#no read mores we die like men

[newspecies]

"the vast majority of legal persecution against early queers was focused on men" ARE YOU INSANE

[tinseltina]

You can feel free to ignore this until you feel like rambling, or forever, but do you have any strong opinions or headcanons or anything about Pixie Hollow you feel like ranting about? I adored that series when I was younger and I'd loved to be dragged back into it.

I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

FIRST OFF LETS START WITH THE MOVIE SERIES VS THE BOOKS

right off the bat, all the pixie hollow books take place AFTER the peter pan movie, they don't say when exactly but book 3 (quest for neverland) is like 3 generations (maybe 4?) after Wendy and her brothers go to neverland. And he character spotlight books never really mention quest for neverland (iirc there's ONE reference to vidia and the dragon kyto from that book but no one talks about human girl gwendolyn), but they do take place after it

the first 3 chapter books all occur within like a month or 2 of time and everything else at varying points of time.

i'm still compiling all the evidence to put out a VERY rough timeline (some books are clear about their relation to other adventures/books). however i'm in no rush to do any of that, so don't hold your breath.

Now there IS a HUGE detail in the lore regarding pixie hollow and the fairy dust.

There used to be a different "home tree" (called the Pixie Dust tree) WAAAAY long ago. There was another whole population of fairies there. and THAT tree, produced pixie dust (the stuff that makes them fly and helps their magic etc etc). it was DESTROYED and MOST of those fairies died back then (it was this cataclysmic event in neverland that basically decimated a ton of it, but everything eventually regrew). From that tree grew the new Home Tree where everyone is now.

Another character, Mother Dove (the bird you may or may not have heard of when ppl talk about these books) was basically reborn during this fire when she got hit with the fire. (magical fire, didn't kill this bird. it's implied that neverland's magic basically imbued this bird with her own magic because before then she was just a regular bird). her feathers are magic and when she molts, the fairies take her feathers and grind them down into dust, this is called FAIRY dust. Now a couple of the books have typos and use the term "pixie" dust, but it's not what the lore currently states. pixie dust is B.C. (before calamity) and fairy dust is A.C. (after calamity)

After this calamity and turning magic, mother dove laid an egg and that egg will never hatch, it's a magic egg that she must always incubate bc the egg is what keeps everything in neverland young and/or living forever.

OK NOW THAT THAT'S OUTTA THE WAY LET'S MOVE ON

the tinkerbell movie? that universe has no mother dove and the tree is the one from legend because the pixie dust (yes PIXIE dust) flows from it. there's a dust depot where the dust is portioned out for fairies each day but no dust mill (where the grinding of the feathers into dust would happen)

Now at one point i thought "maybe the movies could potentially just be telling what happened before the books" It's got a mostly new cast, why not?

because TINKER BELL IS THERE. Vidia, and terence are also there. and these 3 are major players in the books that couldn't have survived that calamity. (queen clarion POTENTIALLY). fawn and iridessa and silvermist and rosetta all show up in books later (at one point the books were coming out at the same time as the movies rosetta is the one character to receive a major design change from her book counterpart, so i could even accept her being a different garden fairy with the same name and similar personality)

ok now RAPID FIRE FACTS

dust alchemy? not a thing in the books. but dust is also WAY more interesting and required for so much of the fairies magic in the book (yeah, you can use it for EVERYTHING. ex. garden fairies are like folks with a green thumb, they GET their plants and tend to be good at growing things, but sprinkling dust can help with speed and size of growth or stuff like hybridization. kitchen/cooking/baking talents they dont use fire, they use DUST to heat things and boil water stuff like that. i still gotta check if that's not retconned in places but it makes sense considering how small they are and how quickly fire can spread)

the blue dust from lost treasure? also not a thing, but interesting given the tree situation, and it's interesting to think nothing is actually a neverending resource, but also it doesn't really make sense? cuz like WHAT'S THE POINT OF A TREE THAT MAKES DUST IF IT CAN'T DO IT FOREVER? i can see the argument for either side. but i'm leaning on "blue dust is like fertilizer for a magic tree"

vidia is actually a HUUUUUGE b-tch in the books. like the kinda a-hole that is kinda irredeemable and luckily the books never try to redeem her either. she's not quite "evil" but she is the kinda person who is terrible and refuses to change. but she basically committed a "cardinal sin" by plucking some of mother doves feathers from her to get fresh feathers to make her own pixie dust. (it's revealed that the dust from freshly plucked and not older MOLTED feathers, contain more potent magic) and vidia is obsessed with being the fastest flier in pixie hollow so she wanted special dust. this was a painful process for mother dove and it was done in secret but after she was found out it basically got her banished from seeing mother dove up close ever again (it's like being banished from seeing your mother and the pope all rolled into one. idk it's hard for me to explain motherdove without going "yeah she's kinda vaguely omniscient/telepathic. like she's not God, but she's got some pretty godly powers in relation to the fairies and the rest of neverland ngl, hence the pope analogy) and kicked outta the home tree apartments (paraphrasing for humor). she's not kicked outta fairy society or nothing, they would never go that far, these books are HEAVY with collectivist themes. but vidia lives separate from the other fairies in her own tree (and she actually prefers it. iirc it's implied she could come back to the home tree if she wanted, but she AND the rest of the fairy population prefer the space).

actually all the fairies kinda jerks, but i think that falls in line with the idea of tricky faeries in mythology and i don't dislike it. it makes the vidia thing sting less as well?

prilla (sweet wonderful, she's not actually my favorite but we love her regardless) is the odd one out amongst fairies because she's kinda part human? so fairies are born from a baby's first laugh, right? (if you didn't know now you know. this is the same in both books and movies) well the laugh prilla came from had a little too much of her human's personality, so this effected her memory and her ability to conform in their fairy society (she regularly would mix up british human lingo with the fairy stuff and it bugs the fairies. remember how i said they were all dicks? yeah they don't like humans, prilla is a little too human at first and it bugs them). but it also gave her everything she needed for her talent (she's the one and only "mainland blinking fairy clapping" talent. if you've ever read the og peter pan book or heard of the stage play when tinker bell is about to die and they're like "clap if you believe in fairies!". yeah prilla's talent is to astral project her image to the human land and get them to clap periodically to keep fairies going strong.

sidenote fairies apparently REGULARLY died before prilla came along. and it's sad and the fairies get but also it's very "oh that sucks :/ but we gotta keep it pushin!". now in the movies the fairies are still at risk from like birds of pray or bodily harm, but the dying of disbelief is a non-issue.

it's not that there's NO romance in the books, it's that there's next to none. it's terence and his crush on tinker bell and tinker bell with her unrequited crush on and later heartbreak surrounding peter pan. tink is fully aware of terence's feelings for her, and the feeling isn't really mutual? she's mostly afraid of heartbreak but still she'd rather just stay friends with him.

OH! early book terence is like a legit incel. he used to have a different design too, and like he really looked like something outta the virgin vs chad meme (in fact i DID make a meme about it)

mothertrucker actually used magic to make tinker bell fall in love with him (it doesn't lead anywhere beyond just her being obsessed with and wanting to be next to him all the time. get your mind outta the gutter these books are for kids). and he is RELUCTANT to try to turn her back to normal. oh and she's completely aware after the fact of how she acted and felt and that it was terence's fault. she just like forgives him and moves on without really addressing it.

movie terence sometimes goes a little far for tinker bell but it never feels like he's doing more than any of her main friend group, you know? but in the books terence isn't really a FRIEND like the other characters are, he feels separate from the rest of them.

fairy society? kinda communistic. everyone works for the good of the collective to keep things running smoothly

all talents are important and useful (yes, even art talents and music talents and all sorts of stuff. decor, decoration, beautification of surroundings, and entertainment are all appreciated) i assume this is one of the reasons why the "unable to engage in your talent" type of "incomplete" is so serious and pitied. if you cannot help the collective, then what are you to the collective? (this is not to say however that rest days are not employed and encouraged, they absolutely are! leisure and rest and recuperation are necessary and highly encouraged. it's much harder to get a fairy to STOP doing something involving their talents, BECAUSE it brings them so much joy and self-fulfillment). but to permanently be unable to work for the benefit of the community?

but i digress! my point is EVERYONE is useful. there are even fairies who's talents are "tall tale telling". liars, they're good at lying. but this falls under the category of "storytelling" and fairies love stories. i said entertainment is appreciated!

everyone eats at the same time and meals are provided

their homes are made up and customized for them when they first arrive (read: are born)

everyone can engage in hobbies as well (rosetta in the movies and the books is a fan of fashion and dressing up and doing self care) at any time and basically just have to ask for help or for materials if they want. there may be trading involved in case what you want is something that gets in the way of someone else's work or their own collection. but for the most part fairies are fine sharing whatever excess. (an example shown in "art lessons by bess" the art talents also help make paint and refill storage. they're free to use whatever they want and that includes other fairies as well, but they help make more for whoever needs it)

a talent isn't just the 1 activity a fairy does everyday forever, it can also include a whole host of other duties and activities to help out. some fairies even help in other areas when their specific talent isn't in demand (ex. party planning talents, or celebration set-up talents help to set up the tea room between meals when a party isn't being prepared. garden talents don't just grow flowers they can also grow different kinds of foods, or help with plant knowledge or assist nursing talents acquire herbs for different remedies)

queen clarion has a talent, she is a "queen talent" fairy. she presumably took over after the last queen (it is stated Vidia and the Fairy Crown that there have been multiple queens in the past and the crown with the crown jewels have been passed down to each queen since before the time of pixie hollow and it survived the great calamity). very bee like to have been born primed to be a queen. i think it's also implied that fairies don't grow like humans do, and it's likely that clarion was born in the form she is now and has always been that "age"

(if you apply that logic to the movies, then fairy mary and fairy gary and milori and the scribe from the winter region were also all that old the whole time)

winter fairies dont exist books. their jobs are basically just subsets of the other talents. and i think pixie hollow doesn't snow. i gotta double check on that and finish reading my books.

HEADCANON TIME (admittedly there aren't a lot of these)

i got a comment about this once on tiktok which led to me having to explain a little more about talents in general and how fairy identity works. but someone pointed out that prilla is very autistic-coded. and i was like "they're ALL autistic coded" no seriously bc of talents and how...preoccupied everyone can be with their talents, it gives off a "special interest" kinda vibe. and depending on the fairy they're showcase more symptoms people common have on the spectrum.

i mentioned earlier that prilla has her whole "a little too human" effecting her focus and memories? yeah she talks differently, she has habits that are considered good mannered in humans but really strange to fairies. she regularly astral projects by "blinking to the mainland", and the way it's written it gives off maladaptive daydreaming (disclaimer, maladaptive daydreaming is NOT a symptom of autism spectrum disorder, but i've noticed many folks under the neurodivergent umbrella also have this) as it butts into the current narrative and when prilla "wakes up" she can be unaware of what has happened around her or what kinds of conversations took place (not all the time. in some cases muscle memory for menial labor takes over and she can keep up just fine as long as someone doesn't interrupt the routine. not unlike real life for some folks). the blinking thing also could be read as a form of stimming/bodily regulation. talents for fairies, and engaging in activities involving their talents brings them joy, comfort and self-fulfillment. also she cartwheels a lot, which is also very stim-like.

iris, a garden talent, is also very "common depiction of autism"-like to me, however it's in a kinda negative light. she infodumps about plants, doesn't seem to get the social cue that people want her to be quiet or leave, and is generally seen as a nuisance to others around her. she's also got the quirk that she's not very good at growing plants, which is odd. she's said to have had her own garden at once point and then lost it (i think the implication being she left it unattended for too long and the plot of land was given to someone else, and everyone has since forgotten she ever tended to that plot, but she didn't fight for it either). because of this odd history and quirk of hers some fairies believe her to be "incomplete" (a term that has a few meanings that are all VERY disability/birth defect/developmentally challenged coded. including but not limited to, something wrong with one's wings like them being shaped in a way that makes it difficult or even impossible to fly, missing limbs or extremities, lacking a talent, losing the ability to engage in one's talent and fulfill their role in fairy society, for example a scout that cannot see cannot help protect the home tree and fairies from birds of prey). not everyone believes this, and very few if any would actually say it to her face, this is a very serious claim and kinda taboo to say out loud. I'm making her sound incredibly sympathetic, aren't i? and i want to agree that she is but also she is kinda catty in the books (fairies are dicks. i keep tellin ya. VERY endearing but kinda frustrating all the same)

EVERYTHING about rani after she cut off her wings on a mission to save mother dove. VERY physically disabled coded. she lost limbs (specifically 2 limbs that are also integral to fairy identity. fairies love their talents and they love to fly) and the others pity her and say things like how they "could never do such a thing". rani doesn't regret the decision, however, she got to experience swimming, something she always wanted to do and something fairies cannot do. (they sink because their wings absorb water and drag them down. and yes they can drown and die; even in the rain) and i LOVE that she's proud of both her decision and she enjoys being flightless for the most part, after watching a lot of crutchesandspice (imani) on tiktok and her talks of disability justice and giving more info from a disability perspective, many disabled folks don't hate nor wish they weren't disabled (what they want is for society to accept and better/actually accommodate disabled people) so i LOVE that for rani. and i love the perspective of someone living their best life.

rani also has 2 other quirks, one is because of plot reasons from the 2nd book (quest for the wand) and the other is just a quirk she's always had. 1. rani can finish people's sentences, she's got this sixth sense for what people are going to say and yes it does sometimes bother them to be interrupted. her friends just get used to it and basically ignore it and keep conversations going. 2. she was at one point turned into a bat (vengeful mermaid magic. also MERMAIDS ARE GIANT DICKS. welcome to neverland everyone is an azzhat) and her brain basically fused with the bat's brain because not only did she turn into a bat, that bat ALSO had it's own consciousness? i can't explain that without rereading the book (or you can read it yourself. it's Fairy Haven and the Quest for the Wand) but apparently when she turned back into a fairy the bat conscious, still lingered in her mind? i literally don't even know what to make of that. i'm not calling it Disassociative Identity Disorder (if you are someone with DID and it resonates with you, more power to you. me with my bachelor's in psychology and VERY basic understanding of the disorder am not comfortable really calling it that mostly because it doesn't really seem like it fits the criteria for that sort of "diagnosis")

terence! terence and all the other dust talent fairies have a special specific teacup to measure dust EXACTLY. autistics and our special utensils, am i right? iykyk xD no but really it's a big deal they all carry those cups around and if they break it's a big deal.

many other talents that also have specific tools to do their jobs (tinkers/pots-and-pans with their hammers or screwdrivers or whatever, sweepers with their brooms, to name a couple) also have their favorites that are painstakingly crafted/selected. and using any other would feel unnatural or inefficient or just plain wrong.

ok that's a lot and everything i could think of off the top of my head and it's like 2am and i wanna sleep. so i'll have to continue this some other day if/when i think of more.

[wuhuha]

Just a *gasp* non-chibi sketch dump. Maybe one day I will learn to render hair beyond 1 shadow layer + a higlight one.

Been stressing about learning how to color my art lately, so been enjoying just doing good ol' line art.

[borbonsg]

send me 🍹 for a short fanfic/headcanon of our muses // @notprinceadonis

i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you.

— no archive warnings apply, jason hatzis/nicolás amadeu borbón y grecia, bisexual disaster nicolás amadeu borbón y grecia, violence, period typical violence, blood, angst with a happy ending, getting together, and they were medieval roommates, adonis mentioned, not actually medieval, like early 1800s, no beta we die like men.

DIA 1.

jason foi carregado para casa por dois homens desconhecidos. seu rosto e corpo tinham múltiplos machucados e aqueles eram certamente o motivo pelo qual ele estava desacordado. na sua mesa de trabalho nico cortou a roupa que ele estava usando, encharcada de sangue e obstruindo a visão do que era o maior corte de facada que nico já tinha visto. limpando com mais cuidado ele pode ver, sem tanto sangue no local, que não foi uma facada e sim um corte de uma ponta a outra, profundo no músculo e feito com lentidão. quem quer que tenha feito aquilo com jason queria que aquilo fosse lento e doloroso.

— o que foi que aconteceu com ele? — seu sotaque espanhol atrapalhou suas palavras enquanto ele gritava olhando sobre o ombro, mas os homens apenas deram de ombros. um deles estava claramente bêbado e o outro não parecia estar em completa posse de suas faculdades mentais. inúteis.

nicolás fez questão de expulsá-los antes de seguir cuidando do seu amigo. limpou tudo com cuidado e por mais que torcesse para que ele seguisse dormindo ao suturar seu braço, jason acordou com gritos de dor no segundo ponto. ele havia servido ao exército britânico na guerra, trabalhou como médico e ajudou incontáveis homens a não morrer com a perda de sangue: estava acostumado com os gritos e com a luta que pessoas travam quando sentem dor. era claro que jason ia tentar sair de perto dele. ele estava pronto para a luta, mas não para ver o amigo em dor.

— jason, sou eu! — ele tentou segurar os braços do outro contra a mesa, mas jason já estava delirando de dor a ponto de não conseguir ver que estava seguro. nico podia ser um curandeiro, mas ele não tinha tudo em mãos. precisou desmaiar o outro com uma mistura de ervas que nem deveria ter dentro de casa. ver o outro de olhos fechados e saber que ele não acordaria tão cedo ajudou nicolás a fazer o seu trabalho. 

duas horas depois, nicolás havia terminado. quatro horas depois, jason acordou. 

— o que aconteceu? — nicolás não estava ao lado de jason quando ele acordou. a voz grave dele fez seu caminho até a cozinha, onde o espanhol estava limpando toda a sujeira que ele havia feito. quando percebeu de quem se tratava, nicolás largou tudo e foi correndo até o quarto, assustado com algo que não sabia o que era.

— você está bem. — ele sentou-se nos pés da cama, cenho franzido e deixando bem claro que não estava nem um pouco feliz com toda aquela situação. em que confusão jason havia se metido? — em que confusão você se meteu dessa vez? — sua voz não saiu tão controlada quanto ele imaginava. 

— eu… não foi culpa minha. — sua voz estava fraca, rouca. — eu não lembro direito. eu estava voltando da padaria e… eles me cercaram. — enquanto tentava de forma desesperada lembrar dos fatos, jason levou a mão a cabeça e sua expressão se transformou numa de susto. — meu cabelo… 

— está horrível, eles cortaram quase tudo. — jason não tinha cabelo longo, mas com certeza não estava tão ralo quanto estava agora. 

— por que… por que eles fariam isso? — jason tentou se arrastar na cama em busca do pequeno pedaço de espelho que guardava numa mesa de cabeceira, mas foi impedido por nicolás.

— não! nada de se mexer! ordens médicas… — ele mesmo pegou o pedaço de espelho e ofereceu a ele, mas jason apenas ficou olhando para o mais velho. alguns segundos se passaram antes que nico tentasse indicar o espelho novamente, mas ao invés de pegar o objeto, jason deu um tapa na mão do amigo e se retraiu. nico estava pronto para começar uma briga ao ver que o único espelho que eles tinham agora era lixo, mas foi impedido ao ver que jason estava com medo genuíno. — eu acho que… eu acho que é melhor eu ir. 

acima de tudo, nico não queria forçar respostas de jason. o que quer que tenham feito com ele foi o suficiente para fazer ele ter medo de uma aproximação de quem conhecia tão bem. ele jogou o peso do seu corpo com força sob a cadeira da cozinha. encarou a cadeira do lado oposto, onde nessa hora jason estaria dividindo os detalhes do seu dia após voltar do trabalho e nicolás estaria escutando tudo religiosamente. trabalhar de casa o fazia entrar em um tédio típico, mas estaria mentindo se dissesse que esperava jason só porque sentia-se entediado. 

aos poucos, ele terminou a limpeza do local, intercalando em ficar com ódio daquela situação toda e com medo. medo das reações futuras de jason. ele já havia visto aquilo, é claro. homens que iam para a guerra tinham seus traumas. mas aquilo não era guerra, aquilo era diferente. 

— jason? — nicolás bateu na porta do quarto uma hora depois, carregando consigo um prato de sopa. era tudo que eles comiam, normalmente. o dinheiro era apertado e eles faziam questão de dividir tudo que tinham, comida principalmente. a cabeça loira, agora meio raspada, levantou levemente. — eu trouxe comida, você deve estar com fome. 

aquilo foi suficiente para que jason tentasse, da melhor forma, levantar seu tronco. nicolás ajudou ele, com movimentos lentos para não piorar a situação, tanto do emocional quanto do físico dele. levou o prato na direção do colo do dele ainda com movimentos lentos, mas conseguia ver que seu olhar estava distante. apático as coisas que aconteciam ali. 

— você consegue comer sozinho?

— sim, consigo. 

— eu vou te deixar sozinho. mais tarde eu busco o prato. — mas não era aquilo que ele queria dizer e sentiu-se estúpido por dizer. queria ficar ali, do lado de jason como o outro havia feito tantas vezes por ele. queria ser burro e teimoso e insistir naquilo, insistir em mostrar que era seguro confiar nele. porém, o lado de nicolás que sabia que aquilo não ajudaria em nada falou mais alto. 

quando ele mesmo havia terminado de jantar, na cozinha, ele retornou ao quarto para recolher o prato e viu que jason não só havia comido bem, como já estava dormindo novamente. contra todos os seus instintos, ele se permitiu olhar o outro dormir por um instante. um pé já fora do quarto, mas suas costas encostadas no batente da porta. o peito dele subia e descia no seu ritmo normal, estava sem camisa ainda, seu peito coberto por ataduras que provavelmente ainda doíam mais do que nico podia imaginar. havia botado um pouco de sonífero na sopa, é verdade, pois não sabia se jason iria receber bem remédios vindo dele depois do episódio de mais cedo. 

ele conseguiu se arrastar até a cozinha ainda mais uma vez e jogou os pratos usados na pia, jogou com um pouco mais de força do que o necessário. sabia que ia voltar para o quarto dali alguns segundos para dividir sua noite ao lado de alguém que amava tanto, que estava tão machucado e ele nem ao menos sabia o que tinha acontecido. não sabia se ainda corriam risco ou se jason ficaria bem. talvez fosse esse o momento em que sua sabedoria falharia com ele, talvez não tivesse dado remédio suficiente ou o remédio errado e seu prezado amigo nem acordaria na manhã seguinte. talvez não tivesse percebido algum detalhe sobre a saúde de jason que o fosse levar no meio da noite. os talvez o acompanharam ao tirar a roupa, o acompanharam ao entrar debaixo do lençol da sua cama e o acompanhariam em seus sonhos. 

ele deitou-se virado para a cama de jason, mas não o conseguia enxergar, de qualquer jeito. logo quando começaram a dividir a casa, que por via das dúvidas, era minúscula, ele foi o primeiro a dar a ideia de usar um armário velho e um lençol para fazer algum tipo de divisão no quarto e há um bom tempo ele já se arrependia. com certeza aquela não foi sua escolha mais sábia e agora ele talvez não fosse mais ter a oportunidade de mudar de ideia. 

DIA 2.

nicolás sempre acordou cedo, era natural para ele. escutou o sino da igreja próxima tocar e ele, com seu sono leve, se pôs de pé. observou enquanto se vestia que jason ainda estava dormindo. bom. a dose ainda não havia passado e pelo que parecia, a noite havia sido tranquila. 

ele largou todos os seus afazeres, botou uma placa de fechado na frente de casa, onde normalmente atendia enfermos tão pobres quanto eles e correu para o outro lado da praça principal onde a padaria que jason trabalha fica. tratou de avisar o chefe, que não ficou muito gostoso, mas que aceitou ao nicolás dizer que o homem poderia ir ver o empregado a hora que quisesse. felizmente, o homem barbudo preferia aceitar do que se locomover algumas quadras. 

nicolás voltou para casa de mãos cheias, tendo usado suas últimas moedas para comprar um pedaço de pão, uma garrafa de leite e um pote de mel. o mel era para os machucados, mas dependendo de quanto jason pedisse, nico deixaria que ele usasse no pão. ele nunca foi um homem extremamente rígido e jason tinha o dom de amolecer ainda mais o coração e as supostas regras impostas por ele. 

a casa ainda estava silenciosa quando ele chegou, mas meros segundos após ele chegar, um estrondo seguido de um baque surdo fizeram nico largar tudo correndo na mesa da cozinha e seguir pelo corredor até o quarto. 

— eu disse que você não podia levantar ainda! — ele quis gritar, quis ser rígido, mas não conseguiu. jason havia tentado se apoiar no armário que separava as camas de ambos e acabou derrubando um vaso de flores que tentava, falhamente, decorar o quarto sem vida. 

— eu lembrei de algumas coisas, acordei assustado e… — sua voz ainda estava fraca, mas agora ele tinha um pouco mais de certeza nas palavras. — foi uma briga de bar, eu acho… 

— o que? te torturaram por causa de uma briga de bar? — aquilo não fazia sentido para nicolás e ele não fazia questão de esconder. seu olhar incentivava o loiro a seguir falando, mas sua prioridade era ajudar ele a voltar para a cama.

— não! não foi exatamente assim, eu não estava no bar. o senhor walton pediu para eu ficar até mais tarde trabalhando, eu acabei saindo muito tarde, já tinha passado da meia noite quando eu resolvi voltar. — nicolás não se orgulha disso, mas quando jason não voltou naquela noite, uma pequena parte dele sentiu ciúmes. agora ele se arrepende de ter pensado o que pensou. — eu só vi quando eles me cercaram e… 

— você não precisa continuar… — ele começou, mas foi interrompido antes de terminar. 

— eles acharam que eu era o príncipe adonis.

o silêncio tomou conta do quarto. nico ficou encarando o amigo, procurando qualquer sinal de que ele esteja brincando, mas era óbvio que não. ele jamais brincaria com algo assim. o fato de que jason carregava uma semelhança absurda com o príncipe já havia sido muito discutida, o próprio príncipe já havia conhecido sua cópia plebeia, apesar de que havia ficado bem claro que aquele não era um fato apreciado. 

— por que eles fariam isso? — nico perguntou, não mais alto do que um sussurro. 

— eu não sei. — jason sibilou ao tentar dar de ombros, a dor com certeza tomando conta de si. — eles acharam que tinham conseguido sequestrar o príncipe, estavam bêbados e queriam dinheiro. 

— isso não um simples… sequestro. eles quase te mataram. — sabia que havia levantado o tom e sido ríspido demais quando viu que o outro se deixou ser fraco e começou a chorar. de todas as situações possíveis que nicolás havia imaginado durante a noite, enquanto tentava desenhar a sombra de jason dormindo do outro lado do lençol, nenhuma delas chegou nem perto disso. 

ele deixou que jason chorasse por alguns minutos antes de se levantar e ir até a cozinha. da pata direita da pia, dando cinco passos para a frente e um à direita, havia um alçapão escondido. era um buraco pequeno, mas lá estava o bem mais caro de nico: um rifle. ele sabia que não podia esconder a arma de jason se pretendia levá-la para o quarto, então não tentou. 

— eu sei que você está com medo, mas você confia em mim, não confia? — ele saiu falando antes que o outro pudesse pular para conclusões. o medo de ver uma arma poderia cegar ele, mas ainda era nicolás ali. ainda era o homem que havia gasto todo a sua energia em cuidar dele nas últimas vinte e quatro horas, que teve todas as chances de machucá-lo e não o fez. jason apenas concordou e deixou seu olhar fugir enquanto nico largava a arma em cima do armário. 

— eu preciso trocar o seu curativo. — nico já tinha pegado o mel, as ervas e as ataduras limpas. sabia que o processo de limpar os curativos seria longo e doloroso, então optou por fazer as coisas ao contrário do que normalmente fazia. — mas antes você precisa de um banho. eu tentei te limpar o máximo que consegui, mas ainda tem sangue seco no seu pescoço e no seu cabelo. falando no seu cabelo… — ele aos poucos se aproximou, levando a mão com todo o carinho do mundo a cabeça de jason, tocou algumas partes e tentou olhar onde ele estava encostado no travesseiro. estava claramente mal cortado, mas aquilo era o de menos, considerando que eles haviam cortado a pele de jason em vários locais. — a gente precisa fazer algo sobre o seu cabelo. 

jason apenas concordou e nico percebeu que ele havia voltado ao seu estado apático. essas coisas iam e vinham, era normal. nicolás guiou o amigo pela próxima hora, ambos sem falar uma palavra. o espanhol havia esquentado água do lado de fora da casa e a princípio pensou em lavar o cabelo do outro nos fundos da casa, onde tinha mais luz, mas não achou que seria uma boa ideia. acendeu uma lamparina perto da bacia e lavou com calma a cabeça dele. às vezes jason se esquivava, considerando a posição vulnerável que estava: sentado num banco, de costas para nicolás, mas nico era insistente. quando isso acontecia, ele segurava o rosto de jason com calma, olhava nos olhos dele por alguns segundos, esperando que o homem voltasse a si. que as memórias parassem um pouco. nesse ritmo, lento e preciso, nico conseguiu lavar o cabelo dele e depois tentar alinhá-lo com uma tesoura. algumas partes doíam, por causa dos machucados e nessa questão ele não insistiu muito. 

— obrigado. — foi tudo que jason disse quando nico terminou de secar sua cabeça. o mais velho ainda estava sentado atrás dele e portanto eles não estavam se olhando diretamente. — obrigado por cuidar de mim, sei que estou tomando seu tempo e…

— não. — nico o cortou. tudo que ele menos precisava agora é que o loiro se culpasse. — você não toma meu tempo. você faria o mesmo por mim, não é? 

— sim, mas…

— mas? 

jason apenas negou com a cabeça e nico o deixou. o que quer que eles tivessem para conversar poderia esperar, como estava sendo adiada há muito tempo. 

de novo deitado, jason não falou uma palavra enquanto nicolás trocava suas ataduras. era óbvio que doía, o tecido grudando nos machucados e nos pontos, precisando ser retirados com toda a calma do mundo por nicolás, que observava cada mínima reação para tentar evitar que aquilo tudo piorasse. voltou os mesmos remédios de antes e o mel. 

— eu trouxe pão e leite. está com fome? — e em resposta, o estômago de jason roncou em alto e bom som.

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

mais tarde naquela noite, ambos já estavam deitados em suas camas e quase dormindo, mas algo ainda incomodava nicolás.

— você não devia ter aceitado ficar até mais tarde naquele lugar. o seu chefe é um ser humano horrível. 

o silêncio se prolongou por um tempo a ponto de nicolás achar que o outro já havia dormido, mas jason não dormia tão fácil e ele não havia posto sonífero dessa vez. 

— eu perderia o emprego se dissesse não. você sabe disso. — jason pareceu irritado com o comentário do outro, mas ele sabia que nico carregava uma teimosia imensa e aquilo não era suficiente para ele.

— talvez você não devesse trabalhar lá. — nico já pensava nisso há muito tempo, mas tinha receio de comentar.  — peça demissão. 

uma risada veio antes da resposta de jason: — e o que você sugere que eu faça da minha vida? 

— é óbvio, não é? abra uma padaria aqui em casa.

— nicolás… 

nico soube automaticamente que havia tocado com toda a sua força em um machucado ainda aberto. jason já tinha tido uma padaria antes e foi assim que eles se conheceram. ele ainda morava com a sua família e trabalhava com seu pai, dedicando seus dias a fazer o que amava e fazendo do seu jeito. e é claro, nicolás lembra com a maior clareza do mundo do dia em que eles se conheceram. ele tinha acabado de voltar da guerra, estava descontente com tudo e com todos e desejava imensamente voltar para o seu país de origem um dia. trabalhava igual um cavalo, dia e noite, como ferreiro na esperança de juntar dinheiro o suficiente para embarcar de volta para a espanha. esse plano desandou quando conheceu jason. era o homem mais lindo do mundo inteiro e de repente sua vontade de ir embora sumiu e sumia toda vez que ele gastava libra atrás de libra comprando tudo e qualquer coisa que jason produzia. eles viraram amigos rapidamente e ainda eram amigos quando a padaria fechou. 

as vezes que nicolás deixou claro para jason que a culpa em nenhum momento foi dele ou de sua capacidade foram incontáveis. era importante que o outro soubesse disso. 

— eu não estou brincando. tente novamente. 

— eu já falhei uma vez. — foi tudo que jason respondeu, mas nico não estava feliz. 

ele se levantou rápido e impulsivamente, sentindo sua visão ficar preta por um segundo. a determinação sumiu do seu corpo antes mesmo que ele pudesse puxar o lençol da sua frente. alguns segundos se passaram antes que ele se sentisse estúpido. o que faria se passasse dali? tomaria, finalmente, a coragem de dizer tudo que pensa para jason? tiraria todo aquele peso de seu peito que insistia em lhe incomodar?

— nico…? — sua voz foi um sussurro, puxando o espanhol de volta para a realidade. claro que jason podia ver ele ali, ponderando entre o que fazer. — eu nunca gostei desse lençol. 

— nem eu. — confessou também, tirando o tecido do seu caminho, podendo finalmente ver o outro. aquilo não o ajudou muito, sentindo o afeto que nutria pelo outro queimar no seu peito ao vê-lo ali. quando tudo isso passasse, nicolás se perguntaria como que conseguiu cuidar dele sem sofrer junto. 

— pense sobre isso. eu vou te ajudar quando puder. 

— não quero falar sobre isso, não mais. por favor. 

e nico acatou, como sempre fazia. se fosse daquela maneira, tudo bem, mas aquela resposta não acalmava seu coração. as implicações de como jason ficaria quando ele fosse embora haviam mudado. aquele era para ser seu melhor amigo. nas peças e livros que nico havia lido, um homem como nicolás deveria descrever jason como um irmão. alexandre dumas, charles dickens, ernest hemingway e muitos outros já haviam escrevido amizades como a deles, mas nunca terminaram como nico queria que terminassem. será que esses homens sabiam da existência do amor que nicolás nutria por jason? será que eles sabiam que homens como nicolás jamais descreveriam jason como a outra metade de sua alma e o chamariam de irmão logo em seguida? que se o destino reservasse para nicolás uma vida sem jason, isso simplesmente não lhe bastaria? 

— nicolás? — jason chamou e pela expressão em seu rosto, ficou claro que não era a primeira vez que o chamava. — você pode… pode me dar remédio para dormir? eu estou sentindo muita dor. 

a resposta certa seria não, mas a clareza de que nunca poderia dizer não a jason já havia tomado conta dele. 

— claro. 

nicolás deitou ao lado de jason após dar o remédio eles dormiram juntos, o sono tomando conta de nico bem depois do que o normal. 

DIA 3.

nicolás acordou com o barulho da porta dos fundos batendo. ele saltou da cama apenas quando viu que jason já não estava ao seu lado. pavor tomou conta do seu corpo, automaticamente se culpando: se haviam entrado aqui e pegado jason novamente, como que ele não havia acordado? saiu correndo da maneira que pôde, sem sapatos e com rifle em mãos, pronto para atirar em quem aparecesse na sua frente. 

os fundos da casa deles era um chão de terra, molhada pela chuva constante, um banco velho embaixo da janela e um cocho que há muito não via comida pela ausência de um cavalo, pois o último que nicolás tinha foi vendido no último aniversário de jason. 

esperava tudo, menos ver jason sentado no banco, como se não estivesse completamente remendado, chorando enquanto olhava para um pedaço de papel que ele conhecia muito bem e achava estar guardado muito bem. 

— onde você achou isso? — com certeza não foi o seu momento mais inteligente, escolhendo mal suas palavras. 

— você vai embora?

não havia hora certa para contar para o seu amigo machucado e traumatizado que você tinha comprado as passagens para a espanha. não havia momento certo para contar ao homem que você ama que você o ama e apesar disso o vai deixar sozinho. 

— eu… — jogou seu corpo no banco ao lado de jason, encostando o rifle do seu lado no banco. — eu vou. — automaticamente a expressão de dor e traição tomou conta do rosto de jason, seus olhos com claras lágrimas. — são muitos motivos, não é apenas porque eu quero. eu recebi uma carta da coroa, eles estão me expulsando do país, eles não querem que eu siga praticando… meus trabalhos aqui.

— e você não pensou em me contar isso antes? nicolás eu… 

— você o que, jason? — agora nicolás estava com um pouco de raiva. ele não devia nada ao outro, na verdade não devia nada a ninguém e tinha feito questão disso. — o que mudaria se eu tivesse lhe contado antes? seria só mais tempo para você ficar me olhando com essa cara. — nicolás arrancou o papel das mãos do amigo, botando o rifle no seu ombro novamente e estendendo a mão livre para que o outro pegasse. — e eu achei que tinha deixado bem claro que você não pode se mexer, muito menos se arrastar até aqui fora. está frio! você quer pegar uma gripe e morrer? — a bravura na sua voz era inexistente, deixando bem claro que estava preocupado apenas. 

DIA 6.

três dias haviam se passado e nada havia melhorado, como nico sabia que ia acontecer. jason é bom demais para fingir que a notícia da partida de nicolás não havia o afetado. nada daquilo melhoraria até que ele estivesse em um navio para o outro país. ou talvez isso só fosse piorar tudo. talvez jason iria o atormentar eternamente. de qualquer modo, ele precisava tentar e descobrir. 

— voltei! — jason já estava um pouco melhor, já conseguia caminhar normalmente e já conseguia limpar seus machucados sozinho, então nico voltou a anunciar quando estava em casa. 

— de onde você tirou esses livros? — foi a primeira coisa que jason perguntou quando nico pisou no quarto deles, segurando dois dos quinze livros que o espanhol tinha guardado.

nicolás havia começado a fazer as malas dois dias antes, não era muita coisa como sempre, mas agora ele estava juntando toda a sua vida para levar para outro país. precisava de mais organização. 

— eu roubei. — ele deu de ombros, sorrindo ao ver jason deixar seu queixo cair, surpreso com esse lado secreto de quem conhecia tão bem. — antes de trabalhar como ferreiro eu trabalhei como jardineiro. pessoas ricas tem muitas coisas que dão valor e vão perceber imediatamente quando forem roubadas, mas livros normalmente não faz parte dessa lista. e você tem que saber quais roubar e tudo… mas é, roubados. 

— você nunca me disse que tinha livros. — jason pareceu um pouco chateado com isso, mas não era nada muito profundo. 

— você nunca perguntou. — ele deu de ombros, tentando ignorar a leve melancolia que tomou conta dele. — fique com eles… os livros. — nico separou a pilha de livro de suas coisas e botou do lado de jason do quarto. — será meu presente de despedida. vou arranjar livros na minha língua materna quando chegar lá. — a dor que sentia em dizer tais coisas com certeza não tinha nada a ver com seu apego aos livros — agora chega disso, vamos jantar. eu comprei batatas novas.

foi durante a janta, ambos a mesa, que jason falou:

— eu… eu posso ir com você. 

não foi uma pergunta, mas mesmo assim nicolás respondeu com rispidez e certeza. 

— não. — ele negou com a cabeça e seguiu comendo, como se dizer aquela palavra de três letras não fosse contra tudo que ele queria dizer naquele momento. 

— nicolás, aqui não é seguro- 

— não. você não vai comigo. se mude para o país de seus pais, vá para a frança. você se daria muito bem na frança, sabia? — nico seguia comendo, observando seu prato com a maior atenção do mundo. — mas não para a espanha. 

— olhe para mim. — o pedido veio com uma voz calma, diferente do rumo que a voz do espanhol estava tomando. 

— você não pode fazer isso comigo, jason… — foi quase uma súplica. apenas de olhar nos olhos azuis do outro, nico soube que não poderia ir embora sem deixar as coisas claras. — eu vou tomar isso como uma chance de recomeçar, de esquecer você. não peça para ir comigo. 

— você quer me esquecer? 

— sim. 

— por que? — agora sim jason estava machucado, no escuro e sem entender o que havia feito para o amigo para receber uma reação tão drástica. por mais óbvios que seus sentimentos por nicolás fosse, ele jamais imaginou que o outro iria correr dele daquela maneira. ele nunca imaginou um final feliz para eles, mas sempre esteve longe daquilo. 

— amar você é a coisa mais fácil e desesperadora que eu já fiz. eu me pergunto se você sabe o que significa quando eu tento de todas as maneiras afastar você de mim. você sabe? — jason apenas negou, tentando processar as palavras que tinha acabado de ouvir. — não é porque eu te quero menos. é porque eu te quero tanto que acho que o mínimo passo em falso vai fazer você fugir de mim. 

— então você vai fugir? 

— você sabe que eu não estou apenas fugindo. 

— está sim! — jason não havia gritado com nico há tanto tempo que o ato fez com que ele encolhesse os ombros. a comida estava na mesa, há muito esquecida. — você pode usar qualquer desculpa que você quiser, mas você está indo embora por um motivo muito claro! e é por minha causa. você quer olhar nos meus olhos e me dizer que está fazendo isso para me esquecer? como você ousa dizer isso se nunca ao menos teve a coragem de me beijar? 

aquilo quebrou nicolás e qualquer fachada que ele tentou manter. foi o suficiente para ele se sentir a pior pessoa do mundo. ele quis beijar jason desde o primeiro momento em que se conheceram e não o fez por medo. medo das implicações de um beijo correspondido acima de qualquer medo de rejeição. nunca houve medo de rejeição pois nico sabia que o que quer que sentia, jason sentia o mesmo. então quando ele tomou o rosto do loiro e o beijou, nico sabia que seria correspondido. sabia que não poderia voltar atrás, que não importa o quão longe ele fosse, ele jamais esqueceria jason. 

DIA 44.

— eu sinto que você ama mais essa cavalo do que eu. — jason observava nico escovando o animal de pelagem castanha da porta da casa deles. o sol da espanha batia forte na cabeça de nicolás ele sabia que já deveria ter entrado há uns bons minutos. 

— não me peça para escolher entre você e strawberry. não temos dinheiro para mandar você de volta para a inglaterra. — nico tirou suas compras das costas do animal, entrando em casa e sentindo o alívio ao estar na sombra novamente. 

— como estão as coisas na cidade?

— a senhora martinez pediu que você faça mais dois pães de nozes, o senhor e a senhora gomez querem aqueles negocinhos pequenos… os…

— croissants? – a voz de jason vinha da dispensa, já separando algumas das compras para começar a produção de pedidos na primeira hora da tarde, para que desse tempo de nico voltar na cidade com tudo pronto e fresquinho. 

— isso mesmo, croissants! eles querem trinta desses para um chá da tarde amanhã, então esses eu levo amanhã de manhã… a esposa do barbeiro - 

— marta? 

— isso, marta! ela quer uma torta de maça com conhaque. tem também pedido de cinquenta pães para a padaria do centro da cidade, eles disseram que pagam mais dessa vez e eu disse que falaria com você primeiro.

— cinquenta é muito, eles vão ter que pagar bem. — jason parou para comentar, antes de voltar para a dispensa com ainda mais coisas. strawberry era um cavalo forte.

— quinze por cento a mais do que da última vez foi a oferta deles. 

— diga para eles que pode ser, mas você vai ter que me ajudar! - o grito de aviso veio antes de jason voltar para a cozinha. nicolás odiava cozinhar, mas ele fazia o melhor quando o assunto era ajudar o outro nas encomendas que tinha. 

ele estava morto de cansado, o caminho entre a casa deles e a cidade levava mais que quarenta minutos e ele o fazia de manhã e de tarde, fazendo o máximo para manter os clientes felizes. seu corpo doía por inteiro, mas nico era um homem forte o suficiente para não se ver cansado, pelo contrário. toda vez que via jason na porta de casa o esperando sabia que precisava repor as energias o mais rápido possível para que toda vez ele pudesse puxar o outro pela cintura para mais um beijo para a lista de tantos outros. para poder sentir o corpo dele grudado ao seu, justificando todo o resto.

— ouvi dizer que você criou confusão com o joalheiro. — jason comentou, entre um beijo e outro, fazendo nico se afastar levemente, com um sorriso culpado. 

— isso foi ontem de tarde, como que essa fofoca chegou aqui tão rápido? — mas ele sabia, é óbvio que nicolás sabia da índole fofoqueira de vários vizinhos dali, de alguns em específico. — não foi uma confusão… — ele começou a se explicar, ignorando a expressão de desdém de jason. — ele só não para de insistir em saber para quem eu dei aquela aliança. 

nico não precisava olhar para saber que a aliança estava no dedo de jason. 

— e o que foi que você disse para ele? 

— com certeza não que eu dei ela para o meu… parceiro de negócios.

[daincrediblegg]

JFJ + to shut them up (please ily)

James loathed nothing more than a pause in conversation. It was an absurd anxiety, he knew, but he'd always tried to fill it. It became easier when he had a wealth of valorous stories to fill that silence with, ones that in good company would find amicable laughter, spark anecdotes from his peers (men and women, who in truth he never felt an equal to), but it never gave him long enough to think about what they must think of him. In his youth, a silence was the sound only of an elephant in the room, and more often than not, that elephant was his, carried it around like a dutiful pet, feeding it the more he told his stories, the more he held up his glorious existence on display. It never sated the silly thing, in the end. The quiet would always come after one way or another. But at least he alone would sit with it, and not another.

He felt lucky, when he realized he didn't have to hide that from you, from Francis, two of the precious few people he could call true friends to him. The silence was comfortable around you. Perhaps for the first time in his life there was a safety in the lull that found him in your company, in your knowing what hung over his shoulders. You didn't need to hear his acts of valor to love him, nor would the truth of him dissuade you from it. Either of you.

And years he never felt the need to don his mask, but on his return to England, it found him again all the same. It found him tonight, stuffed into his naval blue coat and pauldrons, medals and gold hanging off him and trapping him in it. And the need made itself known again. Helpless to recount "that damned sniper story" again, as Francis so liked to remind him. But somehow, the words didn't come as easy as they used to. He found himself pausing more often than not, the flare in his voice gone. But he pressed through, despite so desperately wanting to tell what came of the wound. What scurvy had done to it. But that wouldn't be very pleasant conversation, would it?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his train of thought. His head snapped to find a kind smile, and something of a knowing look in your eyes, peering up at him.

"James, may I borrow you for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

Your eyebrows raised as you nodded towards the door. He nods his excuse to the party of invisible faces he found himself surrounded by, muttering a quiet "of course" before following you into another room, unoccupied, and dark, secluded.

"What is it? Are you all right? Is Francis-" is all he had the time to say before he was forcibly silenced by your quiet caring lips, slotting over them. He felt his heartbeat pick up a moment as your lips lingered, then as he settled into your soft embrace, felt it slow. Parting he found he could not produce another word for a moment.

"Shhh... it's all right James," you crooned, a gentle hand on his cheek, tracing his dimple with your thumb.

"You were doing it again. Looked like you needed saving."

He chuckled a little at that, half out of nerves, half from relief. How many times had you and Francis teased him for that damned sniper story? Too many to count by now.

"I suppose... I was," he sighs, leaning into your touch, close enough to touch his nose with yours. He breathed again, soaking in the blessed quiet, the faint chatter from the party outside feeling far away now.

"Thank you."

You nod, hand reaching to the back of his neck to pet the curls that draped below. He let your quiet reassurance embrace him, wrap him up and calm him, enough his eyes softly shut in contentment for a moment, and then a few more.

"We can leave, you know," you said once the time had passed enough, and James' eyes fluttered open to yours, doe-eyed and concerned and content. Now that was a thought. He'd been so wrapped up in his words, in his nerves, in truth, that he hadn't fully considered that as an option. He considered it seriously now, as you looked at him encouragingly.

"Shall we go?" you ask. James smiled. A sincere one. One that he'd only ever shown to two individuals in his whole life. He smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Please, I... I don't think I have the stomach for much more of this."

You returned his smile, and kissed his cheek again, soundly.

"I'll go get Francis. Get our coats and we'll meet you by the door."

He enjoyed how you gave orders. They always sounded so pleasant he couldn't help but widen his smile to know such care as this. He kissed his confirmation to the corner of your mouth gently, before withdrawing again.

"Don't be long."

"We won't."

Your hand grazed his cheek softly as you went, making its absence even fonder. He stood a moment, plucking up his courage from the floor where you had draped it, and made his exit a short moment after, heading towards the hall where a footman retrieved your coats for him to carry as he waited, already having put on his own.

He was only stood there a few short minutes before hearing the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and James turned to find you and Francis, walking arm in arm towards him. A great sigh left the older man's lips as he trekked down the hall to him, relief washing over his shoulders as he dropped the straightness in his back and square in his shoulders.

"Thank bloody Christ that's over," Francis groaned, eliciting a faint chuckle from his walking partner that made him smile.

"You can say that again," you replied, taking your coat from James' hands, wrapping it around your shoulders with grace and gloved hands. Francis reached next for his own, fingers gripping James' arm gently as he plucked his own coat, lingering a moment.

"All right, James?" he asks, his eyes warm, searching, concerned, glinting a warm pale blue in the candlelight. James nodded, soundlessly save the the small whimper that escaped him in the effort. Francis nods his understanding, a warmth renewing his grip before letting go to don his own coat.

"Home then?" Francis asks. James smiles with thoughts of fireplaces, and a shared warmth, and quiet.

"Yes. Home."

[visionkept]

Tackled 10 projects + papers ( the midterms experience ) and all I got in return was a four days weekend and two earthquakes in my city lol. I'll be sort of "free" up to wednesday at least ! So finally, FINALLY, I can try to write in peace. With the new resurgence of g.enshin blogs and come backs, I got the goal to release Tomo's new blog once and for all before it is too late. And with too late, well, I'll release some thoughts under the cut that got a little bit of vent so feel free to escape that part if it's not of your liking.

My hope of Tomo becoming playable are pretty much gone so I'm starting to consider once and for all to make Tomo my oc ( unaffilated to hoyo and g.enshin in general tho still having their verses tho won't be the main one anymore ) and call it a day. Might still give it a go as the "g.enshin character" but the moment I hit my breaking point I'll simply reorganize the new blog and make it just an oc.

And as breaking point I mean my limit with dealing with hoyo in general. Idk why my interest is going up and down lately cause I'm excited with Natlan's story so far besides... the obvious things and certain character designs that piss me off. Perhaps my downs come mostly out of the f.andom side and HOW TIRING IT IS. Like, not even with the p.okemon fandom it was this infuriating ? ? ?

I've personally decided that my "breaking point" might be when k.azuha and s.cara meet, which seem to be soon with the constant teasing tbh. In general it wouldn't be so bad if the fandom side ( especially the shipping side / not talking about the rpc - u guys are doing amazing bbys <3 ) was so awful and almost impossible to deal with or avoid. K.azuha has become my favorite character out of nowhere and it's a bit depressing that I can't browse his tag or content without it being 90% s.cara focused / centered and having him be so mischaracterized for shipping purposes. I know that when that meeting happens, it will be 99% and boy I don't want the headaches plus the constant "Tomo is dead give it up" comments will skyrocket for sure.

So yeah, Tomo as "genshin centered" is a ticking time bomb. I really do hope that when natlan ends my brain decides to hyperfixate on another game / character ( and one alive or with content this time ) cause I sure need a break from getting crumbs to almost NOTHING.

Hoyo is soon giving me Tomo's adoption papers and I'm sure signing them. Freeing that enby one of these days.

[kiwibirdlafayette]

chaos and balance- the capsize

"i don't think you understand what's actually happening here. If you'd just open your bloody fucking eyes, it's pretty obvious."

Chaos and Balance is a narrative playlist that basically comprises, in a chronological order, my headcanon for the progression of cTom Syndicate and cJordan's relationship through the course of S1, S2, the divorce arc (post-canon part 1), Mianitian Isles and the Aftermath (post-canon part 2, aka Gays on A Boat, Aitheaca, etc.) It started mainly because I really love the potential of using music to tell stories, and how lyrics can be representative of feelings seldom expressed any other way- based on both canon moments, moments I've interpreted as significant to their relationship/overall arcs, and little interludes I've written that take place in between episodes/"off camera" that connect things together in my head. All this being said, it is primarily headcanons, and is purely for fun. dont like dont read lmao

This specific being how keeping in the canon nonsense of capsize x jordan plays a role in cSyndisparklez from my pov :] enjoy!

(Red lyrics are representative of Jordan’s voice, green is Tom! Bolded black is both of them)

The shenanigans of Capsize happen just after falling for the villain,

in which Jordan is forced internally for the first time to come to terms with the fact that yes, he is in love with his friend/enemy/however you wanna put it. Despite how much he annoys him, despite all of his questionable behavior, despite it all, he has fallen head over heels for this absolute bastard of a man, and hates to admit it, but deep down has longed for a kind of affection that he could have.

I'll take my timeI'm not the forward thinker; you read my mind-

But a part of him still remains hesitant, and for one reason or another, refuses to give in, to openly admit it to not just others but himself. It’s at this point (I’ve written in) that Tom’s kissed him twice. The first, just a little peck on the lips he was able to brush off as a joke, just a hahaa ok cool bro that's funny. But the second time, as a cheap play by the zombie to get a purge kill having already caught the Ianitee off guard. It's irritating for sure, to have him weasel his way into free points by taking advantage of a distraction that worked a little too well, but why could he not get it out of his head? It hadn’t felt so wrong, actually, and… he had almost hoped it had been genuine. If it had been genuine, maybe he would have returned the gesture.

Better to leave it unsaidWhy can't I leave it unsaid

Instead they dance around it in banter, blathering on and on to one another in often complete nonsense, refusing to address what’s really on his mind. (You know I talk too much) He could confess, sure. But what happens then? All the meanwhile, Tom is scared he’s losing him. (As I hold your face, I can't find the words I need, and soon the opportunity is drowning)

Never someone all that good with words, he kind of hopes that Jordan will catch on. He has to catch on, sooner or later.. Right?Z

And then Capsize and the Ianitee pirates show up. To Jordan, it seems like she’s interested in him beyond him just being another follower of Ianite, and there’s his escape. Play along, play the part and maybe- maybe he’ll get over this.

You know my type, tightrope across the table I can't keep holding my breath

She seems to be into it. She’s responding to his flirting at least. See. He doesn’t need Tom. An Ianitee and another Ianitee seems more acceptable to him in his head, and maybe would be easier. That about, he’s not really sure.

New wave, no time Red velvet under pressure

But what Jordan does know is that he’s drawn to her. To him, it could be a way to forget about Tom. To the varied onlooker, it could just be that he’s happy to have another Ianitee around. Someone who can relate to his experience, someone who’s out to find their goddess just as much as he wants to. But he continues to conflate the two and pursue her in a way that he won’t realize for years is less than ideal.

It sparks my memory when we parked aside the shore, I kissed you there, the ocean air enchanting It escapes me quickly

Tom on the other hand, is for lack of a better word furious. Not in like a “I’m gonna murder this pirate captain for stealing my man” (because if he’s honest she’s one of the coolest people he’s met and he’s gonna befriend her whether Jordan likes it or not, with him claiming it to be ‘Mr. steal your gal’ which is??? Because does it really seem like he wants Capsize, if not as a spiteful thing)

When Jordan’s not around, Tom and Capsize hit it off, as she finds this zombie who doesn’t want to flirt with her at any given moment a lot more of an interesting person. As a Dianitee, he’s supposed to be their enemy, but for someone so supposedly dedicated to his god, he knows how to carve his own path away from being more than his god’s messenger- something she’s always admired in champions.

You call me poison, but you won't stop coming around- No, you won't stop coming around

For the purpose of perhaps getting Jordan to get the hint, Tom plays into their supposed love triangle, pretending to do things to ‘steal away Capsize’, only feeding into Jordan’s confusion. *Now Tom’s interested in her too? Is he trying to move on from me too? *- clearly to dense to realize Tom’s trying to get his attention back. She even admits to Tom that it's amusing that men seem to keep coming after her, when she’s very much more into women (abridged, but direct quote)

All I want is you- Your violet disposition, My unsound intuition

It all sort of culminates in that moment on Jordan’s ship where Tom, annoyed from his perch, watches his friend make an absolute fool of himself over Capsize, and decides to intervene, taking on the role of “fighting” Jordan over her. Capsize in a way is having a good laugh watching them roll around on the deck of the ship (I’ve drawn this, this is where it all started), starting to see it all sort of come together as to where Jordan could be coming from. At some point, Tom’s got Jordan pinned to the deck, and as one last desperate attempt at trying to communicate what he’s been trying to all along, he kisses Jordan, and much to his surprise, he kisses him back. They pull away, to Capsize’s approving nods, and it's all over.

(Jordan’s attempts at saving this are my interpretation of this conversation, aka one of my favorite chat threads of S1)

In the aftermath of all of that (If I had any semblance of a memory I’d pinpoint when exactly this interlude takes place, but im just ballparking it somewhere after Jordan dies in Tom’s vault bc Capsize doesn’t save him); in which he’s still thinking about what happened that day. Jordan reluctantly confronts Tom who spills it all. He tells him how much and how long he’s been in love with him, and how frustrated it made him that every time he kissed Jordan, Jordan never seemed to reciprocate no matter how obvious his feelings were. He’s tried so hard to make it clear that all he wants is Jordan, he wants to be loved back, he wants to be able to call him his lover. He did what he did in front of Capsize cause the fake ass courting set him over the edge because it pissed him off that Jordan would so quickly go after someone he just met just because she was an Ianitee or whatever to get away from him, because was he really that bad that Jordan had to try to hard to stay away from him? Tom knows he had himself to blame as well, but it felt like a step too far.

Always been looking for something to lose, when I needed something to hold onto.

(This sequence is followed by Pull Me Up, which. If you haven’t seen my CMV that’s the one xD)

Note. For my sanity I choose to perceive that any capsize x jordan moments following are more related to Jordan’s ‘holiest of all Ianitees’ attitude and feeling like he has to be her savior (which is a different aspect of his character arc from the romantic side, which is what I mostly wanted to focus on with this ramble, but i do touch on it a little. It's not as ever present as it could be because I haven’t found the right song to incorporate it into outside of Violet and Talk Too Much) But there is definitely more. This is from what i have notated in my stuff for these two sequences :] enjoy!

[moongothic]

I had a dream last night that Toei had made like a One Piece feature film/animated special about Crocodile and y'all it was fucking weird

You know the brainrot has reached terminal velocity when the blorbo starts appearing in your dreams. (To be fair, I have had about a million other One Piece themed dreams in the past and Crocodile did show up in one once before, like years and years ago (which is slightly deranged considdering I only lost my mind about this man last fall), but still) (I'm just glad this wasn't one of my usual nightmares)

So the set-up for the movie was that a bunch of people, including Crocodile and Daz, had infiltrated somekinda skyscraper because they were on a mission to do... something. I don't remember what their actual goal was, somekinda secret agent kinda bs, but they were there.

The first little bit of the movie was more like a video game where you just had to get deeper and deeper into the tower without getting noticed/found out and it was going decent, though eventually Croc and Daz got separated from one another (can't remember if they got spotted and split intentionally or what)

Crocodile found himself in a weird science-y room that started emitting somekinda pastel rainbow colored hallucinogenic mist that was showing him Visions from the Past to Haunt and Taunt him

And this was kind of where the movie would cut between the other shit that was happening and what Daz was up to while going through the building, and what visions were haunting Crocodile. I can't remember the details anymore for either plot, just that at some point the mist showed Crocodile a young, blond haired Whitebeard

The second last time we cut to Crocodile in the pastel mist, an old man with blond hair appears to him to come taunt him or something, but the scene cuts away before the altercation can begin. What was strange though was that the old man looked almost like an elderly Crocodile (without the scar and with the blond hair)

We cut to Daz and he has made his way to the top of the skyscraper with some people, being chased by their enemies. They're stuck inside the skyscraper though and Daz decides the easiest way to make their exist is for him to literally cut the roof off so he does that in usual One Piece fashion. And then he jumps off the building, doing some flips in the air while turning parts of his body into blades and then back to flesh, which somehow slows down the fall?? And then he just. Lands safely into Ivankov's hair.

??????????? Dream logic don't think about it

Anyway, we cut back to Crocodile and he's having an altercation with the strange old man, which Crocodile wins with strange ease (like this was supposed to be the big, final showdown and it wasn't really either), the old man vanishing into the rainbow mist. The mist then turning thicker and thicker until it consumes everything and Crocodile with it

We then cut to outside the skyscraper where Daz and the others are, where Crocodile has now reappeared, as if he had been teleported there by the mist. But what's strange is that Crocodile is now a child with blond hair.

I don't remember how the movie then ended, I just remember feeling annoyed how although we got a Crocodile-centric OP movie, this would now mean we will never get to see his full backstory because the movie ended up confirming that Crocodile was Whitebeard's bio-son while refusing to spill the beans in detail

IDK I did have more dreams from there on (one of them was about the animated Barbie movies?????????) but I can't remember much anything else, and they weren't related to this OP dream. I'm just. Like I've seen objectively weirder dreams, there's just something about this one that kinda haunts me

[eurosleazarchive]

the ringing of my phone wakes me from whatever light sleep i fitfully fell into earlier. i recognize my brother's name, but i don't answer. it's not that i've been ignoring him for the past two months – it's just that i haven't wanted to talk to him and refuse to answer his messages. it's just how things have always been. i groan as the text notification echoes through my room, bleary eyes scanning through the words.

[ sms: mike ] sadie, you need to answer your phone. i have news.

[ sms: mike ] i'm not gonna tell you it through text.

there's a defeated sigh through my nose before i call him back. must be important if he's being secretive about it. it takes a few rings before he picks it up.

" what the hell's so important you can't tell me over text? " it's irritated, sure, but i haven't slept well.

" sadie. it's about mom. " mike sounds like he's been crying and guilt hits me instantly– any irritation quickly shoots out of my body. i sit up, legs tucking under my body. " she, uh. she passed away in her sleep last night. the housekeeper found her this morning. i know mom's been sick recently but… "

he trails off with a sob and i can't help but let my own out in response. i don't know why i'm crying. all i know is that i am. the tears are hot as they roll down my cheeks, staining the sheets on my lap. i've always felt like i've been grieving some version of my mother. there's the version of her that would have been happy if dad was around; the mother that died isn't the one that i wanted to know.

there's so much i wanna say that i can't. my tongue feels heavy in my mouth. all i can do is hear my brother wail over the phone. " – do you want me to come out there with you? "

" yeah. " he sniffles. i can imagine him running his nose on his arm, just like he did as a kid. " i can't do it without you, sadie. i don't – i don't wanna plan this alone. you can't make me do that. i'll –. "

" michael, relax. i'll just– i'll pack some clothes and what i need and then i'll be back home as soon as i can. i promise. i'm not leaving you alone. "

i've always tried to protect my brother – he can't go through what i went through. he doesn't deserve it. i shoulder the problems and he goes on happy and worry free. i can't shirk my responsibilities now, especially while grieving.

" thanks, sadie. i'll – i'll meet you at the house, okay? we'll go from there. "

" we'll go from there."

he hangs up and the phone drops from my hand into my lap. there's sadness that i feel, something bone deep and tiring, but there's something more than that threatening to bubble up inside me.

my mother died and all i can feel is relief.

[hoohoobeanie]

"gold rush has hit 10k words"

[loomiskiller]

since i have been talking about it, billy does end up killing his father.

years of anger, resentment, and trauma led him to this point. he was visiting home for the weekend with christina. her parents wanted to see their grandchild. billy's uncle was living in town by now too so he figured he would visit him as well. this is post scream 2 and 3 have already happened. billy is in his last year of college. billy has finally cut hank off and they haven't spoken for a while. christina has not bailed on him and sam yet. it's the summer of 2001.

so, he was going to avoid his dad during the entire visit. it is the summer time and he's out with sam. he wanted to take her to the park. he wanted to spend the day out with her. time with sam was always important to billy even though he spends most of his time with her when he is not attending classes or working. they run into hank randomly and billy has to bite his tongue during the entire encounter. hank is extremely rude to his son in front of his own grandchild and billy has to leave mid conversation before he blows up in front of him. he never wants to express his anger in front of sam like that and sam doesn't need to her her grandfather calling her father a disappointment because he had her as a teenager. billy has one degree already and he plans on returning to get another one day. so, no, he is not fully a disappointment. hank doesn't know he's a murderer, but, what right does he have ti judge his son? he is the reason billy turned out the way he did. he is the reason billy strives everyday to be the loving, caring, patient, and doting parent that he wanted hank to be to sam. sam will never know violence like billy did from her parent. she will never hear harsh words or be scolded just because she's being a child. no. as he took sam home to christina's parents house, he slowly began to realize what to do about his father. of course, sam is in the back seat chattering away about some cartoon since billy decided to distract her with the topic from her horrible first meeting with her paternal grandfather. billy decides once he arrives at christina's parents' house that he is going to kill his father.

he decides to go over to visit him. there's knives in the kitchen he can use. he comes in under the pretense of wanting to reconnect with his father. or to at least burn the bridge of their terrible relationship. billy is a good actor. hank is drunk enough that he easily fools him at first. but, then, billy decides to switch tactics and he starts ranting about how hank is a shit father. he points out all of his flaws. yeah, sure, he's a disappointment, but, at least he will never be a father like hank is. billy pisses hank off enough the man gets violent. a fight ensues. billy grabs a kitchen knife to defend himself. he stabs his father fifteen times in self defense.

[zavr-fara]

——— the Basics.

Full name: Zavr Fara Age: 347 (appears 33) Pronouns: He/him Race: Djinn (elemental; fire affinity) House: Contracted to house Savarem, under Typhon. Bound object: A refined shard of blue sandstone, carved from the desert ruins he once called home.

——— the Story Thus Far.

Djinn are notorious for being headstrong and impulsive, and when you couple that with a centuries-long lifespan, mistakes will eventually be made.

Born to a long and proud lineage, Zavr Fara grew up well-loved and surrounded by family. He's lost count of his siblings and cousins at this point; the Fara branch of the family is close-knit but independent, sometimes going decades without contact only to come back together like no time had passed at all. The turning of seasons and passage of years mean little to beings who easily surpass a thousand, and Zavr was no exception. Mercurial and curious — not to mention powerful, with little sense of or concern for danger — Zavr set out to explore the world at a relatively young age, weaving a wandering path across the globe to see everything there was to see and meet every other species there was to meet.

He should have heeded his family's warnings about the humans, particularly those with dragons' blood and an affinity for war.

Still young and impetuous, the concept of a binding contract meant little to Zavr. What was a hundred, two hundred years of his centuries-long existence when humans' own lives were so brief? Tying himself to a house heir with promises of action and glory was an enticing prospect, and one that seemed to boast few downsides for the djinn eager to make his mark on the world. Ignoring the fine print that would bind him to an entire bloodline over a single discrete lifespan, Zavr pledged himself to House Savarem and altered the course of their shared history for decades to come.

Gifted to the family Savarem's newborn heir, Mallick, Zavr watched the boy grow from a fiery child to a well-respected and expertly trained man — and after no time at all the two rode into battle, shoulder to shoulder, to fight the wars of other houses. Zavr cared little for politics but much for Mallick, willing to follow him to the ends of the earth with or without the power of the djinn contract hanging over him. Their partnership became a thing of legend, dragon rider and djinn, and elevated house Savarem to high esteem in the eyes of house Typhon and the greater continent.

But nothing so glorious was built to last.

Mallick's brief lifespan passed all too quickly for Zavr, particularly as an heir born for battle above all else. Fortunately the dragon rider left behind heirs of his own, a handful of worthy children eager to live up to their father's legendary name, and Zavr respected Mallick's memory enough to be happy to serve them each in turn. Again and again he went to battle for the Western Isles, and again and again he watched the heirs to the Savarem family fall. But humans are resilient and house Savarem was prolific, so even as the decades wore on and Zavr wondered from time to time if the entire family wouldn't be wiped out, they continued to persevere.

Unfortunately, as the decades wore on, house Savarem also began to take their glory and their family's prized weapon for granted. Generations diluted their purpose and honor, and the house Zavr was once proud to serve and be associated with became steeped in politics and corruption. Zavr grew tired of war just as he grew tired of subterfuge and posturing, and the more the family began to treat him as a tool rather than a partner, he found he grew tired of his contract. The final blow to his pride came with his most recent assignment: a family heir born human, with none of the proud dragons' blood in his veins or any of its fire in his heart. In a time of relative peace Zavr was given the position of bodyguard and glorified babysitter, contracted to serve the man-child with grit teeth and suffer abuses he was magically bound not to retaliate against. He watched the family's other heir, Kaya, grow up bold and rebellious and with much more of the family's old spirit that Zavr wished they would reclaim.

So when Kaya came to him one night, as her half-brother was indisposed at the bottom of some bottle or between someone else's sheets, Zavr didn't hesitate to agree to abandon the family and run away with her.

Contracts can be flexible if you know which loopholes to thread, and as long as Zavr serves a Savarem, his vow remains unbroken. He may be incapable of raising a hand against the family until his 200 years' servitude is up, but that doesn't stop him from joining Kaya in plotting future vengeance — as well as pursuing ways to undo the djinn's now-unwilling captivity.

With only a couple weeks of relative freedom under his belt, Zavr is taking to the mundanity surprisingly well. War-tired and sick of violence, he’s free to appreciate the simpler things the village of Elissa has to offer. Extensive knowledge of arms and metalwork made employment with the local blacksmith the obvious choice, though it’s often that the djinn has to remind himself to keep his fire abilities tucked away until he’s working alone. For now, the quiet life suits him — until his impulsiveness or fugitive status make ‘quiet’ an impossibility.

@kaya-savarem

[saintrosalyn]

JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained. 

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor. 

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left. 

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge. 

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off. 

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator. 

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room. 

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you? 

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him. 

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life. 

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon. 

Freedom. 

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing. 

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours. 

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat. 

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient. 

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet. 

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow. 

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.” 

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you. 

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either. 

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs. 

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone. 

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it. 

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard. 

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours. 

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two

[candidcondor]

You will be warm when you die

You will be held

I’ll coo soft words in your ear

And gently preen your feathers

At the end of your life, I

will keep you dry

and make sure the kids aren’t too loud

You’ll curl into the shape of my palm

I promise to sing to you

A song about soaring

And hiccup from crying between verses

But i know you won’t mind

You’re going to chirp softly and close your eyes

As I enchant with a lullaby of starry skies

And my heart will skip a beat when you stop nodding along

But I’ll keep singing your song till it is done

My father will tell me to wash my hands

And erase any trace of you

“It might have had the flu” he’ll beg

but this hour is dedicated to you

because when you die you’ll be held and warm

and your feathers will be preened and

I’ll sing you your song

because i refuse to let you die alone

[foldingfittedsheets]

When deciding who to work for there is a sliding scale of employers that goes from lil mom and pop shops up to corporate monoliths. I have worked at both ends of the spectrum and I can pretty definitively say that tiny businesses are hands down the most insane employers.

The sweet spot is a place that has like 10-20 stores; that’s the best possible work environment. They’ll be polished enough to have protocols that make work structured, but not so bogged down with bureaucracy that nothing can ever get done.

This story is not from that sweet spot. This story is from my time working at Oil and Vinegar. Now, like many little franchise stores, the idea was solid. There was on tap imported olive oil and vinegar and it was really delicious. Top shelf. Unfortunately, each location was like the Wild West because owners varied wildly.

My owner was the human embodiment of Mr. Krabbs. His eyes were just constant dollar signs. Throughout my training he informed me of the price of every single piece of equipment I touched and how much it cost to replace it.

He had cameras set up to watch us, and an app on his phone to access the live feed. He’d call us to ask what we were doing when he’d just checked a camera to make sure we were being honest.

Now, the trouble was he had two locations. His location further south did amazing. It was way more centrally located and got three times the foot traffic. The one I worked in was in the snottiest mall possible in Arizona and consequently the rent was through the roof.

It was not going well for my store. We didn’t get as much traffic, so there was only so much I could do in a day. I could dust, sweep, and wait for customers. I read a lot and was frank when he called to interrogate me. I always asked for additional tasks but he never had any. What could I do to prop up a failing business?

But this man was convinced there was some Secret Reason that the store I was in was doing worse. He crunched numbers, looked at staff, and eventually hit upon the most insane possible solution.

We used too much toilet paper.

We were probably stealing toilet paper! Bleeding him dry one single ply square at a time! How dare we need to use the bathroom?! His south location used half as much toilet paper as we did, we must be thieving little monsters!!!!

Friends. The south location was populated entirely by men. My location had three people on staff who had to sit to pee. It was so blindly transparently the source of the discrepancy but this man was convinced we were making off with toilet paper to bankrupt him.

So he implemented what he believed to be an entirely reasonable response to this base treachery. We were allowed to have one roll of toilet paper. At any given time, one roll was permitted to us. This was so transparently unhinged that we protested but he insisted. If we were low on toilet paper we needed to call him to drop off a roll that he brought from his home. Smiling jovially, he assured us he lived so close by that it would be no problem!

When we needed to call him often for more he started tearing his hair out. What were we using toilet paper for?! Why wasn’t his genius plan to stop our scandalous waste working??!

Finally, the manager, the only man on staff had to pull the owner aside and be like, “Look, man, their bladders are smaller. They need to wipe every time they pee. They need to pee even more on their period. Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Yes. It was. The manager was fired unrelated reasons and denounced as a traitor. The toilet paper ration lasted until I quit and probably until the store closed six months later.

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

��corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox