#SECOND in attempting to remove the OLD door knobs I stay up WAY too late on a Saturday night when I have to be up early the next day

[the-busy-ghost]

Dear god I should not be allowed to own a screwdriver let alone a house

[charincharge]

"For some reason I am attracted to you" prompt for nessian 😍💞Your writing is amazing

In honor of their book announcement. Some Post-ACOFAS Illyrian mountains angsty Nessian.

Nesta hated the mountains. She hated the cold winds that burnt her cheeks while she trained. She hated the way the altitude made the air thin in her lungs, making it impossibly harder to breathe. It made her feel like she was always on the verge of drowning, putting her perpetually on edge.

She hated the thick fatty meats stockpiled in her kitchen; apparently the mountains couldn’t grow vegetables. She longed for a salad. But instead, she forced herself to eat the too rich meat broth, unable to chew through animal flesh without gagging on it.

She hated that she was being shadowed by an overprotective fae male, constantly under his winged surveillance. Even when she couldn’t see him, she could always feel him. Creeping in the corners of her consciousness, tugging on that thing between them. She hated that thing most of all.

But there was one thing that wasn’t too terrible. Since arriving in Illyria with Cassian nearly four months ago, she’d made a friend. Emerie ran a small outdoor post on the outskirts of the camps, and it turned out she was just as unpopular as Nesta was – a woman attempting to infringe upon a man’s realm. Nesta thought it was brave that Emerie was able to maintain her father’s shop, despite the camps’ disdain for a female owner.

Nesta wrapped her scarf around her face tighter, attempting to block out the howling winter winds, as she made her weekly walk into town for tea with her only friend. Her worn in boots trudged across the frost laden path as the sky darkened with the threat of an incoming storm. She could feel wetness seep in through the cracks in the old leather, and she walked faster.

Heat prickled against Nesta’s thawing skin as she entered the store. She shed her jacket and scarf, hanging it on the tall coat rack by the door. A fire blazed in the corner of the room, and Nesta hurried toward it to splay her cold hands over it, letting the warmth of the flames lick her frozen fingers.

She heard a tea kettle ringing in the back room and made her way across the floor to assist Emerie with her preparations. Nesta pushed the heavy wooden door, and it creaked loudly. She was startled to see that Emerie was not boiling water alone. Cassian stood beside her at the stove, a relaxed smile across his face. His normally pulled back hair was loose around his reddened cheeks, brushing against the tops of his shoulders. His casual stance was so unfamiliar to Nesta she had to bite her tongue to stop from gasping. He was so tense around her – shoulders taut and corded muscles ready to strike out and attack. And watching him tip his head back and laugh at something Emerie had said, Nesta realized she’d never seen him relaxed.

An icy ripple curled around Nesta’s neck, cold fury choking her at the domestic scene before her. The doorknob beneath her hand grew frigid beneath her touch, turning brittle, and splintered to the ground with a loud thunk. She pulled her hand away quickly, the icy feeling disappearing as quickly as it came on.

The pair whipped toward the door in surprise, and she noted Cassian’s posture straighten uncomfortably as he caught sight of her. She gave him a tight smile, which he returned with a terse nod.

“I’ll fix that,” Nesta apologized, reaching down to grab the piece of metal from the floor. It burned her skin, and she dropped it again. This time, the knob shattered into shards and scattered across the old wooden floors.

Cassian’s hazel eyes narrowed and swept her body from head to toe. Nesta’s heart pounded, unsure of what was happening. She hated being out of control. Not knowing what her body could do.

Emerie removed the still shrieking kettle from the burner and grabbed her broom, dusting the pieces of metal into a small pile in the corner of the room, while Nesta looked on, frozen in shock.

“Nes?” She hadn’t even noticed Cassian had crossed the room to where she stood, suddenly only inches away from her. Infringing upon her space. Her routine. Her ritual. He didn’t belong here.

“What are you doing here?” Nesta hissed, her pulse thrumming wildly as she stared Cassian down.

He picked up a box from the table behind him and held it out to her. “Thought I’d pick up some new boots for you.” He looked down at her holey boots, which had seen much better days. Nesta crossed her foot behind her ankle, trying to hide it from his view.

“I don’t need your charity,” she said, crossing her arms and refusing to take the box from his hands.

Emerie, sensing an incoming argument between her friend and the Commander, smartly poured two mugs of tea and extracted herself from the small back room, heading back out to the store.  

Cassian sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pushing the strands out of his face. “This isn’t charity, sweetheart,” he explained to her, his voice dripping with condescension. “Winter’s just starting, and I need my soldiers with all their toes.”

“Fine,” Nesta acquiesced, taking the box. “You can leave now.”

“Don’t you think we should talk about—” Cassian motioned to the hole in the door, and Nesta practically growled at him.

“No.” She was resolute.

“You’ve only lost control like that before when you’re angry at me,” Cassian said, his voice lowered, unsure of how much Emerie knew about Nesta’s abilities. He lifted his arm and boxed Nesta against the door, trapping her. “If something else is triggering it, I need to know.”

“I’m always angry,” Nesta seethed. His face was much too close to hers now. She could see the shades of green and gold flecked in his hazel eyes, drawing her in. She looked away, under his arm, straight at the stove where he was standing when she walked in.

“Tell me,” he pushed.

Nesta pressed her hand against his chest, trying to get some air. “You. It’s always you.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Not sure how I’m to blame for making you angry this time, sweetheart. I was just standing over there, minding my own business, helping Emerie make tea…”

Nesta’s fingers tensed against his leathers, curling against the ring of his harness. And she watched in horror as Cassian’s lips curled into a devious smile. He looked over his shoulder and then back at Nesta, who was still rigid below him.

“Were you…” He paused, cocking his head to the side slightly for emphasis. “Jealous?”

Nesta rolled her eyes and pushed against his chest again, but he remained solid, immoveable. “Of course not,” she snipped. “That’s ridiculous.”

Cassian snorted, leaning closer to her. She gulped, hating the tug she felt deep in her stomach, telling her to let him in, to embrace him, to show herself to him.

“No, ridiculous is burning off a doorknob with your ice cube hands,” he snickered and lowered his other hand to her waist.

“Don’t touch me,” she gritted out between her teeth, but she made no motion to leave.

“Just admit you were jealous, and I’ll leave,” Cassian said, eyes alight with amusement.

Nesta’s stomach twisted as she looked up at him. He waited patiently for her reply.

“Fine,” Nesta began. “For some reason, I’m attracted to you.”

“For some reason…?” Cassian stood up straight, shaking his head, no longer leaning over her, and Nesta took a large gulp of air. “Cauldron, Nesta, you’re infuriating. You know the reason.”

He took another step back and leaned against the table in the middle of the room. He crossed his arms, his body suddenly withdrawn, though his eyes burned with fire.

Nesta stepped away from the door and smoothed her thick sweater.

“Did you ever stop to think that if you accepted the bond, your powers wouldn’t be trying to spew out of you every time I got on your nerves?” he asked, agitated.

Nesta had, in fact, thought of that. It’s what irked her daily about their connection. That she knew it was connected to her powers. Connected to the Cauldron. To everything she hated.

“Why won’t you accept it?” The fire was dimmed in his eyes, dialed down to a low simmer as he stared her down. But she couldn’t give him the answer he wanted.  

“Thank you for the boots, Cassian,” she said, reaching around him for the box. He grabbed her arm, and she let him for a second. His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist, and she shuddered under his touch.

Emerie knocked softly at the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Tea’s ready, Nesta,” she said, and Nesta silently thanked her friend with a small nod. “Will you be joining us, Cassian?”

Cassian pushed himself off the table and shook his head. “Thank you, but I have business to attend to.”

He pulled on his gloves, his siphons glimmering with the reflection of the flickering fire. He looked at Nesta again and his lips tightened as he took a deep breath. “Don’t stay too late. There’s a storm coming in tonight.”

He didn’t bother waiting for Nesta’s answer as he extended his wings and took off as soon as he exited the small store.

But as Nesta sipped her tea, she could feel him hovering nearby. After telling Emerie she would return again next week, she wrapped herself back in her thin coat and scarf and headed out into the wet winds. The outline of wings created a shadow on the ground, surrounding her the whole way home. Nesta never looked up once.

tags:

@df3ndyr @hizqueen4life @maastrash @justgiu12 @aknymph @bamchickawowow 

(sorry if you’ve told me you want to be on my everything tag list and i missed you...please just tell me again!! i’m trying to get my lists up to date)

[brittabottt]

We are back with the college fic nobody asked for except my brain and that doesn’t quite have a point yet but we just gonna keep trucking along. The next parts will be from each character’s POVs (Murphy, Clarke, Octavia, Bellamy, Raven) and after the POVs, a group portion. I wanna do something holiday related (Halloween, hopefully if I can get it all done by then!) so if ya’ll have any thoughts on what Modern!Day! 100 kids would do for Halloween (customs, etc etc...) let me know. Thank you so much, everyone reading and following, and I am here for any thoughts, critiques, ideas you have! <3 

The empty glass bottle rolled along the wooden floor of Murphy’s dorm, echoing through the room, like the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. He’d been up too long, and had too many beers to quell his nerves as he pounded out his latest essay on criminal justice in the home settings. His hyperfixation kicked in around 10pm, after Raven had left, and he’d paired study after study with beer after beer, until his report had turned into a ten page report by 1am. These late night hours were when he was his best. Murphy had always skated by easily in courses, making passable grades throughout high school with little to no effort spent. That is, except the one or two classes he actually cared about, in which he spent hours pouring over research that went above and beyond what the teacher was asking for. But it had always been a 0 to 100. Either he’d take notes from someone like Raven pass, or he’d spend days and days of long nights on a single paper. John Murphy wouldn’t be described as a “grey-area” type guy. After saving his report on a flashdrive to print in the morning, he pushed back the wheely chair he’d been glued to for the duration of his studies. A little wobbly and worse for the wear after his drinks, and a lack of stretching his limbs, he carefully got to his feet, kicking an empty bottle and causing it to roll under his bed. He should join said bottle, making his way to his unmade bed, still a disaster pile of blankets after Raven had finally excused herself out to get in a few extra hours in the lab. And yet, he couldn’t get his brain to settle down. The silence of the room was too loud, the air around him was too stuffy. He found himself pacing, oblivious to the near instinctual movement until he came to due to the creaks and squeaks of the wood floor. It was old, the entire university was, but the dorms of the east quad were in particular. The dorms for the juniors were singles in the east quad, which was the only reason Murphy had accepted a room in the air condition-less, heater-less, shitty water pressure hall. Any opportunity to be alone. Yet since signing the lease for the room at the beginning of the year, he’d been avoiding time alone, too much time locked in his own thoughts. By the second week of the first semester, Murphy had grown close, regaining Bellamy’s friendship. Bellamy had taken him to his first football game, Murphy making little jokes the entire way. And then there was the thing with Raven. She had become the person, the anchor that seemed to appear as a text on his phone anytime he got too close to the tip off point. Too close to his always present demons, scratching at his ankles. Longing to cause Murphy to get caught in the chaos again. It’d been awhile since they had won. But his track record still proved them to be stronger than he ever could be. “You let them win,” Raven had pointed out once, her fingers brushing through the sides of his hair, pressing the center part to stand up more in uneven directions. It was the shortest he’d had his hair in awhile, which neither he nor Raven seemed to mind. “You invite the bad parts to lead because you’re so terrified that people will leave or reject the good in you. Not everyone is going to abandon you, not everyone is going to hurt you, Murphy.” Her hand paused, as Murphy reached up, interlacing his fingers around her wrist to remove her touch. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice had lowered, adapting that edge he used, like ice, like a barrier. It came up anytime someone else’s words were tip-toeing too close to the truth. Raven wasn’t afraid of a confrontation. It was one of the things Murphy appreciated her. Her arm still hovered in space, still, being held up by Murphy’s hand, her eyes locked on his, despite his need to look anywhere else but her. “I think I understand more than you think,” she finally replied, coolness in her voice nearly matching his. She drew back her arm, slipping her wrist out of his hold. Yet her eyes stayed locked on his, attempting to follow where his gaze darted. Upper corner, lower corner, door, closet, anywhere except her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated, yet his eyes had settled on the messy sheets, the empty space between them. The edge around his voice had softened slightly. It was like a little chink of his armor had occurred, and Raven, a pro at breaking down walls, struck. “Listen to me, I’m not going to hurt you…” her eyes had dropped from his, following his gaze down to the space between them. Her hand inching its way towards his knee. Instinct took over, getting to his feet abruptly and taking steps back, like a wild dog caged. He watched as Raven drew her hand back from the now empty space, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as she watched Murphy move away. He’d acted too quickly, he knew that, changing the energy of the room, darkening the divide between them. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “Look, you should go,” he said finally, attempting to soften his posture from the ragged defense he took on. Less beaten pound puppy and more human sure of the words he was saying. Sure of the fact that he wanted her to go. She wasn’t buying it, however. “You want me to go?” Raven asked, a slight mock in her voice, like when she was tutoring someone so beneath her genius level. “Yeah, I want you to go,” Murphy replied, pacing the squeaky floorboards of his dorm. Raven just watched. “Now, Raven. I think you should go now,” he added, finally pausing at the door. The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go.” Raven pushed herself to her feet, steadying herself. She didn’t falter once as she made her way to the door, stopping right in front of him, hand on the door knob. “You know, I was wrong, Murphy,” she said, “you’re not a cockroach. You’re a leech, sucking people dry.” Her words darkened, staring at him, even though he was staring at the floor until she had said her last sentiment. His eyes darted up to hers, hurt, just for a moment broke through the stone-cold exterior he was trying to maintain. “You suck people dry,” Raven continued. “And I refuse to let that be me anymore,” she yanked the door handle, giving him one last clear before exiting the dorm, and slamming the door shut. The reverb of the door rattled Murphy, who stood static behind it, as if part of him was strong enough to chase after her. To tell her the truth ...But he wasn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t even strong. He stayed behind the door, motionless. And without the company, without the anchor point of Raven, Murphy’s demons, scratching just below the surface, came out to play.

[thatwritingho]

Momento Mori

Chapter 2

Setting up a meeting with Olive Axworthy was proving to be much more of a challenge than Charles had expected. She had rejected all of his phone calls by the third ring, and was ignoring any letters sent by mail. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was throwing them out unopened. No one in their right mind would willing turn down working for Dethklok, especially in such close proximity to the members as she would be, so she must not have listened to his voicemails or read any of the invitations for an interview at all.

Her evasion had put a wrench in his plans, any other credible doctor he could have hired and had on the job a week ago.

Charles sighed as another attempted phone call went to voicemail. That settles it then. He’d just have to go in person.

.

It had been a long, hard day for Olive. The coworker scheduled to come in as her replacement had called in, something about his kid having the flu, and there had been a rather large pileup on the interstate leaving quite a few dead, so what should have been a typical 8 hour shift in the morgue had turned into a 14 hour shift as she was the only one there.

To top it off, she had been getting calls from an unidentified phone number at least twice a day for the past week, leaving her voicemails she hadn’t got around to listening to, and she was pretty sure the same one responsible for the calls was the one sending her a letter in the mail from an undisclosed address every single day.

And now, she was being followed.

A large, beefy man in all black had been tailing her for the past two days everywhere she went, and it was really starting to piss her off. Couldn’t these fuckers get the hint that she wasnt interested in whatever they wanted to use her for?

The next phone call she received, she would answer and give them a piece of her mind.

Organizations, societies, various private interest groups, and wealthy assholes all with questionable agendas frequently sought her out, seeing her as an easy acquisition what with her current employer. They expected her to pounce at the opportunity to work for somewhere “more esteemed” as they liked to put it.

But time and again, she had shot down all offers. Didn’t they realize that if she wanted to work for someone like that, she would use the connections she already had?

Idiots, all of them.

They hadn’t all taken ‘no’ as an answer, but none had been quite so persistent as this current pursuer.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she quickly unlocked the door to her building, nearly running face first into her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Baker.

“Whoah there, honey, keep your eyes forward when you walk!”

Olive placed a hand over her racing heart, giving the widow an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, sorry. Just had a long day, thought I saw someone I knew out there,” she glanced behind her one more time, but the mysterious stalker was no where to be seen, “Did you remember your key this time, Mrs. Baker?”

The old womans face fell, and she gave Olive a sheepish smile.

“Oh dear…”

This was a daily occurrence with Mrs. Baker, who’s memory wasn’t the best.

“Its ok, I’ll buzz you in when you get back. How long will you be?”

“Oh, I can’t imagine being gone more than a half hour, just running to the store!” The old woman put a wrinkled hand on Olive’s shoulder. “Thank you, dearie.”

“It"s no problem. Be careful, there’s creeps out tonight!”

Mrs. Baker’s face crinkled as she scrunched her nose, “When is there not?”

They both laughed and parted ways, Olive’s boots making the old staircase creak in protest as she tromped her way up the three flights. Yelling and music could be heard coming from her various neighbors as she ascended, as well as the smell of both cigarettes and weed despite the building being No Smoking. It was a typical, lively Friday night, but all she wanted was a fat joint, a frozen pizza, a shower, and to crawl into bed and be dead to the world for the next few hours.

Her body ached, her head was pounding, and she was so hangry she was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

After fighting the lock on her front door(her landlord still hadn’t gotten around to getting that replaced), Olive slammed the old wood behind her, clicking all 5 deadbolts into place, as well as the chain lock. She turned the knob on the old oven to preheat for her pizza, and stripped out of her nasty, smelly work clothes on her way to the bathroom for a well needed scrub.

.

The shiny, brand new rental car stuck out like a sore thumb in front of the dingey Brooklyn apartment building, and many passerby were staring at the man in a suit standing next to it. Charles had to double and triple check the adress, as this was not where he had expected someone of her talent and access to wealth to be living. Alas, it was correct, and he turned to the Klokateer who had driven him.

“Stay here, this won’t take long.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charles approached the listing and buzzer system on the outside of the brick building, scanning over the names until he found her, pressing her button and hoping she would answer. He knew she was home, he had had her followed to be sure, of course, but with the way she had avoided contact so far, he was skeptical that she would let him in.

The sound of a buzz and the door unlocking after only a few moments wait startled him, and he straightened his tie as he pushed open the squeaky door, making sure it shut fully behind him before making his way up the creaky stairs to the 3rd floor.

.

Olive had just barely had time to shower, change into an oversized Cattle Decapitation tshirt and a pair of yoga shorts, and throw her pizza in the oven when the buzzer ran.

“Oh, Mrs. Baker, what’re you going to do when I’m not here anymore?”

With a sigh, she pressed the button to open the front door without a second thought, plopping down on her couch and grabbing her tray from the coffee table, skillfully rolling herself a joint of indica to hopefully help her sleep. She had been having trouble getting a decent night’s rest as of late, mind plagued by nightmares she couldn’t remember upon waking.

It’s probably a good idea to run some diagnostics…

The curt knock at her front door made her jump in alarm, nearly knocking the rolling tray off her lap as she shot up to a standing position, eyeing the door warily. She had not been expecting company.

Shit. The stalker.

Damn, why didn’t I use the intercom to check to see if it was really Mrs. Baker?

Socked feet tiptoed silently over to the door, hearing enhanced for any slight sound that could alert her to the person’s identify. After all, it could just be Mrs. Baker after all, coming up to ask her something or another, or bring her cookies, or thank her for letting her in.

Yeah, I’m being too paranoid. I’m sure it’s just Mrs. Baker...

Despite her attempts to reassure herself, her heart continued to pound as she leaned in to check the peephole.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the stalker, at least, but it was no Mrs. Baker, either. Before her door stood a brunette man sporting glasses, a briefcase, and what she could tell was an Armani suit even through the shitty lens.

Oh, great… Better go ahead and get this over with.

.

Charles was a bit surprised at the sound of multiple locks undoing, he hadn’t even heard her footsteps approach the door, which seemed impossible with such old, squeaky hardwood flooring. He barely had time to push up his glasses and straighten his tie once more before the door cracked open just enough to allow for a tan face and mass of pink hair to be seen, chain lock still in place.

“Can I help you?”

“Olive Axworthy, yes?”

Dark eyes narrowed, pouty lips turning down into a scowl. “What do you want?”

Charles cleared his throat. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated.

“My name is Charles Foster Offdensen, CFO and manager of Dethklok. May I come in?”

Her face morphed into one of confusion, but she took his offered business card, he didn’t miss the spark of curiosity flash across her eyes, and she closed the door without a word, opening it fully a moment later after removing the chain.

.

“This is a, ah, lovely place you got here.”

The man, Charles Foster Offdensen, eyed her apartment with well hidden disdain, despite his attempt at a compliment.

“Sure. So, what exactly are you doing here? Unannounced, at that.”

He fixed his eyes on the petite woman before him, even given his own short stature, he still towered over her five-foot-nothing figure.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to come unannounced, if you had answered any of my calls or responded to my invitations. Did you even listen to any of the voicemail I left?”

“No, sorry.” Olive’s eyes held no remorse despite her words.

The man sighed, “I thought not. This is by no means how I had wanted to conduct your interview, but it will do I suppose.”

Her face melted into once of quiet rage and disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“I, ah, have an offer for you. An employment offer. To be the members of Dethklok’s personal physician.”

A few moments passed of utter silence as she stared at him in bewilderment.

“Um, sorry, but what? Did I hear you properly? You do know I’m a mortician, right?”

Charles seemed unfazed, happy that the bristly woman hadn’t kicked him out of her apartment yet.

“Yes, well, I’ve looked through your history, and in spite of your current position, I find you to be a perfect candidate for this role. The, ah, only candidate, in fact.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m sure there’s plenty of people more qualified than I am.”

At this Charles shook his head, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to say, but coming here’s been a waste of your time. I’m obviously not who you need, and I’m not even looking for a new job,” She turned around at the sound of an oven ding, waving a hand over her shoulder in dismissal.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, buddy.”

Charles was undeterred, standing his ground and making no move for the door.

“I would make it worth your while. The yearly salary would be in the triple digits.”

A scoff was his only reply as she grabbed an oven mitt, removing her dinner from the oven as if he wasn’t even there.

“At least let me inform you of what the position entails.”

She turned back toward him with a roll of her eyes, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms, leveling him with an dull expression.

“Ok, I’ll humor you, man. Go ahead and tell me all about how wonderful an opportunity it is, how it’s going to change my life and grow my crops and clear my skin and make all my problems evaporate into thin air. But do finish before my pizza gets cold, yeah?”

The man cleared his throat, “Well, I can’t promise all of that, but if you’re having skin issues, we do employ a wonderful dermatologist who would be at your disposal should you so choose.”

Dark eyes widened, blinking owlishly at him as her face morphed into a small smirk.

“You’re funny, dude. But I don’t have all night.”

“Right. Like I said, the position is for a personal physician to Dethklok’s members. But this is a bit more advanced than just being an on-call doctor. You would be required to be present at all events, concerts, appearances, as well as living at Mordhaus, free of charge, of course, and stay in close proximity to the band at all times to provide both preventative care and as insurance in case the unexpected were to happen, along with your typical check ups and tests. This includes being present for all band meetings, recording sessions, and any general, ah, excursions the boys might partake in. While living at Mordhaus, you would have access to all amenities there, within reason, of course. And as I said, you would be well compensated for your efforts.”

Charles finished his schpiel confidently, staring down the shocked woman who’s mouth was agape, body more relaxed and less guarded as she processed the information.

Dethklok. This guy really hand selected her to work with Dethklok. And so closely with them, too! She had to stop her inner fangirl from getting too excited at the prospect, and she hooped it didn’t show through to her expression.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying you want me to be, like, a body guard, but, like, against health conditions instead of attackers? Did I hear that right?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“And this is a serious offer? Like, do they really want this?” Olive was understandably in disbelief, after all…

What kind of rich asshats need an ever-present doctor at their disposal?

It was an utterly ridiculous request.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the band wants this, per say, but it is in their best interest and they have agreed to give it a shot. Which is what I’m asking of you. Just a two week trial, to see if you’re a good fit for the boy’s needs.”

Charles walked into the kitchenette, setting his Maxwell Scott briefcase down on the counter and popping open the latch, pulling out a stack of paperwork and a gold and black Montblanc pen.

“I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for your trial run, give it a read over and sleep on it. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

He handed the papers to the stunned girl, then gathered up his belongings and headed for the door, stopping halfway to turn back to her.

“And do make sure to answer my call this time. I’d rather not have to make another special trip.”

With that, he was gone, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he had arrived. Olive glanced to the contract in her hands, skimming over the first page. This seemed legit. What the fuck. This was insane. Absolutely, utterly, comically insane.

But not as insane as the fact that she was seriously considering it.

With a heavy, long suffering groan, she carefully placed the papers on the counter, she needed to eat before she could deal with reading business jargon. Turning back to her untouched pizza, she nearly cried in frustration to find it was cold.

God damn it, what an asshole.

.

Charles, now comfortably back in his office the following day, was pleasantly surprised when Olive answered the phone, and after only two rings at that. Before he had the chance to greet her, he was interrupted, and a smile of satisfaction stole across his face at her words.

“Alright, man, as much as I wish I could turn you down to wipe that shit eating grin off your face that I’m sure you’re gonna have after this, I can’t. Good job, man, you convinced me. When do I start?”

.

Alright, chapter two! I actually finished it when I said I would, too! Fucking unbelievable, I stg. Let’s see if I can keep this up and post chapter 3 tomorrow! Olive will be introduced to the band!

[stunudo]

There is one quality which one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it.

Napoleon Hill

That Got Away: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction Part 11

Inspired by: Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away”

Pearl Jam’s “Last Kiss”

Featuring: Spencer Reid x Reader   Setting: Season 4   Rating: Teen

A/N: Hang on! Warning: 3500+ words xoxo Stu

Warnings: Bodily functions, violence

I do not own any of the characters, quotes, images or lyrics.

Part 1   Part 9   Part 10

Michelle was laughing now, a laugh that made you think about drowned puppies and debased children. You gave in and dry heaved into the corner you had peed in a few hours ago. Captivity was not as pretty as they made it look like on television. She tapped her heeled toe in annoyance.

“I am helping her because I finally get to do this, Y/N!” Michelle kicked your chest with all her strength. The back of your head crashed into the brick wall seconds before your shoulders, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your vision wavered, then you were weightless once more. Through the blackness your ears became clouded and you drifted away from the smells on the cold floor.

Penelope Garcia was ransacking public records like it was a sale on Pop! Figures. She was digging through building plans and notation of purchases on the buildings connected to the hotel and convention center. Her fingers flew and her brain pushed on.

“Greetings my League of Heroes!” Her voice called over speaker phone. “So it turns out that Y/N’s father wasn’t the source of all their wealth. It was from the family of the late wife, her mom. Once she died the businesses and money were run without the family involvement, directly. Apparently our unsub number 1, “Auntie Miriam” was on the board of directors for one of the companies, ‘Prokopios Costa Holdings.’”

“Alright Baby Girl, coming back from behind! How does that give us motive?” Derek pushed the skilled analyst.

“It means, that when Dr. Y/L/N, the first one, died,” Garcia took a pause for effect.”

“Y/N Y/L/N became the majority share holder.” Hotch concluded.

“That’s why you’re the boss, boss!” Garcia agreed.

“So why kill Dr. Y/L/N in the first place?” Spencer asked confused, a nearly disgusted look on his face.

“Maybe she didn’t know until Y/N showed up and spoke with the lawyers?” Rossi mused.

“Uh, guys?” Garcia’s fingers were still flying. ���Costa Holdings owns the hotel and the connected storage facility.”

“Of course they do.” Hotch acknowledged. “Good work Garcia.”

We were out on a date in my daddy’s car We hadn’t driven very far There in the road, up straight ahead A car was stalled, the engine was dead

The drive to San Francisco was tedious, causing you to swear often and without direction. Your hands cramped with the amount of tension they had supported through clenched fists. California freeways were perfect avenues for your heartbroken rage to pour out. Driving through up the 280 and branching onto the 1 put you on track to reach Auntie Miriam’s by dinner time.

You had never driven the hills of the city before, your dad always insisted on driving when you had visited for the holidays. The trolley’s added to the anxiety of driving through an unfamiliar street system. You silently wished your dad was behind the wheel, then refuted the wish because your father was a banal dictator.

There was a girl running sprints back and forth between your aunt’s driveway and the neighbor’s. She wore Umbro shorts and a sports bra as if she was in a Gatorade commercial. Her sweaty skin was sinuous, mild offense at her athletic body registered internally. You had enough experience with jocks and scholarship athletes at school to groan at the sight of one in their natural habitat.

You pulled into Miriam’s driveway, honking your arrival because you felt like pissing someone off. Spreading the misery around. You sighed and climbed from the VW, time to face the nunnery.

Miriam’s conditions resonated through Spencer’s mind. No weapons, no tricks and no wires. He could do that, in fact he would do that. While Hotch, Rossi, Morgan and Prentiss were coordinating with Garcia, Detective Change and local SWAT. JJ led Spencer to the hallway she had crawled into the hour before.

“Spence, you know this is going to end badly.” JJ gripped his bicep forcefully. “Whenever we split up one of us gets kidnapped.” Her melancholy laugh a poor attempt to break the apprehension they both were feeling. Spencer looked into the concerned face of his colleague and friend. His lips twitched while he wrestled with how to explain the real reasons he had to save Y/N. How this whole nightmare was his fault and it went back farther than Saturday morning at 1 o’clock when Dr. Y/L/N was murdered.

“I think we’re even now,” Spencer teased, the light not reaching his eyes like it normally would. “JJ, get some rest, I’ve got voluntary confinement to get to anyways.” He wrapped her smaller form in a slight hug as he slid past her into the miserable closet. JJ watched his lean body climb down into the darkness. She shoved the stone hatch back into place, securing it beneath its camouflaging mat once more.

The even spacing of the ladder rungs allowed Spencer to focus on counting. His steps, his breaths, his heart beats. His hip felt lighter from removing his holster. He measured time in his journey to understanding why Y/N had been the target of Miriam and Michelle’s unchecked rage. Revenge for petty unrequited love had past the usual time frame for serial stalkers. Power and money for Miriam were more probable motivators. Though he doubted them, as killing her brother was an illogical way to begin the lengthy legal processes of property transfer.

His seething anger at the damage and fear inflicted upon Y/N was buried.  Instead he mentally measured the length of the slope in the small hallway. Spencer’s long legs had walked 207 feet at an incline of roughly 9 degrees. Upon reaching the knob-less door, Spencer noted his surroundings. The walls had fresh paint on them, the fumes lingered. The wooden door had not window nor sight glass. The security camera mounted on the wall showed no signs of power until it whirred to life after he knocked to the old rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut, Two bits.”

I couldn’t stop, so I swerved to the right I’ll never forget the sound that night The screamin’ tires, the bustin’ glass

It was the sixth day of your banishment to your aunt’s Parkside home. You were dusting her second office from the daily list of chores she left for you. Michelle was over because you weren’t sure how to get rid of her, like a reoccurring nightmare or pimple. She was relentless and continually made her presence known.

The week had started off fine. Auntie Miriam had meetings and usual adult weekday work stuff. Unfortunately she was under the impression that your stay was a punishment, so she confiscated your keys. Which was slightly confining, but you could handle it. You had only had the car to yourself for the past year, anyway. When Michelle started hanging around, she was a friendly distraction. You had nothing in common with her besides age and gender; absolutely nothing. You were just so lonely that you made nice.

She asked about school (Ancient Greek was not something worth studying, as if physical therapy was for everyone?) and what you did for fun (listening to rockabilly music and reading were for old people). Eventually your love life came up and you gave in and told her about Spencer. It was hard to talk about him because you were still angry and raw. You may have focused on the romantic stuff, just to impress her. You did not ask nearly as many questions about her life, you only realized after your short stay in San Francisco ended.

It was on that sixth day, the tipping point was reached. She wore her dark hair in a high pony tail and just nosed into ever object left out. “When do you think you’ll be done with the list today?” Her impatient voice asked as she sifted through a stash of paperclips. You had no idea, the lists were becoming more specific and time consuming the longer you were there.

“Probably not until I need to start dinner. Why?” You watched Michelle, her restless body pacing. “Were you planning on me being out of jail today?” You laughed forcibly. Michelle’s arms flopped down in frustration. She huffed.

“Why did you have to get in trouble to visit?” She was really pushing your manners with her accusation. “I mean, we could have had the whole summer and now I just have to watch you clean.”

“One, I didn’t get in trouble. Two, you don’t have to watch me do anything, Michelle.” Your voice was rising now. “I mean, who just hangs out in their neighbor’s house watching their family do chores. Get a clue. I am stuck here for another week and a half: then sayonara !”

Michelle’s gasp told you that you had gone too far, but you didn’t care. She wasn’t anyone important to you. If you were being honest, it felt oddly satisfying to get that off of your chest. She stormed out of the room letting the bird fly at you. When she was presumably out of the house, you went to turn up the radio.

As JJ returned to the conference room and temporary BAU headquarters, the team was strapping on their vests. Rossi and Hotch were conversing with Detective Chang, who was holding blueprints. Morgan caught JJ’s eye, his defined eyebrows umbrellas of questions. She shrugged her shoulders, the lingering feeling of failing Spence twice in one day floating in the back of her mind. Derek felt her dismay, he crossed the room to grab her in a quick hug.

“He’s going to be fine, JJ,” Derek soothed. “That kid is not going to let anything happen down there. Neither are we.” Her blue eyes looked into his dark ones, nodding. The tears gathering in their corners were quickly brushed aside.

“Hotch?” JJ turned. “Mind if I sit at the security station? I am in no shape to go with you guys, but I want to make sure you are covered up here.” Hotch eyed his young agent warily, he nodded, giving permission solemnly.

Rossi patted Derek on the back after the muscular man had holstered his second weapon. Prentiss walked JJ back out into the lobby. She made sure JJ had a seat and could see the monitors that the team had watched her captivity on. “You sure you’re okay watching us? The locals can handle this, JJ. It might be too much right now.”

JJ shook her head, “Emily, I’m fine. I will have Garcia on the line if I need anything. Besides, I will hear everything over the comms either way. Go get Spence and his “lady friend” back.” Her bad joke had both women exchanging awkward grins.

“Never thought I would be hearing that one.” Emily walked back to join the BAU and SWAT, rolling her eyes.

I found the love that I knew I would miss But now she’s gone, even though I hold her tight I lost my love, my life that night

Spencer was trapped in a cliche. There he sat at his kitchen table with crumpled pieces of paper lying in small piles around him. He was attempting to apologize to Y/N for missing her send off. He didn’t feel he could justify his absence. Besides his mother was a person, not an excuse. The words were not forming, thoughts and longings were burying him in guilt. He just missed her.

He decided to start with short, clear, honest sentences. That didn’t work, Spencer began to ramble onto the paper, his abundant thoughts overflowing and clouding his apologies once again. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, trying to remember their last kiss. It was a peck as he leaned back into the VW, his bottom half getting soaked in the downpour. She had grinned at him and he had smiled back without teeth, his eyes dancing in the streetlights.

It wasn’t enough. That shouldn’t be their last kiss, it was a quick goodnight. Not a goodbye. Spencer closed his eyes behind his glasses, shook his head for clarity and began writing his dearest again.

Spencer stepped back to allow the automatic door to open fully before stepping into the next bare, freshly painted hall. He saw the set of desks ahead, just 100 meters to go. Miriam Y/L/N eyed the tall man with quiet amusement; he had barely changed in years. Spencer tucked his hair behind his ear in slight self-consciousness. This woman resembled her late brother with her wide face and imposing presence. But the similarities ended there, Graham’s kind eyes and jovial air were not shared. Her cold stare and disdain kept with the chill of the surrounding brick.

Spencer stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding at his soon-to-be jailer. “Miriam.”

“Dr. Reid, at last!” Miriam stood quickly. “Arms up, young man. I need to check you followed my instructions, for once.”

Suddenly there were strong hands frisking Spencer’s narrow sides. He flinched away, seeing Kurt Hansen, the bellhop, in the flesh. Spencer held back his field training and let the man finish his search. He cleared his throat and calmed his breathing. “Satisfied?” Spencer spat as he glanced between Kurt and Miriam.

“Quite.” Miriam smirked. “Now if you would kindly follow Mr. Hansen, he will show you to your room.”

“Not until I see Y/N.” Spencer crossed his arms in defiance, his head tilting slightly.

“Oh, pish.” Miriam waved at him, “She’s just next door. Let’s all go and see what Michelle and Y/N have gotten into!” Spencer’s eyes popped in surprise, he had not thought she would let him near her niece. Her true target. He followed Kurt as Miriam marched behind them both. The hall was quiet, a small row of doors began, Spencer counted four before a wide metal garage-like door ended the hall.

“After we give you what you want, you’ll just what? Release us?” Spencer asked.

“After I have what I need and am far far away, yes.” Miriam specified. “I swear I will let you and your little minx go.” She nodded to her cohort. Spencer’s instincts were not accepting her vow as trustworthy just yet.

Kurt unlocked the large steal bolt on the first room. The sound reverberated through the small space and rattled Spencer’s bones of hearing. Standing on the other side of the door was Michelle Braxton, with her large hands on her hips. “It’s about time!” She huffed. “Princess over there has been out for five minutes. I thought you forgot about me.” She sounded like a child whining to a spoiling parent for more sweets. Spencer had to hide his instant annoyance.

As Kurt grunted back, “Deal with it, Mickey. We had another guest to attend to.” He held the door wider, baring Spencer to the scene before him. Y/N was laying face down on the damp cement floor, her mouth open and one eye swollen shut. Spencer’s arms flew from his pockets and he rushed to check on her limp body. Kurt and Michelle each grabbed one of his flailing arms, holding him just inside Y/N’s cell.

Miriam cleared her throat behind Spencer, “That’s enough, now let’s get down to business.”

Spencer knew not to argue now, his body walked dejectedly backwards as his eyes remained on the slight movement of Y/N’s torso. She was breathing! Once he was back in the narrow hall, he shook off the strong grips of the suspects. He held his hands up in surrender, following to his own captivity. Miriam was waiting for him in the dank space, almost smiling in anticipation.

“Dr. Reid, as I am sure you have deduced. I need your mind to access my brother’s fortune. I have a series of riddles, puzzles, what-have-yous that Graham designed for you. I also have a set for my impetuous niece. Now I must have both of you complete your parts to get what I deserve.”

Spencer was insulted by the trivial reasoning behind her fratricide. He huffed at her request. “How do you know your errand girl didn’t beat Y/N beyond reasoning? How is she going to complete her part unconsciously? You should let me check on her, ensure she can do what you need her—”

“That’s enough, Dr. Reid.” Miriam interjected. “Y/N will be fine, Michelle knows what she is doing. A brain like Y/N’s tends to prove more resilient than one might hope.” She approached Spencer with a sheet of paper and a simple number 2 pencil. “You may begin.”

The two guards at the door watched Spencer as he stood in the center of the room. Miriam left first, followed by a smirking Michelle and a bored Kurt. The metal lock shuttered into place.

When I woke up, the rain was pourin’ down There were people standing all around Something warm runnin’ in my eyes But somehow I found my baby that night

You arrived on campus just one day before classes started. The VW had handled the trek like a champion, but you were ready to leave her in the student lot for the remainder of the semester. After you had unloaded the last of your boxes, you decided to grab some dinner before the real unpacking was required.

You took your i.d. and keys to check the campus managed mail system on the way to the crowded eating/ studying space. Your box was jammed full. There were notices about x, y and z organizations, a couple of credit card applications and five letters from a certain scrawny guy with ridiculously soft lips. You sighed deeply, ‘Well, at least he’s not dead.’ You thought bitterly. You shoved your haul under your armpit as you headed to the cacophony of the cafeteria.

You quickly skimmed the fliers and advertisements, ripping the debt-magnets in halves. Finally, after your soup had cooled, you opened one of Spencer’s letters. According to the postmarks, they had begun arriving four days after you had left Pasadena. So he was thinking about you while you were gone, but he couldn’t bother to actually send you off. You tried to keep the negative thoughts away, but you were still hurt from his apparent abandonment.

When you shut off your attitude and read his letter, you began to weep. His gentle kindness begged for your forgiveness. Spencer knew facts and figures, but he also knew how to diffuse your temper. His message was simple, yet honest. You didn’t make it to the last paragraph before disregarding your meal tray to return to your room to call him.

“Hey, Sir-sir,” You smiled shyly into your suite phone.

“Y/N? Oh, how are you?” Spencer asked genuinely concerned.

“Better, I got your letters,” You cooed, “I only got through most of the first one before I had to talk to you again. So, it is safe to say you are forgiven.”

“You had every right to be angry,” Spencer admitted. “But know that I would have been there, giving you a more deserving farewell, if I could have. You must know that.”

You nodded your head, holding the lump in your throat as the bittersweet tears began to fall. “I miss you so much, how are we going to do this?”

“Just like this, mon cher.” Spencer’s voice softened at your distress. “As long as we can talk and write, we can do this.”

Spencer read through the riddles on the sheet before him. Why had Graham mentioned Spencer when he devised this seemingly juvenile test?

Why did I divide sin by tan?

Why should the number 288 never be mentioned?  AND

What is the difference between a Ph.D. in mathematics and a large pizza? There were seven blanks at the bottom of the page, with the decimal going into the ten thousandths place. After all of this anger, frustration and happenstance: Spencer was sitting cross legged in a cell chuckling at math puns. The gentle hand of grief constricted his throat as he efficiently finished the problem.

201.0966

Spencer stood, clearing the dust from his trousers. He walked calmly to the camera nestled above the doorway. He held the paper to the screen, awaiting his next assignment.

Someone said you had your tattoo removed Saw you downtown singing the Blues It’s time to face the music I’m no longer your muse

The first months of the fall semester flew by as Spencer dove into the new classes he helped facilitate. That with all the lab time to get through for his doctoral level chemistry courses, he was as busy as ever. He made a point to write to Y/N on Tuesdays over lunch, because it was now such a tradition for them. They also tried to have a consistent phone date on Friday mornings. But Y/N decided it was time she get a campus job, therefore the phone calls were usually brief or just short messages left with her suite-mates.

Spencer’s birthday was approaching and he was counting the hours until he could finally be recognized as an adult. This also meant that he would have to finally decide what he should do for his mother. The paperwork from the lawyers, (Diana’s doctors had recommended to Spencer after her incident over the summer) was hidden in his book bag, in a plain manila folder. He felt as if he were carrying thirty pieces of silver around with him at all times.

When his birthday arrived, his mother was lucid. She sat him down and told him his birth story, again. She was so proud of her brilliant boy and at long last here he was, a man. He didn’t have class or lab until the afternoon, so he stayed home and took turns reading and being read to by his mom. It was guilty conscious more than birthday tradition, but she seemed none the wiser. Spencer slowly relaxed for the day.

Y/N called at eight o’clock that night, just before he had to get his mom her night time medications. She sang a boisterous Happy Birthday having somehow convinced the other girls in her suite to sing along. Spencer blushed at the attention, even over the phone and across state lines. “Well, now you’re legal, Dr. Reid. Maybe I won’t get arrested for seducing you after all.” Y/N joked over the phone. They had never gotten to that level of intimacy, it was just her usual banter.

“It’s a good thing, too. Since my mother is very protective of me.” Spencer teased back. “I do need to get going though, Y/N/N. Talk to you on Friday?”

“Can we scoot it up to 9 am?” She suggested evasively.

“Ugh, I suppose, I don’t need sleep or anything.” Spencer chided, his grin fading as his mother called from her room. “I really should go, goodnight mon cher.”

“Nighters!”

Part 12

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