#prima showed us so photos

[gothcsz]

Dark Room | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~4.9k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Accidentally getting locked in the photo developing room with Javier.

Tags: reader really doesn't like javi, co-worker vibes, era typical sexism/misogyny, he's kind of a smug dick but isn't he always?, smut, oral (f & m), reader has never had her pussy ate so javi changes that, unprotected p in v sex, quick blowjob, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: another javi one shot, what's new?! lol this is a follow up to this ask/prompt i got a few months ago and i just thought this would be very fitting for these two 🖤 thank you to my prima @ovaryacted for reading over this 🖤 hope you enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!

“We need some photos pulled from the photo lab…” Carillo’s voice drones on, his explanation fading into the background as the weight of Javier’s stare settles over you, dragging over your body unabashedly.

He’s slouched over a desk that’s cluttered with maps and reports, an overfilled ashtray perched precariously on the corner, its contents spilling over as evidence of long hours and bad habits.

The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up just enough to show off those strong, brown forearms, veins subtly bulging as he drums his fingers against the surface.

The air is perfumed with cigarette smoke, the stale scent clinging to everything. It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t choked on it yet.

Weeks have passed since your lapse in judgment in the parking garage—letting Javier fucking Peña slide between your thighs to take the edge off this godforsaken sexist job that you still haven’t quit.

Nothing’s changed, obviously. The men in the office are still assholes, continuing to treat you like an afterthought, but you just tune them out because at the end of the day; you know you’re better than all of them combined.

Except it’s hard to ignore Javier. Harder than usual when he’s flashing you those round and soft brown eyes that should be illegal for a man like him to possess. 

He’s tried cornering you—more than once. The break room, after meetings, even the damn staircase when you were in a rush to head home.

Each time, you shut him down. Telling him to fuck off and take whatever cocky, insufferable game he’s playing and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

You’re actually kind of proud of yourself for pushing back more than usual, even if you do get hit with a wave of horny nostalgia for the way he’d taken you that day. Quick, ruthless, licentious.

You keep your expression neutral as Carillo wraps up his instructions. Nodding politely, you don’t spare a glance at the other agent before turning on your heel and making your way down to the lab.

The room is lit by a red bulb, casting everything in a hazy, bloody glow. You’re sifting through the folders, squinting at the labels, when you hear it—the soft click of the door shutting.

You spin around, and there he fucking is.

Javier leans against the doorframe, the silver watch on his wrist catching the light, his tie loosened around his neck and the first few buttons of his shirt habitually undone.

With his arms crossed and broad frame filling the space of the doorway, he’s the picture of amusement—of quiet, dangerous persistence.

You hate the way your pulse downstairs stutters at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his jaw shifts, a muscle ticking as he weighs his words, like he’s carefully considering how much trouble he wants to get himself into.

It annoys the ever-loving shit out of you.

When he doesn’t reply, you just huff out breath. “I don’t have time for this. Carillo needs these photos,” you snap, as if he doesn’t already know that. As if that’s why he’s really here.

Your fingers tighten around the folder you managed to locate, flipping through the contents to confirm it’s the right one. It is. Thank goodness. Now all you have to do is get the hell out of here—away from him.

“You’ve been doing okay?” He finally speaks, tone deceptively casual. “Your car’s fine?”

You bark out a laugh, loud and incredulous, because really? That’s what he’s opening with?

“What is it that you want, Javier?” You slam the filing cabinet shut, the sound echoing in the small lab.

And of-fucking-course—he’s closer now. The ruby luminescence of the room carves sharper angles into his face, deepening the contours, making his already unfairly handsome features look even more severe.

“What do you think?” he asks with a tilt of his head, tongue dragging slowly over his bottom lip.

“I think you just want to get your dick wet,” you accuse in a quip. “But I’m really confused as to why you’re so adamant about coming to me for that. Don’t you have a list of whores you can call? I’ve got about a dozen of their numbers written down at my desk. Just for you.”

Javier smirks—slow, lazy, irritatingly attractive. “S’not as fun. Not the same.” He shrugs. “I like to work for it sometimes.”

Your brows lift in disbelief. “Work for it? Wow, this really is just a game to you. To all of you.” Immature, arrogant, government assholes. You can feel yourself getting worked up, reminiscent of the last time you were this close to him. 

You don’t give him the chance to reply, instead brushing past him toward the door, reaching for the handle and twisting—nothing. 

You try again. And again. It doesn’t budge.

You exhale sharply, pressing your forehead against the door for half a second before pulling back. 

Right, so this door has been busted for as long as you can remember, locking from the inside at the worst possible moments, clearly.

You should have snagged the spare key, just in case. This is on you.

And since you’ve got unwanted company, the space feels a lot smaller.

“Please tell me you have your stupid phone on you,” you’re still facing the door, voice tight, manilla folder clenched in your hands.

The sound of dress shoes sliding over the floor, measured, deliberate, breaks the momentary silence.

Your body lights up, tensing as warmth ghosts over the back of your neck, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

“I don’t,” Javier murmurs, too fucking smoothly.

And then his hands—those beautifully large hands—press against the door on either side of you, arms caging you in.

You turn slowly, back pressed to the door, looking up at him as your breath catches somewhere in your throat.

He smells like cologne and Marlboros, an intoxicating combination that does something dangerous to your resolve, sinking its talons into whatever shred of control you thought you had left.

You can already feel the telltale weakness creeping into your knees as he stares down at you, the red hue truly making him look sinful in all the right ways.

This is exactly why you’ve been dodging him, shutting him down at every turn.

Because he makes it so easy to give in if just given a second to lay it on thick, no pun intended. Not only have you experienced his sexual bravado first hand, you’ve also seen the way he works his personality and charm with everyone else.

You wanted to be different, you really did. To not be another person to fall for him. Not after the way he treats you in the office, like you’re barely worth acknowledging unless you’re useful to him. Not after the way he just lets the other agents walk all over you.

It’s really not fair that he looks the way he does or that he fucks like he knows exactly what his partner needs. Like he’s got some weird, kinky sixth sense. 

It’s definitely not fucking fair that your pussy is flexing at the memory of him cuffing your wrists behind your back, growling filth into your ear as he took you against the side of his Jeep.

You inhale sharply, attempting to shove the thoughts away.

“I think there’s a landline in here somewhere,” you tell him, grasping at something—anything—to keep your wits about you. “We need to call someone to get us out.”

You try to step away, but Javier moves faster.

He blocks your path effortlessly, stepping into your space like he belongs there, his chest brushing against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs, tone laced with that familiar, knowing drawl. It’s so rich that a little bit of his Texan accent slips through. “Let’s have some fun.”

You let out another laugh, except this time it’s thinner, shakier than you want it to be.

“Fucking someone you don’t like isn’t really my idea of fun,” you bite out, but it doesn’t come out as bitchy as you intended.

“Didn’t stop you last time…” He says smugly and you grit your teeth. “It just makes it that much better,” he sounds so indulgent. Like he’s already won.

You open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“C’mon,” Javi coaxes like he’s the devil himself. “You’re always so tense. You work so damn hard, dealing with assholes like me all day. Let me make it worth your while.”

“I thought I told you last time that good dick wasn’t the solution to my problems.” 

“I’m not trying to solve your problems.” 

He ducks his head, the tip of his nose dragging up the side of your neck, a featherlight touch that sets your skin on fire.

You should push him away and slap him. But instead, you just… let him. Frozen, paralyzed by your own traitorous lust.

His soft pouty lips find your jaw, pressing kisses, each one getting you wetter. 

His tongue traces a languid stripe up to your ear, the wet heat of it making you gasp and your thighs press together. When his teeth graze your lobe, you can’t suppress the way your breath stutters.

“Javi—” His name escapes before you can catch it, barely more than a whisper.

You feel his grin against your skin.

“Say it again.”

You shake your head, eyes squeezing shut, as if that will somehow lessen the ache beating at your cunt. As if you can pretend you’re still in control of the situation. Like you ever were.

His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over your ribs. The heat of his palms sears through the fabric of your top, burning away the resistance you were clinging to.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he breathes, lips dragging along the shell of your ear. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

You should. But you can’t.

Your fingers fidget with the folder, aching to grab hold of him and pull him closer. You let out a shaky sigh, your resolve finally crumbling to dust.

You really are a weak bitch.

Javier pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression knowing—victorious.

The folder falls from your hands and to the floor as you grab him by the tie, yanking him down, crushing your mouth to his in a kiss that is nothing short of desperate, full of frustration, hunger and irritation.

Javier groans into it, gratified, his grip tightening on you as he presses you harder against the door, molding his body against yours. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming and demanding, and you let him, moaning into the kiss, your nails scraping against the back of his neck as his hands start to wander.

You were always going to give in and you both knew it.

You don’t even remember when his hands started working at the buttons of your shirt, but you feel the fabric coming undone, feel the cool air chilling you as he exposes your chest. His lips chase the newly exposed skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck, trailing lower… lower…

You gasp when he undoes your bra’s front clasp, his fingers ghosting over the swells of your breasts before he palms them fully, kneading, teasing, thumbing at your nipples then tugging them until you’re pathetically whimpering

“Mmmm,” you utter, your head tipping back against the door when his lips wrap around the aching peak and he sucks.

Javier chuckles against your skin.“Told you I’d make you feel good.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, yanking his mouth back to yours, swallowing any other egotistic remark he was about to make. 

You feel the hard line of his thick cock straining in his slacks as he grinds against you like a rutting dog, his hips rolling in slow, instinctive motions that have your pussy clenching around nothing.

Maybe resisting him was always a losing game. 

It’s not like you’re drowning in offers elsewhere, and hell, you should own the fact that a man like Javier Peña—arrogant, infuriating, dangerously handsome—wants you more than any of the easy lays he could get with a single phone call.

Your confidence grows, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons.

One hand slips from the back of his head, trailing down between your bodies, fingers pressing against the rigid length of him through his pants. You squeeze, applying just enough pressure to make him hiss against your lips before he retaliates, biting your lower lip.

The pain blooms deliciously, sparking something even darker inside you. You reward him with another slow stroke, palming him, feeling his dick throb under your touch.

He flips you around quickly after that, pressing you hard against the door, your cheek and tits flattened against the cool surface.

A startled whimper escapes you, but he doesn’t give a damn, too lost in his own haze of desire as he works the button and zipper of your pants.

You quit dressing in cute skirts and delicate blouses to work. You weren’t about to continue to be an office fantasy or easy target for sexist bullshit.

But even in your practical wear and stoic demeanor, you knew damn well these men would find any way to sexualize you regardless. And they’ve proved your point plenty of times.

However, all of your carefully constructed defenses and feminist arguments about power and autonomy crumble the moment Javier Peña drops to his fucking knees behind you.

Your breath stutters, eyes widening as you try to push back against the door, a weak attempt at stopping him—but his grip is firm, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he tugs your pants down, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin behind your knees, making your back arch.

His calloused palms knead into the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping handfuls of your ass like he can’t decide whether he wants to spread you wider or keep you all to himself.

He does both—squeezing, parting you open just enough to make your pussy feel completely exposed, heat licking at her like a slow burn, anticipation curling around your clit.

“Javi—” His name barely leaves your lips before you suck in a sharp breath, body jolting as the wet heat of his mouth presses against the thin fabric of your panties.

Oh shit.

The damp lace does little to shield you from the deliberate drag of his tongue as he licks a slow stripe over the barrier, teasing, tasting, promising you things that make your head spin.

A moan slithers its way up your throat before you can stop it, your fingers twitching against the door as your knees threaten to buckle.

It’s such a foreign feeling.

“Nervous?” he asks, his voice dark, amused, but also curious.

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly against the overwhelming sensation of it all. No one’s ever done this to you before. No one’s ever wanted to. And yet, here’s Javier, on his knees in this dingy basement like this is what he was made to do.

“Just—” You suck in a breath. Fucking hell this is so embarrassing. “No one’s ever…” Your cheeks get hot, making you want to crawl inside yourself.

He stills for a moment, as if letting your words sink in, your panties now pulled down around your ankles. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, at the realization that he’d be the first to eat your pussy. His fingers flex, digging into the plush curve of your ass. “That just makes me want to ruin you even more.”

And then he does.

His mouth is everywhere all at once—tongue eagerly dragging through your folds, circling your clit dexterously and it’s a miracle you don’t melt entirely then and there.

His aquiline nose notches between your cheeks and the pressure makes you yelp in surprise.

Your fingers claw at the door like a rabid animal, trying to find something to hold onto, something to ground you as Javier devours your cunt.

He works you open by lapping thirstily and sucking on your wet flesh, groaning against you like he can’t get enough.

It’s otherworldly, a kind of pleasure so overwhelming that frustration bubbles up inside you. Why the fuck has no man ever done this for you before?

Your hips jerk when his tongue slides inside your hole, his mustache scraping against your soaked skin, his nose pressing against your asshole.

The contrast of soft and rough, teasing and taking, has you whining loudly, your forehead pressing against the cool wood as your eyes close tight.

The tension in your stomach twists tighter, hotter, tears spilling from your waterline as he sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue until your knees finally do give out but he holds you steady, keeping you from falling as you hit the wall of your orgasm. 

“Oh my god!” The words spill from you in a breathless, wrecked moan, your body pulsing, shuddering, before slumping as pleasure melts into boneless relief.

He takes his time with you, his mouth slowing to match your come down, his tongue kitten licking at your oversensitive sex like he relishes the taste of you.

He presses one last, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before pulling away.

His whispers are hushed, sweet words murmured against your trembling thighs until he stands, rising up behind you, his broad frame looming over yours.

You feel him—his chest, his shoulders—so solid and manly, pressing against your back. You’re still panting, skin heated, body humming, when you finally turn your head to look at him.

Javier Peña has never looked hotter in his goddamn life.

“Hard to believe no one’s ever tasted you, baby. Sabes tan dulce.” The praise sends a violent shudder straight to your freshly ate cunt.

He’s quickly working his belt open, the soft clink of metal making your thighs quiver in anticipation.

He fists his cock, stroking himself languidly, dragging his palm over the thick, velvety skin before his fingers dip between your legs, gathering the slick arousal dripping from your pussy.

Thankfully the door is thick enough to muffle the desperate, broken moans spilling from your lips, and that this basement is hardly ever visited—because the last thing you need is an audience for this shameful, filthy indulgence.

Yet once the lust settles, that same isolation won’t feel so convenient. You’ll be more than eager to get the fuck away from him.

He smears your sticky wetness over his shaft with a groan, eyes hooded and hungry as he watches your body react to him.

All you can do is continue to writhe, legs shaking as you kick your pants and panties off completely, giving yourself room to spread and bend over for him, expecting him to take you as he did last time.

But before you can brace yourself against the door again, Javi moves fast, flipping you to face him, his large hands cupping the backs of your thighs.

It’s instinct to wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles locking behind him as he hoists you up, pinning you against the door.

His lips crash into yours, hot and urgent, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you flick off his tie and work open the last of his buttons.

His shirt hangs open, exposing his warm, taut chest to your greedy fingers, and you run your hands down the hard planes of his torso, reveling in the contrast of smooth skin and how human he feels despite the sex god aura he emits so effortlessly. 

But it’s his neck that has you dizzy. That sharp jawline, his defined Adam’s apple, how his pulse pounds just beneath the thick muscle.

You make eye contact for a brief, charged second before your mouth latches onto his neck, tongue dragging over salt and cologne, teeth nipping at the tendon.

The way the red light paints him—his bronzed skin darkened by shadow, eyes heavy-lidded with hunger for you, lips slick from your kisses and pussy—it all makes you dizzy with need.

Javi growls low in his throat, shifting his hold to steady you against the door, angling himself just right before pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance.

The stretch is immediate, slow and torturous as he sinks into you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the intrusion of his dick, the burn mixing beautifully with pleasure.

Your jaw falls open, but no sound comes out, only ragged breaths and a strangled whimper as your cunt struggles to accommodate around his girthy cock.

His gaze is locked onto yours, dark and molten, his lips curling at the way you tremble in his hold.

You’d slap the smirk right off his face if your hands weren’t too occupied with digging into his shoulders to keep you sane.

“That’s it, puta madre,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good.”

“S-Stop talking and just fuck me,” you breathe as you yank him closer, pressing your tits against his bare chest.

Javier doesn’t need to be told twice.

With a sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, slamming you back against the door, the impact rattling through your bones and knocking the air from your lungs.

The obscene sound of wet skin slapping against skin echoes through the cramped room as he sets an unforgiving yet utterly satisfying pace.

Every stroke of his cock against your walls, every graze of his pelvis against your swollen clit, sends you spiraling higher.

The heat of the red light, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air, the filthy sounds between you—it’s all too much, too good.

His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you right where he wants you as he fucks you hard and deep.

He plants one hand next to your head while the other slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, teasing circles, you break.

Your body seizes, nails raking down his back as your orgasm slams into you, pleasure blinding and unbearable.

Javier groans, hips stuttering as he chases his own release, as he fucks you through your climax. “That’s it. Fuckin’ come for me—mierda, so fuckin’ pretty pinned up on the door like this, fallin’ apart all over this dick—”

“D-Don’t finish inside.” The words spill from your lips between gasps, your foggy mind barely catching up to the reality of what you’re doing.

You thank whatever shred of sanity is left in you for speaking up before it’s too late—because fuck, you almost forgot.

A part of you chastises yourself for even letting it get this far, for not making him wear a condom either time he’s had you.

You know better. You know Javier gets around, that his reputation in bed is just as legendary as his skill with a badge and gun.

He groans, a deep sound of both pleasure and frustration. He wanted to finish inside you. You can tell by the way his thrusts falter, how his fingers dig into your hips a little harder.

The idea of filling you up, of making you take all of him, has him on the edge, his control hanging by a thread.

“Fuck,” he grits out, and suddenly, he’s pulling out of you, his cock slipping free with a wet, lewd squelch that makes your empty walls clench around nothing. Before you can catch your breath, he’s pushing you onto your knees, the roughness making your head spin, your lips parting in surprise.

He takes full advantage.

Javier’s hand grips the back of your neck as he guides himself between your lips, pushing his thick cock into the heat of your mouth with a sharp hiss.

You barely have time to react before he’s thrusting in deep, the heavy weight of him stretching your jaw, his scent overwhelming your senses.

Your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in as he fucks your mouth the same way he just fucked your pussy: relentless, desperate, filthy.

Your tongue flattens beneath him, taking him as best as you can while he pants above you, his breath ragged, his curses slipping into Spanish as he chases his release.

And then you feel it how he stiffens, the pulse of his cock against your tongue before his salty release spills hot and thick down your throat. Javier groans as he holds you there, making sure you swallow every drop.

“Goddamn baby,” he rasps hoarsely, his fingers easing from your hair as he strokes your cheek, his softening cock still twitching between your lips.

When he finally pulls out, you’re left breathless, your mouth swollen, your body still thrumming with pleasure and exhaustion.

You look up at him, and the sight alone makes your stomach flip—his chest rising and falling, his shirt completely undone, his tie hanging loosely around his neck,  hair falling in front of his face and gaze hooded and dark as he stares down at you.

He looks wrecked and you’re the reason why.

The fog of lust dissipates all at once, replaced by a feeling akin to cold water washing over you. Your lips are swollen, your knees ache from the hard floor, the unmistakable taste of him lingers on your tongue, and your pussy is sticky with the remnants of his pleasure.

You rise quickly with a sharp breath, ignoring the way your thighs still tremble. He offers a hand, fingers curled in that lazy, confident way that suggests he thinks you’ll take it.

You don’t.

Instead, you swat it away, reaching for your discarded clothes with sharp, jerky movements, yanking your panties up, stepping into your pants, and shoving your feet into your shoes without grace.

Every button fastened, every piece of fabric back in place feels like reclaiming a part of yourself, like stitching together the resolve that had crumbled the second he put his mouth on you.

You allow yourself moments of weakness—you’re only human, and he’s too good of a fuck to deny. But moving forward, you’ll have to be more resolute.

This? This was a mistake you can’t afford to keep making. The last thing you want is for him to think he has an in with you just because he’s made you see stars with his dick… and tongue… and fingers. Goddamnit. 

“You gonna keep this little act up,” he drawls, redressed himself, half ass fixing his belt, “or am I gonna have to chase you down just to get you to fuck me again?”

You snort, shaking your head as you adjust your bra and start buttoning your blouse. “You do realize how predatory that sounds, right?”

He just smirks, unfazed, and leans against the desk nearby as if he’s lounging. “And that whole thing about no one ever going down on you… That true, or were you just trying to get a reaction out of me?”

You ignore him, not about to stroke his already inflated ego by admitting he’s the first and only person to ever taste you so intimately.

Instead, you snatch up the forgotten folder from the floor, shooting him a glare through the red lighting of the room. “Help me find the landline so we can call someone to let us out.”

Javier just chuckles, shaking his head as he finishes tying his tie. “Won’t need to.”

Your eyes narrow. “What?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the spare key.

Your jaw drops. “You had that with you the entire time?”

His only response is a shrug, like it’s no big deal. Which, truth be told, it isn’t. But the realization that this was all orchestrated is enough to make your blood boil. You wonder if Carillo was in on it too. 

Your teeth clench, fingers curling into a fist at your side as he pushes off the nearby table and steps forward, unlocking the door with an infuriating lack of urgency.

He swings it open, then leans against the frame, motioning for you to go first with an exaggerated flourish.

“After you.”

You consider punching him, it had felt so damn good doing it last time. You don’t, however, instead storming past him, ignoring the way your skin still hums where he touched you, ignoring the smug chuckle that follows you out into the hallway.

You’ll let this go, you have to if not it’ll prick at you until you snap. You really don’t know how many more crash outs you have left in you before you do something more reckless than fucking the DEA agent.

Though one thing becomes sparkling clear in this moment—you’re going to have to find a way to resist Javier Peña. Even if he’s dead set on making that impossible.

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⋆.˚ Rose Gold ᡣ𐭩 ୨ৎ

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝟏𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!! 🫶🫶

Ballet seemed to be the only way for you.

Your feet were molded to fit into slippers, never mind if your toes were bruised and broken. You were gratefully blessed with thick hair, because years of updos would have thinned it to a rag-doll’s amount otherwise. You grew used to the dull ache of an empty stomach. Your body was made to be tugged and bent and manipulated without so much as a complaint, you were made to push every comfortable limit. You were born to sacrifice comfort for greatness.

Coriolanus had recognized that greatness since you were children. He saw that immense talent, as he sat in the very back of the theater in a seat you’d begged your director to provide. You’d been so young, at the first show you brought him to. Perhaps just twelve. But so, so magnetically beautiful.

The stage was your Eden, Coryo could tell from the start. The dainty way you moved, the way your brows pulled taught in an expression equally as emotional as the dance. He couldn’t peel his eyes off you, clearly the company could see that was the overwhelming sentiment because you got most of the lead parts. You were their prima ballerina, and you deserved every ounce of the praise for your bone-cracking work.

Coryo, even in your academy days together when he could hardly afford a half-decent tie, never came empty handed to your shows (which he seemed to always find a way to attend). He always had a bouquet of flowers for you, the bright tulips you adored or soft pink peonies to match your tutu. It was always worth it to see the way your eyes lit up.

It was needless to say that Coryo fell in love with the beautiful-souled, elegant ballerina. How could he not, after years of being so close to you?

Tigress and you were the ones to teach him how to dance for his first prom, his cousin not-so-discreetly recording Coryo learning to dance the lead with his “little girlfriend” in the Snows’ apartment. (Coriolanus had protested to that nickname, claiming you were a “friend who was a girl.”) He still remembered the feeling of your waist under his hand as you gracefully moved, stark contrast to himself. More embarrassingly he still remembered you and Tigress had both broken into giggles at Coryo’s unrelenting stiffness. He liked to think he was a better dancer now.

You’d been the one to walk with him to the library, if only to check out classical dance magazines into your backpack while he studied. You’d always leave early for ballet lessons. He knew you were a hard worker, dedicated to your craft. But Coryo hadn’t known the half of it.

Once, he recalled, you’d gone straight to the changing room instead of coming to greet your father or Coriolanus. He’d been puzzled, holding his bunch of white roses in the crook of his arm and asking the other dancers what’d happened. They’d only shrugged. So he might have snuck behind stage, confident that the rest of the ballerinas were still taking photos and chatting with family, and knocked on the changing room door.

“Yes?” Your voice rang out, croaky and raw. His heart had dropped at the sound.

“It’s just me. Can I come in?” Coryo called to you, his ear to the door. You shuffled around before opening the door yourself.

Just as he’d expected, your eyes were red and blotchy, mascara running. You’d taken out the comb in your hair but not the updo itself. Your tutu, though you’d been raised and reprimanded to take extreme care of the company’s accessory, was discarded on the floor beside your ballet slippers. As Coryo stared down at you, hips brows furrowing in concern, you stood in your pale pink leotard and snow-white tights. Through the sheer fabric he could see the bandages around your feet, scabs reopened and bleeding through the gauze to your tights.

You’d sniffled. “It’s fine. It wouldn’t show under the slippers.” As if that was his cause of worry. You stepped aside to let him into the dressing room, stiffly sitting himself down on a mauve chaise. He set the roses beside him.

“Are you all right?” Coryo cooed, watching you as you sat beside him. You pulled your knee to your chest with your foot on the upholstery.

You shook your head. “I made a mistake on my pirouette en dehors.” You wiped your eyes, spreading more mascara onto your cheeks. Coryo just stared, so you swallowed down the lump in your throat. And yet still your voice was meek and raw. “The spin. I ended it far too early, made a fool of myself. Nearly fell over, too!”

Coriolanus shook his head, watching you tear your updo down and shake out your hair with a roughness all too aggressive for his liking. He reached for your hand. “I thought you did amazing.”

“Because you don’t know ballet!” You bawled, your lips pulling in a grimace as more tears poured down your rosy cheeks. It was evil of Coryo to think, but he couldn’t deny you were pretty when you cried. “Oh, Coryo, I’ve never danced so sloppy in my life! And there was a critic in the house!”

He didn’t get it one bit. You were lovely. Every ballerina adored your kind nature or was jealous of your undeniable talent. You’d entranced him, mind, body and soul, with every move you made— on and off stage. He hadn’t realized how much effort it took to look, well, effortless.

It was then that Coriolanus realized just how hard you worked, just how much of your life ballet consumed. And he adored you more for it, as he folded you into his arms and promised you were a born star.

For years, you flourished. Your grace was unmatched, the emotion you could convey in the simplest of movements spoke volumes in a medium that used no words. You had the loving care and support of your father, your mother long gone. Coryo provided a kind of companionship that was invaluable. You were, with no exaggeration, a star.

When Coryo became a mentor for the Hunger Games, you saw him a bit less. It was all right, you supposed. You were busy too. Though, it did sting when he didn’t attend your ballet company’s performance of Appalachian Spring. The only show he had ever missed. After the news of his cheating in the Games and his relationship with Lucy Gray got out, it was only salt in the wound.

You weren’t sure why you expected letters from him when he was sent to the Districts. Life went on, you supposed. Even though you sorely missed seeing his face in the crowd, which seemed to only diminish.

The company was failing. They were holding on, grasping at straws, under the immense pressure of closing. That just about ripped your heart to shreds. And, as if the world was endlessly trying to knock you down, your father fell fatally ill. Dead within the month.

Ballet was the only way for you. But without your father’s support, and (though your family name had never been particularly prestigious) no social standing, other companies were reluctant to take you on. Your talent didn’t seem to matter in a world that revolved around social status.

With the ballet company’s sinking, so was your career. You saw yourself walking languidly towards a cliff, your mind in despair, your eyes witnessing where the road ended, yet your feet betraying you— It was hardly their fault. The finale of your passion, your life, was impending and inevitable.

The theatre was putting on A Midsummer Night’s Dream tonight. Coriolanus’ platinum blonde curls were still cropped, he rubbed a now-calloused hand over his head as he sat in the back row. It wasn’t difficult to score a seat anymore, perhaps now that his new internship with Dr. Gaul put some money in his pockets the cost of a ticket seemed less steep. Perhaps his memory served him wrong. Or, more likely, the prices had lowered exponentially.

Coriolanus was stone faced as he watched the stagnant red curtain, inoffensive music playing before the ballet began. He’d expected there to be as much of a turnout as there had been the last show he attended; but he could only count fifty-six people finding their seats. He couldn’t see your father, who he usually sat with, anywhere.

He paid it no mind. The moment the performance started, his icy blue eyes were focused solely on you. You could’ve been the only ballerina on stage, though the program in his lap said otherwise. You were a magnificent Hermia, as the program listed you were dancing.

Even after years of watching ballet, Coryo wasn’t very cultured in it. But any fool could see you looked utterly stunning in a pale pink, flowing dress to your calves with a gold-trimmed bust. Your tresses were done in an intricate updo, topped with a decorated comb. Watching you move, daintily and freely yet practiced— he forgot to breathe.

Coryo was entranced.

In Coryo’s lap he held a bouquet of hawthorn, purple hyacinths, pansy and bluebells— wrapped in white, tied off with a dainty, baby pink ribbon. It was rather beautiful, he’d taken care in which he chose, double-checking the meanings of the specific flowers with the florist. He knew you’d understand them, he recalled your raving about a secret language hidden in petals. He’d never been able to afford such an intricate bouquet for your previous shows.

Coriolanus wondered what you would think of him now, in a crisp white dress shirt, a simple black suit to let his red tie and coat pop. Those blonde curls you loved shaved down. Bearing expensive flowers. And in his pocket, a rose-gold bracelet dotted with diamonds.

Oh, he felt like a little boy again, admiring your radiance on stage, blue eyes round and glimmering with adoration. You were exuding passion, an overwhelming and raw talent.

When the final curtain drew, he set about finding you. It wasn’t how it had been when you were younger; ballerinas no longer took photos with family in their little pink tutus. He followed the masses to the lobby of the theatre, hanging by the grand door he knew you and the other dancers would come flooding from. In his red coat’s pocket he rubbed a thumb over the velvet jewelry box for you. The other hand clutched the bouquet, the flowers that bared every feeling.

None of the ballerinas that slipped from the backstage were you, to his dismay. For a moment he thought you might’ve slipped out a back door. Coryo still hadn’t seen your father, there wasn’t a point in coming to the front if he wasn’t attending. He leaned his back against the marble wall, frowning down at your flowers, until the door creaked open, and his azure eyes flicked up to see if the girl was you, and to his delight—

“Coryo?”

Oh, you hadn’t realized how large the hole he’d left in your heart gaped until Coryo was standing in front of you. Your Coryo.

“You’re here.” You must’ve sounded so silly. You certainly felt silly. You were already out of your costume, in a loose white sweater, soft and short pink skirt over black leggings. And here he was, in a sharp suit and tie, a gorgeous coat.. Stark contrast to the young boy who couldn’t scrape together a decent suit-jacket for your shows. The young boy who had filled out and chiseled into a man.

Coryo smiled softly down at you, eyes twinkling fondly. He offered the bouquet to you, his voice gentle and smooth as silk. “I’m here.” You took the bouquet absentmindedly, admiring it for a brief moment before shifting it to the crook over your elbow and turning your attention to Coriolanus again.

He looked so different, yet all the same. Those soft blue eyes slightly sharper but not any less attractive. His hair, Christ, that was the thing you couldn’t keep to yourself.

“Your hair!” You breathed, reaching up to push a dainty hand through his grown-out blonde buzzcut. It caught him a bit off guard, but he leaned his head down and chuckled.

“It’ll grow.” Coryo shrugged, letting your hand slip from his hair but not without grabbing it with his own. He leans down to press his lips to your knuckles. You think you might be in heaven. “You were amazing up there. Just.. angelic.”

You wondered if the heat in your cheeks was obvious. “Thank you..” Suddenly you had no words. Well, you had plenty to say. Plenty of thoughts, certainly. But no way to say them just yet. Coryo must’ve been able to tell.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Coriolanus’ brows drew together hopefully. You got a faint idea he might actually be nervous. To your dismay he dropped your hand gently. “You must be tired, but..”

“No, no, I’d love to.” You blurted, cutting him off with a bright smile. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow.

Coryo couldn’t stifle his grin. He decided to save your gift for later, as he guided you through the grand doors of the theater and to his car. Your lips had formed into an “o” at the long, cream-white vehicle. It even had a hood ornament, the silver logo of the expensive brand. “Oh, Coryo, it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t stop yourself from gasping your next words, though you were mortified after uttering them, “Since when could you afford something like this?”

You thought he’d be offended, but he just chuckled and opened the passenger door for you. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Restaurants weren’t exactly open at this time of night— atleast not any that Coryo found good enough to bring you to. So he settled to bring you to a gelato place he recalled you loved, sitting outside with you and watching the people go by. The streetlamps cast the dark street in soft yellows, the city was still very much awake.

You felt awake. For the first time in months, you felt your heart beating, you felt an honest smile gracing your lips. Seeing Coryo again was a breath of fresh air you hadn’t realized how bad you needed.

Coriolanus told you about his time in district twelve, though he left out some details. You told him about your father’s passing. You were hesitant to mention how poorly the theatre was doing, though. You had a feeling he knew.

Your feeling was correct. While the two of you were walking home, your hand comfortable in the crook of his elbow, Coryo spoke up. He breathed your name hesitantly, waiting for your acknowledging hum. “Tell me the truth. Is the dance company failing?”

You frowned, eyes on your feet. Well. What was the point in hiding it? It wasn’t exactly private information. “It is.” You murmured, almost ashamed.

“But you’ll go to another one?” Coryo immediately jumped to you. He didn’t seem to care about the theatre, only whether your talent would be in one.

That was the issue. Your breath caught in your chest, your lips pressing nervously and your eyelids fluttering shut to avoid the sting of tears. “I haven’t gotten any offers.”

It seemed your hard work simply.. Wasn’t enough. Not without a family name. In the capitol, where everything depended on a girl’s parents, an orphan whose name hadn’t been prestigious in the first place didn’t stand a chance. The only reason you were with this theatre was because your father and the owner had been friends in the war.

That just didn’t sit right with Coriolanus. He found your hand in the crook of his elbow, resting his roughened hand over your soft one, squeezing. “But you’re a natural talent.” His brows pulled taut. You shook your head.

“It’s not that simple.” You sighed, using your free hand to dash away the tears wetting your cheeks.

But it could be, Coryo knew as he turned over the jewelry box in his pocket, but didn’t say. Oh, you’d hate the idea. You’d be furious. You were a hard worker, anybody could see. You prided yourself in making a career for yourself without nepotism or assistance, very few favors. Of course you’d deny the idea brewing in Coryo’s mind, you’d write it off as a shortcut.

But he saw your talent. He’d just make it so others would see it aswell.

Coriolanus would never be ashamed of his cunning mind. He should be. But he never could.

He was like a snake. The next socialite party he attended, he slithered his way into every sophisticated conversation, networking, whispering his agenda into men’s ears, men with the power he thirsted for.

Politics was exactly where a snake like Coriolanus Snow belonged.

Usually it was for himself. Coryo was climbing the capitol’s ladder, collecting pons at each rung and using them as he went. But this time, this particular snobbish event, he smoothly brought up the name of a beautiful, immensely talented young ballerina looking for a new theatre to perform to. A ballerina he would personally vouch for, a ballerina he insisted would bring pride (and fame, of course,) to any company she danced for.

Eventually Coryo pulled on the right string, his words reaching the right ears. He got acquainted with an older man, Darien Jeux. The owner of a very, very prestigious ballet company. Oh, he was skeptical at first, but wasn’t Coriolanus a charmer? By the time the glittering champagne in his glass was finished, a deal of sorts was sealed. Jeux had a grandson in need of work, an internship would be arranged for the dolt. In exchange?

Coryo was the first person you called when the letter came in the mail. You had just arrived at your apartment after a late-night rehearsal, a crisp envelope left in the slot in your door. Stabbing an ornate letter opener, a gift from your father, into the paper and tearing it, oh, the words printed almost brought you to tears!

“Coryo, you won’t believe it!” You cheered over the phone, the joy in your voice as you gushed about Yeux’s ballet company extending an audition, the possibility of a contract, the prestige of this company! “Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” You breathed, the hope in your voice washing away every qualm Coryo had about going behind your back.

“It is.” Coriolanus smiled softly to himself, his eyes fluttering shut in an overwhelming relief.

Ballet was the only way for you. Coryo would kill a man to keep you happy, to keep your career alive. It was only right, that if he had the capability to make everything easier for you, he should use every resource available. Anything for you.

“You deserve it.” Coryo cooes, leaning back in his leather desk chair and letting your lilted voice keep him awake for another hour.

Hope had been thrust into your life again, the air under your wings, keeping you afloat. It seemed like your life was brightening in every corner now. Coryo insisted on taking you to dinner to celebrate when your audition went smoothly. How desperately he wanted to lean over that table and kiss you silly. He settled for taking you to dinner the next week. And the week after that. And after that.

In his eyes, his help was just that. A bit of help. This society was idiotic and venomous, your immense talent would have been enough to bring you to the top if that was the sole factor. It would be such a waste of great potential if you were stifled simply because of your name. He couldn’t have that.

Once Coryo gave you that little push, simply just got your name out there, your ability spoke for itself. You really were a star, landing one of the large roles in the first performance the theatre put on since signing you.

Coriolanus also pulled some strings to get a seat in the gallery balcony of the theatre. The company was putting on The Sleeping Beauty, which in your delicately graceful nature you landed the role of Princess Aurora. Tigris sat beside him, she’d absolutely adored you even when you were young. He even had a little pair of opera binoculars to watch you dance, not minding his cousins giggles at how old he looked holding them up to his eyes.

Coryo felt waves of pride, seeing the seats full. All eyes were on you, your grace on a pedestal display— exactly where it should be. Oh, the smile it brought to his lips each time the crowd roared with applause and whistles for you. You deserved no less.

When you came out after the show, you donned a simple yet elegant white dress, a boat-neck A-line that fell to your mid thigh, accentuating your delicate figure. Coryo had specifically told you it would be perfect for the after party, which technically wasn’t solely for your first performance with the theatre, but you’d be on display no less. He was certain that your name would be in headlines by tomorrow, and he told you so, which you’d smiled shyly and shaken your head at.

You’d never been to such an extravagant party. Your old theatre was never this grand, and whatever luxurious events they held were distant memories by the time you were old enough to attend them. The ballroom was classically beautiful, marble pillars along the walls and a painted rotunda ceiling.

You hadn’t a chance to look up and appreciate the mural before you were swarmed with people wanting to meet you, shake your hand and congratulate your performance. Coriolanus was right at your side the whole time, a strong hand on your shoulder. It shouldn’t have made you feel such excitement, but your heart was betraying your mind at the protective gesture.

Eventually, you grew a bit tired of all the introductions and stale small talk. Coryo could tell, he bowed his head and murmured against the shell of your ear, “I think it’s time for a dance. If you aren’t tired of it by now?”

“No! I mean, yes. I’m not tired of dancing. I’d love to dance.” You stumbled over your words, feeling the flush come to your cheeks. Oh, you weren’t tired, quite the opposite. You were restless. You were infinitely grateful for Coriolanus as he guided you by the hand, pulling you into a dance. He was a better dancer than you remember, you told him so. He’d only chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he lifted his hand to twirl you.

Coryo wore a boyish grin while he watched your dress flower and billow as you twirled. “I’m glad I’m not embarrassing myself, then.”

Perhaps it was then that you truly realized the boy you’d grown up with had turned into a man in the blink of an eye. A man who laid a strong hand on the small of your back, blonde hair combed neatly, cheeks roughened with stubble and eyes sultry. A man who was staring at you in a way that nearly made an expert ballerina stumble in her dancing.

You weren’t sure what moved you to lay your ear against his chest, feeling the solid and comforting warmth of him. You hoped, though, that he didn’t hear the soft sigh you released as he nosed your hair. You imagined that he dropped a kiss to your scalp. Why, Coriolanus, your Coryo, was cradling you as you languidly danced like you were made of porcelain.

In fact, as the song’s lulled to an end, Coriolanus leaned away from you just barely. Just enough for you to lift your head, eyes raising to meet his sapphire ones. Sapphire eyes filled with a soft affection, a kind of tenderness that you were beginning to wonder if you could live without. For a moment you dreamed he might kiss you.

You watched as his icy gaze flickered over your face, before he murmured lowly, “I’ll go get you a drink.” Wordlessly you nodded, watching as a tantalizingly sincere smile curled Coryo’s lips. He slipped away from you carefully. Expertly stifling the white-hot anxiety burning a hole in his chest under that clean-cut suit.

With a soft sigh, and rubbing both of your palms over your burning cheeks, you sought out your new friends. The circle of ballerinas, done up in simple and classically beautiful dresses, welcomed you happily. Eager to listen about your flustered retelling of the whole interaction with Coriolanus. Gasping girlishly and relishing in that sisterly bond. Slowly that exciting knot in your stomach came loose.

Just as you had collected yourself, your ears perked to the dropping of your name. You looked over your shoulder, finding the source to be two older men, one pudgy and one gaunt. They both had cold eyes, sharp and knowing. That would’ve been enough to make you shiver, if it weren’t for the words slipping past their thin lips.

“I heard Yeux was paid off.” The thin man hummed. Your stomach sank. Surely they weren’t talking about you?

The fat man shook his head. “No, more of a favor, I heard. That boy Dr. Gaul funded? Crassus’s boy.” The other man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not clasping a champagne flute.

He sneered, “So, the company ‘star’ only has a contract because the Snow boy pulled strings? What a disgrace this theatre is coming to!”

Oh, the marble floor was spinning under your feet. A frustration, a fury was boiling in your heart, dull and painful as you clenched your jaw. How many times had you told Coriolanus that you didn’t want any nepotism? How many times had you mentioned your pride in how hard you worked for your career? All for him to pull the rug from under you!

How could he? How could he go behind your back and snatch your values away from your hands, make an absolute fool of you?

Feigning a smile you excused yourself from the ballerinas, walking aimlessly through the ballroom. Slipping through the crowd with a kind of bleariness in your eyes. Color had been brought back into your life, but at what cost? Your morals. You hadn’t even been given a choice of whether to keep them intact or trade them for glory. You wouldn’t have chosen this, certainly.

You moved on autopilot. You hadn’t even realized Coriolanus was trailing after you until he clasped a strong hand on your shoulder, gently turning you. You shrugged your shoulder away from his grip, your wild eyes meeting his. Oh, the betrayal swelling in your stomach threatened to swallow you whole.

Coriolanus breathed your name in an awkward chuckle. His brows drew together as he offered a fruity drink to you in an ornate glass. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t talk to me.” You hiss, turning from him and storming away with a purpose in your feet.

Coriolanus only follows after you like a lost puppy. “What? What happened?” He called your name, but bitter loathing was toiling in your mind too strong to so much as cast him a look.

Damn him for feigning innocence! Damn him for coming back into yourself, sweeping you off your feet and having the balls to think he could just fix all your problems with his connections! Damn him for taking all that you prided yourself on away, just to make himself feel better. Charity, that’s what you were.

“I’m not stupid!” You cried, calling over your shoulder and blinking away hot tears. Nevertheless they streaked down your cheeks. At last you found the walls of this cursed ballroom, turning down a grand hallway. Gratefully, only a few people hung by the pillars and potted plants, disgustingly old men and beautiful, young women, some of them ballerinas from your new company. Your company that Coriolanus got you into.

Speak of the devil, he was still on your heels. Perhaps he even broke into a run after you, because before you knew it he was grabbing you by the shoulders, cornering you between a marble pillar and the wall. You shook him off you, staring blazingly up into his buggy and nervous eyes.

“Darling.” Coriolanus breathed, exasperated and terribly confused. He stopped reaching for you, gratefully, but he was still looming over you. Trapping you in.

You wiped the tears from your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Coriolanus sighed. He murmured your proper name gently, his brows pressing together. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it for you, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You would, wouldn’t you!” You cried, throwing your hands down. “Try and fix everything, just swoop in like a knight in shining armor and fix my poor life!”

His face fell at that. His azure eyes darkened, lips parting and his chin tilting further down to you. He knew he was caught, you thought bitterly as you huffed. Coriolanus dragged his hand down his face, trying to rub the situation off his skin. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know that you disregarded my wishes! I didn’t want any nepotism, I didn’t want any shortcuts, and that is exactly what you did, Coryo!” Tears were flowing uncomfortably and warm down your cheeks, ruining your pretty makeup. You rubbed the skin around your eyes raw. If only you could see the distraught look on Coriolanus’ face.

He shook his head, murmuring breathlessly, “But… I did it for you. You needed some help, you needed someone to get your name out there.” You shook your head, but your silence gave him a chance to go on. “I knew you’d be upset, but your talent—“

“I am upset!” You bawled, “You knew I’d be upset and you still did it, Coriolanus! You did it for you, not for me, if—”

“You couldn’t even afford to eat!” Coriolanus snapped, barking at you with buggy eyes. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving with a deep breath. His eyes slip closed, he pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces in exasperation. He never wanted to yell at you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” Coriolanus murmurs, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he watches the way tears come to your eyes stronger than before. He watches the way you cross your arms, looking to the wall and chewing on your lip. “You were struggling. You… You’re a talented woman. The most talented. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you fizzle just because you don’t have someone to vouch for you.”

“But now all this isn’t because of myself. Where I am today isn’t because of my talent or my hard work.. It’s because of a man pulling some strings.” You murmured, rubbing your eyes again. Your voice is raw and low, you look down at your dress and smooth down the material. Such a quality, beautiful dress. You would’ve liked to say that you were wearing it because of your own work. Coriolanus took that away from you, you reminded yourself.

Coryo pushes a hand through his hair, sighing softly. His lips press, he looks away at the others in the hall. He’s scrambling for a way to resolve this. “I had to help you. Because…”

You eye him expectantly, turning your wet cheek. Coriolanus reaches forward to tenderly thumb away a loose tear, and you don’t pull away. Perhaps you’ve tired yourself out. “Because I love you. And I can’t let a woman so special fail for such a stupid reason. Special to the world, of course, but special to me.”

Oh, the world was spinning around you too fast for your mind to keep up. You felt the floor giving out from under you, you had to cover your eyes with a palm. He loved you? This is why he did all this? This is why he felt the need to lift you from the mud? Not for his own selfish gain, but for you? For love?

“Coryo, you can’t just...” You began, the words dying before they could pass your lips as you shook your head desperately. He seemed to understand, nodding a bit and watching you with wide and buggy eyes. You finally looked up to meet that penetrating gaze, feeling your chest heave with deep breaths.

Without a word you moved into Coryo’s arms, pressing your wet cheek to his chest. You felt his breath hitch, his arms immediately wrapping closely around you. He nosed your hair, smelling deeply your rose-scented shampoo. God, the things he would do for you. This barely scraped it. He knew you’d be hurt, but he also knew what would be best for you in the long run. He knew he’d rather let you hate him than regret a passion left dry in the sun.

A long while passed like this, Coriolanus murmuring sweet words of consolation and diligently drying the tears on your rosy cheeks.

“My love, this world is cruel.” Coriolanus cooed, his eyebrows drawing together and forehead creasing as he smoothed down your hair. “Talent without a name is nothing. If talent was all that mattered, you wouldn’t need my help.”

Coryo dropped a kiss to your forehead. “I wish you didn’t need my help.”

Coryo brought you home that night. Neither of you breathed a word the whole ride there, Coriolanus casting you longing glances constantly and you fidgeting with your rose gold bracelet. A gift from him. Your most prized jewelry nowadays.

Feelings just toiled and swam in your heart, threatening to spill and taint your whole body. You were furious with him. But oh, how you loved that man.

The man who is not pressuring you any further, not shouting, not condemning your anger with him, just silently holding your hand over the center console, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles slowly. Tenderly. The man who loved you. The man who would kill for you, much less call in a favor for your sake.

When his car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment, you leaned away from him. You shifted in your seat to face him, but he never let go of your hand. In fact, he’d squeezed it a bit tighter.

Coryo was watching you with wide, you’d dare say puppy dog eyes as you opened your lips to speak in a whisper. “I don’t want you to do this again.”

He nodded seriously, dragging his thumb across the backs of your fingers. His sapphire eyes never dropped from yours. “I promise you.”

“And I don’t need your altruism.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not a child, I’m not a poor thing.”

“Not even a little bit. Kill me before I suggest it.”

You found yourself leaning over the center console, your nose brushing his. He found his hand slipping to gently cradle the back of your head. “I forgive you.” You murmur quietly, Coryo nods a bit, mind like a runny egg. He’s having a bit of trouble focusing on your words, as important to him as they are.

Coriolanus draws you closer, planting a tender kiss onto your lips. The cool metal of your bracelet pressing into his nape drew a sigh from his mouth, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. Kissing him felt like a comfort. Kissing Coryo felt right, your lips moving on his as if your soul knew before your mind had even considered it.

He didn’t interfere with your career again. He respected you with every bone in his body, with every string in his heart. He let your talent, your ineffable passion for your craft speak for itself. You were a prima ballerina of your own work, he’d often murmur to you late at night. In a bed he had somehow managed to coax you into, in a bed he couldn’t imagine sleeping in without your warm form beside him. You were a star.

No matter how independent you were, he would never stop protecting you. Caring for you. Providing you the best he could. Until the day you died, he would break his own bones to bend to your whims.

Coriolanus would kill for you. Without qualms, he would carve his own bone and flesh, if you asked him to. You didn’t even need to ask. If it made you happy in the slightest, Coryo would engrave your name into his heart.

It had always been written there, hadn’t it?

[pixiesfz]

5,6,7,8 s.c x child reader!

apart of sunshine series!

plot: Steph takes you to ballet

warnings: short blurb

Ballet started at five but Steph finished training at four-thirty so she packed your uniform in her bag so you could drive straight to class.

To say you were excited would be an understatement. You couldn't wait to run around with other girls in your class in a pink tutu that Steph let you pick out.

You were restless whilst waiting for Steph to go to the toilet, rummaging through her bag to grab your tutu "What are you doing zonneschijn?" Viv asked and you grunted before pulling it out " have Ballet!" you cheered.

Viv laughed as you showed your dress "It's very pretty, I thought you told me you wanted to play like your mummy?"

You nodded "I do, but mummy wants to try some other sports with me as well to see if I like them better" you said and Viv scoffed "But football is the best sport"

"I know"

Steph walked out, wiping her hands on her shorts before she saw you "Shall we get dressed before the others get in Sunshine?" she asked and you nodded, running past her into the bathroom to change.

You squealed when you saw yourself in the mirror "pretty!" Steph smiled "very pretty Sunshine, you have an eye for fashion don't you" You nodded before hearing the girls walk in "Photo's!" and you ran.

Steph sighed, now knowing it will take ten times longer to get you out of her teammates arms and camera's.

You targeted Kyra and Alessia first who made large exaggerated gasps "Well aren't you a prima ballerina" Alessia giggled and Kyra picked you up on her hip "I hope you have better dance skills than your mum"

"I am a great dancer thank you very much" Steph sassed as Katie walked over to you

"Giving Stina a run for her money are ya?"

You giggled before running to the blonde girl "Can you teach me?" you asked and she opened her mouth to respond but Leah snatched you up

"This isn't a football kit!" she frowned and you giggled "No it's ballet, silly Leah!" you smiled and she crossed her head "I'll take you to a football training" she now smiled and Steph coughed

"We agreed we'd try some other sports before football, just because she's surrounded by it doesn't mean she has to play it"

Leah disagreed as the two playfully conversed, Beth pulling you over to take photo's to send to your aunty Jen.

She turned to Viv "Stop frowning, she'll try football in about a month" she laughed and Viv rolled her eyes and going towards you

"I refuse to lose her for ballet"

You were growing a bit tired from all the attention and Steph noticed when you yawned, leaning into Kyra's leg as Caitlin did a small routine for you.

"Alright!" Kim spoke up loudly and everyone turned to her

She was using her captain voice.

"Let Steph and Sunshine go," she said grabbed her phone and smiled.

"just let me take a quick photo first"

[sgiandubh]

Sono qui dal 2015, quando Sky ha trasmesso Outlander in Italia . La mia conoscenza allora dei mass media era praticamente zero ma cercavo forsennatamente sul pc notizie della coppia di interpreti, le loro foto fuori dal set . A parte tutte quelle che vengono riproposte periodicamente per ricordarci come era il loro rapporto già dall’inizio , ne ho una incollata nella mente: una foto ,leggermente sfocata, molto probabilmente una spiaggia o comunque una foto all’aperto ,estiva, dove C con un vestitino tipo prendisole, sta davanti ad un buffet e S , dietro di lei, appoggiato a lei , che la tiene abbracciata con la testa sulla sua spalla. Credere a tutte le pagliacciate che sono venute dopo mi è difficile. Ho visto altre foto di lei seduta sulle ginocchia di qualcun’altro oltre Donal, forse ad una festa, un signore di mezza età o poco più . Ero rimasta sorpresa perché non mi sembrava che quella foto coincidesse con l’idea che mi ero fatta di lei .Ma poi ci sono state mostrate altre foto e credo di aver capito che ama il contatto fisico per dimostrare una sua sicurezza e una confidenza amichevole .Ora , come tutti noi, sono cambiati. Non sono i loro corpi ,è l’espressione del loro sguardo, la limpidezza del loro sguardo che era così pieno di aspettative , di speranza e felicità. Sono cresciuti, si amano ma sono guardinghi come cervi nella foresta che sentono rumori sospetti . E di rumori ce ne sono tanti ma io spero che ci siano luoghi dove possano correre liberamente.

Dear Italian Anon,

Non puoi immaginare il piacere immenso che ho provato oggi nel trovare il tuo lungo messaggio durante il camino in taxi dall'aeroporto Venizelos all'ambasciata. E mi scuserai se ti rispondo in inglese, per cortesia verso i nostri amici shipper.

Ma prima di tutto, andiamo con la traduzione del tuo interessantissimo commento:

'I've been around since 2015, when Sky broadcast Outlander in Italy. At that time, my knowledge of media was next to zero, but I was frantically looking on my computer for news about this couple and for BTS pictures. Spare all those that are periodically reposted here to remind us how was their relationship since the very beginning, there is one that is practically glued to my brain. It is a slightly blurry pic, probably taken on a beach, or at any rate a summer, open air photo, where you can see C in a sort of sundress in front of a buffet and S, behind her, leaning on her, holding her in his arms with her head on his shoulder. So it's difficult for me to believe all the nonsense that followed. And I have also seen other pictures of her, sitting on someone's lap (not Donal), maybe at a party or something, a middle-aged gentleman, I think. That particular picture surprised me, because it did not fit with my idea of her. But then more pictures like this one surfaced, and I finally understood that she is very much into touching, because it makes her feel safe and because that is her way to show her friendly trust in someone. Nowadays, like all of us, they have changed. It's not really about their appearance, but rather their gaze, the clarity of their gaze which was so full of expectations, hope and happiness. They matured, they do love each other, but they are now like those deer in the forest, always aware of suspicious noises. And yes, there's so many suspicious noises around them, but I do hope there are places where they can run free.'

I have never seen or heard of that summer dress picture, Anon, and if you happen to have it in your archives or something, per cortesia, send it to me in DM or by Anon link, if you can or if you want. I shall only post it if you don't mind and I think it could make many people sigh, in a good way. As for any lap pic, I only know the (infamous) one with McIdiot, but again - maybe you do happen to have more tea? I'd love to see it, and now my insane curiosity is piqued for good.

I loved your deer metaphor. It instantly made me think of this:

And I know there are places where they do run free. I know it for a fact, even, no matter how hard some very sad people would like to push some very sad (and ridiculous) stories, that happen to fit other sad (but powerful) people's agenda. And this knowledge is everything I need. And, exactly like you, I only wish the best in the world for These Two - they deserve it.

E ora ti lascio con il mio saluto preferito: Pace e Bene! Sei sempre la benvenuta qui!

[writingsofwesteros]

Westeros Daily Exclusive: Daella Targaryen & Alerie Redwyne – The Truth Behind the Scandal

In recent months, whispers and scandal have begun to swirl around the youngest of the Targaryen siblings, Daella Targaryen, and her long-time companion, Alerie Redwyne. Once considered a quiet and reclusive figure, Daella has kept much of her life away from the public eye, spending her formative years at an exclusive all-girls boarding school far from the political spotlight of King’s Landing. However, with the birth of her twin boys a little over a year ago, the Targaryen has found herself at the center of controversy.

Daella’s sons, Baelon and Aenor, have raised more questions than answers. Speculation about the boys' parentage has consumed both court gossip and social media, with many suspecting their fathers to be none other than Daella’s own older brothers, Aemond and Aegon. Though no official statements have been made by House Targaryen, the lack of clarity has only fueled the rumor mill. The young mother has continued to lead a quiet and dignified life, excelling in her role as a prima ballerina. When not dancing, Daella dedicates her time to teaching young children the art of ballet, a role that has earned her admiration in more cultured circles.

But beneath this graceful exterior lies a different narrative—one that has sparked rumors and raised eyebrows across the realm. Enter Alerie Redwyne, a woman whose past is equally shrouded in mystery and controversy. Alerie, who also attended the same exclusive boarding school as Daella, is no stranger to scandal. Once known for her ballet talents, she has gained notoriety for a much darker chapter of her life: a history of hard drug use and adult content surfacing across the internet. In recent years, images of Alerie have surfaced that leave little to the imagination, depicting her in compromising situations, some of which suggest explicit adult content.

The relationship between Daella and Alerie has become a hot topic, with the two frequently spotted together at lavish parties, high-end clubs, and private events. Their closeness has led to widespread speculation that the pair are more than just friends. Pictures circulating online have only added fuel to the fire, with some images showing the two in highly intimate and suggestive positions. In one particularly provocative shot, Daella is seen giving Alerie a lap dance, while another shows the two holding each other's chests and laughing in a club. Other photos depict them in what can only be described as near-kissing, a moment that has sent the rumor mill into overdrive.

However, it’s the latest batch of images that have truly ignited controversy. Several of these photos appear to show the pair in positions that many would consider inappropriate—some even bordering on adult content. The nature of these photos has led many to question the true nature of their relationship. Are Daella and Alerie simply childhood friends living carefree lives, or is there more to their bond than meets the eye?

House Targaryen has, so far, remained silent on the issue, offering neither confirmation nor denial of the rumors surrounding Daella’s personal life. While her public persona remains that of a talented and graceful dancer, these photos paint a far different picture. Alerie, on the other hand, has not addressed the circulating images or her past with hard drugs, choosing instead to maintain a low profile despite her growing infamy.

For now, the world can only speculate on the true nature of the relationship between Daella Targaryen and Alerie Redwyne. What is certain, however, is that the scandalous rumors show no signs of abating, and the two young women will remain under intense scrutiny as the public hungers for answers.

What does this mean for the Targaryens?

For House Targaryen, these rumors present yet another challenge in maintaining the legacy and reputation of one of Westeros' most powerful families. With Daella’s children raising questions about succession and legitimacy, and now the added scandal of her relationship with Alerie, the Targaryens find themselves once again at the heart of court intrigue. Will Daella’s quiet grace be enough to protect her from the growing storm, or will the weight of the rumors pull her into the same fire that has consumed so many before her?

Only time will tell how this story unfolds, but one thing is for sure: Westeros is watching closely.

Stay tuned as Westeros Daily continues to cover every twist and turn in this ever-evolving scandal.

A video of the two at a dorm party from their teenage years with a teenage Alerie dancing on a teenage Daella. Later that night it was reported from other students that in the corner of the room that Alerie was going down on Daella.

PERFECTION! Daella having her bad girl era ;)

[pussyluvr2000]

im excited to have a ventilated studio in which i can paint again soon. I regret not bringing my acrylics to my hometown, but it was too much to carry. and i ultimately decided not to use my oils because I'd be working in a basement and that gives me a terrible headache. I used to be like teehee I'm chemically poisoning myself for the art so quirky. But my frontal lobe is more developed now and i just don't want that for myself lol. I've been sitting on some fantastic reference photos that i took back in early November and I'm SOOOO excited to turn them into the painting i have planned. I have been drinking in some of freud's nudes again (when my art teacher showed him to me in high school, it altered my brain permanently) and might go for a slightly more creeeaaammmyyy application on this next painting. Still somewhat alla prima (i am not one to spend months on anything sorry). The process i was doing last semester was generally one that embraced the underpainting and used a pretty lean ratio of oil to solvent. Prob basically the same but with a fatter mix.

[patemi-pk]

It appears that a large portion of the Pk statues have arrived damaged, in quite significant ways. The comic shop Hovistocose sums up the situation:

We received the PK Statues. As usual, even before reading news about it around, we checked it. About two-thirds are damaged. I will write down the problems relating to the packaging below. In general we are now seeing with the supplier how to manage the situation, given that it is obviously generalized and concerns everyone (i.e.: it was not our courier who played football with us - in fact, before he saw me I saw him from the window and the he was treating great!) The errors made are: – poor quality glue: there were also gaps in a couple of the broken ones – excessive weight of the body that rested on a delicate piece glued to the base (therefore even narrower than the legs themselves: you should have one in your hand to understand it – the surface that caused “lateral resistance” was not that of the entire leg but half or less) – the base was stuck very well in the polystyrene, the body had no play and could "swing": obviously not being elastic the "swinging" caused the stress that broke the legs – the healthy ones had two pieces of polystyrene well stuck under the beak and above the hat: in this way the statue had less freedom to move – almost all the broken ones had these pieces either missing or badly placed; the piece of bubble wrap placed around the legs is useless – the two halves of the polystyrene were free: usually when they are built they are hollowed out on a mold based on the shapes of the statue, to millimeter size, then they are closed with a light pressure and a round of adhesive tape is given to keep them still so as to stop the statue inside; the ribbon was missing (all of them) and the box was about 3-4 mm wider, even a little more considering that the external one was even wider so the two polystyrene shapes were wider and the statue was freer to move more as much as it should have (and I remember: the base was fitted well and therefore rigidly still) – a useless detail: the silicon gel which should always be inserted in these boxes was missing because an accumulation of humidity (sometimes the color not dried 100% in the case of hasty packaging) is harmful… but this shows the lack of attention during the entire production process.

(Photos from the group Pkers)

[sideheart]

Madrigal Meltdown: Bogota’s Most Perfect Family Cracks? 

For many years, the Familia Madrigal have been the paragon of the newly wealthy Bogotano family: successful, charitable, and utterly  irreproachable. Their empire extends from the loftiest medical office in Clinica Fundacion Santa fe de Bogota, to the corner pharmacy with bullet proof windows in Cuidad Bolivar. You know them even if you don’t think you do. From up on their ubiquitous Familia Madrigal posters, they watch us picking up prescriptions for Abuelita, cold medicine for Pedrito’s sniffles, and liquid IV for our own cute little hangovers. Let’s just say they usually have little reason to appear in Bogota Hoy! But recent events have cast a shadow over that carefully cultivated image. Could the Familia Madrigal be hiding deeper turmoil behind that walls of that Spanish Colonial mansion?   

The drama unfolded at Laetare Sunday mass just yesterday in what should have been a celebration of joy and the resurrection. Before the priest could get out a word of the homily, Matriarch Alma Madrigal collapsed in front of the congregation. Bystanders say that Doña Alma was left unable to speak, much less deliver the second reading. Someone call a doctor! Oh wait, they are already here. What could possibly ail the head of Bogota’s most preeminent medical families? Famillia Madrigal has not released an official statement so far. 

That incident alone would be enough to raise the alarm, or at least a few eyebrows. What followed inside the church has left us all speculating. Eye witnesses claim that Agustin Madrigal- the son in law of the  Madrigal Matriarch- confronted an unknown man in the pews. The heated altercation ended with a punch thrown by Señor Madrigal in front of the iconic main doors of the Catedral Prima. “It was unreal,” remarked one bystander, “He just popped that little old guy in the head.” Pow! 

The timing of these incidents could be worse for the family, as whispers have already been circulating about the eldest Madrigal daughter’s marriage. Even if you don’t have your finger on the chisme of the Colombian elite, you will recognize the beautiful couple from the cover of JetSet. Although presented as the perfect union between the Familia Madrigal medical empire and the Guzman convenience store barons, Isabela “Ice Queen” Madrigal, and the handsome Mariano Madrigal (ne Guzman) have always been a question mark. 

“Un hogar sin niñitos es un jardín sin pajaritos,” observed an insider to the Madrigal Family. “It’s been what, three years?” Indeed, cameras that same afternoon captured a series of incriminating photos showing her husband in what appears to be a proposal—not to his wife, but to a yet-unnamed Madrigal cousin. “It’s something out of a telenovela. There’s no way to spin this positively,” our PR expert concluded. Well, we can’t blame this cousin for taking her chances with Mariano Madrigal, better known as the two time winner of Bogota Hoy!’s Top Sexiest Millionaire Bachelors. 

Are we witnessing the unraveling of one of Bogota’s most influential families? One thing is clear: the Madrigals have some serious damage control ahead of them if they hope to regain their standing as the city’s model family. Stay tuned as we follow the developing Madrigal saga. 

[itsytinyspiders]

(Part 11)

If I’m not mistaken, the actor playing the King of Bohemia isn’t speaking during this scene. Instead, they seem to be playing a recording of Irene’s actor using their male voice. Since all the actors are have a mic, the difference would be nearly unnoticeable, especially for people watching in person.

Let’s also enjoy a bit of buffoonery from the 221B boys. John whacking Sherlock’s head for his impoliteness is gold – do as I say, not as I do.

Irene making her entrance like the Prima donna she is.

Pretty sure that’s the dress she wears on a volume cover (volume 6?) of the manga.

I’m a bit surprised that this is how they decided to show the picture Irene “stole”. For context, the “king” is telling Sherlock what kind of blackmail Irene has on him. The moment he said “the type of picture that would make the viewer think the people on it are getting married”, a bright light is shone onto Irene’s hand with the picture.

I was expecting to actually see the picture, since the production has been projecting all kinds of images onto the stage – even the reference book Sherlock consults when he told John what EgPGt stands for.

Oh, so they were doing this to emphasize how badly the “king” wants the picture back. Alright, I can roll with this.

Putting a dramatic spotlight on the “king” while he gives the initial payment and names the final price of this consultation?

All of these theatrics tell me one thing – Irene is having the time of her life, tricking these fools into playing her game!

Oh my-!

They actually did a switcheroo between the first actor playing the “king” and Irene’s actor, now in the “king” costume!

See, one thing I didn’t mention in the previous scene was that there were a lot of wall-moving in the background. You could see two of the small walls in the scene where the “king” tries to get the photo from Irene.

I originally thought the wall-moving only served to illustrate how frustrated and helpless the “king” felt in his situation, but it seems that it served a double purpose.

Well done!

Is this the Baskerville arc I spy?

For some reason, the Hound of Baskerville is the only Sherlock Holmes story/novel title I can remember. Though to be fair, I have not read a lot of the original canon.

As for Yuumori, I find this arc memorable because it shows us not only more of Fred, Louis and Moran’s character, but also the reason why Blitz Enders was chosen as the Noahtic victim. I find it fitting: the Noahtic was their first big plan together and we, as the readers, get to learn more about them as they essentially tie up loose ends.

And we switch right back to Irene!

Poor Fred barely got a few sentences out of his new client and we jump to the Woman.

Sidenote: Irene’s spotlight color is purple, which can mean a lot of things, but is mainly eyecatching because colored spotlights were previously used to represent blood/violence (red) or represent the OG Moriarty family (purple and yellow). That said, Irene’s purple is of a darker shade…

In light of how Irene’s character arc progresses later on, the use of mirrors – and Irene appearing from one mirror to the other – feels like not only a representation of her acting but also a foreshadowing of the role she will take on.

Sherlock and John are also gearing up to see her, so this will be fun!

And we’re back to the Baskerville arc!

It’s alright for them to switch between arcs, since we’re still at the ramp-up part of the introduction, but later on, they’ll have to choose which arc goes first. It’ll probably be the Baskerville arc, since that one only lasts one night. Maybe they’ll do the explosion at Irene’s house, then the Baskerville mission?

I do like this scene though. We don’t get to see much of the Morigang’s interactions that don’t include one of the Moriarthree – which is a shame because I want to learn more about these characters.

[mariyekos]

In other news, I made it to the top of the Moonfire Faire Tower! 3 times as it turns out, but after no successes last year it was super exciting to get it in 2 or 3 days this year.

The first time I made it to the top in this glam. Then my static decided we were going to use the event glam for raid, so I felt like I had to make it back up in my glam for that. I technically had the outfit in my inventory on my first ascent, but it wasn't dyed yet so I had to leave, go to a marketboard for the dye, and make it back up.

My third ascent was to help out a static member who was having trouble with one of the last jumps. I wasn't sure how to describe my strategy so I hopped back down and then recorded myself working my way up the final stretch so he could see how it was done.

Cut here, since I'm going to ramble about climbing Kugane Tower (and the mini puzzle in Rhalgr's Reach) and post a bunch of pictures that I don't want clogging up people's dashboards.

Moonfire Faire First Ascent

(Had to take some photos with my main glam too! I ascended as MCH though, since I used Peloton for a handful of jumps, and wanted to show off my summer glam.)

And here's the extra platform you can reach by jumping off at the end. TBH, I hadn't even realized it was there until I landed on it. I just blind jumped off the top of the tower for fun once I finished it and then surprised myself by landing here. Had to go for some exertion/piece of cake photos xD.

Moonfire Faire Second Ascent

In between my first and second ascent, I went to the mogstation and got myself the new Ascent emote. It was the first time I bought an emote off the mogstation, since I generally avoid spending real money on things in games I've already bought, but it was on sale and I was given some extra (unexpected) money for helping someone out, so I decided to treat myself. I think the emote goes well with the outfit.

Kugane Tower First Ascent

I'd never climbed Kugane Tower before finishing the Moonfire Faire tower. I'd never even tried. But with that victory accomplished I decided to try my hand at Kugane Tower...and was honestly disappointed with how easy it was. I think it took me 2 hours max. Maybe <1.5. Counting my efforts last year, I am CERTAIN the Moonfire Faire Tower took me double digits.

I was a little disappointed it was night because I don't think the photos look quite as good, but it was still nice to GPOSE. Also MAN Kugane Tower is a lot harder to climb at night. The shadows on this one are killer.

The view from behind is much cooler than the one from in front. It's really cool to see the theatre ship in the background though! Whose name is escaping me. It's not one of the standard FF ones is it? Enterprise is taken, I think the Invincible is also taken...what could it be, hm. Oh. I looked it up and it's the Prima Vista, duh! FFIX reference in the midst of all the Tactics and XII.

Rhalgr's Reach....Second Ascent technically but ehhh

The Jump Puzzle in Rhalgr's Reach is kind of a joke. Baby's first jump puzzle. I tried it way back when and made it to the top, and I remember spending a good chunk of time running around trying to find where the rest of it was because I thought that couldn't possibly be it. But as far as I can tell, that is. So uh. Ta-da. You can see the entire jump puzzle in this screenshot. Khad's up there at the top.

Now I just need to find the one in Empyreum. But that's for another day- I've rambled on enough, and I do need some sleep. If you've read this far, thanks for checking this out!

[neptuniite]

I really love your paintings! I was curious if you wouldn't mind, could you show your process and tips for oil painting?

Thanks for asking! I had gone and taken progress photos while working on my recent painting of Hickey: hopefully this is enough to walk you through a general idea of how I complete a painting, or at least an Alla Prima (single ~3 hour session) portrait. It's a chaotic process, especially in the beginning, but a lot of fun. I want to start first by saying that this isn't exactly a tutorial, just a showing of how I work. I also want to say that if you are starting out with oil painting, you should be painting from LIFE when possible, rather than from photos. Only thing is, in my case, I cannot wrangle Adam Nagaitis into my room, so photos it is, when it comes to fandom work. Anyways...

Step 0. Brushes, paints, etc. I use sizes between 12-4, though I usually stick to 8 and 4 for most of my painting. Boar bristle brushes are great. For the paints, I'm using the Zorne palette: cadmium red, yellow ochre, titanium white, mars black. That's it. I don't bother to clean my palette between paintings, I usually mix new paint over what's there. Bad habit? Probably.

Step 1. Sketching over another sketch you don't like (clean canvas who??) Yes, this looks like a nightmare. Yes, you aren't really supposed to do this. Typically, I start my paintings on a clean TONED canvas, meaning solvent + a neutral transparent paint so it's not just a pure-white ground. In my next process post I'll show this. However, if I'm lazy and forgot to prepare surfaces, then I'll paint over an older piece I don't like. This was a failed cast study (on primed paper, so I can cut it later) that is now being repurposed into a cold boy. Can you see Hickey? My sketching is usually done with a transparent dark (in this case, alizarin crimson + mars black) and solvent to thin it out. This is slightly more sketching than I would typically do. Main structure lines to focus on are the angles for the eyes and nose, and then the centerline for the face as a whole. You can use a caliper to check proportions at this stage.

Step 2. Block in! With some paintings I'll block in the darks first, others I do the lights first. In this case, I started with the lights. The block-in stage for me consists of 2-3 values only. Dark and light. He looks scary. Goofy, even. You can see that the anatomy of the block-in is pretty bad, but that slowly gets corrected as the painting progresses.

Step 3. Added in the dark background, because it was getting difficult for me to judge the values of the painting with that pesky cast portrait in the background. Typically this isn't an issue when you're painting on a proper surface, lol. I also added his rosy cheeks in on this stage. I love painting from those outdoor scenes, because everyone has bright pink cheeks :)

Step 4. "Oh thank god, he has eyes now." I continue modeling the portrait by using intermediate values and highlights to round out the "planes" of the face. These planes are not that obvious in this particular painting, as the reference photo had very soft, ambient lighting. Always squint when looking at your reference to make sure you don't overstate shadows, especially in a case like this. I've also decided to leave the periphery of the face (hair, clothes, etc) very unfinished, almost untouched. Personal preference!

Step 5. Take care of some drawing mistakes. Here I am scraping away some paint from the forehead, since I realized the hat was up too high. A palette knife is excellent for taking care of this.

Step 6. Call it quits before you start overworking it too much :) I'll varnish this in a few weeks. Thanks for getting through to the end! I'll post more progress timelines in the future, as my process looks a little different depending on what I'm working on. Feel free to reach out if y'all have any questions.

[sillysnack]

carlos madrigal u r sooo...so. Sooooo

& (platonic) , / (romantic)

pairing: carlos madrigal / reader

prns used: they/them (told in 2nd person. slight.)

word count: Idk i'll do this later.

— — — — —

notes: modern au !!! also this is u having carlos madrigal as ur online bf LOLZ (headcanons + little drabbles) posting something today bcs i wont be posting tmr (i think. hopefully i wld post a fic or two!)

bringing this post of mine to life

— — — — —

carlos madrigal as ur online boyfriend #woo

i think he's very sweet actually! wld message u every morning and asks if u ate breakfast already <3

updates you a lot lol! hes like "Just fucking pranked my brother" and sends a photo of camilo going 🙁🖕

is on call with you everynight ! you two fall asleep together kekekeke

pepa caught him on a call with you once and introduced you as a friend LMAOOO but she knows u two r more than that

you two planned on meeting up someday :) and carlos made sure that that would happen bcs it'd be the day you'll let him be your boyfriend

^^ félix is the first to know about this. he is ecstatic

félix dropped off carlos when u two met up and talked to you for a while :) safe to say he approves of u all the way until marriage

marriage is a long way but HEY you two do talk about it from time to time :) making silly little moodboards for how it'll look and shit

owhhhh camilo wants to meet you so badddd so he cld make fun of his brother

"Let me meet them, please?" Camilo has begged his brother countless times to meet this person he's been on calls with many nights. Carlos rolled his eyes, why does he want to meet you anyways? He wasn't a big fan of online relationships.

"Give me a good reason."

Camilo smiled. "Because I'm your brother and I want you to be happy?"

Carlos scoffed. "Gross."

"I'm being caring?"

"Don't do it again. Now, go away." Carlos put his earphones on. "I'm going to call them while they're studying."

"That doesn't sound like good boyfriend behavior."

Carlos sighed. Like Camilo knew about dating. "I'm supporting them."

"Okay. I want to give my support too, and details about how you act around them. For research."

"Fuck you, what research?"

yeah. u two go on little dates in call <3

the fucker spoils u actually. when you talk to him abt your problems, he has food delivered to your place (starts sobbing)

^^ the food has little messages too. CRIES

oh he was very much happy for you to meet his primas & hermana.

"Make sure Camilo doesn't get in."

"On it!" Mirabel pushes Camilo out of his shared room with Carlos.

"What the fu–! Hola, mami!"

"Finish that sentence."

Carlos, along with his cousins and sister didn't mind Camilo's shriek when his ear got twisted by Pepa.

"They're very nice, okay? Don't bombard them with any questions. Me gustan mucho. (I like them a lot)."

Isabela sighs, "Was never a fan of online relationships. They were too messy for me. But I'm glad yours seems pleasant. Open the call!"

Carlos takes a deep breath. Now or never. His family was going to know you at some point.

"Hola, Y/N." Carlos smiles at you, your camera still isn't open. "Hola! Let me open my video real quick. Hello to your sister and cousins, too!"

Your video is open and a bright smile is on your face. I can hear the angels singing, actually. Carlos thinks.

"Carlos told me all about you guys!" You laugh. "Dolores is the sister, right?" Dolores nods. "I caught him asking my boyfriend for help with a poem he wrote for you."

You raise your eyebrow at Carlos. "A poem? Didn't know you were quite the poet, amor."

"Ooh, they called you 'amor'." Mirabel teases Carlos in a sing-song manner. "So, Y/N, tell me. Is Carlos... sweet?"

"Very much! He's always there for me, and I'm so grateful for that."

Carlos starts blushing. I am never hearing the end of this.

"You're Mirabel, the one who knows how to make clothes! Oh, Carlos showed me that sweater you knitted for him during Christmas... so cute!"

You pull up a photo of Carlos wearing the sweater. "Maybe I should make one for you! You two could match!" You put your thumb up.

"Are you sure you're dating Carlos? This doesn't sound a lot like him." Luisa laughs. Even Luisa? I am not eating with the family later.

You laugh along with her. "Right? He was really silent during our first few calls. Apparently it's because Camilo's nosy."

"I can hear you!" Mirabel hits the door. "Stop eavesdropping!"

im too lazy to write the rest of that basta his whole family likes you!!!!

GAHHhhhh hes so protective of u Im crying

he met your family as well and theyre like "..U two r 15. r u sure of this?" and he has this whole speech (camilo helped prepare it)

ur parents are okay with it :) just stay safe or smth since its online lol

part two

[luckycheesefoodie321]

Thinking about why the cool colours family had Abuela’s focus more than the warm colours family.. (no Alma hate just pointing some things out)

Well firstly Bruno, who has an exceptional power within the gifts of the family, generally is perceived negatively by those who receive their potential futures. So Abuela turns elsewhere for more “useful” gifts (and then he leaves on top of that)

Meanwhile Pepa, her gift would’ve been great bc hey she can control the weather. But the weather is tied to her emotions. So Abuela could only snap at her over time to control her emotions or calm down (all terrible for Pepa’s mental health which is why she’s so anxious all the time trying to repress her emotions)

So who do we have left but Julieta. While Julieta reads as the oldest sibling, I feel like Pepa was introduced first in The Family Madrigal, which suggests she’s the oldest triplet but I could be wrong. It doesn’t particularly matter in this case.

But looking at the door photos with Abuela, she’s already indicated to be very proper. And while Pepa and Bruno had very flashy gifts (which also lends to her being very plain compared to the rest of her family and mirrors Mirabel’s life a lot), Julieta’s is easily the most practical and can guarantee consistent positive results. She heals people through food. A lovely sentiment but also something that can be of immediate service to the community.

Then it’s heavily indicated that Isabela is the oldest grandkid. And Julieta’s first child. And her gift, in essence, is her beauty. Like yes she can make plants but Alma uses her as a shining example of the beautiful miracle and magic the Madrigal family is blessed with. Hey they’ve had some questionable fortune telling from Bruno and inconsistent weather from Pepa, but with the grandkids, Alma is showing her village through Isabela that this is the true Madrigal miracle. And Isabela internalises that and has to PRACTICE being perfect to continuously realise this image Abuela expects of her. So basically Isabela looks pretty while her mom does the practical work.

Dolores comes next. A powerful ability sure. Enhanced hearing can be very useful to the community. Distress calls. Secrets. Too many secrets. Overwhelming amount of noise. It surely would’ve taken a while to adjust and control her power. So she would not have been immediately, practically useful. And on the topic of secrets, maybe not the majority but there would have been this niggling doubt that Alma might be using Dolores to find out the villagers secrets (obvi meeting Dolores they could never think that but surely it passed their minds at some point)… so, paired with Dolores getting quieter with every year in her speech and how she blends into the background of the family, Alma turns her attention once again to Julieta’s side of the family and Dolores’ much flashier and perfect prima.

And then Luisa is born. Talk about a practical gift. Obscene strength that could be put to IMMEDIATE use. Like I don’t think five year old Luisa was flipping houses from the beginning (Alma isn’t cruel in that way). But hey Luisa I need this pot moved. Hey Luisa can you wrangle up that one donkey? And then it just compounds to Luisa having the most labour-intensive chores of the entire family. But she can most service the community and Abuela capitalised on that. And unconsciously following her lead, the villagers start to also rely on Luisa a bit too much as well. So this reliance compounds heavily into her personal pressure to constantly be of service.

So we have Julieta healing the villagers and cooking constantly. Isabela is the face of the Madrigals. Perfection at every turn. And Luisa demonstrates the might of the Madrigal family. We are here to help YOU.

And then Camilo comes along. Interesting gift. No immediate indication of how it might be serviceable to the community. He gets relegated to odd jobs around the town. Maybe people start coming to him for sneaky work pretending to be them so they can shirk their own duties. Abuela constantly asking him to transform into someone else. Identity crisis. Mischievous personality. Useful but not as useful Abuela could’ve hoped for. So again less attention on him.

Then Mirabel. We know all about her plight. She was given no gift bc her natural compassion and light and love of her family didn’t need to be enhanced in any way. The magic of the casita knew what was needed by the family and that was what Mirabel had to offer. But obviously all anyone sees is a little girl without a gift. Alma becomes desperate and shuns Mirabel and hopes the magic isn’t dying. Bruno leaves after divining the future about Mirabel. So Mirabel (and Bruno) becomes an indicator of the dying miracle and Alma’s attitude (born of desperation and repressed grief) compounds into increased attention on everyone else, making sure they continue to be perfect and at peak condition.

Then Antonio. Next child after Mirabel. High stakes. It doesn’t matter what gift just make sure there is one. The relief on Alma’s face when the door works and his gift is speaking to animals. Like Camilo, not immediately evident what use it will have for the community. In fact Alma is even a little put off by it. But the magic is still strong. He has a gift. But again IMMEDIATELY after his ceremony, her reassurance the magic still works, she redirects back to Isabela and getting her married to Mariano. Bc again her gift is her BEAUTY. Like honestly in terms of immediate practicality, Isabela’s and Antonio’s gifts are pretty much the same. But again Isabela is beautiful and perfect at all times and her ability to produce flowers makes everyone ooh and ahh. So she is still Abuela’s favourite.

—————

So we see a distinct divide.

Warm colours family: Pepa’s would’ve been great if it weren’t tied to her emotions. Dolores, Camilo and Antonio - very minimal in terms of practical application to help the town. Odd jobs family.

Cool colours family: Julieta, immediately useful - be ours and the whole town’s cook and doctor in one! Isabela, the face of the family. The best example of the beauty of the magic blessed in the family. Not big in practicality but just the thing to dispel any doubts of how wonderful the Madrigal’s are. Luisa, as if to make up for things, big points in practical gift. Immediately useful. Put all manual labour and town upkeep on her and label them as “chores”. Yes Luisa is always available for heavy lifting. Mirabel, a dark omen and write off. She is an indicator of all things bad. Reinforce pressure on the others in her family.

Agustin and Felix see all this and just do their best to be bright delightful himbos that support their wives and children. We love them.

[im-just-a-br0adway-baby]

Mirabel dragged Bruno into Casita’s courtyard as she and the rest of the family placed some old photo albums on the floor. The Madrigals just celebrated Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno's fifty-first birthday, and it was a big celebration because it was their first birthday in ten years they got to celebrate with Bruno. After a big day of the grandkids putting on a talent show for the triplets and the rest of the Encanto, and eating the most delicious cake Agustin and Felix made by themselves (although it took quite a while, but it was worth it), they decided it was time to relax and look back on some old memories after the rest of the Encanto left.

Alma wiped some dust off of the first album and opened it. The first photo she came across was of the triplets on their first birthday, with their faces smothered in cake. “Did you have to start off with that one?” Julieta said as she attempted to hold in a laugh.

“Don’t act like you three were not the cutest babies. I wish I could carry you three in my arms one more time,” Alma responded as she gave Julieta a hug. She could not help but hug her mother back, even though seeing her one-year-old self with a face full of cake still embarrassed her a little bit.

Bruno could not help but laugh at the fact that he was completely knocked out in the cake while his sisters were still stuffing their faces. “Even back then, all I wanted to do was sleep,” he pointed out.

Julieta and Pepa laughed. “Either that or you just wanted to hog the cake from us,” Pepa added. Bruno playfully nudged her and Pepa did so back.

Right below that picture was another picture of Pepa and Bruno at Dr. Martinez’s office when they were seven years old. Pepa was sitting in the sensory swing next to Dr. Martinez, laughing and not knowing her picture was being taken, and Bruno was in front of Dr. Martinez, looking away from the camera in his infamous deer-in-the-headlights look.

“I remember that sensory swing!” Mirabel exclaimed once she saw the picture. That was the same sensory swing she sat in the first time she saw Dr. Ortega. 

“...You do?” Bruno said.

“We completely forgot to tell you, Brunito! Mirabel started seeing Dr. Ortega shortly after her gift ceremony. She’s still seeing her,” Julieta explained when she realized.

Bruno smiled and gave his youngest niece a hug. “That explains so much; how you’ve grown so much as a person.”

“I don’t think I would’ve been able to save the miracle if it weren’t for her.”

Isabela brought out another photo album and opened it to a picture of her, Julieta, and Agustin at her 4.0 breakfast when she was a senior in high school. While it brought back a lot of memories, Isabela could not decide whether to smile or frown at it.

“What’s the matter, Isa?” Luisa asked when she noticed her older sister’s face.

“It’s just that… whenever I see any of my high school pictures, I can’t help but think about how much pressure was put on me to maintain my 4.0 GPA and become valedictorian of my class,” Isabela answered.

Luisa and Mirabel hugged Isabela once she admitted that. She never admitted to the amount of pressure the rest of the family was putting on her when she was a teenager. But after she spoke up, she felt a lot better.

Isabela turned the page in the album and came across a picture of her and Dolores at their first dance recital when they were three. Julieta was holding Isabela and Pepa was holding Dolores, each daughter hugging their mothers. The picture below showed Isabela and Dolores on stage at their violin recital when they were fifteen. Pepa and Dolores came closer when Isabela showed the pictures to her tia and prima.

“I can’t believe how much we’ve grown since then,” Dolores pointed out.

“Seeing you girls on stage reminded us of our old dance and music recitals,” Pepa said as she opened another photo album of her and Julieta after their first dance recital from when they were three years old. Right below that picture was of the triplets with Agustin and Felix backstage at a spring orchestra concert when they were in high school.

“It turned out our oldest daughters would have more in common with us than we would later realize,” Julieta said as Alma turned the page of her photo album and came across a picture of the triplets’ high school freshman pictures. All three of them were in their special outfits that Alma picked out just for them on their first high school picture day. Mirabel looked at the picture and noticed her mother with a short haircut just like hers.

“Mama, I know you mentioned a lot that I look just like you when you were my age, but this picture confirms it,” Mirabel said as she looked at the picture. Julieta gave her daughter a hug from the back and peeked at the picture.

She laughed and gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek. “I have another picture in this box that may confirm it even more.” Julieta brought out a box that said “Julieta and Agustin” on it, and took out a picture of her behind Agustin, when Julieta was seventeen and Agustin was sixteen, wearing his glasses. Mirabel laughed as Julieta gave her the picture.

“I wanted to try on your papa’s glasses just to see how they felt. I had to take them off after only five minutes because my eyes were hurting, but Pepa was able to snap a picture before they would take a toll.”

Mirabel giggled as she held up the picture. “You look even more like me than in the other one, Mama,” Mirabel pointed out.

Julieta then took out a picture of Mirabel in front of Casita after it was rebuilt. She put the picture next to the one of her in Agustin’s glasses, and attempted to hold in a giggle when she realized she basically gave birth to herself. Mirabel began to laugh too as she and her mother shared another hug.

“Speaking of; Tonito, I want to show you a few pictures that I think you would love,” Felix interrupted.

Antonio wriggled out of Mirabel’s arms and over to his father, who just took out another photo album he kept for many years. “I wanted to show this album because I still have a lot of pictures of Pepi and me, but this picture is for you.”

Felix turned to a page to reveal his Pre-K graduation picture. Antonio stared at the picture for thirty seconds once he came to the realization. “Papa; you look just like me.”

Felix then took out the picture of Antonio at his gift ceremony and put it next to his picture. He was a spitting image of his son, with the same eyes, same afro, same nose, and even the same smile. Antonio crawled over to his father and gave him a hug.

Pepa tapped on Julieta’s shoulder. When Julieta turned around, Pepa held another box that said “Pepa and Felix” on it. Pepa opened the box to reveal all the pictures she saved of her relationship, although hers was slightly fuller than Julieta’s.

Camilo could not help but blush and attempt to sneak out of the room. He was immediately caught and Felix pulled his arm back to where he was sitting. “Come on, mama; do you have to show off you and papa as teenagers?”

“I treasure every part of my relationship with your papa, Cami. You’ll understand when you get married,” Pepa answered as she took out the first picture she found. 

Felix noticed the picture Pepa took out and shed one tear. They were both in their early twenties, and their faces were close to the camera as they were squishing each other’s cheeks. Pepa and Felix could not help but laugh as they looked at the picture. 

“I don’t think there’s a single serious picture of just the two of us,” Felix pointed out as he noticed the box was filled with pictures of just them being silly.

“That just means I’m most comfortable being myself around you,” Pepa responded as she continued to dig through the box. “Speaking of…”

Pepa found another picture of her and Felix and gave it to him. She was about sixteen years old and Felix was about seventeen, and Felix was tickling Pepa’s stomach while she was laughing, with her big, bright smile showing off her tooth gap, her nose scrunched up, and her nostrils mid-flair.

“This was the first time I showed off my teeth in a picture in a long time. I was always made fun of because of my tooth gap when I was little.”

“I wanted to show her how beautiful her smile was, how I saw her smile.” Felix then leaned over towards Dolores and Camilo. “Your mama is also very ticklish, and she hates admitting this, but she loves being tickled, so Julieta, Bruno, and I took that as an opportunity to show her. Julieta and Bruno snapped this picture without her knowing while I was tickling her.”

“Once Felix showed me the picture, that was when I started to see my smile the way he saw it. I mean, I could never help but smile full-out when he’s around, but this was when I truly began to love my smile again.”

Pepa and Felix looked at each other and giggled before they moved closer to each other and hugged tightly. Camilo rolled his eyes at the sight of his parents being all lovey-dovey again. Dolores nudged her little brother and stared at him.

“Camilo! Look at this!” Mirabel said as she skimmed through Alma’s photo album and came across a picture of her and Camilo when they were four years old. Camilo leaned over and saw the picture. It was of her and Mirabel sitting in the backyard, giggling while attempting to give each other bunny ears and leaning away from each other. Camilo giggled once he saw the picture, then shed a tear.

“You know, Mirabel. I miss when we were this close. I know Abuela has often pulled me away since my gift ceremony to help the village, but to be honest, I really just wanted to play with you. But I never got the chance to since then because I would always come home exhausted and wanting to eat something or go to sleep.” Mirabel also began to cry and gave her cousin a hug. Camilo smiled and hugged Mirabel back.

Bruno leaned over to look at the picture Mirabel and Camilo were referring to. “Why does that picture look so familiar?”

Julieta and Pepa also leaned over to look at the picture. Pepa gasped and skimmed through another photo album, until she found a picture of her and Bruno when they were four years old in Casita’s backyard in the exact same pose. Bruno looked at the picture and cried once Pepa revealed the picture.

“That reminded me of how close we used to be when we were that age too,” Pepa said as she hugged her brother.

Bruno looked at the picture again and cried. “I… felt like such a bad son, brother, and uncle around the time Camilo and Mirabel were born. I haven’t been interacting with you all that much since then and… I feel like my relationship with all of you has been strained. So when I left ten years ago, I thought none of you would miss me.”

Alma was the first to cry when her son admitted that and gave him a hug. “Brunito, you were never a bad son.”

“Or a bad brother,” Pepa admitted.

“Or a bad uncle,” Mirabel also admitted.

“We never stopped loving you, and we missed you that whole time. I just had a hard time admitting it for a while. I didn’t want to think about the fact that you were gone, so I just pushed any thoughts of you aside,” Alma continued.

“I’m going to be honest; I wasn’t really all that angry about the whole wedding thing. I just felt pressured to be angry at you for something, and used the wedding as a scapegoat,” Pepa added as she moved over to Bruno and gave him a hug.

The rest of the family cried and gave Bruno a hug. “I know you had to have some hard conversations with us in the past, but that doesn’t mean you make bad things happen,” Dolores said as she let out a tiny sniffle.

“It just means that the truth can hurt sometimes, and the only thing we can do is accept it,” Julieta continued.

As all the Madrigals squeezed Bruno in a group hug, he held out a picture that Alma just developed shortly before the trip down memory lane. He held the picture up to reveal it was of him, Juleita, and Pepa from earlier today with their cheeks squished together and big smiles, behind the cake Agustin and Felix made and their faces covered in whipped cream after being pied by the children during their talent show’s grand finale. The rest of the family leaned over to see the picture.

“I’m pretty sure this was the happiest you’ve been in a picture,” Pepa mentioned.

“Really?” Bruno asked. 

He began to rummage through all the photo albums and noticed that in every picture he was smiling in, it was nothing more than a slight smirk. Just like Pepa, he never showed his teeth when smiling. However, unlike Pepa, it has lasted all throughout his life.

Bruno has not noticed this until now. He was never aware of how he was smiling like Pepa was. “I guess that was the happiest I’ve been in years.”

“I think we can see why,” Isabela said.

“This was the first birthday in ten years you had with your family,” Luisa continued.

xx1“Plus, you realized we all love you and missed you,” Camilo mentioned.

The Madrigals squeezed Bruno tighter and he could not help but smile wider than he ever has. Julieta and Pepa were on each side of him, and Agustin and Felix were right next to their wives. All of his nieces and nephews were surrounding them and Alma was hugging all three of her children.

“Feliz cumpleanos, mijos,” Alma said as she squeezed the triplets tight.

“Feliz cumpleanos,” said the rest of the family.

Bruno wriggled his arm out of the group hug for one moment to put the picture into Alma’s photo album. Today was a memory that was worth remembering for years, and the whole family, even Bruno, knew it.

[jiminieloved]

Ultimate Jikook Timeline Pt 103

Map of the Soul: 7 Era part 1

1. February 1, 2020:

a) Big Hit 15th anniversary artist group photo

b) Bangtan Bomb

0:20 Jimin tries an impression and JK looks at him

2. February 4, 2020:

Run Ep. 94

4:20 tracing the line with their fingers together

7:24 Jimin and JK mess up in the game, so they laugh together while reaching and holding each other

16:28 sitting close and Jimin puts his arm around JK’s shoulder

23:12 they discuss about who should do the challenge, Jimin says he is going to have a leg cramp if he does it, so JK does the challenge

24:12 Jimin massages JK’s leg after he loses the challenge

Behind

0:29 JK yells “Jimin-ssi” after Jimin says the wrong answer

1:54 another angle of the 7:24 moment of the episode

4:01 sitting close

7:48 they stay behind while looking at some kitchen appliance

3. February 17, 2020:

BTS reacts to BTS debut+5 Days

2:54 they watch a debut video and when they show the part where Jimin shows his abs, JK smirks and stares at it

4. February 20, 2020:

a) BTS at Incheon Airport

b) BTS in Brooklin

0:42 standing close

4:54 Jimin gets inside the car and at 5:30 JK gets in the same car as him

c) Bangtan Bomb

JK filming Jimin at the beginning of the video

1:02 JK films Jimin again, Jimin makes a heart with his fingers and then JK says “but it’s not my phone” and Jimin says “what? It’s not?”

2:05 Hobi mistakenly calls Jimin JK

5. February 21, 2020:

a) BTS Twitter post

b) 3J Unit Photo Shooting behind

c) Map of The Soul: 7 Jacket Shooting sketch

2:11 together for the unit photoshoot and then cutely talking about being in the same unit for a long time

3:17 looking at the photo results together

6:12 JK lays on Jimin’s back for the photoshoot

6:52 standing close

d) BTS Comeback Special

3:28 Jimin looks fondly at JK

18:50 JK picks Jimin as the one who looks better in the concept picture so Jimin asks him to explain why, JK says Jimin looks sexy with make up on

50:33 JK has to give a hint about “On” by acting and Jimin tells him “you are great at crying, show us that”

1:09:20 JK says he doesn’t know how to describe his excitement for the new album, so Jimin grabs his clothes and says “why do you keep saying that?”

1:12:54 jikook hug

1:14:17 standing close

e) Bangtan Bomb

They watch an adorable jikook moment in the beginning

0:40 they watch the members doing the photoshoot with the dark wings and Jimin keeps laughing but immediately changes his expression when JK’s appears on the shooting

f) Sirius XM Interview

0:27 standing close, JK has his arm around Jimin’s shoulder

1:05 JK hides behind Jimin to tease him

5:45 Jimin hugs JK

g) Billboard Interview

3:00 sharing a drink

h) 'ON' Kinetic Manifesto Film : Come Prima MAKING FILM

13:29 JK puts his arms around Jimin and Namjoon

14:37 standing close

i) Bangtan Bomb - Spelling with Water Bottles

Jimin teases JK while he tries to spell the word “army” with water bottles

6. February 22, 2020:

a) Subway Olympics with BTS - The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon

2:56 when the game ends and they start to count who has the most post-its, Jimin sneakily glues more on JK’s clothes for him to win

b) BTS and Jimmy Serve Katz’s Deli Pastrami Sandwiches in NYC

2:14 standing close

c) The Tonight Show Episode

10:21 Jimin puts an arm around JK and stands close to him

7. February 23, 2020:

BTS at Incheon Airport

8. February 24, 2020:

a) Map of The Soul: 7 Press Conference

Jikook were wearing matching clothes

b) Bangtan Bomb - Jin’s Selfie Time

0:16 Jimin and JK hug Jin while touching their faces

9. February 25, 2020:

BTS Twitter post

10. February 27, 2020:

a) “On” MV Reaction

0:58 JK says “Jimin” when Jimin appears on the video

5:49 Jimin says “Jungkook, good job” when they finish watching the MV

b) Bangtan Bomb

Jikook laughing and playing with a megaphone

c) M!Countdown - Waiting Room Interview

0:36 Jimin asks JK to sing a part of “On” and then they exchange a look

11. February 28, 2020:

a) Music Bank Interview

1:50 JK sings the lyrics of “Shadow” and glances at Jimin

b) Bangtan Bomb

0:11 JK playfully pretends he is shooting with the camera, so Jin tells him to shoot Jimin and JK says he is out of bullets

Credits for the Run episodes timestamps to @ladyc0312​​​​​​​​

Information compiled by @lagalaxiedemochi​​​​​​​​​​​​​, please direct all questions to this account.

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[nightjarcreations]

After what seems like forever… I have finally completed my second binding!

There were so many components that I was determined to master on this one, that I almost didn’t notice how much time I was dedicating to each and every part!

For those that know me, I hold myself to an almost unobtainable level of perfectionism. This ultimately shows within my subtle design details, which elude to the fic printed within its pages.

So to explain just a few of them…

Photo 1: (front cover) depicts an eagle atop various ‘mandala’ shapes, centrally focusing on a hexagram-mandala of the 4 elements (air, water, fire, earth) in Latin. The colours are the exact Pantone palette for the colours of Ravenclaw, which were incorporated throughout the entire case, head/tailbands, as well as the ribbon bookmark.

This design represents the main storyline of the fic, where the post-war students underwent a resorting ceremony. Placed within Ravenclaw, Hermione and Draco embark upon a journey, studying alchemy with rather drastic consequences… 👀

Photo 2: (back cover) depicts the scarred arms of Draco and Hermione. I drew both scars myself, upon the arms (a free vector). This is a pertinent point within the fic - if you know, you know…

Photo 3: (chapter element) the 4 elemental signs are illustrated within each elements’ corresponding symbol. It is balanced around the combined symbol for the Tria Prima (or three primes), which together look similar to a bird!

The paragraph dividers are the symbol for quintessence.

Photo 4: is a letter that Hermione receives from twin alchemists, who both scribe the letter with almost imperceptible differences in handwriting.

I chose two fonts that both utilise the capital ‘R’.. can you spot where each font begins and ends?

Photo 5: Pansy’s “curly script” 🥺

Photo 6: I decided that across all of my typesets, I shall maintain a ‘set’ font for each character.

Photo 8/9: my interpretation of Rowena Ravenclaw’s notebook, complete with the signatures of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. I also designed the mandala that Hermione and Draco use, complete with all of the annotations taken directly from the fic that describes this page of the notebook.

I hope to make contact with the author of this fic, as I would love to know what she thinks.. and to gift it to her 🥰