#the certain someone will be reference in her change of character that i thought would be fun

[rosemetals]

Sleep-Rosette and Cyan are together because Amy and Sonic are together

Woke-Rosette, see Cyan as a brother and is a simp for other male characters (everyone on her team Tease her about this)

Bespoke - She is a smip for both male and females. Becoming scrap when she's flirted with

I dont really like the idea of making that one of her main traits, im not too fond of the idea of her fawning over anyone cool who flirts with her, or that her friends would tease her about. The show already liked pulling that with Staci and having any other random female character get heart eyes and cling to some guy whenever it suited them, its cheap and plays too much into the "Token Girl" of the group.

I was planning to go into more detail about it when i post my redesigns for her, but generally i wanted Rosette to be the most drastic change among the cyborgs. I wanted the focus of her character to be that as a cyborg, she would ironically loosen up more compared to Amy.

She would meet new people and try new things in the city, particularly i wanted her to gain more of an interest in the rock/metal scene both as a pun and to play more into her enjoying "Dude-itude's" little impromptu rock performance in that one episode. Her hobby of baking/cooking would be substituted with metallurgy, which would also have her both more out in the field and in forges.

This shift towards a more adventurous attitude and shared interest in music would lead to her and Cyan growing closer together as friends and be more comfortable around each other, especially because i wouldnt want them to share the same "romantic tension" as their organic counterparts. However, that doesnt mean i would completely strike romance from her character, she does end up meeting someone who sparks her interest...

[incognit0slut]

Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

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a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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[theatricalmage]

The brainrot took over and so here's a vat7k hadestown au!! Don't know if I'll develop it fully but I liked designing it at least!

More info under the cut:

- Varian, the Coronan royal alchemist, tasks himself with deciphering an incantation capable of bringing the world back into tune. Times are tough, and the royal family + Quirin are doing their best to cope with the meagre crop yields and desolate weather (Corona not really being the sunshine kingdom - hasn't been for a while). He wants to help and do good and I think he'd be a good Orpheus.

- Hugo, having moved about from place to place, still has his interest in alchemy and does what he can to get by. He plans on temporarily staying in Corona before looting, but he encounters a certain like-minded scientist at the Snuggly Duckling. I think him being selfish works especially well in Eurydice's role, having a more pessimistic view of the world. It also works with how he gets drawn to Donella's offer of working for her later on, leading him to his death.

- Ulla as Persephone! I was initially stuck on whether to have Rapunzel (and either Eugene/Cass) as her (and Hades) but I was drawn to the connection that Hugo has to Donella and the Donella/Ulla relationship in vat7k just works too well. In this case, Ulla won't be Varian's mother. She's still gonna be somewhat of an inspiration to him though, being the previous Coronan royal alchemist and for her intelligence. For half the year, she'll return to Corona with food, drinks, and alchemical compounds/inventions, bringing Spring and Summer to the world, if only for a bit.

- Donella would be such an interesting Hades, losing sight of her love for Ulla, heart filled with fear and hurt, leading to bitterness and cruelty. Ingvarr being Hadestown and how by being the esteemed Ingvarrian engineer, she'd be in charge of major technological advances across the kingdoms and so would wield a significant amount of power (like how Hades is literally the ruler of the underworld). Ingvarr essentially being a near death sentence for its workers while also displaying its technological prowess, all still shrouded in mystery and corruption - a place so otherworldly compared to the rest of the kingdoms.

I didn't want to modify the outfits too much nor the personalities,, if anything I imagine the general plot beats being the same as the original musical/story but with slight differences that'd you get inherently as a result of these characters. I wouldn't want it to be the case where it's just the show but the names are changed. I'd want this to still make reasonable sense in this AU, with the actions being understandable for this particular cast of characters.

For Hermes, I ended up picking Xavier, as he's most knowledgeable of old legends and stories, which would work in reference to the Hades and Persephone myth (and so Donella and Ulla)! He'd act as a mentor figure for V, someone who can guide him in uncovering the forgotten incantation. Quirin would still be the good supportive dad he is (even if he doesn't fully understand his son's project).

Last but not least, the fates!! often lurking in the background, I'm still a bit stuck on who it could be? I'm tempted to have it be Raps, Cass, and Nuru as they've had celestial connections at some point (and ya know how stars can represent fate), but I also love the freckled siblings dynamic so much. Also Team Radical... Maybe Raps and Cass can be their normal selves but their Sundrop/Moonstone counterparts are the manifested physical forms of the fates? They wouldn't be visible to the characters though, just voices in the wind.

Anyways yeah!! Those are my thoughts. Do let me know if you've got any cool ideas or questions. I'm really combining my interests at full force and there's nothing anyone, not even myself, can do about it quite frankly. 😮‍💨

[wesstars]

sorry, baby x (i)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: you’re friends-with-benefits with wednesday (maybe a bit more on your part,) and you can’t help but push her buttons a little. wc: 5.2k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI. nevermore ‘university,’ all characters are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, light D/s dynamics, praise, boots, strap-on referred to as both ‘cock’ and ‘strap,’ crying, biting, denial, light choking, begging, reader shushing during sex, all that good stuff. a/n: i’m very rusty. please forgive me haha. title from killing eve. this iiissss inspired by/for someone, you know who you are ;) say hi if you find me!

read part two here!!

masterlist

The last class of the day was always the worst.

Even as the afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting the quiet classroom in a white gold glow, you could barely focus enough to remember what subject you were in. The instructor droned on about something or other—you were never the best at paying attention, relying on your subconscious and review session to get good grades. How could you listen when the lesson was just so boring, and you could steal the review from a certain Addams later on, anyway? You blinked slowly, trying to yawn discreetly. Calm was the atmosphere, as everyone was nearly falling asleep as the hour stretched on. 

A note fluttered through the air to land gracefully in your lap. 

Meet me after class.

Wednesday’s neat script, immediately recognized, made you grin, and you looked up. You spotted her, sitting next to Enid. Almost as if she could sense you looking, she spared a precious second from her notetaking to cut you a glare that could fell an army. You only laughed, covering your mouth to hopelessly hide your snicker.

The note had given you a bout of deja vu—it all started with a note, really. By virtue of you being Enid’s friend, you started in Wednesday’s peripheral circle, but you were always unafraid to confront her and eagerly prodded her to bicker with you. Enid would roll her eyes once the two of you would start again, but the way Wednesday’s neutral expression seemed to relax just a bit, made you think she didn’t mind as much. 

The first time you gave her a friendly shove during a mock argument nearly had you apologizing, as she’d frozen as soon as your hand touched her shoulder. You didn’t want to actually cross her boundaries, but when she shoved you back, nearly pushing you into a bush, the ice was broken. Your friends now often had to give the two of you the wide berth as the arguments would escalate into shoving and chasing, and one time, almost a full out siege where you were to defend Jericho and Wednesday was to defend Nevermore. 

All of the back and forth you two had was nearly as intense as you and Wednesday each were—she liked that about you. At least, that’s what you told yourself. She liked it enough to drop a note in your lap during class, some three months ago, asking you to meet her in an empty class “for warfare.” You had come with a knife hidden in your sleeve, but it ended up clattering to the floor as Wednesday pulled you in by your tie and bluntly asked you if she could kiss you. Before she could change her mind, you had kissed her hard enough for her own hidden knife to fall to the floor next to yours.

Wednesday Addams didn’t have friends. You, certainly, were not her friend, not in the way you touched her and not in the way she let you. Enid called you friends all the time, but she didn’t know about how Wednesday would pull you into a broom closet and push you down to your knees. You were sure that Wednesday would rather die than have a proper conversation about the… hooking up? late night meet ups? booty calls?? that the two of you were having. But you thought of her as your friend, and decidedly not anything more. You gave a lazy smile as you spotted Wednesday looking at you again. You knew why she had slipped you the note—the last time you’d been at her dorm room, rushing to give her an orgasm before Enid returned, you had stolen her favorite pair of Louboutin boots. You figured that the gods had given the two of you the same shoe size for a reason. No harm, no foul, right? Kicking your feet, you scuffed her shoes against the ground, knowing she could see them, knowing she could recognize them.

The sudden shuffling of books and scraping of chairs broke you out of your reverie. Class was dismissed, and you put away your supplies neatly, watching Wednesday leave first. She didn’t even look at you when she brushed past, but you knew she’d be waiting in the hallway outside. Sure enough, as you hitched your bag higher up on your shoulder, slipping your tie off, you spotted a head of raven dark hair amongst your classmates.

Wednesday looked at you evenly, ignoring all of the students filing out of the room. “You have what is mine.”

“Well, hello to you too,” you smiled brightly. Hearing her monotone voice always made your heart beat in technicolor, something chronic that you probably had to go to the infirmary for. 

She only stared, eyebrows raising a centimeter. Turning to start towards the dorms, she waited for you to catch up to her before saying, “do not play dumber than you already are.”

You shrugged, wide eyed and used to her empty insults. “What do you mean? I’m innocent.”

“No one would ever accuse you of being innocent,” she shot back. “You are a thief, at best.”

“A thief?” You asked, in mock surprise. “What do you mean?”

She pointed down between the two of you, at the red-soled boots on your feet. “Give them back.”

You cackled, unable to keep up your façade any longer. “No.” You made a heart with your hands, winking at Wednesday through it. 

Her hand collided, hard, with your wrist. Her grip was nearly painful, but you just smirked down at her. “I will only ask you once.” Her voice, still flat as usual, had a dangerous edge to it. 

“Make me.” You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t help yourself. You were selfish, always forcing Wednesday’s attention to you. Even though you knew you probably annoyed her to no end, you didn’t know how to stop. Of course, if she ever told you to stop—seriously, not by way of her customary glare—you would. 

You only just had time to finish your thought before Wednesday nearly tore your arm out of its socket, dragging you across the grounds towards your dorm room. How such a small girl was so fast, you had no idea. Before you knew it, you were in front of your room, with Wednesday reaching into your pants pocket to take out your keys and push you inside. 

As soon as the door shut, you could visibly see Wednesday relax, which was saying something. You drew her smaller frame closer, wrapping your arms around her waist. She turned her head to tuck it into your neck, letting out the smallest sigh. Feeling her hand come up to grab the hem of your shirt, you leaned back a little.

“Wednesday.” At your beckon, she unfolded herself from your neck to look up, eyes as dark as wood immediately on your lips.

“This is not forgiveness,” she told you.

You reached for her bag, dropping it and yours to the ground. “Mmm,” you hummed as you tilted your head down to kiss her, slowly, enjoying the burn in your stomach as she kissed you back. “Maybe you’ll forgive me later, after I’m done with you.” She pulled away, giving you an unimpressed look. 

“Arrogance does not become you.”

You just laughed, taking off your jacket, leaving you in your shirt, slacks, and last but not least, Wednesday’s very important boots. Leaning into her space, you nosed along her neck, nipping playfully with sharp teeth. You felt her arms drop back to her sides. “We’ll see about that, Weds.”

This time, she pushed into you first, all soft lips and razor teeth on yours. You sunk down, somewhere in the lowest deep as you kissed her, but your bliss was short lived, broken by your hiss of pain as she bit down on your tongue. Her hands were cold on the back of your neck, trapping you close, and you had no complaints. “Boots. Now.”

“If you want them back so bad,” you muttered, ducking your head to leave a dark bruise on her collarbone, “take them yourself.”

Wednesday put both hands on your shoulders, a glint in her eye the only warning you get. She pushed you, hard, so the backs of your knees hit the bed and you landed on your ass.

“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, Weds,” you goaded, even as she grabbed you by your shirt collar.

“I’ll take your ankles off with those shoes,” she snapped lowly, but she let you kiss down her neck again, that pale column of skin too hard for you to resist. You took your time, leaving murky violet constellations, and with each mark that you sucked into her jawline, you heard her breathing grow shakier.

“Alright,” you said amusedly. “Take them off, then.” You bit down on that spot on her neck while pushing her shoulders down, and she gave surprisingly easily, landing with a thud on her knees.

“Do not go too far,” she hissed, trying to push you off, but you kept her there, her narrow shoulders bracketed by your legs. Her gesture was empty; you were confident that she would simply throw you off if she wanted. The many times you’d ended up tossed across the room showed as testament. 

“Sure,” you agreed easily. Leaning in, you whispered, “can I take this off?” You thumbed the lapel of her jacket.

She nodded her assent, even though you could tell she was plotting a way to get you back. You went slow, leaning over her as you slid her jacket off, kissing the crown of her head. 

“Very good,” you whispered into her hair, loosening her tie. Wednesday attempted to suppress her shiver at your words, but you felt it anyway. It gave you the courage to go to her shirt, sliding the buttons open hesitantly. She straightened her back, showing you her simple but elegant black bra, which was probably from some niche French designer and worth more than the boots you stole.

But the look on her face as you slid your hands slowly into that expensive bra was priceless: her eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing the slightest bit as her lips parted. You squeezed gently, letting out a small moan of your own. She was so soft, and—

“You’re so perfect, Wednesday,” you growled unevenly in her ear, your composure slipping just a fraction. You sealed your lips with hers and thumbed her nipples, licking up against her teeth as soon as she let you. Breaking apart from her for one unbearable second, you stuck your fingers in her mouth, coating them in saliva. The affronted look on her face disappeared quickly as you pinched her nipples again with sticky fingers, the whine she let out going straight through you like whiskey.

She shuffled closer, seemingly content on her knees despite her earlier protest. Her grip was tight on your thighs, bordering on blissfully painful. Wednesday was nearly pulling you off the bed with how hard she was yanking you in to kiss her, teeth clacking with yours. She sat back on her heels and grabbed your ankle. 

“What’re you doing?” You rolled her nipple between your fingers. “Finally getting your—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale as she spread her legs, stocking covered knees sliding. She lifted your leg and planted your foot between her thighs, the heavy boot slamming into the ground. You raised an eyebrow, head swimming with the direction she was going. 

Wednesday was a pretty picture in front of you, shirt open, chest flushed, skirt bunched up around her hips. Uncharacteristically demure, she leaned her cheek against your knee, palm sliding up your clothed calf.

“What?” She asked, her turn for faux innocence. “You said to do it yourself, did you not?” Wednesday shimmied forward, her chest up on your shin. 

You felt her start to press up on the laces, something hot and slow, and your mouth went dry. Her knees spread more as she adjusted, her hand grabbing yours to place it on her cheek. She grabbed your belt loops, the pressure on your boot heavy. Just the mere idea of Wednesday’s pussy grinding against your—her—boots was something you could never imagine, but her shiver as she got settled made you nearly combust.

“You’re so needy, my girl…” the words slurred their way out of your mouth, likely more loving and adoring than you’d intended them to be.

“Looks like you’re the one fucking yourself,” she huffed out, a rare twisted grin gracing her face. Wednesday’s head tipped back again, a pleased little exhale falling from her lips as she pressed harder.

You cupped her jaw, pushing her shirt from her shoulder to bite, something possessive, with no inhibition, in you rising to the surface. “You do that to me, darling.”

You shift your boot closer to her, meeting her grinding circles, making her gasp and cry out your name. You were content to watch her like this, chasing her own high on you like some sinful temptation. With just the sound she was making, and her lip, bitten red, you knew she was getting her slick everywhere. Her breaths came harder with each time she pressed herself into the laces, her gentle rocking becoming more and more erratic. You almost wanted to see if she could cum like this, but as her eyes got hazier and her movements more erratic, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“That's enough, Wednesday.” She barely has your clipped tone as a warning before you pull her off your boot, rough as you hoisted her up, but keeping your grip gentle.

“Come here.” Surprisingly, she did as you asked, throwing her clothes off with the air of a girl who knew what she wanted. You watched her, every inch she uncovered sending prickles of heat up your collar. Her panties, thin and damp, landed in your hand, and you knew she saw your jaw clenching when the corner of her mouth quirked up in the smallest of smiles.

You tucked the thin fabric into your pocket and reached for her, her cool skin soothing the burn in your chest. You turned her around to tuck her into you, sitting on your lap. Manhandling her easily, you could feel her muscles, taut from fencing, under your palms. You hooked her knees over yours, and spread your legs. Unable to resist a smirk at her sharp inhale, you kissed up her neck, scraping your teeth against the shell of her ear. 

“You look like magic,” you murmured. “So good for me, Wednesday, letting me spread you open like this,” you continued, tilting her head to lean it back on your shoulder. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” she rasped out as you mapped your hands along her ribs, sliding them down her tense stomach to grip her thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

With each circle, you pulled your hands higher, close enough to her pussy that your fingers were sticky from her inner thighs. “Oh, I am.”

You cupped her pussy, already feeling her wetness coating your fingers. Forcing her legs wider, you rubbed up and down, purposefully avoiding her warmest spots as your other hand skimmed up to her chest. But you never were able to keep yourself from Wednesday for very long, testing your own patience as much as hers.

“Fuck,” you whispered, and as you pushed a finger in, her hand shot up to grab the back of your neck with a quiet oh. You crooked your finger, her slick making it easy on you. Letting your palm graze her clit with every motion, you smiled as her hips lifted, searching for more friction.

You take your time, knowing that Wednesday’s pussy was the softest thing you’d ever touched, and it was likely to remain that way. Pushing another finger in, you made sure to grind your palm against her clit every time you curled your fingers. Her soft noises were enough to have you on your knees, and you would’ve, if she didn't sigh out your name, getting your attention. She squeezed your fingers, jaw tight enough to creak.

“What is it, Weds?”

“I…” Wednesday cut herself off with a whine as your fingers twisted, the high sound shooting straight through your stomach. You beckoned with your fingers, hard, and she keened in your ear.

“I need you to fill me up.”

Her words snapped something already delicate inside of you. You took your fingers out, smearing her slick all on her hips as you flip her over. If you had it your way, you would be able to see her face, but you knew this was her favorite position. You saw her swallow in anticipation as you stepped briefly away from the bed, kicking off those catalytic boots and rummaging under your bed for you and Wednesday’s box.

Everything in the box you kept meticulously clean, knowing Wednesday’s routine of cleanliness. It would only be Wednesday Addams, a contradiction in her black heart, that loved to be as messy in your bed as she was clean in hers. You picked a black strap, one that you two used frequently. Pulling it on and adjusting it, you get on your knees behind her. For a moment, you watched her, captivated by the sight in front of you, grasping her hips. She arched her back, getting comfortable, as if you weren’t already trying not to fold and just take her like a ship to water.

You pushed yourself up against Wednesday, hips flush to her ass, letting the silicone glide against her clit. To her credit, Wednesday’s breath only came out the slightest bit shaky, even as you guided her thighs apart with a knee. You hummed as she pushed herself up onto her forearms to rock back, head turned to look at you. Wednesday had to grind down past your strap for her pussy to touch your thigh, and you laughed lowly as she flushed with the action. She froze.

“What’s wrong?” You rubbed a hand over her lower back, ready to pull away if she gave even the slightest signal.

“Do you…” she swallows, eyes flicking from you to some distant spot in the corner of the room. “Do you not want me to do that?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe your ears. There was a rush of indignation on Wednesday’s behalf, that she could ever think you wouldn’t love her desperation. Then, the wave of understanding broke over you—Wednesday wanted your approval, over an action that was decidedly un-Wednesday-like, and the final flick of her nervous gaze towards you told you that this was important. 

You grabbed her hips, hard enough to leave shadows that you hoped you’d see tomorrow. Anything physical, Wednesday would undoubtedly best you, but this was something you could hold your own on. You pushed her pussy down onto the strap, onto the rough fabric of your slacks. 

“Why would I ever not want you to show me how much you want it, mmm?” Your question was a growl wrought with satisfaction and a winner’s unapologetic glee, and the effort you put into your tone was worth the way the tension vanished from Wednesday’s eyes. She rolled her hips again, her Addams confidence returning, letting you guide her into a smooth rhythm. 

“Besides,” you leaned forward, one hand letting go to come down a hair's breadth from Wednesday's nose. You folded yourself over her body, your tight grip still controlling her hips. “I know you can’t cum like this.”

The whine came unbidden from Wednesday’s throat, high and breathy and perfect. Nevertheless, her hips and keening gasps followed your even rhythm, and you saw her grip on the pillow go white-knuckled.

“I’m pleased with you, my dear. I do love to watch you suffer.” At your words, sunk roughly into her ears like cannonballs on kindling, Wednesday moaned, loud, into the space between the two of you. You ignored the burning torch that her sounds dropped into your lower stomach, choosing to murmur: “you can take it, right?”

“I can take it,” Wednesday whispered back, almost mindlessly. “I can take you,” she continued. “I want it.”

You settle back on your heels, satisfied. The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was only to do with your physical exertion, and nothing with how you felt for the girl under you. I can take you, not I can take it, I want it, not I want you.

You pull your thigh from under her roughly, making her yelp. Reaching around her narrow hips, you trailed your fingers down from her belly button to her clit, rubbing small circles. “Ready?”

Wednesday nodded, another whimper escaping at your touch.

“I need you to tell me yes, Weds.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

You push in, slowly, giving her body plenty of time to adjust. She was still prepped from your fingers earlier, but you didn’t miss the chance to gather her wetness and smear it against her clit. Wednesday was taking deep breaths beneath you, just like how you taught her the first time you two had used a strap. The rush of endearment you felt for her at that memory was distracting, you decided, and you pushed it away.

You slowed yourself down as your hips were once again up against her ass, hands moving to squeeze her shoulders. You saw her eyes shut tightly, the corners growing shiny. Wednesday always needed a moment once you put the strap in, something you were happy to give her.

She was still inhaling deeply, thighs trembling. “It…”

“It what?”

Wednesday opened her eyes; they were brimming with tears, dark lashes sticky. “It hurts…”

Your body tensed, already about to pull away, but with a surprisingly strong twist, she forced herself back onto you. A whimper rose high from her throat, and you had to take a breath to keep yourself from flipping her around to kiss her right then.

“Hurts good,” she whispered. You close your eyes, near involuntarily. Fuck, this perfect, perfect, girl would ruin you, just as much as you wanted to ruin her. You lean forward, pressing your chest into her back, forearm across her shoulder blades to ground her. 

“How does it hurt, love?”

“It’s—I’m full,” Wednesday gasped out, glossy eyes sliding shut as you shifted on your knees, cock shifting inside. 

“It fills you up, huh?” You breathed into Wednesday’s ear. 

She nodded.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” she said, almost immediately. Experimentally, she swiveled her own hips around, and it made her hiss and bite her lip. “You fill me up.”

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to just grab Wednesday and slam your cock impossibly deeper. “And?”

“And it’s good,” Wednesday whined out. “Hurts good.”

The knot in your chest loosened, the tension in your body broken like a wave. Surely, it wasn’t healthy to hang onto Wednesday’s every word the way that you did. You pulled out almost all the way, and snapped your hips forward, hard, burying yourself into her.

“Good girl.”

Wednesday let out a breath that bordered on a moan, and you smirked to yourself. Maybe she was right, and the arrogance was getting to your head, but you couldn’t help it. You set on a steady pace, gently brushing one of her braids aside to grasp the back of her neck. You felt yourself slipping into it, drunk on the way she let you touch her, your world tunneling down to just Wednesday—everything was Wednesday. 

Every time you pushed in, it was punctuated by her gasps, and you could feel her breathing start to grow uneven. It stirred up something innately protective in you, for Wednesday. Her shoulders were shaking, tension pulling her taut. 

“Wednesday, baby,” a pet name she would only tolerate in her hazy, lust filled state, “I need you to breathe for me, alright?” You slowed down, following your intuition on what she needed.

Still flush to her back, you listened to her stuttering inhales, deeper but not enough for her to catch her breath. “Shhh,” you cooed low into her ear, covering her eyes, and taking her hand, still tight on the pillow. “Breathe, my love.” Inexplicably, Wednesday let go of the pillowcase and intertwined your fingers, squeezing your hand and your heart tightly. She listened to you, for once, slowing down and softening her breaths. You could feel her tears on your palm, and you shushed her again, pressing kisses on her temple where her hair stuck to her forehead.

“Alright?” You slid your hand away, watching her eyes carefully.

She nodded. Skimming your fingers along her cheekbone, you let the warmth in your heart for the smaller girl seep into your words.

“Just say the word, Wednesday, and we’re done.”

“No,” she murmured back. “If you stop now, I’ll throw you out the balcony.” Though she was out of breath, a sticky, flushed mess under you, you had no doubt she’d follow through on her threat. You smiled.

You pick up your rhythm again, this time covering her smaller body with yours again to suck hickies into the back of her neck. Your other hand brushed down between her thighs to rub her clit in circles—she was so wet that it was hard to keep up with your thrusts, but it was worth the choked cry that escaped from her throat as you hit that spot, her fingers tightening around yours. 

Wednesday arched her back into you, burgundy lips bitten blood red right before your eyes. “Keep going,” she told you. You had no intention of stopping, watching a flush bloom on her neck as you kept up your ruthless pace. 

But despite that, you wanted to take your time with her. Every time she would tense up, you would slow down, making it impossible for her to reach that peak you knew she wanted. You forced yourself to slow down on both her pussy and her clit, just as she was starting to shake, and in spite of herself, she cried out in frustration, a tear slipping free. 

“Sorry, baby.” Your tone edged on cruel, desperately needing to see how much she could handle. “I know you can handle it, just for me, okay?” Strap still fully inside, you bent to kiss the juncture of her neck, lips and teeth leaving a bruise. Her skin was hot to your touch, even though your shirt. You bit down again, matching all of your other marks that graced her skin.

Wednesday whined again, inhibition cracking faster by the second. “Don’t stop…”

“Don’t stop what?” You asked, voice turned mocking. “Use your words.” You reached up to clasp the back of her neck, rubbing the tension out. “And be good.”

Her breath quickened, and she squeezed her eyes shut as another tear rolled through her mascara. “Don’t stop…”

“C’mon,” you cajoled, hand coming around her neck to squeeze her throat. “C’mon, my love.”

“Please… don’t stop fucking me.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and she mewled as you nuzzled your lips against her shoulder, your fingers starting up on her clit again.

A shiver shot up your spine, making you curl protectively around Wednesday, the hot burn of possessiveness, to mark her again, near unbearable.. “Anything you want, darling.” You slammed back into her, hard enough to push the both of you up the bed. One of her hands grasped at your forearm, pulling your grip from her neck. She wrapped your arm across her shoulders. Your breathing came hard, but you didn’t stop, each whine in your ear making your head spin. You had no idea how much time was passing, or if it was even night or day; your entire world was hazy and fuzzed with raven black.

“I’m—” Wednesday cut herself off, biting down on your arm for a moment, leaving a smear of lipstick.

You let out a noise that was more of a growl than anything. “Let me hear you, baby.”

She gasped when you pressed a hand to her lower stomach, briefly feeling the bulge there from your cock, before going back to her clit. You didn’t pause, each thrust pushing Wednesday closer to the edge. “Use your teeth,” she choked out, her cheeks flushing. “Now, please.”

You complied, eager. Scraping your canines down her ear, you stopped at a tender spot behind her pulse point, the skin already marred with purple and red. A sailor’s delight, you thought, a bit hysterically. You sank your teeth in, not holding back, knowing she wanted it. The effect was near immediate; her eyes slid shut, and her body tensed against yours, an unrestrained sob tumbling out from her lips. She reached for you, nails digging into your arm. Your hands shook, all of her tightening the coil in your stomach. Wednesday’s orgasm crashed down, and it shattered something in you, deep and addictive.

Far down in you, below what you were willing to admit, Wednesday’s unknowing grip on your heart tightened even more. You felt like you’d just jumped off your own edge, inevitable as the eternal separation of sun and moon.

“I came,” Wednesday’s voice was a ragged whisper, a ghost of her earlier whimpers ringing in your ears.

“You did, my love,” you shushed, gently sliding your cock out, catching Wednesday as she seemed to melt into the bedsheets with no support. You guided her into her back, relishing in the way she trustingly let you. Tucking the strap away to clean later, you massaged her thighs, thinking they’d be sore later. She seemed to be in a daze, dark eyes fogged with the afterglow. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara from her tears, and the rims of her eyes were a fuschia pink. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve said that her gaze behind her slow blinks as she watched you was just as possessive as you were. You did know better, you swore, but it didn’t stop you from nuzzling your face into her stomach, intoxicated on the smell of her arousal, delaying the clean-up for just a moment longer. 

“Have you forgiven me yet?” You teased, unsure if she could even hear you. You smoothed her fringe off her forehead, already moving to sit up and get her a bottle of water. But before you could move, Wednesday’s hand grabbed your wrist with lighting speed, a shadow of the earlier afternoon.

She cracked an eye open, and though her eyes were shot red, there was a challenging shine, blade in moonlight, there. “Who says you’re done?”

--

reader: i fuck her good but i don’t think she likes me back :(

wednesday: if you don’t hold me right now i Will murder

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, or take from my work in any way without express permission. thank you!

masterlist

[remember-the-fanfics]

I loved your gen-z!overlord! headcannon! What about the same character X Alastor or X the Vees! I liked how you wrote a bit about the character with Rosie!

Added Carmilla for funies

Alastor

• You constantly make fun of his oldness when he moved to the hotel

• He finds you entertaining and annoying, would've killed you in the beginning if Rosie wasn't already found of you.

• Thought you had the same idea with the hotel.

• Figured out quickly when he brought it up and you got pissed at him.

• Bounds over his interests of the chaos you make.

• Found out his disinterest with relationships and more physical stuff quickly

"Oh so you're AroAce? Cool."

"What are the words you just say?"

• Trying to get him to know what certain slag is from your time, nows use it incorrectly to fuck with you.

• Minus after his tussle with Pentious.

"I yeeted him, correct?"

"Ahhh! Yes! Ahaha!"

• Shown you some Overlord powers that you had no idea that you had.

• Accidentally blow up the wall a few times.

• Calls you dear child or little annoying one. Depends on his mood.

• Calls him old man to annoy him or weird ass deer man when he pissed you off.

• Decided you're a good allie after finding you laughing at what he did with Vox.

"The TV was buffering, that was really funny and good."

"Thanks for the compliments, my dear.

• Didn't change the fact when you were ready to kill him for making a deal with Charlie.

The Vees-

• The only one you on the good side is Velvette

• Vox and Valentino just keeps nice with you not to get Velvette pissed at them.

• You've tried to change the channel on Vox's face once. You're not allowed to hold any remote when visiting anymore.

• You made fun of Vox after his fight with Alastor.

"You were buffering! Guess you overheated?"

"Oh fuck off."

• Have a business deal for your territory to get Vox's stuff for cheap.

• Told him about the advancement that happening before you died.

• And had to endures something for him after Velvette dressed you up.

"Hating everything right now."

• But he is the only one that makes TV or well anything with Technology

• Everyone keeps you away from Valentino after you heard how he treats Angel Dust.

"I just want to talk with him, I just want to kill him."

• You had already didn't like him anyway.

• Creepy ass Moth motherfucker is the only 'nickname' you call him

• Valentino enjoys making you uncomfortable

• If he cross a line, you are killing him

• But then he holds Angel Dust soul above you so you don't actually kill him.

• Doesn't mean you wouldn't hurt him

• He eventually tries not to cross the line, tried of getting beaten by a child according to him.

• Velvette is the only reason you vist, mostly to her studio.

• Being a backup model when she wants you too, only in private.

• Refusing to actually model infront of people.

"I would die... again."

"Don't be dramatic about it."

• Gives you clothes that are in at the moment if you hang out in public

• Understand most of your references

• Willing to fuck someone up if they give you a weird look when she's with you.

• They all hates that you go to the Overlord meeting

• Does enjoy when you spill some tea about what happens

• You're cool enough to associate with the Vees but not enough to be one, not that you would join when you only get along with one and half of them.

Carmilla Carmine-

• Has a motherly instinct with you even though you're powerful enough to be an Overlord.

• You mostly come over to hang out with her daughters, whose usually busy working so you end up helping them.

• Ends with her mothering you when she mothers her daughters.

• Teaches you how to fight after seeing fighting so recklessly.

• Only because someone tried to fight you when her and her daughters were around.

• One of the Overlords that has been in your territory, enjoys how you keep it orderly.

• Surprised with how you run your deals and with how many Sinners come to you for help.

"Oh that was less than normal, you probably scared a few of them away."

• Makes sure your kindness isn't viewed as weakness to anyone.

• Doesn't let you cause any chaos in her presence.

• She gives you a stare that reminds you of your own mother/guardian.

• Causing you to stop before you even start.

• Odette and Clara enjoy your company, reminds them of a less annoying sibling.

• Checks up on you after exterminations, will invite you to wherever they hide but you don't usually don't leave your territory during

• Doesn't like that you get along with Velvette or any of the Vees.

• You were there when the exterminators showed up, ready to go all demon on them to buy time before Camilla showed up, Clara and Odette had to make sure you didn't still tried to fight by pulling you away with them.

• Sheltering them in your own hiding place for the rest of the time.

• Sworn to secrecy, by a pinkie promise.

"Thank you for being ready to defend my daughters at any cost."

"It was no big deal, you showed up before anything actually happened."

• You only showed up because you knew where they were hiding and saw how it quickly went to shit.

• She tried to get you to promise not to do that again, you denied it.

"If that ever happens again, I'll do it in a heart beat. So I can't."

• Realizes quickly you wouldn't let anyone mess with people you call your friends

• Even if meant facing certain death by angels.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eighteen

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy and violent at points. please read the cw/tw's carefully in order to make the best informed decision regarding your mental ability to handle such heavy topics.

cw/tw: angst, violence, torture (gore), (light) fluff, ptsd episode, character being triggered, and references to childhood sexual assault

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist

words: 10k

Solana knows Roman well.

She knew to start off the letter the way she did, asking for him to be open minded, because she knew exactly what his answer would be. 

No.

It’s the same answer he still has even after her logical explanation. It’s a selfish thing. He’s a selfish bastard at heart because despite her being vulnerable about her mental state and making a solid point, he still wants and plans to say no. 

Still plans come and take her home in a week.

And while he has his reasoning, believing that she can continue her healing outside of some mental facility, it’s also for his own good. He just wants her home. He wants to not have the house be so quiet and empty. To not have to be reminded of her absence in everything from the lack of the aroma of her delicious cooking to Dulce yelping and whimpering whenever he walks in the door home from work without Solana beside him.

He just misses her, and he wants her home. 

He understands where she’s coming from and agrees she could benefit from continuing to talk to someone, to definitely stay on medication. 

But, those things can continue without her being away from home.

There’s also the matter of safety. Yes, Roman went above and beyond what was probably necessary to ensure she has a copious amount of protection, but that’s still not as safe as her being with him.

And he’s almost certain that the facility she’s talking about is the same one Stratus mentioned to him. The place that’s an hour away.

That’s too fucking far.

From their home, Roman can make it to the hospital in ten minutes, if need be. 

Solana being an hour away from him just isn’t a fucking option.

He needs her…..she needs to be close to him.

He’ll just have to help her understand that. 

But, all of that is easy. 

What’s not easy is the other major takeaway from her letter.

I love you, Ro.

In all of his thinking, perhaps overthinking, regarding his thoughts and feelings about his wife, never did it really occur to him that she could feel the same. He knew she cared about him. She’s said as such to him before. But, for whatever reason, he never allowed himself to imagine that she could love him.

And that she could love him without expecting anything in return. Because she believes him incapable of loving her because of his own trauma, and that’s not entirely wrong. 

He does love her.

Fuck, he loves the living shit out of her.

But, he can’t act on it.

Even with this unexpected twist. Her loving him, which fucks with his head too. The why of it. 

There’s not a lot to love, if he’s being honest.

He protects her. Keeps her safe. Gives her that safe space. Beyond that, there’s not really anything else. 

Her standards must be so low. 

Regardless, Roman can’t allow this new piece of information to change or impact his decision.

He can’t openly reciprocate her feelings.

Even….even if he sure as hell feels the same. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. 

He just can’t.

Roman may love her, but he can never tell her he loves her.

It just has to be this way.

________

Ryan Alexander

Tyler Hawkins

Two men whose lives have been intertwined in various ways in the almost 60 years they’ve walked this earth. It started with a meeting in college, both men playing for the same baseball team, having a few of the same classes together, even pledging to the same fraternity. 

They would end up in the same graduating class and go on to open up their own private security company that offered protective services for upscale clientele. Celebrities, athletes, even politicians.

But…..for the right amount of money, they could do more than just protect lives.

They could take them too. 

The company easily and quickly made its name  known through the right or maybe wrong places. Information falling in the lap of parties who were less interested in safety and more interested in murder.

It’s how Xavier Miller got in touch with them. How Solana’s father hired them to take out his wife and daughter after learning of her plan to run away and steal his children away from him, more his son than anything. He really didn’t give a shit about Solana.

Never did. 

It was why when the hit failed to take out both Nina and Solana, Xavier was able to negotiate so that instead of paying the remaining debt due after the deposit. He got them to agree to slash it in half, leaving him owing 250k. The problem was as it always has been though. Xavier lacks vision, lacks long-term vision. He didn’t think about how finances could change for the negative between the time he made the deal and when payment would be due.

Because when that day arrived, he lacked the sufficient funds. But while Xavier may lack good financial and investment knowledge, he makes up for it in craftiness. 

He formed a new deal. One that truly gave all three men a win-win. Xavier’s debt would be cleared, and Ryan and Alexander would be able to enjoy indulging in one of their favorite sexual pastimes. A privilege they can usually only pursue when traveling overseas where child sex slavery runs a lot more rampant and unregulated. 

By luck though, they got their fill domestically in the form of an innocent, 12 year-old little girl. 

A virgin. 

Xavier’s daughter.

Solana Miller

Now known as Solana Reigns, the wife of the infamous Roman Reigns. The same man who Ryan and Tyler have no idea has been behind the absolute hell they’ve been through in the past almost two weeks. Kidnapped in the middle of the night, subjected to an unauthorized but ultimately approved (by Roman) beating by Jimmy and Jey before they were reunited with Xavier’s ain’t shit ass who had also received a long overdue beating from both Roman and the twins.

That beating, however, was nothing compared to the beginning stages of their demise, a version and level of hell only few experience, but something these fuckers have front seats for. 

Roman is methodical with his torture, and this might be the most determined he’s ever been to maximize pain. 

He’s going to ensure they only take their last breath when he feels it’s time, when he’s exhausted any and all ways to extend their life in order to extend their suffering.

And while many would think it started with the beatings, that’s far too simple, too easy. And Roman is neither of those things. He’s calculated and borderline sadistic when the occasion calls for it, and there’s not been a more deserving occasion for him to act on his dark, evil impulses than this. 

So, it was only fitting that all three men, the rapists and the son of a bitch who organized it all, know exactly what it’s like to experience what they put Solana through. 

And that’s exactly what Roman organized. Having all three men dumped and left defenseless in a maximum security prison. Whatever happened, fucking happened. 

And judging by the battered, stunned, borderline traumatized expressions on their cut, brusied faces, exactly what Roman wanted them to experience is precisely what they fucking got. 

For almost two weeks straight.

Jimmy and Jey toss the three men down on the ground before Roman before moving to stand behind him on either side. 

“Ya’ll like fucking little girls, don’t you?” Jimmy sneers, Roman not even needing to look at his cousin to know he’s livid. “So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Don’t like it when your assess the ones on the receiving end, huh?” Jey taunts. Fitting. 

But, now…..now it’s time for the real pain to begin. Roman lifts his hand to signify his desire from silence. The twins go quiet almost immediately. 

The Tribal Chief turns up his nose as Ryan spits up blood onto the concrete floor. Granted, it won’t make much of a difference. When Roman is done with them, the room will be bathed red. 

He steps forward. 

“August 7th, 2005 and September 8th, 2007.” Roman shrugs and asks the men, “what’s significant about these dates?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he takes his gun and aims it for Tyler, emptying the bullet into his knee. The man howls in pain and begins to cry. Roman scowls. Pathetic bitch. “I aksed a fucking question.” 

He gaps,, forcing out through closed eyes. “I–I don’t know.” 

Roman crouches down in front of them, ignoring the stench of piss and perspiration emanating off their pathetic bodies. “August 7th, 2005. A mother and daughter were attacked. Stabbed. Mother died trying to protect her daughter. Daughter survived. She was ten-years-old.” Roman looks away at the adjacent wall, jaw clenching a bit as he recalls the next part. “”September 8th, 2007. Two men break into the house and spend hours gang raping a child in her own fucking bedroom before beating her half to death and leaving her for dead.” Dead fucking silence. “She was 12-years-old.” He turns his empty, stoic gaze back onto them. “Sound fucking familiar now?” 

“You carried out the rape,” he gestures to the set of crying rapists and then a numb looking Xavier. “And you arranged it.” Roman shrugs, rolling his big shoulders. “Seemed only fucking fair you three got a taste of what you put her through.” He then chuckles. “Now, I am a fair man. A fair Tribal Chief.” In a matter of seconds though, his disposition completely shifts, changes into something cold, heartless. “But, you don’t get that. You don’t get that fairness. You don’t fucking deserve it. You tortured her. You made her life a living fucking hell.” 

“But you know where you really fucked up?” He reaches his arm out, pointing toward the sledgehammer, one of the twins placing it in his hand. Roman stands up and kicks Tyler backwards, hesitating not a second as he brings it down to his knees, one by one, effectively and immediately shattering both. “You did it to my wife.” Roman taunts over the sound of the man crying. He then moves to Ryan, aware of the knee he already shot, sticking with one to avoid too much blood. Can’t have the bitch bleeding out just yet. “That twelve year-old girl was my wife.” When he gets to Xaveir, he exerts a special amount of energy to strengthen the impact of his blow as he demolishes the older man’s knees. “That ten year old-girl was my wife!” 

Roman tosses the sledgehammer to the side as someone has the audacity to utter out a pained, “p–please.” 

That infuriates Roman more than what should be humanly possible. “Please?” He sees the word came from Tyler. Snarling, Roman jumps over the man, raining a blow so heavy that it breaks his nose, the sickening crack sounding through the air. “Is that what she said when you fucking held her down and raped her!” 

The thought alone results in Roman continuing to punch the man until his fist is painted red and Tyler is clearly on the verge of losing consciousness. 

Standing back up, he huffs, speaking to the rapists, “17 years. She’s suffered for seventeen years because of you.” He points to a barely there Xavier. “And 29 years because of you.” Roman’s  upper lip curls a bit as he swears, “if I could torture you all for that long, I fucking would, but I can’t, so days will have to suffice.”

He’s filled with another level of rage when the cries and pleads for mercy intensify. “Shut up!” He then forcefully demands of the twins, “bring him in!”

Jey, he thinks, disappears for a few minutes only to return with an also bruised, battered Wes. Roman scoffs with disgust as Xavier looks horrified at the presence and sight of his son.

He coughs out, ribs probably broken or at least fractured. And if they’re not, Roman will make sure they are before the end of the night. “Pl—please don’t do—”

Roman has heard enough. This piece of shit has the fucking audacity to beg and plead for the life of his son but couldn’t even protect his own fucking daughter?

Fuck that.

Fury fills and controls the Head of the Table as he yanks up a barely conscious Wes and throws him against the brick wall, the impact loud enough for the sound of his shoulder popping to fill the room. Roman then grabs the sledgehammer again and rains it down on not only his knees but his hands as well, effectively smashing them, resulting in grotesque hairline fracture, bones protruding from his skin.. 

Xavier cries out and begs Roman to stop, which only fuels his tirade even more. Drives him to continue his brutal assault. Roman slams his fist onto Wes’s face, breaking his jaw before Roman squeezes the fucking life out of Wes’s neck and slams him again against that same brick wall. 

And without second thought, as Wes fights to remain conscious, face almost unrecognizable at this point, Roman reaches for his eye, using his middle and index finger to gouge out his eyeballs one by one, ignoring the horrified screams of both father and son. 

Xavier is full on sobbing but practically screams when Wes body drops to the ground like a ragdoll, and Roman tosses the bloody eyeballs toward Xavier. 

“Waterboard him!” Roman directs to the twins who don’t hesitate to drag a crying Wes out of the room by his limp arm, most likely broken in the midst of Roman’s vicious beating. Breathing uneven, Roman flips his hair back that had come out of his bun and turns his attention back on the three older men. 

“I’m going to make you all suffer the same fucking way you made her suffer,” he vows, every intention on maximixing pain in a way he’s never done before. “You’ll be wishing for something as fucking nice as hell when I’m done with you.”

________

Roman has just finished skinning a patch out of Ryan’s abdomen, the chunk of skin joining that of Tyler and Xavier’s slab of skin and other dismembered body parts. 

Wes is up next on the list.

The fucker strapped to the chair has gone unconscious, but his pulse is still relatively strong, so Roman continues. He’s done this too many times to be deterred by someone tapping out.

Tossing the bloodied knife and saw to the side of the room with the rest of the blood stained tools of torture, he grabs the drill and starts to navigate which drill bit to use when the door opens.

Right away, he’s tempted to use the object in hand on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt him.

Roman turns to see none other than his aggravating ass cousin holding a phone. Of course. Attention back to the task at hand, he bites out, “I told you not to fucking bother me. Whoever it is, I’m busy.”

Jey is about as moved by Roman’s tone as he is by the bloody, gory scene before him. Indifferent but still eager to leave, he instead provides the additional information that he knows will absolutely snatch Roman’s attention.

“It’s Bautista.” Sure enough, Jey can see his cousin’s big shoulders go still. “He—”

Roman stands up, tossing the drill to the side and quickly removing the gloves that are caked in blood, skin, and other anatomical matter. He stalks toward Jey, issuing his harsh demand,“give me the phone.”

Jey does as such, sucking his teeth when some of the blood flicks on him. “Man, that’s nasty as hell.”

Roman doesn’t comment, just walks out the room for privacy and demands to the man on the other end, “what happened?”

Bautista doesn’t hesitate and is quick with an easy response. “She wants to talk to you, sir.”

There’s only a slight decrease in concern levels that Roman experiences in hearing that Solana wants to speak to him versus Bautista having to inform him that something has happened. She’s conscious. That’s good. “Put her on.”

Bautista doesn’t say anything, but Roman hears what sounds like slight movement and hushed voices. It’s followed up with a quiet sniffle and even quieter, “hey….” Another sniffle as her volume increases ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s—it’s so late.”

Roman has no idea what time it is nor does he care what time it is. He just wants to know why she’s crying and who he has to kill. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She takes a shaky breath and follows it up with an even shakier answer, weighed down with the heavy emotions she’s clearly struggling with at this moment. “We—we—we talked about my…my rape in therapy today, and I’ve never—I’ve never actually spoken about it to anyone, and I thought—I thought I was fine, but now…..”

His chest suddenly tightens. “Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Her answer is the firmest he’s heard in the conversation so far. Serious and solid. “Not that. I just—I can’t sleep because now I’m thinking about….about it, and I just….I wanted to hear your voice, and I’m sorry—you were probably asleep.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Far from it. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.

She comes first. 

No matter what.

“I’m gonna come see you.”

“No.” The sniffling resumes as does her tendency to try to make herself as less of a ‘problem’ as she can, no matter how many times Roman tries to explain she never has and never will be anything of the sort. “I’ll–I’ll be okay.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, he’s not taking the risk because Roman cannot physically handle hearing her crying, hearing her so upset and not be able to do anything about it.

“I’m coming, Solana. Give me a half hour, okay?” He’d head there straight away right now, but the idea of coming to her after spending house torturing men, blood, bone, and other unidentifiable matter splattered all over him, is the last thing she needs. “I’ll be there.”

There’s another delay, and he’d bet any money it’s her trying to hold back the tears as best she can. “Oh–kay.”

He swallows, asking, “can you put Bautista back on the phone?”

Again, more shifting on the other end. “Hello?”

“Don’t take your fucking eyes off her.” Roman’s tone is hardened and leveled. “I’ll be there shortly.” He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t need to provide instructions on how to make sure his wife is kept safe.

Bautista already knows what the fucking deal is.

Roman can’t get cleaned and showered fast enough, ridding his body of all of the telltale signs that he’d spent the majority of the day torturing his wife’s family and rapists. She doesn’t need to know that. 

He’s impatient for the drive that feels much longer than the twenty minutes it actually is. A large part of that being that he just wants to get to Solana. 

She’d called him. She’d reached out to him.

The same thing he wishes she had done that night. Something he still feels strangely about but will learn to sort through later. Not now. 

Now his focus is on just making sure she’s alright.

That she’s safe.

Roman walks in with purpose, uninterested in Bautista’s short briefing, which is essentially more or less him just confirming that Solana hasn’t been left alone, another guard watching her as Bautista escorted Roman into the premises that’s otherwise locked down given it’s almost midnight.

Not that he gives a fuck.

Roman finds Solana sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. But, the minute her teary eyes land on him, she’s moving up from said bed, rushing over to him. Naturally, Roman catches her, holding her as she silently cries into his chest.

He’s gonna rip that fucking therapist a new one. 

“I’m sorry—” Roman hates hearing her apologize. He hates seeing her upset, but the fact that she’s apologizing for feeling the way she does is a different layer of irritation. It reminds him of how she used to be. Makes him realize just how much and deep this regression has been. “I just—I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He’s just about to once again remind her that she has nothing to be sorry about when her last statement snatches his attention. Alarms him a bit. “Solana….I need you to be honest with me—”

And she must know where he’s headed, because she pulls back, holding his gaze as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I promise. I just….I just don’t want to be by myself.” 

It makes sense, and he believes her. Somewhat. There’s still that part of him that’s skeptical. He’s not sure if that part will ever go away either.

Solana swallows and licks her lips, asking in that tentative voice, “will—will you stay with me tonight?”

It’s an easy answer. Something he already decided the minute he heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.” She looks so massively relieved by that one word. “But not here.” And before the confusion fully sets in, he clarifies, “I’m taking you home.”

As expected, she looks surprised and torn, “Roman, I—”

“You get released in three days, Sol. I’ll bring you back tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you need to be home. You don’t need to be here.” Roman isn’t a fucking professional, but he knows his wife. Knows that what she’s looking for is the feeling of security. There’s no more secure place than with him in their home. And even with Dulce.

Solana seems to be on the same page, nodding and offering no further protest. “Oh–okay.”

As she’s barely allowed any personal items, it takes less than twenty minutes for her to be ready to go, Roman directing Bautista to handle any issues that arise regarding her departure.

Roman is sure Stratus or even Gail will have issues with his decision. He’s also 100% sure that he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

Solana needs to get away. 

She needs to be home.

She needs to be with him. 

And, he’s proven correct, because the minute she walks into the house, she’s looking over at Roman, asking, “where is she?”

“Our room.”

Solana can’t seem to move up the stairs fast enough, Roman behind her, partially eager to see this long awaited reunion. He’s not sure who will be happier: Solana or her puppy. 

It’s about a tie though, because the minute Solana moves over to the side of the bed where Dulce is sleeping and gets on her knees, carefully petting the puppy, Dulce’s head snaps up.

And instantly, she jumps at Solana. 

They’re both crying, Solana holding onto Dulce who is a mixture of whimpers, licks, and that tail of hers excitedly wagging. 

Solana says something in her to Spanish, something Roman can’t make out, but he doesn’t need to make it out. It’s obviously something moving. 

Something healing almost. 

Solana looks up at him, laughing and crying as Dulce tries to lick her face. Her voice cracks a bit as she says to him, “thank you.” 

Roman nods, that same, warm, unfamiliar emotion building up. Fucking feelings.

Nodding, he says nothing, watching as she continues to hold onto and cuddle with Dulce. 

Yeah…..

Definitely the right decision.

________

Roman lifts his eyes from the phone that he just put on Do Not Disturb to set his gaze on Solana. Out of the shower, she’s wearing only one of his shirts. Nothing else. He can tell by the way the cotton almost outlines her nipples. 

Placing the phone to the side, he’s slightly taken back when she moves onto his lap. “I—” Her eyes drop downward, her hands grasping at his shirt. “I need a distraction.” He’s confused, but it’s only temporary as she trails off with the specific distraction she’s looking for. “Can we….”

He doesn’t need to hear more. Roman understands just what she’s asking for.

And his answer is simple.

“Solana, I don’t think…..” He has to phrase it correctly, word it so that it doesn’t sound like he is rejecting her. He is, but it can’t come across as just that. “You’re not—”

“I feel dirty,” she interrupts, eyes closing, mouth moving around as she does her best to balance emotion with verbalization. “I—I don’t want to feel that. I want—I want to feel you. I only ever want to feel you.” Solana opens her eyes, pleading almost. “Please.”

Something is telling him to tell her no, to find a way to decline without hurting her feelings or making her feel rejected, because that’s the last thing he wants. 

But, it feels almost impossible. She’s upset. He doesn’t want her to feel the way she’s feeling, and if she believes being intimate tonight will help her, then he’ll give her that. 

Roman nods and gently taps her hip, partially surprised when she moves off his lap, taking his hand as she lays back on the bed, pulling him on top of her. 

Roman’s lips hover over hers as she breathes, “I just want to feel you.”

It’s taking a painful amount of self-control on Roman’s part to refrain from taking here right here and now. Because while he’s mentally conflicted, there’s no denying the hardness that’s growing in his pants by the minute as she lifts her thigh and grazes it against his hip. There’s no properly explaining how much he’s missed this.

He kisses her, tentatively almost, letting her take the lead as she moves her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Roman’s hand goes to palm her breast through her shirt which makes her breathe against his mouth.

He shuts his eyes for a minute. He’d almost forgotten the sweet sounds she makes, fodder for his growing desire. He moves his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot he’s learned makes her writhe under him, her nails scraping down his taut back. 

And then, the shift.

Roman feels it only seconds before she acts on it, the way she starts to tense underneath him, the growing unsteady pattern of her breathing, the fear. But before he can pull away, she’s pushing him away, letting out a ‘no’ that comes from a different place, a different time. It comes from her trauma.

Her push is strong, but it’s not enough to get him completely off of her. Roman does that much all on his own, watching as she sits up in the bed and covers her face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes into her hands. “I—I’m sorry.” Her shoulders tremble as the apologies melt into the bleeding of emotions she tried to mask away with intimacy. “I’m sorry—” Solana falling into a full out crying session, the third or fourth time she’s done as much tonight, is more than enough for Roman to motion her over to him.

“Come here.” 

He’s at least grateful she lets him pull her onto his chest, letting her cry on him as he lays them back in the bed, his protective arms around her. For a second, he berates himself for taking her from the hospital. If they were still there, he’d wake up whoever the fuck he needed to wake up to give her that medicine she was prescribed for moments like this.

Moments where she just needs more.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, crying subdued a bit. But Roman is unsure what he dislikes more: the fact that she’s so upset or the fact that she thinks she needs to apologize for being so upset.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” is all he says. His hand is on the small of her back, moving in comforting circles. “Nothing at all, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues to cry into him, Roman wishing he could do more to settle her. It kills him to see her so upset. 

A few minutes later, her tears having almost entirely subsided, she murmurs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t….”

He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Solana, I told you before I don’t need that from you—”

“But, I wanted to. I just…..”

“It’s okay.” He cuts her off, kissing the top of her head. “I never expected that from you tonight anyway.”

He already knew she wasn’t in the mental space for it, but he didn’t want her to feel rejected either, so he went along with it. There’s a bit of regret, maybe more than a bit, but Roman also knows he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Still is. 

“Rest.” He instructs, grateful when she simply nods against him, tucking herself closer into his body. And he watches her closely and intently, an infinite amount of pleasure rising within him when he feels the steady rise and fall of her body, confirmation that she’s finally drifted off into sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep with her. He would actually prefer to stay up and watch her, but the weight of the day, mentally and physically, takes its unavoidable toll. And not too long after she succumbs to sleep, he does the same.

________

“Daddy.”

Roman’s eyes shoot open at the both familiar and unfamiliar voice. Looking down, he sees Solana sleeping peacefully on top of him, her hand atop his chest. But to his right, he finds sad eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a deep frown. 

Naturally, he frowns a bit as well. He hates seeing any of this family upset. “Bad dream?” 

She nods, holding onto the teddy bear in her arms. He’d gotten it for her a couple years back while he was away on business, and it’s become her comfort animal ever since. 

Roman is careful in prying Solana’s arm off him, grateful when the extent of her stirring is simply her turning over on the other side. Over the years, she’s gotten better with not being as easily disturbed or woken up.

And he’s especially thankful for that in this moment.

Moving the blankets down and off, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his shoulders. She shifts the bear in her arm to one side and reaches up for him to pick her up. “Come here.” Roman does as such, pulling her up as he stands from the bed. 

She lays her head on his shoulder while  he quietly walks them out the room, cracking the door behind him. Roman takes her downstairs into the living room and hits the lamp on the side table before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. 

Sitting down, she adjusts herself in his lap, holding onto her stuffy while he loads up the animated show with the creepy blue looking thing that kids apparently love, his included. 

Especially the twin on his lap. It’s like her comfort show.

“You wanna pick the episode?” It’s a preference. 

She nods and accepts the remote from him, selecting the same episode she’s watched the last 10+ times this has occurred. She almost always starts with this same episode, like she has to or else she can’t watch it.

A repeat and increasing thing, he’s noticing. 

As the opening credits roll around, Roman gently rubs her back, asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

She keeps her focus on the TV while shaking her head no. An expected answer given the fact that she never really likes to talk in general, but as Roman thinks about the increase in how often this is happening, he’s starting to wonder if it’s past the point where she gets a choice in the matter.

For the past few months, every so often, or more often now, he’ll be awoken in the middle of the night by his youngest daughter. Upset and clearly crying, she’ll ask him to sit with her, to stay with her until she falls asleep again. Though at some point, the addition of letting her watch an episode or two of her show seemed to aid in not only calming her down but eventually lulling her back to sleep.

And every time Roman tries to get out of her just what these bad dreams are, she remains quiet, forcing him to wreck his brain over what could be bothering her so much.

The unknown of it all is starting to mess with him.

He can’t help her if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Sissy?”

Both Roman and the daughter on his lap look over to see her twin rubbing her sleeping eyes as she walks over and climbs onto the sofa, the two adjusting so they’re both seated on top of him. “Did you have the bad dreams again?”

At that, Roman’s brow furrows. Did she talk about them with her sister?

He asks as such. 

“Do you know what they’re about?” Roman and Solana suspected that she’d confided in her sister, her true confidant, but they also didn’t want to risk putting a rift between the sisters by making one feel like she has to ‘snitch’ on the other.

However, an unspoken communication of some sort is exchanged between the twins. The quieter of the two reluctantly nodding as the outspoken one shares, “sissy has bad thoughts…..”

Roman takes the remote and turns down the volume versus pausing as he notices she’s still trying to watch. To some extent. And it’s clearly helping to calm her, so he won’t deprive her of that. But, he does have to ask, “what kind of bad thoughts?”

That could be and mean so many things. And if the situation was different, he wouldn’t be too concerned. The level and standard for ‘bad’ that he has compared to his kids is vastly different. But given how upset his daughter has been getting, there’s gotta be something more severe to the ‘bad’ this time. 

His twin, in more than just looks and demeanor, seems to hesitate for a second, Roman ready to encourage her that it’s okay to be honest with him. He needs that honesty at this point. “She—she has scary thoughts about something happening to you and mama. And—and bad dreams that something’s gonna happen to you when you go on your trips.”

Roman does his best to hide his surprise. And his concern. He wasn’t expecting that. Turning to the youngest of the two, he asks, “is that true?”

She looks down, tightening her hold on her bear as she nods slowly.

Roman closes his eyes and takes a second to gather himself. Comfort now. Process later. It’s become a bit of a routine for him.

Needing both of their attention, he takes the remote again to hit pause. 

“Girls….” Roman has to remind himself to keep it simple and at a level they can understand. “I’m never going to let anything happen to your mom. Or to you. Or to your brother. And nothing is especially going to happen to me.” Seeing the emotion especially present in his youngest, he kisses her temple. “I’m always going to come back home to you guys, okay?”

And that’s a promise.

Come hell or high water, nothing could separate him from his family. 

Especially his kids. 

“Told you, sissy.” She then smiles a little, adding on with a toothy grin. “Daddy’s like a superhero.”

Roman chuckles. Far from it. But whatever helps them. 

Taking over the duty of being the parent, showing that while she has many of her father’s interests and some of his temperament, she also has her mother’s caring nature, she asks, reaching for her little sister’s hand. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed.”

The offer to not have to sleep alone as well as having some one on one time with him seems to be enough to be enough to coax her back  to bed. He watches as the girls climb off his lap, the oldest taking the youngest hand, as she also handles the parting words, “goodnight, daddy.”

He offers a small smile. Their bond is something special. “Night, girls.” Hands still locked, they walk away, heading back up the stairs. “Love you.” He calls out after them. 

An almost synchronized response is what he’s met with. “Love you too, daddy.” 

It brings that warmth back to him, Roman blowing out a deep breath when it’s just him and the paused screen on the TV. He takes a couple minutes to sit on the weight of the conversation. 

He doesn’t like knowing that his daughter is struggling with thoughts. Hates that they haunt her in the form of dreams. He knows better than anyone how difficult that can be. How exhausting.

So does Solana.

Thoughts of his wife and wanting to get back to her before she notices his absence and wakes up, Roman shuts off the TV and starts heading upstairs.

Walking back into their bedroom, he’s only partially surprised to find Solana awake, sitting up against the headboard, their son on her chest for one of his nightly feedings. 

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “Another bad dream?” 

Roman nods and goes to sit back in the bed next to her. “Found out what they’re about.”

Solana’s eyes widen a bit. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “The other one did.” He frowns a bit, sharing, “she’s having thoughts and dreams of something happening to us. Me especially.” 

Solana’s frown is deep and concerned. Valid. “What? Where—Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know.” Roman answers. He’d have loved to been able to ask more questions, but it’s also the middle of the night and just getting some kind of answer is a huge win in and of itself. “But, I wanna schedule an appointment with her pediatrician. If something else is going on with her, we need to know.”

Roman has an idea of what it could be, now starting to put different pieces together. Her particular way of doing things, rituals of sorts, thoughts she can’t control. But, he wants to be sure.

“Of course,” Solana agrees. “I’ll call in the morning.”

Good. 

Roman chuckles after looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:59am. He glances at Solana, “and you really wanna do this all over again?”

He’s still partially stuck on the fact that even with three kids, Solana is still wanting more. 

The thought alone brings out a heavy sigh just from tonight’s events.

All three of their kids up and in need of something in the middle of the night like he and his wife don’t have work in the morning.

He can’t even really picture an additional child—or two–added into the mix. 

Solana, however, only smiles, rocking gently to help soothe their son. “Only with you, papi.” A beat. “Only with you.”

________

“No!”

Roman is awakened by movement and volume. Both of which effectively deter and distract him from yet another strange dream, a fantasy of some sort.

Or…..something more. 

Regardless, he has neither the time nor energy—nor desire—to think about that. Not with the woman violently stirring beside him. A nightmare. It’s obvious Solana is in the middle of a nightmare.

“No….” Twisting against the mattress, Roman sees the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowns. How long has she been in the middle of this nightmare? “Get off me….”

At that, he stills a bit. With Solana’s extensive trauma, it’s pretty impossible to know just what specific traumatizing incident haunts her dreams and interrupts her sleep. But this….this one is pretty obvious. 

And it guts him.

He moves his hands to her shoulders. “Baby, wake up.”

She starts crying, and Roman isn’t quite sure how much worse and useless he can feel. “No. Please—please. You’re hurting me.”

There’s a heaviness in his chest as Roman deepens his voice and shakes her a little harder. “Solana, wake up.”

It seems the more he says it, the more she writhes and cries, trapped in the throes of trauma. Roman doesn’t want to be physical with her, doesn’t want to exacerbate an already difficult situation, but he can’t just sit here and watch her suffer. 

He moves his hands to her arms, restricting her just enough, raising his volume yet again. “Solana, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” He’s not entirely certain if it’s his escalation or just the natural progression, but she shoots up, eyes opening for the briefest second before slamming shut. 

And then, the climax.

Roman is taken back when she starts pushing and shoving him, but that surprise is easily weighed down with sympathy when she starts talking again. 

“Get off of me!” She cries, never once letting up on him.

He takes it all, her fists really of no consequence to him as he continues to try to break her from this torment. “Solana, please—”

“No!” She’s the one with the increased volume, Roman biting back a hiss as a sharp almost burning pain throbs in his shoulder, the area where he was shot. But, it’s irrelevant. His focus is on Solana and nothing else. 

“Baby, it’s me.” He’s no longer restraining her, letting her let it out on him as much as she needs to. Whatever she needs in this moment, he’ll give it to her. He’s not sure what else to do besides that, to be honest.

But, it’s when Roman manages to cup her face, again, repeating the hopefully calming, settling words, “it’s me” that seems to help break through to her. Blinking, wet eyes open, filled with fear. He studies her, watching her focus on him, as the fear starts to diminish. Replaced with recognition. “R–Roman?”

He nods, his own concern settling seeing her anxiety lessen. “Yes. It’s just me.”

She releases a shaky, emotional breath, clearly coming to grips with what just occurred. But, her gaze settling on his shoulder seems to bring back that previous level of horror. “Oh my god, I—I hurt you.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He looks down, realizing she must have ripped his stitches when she was hitting him, blood trickling down his skin. Roman is entirely unbothered. “Solana, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to be hearing him, too focused on the unintentional thing she caused. “I hurt you…..” 

He lowers her hands from her face, kissing her inner palms. “Baby, it’s fine.” 

“I–I’m sorry. I–She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, asking him in an unexpected calmer voice. “I—I need to stitch it back up for you.”

Roman shakes his head. “I can do th—”

But, she cuts him off, sounding a little bit more stable and a lot more desperate. “Roman, please?” 

Not wanting to risk upsetting her again, he shakes his head, allowing her to take the lead as she grabs his hand and guides him into their bathroom. Roman sits on the toilet and watches her silently move around, gathering the medical kit and other needed supplies. 

His eyes don’t leave her as she works carefully and tediously to stitch him back up, Roman partially thankful her focus is on something else versus the horrific memories that seemed to have been tormenting her the past couple hours. 

He wants to say something, do something to help her feel better, to especially rip away the guilt evident in her eyes at ‘hurting’ him.

Solana may be the only person on this earth capable of doing as such, but it could never be physically. 

Ever.

“I’m not crazy. I—I promise.” Her voice is shaky, unsteady by understandable emotion as she finishes up, starting to put the supplies back. “I just—I don’t know—”

Roman takes her hands in his. “Sol, I know you’re not crazy.” Feeling an unfamiliar sense of openness and vulnerability, he asks her, “do you know why I was able to help you with your panic attack that night?” Her eyes are lit with confusion as she shakes her head no. Roman’s jaw clenches. He’s never once told a soul what he’s about to share with her. “It’s because I used to have them.” 

Her reaction is exactly what he would expect from anyone to hear such words coming from him. 

“Wh—what?” 

Roman’s eyes divert to the wall beside her as he powers through the discomfort. “It was….it was after my family was killed. I’d have nightmares about it and wake up freaking the fuck out.” Just like her. “That’s when they’d happen.”

“But, I couldn’t tell anyone, because they were already questioning if I would be fit to lead.” He scoffs, “I had to be perfect. I couldn’t let anyone know how fucked up I really was from what happened.” 

He can only imagine that the softness in her voice matches the expression on her face. “Roman….” 

“But, I couldn’t keep dealing with the shit either, so I found this book at my school’s library about mental health and whatnot, and it had a section on panic attacks and how to cope with them. So, I studied and learned them. It’s been fine since then. Haven’t had one in years.” Though that similar budding feeling of panic that used to be present before they’d occur is something Roman’s noticed having versions of for almost the past two weeks.

Since he found out Solana tried to kill herself. 

She lifts her hand to his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel it. Can sense it. Her sympathy or maybe something different. Maybe empathy. Regardless, he doesn’t want or need it. The point was to not bring attention to his fucked up past but rather help her reduce some of her self-judgment. 

He stands up, forcing her hand to fall down as he instead cups her face, looking and speaking directly at her. “You’re not crazy.” Far from it. And he needs her to know that. “You just….you need help.” His voice shifts into something softer. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Her gaze also shifts. Something both hopeful and sad. “I–I can go?”

Roman only hesitates for a second. “Yes.” 

The answer he gives her is in no way indicative of how he feels about it. He still hates it. Hates the idea of her not coming home for good in three days and instead going to yet another treatment facility. This one longer and farther away.

But, if there’s anything the past few hours have taught him, have shown him, it’s that Dr. Stratus and Gail were right. 

And so was Solana. 

She’s not ready to come home. 

She needs more help.

And he can’t, won’t, be selfish. Won’t be too consumed by his own want and desire to have her back with him. Not when it directly contrasts what she needs. 

And what she needs is continued professional help. 

So, that’s exactly what she’s going to get. 

“I’ll talk to Stratus about what we need to do.” And that’s more so in regards to location solely, so Roman can get a head start on working on safety precautions for her. He’ll keep Bautista with her. That seems to be a good fit. 

Solana, however, is bubbling with emotion again. From a different source. For a different reason. 

She pushes herself into his chest, Roman easily dropping his hands to her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.” It’s as he holds her, her face buried into his chest that she murmurs those three, sacred, terrifying words. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes. 

It’s one thing to read it but something entirely different to actually hear her say it. 

He doesn’t know how to respond, how to react, what to say. 

Even if does feel the same way. 

So, he says nothing. 

________

“You took her out of the hospital.”

“Sure fucking did.”

Roman has never been so unbothered while sitting in Dr. Stratus office as she paces across, visibly and audibly stressed the fuck out by what occurred. 

After agreeing to let her continue treatment at the other facility, Solana was finally able to get some sleep. Roman as well. Not a ton, of course, because he woke up to her spot in bed next to him vacant. Dulce missing as well.

And if not for the note left for him that read ‘fixing us breakfast <3’, he might have even panicked a bit. Just a smidgen. Of course she would spend time doing something for them rather than herself. It’s such a Solana thing.

Regardless, he enjoyed breakfast with her but hated to see the saddened expression on her face as she said goodbye to her puppy, Dulce’s ears dropping and the whimpering returning as she also picked up on the pending separation.

She’s also felt and been impacted by Solana’s absence. 

But, it’s a necessary absence. 

Solana needs help. 

And it’s that, that oh-so important reminder, Roman keeps repeating to himself as this blonde bitch continues to berate him like he’s a fucking child. 

“Who the hell are you to make that decision?” She continues, pointing at him. “You do not get to remove my patient from my care without speaking to me!”

“I did what I had to do for my wife. She needed to get the fuck out of here.” Roman is a man who doesn’t believe in explaining himself, but given the situation, he makes a small exception. For Solana. Only for her. “But, if you don’t lower your fucking voice, you won’t have to worry about her, or anyone else, being your patient because the dead can’t be fucking psychiatrists.”

Dr. Stratus closes her eyes and shakes her head. “At the very least, you could have just texted me what was going on.”

“Keeping you briefed wasn’t my priority.” At all. “Keeping my wife alive was.”

She opens her eyes, asking, “was she suicidal?”

“She said no.” Roman still isn’t entirely sure he believed her. She could have been telling the truth, but she also could have been lying for a lot of different reasons. Still, that’s not something he feels the need to share. “She said she talked about her rape earlier that day in therapy and was having….flashbacks.”

“Flooding,” Dr. Stratus informs. “It’s when a survivor experiences intrusive thoughts, images, and flashbacks of their trauma.” She then looks at him, almost surprised, “she called you?”

Roman nods. “Said the coping shit wasn’t working.”

The doctor plops back down into her seat, saying more to herself than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign. That she reached out to you versus….other things.” That’s exactly how Roman feels. “Regardless, in the future, at least let me know what’s going on. I would have told you to give her the Hydroxyzine. We could have seen if it’s helpful.”

Roman doesn’t disagree with her there. The thought of one of her medications potentially being helpful definitely crossed his mind. But, he’s not about to tell this woman that.

He’s got other things he needs to discuss.

“The facility you were telling me about….” Roman looks away, not eager to have this conversation but knowing he needs to. For Solana. “Tell me more.”

________

A loud, guttural, almost animalistic growl leaves Samantha’s mouth at the same time the glass plate is tossed against the wall, shattering and spilling into tiny little pieces all across her kitchen floor.

Not that it makes a difference.

Punching the fridge, she ignores the throbbing in her fist and ineffectively tries to manage her nerves, dissuading the burning urge within to scream. It’s been less than 24hrs since she regained the ability to speak, her jaw finally healed enough and no longer wired shut.

But, now she’s left with nothing but pent up emotion all directed toward one person.

Solana

That fat bitch ruined everything. She stole Roman from her. The man who she’s been with since she was a fucking teenager. The man she always imagined would be her husband and father of her children, who would make her his Queen of the Bloodline, but none of that will happen now.

It won’t happen because of that slashed face whore.

Because Roman chose her over him.

Which brings up unfamiliar feelings towards her former lover.

Roman is an asshole. Always has been. As long as she’s known him, he’s been a dick, so his cruel behavior at times toward her never really bothered her. That’s just his personality. She never took it personally. 

Not until now, at least.

Because now, it’s not just his wife she’s mad at, it’s Roman too.

Granted, her fury toward the troll is significantly worse.

She’d kill the bitch if she could.

“Rough day?”

Samantha nearly jumps across the room at the sound of another person’s voice. She instead is braced against the refrigerator as she lands eyes on the last person she expected to find in her place.

“Seth?”

It takes another second for her to register that it truly is the once friend of her former lover. He sits on her sofa wearing at least three different types of animal print that are all outlined in some kind of bling, hair looking as unkempt as his mental health. 

She’s sly in trying to move closer to the knife set on the counter.

Seth, however, is as perceptive as he is insane. She stills when he casually pulls out a gun. “Ah ah. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” He makes a face, playing with the gun.“Word on the street is that you got dumped.”

Samantha’s eyes narrow a bit. How does Seth freakin Rollins of all people know about her ‘breakup’ with Roman? Only those close to Roman would know that, and there’s no way anyone close to Roman would be speaking to Seth……

Right?

“Who—”

“You’ll find out about the members of this little crusade once you agree,” he explains, placing the gun on the sofa beside him, casually viewing his nails that are painted a hideous green. Like the color of slime from Nickelodeon back in the day. “Can’t risk snitches, of course.”

More interested than anything, Samantha asks, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He giggles, standing up and pulling a flask out of what seems like nowhere. “We’re gonna kill Roman Reigns.” Seth takes a swig as Samantha’s eyes widen, before he adds on, as if he forgot. “And his wife, Sadie.”

“Solana?”

Seth shrugs “Yeah, she can get killed too. Why not?”

Samantha finally laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re even crazier than I realized. You can’t just kill, Roman.” It’s damn near impossible. Does he not know the mountain of bodies that have tried and failed at the very same thing he’s suggesting? “And there’s no way in hell he’ll let you get even close enough to kill that bitch wife of his.”

“Oh, that’s a lot easier than you think.” Seth takes the flask to his mouth again, voice teasing yet malicious. “The Bloodline is full of traitors.”

Samantha goes quiet, wondering how much of this is madness and just how much is true. It seems too asinine to be true. 

But, there’s also the fact that the only way Seth could have known about Roman leaving her was if someone within the Bloodline told him, which would most definitely make them a traitor. And even that feels almost impossible. Roman’s family is notoriously loyal. Who would want to betray him?

The plural form of the word ‘traitor’ is also something that catches her attention. 

Could there be more than one traitor?

Seth meanwhile seems to be in a sense of imaginative blood lust, practically squealing, “the infamous Roman Empire is going to be coming to a gloriously bloody, gory end, and we’re trying to see who all want to be a part of our little murderous, traitorous gang.” 

Again, she’s caught off guard, realizing just now he’s clearly referring to more than himself. “Gang?”

Seth tilts his head, pouting as he says almost mysteriously, “we both know your former lover has no shortage of enemies.”

That is dangerously true, but what’s even more dangerous is this suicide mission Seth is proposing.

“How is this supposed to be any different from any other time people have tried to kill Roman?” As much as she would love to see Solana’s life drain from her ugly ass face, Samantha would rather not lose her life in the process. 

Seth is way too excited to answer. “Because this time, the call is coming from inside the house.” Her eyes widen. “With a little….Nightmare help as well.”

There’s so much to process in that one bombshell of a sentence. “Someone in the Bloodline is orchestrating this?” Not to mention whatever role the Nightmare Factory is playing. That’s just salt on an open, gushing wound. 

This type of betrayal is bound to crush Roman.

Samanth smiles. 

Oh, revenge is so so sweet. 

“I’ll join, but on one condition.” Seth’s brow lifts, a sign he’s ready to hear out her caveat. “That I get to stab and kill that bitch Solana myself. I get to be the one to take her from Roman.”

At the vision alone, Seth’s mad smile grows followed by that crazy ass laugh. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.” He claps his hands together, nodding. “You got yourself a deal, curly.”

Samantha nods, pleased with the arrangement. 

Whoever previously took the knife to Roman’s little wife, causing all those ugly ass scars, failed to get the job done. 

Samantha won’t. 

She does have another question, shrugging. “So who all is a part of this shit anyway?”

She’s especially curious about who the traitor is.

Or traitors. 

Of course, it’s just more mental edging with the self-proclaimed visionary. “You’ll get to meet the gang soon enough, but we’ve got one more person to recruit.” Samantha’s curiosity is evident, prompted by Seth casually tossing the flask up and down with a wicked gleam in his empty eyes. “Can’t take down Roman Reigns without inviting his good ole’ pal Brock Lesnar to join in on the fun, now can we?”

[darkcircles4lyfe]

I've given it some thought--

Now, if you've read any of my posts and you've read 430, you know there are a lot of ways it falls short of what I wanted. On the other hand, I can respect an open ending, one where we are allowed and encouraged to dream. All things considered, I'm not satisfied or disappointed, but a secret third thing... bear with me.

For a lot of storylines, I can fill in the blanks how I want.

I'm heartbroken over Himiko's fate, but there's no denying that the lack of camera footage leaves open the possibility of her simply disappearing. Perhaps she is waiting in hiding for the world to change, just like Lady Nagant.

Dr. Yoshida is described as someone who can cure the incurable. That may be referring to Katsuki, but the doctor himself said it's a complete mystery how he survived, all Katsuki's own doing. Maybe he cured someone else in those 8 years... someone like Touya?

Honestly I got nothing on Tenko but who knows. Who knows! Something something OFA connection. Izuku having vestige visions. Idk.

As for the manner in which society is changing, I'm drawn to Shouji's speech: "I'm dedicating the honor to those who joined the uprising eight years ago. All I've done is stand atop the resolve that they demonstrated to the world, nothing more." That at least tells me his earlier judgment of the other heteromorphs "setting them back" was a narrow point of view Shouji was supposed to grow out of, rather than a way of Horikoshi trying to criticize revolutionaries. In general, just because a character says something doesn't mean we're supposed to take it as gospel. That's lit crit 101, people.

Then there's Izuku. Once again I am feeling this pretty close to home. I keep coming back to the fact that the class is 24/25 now and I'm 25, man. On top of that, anyone else who was 14/15 ten years ago when the manga started gets to feel like we've all grown up together. I wanted catharsis for Izuku's trauma so badly. I wanted words. But I can't deny that the way Izuku is shown attempting to make the best of things and be content with a humbler life resonates with me, as painful as it is, as much as I know deep down he's kidding himself. It doesn't surprise me that he kept his walls up all this time and continued to shun his "selfishness."

I almost feel like there's an all-encompassing narrative theme being expressed here, in the fact that Izuku was trying to push past his pain and focus on the next generation, but surprise, his story's not over yet. I think the implied message there is that more can be done in the here and now, and maybe other stories that seem to be over, aren't.

With these things in mind, I can take the ending in stride, even if this is all the more we get from Horikoshi. However. There's one thing that is jolting me out of my peace every time I start to get comfortable here. It's actually related to the storyline that got the most closure.

I've seen a lot of fellow bkdk enjoyers calling their conclusion the best part of the ending, and I agree with that. They got a truly full circle moment, and a way of communicating to the reader that they're together, they have their forever, in a way that is personal to them. It's not "canon" in the way a kiss or a confession is, but I've said it before--this makes sense for them. And Horikoshi also did something legitimately interesting and groundbreaking by not making Ochako confess, not showing her future being tied to the main character as a love interest.

No, the thing that's bugging me is a seemingly small detail: why does Izuku and Katsuki holding hands at the end, of all things, have to be implied? Lots of things about 430 make sense in the context of the interview Horikoshi recently gave where he expressed being content with what he has drawn, and what he has left to the imagination. But not this. You can't convince me he didn't want to draw this. It's a motherfucking story about hands. This is the one thing I was 110% certain would happen. It's been teased for forever. Katsuki clearly wanted it so bad. So many other characters got to hold Izuku's hand in-frame. What the hell. Why.

Idk. I will be thinking about it for the foreseeable future.

[iz-star]

Some thoughts about Zayne in "Adventure above clouds" event:

Like I've explained here, I've been having a bad feeling about Zayne's fate in the next main story updates, and after finishing Zayne's route in "Adventure above clouds" my feelings of uncertainty are just increasing.

So, I'm going to write down some thoughts I had while playing his route, especially about him wearing Dawnbreaker's variant outfit "Shadowfall dawn", which might be a bit interesting for some.

Disclaimer: I would like to pride myself as a Zayne connossieur but that's actually quite far away from reality. I'm a Zayne main and I devour every piece of info that there is about him, however my interpretations and opinions are my own and can be wrong. I'm someone that sometimes tends to overanalyze so, it's up to you if you agree or no with my takes! I'm also always open to be corrected ❤️

Let's get strated with by saying that in this event, Zayne was undoubtedly and utterly perfect. He's honestly all what he's always been: Sweet, patient, cute, smart, funny, gentle, caring and a lot of other things, the only difference here is that he's more prone to show his affections openly and straightforward which only showcases his development as character. It's like he finally feels at ease by expressing himself, especially around MC. When I say he was perfect, I'm not talking at how lovely he was (he's always been lovely anyway) but more like, he's natural, he feels less stiff, totally happy with MC and himself, smiling most part of the time and showing his love even through words, to the point MC says this:

Since Snowy Serenity he's been more direct at expressing his intimate thoughts towards MC. For example, in previous cards he would always refer to her as "someone" and even refer to him in third person: "Someone thinks it's special treatment" [Drunken Intimacy] "He can't ignore you even if he wants to" [Tranquil Heart] "Recently, a certain someone ocupies my mind. Whether I'm walking, eating or sleeping, I keep picturing myself with her" [Heartstring healer] to mention a few.

It's in Snowy Serenity that we have a clear change in his way of expressing his feelings. He starts with "I don't want the person I like to get hurt", in here he's still using the third person but the message is really straightforward "the person I like" and as the conversation goes by and it becomes more meaningful, deep and intimate, he leaves all his chains behind and says "I need you, I have never denied that". This card is all about communication, even he admits that he's always been bad at saying what others want to hear and still, he's trying.

In Hidden Motive, this behaviour keeps going. When MC says that the lights behind him are beautiful, he looks at her and replies "Indeed, very beautiful". Because his eyes are fixating in her, she clarifies that she's talking about the lights but without hesitation Zayne replies: "I know. I was talking about you"

And I'd like you to recall Drunken Intimacy because this is like a paralel with Hidden Motive, since both cards were made for lovers' day festivities; Drunken intimacy for Valentine's Day and Hidden Motive for Qixi festival which is lovers' day in China. Not only they are like cards that go hand in hand but also showcase Zayne's and MC's character develompment and how their relationship has changed:

See the difference?

In Snowy Serenity and Hidden Motive, there's a focus on improving communication, being honest about their needs and feelings (Zayne saying "I'll survive" at MC's concern and her telling him that he'd better stop talking in Snowy Serenity and MC talking about her "last wishes" before dying and entrusting them to Zayne and he replying that he didn't come all the way here to listen to her talk about that nonsense) and finally, getting both physically and emotionally closer.

In this last event, "Adventure above clouds" it feels like the result of this devlopment is finally paying off all their effort: they're both happy working together to solve the escape room, showing open affection, talking about the future and the past ("Us in 50 years" "Our childhood memories" or how was Zayne's university years without MC and the big difference now that he has someone to watch the falling snow with). They talk about how they're each other's sun, how they keep each other warm. When Zayne says that the snow will show them the way and they both "pray" it kind of reminded me of Master of Fate. They getting at the top of the Ice Palace reminded me of Foreseer.

(It's like we've reached peak, literally lol. Ok, bad joke, that's why I love Zayne).

And once all of this has happened, once they've gone through all this develpment, they've come this far together, even bits of the story reminded me of Zayne's myths, and they've talked about the past and the future, what's next?

Zayne mentions eternity.

Zayne has mentioned eternity a couple of times, like in one of the PV's where he's wearing End of Depths outfit ("As the cosmos dances to the tune of eternity, life will reach the fathomless depths of deepspace") and in some of the texts that show up when you level up your affinity with him ("I want to turn every moment into eternity).

In here, he doesn't mention eternity directly, but it's implied when he says "Every snowflake will rememember your name. As well as our story". Eternity is just another way to refer to death for immortal people. It's like Zayne is saying "Your name and our story will endure in the snow even when we're no longer here". We often talk about the memories we leave behind in this world once we part from it, who will remember us? What are the proofs that we existed and lived in this world once we're gone? Will our story fade away? In here is like Zayne is just promising her that their love won't be forgotten.

Let's remind that one focal point in the story is immortality. We know that MC it's immortal and even in the main story, when Zayne it's explaining things about the protocore in MC's heart, he mentions that he doesn't know too much about it, however he knows that her protocore creates a shield around her when she's attacked and that she will live long enough to discover its misteries (kind of reminds of the Creatio Protocore that Foreseer gave MC but that's another talk for another day).

Whether if Dr Zayne knows about MC's immortality or he doesn't, that's something we don't know yet (altho something tells me that he knows, but I won't be explaning this here, if you're curious about it just ask), however we know two things:

1._ Zayne it's against using protocores in human hearts to reach "immortality". To him, death is still essential to life.

2._ Even knowing this, he also knew in his heart that he would do everything in his power to prevent MC's death and he seems to know that something bad is about to happen.

Master of Fate and Foreseer already proved these points. Master of Fate had to kill MC for the greater good but decided to say "fuck it" and instead chose to seal her powers. Foreseer also broke the rules for her sake and gave her the Creatio Protocore, going against Astra's will in order to cure her illness and extend her life (probably one of the things that caused her immortality?). She's always been the exception to every rule in Zayne's book. Something tells me that things with Dr Zayne won't be the exception.

And now... we have to recall something about Zayne's first PV.

Ever since the beginning, Zayne's route was presented as something with angst. It's interesting to hear these unknown voices saying "Won't you regret it" "She will not come back" "You've paid the price"

This whole PV makes it look like Zayne puts MC to sleep in order to protect her (like with MoF) so she wouldn't "come back" ( revive with the help of her aether core) and then... he loses control of his evol and freezes the whole hospital? Dies in the process? These are just speculations and can be wrong, however we simply know that something bad is happening there and, if we recall them talking in "Adventure above the clouds" and "Us in fifty years"... this PV kinda shatters the hopes for them to have a life as long as that. However, 5* memories and events are not exactly connected to the main story but I think they kind of... interconnect somehow? I'm still wondering how the devs are going to relate each ML route with the Main Story. The announced that they are going to release more "Main Story Branches" from September to December, and I don't know if by saying "Branches" they meant routes? Or simply referencing to the way they've released the main story until now, with each chapter dedicated to each LI? Either way, those are questions for another day.

Now, let's remember this:

"When you and the world wake up, I hope we do not meet again"

A quote that kind of leads us to Zayne's next lifetime: Dawnbreaker.

I've mentioned above that there are bits of Zayne's route in Adventure above clouds that reminded me of MoF and Foreseer, but now it's also time to mention the most obvious thing, the Dawnbreaker reference in this event, of course: "Shadowfall dawn":

There are two things about Zayne's look here:

1._ He's wearing the variant version of Dawnbreaker's outfit.

2._ He also has a halo above his head.

And these two things together create an interesting concept considering that Dawnbreaker Zayne, the serial killer is considered the Grim Reaper, his whole aesthetic is dark, it's even clarified in his anecdotes that his wardrobe was full of black clothes. To see him with a brown variant of his outfit wouldn't make sense at some point... So, of course, Doctor Zayne being his opposite, the one who instead of ending lifes, saves them to the point of exahustion, wears the clear variant outfit, looking like an angel.

Were have we read this before?

Of course, Doctor Zayne is in the opposite role of Dawnbreaker Zayne and even tho Doctor Zayne is always wearing black clothes outside of his lab coat, it's actually wearing his profession's clothes what completes the aesthetic with Dawnbreaker: The Guardian Angel (white) and The Grim Reaper (black).

However in Adventure above clouds, Zayne is not wearing his lab coat cause he is not in his Doctor role. He's just being Zayne, he's being himself, what he is. He's being free, like I commented at the beginning of this post. Still, the fact he's wearing Dawnbreaker's variant with a halo seems a bit supicious considering what I've already pointed out, right? It could also be that I'm simply looking too much into it, but I also believe in the power of foreshadowing, especially considering that we all know that Zayne's birthday is coming next and it kind of connects with Dawnbreaker.

In the story of Adventure above clouds, of course there is a reason as to why everyone is wearing an accessory, in Zayne's case, it's because his role is being "Winter's emissary" just as MC, so she is also wearing one, however we all know that "Winter's emissary" it's more likely to be a fitting title for Zayne than for her. Recalling what it's been previously mentioned here, he says "With Winter's Emissary by your side, every snowflake will remember your name, as well as our story".

Zayne is saying that he'll be by her side in the snow, he is promising her eternity in the snow and with the halo above his head, it is clear that he kinda looks like MC's Guardian Angel, the one who is always going against his duty to ensure her safety, the one who pursued a medical career in order to take care of her heart disease, the one who is always on the lookout for her health and tho stric, still indulges her a lot. Aren't angels emissaries as well?

But you know, in order to become an angel, you first have to die? Doctor Zayne didn't have to die in order to fullfil his role as a doctor, however this one is simply Zayne. Emissaries never stay, they always have to return to the ppl who sent them. Will Zayne return to snow?

What was Zayne's reply to MC's post again?

At the end, all of this are nothing more than supositions that of course, it'd be very happy to get wrong. I wouldn't mind ending up looking like a clown if these theories are wrong and we get to spend a lot of time and precious memories with Zayne. I genuinely just want to see him being happy after all these years of respressed emotions.

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

hiii I was wondering if you can do an accidental confession with mitsuya or izana (whoever you choose is totally fine). like we're talking to Draken or someone about our crush on mitsuya or izana and they hear you talking about them and they confess to us after. if not, it's totally ok. have a good day/night<3

Unexpected {Mitsuya Takashi}

A/n: It took me a few days to write this not because I was stalling but because I was actually thinking who the best choice was. Izana would never do something like that as it is very out of character for him so in the end I chose Mitsuya. I hope you like this and thank you for requesting

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x reader

Trigger Warnings: none

If it hadn't been for Yuzuha, you and Mitsuya would have never even met each other. Back at your first year in university, you were sitting at one of the very few benches at the campus, talking with your friends when all of a sudden you felt a light tap on your shoulder. That was Yuzuha and that girl... she was confident as hell.

It didn't take her long to explain how one of her friends had seen you and thought you could be one of his references for his current project at the time. At first, you weren't convinced but all it took was one look at Mitsuya and you knew he wasn't really joking.

From then on, the rest was history. The two of you became friends and etc etc. The only problem was that back at that day, the only reason you had agreed on going along with Yuzuha was because you'd seen Mitsuya around and long story short you were head over heels for him.

It hadn't taken a genius to figure out that most of the days your breaks were at the same time and more often than not, you took the same train home with you getting off a few stops before him.

Hanging out with Mitsuya, naturally meant that you would meet his friends and truth be told... they were the complete opposite from what you had expected. Not in a bad way, of course, but they weren't nearly as calm and collected as he was.

Apart from Draken.

Draken had this certain aura about him and you knew that if you were to share on of your secrets with him, he wouldn't tell a soul. Maybe he would tell Emma but that depended on the severity of the secret.

Your secret, on the other hand, was one that couldn't be shared with anyone except him. If he told Emma she would certainly tell Yuzuha and Hina and then Hina would most likely tell Takemitchy, Takemitchy would freak out and he would tell Chifuyu, Chifuyu would tell Kazutora and Baji but here was the trick! Chifuyu had recently become good friends with Hakkai. Hakkai never kept his mouth closed and surprise surprise... Mitsuya would certainly know. Along with a few other people but that was equal with collateral damage for the girls.

"I got it, I won't tell a soul, relax." Draken leaned against his bike.

"And do you promise you will help?"

"To the best of my abilities. Now, what is it?"

Do you know the rumour that boys are bigger gossip girls than girls themselves? The look on Draken's eyes could easily confirm that. The rest of his face was stone cold yet his eyes... his eyes shone. They were looking at you in an almost hungry way, eager to know the reason why you had asked him to meet outside the group.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your back and stared back at him. "I like Takashi."

"Oh." The way his posture immediately changed was horrifying. While he looked all eager before he now looked... bored. Was he expecting it? Did Mitsuya hae a girlfriend you didn't know of?

"What do you mean 'oh'?"

Draken didn't reply immediately. He looked at you and then straight ahead for a brief moment before allowing his eyes to fall back on you. "Nah... it's fine. Was that all?"

"Yes?" You replied, raising your eyebrow in suspicion. Had you said something wrong?

There were a million questions running in your mind right now and none of them led to a nice outcome.

"I guess you'll solve it amongst yourselves." Draken shrugged and hopped on his bike. "It was a pleasure, as always." He looked at you with a sly smirk before speading off, leaving you all alone.

You let out a sigh, a sigh that when you arranged that meeting you thought would be one of relief but it was far from it. If it had been one of your friends, there was no doubt you would have gotten mad about it but at the end of the day, you didn't know Draken the way you knew your best friend.

"He can be a dick sometimes." A soft voice came from behind you. Fortunately or unfortunately, you knew that voice well enough. "I am a little sorry because technically... I was eavesdropping."

"Technically?" You turned to look at him.

There he was, leaning against his own motorcycle. Mitsuya's smile was apologetic and you knew that Draken had something to do with him not only being here when he shouldn't but with that stupid smile on his face as well.

"Tell me."

"All of them have picked up on us liking each other and when you contacted Draken, he already knew what you wanted to talk about so he asked me to come."

"Liking each other?" You asked, a little confused. Or shocked. You didn't know.

"Yes and I apologise for not telling you sooner because then I wouldn't have to remake the dress I made for the Milano fashion week Hakkai will model for."

"Excuse me?" This time, it was shock. Pure, unmistakable shock.

"You heard me, now can we go over to mine because I need the measurements of your waist." With one swift motion, Mitsuya handed you his spare helmet and waited for you to hop on his bike.

"Don't you already have my measurements?"

"Not those measurements, love."

[azrielwingspan]

THE STRINGS OF FATE (AZRIEL X READER)

A/N: I've wanted to write a series based on a dark , mystery themed vibe for so long and I thought this would be a good way to start it off. I get to write about my favourite characters and transform it into something a bit darker and mystery fuelled. So I'm hoping you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed imagining it.

!! The image below does not belong to the author !!

Genre: Suspense thriller, Romance

Summary : The Prophecy. A band of words that incited terror in people but you had long since learnt that the fear of the unknown strikes deeper.

The prophecy was just the beginning of the end.

Warnings : Mentions of violence

PROLOGUE

"You would be a fool to not involve your cousin, Rhysand." Amren said coldly for the umpteenth time that night. "There is a reason the prophecy refers to the both of you. Don't try to change the course of fate boy. Not even a Lord of the Night can cross the Mother."

"I would be a fool to lead her into the arms of a certain death. If ignoring a prophecy is what must be done to keep her safe, I will do it." Rhys was growing more agitated as the conversation turned south.

"Saving one girl is worth the lives of millions?"

Silence prevailed at Amren's question. The office in the River House enclosed a dark and gloomy atmosphere as if detecting the undertone of the conversation and the issue at hand. The faelights flickered casting deep shadows across the Fae and Illyrians that had gathered in the room.

Hands clenched on the table, Rhysand took in deep breaths appearing to fight an internal battle. He had too much to lose. Too many to fight for. What was the purpose of being the most powerful high lord the world had ever seen if he couldn't keep his own family safe? He was tired of losing people, tired of fighting, tired of wondering if tomorrow would be someone's last.

"I promised her that no harm would come to her as long as I live." He said softly, seeming to speak to himself. "I made sure she was safe from Amarantha, from Hybern and mostly from myself. If it were to become public knowledge that we are related, they will hunt her down. They will torture her, use her and kill her mercilessly."

Amren's eyes softened at the agony in his voice. "The world is a cruel place, Rhysand. We do not have say in the destiny that has been chosen for us. We must simply walk, trudge and crawl along the path."

He let out scornful laugh, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. "It has been especially cruel to us I think."

Feyre's eyes lined with tears at her mate's heartache. She'd known about the things he had done to keep his cousin far away even if it hurt him. To see him unravel now because of a Cauldron damned prophecy was distressing to watch.

"Rhys." Cassian spoke into the silence that had claimed the room yet again. "I promise you, I'll keep her safe. No matter what comes her way."

"So will I." Azriel stepped up, his shadows stirring over his shoulders.

"All of us will." Feyre declared, her hand coming to rest on her mates shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her touch seemed to relax Rhysand immediately, his shoulders drooping underneath her hand.

Placing his head in his hands, Rhysand took in a deep breath, the battle within his mind coming to a conclusion. Feyre's grip tightened lightly, giving him the energy to push through yet another decision that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

"I'll go visit her myself. Explain the situation. The Prophecy. All of it. Whether she comes or not , is upto her." The others nodded in agreement.

"That is the least I can do for her. Give her a choice..... live or die."

A/N : Comment below if you want to be added to the tag list !

[acourtofthought]

“I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether it is decided by the Mother, or the Cauldron, or some sort of tapestry of Fate,

Lucien rolled his shoulders. “Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn’t.

“By the Cauldron,” Lucien said

“Two jokes in one day—a miracle sent from the Cauldron,” he said

“By the Cauldron, are you all right?”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.”

Only when her footsteps vanished did Lucien say, “Mother spare you all.”

And when Elain began praying to the Fae’s foreign gods, to their Mother, Nesta bowed her head, too.

Accepting fate is realizing that the same entity one prays to, one thanks for small miracles, is the same force that mated you to a stranger.

Accepting fate is the awareness that what you thought you wanted wasn't the best thing for you, that unanswered prayers are actually the kindest mercy of all.

Accepting fate is letting go of your tightly held control, realizing that though you may have years upon years to your age, yours will never be a match for the knowledge that the Mother has.

Many times throughout the series Lucien refers to the Mother and Cauldron. We see Elain praying to the Mother to save Feyre's life in SF, what is now her goddess as she's been made fae.

This is the higher power these characters turn to when in need. Religion is not just about asking for what you want and getting it at every turn, it's about trusting in the knowledge that there's someone who guides you, who will help you see why fate has led you to a certain point, who will help you to understand why what you thought you wanted is not actually the best thing for you and why Fate, the Mother, Destiny, knew it all along.

It's normal to lose your way while traveling that path, to experience confusion why this is the hand that you've been dealt when it's nothing you ever expected or asked for. If Lucien got what he thought he'd wanted, Jesminda would still be alive and he'd have walked away from court life.

If Elain got what she wanted she'd been married to Graysen, a human housewife to a man who hunted the fae.

That is not what the Mother wanted for Elain and Lucien though, she wanted something more for the two of them. She wanted Elain to have sunshine every day of her life, she wanted her to have a male who she could travel with, a male who was a match to her in personality but who would still allow her to shine, who did not choose a life of violence in the way her fiance did considering cruelty troubles her.

The Mother wanted Lucien to have a mate in an eternally hopeful female who could help him regain the hope he's lost, she wanted him beside a female with the power to change their world, a power to match his own so they could bring about that change together, an intelligence to match his own, a mate with beauty inside and out to match the beauty in / on the outside of him despite his constant feelings of self doubt and being self conscious over his scar / eye.

The Mother is an ancient deity so a few years of Elain and Lucien not being ready is barely a moment in time but it's not going to be long before they realize the Mother answered the prayers they never knew they had.

@elucienweekofficial

[palepinkgoat]

I was asked by someone in the @shamelessdvdcommentary community to share things "behind the scenes" one of my fics. I just think it's the coolest thing so I decided to participate! I hope you enjoy it. <3

Which Fanfic is your DVD commentary about?

Restoration. It's my most "popular" fic by far!

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

Restoration is a multi chapter fic written in (big gasp!) 2016. It's 14 chapters and took me four months to write. For me that's very fast! But back in that day I was cranking fics out faster. The story is 112,794 words.

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

Well, our air conditioner needed a tune up and we called Bowman HVAC (a real company here, as well as the name I gave the HVAC company in Restoration) and a redheaded technician showed up. The wheels started turning immediately. At the time a lot of houses were being knocked down in the neighborhood (gentrification sucks) so there was a lot of construction happening. I'm sure that helped too.

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

I wrote it from Ian's POV. I had only written in his POV one other time. I fell even more in love with him in the process, and exclusively wrote him for years afterward. I can connect to Ian as a bipolar person, and his bipolar features heavily in the story. It seemed like a great opportunity to explore that.

What was your favourite scene to write?

I loved writing the scene with them in the bar bathroom in chapter 3. The first time they kissed . The whole scene felt very alive to me when I wrote it. I also really loved all the scenes with Ian and Sully - they were very fun to write.

How did you come up with the title?

I heard from a neighbor that there were different ways houses could be built, and if you leave any part of the house intact (the neighbor's front porch was left and they built out from that) you can categorize it as a restoration. I liked that. I also really liked the image of rebuilding things metaphorically.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

I'm not sure if this counts but I worked really hard on the construction elements and making them metaphorical to the chapters at the same time!

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

I don't really remember but I know that a lot of it just flew out of me. I don't remember struggling with any of it, surprisingly!

Favourite line in the story?

I'll pick the end of chapter 4, which includes a scene a lot of readers like. It's the "teaching" scene, wink wink. The last line is "He leans forward and meets Ian's mouth, opening wide and tasting him, them, this."

Did the storyline change in any way as you wrote the story?

I initially thought it would be a lot shorter, but I realized it needed breathing room and a longer timeline. I'm glad I followed that instinct.

If you are writing a particular trope or genre, was it your first time writing this?

I don't think it fits securely in a trope? I'm always a little confused about those.

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc)

I'm proud of the bipolar elements to this story, and some of the dialogue. I feel like the dialogue in this was the easiest I've ever written. It was just really nice to write.

Are there any deleted scenes that didn’t make it to the final story?

In the era when I was writing it Amanda was very much in the picture on the show, and I thought her personality would really fit to be one of Ian's "helpers." But I never really got into any scenes with featuring both Lip and Amanda being with Ian at the same time.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

A lot of Ian's med stories and his notebook he keeps for processing episodes and health in general were mine, as well as most of the scenes with the doctor. The office is modeled after that doctor's office and everything. Honestly that doctor and the office were pretty terrible in real life, but I made her better than my doctor was. Now I have a fantastic doctor!

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

I actually did not re-read it for YEARS and re-read it in its entirety for perhaps the first time ever a year or so ago. It probably sounds really vain but I was surprised how cohesive it was and how much I liked it. I'm really proud of it and so glad people like it as much as they do. I don't think I'd change anything really.

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

I have been asked, but I don't think I could do it! Like I literally think I couldn't write it in the same tone now that it's been so long.

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc?

As far as easter eggs from story to story, I didn't add any of those things to Restoration. I did however reference the Restoration building and street in my recent fic Paragraphs! Another thing to know about me is most of the names I chose for original characters are real names of people I know. For example the developer of the property, Kowalski, is named after one of my besties. Do these people even know I write fanfic? Not really. So it's just for my own amusement. :)

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

I'm amazed at its staying power. I can't believe people are still recommending it and re-reading it. It makes me feel so loved.

Were you nervous or excited to post this story?

Back in that day I didn't feel very nervous. After I wrote this story I felt more nervous because people loved the fic so much and I felt like it was a lot to live up to!

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

I did not! Solo act, baby. I have used a beta on Paragraphs and The Ink is a Witness to This though and I think it helps tremendously. Fun fact: it makes me more nervous to share with one person than it does to share with the world which is funny to me.

Ask your followers to pick a snippet (no more than 500 words) and share your thoughts about it.

"Ian nods. Fuck it. He slides off his bed and settles on the floor between Mickey’s legs. “You want to feel it again?” Ha! This is a big reader favorite in this story (and referenced above) and even made into art. I didn't even mean to make it hot. I thought it was just a little scene, no big deal. The response was fun. The gist is Mickey is saying he doesn't know how to give an, uh, below the belt job and Ian kind of "teaches" him by talking him through what he's doing. Thanks to @wehangout for giving me this moment to work with!

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story?

I cherish every single reader and all the comments and kudos over the years. Writing this fic completely changed my life. I'm serious. So anyone who likes it or talks about it feeds in to that beautiful change and I'm just so, so grateful. I loved writing it.

[babyrdie]

random question but i recently saw some yuri patrochilles…in your opinion what would the genderbend version of them be like?

- 🍓 yes i stole the idea from 🍇 anon

I won't criticize you for stealing the idea from grape anon lol feel free to identify yourself while remaining anon I guess! Also, sorry for taking so long (one week!!) to respond! In my defense, I was dealing with issues that really involved recovering physically, so I thought it would be best to distance myself from social media. You see, in theory I’m STILL distancing myself from the networks, but that is because I’m focusing on other things in life. But well! Now I can respond. To the others who sent me asks and I didn't respond, IT WILL TAKE A LONG TIME! Especially those who asked me questions that involve long explanations.

First of all, some details:

I'm assuming you're referring to the Myth Patrochilles because that's what I assume when someone doesn't specify.

I'm not going to genderbend everyone. I'm going to genderbend the Patrochilles because you asked for it.

When it comes to genderbends, I like to think about how gender affects the character's life, and so maybe this genderbend isn't exactly what you'd want.

Names

I'm going to give names to the genderbend versions because it's easier than saying, for example, female Patroclus. So here we have:

I'll call Achilles Pyrrha because that's his fake female name in Skyros. I had heard that the feminine name for Achilles is Achilleia, but I'll keep Pyrrha;

I'm going to call Patroclus Cleopatra because it's the feminine form of Patroclus and even has the same meaning. Yes, Patroclus and Cleopatra are theoretically the same name. And yes, Phoenix did indeed tell Patroclus the story of a woman in his position and with the same name begging an angry hero to return to war. And yes, Patroclus did indeed repeat Cleopatra;

The other characters keep the same names, as their genders have not been changed.

Appearence

I have an opinion that seems to be unpopular (at least, judging by the fanarts) when it comes to the appearance of genderbend Patrochilles, because I don't think Pyrrha would be extremely feminine. My reasoning: if the male version of Achilles is androgynous, then naturally the female version of him is also androgynous! If a Patrochilles man has Achilles being the one with the most considered feminine appearance, then Patrochilles woman has Pyrrha with the most considered masculine appearance. On the other hand, if Patroclus is typically masculine when it comes to physical appearance, then Cleopatra is physically typically feminine. This, of course, speaking in terms of physical appearance and not the association of certain personality traits with gender roles.

As a result, I imagine Pyrrha as a woman with shoulder-length hair AT MOST, as was more typical for men. On the other hand, Cleopatra has waist-length hair, as was typical for women. Pyrrha also has fewer curves and smaller eyelashes compared to Cleopatra. My Pyrrha's jaw is still well-defined, because my Achilles got that jaw from... Thetis! Who, mind you, is a woman! So, well, I've already drawn women with defined jaws before, I don't need to change Achilles as Pyrrha. And my Thetis is also drawn with few curves and my Achilles' body is based on hers (in terms of shoulder-to-waist proportion. Yes, my Thetis has relatively broad shoulders, I just didn't have the chance to draw it in a way that makes it noticeable), so once again it makes sense that this would be Pyrrha's body type.

I also think Pyrrha would like to wear short tunics (Myceneaen tunics, I mean), while Cleopatra would prefer dresses. I'll keep the height of both. Not only do tall women exist, but Pyrrha is a demigoddess, so she could have simply taken after Thetis (like my Achilles is actually tall because of Thetis). I made Patroclus the same height as Achilles because of the armor, but I'll keep the height the same here because I don't like Patrochilles with height differences (sorry, guys). So yeah, two tall women (1,90).

Prophecy

Realistically speaking, I don't think Pyrrha would be the "child of the prophecy", because, at least from what I understand, the prophecy about Thetis referred not to a child, but to a son. Like, it only works with Achilles, it wouldn't work with Pyrrha. At least, that's how it seems in the translations I've read, I don’t know if it has the same meaning in Greek. Some examples:

Io What! Shall Zeus one day be hurled from his dominion? Prometheus You would rejoice, I think, to see that happen. Io Why not, since it is at the hand of Zeus that I suffer? Prometheus Then you may assure yourself that these things are true. Io By whom shall he be despoiled of the sceptre of his sovereignty? Prometheus By himself and his own empty-headed purposes. Io In what way? Oh tell me, if there be no harm in telling. Prometheus He shall make a marriage that shall one day cause him distress. Io With a divinity or with a mortal? If it may be told, speak out. Prometheus Why ask with whom? I may not speak of this. Io Is it by his consort that he shall be dethroned? Prometheus Yes, since she shall bear a son mightier than his father.

Prometheus Bound, 757-768. Translation by Herbert Weir Smyth.

[...] when Zeus and splendid Poseidon contended for marriage with Thetis, each of them wanting her to be his lovely bride; for desire possessed them. But the immortal minds of the gods did not accomplish that marriage for them, when they heard the divine prophecies. Wise Themis spoke in their midst and said that it was fated that the sea-goddess should bear a princely son, stronger than his father, who would wield another weapon in his hand more powerful than the thunderbolt or the irresistible trident, if she lay with Zeus or one of his brothers. [...]

Ishtmian Ode 8. Translation by Diane Arnson Svarlien.

Afterwards he married Thetis, daughter of Nereus, for whose hand Zeus and Poseidon had been rivals; but when Themis prophesied that the son born of Thetis would be mightier than his father, they withdrew. But some say that when Zeus was bent on gratifying his passion for her, Prometheus declared that the son borne to him by her would be lord of heaven [...]

Library, 3.13.5. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

[Hera's line] "[...] Themis declared to him the whole truth, how that it was thy fate to bear a son mightier than his sire; [...]"

Argonautica, Book 4. Translation by R.C. Seaton.

Therefore, if Achilles were a woman, then she wouldn’t be the son described in the prophecy. Not being the son described in the prophecy, she wouldn’t be destined to be great. Pyrrha, therefore, wouldn’t need to hide, since the Greeks wouldn’t come after her motivated by the prophecy. She also wouldn’t need to choose between Troy and Phthia, since she wouldn’t really be destined to die for glory.

But if Pyrrha isn’t the child, who is? Well, there is a chance that Thetis had another child and that this one was the child of the prophecy, which would perhaps make Pyrrha somewhat neglected (because Thetis would be focused on protecting the son destined to die young). Some traditions indicate that Thetis had other children besides Achilles, but accidentally killed them while trying to immortalize them (I think the earliest record of this is Hesiod), so it's not so fanciful that she had another child. However, I won't consider this idea. Reason: it implies the idea of ​​Thetis possibly being abused again and again and I really don't want to pursue that idea. So the prophecy didn't follow through because Thetis had Pyrrha and tried to immortalize her out of fear of having a mortal daughter, but Peleus accidentally interrupted her and this angered her to the point where she abandoned Phthia and returned to the sea (this version actually happens in the myth, as shown in Book 4 of Argonautica). With Thetis living in the sea, no more children. That's it. The child of the prophecy never existed. There is a version of the myth of when Athena was born that includes Zeus swallowing Metis precisely so that she would not give birth to a son after a daughter, as Gaia had prophesied that the son would surpass him (e.g. in Library 1.3.6). No children were born afterward and the prophecy was averted, so I guess it's a possibility.

Theoretically, Achilles doesn't need to exist for the Greeks to win. Like, yes, he was certainly very important and did a considerable amount of the work, but the prophecy didn't say that Troy would never fall if Achilles didn't agree to participate. One of the prophecies simply said that Achilles would be very strong, while the other said that he would either have glory but an early death in Troy or live a long but obscure life in Phthia. There's no such thing as "if you don't go after Achilles, you'll never conquer Troy”, it's just that it was known that he was very strong, and logically it was concluded that having him in the army was an advantage. So I don't think that the prophesied son not going to Troy necessarily changes the result, although it certainly changes the process. Of course, Pyrrha could still choose to go to Troy. After all, the Amazons helped the Trojans! However, I genuinely don't think she would. I don't imagine Cleopatra being a warrior (I'll explain why), so Pyrrha couldn't take her along and I can't imagine her being willing to abandon Cleopatra in Phthia.

Pre-relationship

I still imagine that Pyrrha would be raised by Chiron. But not by Peleus's wish (as stated in Iphigenia in Aulis), but by Thetis's wish. I still imagine Thetis wanting to keep her daughter alive, even if the daughter isn’t tragically prophesied because... her daughter is still mortal! And while Thetis's logical way of keeping her son alive was to keep him away from the war by hiding him among girls, Thetis's logic in keeping her daughter alive is to ensure that she knows how to defend herself. Basically, if she made her son weave (a typically female activity), then she made her daughter fight (a typically male activity). Therefore, I still imagine that Pyrrha would be an excellent fighter, she just wouldn't be the great child prophesied. It's not like she needed to have a prophecy to be strong, just look at Penthesilea. Penthesilea, by the way, was the one who really put the Greek men to flight in Posthomerica and was only killed by Achilles, who we know was the strongest of them. Before him, no one was able to face her on equal terms. So yes, while I think Pyrrha not being prophesied prevents her from automatically being the strongest of them all, I don't think it would prevent her from being one of the strongest at the very least. This also fits with my idea of ​​Pyrrha being androgynous.

And if Patroclus were a woman, she wouldn't be Helen's suitor, so she wouldn't be forced to go to Troy because of the Oath of Tyndareus. HOWEVER, her killing Clysonimus would be an even more... well, an even more alarming situation. Don't get me wrong, Patroclus killing Clysonimus was already a crime and certainly had a touch of drama in it, but a girl doing it? Well, it's really something. Just think about how, although both Clytemnestra and Aegisthus are reproved for their actions, Aeschylus reinforces how Clytemnestra is "manly" for being the one who carried out the violence while Aegisthus is "effeminate" for being the one who obtained benefits from the violence without actually carrying it out (more specifically, he obtained these benefits through his erotic abilities, which only reinforces this idea). In Lycophron's Alexandra, one of the ways to discredit Achilles is to paint him as effeminate (and therefore not an ideal man), which includes having him willingly pretend to be a girl because he was afraid and consequently fled from the violence (instead of making Thetis the one who was afraid, as is usual). In Epithalamium of Achilles and Deidameia, attributed to Bion of Smyrna, Achilles is presented in a hyperfeminine manner, although here not in a negative sense but in a positive one. And one of the ways to do that is to make him interested in eroticism rather than the glory of war, which includes the idea of ​​violence. So yes, violence was considered a primarily male trait. Cleopatra doing that has a different impact than Patroclus doing that, although neither case is positive. While in The Iliad Patroclus is known for being gentle (one of his epithets is actually gentle), I think Cleopatra would end up being remembered for the idea of ​​being a girl who not only committed violence but committed violence early and towards a boy. That’s not to say she wouldn’t be gentle, just that she wouldn’t be as well known for it as Patroclus is. Because Patroclus's gentleness set him apart from male warrior characters in the same way that Cleopatra's violence (even accidental) sets her apart from ideally non-violent female characters.

By the way...this may be a shocking idea, but I don't think Cleopatra would be the fighting type. Yes, Patroclus is an excellent warrior, but that's because...well, he received a masculine education in Opus and was a therapon to the guy destined to be a great warrior in Phthia. Cleopatra has no reason to be trained in Opus (unlike Pyrrha, who has Thetis) and she also has no real motivation to train in Phthia, since I think she would be a lady-in-waiting and not a therapon. She wasn't raised among the Amazons and she's not a hunter either, after all. However, of course, I think she would still have a strong personality and would be able to deal with Pyrrha's volatile temper and still be wise. It's an essential part of the Patrochilles dynamic that Achilles honors Patroclus as an equal, after all. It has to be the same with Pyrrha and Cleopatra! Furthermore, I think that, more than ever, Cleopatra would have to be particularly intelligent and wise since that would really be her main skill. It's not like a woman being intelligent and/or wise doesn't arouse similar admiration as a man being a good warrior, just look at Penelope, Hecuba, Arete and even female deities like Persephone. Cleopatra is still admirable.

Relationship

Eventually Patroclus is sent to Phthia and here I imagine that more than ever Menoetius was motivated by the fact that he is related to Peleus (I'm going by the version from the Olympian Ode where Menoetius is the son of Aegina, who is Peleus' grandmother). Something like "hey, I know my daughter did some horrible shit, but take care of her! Please? I don't know what would happen if I kept her in Opus" and Peleus is like "okay, man!". Naturally, Pyrrha would also return to Phthia and meet Cleopatra and they would become close. But Cleopatra wouldn’t be a therapon/squire, but one of those trusted lady-in-waiting that princesses and queens usually have.

In Phthia, I imagine Cleopatra would be concerned about her reputation. While Patroclus clearly cares about the consequences of rash actions, Cleopatra worries about the idea of ​​remaining known for the accident with Clysonimus. As said, it's bad enough for Patroclus, but it would be even worse for Cleopatra. Because of this, she would probably try to be an exemplary person in order to overshadow the rumors. The kind of girl seen as ideal: sweet, modest, skillful, hard-working, delicate. And just as Peleus saw Patroclus as an advisor to Achilles, Peleus would see Cleopatra as a way to balance out the way Pyrrha clearly doesn't fit the social mold of femininity. Something like "I gave you a home in Phthia. In return, influence my daughter positively," and so Cleopatra as a lady-in-waiting would be Peleus' choice. It worked in the sense that Pyrrha would no longer be so impulsive, but it didn't work in the sense that it changed who Pyrrha is. Peleus simply learned to accept reality. He still loves his daughter.

As a lady-in-waiting, Cleopatra would have to accompany Pyrrha in her daily activities. She would take advantage of these times to receive the same high-quality education as Pyrrha in things like dancing, weaving, housekeeping (including finances), how to organize events, necessary social skills (e.g. about other kingdoms)... basically, a typical education for a high-class woman. And she would do well in these activities, as she would be putting in immense effort to ensure that Peleus would not regret his decision to help her. She would also have to accompany Pyrrha when she went hunting or training, but she wouldn’t practice together. I imagine that, having become extremely negatively known because of the incident with Clysonimus, Cleopatra would have a tendency to have an aversion to forms of violence. She doesn't mind that Pyrrha enjoys these things, but she isn’t interested in practicing them herself. At most, she would polish the spears for Pyrrha and make sure all the arrows were in the quiver, things like that. Despite not practicing, she would still have some knowledge of hunting and fighting from watching Pyrrha and having her enthusiastically explain things to Cleopatra. Just like in The Iliad, I still think Pyrrha would have taught Cleopatra what she learned about healing from Chiron just as Achilles taught Patroclus.

I think that, like Achilles, Pyrrha would still care a lot about being honest and therefore wouldn't be the type to use clever tricks. Not that she would be dumb, I think she would be as well educated as Achilles is (because no, Achilles isn’t dumb as much as some people think so), she just wouldn't play mind games because Achilles doesn't either. On the other hand, Cleopatra... oh, I think she would be a bit cunning, yes. Her weapon is her intelligence, that's all she has. She doesn't have the option to fight like Patroclus, as already said. So yeah, I think Cleopatra would quickly become very good at dealing with social situations through the knowledge she has because of her education and through calculated behavior.

I also think their romance would have to be more discreet. While romances between men weren't really 100% approved of, they were certainly much more tolerated than romances between women. But considering how little it was expected for women to be interested in women, I don't think it would be hard for them to keep a low profile. Like, yes, they’re close, but that's because they’re friends! You know how women always have secrets together! Stuff like that.

I had other ideas, but they involve Deidamia (who I imagine to be man here) and Neoptolemus/Phyrrus (unlike Achilles, he is literally essential to the destruction of Troy. There's a prophecy about it. He has to exist), but since you asked specifically about Patrochilles I imagine that wouldn't be of interest to you! Anyway, remember that this is all obviously just headcanon and you don't have to think the same way!

[randomfoggytiger]

Revival Mulder Was Diagnosed with the Wrong Depression

In My Struggle I, Sveta reveals Scully diagnosed Mulder with "endogneous depression", which is a type of major depressive disorder (MDD, also known as clinical depression.) However, the clues provided in canon don't quite add up.

According to healthline: "Endogenous depression occurs without the presence of stress or trauma. In other words, it has no apparent outside cause. Instead, it may be primarily caused by genetic and biological factors. This is why endogenous depression might also be referred to as “biologically based” depression." And verywellmind explains: "People with endogenous depression often feel that their symptoms occur “for no reason”—at least in the sense that there is no apparent external cause.... For example, a person with a family history of mental illness may be more likely to develop depression."

From the get-go, those descriptions don't fit Mulder; but they make less sense when compared to exogenous depression.

Again, according to healthline: "Exogenous depression happens after a stressful or traumatic event takes place. This type of depression is more commonly called “reactive” depression." And verywellmind further clarifies: "Exogenous (or reactive) depression is triggered by an outside stressor such as the loss of a loved one, getting divorced, or losing your job. People who experience or witness a traumatic event may develop depression as a direct result of that exposure."

(Although current thought lumps both "types" of depression together by their similarities rather than their differences, the show went out of its way to highlight which depression it picked. It chose... poorly.)

The cherry on top? Scully didn't have the expertise to diagnose her partner with endogenous depression, regardless. healthline: "To be diagnosed with MDD, you must meet certain criteria listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). This manual is often used by mental health professionals to diagnose mental health conditions." And verywellmind: "Your primary care doctor may evaluate you for depression in the office, but they might also want you to see someone who specializes in diagnosing and treating mental illness, such as a psychiatrist." (Even though Scully also "diagnosed" a side character's mental state in Founder's Mutation, the fact that she was unqualified to do so in either circumstance remains.)

Lastly, verywellmind gives us a clinching little tidbit: "Another difference is that people with exogenous depression don't always have the physical symptoms of depression, like having trouble sleeping or change in appetite, which is common in other forms of the condition." (Which would fit Mulder's seeming "normality" during the early Revival episodes. Mulder already had odd habits to begin with, anyway-- it would be easy to tuck away his symptoms from casual observers.)

So, we're told that Fox Mulder-- a man who only canonically displayed depressive symptoms after a traumatic event; and who had, apparently, no recollection whatsoever of a predisposition towards depression before Samantha's abduction-- collapsed inwardly due to... biological or genetic factors? Rather than collapsing because of, I don't know, the countless losses and failures he suffered through the years (which would be in-line with his pre-established trauma response?)

Sigh.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[owlhousetarot]

How do you keep it all running? You've inspired me to make my own deck based on a show I love, but how do you find these moments? Do you go in and analyze scenes from the show? Do they come to you in random thought? I just don't feel as organized or like it's coming together, so what's your process cause I get the feeling it would help me greatly.

OHHHHHH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ABOUT MY PROCESS ASSIGNING CARDS!!

First of all, that's so cool I've inspired you to make your own fandom deck! It's a really fun way to develop your artistic abilities and to analyze a piece of media, and I was definitely inspired by fandom decks that I've seen made by other people. Now for my ramble:

My process for assigning designs to all the cards took quite some time, and a great deal of thought. The first real "step" was to watch the show through like five times beforehand, which was easy because I had already done that by the time I decided to start this deck! It's important to have a good understanding of the characters, overall plot, and themes of the show to make sure your choices fit. It's also really helpful to take in analysis of these things from the fandom and not just yourself, because a lot of the time people will have identified themes or analyzed characters to a deeper extent or in ways you never would have thought to!

The next part of the process was learning the meanings of all the cards in a tarot deck. I was actually almost completely unfamiliar with tarot before starting this project, so this was a real from-the-ground-up scenario. The two websites I mainly refer to are Labyrinthos and Biddy Tarot, which both are based on the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot tradition--I didn't even know there were other types of decks before! Going through both of those websites, my first round of card assignments was based purely on my memory of the show, seeing what came to mind, if anything. There were a LOT of blank spots in my list at this point, especially in the minor arcana sections, and also a lot of initial choices that I would later change my mind about. Lots of ideas with question marks after them, and lots of cards that I listed multiple options for.

From there, it was a largely iterative process. I went back and forth watching the show and looking at the card definitions, building up my list over time, revising choices and adding ones where before I couldn't think of anything. Another resource that was really helpful at this stage was watching deck reviews/walkthroughs/deep dives on youtube. I'd especially like to shoutout Lisa Papez for her really thorough deep dives and for her Tarot for Beginners series--they gave me a much better understanding of the tarot, and a better sense of how and why to properly assign a character or scene to certain cards.

After a while, I had my list more or less complete, with at least one idea for each card. At this point I had already begun illustrating the major arcana, as those were the easiest to assign. Luckily for me, The Owl House really lends itself well to the tarot--The Fool, for example, was a no-brainer (as you might be able to tell from other TOH decks that exist out there). Now that I had a general game plan, I wanted to fine-tune my choices by taking into mind character balance and episode balance.

For character balance, I wanted to make sure that the amount of times a given character would be either the main focus or part of the focus of a given card would correlate to the size of their role in the show. Luz, of course, is the main character and features in every episode, so she is in nearly half the deck. Eda, King, Hunter, and the Hexsquad are also up there, with the rest of the cast trailing off from there. If I thought a certain character was either over- or under-represented, I would switch up certain cards or choose one option over another if I was considering multiple designs for a card. I was especially mindful that all the major characters would feature at least once in the major arcana, which led me to assigning the Chariot to Amity and Willow as a duo, and the Hanged Man to King. (The Chariot, if I may note, was one of the more difficult ones to assign in the majors. Not sure why, just not too many obvious choices came to me!)

Episode balance was a little trickier to nail down, as some episodes just have more significant moments than others do. Premiers and finales ended up with more cards than usual, as did the three season 3 specials. I tried to find at least one significant scene or character from each episode, but in the end there are four episodes that don't feature at all in this deck: Once Upon a Swap, Something Ventured Someone Framed, Really Small Problems, and Follies at the Coven Day Parade. Those are the decisions that come with the territory, though--I would rather have my card designs fit the definitions than potentially sacrificing a better choice for the sake of a less significant episode! In the end, I'm happy with the choices I've made, and I can't wait to get to all of them!

TLDR This is my general advice for designing your own fandom deck:

Familiarize yourself with the text. Analyze characters, plot points, and themes. Take inspiration from fandom analysis.

Familiarize yourself with the tarot. Consult multiple sources, and feel free to stretch the card definitions a bit if it makes sense to you (lookin' at you, two and three of wands).

Do a first pass-through from memory of the show, assigning designs as you go through the card definitions. Include multiple possibilities for those you're unsure about, or leave them blank for now.

Do a close-reading style watchthrough of the show, going through your unsure/blank cards after each episode to see if anything fits. If something better comes up for a card you were pretty sure about, add it as a possibility, or see if it could fit another card if you spin it a different way. Repeat this process until you've got a pretty full list.

Continue revising your list, keeping in mind character and episode balance. Are you under-representing your major characters? Over-representing more minor characters? Are you hitting most of the important scenes from the show/book/etc? Keeping these in mind will result in a well-rounded deck!

My final bit of advice: have fun with it! You can do whatever you want forever! There's a side character you're really fond of who appears more often than they should? Who cares! That one cool scene doesn't really fit any of the card definitions? Leave it out or make shit up! Maybe the design you choose really only fits the card's reversed definition and not the upright--that's perfectly fine! Assign that female character to one of the "male" court cards or vice versa! The tarot is not rigid; definitions are malleable and people's general understanding of the decks have shifted greatly over time. Every deck will have slightly different takes on what each of the cards mean, and yours will too. So go with what feels right!

[thatone-pancake]

HELLOO THERE!! I WOULD LOVE TO ASK MORE ABOUT YOU FACTION SWAP AU BUT. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO START ON. MAYBE WHICH FACTION WAS SWAPPED WITH WHICH?? LOST TEMPLE WAS SWAPPED WITH BLACKROCK BUT WHAT OF THE OTHERS?? IS THIS JUST A FACTION SWAP OR IS THERE ALSO A ROLESWAP/PERSONALITY SWAP GOING ON?? WHY DOES SWORD HAVE A CRYSTAL??? How is, biograft in this au, how is banhammer in this AU since his faction is neutral and so of the NPCs in the game

HII I LOVE ANSWERING QUESTIONS TY FOR ASKING !! i love yapping about my au's

1, image was made by a friend and it's what i've been using as a ref ever since lol

2, this is mostly just a faction swap au. other than that, the biggest lore changes i've done so far is change some jobs certain characters have and vinestaff's curse. no personality changes though !!

3, sword has a crystal because i felt like it was a better alternative to his mohawk. when i was only just making a few concepts on paper for this au, i did research a lot about each faction's attires and other things too that relate the each faction respectively. only 2 characters have crystals in the canon universe, and both of those are from blackrock so i assumed that it'd be fun to give sword one :3

i have thought of abilities the crystal could go him and so far my only two ideas have to do with speed. 1st idea is just a speed boost to himself and the 2nd is that he slows down others, lets say when he hits someone with his m2

3, i have drawn betagraft!! i posted the design on my pinterest. i will do zetagraft too sometime.

^^ this was old concept art. zetagrafts will no longer be based off oak trees, but aspen trees instead. if you've seen my subspace design, you'd know that he makes biografts out of wood :)

banhammer as well as other factionless characters won't be getting a design since they don't have a faction. disappointing maybe, yeah, but it's what makes the most sense

4, atm i'm only thinking of drawing a design for playable phighters. if i feel like dresigning npcs after that, then i will certainly let you guys know :3

actually, i have drawn designs for grav and warp at some point but that's pretty much it (they'd be in thieves' den)

these are like... HUGE touhou references lmao. i remember sending grav in bogcom and then like half an hour after sending it i realised that i called her warp instead of grav you don't know the PANIC i felt at that moment

warp's horns are so hard to draw :(