#I think I’m just too used to talking to the void without much response

[lillotte17]

@evilbunnyking Shut up, that’s so sweet I’m gonna cry! 😭 I wish I had more Solavellan fic to churn out for you (I never REALLY stopped writing it tbh) but right now I’m trapped working on a comic that involves a dumb amount of furniture…>_>;

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow; 7

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.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

chapter 8

Coriolanus threw himself back into his work upon returning to the compound. It meant he was gone early before you woke up but he made an effort to return home for dinner. He was adamant that at least one meal had to be eaten together. 

You would take walks often together to get some fresh air, leaving the dishes to soak in the sink after dinner. 

There was not much to look at in the Compound. Makeshift tents and metal sheds with big locks. Everything was dull, with the colors matching the small gray rocks that formed the roads amongst it.  

Only the men running around in their light blue peacekeeper uniforms offered a break from the monotone of it all. 

You watched them as Coriolanus led you through the compound by your hand. They would never make eye contact as they went about their work. But it didn't bother you. The isolation imposed by Coriolanus grew on you. You had gotten so used to only ever talking to Coriolanus, that you weren't sure you could hold a conversation with anyone else. 

He pulls you gently out of the way of an oncoming truck and takes you down a quitter path. 

"You never ask about your mother," he comments as the noise quietens.  

You remain quiet as if you didn't hear him. 

''She never visits," he continues, "You never ask to visit her." 

You feel your heart rate rise. Surely that has not tipped him off that your mother was safe out of his reach. 

"Why would she visit? She thinks you want to kill her. And I know she is fine and even if she wasn't, you would lie." 

A loud clanging sound turns his attention behind him, to where a large metal sheet had slipped off a pile onto the ground. 

"Would you let me visit her if I asked?" 

He turns his attention back to you as the embarrassed Peacekeepers scramble to put the metal sheet back on the bed of the truck.  

You wondered if this was your chance to escape. A pass for a day trip to see your mother turning into your disappearance. 

"We could go tonight if you wanted," he offered, but the choice of “we” made you reconsider your plan. He wouldn't let you go alone, and you couldn't let him see the empty house.

"No," you state, "I’m tired tonight." 

He hums in response. "Let's turn back." 

You circle back to your starting place. The walk was halved by your comment. The water in the sink would still be warm. 

As you walk up the steps to the apartment you turn back to gaze at the far bins. Your freedom was just behind them but despite only being half a yard away, you were stuck in your chains. 

With Coriolanus so close and so fast, you enter back into your prison willingly.  

You start the dishes, scrubbing the pans free from their grease while making plans for your escape. Edmund would return tomorrow night if you weren't at the house. But the keys seemed impossible to get. 

Coriolanus was clingy. He seemed hyper-aware of your movements. He somehow knew when you were faking sleep and when you had actually succumbed to it.  The only way he would sleep was when he knew you were. 

You would wake too late to an empty bed and a bedside table void of any keys. Even if you got the keys, it would take ages for you to figure out which one it was. They all looked the same. 

As if he could sense your thoughts, Coriolanus came up behind you, taking your throat into his large hand, keeping you from moving as he grazed and nipped at your neck. 

"I have to do the dishes," you complain. 

''So do them." The hand from your hip reaches between your legs and slides up your dress. 

You jolt but his firm hold keeps you still. 

His hand goes to where you presumed they would, under the elastic band of your underwear. 

"Stop," you command, wrapping your wet hands around his assaulting arm. 

He bites harshly at your neck from your rejection, causing you to wince at the pain. 

"Worry about the dishes." 

He only inserts one finger as he tries to elicit a response from you.

"Dishes," he repeats as you don't move. 

You obey and pick up the sponge again, attempting to distract yourself with them. 

His lips continue to suck and bite as you scrub the cutting board. It's uncomfortable at first as his dry finger intrudes upon your dryness. 

He kicks your feet apart to get better access. The feeling intensifies between your legs and you feel yourself unintentionally getting wet. 

He inserts two fingers, feeling you pool, twisting and curling his fingers inside you. You throw the chopping board on the drying rack and pick up a plate. When his index finger drags your wetness up, it drops from your hands.  

"I think you missed a spot," he taunts. You don't pick it up again, distracted by the tingling sensation, but he reinserts his finger and curls it harshly to tell you to continue. 

Once the plate was clean and you were beginning on your second, he rewards you by coming up and massaging your pearl. 

You yelp, gripping the counter of the sink as you try and move your hips away. 

The hand gripping your throat moved to your wrist forcing them back into the water, before returning to ensure that he still had free access to your throat. The water from his hands dripped down over you. 

You washed the dish but your focus wasn't enough to tell if it was clean enough. 

He stops his circling and uses the two fingers to rub along your wet lips. The lack of friction was an unwelcome change. 

You pick up a kitchen knife, attempting to wash it but it is yanked out of your grip and thrown back onto the counter. His hand returns to your neck with a tightened hold as he focuses on leaving red and sore marks, all while his fingers run up and down. 

"Coriolanus. Stop." You choke out. 

He inserts the two fingers but refuses to move them. 

You cry out as he bites into your flesh, sucking and grazing the spot just where your neck ends and your collarbone begins. 

It gave him a sense of satisfaction as you try and wiggle your neck away. 

Your wet hands wrap around the wrist that encircles your neck. You could feel him hard against you as he took a step back, taking you with him. 

It was a mercy when he moved his fingers once more, pumping in and out. His lips were no longer at your neck but ghosting behind your ear as you stood, locking your own hands around his wrist. 

You could feel your stomach form the same knots that you felt the first night he came for dinner. Half of you didn't want him to stop, knowing the release that was about to occur. 

His fingers push harshly up and with force, he circles your pearl once more. A strangled moan makes its way from your throat as the knots from your stomach loosen out. 

He pushes you back towards the sink and you grip the edges of it as you pulse around his fingers. 

The moment passes and you are left breathing heavily, leaning over the sink. You take the sponge back and begin to wash the same dish as if his actions meant nothing. But your head spun, and you felt so spent the sponge was weak in your hand. 

His fingers intertwine with yours under the water and he presses them against the side of the sink together as he rests his head against your back. 

You were grateful for the moment of silence to collect yourself. 

"I am going to take a shower." He states, releasing you. 

You retain your composure until you hear the bathroom door shut, immediately slumping over the sink.

--------------------------

Coriolanus wanted to fuck you, that was no secret. But he hadn't earned it yet.  A woman such as you deserved to be laid in more than just a Commander's bed. It was old and reused from the last Commander. 

He wanted you surrounded by riches, in the comfort of a brand-new Capitol bed. He wanted to be more than a Commander of this scummy district. When he fucked you, he wanted you to have a sense of pride about who was above you. President of Pamen, or just about. 

He had not earned the right in any manner. But one day soon, he would. 

Coriolanus was a man of restraint and strategy. But as he watched you make beds and iron clothes, he yearned for that intimacy that only sex could offer.   

He wanted to lay naked in your arms and be held by you. It felt as if only then would all the thoughts in his head stop. 

You were stingy with your love. Coriolanus had not earned it. But when he became 

President, how could you deny him his reward then? He would have exceeded everyone's expectations of him: Dr. Gaul, Grandma'am, Tigris, all of his Academy classmates. 

The goal was good for him, it motivated him to work harder and longer. It reminds him of his Academy days when the only thing on his mind was the Plinth Prize. 

His mind needed a goal to fixate on. The presidency was all well and good but came with its own problems. The reward laid in the long awaited esteem from those who doubted him, or in your case, ran from him. 

He would prove to them all that Snow always lands on the very top. 

He would prove to you that he is a man worthy of your attention and care.

But he had pressing matters to deal with. He felt as if you teased him all day long. He went to sleep hard as a rock most nights. He offered you release anytime you wanted it, but you never gave him the same courtesy. 

It interfered with his work. He thought about visiting the District call girls but the thought made him sick. Why should he do that when he had you? He had you. Tucked away in his apartment. Ready for him. He just needed to take.

He grabbed the letter that came for you days ago from his desk and made his way back to his apartment. He was self-conscious of his hard-on as he walked through the compound and readjusted his pants. 

The sight of the apartment felt like water after a long day in the sun. He took the steps two at a time before regaining himself at the doorway. He couldn't look desperate. 

You jump up from the couch as he enters, surprised to see him. 

"What are you doing home?" you ask. 

His heart flutters at the usage of 'home'. 

"Delivering mail."

He holds the letter up in the air, tempting you. 

“From your brother.”

You hold your hand out for it but he keeps it high. 

“I’ll trade you for it.” 

You doubted he would want any personal keepsake of yours. You could see the hunger in his eyes. 

You turn back away from him to the couch but he grabs your wrist to keep you. It was an act of desperation that he scolded himself for. 

“We can trade the letter for dinner.” 

He places your caught hand upon his belt. And your hand stills. 

You wondered if you really had a choice. He would just keep taking things away until you submitted. But Edmund would be here tonight to release you. Could you get away with resisting? 

You wondered what the letter would say. You were sure it was full of written anxieties from your brother. Could you use the Commander's desperation to your advantage? Your fingers curl around the belt buckle as you think. 

He leans back against the counter with the letter still in his hand. 

He was desperate. You could see it from the way he clenched the countertop. 

“I want to write a letter back.” You demand as you undo his belt. 

Coriolanus nods hastily. It gave you a thrill of power. 

With the belt unbuckled, you weren't sure what to do next. 

He helps you by pulling his pants down to his ankles. 

"On your knees,” he instructs. 

It gives you a direction on what he wants, so you sink down and open your mouth. 

You pull back at first but will yourself to give it another go.

His taste was nothing new to you. He lets out a shaky breath as you finally put him in your mouth. 

“Go slow,’’ he demands and you try your best to accommodate. 

His length hits the back of your throat causing you to pull off. He grunts in dissatisfaction but allows you to come back at your own pace. His face reads of his annoyance. His features turned to stone, and his jaw locked in place.

But he showed mercy by not forcing you back and keeping his hands wound around the counter. 

Now knowing your limit, you go as far as you can before coming back again. It was enough for Coriolanus, who threw his head back and allowed you to take charge. His hips bucked slightly the more worked up he got, but with free movement of your head, you could adjust to his movements. Compared to your other experiences, this one was slightly bearable. 

Having been pent up for weeks, the feeling of your wet mouth upon him had him coming quickly. He slaps the countertop with his hand as he comes into your mouth, only stopping when you have stopped moving completely, having taken his full load. You spit it out on the ground that you had just washed. 

He remains leaning against the counter as he catches his breath. In no rush to give you what was promised. 

You yank the letter from his hand, seeing that it was already open. It read angry. The pen was pressed harshly into the paper, the ink spilled all over the page. 

The letter was not addressed to you. It opened with “bastard”. 

Archie had promised to kill Snow. You had only called him Coriolanus in your correspondence, so you knew it wasn't only your letter that was delivered. 

‘Don't take anything from him,’ the letter read to you. ‘I am coming home to you. I am so sorry. I never should have left. I'll be there soon, stay hidden with Mum.’ 

You turn to Coriolanus with anger, "What did you do?"

He stood in the kitchen, fully dressed again. 

"I introduced myself." 

"As Commander Snow?" you seethe. 

''As your man. Your letter made it seem as if I was a friendly neighbor."

“You son of a bitch. Archie-"

"He'll kill me, yes I know. I read it." 

"Archie will kill himself! And it will be your fault!" 

"His life or his death, I can't imagine which is worse." 

You slapped him for the way he spoke about your brother and instantly regretted it. 

Within a second, he had you slammed against the fridge with his hands around your throat. The hold presses against the bites from the previous day. 

"Get off of me,” you demand. The bites upon your neck felt like fire as he pressed on them. 

He doesn’t move and you bring your hand across his face once more. He remains unmoved by your action and you attempt again. This time he catches it in a painful hold and twists your wrist away from his face. 

You shout from the pain but he doesn’t release you. 

With a harsh shove against the countertop, the strain on your wrist is gone. 

He looks at you as you nurse your wrist and feels a pang of guilt. He thinks of someone saying something about Tigris. He surely would have killed them.  

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your brother. I didn’t mean it.” 

He did mean it, but he loved your devotion to your family. You both shared the same values, he shouldn’t be training you out of them.

It wasn’t Archie’s fault he was born District, but to die District would be beyond pathetic.

Even the Plinths made it out, and when Coriolanus was stripped of his Capitol-born rights, he too fought to make it out of District 12. Archie had only swapped one district for another. It was pitiful at the very least and embarrassing at the most. 

But he was your brother, whom you loved, so Coriolanus will watch his tongue around you. 

“Are you alright? Do you need some ice?” He reaches out to inspect your wrist but you yank yourself away from him. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“I want to help you.” It was the first time he had hurt you for something that wasn’t your fault. It made him feel terrible. He wasn’t a violent man, only a man capable of violence. He didn’t want you to think he was against you. 

“Go away.” You push past him to get to the bedroom, where you slam the door behind you. 

He goes back to his office to let you cool down. He apologized, what more did you want? 

—------------

You wait by the window for Edmund. You felt foolish that you failed to get the keys. But since the Cabin, Coriolanus has harbored a quiet distrust of you. Every extra precaution was taken. You had learned that a 15-minute window of time opened just before Coriolanus normally finished for the day. Everyone was trying to avoid the path of the Commander as he made his way to his apartment. It was a blessing that he was so avoided, it gave Edmund a chance to appear. 

You saw his shadow approaching with something large in his hands. 

He calls out to you and you are quick to answer. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

"I'll be better once you open the door," you admit. Your wrist still hurts from the afternoon. 

He asks you to stand back away from the door, and you take three steps back. 

You hear a loud banging noise, the sound of wood cracking but no spring of the door. 

You felt as if you might throw up from the anxiety. He was causing so much noise, surely someone was going to hear it. 

He curses but tries again. 

You place yourself by the window to see what he was doing. He was trying to pry open the door with a large crowbar. It cracked the wood and left enough damage that the door would jiggle but not open. 

A building light flicks on down the road. You can see a shadow of a man as he searches for something before his body appears in front of the doorway. 

A flash of light jiggled as it made its way across from the Compound. 

"Edmund, someone is coming," you warn. 

He ignores you, continuing with the door. 

"Edmund, you have to leave!"

"We won't get another chance." With more force, he tries to pry open the door. 

You can see the light getting brighter as it approaches. 

"He'll move me. So long as I am not trapped here, I can make my way through the fence". 

"You were wrong last time." 

"Edmund if you die, I'll never get out of here. Wait for me at home. I can make it, I know it". 

He grunts as the crowbar slips from the door. Looking over his shoulder, he realizes that he isn't going to get it open in time. 

"I won't know where you are!" he cries. 

"Don't come back. Just wait for me. There will be an opportunity". 

Edmund could hear the footsteps on the gravel. He had to leave now. 

"Go," you encourage him. 

He climbs down the railing, dropping to his feet and hiding in the darkness before the man reaches the steps. 

A Peacekeeper examines the door before speaking into his communicator. A large siren sounded through the compound filling you with dread. They were locking the place down with Edmund inside. 

"Miss?" the Peacekeeper knocks on the window, "Are you okay?"

You knew as soon as that man spoke into his communicator, Coriolanus knew of the events. 

Could you take cover for Edmund? Tell Coriolanus that it was you who did the damage. No. The damage was on the outside. 

Could you start a fire and tell him that it was a peacekeeper trying to break down the door to release you? But why would the peacekeeper run? He would surely press to find out who it was. 

You wished that sound would stop so you could think. All you could hear was the siren, ringing through your head. 

"Miss?" the Peacekeeper asks again. 

“Yes. Fine.” you dismiss. You could feel your heart in your throat. 

The Peacekeepers were quick on their feet. In two minutes, swarms of them combed through with their guns raised. Coriolanus was close behind, you could hear him running up the steps past the Peacekeeper. 

He unlocks the broken door, leaving the keys in the keyhole as he rushes over to you. 

He takes the back of your neck and presses it into his chest, using the other hand to press against your back. 

"What happened? Are you alright?" 

"She's fine, sir. I was ensuring the assailant didn't come back." the Peacekeeper spoke out of turn. 

Coriolanus let go of you to take hold of the man's shirt and pushed him against the wall. 

"What was he doing here in the first place? Where were you?" 

"I don't know, sir. I was in my office. It's really the patrolls fault." The man looked like all the blood had rushed from his face. 

Coriolanus throws the man out the door by his shirt. He lands harshly on the ground.

"I want him found," he demands. 

The peacekeeper nods his head and rushes to get up and away. 

Coriolanus turns back to you and you expect harsh treatment but his hands softly cup your face. 

"Did you see what he looked like?"

You knew it wouldn't take much for Coriolanus to figure out it was Edmund, so you lie and pray it doesn't get anyone into trouble. 

"He was short. Long dark hair. I don't know, it was dark and I was scared." 

He pulls you back to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head. 

"If you're ever in danger, you hide, okay?" 

You had tried that but he found you within days. 

"I didn't know if you were okay, " he spoke softly. You almost didn’t hear him.

Peacekeepers shout and you jump thinking that they have caught Edmund. You tear free of Coriolanus and rush out to see that the men are fighting over a flashlight. 

Your relief came out in a sob. You silently beg for Edmund to be okay. The anxiety of him being found poured out from your eyes in the form of tears. 

It was a good display for Coriolanus, who thought you were crying out of trauma from your supposed break-in. 

He takes you by the shoulders and leads you back inside. 

"You're safe. We'll find him," he promises. 

With his hold, he presses you back against his chest. 

He kisses you and you sob against him.  Your lips part against his as you croak out a cry. 

"Shh, it's okay,", he presses your face back against his shoulder to collect the tears. 

You will yourself to stop. Edmund was safe, they hadn't caught him, he must be beyond the fence line by now. 

You settle with three big breaths and Coriolanus pulls away to look at you. 

"Okay?" he asks softly brushing away your tears. 

"Yeah," you sigh, bringing your hands up to rub your eyes. 

You pull away from Coriolanus as three Peacekeepers arrive at your door. They carried large cases and were dressed in protective gear. 

Coriolanus takes your hand in his and gives a nod to his Peacekeepers, giving them the go-ahead to begin their work. 

“Who are they?” You ask, watching one man run a blue light across the surface. 

“Forensic crew.” 

Panic rushes back up but you shove it down. Edmund hadn’t touched the door. Only the railing as he jumped but many others had covered his prints with their own since then. 

You feel his hand take yours in a possessive hold. 

He leads you down the steps and through the sea of Peacekeepers.

Officers with sniffer dogs pass you. You reassured yourself, it was nothing Edmund couldn’t handle. 

He leads you to his office. It was dark and soulless. 

Closing the door behind you, he turns to you once more, trapping your head between his hands, and forces a kiss upon your lips. 

The kiss spoke of his anxiety; it was needy and possessive. 

You try to pull back but he follows the distance you try to separate. 

You try to speak his name to warn him to get off you, he sees it as an opportunity to capture your tongue. 

When he does pull off, you turn your head quickly.

“You’re okay,” he comments. 

“I am okay.” Wrapping your hands around his wrists you gently pull him off from around your head. 

He goes to kiss you again but you are too quick for him. 

“Do you have any water?” you direct. 

He pauses with his head half-bent to your height. 

“Yes. I’ll go get some.” 

With a gentle touch to your shoulder, he leaves you in his office alone. 

You think about making a run for it while the coast was clear but with the Peacekeepers searching, you wouldn't make it to the fence without detection. Tonight you had little chance of escaping, tomorrow was the better option. 

The large office was eerie. The paper he was working on was thrown to the ground in his hurry. You asked yourself why you were picking it up but your nature just called for it. You looked after people. You never thought it would become your downfall.

He returns as you straighten his desk. The sight causes him to smile. 

“I thought you might be hungry.” He holds up a military packet of savory biscuits. They were used for long journeys where fresh food was hard to come by. 

Unscrewing the lid, he passes you the bottle and places the biscuits on the desk.

“I am not. Thank you.” The anxiety of the night ate away at your stomach. Even if Edmund got beyond the fence you were sure that Peacekeepers had been sent beyond the compound. Still, you had faith. He was smart and knew District 12 well. He would be okay, but only if you could manage not to blow his cover. 

Coriolanus unbuttons his Commander's coat with his long fingers. 

“Of all the places I thought you would have been safe, the Commander's apartment was my first choice.” 

“I was safe,” you contend, “He didn’t get through the door.” 

“How did he get in?” Coriolanus sighs, “Another hole in the fence?” 

He was talking to himself but you felt the need to interject. 

“His clothes looked torn. Maybe he climbed over top.”

He looks at you like you said something incredibly stupid. With the fence being 12 feet tall and wrapped in barbed wire, it properly was.

Coriolanus takes your shoulders into his hands, bending down slightly to your height. 

“I don’t want you to worry about this. It won’t happen again.”

You place the water bottle down on the desk too hard, “I am not worried, and I am not hungry. I am fine.” 

He takes your hand in his and pulls you along to the couch. 

“We’ll sleep here tonight. They won’t be done until late.”

You couldn’t escape anyway. It didn’t matter where you slept. 

You sink into the soft material of the couch. Another one sat directly opposite against the wall. Given the small space, it would be logical that you take one and Coriolanus would take the other but you knew he was going to want to share. 

He bends down and begins to unlace your boots for you.

“Do you often wear boots in the apartment?” He throws the boot over his shoulder, eyeing you suspiciously. You knew the answer was no, you don’t wear your boots in the apartment. They hurt your feet after long periods of use. Coriolanus also knew this. He would trip on them coming home, or accidentally step on your bare toes with his big boots as you maneuvered away from him.

“I wanted to be ready for our walk,’’ you lie. 

He seems to buy it, rising from his spot with no harsh motions. 

Instead, he rubs his hand across his face. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you this afternoon, and I didn’t mean for you to be bait for zealous rebels.” 

“Coriolanus, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

“I want to talk about this. When I got the alert today, all I knew was the door had been broken, I didn’t know if they had gotten in. If you were safe.” 

“Well, I am so…”  

“And if you weren’t?” He pauses for a second before continuing, 

“I’ve lost many things in my life, I won’t lose you.” 

The promise sounded like a threat upon your ears. 

Edmund had emasculated Coriolanus today. Made him feel as if he looked inadequate in your eyes. He was determined to prove himself to you. That he could and would, protect you better from now on. 

“Nothing happened,” you spoke slowly and softly to him. 

“I don’t want you to think I can’t protect you.” 

“I don’t.” 

Coriolanus sits down beside you on the couch. 

“There’s paper on my desk you could use if you wanted to write that letter to your brother. Write one to your mother too.  I’ll mail them tomorrow with a few panems. Would you like that?”

Protecting you meant protecting your family too. 

Nodding your head, you take his invitation and take a blank piece of paper off his desk. He follows you off the couch and offers his office chair to sit in. Several pens were thrown around the desk, you pick up the black pen closest to you and begin to write as Coriolanus puts away files that he was done with. 

The paper had the national Panem letterhead, it distracted you while you penned your letters. You wrote the first one to your brother, telling him to keep a cool head. Everything was under control. He must be grateful to be out of the mines. People disappeared all the time up in the mountains. You heard news that two miners went missing and were yet to be found. You were happy he was in District 8. He must stay there. Your family was always worried when he went to work in the morning, now everyone knew where he was: Safe in District 8. There was no need to come back, only to remain where you knew he was safe. All his friends from the mine wish him well and take turns in looking after mother. You finish by telling him to stop being so stubborn and take the money to look after himself. 

The second letter to your mother was shorter and superficial. She wasn’t home to collect it. It just needed to appear like she was.

Coriolanus reads over your letters before sealing them with an official seal and a few coins. He leaves them on his desk to mail tomorrow. 

You could still hear the Peacekeepers outside the window. Their vans and heavy boots and hard way of talking. 

They still hadn’t found Edmund. You could sleep now knowing they weren’t going to. 

For a few more hours, you remain up with Coriolanus. He talks of his family back home. How Tigris quit her job and now could focus on her designs. She was going to send you a few new dresses. You learned he called his grandma, ‘Grandma’am’ due to her upper-class upbringing. He talked about how she would dress Coriolanus like a doll, pre-war, and show him off to her friends. She grew roses of all colors. He was surprised to learn that you had never seen a rose. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t have.” District 12 was bare and colorless. There was no place for fine roses amongst the suffering. The Snow penthouse is full of them, he says. Replaced daily with fresh ones. 

When there was a lapse in his talking, you suggest that perhaps it was a good idea to catch a few hours of sleep before he was woken with news of the capture. In framing the suggestion for his benefit, he was much more agreeable. 

He takes off his white t-shirt and pants, leaving him in his underwear before joining you on the couch. He needed to feel your warm skin against his after today. Despite not deserving it. 

You are pressed between the back of the couch and Coriolanus. He looked to be sleeping but you could tell from his breathing he wasn’t. 

The silence shared between you was interrupted by your gnawing question.

“Did you find what you were looking for out in the woods?”

“No. But the trip did give me closure.” 

“Will we have to go again?” you wonder. 

“No. It’s in the past now. The future is all that matters.” 

The future for him was the Capitol. Where he would prosper and you would wither. 

“I can’t go to the Capitol, Coriolanus,” you whisper. You were hoping he would realize it and set you free of his own accord. You could part as estranged friends.

His eyes shoot open to look at you. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers back, “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You could appreciate that his words were supposed to be comforting but what good were his promises? They were nothing you could truly trust. 

His lips hit the bottom of your chin in a quick peck. 

You wondered if he could feel the wetness of your cheeks from where he lay. 

“You’re my girl, I wouldn’t let any harm come to you. You’ll see, you’ll love the Capitol.” 

Your answer was given when he wiped away a running tear from your cheek. 

“We will turn our back on District 12. The Capitol is our future.” 

You nod in the hope of getting him to stop talking. It works, and the silence returns.

He wraps his arms around you as you sleep. You wrap your hand around his dog tags. It felt as if your brother's courage was radiating off it. You would survive Commander Snow. 

 You wake the next day with Coriolanus’s Commander coat on top of you. Coriolanus sat at his desk writing a letter. His ears pick up on your movement. And he rises himself to see you sit up on the couch. 

“Good morning.” he greets, getting up himself. 

He flicks the leftover coffee from his cup into his waste bin and refills it from the streaming pot. 

You watch him walk over to you with it in his hands.

 “Here,” he says, carefully passing you the cup. 

“Did they find him?” You take the cup but not a sip. 

“No. But they are still searching.” 

Your heart bounced up from its anxiety. 

“Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. It was probably a young boy searching for food. I had dinner ready, he could properly smell it.” 

Coriolanus begins to pace in front of you. 

“I am going to make an example out of him. Make sure everyone in the Districts thinks about starving to death before entering the Compound.”

“A hungry child is no need for alarm.” 

“What if he had gotten through the door? These Districts are animals. He would have hurt you.” 

Coriolanus cringes at his words, “I didn’t mean you. You are not an animal.” 

“Yes, you did.” You rise from the mattress. 

“No. I didn’t.” he grits. 

“You treat me like an animal. Sit, eat, stay.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you.” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand. 

You had no interest in arguing with him either. Time was of the essence. You had to get back before the door was fixed and you were locked back up. 

He returns to sit at his desk. He had work to do.

“I’ll go home and make breakfast. Bring something back for you.” 

Goodbye Coriolanus, you thought. 

“No.” he looked at you like you were crazy and you stared back similarly. 

“No. You’ll stay here with me until he is caught.” He sits back down at his desk but you remain frozen in the middle of the room, “Or maybe you’ll just stay here forever, seeing as no one in this District seems to have a clue where he is.” 

You had thought that the broken door would offer you freedom but it seems to have just caused Coriolanus to tighten his grip. 

“I can’t, I have to, I have to-” your panic interrupted your sentence. 

“You have to do, what? The dishes?” he mocks, “They can wait until we go home.”

He returned to his work, the conversation was over for him. 

“I want to go back and take a shower and-”

He pushes his heavy folder over the edge of his desk. 

“I’ve had a District break into the compound, new of which will makes its way back to the Capitol, I’ve got recruits coming and nowhere to put them, and lieutenants who can’t read. I just need you to be perfect today.”

He shuts his eyes and sighs, pausing for a moment. “Please, I just need to know where you are today. That you're safe. If you’re here, you’re not another thing on my mind.”

You wanted to kick and scream but it would only end with a bruised cheek. He wasn’t asking you to stay, he was telling you. District scum were only animals for him to herd. You just so happen to be his favorite sheep. 

 So you sit back on the couch and he reaches for his work and not your throat. Maybe he would send you to get something. A cup of tea for him, deliver a message, you would take any opportunity. 

You lay down on the couch, back under his coat to keep warm, and he goes back to his work.

An hour later, his receptionist appears holding two metal trays of food. He greets her as she enters, and she offers the same back. You don’t exist. She doesn’t look at you once while she is in the room. You pass her as you make your way to the desk. She deliberately checks her red nails. 

A gray-looking porridge, a slice of jam toast cut in half, and a cup of broth sat on the tray.

“I can see why you glorify my cooking.”

“I used to eat boiled cabbage and potato peels every day back home. When I came to District 12, I thought these meals were just great. Now I have you, and these meals make my stomach turn.” He pokes at the porridge with his spoon, “You’ve spoiled me.” 

“I can still go and make you something.” you offer. The second you were out of view you were going to bolt to the fence. 

He shakes his head ‘no’ and you sink into your chair. He felt clingy today, almost as if he could sense your plan to leave him. 

“I need a reminder of the dangers of complacency.” He shovels a spoonful into his mouth. You choose half of the jam toast. 

“How are you feeling after last night?” he takes the toast from your hand despite having his own in front of him.

“Fine.” You wished he would stop bringing it up. 

“I am sorry he got so close.” 

“These animals are my people. He wouldn’t have hurt me even if he got in.” 

“I told you I wasn’t calling you an animal, and yes, he would have hurt you if he got a chance. You don’t know what people are capable of.” 

The whole world is an arena and you are prey, he wanted to say. 

“People are good.” you refute, although you are unsure if you believe that anymore.

Coriolanus definitely didn’t believe it. People were animals that needed the threat of violence to keep order. He thought back to a day during the war when he had collapsed in the street with swine flu.  No one stopped to help a young child. Only Tigris, sick with the chills herself, picked Coriolanus up and nursed him back to health. He was sure you would too. You had picked up the child with the scraped knee while others walked around him. 

“You are good. You are kind. The people around you were using you for their own benefit.” 

“And you’re not?” you bite. 

“What benefit would that be? A bruised eye? A fight every time I try to connect with you?”

You groan, rubbing your face aggressively with your palms. At this rate, he was likely to throw you in the compound jail. A fight with him would only derail your plans. He said it himself, complacency blinded him. 

“I am sorry,” you sigh, “I didn’t sleep well on that couch. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

He reaches across the table to intertwine with your hand. 

“It’s okay. Why don’t you finish your breakfast and go lie down again.” 

You do finish your breakfast in a comfortable silence. Coriolanus was happy to be apologized to, and you were happy not to further the conversation that would surely turn into a fight. 

You lay looking at the roof while Coriolanus tries to be as quiet as he can.

You barely hear him as he works. A stroke of a pen here, a shuffle of a paper there. 

You think of Edmund and your mother. They would both be worried sick. But how could you get to them with Coriolanus breathing down your neck? By the time you broke free, would the Peacekeepers have found the hole in the fence? 

The phone rang once before he could get to it. He speaks in a low, hush, tone. Seemingly calm he hangs up. 

You hear his footsteps as he walks over to you causing you to sit up to see him come into view. 

When Coriolanus raises his hand and brings it down upon your cheek with enough force to knock you to the ground, it surprises you. 

“Edmund’s hair was found between the hinges of the door.”

He stood above you tall and angry. 

“He and his family are nowhere to be found, along with your mother. But I suspect you already knew that.” 

He crouches down and takes a harsh hold of your chin, “Where is he?” 

“I don’t know.” Your answer earns you another smack to the face. 

“I don’t know,” you cry, “I honestly don’t know.” 

“Short with long dark hair, you said,” he laughs humorlessly, “I should have known it was him.”

“He came to say goodbye. I wasn’t going to leave, I swear.”  

“Why should I believe you? Every chance you get you betray me.” He shoves your head out of his hold. 

You shake your head ‘no’, and cautiously test how far he was willing to allow you to get up. You managed to a sitting position on the floor before you saw his body flex. You were level with his face. The proximity puts you on edge.

“He broke the door to say goodbye. You honestly expect me to believe that?”

“I meant what I said in the cabin about one more chance. I wasn’t going to leave. I told him I wasn’t going.” 

“Why not tell me that? Why lie?” 

“I didn’t want to upset you. Coriolanus, I didn’t betray you.” 

“You’re a filthy liar.” 

You shake your head ‘no’ frantically. 

“Where has he gone to?” he asks again. 

“Coriolanus, I wasn't going to betray you. I was going to stay!”

“Where is he!” he shouts in your face.

“I don’t know. Please-” 

 Your shaky hands take his face between them. 

“I wasn't leaving you. I swear.”

He looks at you with soft, unsure eyes. You could tell he wanted to believe you. You just had to push him a bit further. 

You bring his head towards your collarbone and he willingly follows, bringing the whole force of his body against you. The weight knocks you down on the floor, where he rests on top. You leave a hand on the back of his neck and the other pressed down on his shoulder blade to keep him there. In this position, you had the power. He positions his body on top of you, his leg over your hip and left arm over your shoulders.

He felt like a little boy pressed against your side. Nevertheless, it was the Commander. 

Your face pounds from earlier assaults as a reminder. 

You eye the door from where you lay on the floor.

“You were going to leave,” he sounded almost to be crying.

“I wasn’t. I was going to stay.” 

“It was a mistake. I am going to find him and hang him up.” 

He goes to get up in his anger but you clamp down on your hold. 

“I didn’t leave you. Don’t leave me. Stay.” 

He breaks free enough to raise his head over you.

“You would have if he got the door open.” 

“No.” 

“The doors open now. You could leave. I wouldn’t stop you.” He rolls his body off yours and onto the floor beside you. 

He seemed earnest. You would at least get a head start. But you couldn’t be fooled by your eagerness. 

“Go.” he offers. 

You sit up beside him and look at the door. His violent temper made him poor company, but you could control it. Manipulate it until the opportunity arises, where you could get more than a 30-second head start. 

“I heard there was a drink in the Capitol that tastes like apple pie.”

“There is,” he replies indifferently. 

“Do you think I could try it when we get there?” 

He turns his head towards you with a curious gaze.

“It can be the first thing you have.” 

Taglist:

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@aleemendoza2425-blog

[godimus]

Hello hello!! Im really really looking for Jazz x reader fics at the moment, so please can we have some soft story with him? you can choose which Jazz you want! (I dont prefer bayverse but we cool!)

Also take care!! <3

Jazz X Gender Neutral! Reader

The humming melody of an engine fills the air with tranquility as I watch the passing luminous lights emitted by the city in the dimness of the night, a warm seat softly vibrating under me as if enveloping me to an embrace. I struggled to maintain my attention at the scene from the side window through heavy lidded eyes, my perception gradually blacking out as I surrender to the comfort of the void.

“Awe, don’t sleep on me now.” A teasing voice followed by a chuckle exited the car’s speakers. “I won’t. I was just thinking.” I denied groggily, a little flushed from almost falling asleep on the slightly too amused bot. “What are you thinking about?” Jazz’s tone shifted, still playful but laced with curiosity. I could almost feel the slight rumble of his engine matching the rhythm of his words.

I paused, biting my lip. "Ah you know, about everything.. and maybe about how far we’ve come.” The calming atmosphere surrounding me took me into thinking about matters involving these bots such as the one accompanying me here and now. “Can I ask you something, Jazz?”

The blue and white bot was always bursting with high spirits and effortlessly managing to fill any room he’s in with positive energy. As expected, he easily captured my full attention and despite being very alien, he had, over time, become intimately aware of my lifestyle without needing much guidance, as such, we had taken to regularly contacting and meeting whenever his duties allowed. During these encounters, I would inquisitively interview him about the Cybertronian world and its intricacies. He always answered my questions—though not without teasing me endlessly about my curiosity. However, I never had the opportunity to reveal to him the mysteries our own world harbors.

Jazz hummed. “Whatever keeps that frame of yours up and around.” I giggled lightly, his playful charm never failing to brighten the mood. “It’s nothing serious. Just… thinking about how different things would be if you hadn’t shown up in my life.”

His engine rumbled gently, almost as if in response to my words. “Yeah? You think I’ve made that much of a difference?” There was something deeper behind his tone now, a hint of genuine curiosity mixed with his usual easygoing manner.

I glanced out the window, the city lights blurring together in a soft haze as we cruised through the night. “You and your kind… you’ve made everything feel larger than life. Every day feels like there’s more to discover, more to understand. And yet, I’ve never really told you much about my world, have I?”

A brief silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic whir of the road beneath us. Jazz’s voice came through, softer this time. “Nah, you’ve been pretty tight-lipped about it. But that’s okay. I figure you’ll share when you’re ready.”

I bit my lip again, considering his words. He was right—I had always kept him in the dark about the intricacies of Earth, our struggles, our stories. Maybe it was because, deep down, I felt like our world was too small compared to his. But now, with him beside me, maybe it was time to change that.

“Well,” I began, heart racing a little, “maybe it’s time I start telling you some things. About us. About me.” Jazz’s engine purred, his curiosity palpable even through the subtle vibrations of the car. “I’m all ears.”

“There’s so much to say, every time we talk about your world, it seems like it’s not much different than ours in many aspects; in the way that your social and cultural structures variant.”  I had been staring at the view through the window while reflecting on our similarities. “Despite our differences in several other things, I feel more connected to you than I have with anyone else.” There was a moment of quietness inside the car. “Is that so, kiddo? Well, I can’t blame ya, I just got that knack of turning anything I touch into a fine thing.” A purring voice left the car’s cabin trembling slightly under me, my heart skipping for a second.

I chuckled, a little embarrassed but not surprised by the effect he had on me. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I replied, half-joking, but my voice was more serious than I intended.

Jazz’s engine purred again, almost like a quiet laugh. “Ain’t gotta be shy about it. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, we have,” I said softly, the weight of those words sinking in. I leaned my head back against the seat, letting the soothing vibrations of the car lull me into a peaceful haze. “I guess I’ve just been afraid of saying too much. Of showing too much.” Jazz let out a low hum, almost as if he was mulling over my words. “You don’t have to worry about that with me, kiddo. You can lay it all out. I’m listening.”

I smiled to myself, comforted by his words. “Maybe that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

[simplydnp]

Hi!! I’m new ‘round here (or not, been watching since 2018 and lurking since 2021) but what’s the best way to get more involved in the phandom space? Y’all seem really nice and I wanna finally be a part of the community after being on the fringes for so long

hello anon! firstly, welcome!

you've come to a great blog to ask, if i do say so myself, as i was heavily active on dnp tumblr a few years ago, took a few year break, and came back a few months ago on a new blog. so i was essentially starting from scratch!

number one thing is reblog posts! if it's a little intimidating starting out, just reblog them without any tags. everyone loves a reblog and it's a great way to show your interest without being too forward (if you're concerned!)

now, the way i engage in fandom in general is different than some other people, but i adore writing in the tags. it can be a little scary starting out, but a simple 'love this!' or 'hard agree' in the tags helps people get a feeling for you as a person. the reason i do it is for me, but i've come to learn that other people love not only reading it, but getting that on their own post.

another great way to get involved is exactly what you just did! send thoughtful anon asks to people you think are neat. don't put too much emphasis on needing a perfect response, or response at all, as 1 tone over text is always hard, 2 people get busy, and 3 a lot of the more known blogs get a lot of asks and it isn't possible to get through them all. don't be discouraged! keep trying & be nice & you'll build connections.

one of the things i did during gamingmas (when we had predictable uploads) was sitting in the dan and phil tag and almost 'pre-gaming' with people. we're all looking forward to the same thing and it's just a good time.

the way that works is making your own posts! you don't have to write essays or have a unique idea, all of us love a 'i love dan and phil' post and you'll see people interacting with them all the time. or if words are hard, a simple sentence and a screenshot from a video that's funny goes a long way.

sometimes the best time to jump in is right when a new video is posted (this can be hard depending on your schedule & timezone relative to dnp uploads), but everyone flocks to the tag to scream together and instead of posting in a void, there's already people there and you're just one post of many having a great time.

a way that's a bit more involved would be joining a discord server. there's a few out there if you'd like, but sometimes discord can be harder to communicate on to start as it's a lot more individual communication, as opposed to a post on your own blog.

the community loves new people to talk to! new voices and perspectives are really important, and i hope you join us! it's good to put yourself out there, but don't get mad at yourself if it takes time.

[hydrangea-mon-amor]

How do you think the yanderes would react if Darling were to ignore them? (I know you said you aren’t sure if Aloysius will be a reoccurring character but PLEASEEEEE include him!!!)

A/N: your wish is my command.

Alceste

To be honest, Alceste would think you’re being too childish. He didn’t quite understand why you would chose to deliberately ignore him. He isn’t a fool, he knows exactly what your doing. In a way that would be subtle enough, Alceste would warn you about your actions without using verbal words. The squeeze of your arm, the raised tone of his voice, but perhaps even a veiled threat.

—

“Y/N, I’m asking you a question, I’d like for you to answer.” You stay quiet in your seat, shifting through your cards quietly. Alceste looks at you quizzically.

“This is beneath you.” He mutters, boring holes into you eyes. You continue your absence to dignify him with a response.

It is then that he stands to his feet, walking swiftly to your side.

With his hand, he sternly grips your chin, forcing you to look directly at him. The other hand caresses your forehead.

“You don’t seem sick…” he tilts your head to the side. “Your skin looks fine, I don’t see any abnormalities.” You are frozen with tight tension. “Perhaps you are just tired?” His hand squeezes your chin, not enough to physically harm you, but enough to add pressure.

You are forced to answer.

Begrudgingly, you nod.

“Alright then, I shall escort you to our chambers.”

Jaydee

Jaydee thinks your being unreasonably obnoxious. He finds it immature really, I mean come on, don’t you see all the effort he’s put into your relationship? He gives you affection like a disciple worshiping its god! He’s a man starved around you, he needs your attention, you’re making one hell of a mistake by ignoring him. On some days though, he’ll find the act intriguing, but don’t be fooled, he still doesn’t agree to this foolish behavior.

—

“Y/n, you’re being real fucking annoying.” He corners you against two lockers, the area in which you are in now void of any students.

You stare daggers into him, but you do not speak.

Jaydee rolls his eyes. “Okay, let’s approach this another way.” He steps closer to you, his nose on the cusp of touching the skin on your face. “Y/n,” he drawls, his voice husk and a layer of depth to it. “You know I love you—god I can’t fucking breathe without you.” He traces his fingers against the folds of your lips. “Stop with this ignoring me act and I’ll forgive you.”

You say nothing.

“Wanna be that stubborn now huh? Okay, fine.” He releases himself from you, pacing a few steps back. “When I come back looking for you, you may as well got on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You won’t like what I’ll have to show you.”

Before you had even registered what he had said, Jaydee was already walking the corner.

Valery

Oh poor Valery, do yourself a favor and don’t anguish her like this, she’ll lose it! She loves you very much and can’t live a day without talking to you. She absolutely loves the sound and rhythm of your voice, if soothes her. She’ll cling and cry and blubber, it’s a scene for sore eyes really. Genuinely she looks as if she has lost someone close to her. With the way she’ll be weeping you won’t have the heart to continue ignoring her.

—

“Y-y/n did I d-do something w-wrong?” She stands at the front porch of your house, mascara dripping down her cheek. She looks desolate, a person lacking any color.

“I-I’m sorry! Please f-forgive me!” She takes a step toward you, hands reaching out for yours. She feels a part of herself breaking upon the notice of your frame receding.

“Y-y/n!” Her call is bemoaning, like a lost child searching for their mother. Don’t you see that she needs you? You’re her saving grace, she had nothing and no one before you. Why are you hurting her so?

“You’ve been I-ignoring me for days n-now, what did I d-do w-wrong?” She breaks out into another fit of sobs. Really you hadn’t imagined to see the Valery Magnolia, epitome of pristine and proper lady, cry so hideously in front of you.

Her knees buckle, and now she is clutching your midriff, she tilts her head to look at you. Truly the girl has no shame, she’ll do whatever it takes for you to talk to her again, even if it means publicly shaming her.

“I…I l-love you…”

Aloysius

Now, Aloysius would have the most fun with this. Sure he doesn’t like seeing his future spouse ignore him like this, especially since he is the Duke and close to the ruling family. But no worries, it doesn’t affect him so, physically that is. Emotionally, he feels conflicted, he’s read about couples showing affection to one another in a diligent manner. He doesn’t quite understand what your problem with him is, other than the fact that he is from the forest. No worries, he’s a man quick to remedy such problems, whilst adding some fun.

—

“Is this alright with you my darling?” He nibbles against the flesh of your neck, his fangs dangerously close to cutting skin. “I do wish you would verbalize your wants my sweet, it tries me to guess so rigorously.” He places a chaste kiss, then moves onto your collarbone. He grips both of your hands with his right, his left arms searching the crevices of your body.

“I wonder how much pressure it would be to penetrate your skin, would you like for me to find out? It won’t be a problem will it? You have been considerably compliant these last few days, letting me do whatever I want with you…”

He chuckles to himself.

“I wonder darling, did you know that some un married people dined in such unique acts durning fornication to pleasure the other person?” You say nothing, Aloysius keeps kissing down your body. “I know we may soon be married but I wanted to try…something with you. Would you like to hear?” He waits for a response, but he’s grown accustomed to you deigning to not answer.

He continues anyway.

“I’ve decided that I wanted to try a certain act with you, please, it may sound frivolous but just hear me out won’t you?” He clears his throat. “What if, I take you just like this, slow and sensual, pleasurable, but amongst a crowd a onlookers. Wouldn’t that be a testament to our love?”

Your throat lodges, your body stiffens.

Aloysius takes notice and like a mad man, smiles. Grin, ear to ear,

“Think about it my love, so many people watching and yet I—we still have lust for only each other. Those onlookers don’t even cross the mind. It’ll be a public display of our devotion to one another, a public marking of each other…” he whispers against your ear, sounding so and irreversibly fond of such an idea.

You feel the need to vomit.

A/N: I think it’s obvious which one I had the most fun writing…😭

[prismadog]

I wrote a little soft Clockers family one-shot!

I've had an idea in my brain for a few days now (ever since watching Cleo's Limited Life earlier this week), and I had to get it out. It started as an image, but then I decided to write a little one-shot as well.

Ao3 Link

[fanart below after the one-shot]

There was Only One Bed (but not really) - Clockers Edition

They were standing in a field of flowers, surrounded by people without faces.

Friends.

Allies.

Soulmates.

They were smiling.

Crying.

They were laughing.

Screaming.

They were dancing.

Running.

They were living.

Dying.

“Cleo,” someone calls.

They turn, searching.

“Cleo,” someone calls again.

The people are fading.

“Mom!” someone yells.

— — — — —

Cleo startles awake and cracks open their eyes. There’s a grey ceiling above her, one made of stone. There’s darkness around them, moonlight streams in through the windows above.

“Mom?” a quiet voice whispers.

Their eyes turn to the man beside them, standing in his orange pajamas, holding a pillow to his chest. His green eyes are tired, there’s dark circles under them, his hair is a mess.

“Scar?” they ask quietly, voice rough with sleep. They sit up a bit, dislodging the hand on their shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Scar looks away, a light pink dusting his cheeks. “I uh…can I…?” he struggles with his words and his shoulders droop. 

The zombie sits up more, reaches out a hand to her ally, rests it on his arm. “Scar, is everything okay?” they ask gently.

He shakes his head in response.

A moment ticks by. Then two.

“Can I…” he starts again. He swallows. “Can I sleep with you, Mom?”

Mom. 

They’re only a couple sessions into the Games but that word, that name, title, is growing on them. The two of them - Cleo and Scar - are about the same age, and yet he calls them ‘Mom’. It was weird at first, should still be weird, but they’re getting used to it.

“Sure thing,” they say and shift over in the bed, making room for their friend. 

Scar gives a grateful smile, sets his pillow next to their’s, and slides under the covers next to them. He doesn’t say anything, only lays on his side, stiff.

They lay down again too, on their back like they were before, and hold out an arm. “Do you want to cuddle?”

His eyes search their’s for a moment, looking for something, then he gives a small nod and scoots closer to them. He stiffens more at their arms wrapping around him, pulling him to their side, then he starts to relax.

The two of them lie in silence for awhile, the only sounds around them being the crickets outside and Bdubs’ snoring from across the room. It’s nice. Scar is warm against them, like a heater, and it feels good.

“You’re cold,” his voice is quieter than before, barely a whisper.

“Sorry, I can put a blanket between us if you’d like?”

He shakes his head and curls up more into their side. “It’s good. I like it. Like the cold side of a pillow.”

They chuckle, and start playing with his hair. “Do you wanna tell me why you’re awake in the middle of the night?”

There’s no answer, not immediately, and for a moment, they think he’s fallen asleep, but then he sighs softly, his breath tickling their skin. “I had a bad dream,” he replies. “Not a nightmare or anything, just…bad.”

They’ve been there. They have bad dreams too, ever since the first Game, and it’s never fun. But, they’re used to it now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” they ask.

“Not really much to talk about,” he says. 

They think he might just leave it at that, saying nothing more, just wanting to go to sleep. But, he surprises them.

“It’s the same one I have most nights - I’m in an endless desert and I’m alone. There’s voices talking to me and I try to follow them, but I can’t find them.” He wraps his arm around them, squeezing them close. “I run, trying to find them, and when I think I’m getting close, the desert sinks below my feet and I fall into the Void.

“Then I wake up.” Scar shakes his head. “I hate that dream. Every time I have it, it makes me feel like I’m alone. Like I have no friends or allies. Even in 3rd Life and Double Life, with Grian, I felt alone.”

“Well, you’re not alone now, Scar,” they say. “You’ve got me and Bdubs here. We’re your allies, and your family.”

They feel a small smile against their skin. “Thanks, Mom.”

Cleo chuckles, “No problem.”

“Would you two keep it down?!” a rough, irritated voice calls from the other side of the room, startling them both.

The two of them look over to find Bdubs awake and glaring at them from the comforts of his own bed.

“Sorry, Bdubs,” they both say.

Bdubs glares for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, studying them, then he sits up, eyes wide again. “Hey! You two’re cuddling without me!” he yells, accusatory.

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Cleo says. “Right, Scar?”

The man nods, smiling wide, “Yeah, com’on, Dubs, join us! The more the merrier!”

Bdubs doesn’t hesitate to get out bed and join them in Cleo’s. He drops next to the zombie on the opposite side of Scar, and curls into their side, draping an arm over their stomach and a leg over their’s. “How dare you try to steal Mom away.”

Scar gasps, almost too dramatically. “I would never!” he exclaims. “I had a bad dream and Mom was kind enough to let me sleep with them.”

“Yeah well, two can play at that game. I’m sleeping with Mom too!”

Cleo sighs and pulls the two men - boys, more like - against their side. “All right, you two, settle down and go to sleep. I’m too tired to listen to you argue.”

“Sorry, Mom,” they say in unison.

“And for the record, you’re both more than welcome to sleep with me.”

They can feel the smiles from both men against their skin now. “Thanks,” Scar says while Bdubs says, “Thanks, Cleo.” The two of them settle down, relaxing into the zombie’s arms.

Within seconds, Bdubs is already fast asleep again, snoring quietly.

Scar yawns and in a very sleepy, on the edge of passing out, voice, says, “Thank you for not letting me be alone.”

Cleo smiles softly and presses a kiss into his hair, “You’re welcome, Scar,” they reply, their own voice barely a whisper.

The man smiles. Soon, he too, is fast asleep.

The zombie stays awake awhile longer, holding their boys, their family, close to them, and listening to their soft breaths of slumber. They play with Scar’s hair and stroke Bdubs’ arm.

It’s nice, peaceful, and when they finally do drift back to sleep, they have nothing but good dreams of dancing in flower fields with their boys.

[Image ID: a lineart drawing of zombie cleo, goodtimeswithscar, and bdoubleo100 cuddled close to each other and sleeping]

[glassbead-xx]

Yelling to the void about Snow White because I have thoughts about it and nowhere to put them

And I’m tired of the internet (woe is me I’m still here)

Warning; it’s a lot of text so brace yourselves

So I hate the live action remake trend. Sometimes it’s entertaining like with Maleficent or Christopher Robin, but normally I feel like Disney is trying to replace its classics in the public consciousness

Whether because they think animation is inferior or because they’re trying to fix bad faith criticisms from the public that’s small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, I don’t know, I think it’s both

And if it’s the animation angle, rude, animation is the reason Disney is what it is today

I actually didn’t like that they wanted to mess with Snow White because of what it means to the history of animation and Disney in general but ehh they already messed with the Lion King so obviously nothing is sacred anymore

I do admit the original movie is very 30s so a modern reinterpretation would be nice, but make it a reinterpretation of the fairy tale, not the 1937 movie

And the first three princesses receive a lot of flack by modern audiences and I think that’s really unfair, like they’re not perfect but I feel the criticism is that they’re too feminine and not assertive enough, they’re literally victim blaming Cinderella who is a victim of abuse

In Snow White’s case, yes she’s really feminine but she’s also kind and resilient, she went through that scary ass forest by herself, and then became really close to the dwarves

And she didn’t clean their house just because, she did it because she thought if she proved she could help they would let her stay, because she had nowhere to stay because the Queen wanted her dead, it was a business transaction that worked really well, given how much the dwarves came to love her

Snow White is not physically strong but she has her own kind of strength, which gets dismissed because it’s a softer type of strength

Given how much Disney boasts about their live action princesses not needing a prince to save them I was scared they would strip Snow White of her kindness and resilience, because I feel like they stripped live action Belle of everything I loved about animated Belle (Emma Watson I love you but eeehhhh)

I feared they would strip her femininity away because there’s a connotation that the more feminine you are the weaker you probably are which I think is actually more mysoginistic than anything the original princesses movies did

I mean they’re not perfect but Snow White, Cinderella and Aurora are more than what the public thinks

But I don’t know why I’m analyzing Snow White, most people didn’t care about her until Rachel Zegler started trash talking her

And it wasn’t really trash talking, she was just saying the original was very 30s, and she’s right, but still people still used it as a reason to hate her

And look I don’t know what Rachel is thinking but I’m willing to bet everything she said in the D23 was stuff Disney made her say, because it sounds very similar to what they were saying about live action Belle, Ariel, Mulan, Cinderella, Jasmine and I think even Aurora

Ya’ll didn’t care about Snow White until Rachel was cast, because Rachel wasn’t white as snow (my good sir no one is white as snow it’s a metaphor be so fucking for real)

Tell me you’ve never heard Rachel sing without telling me you’ve never heard Rachel sing

She can never catch a break, first West Side Story where she was made responsible for her co star’s shenanigans, Shazam bombed, and now this, at least she did well as Lucy Gray but like give her a good role in an unproblematic movie

The public was so racist with her and Halle Bailey I will never forgive them for that, and Disney did nothing to protect them

And apparently part of the reason Disney didn’t protect Rachel is because she’s pro Palestine

But Gal Gadot is the one who got all the good publicity and the star in the Walk of Fame

She pales in comparison to Rachel and I’m glad people are starting to notice that Rachel is actually good (took them too long actually)

Also quick tangent, Rachel’s styling in the movie is so awful, I never thought they could top how bad Belle’s live action dress was but they did, with Snow White’s main dress, they dressed her like Farquaad in her white dress and she still looks better in that than her main dress ugh

Back on topic, to the surprise of everyone but my own Rachel was apparently the best part of the movie but she has been taking the brunt of the movie’s backlash, and if the movie’s bad she’s gonna get the blame even if she doesn’t deserve it

And again, no one cared about Snow White until Rachel

Ya’ll are so hypocritical with Rachel and Snow White that you’re making me defend a Disney live action adaptation, which goes against everything I believe in as an animation fan

Why do you hate Rachel so much

‘She trash talked the original Snow White’ no one cared until she called the movie outdated, as if ya’ll didn’t think the same

‘She’s entitled’ if this is because of the interview during the strike she wanted to get paid fairly, that’s what the strike was for you dumb dumbs

It’s always Rachel’s fault but never Disney’s

Really Disney has never protected their artists, not Rachel, not Halle, not half the Star Wars cast that was getting harassed, not Leah (tv Annabeth) they suck

Most of their properties are imploding and I’m like what the hell, you’d think they would try to improve but they’re getting worse, and due to recent events it’s only gonna get worse

I really hope that the live action remake trend is ending because I can’t take anymore of Disney’s bullshit

‘If you don’t like them don’t watch them’ I don’t watch them but it’s all over the internet I still can’t escape it

Seriously Disney what the fuck are you doing

[the-shifting-long]

My favorite part of STP is (earlier anon here) truthfully, Cold.

I get really caught up in deciding how much of him I’m reading into too much and how much is intended but regardless

He really serves the whole vibe of the game so well with how the consequences aren’t based in true reality and all. It’s almost like you have your own personal Shifty— like he’s the part of you that’s most similar to her (not that he is her. He definitely isn’t. He’s you). His and her perspectives line up so well. He understands the need for new perspectives on a situation and reflects the Princess herself so often. Obv this is most evident in Fury but it’s genuinely so many Princesses he’s similar to and none of the other Voices can say the same, really

There’s so much more yapping I could do but. Yea. Cold

Also he was the intended tumblr sexyman so that’s gotta count for something

oh m y god i didnt get a notification for this. this is the second time it's happened i'm so sad. anyways i will say for a lot of Slay the Princess' writing it DOES feel very intentional (sometimes too intentional, lol-the therapy session in Apotheosis........) and the voices are 100% a part of that. So much of StP is about the parallels-princesses with each other and the princess with the player, yes, but also the Voices with their respective princesses, and the role they play as parts of you. Tbh, pre-pristine cut, I actually didn't care about the Voices that much, lmao. Because they're fragments of the player character, they felt less like distinct characters of their own and more like embodiments of what's supposed to be TLQ's inner thought process. And I mean...they are. But. It wasn't that Pristine Cut did anything special-it actually did some of my least favorite stuff, voice-wise-but that was when I replayed the game and started to go shiiiiiit. The writing for the voices is really good too. This game would not be as special as it is without them. How the fuck did I miss this. Combine that with the Shifting Mound having distinct characters as different parts of herself, and that parallel with the player, well... Anyways. Voice of the Cold. Intentional writing. (jeremiah is this you.) You're so right about Voice of the Cold being "closest" to us/godhood, similarly to how Tower/Wild serve as that vessel for Shifty, especially given Pristine Cut and Tower-Fury and his role there. "You are nothing! An empty void that dared to dream it was alive!" and his response that yes, that's right, that feels right...the contrast of that with earlier scenes in Tower where she talks about how "ending the world" is what she was always meant to do, now that she hears you say that... And I think a lot about how Cold is also the voice you get when you do what the Narrator intended for you to do-in chapter 1, slay the princess, don't question it, You're the one with the power here, so use it. In Nightmare's variation of Wraith, kill her immediately, you did your job, that's it. Always showing up for the Greys, where-you guessed it-you Did Your Job. You Slayed the Princess! the only big exception to this rule is Fury, which I've talked about before how I wish that was implemented in a less...what's the word. I got a lot of mood whiplash from telling the princess I cared about her and then getting Cold (for the fourth time that playthrough. Unintentionally.) The way he appears in Tower-Fury is perfect, I almost wish something similar also happened in Advy-Fury where one of the Voices ended up becoming the Cold, in part because it'd also make the fan theories re: how Voices work and what they even are even MORE insane and I love the fan theories for StP, lol. but, well, chapter's released, everything's said and done, no use nitpicking it anymore. ANYWAYS. it reminds me of how the Narrator says he MADE us to do this, he MADE us as a god to kill death-the Long Quiet isn't a god he created in charge of any specific domain, but SOLELY as a slayer of gods himself, and not just any gods-THEE god. Death itself. So the aspect of TLQ closest to his godhood, to embracing this aspect...is the one closest to what the Narrator wants. Cold-blooded. (Mostly) follows orders. Uninterested in most things, and thus, easily swayed into anything that's something. Of course, you don't get any voices from the "good" ending, and none of the Voices are quite what the Narrator wants. But damn if Cold isn't close. It's also REALLY fun how the Cold is most willing and able and eager to slay the princess, but frankly, a world without her would be TORTURE for him. He'd get bored so quickly, lol. yeah. i've grown to appreciate the voices a lot.

[crescenthoax]

a nightmare before Christmas.

🎄or an Annika, Floris, Willa and targtowers Christmas tale🌟

Part one

Part two

Parth three

Summary: Aemond, Daeron, Aegon and Helaena had different things planned for Christmas, but one same fate: their father’s old cabin.

Basically an i’m never gonna love again christmas modern AU because we need to spread some joy on these times and I wanted to write something fun. Mainly centred around Aegon x Female OC.

This is part 1/3. Part 2 coming soon.

🧣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⍣ ೋ *ੈ🎄‧₊˚ . *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ࿐🌟

“Skiing isn't exactly my strong suit, and you guys know it,” a sharply depressed Floris sighs, watching Annika and Helaena packing as if they were going to the space for five months rather than the Targaryen retreat ski cabin in Aspen. “I thought we agreed that this year would be just the three of us for Christmas. No parties, just peace and quiet.”

“And that's why it's a perfect plan,” Helaena reminds her, with an ear-to-ear smile, something quite uncharacteristic of her occasionally too melancholic personality. Helaena flops down beside her on the bed. “I know you're sad about Aemond, but there's no reason for you to shut yourself in during the holidays. If you don't want to go home, then let's go to Aspen for Christmas.”

“Do you remember our trip to Aspen for graduation?” Annika intervenes. Floris shakes her head; everything was very blurry. “Exactly! And we had fake IDs that weren't accepted at three out of five places. Now it's all legal, babe. Plus, I'm tired of getaways to big cities. I want peace and wildness at the same time.”

“Odd,” Helaena deduces. “What Annika means is that we're going to have a good time. We'll have hot chocolate and all those Christmas things without necessarily the suffocating party Annika's father organizes every forsaken year. By the way, what did you tell him to not go home this year?”

She looks at her nails disinterestedly while appearing thoughtful. “They're busy with the baby, you know. And I think Rhys will go this year, so they won't really miss me much.”

“You usually like going home for the holidays,” Floris insists, knowing that since the moment Annika suggested they stay in the United States instead of going back to London, something must have happened. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, of course. I just don't want to go back this year. You don't want to run into Aemond, Helaena wants to create new traditions, and I want to drink until I lose consciousness and have a sugar high from eating so many s'mores. Whatever happens first.”

Helaena and Floris exchange a glance that she doesn't overlook. “But you haven't wanted to go home since your birthday.”

“Oh, there are just too many ghosts,” she quickly lies. “You know, with my mother's death and all.”

Her father remarrying didn't really affect Annika. Or at least, she never let it show much. Helaena and Floris know when she uses her mother's death as an excuse and to take advantage of people; she always did, and she always will. No one questions a girl's grief for her mother. Annika knows it well.

And they know it's her way of dealing with the situation, even though she doesn't talk about it. So, they let her be. Whatever it is, she'll say it in her own time.

“If you say so...”

“This will be something good,” Annika repeats. “A girls' Christmas. Just us three. No families, no responsibilities, no men. Just us.”

* 🧣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⍣ ೋ *ੈ🎄‧₊˚ . *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ࿐🌟

Willa wrinkles her nose, watching as Daeron struggles to close the door of the huge truck, bags strategically positioned as if it were a game of Tetris.

“I can't believe you convinced me to do this,” she says, a grimace of both distress and regret forming on her face. “I mean, are you sure no one from your family will notice you're not at the boarding school?”

He laughs. “My mother has three more children, and my father has even more children and grandchildren to fill that void. Trust me when I tell you they won't notice that I'm gone. We'll show up for New Year's Eve, I'll introduce you to them, and they won't even remember that we didn't spend Christmas with them.”

“I don't like that plan,” she admits. Daeron finally manages to close the truck after much effort and lets out a grunt. He shakes his hands, then gives Willa a kiss on the forehead.

“Believe me, you'll be more than glad to miss Mr. Lannister's Christmas party. They're basically the land where time stands still, and a vortex opens up and sucks out all your energy,” he explains. “I had the best Christmas of my life last year with your family than any Christmas I've had before.”

She squirms uncomfortably. “Sometimes you make me think you hate your family, Daeron. And I get it, but you can't... I'm sure they love you a lot.”

“I know they do. But, as I told you, Christmas is not really important, and I want to spend it with you. I want us to have a good time before I take you to my family on New Year's and you run in the other direction.”

“If we survived that weekend at your older brother's apartment...”

Daeron shudders as if just the thought of it produces secondhand embarrassment. “Don't remind me. I don't know how to apologize for that. The good news is you won't have to see him again, ever.”

He opens the door for Willa to get in and doesn't wait for a response as he goes around the truck to get into the passenger seat, leaving her with the words on her lips.

“If it helps, I didn't dislike your brother,” she says. “Is he not spending New Year's at your house with all of us?”

“I don't think so. The last time I was home, he was acting too strange. I mean, stranger than usual,” he explains, eyes fixed on the road.

“When was it? Spring?”

“I think so. Yes, yes. I remember because my mother was furious with him for not showing up to Floris's birthday dinner, you know, my brother Aemond's girlfriend. He didn't even go to the party afterward, and he never misses a party.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, he didn't really say anything. I asked Helaena, and she told me Aegon had been in New York a few weeks before but never dropped by to visit her. Aemond thinks he's doing drugs,” he says calmly, then opens his eyes when Willa looks at him horrified. “Oh, no, he's not a drug addict. He’s just the occasionally drunk, harmless brother. His life is not in danger. Aegon has always been like this. He'll be back when he gets over it.”

She scratches her neck, uncomfortable. “The holidays can be triggers for many people, you know?”

“I'm sure Aegon is at a resort in Miami Beach, passed out with a piña colada in his hand and some girl tangled in his sheets as we speak. He's living his best life,” he downplays. “You'll see. Everything will be fine. Plus, we'll get to enjoy some time alone. Don't you like the idea?”

Willa sighs, resigned.

“If I had a family as big as yours...”

“You are my family now,” he finally drops, like a bucket of ice-cold water running down her back and leaving her breathless for a moment. “It's just you and me. And I prefer it very much this way.”

* 🧣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⍣ ೋ *ੈ🎄‧₊˚ . *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ࿐🌟

Aegon groans as he feels a boiling sensation behind his throat, and his mouth automatically fills with saliva, anticipating the vomit that he will never let out. He straightens up quickly, holding his breath to calm his body while everything spins around him.

When he finally makes sense of what's happening, he realizes he has fainted in the kitchen. He leans his back against the wooden shelf, just like when he was little and used to hide while playing with his brothers and nephews and the rest of his family.

He hears footsteps entering the kitchen, echoing on the tiles, but he doesn't bother to lift his gaze; he already knows who it is.

“I didn't expect you to be up so early.”

“Brother,” Aegon grumbles again, getting up from the floor with so much difficulty that sometimes it seems like his youth is just a memory. He looks around confused. “Where’s Melody?”

“You mean Mallory,” he corrects. “Well, she came home with you. I think you guys did it on the couch and the kitchen floor. And she left early.”

Aegon smiles, the memories of the previous night a bit clearer. “Oh, right. And her friend? What was her name? God, I don't think we should go back to that place ever again. Although I don't think they'll let us in.”

“She slept in my bed and left with Mallory early in the morning. I called someone to clean up this mess you left, mess you cannot make again because it’s fucking December 23th and no one will ever come to clean your shit up on Christmas. Now, we have to go to the city, so I suggest you change and dress decently.”

Aegon cracks all the joints in his body without understanding his younger brother's bad mood. He has done everything to get him through his breakup; he took him to the best clubs all over Europe, to Las Vegas, and even agreed to accompany him to an independent film Aemond wanted to watch, consuming large amounts of Adderall to stay awake out of boredom.

No one knows what happened between Floris and Aemond. They were a strange but simple pair; both middle children, introverted, and constantly trying to overachieve. The pride of their families, with a perfect life. Their love was born in the sandbox when they were both children, all the way through high school and what they've made of college, and everyone thought they would continue like that, getting married and having children. After all sandbox love never really dies.

Apparently, everyone was wrong.

In other circumstances, Aegon would have simply called Helaena and asked if she knew exactly what happened; what was so terrible that had Aemond so tense and more unbearably suffocating than usual, but...

“Why do we have to go downtown?” Aegon asks as Aemond hurries to make coffee. The sound of the machine drills into his head; he’s pretty sure his hangover has hangover at this point.

“Because, Aegon, your little girlfriend stole Mom's crystal reindeer,” he mutters with annoyance. “I can't believe you brought me here to fuck any girl stupid enough to fall for your charms and brought her back home completely unconscious. What if I hadn't been here?”

“I think I can take care of myself, Aemond. I've been alive for twenty-four years without your help,” the older one mutters with annoyance. “I brought you here so you could fuck any girl in a miniskirt and forget about your ex-girlfriend. But you're not taking advantage of it.”

Aemond clenches his hands into fists, his knuckles slightly white. “I don't need to fuck anyone to forget about her.”

“What you need is to skip Jason Lannister's insipid party and not go home where the primary topic of conversation will be your relationship with Miss Baratheon’s wake. Believe me, I'm doing you a favour. I've been in your place.”

Aemond laughs. “When have you ever had a meaningful relationship with someone?”

“I don't mean that. I mean I've been a victim of the scrutiny of London's elite.”

“Well, you brought it on yourself after getting drunk and getting into a fight with Dalton Greyjoy at Helaena's debutante ball,” his brother reminds him.

Aegon sighs; it's pointless to explain why he got into a fight with Greyjoy at Helaena's debutante ball. He just learned to live with the label of an alcoholic and violent person and made it his own so that they couldn't hurt him with it.

Oh, and he destroyed any political/professional ties between the Greyjoys and the Targaryens. But that's not exactly a tale fit for Christmas.

“Is Helaena going to the party?” he asks, changing the subject as he opens a beer can under the disapproving gaze of his younger brother. “You have only one eye, and it feels like you have six. Can you relax a bit? I'm on vacation.”

“Your life is a vacation,” Aemond hisses bitterly. “I really don't believe it. She said she planned to stay in New York with Floris and Annika.”

“Is Annika not going to her father's party?”

Aemond shrugs, sipping his coffee. “We didn't go into that much detail; she just said they would stay in New York. She says Floris likes it there, so...”

Aegon smirks maliciously. “I bet Annika is taking her to every possible club to get her fucked and forget about you.”

“Do you have to be so unpleasant all the damn time?” Aemond questions. “She wouldn't do that. Unlike you, Annika knows her and knows she needs other things.”

“Hey, I accompanied you to that horrible movie and saved you from the funeral-party. We'll spend Christmas in a hot tub drinking and eating with some chicks. What more do you want from me?”

Aemond frowns, the last good eye though a bit less harsh, always alert and in disagreement with his words. However, Aegon knows that beneath all that calm and collected facade, he is suffering.

And he doesn't like to see his brother suffer unless he is the one causing it.

“Nothing, Aegon. I don't want anything from you, nor do I expect it,” he replies with annoyance, leaving his empty cup in the sink. “Get dressed. We leave in ten minutes. And you'll pay for those expensive shitty reindeer.”

“Fair enough.”

* 🧣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⍣ ೋ *ੈ🎄‧₊˚ . *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ࿐🌟

The cold air hits Annika's face, and tosses her golden curls around. She brushes the hair stuck to her lip gloss off her face with annoyance, and her body shivers under all the layers of winter clothing. Her frozen hands tremble as she locks the car door.

“I won't drive in this weather ever again,” she mutters under her breath, striding towards the house porch with long steps, trying not to slip on the ice-covered stones. Helaena and Floris laugh at her from the door. “What?”

“That footwear is a bit impractical, don't you think?” Helaena remarks teasingly.

She looks at her boots without understanding. “They're my Moschino Black Faux Fur Snow Boots.”

“They have fur,” Helaena points out, amused.

“No animals were harmed in the making of these boots,” she retorts, struggling up the stairs. “Stop criticizing me for actually having style and open the door for me, will you? My ass is freezing.”

“Perhaps don't wear those boots outside again. You're going to slip,” Floris recommends, catching Annika's arm to help her with the last steps while Helaena finishes opening the door.

When they enter the cabin, they head straight to Helaena's enormous bedroom amid laughter. The cabin is huge but cozy, with a room for each family member. Floris tries to ignore the fact that she knows by heart the door to Aemond's room and everything inside.

Annika gets rid of her clothes and turns on the heating, trying to warm up. “Does anyone remember how to make hot chocolate?”

“You have the recipe book in the kitchen,” Floris reminds her.

Annika frowns. “Who am I kidding? I don't do kitchen. But we should buy Christmas cookies...”

“You mean, make Christmas cookies?” Helaena raises an eyebrow.

“No, thanks. I just redid my nails. But we could get gingerbread houses to decorate!” She offers hopefully. “But first, I need to shower and change. And before you say anything; I can't feel my toes.”

Hel sighs. “Perhaps Floris and I should go shopping while you shower.”

“Well, I don't do groceries either,” Annika winks at them. “Could you buy me a few things? I'll text them to you. You go while I bathe, and then I'll prepare dinner. Which means, order something to be delivered here and get the wine from the cellar.”

Floris rolls her eyes, not even having taken off her coat. “You better have three glasses of wine waiting for us when we get back to watch a movie.”

Annika snaps her fingers. “Done!” She says, then takes off her fur hat and puts it on Floris. “There you go. So your ideas won't freeze.”

“We'll be back in fifty minutes,” Helaena announces, taking the car keys from Annika's stiff and gloved hands.

As soon as she's alone, Annika rummages through one of her suitcases for her shower things and crosses to the main bathroom, in front of Helaena's room. Unfortunately, her friend's bedroom is not ensuite, and they have endured countless escapes where they had to cross to the bathroom in the middle of the night and lose all glamour by running into one of Helaena's brothers or nephews.

Annika has always loved coming to the Aspen cabin. It has always been a place very different from her home where time seems to run in a different way. Almost magical, though she knows better now to understand magic doesn’t exist. Since she was a child, Helaena and her family often felt more like a family than her own. It was strange because even though Helaena adored her brothers, Annika knew she felt like an outsider. Very alien to them.

In one way or another, the three of them always found a home in themselves. Where they could be without prejudices or fear.

She turns on the shower, letting the water flow hot, even boiling, as she removes her clothes and hangs her pink robe on the nearest hook. She is careful to lift her long and shiny hair to avoid getting it wet and preserve her meticulously done blowout. Her hair has always been one of her best features and is almost sacred to her; curls that fall like a cascade of liquid gold to her waist.

Her muscles contract as her body comes into contact with the hot water, and she sighs relieved. She stays almost inert for a while before taking her shower lotion and starting to wash to remove any remnants of the plane and the trip and New York off her.

And she has a lot to clean. A life of mistakes, an entire year of failure and sins and feelings kept deep in her heart.

But there are still eight days left for her to leave it all behind finally. Eight days for the year to end, and therefore, a new life to begin. A new life where she doesn't make mistakes or hurt anyone and is her best version. Where she is a better person and accompanies Helaena and Floris to do the groceries and learns to make Christmas dinner or hot chocolate.

But she still has eight more days to be the acidic and superficial Annika who runs away from her problems instead of facing them.

When she finishes washing her face, she reaches out for one of the towels before jumping into her robe. At that moment, the door opens abruptly, and the steam that fills the bathroom disperses into the air, letting in a cold draft from the hallway.

She glimpses, through the steam, a platinum blonde mane.

“Hel, come in. Did you return so quickly? I must have lost track of time. Did you bring the things I asked for?”

But Helaena doesn't respond. Annika wraps the small towel around her body and opens the shower door, stepping out.

“Wow, my Christmas wish came true already,” the mischievous and familiar laughter takes her completely by surprise.

Annika screams, disturbed when through the steam, she makes sense of Aegon's figure, Hel's older brother. The unbearable older brother, to be precise. Among other things.

She moves so far back that she slips. Aegon has to hold her arm so that she doesn't fall and hit her head on the edge of the bathtub. When she is stable enough, she pushes him to let go of her bare and wet arms, a bit disturbed by the vulnerable situation, but Aegon holds her so tightly that this time he slips backward and takes her with him.

“You're an idiot!” She yells, holding onto the towel that is the only thing separating her naked body from him.

Aegon laughs painfully. “Wow, my second Christmas wish just came true.”

“What are you doing here?!” Annika demands, too disturbed, while trying to find a way to get off him without pressing any unwanted parts of her body. He looks at her, his blue eyes against her green ones, and smiles.

“I could ask you the same. This is my house.”

When she finally manages to stand up, and the steam has dispersed a bit, she notices that Aemond is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a slightly disturbed look. When he notices the blush on Annika's cheeks, he turns away to give her privacy.

“We almost called the police,” Aemond tells her. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you an intruder wasn't going to shower. And I'm sure no intruder would wear those ridiculous fur boots...”

“Would you mind?” Annika says to Aegon, holding the towel against her chest as if her life depends on it while grabbing her robe with the other hand.

“Go ahead, darling.”

“Aegon,” Aemond warns. He grumbles and turns around as Annika puts on the robe without even removing the towel and ties the belt with a knot worthy of the navy.

“Nice knot. Did Greyjoy teach you to do that?” Aegon mocks when he turns to look at her again. She gives him the middle finger. “Would you mind explaining what you're doing here?”

“I came with Helaena and Floris to spend Christmas. What are you doing here?”

“It seems great minds think alike,” Aegon snorts. “A heads-up would have been nice, by the way. What if we were with girls here?”

“You could have warned yourself, too,” she tells him. “And it wouldn't be the first time we find you in a deplorable situation that you dragged Aemond into.”

“You can't stay here,” Aemond takes care of dissipating the heated atmosphere between his brother and the girl. She laughs sarcastically.

“Don't worry, your sister and your ex-girlfriend are shopping and will be back any moment. I'll be waiting for them outside with our luggage; I'll book a hotel.”

She doesn't wait for an answer, passes by Aemond without acknowledging him, and crosses to Helaena's room. Aemond rubs his temples, disturbed and stressed.

“This wasn't part of the plan,” Aegon informs, in case Aemond thought he had orchestrated the encounter intentionally. “You didn't know Helaena was coming?”

“No. She said she was staying in New York. Why would she lie?” Aemond questions.

“Technically, we lied too. But who knows with Helaena...”

“You never lie to Helaena. And she never lies to you. What's going on?” Aemond crosses his arms. “She said you haven't visited her lately. Not even the last time you were in New York.”

“What? Are you a detective now?” Aegon crosses his arms, hurrying to leave the bathroom and go down the stairs to the front door when he hears it open. Aemond follows him, but Aegon stops halfway. “Listen, if you don't want to see Floris, that's fine. I'll deal with them. Lock yourself in your room to cry or whatever you do. I understand...”

Aemond actually considers it but shakes his head. “It's okay.”

Aegon pats his shoulder. Annika comes out already dressed, with perfect hair, and ignores the presence of the brothers to join her friends while holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder, trying to get a hotel reservation. The brothers follow her down, and when they reach the first floor, in the entrance, it's not precisely their friends who are there.

It's Daeron, engaging in... something akin to making out with a girl with intense red hair who hasn't even let go of her bags yet. Both are dripping melted snow, wetting the wooden floor, deeply lost in each other, not caring much. Annika stays still at the foot of the stairs and reaches back to hit Aegon's chest, who looks at them proudly. Aemond crosses his arms while the only girl puts her hand to her mouth.

Aegon claps once. “What a show.”

Daeron and the girl separate as quickly as a spit for a pardon, even more disturbed than Annika was when found in the shower. Aegon looks at Annika and Aemond and laughs. “It will never get old.”

“What are you guys doing here?” The young boy despairs, while the girl hides behind him. Daeron tilts his head at the bizarre situation. “Oh, my God. Please tell me you weren't-“

“Have you gone crazy?” Aemond interrupts. It's been a while since Annika has seen Daeron, and the last time, the boy was at her height. He has grown between a much taller man than Aegon, almost reaching Aemond's height. “Why aren't you at boarding school?”

“It's winter break?” He doubts his answer. “I thought all of you would be either in New York or London for your father's party, Annika. Nice to see you again, by the way.”

“See? That's what you'd expect from my best friend's brothers,” she snorts, approaching him to give him a kiss on the cheek. “How you've grown! And who is this?”

“She yells at us, and he’s the one who gets the kisses,” Aegon complains.

“You never drew me a picture of us while I babysat you,” Annika tells him plainly, while Daeron puts an arm around her shoulders affectionately.

“That's because I was the one taking care of you, brat.”

“This is Willa. She is my girlfriend,” Daeron introduces Willa to Annika. Willa smiles shyly, while Annika grins from ear to ear and shakes her hand warmly. “Willa, this is Annika. An old family friend.”

“Hi, I've heard a lot about you,” Willa says, trying to sound convincingly extroverted despite the humiliation she has suffered. Annika looks at her puzzled and amused at the same time. “He was very much in love with you.”

“I know. It was adorable to see him scare off the boys in my grade with his Spider-Man pajamas on one occasion,” she laughs. “It's a pleasure, Willa. So, I guess the four of you had the same idea. How convenient.”

“Didn’t you guys come together?” Daeron asks, puzzled.

“Of course not. I came with Hel and Flo. They were here, but they didn't have the decency to warn any of us before coming to make a bachelor nest at your parents's family house.”

Aegon rolls his eyes. “And we were having some amazing days until you came to disrupt our peace.”

“Don't worry. I'll leave as soon as I can get a hotel. Daeron? Should I look for something for you and Willa? I think you two had more interesting plans than to spend Christmas with those two,” Annika asks, with the sound of keys on the cell phone she activated just to annoy Aegon. He squints at the sound and groans.

“Yes... I mean, no! This is my house, and I have the right to use it too,” Daeron stands firm.

“Does mom and dad know you're here?” Aegon asks, and the younger one sighs.

“They don't know you're here either,” Annika reminds him.

“Oh, come on. Whose side are you on?”

“Whichever is not yours. We’re leaving because I know none of us wants to spend time with you, but if Daeron wants to stay, you can't just kick him out because you feel like it. And let's be honest... Aemond, are you even having fun?”

Aemond opens his mouth to speak, but his brother interrupts him. “You're a sellout.”

“Sorry, but they're right. I can't stand you for one more day alone. I'll go back home, and I prefer the funeral-party of my relationship than seeing you hook up with a random blonde and calling to clean your vomit from the carpet.”

The front door opens, letting in another freezing gust of wind. “We're...!”

Floris falls silent when they see the scene, just like Helaena, who blinks several times and points at each one as if counting them one by one. “What are you guys doing here?” Helaena asks.

Aegon throws his hands in the air. “I can't do this again. It's not funny if you're not in a compromising situation. Do you have something interesting in those bags? Dildos?”

“Who is that?” Floris whispers to Annika, pointing at the redhead girl, ignoring the fact that Aemond can't take his eyes off her. “What are they doing here?”

Helaena smiles. “You must be Willa! I'm so glad to finally meet you!”

“You knew Daeron had a girlfriend and didn't say anything?” Aemond asks, dismayed. Helaena shrugs after wrapping the girl in a hug; it wasn't her story to tell. “What else haven't you told us?”

“I knew. We spent an entire week together. I’m sure she remembers,” Aegon teases her. “Hi, Willa.”

“Hi… Good to see you again.”

“Oh, don’t lie to him,” says Daeron.

Then, someone knocks on the door. Aegon, who has moved to sit on the steps, lets out a grunt. “If that's Mom and Dad planning a romantic Christmas getaway and coming to install a sex swing, I'm going to shoot them and then shoot myself in the balls.”

Annika scrunches her nose. “Do you have to be so gross all the time?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He smirks.

Helaena opens the door a little curiously. “Hello?”

“Hey. You’re Helaena, right?" Asks a brown-haired guy, dressed in a plaid shirt and a black jacket. “I'm Logan. I live in the house next door, remember?”

“The house next door, as in the house that's three kilometers away?” Aemond grumbles.

“Yes, of course, I remember you. How are you? Want to come in?”

Aegon puts his hands to his face and pretends to cry.

“Sure... Sorry to interrupt, but the power has gone out in my house. Is it okay if I stay here for a few hours?” Logan asks. “I know we don't know each other, and I'd go to a café, but it's already dark outside, and they're announcing snowstorms for tomorrow and the day after. It's a bit dangerous to take the road. I might not be able to come back.”

“They just took the road, and they're safe,” Aegon says. “Hey, maybe you can go to the hotel they'll all go to. Maybe all of you can rent the same room and have a Christmas party.”

Logan laughs. “A hotel? On December 23th, with a snowstorm at the door and no previous reservation? Good luck finding something.”

Annika stops dialing numbers and looks a bit irritated at Helaena. “You didn't check the weather before coming, did you?”

“Well, I didn't feel like there was going to be a snowstorm,” she says, a little uncomfortable.

“I see you're having... a family situation here. Maybe I should go,” Logan says this time.

“Wait. Are you from around?” Annika asks.

“Don't talk to her or look her directly in the eyes; she’ll turn you into stone like she's Medusa,” Aegon warns.

Logan ignores him. “Yes, I live here. My family was supposed to come for a visit, but they were arriving tomorrow, and flights have been canceled or rescheduled.”

“Sorry to hear that. And is there no other place we can stay? They don't rent anything either?” Floris asks this time.

“I could try to get you something with a friend, but I don't think so. And anyway, as I told you, going out right now to look for something can be dangerous. If you have the possibility of spending the night here, I suggest you do it,” Logan says.

Aemond looks at Aegon. “Well, I guess our escapade is officially over, thank God. Of course, everyone can stay. We have the space...”

“It was supposed to be just us,” Aegon complains and walks to the door. “Look, it's not even that bad outside.”

He opens the door, and a freezing wind makes a bunch of leaves and sticks enter the house, then slams the door shut. He grits his teeth.

“Just for one night,” Daeron finally gives in and looks at Willa. “At least until tomorrow when things calm down, and we can look for somewhere to stay. We wouldn't even have to see each other's faces.”

“Daeron, it's fine. I don't mind spending time with your family,” she smiles, so delighted with the idea that Floris finds it a bit funny she wants to be part of the messed up gang.

“Yes, Daeron. As if we were going to tell about the time you got lost in the woods, and we found you bathed in cow shit,” Aegon laughs, but no one laughs with him.

“That was you,” Helaena reminds him. “Two years ago.”

“Oh. And what about the time he tried to ride a bike on a beam and fell into a cactus?”

“Again, that was you,” Aemond says this time. “You were drunk as a skunk and insisted on doing it even though everyone told you not to.”

“We pulled thorns out of your ass for three days,” Annika recalls tiredly, then smiles at him. “You've always been a classy boy.”

Aegon looks at her with crossed arms. “At least I didn't ruin my father's wedding with a tantrum.”

“At least I didn't ruin an entire debutante ball,” she mutters back.

“Still on that? It's been years, woman!”

“I have the right to be mad...!”

“Okay, let's not go there,” Aemond warns, placing his hands on Annika's shoulders. Willa hugs Daeron's arm, confused. “We have to endure each other for just one night. Let's not start fighting. We all had fun together before.”

“He's right. You shouldn't fight, even Aemond is trying to get us to have fun,” Helaena suggests, and everyone bursts into laughter. Logan and Willa, more out of obligation than anything else. “I have an idea.”

“Should we get into the hot tub while we drink?” Aegon says, hopeful.

“Are you insane? It's only six in the evening. What are you, a savage?” Floris questions. He opens his mouth to reply, and she shakes her head. “Please, don't answer that.”

“I was going to suggest that we try to cook something. Like... a dinner. And we should all chip in.”

Everyone looks at Annika, who opens her mouth surprised. “Why are you all looking at me? Aegon blew up the microwave making sausages.”

“Yes, because you told me to wrap them in aluminum foil,” he crosses his arms.

Daeron looks at them puzzled. “I thought Aegon was alone when his microwave exploded. Alone and drunk.”

“I told him via text,” she quickly adds. Aegon snorts. “And as a joke.”

"That joke cost me a new kitchen.”

“Well, most of us know not to put metals in the microwave. So, we can make dinner without any problem.”

Annika crosses her arms. “Well… I want an apron.”

* 🧣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⍣ ೋ *ੈ🎄‧₊˚ . *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ࿐🌟

“Logan! Be more careful. This is cashmere!”Annika yells; she's wearing gloves, a chef's hat, and an apron she found in the utility room. No one exactly knows how, considering she hasn't touched anything, but her apron is stained as if she had worked for hours in a fast food factory.

After trying for a while to get her to chop an onion, they gave up, deciding that Annika would slow them down more than help. Aemond and Aegon hadn't been the epitome of efficiency either, so it boiled down to Hel, Floris, Willa, Logan, and Daeron. But they let Annika decorate the cookies while Aegon tried to steal the dough mix.

Logan makes the girls laugh enthusiastically, even Daeron at times.

“I don't like him” Aegon tells Aemond, drinking what's left of his beer. “How do we know he's not a serial killer? Showed up at our door out of nowhere.”

Aemond rolls his singular eye. “Yes. He looks ruthless helping Hel and Annika put sprinkles on the gingerbread man cookies.”

“It could be poison,” he argues, watching as Logan puts icing on Annika's nose, and everyone laughs. “It's not even funny.”

"They seem to think it's hilarious," Aemond replies disinterestedly, while meticulously setting up his glass chess set. “Do you want to play?”

“Can we play strip chess?”

“No.”

“Then, no. But maybe Floris wants to play,” Aegon points to the girl sitting on the kitchen counter, surprisingly quiet amidst the symphony of laughter around her. “Are you going to tell me what happened between you two?”

“Of course. When you tell me why you've been staring at Annika incessantly since she arrived.”

Aegon sighs and settles into the couch. “You know I've always been protective of her. Same with Helaena and Floris. Mother always encouraged me to do it.”

“Well, you seem more jealous than anything, and I don't see you very concerned that your presumed serial killer is clearly interested in our sister,” Aemond points out. Aegon looks at them and furrows his brow.

“Of course not. It's Helaena. She wouldn't...”

“She wouldn't what?”

“Ugh. That’s disgusting,” he mutters at the thought of his younger sister in a relationship.

“Guys, look,” Helaena approaches them as if they summoned her. She holds a tray freshly taken from the oven. “We made us, cookie version!”

Aegon furrows his brow and points at a gingerbread man with a questionable appearance. “What happened to this one?”

“That's you,” she says with a smile. Aemond bites his inner cheek to stifle a laugh. “Annika said she had technical difficulties.”

“It looks like a voodoo doll,” Aemond remarks. “I'd be careful.”

Aegon grumbles and gets up from his seat. He heads to the kitchen annoyed, where Annika is trying to scrape dough off the marble countertop along with Willa and Logan. “Want to smoke a cigarette?”

She looks at him, bewildered. “I'm busy.”

“I'm sure they can finish without you,” he tells her, taking her wrist to drag her to the backyard. She removes the apron, puts on a coat, and her Moschino boots, earning a disgusted look from Aegon, the cigarette hanging between his lips. “Those are the ugliest boots I've ever seen in my life.”

“Well, I have to endure your face on Christmas...”

“Cut the bullshit,” he says, lighting his cigarette and offering Annika fire to light hers. “You've been avoiding me. And now you're more passive-aggressive than usual. People’s starting to notice.”

“I've been avoiding you because you've been avoiding me,” she reminds him, her tone suddenly turning acidic. Aegon knows it well. It's because he's gotten under her skin. “You didn't return my calls, and obviously, I stopped trying. The message was more than clear.”

“Please, it was a relief for you that I didn't return your calls. It's exactly what you wanted,” Aegon points out. “You haven't set foot in your house since spring. Did you not want to run into me?”

“You didn't go to Floris's birthday to avoid running into me. You didn't visit Helaena to avoid running into me. You couldn't even return her calls because you couldn't face her and lie to her face.”

He opens his mouth, but chooses his words carefully. “I guess we've both been avoiding each other, then.”

“Maybe it's for the best, you know?” She shrugs. “Lying became exhausting. I was tired of pretending I was somewhere when I was actually with you. We can't do that.”

“It was good,” Aegon admits.

“Just not good enough for you to want to stop lying to everyone about it,” she deduces, pursing her lips into a thin line as she exhales smoke through her nose. “I understand.”

“I don't think you do,” he says, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, noticeably uncomfortable. “The problem wasn't that you weren't good enough, quite the opposite. The problem is, you're my little sister's best friend. I've known you forever. It's...”

“If you tell me I'm like your little sister, I'm going to kick you,” she warns. Aegon shakes his head, amused.

“I can't do that to Helaena. I've ruined many things for her and my brothers. I don't want to ruin one of the best things she has. We wouldn't have worked, you and I. You belong with her, not with me.”

Annika nods. “Okay.”

“So, are we good? At least because we're stuck here on Christmas?” He asks, hoping that's the case. But he knows with Annika, things are never that simple. “We can call it a truce.”

“Sure,” she smiles and puts out her cigarette on the floor. Aegon wants to say something else, because he knows he’s hurting her…

But he doesn’t reach for her.

* 🧣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⍣ ೋ *ੈ🎄‧₊˚ . *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ೃ࿐🌟

Willa bites her lip while rummaging through her suitcase. Daeron's room is impeccably clean, and she finds it amusing that he has a solar system décor clearly chosen when he was a child.

“I don't even remember the order of the planets nowadays,” he says to excuse his questionable interior decorating decision.

“Daeron. Can I ask you something?” She says, a bit curious. Her boyfriend settles on the bed with his arms behind his head and nods. “Aegon and Annika...?”

“Ugh. I don't even want to start talking about them,” he sighs as if the topic bores him.

“What did they mean by what they said about the debutante ball-“

“Oh, no. No,” the room's door opens, and Floris walks in unannounced. “We really don't talk about August 15, 2017. It's more like strictly forbidden.”

“Jesus Christ! Can I help you with something?” Daeron asks. “You should’ve knocked first.”

“Hide me until Aemond gets bored of playing chess and invites me to play.”

Daeron rolls his eyes and pats the side of his bed, inviting the girl to sit.

“I'm sorry for interrupting and eavesdropping. Just came to pretend I'm busy.”

“That's okay,” he says. “Willa wanted to know what happened at the debutante ball. If you want the full backstory, we have the right person here.”

“We shouldn't talk about it,” Floris reminds him.

“She's been my girlfriend for a long time. And she's staying much longer... Or not if my family scares her away by barging in unannounced.”

Floris sighs. “You're manipulative. If she's going to stay, then she has to know. And she has to know to never, ever speak on the subject. And no one can know that you know, understand?” Willa nods and sits on the bed with her legs crossed, ready to hear the story.

“You have to swear never to speak of it. If you do, you'll have to turn your firstborn to the devil, and your lineage will be cursed for generations,” Daeron jokes, stretching his leg slightly to playfully hit her. “Think of our children.”

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” Floris laughs, then turns serious as she starts telling the story. “So, it's 2017. Helaena, Annika, and I are, what? Sixteen, seventeen, and we're going to be presented in society. We had months of preparation; wardrobe, our escort, everything had to be perfect. Now that you've seen what Annika's like, I'm sure you can understand the level of detail she put into her preparations. Two years before... Her mother had passed away. It was tough for her, and for Alicent too since they were very close friends.”

“Oh, I didn't know that.”

“Yeah. The thing is, Alicent and Freya, Annika's mother, always wanted Aegon to be Annika's escort for her debutante ball. It was a perfect idea, the first male heir of the Targaryen family and the first daughter of the Lannister family. We all assumed it would be that way... Until two months before the ball, Aegon said he wasn't going to do it. Without any explanation. He was in college, so there really was no way to force him. He showed up on the day of the ball, drunk, and at the end of the dance, for no apparent reason, he attacked Dalton Greyjoy, Annika's escort. It was a disaster. They tried to separate them, but they beat each other up. They knocked down a sculpture, broke a table, and ruined the dress of Annika's mother. Aegon's family paid for all the damages, but since then, they don't take him to any social events.”

Willa looks like she's turned pale. “It's... Wow.”

“Annika and Aegon have hated each other since then. I mean, they always had a strange relationship, but it got worse after that, rightfully so. They keep the peace for Helaena's sake more than anything, and I think after so much time, they've learned to forgive each other,” Daeron says. “I wouldn't even bother trying to understand them.”

Willa nods. “I understand. I... I would never have imagined something like that. They have a strange energy, but I never would've thought they got along badly.”

“Hey!” Annika suddenly opens the door, making everyone startle. She smiles, mischievous. “What are you talking about?”

“School,” Daeron says simply.

“Relationships,” Floris replies at the same time.

Annika frowns.

“Relationships and school,” Willa clarifies.

“Okay... I came to invite you to play. We don't have a board game for this many people, but we thought it would be fun to play something more... Dynamic.”

Daeron straightens up to sit on the bed. “Like what?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Annika says, a sly smile on her face.

[moodyvalentinestories]

Direction – Thirty-Five | Hunt x HWU MC (Danielle)

Summary: Hunt and Montmartre talk. The inevitable happens.

Words: 1200+

Notes: Sorry this is kind of short, but I really had to post this before I start hating it again... also, I just know you guys are going to hate the ever-loving shit out of me lol

❥ Previous Chapter: Thirty-Four

❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist

Thomas was not afraid of Montmartre per sé, but he would have rather been anywhere else than locked in this room with the man right now. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t you now?” Montmartre said, glancing at the suitcase Thomas had almost finished packing. He hadn’t brought a lot to begin with, and he’d only unpacked the things that needed to be protected from wrinkles. “Then why does it look like you’re leaving? You’ve still got scenes to shoot before you return to America.”

Thomas crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You know very well why I am leaving. Your deal is essentially void, and there is nothing keeping me here anymore.”

“Not even your little pet?” Montmartre asked, the smile on his lips vicious. “She can’t just walk off like that. She can try, but there’s a hefty sum to pay if she breaks her contract.”

Thomas huffed. For one, he hated that Viktor called her that, but what he hated even more was that he was trying to use it against him. Still, he also knew that Danielle wouldn’t be paying Montmartre a dime. She had a way out and, either way, Thomas truly didn’t think this film would ever be made. Not by Montmartre, in any case. It was rather unlikely he would find another director after this mess – after the world heard that Thomas Hunt had walked off the project, even if his name likely carried less weight after this scandal– unless he could get Phelps back. But Phelps, too, had an ego, and Thomas doubted that he would return after being fired, no matter how indebted he may have been to Viktor. Technically, Thomas held all the cards here, he realised.

However, he was not going to let Montmartre know that he knew this just yet. Instead, he opted for the exact response people probably expected from him. “Oh, please. She got herself into this, and I couldn’t care less about how this ends for her. That kiss means nothing if it destroys my career and reputation.”

“So, what, you’re just leaving her here?” Viktor asked, an eyebrow raised. “Or is she in the other room, packing her things just like you, knowing exactly how much what you’re trying to tell me isn’t true?”

Thomas huffed. “Listen, you and I both know that you can’t make me stay here. So just say what you want to say and get out.” He turned away from Viktor and resumed packing his suitcase. “Or don’t. Frankly, I do not care. I will leave with or without listening to your villain’s monologue.”

“Don’t you want to know something, too? There must be a question burning at the tip of your tongue,” Viktor said, sounding very much like the villain Thomas had accused him of being. Unfortunately, he was also right, but by the sound of it, Thomas figured, he would answer the question whether he asked it or not. “Why, oh why, would I release anything I had on you two before you complete your end of the bargain? Why wouldn’t I wait just a little longer? I wonder…”

Thomas let out an exasperated sigh. “Are we almost done here? I don’t want to miss my flight.”

“Really, releasing that video didn’t do me any favours, either. I’m down a director and in quite the pickle. I wonder who had the most to gain from this…” Viktor mused.

He was right again. It didn’t make sense for him to release any of this, but who could he possibly be talking about? No one could want this. No one he knew, anyway. Just then, a terrifying thought entered his mind. What if Danielle had listened to the advice of her team? What if she’d simply got closer to him only to get solid proof instead of the somewhat vague images she had?

But Thomas refused to entertain the thought any further. Danielle was many things, but an evil mastermind? A few weeks, or even days, ago, he could have believed it. But not anymore. She was a good actress, but even she couldn’t have fooled him like that.

“Did you get it yet or do I need to spell it out for you?” Viktor asked.

Thomas closed his suitcase and turned back to him. “It doesn’t matter who did this. Our agreement is done, and I am leaving. Now, if you would please get out of my way.”

Danielle was surprised to find Thomas’ door locked. She thought maybe he’d wanted some time to himself, and she was just about to leave when she heard him speak. “Oh, please.”

So he wasn’t alone. Or he was making a phone call that he didn’t want anyone to interrupt. Either way, Danielle was curious, and so she put her ear to the door. She wished she hadn’t.

“I couldn’t care less about how this ends for her. That kiss means nothing if it destroys my career and reputation.”

Danielle flinched and pulled back from the door. It was as if something had stung her. No, that wasn’t quite right. This didn’t feel like an insect’s small stinger piercing her skin. This felt like a dagger right through her heart. Why would he say this?

Her first instinct was not to believe it. He was lying, he had to be. He couldn’t have possibly been so sweet and caring and affectionate before, just to turn around and say something like this. But the truth of the matter was, Danielle could believe he meant it. Of course, Thomas Hunt couldn’t ever love someone who had destroyed his career. That was, after all, his first love.

And so she did what she did best – she ran. She was glad to have taken her suitcase with her when she went to see Hunt because that meant she could get the hell out of there right now. She ran out of the cabin and to the car parked out front. She didn’t bother putting her things in the trunk and rather pulled her suitcase on the seat next to hers, then told the driver to take her to the airport.

“Just you? Wasn’t I supposed to wait for the others?”

“Change of plans,” she said, trying her best to keep the tears from falling. “It’s just me right now.”

The driver nodded, and they were off. It wasn’t until she was on the plane all by herself that she finally let go. The tears kept coming, then, as she wondered if she should have stayed and waited for an explanation. She never found out if someone else had been in there with Hunt or if he’d said it to someone on the phone, but she realised it didn’t matter.

Hunt had told her he didn’t want to deny it all anymore, so why would he? With everyone having seen their kiss now, there was no use doing so, anyhow. Unless, of course, that was how he really felt. Still, Danielle wanted to believe these words had been a lie, anyway.

He’d sounded so genuine when the two of them had spoken earlier... but he had fooled her. She had fallen head over heels for this goddamn man, making her blind to his deceptions. Fucking Hunt.

Tags (reminder to let me know if you want to be taken off this list): @trappedinfanfiction @oneemofungirl @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @silversparrow1112 @alj4890 @lilyoffandoms

[daily-cookie-masterson]

The Argument - A YDKJ x Vs. Void Crossover Fanfiction

Notes: I’ve been thinking about how A.C. Void and Cookie would be friends… And so, I decided to write a fanfiction of them arguing about something stupid. I need a break from drawing but I still need to update this silly little account, so here we are!

This is simply a funny fanfiction I wrote out of boredom, so don’t take it too seriously please!! Thank you and hopefully you enjoy this fic :]

Tags: You Don’t Know Jack, Vs. Void, AC Void, Cookie Masterson, Crossover Fic, Cookie and Void are friends (i guess), Cookie uses Any/All pronouns, This fic is not meant to be taken seriously, Arguing, The ‘Is a Hot Dog a Sandwich?’ Debate, Author Has Some Regrets, Cursing

It was a normal day in Chicago.

It was a slow day at You Don’t Know Jack Studios, so everybody was pretty much relaxing and enjoying themselves. The host of You Don’t Know Jack, Cookie, was simply scrolling through his phone in his office, while his friend Void (If you could even call him that…) was sitting next to him, thinking deeply about something.

It was… Surprisingly peaceful. The two weren’t really talking to each other at the moment, just doing their own thing. In fact, the only audible sound was the air conditioner going off in Cookie’s office.

Well, that was until Void finally decided to break the silence.

“Y’know what, Cookie? I think I can finally say this without questioning it,” Void said in a confident tone.

Cookie didn’t stop scrolling through her phone, but she did look at Void when he spoke.

“Hmm? What are you talking about?” Cookie questioned.

“I’m just gonna hurry up and say it—I think that a hotdog should qualify as a sandwich.”

Cookie’s head immediately shot up at this comment, making them face Void directly.

“W-What??” Cookie sputtered.

He couldn’t process what Void just said. It was illogical! It was insane! It was unbelievably stupid! Cookie began to feel that his head started hurting trying to even remotely understand why Void said that.

“I said what I said. A hotdog should qualify as a sandwich.” Void continued.

“No, you see— A hotdog is a fucking hotdog. Not a sandwich, Void.” Cookie rebutted in a condescending tone.

“Okay, but by definition, isn’t a sandwich a food that has two slices of bread and ingredients in between?”

“Well, yeah but—”

“See that? You just agreed with me. A hot dog is a sandwich, is it not?”

“No, before you interrupted me, I was going to say that sandwiches have multiple components in them. A hotdog has only the fucking hotdog—”

“Don’t hotdogs have toppings on them sometimes?” Void questioned Cookie.

Cookie had to pause for a second before replying.

“W-Where are you going with this—“

“Hotdogs have toppings on them. Ketchup, mustard, relish, cheese, chili… So on, so forth. And guess what? Sandwiches have toppings, too,” Void smugly stated to Cookie.

Cookie was practically flabbergasted.

Did someone just actually prove Cookie wrong? It was totally absurd. Cookie was always right. Well, at least that's what she thinks.

It wasn’t normal for Cookie to be proved wrong… It was so confusing that it almost physically hurt her. Well, that was until she thought of something…

“B-But, aren’t sandwiches supposed to be vertical??” Cookie desperately countered.

Void just gave Cookie a doubting look as a response. But after doing that, Void then started to think about it for a second.

“Okay… But, with that logic, subs aren’t sandwiches either, aren’t they?” Void smugly stated to Cookie. “I bet you would hate having to admit that, wouldn’t you?”

Cookie just sighed heavily at Void’s smugness.

“Y’know what— Fine. I’ll admit it— Not all sandwiches are vertical. I guess… But, I will say this— Have you ever even seen a sandwich store sell hot dogs before, Void?” Cookie confidently stated.

“Now that I think about it, no, I haven’t—”

“So hot dogs aren’t sandwiches!” Cookie insisted.

Void just scoffed at Cookie’s desperate attempts at proving him wrong.

“No Cookie, sandwich stores don’t refuse to sell hot dogs because hot dogs aren’t sandwiches— Sandwich stores refuse to sell hot dogs because they’re just a bunch of cowards.”

Cookie just looked at Void with a look of pure annoyance. They then pinched their eyebrows together out of frustration.

“Goddamnit, Void… Okay, how about this— A sandwich has two pieces of bread. A hotdog has a bun. One. Singular. Bun.” Cookie exhaustedly countered. “And by the way— I don’t wanna hear you say ‘With that logic, a burger isn’t a sandwich’ because a burger has two pieces of bread.”

Void’s eyes widened out of surprise. He then turned around away from Cookie to try and hide his very visible anger. His ego had just been terribly damaged and needed time to recover.

“Stupid freaking gameshow host… Thinking that he’s better than me…” Void angrily muttered under his breath.

Cookie was actually surprised to see Void like this. Usually, Void would just brush things off when someone hurt his feelings, but seeing Void getting frustrated over a petty argument was… interesting to say the least.

“What’s the matter, Void? Can’t handle being wrong, can you?” Cookie snarked.

“Shut up.” Void suddenly fumed. “A hot dog is still a sandwich, by the way.”

Cookie just chuckled at Void’s ridiculous comment. “Yeah yeah, sure it is…”

[yournightowl]

Your Nightowl #027

i’ve noticed that the discussion around HK has splintered into three distinct groups.

The first group is the Detectives ಠ_ರೃ- the true crimers, the inquisitive types, the ones looking for a good mystery above all else, even to the point that they’ll ignore the plain answer just to keep the thread spinning a little while longer. It should go without saying that this group is the biggest and the easiest to empathize with. You might need to learn to excuse a little bit of insensitivity here or there, but you can hold real conversations with them and get real responses. i do, however, think that there’s more bleedover between them and the next group than most people would like to admit.

Said group (the loudest group) would be the Theorists. The ones convinced that all of HK’s targets were actually androids, or the incognito operators of cell corporations, or just plain old lizard people. ヽ(͡◕ ͜ʖ ͡◕)ﾉ Sure. Why not?

 For a big portion of them, this is all just trolling. That’s obnoxious, but whatever- Everyone’s done it, here or there. If you get recognized, you were just being ironic. If you get cornered, it's their fault for taking you seriously. ¯\_( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯ We all know the drill by this point.

Well maybe we don’t all know the drill. Every other day I see people in the media monologuing about how taken aback they are by the swell of conspiracy theories surrounding HK- Like they expected us to have left such childish things behind in the 20th century.

We didn’t. From what i’ve seen with my own eyes, out there in the real world, and back here on the oldnet, it’s only gotten worse. We’re still children.

Which isn’t necessarily a grim thought. I mean, if this is what humanity looks like when we’re fully formed, crystallized, and paying our taxes without our parent’s help? We’re screwed.

One last thing about the conspiracy theorists- their the only ones making money off of this tragedy. It’s not much, of course- Just whatever small profit they can eke out by spending all day on socials, parroting each other's talking points in an accelerating feedback loop that spirals directly to their store page, where you can buy coffee mugs that show how you think the state has secret death camps.

But its still dirty money if you ask me.

Which brings me to the last group: the nutjobs. ( °□°) ︵ ┻━┻

Maybe that’s too harsh. The Crazies?

Freaks is too sharp on the tongue.

But this is the written word, so maybe it’s forgivable.

Whatever you want to call them, they all sound similar.

“Dear hk, please unalive my boss”

“/srs hk should merc my stepdad”

“I want hk to shoot me before i start my next shift and im not even joking at this point”

Obviously, most of these are just people venting, which will always be ugly to see, and hard to read. It’s still in poor taste, but it’s definitely better for them to type it out into the void than to walk around with thoughts like that festering in the back of their mind. “ψ (｀∇´) ψ

But they aren’t all just people venting. Some amount of them aren’t being ironic. Some amount of them like what HK’s doing. They like seeing wrenches thrown in the works, even if the wrenches happen to be innocent people with bullets where their aorta’s used to be. And while this third group is definitely the smallest, it’s also the most naturally private.

I’m not worried that they’re some kind of silent majority or anything, it’s just

They’re silent.

So there could be a shitload of them out there, and even they wouldn’t know it. There could be thousands of HK fanboys out there waiting for a leader to step forward.

Step forward and funnel their frustration into coffee mugs, ʘ‿ʘ hopefully.

Cause otherwise, they might get tired of waiting for a leader.

And they just might get started without one.

To avoid ending on a grim note again, i’d like to instead insert here, in no particular order, my favorite theories about HK is, taken from the most disliked posts on the biggest conspiracy forum i could find.

-hk is an AI possessing random individuals through their Mods

-hk is an assassin working for the Elites to eliminate people found to have high genetic predisposition to resisting authority figures

-hk is a team of State Operatives culling the illegitimate children of powerful CEOs in order to keep them in check (how would this work?)

-hk is an angel of death but not like a grim reaper the beautiful kind biblically accurate

-hk is my cleaning guy who is secretly a robot (that was the entire thread)

International blogger of mystery,

Your nightowl

[pidge-can-read]

(IvanTill) Sure That You're the Northern Star- 3

AO3 Link

<- Previous Next->

The group decided to walk to a take-out place near the shop. Hyuna sent in their order as they walked. When they arrived they grabbed it and headed down to the river side. There was a “park” the city had built around a loading dock that consisted of several picnic tables and a swing set. 

Hyuna sat down next to her brother while the two of them argued the details of a shared childhood memory, leaving Till and Ivan to sit together. Ivan slid himself much closer to Till than the wide bench allowed. Till tried his best to just focus on his sandwich. He ignored Ivan’s attempts at conversation until finally Hyuna and Hyun Woo pulled Ivan in with band talk. 

Till perked up when he heard Hyun Woo and Ivan talking about how the band had met. 

“Ivan, Mizi, and Sua already knew each other from college.” 

Ivan shrugged and grinned as Till’s attention turned to him again, “Mizi, Sua and I were in the same major.” 

“What major?” Till asked, not bothering to hide his interest. 

“Business.” Ivan responded, dryly. Hyuna and Till stared at Ivan, mouths agape. 

“That’s how I felt too,” Hyun Woo said, laughing, “Imagine my surprise when this trio of business majors showed up at the bar I’m working at playing emo music.” 

Till raised a brow. He wouldn’t have described their music style as music. Hyuno Woo recognised his confusion adding, “It’s different now! I mean Sua doesn’t even take the stage anymore.” 

“Thank God for that.” Ivan muttered. Hyun Woo reached across the table to give him a playful shove.

“That’s your sister you’re talking about!” The words sounded chiding but Hyun Woo’s expression gave away that he agreed with Ivan. 

“Was she really that bad?” Hyuna asked as Till asked, 

“Sua is your sister?” 

Hyun Woo and Ivan nodded at Hyuna. Then Ivan turned to Till and grinned. 

“Adopted sister.” 

Till gave Ivan a disapproving look, “Yeah, so she’s your sister.” 

Ivan just smiled more, bearing his singular fang at Till, “You misunderstand! I’m not saying adopted siblings are less, she was adopted when we were both seventeen so we didn’t grow up together, at all. Calling her my sister feels strange. Honestly Mizi feels more like my sister.” 

Till perked up at the mention of Mizi, a reaction Ivan noted with a subtle frown. 

“I’ve known Mizi since middle school. We studied together and had…” Ivan’s eyes raked up and down Till’s frame with a hunger behind them Till decided to ignore, “...some other things in common, so we bonded.” 

“Mizi says he was worse before they became friends,” Hyun Woo added. 

“Worse how?” Hyuna asked with clear surprise that there had existed an even worse version of Ivan. Ivan rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at Hyuna’s teasing. 

“Mizi said he seemed soulless,” Hyun Woo’s response was more serious than anyone, including himself, was expecting. Even Ivan looked caught off guard. 

Till and Hyuna eyed Ivan apprehensively. Ivan just shrugged and plastered that cocky smirk back on his face. Still, Till could see a ripple in those void dark eyes. It was an echo of the feeling always chasing Till. Till forced himself to look away.    

“You know…” Ivan said, clearly trying to move the conversation away from himself, “We’re looking for an artist to do the cover for our next album. I think you’d be perfect for it.” 

Till looked up to see Ivan looking at him expectantly then to Hyun Woo who seemed more apprehensive. 

“I don’t think that’s an offer you can make without running it past-” Hyun Woo flinched and glared at Ivan before falling silent. 

“She’s heard about his talent from Hyuna just as much as the rest of us have. I’m sure she’d love the opportunity to work with an artist from our hometown.” 

Hyuna grinned at Till with a clear ‘you owe me one’ expression on her face. Hyun Woo continued scowling down at his meal. 

Till mentally weighed getting the opportunity to spend more time around Mizi(possibly even being paid to art with her) against being forced to spend more time with Ivan who would probably be looking at Till Like That the whole time. Ultimately, Mizi won. At the end of the day, it was an opportunity to get more inspiration for his paintings and he couldn’t afford to fizzle out this close to the exhibition. 

“I’ll do it.” The grin on Ivan’s face sent shivers down Till’s spine and he wondered if he’d made the wrong decision. 

Bonus Ivan POV(on the phone with Sua directly after the meal) 

“I’m literally begging you. I’ll pay for a hotel room for you and Mizi for a whole weekend if you do this for me.” Ivan’s voice bordered on whiny in the quiet car ride home. Hyun Woo glanced at him judgmentally but Ivan just waved him away. 

“I’ll check him out but if he’s shit it’s a no go. AND you STILL have to do the hotel thing.” 

Ivan smiled dreamily, “I think he’ll exceed even your standards.”

[granulesofsand]

Ditzy

I’m noticing I’m only ever out when we consume media about violent obsession. I’m self-centered, that much is true, but it seems to me as though some our less transient introjects are our brains attempts to deal with my… bad ‘behavior’ isn’t the right word. I’ve been very good in that regard. My me. The personality disorder is very condensed with me.

Moving on.

As a child, I was a background manager for what our presentation should look like. Adults were picking up on our… how to say this without conveying with it just how emo I am… fuck it. Darkness. Apathy chased off only by extremes of inappropriate expression. They had us down as depressed over sadistic, but it was death itself that had us doubled over laughing. Depth of experience followed by clawing boredom. So I made a change.

How everyone present remembers this time period varies. I have no phobia of what I am, but I am prone to dismiss other’s experiences. The change was to become ditzy. I’ve seen them phrase it as hiding the suicidality or gearing towards socialization, but that was the effect. Ditzy.

Given we’re opening up about our violent and manipulative tendencies, I want to add to that. Talking about it in the way we sometimes do is also manipulative. I’m aware of that, and I’m not the only one. Not all of us are. We hide behind the ditziness to appear incompetent, as though by admitting to these thoughts (never actions taken, only actions we could take) in the way we do, we are proving we could not follow through.

People don’t take us seriously when we talk about the could haves. They watch us fess up and assume we always have and always will, or that we don’t have it in us to go further.

That’s my good behavior, by the way. I would love to go further. I get the spray bottle a little too often as it stands. But I don’t and won’t, not for my own enrichment.

Our therapist is like that, I think. I come back to that. They believe a lot of what we give them, but not that we have the capacity to be dangerous. No more than anybody on the street, at least. I get stuck in old patterns, meaning to divulge more when it’s my turn in the chair, yet never taking off the mask. I puppet some old presentations to tell them, which has about the same effect as writing it down for one of the others to read off. Not enough. I can type it now, sometimes write it, but not speak it.

I believe our past activities would be safe with them. I want to be more present in recovery besides watching, if I won’t get normal. It was adaptive then, and I never realized how much it stuck. Mostly I did it to myself, but my deeply held beliefs were coerced. I feel dirty admitting that, being out of control. It’s a fine line between blaming all of me on them and taking credit for everything myself. If it’s inconvenient, they did it. Why bother untangling it beyond that.

I can’t stay grounded for anything other than thought and the time I’m communicating those thoughts. Point was, the manipulation is layered and I know because I was responsible. Nice shouting into the void at you.

[sanguinescorpios]

stream sniper

dream x f!reader

summary | dream is on an important stream and too busy to give you attention. unfortunately for him, you’re feeling needy.

warnings | smut, thigh riding, voyeurism, dom!dream x sub!reader, edging, cockwarming, orgasm denial if you squint, this is filthy

word count | 2.8k

it started out innocent. you had been missing your boyfriend; between your school work and his editing, you rarely got to spend time together despite living in the same house.

you admit, you were a needy partner. you liked to be attached to clay’s hip at any chance you got, and he just let you. during recordings, during editing, even during streams; you were always there. it didn’t matter if he couldn’t really pay attention to you or if you had to sit on the couch behind his set up, you just enjoyed being in his presence.

this one, however, was slightly different than the average stream. you could count on one hand the amount of times clay had refused to let you be present for a stream and every time he had, it was a trainwreckstv stream.

it was fine, you always said, you understood. of course he wouldn’t want you there for a stream like that. he had to focus a lot harder on how and what he said on train’s podcast because the demographic and content was so drastically different from his own, and you would only distract him. it wasn’t personal. still, you couldn’t help but feel bitter about it. you missed him; final exams week had just ended and the idea of spending worry-free quality time with him was what got you through it. so you did what your totally logical brain told you to do: walk in anyways.

the door creaked as you opened it and you cringed internally. your sock-clad feet tread lightly as you moved forward into the room, praying your boyfriend wouldn’t notice your presence.

he did.

being a faceless creator, he didn’t even own a camera to accidentally have on, so you were safe on that front. the look on his face, however, told you that you were not so safe after all.

“i thought we agreed on you not being here for this stream?” he asked after tapping the mute keybind on his keyboard. he spun around in his chair with an abrupt kick from his heel, trying and failing to veil his annoyance.

“we did...but i missed you.”

he rolled his eyes, still ticked off but not so much that he was willing to turn you away. he missed you as well, he couldn’t deny it. not having you in his arms for so many hours was excruciating, though he tried not to think so dramatically. clay waved you over to him, the corners of his lips curling up at your attire.

“is that my shirt?” he asked, and you nodded. placing his large hands firmly on your hips, clay kept you close to him while he took a closer look at the oversized red t-shirt. it hung loosely on you, two sizes too big and ending mid-way down your thighs. clay couldn’t help but notice your lack of pants, too.

swooping his head down, he pressed a kiss to your exposed thigh. you brought your hands up to your face, heating up by the second, and giggled.

“no pants, hm?”

you gave him another non-verbal response, bashfully shaking your head while looking down at him through your fingers. he tsked you before pressing another kiss against your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“naughty girl,” he remarked after a few more kisses.

“aren’t you on a stream right now?”

clay glanced behind himself at his monitor, watching as the grown men on the screen argued with each other over some nonsensical issue. returning his gaze to you, he shrugged.

“yeah, but it was getting pretty boring.”

without a warning, clay clumsily pulled you into his lap and spun the two of you back around in his chair. after giving you one more kiss, he placed his headphones back on his head and returned to the conversation on his computer.

“yo, dream, you’ve been pretty quiet, man,” train noted, just in time.

“yeah my cat was acting weird, so i was gone for a minute.” clay placed a hand on your thigh and squeezed, a stupid grin on his face. this was gonna be one hell of a night.

***

you hated to say it, but you regretted crashing the stream. the conversation was painfully boring and dragging on, but there was no way you could leave now with the hold clay had on you. one hand lay around your middle and the other was firmly gripping your thigh. with his calloused fingers rubbing circles into the crease between your leg and your torso and his confident voice rumbling in your ear, you weren’t sure if you’d make it to the end of the stream. maybe he was teasing you, or maybe you were just needy. either way, you were gonna need a little more attention than this.

you stretched your neck in order to meet clay’s gaze, hoping he’d see the desperation in your eyes. instead, he gave you a soft smile and a kiss on the nose before turning back to the screen. he expected you to turn back as well so when you didn’t, he took notice.

reaching to mute himself, he gave you a concerned look.

“you alright, baby?” he asked and you shook your head no, “what’s up?”

“need you,” you admitted, barely concealing the whine that threatened to escape your throat.

clay’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, making it feel like the air had just been sucked out of the room. he was thinking, debating what to do next as he bounced you on his leg. the pace was punishingly slow and you grit your teeth to hold yourself together. 

“i’m a little busy, pretty girl,” he began as you let out a whine, “you’ll have to take care of yourself for now.”

you weren’t sure what that meant until you followed his gaze down. oh. oh. he wants you to...use him. okay. you raised yourself off his lap and he gave you a confused look, but it disappeared as soon as he saw you slipping out of your panties and was replaced by a smug smile. 

climbing back onto his leg, facing him this time, you let out a puff of air. fuck, he felt good. your already dripping center pressed against clay’s jean-clad thigh, the rough fabric intensifying any amount of friction you could manage. you wanted to move so badly, but clay’s tight hold on your hips kept you stationary. you looked up at him with big eyes, silently asked for permission. finally, he nodded.

you immediately began rutting your hips against his thigh, resting your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself. fuck, you thought as you felt the sturdiness of him underneath you, his shoulders. small mewls and whimpers escaped you as you increased your pace, chasing a high that you weren’t sure you could reach on your own.

train had clay talking about his sudden success, which was a fan-favorite topic as everyone either hated or loved him for it. the only catch was that, being the nature of train’s podcast, the focus was less on the money and more on the, well, you know.

“think about it, dream. there are people out there fucking themselves to the sound-to the thought of you. isn’t that crazy?” you heard train ask, though it was muffled by clay’s headset. 

clay looked down at his lap, on which you were grinding your bare clit like a bitch in heat, and then back up to his monitor.

“not really.”

you nearly moaned at his words, but hid it by sucking a bruise into clay’s neck. clay hissed at the feeling and tried to push you off, but you were unrelenting. you swirled your tongue around the section of his skin to soothe the pain. pulling back to admire your work, you were met with a now aggravated clay.

“y-yeah i’m alright man,” he started, glaring down at you, “my cat just scratched me.”

you rolled your eyes. great excuse, asshole.

you began to lean back down towards his already bruising neck, but were instead met with a strong hand gripping your jaw, turning you to face your now dually frustrated boyfriend. something had shifted, the air felt thicker and clay felt sharper, all softness void from his demeanor. the look in his eyes was made of steel and flickering between your own gaze and your mouth, brows furrowed and tongue dipping between his lips to swipe across them. the little voice in your head was screaming “danger”, but danger didn’t look so bad in that moment. danger looked good, danger looked worth the risk. danger looked like getting the best fuck of your life. 

ignited by the heat building in your core and the near-paralyzing look clay was giving you, you continued your previous actions. rutting your hips against clay’s thigh with fervor, you smiled proudly at him. the roughness of his jeans sent shivers through your body, you had to be soaking him and you were only getting wetter by the second.

your chin raised, a smug smile plastered to your features, and that challenging glint in your eye - you were such a fucking brat and clay lived to put you in your place. his hold on your jaw tightened before sliding down to rest on your throat, squeezing until your eyelids began to flutter and your thrusts grew sloppier. the knot in his stomach twisted tighter at the sight. fuck, clay thought, you were something else. something that needed to be taught a lesson.

clay muted again, taking advantage of the ad break to pull down his sweatpants and pull out his cock. he pumped it a few times, precum leaking from the tip and sliding down his length. your stomach flipped at the sight, never not taken back by his size. clay grabbed you by your hips and spun you around so that you were facing his pc, facing everyone on the call that you had nearly forgotten he was still on. then, he began to tease his tip at your entrance. 

“this what you wanted, pretty girl? wanted me to treat you like a slut? wanted me to fuck you with everyone on the call?”

you moaned at the feeling of him circling the place you needed him most. the heat was still heavy on you from your previous actions and your body was no less frenzied than before, you wanted your release more than anything. knowing that all of those people were there didn’t help your crazed state. you felt dirty and you liked it.

“sit.”

you lifted yourself over him without a second thought, slick and sensitive from the buildup of your long-awaited orgasm. a moan slipped past your lips at the stretch, feeling every inch of him against your walls as he bottomed out. instinctively, you let your head fall against clay’s shoulder, overwhelmed by how full you felt. god, he felt so good. when you went to move, clay’s strong hands gripped your hips and held you in place.

you whimpered against his neck, trying and failing to get some sort of friction going. when that didn’t work, you opted to clench around him, but clay simply tsk-ed you.

“you’ve been naughty, baby,” he started, “now you’ll sit here like a good girl and keep me warm until the stream’s over.”

what? you thought to yourself, the panic setting in. he can’t be serious!

“no, no, no, no, i’ll be good!” you begged. you’d been practically edging yourself for what felt like hours now, you needed him to let you release.

“i know you will, baby. now sit still for daddy, okay?”

time passed immeasurably slow. your mind was racing with thoughts, trying to focus on anything but clay’s cock throbbing inside of you. you tried your hardest not to squeeze him too often, despite how much relief it brought you. clay was feeling the heat too, your warm, velvety walls gripped him impossibly tight and he was beginning to regret choosing this punishment. you needed the lesson, but god was he suffering for it.

when the stream finally came to an end, the first thing clay did was thrust up into you. you yelped, gripping his arm in surprise at the sudden movement. he started up a steady pace, pounding up into you and rubbing harshly at your clit. the feeling was intense, especially after how long you’d been teased and forced to wait, and you found yourself moaning wildly because of it, unable to control your noises as he spun you around in his lap once again.

“had to-make me-punish you-during a stream, huh?” he taunted between harsh thrusts, grabbing you by your hair and forcing you to look at him. “had to choose today to be a little slut?”

you let out a near-pornographic noise, your eyes rolling back into your head as he hit your most sensitive spot.

“i asked you a question.”

“i’m sorry, daddy. i - ah! - i won’t do it again!” you wailed, head falling back as you felt your release fastly approaching.

clay grunted and forced you to look at him again, pushing his thumb into your mouth and letting you drool around it.

“look at me when you fucking speak,” he ordered.

he picked up the pace in frustration, wanting you to apologize appropriately. you distracted him, you should know how much he hates that. you should also know how much he demands your eye contact, getting fucked or not.

you coerce your eyes open and look at him, not concerned about how absolutely wrecked you must look right now. mascara running down your cheeks with tears from over and under stimulation, eyeliner smudged around your blown out eyes, lips red and sore from kissing on his neck, you were a mess. a hot one, if you asked clay.

“i’m sorry, daddy. i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” you continued to babble around his finger as his thrusts somehow grew harder and harder, the pace excruciatingly pleasurable. you were going to cum, you knew that much, but you needed permission.

“gonna cum, daddy!” you warned, feeling the burning knot in the pit of your stomach begging to unravel.

“cum for me, baby. make daddy proud.”

and make daddy proud you did, cumming hard around clay’s cock and feeling yourself spray his stomach with your juices. did you just? oh my god, you did. the embarrassment only made you feel hotter as clay continued to fuck your hole past your orgasm. you whined from the overstimulation, but he couldn’t have cared less.

clay’s moans went from low grunts to higher, breathy gasps, the closer he got the lighter his noises became. his brows were furrowed tightly and his eyes were blown out, the darkest shade of green you think you’d ever seen. the muscles in his arm pulsed as he gripped your waist tighter, completely using you as his own personal fuck toy. he was almost there, you could feel it in the way he gave his all but couldn’t keep up the organized pace he had before. you needed him to cum, not just because you were close to being worked up all over again from the stimulation, but because you wanted to make him feel good. in that moment, making him cum felt like your life purpose, your only purpose. you didn’t just want him to cum, you needed it.

“please give me your cum daddy, wanna feel it inside me,” you begged, taking matters into your own hands, “need you to make me yours.”

at that, clay groaned out a loud string of profanities and came inside of you. he painted your insides, you could feel him everywhere. you sighed at the feeling, warm and full and satisfied. clay let his head fall into the crook of your neck as he breathed through his cool down, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder and mumbling praises and ‘i love you’s’. it took a moment for either of you to actually speak, just relishing in the moment and enjoying each others company.

“you gonna move anytime soon, bud?” you finally asked with a giggle. clay simply shook his head and buried it farther into your neck, humming out a ‘no’.

“wanna make sure it stays in for a while.”

you giggled again at his confession, pressing a kiss to the side of his head and ruffling his hair.

“okay baby,” you paused and pouted, “i’m sorry for interrupting your stream.”

clay sat back and gave you a soft smile, pressing his finger to your lips and turning your frown upside down, literally. he shook his head and gave you a sweet kiss, pressing his own lips tenderly to yours.

“don’t apologize, it was worth it.” a cheeky smile spread across his face and you rolled your eyes, the endearing air around you severed by your boyfriend’s childishness. you loved it, though you’d never tell him.

“you think anyone was suspicious of us?” you inquired, hoping to god no one had picked up on your quiet moans while the stream was still going.

“nah,’ clay lied.

[corrodedthorn]

next to you

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader genre: angst, hurt/comfort words: 2,1k warnings: depression, she/her pronouns for reader, adult language, talking about murder (as a joke tho), no use of ‘y/n’, reader really wants to disappear, mentions of insecurities and anxiety, please let me know if i missed anything summary: When life becomes too much to bear, Eddie is ready to carry the weight of the universe to see his favorite smile again.

a/n omg i’m actually really nervous rn, it’s my first attempt at writing eddie fanfiction so i hope you enjoy it! also I'm really sorry for any mistakes but english in not my first language (i'm kinda thinking about part 2 tbh)

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Usually, she associated the night with freedom. With a fresh breeze of cool air wrapping around her shoulders, cigarette smoke and whispered conversations under a starry sky. With the infinite immensity of the universe, the moon hanging high overhead, and silence undiminished by superfluous sounds. She usually loved the night.

This night, however, darkness crushed her shoulders and smothered her lungs. The gloomy sky was not endless freedom but a heavy dome that pressed claustrophobically on her throat. The September frost bit unpleasantly into her skin, and the silence only gave room for her galloping thoughts.

Failure.

This word perfectly defined her entire life. She should be used to this feeling by now, the feeling of guilt, disappointment and defeat. Time and again, she failed all expectations. The expectations of everyone around her as much as her own. She should have gotten used to it long ago, but damn it still hurt just as much as the first time.

A gentle breeze combed through the grass where she sat. She fixed her gaze on the forest painting the border of the park and for a moment she dreamed of simply disappearing. Taking off her shoes and running barefoot between trees larger than her life.

Disappear.

What a beautiful word. The beautiful prospect of soothing solitude and the absence of a barrage of responsibilities. Sacred peace and quiet. This is what she dreamed of most every time the world proved too cruel for her. However, just because she dreamed of it didn't mean it was what she needed. She knew it perfectly well and he knew it too.

That's why it was his footsteps that snapped her out of the cosmic void that filled her eyes and soul. As soon as he saw her silhouette sitting alone on the ground among the stillness of the night, her hand clutching a cigarette resting on her bent knees and her empty eyes gazing into nothingness, he felt a slight stab in his heart.

His hands were buried in the large pockets of a leather jacket to hide their trembling at least a little bit. However, that didn't stop him from picking at his cuticles. His heavy footsteps hummed among the grass, but did not draw her attention even for a second. Without taking her eyes off the forest, she took another drag on her cigarette.

Eddie sighed quietly and took a closer look at her hunched figure. Oh how his heart sank at the mere sight. Exhaustion and apathy emanated from her so intensely that their coldness made him tremble. Lately she seemed colder than the chilling breeze of the autumn night that surrounded them. And Eddie didn't like it. Not one bit.

With a calm step, gently, as if trying not to frighten a wild animal, he approached her and sat down heavily on the grass right next to her. Another sigh escaped from between his lips.

"You do realize that you're the perfect target for a serial killer now, right?" Oh how desperately he tried to salvage the moment with a bit of humor. There was a smoldering hope in his heart for her gentle laughter and a slight shake of her head in disapproval. But all he got in response was another puff of smoke. After a few unmercifully long seconds, though, she decided to break the heavy silence.

"That would be a favor at this point." She laughed, but this only furrowed Eddie's brow. His head snapped toward her, and a trembling whisper of her name tore from his throat. Her bitter giggle left an equally bitter aftertaste in his mouth, as if he had just taken a sip of poison. The wind blew harder, combing through their hair.

"Don't say stuff like that." His voice quivered more than the grass around their bodies and his hands still tucked in the pockets. He was sure that at this point at least one of his cuticles was bleeding. "Please don't ever say stuff like that ever again."

"It's just a joke." She rolled her eyes, putting out her cigarette against the ground.

"I know it's not." His intense gaze fixed on her face, as if she was about to disappear and dissolve into the night. His heart pounded against his chest. He pulled his sweaty palms out of the pockets and rubbed them against the material of the black jeans he was wearing.

The hum of the forest became the loudest sound around them. But instead of soothing his mind, it seemed to seep through his skin and sink its sharp claws into his insides. Tauntingly reminding him of his own helplessness.

It was agonizing how badly he didn't know how to help her. How to protect her from the hurricane in her thoughts, which wreaked havoc and mercilessly ripped hope from her soul. Which skinned her alive and left her vulnerable to the cruelty of the world. Who tormented her unbelievably kind heart and gentle spirit. Eddie would have given anything to be able to help her carry this burden, but he couldn't. He didn't know how.

All he could do was to patiently stand by her side and at all costs not let her feel the loneliness and isolation. Show her that she would always have support in him. And pray that it would be enough.

Despite her assurances that his mere presence helps her, Eddie was afraid. Eddie was terrified as such nocturnal escapes began to become a habit. More and more often during the day she would lock herself in her room and in her thoughts, only to then disappear into the stillness of the night and return home moments after sunrise. Somewhere in the back of his mind always remained the fear that one day the rays of the morning sun might begin to flow into her bedroom, but she would not be there. That one night Eddie would not find her, and she would slip through his fingers like loose sand. That was what he feared most.

He wouldn't survive losing her, that was certain. Although lately it seemed as if he had already lost her long ago. Her cheerful laughter filling the room with warmth became just a fond memory warming only his heart. Their playful banters, their late-night rides, shouting out the lyrics of their favorite songs and quiet breakfasts dusted with cinnamon and whispered confessions. All that's left of it was cinnamon in a packet on the counter, awaiting her next visit almost as impatiently as Eddie did.

He missed her. He missed his best friend and the love of his life. He missed his soulmate, his partner in crime. She was sitting right next to him, yet she seemed miles away, lost somewhere in a world bigger than she could handle. And Eddie hated it.

He hated how only in the solitude of the night did she allow herself to feel. How only then did her mask fall off to shatter on the ground like fragile glass, unleashing pent-up emotions with it. He hated the smile forcibly stretched on her face whenever someone asked how she was doing. She was perfectly capable of fooling others, but not him. Never him. He hated how she always put the needs of others above her own and never let anyone help her. She never wanted her problems to become a burden to someone. That's why she lied. She lied that it was just fatigue, that exams were coming up, that she already had plans. Always avoiding a situation where someone would witness her downfall.

But Eddie was there. Every time he didn't find her in her bedroom, he went on an anxiety-filled search to find her and help keep her afloat. He saw her pain, he saw her despair, rage and resignation. However, he never saw her tears. Just as he had never seen such an overwhelming void in her eyes as he did that night.

"You know," His voice dispersed the silence suspended between them. "Wayne has been asking lately when you'll stop by. I think he misses our sunday breakfasts. And they pay him better now, so he's working less shifts. He's noticed that you don't visit anymore."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her slight frown. With a trembling hand, her pulled out another cigarette and lit it with her favorite lighter. A black lighter with the Corroded Coffin logo, which Eddie had hand-painted for her. The sight of it brought a gentle smile to his face, and the way the corners of her mouth twitched slightly upward didn't escape his notice.

"Henderson misses you, too." He continued his monologue. He knew he wouldn't be able to get her to confide in him, but he swore to himself that he would do anything to make her feel a little less alone. So he kept talking. "At the last campaign he basically interrogated me when 'his favorite lady' would be back, and I had to firmly remind him that you are in fact my lady, not his."

Her gentle smile turned his heart upside down. He took it as a good sign.

"You know, you could drop by Hellfire sometime. You don't have to play if you don't feel like it, but you can just hang out with us. We're starting a new campaign and it's going to be a rough one."

"They already beat Vecna?" Oh how Eddie's heart thumped in his chest at the sound of her voice. Although it was still quiet and slightly hoarse, in his ears it sounded like the most beautiful song.

"Oh sweetheart, you'd have to see it! They totally smashed it!" Excitement filled Eddie to the brim. A wide smile was painted on his face, and hope shone in his eyes. He decided to ignore the fact that the campaign with Vecna had ended long ago. "Also… remember that one solo I've been practicing for weeks?"

She nodded, still avoiding eye contact. She felt Eddie's burning gaze on her, but hers was still glued to the forest.

"Well… I've mastered it! We'll play the song next Tuesday!"

That got her attention. Her head turned sharply, and eyes, wide open in amazement, finally looked at him.

"You're kidding?"

"Nope." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Oh my god, Eddie that's amazing! I knew you could do it!" Her sincere smile, oh how he missed it.

Unimaginable warmth flooded her heart. A warmth of pride but also of shame that she had missed such important events while she was drowning in her own sorrows. She cut herself off completely from everyone, trying to keep up the mask of the one with no problems, so they can always rely on her, and in the end she let everyone down anyway, because she simply wasn't around. She was a failure even in friendship.

She looked away again, and her figure hunched slightly, which immediately caught Eddie's eye.

"We all miss you. I miss you." He began in a gentle tone. She put out the forgotten cigarette, threw it somewhere in the grass, and her trembling hands began to pick at the cuticles. Eddie reflexively stopped her, grabbing one of her hands and intertwining their fingers. "And right now, I'm very, very worried about you."

"I'm okay." She whispered, as if trying to convince herself. Staring at their joined hands, she realized how much she had missed that warmth.

"No, you're not." Whispered Eddie just as quietly, and his voice faltered. With eyes misty from the tears that were pooling, he stared at her trembling figure. "You're not okay, baby."

And that was all it took for all the walls she had been building up to that point to collapse in a second. Her lips contorted in despair, and from her throat ripped out a sob so heart-wrenching that the trees around them had probably never heard such before. Tears that had been bottled up for years finally flooded her cheeks.

Without hesitation, Eddie embraced her trembling body, cradling her in his chest. It was impossible to hold back his own tears as he soothingly stroked her back and left warm kisses on top of her head.

Time slowed down and the world fell silent. There were only them. Clinging to each other' bodies with all their strength and sobbing loudly, as if begging fate for another chance.

It was an exceptionally cold night, but Eddie's soothingly warm embrace melted the frigid void in her soul, replacing it with hope for another morning dusted with cinnamon.