#given yet for leaving him like that on such a crucial night

[alienaiver]

snøfle went underneath my (his) blanket at 2pm and he hasnt reappeared since. he knows what his plans for new years are fr

[twobluejeans]

HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 11: 1997 y/n’s version promo series masterlist

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 11! i’m sorry for starving y’all, hope this makes up 💀💗.

july 22, 2023

By Glamour

july 22, 2023 8:16AM

Just a few weeks ago, Charles Leclerc seemed to be shimmering with joy about his relationship with Lola Ransdell. “He’s happier than he’s been in a long time,” one insider told Us Weekly. Friends of Leclerc and Ransdell were texting a New Yorker writer who profiled Ransdell to say, off the record, that “this time, it’s real.” 

Close insiders  were reporting that the Ferrari driver and Youtuber were even planning to share Leclerc’s estate in Monaco, a house he once shared with singing scarlet ex, Y/n L/n.  In a recent youtube video, Ransdell herself told her fanbase, “I’ve just never been this happy in my life, in all aspects of my life, ever before.” 

Just weeks later, Leclerc’s and Ransdell’s relationship is over. So how did things go from sparks flying to their last kiss so quickly? Let’s hear from the sources.

Shortly after TMZ first reported the breakup, without a reason, a source had more for Entertainment Tonight. “They are both extremely busy and realized they’re not really compatible with each other,” they said.

That checks out — Leclerc had been off the road when their relationship went public, but the summer season of formula one recently kicked off a marathon in Britain, early July, leaving little time for their rendezvous between Ransdell’s own schedule. 

But immediately, Leclerc’s split looked and sounded like a bit of image rehabilitation given the multiple controversies following Ransdell. Their relationship became controversial as soon as it began, as fans were quick to note that Randell shared uncanny similarities to ex, Y/n L/n.

Left to right: Ransdell, L/n via instagram

As more insider comments poured in post-split, a narrative seemed to form that their relationship was just a low-key rebound all along.

“It was always casual,” a source told People. “It was never serious,” another told Us. And in an instantly memed quote, another insider told People, “They were never boyfriend-girlfriend or exclusive.” If you read between the lines of the reporting during their relationship, though, this doesn’t seem too far off. 

That source who told Us how much “happier” Leclerc was with Ransdell did go on to add, “It’s hard to tell if they’ll go the distance.” And another seemed to tell People that Ransdell was just Leclerc’s sidepiece while he was away from his main squeeze, the Hungary Grand Prix  itself. “He’s very focused on his job but is enjoying hanging out with Ransdell when he is off,” they said.

Sure, not all the insiders saw things that way. The source who initially confirmed their relationship to the The Sun said Leclerc and Ransdell were “madly in love” at the time. (Maybe they even said as much themselves.) Another had told Us that the couple was “moving fast,” adding, “They really enjoy each other’s company and want to spend as much time together as possible.” And even we saw the public kissing, cuddling, and late nights at Leclerc’s apartment.

Leclerc and Ransdell spotted at a beach in Malibu last week via@tmz

Nearly every source who confirmed Leclerc’s breakup added that he was just having “fun” with Ransdell. “He wasn’t ready for another serious relationship just yet,” a source told Us, after his previous split from six-year girlfriend Y/n L/n. 

Leclerc and L/n spotted at the same beach in malibu, just a year before Leclerc revisited the spot with the Australian Influencer via@tmz

Crucially, that source added that his friends weren’t surprised by the split, echoing a detail from that initial ET report. “Charles’s friends want what’s best for him and aren’t shocked that their relationship fizzled out,” the ET source said. “In fact, some of them even encouraged him to break up with her—his family included.”

So, the classic case of friends and family supporting a relationship in the moment even though they can already see the end. Take it from a “Page Six” source: “Everyone who really knows him has been saying all along that this was a fun, good-time thing that would last as long as it lasted and would be no big deal once it was done.”

 That insider went on to call the relationship “a summertime thing,” comparing it to his 2015 fling with Charlotte Siné.

Leclerc and Sine back in 2015, via @charlottesiine on instagram in now deleted posts.

To this unusually chatty and surprisingly profound insider, this wasn’t even a proper breakup. “It’s a natural evolution of a fun little thing whose moment is over,” they said.

Or, at least, whose moment is over for now. As one of People’s sources added after the split, “Who knows what could happen again.”

SEE MORE RELATED POSTS:

• Lola Ransdell seen leaving Charles Leclerc’s Home crying moments before news of breakup.

• Charles Leclerc and Lola Ransdell have unfollowed each other on instagram

• A look back at Charles Leclerc’s Relationships..so far

TWITTER, july 22

INSTAGRAM, july 22

liked by sabrinacarpenter, aarontaylorjohnson, gigihadid, and 8,829,184 others

yourinstagram good in goodbye. single & music video out 7/28. meet me behind the mall.

View all 17,828 comments

y/nserastour GIRL WHAT THE FUCK

lovinghimwasred i understood that reference ☝️

peteparkerml WHAT IS DREW STARKEY DOING HERE???

madisonbaileybabe my favs in one room omg

obxstarkey it’s just a music video 😀 it’s just a music video 😀 it’s just a music video 😀

obxscenes the devil (and kris jenner) work hard but y/n l/n works harder.

drewstarkey so much for summer love

y/nswizzle i just know this song is abt charles..

charlesleclercfan11 y/nswizzle she needs to leave him alone atp like it’s so obvious and embarrassing. she’s just so obsessed and using his name to stay relevant.

yourinstagram charlesleclercfan11 if you listened closely, you'd know my music's about my life, not a single person. but hey, i guess 'obsession' sells records, right?

madelyncline lowkey offended u didn’t chose me as your love interest

yourinstagram madelyncline dw babe you can be it in the next one 💘

libray/n yourinstagram WHAT DO U MEAN NEXT ONE???

TWITTER, july 22

INSTAGRAM, july 22

liked by landonorris, bejeweledleclerc, and 789,174 others

tmz_tv #Y/nL/n appears to have confirmed the dating rumors about her and #AaronTaylorJohnson! See video of Y/n and Aaron driving the getaway car from dior’s backstage after party to a private dinner near the singer scarlet’s manhattan apartment.

view all 137,929 comments

landonorris OH SHIT

szasbutterfly the 1997 y/n’s version promo is insane

kardashianclips I dont understand why it's a big thing ...like she's always dating somebody

kanye_ontop she wrote 10 songs that night

goatwest kanye_ontop 1. "London Love Story" 2. "Stage Lights and Tea" 3. "Theatrical Love Affair" 4. "Leading Man" 5. "Behind the Scenes" 6. "Silver Screen Across the Sea" 7. "Cinema Nights" 8. "West End Serenade" 9. "Take One" 10. "Scene Stealer"

salvatoredelrey this relationship is so 2010s coded

bellyxconrad the beginning of another beautiful song for us #your/fandoms/name

user31 maybe y/n should focus on her music and less on her love life. It's getting old 😒

TWITTER, july 22

ally's radio 📻 : HI GUYS IM BACK! sorry for the two month hiatus 💀 anywyas, SECRETS OUT ATJ IS THE NEW LOVERRR (bless up) (henry was so, so close) drew isn’t going to interfere w the story, just thought it’d be fun to throw him in there bc he’s hot😍. what do we think? also what do we think charles’s reaction is gonna be? lmk bc i’m so curious how y’all think this is gonna play out. i have an idea, but i’m welcome to others ofc.

taglist:@incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife@mrsmaybank13@black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx@lilsiz@ohthemisssery@leclerclvr

[contentloadingandstuff]

Rip And Tear - Xilonen & Chasca x Male!Doom!Reader

A/N: Alright, here's something inspired by Doom. It doesn't include specific references, and is based on the human version of Doomguy (pre DOOM 2016). If you like it and want to see more of this idea, the asks are open. Enjoy! CW: Violence, established relationship, some made up lore to flesh out the Reader. I'm honestly not sure what genre this is.

“They are rage, brutal, without mercy. But you… You will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.” - Xbalanque, The First Pyro Archon

“In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of war, his soul blistered by the fires of Abyss and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Abyssal Void seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He bore the ancient name of Natlan, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him Askari. Though his body fell, consumed by the eternal fires of conflict, he rages on through each that bears his name.” - Tablet of Tona, Third Cycle, Passage CLXXIV

Xilonen

Every time the nation of Pyro goes to war, a new Askari is selected from the tribes by the unified will of all six Wayob. The legends say that this man, worthy of carrying the name, will not seek it or desire it, but will bear it until his role is done. He shall never grow old, they say, as he will meet a glorious death. Then, his successor will be selected should the need arise. 

As for Xilonen? She is not happy with it, by any meaning of the word. Of course it is her husband that happens to be the tormented, death-destined slayer. That’s just how life is going to treat her, huh?

First it was the massive abyssal invasion, one unlike any other in the previous century. She was one of the first to be evacuated from the Children of the Echoes, as her skills - no matter her combat prowess - were too valuable to put on the line. As such, she spent most of the conflict in the Stadium’s forge, crafting weapons at inhuman speeds for the ever dwindling defenders. The moments when she was allowed to leave its safety were anything but a break, as were her nights. She tossed and turned restlessly in the empty bed, worrying about you. Her family was safe, but you were not. There was no news of your fate. But Xilonen never assumed you were dead - you were strong, yes, you couldn’t have died so easily. If she only wasn’t so crucial to everything! She swore, looking out the window towards her overran home, that she would turn the world upside down to find you when it was all over. But fate had other plans. 

The war wasn’t over yet when she was taking a breather near the entrance, subconsciously scanning for any familiar faces amongst the constant inwards flow of ragged, scared refugees. At some point, the crowd started parting to make way for someone. Curious, Xilonen peeked out - only to see you. You, her beloved, her second half, covered in black blood and corrupted goo. Head to toe in armor unfamiliar to her, in one hand you carried your helmet and in the other, much to her horror… the obsidian shard with ASKR inscribed in runes. 

She froze. This was not happening. It took an entire day and a terrible hangover afterwards to come to terms with what just occurred. In one moment, you were fine. You were back. In the very next second, you were dead. Your fate was sealed by the name you were given. No matter how hard she would try, you wouldn’t be able to grow old with her. Before a single hair grayed on your head, you would scamper off to some dank hole and throw yourself at some gross monster just to die and leave her a broken-hearted widow, and your children fatherless orphans. For the first time in a long while, Xilonen was at a loss for words. The only things she could do, after countless rounds and hours of anger at the gods, she could only curl up and cry. 

Once the emotions passed, and alongside with them the war, the mood was bittersweet when she embraced you. You were alright. You wouldn’t die just yet. Then, she promised that no matter what the world was to throw at you, you wouldn’t shed a drop of blood until the prophecy demanded it of you. And she intends to hold that word to this very day. 

Now that the war is over, Xilonen is your primary arms dealer. No matter how tired she is, she puts even a little work into a new weapon or a new equipment piece for you every day. She has the freedom to do so, as Mauvika is obliged to foot the bill for the Warrior’s needs. Xilonen made sure to analyse your armor, finding that it was the same exact set worn by one of the ancient Askari - his spirit led you to it, no doubt about that. Though it’s mostly alien to her, a remnant of draconic technology of old, she does try to not only fix it, but improve it as well. So far, she is quite successful. Whenever you go out, expect to have your equipment fixed up, cleaned, sharpened and polished to perfection. 

Even if you find that too much, Xilonen will turn your refusal down. It’s not only her job as the Name Forger to care for the Askari’s gear, but she is also obliged to look out for you as your wife. It’s the least she can do for you. 

She can’t help you on your quest, as most of it is secretly planned by Mauvika so the information remains clandestine, and she absolutely cannot match you in combat. Xilonen is a good fighter, as every name bearer in Natlan, but you are several grades above her. Hell, you could even go head to head with Mauvika should the need arise - after all, one of the Askaris is famous for killing a Pyro Archon when he turned malevolent and embarked on a path of oppression. She saw you wield both blade and gun with repulsive efficiency…

Repulsive, as Xilonen dislikes gore. Yes, she is aware that it lies amongst the methods of Askari, and yes, she knows that it is very efficient at routing monsters, but it’s so spine chilling to watch you rip your enemies apart. She read about the terrible strength of your predecessors, she saw the murals, but nothing could compare to the sight and the sheer brutal efficiency of your massacres. Because that is the only word to describe most of your encounters with both monsters and humans. After a few brief moments, all that is left of them is a pile of mangled bodies and the sickening stench of iron in the air. 

Luckily, she sees it quite rarely. Nobody sane in Natlan dares to stand in your way - after all, no man or woman would like to have their head skewered with their broken radius, so it's clueless and arrogant Fatui that end up on the wrong end of your weapon. Hilichurls, especially stronger ones, are often too limited in their minds to appreciate just what will happen to them if they come too close to you.

Xilonen thanks Xbalanque each day that your Ancient Name does not corrupt your mind. With just how coldly ruthless you are in combat, you would think an Askari unable to feel or love. But you are still the same man she fell for - just with a tougher look and more blood on his hands. 

Your wife feels incredibly safe in your arms. She knows that you would never raise a hand on somebody undeserving of retribution. Your divine muscles, gained thanks to the supernatural power of the Name, makes you a perfect pillow. Be ready to be her headrest - Xilonen has limited time with you, and she aims to make the most of it. She already started preparing a children’s room for your heirs. It’s best to start as soon as possible so they get many fond memories with their father before he inevitably gives his life for her, them and all of Natlan. 

Chasca

Her role as a peacekeeper didn’t really exist as a separate profession in the ancient times. Most of it was done by the chiefs and their loyal entourage of warriors, but when the population grew and the tribes expanded into more complex structures, that wasn’t sufficient. In recent years, it has been even harder to maintain order as a long period of peace, and the absence of an Askari to be wary of, brough the people of Natlan further apart from each other. But not anymore.

It happened in the middle of the invasion. Buildings of the Flower Feather Clan were burning with unnatural, purple flames. Dark ooze was leaking from several Abyss portals, constantly spewing new monsters. Her fellow defenders were fighting bravely, but at that point corrosion and simple, human exhaustion started to set it. She watched as they dwindled in number, falling to blows of clubs and axes, others being torn to pieces by jagged, corrupted fangs of Rifthounds. You have long vanished from her sight, and in the midst of combat, she assumed you died as well, and realized that she was soon to follow. In her mind, it was the end. The end of her tribe, her family and herself. Her human parents, Chuychu, you, maybe even Chimpu and Coya.

Her ammunition ran out, and it was down to just her Vision. Exhaustion was slowly robbing her of strength to fight on. A lapse in concentration and she found herself knocked to the ground by a corroded Mitachurl. It raised its axe, ready to kill her. But then, a roar - no, a battle cry, coming from the skies. Both she and the monster looked up, its last sight being the underside of your boot. Chasca watched as it came crashing down, its head splattering against the wooden platform under the force of your attack. You were bleeding, wounded, wielding the remnants of your weapon like a short knife. But on your face was an expression of hate. Rage. Combat fury that she hasn’t seen either in a human or a saurian. Hilichurls approached you, only to be met with a barrage of cuts, fists and knees. You broke one’s arm like it was a twig, breaking its face alongside its mask on your fist. Another was cut open, the broken blade passing through muscle and bone as if it was butter. One was unfortunate to stumble after a kick; you stomped on its leg and, holding onto the monster’s shoulder, pulled the head alongside the spine out of its body like it was a weed. Chasca could only watch as the foes were killed, one by one in a torrent of blood and guts. Eventually, they just… broke. They fled, leaving you standing alone amidst the bodies of your comrades and whatever was left of theirs.

Before she could even speak a word, you hoisted her by her collar and, without a word, carried her to the chief’s hut where survivors were gathered. When she came to her senses, she didn’t ask any questions - it wasn’t the time for that. Both of you led whatever was left of the tribe to the Stadium. Only on the way back did Chasca notice that it wasn’t a broken sword you were wielding. It was an obsidian sigil mounted on a handle. A sigil with nothing else but the letters ASKR carved into the obsidian. Once you got to your destination, you wandered off and she saw you again only after the invasion

You weren’t there to comfort her when Chuychu succumbed to corrosion. She knew, however, that you couldn’t. Your new name, just like hers, came with duties that had to be attended to.   

Who would have thought that Chasca would be the one to witness the cursed name, the mark of the beast, be granted to a chosen Warrior? And her husband no less? That was one of the only two good things to come out of the invasion. The latter being that, even if it’s a bit cynical to admit, only one of her loved ones died. There were many among the tribe who lost everyone they held dear. But you were still here, stronger and… cooler than ever. 

Every Askari has similar traits of character, you being no exception. Calm, laconic in speech and dutiful… How could she have not expected you to be this generation’s Warrior? Perhaps it was the part of her that hoped you wouldn’t be marked for death. But alas, the will of the Wayob comes from their wisdom and strives for the good of all Natlan - it would be selfish to try and resist it. 

On top of that, you didn’t seem opposed to your new destiny. You wore the armor and wielded the weapons with a grim determination and hatred boiling in your veins as you tore your enemies into pieces. While you weren’t eager to voluntarily put yourself in danger before, now you were the first to go in, and soon your given name became a synonym for victory. The remaining nests of the Abyss and the monsters lurking around dark corners were stomped into the mud, the survivors too scared of you to come out and threaten the people ever again. Then, riding on your Qucusaurus, you took to the ruins of Ochkanatlan to clean the corrosion. Although the Traveler got to the dragon first, you still had lots of things to kill. 

And when all was said and done, you looked around at all the bodies and scoffed, for there were no more monster necks to snap, no more skulls to pulverise under your boots. So you returned home. 

Chasca was with you all the way. Temporarily, there was a smaller need to keep the peace since everybody was still united and wary of a possible counterattack. She observed as you purged the monsters, and couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. The way an Askari fought was described in legends, but the retellings were nothing when compared to seeing you in the flesh. You were fearless. You brushed off any injury they could inflict on you, your body quickly regenerating as soon as you wet your blade with another monster’s blood. Your newly enhanced size and musculature let you snap necks and crush heads with spine-chilling ease. She is more than perfectly aware of why you fight this way - fear is the only way to get through to the primal minds of the monstrosities you fight. And it is effective, for they fear only one thing - you. 

While she was very intimidating before, it’s an entirely different matter now. Just a mention of her getting involved creates an instant link to you in the minds of the troublemakers. If they pull her into this, she could definitely ask you for a hand and render them into nothing but ground meat. And although you don’t usually fight humans, she saw you drive back Fatui and similar criminals before. And the rest of Natlan has heard about it too. Now very few dare to rob caravans or poach saurians, fearing that they might land in the center of your attention. And nobody wants that. 

Even if you made her role a bit less necessary, you do make up for it by being an absolute piece of cinema. Chasca could watch you train and fight for hours on end, seeing every muscle flex as you deliver well-earned retribution.

And when there are no monsters in urgent need of a proper beatdown, she can… enjoy your strength in greater detail, so to speak. But you don’t mind that, do you?

Thanks for reading!

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎUndressed (Part One)౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎmasterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: accidental breaking and entering pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: in a chase, billy finds you in the woods author’s note: enjoy pt 1! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Death is quiet. It enters gracefully and refuses to leave. You could hear someone shouting from the other side, but it was so lovely here. Among the clouds with nary a prayer of disturbance from anything around you. Only peace. Light. Love.

Love. 

If this was heaven, where was he? You blinked, trying to feel around for him, but it was like your hands had no power. They were lost to the living. Panic entered your body, and your lips parted, but the cry you tried to wring out never exited. Dread was your candle as everything grew darker.

He was the last thing you would touch. His name was the last thing you would say.

Earlier... The chase was a crucial part of an outlaw’s life, but it always left a bitter taste of justice in Billy’s mouth. He had known some men who loved it, looked forward to it. Crime for the fun of it was all well and good for some, but it wasn’t his taste. And yet here he was.

The forest was nearly endless. Every tree Billy passed was identical to the next,although he was riding so fast that it all seemed a blur. He could hear the hooves in the distance, their riders hot on his trail. 

It had been one stupid slipup, and now he was stuck. It was a careful dance when stopping somewhere, and this time he’d missed every step. The wanted posters were damning, and it seemed he couldn’t find a town without them. It was surreal to say the least to see his own face staring back at him, a taunting, climbing number above his hat.

He had to give it to the law in this town- they were quick. And relentless. It was miles away and they were still determinedly keeping at his tracks. The bounty on his head must have been upped. No men worth their salt would have chased him this far out of bounds without a little compensation.

The sun was lowering, blinding him in little patches through the leaves patterning the view. He could feel his muscles tensing, growing weary as he looked ahead. His horse wouldn’t be able to keep at it all night, and he wouldn’t either. The riders would have to stop too eventually. It was impossible to know if they’d turn around or camp, but given their tenacity he was almost sure of the latter.

Pulling off into a clearing, Billy dismounted, tugging his horse along behind a patch of thick trees. Crouching behind the brush of scratchy bushes growing alongside it, he kept his palms to the dirt, hoping they would disguise him well enough.  

It wasn’t long before horses thundered past, the voices of their riders echoing. He remained motionless even after the noise faded, unsure if they’d send someone back. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been down that road.

Ten minutes passed. He heard nothing. Billy risked a look over the bushes. Only trees ahead. His horse whinnied next to him, and he patted his white neck. “I know.” 

Stretching his legs, Billy shook them out, turning around. The clearing was wide, surrounding greenery creating a closed off effect. There was something of a path ahead, flowers lining the edges. It piqued his curiosity. All the time he spent riding through patches of nowhere and he’d never seen anything like this before.

“You good here?” he mumbled to his horse, already squinting ahead at the trail. “Okay.”  Leaves and sticks crunching beneath his boots as he moved forward. The path stretched further than he could see, and his curiosity was piqued more by the second. Maybe it led to a cave, or a water source. Either way it would be better than where he was right now. The sun was sinking closer to the earth, and a place to rest was more than ideal.

Taking his horse's reins, he began to move forward. It was unlikely anybody chasing him had noticed this little path. Hell, he hadn’t until he stumbled into it. With any luck, nobody would retrace their steps, and he’d be safe until at least morning. 

Embarking on the trail, Billy noticed how the forest seemed to lighten the further he went. Sure the sky was getting darker still, but there was an undeniable energy about the place that he couldn’t describe. His footsteps grew lighter, mood softening as the reality of the night set in. He wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder tonight, or sleep with his gun clasped in his hand. Everything felt friendlier somehow, like birds would start singing and welcoming him any minute. It only served to make him feel more out of place. 

He wished he had a light. The path wouldn’t do any good if he couldn’t see. And who knew how far it went? It was possible he could be following a trail that lasted miles. Peering into the distance, Billy tried to make something out. Trees, flowers, shadows. A cottage.

A cottage! Far from any civilization, so there couldn’t be anyone inside. The perfect hiding spot for the night. Hurrying forward, Billy wondered how long he could get away with staying. Maybe even a full day? It was obvious how hidden the little structure was the closer he got. The branches of the trees surrounding it created a sort of canopy, and there were bushes winding around a decided perimeter. He’d have to keep this place in mind. It was perfect for a man on the run. 

Billy let his horse free, watching him navigate to a patch of healthy grass nearby. The sun was setting, and his shadow darkened the front door the closer he came. The windows served as mirrors, and he couldn’t make out anything beyond them. 

Billy tried the door. Unlocked. He barely had to turn the rounded handle before it pushed open. The frame was decorated with pink flowers, and he reached up to touch one. Evidently, someone had loved this house once. Looking closely, he saw the flowers engraved in the door handle too.

The interior was more furnished than he’d expected. And there were flowers everywhere. In a vase on every flat surface, braided into ropes that climbed up the legs of chairs and tables. It was charming, very lively.

He was alone for the night. Safe. There was nothing better than this. Wandering into the next room, he reached for the buckle of his gun belt, fiddling with it before looking up and freezing.

Standing in front of him, lips parted in shock, eyes rounder than the middles of the flowers all over the house, stood a girl.

Frozen in place, the strap of your dress falling off your shoulder. It was hardly a dress, the low neck threaded with pale rosy ribbon. Once he realized it was a chemise, he determinedly stared into your eyes, immediately transfixed by the color. Words were born on his tongue and died before they could move past his lips. A girl. A beautiful one. His hand moved instantly, collecting his hat from his head.

You crossed your wrists over your collarbone, the first movement you made in front of him. Swallowing, you opened your mouth again, and he braced himself for a scream. Instead, a soft voice like music lilted the air. He was so lost in the sound that he hardly made out what you were saying.

“Who are you?”

Billy shifted uncomfortably, rigid under your gaze. You were sitting in front of him, a steaming mug of tea in front of you and him each on the table. His leg was bouncing, and he tried to will himself to stop.

He really had been expecting screaming. Maybe crying if he was unlucky. But you were watching him with a sort of curiosity he hadn't encountered before. Your eyes were soft. The innocence you exuded was practically a scent. One that a worse man than him would pick up on and take advantage of immediately.

There was no doubt about your beauty. Pretty girls weren't hard to come across, but a girl who was pretty like you was daisy in a rosebush. Fresh-faced, clean, heartwarming. He couldn't take his eyes off your hair. It looked soft, and he wondered briefly what it'd feel like around one of his fingers.

"You haven't said who you are yet," you reminded him, crossing your legs. You were wearing a dress over your chemise now, a shade of light blue with little embroidered flowers. He kept waiting for you to treat him like a hostage. Instead, you'd poured him tea and acted as though you'd been expecting him.

He took a tentative sip from the mug, aware of your eyes still on him. There didn't seem to be any further danger. It was just you in this cottage as far as he could tell, and you hadn't reacted in a particularly jarring way. It was only scary in the sense that it was unexpected.

Hesitating a moment, he responded, "Billy. My name's Billy." Now that he'd confirmed his identity, he waited for the double take, the wince, the invitation to leave here as fast as possible.

You blinked, a little smile quirking your lips. "Billy." He was a little stunned by your tone. Not a trace of disgust or anger. Billy was so surprised that he nearly missed you saying your own name.

He managed to react. "Pretty." Your smile grew, and he found himself wanting to do it again.

"Billy." Every time you tried his name out, testing it on your tongue, he only wanted to hear it more. You leaned your cheek on your hand, studying him again. He found that he didn't mind being watched by you. "What are you doing here?"

"I was being chased," he said before he could stop himself. "I found this place when I was running away. I didn't think anyone was here or I would've kept movin'."

"It's okay." You sat up, smile still constant. "I don't get many visitors. It's just me and my mother."

"Your mother?" Billy looked around, tensing again. "Is she around?"

"Uh uh." You shook your head to drive the point forward. "She just left this morning. Honestly, she's away more than she's here."

"I see." Billy tried to hide the relief in his voice. You smiled, taking another sip of tea.

"Why were you being chased?" The way you tilted your head...Billy was a goner. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep his thoughts under control.

"Ah..." Billy paused, raising his eyebrows. "You...I...?"

You were oblivious. "You what?"

He'd never had to explain this before. "Well...there's a lot of people who don't like me."

"Oh." You furrowed your brow. "That's not very nice."

"It's not." Billy took another sip of his tea, deciding he'd tell you about why they didn't like him later.

"You can stay here for the night if you need to," you offered, blinking wide eyed at him. "My mother won't be back for a long time probably."

"Where'd she go off to?" Billy wasn't sure if a long time meant hours or weeks.

"She's a midwife," you said, following the grain of the tabletop with your finger. "She travels for around a month at a time and then comes home to spend time with me for a few days."

"I see." It struck Billy as odd that you were left alone for such long periods without protection. But the cottage was well hidden, and it seemed like until him, nobody had ever stumbled upon this little patch of heaven. When you smiled at him, he knew it was a good thing nobody had discovered its angel.

"Can I tell you something Billy?" There it was again- his name the way it was always meant to be said. When he nodded, you smiled, lowering your voice and leaning in as if there was someone around who could hear you. He found himself leaning in too. "You're the first man I've ever met."

He raised an eyebrow. "The first, huh?"

You nodded wide-eyed, still whispering. "The very first." Straightening, you crossed your ankles, voice resuming a normal tone. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers or go into town."

Every fact he learned about you only raised another question. "So you've been here, mostly by yourself for...?"

"I'm nineteen," you said proudly, swinging your feet. "Mother moved us here when I was a baby."

"And she never wanted to take you into town?" he asked skeptically. It was a hard thing to believe- a girl who was wholly untouched by the world.

You bit your cheek, playing with a strand of your hair. "That's another secret."

"Hmm?" He nodded, watching your eyes.

"Well..." you looked to the window, then leaned forward again. He matched you. "There's some very bad people where I was born. People who want to find me."

"Who wants to find you?" Billy couldn't have taken his eyes off you if he tried. You went quiet, looking down and uncrossing and recrossing your ankles. He straightened, nodding. "Sorry."

You brightened again, the sun from behind the clouds. "It's okay." Humming for a moment, you studied him for a moment, shrinking back. "You don't have to stay the night. If you need to keep moving, I understand."

"I'll stay," he said immediately, hoping to see your smile grow. He was thrilled when it did.

"You will?" You leapt to your feet, looking more excited than he'd ever seen anyone.

Now he was smiling. "I will."

"You can have the spare bedroom," you decided, spinning on your heel once and reaching for your tea again. You reminded him of a baby bird getting ready to fly away.

Billy couldn't remember how he'd gotten to this point as he watched you, backlit by the window. The sun was pushing its fingers through your hair, making you look otherworldly. Everything about you, from the way your fingers wound around the handle of your mug to your subtle swaying, drew him in. If this was a trap, it was doing a good job.

He could stay here forever, even if it meant only watching you for the rest of his days. There was something enchanting about you that felt like a daydream. And Billy would be a fool to resist. This was the first bit of kindness he'd been shown in ages. He was thirsty for it, especially when it was coming from the purest source of light he'd ever encountered.

Besides that, there was an air of mystery that enveloped you, more questions than answers giving way with every move you made. It was rare to find a woman so unburdened by the world's frivolities, rarer still for her to be so isolated. As pretty as you were, there should be a murderous husband or overprotective father in your shadow. Billy wasn't one for poking his head into other folk's business, but he found himself craving it. The essence of you.

You seemed blissfully unaware of it all. Like your comfort laid in lack of answers. He almost wanted to find them for you, find a way to protect you from them. Nothing would ever disturb your peace if he had anything to say about it.

Perking up, your brow knit into itself as your gaze landed in the direction of the front door. Billy stood up, instantly ready to fix whatever had banished your smile.

"Is that...?" You tilted your head.

Billy could hear it now too. Horses.

"More visitors," you decided, beginning to move for the front. Billy held out an arm before you could get past him. He could hear the sounds of men now, though their words were unclear. You pulled at his shirtsleeve, looking up. "Billy-"

"Hold on," he started, and you fell silent, still hanging onto his arm. In normal circumstances, he would be weak over your warm fingers through the fabric of his shirt. But now he was more focused on the look on your face, the way you began to shrink behind him with the realization that maybe they weren't just visitors.

It was quiet for a moment. Then a pounding on the door made you jump. Billy unwittingly wrapped his arm around you, wincing internally at himself until you hid your face in his chest.

He had a suspicion, but he didn't want to say anything yet. Maybe it was someone else, another group of men that happened to be passing by. Holding his breath and you, he kept his eyes ahead, ready to draw his gun at any moment.

"Open up!" You gasped, and he tightened his arm around you. "We know Billy the Kid's in here!"

"Billy?" You sounded scared, and he could have kicked himself.

"That's his horse out front! You have five seconds before we break down the door!"

He gritted his teeth, looking around as if a magic door would appear. Though this wasn't unfamiliar to him, this encounter had him feeling more sour on the inside due to the girl in his arms. This had to be a new record.

Less than an hour and he'd already dragged you into the life you'd been so fiercely protected from.

Next Part (coming soon)

[thatoneneuvichiliauthor]

Hurt/Comfort Jayvik Drabble

(can also be read on Ao3)

Spoilers for Season 2 Act 3

His stay in the derelict Piltover has left its mark on Jayce. Both his mind and body have suffered from it, although some injuries are less evident than others. To Viktor, the damage inflicted on his soul is the one that stands out the most. They might be watered down, but the Zaunite has retained some of his peculiar abilities, even now that the Hexcore has been destroyed. They make him more attuned to Jayce’s feelings, especially violent, undesired ones.

This unique connection alerts him when his partner is having a bad nightmare long before he even starts stirring in his sleep. It lets him know when a particular sound or smell brings Jayce back to that horrible cave, to the soul-wrenching dread of being trapped and hurt and alone.

Viktor senses it all: When guilt and self-hatred start weighing on Jayce’s chest, when his mind spirals with what-ifs, when suicidal thoughts attempt to resurface from the pit they’ve been rightfully thrown into. And those crucial insights help him be there for Jayce, just like Jayce is always there for him.

Still, only he can detect wounds of the mind with such keen acuity. To regular people, it is the leg brace that stands out. Viktor can tell. He has been on the receiving end of enough rude or pitying comments and stares to recognize when Jayce is subjected to the same treatment. It never fails to make his blood boil, and he has no qualms about unleashing all of his snark and spite on such inconsiderate individuals to shield his partner from their nosy remarks and questions.

Jayce’s shattered legbone is only the tip of the iceberg, though. So many other things have changed about him; his hair, his beard, the creases on his skin, his eyes, which do not shine as bright as they once did…

Linked together, all these little details weave a tale of what happened to Jayce. They speak of his resilience and strength of character, of how hard he fought to survive.

However, yet another thread is missing from this complex canvas. One only Viktor is privy to.

The red, ugly slash that divides Jayce’s back in two.

This one, he received during the Memorial Ceremony. Before he touched the Arcane. So, associating the injury with his hellish experience might appear farfetched.

Except the wound was still fresh, when Jayce fell into the pit. As for the bandage that covered it, his partner found himself with no choice but to relocate it to his broken leg instead. Leaving the chainsaw-inflicted gash on his back raw, exposed.

And, given the disastrous conditions his partner lived in for months, it healed badly.

Really badly.

Due to the infection and Hexcore corruption Jayce had to battle off, the scar spreads much farther than it should have. Viktor has made rubbing repairing ointments onto it at night a habit. It helps soothe Jayce’s pain, although it will take months, if not years, for it to disappear completely, if it ever does.

In the meantime, Jayce winces when he puts on his clothes, and sleeps either on his stomach or side, but never on his back. Most nights, he sleeps with his head resting on Viktor’s stomach, because for as much he’d love to be the little spoon, to be held in a warm embrace, his suffering body won’t let him. And when they hug, Viktor doesn’t dare wrap his arms too tight around Jayce, for fear he might hurt him.

Not that it stops Viktor from offering him plenty of love and comfort. To make up for all the embraces they cannot share, he peppers kisses across Jayce’s cheeks, whispers the sweetest words in his ear, holds hands with him as they fall asleep… The list goes on and on. Whatever affectionate gesture Jayce might long for, Jayce gets. Simple as that.

Until the pain in Jayce’s back fades. Until he can be held tight again. Until Viktor can be the one resting on his chest instead.

Until wounds of the mind and body alike heal, or at very least, turn less severe.

It's a slow process, but they will get there.

Together.

[the-wales-5]

"Cambridge 2012"

28th November 2012.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were about to embark on their first official visit to their duchy - Cambridge.

Catherine, who felt unwell for the past few hours, was determined to attend these engagements nevertheless.

“Catherine, think about it yet” her husband said as he approached her

“I've made up my mind” she replied “It is crucial for us to be there together today. Cambridge is our duchy, people expect to see both of us. Let's go”.

William hid a sigh, helping her to wear her cream coat, and putting his hand on her back.

~~

The cheers of the public escalated as The Duke and Duchess were standing at the balcony of Cambridge Guildhall.

“It's all for you” William said to his wife. Catherine was feeling almost as overwhelmed as on the wedding day at Buckingham Palace balcony; she laughed, and looked at her husband lovingly while remembering their kiss, fully aware that it may never occur in public again, with all those onlookers.

~

As they met well-wishers later, William was given a baby onesie. The next stops were the Cambridge university and Manor School, where both Catherine and her husband were seen talking with pupils as well as watching a performance and talking with one another.

“Are you sure you're alright?” William asked her as soon as they were in the car, ready to drive to yet another destination: “Jimmy's” night shelter.

“Yes, I am absolutely fine” she said but took a long sip of water a second later before closing her eyes.

“Are you sure you can visit two places yet?” Catherine's private secretary asked, showing a little bit of worry just like William earlier.

The duchess sighed with frustration and nodded before following her husband.

“Here's the cooking expert” he said as he looked at his wife walking into the room.

The man who stood in front of Catherine and kissed her on the hand and said “Oh my god, you're very beautiful”.

William stood next to his wife, nervous laughter escaping his lips, while his wife's comment was “You're making me blush”.

The only thought on William's mind was “Stay away from her. if beheading was still possible, I’d use that”. Although he tried to get into a professional conversation, it was quite impossible as the shelter’ owner went further with his ‘irritating’ words. This time, he requested for a picture with the Duchess of Cambridge. Catherine laughed as she looked at William, saying “I'm not sure how my husband's gonna feel”.

“Why are you making a scene?” Catherine asked as she rolled her eyes “Nothing happened apart from his silly commentary"

They said their goodbyes and were on the way to Peterborough City Hospital. William scoffed “Are you kidding me? The audacity of that man had no boundaries”

“Was your ‘You're making me blush’ part of that silly commentary too?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His wife took yet another sip of water that day

“Really, Catherine? Are you asking me this question? You better answer me this: were you serious or just polite?”

“Don't be ridiculous” she scoffed “I know how to behave on those official meetings, William”

“That man we had met definitely didn't know and that is the problem” he said and looked at her face. Initially with a bit of annoyance, then concern “Catherine? Are you alright?”

“Could all of you stop worrying about me?” she asked before leaving the car.

Their last stop was the hospital. By the time it was ending, Catherine felt more and more tired. As she and William were posing for a picture for one of the nurses, Kate put her hand on his back as if she wanted to comfort him that everything was alright with her.

~

Upon arrival at home, Catherine threw up. Her husband was worried after she was in the bathroom for too long.

“Kate, you were tired earlier and now you locked yourself in the bathroom. What is the matter?” He asked, his voice full of anxiety.

“Everything's fine. Don't worry” she replied, trying to calm herself down and hide the paleness of her skin, but it was still visible. As soon as she left the bathroom, William grabbed her hands, saying “We need to call a doctor immediately”

“I have an engagement at my old school the day after tomorrow. I don't want to cancel it just because of nausea. I will be okay” she said and kissed him on the cheek.

~~

In the evening, William and his wife were in the living room together with Lupo. Catherine was resting her head on her husband's shoulder but he seemed to be lost in thoughts. All of a sudden, Kate chuckled a little “Are you now overthinking the situation at the night shelter? For me it was just a funny situation, but you seem worried” she teased.

William looked into her eyes “It was irritating at first, but you are my adorable Kate no matter what” he smiled lovingly and caressed her cheek “I'm anxious about you, Babykins”

“Me? Why? I threw up just one time and I guess it's food poisoning..” she shrugged off.

“You need a checkup. Tomorrow afternoon”

“Listen, if my symptoms remain until December 1st, it will happen. I need to visit St. Andrews school and you know that. It was scheduled in advance” she smiled a little.

“If you will feel unwell, it will be cancelled”

She wanted to say something but William kissed her on the forehead, petted her hair and whispered “Do not argue with me anymore. I don't like our arguments”

“You're the one starting them” Catherine remarked and chuckled before kissing him on the lips. Lupo started barking at that moment and both William and his wife giggled. She said then “I think it's a good moment to take a picture, William”

“A picture? Why?”

“You were annoyed that someone else wanted to take a picture of me, yes?” she teased and put her camera on the table.

~

30th November 2012.

As The Duchess of Cambridge's “food poisoning” symptoms continued, she began to suspect something but did not want to keep her hopes too high. After her husband left for a night shift, she was in the bathroom, waiting impatiently while walking back and forth. After quite a few minutes, she looked at the test, speechless.

Two red lines. Two. Pregnancy.

Her eyes were filled with tears. Happy ones, but there was also a sign of anxiety in them.

She hid the test in her private bedroom drawer, sighing in relief before putting her hand on stomach “Hello.. It's me. Your mummy” she whispered and smiled happily.

~

1st December 2012.

“Are you suffering from food poisoning again?” William asked as soon as he found his wife in the bathroom in the early morning.

“It's not.. food poisoning” she said weakly “I need that checkup. I want to be sure 100%”

William took her up in his arms and looked into her eyes “What do you mean, my wife?”

“I.. I wanted to talk about it in special circumstances, William” she whispered.

He was confused a little bit. Catherine managed to tell him about a bedroom drawer before losing consciousness.

After seeing a positive pregnancy test, William was on the verge of happy tears. He controlled himself though as his fear of Kate's condition was bigger than any happiness.

~

“Your royal highness, you are pregnant” said the doctor who came to Wales after checking on Catherine “Though I must say I am concerned about your constant nausea. It might be a form of morning sickness, but we would have to do some further tests and checkups, at the hospital, to confirm that”

“What do you suspect? Is it dangerous for her or our baby?” William asked

“Definitely a more severe illness. It is called hyperemesis gravidarum” the doctor replied.

~

“We cannot celebrate it properly. I'm sorry” Catherine whispered as she was laying on the hospital bed a few hours later.

“Babykins, listen. Yours and our baby's health matter the most at the moment” William kissed her on the hand.

“You can't even kiss me now” she said weakly

William smiled a little and moved his head closer to her “Why? It's still possible, my wife”

Catherine smiled and soon she was lost in that kiss. She cried with happiness “We will become parents.. I was thinking of that possibility but it still is a shock”

William fixed her hair and then kissed on her small baby bump “It's the truth, Mrs. Wales” he whispered, got happy tears too and gently pressed his lips on hers again.

“I just realised that the picture taken in Wales was our last one without awareness of our baby's existence” Catherine chuckled

He giggled too as he said “The circumstances were so funny though”

Catherine put head on his shoulder “I love you, my William”

“I love you more. I love both of you” he said and stared into her eyes lovingly before looking at her baby bump. Catherine closed her eyes, feeling as peaceful as her condition allowed her to be, but happy like never before as well and excited about the future.

[hey-its-roseaurum]

Guilty Until Proven Innocent: Part II

A/N: Hello again everyone, it's been a minute. I couldn't post this part until @lainiespicewrites finished her part. This part was fun and extremely difficult to write, so if it ends up being a dumpster fire, then I'm sorry. Hopefully not. Anyway hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts.

Synopsis: After the agreement to work with Sherlock, Olivia was given an address to meet and discuss the plan. Once she arrives, she discovers something about Sherlock that not a lot of people get to see.

“221 Baker’s Street.  You didn’t mention that it would be on the second floor Sherlock”  I huffed to myself as I made my way up the stairs.  The night before Sherlock had briefly explained that I had to meet him at a specific location tomorrow.  He said he would give me all the information I needed.  When asked why he couldn’t mention it here, he mentioned he wanted to be safe before revealing crucial details about a case. 

So here I am, trudging up the stairs.  

And I hate every second of it.

But I push through my heavy breathing until I make it to the final step.  It wasn’t until I could breathe evenly that I knocked on the door.

A heavy pause lingered in the air before the door creaked open.

“You’re late.”  A gruff voice sliced the air.  Sherlock stood right in front of me, one hand on the door, the other holding a pipe.  

“Sorry.  I had a hard time finding this place.”  He stepped aside, leaving a glimpse of inside his flat.  A silent invitation.  “You never mentioned that this place was on the second floor.  Those stairs were brutal.”

“One should always have steps, to avoid people stepping on you.”  Sherlock merely stated, his eyes tracking my movements as I passed the threshold into his place.

“Umm…I’m not sure I entirely follow.  But I’m pretty sure-”  I stopped suddenly as my brain caught up with what was happening around me.  The hairs on my neck stood up as I felt my breath catch in my throat.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Everything, even parts of the floor was consumed by documents of varying sizes.  Some were folded, some were ripped.  There were even some with tea stains.  Not one seat, save for one in the middle of the flat, wasn’t covered by some degree.

How can someone live, let alone work, in a place like this?

One of my main pet peeves is cleanliness.  It’s been instilled in me ever since I was able to move.  My mother always said that a clean house is a clear mind.  I tried my best to make my home as clean and decluttered as I could; even when I was at the small cottage.

But to see someone as put together on the outside live in such a state, especially someone like Sherlock Holmes,   says something about their mind…

I bit my bottom lip and drew my attention away from the mess and towards the smoke trailing behind Sherlock.  It took everything in my power to distract myself

“So…what is it that you need me to do exactly?”

Sherlock had traveled to the other side of the flat, completely avoiding the papers.  He puffed on his pipe, his face strained in thought. 

“There is a performance at The Reform tonight.  It appears to be a central location that the suspect likes to visit.  His latest victim had been a showgirl.  I need you to go in and see if you can retrieve any belongings of the two victims.”  My eyebrows creased together in question.

“Pardon?  Two questions.  You mentioned ‘latest victim’.  There’s more than one victim.  Why has it not been mentioned in the newspapers?  Two, if I go in, how do we know that their belongings are still there?  They could be gone by now.”  

“Due to the budget of the showroom and the amount of performers it takes to run a show, the items won’t be touched.  The show requires six performers to perform without any hindrance.  So far the show has five currently.  It will not run unless they have the right number of people to perform all of the acts.  The police haven’t connected the string of murders to one suspect yet.  They believe that there is no connection and no motive between the two.”  So there has been another murder, but it hasn’t been revealed to the public.  Why?  

It doesn’t make sense.  There was only one mention of a death that had claimed to be murder, at least from what I can recall.  The only other thing that has been repeatedly mentioned is about a new entertainment business coming to London.  It had been on the front page three consecutive times.  But the murders and the entertainment show can’t be connected, can they? 

“Olivia, have I lost you?”  Sherlock’s voice grew in my ears like thunder in a growing storm, shocking me out of my thoughts.

“NO!….no.”  I jerked my gaze to meet his.  My eyes trailed back to the ground and focused on each paper.  It took most of my attention to avoid stepping on any of the documents on the ground.  “Please continue.”  Sherlock stared at me momentarily, taking a puff of his pipe before continuing.

“I’ll need you to pose as one of the new dancers hired for the show.  You will be given access to their belongings.  Look for any personal belongings related to the victim, acquire them, and exit before the show begins.  Do you have any questions?”

“One question actually, um…if there are five performers and I’m posing as the sixth one, what is stopping the showrunner from putting me in the actual performance?”  I felt a slight quiver in my voice when the question left my lips.  My nerves felt like they were beginning to light on fire, and my breathing quickened with each passing thought of having to go on a stage.  

“Because there is a sixth performer.  You are to get in and leave before they arrive. Try not to run into them before you get what you need.”

“Oh…ok, great.”  I swallowed hard, feeling my anxiety growing.  How am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to grab?  I don’t know anything about the victim.  What if I take the wrong item?  What if I can’t even make it inside?  Even if I make it inside, there’s no guarantee that I won’t get caught.  If I did then everything would be for naught.  I’d end up in jail with no money to get bailed out.  I would let the victims’ families down, and let the murderer have another chance to strike.  Worst of all, I’d have the greatest detective in the world disappointed in me and regret ever allowing me to work with him.  

Keep it together Olivia.

“You look troubled.  What is it?”  His words sounded far away with the ringing in my ears.  I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure.

“It’s nothing.  It’s not pertaining to the case.”  My voice felt out of place like it wasn’t me talking.  I felt like I wasn’t in my own body. I didn’t want Sherlock to know my doubts about this task.  We weren’t as close as I would like to be.  And the last thing I want is to show Sherlock how much of a mess I am inside.  He’d label me as just another person possessed by their own emotions.

I mean I sort of am but I didn’t want to divulge that with him.  It would just add to the list of things he’d be disappointed in.

Stop it

“I don’t want this to affect you when you are out there.  So please get it off your chest.”  There was a slight tilt to his head, his gaze analyzing me.  I could feel him already concluding that I was not cut out for something like this.

“It’s just…”  I trailed off.  How could I tell him that what I was about to do was crazy?  Everything I said when I was back at Edith’s place was completely spur of the moment.  At the time I genuinely thought that I would be able to pull something like this off.  Having it mere hours away from happening felt like I had been dowsed in ice water.

“Olivia.”  Just one word, my name, stilled my thoughts and pulled my attention to Sherlock.  His face had less of an edge to it like his demeanor had shifted and began to morph into something else.  I don’t know what it was but he almost appeared gentle and patient.  It was a complete contrast to what I saw several moments ago.  This was not the same Sherlock that had asked for help a fortnight ago.

This made it almost harder to speak.

“Okay, okay It’s just….” I bit my bottom lip, “why is your place so messy?”  I blurted out, completely changing the topic.  Maybe if I talk about something else I won’t have to show my doubts.

“It’s not messy.  Everything is where it needs to be.”  Sherlock appeared slightly taken aback by my sudden question.

“Right…that’s not what I’m seeing here.  It looks like you’ve just thrown around-”

“You’re changing the topic, Olivia.”  Shit…he knew what I was doing.  I guess I don’t have a choice…

“Okay fine.  I’m just worried about tonight, that’s all.”  A long sigh escaped my lips, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t look like showgirl material.  I mean LOOK at me.”  I stretched out my arms showcasing all the bumps, dips, and curves of my body.  “There���s no way I would pass as one, let alone be able to get through the door.  People like me are the ones who listen to the music and the cheering outside the building.  I don’t want to let the victim's family down, or especially you.”  A heavy presence filled the air, choking the silence.  Sherlock just stared at me.  I don’t know if it was out of shock or if he was reconsidering his decision to bring me into this.  

I don’t care anymore.  I let my insecurity out and hung it up to dry for him to see.  

All he has to do is say the words and I’ll be on my way back to my little damp cottage.

“You know Olivia…”  Sherlock cleared his throat, saying, “It’s normal to feel anxious about an uncertain situation.”  He paused, taking a moment to place his pipe on a nearby table.  “I’m going to give you a piece of advice.  Out there, feelings and being emotional poses a risk.  It is understandable for you, given the danger you may face.  However if you feel like this is too difficult for you, then I won’t force you to do this.  I can find other routes to get what I acquire.  All you have to do is say the word.”

He’s giving me a choice. 

He knows that the situation can be dangerous.  He knows that I’m feeling overwhelmed, but isn’t forcing me to commit.  There’s still a chance to back out, and yet he’s still giving me the option, however much that hurts him.  And if I don’t do this, it’s another chance to be another victim.

I can’t let myself back out.  

“No,”  I paused, collecting myself.    “No, I can do this.  I won’t let my emotions get in the way.”  A pleased look crossed his face, a small smirk threatening to reveal itself.

“Good.  I’ll see you tonight.”

A/N: Thank you to the following people who wanted to see this part happen. Stay tuned for part 3!!

Tag List:

@lainiespicewrites

@shellyshellshell

@xblueriddlex

@rosecentury

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

A lot of the fandom discourse around potential dragon riders tends to gravitate towards Jon, often framing the choice as Jon picking between Rhaegal and Viserion. This positioning can leave Tyrion feeling like an afterthought, with whatever dragon he bonds with being perceived as leftovers. An aftereffect of this seems to be the rising popularity of the theory that Jon will bond with Viserion leaving Rhaegal for Tyrion.

The appeal of Jon and Viserion largely stems from an aesthetic perspective—Jon, dressed in black, contrasting with Viserion’s white—but I believe this argument falls short when considering the deeper narrative and thematic elements. Instead, I'd argue that Tyrion is more suited to bond with Viserion, while Jon should bond with Rhaegal. I've already written extensively on why Jon and Rhaegal are a perfect match, so this meta will focus heavily on Tyrion.

Building a Case for Tyrion + Viserion

Many fans are drawn to the Jon + Viserion pairing because of the perceived contrast: Jon’s black Night’s Watch garb against Viserion’s white coloring. However, this interpretation overlooks key details in the text.

"The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not." (Dany I, ACOK)

In ACOK, Dany specifically names her cream and gold dragon after her silver-haired brother, Viserys. And while Viserion is sometimes referred to as a white dragon, his golden hues are equally important. This distinction is crucial because Jon, who has little connection to gold as a color, lacks the narrative association with Viserion that Tyrion has in abundance.

Tyrion Lannister’s connection to gold is profound and multifaceted. First, consider his appearance:

Then he saw the other one, waddling along half-hidden by his brother’s side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin’s brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother’s height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute’s squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. (Jon I, AGOT)

Tyrion’s hair, described as so blond it appears white, mirrors Viserion’s cream-and-gold coloring and evokes the dragon's namesake, the silver-haired Viserys. This connection is further emphasized by the tragic end of Viserys, who met his death with molten gold poured over his head (double irony in that he was forced to sell his mother’s crown). In a way, Tyrion’s hair, like a natural crown, aligns with Viserion’s own colors.

More generally, the golden hair of House Lannister is legendary. While Tyrion's hair is paler than typical, it still carries that Lannister legacy of gold, tying him to Viserion in a way Jon Snow—whose identity is wrapped in Stark and Targaryen heritage, not Lannister gold—can never claim.

Beyond physical appearance, gold as a substance plays a very significant role in Tyrion’s character arc, especially his stint as Master of Coin. The golden dragon is the highest form of currency in Westeros.

And in addition to that, Tyrion’s thoughts frequently dwell on the wealth of Casterly Rock, the seat of his family’s power:

“Gold,” Tyrion said, miming a smile. “Casterly Rock is full of gold … ahhhh …” This time the blow was a forehand, and Mord put more of his arm into the swing, making the leather crack and jump. It caught Tyrion in the ribs and dropped him to his knees, whimpering. He forced himself to look up at the gaoler. “As rich as the Lannisters,” he wheezed. “That’s what they say, Mord—” (Tyrion V, AGOT)

Tyrion Lannister’s references to gold, particularly in relation to Casterly Rock, are both numerous and significant. They underscore his deep-seated desire for recognition and power within his family—though this is often denied to him by his father. Tyrion’s yearning for Casterly Rock’s wealth and status is not merely a personal ambition but also a quest for validation and legitimacy ("all dwarves are bastards"), as Casterly Rock represents the pinnacle of Lannister power and prestige.

Tyrion also frequently promises to distribute "all the gold in Casterly Rock", which is interesting if interpreted as a reliance (or perhaps even fixation) on this symbol of Lannister power. Think of how Tywin is often perceived as embodying the Lannister legacy of gold, even to the point where it’s said he “shits gold”; much of this coming from Tyrion's own POV.

Tyrion’s fixation on Tywin’s legacy is an interesting reflection of his own deep-seated desire for recognition and validation. However, in a moment of grim irony, he observes that Tywin dies on the privy without having shat any gold, widening the crack of disillusionment he has come to feel towards House Lannister and its legacy. The realization that “Lord Tywin Lannister did not, in the end, shit gold” emphasizes the disparity between the myth of Tywin’s wealth and the harsh reality of Tyrion’s estrangement from that legacy. And this makes way for Tyrion to finally be alleviated and transcend his father's shadow.

While Tyrion is denied Casterly Rock and its gold—the ultimate symbol of his claim to Lannister heritage—Viserion offers him an alternative symbol of power. Viserion’s cream-and-gold coloring not only aligns with Tyrion’s own appearance but also represents a form of prestige and authority that is beyond what Tywin could ever bestow. In a way, Tyrion’s relationship with Casterly Rock and his father brings to mind the myth of Fafnir from Norse mythology—a dwarf who kills his father to seize his treasure and is transformed into a dragon as a result.

Gold for Tyrion can be a means to freedom or to power - or maybe even both? And this brings us to one of the most recurrent motifs in Tyrion's arc: a Lannister and the debts he must pay.

“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said. “A Lannister always pays his debts.” Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you were promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll pay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that. (Tyrion VI, AGOT)

In this instance, Tyrion’s adherence to the motto that "a Lannister always pays his debts" is a positive affirmation of his commitment to repay those who aid him. 

However, this same promise can take on a darker tone as a threat:

“Oh, must I?” Tyrion snarled. “Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my wife!” “Tyrion—” He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but he put all his strength into it, all his fear, all his rage, all his pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor. “I … I suppose I earned that.” “Oh, you’ve earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can’t begin to tell you what you’ve earned. But you’ll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion waddled away, almost stumbling over the turnkey again in his haste. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate that closed the passage. Oh, gods. It was all he could do not to scream. (Tyrion XI, ASOS)

In this instance, the promise of payment transforms into a declaration of vengeance, highlighting Tyrion’s bitterness and his resolve to make his family pay for their betrayals and wrongs against him.

Tyrion has set in motion events that may contribute to the second Dance of Dragons and the potential dismantling of Lannister rule. His role as a military advisor to Aegon and possibly Daenerys introduces him to a complex dilemma. Once a defender of King's Landing, he now aligns himself with forces that could undermine the very realm he once sought to protect.

The image of Tyrion picking up a blood-stained white dragon resonates with his involvement in the chaos to come:

The white cyvasse dragon ended up at Tyrion's feet. He scooped it off the carpet and wiped it on his sleeve, but some of the Yunkish blood had collected in the fine grooves of the carving, so the pale wood seemed veined with red." (Tyrion II, TWOW (Sample))

This image of the blood-stained white dragon suggests Tyrion’s complicity in the violence and chaos to come. For dragons are dangerous:

“When I went to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones to beg the Pureborn for your life, I said that you were no more than a child,” Xaro went on, “but Egon Emeros the Exquisite rose and said, ‘She is a foolish child, mad and heedless and too dangerous to live.’ When your dragons were small they were a wonder. Grown, they are death and devastation, a flaming sword above the world.” He wiped away the tears. “I should have slain you in Qarth.” (Dany III, ADWD)

And destructive:

"Your men are needed where they are, my lady," Daemon Sand assured her. Arianne was quick to nod. Any other counsel could well lead to Lord Yronwood's host unravelling like an old tapestry as each man rushed home to defend his own lands against supposed enemies who might or might not ever come. "Once we know beyond a doubt whether these be friends or foes, my father will know what to do," the princess said. It was then that pasty, pudgy Teora raised her eyes from the creamcakes on her plate. "It is dragons." "Dragons?" said her mother. "Teora, don't be mad." "I'm not. They're coming." "How could you possibly know that?" her sister asked, with a note of scorn in her voice. "One of your little dreams?" Teora gave a tiny nod, chin trembling. "They were dancing. In my dream. And everywhere the dragons danced the people died." (Arianne, TWOW - sample)

Yet Tyrion has a chance for redemption, as dragons still serve as a symbol of hope.

On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo’s talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. “No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought … the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. “I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger.” (Samwell IV, AFFC)

So Tyrion faces a pivotal choice: will he embody the destructive force that his enemies fear, become the monster they said he was, or will he rise as a hero who redeems himself and corrects the damage wrought by his actions? He is currently in the "gaze into the abyss" phase of his hero's journey, but he will emerge from it. Given various elements in his arc the "golden dragon," a literal and metaphorical embodiment of his debts, could become a vehicle for redemption and correction of his—and his house’s—mistakes.

The prince stared at the playing board. “My dragon—” “—is too far away to save you. You should have moved her to the center of the battle.” “But you said—” “I lied. Trust no one. And keep your dragon close.” Young Griff jerked to his feet and kicked over the board. Cyvasse pieces flew in all directions, bouncing and rolling across the deck of the Shy Maid. “Pick those up,” the boy commanded. He may well be a Targaryen after all. “If it please Your Grace.” Tyrion got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl about the deck, gathering up pieces. (Tyrion VI, ADWD)

The cyvasse scene with Young Griff may foreshadow Tyrion’s future reckoning. After the dragons have danced and the realm lies in devastation, Tyrion might find himself on his knees, not in triumph but amidst the ruins of his own making. As he surveys the destruction and reflects on his choices, he may confront the true extent of his actions and the weight of his debts. This moment could prompt him to make the choice to set things right, asking himself, "What have I done?" and seeking to correct the chaos he helped unleash. After all, a Lannister always pays his debts.

Thus, Viserion is the most suitable dragon for Tyrion’s redemption arc. Not only does he present a chance for Tyrion to repent and pay back his debt to the realm, but his personality aligns with the themes of Tyrion's penance. Known for his sweetness and affection, Viserion embodies a beacon of hope for an embittered man seeking redemption. This gentle and friendly nature is significant for Tyrion, who has been grappling with darkness and disillusionment. Just as Viserion shows love and kindness, he offers a symbolic contrast to Tyrion's current state and represents a potential path towards healing. The dragon’s warmth and trustworthiness make him an ideal companion for Tyrion as he emerges from his struggles, and Viserion’s past friendly interactions with non-Targaryens, like Brown Ben Plumm, further highlight the thematic suitability of this bond.

Challenging The Aesthetic Argument for Jon + Viserion

The Jon + Viserion pairing is often justified by Jon’s connection to Ghost, his white direwolf. The visual appeal of a black-clad Jon with a white dragon is undeniable, but this argument ignores the deeper narrative reasons behind Ghost’s coloring.

Ghost’s whiteness serves multiple narrative purposes:

Outsider Status: Ghost, as an albino, stands out from the rest of the Stark direwolves, much like Jon stands apart from his siblings. Jon’s status as a bastard and his true parentage make him an outsider, and Ghost’s coloring underscores this.

Kingsguard Parallel: Ghost’s white fur is often compared to the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. Since Jon is often foreshadowed as a king within the narrative, Ghost’s coloring positions him as Jon’s protector, his magical “King's guard.”

Northern Symbolism: Ghost’s whiteness is evocative of the snow-covered North, reinforcing Jon’s deep connection to the North. Jon’s surname, “Snow,” further ties him to this imagery. Jon and Ghost aren’t just of the North; they are the North. Also of note is Jon's position as Robb Stark's chosen heir, which makes him a "King of Winter," a title held by Kings in the North.

Weirwood Connection: Ghost’s white fur and red eyes mirror the appearance of weirwood trees, which are sacred to the Old Gods. This connection suggests that Jon is chosen by the Old Gods and is guided by Northern magic. Additionally, Ghost's silent, spectral presence parallels the description of the Others, who are often referred to as silent "white shadows." This further emphasizes the mystical and otherworldly connection between Jon, his direwolf, and the ancient powers of the North.

Foreshadowing Jon’s Fate: Ghost’s name and appearance foreshadow Jon’s death and potential resurrection. As a “ghost,”

Oaths, Knighthood, and Purity: Ghost’s white fur, reminiscent of a white knight, contrasts sharply with Jon’s black garb as a "black knight." In Arthurian literature, white knights are often symbols of purity, virtue, and chivalry, embodying the highest ideals of knighthood. In contrast, black knights may challenge or complicate these ideals, representing moral ambiguity or the darker aspects of the knightly code. Jon, in his role as a black knight, frequently grapples with the oaths he has sworn and the moral complexities they entail. Ghost’s presence (e.g., preventing him from leaving the Watch in AGOT and ASOS), with his stark white fur, serves as a poignant reminder of the virtues Jon strives to uphold, especially those he vowed to protect in the presence of a weirwood tree.

These reasons for Ghost’s coloring, while not exhaustive, are specific to Jon’s character and cannot be applied similarly to Viserion. The assumption that Viserion’s whiteness makes him a natural match for Jon diminishes the unique significance of Ghost’s coloring.

GRRM is very particular with how he positions Jon's animal familiars. In addition to Ghost, Mormont’s raven, aligns with Jon's role as a member of the Night’s Watch. The raven’s black feathers and eyes align with Jon’s identity as a “black crow", while its superior size and intelligence mirror Ghost’s exceptional qualities; notably, the raven once belonged to a warg commander, similar to Jon’s current role. Viserion, with his cream and gold coloring, lacks this thematic relevance to Jon’s character.

Instead, it is Rhaegal, the green-and-bronze dragon named for Jon’s father, Rhaegar Targaryen, who holds greater significance for Jon. Rhaegal’s green scales recall the banks of the Trident, where Rhaegar met his end, a location tied to Jon’s own inheritance as Robb’s heir and his title as the “King of the Trident.” Meanwhile, Rhaegal’s bronze coloring echoes the crown of the Kings of Winter:

The ancient crown of the Kings of Winter had been lost three centuries ago, yielded up to Aegon the Conqueror when Torrhen Stark knelt in submission. What Aegon had done with it no man could say. Lord Hoster’s smith had done his work well, and Robb’s crown looked much as the other was said to have looked in the tales told of the Stark kings of old; an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords. Of gold and silver and gemstones, it had none; bronze and iron were the metals of winter, dark and strong to fight against the cold. (Catelyn I, ACOK)

“Bronze and iron are stronger than gold and silver,” Robb answered. “The old Kings of Winter wore such a sword-crown.” (Catelyn VI, ASOS)

Beyond just his coloring, Rhaegal’s fiery temperament resonates with Jon’s anticipated transformation after his death and resurrection. Jon is poised to adopt a fiercer, more resolute demeanor befitting both a true dragon and the legacy of the ancient Stark kings. In this light, Rhaegal emerges as a dragon uniquely suited to reflect Jon’s journey and ultimate evolution.

In conclusion, when evaluating the thematic and narrative fit of dragon pairings, it becomes clear that Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannister are best matched with Rhaegal and Viserion, respectively. While the aesthetic appeal of Jon and Viserion might be tempting, the deeper narrative connections reveal that Jon and Rhaegal, alongside Tyrion and Viserion, provide a more coherent and compelling match. The intricate layers of symbolism and thematic resonance support these pairings as the most natural and fitting choices .

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

when they're on cases and he can't sleep cowboy! reader just stares at the ceiling. normally he would bake or play with buddy or something at home but on trips he just stares and tries to sleep. jj has rolled over and looked across the room to find him awake one too many times.

- 🦦

Description: cowboy reader can't sleep :(

Warnings: can't sleep (idk if it's insomnia tho), very tired reader, I think that's all

A/N: so the coffee dialogue has been sat in my notes without a fic idea for ages and I thought it might fit nicely here so I went for it lol

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84

Sleep was not coming to you. Like at all. It had been an hour and a half and all you had done was count the number of lights on the ceiling and judge their decor. There were only twelve small lights, but when you had finished counting you played small games - matching different lights to others, trying to make shapes in your head with the lights. Honestly you felt like you were going a bit insane.

You wiggled slightly as you sighed. This was worse than torture. You were tired, your eyes were tired and yet, no sleep would come to you. This was the second night. You would groan loudly, if it weren't for JJ sleeping soundly on the bed next to you.

The team had been given three rooms, one of which was being shared by Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss, the other by Rossi and Hotch, and finally, a room for you and JJ. You had tried to tell them that this layout made absolutely zero sense, but they weren't having it. And so, you and JJ departed from the rest of the group slightly flustered with Morgan whistling loudly.

And here you were. You were tempted to just stop trying to sleep and get back to work but you don't think your brain would function right now. You kind of wanted to bake something. Maybe the kitchen was open. Until you remembered it was half two in the morning. You missed Buddy.

You missed any form of communication with another human being.

Damn, you're spiralling already? Think of something, quick! Er, lizards are cool. You nod to yourself. It's true, lizards are cool.

"Are you okay?" A voice draws you out of your lizard thoughts.

"Huh?" It took you a minute to register, "Oh yeah can't sleep,'

"That sucks," JJ said, sitting up slightly, "Is there anything that helps?"

"Playin' with Buddy and bakin'," You said, shrugging. You gave a small yawn, "You go back to sleep, we need to be up in about..." You looked at the time, "Three hours."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," You shrugged, "Sleep well." She falls asleep instantly and you find yourself mesmerised by her. Eyelashes flushed against her cheek, you drew yourself out of your thoughts for a moment, turning away from her and to the ceiling.

You sighed, the ceiling no longer seemed interesting. You began to run the case over in your head. It felt like you were missing something. Something crucial, but what?

There was something about it. He wasn't sloppy - he wasn't leaving any DNA or physical evidence. He wasn't thinking irrationally. It just appeared irrational. Like his crimes weren't fully developed. Like he wasn't fully developed. Because he was a teenager! You mentally slapped yourself for not seeing it sooner as you bolted up. You had to talk to Hotch!

You grabbed one of the room keys on the table and practically ran out of the door. It was the only thing that made sense!

When you reached the door, you knocked - fairly loudly, but by accident. Within a minute Hotch opened the door (wearing a pajama t-shirt and checkered pajama pants).

"S'rry sir," You apologised before quickly getting into your train of thought, "The unsub's not sloppy, seems like it but its not. He's organised, he's not irrational but his crimes aren't developed. What if its 'cause he's still developin'?"

"You think he's a teenager?" You nodded, "That would make a lot of things make sense." He paused for a moment, taking in your appearance, "Have you slept at all?"

"Does blinkin' count?"

"No,"

"Then no."

"Get some sleep," Hotch said with a sigh, "I'll see you at six." You nodded, turning away and hearing Aaron lock the door behind you.

You were absolutely exhausted the next morning, two nights of pretty much no sleep (you had managed a whole hour both nights). You were going to need a lot of coffee and maybe a nap this afternoon.

You had only been at work for three hours when Hotch approached you. You were at the coffee machine.

"Ah sh't…" You mumble, dragging a hand over you face as the coffee machine bleeps angrily at you. Seeing Hotch, you turned to him for a moment before turning back to the coffee machine. "Hotch? Think I broke the c'ffee."

"Y/n?" You look up at him as you forced your eyes to stay open - despite them trying to flutter shut. "You need to get some sleep."

"'M not even tired." Hotch raised and eyebrow and you sighed, "Fine. But only thirty minutes..."

You walked the few steps to the couch in the break room, letting yourself practically collapse into it. You're immediately rewarded with sleep.

Two hours later (although it only felt like five minutes), Morgan gently shook you awake.

"Mmm, go 'way, 'm trynna sleep." You mumbled, turning over in hopes Morgan would just walk away.

There's a small smile, voice slightly higher in pitch, "There's been another body." JJ says.

You force your eyes open for a moment before trying to wipe the sleep from them. "There in five…" You grumbled, ignoring Morgan's rather loud huff.

You stood up, rubbing your eyes once more as you did. "Someone's not a morning person." Morgan teased lightly.

"'M too tired to argue with you, Morgan," You mumbled as you tried your best to stifle a yawn.

Luckily, within the next four hours, you had caught the unsub. "Can I have the couch on the jet please?" You yawned as Morgan cuffed him. "I think I might actually be able to get some sleep."

[sukunasun]

could we get mma!geto fics

deep sigh...

geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.

says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.

"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.

although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...

"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much. 

his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too. 

to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you. 

instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with. 

——————————————————

back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle. 

with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole." 

stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.

flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting. 

"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth. 

and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this. 

people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done. 

——————————————————

the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there. 

across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring,  "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices. 

his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between. 

geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway. 

when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl?  you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli. 

bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.

"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for. 

——————————————————

geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils. 

but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get. 

he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off. 

"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.

"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there. 

head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.

your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.

geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.

your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."  

geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."

"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong. 

you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.

there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.

he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then. 

"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.

[storiesofsvu]

A Dangerous Game Ch 22

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, smut. Okay so i did say we were gonna wrap at 25 chapters but I'm smooshing things together cause I didn't have enough meat to fill out chapters and am getting lazy. SO! ONE more chapter after this one. Hopefully soon, but also I work the next two days so we'll see how that works out LOL. Plenty of other stuff in the wip pile otherwise and some bingo squares actually started on so you have content to look forward to, promise.

Both you and Emily were incredibly thankful when there was no last minute new case on Friday, leaving the two of you (and the rest of the team) free to head home right at five. You had enough time to wind down from work, shower and get ready before Emily was knocking at your door. She let out a quiet swear when you pulled open the door and you giggled, kissing her cheek gently before setting the alarm and locking the door. You were in a dusty pink casual yet flirty dress, the neckline enough to tease Emily while still being modest, the hem of the skirt flowing  across your mid thigh.

“You know I could’ve met you there.” You commented as you slid into the car, “less back tracking for you to do.”

“Yeah, but I figured I wanted to do this the right way.” She smiled softly at you, her hand naturally finding home on your thigh as she started the car, backing out of your driveway. “You look absolutely gorgeous by the way.”

“Thanks.” Your cheeks flushed, glancing over to her with a warm smile, “so do you.”

Emily hadn’t planned much, not wanting to go too crazy or come off overbearing, telling you just to dress nice but casual was fine. She’d made dinner reservations at Iron Gate Restaurant, a cute little place that was a prime spot for date nights that wasn’t too fancy but just fancy enough. It was warm enough outside that the two of you ended up at a corner table on their back patio, fairy lights strewn overtop of the gardens and candles on the tables to embrace the ambiance.

You started with a round of cocktails while you looked over the menu, the waiter offering wine suggestions when you placed your food orders. The table started with focaccia, cremini mushroom arancini and a citrus salad while the two of you gossiped about work that week, laughing over the stories that Emily had missed out on while trapped in her office.

“I can’t believe you told Morgan about the jet.” She laughed, taking another sip of her drink and you joined in on her laughter.

“Listen, I was hungover as fuck, I needed that couch.”

“Well now he’s insistent on bunking with you on trips to keep us apart.”

“Okay.” You shrugged with a grin, “never stopped us before. He can give us an hour for privacy or he can suffer. Or I’ll bribe Savannah. If he’s gonna cockblock us, I’ll cockblock him right back.”

“You’re cruel.” She chuckled.

“No.” You insisted, “I give back the same energy I’m given.”

“Ah, the changing of a few crucial words and you get away with it.”

“It’s worked so far.” You replied with a teasing shrug and she laughed again, her free hand sneaking across the table top to grab yours before laying a kiss on the back of it, fingers remaining tangled when they hit the table once again.

Wine and dinner came out shortly after that, Emily teasing you for your choice of seafood despite your absolute hatred of crab. You scoffed, pointing out that they were completely different tastes and textures, and that this would be delicious. The playful argument was completely unneeded, but the way it brought a spark to Emily’s eye when she looked at you was all the excuse you needed to dig into her when she ended up liking your choice of dinner better than her own.

You opted to take one of each desserts to go and Emily was obviously insistent on taking care of the cheque. You attempted to open your mouth to object and the look she shot you was enough alone to know she definitely wasn’t going to give in, no matter what you said. You thanked her, kissing the back of her hand before the two of you were gathering your things, making your way out of the restaurant hand in hand. She faltered in her step as you reached the back of the car, turning back to you with a smile on her face and you leant in, kissing her gently, lips lingering against hers a little longer than normal for being in public.

“Thank you for dinner.” You murmured, “it was really nice.”

“It was.” She smiled, pecking you lightly, “should do it again next week.”

“It’s a date.”

“Now…. Am I taking you back across the river?” She raised a brow at you and you laughed.

“We got dessert to go. What did you think? I was just gonna run off with it? Besides, Sergio’ll throw a fit if I don’t come say hi.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes about Sergio, considering you were completely correct and kissed your cheek softly before nudging you in the direction of the passenger side door.

*

The moment the elevator doors slid shut Emily had you against the wall in a bruising kiss, lips moving with fire against your own. Your arms quickly looped around her shoulders, fingers threading through her hair, your body relaxing into hers. A thigh found its way between your legs, pinning you to the wall and you let out a whine into the kiss when her hands grasped at your hips, grinding you down against her.

“That’s it angel…” she murmured, her breath hot on your skin as she kissed across your jaw, her muscle flexing under you and your head dropped back against the wall, “feel good?”

“Yes daddy…”

The elevator pinged and you barely had enough time to tear away from each other before the doors slid open and you fumbled your way down the short hallway to Emily’s apartment. Once the door was locked behind you Emily’s hands were on you again, shoes were kicked off and her lips found yours, tongue daring to slide into you mouth and you bit back a moan. Your hands slipped under her shirt, whimpering when she broke the kiss to pull the offending fabric over her head before kissing you again, a happy sigh escaping you that she swallowed down. You quickly got rid of her bra, tossing it to the floor and began squeezing at her chest, lips curving up into a grin at the way she practically melted into your touch. Emily’s hands wound around you to find the zipper of your dress, letting the clothing fall to the floor and she pulled back from the kiss, letting out a low swear when she saw the set you had on underneath.

“Christ princess….”

“Figured I should dress up for you.” You shrugged with a playful grin and she chuckled, her eyes darkening as they dragged up your body.

“You always look so pretty for me.” Her hand reached out, brushing a piece of loose hair behind your ear, “but this is… wow…”

“Yeah?” Grinning, your fingers curled into her belt loops, tugging her closer to you so you could kiss her, “I have a feeling it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” She smirked, hands ghosting up your sides to grope at your chest through the lace, pinching at your nipples and you sucked in a breath, your back arching towards the touch. Your hips ground against her and you gasped, a small laugh leaving your lips.

“Why am I not surprised you’re already strapped?”

“Didn’t want to waste any time.” She murmured back, her lips beginning to trail down your neck as her hands made quick work of your bra so you could let it fall from your body. Her hands pinched at your nipples as she bit into the crook of your neck, nudging you back onto the bed. “Good girl.”

She undid her pants, kicking them off, cock springing out before she leant over you, fingers in the waistband of your lace panties and she pulled them down your legs. Her hands smoothed back up them, spreading you open for her and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. The moment her mouth lapped at you, your head fell back into the pillows, a happy moan leaving your lips. One of her hands slid up your hip and your own quickly found it, fingers interlacing as she continued to eat you out. Her nose brushed against your clit and you gasped, your hips rocking up to the sensation as your free hand tangled into her hair, holding her gently to you.

Emily’s tongue darted out, pulling your juices into her mouth, groaning over the taste she adored so much, her free hand pressed down your thigh, spreading you even further open for her, just the way she liked. Her mouth sucked at you, moaning against your pussy, the vibrations shaking through you deep into your core. She shifted up, latching around your clit, letting her tongue trace patterns across it while two fingers slipped into your pussy. Her eyes flicked up so she could watch the way your body thrived against the bed, whimpers and whines escaping your lips while her fingers pumped and curled within you. Your pussy was soaked, fluttering around her with each brush of her fingers.

“Fuck… oh god daddy… feels so…so… fuckin good.”

She sucked harder on your clit, tongue pressing down heavily on it while her fingers curled right against the spongey spot inside of you and you cried out, coming undone, thighs shaking around her.

“Good girl.” She praised, kissing just above your clit before pulling her fingers from you. Before she could even blink, your hand wrapped around her wrist and you were sitting up, pulling her slicked fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean of your juices.

“Please fuck me daddy.” You mewled, nearly pouting as you did so and she swore again, knowing that you were likely going to be the death of her.

“Lie back princess.” She urged after stealing another kiss, watching the way your tits bounced when you did as she asked, spreading your legs even wider for her.

She ran the tip of her cock through your folds, smearing it with your juices and your eyes fluttered shut, breath catching in your throat. She lined the toy up, sinking into you inch by inch until she was completely buried within you and you let out a low moan when she circled her hips. She leant over you and your hands instantly wrapped around her, fingers digging into her skin as she began to move her hips. Her mouth wrapped around a nipple, sucking it into her mouth, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as she set a steady rhythm. Each thrust her cock seemed to hit every inch of your pussy that you needed and you let out a whine, one of your legs wrapping around her to pull her even tighter to you.

“Harder…” you moaned, “please.”

She bit down harder in the same moment that her hips heavily rocked into yours and you gasped, your hands digging deeper into her skin, pulling a moan from her. She braced one of her hands on the bed, fucking deeper and harder with each thrust of her hips, your whimpers and whines getting louder and longer with each push of her cock. Your hips began to rock up to meet hers eagerly, begging for more,

“God… fuck…oh fuck!”

Emily’s teeth sunk into the curve of your breast, her tongue lapping out to soothe the burn but you both knew there’d be a mark for days to come. She licked across your collar bone, placing a kiss on it before making home in the crook of your neck, mouth licking, biting and sucking while she continued to fuck you.

You were a whimpering mess by now, your entire body on fire and completely consumed by her. Her cock filling you so precisely in only a way she could, her fingers pinching at your nipple, tracing patterns across your skin, your senses were overloaded with Emily, her perfume surging through you, bringing tingles to your skin with each inhale you took. She could feel the way your thighs were beginning to tremble around her, the shake in your breath and her lips formed a smirk on your skin.

“Gonna come for me angel? Come all over daddy’s cock?”

“S—so close.” You whimpered, gasping when her cock thrust heavily into you.

Emily’s hand vanished from your chest, sneaking down in between your bodies to find your clit, pinching it when she did so and your legs tightened around her, a loud moan leaving your lips. Her fingers began to rub in time with her thrusts, pressing harder and harder with each roll of her hips.

“That’s it princess… let go…” She husked into your ear, biting at the lobe and you cried out, shaking in her arms as your orgasm washed over you.

Your body shook, tensing around Emily, nails digging into her skin, burying yourself into the crook of her neck in an attempt to be fully absorbed by her, wanting to feel nothing but her in that moment of pleasure that continued to wash over you, wave after wave. You could hear her voice, but were completely unaware of what she was saying, everything was a haze until you could feel the drag of her cock in your pulsating pussy and let out a shuddering breath, letting go of her and collapsing down into the pillows with a sigh. She gazed down at you with a happy smile, her hips stilling against yours as her hand caressed at your cheek, thumb rubbing at your skin until she was certain you’d had enough of a chance to catch your breath. Leaning down she kissed you softly, lips moving with grace against yours and there was no place in the world either of you wanted to be in that moment. She slipped out of you, leaving the strap to be dealt with later and rolled onto her back, wrapping an arm around you in the warm embrace that you gladly accepted, curling around her body.

Your leg nestled between hers, head resting on her chest and your arm lazily strewn around her while you slowly came back down to earth. Emily’s hand came up to the back of your head, gently scratching at it, playing with your hair and she left a tender kiss on the top of your head. Everything felt right, felt peaceful, comfortable and despite the air cooling as the night wore on, a warmth was wrapped around the two of you that you knew wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. The silence took over the room, only the sound of your breathing and happy little hums as you simply basked in the embrace of each other.  

You let out a happy sigh, nuzzling into her body deeper, kissing at her bare skin and she hummed softly, kissing your head once again. A warmth bloomed throughout her as you nestled against her, pressing gentle kisses to her skin. Her eyes drifted down at the feeling of your finger tips on her skin and she caught the way they were softly tracing the pattern of the scar on her stomach, ghosting over the white lines and Derek’s words from the other day replayed through her head.

“Hey…” she whispered softly, gently squeezing at you.

“Hmm?” You replied without looking up.

“I wanna tell you something. Something that should help make sense of why I did things the way I did…”

“Okay..”

“Years ago…. I was the target for someone, someone who wanted to see me in pain before actually killing me. Meaning they were going after my team first and I decided to be dumb, I thought the only way to protect the people I cared about was to go take care of it myself, go straight to the source of the violence.” Your fingers stilled in their pattern, shifting off the scar as your head tilted up at her and she stalled in her words at the expression on your face.

“I know about Doyle.”

“What?” Her brow furrowed and you shrugged.

“It’s not every day an FBI agent comes back from the dead. Everybody knows about the legendary… or… reckless depending on you who ask, Agent Prentiss. I’d just never heard a first name or seen a picture. So yeah…”  you nuzzled back into her chest, letting out a happy sigh at the feeling, “I know the Dewald thing kinda just brought you right back there and you didn’t want to repeat history, especially with me in your place.”

Silence overtook you, your hand curled around her waist this time, thumb rubbing across her soft skin as you waited for her to absorb your words. She kissed your head, her lips lingering on you before she spoke once again,

“Is that why you never asked about the scar?” She felt her brow furrow and you shrugged.

“I’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know not to ask about scars. Hell, even before I started this job. You never know if it’s gonna bring up some super painful memory or if it’s from something like falling off the swings as a kid.”

“Hmm…” She replied and you could feel the wariness flowing off her, so you shifted up onto your elbow to look up at her again.

“Emily…” your voice was soft and hearing her name on your lips like that made her heart nearly stop, the adoring gaze in your eyes completely melting her. “We’re good. Okay? You don’t need to be constantly apologizing or explaining yourself or buying gifts. Give it another month and we’ll be arguing over something trivial like whose turn it is to take out the trash.” Your smile brought a laugh to her lips, worry washing away as the sparkle in her eye returned while you leaned up to kiss her. “We’re more than good. Okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled brightly, letting out a happy sigh when you nestled back into her chest, “as long as you know that I’m in this for the long haul, that I want it to really be something and mean something.

“I do.” You murmured.

“So much so that I may have mentioned something to the director earlier today.” She winced at the way your body tensed against her.

“And… what would that have been?”

“I didn’t specify things, I just brought up that something was… blooming and I wanted to get in front of it professionally.”

You propped up on your elbow again and Emily frowned at the worry wavering in your eyes, “are they gonna transfer me?”

“No!” Her hand shot out, cradling your cheek, “no baby, no. I didn’t even mention you by name. We’ll have to go in and sign some paperwork on Monday, there will be some situations where you report to the section chief or director directly instead of me. Any evals or performance reviews will be done by them instead, and they’ll likely keep a closer eye on us in the field for a bit, but we can do this.”

“Good.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss her, “because I really like this job. And I also really like the idea of not having to sneak around or be worried about it all the time.”

“And we won’t have to.” She kissed you softly, lips curving up against yours as she did.

“When do we tell the team?” You asked and she sighed heavily.

“Let’s give it a bit? If that’s okay with you?”

“Please, Morgan and Garcia are already having field days with it, let them get the major teases out before everyone’s in on it.”

“Knowing Garcia that’ll only take the rest of the week.” Emily chuckled and you laughed.

“Well then let’s make the week worth it.” You murmured as you leant in, your lips brushing her skin as you caged her into the bed and she let out a chuckle, eagerly accepting the kiss.

______________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @melindawarnersgf @itisdoctortoyousir @emilyprentiss4life @somethingimaginative17 @temilyrights @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @aliensaurusrex @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @thegrantwater @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @m00nkn1ghts @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @msvenablesbitch @its-soph-xx @going-gray @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @kdaghay @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @awolfcsworld @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @midnight-sapphic @scorpsik @prentiss-theorem @unsubologyy @strongsassysexysloane @svushots @overtrred28 @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @heidss @geekyandgay98 @pagetboobstarcomments s @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @aws-l

[lisa972kdlz]

(It's translated from French, I hope there aren't too many syntax errors ^^" In any case, enjoy your reading !)

Dreamtale Theories:

Here's a list of a few theories about the Dreamtale Lore, this story leaving some very interesting gaps to try and fill. Philosophical and scientific thoughts helpt me to concretise these ideas, but although I've been inspired by them, it's not with these points of view I'm going to develop, but rather a purely artistic point of view. Little by little, philosophy and science have been lost in my ramblings, giving way to imaginations that seemed to fit together. Artists imagine. They cheat, they lie, they don't care much for concrete realities. In the end, the only science I get into position on is the elements of the Dreamtale canon, at least those I've managed to pick out. Perhaps I've missed some information that would disprove these hypotheses, in which case it would be courteous of you to let me know.

On a more chill note, say I'm just a teenager with a overflowing mind who loves to come up with crazy theories with whatever I can get my hands on, and I write this mainly for fun ^^

In fact, I don't think for a second I'm right, so I don't know if I can call those theories... Maybe speculation ideas about Dreamtale I wanted to share? Almost headcanons, but still based on concrete elements of the canon.

So let's go, first theory!

☁︎ Canon/Fanon:

For starters, why do I insist so much on canonicity? Because when it comes to Dreamtale, the boundary between Fanon and Canon is not always well understood, given that there are a lot of preconceived ideas on the subject.

The fact is, I see Dreamtale's Fanon and Canon as two completely separate worlds. And yet, understand that I hate adhering to variants of this and that for anything and everything. The idea of viscerally separating the Canon and Fanon sides of an oeuvre makes no sense to me, especially in an open world where each universe is a piece of a larger puzzle, where the world we're presented with is meant to be a huge playground.

And at this stage, if we do that with this universe, we could do the same for all the existing stories, no? Nevertheless, for THIS world and this world in particular, I think it's important.

For there is a crucial difference between C!Dreamtale and F!Dreamtale, a difference that completely alters the interpretation of the oeuvre. Fanon doesn't just make a few interpretative changes... He changes the very nature of a character: Corrupted Nightmare. And that, well... It's a bit complicated not to separate the two, especially when the Fanon version is so popular... Canon, he is dead and his body belongs to another character who has his own personality and background. Fanon, he's alive. Trapped, imprisoned, manipulated, split into two personalities (Night and Mare) or fundamentally evil, depending on the case, but alive.

Night is experiencing a bit of Asriel syndrome: it was because Undertale fans couldn't accept his death that the first AU's were created. And for Dreamtale, there was such misunderstanding about this (Because reading the Prologue, everyone agreed that Corrupted Nightmare was...well... Nightmare), that the majority think this is official. (It has to be said, it wasn't evident let me reassure you...)

To this we can add the fact that most of the time, in very fanon fanfics and fancomics, the other two trees don't exist or are never mentioned, that Corrupted (I refuse to call him "Nightmare" simply because he isn't Nightmare) isn't a real person or doesn't exist at all, that Dreamtale is an AU of Undertale, so made up of codes like the other AU's, but all that still depends on people's interpretation and knowledge of the real Dreamtale.

To put it more bluntly, and if the boundary's still unclear: F!Dreamtale is a part of the Undertale Multiverse, while C!Dreamtale is its own universe.

Since I like both aspects equally, and in order to get everyone on the same page, I've come up with a mini theory:

Dreamtale Fanon, being the Dreamtale developed by fans based on the belief that Corrupted Nightmare is more or less Night, has strayed so far from its original story (it focuses more on the "broken brothers" relationship of the twins, their mutual development and their relationships with the characters of the Undertale fandom), that over time, by putting down roots in the world of Undertale and through the influence of the creators, Dreamtale would have "split." This double would then have merged with the codes of the Undertale Multiverse, because Dreamtale was so well integrated into it that this version of it ended up becoming imprinted on the very core and codes. That's why, in F!Dreamtale, we don't always mention the other trees, since they never joined the Undertale Multiverse. Even we NEVER mention them in Dreamtale's AU's like Swapdream or the alternative Multiverses like Dreamswap, Swapverse, etc. That's why Dream and Nightmare exist in the alternative Multiverses,AU's and not the rest (Vampireverse, Empireverse, Minuscultale and so on).

The result is two Dreamtales:

The Canon Dreamtale, which belongs to Joku,

The Fanon Dreamtale, which belongs to the Fandom Joku too.

Well yeah, it's still Dreamtale, so it still belongs to Joku, no matter what haters want ◖눈ᴥ눈◗

Duh.

Also, this definitely doesn't prevent fanfics from being based on C!Dreamtale, it's even advisable to give it the prominence it deserves. Hence the idea of completely separating these versions, because fans can make fanfics about the Canon, and although it's fanon, it won't be similar to the F!Dreamtale version at all.

Two worlds taking different thematic paths created on the uncertainty of Night's death (like a "Schrodinger's Night" ͡° ͜ · ͡°).

Next theory!

☁︎ Tree of Feelings/Creators link:

This is a question I picked up when wondering about Dream and Corrupted's various attacks. Where Dream needs a body to hold him together, Corrupted has so many black apples that he can physically hold himself together without a body, and more or less correctly. Do positive and negative energies function differently? Is it because Corrupted has more apples that he holds on better? What is positive and negative energy in Dreamtale's Lore?

At the beginning, I'd started from the principle that Energy with a big E, being what makes up absolutely all existing things, humans and monsters alike, could be used by Dream and Corrupted to be converted into either magical energy or physical energy. As Dream only holds one apple and enjoys a body, he'd mindlessly convert his energy into magical energy, which is why he has a soul similar to human's souls and why he's able to heal as green magic does, or cause damage as white magic does. For Corrupted's part, possessing no body of his own and having amassed enough power from his hundreds of apples, he would have to convert negative energy into physical energy. This would require a great deal of power and would therefore explain why, despite he's stronger than Dream, he's not 999X stronger than him. He already uses a lot of his energy simply... Holding on without melting.

I also theorised that if one of them were to acquire all the apples, not only would it have a stable body, but it would also be able to convert this energy as it saw fit. Corrupted could then generate magical attacks AND have a physical body.

The trouble is... Dreamtale isn't actually part of Undertale. So there's no Magic,Physics duality. And even assuming that Dream converts that energy into magical energy because he's unconsciously copying the way his adopted world works, he's still canonically attacking with positive energy and not MAGIC made from positive energy. Energy comes in many forms, but I don't think he can control it in such a pure form...

All this can still hold together, but what bothers me most is that pure Energy would have... A positive side and a negative side? And what's more, related to feelings? Why not, but I'm not really pleased with.

Dream and Corrupted's energy is material, palpable. Of course, we could stop at the fact that it's just a magical energy like we find everywhere in stories and not ask ourselves any more questions.

But I love wracking my brains to find answers to questions that no one wonder, so I'll keep going èwé–

What kind of energy would this refer to? Not energy in the scientific sense, because that's independent of any emotion, whereas in Dreamtale, positive energy, for example, is directly linked to positive feelings.

Because tree of FEELINGS–

The most plausible thing I found with is that positive and negative energies are linked to the spiritual energy: auras, meditation, etc. Proof of its existence is fairly hazy in the world of creators. But in the world of fiction...? What if? This energy of consciousness exists, whether it's real or not. And if it's not in the real world, as long as there are people who believe in it, then it's in the world of fiction. What if the fruits of the tree of feelings were the material manifestation of this spiritual energy produced by the consciousness of the creators? Just as a world is created by a creative mind, what about Dream and Nightmare were the guardians of the feelings of fiction as the direct embodiment of the emotions that creators instil in their work? This could be the reason why Dreamtale isn't made up of codes, because it's the direct embodiment of a philosophy and not just another fictional universe among many.

I can't decide whether it's too obvious or too far-fetched ^^". It was the concept in Underverse that made me think of it... There are references between what Nightmare implies in 0.6 and creators tearing up their own universes because they're filled with negative emotions. Underverse isn't canon, but there's nothing to stop this idea of the creator,feeling link being applied to Dreamtale.

Especially as it allows us to imagine something even bigger that could work in relation to the three trees...

But before that, a little theory about Corrupted, because the more we learn about him, the more this character becomes... Mysterious.

☁︎ Something is rotten in the state of Dreamtale :

Ever since I knew that the three trees were part not of the Undertale Multiverse but of all the other Multiverses, I've been wondering why it should be Corrupted who embodies absolute Evil and not someone else. After all, we know plenty of evil lords, don't we? Isn't it a bit pretentious to claim him to be above everyone else?

But one detail, one nuance, makes all the difference.

By definition, Corrupted does not embody Evil, but negative feelings. He embodies them because he has become their guardian, their bearer. What I'm trying to say is that black apples and evil are not linked... Black apples are not fundamentally evil. They have no conscience; they are neutral, they exist for balance and have a purpose of their own.

No, Corrupted is Evil for another reason. He's Evil because he's simply wicked. If the personification of negative feelings is evil, it's not because the negative emotions or the apples are mean, but because they are themselves corrupted, alienated by a consciousness that manipulates them irresponsibly. Why would the Entity feel hatred? Hatred and not despair or dread? Because he was already filled with hatred, or because he has a fighting personality that allows him to exploit this emotion for its dark projects. Is it a sign that Corrupted isn't worthy of being their carrier? After all, he's not their basic guardian; it was Nim, then Nightmare.

In this way, that doesn't prevent him from being THE allegory on the scale of all dimensions (or of a large area of dimensions, if you don't like the idea that Dreamtale is linked to all fictional universes) , because the role relating to negative FEELINGS in a neutral behaviour is rather original. He's an allegory of negative feelings that doesn't need to be, and that gives a false image of what negative feelings actually are; the pejorative and common image we have of them. In reality, negative feelings are neither good nor bad; they mean no harm to others. The one who wishes them harm is the Entity, Corrupted.

He's a simple villain who has got his hands on power that doesn't belong to him and is out of control with.

...

Maybe not a 'simple' villain either?

Because, another theory, I think that Corrupted is this fourth guardian that Joku mentioned. Firstly because I don't know who else he could be, but also because he knows about the other dimensions outside Undertale. How would he know if he didn't come from outside? Who else would this fourth guardian be, and why would Joku mention him? What's more, a number of elements fit together with this theory, notably his strategy of manipulating Nim (Nim is far from stupid, and he probably wouldn't have succeeded so easily if he didn't already know a little about her), in order to create Dream and Nightmare, dividing positivity and negativity to undermine the pillars of balance, all with the aim of finding a carnal envelope and taking possession of the Tree of Feelings...

Like a plan that has been fine-tuned for years and years... Add to this the anecdote that the tree guardians are not the original guardians and that Nim learnt something awful about them before leaving for Undertale, and you'd think there was a rotten menace already pulling the strings in the shadows, long before our dear twins were born.

So what is Corrupted looking for? What's his ultimate plan? To spread negativity across all dimensions and reign supreme as a Living God?

A fine programme... But what if we took his ambitions one step further?

☁︎ Feelings, Life, Magic:

Why three trees? Why THESE three trees? Why place them at the centre of the Multiverse? Why are feelings, life and magic at the heart of the worlds? What link can we make between them?

Feelings, well ok, that works... Life and death, logical... Magic? Why magic? Magic isn't a necessary element in the Multiverse, sometimes it doesn't even exist... Why a tree of Magic and not a tree of Souls, or a tree of Virtues and Sins, for example? Undertale is very closely linked to magic, but that's not the case for all worlds...

This is where we come back to the idea that apples are the materialised forms of the feelings creators apply to their work... Does this also work with Magic and Life? Yes, it does. Trees don't just take care of Feelings, Life and Death and Magic... They reflect what creators need to create.

Feelings, as we've said, are exactly what it takes to find inspiration, to feed the imagination like maintain fire. As long as the feelings remain, so do the passion and inspiration.

Life, on the other hand, is quite simply what enables a work to exist, to remain. Life is the nest in which the spirit bathes, gathering together the experiences of the creator, housing and preserving them. You could also say that the more lives there are to witness a work, the more real a work is.

Inspiration, yes... The environment, all right... But what is needed to create something out of nothing? To make the unreal real? The immaterial material?

Nothing more than a little magic ✨ !

Not the kind of magic you find in fiction with wizards and pseudo-scientific logic, no... Magic in the sense of believing in something irrational. To believe that these worlds exist, to have faith without needing proof. Accepting imagination. Not in a religious connotation, but in the sense: Magic = Consenting Suspension of Disbelief.

Feelings: The fuel.

Life: The oxygen.

Magic: The spark.

Fire triangle is complete.

What if these three trees were the equivalent of the Triforce of Creation itself? Feelings to stimulate, Life to sustain, Magic to materialize.

What would happen if, by some mischance, an ill-intentioned person managed to seize the power of these three trees? What would be the consequences? In the end, perhaps this mysterious Entity wants more than just the golden apple in Dream's care?

And if these three trees work very well together, what would the fourth guardian be doing?

Would he be the original guardian?

Or the exact opposite of Creation: Destruction and Nothingness?

(Voilà! I hope theses theories will have interested you ^^ And you, what do you think? Do you have theories about what's going to happen in the Dreamtale sequel?)

Dreamtale belongs to @jokublog

[mostlikelythedevil]

Haunted. | [Chapter Five, Mid-Chapter]

Pairing(s): Kevin Owens x Fem!Zayn!Reader, Solo Sikoa x Fem!Zayn!Reader

Warning(s): Explicit Language

Word Count: 2,905

Chapter Summary: The Bloodline have another discussion about Sami Zayn's younger sister while on the way to their hotel for the weekend. Roman and Solo have some very interesting private thoughts about their soon-to-be newest member.

Link(s): AO3, Masterlist

Note(s): This was a really fun chapter to write out! I feel like I did a decent job showing the relationships within The Bloodline, but please let me know if you disagree. As always, feel free to leave feedback/ideas/discussion!

Tag(s): @crowleysqueenofhell @raeluvshammett @mohawkmama

The inside of the limousine is nothing short of impressive: white and brown leather seats, an entire mini bar filled with the finest liquors, and custom lighting controls. Even with five men lining the innards, there is no lack of space for them to stretch out after a long night; something that Roman is, though entitled to have, grateful to have — nothing would be worse than being cramped after a long night.

Roman sits in the middle of the seating, as per his usual, with a strong whiskey in hand and his legs outstretched. Despite not having a match on Smackdown, he is tired; the on-going issue with Sami’s sister is something that has been more stressful than anticipated with her unusual stubbornness. It doesn’t make sense as to why she is so defiant; she is being offered the opportunity of a lifetime at the side of The Bloodline, especially as someone so new to the challenge of being televised, and yet she continues to spit at the offer.

Truthfully, though, the younger Zayn being so very headstrong is almost commendable. Her determination to be her own person, to fight through the highs and lows of becoming a fan-favorite, reminds Roman of himself when he was younger; he struggled desperately to be the one that the crowd adored for a very, very long time. He did everything by the books, and he was good, but where did that get him? The crowd rejected him — hated him. Now, with the same determination that condemned him put into himself rather than the crowd, he commands respect. Sami’s sister could have all of that without the struggle. She would.

Sami’s sister would have the rise to fame that Roman should have had when he joined the main roster; she would be on top of the world with no bumps, no foolish determination pushing her to nothing. Championships, luxury, and money would be near meaningless in the piles that she would have — in exchange for her undying loyalty and obedience to The Bloodline. Her dominance over the women’s division, among many other things, would be crucial to her necessity; of course, this would take time to build given her greenery, but he could be patient. Having both Zayn siblings so indebted to him is too invaluable to be impatient about.

“I have to admit,” Roman breaks the silence in the limousine as it begins moving, “I’m impressed with your sister, Sami.”

Sami, who is sitting next to Solo on the farthest side of the limousine, looks up from the floor with a nervous smile. “Yeah?” He asks, almost sounding in disbelief.

Roman nods, taking a long sip of his whiskey. “I think we all expected her to be a little upset about the whole championship thing with Kevin, but coming out with that sledgehammer? She could have taken care of our Kevin Owens problem all on her own if she wasn’t stopped,” he almost laughs as he speaks, though he instead turns to glare at Solo.

“I’ve certainly never seen her so angry,” Sami agrees, eyes following Roman’s to Solo. Sami frowns, looking away rather quickly; the last thing he wants to do is upset the man sitting beside him for the next hour or so.

“And even in all of that anger, she still made the choice to allow Solo to keep his undefeated streak.” Roman turns his attention back to Sami. “That’s growth — growth in the span of hours.”

Jimmy nods in agreement. “It was crazy out there, dawg. I ain’t ever seen Little Zayn so aggressive; I mean, I thought she might put Kev out for good. Imagine the shit she’ll do with us.”

Beside Jimmy, opposite of Sami and Solo, Jey rolls his eyes. “Shit, Uce, you thought she was gonna put us all out for good.” He snickers, pulling at his brother’s arm playfully. “Pullin’ on Solo’s leg like you was playin’ tug-o-war.”

“You was panicked out there.” Solo confirms, a slight smirk on his lips.

Jimmy rolls his eyes, pushing Jey’s arm off of him. “She come out lookin’ like she crawled straight outta some horror movie with all the blood and the sledgehammer draggin’ behind her and shit — and I’m the weird one here?” He shakes his head. “Nah. Y’all lost y’all damn minds.”

“I told y’all she had fire, didn’t I? She looked like a monster out there.” Solo leans back against the leather, arms folded over his chest. “She needs to learn when to stop, though.”

Roman, nose flared, turns to his cousin. “Is that why you felt the need to step in? You thought she needed to be stopped?” His voice, for the first time tonight, is condescending and angry.

Solo looks at Roman, and he nods. “She was pushin’ her luck. She was gonna get herself fired or worse with the way she was beatin’ on Kevin; I stopped her from ruinin’ plans.”

The air is thick with tension as Roman holds eye-contact with Solo. He does not move to say anything, though his expression and posture remain largely agitated; regardless of what Solo’s intentions had been, the fact remained that he allowed Kevin to go uninjured in their time of fighting. The very slim possibility of Sami’s sister being disciplined for hurting Kevin would have overall been worth the headache — especially with the likelihood of her being fired so incredibly low with Roman’s influence.

“If I knew she’d stop on her own, I wouldn’t have stepped in, but you saw how she was,” Solo continues after a moment of silence from Roman, still relatively unbothered. “I didn’t want to stop her. I got to see that fire I been tellin’ y’all about up close — hell, she even got in my face, but there ain’t no reason for her to ruin our plans to take Kevin out.” He almost smiles, the corners of his lips curving up just enough to be noticeable.

Jey notices the smile tugging at Solo’s lips and mumbles something to Jimmy; both men snicker. “Is that why you was starin’ so hard? You liked watchin’ her beat on Kevin?”

“Yeah, Uce. I ain’t ever seen you so impressed with anyone,” Jimmy adds with a grin.

Solo rolls his eyes despite feeling his cheeks getting warmer. “I been watchin’ her because she’s gonna be one of us soon. Maybe y’all should try it so she ain’t so lost when she gets here.” His eyes find the floor as he speaks, avoiding his twin brothers entirely.

Feeling the power behind her slap, seeing her unconstrained anger being unleashed on Kevin— Sami’s sister had proven herself to have much more potential than Solo initially thought. In just a few hours, she had become an entirely different person; crying and angry to raging and thoughtlessly daring. Her lack of fear in approaching him, ready to fight him and anyone by his side, while certainly foolish, was undeniably attractive — though Solo would never be so open with anyone, especially his brothers. They would only use his attraction to tease him, and he had very little patience for their stupidity already. Besides, one moment of attraction meant nothing in the grand scheme of things; one moment is nowhere near enough to constitute a relationship— or any kind of interest, really.

“Shit— we paid her plenty of attention tonight,” the sound of Jey’s voice breaks Solo’s thoughts. “Like Jimmy said, that’s the first time that girl has been any kind of aggressive. We was impressed out there, especially when she stepped up to you thinkin’ she was gonna do somethin’.”

Jimmy nods, smile on his lips as he looks at his youngest brother. “She ain’t afraid of gettin’ her hands dirty if she’s pushed — and we can teach her how to hone that aggression.”

“Damn straight. There ain’t no better teachers out there — especially for someone that looks so damn good in blood,” a smack is heard as Jimmy slaps Jey’s leg with a quick glance. “What? I’m just keepin’ it real.”

Once again, Solo finds himself rolling his eyes; he knows well that Jey is trying to get some kind of reaction out of him. It’s not going to happen; it wouldn’t happen even if Solo did have some kind of interest in Sami’s sister. He’s too well-composed for those games. Speaking of Sami, though, he looks like he’s going to be sick from Jey’s comments. Solo scoots slightly further away from him.

With a slightly paler-than-usual face, Sami awkwardly smiles upon noticing Solo scooting away from him. “Yeah. She seemed more comfortable in her skin tonight.” He says with a slight cough, avoiding Jey’s amused eyes.

“That’s all we want, Sami — and with her helping Solo tonight, I think we’re close to getting her on board.” Roman interjects, shooting Jey a warning look. Jey looks down at the floor, grinning; he’s very clearly enjoying himself.

“I— I don’t know. My sister— she can be really spiteful when she wants to be. I mean, you saw how she came out; that was to make Kevin feel worse,” Sami replies with shame, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “Her help to Solo was probably just to upset Kevin that much more.”

Roman considers Sami’s words for a moment. It made sense for his sister to act out of spite, trying to harm Kevin to the best of her ability after ‘his’ interference in her match — but, even with it being fueled out of spite, she still chose to aid The Bloodline rather than harm. If she wasn’t considering The Bloodline in any kind of way other than anger, that aid would have never happened; her attitude toward them was improving, meaning the chances of her joining them was improving as well.

In the corridor, when Little Zayn was having her temper-tantrum over Kevin, Roman had gotten through to her; he saw the realization in her eyes when he spoke, locked deep behind all of that stubborn, misplaced anger. She knew, deep down, that she had been fooling herself about who Kevin truly was, and she knew that, in the grand scheme of things, Roman had saved her from much more emotional pain by exposing Kevin so early on. With every wrongdoing from Kevin from that point, starting with his interference in her match, that humiliating realization will burn brighter and brighter until she can no longer suppress it — and with the aftermath of him costing her an opportunity at the Smackdown Women’s Championship, it will only take a few more stupid comments from Kevin before she comes running into the arms of The Bloodline.

“Even if your sister had no intentions of helping The Bloodline tonight, she did. After everything that happened in that corridor earlier, she still chose to help us — even if she wasn’t actively thinking about it,” Roman states after a moment, swishing the whiskey in his glass.

“That’s progress, Uce.” Jimmy comments with a smile.

Roman nods in agreement, though he does not smile. “That being said, she denied joining The Bloodline — again. Hell, she refused to even accept our help to medical.”

Sami claps his hands in his lap, fiddling nervously with his fingers; he recognizes how problematic his sister has been in cooperating, and the last thing that he wants is for her to cause more problems for The Bloodline — because, at some point, The Bloodline would have to retaliate to her vicious behavior. He opens his mouth to speak, but he is almost immediately silenced by Roman holding up his palm.

“Being the Tribal Chief, I prepared for her to refuse given her grief tonight.” Roman allows his palm to fall back to his whiskey glass. “On Monday Night RAW, or beforehand if your sister is accepting company, I’ll have you approach her with a proposition that she simply can’t refuse.”

Sami’s eyes seem to light up a bit. “Well, I— I can try to contact her, but I doubt she’ll be willing to answer given what happened in the ring,” his voice falters a bit as he speaks, “but— but the good news is that I know for a fact she won’t contact Kevin! She made her emotions clear out in the ring.” His hands move excitedly as he speaks, voice gaining a bit of his usual enthusiasm.

“That’s great, dawg, but what about Kevin contacting her? Would he try to sort this all out, even after he got his ass handed to him?” Jimmy pipes up before Roman can respond, though Roman does not look displeased with the question. It’s important, after all.

Solo, with his infamous harden expression, huffs out a laugh. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his damn mouth shut.” His arms remain folded over his chest, and he looks as serious as he ever has.

“Oh, so you gonna take Kev out yourself if you hear him talkin’ to Little Zayn?” Jey jumps in with a smirk, eyes beaming with amusement.

The stoic expression on Solo’s face sours to a frown. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Sami, with his brows furrowed in confusion, turns his attention back to Roman. “Kevin shouldn’t be any kind of problem; if he does say anything, it’ll be in front of the RAW crowd.”

“Good,” Roman puts the whiskey glass he has on the bar, clasping his hands together. “The next order of business is finding out how bad that injury is; I need to know if she can wrestle. I’ll have Paul call medical when we get to the hotel.”

“No need!” Sami grins, finally losing some of the nervous wobble in his voice. “Solo and I stopped by medical on our way out. She should be fine to wrestle with some nose protection.” He grins, unknowingly giving Jey something more to tease Solo about.

Before Jey can speak up to tease Solo yet again, Jimmy smacks his leg to hush him; the two have a very muted conversation, ending only with both of them snickering once more. Solo does not appear to be paying them any attention anymore, with his eyes focused in on Roman rather than their childish giggling.

“Her nose is broken, but she’ll be fine to wrestle with some protection,” Solo offers through his brother’s fit of giggling — which only grows at the innuendo-riddled statement.

Roman nods, jaw flexing in mild annoyance at the obviously tipsy twins. “She won’t be able to refuse.”

“My Tribal Chief, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you going to propose to my sister?” Sami asks after a moment, voice meek. “She still seems very against joining The Bloodline.”

Roman half-laughs, half-smiles. “Kevin cost your sister everything tonight — even though he wasn’t really the one to interrupt her match, that was his fault in your sister’s eyes,” his voice is more amused than it has been for the majority of the night, “and as the Tribal Chief, I can personally rectify the injustices brought on by Kevin tonight; I can give your sister the championship match that should have been hers.”

“And in exchange, she joins The Bloodline?” Jey asks, lips pulled in tight with disbelief.

“I— I still don’t think that would convince her,” Sami admits with his head hanging, afraid of the potential reaction from the Tribal Chief.

Irritated, Roman clears his throat. “In exchange, your sister will be travelling with The Bloodline for an entire week — RAW to RAW. For her security, I will guarantee her the match, even if she chooses to not join us by the end of that week,” he glances around, expecting push-back.

“I don’t understand, Uce.” Jimmy pipes up first, looking at Roman with furrowed brows.

Jey jumps in next, “ain’t the whole point to get her on board? She ain’t gonna get on board when she has a free out like that, Uce.”

“Her out is to make her feel more comfortable— to give her the idea she has more control than she really does. I have every confidence in the world that she’ll join us by the end of the week,” Roman replies, leaning forward in his seat. His elbows rest on his thighs. “We’re going to show her that we’re not the people Kevin has convinced her we are; for the entire week, she’ll be treated with all of the benefits of being a member of The Bloodline — the expensive food, the luxury hotels, the private cars and jets.”

“She’ll be treated to everything that Kevin has kept from her,” Jey grins.

“He’s gonna act out when he finds out she’s travelling with us,” Jimmy shakes his head. “Is that headache worth the price?”

“Kevin ain’t a concern.” Solo states, ignoring the grin that Jey sends his way.

Roman looks at Jimmy, nodding his head toward Solo. “He’s right. I want Kevin to throw a tantrum — especially when he finds out that she’s travelling with us. Let him ruin his relationship with her that much more.”

“She’s going to be distant, even with all of the nice perks. She doesn’t trust any of us, not even me,” Sami sounds a bit sad as he speaks. It’s depressing to know that his little sister has been so brainwashed against him that she can no longer even trust his word.

“Believe me, she’ll come around.”

[rriavian]

WIP Wednesday - Snippet

As always I almost forgot to post this! It's from the still unnamed seduction au :) and editing it is taking so much longer than I thought. Thanks for all the asks last night (still making my way through a couple) and I hope you enjoy! <3

-

It was then that a plan started to form. 

Though to call it a plan would be more than generous. It was just the ghost of an idea at first, churning in the back of his mind, something the Corinthian didn’t want to think about because the very first thought was rage. He didn't want to contemplate it, yet the idea came to life one evening, an idling thought as he pressed another man down on soft sheets, this idea that now blazed bright and brilliant and very nearly complete—

What would Dream be like if he did this to him?

The Corinthian had to admit he'd never quite thought about it like that, as something he could do, had always found it a sign of weakness, of humiliating longing. He let the human leave, had been intending on making a kill after he'd taken his pleasure, now losing interest in them entirely. This new idea needed proper attention, could be more than just an inconvenient fantasy, had made him realise something important.

Even after all these years the Corinthian hadn’t even considered trying to ensure he survived his rebellion.

While he'd never just give in, would take as many decades of freedom as he could, the Corinthian knew that he’d eventually be called back, that he'd be found wherever he tried to hide. He'd always known he'd be hunted down as soon as Dream was free, cornered in a position without so much as a single advantage.

Now though, now, he had a plan.

A potential way out. 

The Corinthian was going to seduce Dream. 

There was a fair amount of surprise at his own audacity, a moment where even the Corinthian couldn’t believe what he was actually suggesting he should do. The thought came to him while he sat on the edge of his bed, the sheets messy, the remnants of that interrupted fuck, this impossible idea so outlandish he couldn’t really take it seriously.

He sat there and laughed.

But then the Corinthian thought about it, actually considered the possibilities, and found that his plan might not be so ridiculous after all. If it were done properly, if it were done right, and that meant he'd need to spend a fair amount of time thinking about the practicalities of his idea because this would need to be planned meticulously.

And if it didn’t work, well—

If the Corinthian played his cards right it might still be a spectacular way to go.

First though, before he mired himself in strategy, the Corinthian wanted to skip over the how, that first crucial step of avoiding destruction, had found something he liked the taste of and wanted to begin where the fantasy could unfold beautifully. He deserved to have a little bit of fun; the Corinthian reached for his cock, settled back into bed, got comfortable—

He was already hard, the mere thought of having Dream like this a crime, intrinsically dirty, so wonderfully wrong the Corinthian didn't even need to touch himself to stir desire. To be honest it only made it hotter, even contemplating fucking him felt like rebellion, and oh the Corinthian should have done done this much sooner. He should have spent all the time he wanted getting himself off to the thought of fucking god.

The Corinthian would just have to make up for lost time.

How would Dream like to be touched?

The body might be just as human as it appeared, might have the same responses, might react just right if he targeted the erogenous zones. Some humans had a spot just behind their ear that drove them wild, had another on their neck; would Dream like it if he kissed him there? Would he shudder if the Corinthian brushed his fingers across bare skin? He’d find out, would enjoy testing that, mapping it out, finding exactly what impulses his creator had given his pretty little body—that taunting slim thing, too fine for anything but begging corruption—Dream always constructing his creations forms with deliberate purpose. 

It made sense he’d do the same with his own.

The Corinthian would get him naked, would strip him out of his clothes, would take his fill of what lay beneath. He wondered what his creator would wear in this century, knew it’d all be black, selfishly hiding the gleam of starlit skin. 

Would Dream need persuading? 

The image of that—of a scowl, a frown, of hesitance that might just be true discomfort—kindled the heat in his gut from smoulder to flame. He chased it lazily, idling strokes of his hand, lay the other flat on the bed and imagined pressing Dream onto it, kissing him before he could speak, pinning the hand that tried to push him away and instead pressing even closer. There’d be no leverage at that angle; the Corinthian would bear down, slip his tongue into Dream’s mouth, taste him like he owned him because all he had to do to have it was believe that he did.

The Corinthian bet none of Dream’s lovers had tried to take him like that.

[lokifanatic1]

I had another idea, a story where the reader stayed up late watching anime and followed the twilight saga. This is because she has insomnia at night, she doesn't tell anyone because she doesn't want them to get mad at her, however Loki, being a very good observer, realizes this problem but instead of bothering with the reader, he decides to tickle her without pity her until she is tired enough to fall asleep.

Thank you, mari2akary! I don’t watch/ read anime or Twilight but I’ll do my best!

You loved anime and the Twilight movies. They helped relax you at night, but the problem was that you also suffered from insomnia. You watched all these different movies and anime shows that you could probably recite them word for word.

One night you can’t sleep and you decide to do your regular thing and go down to the lounging area, pop in one of the Twilight movies as it was your favorite franchise, to see if that would help you sleep like so many nights before. Sadly, this time it did not work and you ended up staying up the whole night. One thing you didn’t know, was there was another person who had trouble sleeping watching you from the shadows. It wasn’t a scary monster, but Loki, going about his night trying to find a book to read to lull himself to sleep.

He knew something was wrong with you because all those nights you stayed up watching Twilight and anime, he could see the sleep deprivation ravage your face. His heart broke when he caught you one day nodding off in an Avengers meeting, looking less that your peppy, cheerful self. You never said anything to the team because you didn’t want them to get mad at you for missing crucial sleep. Loki wanted to help you but he didn’t know how until a few days later.

It was a Saturday and the team had the day off and the compound was buzzing with activity. Except for you. You were still up in your room, asleep from the insomnia stricken night before. Not even Thor’s loud laugh and booming voice woke you up. You were dead asleep.

Finally, after a few hours you awoke to a soft knock at your door. “Darling? Are you up yet? I’ve come to check on you,” the sultry baritone voice said on the other side of the door. It was Loki, concerned yet again that you stayed up all night. No answer. He then opened the door quietly and stuck his head in your room to see your still sleeping figure tangled up in blankets. Your t.v. showing the main menu of an anime movie you had been watching the previous night. He crept over to your bed and switched the t.v. off with his magic as to not disturb you. However, you stirred a little bit as you were awake enough to know the young Asgardian prince was in your room checking in on you. He was so sweet, as he was just that attentive to you. His princess.

He walked over to your bed and patted his hand against your arm. “My lovely. You need to wake up. Everyone is downstairs waiting to see your smiling face,” he said quietly with a small smile. You didn’t reply for a good few seconds, so Loki acted like he was leaving your room when you shot up and yelled, “Loki! Wait! I’m up! I’m up!” He smirked again. “Works every time.” You giggled and shot him a look as you playfully told him to shut up. He then laughed again and left you alone to get changed.

Finally, you were awake. Well, as awake as you could be, given the circumstances. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a t-shirt and comfy pants and headed down to say, “good morning” to everyone. You looked a mess and you knew they would all notice, but to your surprise, no one said anything in case it upset you. They were all so cheery and peppy that you wished it was you as well, laughing and joking with everyone. But you were exhausted. Your eyes had bags and dark circles around them and your hair was still somewhat messy from all the tossing and turning.

All through the day, you were caught sleeping intermittently, but the group was not mad at you at all. They knew you suffered from insomnia and tried to be as comforting as possible. They explained missions, etc. in ways you’d still be able to understand and let you lay your head on their shoulders if you feel asleep. They were the best family you had. Especially your boyfriend, Loki who doted on you every second to make you feel more at ease with the situation. The day rolled on so slowly that you didn’t think it would ever end so you could get some much needed sleep. But Loki had a plan that night to help tire yourself out so you could have sweet dreams. He wasn’t going to say anything and just let it play out as evening finally came around.

That evening, you were right back in the common area watching the same Twilight and anime movies as before, but as you watched, you felt someone lift your feet up and sit on the other end of the couch. It was your prince, Loki, come to stay up with you and comfort you. You appreciated this so much as you snuggled in close to him to continue watching the movie. Once it was over, Loki looked over to see you were still awake. “Darling, you’re still awake? I would’ve thought you’d fallen asleep during the movie. However. I think I know a way to help you sleep.” You were really intrigued now. What knowledge did he have that would help you fall asleep?

All of a sudden, you felt Loki’s fingers make contact with your sides as you jumped and yelped, trying not to wake anyone up. “Loki! What was that for?” He looked at you with that mischievous grin and said, “I think I have a way to help you sleep. In fact, you’ll laugh yourself to sleep.” You looked confused and then saw Loki wiggle his fingers close to your body. “No!” You shouted in surprise. A small smirk playing against your lips. “Yes! You see, I’ve found a way to tire you out that’s sure to get you to sleep.” You backed up on your bed until you felt your back hit the wall. He smirked evilly as he came closer. Hands outstretched. “Time to see if my theory works, love.” You tried moving away but Loki was too quick for you and grabbed you, laying you down on the bed. His hands raising your arms slowly as your breath began to quicken. “Come on, love. I knew you were ticklish from the moment I met you. Or did you forget I can read minds?” He then bound your wrists to the bed with a quick flash of green light.

You were trapped with no way out. Loki was going to tickle every inch of you in order to help you sleep. He knew your most ticklish spot, but of course, he had to drag your torture out to make you laugh. And laugh you did. He tickled under your arms and all over your belly with precise scratches and feather light touches that you immediately went insane with laughter. Your belly was the most ticklish spot on your body and he knew that would ware you out quicker than anything. He skittered his fingers over your sides as he again, laughed evilly. Spewing ticklish teases along the way. Finally, your laugh became silent and Loki let you have a break. “How are you feeling now my love?” He said sweetly. You tried to reply but a yawn stopped you. “I see,” he replied to himself as you once again snuggled up to your boyfriend and for once, slept through the night. This would be your nightly ritual with Loki from now on. You’ve never slept so well in your life.

[lilacwisps]

i prayed one word (i want)

Ship: Ominis Gaunt x Ravenclaw Female Player Character Rating: M (eventually)

Summary: When Sebastian tells Ominis about the new fifth-year student, Ominis can sense troubles from a mile away - and tells Sebastian as much. Unfortunately for Ominis, he doesn't seem to be able to take his own advice. ao3 link, Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Ominis barely suppresses a sigh - it seems as though the double Potions class will never end. He's always been a decent student and has enjoyed most of his classes - but Potions is by far his least favorite subject.

"I'm amazed you manage to get the grades you get," Sebastian told him once after they'd received back the grades from a particularly difficult test, "I can see the things I'm adding to my brew, and even still I'm utterly and completely lost most of the time. What's your secret?"

Ominis just shrugged in response - he'd gotten "Acceptable" on that test, which wasn't exactly something to brag about. In truth, he always struggled with Potions - the kind of concentration it required made that class significantly more complex than all the other subjects. It seemed as though to make a perfect brew, every step needed to be meticulously recorded in one's mind, as even the tiniest distraction could spell disaster, and Ominis found that so utterly exhausting.

Loud clanking, followed by Sebastian cursing under his breath, distracts Ominis from his thoughts. They are brewing the Draught of Peace, a potion that's supposed to ease anxiety and agitation, yet Ominis - and, he suspects, most other students in the class - find the process of making this brew anything but peaceful. As if the recipe requiring two dozen ingredients wasn't bad enough, there also were what felt like a thousand little instructions that were absolutely crucial - and, as a consequence, at least a thousand ways to mess this potion up.

Ominis has long given up on making the perfect brew - somewhere after step eight, he's accidentally lost track of just how many times he stirred the potion counter-clockwise, and now all he could do is finish the task and hope for the best. Judging by the under-the-breath cursing coming from the direction of Sebastian's workstation, his friend is struggling too. Sebastian has stayed up the entire night, reading the notebook they'd found in Salazar Slytherin's scriptorium, and has been barely able to focus in any of the classes. Ominis is almost surprised that Sebastian's cauldron hasn't exploded yet, given the complexity of the potion.

"Blasted," Sebastian swears, and suddenly, the dungeon air's filled with the foul scent of sulfur.

"You added too much moonstone, Mr. Sallow," Professor Sharp says calmly - his voice sounds closer than it does when he gives instructions at the start of the class, and Ominis realizes that he must be making rounds, checking everyone's work, "And you did not reduce the flames as instructed - hence the sulfur smell. The Draught of Peace is significantly more complex than any potion you've brewed before - you must pay close attention to the directions."

"Sorry, Professor Sharp," Sebastian replies, then whispers, "I much prefer being anxious every day for the rest of my life to ever attempting this potion again."

Ominis can only chuckle and nod in agreement. Surprisingly, despite the treacherous nature of the Draught, only two people need to leave before the lesson is over - Everett Clopton and Lenora Everleigh. Clopton's cauldron explodes halfway through the first hour, scalding him and drenching everything around his workstation with foul-smelling sludge, while Everleigh's potion boils away so much, it starts releasing noxious fumes that make her - and everyone around - feel sick.

A small part of Ominis almost wishes something happened to his potion so that he can get out of the class early, but he knows better than to try to make an accident happen. With a brew like the Draught of Peace, there is no predicting what could occur, and the last thing he wants is to end up at the Hospital Wing, scalded by a wave of disgusting sludge. Especially since he'd promised Ava to meet her in the Undercroft after Potions class to teach her Glacius.

Unlike Sebastian and him, Ava appears to have a much easier time brewing the Draught of Peace.

"Excellent job, Miss Rosier," Professor Sharp says, "Your potion is the perfect color."

Professor Sharp has never been particularly generous with compliments, so Ominis knows Ava's potion must be very impressive.

"And you, Mr. Weasely," Professor Sharp continues, "Could learn a thing or two from Miss Rosier."

"Perhaps, if Miss Rosier would agree to tutor me, I could learn much more than a thing or two," Garreth Weasley responds, and Ominis scoffs. As if she doesn't have better things to do.

"I wouldn't count on it," Ava says coolly, "I'm woefully short on time with all the catching up I have to do before the O.W.L.s."

"You give yourself too little credit," Weasley laughs, "At the rate you're studying, I'm sure you'll be able to pass the N.E.W.T.s before the end of the year."

Upon hearing that, Ominis frowns. How does Weasley know that? Do they study together? Instantly catching himself, Ominis pushes the thought away - even if they do study together, it's none of his concern.

The lesson slowly draws to a close, and Professor Sharp instructs them to bottle up the potions and submit them for grading. Ominis pours his potion into the vial and seals it with the spell. He knows his brew is not perfect - Sebastian had told him it looked closer to beige than silvery white - but he's confident it's close enough to earn him a passing grade.

He's halfway through cleaning off his workstation when he hears Weasley approach Ava again.

"Hey, Ava, do you have a moment after class?" he asks, "There's something I wanted to show you."

"Sorry, Garreth, but I can't today - I have an appointment to keep," Ava replies.

"How intriguing," Weasley chuckles, "And would that "appointment" just happen to be a date?"

Ominis shakes his head - Garreth sounds too invested in Ava's extracurricular activities to his liking.

"Why do you ask?" Ava responds fatly.

"Perhaps I'm scoping out the competition," Garreth laughs.

Ominis almost drops his brass scales - that answer was quite daring, even for a bone-headed Gryffindor like Garreth. Just what does he think he's doing?

"Weasley really can't take the hint, can he?" Sebastian scoffs, "If he wants to be embarrassed, he should do it on his own time, not in class when the rest of us are forced to listen to this."

Ominis sighs - caught up in his own annoyance, he hasn't even thought of how difficult this might be for Sebastian. Ever since the trip to the scriptorium, he has suspected that Ava had feelings for Sebastian - after all, she'd agreed to be tortured by Crucio to spare him the pain - but, perhaps, her feelings weren't as one-sided as Ominis initially assumed.

"Bold," Ava's amused voice distracts him from the thought, "I like that in a man. Alas, your curiosity will have to remain unsated - I can't go on telling you all of my secrets now, can I? My mother always said a lady doesn't kiss and tell."

A sudden wave of warmth rises in Ominis's cheeks at her words, and an unfamiliar feeling stirs in his chest. Confused by his reaction, he quickly grabs the vial containing his Draught of Peace and walks over to Professor Sharp's desk to submit it. Mercifully, the conversation between Garreth and Ava is over by the time he's back at his workstation.

As soon as the bell rings, bringing the joyous news that the double Potions lesson is finally over, the students instantly pour out of the classroom into the corridor.

"I'm exhausted," Sebastian complains, yawning as he walks next to Ominis, "But I have to get back to the notebook. I made some real progress last night - the key to breaking Anne's curse is right there; I can feel it."

"Please be careful," Ominis says wearily - he knows that Sebastian's only half-listening but still feels that it's his duty as a friend to warn him, "Salazar Slytherin was no stranger to the darkest sort of magic - this notebook may be much more dangerous than you think."

"If it brings me closer to finding a cure for Anne, I'll handle whatever it throws at me," Sebastian replies defiantly, "And besides, how dangerous can a thousand-year-old book really be?"

Ominis sighs - Sebastian always took dark magic way too lightly.

"You'd be surprised," is all he says.

"Ominis, you worry too much," Sebastian chuckles, "I'll be alright. I have to go now - I will see you later."

With that, Sebastian is gone, leaving Ominis to shake his head. Once Sebastian sets his sights on something, he never veers off course - that was his greatest strength and his greatest tragedy.

"Hi, Ominis," lost in his thought, he doesn't notice Ava approach him, "Ready for our lesson?"

"Hi, Ava," Ominis smiles, "Of course."

There are only a few routes in the castle that Ominis knows better than the one from the dungeons to the Undercroft. "You have quite a talent for potions," Ominis remarks as he and Ava walk up the stairs, "I rarely hear Sharp praise anyone - he must have been really impressed by your draught."

"That makes me feel quite special," Ava chuckles, then lowers her voice, whispering conspiratorially, "Can you keep a secret?"

"I'll take your secret to my grave," Ominis promises, his tone faux-solemn.

"You see, when I said my magic abilities didn't manifest until I was fifteen, that wasn't entirely true - otherwise, my parents would have disowned me for being a squib years ago. I've always had some…vestiges of magic abilities - not strong enough to cast a single spell, but enough to make it possible for me to create potions. I've spent hours upon hours with my mother's old Potions textbooks, brewing all kinds of draughts - my parents thought doing so would awaken my magic. I don't have any particular talent for potions - I've just spent a lot of time practicing.

Ominis nods in understanding, his heart clenching with sympathy - he knows all too well how squib children are treated in pure-blood families with a penchant for dark magic.

"I disagree," he says gently, "I've been learning potions for the last five years, and I still cannot brew a decent Draught of Peace, so I definitely believe you have a talent for the subject."

"If you think so," Ava replies softly.

They reach the Undercroft and, ensuring no one's around to see them, walk through the hidden door in the clock. Once inside, Ominis settles his book bag on top of a wooden crate and walks toward the back of the room, where more crates and barrels are located.

"Ready to learn Glacius?" he asks Ava.

"Of course," she says, "I did some reading after you mentioned this spell yesterday, and I think it'll be extremely helpful to know."

"It has certainly come in handy for me before," Ominis responds, "Shall we begin?"

With that, he turns towards the crates and whispers, "Accio," to bring one of them forward.

"Since you've read up on Glacius, you must know that it freezes the object in front of you by releasing a wave of cold air from your wand," Ominis explains, "And this is the wand movement."

With a well-practiced hand, Ominis slowly traces an all-too-familiar movement of Glacius - a peak and then another, underlined by a decisive stroke.

A myriad of tiny ice crystals, sharp as knives, ring through the air, followed by a wave of cold wind. A moment later - a familiar cracking sound of ice forming over the wooden crate fills the Undercroft.

"It froze solid," Ava muses, "That was quite impressive."

"Do you want to try now?" Ominis offers, lowering his wand.

"Could you show it to me again?" Ava asks, "You are amazingly fast with the wand - so I just want to ensure I caught every detail."

Her words bring a smile to his face. "I was planning to walk you through it when you cast it for the first time," he says, "But if you prefer to see it again, I'm happy to show you."

"I think it'll be easier to learn if you show me again," Ava replies.

Ominis nods and lifts his wand - mere seconds later, the air in the Undercroft fills with the sound of the ice forming over wood again.

"Well," Ominis says, turning to Ava, "It's your turn now."

Ava does not argue - he hears her walk up and stand next to him.

"Do you feel comfortable casting the spell right away, or would you like me to talk you through it?" he says, forcing the frozen crate to shift back to the wall with a spell and summoning another box forward.

"Could you talk me through it?" Ava asks, "I watched you closely, but you are almost scary fast with the wand."

"I have Sebastian to thank for that," Ominis replies, trying to hide a smile blooming on his lips, "If you think he's much too eager to duel everyone these days, you should have met him a few years back - he was a true menace and didn't have even a fraction of a restraint he does now. So I got a lot of practice out of interactions with him."

"Are you saying this version of Sebastian has self-restraint?" Ava chuckles.

"Oh yes - during our second year, a day wouldn't go by without Sebastian trying to pick a fight with someone," Ominis laughs, memories making warmth rise in his chest, "One time, he even tried to get Professor Black to duel him - which ended as well as you'd expect."

"I can't even imagine," Ava says, amused, "Maybe it's for the best I only started school this year - I did not have a lot of patience when I was younger."

"Who knows," Ominis smiles, "Maybe if you were here, he'd get out of that phase faster. I'll have you know, he'd become a little more humble ever since you beat him during that first Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

"That was quite the day," Ava chuckles, "And it feels so long ago - even though it's been less than two months."

"I always felt like time runs differently at Hogwarts," Ominis agrees easily, "Part of the magic of this place, I suppose. Well, back to Glacius before we get completely off track. When I cast Glacius, I always picture a peak, followed by another, underscored by a soft line - like this." With that, Ominis traces the movement with the tip of his wand, "But I'm not sure if that image is helpful to you."

"It is quite helpful," Ava replies, "I'll give it a try."

Ominis nods and steps to the side, letting Ava stand in the center of the room. She takes a deep, steady breath, then lifts her wand.

"Glacius," her voice rings through the air, followed by a gust of freezing cold wind. Ominis listens for the sound of ice forming but hears nothing - a moment later, the wind dissipates.

"Hmm," Ava sounds displeased, "That doesn't seem right - it appears I made a mistake."

"What happened?" Ominis asks.

"When I cast the spell, a gust of cold air came," Ava explains, "But it wasn't nearly strong enough to freeze anything - and, as you've probably noticed, it disappeared almost instantly."

"Cold air is a sign that you are on the right track," Ominis notes, crossing his arms in front of him, "There must have been a small mistake in the wand motion - you should try again."

So Ava does as he says - one more Glacius rings through the air, and then another.

"Still the same," she sighs, frustrated, "And I have no idea what I'm doing wrong."

Ominis shifts from foot to foot, feeling his heart tighten with guilt. If he could see, he could correct her, but he cannot - so they are left to guess. He knows the feeling welling in his chest is irrational, yet he cannot help it. Suddenly, an idea comes to his mind.

"I could…I could show you," he starts, unsure, "How to do the movement properly."

"But you already did," Ava replies, "More times than most people would, too. It's my fault that I can't follow the instructions, and it is my responsibility to figure out and correct my mistake."

"There is no "fault" - you are learning," Ominis says firmly, "And I'd be doing a pretty terrible job teaching you the spell if I didn't try and help you work through whatever confusion you may have."

"You have the patience of a saint," Ava laughs, leaving Ominis to wonder just what kind of teachers she's had before if showing her the spell a couple of times earned such a response.

"What I meant is that I could…hold onto your hand as you perform the spell," Ominis suggests, "That way, I could feel what part of the motion is incorrect."

Ava's quiet for a long moment, and suddenly, Ominis's mouth feels dry. The idea seemed quite reasonable in his head, but he could not deny that vocalizing it made it sound a little awkward.

"That's brilliant," Ava says suddenly, "Yes, let's do that."

It takes a moment for Ominis to realize that she has accepted his idea. Nodding, he puts away his wand and steps toward Ava. Belatedly, he starts to wonder if, perhaps, he's standing too close as he feels the warmth of her arm brushing against his and smells the light sweetness of her perfume. It's utterly distracting, but Ominis knows it would be quite odd to step away now, so instead, he forces himself to focus on the task.

"Very well," he says, stretching out his arm, "Lift your wand."

As Ominis reaches forward, his hand finds Ava's outstretched wrist. Her skin feels so soft under his touch as he traces lightly over the back of her palm and grasps her hand. Her hand is small against his and cold - and yet, for some confusing reason, as soon as he holds it, the Undercroft feels so much warmer than it did just moments ago.

"Alright," Ominis clears his throat, "Make the same motion as when you cast Glacius before."

Ominis lets Ava's hand guide him through the movements. She starts slowly, drawing a line upward, followed by a drop and another peak. Ominis tries focusing on the motion but is utterly distracted by how soft her skin feels against his.

He's not too fond of touching others - in his family's household, a touch was almost always accompanied by pain, so Ominis started almost instinctively avoiding it at quite a young age. The only people he'd touched before were the ones he fully trusted, like Sebastian and Anne, and even then, he felt a little anxious doing it. And yet, somehow, grasping Ava's hand doesn't feel unpleasant - far from it. Unbidden, warmth rises in Ominis's chest, spilling through his veins.

With a swift motion, Ava traces a flat line across, finishing the spell.

"So," she says expectantly, "What am I doing wrong?"

Bright blush blooms on Ominis's cheeks, and his heart stutters, startled, in his chest. He's been too distracted by the feeling of her hand in his to fully pay attention to the actual motions of the wand - but he'd much rather die than admit to that.

"I…I think the issue is with your transition from the peak to the lower line," he says as calmly as he can, hoping and praying his voice doesn't betray him, "But I need to be certain - can you perform the spell again?"

"Of course," Ava readily agrees.

Ominis struggles to stay focused on her wand movement and ignore the sweetness of her perfume and how she feels so delightfully warm against him.

"Yes," he says once Ava finishes with the spell, "That's exactly the issue - the lower motion of the wand needs to be decisive yet soft, and you are cutting through the air way too harshly."

"I see," Ava replies, pensive, "I…don't know if I can make it any softer. Could you maybe guide my hand through how you'd do it? I think that would make it easier for me to understand."

And so he does. Holding Ava's hand in his, Ominis slowly traces the symbol for Glacius - a peak, followed by another, then a drop - and a swift yet soft line across.

"I understand my mistake now," Ava says as soon as the spell is done, "The movement across needed to be smoother."

"That's exactly right," Ominis nods, "Ready to try on your own now?"

His fingers linger on her hand a moment longer than they should before Ominis finally lets go and takes a step back, giving Ava space. He hears her shift her stance and raise her wand again.

"Glacius."

Instantly, he feels a gust of cold wind as a myriad of tiny ice crystals ring through the air, followed by the unmistakable crackling sound of ice forming over the wooden crate.

"It worked," Ava says, and Ominis can almost hear the smile in her voice, "And all thanks to you - you're a remarkable teacher."

Warmth rises in Ominis's cheeks at her words as he tries to conceal a smile blooming on his lips - he isn't used to being praised, and Ava's never struck him as someone generous with compliments.

"It's nothing," he says, "I'm just fortunate to have such a good student."

"I mean it," Ava insists, "Without you, I'd be here till midnight, desperately trying to figure out my mistake."

"That would still be less time than Sebastian and I needed to figure out the intricacies of this spell," Ominis chuckles, "I think it took us at least a couple of days."

"Yes, but you were much younger," Ava counters, then adds, "I'd like to practice Glacuis a little more if you don't mind."

"Of course," Ominis readily agrees.

Twice more Glacuis rings through the air, followed by the gust of freezing cold wind and the ringing of ice crystals. Ominis nods, satisfied - it seems Ava finally has a grasp on this spell. A third Glacius follows, and suddenly, there's an unfamiliar hissing sound.

"Ah," Ava winces.

Suddenly, Ominis feels her shoulder blades hit against his chest - the mishappen spell must have pushed her back - and instinctively raises his hands to her shoulders to steady her.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concerned, his hands still resting on her shoulders.

"Yes - my hand slipped, and I didn't finish the movement correctly. So sorry about that," Ava offers apologetically before drawing a sharp breath through her teeth, "Ugh, I hope I didn't freeze off all my fingers."

"Let me check," Ominis says, reaching for her hand.

He may not be able to see, but he can tell frostbite by the feel of it - when he and Sebastian first tried Glacius, his dear friend had more than his fair share of accidents. He gently holds Ava's hand, slowly touching her fingers - her skin is cold against his, but it still feels soft.

"I don't think you have frostbite," he hums.

"Well, that's a relief," Ava replies lightly.

Neither of them moves - and suddenly, Ominis is acutely aware of just how close they stand. Her shoulder blades no longer press against his chest, but his left hand still rests firmly on her shoulder, and he's holding her right hand in his. The sweet smell of her perfume and warmth overwhelms his senses as a pleasant yet unfamiliar feeling uncoils in his chest, sending his heart racing.

"You should bend your fingers," his mouth feels dry when he speaks, "Just to ensure it's not frostbite."

They both remain still as if waiting for something. Before he knows what he's doing, Omini tightens his hold on Ava's hand ever so slightly and feels her skin turn warm under his touch.

"Thank you," Ava murmurs, brushing her thumb against his palm softly, making Ominis's breath hitch in his throat. Comfortable warmth blooms in his chest, and Ominis hopes the moment doesn't end.

Their little reverie is shattered by the sound of the Undercroft door opening, bringing them back to reality. Instantly, Ominis lets go of Ava's shoulder and releases his hold on her hand - the last thing he wants is to create any misunderstanding. He would never do that to Sebastian - or Ava. Still, as he steps aside, his heart flutters staccato, and blood rushes in his ears.

"Would you look at that," Sebastian drawls, "A gathering at the Undercroft without me? I'm really starting to feel left out now."

"Sebastian," Ominis says, "I thought you went to the dorms to read Slytherin's notebook."

"I did," Sebastian replies, "But then Nott and Avery decided to cut class, and I could not focus because of their incessant chatter, so I figured I'd head over here."

"You made the right decision," Ominis muses, "It's best they don't see you with this notebook."

"Exactly my thoughts - and, besides, I feel like I always get through the reading faster here," Sebastian says, then adds, "Don't mind me - no need to stop whatever you were doing on my account."

"Ominis taught me Glacius," Ava explains, "But, given how my last attempt went, I think I'll hold off on trying it around anyone else for a bit - I would loathe turning one of you into an icicle."

"Despite your last attempt, you seem to have a decent grasp on the spell," Ominis notes.

"Even so," Ava replies, "I hadn't realized that it's already almost six - I still have to finish the forty inches of parchment on the lunar phases for the Astronomy class tonight. Thank you for the lesson, Ominis, I will see you later. Goodbye, Sebastian."

With that, Ava leaves the Undercroft. Ominis thinks her exit rather hasty - before Sebastian came in, she seemed in no hurry to leave. Guilt wells in his heart - was it something he did? Perhaps, Sebastian saw them when he walked into the Undercroft, and that upset Ava…

"Glacius, huh?" Sebastian says, distracting Ominis from his thoughts, "A good choice, although I think Diffindo would have been a more obvious one after Confringo."

"Perhaps you could show it to her then," Ominis responds calmly, "Since you are the one who taught her Confringo."

He has enjoyed teaching Ava, but if his suspicions are correct and perhaps, Ava's feelings for Sebastian are not unrequited, he'd hate to stand between them.

"Perhaps I will," Sebastian replies, returning to his reading.