#thinking about her and ✨ decadence ✨ again

[kabuki-writes]

And All Eyes Were Set On Brutus

chapter: 3 chapter 1 | 2 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: After their visit of the Colosseum, Marcus Acacius worries even more about his beloved daughter. Meanwhile a dangerous rumor finds its way into the Emperor's ears.

warning(s): NSFW | mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support and your comments on my previous chapters✨🙇‍♀️! I really enjoy to write this fic as a Geta and Cara stan myself and it honors me that you continue to share your love for these two and this fic. I really hope you like this chapter as well, because this time it gets a little more... spicy.🌶️

word count: 3.6k

Rome was becoming nothing more than a painful cage for General Acacius. From the very first day he had to wear the white armor of victory, he felt like a slave with no other choices than to watch how everything he had known changed for the worse. He despised himself for not being able to protect his own daughter from the eyes of the Emperors, that were now set on her. He should've never taken her with him, he should've sticked with his principles. But then again, what choice did he even have, when he faced an order by the most powerful men in the world.

There was no chance to defy them openly, speaking up now would bring danger to his whole family as they would have to face the consequences of Marcus Acacius' actions. He wasn't so delusional and naive to think that the anger of the Emperors would only befall him alone, no, they weren't like that. So when the day came and a senator stepped forward to the General, he hesitated. Geta and Caracalla were beloved by the people as they gave them victories, bread and games - as long as the plebs had that, no one gave a damn about who sat on top. For them it was all the same, but the senate was different.

After the death of Emperor Commodus, the senate reestablished the Roman Republic, but wasn't able to secure their power. Many cities and regions took their chance to rebel against Rome as most of the generals refused to serve the new order - that included Marcus Acacius as well, who quickly sided with his old friend and brother-in-arms Septimius Severus, the father of the now ruling Emperors Geta and Caracalla. They took their legions and marched on Rome, where Severus took the power from the senate again only one year after the rebirth of the Republic. Acacius did believe in Severus, he did believe in the vision his friend had for Rome as well as his strength and wisdom as Emperor. Nearly two decades he was not disappointed while he served his old friend as a close advisor and his first general.

The senate got reduced to nothing more than a theater stage, with no real power or influence. And Acacius was sure that they would forever hate him for the service he did to Severus. Yet men like Gracchus must've sensed that the general was getting more and more delusional given the current reign of the twins. So the politicians approached him carefully and together they formed an alliance in the shadows. Their plan: Overthrowing the two Emperors and install the Republic again. Acacius stood never on the side of the senate... but nothing was as terrible as Geta's and Caracalla's tyranny. And if that is a way to protect his daughter and his family from them, he happily claimed himself a Roman Republican now.

Coming from one of his nightly visits at senator Gracchus' home, Acacius noticed that there was someone still sitting in the inner garden of his Roman city residence. He took off his cloak and approached you slowly as you watched the turtles in the small pond between the plants and flowers, while the water of a small fountain rippled in the silence. "Your mother told me, that you were sitting here the whole day", he said with a low tone, careful not to scare you with his sudden appearence, before he took a seat right next to you on the stone bench. When he watched your face, he saw all the thoughts that were probably going through your head after the situation in the Collosseum yesterday. For a long moment, the two of you simply sat in silence, while one of the turtles walked along a mosaic before it fell into the water.

"I am not a child anymore, i don't want you or mother to protect me any longer", you suddenly whispered, before your head turned to your father. In your eyes he saw how you struggled to maintain your neutrality as you faced the danger that may come over you, if you'd accept this new attention further. "And yet i don't know how to deal with... them? I suppose i cannot refuse any of this?" Your question carried a sense of pain, because you already knew the answer and it was equally as hard for your father to shake his head in response.

"I thought so...", you mumbled and leaned forward give one of the turtles a leaf of salad you had snached from the dinner table earlier. Acacius had seen many battles and many terrible things, but nothing was harder than to see you like this. And nothing was harder than to feel helpless. All he could do was laying his hand softly and reassuring on your shoulder.

„You’re my daughter, y/n. And you’re right, even if I want it to, I can not protect you anymore… all I can promise you, that it is going to be alright."

He searched for a way to fix all of this, even though he couldn't tell you how. It was better this way as it would only drag you deeper into the dead end that your own father had already set up. The mere thought about it made his heart grow even more painful.

"Do you regret it sometimes?", you suddenly asked, looking at the vibrant clear water of the pond. "What do you mean?"

"That you marched with Emperor Severus back then?"

This question wasn't easy to answer, it was written on Acacius face, as he turned his face to the turtles and sighed.

"I did believe in Severus... i still do. Under him, Rome was able to secure itself and become strong again. What comes after that now - only time will tell. But what i know is that i have to leave in a few weeks with my troups again. An order of the Emperors."

It wasn't a particular surprising news, but nonetheless your fingers digged themselves into the fabric of your toga-like blue dress, while you still hept your head high. Despair was no useful emotion and not a good thought right now. You needed to stay calm, stick to yourself and find a way on how to deal with all of the things that were happening. As you'd said you were no child anymore - you will find a way out if this, even without your father.

You didn't say a word in response, however you closed your arms around him as the fear that with him being gone it could get even worse, lingered on your mind. Little did you know that the world you had known was already on the brink of falling apart.

_____________________________________________

The smell of incence, wine, sweet perfume and sweat filled the rooms of Emperor Caracalla's chambers, while naked bodies moved themselves to the rythm of a small group of musicians. The melodies of their instruments mixed themselves with the moans of the men and women in ecstacy, the worshippers of Bacchus - god of wine, euphoria and madness. Drinking and making love was the way they prayed nearly every night as Caracalla found in it a way to escape the reality that almost drove him crazy. Here in his chambers, the only Emperor that mattered was him, the only word that was heard was his own. At least one small realm for himself, while he had to share the rest of the world with his twin brother.

But it was different this time, when he stared at the scenery with a mind clouded in intoxication. His breaths went ragged, while he sat on a bed decorated with velvet cushions, a young man kneeled between his legs and sent him to elysium with his tongue, while he was surrounded by beautiful slaves, women with golden chains, that decorated their naked breasts and hips. And yet even in a scenery like this, where he usually found a way to calm his restless mind, he was still thinking about her. Not only her, sadly - that goddamn General was another thought. The hero of Rome was no pleasant figure for him anymore, he was nothing more than a Brutus, but Caracalla was not the one to end up like Julius Caesar.

The mere thought of killing this treacherous son of a whore hit Caracalla's brain and made him cum into the mouth of the slave that had his dick deep in his throat. This peak of his pleasure would've helped him to relax if not one of the praetorian guards stepped in and walked with his black and lilac amror through the voyeristic scenery like it was a halluzination in front of the Emperor's eyes. Without a second thought, Caracalla simply pushed the young slave, who was still sitting at his feet, to the side and stood up. His hand quickly grabbed the white toga that layed on the floor which he threw over his own naked, pale body. "Why do you disturb me!?", he hissed, as if he wasn't already expecting him.

The soldier ignored the music, the slaves that layed on the ground and fucked each other, just as he ignored the half-naked Emperor right in front of him, who still wore his golden laurel crown and his jewelries. "Emperor Geta waits for you."

For a moment, the young man with the gingerblonde hair stared at his guard, before he nodded quickly, as if it got him out of a daydream. "Yes, yes i will come to him, i am right there, tell him that. And get that slave Marcellus here," he answered, hand waving him away before his tone shifted and he screamed at his 'guests'. "Get out, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!" The music stopped immediately and all eyes were set on Caracalla, while the first slaves already got to their feet again. „NOW,“ he repeated in a louder and added in a hissing tone „…or I will claim your tongue with a dagger!“

Caracalla was impossible to read fully, just as he was impulsive. It would’ve not been the first time one participant of this nightly debaucheries had lost his tongue or another part of his body.

_____________________________________________

Emperor Geta waited in his embroidered night robe, which was half open, exposing his bare and pale chest. Sitting on a cushioned wooden chair, he stared with tired eyes out the window of the balcony, the darkness of Rome in front of him. Just as his brother he had someone in his chambers, but instead of a whole horde of slaves he had chosen one good whore with hairs that reminded him of you. It was just a dull replacement, he knew that, yet it was enough for a good fuck before he would’ve went to sleep.

If there was not his twin brother, who‘d call for him in the middle of the goddamn night. By the gods he hated to be disturbed like that, especially after countless of times his brother got him here only to share uninteresting - sometimes even paranoid - gossip with him, which Caracalla had heard from the mouth of one of his slaves.

When the curtains of the attached room opened and Geta saw his brother entering with his wild hair and only with a toga over his bare body, his nose twitched in anger. „Don‘t tell me you disturbed my sleep and called for my immediate coming while you were fucking whores at your damn orgy!? When you’re telling me that your problem is, that you can’t sleep now, I will cross you myself!“ Yes, it wasn’t the first time Caracalla had called him for such nonesense. And usually Geta had a lot of patience with him, given his psychological condition, but not tonight.

Caracalla stopped in an instant and looked at his brother with big eyes as if he tries to convince him that he wasn’t guilty of anything. „Yes, but- I had a reason for that!“ he insisted, which only fueled Geta's anger. „Lucinius, bring us the slave!“ Caracalla quickly said and the Praetorian guard who just had informed him about his brother came in with a skinny, yet tall young man. He was a slave but given the clothes he wore, it was clear that he had a higher rank within the household he was serving in.

„Who is that, one of your toy boys?“ Geta asked, eying the stranger he‘d never seen before. But Caracalla shook his head and stepped forth to place his hand on the shoulder of that slave.

„No! He is a slave from the household of senator Gracchus,“ he explained and couldn’t hide an almost devilish smile as this said slave was here for one reason alone - to tell them everything. „Marcellus, tell him,“ he ordered and whispered into his ear. „I promised you your freedom and a good amount of gold, to return to your family. You want to see your daughter again, right? So don’t disappoint me now.“ With those words he stepped back for a moment, giving the slave a moment to breath as he seemingly tried to find the right words. He was nervous, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes were glued to the marble ground under his feet.

"I... i am a servant in the household of senator Gracchus for nearly a decade now", Marcellus began and forced himself to look up into the testing eyes of Geta, who was growing more impatient with each second passing. "The General... General Acacius as well as a couple of other senators visit my master regularly in the middle of the night and they always retreat into a secret room in the cellar of his villa."

With an amused whistle Geta interrupted him. "Why should we care for the sexual escapades of a group of old men?", he hissed, but Caracalla threw in with a darkened shimmer in his eyes. "Wait for it, you will be furious, trust me! Continue."

Marcellus needed a second to calm himself down and stop to shake as he formed his next words. "When i brought them wine once, they stopped with their conversation as long as i stayed in the room, but when i was in the corridor, they spoke again. They didn't know that i was still there, so i just listened and- it was clear that they questioned you, my Emperors. They questioned your leadership and the general - i wouldn't dare to speak out loud such a blasphemy against your rule, if it was not what i've heard with my own ears."

Geta's face darkened with every new information Marcellus was telling him and slowly he realized why his brother was so eager to get him here. The laugh of his twin filled the room, which turned hysterical. "Tell him, Marcellus!"

"General Acacius and the senators Gracchus, Livinidus, Galba and Erebus plan to overthrow you with the legions that are under Acacius' command," he said and had to force every word out of his mouth, afraid of the anger that cooked like a vulcano in Geta. His hands formed fists and he bit his tongue. All this time, Acacius - the hero - was a traitor, a Brutus. And now he connected the dots, thinking about every time this General wined about going off to war. This maggot.

"And this is true!?", he asked in a loud, demanding tone. "If that is a lie, we will punish you in the most terrible ways you could imagine and feed you to the lions in the Colosseum!" Marcellus eyes were filled with tears of fear, yet he shook his head heavily.

"No, please! I speak the truth, i swear it! I swear it in front of Jupiter himself, please, you must believe me! I came to Emperor Caracalla, who promised me my freedom if i tell it here again. It is no lie!"

"Kill him", Geta ordered in a cold tone and before Marcellus could even scream, it was the blade of the Praetorial Guard that cut his head off from behind, making it fall to the ground like a ball of bones and meat, followed by his body. Under the resounding laugh of Caracalla, Geta ordered the Guard to leave them so that he could speak to his brother in private.

"You just read my mind, dear brother! I wouldn't have let him go either", Caracalla sang. "We should kill them all, that bastard Acacius and his old senate sluts! Let's cut off their heads and spike them on the Palatin for all to see!"

But Geta was already two steps ahead when he closed the distance between him and his twin. Yes, he was furious, it took him all restraints to not give in the urge of ordering their murder. "No," he said, which drew a questioning look on his brothers face.

"What no?! Those are traitors, TRAITORS! You've heard the same things i did!?"

"I did, but the senators are no danger. These old men talk about the republic which is nothing more than dust and ashes! A faded dream and without any backing, they just continue to shit themselves in the senate. When our father took Rome, the people cheered to him, because they didn't want a Republic but a strong Emperor to guide them, remember? The head of the snake is Acacius! He must die, and he will die, but not yet!", Geta started and turned to the balcony, leaving his brother for a moment as he stood in the darkness with his his white toga. "We need his legion, and we will make him our fucking dog, who has no chance to ever decline any order of us, if we have his beloved daughter. If he doesn't do as we say, then she will die."

But he will, Geta knew that. Nothing seemed to be more precious in Acacius' life than his family and especially his dear daughter. And this whole situation had a bonus for Geta, because when he turned to face Caracalla again, he announced. "I will force him with an order to marry his daughter to me!"

Caracalla froze in place, his eyes staring at his brother as if he just had a bad dream. "What?", he simply asked again, while his brother's anger turned into anticipation. "With a marriage we bind her to our reign and therefore we will bind the General. Acacius delivers us his own daughter and his own head on a silver tablet with his treacherous nonsense!"

Geta wanted to place his hands on his twin's shoulders, but Caracalla slapped them out of his way. "I don't accept this! NO! I DON'T ACCEPT THIS!", he screamed at him, which really irritated his twin. "Why can't I be the One to marry her!?"

There it was. For the first time, the twins revealed in front of each other that they longed for the same girl. And that made it complicated. Nonetheless Geta was still confused, why his brother reacted like that, so he reminded him of what Caracalla said all those years.

"You never wanted to marry? How many times did you told our father before he died? Every time he said to us, that we would need to find ourselves someone to take as a wife, you refused. You were too busy indulging in your late night activities and Bacchus rituals."

He stepped forward with an intense glaze in his eyes. This way of being instructive, while Caracalla was still his twin and technically even older than him, made his brother's mouth twitch in response to his next words. "May i remind you about the fact that i am the one of us dealing with most of the political responsibilities, because you always wanted to stick to your fun."

Those words were indeed true, as Caracalla hated those senate discussions, which lead to nothing and were only for show - an illusion for both the plebs and the upper-classes. Geta continued, but not without making clear that he saw himself worthier of you being his wife, bound in front of the gods. "All of that is fine, brother. I've always protected you from the boring senators and hypocrites of the Roman elite, while you collected the most beautiful slaves and enjoyed yourself. You have no duties, as long as i take them off your shoulders and finally shut up all the people, finally demanding a royal marriage after all those years. And given all of that, i do think i deserve to marry before you to present Rome an Empress."

Caracalla stared at him, straight into the eyes of his twin Geta and his fingers twitched. If he would just have a dagger now? But he had none right here and given the fact that his brother was always taller and stronger with his statue, it wouldn't make sense to start a fight. In fact he couldn't even argue against him, as it was true, he was never an Emperor that bothered himself with any political nonesense. Yet he couldn't shake off the urge to kill Geta for this. Again, he took a thing from him he wanted to own for himself - only for himself. Even though his twin showed his goodwill, as he always did. His hands layed itself on Caracalla's cheeks and he gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear brother. I am not above sharing her divine presence with you. But she will always be my wife," he whispered, followed by a smile on his lips.

With those words he simply turned and left the room, leaving Caracalla, who was still wearing his white toga over his naked body, as well as the body of Marcellus alone in the dark. His mind got corrupted with so many thoughts in this very moment, but the most prominentely thought was anger. So he screamed hysterically and grabbed the table that stood at the side to throw it down, taking the vase on top and hurled it straight through the room, followed by the head of that damn slave. He hated Geta. He hated him so much and still they had shared the whomb of their mother, which made them share the same blood.

How long would he be able to hold the urge to murder his own brother - especially now as Geta claimed you?

_____________________________________________

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[sainzproductions]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

THE OTHER WOMAN / SEQUEL !

where you acclimate to the current dating scene after eight years of being with carlos...

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↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

You felt like you had done a good job all by yourself. You took your sweet time getting used to being alone again, having spent the better part of the past decade accompanying carlos and living together with him.

As embarassing as it was to admit, there were days where you'd wake up abruptly as if hearing his footsteps, or the faint rumble of his voice lulling you to sleep. There were moments where you'd break down crying upon seeing an article of clothing belonging to carlos, or seeing pictures when you were still happily together.

It wasn't easy to forget an eight year relationship. You soon realized. He was all you've ever known and adored... You dreamt a life with the guy for crying out out loud!

You wanted all the permanent things, the domestic future, him.

But the reality was that you were different people who wanted starkly different things in life. Carlos was set on his career while you had the burden of being a woman. You didn't have forever to waste away, and you didn't want to spend it waiting for a future that could never be in the stars for you and him.

You had accepted it. It wasn't all tears, and tearful reminiscing anyways. Your life had picked up after a couple of weeks. It was a lie. You spent a month and a half being pathetic. But who was counting?

You were having the time of your life. Your singleness provided a way for you to realize new and old hobbies.

You finally went back to your hometown, despite your fears of facing your parents' knowing looks and getting an ill timed i told you so's from their ever skeptic way of seeing life. Especially your relationship with Carlos..

But your mother took one look at you; in your deshieveled and devastated form, wordlessly opening her arms and craddling your pathetic self as you wept about your broken heart.

You found peace in the tranquility of your childhood home. Reacquainting yourself with your horse, champion whom you had been neglecting— you realize belatedly. The help couldn't take the horses out that much, where you formerly took the stallion out for most of the day. You made sure to make up for lost time however.

You were also able to rekindle old friendships, quickly becoming fast friends once again as if no time had passed at all. You traipsed all over Madrid, enjoying the thrill of meeting new people, of learning new things... And how forward the current dating scene seemed to be in regards to matters concerning...

"Wait, wait." You press a hand towards his broad chest, breathing roughly. Your chest rose and fell with excitement as you tried to come down from how fast the things had quickly become heated between the two of you. "We're going a bit too fast, don't you think?" You whine under your breath, as his face came down to press open mouthed kisses on your neck, easily finding your most sensitive spot as he expertly manouvers your body, backing you up against the wall.

"Relax. We won't do anything you don't want." He says, softening his tone, "I'm not a hooligan." He tuts, pressing a feather like kiss on the side of your lips.

"Says the man who pulled me into a dark room to play tonsil tennis." You retort amusedly, stroking your fingers on his neck. You couldn't help but close your eyes at the sensation of his lips against your skin, his fingers making quick work of slipping under your skirt, and you hissed from the sensation of his cold rings against your thighs, "You're cold!"

"Warm me up then, love." He was evidently amused by your reactions and the way your cheeks flushed at his crude remark. He wiped away every other thought from your mind, as he kisses you wantonly. He made sure to hold your gaze as he pulls away, sinking down to his knees... and kissing your thighs softly. "Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I couldn't think of anything else when you walked into the room. Nobody else mattered but you... you're bad for my business, darling."

You could hardly register anything else after that

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

The breakup came with the long forgotten territory of male attention. Sure, there were some bold and uncaring lads few and far between, but Carlos had quickly shut down every attempt with a swift glare and a possesive hand over you. You didn't mind. You only needed him and his attention and everyone else were merely annoying backnoise.

As it is, your breakup was made public through the urging of Carlos' management and his public relations team. You cooperated seamlessly despite being civil, to the point of rudeness, to their every demand.

How ironic was it that through his blatant act of wanting to separate himself from you and everything else that had to do with you; he made a declaration to the world that you were readily available.

Your dms were sure packed to the brim when you'd later had the energy to do anything asides from the basic tasks of taking care of yourself. You couldn't laugh nor cry upon seeing several of carlos' work acquaintances making their presence known in your dms. You even saw his former (and possibly current) teammates taking their shot.

You couldn't help but wonder for how long has he been... Non committal towards his best mates about your real score. They couldn't possibly muster up the courage had it been the true duration of your separation. Men aren't that proactive. They atleast had some base sense of loyalty.

Then again, it didn't take very long for him to be spotted with some model on his arm. He looked happy, invigorated... Annoyingly handsome. Fuck him and his perfect face. You wished you atleast threw a heel at him for being a dickwad.

Were you seeing other people out of spite or trying to prove yourself to him? You wouldn't exactly say so. You'd had an agreement with the well established, and good looking gentleman who had made you tremble and writhe under his tongue. He was incredibly lax and cool, and great company in every sense of the word. He made you laugh, he also made you cry just now.

And so while you made yourselves look presentable, you were first out the door while he waited a few minutes to make his entrance into the party again. You gratefully took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, wetting your parched throat as you looked around as normally as you could. Blending in with the fancy people in their cocktail dresses and designers.

You heard footsteps approaching after a few moments. Another man spotted him, and he grinned in recognition upon the sight of the ever famous....

"Sir Hamilton!"

[roc-haze]

From the ‘Pushing It Down and Praying’ series. Find the masterlist here.

Layla | WillNE

Pushing It Down and Praying - Will’s Perspective

Warning: George comes off as the bad guy here. In the first editions of this series, we get a lot of backstory about her friendships with the group and the comfortability. George’s reaction here is obviously not reflective of what we see on screen - it’s just necessary for the angst ✨

Will’s Perspective

It had been one of those weeks.

Not for him, necessarily. It’d been a week of inconveniences. Ieuan was working on another project, both of his usual editors were unwell. For the first time in a hot minute, Will had edited his own content from start to finish. But walking into the Clarke-Dixon-Hill flat, it was clear that the heaviness in the air wasn’t on his account.

Arthur’s last minute “the tour has sold out” party was meant to be a chill gathering. Most nights at their flat were peaceful, ending in a few games of FIFA and depending on if Chris had done a shop - sometimes they’d secure a tea and some biccies. Walking in, though, it wasn’t the chill, laidback night he’d assumed it to be. It was loud music, girls gossiping in corners and George deciding to roleplay the bartender from hell.

Will hadn’t even wanted to come at first, but when Lux had casually mentioned she’d be there, that was enough.

Y/N lit up a room. She walked in and it was like the light suddenly got brighter. Freya had once described her as “sunshine in human form”, and Will didn’t think there was a term more fitting for who she was. Tonight wasn’t any different, except for a certain tiredness behind her eyes and a stiffness in her posture. Almost like she was on edge. However, that could be totally attributed to George’s ongoing interrogation.

Will stayed mostly in the corner with Simon and Josh, faking interest in their conversation about golf, but his eyes kept drifting back to her. She’d parked herself at the kitchen bench, making her way through a cocktail that George probably shouldn’t have served anyone with taste buds. Will didn’t miss the way she’d poured half of it into the houseplant once George turned his back to her. Y/N didn’t notice Will watching. But George did.

And of course, with alcohol in his system and lowered inhibitions, George had zero filter.

The hair on the back of Will’s neck went up the second he heard George ask, “Not to sound like a prick, Y/N, but where’s Alex?” Too loud, too direct. Making the bustling room feel like a pin could drop.

He glanced at Lux, who was already clocking the conversation from across the room. Freezy, too. They exchanged a look and made their way over. The tone had shifted, but George had no clue he’d just crossed a line. The boys had been around Y/N for an almost a decade. They knew that this conversation wouldn’t well.

George pressed again, lips pursed. “Do you love him?”

Talia had beat the boys to it, not letting her respond. “Give it a rest, George. She’s come straight from work. Let her chill before you interrogate her.”

Thank god, Will thought.

Still, Will saw how her shoulders relaxed like she’d been holding her breath the entire time. Freya and Talia were behind her now, getting her comfy on the couches. She looked like she needed softness.

But he kept close, moving to the kitchen where Freezy was nursing a beer.

“That was rough,” Freezy muttered under his breath.

Will nodded. “I don’t get why he pushes like that. It’s not his place.”

“She’s already stretched thin,” Freezy said, glancing toward the couch where she was now sitting, surrounded by the girls. “I just worry that the newer guys feel like they are entitled to poke at her.”

Lux wandered over, resting a hand on Freezy’s shoulder. “He saw Will gawking at her. That’s what set him off. Maybe he’s jealous.”

Will sighed, rubbing his temple. “If anyone makes her feel like shit tonight, I’m saying something. Just a heads up.”

Freezy quirked an eyebrow. “About time. Everyone knows you’re down bad.”

“Shut up Cal,” Will said, too tired to pretend. “This isn’t about that. It’s just… she deserves better than being put on trial in the middle of a party.”

They watched her laugh weakly at something Talia said. She looked grateful to be away from the questions, but exhausted.

——

He didn’t get a chance to speak to her again until later that night, after Chris had followed her into George’s ensuite. The girls had been the ultimate protection detail, keeping her to themselves. Will lingered nearby, waiting to check on her. When Chris left, he gave Will a nod, patting his shoulder.

He knocked on the door, bottle of wine in hand.

“Why don’t we just sit in the bath, chat shit, and drink this expensive wine I copped from Mr Calfreezy?”

She pulled off her shoes and climbed into the bath like it was the most natural thing in the world. And suddenly, they were back to that familiar rhythm. Their knees touching, their voices soft, the rest of the party slipping into the background.

He let her talk. Didn’t interrupt. Just passed the bottle back and forth, actively listening and adding in the occasional joke when it called for some comedic relief.

She opened up about Alex. The relationship. How it wasn’t working out. Things he already thought he knew, but were confirmed finally.

Will fought the urge to tell her how he felt. But in all the scenarios and all the ways he’d imagined telling her, none of them included her feeling this tired and worn down.

Instead, he told her the truth: that he cared. That she could call whenever she was ready, and he’d answer.

No pressure.

——

Later, George came in. Freezy and Lux weren’t too far behind him.

“Out,” he said, trying to play it off with a grin. “Go be social. You’re stealing my ensuite.”

Will stood up first. “Mate, maybe read the room next time, yeah?”

George’s brows furrowed. “What’s your problem?”

Freezy appeared at the door. “You are. She’s in here opening up about the very thing you pushed her to talk about.”

Lux stood by the door, arms crossed. You okay, he mouthed to her.

Will’s voice was calm but firm. “We’re her mates. We love her. Your delivery has been a bit shit tonight. Figure that out before you pour your next round.”

George looked stunned. No one ever called him out. But to his credit, he didn’t argue. There wasn’t a bad bone in his body. He’d just taken it slightly too far.

Will turned back to Freezy and Lux. “Thanks for that.”

Freezy smirked. “Don’t thank me. I only came in here to see my best friend.” Pointing to Y/N, both boys scoffed.

——

Outside, walking her home, arms linked, she laughed like she hadn’t in days.

When they stood in front of her flat, she pulled him into a hug, hanging on and savouring the moment. And he almost kissed her.

Almost.

But he stood back.

“Oh fuck. Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’ve made it weird now.”

Her response was soft, but steady. “No, you haven’t. I just need some time to figure out my shit first. It’s not fair to Alex.”

He nodded. “I know. I meant what I said.”

And she smiled. “If I call…”

“I’ll answer.”

A week later, she called.

You know the rest. He answered.

——-

A/N: Feel free to drop any thoughts below or in my inbox!

Taglist: @clarkeysbedchem @octaneink @artvscvntymullet @mosviqu

[iscdisc]

2012 Oroku Saki ("The Shredder") Analysis / Also kind of Hamato Yoshi ("Master Splinter") too, but mainly Saki- Lmao || Part 2 !!

Here's Part two of my analysis on Oroku Saki and Hamato Yoshi within the 2012 series ! 👍✨

Are Hamato unreliable narrators within the story? Or the Foot Clan / Oroku?

This is kind of a yes and no thing for me personally. I feel like both sides have had their fair share of spreading misinformation or just not fully understanding certain events that occurred / painting them a particular way upon their recollection of them. My whole take on Hamato Uta and the centuries long Foot Clan / Hamato Clan fued shows this.

We already see this a lot with Shredder throughout the series as well, as he claims over and over again that Yoshi was the one who took Tang Shen's life even though the truth is that it was him all along. Telling himself this so much that he truly ends up believing it by the end of the series. He also blames Splinter for Karai's mutation, even though that was a tragedy of his own making since he's the one that put Karai in that position in the first place, not to mention the fact that he was the one that broke the chain that was suspending Karai over the mutagen vat himself.

However, I feel like we see this with Splinter during his recollection of past events as well.

When he's having his conversation with Karai during, "Vengeance is Mine" in Season 2, we are shown this shot which implies that Saki knowingly and deliberately attacked Yoshi AND Tang Shen during his fit of rage all those years ago. He also proceeds to claim that Saki deliberately burns their house down afterwards.

However, we know this isn't the case at all, since TOTY explicitly shows the chain of events that led to Tang Shen's death and you can see that this wasn't a deliberate action from Saki but rather a horrible circumstance. Both Yoshi and Saki witnessed Tang Shen walk away before they started their battle, so neither of them were expecting her to be there whatsoever. This is further reinforced by their shared shock at her death. We also see throughout their fight that the fire is caused directly from that altercation. Candles that were lit inside were being knocked over by them, which is what actually caused the fire that burned down Yoshi and Tang Shen's home.

I'm not saying Splinter necessarily lied to Karai or that the trauma of it all couldn't have caused Splinter to recall things poorly, since it's entirely plausible. It's also EXACTLY what Saki is doing / experiencing throughout the series. Cough cough. 🙃

And although I've already talked about it kind of extensively in the first part of this analysis, I feel like his relationship with Saki is another instance of him recalling things differently than how they actually were / happened. Which is how I want to pivot into talking about Splinter right now, since I'd like to give some attention to his "perception issue".

Hamato Yoshi / Master Splinter and his relationships with those around him:

I want to make it extensively clear that I personally really enjoy 2012 Splinter as a person and a character. I'm not saying that others can't dislike him or be critical of him or pick apart his character, because obviously you can and I would be super hypocritical for saying you can't considering that's what I do on a daily basis ! I'm also a firm believer of someone being critical of a character or a character's writing and that not necessarily meaning that they think the character is dogshit or an awful person necessarily. Sometimes being critical or analytical of something is how we express our love or interest for it (Like me with this entire decade old series- LMAO) ! But I just wanted to put that out there, since I'm not necessarily going to agree with any negativity or hate comments directed at 2012 Splinter as a character. I just blatantly disagree with most of them, and I think it's okay to agree to disagree if you feel that way. I'm sure a lot of people feel that way about my takes on 2012 April and how I'm pretty overly critical of her and don't really think the best of her canonically. 👍✨

With that out of the way, I really really like talking about Splinter's perspective and how different it feels from perspectivea of the people in his life that he specifically claims to love and care about very much ! It was such a perfect opportunity to really delve into his character and how his relationships, specifically his relationship with his brother Saki, plays such a big role in the overarching plot line that is the 2012 series !

From TOTY, we see the two most important relationships that he currently has in his life (Not discounting his daughter Miwa, but she's still an infant at this point so it's not like they've had many deep conversations- Lmao). Two relationships that, from his perspective, are relatively strong and healthy and wouldn't collapse in the near future whatsoever. I think it's safe to assume that prior to the events of TOTY, before all these issues started flaring up, that this was his mindset completely. I feel like this is also reflected in his mannerisms, and how he comes across so airy and carefree when talking to Saki during their conversation about Yokai with their Father. To Saki, he's being condescending and undermining his opinions / experiences yet again, but to Yoshi he's just shooting the shit with him and having a friendly brotherly interaction. Yoshi's disposition only shifts when Saki pushes further about never listening to others and of course when he brings Tang Shen into the equation. Something similar happens with Tang Shen as well. Yoshi's content and happy being with her and their daughter on their late night stroll, and it's not until Tang Shen brings up wanting to move away that Yoshi shifts once again.

Which leads me to wonder why in his eyes things are completely copesthetic until these problems come up? In both these instances, it seems as though Yoshi just expects them to "understand" rather than meeting them in the middle and actually having a conversation about these things. He wants his Brother to understand that he's always been there for him, despite Saki expressing the opposite which stems from lived experience it seems, and he wants his Wife to understand that he has responsibilities to this Clan and that he can't abandon them. Not that this is an excuse, because I absolutely don't think it is, but part of me feels like this is just a reflection of how he was raised by their Father, Hamato Uta. Where Yoshi was constantly forced to "just understand" when he was burdened with something or forced to bear something, like being the next head of the Clan. That he was "meant to understand" when his Father wouldn't give him the time of day because he was a busy man. Etc.

Through this, you can definitely draw a parallel between Yoshi / Splinter and Leo. Always feeling this need to be perfect, to maintain the vision that your Father has for you, to bear the burden of something that you didn't ask for and not expect any grace or understanding from others in return (Something Splinter expressed to Leo in, "New Girl in Town"-). To sacrifice your wants for what is needed of you, like your individualism and freedom to live your life outside of these responsibilities. I feel like this can be tied to Yoshi very well actually, since we don't exactly get a lot of insight on his feelings and opinions about being the next head of the Hamato Clan,, We honestly don't even know if that's something that he really even wanted. Not that it makes the scene any different, but it's interesting to view his exasperation with Tang Shen's asking to leave from that particular lens. How even if he does feel the same way she does and agrees with her completely, he doesn't believe he's allowed to say that. He doesn't feel like he's allowed to have any dreams or wants outside of this Clan, because those in it depend on him. Yoshi also brings up how this Clan is the last of its kind and that being a big reason why it must endure, which also adds a whole other level of stress,,

Like I said earlier, I don't think this excuses his poor management of his relationships with his Brother and his Wife, but I think it does give a little more insight (Or potential insight-) as to why that was. It also speaks volumes to the way Saki is so gentle and open-minded it seems compared to Yoshi, who comes off cold and emotionally unavailable, during this time (Primarily in his interactions with Tang Shen during TOTY-). In this way, I truly feel like Saki and Raph paralleled one another. I wouldn't be surprised if Saki was actually surprisingly in tune with nature and very respectful of the earth and the universe. That he felt much harder than most people, like Raph, which is why he was so emotionally reactive. That he was actually a lot more receptive than we ever got to know.

This moment from Season 2 ("Vengeance is Mine") always stuck out to me with Saki / Shredder for that very reason. When he's pleading with Karai and expressing how he doesn't want to lock her away (Even though he currently is- 💀 Lmao). Up until this point in the series, this had been the gentlest we had ever seen him. Like a part of his old self was really shining through in this moment,,

But circling back to Yoshi / Splinter, part of me wonders if he was somewhat aware of the state that his relationships were in-? Maybe he was already stressed enough that he just couldn't bring himself to address it without falling apart or feeling like the ground is caving underneath him. So to the detriment of his Brother and his Wife, he maintained this almost aloof attitude towards their concerns as a means of holding himself together. Maybe he didn't feel like he was strong enough to face these problems at the time. This issue clearly wasn't resolved by the time we reach the beginning of the events of the series either, since we can still see this very present in Splinter and how he behaves with his Sons. Regardless of my opinions about April's position here during this conversation (Lmao), I think her questioning of Splinter during the Season 1 finale is a great example of this. His tone and body language truly reflects something almost akin to escapism in my opinion. The way Leo had to pester him constantly for him to open up about Karai being his daughter. The way Splinter seemingly shut down after Karai got recaptured after she finally learned the truth and it seemed like she was within reach for the first time in ages, and Leo was constantly talking about how worried he was about their Father's mental well-being. How Splinter also became kind of closed off yet again after Karai's mutation (And if we're being entirely honest, I wouldn't be surprised if Splinter was a little upset with Leo during this time, which also contributed to his lack of communicating with him-) + a majority of Season 3 due to Karai's new situation. Like I brought up earlier about his upbringing, it seems like Splinter has a hard time really communicating about anything emotionally charged and would rather maintain this composed disposition than to actually confront these things and, quite honestly, cry...

He's eluded to having temperamental tendencies in the past (Like when he was trying to verbally express a lesson to Raph about managing anger in, "Turtle Temper"-), and I wouldn't be surprised if this is something that he's learned to suppress over time. Especially with the "guidance" (so to speak) of their Father, since that most likely contradicted with what he wanted for Yoshi if he were meant to be the next head of the Clan. But Yoshi's not a robot and he shouldn't have been treated like one (If any of my theory were to actually hold up-).

Reasons like this are exactly why I feel like this should have been Splinter's whole Character Arc throughout the 2012 series. How building his relationship with Saki once again would be both a literal battle and a mental / emotional battle. Shedding light on how difficult it can be to overcome emotional pain and mending relationships that you had a lot of fault in, even if you didn't mean it,,

This Character Development Arc absolutely should have started with his Sons (And Daughter, but given the events of the show, I think it would be more feasible to start with his Sons- Lmao) first and foremost. I think having some kind of epiphany through them about his relationships with those he cares about should have been the catalyst for him viewing this entire situation with Saki a completely different way. I think giving the Turtles an opportunity to be more openly honest about how they view him as a Father and how they feel he views them as his Sons would have been the best way to go about that. For Splinter to have a moment where he realizes that maybe the people that he loves and cares about in his life don't always know that he does. Maybe it's obvious to him, since it's his perspective and his actions, but it's not always obvious to them and he needs to consider that more. This should definitely cause him to make connections to his past with Tang Shen and Saki,, Realizing that there actually was some truth to Saki claiming that he doesn't care for anyone but himself. Understanding now why Tang Shen worried about whether or not he would've been a good Father to Miwa, especially in relation to his role in the Hamato Clan. This, of course, wasn't something that he wanted or meant to do, but it still happened,, And he has to face that now.

I also love how having this moment with his Sons would helped break some stigma around masculinity and the relationships that Fathers can have with their Sons. They should be allowed to be emotional together. They should be allowed to have meaningful conversations about their relationships,,

I also feel like this would have been a great way to have more of a discussion about Splinter's position as a Father, and the toll losing his first daughter and abruptly gaining four Sons had on him. I don't think anybody could cope with that very well, and I feel like that should have been reflected in his parenting and how he tackled this new family dynamic. That's honestly why I kind of enjoy the fact that Splinter isn't this "perfect Father", because why would he be? That would make no sense- He has as much growing to do as everybody else in the show- LMAO 😔👍

I think it would have been super interesting to see Yoshi and Saki interact with each other very differently throughout the series in small increments. In Season 1, during the finale, we can see Splinter try to converse with Shredder (Saki) rather than immediately jumping into combat. Again, I'm not saying this couldn't have just been a stall tactic on his end, but I like to think that maybe that was his attempt at trying to be more civil despite everything that's happened. Saki's the one hunting him down, not the other way around, you know? I would have liked to see way more interactions with Splinter and Saki where Splinter truly is just trying to talk to him and reach some kind of understanding. Naturally, this wouldn't yield any results since he hasn't done any reflecting about their positions and their past yet, so his approach would be ineffective. But after Splinter realizes the part that he's played in where they both are right now in their lives, I think he would get through to Saki a lot more. Being more willing to apologize. To understand why Saki is so upset, as opposed to before where he behaved as though he didn't understand why Saki was doing this. To admit that he didn't know about his post and Saki's Father, and he how should've tried harder to make him feel seen (Which I want to add that it would have been absolutely chef's kiss for us to see Splinter actively do more research into the Foot Caln and Hamato Clan past before approaching Saki and trying to fix things- It would truly show how much Splinter means what he's saying and that he actually cares-!) . To reaffirm to Saki that he's a human being just as much as he is, and that Saki has a right to exist without being labeled (Referring to his Foot Clan heritage-). Since Saki's predicament truly feels like the epitome of, "They labeled me a monster, so I became one.", you know?

I also think it would have been interesting for Splinter to grow to view his predicament in a positive way-! Like, if what had happened between him and Saki hadn't happened, he never would have been free from becoming the head of the Hamato Clan and he would have had to wear those metaphorical shackles for the rest of his life. In a way, Saki kind of saved him from that timeline, you know? Which obviously would be bittersweet considering the position that Saki is in currently and the fact that Tang Shen is gone now, but you know- 😭 Lmao

And from Saki's side, it would have been interesting to see him slowly give in to these attempts from Splinter to make amends and fix their relationship. Sparing him more and more despite how often he's threatening Splinter. There being a lot of hesitance in some of Saki's actions. During Season 3, when Splinter was mentally absent and reduced at a rat in the most literal sense ("Return to New York", where the second picture comes from-), what if Shredder had felt guilt and sorrow for him-? To see him in such a state was more painful than it was gratifying, you know? Imagine he took care of Splinter in secret during that time, as to avoid having a confusing and complicated conversation with his followers- It's small details like that that I think would have made all the difference.

This also makes me wish this particular moment from S4 went differently for Yoshi and Saki. For Yoshi to want to help his brother now more than ever, seeing how far he's plunged into this darkness. Saki needed someone . He needed help . He needed support and understanding and a real family .

This would've been such a great parallel to Karai as well, since she too needed help and genuine support,,

I just can't help but think about how great it would have been if Saki was allowed to change and heal alongside Yoshi. So they could be Brothers again. So Yoshi's children didn't have to be subjected to this pain and suffering through their situation anymore. They could all learn to be better from this fucked up situation, you know?

Instead of having one child, Saki can have five (As their Uncle, of course-) ! He can share so many things with them, things that he wanted to as a Father (Figure) but never could properly with Karai (Miwa) for the longest time. The Turtles and Karai can see how human Saki truly is, with Karai going through the motions alongside him given she walked his path the most and I'm sure she has her own set of insecurities that come with that. For Raph to feel the most seen by Karai and Saki in particular. To acknowledge just how much Saki's interactions with Yoshi had paralleled (And somewhat continue to parallel-) his own with Leo. For them find better ways of dealing with their emotional "sensitivity" (so to speak) but also not feel ashamed for being so emotionally intuitive either. For Saki to genuinely laugh for the first time in nearly a decade and a half because of Mikey. I bet Saki would have no problem openly gloating about Mikey's raw potential as a ninja / martial artist, perhaps being super eager to be a mentor for him ! For Donnie to have an Uncle that supports his efforts through giving him access to a top tier lab set up and genuinely showing how impressed he is at Donnie's abilities. For Donnie to have yeah another parental figure that shares in love of love / romance- I'm sure Saki would have many fond stories to share about Tang Shen,, For Yoshi and Saki to both encourage Karai and Leo's individuality and to make strong efforts to unteach any thoughts about barring burdens and heading clans (Which would apply to themselves just as much-). For Karai to have her Father and her Uncle in her life again and it not be for negative reasons. For all of them to visit Tang Shen's grave monthly,,

LIKE, HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT THIS FOR THEM?? 🗣️🗣️

Anyway, this is the conclusion of my analysis (For now anyway-) ! Thank you for reading, as always ! 😌👍✨

[falling-star-cygnus]

Dead Boy Detectives AU where Edwin just cuts his whole fucking hand off to escape Port Townsend instead of sticking around -> you cannot tell me that the boy that spent 70 years getting ripped apart would have qualms about severing his limbs to do it again

i wrote this on a whim tbh, because I couldn't pick another fic idea and spitballed into the void and VOILA✨ -> ao3 fic: here please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!!

SUMMARY: Edwin spent over 7 decades in Hell. There is no way one silly bracelet is going to keep him stuck in another. He just has to make sure Charles doesn't try and stop him...

alternatively: Edwin cuts his hand off, Charles is put in time-out, and Crystal freaks out- not necessarily in that order

"Charles, stand here a moment."

His partner makes a little 'oh-!' noise as Edwin drags him by the elbow to a brightly lit corner of Crystal's room. It was quite lucky that the shadows didn't seem to stretch here- even at night.

He wouldn't want to frighten him, after all. Just occupy.

"Annnd why am I being put in time-out?" Charles asks, though already resigned to his fate.

Curious, but not uncomfortable.

Good.

"Because, Charles, you possessed a witch."

Honestly.

"Oi- you bound a cat, mate!"

"Then if it appeases you, I will stand in the corner next," Edwin huffs, only half sarcastic, "Now think about your actions."

The Edwardian ignores it when Charles rolls his eyes. He has done far less for his partner's benefit before, after all. Something tells him that he will have a lot more to think about once it's his turn in the corner anyway.

At least- if Charles has anything to say about it.

When Edwin grips the handle of their iron dagger, he thinks that- yes. Yes, he will have something to say about it.

But he is not staying in this drowsy town on the whim of some irrelevant feline. So he can say whatever he likes back home.

"You two... are so weird."

Ah.

He had forgotten about her.

Well.

"Crystal, are you squeamish?" he had been, after all, before Hell [quite literally] beat it out of him, "Charles, face the wall."

His partner stops glancing over his shoulder with a huff.

"I was eating raw fish out of a dumpster literally last week," the psychic shudders out, her nose wrinkling at the mere memory, "I think my stomach will be fine."

"Good."

Beating the squeamishness out of her could be avoided then. Not that he would actually go through with that. It would make Charles sad. And, begrudgingly, Edwin supposed... well.

They were friends.

Edwin brings the blade to the gaudy bracelet, just to give it a customary attempt. Predictably, neither sawing at it nor trying to lever the blasted thing off works.

On to his original plan then.

"Mate, what're you doing?" his partner asks, rocking from heel to toe as his charming inability to keep still rears its head.

"You'll see in just a moment." the Edwardian sheds his jacket and glove. Rolls up his sleeve.

"What-?"

Before Charles can turn around, and before Crystal can catch on, Edwin brings the iron dagger straight through his wrist.

clink, thump.

The severed limb hits the floor.

"OH MY GOD!?" Crystal screeches, scrambling away from it like it was some unruly bug. Rude.

It was just a hand.

"Edwin!" His partner sweeps into his space, his tone worried and angry but not surprised. He wouldn't be, after all.

He's seen Edwin do worse for less.

And that was precisely why he was sentenced to the corner.

Charles gently squeezes the stump now, trying in vain to stem the weeping blue ectoplasm and dust seeping onto the floor. What a mess...

"Shit- shit, Edwin, why would you- It's okay, you'll be okay.. just-"

..right.

At that moment, Edwin seems to snap back into himself. Into the present and out of the clinical detachment that comes with seeing and feeling a piece of him ripped away.

Charles was not detached from these things.

Oh dear.

Edwin presses his remaining hand first to his partner's shoulder and then pats his way up to his neck then cheek.

"Charles- Charles, look at me," he coaxes, pressing their foreheads together insistently, "Charles."

The Edwardian waits until those puppy like eyes meet his own, watery and terrified and worried. They keep glancing down at what's left of his arm.

His hands shake around the stump.

Edwin presses forward until his eyes are all Charles can see, and exaggerates an unneeded deep breath. He waits.

And waits.

And then-

"I'm okay," he breathes into the scant space between them, once Charles has calmed somewhat, "Alright? I'm okay."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not at all."

It really didn't. Hurt wasn't really a word that could be applied to Edwin's injuries anymore, after all. It.. stung, maybe. Barely. But it wouldn't hinder him in anyway.

..mentally at least.

It'd be harder to read like this, actually, the Edwardian thinks mournfully.

"You're thinking about your books, aren't you," Charles lightly accuses, his voice still far too shaky and fragile for Edwin's liking.

His partner should never sound like that again.

"Am I that transparent?"

And that gets a watery chuckle out of the bright boy, just as it should. Charles often liked it when Edwin parroted things they'd seen or read together back at him.

That particular line had come from a motion picture. One that his partner had wanted to watch with him in the theatres.

If those sticky rooms could even be called theatres..

Edwin leaves out most of the sarcasm that had originally coated it.

"S'alright," Charles chuckles at him, bringing up one hand to cup the gloved one on his face, "I'll just read to you then while it heals. Make it fair, yeah?"

Edwin's chest warms, an almost impossible surge of fondness pulling a laugh from him.

"I look forward to it, then."

"This is really cute and all," Crystal cuts in, leaning into the Edwardian's line of sight from behind Charles.

She looks vaguely sick.

"BUT YOUR HAND IS STILL ON MY FLOOR!"

...so much for not being squeamish.

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! Here is a guide to get you started, the summaries of each part of the story thus far, the complete collected text, and FAQ, all in one place. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

✨Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next!

✨ Excerpt below the cut.

“If I stay not-dead, it’s gonna be awkward for me, going back and telling my mama that actually, I ain’t as dead as all that, after all,” Lou said. She passed Artie the end of the blanket and Artie pulled it over herself. It was good to have her thighs covered back up. Lou had a hard time not looking at them.

“You don’t have to tell her,” Artie said. “It’s not like she’d know.”

“She’s my mama, Artie,” Lou said. “I can’t just let her go all around, thinking I’m dead.”

“It sounds like she wasn’t much of a mother to you,” Artie said. “You said she’d be happy if you were dead. So let her be happy.”

“I ain’t gonna lie to my mama,” Lou said. 

It was true that, except for the weekly income, her mother’s life wouldn’t change a lick if Lou was dead. She hadn’t seen her in a decade. They didn’t write each other letters. Her mother had never seen her compete, or even practice. Her mother probably hadn’t seen her in the saddle since her father was still leading her around on Partner, except to see her leaving down the dirt road on the two occasions that Lou had visited home. The only way that she knew Lou was moving around was that her return address changed. Not that she used it. When she’d dreamed about her mother– or visited her, she still wasn’t sure– her mother had said that she’d planned to send Lou a birthday card. It would have been the first thing she’d ever sent her. She didn’t know who Lou’s friends were– or, more accurately, that she didn’t have almost any– or if she had any love in her life. She didn’t even have any sad, lingering possessions of Lou’s to deal with. Lou was as good as dead to her, anyway. 

It was strange. None of this was news to her. She’d been bitter and torn up and guilty about it for years. Decades, at that point. But she’d never once considered just stopping. She’d shorted her mother’s money before, which was how she thought of it if she made any purchase that was anything less than absolutely necessary outside of her meager self-appointed allowance. She’d wished nearly constantly that she had been able to save up a little money to make her feel a little safer, but it hadn’t been possible because it had to go to her mother. She’d had weeks where she couldn’t even afford more than a couple of dances with Venus, which was really what she’d been living for before she left Hereafter. Still, throughout all of that, she’d never just thought that she could stop. Her mother would have no way of finding her if she stopped writing between moves, even if she felt compelled to try, which she wouldn’t. Even if she wrote Lou a letter and it got forwarded on, Lou would perfectly honestly be able to say she didn’t know what it said. 

“You wouldn’t even have to lie. Just don’t go out of your way to correct her misconception,” Artie said. She kept jiggling her foot, then forcing herself to stop, before jiggling it again. 

“She’s still my mama,” Lou said. “She brung me into the world. I owe her.”

Artie opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then pressed her lips together again.

[peachycheekz]

Heat Of The Moment

a/n: July 1st ✨ / Trapped / Yes, I am a whore for challenges. Yes, this will keep me from finishing any of my WIPs. Writing challenges are my worst enemy istg. I’m also really struggling with finding motivation and imposter syndrome lately, so hopefully this can put me in a better mindset. Anyway, thank you @loki-hargreeves for making this insanely cool prompt list! :> (also brought to you by The Fucking Heat™. I am not made for 30+C°. It feels like I'm actively dying and I'm sweating so much please help me omg.)

read on ao3

CW: MDNI, smut, piv,

WC: 2.1k

It was decidedly too hot.

Like, way too hot. Unfortunately Steve didn't give a shit that the sun was glaring down on the compound with all the force of a deadly laser and ordered sparring sessions for today anyway.

Unfortunately, you were the only one stupid enough to show up. Nat had somehow weaselled her way out of it, with some bullshit excuse wrapped in batted eyelashes and strategically placed hands, no doubt. Sam was on mandatory family —or boat —time. Or had a date with his drone. Tony only ever did what Tony wanted anyway and sparring in a smelting furnace was not on that list.

In short, everyone else but you had managed to find one more or less reasonable excuse for skipping out and you were the fucking clown of the show.

Your bag hit the floor of the empty gym with an echoing thud. Yes, empty. Not even Mister Always On Time and his metal-armed hunk of a best friend had shown up. Not that you minded. Bucky not being present in particular. You were always a bit nervous in his presence and if you sweated any more than you already were, you'd flood the place.

"You've got to be kidding me," you mumbled, pushing strands of damp hair out of your face. Then, with a shrug to yourself, you started stretching. Might as well. You went through your routine with a mix of bitter determination and nothing but spite. You could be lying by the pool now. Could be out having iced coffee with Wanda. But no, the one time you decide to actually follow through on showing up to a training session it bites you in the ass.

Right in the middle of stretching and wondering if you could risk doing it butt-ass naked you heard foot steps down the corridor. Two pairs. A moment later, Steve and Bucky ducked through the door, chatting animatedly and looking like the weather outside was perfectly agreeable. The two had barely broken a sweat while you equalled a drenched rat. Probably smelt like one, too.

Unfair.

"Oh." Steve stopped in his tracks, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I…?" You opened your mouth, closed it again. Bucky stifled a snort at your incredulous expression and a new type of heat bloomed behind your ribs. "You said…And I thought…Where even were you?"

"Morning run." Bucky shrugged as if it was completely normal to put yourself through the torture of jogging through the heat of a thousand erupting vulcanos.

"Morning run?" you repeated, visibly distraught. "Are you insane?"

"Clinically, yes."

You blinked once. Twice. The smile curling the corner of his lips upwards was very distracting.

"I didn't think anyone would actually show up, to be honest." Steve scratched the back of his neck a little awkwardly, exchanging a look with Bucky you couldn't decipher. They got weird like that sometimes. Maybe being friends for decades unlocked some kind of telepathic abilities at some point.

"Great," you said dryly.

"We can still spar, if you want?" Bucky offered casually. Steve gave him a not so subtle nod, excusing himself with the very unsuspicious words 'I…uh…got a thing.' and left you alone with the man you'd dreamed one too many times about and he was taking off his shirt.

Oh God.

What kind of hell had you woken up in today?

"Sure. Why not?" The words that would inevitably decorate your tombstone.

The gym may have been air-conditioned but none of that crispy fresh air seemed to reach any of your overheated skin and you were heavily considering letting Bucky punch you in the face with his vibranium arm just to get a second of heavenly cold on your body.

Usually you always appreciated him not holding back on you but today you wished he'd tone it down a bit. Concentrating was already hard in this thick heat but now he was topless and your brain malfunctioned. It was truly a miracle how you were still able to dodge his swings.

You would do anything to get your hands on that body. To feel the hard ridges of his sculpted abdomen beneath your fingertips, let your tongue trace the column of his throat. Pull at that ridiculously perfect hair and hear the sounds he'd make.

His fist narrowly missed your side and you countered by throwing a punch at his stupidly handsome face. Bucky caught your wrist before you even came close, spun you around so your back was pressed into his chest. Metal arm firmly keeping you in place against him. Where you were already panting like you'd run three full blown marathons back to back, he was barely breathing any harder than usual.

"Getting tired?" You could hear the grin in his voice, the innocent taunt. A low rumble right next to your ear. Despite the heat, you shivered.

Instead of answering — not like you could've formed anything but a pathetic wheeze anyway - you drove your elbow into his stomach. Surprised, his grip loosened and you took the chance to wriggle out of his grip and go for his ankles with a sweep of your leg. Unsurprisingly, he barely so much as stumbled.

"That's," you inhaled sharply, "unfair." Is it possible to get a muscle ache in your lungs? Because it sure as hell felt like it. While you were trying, and failing, to keep from looking as if you'd pass out any minute and getting distracted by the muscles in Bucky's chest rippling beneath sunkissed skin he was one step ahead of you, charging at you so fast you almost missed it.

In a last ditch effort that cost you all of your remaining energy, you sidestepped. This time you managed to catch him by the ankles, his momentum helping you to bring him down, but your balance was off and you followed him to the ground.

He hit the mat with a grunt, you followed with a breathless huff, landing on top of him in a way you have definitely envisioned before. Legs on either side of his powerful thighs, hands resting on his broad chest. His hands found your waist as if they had every right to rest there.

His heart was thundering beneath your palm and your face was so close to his. Too close. You shifted your hips just the slightest bit and his breath hitched.

For the briefest of seconds you imagined his gaze dipped down to your lips.

"I win," you breathed and something in him seemed to snap, because not one second later your roles were reversed. It happened so fast, your brain had absolutely no time to catch up and before you could defend yourself you were trapped beneath the weight of his body pressing you into the matt. One thick thigh was slotted between yours, cool vibranium latched around your wrists and kept your arms locked above your head. Your breathing stuttered and a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather spread through your veins.

You could feel your pulse throb right where his knee pressed against your clit like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. It cost you everything you had left not to whimper when he pressed closer. "I win."

His lips brushed along your jaw, your hips bucked without your consent and you thought you caught the moment his pupils blew apart like twin eclipses of the sun. He stared down at you with a hunger you'd only ever imagined in your dreams and it made you swallow around the dryness in your throat. Made the insides of your thighs slick with a different kind of wetness.

Finally his breathing was growing just as ragged as yours was.

"Stop me before I do something stupid," he murmured into the crook of your neck but you beat him to the stupid when you gave up on common sense and rolled your hips against his knee, making the neediest little sound.

Bucky groaned. Eyes screwed shut as if debating with himself how stupid of a decision this was. He opened them to take in your smaller frame trapped beneath him, your chest heaving, lips forming some sort of plea he only half registered. And whatever battle he was fighting internally, he was losing it dramatically.

His lips found your neck, soft at first, almost hesitant. Trailing a path up your throat, jaw. Hovering above your mouth. His grip on your wrists tightened.

"Fuck." He crashed his mouth to yours, desperate now, full of pent up desire and held back need. You could feel how hard he was and it only fuelled the fire roaring to life low in your belly. One calloused hand trailed up the side of your body, causing you to arch into his touch, to moan into his mouth.

And you were helpless. Reduced to whiny sounds and pathetically riding his thigh in search of friction to alleviate the aching throb building and building between your legs until you were struggling against the vibranium keeping your hands in place because you just wanted to touch him so bad.

One moment he was driving you crazy with sloppy kisses and his hand trailing lower and lower down your body, the next your back hit the tiled wall of the gym showers, trembling legs wrapped around Bucky's waist as his thick length dragged along your sensitive walls. He slammed his hips into yours like he needed to pave a way home, teeth sinking into the junction of your shoulder and neck while you held on for dear life. Your fingers dug into his back, fisted in his hair, touched everywhere you could, almost as if afraid this too was a figment of your imagination.

Your moans echoes off the walls, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping against skin, the deep grunts and the absolute filth Bucky was whispering into your ear.

"Bucky." You were beyond coherent sentences, his name the only word you seemed to remember as he fucked you stupid. The only word that mattered. You didn't know if it was a plea for more or something else but he seemed to understand you regardless. He sat you down so abruptly your knees almost gave way beneath you hadn't he wrapped an arm securely around your waist.

Then he spun you around, your hands braced against the cool tiles on instinct alone and then he was driving himself into you, hips gripped with an almost bruising force. He was stretching you out so deliciously, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper and you to lose your mind even faster.

"Shit, you're so tight." You were barely able to keep yourself upright as he made a mess of your drooling pussy, slamming his cock into you in a way that bordered on madness until the only sounds you were able to make were breathless cries. "Taking me so well."

You clenched around him, walls gripping his length as if you intended to keep him there forever.

"Bucky…Shit…I'm gonna…"

You didn't get to finish your sentence, because he snaked one hand down between your legs, fingers rubbing your overstimulated clit until your whole body was shaking, barely holding on.

"That's it." His own hips were stuttering now, losing that relentless rhythm he'd set from the start. "Let me know how good I'm making you feel."

Crying out his name like a final prayer, you shattered. His vibranium arm was the only thing keeping you upright on your shaky legs as he fucked you through your orgasm. He didn't last much longer with your quivering cunt pulsing around him, and the sounds you were making for him. Because of him.

Bucky collapsed against you, breath hot and fast against your neck as he filled you up, hot cum leaking down your thighs, mixing with the evidence of your own arousal.

His arm slipped from your waist and your knees buckled.

"Sorry." He caught you with a husky chuckle, turning you to face him again. "You good?"

You looked up at him, eyes half lidded, a sated smile tugging at your lips. "Peachy."

Bucky turned on the shower and with a gentleness no one would have ever attributed to him helped you clean up.

"Next time," you hummed contentedly when he massaged shampoo into your messy hair, "We should skip the sparring part."

Bucky leaned in closer again, pressing his lips to your neck. "Next time I'll make sure you won't be able to move a single muscle."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hey! I love your writing so much, and was wondering if you could do an Eris x reader, maybe an enemies to lovers tension where reader is Lucien’s best friend and he brings her to Eris’s ball? Honestly anything with Eris and a little ✨tension✨

warning: past trauma/abuse

Never get too close

“Are you sure?”, Lucien had both of your hands in his as he repeated his question for what felt like a thousand times. “Yes, Lulu. Go!”, you squeezed his hands reassuringly. You had accompanied him to one of the autumn court balls. It had always been like that. If he was forced to go you always went with him. “I promise I will…”, Lucien started but you quickly cut him off, “No, promises. Go to her, she’s waiting in that garden for you”, you pushed him away slightly, nodding towards the balcony. He had been so miserable since Elain. Ready to give up on it all. It took months of trying to find his fire once again and now. Now you wanted him to live again. “You’re my favorite”, Lucien beamed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Careful, that might break hearts”, you teased him, making him roll his eyes as he turned toward the glass door. While you sent all the prayers you knew up to Mother in hopes of this girl being nothing like the others.

“Little brother is a troll for leaving a lady like you all alone”, the voice, deep as an autumn night filled your senses. Making goosebumps run down your arms. It was always like that. Had always been like that. But you shifted your face to cool indifference as you turned to face none other than the most annoying man alive.

“Don’t flatter yourself Eris”, you mused, eyes watching him as you slowly sipped on your drink. He looked you up and down. Fiery eyes scorched your skin as he drank you in. And as pathetic as it sounded you had picked the deep green dress in hopes of seeing him. It was so stupid. But beneath it all you wanted his attention. Wanted it just the same as you were a youngling. That girl he had turned down all those years ago still holding a candle out for him.

“Thought two months away from me would rekindle your love for me”, Eris smirked, changing your drink with a fresh one. His fingers barely touching yours but enough to make your whole body tingle. “Two decades wouldn’t be enough time away from you”, you smiled at him bitterly. Eris simply licked his lips before chuckling softly, “Mother, do i love when you bring your claws out. Do you bite too?”, he was always like this. A flirt. A womanizer. Girls circled him like moths but they only got burnt by him.

“You’re pathetic, Eris”, with a roll of an eye you turned from him. Suddenly wishing that you hadn’t let Lucien go after all. Wishing that your dress wasn’t as revealing, because breathing suddenly became more harder. “Heard the mission was a success”, Eris called out making you halt. You were a general in Night court. Purely a dig at Eris. Or that’s how you wanted it to look. Because you didn’t let yourself think about Beron with his hand around your throat no more. Didn’t let yourself think about the reason you chose to move courts. Leave. Run…

“How many times did you pull Luci out of a ditch?”, Eris’s asked making you blink a couple of times as his voice chased the old memory away. “A couple”, you snorted, before turning to face the heir of fire once more, “he’s lost, I think…”, you muttered the last part glancing towards the glass door.

“In males and females, yes he is”, Eris sighed, turning to face your way as well, eyes no doubt catching a glimpse of Lucien twirling a strand of the girl's hair around his fingers. “But I rather he explores his desires than rots in a room because of an unreciprocated love”, his words made your heart skip a beat and for the first time that night, you had looked at him. Seen him. The tired eyes. The hallowed face. He was strong. Had always been. But his demons weren’t kind to him. “Speaking from experience?”, you smiled at him sweetly. Eris slowly lifted his hand, his fingers softly tracing your jaw, “Oh, you don’t even imagine, my dear”. It was so tender. So soft. But you had been a victim of his actions before. So as much as your heart drummed against the locks and cages you had put around it, you found it hard to let this feel special.

“Sometimes i wonder why you hate me”, you muttered and it’s as if your words. Words that were barely a whisper had chased the softness away. Eris’s eyes darkened once more as he set his jaw. “You’re too easy”, he said in that well-practiced cold tone. “Oh, here we go again”, you grunted, shaking your head but not daring to look away from him just yet. Eris watched you for a moment before muttering, “You’re ready to bleed for anyone if they hold you in the right way”, and it’s as if all the air around you had been sucked out. The room seemed to tilt as Eris’s words slammed into you. Your eyes stung with a promise of tears but you refused to let him see you cry. “At least I’m willing to let people hold me, not like you”, you clipped back, showing your glass against his chest, before turning to leave. Pushing through the nauseating sea of people. Pulling at the corset ribbons in the hope of letting any more air into your lungs.

[chevyslate158]

Pleasantries of 'Love' 18+ (Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1 - Gilded Beginnings

A/n: Hey everyone! First off, I want to apologise for taking so long to upload this chapter. I’ve been working on a bunch of drafts, so you’ll have plenty of content to enjoy over the holidays! 🎄✨ I promise I’ll be uploading them very soon, so stay tuned!

I hope you enjoy this chapter of Pleasantries of 'Love' and I’m looking forward to sharing the next one with you all. 😌💖 Also, I’ll be uploading a finished draft of a short story featuring Coriolanus either tonight or tomorrow (you’re not gonna want to miss it!). 📖✨ As for Threads of Freedom, the next chapter will be up later this week, along with many more updates! 😍

Thanks for your patience, and I can’t wait to hear what you think! 💕

Word Count: 6.7k words Warnings: Power Imbalance, fixation, manipulation, obsession themes, social pressure, unrequited affection, control, age gap, gendered expectation, objectification, traditional expectations, coercion, underlying threat, unhealthy relationship dynamics (Coriolanus and Reader), eventual smut and eventual arranged marriage

The gilded ballroom brimmed with grandeur, its opulence almost overwhelming. Y/n stood near the edge of the crowd, marvelling at the way the crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars. Her breath hitched slightly, her nerves fluttering as the hum of conversation rose and fell around her. The string quartet’s melody soothed her, and she clasped her hands tightly to steady herself, her soft blush gown swaying gently with her every movement. She adored how the dress reminded her of spring blossoms, modest yet quietly radiant, like the life she lived.

Her eyes scanned the room, widening slightly at the decadent displays of wealth: trays of delicacies she had never seen before, diamonds glittering on throats, wrists and ears. A warm smile touched her lips when someone greeted her, and though their words often carried subtle barbs, she responded with kindness nonetheless. Politics and power games weren’t her nature; instead, she revelled in small, sincere exchanges. That is why she had such a small group of friends. Her upbringing had taught her the strength of humility and the beauty of honesty, even in a room filled with the opposite.

Y/n’s family lingered nearby, her father standing protectively at her side while her mother and young sister basked in the excitement of the evening. Her two closest friends, Clara and Rose, whispered animatedly about the attendees, their eyes sparkling as they tried to guess who wore which designer dress or who was the cutest couple at the event. Y/n giggled softly at their speculations, feeling a surge of gratitude for their company.

Rose twirled a lock of her auburn hair around her finger, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “Clara and I have decided we’re going to rank the best-dressed couples here tonight. Starting with them.” She tilted her head toward a striking pair near the centre of the room, their coordinated gold and ivory ensembles gleaming under the chandelier light.

Clara scoffed playfully. “Oh, please. They’re trying too hard. Look at her necklace—three layers of diamonds? Overkill!” She pointed subtly with her glass of sparkling cider. “Now, they,” she gestured to another couple near the banquet table, “look perfect. That midnight blue suit with her silver gown? Subtle and classy. No one’s outshining the other.”

Y/n chuckled softly at their analysis, letting their animated chatter ease her nerves. “I’m impressed you two know so much about Capitol fashion. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea who designed what.”

“That’s why you’ve got us,” Rose quipped, nudging Y/n again. “We’ll make sure you’re the best-dressed at every event from now on.” She paused, glancing toward a group of sharply dressed young men by the bar. “Speaking of, is it just me, or are we getting a lot of looks tonight?”

Clara smirked, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. “You’re not imagining it. I caught at least two of them glancing our way just now. Maybe they’ve never seen real beauty before.”

Y/n rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You two are ridiculous. They’re probably just wondering why we’re hovering by the wall like shy schoolgirls.”

Rose gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m surveying the room. It’s called being strategic.” She turned toward Y/N with a sly grin. “And besides, you should be flattered. Half the men in here can’t take their eyes off you. Including, might I add, a certain very important man.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed immediately. “Stop it,” she protested, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rose teased, her voice sing-song. “He’s looking again. Right now.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered as Clara leaned in conspiratorially. “You should practice your curtsy. Who knows, you might end the night with a dance from President Snow himself.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Y/n whispered back, mortified, though her friends’ laughter made it impossible to stay annoyed. They teased her mercilessly, but the warmth of their camaraderie eased the tension in her chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to giggle along with them, the weight of the evening forgotten—until the thought of his piercing blue eyes lingered just a little too long in her mind.

Y/n’s laughter faded as curiosity tugged at her brows furrowing ever so slightly. Was he truly looking at me? Gathering what little courage she could muster, she dared to glance in his apparent direction. Her breath caught in her throat the moment her eyes found him. President Snow stood near a marble column, a glass of deep red wine cradled effortlessly in one hand. The tailored crimson suit he wore seemed to command the attention of the room, the deep hue a stark contrast to his fair complexion and icy blue eyes. The jacket’s sharp lapels framed his broad shoulders, his polished appearance exuding an air of quiet authority that made her stomach flutter.

His features were a study in precision—strong, angular, and utterly unreadable. The slightest tilt of his head and the glint in his eye gave him an edge of mystery, as though he were privy to secrets the rest of the world would never uncover. He sipped his wine slowly, his gaze steady, and Y/N’s cheeks burned when she realised those piercing blue eyes were locked on hers once again.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The noise of the ballroom faded into a distant hum, and all she could feel was the erratic rhythm of her heart as it skipped a beat, then another. His stare was unrelenting, both chilling and thrilling in its intensity. It was as though he could see straight through her, past her composed exterior, to the nervous energy buzzing beneath her skin.

She quickly looked away, her fingers tightening their grip on the folds of her dress. Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach, and her thoughts became a tangle of confusion and exhilaration. What was it about his gaze that made her feel both exposed and significant all at once? She hadn’t even spoken a word to him, yet somehow, she felt as though he had marked her as someone worth noticing.

Clara’s voice pulled Y/N from her daze, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “You’ve gone quiet. Let me guess—you’ve been captivated by someone across the room?”

Y/n blinked, trying to compose herself, but her thoughts were still tangled with the image of him—the sharp angles of his face, the commanding presence he exuded, and the way his icy blue eyes had held hers with such certainty. Her heart fluttered wildly, betraying her previously composed exterior. “I’m just… lost in thought,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

Rose, ever perceptive, wasn’t convinced. “Lost in thought? Or lost in someone?” she teased, her grin widening as she glanced knowingly in the direction Y/n had dared to look. “Don’t deny it—you’ve been sneaking glances at him.”

Y/n’s cheeks burned, and she clutched the fabric of her gown tightly to steady and ground herself. 

“That’s not true,” she whispered, though the heat rising to her face and the erratic rhythm of her heart told a different story. She couldn’t admit it—not to herself, not to anyone—but the way his eyes had lingered on her made her feel seen in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Despite her original protest, curiosity got the better of her once more, and she found herself stealing another glance. Her heart nearly stopped when she caught him watching her again, his gaze steady and unrelenting. He raised his glass ever so slightly, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips, as though he knew the effect he had on her.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier as though the wind was knocked out of her. Oh, dear God. Y/n’s thoughts spiralled as she quickly averted her gaze, her heart leaping to her throat. A rush of warmth spread across her cheeks, and her pulse thundered in her ears, betraying the composure she struggled to maintain.

Why does he keep looking at me? She wondered, her mind a whirlwind of nerves and wonder. She barely registered her friends’ continued chatter as her thoughts spiralled. Had she imagined the subtle acknowledgement? Or was it real?

Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together one over the other, her friends’ laughter blending into the background. She tried to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her chest, but her gaze kept drifting back to him, as though pulled by some invisible force.

The night passed in a whirlwind of introductions and pleasantries, her family eager to acquaint her with men her age. Her father, ever watchful, took it upon himself to steer her toward eligible bachelors, each introduction feeling more forced than the last. One was the son of a wealthy politician, another the heir to an influential Capitol family. Y/N smiled politely, exchanged the expected small talk, and nodded at all the right moments, but her heart wasn’t in it. The son of the wealthy politician was tall but slender, with soft brown hair that fell just above his ears, and wide, nervous emerald green eyes that never quite met hers. His clothes were well-tailored, though his fidgeting hands betrayed his shyness shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment clearly aware that his father was trying to attempt to set him up.

“Y/n,” the young man began hesitantly, his voice soft and uneven as though it might crack at any moment. “It’s… it’s been a long time since we’ve talked. You look—uh—nice tonight.” His emerald eyes darted to hers briefly before dropping back to the floor.

“Thank you, Theodore,” Y/n replied with a kind smile, her tone gentle. She remembered him well enough—Theodore Alden, the quiet boy from her school years, always sitting at the back of the classroom with his head buried in books. “It’s good to see you again. You’ve done well for yourself, I hear.”

He flushed deeper, tugging nervously at his cuffs. “Oh, I… I don’t know about that. My father likes to, um, exaggerate.” He glanced toward where his father stood a few feet away, watching them with an encouraging but overbearing smile. “I just… I wanted to say, I always admired you. You were always so kind… and graceful.”

Y/n blinked in surprise at his honesty, a warmth rising in her chest at his sincerity. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Theodore. I’ve always thought highly of you as well.”

His gaze lifted for a moment, meeting hers fully for the first time, and a tentative smile formed on his lips revealing small dimples. “You have?”

“Of course,” she said with a small laugh, trying to put him at ease. “You’ve always been intelligent and thoughtful. That’s something to be proud of.”

Before he could respond, her friends’ laughter rang out behind her, drawing her attention. She turned back to Theodore with an apologetic smile. “I should rejoin my friends. But it was lovely to speak with you again.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Theodore stammered, stepping back awkwardly accidentally bumping into a waiter in the process causing him to hastily apologise to the waiter before turning back to face you with an awkward smile on his face with his cheeks flushed. “Thank you for… for talking with me.”

As Y/n walked away, she felt a pang of guilt for leaving so quickly, but she felt as though the conversation had run its course. Glancing back once, she saw him watching her retreat with a wistful expression, his shoulders slumped slightly as though regretting he hadn’t said more.

As Y/n approached her friends, Rose and Clara exchanged knowing looks, their smiles already brimming with mischief. The moment she rejoined them, they pounced.

“Well, well,” Rose said with an exaggerated smirk, crossing her arms. “What was that all about? You and Theodore looked pretty cozy over there.”

Clara gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Don’t tell me the shy boy finally worked up the nerve to talk to you! Did he confess his undying love? Write a sonnet on the spot?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were just catching up. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to him.”

“‘Just catching up,’” Rose echoed, mimicking Y/n’s soft tone. “Is that what you call it when a man can barely breathe around you? He looked like he was about to faint, Y/n.”

Clara giggled, leaning closer. “He’s had a thing for you since, what, first year of high school? Honestly, I think it’s adorable. The way he couldn’t stop fidgeting—poor thing was terrified of saying the wrong thing.”

“Terrified because Rose wouldn’t stop glaring at him from across the room,” Y/n shot back, giving her friend a playful nudge.

Rose held up her hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I was just trying to make sure he knew he had to impress you. Besides, he’s not really your type, is he?”

“And what exactly is my type?” Y/n asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rose and Clara exchanged another look before bursting into laughter. “Well definitely not shy, blushing bookworms,” Clara teased.

Y/n shook her head, laughing despite herself.

“Oh, come on,” Rose said, looping her arm through Y/n’s as they walked further into the ballroom. “Admit it, it was sweet. He couldn’t stop looking at you, and you can’t tell me you didn’t feel even a little flattered.”

Y/n sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. “Maybe a little. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Clara grinned, nudging her gently. “Whatever you say, Y/n. Just remember, if you ever do need a shy, adorable politician’s son in your life, you’ve already got one wrapped around your finger.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, the faint blush on her cheeks betraying her exasperation. “You two are impossible,” she muttered bashfully under her breath, though their teasing drew a small, reluctant smile.

Rose suddenly gasped, her eyes lighting up with mock realization. “Oh, right! How could I forget? You weren’t exactly paying attention to poor Theodore, were you? Not when you were giving heart eyes to the president earlier.”

Clara burst into laughter, clutching her side. “She’s right! Y/n, you practically melted on the spot. I’ve never seen you blush that much in my life. Should we curtsy every time we walk by you now? Future First Lady and all?”

Y/n’s eyes widened, her face flushing as she waved them off. “I was not giving him heart eyes! Stop it, people will hear you!”

Rose smirked, tapping her chin dramatically. “Oh, you weren’t? Because I’m pretty sure he was looking at you, too.”

Clara nudged Y/n with her elbow. “Come on, admit it. Just for us. You felt something, didn’t you?”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands as her friends giggled uncontrollably. 

Yet even as she humoured with her friends on her family’s previous attempts to match her with Capitol’s finest, her gaze kept drifting across the room. No matter where she was or whom she spoke to, her eyes sought him out, as if drawn by some invisible force. Each time she looked, he was closer than the last time.

Coriolanus Snow moved with calculated ease, weaving through clusters of politicians and dignitaries with his effortless charm. His crimson suit was impossible to miss, and neither was the way he glanced in her direction, his gaze lingering just long enough to send her heart into overdrive. His every move seemed casual, but Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that he was purposefully closing the distance between them.

Her pulse quickened as she realised he was nearing her side of the room, his slow but deliberate path bringing him closer with each passing moment. He stopped to exchange a few words with a senator, then moved on to greet a wealthy benefactor, all while subtly inching toward her. Each glance, each small shift, made her chest tighten with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Y/n, are you even listening?” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts gently tugging her away from her friends and close to her side so she could join in on the conversation. “Lord Albright was just telling us about his family’s estate outside the Capitol.”

“Oh,” she said quickly, forcing her attention back to the conversation. “That sounds lovely.”

But her distraction didn’t go unnoticed. Rose stifled a laugh, her eyes flicking knowingly toward where the young president stood. “You’ve been staring all night stop being so obvious,” she teased in a low voice. “He’s going to think you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not—” Y/n began, but her words caught in her throat as her gaze unintentionally flicked back toward him. This time, their eyes met again, and her breath hitched. He was only a few paces away now, his sharp features illuminated under the golden light of the chandeliers. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the deliberate way he was closing the gap.

Just as the moment felt unbearably intense, her father spoke up. “It’s getting late. We should head home before the streets grow too busy.”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “Already?” she asked, a hint of reluctance slipping into her tone.

Her mother gave her a gentle smile, guiding her toward the exit. “It’s been a long evening, dear. You’ll have other chances to socialise.”

As they made their way toward the grand doors, Y/n couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder one last time. Snow was standing where she’d last seen him, his piercing gaze following her departure. There was something in his expression—calculated, almost possessive—that sent a shiver down her spine.

She tore her eyes away, her heart pounding as she stepped out into the cool night air. Even as the carriage pulled away, the image of him lingered, etched into her mind like an indelible mark she couldn’t shake. Deep down she had a gut feeling this wouldn't be the last time she saw President Snow.

-Two days after the grand event- Y/n found herself seated at the dining table with her family. The cozy glow of the chandelier illuminated the room, filling it with warmth as the evening meal unfolded. Plates clinked softly, and light chatter wove through the air, her parents and siblings discussing the usual topics of the day.

It was then the soft knock came at the door. A courier, dressed sharply in Capitol livery, handed a small, elegant envelope to their housekeeper. The sealed parchment bore the unmistakable crest of the President. Y/n's heart fluttered at the sight of it as it was carefully placed in her hands.

“Who could that be from?” her mother asked, her curiosity barely contained.

“I have no idea,” Y/n murmured, her fingers trembling as she broke the seal. Her family’s conversation fell into a hushed silence, all eyes now on her as she carefully unfolded the letter.

As her gaze swept across the elegant script, her breath hitched. She could barely process the words, the formal tone, or the undeniable authority that each sentence carried. When she reached the end of the letter, her cheeks were flushed, her mind whirling with the weight of the invitation. -Start Of Letter-

The Capitol, Office of the President, Panem,

Dearest Y/n Y/l/n

I hope this letter finds you well. Allow me to formally introduce myself: I am Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem, though I suspect you may already know of me. Yet, in turn, I must admit I knew little of you until recently when fate allowed our paths to cross. At my recent formal event, amidst a sea of notable guests, it was you who caught my eye. There was a quiet grace in your demeanour, an elegance that demanded notice yet sought none. Intrigued, I found myself wanting to learn more about the person who carried such an air of distinction.

As a man who values intelligence, poise, and refinement, I feel compelled to extend an invitation for us to become better acquainted. It is rare for someone to leave such an impression, and rarer still for me to act upon it. However, I find myself intrigued by the possibilities that may arise from our acquaintance. To that end, I would be honoured if you would join me for an intimate dinner at Le Marbre Étoilé this Friday evening at 8 o’clock for I have already taken the liberty of reserving a table. The setting is one of the finest in the Capitol, offering an atmosphere befitting such an esteemed guest as yourself. 

While I understand the obligations of daily life can sometimes interfere with such invitations, I must stress the significance of this occasion. My schedule, as I am sure you can appreciate, is relentlessly occupied, leaving little room for rescheduling. I trust you will recognise the importance of seizing this opportunity and make the necessary adjustments to your own commitments. You are, of course, free to decline. However, I would hope such a decision is carefully considered, for an audience with the President is a privilege not lightly afforded.

I eagerly await your company and trust you will honour my invitation with your presence.

Until we meet, I remain yours with the utmost anticipation.

Warm regards, Coriolanus Snow President of Panem

-End of letter-

“What does it say?” her father pressed, leaning forward with a look of concern.

“It’s…” Y/n hesitated, still struggling to believe it herself. “It’s from President Snow.” Her voice was quiet, yet it seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. “He… He’s invited me to dinner. This Friday.”

A moment of stunned silence followed before her mother clasped her hands together. “President Snow? Invited you personally? How extraordinary!”

Her father frowned slightly, his protective nature stirring. “Why would the President take such an interest in you, Y/n?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “He said he noticed me at the event and wanted to become better acquainted. He’s already made arrangements for dinner at Le Marbre Étoilé.”

Her mother’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Le Marbre Étoilé! It’s the finest establishment in the Capitol. What an incredible honour!”

Her father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is unusual, but… he is the President. It wouldn’t be wise to decline.”

Her younger sister giggled, teasing. “Looks like someone caught the eye of Panem’s most powerful man.”

“Enough,” her father said firmly, though a trace of pride crept into his tone. “Y/n, you’ll go. You’ll represent our family with dignity and respect.”

“But…” Y/n faltered. “What if I embarrass myself? What if I’m not what he expects?”

Her mother placed a gentle hand on hers. “You’re everything he could expect and more, darling. Be yourself—your grace and poise will do the rest.”

Y/n looked at each of her family members in turn, feeling a mix of trepidation and resolve. The weight of the invitation was heavy, but their encouragement wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

Finally, she nodded, a small but determined smile breaking through her nerves. “I’ll go,” she said softly. “I’ll make sure I don’t let any of you down.”

Her family’s approval bolstered her spirits, but as she folded the letter and set it beside her plate, her thoughts drifted back to the man who had written it. President Snow—a name so synonymous with power and control. She wondered, for the briefest moment, what kind of man she would truly meet that Friday night. -Friday-

Friday evening arrived faster than Y/n anticipated, bringing with it a flurry of nerves and excitement. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, while the glow of Capitol lights began to twinkle in the distance.

Her bedroom was a whirlwind of fabrics and accessories as her mother and younger sister fussed over her, each determined to ensure she looked perfect for the evening ahead. A soft gown of midnight blue had been chosen—a colour that complimented her complexion and highlighted the delicate curves and frame of her body. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, subtle yet captivating, with a neckline that was modest but elegant it dipped just low enough to catch the eye but not enough to be deemed scandalous, with the dress flowing gracefully to the floor.

“Hold still, darling,” her mother instructed, carefully fastening the clasp of an understated pearl necklace around Y/n’s neck. “You look exquisite. Truly, like a vision.”

Her younger sister grinned, hands busy smoothing the delicate folds of the gown making sure there was not a single crease. “You’re going to leave everyone speechless, especially the president.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed at the mention of President Snow, her stomach twisting with nerves. “Do you think this is too much?” she asked, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

“Not at all,” her mother reassured her, brushing a few stray hairs back into the intricate updo they had styled. “It’s elegant. Sophisticated. Exactly the impression you want to leave.”

Her sister couldn’t resist teasing. “You’re going to make every woman in that restaurant jealous, Y/n. But don’t forget—he’s the one who invited you. That says everything.”

Y/n managed a small smile, though her heart still raced. The weight of the invitation and the significance of the evening felt almost overwhelming. Yet, beneath the nerves was a flicker of curiosity, a quiet wonder at what awaited her.

Once her hair was set, her makeup applied with a light and delicate touch, and the finishing details of her ensemble in place, her mother stepped back to admire her work. “Perfect,” she declared with a smile of pride. “Absolutely perfect.”

Y/n turned to the mirror, studying her reflection. For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to feel a sliver of confidence. She had to admit, she did look elegant, the kind of elegance she imagined would be expected of someone dining with the President.

Her father appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of protectiveness and awe. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft. “Are you ready?”

Y/n took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of her gown with trembling hands. “I think so,” she said quietly.

Her mother gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders. “You’ll do wonderfully, darling. Remember, just be yourself.”

As she descended the staircase to the waiting car, her family’s encouraging smiles lingered in her mind. Though the thought of meeting President Snow still made her heart race, Y/n was determined to carry herself with grace and dignity, no matter what the evening held.

The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the manor living room marked each passing moment as Y/n sat with her family, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her midnight blue gown cascading elegantly to the floor. Her father paced near the window peeking out discreetly every so often, his stern expression masking the nervous energy he exuded. Her mother, ever composed, sat gracefully beside Y/n, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. Beside her, Y/n’s younger sister fidgeted, her excitement barely contained as she sat perched on the arm of the couch. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” her mother said, glancing at the ornate clock above the mantle. Her tone was calm, but the glimmer of pride in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Do you think he’ll actually come to the door?” her sister asked, her wide eyes alight with curiosity. “Or will the driver just honk and wait outside?”

Her father shot her a look. “A man in his position would do well to show proper respect.” Her father stood near the window, peeking out and looking to see if the president had arrived yet. He turned to Y/n, his gaze softening. “Remember, this is just a dinner, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a mix of encouragement and caution. “Be polite, but don’t let anyone make you feel uncomfortable.” Y/n nodded, her heart pounding against her ribs. The weight of the evening ahead pressed down on her, but she met her father’s gaze with quiet determination.

The sound of an approaching vehicle, smooth and unmistakable, silenced the room. Y/N’s heart skipped as the sleek black Capitol limo came into view, its polished surface gleaming under the glow of the estate’s exterior lights. The car rolled to a stop in front of the manor, and after a moment, the door opened.

Coriolanus Snow emerged with the kind of poise that commanded attention. Dressed in a tailored black suit with crimson accents—a subtle yet striking statement of power—he exuded confidence. In his hand, he carried a single white rose. He paused briefly, adjusting his coat, before making his way up the stone steps to the front door.

The knock that followed echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. Y/n’s father straightened, crossing the room to answer. When he opened the door, Coriolanus greeted him with a polite, disarming smile, his icy blue eyes betraying nothing of his true intentions.

“Good evening, Mr. Y/l/n,” he said smoothly, his voice like silk. “I am Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem. Thank you for allowing me the honour of escorting your daughter this evening.”

Y/n’s father hesitated, sizing him up for a moment before stepping aside. “President Snow,” he said, his tone cautious yet respectful. “Welcome to our home. Please, come in.”

Coriolanus stepped inside, his sharp features framed by the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. His gaze swept the room briefly before settling on Y/N, who had risen from her seat, her composure steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted, inclining his head with a practised air of courtesy. “You look radiant this evening.”

“Thank you, President Snow,” Y/n replied softly, curtsying slightly, her voice steady even as her heart raced.

With a small, calculated smile, he extended the white rose to her. “A token for a memorable evening,” he said, his tone gentle, though his eyes gleamed with something more inscrutable.

Y/n accepted the rose with both hands, her fingers brushing the delicate petals. Before she could respond, he snapped the stem cleanly, leaving the flower intact. Leaning forward, he gently tucked it behind her ear, his touch light but deliberate.

“There,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “Perfect.”

Her family watched the exchange in silence, yet her mother beamed at the exchange while her sister barely stifled an excited squeal. The weight of the moment was heavy in the room. With an air of finality, Coriolanus stepped back, offering his arm to Y/n. “Shall we?”

Y/n glanced at her parents, who both gave small, reassuring nods. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand lightly on his arm. 

Just as he guided her toward the door Snow turned back to her father, his tone unwavering as they were about to exit the front door of their manor. “I assure you, Mr. Y/l/n, your daughter will be in the utmost care this evening. I deeply value the trust you’ve extended to me.”

Though Y/n’s father maintained his reserved composure, he gave a measured nod. “See that you do.”

The sleek black limousine gleamed under the streetlights as Coriolanus Snow held the door open for Y/n. His movements were precise, every action exuding an air of control and authority. Y/n hesitated for the briefest moment, casting a glance back at her family standing in the doorway of the manor before stepping inside the luxurious vehicle.

The interior of the limo was nothing short of breathtaking, a haven of understated opulence. The soft leather seats were impeccably stitched, their deep, rich hue complementing the gleaming mahogany panelling that lined the walls. The subtle glow of warm, recessed lighting cast a golden hue over the space, illuminating the fine crystal decanters that held Capitol's most exclusive vintages in a small, built-in bar.

The faint aroma of expensive cologne mingled with the delicate scent of fresh roses arranged in an understated vase near the side panel. Every detail spoke of wealth and precision, from the velvet-lined armrests to the silent hum of the temperature-controlled environment.

Snow followed closely, settling into the seat beside her with a measured grace. His movements were deliberate, exuding an air of calm control as he adjusted his position. His tailored suit caught the light subtly, the fabric hinting at its impeccable craftsmanship, while his piercing gaze swept the cabin briefly before returning to her, his presence filling the intimate space effortlessly.

As the car began to move, the city lights of the Capitol streamed past the tinted windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the sleek interior. The glow of neon signs illuminated towering buildings, their facades adorned with holographic advertisements that shimmered like liquid gold. Streets were alive with motion, a symphony of luxury vehicles gliding past pedestrians dressed in extravagant finery.

Capitol elites wandered the bustling avenues, their laughter and animated conversations spilling into the night air. Women adorned in opulent gowns, encrusted with gemstones that caught the light, strolled arm-in-arm with men in tailored suits boasting rich, exotic fabrics. Groups lingered near gilded restaurant entrances, their expressions a mix of idle amusement and carefully practised airs of superiority, waiting to enter establishments where chandeliers glittered like starlight through tall windows.

The gentle hum of the engine was the only sound for a moment before Snow broke the silence.

“I trust your family approves of our outing this evening,” he said, his tone conversational but with an undertone of authority.

“They were… a bit surprised by your invitation, Mr. President,” Y/n replied, her voice soft and almost hesitant, her gaze flickering to meet his before dropping again.

“Coriolanus,” he corrected smoothly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “There’s no need for formality between us tonight.”

Y/n nodded, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The grandeur of the Capitol outside the window was both mesmerising and intimidating, but she focused on maintaining her composure.

After a short ride, the limousine pulled up in front of Le Marbre Étoilé, the Capitol's most exclusive dining establishment. The grand facade of the restaurant was illuminated with golden lights, its towering columns and intricate marble carvings radiating opulence. A valet immediately stepped forward to open the door, bowing slightly as Coriolanus exited the vehicle.

He turned to offer Y/n his hand, his gaze unwavering as she placed her fingers lightly in his. His palm was cool but firm, his grip tightening around hers with a subtle yet possessive strength. “Welcome to Le Marbre Étoilé,” he said, his voice carrying a note of pride, each word measured and deliberate. His touch lingered as if to ground her amidst the overwhelming grandeur surrounding them, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers, commanding her full attention.

The restaurant’s entrance opened to reveal a grand lobby adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and towering arrangements of fresh roses. The murmured conversations of the Capitol elite filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner.

Snow placed a hand lightly on the small of Y/n’s back, guiding her through the crowd. Heads turned subtly as they passed, whispers rippling in their wake. Y/n couldn’t help but feel the weight of every gaze, but Snow walked with an unbothered confidence, as though the entire evening had been orchestrated solely for them.

A maître d’ appeared, bowing deeply. “Mr. President, your table is ready,” he announced, gesturing toward a private section of the restaurant.

“Excellent,” Snow replied, his tone clipped but polite. He glanced at Y/n, his icy blue eyes momentarily softening. “Shall we?”

Y/n nodded, allowing herself to be led further into the gilded halls of Le Marbre Étoilé, the quiet elegance of the setting only heightening her sense of anticipation.

The dinner began with a glass of sparkling Capitol wine, its bubbles shimmering like liquid gold in the crystal flutes. Y/n’s fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the glass, stealing a glance at Snow from beneath her lashes. His every movement was deliberate, and precise, from the way he swirled the wine in his glass to the subtle tilt of his head as he observed her.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked, breaking the silence that had settled over their secluded corner of the grand restaurant.

Y/n’s cheeks warmed, and she placed the glass back onto the table with care. “I suppose I’m not used to being in places like this,” she admitted, her voice soft.

Snow leaned forward slightly, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows over his features. “And yet, you carry yourself as though you belong here,” he said, his tone almost disarming. “Your poise betrays any claim of unfamiliarity.”

Y/n glanced down at her plate, feeling the weight of his words. “That’s kind of you to say, Mr. President.”

“Coriolanus,” he corrected smoothly once again. “You’ll find I prefer a more personal approach during private engagements.”

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint, polite smile, though she didn’t trust herself to speak again just yet. Her shyness was a strange comfort in this setting; it shielded her from the vulnerability of meeting his gaze too often.

The meal was a parade of Capitol extravagant appetisers of delicately arranged seafood, main courses of tender meat paired with rare vegetables, and desserts that looked more like works of art than food. Each dish was introduced with an air of reverence by the maître d’, and while Y/n appreciated the effort, she found herself more focused on the man seated across from her.

“Do you often dine with guests in such an... exclusive setting?” she asked cautiously, breaking the silence as she carefully cut into her entrée.

Snow’s lips twitched into what could only be described as a shadow of a smile. “Rarely,” he admitted, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers. “I value my time too greatly to squander it on idle company. This, however...” He paused, lifting his glass in a subtle gesture toward her. “This is a notable exception.”

Her heart fluttered, and she quickly dropped her gaze, feeling the heat creep into her cheeks. “That’s... flattering,” she murmured, fumbling for the right words.

“You’re being modest again,” he replied, his tone gentler than she expected. “I find it refreshing, truthfully. The Capitol is so often a place of excess, of posturing. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t demand to be noticed but commands attention nonetheless.”

The compliment left her breathless, and she focused on her plate, her appetite fading as nervous energy took its place. “I’m not sure I deserve such praise,” she said finally, daring a glance at him.

Snow set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, studying her with a piercing intensity. “That humility is precisely what makes you deserving,” he said quietly, as though it were an irrefutable fact.

For a moment, the room seemed smaller, the grand space folding in on itself until it was just the two of them. The orchestra’s music faded into the background and the clink of glasses and murmured conversation from the other diners echoed a distant hum.

Y/n took a small sip of her wine, her fingers gripping the glass tightly as she tried to steady her nerves. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at her—not unkind, but calculated, as though he were peeling back her layers and uncovering secrets even she didn’t know she had.

“You’re quiet again,” he observed, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

She managed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I suppose I’m still not used to this.”

“Then allow me to make you more comfortable,” he said smoothly, raising his glass. “To new beginnings, Y/n.”

She hesitated before lifting her glass to meet his, her smile tentative. “To new beginnings.”

As their glasses clinked softly, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner was more than just a meal. It felt like the start of something she couldn’t quite name—something thrilling, terrifying, and inescapable.

[squeakadeeks]

merry christmas my gift to you is telling a terrible tale since I think enough time has passed (ie over a decade) that i can tell you this without exploding.

when i was like 12 and starting out with art, i was so excited to open commissions just like a ✨real artist✨ and it being deviantart in the 2010's, within about a month i got someone asking for furry inflation fetish art. being a kid and having no sex ed, let alone the insanely specific sex ed that would be needed for me to understand what that is, i didnt flag it as inappropriate. I thought it would just be a "cool anatomy exercise like ✨real✨ artists do!" i was so ready and i took it on for 200 llamabucks or w/e the onsite currency was at the time. i did it, i drew it, whatever. well sure enough after posting it i quickly learned what furry inflation art actually was and i was mortified. being in like.....7th grade i was still terrified of sex and i was worried about my parents finding out so i took the entire sketchbook and buried it under my mattress. I lived in fear for months afterwards and felt like i deserved to be shot for falling for it and making something sinful.

the proceeding events happen in a confusing haze because my mother is an utterly puzzling woman so some suspension of disbelief is required but believe me when i say. i wish this was apocryphal. I dont know how or why, but some how some way my mom not only finds the sketchbook under my mattress, goes through the entire thing, finds the one singular offending sketch, then in a concerning mystery i will invest not a single iota of effort to solve due to the implications, immediately clocked that it was sexual fetish art. the one saving grace of a spherical wolf being niche enough that people wouldnt understand the dark deed i had done was out the window. She rips the page out, goes downstairs and parades it to the rest of the family like: "oh my god! look what ____ drew! lets all look at this! lets all look at this right now and laugh at it!" even with just this, i'm full on bursting into heavy hiccuping tears. as a kid this was the ultimate nightmare. you did something bad, you did something really bad, and your primary authority figure not only found it, but is now making sure everyone else you care about also knows the horrible shameful thing you did. except. there was something i couldnt have fathomed at the time that was about to get much, much worse.

my grandfather was dying of parkinson's at the time. when my mother took the sketch and displayed it to everyone like an auctioneer with a high ticket item, i ran out of the room sobbing so i never saw what happened to the blue inflated wolf with punk bangs. Well we all went to visit grandpa. we're all sitting around grandpa who used to be a famous local artist and was a big inspiration to me as a kid. and my mom goes "hey. ____ also wants to be an artist. Do you want to see what they drew?" and you'll never fucking guess what she pulls out of her pocket. hes barely able to turn and look over only to see that goddamn motherfucking wolf again. unlike before where i was crying so hard i couldn't breathe i remember being dead silent and stone still in shock. i dont think i blinked for 5 minutes but when i got up i threw up in the bathroom lol. I cant remember how but this time i did actually get the sketch back and i tore it to pieces and buried it in the yard. it haunted me for YEARS

but anyway now i have a memory of my mother showing my dying grandfather furry inflation art that i accidentally made when i was in middle school because i wanted a rainbow llama badge on deviantart.

[hellodarling1357]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts? (Cassian x Reader) - Part 3

Hello hello!!! Part 3 is finalllyyyyy here, I’m so sorry for the wait. It’s a bit of a filler chapter but the next part should (hopefully) be up soon.

Here’s a link to part 1 and part 2 ✨

Enjoy and let me know what you think 🥰

Word Count: 2.3k

Your feet stumbled as you came to an abrupt halt, unable to tear your eyes away from the pair walking along the other side of the river.

The male you had let yourself believe you had a chance with, and the female, Evalina, who was clearly his perfect match.

Cassian and Evalina had been together almost two decades ago before their relationship was ripped to shreds by such a monumental fight that no one had dared asked Cassian what had caused it.

Although you had been concerned for Cassian during the fallout, you couldn’t help the guilt-ridden joy that coursed through you at the thought of Evalina no longer being around.

It seems, however, you were wrong.

Embarrassment washed over you as you realised this is what Cassian would’ve wanted to talk to you about this morning; he was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying and, oh, by the way, Evalina is back in the picture.

“Y/N?”

Mor pulled you from your thoughts, her eyes tracking over to see what had you stopping, causing her to let out a sigh as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and forced you to keep moving.

“Come on. Let’s skip dinner and get you nice and drunk.”

You wouldn’t argue with that.

*****

“Hello ladies, welcome, welcome,” A handsome fae male greeted as you stepped inside the cozy wine bar. “How can I help you today? Table for two?”

You let Mor answer and guide you to your seat, too caught up in self pity to say anything to the male.

“Now,” He said with a clap of his hands and a dazzling smile. “My name is Bryn, owner of this establishment and your server for today. We are fairly new here and are missing a few shipments so our drinks list is somewhat limited, but I’ll do my best. What were you both after?”

Mor shot you a glance but you were preoccupied with looking out the window, torturing yourself by trying to catch a glance of where Cassian and Evalina might have gone.

“Just a bottle of wine please,” Another glance in your direction had Mor adding, “And two shots of vodka”

With a chuckle, Bryn took your menus and promised to be right back with your drinks.

“So,” You glanced back at Mor as she spoke, knowing your face was the picture of misery but unable to bring yourself to care. “Are you finally going to admit to me that you’re head over heels in love with Cassian, or do I have to keep pretending not to notice?”

You let out a groan and placed your head on the table.

A soft “ahem” caused you to jump up, cheeks flushing, as you realised Bryn had just arrived with two shot glasses.

You gave him a sheepish look and muttered a quick “thanks”, kicking Mor under the table as she laughed at you and your clearly broken heart.

Downing the shot, you glared back at Mor before reaching across the table and downing her shot as well.

“Hey!” Mor grumbled as you slammed the glass down.

Before you could respond, Bryn appeared again, bottle of clear liquid in hand.

“Looks like you might need this,” he said as he filled up both glasses again. “It’s on the house.”

Mor quickly grabbed her glass back before you could finish both of them off again.

With a sigh you pushed your now-empty shot glass towards the middle of the table.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Does Cassian know?” If he knew it would make the whole mess of a situation so much worse.

“I don’t know, Y/N. But I’m not sure if—“

You were hardly listening to what she was saying as you replayed the past 24 hours and the emotional roller coaster you had endured.

“I feel so stupid,” Mor stared back at you in silence, giving you a small smile that encouraged you to continue. “Last night, once we got back, we were just arguing back and forth, just about dumb things, and then he said…he was drunk, really drunk, but he said he loved me.”

Two wine glasses were placed in front of you and you graciously took a sip, unable to bring yourself to meet Mor’s eye.

“He said he loved me, and…I don’t know, I passed it off as him being drunk and just being him. But then, before he went to bed, he said it again, and the way he looked at me…,” You let out a heavy sigh before taking another sip of wine. “I just feel so stupid for letting myself think, hope, that it was real and that he actually meant it. But then this morning he wanted to talk, and now that Evalina is back in the picture…” You trailed off, still trying to piece your thoughts together.

Mor was silent for a moment as she turned over all you had said. It didn’t make any sense. She had seen you and Cassian together, the way you looked at one another, the joking and back-and-forth banter, the way both of your feelings were obvious to everyone except yourselves. But maybe she had been wrong…

“It might not be what you think it is,” Mor finally said. “Maybe just give yourself a couple of days, get some distance from him so you can sort out your own thoughts. Then we’ll work it out.”

Giving her a small smile, you nodded in response before changing the topic.

“Enough about me,” A sly smile spread across your face. “Will your friend from last night be joining us at Starfall this year?”

*****

You didn’t need to try too hard at avoiding Cassian over the next few days. Despite the upcoming celebrations, your workload remained never ending, allowing you only fleeting greetings as you crossed paths with one another.

As luck would have it, the week before Starfall, Rhys sent Cassian to Illyria to look into some rumoured wing clippings that had started springing up across some of the smaller camps. Although you missed him and worried about your friend whilst he was away, you found a sense of relief filling you as you were no longer having to hide away to avoid him.

You knew you would have to talk it out eventually, but for now you let yourself ignore the emotional turmoil and instead focused on the upcoming Starfall celebrations.

*****

You were just adding the finishing touches to your makeup when there was a knock on your door, followed by Mor letting herself in, not waiting for you to answer.

“Hello to you too.” You smiled at your friend in the mirror as you swiped some blush over your other cheek.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She greeted as she passed you a generously filled glass of wine before setting herself down in one of the armchairs.

“Says you, you look absolutely stunning.” Mor just brushed off your compliment with a wave of her hand.

“Well go on, let’s see the dress. Everyone will be arriving soon.”

Taking a sip of wine, you walked over to your changing room, haphazardly throwing your silk robe onto the floor as you donned your Starfall dress.

Despite yourself, and the whirlwind the past two weeks had been, you couldn’t help but look forward to tonight. The distance from Cassian had helped you sort through your racing thoughts and allowed you to compose yourself enough to act as though nothing had changed.

Cassian had been delayed at one of the war camps and, according to Mor, had only returned to Velaris a few hours ago. Having been locked away with Rhys upon his return to go over his reports, and then with you spending the better part of the day bathing and getting yourself ready, you were yet to actually see him.

With a sigh you brushed out the skirt of your dress before grabbing your shoes and heading back out to the main part of your bedroom where Mor was waiting.

“I told you it was the perfect dress.” Mor squealed excitedly at the sight of you.

Grinning back at her, you quickly slid into your shoes before doing a final check over. You could feel your nerves start to flutter at the thought of seeing Cassian again, most likely with Evalina by his side if the other night was anything to go off.

With a final deep breath, you picked up your wine glass and turned to Mor.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

*****

The echo of music and excited chatter flowed down the hallway as the two of you headed towards the crowd. A quick glance around the room told you Cassian was yet to join and you felt your tension somewhat ebbing away as you and Mor headed over to where Rhys, Azriel, and Amren stood.

You lost yourself in the music and just being able to enjoy the night with your friends, your worries from earlier were long gone, the multiple drinks you had consumed definitely playing a helpful factor.

Noticing everyone’s glasses were getting low, you excused yourself and headed towards the bar to get the next round.

Patiently waiting for a tray of five glasses, you leant against the wall and watched the party before you in a contented silence. You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit you were also keeping an eye out for a certain red-siphoned Illyrian who you had yet to spot.

“Well you’re definitely looking better compared to the last time I saw you.”

You startled at the fae male who suddenly appeared by your side.

“Hi…” You trailed off, giving him an apologetic smile. He definitely looked familiar but you couldn’t place where you had met.

“Bryn.” He laughed. “You and your friend visited my bar the other week. Though I don’t blame you for not remembering me, seemed like you had quite a bit on your mind.” He finished with a wink at your clearly embarrassed expression as you thought back to your sorry state that night.

“Bryn, of course. How are you? How’s business?”

Shooting you another grin, he excitedly said, “Oh, it’s really great. Been pretty busy so that’s keeping me busy, but I do love it. We have a similar establishment in the Dawn Court but my partner is originally from here so we decided it was time to move back. Actually…would you excuse me? I believe one of the guests over there dabbles in the selling of fine wines…”

You blinked in response to his faced paced chatter and his sudden retreating figure, shaking your head a bit with a chuckle at what felt like the conversation equivalent of whiplash.

“Miss…” A voice called out, “Your drinks.”

Turning back to the bar, you hurried over for the tray, offering a gracious smile before heading into the throng of people to where your friends stood.

“Well you took your time, did someone catch your eye?” You rolled your eyes at Mor’s teasing as the others chuckled and thanked you for the drinks.

“Actually,” you started, giving Mor a dismissive look when she excitedly perked up. “Bryn, the owner of that new bar we went to the other week, is here, he was just telling me how it was all going. Here, someone hold this, I’m just going to take the tray back.”

You handed your glass off to Azriel before weaving your way back towards the bar. You waved at Bryn as you passed, who was now animatedly talking to who you assumed was the wine seller.

Movement behind you and the sudden call of your name had you looking around, your heart dropping as you were suddenly stood in front of Cassian and Evalina.

You gaped for a moment before quickly collecting yourself and plastering on a smile.

“Hi,” You greeted, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. “You’re back.”

Cassian gave you a soft smile, opening his mouth to say something but Evalina cut in.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you. Cauldron, it’s been too long, hasn’t it?” You stiffened as she locked her arm around Cassian’s, a smirk gracing her features. “Can you believe that I’ve finally found my mate?”

And there it was.

You felt the blood rush to your head, the surrounding sounds of the party becoming a distant murmur as your body tensed and eyes went wide.

Her mate. Cassian was her mate, and she was his, and…

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Cassian’s concerned voice had everything rushing back into focus.

You blinked up at him, cursing yourself for the burning sensation as tears welled in your eyes.

You didn’t know what to say, you should be happy for him, for them. But you couldn’t muster the energy to pretend anymore, not as you felt your heart break into a million little pieces.

Ignoring Cassian’s question and the bewilderment on Evalina’s face, you turned on the spot and walked away.

*****

Sorry… 👀

[sweet-evie]

This is How You Fall in Love

Content: Established Relationship, gojo x fem!reader, nameless OC, she/her pronouns, lovesick!gojo, sentimental!gojo

A/N: I actually do have an OC in mind, but I don't want to give her a name yet.

✨ masterlist ✨

Part of him wished she could see how ethereally beautiful she looked in her sleep.

But then again, this vulnerable and peaceful sight belonged to him and him alone. He alone was granted the privilege of watching how her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep, or how her lips parted slightly as she breathed in and out. No other soul would be privy to the way she tucked her hands into loose fists, or how her body subconsciously curled towards his.

No one else would hear her say his name in the dead of night sometimes.

There were nights when he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t deserve her. And tonight was one such night.

He lay beside her on their bed, tucked under soft sheets, skin to skin.

Gentle fingertips whispered delicately over the side of her face, brushing stray locks of hair behind an ear. He traced a familiar path from the delicate arch of her brows to the bridge of her nose, her cheekbones, and her lips.

So beautiful…

An irreplaceable treasure. Sweet and strong. Lovely with all her flaws. So honest and endearing.

He didn’t think she truly understood just how much he loved her or how much he cherished her. To be fair, he didn’t exactly tell her outright, but he adored her and would always find ways to make sure she knew just how much she meant to him. He wanted a life with her — a home, a family, maybe even two beautiful darlings they would call their own one day.

The hand that was on her face traveled lower, tracing her arm and her hand until he gently held her palm, bringing her hand to his lips, so he could lay soft and secret kisses along her knuckles. His eyes landed on the emptiness of one of her fingers, waiting for the engagement ring he had already commissioned. He was waiting on its completion, and when it would be done, he would ask her to tie her life to his for eternity — would ask her to marry him and spend the rest of his life with her.

He loved thinking of their life together and how much they effortlessly intertwined with each other throughout the years — as if this was meant to happen all along, as if every moment back then was meant to lead to where he was now, sleeping next to the woman he loved and adored, basking in the happiness that enveloped him whenever he gazed at her.

He made himself sick sometimes, just thinking about how much he loved her.

And to know that she returned his sentiments and perhaps even more, humbled him — drove him to his knees if he let it. It was beautiful to know that she accepted him and loved him for who he was — not for his wealth or his powers or his status, but for him. She stripped him of his titles and she loved him for simply being Satoru. No one ever made him feel like that ever since Suguru did. And to think that he would find someone that he would feel so deeply connected to… It was almost unheard of, but she found him and he found her regardless.

He refused to think of losing her, but once in a while he would try to think of it just to prove to himself how inconceivable it all was. If he lost her, he knew he would be ruined. Suguru left a gaping hole in his heart. If she ever left or if she was ever taken away from him, he feared what he would become. He would never love again. He didn’t want a life without her.

She was everything and more to him and his soul — a missing piece of his puzzle, his angel, the other half of his wandering soul. Her happiness was his… And to be a constant witness of her smiles and laughter, her joy and fulfillment for close to a decade…it made him so infinitely happy too.

She was his happiness.

And just like every other night he spent like this, he promised her again that only the coldness of death could ever take him away from her love and her warmth.

Gods, he didn’t deserve her at all. But he was glad to have her anyway, and he loved her so much.

==========================================

[Dumped in AO3]

[wellwhatnowlove]

I reread Light Bringer then Golden Son back to back... and I noticed a parallel that lead to (yet another) long winded essay... (spoilers for red rising saga up to Light Bringer) (its way too long im so sorry)(no im not)

“When you’re on your heels, you’re a liar. On your toes, you spit truth.” She swings again. “Now spit.” She hits my kneecap. (Golden Son, Ch. 33)

First and foremost, can we appreciate that Virginia literally chases Darrow around his bedroom with a practice razor to make him talk about his feelings. Pro tip for ladiez dealing with emotionally unavailable men... have you tried interrogating him about philosophy while trying to take out his kneecaps with a blunt weapon?

It’s hilarious

but only mildly effective bc Darrow starts to hit his ✨power off✨button. So Mustang pivots:

“Then her. The girl you lost.” I say nothing. She’s never pried. … How stupid of me. How could she forget? How could it not linger there inside her, forcing her to wonder, as she lay with her head on my chest listening to my heart beat, if it didn’t belong to another girl, a dead girl. “Silence isn’t the answer right now, Darrow.” (Golden Son, Ch. 33)

Virginia corners him and what spills out is everything she’s never said. She’s always known about Eo (if not the full scope of the situation). She’s always wondered if there’s a part of Darrow she’ll never reach.

And Darrow wants so badly to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. He stays quiet.

It’s not malicious. It’s not cold. It’s fear. It’s the same silence that will haunt their marriage for the next decade.

Now jump to Iron Gold. Years later. Married. MILF and DILF respectively. Survivors of ten thousand heartbreaks. And yet the same wounds are there. Ready to surface when they find themselves stretched to their breaking points.

“What is the point of this- marriage-if there’s no faith between us?” she asks. “No trust? I know you love me. I know you love our son. But love isn’t enough. You can’t hide things from me just because I’ll disagree with you.” … “But maybe you think you’re meant to die. Maybe you think you’re supposed to follow her.”

I feel sudden pain for my wife. “This isn’t about Eo.” “No, it’s about you praying for storms, believing that when they come they’ll bring you peace.” (Iron Gold, Ch. 33)

When I read this fight I almost felt awkward for intruding which is why it’s brilliant. Because it’s not about who’s right…. it’s about how long these two have held onto insecurities and grief they never truly voiced aloud. Darrow still carries guilt like it’s armor. And Virginia? She still wonders if she’s second. Still fears that part of him is trying to disappear.

“It’s like you want me to shut myself off to you. Is that what you want?”

She’s begging. And beneath the anger, it’s the same plea as back in Golden Son:

“Why do you pull me back if you’re just going to push me away?”

They are still asking each other the same questions. They are still hoping the other will finally answer.

And then Light Bringer. After so much death. After distance, horror, regret and loss...

Darrow comes home. He’s broken, battered, and finally ready to stop hiding. He says to Virginia in their almost-reunion post Battle of Phobos

“I thought one last push would see us through. Numb myself. Put it all on me. Get it done. Then we’d get to live the life we’d promised ourselves. Experience the future we wanted Pax to have. […….] But I know I tend to shut down. Sometimes for years. That’s not right. It’s not…the path I want to walk anymore. It’s lonely, and we’ve always been stronger together.”

It calls back the scenes in Golden Son and Iron Gold down to the wording! The boy who let Virginia walk away rather than tell her the truth finally confesses and confronts a fear he's been battling for YEARS: the way he shuts down to protect others. The way he shuts her out. The way he believes he has to carry it alone.

And now? He doesn’t want to anymore.

But here’s the irony, the tragedy, the exquisite twist of the knife. Virginia says, voice strained with grief and tears:

“Darrow, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. The hardest thing—” My voice breaks. I fight back the tears. “Every morning you are my first thought. Maybe news has come as I slept. Maybe you’ve just landed in Agea…” I can’t keep the strain from my voice.” And then she sends him away. : “But we need you out there, beyond their siege line until you can return at the head of an armada.”

This is why I love them.

Because this isn’t a love story built on grand gestures and perfect timing. It’s built on pain. On misunderstandings. On missed chances and trying again anyway.

Darrow’s deepest insecurities? They echo across six books. Virginia’s? She carries them silently, always rational, always in control.. until she isn’t.

And they don’t learn to just forget about those deep insecurities, they linger, especially in dark times (Dark Ages? lol) despite all the self awareness and intelligence imaginable,

They both falter. They both withhold. But they also learn. Slowly. Brutally. Truthfully.

From:

“You shut me off.” To: “I know I tend to shut down..”

This isn’t resolution. It’s recognition. It’s love as a process- not as a performance.

They’re not perfect. But they’re real. And that makes me love them more.

[ranwan-love]

Verses of Love: Channeling Random Love Quotes and Poetry

Hello everyone. I hope this reading finds y'all well. Usually 20th may is celebrated as Valentine's day in China. So I got a reason to appreciate y'all 🥰

Close your eyes and pick a pile!!!

Let me know if it resonates or even make you happy✨

Pile One

In nostalgia, there is no difference between a day, a year, a decade or a lifetime because the amount of longing is beyond the idea of time.

Tum mere ho mujh ko yakeen tha, jhooth tha magar kitna haseen tha. (You were mine, it was what I believed, it was so beautiful even tho I was decieved)

I am sorry maybe I am not a great person after all. Even so I will try to become one oneday.

Ek tu na mila saari duniya mile bhi toh kya hai, mera dil na khile saari bagiya khile bhi toh kya hai. (Didn't got you so what's the point of getting the world,my heart didn't bloom so what's the point of bloom throughout the whole garden.)

Normally I try to run and I might even want to hide cause I never knew what I wanted until I looked in your eyes.

Will meet again, If not in this lifetime surely next.

Koi shaam to yun aaye ki teri yaad nhi tu aaye( Hopefully a evening comes where instead of your memories it's you who visit me.)

When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I will Crawl home to her.

Woh meri rooh k chaadar mein aa k chup gaya aise, k rooh nikle to woh nikle, jo woh nikle to rooh nikle (They hid in blanket of my soul in a way that soul leaves so they leave, they leave so do the soul)

Sitaron se bhari hui raatein pasand hai, Dur se suni uski baatein pasand hai, Tareef ke qabil hai uske baal phir bhi, Mujhe sab se jyada uski aankhein pasand hai.(I like the night filled with stars, i like the talks about her from afar. I like her hair too but more than that i love her eyes most so far)

～～⁠～⁠～～⁠～⁠～

Pile Two

Aur kuch intezaar aise hote hai hai jin mai shaam nhi umar guzar jaati hai (some wait are long enough to pass away your whole life instead of just some evening)

People say the world has changed. Thankfully between you and I, it's still the same.

My heart is stronger now that you are in it.

I think I like you best when you are with me and no one else

Tears in your peaceful eyes, summons storm in my heart

You are the knife I turn inside myself, This is love, This is love.

Whoever loved is beautiful but this doesn't mean that whom is beautiful is loved.

Kha tha na mohabbat mai barbaad ho jaaoge, tum se aap, aap se jaan, phir jaan se anjaan ho jaaoge ( someone please translate this one, I really can't 😭)

She is all thorns just like a rose branch, I am all wounds yet I would embrace her.

I only ever thought there were two types of loves; the kind you'd fall for and kind you'd die for. But you my darling you were the kind of love I would live for.

～～⁠～⁠～～⁠～⁠～

Pile Three

"soulmate+past life". It was an extra card lol.

If you must die, I'll envy the earth that wraps your body.

However far away, I will always love you. However long I stay I will always love you. Whatever words I say, I will always love you. I will always love you.

Life is yours Death is mine, Peace is yours Stress is mine, Happiness is yours sorrow is mine , Everything is yours but you are mine.

I am sorry maybe I'm not a great person after all but for you I will be a great lover.

I tried a million times to let you go, So many memories are on the floor, and now I hate the cities I don't belong, Just wanna go back home I'm fucking lonely

Breathe out, So I can breathe you in, hold you in.

I feel like worshipping you with all your cracks, pains and sorrows

He's more myself than I am, whatever our souls are made of? His and mine are the same.

Wo jo dara nahi mujhe khone se, woh kya afsoos krta hoga mujhe khone se! ( They never feared loosing me so would they regret loosing me)

Do you love her to death? Speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.

～～⁠～⁠～～⁠～⁠～

[lostboiking30]

Some night time thoughts while I’m sick in bed with Covid.

I want to preface this by saying that I have been aware of Wicked since 2004 and was active in the fandom between 2005-2009. I never watched the musical live(I know what happens tho-thank you for the slime tutorials), I read the book in like 2006 and I listened to the obc obsessively. However, I did fall out of the fandom maybe around 2010 and Wicked became less centralized in my life as I got older. Before I saw the movie, I hadn’t listened to the soundtrack for about 5 years. So it’s been awhile, but needless to say, I *adored* the movie.

I’m gonna be talking about some stuff in act 2 so if you are only familiar with the film, there are 🩷✨SPOILERS✨💚 below.

I’ve been active in a lot of discourse over Glinda being a “villain” in Wicked over on Threads and a lot of people are big mad about this take. And a lot of what I am seeing is that

1) people are assuming that folks who take this stance have only seen part 1

2) defending Glinda because they see themselves as her

3) are assuming that people calling Glinda a villain are simply being reductive and not seeing the nuances in her character arc.

On a related note—I find interesting is that everyone seems to be in agreement about who the “Wicked” one is in “No One Mourns The Wicked”

Now back in the early aughts when I was a teenager, I was admittedly more focused on Elphaba and Glinda’s romance than I was either of their characters, but at the time, I hadn’t seen the play, so all I had to go off of was the book and the OBC and as much as I enjoyed the book, the musical seemed more my speed because of how whimsical it sounded, which was more in line with my hopeless romantic heart that just wanted Glinda to get on the broom with Elphaba and forget about everything and fly off to their happily ever after.

Well…fast forward 2 decades later. I’m 33 now and within the last two decades, one of those decades has been spent in therapy after realizing that I was trans masculine, neurodivergent, and traumatized not just by the shit that happened in my family, but by the near constant political and social disasters we have all collectively been a part of for the last 10 years. The decolonization, deconstruction and radicalization I’ve experienced truly changed the lens on this story and the impact it’s had on me.

Watching Glinda in the first part of the movie was fascinating and entertaining because of how smart her character is. Someone described her as Machiavellian and at first I thought maybe that was giving Glinda too much credit, but the more I think about it, the more I think I agree.

Ariana Grande understands Glinda and played her so well and I saw that the second she appeared on screen.

Glindas performative “goodness” has always been present but it felt more tangible to me watching this film…and it left a bad taste in my mouth (yay for great acting!) because I have known people like her.

On the other hand, Cynthia Erivo’s Elphaba felt so authentic that I couldn’t help but fall in love with her again. This Elphaba was soft, kind, loyal, empathetic, naive, and unwavering. And because I had just gotten into a big fight with a friend who had called me naive and emotional, well I couldn’t help but feel connected to her again.

When i referred to Glinda as a villain, one person replied “wait til act 2. Listen to ‘No Good Deed’ Elphaba wasn’t all good either” and I thought that was such an odd thing because Elphaba didn’t do things with the intent to harm. She was trying to save her friends. She is actively gaslighting herself in “No Good Deed” with all the things others have always said to her.

Elphaba later admits she’s limited and can’t do the things Glinda that Glinda could do, even though Elphaba is literally one of the most powerful witches in Oz. She wasn’t limited. Her ambition lied outside of herself and her desire to help the Animals. She was tired.

And after spending years doing social justice work, the number one thing I learned, especially during the pandemic, was that this isn’t work one can do alone. It’s a community based effort. Organizing is hard work.

Glinda, on the other hand, was self ambitious, and even though she was slowly beginning to unravel and figure things out, it took her losing almost everything she wanted (her freedom, Elphaba and Fiyero) to figure out she had to change. Similarly to the dance scene in act 1. If Morrible hadn’t given her the wand and told her what Elphaba said, I do not think she would have been as compelled to enter the dance floor.

So here’s the thing. I *LOVE* Glinda. But I hate her. She is so complex for all the wrong reasons, and I know that as someone who is marginalized in different ways, I cannot be friends with someone who aligns themselves as Glinda does. And it’s fucking heartbreaking.

That’s the whole point of Defying Gravity. Elphaba and Glinda cannot continue together past that point.

But they changed some things in the movie. Hearing what Morrible said about Elphie at the beginning of DG, accepting Morrible’s embrace and listening to Oz’ guards yell “kill her” should have been glaring warning signs. Yet Glinda still chose to side with them and uphold the wizards tyrannical regime. Not to mention that Glinda’s decision to help the wizard and Morrible led to the chain of events in act 2. Glinda’s not a good person, even if she felt remorse later on.

And don’t even get me started on Fiyero. Like I get why he became part of the guard but the whole working from within the system is fucked too. I also hated that they never told Glinda.

So yeah. This was a really long winded way of saying that I think movie wicked and stage wicked reflect different moments in time and movie wicked is more appropriate for today’s mainstream audiences. I think Elphaba being played by a Black Woman had a huge impact on how she was played and received. I love that Cynthia Erivo advocated to make her Elphie represent a woman of color and that she included inner child and ancestor work into the character.

Ariana Grande knows the in and outs of Glinda and plays her as authentically as possible. And knowing how much the actors love each other irl really solidified how much I believe Elphaba and Glinda love each other.

I spent way too long on this and it’s all over the place but I’m posting it.

Engage, discuss, and divulge in a respectful manner please. Wicked is very near and dear to my heart.

[nyxtickled]

You and your wifey are literally the cutest!!🫶🏽🥰✨

How have you both managed to make your relationship last so long, despite everything you have been through??

hiii thank you so much!!! 😭💘

honestly i would say that our relationship has only benefited from all that we’ve been through. we met during some of the lowest points in our lives, and before we met, we both went through decades of trauma that no one should ever have to experience.

dating each other was like taking a full breath for the first time in our lives. idk man. we’ve never fought once. we’ve never even argued. we just view each other with such genuine reverence, we can’t imagine approaching one another with anything other than unconditional positive regard and assumed positive intent. we talk about EVERYTHING. every single little hurt feeling, emotion, conflict, challenge, misunderstanding, confusion, pain, joy, anything. we’ve just both been in so many situations where communicating with our partners wasn’t safe, and we never want to experience that again. so we are kind to each other. always, no matter what. and it’s really easy. bc we have so much respect for each other. i love her but i also like her. she is someone i admire, someone i want to be worthy of. someone i want to learn from.

and above all else, we have never gotten complacent. we still give the same energy and affection to each other that we did 2 years ago when we met. we never stopped gushing over each other, we never stopped putting in the work to earn each other’s love. we never stopped getting to know each other, we never stopped showing each other enthusiastic interest. i think that’s probably the best part of our relationship. we didn’t just like, develop feelings/attraction and then stop putting in effort. if anything we just put more and more effort in. we never stopped reminding each other of every little thing we fell in love with about each other. and if we do ebb and flow in our energy levels, which happens ALL the time bc we’re chronically ill, we just communicate with each other about it. we’ll be like “hey im dead as fuck but i love you ok?? my body feels like it’s being dissolved in acid from the inside out so i can’t really talk or think but it doesn’t mean i don’t love you ok??? ok my love? ok i have to flip and lay the other way now but i love you it doesn’t mean i don’t want to be facing you ok???” 💀

it’s just like. idk. i love her and i don’t wanna change anything about her and i don’t want anything from her other than to just be able to love her. and she matches that energy 1000% 😭💜