#best-aesthetic-medicine-courses

[george0207]

Advanced Dermatology Courses & Aesthetic Medicine Training for Doctors – Enroll at Kosmoderma Academy

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[henrydavis123]

Kosmoderma Academy (KAAM): Advanced Dermatology Courses and Aesthetic Medicine Training for Doctors

Welcome to Kosmoderma Academy (KAAM), your premier destination for Advanced Dermatology Courses and specialized Aesthetic Medicine Training. Our institution offers a range of advanced programs including the Advanced Diploma in Aesthetic Medicine and Diploma in Cosmetic Dermatology, tailored specifically for medical professionals.

Our Aesthetic Courses for Doctors are meticulously designed to provide comprehensive education in the latest aesthetic treatments and techniques. Whether you're looking for Aesthetic Medicine Courses for Doctors or a focused Aesthetic Medicine Course for Dermatologists, KAAM delivers expert training to enhance your practice and skills.

Explore our Cosmetology Course for Dermatologists and Cosmetology Course for Doctors, which cover essential aspects of cosmetic procedures, providing practical and theoretical knowledge. Our Diploma in Cosmetology for Doctors and Cosmetology Courses After MBBS are tailored to integrate advanced cosmetology with your medical background.

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[plastisurgery]

Aesthetic Medicine Course in India

This is an international aesthetic medicine diploma course that covers a wide range of treatments, including aesthetic assessment, Lasers, PRP, chemical peels, microneedling, dermal fillers and neuromodulators.

[niolanaitraining]

Aesthetic Medicine Diploma in Mumbai

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Aesthetic Medicine Diploma in Mumbai

The Aesthetic Medicine Diploma in Mumbai offered by NIOLANAI Institute is a flagship program that prepares medical professionals to excel in the field of aesthetic medicine. The diploma program covers a wide range of topics, including advanced skin care treatments, injectable therapies, laser procedures, and body contouring techniques. Students also learn about the latest trends and innovations in the industry, ensuring they stay ahead of the curve.

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Conclusion

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[wstviewvidal]

cabernet sauvignon- w. maximoff

pairing: rich!wanda x reader

summary: jealousy leads to beautiful beginnings

a/n: hi!! final chapter of dirty cash. i’m so grateful to everyone who took the time to read this series! i’d be so happy and excited to do any one shots u guys may have ideas for!

minors do not interact

wanda’s day leading up to dinner was nothing short of frantic. she’d spent the entire day before deep cleaning her whole house, afraid that you’d end up in her medicine cabinet somehow or inspecting every crevice of her house. that thought lone had her spending hours crouched underneath tables, standing on stools, even using a micro brush to ensure there was no dust on any surface of her house.

it’s been a week since she took you and your niece out for a girls day. she went home giddy that night and sent a dinner invitation to you as soon as she parked in her driveway.

so, here she was trying her best to find the perfect outfit that looked put together but not too try hard. she stared at the pile of rejected clothes laying on her bed, teetering the fine line between excitement and frantic.

she groaned silently and threw her head back, “why don’t i have any clothes?”

her entire room was in disarray, shirts haphazardly thrown on her bed and jeans laid out on her desk chair. she pulled out piece after piece, holding each article of clothing up to her body in the mirror before throwing it away.

she spent the next twenty minutes scouring and searching for an outfit, only to end up with a blue and white striped button down and dark jeans— an everyday uniform for her.

hi! i’m at the store grabbing wine, do you need anything from here before i head your way?

wanda’s phone chimed with a text message from you and she immediately picked up and read. she smiled down at the message, her heart blooming with warmth at the sight of your name in her phone.

no, everything’s ready! just drive safe.

the next few minutes consisted of wanda fluffing pillows and angling picture frames in an aesthetically pleasing way. taking a few deep breaths, she calmed herself down when she saw you pull into her driveway. she straightened her shirt out and smoothed her hair, taking a deep breath.

but when she saw your car pull into her driveway, all her cool evaporated into thin air.

you didn’t even get the chance to knock on her door before she opened it for you, a wide grin on her face.

“hi,” she breathed out, her grin someone becoming wider now that she’s laid her yes on you, “come in.”

so you do.

and her home is beautiful. you take in the smell of food, the movie playing in the background, the pictures adorning her wall.

you turn to look at her, “your home is beautiful.”

although your body angled toward her, your eyes are too busy looking over how her home is decorated. all the while, wanda is frozen in time at the sight of you. you seem to be enamored by the cozy atmosphere she’s built, and wanda can’t help but be enamored by the way your eyes twinkle in awe.

smiling, she moves toward you to grab the bottle of wine, “thank you. come into the kitchen so we can eat,” your fingers momentarily brush against one another, but wanda didn’t let it linger too long— her nerves getting the better of her.

you follow her, watching wanda’s brown hair flowing gracefully behind her as she leads you further into her house. walking into the kitchen, you’re hit with the rich savory aroma of her home cooked meal.

you take in the smell, letting out a small sigh, “didn’t know you could cook,” you tease as you look over her shoulder at the red hued dish on the stove.

wanda scoffs, glancing back at you in faux offense, “of course i made this! what, you think i can’t cook?”

you nod playfully, your lips curving into a mocking pout, “oh, i know better now.”

wanda smirks subtly, giving you a once over, “good,” her eyes drag over you for a moment before returning back to the stove.

her voice drops slightly, her tone carrying a tease— you can’t help but flush at the way she looked at you. the air between you is warm and charged, you can’t help but wonder what tonight could lead to.

the two of you plate the food and sit at her kitchen table, soft music playing in the background. the light from the overhead fixture casts a comforting glow around the room.

as wanda’s speaks, you watch as she fiddles with her rings, a nervous habit of hers you’ve picked up on. you can’t help but let out a small giggle in amusement.

wanda’s brows furrow, “what’s so funny?”

you shrug nonchalantly, “you’re nervous,” you say matter-of-factly, “you’re normally not like this,” you lean back in your chair as you analyze her.

tilting her head, she she narrows her eyes at you, “i’m not nervous.”

raising an eyebrow and scoffing softly, “so you’re lying to me now?” your voice has a playful tone to it, and it works— wanda visibly loosens up and her lips twitch into a smile.

she rolls her eyes and stays quiet, her cheeks a soft shade of pink.

you side eye her a bit, then nod in agreement with her, “okay, then you’re not nervous.”

she begins to chuckle, “you’re impossible, you know that?” her smile widens and she shakes her head at you.

“maybe,” you quip, your your teasing grin widens.

the playful exchange lightens the atmosphere and wanda’s nerves slowly work themselves out. wanda glances over at you, her expression softening— almost like she’s trying to memorize this moment. for the first time tonight, you wonder to yourself if she’s feeling as caught up in this as you are.

the dinner is filled with easy conversation, the two of you laughing over shared memories and you gazing at wanda when she isn’t looking.

nearing the end of the dinner, you look over at wanda, “this was amazing, wands,” you say gently as you look at her, “you’ve been holding out on me. i had no idea you could cook like this.”

wanda props her chin in her hand, smiling as you thank her for the meal, “in all honesty, i didn’t think it’d come out this good,” she admits softly, “i just think it just tasted better because you were here.”

caught off guard, you blink. the warmth in her voice feels intentional, not overwhelming, but it makes your heart race. she takes a sip from her wine glass, acting as though the moment was not meant to linger.

you two sit on her couch, sipping the wine you brought over. wanda turns her attention to you, “i’m really happy you came tonight,” her voice low and sincere, “i can’t remember the last time i enjoyed dinner this much.”

you tilt your head at her, noting the way her words felt more meaningful than casual, “what, dinner with your exes wasn’t this thrilling?”

you knew you were possibly crossing a line and fishing for something you didn’t want to catch. part of you wonders if you’re treading too close to something vulnerable.

wanda smirks, a playful light in her eyes as she looks at you, “dinner with my exes involved a lot less conversation and a lot more… awkward silence,” a soft laugh bubbles up as she recalls how she couldn’t have meaningful conversations with them like she has with you. she picks up her glass, looking over the rim at you as she takes a sip, “but you? you make it easy.”

wanda watches your reaction with a laugh, shaking her head at how easily flustered you can get. the red on your face is hard to ignore and you can feel your ears hot.

she laughs lowly once more, “you’re easy to fluster.”

before you can recover, she changes the subject, not allowing you the chance to recover, “so, does this mean i’ll be having you over more often for dinner?”

you clear your throat, putting the wine glass down on her coffee table, “i’ll have to be back. i may need a second round to make sure this wasn’t a fluke.”

wanda nods, a smug smile on her face. internally, she was celebrating and already planning for next time. but outwardly she’s nodding and leaning her cheek into her hand.

“didn’t take you for the demanding type,” she says, her tone laced with amusement.

rolling your eyes, you face your body towards her on the couch, pulling your legs beneath you, “i’m not demanding, i’m thorough. there’s a very big difference.”

tilting her head, she narrows her eyes as if she’s analyzing you, “don’t worry, i noticed it after we spending time together,” she looks away from you, her voice dropping a few octaves, “but it wasn’t the first thing i noticed.”

you watch her as she looks away from you, noticing how she flirts but never pushes too far afterward. you decide to change the subject.

“wanda,” you say causally, “how do you know jesse?”

wanda raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, “i don’t,” her fingers fiddling with her necklace, “valerie mentioned her at the aquarium. why?”

nodding along, attempting to sound unaffected, “i just didn’t think i she’d bring her up, that’s all.”

wanda tilts her head, noticing your sudden mood change, she places a soft hand on your own, “don’t worry about it,” she brushes the topic off with ease, “besides, i have my own share of exes who like to linger.”

you snap your head toward her, eyebrows furrowed, “linger?”

wanda hums, a smug smile tugging on her lips at your reaction, “matter of fact, one of them texted me yesterday. she wants to get dinner this week.”

your jaw tightens before you can even help it, “that’s nice,” your words comes out clipped.

wanda fights the urge to laugh, reveling in your reaction, “yeah, i haven’t responded yet. who knows?”

she watches you as you hum and busy yourself with the movie playing in front of you two, but your concentration is far too deliberate to be real. she knows she should ease your worries— she could, but something about the face that you don’t want her to go is making her heart flutter.

you get up to leave a short while after the movie ends, helping wanda clean up the living room you two lounged in.

wanda leads you out, a familiar hand on your back as always, “text me when you get home please.”

you nod and smile up at her, “of course,” wanda looks at you with a grin and twinkling eyes.

she lingers, her contact with you not wavering, her eyes tracing every detail of your face with a deep smile. before you can even think better of it, your arms loop around her neck while her hands find a comfortable spot on the sides of your waist.

you pull back slightly, looking into her eyes, unsure if you should speak your mind. wanda looks down at you, her heart beating rapidly at the contact with you.

“wanda?” you say, almost silently.

“hm?” wanda can hardly focus on anything other than the fact that you’re holding onto her and looking at her with a lovestruck smile. her heart is pounding so loudly she’s surprised you can’t hear it. there is no denying the tenderness behind her expression.

you notice as her eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, a subtle smile on her face as she gazes into your eyes.

“don’t go to dinner with your ex,” you say rather quickly, “please.”

an amused grin appears on wanda’s face as she holds you, tilting her head, “why?” her face inches just the slightest and you can feel her breath on your cheek.

you’re unsure if you’ve crossed a line, but the way she’s looking into your eyes so intensely— the way she’s holding you gently makes you throw caution to the wind.

you don’t answer her question with words. instead, you lean in, hesitation for just a brief moment to see if she pulls away. she doesn’t. her lips meet yours, softly, tenderly even, as if she’s been waiting for this moment.

wanda doesn’t pull away. instead, her hand presses softly against your lower back, pulling you in. she holds you close with such tenderness that it makes your heart ache. when you pull back, her grin is still there, but this time it is softer now.

your cheeks flush,“don’t go to dinner with your ex,” your voice is steadier now, “please.”

wanda’s grin softens into something more sincere. her thumb rubbing against your waist absentmindedly as she nods, “okay.”

she speaks simply as she watches you sigh, as if the decision was ever in question.

wanda leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering like she doesn’t want to let you go, “text me when you get home.”

you nod, your hear full as you step back, awaiting when you can see her again.

wanda watches you leave, leaning against her doorframe with a giddy smile, her bottom lip in between her teeth. neither of you say it, but you both know it’s different now. there’s promise there, a promise of something more.

finally.

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀౨౿  ׅ ۟   ֪ 𝓑eauty 𝓞f 𝓣his 𝓜ess⠀♡⠀𝓒hapter 𝓢ixteen ۪ ׂ   𓈒 ୭

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀summary.⠀time has passed and your pregnancy has progressed, meaning you’re starting to show. the wedding of peter and mj has arrived, you are the maid of honor. unfortunately, miguel is the best man. an awkward ceremony for you both.

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀content.⠀angst, some fluff, pregnancy, brief religious themes (mention of churches), emotional distress, swearing, mild arguments, mild violence, jealous!miguel (yessir hehe)

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

several weeks have passed and your pregnancy has progressed. you’re starting to show, a little baby bump. the sight always makes you smile, knowing your little bundle of joy rests in there. since your decision of keeping the baby, you’ve been happy. you’ve been searching baby clothes and nursery stuff nonstop. you created a nursery pinterest board of cute nursery ideas. aesthetics are your thing so you have been searching for both boy and girl themes but also neutral themes as well. so many cute and creative ideas, you have over 200 pins saved.

since this new turn in your life, you have also been thriving. work has been good, publishing top worthy articles which leaves a very pleased jameson praising everyone in the office and offering cookies. that surprised everyone to see their grumpy, sassy ass boss so cheerful but they didn’t complain. happy boss, happy work life. one day you even got sent home early, crusty from your work because he was very happy, and there was no way you would decline that offer. you also informed jameson of your pregnancy and future maternity leave which he of course grants and congratulates you with the baby.

you finally told your family about the baby, which created a cheerful screaming and hugging apocalypse. another grand baby for the family. there were questions about the father but you avoided answering or say it’s complicated. however, you did tell the truth to your parents because you can never lie to them. they wanted to kill miguel but the last thing they want is to complicate things than they already are. instead, they support you and the baby as the caring parents and grandparents they are.

while you’ve thriving on the new journey, miguel still lingers in your mind. his number is blocked to prevent further communication of regret and lame ass apologies. you’ve also taken further lengths such as blocking any social media accounts of his. that bastard deserves tasting his own medicine. he doesn’t know you’re staying at anne’s but is aware you aren’t home. your friends vowed to never tell miguel your whereabouts. although, they would tell you how upset he was whenever they encountered him and begs to them to know where you are. your reaction was scoffing and rolling your eyes. know the asshole knows how it feels, fucking irony at its best.

however, a part of you deep down misses him. after weeks of not seeing him, you felt a bit of relief when miguel finally returned. you truly believed he would never come back and didn’t want to be involved with the baby, that it was the end of your relationship. technically it was the end and it hurts to admit that. seeing him for the first time after those painful weeks made you want to run into his arms and cry. don’t be mistaken, you’re still fucking pissed at him. but that doesn’t discard your feelings for him, the love you have for him that still lingers in your fragile heart. no matter how much you hate miguel, a small part of you still loves him. that is the shittest part of all.

no matter the pain he caused you, that love never vanished. that proves how deeply you love miguel and the impact he made in your life. love is a fucked up thing. you’ve already learned two lessons about it. the first broken your heart, the second rotten it. how could it ever be repaired from such damage? it will be a long, difficult recovery but you’ll get there eventually. this baby will restore your heart.

moving on with life, major events are happening. first and foremost, the wedding of peter and mary jane.

the long anticipated ceremony has finally arrived. the day your best friend marries the love of her life, who is also your friend. you all have been excited for this day to come. originally the ceremony was going to be taken place at a church but mary jane wanted an outdoor wedding and peter had no problem with that, he liked that better anyways. a simple outdoor wedding decorated in neutral colors.

it’s a big day for peter and mj but also for everyone, including you since you’re the maid of honor. since you’re pregnant and have a tiny baby bump, you had to get a size up of your dress to accommodate your gradually expanding belly. it’s still tiny but visible which you don’t mind. the dress matches with the theme, a pretty ash gray satin mermaid tail gown. you and the girls get ready as well help mary jane get dressed in her wedding gown. you and anne assist her getting the dress on, lyla did her makeup and styled her hair. just a cute girls moment, dressing up and doing each other’s makeup.

after doing the finial touches on mj’s appearance, you all step back to admire the bride’s final form. the three of you stare in awe of your beautiful friend. the gown, hair, and makeup, it’s all perfect.

“you look so beautiful.” lyla smiles with glossy eyes.

“honey, you look like an angel.” anne compliments.

“the most gorgeous bride ever.” you add.

mj began forming up her own tears. “aww you guys!”

“no no no! don’t cry! the makeup!” lyla warns.

the bride softly chuckles, fanning herself so the tears dry up and not ruin the perfect makeup. “i’m trying not to, just can’t help it sometimes.”

the four of you gather together in a group hug, letting out all the emotions without tears.

“you guys look beautiful too.” mj gestures at the matching bridesmaids gowns.

“especially ms. maid of honor here.” lyla gently nudges your shoulder playfully.

you roll your eyes, unable to not smile. “oh shut up. the spotlight is supposed to be on mj, not me.”

“whaaat? i can’t help it how cute your little baby bump looks in that dress!” the short-haired woman gestures at your brief pregnancy belly.

“how’s the baby doing?” anne asks.

“they’re okay, just chilling in there.”

“they’ll definitely love the food and cake later.”

you snort. “don’t doubt it, we’ll see what they like and don’t like tonight.”

“too bad you can’t drink, you’ll be missing out on all the good shit, especially the wine.” lyla jokes.

“gotta make sacrifices.” you shrug, laughing.

“and it’s worth the sacrifice.” mj approaches you and gently takes her hands in yours. “you are so rocking this little baby bump, i’m glad they’re a part of my wedding, even though they’re unborn.” her kind words about your baby makes your heart warm.

“yeah, too bad miguel isn’t here to see it.” lyla said.

“wait— isn’t miguel here?” anne inquires, making the room go silent. “isn’t he the best man?”

oh shit.

miguel is the best man. peter chose him to be his best man since they are friends since high school. he is the best man and you’re the maid of honor, meaning you have to walk down the aisle together.

oh fuck, you completely forgot.

you suddenly feel your heart drop at the realization. you have to walk down the aisle with the man broke, rotten your heart. the man who left you alone for three weeks without communication. the man who betrayed your heart and trust. the deeper you think, the heavier your breathing becomes.

your three friends look at you with concerned looks, approaching your carefully.

“hey, you okay?” anne places a gentle hand on your arm, bringing you back to your senses.

“yeah, yeah i’m fine.” you quickly reassure them, waving it off. “just forgot about that…”

“are you sure? mj asks, a serious glint in her eyes. “if that makes you uncomfortable, we can him switch out for someone else or we can—”

“no no no, no switching around. it’s totally okay, don’t worry about it, please.”

“honey, i’m not allowing that asshole near you and the baby. i’ll gladly ask peter for eddie or harry to take his place by any means necessary.”

you shake your head. “no, mj please. i’m not allowing my shit interfere with your wedding. this is your special day and i will not allow my personal shit to ruin that, no fucking way. please don’t worry about it, i’ll be fine and it’s only a few seconds then we go our separate ways. the baby and i will be okay.”

the room goes silent as your words sink in. you can tell she heavily disagrees, so does lyla and anne, but accepts it. the three of them trust you and promise to keep a cautious eye on miguel at all times.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

the wedding is about to start. the bridesmaids and groomsmen are called to gather for the ceremony. you are the first one ready and walk to the door that leads to the backyard where everyone is sitting and waiting. as you make your way towards the door, there is already someone else waiting in the small room. you recognize that tall, broad figure and chocolate locks of hair any day. suddenly, your blood went cold and heart rate increases.

the clicking of your heels gave you away as miguel turns around a little too excitedly. his eyes widen and lips part open in pure astonishment. those wide brown eyes trail over your appearance, how the ash green compliments your skin tone beautifully, how the dress captures your curves perfectly. your beauty never fails to take his breath away.

but really captures his attention is the tiny visible baby bump wrapped in ash green.

you’re starting to show. it’s so tiny yet visible, visual evidence of the tiny life growing inside you. the tiny life that will become a combination of you and him.

the guilt strikes in like a knife.

his heart beats in both guilt and glee.

guilt because of the pain he caused you and glee because of the baby is finally shining through.

this is first time he sees you after a month and a half. since your argument and your disappearance, miguel has been drowning himself in guilt and shame more than ever. it’s been eating him alive. he has shed so much tears than he could count. your disappearance left him a mess. he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he stopped visiting the boxing gym because he never left his home, he didn’t bother to shave due to no motivation so miguel had a stubble for a while.

he was so dysfunctional because he lost you.

now here you are, a month and a half later, standing in front of him like a fucking goddess while he still feels like an absolute piece of shit.

“you… you look… beautiful…”

his weak ass tone and attempt to be flattering makes you roll your eyes in disgust. unfortunately, you can’t deny that miguel looks handsome in that tux. how it snugs up his broad shoulders. those brown locks slicked back, unlike its usual waviness. the intoxicating scent of his cologne, musky. the scent that you love and drives you fucking crazy.

it was an uncomfortable… painful silence between you two as you wait for the bridesmaids and groomsmen to arrive, standing at opposite ends with great distance. you glance around anywhere to avoid his gaze while miguel struggles internally what else to say and simply admire you in silence. his palms opening and closing as a sign of anxiety.

his eyes admire you with remorse while yours look out the window at the crowd of people waiting for the ceremony to begin. with an anxious breath, miguel takes slow caution steps toward you, reaching out with a shaky hand but you catch him.

“don’t you fucking touch me.” you snap.

panicky, miguel immediately takes back his hand and stops, still leaving reasonable space between you two as he stares at you with remorseful eyes.

“i-i’m sorry, i just—”

“cállete.”

and he does.

your fingers rub the temples of your forehead as you exhale deeply. “mj wanted to switch you out with the other guys so i wouldn’t have to walk with you.”

miguel frowns at that but remains silent.

“but i told her no because i didn’t want ruin her wedding because of me.” you spare him a glance as you lower your hand. “peter chose you to be his best man and switching you with someone else would’ve made things complicated and i didn’t want that.”

that makes him feel more guilty. the last thing you want is to walk down the aisle with the man who broke your heart indefinitely yet you refuse to change that because your friends are much more important than your own needs and discomfort.

“so i’m going to say this once,” you glare at him, making him anxious for what you’re about to propose. “the only time you’re gonna touch me is walking down that aisle for our friends. don’t even think this means anything. the minute we part ways, you stay the fuck away from me.”

your cold tone and piecing eyes of anger sends an unpleasant shiver down miguel’s spine. he understands your reasons and obeys, no matter how much it pains him to be in the same room as you but not able to be close to you. he doesn’t deserve to. a light nod reflects his understanding, sealing the deal.

the bridesmaids and groomsmen finally arrive. lyla and anne kept skeptical eyes on miguel, which didn’t go unnoticed by him. it was time to line up, the maid of honor and the best man in front then the rest behind them. lyla with harry and anne with eddie, leaving you with miguel. everyone had their arms linked, making you hesitant to do the same with the man who hurt you. miguel senses your hesitation, which he doesn’t blame you for, and offers his arm to take. with a quiet sigh, you slowly link your arm with his. normally you would grip onto his bicep but considering the current circumstances, your hand simply hangs over without touching him, only your arms linked together. the fabric of his sleeve glazing against your skin. both your hearts leap with great anxiety as it invades your bodies.

you are touching each other for the first time in months, in which feels like an eternity.

you pretend it doesn’t phase you as the ceremony music begins playing outside. while his heart beats like crazy, miguel sneaks a glance at you making sure you’re okay but you focus ahead. both of you prepare yourselves as the doors open and multiple heads turn around awaiting your arrival. taking a deep breath, you and miguel take your first steps.

while walking down the aisle with linked arms and the small bouquet of flowers in your free hand, suddenly everything feels like in slow motion as your mind begins playing tricks on you. your imagination takes you to where you are expect you’re walking down the aisle in your own wedding dress, your dad by your side and miguel standing at the altar. it was your own wedding. a dream you never imagined before. sure, you loved miguel and wanted to be in a long relationship with him. marriage seemed a bit serious since the relationship was still fresh at the time. however, marrying miguel in fact seemed like a dream, if only things were different and you didn’t hate his guts and he wouldn’t have abandoned you.

you snap out of that dream as soon you and miguel approach the altar. you don’t hesitate to unlink your arm from his and walk to the bride’s side, making miguel frown briefly before heading to the groom’s side. once everyone was in position and peter joins, the wedding theme song begins and everyone rises from their seats awaiting the bride’s arrival.

once mary jane arrives and joins peter at the altar, the ceremony begins. as you watch your friends exchange their vows with tearful eyes of happiness, miguel’s eyes never tore away from you.

although it’s shitty of him to not pay attention to the wedding, especially his friend getting married, miguel is solely focused on you. those brown eyes solemnly looking at you the entire time. the longer he stares, the more he drowns himself in guilt. admiring you in front of an altar triggers his imagination in a painful way. miguel envisions his own wedding, dressed in a similar tux, you in your own wedding gown, you two getting married instead. the vision was too emotional, causing a thin layer of tears in his eyes that he quickly blinks away.

the only time his eyes tear away from you is when peter and mj finally kiss as husband and wife, offering a small smile of happiness before looking back at you, watching you cheer and clap.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

the reception was quite nice. everyone savoring the delicious food from the amazing caterers and drowning themselves in wine and other drinks. classic hit songs blasting through the speakers, children running around chasing one another, everyone seems to be happy and enjoying themselves. the newlyweds smiling at each other as they dine as husband and wife for the first time. giggling as mary jane fails to attempt giving peter a piece of cake which gets smeared over his mouth.

you sit with at a separate table with lyla and anne along with relatives of mary jane. tons of gossip and compliments about the newlyweds over wine. sadly, you can’t participate in the wine party due to the baby but honestly you don’t care much. the food was what you were looking forward to and damn it’s delicious. your baby likes it too.

while you dine and gossip with your friends, miguel observes from afar. throughout the reception, his eyes remain locked on you. every time you smile or laugh, his heart flutters. watching you so happy and being yourself is a sight miguel misses a lot. his mind flashes back to the times you were smiling and laughing at him when you were together. those cute, sweet moments just you and him. utterly in love and had nothing to care about but each other. he misses the way he used to make you laugh or smile. seeing and making you happy was his goal. the way your pretty lips curl up showing off that beautiful smile. the angelic sound of your laughter blessing his ears.

expect you weren’t smiling and laughing at him, your friends get the privilege to witness that, not him. the guilt and sadness returns, smacking him in the face. miguel lost that privilege and he isn’t sure if he’ll ever get it back. watching you being so happy not only makes his heart flutter but also ache with immense guilt. he isn’t the one making you happy, other people are. he’s the one making you angry and upset.

the guilt was stressing himself out that miguel excuses himself to head to the restroom. the last thing he needs is more tears of guilt, especially at his own friend’s wedding. he just needs to clean himself up and try not be a sulking bastard.

rising from your seat, you plan to get more food despite your friend’s protests saying they would do it for you but you heavily insist you’re fine. as you select your food from the caterers, your shoulder accidentally collides with someone else’s.

“oh shit, i’m so sorry!”

“ah that’s alright.”

a deep, rich baritone voice makes you look at who’s voice that belongs to. your eyes dilate immensely. a man with thick brown hair, a beard connected with compelling sideburns. goddamn he is handsome. your eyes briefly scan him up and down. he waits a simply tux yet you can tell this man is buff as hell. he is at least 6 feet tall or taller, either way he’s tall.

“i wasn’t looking where i was going, i’m sorry.” you offer him a sheepish smile.

“no damage done, sweetheart. i’m still standing.”

the endearment term makes your heart flutter, especially in that rich tone of his.

you chuckle shyly. “still, sorry about that.”

“you were caught up on food, can’t blame you.”

“yeah, it’s just that good.”

“logan howlett.” he offers his hand to shake.

you give your name as you shake his hand, noticing how warm and calloused it feels against yours.

“i saw you up there at the altar, one of the bridesmaids, huh?”

“maid of honor.”

“ah, bride’s best friend?”

you nod, softly smiling. “yep. you?”

“just a mutual friend, i know kaine, peter’s cousin.”

your eyes lighten up in surprise, partially because kaine is one of miguel’s military buddies. does logan know miguel? “oh, cool. you in the military too?”

logan shakes his head. “no, construction guy. met kaine in high school.”

“construction, huh?”

“12 years, don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

oh so he’s a construction worker, you like this man even more. your interest in him grows.

“what about you, sweetheart?” logan asks.

“journalist.”

his thick brows eyes in amusement. “oh, you like writing big fancy stories?”

you snort, shrugging. “it’s my only talent. but it doesn’t compare to building, that’s hardworking.”

“writing is hardworking too, sweetheart.” he offers a wink with a smirk, making your heart swoon.

goddamn, this man is something else. he’s making you a bashful mess with his attractive voice, the sweet nicknames, and flirtatious antics.

you have felt like this since miguel—

no, do not think about that asshole.

“you want some?” logan gestures at his glass of what appears to whiskey, seems like it.

“oh i wish but this one won’t let me.” you glance down at your pregnancy belly and place a hand on it.

logan’s eyes follow yours and widen slightly in surprise at the visible tiny baby bump. “oh, definitely can’t. congratulations, though.”

you softly chuckle. “thanks.”

he glances back at your hand and takes note of the absence of a ring wrapped around your pretty finger. his curiosity increases. “i’m gonna be bold and you can slap me all you want, you just by yourself? no boyfriend or husband?”

“yep, it’s just a sperm donor.” you lie quickly.

it would be awkward to tell logan the truth that the father is here eating and drinking just like everyone else. since you refuse to include miguel in the picture and you two are basically broken up without officially saying it, you simply believe a sperm donor is a good excuse. with this shitshow, it honestly feels like it.

logan hums, contently. “well, congrats to you both.” he gestures at your baby bump.

suddenly, it was time to dance. everyone gets with their partners and head to the dance floor. glancing around, miguel doesn’t seem to be here. perhaps he had to take a breather to get his shit together. you know he’s been watching you the entire time. you can feel his eyes on you, making your body on fire.

logan notices your somber state, making him frown slightly. his eyes follow yours to the dance floor. an idea pops up into his mind.

taking one final sip of his whiskey then setting down the glass down on the nearest surface, logan offers a hand. “dancing isn’t my thing but one chance doesn’t bite, you up for it?”

you look back at him with slightly wide eyes, a bit surprised by his offer. a man offered to dance with you at the same party miguel is. although he isn’t here at the moment, he will show up and see you dancing with another man. part of your heart still beats for him but you remind yourself the pain he caused you. besides, the idea of miguel getting jealous excites you. honestly, you don’t give a shit.

“fuck it, why not?” you shrug and take his hand, making logan smirk in amusement.

with your hand in his, logan guides you to the dance floor and join everyone else in slow dancing. his left hand takes your right and his right hand captures your waist ever so gently, making your heart flutter at the sensation. your right hand rear on his shoulder, feeling the muscles underneath the tuxedo. your bodies pressed against one another. his musky scent invades your senses, just so intoxicating.

you and logan began moving slowly, small steps side by side following the rhythm of the music. it was casual slow dancing while making small talk. logan would throw occasional flirting, making your cheeks your warm and rolling your eyes playfully. you flirt back to match his energy, increasing the tension.

finally, after getting his shit together, miguel returns from the restroom. just as he heads back to his seat along with friends, his eyes caught your figure on the dance floor, causing miguel to stop in his tracks. those thick brows furrowed in envy and confusion at the random ass man dancing with you.

who the fuck is that?

why is that fucker dancing with you?

his blood boils in envy and slight possessiveness at the sight of another man dancing you, or just you being with another man in general. an uncomfortable feeling sits heavy on his chest. suddenly his breathing intensifies, fists clenched at his sides.

that guy shouldn’t be dancing with you or have the honor to be close to you, it should be him. no another man should be allow to so close to you like that. no another man deserves to touch you.

but is miguel really deserving of that honor? especially after what he put you through.

not only is it painful to watch you with another man but also you carrying his child. seeing another man’s arms wrapped around you while his child rests peacefully in your belly. panic invades his body as miguel continues to stare solemnly at you with this random bastard. the strongest urge to storm over there and yank the bastard away from you was getting to him. however, miguel knows he can’t do anything because it isn’t right. he broke your heart, the relationship basically ended which means you’re allowed to do or be with whoever you choose.

but the sight of you with another man causes immense pain to his heart. you seem to be moving on and miguel is still trapped in everlasting guilt. this makes him panic because he’s losing you for real. he lost you the moment he left you alone but now it truly feels like he’s losing you forever.

with the possibility of losing you forever, miguel is losing you and the baby. because of his stupid behavior, he’s losing you both. his fears pushed you away into the arms of another man. it feels like you are slipping from his grasp and lost in the void forever. the dreams and hopes of you becoming a happy family is now slipping away. when he finally came back after those painful three weeks, miguel wanted to become a father and have a family. after much thinking, he decided he was ready for it. however, that possibility is now fading away.

he wants you back, he wants to be a father, he wants to have this baby with you, he wants to have a family, he wants to raise this child with you.

but it seems like an imagination now.

miguel snaps out of those panicky thoughts when logan gently pulls you closer by the waist. suddenly, his blood goes cold like ice. a scowl settles on his face as jealousy flows through his veins. his fists tightened at his sides, nails digging into his own skin.

all common sense and morals fly out the window as miguel begins storming his way towards you and logan. however, before he could reach the dance floor, he collides with one of the waiters, knocking out the tray of appetizers onto the floor. the sound of steel hitting the ground causes several heads to turn, including you and logan. thankfully most of the guests were still partying and dancing.

“chingado…” miguel curses.

“hey man, what the hell?” the waiter, a scrawny looking man no taller than 6 foot.

that whiney tone triggers miguel’s already pissed off self, glaring down at the scrawny idiot with piercing eyes which makes him gulp anxiously.

“pinche huevón, watch where you’re fucking going.”

“y-you’re the w-who bumped into me! you should be the one to watch where you’re going!”

oh that was the last straw.

“mira, cabrón…” miguel yanks the waiter by the collar with harsh force, earning a few gasps from bystanders. “te calmas o te calmo porque yo—”

as miguel raises his fist and the guy begins to flinch like a coward, a firm hand stops him from doing something he will regret.

“alright, let’s clam down, shall we?” eddie comes to the rescue, firming holding miguel’s wrist.

miguel shoves off eddie’s grip and yanks back his hand, lowering it at his side then walks away, mumbling various spanish slang.

heavily sighing in frustration, you roll your eyes at the stupid argument but mainly miguel’s behavior.

“fucking idiot.” logan mutters.

you scoff. “definitely an idiot.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

finally, the reception is over and the newlyweds took off in their car to begin their honeymoon, waving goodbye to all the guests. as majority of the guests leave, you stay to help clean up. logan decides to stay a little longer to help you and also to spend more time with you in general. you can’t deny you like him. after a while and everything is cleaned up, you head to the parking lot with logan by your side.

“i don’t think i’ll do this shit again.”

you laugh at his grumpiness. “it’s not your thing, i get that. especially not with this one controlling me, this is probably the last time i’ll be able to party.” you gesture at your pregnancy belly.

logan briefly looks at your baby bump than back to your eyes, offering a very faint smile before leaning down a bit. “now you better be nice to your mom, kid. don’t give her too much trouble.”

your heart warms at the cute interaction between logan and your baby, even if they’re not fully developed yet, it’s still heartwarming.

standing at his full height, he looks back at you. “i might have not been excited to go to this since this shit ain’t my thing but meeting you was the only good thing today.”

there goes your heart skipping a beat again. “well, it was definitely nice meeting you, logan.”

“i don’t mind if we meet up again, just not at a party again, if you’re up for that?”

knowing what he’s implying, you can’t bite back a grin. “i wouldn’t mind either.”

after exchanging numbers, you bid each other farewell with light hug. before he leaves, logan insists on walking you to your car but you tell him you rode with your friends and they’re waiting for you. you two share one final smile before he leaves. while your eyes remain on him, you hear footsteps approaching.

“soooo, snuggling up with sideburns hottie?” lyla smirks, strolling up beside you.

“oh shut up.” you roll your eyes, grinning.

“what? i don’t blame you, he’s hot as fuck. those sideburns are something else.”

“can’t deny that.”

“so, when’s the first date?”

your eyes widen in shock. “jesus, lyla. we literally just met, you know i’m not dating right now.”

“you didn’t exchange numbers for no reason.”

another eye roll. “just as friends, nothing else.”

“does he know that?” she raises a brow.

“yes, i told him.”

she raises her hands. “alright, alright, just saying. however, mr. asshole probably got the wrong idea.” lyla looks past you as she lowers her arms.

turning around, you find miguel observing from afar. you lock eyes for a moment, the first time since walking down the aisle earlier. you notice the jealousy written all over his face. those furrowed brows and clenched fists at his sides. you roll your eyes again before looking away, not caring anymore.

“i don’t give a shit, the asshole can watch what he had lost.” such defiance in your tone.

it’s the truth, you don’t care if miguel gets the wrong idea about you and logan. that man hurt you and deserves to watch you thrive without him.

“ooooo, i like this badass tone.” lyla smirks.

without sparing a final glance at miguel, you and lyla walk away together to join anne on the journey back home. pretending that he doesn’t exist.

miguel, on the other hand, solemnly watches you walk away with your friend just like any other moment. always watching you walk away from him, vanish from his eyes. realization hits that this may be the last time he’ll see you until who knows when. he can’t live without seeing you again yet miguel doesn’t know how to change that.

with a sad sigh, miguel turns back and walks away, carrying the guilt on his shoulders as usual.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @lovehadlovelost @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @asterrrrose @glossygreene @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @totallygyomeiswife @mcmiracles @celestialgarden23 @tatatida @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @nocturne-light @xenop0p @juneonhoth @ghostsdoll @marshmallowsforever ( if you’re not tagged, age/age-range is require since this fic is 18+, context for reasons why )

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[damagdsnow]

Fix my reputation

Pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look vulnerable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.

Tag: fake dating, slow burn, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play, smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praise

Chapter 1, chapter 2;

aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;

Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, mention of blood, mention of parent death, physical aggression (not detailed and not from Snow)

Word count: 11.3k

note: before reading this I recommend you to read the first chapter here. Also, thank you so much for all the love and support on chapter one I didn’t expect all of this, I love you guys ❤️

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

The first time you had met Coriolanus was when Dr. Gaul had announced he was going to be her apprentice Gamemaker during the next Hunger Games.

At that time, you got a job as a health advisor, essentially you monitored tributes' vital signs and whether they were injured, you formulated unique medicine so mentors and sponsors could help their favorites heal faster and be a step ahead of the others. You were used to stitch wounds, examining patients, making prescriptions. This was a whole new thing to you. Dr. Gaul said to you that you were one of the most qualified doctors in that department, this is the reason why she pressured you to ‘amaze’ her.

”When I read your qualifications I was shocked to learn you were looking for employment,” was the first thing Dr. Gaul said to you when she requested to meet you.

You were in her laboratory, a bright room filled with gruesome creatures, dead and alive. She was standing in front of you, with her voluminous curly hair and her reddish long tunic, while she was feeding some sorta of genetically modified fish.

“I was looking for some thrilling experience,” you started fidgeting your fingers, “making me useful for the good of Panem.”

You practiced saying these words many times before meeting her, what were you supposed to say? That you desperately needed a job? That as soon as you found another position you would quit immediately?

”Your idea to formulate a drug that would help tributes in the arena?” With a long tweezer she dropped a pink cube in the small pool, ”so original,” she smiled while feeding the fishes with more cubes.

“You know what it means right? The games will last longer, people spending money on their helpless and injured tributes, mentors fighting to get the best sponsor,” she continued, her icy eyes were staring at you, “this is going to revolutionise the games.”

“I’m glad you liked my proposal,” you looked down, wondering if it was better to make eye contact with her or watch those horrific creatures with long fangs and thorny tails.

“Liked? I absolutely adore your way of thinking,” she put the tweezer back on a metal tray. “No one was able to surprise me since–” she paused and you looked back at her, ”do you know Coriolanus Snow? You two would get along well.”

At that time you wondered who he could be. Coriolanus Snow? His name sounded familiar to you. Only when Dr. Gaul introduced him to the department as an apprentice, you recognised his face.

You both graduated from the Academy, he was just a year older than you, and during the tenth annual Hunger Games his name was popular amongst students. Even though you went to the same school, you had never talked to him. Until a couple of months before the reaping, Dr. Gaul let you and other members work in her lab to do research. Of course he was there too, and chance had it that you were paired up with Coriolanus, sharing the same desk in the library section.

You could see him sitting opposite to you, his side was impressively tidy, just a black leather notepad and a book. Your half was full of microbiology volumes, agar plates and creased post-it. Coriolanus was too focused on his writing that he never gazed over you, on the other hand you were distracted by his presence. You remembered him differently in the Academy, his hair was slightly longer than before, his facial features were more defined, but the same cold aura surrounded him.

You felt kinda intimidated by him.

You’ve heard colleagues saying how brilliant he was: he won the Plinth prize in his senior year, he graduated with honors at advanced military strategies and he now had a high position as the right hand man of the pretentious Head Gamemaker.

He intrigued you.

You thought you were not the smartest person in the room. There was something in him, probably his confident behaviour while he was writing on his notebook, as if he was superior to you. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, you thought of ways to start a conversation, not a small talk, but something smart to impress him.

Your heart was beating fast and you finally figured what to say, “Mr. Snow I found a better technique for–“

“What makes you think you can talk to me?” He cut you off while still writing in his notebook.

His words stunned you. The conversation you imagined in your head was now gone, what could you say at this point? “I just wanted–” you stuttered

“Don’t bother, I don’t want to know.”

Your admiration for him slowly faded each day. The way he corrected you every time you had a proposal, pointing out your mistakes in front of everyone, or when he made you work till night in the laboratory to perfectionate your research. You tolerated that, you were used to hard work and mean teachers in your university years, but sometimes he didn’t even show the slightest remorse on things he would say about the districts. About you, indirectly.

Every year on reaping day you thought that it could have been you. Your name in that little piece of paper, read out loud changing your destiny. If it wasn’t for your father’s role in the Dark Days, you could have been in that arena yourself, instead of having the privilege to control tributes’ lives in a cozy chair.

Your dad was an engineer, more a genius mastermind who designed and built high tech weapons. Specifically incendiary bombs, which were crucial to stop the rebels from invading the Capitol during the last year of the war. The project was so successful that he obtained an honorary medal from President Ravenstill himself. He was able to buy a place in the Capitol, for the only purpose to give you and your sister a better future, and you actually lived in luxury compared to your old life back in the districts. However, your father did not side with the president’s political view, still he had to conform to it or he would probably be considered a rebel.

He played the game, to stay alive. Until he was not part of that show anymore.

“I only did it for you and Darla, I don’t care about heavens or hell. As long as my family is safe, I regret nothing of the atrocities I’ve done,” were the words your father wrote to you in a letter, before being killed.

They had never been clear about the dynamics of his homicide, but you were sure it was not an incident as someone would say. The Capitol killed him, they took your dad away from you, the only person you admired, that never let you down.

Your blood was from the districts, even if you’ve lived all your life in the Capitol, you couldn’t change your origins. Coriolanus reminded you of that, with his despicable comments about how ‘horrible and disgusting’ the people from the districts were. As if you didn’t exist to him, you were not a person from his perspective. But he did not know that, no one knew you were not from the Capitol, it was only written on your official documents.

“The games are meant to remind us all who we truly are,” was something Coriolanus often said, bullshit you thought, for you the Games were an insult to humanity and civilisation, cruel entertainment for empty people.

Coriolanus Snow, such a brilliant mind but wicked thoughts.

At the same time, you were not better than him. You worked for the Head Gamemaker and indirectly supported the unnatural destiny of those children. It was easier blaming the government, the bad guys, than admitting to be part of the corrupted system you truly despised. Your excuse was that you had no choice, and partially it was true, but can money win over your beliefs? Were you so desperate to bend your morality just not to be jobless and not respectable? You were acting as your father: were you a fighter or survivor?

Little did you know that your worst nightmares were going to haunt you soon. After the incident you were unemployed, with a bad reputation and with a man you hated.

Check, check, check.

You woke up at lunch time for the third day in a row, it was like being a child again. But there wasn’t your mom taking care of you, your dad making your favorite dish or your big sister spoiling you with presents. You couldn’t ignore your responsibilities and let the adults do the big things for you. You were the adult now, but if you kept self destroying your life this way, it was like everything you’ve done vanished away. Giving up was not an option, or to put things clear, it was the easier possibility amongst the other challenging beginnings.

One of these included him.

Coriolanus was not a beginning, he was more like someone you bump into when you are in a rush, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there but that let you miss the train, made you change your destination. However, the end of the journey was a mystery, with him nothing was clear from the start.

The gala was proof that you couldn’t handle that world, it felt like everything you did made your situation in a much worse position. If it wasn’t for Coriolanus, you would’ve busted into tears on live tv, he was used to that world, lying so naturally that he convinced them.

Cameras, flashes, interviews. Not exactly what you have been preparing for all your life.

You didn’t want to remember what happened that night. Your mind replayed memories as if it was a film, but you were trying to stop it. The dancing? The photographers?

No, the kiss.

The thought of his hands on your skin, his hair on your hands, his lips against yours. The more you pushed that image away, the less it faded from your mind. How could you let him do something like that? You knew that letting him in again would only bring more chaos into your life, but at the same time, you needed to fix your mess and he was your solution.

Also, you didn’t want to acknowledge that all the attention was something you needed. Not the bad press, the misleading articles and intrusive photographers. It was the care for you, the way he defended you, the warmth you didn’t feel in a long time. You knew it was fake, just a facade, but that pretending was healing an empty spot you have been hiding for ages.

When you checked your mail, you recognised the reddish envelope. It was from Snow manor.

"Be ready at 7 pm, someone is going to pick you up.’ signed by Iris Davebonn.

Of course it was not over.

He had a plan, and he didn’t give up easily. You also had a plan, he was not the only one with something to prove, but was he the only way out to your hell? Or was he another villain in your tragedy? You had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

Coriolanus is the forbidden apple, the fruit I shall never be tempted to desire.

You opened the fridge, still sleepy but hungry. For your breakfast you had a couple of options: water and rotten eggs or rotten eggs and water. So as always you decided to steal from your neighbor’s tangerines tree, you could easily pick the fruits from your window, the advantages of living on the first floor. You knew that the old lady next door noticed your thefts, but she hated you either way so at least you gave her a reason to. Since you didn’t have a monthly paycheck anymore, you had to live with your remaining savings, but soon you were left with nothing with bills and rent to pay.

Actually, Dr. Gaul never fired you, she wasn’t as upset as Capitol people, she even congratulated you because this way The Hunger Games were discussed more on tv and newspapers. For her, the incident was a perfect strategy to make the Games popular. She even thought you did that intentionally, because in her distorted view,”it was funny seeing their faces when for the first time, a 12 years old boy from district eleven won”. Against all odds, the unknown tribute without sponsors and hope to make it alive, won the games because “I killed everybody else.”

Not as funny as she thought.

Eventually, you couldn't handle the pressure anymore and you quit. The last time you saw her she persuaded you to be by her side the next year, “if you did that by accident, I wonder what you could do purposely.” You never considered that offer, you didn’t have to work there in the first place. If only you could go back, maybe… Maybe, everything would’ve gone differently.

The world fell apart when you heard the sound of cannon in that room. Everybody was cheering for that girl from district two, the favorite, the one that won Capitol’s heart during the interviews. The lovely Rea, the brave tribute that was bit by an horrific dog. That creature cannot be defined as a ‘dog’, more like a venomous lion with a crocodile mouth. Your role was to make a medicine that could heal her wound. Sponsors asked it, her mentor was willing to pay whatever price to save her, the Capitol was betting every penny on her.

The pressure was such that you mistakenly switched two drugs and gave her the other for the boy from District three. Fatal mistake.

You were their only hope but you became the death of them.

Relying on somebody else was the last thing you wanted, especially if it was Coriolanus Snow. You didn’t want to need him. But there you go, on your way to his house. Again.

An avox opened the door for you and silently you followed her to the living room. Iris and Coriolanus were both standing near a star shaped glass table surrounded by small couches, you wondered what their conversation was about because they stopped talking the moment you walked in.

“Speaking of the devil,” Coriolanus said looking at you, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants, his hair was messy as if he woke up a couple of minutes ago.

”There she is,” Iris stepped towards you, opening her arms, “the new star of Panem,” she hugged you like you were an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while, it didn’t feel as awkward as you thought, it felt sincere.

”I think you meant a fallen star,” you laughed hugging her back.

”Honey, the gala was a success!” She said with a warm smile.

You perceived his blue eyes gazing at you, the same look he gave you when you were walking with him arm by arm at the gala.

Why is he staring? Am I wearing something inappropriate? Or is it just the indecipherable look he always has?

“Did you read the newspaper?” Iris pointed at the glass table in front of you but you were distracted by a bowl full of pastries to even pay attention to her.

You leaned forward to read the page but your sight was too blurry. The tangerines were the only thing you ate since this morning, not really an energetic meal. You sat on the small couch and you put the newspaper close to your face, nose almost touching the page, squinting to have a better view.

“Are you blind?” Coriolanus said with an annoyed tone, he tore away the paper from your hands.

”I don’t have my glasses with me,” you lied, you have never worn glasses in your entire life.

You rubbed your temples trying to see clearly again and you swiftly took what seemed to be a pink cookie from the tray on the table. What flavour was that? You tried to make a straight face while chewing that sugary stuff, at least your body was eating something.

“To make things short— they think we are the couple of the moment,” Coriolanus started while reading the page, “that everybody was shocked— bla bla,” he rapidly said, “oh and they mentioned my name four times!”

“No, Mr. Snow, if you have to do something you have to do it right,” Iris intervened, taking the newspaper from his hands.

She sat down on the couch near yours and started reciting the article, reading word by word.

“Is love in the air? In Capitol City probably is.” She read the first line,“what a great title isn’t it?” Iris commented

“Go on or we are going to stay here all night,” Coriolanus said.

You looked at him, he was standing up making you feel inferior, like a shadow looming over you.

“After the unsettling events happened in the last Hunger Games, there is finally some hope in our community. The aspiring president Coriolanus Snow showed up with someone not-so-new in the latest gala before the presidential campaign.”

“ ‘not so new’ so kind of them—” you said and he shushed you. How dare he?

“She studied medicine and has worked with the Head Gamemaker for the past year. Rumor has it that for some kind of incident, she was the cause of the premature death of two tributes.”

Iris took a breath. “Unexpectedly, last night Coriolanus proudly walked with her for the very first time in public. Both dressed in white, representing the noble Snow name, they conquered the attention of the media and the crowd. Are they the couple of the moment?” She smiled while looking at you, “the best part is about to come.”

“If we are basing the answers on the way they look at each other, they definitely stole our hearts. We are looking forward to seeing how this unexpected love will grow.”

You laughed, that was too corny for you, was it possible that they truly believed that little show you made?

”Will Coriolanus Snow win the election the same way he won her heart? Right now we are in love with both of them.” Iris finished.

“Did they really write an article about our possible love story?” You took another cookie, green this time, “they really are bored people.”

”You should be happy they didn’t talk about what happened in the arena,” Coriolanus said but you couldn’t see him, he was standing behind you.

“Well, they mentioned it anyway,” you said while chewing that lemon pastry, or was it mint? For a moment you thought it was better starving than eating whatever thing it was.

”Thanks to me they probably will give you a chance,” he said.

”The tone they used– it was like they think you are doing charity by being with me.”

“Well it kinda is–”

”Oh shut up,” you stand up, turning to him, “your name has never been this many times in a newspaper.” You were close to him, and even if you were not sitting anymore, you felt small standing there facing him.

His eyes were still examining you, as if you were a book written in a language he couldn’t read.

“You two look like siblings fighting over meaningless things,” Iris said, stepping in, getting in the middle of you.

“See? Even Iris thinks you are being overly dramatic.”

You fought the urge to answer back, did he just call you over-dramatic?

“Honey, look who's talking,” Iris said pointing a finger at him, “you are not really easy to work with,” then she turned over to you, “in just one day people fell for your fairytale, imagine what you can do in a month.”

“Do you really think this can work?” You avoided looking at him behind her shoulder.

“They don’t care about what you did, you are just another distraction from their empty life,” she explained to you, “they need something else to talk about.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, there are more important things,” Coriolanus said, “such as the presidential elections.”

”Is there something else you can say instead of politics and fame?”

”What do you want me to tell you? My sad story about when I mixed some drugs in the laboratory?” He stepped closer, ”oh no, that is something you always talk about.”

”I liked you better when you ignored me,” you said remembering the first time you tried to have a conversation with him.

“Stop please,” Iris said, “you two should bond more, this atmosphere is making me wanna retire early,” she touched her hair, orange this time, “maybe you will like each other.” She walked away from your sight.

“It's going to be tiring enough pretending to like him in public,” now there was just the glass table separating you from him.

“So this is a yes, you are going to do this,” his face lightened up.

“It seems this charade it’s working,” you said convincing yourself that was your best chance of getting your reputation back.

Did you just sign a pact with the devil?

He is the forbidden apple. But it doesn’t mean I can’t just play with it.

“Before I forget,” you heard Iris voice coming from the door entrance, “next week dinner with the Holdens and Suncots,” she was putting her yellow coat on, “they gladly accepted the invite here,” then she put her gloves on, “see you tomorrow—oh and try to bond you two,” she pointed a finger at him before closing the door and leaving you alone with Coriolanus.

You looked at the clock above the coat hanger and it was getting late, but you had nowhere else to be at that moment. No one waiting for you at home, no one expecting your call, nothing to do the next day.

“Tigris is going to design another dress for you,” he said referring to the dinner.

“Can’t I just wear something I already have?” The thought of him deciding what color and style your dress had was not something you tolerated.

“Of course not— do you dine here or?” That didn’t sound like an invite, more as if he was suggesting you go home.

“So kind, I’ll pass,” you said with a sarcastic tone.

”I asked because you almost devoured the entire jar of pastries.” He smiled, waiting for your reaction.

”For the record, they are tasteless.”

He rolled his eyes, “the car is waiting for you outside,” he turned his back and walked towards the kitchen.

”I can walk, I don’t need your personal driver,”

Your words stopped him right in his tracks, ”what if you get lost? How could I do without you?” He said jokingly, turning over to see you, “and it’s fifteen minutes away, in the dark— don’t be a child and go by car, you’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t answer, not like you had something to say. Of course you would’ve accepted the ride, your apartment was too far from his house, you just wanted to irritate him. Maybe you were not so different from Coriolanus, you were playing the same game.

Car rides make you recall only good memories. Your dad got a car when you were little, it was gray and smaller than this one, and he used to drive you to school everyday. Until you got into university and you moved to your current house, it was ten minutes from university so you got used to walking.

The engine stopped and you stepped out of the car, it was cold outside and you wished you had heating at home, a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore.

You fumbled with the keys trying to open the door, you were freezing and you rushed because you heard some steps. You didn’t want to have a conversation with your neighbor, she’ll probably just scold you about the stolen tangerines and how loud you shut the door when you go out, the old same story. You finally walked inside  but someone blocked you from closing the door. It was a young man, probably in his thirties, he had a tiny recorder on his hand and you immediately clicked. 

“Hi, I’m from Capitol’s People Magazine, I wanted to ask you some questions about your relationship with Coriolanus Snow,” he said pointing you to the black device.

”I’m sorry— for interviews, talk to my manager,” you said with a kind tone.

Iris suggested that every time journalists asked you questions you did not want to answer, you had to say those words, and now was the case. You slowly closed the door but the man put his feet in between.

”How could the heir of one of the most influential figures be with a corrupted woman like you?” He looked at you with eyes full of anger.

Corrupted woman, this was new to you. What was the correct answer to that? 

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled while trying to close the door by pushing it against his feet but he was not intending to leave you alone.

He aggressively tried to wedge his foot into the door, forcing it to stay open while he continued to badger you with invasive questions about the gala.

”Are you planning on ruining his image while stealing his money?” He reached your arm and grabbed it. 

“What’s wrong with you?” His grip was getting tighter as you tried shoving him. 

He was strong enough to smash the door open, stepping inside your house. With his hand on your wrist, he roughly pushed your body against the wall, your back facing him as he stood behind you, your heart pounding outside your chest.  

“You are just a crazy bitch,” he whispered, “you think you can fool them but are a disgrace for Panem,” he pushed your head against the wall, one side of your face hitting the coarse plaster making your skin burn. 

“Get off me! ” you shouted, struggling against his grip.

In response he hit your head again against the wall. You squinted your eyes in pain as a tear streamed down your face, you felt powerless, everything happened so fast.

“Tell me what you want from me,” you said with a weak voice.

“After all you did, you should shut the fuck up and do what you are asked to do,” he put his hand on your scalp as he pushed you harder against the wall. 

You screamed like you never did in your entire life, someone had to hear your cry for help, right? But he was quick to cover your mouth with his palm and that was the perfect occasion for you to bite his skin. He kept his hand on your mouth while he choked on his own screams. 

Your muffled howl echoed in the room but no one seemed to hear you. Or so you thought. Someone grabbed the man from his collar and pushed him away from you. It was the driver, his tall figure was now beant down to beat that man. You were paralyzed, now your back was against the wall and your lungs finally breathing, but your body was unable to answer your brain’s orders. 

”Run!” The driver screamed at you while punching the man one more time, “go in the car! Run!” 

You ran towards the car but your legs felt weak and your head too heavy. You opened the car door and you laid down in the back seats. What the hell just happened? 

What if he came back? What if next time there is not someone to save you? Your anxiety grew inside your chest and you kept yourself from crying. 

“Are you okay, Miss?” The driver asked breathlessly as he violently closed the front car door with a rush, “should I take you to the hospital?” He was looking at you, he had an old scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before.

You shook your head, “I just need water” you mouthed, trying to maintain a regular breathing.

“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered.

You looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting the street lights while he was driving as if nothing happened, as if his bloody knuckles on the steering wheel were not hurting.

After minutes that seemed hours he talked, “It is my duty,” he said, “Mr. Snow wouldn’t have forgiven me.”

Coriolanus was in his study preparing a speech for the next interview, he had to be careful to pick the perfect words, to speak with the right tone, and to make the adequate facial expressions. Nothing was left to case. Every single action had to be meticulously studied and calculated.

It was his specialty. Playing with words and making people fall in love with his charm. He did it naturally, molding people the shape he wanted. Because he had to have everything under his control, his power, his eyes.

For the first time he was struggling. He was stuck on the opening line and he didn’t know how to continue. Sleepless nights and alcohol were the usual in the past week. This was one of the nights. Locked in his study until he wrote something of that speech, depriving himself from sleep.

Coriolanus was walking around the room, fidgeting with a pen on his long fingers. Until his mind-wandering was stopped by a firm knock on the door, annoyed it could be an Avox, he ignored it. But the knocking didn’t stop.

He let out a sigh as he unlocked the doorknob, “how many times do I have to tell–” to his surprise, the driver showed up at his door, “Virma, what are you doing here?”

Coriolanus soon found the answer to his question by looking over the driver’ shoulder. You were hidden behind his back, like a hurt animal scared of its fate. You didn’t want to come here, like a lost child brought back home. But where were you supposed to be? What place instead of his?

Your ruffled hair, your smeared makeup and your empty look. It didn’t take long for him to understand something happened. A sense of anger grew inside of him. This was not written in a script, it was not meant to happen and when things did not go according to plan, Coriolanus lost his composure, he could have been unpredictable.

His face darkened. He grabbed your arm and he dragged you in his study, along with Virma. You felt his hand on your wrist, his touch was something familiar to you, maybe gentle, as if he was actually worried about you. He pushed Virma to the side and closed the door behind him, casting you both in the dim light of his opulent study.

You were now facing him, his expression was different from an hour ago. His hand traveled to your face, his fingers lifting your chin as he leaned to have a better view of you. The left side of your face was scraped, fresh cuts burned on your temple as droplets of blood trailed your skin. Coriolanus traced his fingertips on your bruised skin and you flinched, instantly regretting the movement as a flash of pain shot through your head, but he was not rough like that man. He loosened his grip on your arm, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of your injuries. He was delicate, as if he was touching something fragile. 

You were too focused on his expression to even pay attention to your sore skin. His knitted brows, his parted lips and his concerned look.

“Who did this to you?” His voice barely above a whisper, he glared down at you as he inspected your figure, as if he was looking for other scratches he missed.

You could almost feel the tension radiating from him.

His hand was now on your neck, fingers touching the back of your head, “a journalist, I don’t–” you looked down, “he was asking questions but I–"

“Mr. Snow, I think I know who he is ,” the driver said and for a moment you forgot he was in that room, “he is Lucius Cliffhard' son.”

"Cliffhard' son? The father is running for president why would he–” Coriolanus didn’t finish his sentence and he looked back at you, “thank you for your service Virma,” his hand left your neck leaving a warm spot, “we will talk about it later.”

You heard the door closing and now you were left alone with him. You could barely stand up, your adrenaline was leaving your body and your anxiety was taking its place.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he walked towards the opposite side of the room, looking for something in the small bathroom of his study.

You were standing in the shiny black floor, your heart was pounding so loud you could not hear your weak voice, “he probably was waiting for me to come home because the moment I opened the door he uhm—“ you stuttered, "started asking questions but I didn't answer, so he pushed me against the wall and his hand was on my mouth—“ you paused, ”he hit my head and—“ you felt a lump on your throat and you hoped he didn’t hear you.

His steps were again echoing the room, his figure walking closer to you. He had a piece of cotton wool in his hands and without a notice he held it against your scratches by cupping your face with his other hand. It was burning your skin, his fingertips were slightly brushing your neck while he dabbed gently the cotton to clean the wounds on your temple.

”Continue talking,” he said nonchalantly as he tilted your head to have a better view of tour left side of the face.

You stopped breathing in that moment, maybe because of the nauseating smell of the disinfectant or maybe it was because he was inches away from you, his focused look on the bleeding cut, “I think he just wanted to scare me,” you managed to say in a steady tone.

The blonde snapped his head at you, his blue eyes now on yours, “he is a psychopath,” his scent reminded you of that night at the gala, “he hit you because you didn't want to be interviewed, he could've killed you."

You reached his hand where he was pressing the cotton wool and for a moment your fingers brushed before he removed his hands from your skin. “you are exaggerating– he just needs help, ” you said.

Coriolanus closed his eyes, he clenched his fists and the knuckles turned white. He walked towards the desk and he poured himself a drink, taking a long burning sip. You watched him in silence as you inspected the reddish cotton on your hands.

“Do you trust him so much you want to come back to your house?” He was behind his desk, arms resting above the chair, “I told you, here you could have been safer from the media,” he raised his voice, “but you are stubborn, you risked your life and– if it wasn’t for Virma who knows what could have happened,” he said nervously while pouring himself a drink.

“So now it’s my fault?” You bawled at him.

“You don’t understand that now whatever happens to you affects me,” he said, “what are they going to say when they see your bruises and god forbid— he writes an article saying who knows what lies of what happened.”

“See? You don’t care about my safety, you only care about what they think,” you stepped closer to him because he wasn’t even looking at you, “you want me as your puppet, so you can have me under your control— your house, your peacekeepers, your scripts— it’s all part of your plan,” you said.

”You are free to go back to your pathetic life if that’s what you want," he took a sip of his drink, still looking down, “I can’t save you from yourself, after all– you were miserable before and now too,” it was like venom coming from his lips.

A tear streamed down your face, “this is what I hate about you,” you scoffed, “you are a selfish and heartless man, I was right from the start.”

You have called him only good names: uncaring, unaffectionate, disrespectful, selfish and heartless. The list was getting longer.

“What did you expect? I thought it was going to be easier with you but you are getting on my nerves,” he stood up walking towards you, “you should be grateful— but no, you like acting so superior to me,” his chest was getting closer to you.

You scoffed, “why? Who are you?” You looked up at him through your lashes, “just a rich spoiled kid who is playing at being the next president of Panem.”

“And you fucking need me,” he said against your cheek, “this is why you didn’t leave, you don’t want to admit that without this ‘heartless man’ standing in front of you who knows where you could be right now,” his eyes were consuming you.

”Look who's talking,” you pointed a finger at him, “the Capitol's favorite toy who needs a ‘miserable girl’ to make him popular.”

Coriolanus placed his free hand on your wrist, squeezing it lightly, “you like this am I right?” He licked his lips, “talking back at me, uh?”

His nose was touching yours, his grip was burning your skin and you could feel his hot breath mixing with yours. The blonde was dangerously close to you, but you missed that feeling. Have you already erased what he has said to you? Was he so powerful to make you fall for his spell?

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

His lips brushed yours, memories flooding back to you. You didn’t know if he was about to bite you or kiss you. It would have hurt you either way.

“Tell an Avox to prepare your room,” he said, “or freeze in the streets, I don’t care— your choice.” Coriolanus let your arm go and he walked away from your sight.

It started to be just for show but the backstage was even worse than the real life. At the same time you could not give up on this play, you had to change your rules, your morals, to keep being with him.

So you were alone in the dark in the hallway, thinking about running away or staying.

Coriolanus could not win this way, you hated to admit you still needed his presence to fix your reputation. The darkness seemed to swallow you as you hesitated, torn between your principles and the pull of his influence. He had too much power right now, but you were willing to wait, by making things your own terms.

As you stood there, unwilling to give in to his manipulations, the lingering memory of his touch warred with the sharpness of his words. You slammed the door shut for him to hear you, he would have to do better to get you away from him. 

Coriolanus could have touched your face as if you were the rarest creature on earth but the same lips once brushed yours, could tell the most hurtful things to you.

But you did that too. You were both craving the same sin. But too proud to admit on your faces.

“Is everything okay now?” You were in Tigris room, a colorful space barely illuminated by the outside light. It was in the basement, not really a cozy place to work.

You were talking about the aggression that happened a couple of days ago, nothing you wanted to recall actually, especially your conversation with Coriolanus, but you didn’t tell her that.

”Yes, the bruises are healing over,” you answered, touching your temple.

Tigris smiled at you while taking your measurements. She didn’t look like her cousin, apart from the blonde hair, she was pure and kind hearted. Why was an angel like her on earth with people like you? Like him?

“Why are we doing this again?” You asked “Didn’t you already have my measurements?”

You were standing on a stool, only wearing your undergarments while Tigris was putting the tape measure around your chest.

”Coryo sent me a note telling me that last time the dress was a little loose,” that was the last thing you could ever expect to hear from her, because it was in fact true, he noticed that.

“He did what?”

“I know, I was surprised too,” she smiled, “anyway, I read the newspaper.”

Oh no, you didn’t want to talk about that too.

“You two look great in the picture,” she handed you a wrinkled page where you could see a black and white photo of you and Coriolanus at the gala, he was looking at you while holding your waist.

You didn’t know about the existence of that picture until now. That night you were too starved to even pay attention to the newspaper, how could you miss that?

“It was so strange seeing him with a woman,” she commented while looking for some fabric.

“What do you mean? Has he ever had a girlfriend?” You knew the answer to that question but you wanted to hear from her.

“More like ‘girls’ than ‘girlfriends’, ” she laughed, “I’ve never met one of them,” Tigris wrapped a red cloth around your waist.

“Well, not that I’m special,” you looked at the mirror in front of you, “it’s just a stupid show.”

“What a shame,” she folded the excess fabric on your side and put a needle, “I liked you,” Tigris whispered.

You wished you could do something for her, she deserved more than a molded little room and a cousin like Coriolanus.

“So we are seeing each other more often, am I right?” she broke the awkward silence.

“Yes, Iris forced me to stay in this house,” Iris was really in apprehension when she saw your bruises, she lectured you on how people are vicious and in your ‘situation’ it was better not risking more.

“How lucky, aren’t I?” You added.

“I know my cousin can be– difficult to understand but,” she walked behind you, “there are some things that brought him to be this way,” her fingers tighten the fabric on your back, “and of course he’s not a saint, he just needs something– someone perhaps, to make him remember who he really is.”

“I can’t fix him,” you glanced at her reflection in the mirror, “I’m broken as much as he is and– we are incompatible.”

“As the sun and the moon?”

“Maybe.”

The comparison did fit well.

One is the star planets gravitate around, the only source of light at the center of the solar system. The moon is a small satellite whose only purpose is to spin around the earth, showing only one face and depending only on the planet's gravitational field.

Coriolanus wanted to appear like the sun, bright and powerful but he only displayed one face like the moon. You felt small, needing for something to orbit around as the moon did, but you didn’t know how radiant and capable you actually were, exactly like the sun.

Since you moved in his house, nights were longer than the others. It was getting harder to fall asleep because of your intrusive thoughts keeping you awake.

Is the door locked? Am I safe here?

The positive side was that your new room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. Then, you were not freezing anymore and you were finally eating food, not stolen fruit and smelly milk.

Even though you were living in his house, you tried avoiding his presence: by not having lunch the same hour as him, by going out your room only when you heard his door locking or having your usual meetings with Iris before him. That was your way of saying that he could not control your life, especially when he treated you the way he did.

However, that was still his house.

Red silky bed sheets, roses scent, his gold engraved initials on objects.

Coriolanus was not easy to forget. It was as if he had poisoned the air you were breathing, everything reminding you of him. The good and the bad. You promised yourself to not be tempted anymore, he was mercilessly manipulating you into believing he was the person he wanted to appear at the Capitol. But other than his mesmerizing eyes, his golden curls and delicate hands, there was another man hiding in his shadow. You had to picture that side of him every time he teased you, or you could be a sinner.

You were laying on the bed, leafing through the pages of the brand new script it was sent to your room. This was even worse than the other. Not only you had to remember some political matters regarding the current campaign, but you had to pretend again how good of a man Coriolanus was. How he supported and cared for you and how bright your plans as a couple were.

“I was extremely lucky to meet him, he is the sun to my dark days,” what an irony, “I am looking forward to living this exquisite love fully by his side.”

So cheesy for what?

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

You heard a muffled voice coming from the hallway, you walked towards the door but you didn’t answer. It was him of course, after the bad there was the good. He surprisingly tried talking with you on other occasions, but you had walked away before he could even finish his sentence, running away was easier, or god knows what you could’ve done.

“I can hear your heavy breathing,” he said close to the door, “open the door or I will,” he was waiting for your response, thinking about what he could say to get your attention. “Please?” Good manners are always the right answer, right? Right?

You let out a sight as you unlocked the door. Coriolanus was standing close to the room’s entrance, his arm was leaning against the wooden jamb and you noticed he was wearing his coat, as if he was about to go out.

“Oh so you’re alive,” he said, “I was worried about you.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it didn’t matter either way. Right?

“What do you want?” You were still holding the doorknob, not letting him step inside the room.

“Come with me, we have to go somewhere,” he said with a rush in his tone.

“I kindly refuse your invitation,” you were about to close the door but he put his hand in between. I could squash his fingers, you thought, nothing he could not recover from.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, “sooner or later you will have to pretend to like me,” his face was partially illuminated by your room light, making his eyes brighter.

You looked at his long fingers keeping the door open, he had his usual shiny ring on his index finger and for a moment you thought you could really squash his hand, “I think it’s better we have less interactions possible apart from the social events.”

“It’s been days since people saw us together, yesterday they asked about you at the debate,” he hissed, “see? Instead of asking about my political project they were– nevermind, just come with me.” His eyes were begging you, such a satisfying image.

“I’m not dressed up, what a pity,” you said mockingly.

He peeked at your figure, “you’re fine.”

You did not feel fine. You weren’t even wearing your clothes, you did not had the chance to pack up your things from your apartment and you had to ask Tigris for some piece of clothing that could fit you. She gave you some of her designs, a green matcha wool skirt matched with a cotton white top. At least you were about to wear pretty clothings, not your old unironed shirts.

“Just for show,” you said while grabbing a jacket.

“Just for show,” he echoed.

You realised that in this game of power and appearances, keeping your distance wasn't an option anymore. You knew that you were now entwined in a dangerous dance with Coriolanus, one that could lead to momentous success or catastrophic ruin. The stakes were high and your mixed feelings towards him could not interfere with your plan, he was not the only manipulator anymore.

“Where is he bringing me?” you asked Virma after fifteen minutes of silence in the car. It was better not talking directly to Coriolanus when possible.

“Miss, isn’t this a date? Enjoy the ride,” the driver said with a smile.

You and Coriolanus laughed. Date? The only date you were looking for was the date this show would end. The car stopped and from the window you immediately recognised the place. It was not a fancy restaurant, a loud club or someone’s wealthy mansion.

First date with Coriolanus Snow at… the Citadel?

That was not what the script said.

You heard the car speeding away as he walked towards the huge grey entry, he unlocked the door and he stepped inside. You stood on the sidewalk, not sure if you wanted to follow him, it was too late to change your mind and too dark to be alone outside.

At least ten peacekeepers were guarding the entrance but Coriolanus walked towards the grey corridor unbothered. The first time you were there, you were searched as if you were a prisoner, as if you could hide a bomb inside your small pockets. This time they did not even consider you, because you both spent months working day and night in that cold laboratory.

The elevator plunged down at least twenty floors, the dark walls were so thick you could strain your vocal chords for hours but no one would hear you. You were standing beside him, waiting for the door to open as soon as possible. The only sound echoing in that place was the loud machinery that was slowly moving down.

“Did you miss this place so much you wanted a guided tour by me?” You asked, breaking the silence, “or is it a surprise party for me?” Five floors left, “tell me now so I put my best smile for the cameras,” you said mockingly, but he didn’t even look at you.

Couldn’t this man laugh for once? So boring.

The elevator doors parted and you finally stepped inside the laboratory. It was an open space divided into three areas. The center was where Dr. Gaul did experiments with animals, occasionally it was also where she did her lectures and exams; one side was the sterile area where the researchers did surgical operations and medical trials where they often experimented with new drugs on genetically modified animals; on the other side, there was the library and research tables, where you mostly spent most of your time studying advanced biotechnology methods.

“How romantic– I guess what people are going to say when I tell them for our first date you took me to see these sweet and lovely creatures,” you said as you looked at the wall glass with dead beasts inside clear yellowish cases.

“You should keep the bar low with me— and I just need to find some documents, you know this laboratory better than me,” he removed his coat and stepped towards the library on the other side of the room.

“You tricked me– you just wanted a favor from me,” your voice echoed and you were not sure he heard you. You walked through the library looking for him.

“I’m in the archives section,” his voice was not far away.

The library was arranged in a circular pattern, as if the bookshelves were layers and in the very core there was a large space with study desks, the ones you had slept on many nights back when you worked there. Soon you found the blonde leaning over a desk while reading some pages in an orange envelope.

“Did you find it?” You asked in an annoyed tone.

“Here there is– this is your file,” he said while standing up.

“My what now?” You walked over him, intended to grab the envelope with the 'confidential' print on the cover.

Coriolanus stepped back, leaning his back on the bookshelf behind him, “given your precedents, I thought it was better to check your past before they did,” he had already read your file a long time ago, but he didn’t tell you that.

He started reading the first page, “you uhm graduated with honors in medicine– bla bla bla first student in your class, —okay here, you specialized in general surg— oh no you did not” he paused, “yet?” Coriolanus looked at you with a puzzled face, suggesting you to say something.

“I will this year,” you looked at your fingers, fidgeting with the ends of your jacket.

“Lie number one, here it says you didn’t pay the tuition,” he pointed at the paper.

Fuck. You couldn’t afford paying for electricity, imagine the university fees, in the most expensive city in Panem. You stuttered something but he continued talking.

“Anyway, you got a place in the Ranvistill Clinic —impressive— and then you mysteriously asked for a transfer after two years, and this is how you got here,” he looked at you, “what happened?”

Was that a tricky question? This conversation was making you uncomfortable. You felt under trial, as if you were accused of crimes, Coriolanus was the judge and you were the only one defending yourself.

“Is this an interview? I didn’t know that apart from being interested in writing scripts you also were a human resource guy,” you tried switching the topic, the conversation was getting too personal.

“Do you have something to hide? I must be prepared for anything they can ask me,” he frowned.

You had many secrets you hoped he didn’t already know, “I changed jobs, that’s it.”

“You failed my test,” he chuckled, “you lied straight to my face in a serious matter –this is lie number two.”

“A test? What the hell Coriolanus.” You sighed as you walked over a desk, sitting on it.

“See? This is why you don’t have my trust.”

The man that cannot be trusted was really talking about trust?

“If you already know every detail of my life, why are you talking with me?”

“Oh, I knew it was going to bother you —anyway no, there’s just something that does not add up.” His eyes went again on that file, hands leafing through pages.

“Which is,” you said with a passive tone.

“Clodius South, head of the surgery department —or I should say, your umh— ex boyfriend?” He closed the folder and put it carelessly on the shelf behind him.

Your heart skipped a bit, “I’m done,” you stood up but he came closer to you.

“Answer just one question, I'm curious– why did he fire you? I mean, officially you transferred but I know it wasn’t voluntary,” he didn’t seem to give up, his look was pleading for answers, “so strange, you had been together for a year.”

“Why are you so interested in my sentimental life? You don’t have a chance with me, you know that right?” You laugh, feeling the tension in the air.

“There is no such risk, I’m not attracted to you,” his figure blocked you from walking away, “I just need your popularity, so I can fix it to something good.”

“You were the one kissing me in the car,” you bit your tongue, that kiss was something you didn’t want to bring up, it was better to forget about it. However, the other option was talking about your past, not something you were proud of.

“Oh please as if you didn’t want to,” he tilted his head, eyes locked on yours.

You laughed at his words, “you wish,” your back leaned against the desk.

“Then why did you kiss me back? I remember you didn’t let me breathe for a moment.”

“That was part of the show, Coriolanus Snow.”

“Now you use my full name? Last time I checked you called me differently,” he rested his arm on the desk you were lying on, making his height the same as yours.

You damned the only time it slipped from your lips calling him Coryo, a nickname you promised yourself to not say ever again.

“Why? Did it turn you on?”

His other hand was near your leg, slowly moving closer to your exposed skin.

“You can’t even imagine,” he swiftly looked down to your lips then back to your eyes.

The room did not feel cold anymore. Your breathing was getting slower, his parted lips warming your skin, his arm grazing your leg.

“So tell me, what happened with him?” Coriolanus insisted, but you had other plans in mind.

He was in power right now, he brought you here just to humiliate you with your deepest secrets. Weren't you just a miserable girl? It was your turn to make him feel miserable.

“You say you’re not attracted to me but you always find an excuse to touch me,” you whispered to his ear, his curls brushing your nose and his hand slightly brushing your leg.

This would have made him back off, telling you how stupid you are to think something like that, gaslighting you about the fact he never did such things like touching you.

“If it bothers you so much why you never push me away,” his hand traveled up to your leg, “go on, I’m waiting,” his fingers were now brushing your thigh and you felt his cold ring against your skin.

Fuck. That was not your plan.

You can always get back to it.

“I know your limits— I bet you barely touched a woman in your life,” you knew it was not true, you only said it as a provocation, to hurt his fragile ego as you planned.

I won.

”I don’t have limits, and we both know you would lose your bet,” his hand went under the hem of your skirt, making you shiver in surprise.

His index finger traced the outline of your panties, slightly playing with the waistband. Coriolanus didn’t break eye contact with you, his pupils were wide, you couldn’t see the blue that usually painted his iris, he was breathing slowly with parted lips, as if he wanted to control his heartbeat. And his hand felt so warm and familiar, so close to your core.

You knew that look, the one that he gave you when he let his guard down. The same look Coriolanus had when you came in his study a couple of days ago, his other side that he rarely showed to anyone.

His palm rested on your bare naked thigh.

“You don’t talk now?” His voice soothed your face, “tell me to stop and I will.”

That was the perfect occasion to slap that smug from his face, but you couldn’t even make up a coherent sentence. His voice was a gentle whisper cutting through the tension, but all you could manage was to stare at his eyes, trying to calculate his next move.

You knew what it was. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could shatter your plan. Did you have something to lose? You have already bent your morals, risked your life and crossed lines you never thought you would. Coriolanus would have been another crime to add to your list.

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

But what if I took just a bite? A taste of mortal sin.

“Why did you bring me here?” You managed to say trying to control your breathing.

“You once asked me why did I chose you,” Coriolanus whispered to your ear, “and I told you that it was for the presidential campaign,” his hand moved up again, “publicity, press and interviews— I only care about that,” his fingers were covering your clothed cunt.

You took a deep breath and swallowed, your back was still leaning against the desk edge, his other arm on your side. His words were not making things easier for you, not because you were listening to what he actually was saying, but because his tone of voice was something you could only hear in these moments. When he acted good, for the cameras, for the show. But there was no one in that room.

Coriolanus kept talking, “but my point is, why didn't you leave?” His index finger circled around your covered core, “I mean— I could list a few reasons why, considering also how wet you are right now,” he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wetness. “But you always say you hate me, that you despise me, why are you here then? Are you so desperate?”

Your eyes were closed, your mind wandered prohibited thoughts while his hand was painfully too far away from what your body needed. What could you say to him? That he was right about being so desperate to pretend to be with him, so you could clean your image? That despite his selfish behavior he was tempting you into falling in his game?

Coriolanus brushed your soaked entrance with his fingertips as he massaged your clit with your own wetness. You shamefully spread your legs giving him more access to your folds, his digits that once touched your face were gently rubbing your needy center.

Your silent whimpers were enough as an answer for him to slide one finger inside you.

Your hand was now on his biecep, grabbing his arm so tightly or you could fall. There was something in you that was holding you back from punching him to his face. Was this the charm everyone talked about? Was this the version of him everyone adored?

“Given that you prefer remaining silent— I can tell you why,” his hand moved inside you, “you like the attention,” your cheek was against his, while your other hand rested on the nape of his neck.

Your reaction to his movements made him close his eyes in bliss, but you were too focused on not making sounds that you didn’t notice his expression. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was making you feel good.

“I bet you’ve barely been touched by a man,” Coriolanus echoed.

It’s just one bite of the apple.

You looked at him this time, and you wished you did it before. The blue in his eyes, his plump lips, the glistening on his forehead covered by his falling blonde curls. An angel.

No, no, he is the devil, not an angel.

“Wrong,” you breathed and his pace fastened, “actually they were better than you,” you whispered and his eyes widened.

“Lie number three,” he slid another finger, “I can tell when you’re pretending and when you’re not,” he brushed your clit with his thumb.

Oh.

You bucked your hips to make some friction, Coriolanus was painfully slow as if he was taking all the time in the world. He leaned his head to your left temple, where small reddish bruises were fading away from your skin, and he planted feather kisses on it. Coriolanus slowly traced a trail of wet kisses alongside your face. His soft lips were healing your bruises, his hand was igniting your core.

His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out your hole and slightly curled to hit exactly your sweet spot. Your little moans echoed in the room along with the sloppy sound of his hand never leaving your cunt. Coriolanus stroked your bundle of nerves once more, his lips sucked a spot behind your hear, slowly moving down your neck, marking your delicate skin with his warm kisses.

That was it. You were sure your high was coming in a matter of seconds, your mouth curved as pleasure began flowing through your body.

“But wasn’t I an uncaring, disrespectful —and what was that—oh, selfish and heartless man?” His hand stopped moving, “well I guess you were right,” his fingers were slowly pulling out your unfulfilled hole.

What was he doing?

“Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted? Having meetings without me, eating locked in your room, ignoring me for days— I have the control here.” Coriolanus looked down at you with a satisfied expression, believing that he finally asserted his dominance over you.

Your mind raced for a response, but before you could gather yourself, his words hung heavy in the air.

That was his revenge.

You thought you could teach him a lesson but he was a step ahead of you. Coriolanus humiliated you, exactly as he planned. His intent was to make you feel ashamed of your past but you gave him a better opportunity: he made you feel needy for him.

Self sabotaging.

“They are here,” he said in a calm tone, as if you were not almost buckling in that very moment.

Five seconds ago you were close to your orgasm and now you were feeling the emptiness growing inside you. You looked around confused, adjusting your body so now you were standing up, your weak knees begging for rest.

Who?

“They?” You stuttered as you watched him stepping back.

“Yes, I called them before,” he smirked, ”put your best smile for the cameras.”

Coriolanus acted like he did not just had his fingers inside you, but his body was telling another story, his bulge was visible from his pants and you noticed that as he swiftly covered his erection with his hand.

He walked towards the elevator where two peacekeepers were waiting for him. You fixed your skirt, probably too ruined and sticky to ever wear it again.

Fuck him.

You followed him, making sure to walk properly or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were. The thick doors closed, it was you, two peacekeepers and the blonde. You were sure he could smell your arousal, you still had traces of his saliva on your neck and a little bruise on your skin. A new one.

Coriolanus took a handkerchief from his pocket and he carefully cleaned his hand from your wetness, like he was cleaning his hands after a crime. Yours. The cloth wrapped around his fingers, as your walls clenched around him moments ago.

Then he caught you staring at his hand, “are you okay? You look flushed.”

You sick bastard.

Your cheeks were painted in a crimson color, of course he could see that, he was the cause of that. The same cause that made you cream your panties and shake your legs. If it wasn’t for the peacekeepers, you would have probably strangled him. But that was his lucky day.

He won.

After an infinite amount of time where your mind couldn’t stop picturing the sloppy sound from before, the elevator’s door parted. Coriolanus grabbed your shoulder as he was directed toward the exit. The silence in that room was now replaced by loud voices coming from the outside.

“Who did you call?” You tried pulling away from his grip but he kept you close.

“I told you, they haven’t seen us in a while.”

He opened the entrance and you heard someone shouting, “they are here!” A group of unknown faces were pointing microphones towards you, asking questions you didn’t bother to listen to.

You walked through the crowd side by side to him, his arm around your waist as you covered your face from the blinding flashes. The car was waiting for you in the exact spot it left you, Coriolanus let you enter in the car first as he followed by closing the door, blocking the loudness outside.

You sat on the back seat, heart racing outside your chest, forcing yourself to completely ignore his presence.

Coriolanus was again back in your thoughts as your wetness slid down your legs.

He is the forbidden fruit.

I am tempted by thee.

A/N: finally it’s out!! It has been so hard writing this chapter, I had so many ideas that I couldn’t mold them together into a coherent text lol. Anyway, as always tell me if there are grammatical mistakes because another difficulty was my limited vocabulary (a special thanks to wordreference.com or I wouldn’t be here today.) Every day I’m trying my best to improve my English so have mercy on me! Let me know if you want to be tagged next time!! 💌

Thank you so much for all the love and support!! Your comments mean a lot to me ❤️❤️ I love you all

ask me questions here 💌

Tag list: @daenerysqueenofhearts @snowsgames @secretsicanthideanymore @serving-targaryen-realness @rareheartsclub @metalarmsandmanbuns @jzr201 @xoxohannahlee @blueberrymuffinmouse @icedcoffee-please @xybilipid-post-blog @phoward89 @katherine101 @gracieghost36955 @annavatar @ghostlyloversworld @coolcatyarb @xxrougefangxx @devils-blackrose @phoward89 @commanderfreethatdust @thepassionatereader @anjellaufeyson @xoxohannahlee

[qqueenofhades]

I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)

[danyvhell-writes]

General Kuras headcanons (Touchstarved)

GN reader - no warnings | Literally my second fav character in this game, love him sm ! Had a lot to say about this sweet angel so here we are. I want him to read me a bedtime story, then we can cuddle. Also I might post about Leander next time...

• Divine smell like omg the aromas, the fragrance ! A mix of clean clothes, nutmeg, honeysuckle & jasmine. (my personal fav but it's up to you)

• Radiates warmth, physically and also in terms of energy. Whenever he's near you, you can't help but relax and feel welcome. He makes you feel safe no matter what. He thinks it's cute that you like hugging him so much.

• If you're short don't worry ! Kuras won't mind reaching things you can't, he'll be your personal assistant for high supplies you can't get.

• We know he uses he/him pronouns but being an angel, a being of pure light & love, would technically make him genderless/agender ? Can he shapeshift ? Surely, but who truly knows... Ah what a gorgeous mysterious being.

• He's able to perceive souls and energies. He doesn't need to 'know' people to actually know them if that makes sense.

• He finds you fascinating and so do you ! You love listening to whatever he has to say because it's genuinely so interesting, his thought process is so intriguing. You two always have endless conversations about so many topics ! You'd never have thought he'd be this talkative but oh do you enjoy it.

• Have a calm reading session with him and he's yours ! This is his vision of the perfect date. Can't read because you're tired ? He'll read for you while you relax, charmed by his soothing voice. Of course, he loves your voice too ! Read him your favourite book, he will listen with much attention. He's all ears.

• If you're a very spiritual person, you'll love him even more. Talk to him about spirits, energies, deities etc… there's so much he'll teach and explain to you ! This tall guy is full of knowledge (big brain over here).

• Remember when he said "Do not be afraid." ? He meant it ! I think he's still used to his original form and so doesn't want to scare anyone. His current form is more accessible for mortals and he's trying his best to 'fit in'. (His incarnation is the opposite of scary but I don't think he realizes how attractive he is)

• He's omnilingual. That's it. No but fr, I don't know what his role is/was precisely as an angel (if he was a messenger or a guardian) but he understands any languages ! He tries to hide this ability because how could he explain it without sounding suspicious ? "How do I know javanese & martiniquan creole ? Oh, well it's a long story. I do not think you would find this interesting, really MC."

• Want to share jewelry with him ? Of course, go on. Give him your stuff, he'll love wearing whatever you have especially if it's golden. If you have big earrings like his he'll love them, big 10/10, sharing is caring as we say ! You guys would switch earrings a lot and I think it's adorable.

• If you're polyglot, he'd appreciate greatly to talk with you in your native tongue or other. Need some help with your vocabulary or something ? He's here to help ! Don't hesitate to ask him anything. → Would be really fun to have you, Kuras and Ais talking in other languages together ! Imagine the possibilities !!! Such interesting conversations omg

• 100% the type of person to gift you accessories and aesthetic presents. "This brooch reminded me of you ! I thought you would like to add it to your collection. What do you think ?" and you're just standing "???? Thanks omg you're so sweet !" 😭

• I'm sure he has a lot of fun facts about anatomy and medicine in general. He's also the type of person to tell the most gruesome anecdote about one of his patient and go "Oh but they are completely fine now, you do not need to worry MC :)" like okay if you say so doc…

• We know he's not the most expressive but you get him with a simplicity that is surprising ! Whether it's the tone he uses, his choice of words or the way he looks at his interlocutor, you can easily decipher how he feels. People say he's distant and appears a little cold but you know he's the most affectionate person you've ever seen !

• Always buys you food and invites you to eat outside to make up for the fact that he cooks badly ! He's truly sorry for his poor cooking skills but is always willing to feed you the best products in town. Please, teach him some basics. How can you be a good doctor when your food is causing stomach aches ??

• Afraid to be too comfortable around him ? Don't worry, he's a doctor. If you think sneezing or burping in front of him is embarrassing, remember he sees sick people and corpses on a daily basis. ↑ If you happen to sneeze next to him and feel gross because of the snot, no prob ! He'd simply go "Oh, bless you. Do you need a tissue ? I have my handkerchief if you want." with his cute lil smile.

• If texting was a thing in TS, he would 100% overuse the ":)" smiley. You'll find it at the end of every freakin text, you can't run away from it lmaoeuzfh. "Good morning MC, how are you ? :)" "One of my patient has been affected by -insert horrible affliction-, therefore I will see you this afternoon :)" "I'm deeply sorry to hear that your mentor passed away, may they rest in peace :)" "Ais said that I, I quote, 'give off milf energy' ? Would you mind explaining this term to me ? I asked Leander but he seemed uncomfortable. :)"

• Likes going on walks with you. Think you can't keep up with his long legs ? Just wrap your arm around his and he won't lose you. He's very careful to adapt to your pace so you can enjoy the moment. → Would definitely pick flowers for you while you guys are strolling around the city. He knows flower language so he'd tell you what they mean if you want. Also you have to tell him your favourite flower(s), he'll gift you the best bouquets ever (he would make them himself of course) !

• He's a doctor so he might go picking plants and flowers for his medicines. Just imagine him with a little basket, wandering around fields like a little witch :') Go flowerpicking with him please 😩 he'd love to share this activity with you !

• Whenever you get home after spending time with him, you always find white feathers hidden on & in your clothes. Can be on your vest, in your pockets, even in your bag ! At first you wonder if Kuras doesn't own a bird and he's like "Oh ! Do not worry, these are mine." "Yours ? Like your pet's ?" "No dear, mine. I happen to lose my feathers sometimes, it's not convenient and I am sorry if this bothers you." "...Oh hm, okay ?". So then you just collect them cause they're pretty and soft. (He wouldn't mind if you used the small ones to stuff your pillows really.)

• Lets you braid his hair. If you have some pretty accessories that go well with his aesthetic, don't hesitate ! He likes how you touch his hair with softness, always careful.

• This is him. No need for further explanation.

[george0207]

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[henrydavis123]

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[niolanaitraining]

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[lets-try-some-writing]

I don’t remember where I heard it but I remember there being a theory that Knockout used to be a seeker and something happened to him and then he became a car as result because they couldn’t save his wings. Part of his narcissistic tendencies are more a part of him in the earlier days convince himself that it’s fine he doesn’t have wings anymore. And that starscream alluded to them now having the means to get back his wings on the nemese when he asked why knockout was a car.

Idk.

I like the theory though.

I would like to hear your take on it when you have the chance.

I've heard this same theory. I personally don't subscribe to it, but I like it all the same. I will gladly expand upon this little idea, at least a bit.

Clipped Wings

Knockout was originally a helicopter unit, search and rescue to be exact. He enjoyed his function, had no issues with it, and loved flaunting his wings whenever possible. He took great pride in the fact that he was capable of flight, of course it also helped the fliers were held in high esteem, but even so.

Most of his youth was spent gallivanting about, only learning medicine because it was better than being drafted into the army. He had no desire to have a machine gun strapped to his frame, it would ruin his whole aesthetic. And so he took to learning cosmetology and frame reconstruction as his primary fields of interest. And while he didn't know it at the time, it would come in handy later.

Once the war began, Knockout needed to choose sides. And so not having a ton of hope or trust in the Autobots, he joined with the Decepticons. He was immediately drafted as a field medic, a task he didn't enjoy but knew to be necessary if he wanted to climb the ranks and land in a more cushy position. And so he worked hard, flying out into the battlefield and tending to the injured Decepticons he stumbled across as best as he could. However war was brutal and a stay Autobot missile shot Knockout down during a mission. Medics were able to save him, but his wings were completely decimated and his alt-mode made effectively useless. In one fell swoop the thing be prided himself in most was stripped away from him before he could even come to terms with it.

He was shunned after the loss of his wings, his personality being too intolerable and his previous snark coming back to bite him as the Decepticon troops never left him alone. Unable to fly he became an easy target, one that guards looking to pick a fight relentlessly abused. Knockout tolerated it, spending every waking moment not at work on the ground with the other medics studying to try and find a way to return himself to what he considered his 'perfect form'. It was a very dark time for him. He hated himself, his frame, and everyone around him with a passion. In the end he pioneered an alt mode change and altered his T-cog alignment to allow him to take on a ground alt just so that he wouldn't be shunned for being useless anymore.

Even after he adjusted his frame to make it so that he could be an effective Decepticon again, he never forgot the feeling of the wind and the skies. Many a dark cycle he would sit out watching the stars on some cliff or watchtower and shutter his optics just so that he could pretend the air was once again his domain. His scars ached more often than not, and transformation never felt comfortable, almost like he was walking in someone else's frame. He was born for the skies, not the earth. He hated that a foolish war had stripped him of his greatest gift and glory.

He felt like every optic was boring into him at every given moment, staring at the scars he had long seen fit to cover with armor and flamboyant paint. He always felt judged, berated, and useless. And so to compensate he threw himself into his least favorable personality trait to cover everything else up. It was all to protect himself, at least that is what he always muttered to himself in the dead of night. His pleasant traits were locked away where they couldn't be used against him and he played into his narcissism, using it to craft an indominable persona that none dared to tamper with.

It was his defense, his perfect wall to keep others from seeing just how deeply he had been hurt by the loss of his wings.

He hated to admit it, but part of the reason he even associated with Starscream was because the Seeker had what he did not. Starscream had his wings and he understood. Both of them hid their pains behind walls of terrible personality traits. In a way they were the same, and while never voiced, both acknowledged this.

[teardrop-scales]

Matchup for @babulejka

I match you with...

Douxie!

I think you'd be a very adorable and healthy couple.

Your dynamic could be interesting and cute, since you're pretty cheerful and kind, but also polite and lady-like, while Douxie tries to be this cool "emo" dude that every girl simps for but in reality he's quite a dork lol.

And he can be a bit clumsy and reckless, although he means good, so if you could keep an eye on him that would be great.

For some reason I think he'd either enjoy/be impressed with your dark and morbid sense of humor or be concerned. Like, if you throw an especially dark joke around him, I can see him not commenting on it, but thinking to himself in concern "are you okay?" Lol

You're cheerful and bubbly while Douxie is a more calm and less cheerful/energetic person in my eyes (or at least the more modern, current version of him, not the one from Camelot), so I think you two would balance each other out well.

You two would be quite pleasing to the eye and aesthetically pleasant couple- just imagine, you with your long, blond hair and your super awesome and unique clothing styles and him with his black hair with blue streaks and his kinda emo look. You and Douxie would look amazing together imo.

He'd try to be there to watch your ballet performances. He probably would not always make it because of his jobs and other duties, but he'd try! He'd love to watch you dance so gracefully and beautifully. That'd be one of the moments when he'd think how on earth did he get so lucky to have you.

Horse riding dates <3 He may not be a professional at this like you, but we have seen from Wizards that he knows how to ride a horse more or less. Besides, you could always give him some tips and pointers, right?

And of course most importantly; your shared love for music! He'd be already in love, but if you told him you play instruments and write songs? He's absolutely whipped.

I can imagine you two having a sort of music sessions when you play your instruments and try to compose and write songs together (as a fellow music lover, I think it's super romantic).

Generally I think he'd find all of your hobbies very interesting and unique. Some of them may make him feel nostalgic because of his time at Camelot, like archery or your interest in herbal medicine.

He'd love how artistic you are, not only with music but in general and think you're very cool for being so talented, knowing how to sculpt, paint and do other artistic things.

I think he'd appreciate and share your interest about the world around us and the universe. Also, he'd be absolutely delighted to show you and impress you with some of his magic.

Douxie would eat anything that you cook and/or bake, he'd absolutely love it. Tbh, he'd eat anything as long as it was made by you, even if it was burnt to a crisp, because he's just nice and considerate like that <3

You like reading? Well, you're in luck. We know he worked in that bookstore. I think Douxie would let you borrow any book without actually buying it or just straight up give some to you.

Obviously, I can't just write about Douxie and not mention Archie, right? ^^ I feel like he could be wary at first, but after seeing that you're genuine and that you really care about Douxie, he'd warm up to you and start to love you. He'd probably be grateful for not being the only one to keep Douxie out of trouble anymore. He'd love all the pets and scratches you'd give him (although he'd probably claim otherwise). Douxie wouldn't know whether to be jealous, amused or to find it adorable lol.

A.N: I feel like this isn't my best work, but I hope you're satisfied anyway! This isn't proofread and most of the time I couldn't decide whether to write in present tense or "he would", so it may sound/look weird, apologies for that and for any possible mistakes.

[avampyone]

Prompt #25: Aesthete

Characters: Arazul and Cecilia De'fleur, mention of Jacques

Synopsis: The siblings speak of art and eternity.

Setting: Sharlayan, Archon's design.

Warning - None.

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

The brightness of the sun blazing overhead gave cause to relief Sharalyan of the icy chill and any remaining patches of snow that dusted the grass. Despite the wonderful weather, Dr Arazul would have been content to remain locked away in his study when he found a new sort of focus to center his thoughts upon.

In several distillation experiments, he finally processed alcohol that should boost the drinker’s immune system and help to prevent oncoming illness. Yet, the doctor pondered if there was a way to strengthen the effects and see how much medicine could be brought to its highest potential.

Arazul’s plans were soon thwarted by an unexpected visit by his sister, Cecilia, who thoughtfully packed him breakfast and informed him since their father and mother were away that he would be accompanying her with her shopping to find a new dress for the upcoming Studium ball. In truth, he recognized he needed a small break from his research and made no complaints to the diversion.

A few hours later after visiting several boutiques, Arazul initially thought of carrying all her packages home but realized there were far too many to do so and opted to have them sent back. He himself took the opportunity to buy a new coat or two. On the way back, he noticed that it happened to be the first opening of the Art club’s new exhibition for the season. Naturally, Cecilia’s expression remained thoroughly puzzled by him of all people to make such a suggestion.

The heart of the truth was that Arazul was a devoted lover of art even if he would never admit it out loud. Nor would he admit any details of him making frequent visits here when time afforded him such a luxury. Artists were not so very different from himself he found – continuously working to perfect their craft and rather passionate.

At the entrance, Arazul passed the professor staffing the table at the front a small pouch of gil for the admission fee to go inside. They both walked slowly side by side with Cecilia pointing now and then usually at an abstract picture of a moogle and other such creatures that caught her eye.

He paused to stare with hooded eyes at one particular painting that outlined the evening sun slowly setting beyond the sea’s horizon. This was all painted in various hues of red that traveled down ultimately into the waving crimson sea below.

Noting the locks of gold a few shades darker than his own from the corner of his eye, the doctor thought to turn away as if to show no interest but Cecilia was too perceptive for that, “Oh! Is this one your favorite, brother? To think of it, your jackets are all various shades of red too. Surprising you do not choose something more austere – like our father prefers to wear.”

“Are you serious...? Our father dresses more modestly than even a priest would. He would think even a single glance at a piece of art to be a waste of precious time. Considering that, it would be in our best interests if you told them nothing of our visit here today.” Arazul’s tone lowered to the end like he wished no one to hear. Their father had many friends around after all.

Cecilia lifted her hand to her lips to cover her soft chuckle and nodded all too happily at the thought, “Of course! You know he scolded me right before they left on their journey for buying a treat at the market. Hmm, I guess that would be why you kept your fondness for art a secret ..What do you like about it?” Her eyes that were a deep emerald green like their mother’s own glanced between him and the painting in pure curiosity.

Arazul glanced down from the painting, his hand slowly curling into a fist at his side in the barest hint of anxiety – he had never had to explain this before since no one had ever asked him, “For me, art is the only thing that possesses a sense of longevity on this star.”

His gloved hands beckoned out to the pieces on display, all of them a moment set forever in time, “All of these pieces will continue to exist long after all of us are gone, you know? Their creators leaving a piece of themselves – their vision as if immortalizing themselves in their creations…”

With a tilt to her head, Cecilia hummed thoughtfully before she suddenly entwined her arms about the many books-likely romance novels against her chest with a dreamy giggle, “That is where you are wrong, brother! I’ve read fables about them. Beautiful ashkin roaming the night, living for an eternity! Ahh, just imagine it- A lovely count or countess inviting you to their castle to greet with a bouquet of roses and dancing!” Her voice peaked with a little squeal and clap of her hands at the thought of the romantic gesture.

Arazul barked out a bit of laughter, shaking his head at his sister. It was clear she was reading some new material, “Quite imaginative, Cecilia. If they are anything like the stories I’ve read, they would rather dine on our necks than aim any of their ill-conceived romantic notions at us. If they exist at all...” He waved his hand dismissively when he began to turn to make his way to the next painting to view.

“Arazul! Come now, why must you ruin everything...”

[river-in-the-woods]

Good day/night! do you keep your western and eastern practices separate and parallel? or have you found some way to reconcile them together into one more "personalized" path maybe? how does that work for you? I'm kind of struggling with this as of late, as someone with mixed heritage, and I thought maybe you'd have some advice. Thank you.

Good day or night to you too!

In general, I keep traditions and techniques separate, unless it makes sense to put them together. It's difficult to advise on this without specifics, so perhaps you can provide a little more context for me 🙂 Let me go through a few key points, and hopefully at least one of them will provide some clarity.

Essentially, it's important know the mechanics of the practice you're doing, how it works and why. And to understand that, you have to receive adequate instruction, and engage with the practice according to its respective tradition to an adequate level.

The only personalisation I've done, is that I do the practices I want to do. But I do them according to how they are taught, and I don't mix and match unless I have a solid and well-understood reason to. There is plenty of religious and spiritual syncretism throughout history, and there are new traditions being born all the time, but the successful ones are formed with an understanding of all the influences they draw upon.

I think people's desire to overly personalise their practice very early on can end up impeding their development, or even have adverse effects depending on how they do it.

If you really want your practice to be something that helps you grow and develop as a person, you have to sometimes be willing to do things differently to your own preference.

If you go to a class – whether it's on martial arts, music, archery, biology, gardening – whatever it might be, it makes sense to follow instructions and not to assume you know better than the person teaching it. There can be room for experimentation once you've grasped the basics.

When it comes to spiritual and magical practices, there are additional stakes than just taking e.g. a pottery class. Spiritual practices have a lot more in common with medicine than they do with a casual hobby.

Practices like yoga, qigong, meditation, energy work and so on will have effects on your subtle body, which then affects your health when practiced for long periods of time. This is what those practices are created for. And they are subtle, which means you may not see an impact immediately.

If you stretch your body in a bad way, you feel immediate pain and know that you shouldn't do it like that. But with practices that affect the subtle body, it might take much longer, and the effects are not necessarily as direct and precise as they are with physical exercise.

If you do leg exercises, you pretty much only strengthen the legs. It is direct and precise. But the impact of a spiritual practice affects multiple aspects of your life: emotions, physical health, relationships, fortune, wisdom...

And of course, interfacing with spirits and gods can affect your fate in all of these ways.

There are insidious ways you can mess up your health and well-being if you don't practice properly. Otherwise, at best, nothing will happen and you'll just be wasting your time. Maybe it makes you feel cool – a lot of people get into spiritual practices because it's aesthetically pleasing and they're just looking for ways to reinforce a particular identity.

Again, that is not what these practices were created for, nor how they operate best.

I'm not saying that LARPing as a... I don't know... a dark tantric priestess of Hekate, Morrigan and Kali and 7 other gods, is going to ruin your life.

But I do see how people become obsessed and infatuated with their personal image, chasing the thrill of the aesthetic, and the thrill of self-categorisation. (It's a great marketing strategy, haha...)

As a mixed race person, I understand your position. I have had identity issues all my life. Part of why I got into all this was because I struggled deeply with who I am, where I belong, and what I'm even doing in this world. Caught between different countries, families, cultures, ideologies. I wanted something that was just for me, instead of feeling constantly torn in multiple directions. But which side does a bridge belong to? Does a bird belong in the sky or in the trees?

I don't think this is something you can reconcile by forcing two different worlds to integrate. I mean, maybe you can do this with two different cultures in the same region, or even on the same continent. But in my case... England and China are very, very different. Rather, I find more success to be found by choosing what influences to draw on at any given situation.

If you want genuine change – if you really want this path to empower you and help you feel at peace with yourself – you will trip over yourself if you try to make this about your identity. A big portion of spirituality is about deconstructing one's identity and ego, to realise that the world is far greater and more intricate than we know, and that there are no simple answers to life's great endeavours.

If anything, you have an advantage in this regard.

You will have to learn to be nimble, and resist the temptation to find the 'perfect' social-cultural-spiritual space to fit yourself into. Be nimble and learn to walk between worlds, and belong comfortably to all of them at the same time.

I hope this long ramble has been helpful to you 🌿 Good luck on the path.

PS: I recommend Consorting with Spirits by Jason Miller. It may further answer your questions on how to work with multiple traditions and pantheons.