al-cin

[al-cin]

BABYGIRL 2024

SO I Watched the movie and let me tell you it gave me motivation to write, and I hopefully got some good stuff coming

[al-cin]

Some chains don’t break

Coriolanus snow x reader (Lyra)

The haunting echoes of explosions reverberated through the air as Lyra stumbled through the chaos of the Hunger Games arena. The once pristine landscape was now marred by destruction, a testament to the rebellion that raged against the Capitol's tyranny.

In the midst of the mayhem, Lyra spotted Coriolanus Snow, disoriented and vulnerable. Instinct kicked in, and without a second thought, she pulled him to safety, shielding him from the onslaught. As the smoke cleared, the realization of her choice settled like a heavy burden on Lyra's shoulders.

Coriolanus, his usually composed demeanor shattered, looked at Lyra with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "You saved me," he uttered, the words carrying a weight that transcended the immediate danger.

Lyra nodded, her eyes reflecting a conflict that raged within. The rebellion had taken root, and her actions had aligned her fate with the very person she once saw as an oppressor. The Capitol's chains, though physically absent, seemed to tighten around her, binding her to a new set of expectations.

As they sought refuge in the remnants of the arena, Lyra couldn't escape the realization that saving Coriolanus had given him a new level of control over her life. The rebellion had thrust her into a role she hadn't anticipated—a reluctant savior, bound to a man who symbolized the very oppression she had despised.

Days turned into nights, and the struggle within Lyra intensified. The Capitol, now a target of the rebellion's wrath, faced the consequences of its own cruelty. Coriolanus, once the architect of the Games, found himself on the other side of the power dynamic.

Lyra's internal conflict festered, manifesting in sleepless nights and distant gazes. She found solace in the shadows, wrestling with the weight of her choices. The rebellion had given her a taste of freedom, only to replace one set of chains with another.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Lyra sought refuge on the outskirts of the rebel camp. The air was heavy with the scent of burning embers, a stark reminder of the price of defiance. Coriolanus approached her, his presence a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken turmoil.

"You saved me," he repeated, his eyes searching hers for answers.

Lyra's gaze wavered, torn between the gratitude she felt for the rebellion's cause and the realization that her actions had tethered her to Coriolanus in ways she couldn't escape. "I didn't save you for you," she admitted, her voice laced with frustration. "I did it for them—for everyone suffering under the Capitol's rule."

Coriolanus studied her, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "Yet, here we are, bound by circumstance."

The words hung in the air, an acknowledgment of the tangled web fate had woven for them. Lyra, burdened by the consequences of her choices, couldn't shake off the yearning for a freedom that felt increasingly elusive.

In the quiet of the night, Lyra grappled with her conflicting emotions. The rebellion, with its promise of liberation, had become a double-edged sword. The shackles of the Capitol had been replaced by the weight of newfound responsibilities, and the realization that she longed for the freedom of anonymity gnawed at her soul.

Lyra navigated the rebel camp, her steps heavy with the weight of internal conflict. The remnants of the Hunger Games arena had become a twisted playground of memories and choices she couldn't undo. Coriolanus, ever the enigma, followed her with a silent understanding, a companion in a journey neither had anticipated.

As the rebellion's momentum intensified, Lyra found herself thrust into a role that demanded more than physical resilience. She became a symbol, a face of the uprising against the Capitol. The very rebellion that sought to dismantle the oppressive system inadvertently cast her as a reluctant hero, a position she struggled to reconcile with her own desires.

The rebel leaders, recognizing the propaganda value in her association with Coriolanus, encouraged their alliance. Lyra, however, felt the invisible chains tightening. She longed for the anonymity of the shadows, the ability to fade into obscurity without shouldering the burden of a nation's expectations.

One night, beneath a sky stained with the remnants of the rebellion's fires, Lyra confronted Coriolanus in a secluded corner of the camp. The air crackled with tension as they stood on the precipice of a conversation long overdue.

"I didn't ask for this," Lyra confessed, her voice a whisper that carried the weight of unspoken truths. "I didn't ask to become a symbol. I just wanted the Games to end."

Coriolanus, his gaze fixed on the distant flames, nodded solemnly. "We are both prisoners of circumstance," he admitted. "The rebellion sought to break free from the chains of the Capitol, but in doing so, it forged new bonds."

Lyra's frustration spilled over. "I wish I had run—faced the peacekeepers, taken my chances. At least then, I would have been free to choose my own path."

Coriolanus studied her with a gaze that betrayed a depth of understanding. "Freedom is a fickle thing," he mused. "Sometimes, the very choices that grant it also bind us in ways we never anticipated."

The conversation lingered in the air, a testament to the complexities of their shared reality. The rebellion, with its noble ideals, had inadvertently become a force that dictated Lyra's destiny. In the struggle for freedom, she found herself ensnared in a web of expectations and responsibilities.

As the rebellion prepared for its final assault on the Capitol, Lyra grappled with a decision that would shape the course of her future. The conflict within her intensified, a storm of emotions that mirrored the chaos unfolding in Panem.

The final showdown with the Capitol approached, and with it, the moment of reckoning for Lyra. Would she embrace the role thrust upon her, a symbol of defiance against oppression, or would she carve a path of her own, even if it meant facing the consequences of defying both the Capitol and the rebellion?

The night before the decisive battle, as the rebel camp buzzed with anticipation, Lyra stood at the edge of the encampment. Coriolanus approached her, the silence between them pregnant with unspoken truths.

"The choices we make define us," he said, his voice carrying the weight of shared burdens. "But remember, even in the face of destiny, there's always room for agency."

Lyra met his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had undertaken together. The rebellion had shattered the chains of the Hunger Games, but the question remained: could she forge a path of her own, or was she destined to be a pawn in a game larger than herself?

As the first light of dawn painted the horizon, Lyra faced an uncertain future.

[al-cin]

A songbird’s confort

Coriolanus snow X reader/ oc (Lyra)

Something cute

The grand ballroom was alive with the echoes of laughter and the gentle hum of conversation. The Capitol, ever extravagant, had spared no expense in celebrating the end of another

Hunger Games. Yet, amid the dazzling lights and opulent decorations, Lyra felt a heaviness in her heart that refused to be lifted.

Coriolanus Snow, ever the composed figure, observed Lyra from a distance. The girl who had intrigued him during the Games seemed different now, her spirit dampened by the weight of the arena's horrors. As Lyra weaved through the crowd, her eyes met Coriolanus's, a silent plea for understanding.

Without uttering a word, Coriolanus offered his arm to Lyra. A silent agreement passed between them as they stepped onto the dance floor, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol's elite. The music, a delicate melody that seemed out of place in a world marred by violence, guided their movements.

"I never wanted any of this," Lyra confessed as they glided across the floor, her voice barely audible above the melodic hum.

Coriolanus's gaze softened, a rare expression of empathy gracing his features. "Nor did I," he admitted, surprising even himself with the vulnerability in his words. "Yet, here we are."

The dance became a delicate exchange, a silent conversation between two souls burdened by the choices they had made. As they twirled and swayed, the ballroom transformed into a haven, shielding them from the harsh realities beyond its walls.

Coriolanus pulled Lyra closer, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The music wrapped around them like a comforting embrace, a refuge from the memories of the Games that haunted Lyra's every step.

"I know the weight of the Games," Coriolanus confessed, his voice a low murmur that only Lyra could hear. "But in this moment, let us find solace."

Lyra met his gaze, and in that shared look, an unspoken understanding blossomed. The dance became a respite, a brief interlude in the symphony of chaos that dominated their lives. For a moment, the Capitol's golden chains loosened their grip, allowing Lyra and Coriolanus to breathe.

As the song neared its end, Lyra and Coriolanus lingered on the dance floor, reluctant to let go of the sanctuary they had found in each other's arms.

The final notes of the music lingered in the air as the dance concluded, leaving Lyra and Coriolanus standing in the middle of the emptying ballroom. The world outside awaited them, but for a moment, they clung to the fading echoes of the music, reluctant to step back into the cold reality.

"I never expected this from you," Lyra admitted, her eyes searching Coriolanus's face for a sign of the man beneath the Capitol's mask.

Coriolanus, usually guarded with his emotions, allowed a hint of vulnerability to surface. "There are facets of me even I don't fully understand," he confessed. "The Games have a way of revealing our hidden depths."

As they left the ballroom, Coriolanus guided Lyra to a quieter corner of the Capitol, away from the prying eyes and murmurs of the elite. The night air was crisp, and the distant sounds of the city provided a subtle backdrop to their conversation.

Lyra hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought I'd find any kind of understanding in the Capitol, especially not from someone like you."

Coriolanus regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "We are all shaped by the choices we make, and sometimes those choices bring us closer to unlikely allies."

They walked in companionable silence, the tension that had defined their interactions during the Games replaced by a newfound understanding. The Capitol's grandeur loomed around them, a stark contrast to the shared vulnerability that had unfolded on the dance floor.

As they strolled through the illuminated streets, Lyra couldn't help but marvel at the Capitol's artificial beauty. It was a city that thrived on excess and extravagance, a stark reminder of the privilege that had shielded its inhabitants from the harsh realities faced by the districts.

Coriolanus, perhaps sensing the conflict within Lyra, spoke softly, "The Capitol has its own set of chains, just as binding as those in the districts. It's a different kind of prison."

Lyra nodded in silent agreement. The night unfolded as a shared exploration, not only of the Capitol's glittering façade but also of the complexities that intertwined their lives. The barriers that had initially divided them began to blur, replaced by a tentative camaraderie that defied societal norms.

As the night wore on, Lyra found herself opening up to Coriolanus in ways she hadn't expected. She spoke of her dreams, her fears, and the struggles that haunted her beyond the arena.

[al-cin]

Harmony of Rebellion

Snow begins to fall. Lyra a songbird, will she remain free or be caged.

Part 1

The Capitol, with its towering pillars and ornate architecture, was illuminated by a dazzling array of lights that cast a spellbinding aura over the entire area. Despite the grandeur of the scene, there was an underlying sense of oppression that permeated the air. Amidst the crowd of elegantly dressed individuals, Lyra stood on the stage, a striking figure of rebellion disguised as a captivating singer.

Her luscious, dark curls cascaded down her back as she held the microphone with a fierce determination. The spotlight enveloped her in a radiant glow, and the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. This was more than just a performance; it was a clandestine act of defiance against the Capitol's tyrannical rule.

As the orchestra began to play, the sound of violins, cellos, and trumpets filled the grand hall. Lyra, the lead vocalist, stepped onto the stage, her long dress flowing behind her. As she began to sing, her voice was like a bird's, soaring above the music. The audience, consisting of the Capitol's elite, was dressed in their finest attire, their eyes fixed on Lyra. They were completely captivated by her performance, unaware of the hidden message within the lyrics. The song spoke of resilience and defiance, a call to arms for those who were willing to fight against the oppressive regime. Despite the danger of being caught, Lyra and her fellow rebels decided to use their music as a tool to spread their message of hope and freedom.

Amid the crowd, Coriolanus Snow, an emblem of Capitol authority, found himself drawn to the mysterious singer. The allure was not merely physical; it was the haunting sincerity in Lyra's voice, a voice that echoed the longing for freedom in a society built on control.

Lyra's eyes scanned the audience, her gaze meeting Coriolanus's for a fleeting moment. In that exchange, a spark ignited — an unspoken connection that transcended the boundaries of the stage. Little did she know, her music had reached the very heart of the Capitol's tyranny. As the last note hung in the air, a hushed silence descended upon the room before erupting into thunderous applause. Lyra gracefully acknowledged the accolades, but her mind was elsewhere. She descended from the stage, her every step a quiet rebellion against the forces that sought to stifle individuality.

Coriolanus, a tall and imposing figure, was immediately drawn to the enchanting singer who had captivated the entire crowd. He pushed his way through the throng of people, his eyes fixed on her, determined to unravel the mystery behind her mesmerizing voice. Lyra, a petite and delicate-looking woman, sensed his approach and quickly composed herself, hiding her true feelings behind a practiced facade of innocence. She played the part of a master puppeteer, skillfully manipulating the dance of deception between them.

The grand hall of the Capitol was a sight to behold on the following evening. The glittering lights illuminated the hall, casting an enchanting glow that created a magical atmosphere. Lyra, the talented singer, took the stage once again, and the audience was filled with anticipation as the first notes of her rebellious melody filled the room. The air was charged with excitement, and everyone was eager to hear her sing.

Coriolanus Snow, who was discreetly positioned in the audience, felt a magnetic pull towards the stage as Lyra sang. He was captivated by her voice, which was filled with passion and emotion. As her eyes scanned the room, their gaze met once again, leaving an indelible mark on him. He couldn't help but feel drawn to her, and he knew that he had to meet her.

After the performance, Coriolanus approached Lyra in the backstage shadows, where the air was thick with the lingering echoes of her song. He was nervous, but he knew that he had to speak to her. He began to speak, choosing his words carefully, "Your voice carries an unusual fervor, a passion that transcends mere entertainment. I was captivated by your performance, and I would love to hear more of your music." Lyra was surprised by his words, but she was also intrigued. She knew that there was something special about Coriolanus, and she was eager to get to know him better. Lyra, feigning innocence, tilted her head. "Why, thank you. I believe music should stir the soul, don't you?"

Coriolanus, undeterred, leaned in slightly. "Indeed, but I sense there's more to your performances than meets the eye." Lyra's smile remained, but a glint of defiance flickered in her eyes. "Perhaps the Capitol could use a bit of mystery, don't you think? Keeps things interesting." Their exchange was a dance of words, each step taken with calculated precision. Yet, beneath the surface, a tension simmered — the clash of two opposing forces. As weeks passed, Lyra's performances became bolder, the lyrics of her songs weaving tales of resistance and yearning for freedom. The Capitol's elite reveled in the melodies, oblivious to the rebellion hidden in plain sight.

One evening, after Lyra's most audacious performance yet, Coriolanus confronted her in a secluded alcove. "You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, his voice low and charged. Lyra met his gaze, her tone unwavering. "Isn't life a game, and aren't we all players? Some of us just choose to dance to a different tune." Their verbal sparring echoed through the hidden corridors, a reflection of the deeper conflict that lay beneath the surface. The harmony of rebellion swelled with each performance, and the air itself seemed to carry whispers of change.

The banquet hall was filled with the chatter of Capitol's elite, and it was bathed in opulent radiance. At the head table, Coriolanus Snow, Tigris, and Grandmama were presiding over the spectacle. Amidst the rich tapestry of dignitaries and extravagant displays, Lyra stood poised, wearing a gown that was a delicate balance of elegance and rebellion.

Coriolanus, Tigris, and Grandmama were engaged in subdued conversation, periodically glancing toward Lyra. Whispers rippled through the gathered guests, anticipation heightening as they awaited the mysterious singer's performance.

Lyra, who was acutely aware of the charged atmosphere, gracefully ascended the stage with quiet confidence. The ambient sounds of conversation gradually faded away, leaving only the soft rustling of fine fabrics in the air. 

"Good evening, esteemed guests," Lyra's voice, as smooth as silk, caressed the hall. "Tonight, I present to you a composition inspired by the ebb and flow of life within the grand tapestry of Panem."

The grand room was filled with a hushed and reverent silence as the pianist's fingers touched the keys, producing a haunting prelude that set the stage for Lyra's performance. The notes of the piano seemed to float in the air, creating a sense of anticipation and wonder. Coriolanus, Tigris, and Grandmama watched with shared curiosity, their eyes fixed on Lyra as she began to play. The melody was both haunting and beautiful, evoking a sense of longing and nostalgia. As the music swelled and filled the room, it was as if time stood still, and the audience was transported to another world, lost in the enchanting spell of Lyra's performance.

"In the dance of shadows, where secrets lie untold, we find the courage to defy," Lyra began, her eyes sweeping the room with an arresting intensity. "A tale of rebellion unfolds." The melody wove a narrative of yearning, resistance, and the indomitable human spirit. Lyra's impromptu composition painted a vivid picture, and the audience, momentarily stunned, became entwined in its storytelling.

Coriolanus, despite his reservations, found himself drawn into the emotional resonance of Lyra's words. Tigris, with her discerning eyes, and Grandmama, a matriarch of Capitol society, exchanged glances. There was an unspoken acknowledgment of the unexpected potency in Lyra's performance.

As Lyra reached the climax of her song, her gaze locked onto Coriolanus. "In the heart of tyranny, where shadows intertwine, a symphony of defiance we shall design." The words lingered in the air, a declaration that resonated through the banquet hall. Lyra's impromptu creation became a conduit for the unspoken desires and frustrations of those present. Applause erupted, not merely a display of appreciation but a recognition of something deeper, something that transcended the usual Capitol entertainment. Lyra, with her mellifluous voice, had encapsulated the spirit of resistance in her performance.

Lyra gracefully curtsied, acknowledging the applause with a serene smile. The hall remained in a state of reverie, the lingering notes of the piano echoing the sentiment that had been unleashed. Coriolanus, compelled by a mixture of admiration and intrigue, approached Lyra after the performance. Tigris and Grandmama followed suit, their steps forming an unconscious alliance as they navigated the sea of admiring spectators.

"You have a remarkable gift," Coriolanus admitted, his tone revealing a blend of curiosity and admiration. Lyra, her eyes holding a depth that belied her age, responded, "Thank you, Mr. Snow. Music has a way of expressing what words alone cannot."

[al-cin]

1. Bokuto 2. Atsumu 3. Oikawa 4. Ushijima 5. Kuroo 6. Akaashi 7. Osamu 8. Hinata 9. Iwaizumi 10. Tendou

My haikyuu top ten

[al-cin]

Hello, and good evening:) I just wanted to pop by to remind you that dark fic writers never encourage the behavior that they sexualize. Please do not actually try to reach out to incels because a large amount of them are racist, misogynistic, and violent. Please stay safe out there! 

[al-cin]

The Tumblr writing community is dying.

It’s something I’ve noticed over the past two years of using this site. It was gradual, imperceptible at first, something that most would brush off as a silly concern, or fault Tumblr algorithm for. While it’s true that Tumblr’s engine leaves a lot to be desired, I’ve noticed that even popular blogs have started to dwindle in terms of interaction or motivation. There could be a lot of reasons for this, but the biggest two I’ve noticed, experienced myself, and asked fellow writers about is this: (1) content being stolen, and (2) lack of feedback or interaction. I’ve never seen any logical person defend content being stolen, so I want to address point 2 instead.

Lack of feedback and interaction. I’m not saying this on my behalf so much as I’m saying this for friends and smaller blogs who have lost motivation to write. I was looking at my yandere writing blogs list the other day and noticed that a good majority of them no longer write. I usually update the list every few months, and by that point, more and more writers have stopped writing entirely. This isn’t a problem confined solely to the yandere fandom; in fact, there’s less writing blogs in general these days, especially ones that are active. I used to run a very popular BNHA blog with some friends, but that dissolved after our content was stolen and our followers stopped interacting as much. Out of our 8,500 followers, we hardly got 0.015% notes (~128 notes) on an average post. Tumblr is to blame for the lack of eyes seeing our posts, for sure, but that also means that at least 128 people saw one post and didn’t leave a comment or ask. We were considered a big blog; imagine what it’s like on a small blog.

My friend recently made a post that summed this up perfectly: 

“I’ve seen people say ��Be grateful that people even lurk on your page.” and, while I get the message they’re trying to say, it’s more dismissive and hurtful in my opinion. Like you’re saying, “Oh your writing is mediocre, you should be grateful people even LOOK at it.”

Me personally? I’ve heard the argument that AO3 is a better place to post fanfics, and while that might be true, I’ve had friends experience firsthand the lack of interaction there too. I’ve heard the argument that interacting with some writers is intimidating (me included). I’ve heard that argument that followers might be too shy to interact. I’ve heard the argument that writers should write for themselves and not for views / likes / reblogs / etc, and while that’s ideal, it’s not sustainable for everyone. What works for one writer won’t work for another, but you know what will? Interaction.

That comment or ask that took you 2 seconds to write? We remember it. That reblog with the compliments in the tags? We remember it. Every single ‘named’ anon we get (heart anon, sunflower anon, etc)? We remember them. And the best part is? It’s actually easier to do these things on Tumblr since you have the option to send anonymous asks or make a sideblog specifically for reblogs! Trust me, whether the lack of interaction is the cause of a lack of motivation or what have you, every writer appreciates feedback (don’t be shy to offer some critique or compliments) or even a simple keyboard smash with some emojis. Even sitting down for 5 min a day per week to comment on your favorite writers’ new pieces makes a huge difference. Personally, since Tumblr’s activity feed is beyond terrible and I have over 1,500 posts, I don’t always see new reblogs or comments on my content; asks though? Always see those, can never go wrong with those. If you don’t want to reblog or leave a comment, then you can never go wrong with an anonymous ask. 

As my wise friend says: writing is an art, and in order to improve that art, we need other people’s eyes to see what we don’t.

For the sake of every writer (past, present, and future) on this platform, please share this post.