#¸·¯ ✩ writings ⋮take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die.

[songbirdreaped]

open starter for anybody ; set after lucy gray left the cabin <3 run. run. RUN. was all that could go through lucy gray's head as she sprinted away from the cabin through the trees. she was running as fast as her legs would carry her, everything in her telling her that she needed to get away from him if she wanted to survive. the words kept ringing in her head three's enough for me, he'd told her when she said they wouldn't have to kill anymore. three. she knew of two. bobbin and mayfair. all she'd asked for was the truth, yet she was met with a lie. my old self, coriolanus had told her as she demanded to know who the third was. lucy gray wasn't born yesterday, she could spot a lie from a mile away.

trust was the most important thing to her. trust outweighed love and yes, she had loved him. loved. now, all she could picture was those icy blue eyes gazing into her soul. would he kill her ? she didn't know, but she wasn't taking that chance. she couldn't take that chance. that was why she'd said she was going to pick katniss, her chance to escape and survive. lucy gray wished that she'd heeded dean highbottom's warning, wished that she hadn't let herself fall for the blond. any and all love she felt was gone, now all that was left was the need to flee.

as she kept running, the brunette felt her chest tightening, the crisp air filling her lungs, stinging as her heart raced in her chest. she needed to stop and catch her breath. ducking behind a tree, lucy gray took a moment, the breaths coming out more like gasps as she stayed there. the sound of coriolanus yelling for her caused her to panic more. she wasn't a fighter, he outpowered her anyway, but she could run. she could hide.

when she spotted the snake, lucy gray decided that she'd try to buy herself some time, dropping the scarf he'd given her to cover it up. she knew by looking at it that the snake wasn't venomous, it wouldn't hurt him too badly if he got bitten. it would just slow him down enough for her to get away. after the distraction was set, the brunette began to run again, hoping that the wind in the trees would cover up any noise that came from her feet on the ground.

it wasn't until she was hidden by a tree on the outer part of the woods that she'd realized her earring had fallen out in all of the chaos. she couldn't find it in herself to care anymore. the games weren't over when she'd returned home, these were still the games. her own survival was what mattered. lucy gray almost didn't notice the sound of footsteps coming toward her, but when she did it was too late to run. whoever it was had only been two paces from her now, and with how tired she was, they'd most likely be able to catch her if she ran. her eyes shut tightly as she braced herself for the figure to come closer, assuming it was coriolanus coming to kill her, to finish tying up the loose ends.

❝ just get it over with, ❞ the words came out more shaky than she'd intended. she wasn't usually one for giving up, but she knew that she had no more energy to keep running. if coriolanus had found her, then he won.

[songbirdreaped]

❝ i suppose you're right about that. i just wish i'd seen sooner how awful he was. it would have saved a lot of trouble. ❞ catching billy taupe with mayfair had been heartbreaking. coriolanus's words had her blushing, eyes locked to his for a moment as the waitress came over. she gave her order to the older woman before handing over her menu. the brunette's focus turned back to the blonde after the waitress walked away, a grin spreading across her face, thankfully having recovered from the moment before. ❝ guess i'm just that charmin', aren't i, gorgeous ? ❞ she winked at him as she nudged his foot under the table.

"Well. That just means they're a match." Coryo softly laughs, blues falling on the way her thumb rubs over his knuckles. Even the smallest touch creates a pang sensation inside his chest. Looking back up at her, pretending it doesn't affect him in the way he knows it does. "Of course, Lucy Gray. I didn't plan to like you so much. But here I am." Leaning closer to whisper before playfully smiling at the brunette and leaning back to answer the waitress that comes along to take their order.

[bangelism]

can someone please tell me how on earth i am supposed to just move on doing shit now.

the tortured poets department. the tortured poets department. which sounds like that groupchat name joe awlyn had the “tortured men’s club” or smth like that. the cover and aesthetic being black and white again in contrast to the “i once believed love would be black and white.” 2 years in the making. which takes us back to grammys 2021 when she won for folklore…

folklore which had the running theme of poets and poetry. especially songs like ‘the lakes’ where she positions herself as a poet wanting to go where all the poets went to die. and then the little text on her instagram talked about MUSES saying “my muses acquired like bruises.” where else has she sung about muses??? that’s right THE LAKES. where her lover is her muse, and she doesn’t want to go to the place where all the POETS went to die without her MUSE.

the text she posted with the album cover is also reminiscent of midnights imagery. she puts an emphasis on the “tick tick tick” of a love bomb reminiscent of the ticking of a clock perhaps?? and the clock symbol was so prevalent in midnights.

“my talismans and charms” like a mythical thing? a champion ring?? one price she deemed to win?? she described willow as a ‘love spell’ when she was releasing evermore. now we have more imagery of charms and magic. a talisman is an object that’s usually portrayed as a necklace that has magical abilities of some sort used to ‘avert evil’…maybe like initials on chain round a neck…

all is fair in love and poetry. which comes from the idiom ‘all is fair in love and war’, replacing war with poetry. (“the bombs were closer. my hand was the one you reached for. all throughout the great war.” [that also just reminded me the ‘tick tick tick of love bombs’]. taylor has always fought her battles, internal and external, through music. by writing, through poetry. there is so much to unpack in just that sentence. all is fair in love and poetry.

and of course she is fittingly the chairman of the tortured poets department.

i genuinely cannot wait for this album.

sincerely, a member of the tortured poets department.

[sainzsiren]

ur social media au’s are sO GOOD i’m so invested👀 can you do a social media au with luke castellan x daughter of hades where she’s super into poetry (like edgar allen poe, etc)

"take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die"

luke castellan x daughterofhades!poet!reader

smau - luke is y/n's muse

🎧 - the lakes by taylor swift

a/n: omg tysm and thank you so much for requesting! i added a little gracie abrams (in this au the reader's poetry is gracie's lyrics) because her writing is super poetic but i still kept the poe! i hope you like this!

*swearing, not checked so there might be mistakes*

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

liked by itslukecastellan, whosannabeth, and others

yn_yln writing about you 🤍

tagged itslukecastellan

view comments:

larueclarisse UR THE CUTEST

yn_yln LITERALLY YOU CLAR

larueclarisse AWEEEE

liked by author

itslukecastellan love you poe

yn_yln if its not obvious enough already i love you more

larueclarisse bro who tf calls their gf poe 💀

itslukecastellan what? her favorite poet is edgar allen poe

percy.jackson WOW youre invested in the dead aesthetic y/n

_groverunderwood PERCY

whosannabeth PERCY

larueclarisse wait thats really cute

whosannabeth THATS SO GOOD Y/N/N

yn_yln thank youuu 😊

percy.jackson really living up to the depressing hades aesthetic

yn_yln if you don't quit soon you'll be dead but not in an aesthetic way 🥰

percy.jackson noted

silenaaaa i love love and i love you

yn_yln ily sel

itslukecastellan oh so i make you nervous?

yn_yln shut up

silenaaa LUKE THERE ARE CHILDREN ON THIS APP

rachel.edare pls write my wedding vows when i get married

yn_yln ofc

_groverunderwood watching you try and get the perfect library pic was so funny 💀

yn_yln shut up

percy.jackson HAHAHAHAHA

iamchrisrodriguez @itslukecastellan i dont think you understand how lucky you are man

larueclarisse you've put yourself on thin ice

itslukecastellan trust me i do

whosannabeth chris i know what you were going for but this was not smart

iamchrisrodriguez i know that now

liked by yn_yln, _groverunderwood, and others

itslukecastellan does your girl write poetry about you? didnt think so.

tagged yn_yln

view comments:

_groverunderwood ok this is sickeningly adorable

itslukecastellan thanks bro

yn_yln my muse 🤍

itslukecastellan 😍

larueclarisse hes giggling and blushing rn

yn_yln fr?

whosannabeth can confirm

itslukecastellan leave me alone

yn_yln NEVER MUAHAHAH

iamchrisrodriguez @larueclarisse am i ur muse?

larueclarisse uh

itslukecastellan lmao

larueclarisse y/n quit doing adorable shit for luke chris is getting mad

yn_yln sorryyyyyy

whosannabeth edgar allen poe who?

yn_yln HIGHEST COMPLIMENT

itslukecastellan except shes hot too

percy.jackson good job luke a girl isnt repulsed by you

itslukecastellan stfu

whosannabeth HAHAHA

silenaaa have i mentioned that i love love?

itslukecastellan yes

yn_yln yes

rachel.edare SO CUTE

itslukecastellan i know she is

yn_yln's story

view reply from percy.jackson:

percy.jackson ENOUGH WE GET IT UR AESTHETIC IS DEAD DEPRESSION

yn_yln i'm going to kill you in your sleep (aesthetically ofc)

view reply from itslukecastellan:

itslukecastellan you make me insane

yn_yln good

view reply from larueclarisse:

larueclarisse AWEEE

larueclarisse also stop chris is on my ass rn about doing cute stuff

yn_yln just tell him a song that makes you think of him and he'll stfu

larueclarisse what song 💀

yn_yln literally any love song

larueclarisse meh

[songbirdreaped]

continued. // @ofdrivensnow

it was no secret what lucy gray's political opinions were. coming from a poor family that barely got by, she'd learned at a young age that most rich people, especially politicians didn't give a fuck about families like hers. when she'd made it big, she didn't forget where she came from. instead, she chose to use her newfound wealth to help others, donating directly to those in h need. she was vocal on her public accounts about her stance on every issue, making it clear that she did not support the current president, crassus snow. what made it difficult was when she'd met his son at an event, not knowing who he was. she'd fallen for the tall blond with the gorgeous icy blue gaze.

their relationship wasn't one that was advertised to the public, the two of them agreeing to be more private for their own reasons, her own being that she didn't want people speculating on how their relationship was going or when they'd 'inevitably' break up. even with that, it still hurt that coriolanus had ditched their plans yesterday for some airhead heiress that has made comments talking poorly on lucy gray and her music before. ' all of her songs are about her breakup. ' oh, that had infuriated the brunette.

❝ you keep using the word promise, yet you can't seem to keep them, ❞ the brown eyed girl said rather bitterly, clearly upset that he'd ditched her. she would have been understanding of his situation if he'd just tell her the truth. ❝ i know my worth, coriolanus snow, so if you don't start being honest with me, this can be done and you can feel free to go be with that blonde girl. ❞ the last thing she wanted was for them to break up, but she couldn't handle lies, not when her last relationship had been full of lies. things like ' i'll always love you ' and ' you're the only girl i have eyes for '. having a relationship that was private was one thing, but being tagged in photographs with other girls when he was supposed to be hanging out with lucy gray ? she couldn't excuse that. it made it worse when he wouldn't even tell the truth about it.

[songbirdreaped]

❝ well covey are musicians by trade, we'd travel 'round and sing in different districts. we love color, me the most, ❞ she lit up when talking about them, her family. ❝ i'm not sure why we were forced into twelve, i was younger when it happened, but old enough to remember the days before district twelve. ❞ lucy gray was also old enough to remember how her family died. when vesta suggested that maybe coriolanus may be able to help get her permission to travel and perform, the brunette gave a small smile. ❝ maybe, but i won't get my hopes up. ❞ she sighed softly. after the games, however, lucy gray's popularity in the capitol had grown. she'd heard talk at the gala they'd attended of people wanting her to perform for their different parties. ❝ maybe he could help you publish your writings one day too. i'm sure many people would love to read what you write, ❞ she grinned encouragingly.

vesta cocked her head to the side and listened to what lucy gray explained to her, without properly understanding. "what are the covey? and why are you forced to live in 12 now? where did you live before that?" this was very interesting to the girl, because she had never met anyone who had seen more than the district they stemmed from. nor had she ever heard of a group like the covey, because the people in panem normally just associated themselves with their districts. "perhaps coryo can help you get permission to travel and perform for people. everyone loved you in the games and i am sure that the districts would be dying to see you live as well. it would be a great opportunity for you and for them. perhaps he just needs to convince the right people and make it happen", she suggested, smiling encouragingly at the older woman. even though coryo had only just graduated, he knew a lot of people and understood well how to manipulate them. if he made them believe it was in their best interest to help lucy gray perform, finance the tour and make money in the districts, she was sure that lucy gray's dream was within the realm of possibilities.

[chloesolace]

The Lakes - Hannibal Lecter x Reader

summary: You are a promising young actress currently cast as the leading role in an Italian opera. When Dr. Hannibal Lecter, an admirer that has been visiting you occasionally, invites you to his house for dinner, you accept, not knowing the emotions it would evoke.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter x F!Reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: some making out, age gap

a/n: Another part of my Swift series! Where I write one shots based on Taylor Swift songs. This one is based on the song of the same name. And I have decided to do a similar series but with Florence + The Machine songs after finishing this one, so stay tuned!

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die I don't belong and, my beloved, neither do you

You smiled as you took a deep bow, a bouquet of roses in your arm. Applause erupted from all corners of the theater, and headlights blinded your view, causing the audience to merge into a single sea of darkness. Some people threw single flowers at your feet, and you kneeled to pick some of them up, adding them to your bouquet.

The long gown you wore made it hard for you to move much, but you had spent enough evenings dressed in dresses like this one to navigate the tight corset and voluminous skirt that hung from your waist, stretching to the wooden floor of the stage.

Scanning the sea of standing people in front of you, you could only distinguish those in the first row, but the person you sought always sat as close to the stage as possible.

Your smile softened when your eyes landed on the man who had attended every one of your shows for weeks. Your fingertips rested against your lips before you extended your arm towards the audience and blew them a kiss, not coincidentally in the man’s direction.

His face was darkened by shadow, his sharp features accentuated by the little light that shone on the audience as he turned his head towards you. He was clapping, his sole attention lying on you. Although a thousand faces were staring right at you, you met the man’s gaze only until the curtain closed before you, separating you from the audience.

“That was beautiful, (y/n),” Antonio, the director of the opera you had performed, said as he approached you, his face brightened by a toothy smile and his hands clasped in excitement. “Truly beautiful. A magnificent ending to a tragic story.”

You turned to him, handing your flowers to an assistant who passed by. “How many times do you want to say ‘beautiful’?” you chuckled. He always became very articulate after a successful show, which amused you.

“I believe your admirer will be waiting for you in your dressing room,” he said, shortly before turning his attention to a tech person behind you. “No! No! What are you doing? We need those lights for the encore!”

You watched as Antonio maneuvered around you, his eyes set on the man carrying a headlight in the wings. You sighed, trying to ignore how your stomach tingled at the thought of who was waiting for you behind the stage. You brushed it aside and left the stage, raising the skirt of your dress with your hands so you wouldn't trip and fall.

He stood in front of the room, its door slightly ajar. You could barely make out the large mirror of your dressing table behind it, the lights on it barely illuminating the otherwise darkened room. Dressed in a suit with his hair slicked back and a bouquet in his hands, Dr. Hannibal Lecter smiled at you, his gaze finding yours when you came to a halt in front of him. The gown suddenly seemed to weigh you down; it was somehow heavier than before.

“Miss (y/l/n),” he said, offering you the bouquet. It was made of white lilies and lots of green. You had told him weeks ago that they were your favorite when he first asked for you after the opera. Ever since Antonio had allowed him behind the stage to express his admiration for your singing, you had been keeping in touch here and there. Almost every evening you could count on seeing his face in one of the first rows. Usually, he would have sat in the rear seats, wanting a moment to simply enjoy the music— a private moment amongst a crowd. Ever since he had come into contact with you, though, he chose to sit as close to the stage as possible. It honored you.

“Dr. Lecter,” you nodded as you took the bouquet, a vase inside already prepared for it; he always brought you flowers when he had time to pay you a visit backstage. “They are lovely.” Smiling, you pushed the door open and left it so, allowing him to enter if he wanted. He only stood in the doorframe, watching as you placed the bouquet inside the vase on your dressing table.

“I would like to invite you to dinner, Miss (y/l/n),” he then said, causing you to stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. He had never properly invited you out before; his company had always been limited to his aftershow visits. Color rose to your cheeks.

After a pause, you replied, “Let me know when and where, and I shall be sure to clear my schedule.”

“Tomorrow at eight,” he said almost instantly. “My place. I would like to cook for you.”

You stood there, a bit taken aback by the abruptness of his invitation. However, you could not deny that you had dreamed about this at least once in the past weeks. There was something about the man that compelled you, that drew you in despite the fine hairs on your neck standing on end almost every time you laid eyes on him. He was quite a bit older than you. You had only finished musical school a few years ago while he was already an established doctor. His profession intrigued you too, as he had told you that he aids his psychological knowledge to the FBI at times.

Then, your lips curled into a smile, hands clasped together in front of your abdomen. “Send me the address, and I shall be there.”

—

You stood before the house with an umbrella in your hand, shielding yourself from the pouring November rain. The house almost resembled a small mansion, and you wondered just how wealthy he really was. You knew he used to be a surgeon, and his work in psychiatry was revolutionary for the field, but you had not considered the materialistic aspects that came with it.

Two pillars held a small roof above the front door, allowing you to step underneath and keep dry as you closed your umbrella, rustling the excess water from it. You pressed the doorbell, and did not have to wait long before Hannibal opened it for you, greeting you with a smile and stepping aside to let you in.

“Good evening,” he said, taking your coat and hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. “Please, do make yourself at home. I am only finishing up in the kitchen. Dinner will be served soon.”

You smiled in response, entering the room he gestured towards. It was the living room, you quickly realized, decorated with large bookshelves that stretched from the floor up to the ceiling and had almost no empty spots. Rows and rows of books had been placed inside it, together with curiosities and pictures.

You approached one of the shelves, your eyes drawn to the bird skull displayed on the right, before studying the titles engraved into leather spines. A few of them you recognized, but others rang no bell.

“I see you are a fan of classics,” you remarked when you felt him enter the room. A quick glance over your shoulder told you he was still wearing the white dress shirt and black vest, protected from oil by an apron which he was now taking off.

“No wonder then why you visit the opera so often. Although I must admit, I was beginning to wonder whether you enjoyed Tosca that much or my singing. You have been to almost every performance.”

“It is a favorite opera of mine,” he admitted. “But your performance was intriguing. I have never seen a production of Tosca quite like that before. Your vocals have such depth—it's riveting. I wanted to properly enjoy it before it is taken out of the theater’s repertoire.”

You half-smiled, running your hand along the bookshelf to your right. There was not a single hint of dust anywhere. It was clear this man took care of his books, which told you just how much he valued them.

“Well, I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the performances. Tonight was the last one.”

Hannibal turned his back toward you to take a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. You watched him approach you, one glass in each hand. You took one of them as he offered it.

"You're still relatively young," Hannibal said, raising his glass as he kept his eyes locked on you. "I find that as an opera singer approaches the peak of her career, the performance becomes more poignant; the voice becomes more seasoned and rounded. I imagine you have a long, flourishing career ahead of you."

“To flourishing careers,” you proposed a toast, raising your own glass to meet his, stopping mere millimeters before they could touch.

“To flourishing careers,” he repeated, clinking his glass with yours before taking a sip from the wine.

The taste of the bitter-sweet liquid filled your mouth, and you raised your brows in surprise at the quality. You were by no means an expert on wine, but you did not have to be to recognize how much finer this quality was compared to the wine you usually drank.

“Château Haut-Batailley. It is a French wine, one I keep for special occasions.”

“Well, in that case, I am honored, Dr. Lecter.”

“Please, no need for such formalities.” He chuckled a little, taking the apron from the chair he had hung it over. “I will finish up in the kitchen. In the meantime, please make use of my book collection if you wish.”

You watched him exit the room, leaving the door open behind him before you turned your attention back to the shelf, browsing the various titles one by one. You mainly looked at the fiction section and noticed that although he seemed to have a fondness for the classics, there was some modern literature as well, namely thrillers and historical fiction.

A while later, Hannibal entered the living room, his eyes finding you sitting in one of his leather armchairs, a copy of the Iliad in your hands. You had taken off your shoes a while ago to avoid getting dirt on his carpet, and they were standing behind you where the carpet did not cover the wooden tiles.

You had become so engrossed in your reading that you did not notice him at first. Your lips were slightly parted, and your breathing was even. You did not see it, but the faint hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He cleared his throat to get your attention.

You looked up, the book still in your hands as you met his eyes. “I do enjoy Greek myths a lot. This is a beautiful copy at that,” you said, raising the book a little to underline your words before you closed it and set it aside on the glass table next to you.

“It is a rare copy. Dating back to the 18th century,” he mentioned, wiping his hands with a white paper towel before tossing it into a garbage can nearby. You swallowed, pulling your hand back from the book as if it had burned you.

“That is very fascinating,” you said, standing from your seat and rubbing your palms against each other. You left the empty wine glass and the precious book behind on the glass table, approaching him. “I hope you are not bothered by me touching it? I didn't mean to pick such a valuable one.”

Hannibal chuckled, his eyes watching you in an almost predatory way as you showed a sign of uncertainty. You flinched a little when you saw him reach out, his hand ghosting over your cheek as he observed you. “Not at all,” he said softly. “It is not as fragile as its nature might suggest. The book is meant to be read, not locked away.”

“As music is supposed to be heard,” you added, letting Hannibal lead you out of the living room and past the kitchen until you reached the dining hall. The table had been elegantly set, one plate at the very end of it, and one to its left. You looked at the plants hanging from the wall to your right, touching the leaves gently to see if they were real. A classical piece played, though you saw no speakers anywhere. Hannibal invited you to sit, holding the chair out for you.

You thanked him and lowered yourself into the chair, in awe of the beautiful floral decoration that had been placed in the center of the table. The plate, you realized, was decorative only; it was golden and large, framing the white one Hannibal brought from his kitchen like a halo.

You looked at the carefully placed meat and the salad that accompanied it, the smell enveloping your nose. He poured you a new glass of wine, and you thanked him, waiting to ask about the dish until he had taken his seat.

“Venison backstrap with blackberry sauce and Italian salad. I hope you enjoy,” he said, holding his knife and fork, waiting for you to take a bite before doing so himself. There was a satisfied smile on his lips when he watched your eyes widen. It tasted truly divine, unlike anything you had ever had. It was savory, sweetened by the blackberry sauce, and just the right amount of well-done to still keep a juicy softness to it.

“You are truly an exceptional cook,” you said, cutting another piece of the meat before tasting the salad. It, too, seemed to have been made with the freshest ingredients available. The salad was crunchy, and the tomatoes were too. 

He smiled as he cut off a piece of the meat himself. “I am glad you enjoy it. I can give you the recipe if you like.”

You only shook your head as you took a sip of your wine, laughing softly when you placed the glass down. “Oh, no need. I fear I would only butcher it. I have never been an exceptionally good cook.”

“Yet your singing would make Orpheus envious.” He met your eyes as he said the words, causing you to suddenly feel a bit warmer than before. Swallowing, you lowered your head for a moment, the comparison making you somewhat nervous. You were used to compliments, but you knew men like him did not give them lightly. They weighed more than what critics and other admirers had to say.

When you finished your meal, he put the dirty dishes in the kitchen, leaving you alone to wander around the dining hall. There was a painting on the other side which you had not noticed when you entered; an image of the sea in the background, and white sand in the foreground, framed by single branches that were scarcely adorned by any green.

You only noticed Hannibal behind you when you heard his voice. The deepness of it, the vibrations and warmth of his breath on your naked shoulder, revealed by your off-shoulder top.

“Windermere,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The largest lake in England. William Wordsworth wrote many of his poems overlooking it.”

You tried to ignore how your heartbeat increased when you heard his deep voice right in your ear, goosebumps appearing on your skin. He was so close you could smell his cologne, an earthy, musky scent.

“Do you always surround yourself with so much poetry?” you asked, your breath almost catching in your throat as you stared at the painting in front of you, not daring to move even the slightest bit. You could feel his chest against your back simply by doing as much as breathing.

“I like to surround myself with beautiful things,” he replied. A pause followed. “Momento Mori.” He read aloud, and you instinctively touched your shoulder blade, right where the words had been pierced into your skin by a needle. You tensed. He leaned even closer to look at it, and you felt his finger ghost over the delicate tattoo. “Remember you must die. Quite morbid, is it not?” 

"It serves as a reminder to live each day to the fullest," you explained, turning your head slightly to watch him from the corner of your eye.

"A certain reminder, yet so unnecessary." There was a subtle cruelty in his voice you barely picked up on as you furrowed your brows, sucking in a breath in response to his thumb brushing over your bare shoulder, just above where the tattoo started.

"Unnecessary, how?" you asked with a hint of edge to your voice, which quickly faded as you felt his thumb on your skin. A shiver ran through your body.

"Death is a constant, something you can never avoid. It seems senseless to remind yourself of something inevitable," he said softly, his thumb running in small circles on your skin. He knew his touch was making you shiver, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"Or perhaps it is a way to ensure one is never foolish enough to forget." You pressed your lips together to prevent a sigh of pleasure from escaping you. You did not know why you did it. Perhaps you were embarrassed by how little it took for him to make you produce such a sound. Nevertheless, you turned your head in his direction so that you could look into his eyes, your lips mere inches apart.

“I suppose that depends on whether one is afraid of death,” he whispered, his voice laced with a deep, sensuous tone. Briefly, you saw his eyes drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. 

“Well, I am not,” you said, just before pressing your lips to his softly, your hand burying itself in his neatly brushed back hair. You felt him respond almost immediately, gently trapping your bottom lip between his teeth, which made you moan against his lips. 

Not breaking the kiss, you turned to face him, hand wandering down his face until you rested it on his shoulder. He had now taken the lead, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place as he deepened the kiss and you parted your lips in response. 

You could still taste the wine on his lips, the bitter-sweetness having an almost intoxicating effect on you as you pulled him closer to you by the shoulder. It was then that he dared to be a bit rougher, pushing you against the wall with the painting hanging just above your head. He had grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it back, though with a certain gentleness as if you could break in his embrace any second. He pressed kisses on your now exposed neck. You gasped when he bit you, sure it would leave a mark tomorrow. 

“Perhaps, we should continue this elsewhere,” Hannibal whispered against your neck with a raspy voice. You searched his gaze, smiling once your eyes locked. 

“Lead the way.”

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry I'm setting off, but not without my muse

[pinkorchidsinspring]

Why is no one talking about how Taylor named herself “chairman of the tortured poets society”?

Don’t swifties see that if not her sexuality- Taylor has been tortured by something, internally, externally even?

What could a white billionaire such as the Taylor Swift be tortured by?

I’d go as far as to connect it to the lakes:

A SONG WHERE SHE LITERALLY SAYS:

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

And then proceeds to list all the reasons she wants to go to the lakes?

The hunters with 📱 cellphones

Sounds a lot like the fans… specifically the ones who don’t know when to stop, and think that they have an invite to criticize her body, and sexualize her friends, and write headlines like “Do you have to be a supermodel with a**ets to be in Taylor’s circle?”. She’s tired of the dissecting, of the sheer inability of these people to ignore any queer references she makes in her art, in order to benefit their ice queen sl*t! Narrative of her.

She doesn’t belong in this society, much like the poets before her.

This homophobic society that will rip apart anyone who pushes the boundaries. That will make any snide remarks possible if she came out, like “for a queer woman” at award ceremonies, or reduce her to her body if they can’t hate on her art.

Her beloved doesn’t belong in this society either

I wonder why her beloved doesn’t belong in this patriarchal, set-up-for-straight-white-males society if he’s a straight white male? “Oh he’s more sensitive than other men”… or Maybe her beloved is a gay woman…🧍‍♀️

Old issues that should be over, have burrowed under her skin, and now hurt her in heart stopping waves of hurt

I don’t even need to say anything about this one.

Name dropping sleezes who tell her what her words are worth

Whether this is a direct reference to Kanye, and scooter, or just in general people who do this. Seems like she’s speaking against the people who tell her what her words are worth… after all, shade never made anybody less gay…

She wants auroras and sad prose

Are none of you getting yet that she’s got a lovely woe is me closeted lesbian thing going on here?

She wants wisteria to grow over her bare feet, because she hasn’t moved in years, and she wants her muse right by her side when it’s growing.

Open your eyes. She wants her muse to be standing by her side WHEN THE WISTERIA GROWS, does that sound like someone who is allowed to stand next to who she wants to on a red carpet without judgement?! Oh and by the way @sunshineheist brought to my attention that wisteria and lavender grow all over the mountains in Big Sur. She’s just writing songs about her mortal enemies though. Obviously.

In conclusion, this is no consequence:

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

‎‧₊˚✧{danny's masterlist}✧˚₊‧

ok it's finally here, i have been meaning to make a masterlist for so long and now it's happening. also note that this masterlist is only gonna be fandoms and characters i have already written for! you can send me a quick ask to see if i write for a particular fandom!

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Matthew Murdock

delicate - t. swift “is it cool that I said all that? / is it chill that you’re in my head?"' notes: my first ever fic! risque but not smutty

dress - t. swift "say my name and everything just stops/i dont want you like a best friend/only bought this dress so you could take it off." summary: ten months of yearning wears you and matt down to desperation. notes: smut, fem!reader (head warnings)

blank space - t. swift "so it's gonna be forever/or it's gonna go down in flames?/you can tell me when it's over/if the high was worth the pain" summary: your dad makes your life horrible. matt can make it worse. notes: angst, fem!reader, dead dove: do not eat (head warnings)

the lakes - t. swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you." summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. notes: comfort, hoh!reader

moon song - p. bridgers "and if i could give you the moon/i would give you the moon/you are sick/ and you're married/and you might be dying/but you're holding me like water in your hands" summary: you hate that elektra and matt are getting married. will you convince him not to go through with it? can you? notes: angst, male!reader

born to die - l.d. rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die" summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. notes: angst, wife!reader, HEAD WARNINGS!

black friday - t. odell "i wanna go party/i wanna have fun/wanna be happy/could you show me how it's done?/ you look so pretty/pretty like the sun" summary: you have a list of things to do within a year of living in new york. matt helps you check everything off- oh, and you fall in love with him, too. it's not on the list, but you do it anyways. notes: fluff, fem!reader

false god - t. swift "but we might just get away with it/religion's in your lips/even if it's a false god/we'd still worship/we might just get away with it/the altar is my hips" summary: the night before your wedding, you and matt are starving. you want to order room service, matt wants to eat out. notes: smut, hoh!reader

we're in love - boygenius "will you still love me if it turns out i'm insane?/i know what you'll say/but it helps to hear you say it anyway." summary: when your past finally catches up to you, matt truly learns what 'in sickness and in health' means notes: angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader

peace - taylor swift "the devils in the details/but you got a friend in me/would it be enough if i could never give you peace?" summary: tinnitus, buffalo chicken pizza, and objections. what more can you ask for from matt murdock? notes: fluff, hoh!reader

enter sandman - metallica "exit light/enter night/take my hand/we're off to never-never land" summary: you have a hard time sleeping. the devil has a few games in mind to tire you out. notes: SMUT!, fem!reader

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Mortal Kombat 1

Johnathan Cage

you're the one - greta van fleet "you're the one i want/you're the one i need/you're the one i had/come on back to me" summary: you're johnny cage's assistant babysitter agent, and you're his opposite. and yet, he finds himself unapologetically into you. notes: fluff, gn!reader

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The Last Of Us

Joel Miller

season of the witch - donavan "you've got to pick up every stich/oh no, must be the season of the witch" summary: you've lived in the small town of everbrook for a while now, and you thought nothing could shock you anymore. you're wrong. notes: fluff, witch!reader, monster hunter!joel

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Five Nights At Freddy's

Mike Schmidt

lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder." summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. notes: angst, gn!reader

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Greta Van Fleet

Danny Wagner

fearless - taylor swift "run your hands through your hair/absentmindedly making me want you/and i don't know how it gets better than this/you take my hand and drag me head first, fearless" summary: daniel has been acting awfully weird lately. luckily, the kiszka brothers are on the case! notes: fluff, fem!reader

silver springs - fleetwood mac "i follow you down/till the sound of my voice will haunt you/you'll never get away from the sound/of the woman that loves you" summary: the three times daniel wants you, and the one time he gets you. notes: right person, wrong time trope, gn!reader

scott street - phoebe bridgers "do you feel ashamed/when you hear my name?" summary: he's your danny, even while putting the pieces back together. notes: hurt/comfort, gn!fiance!reader

Josh Kiszka

timeless - taylor swift "and sometimes there's no proof, you just know/you're always gonna be mine/we're gonna be/i'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray" summary: you decide to be kind after being cheated on. it spirals out of control, thanks to josh kiszka. notes: fluff, fem!reader

Misc.

question..? - taylor swift "can i ask you a question?" summary: you ask your boys the burning question-- the question you don’t know if you can live without the answer to. notes: fluff, prefrences

bound for n.y.c. - greta van fleet summary: as tour manager, it's your job to get the boys to new york city, your home town. just don't fall in love with them, or anything. notes: fluff, an experimental fic where i explored poly dynamics lol i hate this now i don't think its very good but oh well

To Be Continued....

[songbirdreaped]

lucy gray kept herself occupied with other things as she waited for hara to dress. she didn't want to be disrespectful by looking over at her until she was clothed, so she instead focused on tidying up. ❝ i think so too. we should go out and find some food to fix up before it rolls in. if you're up for that. ❞ hearing the question, however, the brunette paused. ❝ sometimes. not as often as i used to, as i'd like to. ❞ lucy gray admitted, a sad smile on her face as she thought about how things used to be. how she could perform with the covey and have fun. it wasn't too bad a life out there, but she couldn't help but to miss the covey. her family.

They might as well be saying: I like the way you Are.

Hara too knows the reflection of self in clothes. She takes the first dress in Lucy Gray's bedside collection — her sense of self is leeward, hard to grasp now. Her path to permanence is reduced to its bare bones. It's just about surviving the next day now.

She drips where she stands. With each peel of garment, she feels cut with cold. Her back to Lucy Gray, she struggles her way through dressing. Bruising up the spine, an ache that deeps her. There's no care in how she's seen right now — naked, creature-like, whatever — she has one aim.

❛ I think, a storm is on its way. ❜ A glance out the window, then past her shoulder. Her gaze settles on the guitar. ❛ —do you still play? ❜

[fourstarsoutofnine]

I’m back with more Swiftie propaganda. I love doing these. Sorry you’re all stuck with them too, these are just my musings. Content under the cut

Links as Taylor Swift Lyrics

ALL:

Please, I’ve been on my knees. Change the prophecy… who do I have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy? - The Prophecy.

I gave my blood sweat and tears for this. - you’re on your own, kid

Give me back my [child]hood it was mine first. - would’ve, could’ve, should’ve

OOT/majora’s mask:

“Who’s afraid of little old me?!” You should be. - who’s afraid of little old me

Time won’t fly, it’s like I’m paralyzed by it. I’d like to be my old self again, but I’m still trying to find it. - all too well

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die. - the lakes

Twilight Princess:

A greater woman stays cool, but I howl like a wolf at the moon. - the prophecy

Oh, what a valiant roar, What a bland goodbye. "I'll never leave… nevermind.” Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire. Your arson's match, your somber eyes. And I'll still see it until I die. You're the loss of my life. - loml

Sky:

I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere I want, just not home. - my tears ricochet

You can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on your way home. You can see it with the lights out. You are in love, true love. - you are in love

And I feel so high school every time I look at you. I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you. And in the blink of a crinkling eye, I’m sinking, our fingers intwined, cheeks pink in the twinkling lights. Tell me ‘bout the first time you saw me. - so high school

Wild/totk:

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be. The tomb won’t close, stained glass windows in my mind. -would’ve, could’ve, should’ve

Am I allowed to cry? - guilty as sin.

I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try. - mirrorball

You drew stars around my scars. - cardigan

Maybe it’s the past that’s talking, screaming from the crypt. - the Great War

Wind:

I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my sh!t - I can do it with a broken heart

You’re on your own, kid. You always have been. - you’re on your own, kid

I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean. - who’s afraid of little old me?

Don’t call me “kid,” don’t call me “baby.” -illicit affairs

Wars:

All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army, frontlines, don’t you ignore me. Im the best thing at this party. - you’re losing me

With you I serve, with you I fall down. - epiphany

I vowed not to cry anymore if we survived the Great War. - The Great War

Four:

Stole my tortured heart, left all these broken parts. Told me I’m better off, but I’m not. - my boy only breaks his favorite toys

Watch as my shattered edges glisten. - mirrorball

Never be so clever you forget to be kind. - Marjorie

I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you. - long live

Hyrule:

I’m ready for combat. I say I don’t want that, but what if I do? - the archer

Everything you lose is a step you take. - you’re on your own, kid.

So yeah, it’s a war. It’s the fiercest fight of my life and you started it. - Ivy

If you never bleed you’re never gonna grow. - the 1

Legend:

If the story’s over, why am I still writing pages? - death by a thousand cuts

Dreams of your hair, and your stare, and sense of belief. In the good in the world, you once believed in me. And I felt you, and I held you for a while, but I could still melt your world. Argumentative, antithetical dream girl. - Hits different

Help, I’m still at the restaurant, still sitting In the corner I haunt, cross legged in the dim light, they say “what a sad sight”… right where you left me… you left me no choice but to stay here forever. - right where you left me

The lips I used to call home, so scarlet it was maroon. - maroon

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless. Excellent fun till you get to know her. - the bolter

I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs. The smell of smoke would hang around this long, cause I knew everything when I was young. - cardigan

[sylviainthewaves]

Dead poet's society

"Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary."

"No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world."

"We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race."

"For the first time in my life, I know what I want to do! And for the first time, I'm going to do it!"

"When you read, don't just consider what the author thinks, consider what you think."

"We must constantly look at things in a different way."

take me to the lakes where all the poet's went to die - the lakes by taylor swift.

[abby-the-writer]

"Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die"

Favi. 20. She/Her. GMT -4. Triggers: Animal death/cruelty

Headcanons:

Abigail is often referred as “Abby” by her loved ones, especially her mother, Lady Jenny, and older brothers, Kermit and Oscar.

Abby is the proud owner of four dogs; two mid-sized hounds named Monty and Jaunty, a pug named Thistle and a long-bodied rat catcher dog named Bread, whose company she enjoys most above all things.

She also writes her own penny-pamphlet (named Of Court and Kingdom), but does so anonymously, with the help of her older brother Oscar, who helps her both bringing her the rumors that circulate around the red keep and with the distribution of the pamphlet.

Abby is particularly closer to Oscar than she is to Kermit due to the large age gap between her and her eldest brother, but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel affection towards each other, or that they don’t get along.

Even though she’s very artistically gifted, Abby’s greatest passion is writing, of which she is very proud of.

Rumors:

Even though no one in the Red Keep, except for Oscar, knows Abigail is the one behind the Of Court and Kingdom pamphlet, there are several speculations going on about the writer’s true identity, some of which point to Abby herself.

Many people believe Abby to not be interested in finding a fine match, or even that she might be fond of women, but, in truth, she’s only waiting for the right man to sweep her off her feet, being a hopeless romantic, like most girls her age are.

Roleplaying blog part of @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

[foxes-that-run]

The Lakes

The lakes is about escaping the challenging aspects of Taylor Swift's life with her muse to form an artist community like Wordsworth and Keats had in the Lakes district in the 19th century.

Above, the Lyric video shows wildflowers, LK has referenced this song and Harry also has for a Pleasing campaign. In the vertical video Taylor is on a swing, reminiscent of the swing in Seven, possibly about Harry. Finally a photo with a swan in The Lakes District.

In the Long Pond Session Taylor said (I've shortened it)

'The Lakes is a testament of what I wanted to escape from and where I saw myself escaping to. We'd gone to the Lake District in England a couple years ago. In the 19th century you had a lot of poets like William Wordsworth and John Keats. There was a poet district. They had their own community of other artists, which I've always in my career.' Jack: 'it's not just I've found something worth escaping to it’s a person to escape with.” Taylor agreed "That's a huge sincere statement of hope, everything I'm naming is completely small compared to this love.” “Hoax as the ending song was interesting for a couple weeks but then I wanted the real last song. The Lakes shows you exactly what the overarching theme of the whole album of trying to escape and having something you want to protect, protect your own sanity and saying look they did this hundreds of years ago, I'm not the first person who's felt this way.

Taylor said they had gone to the lakes "a couple of years ago", and she described a poet district with an artist community, meaning fellow songwriters. She had been to the Lakes with a couple of years ago with on her first trip there with Harry Styles on her birthday in 2012. At the time Taylor said it was her best birthday since she was 6. Like Taylor, Harry has a similar experience of fame and is a lyricist. Harry has also sung about being in an artist community with Taylor, in Canyon Moon, which has a very similar idea as The Lakes.

I have seen people refer to the Invisible String Lyric "Our three-year trip / Getting lunch down by the Lakes" to point to Joe. While not photographed, their 3rd anniversary was October 2019, or 6 months before this song was recorded. 'A couple of years ago' rather than 'last year' implies the earlier trip. Joe is also not a lyricist, she spoke about an artist community. He is credited as a producer on Folklore. Taylor described how William Bowery wrote the melody's not lyrics.

Lyrics

Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me? I'm not cut out for all these cynical clones These hunters with cell phones

An elegie is the speech at a funeral, her songs, particularly those she is reclaiming are like diary. She lost her eulogie, the story of her life.

The last line refers back to 'I Know Places' "They are the hunters, we are the foxes" where she and Harry ran from paparazzi, now they hide from every person with a cell phone.

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry I'm setting off, but not without my muse

Taylor is saying she is not cut out for the music industry life, she lost the rights to her diary, constantly photographed. In the Long Pond she referred to having this plan for years, which she foreshadowed for Lover, and I think Harry's Peace ring. I think they may have shared this plan when they first visited for when she turned 30 and into 2020. Folklore is about communication and how life differs to what a 23 year old planned.

The final line is so lovely, her muse is Harry Styles. No other partner has inspired so much work or so much success, they have inspired and encouraged each other to do their best work. Even when they are with others for years they still write about each other. When they see each other they are prolific. Harry has even sung about how he writes too much about her. I could list what proportion of awards and hits are about this relationship, but let's stay in the Windermere peaks.

Despite their success Taylor does not think they are cut out for this life. Taylor has sung about Harry's anxiety in New Years Day and Now that we don't talk, it's also apparent watching him at award shows in his solo career. This song and many (Mirrorball, I know places, Slut!, You're on your own kid) are about how fame impacted Taylor.

What should be over burrowed under my skin In heart-stopping waves of hurt I've come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze Tell me what are my words worth

The first line I think could have 2 meanings, one that the relationship should be over but it is not and the waves are hurt of not being together. Or, and I think this because of the second half, Taylor cannot let her masters go. The last line is a pun on the worth of her words and the poet William Wordsworth.

I want auroras and sad prose I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet 'Cause I haven't moved in years And I want you right here A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground With no one around to tweet it While I bathe in cliffside pools With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

I want auroras and sad prose, refers to Harry Styles. She describes his eyes as “aurora borealis green” in Snow on the Beach. She also describes him as sad boy in Question..?, he does write sad prose.

In the Long Pond Session Taylor said "I could see this you know you you live in a cottage and you've got Wisteria growing up the outside of it and you just why you know of course they escaped like that." William Wordsworths cottage (below) has wisteria growing on the side, which is a slow growing purple plant, almost a lavender haze!

I love the imagery of 'Red rose grew out of rose in frozen ground', because it refers to Rose, which is a Haylor theme. But also because it refers to the track before Hoax: "My winless fight, this has frozen my ground" It also refers to a theme of hiding their love, "I would die for you secret" in Peace, that something beautiful and no one needs to know about it.

The last lines are so poetic and dramatic I love them. Calamitous love refers to a love that’s “built to fall apart (and back together)” in OOTW or "a crooked love in a straight line down” in IWYW. Taylor used a similar word discussing SOTB, calling it cataclysmic love. Taylor describes her dramatic and passionate relationship with Harry rather than staide and safe one described with Joe.

Her insurmountable grief is all she’s lost, her masters, the things she gave up in your own your own kid and things she has to pine about.

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry I'm setting off, but not without my muse No, not without you

Love this chorus, such beautiful poetry about poets and love.

[songbirdreaped]

"We'll pay the price, I guess." @snowalwayslandsontop

@snowalwayslandsontop

❝ i guess we will. ❞ lucy gray couldn't help but to sigh. ❝ we can fix this. fix us. we just need to be honest with each other. ❞ she was sure that they'd be okay. she just wanted him to tell the truth. ❝ please, coriolanus. ❞ it would take a little to trust him again, but this could be the start. she was always able to tell when somebody was lying, that's how she could tell his whole my old self was bull shit. plus, it had been such a terrible lie. seriously ? my old self. yeah right.

[songbirdreaped]

lucy gray glared at him as he told her that she could just throw the food out if she didn't want it. ❝ fine, i'll eat, but not because you want me to. ❞ she was stubborn and she didn't care. she thought that maybe if she pushed his buttons enough he'd let her go. she'd wanted her freedom more than anything else and he took it from her. she had been so close to it, close enough that she could taste it. they could have gone away together and been happy, but he'd lied.

the wine was tempting as he pushed a glass toward her. keeping a glare focused on him, the brunette took a sip of the drink. as she sat there with the glass in her hand, she could hear her stomach growling through the silence. she hated giving in, but lucy gray needed to eat something. even if it wasn't much. especially considering there were people starving. she'd seen first hand just how bad it was.

❝ the games shouldn't still be going on. some of these kids weren't even alive when the war happened, ❞ she shot back at him. she didn't believe that having children kill other children was a good way to get order. ❝ would you think of the games differently if i'd died in the arena ? ❞ lucy gray asked him after a beat of silence. she was starting to wonder if him caring for her was just a façade, another one of his lies. had she been so foolish to fall for it ?

❝ are you ever going to tell me who the third person you killed was ? ❞ she found herself asking after a big sip of the wine before her. lucy gray wanted to ask if he'd have killed her, to tie up all loose ends, but she refrained. he could have killed her, but she was here, in the capitol with him. she was alive in only one meaning of the word. certainly she didn't feel alive.

Coriolanus couldn't help the glare he gave her as she specified that she didn't want to eat with him in particular. He knew that wasn't entirely true, since she wouldn't even eat when she was alone here in the apartment. She was fighting a battle that he wasn't actively participating in. They both knew he had the upper hand here in the Capitol. Even if she ran, Peacekeepers would find her and bring her back time and time again. She was going to remain here with him, whether she wanted to or not. The sooner she accepted that, the better. But he wasn't going to point that out, knowing it would only cause a fight where she would sent the nearest breakable at his head and he was too tired to deal with that at this hour. "Then you can throw the food out when it's ready." He knew she hated to see food wasted, since she was painfully aware of what it was like to go hungry and just how many went to bed hungry beyond the Capitol. "Shame on you Coriolanus, don't know you they're starving in the Districts?" Clemmie had once teased him. Hunger and starvation were wonderful weapons that could be wielded against anyone. Coriolanus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Lucy Gray went on yet another tirade about the Games. They were never going to to agree on them so there was little point about arguing about this again. Still, at least she was engaging with him instead of hiding out in her room which was a small improvement. He moved across to the fridge, pleased to find some wine in there that he started a few days earlier. He took two glasses, poured them both before he placed the glass down on the table and pushed is across to Lucy Gray. Whether or not she choose to drink it was her affair. He was used to drinking alone but he still didn't particularly care for it. "The Games aren't about punishing individual children, that is why their names are selected randomly." Of course Lucy Gray had been targeted by the Mayor during the 10th Games, which is why he had suggested that escorts be sent from the Capitol to ensure there was no risk of the ballot being tampered with. "It's about the Districts paying for their uprising during the Dark Days ." It was about much more than that, primarily control. Panem was in a state of constant war and it was imperative that the Capitol had control.