#Assisted Dying Bill

[tmarshconnors]

Assisted Dying is Murder

This Friday, the House of Commons will debate one of the most contentious issues of our time: assisted dying. The proposed bill seeks to legalize physician-assisted suicide under certain circumstances, purportedly offering terminally ill patients the right to end their lives with medical assistance. Advocates argue it’s about dignity, autonomy, and relieving suffering. But let’s not mince words—this is state-sanctioned murder disguised in a cloak of compassion.

As MPs prepare to vote, they face not just a political choice but a moral reckoning. Legalizing assisted dying is not a slippery slope; it’s a moral cliff edge, and stepping over it would fundamentally change how we value human life.

The Sanctity of Life

At the heart of this debate lies the sanctity of life—a principle that has underpinned our civilization for centuries. Life is sacred not because of its quality but because of its inherent value. Allowing assisted dying shifts the cultural narrative: life becomes conditional, and its worth is measured against suffering, convenience, or perceived "burdens." This is not just a danger to the terminally ill; it risks redefining our collective ethics.

Once we legalize the idea that some lives are not worth living, where do we stop? It won’t take long before subtle pressures arise—financial, emotional, societal—on vulnerable individuals to consider ending their lives to ease the burden on others. That’s not autonomy; it’s coercion wrapped in faux liberty.

The Role of the State

The government’s primary role is to protect life, not to facilitate its destruction. Enacting a law that permits assisted dying would cross an ethical boundary that no legislature should breach. The moment we allow the state to sanction killing, even under tightly controlled conditions, we open the door to future expansions. History teaches us that such boundaries rarely remain static.

Consider the experience of countries like Canada, where medical assistance in dying (MAID) has led to a widening scope of eligibility. Initially intended for terminally ill adults, the law now includes those with chronic illnesses and, in some cases, mental health conditions. This mission creep demonstrates how quickly safeguards erode when human life is reduced to a question of utility.

The False Promise of Safeguards

Proponents of assisted dying assure us that strict safeguards will prevent abuse. But no safeguard is foolproof, especially when it comes to subjective judgments about suffering or consent. How do we ensure someone isn’t being subtly pressured by family members, caregivers, or even their own feelings of guilt about being a burden? Vulnerable people—elderly, disabled, or financially strapped—could easily feel obligated to choose death.

Moreover, once the principle of assisted dying is established, it will inevitably be applied more broadly. After all, if it’s compassionate to help a terminally ill patient die, why not someone with chronic pain? Or severe mental illness? These "logical" extensions lead to a world where the most vulnerable are encouraged, even subtly, to end their lives rather than live with dignity and care.

Real Compassion

True compassion isn’t about helping people die; it’s about helping people live, even in the face of suffering. Palliative care, mental health support, and community resources are where we should focus our efforts. We can alleviate pain and provide emotional and spiritual solace without resorting to lethal injections.

The argument for assisted dying often stems from a place of fear: fear of pain, fear of dependence, fear of loss of autonomy. But instead of addressing those fears with care and support, this bill offers a permanent, irreversible solution to what are often temporary or manageable problems. That’s not compassion; it’s surrender.

A Call to MPs

On Friday, MPs must confront a fundamental question: will we remain a society that values every life, no matter how fragile, or will we take the first step toward normalizing state-assisted death? Assisted dying may seem like an easy answer to a difficult problem, but it is a betrayal of our moral responsibility to the most vulnerable.

Assisted dying isn’t about choice—it’s about abandoning those in need. It’s murder under the guise of mercy. MPs must reject this bill and reaffirm our commitment to life, dignity, and genuine compassion.

[news-buzz]

What is the Assisted Dying Bill? The divisive new law to be debated in the Commons News Buzz

The Assisted Dying Bill is being introduced to the House of Commons and a debate is set for November. It will be the first time since 2015 that the issue has been formally discussed in Parliament. The Bill calls for terminally ill people in England and Wales, who are expected to die within six months, to be given the right to choose to end their life. It’s a Private Member’s Bill, which means it…

[fnvbennygecko]

welp.

[sujooon]

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, has raised significant concerns regarding the proposed assisted dying bill, calling the idea “dangerous” and suggesting that it could create a “slippery slope” where vulnerable individuals might feel pressured to end their lives. Speaking with the BBC, the head of the Church of England expressed his apprehension ahead of the first reading in Parliament of the bill that aims to grant terminally ill patients in England and Wales the right to choose medically assisted death.

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Euthanasia: A Compassionate Path or a Dangerous Precedent?

A New Debate on Assisted Dying in England and Wales As a retired healthcare professional, I’ve faced some of the most challenging moral questions our field can encounter. One of the hardest topics, emotionally and ethically, is euthanasia or assisted dying.  For many, it’s a deeply personal issue tied to values around life, suffering, and dignity. Although difficult, I believe it’s essential to…

[ayeforscotland]

I feel like if there’s one bill that shouldn’t be fast-tracked through parliament, it should be the one about assisted dying.

Source.

[nykloss]

*waking up from an actual fever dream* King of the Hill but it's TMA

[perlelune]

NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart  from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body. 

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you. 

 Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow. 

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his. 

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares. 

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it. 

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes. 

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals. 

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room. 

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips. 

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste. 

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox. 

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up. 

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again. 

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips. 

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies. 

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true. 

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly. 

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling. 

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job. 

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval. 

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that. 

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire. 

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other. 

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features. 

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading. 

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day. 

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face. 

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling  screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it. 

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it. 

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze. 

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before. 

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked. 

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door. 

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs.  The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back. 

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind. 

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain. 

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery. 

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked. 

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately. 

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud. 

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement. 

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours. 

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown. 

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you. 

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways. 

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds. 

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…” 

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves. 

“P-President…” 

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest. 

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt. 

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open. 

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle. 

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs. 

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong. 

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him. 

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears. 

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

[centrally-unplanned]

The trick on the whole "Israel banning UNRWA" thing is that most militaries - like say the US in Afghanistan for example - directly provision aid. American soldiers would often be handing out food packages themselves, and even if they weren't the aid organizations would be directly contracting with the US government and the Department of Defense. You have a group in the military and the government that is like, okay, how do we feed people, let's hit those targets.

So if Congress decided to ban the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan in 2006 from operating in the country or whatever, that bill would say like "we hand over its mission to USAID, which has been allocated $2.1 billion dollars in FY-2005 to do X Y Z". It would probably be a dumb move that would create unnecessary friction and cost lives for political bullshit, but that is also life, people dying for political bullshit is a universal constant. It would probably be pretty small bore in the scale of things, like switching over contractors.

That isn't how Israel does things. I might be wrong about this, Israel is deliberately opaque about these things and I just gave this the ol' half hour of googling, I am open to being contradicted here. But my current understanding of net spending by the government of Israel itself on aid to Gaza is...$0. They do not provide aid. They permit aid from other organizations, funded by other countries, to be provided! But they don't take responsibility for the provision; meeting targets, outcomes, etc, none of that is their job. (I am sure it isn't literally zero btw, but I think you get my point)

It is really telling that when you look up pro-Israel statements by say AIPAC on aid, their headlines are:

Israel Facilitates Humanitarian Aid to Gaza as Hamas Continues to Attack

And they criticize the UN because the UN trucks aren't being delivered:

The United Nations and other international agencies are largely responsible for the existing delays in aid deliveries into Gaza. The U.N. has not been able to distribute aid at the rate that Israel is processing it, causing back-ups at the border crossings after Israeli inspections are completed. On March 3, the U.N. received 234 trucks in Gaza but only distributed 131 trucks of aid to civilians in the enclave.

If this was the US military, and the UN was getting aid trucks and failing to send them, we would send more of our own trucks? That we have? Because aid is part of the military operation. But Israel doesn't do that - because it doesn't have any trucks. Because aid isn't part of the military operation.

Which is why the bill banning UNRWA that is being passed does not mention aid provision to Gaza:

The international community has raised alarm over the legislation, which was passed without a plan in place for a humanitarian agency to replace UNRWA.

Again going off news sources here, link for the actual bill is currently down, if I am wrong will correct here, but I think it all tracks. So in the article above, you get statements from the government when people ask about aid, they reply, oh yeah these other aid organizations will fill the gap.

Then you ask the aid organizations themselves and they go, no, we won't fill the gap! We don't have the resources to do that! Which is logical when you realize Israel isn't funding those orgs. They don't know or care about their funding status. Hopefully someone else will figure that out - aid is someone else's problem. Those government remarks are just off the cuff, they aren't a plan.

Which I want to loop back around to the casus belli for the ban - UNRWA having ties to Hamas. That, to me, is one of those "uh duh, and?" things - Hamas is the government of Gaza. UNRWA runs schools there? And medical clinics? You think they do that...without contact with the government? This is just silly, the UN Mission in Afghanistan obviously had connections to the US Government! Government officials, working in both, par for the course.

But, and this is far more important, it is irrelevant. I completely agree that UNRWA has many people who are sympathetic to Hamas in it, because obviously they do. You want to ban it, dumb but okay. You propose a bill outlining the $2 billion dollars and the 5 partnered aid organizations and the 400 IDF trucks that will deliver aid to replace their work, sure. Whatever man, do your small bore politics bullshit.

That is not what they are doing.

Now, Israel has in fact allowed a bunch of aid in Gaza, I don't doubt that like USAID and the non-profit community and the governments of the UK and Japan and so on are gonna pivot funding to a bunch of organizations that will do herculean work stepping up operations and interfacing with the IDF checkpoint system and get aid in. Maybe they will do such a bang-up job that the cost in suffering won't be that high. Israel did give 3 months after all, they aren't the literal worst they could be.

But I do think at a certain point, the line between indifference and malice just ceases to matter. The UNRWA bill isn't some breaking point or big policy shift - it is just a highly revealing moment in the Israeli approach, why the war there has gone the way that it has. And it is, as the kids say, not a good look.

(h/t @loving-n0t-heyting as this was initially a reblog of their post, but they mentioned getting drama in the notes so I split it off; sorry to deny you the precious +1 internet point)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Death & Dying

Death - the end of life, a permanent cessation of all vital functions.

Dying - the body’s preparation for death. This process may be very short in the case of accidental death, or it can last weeks or months, such as in patients suffering from cancer.

DEATH PREPARATION

Although it is not always possible, death preparation can sometimes help to reduce stress for the dying person and their family. Some preparations that can be done beforehand include:

Inform one or more family members or the executor of the estate about the location of important documents, such as social security card, birth certificate, and others.

Take care of burial and funeral arrangements (such as cremation or burial, small reception or full funeral) in advance of death, or inform family members or a lawyer what these arrangements should be.

Discuss financial matters (such as bank accounts, credit card accounts, and federal and state tax returns) with a trusted family member, lawyer, estate executor, or trustee.

Gather together all necessary legal papers relating to property, vehicles, investments, and other matters relating to collected assets.

Locate the telephone numbers and addresses of family and friends that should be contacted upon the death.

Discuss outstanding bills (such as utilities, telephone, and house mortgage) and other expenses that need to be paid.

Collect all health records and insurance policies.

Identify the desire to be an organ donor, if any.

MOURNING & GRIEVING

The death of a loved one is a severe trauma, and the grief that follows is a natural and important part of life.

No two people grieve exactly the same way, and cultural differences play a significant part in the grieving process.

For many, the immediate response may be shock, numbness, or disbelief.

Reactions may include:

Shortness of breath, heart palpitations, sweating, and dizziness.

Other reactions might be a loss of energy, sleeplessness or increase in sleep, changes in appetite, or stomach aches.

Susceptibility to common illnesses, nightmares, and dreams about the deceased are not unusual during the grieving period.

Emotional reactions are as individual as physical reactions.

A preoccupation with the image of the deceased or feelings of hostility, apathy, emptiness, or even fear of one’s own death may occur.

Depression, diminished sex drive, sadness, and anger at the deceased may be present.

Bereavement may cause short- or long-term changes in the family unit or other relationships of the bereaved.

It is important for the bereaved to work through their feelings and to not avoid their emotions.

Support groups are often available.

If a person does not feel comfortable discussing emotions and feelings with family members, friends, or primary support groups, they may wish to consult a therapist to assist with the process.

Various cultures and religions view death in different manners and may conduct mourning rituals according to their own traditions.

Visitors often come to express their condolences to the family and to bid farewell to the deceased.

Funeral services may be public or private.

Family or friends of the deceased may host a gathering after the funeral to remember and celebrate the life of the deceased, which also helps the bereaved to begin the mourning process positively.

Knowing how much a loved one is cherished and remembered by friends and family can provide comfort to those who experienced the loss.

Other methods of condolences include sending flowers or cards to the home or the funeral parlor, sending a donation to a charity that the family has chosen, or bringing a meal to the family during the weeks after the death.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Pain ⚜ Bereavement Death & Cheating Death ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Death & Sacrifice

[deadwooddross]

I think my Kofi gets a little lost at times, so I went ahead and made a little gofundme to assist with my current predicament! The short of is: A very expensive panic attack! The longer of it is: I think covid went and made my anxiety way worse, kinda felt like I was dying, and unfortunately the only medical facilities open after 8 are the expensive ones (ER). Apparently I'm fine other than the fact my brain hates me and I now have a bill for about $1,800 haunting me SO, IF YOU'D LIKE...

[emptyjunior]

The concept of Riz dying decades or in some cases Centuries before his friends is too sad for me, anyways Riz isekai/regression au. 

So Riz, at the end of his life, I assume a decorated private investigator, maybe in and out of many agencies until he like unearthed corruption in them and got kicked out, you know just general Riz stuff.  

I think he would honestly get Jacked, but in like a wiry way, I think by the time he was old his combat sense and powers of deduction would be Insane even if his body cannot keep up with his mind anymore. 

And then I assume he’d die peacefully in bed OR in a dramatic and horrifying conspiracy, possibly on a sinking boat or a waterfall, that all his friends would have to investigate in his honour. 

So Riz dead, gone, finally at peace. 

Or at least he Thinks, BEEP BEEP annoying sound of alarm clock waking him up for his first day of school. 

Chronomancy is most likely to blame. 

So general premise is Riz instantly goes from an awkward teen scrambling to solve his babysitter’s disappearance, with no resources or social skills, twitchy and underfed to a calm and seasoned detective. I think that morning when Sklonda goes to see where he is, he’s made her breakfast, bacon and pancakes. And as she sits down in shock at the table, he quietly slides a file over to her which is every active case she’s working on, methodically solved with notes and clearly explained timelines to the culprit. And if she turns it over to the back, there’s also a resignation letter in there and an application to law school ready to be filled out. And when Sklonda looks up at Riz shaken, he just gives her a kiss on the forehead and a smile like he’s seeing someone he hasn’t seen for many years and then calmly goes to class. 

I also want: 

-Dealing with bullies that first day like Ragh and Fabian like he’s greeting loved ones. Darting out of their attempts to grab him with a dancer’s flourish that he could have only learnt from a high elf... 

-I think Fabian would be a Big Part of his plans (because the most fun part of regression time travel stories is when they start Amassing wealth) so I think he honestly just goes straight to his house, tells Bill Seacaster that him and his son are best friends (which Fabian would SCREAM at if he got humiliated by this goblin earlier that day) and then challenges Bill to a shooting contest and thrashes him, which makes Bill keel over with laughter, offer him a place on his crew, offers him his son’s hand (Fabian is hitting critical levels of red anger embarrassed face at this point) 

-Other fun ways to gather wealth, Riz just robs Kalvaxus. Just remembers every little detail about the accounts from his files, goes to the bank, gives all the current passwords, transfers the Entire dragonhoard to his own account 

-And yes the plot would all be decimating Goldenhoard that first year, so Riz just saves every girl before they’re captured, the maidens that have already been taken, hunts them down. I think he goes to the gas station that Johnny Spells and his friend’s occupy, locks the door and walks right into this den of bikers, just full Kingsman fight sequence decimates them. Because I think he would feel So good getting a body back that hasn’t been rung with years of stress and Kristen Shenanigans that he is in like peak condition 

-First Day finds the rogue teacher which is why he has so much time for running around preparing everyone’s future

-I think, honestly, he shoots Coach Daybreak in the head on sight and gets sent to the principal’s office and Aguefort’s like “are you doing a chronomancy?” and he says yea and Aguefort’s like sweet, carry on 

I think he finds Jawbone taking terrible paying bouncer jobs, and just offers him a bodyguard/assistant job so he has a little buddy to investigate with.

Starts a full out war with Helio followers because they had way too much reach in town, and when they try to debate with him he has Way more knowledge about their scripture than they do and some truly dangerous deity blackmail locked and loaded and Helio himself comes down and says haha leave this kid alone he just implied he can reincarnate a God, let’s go, let’s go.

Finds some insane legal loophole that absolutely strips Adaine and Aelwyn’s parents of influence and gives their children power over all their assets. Weirdly becomes very close friends with Aelwyn, maybe it’s because they both have the same taste in liquor now.

I think he’d start an information guild that involves like Zayn Darkshadow, Fig in her many disguises, Aelwyn and surprisingly Kipperlilly. Also Kalina! And he knows exactly how to summon her and keeps saying things to her that are friendly yet intimidating and it freaks her out.

Walks up to gorgug, hands him a study plan pathway to MCAT and walks off leaving gorgug very confused (and probably asking if he was his dad) 

Just fun time travel future knowledge shenanigans! And I cannot restate again, we saw how quick a Junior Year Riz is at investigating and making leaps to the right answer. By the time he is at the end of his life, I feel like he’s reached moriarty levels of detective prowess. The many new enemies he keeps making keep coming to him and he just strips them down with his powers of deduction. He’s looking at how one person favours their left side, or the crumbs on their wrist and knows everything there is to know about them. 

So just Freshman Year, the perfect run, Riz with a lot of angst in a very satisfying detective story getting closure for a lot of things. 

[copperbadge]

Radio Free Monday

Good morning everyone, and welcome to Radio Free Monday!

Ways to Give:

maryellencarter is homeless and has recently moved cross-country to be closer to friends, but is facing issues with local social services being hostile to non-locals. They are fundraising for a local ID plus food and meds until they can get on state assistance; you can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

Anon linked to a fundraiser for Varda, who is facing a large ambulance bill in Australia (AU$1.2K) that they've already had to get an extension on once. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

a_phoenixdragon is fundraising to get through the end of this month and the beginning of next, covering bills, food, and other necessities. You can read more and find giving information here or give directly via PayPal to phoenixdragondreams@gmail.com.

deesarrachi's husband is a high school ELA teacher, and is looking for Pride merch to share with his students for the third year running; the goal is to have a bin of merch for each ELA class, since for a lot of kids, this is the first time they've owned anything they can use to show their Pride or support friends and family. You can read more and reblog here or buy direct from the Amazon wishlist here with some stuff starting as low as $7.

Recurring Needs:

loversdoom is a college student from the Philippines, studying away from her family, and her parents are unexpectedly unable to support her education; she is dealing with a number of expenses and is now looking at costly medical procedures as well to do with likely PCOS. You can read more and reblog here or give to the fundraiser here.

onedollopofsourcream is raising funds to help with food, transportation, medication for their family of seven, including two small children, and other expenses after a string of financial issues; they are also currently dealing with an abusive home situation including food control. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

rilee16 is raising funds to get out of an abusive home situation; with irregular work hours and a tax debt due on top of chronic illness issues, they also need funds to repair their phone, which is dying, and cover utility bills. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.

[middlingmay]

I come begging for some happy todcl headcanons bc I’d like to live in ur beautiful universe rather than my reality as an American 😭

I'm sorry, anon. I can't believe this has happened for a second time. Whilst I respect everyone's right to vote how they deem fit, I'll never understand their choice. Or how he was allowed to run in the first place.

Whilst where I live and our political parties certainly have their problems, I'm also living in a world with: workers rights including flexible working and a push against zero hour contracts and fire and rehire; tenants rights; buffer zones for abortion clinics; free period products; a push towards the Gender Recognition (Scotland) Bill; progress towards a circular, greener economy; the Muirburn Bill and protection for Raptor species; discussions on the Assisted Dying Bill; and free prescriptions and the NHS (which even in its worst and sorriest state, still gives me free healthcare). Scotland has a strong conservative bent as a society, there's no point pretending otherwise, and this absolutely includes misogyny, sectarianism out the wazoo and other religious intolerance and racism. But politically we are trying to expand rights, protection, and freedom of choices. Not restrict them.

But! That it not what you came to my inbox for! Happy TODCL headcanons, here we go:

We all know John likes to squeeze Gale's waist, but Gale likes to do it back just as much, if not more. He loves John's thickness. Not because it makes him feel small or anything, he just loves grabbing him and touching him and feeling something solid and soft and tangible under his hands. It makes John feel real to him, when he thought he was never going to get anything like their relationship in his life.

John often takes them on a drive just before sunset. He loves sitting there with the top down, Gale's head in his lap and his long legs dangling out the window, and watching the sun go down.

Crosby and Gale become keen penpals after Crosby moves away. He mentions Will in his letters sometimes, and Gale glares at those letters so hard, it's a miracle they don't burst into flame.

John is ticklish, but just on his feet. Gale discovers this when his hands gets too close in bed one day and next thing he knows he's blinking at the ceiling and John is peering over the edge of the bed at him, wide-eyed. Gale strategises how to make best use of this discovery.

Gale very quickly discovers he's got a lot of fantasies and a lot of thoughts that had just been waiting for the opportunity to come pouring out. John thinks he's going to have to guide Gale through the intimacy in their relationship but he surprisingly has to try to keep up with him.

I hope that at least makes you feel a little better anon. I have a bunch more but a lot of them are plot related and I don't want to give anything away.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sugar Mama Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him.

bucky barnes x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut, sexual assault (not from Bucky)

Previous chapter Next chapter

The next day he called the number on Y/N’s business card.  A woman named Pepper, her assistant, answered and made an appointment for him to come to her penthouse apartment on Sunday at 7 p.m.  He had that day off from his multiple jobs for once, but instead of resting he was stressing about the meeting all day.  He barely slept with how nervous he was, going through his closet over and over again to figure out what would be best to wear and pacing around his tiny studio apartment.

When the time came to leave he got a text from an unknown number saying a car was waiting for him outside.  He peered out his window to find a black town car at the curb.  He laughed at just how strange this all was.  The ride was awkward and quiet, and once they reached her building the driver instructed him where to go.  He followed their instructions until he found himself leaving the elevator and entering into a large sitting room with a wall of windows showcasing the Manhattan skyline.  He gaped at the sunset hovering over the buildings, brilliant oranges and pinks peaking through the windows and streets.  He looked around the room at the high end furniture and art pieces on the wall.  Whoever designed the apartment had obviously been given an open budget as he recognized some of the items that he could only dream of using on his design boards.

“Bucky!  Good evening,” Y/N’s voice rang out around the corner.  Bucky followed her voice until he entered the kitchen.  It was huge, with appliances that a Michelin chef would die for.  Y/N was standing in front of the island in the middle, making sandwiches, dressed in a sweater and sweatpant set that was black and spotted with yellow smiley faces and matching slippers on her feet.  She looked so small and casual compared to all the other large and grand things in the apartment that it made him smile through his nervousness.

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N, good evening,” he greeted her back, standing awkwardly at the entrance to the kitchen.

“None of that, just call me Y/N.  You’re not allergic to anything are you?” she asked suddenly, her hands stilling over the food.

“No, nothing that I know of, anyway,” he quickly assured her.

“Do you like chicken or ham?” she smiled and turned back to the sandwiches, cutting a tomato and layering meat and cheese on one.

“Ham is fine, thank you,” he answered, smiling back at her.  She finished the sandwich and slid the plate over to him, gesturing for him to sit down on one of the stools by the island.  He caught it and gave her a quiet thanks as he sat before taking a bite.  She watched his reaction, and when he hummed in satisfaction she smiled again and went back to finishing her sandwich then hopping up on the counter to sit.

“There’s all kinds of drinks in the fridge, you’re welcome to whatever you’d like,” she gestured towards it behind her.

“Oh sure, thank you,” he said around another bite and walked to the fridge, opening it to find what looked like a full grocery store inside.  He quickly chose a water bottle and went back to the island.

“Did you like the crab cakes and risotto?”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back dramatically, making her laugh. “Oh yeah, still definitely my favorite, best thing on the menu there, in my opinion.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a lopsided grin.  “So, I’m sure you’re just dying to get this weird conversation over with,” she teased him as she took a bite.

Bucky chuckled as he finished chewing.  “Honestly, yes.  I’ve been very nervous all day.”

“Let’s just dive right in, shall we?  Have you ever been a sugar baby before?”

Bucky took a sharp breath and huffed it out.  “No, I haven’t.  Um, what exactly would it entail, if I said yes?”

“What are you hesitant about?” she queried, watching him intently.

“Uh, I guess, um,” he cleared his throat and decided to take a quick drink of water.  “So, I give you, what, companionship?  And you pay for things for me?”

“In a nutshell, yes.  It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Y/N answered matter-of-factly.

“So what kind of companionship are you, uh, looking for?” he asked hesitantly.  “I’ve heard of these kinds of things starting out okay but then becoming, um…”

“Sexual?” she finished for him.  He nodded.  “I don’t expect sex from you, Bucky.”  He let out the breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.  “I also wouldn’t be opposed to it, if the relationship organically led to that, but otherwise no, I don’t expect sex or sexual favors from you.”  She set aside her sandwich for a moment as she faced him.  

“My reason for doing this is because I have friends, plenty of friends, but those friendships have all been born out of those people wanting something from me.  Money, connections, for me to invest in their business, using my name as a way to get ahead, get in contact with my father, and so on.  It’s very hard to find real friendship, let alone anything more romantic.  And I know buying someone’s time isn’t exactly normal or the best way to get it, but it’s my last resort, really,” she finished, her eyes looking sad as she took another bite of her sandwich.

Bucky felt bad for her.  She had all the money and resources open to her and yet she was still lonely.  This big fancy apartment with just her in it.  

“Anyways, I’d like companionship.  Someone to come home to, to take with me as a date to events, spend time with on the weekends, go to parties with, maybe get a good cuddle or some hugs, just a friend.  And if something more were to ever grow from that, then great!  But that’s what I’d like.  You would of course be free to go spend time with other friends and family, I wouldn’t keep you prisoner here,” she joked.

Bucky snorted at that as he finished his sandwich.  “Okay, and what about my jobs?”

“Jobs?  How many do you have?” Y/N’s head jerked up at the question, a look of concern in her eyes.

“Three right now,” he answered nonchalantly.

“Three?!” she sputtered.  “Jesus, Bucky, no wonder you look so tired.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky sighed as he took another drink.  

“Do you want to keep any of them?” 

“Um…I’d like to keep my main one.  I went to college for architecture and interior design, and during normal working hours I work for Joaquin Torres in Soho, so I’d like to keep doing that,” he explained.

“Oh yes, Joaquin!  I worked with him a few years back.  Architecture and interior design, huh?  I’d love to see your work,” she said excitedly, her eyes brightening.  

“I’d love that,” he smiled genuinely at her interest.  “But yes, I’d like to keep that one, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, um…and money?” He felt so strange asking for money.  

“I’ll need a list of your debts, and I’d like you to break your lease and come live here.  I’ll cover any fees that come with that process, including for movers if you have anything big needing to be moved.  You’ll have your own room, your own space.  As for payment, you’ll get a weekly allowance of $5000 that you’re free to spend or save however you want, and if you need or want anything else or more, we can talk about it,” she rattled off.  “I’d like to take care of you, Bucky.  I’d like you to feel comfortable, and hopefully help make your life better.”

Bucky could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as she laid out the benefits to him.  His debts paid, living in this beautiful apartment, with a beautiful woman, getting paid $5000 a week, getting to keep his job and possibly get new opportunities just for being in her inner circle.  

“Oh Buck, don’t cry,” she jumped down from the counter suddenly and walked over to him, her hands reaching for his face and brushing away the tears that fell.  “Please tell me those are at least happy tears?” she pleaded as her fingers stroked the sides of his face.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “it’s just, really generous, Y/N.  I feel like all that just for my company and friendship isn’t fair.”

“It is an unbalanced dynamic, I agree.  But I promise that’s all I want from you, Bucky.  All the money in the world means nothing without having someone to share it with,” she gave him a smile then let go of his face and reached for his hands.  He gave them to her to hold and she rubbed his knuckles with her thumbs.  “So…is that a yes?” she asked hopefully.

Bucky scoffed, “Well yeah, I’d be pretty stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” Y/N scoffed back at him.  “I want this to be an enthusiastic yes, with no hesitation or reservations.  So I’ll ask again, is that a yes?”

Bucky took a moment to look at her, really look at her.  She was sincere, with hopeful eyes and a determined set of her lips.  He would be dumb to refuse, but he also didn’t want to refuse.  He had no reason to. He wanted this.  There was a small part of him deep down that hungrily thought, I want her.  He pushed that away as he nodded his head.

“Yes, I say yes.”

“Yay!” Y/N cheered, jumping up and down a little and shaking his hands in hers.  He laughed at her and squeezed her hands.

“Would it be weird if I hugged you?” Bucky asked. 

“I’d love a hug,” Y/N said, opening her arms up to him.

He stepped into her embrace, her arms around his waist and his arms around her upper body.  She nuzzled her face into his chest, breathing him in as he squeezed her.  He felt like he was taking a breath of fresh air as she held him, one of her hands rubbing up and down his back.  They stayed like that for a few long minutes, neither of them seeming to want to let go.

“So when can you move in?” she murmured against his chest.

“Maybe this Friday?  After work?  That way I can pack and get some things in order…quit a couple of jobs.”

“Yes, quit those jobs,” she agreed as she turned her face up towards him.  “We’ll get you moved in on Friday night and then binge watch a show and eat all the pizza we can.  Get to know each other.  Sound good?”

He could just kiss her with how sweet she was being.  “Sounds perfect,” he agreed.

***

The week seemed to trudge on for Bucky.  He and Y/N had exchanged phone numbers and were constantly texting each other.  She would check up on him, ask him how his day was going, if he needed help with anything, getting the list of his debts and lenders, making sure he ate and would randomly have food and drinks sent to his apartment.  He had packed his small amount of things within two days and put his furniture up for sale on a local apartment sales site, making a few hundred dollars on the side.  Y/N had called his landlord and figured out the fees for breaking his lease early, so all he had to do was go to work, come home, pack whatever he had left, and wait for Friday.  Quitting his other two jobs had been incredibly freeing, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself with all the free time he now had after 5 p.m.

On Thursday night he invited Steve over for one last hurrah in his apartment.  “I can’t believe you’re moving.  What was this job you got again?  Wanda was being really weird about it the other day and told me to talk to you,” Steve questioned him.

“I’m still working at the interior design firm, I just don’t have to work the other two now,” he was mum about it, not sure how Steve would react.

“That’s not actually answering my question, Buck,” Steve exasperatedly sighed.  “What’s going on?”

“Okay, just don’t judge me,” Bucky warned him.  Steve gave him an unimpressed look and sat on the floor where the loveseat used to be.  Bucky sat across from him as they ate the Chinese food Y/N had delivered to his apartment.  “I served some pretty wealthy people last Friday night, when I covered your shift?”  Steve nodded.  “One of them was Y/N Y/L/N.”  Steve’s eyes widened.  “Yeah!  She was super cool.  When it came time to pay she wanted to talk to me.  She asked me to, uh…to be her sugar baby.”

“She asked WHAT?!” Steve started laughing uncontrollably, clutching at his chest and falling over.

“I said don’t judge me!” Bucky yelled at him, throwing a dumpling at him.

“I’m not, I just, ha!  And you obviously said yes, cuz you’re moving, and quit two of your jobs!  Haha!” Steve was rolling on the floor as he started crying from laughing so hard.  “No no, Bucky, I mean it’s weird but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, right?” He kept giggling. 

Bucky glared at him.  “She’s going to be paying me $5000 a week.”

Steve immediately stopped laughing as he gawked at Bucky.  “What?”

“She’s moving me into her penthouse apartment.  She’s going to pay off my debt.”

“Uh…what are you doing to get these kinds of benefits Buck?” Steve was suddenly serious, his eyebrows hung low over his eyes as he sat up.

“Keeping her company.  Literally giving her companionship.  Friendship.  That’s it.”

“Oh come on, Buck, that can’t be it.”

“That is it.”

“No way, dude, she’s gotta expect something more in the end,” Steve accused.  “Did you already have sex with her?  Now she’s gonna keep you as her plaything?”

“What?  Ew, Steve, god no,” Bucky grimaced at his friend.  “Look, she’s hot, I like her, but no I haven’t slept with her.  If it happens in the future then hey, why not?  But she doesn’t expect sex from me.  This isn’t that kind of thing,” he promised him.  “She literally just wants a friend.”

Steve analyzed him, trying to see if there was a lie hidden in his explanation.  When he didn’t find anything he sighed again.  “Okay, man.  Look if you feel good about it and think it’s a good idea, then go for it.  I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I won’t,” Bucky said resolutely.  “It’ll be okay.  Hey, I’ll see if I can get you and Peg to come with us as a double date or something.  She mentioned having season tickets for the Yankees?”

Steve brightened at this news.  “The Yankees, huh?  Double dating with a billionaire’s daughter,” he mused.  “Peggy’s kind of a fan of hers.”

“It’ll be great, Steve.  You don’t need to worry about me,” Bucky said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.  “But I appreciate it.”

***

Bucky practically ran home after work was over that Friday.  He was ready to go, not needing any movers, with just a couple of bags of things he owned.  He grabbed his stuff, left the key in the slot of the landlord’s mailbox, and walked outside to the already waiting town car.  The driver helped him load his things in and sped off towards the penthouse.

He took the elevator ride back up to her place.  The doors opened and revealed Y/N standing there, her arms crossed, shifting from one foot to the other and fighting a smile on her face.

“Honey!  I’m home!” Bucky announced as he stepped in with a wide smile on his face.

Y/N laughed as he dropped his bags at their feet.  “Welcome home, Buck,” she greeted him, opening her arms for a hug.  He happily accepted it and gave her a tight squeeze.  “Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

They spent a good portion of the night getting Bucky unpacked into his room and making a list of anything else he may need to get fully moved in.  Afterwards she ordered pizza and drinks and pulled out all the snacks she had in the pantry.  Once the food arrived they binge-watched a few different shows, talking about their favorites, then altogether forgetting about the TV as they got to know each other better.  

“Steve is my best friend.  We’ve known each other since we were little kids.  When his parents died my mom took him in and then when she died, he helped me get through it,” he shared.

“What about your dad?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, he was in and out of the picture.  Always nice enough, but he just wasn’t the fatherly type.  I haven’t seen or spoken to him since mom died, and it’s better that way,” he said, looking away from her intense gaze.  “But what about you?  Any traumatic childhood experiences?”

She chuckled at his dark humor.  “It was just me and my dad.  My mom was only in it for the money with him.  I was her pretty doll to dress up, her pawn to get as much child support and alimony as possible.  Once I turned 18 she had a mental breakdown knowing she’d lose a big portion of the payout she’d been getting, and I’ve kept my distance since then,” Y/N looked away as well.  “She’ll call me sometimes, always asking for money.  The alimony would last her the rest of her life if she’d stop gambling and hoarding.”

“Jesus,” Bucky murmured.  He reached a hand out and intertwined his fingers with the hand closest to him.  She gave him an appreciative smile.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” she reassured him.  “It is what it is.”  They sat silently for a moment, digesting the not-so-fun topic.  “Anyways, I’d love to meet Steve, he sounds great.”

“Oh yeah, I told him we’d have to double date some time.  He and his girlfriend Peggy went to that new burlesque club and loved it.”

“Did they?  Oh good, I’m glad.  That place was a labor of love, I tell ya,” Y/N giggled.  “But I love the art of burlesque.  Have you ever been to one?”

“No, I haven’t.  I’d like to,” Bucky said truthfully.

“We’ll go tomorrow.  You should invite your friends.  I’ll get us all in.  It’ll be fun,” she smiled again, patting his hand and then standing up and cleaning up some of the trash.  

“Let me help,” Bucky said as he stood and grabbed the pizza boxes.

The night wound down and they talked some more until it was nearly midnight and Y/N’s eyes began to droop.  “Y/N, you gotta get to bed,” Bucky poked her arm as her head began to loll to the side on the couch.  

“What?  No, I’m fine,” Y/N said groggily.  

“Come on…let’s get you to bed,” Bucky coaxed her, standing up and pulling her up by her arms.

“Oh, alright,” she agreed, then wrapped her arms around his waist.  “Guide me.”

“Oh god,” Bucky laughed, then started waddling his way towards the bedrooms beyond the kitchen.  Y/N was walking backwards, keeping a firm grip on his waist so as not to trip and fall, giggling every once in a while as they swayed towards her room.

As he walked into her room he led her over to the edge of her bed.  “Come on, you, we made it,” he said as he tried to push her off.

“But you’re so comfy,” she complained, her hug tightening on him again.

“And so are you, but you’re falling asleep,” he tried to pull her arms apart from behind him.  In the process they lost their balance and both fell onto her bed, Bucky catching himself on his elbows at the last minute before he squashed her.  She laughed as her hands flew up to his chest to help stop him.  He laughed as well, his head falling to her shaking shoulder.  As the laughter died down they stared at each other, their faces within inches of each other, the air around them shifting quickly.  

“Sorry,” Bucky blinked, breaking the spell. 

“It’s okay, it was my fault,” Y/N whispered as her eyes looked back and forth between his eyes.  “You know you have the prettiest eyes?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, his breath fanning her face.  “That’s funny, cuz I think you have the prettiest eyes.”

“I’m being serious, Buck,” she whined, then held back a yawn.

“Yeah, okay, time to sleep,” Bucky said as he lifted himself up.  Y/N sat upright on her bed as he stood before her.  “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Bucky.  If you need anything I’ll be here,” she reminded him, giving him a sleepy smile.

“Alright, sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Bucky gave her one more smile before turning and leaving for his room next door.  As he got ready for bed and settled into his new bed he sat and looked around him.  The room alone was larger than his previous apartment.  He was in a king size bed, his clothes in a mid century modern dresser that cost more than his rent inside a walk-in closet and a full bathroom with all the amenities one could ever want or need.  Another smile spread across his face as he tried to accept that this was now his life.  He didn’t know how long this was going to last, or what this weird relationship would be like even a year from now, but he was extremely grateful to Y/N for helping him at his lowest.

**I'm not sure the best way to tag people who requested to be tagged? I'm still pretty new to posting like this on Tumblr so please be patient with me. But I'm happy y'all are liking it so far!**

[mirza-majoris]

Weeeeeell guess I'm back into my Gravity Falls phase soooo it's just a very silly little thing but damn I had fun doing it and it was keeping me away from anxiety and school stuff X'3

Anyway, cringe incoming !

( And sorry for the formatting, I'm doing this on my phone and I'm zero at making the pictures stay steady and normal >< )

The audio is a little montage from the english sitcom "Vicious", and since I now look at it I'll write down what is written because I realise I didn't know how to manage the size of the writing ahah ><

👇👇👇

*Everyone playing truth or dare at the Shack*

Bill : Oh, I've got a good question! Tell us Stanley, have you ever had sex with a man ?

Stanley : ..... can I change my go to "dare" ?

Bill : No~ You have to answer the question~

Ford : What the hell are you stalling for, Stanley ? The only man you ever shared a bedroom with was me when we were kids.

Stanley : *F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck, he's gonna kill me, don't say it, don't say it*

Ford : *Maybe the question is a sensitive topic... I should help him against Bill's tricky game* I'll answer for him. No.

Stanley : .... Yes. I have.

Ford : *he's like "wait, does he like women AND men ? Was my brother bi the whole time ?!"* I don't believe you !

Stanley : It's true !

Ford : you're lying-

Fiddleford : No he isn't.

Ford : *non verbal communication with his former muse : "Happy now ?"*

Bill : *Non verbal communication with his ex wife : "I didn't know it would be your ex assistant !"*

Ford : ... and how would YOU know ?

Stanley : *dying on the inside, non verbal communication with his... whatever these two had ? : "shut it shut it shut it shut it-"*

Fiddleford : Because it was with me.

*Awkward sibling moment*

Stanley : *chuckling awkwardly* Guess you should've taken better care of your man, Sixer, ahah-

Bill : *wheeze in Cipher* well I guess Stanley was right. There WAS something knew to learn about each other !

Stanley : well I don't see why you're getting so upset, it was ages ago ! We were both young and attractive... *yes, that hilly billy was nice-looking in the 80s*

Ford : *is surprisingly upset about the fact that his brother had a thing with his best friend*

Stanley : look, you just disappeared into that big portal... Fidds was alone -and a mess because he clearly had a big crush on you-... And it was only one night.

Fiddleford : Two nights.

Stanley : ..... ...... ..... Why is your memory so vivid all of the sudden ?

Fiddleford : *staring at Ford : "That's what you get for leaving me for a triangle, Stanford Pines"*