#can you believe i almost wrote three chapters in two days?

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow; 9

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

When you woke in the morning, the feeling of crushing weight had been released from your chest. The cold mountain air was easy to breathe, and you were now at ease with your loved ones so close. 

It had been three weeks since you had escaped. Not a soul had bothered you here. The mountain was too steep and difficult to search. 

You felt safe with Edmund here. Like the nightmare was finally over. 

Each morning when you woke, Edmund was the first you would look for. You often found him just outside your cabin door by the campfire.

This morning was no exception. 

“Good morning,” he greeted. He was chopping large blocks of wood into smaller pieces for the fire.

“Hey. Did you need a hand?” You walk down the steps of the cabin to where he worked. 

“Sure. Can you make a pile from the wood?”

You trip over the sole of your broken boot. They were too old to survive the mountains. Edmund stops his work to watch you trot over, trying to kick your shoe back in place.

“I was going to go down later this morning to pick up some more flour, and fruit. I’ll see if Vincent’s daughters have any spare shoes.”

You hated when he went down the mountain to get more supplies. Always sure that he wouldn’t return.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” you comment.

“Even if they’re not your size, it’d be better than what you got.”

“I meant to go down. It’s dangerous. Peacekeepers are still looking for us.”

“Ah, I’ll be right.” Edmund takes up his work again, swinging the ax down, “They’re looking in the wrong spots anyway. I had Frances tell a guard you were hiding in the canal beneath the wash house. They’ll be searching for weeks.”

You imagine Coriolanus wading through dirty water and laugh at the thought.

“In any case. My shoes will be fine. I don’t want you wasting your money on me.”

“My money? It’s you who got Snow to send the money to your mother. Boy, was I glad to get that letter!”

He stands tall and pulls an imaginary letter out of his pocket, pretending to read it.

“Dear Edmund, I think of you every day. Wishing, wanting, waiting for you to come to me. I dream about how handsome you are. Strong and smart too.”

You laugh at him. 

“I think Snow wrote that one.”

He laughs with you but all too soon the mood turns back somber.

“I was really worried about you, you know? We all were."

He reaches out to take your hand into his. 

“I was so worried about you!” You twist his hand so you can place a kiss on the back of it. 

“I kept thinking about you trapped with him. I had no idea what he was doing to you.”

You knew what he was insinuating and the thought of it made you shudder. You were his. Would he want you less if he believed that Coriolanus had already touched you? Was that why he had reverted to treating you like a kid? He hadn’t touched you like lovers do since you have been here. Was it because Coriolanus had already marked his territory?

You push his hand away, irritated at the thought. 

“He didn’t do anything to me.”

He reaches back and brushes over the almost healed bruised spots on your neck. You recoil in embarrassment. The night in the kitchen fills your mind. You felt a pool of embarrassment form in your stomach. You should have hated it all but as you remember it, your legs squeeze tighter. It felt good, and you didn't feel like  a victim because of it. 

“You know it doesn’t matter. What he did or didn’t do. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Shut up,” you beg. “Let's just agree to never talk about him again. He’s gone, or will be. Dead to the district and to us.”

“Okay,” Edmund agrees. “I am sorry.”

 You felt bad for lashing out at him when he was only trying to help. You had promised yourself just days ago to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“I’ll go cook breakfast, alright? ‘’

Edmund had caught some fish just yesterday. Even scaled and prepared them for you. And this is how you repaid him?

You go back into the cabin and start to warm up the hot plate in the corner. Coriolanus was far away, yet he still seemed to haunt you. Sometimes you felt his fingertips graze your skin. 

He came to you at night mostly, when Edmund wasn’t around to distract you.

You would wake up swearing that you could feel his weight on top of you. You would wake up checking for bruises from where he held you down but your skin was clear. 

You thought the clear air would push him out but he was stuck and you couldn’t shake him out. 

Would it always be like this? Would your life with Edmund be plagued by thoughts of Coriolanus?

 No. You just need to focus more on Edmund. Time would take care of the rest.  

You push any other thought apart from cooking the fish out of your head. Preparing the food to perfection would exonerate you from your earlier thoughts. 

—- 

Nights were colder up in the mountains then at the compound. Edmund lent you a jacket but it did little to keep out the cold. It added to your sleep troubles. Some nights you would only get an hour or two. Some nights you wouldn’t sleep at all. 

You toss and turn next to your mother, trying not to wake her. You felt unsettled. Too unsettled to sleep. 

Edmund slept on the floor beside you thinking that it might help you sleep. 

You found yourself wanting to be held. After nights with Coriolanus you had gotten used to being coddled. 

You move off the bed and onto the floor next to Edmund. 

“Hey, stranger,” he whispers. 

A lazy arm is thrown over you but it isn’t enough. 

You push closer. “Tighter,” you demand. 

He obliged but it still wasn't enough. Coriolanus would hold you so tight, you felt like it was hard to breathe. You used to hate it but as it turns out you can’t sleep without it. 

Edmund smelt nicer. A soft woody smell. 

He treated you nicer too. Let you choose what you did. You could be angry with him if you chose to. He wouldn’t seek to punish you for it. 

Coriolanus tried to buy your love. Edmund tried to earn it. 

You would learn to sleep without needing to be held in time. 

In the meantime Edmund would be there to support you.

—-----

You sit with Edmund by the campfire while the others sleep. Edmund had paid a informant handsomely to relay District information. He came once a week, late at night to avoid being caught. 

You throw a stick into the fire, your boredom and irritation building the longer it takes. 

“Do we have enough money for him to keep coming up here to tell us the same thing? Peacekeepers are still searching, Snow’s angry. I could tell you that.”

“Roger has his use.  He only needs to give us one piece of crucial information to make the money worth it.” 

“And if we run out before he gives it to us?”

Edmund throws his own stick in the fire, watching it burn. 

“We’ll be right. We still have the three panams from Snow. I have a little left in savings, by the time all that runs dry, it’ll be mining season again.

“Mining season? Surely this will be over by then. We can’t hide here amongst everyone.”

“What choice do we have, Y/N? The Peacekeepers haven’t let up. We can’t go back to the District. When you mine together, you become family. They wouldn’t betray me.” 

Betray him, sure. But you were no one to them. You open your mouth to argue this point but the sound of kicked rocks draws your attention. 

A little man in gray, worn clothing and a cap covering his bald head is lightened by the fire. 

“You’re late.” Edmund comments. 

“Yeah well, Peacekeepers have doubled patrolling the area at night. I come late or I don’t come at all.” 

“Well?” Edmund pushes. He stands up with the coins in his hands. 

“Ravenstill’s dead. Snow’s gone back to the Capitol,” the man spits out on the grass before continuing talking, “Saw him get on the train this mornin’ myself.” 

You sigh in victory. He was gone. Now all that was left was to wait out the attention span of the Peacekeepers. 

“Hold on now. I didn’t say he was staying away. Peacekeeper tells me he’ll be back by the time the week is out with the new Commander.”

“But then he’s gone, right? District 12 can’t have two Commanders?” You rise next to Edmund. 

The older man shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe. He’s offering a large reward for your capture.” 

“Yeah, well I’m offering your life.” Edmund’s voice is hard and threatening. He throws the coin pouch at the man who catches it. 

“Settle, boy. I ain't no traitor. I am just saying it seems unlikely that he would offer up such a price only to walk away.” 

“Keep us updated on the movements of Snow and the areas the Peacekeepers are targeting.”

The man opens the coin pouch to look inside before nodding his head and turning back the way he came.

You take hold of Edmund’s arm. You worried for his fate if you were found. You worried for your own fate. He was unbearable when you failed to escape. Now you have succeeded, what laid ahead if you were to return?

—------

You began to have nightmares of Coriolanus finding you. You would wake with your mother's arms wrapped around you, and Edmund calling your name. 

The dreams always ended the same, no matter how they started; with everyone dead at your feet. 

You would run and hide from him in the forest like the night at the cabin. He would find his way into the cabin late at night and crawl on top of you while your protectors slept. One time he dropped from the sky. 

But you woke to find he hadn’t found you yet.

You avoided going to sleep. Your mother joined in solidarity, despite your protests. She would stay up with you to chase the bad thoughts away. 

Edmund's mother stayed up too. She didn’t want to be the only adult asleep. 

You all wait for the update Roger will bring. 

You sit next to Edmund watching the flames. You don’t hear the man approaching until Edmund's mother greets him. The man offers a head nod back but his attention is for Edmund. 

“Peacekeepers are still searching. Mainly in the city blocks. Rumor that she was seen selling cupcakes in town.” 

You scoff at the thought. At least it kept the Peacekeepers preoccupied. 

“Alright,” Edmund throws the money to Roger but the man doesn’t disappear, “Was there something else?” 

“Her brother,” your heart stops beating. “They got him locked up in the Capitol jail.” 

You shoot up from the log in a panic. 

You feel Edmund grab your hand but can’t hear the words that he is telling you. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” he finally breaks through, “They won’t hurt him. He’s all the leverage they’ve got.” 

“God. Edmund, what if they do? It’ll be my fault.” Your tears choke you as you speak.

“They won’t. He’ll be safe, okay. He wouldn’t kill him unless he knew you knew.” 

“What are we going to do? I have to go back. He’ll let him go if I-”

“Don’t be stupid. If you go back now, he’ll use Archie to keep you in line forever.” 

“We can’t leave him there.”

“We won’t. If he wants the presidency he’ll have to go back to the Capitol. We wait him out, and when the new Commander comes, he’ll see Archie was kept for no reason and we will buy him back.” 

Your mother sat sobbing and you joined her. 

Dear God, what have you done?

“From what I was told, they ain't hurt him.”

“See?” Edmund says, “So long as you stay hidden, there would be no point in hurting him.” 

Edmund’s mother comes over and wraps her arms around her elder son. Archie was special to her too. 

You had put all her sons in danger. In her heart, there was no more room for you.

—------------

The news of Archie’s arrest had dampened spirits. The days were long and everyone was irritable.

Edmund feared for his friend. You feared for your brother.

He had spent all his life protecting you, now only for you to get him killed. You wished you were still a little girl waiting by the door for your older brother to come home from work. It was a similar feeling to now. The dread of him not coming home filled you.

You wondered how Coriolanus got him on the train. Was it under threat? Did he beat Archie into submission? Or did he lie and deceive Archie?

Your mother was adamant that his capture was not your fault. Even if that was true, Archie’s detention was. You knew Coriolanus would let you trade yourself for your brother. But Edmund was right, if you folded now your family would always be ready for capture to be used against you.

Edmund’s mother was less sympathetic to it all. You had dragged her family into this and now the boy she considered a third son was rotting in jail because you were too precious to submit to the Commander like the rest of District 12.

She was cold to you, never speaking directly to you and only offering glaring stares. Being treated so terribly oddly felt validating. People should be angry with you. You had put them in danger.

You look at Edmund's little brother across the other side of the campfire. He clung to his mother's skirt, resting his head on her lap. He was just a boy, you couldn’t bear it if a hair on his head was harmed. And yet you have asked him to hide in a mountain with you. Leave his school and his friends behind.

No one had spoken for hours as you sat together around the camp, so when Edmund moved suddenly it caught everyone's attention. 

He shoots up from where you rested upon him on the log to gaze out as smoke ringlets circle the sky. 

“Get your things. Make sure to leave nothing behind.”

None of you move, perplexed at his outburst. 

“Now!” he shouts, “Move!” 

His anxiety caused you all to jump up and follow his command. He kicks dirt over the campfire to make it look unused while the rest of you pack what little you have. 

 You came with nothing so you focused on the pots and pans, and stripping the beds. 

He joins you as you work with his mother and brother to clean their room. 

“What’s going on?” His mother demands but doesn’t stop her work of shoving clothes into a sack held by her youngest son. 

“Peacekeepers are searching the mountains.” 

“Where are we going to go?” you panic. They would search all of the mountains. 

“The mines. They won’t search there. Too unstable for people who don’t know what they are doing.” 

He takes the bag of pans off you and throws it over his shoulder. 

The mines were a dangerous place to hide, and there was no certainty that the Peacekeepers wouldn’t search them. If they did you would be trapped. They would just keep pushing forward until your group reached a dead end.

Nevertheless, Edmunds leads the group to the trail that leads into the mines. 

You couldn’t decide what would be worse, dying by a Peacekeeper or in a mine like your father. 

But with Edmund’s hand in yours, at least the rocks of the mountain would let you keep him. The Peacekeepers would tear you from him only in death. 

Even with the bags of stuff, the trail is tread quickly.

The cave is dark and so, so cold. You hide in the shadows with your group. Edmund stands to the front once he has herded the group into safe standing. 

It is completely silent for what feels like a lifetime. Nothing but the birds in the trees and the wind. It lulls you into a false sense of security. Maybe Edmund was wrong. Maybe his source on the other side was mistaken and blew the smoke prematurely. But soon a distant sound of heavy tire treads could be heard rolling up the hill.

You ignored the first sign of people approaching. But as they got heavier and the talking got louder, it got harder to assure yourself that you wouldn’t be found.

You clutch Edmund's arms. You feel it move to reach for the pocketknife in his pocket. 

Peacekeepers call to each other. They were close, you could hear clearly as they spoke. 

“Hey, let's go.”

“Commander Snow said every inch”.

“You lookin’ to get killed? Those mines collapse all the time.” 

You hold your breath waiting. Should you walk out now to save everybody else?

“Come on, man. No one’s here. We’ve still got half the forest to get to. Come on.”

You feel Edmund relax under you as the Peacekeepers walk away. 

None of you move. The threat remains in the woods. None of you were safe until the Peacekeepers were out of the woods and had reported to Coriolanus that nothing was there. 

The mountains were large, you wondered how many Peacekeepers had been spared to search it. Even if thirty men, it would take a whole day at least.

It was a whole day spent in the cave, waiting for the Peacekeepers to come back. But no sound was ever heard.

Night falls before Edmund makes the call to investigate. 

His mother kisses him before he leaves. 

You cringe under her stare. You had put her baby boy in danger. It was your fault that she now had to hide in the mountains away from her home. 

It will be a rocky start once all of this is over. How could you work to earn back her affection after all the pain you have caused her? 

Edmund's little brother had taken over the role of protector. He stood at the front of the cave, tall and fierce like his brother had. He clutched his knife and looked out into the night with a hunter's eyes.

Edmund was gone for hours but his little brother never tired of his role. If Peacekeepers turned up, the little boy was ready.

You watch over him as his mother makes what little she can from the food.

A dark figure cast into the cave, and you grab the little boy, pulling him back against you to protect him. It was too tall, too broad for Edmund. You shrink back into the shadows as it approaches, reaching down to pull the knife from the boy. On instinct, you open your mouth to scream but it is Edmund's voice that calls you. 

“They are gone. Cars are gone, and there are no markings to pick up the search. They won’t return.”

You shake the fear out of you and release Edmund's brother from your protective hold. 

Coriolanus had weaved himself into your mind. Every shadow; every sound was him. 

You needed Edmund to take his place, but he often acted like a ghost to you, touching you only in reproach. 

You wanted to keep something from Coriolanus' reach. To give some shred of you to Edmund that could never be given back. 

You started by hugging him tight. 

—---

You had decided to sleep with Edmund at the first opportunity after the scare yesterday.

It was hard to pin him down between his hunting, working around the camp, and his family. 

You felt like his shadow as you lingered, trying to single out his attention. 

He would offer you a smile every time you saw him but wouldn’t stop his work. 

You followed him into the woods but his brother would insist on coming to learn how to shoot. 

Back at camp, his mother blocked you from his attention. It seemed impossible to gain an audience with him. 

You tried to tell him what you wanted but the words would never form in your mouth. He was always too busy to hear them anyway. Telling you to wait until back at camp to tell him what you were trying to say. But camp was too crowded so you always pretended to forget what you wanted to say. 

It took three days of pining before the mothers took the washing to the lake. It would take them all day to rinse and dry the clothes and sheets. Normally you would go and help but today you had a goal in mind. 

You hide Edmund’s catch from this morning and tell Edmund’s brother that another animal had run off with dinner tonight. You had asked him to go catch fish but he was determined that he could catch actual prey. He was a hunter like his brother, he insisted. 

Whatever got him lost for a couple of hours. He didn’t actually have to catch anything but you hoped he did. You would boast about him at dinner. He was a good kid and deserved more attention. 

“Hey,” Edmund greeted you. He had gone to collect more firewood and you had grown impatient waiting for him to get back. 

“Where is everyone?” 

You don’t answer him. He looked so handsome, slightly covered in dirt from his work. 

You wanted this to be the moment you remember forever. If Coriolanus did find you, you wanted to at least have this memory of Edmund. 

He looks confused as you grab his arm and pull him into the cabin but follows your direction. 

You slam the door shut and push Edmund up against the wall, cementing your body like what had been done to you on so many occasions. 

You kiss him hard, letting him know how badly you need him. 

He stills you with a firm grip on your shoulders, tilting his head higher out of your reach. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I want it to be you. Not him.” Even on your tippy toes, you could not reach him. 

“Not now,” he scolds. 

“Yes now,” you refute, “I can feel him getting closer every day.” 

Edmund looks down upon you, taking your face gently in your hands. 

“You’re safe. He’s not going to get you. I’ll keep you safe.” 

You knew he would try but you felt Coriolanus in your bones. You knew he would catch you. 

“Please,” you whine. Your hands reach for his belt but he traps your hands. 

“You are not going to give me this under threat. He’s not going to persuade you to do something you’ve had the past few years to do yourself.” 

“I want to,” you protest. You manage to capture his lips again and he mercifully kisses back. 

His barrier was weak. You were sure you could break it down. His hands held your hips and not your wrists, almost giving you permission. 

“Edmund! Edmund!” The sound of his little brother's voice was heard only seconds before the door opened. 

You separate. Edmund looked almost relieved. He eyes you by his side but gives his attention to his brother. You had broken down his wall but he was saved by the bell. 

“Look!” the little boy proudly held up a small dead rabbit. You wished you insisted on the fish. 

“Good job, buddy.” Edmund moves from you to his brother, straightening his jacket as he walks. 

“I’ll help you dress it.”  Edmund doesn’t look at you as he leads his brother back out to the open. 

“I can do it!” The little voice demanded. 

“I know, buddy. But we can’t afford to lose any meat.”

You could cry at the sense of rejection. Edmund wouldn’t give you another opportunity. You had just wanted to show that you loved him but he would have to settle for words. 

—----

You were cold to Edmund the following days, even as you tried to let it go. You wouldn’t look at him as you passed him his meals. Would only speak to him to answer a question. You wouldn’t say more than what was needed. 

He still slept on the floor next to you despite your behavior.

You knew he was trying to protect you by his rejection but it stung. 

Coriolanus had made you feel desirable.  He performed extraordinary measures just for a kiss. And here you were throwing yourself at Edmund, begging him for just that, only to be tossed aside. 

Was Edmund's affections real or just a product of Coriolanus interference? 

You felt stupid for making the first move. You should have just forgotten the whole thing. Edmund was loyal. He just got confused, and you played the fool. Now you had put him in an uncomfortable situation that could risk any relationship with him after this ordeal. 

 You loved him but you should have stayed silent about it. 

Half of you hoped that Coriolanus would find you and take you away. Maybe Edmund would feel guilty about his rejection, and regret it. 

You roll over in bed towards where Edmund is lying on the floor. 

No, that’s not true. 

You’d rather be Edmund’s doormat than Coriolanus' bride.  

—---------

Coriolanus stood backstage at the presidential show. They would perform now for the audience. Answering questions, and charming the crowd. Coriolanus should feel on top of his game. He was known for being charming. It was all he had for the longest time. 

Augustus stood at the other side of the stage, Coriolanus could see him through gaps in the curtains talking to his campaign manager.

Coriolanus couldn’t bear to talk to anyone until he was forced to. 

His thoughts were occupied with you. All of the District was searched, and all he received from it was rumors. A few whispered leads but nothing to truly go on. 

He needed to shake you out so he could focus on his night. 

He hated you now more than ever. It was one thing to betray him, it was another to interfere with his presidential campaign. You should have been here now to support him. 

But instead, you had run off with another man. He should have killed Edmund when he had the chance. Coriolanus had kept him as a pawn but Edmund had turned himself into a knight. 

Lucky was warming up the crowd to introduce the candidates. Coriolanus couldn’t be thinking of this now. You were here. You had gone back to the apartment and he found you there. There was no hole in the fence Peacekeepers failed to find, and Edmund was dead. 

When he went back to the Snow penthouse tonight, he would find you there. Drinking tea with Grandma’am and Tigris. 

Coriolanus hears his name being called and he enters the stage with a smile.

District 12 was a small place, you couldn’t hide forever. Coriolanus would take the first train back tonight and follow every lead himself. 

—----------

You were adding spices to the stew when wildflowers popped up under your face. 

Edmund stood behind you with a shy smile. 

“I am sorry. Please stop being angry with me,” he begs. 

You take the flowers from him to show you are not hostile. 

“I am not angry. I just-” you pause your words unsure on what to say, “You haven’t kissed me or even really touched me since I’ve been here. If you don’t feel the same way that's fine, Just-”

“You’re really stupid. You know that?” he cuts you off. He takes a step towards you. You take it as an invitation to place your hands on his arms. 

“I’ve loved you since I can last remember. And you take me giving you a little space after you’ve just spent a ridiculous amount of time as a hostage to a man who thinks torturing is the same thing as courting, as a sign I ain't interested?”

You kiss him gently and he allows you to. Your heart swelled under his words. He loved you. 

“I meant what I said though. I ain't touching you under threat. When the time’s right, and it’s just the two of us, I’ll give you anything you want. But allow yourself to heal first. I don’t want you to regret anything.” 

You kiss him again to show your gratitude. 

“Thank you. I am sorry, Edmund. I love you.” 

“I love you too, stupid.” 

Coriolanus shakes Lucky Flickerman's hand as the crowd cheers for him. Presidency was close even if you were far.

—------

Despite not having a choice, camp life was agreeable. You worked closely with Edmund, helping him where you could and supporting him where you could not.

Your mother seemed happy too, despite her son being in the Capitol jail. But plans were already forming to get him out. And he was safe, or at least relatively safe. You had no idea what he faced but you knew it would not be death. Not yet. Not without Coriolanus knowing that you knew what had happened to him.

The new Commander of District 12 was sworn in yesterday. Coriolanus was there to hand over the title. Roger had said he seemed uptight and disinterested in the affair. You were sure Coriolanus would be gone soon.

Back to the Capital where he belonged. An air of victory floated around you. He would be president and you would return to District 12 where you belonged, but as Mrs. Flair.

You no longer had nightmares of Coriolanus. Soon this memory would fade into a distant dream.

But it all happened so fast; a loud banging noise woke you, and dozens of pairs of boots stomped across the floor. Edmund woke too, tried to fight them off but there were too many of them. All in protective gear and all with weapons. 

They drag him and your mother out. None of the Peacekeepers touch you even as you hit and yell. 

It was early morning, the sunlight had just been cast over the mountains but the ground was still frozen and wet with condensation. 

Edmund and your mother were thrown on the ground and held down while their hands were cuffed behind their backs. Edmund's mother and brother soon followed. 

You grapple with a Peacekeeper trying to cuff Edmund's hands. He does his best to avoid you but no one pulls you away. Your hands remain free and none of the Peacekeepers make a move to trap you. 

“Please,” you beg amongst the crying and Edmund’s yelling. 

You almost don't recognize him. His hair had grown out, and he wore an expensive red coat instead of his Commander uniform. 

But his eyes remained the same. Blue and fierce they gazed down at you. You had run straight past him without noticing.

You rush to him in panic, falling at his feet and grabbing his black pant leg in a tight hold. 

“Coriolanus, please,” you beg him, “Please I’ll go back. Just release them.”

He ignores you. Nodding to a Peacekeeper who takes a long length of rope from his belt and throws it over the branch of a tree. Another two bring Edmund to his feet, pushing him as he resists.

His mother wails, joining your begging. 

“No! No! Wait please!” They continue to set up the rope. 

“Coriolanus, please!” you had time to beg as the Peacekeeper does the knot. 

He continues to watch Edmund, listening to Edmund's insults rather than your cries. 

“Commander, please. I won’t ever do it again. I’ll be perfect.” 

He still ignores you. Not even glancing at you as you beg him from the dirt. 

“No, no.” The Peacekeeper finishes the knot and fastens it around Edmund's neck.

You go to reach him. You would hold him up if you had to, but Coriolanus caught you by your hair and held you in place. 

Edmund kicks like a fish out of water as the rope is pulled by two Peacekeepers on the other side. 

You pull against Coriolanus' hold, almost yanking your hair out trying to reach him.

Edmund looks at you as he struggles. His hold body shook, and he kicked at the air in hope. His lips half form your name but it never quite parts from his lips.

Coriolanus does let you go but it was too late. Edmund had stopped kicking. Stopped blinking. Stopped breathing. 

You run to him anyway, dropping where he hung. 

You reach out and touch his foot as it sways. 

“Kiss your mother goodbye, and let’s go.” His voice shoots ice down your spine. 

You wanted to scream and yell and cry, but you could do nothing but stare at the dirt in front of you. The sound of crying filled your ears. Dear god, this was all your fault. 

Coriolanus doesn’t ask you again, just grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you to movement. 

You felt too disorientated to fight back. 

He drags you past Edmund's crying mother and brother who couldn’t tear their eyes away from the tree. 

You wanted to reach out to say something, but Coriolanus was in a rush to get back to the Capitol. 

“Mum,” was all you could call out as you pass her.

He drags you along to a parked patrol car and throws you in the cage used for rebels. 

It felt as if the earth had swallowed you whole. There was no fight left in you. All you felt was despair.

Coriolanus had no pity for you. He barely glanced at you as he locked the cage and closed the door. 

You lay in the back in your borrowed nightdress and Edmund’s jacket. You bring it up to your face as you sob. He was dead. All hope of a happy future was gone with him. You would remain Coriolanus’ slave until the day you died.

The journey throws you around as they speed down the hill and back to the city section of the District. 

You sob the entire way. Edmund was dead because of you. Your brother was in jail. Your mother is now all alone in this world. You wanted to die too. It would be kinder than this existence. 

Edmund was dead because of you. His family left without their provider because of you. Your heart ached. Your grief suffocated you. You gasp for air but your sobs block any from reaching your lungs.

What have you done? Why did you think you stood a chance of escape?

You begged the universe to turn back time. You wouldn’t go to the jail. You were trying to do the right thing but your kindness had led to your world being ripped apart.

Why did you have to do it, you thought to yourself. Life could have been so sweet if you weren’t so foolish.

What would your life be like now? Coriolanus wouldn’t be taking you back to the Compound now there was a new Commander. Were you going to the Capitol so soon?

You had a hard time adjusting to life at the Compound. How would you ever survive the capital?

Would you survive the Capital? After Coriolanus had finished with you, would he keep you around after you had betrayed him?

He seemed a different man. Could he still say he was in love with you? Or has that game now ended?

The car stops at the train station. Talking and car doors slamming cut through the business of the station.

The harsh light enters when the door is yanked open by Coriolanus.

You don’t want to get out, hoping to get shot for your resistance. 

Coriolanus drags you out by your ankle, taking a tight hold of your arm as he gets you upright and pushes through onto the train. 

You don’t struggle against him as he leads you through the busy station. What would be the point?

You enter first class, and the doors get locked by maids behind you. 

The only word you can say is “no”, over and over again. 

This couldn’t be happening. Was this just another bad dream? Please, just let this be a bad dream. 

Coriolanus shoves you into a booth, and you slump against the window. He sits next to you trapping you in. You had no energy to move. Only sob against the cold glass. 

You should have just saved yourself the trouble and stayed. Why did you have to anger him?

With the most important passenger on board, the train moves out of the station. 

“Enough,” he tells you. But you couldn’t follow his command even if you tried. 

You watch the District shoot past you. How you wished you could open the window and throw yourself out. 

The rocks pass, and the trees begin to blur into one another. Coriolanus is silent for hours as you cry against the window still. 

You could feel him sometimes looking at you but otherwise, he just sat there. Fixing the jewelry he wore. A gold pinky ring with your ring stacked on top of it. His coat buttons were dipped in gold. He had a new watch, a present from Tigris for returning home. 

It was only when you shifted from the window and slumped over the table did he speak. 

“We were supposed to be in the Capitol weeks ago.” 

The Capitol. His presidential run. You had just lost everything you had ever known and he talks about being behind schedule.

You sit up to face him. He was no longer the Commander you knew but something far more fearsome.

“You think I care about the Capitol?!” You cry, “You took everything from me! You ruined my life,” you scream at him.

He grabs your jaw in his hand and pushes your head back against the glass. The glass is solid and cold as you are pressed against it.

“Your mother has joined your brother in the District 12 jail. I would be very careful what you say to me. Did you think this was a game? Did you think I wouldn’t search for you? Wouldn’t find you?” 

The door slides open and Coriolanus releases you. A servant walks in with breakfast, and another behind her with juice and pastries. 

They set the food and cutlery down in silence. You notice they don’t look up or around, only at what they are doing. 

Coriolanus doesn’t thank them as they leave. He doesn’t eat either. 

“Coriolanus, are they going to be okay?”

“We could have just left, Y/N. No one had to get hurt.”

You turn back to the window as you speak, “I know.”

The food sat at the table for five minutes untouched before Coriolanus called for it to be taken away again. The servants come quickly and the food is taken away in the same manner it was delivered; quickly and silently. 

“It’s three days to the Capitol.” he stands up as he spoke to you, “Two days after that they will announce the new president of Panem. Whatever this is, it’s finished. You do the slightest thing to displease me and your family will follow Edmund.” 

You flinch at his name. Edmund would haunt you for the rest of your days. You hoped he would. 

“Do you understand me?” he asks.

“Yes, Commander.” 

He flinches at the name but doesn’t comment. He clears his throat and walks away into the other carriage. 

You pick up on your crying again. You should have known that your rage only ever backfired on your loved ones. 

Your throat ached and your eyes were puffy, soon you had no more tears left to cry. 

You try a door to see where it leads but it must have a sensor on it because it didn’t open as easily as it did for Coriolanus. He had trapped you in the room. This was your life now. Waiting for Coriolanus to decide what to do with you.

You curl up on the seat and let the train lull you to sleep.

The servants must have come back in during your nap for when you woke the table was filled with food again. A large jug of water sat on the table. You finish all of it and lay back down again.

Coriolanus returns much later, around dinner time. 

“You’re still there,” he observes as the door lets him through. 

“Where else could I go?” 

His hand presses a large button and what you thought was a wall slides to reveal a bedroom. 

“You should wash up for dinner. You have dirt all over you.” 

You did want to take a shower, but you didn’t want to lose Edmund’s jacket. 

Coriolanus steps forward to grab you, but you rise upon seeing him move. Nothing he said was ever a suggestion.

The room was large, with a queen-sized bed decorated in a rich, heavy fabric of deep blue. There were four large pillows and a set of smaller ones with the Panem emblem on them.

A wall was built to hang clothes. You could only see three sets of Coriolanus’ clothing and a dress and a nightgown for you.

On the other side, there was door to a spacious bathroom. You had thought the commanders apartment bathroom was impressive but now you could see why the Capital looked down at the districts.

This bathroom alone was almost as big as the bedroom in the Commander's quarters. Beautiful gold and white titles lay across the floor. A white marble sink with a gold tap. You reach out to touch it.

‘‘Take your clothes off.” Coriolanus demanded. He reaches for the buttons on his own shirt causing the panic to rise in you again.

What would it matter what he did to you? But still, you felt too frozen to move.

He gets halfway through the buttons on his shirt to see you still dressed. His eyes darken as he reaches out to you.

You shrink back against the marble countertop as he yanks Edmund's jacket from your shoulders and throws it to the ground. Your eyes follow it there, as Coriolanus slips your borrowed nightdress off.

You expected more of a reaction from him after all this time. But he seems uninterested in your naked body. He takes your arm and pulls you to the shower head where he fiddles with the tap until the water is to his liking.

He throws you under the hot water while he finishes undressing. The clothes are left on the floor as he joins you in the shower.

You move out of his way to let him have the water but he pulls you back under and reaches for a soft sponge hanging against the wall.

“Look at you,” he mutters. He scrubs the sponge under your nails to get rid of the dirt that had caked under them.

Satisfied he scrubs the sponge up your arms to your neck and down your back. He scrubs too hard. It feels as if he is peeling off your skin.

He is quick along your stomach. Not spending too much time before moving on.

You flinch when he crouches down to scrub at your legs but he stops mid-thigh and returns to full height, dragging the sponge up your leg and resting on your left hip.

“Are you going to do it now?”  It was important that you were clean for him, you supposed.

He drops the sponge, using his hand to wrap around your throat and force you back into the glass.

You don’t look at him as he stares at you. He steps closer, wrapping his arm around your waist and bring you against him.

He rests his forehead against your collar bone, the steam filled the air and fogged your view. He is so still and silent. He had made no move to grope you. You couldn’t tell if he even looked at you. He just held you close and breathed deeply. 

The room became hard to breathe in as the water turned into steam. But you were too scared to voice even that complaint. He moved from your collar bone to rest his chin on your shoulder but then went still again. 

“Coriolanus?” His name was barely a breath on your lips. 

“I am so angry at you,” he said softly. You feel the hand on your throat tighten.

“How could you do that to me?’’ He lifts his head off of you to look you in the eye.

“Augustus has been opening hospitals and amongst the Capitol people, while I have been chasing you around District 12. Do you have any idea how that made me look?’’

You think of your family in jail as you speak. “I am sorry.”  

“You’re sorry? Not good enough.”

He looked so different with his blonde wet hair pressed down on his forehead. The ends curled slightly towards his face.

“You won, Coriolanus. What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t feel as if I have won. I feel as if I have been betrayed.”

Your eyes twitched with irritation. He felt betrayed? You were astonished you that he felt like the victim after causing you so much pain. He was the only bad thing to have happened. The cause of his own misery.

“You killed Edmund,” you sobbed, “You killed him.”

You bring a fist against his shoulder, but it landed without true force.

“I let him live once. Remember?”

The memory of target training at the train station flashes through your mind before you could block it.

“What made you think I would make the same mistake twice?”

He releases you to turn off the tap. You stood frozen as he dries himself.

His anger had lit yours so when he exited the bathroom, you followed, wet and dressed only in a towel.

“Edmund was a good man.”

Coriolanus was readying himself for bed. He spared you a irritated look.

“And now he’s a dead man.”

His sentence stung you.

You wiped the running tears off your eyes. “He was a good man,” you repeat.

He was the only man for you. The love of your life, now dead and gone.

“How did you know? Did Roger rat us out?” you ask.

“You did,” you wait for him to elaborate as he dresses in his pajamas, “Your letter to your brother. People disappear all the time up there.”

You feel your heart drop at his words. A new wave of guilt comes crashing over you.

“He was smart hiding there. He knew the area well. And the smoke signals? Very good. I never did find out who was sending them, but what use are they if you don’t see them.”

Was. Knew. No more.

 “Well enough to fool my Peacekeepers, but I thought, why would she put that in a letter to her brother? Unless it was to warn him. Why else tell him not to come back? You love your brother, of course you would want him back.”

Tears well in your eyes again.

“Is he okay? Have you hurt him?” you accuse.

“It would serve me no purpose to hurt him.”

His movements are hard and sharp as he puts on his satin button-up shirt.

“So you’ll release him? Both of them?” They served no purpose to him in the Capitol.

“When I can trust you again.” He spat.

It could be years before a paranoid Coriolanus decided he trusted you.

“You can trust me. I promise. I’ll make it up to you, just please let them go.”

You walk over to him, reaching out to touch him. It normally worked to disarm him. He is receptive to you, taking a hand and placing it against your face.

“You know why I can trust you? Because I have your family locked in a cage.”

He disappears along with his touch, going over to the cupboard and throwing a deep blue matching nightgown on the bed.

He says nothing else before returning to the dining room and leaving you in the bedroom alone.

You cry as you dress, and don’t stop as you throw the small pillows across the room and sink into the mattress.

Everything you did was wrong. People were hurt because you weren’t smart enough to protect them. Your mother and brother sat in a dirty jail cell, and you had put them there.

They bore the consequences of your stupidity.

Your mind ran and ran with your anxiety. Images of your mother and brother being beaten in a small cell. Edmund’s family slowly starving to death without him. The memory of Edmund as he swayed from the rope.  

You wallow in bed for an hour before Coriolanus rejoins.

You feel him slip into bed beside you. He wraps his arms tightly around you and for the first time in months you fall asleep easily.

You woke the next morning with the feeling of crushing sadness.

Coriolanus was awake next to you. You could hear him practicing a speech as he laid beside you. You don’t move. You weren’t even sure if you could.

A knock on the door stops him, and he bids the person to come in.

You don’t have to look to know it was a servant with a breakfast tray.

Coriolanus reaches for your shoulder to turn you over. You follow his direction and he props a pillow up behind you so you could sit up.

You thank the person as they put a small table over your lap.

You felt nauseous just looking at the food. But asking them to take it away may cause trouble for them so you wait until they leave to reject the food.

You place the table on the floor and roll back onto your side. Your bones felt like cement, and your eyes welled with tears but you didn’t have the energy to cry.

Coriolanus said nothing to you as he eats.

He mutters his speech between sips of coffee. Soon that was finished too, and he rose for the day.

He crosses your eyesight as he approached the wardrobe, and you watch him dress. It seemed odd to see him in anything other than his Commander uniform.

You had never seen Capitol fashion before. It was full of layers and tiny details. The buttons on his shirt had a silver swirl design that caught the light. His shirt was crisp and white with a design of two black flowers on either side, reaching from the end of the shirt to his shoulders.

“I have some work to do. Interviews and thank you letters. So, if you decide to come out be quiet.”

You had no plan to leave your spot, but you nod in understanding.

He doesn’t look or speak to you again as he leaves the room.

You felt as if you had died too. There was no life in you anymore.

You lay for hours in the same spot. Occasionally you could hear Coriolanus as he spoke.

The weight on your shoulder caused it to ache but you couldn’t make yourself move.

The only time you shifted during the hours was when the servants returned to serve you lunch. They took the dirty dishes but also the dirty laundry.

You lunch up to stop the women carrying out Edmund’s brown coat.

“Wait, please!” you grab the worn material off her, “Not this. Leave this.”

The two women look between each other, unsure.

“Mr. Snow said to take everything.”

You swing the jacket over you, positioning yourself in it.

“He didn’t mean this.” Edmund’s faint scent lingered on the fabric. He gave it to you to keep warm at night. You had come to associate it with the feeling of protection.

The young girl bows to you and the other follows suit. As they leave, you know it’s to tell Coriolanus.

You sit and wait for him on the bed.

Coriolanus storms in not moments later.

“The jacket,” he demanded.

“No, Coriolanus. Please let me keep it.”

He launches at you, tearing at the jacket trying to pull it off you. You fight against him, cementing your arms to yourself and trying to wriggle free.

He gets it half off your shoulders. But he grew too frustrated to finish the job. He pulls you up towards him by the collar of the jacket.

“Take the jacket off or I’ll tell them not to bother feeding your mother tonight.”

Edmund was right. Coriolanus was always going to use your family as a weapon.

But the needs of the living overtook those of the dead. You had to make sure they were as safe as you could make them.

He gets off you and you get up to give him the jacket.

As he takes the jacket with one hand, he smacks you with the other.

You make a startled sound but Coriolanus is gone before you finish it.

You return back to your spot and sob into your pillow.

With the jacket now gone, you had truly lost every piece of Edmund.

And with him, you have lost every piece of yourself. Only Coriolanus remained.

 ————

 Three hours after lunch, Coriolanus came to sit on your side of the bed next to you.

“I’ve brought you a cup of tea.”

“Thank you. I don’t want tea.”

Coriolanus’s face is tense as he places the cup on the table next to you.

“They tell me you didn’t have lunch either. Is that your plan? To starve yourself to death before we reach the Capitol?”

“I have no plan,” you admit.

 “Well I do. I have lots of plans, and you’re through with delaying them. So Sit up and drink your tea.” 

He reaches out to your neck to help you sit up. The tea is placed into your hands but it is him you stare at. 

“You look so different.” 

His hair was a soft white color as it grew out. His clothes were fashionable and colorful. Nothing of the District 12 Commander remained. 

He runs his fingers through his hair, combing it back. 

“I am still the same.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.”  You didn’t think it was possible but he was colder, held himself with somehow more confidence. This was the new leader of Panem. 

“What would you know? You never bothered to get to know me.” 

“I think I know you better than anyone else.” 

He showed you parts of himself you were sure he hid from others. The nightmares. The secret yearning to be taken care of. The heartbreak he carried from the loss of his mother. 

“Think, think, think. What have I told you about thinking? You’re no good at it. I’ll do it. Now drink your tea.” 

You take a sip of the scalding tea. It quenches some of your thirst. 

“Will I ever go back to District 12?” you ask. 

You weren’t really sure you would want to. 

“No.” 

“What’s going to happen to me once we reach the Capitol?”

He sighs, ‘‘That depends on you.” 

“Will it be like the compound?”

He laughs humorlessly, “Nothing is like the compound.” 

“I meant being locked indoors.”

“Will I let you roam free around the Capitol? No.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. His eyes move around the room, looking at the subtle details. 

“But if you are well-behaved, and do enough to earn it, I will show you all the Capitol has to offer.” 

His eyes move down, back to you. 

“You’ll grow to admire the Capitol. You won’t hate it forever.” 

You go to refute his statement. Nothing in the Capitol could fill the gaping hole left in you from being torn from your home and family. But a servant knocks on the door, taking Coriolanus’s attention. 

He commands them to come in but the small girl only steps upon the threshold and never through it. 

“Sir, you have a call.”

“I’ll be right there.” He answers back. 

She bows and doesn’t rise until the door is shut again.

“Duty calls,” you taunt. 

“Yes.” His eyes are back to being everywhere but on you, “I want that tea finished before I get back.”

As soon as he leaves, you get up and pour the tea down the bathroom sink. 

—----

The next morning was the same. You laid in bed for hours, unmoving. 

Only this morning they didn’t bother to bring you breakfast. You wondered if you would have eaten it, if it was offered, but your guilt still felt so heavy. 

Lunchtime came around and Coriolanus disrupted your wallowing. 

“Get up. We reach the Capitol soon.” He orders. 

He plucks a dress off the rack and lays it across the bed, just under your feet. 

It was a blush pink satin gown that tied in a low ribbon at the back. Matching heels that wrapped around your ankle were placed on the floor below. 

You sit up to touch the fabric of the dress, and Coriolanus sneaks behind you with a hair brush. 

He begins to untangle your hair but he pulls it too harshly. You could feel the tender spot on your head from where he had pulled it just two days before. 

“There will be cameras when we step off the train. Fashion is very important in the Capitol. You’ll have to get used to not wearing the same dress every day.” 

He pulls a knot too harshly and you let out a cry of pain. 

His hand moves yours from the spot and massages it gently. 

“That wouldn’t have happened if you had gotten up at some point.” 

He returns the brush to the carry bag and returns to you, holding out his hands. 

You take them and he pulls you up out of the bed.

His hands move to your nightdress and he pulls it off to place the pink satin gown over your head. He spins you around so he can tie it in the back. 

“Put on your shoes and meet me outside.” 

He places a kiss on the back of your shoulder before leaving you. 

The shoes are hard to walk in. While not overly tall, the heel itself was narrow. Trying to walk felt like a balancing act. You could only manage small steps. 

Coriolanus sat at the booth looking out of the window. 

The landscape had changed from long stretches of dry dirt to tall buildings. 

You sit down opposite him and gaze out the window at it all. 

It seemed unreal. 

Every building shined. The Panem flag was hung wherever possible. The sky seemed extra blue. 

You had never felt homesick but now you realize why Coriolanus was so eager to get back home. 

The scenery disappears as you enter a tunnel and stop at your destination. 

Your hand is tugged as Coriolanus heads to the exit with the servants and the bags just ahead of you.

You could hear a commotion as you got closer. Voices overlapped and snapping sounds of flashing cameras joined the noise. 

The lights were blinding as you exited the carriage. 

Coriolanus seemed in his element. He waved and smiled as he lead you through the sea of cameramen and reporters. 

They all shouted at him as they held microphones up to his face. But he didn’t stop to make a comment. 

More people surrounded the outside. Peacekeepers made a path to a sparkling black car with their bodies blocking the crowd. 

He was hailed a king here, and a tyrant back in District 12. All for the same thing. 

The scene was overwhelming. Not only were you in a foreign place without your family, but you felt yourself suffocating amongst the crowd. If one were to break through, the rest would follow ending in a catastrophe. 

You were a stranger, an enemy. You did not belong here. 

You wanted to turn back to the train but Coriolanus’s hold prohibited such action. 

Someone opens the car door for him and he lets you enter first. 

The silence that greets you helps to settle your nerves. With a final wave, Coriolanus joins you in the car, and it takes off from the crowd. 

He sighs and readjusts his jacket so it falls in front of him. 

Your hands shake so you keep them clamped together on your lap.

Coriolanus doesn’t speak to you as you peer out the window. 

You felt as if you had stepped onto another planet. 

The streets were colorful, both in design and people. Cars gilded next to you and in front of you. There were statues and water fountains on every corner. 

All gained from the hard labor of the Districts. 

Still, you couldn’t take your eyes off the passing scenery. You are hypnotized for the 20 minutes that the car drives. But it soon stops in front of a large brick building. 

“Do you live here?” Was this your new home? You wondered. 

“No one lives here,” he answers shortly. 

He exits the car, holding the door open for you. Following him out, you hear the voice of a man greet Coriolnaus. 

“Mr. Snow. Welcome.” 

The man was a little overweight in a suit that was finely tailored to him. He had bleached his eyebrows and mustache, and wore many pieces of jewelry.  

“Thank you for meeting with us.” Coriolanus shook the man’s hand but returns it to yours as soon as it ended. 

“Of course, Mr. Snow. We were happy to accommodate you. Please, follow me.” 

The man leads you both into the building and through the halls but only talks to Coriolanus about the history of the building. 

It was a beautiful building that housed artwork and portraits along the walls. 

You could tell Coriolanus didn’t care but remained civil. His fingers squeeze yours as he is ushered into a room. 

Like everything in the Capitol, it is unnecessarily large and grand. Gold candle holders, rows and rows of pews made of expensive wood, oil painted artwork of important men loomed down at you. 

“Just over this way, if you would please.” 

The man leads you to a table on a small front stage. There was only one chair in front of it which Coriolanus pulls out for you. 

The man passes Coriolanus a pen and tells him where to sign. 

He does so quickly and elegantly. 

“And now for you, Madam.” 

Coriolanus passes you the pen but only small writing covered the page and you were hesitant to sign it. 

“What is this?” You look up to the man, who rocked slightly side to side.

“It’s a marriage certificate.” Coriolanus answered for him.

“Marriage?”

Did marriage in the Capitol have the same meaning as marriage in the Districts? What did marriage in the Capitol truly entail and why was Coriolanus so eager to have you sign it?

“Yes. Marriage. Now sign the paper.” His hand curls around yours so you don’t drop the pen.

“Coriolanus-” Your words are cut short when his hand latches itself under your chin and yanks it up, keeping your hand directed at the paper. He forces your hand closer to the line.

“Sign the paper,” he commands. With his hand enclosed around yours, you sign your simple signature next to his cursive.

He releases you once you do.

“If you wanted a wedding then you shouldn’t have run off.” He spat at you. 

Your hands shake uncontrollably and your eyes water but no sympathy is given by either man. 

“You’ve robbed the Capitol of the wedding of the year, truly!” 

“I think the Capitol will survive.” You feel Coriolanus tug you up, and the man follows his lead out the door. 

“I am sure you are eager to get home and rest before election day.” the man spoke. His voice echoed through the large halls. 

“May I just say what an honor it was to marry you two today! You two kids will set a trend. I’ll have young lovers knocking my door down to elope.” 

You sob at his words. 

“Forgive her. The journey was long.” 

“Of course.” 

With only three more steps until the door, the conversation died. 

Coriolanus is quick in pace, and propelled you to move faster than you could in your heels. 

You could hardly see through the tears in your eyes, so you reach blindly until you feel the car underneath your fingers. 

“Thank you, sir.” He shakes hands with the man once again. 

“Anything for our future president.”

Coriolanus opens the door and guides you inside as he says goodbye to the man. 

He allows you to cry until the car pulls up outside of the apartment, at which he tells you to stop. 

He pulls a handkerchief out of breast pocket and wipes the tears from your face as they fall. 

From the outside you could hear the driver collecting the bags from the boot. 

“You need to stop crying. We are home now.” 

You take the handkerchief off him and dap your own tears. He longingly stares out the window. 

He almost bounces in his seat. Eager to get up the stairs and back home. 

Marriage is not the worst thing to have happened to you, nor the worst thing he could do.

It didn’t really mean anything, you told yourself. The Capitol probably wouldn’t even recognize a marriage between a Capitol citizen and District. 

You push his patience as far as it would go before you are able to collect yourself. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

You give a curt nod and he swings the door open. 

The driver passes the bags to a servant dressed in the same white dress as the ones on the train. They take them back into tall metal building. 

It reached the sky in height, and a whole community of District 12 in width. 

Coriolanus knew his way well. With all the wall ways, and feature spaces of the hotel, you were sure you would get lost escaping the building, yet alone the Capitol. 

An elevator you knew as you stood in front of it. They had them in large government buildings that you would sometimes ride as you delivered material from work. 

The elevator door opens and he hits the top floor. 

 As it goes up, you feel your stomach drop. Once you reached the top floor, would you ever go down again? Was your life now confined within this building?

It reaches the penthouse too fast. Your feet refuse to move as the door opens. 

Coriolanus tries a gentle tug but as the doors try to close again, he motions turn into a pull. 

“We’re almost there.” He digs in his pocket for a key. 

His key ring that used to carry so many keys now only held three. 

The sound of an opening door is met with a loud pop of streamers. 

You flinch as the colorful tissues attack you.  

A high pitch scream precedes a weight being thrown at Coriolanus but he catches it easily and with great joy. 

You take the chance to jump back out of the way. 

“Hey,” he laughs.You watch the cousins embrace. You had once promised yourself that letters would be as close as you got to Tigris and now she stood in front of you. 

“Coryo! You’re finally home,” she captures his face in a loving embrace and he smiles back. 

A crooning sound overtakes the moment and an old women takes the spot of Tigris. 

“My boy. Future president of Panem.” 

He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. She turns her head for him to do so, coming eye to eye with you. 

She turns to you as Coriolanus releases her. 

“Don’t just stand there, child. Come forward, let me take a look at you.”

 Grandma’am eyes you, causing you to curl further into yourself. 

Coriolanus clears his throat and places his hand on your lower back to move you forward. 

“May I introduce Mrs. Snow.”

“Mrs. Snow! Oh Coryo!” Tigris gasps, “How could you?” 

“We had too. The media would never have left us alone if they knew. But-” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box, “We saved the most important part for you: the rings.”

He takes a ring out of the box. Your hand shakes but he holds it steady as he slides the ring on. 

Fifty small rectangular diamonds cover a gold band. It was shiny and heavy on your finger. 

Tigris gasps upon seeing it but you have no reaction. 

He then passes you a gold band and holds his hand out to you. 

You push the ring on his finger quickly. 

It was enough for Tigris who claps and jumps. 

She wraps her arms around your neck while her grandmother lifts your hand up to inspect the ring. 

As they give you space, Coriolanus takes it, bringing you back into his arms. 

“I want to hear everything!” Tigris says.

She walks to the living room table and takes a bottle of champagne out of a bucket of ice.

It could have been the lack of food and water over the past three days. It could have been the pure overwhelming feeling of it all. But as the cork of the champagne is opened, your knees give way and you collapse unconscious. 

Coriolanus manages to catch you and you feel his hard arm under your head. 

You hear him call out to you before the darkness fades your vision. 

—----------

You wake at midnight in a fright. 

You knew you were in a bed but everything was pitch black. 

Was everything a dream? Was Edmund alive and just below you?

The answer was no. Coriolanus woke with your fast movements and worked quickly to pull you into his arms. 

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re alright.” 

You struggle against him in a panic. 

“You’re alright. You’re safe,” he consoles. 

“No, no, I’m not.” You feel his face under your fingertips and push against him. 

He retaliates by capturing both your wrists in his hand, pulling them down. 

“Stop it. Calm down now. You’re alright.” 

His weight tugs on your wrists as he leans back to flick on the bedside lamp. It cast a yellow light in which you could see him clearly. 

He had gone to sleep in only his underwear again. His old Commander ways were still clawing on. 

You register that you had been re-dressed into cotton pants and a large top.

“Please, Coriolanus. Let me go. I haven’t done anything,” you cry. 

He pulled you closer by your wrists so your body was leaning against his. 

"Please, I am sorry,” your tears soak his bare chest but he doesn’t move, “I am so sorry.”

He moves his arms around you so you were cradled but it did nothing to help soothe you. 

“No, no, please,” you struggle but his hold was tight. “I never did anything wrong.” 

You tried so hard to be good. Now you were being punished for it. 

“I know. I know that,” he insisted, bringing you closer. 

“It’s okay. Just go back to sleep.” 

You can’t. The image of Edmund swinging in the wind haunted you. 

“Oh Edmund,” you cried. It wasn’t his fault. He was only trying to protect you. 

Coriolanus made no comment given your state. 

“It’s alright. Everything is alright,” he repeats. He hums softly, a song that his mother used to sing when he was a child. He was surprised he still remembered it, or most of it at least. 

He used to hum it during his school years when academic pressure hindered his sleep. 

It rose his anxiety levels just from the association with those years, but it worked to settle you so he continued. 

Your mother used to hum you to sleep as well. When you had bad dreams, she would sit on your bed and run her fingers through your hair as she hummed. 

It was easier to pretend that you were only a child back in your bed with your mother next to you, protecting you from all the horrors of the world. 

—--------------

 The next morning you woke as Coriolanus finished dressing for the day. 

Your movement gains his attention, he finishes putting on his coat and comes to sit next to you on the bed. 

“Hey, how’d you sleep?”. 

He runs a warm hand over your face. You sit up to brush him off. 

“I’ve told Tigris and grandma’am to leave you alone today so you can rest.”

Your stomach drops at the thought of being isolated again. You couldn’t be left alone with your thoughts today. 

Already it’s racing with guilt. 

You latch onto his arm. 

“No. Coriolanus please, don’t lock me in here.” 

He looks to weigh up his options before deciding.  

“I won’t. But you need to show me that you can behave. I won’t have you upsetting Tigris or Grandma’am.

“I won’t,” you promise. 

“They don’t need to know the full extent of us. Only that we are happy to be here together.”

“Ok, Coriolanus.” 

You shove the thick blanket off and swing your body off the bed. 

You follow Coriolanus to the kitchen table where Tigre’s and grandma’am sat eating breakfast. 

Tigre’s rises as you enter into the room. She keeps her distance so not to overwhelm you. 

“Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asks. 

“Much better now. Thank you. I am sorry if I offended you yesterday. I wasn't feeling well.” 

“No! Of course not.” Tigris exclaims, “God, you’ve been through so much. I couldn’t even imagine how you are feeling right now.”

Your eyes flick to her. Coriolanus had made it seem like her and Grandma’am knew nothing of the truth, but could she know at least part of it?

“You must have been so frightened when those rebels took you to the mountains,” Grandma’am commented between a scone. 

Your eyes shoot at Coriolanus, who was already looking at you, silently telling you to be quiet.  

A twisted truth is as good as the truth itself in his books. 

“Yes, I was. Everyday. But I knew Coriolanus was coming.”

“Our Coriolanus isn’t scared of coward rebels!” Grandma’am exclaims. 

Coriolanus was quick to change the subject at the first sound of silence, “Tigris, she hasn’t had breakfast yet.

The breakfast table is near silent as everyone ate. 

It was a relief when Coriolanus kissed you goodbye. The company of Tigres was much easier to keep. 

—-----‘

Coriolanus was busy now that he was home. Interviews and meetings took most of his time now that the elections were coming up. 

You saw little of Grandma’am, but Tigris almost always was in the apartment. 

She tried to be kind to you. She often went out of her way to check on you. But you avoided her. Staying in the room you were placed in. If you said the wrong thing to her, it was sure to make its way back to Coriolanus, and your family was to pay for it. 

Your days before Coriolanus returned home were filled by looking out the window, or preparing an item of clothing for Coriolanus. He always wanted to have at least one thing on that you had some part in preparing. 

He tore off his buttons so you could sew them back on, you shined brand new shoes that didn’t need it, ironed shirts that had already been ironed for him. 

You didn’t argue when he asked you to do it. 

If you performed an action in the way he wanted, he would give you updates on your family. 

From what you gathered, they were fed and allowed an hour outside together. 

 The day of the election came fast. 

It felt as if it happened overnight, but it had been three days since your arrival in the Capitol. 

The election was called at eight o'clock which meant the entire day was filled with buzz.  People came in and out all day. Coriolanus spent the entire day on the phone, or in between breaks talking to the people in the room.

You sat in his chair as he worked standing. You watched the people as they came in and out. They looked different from people back home. 

They all had something unusual about them. Funny color hair, a piercing that stuck out of their face. One thing they all had in common was their high quality clothing. Nothing like the sacks District clothes are made out of. 

Grandma’am and Tigris had gone out to prepare themselves for the election. It was nearly night but they had been gone since the morning.

Coriolanus was in the middle of getting a haircut when two females came up to you and requested that you followed them. 

Coriolanus told you to do so from where he sat. You didn’t ask why as you followed them to the bedroom. 

With the door shut, they tell you to shower and come back so they can dress you for the election. 

The news causes you to tense. You were not ready to face the Capitol. 

But with no choice, you take a shower and return for them to do their work. 

They only talk to each other as they work. 

They dress you in a white strapless gown that split up the side to show more white sparkly tulle, and white heels that were shorter and easier to walk in than the pink heels that you had at the train station. 

They gossip about elite members of the Capital. Who was cheating on who. Who wore what. 

One burns you with a hot iron as she curls your hair because she leans forward to laugh. No apology is given as she continues to talk. She pins small white roses throughout your hair. The pins scrape your head as they enter your hair but you make no complaint. 

You were grateful when they finished dressing you. As soon as they begin to pack up, you exit the room without a goodbye.

You run into Coriolanus, still with his team in the living room. He stood in front of a tall mirror as you had taken the main bedroom. 

He matched you in white. Admittedly, he looked gorgeous in a double-breasted suit with his white shirt peeking out from it. The first few first buttons were undone and a silver chain with your ring hung around his neck. 

He was fixing a white rose to his chest pocket when his eyes caught you in the mirror behind him. 

“We are finished here,” he tells the room, who pack up immediately. 

He looked nervous, and you supposed he should be. All his life had been leading up to this moment. 

He talks low to you so the others don’t hear as they leave, almost whispering in your ear. 

“Just a few more hours and you’ll be looking at the President of Panam.” 

Your hands shook, and you flexed them to try and shake the nerves out. 

Coriolanus, always hyper-aware, noticed, capturing your hands and bringing them up to his face to kiss. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one shaking?” he jokes. 

“I don’t want to go. You don’t need me there.” 

“I do need you there.” He releases you, annoyed at your resistance. 

You sit down on the couch as the people make their way to the door. 

“Do I need to remind you that your performance tonight is crucial to your family's survival?” 

“No,” you say softly, “That’s never left my mind.” 

He crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on your waist. 

 “Good. Now people know you are District, but you’re not to mention it. If anyone mentions it to you, you tell me straight away.” He flicks your chin up so you are looking at him and not at your lap. “Hey, straight away.”

You nod your head in understanding. You had no plan to talk freely with any of the Capitol brood anyway.

“As first lady of Panem, you’ll be required to attend performances like these from time to time. I need to know I can trust you not to embarrass me when you do.”

You nod your head once again, “You can.” 

You remember Ravenstill’s wife. All she did was smile and sit pretty. You could do the same, regardless of the pain you felt. 

He raises himself slightly to press his lips against yours before rising entirely. 

“The car is waiting down stairs.” You rise with him and he takes your hand in his through the walk. 

The car ride is silent. Coriolanus began to practice his speech again as you stared out the window. 

The Capitol seems quieter than usual. No car buzzed around as you drove. One or two passed but they seemed to be in their own rush. Not a person roamed the street.

All of the Capitol held their breath as they waited for their new President. 

The car stops in front of a huge fountain surrounded by a large field. It was out of place amongst the sky scrapers. It was filled with people, all wearing peculiar colorful clothing. Nearly all of them wore a white rose upon their chest.

They surrounded a large stage lit up with bright lights.

Rows of chairs were lined across the back of the stage.  People hovered around them, all wearing white like you. They greet Coriolanus as he walks through. Some of them even greet you, but you hate them all the same.

You see his grandmother and cousin sitting directly behind the podium. He seems to be trying to make a beeline to them, but people keep interrupting them.

He keeps his temper, politely dismissing them as he wades through the crowd. 

His grandmother jumps up to kiss him. He uses his spare hand to bring her in close.

“President Snow, we salute you,” she says sincerely.

“I’ve not won anything yet, Grandma’am,” but his smirk told that he knew he was about to.

Grandma’am wore a hat of white roses but a simple white dress suit and pearls.

Tigris rose as well to hug her cousin now her grandmother was out of the way. Her strapless white dress hugged her curves right down to her ankles where the dress dissolved into white tulle. You could see the outline of white roses on her dress too. Her makeup was centered around the pale pink eyeshadow that was blown out towards her temple.

Finishing with Coriolanus, Tigris turns and hugs you, but you couldn’t manage it back.

Coriolanus leans down to whisper in your ear, “All you have to do is sit down next to Tigris and smile. Can you do that?”

Your families life depended on it, so you smile back at him to show that you could.

The Panem national anthem began to play bringing a hush over the audience as they all go back to stand in front of their seat and sing.

Coriolanus stood next to you, still holding your hand as he sung. The camera flashed in your face and you decide it was better to sing along.

The song finishes and the large screen behind you switches to a man with a microphone on one side and another man in a field similar to Coriolanus. You assumed the latter was his political opponent.

It was the cue for the people on stage to take a seat. You take yours next to Tigris and Coriolanus walks up to the podium.

Smaller screens are prompted up along the front of the stage so that no one on the stage was facing backwards.

You watch as the man with the microphone gives his introduction, introducing himself as Lucky Flickerman before the screen flashes to Coriolanus, and then cuts to Augustus.

You eye the open field. The guards were all focused to the front. There were a few people off the side but they looked mostly like stylists and operation managers. They would hardly put up a fight for you.

You could make it. At least on to the street. But how would you make it back home? How would you free your family? How could you live with yourself in District 12 without Edmund?

Tigress reaches out and entangles your hand with her in comfort. It brings you back to the election.

Lucky performs a few magic tricks as the final votes are counted.

“Now for the moment we have all been waiting for.'' An assistant runs up and places an envelope into Lucky’s hand.

“The results are in people! Who has Panem chosen to be our new leader? The savvy businessman or the fearless Commander? Let’s find out!”

Not a word was spoken as the man opened the envelope. It must have been the result he wanted, for he broke out into a grin and began to shake his head.

“Just as I predicted. Ladies and gentleman, the new President of Panem: Coriolanus Snow!”

The crowd erupts in cheering around you. Loud popping sounds precedes colorful confetti dropping from mounted cannons. Tigris lets go of your hand to clutch Coriolanus.

She sprang up from her seat and captured his head between her arms. His grandmother is next up to crowd him. He brushed off people quickly, he had a speech to make.

You wonder if you should get up but there were already too many people around him. You would only be in the way.

He makes his way to you, bending down to place a kiss on your cheek before turning back to shake hands with those around him.

The win came as no surprise to him but he wore a large smile, and seemed almost giddy at the news.

He turns back to the podium and people quieten as he gives his speech. You heard him mutter it a million times. You could almost recite it for him.

“Today is a new day for Panem,” it began.

You eye your freedom just down the stairs but remain seated and smiling.

You’re not sure how long Coriolanus spoke for, but the applause and cheering told you he had stopped.

Before you knew it he was standing in front of you with an outstretched hand. You take it and he stops to kiss his family, giving them instructions as to where they should now go before he leads you down the steps and into the crowd.

You shrink back as they gather around him. His grasp hurt. Your bones in your hand felt as if they were about to pop out of place. But it was too easy to get lost in the crowd, so he wouldn’t loosen it.

Too many voices overlapped to hear any single one. A few pats on your shoulder was all the attention you received while Coriolanus was drowning in a sea of people.

You couldn’t make out his words over the people and the music. You let yourself be overtaken with the senses.

You smiled and nodded at people as you passed them. It was Coriolanus’ big night, you couldn’t even fathom the punishment if you were to make a mistake tonight.

You stay close to him, just over his shoulder.

He looks back to check on you one or two times but never opens his mouth.

Confetti had been hidden in his curls. You focused on counting the pieces.

The whirl-pool of people seemed to never end. As soon as one person faded another took their place.

It must have been half an hour before Coriolanus made the small distance to the apartment block.

It was 30 stories with a roof top bar that was pumping with lights and music.

The rest of the people would mingle down below with food and drinks. Huddling around the colorful glass standing tables.

You reach the entrance, guarded by two peacekeepers, and Coriolanus leads you in front of him as he presses the button for the elevator.

It was quick to come and Coriolanus pushed your hips to make you move inside.

He lets go of you as you enter and gives a wave to his fans as the door closes.

The elevator is dead quiet. Only the faint sound of pumping music could be heard.

You think he is too wrapped up in his victory to pay you any mind now you were out of sight of the public.

You were relieved almost to be out from under his attention. But he moves quick to push you up against the wall and smash his lips onto yours.

His hands steady your face as he assaults your lips.

He leaves you out of breath and grins at you widely for it.

The door dings open, and he pulls back from you. Only taking a loose grip of your hand.

Another cheer for the President was heard over the music as he steps out.

You look around the room at all the people in white. Supporters of a maniac.

Tigris and Grandma’am were offered a lounge chair as they ate and drank.

“Look,” he spoke to you, taking a green drink off a tray offered to him, “The apple pie drink you wanted. I requested it especially for you.”

He passed you the drink as a man approached him.

You managed to get a “thank you” out before the stranger began to talk.

Coriolanus paid you no more mind the rest of the night. He spoke and joked freely with the party goers while stringing you along behind him.

A few spoke to you about mundane things but Coriolanus was quick to end any longer talk then a few seconds.

The drink did taste like apple pie. A low rate apple pie. You could bake one much better. But for a drink it was fine. You ended up drinking three before Coriolanus snatched the fourth and placed it on a nearby table.

Tigres caught your eye a couple of times. You knew she was making sure you were alright. She was kind, and so ‘un-Capitol’.

Grandma’am was more true to her up-bringing. She insisted on teaching you the ways of the Capitol, and training you out of your ‘District ways’.

“It'll be our secret,” she told you over breakfast this morning, “I’ll defend you against the District rumors.”

In a way you supposed it was sweet of her. Although her intentions could very well be for Coriolanus' benefit rather than yours.

The later it got, the quieter it got.

People began disappearing. Others passed out on sofas and lounges.

Coriolanus' energy never seemed to drain, but Tigris’ and Grandma’am’s did.

Tigris had come over and interrupted Coriolanus' conversation. She offered to take you home with her and Grandma’am but Coriolanus was resistant.

“She’s fine, Tigris. I’ll bring her home with me.”

If you had been on equal standing with Coriolanus, you would have protested and just left but you were mud under his shoe, so you smiled at Tigris and told her you would see her in the morning.

Tigris kissed both of you goodbye. You hold on to her for too long. You could tell from the way Coriolanus squeezed your hand.

The party continued long after she had gone.

Your legs hurt from standing in the heels and your dress was too tight to have eaten all you did over the course of the night.

Coriolanus could sense that you were nearing the end of what you could take, so he began his final lap of victory around the room.

You were beyond grateful when he ushered you into the car.

You sighed as you sunk down into the plush leather seats, taking off your heels instantly.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said as the car entered the main road which had returned to its normal state of business even late at night, “You were very well behaved.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you return.

“Snow always lands on top,” he talks softly as he gazes out to the city.

The car rolls through the city smoothly. Coriolanus watches it pass from the window.

You feel half-asleep resting your head back on the seat.

You feel him move you down to a lying position and your eyes shoot wide open. His fingers brush your skin as he slides the skirt of your dress up.

“What are you doing?” You catch his hands and he lowers his head.

He hushes you as he slides your panties off your hips, “All the drivers talk.”

Trapped in a car in a city that kills your people for entertainment, you lay back and don’t make a sound.

You clutch the back of the seat in a tight hold as Coriolanus begins.

Edmund was barely cold in the ground and here you were, being eaten out by the man who killed him.

You try not to focus on it as Coriolanus' lips and tongue work. It pulls a moan from you and Coriolanus hits your thigh.

You press your tongue between your teeth to avoid making noise. A hand makes its way into Coriolanus’ curls and tugging on them gives you a sense of satisfaction.

It encourages him however and his movements become more targeted and passionate.

The car pulls to the curb in front of his house by the time you had made a mess in the backseat.

You lay back with your legs spread as you come down from your high.

A chill shoots through you as the door is opened by the driver but Coriolanus pulls it closed before he could see the scene.

You get up despite not being ready too. Coriolanus grabs your shoes and pockets your panties, taking your hand when its free.

You both emerge from the car as if nothing had happened.

It was late and cold. You thank the driver as you pass him.

The building was huge. Nearly all the floor was covered in titles and your feet made a sound against them.

You try to slow your walk to quite the sound, but Coriolanus was eager to get up to the apartment.

He storms across the lobby, and courtyard before reaching the steps that lead to the elevator.

He presses the button too many times. It doesn’t make it come any faster.

The house is dark and silent as you enter. The women went to bed hours ago, and you were hopping to follow suit.

Coriolanus leads you to his bedroom which is large and not yet decorated.

You pull free from him as you enter. Immediately you tear all the pins and roses from your hair.

You hear Coriolanus drop your shoes.

He clears his throat to gain your attention.

“Your brother and mother have been freed from the compound.”

Your fingers freeze in your hair. It felt as if he had lifted a great weight off your chest. You turn to him in gratitude.

“Thank you, Coriolanus.”

He smiles down at you before stooping down to your height and placing a firm kiss to your lips.

You push back against his shoulders after the kiss continues past a normal amount of time.

He pushes back, bracing you against the bed with him on top of you.

His lips turn to your neck as he unzips the back of your dress.

“Coriolanus, please don’t,” you beg.

He slides the dress’s straps off your shoulder as he responds, “Please, just give this to me. Don’t make me take it.’’

The dress is taken off you, and Coriolanus strips it off with kisses.

Only when a kiss is placed on your hip do you begin to struggle.

This man had tormented you for months. Starved you. Robbed you. Killed the man you loved. You would give him nothing freely.

You kick and push him away, but he is stronger.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He pulls you upward by your wrists to the pillows.

“No! Get off of me!”

“Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads.

You continue to fight but he persists.

 “Please, don’t make me do this.”

“No. No. Edmund! Mum!”

“Shut up,” it was less of a command and more of a plea, “Please, shut up.” 

You do. What would your resistance gain you? A few more seconds until the inevitable. 

His grip loosens as you are still beneath him. 

With only a weak hold of your wrists, he pulls off his clothes. You can hear the movement but can’t force your eyes to open. 

Tears leak down your cheeks but you refrain from making a sound. 

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of you.” 

He lines himself up and pushes in with ease. The pain was subsided due to your wetness from the car ride but the first slow thrusts felt slightly painful and uncomfortable. 

You whine slightly as you adjust to the intrusion. You fight to release your wrists from his hold, you wanted to push back on his shoulders, feeling as if he was too deep. 

“It’ll only hurt for a little bit,” he promised, continuing his slow movements. 

He kisses you as you let out another whine. 

Soon the pain did stop, and an enjoyable sensation began to form. 

Coriolanus tried his best to remain slow, but as he got lost in his own lust, he forgot about your pain. 

It felt as if he was bruising you. But his mouth never left yours so you couldn’t voice a complaint.

Your hips jerk away from him, trying to ease the pressure but his spare hand stills your hip, making you take the full brunt of what he wanted to give you. 

He pulls his head back from yours and groans.

“Ah,” he grunts. 

“Coriolanus-” you had wanted to ask him to slow down but you feel yourself tightening around him as you come. 

His hand moves from your wrists and intertwines with your hand. He presses his weight down as he picks up his pace to chase his own high. 

“Wait, wait!” you were through. Every second after was too much. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he grunts. 

You groan from the pressure as he continues. 

“Almost there, darling.” 

His last few thrusts are hard but the pressure turns into a warm pool between your legs. 

Coriolanus is still as he rests his forehead upon your shoulder. You don’t move either, unsure of what to do. 

A few moments later and he raises his head, repositioning himself so his arms cage around your head. 

 He drags a finger down the bridge of your nose and it runs off your cheek like a tear. 

“Welcome to the Capitol, Mrs. Snow.

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the baker's daughter - 400 cupcakes

WORK SYNOPSIS Y/n L/n works at a small bakery owned by her parents. One day, a pro hero in training shows up asking for 400 cupcakes.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Chapter 1 - 400 Cupcakes

masterlist / next chapter

The bell above the door rang, alerting me someone was entering the bakery. "Hello! Good afternoon, how may I help you?" I ask. The man who entered had split hair, one side was white and the other was red. His eyes were different too. On his right he had a dark grey eye, and on his left was an ice blue. The left side of his face was scarred around his eye and down his cheek. Another thing I notice is his U.A. uniform. I quirk an eyebrow at this, knowing the uniform was always a sure sign of a quirk-user.

"Good afternoon. I have a question, it's very sudden," the boy said.

"Shoot!" I said with a smile. The boy tilts his head, not getting my words. "Oh uh, ask away..?" The boy nods.

"How fast can you make 400 cupcakes?"

I choke on my spit, "S-sorry?"

"400 cupcakes, how much and how long?"

"I uh, would have to ask my parents," I answer. "They should be in the back, I'll go get them."

The boy nods and I leave the cash register to the kitchen where my mom is baking and my dad decorating pastries. I knock on the wooden doorframe before entering. "There's a boy up front asking for 400 cupcakes," I explain.

"Sweetie, what did we say about believing scams?" Mom sighed.

"Hey! That was one time!" I pout. "But I think this one is serious, he's wearing a U.A. uniform. You know how the people from that school are."

"Quirk havers? Probably thought he was being kind going to a quirkless business," Dad grumbled. Mom looked at him with empathy. The three of us were judged harshly for our lack of quirks, we weren't 'ideal' in the current society. That angered my father.

"I'll go see what he wants, you stay here, F/N," Mom sweetly said. She rubbed his shoulder soothingly and walked out of the kitchen with me.

"Hi, my daughter tells me you're interested in 400 cupcakes?" My mom greeted him.

"Yes, that's correct. How much would that be and how long would that take?" The boy replied.

"Well, it'll run you almost 82 thousand yen..." Mom hesitantly said, knowing the price would scare most people off.

"Doesn't matter. I just need them in time for the U.A. School Festival," The boy said.

"Oh so you're rich-rich," I mumble to myself. The boy must've heard as he looked at me confused. My mom lightly hit my arm. I roll my eyes playfully.

"Well... that's two weeks away. We should have enough time!" Mom answered. "We do a half payment upfront and you pay us the rest once you collect the cupcakes."

"I can pay it all at once, it's no trouble," the boy said. He pulled out a black credit card. I looked at my mom and she shared my same thought "money, money, money".

"Right, that'll be... 81,700 yen," my mom said. She entered the price in the register and turned the card reader to face the customer.

Silently, he put the card in and used the PIN number. The satisfying ding of the payment going through made the workers at the shop elated. "Right! Thank you. If you could leave your name and number, my daughter will contact you for information regarding what you want." Mom explained. She offered over a pen and a notepad.

"Sure," the boy said. He grabbed the pen and paper and wrote his information on it.

"Thank you again... Todoroki," Mom said, her eyes widened when she read his last name. He nodded and walked out. Mom turned to face me, she had a mischievous smile on her face. I knew what she was up to.

"My daughter will contact you," I mocked. "REALLY MOM?!" My face flushed with color as I covered my face in embarrassment.

"Just trying to set my baby up!" Mom teased. "But you really should message him, we kind of need to know what to make."

"I can't believe he paid up front like that..." I said amazed.

"Right?! Didn't ask for proof or previous works... paid just like that."

"Why'd you look surprised at his name?"

"Todoroki is the last name of the number 1 pro hero."

"All.. Might..?" I was never really caught up on heroes. The prospect never interested me. Being a hero was a dream I could never chase. All because of the extra joint in my pinky toe.

"No. All Might retired. Endeavor!"

"Oh cool," I reply. Mom rolls her eyes. I stick out my tongue and pull out my phone. I put Todoroki's number from the paper into my contacts.

I showed Mom the messages. "Music-related, huh?" "I think it's kinda cool," I defended. She hummmed. "I'll work something up with your dad. Why don't you head upstairs?" She offered. "I can help you know!" I groan. "I know you can. But you also have a bunch of homework," Mom countered. "What's the point? I mean, I'm probably just going to end up working here for the rest of my life." "I don't want that for you, hun. This was mine and your father's dream, it doesn't have to be yours too." I sigh, "Fine. Goodnight, Mom. I love you." "I love you too."

I walk upstairs to the living area my parents and I reside. I open my bedroom door and flop onto my bed. I didn't bother doing my homework, instead I just stared at the ceiling. I thought back to the customer. He wasn't bad-looking at all. I hope I get to see him again. Well I mean I will, but maybe (and hopefully) not in the context of buying cupcakes at my parents' bakery.

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[staylovesmiley]

Going Dumb~ Chapter 1

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Kim Seungmin x Fem!reader , Stray Kids x Fem!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Summary; It had been over a decade since you had last seen each other, having met in choir when Seungmin was living with his grandparents in LA and you with your Aunt. Now that you are both presented adults, how will he handle a change to the reality of you he had made in his mind in your absence over the years?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩 Notes; This is an ABO!AU. in this world when someone reaches puberty they will present with one of three sub genders; alpha, beta, or omega. Due to Alphas and Omegas experiencing rut and heat, some jobs are restrictive as to what sub genders they will hire, specifically singling out omegas as heat suppressants are harder to obtain than rut suppressants. Scent glands are located near the pressure points on the neck and small hormonal patches called scent blockers can be placed over them to reduce or rid an individual of their scent for a period of time depending on the strength of the hormones in the patch.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; abo!au, beta!kim seungmin, almost all alpha!straykids, poly!pack dynamics, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, smut, enemies to lovers, Kim seungmin is kind of an ass I’m so sorry dandy boy, she/her pronouns used for reader, jealous seungmin, I have only ever wrote one abo story before but it is one of my favorite genres so I hope I can do this justice~

(masterlist here)

“God I can’t believe how unreasonable they are being!” Seungmin shouted, slamming the front door behind him as he stormed into the dorm and threw his bag down before pausing to take off his shoes. He made his way to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water to calm down while two heads peeked over the edge of the couch to watch him curiously. “What’s up, pup?” Changbin questioned with a teasing smirk, quickly wiping it off his face as the younger turned to glare at him dangerously. “My parents, they are being ridiculous.” He huffed, setting his glass down on the counter before rubbing at his face with exhaustion.

Changbin looked to Felix who sat beside him, the younger alpha shrugging and they both turned back to the beta. “What do you mean, Seungie?” Felix asked as he patted the spot beside him for the younger to join. Reluctantly he took him up on the offer and sat beside the pair on the large brown leather couch. “It’s kind of a long story- and everyone should probably be here cause it kind of involves all of us…” he said with a grumble, not looking forward to having a pack meeting over this. Changbin nodded and sent a message in the group chat.

Seungmin tried to calm down while waiting for everyone to arrive. With it being an off day for most members, it didn’t take long and soon all they were waiting for was their pack alpha who just happened to be walking through the door. “Hey Minnie what’s up? What’s with the need for a pack meeting?” Chan raised an eyebrow, usually he was the one to call for such meetings but he could tell instantly that it was serious and something was bothering their beta.

Sighing, the young beta straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. “So- god this is gonna be a lot I’m so sorry…” everyone rolled their eyes at his stalling and Minho hit him over the head lightly from where he was standing behind the couch. “Spill, puppy.” The younger growled lightly, though not as menacing as he wished it would be to the alpha. “There is this girl-“ Hyunjin gasped loudly, hand over his chest in a dramatic display of teasing faux shock. “Our puppy gets bitches?!” This exclamation earned him a pillow to the face from Jeongin and everyone shouting at him to let the second youngest continue his story before making comments.

“As I was saying, there is this girl who I used to know from when I was in the states, right?” He rolled his eyes at the thought, huffing a bit. “Super annoying alpha from choir who would always hang around me and made everyone avoid me like the plague cause of how annoying she was-“ Shaking his head, he decided he was getting off track. “Anyways, her aunt became friends with my parents and they apparently kept in touch all this time and she is coming to Korea to start working.” So far everyone was following, full attention on the beta in front of them. “Well- she was gonna be staying with my parents I guess while she gets settled and finds a place to live but since they are about to go on this big anniversary trip they don’t want her to get lonely at the house all by herself.” Once again he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Get to the point, pup.” Chan urged him, arms crossed over his chest as he saw the others starting to get impatient. “They are bringing her here to stay with us until they get back since we have that spare room and apparently decided we should reconnect or whatever after all this time- as if we were ever really friends to begin with….” He spewed so fast he almost tripped over his words, wincing a bit as he waited for them to scold him for not protesting his parents favor harder.

Everyone stared at him a bit, mixes of disbelief, confusion, and slight amusement from some. “I tried to tell them we are about to have a comeback and won’t be here much as it is and she’d be better just staying at the house anyways but they used that as an excuse that she won’t be a bother cause we won’t have to see her much.” Seungmin groaned, placing his head in his hands. “I’m sorry guys- she should be here in a few hours I just found out on my drive back from vocal lessons.”

Chan shrugged, trying to keep his scent neutral as to keep everyone calm. “Hey, it’s okay Minnie. I’m sure she isn’t as bad as you remember, I mean it’s been a long time since you were in the states yeah?” He nodded, looking up at the oldest with a slight pout. “Yeah…I guess-“ Felix patted him on the back and Minho sighed as he pushed away from the couch. “Well I guess I’ll go get that spare bedroom ready for a guest. Any idea how long she’ll be here?”

Thinking for a bit, trying to recall all his mother had spewed to him about his childhood “friend’s” visit while he seethed quietly on his end of the line. “I don’t know- they will be gone a month but she could find an apartment sooner than that? At least a month then she will go back to my parents. She’ll be their problem.” He groaned, standing up to get his glass of water again and calm his agitated scent. What were his parents thinking dumping you on him like this was some sort of boarding home.

It was about a half an hour after the pack meeting that there was a ring of the doorbell chiming through the apartment. All the members’ heads popped up to look around before Seungmin huffed in annoyance and went to answer it. Upon opening the door his eyes landed on you, suitcases slightly behind you and a shy smile on your soft features. You were dressed in ripped light wash jeans and a plain black hoodie so oversized it fell at almost mid thigh over your jeans. You looked good and he mentally cursed himself for thinking so.

“Seungmin? Oh my god it’s been….forever.” You said the last word breathlessly, looking him up and down with a little giggle as you took in his appearance. “Didn’t think you’d be taller than me someday.” You teased lightly, watching as his eyes rolled and his scent spike with agitation. “Come in, I guess….where is mom and dad?” He questioned, stepping aside to allow you in before peeking out into the hall to search for them. “Um in a hurry to get back to the airport so they just dropped me off and told me what door to go to…” you said, awkwardness laced in your tone as you pulled your rolling suitcases in with you and looked up to find several pairs of eyes locked onto you.

“Oh- are these your pack mates?” You asked softly, looking around at them with a soft wave and what you hoped was a friendly smile. “Yes. Try not to bother us too much, yeah? We’re very busy right now.” He huffed as he closed the door behind you and grabbed a suitcase with one hand and your wrist with the other causing you to yelp softly at the sudden grip. “Come on I’ll show you where you can stay…” he grumbled out, ignoring the look Chan shot his way before the elder stepped out in front of the two of you to stop him. “Seungmin, are you not going to introduce us?” He asked, eyebrow raised at him before shooting a soft smile to where you stood behind him. “Hi, I’m Bangchan. You can just call me Chan, though.” He said holding a hand out to you.

You tensed a bit, his strong saltwater scent washing over you as if you had just dived head first into the ocean. “Y/n, but everyone calls me-“ Seungmin cut you off, rolling his eyes a bit. At this rate they would fall out of his head with how hard and how many times he was making the gesture.

“Bunny. Everyone calls her Bunny. And that’s Changbin, Jeongin, and Felix on the couch, Hyunjin is the one lurking in the kitchen pretending not to be paying attention, Jisung is in his room, and Minho is in the room you’ll be staying in still I think? He may have gone to his room already-“ Seungmin said as he pointed to everyone’s location before looking at Chan with impatience. “There, introduced. Now can I show them to their room, hyung?” He asked with a slight annoyance in his tone that the older didn’t appreciate. “Puppy…manners.” Is all he said, before stepping aside. “It’s nice to meet you, Bunny.” The alpha said with a wink before heading off to his own room.

You blushed slightly, trailing silently behind your old friend as he lead you into a plainly decorated room with just a bed and bedside table. Minho had indeed already retired to his room so Seungmin gestured to the mostly empty space then sighed. “Here. Don’t make too much noise and again, don’t bother us.” You nodded, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto his wrist as he tried to leave. “Wait- Minnie? Um it’s really nice to see you again. I’m really happy for you and all you’ve accomplished….I hope your parents have sent you my well wishes over the years.”

They indeed had constantly kept him up to date with the messages you had sent to him, though he wondered why after all these years of him dodging any attempts to keep in touch you would care to wish him well or say they are happy for him. “Right, yeah they have. I’m going to wash up, just keep to yourself while you’re here yeah? And don’t call me that.” He said, his usually neutral clean laundry scent souring with his attitude as he quickly left you alone in the room, shutting the door behind him.

You were left standing in the room, a little dumbfounded at his attitude before you scratched a bit anxiously at the scent blockers on your neck. You rolled your suitcases over to the closet and laid them down so it would be easier to go through them when needed, humming softly to yourself before there was a knock at the door. A young man with short black hair and catlike features peeked his head into the room but had his eyes covered by one hand. “Decent?” You giggled a bit, nodding. “Yeah- you’re good.”

Removing his hand from his eyes, the man smirked as he fully entered the room. “Im Minho, you’re uh Bunny, right?” He asked, eyebrow raised with amusement. “Mhm that’s me! It’s nice to meet you.” You reached out, shaking his hand before standing. “Likewise. Sorry for the puppy’s behavior earlier….” You shrugged, sighing a bit. “It’s probably warranted…I feel bad for letting there be distance between us for so long I should have tried harder to keep in touch.” Curiosity flooded his warm caramel scent as he looked at you quizzically. “You seem to be more fond of him than he is of you…” with another sigh you nodded your head. “It seems so, yeah…I’m sure he’ll warm up though it’s just been a while.” Minho nodded slowly.

“Right….anyways- I was coming to say dinner is ready if you wanna come grab something to eat? It’s just pizza we weren’t really up to cooking tonight.” You beamed at his kindness and shrugged slightly. “Sounds good to me!” You said, following him out as he lead the way to the dinning room where multiple pizza boxes lay open on the table.

Everyone was congregated in the living room, something random on the tv for background noise as they ate in relative silence. You got yourself a slice and sat down at the table alone, getting the feeling Seungmin didn’t want you to interact with his pack much but Minho rolled his eyes and took a hold of your wrist, pulling you with him to the living room where everyone else was waiting. “No really it’s fine- I can even eat in my room if you-“ the alpha looked back to give you a look that this was nonnegotiable and you relented, head hung slightly causing everyone’s interest to pique slightly with your easy submission.

Once you settled on the floor with your place on the coffee table in front of you, Minho spoke up. “Can I get you something to drink?” You looked up blinking a bit before answering. “Water please?” He smiled warmly and nodded, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and handing it to you before taking his seat. “Seungmin said you’re here for work, yeah? What is it you do?”

You took a sip of your water before replacing the cap and setting it down. Looking up to see it was Chan who had asked you the question. “This is going to sound so cliche but- I’m an English teacher.” This caused them all to look around subtly with more confusion, teaching not being a job many alphas applied for though it wasn’t unheard of. Chan asking you your line of work caused the preverbal glass to tip over and the others began spouting out questions of their own.

“What made you want to teach in Korea?” Came Jeongin, taking a bite of his pizza so large it was almost the whole slice at once. “Oh well I was originally a teacher back in America, for a few years now, but it wasn’t as much money compared to the cost of living….I was talking to Minn- uh Seungmin’s sister and she told me I should try teaching over here.” They all nodded, glancing between you and Seungmin to see his reaction to the mention of his older sister and he simply at his dinner, pretending not to care or listen as his pack mates entertained you.

Next came Changbin, an amused smirk on his lips. “Why do you go by Bunny?” This got Seungmin’s attention and he answered for you in a mocking tone. “Because when she was little she had huge front teeth and always scrunches her nose like a baby bunny. Also had a habit of eating raw vegetables like crazy.” He scoffed, causing you to look down at your lap with a sting in your chest. “Well yeah, thanks Seungmin that pretty much sums it up….I grew into my smile pretty much and I eat more than just veggies now but the name stick so hard-“ You continued to explain, causing the beta to groan exaggeratedly. “Uh- I’m from the south originally and once you get a nickname people from there won’t ever let you forget it. I got lucky mine isn’t too bad-“ you sighed, ignoring the feeling of Seungmin glaring at the back of your head.

The rest of the meal you tried to keep your answers short, fearing angering your old playmate any more for “annoying his members” assumingely. You were quick to help clean up, insisting it’s the least you could do for them allowing you to stay there with them. Once everything was cleaned up and the left overs were put away you had Minho show you to the bathroom and reach you how to work the shower before leaving you with your folded up pajamas, a towel, and your toiletries tucked to your chest to wash up.

While you showered in one bathroom, everyone else got ready for bed using one of the other two before they retired to their respective rooms to call it a night. As you scrubbed away the airport smells from your skin, you reached up and carefully peeled away the scent blocking patches you had on for far to long now. You sighed in relief at the lack of hormones clogging your glands and made sure to thoroughly wash the area to clean away any residue left behind.

Stepping out of the bathroom dressed in a pair of short black pajama shorts and an oversized sweatshirt you padded your way in socked feet to the room your be staying in, your warm citrusy scent quickly filling the apartment and causing the occupants to stir from their beds and make their way out to the hall. By the time all eight men congregated there you were already tucked away in your room, quickly falling asleep after the days travel and jet lag setting in.

“Uh, Seungmin I hate to break it to you but I don’t think your friend is an Alpha- did they tell you they were one?” Felix asked, looking over at him as they all took in your sweet scent. “No- neither of us had presented before I left to come back to Korea…I just- I assumed okay?” He groaned, placing his head in his hands. “What made you think they would be an alpha so strongly?” Changbin laughed, patting the beta on the back. “They were so obnoxious and loud and rowdy and annoying- oh um….No offense? But you know how alphas can be especially when just presenting! Remember Ji?”

All eyes fell on Han and he held his hands up in surrender. “Hey! I came to see the errors of my ways and have made amends-“ they all chuckled and turned back to the second youngest. “She used to get into fights all the time too! One time she beat up my buddy so badly she broke his nose!” He winced at the memory and Chan sighed, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall. ���Look- Alpha or Omega it doesn’t matter. She didn’t seem to mind staying here knowing we are all, well almost all, alphas so we just gotta make sure we don’t make her feel uncomfortable. Got it?” Everyone nodded in the affirmative and a chorus of yawns rang out. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah? Busy day tomorrow only a few more til the comeback and we have a lot to prep still.”

Soon they all went back to bed, trying to get some sleep with the foreign but almost intoxicating scent coming from your room and settling well in the apartment with the other collective scents. Seungmin laid on his back for what felt like hours, staring up at the ceiling as it almost taunted him. All these years and any time you were brought up in his mind he knew you as that annoying little alpha who would never give him any space in choir. Hearing you were a teacher now, never having pursued music knowing the talent you held (despite his distaste for you he couldn’t deny that fact) made more sense knowing that the industry rarely accepted omegas, and even had some aversion to alphas.

Shaking his head of the thoughts of you swimming there, he attempted yet again to fall asleep but found it almost impossible knowing you already weren’t who he remembered you to be, and he couldn’t seem to over come the thought that his reality could be altered so quickly without any control. You were seeming to be the death of his sanity yet again and you had only just arrived.

author’s note: I real hope you all like this story- ૮꒰ “. . ꒱ა i purposely left off the readers sub gender from the tags because I wanted to at least attempt to surprise you all~ I’m already have a lot of fun with this series and have so many things planned I hope I can get it all to work (still would love suggestions though I get inspired and hyped up by you all so much ilysm) ᕱᕱ⊹ ࣪ ˖

taglist; @coastinglove @skzswife (if you want to be added to the taglist pls lmk)

[jozor-johai]

Days, Moons, Snow, and Letters: Proposing an new timeline for the ADWD North

The timeline you think you know around Jon's death is wrong, and this post is to show you why. Every discussion about who really wrote the Pink Letter is missing a crucial detail: Jon dies a month before Tycho Nestoris even reaches the Crofter's Village.

Yes, I am aware this sounds like an unbelievable claim. I would love for someone to convincingly prove me wrong, and if you believe you can, please let me know. However, I am reaching this conclusion using only the facts, which I will break down for you here.

Based on Asha's careful count of the days in The King's Prize and The Sacrifice, Jon's account of the moons from Jon VII onward, and Asha's, Theon's, and Jon's account of the snowstorm around Winterfell, I believe I can convincingly argue that by the time Tycho Nestoris arrives at Stannis' camp at the end of The Sacrifice—before any battle has taken place at all—Jon has already been dead for a month.

Very long (and dry) explanation below the cut. Please enjoy.

At the end, there's a Timeline breakdown illustrating the rough outline by the day, so don't worry if my tally of the weeks starts to get confusing, there is a clarifying list at the end.

The intuitive version—where George is giving us helpful hints

Jon VII, The Prince of Winterfell, and The King’s Prize. 

In The King’s Prize, Stannis’ host sets out from Deepwood Motte. Because this is important for timing everything else, let's call this Day 0.

In Jon VII, during a new moon, Jon receives a letter informing him of this plan ("we march against him")—I believe we can sync these events as occurring roughly contemporary to one another, with Jon VII happening a few days later. For ease later on, let's say Jon VII happens ~0.5 weeks after Asha departs Deepwood; this is ~Day 3.

Very shortly after that is Prince of Winterfell and Jeyne’s marriage: during this chapter, Roose receives word that Stannis has left Deepwood Motte. Allowing for just a bit more wiggle room (for Arnolf Karstark to have received a similar update as Jon did, and then to forward that information to ahead to Roose) we can place Prince of Winterfell fairly soon after Jon VII, itself after The King’s Prize begins. Let's call this ~Day 6.

Theon in Winterfell

Thanks to Asha keeping track of the days to the number, we know that Stannis' host spends at least 34 days on the march (Asha notes that "On the thirty-second day" grain ran out, at least two more days pass—the day "Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen" and "The next day the king's scouts chanced upon an abandoned crofters' village") and then Stannis' camp spends an additional 19 days at the Crofter's Village before Tycho and Theon arrive ("they had been three days from winterfell for nineteen days"). Therefore, we can almost exactly place Theon's arrival at the Crofter's Village no sooner than 53 days from the time they left Deepwood Motte. (It's possible, but not necessary, to insert more days between 32 and the Peasebury day, and we're trying to keep this march as short as possible.)

Therefore, the entirety of Theon’s Winterfell arc occurs during this time, since Prince of Winterfell starts right after the announcement that Stannis has begun to march, and because accounting for a ~3 days' ride between WF and the Village, Theon I occurs ~3 days before The Sacrifice. We can actually reasonably sync these chapters, but for the most part we don’t really have to—Ghost of Winterfell begins four days prior to Theon I, so that only needs to align with Tycho's arrival, and the Turncloak can just happen somewhere in between. But:

The one interesting thing to note is the snow in The Turncloak, when snow begins to fall heavily ("by nightfall snow was coming down so heavily"), and the snowstorm begins. However, it is also in this chapter that two scouts return to inform Roose that Stannis’ host has begun to break apart in the snow and had "slowed to a crawl". Comparing that to Asha's updates, this is at the earliest ~1 week into the march by Asha’s count, or anytime afterward ("fourth day of the march... snow began to fall" + "third day of snow, the king's host had begun to come apart"). So, by the time it starts snowing at Winterfell, or Asha, it's already been snowing a few days, at minimum. Accounting for additional travel time back to Winterfell from wherever Stannis is, and considering that this report comes just as Winterfell is getting snow, that means Stannis’ host got the snow roughly over a week before the snow reached Winterfell.

Almost like the snowstorm is following Stannis there. ;)  

Asha's Days

As for Asha and Jon’s storyline—where it actually matters here—it appears remarkably easy to compare time:

I believe Asha counting the days must be an exercise with narrative importance, and it's incredibly useful. As I said above, we can pin nearly to the day how much time elapsed from the beginning of Stannis’ march from Deepwood Motte until their arrival at the Crofter’s Village (no less than 34 days, cited above) and then add another 19 days at the Crofter’s Village in advance of Tycho’s arrival.

Together, the time from the beginning of The King’s Prize to the end of The Sacrifice is, at minimum, 53 days. Let's say Theon and Asha reunite on Day 53.

TWOW Theon appears to occur just before dawn the next day, and since The Battle at the Crofter’s Village appears to begin immediately after TWOW Theon ends, we’ll say that the Battle, therefore, is Day 54, or 7 weeks and 5 days following Stannis' departure from Deepwood Motte.

Jon's Moons

Meanwhile, every subsequent Jon chapter gives us either a moon phase or an account of days past:

Jon VII occurs during a new moon ("They had no moon to guide them home, and only now and then a patch of stars.") The weather is notably clear, clear enough that it's a plot element: this is the reason for heading to the weirwood grove now. When Jon returns he get the news of Stannis’ departure from Deepwood. We've allowed for some raven time, so we're calling this ~Day 3.

(As an aside, it’s been storming the last seven days, so the latest Mance could have left is a week prior, though obviously since we’re syncing this with Prince of Winterfell, Mance likely left earlier than that.)

Jon VIII occurs just before the half moon, about a week later. A moon "but half-full," to quote the text exactly. This is when Val departs to find Tormund. I interpret "but" to mean just before half-full, so we'll say this is 6 days later: ~Day 9.

Val says she will return on the "first night of the full moon." No one ever says she’s late, and Jon never worries about her being gone too long, so we can assume this is true—Val returns on the first night of the full moon, with Tormund, in Jon X. We can even be generous and say this is ~9 days later, and say Jon X occurs ~Day 18.

Since Val leaves in Jon VIII and returns a week later in Jon X, then Jon IX has just over a week’s period to occur. If we’re being generous, we can say this occurred only a few days after Jon VIII, around the actual half moon. Let's say Jon IX happens ~Day 11.

In Jon IX, Selyse arrives and declares she intends to stay “no more than a few days,” and while this prediction is not a trustworthy source, it might give us some kind of ballpark. Jon also notes the weather is clear in the morning for once, calling it a “respite.” He thinks the snows have "moved off to the south" (to Stannis?) but by the evening, the snow is "coming down more heavily". The next day, Tycho appears to be gone, and Alys arrives. 

So: Tycho appears to leave just over 1 week after Jon VII, when Jon received word that Stannis planned to march on Winterfell. This way, it makes intuitive sense that Jon sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte—barely any time has passed. It seems entirely possible that Stannis had yet to leave, or at least that Tycho could catch up with him on the march. So far, this feels entirely believable and logical.

In Jon X, Alys weds. Flint and Norrey have "hied" (hurried) to Castle Black for the Wedding, which is possible if we've said that Jon IX was ~1 week ago. The snow is still falling "heavily". Jon receives a letter confirming that eleven ships have left Eastwatch for Hardhome (likely a few days prior). Val arrives that night—our full moon, we presume. Again, this is Day ~18.

Jon XI begins the next morning. ("that day" until "finally, as the shadows of the afternoon grew long"). There is no place to fit any time in between here and Jon IX, because this chapter includes Jon showing Val her new quarters ("I've had the top floor made ready for you"). This is ~Day 19.

Also in Jon XI, Jon notes that the snow has finally stopped after two weeks ("a fortnight"). The last time we know the weather was clear for more than a few hours (so clear it was a plot point!) was Jon VII, when Jon went to the weirwood grove. By our count of the moon, Jon VII was two weeks ago, so this lines up exactly.

Tycho

So: we've said Tycho leaves in Jon IX, which is just over a week since Jon VII. If, at an estimate, we're saying Jon VII probably occurred about a half a week after Stannis actually left, Tycho departed Castle Black 1.5 weeks into Stannis' march. Again—he could catch up here, so makes sense that Jon sends Tycho to Deepwood Motte first.

Meanwhile, thanks to Asha, we know Tycho makes it to Stannis’ camp 7.5 weeks after their departure, on Day 53. If we are roughly syncing the start of The King’s Prize half a week before Jon VII, and seeing Tycho set out from Castle Black only a week later, then Tycho takes ~6 weeks to reach Stannis, and he’s not a teleporting banker at all. ~42 days is plenty of time to reach Deepwood Motte, negotiate the exchange of hostages, travel to Winterfell in the storm, grab Theon, and then make it back to Stannis’ camp. Again, this makes sense.

Jon X—Jon XIII

However, we now run into the problem of how much time has passed since Tycho left.

We said before that Jon X and Jon XI (the next day) occur ~1 week after Tycho departs. Jon XI is ~Day 19.

After that, Jon XII occurs exactly three days following Jon XI—there’s no space to add any extra time here. In Jon XI, Tormund and Jon agree to let the Wildlings through in three days' time, and Jon XII follows that event proceeding as scheduled. We can safely place Jon XII ~1.5 weeks following Tycho’s departure. Jon XII is ~Day 22.

Jon XIII is the only remaining Jon chapter without a moon phase or a clear date. However, there are a number of events that demand it be soon after Jon XII.

First, there's Tormund's return. Back in Jon XII, Jon says Tormund will take men to Oakenshield in “within a day or two.” In Jon XIII, Toregg returns in the morning to announce that Tormund has settled his people at Oakenshield and is returning in the afternoon. Tormund arrives that afternoon.

Then, there's the matter of Hardhome. In Jon XII, he recieves news of the disaster at Hardhome ("Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead"). Jon XIII begins with Jon and Selyse discussing Hardhome, seemingly for the first time; Jon later discusses a Hardhome ranging with Marsh and Yarwyck, also for the first time; Melisandre also tries to stop Jon from leaving for Hardhome, also for the first time. Jon XIII occurs as soon as Jon makes the plan to leave for Hardhome. He sounds hurried; he says "they are starving at Hardhome by the thousands," and he makes a plan with Leathers to arrange the meeting in the Shieldhall in time for Tormund's return from Oakenshield—the only thing holding them up from leaving is Tormund's return.

Up to you how long you think Jon would have waited to discuss this—I don't think very long. In order to argue that more time passes between Jon XII and Jon XIII, we need to argue that Jon hears of the starving Wildlings eating their own dead and waits for weeks before acting.

Additionally, Cregan Karstark is taken out of the Ice Cells in Jon XIII after having been imprisoned there sometime before Jon X. Considering Jon X and Jon XII have to be four days apart, that's fine, and we might imagine that Cregan has been there for maybe over a week, or more. However, Jon spent four days in an ice cell in ASOS Jon X and in this time Alliser Thorne threatened that Jon would "die in there." With that comparison, we're limited in the timeline by imagining how much longer than ~1 week we can keep Cregan Karstark alive in the ice cells prior to his release in Jon XIII without him freezing to death first.

Soon after, the Bastard Letter arrives, and Jon is killed.

Personally, I think it’s most likely that Jon XIII occurs only a few days following Jon XII. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say we can put Jon XIII ~1 week following Jon XII, and being generous we’ll say that Jon dies ~2.5 weeks after Tycho departs Castle Black. That is, therefore, 3.5 weeks after Jon first heard word that Stannis was leaving Deepwood Motte, and (we're guessing) ~4 weeks after Stannis actually left.

So Jon dies on ~Day 30. By this count, Jon's dead, and Tycho Nestoris still won’t arrive at the Crofter’s Village for another ~3.5 weeks—he can't come any faster, Asha's been counting.

Next, I'm going to propose (and acknowledge) the ways that other versions of this timeline will fix this problem, though I don't like them exactly. Then, afterwards, I'm going to give a last piece of evidence why I believe in the version of events I've just described.

If you're unintersted in "what-ifs," scroll down to "The Snowstorm"

The Less Intuitive Version—where George sneaks in "The Mystery Month"

Because I'm arguing that Jon appears to die on ~Day 30, and Tycho doesn't even reach Asha until Day 53, in order for us to believe Jon XIII happened after TWOW Theon, we’d need to invent a month to add in to Jon’s storyline. Jon XIII has to occur after Day 60, at minimum.

I call this the “Mystery Month”—is there a missing month in Jon’s storyline, or isn’t there?

There a couple ways to make this happen, and I'll explain why I don't believe them.

The trouble with slow ravens

Number one, across the board, it feels very tempting to add buffer time by imagining that Stannis left Deepwood Motte even earlier than we estimate—maybe a whole week, or even longer, before Jon hears about it in Jon VII. The main issue with this strategy is that Stannis has to send the letter, so the raven leaves at latest when Stannis does, and so now we're arguing that a raven takes over a week to fly to reach Jon .... which means that now we're also adding additional estimated time for how long it took a raven to deliver the Pink Letter, and everything has to be pushed even earlier.

That is to say: if we said it takes two weeks for word to reach Jon before Jon VII, I would say now the "battle" in the Pink Letter has to happen weeks earlier to account for this extended raven time.

The long wait before Jon XIII

The first, simplest way to add a month, is that we say this: Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII. It took Jon a month to plan for and to bring up Hardhome to Selyse, Selyse has waited over month to plan her weddings with Gerrick Kingsbloods’ daughters, and Tormund has been at Oakenshield for over a month. The Letter arrives a month after the Wildlings come through, and so long as the King’s Prize also began over a week before Jon gets the Letter about it in Jon VII, we can make this work. Tycho arrives on time, we skip ahead a month before Jon XIII, and then Jon dies after the battle.

Yes, this could be how it happens, No I do not think that it's convincingly possible that Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII.

If we don't want to try to force in a lot of time between Jon XII and Jon XIII, there are a few other ways to attempt to solve this (though these are still three timelines of entirely my own invention):

Skipping a moon before Jon VIII

We could add a month in between Jon VII and Jon VIII, where Jon VIII is not the waxing half moon following Jon VII’s new moon, but the one after that. We're locked in at the moon cycle, so instead of one week, this has to be a ~5 week gap. The major issue with this is: we’ve lined up Jon VII roughly with the beginning of Stannis’ march, and Tycho still hasn’t arrived at Castle Black yet. If we place Jon IX right after Jon VIII again, we'll add a month to our previous estimate of Jon IX can say that Tycho leaves ~Day 39.

With this timeline, Tycho has ~2 weeks to catch up with Stannis’ host, reaching both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell along the way. This seems unbelievably fast (considering that Deepwood to Winterfell alone was over two weeks in good weather).

The thing is, that doesn’t even matter: since this doesn’t change our earlier estimate of how long Jon has left to live after Tycho’s departure (~2.5 weeks), that still means Jon dies roughly around the same time Tycho arrives.

There's an even bigger logical issue here: in this scenario, that means Jon, who heard five weeks ago that Stannis is marching on Winterfell—which is apparently a two-week march ("fifteen days")—still sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte to catch Stannis. Why would Tycho go to Deepwood first, and not Winterfell, if Jon learned Stannis marched five weeks before Tycho left? It's true that it happened to work out, but Jon wouldn't have known, at this point, how snowed in Stannis is.

The Val takes three weeks version

Alternatively, here everything is spread out more, which is closer in spirit to what the Unofficial Timeline suggests.

We can try to give both Val and Tycho a little more time before Val's return, but we’re always trapped in a moon cycle between Jon VIII and Jon X because otherwise Val’s promise to return at the full moon doesn’t make any sense. The best way to do this is to imagine that Val leaves on a waning half moon, rather than waxing half moon. This means that Val has three weeks to travel, and it also means we have move Jon VIII to three weeks after Jon VII (and therefore ~3 weeks into King’s Prize). Here, Jon VIII is ~Day 24.

(However, this is counterintuitive—it’s more natural to imagine that being shown a half moon following a new moon would mean the waxing half moon. Also, I believe it goes contrary to the actual description: Jon notes the moon was “but half full,” and the “but” makes it seem like it will be half-full soon, not that it just was. Again, we can allow it. This also means that when Val looks at the half-moon and says: look for me at the first week of the full moon, she doesn’t mean next week, she means in ~3 weeks from now—after the moon has gone to new and then back to full again. Once again, this feels very counterintuitive to say, but it will give us more time.)

In this version of events, Tycho and Alys can still arrive as early as right after Jon VIII, and therefore that Tycho left Castle Black ~3 weeks after Jon VII, roughly around ~Day 26. (Once again, this doesn’t make too much intuitive sense to me: why would Jon send Tycho to Deepwood Motte three weeks into a two-week march?) 

This doesn’t change our count of time from Jon X—Jon XIII (a generous ~1.5 weeks) but now we’re saying say that Tycho left Castle Black three weeks prior to Jon X, so this gives us 4.5 weeks between Tycho’s departure and Jon’s death.

This solves the issue of the teleporting banker: Tycho leaves ~3 weeks into Stannis’ march and has ~4.5 weeks to make the trip, so he’s faster than Stannis but not impossibly fast. However, because the moon phases are still locking our ability to only month here for the moon to align, we still have Tycho arriving roughly the same time Jon dies.

Mystery Month+

Since we're trapped into a vague schedule by Jon's noted moon cycles, the only remaining option is to assume that one of the above is true, and that Jon XIII happens at least two weeks after Jon XII. That would also make the timeline work.

However, to me, this all seems highly counterintuitive and unlikely…

And that’s before we factor in the accounts of the weather. 

Yes, I have one more piece of evidence to propose, and although this is a bit more debatable, I believe it corroborates my initial timeline.

The Snowstorm

Asha sets out from Deepwood Motte, and four days later, the snows begin. By a week into the march ("third day of snow"), the host has begun to separate, and slow to a crawl.

Around this time, or a little later, we imagine the Bolton scouts see the Stannis host struggling, and turn home to report back. Several days later, accounting for vague travel time (because Stannis is less than halfway to Winterfell by this point), they report this to Roose, and it begins to snow in Winterfell, too. Let's say, roughly, it begins snowing at Winterfell around ~2 weeks after Stannis departs, maybe adding a couple days. This is when The Turncloak happens—let's say ~Day 16.

Remember what I said about the snow in The Turncloak being interesting?

In Jon VII (at my estimate, ~Day 3) the weather is clear—clear enough that Jon heads north of the Wall. If we're aligning these moments, this seems to be true for Stannis, too.

The first we hear of snows to the south in Jon IX ("moved off to the south"), and in Jon X, we hear that south of Castle Black the "kingsroad was said to be impassable" from snowstorms. In Jon XIII, Yarwyck points out that the Wall is getting snow blown against it because the "wind's from the south". This is three different accounts of harsh weather to the south, and all of this points to this being the storm at Winterfell. 

If we go back to my original timeline, Stannis leaves Deepwood Motte a little before Jon VII, and Jon X occurs two weeks later around ~Day 18. In that timeline, then those reports of impassable snows to the south line up exactly with when the snows appear to have hit Winterfell, from our estimation of the sync between King’s Prize and Turncloak. Snows hit Winterfell roughly ~Day 16, Jon gets reports that the Kingsroad is impassable ~Day 18. That lines up.

According to my proposed timeline, this is still four or five weeks before Tycho Nestoris arrives. A week later, in Jon XIII, when the winds from the south are only getting worse… that fits, because Asha and Theon have another three or four weeks of snow to go. And Jon is dead.

The End

TL;DR: Comparing Jon’s tracking of the moon, Asha’s tracking of the days, and accounts of the snowstorm around Winterfell all lead me to believe that Jon dies four weeks before Tycho Nestoris reaches the Crofter’s Village.

In my proposed timeline: Tycho leaves ~1 week after Stannis does, he takes ~6 weeks to make it to the Crofter’s Village, and Jon’s already been dead for a month. So, there's been a month since. This way, Jon sending Tycho to Deepwood makes sense, and Tycho taking 6 weeks to make the journey makes sense. The accounts of the snowstorms line up.

What doesn't make sense is: the Pink Letter arrives over a month too early to be real.

Implications

But what could I possibly be saying? I don't even really know. This is such an unusual conclusion that there is very little theorizing in the fandom about what this would mean.

.... Although, I do have a pet theory for this: it does feed into my desire for the Wildlings to make a surprise appearance in TWOW.

Take this with a grain of salt. BUT. We know from AGOT that it usually takes ~3 weeks to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell. That means that a Wildling host would have a month, or even five weeks, depending on timing, to have marched from Castle Black to Winterfell afterward, and could arrive at Winterfell right on time for Stannis to advance. If that were the case, it could explain why Stannis seems so unhurried at the Crofter's Village. Maybe he's waiting for them to arrive. It could work that way. I'm not getting into any other logistics here, because this is a tall tale to defend.

On the other hand, as much work as this was, I’d love to be proven wrong here! It's all in the name of science, if by science I mean obsessive analysis of fiction. If someone has a detail I’ve missed, please let me know.

TIMELINE

Day 0: King's Prize: Stannis Marches. The King's Prize begins.

Day ~3: Jon VII: New moon, word from Stannis.

Day 4: King's Prize: Snow begins for Asha.

Day ~6: Prince of Winterfell. Word from Arnolf that Stannis marches on Winterfell.

Day 7: King's Prize: Stannis' host begins to break apart in the snow.

Day ~9: Jon VIII: ~Half moon, Val departs and will return in ~a week.

Day ~11. Tycho Nestoris arrives and Jon sends him to Deepwood Motte. Jon notes it seems there are snows off to the south.

Day 15: King's Prize: Stannis has moved less than half the distance.

Day ~16. The Turncloak. It begins to snow heavily in Winterfell.

Day ~18. Jon X. Val returns, new moon. It's snowing heavily in Castle Black. Word comes that the Kingsroad south of Castle Black is impassable from heavy snow.

Day ~19. Jon XI. Jon meets with Tormund, shows Val her new quarters. Wildlings cross in three days.

Day 20. King's Prize: Asha loses her ankle chains because her horse dies.

Day ~22. Jon XII. The wildlings cross. Clear in the morning but Tormund notes snow will start again overnight. Tormund plans to go to Oakenshield in a day or two. Word of the Hardhome disaster.

Day 26. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of vegetables.

*Day ~30. Jon XIII, by my estimate. Jon plans to leave for Hardhome. Strong winds blowing snow from the south. Tormund returns from Oakenshield. Bastard Letter, Jon dies.

Day 32. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of grain.

Day 34. King's Prize: Stannis' host reaches the Crofter's Village.

Day 45. The Karstarks arrive at the Crofter's Village. (The Sacrifice)

Day 47. The Ghost in Winterfell: Ryswell man-at-arms found dead. Snow makes visibility outside Winterfell near-zero.

Day 48. Ghost in Winterfell: Aenys Frey's squire found dead in the morning. Flint crossbowman found dead in the afternoon. Stable collapses at night.

Day 49: Ghost in Winterfell: Yellow Dick found dead in the morning. Visibility so low Theon cannot see "three feet in front of him." Confrontation about whether Theon is the killer.

Day 50: Ghost in Winterfell: Theon stays up all night; just before the dawn the sounds of horns and drums outside wakes everyone Winterfell. Theon is found in the godswood by three of the spearwives and taken to meet Mance in the Burned Tower. Theon I: A raven arrives (from the Karstarks) informing Roose of Stannis' location. Theon and Jeyne escape and are found my Mors.

Day 53: The Sacrifice: Tycho Nestoris arrives with Theon, Jeyne, and the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte.

*Day 60: At minumum, earliest time Jon XIII can occur for the Pink Letter to be accurate.

[skyfallscotland]

Writing Advice: tips, tricks & helpful links, from your friendly neighbourhood fanfic author ✨ (part one—the advice)

see part two—the resources here

I've mentioned this before, but I truly believe no one's born a great writer. A great storyteller, yes. A great writer? That's learned. I've been reading and writing basically as long as I can remember. Learning to write is like...learning through both practice and symbiosis. In saying that, I get asked about this a lot, so here's what I do and some things that might help you.

Write what you're inspired to write, when you're inspired to write it.

So you have an idea—great! Are you a plotter or a pantser? Some people like to start with an outline, others just jot down a few notes and let the keyboard take them where it will. I'm in the latter camp, generally. For me, the best way to avoid writer's block is to write what I'm inspired to write, when I want to write it. Sometimes I'll write five chapters of a story at once, others I'll switch between a multi-chapter and a one-shot.

What's most important for me, personally, is that I don't try and force anything. If you suffer from demand avoidance, the worst thing you could possibly do (in my opinion), is set arbitrary goals. You don't need to write 500 words a day. If you want to, great! If that helps you, also great, but in my experience, that will generally just make my brain say well no, now we're not writing anything for a whole week, maybe a month, if you test me.

I also personally like to have a whole fic written before I start posting it online, or at least most of it written. I like being quite far ahead of what readers are seeing because I am a pantser. It takes the pressure off and honestly, there'd be so many plot holes if I didn't. Which brings me to...

First make it exist, then make it make sense, after that make it good.

What you see me post is not my first run-through. It's not even the second. I've written, read over, and changed things at least a handful of times before ever posting it, especially when it's a multi-chapter work. Sometimes I'll write a scene I love and then realise it just doesn't flow well, because three chapters back I had someone say a certain thing. In that instance, I'll put the scene aside.

Note that I said 'put aside' not 'delete'. I never delete them until I'm finished with a fic and I'm certain I won't need them, ever. Been there, made that mistake for you! Having a separate document with just various scenes you can insert at a later date also helps you to feel like it's ok to write what you want to write when you want to write it. I'll be honest, I jump around a lot. Sometimes I'll be inspired to write a scene I know isn't coming for another five chapters, but in my opinion it's best to just write it because when I get there five chapters down the line, I might not have the inspiration or I might have forgotten how I wanted things to go. Write what your brain wants to, fill in the blanks later!

Write from the heart.

My most popular work is the one I find the easiest to write and I almost never wrote it at all. Isn't that ridiculous? I almost never wrote it because I know it's cliché and excessive, and honestly...looked down upon. I almost didn't write it because of other people's opinions; then I said fuck it, I want to read it so surely there's someone else out there that does, too? Turns out there were thousands of you. Who knew?

But that work has really resonated with so many people and I think that's because I've poured so much of myself, my pain, my own experiences into it, into her. For that reason, I'd tell anyone starting out to try original character fic if that's what they want to do. Fuck the haters. All their favourite works were original characters once too.

Don't read similar fic while you're writing yours...unless you need to.

Let me explain. If I'm writing a certain type of alternate universe, or a certain storyline I know someone else has written, I won't read theirs until I'm done if I can help it, especially not if I'm actively writing my take on it. This isn't a hard and fast rule, it's obviously up to you what you feel comfortable with, but I would never want to have someone else's work influence my own too much, or get our ideas confused in my head, you know?

An exception to this rule, for me personally, is if I'm stuck with specific things in particular, like smut. When I wrote my first smut piece from a male POV, I was struck by the fact that I had no idea what an orgasm felt like for them, or how to describe it, because despite reading M/M fic for years, I apparently never absorbed that particular verbiage, so I went looking and read a whole bunch of smut from the male POV just to get an idea. Which leads into...

So you suck at kung-fu fighting.

Action scenes. I'm convinced we all hate them just as much as each other. I hate them so much I've changed whole plotlines from canon just so I don't have to include them. Unfortunately, my main fandom features a bunch of knife-throwing, sword-wielding, dragon riders at a war college who spar for clout, so I mean...it's unavoidable.

I still suck at writing it though, so what I now do for sparring and other hand-to-hand combat is search up youtube for sparring videos or self-defence lessons. It's much easier to describe what you're seeing than to imagine the mechanics and positioning of an artform you've never performed. The kung-fu thing was a joke, I like capoeira personally.

Stop being so damn hard on yourself.

Listen, everyone wants to be better than they are when they start out, literally everyone. I know I sure did. That's normal. Accept that it's normal before you start because the thing is, no one's a harsher critic on you, than you are and you'll always want to be better. There's a quote from Ira Glass that I'll paraphrase:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap[...]It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit."

It's very true. Hopefully you have the support of a really welcoming fandom to reassure you that actually, you're nowhere near as bad as you think you are.

READ. BOOKS.

@justallihere says you can’t be good at something you don’t know anything about and it's so true, I've phrased it before as learning by symbiosis, when you read more, you'll internalise more. You're subconsciously learning how story structure works—plot hooks, transitions, metaphors and similie, grammar, style and punctuation.

Show don't tell.

...yeah this one I haven't mastered, I could use some help with that myself if anyone's got any words of wisdom, thanks.

Take all of this with a grain of salt.

I couldn't tell you how many writer's advice threads and blogs and whatever-else I've read over the years—too many, for sure. What I can tell you is 80% of what I've read was crap. It doesn't apply to me at best and it's unhelpful at worst. Maybe it's the neurodivergence, maybe it's just the fact that everyone's different and all you can do is give things a try, but based on that I can say with certainty that not all of this will work for you and that's absolutely fine! But I hope at least a few things do 😌

For links to more specific resources including thesauruses, generators, and other writers' advice, click here.

[chronically-ghosted]

a cute megalomaniac (recovery road - chapter i) series masterlist | AO3 Link | chapter ii

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 6K

chapter summary: dieter's first day on set

chapter warnings/tags: mentions of rehab/addiction/withdrawal, language, no one gets along

a/n: My FC for Heidi is Sarah Goldberg and Timothy Olyphant as Mark (low hanging fruit, I know)

It’s getting hot inside the car. 

If he was going to sit this long in the fucking car, he should have left it running. Summers in LA are sneaky. Desert air is cold in the dark, but piercing in the day. He had purposefully parked in the shade, but it was still too much. He feels sweat break out across his hairline and he knows that won’t be a good look. He needs to look completely put together, completely at ease, relaxed. Unflinching. Unrufflable. Like he does tai chi every thirty minutes and can harmonize with the universe during rush hour traffic. 

He’s got to keep it together. 

But he can’t take his fucking palms down from his eyes. The heel of his hands dig into his eye sockets and for all the pressure it builds, it feels good. The pressure flushes out every other thought in his head and he needs to go into this clear-headed. If he fucks up again, it’s not just his ass on the line. 

He wants to believe things are going to be different this time. He wants to believe he’s going to be different. He’s worked his ass off to get here– sweated and shook and vomited into his own lap as the withdrawals tightened every muscle in his body– and now he just needs this one chance. Chloe – patient, perfect Chloe – was counting on him. If she said he could do it, he probably could. 

His left hand, fourth finger, twinges and that’s what brings his hands down from his face. He looks at the ring there. That gold beautiful ring. A promise made real. He swallows. 

Today, it’s a table read. Done it a thousand times. He’s actually early, for fuck’s sake. He glances down, triple checking he’s not wearing slippers or that mangy robe. Jeans. Black shirt. Easy. Chloe warned against the rings, but he’d sooner part with those than his right hand entirely. Sure he fucked up, sure he was a fuck up, but there were parts of Dieter Bravo that just had a right to exist. People wouldn’t recognize him without his rings. 

He did cave about the earring though. 

You’re almost thirty-six, darling. Nobody but rockstars can wear earrings at that age. 

When he went into rehab, he was thirty-three. He had lost two years of his life in that prison and he was not about to do it again. He had left his sobriety token at home, but he wished he had it now, just for something to squeeze, something to soothe his feverish palm. Again, Chloe had quietly nudged him: “do we need to get you a fidget spinner, baby?”

He wanted to joke, “that’s what the adderall is for,” but given that his doctor was forced to prescribe him something else for his ADHD after they found a dozen empty pill bottles under his bed, it probably wasn’t all that funny. 

He breathes, counting down just like the nice lady at the rehab center taught him to. 

Your self-destructive habits formed out of necessity. It’s time to reshape them. 

Today, it’s just a table read. He can do this.

He pops his sunglasses out of their holder on the console and slips them over his eyes. He takes one more glance out of the rearview mirror, half-expecting to be staring down the long lens of a TMZ reporter. He grabs the script from the passenger seat, curls it under his fingers— and still doesn’t move.

He likes this script. He likes the writer, seen their work in the past and it rocks. It’s good. It’s a good part. It’s actually better than good. It’s Oscar bait, the internet buzz says, and he has the lead part. An aging musician struggling to rebuild his life after a drug addiction ruined his band’s final tour. The scriptwriter didn’t actually say that he had Dieter in mind when he wrote the part, but Jesus– suffice it to say, he understood the material. 

The aging musician was going to help a young upstart find her way in the music scene. She joins the band. They flirt, they fuck, they fall in love, and everything is ruined by their own egos. End credits. Lights up. Oscar in his hand. 

He didn’t recognize the name of his co-star when his agent sent over the cast list. He honestly didn’t even ask about her. He had known the director, Heidi, for years, had worked with her in the past, and thought she had a real eye for scenecraft and a knack for finding that beating heart of a moment. He trusted her with casting the right part for his opposite, just as she had casted him. But it wasn’t even about his co-star– he was ready to dig in and see what the director could pull out of him. 

And fuck, if it worked for RDJ, then it could work for him. 

This had to work for him. He feels the pressure return behind his eyeballs. 

“Fuck it,” he hisses and nearly kicks the door open. The script curled up in his hand like a baseball bat, Dieter Bravo strolls across the hot parking lot to the studio sound stage and into the rest of his life.

He is used to being stared at. He is used to all eyes on him, but not like this. This feels too much like that last party when the cops showed up and found all of his illegal prescriptions. It makes him itch.

The empty stage is filled mostly with crew and staff, setting up lighting and testing the sound recording. They’re all busy, getting ready for next week to start filming, but they still have time to send him a worried glance. Because if he fucked up, they’d all be out of a job. They had enough courtesy to not actually whisper in front of him, but he knew exactly what they were saying just after he’s out of earshot:

“Oh, fuck, this is a Bravo flick? Shit, I gotta get another gig.”

“That asshole is here? Oh my God, this thing’ll be shut down in two weeks!”

“Fuck that guy and his stupid hair.”

Okay, that last one might have been projecting. He catches his own gaze in a pane of glass while he waits for the director’s assistant to return. His hair, despite his best attempts, would not lie flat, would not stay unrumpled. Another thing Chloe thought a man of his age should have a better grip on. 

He hasn’t seen another cast member and now he’s worried he got the time wrong and he’s missed it and he’s already started all of this off all wrong —

“Dieter! Oh my God, you’re here!”

Heidi, the director, beams at him so bright he actually feels himself go warm. She has her arms out open for him and he rushes to her, picks her up in his arms and twirls her. Her hair is back to her natural silvery blonde, cut short and kept out of her face with a tornado of bobby pins. He’s never seen her without her jean jacket, even at premieres. 

Early on in their careers, he found he had too much respect for her to try and sleep with her and they formed the closest thing he could call a healthy relationship over the years. She was like his sister, since his own didn’t seem like she’d ever pick up the phone again. 

It also helped that she was a raging lesbian, happily married, and wouldn’t go near his dick for all the money at Warner Brothers Studios. 

“Dieter, you look so fucking good, dude.” She pats his face and scrunches up her nose, those black headphones knocking around her neck. “Fuck, it’s been too long.”

“I know, Di, I know.” He always liked that their nicknames sounded alike. Dee and Di. A team. “How’s Lucy?”

“Pfft, you know her. Taken the kids up to Canada for the summer. Says the trees are more ‘real’ there,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I miss the little buggers, but shit, it’s nice to have a quiet house.”

He laughs, the knot in his chest easing. “Before school starts up again, you’ll have to come by the new place.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. You just moved back into the neighborhood, didn’t you? I heard about that. You and, uh . . .”

He hides the blush in the tips of his ears with his hand, acting like he’s scratching an itch on the side of his head. “Yeah, Chloe and I are still together. Been married for a little over two years now.”

At that, Heidi’s bright green eyes snap open wide. She nearly launches herself at him to grab his hand, gawking at the only gold ring on his finger. “Shutthefuckup. You got married?! You asshole, why wasn’t I invited?”

He swallows past the hard knot in his throat. “It was a small thing. Could hardly call it a party.” 

Heidi, as she usually does, takes not a lick of his bullshit. “Uh huh. Well, shit, I guess we have to double date now.” 

“I’d like that.” He grins.

Her shock softens, and she punches his shoulder softly, her smile wide across her face. “You fuckin’ dork. I can’t believe you got married. Who knew Dieter Bravo would settle down?” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth if he tries to answer, so he just shrugs. Her eyes linger on him for a second more, before looping her arm through his and leading him away from the stage. 

“So have you read the script?”

He nods eagerly. “Yep. The whole thing. Front to back. It’s fucking incredible, Heidi.” 

“Yes it is! There’s so much to work with. It’s a little hoity-toity for my taste in some places, but I think there’s a way to balance the shmaltz with genuine emotion, you know? It’s so raw and real, I know you can get to those places.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t already,” he jokes off-handedly. They’re standing in the big open bay, where the crew can wheel in giant cranes for lighting or special effects, when Heidi freezes. A frown is growing over her face as though realizing something for the first time. A wind blows in and he thinks he can smell the desert in it.

“Oh, fuck, Dee,” she murmurs, not even looking at him. “This script, the material . . . you just got out of fucking rehab, and—”

He shakes his head, a bit frantic. He’ll get on his hands and knees if that’s what it takes to keep him on this project. “Heidi, this is fine. I’m fine.”

He takes her by her shoulders and makes her look him in the eye. 

“I want this part. I want this part so fucking badly. I know I can do it too. I’m going to do this project and it’s going to blow your fucking socks off. You can count on me. I’m responsible now, I promise.”

At that, her green eyes soften. “Responsible and married? Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Dieter Bravo?”

Early on in their careers, she had been right by his side, doing line after line of coke off hookers and strippers. But then she grew up. If she can have a family and a beautiful wife, then why can’t he? 

“Dee, look,” she says softly and touches the hand around her shoulder. “I’m not worried about any of that. I always knew you were something special, if you could just get out of your own way.” She glances away, shame making her mouth tick. “But I should have checked in more. I knew you were still in rehab, even after those times I called. I should have stayed in touch. I’m sorry.”

Something about her pity was unbearable. “Don’t. Please. It’s in the past. It’s over and I want to move on. This time, it’s going to be different.”

Heidi nods, smiling. “For sure, dude. We’ll do this together.”

He can fucking breathe again. She sees this and takes him by the arm, letting him get his feet under him. The air is warm, and Heidi’s hand is firm against his forearm. 

“I know the email said to meet at the sound stage, but everyone’s working out here, so I just put us in the back of the studio. Much more quiet. C’mon, I think I saw Mark’s car up front.”

She leads him to the next building, chattering on and on about the composer they got. How the music is gonna fuck so hard, they’re even trying to convince the studio to let them record a full fake album for the movie — “if you don’t wanna sing, Dee, that’s totally fine but I am begging you to do at least some of the guitar,” — and the building door opens.

It’s a squat building, probably more offices than anything to do with production, but it’s where Heidi is taking him, and a man, much younger than he is, stumbles out of the doorway, giddily laughing over his shoulder. He looks to be a PA of some kind — wiry, a little strung out, probably with dreams of writing the next Citizen Kane someday — but he’s looking at something over his shoulder. 

Or rather at someone. 

A woman, barely that but with all the cosmic designs of one, steps out after him. Her white cowboy boots hug just below her knee, her smooth legs, rich with the sun, curl up into a men’s white collared shirt. She walks and only a flash of denim shorts peek out the shirt tails.

She isn’t laughing, but smirking. Knowing something this poor PA has no concept of. Her black aviators push her lush hair out of her face and her fingers glitter with silver jewelry. She’s smiling at the PA like a leopard seal smiles at lemmings. 

She chews something in the back of her teeth and then blows a bright pink bubble. The PA’s smile falls off his face, watching, wide-eyed, as the gum snaps in her mouth. 

Dieter immediately and, without question, dislikes her. Dislikes her so much, he can feel it burn in his chest.

Her wicked eyes slide from the PA, over his shoulder, and land squarely on Dieter. She blinks. Heidi walks up to her and shakes her hand. 

“Oh, hey, kiddo, you found the right place.” 

That sharp-toothed glint in her eye is gone as she eagerly chats up Heidi, and the PA might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Heidi waves Dieter over and it takes a full two seconds for him to remember how walking works. The sun is hot on his back. 

The woman — the girl — is looking him up and down, calculating and cool. As if she, unlike him, hasn’t quite made up her mind about what she thinks of him. 

Heidi waves a hand in between you two. She says your name and his mind suddenly locks onto it. He suddenly knows who you are before Heidi says it. He skimmed it on the cast list, barely memorable, at the time insignificant because he didn’t recognize it. Still doesn’t, but that name is embedded in his brain now, nailed down spikes and taken up residence. 

“This is your new co-star, Natalie Lorraine. The other lead. You two will be working very closely together for the next couple of months.”

You’ve stopped chewing gum. Either you’ve swallowed it or tightly packed it to the back of your gums, because there’s no slur, no crumpled edge to your words, when you extends your hand and says:

“Hi, Dieter. Nice to meet you.” 

Your hand is soft in his and your lotion reminds him of lilac. 

Today is just a fucking table read.

He tries to unclench his jaw when he says, “Nice to meet you too.” 

He’s on his third bottle of water and he’s eyeing the trashcan in the corner, wondering how many plastic bottles he could throw away before it looks weird. He’s got the script out in front of him on a long, white plastic table and a few people have stopped by to say hi. He had gotten up to stand and shake their hand, and several of them had blinked up at him, as if they had forgotten how tall he was when he wasn’t hunched over, fighting a hangover. Heidi was gathering the last of the castmates before the table read and had been gone for twenty minutes or so. Maybe — 

In the corner, she laughs, the sound brilliant and loud. In a world full of perfect, practiced laughs, hers is noticeable but not entirely bad, and a few people turn to look at her. She’s got a hand on Mark Bronson’s arm, clearly delighted at something he said, and he is obviously starstruck. 

Dieter actively fights the scowl on his face. He’s known Mark for a while. Good guy, little vices, always put in the work. Been married to the same waitress he met out in Oregon on a shoot a decade and a half ago, and never once stepped out. Dieter had been thrilled to see him, to catch up on old times, purposefully making a joke that referenced the one time they were on that old cop show together when they first got to Hollywood. “Nobody would really believe we’re gangsters, now, eh, Dee?” Mark had said with a grin. “Too fuckin’ old.” 

Mark had stayed and talked and that again eased the tension in his chest. If Mark actually hated his guts and that easy smile and loose handshake were fake, then the Oscar really should go to him.

But as more people filed in, he excuses himself to catch up with one of the directors of the art department and Dieter takes the opportunity to grab as many bottles as a reasonable person would from the cooler. He likes ice cold water. The colder, the better the burn. 

But here Mark sidles  up to that girl, laughing it up like they were old friends. Traitor, he muses glumly, and thumbs the white plastic cap. He’s thought about Googling her — who the fuck is this girl — but didn’t know how to justify it if someone caught him.

The back door to the room opens and Heidi steps in.

“Alright, five minutes. Take your final smoke breaks, your pee breaks, your whatever breaks. Hopefully not all at the same time, but I ain’t here to judge.” 

He keeps his eyes trained on the water bottle as bodies weave around him, chairs squeaking as they are pulled out and sat on. The atmosphere is relaxed, easy, everything he wanted. So why is he so fucking tightly wound?

“Thirsty?” 

It takes him a second to unstick his gaze from the bottle. He knows you’re talking to him. 

He glances up at your face from under his lashes. You aren’t exactly smiling at him, but there’s a light in your eyes that feels . . . playful. What a normal, innocent question. But when he doesn’t respond, you lean forward on your elbows, your rings interlocking on your fingers. Your gaze drops his and nudges the two empty plastic bottles around his script.

“And there’s two more full ones under your chair. So are you—”

“I like to keep hydrated,” he says, cutting you off. “It’s summer in LA and . . . uh, it’s hot.” 

“Uh huh,” you reply, slowly. “Can I have one? You know, since it’s hot.”

His mouth twitches — get off your perky ass and get one yourself — but then he’s liable to see your bare legs again. And he knows a comment like that would get him some stares, which would not be good. 

He swears you know all of this too by the way your eyes glitter at him, daring him. That’s the worst– he’s figured it out. You look at him from under your thick eyelashes like you want to play a championship round of Truth or Dare, but it would only ever be Dare. You want to see him dance on hot coals, eat a sword, kiss a snake. You want to watch him squirm and it’s so obvious, he clenches his jaw.

He swallows and bends down. He holds out the water bottle by the very end to you, but you somehow manage to brush your fingers up against his anyway. He doesn’t physically recoil but he feels like he needs to go wash his hands.

“Thank you,” you say as you unscrew the cap then drink heavily from the bottle. It’s halfway empty when you put it on the table. Your tongue laps up the water from your lip. 

He grunts as a response. You’re opening your mouth to bother him further when Heidi calls the start of the read. Dieter pulls his reading glasses out of his pocket and sees you’ve done the same. Silver, though, to his black, they’re perched on the edge of your nose, and you’re looking down at the script as if trying to divine lighting rods. You’re focused, the playful, tempting air gone, and there’s an intensity to your eyes that wasn’t there before. You look . . . almost normal. 

He slides his glasses on and looks back to his pages, the tips of his ears burning.

The table read goes well. 

Sort of. 

There’s a handful of scenes Heidi has picked out for the majority of the cast to read together. Mark does well as the manager who is trying to hold all the egos together but struggling with demons of his own. He’s funny when he needs to be, but serious enough to flip a line read that deepens his character. God, he’s so fucking talented, Dieter thinks as the table laughs at one of his character’s jokes. 

The other members of Dieter’s band in the movie are made up of three guys, two girls. They have a natural chemistry that makes it seem like they’ve been friends for years. Dieter makes a note to try and get to know them better as people off set to hopefully find his own rhythm with them. A few smile at him as he’s doing his own line reading and he feels good about it. 

Everything is fine and easy . . . until there are a few scenes specifically between him and you.

You’re putting too much emotion into it for just a table read and it’s making him uncomfortable. These things are just to get to know everyone, to see how the cast can play off each other, but you’re out here acting like there’s cameras ten feet back. Have you ever even been to a table read before? Shouldn’t you know this?

After you deliver a heartfelt monologue about feeling lonely in the world, he hears a few sniffles. The two girls of the band are red-eyed and Mark is intentionally stone-faced. Even Heidi looks affected. 

What the fuck is going on? Is he the only one not swayed by your bullshit? 

All of a sudden, you take his hand from across the table, your eyes pouring into his, and he’s caught off guard. 

“Tell me you understand,” you say, your voice wet with emotion. “Tell me you understand why you can’t ever leave me.”

He wets his lips and sits up straighter in his seat. He squeezes your hand, opening up the light in his eyes. Fine, two can play that fucking game.

“I’m no good for you, baby,” he croons. “There’s a million of me out there and only one of you.”

“But you’re the only one I want. The only one I need.” 

Fuck, you’re good. But he’s better. He turns your hand over, exposing your wrist to the cool air and thumbs your pulse gently. He smiles wistfully at you.

“What we want can kill us. I love you, darling, but that’s not enough.”

The room is silent.

He glances down and read the next stage action:

They meet in a passionate kiss.

His eyebrows raise and he glances back at you, halfway expecting you to throw yourself at him from across the table. 

But, no. Instead of looking at him with love in your eyes, you are fucking furious. Your mouth is pulled into a tight line, and he can see you mentally picture strangling him.

“Alright,” Heidi calls out, her voice gruff. “Alright, let’s move on. Page one-fifteen.” 

The room fills with the fluttering of paper and a few people sniff, rubbing their eyes.

You yank your wrist out of his grip but don’t move to turn the page. And neither does he. 

Oh, you’re mad that I did the exact same thing you were doing, but better? Sorry, hot tits, you have no idea who you’re fucking with. Welcome to the real world.

You look like you want to sink your fangs into him. You’re kind of cute with your nostrils flared, in that megalomaniac kind of way.

A woman to his right asks what page they’re starting on, and it forces him to break eye contact with you. He tells her and thumbs to the correct page himself, where Mark is having an argument with one of the guys in the band.

He glances up at you. Tension still lines your body but you aren’t looking at him anymore. In fact, you’re making a clear point not to. His chest soars. 

He is definitely counting that as a win.

He opens the back door to the studio lot and breathes in the evening air. Day one, knocked down and dragged out back. He feels so fucking good. 

After the reading, Mark came over and congratulated him again on getting the part. He makes sure Dieter has his number before saluting him and announcing he’s heading home for the night. The band is hanging out in the corner, but the talk dies down as he approaches. One of the guys looks positively horrified as he smiles and waves at them.

“You did a great job today,” he says to their half circle. He’s never seen anyone’s eyes so wide in their heads. “Have you all worked together before?”

“We’re an actual band and you’re really Dieter Bravo,” one of the girls blurts out. Her friend, presumably, elbows her and she blinks as though slapped. “I mean, we play real music. We’ve been on the radio a few times, but you’ve probably never heard of us . . .” She trails off, glancing helplessly at her friends to make her shut up.

The other young woman with hair so red it had to have been fake, rolls her eyes. “We’re The Sixers. We started out here in LA and we’ve been on the Strip a few times. Our agent said that it would be great publicity if we were in a movie.” 

“Oh, shit,” Dieter mutters, as surprised as they are, “The Sixers – yeah, I have heard of you before. I’m fucking old as hell, but I still listen to the radio.” 

“You’ll have to give us some acting pointers,” one of the other guys offers up, his hands in his jean pockets. He seems less obviously starstruck but still trying to play it cool. 

“Only if you help me to remember how to play the guitar,” Dieter grins. 

“You know how to play?” The first girl gawks.

He winks at her. “When everyone else around me is too drunk to notice I’m terrible.” 

They laugh, the girl’s face whiter than a sheet, and then the redhead introduces everyone. “That’s Nick, Cooper, and Samuel. Our resident ghost here is Marie, and I’m Roxie.”

He vaguely wonders which of those are stage names, but is absolutely sure that’s not Roxie’s real name. But she seems like the kind of person who’d like it that way. 

“You all are in good hands with Heidi,” he nods to where she’s chatting with Mark and the art director. “She’s a visionary and really knows her shit. You’re lucky you get to have her as your first director.” 

“Have you worked with her before?” Cooper, a guy with legitimate beatnik hair, asks. 

Dieter nods. “Several times, actually. She’s fantastic.” 

“Have you worked with her before?” Roxie asks as you walk across the room to pick up your purse. Dieter can feel that burn in his chest again as you bend over. He shakes his head. 

“Is she new to the scene? Is that why she can’t afford any pants?” Roxie mutters and both Cooper and Samuel chuckle. Marie glares at her. 

“I heard she was a child actress in the early 2000s,” Marie says as if trying to re-right the ship. “Was pretty successful, but then dropped off the face of the earth. Until now, I guess.”

“Maybe she went the Bella Thorne way of child actresses,” Nick murmurs, shamelessly watching your ass as you turn to speak with Heidi for a moment. 

Roxie snorts. “She’s not that slutty. No one is that slutty, to sleep with even the likes of you, Nicholas.”

“Oh, yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you –” 

Roxie slams a hand over his mouth. “I will junk-punch you so hard if you say what I think you’re going to say.” 

They’re like siblings, Dieter muses. Five very talented, outrageous siblings. 

“It was great to meet all of you,” he says and Marie’s eyes flutter back to him. “But I gotta split. We should all go out some time. Meet up outside of work.”

“Oh, I think we’d looove that,” Cooper sing-songs, his eyes on Marie. She flushes bright red and pinches his shoulder, while Samuel laughs. “Ow!”  

Despite himself, this could actually be a fun shoot. He waves but none of them really see it, having devolved into a squabble that makes him grin. 

You’re gone, he notices, and the art director has left too, but Heidi is sitting alone at the table, going over her notes. 

He slides into the seat next to her and she lifts her head, smiling.

“Hey, Dee, you fucking crushed it today. Everyone’s been coming up to me to say how impressed they are with you.” 

He huffs and rolls his eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, and did they follow it with, ‘especially after how much of a fuck up we thought he’d be’?” 

Heidi playfully frowns at him. “C’mon, man, give yourself some credit. You earned the right to be here. I didn’t have to approve your audition.” 

His throat tightens. No, she really didn’t. He shakes his head.

“You’re right. As always.” 

Heidi grins, pleased, and drops her head back to her notes, marking things in a red pen. 

“So what did you think of your co-star?” 

Be nice, Dieter. “She’s . . . fine.” 

Heidi smirks, but doesn’t look up. “Wow, I don’t think you’ve ever used less words to describe someone, much less a woman.” 

He doesn’t like the way she says woman, as if there’s this cosmic reckoning that’s started and he just doesn’t know it yet. Sam and Diane, Bones and Booth – a destined sort of thing. 

He rolls his jaw. 

“She just acts . . . uppity, is all. Like she’s better than everyone else.” 

Heidi snorts. “Okay, tell me how you really feel.”

“I don’t like her.”

At that, Heidi pauses and looks up, genuine concern on her face.

“Really? You don’t like her? She came recommended by an old friend of the studios and I know she’s a bit much, but I didn’t think you’d actually dislike her.”

He back-pedals as fast as he can. This day is so close to being perfect. 

“I mean, I don’t not like her . . . I just . . . I don’t know her.” If he is being honest, the best time to tell her exactly what’s been on his mind all day is probably right now. “And, fuck, Di, isn’t she a bit . . . I don’t know . . .” He swears he can hear the old Dieter laughing at him. “. . . young?” 

Heidi grimaces, taking his concern seriously, and he loves her even more for that. 

“It was a studio note. Execs say it makes the central conflict feel more . . .”

“Predatory?” His eyebrow lifts, disdain evident in his drawl. She frowns at him.

“Transcendent.”

There is nothing about that girl that is transcendent, he thinks bitterly. 

He sighs and leans closer. Heidi notices his change in body language and leans forward too.

“I just cannot fuck this up, Di. I have to come out on top with this. It’s really important.”

That pity flashes across her face again and his stomach curdles. But she soothes a hand over his, her eyes serious. 

“Dee, I know. I really do. I’m not going to let anything bad happen here. She starts acting up, she’s out. We don’t need her that badly.”

He couldn’t be sure if she actually had the power to kick a co-star off the set, but he wanted to believe she did. More importantly, she wanted him to believe she did. 

“Thanks, Di,” he sighs. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

She chuckles and pulls her hand back. 

“Go home to your wife at a normal hour.” She pauses, making a face as if she tasted something sour. “Your wife – God, I will never get used to that.”

“Hey, I got used to it, after my best friend left me for some brunette out in Bali,” he teases as he stands up. 

Heidi scoffs. “That wedding was sick as fuck and you know it.” 

“You know, I never did bill Lucy for the piercing I got there. Sober Dieter would never have made the decision to look like a Keith Richards knock-off.”

“Oh shut the fuck up and go home. To your wife.” 

He’s laughing as he waves her good night. 

He opens the back door to the studio lot and breathes in the evening air. Day one, knocked down and dragged out back. He feels so fucking good. 

He’s thumbing through his keys when he smells smoke. Acidic smoke. Like those disgusting American Spirits he used to choke down. 

You’re leaning by the trunk of your car, one heel kicked over the other, smoking a white cigarette through your fingers. That would be fine with him except your car is parked tightly in the space next to his and you’re blocking the way to the driver’s seat. He’d rather crawl through the trunk than have to bend around you.

You’re biting on your thumbnail and staring directly at him with unabashed contempt. 

“Your reading was stilted,” you announce and then take a long drag. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your reading today,” you say slowly as though talking to a particularly stupid child, “it was stilted.” 

He pops his jaw. 

“That’s because it was a fucking . . .” He remembers to breathe. “That’s because . . . it was a table read. Have you ever been to one?”

“Yes.” You tap the ash off your cigarette on the heel of your boot, drawing his gaze to the flush of your thigh but he’s not going to fall for it. “It can be a great opportunity for actors to find their chemistry. To find their rhythm.”

“I know that.” 

“Then where was yours? Huh?” You lift your eyebrows. Did you ever not want to play Dare?

“What are you talking about? I had a fine time with the band. We’re actually going to hang out outside–,”

“I mean with me.” 

That burning sensation returns to his chest. You look at him as if you could sear a hole right through him. Your cigarette is left smoking, forgotten, between your fingers at your hip. 

“The only time you ever gave me anything was after I touched you, and even then your performance was so saccharine, it made my teeth ache. I’m out here to prove I belong here, on this big budget film, and you’re stonewalling me. What do you have against me? What did I ever do to you?” 

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth, guilt smothering the fight you aroused in him. He drops your gaze and puts his hands on his hips. He’s too old to be scolded like this.

“Nothing, alright? You didn’t do anything,” he says quietly. “It’s not you–”

“Of course it fucking isn’t but thank you for saying so,” you snap. 

You take one more drag before flicking the white butt onto the pavement at the edge of the gathering darkness.

“This is going to be a long shoot if you can’t get your head out of your ass.” You step forward and he instinctively takes a step back, but you come close anyway and shove a finger at his chest. “I don’t know what your deal is and I don’t care. We’re going to get through this even if I have to grab you by your hair and pull you to the finish line. Got it?” 

Your eyes are shining, fierce, powerful. Your mouth could crush rocks. 

He nods. 

Maybe it’s the trick of the failing light, but he thinks your pupils are a little too unnaturally wide. 

“Great. See you Monday.” 

You turn away from him, stalking back to your car and hurling your purse into the side seat. The car, a Chevy that’s possibly older than he is, roars to life with just as much vitality as you possess. He leaps back a second before the wheels squeal as the car lurches backwards and darts off into the dark. 

He stands, watching the car pull away onto the road until it’s gone. He can still hear the engine screaming in the distance. He thumbs his keys, shaking his head. 

For the first time in months, he would literally kill someone for a cigarette.

[lovingrosewho]

Grudges

So here we go again: many many years ago (around 2017), I wrote this Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader! fanfiction, I never published it ‘cause I was always making corrections and re-reading it, I tried to publish it around 2019 I think, but then I lost that tumblr account… anyways. After all these years, I bring it to you again, with no new corrections, just myself from 2017 speaking/writing. Hope you like it!

MULTICHAPTER

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader!

Rating: T

Word count: 4128

Summary: the BAU is investigating a series of murders in your hometown, and you’re right in the middle of it, but Dr. Spencer Reid takes a particular liking in you.

Warnings: usual tv series stuff (absent father, missing relative, murder and crime scene descriptions)

(set after season 8)

It was just another day at the BAU, Penelope had just called everyone into the conference room to explain the next case.

“Delaware. Three victims. First victim was killed two weeks ago, his name was Adrien Sanders, he was 57 years old, 5’7 feet tall; second victim was killed almost a week ago, Philip Moore, 56 years old, 5’9 feet tall; and third victim, Dennis Barnes, was killed yesterday, he was 59 years old, also 5’9 feet tall. All three were males, and as you can see, with similar physical features” she explains pointing with a laser to the pictures “Although, they were shot in different places; Sanders was shot in the stomach, Moore on the neck and the right leg, and Barnes was shot several times in… pretty much everywhere” García says, getting goosebumps from the images shown.

“He’s escalating, acting out of rage. Are there any connections besides the physical similarity between the victims?” Morgan asks.

“None, apparently. Sanders was a salesman, he was murdered in Pike Creek, getting out of a bar at night, Moore was a lawyer, killed in plain daylight, near his house in Glasgow, and Barnes was shot at his job, a car factory in Wilmington. No witnesses”.

“I believe we’ve got ourselves an unsub who uses his victims as surrogates for someone else due to the extreme resemblance they present. We’ll keep discussing it on the plane. Wheels up in 30” Hotch declares.

“There’s no evident pattern on the map, it just seems like the unsub picked… random locations” Reid says frowning while looking at the map, tracing lines on it.

“If he’s using his victims as surrogates, wouldn’t it be possible that these men are just victims of opportunity? Maybe the man who killed them is in some kind of delusion that they are who he really wants to kill, they cross paths with him, looking almost, or exactly like his target, and then… that’s it. They’re gone”. JJ says.

“Why are we assuming he’s a man?” Rossi questions.

“That’s a good point…” Spencer speaks “Nothing makes it look like it… this unsub… it doesn’t look like he had a special or knowing management of a gun given the places where he shot his victims, he didn’t use his hands, so there are no traces on the bodies, there’s no signature, no murder weapon, no sign that it was personal, there are no witnesses… there’s no way we can know if it’s a man or a woman”.

“Then we’re back at square one” Morgan concludes “We can’t move forward if we don’t even know if the killer is a male or a female ‘cause we’ve got nothing else, no signature, no nothing”.

“Of course we have something: victimology” Hotch points out “Try to stop looking for the unsub directly, start looking for the next victim, who fits the description and how could he be connected to the unsub. When we land, Reid and I will speak to Delaware authorities to find out what else they can tell us about the case, Rossi and Morgan, go to the last crime scene and let us know what you can tell about this last murder, JJ, go talk to the families of the victims, see what they can tell you about them, if they have any suspicions of someone who could’ve killed their relatives, and if they know of any connection at all with the other victims”.

“You got it” JJ assures.

“We’ll meet you again at Wilmington’s offices”.

While the BAU is busy trying to catch the killer in your town, you’re busy going to work riding your bicycle at the same time you brush your teeth.

You get to the flower shop almost half hour late and start giving Irene, the old lady you work for, explanations as to why you are late, she just looks at you all messed up and laughs, telling you it’s fine since it’s the first time you’re late and that it is no big deal.

You sigh, trying to calm your nerves. You stayed up pretty late last night, waiting for Connor’s text, letting you know he was okay. He’s been doing that for the past couple of weeks he’s been missing. At first you wondered if it was really him, he must’ve guessed that, because he sent you a voicenote, telling you not to worry, saying he needed to clear his mind, apologizing for his behavior… since then, he had been texting you everyday at the same hour every night, but last night, he didn’t text you until 4 a.m.

You figured it was normal, after meeting with your father again, who you hadn’t seen in your 25 years, until then.

You think about all of that while arranging all of the flowers on the counter and changing the signboard from “CLOSED” to “OPEN”, when you do that, you sigh again, sitting behind the counter, pulling a book out of your bag, waiting for the doorbell to ring, indicating you have a customer.

It takes less than 5 minutes for it to ring, which is weird. You frown without taking your eyes off of your book until you’re done reading that sentence. You look up with your best smile and ready to work, when you see your dad standing on the doorway. You roll your eyes and pinch your nose bridge on that precise instant, sensing an oncoming migraine.

“What do you want?” you ask, not raising your voice so Irene doesn’t get startled.

“I told you. I want to make peace with you. And your brother” he says, smiling. What a hypocrite.

“Sir. I’m gonna need to ask you to get out” you say, still not raising the volume.

“(Y/N)…”

“I told you that day at the coffee shop… neither me, or Connor, are going to make peace with you… you weren’t here… ever… the few things I know about you, are that you used to beat Connor and my mom up, and that you left the second I was born, how am I supposed to forgive you uh? Tell me” you rant.

“I told you, I am truly sorry”.

“No you’re not… and even if you are… it is not enough. Look, sir, I’m going to ask you to leave again, if you don’t, or if I see you again, I’m gonna call the police and accuse you of harassment, understood?” you state, voice firm and impassive. He looks at you, surprise in his eyes, but nods and turns around, opening the door.

“If you ever change your mind… I’m renting a small apartment here in Wilmington, in front of Stapler Park” he says before getting out and start walking.

“Screw you” you whisper, getting back to your book, when Irene comes to stand behind you.

“Your old man?” she inquires with her Alabamian accent.

“Nah” you say, not removing your eyes from the page you’re in “He’s not my anything”.

A couple of days went by, the team was at Wilmington's offices, discussing the case all over again after each of them had researched enough but came up clean.

"JJ what did you come up with?" Hotch interrogates her, frustrated about not getting anywhere near catching the unsub.

"Not much, I mean... I’m trying to make connections but... the three victims were pretty much... average Joe's... Adrien Sanders was out drinking with a couple of friends, nothing unusual according to his ex wife, Philip Moore was supposed to come home to his son and wife, he was only a couple of blocks away from his house, and Dennis Barnes was working on fixing some car engine, according to his coworkers. Nothing out of the ordinary, no leads..."

"Okay then, let's start thinking, if they're surrogates, who are they surrogates for?" Hotch follows up.

"Could be an ex husband?" Rossi suggests.

"Or perhaps it would be more likely to be an abusive relative?" Morgan thinks.

"Statistically yeah, 3.3 million American children are exposed to domestic violence in their homes each year, 45 to 70% of the same number of children who are exposed to domestic violence are also victims of physical abuse, because of the trauma, they have higher risks of alcohol/drug abuse and juvenile delinquency" Reid states, almost like quoting it from a book.

"The victims were 56, 57 and 59 years old, which means we're looking for someone between the ages of 25-30" Rossi says until Reid comes in again.

"Actually, I think we should consider 25-35 or more, statistics show that it is more likely to suffer from domestic violence when they come from an unwanted pregnancy, which means..."

"Teenage parents" JJ guesses.

"Exactly... we shouldn't even dismiss someone who is 40 years old" Reid assures.

"Okay then what are we looking for? Males or females who suffered from domestic violence, delusional, probably with a criminal record..." Hotch starts.

"Kids who suffer this, don't usually have social skills nor education" Rossi interrupts.

"I think it's time we give the profile" Hotch declares getting out of the conference room.

"We're looking for males or females between the ages of 25-40 years old, who suffered from domestic violence, they're more likely to have a criminal record, no social skills, and barely any or no education at all" Hotch says to the authorities who are present in the room.

"This unsub doesn't know how to manage his anger, he uses his victims as surrogates to what we think might be an abusive relative" Morgan informs.

"He or she might as well be delusional, he kills his victims because he thinks he saw his real target. The victims he's looking for are males from 55-60 years old, with a fair complexion, dark hair, and about 5"9 feet tall. When you relieve this information to the press, let them know the characteristics of the victimology, in case someone knows anyone who has this specific features. Thank you" Hotch concludes before getting back to the office with the rest of the team to call Garcia.

"Ready to act, sir" she answers.

"Garcia we need you to check reports from children who suffered from domestic violence in the estate of Delaware, more specifically in the cities of Pike Creek, Glasgow and Wilmington in the last 40 years" Hotch demands.

"Your wish is my command sir, and... oh... I've got 17,334 results..."

The team keeps trying to crosscheck results for a while, but none fit the profile.

"Maybe they weren't even born here" Rossi says, frankly exhausted.

The phone rings and JJ answers.

"Yeah... could you give me his name? Barry (Y/L/N)... okay, thank you, what about an address? That's okay, thank you ma'am" JJ hangs up and looks at the team "Someone fits the description of the victims".

"Garcia, could you look for a man named Barry (Y/L/N) please?" Hotch asks.

"Right... he is 57 years old, got married in Washington D.C... and... oh my god..."

"What is it babygirl?" Morgan questions, worry in his voice.

"It's just... there are... several anonymous reports of domestic violence... and... he has a daughter. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)".

"What can you tell us about her?" Hotch interrogates.

"She is 25 years old, lives here, on the city of Wilmington, she has no social media handles, but... something's not right".

"What do you mean?" JJ says.

"She doesn't fit the profile even though her father does fit the victimology. She went to kindergarten and the first year of elementary school at Washington D.C, then she continued studying but here in Delaware, graduated from college with honors from the University of Delaware, with a degree in fine arts."

"What about a criminal record?" Morgan inquires.

"None, she's... perfect..." Garcia says, giving up.

"Okay, thanks Garcia" Hotch says and hangs up, frustrated again "It doesn't matter that she doesn't fit the profile, we should still check her out, see what she can tell us about her father. Reid, I need you to take care of that, while the rest of us try to figure out if something went wrong with the profile".

"Why just me?" Spencer frowns.

"Because you're closer to her age, and given the facts Garcia gave us about her, she sounds pretty similar to you, maybe you can get her to tell you something relevant" Aaron tells him. Spencer doesn't look so comfortable going on his own but agrees at the end, when he's about to leave the conference room Morgan yells at him.

"Hey kid! Just wrap it up!" he says mocking him and starts laughing, the whole team starts giggling, except for Hotch who only looks at him and shrugs. Spencer's cheeks turn red and he rushes to get out of Wilmington's offices.

Meanwhile, you get home from the flower shop, still no sign from Connor.

You go to your room, dodging the canvas and cans of paint so you can change into something more comfortable when there's a knock at the door. You close your eyes and frown, waiting to hear Connor's voice.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" a man says through the door "I’m... Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI, could you please open your door?".

Panic starts flooding you when the thought of Connor being in trouble pops up.

You walk slowly to the door and open it, revealing the most beautiful man you've seen in your entire life. Spencer is taken aback by your beauty as well, he looks at you in shock, as if he was expecting someone else.

"Are you...?" he starts.

"Yes" you interrupt “Uh... come in please".

When he enters the small house, the first thing he notices is a huge amount of books spread all over the place, you start picking them up and trying to pile them somewhere where they don't get in the way.

"I'm so sorry" you apologize "I wasn't planning on having any visits".

He giggles softly "It's okay" he says, helping you pick up the ones on the couch, leaving them on a table near it.

"Would you um...? Like some coffee? Or tea or water or... something?" you ramble.

"Coffee is fine, thank you".

You bring two mugs of coffee to the table in front of the couch, along with sugar and milk in case he’d like to pour some. You sit next to him, holding your cup between your both hands.

"So... how can I help you?" you finally ask.

"I'm with the BAU... the uh... the Behavioral Analysis Unit, we... profile the unsub... unsub stands for unknown subject... we-uh-we are investigating the recent murders that take place here in Delaware" he explains.

"Oh... okay" you say, still not understanding how can you help them.

"Do you... do you know this man?" he asks, showing you a picture of your father, you look at it, not even taking it to get a closer look.

"Yes, he's the son of a bitch who abandoned my family the day I was born" you whisper, holding your cup more forcefully than necessary.

He looks at you with a look you can't decipher.

"There are... several anonymous reports of domestic violence... I was wondering if... I could ask you a few questions about it, about your life in general" when he says this, it hits you.

"Are you considering me a suspect?" he scratches the back of his head, bowing it down.

"Your father... matches the victimology, and even though you don't fit the entire profile, we shouldn't dismiss any possibilities... I just... I want to know a bit more about you and your family, that's all, I'm not assuming anything".

"What do you want to know?" you murmur.

"What do you remember about your father?"

"Nothing. I told you. He left the day I was born, my mother died 6 years after that".

"What...? What do you mean? Who raised you then?" he looks surprised. You thought he would know that part of your life if he already knew who your father was.

"My brother of course".

He stays quiet for a couple of minutes, staring at you.

"I didn't know you had a brother" he confesses "What's his name?"

"Connor" you look down at your, now cold, cup of coffee, and take a sip.

"Can you tell me more about him?" he asks politely.

"Well... we were both born in Washington D.C... my mother had him when she was 18 and my father was 20, it was an unwanted pregnancy... for all I know, he used to beat my mother up, and Connor as well, when he tried to defend her. 12 years later, my mother got pregnant again… the day I was born, my father left, so my brother started working as a carpenter's assistant... after dating several guys, abusive, just like my dad, my mom got into a severe depression and died when I was 6 years old... by then my brother was already 18, and he had saved up enough for us to move here to Delaware... we've been living here ever since" you explain, the images of your mother, lying dead on her bed tormenting you again.

"So your brother... he worked and studied at the same time?" he questions.

"No... he... he couldn't afford to keep us both in school, he wasn't even able to finish elementary school but... he made sure I went to and finish college. He raised me... as if I was his own daughter" you say, feeling kind of guilty.

“What about his social life?” he asks, worry starting to show up on his face.

“Neither of us has what you would consider a social life… I’m always buried either on my books or my paintings, if not, I’m working on the flower shop, and he’s always buried on his work… we have each other, and that’s quite enough, when we come home we have dinner together, talk about our day, watch a movie or something… it’s… pretty much just the two of us against the world. It’s always been like that” you acknowledge, a single tear streaming down your cheek.

Spencer looks at you almost with pity and cleans the tear with his thumb mindlessly, even though he’s not too keen of physical contact, it just seems appropriate. The gesture sends butterflies to your stomach.

“(Y/N)… listen to me carefully… I need you to tell me where your brother is”.

“What?” you exclaim, fear coming out of your voice “You think he did this? No. Spencer… no, I’m sorry but that’s not possible. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t… no… the fact that the victims are similar to my father is just a coincidence, Connor is just… not capable of this… I mean…” you ramble with your voice cracking at the end.

“(Y/N)” he stares at you, looking directly into your eyes, it is as if he can see right through you “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” you shout bursting into tears “He disappeared two weeks ago”.

“Why didn’t you report him missing?”

“’Cause he’s been sending me texts every night, letting me know he’s okay! I figured… we saw our father again… after 25 years without seeing him, he found us… I thought… I thought it was normal that he wanted some time alone…”

“What’s his phone number?” he asks, pulling out his own cellphone, dialing a number “Garcia, I need you to run a name for me and track a number”.

“Okie dokie” a woman says at the other end of the line “Shoot”.

“Connor (Y/L/N). He’s (Y/N)’s brother. I just sent you the number”.

“Alright, let me do my magic… mmmh… oh. Wow. This is weird. I’ve got nothing”.

“What do you mean you’ve got nothing?” Spencer says, raising his voice.

“He’s not registered. At all. Not even a birth certificate. And the cellphone’s off”.

“He was never registered” you inform “Our parents never considered it important, so...”

“Where does he work?” Spencer cuts you off in a desperate way, you give him the address of the truck company “(Y/N), I need to go with the team. Will you be okay on your own?”

You nod slightly “Just… call me when you find him… please” you plead, still sobbing.

“Yes. I promise. I will. Thank you” he says reaching for the doorknob “(Y/N)… please be careful. Connor is delusional… please, lock the doors and windows... and stay safe” after telling you this, he leaves in a hurry, leaving his cup of coffee intact on top of the table.

You sit on the couch, laying down slowly, you close your eyes. You fall asleep crying, wishing that when you wake up, everything going on around you is just a nightmare.

Spencer joins the team when they’re about to leave Wilmington’s offices to go to your brother’s workplace, the moment he hops onto the van, the whole team starts bombing him with questions.

“Reid, what did (Y/N) tell you?” Hotch inquires while driving.

“Her father left when she was born, her brother is 12 years older than her which means he’s 37, their father used to abuse Connor and her mother… the anonymous reports of domestic violence must’ve been done by him, but no one ever did anything. They saw their father two weeks ago”.

“That must’ve been the stressor” Rossi affirms.

When the team gets to Connor’s workplace, they don’t find him, but they do find his boss.

“Michael Turner?” Hotch asks a bald man approaching them, showing him his badge “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, this is my team, we’re with the FBI investigating the murders that take place here in Delaware”.

“How can I help you?” Mr. Turner asks unsurely.

“We’re looking for Connor (Y/L/N), I believe he works for you”, Michael laughs ironically.

“Not anymore” he says “That kid hasn’t come to work for days, the last time I saw him, he had to drop some packages in Pike Creek and Glasgow, when you find him, tell him he’s fired”.

“Mr. Turner, why did you hire Connor in the first place if he had no identifications?” Spencer interrogates.

“’Cause he was just a boy… just 18, having to take care of his 6 year old sister… I took him under my wing, how could I not? But for what I see, this is the payment I get” he exclaims angrily while turning around “Excuse me gentlemen, but I have work to do”.

“Thank for your time” Aaron says, turning back to the team “Where else could Connor be?”

“If he’s been looking for a specific target, that could be his endgame” JJ suggests.

“We need to know where his father lives currently, if he’s delusional about people who look like him, his father is his endgame” says Hotch.

“We need to be fast, he hasn’t killed anyone in days, that could mean he already knows where his father lives, I’ll call Garcia” Morgan decides and dials the number “Hey, talk to me babygirl”.

“My chocolate thunder, what can I do for you?” she answers.

“I need you to tell me where Barry (Y/L/N) currently lives”.

“Okay let me check, he… oh no. He just rented an apartment in front of Staple Park, here in Wilmington, I’m sending you the complete address right now”.

“Thanks Garcia, we’re on our way ” Hotch indicates, turning the siren on and starting the engine of the SUV.

When they arrive to Barry (Y/L/N)’s apartment, they discover he is just fine, watching TV on the livingroom.

“Can I help you?” he asks standing up, clearly mad about some stranger breaking into his house, his voice is hoarse from drinking.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), we’re with the FBI, have you seen your son Connor (Y/L/N)?” Hotch asks annoyed by the man in front of him.

“My son?” he chuckles “I don’t think my son will want to see me ever again”.

“He hasn’t talked to you? Threatened you?” Morgan inquires.

“No, but who did threat me, actually, was his sister” the team notices right away that he said ‘his sister’ instead of ‘my daughter’. Barry rolls his eyes “She said she’d accuse me of harassment if I came near her ever again”.

“She’s not our unsub” Reid claims abruptly.

“We know that, Reid” Hotch tells him, dismayed by his sudden behavior “Mr. (Y/L/N), please don’t hesitate on calling if something strange happens”.

“Stranger than a bunch of FBI agents breaking into my apartment?” he huffs “Yeah, okay, I will”.

The team gets out of the house, confused by the pattern Connor has been following.

“He hasn’t killed anyone else, that can just mean that he’s looking for his endgame, the one who made it imposible for him to live the life he wanted or deserved” Rossi intervenes.

“Unless…” JJ starts “Unless his father isn’t his endgame”.

“Who else could it be?” Morgan exclaims, raising his eyebrows.

“(Y/N)” Reid says, running towards the SUV, followed by the rest of the team.

Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

[thatbanditqueen]

No One Walks Out Ch 6

My boy my boy... it's been a long time, Becky. This is a response to the writing game prompt "You will love it." "I will hate it." "Nah, you won't."

Thanks to @whositmcwhatsit and @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny and @ellie-24 and @missmaywemeetagain and @from-memphis-with-love and @arrolyn1114 and for playing this game and supporting me as I write, thanks too to @ab4eva for just being an all around mensch....

Summary: Elvis calls Becky, or rather, watches as Charlie calls and asks her to come on tour. She doesn't realize this tour is not going well. But once she is there, she decides to just roll up her sleeves and jump right in. Because Elvis.

WC: 7.3K

Warnings: Swearing, implied drug use, oral sex. This could have been very angsty but it is actually a big ball of unpolished, fantastical, indulgent fluff. I wrote this today and didn't have anyone read it. So beyond typos, expect historical inaccuracies and probably mischaracterization of everyone, including my OC.....

If you need to catch up.... Chapter 5: Salty Lips

Chapter 6: Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

6 pm Sunday, July 20, 1975

Geiler’s Hardware Store, Jackson, MS

Harriet’s key clicked into the back lock of her parent’s hardware store, and she pulled the handle to double-check that the door was, indeed, locked, before turning to look at her cousin. Becky’s mind was elsewhere and she stared down at her Chuck Taylor sneakers, raising her head only after Harriet coughed, and the two women made their way to Harriet’s small, yellow AMC Pacer. Becky looked out the window, playing with her hair, purposefully avoiding Harriet’s curious stare.

Keep reading

“Earth to Becky, where are you? You haven’t said anything about the date Ida set you up on Thursday.”

Becky pulled on the ring she wore on her right hand, a band of platinum with a diamond flower at the center. It was the ring Elvis had given her, and she could still almost feel the caress of his hand as he slid it on her and told her how beautiful she was, how she deserved beautiful things. That had been a month ago, but it could have been yesterday when Charlie, Billy and Jo had all been rounded up to drive her home to Jackson after a whirlwind week at Graceland.

Becky tilted the ring back and forth, then looked up to watch the businesses in the Fondren go by as Harriet drove her home. Why did it feel like cheating on Elvis to go one blind date. An innocent blind date. An innocent blind date that had fizzled out and ended with a very platonic hug.

“Ugh, he was nice enough. I don’t know.”

Harriet looked over, then back at road.  “It’s Elvis. Ida says he calls you every few days.”

“Yeah, he does. He asked me to come with him for his show in New York. Then well, when I said no I guess he went down the list.”

Becky sighed, thinking of the photos in the newspaper of Elvis with a very thin, very blonde woman who definitely was not Linda. The thought made her frown, and Harriet looked at Becky with sympathy as she turned the car on to her parent’s street.

“I thought you said that you left things on good terms, and that he wanted you to move up there? I can’t believe you would rather be here in Jackson than in Memphis.”

“Yeah. I mean no. I like, him, I mean, I cannot help it. I used to day dream of dating this man. But look at me, Harriet.”

Becky grabbed her purse and got out of the car,  sweeping her hand over her body to showcase her tee shirt and jeans as she stood.

“I’m not groupie material. And I can’t up root my kid and move to a new city just so I can join Elvis’ harem for a few months. We left things on good terms, but I don’t even know if I am cut out to be a harem member.”

“You are a knock out, Becky. You are totally groupie material. No, wait. You're better than groupie. You are at least favorite girlfriend number two or three material. I cannot believe you aren’t on your way to Memphis. Or New York. You only live once!”

Harriet grinned as Becky shook her head and sent her off with a bang to the yellow hood, before turning to walk into the house.

She was a greeted with a yell from Ruth, who was coloring with Ida at the dining room table. Becky could smell Saul’s pot roast wafting from the kitchen as she crossed the room and kissed Ruth on head, checking out her drawing of what looked like a dressed up mushroom in a pile of rocks standing next to Father Christmas.

“What do you think?”

She looked at Ida, whispering as she tried to decipher the words her aunt was mouthing.

“The mob-bit? The Hobbit! Yes, of course, it's The Hobbit. There’s Bilbo. Wow, Ruth, you really captured what I thought he looks like.”

“I’ve been practicing my hobbit form. And see, he’s talking to Gandalf.”

“Ah, yes, I can tell from the beard.” She had to stop herself from giggling at Ida’s wink. “SO amazing, you have become a very talented artiste!”

“Well, she learned from the best.”

Becky smiled at her aunt as she went to grab a beer. “I think the student has surpassed the teacher, I can’t wait to hang this one the fridge.”

 The phone rang while Becky was at the fridge, and she watched Ruth run to get it as she slumped into the chair next to Ida, who reached over to rub her forearm.

“Oy, Rebecca, was the restocking that bad today? You should have stopped Saulie from leaving. He is only 60, he could have helped finish -”

“Oh, no, Ida. Unless Saul has an in-depth knowledge of waterbed installation, his presence wouldn’t have made a difference.”

 “Why do people want to sleep in those things? What if they leak. Or break? I get sea sick just thinking about it.”

“I’ve heard they can be really relaxing. I don’t know, but there is a new waterbed store two doors down. The owner spent an hour trying to figure out what materials he needs us to order, so I guess business is keeping him pretty busy.”

“Can you imagine getting busy in a water bed?”

“Ida!”

Ida grinned, fluffing up her short, silver bob. ”I’m just saying, I couldn’t make whoopee on top of a big bag of water, oy vey, I’d be so nervous, what with the sound of the sloshing - “

“Wait, hold that thought, although you know I love hearing about your sex life.” Becky held up her finger for her aunt to stop talking, pausing to hear what Ruth was saying on the phone.

“How do I know you are really a friend of Elvis’? Well can you ask him to come over again? The  kids next door don’t believe he is my mom’s boy friend. And he promised to take me for ice cream again.”

Becky strode over to the phone. “Ruthie, who is it?”

Ruth covered the receiver with her hand, a mischievous look crept up her little face. “He says his name is Charlie, and when I asked how he knew you, he said -”

Becky held out her hand, taking the phone from her daughter. “Uh huh, ok, that’s enough from you , chatty Kathy, go help Ida clear up the art studio and set the table for dinner.” She paused, smoothing her hair, as if Charlie could see her from the other side of the phone.

“Hi Charlie. What’s up?”

She heard a single nervous “ha” on the other side of the phone, and took a deep breath. “Well, a, heya there Becky.”

It seemed to Becky like there was a more anxious desperation behind Charlie’s perfunctory niceties.

“Hiiiii? What’s up?”

“Look, um, Elvis asked me to call and see if you might reconsider coming out on tour? You know he misses ya somethin’ awful, ain’t stopped talking bout that cute chick back in Jackson.”

Becky took a deep breath, thinking of the photos in the paper of Elvis and that model.

“Hmmm. I’m sure. You know I want to, but I have a kid, Charlie - and it’s her  last little bit of summer, I don’t wanna leave her  twiddling her thumbs while I go traipsing around the country-”

“So bring her. Priscilla brings Lisa all the time, you know, they make it work,  Elvis is a family man, hon- I mean Becky, tour is not some wild orgy. You’ve been there. The guys, the band, were all like a big happy family.”

“One big happy family, huh? I don’t know.”

“I can hear it in your voice, Becky girl, I can tell ya wanna come.”

Becky sighed, looking as Ruth paused her place setting to look up and grin at her mother. Ida was behind her, eye brow arched up as Becky motioned her over, whispering with her hand over the mouth piece if it would be ok to take off for a few days. It was disconcerting how much Ida nodded and how quickly an excited gleam grew in her eyes. Becky shoed her off and carried the phone to wonder down the hallway so no one could hear her.

“Maybe. You really think I could bring Ruthie? How long would it be for ?”

She heard Charlie breathe a sigh of relief, and then there was a kerfuffle and the bang of the phone handle dropping on the floor.

“Hey Becky Butt.” Elvis’ deep voice filled Becky’s ears and she realized he must have been sitting there watching Charlie ask her. “Honey, I ain’t stopped thinkin' bout you since you left me. I need you, need you bad."

Becky started to blush, just at the needy, low tenor of his voice. "I have been thinking about you to."

"That's good baby, real good. Let's get you out here, see if I'm still the same as you remember. Can’t wait to see you, baby. Tonight ain’t soon enough.”

“Tonight? Uh - Elvis, I - Charlie said I should bring Ruth? Is that really ok? Is it safe?”

“Honey, I’m a black belt with a gun. Ain’t no safer place on earth. Hell, probably the safest place for your baby. You know how crime is getting in our cities. Bring her along. Charlie can babysit too, he’s basically a child himself. Got the brains a one, any how.”

Becky stood there, tapping her toe as her mind raced. Every bit of sense screamed at her not to meet Elvis on tour. She had just told Ida last week she was ready for her aunt fix her up with any nice single guys her age, in a conscious effort to try and get Elvis out of her system. Be a normal, responsible adult. Having, normal, responsible relationships. But now, talking to Elvis, all she wanted to do was give in and rush to be near him.

“Ok.” She whispered out.

“Good, good girl. I’m having Charlie run get Joe, fly ya out tonight. Go get ya self packed up.”

********************************

The Norfolk airport was pitch black when they landed, and if it weren’t for the lights along the landing strip, Becky may not have been able to make out Jerry’s scowl from across the tarmac.

“You shouldn’t have come.” His voice was clipped and terse as he grabbed her traveling bag, looking her up and down as she wobbled behind him in the high heel suede boots Elvis had bought her.

“Hello to you, too.”

“He said you were bringing your daughter, so at least you have some sense.”

Becky gulped as Jerry opened her door, and she flipped the sun visor down to fix her make up.

“Yeah, I guess… I um, changed my mind. I thought she would have a good time, but then, I don’t know,  I thought the schedule would throw her off. And I guess I don’t want her to get too attached to him. Or the idea of me and him. This is all just a little fun.”

Jerry looked over at her, his shoulders seemed to clench with his jaw as he drove

 “Fun. Ha. Well get ready, I think you’re in for more fun than you bargained for.”

Then Jerry pulled over, and his voice went from sarcastic to earnest as he turned off the car. “Or you can just say the word right now, and I’ll turn around, take you back, and you can catch a flight home. I’ll tell him you never showed.”

Jerry’s hopeful expression gave Becky a strange sense of foreboding and all the excited, giddy anticipation drained from her body.

“But Jerry - there are no direct flights to Jackson, and it’s midnight.” Her lip quivered as she pushed her lipstick back into its case.

“And I - I can’t afford to pay for a hotel and then all the connections I would have to make to get back home. Why are you acting like this? What happened?”

The drove under a streetlight, and Becky saw the bags under Jerry’s eyes more fully as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“Elvis has been getting into it with the band all week. Kathy and two of the Sweet Inspirations stormed off the stage mid-show tonight cuz he was talking shit at them sideways.” Jerry looked over at Becky. “The big man can dish it out, but he cain’t take it. No sireee.”

He drew out his “sireeee” as he pulled the white Lincoln into a parking spot at the back of a hotel. Becky shifted back and forth during the elevator ride up, arms crossed in front of the white floral dress she had excitedly wiggled into with glee three hours ago, as Ida kissed her good luck, and Ruth had glowered,  asking again why she couldn’t come. Now she felt ridiculous. Ugh, why couldn’t she ever listen to the voice of reason in her head that told her something was a bad idea. Leaning against the cool metal of the elevator, Becky kicked Jerry’s shin and tried to keep her voice light, positive.

“Ok, so level with me. Why is he fighting with the band, he seemed fine when he called me earlier.”

Jerry stepped away, grimacing at her familiarity. “That is because he is the master manipulator, and he wants you to come keep him company. But the last few days he has been stoned out of his gourd. More than usual. Cuz he’s in pain from all the performances, cuz he’s tired, cuz he’s bored. And he does not want to be on tour.”

“Then why is he?”

Jerry sucked in his breath and held up his hand, and a look of sharp contempt framed his smile as he rubbed his thumb and his forefinger together.

“Money money money, Becky! Linda needs a bigger apartment in LA! Dr. Nick needs a new house! Joe’s swindled him into starting a racquetball club! And of course he needs a different, gold plated plane.”

Becky swiveled in front of Jerry, looking him square in the eye as they hit the twenty first floor and she stepped backwards into the hallway.

“And what about you, Jerry, are your needs being taken care of?”

Jerry shook his head, and a sharp chuckle escaped his lips while he hung back and threw Becky’s blue travel case at her feet.

“Hmmm. I reckon you gotta from here, Becky. He’s in the Presidential Suite. Just down the hall.” He looked away, stating in a matter of fact tone. “Have fun.”

Becky’s mouth dropped as she watched Jerry tilt his head to the side through the closing doors, his eyebrows arched in a challenge. The elevator clanged shut, and Becky steadied herself, then opened her purse, as if all of life's problems could be solved with a tissue or some lipstick. There was the paperback copy of The Hobbit at the bottom, the one she’d been reading to Ruth. The one Ruth had shoved in her hands at the last minute, demanding that she call home and read to her while she was away. Becky smiled, thinking of Ruth’s big brown eyes as her small, stubborn mouth announced that she would be telling the neighbor kids all about how her mom was going to meet Elvis at his concert, even as Becky begged her not to.

“I guess if one good thing comes out of this, it should be Ruthie one upping those Ledbetter brats.”

Becky dug around in her purse, and decided to pop a tic tac in her mouth, the mint was refreshing, it washed away the bad taste her conversation with Jerry had left in her mouth. Then Becky took a moment to look herself over in the mirror. Ida had helped her pin her hair half up in the front, and her floral, cotton dress hung down in a flattering way from the embroidered empire chest to hang loosely over her hips before stopping at her knees. The suede boots gave her some height, and she liked the fringe along the side, she liked the way she could feel it dangle as she walked. She just had to keep her balance and everything would be fine. Looking at herself in the mirror, she blew herself a kiss and took a deep breath. In a moment of inspiration, she broken off one of the yellow roses from the vase on the table, and pinned it into the side of her hair, then strode down the hall.

She pulled on the ring Elvis had given her, once more finding reassurance from rubbing the metal over her finger again and again. But her confidence faltered for a moment outside the suite when she heard the smash of something being flung and breaking against the wall, followed by stomping and shouting. Elvis-like shouting.

“Fired, they’re all FUCKING fired. ‘Cept Myrna, she’s the only one with any sense a loyalty or professionalism. I don’ care if them other bitches come back here, begging, BEGGING, on their knees for their jobs back. They revealed their true colors here tonight. It’ll be a cold day in HELL before I take ‘em back.”

The shouting paused, and Becky leaned into the door to try and hear what the chorus of male voices muttering indecipherably were saying, before a loud voice, deeper than the Mississippi delta, bellowed back.

“Nah. Nope. I ain’t apologizing for shit. They need to ‘apologize to me, Felton, for not bein’ able to take a  GODDAMN joke. There’s a hundred back up singers out there  starving fo’ work. Who’d slit their momma’s throats for a chance to sing with us. Why don’t you do YA job and go find me some a them? What the hell I pay ya for? ‘Sposed to be producin’ this show, go produce some back up singers.”

Becky’s excitement at seeing Elvis again had now been replaced by a tense ball of nerves shifting in her stomach. Suddenly the sound of footsteps came towards her, and she jumped back from the door just in time before three or four men pushed by where she stood back, sucking in her stomach and gripping the wall as she watched them trudge down the hallway. Then she turned to find Charlie at the door, looking at her as his face scrunched from unease into a wide grin.

“Why if it isn’t Becky from Birmingham. Whatcha doin’ hugging  the wall out here, Becky? Git in here, girl.”

Charlie stood back, and Becky braced herself as she entered the hotel room.

It was a mess, plates of half eaten food lined the table and bar, several of which had been flung against the wall, where mashed potatoes and gravy now dripped down the wallpaper onto pieces of broken porcelain on the carpet. Becky shivered, and then tried to compose herself as she looked around. There was Joe, smoking and pacing on the other side of the room, he turned when he saw her, unable to hide the disdain that grew on his face. She recognized Red and Lamar on the couch, Sonny hunched against the wall, but didn’t know the younger, skinnier guy with long brown hair.

Becky suddenly felt very awkward and out of place and brought her blue, vinyl travel bag up to her stomach where she could hug it for comfort. She smiled at Lamar as Charlie patted her back.

“You know the fellas, aintcha Becky?” She nodded, her walk stilted as she came further into the pent house. “The big guy just went to his room, but man are you a sight for sore eyes, he sure is gonna be glad to see you.”

Sonny let out a laugh, then stood up and walked towards her.

“I thought Jerry was picking you up?”

“He was, I mean he did, but I guess he - um - had other stuff to go do.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. By now I bet he’s kissed Myrna’s ass so hard his lips are glued to it.” Sonny rubbed his hands together, looking Becky up and down, and she hugged her bag harder at the resentment in his eyes as he went to pour himself a drink.

“Don’t pay him no mind, Becky, he woked up on the wrong side of the bed is all. For the last ten years.” Charlie laughed loudly at his own joke, as he guided Becky through the tense, silence of the living room towards the master bed room, where he knocked on the door to the old “Shave and a hair cut, two bits” pattern.

“I said to FUCK OFF.” Was the response, and Becky looked at Charlie imploringly.

“He seems - out of sorts. Maybe I shouldn't be here.”

Red snorted behind them, muttering under his breath that was one way to put it.  But Charlie shook his head, whispering.

“Nah, it’s jus been a rough night with some a the personnel.” This elicited another snort from Red, but Charlie continued, undeterred. “He wanted to know the second you got here, trust me.” Then Charlie cleared his throat, calling out.

“Hey boss, guess who is here? It’s lil ol Becky! Just in from Miss’ppi.”

“Well why the didn’t ya say that in the first place.”

The door flung open with a bang to reveal Elvis, still wearing the blue jumpsuit with the silver zebra pattern rising on either side of his chest. A matching zebra patterned belt was at his waist and his hands held an old fashioned looking quilt in patriotic red, white and blue around his shoulders, like the comfort blanky Ruth still slept with sometimes.

 Becky immediately dropped her bag and went to him, cupping his face with her hands as she looked up into his eyes. In spite of all the shouting, the gruff stance, he looked like a wounded puppy. She would whatever she could to take all the pain out of his eyes and hold him until he knew that everything was alright.

The side of her pinky crested against a taut choker, as she shook her head at the dark make-up smudged around his eyes. His lips pursed together at the center as he looked down sheepishly, like a little boy, biting his lip as his hands let the quilt drop to the floor and found her waist.

“Are you cold, Elvis?” She asked, looking at the quilt.

“What, oh that? Nah honey, someone gave it to me at the show and I like." He exhaled slowly through his nose. "Aww Becky, is it good to see you.”

Elvis picked her up and swung her around, bouncing her against his slight belly. His face lit up, and Becky could almost swear he wiped a tear from his eye as he placed her down and drew her into his side, walking her out to the living room.

“Now, this is what a good gal looks like, a loyal gal. Drop ev’ry thin when her man needs her. Man ‘o man, baby. You look like an angel, sent from heaven. How’d I get so lucky, have an angel come visit me, huh?” He grinned, looked at the others before kissing the top of her hair with gusto, so much so that his chin knocked the rose out of it, and then he accidentally stepped on it when he moved to pick it up. Elvis bent at his knees, wobbling as he tried to gathered up all the petals, his voice was high and babyish.

“Aw, no no no no. I’m sorry baby, I trampled all ova ya pretty flower.”

Then he dropped it an octave yelling forcefully.

“Charlie - boy, where’d that dumb ass go.” Before he had even finished uttering the words dumb ass, Charlie was there, chuckling as if Elvis and he were two frat boys yanking each other’s chain. Instead of master and trained dog, Becky mused, then pushed the thought from her mind.

“Charlie, run out and get Becky some fresh roses -”

Becky bent down next to Elvis on the carpet and stilled his hand to pull him back up, notching herself under Elvis shoulder as she turned to Charlie.

“Don’t you dare, Charlie. I just stole it on my way in, I can always go get another one.” Then she leaned up on her tippy toes and kissed Elvis’ cheek. “It’s a sweet thought, though. You’re sweet a sweet boy. Thanks for inviting me to join you, wished I hadn’t missed the show.”

Then she ran her fingers through the sweaty matted hair at his temple, stroked out the sticky hairspray that had kept his coiffed, high pompadour in place. Elvis’ blue eyes locked with hers and his whole body softened.

“S’ok, honey, probably all for the best. Was a sorry ass excuse for a show anyway.”

Becky trailed her fingers lower, over his chin and down along his chest hair.

“Impossible.” She whispered into the crease at his armpit, nuzzling her nose against the edge of his shoulder.

He didn’t even break eye contact as she looked back into his face as he lifted his right hand out and waved the guys off.

“Alright, boys, dismissed.”

Becky smooshed her face back into his armpit, rather than watch the parade of angry, middle aged men depart. Just before he left, she heard Charlie start to say good night and how nice it was to see her, when Elvis yelled for him to stop making eyes at Becky and go find his own gal.

Then they were alone. In a sea of dirty dishes, broken plates, rose petals and one coffee table that looked like it had been turned upside down. Unless it was some sort of new modern design, where you placed your coffee on the marble slab face down on ground.

Looking back up at Elvis, Becky didn’t know what  to say.  The screaming she had heard through the door had terrified her., yet looking at him now it seemed so clear how tired and how much pressure he felt. Jerry’s words rang in her ears, and they summoned all of Becky’s stupid, nurturing instincts. She began to pull off his scarf, peppering his chest with a few soft kisses to sooth the heart beat she heard, running as fast as a loose rail car thundering down a mountain.

Looking back up at his face, she licked her thumb, without consciously realizing what she was doing, and started to clean up his eye make-up, and he started to babble about the whole world going to hell. But he quieted as she shook her head, and gripped her hand tightly, shakily. Feeling him tremble, she remembered how exhausted he must be. So she paused and led him through the master suite and into bathroom, when she sat him on the toilet, stopped him again from protesting that he was fine, with a finger to his lips. Then she took a wet washcloth, and straddled his lap to clean his face.

Elvis grinned up at her, and when was done, he clasped both her hands in his and brought them forward to kiss her knuckles, his eyes level with her breasts. She let out a gasp at the way he sucked at her knuckles, before she shook herself free so she could reclaim her hand and undo his choker.

“What’s the matter, baby boy, hmmm? What’s all the fuss bout tonight, huh?”

She soothed his forehead with her fingers, cracking her neck as she steadied herself on his lap. The texture of his blue, gaberdine suit was soft underneath her bare thighs.

“Ah, nothing honey, jus the doggone back up singers can’t take a joke. Walked off in the middle of the set, make me look like a damn clown.”

Becky steadied herself.

“I find that hard to believe. Don’t look like a clown to me. If anything,” she begun to unzip his jumpsuit, her hands smoothing over the cool sweaty, hair she found there as she pushed against his belly. “If anything, they’re the ones who look foolish. Walking off like that.”

Elvis' lip hung down, just the slight hint of a double chin grew there, before they widened into a smile, pushing the apples of his cheeks up towards her.

“Ya sweet honey, ya know that? Wait, whatcha doin’ woman?”

Becky giggled as she pulled off his belt, and leaned into smell his chest.

“I am undressing you, Elvis Presley. Shower time.”

He tried to dismiss this idea with a wave of his hand.

“Honey, I don’t need a shower.”

“Oh yes you do.” Becky rubbed her hands under Elvis’ jumpsuit, trying to push it off his shoulders. “When was the last time you took a shower, you stinky boy.”

He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Uh, uh, uh -”

“Ha, if it is taking that long to answer, it has been tooo long.” She jumped up, and went to start the water. Elvis stood, bringing her back against the bathroom wall.

“Think you can come in here, and order me around, huh?” He smirked. “I like how I smell. Smell like a man. S'natural, s'way God made me.”

“Good little boys.” Becky worked her hands back under his suit. “Who take good little showers.” She got the fabric off the side of his shoulders. “Get good little rewards.”

He stilled her hands, enveloping her with his scent, a staunch mix of sweaty musk doused with a bottle or two of brut. Becky wrinkled her nose.

“And what about bad little boys who do what they want, huh?”

She threw her arms around his neck. “They get loved on until they learn to behave.” And she began to kiss his chest and neck with a swift barrage of pecks.

“Alright, alright crazy woman. What’s my reward, then, huh?”

Becky pulled her dress off with a speed that made Elvis' head spin, but before he could make a snarky remark, she bent over to take off her boots, and all he could do was stare at her bottom as she motioned for him to unclasp her bra.

“Your reward is me. In the shower. Washing you.”

Becky giggled self consciously as she took Elvis’ hands and drew him into the shower. She didn’t know where her chutzpah had come from, all she knew was that when she was with him, she was a woman transformed. Her walls came down, and she wanted to be as close as possible to him, do whatever she could to put him at ease. Being around Elvis had warped her entire way of thinking.

The way his smirk rippled across his cheeks as he watched her lather up a wash cloth and start scrubbing over his hair chest made her tummy feel funny. Like she was about to jump off a diving board. She watched the soap drizzled down over his waist and down his happy trail. Becky swallowed hard, unable to stop herself from rubbing over it with her hand and wiping the soap into different shapes around his belly button. A triangle, a circle, a heart.

Elvis chuckled as he squeezed his eyes shut under the water, letting it rinse everything off as he muttered that she was a weirdo. Then he took the wash cloth from her hands and spread the lather over the top of her breasts. Back and forth, as if mesmerized. His attentive gaze made her vibrate, and Becky’s nipples became hard nubs. She pushed his hand aside, stepping close to rub the soap from her bosom against him, playfully.

“I think they’re clean.”

“Never can be too sure.” He pulled her closer, nudging his nose over hers as he took the washcloth back and began to caress her butt. “Just bein’ thorough. Wanna a get all my reward.”

“Your reward was me washing you, not the other way around.”

Elvis winked. “I’m renegotiatin’.” And he carefully turned Becky around so that she was leaning into the shower wall, while he slowly moved the washcloth over her shoulder blades, the small of her back, her bottom cheeks and the backs of her legs. His movements were so soft and tender, that they made all the thoughts drain from Becky’s head with the water. Her knees turned into jelly.  And all she knew was the warm sensation vibrating up her spine and tingling between her legs.

It was 3:45 am when they finally collapsed into the master suite’s large, king bed in matching pajamas. Becky could rest assured that every part of her body was clean, and while she hadn’t scrubbed him behind his ears, she had done her best with Elvis.

He had taken the cute, sexy pink fluffy negligee she had brought to sleep in from her hands, and thrown it in the trash, reiterating that just because they were on the road, they were never safe from commie drug dealers. Arsonists. Assassins. Any number of dangerous threats that could result in an instant need to evacuate the hotel.

“Trust me, Becky, you’ll be greatful ya wearing something decent if that happens.”

Becky rolled her eyes, saying to herself that Elvis was worse than her grandmother. But she obliged and reasoned that Elvis’ pajamas were probably more comfortable than the gauzy peignoir she had brought. The she settled back, watching him take his medication from the black, doctor’s bag, before folding her arms around him when he snuggled up and lay his head on her breasts,  murmuring to her in a low, babying tone.

“Aw Becky, don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t come.”

She stroked his soft, dyed hair, shhhing him as she smiled to her self at the hint of grey she saw at the peak of his right side burn.

“You’d be fine, you always are.”

“Nah, honey, none a these fools love me for who I really am. None of them would be here if it weren’t for the money.”

“That’s not true, your friends love you. They’ve known you all your life.”

“Nah uh, they don’t, baby. No one loves me. You might be the only one in the whole world who doesn’t want anything from me. Won’t take my goddamn money, even when I mean it as a gift. Because I do love givin’ gifts.”

Becky trailed her fingers across Elvis’ forehead, enjoying the way his warm skin felt under her knuckles. “I know you do. You really do.”

“But no one appreciates it, they just want more. Won’t be happy til they suck me dry. Ugh, I don’t know if I can even sleep, so keyed up about the band.”

Becky kissed his forehead, as an idea percolated, and she rose from the bed to grab The Hobbit from her purse.

“Here, why don’t I read to you, take your mind off things?”

Elvis’ took the book ins hand. “This the book Spock was singing about?”

Becky giggled, thinking of Leonard Nimoy’s record few years back. “I believe the song you are referring to is ‘The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins.’ And yes, it was inspired by this book. But I know you've heard of The Hobbit, Elvis. Have you ever read it?”

Elvis shook his head, but before he could protest that he didn’t read children's books, she brought his head back to her bosom and began reading it, doing the voices the same way she did with Ruth. They passed out at some point in the “Roast Mutton” chapter,  after pausing from time to time debating what their hobbit names would be.

“I think you are probably too tall to be a hobbit, Elvis, probably more an elf. Your name is practically the same as their language.”

“Well, that don’t make sense, no one names their kid after a language. English. Spanish. This is ma son, German. So then, what do you ’spose my elf name would be?”

Becky yawned. “I guess that will be our proooooject over the next few days, figure out what our hobbit and elf names are.”

“Guesss sooooooo.” Elvis yawned back.

**********************************************************

Becky found her paperback copy of The Hobbit open and smashed between them where Elvis had fallen asleep with his head on top of her chest. Several pages were bent back, and she tried to get them straight by bending them the other way, before deciding to put the lamp on top of it with the hope it would weigh them back into place. The room was still so dark, it surprised her to see that the clock read one p.m. It had been five or six when they passed out, and Becky could hardly believe how quickly she adapted back to Elvis’ schedule.

Looking down at him, she returned to cuddle into him, thinking how sweet he looked with his mouth wide open, asleep, completely unperturbed about the weight of the world that he carried on his shoulders. Then, as she shimmied her legs next to his, she felt the distinct, outline of an erect penis. I guess he slept well, she thought, and suddenly felt an aching tingle light up between her legs and a naughty thought enter her mind. Becky bit her lip, wondering how to wake him up without making it obvious. She began to nestle her knee into his cock, then blow air over his eyelids, faintly at first as she watched his long eyelashes flutter and waited to see if it woke him. When he remained asleep, she blew harder, emptying her lungs, until she saw his eyelids move and he opened one eye, with a blank, confused, slightly drugged out stare. This prompted her to plop back, not so stealthily, and pretend to be asleep herself. She also stopped moving her knee over his penis. Sleeping people don’t do that.

“Ha, now watcha think ya doin, Becky Butt?”

Elvis narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. A chuckled escaped Becky’s mouth, and her hand replaced her knee to slowly sweep over the outline of Elvis’ length, teasing his tip with the swirl of her thumb. Elvis seemed to instinctively move back up against the pillows, while also trying half-heartedly to swat away her hands from his pajama bottoms as she moved her head to his crotch.

“Now, honey, you’re a good girl, good girls don’t do that.”

Becky pulled at his waist, leaning down to nuzzle against the silk over his thigh, looking up and batting her lashes.

“Baby, you’ve been so stressed out, this tour got you all worked up. I’m just trying to help you relax and clear your head, so you can figure out what you want to do about your band.”

Elvis released her hands from where he had stopped them at his pants, and flopped back against the head board, resigned and moaning as her hand feathered over him. He closed his eyes as he looked up at the ceiling and muttered, “Lord have mercy. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

Becky did a wiggly, little triumphant dance as Elvis shook his head, grinning as she pulled his pants down and very slowly and reverently bent down to kiss the tip, savoring the way his breath became heavier as she did. He bit his lip watching her look at him as she swirled her tongue around his foreskin where it now crested back above the head. In a leisurely, affectionate way, she moved her tongue hesitantly around him, using one hand to loosely palm up and down his shaft as she sucked the tip once more. Kissing it delicately, relishing how sensitive he was, how even just moving her mouth down an inch made his leg jolt. She laughed onto his cock when his knee knocked her head, and she looked up to see a warm, boyish smile beaming back down at her.

“Hey now, be gentle with him. He's, uh, he's, ughhhh, he's shy.”

Becky smiled as best she could up at him with a penis in her mouth, and worked to just move along the end of the foreskin to the top of the head, waiting as he moved her hair to guide her forward. His gasps sent a sharp ping to her core and Becky realized that the sound of Elvis’ hushed pleasure was like an aphrodisiac that she wanted to chase. And chase it she did, hollowing her cheeks to bob further down, seeing how far she could go with out gagging, seeing what happened when his tip hit the back of her throat, savoring the feeling of how it almost choked her.

His mouth now hung open, and he let out a loud moan as she delved deeper with the next thrust. Looking, she saw that his eyes were squeezed shut  and his mouth hung open, the bottom lip shaking tremulously as she began to speed up her tempo, following her mouth with her hand and breathing through her nose as she tried not to gag when she plunged downward. Then she felt Elvis grip her hair with a tight fist.

“Ah honey, oh Becky, oh honey, Imma about to burst!”

She watched his face contort as she nodded her acquiescence and continued to move her mouth over him, possessing him and at the same time giving herself to him as he arched his back up into her and came with a loud, breathy, high pitched cry. He was tangy, and salty, and she looked at him with a seductive wink as she flipped her hair and tried to swallow it all, before gagging and coughing most of it out of the side of her mouth and onto the duvet. This performance was followed by loud belly laughs from both parties as Becky rolled over in a fit of giggles at her clumsy attempt to be sexy. She hid under the pillows and blushed when Elvis moved over, threw the pillow away, and pulled her onto him with a goofy smile.

“Ya sure are sumpthin', Becky Butt. Man ‘o’ man." He sighed, stroking her shoulder. "Haven’t done anything like that in a while. Prolly since last time I saw you.”

“Elvis, you don’t have to lie to me, I see the photos of you with your other girlfriends on tour.”

He sucked in a deep breath, taking her chin to look up at him.

“You mean that girl I invited on tour after you turned me down? Honey, she don’t mean a thing, just someone to keep the bed warm. Wasn’t getting busy with her, tell you that.”

Becky arched her eye. “Really?”

“Mmmmhmmm. She is pretty, but she don't turn me on, not like you, baby. You’re my little snake charmer, member? And man, honey, every time too. Something special bout you. Gonna need you to come on the rest of the tour with me." His arm dropped, and his eyebrows furrowed and Becky realized he must be thinking about the tour. "Fuck, man, gotta figure out what to do bout these singers, goddammit. I don really wanna train new gals to sing, with only a few nights left.”

Becky patted his arm. “So don’t. Just apologize.”

A nervous squeak escaped her throat when she saw his lips purse and his eyes narrow in disbelief at her suggestion.

“You don’t have to mean it! I believe you were right, they are being bitches. Baby, trust me, you know how singers can be, premadonnas. And they are women. You can’t win with us. But you can know in your heart that you were joking, and also do what needs to be done to keep the show going by mending fences. S’easier to catch more flies with honey, E.”

Becky felt like a traitor to her fellow womankind, as she felt fairly certain that whatever had happened, the back up singers probably had every right to be upset. But the end justified the means, right? Her reasoning seemed to have some effect, as Elvis' pinched lips released and he grunted.

She watched as he looked at her, and repeated "easier to catch more flies with honey" in a high, mocking voice, while he rolled over and picked up the phone, asking the operator for Joe’s room. “Get Lowell on a plane, tell him to bring everything in the store. I don’t care, jack, do you work for my daddy? No, that’s what I thought, huh. Yeah, Imma have Felton take it all over to the girls, to everyone, tell them I know things got outta hand this week, let’s leave it in the past. Oh, and I wanna get Myrna a new Caddy, so she knows what loyalty means to me.”

Elvis was patting Becky’s thigh as he did this, his fingers playing a rhythm only he knew. But it made Becky feel special, needed, close to him, and she found a strange contentment just being there, receiving the song his body was tapping out. After he hung up, he called room service and asked them to send two of everything from the breakfast menu, explaining he didn’t care if it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

“Ever been Asheville, ha, honey?”

“MMmhmmm. No, can't say I have. Guess we'll have a few days there to figure out what our hobbitses names are.”

“Already know what your’s is. Becky Bobbit.” He grinned wide at her quizzical face. “Cuz you bobbit so good on my nobbit.”

Becky hit him as he burst into a fit of giggles. “Dirty, nasty, mean man.”

“Awww, honey, s’compliment. Wanna keep you round with me always, my lil bobbit hobbit.”

“Ha.”

“Comin’ to Memphis after the tour?”

“Elvis - I -”

“I thought we were talkin’ bout getting you moved up there. You will love it."           

“I will hate it.”

“Nah, you won’t.”

“Hmmm, you might be sick of me after the next few days.”

Elvis squeezed his arm around her tighter, looking down at the stain on the duvet, and then back at her with a silly smile.

“Nah, I won’t.”

***************************************************

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[imogenleewriter]

You Can Hear It In The Silence - Imogenlee Complete - 235,000 words.

You read that correctly. Complete. It's complete.

When Harry Styles received acceptance into a post-grad degree, he knew he could no longer afford his flat, leaving him with three options:

1) Moving back into student halls. 2) Becoming homeless. 3) Moving in with his best (and only) friend, Niall, and three of Niall's other friends. He ended up choosing the third option. But it was a close race. Shame one of his new housemates reminded him why he only has one friend. If Louis Tomlinson had to choose one thing couldn't stand, it would be pretentious tossers, having grown up around enough of them. If he had to choose something he couldn't live without, it would be his friends. So he was proper thrilled to move in with his best mates and a couple of other lads. That was until he discovered one of them was the archetype for a pretentious tosser.

In the interest of seeing out the twelve-month lease without killing each other, they both try (debatable) to get along despite believing they were opposite in almost every conceivable way, each having the communication skills of a cucumber, and secrets that had no business be kept secret.

I have a fair few shout out's I want to give, because of course I do. Please excuse my Award Ceremony-esque speech. Obviously, without a doubt, I am so, so, SO thankful for everyone who has read it. The fact it was ever clicked on is incredible, so the fact that we're at 23k hits for a 10 week old WIP is mind-blowing. Thank you for everyone who has commented. If you sort every ao3 Larry fic ever written by comments, and go to page 3 out of 2100 you will find this little fic. As a 10 week old WIP, it was 42nd most commented on fic and nestled in between fics that are so (rightly) adored and I honestly don't understand it. Thank you for the kudos, and the bookmarks and subs.

Thank you for the stupid amount of people who went out of their way to rec it! I remember the first time I stumbled across a post where someone had sent in an anon to recommend it and I was in awe. And then it happened more and more often. I'd find them here, and on tiktok, and two days ago someone told me I'd been recc'd on twitter and I searched and found some. That's honestly mindblowing. And in the same vein, thank you @allwaswell16 and @twopoppies for sharing the anons they got (if other people did as well, thank you! I just never saw them). And honestly, a super massive thank you for @twopoppies because for a while there I was worried I was going to have to pay her for answering all the anons she got about it. Thank you to EVERYONE who ever reblogged or shared or liked anything here And thank you to the discord group who has put up with me having meltdowns every second night for the last month or sprinting with me every twenty minutes forever. It meant a lot. I'm worried I'm going to forget people (honestly DM and call me out if I do) but @enchantedlandcoffee @hellolovers13 @lunarheslwt @nooradeservedbetter @larry-hiatus @beardyboyzx @hereforh @faithinwalls369 @onlythebravest @zanniscaramouche @alwaysxlarrie @justanothershadeofblue @petitefleurlouis @larryatendoftheday @huggieshalo @paranormalbabydoll @loveislarryislove @paranormalbabydoll @larrysballetslippers @the-larry-way @goldenkinglouis @finelinelarents @thinlinez @thebreadvansstuff @justahappycloud @parmahamlarrie (Did you know I wrote my last chapter this week)

[givethemsmut]

Dom Mysterio x Reader

Chapter Eighteen | Where It All Started…

Being home felt like a relief from the chaos of being on the road two days only to have my life fall apart. I was barely speaking to Dom, giving him the full silent treatment and begging him mentally to not go back to that storyline.

Neither of us had control over what WWE wrote for him. A lot of it was off the top once he knew the objective but the control ended there.

He was home for three days before he made it clear he had to go back. His suitcase was packed at the door and Finn was due to babysit me next.

“Don’t be like that. It’s just acting. No one is catching feelings. That kiss is as far as it’s gonna go.” I almost believed him because of the rating and it airing on prime time TV.

“Exactly. That wasn’t far enough already? You kissed her, Dom. For TV.” I stayed behind the kitchen island still stewing and fighting all the ways I didn’t feel like myself still.

I was still popping pain pills like candy and the pain was enough to stop me in my tracks still. I would cuddle up with a big glass of wine, pop a pill, and pretend I could get away with self medicating.

“I have zero control but I came home. I left work to be here with you. Yet you’re not really here, are you? Finn’s not gonna let you abuse those meds when I’m gone.” He threatened me in such a real way when he walked over to the cabinet to snag the orange bottles altogether.

“Are you fucking serious, Dominik? I just had a miscarriage and a surgery to stop the bleeding. I’m not taking them for fun.”

“For fun?” Dom boxed me in with a hand on either side of the counter top and his thumb pushing my chin up to look at him. “No, I think you’re getting fucking numb. So numb you don’t have to deal with it. Just like when we were teenagers.”

“Don’t act like you know my every move. I need those for the pain.” I reached for the pill bottle in his hand when he held his grip on it.

“Don’t fucking do this. I know you. I’m right here, mi amore.”

Finally wrestling them out of his hand, he snatched them back, breaking the cap off and popping one his mouth. “You take one, I take one. That’s the deal. You wanna be numb, act like a bitch, pretend nothing happened then I can to.”

Scolding him I didn’t argue, I was mentally counting how many were left if he took one and how long that would get me. I wasn’t addicted but I understand they helped and that had enough value to come off as crazy.

Pulling away he dumped half the bottle into a small baggy before tucking the bag in his back pocket. “Oh shit, Finn is here.”

I rolled my eyes at the thought of a babysitter. “Goodie.”

I watched Dom strut to the door, letting Finn in and embracing him. Licking my finger I let a pill stick to my skin before pushing it past my lips. Dom was leaving and Finn was babysitting me. My life had went from perfect to trash.

Finn’s accent was abrasive at first when he came over to the kitchen island, dropping his duffle bag on the floor and trying to make eye contact. “Looks like it’s us the next few days.”

“I don’t need my own personal nurse. I’m doing just fine,” I shot back.

Dom scolded me, his eyes boring into me. “It’s not for you. It’s for me. I need to know you’re okay and you didn’t want it to be my mom.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Dom. Of course I don’t want to masterbate with her down the hall.” I smiled before pivoting on my foot and grabbing a drink from the fridge. Heading up stairs I could hear their exchange the way teenage boys would.

Waiting at the top of stairs I eavesdropped, I wanted to know exactly how Dom felt. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding overprotective. The pain meds, watch those. Back in high school she did a stint of needing pills. I don’t wanna do that again. Other than that, tread lightly because you know I’ll kill you if you touch her.”

He saluted him in response prompting my eyes to roll again. Great, he was on Dom’s side entirely.

Before Dom left he stopped at the stairs, calling my name and forcing me to show myself. Dragging myself down the stairs I knew I would just fall deeper into this pit of despair if I didn’t kiss him goodbye.

“Don’t do anything stupid. FaceTime me tonight after RAW, okay?” His hand smoothed down my back and pushed me right into him. Our mouths collided, the warmth of his tongue felt like heaven and I instantly regretted not having sex.

“Dom,” I whimpered all out of breath already. “Don’t go yet…”

“I can’t miss this flight, mi amore.”

“We didn’t… I don’t want you leaving all pent up. Not with the storyline… what if something happens.” I whispered while his mouth kissed around my lips.

“Finn is here babe,” he retorted but I didn’t care. His hands kept my hips in place as he pulled away. “I have to go baby. It’s just a few more weeks until Mania then I’m home for a little.”

The smallest tug on the tie holding my rob together allowed it to fall open for Dom. Licking his bottom lip his head snapped over his shoulder to make sure Finn couldn’t see.

“You know the doc has to clear you first, mi amore. I don’t want to hurt you…” His hands smoothed up my body until his hands were caressing close enough to my tits to hurt.

“Dom. That doesn’t mean I can’t help you…” His warmth mouth planted kisses all over my neck causing my voice hitch in my own throat. Slipping a hand between us I palmed his bulge hoping he was take pity on me.

Clutching my hand in his, he held me still, not letting me rub him the way I wanted to. “We aren’t alone and you need to heal.”

The way his hands rushed to close my robe felt insulting. I felt like a failure entirely.

“He walked in on us before, Dom. How many times have you said that you don’t care who sees or hears us?” Closing my robe I wanted to retreat but his hands still kept me in place.

“I don’t want to fuck you while you’re high on pain pills. I don’t want to relive that summer.”

“That summer? Let me guess, that’s the real reason Finn is here.” I scuffed pushing past Dom on the stairs. “You told him I was a fucking addict? Do you even know why I was getting high that summer?”

“It doesn’t matter why. That shit was hard for me too. Seeing you like that.” He followed me just to tell me it was hard for him when he was sober with a girlfriend that summer.

“Hard for you? I was throwing myself at you while you’d rub your girlfriend in my face. You forced me to prove shit with Blaine constantly. I had to survive your cruelty. I spent one summer drunk and high. One summer. Half the WWE roster is juicing and you’re kissing Liv but I need a babysitter?” Sitting in the corner of the couch I curled up under a blanket.

He sat down next to me, matching my energy, only he was trying to save face in front of his friend. “I just don’t want you to slip into that again. It wasn’t easy fucking you and wondering if you were too high to remember after or if I violated you.”

Leaning forward I watched Finn’s wide expression only grow. “He paying you to babysit me?”

“He doesn’t need to pay me… he’s my best friend. If he needs me here, I’ll be here. No problem.” His thick accent skated down my spine when I realized Dom hadn’t thought any of this through.

Standing up I let my robe fall off my shoulders and crashing down to the floor without a sound. “I’m taking a shower. Do you need to babysit me doing that too?”

Finn immediately covered his eyes, standing up from the barstool, and acting astonished by turning around as I breezed by.

Dom shouted my name after making sure Finn wasn’t looking. “It’s not funny and he’s not babysitting you like that so don’t fucking test me.”

Wandering in our bedroom I smirked to myself knowing I had made my point to Dominik before he assigned his babysitters. If he wanted to treat me like we were teenagers than I was going to make it hell while he did it.

Putting down my phone on the bathroom counter I glanced at the text already from Dom.

Dom: Don’t fucking try me, babe. We might be friends but I’ll kill him for even looking at you.

I didn’t bother to text him back before I slipped into the shower and left Dom on read.

[misguidedasgardian]

From the Ashes (II)

II. Mother's little helper

MASTERLIST

Summary: The situation with John is still pretty rocky, lucky for you, Djinns had been said to grant your wishes 

Pairings for this chapter: Dean x reader, John x reader (you'll understand)

Warnings: Supernatural (and all that comes with it), monsters of all kinds, pyrokinesis, cursing, murder, child endangerment, impersonating of law enforcers, guns, mentions of virginity loss, birth, blood drinking, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 2,9 k

Notes: I re-wrote the first one

2001, Jackson Hole, Wyoming

You woke up with a smile on your face, it was an exciting day after all, you almost jump out of bed, energized by the smell of breakfast, you could hear your mother singing in the kitchen downstairs. You wanted to jump to the first floor but you knew she wouldn’t like that, so you ran as fast as you could and in a second you were right by her side

“Good morning mama!”, you chanted, she smiled at you grabbing your face and kissing your cheek

“Good morning my love”, she said, with the brightest smile, “excited for today? I can’t believe my daughter is going to Stanford!”

“It’s not a big deal!” you said coyly, but you knew it was

“I’m so proud of you”, she said, looking at you with loving eyes

“Thank you mommy”, you whispered, she hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head

“You have to get me one of those stickers for the car, the ones that read “my daughter is in stanford” or a t-shirt!”, she said excitedly, as she served you breakfast, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, you made the coffee, and you shared an amazing time.

“You know, california is beautiful, if you want, we can sell the house and I can move down there with you”, she offered

“Mom, you love it here, is where our family was from”, you said softly, “besides this house is a dream, with how expensive everything is in San Francisco, we’ll get a place like a ⅓ of the size”, you explained

“Oh I get it, my daughter doesn’t want me going down there and spoiling her fun!”, she teased,

“No!”, you giggled, “that is not it”

“I get it love”, she said softly, caressing the side of your face, “you are going to be great”, she said 

“Thank you”, you said, smiling widely. You had spend the last two years traveling the world after you ended high school, and now you were ready to start college, not any college, you had been accepted to Stanford

And you were so excited

“Remember to use your gloves honey”, she said sweetly, kissing you on your forehead, already saying your goodbyes, “and also, remember to keep away from photos as much as you can, alright?”, she asked, “you know now in the new age, everyone wants their picture taken to upload it to the internet and the internet…”

“Is forever”’, you completed, “I remember”

“Have fun, and take care sweety”, she said lovingly, and you hugged her one last time to leave your home

You got into your car, your Pontiac firebird a family friend had gotten you for your birthday and started your journey

You were driving to California, you loved roadtrips, good music, your baby, an open road… amazing

You reached San Francisco three days later. Just in time for orientation, as you were getting out of your car, you stumbled upon a large dude, he was tall! like a tree!

“I’m so sorry!”, you mumbled at the same time, his dark eyes met you down

“Nice ride!”, he admired, you felt your cheeks heated

“Thank you”, you whispered, looking back at your baby, “are you here for orientation?”

“Yes actually, you too?”, you nodded enthusiastically, “great, I’m Sam, Sam Winchester”, he said offering his hand, you shook it back, muttering your name back to him, he looked at the gloves weirdly, it might be fall but it was still warm

“What’s with the gloves?”, he asked curiously

“Oh I… well, it was an accident, I was four, my mom was cooking, she turned for one second…”, you said like you have told that lie a thousand ways before, “my hands… are weird looking but also very sensitive”

“Oh”, he said, like he had messed up, “sorry”

“Don’t sweat it”, you said softly, “it’s a common question”, you walked into the campus together, you were looking at everything with a mouth wide open, it was an incredible campus

Turns out, you and Sam met the first day, and you sticked together every day since, he wanted to become a Lawyer, you wanted to become an architect, but you made it work, you studied together, you hang around together and you started to build a group of friends around you

And just like that, four whole years happened, Sam started dating Jess, and they were super happy, and you were already enlisting yourself to be the maid of honor, and you… well… you were hanging around with a guy, but you weren’t too sure about him

Henry

He was so handsome and tall, he was the perfect man, a gentleman, and yet… you still weren’t so sure about him, there was something missing. 

You were actually discussing this with Jess, you were together, the three of you, when Sam’s apartment doorbell rang. Sam frowned, going for the door, and when he came back, he wasn’t alone. 

“Well, hello gorgeous”, he purred your way when Jess and Sam were in the kitchen

“Hi”, you muttered simply. He was handsome, deep green eyes, spiky hair, leather jacket, very hip. VERY handsome

“Are you… Sam’s friend?”, he asked

“Yes, we met first year here”, you said simply, he only nodded, a smirk on his lips, you even felt nervous with him.

“I’m Sam’s brother”, he said and you nodded, acknowledging him

“Here”, said Sam, bringing him a beer. You couldn’t stop staring at him, and him you. Sam noticed this, and seemed uncomfortable

“What brings you here Dean?”, he asked nervously, just then Dean looks at his brother

“I can’t pay a visit to my little brother?”, he asked  cheerfully, “let’s turn this around, order a couple of pizzas, drink some beer, you can invite some friends”, he said lightly

And turn it around you did

Soon the small apartment was packed, Dean was the soul of the party, that let you have a chat with Sam

“He just got out of SFS”, Sam said apologetically, “he majored in mechanical engineering”, he said lightly. You sneaked a peek at Dean and he was looking back at you, he smirked 

“Is that so?”, you mumbled, he chuckled, you looked back at him

“I know that sneaky look in your eyes”, he said

“He is handsome”, you said, he seemed entertained, “is he going to break my heart?”, you asked

“No”, he said softly

And he didn’t. Dean worked at a garage with his father while you attempted to finish school, by the time you were graduating, Sam proposed to Jess, even though they were very young, they were so in love, they got married, and when you attended their wedding in a beautiful deep purple dress -as a maid of honor-, you and Dean, both attended the wedding together, you had been dating for a year now, you danced all night, you in his arms, and he asked you, to move in with him, you of course said yes.  

You met his father, John, at the very wedding, he was happy. Their mother had died when they were children, he never remarried. But he seemed so happy to be there, with his two boys, and with their girls. 

Your mother had told you, many years ago, as a bedtime story, that you, as a phoenix, mated for life, you feel a pull, a string leading you to that person, and you’ll be happy together. You believed that, you wanted it. Dean holds you in his arms, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you”, he whispered

“I love you too”, you said happily. 

You told him you were a phoenix, he didn’t care.

He found it fascinating.

You lived happily, you moved in together, you worked in your dream job, restoring old buildings in San Francisco, Dean worked in his father’s shop. He asked you to marry him, you eloped in Vegas. With Sam, Jess and your parents. 

You were living in an apartment on top of the shop, it was so comfortable, it was your home.

You found out you were pregnant, with twin girls

Your mother was there, she lived with you to help you with the girls, she was by your side when you gave birth. Dean loved her, and… you could honestly look up into the skies and give thanks, because you were the luckiest woman on the earth.

Dean was so over the moon, he was the greatest girl's dad you had ever seen. You fell even more for him, if that was even possible.

You had friends that you adored, you had the most handsome and incredible husband, which you loved with all your heart, you had a caring father in law. And you had two perfect little girls that took after their fathers, and you had your mother. 

Your life was perfect. 

“Really?”, she asked him, “you are giving her dreams instead of nightmares?”, she mocked, watching you on the floor, sleeping peacefully, “you are getting weak”, she whispered in her mate’s ear. Who had your wrist on his mouth, he had managed to break the skin, he was feeding from you. 

“She is too powerful”, the Djinn responded, blood dripping down the corner of his lip, “if she gets distressed she will break out of the trance”

“What is she?”, she asked back, fascinated

“I don’t know”, he answered, “but her blood… is delicious”. The other Djinn turned to John, laying on the floor next to you

“Let’s see how you taste old man”, she purred

John looked at the big farmhouse with curiosity, he went up the three wooden steps that lead to the porch and then inside of the house.

It was his parents house, they were gone now, but the house was lit up with life inside of it. The house had been abandoned but now, it had been brought back to life.

“Sweetheart? is that you?”, he heard a melodic voice coming from the kitchen. He looked everywhere, the house was completely renovated, it was beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered.

“Yes”, he answered, he didn't even know why, maybe it was a force of habit. 

He stopped by the mirror in the corridor and he looked at himself in it, there he was, himself. when he was thirty.

What the hell was going on?

He heard footsteps from the corridor leading to the kitchen, and then, his breath got caught in his throat when he saw you, coming towards him, with a beautiful smile, and a big baby bump. You look older than you were, at least thirty 

“We missed you”, you said with a bright smile, you were wearing an apron, you had flour staining it, you took his face gently in your hand and you kissed him, his hands traveled to your hips

“Hello darlin”, he whispered against your lips

“Papa!”, he heard footsteps tapping around in the corridor. Two children appeared, which he could recognize anywhere, Sam and Dean, looking as cute as buttons. Dean was eight and Sam was four. 

“(y/n) is baking my favorite pie”, said Dean Happily, John dropped his bag of tools, grabbing Sammy on his strong arms, and followed you into the kitchen. He found it weird that he called you by your name instead of… and then he saw a picture of Mary on the wall, with the boys. Where you…?

“Your little girl had been kicking me all day long!”, you said happily, finishing up in the kitchen

“Little girl?”, he asked, curiously

“Well, I know you can never know for sure”, you said softly, “but this old lady told me she thought it was a girl, and well, many things, we did the ring test, and rhe shape of the belly too…”, you muttered. He looked at your shape from where he was sitting. He must be dreaming. He looked at his boys, eating the chicken and potatoes you had made them. 

This had to be a dream

But he didn’t want to scare you.

He looked at your shape again, you were a woman now, grown, which let him know you were no longer a supernatural creature.Your huge belly, he looked at his boys, who looked back at him wide eyed, and smiling

He felt… happy.

“What happened?”, he dared to ask you, when you were both ready for bed, in the master bedroom.

“What do you mean?”, you asked softly. He was clearly… with you… but the boys existed too, and… “remember that this week, well, of course you remembered but I called the florist already”, yous aid gently

“What florist?”, he asked

“For… Mary’s memorial”, you said, looking at him sadly. Mary died, he remarried… you…. he had the boys and now he was expecting a girl… with you.

“Alright, thank you”, he said, leaning in and kissing your lips, you felt asleep cuddled by his side, your big belly over his stomach.

He was putting flowers on Mary’s grave. His friends and remaining family were there. but you weren’t, you didn’t feel well, and he realized you wanted to give him space, which he appreciated. It had been four years since Mary’s death, he believed it was a bit too soon to be married to you, but right now, he didn’t know what happened.

He worked in his own mechanic shop, his own, he was so proud of himself for achieving it, he came back to you and the kids every night, he went to his kid’s games, he even coached little league. 

He found you in the kitchen, your water broke, and you whined in pain.

He took you to the hospital, he left the kids with the neighbors, a loving couple you liked so much, that you barbequed with.

It was a girl, a beautiful little girl who looked like you.

He was happy, really happy. He’s got the cake, and he ate it too.

He woke up early that one morning, you were so tired, Violet kept waking you up for feeding in the middle of the night, but there you were, sleeping soundly next to him

“Dad!”, he heard, in the back of his mind, “DAD!”, the last thing he saw was your sleeping face, before Dean was shaking him awake. 

He was back in the present, and two Djinns lay dead, one, killed by the Dean, the other… copious amounts of blood were dripping from his mouth, like he just throw it all up, he was right next to you, your wrist… was healing but it had been bitten onto, severely.

Dean was over you now, shaking you awake

“Mom?”, you felt like you would die, you were so weak, your eyelids were heavy, very heavy

“No darling, it’s me”, you heard that gruff voice, Dean, tried to make you sit, but he had to grab you, you couldn’t keep your own body up

“Mmmm Dean?”, you asked, feeling so faint, like your brain was made of cotton

“Shh, I got you”, he shushed gently, “those bastards got you good”, lifting you from the ground. “Dad, are you ok?”, he asked

“Yes I’m fine Dean, take care of her!”, he insisted, the Djinns didn’t get to him in time. 

“What were they?”, you asked, as they both started walking away. 

“Djinns, got you and dad”, Dean carried you like you were a princess, out of the large Warehouse. It came back, all of it, you had come to Denver, in Colorado, to find and kill the Djinns that were draining dry innocent people. 

“I’m sorry”, you whined

“It’s fine, thanks to you, I got the time to rescue dad and gank them”, he said

“What happened?”, you asked then

“They fed off of you, they seemed rabid for it”, he said, he laid you in the back of the Impala, and closed the door gently, you curled up, hugging yourself, it seemed impossible, but you might have been experiencing cold for the very first time

Both John and Dean got inside the car, John in the passenger seat, he turned over the leather seat and looked at you

“Sweetheart, are you alright?”, he asked, concern in his features

“Mhm”, you mumbled, barely

“I’m sorry”, he muttered

“It’s fine”, you whispered

“Is she going to be alright?”, he asked Dean, he shook his head

“I will”, you promised, “I need a minute”

“I didn’t even know monsters could feed off of phoenixes”, John said, Dean started the car and leaving the scene quickly

“They did, but one of them died because of it, he started screaming, like he was being burned, and then he just collapsed and died”, he said quickly, “like her blood was poison or something”

“Mmmm I need a sandwich”, you mumbled, really out of it

“What kind of sandwich?”, asked Dean

“Mmmm meat… cheese… mayo”, you barely whisper, “and a strawberry milkshake”

“That sounds… pretty good”, Dean said happily. “Let’s get away from this crap-ass city”, he said 

John kept looking back at you. You just dozed off, only in a couple of hours, you were going to be brand new. 

Post chapter notes: Soooo Reader wished her mom never died. And John fleetingly wished he met the reader “before”, didn’t specify much.

Maybe this chapter is a bit weird, its similar to the one where Dean gets trapped by a Djinn and he alucinates... anyways... happy reading

taglist! <3

@deans-spinster-witch

[cheeeeseburger]

Dream girl Part 6

Next part

Sidney Crosby x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: A THIRD part in three days, and I'm already writing the next one? That's a first for me! This chapter was my favourite one to write so far, I literally didn't have to think, it bascially wrote itself!! All of this is because of yourkind words. Thank you guys so much for your kindness. Anyway, English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes, enjoy!

It’s the middle of the night, and Sid’s phone is ringing. It’s not like he was asleep anyway. No, like most nights, his bed felt too empty, his sheets too cold and his arms longed for someone to hold onto. No, not someone. You.

He picked up the phone.

“Sidney, baby, it’s me!” Of course, he knows it’s you. Your name is flashing on the screen and his ringtone is that one song that you said you’d like to dance on top of the bar to. Even though your voice was expected, he still felt a thrill when he heard it.

“Hey, are you okay?” He’s immediately up, ready to put on a shirt and his shoes. You hadn’t contacted him since that night when you basically ran way, except to say thank you the next morning.

“I’m okay, for the most part. I mean, physically, I’m intact. I think I might be heartbroken, but not for the right reason.” Sidney can hear the sadness in your voice. He also hears loud noises in the background, and judging by your tone, he assumes you’re drunk and probably at a bar. He grabs his keys.

“What does that mean, not for the right reason? Did you end things with him?” By him, he means his teammates, but he can’t think of a single nice thing to say about him at the moment, so he prefers not to pronounce his name.

“No. I mean, I don’t want to think about it right now. I came to the bar to get fun drunk, but I ended up sad drunk, you know what I mean? All I want to do is drown in ice cream and sob on the couch at home, but I don’t even have a couch, nor a home, since he’s back in the condo. Why does he get to go back in the condo? He has so much more money than me. He could get a hotel room or something. And my friend, who I’ve been living with? Yeah, I think she’s sick of being my friend. I think a drink would make me feel better, but they are so freaking expensive so instead I’m calling you and I don’t even know why I’m calling you but you’re so nice to me and I like you too much and I think my crush on you is back but you’re just so hot and nice and perfect and maybe I should stop talking now!” Sidney hears you take a big breath after your monologue. His head is spinning and he’s not the one who’s had too much to drink. You gave him a lot of information in a few short minutes. He makes out two things out of it: one, you need a place to stay and two, you might be actually interested in him. He feels a rush of adrenaline, but he also knows you’re drunk, so he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Still, a win is a win, right?

“Slow down, sweet. You’re calling me because you know I will always help you. I think we should talk about this in person. Text me where you are, and I’ll pick you up. You can stay in your old bedroom, or I can give you a new one, if you prefer.” Sidney’s already in his truck. You give him the address and he leaves immediately.

“Thank you so much, Sid. I know why you’re so nice to me, but I also believe to my core that you would be just as nice if that reason wasn’t there.” Your words feel like a puck to the stomach. He’s busted, but he doesn’t mind. It’s not like he was really discreet about his feelings anyway.

“Of course, sweet. I’m a few blocks away.” He looks at the streets filled with people half his age, including you. You're not hard to spot.

“I think I see you.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m going to hang up now.” Love you. The words almost slip away.

“Hey, Sid.”  He gets out of his car. You look away, too shy to meet his eyes. He finds it adorable, but he can also see the sadness you’re trying to cover up. He takes the time to notice your outfit too. You look too good to be true, clearly dressed for revenge, although you’re way too loyal to actually take any revenge, unfortunately.

“Hi, sweet. Are you ready to go? I got some water for you in the car and those granola bars you said you liked.” For some reason, your eyes got misty. That was the last reaction he expected.

Then you pulled him for a big hug. Okay, sorry. That was the last reaction he expected.

“Thank you so much, Sidney. I wish I was the one taking care of you for once.” The words sound distorted because you pronounced them to his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, my love. You take care of me in so many ways already. Why don’t we go home now?” Your home. It feels so natural. Carefully, he picked you up and opened the car door for you. He buckled both of your seatbelts, and he drove away into the night.

When you arrived home, he parked the car then shut it off. Nobody dared to move. You were the one to break the silence.

“I would like to have a room upstairs, if you don’t mind, please. I’m too scared to go in the basement alone.” There has to be another reason why. When you lived in it with the rookie and they had to leave for away games, you were alone for many days, sometimes a week, and you never said you were scared. He doesn’t pick up on it though, but he stores away the information for later.

“That’s not a problem, sweet. You can stay with me for as long as you want.” Stay with me forever, he wants to add but doesn’t.

Like this was not the middle of the night and this happens everyday, you followed him inside. He wished it was a date and he would bring you home for the first time. There would be a kiss on the porch and hickeys in the entryway. Shoes would be flying, your dress on the railway. Your bra would be somewhere in the alleyway leading to his bedroom.

Instead, he lead you to the living room.

“Why don’t you sit down? I think I have some ice cream in the freezer. Rocky road is your favourite, right?” You nodded and fell helplessly on the couch. It was clear you had sobered up.

“I don’t have anything to wear. Would it be too much if I asked you to borrow one of your shirts?” Such simple words that have such an effect on him. He came back with the container and a spoon and nearly drops both objects. Seeing you in his shirt would be a dream come true, a new image to think about when everything seems grey.

Somehow, he swallowed and managed to answer. “Yeah, no, of course. I’ll go get one.”

He looked through his drawers, furiously trying to find the softest shirt he owns. He wanted it to be comfortable, presentable, and selfishly, he wanted it to smell like him. He finally landed on an old Rimouski shirt that met all the standards.

Sidney went downstairs and was stopped in his tracks by the sight that was you licking your spoon. It was obscene and he will never be normal about it ever again.

“Thank you so much, Sid. I feel so much better already. You’re so kind to me, it’s crazy. You really are making your country proud. I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met. I’m so sorry for making you do all this. I don’t know how I got so lucky, and how you don’t hate me.” You got up and crossed your arms, trying to comfort yourself. He just wanted to pick you up like a doll and take care of you. He wished you knew the lengths he would go for you and how this is nothing compared to what he would do for you. You’re my dream girl, and I would do anything for you.

“Sweet girl, you don’t ever have to apologize to me for something like that. You’re not obliviously to my feelings for you, and I don’t get how you don’t hate me for how selfish I am.” There, he said it. His insecurities and his feelings were all on the table, just like playing cards. You were the Queen of Hearts, and he was your loyal subject. Sidney had never laid his feelings like that before.

“Sidney. My heart aches for you. You have been nothing but selfless ever since I’ve met you.” For once, he was the one avoiding your gaze. You took a step forward and took his hands in yours.

“Please, Sidney, I need you to understand this. I’m the one who’s being selfish by playing with your feelings like that. In fact, I’m going to be selfish again, because I don’t want you to get rid of them. I want to do something about them, but I just can’t act on it right now. So please, Sidney, will you hold on to them for a while longer?” He squeezed your hands and held them tightly. This was an incredibly vulnerable moment for the both of you.

“My love, I will always have feelings for you. You’ll always have my heart. I think it only started beating when I first saw you.” You got on your tiptoes, and he bent forward so your foreheads could touch.

“Then I promise you this, Sidney. You won’t have to wait forever.”

His dream girl was no longer slipping away.

[azures-bazar]

Peculiar Scents

Let's be honest, almost everyone agrees that 1899!John rarely takes baths and is somewhat dirty all day long ! lol

And here is another very weird one-shot my brain managed to work with ! I wrote this between 2 coffees while on a break, please don't mind my awful mistakes ! :')

The gif can be explained later in this one-shot ! This is not a ship.

John Marston x GenderNeutral!reader

Word count : 2k

Short summary : You can’t stand it anymore. This smell is terrible ! John didn’t wash in three weeks... and you can't let him keep going.  

A/note : This is NOT A SHIP ! The reader is having a very friendly/sibling-like relationship with John Marston. I’m too much into John x Abigail (or even John x Javier), sorry :’)

Tags : cute, John is terrified of water, ancient rubber duck, flowers, bath, good and bad scents, John is always dirty, chapter 3, siblings

"No !"

John’s voice sounded across camp. You and Sean had been chasing him for over an hour to convince him to wash himself. You had first attempted to be very nice to him, gently asking him to just rub a piece of wet cloth over his body, which did not seem to work much. Sean was more brutal, carrying ropes to lasso him while John kept walking around camp to get away from the two of you. However, despite giving your best effort to convince him to clean himself a little, John was not ready to accept your request. Abigail had begged you while Arthur had given up, you kindly obliged. 

"Pa’ always stinks !" you heard Jack say almost twice a day

"I can’t walk by his tent no more." the girls had told you

"Sometimes I feel like there’s a rotting corpse in his tent !" Pearson often complained 

"I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s peeing by his bed every morning to mark his territory…" Bill usually sighed when passing by John’s tent

In fact, you were one of the first victims of his terrible smell. Your tent was right next to his, and his horrible scent of sweat could only make you feel nauseous as soon as you would wake up and while he would open his tent flaps, unleashing his body odours for at least five minutes. The two of you were always paired to go on guard duty at the same time, so it meant that you were sharing the same schedule when it came to rest in your respective tents. Dutch had firmly refused to move your quarters away from John’s, believing it would certainly enrage Ms. Grimshaw and disturb her overall organisation. He also thought it would lead other members to actively start asking the girls and Arthur to move their tents depending on their moods… and Sean would have been the first to ask for his tent to be moved closer to Lenny’s. 

As far as you could recall, John had always hated baths, and it was painfully hard to convince him otherwise. When you got inducted into the gang by Dutch, just five or six years after John, you could easily remember his smell and how bad you felt when he was too close to you, feeling nauseous most of the time. You adored him, he was the closest to a brother to you, you were always paired with him and hanged with him quite often, but his overall body odour could not make you stay near him for more than a hour without leading you to get some serious migraines. He would wash every once in a while, probably three times a month, which was a miracle considering his hatred for water in general. 

Quite often, Arthur had to hogtie him and drop him into the nearest lake or river, or even go to the closest saloon to give him a proper bath. And, indeed, John hated that. He hated being hogtied and forced into water and would never miss the opportunity to complain whenever someone would do that to him. 

"Get back here, Marston !" Sean shouted from behind you 

"I said no !" 

"Oi, ya ain’t gonna go far, we can track ya with yer bloody scent !" 

Arthur watched you pass before him with a smirk, proceeding to draw a scene of you and Sean chasing Arthur in his journal. He could feel empathy for the two of you, despite this sight was probably the most delightful comedy he had ever watched so far. He had been at your place for years, and seeing someone else have to catch Marston to give him a bath was a very nice comedy to watch ! 

"John, please !" you shouted 

"Leave me be !" 

You kept walking around camp for a while as Sean was preparing his lasso. John’s quick walk was also quite comical to watch, the way he moved his hips and arms made him look like a real clown. A dirty clown. You grumbled as John started running away from camp, quickly getting on your horse as Sean followed you, climbing on Ennis. He was ready to lasso John, who was trying his best to get away from Clemens Point by running as fast as he could. What a surprising thing to watch, just a few weeks ago, he could barely walk due to his recent scars ! 

"C’mon Marston !" Sean laughed. "Some water ain’t gonna kill ya !" 

"Leave me and my dirt alone !" Marston shouted 

"Ain’t got a chance !" you laughed 

John was not going to let anyone take him to take a bath. He hated water, he always had. Bessie had been the only one who had successfully convinced him to bathe, he would do it as soon as she would ask. However, since her passing, it had been overwhelmingly difficult to get Marston to take a bath. He was deadly scared of water, for some reason. Arthur did try his best to teach him to swim, but Marston never succeeded, nearly drowning more than once. It always took a few gang members to drag him into water by now, and you were often among these poor fellers that would be chosen to give him a bath. 

After a very short time, Sean successfully lassoed John, you went down your horse, you tied his hands in his back. He started swearing, begging you to let go, wriggling as much as he could to set himself free. You had to pinch your nose, what a terrible smell ! Even Sean, who’s overall body odour was mix between whiskey and cigarettes, smelled better than John ! 

"Yer goin’ to take a bath, Marston !" MacGuire happily said, dragging John to Ennis 

"Leave me alone !" he responded, wriggling his arms to get the rope away from his wrists 

"I can’t stand your smell anymore, John." you grumbled. "I seriously can’t. So you’re going to take a bath or…-" 

"Or what ?! I ain’t a kid no more, Y/N ! You can’t just scold me like a child ! I ain’t a…-" 

"Next time, I’ll take our boat right here and throw you into the lake so you won’t ever reach the edge of Clemens Point." 

John gasped and grumbled, nodding in shame as Sean dragged him on Ennis. You led the way to Rhodes, heading to the saloon in which MacGuire paid for John’s bath, but refused to come with you. You were going to deal with him alone, while Sean would certainly drink at the counter and probably pass out. All the work was on shoulders, but you agreed with that. You led John to the bathroom, quickly pulling his pants down. Indeed, you were going to have to get him naked, which would certainly be the hardest thing you would ever have to do. 

"H-hey !" he blushed 

"Wanna get wet clothes ?" you asked 

"No, but do you really need to undress me ?" 

"Unless you do it yourself." 

John rolled eyes. You headed to the door and locked yourself in with him, he rose his hands for you to untie them. You obliged and turned around, giving him enough privacy to undress, grumbling a little while sliding into the bathtub. The water was foamy enough for you to avoid seeing his body parts, making you feel much more comfortable. Indeed, you did not want to see John bare body, so you would not dig your hands in the warm water. You turned back, John was keeping his knees close to his chest, giving you a death stare as you approached. 

"You ain’t gonna drown here, John." you said. "Relax."

"I hate you, Y/N. I hate you and Sean." 

"No need remind me, I already know that and love you too." 

"I said I ha…-"

"Me too."  

You walked around the bathtub, looking around the shelves, picking a very peculiar yellowish form into your hands. A rubber duck, you had seen many of these on the shelves of a variety of shops, they were relatively new in stores. John could not relax, you quickly threw the rubber duck in the tub, making him gasp as water got splashed over his grumpy face. 

"What the hell is that ?!" he asked, rubbing his eyes 

"It’s a rubber duck." you answered. "I think they got these to keep children entertained." 

"Do I look like a child ?!"

You nodded with a large smile, causing John to turn shades darker. You had been aware about him being constantly belittled by Arthur, frequently being told he was a child… you even heard Hosea mention that even little Jack was far much docile !

"When you refuse to take a bath, I swear I feel like I’m having Jack right here. It’s funny, though." you laughed

"Damn." 

"It ain't my fault if you can't behave better than your four-year-old boy."

"You can't be serious right now."

You laughed and shrugged, causing Marston to sigh. You watched John looking at this strange realistic looking rubber duck while washing his hair, calmly rubbing his scalp. He quickly became obsessed with this rather strange duck you have him, not even realising anything about his current situation. It gave you more space to wash him without a single complaint. You still allowed him to do clean the bottom parts of his body, not wanting to go any further than his chest. John sighed, still keeping the duck under his arm as MacGuire knocked at the door. 

"Dead-Eye MacGuire here !" he shouted. "Open the door ! "

"Don’t let him in." John grumbled. "Please, don’t."

"If I make him stay outside, you can be sure this place will be on fire in a few minutes."

"Christ sake..." 

Marston sighed and turned his down. You went to the door and opened, making Sean break into the room. While quickly looking at him, you noticed him carrying a broom in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. 

"It’s cleaning time, Johnny !" MacGuire happily shouted 

"Wait, what ?!" 

"Let’s get this dirt out of your body, fella !" 

"Get away from me you damn creep !"

"Sean, wait…-" you gasped 

Sean happy sipped some whiskey and dropped an empty bottle on the nearby chair, allowing you to close the door behind him. John curled up into a ball as Sean started rubbing the broom on his soap-covered back. Marston groaned, painfully holding the rubber duck against him while his fists clenched on the sides of the bath. You watched Sean scrubbing John’s upper body until it was red, preparing a new set of clothes while John was screaming how much he hated you. Both of you. 

"I want you to rot in hell !!" 

Thankfully enough, Sean quickly stopped scrubbing John’s body, allowing him to leave the bath to get dressed while you were not watching. John refused to mount on Sean’s horse and decided to get on yours instead, grumbling all the way back to camp while holding your onto waist. Arthur came to greet you with a warm smile, John pushed him aside and quickly got into his tent, closing its flaps. 

"Damn, he smells much better !" Arthur said, gently patting your shoulder. "How d'you do this ?" 

"Well, we had to convince him in a rather kin…-" 

"We had to use violence, English." Sean stopped you. "Bad business. Very bad business."

Sean walked away as Arthur looked at you with wide eyes. Violence ? What kind of violence did you use ? You gently shook your head, quickly explaining that the treatment you gave to John was not as violent as Sean depicted it to be.

"Violence ?" Arthur smiled. "You really used violence ?"

"Sort of." you shrugged

When the night came, you could finally rest. No more bad smell, you could breathe without feeling like a cow had just covered John’s tent with shit ! However, as the smell was gone, you could hear John groan, and Hosea’s voice sounding inside his tent. You had seen Matthews preparing a mixture to help John’s back to heal after being scrubbed so violently by Sean, and thinking about him applying his balm on Marston made you chuckle to yourself. You could hear how painful it was for him, he kept whining each time Hosea would touch his back. 

"At least, you smell better !" Hosea said with a smile 

Yes. At least, he did. 

[excessive-vampires]

Dealing with Demons Chapter 9: A Tempting Offer Part 1: Riley

Masterlist with CW

Taglist: @demyxdancer @softvampirewhump @d-cs

Avi was laughing when Riley approached them.

"What's funny?"

Avi put away their phone. "Oh, just something my friend said."

"Would this friend happen to be CosmicCat on Spotify?"

Avi's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Why?"

"No reason, just curious. Let's get on with the mission." Riley moved to open the car door.

"Actually," Avi leaned back against the door to close it. "If it's just going to be the two of us I'd rather teleport. It'll be faster."

"Oh, uh, okay."

"Now, what's the closest address?"

Riley told them.

"Okay. First, I'm going to need you to get rid of that amulet."

Riley grabbed said amulet protectively. "What? Why?"

"Silver doesn't teleport very well."

"I've never heard that. And I've seen teleportation runes made of silver."

"Well, I don't use runes. It works differently."

"Where am I supposed to put it?"

"Car's glove box?"

"It's not my car!"

"But you have the keys, right? So no one else will be able to take it while we're gone."

Riley paused for a moment.

"If you don't want to come with me—"

"No. I'm going with you. But do we have to teleport?"

"Do you want this to take all day?"

Riley deliberated for a moment before they took off the amulet and stashed it in the car. They instantly felt like they had gotten onto a rollercoaster with no safety bars.

"Excellent. Now, take my hand." Avi held out their hand and Riley gingerly grabbed onto it. "You're going to want to hold your breath."

Riley did so.

And then everything went black. And silent. And numb. For a terrifying moment Riley thought they were dead, but then the world came back all at once. Riley fell to their knees as their mind tried to process their surroundings.

Avi grabbed their shoulders and hauled them to their feet.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to that."

"Great."

They were in an apartment. It looked like an average middle-class home except for the lack of life. Dust had long since settled over the surfaces, even law enforcement hadn't been here in a while.

"Well, did they summon a demon?"

Avi inhaled deeply. "Not within the last week."

"That's all you can tell?"

"Unfortunately. The rest will require some old fashioned manual searching." Avi put on gloves and tossed a pair to Riley.

"But the initial investigations have already cleared out anything occult."

"Evidence that someone has summoned a demon isn't always obviously occult. Look for cleaning products they could have used to get rid of the blood rune. Look in the fridge for apples or pomegranates, anything that's symbolically connected to demons or the soul."

"Right." Riley started looking.

The ritual used to summon spirits was unusual, half normal ritual and half symbolism ritual. A person had to put a lot of themself into it, including an offering--consumed by the ritual--they thought would entice the demon or angel they were summoning. The offering could be almost anything, as long as the summoner believed it would work and that it in some way represented what they wanted to achieve. Riley pretty much had no idea what to look for, but soon Avi sauntered over carrying a fistful of pure white feathers.

"Found this under the mattress. Dove feathers, they probably went out and collected them by hand. I bet they thought it'd get them an angel."

"Does the offering determine what type of spirit you get?"

"No, but some people try to guide things in a certain direction. Sometimes it looks like it works, but the ritual always summons a spirit based on what deal you want, not what you do."

"Huh. I always thought it was based on what kind of spirit you were looking for." Riley quickly got out their notepad and wrote the new information down

Avi threw the feathers over their shoulder and held out their hand. "Come on, we'd better get going to the next address."

Riley's stomach lurched. "Right. Let's get this over with."

They found evidence of rituals at the next three houses, but it wasn't until the last house that Avi could actually catch the scent of a recent summoning.

"Six days ago. Demon of arrogance." 

"Huh, that's at least three diffent types of demons in total."

"Hmm." Then Avi's eyes went wide. "Seven total victims, each having summoned a different type of demon... I think I know who's doing this, and if I'm right it's bad."

"What? How?"

"I'll explain to you and Coleman when we get back, come on."

Riley took a deep breath and grabbed Avi's outstretched hand. This time they managed to stay on their feet when they appeared outside the base.

"I'll go get Coleman. Mike and Sil too, they'll want to hear this."

"Wait, Riley!"

"What?"

"Your amulet."

"Oh, thanks." Riley unlocked the car and grabbed the now cold silver.

"No problem, I have a feeling we'll all need all the protection we can get."

Riley's stomach dropped as the weight of the amulet settled against their chest. They ran inside the building.

......

Once Riley had rounded up everyone who needed to hear what Avi had to say they all gathered just outside of the base.

"Okay. A while ago I was summoned by someone who wanted to make a deal with me. His name was Cliff Mason. I refused him because he was vague about what he wanted from me and only offered an unspecified amount and type of power in return. But before I did he told me he needed one of each type of demon for what he was planning. I think he also needs someone who's made a deal with each of the seven."

"But then why would he take Clara Bolton? If you refused him wouldn't he have found another demon of avarice?" Riley asked.

"He was insistent that he needed me specifically. I don't entirely know why. I think he's going to try to force me to cooperate with whatever it is he's planning and he's confident he can succeed." Avi sighed and looked down. "I'm in danger."

For a moment everyone was silent. There was an incredibly powerful monster standing before them, and this Cliff Mason was dangerous enough to make them feel unsafe. Riley felt cold sweat at the back of their neck.

"Don't worry," Sil said. "You're part of the team now, we'll keep you safe."

Riley looked at her in surprise and saw Mike doing the same.

"What? If I only protected the coworkers I actually liked then Mike would have been dead years ago."

"Thank you, Agent Silverman," Avi said with sincerity. "That means a lot."

"I'll get someone to look up Mason's home address, criminal record, employment history, the works," Coleman said. "Be ready to go out and start trying to track him down in the morning. You," she pointed at Avi. "Don't try to investigate alone."

"Director, I wouldn't dream of it."

Demons could lie, as long as they hadn't given you their word, but Riley saw the fear in Avi's eyes and believed they were telling the truth.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 18

Warnings: 18+ readers only, mentions of nudity, smut

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

𝖂𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 in courtyard when the letter came. Hermione had been berating Harry about not concentrating on Slughorn and instead, concentrating on Malfoy. Meanwhile, Ron kept ducking behind Hermione as different girls came around the corner, always afraid that one of them would be Lavender.

"Harry Potter? I was asked to give you this." The girl said. She had straight black hair and pretty eyes. She handed a letter to Harry.

"Thanks. . ." Harry said, taking the small roll of parchment. When the girl had left he said, "Dumbledore said we wouldn't be having any more lessons until I got the memory!"

"It's not from Dumbledore." I said over Hermione's head.

"Look at this." Harry said to Hermione, handing her the letter.

I read over her shoulder:

Dear Harry, Ron, Elizabeth, and Hermione, Aragog died last night. Harry, Ron, and Elizabeth, you met him, and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you'd have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you'd dip down for the burial later this evening. I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favorite time of day. I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the cloak. Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone. Hagrid.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione said, passing it on to Ron who said, "He's mental! That thing told its mate to eat Harry, Eliza and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!"

"It's not just that." Hermione said. "He's asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if we were caught."

"We've been down to see him by night before." Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but for something like this?" Hermione asked skeptically. "We've risked a lot to help Hagrid out, but after all- Aragog's dead. If it were a question of saving him-"

"-I'd want to go even less. You didn't meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot." Ron said.

I privately agreed with Ron, though I hated the idea of Hagrid facing something terrible alone. Correction, something terrible for him alone. I could most definitely sneak down to see him.

"Harry!" Hermione said desperately, "You can't be thinking of going. It's such a pointless thing to get detention for!"

"Yeah, I know. I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us."

"I'll go down." I said and the other three looked at me. I shrugged, "Look, I can turn into a cat. Cats are allowed past security, aren't they?"

"Ah. . ." Hermione said, looking worried.

"Nothing's going to happen Hermione." I said gently.

"Alright then." Ron said, "That sums that up."

Hermione turned to Harry. "Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with us all off doing our tests. . . Try and soften Slughorn up a bit then!"

"Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?" Harry asked in a bitter voice.

"Lucky." Ron said. "Harry, that's it- get lucky!"

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked cautiously, knowing exactly what Ron meant.

Ron looked at him excitedly, "Use your lucky potion!"

Hermione looked at Ron in a new light, "Ron that's- that's it! Of course! Why didn't I think of it?"

"It'll work." I said confidently.

Harry looked at the three of us. "Felix Felicis? I dunno.. I was sort of saving it. . ."

"For what?" I asked, amused because I knew exactly who he was thinking about.

He didn't answer, having gone off into la la land and didn't come back until Hermione asked, "Harry? Are you still with us?"

"Wha-? Yeah, of course. Well. . . okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another go this evening."

"That's decided, then." Hermione said, getting to her feet and started to do pirouettes. I was quite jealous. Twycross hadn't gotten the Minister's approval for me to take the test early. "Destination. . . determination. . . deliberation. . ."

"Oh, stop that, I feel sick enough as it is- quick, hide me!" Ron cowered.

"It isn't Lavender." Hermione snapped.

"Cool. Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?"

I scoffed, "They're the Montgomery sisters, of course they aren't going to be looking happy! Didn't you hear about their brother?"

"I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest." Ron said carelessly.

"Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyways, the boy was only five and he died in St. Mungo's, they couldn't save him." Hermione answered.

"He died?" Harry sounded shocked, "But surely werewolves don't kill, they just turn you into one of them?"

"It depends." I said sadly. "Sometimes they lose control. It's why dad always traveled so far during full moons. If he didn't turn me, he'd kill me, and I don't think he would've been able to keep living if he'd done either one."

"What was the werewolf's name?" Harry asked.

"Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback." Hermione said sadly.

"I knew it- the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!" Harry said angrily.

Hermione and I looked at him sadly. "Harry, you've got to get that memory. It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him. . ."

The bell rang, Ron jumping to his feet to join Hermione.

"You'll do fine." Harry said, getting to his feet as well. "Good luck."

"Hermione, you'll pass. Ron, you're going to leave half an eyebrow behind and they'll fail you if you're not careful. Remember the tips that'll keep you from splinching yourself." I said happily.

Harry and I headed to the potions dungeon and found that it was the two of us, Ernie, and Malfoy.

"All too young to Apparate just yet?" Slughorn asked, looking around, "Not turned seventeen yet?"

We all shook our heads.

"Ah well, as we're so few, we'll do something fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!"

"That sounds good, sir." Ernie said, rubbing his hands together, smiling.

"What do you mean, 'something amusing'?" Malfoy asked irritably.

"Oh, surprise me." Slughorn said.

I headed to the side room, pulling out a cauldron that already had ingredients in it. My Felix Felicis potion. I had started it with Severus after everyone had come back from break. I knew that we were going to need quite a bit.

But the potion needed work, only halfway done. Even with the headstart, the potion end time would be cutting close to the battle date.

Across from me, weird smells were emitting from Ernie's cauldron. It seemed he was trying to invent a potion. Draco didn't seem to be putting much work into his potion either, but Harry was working methodically on his. Occasionally, I caught brief smells of peppermint.

"Well, now, this looks absolutely wonderful," Slughorn said after an hour and a half of work, standing over Harry's potion. He clapped his hands together, staring down into Harry's cauldron. "Euphoria, I take it? And what's that I smell? Mmmm. . . you've added a sprig of peppermint, haven't you? Unorthodox, but what a stroke of inspiration, Harry, of course, that would tend to counterbalance the occasional side effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking. . . I really don't know where you get these brain waves, my boy.. unless it's just your mother's genes coming out in you!"

"Oh. . . yeah, maybe." Harry said.

I had covered my nose discretely as the potion that Ernie had created was spewing horrid fumes.

The bell rang, Ernie and Draco left a once.

"Sir." Harry said but Slughorn was already leaving the dungeon. "Professor- Professor, don't you want to taste my po-?" Harry called desperately but the door closed.

I sighed, "No go Harry. But I'd certainly like to try some if you don't mind. You should try some too."

We both took a few sips and a familiar feeling flooded through me.

"Oh. My. God." Harry said, looking dazed. "That is amazing."

I picked up my cauldron and told Harry I'd see him later, and hurried up to Severus' office. Since class had let out, there were no students in the classroom and I passed through with no qualms.

I set the cauldron down in the corner. I noticed Severus had already labelled ingredients in different bottles and jars for me. I quickly finished adding the other ingredients and stirring. Severus came in a few minutes later.

"How was class?" He asked, taking a seat at his desk and picking up his quill.

"Wonderful. . ." I said, carefully counting the rotations as I stirred. Perfect, it had to be perfect.

There was a silence that contained scratching quills and momentary pauses where it was dipped in the pot of ink, bubbling from the cauldron, and soft breathing. But the potion Harry had made was making something weird happen to me.

I finally set everything aside. It was to sit and stew for about three and a half weeks and seven hours to the dot. I pulled out my potions calendar, marking the specific time. The good thing was my time-turner. If I didn't manage to get there the first time, I could most definitely get there the second time.

I stood up, getting ready to go down to dinner when Severus said unexpectedly, "It really was brilliant art, Elizabeth."

"Sorry?" I questioned.

Severus looked up momentarily, his black eyes boring into mine. "The portraits. They really were brilliant."

"You set yours on fire." I pointed out, my lips twitching to keep from smiling.

"Yes. . ." Severus said, turning back to his parchment. "You're going to ruin my image as a cold hearted person. People might actually think I'm soft."

I laughed, walking up behind him and hugging him from behind. "Your much softer than you let on." I kissed his cheek and then paused. Euphoria. I took the quill from his hand and turned the chair around, sitting on his lip, pressing my lips to his neck. He let out a small noise, perhaps a gasp, perhaps a moan, I wasn't sure.

Perhaps I shouldn't have taken the Euphoria potion because I seemed to have unlimited energy and didn't feel deterred by anything at all.

I slipped his robes from his shoulders, letting them fall. He pushed me off of him so that he could get out of the chair, and we stumbled through the door of the bedroom and onto the bed. I was on top of him, letting him slide into me easily. I moved with him quickly, my breasts bouncing carelessly and I barely noticed the pain. All I could think about was the enjoyment of him inside of me and my hands in his soft, silky hair. His hands reached up to cup my breasts, pulling me down slightly so his lips could kiss them. I buried my face in his neck.

He rolled over as I moaned softly, his hands clutching at my hips, moving gently now. Strange, usually we started slow and made our way up in speed. We seemed to be doing the opposite and it was lovely. He reached up with one hand to cover my breast, squeezing softly, while the other snaked around to the back of my head, bringing my head up to be closer to his.

Our lips reached the others skin at different spots, not necessarily each others lips. The small bursts of delightfulness was punctured with small bites of pain. But it was all lovely and in my current state, everything seemed heightened tenfold.

"What. . . what was that?" Severus asked, almost breathlessly as we laid there, the blankets curling around our legs, our clothes scattered on the floor.

"Harry gave me a potion of euphoria." I muttered, pent out of energy now that the effects of the potion had worn out. My cheek rested on his chest "I have no idea what just happened. . . I mean, I know what happened. . . I just don't know how it happened."

Severus chuckled, kissing my neck. I shivered slightly under his touch. Bloody hell.

"I should um- I should go down to dinner- yeah- dinner." I said, breathing normally again.

"As should I." Severus said. "Though I feel quite exhausted at the moment."

I too felt quite tired and would've liked to have laid there and fallen asleep. But I couldn't. So I giggled, moving away from the bed, and getting dressed again, before leaving the classroom to go down to dinner.

After dinner, I ducked into the bathroom and upon finding it empty, I turned into a cat and strode from the room.

I had to run from some Ravenclaw first-year girls who thought I was just a sweet little kitten, and after hiding on top of a suit of armor, finally made my way back to the entrance hall, and slipped out the door, sprinting across the lawn to get to Hagrid's house.

I transformed back outside the door- I didn't really want to face Fang as a cat.

"Yeh came!" Hagrid said, pulling me into a hug. He wasn't crying- at the moment- but his eyes were red and puffy.

"Harry'll be down soon." I said. "Ron and Hermione couldn't come though."

"Don' matter, don' matter." Hagrid said, sitting back down in a chair. I made a pot of tea and gave him a cup which he drank with trembling fingers. I waited, pacing the cabin, waiting for Harry. Fang followed me, looking for head scratches which I gave occasionally.

There was a knock on the door and Hagrid was up, opening the door. Harry stood there, his invisibility cloak held out in front of him.

"Yeh came." Hagrid repeated.

"Yeah-Ron and Hermione couldn't though, they're really sorry." Harry said smoothly. Perhaps it was my imagination, but there almost seemed a faint gold hue around Harry. But it was so slight that Hagrid had not noticed it. Perhaps it was my sight. I had noticed that my sight and hearing had changed slightly since becoming an Animagus (a side effect that wasn't mentioned anywhere in the books or manuscripts).

"Don'- don' matter. . . He'd've bin touched yeh're here, though, Harry. . ." Hagrid said with a loud sob. Harry patted his elbow gently.

"Where are we burying him? The Forest?" Harry asked.

"Blimey, no. The other spiders won' let me anywhere near their webs now! Aragog's gone. Turns out it was on'y on his orders they didn' eat me! Can yeh believe that, Harry?" Hagrid said while wiping his eyes on the bottom of his shirt.

"I think he mentioned something like that when we went to talk to him." I said casually, sitting down. Fang came over, setting his head on my knees and I grimaced at the slobber. I really had never been a dog person. And I liked the cute dogs, the little Pomeranians and huskies and retrievers and bichon frises and labs and beagles. Bulldogs, pitbulls, pugs, boarhounds, ugh.

I had gotten along with Fang in my second year, having lived in Hagrid's cabin for nearly two months because I figured living in Hagrid's cabin by myself was safer than staying in the castle with lots and lots of people. Fang could grow on you if you could get used to slobber.

"Never bin an are o' the forest I couldn' go before! It wasn' easy, gettin' Aragog's body out o' there, I can tell yeh- they usually eat their dead, see. . . But I wanted ter give 'im a nice burial. . . a proper send-off. . ." Hagrid said, not paying me any attention.

"I can't go near the centaurs anymore." I said randomly. What the hell were the side effects of the Euphoria potion?

"Professor Slughorn met me coming down here, Hagrid." Harry said, resuming the patting of the elbow.

"Not in trouble, are yeh?" Hagrid asked, so alarmed that Harry might be in trouble he stopped crying. "Yeh shouldn' be outta the castle in the evenin', I know it, it's my fault-"

"No, no, when he heard what I was doing he said he'd like to come and pay his last respects to Aragog too. He's gone to change into something more suitable, I think. . . and he said he'd bring some bottles so we can drink to Aragog's memory."

"Tha's- tha's righ' nice of him, that is, an' not turnin' yeh in either. I've never really had a lot ter do with Horace Slughorn before. . . Comin' ter see old Aragog off, though, eh? Well. . . he'd've liked that, Aragog would. . ." Hagrid muttered.

I snorted quietly and drank my tea. Then I sighed, putting my teacup down and pulled a piece of paper out of my back pocket. "Here, I drew this for you."

Hagrid took it in a shaking hand and unfolded it and started to sob. I quickly grabbed it from his hands so the charcoal wouldn't run.

"It's- it's beautiful." Hagrid sobbed and I put the drawing of Aragog up on his dresser so that he could see it. It was a horrible drawing- not because it was bad (if I may be so humble) but rather horrible in a gruesome way. The way I'd seen Aragog through my scared twelve-year old eyes. Strange, I felt so much older than sixteen now.

"Are we going to bury him here, Hagrid, in your garden?" Harry asked after a moment when Hagrid had stopped sobbing.

"Jus' beyond the pumpkin patch, I thought. I've already dug the- yeh know- grave. Jus' though we'd say a few nice things over him- happy memories, yeh know-"

There was a knock at the door and I stood, getting it and letting Professor Slughorn in. "Hagrid, so very sorry to hear of your loss."

"Tha's very nice of yeh. Thanks a lot. An' thanks fer not givin' Harry detention neither. . ." Hagrid said gruffly, all tears done and gone.

"Wouldn't have dreamed of it. Sad night, sad night. . . where is the poor creature?" Slughorn asked, his eyes roaming the cabin and settling on the drawing.

"Out here," Hagrid said, leaving the cabin. "Shall we- shall we do it, then?"

"Wonderful artwork Miss Kane." Professor Slughorn complimented, "You've got quite the eye for artistic beauty."

"Thank you Professor." I said quietly, briefly remembering that my drawing of him had him dressed in a pineapple suit, and I took up the rear of the party.

The moon was glistening on the grounds so that everything was in shadow. The moon rays mixed and intermingled with the light from Hagrid's windows just enough to make out the large boulder like shadow. There, before it, was a massive pit that was ten-feet-deep with a matching sized pile of dirt to go with it.

"Magnificent." Professor Slughorn said, striding to the front of the spider's face. I could only imagine it faking death and reaching out, snapping off a leg to feast on. I suddenly felt quite nauseous. I quickly put a hand on my stomach.

I could hear the tinkle of bottles and rolled my eyes. So the walrus had come for the Acromantula venom, was I surprised?

"It's not ev'ryone appreciates how beau'iful they are. I didn' know yeh were int'rested in creatures like Aragog, Horace."

"Interested? My dear Hagrid, I revere them." Slughorn said, taking a step back from the body. I could understand his point. It would be a horrible idea not to respect them. The same way you should revere Centaurs and Merpeople so they didn't kill you with a bow or a spear. There were a lot of rules to follow in the magical world. "Now. . . shall we proceed to the burial?"

Hagrid nodded and moved forward, pushing against the black spider's body and it fell into the pit with a crunch. I winced. Hagrid started to cry.

"Of course, it's difficult for you, who knew him best." Professor Slughorn said, patting Hagrid's elbow. "Why don't I say a few words?"

I came to stand next to Hagrid who wrapped a massive arm around my shoulders. My knees nearly buckled under the weight of the arm but I managed to keep standing though I felt as though I was carrying two bookbags with twenty textbooks in them.

"Farewell, Aragog, king of arachnids," Professor Slughorn said in an impressive voice, something like a preacher I'd heard at a church before. "whose long and faithful friendship those who knew you won't forget! Though your body will decay, your spirit lingers on in the quiet, web-spun places of your forest home. May your many-eyed descendants ever flourish and your human friends find solace for the loss they have sustained!"

"Tha' was. . . tha' was. . . beau'ful!" Hagrid sobbed and he collapsed onto the heap, crying harder than ever before. Even I had tears springing to my eyes, though I was sure that had to do more with the high emotions running around here than the actual sadness that Aragog was dead. But I hated it when Hagrid was upset.

"There, there." Slughorn said and with a wave of his wand, the earth crashed back into the grave, smoothing over the surface. "Let's get inside and have a drink. Get on his other side, Harry. . . That's it. . . Up you come, Hagrid. . . well done. . ."

Hagrid was deposited in a chair at the table. Fang came padding over and put his head on Harry's lap as usual. I think Fang liked Harry better than me and I was quite okay with that. Professor Slughorn uncorked one of the bottles he had brought.

"I have had it all tested for poison." He said in what he obviously thought a reassuring voice. "Had a house-elf taste every bottle after what happened to your poor friend Rupert."

I had many retorts for that comment, some of them about the cruelty for house-elves, and some of them about what 'Rupert's' real name was.

"One for Harry. . . one for me. . . and one for Elizabeth. . ." Slughorn said, diving the second bottle between the three of us. The first bottle had been fully deposited into Hagrid's tankard. "Well- to Aragog."

"Aragog." Harry, Hagrid, and I said together, also lifting our glasses.

Hagrid and Slughorn drank deeply. Harry didn't drink at all. I took a small sip and did not find the texture or taste to my taste. I'd never liked wine or alcoholic substances. I set the glass down on the table. I supposed I could hand it over if they wanted more drink.

"I had him from an egg, yeh know. Tiny little thing he was when he hatched. 'Bout the size of a Pekingese." Hagrid started down the tale.

"Sweet." Slughorn said.

"Used ter keep him in a cupboard up at the school until. . . well. . ." Hagrid's face darkened and a peculiar thought came over me.

If Slughorn had taught Tom Riddle, and Tom Riddle and Hagrid had gone to the school at the same time, then Slughorn had taught Hagrid as well. I found this much more fascinating than the story that was unfolding. I loved finding connections where none seemed to be. I always felt the need to share it too and on instinct, I looked over at Harry, but kept my mouth shut.

"That's never unicorn hair, Hagrid?" Slughorn asked, eyeing Hagrid's walls with interest. Hagrid collected things he found in forest- unicorn tail hair included. I'd helped him collect some. It got caught on bushes and ferns and was quite easy to pick up.

"Oh yeah," Hagrid said with indifference. "Gets pulled out of their tails, they catch it on branches an' stuff in the forest, yeh know. . ."

"But my dear chap, do you know how much that's worth?" Slughorn asked in awe.

"I use it fer bindin' on bandages an' stuff if a create gets injured. It's dead useful. . . very strong, see." Hagrid said with another shrug.

There was quite a difference between the educated and the uneducated, I noticed. Hagrid had only three years of schooling (at least at Hogwarts) and yet, he didn't see things for their monetary value. He'd even passed on some of his skills to me, using unicorn hair for bandages and other things. Slughorn on the other hand. . . Aragog's venom was rare, very expensive, very valuable. . . unicorn hair could be sold to wand makers. . .

They had ventured into tale about the Centaurs of the forest and I listened with vivid interest as Hagrid told recent stories of Ivagio, Ronan, Bane, and the others. I had missed some of them- Bane excluded- and hearing recent stories was quite nice. I thought about retelling some of the stories to Firenze, but I wasn't sure how he'd take it or if it would make him more upset.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Harry wave his wand slightly and the bottle on the table refilled. I said nothing, grabbing my own cup and turned the wine into pumpkin juice. Then I started to take small sips while listening to Hagrid and Slughorn trade stories about the illegal dragon trades they'd taken part of.

Harry continued to refill the bottle and they started to get drunker. They started to make random toasts to some random, some not random things. To Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine, and to Harry.

"Harry Potter!" Hagrid bellowed, slopping another bucket of wine down his front. I felt how I had felt coming to Grimmauld 12 before Christmas and finding Sirius had been drinking as he had been alone for a long time. I was quite upset, watching him drink himself into oblivion, but I did nothing to interfere.

"Yes, indeed, Parry Otter, the Chosen Boy Who- well- something of that sort." Slughorn mumbled.

Parry Otter. I laughed aloud and neither seemed to notice. Harry's lips twitched for a millisecond.

Hagrid became tearful soon after, reaching up and pulling the whole band of unicorn hair off of the ceiling and gave it to Slughorn. Slughorn put it in his pocket saying, "To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!"

I watched the end of the unicorn hair slip into his pocket, more upset than was rational. Hagrid and I had spent classes searching for unicorn hair. While easy to take off, unicorns were usually quite careful and rarely caught their tails on bushes unless they were already loose. It was going to take ages to find more unicorn hair for bandages. What if a magical creature got hurt? We would have nothing to bind their wounds with. . . unless something else could be used? Maybe Firenze could teach me something.

They started to sing and I put my head on my arms, wondering when the night was going to end. I suppose I could've left, but I didn't want to. Something was keeping me here.

Some called him Odo the early and some called him Odo the late It's undoubtedly true he was often confused, but his deeds they were noble and great

Some name him born on a Wednesday, for he had his measure of woe. No he was born on a Thursday some say, for he'd always a long way to go.

"Aaargh, the good die young," Hagrid muttered after slumping into his chair. "Me dad was no age ter go... nor were yer mum an' dad, Harry..." More tears oozed from his eyes and he grabbed Harry's arm and shook it. I watched the scene with sadness. "Bes' wiz and witchard o' their age I never knew... terrible thing... terrible thing..."

And Odo the hero, they bore him back home To the place that he'd known as a lad, They laid him to rest with his hat inside out And his wand snapped in two, which was sad.

"...terrible." Hagrid grunted one last time before falling asleep.

"Sorry, can't carry a tune to save my life." Professor Slughorn said with a hiccup.

"Hagrid wasn't talking about your singing. He was talking about my mum and dad dying." Harry said in a soft voice, the first time he'd talked ever since coming back into the cabin.

I flinched. Mum and Dad. I felt a sudden wave of grief and longing.

"Oh. Oh dear. Yes, that was- was terrible indeed. Terrible. . . terrible. . ." Slughorn said with a horrible belch. He refilled the mugs, obviously having nothing else to say but said anyways, "I don't- don't suppose you remember it, Harry?"

"No- well, I was only one when they died." Harry said. I was looking at the floor because I was crying. "But I've found out pretty much what happened since. My dad died first. Did you know that?"

"I- I didn't." Slughorn said in a quiet voice.

"Yeah. . . Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body toward my mum. He told her to get out of the way. He told me she needn't have died. He only wanted me. She could have run."

I imagined for a moment, if she had stepped aside. Voldemort would have only of killed Dad and Harry. It would've been me and her. Sirius would've helped her raise me and Lupin would have too. I could've later avenged Harry's killer. Or maybe Dumbledore would have destroyed him before I was even eleven.

"Oh dear. She could have. . . she needn't. . . That's awful. . ." Slughorn murmured.

"It is, isn't it? But she didn't move. Dad was already dead, but she didn't want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort. . . but he just laughed. . ."

"That's enough! Really, my dear boy, enough. . . I'm an old man. . . I don't need to hear. . . I don't want to hear. . ."

He didn't want to hear what he had done.

"I forgot, you liked her, didn't you?" Harry asked. I shot him a quick look. Slughorn doted on his mother everyday, surely Harry couldn't have forgotten that! Or perhaps he was faking it.

"Liked her? I don't imagine anyone who met her wouldn't have liked her. . . Very brave. . . Very funny. . . It was the most horrible thing. . ."

"But you won't help her son. She gave me her life, but you won't give me a memory." Harry said.

Hagrid's snoring was all that filled the room at that moment. Even Fang was silent.

"Don't say that. It isn't a question. . . If it were to help you, of course. . . but no purpose can be served. . ."

"It can. Dumbledore needs information. I need information." Harry said loudly and firmly. Harry leaned forward a little. "I am the Chosen One. I have to kill him. I need that memory."

"You are the Chosen one?"

"Of course I am."

"But then. . . my dear boy. . . you're asking a great deal. . . you're asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy-"

"You don't want to get rid of the wizard you killed Lily Evans?"

"Harry, Harry, of course I do, but-"

"You're scared he'll find out you helped me?"

Slughorn said nothing.

"Be brave like my mother, Professor. . ."

Slughorn lifted his fingers to his mouth as though he were trying to smoke an invisible cigar. "I am not proud. . . I am ashamed of what- of what that memory shows. . . I think I may have done great damage that day. . ."

He had.

"You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory. It would be a very brave and noble thing to do." Harry said.

Would it though? Would it cancel out everything?

Hagrid twitched his sleep, his elbow nearly knocking over the tankard. I watched as though hypnotized. There was a long silence. They both waited, a type of staring contest seemed to be going on between the two of them.

Finally Slughorn touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it, a long silver thread of memory stretched until it broke. It swung from the end of the wand until Slughorn put it into a small bottle and passed it, with a trembling hand, to Harry. He had tears in his eyes, or maybe his face was just obscured by my tears.

"Thank you very much, Professor."

"You're a good boy, and you've got her eyes. . . Just don't think too badly of me once you've seen it. . ." And with that, he put his head down and with a deep sigh, fell asleep.

⬅️➡️

[tasty-arsenic]

I wrote a fanfic based off the first game of Cleos Blood on the Clocktower because im obsessed

Im using only the information available from Cleos POV so not everything will be here.

Please mind any typos

you could also read it on Ao3 here

CW: death, blood, graphic descriptions of violence

words: 2,619

It was a sunny morning in town, the sun was shining brightly over the horizon and crows were chirping louder then ever before. So loud in fact that it drew the attention of three townsfolk; Xisuma, Gem, and Cub.

The trio of investigators noticed the birds fighting over something red and jam like by the clocktower. Gem pushed forward to see what it could possibly be. She noticed long ginger locks attached to a a pale face. She looked in horror at the mangled body of the village storyteller, Cleo.

Gem screamed at the discovery while Xisuma and Cub stood quiet in horror.

Gems screams brought the attention of the townsfolk and they all gathered by the clocktower.

When everyone was assembled Gem was on the ground crying as Xisuma did his best to calm her, Cub was freeing Cleos body of crows.

“Is that… Cleo?” Ren asked meekly.

Cub moved away from the corpse. “It is,” He paused before continuing. “I believe they have been murdered,”

“Do you think it could’ve been a demon?” Iskall asked. Travellers had brought tails of demons from hell coming up to the human world disguised as a regular people, only to devour innocents during the night.

Xb took a closer look at Cleos body. “It looks like she had been eaten by something very big, and very hungry. So unless a bear got into town I think its safe to say that it was a demon.”

“Are you suggesting that one if us killed them?” Impulse asked.

“It would check out,” Hypno said. “None of us had lived here very long so one if us very well might’ve been a demon from the very start.”

Ren stepped back from the crowd. “I dont like the sound of that,”

“What now?” Cub asked.

“Well we can’t have the demon going around and killing us all!” Impulse exclaimed. “This is our home and we need to defend it!”

“What are you suggesting?” Xb asked.

“During the day we talk to each other and gather as much information as possible, then when evening comes we share the information and based on that we vote someone to be executed,”

“E-Executed?!” Gem exclaimed through a shaky voice.

“We’ll never get rid of the demon otherwise.” Impulse states.

“I think he has the right idea,” Cub said. “Its the only way for anyone to survive this.”

“So we’re just going to kill each other?” Xisuma asked.

“the demon will kill all of us if we dont do anything,” Hypno said. “I think this is the best course of action.”

“And remember that we all have our own abilities,” Iskall reminds. “We can use those to snuff out this dirty imp”

“Cleo did say to use them if something like this happened.” Gem said, dejected.

“We should do this. For her and for everyone here.” Cub announced.

Ren sighed. “You’re right and i dont like it.”

“Lets talk among each other today but not vote. We dont need two deaths in one day,” Hypno said.

“That sounds good,” Xb agreed.

“I guess we scatter,” Ren said before the group split up across the town.

It was almost evening when the townspeople heard a unfamiliar voice calling out in the distance.

“Howdy!” The stranger called out the the people.

“And who might you be?” Xb asked as he gathered around the stranger.

“The names Joe Hills! Im here to visit my good friend Cleo!”

The growing crowd of people grew silent.

“We have a demon problem,” Impulse said, breaking the silence. “They were killed just tonight.”

“Sorry to break the news like this.” Ren said. “We’re trying to find who the demon is and kill them. Its best you leave.”

“A demon you say?” Joe paused, in thought. “I may not be able to stay for long but i want to do what i can to find this demon,”

“Are you sure?” Hypno asked the traveller.

“Of course,” he nodded. “Anything to avenge Cleo.”

“You can stay in her house then,” Gem said. “I’m sure they wont mind.”

“Perfect,” Joe said. “Since you all know that im not the demon ill be transparent as possible and tell you all my ability.”

“Oh, really?” Hypno asked.

Joe nodded. “Im a thief, i can steal votes.”

“A thief…” Gem whispered to herself, deep in thought.

Cub looked at the moon rising in the distance. “Its best we all go to bed, the demon might strike soon.”

The townsfolk all agreed and dispersed into their individual homes.

Hypno woke up in the middle of the night to his own alarm. His job as the empath would be very useful for the townsfolk and he could not rest.

He set up everything needed for the ritual, he double checked everything was in place and not to mess up. If one of his neighbours was evil it would be suicide to mess this up.

Before the ritual Hypno decided to get a drink the calm his nerves. He noted that the drink tasted different then usual but paid no mind to it.

He sat in position and started his chant, by the end of it a voice called out in his head, “two.”

Hypno chuckled, this was interesting.

Morning came and everything was as it was the day before, the birds were satisfied with their meal yesterday and the sun was shining brightly as ever.

The towns folk, however, werent as chipper as usual. Anxiety and dread filled them all as they left their houses and met up at town square.

Everyone looked around and noticed that everyone was accounted for, no one was missing.

“Did the demon.. spare us?” Gem asked the group.

“Probably just the night,” Joe stated. “Demons dont need to eat every day.”

“But they’ll probably continue their rampage tomorrow,” Xb said.

“Correct,” Joe agreed.

“So we have today to talk to everyone before people start dying,” Gem said. “We need to use this time well.”

“Shes right.” Hypno said. “Lets form groups and talk.”

the towns people scattered around the village and naturally formed groups.

Over by the burger place Iskall, Impulse, and Xb were chatting.

"So do we talk about what are roles are?" Iskall asked the group.

"Its probably not completely safe right now but it might be safe to drop hints." Impulse answered.

"Well i can tell you that im definitely not the imp." Xb told the group.

"thats just plain ol' suspicious, Xb." Impulse replied.

"Well im not the imp, i dont have it in my name!" Iskall declared. "Right, IMPulse?"

"Wha, hey! thats just ridiculous." Impulse said. "imagine the chances of that."

"im getting kind of hungry." Xb said, changing the conversation.

"why dont i make us some burgers and we can talk about our roles a bit?" Impulse suggested.

"works for me." Iskall said, sitting down.

Impulse went into the building and started heating the grill.

"So how much should we say about our abilities?" Xb asked.

"Maybe just some hints." Impulse suggested.

"well ill say one thing." Iskall started. "I shall publicly chose someone."

"you'll publicly chose someone, huh?" Impulse said.

Iskall hummed.

Over at the Laundry House Gem, Hypno, and Xisuma were sat on the ground, discussing.

"I dont really understand whats happening," Xisuma admitted to the group.

"I guess its just something that'll become more clear as time goes on," Gem told him.

"I hope so."

"I wanna go chat with other people so i'll be off now." Gem announced before leaving.

The laundry house was silent for moments after.

"If im being honest," Hypno started. "im not sure what information i should be telling people."

"Yeah," Xisuma agrees. "Say the wrong thing to the wrong person and its all over."

"stressful, huh?" Hypno dryly chuckled. "I could have great information, i could have no information, you could have good information, who knows?"

"You never know."

Over again at the burger place the group has changed and now Cub, Xb, and Xisuma were talking.

"So what will happen when someone gets voted out?" Xisuma asked.

"They'll die." Cub answered plainly.

"Yes but how?"

"Theres an old guillotine in the clocktower," Xb told the group. "Im sure that can work."

"there is?" Cub said, surprised.

"Mhm, i saw it once a few months back, around the time Impulse joined the village." Xb paused. "The blade was still sharp."

"Well thats convenient innit?" Xisuma said.

"Very," Xb agreed.

Cub paused for a moment after. "When someone is executed then the undertaker would get to find out their role right?"

"Yes I will." Xb quickly responded.

Joe was wandering around the town. He felt as if he had a slight disadvantage here as he didn't know everyone as well, so he made it his mission to talk to as many people as possible. When he saw Impulse and Cub talking to each other he made his way over the join the conversation.

Impulse seemed to be in the middle of his conversation with Cub as Joe got in hearing distance of the two. "-yor and you're the mo-"

"Howdy!" He called out.

The duo jumped at his arrival but quickly calmed themselves. Cub patted for Joe to sit beside him.

"I was thinking of making some burgers for some people, you want any?" Impulse asked Joe.

"Oh you are?" He said. "In that case id love some!"

"Perfect, i made some for myself, Xb, and Iskall earlier then felt bad that no one else got any."

"Burger time!" Joe exclaimed.

"Burger time!" Cub cheered back.

As the clock reached seven the bell rang across the village, notifying everyone that there time to chat was over. Over the next few minutes the townspeople assembled at the town square.

In the seat directly in front of the clocktower the people noticed the ghastly figure of Cleo standing there.

"Cleo?" Gem exclaimed "Is that you?"

Cleos ghost did nothing.

"why isnt she sayin anything?" Xisuma asked.

Before anyone could answer Cleos ghost spoke up. "Nominations are open."

"Its seems they're policing the trial." Joe stated.

"Thats a bit cruel isnt it?" Gem said.

"Yeah," Ren agreed.

"well we should get started right?" Hypno said.

"We should," Ren said. "And i have some information."

"Go on," Iskall said to Ren.

"Okay, first of all Xisuma refused to reveal any information the whole time. Even during our very intimate moment in the jacuzzi."

"That was a laundry-"

"Yeah it was very intimate." Gem agreed "He joined us randomly and didnt say much so it was very weird."

"yeah it was." Ren said. "Anyways. Number two is that Gem shared very suspicious information that im not going to share at this time. Thats all"

"Way to make me look suspicious." Gem sighed. "Anyways ive been doing some deducting and trying to figure out what everybody's roles are, and someone is lying."

"You dont say." Impulse laughed.

"No, i mean that theres two people claiming to be the same role!" Gem clarified.

noise gathered in the crowd.

"thats all for now." Gem ended.

"I would like to say that in all the groups i was in everyone was quite talkative, except Xb." Iskall stated. "He was very quiet."

"Second call for nominations." Cleo announced to the crowd.

Iskall thought for a second before declaring. "I nominate Xb!"

"Iskall has nominated Xb to be executed." Cleo said. "please take your positions."

Iskall and Xb moved towards two desks that seemed to have found their way in front of the clocktower.

Iskall cleared his throat. "I was walking around town all day, i spoke in many groups with as many people as possible." He started. "Xb here kept quiet in three different occasions,"

The townsfolk took a few moments to think.

"Xb, whats your defense?" Cleos almost robotic voice asked.

"I just think that if someones being shady something that they might do is throw that shade to someone else." Xb said.

the townspeople briefly spoke among themselves, deciding that it was a decent rebuttal.

"Voting starts now." Cleo told the people. "When i look at you your vote will be decided then, and no time after."

She looked at Xb. "turn on your light to vote for Xb to be executed." Cleo gave the group a few moment to vote before continuing.

her gaze moved to Gem, whos light was on. "one."

then she looked at Impulse, whos light was on. "two"

next was Iskall, whos light was on. "three"

she moved on to Joe, whos light was on. "four."

after was Ren, whos light was off.

then was Cub, whos light was on. "five"

next was Hypno, whos light was off.

lastly it was Xisuma, whos light was off.

"thats five votes for Xb to be executed, that is enough. Xb is on the block." cleo told the group. "nominations are still open."

The town went silent.

"theres more?" Ren said.

"I guess if we nominate someone else and they get more votes then Xb theyll get executed instead." Joe thought for a moment. "what if theres a tie?"

"in the situation of a tie no one will be executed." Cleo quickly answers.

"Well has anyone else been suspicious?" Ren asked the group.

the group went silent.

"final call for nominations."

nobody spoke up.

"five"

"four"

"three"

"two"

"on-"

"I would like to nominate Iskall!" Xb declared.

"Xb has nominated Iskall to be executed." Cleo said. "please take your positions."

Iskall and Xb once again found themselves heading toward the two desks in front of the clocktower, only this time in switched positions.

"The reason i believe Iskall to be guilty is because he is so quick to throw the blame on someone else. its very suspicious." Xb stated.

"Iskall, whats your defense?"

"During the day i was very open about who i am and my role, Xb was not." Iskall said. "if we're looking for someone suspicious then we have our guy."

"Voting starts now."

The townsfolk shifted in their seats, preparing for the vote.

She looked at Iskall. "turn on your light to vote for Iskall to be executed."

A few moments passed before the counting started again.

She turned to Joe, whos light was off.

She looked at Ren, whos light was off.

next was Cub, Whos light was off.

then it was Hypno, whos light was off.

after that she looked at Xisuma, whos light was off.

they then looked at Xb, whos light was on. "Negative one."

then was Gem, whos light was off.

last was Impulse whos light was off.

"thats negative one votes for Iskall to be executed, that is not enough. Xb is still on the block." cleo told the group. "nominations are still open."

"five"

"four"

"three"

"two"

"one"

"Xb is to be executed."

"so uh, hows that happening?" Gem asked.

"theres a guillotine in the clocktower." Cub answered.

"why?" Ren asks.

"Dunno, but itll do." Cub answers.

"i regret telling you about that," Xb chuckles nervously.

"Someone come help me bring it out." Cub called out. Impulse and Hypno answered his call and helped out.

"Okay, Xb." Cub gestured to the guillotine. "get in."

"I am really starting to regret telling you about that."

Xb climbed into the guillotine, shaking in fear.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Xb pleaded to the crowd. "im an innocent man i swear!"

"Xb is to be executed." Cleos voice sounded through the air as the guillotine activated on its own.

everyone gasped in horror as Xbs head was swiftly cut off, the blood splattering all over the floor.

"the day is over, goodnight." Cleos voice told the crowd. No one dared to argue so everyone made their way back to their homes.