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red-doll-face · 3 days ago

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Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch.

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday.

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went.

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy.

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was.

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over.

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it.

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted.

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else.

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then.

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased.

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten.

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh.

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went.

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns.

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out.

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough.

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice. So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon.

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips.

He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper.

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison.

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world.

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought.

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them.

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this.

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away.

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him.

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now.

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it.

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away.

What has that shame ever done but made you worse?

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled.

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her.

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose.

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame.

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh.

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

It’s always the ones you trust.

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her.

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it.

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside.

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always.

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.”

Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt.

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening. His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it.

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile.

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…”

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right.

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves.

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough.

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven.

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born.

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it.

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp.

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose.

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself.

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things.

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door.

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake.

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left.

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when…

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be.

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him.

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door.

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident.

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense.

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory.

And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back.

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible.

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again.

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to.

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought. Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature.

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him.

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it.

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him.

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door.

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl.

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world.

“Please, I-”

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged.

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her.

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

#❄️ snow angel #red writes #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #tw dark content #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan

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leo-fie · 2 days ago

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Psst, I wrote it:

The Queen of Mercy, the Regent of Grace, the Mistress of Nostramo, Theophanu Plantagenet Curze liked sewing. It was known. She had of course other interests, mainly not being killed by her husband, and she refused to be pinholed as a sewist only, but still it was what she was known for. And although she had asked her brothers-in-law to restrain themselves in their wedding gifts, both Rogal Dorn and Perturabo have presented her with sewing maschines. Amazing feats of engineering, truly a joy to work with. All her brothers-in-law, except Angron, had also intimated in one way or another they would help her should she ever seek to get away. Horus even said it in Konrad’s presence.

The Primarchs, most of them, were men at the end of the day. Boisterous and pompous and powerful. Knowable. She could handle whomever she probably would eventually flee to. Didn’t even had to fear sexual violence, which was nice.

By contrast her husband was an unknowable entity. She had developed a feel for him, but there was no understanding to be gained of a person who did not know themselves. Sanguinius had been the only one to get this about Konrad’s and her relationship, when he inevidably asked how their marriage happened. For Theophanu it didn’t matter whether Konrad respected her or if he just acted as if he did and not only because it was the same on her end anyway. It was important that he tried.

Funnily enough Sanguinius was also one of only three Primarchs who had reacted immediately positive when Theophanu had called them brother upon first meeting. The others being Leman Russ and Lorgar Aurelian.

So Theophanu sewed. She cultivated a workshop of tradespeople in her household on the Nightfall, who were as enthusiastic as she was about making elaborate stately gowns out of the finest materials the Imperium had to offer. All of their sheers and scissors and snips were always in impeccable condition. Theophanu tended to her duties as Ruler of Nostramo in absentia, but when she wasn’t, she was always working on something. During longer shuttle flights or wait times she would do something small by hand, like embroidery or whipping lacing holes, which also served as a good excuse to not engage in conversation. Which is undoubedly why women had been doing this since time immomorial.

Konrad was clearly fascinated by all this. When she worked alone on turning scraps into decorative patchwork blankets – the people of Nostramo did not waste – he sometimes observed her, initially without really making himself known. After he scared her enough times, he stood there visibly. And over the months, he crept closer, eventually sitting next to her. They didn’t talk much. Theophanu trusted him to leave her bower when she asked him to. She was not afraid of his presence. Sometimes she would even lean against him and rest in the sheer mass of his body. He did wash himself before coming and she decided to be endeared by that.

After a time, Konrad gifted her one of his trophies. A piece of a shirt, the right front and right sleeve, washed out dark grey, splattered in blood and what looked like machine oil. It was dry and smelled of the autoclave. He’d placed it on her work table for her to find. It was not a threat, he wouldn’t do it like that. It was a gift. She put it to her cabbage(1).

He brought her more gifts, clothing of his murder victims, leather made from their skin, standards of defeated foes. It wasn’t the same as the bolts of fabric that came with plunder or tribute and got added to the fleet ressources. It was personal. Eventually it was enough to make a quilt top out of, if she added some scraps from her favorite gowns. A quilt for her bed. Was this Konrad’s idea?

She wouldn’t ask about it, but started working on the quilt top(2). She was long past being scared by her husband’s grizzly displays and had never bothered herself with empathy for the victims. She believed in the righteousness of his judgement, it was the very base of their marriage. A quilt that combined his trophies and her craft was potentially a potent symbol.

Or maybe she was interpreting too much into it. A pattern with triangles would be nice, or fan shapes. Something simple, yet precise. If it was for her bed, it had to be three meters squared at least. Seven by seven blocks and a broder. She was getting into this project.

Konrad was observing her more often, more closely, when she worked on this. Eventually she just asked him: „Do you like the design, my love?“

He did not answer, but crept closer and touched one of the finished blocks in the table. His nails needed to be trimmed, she thought incidentally. He felt how the different materials bordered each other, her gorgeous, vibrant Ikat silk(3) and the rough, dirty coveralls of some criminal. Maybe he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Hopefully he didn’t take it as an insult somehow, but he knew she didn’t mean it like that. His face was a little softer than usual. She realized she wouldn’t get an answer and left it at that.

When the top was done, she quickly sewed together the backing from two selvege-to-selvege lengths of canvas woven cotton(4), dried blood red and midnight blue naturally, and sandwiched the top with it and extra fluffy batting. She could do the quilting with Rogal’s sewing machine, but she instead just fastened it with tons of safety pins and sat down in her armchair with it to quilt by hand.

Konrad watched her closely the whole time and when she threaded two needles and held one out, he was there and took it. He watched her bury the thread end and do running stitches. How she held the needle and took care that the layers weren’t shifting. And then he copied her on the other corner of the quilt.

The thought of the Night Haunter sitting peacefully on the carpet of a lady’s bedroom, handsewing, was absurd. But not more absurd than the thought of him marrying at all. No one would ever see it. And even if, who would believe it? The Night Haunter was an unknowable entity, but he wouldn’t do that, right? Fools.

He was calmer, when he worked with her. His hands didn’t twitch as much, but that didn’t bother him like it would have bothered a human anyway. He was perfectly able to do precision tasks no matter how much he was shaking. Nonetheless, she’d wager that this calming effect was why Konrad returned to her bedroom often to sew with her. Eventually, the quilt would be finished and she would have to think of new projects for both of them. Maybe just more quilts. Konrad’s own bed could surely benefit from one. Theophanu hesitated. She didn’t even know if Konrad had a bed or similar structure. She hadn’t been in his bedroom ever, in his inner sanctum. She would be welcome there of course, just like he was welcome in hers, but she had never made her way to it. She could tell herself that this was because she valued his privacy, but that wasn’t really true. Though she felt that she would disturb his save haven if she ever went.

Maybe she could be a safe haven for Konrad too. Appropriate, as his wife. And something only she could really do. She thought about this before and her title as the Queen of Mercy stemmed from many Night Lords perceiving her as a benevolent presence already. “My love, I don’t think I told you this already, but I plan to use this quilt for my own bed. Since we made it together, I think it’s fitting.”

It was now Konrad who hesitated. Theophanu didn’t press him, just continued sewing. But eventually she felt Konrad’s heavy gaze on her.

He said: “I think that would be nice.”

__________________

(1) Cabbage is all your fabric scraps and offcuts that are big enough to maybe still make something out of. Sewists hort them in a bin or basket.

(2) A quilt consists of 3 layers. The decorative top sewn from repeating blocks, then the batting for volume and warmth, and the backing, which is often just plain fabric. When someone “makes a quilt” they often refer to making the top, as that can be done on a home sewing machine easily. The actual quilting is difficult on a home sewing machine, but can be done by hand.

(3) Ikat is a traditional weaving technique where the warp (the fibers strung up on the loom) are dyed in multiple colours before weaving, leaving to a feathery, soft edged pattern in the finished cloth.

(4) Canvas weave is the simplest type of weave, just over-under-over-under. It doesn’t stretch and can come in many different weights.

If I may suggest:

Konrad and his wife, his regent of grace, the sun of his nature and star of his eyes (that's Charles Baudelaire btw)

quilting together. Sitting on the floor, carefully handquilting the artful patchwork she has made out of human leather and clothing trophies from his murder shenanigans. It will be a bedspread once it's finished. The repetitive work is soothing for him, though he still thinks he is ruining her beautiful work. But she has said it's something they will have made together. What she isn't saying out loud is that she's basically running the Sheherazade gamble, trying to stay interesting enough so he won't kill her quite this moment. Or worse.

lmao just sewing together human skin the desperate attempt to make sure he maintains interest in you, and that you can remain unharmed and safe for just a moment longer...

Meanwhile Konrad be like: uwu <3

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k #primarch #konrad curze #political marriage #fanfic #fanfiction #this happens when someone loves both sewing and warhammer #domestic fluss #night lords edition

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awentworth · 2 years ago

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After reading some of the cut lines and scenes from the scripts, a bunch of the things that J and Kieran have said over the years make a lot more sense. Obviously a ton of Roman x Gerri material made it into the final episodes, but some of this stuff… “Suppose I was interested”?? his “EVEREST”??? “THE FEELING’S MUTUAL”???

Like… they said all these things to each other as these characters. That extra intensity of Roman and Gerri’s relationship lives in their heads from those unseen scenes and then still also manages to ooze out in their scenes and lines that did survive. So even though some of the most telling and extreme lines between them didn’t make it into the final cuts, the feelings of those lines were definitely still there (and now we know (a new reason) why!)

Agghh it does also make me wonder about J’s “ups and downs” comment about this season. Really hoping that the ups weren’t all just… cut.

Anyway, thank you J and Kieran for imbuing all of your scenes with so much magic!! Because really… just…

#I get that saying there are ups and downs makes more sense strategically than saying it's all downhill from here #even if it is all just downhill this season #but still #is there a remaining up to be had?#I'm not even going to be greedy and ask for more than one #just one more - no matter how small - would be amazing #Roman x Gerri #romangerri #Roman Roy #Gerri Kellman #Succession

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great-and-small · 7 months ago

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When I was in vet school I went to this one lecture that I will never forget. Various clubs would have different guest lecturers come in to talk about relevant topics and since I was in the Wildlife Disease Association club I naturally attended all the wildlife and conservation discussions. Well on this particular occasion, the speakers started off telling us they had been working on a project involving the conservation of lemurs in Madagascar. Lemurs exist only in Madagascar, and they are in real trouble; they’re considered the most endangered group of mammals on Earth. This team of veterinarians was initially assembled to address threats to lemur health and work on conservation solutions to try and save as many lemur species from extinction as possible. As they explored the most present dangers to lemurs they found that although habitat loss was the primary problem for these vulnerable animals, predation by humans was a significant cause of losses as well. The vets realized it was crucial for the hunting of lemurs by native people to stop, but of course this is not so simple a problem.

The local Malagasy people are dealing with extreme poverty and food insecurity, with nearly half of children under five years old suffering from chronic malnutrition. The local people have always subsisted on hunting wildlife for food, and as Madagascar’s wildlife population declines, the people who rely on so-called bushmeat to survive are struggling more and more. People are literally starving.

Our conservation team thought about this a lot. They had initially intended to focus efforts on education but came to understand that this is not an issue arising from a lack of knowledge. For these people it is a question of survival. It doesn’t matter how many times a foreigner tells you not to eat an animal you’ve hunted your entire life, if your child is starving you are going to do everything in your power to keep your family alive.

So the vets changed course. Rather than focus efforts on simply teaching people about lemurs, they decided to try and use veterinary medicine to reduce the underlying issue of food insecurity. They supposed that if a reliable protein source could be introduced for the people who needed it, the dependence on meat from wildlife would greatly decrease. So they got to work establishing new flocks of chickens in the most at-risk communities, and also initiated an aggressive vaccination program for Newcastle disease (an infectious illness of poultry that is of particular concern in this area). They worked with over 600 households to ensure appropriate husbandry and vaccination for every flock, and soon found these communities were being transformed by the introduction of a steady protein source. Families with a healthy flock of chickens were far less likely to hunt wild animals like lemurs, and fewer kids went hungry. Thats what we call a win-win situation.

This chicken vaccine program became just one small part of an amazing conservation outreach initiative in Madagascar that puts local people at the center of everything they do. Helping these vulnerable communities of people helps similarly vulnerable wildlife, always. If we go into a country guns-blazing with that fire for conservation in our hearts and a plan to save native animals, we simply cannot ignore the humans who live around them. Doing so is counterintuitive to creating an effective plan because whether we recognize it or not, humans and animals are inextricably linked in many ways. A true conservation success story is one that doesn’t leave needy humans in its wake, and that is why I think this particular story has stuck with me for so long.

(Source 1)

(Source 2- cool video exploring this initiative from some folks involved)

(Source 3)

#we can save the world just maybe not in the way we’d planned #long post #scicomm #conservation #lemurs #wildlife #ecology #animals #vet med #veterinary medicine #One Health

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andromeda3116 · 1 year ago

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also like. they found so much stuff out there that it was like "okay, either pluto isn't a planet and we have only eight* planet-planets in the solar system, or there are an uncountably huge number of planets in our solar system, which stretches out to ???? billions of miles away and perhaps even as far as a light-year"

like rewriting the definition of "planet" to exclude pluto was by far the lesser evil, and so by the updated definition of the word, pluto simply wasn't ever a planet to begin with. we just didn't know enough about the outer solar system when we discovered it to know that our definition was inadequate

*something something planet nine??? probably exists? maybe exists? maybe just weird math in the model? absolute hair-pulling nightmare to ever actually confirm or image?? may have been a rogue planet whose own star died billions of years ago and left it still hurtling along in the interstellar void? maybe small ice giant, maybe super-earth that got flung out to the fringes of the solar system by that regina george-ass planet jupiter? something possibly beautiful hiding in the math and invisible against the far stars, or a flaw in our math that makes it all just a fool's errand?

wow pluto reclassification discourse is exhausting. here I thought doing a poll that highlights some of pluto's cool lesser known dwarf planet friends would put things in a context where it can't possibly go in that direction but nope a bunch people really do just hold a hard stance against a classification system entirely out of a sense of nostalgia

#astronomy #something something the maddening search for better science which has to inherently contain the possibility that you're just wrong #no matter how much of your life you've poured into it and how so much of the world is refusing to accept that the universe they learned #about in school was far too small and get up in arms about such an inconsequential thing as the definition of a planet #because they refuse to un-learn even a basic mistaken ''fact'' like the number of planets in the solar system #and my god it would be a gut-punch to discover that your life's work was all just a hunt for a unicorn in the stars #but how much worse it would have been to have never cared to look at all #there is so much more out there than we thought there was #and you're getting hung up on what the definition of a planet is?#galaxies dance across the void to the song of gravity and stars explode to seed the universe with the elements of life #and life itself may be so much wilder and more amazing than we ever could have imagined #one of the moons of jupiter is getting hit by tides so strong they warp its very rocks and birth massive volcanoes #a moon of saturn has rains of liquid methane #a moon of neptune is so cold that it may have seas of liquid nitrogen #and when you look up at the sky what you're caring about is whether or not pluto fits into an arbitrary definition of a word?

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racke7 · 9 months ago

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So, last night I was thinking about FF14 and Skyrim again.

Specifically, my feelings of "I played this game all day - do I feel like I actually did anything today, or not".

If I manage to play Skyrim for basically a full day (instead of some random burst of an hour), I usually feel like I've "advanced the story" of that character, gotten better gear, established the character's personality a little bit (doing X instead of Y, prioritizing this quest over that, commentary through regular gameplay, etc).

So I don't necessarily feel like I "did a lot of things today", but it does feel like there's an "accomplished" feeling, kind of.

If I play FF14 a full day, I feel like-... It feels a bit as if I've watched a really long movie (especially if I played MSQ)? It's a sometimes-good movie, so I don't necessarily regret it, but... that's it. Between the queues for dungeon-diving and travel-time, a lot of the gameplay really amounts to "watch a cutscene".

So, I learn new stuff about FF14-lore, I might get inspired into creating a fancy new outfit for a class, and... a few numbers go up? The aftermath of playing FF14 really does feel as if I've spent the day watching a weirdly prolonged movie.

#a part of me keeps making annoyed noises and saying ''just buy the fucking game already''#bcs then i'll have bigger caps available. more outfits. etc. but then i remember that it's a subscription.#a subscription that will lock this character forever if i stop paying the fee. and suddenly i REALLY don't wanna.#and the fact that i keep feeling as if ''this is a movie - not a chance to create new and interesting characters''?#it definitely pushes ff14 closer towards something like no-character-creation The Witcher and actual-railroading Divinity 2 #and... yeah. mmos aren't exactly famous for letting you develop ''interesting characters'' in the story or whatever #but that's usually bcs there isn't a LOT of story. and it's usually very ''start a new character''-friendly #which ff14 is very much designed AGAINST (you can do all the classes as one character. msq is really fucking long. etc)#so despite how deeply invested ff14 is in its own story. it almost feels like the player isn't allowed to INTERACT with it.#skyrim has many faults (many many faults) in its story. but usually there's an ability to pick and choose what parts to interact with.#i could play as a thief and NOT join the thieves guild. i could ignore the civil war. or alduin. or miraak.#i can even make a choice sometimes to pick a side (dawnguard/vampires. empire/stormcloaks.)#there are even some daedric quests that allow for ''murder the innocents or get cool new item''-choices.#do those choices matter a lot as far as gameplay is concerned? not really. but for a character-story? it's incredible.#so ff14 has this whole world of amazing things. and you HAVE to play through msq to see it.#and msq doesn't really allow you to be anything other than ''heroic and steadfast warrior'' with MAYBE a bit of flavor-text mixed in.#which would be fine in most mmos. bcs the story is such a small part of the game. but ff14 has a FUCKTON of story.#so... you get to choose what your character looks like. and then you get to see them in lots of cutscenes.#bcs you don't really have any control over WHO this character of yours really is. just what they're wearing.#so yeah. it ends up feeling a lot like i've just watched a movie. not done something ''creative'' for character-building.#ff14 #skyrim #personal stuff #video games #rants

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cielospeaks · 9 months ago

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aime tachi plot: everything has to make sense, there are rules for the story even tho its self indulgent, yadda yadda, character development, progression consistency

dreamdom hearts plot: anyways the dream works au versions of fe characters and my oc recruit enjoyable single dw villains to go have slightly creepypasta shenanigans with a presumably dead oc

#honestly i love them both #and yes ive got basically nothing on dreamdom lol #it was like an 'airplane thought' and i didnt realize how small the amt of d w movies im attached to is (or how many things d isney #technically owns)#i think its partly that the d w stuff im way more attached to but theres less of it (shrek my beloved. k f p is absolutely amazing and r ot #g is beautiful. cp un is also just my heckinc childhood even if im not attached as much- more the books lol) but theres just more d stuff t #flesh out teh au #i do think if i am ever assed to it wuld be baller to actually write dreamdom bc its hilarious and weird #and i love the thus spoke rohan/creepy pasta vibes of the tone that i have the idea for #i feel like this quartet does more hecked up stuff. like theyd go into a world doomed to disappear. like a lostbelt or something #they would watch as the universe unravels around them and only realize later they were in a lostbelt.#which would actually be hecking amazing of a crossover if the bois (tm) got to meet sal or pucca #sal bc hes my fave or pucca bc he has the shrek vibes that senpai also has #like imagine them meeting pucca and everyone- every one of them is charmed by this weirdo.#pucca is playing the fool and entertaining the dying faeries. little by little the squad realizes something is off.#then the world just up and starts dissolving but pucca is still trying to joke around and make people laugh #dm like. grabs him by the throat or something. why are you doing this #and then pucca just laughs again and smiles even tho hes crying and looks scared sh-less.#im a fool arent i? im the servant of the greatest fool of all time. if no one remembers me if no one remembers this it doesnt matter.#just that i made people laugh. just that i was able to keep a good. witty. honest fool in this world till the end.#the squad realize the true gravity of the situation and are forced to watch pucca and everyone else just get. yeeted. esp with the knowledg #that their events will get written over by canon and pucca probably wont even exist.#haha little do they know hes alive and well bc he had that strong bond with mashpotato #also <- this entire tag thread is gonna sound rediciouls in like 5 yrs time and cringe af #unless i remember the deets lol #au ramblings

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vivimura · 8 days ago

Note

Can u do riki's kinks😖

riki's kinks and turn on's

size difference oop, who didn't see that coming? riki is a whole 184 centimeters, and that's 184 centimeters he's proud of. the way that ever single part of your body is so much smaller than his— it turns him on more than he'd like to admit. he could be doing something as simple as holding your hand, and begin to realize just how dainty they are compared to his. or watch as you look up at him with doe eyes every time he'd call out your name, because he's just so damn big.

his shoulders, so broad almost completely engulf yours beneath him, gave him every bit of control and proof he needed. proof that you were his baby, and it was his job to make you feel good.

tits riki loves tits. it doesn't matter if they are on the smaller side or larger, he will absolutely be obsessed with them. that's just how he is. the way they subtly bounce when he fucks you, or how your back arches when he gives them attention, he loves it all.

he sees you wear a thin shirt with no bra, your nipples poking out almost obnoxiously? boner. during foreplay, or just lazy make out sessions, he'd take it upon himself to kiss and suck on them both. maybe even litter some hickeys if he was in the mood. he simply loves to take in your tits for all their glory, especially the sight of his saliva glistening off of your skin, or little red marks he's made.

manhandling/strength riki would never hurt you. but, that being said, it never fails to turn him on when he realizes just how strong he is compared to you. you could be play-fighting, and he'd just wrap his arms around and smirk lazily, finding amusement in you squirming, pressing your tits against his firm chest, and accidentally rubbing against his crotch.

alternatively, whenever he would feel your thighs closing up around him out of pleasure during sex, he wouldn't waste a second in yanking them apart, hooking them over his shoulders instead. he'd never force you for anything, but just knowing the fact that he could manhandle you into just about any position, and hold you there in place, gets him off like hell.

cum/squirting instead of his own, riki believes that pleasuring you enough to make you orgasm is necessary to trigger his own. he'd go to any lengths to make you feel good, and if he gets you to squirt, he's going home a man happy that night.

just the sensation of your release dampening the skin of his abs or thighs, how it drips down hypnotically, is the most pleasing and proud sight in the world for riki.

being vocal he swears that every sound of pleasure you make creates vibrations that travel straight down to his cock. it could be something even like a small whimper when he's giving you lazy neck kisses, but the fact that he elicits such pretty little sounds of utter pleasure really gets him going.

he values being vocal a lot, to the point he'd probably keep his own sounds at bay until he's heard some of yours. he'd feel incredibly encouraged when you express in words how good he's making you feel during sex. but, he'd also love it even more if you turn into a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him, too pleased to think straight, let alone speak.

eye contact if there's one thing riki can do, no matter the situation, it's to make eye contact. during sex, his intense eyes would bore into yours, and if he'd see you looking back up at him with just as many emotions, he'd put in extra effort to make sure you feel good.

it's part of the reason why he wouldn't be into positions like doggy or reverse cowgirl. he needs to have a look at your face, specifically your eyes, watching how they contort from pleasure he was giving you. he finds it so incredibly intimate, like a little promise of emotional connection and love between all the desires.

cockwarming not exactly a kink or turn on, but riki absolutely loves it. he doesn't do it out of sexual desires, he views it as a form of aftercare. his way of showing that you made him feel absolutely amazing both physically and emotionally.

all he wants is to feel you and be close, both mentally and literally. the feeling of him simply inside you, you being so full of him brought such a comforting and intimate feeling to you and him alike.

oral have you seen riki's tongue? there is no possible argument opposing the fact that it was made to eat out pussy. he was addicted to how you tasted. or maybe he just wanted another part of his body he wanted to use to make you feel good.

he'd love it so much for you to get absolutely gone in the pleasure of his tongue. how your hips would buck when he hummed or chuckled. or the way you'd find the courage to grasp at his hair and guide him, or how loud you'd get when he paid special attention to your clit. he truly would make out with any of your lips.

seeing you in his clothes he could be in the middle of doing absolutely anything, but if he sees you wear one of his shirts or hoodies like a dress, pants and bra ditched, he will put down anything to pounce on you like a feral man.

he loved how the clothes that fit him perfectly hung off of your frame, making you look smaller than you were. making you look absolutely his. sometimes, he'd have you wear just his t-shirt as he fucks you, and would always make sure to get you comfy in his clothes when he takes care of you after.

mlist wips comment and reblog!

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year ago

Text

us and the stars — csc

summary: sitting under the stars on the hood of seungcheol’s car puts a lot of things into perspective

tags: smut (minors dni!), fluff warnings: explicit unprotected sex, outdoor sex wc: 2.3k an: i wrote the first part of this at rehearsal when i should have been doing work LOL

part of @sunnylovespickles september candy land collab!

occhiolism - to be aware of how insignificant and small you are compared to the universe

You can feel the bags weighing down your under eyes as you unlock the door to your apartment. You don’t bother being tidy as you throw your bag onto the ground and kick your shoes off. Your back hurts, your head has been throbbing since lunch, and on top of that you can’t get the nauseous feeling out of your stomach.

Today was utter shit.

None of it would nearly have been that bad, if it wasn’t for your last meeting. It started off so well, until your boss called on you to do your report for the week. You were proud of your work but as soon as you started to give off the data to your boss, he automatically shut you down, telling you you wasted your week doing everything wrong. Then your least favorite co-worker had to make snide comments about how he’ll have to spend all of next week fixing your mistakes. You spent the rest of your day trying to keep your tears at bay as you avoided eye contact with anyone who walked past you.

Then right when you thought you were going to be able to go home, your boss pulled you aside for a long talk about your quality of work. The whole conversation made your poor mood even worse and as soon as you got into your car you finally let yourself cry, sitting in the parking lot way after hours just to let it all out.

“Love? Is that you? You’re home late.” All you can manage is a grunt as you hear Seungcheol pads out of the bedroom. He sees you slumped down on the couch and automatically moves over to you, pushing you around a bit so you slump down against him instead.

“Hi,” you mumble, no energy in your voice.

“Hi baby. Bad day?” Seungcheol drops a soft kiss to your temple.

You nod. “I’m terrible at my job. It was so embarrassing, Cheol.”

“I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as you think.”

“My boss called me out in front of everyone!” You shout, finally finding some energy to sit up and face your boyfriend. “Then went on about how I’m putting up behind schedule and now he’ll never trust me to do anything again.”

“Well that’s not right of him…but I’m sure that this will all blow over next week. Everyone knows how hard of a worker you are, this is just one mistake, it’s not the end of the world.”

“It is for me!”

Seungcheol chuckles slightly and you can tell he thinks you’re ridiculous but you don’t feel ridiculous right now. You feel awful. This job was supposed to be your big break and now you’re messing it all up.

“C’mon.” Seungcheol stands up and offers his hand to you.

You stare at him a bit exhausted but he’s unwavering and you finally relent. Seungcheol pulls you up onto your feet and pushes you towards the bedroom.

“Change into something comfortable. If you’re not out in ten minutes I’m coming in and dragging you out.” With that Seungcheol shuts the door, leaving you alone once again.

You’re half tempted to just lock the door and crawl into bed, but a part of you is curious to see what your boyfriend has planned. You strip off your work clothes and change into a t-shirt and an old pair of sleep shorts before shuffling back out to the living room where Seungcheol is waiting with his car keys.

Before you can question him he’s tugging you out the door and to the car and taking off. Seungcheol ignores your questioning stare as he hums along to the radio. The sun is starting to set and you stare at the oranges of the sky as you try and pretend you’re not replaying your day over in your head.

When the car finally pulls to a stop, you look around to see you’re in the middle of nowhere. You frown at Seungcheol but he just grins at you and gets out of the car. You watch as he moves over the passenger side and opens your door for you.

As soon as you step out Seungcheol moves over to the hood of his car and slides on before patting next to him.

“You’re going to dent your car,” you tell him.

“Don’t be a party pooper. Get up here.”

You huff but still do as told. Seungcheol grins wide at you as he lays back and you follow suit. You look up at the sky and you suddenly realize why Seungcheol brought you out here. You finally allow yourself to take a deep breath. You release it slowly as you take in the sight above you. The sky is a deep blue, freckled with white glittering stars.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Seungcheol asks you.

You nod slightly. “It really is…” You’re completely mesmerized, all of your worries finally ebbing away.

“Those stars are trillions of miles away,” Seungcheol says. “Isn’t it crazy how big the universe is?”

“Yeah…,” you mumble. “We’re so small compared to that.”

“Exactly! The world is so big, and we’re so small. Doesn’t that put everything into perspective?”

“In what way?”

“Everything’s just so…insignificant.”

Seungcheol’s words suddenly suck your peace away as you sit up quickly. “YOU’RE SAYING I’M INSIGNIFICANT?”

You thought your boyfriend brought you out here to make you feel better, but now you feel like complete shit. You already knew you were a giant fuck up, but now you’re a fuck up that’s insignificant as well. You go to move off the car, ready to make Seungcheol take you back home and make him sleep on the couch, but Seungcheol quickly grabs your arm.

“Baby no! No! I’m saying your mistake was insignificant. There is so much going on all around us and billions of lightyears away; in the grand scale of things your one single mistake means nothing.”

“Well in the grand scale of things I’m also insignificant.” You glare slightly at Seungcheol but he just leans forward and cups your face in his hands.

“How can you be insignificant when you're my whole world?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You struggle for a moment, unable to get any words out.

“Your mistake doesn’t matter. Fuck those guys for making you feel like this, because you are the most hard working person I know. You matter though. You matter so much. Everyday I live is a good one, because I get to spend it with you. So who cares if the grand scale we’re small and insignificant, because even if we are, you’re still my everything, and there’s no one else I would rather be insignificant with.”

You feel tears start to stream down your cheeks for a second time today, but this time it’s for a completely different reason. You finally let a small smile cross your lips. You lean forward and kiss Seungcheol, not caring that you’re getting your tears on him. When you pull back you lean your forehead against his.

“When did you get so sensible?” You ask him with a small laugh.

“I wouldn’t say sensible…just insightful.”

“Whatever it is…thank you,” you tell him. “You always know how to make me feel better. I’m sorry about how I was behaving earlier.”

“Don’t apologize, we all have bad days. I just want to make sure your bad day doesn’t turn into a bad night.”

“Well you definitely did just that.” You lean in once again to give Seungcheol another kiss, deepening it this time.

Seungcheol sits up a bit so he can hover over you, pressing you down into the hood of the car. He pulls back slightly before whispering, “You want me to make this an even better night?”

“Ch-cheol!” You gasp. “We’re outside…”

“So? No one’s here. Wouldn’t it be romantic? Fucking under the stars.”

You feel Seungcheol’s fingers trail up your sides, slightly pushing up your shirt and you whine. “F-fuck, just touch me Cheol.”

Seungcheol chuckles slightly and pushes his hands all the way up your shirt, groping your chest in his palms. You feel his thigh press down against your clit and you let out a soft moan.

You feel the tension escape your body as pleasure starts to take over. Seungcheol’s mouth trails over your neck, peppering kisses and nips all over your skin. You slide your fingers into his hair, holding his head to your neck.

“Need you,” you whine, desperate and pathetic. You didn’t realize how badly you need this but now that you have it, you can’t get enough.

“Already?”

“Fuck, yes, please,” you beg.

“Of course, pretty girl. Anything for you.” Seungcheol presses a final kiss to your neck before sliding off the hood. He stands at the front end of the car, pulling you towards him so your hips line up. Seungcheol pushes your shorts down your legs until they’re only hanging off one ankle before unzipping his pants and tugging his cock out.

He jerks his cock in his fist until it gets up to full mast before reaching out to brush his thumb over your clothed clit. You can hear him hum with satisfaction when he feels how wet you already are. You let out a soft whine to signal your impatience and luckily your boyfriend takes the hint and pushes your panties to the side. You feel his blunt tip rub up against your folds for a moment before he pushes all the way in.

You let out a content sigh at the familiar feeling of Seungcheol’s cock stretching you open. HIs cock fits into you snugly, like your pussy was molded just for him. Seungcheol pushes his hands back up your shirt, kneading at your tits as he starts to slowly thrust into you.

You wrap your legs around Seungcheol, pulling him into you deeper and preventing yourself from sliding off the car. As Seungcheol picks up his pace, fucking into you more rapidly, you throw your head back, marveling in the sight of the galaxies above you as your boyfriend fills you full of his cock. Seungcheol was right, it is pretty romantic.

Seungcheol brushes his thumb over your nipple, flicking the bud and sending jolts through your body. You gasp, your eyes screwing shut. Your whole body feels like it’s buzzing as Seungcheol snaps his hips into yours, his cock slamming into your walls and driving you closer and closer to insanity.

You reach up blindly and grasp Seungcheol’s shirt, pulling him down to you. Your lips meld together with his as you put all your focus into kissing him. His body pressed down into yourself, pinning you down against the cool metal of the car. Your whole body is wrapped around him as you hold onto him to stable yourself.

Seungcheol’s soft grunts are probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard and despite him being fully pressed up against you, you pull him into you further, wrapping your lips around his bottom lip and sucking as hard as you can. Your boyfriend’s lips are already plump, but you have a bit of an obsession with trying to make them completely swollen. Seungcheol doesn’t mind though, in fact you know he finds immense pleasure from you sucking on his lip. The way his hips slam into you harder is also an indicator that you’re doing something right.

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly you can already feel your orgasm approaching but you blame it on your stressful day and your boyfriend’s determination to make you feel better. You drag your teeth over Seungcheol’s lip before letting it go only to press your lips to his ear.

"M'close Cheollie."

“Fuck baby, cum for me. Cream all over my cock,” Seungcheol tells you. His grip tightens on you as his thrusts become more pointed, pushing straight up against your g-spot.

You whimper as you finally release all of your pent up stress from the day, letting your orgasm wash over you. You hold onto Seungcheol tightly as you shake in his arms, your boyfriend pressing soft kisses to your jaw as you do so.

At some point you register Seungcheol pulling out of you and cumming on your stomach but you don’t fully regain consciousness until a few moments later. You don’t move as Seungcheol grabs a few napkins from his glove box to clean both of you off.

After you two are finally back in normal shape Seungcheol climbs back up onto the hood (which is definitely dented now) and pulls you into his side.

Nothing seems better than cuddling with your boyfriend and stargazing but your stomach has other plans and rumbles loudly, causing Seungcheol to laugh and you to groan.

“I haven’t had dinner yet,” you say. “You dragged me away too soon.”

“Okay baby, let’s go get dinner.” Seungcheol pecks a kiss to your lips before rolling off the hood of the car. You reluctantly do the same.

“We should do this again,” you tell your boyfriend as he starts the car. “Sometime we can actually stargaze for longer.”

“I’d like that. And I’ll be sure to pack some food to bring as well.”

This time as you two drive down the road you slip your hand into Seungcheol’s and hum along to the radio with him. You glance over at him, only to see him sneaking a glance back at you. He sends you a wink before grinning and looking back at the road, his hand squeezing yours. You can’t help but smile back.

As you settle back into your seat and glance out at the sky through the windshield, you find comfort in the fact that even if you are just a small part of the big universe, you and Seungcheol still found each other, and that’s something pretty special.

taglist: @ckline35 @toruro @jeanjacketjesus @namjoonbaby @n4mj00nvq @lovelyhan @ovai @scorpiobitch88 @im-gemmy @lllucere @tulipgarland4 @embrace-themagic @sulkygyu @leejihoonownsmyheart @synthetickitsune @yeosayang @miraclewoozi @d0nghyck @soonhoonietrash @violetvoo @yongi-lee @spilled-coffee-cup @morklee02 @17kwans @candidupped @ressonancee @m1nghaos @1-800-jeonwonwoo @anothershorthuman @chwecardcaptor @dinoissupreme @speaknowlwt @hyneyedfiz @aaniag @jwnghyuns @flwrshwa @valentxi @heavenly-mobo @pandorashbox @enhacolor @starlight-night0 @todorokiskitten @miriamxsworld @just-here-to-read-01 @sunnyteume @debsworld23 @seuomo @tinkerbell460 @feat-sun

join my taglist: here!

#choi seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #jj <3 #i said jokingly when i bookmarked this that you wrote this for me #but #i just want you to know this might one of if not my favourite fics from you #shit's been not amazing lately lol not gonna trauma dump on you and in the tags #but reading this was so so comforting jj #it just felt like such a big hug #and you writing this with cheol of all people shoved me even more into my feelings ugh #“How can you be insignificant when you're my whole world?” - JJ. HOW DARE YOU. HE'S SO CHEESY WHY AM I BLUSHING I CAN'T DO THIS #“Your mistake doesn’t matter. Fuck those guys for making you feel like this #because you are the most hard working person I know.#You matter though. You matter so much. Everyday I live is a good one #because I get to spend it with you.#So who cares if the grand scale we’re small and insignificant #because even if we are #you’re still my everything #and there’s no one else I #would rather be insignificant with.”#- you really said fuck rj's feelings specifically huh #the emotion you wrote into those lines had me tearing up if I'm being honest #“Don’t apologize #we all have bad days. I just want to make sure your bad day doesn’t turn into a bad night.”#- at this point just imagine me sitting here with tears in my eyes and in stunned silence #truly the way you wrote this is so heartfelt and beautiful jj. i think I've found my jj comfort fic.#fics that have thousands and thousands of notes to me btw #q: painting with hyunjin

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onskepa · 8 months ago

Note

Hi how are you? If you want, could you tell us what your headcanons would be for what the Sully children's relationship would be like with a human/avatar mother who was mated with Jake and Neytiri? Thank you very much, have a great day!

I can see a lot of possible outcomes for this one! So here ya go! Enjoy!

P.S: Reader will not be given a name in this one, instead she will be called "small mama"

Pinnacle protection

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

Pinnacle motherhood

Right off the bat, the whole family loves their third mother, second mate. Jake sully couldn't ask for a better family, and better mates. Especially his little human mate. Neytiri will agree with him, while yes she has her children to hug, her little mate is just what she needs. Something small yet full of love just for her.

Now like any trio, there is a balance between the parents. Jake is the head of the family, the brains with his clever ideas. Neytiri at times can be the brains but most muscle due to her skills in fighting and hunting. And their beloved human is the heart of the family. Keeping everyone together.

And like any child, the sully kids will have favorites. And their favorite is their amazing human mother. She is the most fun, loving parent any child could ever ask for. Are they not getting their way with Jake or neytiri? To mama it is! And mama will always fold by the simple look of her kids.

Another thing about their favorite mama, they all believe she has the power to read their minds. How else would it explain she knows their next move?

Lo’ak and tuk can recall so many instances where they were barely forming an idea only for their mama to say “dont even think about it” or “it is not worth the trouble”.

For neteyam, as he is the oldest he does try to be a good example for his mischievous siblings, along with holding so many responsibilities, but he can always count on his small mama for anything. Small mama consoles him, talking about anything neteyam has his mind about.

Unlike Jake or neytiri who neteyam has to put up a strong warrior face, with a small mama he can revert back to being a baby with her. He feels safe and be a kid again with her. And small mama always called him her “little baby boy”. Neteyam won't admit it but he likes it when she calls him that.

For kiri, she definitely adores her small mama. She is closer to her third parent than she is with neytiri. Not to be mean or anything. But with Jake, Kiri can talk about what odd things happen around her, ask her about her mother and stuff but with her small mama. Well, she can express far more with her, be free to say anything not be judged upon. Kiri can dare say small mama understands her more than anyone in the world.

With tuk, the baby of the family. Why, she loves to be the taller one, it makes her happy. Of course she would never tease her small mama that she is taller, but small mama would call her “tiny tuk”. A name tuk loves and will glady flex it for some reason.

If tuk can't go somewhere with her older siblings, small mama would personally take her anywhere she wants to go. As long as it is safe. With small mama, everything is fun and never boring. Tuk loves the times where her hair is braided or she braids small mama’s hair.

Now, if small mama would use her avatar, nothing much would change. Except that now the kids will demand piggy back rides. Tuk or lo’ak would be front of the line for that.

Hunting would be easier and much more fun with jake and neytiri, running, riding their ikrans, less risk overall.

Even with her avatar, she is still short compared to her two mates. She is smaller than Neytiri by 9 ½ inches. Not something she is super thrilled about. No matter what body, she is still small mama through and through.

Small mama is forever grateful to live her best life with her family, loving them and saying her thanks to Eywa for blessing her to be the best of her two worlds. Through hardships, through trials, small mama has a mighty heart and a roar of an ikran. Yes sometimes she might be stressed or frustrated but life is not perfect. Small mama knows that all too well. But there is nothing better than what she has.

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marvelsswansong · 1 year ago

Text

melting snow

summary: the subtle, obvious, sweet, and at times - dangerous - ways Coriolanus shows his love for you.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and lovesick!Snow, mostly fluff with light allusions to smut, significantly off-canon from movie (no lucy gray and no sejanus betrayal), CW possessive/dark behavior, graphic descriptions of murder, violence (it's only the last bit of this fic that's quite dark/violent, so feel free to read up until then. Please take care of yourself!!!)

☆ word count: 4.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦��.⚠️

one: subtle praise

At the beginning, he would mask his true feelings and physical urges towards you with a tight lipped grin and a reserved compliment. Something that acknowledges something you've done objectively well, with a genuine softness that didn't apply to any of his other classmates, but seemingly delivered in a nonchalant matter to feign indifference.

"Great dodge." he'd say to you, both of your chests heaving from adrenaline during fencing class. You'd nod gently, a shy "thank you" leaving your lips.

But when Clemensia wins the next round against him, Coriolanus doesn't go above simply shake her left hand in courtesy before leaving the arena briskly.

"Well played." he'd joke, when it was revealed during the final student appraisal that you'd beaten Coriolanus' marks by a few points. Despite Archane and Felix throwing subtle jabs at his way for "losing" the star student title, you'd just shrug off the compliment profusely, praising him endlessly.

"A mere fluke, really. You're the brilliant student. I reckon I just study hard and get lucky." you'd reply, straightening the cuffs of your jacket nervously. The blonde always found it so endearing how bad you were at taking compliments.

So different from the rest of the scum in Capitol, he thought.

Eventually, he'd start to turn his verbal compliments towards things unrelated to your capabilities and work. And more towards things that were of a personal nature, like your looks and dress.

"Your hair looks very nice today." he comments one afternoon late after school, his shoulders brushing against yours as you both await your rides home. Your hands fly up to your hair, to the small crown of daisies adorning your head, as if you've almost forgotten what you were wearing.

"You think so?" you shyly ask, looking up at him nervously. "I wouldn't have worn it to the academy if we hadn't been called down on immediate notice. It's just that the family I babysit for on the weekends, their daughter just turned six and... well, she was very insistent on making me a flower crown."

He finds your embarrassment awfully cute.

"But I swear, when Dr Gaul turned to look at me today, I thought she was going to kill me."

Coriolanus only rolls his eyes playfully at that, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"And what would she know about first rate fashion? You look amazing."

It's the nicest compliment you've gotten over a silly crown of flowers, your heart warming and your breath stuttering at his words. It's what motivates you to lightly squeeze his right arm before you get into the car, your touch lingering in his mind long after you depart.

A month later, Coriolanus runs into you at the farmer's market on a Sunday. His instructions by Tigris to "buy some bread and oranges for tomorrow" are almost forgotten in one fell swoop when he sees you. Free from your usual academic attire, you're wearing a flowy lilac dress which sits right below your knees, the silky fabric glowing in the yellow sunlight.

"This color really suits you." he decides to whisper in your ear after discreetly sliding into the space next to you, the action so sudden that it causes you to jump. Your shoulders soften when you recognize his striking blue irises, and then you pout, punching him right in the chest.

"You scared me, Snow." you jokingly scold him. "And where are your manners? You should always introduce yourself first to a lady."

He pretends to be wounded by that, hand on heart whilst leaning backwards.

"My deepest apologies. Would this help?" he asks, effortlessly pulling a white rose from his back pocket. He revels in how your gaze lightens up in awe and amusement at the gesture.

"Perhaps so." you reply back, fingertips brushing against his.

The blonde takes it as a sign to slide it behind your ear, the memory of your etheral form with his flower tucked behind your right ear etched into his mind before you're called away by your friends.

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two: soft touches

Once he's sure that his feelings are reciprocated, Coriolanus would start to step the line over into something more serious. He's not willing to open up immediately nor is he necessarily a man of romantic prose. A large part of him is scared, even, of the way you make him feel.

After all, what is love if not vulnerability?

And how he could be vulnerable with you, a woman so far out of his league, widely adored and your family amongst the wealthiest in Panem?

So it would start off when the class seating arrangements are changed and you're seated next to Coriolanus for the remainder of the year.

He'd start to purposefully spread his legs a little bit wider than usual, his knees always brushing against yours.

He'd take every chance he could to lean over to explain something to you, his face a few inches away from yours, if you ever seemed stuck on a question.

He'd open the classroom door for you in the mornings and offer to carry your heavy textbooks back to your family's car after school, insisting that it was because he wouldn't want you to trip on your heels. And if you'd ever insist on carrying the books on your own, he'd keep a gentle hand on your upper back to keep you upright "in balance."

Once, whilst presenting a speech at your father's fundraising dinner that you'd stayed up all night preparing for, you accidentally lose track of your speech. You stumble on your words, voice cracking in panic as you start to scan the page of thick text, all of which suddenly seem jumbled up and nonsensical.

Sensing distress, Coriolanus' hand quickly moves under the table to squeeze your left hand (hanging by your side) in a reassuring manner.

It's only then, somehow, that you find yourself able to re-focus on the printed text and continue your speech. Afterwards, you squeeze his hand back and whisper your gratitude.

"I owe you, Coriolanus."

Another time, it's a formal ball being hosted by the academy to mark the holiday season. After a few drinks, you're tipsy and manage to drag your friends up towards the balcony, despite it snowing outside and being below zero degrees.

Cautiously watching your every movement by where he's leaning by the bar, Coriolanus quickly makes an excuse to exit the conversation he found himself trapped in, before walking outside towards your shivering figure.

Your dress certainly isn't helping your situation, it being a satin slip dress with sleeves and a conservative cut out by your shoulders. It exposes your chilled skin as you rub the naked space with your arms, your staggered breaths coming out in white puffs of smoke.

"Corio! What're you doing he-" you start to walk towards him but nearly trip, his arms coming to supporting your body last second to save you from falling completely on your face.

"You shouldn't be outside in this weather." he comments, amused, as he helps you find your balance once more. But you refuse to re-enter the ballroom, choosing to instead excitedly ramble about how wonderful winter in the Capitol is and how you can't remember where you've placed your bag.

Listening earnestly to your ramblings with a smile on his face, he quickly shakes off his blazer.

"May I?" he asks. You blink slowly, heart fluttering at the gesture.

"O-okay."

The boy then carefully drapes his blazer over your shoulders, the act immediately enveloping your senses in his signature smells - oakwood and rose. Your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket, your nose burrowing in to the softness of the fabric.

"Are you sure you won't be cold?"

He's freezing, of course, but he keeps his posture straight and tuck his hands into his pockets.

"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me."

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three: nicknames

Once you two become an item, Coriolanus moves on to calling you affectionate names.

Of course, he'll prefer to call you by your name in professional settings - like during a presentation, in front of the Academy staff, at formal galas and dinners - but when it's just the two of you, or around people you both trust, or when he's jealous -

He almost never calls you by your name.

Darling is the classic, lovestruck expression he uses when he's being his most vulnerable. It's what he whispers into the gap underneath your neck when he's waking you up in the morning, landing kisses across your collarbone during sunrise. It's his greeting when he surprises you with a bouquet of flowers on your birthday, right before he whisks you away to a trip to district 1. It's what he cries into your hairline when you are hospitalized following a rogue rebel explosion on your trip home.

"Darling... darling, can you hear me?"

Coriolanus' voice is foggy, your head still ringing from the loud explosion earlier, but your heart still races at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on yours. Throat croaking, you try to respond with an affirmative "yes", to which your boyfriend responds by quickly grabbing a near by cup of water.

Gently guiding the glass to your lips, he treats you as if you're a fragile porcelain doll: smoothing down your hair gently and fluffing up your pillows to lay you back down. It's only then that you get a good look at him under the flickering lights - the bags under his eyes look heavy, his usually neat hair a complete mess, his blue irises blood shot.

"Have you been sleeping, Corio?" you ask, worried, your thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He chokes up at that, shaking his head sideways with a sad smile.

"How... how could you ask me that, darling? You've been in the hospital for days."

"I hope that doesn't mean you haven't been sleeping for days." you quip back, raising your eyebrows. Your boyfriend opens his mouth to lie, but the twitch of his lips gives him away. So you instead shift towards the left of your bed, making space for him on the mattress.

"Come on you silly man."

He smiles a guilty grin before snuggling up next to you, letting out a heavy sigh of content at your warm body against his.

Petal is his sweet, infatuated name for you when he's referring to you in conversation or calling out for you in front of friends and family. Tigris never fails to tease Coriolanus for the name, but he doesn't mind it - you're his flower, his precious petal.

"I can't believe you think this is ugly." Tigris sighs at the dinner table one night, shuffling through the myriad of designs on the desk. "This was going to be the design I send off to the boutique tomorrow."

"I didn't say it was ugly, I just think this design is far nicer." Coriolanus responds, pushing forward the blue design in front of him. His cousin pouts at that, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.

"Petal-" Coriolanus calls out for you, where you're cooking with grandma'am in the kitchen. "Could you come in for a moment?"

When your confused face pops into the room, Tigris quickly calls you over, dramatically stretching out her arms to grab you.

"Mr Snow seems to think this design - the gold sweetheart dress with lace trimmings - is uglier than this blue version. What do you think, (Y/n)?" she earnestly asks, pushing over the two designs to your direction. You shuffle through the papers intently, studying each drawing up close, before ultimately taking Tigris' side.

"I'd say your eye for design is impeccable, Tigris. And that Coriolanus should perhaps stick to things other than fashion."

That makes both grandma'am (who is listening in from the kitchen) and Tigris, burst out in laughter, with the latter throwing her arms around your waist in a sideways hug.

"Ah, I knew you were my favorite for a reason." she jokes.

"Petal, you wound me." your boyfriend jokes, a small scowl on his face for show. Though, when you lean down to kiss him, the scowl easily melts away.

My doll is what he calls you when he's driven sick by jealousy and possession. As, much to Coriolanus' distate, you have many admirers - due to you coming from a wealthy family and being a well known socialite in your own right.

Coriolanus has never liked Felix Ravinstill, but he swears his hatred for the president's son only tripled after you and Coriolanus became an item. Felix was never shy about his attraction to you - the forward compliments, the invitations to his house after school, the rush to sit next to you during lunch periods. But now, the blonde thinks, it's getting full on desperate.

As you sit reading a book in the hallways of tha academy, waiting for Coriolanus to finish his talk with Dr Gaul, the dark haired boy decides to chat with you. When your boyfriend opens the door discreetly, upon hearing your voice mingle with someone else's outside, his vision nearly turns red at how close the other man is to you.

You're pointing out something in your book to Felix, your innocent eyes fixated purely on the black and white text and thus completely missing how shamelessly the man next to you is eyeing you up and down. It takes Dr Gaul's shout - "actually, Ms (Y/n), could we have a word regarding your last proposal" - for Coriolanus' rage to slowly fade.

Instead, he starts to feel cold, hardened logic putting a plan into motion.

And once you're inside the classroom, Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to slam Felix up against the wall, making sure to angle the boy's head to hit directly against a marble statute. The impact isn't hard enough to crack the man's skull, the last minute measurement in Coriolanus' head ensuring that he wouldn't be punished for injuring the president's son.

But he makes sure that the impact hurts enough to leave a mark.

It makes Coriolanus' heart twist in pleasure.

"You better leave my doll alone, Ravinstill. She's not interested in you. She's never been interested in you." he spits, snarling like a ravenous dog.

"You're delusional, Snow, if you think she'd ever want to stay with you." Felix manages to spit out, trying to wiggle his way out of the taller man's hold, but Coriolanus is too strong.

"You're the only delusional one here. It's pathetic, really. All that money and social connections in the world, and it'll never be good enough for my doll."

Coriolanus can tell that hit a nerve with Felix, so he lets go of the shorter boy, nearly throwing him away to the side in the process. Pride and ego surges through his veins when you appear and call out for Coriolanus, so the blonde makes a concerted effort to kiss you fiercely for show.

His arm snaking around your shoulder to pull you right up against him, a devious smile on his lips.

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

four: lavish gifts and deep marks

Things only escalate once Coriolanus' tribute ends up winning the hunger games and he's crowned the winner of the Plinth Prize. Now saddled with money, reputation and a full ride scholarship to the university funneled by the Plinth family - he finally finds himself able to spoil you in all the ways possible.

Fresh flowers adorn your windowsill every morning. The finest jewellery and newest luxury bags are delivered to your doorstep at random. Perhaps most impressive of all, he buys a two bedroom apartment near the center of the Capitol for you two to move into.

"How'd you..." you can't even finish your sentence when you first see the place: the prime location, the high arched ceilings, the stainless marble... He hadn't even allowed you to pitch in any of your own - or your family's - money to buy the place, insisting that it was to be a complete surprise.

His arms come around your shoulder to hug you close, swaying you from side to side.

"Generosity of the Plinth family and the spoils of being the victor, darling." he drawls in your ear.

You're still in awe, hands tracing the intricate patterns of the roman columns supporting the ceiling, when he starts to tug you up the stairs.

"Would you like to see the view from our bedroom? It's magnificent."

Of course, Coriolanus' new elevated status and recent memory of acting as a mentor in the hunger games - planning, guiding, and having a role in the extended play of human lives - it all makes him quite obsessive and possessive of you. Given that you're one of the few people in his life who has known him for years now, before he was a mentor and before had all this money and status...

He has to make sure to keep you in his life. He's made a lot of enemies, after all, many of whom would like to harm him. And with his undying love for you, hurting you becomes an attractive option for his enemies.

So Coriolanus gets more possessive by becoming more shameless in public. He'll gladly call you his love in front of crowds of hundreds. He'll kiss you breathless and squeeze your lower back if he thinks a man is staring a bit too long at you. And when he knows you two will be separated for a few days - usually due to him having to travel out of the Capitol on business matters - he'll leave bite marks on your neck.

You didn't even think about how noticeable the marks might be when you rush out of bed one morning, having promised to attend an engagement dinner of a fellow classmate, Clemensia's. Your rude awakening comes when, mid-way through the rehearsal, Sejanus leans over to quietly ask if you've brought your foundation with you.

You scrunch your face at the odd question.

"Uh, yes... I have a powder compact in my bag, why?"

Your friend smiles at you apologetically, before motioning to your neck.

"Because, (Y/n), it looks like a vampire has bit you."

And when you look at your reflection in your wine glass, it's clear that you have odd, dark, bite shaped marks littering your collarbone and neck.

Later in the week, when Coriolanus has finally returned from his business trip, you try and scold him for it.

"I nearly died of shame, Corio. Seriously, you should've seen how Arachne was looking at me the whole night." you sigh, just as he laughs.

"You're over thinking it, darling. Besides, you weren't complaining when I was leaving those marks on you on Tuesday."

You open his mouth to scold him again, but find yourself unable to mutter a smart response, your thoughts flying away when he's back to attacking your skin with his mouth.

After all, you're like a drug to him - he can never get enough.

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five: killing for you

Once Coriolanus is sure that you're not going to leave him, he finds it appropriate to take it to the next level: marriage. He drops a few thousand dollars on a large diamond ring, a ring which he makes sure you never take off (except in the shower).

At this point, the thought of losing you nearly equals his fears of losing everything he's built so far: becoming wealthy, powerful and well known amongst the Capitol's elite. He's terrified of living in a world without you and so he considers anyone who is deemed a threat must be dealt with in a secure, efficient manner.

No mercy, no hesitation.

After all, Coriolanus thinks one night, whilst sharpening a spare knife in the kitchen: if you give a rebel an inch, they'll run a mile.

The first person he kills is a security guard who fails to do their job correctly in protecting you.

He'd been hired by Coriolanus to protect you in your daily transport from the mansion to anywhere outside the Capitol (most often, to districts 1-3 to support your family's business dealings). But the bodyguard had failed to protect you one fateful winter day, leaving you to stumble back home with a twisted ankle and a busted lip as your bodyguard was only able to neutralize the threat after a few minutes of tussling with the gang's leader in the snow.

Your fiancee was fuming, sending you off to a near by hospital with grandma'am, before he motioned for your bodyguard to come downstairs to the empty garden.

The blonde didn't even feel an ounce of sorrow as he pulled the trigger, simply ordering the next bodyguard he'd hired to do the messy job of disposing of the body.

The second person he kills is a rebel who attempted to sneak a bomb underneath the car transporting you to the Capitol, following Coriolanus' announcement as candidate for the presidency.

The rebel was apprehended by the security detail team pretty quickly, so fast in fact that you weren't even made aware of the threat on your life. All you're told that day by Coriolanus' subordinates is that "there had been a change of plans" and you were to go to a fundraising dinner at an art museum instead to raise funds for the campaign.

And whilst you're off at the dinner, making a passionate speech for his presidency, Coriolanus makes an order for the rebel to be dragged out into the fields.

"You dare threaten the love of my life?" he sneers into the rebel's face, which is already bloodied and broken beyond recognition. The animalistic rage pumping through Coriolanus' veins is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and the gun in his hands suddenly feels like too much of a merciful ending for the rebel's crime.

"Just kill me." the rebel spits, but that only makes Coriolanus let out a sinister chuckle.

"Don't worry, I will. But I think a gun shot will be far too quick."

Instead, Coriolanus orders the man to be placed into a cage - a prototype that was being designed as a trap for the next year's games - and for a tub of venomous snakes to be released.

Whilst the other workers in his campaign look away from the horrific sight, Coriolanus just stares in great interest and pride. Once the screaming dies down, he calmly disposes of his bloodied shirt and hails a ride to greet you at the museum entrance.

"All good?" you ask, noticing an odd expression on your lover's face. But he just kisses you lightly on the lips, chuckling.

"Of course, petal. Why wouldn't it be?"

And so on and so forth. Whether it's directly or indirectly, Coriolanus becomes ruthless in securing your safety and your love. And he's so good at hiding it, he thinks, until one day he becomes a bit sloppy.

It was supposed to be an easygoing dinner at the mansion, a wealthy donor - his top donor, his campaign manager had informed him - named Robert Hemingworth had requested a private dinner. Coriolanus intially wanted to refuse, hating the thought of inviting a stranger to his home, but both you and his campaign manager agreed that it was best to play nice given the money at stake.

"For your troubles." Robert had said on his way in, a snarky smirk on his lips. In his arms were a basket of wines and grapes worth a pretty penny, but Coriolanus couldn't help but think that there was something about the brunette's gaze that he didn't trust. But with pursed lips and a fake smile, he forced out a thank you and invited the man into the foyer.

"What a... charming little abode." the oil tycoon had drawled, his gloved hands tracing along the walls. The sly comments and odd compliments (in truth, backhanded compliments) continued through out the night, all the way from appetizer to the main course. Sipping on copious bottles of red wine in an effort to keep himself grounded, Coriolanus was managing to keep his temper down until the older man asked about your whereabouts.

"Will your charming fiancee not be joining us?"

He froze at the man's questions, the hungry look in the millionaire's eyes and the underlying threat weighing down the atmosphere. The desserts had now arrived, two maids scurrying in with small plates of bread pudding, both of whom Coriolanus quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"She's out with Tigris. Dress shopping." he'd decided to leave it at that, his left hand squeezing his glass so tight the glass started to crack. Coriolanus had hoped the man would leave the discussion there, as he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing if the older man didn't.

But the man continued. A disgusting moan escaping his lips in satisfaction after biting into the pudding, a devious smirk on his lips to match.

"Ah. Well, what a shame. I was hoping she would be part of the dessert."

No sooner than those words leave the millionaire's mouth, Coriolanus' left hand grabbed the knife laying on the board in front of him, where moments ago the maids were cutting cheese and ham. He then brings the blade to swiftly meet the older man's stomach, white dress shirt staining crimson red, all the while Coriolanus refuses to break the man's gaze.

"You fucking disgust me. Everyone in the Capitol fucking disgusts me one way or another, but you? You dare invite yourself to my home?" he retracts the knife, before stabbing it back into the suited man's flesh, each pause accentuated by another driving force.

"You dare speak about my love in such a vulgar manner?"

"You dare insinuate such sinful acts with my beloved?"

"You dare try and buy your way into her body?"

The marble floors are now flooded in a sea of red, the man's dying chokes and Coriolanus' heavy breaths overwhelming the room. The room stings of the smell of copper when you enter the space, quietly closing the door behind you, as you were only able to see the man on the floor and your boyfriend standing on top of him from the entrance.

"Corio? Love?"

The blonde turns around at the sound of your voice, face etched with annoyance.

Annoyed that you'd have to be subject to a vulgar sight like this. Annoyed that he'd stained your new kitchen set with an unworthy man's blood... And most of all, annoyed that he can't tell what you're thinking: your face kept completely neutral as you slowly approach him.

"You're back early." is all he decides to say, testing the waters.

You look down at his hands, soaked in hot blood, then down at the man who is writhing on the floor.

"Found what we wanted quickly, I suppose." you reply, stopping next to Coirolanus before leaning down to get a better look at the dying man. "Right, what was his deal?"

"Hm?"

It's only then that your plain expression breaks, your usually light eyes swimming with sinister charm, a coy smile breaking out on your face.

"Come on, Corio. You don't seriously think I didn't notice the amount of odd stains on your cufflinks? Or the terrified looks the house servants give you since the beginning of our engagement?"

He blinks, surprised. Coriolanus had always assumed he was covering his tracks well. Or that, at the very least, you'd have something to say about it all.

"He was making rather vulgar comments about you, darling. The bastard seems to have been making donations in an effort to get closer to you." he slowly explains as you stand back up, nodding slowly.

"Hm... Yes, that is rather concerning. And I suppose you've gone too far ahead for us to save him, always the temperamental lover you are." you tease.

Your humorous response and your unwillingness to run away from the darkness of the situation, it awakens something fierce in Coriolanus that he hasn't felt for you before.

"I suppose."

The euphoria he feels when your delicate fingers lace his to grab the knife instead, before you finally drive the blade down and end the man's life, is indescribable.

"I think you owe me a new dress." you say quietly, dropping the knife onto the floor.

The blonde wastes no time gathering you up in his arms, kissing you so fiercely that it almost hurts your neck.

"I think I owe you more than that, darling. How about the entirety of Panem?"

He'd do anything for you. The entirety of Panem be damned.

a/n: omg this has got to be the darkest piece of writing + fucked up ending I've ever written in like years of writing on tumblr 😅😭 but idk I'm obsessed with an idea of Corio's partner being someone who embraces him wholeheartedly and surprises him by being darker than she seems on the surface.

please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you've enjoyed, your support is what motivates me to write!

ALSO I've just re-opened my requests bc I would love to receive some corio fic ideas, so please send in your corio thoughts if you have any 🥺🥺🥺

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #thg x reader #the hunger games #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k

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