#criminal minds prophet

[madhare0512]

hi . don't think about mick and prophet getting kidnapped on a mission and prophet being tortured to speak in front of mick. while he can't do anything about it. definitely don't think abt that . love U btw

....

~~~

Prophet isn't speaking. His voice is gone from the screaming he's done. Mick wishes he could fix it when instead of making noise, Prophet flinches away from his hands.

They drag him back to the cell the agents are trapped in. Not because he cuffed, but because he's half-conscious and bleeding from just about everywhere. They dump him on the filthy ground and walk away laughing.

The second they're gone, Mick's off his ass and darting up to Prophet's side. "Prophet?" he whispers. "Hey, stay with me, Prophet."

Prophet stirs, breath rasping from his throat in a barely-there wheeze. His lips move but no sound comes. There's a soft click somewhere in Prophet's throat that Mick deduces must be the other agent's attempt at Mick's name.

"Hey," Mick hushes, carefully picking him up and carrying him closer to the wall and threadbare blanket Mick's been shredding into bandages. "Shh, it's okay. I'm right here, darling."

Prophet stirs a little further. Mick doesn't have to be a doctor to diagnose a concussion, but they really should get Prophet to a doctor soon.

The door creaks open, and Mick jumps to his feet. Whipping around, Mick finds a tall and lean man standing in the doorway to their cell.

"It doesn't have to go this way," the man says. He's black, between thirty and fourty years old. From his accent, he was raised by Irish parents. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know."

Right, the information. The thing is, Mick doesn't have it. "I won't tell you. I can't," is what Mick tells him.

The man smirks, cruel and evil. "Then this next part will be fun for me." He turns and shouts. "Boys! Bring the chains."

Mick lunges, but the man is faster and Mick is weak from hunger and sleep-deprivation. In seconds, Mick's flat on his ass, pinned between the floor and the man's boat as three more people stomp into the cell, and Prophet's being dragged off to the far corner of the cell.

"Leave him alone! He doesn't know anything!" Mick shouts.

The man chuckles, but says nothing.

"Please, hurt me! Leave him alone! I'm his superior, he doesn't know anything!" Mick pleads.

The man laughs again. "Oh, but we are hurting you," he draws.

And it's then Mick realizes that this was their plan all along.

~~~

@constantones

[moltage]

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

[star-mum]

CM Attraction Venn Diagram

[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

[tomriddleslove]

Obliviate.

✩ Mattheo Riddle x Reader angst

Summary: The one where tensions are running higher, and everyone has to pick a side. You promised to stick by one another, but a stupid oath you made when you first met threatens to drive that apart. Alternatively: If you love her, then you have to let her go.

A/N: If you don’t listen to the recommended song when reading this i will fight you 🤺🤺

Song: Goodbye - Billie Eilish

The Daily Prophet

Unrest Brews as Dark Forces Loom

By Rita Skeeter

In a disturbing turn of events, Diagon Alley was rocked by an unprecedented attack last night, sending shockwaves throughout the wizarding community. Witnesses reported seeing a group of hooded figures, suspected to be Death Eaters, descending upon the famous magical thoroughfare with malicious intent.

The Flourish and Blotts bookstore bore the brunt of the assault, with its windows shattered and shelves overturned. Several nearby shops, including Ollivanders Wand Shop and Eeylops Owl Emporium, also sustained significant damage.

"I've never seen anything like it," said Horace Slughorn, a retired Potions Master who happened to be in the area during the attack. "It was pure pandemonium. People were running for cover, spells flying everywhere. It was like a scene out of the darkest days of the last wizarding war."

Ministry of Magic officials were quick to respond to the scene, deploying Aurors and members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol to contain the situation. However, the attackers managed to evade capture, leaving behind a trail of destruction and instilling fear in the hearts of many.

The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, condemned the attack in the strongest terms, vowing to apprehend those responsible and bring them to justice.

"We will not tolerate such brazen acts of violence in our society," Minister Shacklebolt declared in a statement issued this morning. "The Ministry is fully committed to ensuring the safety and security of all witches and wizards, and we will spare no effort in our pursuit of these criminals."

The attack on Diagon Alley serves as a grim reminder of the growing threat posed by Voldemort's followers, who have been emboldened in recent months by reports of their dark lord's rumoured return. With tensions running high and fear gripping the wizarding world, many are left wondering what the future holds in this time of uncertainty.

You frown as you observe Mattheo, watching as he tosses the paper down onto the table in front of you with a huff. The tension in his face has become increasingly evident over the past few weeks, and you've begun to forget what Mattheo looks like when he isn't frowning.

You wrap your arms around his arm, leaning in close to him as you speak quietly.

“Hey. It’s alright,” You reassure, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the fireplace, a small huff of both frustration and amusement escaping his lips as he clenches his jaw, nodding.

“It’s alright.” He scoffs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

It’s alright? No, it wasn’t alright. His father was a murderous lunatic who was about to trigger the second wizarding war. He had to sit back and watch his own friend get tortured for hours for failing to complete a task. He can't close his eyes without seeing Theodore writhing in pain on the floor.

Mattheo was expected to fight with them. The time would come, that was for certain. Mattheo would have to stand there, and raise his wand against the people he's shared a dorm with and sat in class with.

Hell, he would be expected to raise his wand against you.

“They always say this, Mattheo. They’ve been saying it for years, and nothing has happened.” You say, but even you can see how pathetic it sounds. Despite your efforts to comfort him, it's clear that his mind is elsewhere, consumed by the looming threat of war and the impossible choices he may soon be forced to make.

Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from the fireplace, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, the sheer look of sorrow in his eyes enough to shatter your heart into a million little pieces.

"I don't want to drag you into this," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion. "You deserve better than to be caught up in my mess."

Your heart sinks as you realize where this conversation is headed. "Mattheo, please," you plead, the fear in your voice palpable, "don't do this. Don't shut me out."

But he shakes his head, his expression pained. "I have to," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Remember our promise?"

Mattheo looks up when he sees you sit next to him, a wide grin on your face as you unpack your bag.

He had seen you here and there in the common room. You always seemed to have an impossibly bright smile, far too lovely for the gloominess of Slytherin.

“Riddle.” You hum with a small grin, and he can't help but let a small smile tug at his lips as he looks over at you.

“What's wrong? You’re looking at me as though I’ve grown another head” You tease as you sit down next to him .

Mattheo blinks in surprise as you address him, the warmth of your smile catching him off guard. He's used to being treated with caution and apprehension, especially given his family's reputation and his own reserved demeanor. But your easy manner and genuine curiosity leave him feeling strangely disarmed.

"Nothing's wrong, just lost in thought, I suppose," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice as he watches you unpack your bag. Despite himself, he can't help but feel a sense of curiosity about you, wondering what it is that draws you to him when so many others keep their distance.

-•-

“Please-” Mattheo pleads in frustration, slamming the door shut behind him as he storms through the empty common room. You follow after him briskly, slamming the door that separates the common room from the dorms closed with a flick of your wand as you corner him.

“What do you mean, please?” You snap, frowning at him.

“Stop-” He says, his movements exasperated as he motions between the two of you “- this! Stop trying to be friends with me! It’s for your own good.” He says, looking up at you.

You let out a dry laugh, a mix of amusement and frustration as you shove him lightly.

“Oh fuck off. So you can kiss me and spend every evening with me but when it suits you we are just friends. You don't get to decide what’s good for me, Mattheo. I choose what I do and who I associate with, and if that hurts me then so fucking be it.” You retort harshly. Mattheo goes to interject but you cut him off.

“No! You don't get to choose when you want to be with me. I want you, Mattheo. All of you. I couldn’t give two flying shits about who your father is, or who you associate with. I'm capable of making my own decisions.”

He remains silent, his expression torn between turmoil and guilt, as your words hang heavy in the air between you. You feel slightly guilty for your outburst and your expression softens, reaching out to hold his hand gently as you speak.

"You know, if you really think it's that dangerous for me to be around you, you could always just obliviate me. Make me forget about you completely."You quip, trying to lighten the mood

For a moment, Mattheo's shock gives way to a burst of laughter, the tension in the room dissipating as he shakes his head in disbelief. "You're impossible," he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

-•-

You pull back from Mattheo, shaking your head. “No. No, that was a joke.” You stammer, but he turns to you.

“It wasn’t. We spoke about it afterwards. You promised me.” Mattheo says, sternly.

You know he’s right. You only agreed because the idea seemed so laughable. But now it was a reality, and you could see the hurt and disappointment in Mattheo's eyes.

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to find the right words, the weight of everything crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. "I love you, Mattheo," you say, more of a plea than anything else. He draws you into him, a strong arm wrapping around you tightly, as though he is scared to let you go. His hand cups the back of your head, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder as he kisses the top of your head.

“I know. I love you too. That's why we have to.” He murmurs, trying his hardest to not let his voice break.

-•-

It’s not fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Mattheo had just found it. Found his reason for living. Found his reason to keep going when all the odds were stacked against him. You were the air he breathed, the light that lit his life up and the tender hand that soothed him. You were his everything, and you had to be snatched away from him.

He gently raps on the door to your dorm, just to let you know he was about to enter before cracking the door open. You hastily scramble, shoving the book you were writing with under your pillow as you spot Mattheo.

He notices but he doesn't say a thing, no, he can't. Because in a few minutes, it would be as though he never existed to you. He couldn't tell what would have hurt more, you not being able to see him, or you not even knowing who he was. You’d hold his heart in your hands, unknowingly, and he would be nothing but a stranger.

“Not in here, Please, not in here.” You breathe out, your words hitching in your throat as you fight back tears. He nods wordlessly, taking a step back.

“No one’s in the common room. I’ll uh- go there.” He murmurs, his voice hollow and empty as he turns to leave, unable to bear the thought of facing you for what may be the last time.

As he makes his way down to the common room, every step heavier than the last, he can't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnaws at his insides. It's like a void, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell of the person he used to be.

He finds a seat in the furthermost corner, where you both usually sat, facing the fireplace. He watches the embers crackle and dance, not even noticing your presence till you slide up into the seat next to him. He wants to avert his gaze when he sees the tears in your eyes, but instead, he reaches up.

His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?

He wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“My wand. Let me go uh-” He blurts , quickly getting up as he looks away. He blinks back tears as he hurries up the stairs. Instead of going up to his dorm, however, he sneaks into yours.

He walks over to your bed, pulling back your pillow. Sure enough, the small book you were so desperate to conceal from Mattheo was there. He looks around and then with a small huff, tucks it into his back pocket. He hurries back downstairs.

Returning to the common room, he sits back down next to you, his hand reaching out to gently intertwine with yours as you sit together in silence. For a while, you don't say anything. You fear that speaking will break this small bubble, where time has frozen and you can just enjoy your last moments together.

As Mattheo gently cups your face, his touch trembling with the weight of what's to come, he feels the soft dampness of your tears against his fingertips. Your eyes, filled with sorrow and pleading, search his for some semblance of reassurance, some sign that this isn't the end.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart breaking with every word. "I can't lose you. You mean everything to me. I’m so scared"

Your sobs fill the air around you, the sound like a knife to Mattheo's heart as he struggles to hold back his own tears. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender, bittersweet kiss, savouring the taste of your lips one last time before it's all gone.

“I love you.” Is all you can muster. It’s pathetic, but it hurts to even think about anything.

You cling to him desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair as though trying to anchor yourself to the present. Mattheo feels a lump form in his throat, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, but he knows that he has to do this. For your own safety, for your own sake, he has to let you go.

His forehead presses against yours, taking in every last moment of intimacy he’s granted. You don't open your eyes, and he's grateful, for he doesn't think he could bear to look you in the eye.

“Obliviate.”

The second after he murmurs the words he stumbles away from you, reeling backwards as though your touch has burnt him. You wouldn't remember a thing about him, not even his name. He couldn’t be close to you anymore.

Mattheo watches as you blink, confusion clouding your features as you try to make sense of your surroundings. You look around the room, your eyes scanning the familiar surroundings with a sense of bewilderment, and for a moment, Mattheo's heart clenches with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll remember him. But deep down, he knows that it's futile, that the spell has already taken effect, erasing every trace of him from your mind.

You shake your head slightly, as if trying to clear the fog from your thoughts, before turning and heading up to your bed. Mattheo watches you go, his heart breaking with every step you take away from him, knowing that he can never follow.

But then, just as you reach the top of the stairs, you pause, your gaze flickering back to where Mattheo stands in the corner of the room. And in that moment, you give him a small, absentminded smile, the kind of smile you might give to a passing stranger.

Mattheo's heart lurches in his chest at the sight of your smile. He wants to call out to you, to tell you who he is, to beg you to remember him, but he knows that it's pointless. You're gone, lost to him forever, and there's nothing he can do to change that.

As you disappear, he collapses down onto the sofa, He wants to sob, and for a second he thinks he is, a horrible restictive choking feeling in his throat as he looks down at the floor. He reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling with the small black book, perhaps the last piece of you he’d truly have.

He finds the most recent entry and wipes away the tears that blur his vision as he begins to read.

Don't be alarmed when you see this. I want you to read every word of this carefully. This is you, that is writing. It is the 26th of June, 1996. You might have felt like you’ve woken up in the common room, feeling a bit disoriented.

You were obliviated. And it was your idea.

When you were that annoying, pestering little kid, you had taken it upon yourself to befriend a boy called Mattheo Riddle. You’ll see him over the next few days, perhaps. He might look at you as though it hurts him to. It most definitely does. He’s devastatingly handsome, with the softest brown curls and the most expressive eyes. I do believe you won't need me to describe him. Really, my love for him is so strong I doubt any sort of obliviate can erase the idea that Mattheo Riddle lives within the recesses of your heart. Everyone had warned you of how dangerous he was, how his father was rumoured to be the Dark Lord and that he was bound to be no good. But you, in your true Slytherin ambition, set out on a mission to befriend him.

And you fell in love. It was impossible not to, really.

He is everything to me. He was everything to you. He is the most brilliant boy I’ve known. Far too many people gave up on him early. He’s beyond just being incredibly intelligent. He feels. And that’s rarer than you might believe. For someone who was subjected to such horrible things growing up, he is tender. Do not let his bruised knuckles and split lips fool you.

Now, more than ever, he will struggle. He believes you are fully not aware of him. But with this, I hope you are.

Be there for him. Do not tell him about this. You were awfully good at forcing your way into people's lives. Do that for him now. Make him think it was a coincidence. Be there for him, and don’t let his stubbornness fool you. Merlin knows he will be stubborn. He is simply scared, and you mustn’t let that deter you.

People will often compare their lovers to the sun. Bright, warm, near perfect. Mattheo is the moon, casting a gentle glow in the darkness, guiding you through the night. He may not shine as brightly as the sun, but his presence is no less mesmerizing, no less essential.

You had always preferred the moon more, anyway.

Take care of him.

You stupid girl. You stupid, selfish girl.

Mattheo's hands tremble as he reads the letter, his heart constricting with every word, every line. It's like a knife to his heart, the pain of knowing that even in a situation like this, you still found a way to look after him, to care for him, to love him.

Tears blur his vision as he reads on, each word cutting deeper than the last. The book, filled with pages of recollections of the time they spent together, feels like a cruel reminder of everything he's lost, everything he can never get back.You had nearly filled the whole book, addressed to yourself with worries and letters in the hopes of getting your obliviated mind to fall back in love with Mattheo. To remember him, and to negate the whole idea of obliviating yourself by leaving this book for your future self.

And you did all of this just because you wanted to look after him.

It hurts to breathe, to even entertain the idea of going to bed tonight knowing that the love of his life sees him as nothing but a stranger. And in his hands, he holds the thing that could do the impossible, that could somehow reverse it all.

The very selfish part of him wants you to see the book. He wants to slip upstairs, and hide it back under your pillow, and let you find the words you addressed to yourself.

But he couldn’t. He could die far more happily knowing he’s not leaving you behind, no. Really, you were never his, the two of you forcing destiny in the opposite direction, living on borrowed time. Now he has to face the consequences of it all, and if he can stop you bearing the brunt of it, then he’s made no mistake.

He places the book down on the table, and doesn’t think twice about his actions.

“Incendio.”

[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

[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

[imgeekgirlfan]

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

[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.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

literary & character tropes (pt. 4)

Tropes - themes, motifs, plot devices, plot points, and storylines that have become familiar genre conventions

All writers manipulate language to create certain effects. At the level of individual phrases and sentences, the skillful use of tropes is key to creating writing that’s fresh, memorable, and persuasive.

Merlin Sickness: Characters with Merlin Sickness live or age backwards in time. What happens to their memory is highly variable.

Uncoffee: A fictional drink that acts like coffee.

Vigilante Man: A person who isn't a cop decides to pursue and fight criminals, which often involves using illegal methods to do so.

Waif Prophet: A character often, but not exclusively, female who is physically or mentally ill or weak, or at least small in stature (e.g., a child), who possesses knowledge or insight she should not have. Her insight is often ascribed directly to a "debilitation". She tries to keep her differences to herself, as a consequence of (or in fear of) Cassandra Truth (i.e., when a character tries to warn others of some danger, or tell them something incredibly important, but is dismissed out of hand for no good reason due to laziness, prejudice, stubbornness, etc. The reason could also be supernatural, such as the listeners being hypnotized, bewitched, or fooled in some magical manner.), but they can not help but manifest at the worst possible time, until the climax, at which time they are exactly what are needed.

Wandering Wizard: A traveler with magic powers.

When Is Purple: In some works, the lines separating time and space and color and various other abstract concepts sometimes get blurred. This can be done for many reasons, ranging from Faux Symbolism to actual symbolism and from portraying a character as deep and wise to portraying him as weird or outright psychotic.

Woolseyism: A translation alters the work's dialogue so it works better in the new language.

Word Salad Philosophy: A philosophy that is so bizarre, rambling, and insane that no one in their right mind can understand it.

You Keep Using That Word: A character uses a word constantly, but it is apparent that they don't know what the word actually means.

You Say Tomato: More than one accepted way to pronounce a term.

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

More: Literary & Character Tropes

[madhare0512]

I saw your post about prophet simms and I CRY! Any headcanons?

For Prophet? Of course! Which post, I'm curious?

Warnings for: spoilers, pedophilia mentions, child abuse

~~~

1.) Prophet gets his nickname because he was a hard-core Christian before and during prison. His faith lapsed while he was serving his time, but the nickname remains and he loves it

2.) Prophet loves his team, but should any of them hurt Mick, he's fully willing to commit many felonies

3.) If needed, Prophet is capable of doing gymnastic feats as he took gymnastics courses for much of his childhood, it's just never come up

4.) Prophet’s murder charge? The reason he got it is because of his past victimization via his own father

5.) Prophet has this unfortunate habit of locking up if he's pushed too far. He straight up shuts down and physically can't respond or act. So far, the only one to coax him out of this is Mick

6.) Prophet does his best to avoid Fiskler not because he's upset with him, but because he's afraid of him, which is not by any means an easy thing to accomplish

7.) Prophet loves superheroes. They encompass everything he's ever wanted to be or do with his life. If he ever had the chance, he'd one hundred percent put on a cape and cowl and go out dressed in a silly costume because he wants to be the kind of person who gives hope to others

8.) The team inherently trusts Prophet with children because he's already proven he'll do whatever it takes to protect them

~~~

Thank you! @rae-and-mezo

[moltage]

Mick Rawson / Jonathan "Prophet" Simms

[Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior]

[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

[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.