#i like jigsaw a bit more in all fairness

[doliwoli]

im such a hater towards jigsaw & spiral.. like. why r they like that.

[macabrebatz]

CLUELESS

(Mark Hoffman/F!Reader)

Summary: You're a bit oblivious and miss every sign that Mark is hopelessly in love with you

Author’s Note: First time writing about Mark, let’s goooo! Fair warning, I haven’t watched the Saw movies in their entirety in a while. I’m still in the process of rewatching the movies so I’m not sure how in character Mark is here. But I tried, and I think this is sweet. I really enjoyed writing it. Also this is part of a request! @stygianoir requested that I do this same concept with Vincent Sinclair and Charles Lee Ray so they’ll be next.

Warnings/tags: Fluff, no use of y/n, fem reader, you don’t know Mark is Jigsaw’s apprentice, Mark gets sick (kind of), bro’s in love and you have no clue, Mark both hates and loves being in love, literally just 2000 words of Mark yearning hard

Word count: 2.2k

The first time Mark saw you at the bar, he didn’t say anything. Not at first. You had come in and sat at the end of the bar, ordering a drink for yourself. He had watched you from across the bar for almost an hour, unbeknownst to you. He wasn’t having a good day. To be fair, he wouldn’t describe most days as good days. But something in him perked up just a bit when you sat down at the bar.

He was practically a regular in the hole-in-the-wall bar the two of you sat in. He recognized all of the regulars when he would come in and ask for his usual drink. You were a new, fresh face. A pretty face.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his ego but he eventually found himself sauntering over to you, sitting on the stool beside you. He offered to pay for your next drink, which you happily accepted. And before you knew it, you were deep into a conversation with him.

“So you’re investigating that Jigsaw killer they’re talking about? God, I can’t even watch the news without getting a little freaked out. Makes you always want to glance over your shoulder, you know?” you said.

The topic of conversation was sobering for him, for reasons that were beyond you. He couldn’t help but wonder how you’d react knowing his secrets. He wondered if you’d scream. If you’d turn him in to the police (as if he’d let you). But those thoughts were pushed to the side as he watched your face as you spoke.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. There’s more of a…pattern to these things,” he said.

And with that said, the conversation shifted to more lighthearted talk. Every time you smiled or laughed, Mark could feel something in him flutter. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he welcomed it. He wanted to keep feeling whatever you were doing to him.

You kept coming to the bar after that, meeting up with Mark almost like he was a lifelong friend. He could’ve sworn he had never spent this much time just talking to someone before. And he wasn’t complaining, he loved every second of it.

Little did you know, you were driving the man crazy. He’d fall asleep at night thinking of you. Sometimes it felt like he was counting down the days until he’d see you.

A month had passed, and you and Mark had ventured out of the bar for your little get-togethers. The two of you would take walks in the park or sometimes you’d convince him to hang out at the mall.

You didn’t consider these dates. You didn’t think Mark liked you in that way. Another one of your friends had teased you when you told them about Mark. They poked you in your rib and asked when was the next time you were seeing your “boyfriend��. And you had immediately shut that down.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend. He doesn’t like me like that.”

To you, he was a really good friend. A really sweet one at that. And you were happy to be in his presence. You wouldn’t mind Mark liking you. You thought he was handsome and kind. He made you feel safe and sometimes there was a deep longing inside of you that was just calling for him. You often felt like he understood you in ways that others didn’t. But he would never be your boyfriend. You were sure of it. So you pushed those feelings down. You highly doubted Mark liked you the same way you liked him anyway.

But oh, you were so wrong. And you didn’t even know it. Mark may have not been your boyfriend, but he sure wanted to be. The only issue is that you weren’t that receptive to his flirting. A part of him wondered if it was him. Was he really that bad at flirting? Or did you just not find him attractive? He soon came to realize that it wasn’t either reason.

You seemed…clueless. Almost like you had never been flirted with before. He kind of thought it was cute. Mildly frustrating, but cute nonetheless. He just wasn’t sure how to make it clear that he was in love with you besides being extremely blunt about it. Not many things scared Hoffman, but love confessions were a new type of fear he hadn’t even realized he had. So he decided to not think about it, as hard as that was. He was head over heels for you but he was patient. Maybe all you needed was time. Maybe you’d realize that the detective was in love.

Mark had kept himself busy with work. It was the only way to distract himself from you. It didn’t always work though. Sometimes thoughts of you clouded his mind even when he was supposed to be thinking of other things. You had become a distraction. An irresistible one at that. There were a few times where he had tried to tell you how he felt but he could never get out what he wanted to say. No woman had ever made him feel this way. He was never nervous or shy around women. But when you were around he would get a lump in his throat. That fluttery feeling would rise within him and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Months passed and you were still unaware of Mark’s feelings about you. You had grown to consider him your best friend. He was a much-needed presence in your life. Unfortunately, that presence had been absent for several days. You hadn’t heard from Mark for almost a week. It was odd because he often called you every other day, or you would see each other in person. Your calls were going unanswered and when another week passed, you were riddled with worry.

You found yourself at his apartment, knocking on the door. There was no answer.

“Hey, Mark. It’s me. I just wanted to check on you,” you said, knocking once more.

And that did the trick. You heard shuffling on the other side of the door and then it opened. Mark stood there, looking rather exhausted. He was wearing slacks and a light grey button-down shirt, which was open, revealing a white tank top underneath. He didn’t look particularly happy. In fact, there was a bit of a scowl on his face.

Your eyes drifted over him, stopping at his neck. Across his skin was a line of stitches. You reached for him, almost instinctively, tracing the skin near the stitches. His face softened, the scowl fading away. If only you knew what your touch was doing to him.

“What happened? Where have you been?” you asked, quietly.

“Been a bit under the weather lately,” he said, gritting his teeth a bit.

Which wasn’t a lie. He felt like shit. His job and the added factor of being down bad for you wasn’t making matters any better.

“Sick for two weeks?” you asked.

“Mhm.”

“And what about this? Gonna explain it?”

You pressed down on the skin of his neck, which caused him to hiss a bit.

“Work-related accident,” he said.

You moved your hand further up, resting the back of your palm on Mark’s forehead. He was burning up.

“I think you have a fever,” you said, concerned.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark said.

“Can we take your temperature to ease my mind?” you asked, taking your hand off his forehead.

The sudden lack of contact could’ve made Hoffman cry, but you were none the wiser. He huffed and nodded his head. He didn’t like the idea of someone trying to take care of him, but for you, he would make the exception.

“Come in,” he said.

He moved out of the doorframe, letting you walk inside before closing the door.

“I can’t believe you came all this way to check on me,” he said as he sat down on the couch.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend,” you said.

Hoffman watched you from his place on the couch. Your back was facing away from him as you went through his medicine cabinet. You were familiar with his apartment from your previous visits. You pulled out a thermometer and a bottle of Tylenol almost absentmindedly. It was as if you had lived there for years and something about that drove Mark wild. Thoughts of you living with him flashed in his mind as you made your way to the couch.

“Open,” you said, as you sat down beside Mark.

Mark opened his mouth, letting you place the thermometer under his tongue. After a few seconds, the thermometer beeped and you pulled it out of his mouth, examining the temperature displayed on the tiny screen.

“Jesus, you do have a fever,” you mumbled.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark said.

“Sure, after we break your fever,” you said.

You stood up, going back into the kitchen. You grabbed a glass and filled it with water. You brought it back to him, placing it in his hand. You then too put two Tylenol pills into his other hand. Mark took the medicine and drank down the glass of water.

“It’s just a fever. I’ll be okay,” Mark said.

“I know, I know. I was just worried about you.”

You sat down beside him, placing your hand on his knee.

And there it was. That all too familiar fluttering was back. A part of Mark hated it. He wasn’t a soft man. He didn’t consider himself as such. But something about you made him melt. Every time you smiled. Every time you laughed. Every time you touched him. Moments like this where you showed that you genuinely cared about him. Everything you did seemed to chip away at him. You were molding him into something he didn’t recognize. Yes, a part of him hated it. But another part of him, the part that was swelling with love, welcomed the change with open arms. For you and only for you, he would be the softest man in the world. He needed you to know. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without laying his heart out in front of you.

About an hour passed. The two of you were watching TV. Occasionally a little conversation would spark up, but for the most part, the two of you sat quietly together. You had gotten comfortable, your head rested on Mark’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Mark said, drawing your attention away from the screen.

Your head perked up, attention shifting towards him.

“For what?” you questioned.

“Checking on me. It was sweet of you to do that,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

You smiled up at him. Mark’s eyes drifted over your face, pausing at your lips for a second.

“I love you.”

It slipped out. He wasn’t sure if it had meant to say it out loud. He was definitely thinking it.

You went still for a moment before shifting in your seat, sitting up straight.

“Um, what did you just say?” you asked. Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“I love you,” he repeated.

That’s what you thought he had said. Your mouth parted a bit, trying to say something, but nothing would come out. Surely he just meant that in a friendly sense, right? Right?

Mark rested his hand on top of yours as he looked at you. Those beautiful blue eyes felt like they were staring into your soul, and you weren’t entirely sure how to react.

“I love you too. I mean, I don’t know what I would do without a friend like you,” you finally spoke.

“And I’m happy that you consider me a friend. But I love you more than just the friendly type of love,” he said.

“Wait, really?”

You were taken aback. You had gone months thinking this exact scenario was an impossibility. You had shoved your true feelings about Mark to the side for months, but suddenly they were rushing back to you. You were suddenly very hyper-aware of how handsome he was. He had always been so beautiful to you.

“You really are clueless, aren’t you? I hoped you would’ve caught on months ago but you’re really persistent about not noticing when someone is flirting with you,” he said with a laugh.

“I….wait. I-“

His hand went from on top of yours to holding it. Mark figured there was no turning back now.

“I love you. I love you so, so much. I never wanted to be with someone more than I want to be with you,” he said.

Your mind was racing. A million thoughts ran through your head. But those thoughts were silenced when you surprised yourself. You moved as if your body was on autopilot, moving forward and placing a kiss on Mark’s lips.

Mark was shocked. By you, by the sudden feeling of your body pressed against him, by the fact that he had finally told you how he felt.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The kiss was gentle and soft, much like you, which didn’t surprise Mark at all.

You pulled away, just enough to look him in his eyes. Mark’s heart ached a bit, not wanting the kiss to end. His arms were still wrapped firmly around you as you brought your hands up to his face, tracing over his skin with your thumb.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, staring into each other’s eyes. Eventually, you found yourself falling asleep in Mark’s arms. He laid awake, holding you. He wanted to hold you until the end of his days.

[promitto-amor]

Should Something Happen

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x You

Summary: While working as Jigsaw Apprentices, Amanda spoils some quality bonding time between yourself and Hoffman.

Warnings: Cursing!

Might this actually be a little bit of fluff? I wanted to do something involving the main Jigsaw crew and a protective Hoffman. 👀

Perhaps the only aspect of being an apprentice Mark enjoyed was the opportunity to work alongside you. Every trap crafted, every game played and every eventual death led Mark one step closer to his freedom. A life no longer in servitude for an impulsive act of vengeance. Mark had always struggled to quell his impulsiveness. It made him good in the field, Mark had earned a fair share of promotions for his quick actions, but his greatest mistake had cost him almost a year of servitude to Jigsaw himself. Until his sentence was up, until mark could be certain both John Kramer and his helper monkey were dead, he would carry out his part in the games with minimal complaint. In the meantime, he could find a steady contentment in watching the slackened, dream-like expression on your face as you fiddled with some shards of broken glass. 

“Careful,” Mark finds himself saying, “It’s not intended to spill your blood.”

You drop the shards back into the glass coffin and wander back to the workbench you’ve commandeered as a desk, “There’s so many traps,” You whine and if it were anyone else Mark would be grinding his teeth together. You flip your notebook onto a fresh page, “Who is this one for again?”

“I try not to make a habit of remembering names.” Mark answers, “Once you name something you get attached.”

You nod, “You’re right.” You pick up your pencil and hover it over the page. “Sadly I don’t have that luxury.” Mark keeps one eye on you as he cleans up his workbench, placing a set of screwdriver heads back in their assigned places. You think for a couple more minutes, your expression growing more pained till you drop the pencil again. “How can I write the tape for someone I know barely anything about?”

“Don’t ask me,” Mark says. “I’ve never been one for words.”

You give him a shrewd look, as if confirming his words. “You have special uses.” You say, jumping off your stool and heading over to a stack of boxes, freshly delivered.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

You send him a small smile, “Brawn, muscle, inside info…” 

“Is that all I am?” Mark can’t help the flicker of irritation he feels, “A meathead?”

“No,” You return to him, catching on you may have offended him. “You…” A couple teeth sink into your lip, “You’re the only one whose behaving.” 

Mark glances towards the open door, connecting the room to the rest of the Nerve Gas House, “Go on.”

You turn cagey, “Ever since Mexico…”

“Ah,” Mark nods, “Say no more.”

“I don’t like what I’ve been hearing.” You admit, “The aim of all this was never revenge.”

“Was it not?” Mark enjoys how your head lifts up to meet his gaze, “Was that not why you got mixed up in all this?”

You fix him with eyes of steel, “Maybe…” You admit, “But not anymore. Seems we’re cut from the same cloth, Detective.”

Mark likes how you say his title, pronouncing every syllable distinctly, “You don’t know me. Not really.”

“Maybe we should work on that?”

Something gives a leap inside Mark. Before he can answer you’re back at the delivery boxes and Amanda is thudding through the door. Her steel toe capped boots echo on the wood, little patches of dust springing up where she steps. She pauses on catching Mark stood in the centre of the room, “Admiring my work?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I thought John made this one?” You pipe up, before Mark can.

“He did.” Mark confirms, “That’s why this one has some refinement.”

“But it was my idea to add the…” Amanda’s points to the walls and then places her hands a couple inches apart. She presses them together slowly, applying pressure. The visual is enough for Mark to look away.

You busy yourself with the boxes again, “There’s nothing but syringes.” You take out one to show the two apprentices.

Mark tosses you a pair of gloves, “Put them on, they probably aren’t clean.”

You make a face and drop the syringe you’re holding, “Great. I’m going to need a check-up after this.”

“Be thankful you’re not the poor bastard diving in there.” Amanda smirks, heading over to inspect the coffin trap. “Is this one done yet?”

“Just needs a couple tests,” Mark says. “Any volunteers?”

“You first.” Amanda holds her arms up as if she’s a presenter, “Get in there, Detective.”

“What about you, babe?” Amanda slinks over to you and throws an arm around your shoulders, “The glass isn’t in yet, it’ll be like taking a good nap.”

“Stop trying to scare her.” Mark’s voice comes out with more bite than he expected. 

Amanda’s eyes flash, “Why you protective all of a sudden, Hoffman?”

Mark would never confess to the bitch before him, but he’s made a mistake and Amanda knows it. “We’re not testing anything without John here.”

Amanda makes a noncommittal noise.

“If John approves it, I’ll test it.” You offer, “I trust him.” Amanda jumps back into performance mode, “Aren’t they precious?”

“If you put this on.” You gingerly remove from another box a very familiar contraption and hold it out for Amanda to see. Mark grins behind Amanda’s back. He can just picture the colour draining from her face. Amanda doesn’t move as you walk past her with the Reverse Bear Trap in hand, “Very funny.” She calls, trying to reclaim some of her bravado.

“I thought so.” You counter, placing the device on the workbench.

Amanda’s scowl only becomes more prominent the longer she stares at her old trap, “Why is that here?” “Inventory.” You supply, “Or so I’m guessing.”

“Something old can always be re-used.” John wheels himself into the room. Wheelchair bound, he surveys the glass coffin standing pride of place in the middle of the room. “Is Laura’s test finished?”

“Almost,” Mark busies himself with checking over the gears situated behind the coffin.

“Laura,” You repeat, scribbling something on your pad. “I couldn’t for the life of me remember.”

John appears amused at your choice of words, “Writer’s block?” You look up as John wheels himself over to you. The Reverse Bear Trap is sat just a few feet away, Mark doesn’t like how close you are to something so barbaric. With you showing John your tape speeches and Mark still preoccupied with the gears, Amanda sulks in the middle. She makes her way over to Mark’s toolbox and grabs a wrench, right in John’s line of sight. Mark thinks it’s pathetic behaviour, how co-dependent she’s become since Mexico. He can see that your worries were justified. She makes her way over to the trap, but Mark has left her with nothing to do.

“There’s one glaring issue I see with this entire game,” You say in a low voice. You glance over to Amanda, “Won’t they all get suspicious if every one of them has a trap but her?”

“What did you say?”

“Amanda,” John cautions as his apprentice as she wheels round on the spot.

“I just worry that something will happen.” You say, closing your notebook and leaning against the workbench. “Are you really betting on all them failing and Daniel just being the last one left alive?”

“He doesn’t have a trap either.” Amanda points out, “I’m not the only one.”

“He isn’t being tested.” John states simply, “That is why you are there, Amanda. To protect him.” He turns back to you, “Nor is Amanda being tested.”

‘I still think we should put something in there.” You hold up your hands, “I think it’s foolish to leave it to chance.”

“Not if you can predict the outcome.”

Mark has heard it all before from John Kramer. He knows your attempts are futile, so he finishes up his work on the coffin and with nothing else to do, makes his way to the door. “I’m done for the night.”

“Thank you, Mark.” John says, “The game begins tomorrow. I presume you’ll be in position?”

“On the monitors.” He nods.

He’s been excused. Mark should go home and rest up for a long day ahead tomorrow. But he can’t quite bring himself to leave. John has resumed helping you with writing out the tape for the trap, but Mark doesn’t like how Amanda won’t leave the two of you alone. Her new behaviour has made him protective. Mark would have liked you to finish up at the same time as him. Perhaps he could offer to drop you home and they could work on getting to know each other.

“You want to put me in that.”

You, John and Mark all turn to Amanda, “What?” You ask.

Amanda nods, “That.” She points to the Reverse Bear Trap, “You want that to be my test. You want me to do it again?”

John glances imperceptibly to Mark. He swallows, so John shares their concern about his favourite apprentice. “Do you know how stupid you sound?” Mark cuts in, taking up what he hopes is a casual position beside you. “Everyone knows you already escaped it. 24/7 news coverage.” You’re still leaning against the workbench as Amanda walks around it, her eyes fixed on you as if you were prey. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” You taunt, “Some poetic justice”, but Amanda doesn’t find it clever. 

She shoves the Reverse Bear Trap toward you, “You don’t deserve to be here.” She hisses. Mark swears he can hear a ticking sound as you brace your arms on the table, “Of all the people to win, it had to be you didn’t it?” “Fair and square.” You return and Mark finds himself wondering for the umpteenth time just what your own game was. Before Amanda, before Mark himself joined Jigsaw, you were tested and won. His eyes fall on the scar on your neck, all that remains of your own brush with death.

“Use your brain,” You counter and your face is far too close to the trap as you glare back at Amanda Young. “You’d have to wake up in it, or someone would have to put you in it. I don’t think either of those are going to work in this game.”

“How about you wake up in it, you bitch?”

Mark’s hands snake around your middle and yank you back just as the trap rips open with a loud bang. The ferocity makes both you and Amanda jump. You would have fallen off your stool if not for Mark’s chest breaking your fall. He can feel the sharp breaths you take as the Reverse Bear Trap cools down and lies dormant once more.

“Amanda, take the trap and put it in my office.” John says. His apprentice turns wide, teary eyes on him, but John’s face is expressionless. “Now.”

She obeys instantly, taking the trap and striding out of the room.

Mark slides you back onto your stool, “Thank you.” You murmur, hand jumping instinctively to your neck.

“Are you alright?” John asks and you nod. Mark can see right through you, he could feel the tremors of your body against his. That was a close call. 

“She’s out of line, John.” Mark says, “I don’t know what the fuck happened over there, but it’s messed with her.”

“Amanda will be fine.” John insists, “She will play her part, so long as she isn’t provoked.” You nod, understanding your own fault but Mark refuses to admit to his own. “Now Detective, I believe we’re finished here. I will see you both tomorrow for the final preparations.”

Mark watches John wheel himself out. The moment he’s gone you rest your forearms on the workbench and place your head on them. You let out a deep sigh. Mark’s never been good at consoling anyone. It’s just not what he does. Not since Angelina…

He spots your fallen notebook and places it beside you, “Need a ride home?” “I don’t think I want to go home.” You say, your voice weak.

“You don’t want to stay here.” Mark says, “You can’t anyway. They all…arrive tomorrow.”

“How can you do that?” You lift up your head, “How can you willingly put people in here knowing they will probably die?” Mark meets your eyes, “I convince myself they deserve to suffer.”

“You don’t lie awake thinking about it?”

“No,” He’s being honest. “I think it’s one less shitty person out there.”

“Then you must think that about me.” You push some hair out of your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not…you know what I did-“

“And you know what I did.” Mark takes you by your forearms, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

Your eyes dart around the room and then land on the glass coffin, “Sometimes.” Mark allows himself time to digest that, it isn’t what he wanted to hear. But your hands come to rest on his own forearms and then you’re pressing your forehead into his chest, “But you make me feel safe. You help me.”

He didn’t expect to earn such close proximity again, this time deliberately. Mark pulls you closer, your hands slide up to rest on his chest and Mark curses his choice to remain in a jacket. Your warmth is tantalising as it seeps into him. Mark tucks you into his large frame and winds his arms back around you.

It feels good to be wanted.

With your face smushed into him, Mark rests his head atop yours. He doesn’t know what else he can do, so he lets his eyes close. “We can look out for each other.” He proposes, “Should something happen.”

“I’d like that.”

[irvingcoded]

time for "random lieut trivia that i made up" sunday ✨

aka "sorry i've had a bad headache and whimsically felt like making a silly post"

jirving would collect porcelain and ceramic figurines— not just precious moments-style fare but also woodland creatures in cute little outfits (think beatrix potter) and undoubtably at least a few token hummel

also i think he'd WANT to collect custom antique dollhouses + furniture (but NOT dolls) but probably can't justify the indulgence to himself just given how much space they take. but he loves antique fairs and shops and basically his home is like a grandma's house; dust covers on the furniture, unappetizing snacks (unless he was expecting company well in advance) (in which case he'd still probably choose the wrong kind), guest room with a quilted bed spread that is always faintly musty but in a cozy way like a b&b... etc

hodgson would collect barbie dolls and memorabilia (basically exactly smithers on the simpsons)—

but his home would be more modern and chic than irving's, still a bit grandma-esque but more like the cool grandma who has a stylish condo and active social calendar in miami. keeps up with all the gossip & would have special portraits painted (complete with fake signatures) of any pets

little would collect jigsaw puzzles of historical battles & also like commemorative plates...

and he'd have 2 or 3 big dos like st bernards or something. very un-fussy home with a lot of acreage for dogs to run around and also privacy and quiet, not quite a Recluse Cabin but more like an old fixer-upper farm house. big enough to accommodate family visits! lots of mismatched second-hand furniture and something like a perpetually unfinished porch swing

[isleofair]

Thank you so much for the tag, @applescabs!!! 🥰💚

Are you named after anyone? After, of all things, a 15th century noblewoman (whom I always thought was a saint, but actually wasn't, I just found out!) My mom saw an amazing statue of her on a trip and loved it, and her name, so much that she named me after her.

When was the last time you cried? I teared up a little yesterday when I got my friend's wedding invitation in the mail. The last time I properly cried was... huh. I think a couple of weeks ago, watching TV. That's a fair amount of time for me to go without crying, so go me!

Do you have kids? No, and I don't want any.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? A bit less than I used to, and not a lot in general. Only when I think it will be funny, or when I need to make an underhanded comment about something that ticked me off but I can't do much about.

What sports do you play? None. I am a very inactive person, sadly. I hope I can at least start going on more walks as the season keeps warming up.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? If they seem friendly or not.

What’s your eye colour? A very, very dark brown.

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings all the way. I can't handle scary stuff very well at all. 🫣

Any special talents? I'm fairly good at languages (I learned them easily in school and I usually have a decent shot at figuring out what a word might mean if it's in a language that has at least some relation to the ones I know/have studied). Sadly, the only one I'm still fluent in (besides Italian, of course) is English, because it's the only one I use regularly.

Where were you born? Italy, smack dab in the middle of the top part of the boot, lol

What are your hobbies? Writing fic, reading fic, scrolling Tumblr, playing video games (mostly just Pokémon), playing D&D, and very occasionally drawing or weaving bracelets or assembling jigsaw puzzles.

Do you have any pets? My two cats, Sasha and Misha 🥹🥹 They're tabby-and-white twins, they're almost 5 years old, and they're the ones I come home to. 💚💚

How tall are you? 164cm, although sometimes when I'm in a hurry I just say 1.65m 😅

Favourite subject in school? All the sciences and Math, though I also liked English when I started having it as a subject.

Dream job? Writing a single novel, or a trilogy or something like that, that becomes inexplicably popular, gets a movie deal, and gives me enough residuals to potentially live comfortably while bumming around on my couch writing fanfic for the rest of my life.

I am tagging (but only if they want to answer, zero pressure, as usual!) @nicoroni, @imaginatorofthings, @zimithrus1, @thekuraning, @saltedpin, @horikoshi-secret-ao3-account, @damedanedameyodamenanoyo, and anyone else who sees this and wants to play! 💖💖💖

[luveline]

I know this is a long shot and probably too asks you for, but pregnancy loss with Eddie? Im on my own in this and I lost my daughter last week at 24 weeks and I've been reading your fic to try to calm down before bed, I know it's a heavy ask feel free to ignore.

hey my love, i wanted to say thank you for your request, and that i am so, so sorry for your loss. i can't imagine how you feel, i know words just aren't accurate for how it must feel for you. i hope this can offer you even the tiniest bit of comfort, and that you're as okay as you can be during such a difficult time. all my love <3 

cw for pregnancy loss

Your face fits like a jigsaw piece in the curve of Eddie's neck. His chin presses gently to the top of your head, his arms wrapped loosely around your ribs where he holds you from behind. The bedroom is dark, and the TV is off. You can't bear the noise. 

His hand eases up to just under your chest. "Wanna try eating something?" he asks. 

"I don't think so," you say. Your voice is near monotonous. You know you're breaking his heart, if it isn't already completely shattered. You just can't seem to find the will to move. 

"No?" he asks, rubbing your sternum over your t-shirt gently. "That's okay. We can eat something in the morning, sweetheart. Just don't want you sleeping hungry." 

You turn your face further into his chest, rubbing your nose into his chest. You hope it says that you're here for him as he's here for you, but you're not feeling present. 

He smells like his hair conditioner even hours after he showered. You sniff. The sniff turns to a sniffle of its own accord, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. The pain of it all hits you like an unstoppable wave, and it's a surprise how quickly it can turn from an under the skin thrumming to full body agony. 

You can't breathe, it hurts that badly. 

Eddie sounds teary as he says, "Sweetheart, it's okay. It's okay." His face drops further down. He's pleading with you. "It's alright, just breathe." 

It's hard to quantify the feeling. Grief like paralysis. There's only one thing you want that could help, and it is devastating, because it's the one thing you can't have. Eddie's offered to do so much for you but he can't change what's happened. 

You press your hand to your stomach and the agony turns white hot —you can't think. 

Eddie hushes you softly, turning you in his embrace so he can pat your back. It's worse for a moment to be treated with the tenderness he would treat a child, knowing what you've lost, but the constant touch and rhythm helps you to breathe. To cry without gasping for air. 

"It's okay," he says again quietly. You think he might be crying too, his face hidden but his voice tenuously strung. "Please don't wind yourself up again, honey. I know it hurts, but you scared me… I need you to take it easy, please." 

"I–" Sobs from what feels to be the base of your chest shake apart your words. "I just want her, I just– I– Eddie. If I just–" 

"No," he cuts you off firmly. "Stop it." 

"But if I–" 

"Stop it. I'm serious. There was nothing else you could do." His arms cross over your back, the bridge of his nose pressed hard to your temple. "You did everything you could do. You did everything. And I'm so proud of you for how you're making it through this, I'm," —a breathlessness trips him up— "so sorry."

"It's not your fault," you say. You feel sick. 

"And it's not yours. You have to know that." 

You needle your arm under his back, clinging to his chest. "I'm scared I won't make it through this," you confess into his shirt, barely audible, your shoulders tensing.

"You will. I'm right here with you, but you're more than strong enough all by yourself. Strongest girl I ever met, and you can lean on me as long as you need to, alright? I don't care how long you need to feel like this, honey, s'long as you give yourself a break." The heel of his palm drives a long and slow path to the small of your back. "I love you. It's not fair." 

You tilt your head back and push your hand up to his cheek. He immediately moves into your palm. "I love you," you whisper. 

"Try and get some rest, alright? I'll be here when you wake up." Eddie meets your eyes. His gaze is sorry, and loving, and endlessly patient. "Promise." 

You squeeze your eyes closed and try to sleep. 

[my-own-walker]

Jigsaw Falling Into Place

Anonymous asked: Can you do some smut ab evan himself?

note: i am getting back into writing more small stories because i don't wanna get bored of the series haha. trying something a lil different

summary: in 2011, indie musician/rockstar reader has had a thing going with evan peters for a while. neither of them can stop thinking about each other. it's high time they talked it out.

warnings: sm*t, being delulu with a celeb fantasy, f1ngering, p in v, rushed plot lol

+

I loved doing strange things in the name of art. Even if it meant stirring up a bit of controversy. I had my fair share of weird music videos and clothing choices that turned heads. It's what you need to do to get noticed.

My band and I received some negative press when I said some...choice words about men in an interview. Why people were shocked that the female lead singer in a band had strong feminist viewpoints was beyond me. In my time away from working, aka, hiding from the controversy, I spent time socializing.

Being in my early 20s, I felt my freedom was stifled by my schedule and record label obligations. Now that I was being forced to step away, I had time for a social life. I went to more parties and met cool people. One of which being this guy, Evan.

Although we never said it to each other, I think we both knew.

From the moment we locked eyes, I knew one thing; I wanted to know him. I'm not sure if it was him or I that moved toward the other first, but we met in the middle of the crowded room, like a fucking movie, and he said:

"You look...you look very nice. B-beautiful, I mean. Damn, why can't I speak?" He looked around bashfully, saying 'I hope no one heard that' with his eyes.

I returned the compliment with a lopsided grin and a simple, "I'm Y/N."

After a lengthy conversation off in a corner somewhere, I wrote my number down on the back of his hand and took off, fucking off back to my apartment to seem mysterious. I waited by my cellphone with bated breath, seeing if he'd follow the "three-day rule." He texted me within an hour of me leaving.

We saw each other regularly for weeks after, continuously finding reasons to hang out. I was a spellbound darling in the haze of a precious love story, fawning over a starry-eyed boy.

My desire to seem aloof and therein more appealing, though, made me act coy in his presence. I could see it in his eyes that he felt the same, but I wasn't about to make that my problem. My fear of rejection kept me from overstepping the line of friendship.

Another drunken night at a bar after seeing some indie band play left me with some bad press again. I got caught mouthing off to a photographer who was hounding me in the street. A classic story, right?

Due to that, though, I was seriously put in time-out by my label, them advising me to stay home for a while. To avoid nightlife, that is. Just until it all blew over. I sat bored in my apartment, trying to write songs when my cell phone buzzed.

E: hey!!! how are u?

you heard :/

E: yeah. bummer :^(

i'll be fine. more time to b productive!

E: what are u up to now?

about to make dinner :D

E: ooo whatcha makin?

salad!

E: make enough for 2?

I can ;)

E: what's ur address? i'm coming over

I threw my phone onto the couch and sprung into action. I had to make the space look as presentable as possible for his visit. We had known each other for about a month, but neither of us had been to each other's place.

It took him next to no time to arrive. The knock at the door announced his arrival. I physically dropped what I was doing to let him in, anxious to see him.

He stood outside my door, rosy cheeks and bleach-blonde hair making his appearance seem almost ethereal. His eyes sparkled when he saw me.

"Come in," I smiled, gesturing toward the open space of my living room.

"Wow, it's nice in here," he cooed. I parted from him to return to making dinner. I watched as he observed the space and meandered over to the sofa, flopping down a a large sigh.

"What's the matter?" I asked, laughing.

"It was an ordeal getting in, is all," he chuckled, leaning forward in his seat to peer in at me.

"Why? My doorman is rather nice..." I returned.

"No, I made sure I got in in a way that I couldn't be seen," he explained. "I know you probably don't want to get caught with a mysterious guy sneaking into your apartment,"

"And why's that, Evan?" I challenged, finishing up and heading into the living room to sit with him.

"Big news, and all," he said, bashfully. "All things considered."

"I'm not worried about it, honestly," I assured him, putting a hand on his arm. "I've found that once you've ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely."

He coughed lightly and pulled at the collar of his sweater before sitting back with his arms crossed, very obviously checking me out with a smirk on his face. I ran my hand through my hair and adjusted the way I was sitting. So many words to say, but neither of us had the courage to do so.

All at once, Evan's lips were on mine. At first, I tensed up and pulled back, then, I relaxed into it, putting a hand on his cheek. We kissed passionately, his arms eventually snaking around my waist and pulling me even closer.

"My god," he gasped, pulling away. "You're fun to kiss."

I could only reply with a bashful laugh, my cheeks burning red.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he exhaled.

"I've been wanting you to do that for a while," I returned, resting my hand on his chest. He looked down at the touch and back up at me with a glint in his gaze. The moment lingered, and I was spellbound in the light of his undivided attention.

"I never pictured myself getting this far. I don't know what I'm doing, quite frankly," he admitted, his brows turned up in disbelief.

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his, pausing for a moment before giving in to the need to kiss him again. We pressed our foreheads together in the tightest embrace, this being the result of weeks of restraint.

Although we never said it to each other, I think we both knew.

His left hand threaded in my hair, his right still firmly wrapped around me, I was lit on fire. The all-consuming moment made it hard to breathe. I wanted him all at once. I wanted his very essence to touch every part of me. Every cell and fiber and bone in my being.

It mattered not what was going on in the world. The problems and the hurt and the unrest. At that moment, it wasn't our fight. Not our war. No longer a worry.

Evan was the only thing that mattered. Him.

"I need you," I murmured against his lips, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in my hands and pulling him on top of me.

It was like diving into the ocean, too swept up in the current to realize I was drowning in him. His hands were all over me. Pulling at my clothes and feeling at the glimpses of bare skin underneath.

I wanted all of it.

Just as I tugged his sweater over his head. Just as he pulled at my t-shirt. Just as I undid his belt. Just as he slid my skirt down over my knees. Just as he threw his own jeans across the room. A warmth spilled into my chest and spread outward. His presence soaked through my skin.

His lips ran up my neck and stopped next to my ear. "Okay?" he whispered.

"Yes," I breathed.

He spread my legs apart softly before lining himself up with my entrance. I moaned in his mouth when he penetrated me. He kissed me until all I could breathe was him. I ran my hands up his naked back as he found his rhythm.

I lost track of time. I was intoxicated by the heat of the moment, the warmth of his body, the waves of intense pleasure. There was something there that was real and raw and rare. We fit together like a jigsaw falling into place.

Before long, I found myself ready to succumb to the waves of pleasure. Evan must have seen it, because he paused for a moment, to say: "Not yet, beautiful." He pulled out of me and kissed me all over my body, tauntingly slow.

Then, he slid his fingers into me, setting a lazy rhythm that made my back arch and my toes curl. I existed at his very will. And all at once, after clinging desperately, I let go with a light moan. The pressure boiled over. Shudders shook me as I rested my forehead on his.

Evan's hands tightened on my waist. "Alright?" he asked, making sure he had permission to enter me again. I nodded.

He slid in. My arms were wrapped around his shoulders, my uneven breaths fanning his throat. He came with a masculine groan. The moment soaked through my skin. I could have lived in it forever.

We lay together in momentary bliss, I stroking his sweaty hair, him tracing shapes onto my arm with his finger.

"I love you," he whispered, before pausing entirely and saying a bit louder, "god, I mean, I love, holding...you."

I chuckled softly and guided his chin up to kiss me again. "You do?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"I didn't mean to say that but yeah, I think I love you," he replied bashfully.

"Well, I think I love you, too, Evan," I smiled. He hugged me tighter, inhaling deeply in the crook of my neck. "God, I forgot all about dinner," I spoke after a beat. "Are you hungry?"

"No, not for salad," he laughed. "If I'm being honest, I don’t even like it. I just lied to get to your apartment."

+

DID MY BEST TO "TEXT" LIKE IT WAS 2011 FORGIVE ME!!! CRINGE!!! This was a fun one to write hope u like it and pls lmk if you do!!! (but not if you don't)

[alastor-simp-page]

Charlastor Week 2024: The Princess and the Cat

HELL YEAH GUYS! CHARLASTOR DAY 1 IS HERE! And its Cursed Cat Charlastor for the prompt!!!

I decided to do a Princess and the Frog type thing: cursed-ish edition. I'm so sorry.

Alastor is turned into a Cursed Cat Alastor and the curse can only be broken if he kisses a princess. Otherwise, the only princess in Hell: Charlie. Chaos ensues.

Alastor disliked Susan. No, more than disliked…despised that old bitch. However thankfully he had created a useful system to avoid said bitch: the AL system. Yes, simple, he knows. It could simply be a sentence but no, he insisted on naming it after himself.

The first step is: abort. Abort the situation at all costs. And if that fails which it usually does no matter how many times he tries to slink away. The second step: laugh it off with the woman until she finally leaves him alone. Neither of these were working at the moment as the old woman was jabbering her head off mingled spit with words and all. 

The AL system was unfortunately not flawless. And Rosie wasn’t flawless either. Rather a traitor is what he should call her. “Alastor, you know I really gotta get going. The Emporium calls.” She tapped him on the shoulder, sauntering away but not before he grabbed her wrist.

“No, Rosie, you can’t leave me with…” Alastor’s crimson eyes glanced back to Susan who was now jabbing her cane at him, “with this!” 

Rosie’s black eyes crinkled as she held back a laugh. All she did was lean in and peck him on the cheek before giving him a little wave, “Toot-a-loo, Alastor.” She called before hurrying down the sidewalk to the Emporium.

Ugh. Alastor scoffed. The audacity of that woman. He loved her all the same but, well…he had abandoned her the last time the pair had an encounter with the all too charming Susan. Fair enough. 

He grumbled as Susan fixed her glasses on her nose and quizzed, “You getting cozy with the princess of Hell, Bambi? Eh?” The words fell off her upheld tongue like poison onto the sidewalk. A few cannibals on the side of the road turned their heads at her words. His stomach flipped over and twisted in his insides. 

Instead, he tilted his head, “Well, she’s my business partner. Nothing more, nothing less, Susan.” He shifted on his loafers, his gaze shifting to the blinking sign in the far distance of the Hotel. Pink lights against the eternally blazing sky of Hell.

Thud. He stumbled a few feet back, dazed and confused until he saw her extended cane. The nerve of her! Did she jab him with her cane? She spat, “You’re a fool, Alastor. A goddamn fool.” The old bitch huffed, adjusting her feathered hat and glaring at her from behind her glasses, “You know, I like you even if you’re a bit dense.”

Confusion flooded his senses. Was he supposed to be flattered or insulted? It was perhaps better if he didn’t know which. He wasn’t a fool nor was he dense, yet he knew better than to have a loose tongue. The last time a demonic Susan had ripped through that wrinkled skin and squinty eyes it wasn’t pleasant, at all. Alastor would never admit it to a soul, but it was terrifying even. There was a reason why Susan was the head of the town: the ultimate ruthless cannibal.

“How do you feel about cats, kid?” Susan wrinkled her nose, studying him through the eyeglasses. This woman was endlessly confusing. Switching subjects like a broken radio station. He’d grown used to her strange habits unfortunately. 

“I hate them.” Alastor said plainly, arching a brow at her. If anyone was a cat person, it had to be this crazy old woman. Only a cat could endure the hardship of a woman such as Susan: the art of simply tolerating. 

“Good.” Susan grinned. Oh. Oh no. Susan grinning? In a panic, shadows started to wreath around his figure in a vain attempt to escape yet it was too late. 

Crimson light grasped his ankles dragging him down into the pavement. A strange sensation washed over him as if his atoms were being pulled apart and put together again. A jigsaw puzzle made of ten different puzzles, fitting pieces that didn’t fit together.

He blinked. The world felt a bit bigger. And he was met with a horrifying sight: Susan’s hairy ankles. A small screech escaped him as he scrambled back on his legs. Legs? Something was strange. More fur than usually scratched at him. 

An ice chilling cackle split any of the confusion in two. Susan squatted down and tapped him on the nose, cooing at him, “Aren’t you an ugly looking thing.” A mirror was grasped in her too long fingers, and she presented it to him, “Take a look.”

✽ 

“CHARLE! CHARLIE THERE’S A WERID ASS FUCKING CAT OUTSIDE!” The screaming awoke her. There was no mistake that it was Angel Dust’s voice. At this point it was routine. She blinked a few times as the light streamed across her bed, caressing her with its warm glow. Charlie groaned, sitting up in her bed and kicking on some fluffy slippers. 

No rest for the wicked, she supposed, perks of being the Princess of Hell. She stumbled out of the door into the empty hallway, half awake, and half asleep. That tired fogginess still clouded her brain as she dragged herself down the stairs.

She could handle a weird cat. At least Niffty hadn’t started another fire. Charlie didn’t know how many more coffee machines she could afford if that kept up. Her Dad might finally cut the trust fund.

“What? What! I’m here. What’s wrong?” Charlie almost flopped onto the floor as she dragged herself towards the crowd around the door. The carpet was soft enough that she wanted to curl up on it and go nap again. Well, she was the hotelier. Wait, she scanned the various heads of her guests. Where is Alastor? 

She frowned but still pushed her way through. So much for him handling “crisis duty” while she took a much-needed nap. Angel Dust let out a breath as he saw Charlie emerge, “Thank God, you’re here Charlie. What the fuck do we do with this?” He pointed a finger at the problem sitting on their doormat.

Charlie blinked once. Twice. It was a cat. Yes, a weird one, an appropriate description. It had an almost pomegranate colored fur and little black colored “socks” on its feet and far too fuzzy ears. It’s too wide crimson eyes glared up at her with one monocle placed under its right eye. A golden smile stretched across its face. It looked…familiar. She tilted her head at the sight. It was…weird but cute. 

Without thinking twice, she scooped up the little demonic cat in her arms. Vaggie screeched beside her, holding out a hand, “Charlie!” 

Something warm pooled in her heart as she looked at its too wide eyes. “Awww!” Charlie clutched the strange looking cat close to her chest, nuzzling her head into the top of its head. “You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?” She cooed.

“Put me down.” Something said. No, someone? Something? 

Charlie lifted her head, staring around at everyone. “Did someone say something?” Angel Dust looked to Husk who looked to Vaggie who then looked to Niffty. A shrug was the universal answer.  

“PUT ME DOWN!” The voice hissed louder. 

“Uh…I think the cat just talked,” Angel Dust stared wide eyed at the demonic bundle in her arms. 

“What?” Charlie looked down at the cat. Its smile was stretched thin, its ears all the way back.

And it spoke through its golden smile. “PUT ME DOWN!”

“GAHHHHH!” Charlie screamed as she dropped the cat like a sack of potatoes and stumbled a few steps back. A loud yell accompanied the chaos as everyone scrambled away from the demonic thing. 

To be continued underneath...

[revalition]

HELLO!!! congrats on finishing the intellect skills!!! :D!! this ask is your free pass to share any INT quotes you didn't get to share this week >:3!!! i would LOVE to read all of your cool quotes!!! <33 (if you have more than can fit in this ask i CAN AND WILL SEND YOU ANOTHER if you want me to!! hkjg <333)

hello voli!! ooh... I like this. You also get my not-asked-for comments on them, yay!

fair warning that most of these are probably 'less good' quotes since i had to pick and choose the ones I liked best to put in the posts. but. anyway.

making a cut here because it's gonna be loooong

lots of Logic ones! he has the most passives of all the skills so...

hehe logic won't let you mess up some important stuff!

this second one, Kim will stop you. And if Kim's not there, Reaction Speed will stop you (easy). And if RS doesn't fire, Logic stops you haha.

he gets so excited! very rarely!

go go logic deny it!

big one, but I love when so many talk at once. yeah logic, why didnt you think of it?? hmm??

as always, it's you who's dumb! never ever logic

it's endlessly funny to me when the skills ask the others to contribute and then they just... dont show up.

good question...

This one is SO funny. Logic. ily. this is also a Medium check!! I completely missed this one when searching through earlier. I wish fayde could just bomb my computer with all the logic dialogue so I could sift through 80 pages of it, instead of limiting it to 100 results :(

(this shows up if the query is too big - Sorry, all the words from your query were filtered out. Please use less common words, and ones which are longer than 1 letter (partial and mid-word matches count, you see, so searching 'd' would return everything with a 'd' in it, and that's like 53,000 records, you won't want to read all that!) and, like... no, no, you are severely underestimating me. I actually do want to read all that, desperately)

anyway.

Logic passive fails my beloved

is he not creative enough to make something up?? echem, drama, and inland come up with times for him

hghhk the great serotonin jackpot. I'm super normal about electrochemistry. who is NOT an int skill and will have to wait. logic's comment heals your morale!!

ah yes, very normal things for a joyrider to have in their car. ty logic!

his love of jigsaw puzzlessss

what could go wrong??

related:

this is a different check! but thank goodness for these guys and their stupidly brilliant ideas. saved the day in my 1 INT run.

wow! sarcastic logic my beloved. one second before empathy throws moralism at you

mmm, this one isn't super logic focused, but you can't get this dialogue without passing the challenging Logic passive... and it's really interesting.

this is about to get really rambly but I read a story once about if when you die, your soul travels to a timeline where the flow of events was different and you didn't die. But as your life progresses, avoiding death becomes less and less likely... (eg, avoiding death by getting hit by a bus would take you to a very similar timeline. But avoiding death from old age...) and by the end, the world was unrecognizable. It was a bit sad... I wish I could remember what it was called.

This dialogue reminded me of it. Of the improbable futures. A world where you hit that 3% chance on the dice over and over and it slowly changes everything.

anyway!!

if you didn't deduce that the 2mm hole in the world is a baby pale, a Legendary Logic passive can deduce that it's really off that your radio is catching entroponetic crosstalk all the way in Martinaise.

If you deduce the pale in the church, Soona comments that the recording in the electronic doorbell is likely crosstalk, and Kim makes a comment about often getting crosstalk on the police radio as well.

But it doesn't seem like anyone else has come to the same conclusion...

Harry knows a lot more about the pale than he should.

The final rest state for reality.

hustler logic!!

Logic... come on man. this is not helping. The whole dream is so horrible. He's so nonchalant about it too.

Look at this! The variable is called volition tea... Conceptualization imagining the yummy ginger tea for you is so sweet

I love this. Poor Kim...

Thank you Conceptualization. We would be lost without you.

:(((

poor harry

KIM don't take away concy's poetic name!! >:(

I love these twooo.

and that's apparently 30... uhm. I got extra logic and conceptualization ones in at least..?

you can feel free to send another ask if you actually want even more haha

I was supposed to spend tonight assembling volition quotes!!! and then I somehow got sidetracked on this for (checks clock...) 2 hours. oops. but it's okay cause I picked up lots of other great quotes to shove into my giant doc!

ok :) that's it. thank you for the ask!!! hopefully you don't regret asking (though if you do... you should have known better lol)

[horrorknife]

can u expand on where they drop the ball on john's character bc outside of like spiral and jigsaw (which. i havent seen but what i hear about its backstory) i remember him being the most consistent one

honestly it just feels like they lost the plot with him after saw iii (the last one leigh whannell wrote) because like...a lot of it i feel is really clumsy in its execution. saw (2004) jigsaw is the most faithful portrayal of the character because it's the first and was the only planned instance for the character. leigh making amanda his apprentice in ii is a good play because it makes sense that he'd need a little bit of assistance.

john is definitely the most consistent character throughout the movies because he's the bread and butter of the whole series but i kind of...just think it's really bullshit the way they strip him of most of his ability to be involved with the traps after a certain point. and like, yeah, he's dying and old. but at the same time i feel like it's hard to ignore that he's pushed to the side as far as being involved almost at all with (onscreen) trap production and overseeing games in favor of younger and more attractive people getting that screen time. i just think it's kind of lame that we hardly get to see him doing his thing outside of showing amanda and hoffman stuff.

also not a fan of how the later saw films (notably v/vi/vii) lean so heavily on multiple-person games to the point where it's genuinely difficult to keep up with who's onscreen and what their minor indiscretions were. i know saw ii is a multi-person game but if we take into consideration that darren lynn bousman was just allowed to take his personal script and attach it to saw ii while tweaking it with leigh whannell...it doesn't and never has felt like a saw movie to me (because it wasn't one to begin with). and this unfortunately set the precedent for later films to do big fuckoff games with ridiculous amounts of people. it makes the emotional beats of the story get muddled and doesn't really give the audience time to care about these characters or feel fear. it feels inconsistent with johns ususal schtick to me because, like...i think if he were to do Big games like that the times should definitely be different? it doesn't make sense for adam and lawrence to get 8 hours but the nerve gas house folks to only be given 3 hours. i guess it's mostly just up to personal interpretation but i feel like john's character and motives become watered down the further we get from the original film. it's also just bad fucking writing for them to insist he's 52.

from what i remember of jigsaw (ive only subjected myself to it once because it was That Bad), he just feels like a shell of himself. yknow when a fanfic writer writes a character and you can tell it's based on their very limited and mediocre understanding of the character? it felt like that. he was there sure but his bones certainly were not lol.

not to mention the trap at the end of saw x which Really pissed me off because of the straight up hypocrisy? john's most hard and fast rule is that the subject does REQUIRE a way to get out because that makes it 'fair' to him (it isn't but we have to use his logic here lol). where is that in the epic bad luck scene? they straight up just kill that guy. i think that's hooooooorseshit because the entire fuckin reason hoffman was blackmailed into giving his life to john was for Straight Up Killing A Guy and disguising it as a jigsaw trap.

also i honestly do sometimes find the gideon plotline to be a little stupid. i'm sorry. john could have just been a crochety old man who hated drug addicts for the sake of hating drug addicts. it's just a little too convenient of a retcon for me to get behind sometimes. "his wife worked at an addict rehab clinic and we lost our baby because of an addict" feels like it reflects more on patrick melton and marcus dunstan tbh. "i want people to appreciate the time they have on this earth without ruining their lives" translates much better to me when it's because of his cancer. we didn't need another "reason" for his behavior especially when he's the main antagonist? mostly what i'm saying is that the writer collaborations/handoffs and yearly releases really hurt the character because he gets gradually weaker over the course of the films

[the--highlanders]

I hope you don't mind me asking but what are your favourite Jamie EU stories?

oh my god not at all, I never mind being asked about my favourite little guy <33

I'm gonna break this down by media type, but there's some parts of the eu like comics that I'm not super familiar with, so if anyone wants to add some of those on (or any other eu stories) then go ahead!!

putting this under a cut because it got LONG rip

big finish

the jigsaw war

jamie is trapped inside a puzzle, experiencing events out of order, and has to figure out how to escape. this is THE audio for me in terms of like. recognising that jamie isn't stupid just because he comes from the eighteenth century. he really gets to shine on his own rather than being relegated to 'dumb exposition prompter' (which I feel like some audios can be kinda guilty of.....) also the fact that two and jamie canonically have a strong enough connection to form a psychic link over long distances makes me chew through glass. this audio GETS it in a way some others just don't.

the glorious revolution

two, jamie, and zoe travel back to the time of the glorious revolution, the event that set the jacobite cause in motion, and jamie grapples with not being able to change the past. if you saw that audio snippet going around a couple days ago you'll have an idea of why I'm reccing this one. it has been a while since I've listened to it & I do really want to relisten and check it out for historical accuracy. but regardless it's another one that gives jamie some of the depth he deserves, this time in terms of emotional depth and his feelings about his backstory.

the selachian gambit

two, jamie, ben, and polly get caught in the middle of an alien bank heist. this one is pretty focused on ben, polly, and jamie as a trio - they're largely taking on the action while two keeps the detective work of the plot chugging along. jamie doesn't hugely stand out here in terms of the audio really adding something to his character, but it does show his dynamic with ben and polly pretty well. in particular there's some great scenes with him and ben working together, and I love their friendship a lot so that's always a good time.

honourable mentions: helicon prime (I do feel this one underutilises jamie a bit and undersells him in some weird ways, but if you're looking for two/jamie content you can't get much gayer than this. plus it's the origin of the whole 'jamie and kirsty get married' thing which I hate on principle & am obsessed with in practice), the phantom piper (it's got so much more potential than it gives imo but the tidbits that we get are so good. jamie's relationship with his grandparents.... his best friend taking a bullet for him and dying in his arms...... I just wish I could explain to the author that there's no such thing as a bedroom door in a blackhouse)

novels

the roundheads

two, jamie, ben, and polly travel back to the 1600s, and get largely split up by events unfolding around them. this is a pure historical and it delights in that. if you're after ben and polly content, the roundheads delivers on that too - but it really is some great early twojamie content. (whatever way you choose to read them - it's definitely a shippable book if you're into that). they spend the majority of the book together, both for plot reasons and just hanging out (they go to a frost fair!! two buys jamie treats and then makes himself a flower crown!!) and you get a great sense of jamie figuring two out early into his travels, and how he's far more interested in the doctor as a person than some other companions - he's the only one to show interest in susan when the doctor namedrops her, for instance. this is the best two-era book to me.

the wheel of ice

two, jamie, and zoe visit a space station built a little before zoe's time, and find that not everything is as it seems. again, this is a great one for zoe content as well as anything else, and for some very sweet moments with zoe and two. I don't necessarily feel this one always nails two and jamie's dynamic, but they don't spend a massive amount of time together here, so it's not too jarring. really I'm reccing this because of the scenes where jamie falls in with a bunch of teenagers from the space station, and finds himself kind of responsible for them. it's just nicely done and gives a good sense of jamie as a caretaker character and someone who feels a drive to be responsible for other people.

honourable mention: the episode novelisations (these are a lot of fun, especially if you have particular episodes you enjoy. they often add in extra details, background for side characters, or just little things from the episodes that were cut from the script. I really like them for adding a bit more depth and life to existing stories, and just little things that make you go 'yeah I'll add that to my belief system').

short stories

the time eater/across silent seas

two and jamie give a massive time-eating creature a funeral, and save a space whale from being turned into a weapon. both from the compilation destination prague. literally nobody gets me like the destination prague stories get me I'm not even kidding. these are THE eu two stories to me. both of these are arguably 6b, and they really work in that position - both in showing two and jamie with a very settled, devoted dynamic and in their themes and subject matter. the time eater is a story with no villain, and even the incidental threat of the dying creature causing havoc in time is secondary to the emotional keystone of jamie helping two accept death rather than running away. across silent seas has jamie nearly being aged to death and two absolutely losing it. they're both really about age and death and loss, which hits hard for 6b, with jamie's determination to stay with two forever and two's growing realisation that even if jamie doesn't choose to leave or survives their adventures, his lifespan is still going to be far shorter.

the age of ambition

two, jamie, and victoria land at the house of one of victoria's father's friends, only to find he has been trying to reanimate the dead. from the compilation life sciences. this is really a victoria story, probably the defining victoria story for me. it's got backstory, it's got gothic horror/victorian scientific ambition vibes in a similar way to evil of the daleks, it's got victoria character moments. but it's also a really crucial story for jamie, to me. as a character, I don't think jamie never quite forms into the brawny action man stereotype he was originally drafted as - and that's one of the things I love most about him. again he's too much of a caretaker, he's a piper rather than a soldier. he's rarely truly angry, even when he fights he never seems out to cause much actual harm, and you get the sense his protectiveness over his friends wars with this almost inability to do harm. the age of ambition GETS that and pushes it to the extreme, with jamie being unable to fire a killing shot to save his friends, to the point where victoria has to do it herself. it's such a compelling character moment for both of them and their dynamic.

on a pedestal

two, jamie, and victoria travel back to meet william wallace, who jamie idolises. from the compilation the quality of leadership. this is another one that really gets and hones in on a particular nuance of jamie's character - in this case, the strength and rigidity of his morals and sense of responsibility, and his dislike of people who fall short of that. he's faced with the fact that someone he admires was once careless, lax about taking responsibility for their actions even when other people are at risk, and just a bit childish. it shakes him, and he spends much of the story grappling with that. it's such a good look into the qualities that jamie admires versus the ones that he can't stand. but that's balanced out with some very sweet moments (the whole scene with two, jamie, and william wallace going fishing is very fun and again gives a nice little snapshot of two and jamie having this very settled, secure dynamic). AND jamie gets recognised as a basically supernaturally gifted piper which. love to see jamie actually getting to be a musician, love to see him piping without it being the butt of a 'bagpipes suck and everyone hates them' joke.

honourable mentions: that which went away (this is the 'jamie turns into a bear' story I'm always talking about. I do think it has some major issues in terms of weird primitivism, both in terms of the side characters and how it treats jamie, but also. jamie turns into a bear. and two begging him to come back to him is just *chefs kiss*), undercurrents (two vanishes from the tardis and another man mysteriously appears. jamie believes this newcomer has done something to harm two, and very nearly kills him for it. this is one of the few moments where jamie gets really, properly angry and is willing to actually cause harm and I LOVE to see him pushed past the breaking point of his usual moral code), the slave war (two, jamie, ben, and polly in the roman empire. also really good for ben and polly content, but there's some interesting stuff with jamie grappling with the idea of becoming involved in another rebellion, but ending up getting involved anyway)

[projecthipster]

The Great Gatsby

This super cool rendition of the iconic cover eyes by @sadder-daisy. Follow the link.

I love the Baz Luhrman soundtrack, but let's save that for a long post on that movie. For now: it's all jazz baby.

“I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

Back when I wrote on The Perks of Being a Wallflower, of all things, I said that because I’d already written about the cultural monolith that was The Catcher in the Rye, I didn’t have any reason to be nervous about writing on The Great Gatsby.

That was a lie. It’s still scary. Because despite the fact that I suppose this novel may be Hipster just for its associations with those other books, I mean, just read what Holden Caulfield says about it:

Ignore the bit about nukes.

Not to mention Gatsby’s status as a product of the 1920s Paris of A Moveable Feast (look at all these connections!) Despite all that. It’s still a cultural force like little else. The last public jigsaw puzzle I worked on at the Central Library was “The World of the Great Gatsby.” There’s been, how many movies? There have been prequel and spinoff novels written to welcome Gatsby into the public domain. And there’s that Lord Huron album and its spinoff movie where to “follow the emerald star” is to pine for and chase down an ultimately doomed reunion with a lost love. That’s not what it is without Gatsby. At my favourite literally underground literary-themed cocktail and jazz bar on Notre Dame Road, you ask for the daily special drink by requesting "today's Gatsby."

So yeah, buckle in. This one's going to be a lot.

It doesn’t seem like there’s much point recounting the actual plot of The Great Gatsby. You all know it. If not, go read it. It’s like a hundred pages, it’s pretty quick, I promise you’ll enjoy it, and it’s probably not too hard to find a copy considering there are 25 million of the things. And I already know I’m going to give it top marks. So what even to talk about?

For starters, I guess, there’s the fact that every sentence in those hundred pages could be a little poem, replete with meanings and double-meanings. Take that famous opening, for example. Our dear narrator, the somewhat scrutable Nick Carraway (like the tasty seed, though spelled differently; or like apathy, you know, to throw one’s care away) tells us, dear readers, about how dear he holds his father’s advice to check his privilege and not to judge others. This as the opening to a novel in which every character is judged, passively, without acting much, by our man who stands by within and without! This irony is pointed in in the academic marginalia of my copy’s previous owner, which makes it especially easy to identify. I like to think, or at least to hope, that I might have been able to identify this myself, but let’s not put too much faith in my fairly sorry interpretive abilities.

Apparently some people can’t stand having previous readers’ notes and interpretations scrawled into their paperbacks. I can’t understand this. I also have lots of marginalia in my used copy of Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro. I’ve made my own notes too, not in library books of course but in my own secondhand paperbacks of Tolkien and Homer and Herbert, because I find it fun. It’s like being part of a huge, worldwide book club separated across time. I don’t know who made the notes (much neater and better than mine!) in my copy of Gatsby, but I appreciate them. Tell me your thoughts, and I’ll tell you mine, somewhere down the line when someone finds my vandalized copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. There’s more to text than text. There’s context and subtext and interpretation aplenty.

Back to that first sentence, and all the characters Nick judges. In fairness to him, though we may not be able to trust Nick wholeheartedly in everything he tells us, it’s fair to see that a lot of the people he encounters in the gilded circles of the jazz age American aristocracy that the novel moves through, are pretty shitty people. In the very first chapter we meet some, as Nick goes to that famous dinner party scene with all the ethereal imagery of billowing curtains. Nick is invited as family, which may perhaps rightfully make the reader raise an eyebrow at his posturing at being the objective outside observer. The sun at the centre of this golden-white star system is the utterly awful Tom Buchanan. To tell the truth, there’s something refreshingly simple to the modern reader about how simple and justifiable it is to hate Tom with one’s whole heart. He doesn’t have a sympathetic edge, a tragic backstory, or an understandable drive. No, he’s just the old money, athletically acclaimed, socially privileged in every possible way strapping, boisterous ideal of an egotistical and chauvinistic and domineering straight white man, who’s only known the top of the heap in all his time, and so any shift in the heap seems a threat to him. Nick says as much in his judgmental judgment-reserving narration. “Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart,” he says. The reader today can probably think of far too many contemporaries who unfortunately fit that description exactly. Your country might be run by some of them.

So if Tom feels like a Trumpian terror of fragile machismo, what does that make Daisy? The bystander, innocent technically but part of the system. Daisy is complicit but complicated, more so than people seem to often want to think. Even in that first chapter, that famous line that the best thing a woman can be is “a beautiful little fool” belies an understanding of the systems of gender hierarchy in her gilded house, along with an acceptance of their unchangeability. Daisy is frustratingly passive, an object rather than a subject, and you just want to shake some spine into her, but what could she do?  She’s powerless in her place and time. The best you could say about Daisy is that she’s a subtly keen survivor. She does also kill someone with a car but that’s not until later when the postures morals have been thoroughly eroded by Plot Stuff.

Last in that Chapter 1 dinner party main cast is good old Jordan. Maybe I’m just biased based on Elizabeth Debicki’s charmingly wide-eyed and energetic portrayal in the 2013 movie (an adaptation that I like quite a lot, for the record) but I’ve always liked Jordan Baker. She’s this kind of lazing, chilled-out, independent figure of the Modern Single Woman that you see in cartoons from Fitzgerald’s era, cartoons that were meant to be mocking at the time, but that a century and several waves of feminism later, end up making their subjects look pretty cool.

Later on we learn that she cheated at golf, which I guess is bad. I still can’t help but think that Jordan kind of rules. She and Nick might be using each other to both pass as straight. Maybe Jordan’s not a commentary on anything; maybe F. Scott just wanted a bit of his dear Zelda in the book. We will not get into that relationship because I don’t know enough about it.

There’s just one person for whom Nick forgives pretty much everything, as he says right on the first couple of pages and that’s the titularly exalted Gatsby himself. And as the title character, obviously he’s gonna take some more talking about, but it is all interrelated within this lens of the uniquely American reach upwards; the famous green light, the colour of dollar bills, but also of spring, of youth, of fresh blooming daisies. Gatsby pines for Daisy, creating a facade of a life in the hopes that she’ll come by to look at it. But is it Daisy as a person, her simple beauty and charm, that he pines for, or is it Daisy as a concept, what she represents? And what does she represent? Her wealth, her status as arm candy for those of unachievable aristocratic birth? Or does she represent the lost years before the war, of her and Gatsby’s halcyon youth? Fitzgerald wrote as part of the generation perdue, after all. The rattling of the world by the Great War can’t be uncoupled from Gatsby or any of the 1920s. The answer of course to “what does it mean” is all of the above and more. That’s the beauty of this and of any great novel: true meaning and ironclad motivation of any really good character is more of an electron cloud of probability than any set orbital, as it is in reality with everyone we meet, including ourselves.

Take ours truly Narrator Nick, for example, turning again to the one character we spend the most time with. We still don’t know everything about him, even living in his head for 200-odd pages. He’s fascinated by Gatsby’s mystery, that much we know and can understand. It’s pretty often thought, very reasonably, that Nick is actually in love with Gatsby. There is, after all, that weird scene at the end of Chapter II that begins in an elevator and proceeds, in a browned-out stupor of concealing drunken flashes, to show Nick seemingly sleeping with a male photographer. Why wasn’t that in the movie, Baz? Of course you can’t just say “oh, it’s not fascination as a concept, just love and attraction.” I don’t know of any situation where the latter can arise to any proper degree without the former as at least a  companion sentiment, if not the source. That inseparability of love and symbolism in the object of one’s desire, that applies to Daisy as the fulcrum of the Gatsby-Tom triangle, that applies to Gatsby in Nick’s eyes, that applies back-and-forth somehow, probably, to whatever’s up with Nick and Jordan, that applies to Tom keeping Myrtle as a mistress even when he’ll break her nose for bringing up the fact, that applies to Myrtle keeping Tom as the Other Man even when he breaks her nose, because he gives her a chance to be someone else and wear party dresses. Everything and everyone is a tool for our own identities, our own self perceptions, and our perceptions to others, in this Americanesque world of ladders and status and ever receding green lights. And what is it for? We make images of ourselves to bring in others, who become part of the image-making, and the end goal is...

And at a certain point when it all begins to collapse, you follow the logic to this narrow point of illogic, and you just have to shrug. Because there is no point to it all in the end, is there? It gets to some kernel too deep to do anything but:

And that’s the American Dream babyyyyy. You gotty, Scotty.

Maxwell Perkins, one of the most famous editors of the twentieth century — Hemingway dedicated his final novel to Perkin’s ability to polish a story into a finely trimmed gem for the ages — allegedly said that Gatsby, the character, was too much of a cipher, that he ought to have been figured out in a more concrete way by the novel’s conclusion. It’s a good thing Fitzgerald didn’t listen. On the other hand, it is a good thing he changed the title. Are you ready for the original working title? It's strikingly awful. Trimalchio in West Egg. Being a reference to some sort of utterly forgotten Roman classic. Sounding more like some kind of deli sandwich. Francis Scott, I know you can do words. So what in TJ Eckleburg's name is a fucking Trimalchio?

Do I really need to give a rating to one of the great books?

Alright.

I give this hipster book a rating of old sport.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the twentieth result for "Hipster," the always longwinded The BBC and Goodreads Declare: "If You Score 20+ on This Quiz You Qualify as a Hipster"

Up next: another good old book, but one I don't have a copy of on hand. A response to a later war, with more parties and more jazz and more cars, but no one gets hit in this one.

Stay deck.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

May I request a BG3 matchup?

30; afab agender; rampantly bisexual. Medical lab tech (not the cool kind), about to start grad school for forensic biology. I collect postcards and preserved specimens, and raise tarantulas + other bugs. Enjoy making nature journals, birdwatching, puzzles, music, theatre, museums, analyzing horror media, building models, working with clay, writing, reading, and board games (though I get a bit too competitive). Great in the kitchen. Autistic/ADHD. Get sensory overloaded easily. Love meeting people but mostly wish I could exist invisibly and not speak. Chronic pain limits physical activities. Most content during stormy days with candles and coffee, baking or doing a jigsaw puzzle with the windows open and music playing. Think I'm unattractive and obnoxious. OCD + bipolar dictate a lot of my brain. Tendency to word vomit and have difficulty articulating off of paper. Complain a lot and can be passive aggressive. But also like to see people happy and taken care of, and want to leave things better than I find them when possible.

A/N: Alright Tarantula Anon, since you mentioned you’re bisexual, but didn’t state a gender preference, I’ve picked out the best matches- one male and one female for you.

Your best Baldur’s Gate 3 Matches would be Astarion (Male) and Minthara (Female)!

➶ Astarion is also a character I would characterize as “rampantly bisexual” (or pansexual to be more specific in his case lol). Gender presentation isn’t something he factors into attractiveness. If he likes you, he likes you. If he thinks you’re hot, he thinks you’re hot, etc. You get the idea.

Being an immortal vampire, Astarion knows a thing or two about biology. Mainly about how to remain undetected among the human population. In the game, he explains how he never smells like a typical vampire or vampire’s den because he makes a point to scent himself with a mix of fragrances. And while he may not be a medical professional, he’s certainly had his fair share of anatomy lessons, be it distant viewings at the food of Cazador, from the many creatures he’s been forced to seduce. It’s not an exact equivalent, but I do believe he would be fascinated by the kind of work you do regarding live and preserved specimens.

And while I don’t think he’s a bug person (mainly because they were his one source of nutrition for so many years), I think he could be taught to appreciate them over time. Perhaps you could show him how all creatures, even small ones, are incredibly unique and have their own role within our vast universe. It’s humbling to think we are all so incredibly tiny and yet vastly important to the people around us.

There’s so much he’s missed out on experiencing, I think he’d quite like doing any of those activities with you: birdwatching, solving puzzles, listening to music, going to the theater or the museum, tinkering, making ceramics, writing, or reading, or playing board games… Anything! Everything! He especially enjoys the competitive nature of your games. He finds he quite likes the feeling of winning, and he plans on doing it more often. Don’t worry though, he’ll play fair. Well, fair for him, anyway.

He cannot eat so he doesn’t get to fully appreciate your kitchen prowess. But he does enjoy helping you cook. It’s strangely comforting for him to do something so domestic. It’s in moments like those, that he can see the rest of your lives together playing out.

Similarly to you, Astarion loves meeting new people. Or at least he thinks he does. So much of his extroversion was a facade, he’s not certain what part of his people skills are him and which parts were survival. So he needs time in between, away from crowds and strangers to calm down and recharge. He’s grateful that you often tug him away, reminding him to excuse the two of you before either one of you gets too overwhelmed.

He may not be a magic user, but he does what he can to support you in managing your chronic pain. He’ll get Halsin or Shadowheart or even Gale to lessen some of your symptoms. He doesn’t try to cure your condition, nor does he expect you to cure his. However, if finding a more permanent solution to your pain is something you’d want, he’s more than ready to take that journey with you.

He doesn’t think for a second that you’re obnoxious. And trust him on that. He’s met some of the most obnoxious, overwhelmingly annoying magistrates and lords in his first life. He assures you constantly: that you are nothing like them. You’re smart and kind and beautiful. Even if you can’t see it, he sees it for you. Astarion knows what it’s like to live with a body (and by extension a brain) that tells you you’re never good enough. There are still moments when he can’t see himself in a mirror for example, when he thinks of himself as a monster. He’s so grateful you’re there to comfort him and tell him otherwise.

His favorite thing in the world is to cuddle with you next to a large bay window, watching nighttime thunderstorms roll in, a book in his lap and you beside him.

☾ Minthara is often characterized as closed-off and cold. Which you could argue is true. Or you could see it as her being logical, and protective of herself and her heart. She is a drow, and by nature, well accustomed to the more gruesome side of human nature. She feels at home surrounded by macabre, whereas others may be disturbed. I think she’d find your work fascinating. And spiders are something she knows a lot about. Drows and spiders go hand in hand. She sees tarantulas as the perfect pet, they’re small enough to be contained but large enough to have personalities and be something incredible to watch.

She especially enjoys reading horror stories with you or visiting theaters or museums with horror exhibits. Perhaps one about ancient methods of torture- now that would tickle her fancy. And she appreciates your wit and candor when it comes to playing games or solving puzzles with you. So few people treasure such traits in a companion, but not her. She knows how important it is to have a discerning significant other, especially if you are going to be spending any time in the Underdark with her, where being perceptive is a must for survival. She loves your cooking. As a drow noble, she was familiar with the concepts of fancy feasts and indulgent desserts. However, due to her position, she could never truly enjoy them, for fear of being poisoned by enemies. With you doing the meal-making, she doesn't have to worry about that anymore.

Unlike you, however, Minthara is not that fond of meeting other people. She much prefers the two of you keep to yourselves unless otherwise necessary. People are tiring, and so often unimportant. She sees no need to waste her time and social graces on them. You’re the one she loves. If she’s going to do something with anyone or make an effort, it’s going to be for you and you alone.

She used to think admitting pain was weak, now however, she knows it takes an inner as well as outer strength. She will go to whatever length to ensure your comfort. Simply say the word and she will get it for you. In seeing your survival, Minthara has developed a great admiration for you as a person, seeing how resilient you are. That being said, she will not tolerate you speaking poorly of yourself. You are wonderful. You are strong in mind and spirit. You are intelligent and wise. You are gorgeous. You mean everything to her. She will not hear you put yourself down. She would not choose an unworthy mate, so do not think for a second that you are not deserving of her love and affection.

But by all means, do complain. The world can be so frivolous and pedestrian. She enjoys having someone who not only accepts hearing her own complaints but joins in with their own as well. You can be passive-aggressive in your grievances because she is extremely direct. If something bothers you, she’ll simply ask you if you wish her to kill it. And no she doesn’t care if that’s morally wrong, because for you, she would move heaven and earth if it made you happy.

She is fiercely loyal and now that she is your loving partner, you cannot shake her. She is utterly and wholly devoted to you.

[mcyt-sh1t]

may i request a headcanon/ fic of punz helping u with ur addiction to smoking? (cigarettes or juul/vape) i need some comfort rn :,)

“YOU REALLY GOTTA STOP THIS..” ー punz x reader (oneshot)

ー summary ₊˚◝ punz comforts/tries to make reader stop smoking/vaping/juul (I CAN’T FIND THE ANON ASK??? - 25/07/2023 | 26/07/2023 - nvm i found it &lt;;3)

| or; where punz learns that you can’t stop smoking and tries his best to help you stop or at least make you cope in another way

ー ₊˚◝ punz x gn!reader small oneshot

ー warnings ₊˚◝ smoking mention(obviously), a bit of swearing? use of petnames and good girl? (do i even have to tag that- its not used sexually i swear)

ー notes ₊˚◝ the original title/summary is from an anon i got a long long time ago all credit goes to them, i just wrote this idea out, so thank you again for the idea <33 | fair warning i’m not really in the mcyt fandom anymore but i want to at least try to write the ideas you all gave me and i haven’t published yet)

i quickly searched my jean pockets until i found a rough metal box that made my fingers cold instantly. i took it out of the denomination and folded the cap. my thumb ran along both sides of the box. a small but fiery flame blasted from above. it shook in the air waiting for me to ignite it. but it only reached the end of the cylinder. immediately a thick smog enveloped each of my scenes bitterly.

the cigarette seemed to fit perfectly between my thin fingers like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Smoke arose and formed a work of art. i applied it to my lips and let the craft flow into my breath. my breathing became more relaxed. every time i inhaled, i exhaled gently in an amazing pattern. i closed my eyes effortlessly. i continued to breathe in silence. the smoke was carried by the wind. It made its way along the melody of the rain thundering on the patio floor. 

"hi." i heard a raspy voice say and almost immediately i felt cold hands wrap around my waist.

"hi."

"what are you doing?" he asks clearly still half asleep.

"nothing. go back to sleep, you idiot. you're clearly tired."

"hm.. nope."

"why are you stubborn? go, now."

"nope."

"fine, stay then."

"why do you want me gone that badly?" he asks with a laugh but then spots the cigarette between my lips. "uh, i thought you stopped that?"

"huh?" i ask confused by his question but then remember the cigarette in my hand. "ohh. yeah, i did. well i tried to. didn't work very well." i say putting it back in between my lips again.

"right. give me that."

"what? oh you want a go? okay."

he grabs the cigarette from my lips and just when i think he's about to put it in between his lips, he drops it on the floor and smushes it till the flame goes out.

"hey what the fuck! i was using that!" i say angrily looking at him smirking. "it's not funny. stop smirking, you idiot." i say lightly pushing him.

"oh it is so funny. why are you so upset about a cigarette anyway?"

i stay silent for a while. when i finally lift my head up to look at him, he's looking at me with patience. he seems to understand. "helps me cope, i guess." i say while trying to grab another but i'm stopped by him grabbing the box from my hand. "hey! give that back!"

"nope. mine now."

"wow okay."

"you really gotta stop this.." he says hiding the box in his pocket which he zips up making it harder for me to reach for it considering its by his side.

"i know. i tried."

"try harder please."

"okay, i will."

"good girl. i'm proud of you."

"thank you, love you"

"love you too, idiot"

"i'm your idiot"

"indeed."

ー end ramble ₊˚◝ is this even good? i don't know- help.

[allegedly-writer]

saw ask. so let's say hypothetically (not really) all the apprentices are autistic (they are) headcanon them

Hi!! I do love some good autistic apprentice content so here we go

Lawrence:

Masking king, he's always seemed just a little Off since childhood but his parents browbeat him into submission

Finds out he's autistic after Diana is diagnosed and he's like "well that's silly she's just like me as a child....wait...."

Prefers bland food, eats like a peasant from the 1400s (white bread, rice, simply cooked vegetables etc etc)

Has misinterpreted so many social cues in his life but gets away with it for the most part

I like to think his and Alison's first date was due to a misunderstanding about what "studying together" entailed

Struggles with empathy a LOT but is a genuinely caring person when he can figure out how to say what he wants

Amanda

Sensory seeking in a lot of ways but also very particular about what she likes, if a texture is even a little bit wrong for her she gets immensely irritable

Hates loud noises but loves concerts/loud music bc she contains multitudes

Strong sense of fairness ever since she was younger, only made more extreme by all the Jigsaw stuff

Enjoys having long hair but struggles to care for it consistently due to sensory stuff and executive function

I can see her having deep interests in both engineering and art and trying to combine the two

Mark

Flat affect for days, very rarely emotes at all

Had very few friends when he was younger and wasn't really bothered by that, he was really only ever close with his sister

Has had the same lunch for the past 20 years and isn't about to stop

Struggles with reading for pleasure, prefers non-fiction over fiction

Adam (as a bonus)

Has a limited diet to sensory stuff, Lawrence thinks he eats like a child

Has very limited filter which was a huge detriment as a child but now he's learned how to turn himself funny

Photography as a special interest and has been since he was very young

[winreyplace]

Intro: Sean Renard

My Name: Sean Emile Renard My Personality: I possess lawful, gracious, and fastidious qualities. I'm one of the more reserved members of the family, preferring to carefully listen to others before expressing my own thoughts. My discerning palate and polished demeanor has at times gotten me called pretentious or overly particular, but I take it all in stride with a good-natured attitude when teased for those behaviors. My Birthday: October 21st, 1981 Species/Cultural Identity: Half-Zauberbeist Half-Human My Gender Orientation: I am a Neutrois man* and prefer masculine words and pronouns My Sexuality: Aromantic Asexual My Disabilities/Conditions: Autism Physical Description: I stand at 6 feet 4 inches tall, a stature that often draws attention. My eyes are a clear green, set beneath a brow that's framed by ash-brown hair, cropped short for a neat appearance. My skin is fair, untouched by excessive sun exposure. My build is substantial and sturdy, with broad shoulders tapering slightly to a narrower waist, creating a subtle V-shape that speaks to both strength and proportion. Overall, my physique could be described as robust but comfortable. My Relationships: Boyfriend: Nick Burkhardt; QPPs: Logan Noble and James ‘Howlett’. Other Intimate relationships: Damien G******-Sprinkles, Butler, Sara, and Theo Raeken. I’m also Renny to both Lav and Mel in both a parental and kink capacity as requested. My Hobbies/Interests: I enjoy reading, logic puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, BDSM roleplay scenario planning, bookkeeping, grooming, and a little bit of coin collecting. My Canon Backstory:

I was born a royal bastard my father was the king of Kronenburg (a small country in North America), and my mother was the Hexenbeist he was smitten with. We were forced to flee to the United States when his wife swore to kill us both, where I was raised and educated in the ways of both human and Wesen. I went on to exercise my ambitions by working my way up the ranks in Portland's police department (a career I have thoroughly denounced since then) as a way to maintain a royal influence on the local Wesen population. I spent the last few years of my canon life alternating between antagonist and grudging ally to Nick and his friends. Mel and Lav took me partway through my canon show, though I still have many hazy exomemories of later points in my canon self's story that I did not personally experience. My Bond Backstory: I was having lunch one day in my world when Nick showed up suddenly (notably after calling in a few vacation days and disappearing without a trace) with a young lady and introduced her to me as Mel. I had a peculiar sensation at the time of meeting her that I did not fully understand, and it made me suspicious. I pressed Nick to explain exactly who she was and why she was here, and he stammered through an explanation of munbonding and parallel worlds that barely made sense, but I couldn't help being intrigued. As someone who liked to be fully aware and in control of all avenues of power at my disposal, missing an opportunity to take advantage of the situation was inadmissible. I later understood that the parallel world Nick was referring to was both Winrey Place and the world that Lav and Mel lived in that we could visit through "fronting" in their bodies, and that the peculiar sensation inside me was the pull of a potential munbond. It was an interesting first few days where I learned a lot all at once. I will admit that walking into the situation I did wasn't my first choice at the start. I had built up enough networks and prestige in Portland that retiring from it all and leaving it behind would have been unthinkable, were it not for that first moment of settling into bed with the girls and being truly seen for who I was and who I was meant to be, reaching right into my soul. It was…inspiring. The Beast inside me wanted it and craved to possess it, and I realized a whole new way to meet the goals I'd pursued for so long. And over time, the hunger for power and control gave way to, well, a hunger for love, food, and a unique family I never thought I was meant to have.