#what was DETECTIVE KERRY.

[starryluminary]

“John Kramer didn’t target cops” you have got to be fucking kidding me

[someonestrawberry]

HE WORKED IN FORENSICS PLEASEEEEE

MARK BABY WHATTTT

i like that both team jigsaw and his cop coworkers separately think hoffman’s fucking stupid. damning to have amanda tell him to shut up and lift heavy things when he tries to contribute to a trap and then shortly after have his other set of coworkers assume (correctly) that despite him previously working in forensics he would not know a chemical that is characteristic to dead fingerprints

[lilmissnatcat24]

to me, the real tragedy of river ward is that he never once tries to fix you. all of the other LIs see v as a person who's death is coming, and they try their very best to stop that. panam is willing to put her entire clan at risk just for the chance that v could get the relic separated in mikoshi. judy will always ask v about the relic and what can be done, she's willing to sacrifice just about anything when she knows she's just a bd editor and in reality there's really nothing she can do. kerry doesn't formally talk about it (just like kerry doesn't formally talk about ANYTHING), but the way he talks to v like their just going to be this consistent presence in his life and that now that he's in a better place he can spend more time with v-- which is really his way of saying that the two of them together can just ignore all of their problems when they're together.

but not river. he never once offers to help about the biochip apart from offering to talk about it. because what could he do? disgraced former detective turned private investigator, he has no friends left on the force, he only just got his family back and even that's fragile. river is the only one out of all of them who processes and understands that v is dying and there's nothing he can do about it.

but even with that, he doesn't run. he gives you plenty of options after you commit to him where you can back out and call it quits. but he is never the one to pull that plug because despite just about everything, he can't stop himself from loving v. and sure, at best it will only last a few months. but those few months will be beautiful because v's in his life, he loves v and cherishes v and even if v dies soon that's not going to stop him. just because the romance is short and isn't meant to last forever, it doesn't mean that it isn't there. and when v's time comes, river understand that at the very least he could be a bright spot in their life when everything else was falling to shit.

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 6/?

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

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

(Enter: FBI)

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

Word count: 5002

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

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could kill him. Right now.

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

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

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

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

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

Patience. Be patient.

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

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

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

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

--

Kerry is dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kerry is dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is another long pause of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

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

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

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

[superman86to99]

Zero Hour Promotional Poster by Jon Bogdanove and Dennis Janke

A promo poster inverting the Superman/Batman proportion in the classic cover for Superman: The Man of Steel #37 (which we covered the other day, if you missed it!). Can you help us identify the tributed artists? Here are the ones my ignorant "only read like 20 Pre-Crisis issues" ass can recognize, counter-clockwise:

Joe Shuster (multiple Joe Shusters?), Wayne Boring, Curt Swan, Kurt Schaffenberger, Jack Kirby, Neal Adams, José Luis García-López, John Byrne, Jerry Ordway, Jon Bogdanove, Jackson Guice, Tom Grummett, Barry Kitson, and Dan Jurgens. I notice an alarming lack of George Pérez, Kerry Gammill (or at least George Pérez/Kerry Gammill), and Bob McLeod, but I can't really complain because it's pretty crowded in there and few artists could pull this off like Bog.

Speaking of daring artists, it's time for another...

SPECIAL BONUS ARTWORK BATPOLL!

Having delivered on the Maxima from Superman/Doomsday: Hunter/Prey art that won our last poll (last call for comments if you'd like to be part of the giveaway, by the way!), Don is itching to draw something else and we request your assistance in deciding what:

Don says: "My idea is to draw those (or whichever era you pick) specific costumes in my own style, which will be a fine line, since such a big part of those costumes' distinctiveness was also the drawing style, but I think it can be a fun challenge."

You can vote here or on Patreon, and once again we'll be giving away the original art to a supporter. TO THE BATPOLLS, CHUMS! (Yes, you can write-in the Adam West Batman if you want.)

[satyrradio]

I am not crazy! I know Hoffman is the Jigsaw killer! I knew it was him that lifted Kerry into that trap. Right before getting Rigg. As if I could ever make such a mistake. Never. Never! I just – I just couldn't prove it. He – he covered his tracks, he got Amanda Young to lie for him. You think this is something? You think this is bad? This? This chicanery? He's done worse. That water cube! Are you telling me that Jigsaw just happens to put an inescapable trap on me? No! He orchestrated it! Hoffman! He was using inferior steel! And I saved him! And I shouldn't have. I took him into my own station! What was I thinking? He'll never change. He'll never change! Ever since he was in training, always the same! Couldn't keep his hands out of the knife drawer! But not our Mark! Couldn't be precious Mark! Stabbing them blind! And he gets to be a detective!? What a sick joke! I should've stopped him when I had the chance! And you – you have to stop him! You-

[aurumacadicus]

October's coming and the theme is horror! Tumblr will vote to help us narrow it down to three books, and then we'll vote for the winner on Discord. If you'd like to join the book club, send me a message, and I'll send you an invitation link! Book summaries are under the cut!

Family Business by Jonathan Sims JUST ANOTHER DEAD-END JOB. DEATH. IT’S A DIRTY BUSINESS. When Diya Burman’s best friend Angie dies, it feels like her own life is falling apart. Wanting a fresh start, she joins Slough & Sons - a family firm that cleans up after the recently deceased. Old love letters. Porcelain dolls. Broken trinkets. Clearing away the remnants of other people’s lives, Diya begins to see things. Horrible things. Things that get harder and harder to write off as merely her grieving imagination. All is not as it seems with the Slough family. Why won’t they speak about their own recent loss? And who is the strange man that keeps turning up at their jobs? If Diya’s not careful, she might just end up getting buried under the family tree…

The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix In horror movies, the final girls are the ones left standing when the credits roll. They made it through the worst night of their lives…but what happens after? Lynnette Tarkington is a real-life final girl who survived a massacre. For more than a decade, she's been meeting with five other final girls and their therapist in a support group for those who survived the unthinkable, working to put their lives back together. Then one woman misses a meeting, and their worst fears are realized—someone knows about the group and is determined to rip their lives apart again, piece by piece. But the thing about final girls is that no matter how bad the odds, how dark the night, how sharp the knife, they will never, ever give up.

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero In 1977, four teenagers and a dog—Andy (the tomboy), Nate (the nerd), Kerri (the bookworm), Peter (the jock), and Tim (the Weimaraner)—solved the mystery of Sleep Lake. The trail of an amphibian monster terrorizing the quiet town of Blyton Hills leads the gang to spend a night in Deboën Mansion and apprehend a familiar culprit: a bitter old man in a mask. Now, in 1990, the twenty-something former teen detectives are lost souls. Plagued by night terrors and Peter’s tragic death, the three survivors have been running from their demons. When the man they apprehended all those years ago makes parole, Andy tracks him down to confirm what she’s always known—they got the wrong guy. Now she’ll need to get the gang back together and return to Blyton Hills to find out what really happened in 1977, and this time, she’s sure they’re not looking for another man in a mask.

Bury Your Gays by Chuck Tingle Misha knows that chasing success in Hollywood can be hell. But finally, after years of trying to make it, his big moment is here: an Oscar nomination. And the executives at the studio for his long-running streaming serioes know just the thing to kick his career to the next level: kill off the gay characters, “for the algorithm,” in the upcoming season finale. Misha refuses, but he soon realizes that he’s just put a target on his back. And what’s worse, monsters from his horror movie days are stalking him and his friends through the hills above Los Angeles. Haunted by his past, Misha must risk his entire future—before the horrors from the silver screen find a way to bury him for good.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Stepping far afield from his medical studies, Victor Frankenstein brings to life a human form he has fashioned from scavenged body parts. Horrified by his achievement, he turns his back on his creation, only to learn the danger of such neglect. Written when Mary Shelley was only 20 years old, Frankenstein has been hailed as both a landmark of Gothic horror fiction and the first modern science fiction story.

The Sacrifice Box by Martin Stewart

In the summer of 1982, five friends discover an ancient stone box hidden deep in the woods. They seal inside of it treasured objects from their childhood, and they make a vow: Never come to the box alone. Never open it after dark. Never take back your sacrifice. Four years later, a series of strange and terrifying events begin to unfold: mirrors inexplicably shattering, inanimate beings coming to life, otherworldly crows thirsting for blood. Someone broke the rules of the box, and now everyone has to pay. But how much are they willing to sacrifice?

A Lonely Broadcast by Kel Byron

If you find yourself driving down a winding mountain road near an endless stretch of pines, try tuning in to 104.6 FM: the radio station that shouldn’t exist. The village of Pinehaven has a secret of monstrous proportions. Evelyn McKinnon, a radio host falling on hard times, finds herself utterly unprepared when she learns that the radio station isn’t just for entertainment. It’s a watchtower. She’s stalked by a bird with human eyes. Her co-host won’t stop singing show tunes. And when the fog rolls in, the beasts of Pinehaven Forest begin their brutal hunt. Evelyn and her friends are suddenly face-to-face with something much scarier than ravenous flesh-giants and vengeful spirits: responsibility. ‘A Lonely Broadcast’ is a darkly comedic tale that mixes elements of cosmic horror, gruesome gore, and a touching story about friendship, grief, and finding hope when all seems lost. It’s also the story of an unhinged woman’s personal war with a goddamn bird.

Episode Thirteen by Craig DiLouie

Fade to Black is the newest hit ghost hunting reality TV show. Led by husband and wife team Matt and Claire Kirklin, it delivers weekly hauntings investigated by a dedicated team of ghost hunting experts. Episode Thirteen takes them to every ghost hunter’s holy grail: the Paranormal Research Foundation. This brooding, derelict mansion holds secrets and clues about bizarre experiments that took place there in the 1970s. It’s also famously haunted, and the team hopes their scientific techniques and high tech gear will prove it. But as the house begins to reveal itself to them, proof of an afterlife might not be everything Matt dreamed of. A story told in broken pieces, in tapes, journals, and correspondence, this is the story of Episode Thirteen—and how everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

[starrykatamari]

Saw Lore Contained Within SAW II: Flesh & Blood

Hello again!! I'm still Kris, and today I'm going to be showing you all the lore bits you can find through collecting case files and audio logs in the second third-person action game that was made for the Saw franchise. Once again I will only briefly be touching on the plot of the game itself since it only serves as a sequel to the gap-filling narrative of its predecessor.

Long post incoming, but if you're interested, let's begin! I wanna play (another) game...

TW: Sui mentions, SH mentions, canon-typical violence mentions and imagery, drug use mentions-- it's a Saw media, please be careful I love you.

Disclaimer: I will not be covering any material that is not directly relevant to the movie franchise this game is based on. If it’s in the game and you don’t see it here, it’s skippable, I promise. This post will also have less trap and film references simply due to the fact that they are mostly just repeats of the first game’s.

The plot to this game revolves around Michael Tapp, David Tapp’s son. He is a journalist, and the person who leaked David’s police negligence on the Jigsaw Killer case to the press. He is kidnapped, put into one of the Jigsaw Killer’s games, and pitted against those David Tapp arrested during his career. He must also save certain individuals while navigating the maze of traps and tests. This game is a direct continuation of the ending to the first game in which David Tapp takes his own life in his apartment. Again, this is a gap-filler of a story, we’re here mostly to talk about the references to the movie and the lore the case files give to us. Let’s begin!

Case File: The Right Choice

A memo apparently written by Detective David Tapp, in reference to the events of Saw (2004). For reference, most of these case files are written by David Tapp– but I’ll keep writing that in so that it continues to be easy to follow.

“I met the Jigsaw Killer, and I let him escape. His price was too high. And I was too weak.

Jigsaw was holding Gordon’s family hostage at gunpoint. Shots were fired, and I ran over to respond. If I hadn’t been in the next building…I don’t know what would’ve happened. We had a shootout in Gordon’s apartment, then Jigsaw escaped and I gave chase.

Jigsaw was a short man with brown hair, large blue eyes. I gave a render to the officer that found me after I was released from that hellhole, Whitehurst. Jigsaw trapped me there…he did…horrible things. In the end, he made me choose; give up chasing him so that others may live, or continue pursuit and watch them die. I gave up the chase. 

I don’t know if I made the right choice.”

The Whitehurst in question refers to the asylum the first game took place in, in case that wasn’t clear.

Case File: Team Members: Kerry

A memo written by David Tapp about Kerry.

“Allison Kerry - I’ve heard stories about how she screwed her way to a detective shield, but that is most likely gossip. Gorgeous, though. She seems sharp enough, maybe a little too flirty with the other detectives. Her file says she’s applied to FBI a couple times, but they haven’t gotten back to her. May need to watch her as a potential leak.”

Case File: Team Members: Sing

A memo written by David Tapp about Sing.

“Steven Sing - I’ve worked with Sing before on the Bilson murders, and he’s the best cop I know. He knows the job, never quits, and has unerring focus. If there’s anything I would say I don’t like about him, it’s that he tends to drink more than most. Doesn’t seem to affect his judgment though. Looking forward to working with him.”

Case File: Team Members: Hoffman

A memo written by David Tapp about Hoffman.

“Mark Hoffman - This guy is pretty quiet, sort of an introvert. Good for unpaid overtime hours, willing to do the busy work. May want to keep him out of the field though; he’s a straight arrow, and won’t be willing to bend the rules.”

Audio Tape: Assignment

Voice of David Tapp about the murder of Cecil Adams and the beginning of the Jigsaw Killer case.

“Chief Jacobs put me on a murder today that I just can’t seem to wrap my head around. I’m hoping that keeping track of the case using this journal will help organize my thoughts, keep me sharp. I’ve worked plenty of murders before, but this one is different.

Victim is Cecil Adams, a typical drug addict asshole by all accounts. He was found tangled up in razor wire, cause of death is exsanguination (AN: blood loss). The murder weapon was a frame to which the razor wire was wound, and it looks like he was thrown into the tangle of razor wire. The more he struggled, the more the wire constricted and cut him. I would most likely conclude this was some sick gang violence, if it wasn’t for two outlying variables.

First, the victim had eight straight incisions on his face, atypical of injuries sustained by razor wire. They are clean blade wounds, but all eight are perfectly parallel across the face. This leads me to believe that the wounds were industrial by nature, which doesn’t fit any gang modus operandi I’ve ever seen.

Second, the victim had a piece of flesh missing from his upper left shoulder. Since the body was in such bad shape, we missed it on initial examination. The missing flesh was cut out in the shape of a jigsaw puzzle piece.”

Case File: Paul Leahy

A memo written by David Tapp about the murder of Paul Leahy.

“Another victim, this one named Paul Leahy. Jigsaw left behind a tape, some bullshit about how Leahy cut himself and how he has to cut himself to escape the razor wire cage. Looks like Leahy didn’t have much choice in the matter; none of us could see a clear way through the wire.

The killing cage looks very similar to what killed Cecil Adams - I’m having Hoffman check into what kind of razor wire they both used.”

Case File: Amanda Young

A memo written by David Tapp about Amanda Young and her test

“Someone survived one of Jigsaw’s sick games. Her name is Amanda Young, a junkie. No known address or family. She’s still recovering from shock, but what she has given us is substantial. Everything about this one was different.

Jigsaw’s usual audio tape was replaced by a videotape. He is speaking through a carved wooden puppet that we later found sitting on a toy tricycle within the crime scene. Sing thinks the reason he used a video and puppet this time was to show off what would happen to Amanda if she didn’t unlock her device in time.

By Young’s account, her ‘test’ involved the murder of a man named Donald Greco. She stated that she had to cut open Greco’s abdomen to find a key hidden somewhere in his small intestine. No body was found, but Greco was identified by blood evidence found at the crime scene. Frankly, Young is covered either way with a duress defense - her life was definitely in danger.”

Trap Reference: Razor Box

A clear reference to the same trap from Saw II! Only this time the victim has to turn cubes to arrange numbers into a code (given by Michael from another room).

Audio Tape: Reverse Bear Trap

Voice of David Tapp about the device used to test Amanda.

“The Jigsaw device unlocked by Amanda Young is different from his other killings. This device, what he describes as a ‘Reverse Bear Trap’, is mechanically more complex than what we’ve seen so far. The design is elegant. There’s no other word for it. Elegant. It’s a hinged retractor, spring-loaded with enough force to wrench open the victim’s jaw well past the tearing point. I’ve studied it so much by this point I wouldn’t even need the key to release it.”

Case File: Seth Baxter

A memo written by David Tapp about Seth Baxter’s murder.

“I.D. came back on a victim, name is Seth Baxter. He was identified on the spot, in fact. Every cop in the department knew this scumbag - he killed Hoffman’s sister, got away with 5 years on a technicality. Looks like Jigsaw did us a favor for once.

Jigsaw’s devices are getting bigger, more technical. He built a giant pendulum this time, the blade of which slashed open Baxter’s gut. His hands were also crushed in what looks like two mechanical vices. I’m not sure how this one is supposed to work yet.

Hoffman isn’t taking the news well, and I guess I can understand why. He asked to avoid the crime scene, so I put him out to knock on doors.”

Quick aside here to note that I do like the choice of having Hoffman avoid the scene entirely rather than coming right face to face with it the way he does with Fisk in Saw V. It just makes more sense from a character standpoint. Although I do understand to a point that he’d want control over the scene.

Case File: Interrogation

A memo written by David Tapp about his and Detective Sing’s interrogation of Lawrence.

“Sing and I interrogated Gordon earlier this afternoon. Guy is definitely missing some bolts - I have pretty good instincts for these things. I brought in Amanda Young to recount her story in front of him, behind the two-way of course. Told Sing to observe him, see if there was any recognition, guilt, anything that would give him away. Sing said he seemed genuinely horrified, but I’m not so sure. He’s hiding something from us.

Could be his alibi, one of his students named Carla Song. She said Gordon was helping her setting IVs on patients for her rounds on the night in question. It’s not too crazy to think the family man is stepping outside his marriage with a student, is it?”

Case File: Following Amanda

A memo written by David Tapp about sending Hoffman to tail Amanda for information.

“I had Detective Hoffman follow Amanda Young home after she was released this morning. Station doc said she’s good to go, just a little shaken up. The DA isn’t going to press charges for the whole disemboweling element. She’s been through enough.

Hoffman’s report is pretty uneventful. Young got cleaned up at her shithole apartment, went down to the international District and looked like she was trying to score some drugs from a blonde with tattoos. The blonde in question happens to be an informant named Sarah Blalock, so she was very co-operative.”

Audio Tape: Dr. Lawrence Gordon

Voice of David Tapp about Lawrence’s penlight being found at a Jigsaw scene.

“Positive ID on the fingerprints came back as Dr. Lawrence Gordon. He’s an Oncologist, a cancer surgeon. He was in the system because of some trouble when he was 19; apparently he had a breakdown, had to be institutionalized for 6 months. His medical file is…chilling. White male, mid-to late thirties, obsession with human biology - checks all the boxes for a typical serial killer profile.

We’ve got a work address - I’m waiting on Sing to get back from Forensics and we’re going to pick him up for questioning.”

Again, worth mentioning here since I got an ask about Lawrence being the potential patient in the two redacted case files from the first game– Lawrence is canonically forty-six during the events of Saw (2004). I have no idea why they fudged this to mid-late thirties…it looks like they are either possibly trying to have us believe those medical files were for Lawrence when they were so clearly describing John, or moved his age back to fit the serial killer profile better (which does exist and is as Tapp described). Now, I am aware of the overlap in their general philosophy– it’s what makes Lawrence such a good and loyal apprentice– but some of the things in those files don’t describe what we see Gordon act like in Saw (2004). Just some food for thought. It could all be the writers on this game being devil-may-care about ages. 

Bonus point that my husband put forth as I was writing this: why the hell would they redact Lawrence’s name on medical files? It’s gotta be John since Tapp’s game in the first entry to this videogame series revolved around his obsession with finding out who Jigsaw is. Anyway…

Case File: Jill Tuck

A memo written by David Tapp about Jill Tuck and her involvement with the case after reading Cecil’s journal (which detailed the events that lead to her losing Gideon).

“Finding the woman mentioned in Cecil Adams’ journal was fairly easy. What he did to her, to her unborn child…what a monster. There were only six reported assaults on females that night, and only one at a Free Clinic.

Suspect’s name is Dr. Jill Tuck. No spouse listed. Cursory search shows heavy community involvement, not surprising since she works at a Free Clinic. Revenge for the death of her unborn son is a possibility, but I don’t see her stalking Cecil for any length of time. Maybe look to a boyfriend or family member.

The ‘pig mask’ element mentioned by Cecil is also interesting. Celebrations for the Year of the Pig are going on in the International District. Pig mask used for camouflage, maybe? Or is there something more significant behind it?”

Case File: Gordon Surveillance

A memo written by David Tapp about sending Kerry to tail Lawrence.

“I put Detective Kerry on Gordon duty. Her reports have been pretty standard up to now - man works long hours, goes home to have a late dinner with his family, sleeps, and repeats. But there was an anomaly last night. He spent 30 minutes in his car with Carla Song. Nothing sexual, but definitely outside a healthy teacher-student relationship.

If Gordon is manipulating Carla Song, his alibi is no longer reliable. Gordon is back on the table as our chief suspect.”

Audio Tape: Jennings

Voice of David Tapp, about trying to get information on the case after he was officially taken off (due to his negligence causing Sing’s death in Saw (2004)).

“I got Jennings in a corner, tried to get some details on the case. Gotta give the guy credit, he stalled until Kerry turned me around and told me to back off. She basically cut my balls off, screaming at me about how I just need to let it go and that she’s the lead Detective now.

She’s young, she doesn’t understand. She can’t. I will never stop for what that bastard did to Sing.”

Case File: Hiring Adam

A memo written by David Tapp about hiring Adam to take pictures of Lawrence.

“I followed Dr. Gordon from his office last night, but he spotted me before he got where he was going. He knows my car, my face…I’m going to need outside help on this one. Bernie at the station mentioned a guy he used to catch his wife cheating on him…Adam something. I’ll give him a call.”

And honestly that’s all folks! This game is worse in quality than the first, but I really do recommend watching a no-commentary longplay of it just to have the experience. It’s pretty funny at the very least.

Just like before, if you have any questions or anything funny to share in reference to this game, PLEASE don't hesitate to send me an ask! I'm basically a font of knowledge about these two spinoff games. :)

Be kind to yourselves and remember to cherish your life (YOUR LIFE)!! Oh and happy pride!! Bye!!

[real-odark]

jobs i think all the saw characters would have if they weren't in saw, and didnt all have like the same 2 jobs (discluding some characters who actually have independent jobs, who i'll just put their regular jobs) with some explanations........

john - architect/engineer (obviously); too old to do anything else (jk) and also the jobs just perfect for him

jill - engineer (obviously); i feel like she could also do some childrens programs though, similar to what ill say to lynn, because she wants to feel like a mom since she never got to be one ,,!!

lawrence - doctor (obviously), oncologist; i dont actually have anything to say about this one but. stream oncol-la-la-la-logist from saw the musical

adam - veterinarian, and freelance photographer on the side (obviously); you know if youve read the og script he talks about how he wanted to be a vet. well we're gonna let him Yeaaaa.

amanda - journalist; a mostly independent job, and i know her and adam are similar in how they are the eyes in the sky, i also think she has very strong senses of justice for this job

lynn - doctor (obviously), pediatrician; she works with kids to help her through what she won't be getting to do with her son, to protect him--so instead pays the service to other children

kerry - lawyer; like amanda, a strong sense of justice. not only do i think she is very good at thinking under pressure, but i KNOW shed be serving cunt in that courtroom

eric - highschool sports coach; has a lot of pent up anger and likes to have control of his situation, especially by people who will just. listen to him. he also uses this to try and get close to daniel by working at his school (its probably not working)

daniel - minimum wage grocery store bagger; hes like a teenager, its this or working at an ice cream parlor and ones less socially demanding for the awkward kid he is

strahm - chef; another job for people with anger (watch the bear streaming on hulu), but idk if i can back this up by anything other than saying his face just looks like he makes a mean omelette?

perez - ceo of some financial services; money money money must be funny in a rich mans world. i know shes super confident and was definitely a math mu kid in school so i think she could top off some banking job, but would probably do some local volunteer service stuff as well #communitygal.

hoffman - detective (obv); since his name is legally detective!! just kidding idk i just cant picture him as anything else.

[spiralinghours]

“I’ll Be Seeing You” (1/?)

Fandom: Saw franchise

Characters/Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Rating: PG-13? (for this installment at least)

Tags/Warnings: mild violence/blood mention, allusions to Strahm being a chubby chaser, and good ol’ 1990’s internalized homophobia

Summary: The Jigsaw case wasn’t the first time Hoffman and Strahm met. When they were tasked on an assignment in 1992 they got to know each other, but the lines between professional and personal started to blur…

Author’s Notes: Sorry if the grammar and wording is off, may go in and tighten it at some point.

2006

The creeping feeling was there, all the way on the ride from their field office up to the tip of the stairwell leading into the scene the Metropolitan PD was checking out. Peter Strahm knew he would be on the case. He just wasn’t sure how long it would be until they crossed paths.

And then there it was.

Perez was halfway through stating her title before Strahm even noticed who she was addressing.

“Detective Hoffman?”

God, he was just Officer Hoffman back then. Before. It was weird seeing him out of the starched, black uniform.

There was some chatter about Allison Kerry being their liaison and the information she had provided, but it bounced off Strahm, who was not at all absorbing the words. He just kept staring. ‘Fuck. This guy.’ Or more like Fuck this guy!

Strahm’s eyes scrunched and narrowed as he gave an annoyed exhale, which was saying a lot as his disposition was in a perpetual state of fixed glaring—wrinkles under his tear ducts crinkling and cutting across to his cheekbones. The surrounding officers milling about were probably wondering why he was leering, what his problem was. Perez, after all, had introduced themselves so courteously.

Detective Mark Hoffman’s face, meanwhile, had an equally curious slant. His eyes rolled up and down Peter’s physique, awestruck and indiscreet about it. He quickly resumed some semblance of a dignified, unfazed stance.

Despite taking in the physical differences that hadn’t quite sunken in (Hoffman’s field vest wasn’t quite covering all if his chubbier midsection the way it once did, and his hair was pushed to one side like a typical desk jockey), all Strahm’s vision could muster was a screen of the past overlaying the current space.

He remembered that night in front of the tavern…

AUGUST 1992

It started as a celebratory night with the majority of the precinct reveling at the nearby tavern—a regular spot for most of their off-the-clock activity. On this evening they were giving the metaphorical sigh of relief over closing the case on a killer that had been plaguing the city and surrounding areas for little over a year.

The FBI had been brought in, assigning a handful of agents from the nearest field location to assist in the efforts. One of them was Peter Strahm, all of 28-years-old and green in Bureau. It was only evident in his appearance—on-edge demeanor, mullet slick in the front but slightly unruly in back, button up a little long on the arms—that he was new. It was his intense cold gaze and to-the-point tactics that got him taken seriously and carried him far. Far enough to earn his shots at the Metropolitan law enforcement’s party.

Most of those wince-inducing whiskey shots were taken while glancing curiously across the bar at Officer Mark Hoffman. Marcus, the front desk’s woman had often doted on him with a little smile. Deservedly so, Strahm agreed. Mark’s brand of handsome was a blank smoldering model in a cologne ad. A tanned, blue-eyed shyness in some kind of sporting backdrop in a department store. But when his features were pried with a stupid joke or some out of pocket comment by a senior figure, he cackled a silly laugh, prominent nose scrunched, crooked, gapped smile on display.

It made Peter sigh, which sent him into a mild fit over feeling like a school girl.

Mark was only a couple of years younger than Peter, but had a good few years in the force on his side, which was what paired them up most times on the case. It meant hours turning into days in casing out places, taking turns driving from diner to drive thru just to stay awake with bland coffee. Some nights got more interesting than others, but each day they were tasked together was a new canvas.

Now that they were at the end of the line, Peter would resume business as usual at his office, maybe even have time to go back to Nevada for a while. Which seemed nice, except… something felt left undone. Unsaid.

He pushed his emptied tumbler to the edge of the bar and casually glided over to Mark’s barstool.

“Smoke?” he offered.

Mark’s glassy eyes did a little up-down over Peter’s taller form before sliding off to the back hallway that lead to the parking lot.

“Hey,” Mark paused, stopping their tracks in front of the restroom door. “I appreciate the help you’ve brought on the case.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Peter chuckled with a heavy-browed eye roll. “We did all the thank you’s already. We’re getting drunk now.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark shot back, working his lips into a sassy curl. “I was just trying to be nice.” He craned his head slightly forward, more as a punctuation to his rising sarcasm.

But Peter wasn’t laughing anymore. His face had dropped into something else, eyes dark and fluttering. Mark’s brows knitted into a mixture of intrigue and confusion, not breaking his stare.

Bam, bam, bam. One thing after another. Strahm occupied one palm against Hoffman’s chest, and the other clenching his uniform tie in his fist. With the motion their faces collided, some teeth cutting against lips and tongues. It pushed them into the restroom behind them, so blurred and intense that no one else had noticed.

Against the sticky floor tiles within, Mark tumbled onto his butt, gaze still transfixed with confusion on Peter. He darted out and into the lot before Peter could even offer him a hand up.

Outside in the dewey summer, Strahm darted after Hoffman, calling out “Hey! HEY!”

Mark ceased his stamping off and settled into place, squared up like a statue. “I’m not a fuckin’ queer.” His Jersey

drawl dripped out, lazy but threatening. Though on the defense, his words spilled out like a plea. Please, don’t tell the guys at the station. Don’t get me kicked off the force. Please don’t find me disgusting.

“Neither am I!” Peter lied without quite realizing. “Not that it matters. Just… I dunno. I like this. I like you.”

When Mark wouldn’t respond to the acknowledgment out loud, blue eyes drifting off sharp in the velvet shade of night, Peter pressed on.

“We kissed.”

“No, you kissed me!” Mark spat, face screwing up in a betraying twist. He was blushing. No, fuming. Peter knew exactly what he was masking. Because this wasn’t their first encounter of that sort.

“Fine. You know what? Fuck you. Try not to bite the curb when you’re drunkenly getting back to your patrol car. Fucking lush.” ‘You can’t even kiss me without getting drunk,’ Peter wanted to follow up with. But he had turned, resisting a glance back, only remembering the times before. Those times were a long different: alone in the car, behind a motel, at a gas pump somewhere deserted…

He didn’t want to leave Mark behind. He wanted a next time. Another time to see his goofy smile, his puppy-ish eyes.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Uncoordinated scuttling—rubber soles on crumbling tar—echoed in the lot. “Hey, don’t talk to me like that,” Mark called behind, anger cracking through his tone, deep from in his chest.

Peter tilted his glare so slightly over his shoulder, instantly meeting a dull, radiating impact.

Mark wrung his fist out as it recoiled from Peter’s cheek: minimally bruised, but marked with a ghastly-bright splatter across his knuckles. “That’s what you get,” he choked out.

Without a beat, Strahm was on him, writhing somewhat weakly over the officer on the pavement while still reeling from the punch. He tried throwing all the force he could behind rapid hits, but missed or occasionally caught some awkward angle on Mark.

In a blind reach, Mark went to grab whatever he could to regain some stability, hoping to dig his fingers into Peter’s shoulders. Instead his fingernails caught tacky, humid flesh with a hard impact, raking down a thin trail of blood.

“Fuuuuck!” Peter rasped, pausing to dab the pads of his fingers along a cut on his orbital bone. Thick red seeped alongside his nose, down his cheek.

Mark could feel his own face desperately tense with regret.

The last thing he would ever see of Peter Strahm was the visage of him sat atop his thighs and a tightly wound fist heading between his eyes.

2006

Peter pressed his fingertips down on the raised scar tissue just below his eye. It throbbed maliciously as he took every step through the precinct halls, watched every tiny movement Mark made as he lead them around.

Perez had remained close at Peter’s side through their whole investigative venture so far. But she had to take a call from Erickson before entering into the file room where Hoffman was going to set them up to work. It was fine. Apparently Officer Rigg was in there reviewing footage anyway. Hoffman and Strahm could just wait for the call to end and the room to clear as Rigg wrapped up with the interrogation tape.

Peter released a cartoonishly impatient sigh and pressed his stiff back against the wall.

That was enough.

“You suck on a lemon or something? This whole time you’ve been scowling like I fucking pissed in your coffee.” Hoffman grit his teeth like a junkyard dog, the first time he’d let himself slip with the absence of Perez beside them.

“You’re such a thick-skulled fuck.”

“Oh yeah? That’s rich coming from someone hittin’ the slopes too hard.”

“Wow, very harsh, Detective Bimbo.” Strahm was taken aback by his own sass.

Mark leaned in. “You know, you got real old and bitter. You look like you been chewin’ on nails.”

“You got old and fat.” Peter couldn’t say that it didn’t look appealing on Mark, though. The cockiness was very much still there, but slightly humbled by the rounded edges and layers of cushioning that had expanded his width.

Peter wanted to picture it was a result of comforting, indulgent cooking: a smile spreading on Mark’s idiotic lips at the person across the table from him—the person who had cooked for him. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Even in being strangers for over a decade, Strahm was aware of what had happened to Angelina—the story spread through the news. Hoffman’s appearance wasn’t just extra weight from night after night of spiraling binge drinking, followed by quelling the hunger with takeout; It was a sunken quality to his eyes, a void just under the lids, the line over his brows. He looked hollow behind his own face, which creased with laughter years ago.

‘I could’ve—’ Peter started with himself, quickly cutting it off. No. Whatever he was about to tell himself was a delusion. It wouldn’t matter, especially not once this case was done with.

“You know,” Mark mused on with that purr-like bass to his voice, “I get it. You’re just cranky. Take a nap, sweetheart.” He cupped a thick hand to the scarred side of Peter’s face, grazing a fat thumb over the deeply pink line.

The body reacted before the rest of Peter could catch up, leaning into the touch, but only slightly. Internally he was on the brink of mewing like a starved cat. No no no. NO. He slapped Mark’s hand away.

The flat clacking of Lindsey’s shoes resounded through the hall, subconsciously signaling for the two to behave. They straightened up, but not before Mark leaned into Peter’s ear for a final remark.

“Drinks this week, Special Agent Strahm?”

Peter sneered. The answer wasn’t no.

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 37

First / Previous / Next

Fen... laughed.

Only, it wasn't her voice. It had odd overtones, a strange timbre. It sounded like many people speaking at once.

Y̷̆̾ͅo̸͓͕͗̑û̵̘͔͆ ̵̬̙̓c̸͎͚̔a̶̡̲̐n̷̢͖̈͊n̴͙̜̚ọ̶̋̋t̶̖̰̔ ̶̯́̾s̶͎̈́̎t̵͎̯̿̔o̸̩̓̇p̸̩̗̆ ̶̙̯̄u̶̧̺̐́s̸��̲͠.̵̦̱̓

Gord raised an eyebrow. Chloe turned her face to look at Fen. The Empress scoffed lightly. "Oh? Okay then. Stop us." Meredith said.

Fen's brow furrowed, her mouth twisted in a snarl.

S̸t̶o̸p̸ ̵b̴r̵e̸a̴t̴h̷i̸n̶g̸.̸

This time, Gord laughed. "Friend, I don't need to breathe. That one wouldn't work anyway."

Meredith yawned, and gestured with a sweep of her hand. "Tiresome. Try again."

Ų̶̄͠m̸̹͂,̷͎͎͆̇ ̶̥̉̉j̷̬̯̚u̴̘͚̚͘s̷͓͍̈͘t̵̘͇͑ ̶̬̼̾d̵̺̕ȉ̶͔̤͠e̵̞̔͝.̸̢͋̇

Kerry leaned forward, her eyes clear and piercing. She turned to look at Meredith. "Did it sound like this when your mother or grandmother used the voice?"

Meredith nodded. "Yes, though when we were under the Nanite's thrall, it sounded much more... important."

Ẃ̷̜a̴̫̓̅î̵͔t̵͔̬̔.̴̜̀̇ Fen clears her throat. "Wait. What's going on?"

Gord is clearly relishing this. If possible, he leans even further back, becoming more relaxed. "Tell me, Nanites. Can you sense your brethren? I understand that you're more powerful in higher concentrations. What do you feel?"

The Nanites reach out. They flow from Fen, sensing, probing, detecting.

They feel nothing.

"What did you do?!" Their voice is nearly a shriek. Fen's body starts shaking.

This time, Chloe looks at Gord pointedly. She smirks slightly. "Told you."

Gord raises his shoulders and arms in an exaggerated shrug. "So you did."

"No, but really, what. Did. You. Do?" The Nanites speaking through Fen had a new tone in their voice. They sounded frightened. Fen's body went limp and she slumped to the floor, unconscious.

As she lay on the ground, a kind of grey smoke poured out of her mouth and nose and ears. It was a thick, oily, translucent thing. Gord reached into his pocket and clicked a remote, and the cloud fell to the ground and dissipated.

****

Fen opened her eyes. She was back in Meredith's bed, staring up at the ceiling. She sat up slowly, and this time, Gord and Meredith sat in the room. They were playing cards.

"Fifteen two, Fifteen four, and a pair makes eight." Gord said triumphantly as he laid the cards down. He took a small metal peg in a board and moved it a few holes.

"I still don't get this game. Why are we making 15 with the cards?"

Gord rolled his eyes. "Because that's how your score in Cribbage! I already explained it."

"Yes, but why fifteen?"

"I don't know, it's just the game." He looked over. "Oh hey, Fen's up." He put his cards down. "Might as well call it here, I was about to sunk you anyway."

"Harrumph." Meredith collected the cards and shuffled them into a deck and put it down. "Hello Fen, how are you feeling?"

Fen looked at her hands, her arms, her legs. "I feel... different"

Gord nodded. "Like yourself, I assume."

Fen smiled. "Something like that. I can't hear the Nanites either."

"We were able to purge them from your system yes. When we first learned about them, they told us that removing them from someone who had an Empress package would kill them, but Gord and his AI compatriots were able to work out a solution." Meredith said as she put the cards and Cribbage board away.

"They were lying." Gord said flatly as he turned his chair towards Fen.

"So, they're gone?"

"Gone from you, yes. Gone from the Galaxy? That's going to be harder. They are the reason the Gates work. There are lots of sapients who rely on the Gates." Gord looked up at the ceiling. "There's also... something else."

Fen felt the familiar icy pit of dread. What now? "What is it?" Fen sounded weary. Her cheeks were hollow, her hair stringy and limp, her flesh sallow. The last few weeks had been hard on her. It seemed that without the Nanites, Fen was starting to feel how tired she actually was.

Meredith leaned forward. "Fen, tell me about your biological parents."

Fen's eyes narrowed. She turned her head slightly. "I don't remember them. They died when I was a baby, and Gen'mil Line raised me."

"Did you have any photos of them? Any videos? Anything at all?"

Fen shook her head. "No, Dem'iril - my Matriarch - said that anything like that was destroyed when they escaped on Spyglass" Fen perked up, and she turned to Gord. "What happened to Spyglass?"

Gord smiled broadly. "Oh, she's doing well. Continuing the work. Still a ship. You can visit her soon if you want."

Fen returned the smile. "I'd like that. Anyway, I don't remember my parents, and there wasn't anything to rememeber them with." She touched her chest with her palm. "I feel K'laxi. I know their languages, I know their ways. I follow their ways."

Meredith nodded and got up. She went over towards Fen and sat next to her. She snuggled up close to Fen, and Fen worked very hard not to be startled. This was as close as she ever had gotten to the Empress of Sol. She felt warm and... familiar? "Gord? Do we look alike?"

Gord and Chloe stared hard. Chloe turned her head slightly, trying to get a better view. Gord took out his pad, and snapped a photo. He turned it around and showed them. "You tell me."

Fen looked at the photo.

She could see the resemblance. It was in her cheeks, and her eyes. Her hair was different, and Meredith was taller, but she had to admit, she and the Empress looked alike.

Fen looked at Meredith, and then to Gord. "Well?"

Gord sighed. "This is going to be weird."

Fen crossed her arms and glared. "Gord, it's been nothing but weird for the last year, or more."

"Fair. I'll just come out and say it. You're a clone of the first Empress, Melody Mullen."

"I'm what?" Fen's voice was flat. She expected to be a distant cousin or something not... "a Clone?"

"Yes." Chloe walks into the room, her long strides covering the distance to where Gord and Meredith are sitting. "You are one of about twenty five embryos that were created from the first Empress' DNA. The humans and K'laxi that raised you and escaped on Spyglass stole you, and fled."

"They always told me that they were being persecuted by the Empire for what they believed in. That if they went back to Sol or even Minaren they'd be hunted down."

"Not untrue." Chloe said. "But, not the whole truth."

"Is that why-"

"The Nanites chose you when you went through the Gate, yes. They recognized your DNA."

Fen looked into the distance, remembering. "They had said that they "finally" got to meet me." Her eyes focus and she stares at Gord. "Why were they made? What about the other embryos?"

Chloe shrugs and sighs. "We don't know. It was some kind of black project. Even Meredith's mother - the previous Empress - didn't know about them until you were stolen."

Meredith looked down, her face fallen. "When Mom found out about them - Chloe is right, she didn't know they even existed until you were stolen - she had the rest of them destroyed. They weren't fertilized, they were just cultured tissue. You were the only one who was fertilized and brought to term."

Fen turned to Meredith. "So, does this make us sisters or something?"

"More like you're my great to the nth aunt." Meredith chuckled. "Welcome to the family, we're a mess."

"This is... a lot." Fen laid back onto the bed. "Can I have a moment?"

Gord rose from his chair as Meredith got off the bed. "Sure, take some time. Come on out when you're ready. We can talk about what we're going to do about the Nanites. We don't have to keep you in the dark about them anymore now that they're gone."

The three of them padded out of the bedroom, and the door slid shut quietly. Fen lay on the exquisite pillow in the most comfortable bed she's ever been in. The Empress's bed. Her relative's bed. "Starlight?"

"Yes Fen?"

"What do you think of all this? I know you can hear everywhere."

"You want me opinion? Why?"

"Just" Fen turned her head to the side. The pillow was cool on her cheek. "As an external party. Other than working for Meredith, you have nothing to do with all this."

"Well Fen, I can tell that this is a stressful time for you. And, I know you're going through something that hardly any other person has gone though. I don't really have any way to empathize, but I can sympathize. I'm sorry you have to go through this, but I know you can go through this. In the end, you're still you. Where your embryo came from doesn't really change that."

Fen sniffed. Tears had been welling in the corners of her eyes. "Thanks Starlight. I am still me, aren't I?"

"Especially now that you're free of the Nanites. I'm told that they can change people."

Fen blinked. "How?"

She could hear Starlight shrug. "There is anecdotal evidence that people who got the Empress package of Nanites became more... megalomaniacal. It makes sense."

"It does?"

"Sure. If you're getting set up to run an entire empire - remember, Melody said that the original empire spanned the entire Galaxy - you have to be at least a little obsessed with power and acquiring more. But, I think that's enough for now. Why don't you rest, Fen?"

"All right, Starlight." Fen sighed and snuggled deeper into the bed. "Wake me up before dinner, would you?"

"Of course, Fen."

[dr-reversebeartrap]

Allison Gordon picking up Zepp’s phone and calling back a trapped Adam

Saw 2004 canon divergence

More of a list of ideas than an actual fic even if it sort of looks like one but I can’t be bothered to make this into proper english… In the meantime bon appetit

It’s late in the morning when Allison Gordon goes back to her own house and finds Zepp’s phone in her living room. The police must have missed it. She doesn’t really think about it before she calls back the last number he’d been in communication with.

"I’m gonna kill your husband now, mrs Gordon."

She’s hoping Lawrence will reply.

It beeps five times. She keep listening, what else is there for her to do.

Somebody picks up.

Immediately she cries out "Lawrence! Can you hear me?"

Between the sound’s cracks, she hears the wails of a raspy voice. It isn’t her husband but a whole new problem.

Fight had never left her nervous system and in an instant adrenaline is back too.

"Where is Lawrence? Where’s my husband? Answer me, you monster!"

The man on the phone tells her he doesn’t know where Lawrence is, that he’s gone. That he shot him and that he left… Something happened to his foot but she can’t quite make it out with the way her phone distorts the scared voice of the young man who’s now pleading for help between wet sobs.

"Where are you? Is Adam with you?"

"That’s me!! That’s me!!" he shouts like hearing his own name and being recognized made him feel like a little bit more of a person again. "I’m chained, Mrs Gordon…"

Her anger dissolves into fear as he begs her again not to end the call.

He can’t tell her where he is, only that he’s chained in some disgusting bathroom just like Lawrence had said. It’s pitch black and there’s a dead guy with me, well a new dead guy. He cries telling her it smells bad, in reference to the stench of decaying flesh. She presses the palm of her hand into her eyes and holds her breath to avoid him hearing her starting to cry while he gets sick.

She tries to pacify him, shushing him, sometimes almost singing to him. Like he’s just having a nightmare and not living one.

She stays on call with him for hours but the phone doesn’t have much battery left.

It’s like she’s stuck in there with him. She doesn’t want to leave him alone. He told her they had light earlier but now he doesn’t anymore.

Adam doesn’t let her call the cops at first, too afraid of being abandoned again. Once she does call them, it feels like forever until they decide to show up.

They try to interrogate him but the boy is far from coherent. They can’t countain him and manage to freak him out further, up to the point they hear him put the phone down and start banging his fists against the floor out of frustration.

Allison put a stop to it by taking the phone back. Detective Kerry shrugs in acceptance. Let the poor guy have a break. It might not be the healthiest letting another victim handle this but all things considered…

Adam begs Allison not to leave again.

At times panic overtakes him, he starts shouting and sobbing into the receiver… others he gets so quiet it might be catatonia.

He asks her if he’s gonna die and Allison promises they will find him.

He calls her a liar, a liar like Larry.

Not long afterwards, he melts into apologies for getting angry at her and tells her to tell his mom that he’s sorry.

She doesn’t know what else to say to comfort him so she tells him over and over again that they will find him. She needs to hear herself say these words to him as much as she needs him to believe them. She has no way to know for certain but she needs them to be found, Adam and Lawrence both.

They stay on like this for a long time before Adam’s phone finally dies.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Hannah Critchlow

Mon 17 Jun 2024

Since the sequencing of the human genome in 2003, genetics has become one of the key frameworks for how we all think about ourselves. From fretting about our health to debating how schools can accommodate non-neurotypical pupils, we reach for the idea that genes deliver answers to intimate questions about people’s outcomes and identities.

Recent research backs this up, showing that complex traits such as temperament, longevity, resilience to mental ill-health and even ideological leanings are all, to some extent, “hardwired”. Environment matters too for these qualities, of course. Our education and life experiences interact with genetic factors to create a fantastically complex matrix of influence.

But what if the question of genetic inheritance were even more nuanced? What if the old polarised debate about the competing influences of nature and nurture was due a 21st-century upgrade?

Scientists working in the emerging field of epigenetics have discovered the mechanism that allows lived experience and acquired knowledge to be passed on within one generation, by altering the shape of a particular gene. This means that an individual’s life experience doesn’t die with them but endures in genetic form. The impact of the starvation your Dutch grandmother suffered during the second world war, for example, or the trauma inflicted on your grandfather when he fled his home as a refugee, might go on to shape your parents’ brains, their behaviours and eventually yours.

Much of the early epigenetic work was performed in model organisms, including mice. My favourite study is one that left the neuroscience community reeling when it was published in Nature Neuroscience, in 2014. Carried out by Prof Kerry Ressler at Emory University, Georgia, the study’s findings neatly dissect the way in which a person’s behaviours are affected by ancestral experience.

The study made use of mice’s love of cherries. Typically, when a waft of sweet cherry scent reaches a mouse’s nose, a signal is sent to the nucleus accumbens, causing this pleasure zone to light up and motivate the mouse to scurry around in search of the treat. The scientists exposed a group of mice first to a cherry-like smell and then immediately to a mild electric shock. The mice quickly learned to freeze in anticipation every time they smelled cherries. They had pups, and their pups were left to lead happy lives without electric shocks, though with no access to cherries. The pups grew up and had offspring of their own.

At this point, the scientists took up the experiment again. Could the acquired association of a shock with the sweet smell possibly have been transmitted to the third generation? It had. The grandpups were highly fearful of and more sensitive to the smell of cherries. How had this happened? The team discovered that the DNA in the grandfather mouse’s sperm had changed shape. This in turn changed the way the neuronal circuit was laid down in his pups and their pups, rerouting some nerve cells from the nose away from the pleasure and reward circuits and connecting them to the amygdala, which is involved in fear. The gene for this olfactory receptor had been demethylated (chemically tagged), so that the circuits for detecting it were enhanced. Through a combination of these changes, the traumatic memories cascaded across generations to ensure the pups would acquire the hard-won wisdom that cherries might smell delicious, but were bad news.

The study’s authors wanted to rule out the possibility that learning by imitation might have played a part. So they took some of the mice’s descendants and fostered them out. They also took the sperm from the original traumatised mice, used IVF to conceive more pups and raised them away from their biological parents. The fostered pups and those that had been conceived via IVF still had increased sensitivity and different neural circuitry for the perception of that particular scent. Just to clinch things, pups of mice that had not experienced the traumatic linking of cherries with shocks did not show these changes even if they were fostered by parents who had.

The most exciting thing of all occurred when the researchers set out to investigate whether this effect could be reversed so that the mice could heal and other descendants be spared this biological trauma. They took the grandparents and re-exposed them to the smell, this time without any accompanying shocks. After a certain amount of repetition of the pain-free experience, the mice stopped being afraid of the smell. Anatomically, their neural circuits reverted to their original format. Crucially, the traumatic memory was no longer passed on in the behaviour and brain structure of new generations.

Could the same thing hold true for humans? Studies on Holocaust survivors and their children carried out in 2020 by Prof Rachel Yehuda at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai Medical School, New York, revealed that the effects of parental trauma can indeed be passed on in this way. Her first study showed that participants carried changes to a gene linked to levels of cortisol, which is involved in the stress response. In 2021, Yehuda and her team carried out more work to find expression changes in genes linked to immune-system function. These changes weaken the barrier of white blood cells, which allows the immune system to get improperly involved in the central nervous system. This interference has been linked to depression, anxiety, psychosis and autism. Since then, Ressler and Yehuda have collaborated, with others, to reveal epigenetic tags in PTSD afflicted war zone-exposed combatants. They are hoping this information could aid PTSD diagnosis or even pre-emptively screen for individuals who might be more prone to developing the condition before they enter the battlefield.

In all times and across all cultures, people have paid their dues to their ancestors and pondered the legacy they will leave for their descendants. Few of us believe any more that biology is necessarily destiny or that our bloodline determines who we are. And yet, the more we learn about how our body and mind work together to shape our experience, the more we can see that our life story is woven into our biology. It’s not just our body that keeps the score but our very genes.

Might this new understanding increase our capacity for self-awareness and empathy? If we can grasp the potential impact of our ancestors’ experiences on our own behaviour, might we be more understanding of others, who are also carrying the inherited weight of experience?

We are, as far as we know, the only animals capable of “cathedral thinking”, working on projects over many generations for the benefit of those who come after. It’s an idealistic way to think about legacy, but without it we will struggle to tackle complex multigenerational challenges such as the climate and ecological emergencies. Our knowledge of epigenetics and its potential to massively speed up evolutionary adaptation could support us to do everything we can to be the ancestors our descendants need. Conflict, neglect and trauma induce unpredictable and far-reaching changes. But so do trust, curiosity and compassion. Doing the right thing today could indeed cascade across generations.

[amiizuki]

it amuses me how RWBY Beyond was advertised as "see what was happening in Remnant during V9, while RWBYJ were in Ever After", and yet the 2nd episode out of 4 of the series is about what Jaune was doing after V9. yeah, he talks about stuff that happened during V9 (or, technically, before, since it's about events from when he was with Alyx and Lewis), but the whole thing still takes place post V9, with him telling all those stuff to Oscar.

and then there's the 1st episode, which, while indeed taking place during V9, is just comedy filler, that supposedly continues with detectives joke from RWBY Chibi (I never watched RWBY Chibi, I only heard from other people that that show also had Sun and Neptune act like detectives) with no actual relevant info about what was happening with Vacuo, or the Atlas and Mantle refugees, or how people and the ruler of Vacuo were handling a whole ass nation of people just suddenly dropping onto their doorstep, or anything like that. the only sort of plot relevant info was showing that Summer Maiden is in Vacuo, but then again, her identity was still hidden from us and Kerry quickly jumped off from that plot point as soon as it was introduced with his """hilarious""" "nuh-uh, no more new characters lmao XD" line.

this 2nd episode isn't really that bad, it's kinda alright, certainly better than the 1st one, but, again, when I read that the series will be about what people of Remnant, who aren't RWBYJ, were doing during V9, I kinda thought it'll be about Atlas and Mantle citizens trying to get used to their sudden new life in Vacuo, or Oscar/Ozpin talking to Theo and all 3 maidens to figure out what to do next, or, hell, maybe even focus on Tai's feelings on everything that happened, with him thinking if he did the right thing by letting Ruby and Yang leave, since now he doesn't even know if his daughters, his last remaining family, are even alive, assuming he knows about the fates of Vale, Atlas and Mistral. (yeah, Tai's still at his house I think, but the description did say that it's about "what was happening in Remnant", not just Vacuo. yeah, Vacuo is a more important location right now, with everything except Menagerie and Mistral literally getting nuked just so the writers wouldn't have to go back to those places, but then change the description to "see what was happening in Vacuo during V9" if your only gonna focus on that location).

but no – the 1st episode is basically useless (and also very unfunny, but that's just my opinion) and the 2nd one, while okay on its own, takes place after V9 and doesn't focus on other people of Remnant, focusing on Jaune instead.

if the next episode is gonna be about bumbleby going on a date in Vacuo and telling everyone about how they got together in Ever After I'm gonna eat my own chair

and if the last episode will be the only one with any actual plot relevance, useful into or big reveal I'm gonna eat another

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 4/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader (18+)

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3.

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

(Welcome to the point of no return.)

Word count: 4147

NOTE: I have made an executive decision. The reader has a vagina. In other news, this chapter is explicit.

The fic is now 18+ (but why are you reading a saw fic if you're under 18...?) If you don't like smut uhhh idk skip through this one, I guess. Sorry!

WARNINGS: Explicit sex, degradation (minor), manipulation, corruption, stockholm syndrome, general saw levels of horror.

When you wake up again, you do so suddenly, with a gasp. It's like you're taking your first deep breath of fresh air after being trapped underwater.

"You're awake!" Kerry says with a gasp of her own, the sound of her voice coming from the right of where you're lying. Cushioned in blankets and bandages, you feel a little restrained, and have to fight the desire to rip yourself out of bed.

It takes another moment for your awareness to fully kick in. The world remains dark. Your ability to see is simply gone, snuffed out like a candle.

Instead, you can feel. You can tell Kerry is there, to your right, but also that Mark Hoffman is sitting somewhere off to your left. You feel his presence like a beacon- roiling aggression under a composed front, with a deep sense of pride. His concern is sharper than a knife point.

But is it concern for you, or concern for what you might say, now that you've woken up?

Stretching out from your point of origin, you can feel pinpricks of presence, almost overwhelming in number. Fleeting emotions of loss, panic, sorrow, hope, and anger flit past you, but you're able to keep your distance from them, without getting sucked in to the whirlpool of other people's feelings.

That's new.

"Hey Ally," you croak, your voice hoarse, "How about that, huh? Looks like I made it onto Jigsaw's radar."

You feel Kerry's guilt before she speaks, pouring out of her. Gently, she reaches forward and takes your right hand into hers. My fault, my only friend, first Eric and now this. And I wasn't even the first to notice-

"Um, where's Prawn?" You ask, touching your wrist gingerly with your free hand. It's itchy, and you can feel thick gauze wrapped around your wounds. By the smell of disinfectant and the sound of distant beeping, you're fairly certain you're in a hospital bed.

"He's fine," Kerry says, her voice wavering and watery, "I've been watching him. He's been worried sick, you know."

"I guess that makes three people, at least," you say, nodding your head over toward you guess Mark Hoffman is sitting. Off in that direction, you hear the rustle of clothing, like someone is sitting up.

"You can see me?" You hear him ask, groggy and confused.

"No," You reply softly, "Lucky guess."

"There was no tape left behind," Kerry murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles, "We don't know why you were taken. Usually, there's a tape. Were there any instructions left for you? Any clues that you can remember?"

"Christ Kerry, they've just woken up," Mark mutters. With a creek of his chair, you hear him stand, and then a slow sound of heavy footsteps indicate to you that he's walking over to your bedside.

He's been sleeping by your bed, you note. Probably because he's worried you're going to break down and tell Kerry- Mark Hoffman is working with Jigsaw and he burned out my fucking eyes!

"You know how he likes to play with the detectives hunting him, Ally," You say instead, dodging the question about the tape. You have no idea how to answer that. "I'm your best friend. And..."

You pause, mid-sentence. Frustrated, angry, and more than a little hysterical, it's dawning on you now that you're never going to see again. It's at least partially the fault of the man to your left.

But when Mark reaches out and takes your other hand into his, turning it over to trace a spiral shape into your palm, your stomach still flips. The mounting attraction and sexual tension between you hasn't vanished just because you're pissed off and hurt.

Unfortunately.

"And we're seeing each other," Mark adds, simply, "Makes sense he'd go after you."

"Sorry?" Kerry sputters. She actually lets go of your hand, she's so shocked, "What the hell happened to not interested?"

"I knew you'd make a big deal about it," you mumble, going with the lie as your cheeks burn. You hate lying to Kerry, and not just because you hate lying in general.

"You told her you weren't interested?" Mark asks, and you think you can hear a hint of real amusement in his tone.

"Well, I could tell it was a lie," Kerry replies, "but-"

"HELLO?" You raise your voice, cutting her off, "Jigsaw victim? Serial killer targeted me? Deep, deep trauma? Not allowed to make fun of me right now!"

Kerry laughs, and you think you can hear a note of relief in it.

"This is why I love you," She says fondly. "Jigsaw would never be able to kill you. You're the most resilient motherfucker I've ever met. Who jokes at a time like this?"

"Yes, rub in how weird I am right now," You reply, wrinkling your nose. You let go of Mark's hand and push yourself up to a seated position, and then throw off your blankets. Sliding over to the right side of the bed, you sit on the edge of the mattress, suddenly unsure of yourself.

The entire world is still out there.

"Hey, that was a compliment," Kerry says, "You might want to take it easy, though. For real, you've been through a lot."

Heavy footsteps walk around to the edge of the bed you're sitting on, and you can feel Mark Hoffman, standing in front of you. As you reach out, you feel an arm to steady you, and you grab hold of it as you pull yourself up. Beside you, you hear Kerry stand as well.

"Why are two of the three lead detectives on the Jigsaw-Investigations-Unit hanging out by my hospital bed, anyway?" You ask, brushing her worry off, "Shouldn't you be out there casing the s- wherever I was found?"

"Consider it cased," Kerry replies with a sigh, missing your slip-up, "You're our main lead right now. We're going to need to take your statement at the station, once you feel well enough to go."

Mark Hoffman is a stable anchor to lean on. Looping your hand through the crook of his arm, you consider the endless, vast sea of darkness surrounding you. In the far-off distance, various abstractions graze against your awareness, different from the more localized flares of feeling.

You focus and reach out to one of them, with a slight tilt of your head.

A flash, in your mind, of a man and a woman you've never seen before, side-by-side. Her, with dark tightly curled hair, full lips, and decisiveness like an arrow. Him, with a strong jaw, dark eyes, and a barely contained mania that threatens to leak out from the seams. He knows the water just as you do. Neither of you will drown.

You don't know who they are, but you know they will be important.

"Did you... sense anything?" Kerry asks hesitatingly, as though worried asking the question will offend you, "When Jigsaw took you, or when you were in the trap?"

"Too much," You answer cagily, "But I didn't have time to make sense of it. I was a little distracted by the looming threat of death, in my defence."

"Fair enough," Kerry replies wearily. Something beeps, off by where she's standing, and she curses.

"I have to run," She says, "Our tech guy just got in and I have to brief him on the investigation. Hoffman, are you able to take them to the police station for the statement?"

"Sure thing," He responds, "I was hoping we could talk, anyway."

"Right," Kerry remarks. There's a long pause, and she adds with a grumble, "So weird. I don't know how to feel about this."

You fake a grin, and wave her off. As soon as you sense her presence fading, along with the sound of her footsteps clicking down the hall, you turn to Mark Hoffman, let go of his arm, and whack him on his broad chest.

"You son of a bitch," you hiss, whacking him again.

"Hey, hey-" He snaps back, grabbing your hands and holding them firmly in place before you can hit him again, "Stop it."

"I should tell everyone," you whisper angrily, "You took my fucking eyes, Mark."

"John Kramer took your eyes. You think I wanted to put you in that thing?" You try to break free of his grip on your wrists, without success.

"And you just do everything he says, is that right? Two hundred and fifty pounds between him and Amanda both, and you were helpless?" You say, yanking your arms free. Your brain buzzes with the desire to hurt him the way he's hurt you, and you conclude that it's not by hitting him again.

"You think Angela would approve of that?" You whisper to him, "Do you think she-"

Strong hands reach out and shove you backward. You hit the wall, hard. It's disorienting, and with no way to anticipate it or brace yourself, pain blossoms across your back. You feel Hoffman press you against the wall, one of his hands grabbing you by the jaw.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snarls, keeping his voice low. It's a dangerous tone, and you can't help but feel satisfied, knowing that you're managed to get under his skin. Once again, you've caught a glimpse of the predator hiding under his cool exterior.

Pressing in so close to you, you can smell him, a light scent of amber and cedar cologne. Trying to catch the breath that's been knocked out of you, you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, panting, so close that it's brushing against yours.

A different sensation floods you, your anger melting into molten arousal. The tension between you feels wound to a snapping point, your blood flushing to your cheeks and causing your skin to tingle. His grip on your jaw is tight, almost painful, but you tilt up your chin ever-so-slightly, baring your neck.

You feel like you're going a little bit insane, frankly. Who could blame you, after what you've been through recently? Your body shouldn't be reacting like this, not when you should be furious with him.

But fuck it.

"Or what?" You whisper, "You going to teach me a lesson, Detective?"

Your taunt seem to hang in the air, and although you can't see Mark's reaction, you hear a noise of frustration escape from him. The hand holding your jaw moves to tilt your chin up.

"You've got a smart mouth," He mutters angrily, the pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Mark leans his face in close, and you can feel his breath on your neck. One of his thighs presses forward, between your legs. Pinned against the wall, you couldn't wiggle out of this if you wanted to- and you don't want to.

"You really sure you want to test me?" He murmurs in your ear, both a threat and a promise. With your heart beating so wildly that you're sure he can hear it, you try to shift, but his weight against yours keeps you pressed firmly in place. The friction from his thigh, and the heat of his breath on your ear, causes you to let out an embarrassing little groan of pleasure.

"Mark-"

"Not your smartest idea," Mark lets out an irritated huff of breath, and another beat passes between you before he continues, voice rough. "You know, I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I met you, sweetheart."

Fuck. Heat and need crawl up your spine.

"When you were threatening me in your car?" You ask a little too breathlessly, with a raise of your eyebrow. Gathering your bearings, you slip your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him.

"Yeah," Mark answers, lips and teeth grazing your neck, and you shiver. You need more of his mouth on you, now.

Mark freezes, seeming to be momentarily distracted by something.

"Door's open," He mutters to you.

"It is?" You whisper back in worry, grabbing the fabric of his jacket and squirming in his hold, "Can you...close it?"

"You don't want anyone else to see you like this?" He asks with a smirk in his voice, pulling back. You can almost feel his eyes running over you, looking you up and down, "Only me, huh?"

He pulls back not a moment too soon. You can feel another presence approaching your room, and you tap his shoulder hurriedly.

"Someone's coming." Regrettably, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mark lets go of you, taking a step back. You miss the warmth of his body immediately, but you hear someone enter the room not long after.

"Oh, you're up!" A male voice calls out, alarmed, "Detective, please save your questions for later," Footsteps walk over to where the two of you stand, and the voice adds, "I need to check your eyes. Assuming everything looks...stable, there will be some paperwork to go through, and then you should be cleared for discharge."

You hear Mark sigh. An alarm rings out- from his phone, if you had to guess- and he quickly turns it off. Something about the noise nags at your awareness, like you know innately that something is off about it.

"We can do the statement at the station tomorrow. But let me know when you get home," Mark remarks, before adding, "I'll see you later."

And then he's gone too, leaving you with the doctor in a darkened world.

"There's a lot we should go over," The doctor tells you sheepishly, "Things are going to be very different for you, now."

You have a feeling he's right.

---

You are supposed to have a long, cold shower when you get home. You are supposed to come to your senses, re-evaluate your choices, and examine what the hell you thought you were doing earlier.

After thinking it over, you are supposed to realize you're acting rashly, being ridiculous, and playing with fire- you can't want Detective Mark Hoffman, knowing what you know about him. What he does to people, and what he did you.

That... does not happen.

By the time you've fumbled your way through your apartment door, cane in hand and sunglasses on, your desire for him has increased tenfold. It only increases further when you realize you're alone in the apartment, with not even your cat to greet you- Kerry must still have Prawn at her place.

It all seems horribly lonely, all of a sudden. You'll never again see your cat's sleepy expression, or the soft fur on his belly when he rolls over. You won't get to look at the art pieces hung up on your walls, or curl up on your couch to watch a movie in the same way as before. As you stand in your entryway, it dawns on you that you're not even sure how you'll make dinner tonight.

Right now you're feeling helpless.

Hmm. Had you thought those words before?

You may be Kerry's only real friend. But she is also yours. And you could use someone to help you adapt to your new circumstances. You could call her, and she would come over to help you. Make you dinner, clean up your place.

But if you're being honest with yourself, Kerry isn't the person you want in your apartment right now, and you don't want to work on adjusting your life. You want Mark here, to fuck you within an inch of your life and make you forget, paradoxical as it is.

Carefully, you make your way over to your couch. It takes a couple of tries with your cell phone, but with the accessibility features turned on, you eventually find Mark's number.

You hesitate.

If you sleep with Mark Hoffman tonight, that's crossing a line that you're not going to be able to uncross. What would Kerry think, to know that all along, not only have you known who the secret Jigsaw accomplice is, but that you chose to fuck him after you found out?

It's not the heat of the moment, anymore. You are here, alone, with a clear head and the time to reconsider and back out of this. You can even just visit Kerry, grab your cat, and skip town. If you keep messing around, you're going to end up actually helping a serial killer- if you're not already.

The notion doesn't bother you. Not as much as it should.

"Hey. I'm at home," You say into the phone, trying and failing to sound casual, "You remember my address, right? I could... use some help. If you're free." You pause, and add in for good measure, "It's the least you can do. You know, considering."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there soon," Mark Hoffman replies curtly, before he hangs up the phone.

You try to tidy up before he arrives, kicking the clothes you can find into your closet and gently putting away some dishes. What use are psychic powers if you keep nailing yourself on your kitchen island every time you walk past?

It isn't long before you feel Mark's presence entering the edge of your awareness. You can sense him, and the electric feeling up pent up energy as he approaches. What's the radius on that? You'll need to experiment, later. The thought of him approaching makes you nervous, your heart fluttering in anticipation and early arousal.

You open the door for him just before he goes to knock on it.

"Hey," You say, "I know, the glasses are a new look, I-"

He is shoving you back into the apartment, mouth pressing against you before you can react. Walking you backward, he is kissing you insistently, aggressively. A hand on your waist squeezes, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Heat seems to radiate from everywhere he touches, sending a heady need coursing through your body.

Mark leaves you momentarily. You hear your apartment door closing and latching shut, and the click of a lock. Then he's back, his mouth on yours again, hard, unrelenting kisses leaving you dizzy.

Every movement is dominant, unyielding. Mark Hoffman leaves no quarter as he groans into your mouth, a low and hungry noise.

"You want me to take care of you?" He groans, low and rough against your mouth, "You need me to fuck you until you go dumb, baby?"

You let out a needy whine in the affirmative, nodding your head as you clench your thighs together. His hands grip your hips, holding you tight in a way that makes your entire body tremble. You know that your face is burning, and it's embarrassing, how quickly you're falling apart under his attention- and he's barely even touched you yet.

Suddenly his hands have left your hips, and you feel a palm flat on your chest, pushing you back. Your lower back stings as it smacks against the kitchen island, and once again, you're pinned. Exactly where he wants you.

"Mark," you gasp out. You can feel the warmth of his body, so close to yours, but he doesn't touch you yet. You reach out your hands to touch his broad chest, running them across the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn't reciprocate.

"What do you want? Use your words," He murmurs into your ear, condescending and teasing. Shame makes your cunt clench.

"Touch me, please-"

"That it? You just want me to touch you?" He mocks. You can hear the wolfish grin in his voice. His hands trail up your body and under your shirt, sliding across your smooth skin. Surprisingly deft fingers pinch one of your nipples, rolling it in a way that makes you cry out and grind your hips forward, frustratingly, against nothing.

"Jesus, Mark," You snap, desperation straining your voice, "You're a dick. I want you to fuck me until I forget my name, is that better?"

He actually laughs, before sliding a hand down the front of your pants. Another gasp falls from your lips, followed by a ragged moan as his fingers slip past your underwear to find you soaked. Calloused fingers tease you as you lean forward, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

Bliss electrifies your body, and you can't stop the whimpers and gasps that escape from you as you as Mark harshly encircles your clit. The pace is merciless, and you squirm under his touch, the pleasure mounting quickly.

God, but you can't even think. You hold onto his arm and moan his name, a sound broken by lust.

"Fuck," He hisses with a groan of his own, "Can't wait any longer."

With a yank, your pants and underwear are around your ankles. You barely have time to step out of them before Mark has flipped you around, bending your body over the kitchen island. His movements are forceful, almost brutal in their execution.

Mark's body leans over yours, and you can feel the press of his hard cock through his pants as he lays his body over yours to speak in your ear.

"You're so fucking needy. You're going to take me so well, aren't you sweetheart?"

It only takes a moment for him to pull back and undo his pants. A jagged, filthy moan is torn from you as he presses his cock inside of you, and with a snap of his hips, he fills you completely. His hands grip your hips so tightly that you're sure they're going to leave bruises across your skin.

His cock feels perfect inside of you, so thick and full that you're sure it's going to drive you insane. It's going to ruin you.

Gripping onto the edges of the kitchen island for purchase, you whimper as he begins to move.

His weight bears down on you, the hard edge of the counter nearly cutting into your stomach. You can't find it in you to care, not with the way that Mark starts to thrust into you, setting a ruthless pace.

He fucks you hard.

"Mark," you eke out, barely able to hold onto the counter. Your entire body jolts with each snap of his hips, slammed again and again against the surface. Heat is building in your stomach, burning through your core.

"Come on baby," He says, voice almost hoarse with lust, "You're making me feel so good. Come on, come on, come on my cock."

A hand reaches around your body, and his fingers find your clit again. They rub harsh, hot circles into your skin. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure taking you to the edge of your release and then kicking you over it. You feel utterly helpless, utterly undone.

You writhe under Mark Hoffman, coming with a cry.

And your reality seems to crack apart. A million futures narrow to a thousand, and as you breathe, you feel the world breathe with you. You feel Mark behind you, inside of you, his cruelty and his oppression, the hunter, the killer, the lover, the sinner-

It's going to rain blood down upon him. Upon you both.

With a few more brutal thrusts inside of you, Mark grunts as he reaches his own climax, slowing to hard, deliberate strokes as he spills inside of you. You moan weakly, already sore, as he continues to move until he's fully spent. Eventually, his movements stop, and you can feel as his cock finishes pulsing inside of you.

Slowly, Mark's hands let go of your waist. He pulls back, off of you, and steps away.

You peel yourself off of the counter and stumble over to your couch, laying down as you catch your breath. After a few minutes, you hear Mark sit down beside you. A hand grazes your leg, touching it almost affectionately.

"We should have used a condom," you mumble.

"Yeah," He agrees, "Doubt you regret it, though," and you have to admit, he's right about that.

You sit in a comfortable silence together for a while. His hand strokes your calf, his fingers running up and down the bare skin of your shin in a soothing motion. It feels good. Calm, after the ferocity of the sex you just experienced.

"I think... I've got to go to the bathroom," you say suddenly, sitting up and surprising yourself with your words.

"I'm not stopping you," Mark replies, and you shake your head.

"No- no, the underground one. The Jigsaw one," You shuffle on the couch, turning fully to him, "I think... I don't know why, but I think I'll be able to find answers there. About the third apprentice."

Mark hums in thought.

"John doesn't know that you know about that," he says, "He and Amanda will be gone pretty soon. And I sure as hell want to know about any secrets waiting for us."

"Then we'll go," You say decisively. You think of your vision of the two other mysterious figures later, and the rainfall of blood. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. And hungry.

"...We'll go tomorrow."

---

A/N- I'm thinking there are one, maybe two more parts left in this story. I had a tricky time writing this chapter, so please leave a comment if you enjoyed! <3

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

---

NEXT CHAPTER

[lightofthemoonglow]

kinktober day 28

Daddy & Mommy | Body Worship | Cockbulge

Peter Strahm

follow up to this

Love you anon that suggested this and special shoutout to @haurchefantspouse for suggesting that Strahm be doing the worshippng. contains vague size kink because of what it is a sequel to. also written after i had an edible

They don’t talk about it in the immediate aftermath. They try not to think about it. Strahm goes to throw out the condom and tried to get her voice out of his head. The sound of her calling him ‘darling’ as she had encouraged him to come, how she had let out a happy cry after he had called her ‘baby’ and come with a sob, coming alive under him in a way he had never quite seen before. And then he had come, harder than he’d ever had in god knows how long. It had taken a while to peel himself off of her, he had waited until their hearts had evened out.

Instead of leaving, which sometimes happened, Strahm undresses. He gets back into her bed, pressing his bare chest against her naked back, taking in the sound and motions of her breathing. It’s soothing, the noise in his head is silence. For a moment, Strahm forgets all about Jigsaw, he doesn’t see the crime scene photos, he just feels her.

“Hey, turn over,” he whispers. “I wanna…just let me…” He doesn’t know what to do, how to articulate what he wants. Strahm is used to be able to just go ahead, but this isn’t a crime scene. He doesn’t have a file of information or even half an idea, he can’t just look around the room and be able to come up with something. All he’s got is what’s right in front of him.

The blanket is pushed off the bed as he climbs on top of her, studying her carefully in a way he never had before. They don’t do this every time they see each other and have never planned to have sex. And while Strahm is so strict about so much of his life, he goes with his impulses when it comes to her. It minimizes the intrusive thoughts.

She seems fragile under him. Almost breakable and while he knows what she can handle, something feels different about touching her. Strahm runs a hand along her left flank and moves downward as he watches her breath. There’s so much death around him all the time but he isn’t thinking about it. Right now, all he sees is her, her body, up close and everything he had imagined it would be.

Strahm kisses her jaw, avoiding her lips for now. His mouth travels down her neck, to her chest. He takes his time with her breasts, his hand engulfing one as his mouth works over the other, sucking and biting until she’s whimpering, switching off at his leisure, not moving downwards until she’s begging him.

“Be patient,” he says, and not for the first time that night. But this time, Strahm’s voice is softer, he kisses her nipple one last time before moving downwards. His large hands sweep over her torso, moving downwards to grip her hips as he moves downwards, bracing his hands on her ribs. For a moment, the thoughts seep in, he sees her in that trap they had found Detective Kerry in and he pulls back, closing his eyes for a moment. No, this is not the time, he needs to just fucking shut his brain off.

“Peter? Are you alright?” She sits up, pressing her palm to his cheek. “We can stop.” Their foreheads press together and his fingers go to her hair. Strahm shakes his head and gently pushes her back down, settling between her thighs. She’s soft there, his hands have a decent grip on them as his lips brush against the place where her thigh and groin meet.

His head is quiet again and he rests his head on her thighs, taking in the scent of them, her warmth and he knows that he should say something. They both know but stay where they are, wrapped up in each other.