#criminal minds prophet

[madhare0512]

sorry this is soo random but the prophet brainrot took over and. can u believe how soft this guy is. he's soo.. gentle....... soft-spoken... nd nice........ i wonder what it took for him to be this kind.... oahghhb i just wanna hug him. why is he SO DAMN soft Mad. 😭😭😭😭😭 (i say abt a 40+ yr old ex convict. LMAOO) leaving this here bc ur one of the two ppl left who like him and. and I love n miss ur portrayal of him :) <3

TONES!! BITCH (/AFF) WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN???

Nah, kidding, but the hyperfixation will come back around at some point, I think?? Rn it's Batim and Mag7 so I'm hopeful. BUT!

~~~

No, but listen. The people with the most trauma are the kindest people. And people who grow up in loud households learn to be non-confrontational and soft. They're so nice and so kind and so loving. Prophet?? Displays all the signs of growing up in some form of abusive home. See my headcanons for why he murdered that asshole, you know? Lol

~~~

@constantones

[moltage]

would you guys still love me if i said i miss criminal minds suspect behavior

[gold-onthe-inside]

it is criminal that we didn't get a single scene of the suspect behaviour team playing laser tag. you just know the whole team would gang-up on mick

[the-mad-closet]

Micphet A-Z please

Done deal!

~~

A - Aftercare

Prophet was in prison for going on six years, so sex is still very intense for him, especially since he's extremely new to the BSDM scene. Mick always makes sure to provide a lot of aftercare. And, of course, once he's back to himself, Prophet reciprocates. (Dom aftercare is IMPORTANT)

~

B - Body part

Mick's a slut, he loves Prophet's cock, up his ass, in his hands, wherever. On himself, he likes his ass and wrists

Prophet likes Mick's eyes. Kind of has to be explained the question? Once he understands, Prophet will tell you that his favorite part of Mick's body is his hands and his hips.

~

C - Cum

They both love it. Prophet likes it in him, Mick likes it in his mouth

~

D - Dirty secret

Prophet sometimes wears a harness to work under his clothes. Mick likes wearing plugs

~

E - Experience

Prophet's experience is limited almost entirely to the female sex. Mick has experience with both male and female lovers - and a lot of it

~

F - Favorite position

Prophet likes being on his back because it's the most comfortable for his old man body. Mick likes to 69 it

~

G - Goofy

Mick can be a little silly sometimes, but the games are off the moment they're in the bedroom. For Prophet, whose father was an absolute DICK, love is perceptional. If Mick starts joking in bed, Prophet's going to think Mick thinks love is a game. Prophet is also deadly serious in the bedroom

~

H - Hair

Prophet is well groomed, it's a habit from prison. Mick is not, he trims up only when necessary

~

I - Intimacy

Above all, in their relationship, Prophet and Mick are madly in love, and it shows in the bedroom, even when they're kinky with it

~

J - Jack off

Mick will masturbate as often as he can, but Prophet isn't allowed to touch himself without Mick's permission, so Mick usually ends up doing it for him

~

K - Kink

Prophet's into wax play, breath play, and sometimes pet play when the mood strikes

Mick likes seeing his subs blindfolded so they have to rely on him for guidance

~

L - Location

Anywhere. These two can't keep their hands off each other for a second. Anywhere they're together and it's big enough to hide them - that's their favorite place

~

M - Motivation

Mick does this thing with his tongue that really gets Prophet going, no matter where he puts his mouth on Prophet's body. On the other hand, Prophet done up nice in a suit (or maid outfit) is everything to Mick

~

N - No

Prophet can't do handcuffs or orange jumpsuits. Mick doesn't like the cold or being forced to hold a position for a long time.

~

O - Oral

Both love giving and receiving, but there's a reason Mick's favorite position is the 69 position lol

~

P - Pace

Pacing can change multiple times in a night, hard and fast, short and sweet, short and fast, sweet and hard, it all just depends on what they're feeling.

~

Q - Quickie

Prophet actually lives of quickies for a good while when he got out of prison. He hadn't been touched in several years and his wife left him while he was in prison. Mick provides said quickies and lives for them still

~

R - Risk

Those boys are risky, for sure. They've done it in broom closets, over the desk, in the living room, in bathrooms, and once or twice while over at a friend's house. If they're out of sight, they're getting down and dirty

~

S - Stamina

Prophet's done for quick, but he can go multiple rounds, Mick can also go multiple rounds. It's not uncommon for them to have sex five times a day (usually only once or twice via penetration, though)

~

T - Toys

Mick has this thing about giving Prophet pleasure himself and Prophet doesn't like how fake and plastic most toys feels, so they have exactly one vibrator, a cock ring, and a cage

~

U - Unfair

Prophet is a huge tease. That's actually how they got together. Prophet teased Mick until Mick finally got the hints he was trying to lay out. Mick is also a huge tease and very much likes to rile Prophet up before they go at it

~

V - Volume

Mick isn't a sounds kinda person, he talks a lot though. Prophet had to work up to being a loud mouth, but once he's there, he never came back

~

W - Wild card

Prophet likes it when Mick walks in and just takes him after a day where they've been apart

~

X - X-ray

Mick is long and thick, Prophet is shorter, but also thick.

~

Y - Yearning

Prophet's sex drive is high, but not long, Mick's sex drive is long, but not high. Together, they make a perfect pair!

~

Z - Zzz

I know it's expected that Prophet would fall asleep first because he's the old man and he's sleepy a lot, but it's Mick that falls asleep first. Prophet's always got too much energy after sex to sleep, so he goes and works it out on the punching back and Mick enjoys the show until he falls asleep.

~~

@quburt

[erinfern0]

cutting the cord

spencer reid x explosives specialist!gn!reader

— gender-neutral nicknames, gender-neutral anatomy, only pronouns used are you, they, etc.

summary: the team struggles with a group who planned to plant a bomb in a town hall to spread awareness of their cause. as the only technicians available in the area are busy with another emergency, Spencer finds himself calling you, the closest off-duty technician he knew, despite how much he hates the idea.

warnings: emotional, angst(?), some swearing, love confession, and obviously stress, anxiety and fear for your life, etc. cliffhanger

a/n: this was highly inspired by episode 'hero worship' from season 10 of Criminal Minds. I haven't written anything besides smut for such a long time I wanted to give something like this a try. Itt's also over like 2,5k words long--- (I'm so sorry i don't even know how i wrote it)

Doomsday Prophets - The group they were tracking started off small, with a bunch of troubled, unsupervised teenagers led by their online guru, who believed the system was too flawed to even try to repair it. They spent their first months spreading their agenda with countless flayers and graffiti murals all over the most popular places in the city. No one knew his real name, just the internet alias of doomsking130. Even the great Garcia couldn't track him in time before one of his sidekicks got brutally beaten for trying to leave.

Countless informants, and hours spent in interrogation rooms with lower-ranked members and the injured boy, lead them to the leader struggling with psychosis and an overwhelming god complex. He believed the only way to get people's attention was to set a bomb in a nearby town hall in the early morning hours, showing even the government can't protect people from the truth, at least that's what the team thought.

He never even thought there might be security guards waiting for him, informed about his plans by the FBI. As soon as they saw him entering the building via security cameras, they called no other than SSA Hotchner, who had warned them earlier that something like this might happen soon. His team quickly moved into action, hoping they could stop him before he set up the bomb, just to avoid getting help from Bomb Techs.

“Dave, you and I go from the staff-only entry on the left, Morgan and Jareau take the right window, the security guard who called left it open,” said Agent Hotchner, pointing the right directions to his team, watching them split. “Reid and Callahan, you enter the front and look for any worker left in the building.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, splitting and running to their destinations with their guns in their hands. Dr. Reid could feel a tiny drop of sweat running down his brow as he pointed another person toward the front door. People ran away in fear but kept their mouths closed not to alarm the criminals' leader.

Some time passed, leading the team to the building's basement, where the leader set up his life's biggest achievement. A small-looking detonator, connected to two canisters of gasoline, was set next to the power outlet. The arrest was quick, he didn't try any games or to run away, he simply allowed Agent Rossi to cuff him, because the damage was done.

Or was about to be done.

The bomb was already set, giving the team one and a half hours to deal with it as the unsub refused to help. He screamed about how the government tries to control the youngest of all to be their mindless little soldiers. How the system was set to manipulate the youth into dying for the country that didn't care about them. He laughed as Agent Morgan inspected the bomb from a distance.

“Y'all are a part of their games, agents,” he spat as agent Rossi guided him to the door. “All I spread is the truth, you're just too blind to see them using you. My kids won't stop opening people's eyes, even when you take me away! The Doomsday will come as they realize they'd been lied to...”

“Aren't you even worse?” Asked Morgan, crossing his arms with a displeased look on his face.

"How so?" Asked the man, suspiciously calm and smug as he raised his head proudly.

"Well, technically speaking even if what you're saying is true, the government uses us to help other people who can't protect themselves from people like you," said Reid, staring at the man as if he were trying to look at his soul. "You on the other hand pressure troubled teens into doing your dirty work to feed your ever-growing god complex, which almost led one of them to death."

The unsub seemed to be confused, that little frown on his brows, mindlessly staring into the wall behind Dr. Reid as he parted his lips as if he was about to speak.

"Seems like you used up your limit," taunted Callahan, smirking at him as he opened his mouth again.

He started trashing his arms around in Rossi's grip, spitting something out in some Slavic language they couldn't understand.

“That's enough,” murmured Rossi, tightening his grip and taking the criminal outside, leading him to the car parked in front of the building alongside Callahan.

“I'll call the Techs,” said Hotchner, heading outside to get his phone.

Some minutes later he came back with his arms crossed and that strange, disappointed look.

"And?" Asked Morgan, looking around the room, kneeling beside the bomb, and inspecting it closer.

"They might or may not be here in an hour, there was another emergency, supposedly done by the Dooms Prophets," said Agent Hotchner, looking at all of his people who stayed inside.

"He planned this better than we thought," whispered Jennifer, looking at him with concern. "The kids must have lied..."

"Or he didn't trust all of them, the ones we got to speak with were younger, less devoted. He wouldn't trust them with that information," added Reid, standing beside Morgan.

"Yeah, but if he really treated them like prophets for the close-minded folks, he wouldn't change his mind from a long-lasting plan to something so quick," murmured Derek, looking up at his teammates.

"This was his plan all along, he knew he'd be caught. He just hoped his Prophets would continue his work without him," Reid chimed in, looking around to only see his teammates confused faces. "His nickname was 'doomsking130'… The bomb was set to an hour and a half," he added, looking at his watch, then the device. "I think the attack and the emergency wasn't his idea, it's his followers who tried to continue his work on their own."

They all stared at one another, nodding in agreement while processing his words, following up on the idea of their Boy Genius.

Morgan turned his head slightly to look at the messy-haired doctor. "This shit is too complicated, nothin' I've seen yet, this guy is a smart one," he whispered, shaking his head softly. "I can't deal with this... I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Derek. We'll wait for the Techs," assured Hotchner, patting his agent's back as he stood up away from the bomb.

"There is no time," said Jareau, turning her head to her team. "You said they 'may or may not' be here in an hour, and we already lost a few minutes, they might be too late."

The atmosphere in the room felt heavier as Agent Rossi came back to the room, saying he got the local police to drag the leader to the station, while Kate called her family to inform them she'd be late. He felt as disappointed and worried as everyone, making sure to keep the pregnant agent safe, away from the building as the rest searched for a solution for a few more minutes.

"Reid," started Morgan, turning to face his friend. "Doesn't your lovebird know how to deal with those?"

"Um, yeah, they worked in the bomb disposal department, but decided to take a break from this a while back," he answered, already frowning his brows at the dreadful idea.

"Would they be able to disarm it?" joined Hotchner, crossing his arms as he listened.

"I think so..." he said unsurely, his hands shaking slightly at scenarios running through his head. "It wouldn't be exactly legal to bring them here, just for your information."

"Would be quicker than the actual technicians," noticed Jareau, looking at Spencer with a soft, understanding look on her face. She knew exactly how much it had to scare him, but like everyone else — she couldn't see another way.

"If they don't feel like doing it, we'll just have to wait for the Bomb Techs, as a civilian now, they shouldn't feel pressured into risking so much," reminded Hotchner, looking at Dr. Reid with a glimpse of sympathy.

"But saving some time would be nice," said Morgan unapologetically, moving closer to Reid. "They live only a few blocks away, local police could escort them and secure the area."

Jennifer came up to Spencer, slowly wrapping an arm around him, soothing his tense muscles. She saw the distress in his eyes, but just like the doctor, she didn't like the idea.

"I'll call," decided Spencer, closing his eyes to calm down. "They live around eight minutes away from here, but-"

"It's up to them," assured Hotchner, nodding his head in understanding. "I'll make some calls, to make sure they won't get into any trouble if they decide to come."

Getting a call from Spencer so early in the morning was usual, so you left your book on the side of the couch, paying your full attention to his words. He spoke quickly, almost too quickly as he tried to summarize everything in the shortest amount of time possible, making it hard for you to interrupt him. Just the tiredness and distress in his voice made you melt, gathering your kit before he could even finish his ramble.

You didn't hesitate, jumping into the police car he talked about that escorted you right to the town hall, passing the barrier blocks and reporters who tried to talk to you. You covered your face with your hood, knowing too well not to talk to them, especially that you weren't there exactly legally. Passing agents Rossi and Callahan, you waved at them, getting polite nods as they watched you disappear into the building.

You walked as quickly as possible, guided by the deputy that drove you there. Something felt different, deep inside of you as you ran downstairs to the basement. It wasn't the first time you got an urgent call to help disarm a bomb, that was your entire life for the past few years, but just reminding yourself of Spencer's voice made your heart beat a little faster.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner," said the tall man who stood in the middle of the room, nodding his head as he shook your hand. He was the only member of the team you didn't have the chance to meet. You introduced yourself. Just hearing your own specialist title fall from your lips felt so distant as you were on a break for the past few months.

You nodded to everyone, only locking eyes with Spencer, who got closer as if just his presence was meant to protect you. "Agent Hotchner," you started, looking away from your boyfriend to kneel beside the device, opening your kit of tools in a hurry. "Evacuate the building and the area, I'll do my best but with devices like this..."

"I understand," he assured, letting Morgan and Jareau leave the room. There was only one more person who didn't budge beside him. "Reid?"

You looked to your side, watching Spencer shake his head and roll his sleeves up. "I'd like to stay," he said as if it was nothing, not even looking at his superior.

"It's your call," said Hotchner, looking at him with worry, but he left the basement. You knew if you weren't so important to Spencer he'd never allow this kind of behavior, but you could feel your blood boil at just the idea of him staying.

"Leave," you said simply, knowing how dangerous it was for him. At that moment, you didn't even care for yourself, you've done this a million times, but risking his life...

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching for your flashlight to help you. You could see the way his hands started shaking then he lifted it and it started to break your heart.

"You can't do this, Spence," you whispered breathlessly, focusing your eyes on the device. Two detachable components connected only by a few wires, a wide panel to control the bomb was already turned off the moment the time was set and two big canisters of gasoline beside just to make the explosion more dangerous.

"I can and I will," he said firmly, watching your skilled fingers run over the bomb to carefully detach the two parts.

"For fucks sake, Spencer," you sighed, already feeling the way your lip quivered with every word. "I can't promise you anything, I can't do this to you..."

"I'm not leaving," he repeated through gritted teeth, looking up at you from under his messy hair, covering most of his face as he spoke. "And stop trying to convince me otherwise."

You wiped the tears that spilled from your eyes as they followed one wire after another, watching the way they split and connected to find the one to cut. There were way more than in a usual device and just from the look of it, you knew some of them were just decoys, not really connected to any part, not activating anything, just being there to fuck with the mind of the person who dared to try defusing it.

"I can't focus when all I can think of is this killing you," you whispered, your voice breaking with every passing second. "Leave me here, I need to do this alone... I can't risk your life like this. You mean too much not only to me but to your team, your mom, the people who will need the help of an actual genius, so please, just spare me the talking and get out when you still have the chance. It's so selfish to even think..."

His calm and soft voice stopped you in the middle of your monologue. Tears kept falling down your face as you recognized the words he spoke. The stubborn bastard couldn't even fathom the idea of leaving you to this by yourself. Despite how scared he was inside, he kept his cool, reciting one of your favorite books from memory.

You inhaled deeply, feeling yourself growing more steady and calm, your muscles relaxing with every paragraph. Despite biting into your lip harshly, you didn't feel the pain, the tears were gone and the annoyingly fast heartbeat eased.

Spencer kept his eyes glued to your fingers as he took breaths in between each sentence, only glimpsing up a you for a second every time you cut another decoy wire to clear your way to the actual ones.

The time seemed to stop despite the timer showing you almost an hour passed already, leaving you with only a few minutes to neutralize the threat. You wiped your face in your hoodie, getting rid of sweat and tears as you cut through the last decoy, leading you to analyze the actual device.

You caught the cord you thought was the right one with your scissors, swallowing harshly at just the idea of you being wrong. You reached your free hand to the side, mindlessly searching for his. Doing this was not only risking the lives of you and Spencer but potentially unaware people who happened to be close by. Your heart sped up drastically as you made the decision.

Looking up, you saw Spencer who stopped mid-sentence. A look of worry passed through his face as he intertwined your fingers, his other hand resting on the back of your head, soothing you by slowly moving his fingers through your hair.

"Spencer," you whispered breathlessly, a stray tear running down your cheek, leaving him to quickly wipe it off with a soft smile."I love you..."

His smile only grew bigger as looked at you, that familiar sparkle in his eye shining brightly at you. His eyes were teary, but he didn't let any tears spill as he nodded. Those puppy eyes stared at you with the most love you've ever seen.

"I know," he whispered back, his voice cracking as he looked down at your hands.

You felt like the whole world crushed over you as he didn't say those words back, unlike he did a million times before. Your heart sank but you just looked down, brows frowned as you focused not to lose all composure you had left.

For a split second, the basement was filled with eerie silence as you pushed down on the scissors, cutting the cord in half.

masterlist | request info

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hiii, i am writing my first book/novel. its highlighting d***th, romance, mystery, politics, pretty questionable characters w revenge, thriller and lots of women n power play. its my first book and im not that educated about such themes. but this rough plot i have in my mind is so beautiful that underperforming this excellent trope would be a shame....ive never written before so could you please what to do to actually write this kinda theme to my heart's satisfaction. I've never written a freaking chap before and now im really lost

Writing Ideas: Revenge Tropes

some tropes related to revenge, thriller, women, and power play

Afterlife Avenger: This trope involves the circumstance where a character explicitly still chooses to pursue conflicts against whatever's left of their hated target long after they've passed.

Best Served Cold: Named for the French (or Sicilian, or Klingon, or drow, depending on who you ask) proverb, "Revenge is a dish best served cold." At least in the case of drow, it also means one can have well-planned revenge and drive them mad with fear as a bonus.

Crusading Widow: The death or murder of their significant other motivates the character to seek revenge.

Defeat as Backstory: A protagonist (or some other character's backstory) in a story begins by having been defeated either before the story began, or early on in the story (often in a prologue).

Dying Curse: With his dying breath, a character wishes ill fortune upon his killers, or some other personal enemy.

Pay Evil unto Evil: In real life, the sort of thinking behind this trope is called "retributive justice".

Revenge Through Corruption: Instead of inflicting physical harm, the villain attacks the mind and soul.

Villain-by-Proxy Fallacy: When someone goes after not only a crime's perpetrator, but those who supplied the perpetrator or were otherwise marginally connected to it, whether or not the people involved had anything to do with the actual crime.

Woman Scorned: A woman who's been dumped, cheated on, or otherwise done wrong by her significant other (or, in some cases, merely thinks she's been).

Examples

Alexandre Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo, probably the greatest revenge story of all time.

In the original version of Beauty and the Beast, the Prince's widowed mother goes off to fight a war and leaves a wicked fairy to help him rule. When the Prince comes of age, she tries to seduce him and turns him into a Beast when he refuses her advances.

In Moby-Dick, Captain Ahab makes it clear throughout the book that he'll pursue Moby Dick to, into, through, and out of Hell, and even then he still won't be satisfied until the whale suffers forever for its slight against him.

Crime and Punishment: One of the antagonists of the novel, Porfiry, works as a police officer and interrogator, which usually would qualify as a good-aligned job. As you further witness this officer's tactics in catching criminals, you see him commit to bribery, thievery, death-threats, and psychological torture to force an admission. Furthermore, he seems to actually enjoy it, toying with amateur criminals like a cat torturing a wounded mouse. The justification, of course, being that the victim of this was a murderer, and therefore deserves it.

George R. R. Martin's Fire & Blood: After the war, Lady Joanna Lannister has a beef to pick with the Greyjoys, who've taken up raiding the coast, including killing a few Lannisters. She decides the best course of action is go to the Iron Islands and kill every man, woman and child she can find. She just settles for burning a lot of things and abducting one Greyjoy, gelding him and turning him into her fool.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen receives a Dying Curse in Dune. After killing a combat slave in the arena, his opponent's final words are "One day one of us will get you." Given that this fighter is not just a slave, but one of the soldiers from the army of the Harkonnen's blood enemies, the Atreides, this may be prophetic.

In A Song of Ice and Fire, Arya Stark's conflation of justice and personal vengeance leads her to Villain-by-Proxy Fallacy. While many of people on her death list certainly deserve to be brought to justice, such as the Tickler for torture and Weese for abuse, others were merely acting on orders, such as the Hound, doing their jobs or are just guilty by association. Cersei Lannister is on her death list for being involved in the execution of Ned Stark, but Cersei wasn't complicit in that activity, and even spoke out against it. Same with Ilyn Payne, who was just doing his job as the royal executioner. The real mastermind of Ned's death, Littlefinger, is not on the list. Meryn Trant is on the list for killing Syrio Forel, but there isn't any evidence to confirm the crime. Polliver and Dunsen are on the list for flimsy reasons, like stealing. She has Chiswyck murdered for the crime of not being as funny as he thinks he is (granted, Chiswyck was joking about a gang rape, but that isn't the reason Arya cites as his crime). The conflation of justice and vengeance, and how that conflation leads to this trope, is one of the key themes of the entire story.

Queen Dido in The Aeneid, who prophesies that her and Aeneas's people will meet again in war (the Punic Wars — her future, Virgil's past). Particularly tragic in that it's made fairly obvious that he'd have stayed with her if he'd had the choice.

Sidney Sheldon's The Best Laid Plans: Leslie Stewart plots to ruin the career of Oliver Russell when he leaves her at the altar to marry a woman whose father promises to further his political career.

The Hunger Games: The Pay Evil Unto Evil trope is discussed all the way through Mockingjay, and reaches its culmination when President Coin suggests either executing all Capitol citizens or forcing their children into the Games.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, here are some tropes I found related to the themes you described. You can find more in the source linked above. Study how it is portrayed in different types of media, and in your favourite films/books, to gain inspiration for your own story. You can take the rough idea/plot you already have, and try to incorporate techniques and tropes used by other authors, but then deviate from borrowing those ideas when your story starts to flow naturally. All the best with your writing!

[ayamari-no-goshi]

For reasons that I might not be able to explain, during a conversation @precarious-hermit has decided that Red Hood employees the following for his criminal empire. Mind you - this is for an AU! where Under the Red Hood never happens and the rest of the Bats are so confused as to what's going on. And Jason's living his best life not being discovered by them

Hoarders - Hoarders on speed dial to help hide various illegal things from the batfam. Jason knows some of them from the local knitting club

the teenage fanfic writer who has prophetic dreams and writes them in her fics. Jason has become her beta and will willing read through Batman/Two-Face fics in order to figure out what's going down next month

animal control - "RELEASE THE HEROIN RACCOONS!" Animal control has trained some of the local wildlife to help find and destroy certain illegal substances.

the MLM which specializes in essential oils - one of the oils is actually something of an antidote for Joker gas. Jason makes sure it's well stocked and tries to make sure no one who's gotten wrapped up in the MLM loses everything

The middle school army of online trolls that he pays a total of $120/month per kid.

The pizza place that delivers code via pepperoni pizza. Good news! For vegetarians and vegans, they'll work with mushrooms

cosplayers! (I added this one) - he enlists cosplayers to not only help with making armor but will also occasionally hire them as body doubles if the situation is not dangerous

[realitycanbewhateveridesire]

ABOUT MY ARCANE DR <3

ngl, talking about my dr feels so embarassing

In this reality, I am the second Kiramman daughter and younger sister of Caitlyn Kirmman by 3 years. Due to me being kidnapped as a toddler and...shenanigans happening I guess, I spent a big portion of my childhood in the Undercity/Zaun living with Vander as part of his makeshift family. I haven't thought much about my place in the story, but I am supplying the Firelights with info and tech from Topside and trying to help as much as I can while living in Piltover (and kinda under the watchful gaze of my parents). There's also the part, where I basically died in my CR and got isekai'ed into Arcane-verse.

To be honest, I am just dropping myself into the story with only a barebones backstory and no idea what I wanna do.

☆ MY BACKSTORY

i am just gonna directly drop what's currently in my script here

(also please, just keep in mind that i based my backstory kinda on a fanfic and also am horrible at writing stuff. and i apologize for it being kinda long and goofy...and frankly, not making sense in some parts. i'm sorry vera leigh, please forgive me.)

In my first life (my CR life), I was a mediocre girl-woman-child. One, dissatisfied with her life. Age-wise, I barely made it out of the girlhood. Still yet, I lacked the maturity of an adult and desparately clung to my fleeting childhood years. I clung to childish daydreams and fantasies. Dreaming of life filled with wonder, comfort and magic. I was spoiled and ungrateful for all the things others have done for me. That life ended rather pathetically. At the age of nineteen, being hit by a truck after trying to cross the road.

I was floating in the vast nothingness. At ease, almost unfeeling, unthinking. Numb. It was the strangest feeling. I felt…almost glad. Satisfied.

That peace did not last, it seemed, as I was pulled, torn, from it and made to wake up anew.

I was born again on a late morning/near noon of February 28th 973 AN, a second child and daughter to Cassandra Kiramman and Tobias Kiramman. As Lillian Kiramman. Sister of Caitlyn Kiramman.

I had no recollection of my past life. Not yet, at least. It would only come to me later on.

I was a difficult and needy child. Unaware of it at the time, I was born with the ability to “dream”. Not prophetic visions of future, but visions of the present. Those mental images came to me in bursts, sometimes threatening to tear at my sanity bit by bit. The resulting outbursts went far beyond that of a normal infant/small child. It made me wail and cry, and scream for hours on end, without a sign of stopping. Day and night. Hitting my head with my tiny hands in distress, until a maid or nanny would come to pry them away from it. Little could calm me, aside from the calming touch and proximity of one of my parents. Especially, my mother. Yet even then, it didn’t seem enough. My suffering tore their hearts, as they tried to find anything to help me, to fix it. Fix me. They had various doctors check my health, spoke with scholars and psychologists, etc. But nothing helped as they still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Between the helplessness and exhaustion, the situation overwhelmed them. Even as they loved me fiercely, they couldn’t help to sometimes wish for an “easier” child.

Those thoughts would come back to haunt them, after I was kidnapped as a mere toddler.

With the violent and cutthroat nature of the Undercity’s/Zaun’s criminal underbelly, it didn’t take long for my captors to be eliminated by their rivals. Following the chaos that ensued, I fell through the cracks. Ending up in the streets, before being taken to be a part of experiments conducted by a chem-baron. I was rescued by Vander, who took me in.

I spent the next years living with him and my adopted siblings: Vi/Violet, Powder, Mylo and Claggor.

At the age of around 13 years old, I took part in my siblings’ attempted heist on the Kiramman workshop/Jayce Talis’s apartment. The one ending up in the explosion caused by the hextech crystals. After that, we tried to lay low. Until we couldn’t.

And when Vander was kidnapped and my older siblings went on to rescue him, I was left behind in the Last Drop alongside Powder. And snuck out along with her, wanting to help/save my siblings.

In the end, we failed. I failed. Left unconscious among the rubble, miraculously without any lethal injuries. It was Ekko, who pulled me out of there.

And when once again, I was back on my feet even if barely, injured and running from Silco’s people as they hunted me down. I fell into the hands of enforcers.

After the Sheriff Grayson’s death, the enforcers were in disarray. My arrest case ended up getting mixed up with another case, leading to them taking a DNA sample from me. And accidentally discovering that I was the lost Kiramman child.

Marcus took this as yet another opportunity to give himself credit. As the one who arrested me, he would take all the glory. He fabricated an entire story about Vander, the Hound of the Underground possibly being my kidnapper. Of him brainwashing me into thinking of him as my family. A tale he presented to my family, in case I decided to run my mouth about his involvement in Sheriff Grayson’s death.

I was “returned home” to my biological family in Piltover.

As expected, I didn’t take well at all to this new development. I might have been a Kiramman by blood, yet I grew up as a Zaunite. My heart belonged largely in the Undercity. Furthermore, I was envelopped in grief surrounding the deaths of my adopted siblings and adoptive father. As my parents tried their best to undo the brainwashing, they assumed I was under.

To add salt to the injury, it was only by the age of fourteen, that the memories of my prievious life and my reincarnation returned to me. Only then, I became aware that I was reincarnated into the world of that distant past self’s favorite story.

It was already too late to prevent the tragedy, which split the two sisters apart. But I knew the trajectory of what would happen in years following.

I focused on getting stronger. I’ve honed my skills with the firearms. Picked up martial arts.

From young age, I exhibited a keen intellect, curiosity and thirst for knowledge that surpassed my years.

I’ve devoured any piece of knowledge I could. I collected knowledge from anything I could get my hands on and devoured books on various subjects amd topics. I educated myself about Runeterra as much as I could.

Throughout my childhood in the Undercity, I flirted with the idea of exploring my powers. The people performing experiments on me, were also quite interested by my ability to “dream”.

At the age of fourteen, I found it could prove a useful tool for my plans. I delved into my visions, almost sacrificing my sanity as I memorized all that could prove useful. I tried to get my hands on books about occult and magic tomes. Hoping they would give me the answer, one that I was looking for.

In the end, I achieved partial control over my “sight”, alongside awakening some other powers. The visions still came to me in my sleep. But most times, I was able to control it. Control myself in my dreams as I travelled wherever I wanted, separated from my physical body. In my dreams, I walked through the Undercity’s streets, burning every shortcut, nook and cranny that I’ve never seen before, into my memory. I’ve seen the inside of Noxian warrooms, the farmlands of Demacia, the ice-covered lands of Freljord, the beauty of the Ionian archipelago, the Bilgewater ports, the jungles of Ixtal, the sands of Shurima. And much more. Yet, my attention remained mostly on Piltover and Zaun. And the people, I once saw only upon a screen. Those, I knew in this life.

I observed Powder as she evolved into Jinx, under the aegis of Silco. I observed Vi, in the Stillwater’s Hold prison. I had observed Viktor and Jayce, as they developed Hextech. I had observed Ekko, as he persevered and with the help of others, created the Firelights.

The Kirammans were Jayce’s patrons. And he was somewhat of a family friend and an older brother figure to Caitlyn. It was inevitable for us to interact and become acquinted with one another. And while we never became as close, as him and Caitlyn, we somewhat got along.

It is through Jayce, that I met Viktor. With my parents trying to control who I interacted with and him being the first Zaunite living in Piltover that I met and the only Zaunite I was (begrudingly) allowed to interact with, he instantly became my friend. That and his sarcastic nature, which instantly made me like him.

Ekko was already a close childhood friend of mine. Despite my parents’ watchful gaze and them guarding me from anything Undercity-related, I was accustomed to sneaking around in the shadows and hiding secrets. Courtesy of having grown up as a Fissure-native. Ekko tracked me down. I tracked him too. We had a reunion, had a talk. About everything we’ve been up to, everything that has happened to us. Ekko brought me up to date in regards to the Undercity (I knew of some developments already through my powers). He told me about the Firelights. In the end, I became a secret informant and ally of the Firelights. Supplying them with info and tech from Topside.

...

(and that's basically it for now lol. i'll admit my backstory's unfinished. i'm just inserting myself to shift sometime close before the act 1 of season 1 events and letting stuff happen from there.)

In terms of powers and fighting, I gave myself basic things like combat skills, flexibility and speed to avoid getting killed. I haven't even fully specified in my mind what my "sight" ability is but it's sorta a cross between prophetic dreams and astral projection. I'm also probably gonna give myself airbending or waterbending. Simply because I can.

....

And...I guess that's all I have for now.

If you managed to get through that wall of text, then thank you <3

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : IV]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Even though you saw a chance to escape, you face an inner conflict between desire for freedom and a growing attachment to Qimir. You’re unsure whether you want to flee or stay by his side.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : beware! This dude is a mastermind manipulator (and he's also fucking hot when he does this)

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 4] Seek freedom and become captive of your desires.

A storm was raging across the surface of an unfamiliar planet, and through the small viewport, nothing was visible except for the relentless sheets of rain and the murky, gray sky. All other sounds were drowned out by the deafening roar of raindrops striking the roof. The air was thick with the damp scent of rain, but it couldn’t mask the overpowering stench of blood that lingered stronger still.

You closed your eyes, taking a long, measured breath, trying to calm your turbulent mind. You had known this was inevitable, yet the guilt burning in your chest hadn't diminished at all.

Your mind drifted back to your memories. Three days ago, you had begun using your prescient visions once more, searching for the future that lay ahead. It was then that you saw one path in destiny—a crucial opportunity to escape Qimir. The likelihood of success was a staggering hundred percent. As long as events unfolded along this path with no missteps, freedom would be yours, true and unshackled, severing all ties with him and every other bounty hunter who might come after you.

However, the price for your freedom was steep, paid with the blood of others.

And that price had already been exacted—on Qimir, with you as the cause.

That was the story you had seen in your vision. Like the butterfly effect, it all began with a small rumor that spread like wildfire among the bounty hunters—a whisper passed from one to another, ear to ear, that Qimir was in possession of a woman with a high bounty on her head, and they were now wandering across the galaxy together.

These rumors fueled the greed of many, and eventually, a group of daring bandits concocted a sinister plan. The plan was brutally simple: kill Qimir, capture the woman, and claim the bounty for themselves.

Your prophetic vision had laid it all bare for you. They would attempt to assassinate Qimir on a day when a heavy storm raged on a remote planet far beyond the reach of the Republic's watchful eye. Everything was perfectly set for murder and evidence concealment, ensuring that no lawkeeper would trace the deed back to them.

But what those criminals hadn't considered was that Qimir was no easy prey.

You had faced off against Qimir multiple times. You knew him thoroughly, unquestionably in his skill, and the future vision confirmed this. Even though he would be surrounded by over a dozen armed men, Qimir was still formidable enough to defeat them all—and ruthless enough to kill every one of them, leaving no one alive to tell others about you.

You already knew he wouldn't die, but this fight would severely injure him, paving the way for your escape. Qimir would have no chance of catching up with you, and if you managed to escape successfully, he would never find you again. The thread of fate binding you two together would end there.

You knew this was the only chance you'd been waiting for. The chance to break free from him. as you've always wanted.

So, you chose not to warn Qimir, even though you knew exactly what he would face.

You didn't care who got hurt or died. You fully embraced the truth that you were not a good person because this universe had no place for good people. To survive, one had to learn to be selfish and heartless. This was how you were raised, and there was no changing that.

All you have to do is wait. Let fate play out as you've foreseen it. Don't interfere; don't alter the course. Then, when Qimir is gravely injured, you'll leave him here, steal his ship, and escape to another planet. That would be the end of all this chaos—no more being hunted, no more death, and no more Sith haunting your dreams.

Everything seemed so easy in your mind. But when the moment arrived, you found yourself hesitating.

Your clear blue eyes gazed down at the large figure lying on the floor. Qimir's face was growing paler by the moment. His eyes closed in unconsciousness. His body was riddled with wounds, and his clothes were soaked with blood that had darkened to a deep crimson. At a glance, it was hard to tell if he was even breathing, but deep down, you knew he wasn't going to die—not today.

And yet, the sight of him had a greater impact on you than you'd expected.

You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the pain sinking deep into your thoughts. A voice from your conscience whispered accusations, telling you this was all your fault. You might not have wielded the knife against him, but you allowed this to happen. You were part of what led him to this fate.

You quickly shook your head, trying to banish the nagging thoughts. You had no reason to feel guilty about Qimir. He was a bounty hunter, after all. He had captured you and imprisoned you, all for the sake of a reward. He was just as selfish as you. You don't need to care about him at all.

You tried—really tried—to convince yourself of that. You tried to force yourself to walk away while you still had the chance.

But in the end, you found yourself right back where you started. Back where Qimir's body lay unconscious, injured, and vulnerable, as if he could die at any moment.

“Damn it!” You curse under your breath, frustration gnawing at you as you kneel down, gathering all your strength to lift him off the ground, not caring that his blood is staining you all over.

You pulled his arm over your shoulder, struggling greatly as Qimir was much bigger than you. But you were determined to drag him through the rain and onto the ship as quickly as possible before anyone else stumbled upon you and the bodies of the criminals.

You knew you were getting yourself into trouble. You knew that well.

But this time, to hell with fate.

“How long am I unconscious?”

Qimir’s question makes you frown, your eyes drifting for a moment in thought. “About a week, I guess. I didn’t count.” You shake your head before focusing on examining the large wound on his abdomen again. “Don’t move. Do you want to tear your wound open again?” you scold him firmly, pushing gently against his chest as he attempts to sit up suddenly.

Qimir complies, though he feels somewhat bored. It has been three days since he regained consciousness, but he remains confined to the hard bed of his ship, with you attending to his every need—cooking for him, applying medicine, and wiping him down. You do all this without a single complaint.

In truth, the wound is minor for him. He could heal himself completely right now if he wants to, but he doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention from you. Moreover, deep down, he enjoys your care and attention. With this thought, enduring another few days of lying still isn’t so bad.

Qimir watches as you move closer, close enough that he can smell the faint scent of sandalwood from you. It is a strangely calming scent. You place your hand on his abdomen, near his wound, your fingers carefully tracking along the shape of his muscles. Your face looks worried as you look up at him. “Does it still hurt?”

Not at all, he thinks, but chooses to answer the opposite. “It hurts.”

You lower your eyes, trying to ignore Qimir’s gaze that has been fixed on you constantly since he fully regained consciousness. You reach for the Bacta spray, telling him, “Just bear with the pain for a bit, okay?” Then you spray the healing substance on his wound. The blue liquid covers all the damaged areas on his skin, rapidly regenerating new flesh.

The bacta healing process is quite painful for a large wound like this. However, Qimir’s expression doesn’t change one bit.

After finishing dressing the wound, you are about to move away, but Qimir grabs your arm, holding you in place.

“Why did you save me?”

You hesitate, taken aback. Even though you knew he would eventually ask this question, you are momentarily speechless.

You had previously tried to come up with a hundred reasons to answer this question for yourself, but no matter how much you pondered, none of the answers seemed entirely correct.

Even now, you still don’t understand yourself. Why?

Why are you still standing here? Why haven’t you just left him?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, pretending to busy yourself with putting the medical supplies back into the box, avoiding his gaze. “I just didn’t want to see you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like...” You close your eyes, and even with your eyes closed, you can still feel Qimir’s intense gaze. This time, it holds more than just curiosity. There is something in his eyes that makes your heart waver and tremble. “I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you say, opening your eyes, but you still don’t turn to face him.

Qimir notices your nervousness, which you can’t hide. He can tell you are speaking the truth, not lying.

He chuckles at your reaction before playfully tugging at your hand, pulling you closer until you are almost breathing on each other’s necks. You stiffen, your face flushing lightly, but you don’t pull away or push him off.

“You are worried about me?” His voice is low but not threatening. On the contrary, you think it sounds oddly seductive.

You bite your lip hard, refusing to answer his question. You’d rather die than admit you are worried about him because you know that if you do, he’ll start to get cocky. You don’t want to boost his already towering ego any further.

Qimir seems unwilling to give up his intentions. He raises his hand to cup your face, gently forcing you to look at him again. As your eyes lock with his, your breath quickens involuntarily. It is the first time you are this close to someone, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body and see all the details you have only observed from afar before—his collarbones, his sharp jawline, and his eyes...

You notice that Qimir’s eyes are pitch black, devoid of any other color, as if nothing exists within them but an empty darkness.

Strangely, you think Qimir makes that black color look captivating.

Your heart pounds erratically as he leans in closer, his nose almost touching yours. For a moment, you think he might kiss you, but instead, Qimir simply tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You know, you don’t have to hide yourself when you’re with me,” Qimir whispers, his fingers tracing your cheek slowly. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he has pulled away.

You blink, momentarily lost in a trance. As reality rushes back, you step back as if you have touched something scalding. Without a word, you quickly make your way out of his room, almost running in your haste.

Yet, even then, you can still feel Qimir’s dark eyes following your every move, watching you until you vanish from sight.

Swallowing hard, you place your hands over your chest, hoping to calm your racing heart. With each passing day, it becomes more apparent that Qimir’s presence is disturbing your thoughts and emotions deeply. The only solution seems to be distancing yourself from him before things go too far.

But it is impossible for you to stay away from him. No matter where you go, his presence, his scent, his gaze, and his voice always manage to find you.

And you know well that, deep down, you don’t want to leave him either.

[nousrose]

From snobs to scavengers, all expend their criminal generosity, all hand out formulas for happiness, all try to give directions: life in common thereby becomes intolerable, and life with oneself still more so; if you fail to meddle in other people’s business you are so uneasy about your own that you convert your self into a religion, or, apostle in reverse, you deny it altogether; we are victims of the universal game. The abundance of solutions to the aspects of existence is equaled only by their futility. History: a factory of ideals, lunatic mythology, frenzy of hordes and of solitaries. Refusal to look reality in the face, mortal thirst for fictions. The source of our actions resides in an unconscious propensity to regard ourselves as the center, the cause, and the conclusion of time. Our reflexes and our pride transform into a planet the parcel of flesh and consciousness we are. If we had the right sense of our position in the world, if to compare were inseparable from to live, the revelation of our infinitesimal presence would crush us. But to live is to blind ourselves to our own dimensions. And if all our actions—from breathing to the founding of empires or metaphysical systems—derive from an illusion as to our importance, the same is true a fortiori of the prophetic instinct. Who, with the exact vision of his nullity, would try to be effective and to turn himself into a savior? Nostalgia for a world without ideals, for an agony without doctrine, for an eternity without life. Paradise. But we could not exist one second without deceiving ourselves: the prophet in each of us is just the seed of madness which makes us flourish in our void. The ideally lucid, hence ideally normal, man should have no recourse beyond the nothing that is in him. I can imagine him saying: “Torn from the goal, from all goals, I retain, of my desires and my displeasures, only their formulas. Having resisted the temptation to conclude, I have overcome the mind, as I have overcome life itself by the horror of looking for an answer to it. The spectacle of man—what an emetic! Love—a duel of salivas. All the feelings milk their absolute from the misery of the glands. Nobility is only in the negation of existence, in a smile that surveys annihilated landscapes. Once I had a self; now I am no more than an object. I gorge myself on all the drugs of solitude; those of the world were too weak to make me forget it. Having killed the prophet in me, how could I still have a place among men?”

A Short History of Decay

E. M. Cioran

[madhare0512]

what if one of the things we've put Prophet thru (him being kidnapped. or the dog sitter lady. or his father. yknow the drill) caused him distress after n he's shaken for a bit but he tries not to show it at work only to break down when he's alone at home n its been bothering mick seeing his best friend like this so he decides to reach out and. Yeah . what if he had been sleepless for so many nights bc of his nightmares but he could sleep at least a little more relaxed with mick there. what IF mad 😭

Oh my God, the angst. The PAIN. God, I can just imagine it! It would be beautiful and hurt/comfort and- *screeching noises*

[moltage]

Mick Rawson / Jonathan "Prophet" Simms

[Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior]

[gold-onthe-inside]

trawling through the cm:sb deleted scenes... and they really didn't know what the fuck they were doing, did they? two different versions of beth meeting the team, gina's whole fiance storyline, it's like they decided the entire episode after they filmed it

[the-mad-closet]

hear me out hear me the FUCK out. may i present the deadly combo of touch starved AND sensitive to touch Prophet. him breaking under the slightest attention from mick... all it takes is one touch from him to get Prophet in the space. WHAT DO WE THINK

Listen, I'm saying yes for a million reasons, but not the least of which because FUCK YES

Prophet spent six years in prison, where they aren't big on physical touch unless in a fight, of COURSE he's touch starved. But touch SNESITIVE?? Oh, Mick has so much fun with him.

@constantones

[ruestheday]

Please expand on your Steph AUs??? I want to know everything????? From reading just those excerpts on that one post I already love your writing and I don’t even know anything about supernatural (we’re in this together Steph, Idk who Dean Winchester either) but I WILL read a crossover fic you write about it

i would love to!!!

this will be the death of me ( crime lord au )

this one was based off of a conversation i had with a friend about the various other ways steph could’ve stopped her dad instead of becoming a vigilante. i thought it was the most interesting.

in this au, steph is a little more morally gray. well, morally gray enough to decide to become a crime lord just to make her dad look stupid. basically one of those “you’ve been trying to be a batman rogue for years and it took me three months to do better”, and then it snowballs out from there. it gets to the point where she’s no longer looking at it as a way to get back at her dad, and an actual way of living.

it’s a crack treated seriously fic, because a lot of it you need to suspend your disbelief. it also has timsteph, because i think the idea of tim dating the girl who’s criminal empire he is trying to topple is funny.

she girl bosses so hard while committing several felonies.

also because she doesn’t have to worry about her secret identity she dyes her hair purple (also to symbolize her spoiler costume in another world). by the end of the fic she will have tried every purple hair dye i can find on google.

imagine being a goon and your boss is some sixteen-year-old girl also concerned about her english essay because she may be a crime lord but she’s a crime lord with an education!!!!

i see dead people ( clairvoyant au )

this one’s more serious but i can’t write just angst to save my life so it still gets silly.

stephanie has been able to see the dead for as long as she can remember, and she’s been helping them since she’d been able to. normally it was small things, like a ghost wanting to make sure her poor Mr. Fluffy was being well taken care of, until she meets the spirit of the once-was robin.

all jason wants is his dad to stop being so violent, but steph isn’t going to walk up to big man batman and tell him Hey, you’re upsetting the spirit of ur dead Robin, stop it, so instead she decides to just take his mind off of it.

they become besties. they hang out constantly. she teaches jason everything she knows about being a ghost. best six months of her life.

until he disappears!!!!

now, the fun thing about ghosts is they’re like little spies. they see everything and they can move faster and further than humans, so they see even more.

the ghosts tell her that jason isn’t just missing, he’s alive. and he’s been taken out of the country.

now normal people might’ve ran straight to the bat, but not steph, she’s got the power of ghost spies and spite, she’s hunting her undead bff down herself. with the help of a freaky little brainiac kid (aka tim drake).

and then she accidentally discovers the league of assassins … oops

the devil knows my name ( prophet au / supernatural crossover )

in supernatural, there are prophets of the lord. they all (seem, we have met two.. well.. it gets complicated) to have different purposes in being prophet. the first one, chuck, writes the "gospel of winchester" which is just the future of the main characters lives. the second prophet, kevin, is the person who translates the word of god.

there can only be one prophet at a time, which would suck for my au, but! but! in a fun plot twist (spoiler warning) chuck actually ends up being god in disguise.

so in the version, steph is the actual prophet that chuck replaced. chuck is still there because he is important, there's just two prophets because god committed identity theft.

this means the au takes place in season four of supernatural, which (spoiler warning) has dean winchester returning from the dead/hell because the biblical apocalypse is about to go down on earth. yeah, i'm throwing batman into the actual biblical apocalypse, where angels and demons are both the bad guys trying to have a grudge match that'll level the earth.

i'm so hyped for it.

[whorediaries-09]

so you pack your life away

pairing- sirius black x auror!reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort. a/n- for the story's worth, reader was in gryffindor.

little train. series masterlist.

you crossed your leg over the other, stretching out your limbs. sirius handed you an ice cream before he sat down beside you on the park bench. the night had fallen, but somewhere within the quiet revering silence amongst the chilly breeze and sirius' presence made you lose your presence of mind, which further resulted in losing the track of time.

yet, it was nice to actually have company apart from your colleagues. also somebody who you remembered being a part of your youth.

'if you don't mind sirius, why are you wandering about here? i mean don't you want to rewind in the wizarding world?' sirius took a bite of his ice cream sandwich before answering you.

'i mean, the press is after me. i don't exactly want rita skeeter rushing about in the daily prophets. we all know how she is. i also read the recent articles she wrote about you, and save you, you've been absolutely crushed by her.'

'we all know how rita skeeter is,' you chuckled. sirius shook his head, agreeing with you, letting out a bark like laughter into the wind. it ruffled with his hair, tousling them. suddenly, he felt a pang tug at his throat.

'i wouldn't be here without you, i'm so grateful for you.' he said, taking your hand into his. your hand melted into his warm, rough and calloused touch. you nodded, staring into his deep gray eyes. the sparkle of life had been enlightened into the true sirius black gaze. and from within, you felt it slowly burning your heart. slow, calm and tepid. but you let it.

you let him escape his quiet treason.

'i told you, sirius, i stand for true justice. i believed in you. dumbledore betrayed you, i know.'

sirius felt his eyes pool with unshed tears as you talked to him softly, treating him like a person, not a deranged criminal. the voices in his head screamed horribly shrill and loud, as he escaped his quiet treason, and into your arms.

'how did you know it was not me? there have been countless prisoners with no trial. why me and not them?' the moment sirius spilled those words from his lips, you knew you'd been doomed. while you had been expecting the question at some point of time, you didn't know the time would come so soon.

'sirius, i was with you at hogwarts.'

'what! i don't remember you being there! and for what it's worth...you look younger than me...'

'you don't remember me because i am three years younger than you. so naturally, we never shared any classes. but what we did have in common was the quidditch team. i was on the quidditch team. i'm not sure if you remember, however i still owe my beater's skills to your teaching. you taught me a few significant steps and tricks.' sirius awkwardly glanced at your face, bubbling with curiousty.

'i remember your group- the marauders. the pranks, the mischief each and every one of you caught up. significantly, i remember remus. he used to tutor me, since i'd gotten too distracted with quidditch. he was quiet and seemingly timid, but i sensed their was some sort of mischief behind his facade. james who was the better one between the two them, at transfiguration sometimes joined. i think mcgonagall never asked james to tutor me because she knew he had a very low attention span. he was always fidgeting with the snitch. although i do think for the most part, james went to the library to solely woo lily.' sirius silently laughed, letting the words consume him. he noticed you'd carefully dodged their other friend, peter.

'and what about me? do you only remember me being your mentor at being a beater?'

'of course not, sirius. i remember a lot of things about you. especially about you, actually because i could never go a day without hearing your name. my friend had a huge crush on you and she wouldn't go a day without talking about you.' sirius grinned, sparing his sparkly white teeth.

'is that so? did that annoy you?'

'it did annoy me sometimes yes, but who didn't have a huge crush on sirius black at hogwarts? everybody had the hots for you back then. my friend initially became jealous when she learnt that you had been teaching me, so i decided to keep myself away from you and not be more than a sort of teacher and student. and a few days later, she asked you out and you declined because she was too young. and the feelings disappeared like poof.'

he laughed heartily at your articulate description. 'i also remember in my second year, something became very grave within your group. after a few years, the news broke that you had escaped and walburga black had disowned you. we never knew where you went, but by grace, i had guessed that you were staying at james'. the point is, you two were like two peas in a pod, almost like brothers. which told me everything i needed to know. you didn't kill him, no you couldn't. so, while studying the trial less cases for my examinations, yours was the most recent and the most deranged- and the most unjustified. i had my mind made up the moment went through it, that you deserved the freedom.'

he bit his lower lip, carefully sliding his front row of teeth upon his lower lip.

'you don't know me yet you did so much for me, i can never thank you enough.'

'you packed your life to move into a shit hole even when you didn't deserve it. if you think you owe me something, no you don't. the ministry owes you, sirius. the years of youth and mourning they snatched away from you, keeping you bound to a prison. you'd escaped one when as a child, but they tied you down again. the prejudiced fuckers will never understand the things you went through.' sirius felt the tears escape as you strengthened your grasp around his hand. you were spewing anger, hot and boiling which brimmed at the edge of your patience. you clenched your jaw as the silent breeze struck into his hair.

sirius wanted to calm you down. while he wasn't sure how to, he awkwardly moved closer to you, so his knee was brushing with yours. he freed his hand and cradled your face into his clasp.

'thank you,' he whispered, 'can i hug you?' he said, desperate to comfort you. more than you, perhaps he wanted to feel your touch - the same touch that had calmed him down during the trial. the same touch that had made him feel safe after being touch starved for so long. you nodded. his arms wrapped around your body, engulfing you into his warm, comforting embrace. your crumbled body within his arms felt like the serene touches of maa on his scalp as she rubbed coconut oil.

he had packed up his life, and for a fortnight, he thought he'd acquired the freedom he had ruined his life for. he had allowed the joys to relish him in warmth.

but when your arms wrapped around his body, pulling him closer, he felt a sliver of hope to unpack his life.

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original idea posted by - @lilwnet

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