you wink as Finnick’s lips kiss against your cheek. “I like the boy. He knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Haymitch nods as you offer your hand, giggling as he takes it and pressed a firm kiss to the back. “I can’t wait to see you in white at your wedding.”

“Oh, you make me swoon, Haymitch,” you say, hand grazing his cheek as Finnick winks. “Guests are required to wear black. Finnick and I will be the only ones in white, even Snow is going to wear black,” you turn to Katniss. “The Princess of Panem has many things under her control.”

“I can see that.”

You giggle as Finnick slowly lets go of your throat, your hand moving away from Haymitch to softly caress her face. She inhaled sharply as you do so, and you purse your lips. “You really need to let loose, Katniss. No one likes a stick in the mud. Finnick, let’s go make love,” you giggle as her eyes widen. “Over and over again.”

Finnick smiles as you take his hand, softly kissing Peeta’s cheek. “See you at the interviews, pretty boy.”

When you’re far enough away, Haymitch sighs. “What I would do to get a kiss from her.”

Katniss scoffs. “What’s her deal? She’s just, like-”

“A princess,” Peeta fills. “A princess of lust.”

“Oh don’t take that to heart,” Haymitch dismissed them both before turning to Katniss. “But you, you better behave. They’re your most valuable allies, Katniss. If they she wants Finnick to fuck her in front of you, let them fuck. If she wants Peeta to fuck her, let him. She’s the Princess of Panem, for fucks sake!” His voice got louder, but he inhaled deeply to calm himself down. “Her sex epitome is an act in some cases. Her and Finnick have gone through things that you are lucky you didn’t.”

Katniss scoffs. “Like what?”

Haymitch pauses, but glares at her. “You will have to speak about it with them. Now, come on, you have some other people to meet.”

You and Finnick, on the other hand, did go to fuck. Your greatest source of shared trauma became your coping skill, and even with how toxic and horrible and down right bad it was, there was nothing you both enjoyed more.

You very well could’ve been obsessed with Finnick, and him with you, but neither of you cared how unhealthy it was- you needed each other like a person needed oxygen, and without the other, you would surely go insane.

You laid on top of Finnick, kissing at his neck as his hand drew patterns along your back. “Do you think I was-”

“They’ll see the true you when the time comes,” he whispers, smiling at you. “And when they do, they’ll love you even more. I swear it.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips before someone knocked. You pull away, snuggling into his chest as he yells ‘come in’, Cinna walking in with a smile. “They’re ready and they’re perfect. Interviews are in two hours, are you both ready to get dressed?”

You hum, throwing your hair back as Finnick’s hips buck uncontrollably. “One more round, Cinna.”

He laughs. “Okay. I’m coming back in ten minutes!”

You giggled, squealing as Finnick pushed you over, pulling your legs over his shoulders. “Make it fifteen!”

When the door closes, Finnick wastes no time thrusting deeper inside of you, your eyes rolling back as you claw against the sheets. “Fuck, fuck Finnick!”

“You’re a fucking whore, asking for another round,” he basically growled as your mouth lets out loud moans, his form leaning forward to ram his cock into you at a new angle. “You knew I wouldn’t say no, didn’t you? You knew that I was going to fuck you, over and over and over.”

You nodded mindlessly, groaning into his mouth. “Yes! Yes, Finnick, I want you to fuck me. I don’t want you to stop fucking me, fuck, fuck!”

“You’re a fucking, whore,” he grunts, fingers pushing down to press into your cunt with his fingers. Your eyes roll back as his fingers push into you, his thumb rubbing at your clit as his fingers curl inside of you, his cock still pounding into you like a jackhammer. You were so full of pleasure, the moans you previously held back now coming out in full force, cumming on accident with a scream as his thumb pressed on your puffy clit. “Fuck, Y/N!”

You screamed out as he pulled out of you, pulling your ankles from his shoulders as he flipped you around, forcing your face into the pillows as he pushed into you again. “You’re going to cum without my permission? Without telling me? No, not on my watch. I’m going to fuck you until Cinna comes in and you’re not going to cum until that final second ticks.”

“Yes! Yes Fin, fuck!” You wailed as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, moaning loudly as his cock pushed into you before being pulled out and fucked right back into you.

“You’re such a good whore, darling. A perfect cum rag for me to fuck and fill, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes Fin, I’m just here to hold your cum.” You say, groaning as his hips move faster, body bouncing on the bed and your clit rubbing against the silk sheets. How were you going to be able to not cum when he was fucking you so good?

You don’t even notice you were clenching until Finnick says something, his other hand pushing between your clit and the blanket. “You’re clenching around my cock, darling. If you cum, I’m going to fuck you on live TV. Gonna fill you up in front of Caesar’s stupid fucking face. You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?”

His hand forced you to nod, tugging at the roots of your hair as drool ran down the side of your mouth. “Speak.”

“Yes! Yes, Fin, I’d love it, just as long as you fuck me! I promise Fin, I’ll be good!”

“Being good is not cumming until those fifteen minutes are up,” he snarls into your ear, slapping your pussy with a firm hand as he forces you on your knees. “You’re not going to listen to me, darling? That’s a bad girl, not a good girl.”

You shake your head, eager to please. “No Fin, I’ll be a good girl, I swear! I want your cum, I want to be your perfect little cum slut, please!”

He paused, his hand moving slowly as he kissed your shoulder. “I’m sorry, darling, I can’t do rough right now. Can you please just-”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Fin,” you say, turning your head enough to kiss his cheek. “Why don’t I make you cum and we get dressed, sounds good?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to finish, darling-”

“Do you want to finish?”

He paused, but nodded. His hips move slowly as you intertwine your hands together, kissing his neck softly as you groan into his skin. “Fuck, Fin, you feel so good.”

“You too, darling, holy shit.”

It doesn’t take him long to cum, his seed painting your insides white as he collapses on top of you, kissing your spine. “I can’t wait to marry you, Princess.”

You giggle, looking back. For a minute, you forgot you could die in the next week. “I can’t wait to marry you, my prince.”

When you both stood at the interviews, you were nervous. Finnick went first, and you watched as he spoke with Caesar effortlessly like he didn’t tell you he would fuck you on live TV earlier. The thought made you smile.

“So, after interviewing some of the other potential tributes from District 4, we got about the same answer for what you and our princess did the night the Third Quarter Quell was announced,” he starts to laugh, leaning forward to pretend to whisper. “Did you and Y/N have some… fun?”

Finnick laughs. “Yeah, Y/N and I did have some fun,” he looks over at you, winking. “But then again, when do we not?”

As much as you hated these fake personas, you couldn’t help but love it on Finnick. You loved the way he absolutely radiated confidence, especially when he spoke about you.

Caesar laughs. “My, Finnick, how forward you are! You and Y/N have always been-”

“Very open about our relationship?” Finnick filled in, smiling. “Yes, our relationship is not only our pride but-”

The crowd chants. “The Pride of Panem!”

“Oh, you are! You both are,” Caesar gets closer. “But should we be careful about letting our children watch the games, Finnick?”

You wanted to scream. Children shouldn’t even be watching the games anyways, but still, Finnick plays along. He grins, flexing his finger at Caesar to bring him closer, the mic as well. “We’ll have a safe word, Caesar. I’ll say it so that the children can leave.”

“Oh, my my! Behave yourself, Finnick, there’s children watching!” He continues to laugh before placing a hand on Finnick’s wrist. “Now, I was told you and Y/N have a bit of a… surprise for us.”

He smiled. “Oh, yes, we do. Y/N and I, we’re…” he looks over at you, exhaling. “We have two surprises.”

Two? What were your two surprises? You knew one was your wedding, but the other?

“Oh? Who doesn’t love surprises?! Now, everyone wants to know, Finnick,” the camera zooms in, Caesar’s perfect teeth smiling almost scarily. “What’s your surprise?”

“Y/N and I are getting married,” he says, cheers erupting from the crowd. “Tomorrow evening. We invite all that are able to come to celebrate with us, our only request is that you wear black,” he smiles. “The only people wearing white will be myself and my bride, as this is the happiest day of our lives.”

Caesar laughs. “Oh, how exciting! I am so excited for you, Finnick, where are the rings?!”

Finnick shook his head. “The rings are still being designed, you will see them tomorrow evening. My second surprise, though,” he looks back at you, smiling. “Is from Y/N.”

Your face scrunched. What was he doing?

“Oh? And what does the Princess of Panem have to say?” He pushed the mic closer.

“She’s with child,” Finnick starts to grin. “My child.”

You gasped, covering your mouth as the crowd went silent. Finnick’s eyes snap to yours, the smile on his face calming all your nerves until the crowd starts to boo. Your heart rate spikes, your breathing getting faster until you hear the words they say. “Stop the games! Our Princess and Prince need to see their baby!”

You exhaled shakily as Caesar laughed awkwardly. “Well, Finnick, I hope you have a great wedding tomorrow and I hope to see you there.”

“Well I’ll certainly be there, Caesar, and I hope you attend.”

He announced Finnick’s name and district before he left the stage, a large bubble filling your chest. Your head began to pound with every beat of your heart, fingernails digging so deep into your palms that you drew blood. You tried to focus on your breathing like Finnick had taught you, but nothing worked.

“Y/N, Y/N darling,” Finnick spoke, holding your cheeks. “Look at me, hey. Only a few more hours, darling, just a few more. I promise you, love.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply with him as he stroked your hair. Your eyes begin to water, but he quickly pats your cheek. “Hey, we don’t want to ruin Cinna’s makeup, do we?” As much as his tone was light and playful, it was much more serious and you both knew it.

“I'm scared, Finnick,” you whisper, inhaling shakily. “I don’t want to go out there.”

“Y/N, where are you, my princess?!” Caesar’s voice was loud, slightly worried before Finnick pressed a kiss to your painted lips. His thumb smudged the lipstick slightly, just enough to take some pigment off but still make you look perfect. “Go, darling, I’ll be right here.”

It takes him shoving you softly for you to go out, a smooth smile immediately gracing your features as Caesar ran to you. You hide your shaking hands in your dress, but Caesar kneels in front of you and offers his hand. You giggled, outstretching your arm for him to take your hand. You quickly fix your face as he kisses the back, holding back a grimace as he looks up at you. “My princess.”

You curtsy, cheers erupting from the crowd as he led you to the main platform. Your dress cascaded behind you, long pale blue that was almost white, a nod to your wedding dress that you were going to wear the next night. He held your hands high as you sat down, announcing the words, “Y/N, the Princess of Panem!”

You close your eyes as the cheers get louder than you’ve ever heard, letting your hand slowly fall to your lap as Caesar lets go. When you open them, you tilt your head back, blinking back tears with a slight sniffle.

“Y/N, darling,” Caesar switched to the mic on his collar, reaching for your hand again with a sigh. “We truly feel for you.”

No he didn’t, none of them did. Even if you were pregnant, none of them understood, none of them felt what you felt. “I’m sure you could try,” you say, sobbing erupting from the dramatics of the crowd.

Maybe there were some true feelings behind Caesar’s eyes, but you didn’t see it. “When you volunteered for Mags, did you know?”

You shook your head. “No, I didn’t. Finnick and I have been attempting to have a family since we ended our show,” you inhaled shakily. It wasn’t a lie, it really wasn’t, but even then, it was horrible. You very well could’ve been truly pregnant from the mornings you were waking up sick, but you fooled yourself into thinking it was just the nervousness of getting out back into the games. “It has to stick when we’re going to die, right?”

Caesar shook his head, his eyes watering as he squeezed your hand. “You… you should not say that,” he whispers, sighing. “You do not think you can win?”

You laughed. “Caesar, the Princess of Panem never loses,” your fake joy comes back as the crowd cheered, but then it turned into boos. “But I would love to think of names for my future child without the fear of dying.”

“One final question, Y/N,” Caesar says as the crowd quiets down. “If you would have known… would you have still volunteered for Mags?”

You smiled. “Caesar, no matter how much I want this child, if they’re not born yet, I want Finnick more. Forever and always. If Finnick goes somewhere, I'm with him,” you look back, inhaling deeply when you see his piercing cerulean toned eyes staring at you. “Until death do we part,” you raise your left hand to him, his own doing the same. “And when we meet in our next life.”

Taglist: 𓆩[@poppet05]𓆪   𓆩[@ennycutie]𓆪   𓆩[@jewelrybean25]𓆪   𓆩[@arzua10]𓆪   𓆩[@savagemickey03]𓆪

next part will be uploaded this Sunday! (and linked in masterlist and the link for next part) (05.14.23)

reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! I love getting y'alls feedback :)

© asterias-record-shop

[hookhausenschips]

Can I request an Imagine or Headcanon of hook where you climb on him before putting his hoodie over your body so when you are getting overwhelmed letting him know that idk if that makes sense also you can add more

I sure can! I hope this is what you meant!

Y/N’s POV

I made it to Guerilla ready to head out for my match, Finally receiving my cue I walked out of the tunnel and was greeted by the loud cheers from the fans. I smiled and did my entrance on the way to the ring then waited for my opponent for the night, Skye Blue. It was always a great time facing a friend in the ring. She did her entrance and we waited for the bell and the ref to give us the signal before locking up.

I had just finished my match against Skye, it was a grueling fight. I had won by making her tap out. My body started to show the different hues of the bruises from the hits and chops. Being in my boyfriend’s arms was all I could think about while walking backstage. My brain was shot and the adrenaline was finally crashing down, this whole week leading up to this match had been stressful. “Hey there she is!” I heard a voice yell. Looking up I spotted the Lads standing together near catering. I smiled lightly at them, “Hey guys.” I whispered. Tyler looked at me as I tucked myself into his side as they continued talking. “You alright?” I heard Tyler mutter after a few minutes, I shook my head no as all the noises backstage started to overwhelm my senses. “Hey guys, we're going to head back to the locker room. I'll catch you later.” Tyler said as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and we headed for his locker room after the guys said their goodbyes.  

Once we made it inside, Tyler ushered me to the couch. He pulled his phone out connecting his airpods, scrolling to find one of the many playlists to play. As he did that I climbed into his lap straddling him. I put the headphones into my ears as the music played through them. I then lifted his sweatshirt and placed it over myself, laying my head on his bare chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist, closing my eyes and letting my sense be engulfed by him. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his skin against mine, and the heat emitting from his body. I kissed the tattoo on the left side of his chest as a sign of thanking him. I felt him begin to rub my back and my body practically melted into him. I sighed and just let the music take over my mind.

I felt Tyler’s chest begin to vibrate and heard the door close, “Everything alright?” the voice I recognized as Taz asked. “Yeah, I think the match just got to her but she’s fine now. She’s resting.” Tyler replied. “Glad to hear, I was worried after her match she looked a little off behind the front she put on.” Taz said. I could feel Tyler nod, “Yeah this week hasn’t been the greatest.” “Well I’m glad she has you son to lean on and you, her. The show should be wrapping up here soon. You both don’t have anything else for tonight, go ahead and head back to the hotel. If anything comes up I’ll cover for it.” Taz said before patting his son’s shoulder and heading out. The music paused, “I know you’re awake under there. You ready to head back?” I sighed before leaving the sanctuary of his hoodie, wincing slightly at the bright lights of the locker room. I nodded, “Yeah I’ll change and we can head out.”

Walking back into our hotel room and setting our luggage by the door I grab his hand dragging him to the bed. Climbing into bed I lay next to him before once again lifting his hoodie and laying on his chest. “Thank you.” I whispered. “You don’t have to thank me. I will protect you from anything in this world if you let me. I’m here to help you through whatever is bothering you. Even if that means you are trying to crawl into my skin.” He replied. My heart swelled hearing him, the love I have for him growing tenfold if even possible. “I love you Tyler.” I declared before closing my eyes and letting the worries from today melt away.  “I love you too sweetheart, always will.” 

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Hook Taglist: @shawtys-things @gethooked

[lightlycareless]

Has Naoya and Y/N ever been caught during the deed lol?

😏 why would you want to know that, hm? hoped they have? hehehhe lmao ignore me.

Ok so this actually gave me the best excuse to write a small follow up of what happened after this one-shot heheh. Call it a… Naoya and Y/N aren’t as smooth as they thought.

(but you’ll find another answer at the end of the drabble too 😊)

warnings: none. just the slightest mentions of nsfw. also this is a continuation of another oneshot so as needed I have to say MINORS DNI. mentions of pregnancy. a jealous manager. naoya defends what's his.

Happy reading!

It would happen just a few weeks later after that mission ended through a keenly attentive, not easily fooled manager who didn’t believe any of the words written down in the report.

They didn’t make sense, none of it did; but what was most infuriating is that everyone seemed to be ok with it!

And of course they would—the Zen’in heir probably paid his way out of it, just like he always does, and who would dare oppose him?!

Your manager, though, as if he wasn’t very much already, suspected there was something deeper going on. Far more than what the eye revealed between the two, which became nothing but clear for him when that transpired.

What did you even see in that wretched, egocentric, selfish, boring man? He’s done nothing but constantly belittle those around him with his grandiosity that wasn’t even his to being with! Given to him by those before!

It hurts him so much to see how hopelessly in love you are with Naoya, someone so kind and beautiful as you… that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to open your eyes to the truth, even if that were to greatly humiliate you.

And so, after slowly, diligently, for days and days on end, examining the report and place you both allegedly cleared of all curses, he comes to the shocking, albeit slightly disgusting conclusion that something more transpired there.

An insult to the protocol you both swore to abide as sorcerers, as well as a transgression to his yet-to-be disclosed feelings for you.

One that he did not hesitate to inform to the higher ups, those that initially didn’t care much for it, thinking it to be nothing but senseless gossip, until he reminded them that this could easily be used as a way to blackmail the Zen’in—imagine the outrage from the community if they were to hear of the unruly relationship between the heir, and you, though coming from a respected family, was still considered a lesser sorcerer to their standards?!

He wished to not cause you any pain, but it’s only through this method that you’ll understand why Naoya was not good for you. Nothing compared to what he can provide, if only you’d let him.

Something meant to happen when summoned by HQ to be interrogated, alongside relatives and fellow sorcerers that wished to see if the rumors circulating the two were true.

“Care to explain what truly happened in the mission?” One of the higher ups would speak, eyes directly set on you, the one firstly responsible for the job.

“I—I’ve written it in the report, there’s nothing else to say.” You quickly respond, doing your best to hide the tremor in your voice, well aware that your lies had been discovered yet hoping they truly hadn’t. “Unless you wished a detailed explanation of… something else…?”

“The truth.” Another insists. “Do not act like you don’t know what we’re talking about—we have enough evidence to dictate otherwise!”

“But—But nothing happened! I just miscalculated the presence of a curse, but I fixed it afterwards! The place is safe to be inhabited again!” you gasp. “I know there’s a discrepancy in the hours in between but it was nothing that—”

“There shouldn’t have been a discrepancy to begin with!” The first one adds. “What exactly were you two doing during the mission?!”

“She’s told you already, it was only a slight miscal—” Naoya interjects, only to be shot down immediately after.

“This is for her to answer!”

“I—I don’t have anything else to say—” you stammer, growing desperate at their relentless insistence, feeling like you were being effectively cornered with no foreseeable escape…

Which would have been almost true, if they hadn’t irked Naoya in more ways than one, beginning from this useless summon, their belittlement of you, and now, their interruption when he spoke.

Naoya was never one to accept offences towards himself or anything that pertained to him, regardless of who it came from…

Perhaps it was time to remind them of who truly held power here.

“But I do.” Naoya frowns, taking a step forward and looking them in the eye, preparing himself to state the new course of your and his life. “The reason why we took longer than anticipated was because I proposed to her. I’m going to marry Y/N.”

“What?!” Your manager is the first to squeak, followed by the gasps of those present at the meeting and confusion from the higher ups.

“We kept this relationship a secret because honestly, it is no one’s business to know of it.” Naoya proceeded, now taking your hand. He feels the uncertainty in your skin, the fear of disclosing an aspect kept secret until now…

Yet, his company reassures you that even though this was not the way either envisioned revealing their relationship, he is not ashamed to do so. Assert was his heart had been dreaming of… as well as offer a distraction from the lapsed that occurred during the mission.

Although for the last…  speckled with a bit of exaggeration.

“And she’s pregnant too. So, you’d do good to not refer to the mother, and my wife, of the future Zen’in heir in such crude manner!”

And with that, Naoya’s purpose becomes true, with the notion of the outrageous mission tossed out the window and effectively replaced with the unexpected news of your new civil status, what it meant for the L/N, the Zen’in, as well as the supposed pregnancy that officially united both.

Your manager was beyond enraged that his plan not only failed but paved the way for his worst nightmares to become real—though that is something he wouldn’t have to worry about anymore, Naoya having quickly labeled him as the responsible behind this ridiculous endeavor and promptly got… rid of him.

Besides, it’s not like you’ll have much use for him either way, for your attention will solely remain on him from that point forward.

And perhaps something else…

“Well, it’s a good thing we managed to get out of that one alive.” Naoya says, now that it’s not necessary to hide your relationship with him, he finds comfort in walking through the halls of his alma mater while holding your hand. “Though it’s a shame of how it came to be…”

“I suspected this might’ve happened, but that doesn’t mean I was expecting half of the jujutsu community to be there…” you silently admit, still battling through the shame and sorrow this situation brought you. “At least I won’t have to worry about how I’ll tell my family about it!”

“I’m more worried about the pregnancy I had to lie about so they’d leave us alone.” Naoya laments, a part of him… hoping it wasn’t the case. “However we proceed from here, it’s bound to have some… outrageous responses.”

Thankfully, his prayers might just be heard.

“Actually… it might’ve not been a total lie…”

Naoya stops on his tracks, eyes widening as he turns to see you.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, unwilling to be fooled on, unless…?

Your smile tells him everything.

“I fear that the pill might’ve not worked as properly as we hoped.” You continue. “So, you were not that far off when saying I was pregnant…”

“Are you being truthful right now?” Naoya breathes. “Or is this a ploy to—”

“Why would I do that?” you pout before giggling. “I want this baby as much as you do!”

“Then you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.” He immediately admits, taking you into his arms before lifting you for a kiss. “I can’t believe it, a baby of our own!”

“Well, believe it!” you grin. “But what are we going to do about the wedding…? I hoped to get married before getting pregnant…”

“We’ll have to do it quick. Preferably before your stomach begins to show.”

“…And before nothing fits me anymore.” You lament.

“You’ll look delectable either way.” He playfully incites, you pout once more. Naoya laughs as he pinches your cheek. “My wife.”

“Husband.” You smile back, leaning into his hand. “And soon, daddy.”

“Don’t say that, unless you don’t mind being caught here too.”

“Ugh no, let’s go home.” You say, not batting an eye as you pull him to the exit, hoping to leave all this behind and focus on the congratulations your family (and some of Naoya’s) have in order, as well as the preparations for your new, loving life next to your beloved husband.

And Naoya happily obliges, a bright, wide grin on his face caused by the satisfaction a home with you signifies.

Ok so... I have to say, they hadn't been caught per say, because everyone knows when they're doing it. Like, it's not a secret—they're loud. Especially in paper thin walls as the ones at the Zen'in estate.

However, let's say that the innocent ones, the distracted, new members of the staff might've gotten quite the surprise the first time they heard about this. Maybe even stumbled upon them... who knows? 😏 Actually something just crossed my mind. I'll write about it later.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small, nobody-asked sequel for that one particular oneshot! I've had this thing on my mind for a while, how everyone would eventually know of their relationship. Just as Y/N said, one less thing to worry about.

Thank you so much for sending in this ask!! I hope you have a wonderful weekend, take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[jinnie-ret]

hii, its the anon who asked about lgbtq+ readers.

what i had in mind was a nonbinary 9th member who uses they/them pronouns and interviewers and talk how hosts etc keep misgendering them and using the wrong pronouns, saying how theyre the only female member. the boys are the one to keep adamantly correcting them, no matter how many times they have to do it. the reader would be annoyed at the interviewers but glad the boys had their back, maybe the boys reassuring them at the end.

obviously only write it if you feel comfortable, thank you for answering my original ask!! your writing is great and a big comfort, i honestly think youd be great at writing it but this is your blog and only write what you feel comfy writing <333

who I am

stray kids x ninth member non-binary!reader (platonic)

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: ignorant interviewer, misgendering

word count: 1.4k

summary: the boys support y/n for who they are, and show them that they truly have their back when a podcast goes wrong.

Thank you so much! Ok! I finally wrote it! I hope that this brings you great comfort like my other fics do too! And please give me feedback that this was written okay because I would never want to misrepresent anyone or their feelings in my writing.

As always, like, reblog if you enjoyed, and my asks are open for any requests you may have. And let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I post :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Welcome back to the podcast! Today we have a special guest, or guests, should I say, Stray Kids! Everyone give it up for Stray Kids!" the interviewer, Oscar, introduces us, the camera panning to us all sat in a cosy studio setting. We were currently in LA promoting our new album.

"Thank you inviting us!" Bang Chan says bashfully. We all knew of the podcast, well, us English speakers did, and we were so excited to be on the show.

"So, let's get right into it, you're here to talk about your new album, right?" Oscar smiles, looking down at his notes before asking us the question.

"Yeah, we've just released our new album 5STAR, and we hope that our fans enjoy it, and, yeah!" Felix begins to explain, smiling as he trails off, not knowing what else to add on. You give him a rub on the shoulder, letting him know that he was doing a good job. That's what you loved about being in Stray Kids, no matter who you were, you had each other's backs.

"It really is so cool to have you all here, and may I say, this really is a unique bunch of members you have here," Oscar waves his hands as he explains.

"Well, we like to think that we all bring something different to the table haha," you laugh along politely.

"Well, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, Y/N," Oscar turns his body towards you slightly.

The others go 'ohhh', making you blush slightly.

"You want to ask me?" you brush your hair back, your newly cut black mullet, which went down a treat with stays.

"Yes, the reason I say you're in quite a unique situation, is because, well, it's so rare to see 8 guys and a girl in one group together!" Oscar smiles.

Oh.

Your smile dropped.

Maybe you had gotten your hopes up, thinking he'd be talking about your input on the fashion of the group, considering it was quite well known, especially with the group's growing popularity that you created many of the pieces that yourself and the boys would wear.

But no. Somehow you didn't think that this topic would be brought up once again.

"Stray Kids is family, no matter what," Hyunjin spoke up, communicating as best he could in English that gender didn't matter.

The boys could sense your discomfort at Oscar blatantly calling you a girl. Surely he's done enough research that he knows you identify differently?

Even the less confident English speakers, Lee Know and Jeongin seemed to catch on what was happening.

"And what an interesting family you are indeed," Oscar didn't notice your unease or the slightly more defensive stances that the boys acquired from their seats.

"I also wanted to comment that I think Y/N is my bias, you guys!"

Seeming to think there was a more lighter mood in the room, Y/N themself to relax a bit and laugh along.

"Come on boys, don't be jealous, I just think she's got this special quality about her," Oscar continued, thinking the frowns on your members' faces were playfully jealous of his comment.

"They are very special to us, we feel lucky to have them in our group," Han spoke up, subtlely linking his pinkie with yours as a form of comfort. The boys knew that such situations like this still hurt you, because of how you struggled to understand why you felt different and finally knew why, it was frustrating when other people, who were clearly in a position to do some research, didn't know.

Of course you'd give the benefit of the doubt, maybe he didn't know and he might be apologetic, in which case it would all smooth over.

But it wasn't in this case.

"Actually, Oscar, Y/N is non-binary," Chan began, looking towards you to see if you wanted to continue.

"Yes, I use they/them pronouns and don't identify as either male or female, I'm just, me," you shrug it off and say casually, because that's how you felt it should be. It wasn't a big deal,.it was just who you are.

"Oh wow, that's quite interesting, so you don't look at it like she's your younger sister? Or you don't think that as a boyband you have a disadvantage having a female member?" Oscar furrowed his brows.

"We don't feel the need to recognise our member by a gender," Seungmin grabbed the mic provided by the studio and calmly spoke into it, it almost fully calmed you down, his soft voice as he spoke in English filling the room.

"It doesn't matter. We are a group. Just a group of people who like making music and entertaining our stays, and that's how they like it, so..." Felix's knee bobbed up and down, and you couldn't tell if the ray of sunshine was slowly turning into a thundercloud or if he was nervous to speak his mind. You were thankful either way.

"Right... I mean, it's funny, it must be weird, like having her as a novelty to the group, almost?" Oscar said genuinely, like he didn't see an issue in how he was conducting himself.

"They are best," Jeongin threw a cheeky smile your way, making the weight on your shoulders feel just a little bit lighter.

"We're a unit. A team. I mean, it's funny, we don't feel the need to separate ourselves based on gender," Chan passive aggressively said, using the man's previous words to show he would not take anymore ignorance to how his member was being treated.

"Look, I don't expect people to understand straight away, but I can appreciate them looking at me not just for what I believe is a socially constructed view, one that I don't align with, but for my talent," you slowly explained, nerves filling your body as you hoped the way that you had explained yourself had made sense and would get a message across to the interviewer.

"See, that's something I think would bring even more attention to your success! Y/N do you think that creating this facade has brought you more fans?" Oscar questioned, his kind intentions slipping away.

"Excuse me?" you were taken aback. Facade? He thought that you were pretending?

"Hyung? We can go now? Yeah, ok, great. We'll be leaving now, thank you for your time, I think," Chan sarcastically smiled at Oscar after getting the green light from their manager that they could leave.

"So, that wraps up our interview with Stray Kids today..."

You sighed as you all got into the van, leaving the studio all together. You sat in the back with Lee Know and Changbin.

"What did he say at the end?" Lee Know questioned, rubbing your knee soothingly.

"That I'm a fake," you scrunch your face, looking at the ceiling of the car to trap your tears and avoid them from escaping.

"He has no idea what he's talking about, Y/Nnie," Changbin turned to you as best he could at the back of the van.

"I just wish I could feel normal, but sometimes it's things like this that just alienate me from everyone else, you know?" you sigh, tapping your leg with your fingers to distract yourself.

"You're far from an alien, Y/N. We don't care about what other people say, you're a part of us. Chan hyung was right, we're a unit, and we'll stay as one forever," Hyunjin reassured you.

"Plus, if anyone is an alien, it's Hannie," Seungmin savagely chuckled.

"I'M AN ALIEN ON THIS EARTH!!!" Han took that as his cue to sing his song loudly, causing you to groan and cover your ears.

"Someone help him return to his home planet," you giggled, making the other boys laugh along with you.

"Seriously though, we've got you, hm? Stupid interviewers like that have no respect..." Jeongin shook his head, feeling irritated.

"He was nice at the start..." you trailed off, thinking about Oscar's bright personality which was for sure what brought in viewers and listeners of the podcast.

"But then he showed his true colours, he was rude, you didn't deserve the disrespect, end of," Chan said from the front of the car, making his voice a little louder than normal so everyone could hear.

"Thanks, Channie," you smiled, the two boys in the back of the car with you letting you relax against them as the stress seemed to leave your body.

They had your back, always.

tagged: @skz-streamer @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @kiraisastay

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

January Week 2

Keep in mind, this challenge is going to more or less piggy back off of my 2019 challenge and go deeper into the subjects presented there, with some alterations and additions of course.

Some grimoires focus on one entire topic for a whole page. Say, an entire page dedicated to a single herb. Some dedicate it to a broader topic and fill in the page with info pertaining to the topic. Say, protection magic and everything that, in that witch's practice, has to do with protection magic.

And you know what? Both are fine. It is a matter of how you want your grimoire to look, work and feel, for you and your practice. So as the challenge goes on and my prompts say "make a page" that doesn't necessarily mean a whole new page just for that topic. It could mean to fill in more of a page you've already started. It is your grimoire. Make it your way.

Monday - Magic

Journal/ Research/ Introspection (New Page) - What is magic? How does it work? Historically, theologically, spiritually, so on and so forth. What is magic and how does one utilize it? What methodology do you perscribe to? Where does magic come from? How do you sense it? Can you sense it? Look deep, not surface level. Look into the hows and the whys. Make a page dedicated to this information, so that you can refer back to it if need be in the future.

Practical (New Page) - Let's perform a protection spell on our book, on our supplies and on our work space. You can find a spell online in a book or make one up yourself to use! Any of these options is fine. I recommend utilizing your lab notebook for this task. Write out the spell, all of its aspects, steps, ingredients, tools and so on. Record the information in your lab notebook, that way you can change and rework the spell as need be in the future. Plus, this will allow you to create a page specifically for this spell!

Tuesday - Witch

Journal/ Research - This is a personal subject for all of us, though the community has a large sway in our opinions on this. Ask five witches what a witch is, and you'll get five different answers. But we're not worried about four of those answers right now. We're worried about one. Our own. What is a witch? What makes one a witch? What does a witch do and not do? Define all of this for yourself, answer those questions.

Divination - Lets perform a divination for ourselves. What does the year ahead hold? No matter what method you use, tarot, runes, etc, perform a small divination for yourself or even for someone else, looking at the year ahead of us.

Wednesday - Personal Practice

Research/ Introspection/ Journal -Again, we're going to do a deep look into ourselves and our beliefs for this prompt. How do you perceive the world? Life, death? The energies in the world around you? How do you connect to and experience these things? What are the elements of life and the world?

Study (New Page) - Pick one of those herbs from the list we made and look into its properties. Where does it come from> How does it grow? Historically, what were its uses? Practical and mundane uses and properties, what are they? Is it used medicinally or are there culinary uses? What are the myths, legends and stories about the herb? Now, once you've looked into all of that, how does that information play into its magical uses and properties? All of this is about they WHY behind the info we find in generalized searches.

Thursday - Personal Information

Journal/ Introspection - Why are you a witch? What drew you to this path and walk of life? What are the aspects fo your practice? Is it the elements? Deities? Other powers? Flesh out your beliefs.

Astrology - Not every witch holds stock in astrology, so if you don't you don't have to add this bit to the challenge. But if you're interested, look up your natal chart. There are plenty of free websites to do so, and it is always interesting to find out. If you feel so inclined, add a page to your Grimoire about your natal chart, as the info can be helpful in later introspection and journaling.

Study (New Page) - Pick a gem from that list and look up its properties. Where does it come from? How is it formed? What are its chemical properties? What are its mundane and practical uses? What are the myths and legends, stories surrounding it? What has it been used for historically? How does all of that information play into its magical properties and uses? Make a page specifically dedicated to that gem!

Friday - Making it yours

Journal/ Introspection - How is your practice your practice? What do YOU bring to your witchcraft? What traditions and beliefs from outside your practice have influenced bits and pieces of your practice? As much as we hate to admit it, syncretism is a thing.

(Side note- if you’re not into crystals and herbs, feel free to replace those study days with whatever subject you feel like! No matter what it is, as long as it’s something going in your grimoire. Some examples would be tarot spreads, runes, languages, a specific “type” of magic!)

I know this is going to be a big project and if it would help everyone, creatively, I'll be more than happy to share a video showing some of my grimoire page design process.

Thank you all

Good luck and happy crafting witches!

-Mod Hazel

[mar-im-o]

“The unfortunate side-effect to soul-binding is integration,” Ren explains.

Which, as far as he and everyone else on the server is concerned, makes sense. Soul-binding isn’t new. When they awoke on this plane and looked off into the world, they were well aware of what the thread fading off into the distance meant.

It was an old practice, born with the Old Gods of Ruin, where rituals could be cast to tie beings to one another. It tended to occur towards the end of life as a method of ensuring people may stay together after death. It was sweet. Romantic, some may even say.

But they don’t do it much anymore.

Not because love or faith is dead but because of the side-effects.

-

Impulse and BDubs noticed it first. Perhaps it was because they found each other first, or because they were so eager to be together that they hardly let one another out of sight, but they were changing. Impulse noticed it in the sprouting horns upon BDubs’ head. BDubs noticed it in the way Impulse has become suddenly protective of the clock.

-

“Think of it a bit like equilibrium, right?”

Ren’s lounging on he and Big B’s front yard (no matter the fact that said “front yard” is accompanied by an unfinished base). He’s picking off pieces of a cookie he’s been nibbling on, seemingly unaware of the fact that, as a dog, he should not be able to eat chocolate like he currently is.

But he currently is.

And Big B tries his best not to emote such a recognition through his newly-appeared ears. “Like, balancing?”

“For sure,” Ren says. “Two souls tied together, well they don’t want to be. So you get them trying to even out. Tryna become one soul.”

“That seems...”

Bad? Rough? Horrifying? He isn’t sure.

-

Grian and Scar notice it next.

Maybe it’s because they’ve done this before, even if unknowingly. A man swearing himself to another for the sake of righting a wrong, proclaiming that his life is theirs to share.

Scar’s back has been killing him, not in the usual aching but in the pricking, clawing pains he can’t seem to ease. He can feel his back wet with blood, can feel something tearing from the inside out. He relents and rips off his shirt, asking Grian to take a look and, well...

Feathers. Rainbow feathers growing where two wings would be.

And maybe, Grian realizes as he looks upon his flightless-friend’s down, that explains the green in his eyes and the fact that he’s suddenly become quite fond of the Jellies.

-

“So is there a cure? Can we undo it?”

Ren snorts, a thoughtless shrug matching it. “Maybe? Maybe not? We might just have to ride it out, man. I doubt it lasts outside of this server, but until we beat the game...”

“We become more and more like each other...”

“Pretty much.”

-

Cleo sits by the water that feeds their crops when she’s certain Scott’s still sleeping. A insect dances across it, tracing ripples, and she swats it away so the water might still. When it does, she can see the streak of yellow weaving through her hair. It’s gotten bigger. Harder to hide. She tucks it behind her ear anyway.

Inside, Scott’s reflection has become unfamiliar. Antenna sit amongst his hair now, fluffy and twitching with every new sound or movement. With a grumble, he gives it a flick, and hopes Pearl can feel it.

-

Big B sighs and collapses next to Ren, the sound foreign and loud amongst new ears. “I’m really not tryna turn into a dog, man.”

“Eh, you get used to it. The tail’s fun.”

“I do not want a tail Ren.”

-

Pearl stares at her reflection in the glass, unfamiliar blue eyes blinking back.

Martyn grimaces as an arrow in his back knocks dead skin loose. He’ll add “learning to stitch” to the list of things this server has asked of him.

-

“I’m not really sure the green streak suits me,” Etho says, pulling at the addition to his hair.

Joel snorts, owlish red eyes tilting towards Etho. “Right because you’ve got it the worst between us.”

“It’s not my color--”

-

Tango spins, chasing after the small, golden wings that have appeared on his back. “Can you even fly with these things? They’re so small...”

“Rude!” Jimmy says, but he’s not looking at Tango. He’s squeezing his eyes shut as if he can rub away the red now in them. But when he opens them again, the world is still foreign and changed and-- “How many colors can you see man?”

-

Big B drums his fingers against a chest, head dipped in careful consideration of the world around him. His ears twitch towards the east and wow Ren can hear far...

“We’re not the only ones,” Big B reports. “Seems like everyone’s woken up changed.”

“Figured. This is gonna be an interesting season.”

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

--

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

[666writingcafe]

Sibling Bonding

Luke

I'm scared.

The look on Simeon's face...that's going to be in my nightmares, no doubt about it.

This room is only a temporary sanctuary--and not a very good one at that--but it's the best I have at the moment.

Someone knocks on the door.

"Go away!" I yell. I don't want to see Simeon right now.

"Luke, it's okay. It's just me." Oh. It's MC. The one person that can comfort me right now.

I get off the bed and sheepishly open the door, allowing them to enter. They sit down at the desk, leaving me to return to my position on the bed.

"Are you okay?" Three simple words, and yet they're enough to make me tear up. I was trying to keep my composure in the dining car, since I knew Mammon would tease me for crying.

Speaking of which, why was he picking on me? I mean, we're far from being best friends, but as we were preparing for the trip, we both were really excited about it. He even helped me pack some of my things. So, I don't understand the sudden switch.

Unless somehow merely mentioning Michael triggered something in him, and I just happened to be the closest thing he could lash out against. But that wouldn't make much sense, either; Michael's not a bad person.

"I-I'm sorry for behaving like that in the dining car." I choke up as the tears begin rolling down my face. "I k-know I embarrassed you b-back there." MC leans forward and grabs both of my hands.

"You were reacting to someone bullying you. Perhaps you could have handled that better than you did, but you're still growing. I don't expect you to have the emotional maturity of an adult, angel or otherwise." It's strange, hearing those words. Everyone else expects me to act older and tease me if I don't, and yet they talk to me like I'm a little kid.

Not MC. Not even once.

"If anything, I ought to be apologizing to you." Huh?

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong." MC smiles slightly, gently squeezing my hands.

"Not intentionally, but nevertheless I am partially to blame for Simeon's outburst." They clearly see the confused look on my face, for they add,

"When I saw Simeon start to become irritated, I grabbed his hand to try to soothe him."

"Like you are right now with me?" They nod.

"Part of my power comes from the pacts I have with the seven Avatars of Sin. The physical connection of our hands caused that power to meet up with Simeon's frustration and give it more energy. By the time we realized what was happening, the connection became too strong for us to break it ourselves. The energy had to release itself on its own."

"Kinda like a circuit."

"Exactly."

"I didn't know you could even do that!"

"Neither did I." I don't like seeing MC sad. I know that they can't be happy all the time, but I want them to experience more good than bad. They deserve it.

Besides, how can they know something they weren't taught?

MC lets go of my hands, gets up, and starts walking towards the door.

"Wait!" They stop and turn towards me.

"Yes, Luke?" I'm not even sure if I should bring this up. It's the type of thing most people would tell me I'm too young to understand before changing the subject to something more "appropriate". It's rather annoying, actually. I hate being underestimated simply because of my age. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm stupid.

"There's something I've been wondering for a while now.

"Which is?" Well, here goes nothing.

"Why does Michael still care about Mammon and his brothers? I mean, they may have been angels once upon a time, but not anymore. They're demons now. They did something awful enough to warrant being cast out of the Celestial Realm."

MC's initial hesitation worries me. Are they finally going to dismiss me the way everyone else has?

"Relax, Luke. I'm not ignoring you. I'm just trying to figure out the best way to answer your question."

"Really?" MC nods.

"I may not be able to tell you everything, but that doesn't mean I can't give you some information. I mean, you're not a little kid anymore; you're old enough to know about certain things." An idea must have come to MC in that moment, for they walk back over to the desk and start rummaging through its drawers until they find a piece of paper and a pencil.

"Come on over, Luke," they instruct, sitting down. Once I'm standing next to them, they turn the paper horizontally and draw two dots on either side of it.

"Let's say that these dots represent the pinnacle of good and evil." MC writes the two words down underneath the dots. "Do you see all this empty space?"

"Yes."

"That represents all the different combinations of good and evil. Some things are easier to contribute to one or the other." MC draws some smaller dots around the two original dots. "But most things in life exist in this space in between. Am I making sense so far?" I nod my head, allowing them to continue.

"Now, there are many factors that make deciding if something is good or bad rather complicated. I think the one that's pertinent to your question is this one." MC writes down the word "love" on the paper. "As you've stated, the brothers were once angels. Would you say that the residents of the Celestial Realm act like one big family?"

"Yeah."

"Then it would make sense for Michael to feel that way about the brothers. It's hard to cut ties with people you hold near and dear to your heart, even if they've hurt you in some way."

"Then why cast them out of the Celestial Realm to begin with?" The question slips out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "I mean, if Michael loved them so much, then he should've just forgiven them." That prompts MC to write down the word "politics".

"Michael's kind of like the Vice President of the Celestial Realm, right?"

"I mean, I suppose so. I hadn't thought about it like that before."

"But you understand why I made that comparison, right?" MC looks at me expectantly, and I realize that they want me to actually explain why. They're quizzing me, in a way.

"Well, a Vice President has a lot of power, but they still have to answer to the President. The Vice President can't just do whatever they want." They smile at me.

"Very good. Now, obviously I wasn't there at the time, but I can guess that God issued the order to Michael to cast the brothers out to the Celestial Realm. If he failed to do so, then he would face punishment of some kind. Perhaps he'd be kicked out as well, or worse. Whatever it was, it was severe enough for him to decide it was better to follow orders than it was to push back against them."

"Even if he didn't want to see the brothers leave?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Love sometimes has to bow down to politics. It sucks, but life isn't always fair. It can be awfully cruel at times."

"Do you think the brothers hate angels? If so, then all of Michael's love is in vain. They'll never love him back." MC grabs my hands again.

"I think that deep down, they miss the Celestial Realm and the people in it. It's just that the love they may still have towards that place often gets clouded by other emotions."

Oh no. I'm going to be in so much trouble. I can't start second-guessing Michael's judgement. That's totally not okay.

"Luke, look at me." MC can sense that I'm freaking out. "Despite of what people tell you, you are allowed to question why things are the way they are. It's part of learning. Don't ever let anyone take your curiosity away from you."

"O-okay."

"If they have a problem with it, they'll have to go through me." They pause. "I will do everything in my power to protect you, Luke."

"Why?"

"Because you're part of my family." I let go of MC's hands, only to hug them seconds later.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"You're welcome." When we separate, I notice something on their hand that wasn't there before.

The Star of Generosity.

It suits them.

[bluginkgo]

Why were the DDs sent to Copper-9?

I was going to add this to the other post of rambles and theories, but then this one got too long again. So here I am... making ANOTHER post ;w;

Spoilers duh

The absolute solver sent DDs to wipe out other potential hosts. So the entire purpose of DDs was to kill any possible solver hosts... why? Wouldn't the solver wish to have more hosts to use and take over the planet? Well, some events do explain as to why it could have possibly sent the DDs out. Here is a rough timeline I kind of made. Does it make perfect sense? Absolutely not, but this is currently what I've been working with in an attempt to explain how all of the events have come to be.

Just as Nori snapped back to herself, she tossed the crucifix into the absolute solver hole.

Perfect, its job is finished, the crucifix is in its grasp and will not be able to be used... But then how the fack did it not disintegrate during the core collapse?

And post, at least 20 years, why is it STILL in the labs? Why did the absolute solver simply not destroy it? I think something internally is keeping it from being in full control. I vaguely mentioned that the absolute solver in the core is an amalgamation of multiple drones that were tested on- at least 129 of them. Using that theory as premise, some of them might be influencing what the Absolute Solver can and can't do. While it may seem all powerful and un-killable entity, if the hive mind is what's running it, well... that might explain the strange issue of "why didn't the solver just destroy the crucifix?"

The solver lost its two powerful hosts, and they are free to roam the planet. Yes, Nori did say her memories were scrambled enough to have a kid, which implies the Absolute Solver might have had a hand in this.

But it knew this was only a temporary patch. The hosts will regain their memories slowly and attempt to free themselves from the solver. That is when it decided to send out DDs. Get rid of any potential solver hosts, so they cannot fight back against it. But how is a mere host supposed to fight against an almost god-like entity?

That is something only the solver knows. Being as logical and god-like entity it is, it knows its weaknesses. Sun and light sure is one of them, but maybe it knows something that will eradicate it much better than the sun can.

So the DDs are sent out, colonies of WD are wiped out, and spires are created. At this point the spires, in my opinion, have three functions. First, they will help with the Absolute Solver to "eat them all" as Khan put it.

This could be like areas for zombie drones to be rebooted and the Absolute Solver corrupt them. Closely followed by, melding the cores together and creating the large monster that took Earth. Second, this is a source of energy for the solver. It mentioned to N "Let's eat." So perhaps these spires have been a way for it to munch on something and grow its strength to completely destroy the planet. Third, they literally have no purpose and are there just to act as shelter for DDs from the sun and to instill fear. On multiple occasions, it's been seen that the solver likes to play around with fear and with its food. From Doll's death to the monologue that it gave to N.

All of the DDs were instructed to enter the cabin fever labs, but were soon met with the sentinels and simply could not bypass the area. So then why not just have the solver tendrils exit and drag the sentinels to the core? Well, the way I can see it, is it couldn't. It needed something else to jumpstart the reaction inside of the core once again. Just as Nori's null hand caused the core collapse, the Absolute Solver needed another catalyst. It needed another host to launch the events. Tessa entity was thus sent out. It would double as a way to bypass the security that were the sentinel, also destroying the list in the labs, and finally be used as a catalyst that will lead the "planet to eat them all."

But there was one huge hiccup in this entire plan. Uzi. A force that the Absolute Solver did not expect to fight against. So when J was killed, it sent out Tessa entity and another clone to get down to the labs. It seems that the Absolute Solver already knew, that despite Doll being very good with using the solver powers, she would ultimately be used to power the reaction just as the Tessa entity would.

Now with Uzi, it was a bit harder and more fun to play with. Just as I mentioned before, the solver enjoys toying with its pets and puppets. The solver knew it could get Uzi- and it did- but first, it wanted to have some fun.

And thus made N and Uzi battle. For the solver, there was no battle, just a simple fun scuffle as it watched N in vain to try and save Uzi. So while Doll was very methodical and easy for the solver to follow, Uzi was a bit more sporadic in her ways.

So to fight against that sporadic and wild behavior, it would scare her. Scare her, isolate her, and then use her as a host.

A way to condense this is probably as so: The Absolute Solver was not powerful enough and only could cause a core collapse, instead of taking over the planet completely. It sent out DDs to wipe the remainder hosts to avoid potential push back and eradication. But the DDs couldn't pass through the sentinel security. So it sent out Tessa entity to get by, allowed Uzi and Doll to tag along, and used them all as catalysts that will power the solver to fully corrupt the planet.

Is this anywhere near well fleshed out theory/thought? Nope, not at all. But this is my current take. Is it gonna switch up on me again? Absolutely. :3

Want more of my stupid rambles? This has 3 other parts! ;w;

[rosie-b]

Centuries Overdue

Chapter 5

In which we finally get to visit the catacombs. Also, there are magic zombies (more or less)!

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-eighth of June, 1810.

The Darkness is strongest under the City.

I know what lies there, moved from the soil above over decades and still growing as I write. The Catacombs are hardly a Secret, but they hold more than one.

Last night, after writing my last entry, I went on a walk to Test the darkness and see if It would follow me again. It did. It was stronger than ever, and It called to me in my parents’ voices, both at once.

“Come with us,” It beckoned. “We are Lost, but not Dead yet. Come save us!”

If this is a Mage’s Joke I will need more than Providence to keep me from giving in to my Anger. But I think, no, I know that it is no joke. It is the voice of my Parents, trapped by the Mage of the Darkness. It was feeding off the souls of the Talents and Mages It gathered, then, but Its Downfall did not undo their imprisonment. And from their chained Power, still flowing to It, It rises again!

It is hunting me. I said as much to the Bourgeois family last night, when I visited them. I needed some reason to be Out, after all, some reason to fool the Darkness into thinking I am no wiser now than I was in Ravlunda, when I let the Darkness re-grow in the foolish Hope that It was dead.

It will get a surprise when I am the One to fool It.

I am going to visit the Catacombs. I will scour every tunnel for the heart of this Darkness, and when I find It, I will destroy It once and for all. I will free my Parents and the other trapped magicians. Only then will I be able to rest.

What I am doing, I must do in secret. Visits to the Catacombs are allowed, but only with permission, which is granted sparingly and with bias. It seems the common people take precedence now, not the Nobles, as it once was, or the Children of those whose families left France in l’Émigration. This makes sense, though it adds Difficulty to my own Cause.

I cannot afford to wait for the Officials to believe my Words and grant Me an Appointment. I must act now to save my Parents, else all will be lost and the Mages, once mighty, will be brought down by one man’s Folly. I pray that they do not suffer for my failures.

There is an entrance I know by the Barrière d'Enfer, the Gates of Hell. I will slip in quietly to-morrow, while the Guards’ eyes are full of sleep, taking my Journal of Spells with me. It is the Book of Spells which Mages of Tikki and Plagg may use, as well as a few handy Universal ones. With any luck, Plagg’s Blessing will grant me the strength I need to Destroy this most evil of Mages for-ever.

And at last, the Darkness will be vanquished.

At last, we will know Peace.

__*__*__*__*__

After she finished the last of Adrien’s journals, Marinette had the strangest feeling that she’d never again feel as complete as she had while she was still reading them. It was like her world had been in color while she still had more entries to look forward to, but now it had faded back to its normal sepia tones; not quite black and white, but no longer as vibrant as she remembered.

She could always reread the journals, she supposed. Alya had finally convinced Mayor Bourgeois to ‘donate’ the entire collection to her ‘charity organization,’ really the Mages’ cross-country education for new group members. The papers and legitimacy of  the organization, of course, had been completely made up through a series of intricate illusions made by several Mages, but it worked, and now the Agreste journals were finally back where they belonged.

Marinette kept visiting the café on Wednesday evenings, partly for her new and old friends and partly to try and fill the void Adrien’s journals had left behind. Sometimes she’d stay for the whole gathering, sometimes not, but she always enjoyed the company, and by now she’d begun to feel like a real member of the little group, even though she lacked her own magic. 

Still, Alya insisted that Marinette must have a Gift from one kwami or another, and she called some of her friends from the other surviving Mage groups to come test Marinette. Luka, Kagami, and Zoe had all come at one time or another, but Marinette hadn’t passed any of their tests. When Alya’s boyfriend, Nino, returned from his stay with Wayzz’s group, she convinced him to test Marinette, too, but still without any luck.

Marinette was fine with that, really, but it was becoming a little embarrassing, so she convinced Alya to drop the investigation for now.

“We have basically the rest of my life to figure out if I’m really a Mage or not,” she’d pointed out. “There’s no need to rush into this!”

Alya had sighed. “You’re right, but can you blame me for trying? I always knew you were special, and even if you’re not a Mage or a Talent, I think you should’ve been one. Any kwami would have to be crazy to pass on giving you a Gift.”

Marinette thought it was sweet that her friend thought so highly of her.

But even with all her praises, Alya still didn’t trust Marinette’s (potential) latent magic enough to let her go into the catacombs alone, though.

“No way,” Alya had insisted in a panic when Marinette first brought up her idea. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in a large ‘X,’ staring at Marinette with something like horror in her eyes. “There is no way I’m letting you walk down into those catacombs, to find Adrien or for any other reason. I agree that Adrien’s last entries sound concerning, but face the facts, girl! He had to have had severe PTSD, and the ‘darkness’ he thought was tracking him was clearly just in his head. Maybe he wasn’t crazy, but his mind was definitely playing tricks on him.”

“I’m not arguing there,” Marinette had protested. “I’m just saying, there has to be some way we can find his remains and give him the proper burial he deserves. I get why you’re nervous, but there are plenty of people who explore forbidden parts of the catacombs!”

“Yeah, but we’re not cataphiles,” Alya had pleaded. “Learning what is and isn’t safe in the catacombs has to take them a long time, and even then, there are too many miles of unexplored tunnels. Nobody knows all of them. And if someone had found a body, Adrien’s or someone else’s, they would have reported it by now. But there are no new bodies in the catacombs, just the old ones that are supposed to be there. And, consider, do we know for a fact that Adrien went to the catacombs? No. He said he was going to visit them, but he might’ve changed his mind.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Marinette had said firmly. “Adrien wouldn’t do that. He thought he knew what he had to do to save the Mages, and he had a plan for it. It wouldn’t be like him to just give up.”

“Well, I guess in a weird way, you knew him better than me,” Alya had said with a shrug, apparently trying to seem nonchalant after her outburst. “I just don’t think it’s safe for you to go down there after him, that’s all.”

Marinette had paused. Alya had been acting strangely from the moment Marinette had first mentioned her plan to go into the catacombs, if not to find Adrien’s body, then at least to pay her respects from a distance. 

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you.”

Alya had immediately shot back, with a touch of desperation, “No, I’m not! I would never want to hide anything from you.”

“But you did,” Marinette had pressed, though she felt a bit bad for saying it. “You hid magic’s existence from me for years. Not that I’m mad! But we both know you can lie to my face if you need to. That’s like your whole deal, illusions and lies. So what is it, Alya? Just tell me what you’re hiding. I won’t be mad, I promise. I’ll try to understand, no matter how weird it is!”

It had only taken a little more begging for Alya to willingly uncover her secrets. 

As it turned out, there was a dangerous power making its home in the catacombs, preventing any Mages from getting in (or, potentially, out).

“There’s a reason why none of us, not even Fluff’s Mages, go down there, Marinette,” Alya admitted after one of the café meetings. “There’s something else in the tunnels. You know I don’t believe Adrien’s Darkness exists, but some kind of twisted magic definitely does. Maybe it always has, but I think it’s still new. Not many Mages know about it, because so far, not many need to, except the local Mages. It’s not a full-blown problem yet, since whatever it is prefers to stick to the tunnels. When it does come out, though, it acts like a void, draining Mages’ powers from them if they come into contact with it.”

Alya had shuddered, rubbing her arm as if she was cold despite the warmth of the café. 

“Last semester, I had the misfortune of meeting one, a wandering branch of the magic. I was walking home in the dark from class, and I felt a cold wind at my back. It didn’t feel natural, so I cast an illusion to provide some cover for myself and hid in a group of tourists until it revealed itself. Wasn’t much to look at, just a wisp of darkness in the shape of a human. When it noticed that I’d seen it, yellow sparks collected in it like a child’s scrawled-out crayon lines, giving it some creepy mockery of a face and arms and hands and eyes. It stared right back at me.”

As she’d listened to the story, Marinette’s heart had stopped. Darkness in the shape of a human? Her mind raced as she considered the possibility that this was the same Darkness Adrien had written about before passing.

Alya had groaned on seeing her friend’s scrunched-up face. “I can tell what you’re thinking, girl. But this isn’t the Darkness Adrien was talking about! That Mage was killed long ago. This is a new threat, one whose origins we have no clue about! But I heard about it before, from Nino. He was tracked by one the second-to-last time he visited Paris and had to fight it off. He came back from experience suggesting we call the attacking magic figures ‘zombies’. He thinks the magic is inhabiting the corpses from the catacombs, or taking control of the dead’s spirits, and then it uses that to attack us, possibly to steal our powers away and get even stronger. I don’t have a better name for the magic, and it does look like a corrupted Mage post-mortem might, so. Zombies it is,” she’d said, offering Marinette a wry grin. “Luckily, no other group of Mages has had to deal with them so far, just us here in Paris. And there doesn’t seem to be a magic virus to worry about, so, yay.” She’d thrown up fake-enthusiastic jazz hands and an exhausted smile.

So, the maybe-new Darkness wasn’t a big problem yet. That was good, but how safe was it for the Mages, truly? Alya’s story was just raising more questions for Marinette.

“How did you defeat it?” she had asked, sitting on the edge of her seat and gripping her warm coffee mug tightly. What was the key to killing a living Darkness?

Alya had hummed and wrapped her hands tight around her own mug as she remembered. “I had to use a very powerful spell. All the Mages here know it; it’s the one Universal spell that still works, basically. Unlike the other, more ancient ones, it was created by all the kwamis together, as they simultaneously established the same spell for each group of Mages. They came up with it to provide us with a better defense after the final battle against the Darkness. So, because of its origin, it’s technically a kwami-specific spell, not a Universal one, but it functions the same way because every kwami gifted it to every group of Mages. It’s meant to kill an unkillable enemy, no matter the source of its power. The spell is stronger when said by many Mages all at once, but luckily, me reciting it on my own was enough to get rid of that zombie. It won’t hurt us again.”

Marinette had let out a sigh, relief pooling in her stomach as she accepted that her friends were likely all safe. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Alya had nodded, a far-off look in her eye. “For now. And I know you think you’re safe, too, but be careful, Marinette. The zombies have only shown interest in strong Mages so far, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go after you. Even if you’re right, and you’re not a Mage, going in the catacombs would mean putting yourself in danger. Promise me you won’t do it, okay?”

Marinette had hummed and smiled and promised she’d stay safe.

But here was the thing. As far as she knew (and as several failed tests proved), Marinette was not a Mage.

And the ‘zombies’ were only targeting the strongest Mages. Not even mid-level Mages, and she’d asked the newest members of both Trixx and Fluff’s groups. None of them were worried about being targeted, and they were all at a much greater risk than Marinette was, herself.

So all things considered, it was perfectly safe for her to book a ticket for one humdrum, non-magical, guided tour of the catacombs, right?

It wasn’t like she was going to go off the safe paths or actually try to bring Adrien’s remains back to the surface for burial. She just wanted to visit the place where he’d died, to find some kind of peace with his ending. She’d felt wrong ever since she’d finished his journals, and somehow she knew that if she could just pay her respects (even if in a less-than-normal way), she’d find closure.

So after a few weeks of deliberation, she booked a ticket for a tour.

On the day of her visit, Marinette deliberately did not tell Alya where she was going after her last shift of work at the library. She headed straight for home, where she dropped off the big purse she’d taken to work and checked that her phone was charged before putting on a light sweater and some boots and heading off to the catacombs.

She was the first one from her tour group to arrive, so going through security was a breeze. But before she could head down to the catacombs, her guide informed her, they had to wait for everyone else to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, they did, and the tour officially began.

At first, everything was surprisingly modern; the building’s white paint and first rooms full of security weren’t out of the ordinary for any other touristy location in Paris. The first (20 meter-long, she remembered) spiral staircase was just like any other; everything felt normal until she reached the transition between what felt more like a hospital or a very plain museum and the old, stone-hewed catacombs. Her hackles raised as she walked through the door and up a stone staircase into the long tunnel whose end marked where the catacombs truly began.

The iron gate made her feel apprehensive, like she was walking into a prison, but the security guards lounging just beyond it seemed more homey than anything. The painted pillars looked as though they belonged to a medieval castle, and the absurd mixture of so many different elements shocked Marinette back into feeling like a visitor on any other, normal tour. 

The smell, though; the smell was what assured her that this was more than just some random tourist trap. Marinette’s mom had taken her to an old, stone chapel for the funeral of a family friend once. The musty scent of the catacombs reminded her strongly of the way that haunting chapel had smelled. She decided not to think about the reason for the lingering stench—if she could help it, that was. She was about to see the evidence of its origins for herself.

Don’t focus on it, she told herself. It’s not musty, it’s just dusty. Just a nice friendly dust around here, like in the library by Adrien’s books. Yeah, that’s it! Nothing scary here.

She’d never thought she was afraid of the dead before. Then again, she’d never visited the catacombs before. But she was still confident that she’d accomplish her goals, no problem. Nobody had been trapped in the catacombs since— well.

She decided not to think about it, realizing that she’d be doing that a lot during this trip.

Once the rest of the tour group collected in the room past the gate, they were led deeper into the tunnels. There were no bones at first, just rough-hewn stone and white brick walls, low ceilings with moss creeping across them, and dim lighting from lamps and the lit-up information board on the right-hand side. But through the next open doorway, Marinette could see walls made up of bones, what looked like femurs on top of femurs with a line of skulls in between, like a skeletal tapestry woven by the dead.

The tour guide spoke about the catacombs’ history as they moved along the tunnels, but Marinette’s gaze was drawn by the bones, and she fell into the middle of the group as faster-walking tourists pushed past her. Everywhere she looked was claimed by death, even the heart formed by some well-placed skulls in the wall. This really is the empire of the dead.

A sign on the left stated that these bones had been transferred to the catacombs in 1859, well after Adrien had visited and been lost to the tunnels. They were still building when he came here; the tunnels must have been bare here when he visited.

As she kept walking, Marinette slowly grew accustomed to the otherworldly atmosphere of the tunnels. There was an elderly German couple behind her whose quiet, friendly-sounding conversations kept her grounded, and further in the back of the group, an American family argued about their plans for the next day in English. 

Marinette wasn’t feeling as nervous anymore. She was just here to pay her respects, to get some closure and leave. And that was similar to what the catacombs’ designers had wanted to do, too. They’d taken delicate care of all the skeletons they were in charge of transferring, bringing a priest with them on all their trips to inter the bones. They’d offered prayers in hopes of securing a peaceful rest for the long-dead people who had once occupied these crumbling bones.

Bodies were turned into art here, a sign of the care with which the builders had made the catacombs. Every section of the catacombs had some loving touch in it; whether it was a carved sign with French poetry or a wave-like pattern in the walls of bones. It was comforting, for a while. Marinette recalled that the tunnels’ construction had been out of necessity to free more space for the living and move the dead out of their overfilled cemeteries and marveled that such a gruesome task had been carried out so artfully. 

Still, there was a sinister air in the bone-lined tunnels, a promise of danger carried by the cold, dusty wind poking through the seams of her sweater. 

Marinette wondered if the magic zombies Alya had talked about really stayed here, in some blocked-off tunnel of the catacombs. She knew they posed no danger to her, as a non-magical human, but if they were real— they are real, Alya’s voice reminded her—then who was to say they weren’t the ones responsible for what had happened to Adrien? Who was to say that they hadn’t lured him off the path and trapped him with their dark magic?

Who was to say they hadn’t turned him into one of them?

Suddenly, Marinette didn’t feel so good about this trip. Her churning stomach threatened to eject the lunch she’d eaten before coming, and her head felt murky, like a thick wall of fog was clouding her thoughts.

The tour guide’s voice grew fainter, and Marinette took a moment to steady herself. She nearly put a hand on the wall, but remembered not to just in time. The bones here were older than in the last tunnel, though you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Underground, in an environment like this one, it took much longer for remains to decompose, Marinette remembered.

She wanted to think about something else. 

Just 112 steps until I get out of here, she told herself. Stairs, anyway. It was 131 down, and 112 back up at the end of the tunnels. That’s what the pamphlet said. The exit can’t be too far from here; the tour only covers a tiny part of the catacombs!

The tour group was about to move past her, and the man holding hands with his daughter motioned to her, as if to say, are you going to catch up, or do you need help? 

She smiled reassuringly and started walking again, and before long, she was back in the middle of the pack.

The next section of the tunnels was marked by a sign, like many of them were. This one read that the bones had been moved in 1787. A little bit past it, a pillar was tagged with graffiti. The sight of it knocked Marinette out of the last traces of her reverie, and she scoffed as she kept following the tour group. 

It was almost as if they were moving back in time; the farther they went through the tunnels, the older the bone deposits were. Her mind wandered back to Adrien, to the boy who’d lost his parents to evil magic, but dedicated his life to saving others from the same fate. He’d spent so much of his life as an unrecognized hero, working to keep the magic community in contact despite the many battles tearing apart their continent, constantly traveling though he ached for a home.

And when he finally was able to rest, peace was stolen from his once again, this time claiming his life.

A light breeze ran through the tunnel, and Marinette shivered, rubbing her arms and cursing herself for not wearing more layers. It was late summer aboveground, and so even this sweater had felt like overkill, but now she wished she’d worn a thicker one.

In the next section of the catacombs, her left shoe’s laces came undone. She’d worn hiking boots, ugly brown things without a zipper, at the recommendation of the owner of the shoe store she’d visited when she’d told her that she would be visiting the catacombs. By the time she got done fixing her shoelaces, stooped down by the left side of the wall, the group had nearly moved past her; there were only a couple visitors beside her as she resumed following the guide.

The next turn the group took was a little confusing. It looked like they were supposed to head straight, but a locked and secured gate informed the group to turn to the left, instead. Marinette lingered at the gate, looking through it to where the catacombs continued. No one was allowed back there, not even the guards. The tunnels beyond the gate were dark, and her eyes drew shapes in them like ghosts grasping the walls to stand and chase her.

She stumbled back, and her sweater caught on a jagged stone jutting out from the wall. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she hadn’t gotten caught on one of the bones, but grew mortified to notice that she’d fallen behind the group. She tore her sleeve free and quickly headed down the left tunnel, walking quickly to make up for the time she’d spent staring at the closed-off tunnels. A few minutes later, and she’d still not caught up to the back of the group, though, so she turned around to check whether she’d missed another turn somehow.

The tunnel was closed off behind her. Her stomach lurched, and she rushed back towards the corner she’d turned into the tunnel from, only to find a dead end. There was no exit to the tunnel, just a pile of bones filling the gap between the limestone wall and the pillar supporting the ceiling. Past that, she couldn’t see anything; there was a gap at the top of the bone pile, but she was too short to see over it.

She took a rasping breath and choked on the musty air. 

A low murmur came from behind her, farther down the tunnel she’d already started walking through.

Her heart pounded. Was that the group? Had she missed the real turn she’d taken when she turned back to find it?

She put one foot directly behind the other, toes brushing the heel of her boot, and slowly spun back around in as close to a perfect 180 as she could get.

“Hello?” she called. “Hello? Wait for me, please! I fell behind!”

Marinette grimaced when there was no answer. How far behind was she? How had she managed to get this lost in such a short amount of time?

Lost. Marinette was lost, just like—!

Okay, no, she told herself strictly. Do not follow that train of thought. Just— follow the sound of the group. Yeah, that’s it!

She took a step forward, and then another, further and further from the pile of bones and down the dimly-lit hall, hoping to hear the German couple’s accent or the loud American mother warning her kid not to touch the bones.

She shuddered and looked down, as far as her gaze could safely travel from the bone-lined walls. Just keep walking. One step at a time.  

There was a cul-de-sac just off to the left, and the tunnel past it sloped steeply downward. She passed between a pair of pillars, and suddenly, the walls weren’t lined with bones anymore. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she tried calling for the group again.

“Hello? It’s me, Marinette! I think I’m lost!” She paused. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

Marinette stumbled over the floor, which was rough and not smooth as it had been in other parts of the tunnel. She steadied herself against the wall and decided to take a break, so she pulled out her phone and checked the time. There was no service down here, but the light of the screen was still comforting. She’d charged the phone up before leaving work, so there was still seventy percent of the battery left, and that was good; maybe she’d get a bar of service somehow and find a map of the tunnels on the internet to help her.

Or maybe she should stop wasting time daydreaming about saving herself and get moving so that the group would finally be able to hear her and she’d be found. She pushed herself off the wall and started walking again.

The tunnels branched off a few meters down the hall, and Marinette staggered to a halt.

“What?” she asked aloud. “What… how is this possible?”

All of the tunnels before her were dark, and as she cautiously stepped into the large, maybe three meters-wide space where they joined together, the tunnel behind her fell dark, too, leaving her alone in the middle of the catacombs with no clue where to go, trembling in the dim, eerie lighting of the concourse.

She turned to her right, and was struck by a sight so horrifying that she nearly fainted. There was a skeleton, which was par for the day so far, but this one was just… different, in a way that sent shivers down her spine. This skeleton was collapsed by the tunnel just to the right of the one she’d emerged from, and its bones were still arranged like those of a normal corpse, unlike the other skeletons she’d seen that day.

There was an old leather journal a half a meter from its outstretched hand.

[sleepingdeath-light]

child reader getting turned to stone hcs ; dragon cookies

requested by ; shinydrakeon15 (10/09/22)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; ananas dragon cookie, longan dragon cookie, lotus dragon cookie, lychee dragon cookie, pitaya dragon cookie

outline ; “Could I ask for the dragon cookies with a child reader that got turned to stone by longan since they’re a cookie? If you wanna add longan as well that’s fine with me”

warning(s) ; child getting turn to stone, grief, some other general angst

none of the dragons could say what had caused their attachment to you, but they certainly had their theories — lotus dragon cookie believed it was something to do with biology (the need to protect their young), lychee dragon cookie thought it was just a matter of you being adorable, ananas dragon cookie blamed pride (the need to prove themselves as powerful by protecting something as fragile as a mortal child), and pitaya dragon cookie didn’t care enough about underlying reasons to hypothesise about any

not that any of that affected how they treated you, of course, because at the end of the day you were their child and they all adored you in kind regardless of your origins

pitaya dragon cookie’s time with you was spent being playful and adventurous — flying with you in their arms, play fighting with you (and sometimes even letting you win), tossing you up in the air and carrying you under their arm, and just generally doing whatever they can to have you positively shrieking with laughter

lychee dragon cookie is by far the most affectionate member of your new family — smothering you with hugs and kisses whenever you visit their island, bragging about how you’re ‘the most adorable child in the world’ to anyone who will listen, happily resting with you curled up in their arms even when they’re actually quite busy, and generally being a very doting parental figure who loves you more than anything else

lotus dragon cookie does whatever they can to ensure you are set up for a successful life as you grow up: hiring the best tutors for each subject from across the world to ensure that you only get the highest quality of education mortals can offer, using their servants to make sure you keep on top of your studies between sessions of lounging and play, offering their own insights into subjects like history and biology when asked, offering dozens of rewards and incentives for every success, and just generally being an incredibly supportive figure in your life despite coming across as a bit overbearing at times

ananas dragon cookie, meanwhile, instills a strong sense of pride within you and never misses an opportunity to spoil you rotten and show you how much better you are than other mortals: covering you in jewellery and fancy clothes, buying you any toy you ask for the moment you mention it to them, paying for grand outings to fun places around the world, making sure you have as many enjoyable experiences as possible as you grow up, and encouraging you to look down on others whenever you come across them (the other dragons also share that view, they’re just a bit more subtle about it around you)

really you were set to grow up loved and educated and understood in your found family of dragons… until longan dragon cookie found you

until they saw you all on your own, a tiny fragile mortal in the realm of the silver dragon

until they decided to deal with you in the way that they deemed the most appropriate for such an ‘offence’

until you were turned to stone before you could even blink; the eternal child frozen before you even had the time to scream, expression contorted with the beginnings of a terror you never truly got to experience or perceive

until your life came to a sudden, bitter, cold end — just another statue amongst the hundreds that adorned their lair

… your family never was the same after that unforgivable offence, after losing you because of some stupid oversight that led them to bring you with them to that meeting (because, surely, between the four of them they should have been able to keep you safe… should)

they blame themselves, blame each other, and of course are all furious with longan — which leads to them all burning their bridges and going in their own directions to grieve

lotus and lychee have support systems in their followers and, whilst they never truly get over their loss, they are able to live with it afterwards as the centuries go on

ananas returns to their isolation and becomes much more volatile and violent to any mortals that try and approach their lair, grief turning to anger as they relive that day over and over again — they are the one that took what remained of you after the fact and they keep on talking to it in the hopes of bringing you back one day

pitaya leaves everything behind and starts a new life in another kingdom, abandoning their draconic body and becoming an adventurer to avoid their grief — and they do so very well until they run into hollyberry cookie and her companions and end up face to face with a young hatchling that needs to be cared for

a child, so like you and yet so very unlike you at the same time, that forces them to finally face their grief and it breaks them — they are distant in their help with snapdragon cookie but they do offer advice when asked, but it doesn’t hurt any less when they see them and see your excitable face in their own

it hurts, but they will live on no matter how impossible that seems to them in the present

none of them outgrow your loss and they all grieve you and the life you should have had, but that grief manifests differently for each of your family members: pitaya leaves their old life behind, ananas festers in their grief and refuses to leave the past in the past, lotus adapts their grief and grows from it by doing things in your honour, and lychee becomes more isolated and reliant on those under their control to fill the void you left — all different, all separate, all grieving

except for longan, of course, who feels nothing for the life they took for they didn’t know or care to know of the impact that life would have despite how short it had been

you were loved

you are loved

you will always be loved

even if that love changes and grows in your absence

[ms-scarletwings]

A Speculative Analysis About Irkens No One Asked For: Part I

Dem green fellas. Them lil guys, they’re an interesting pack of critters, aren’t they?

I used to really fixate on them back in middle and high school, stronger than everyone else seemed to be on the spazz in the dog costume. Jhonen Vasquez’s worldbuilding has always towed a very fine line between nonsensically ridiculous and surprisingly logistical, and this balance is typified in everything we know, and can infer, about these bug-eyed imperialists at the center of everything Invader Zim. So, let’s infer, and take a crack at it since no one’s stopping us anyway- More specifically, some thoughts and ponderings I had about how they “tick” as a fully realized society, not just a sci-fi monster..

A Homeworld Obscured 

Now, to really understand the history and “deal” of any civilization, or any animal, usually you would turn to their environment first to give you some handy clues and context.

Small problem, though: We actually don’t get much in the way of direct, explicit showing or explanations about Irk itself when it comes to the show. This makes some sense, given that the whole of what they do worth showing (and the most notable members of their kind) exists almost entirely off-world. So instead, we mostly find out more about Irk from what Invader Zim does tell us about its natives. As far as confirmed canon goes, we know that Irk’s atmosphere appears red, its surface is entirely and densely urbanized, and it’s long been depicted in starmaps with a set of Saturn-like rings. 

  This last fact is probably the most interesting, because planetary rings are usually something we, in our own little solar system, would only associate with massive, gaseous worlds, not terrestrial ones.  What These rings are made of is really anyone’s guess- could be ancient debris from natural satellites, Water-ice particles, maybe even some form of artificial defense network put into orbit by the Irkens themselves. If they aren’t artificially created, this would suggest that Irk has quite a strong gravitational field- greater than that of any of our neighborhood’s rocky planets. This is the common theory I personally like to subscribe to, because it would also go hand and hand with explaining why the average height of the irken race is so much shorter compared to that of an adult human. It fits neatly into the “why” question for the sort of athletic skill and agility we’ve seen invaders able to demonstrate on Earth, too, for otherwise being of meek physical prowess. It even adds some credible context for why the very achievement of growing to a more substaintial height is both uncommon and associated with extreme survival fitness to them.

A Fun fact that’s about to be relevant: “Rayleigh scattering” is the term given to when light wavelengths become shifted and scattered through an atmosphere medium. Long story short, it’s the reason our sky has color to it during the day. Stay with me on this.

I’ve also seen some people take a go at the red-looking surface, guessing a different gas makeup than the elements on earth responsible for our blue skies. I’m gonna go against the grain here, and actually contest that. I think that Irk’s atmosphere is coincidentally extremely similar to Earth’s. We know well enough that they both have a similar composition of gases breathable to both societies, given that Zim, Skoodge, and Tak all seemed pretty comfortable without some form of assistance on the same dirtball as humanity. Instead, I propose that Irk’s magenta skies are actually the symptom of heavy pollution. Sunsets and sunrises in the real world are known to make the sky appear more reddish-orange, even pink, as is. Usually, Rayleigh scattering has the light From the sun appear bluish in full midday, but during low sun, the rays are coming at an angle making them have to travel farther before reaching us, so you have already stretched light waves getting the same treatment from the air and, well, a higher frequency blue turns down to the lower end of the spectrum, red and yellows.

And wouldn’t you know, air pollution can actually do the same thing. THIS is why there's a scary ass orange haze known to accompany the presence of massive forest fires and volcanic eruptions. Earth’s most polluted cities even experience longer and redder sunsets for the same reason. 

Left: Image of a lilac sky over a Chinese city experiencing heavy smog levels Right: Intense red haze spotted over towns in Indonesia in the wake of rampant rainforest fires

On Earth, Zim stared directly into the midday sun without hesitation, nor concern that it would literally blind him. I think the planet hue and this is plenty enough to guess the likely case that Irk’s surface probably doesn’t get a lot of direct sun on an average day as is, and the sheer amount of unbroken cityscape that covers the homeworld would be the more obvious suspect than just having a more distant star from them. If they overcrowded to the point of their expansion, why build their civilization deeper into the ground, instead of up? Maybe there's actually a good reason or two they don’t raise their young topside.

A Psychology Molded for Domination

As well, I want to chirp about real world space again for a second. So, anyone up to the buzz in geek circles and aware of the math on the matter probably got the memo: humanity is almost matter-of-fact certainly not alone in this sandbox of a universe (or at the very least, we won’t always be alone). Like, about as certainly as we were about Black holes’ existence before we up and observed the real thing. And while it’s probably not going to happen in any of our lifetimes, sci-fi and media generally have been trying to take a crack for years at what the theoretical first contact with an alien civilization is going to look like. 

And I’m gonna go ahead and say it, 

As “cliche” and Hollywood as the conquering little green/grey dudes trope might have become… it’s actually not a wild take after all. The little and green thing, that’s creative liberty, but the part about them being hostile and something we may not actually even WANT to be aware of our existence? That’s an idea that even the smarty pants experts have been fearing the realistic odds of, even including the late Stephen Hawking .

The Evolution of intelligent life is a hard thing to really pin down and predict, given that we literally only have the one example to study. Under the right conditions, what reason would another advanced species NOT have to be equally as expanding, as exploitative of its resources, self-destructively short-sighted, and as supremacist as humans have already demonstrated themselves to be capable of? There is a lot of very interesting literature that suggests BOTH empathy/altruism and or aggression/tribalism to be (at least in the short term) very rewarding characteristics for an intelligent social species to develop.

And that’s the thing about the behavior of the Irken Armada I think has always been fascinating. Their drive to be the biggest definitionally invasive species across the cosmos is framed exactly as irrational, bumbling, and pointless as it deserves to be; however, is it not just the extended conclusion of every empire that has existed here on Earth, if only it had survived long enough to achieve the technology of Irk? And yet, it’s reminiscent, like the rest of their design, to the far from sapient, yet very real world creatures they appear to be most inspired by: hive and colony building arthropods. Whether the next point I'm about to touch on should be seen as a rejection of that resemblance, or further elaboration of it is anyone's to answer.

Transhumanism, or.. Transirkenism, in this case?

Like the specifics of what Irk really looks like and how it realistically works, a bunch about the aliens’ physical biology is left to scattered tidbits to ponder and piece together into a bigger picture. A few of those tidbits are as follows, drip-fed to us over the course of aired and scripted but never released episodes:

+ From the mouth of Vasquez himself, it has been confirmed that Irkens lack any form of reproductive organs. Instead, they rely on industrialized facilities to grow and produce them in a factory sense.

+ Yet curiously, they still demonstrate something akin to sexual dimorphism, or at least the cultural existence of masculine/feminine genders, where females are aesthetically set apart by the presence of curled antennae, eyelashes, and higher voices.

+ Irken lifespans are able to stretch far past that of an average human’s (Zim himself is cited to be around 2 centuries old in earth years).

+ Invader class soldiers have been implanted with surgical upgrades to their eyes.

+ Every Irken is fitted with a PAK that serves a wide array of utility and life-sustaining functions for its owner. These units are physically and neurologically connected into an Irken’s spine from “birth” and contain a cybernetic backup of an individual’s personality, assigned occupational programming, and memories. 

That’s not close to a complete list by any means, but it’s got the gist of what I want to dwell on most, starting with the last bit; because the PAK isn’t done true justice in one statement. It is not an extra addition the way a prosthetic enhancement is, and it is not a tool the way armor and weapons are. It is literally analogous to a vital organ to these aliens, and they are shown to die within 10 minutes of being forcefully detached from their own.

The degree to which Irken bodies and minds rely on this technology, and how seamlessly they are integrated into it, ALONG with their completely artificial life cycle all directly points to the fact that their civilization has advanced into a cyborg-like stage of evolution. It may even be on track to reach a post-organical peak in due time, phasing out more and more of their “vestigial” and feeble meatsuits until they’ve become a true drone army. And that actually begs some huge questions now that we realize we will never know how much of the Irken anatomy was ever originally a natural feature. An Irken’s own brain practically comes secondary to the superior efficiency of the supercomputer on their back, capable of literally holding their own essence and being in the form of code. A code that can preserve the “self” even in the event of meatbody failure, being uploaded post-mortem into the Control Brains’ collective data and repurposed for a future generation of workers. It absolutely would stand to reason that the species has continued this biological self-tampering to other heights- extending their lifespans, incorporating untold amount of mechanical upgrades into their bodies, and maybe even genetically engineering their smeets to be so compatible with this technology.  The control brains themselves are a mesmerizing reflection of this change over time- the result of an evident shift long ago from technology serving them, to them serving the directives of computers. When you really pay attention to the control brains’ role in the series, it comes clear to you who (or what) is really in charge of their society. The Tallest still maintain their symbolic/cultural importance to the Irkens, but outside of their part in spearheading the active intergalactic invasion, they ultimately are figureheads when it comes to actually running the homeworld and ruling the lives of Irk’s inhabitants. If I had to bet money, I would say the Brains may even have the ability to choose and predetermine the next Tallest when a replacement is needed. But what does that make the Tallest? A meaningless title and transformation, chosen arbitrarily by the AI overlords? Well, I don’t think so, actually… but maybe that, and more on the “meaty” morphology of their race is all a tangent fit for another day and post ;)