#rip lucy's skirt

[vryfmi]

i like that new high budget fanfic that they are dropping. really wanted to draw rucy, chapwood and georli

[id from alt text: digital art of the Lockwood and Co trio. On the left are the trio from the books; Lockwood is wearing a smart two piece suit, Lucy in an orange sweater and skirt holding the Skull, and George pushing up his glasses with his middle finger in a zip-up hoodie and jeans.

On the right are the trio from the show; Lockwood in a large coat, George in a yellow hoodie, and Lucy in a dark-blue jacket and shorts, also holding the Skull.

Book trio says "who the fuck are you?"

Show trio says "who the fuck are you?"

Book: "we asked you first"

Show: "we asked you second"./end id]

[julietsbody]

thinking of luke finding his best friend high at one of those parties they secretly hold at camp… 

semi inspired by murdrdocs’ blurb abt smoking w luke & princessbrunette’s blurb abt jj finding his innocent friend high!!

typically luke never came to these, he was never really a party person, just until you’re texting him some sloppy words that barely make any sense— so now he’s weaving his way through the mess of trees towards the booming music in the distance. did they know how to not get caught? 

luke’s nose scrunches as soon as he gets close enough to make out where you might be in that bright pink skirt he always saw you in, his steps move faster, especially since you’re talking to some asshole from the hades cabin. his jaw shifts as soon as he plants his hands on your shoulders, pupils cinched as he glares at the man you’re speaking with. 

“oh, hey, luke!” you smile so sweet, a little too sweet, in fact, you smell.. he blinks once, then again, then again. to be honest, you don’t really remember texting luke, and it’s always a pleasant surprise to see him appear out of nowhere.

“hey, uh, lets go, yeah?” his hands are gentle when they move you to take a step or two back from the brooding man who clearly looks disappointed, if not a little agitated, with luke’s arrival. 

“but ‘m having fun, do you want to meet my friend? this is my friend—“ 

“yeah, yeah,” luke stares at the man for a second, “hey, dude, ‘kay, time to go.” 

“seems like she doesn’t want to,” the man suddenly speaks, and it should be a blessing from hades himself that luke doesn’t have his sword strapped to his belt. 

“seems like she does since she texted me,” his tone is firmer, a certain bitterness and bite to it, “should be lucky ‘m too busy to rip that smartass smirk off your face.” 

the last sentence comes out as a mumble as he gently guides you away from the party, having to take more of a precaution than usual since you’re stumbling an awful lot. god, how much did you smoke. 

“why’d you say that to him—“ 

“mmm, no reason— hey.. jus’ asking but, you didn’t get that weed from one of the guys there, right?” you seemed much more than just high, unless you smoked like, five blunts— gods, did you? 

“no, nono, got it from um.. lucy, she said it was reaaaalllyyyy strong but like— i only smoked a little,” he hums along to your non - stop giggles, failing to keep his hands from your shoulders since every time he lets go you nearly walk into a tree. 

“yeah, yup, jus’ a little, you know, uh.. you could always just ask to smoke with me,” he shrugs like it’s simple. 

“wooow, you smoke..?” you ask very slowly all of a sudden. 

“what, you think ‘m not cool enough to?” he tuts, steering you to the hermes cabin, which is of course, empty as it always is. you were sure the hermes kids were all dead by now since every time you’re in the cabin it’s vacant, well, besides chris, but he’s always glaring at luke and leaving to bother clarisse. 

“not what i said—“ you frown up at him, and he just nods, moving to sit you down on his bed as he inspects your face to make sure you’re solely high on weed— you really do reek of it, gosh, maybe he should spray his cologne on you. he doesn’t get more time to think before you’re pawing at him, “miss you, luke, talk to me.” 

he chuckles at the hazy glint in your eyes, “c’mon, princess, ‘m not the man for that job.” 

you hook a finger around one of the belt loops on his jeans, tugging him in closer, “what do you mean?” 

“‘m your friend,” it comes out hushed, breathy, “jus’ here to take care of you.” 

“so take care of me,” your eyes catch on to the bulge forming in his pants, a lazy smile curving your lips upwards. 

he pauses for a second, considering, before unhooking your hand from his pants and moving you to lay down on his bed, “time to get some beauty sleep, yeah? g’na get me in trouble if you keep acting out, princess.” 

[skxllz]

I have luci brainrot :)

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“ are you seeing anyone? ”

a shriek ripped from the blonde's throat as the rubber duck in his grasp, that he was working on, went flying above his head. lucifer panicked, trying to catch it as it soared back into his vicinity, fumbling between his fingertips — but alas, it bounced off of his desk and landed on the floor with a weak honk!

blinking in shock, he whirled around, only to see you leaning against the doorframe to his office with a hand pressed to your mouth to stop the laughter that bubbled in your throat, from spilling forth. “ huh — wha- I- did- ” lucifer straightened his back, smoothing out the bottom half of his suit with a clearing of his throat. “ w-what was that, you were asking? ”

oh, he heard the question loud and clear; he just thought it was his imagination.

pushing yourself off of the oakwood frame, you lazily sauntered over to the king, only to take a seat on the edge of the nearby table he had piled with many versions of his favorite creation. even after moving into charlie's hotel, he still hasn't let up on crafting the little ducks he's so fond of.

after crossing one leg over the other, you tilt your head at him, “ I said, are you seeing anyone, your majesty? ”

as lucifer blinked, his pupils shrinking in astonishment, a blush appeared on his pale face, decorating his complexion to perfection. it was rather cute to see him so flustered from such an easy going question. as old as he was, you figured something like that wouldn't bother him — but alas, he's only ever loved one woman; and although he doesn't lack experience, it's been quite sometime since he's been asked out.

“ i- um.. you can drop the horrifics, y/n, ” he started off, glancing away from you, rubbing at his nape while bashfulness crossed his features. “ and, as of right now, I am not, no. ”

this intrigued you. your brows rose, lips forming a small circle, “ oh? ”

but you weren't the only one interested. lucifer has had his eyes on you since meeting you —which, of course, was when he met charlie's other friends; you just so happened to be closest to her, other than her girlfriend— and now wanted, out of pure curiosity and maybe slight hope, to know why you were questioning him on the matter.

his red irises darted to land on your figure, only to see you staring straight at him, seemingly in thought. even so, if it was unintentional, it left the elder to feel a fluttering in his stomach. “ why did you want to know? ” lucifer found himself speaking up, though nervously. his eyes were shifting, and his lips were twitching at the ends, lifting into a coy grin.

sure, he was the king of hell, he had no reason to be nervous — but pretty women as intimidating as you left him to feel helpless.

“ hm? ” you shook yourself out of your thought process, only to hum and look away; a small smile stretching onto your lips. “ oh, no reason... I just wanted to know if I had a chance with the king himself. ”

wait, what-

lucifer's mouth dropped open from your bold statement. did you really just say that so casually? I mean, shit, most people in hell were known for being so straight forward, but- you were his daughter's friend for hell's sake! he never thought you of all demons would take a stab at him.

and yet, the amount of confidence you radiated from that statement alone left him to salivate. he had to thickly swallow to contain himself.

you noticed the effect, of course, causing you to turn your head away and smirk, just for a moment. who knew the king could be so adorable?

“ well, ” you sighed, sliding off of the desk, pressing your hands down to the soft fabric of your skirt to fix it — damned thing. “ I'll be off; wouldn't want to keep you too long, your majesty. ”

the blonde blinked out of the small trance he was in. he wasn't sure why, but his body worked before his brain even could — and he was moving forward, reaching out to you, as you turned to leave. “ wait- ”

you paused, looking over your shoulder to the shorter male. “ yes? ”

“ uh- ”

‘ gosh, spit it out lucifer! ’

he gathered the courage; taking a deep breath, puffing out his chest, whirring back his shoulders- he looked pathetically cute. “ willyougoonadatewithme?! ”

.. what did he say? did he- just ask you on a date?

you were staring at him now, semi-shocked by the sudden question. it's no secret that, even though lilith has been gone for seven years, that lucifer was still not over her. for that reason, you figured it'd take time to wriggle your way into his hands, let alone his heart. so yes, the fact that he asked you on a date was like hearing adam himself announce an apology.

well, maybe not that rare, but still.

when the blonde started nervously laughing, you figured quite some time must've passed and you were now just staring him down like some creep. “ well, uh- is that- is that a no? ”

the way he looked dejected and frowned upon saying ‘ no ’ could've broke your heart to pieces — if it weren't for the fact that you knew you could make him smile again, it probably would have. “ no, lucifer- I mean, yes, but- ”

fuck, why are you stumbling over your words?

inhaling deeply, you turn towards him to appropriately answer; a smile curling onto your lips sweetly. “ what I'm trying to say, is I'd love to go on a date with you. ”

that made his face light up again. his dull eyes shined brighter than any star, and you swear he could beat even the cutest of puppies when it came to adorable-ness. “ really?! oh, thank eros! ”

“ ... the greek god-? ”

“ nevermind that! ” lucifer inhaled happily, taking a gentle hold of your hand. he lifted it to his mouth, bending forward, only to place a savoring push of his lips to the curve of your knuckles.

as he gazed up at you through his eyelashes, he cheekily grinned, causing your heart to arise in a flutter. “ I just... thank you for allowing me to take you out, darling. it's truly an honor. ”

grinning back at the king, you use your free hand to caress the tips of your digits over the rim of his hat. “ no, lucifer, the honor is truly mine. ”

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows. anyway no warnings for you guys today besides maybe this is boring lol

masterlists // nav // requests

join my taglist here

a/n: young coryo has me in a death grip rn guys this could be a problem-

next part

Fists clenched at your sides, you storm up to the front of the hall, staring intently at the Dean. You knew your odds were better pleading with Dr. Gaul, but that was a task far from your mind. "Miss Y/L/N, I don't have time for your petty complaints at the moment." He dismisses you before you even reach an appropriate distance to start your discussion.

"I was waiting for this." Festus chuckles, commenting on how none of the chosen mentors had a chance to process anything or even speak before you were stomping down the centre aisle, between all their seats, and up towards the podium where Dean Highbottom now stood.

Coriolanus found his gaze following you, despite his better judgment telling him to focus on the subject- scratch that, problem, at hand: his assignment of the mentorship of Lucy Gray Baird. She was fiery, that's for sure, and upon first impressions, she reminded him of you.

"You think I couldn't handle it, is that it?" You almost shout, discarding all formality in favour of getting answers. 

"You knew the qualifications, Miss Y/L/N." The Dean sighs.

"I got one B over a year ago! God, hold a grudge much? You're miserable!" People are staring now, noticeably, but you don't care. You're used to getting what you want, and the one time you don't, it comes back to bite you in the ass over a year later.

"Then you should have done better. Drop this or I'll demerit you." He states in response, clearly hardly caring. You huff, face red as you storm off again, making a point of slamming the door open so hard it hits the wall with a bang.

Coriolanus never understood fully why the Dean let you parade around with this attitude directed at him, but never so much as lifted a finger to punish you. If he had made a scene like that, he would have been expelled on the spot. "I should go after her." He turns to look at Sejanus as he's getting up, quickly gathering himself to follow after you. He had little interest in staying anyway.

"I'll go." Coriolanus stands, placing his hand on Sejanus' chest to stop him. "You stay. I'll sort her out."

"Coriolanus Snow, off to sedate his girlfriend again." Arachne teases as he walks off, leaving Sejanus to defend his name in his stead. He'd much prefer talking you down to uselessly explaining to the other kids in your class that the two of you were nothing more than friends. It was a wasteful endeavour. You were just the only one who's presence he could stand in a social capacity.

You made it outside, pacing the large front steps of the academy, fighting the urge to rip off your skirt and burn it right there. Along with the rest of the building.

"Y/N." You pause when you hear the door close behind someone, looking up to see your friend.

"Coryo." You reply, continuing with your fruitless crusade at this point.

"What happened to not caring about the prize?" He asks, stepping down so he's level with you on the staircase, getting in your path so you can no longer pace.

"I don't care about the prize." You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not about that."

"I doubt that." Coriolanus raises an eyebrow at you. You had told him at length you didn't care about the prize when you found out you weren't even in the running, because your parents could pay your tuition anyway. He envied your privilege, but he had never envied you.

"No, it's not." You insist. "I got one less than stellar grade one time and now I'm missing out on this opportunity- effectively throwing away any shot I have at Gamemaker."

"That's dramatic." Your friend replies. "I think you're better off than me."

You scoff. "Oh, boo hoo, Coriolanus Snow. I'd take Lucy Gray in a second."

"Just because she can cause a scene doesn't mean she'll last a minute in the games." He replies.

"Duh, it's not about winning. It's about the experience, it's about-"

"Being on TV?" He asks, and despite his serious expression you know it's a joke.

"Even you know I'm not that shallow. I'm not Arachne." You can't help but smile. He does too, for just a second. "And frankly, I'm offended at the insinuation."

"Then enlighten me, Y/N Y/L/N." Coriolanus prompts, and suddenly your demeanor changes in a way he would deem hardly noticeable if he hadn't known you for years.

You sigh, dropping your tense shoulders. "My father will be up in arms when he finds out." You answer, voice in a whisper despite being alone out here. "I'm an embarrassment to my family name."

"That's impossible." He shakes his head quickly. "You're their pride and joy. A gem of the Capitol."

"Ah, but for how long?" You reply, poking his chest. "Until the oldest Y/L/N child doesn't get a mentorship? Until my brother does in three years and I am an irrelevant face in the University halls and he is winning the Plinth prize?" The small smile on your face fades as you look down, thinking over the consequences for the first time.

"Perhaps, but one day that will come back to bite anyone who doubted you when you're the new head Gamemaker. I'll be sure of it." He nods, and your smile returns. 

"Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you." You giggle, raising your hand in a salute. You had heard his cousin say that to him once, two or three years ago by now, and you were not prepared to let it go. You can tell it was something he believed, despite the misshapen buttons on his dress shirt and the weight he'd steadily lost over all the years you'd known him. Who were you to deny him his ambitions? Everyone else was fooled, so you would act as though you were as well. The same way he had habitually ignored the bruises on your arms and under your makeup the day after you brought home that B grade last year.

He just nods in response, jokingly tugging at his vest in pride. 

"I hate to tell you that I will have to decline your generous offer." You say, and he looks confused. "I don't need your charity. I'll make it so you'd be a fool not to hire me, Mister President."

You sit down on the stairs, looking out at the city. He joins you a moment later, dusting off the ground beneath him before letting his clothes touch the surface.

"So, how are you feeling?" You ask, sick now of talking about yourself.

"Honestly, not great." Coriolanus answers. "She'll be first down, and I'll be out. We're about at odds with each other, I have no shot at the prize now."

"I don't know, Coryo." You smile a little, bumping his shoulder with your own as you try to reassure him. "Lucy Gray has a or two fight in her. I can tell."

"She reminds me of you, a little bit." 

"Is that a bad thing?" You chuckle.

"No." He shakes his head. "You never back down from a fight. Even if you should."

You laugh, turning a little to hide the burning in your cheeks. "I suppose I could see the resemblance. I'm no stranger to telling someone to kiss my ass."

"That's true." He nods, smiling but not quite laughing. You're not sure you could remember seeing him laugh, not since Felix fell down the stairs in the lecture hall a few years ago and screamed like a girl. "Maybe you could help me."

"Help you? How?" You ask, brow furrowed as you look over at him. Whatever it is you'll agree. He knows too much about you for you to deny him anyway, and it's not like you really had anything to lose. If you couldn't have the Plinth prize, you'd want it to go to Coriolanus.

"With Lucy Gray. I don't even know where to start, what to think, what to do." He explains.

"Well..." You think about it for a second. "If you want her to listen to you in any capacity, she'll have to trust you. So be nice. And maybe convince her to sing again. People were talking, that's what you want. It's the best you can do."

He nods, sitting up straighter. "Thank you, Y/N. I have to go." Before you can respond, he's gone back into the building behind you. You sigh, calmer now, despite dreading the prospective task of having to go home and face your father.

"Mister Snow, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr. Gaul asks, readjusting her gloves without looking up at the boy as she throws what he assumes to be some kind of food into a blacked-out tank in front of him.

"I'd like Y/N Y/L/N to be my partner in the mentorship," Coriolanus states, making her pause.

"Why?" She asks simply, resuming her task.

"I believe she would be an asset for Lucy Gray."

"They do have a similar... spark. Don't they?" Dr. Gaul nods a little bit to herself. "But what makes you think that this wouldn't be an unfair advantage?"

"It wouldn't be an advantage. More like an experiment." He answers, effectively piquing the doctor's interest. "We can observe the benefits and faults of two mentors versus one, moving into the next games, and the effect of choosing based on compatibility, rather than random, careless selection."

Dr. Gaul hums, wiping off her leather gloves with a cloth as she thinks it over. "And this would have nothing to do with your relationship and sympathies towards Miss Y/L/N, correct?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Miss Y/L/N certainly doesn't get any sympathy from me." It's not a lie, at least he doesn't perceive it to be. You would be an asset to his cause, to his deliverance of the prize, and likely the most pleasant person to work with, ironically.

"I will think about it." Dr. Gaul states. "But the prize will not be awarded to her in any capacity, you must understand."

Maybe he does feel bad for you. He's entitled to that prize, no doubt, but it's hard to picture a world where you wouldn't be the runner-up; even if that is his reality. "I understand." He nods, before turning to leave.

"Oh, and Mister Snow." Dr. Gaul draws his attention once more, causing him to stop and look back at her. "Don't let her charm you."

"Y/N!" You look up from your textbook toward the door, knowing your brother will be opening it any second after he calls you. Surely enough, he does. "Coriolanus Snow is here. He wants to speak with you."

"Can you show him up to the library?" You ask, quickly wiping your reddened eyes.

"He's there with dad already." Your brother tells you and you sniff, nodding a little bit. "Thank you. Tell them I'll be right there."

You quickly throw on a sweater, double-checking in the mirror that you don't look like you were just crying before leaving. Besides a little bit of redness around your eyes and blotchiness on your chest covered by the sweater, you should be okay.

"Well, thank you for extending your influence on my daughter's behalf. I owe you a great deal." You hear your dad speaking from down the hall as you get closer. "Though, I wouldn't fault you if you changed your mind. I understand she will be a burden on you."

"No, sir. It would be an honour to work with her." You hear Coryo say as you step into the door frame. 

You knock gently on the open door, alerting them both of your presence. "Y/N." Your father says, nodding toward your friend. "Coriolanus has pulled some strings to try and help you maintain what's left of your reputation."

You sniff and nod, looking over at Coryo as he stands across from your dad in your library, posture perfect like a soldier standing at attention. His professionalism will always impress you, it never falters in the presence of others. "Thank you." You make an effort to smile at him, which he politely and uncomfortably returns. "Could you give us a moment?" You request, returning your attention to your dad.

He nods and shakes Coryo's hand before bumping into you as he exits the room, pausing before leaning down to whisper to you.

Coriolanus watches, your eyes widening for just a moment while your dad speaks to you and then you nod, thanking him quietly before he leaves. You stand there awkwardly staring at each other for a second while you listen to his footsteps descend the stairs, and then hear the door to his study close. As soon as it does, you're quickly walking up to your friend and throwing your arms around his waist, your head leaning into his chest.

He freezes for a second before hugging you back. "Thank you, Coryo." You whisper. "I won't let you down."

"Are you okay?" He asks, resisting the urge to just rest his chin on the top of your head and pull you closer. It's been ages since he's been hugged like this, and though it's meant more as a comfort to you, it's consolatory to him as well.

You nod, snapping out of it and quickly pulling away, taking a respectful step back. "Yeah, yes. Sorry." You clear your throat, quickly readjusting your sweater.

"Don't be." He shakes his head quickly, brows still furrowed as he looks you over. He doesn't know what you came home to, but he has a strong theory as to what the cause of your tear-stained cheeks could be, and it certainly wasn't an empty fridge like his. 

You stare at each other for another moment before you look away. "Uh, so, you spoke to the Dean?"

"No, he despises me." He answers. "Dr. Gaul was more sympathetic to the cause."

"Dr. Gaul and 'sympathetic' have never been used in the same sentence before." You tease.

"Well, she likes us for some reason."

"Thank god." You chuckle, slightly shaking your head.

"But... seriously, are you okay?" He asks again, this time blatantly looking you over. While embarrassing, it does feel nice to see that someone cares, that someone noticed. The remnants of pity behind his eyes makes you almost ill.

"Fine." You nod in confirmation. "Would you like something to eat?" You offer, leveling the playing field.

taglist: @keziahcore, @kitscutie

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[devildomcuties]

Lucifer “Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

Feels Good to be the Bad Guy

pairing: lucifer x f. reader

warnings: making out, possessiveness

"Luci," you moan as your hands grip his broad shoulders. The edge of his desk digs into the back of your knees as he kisses you again.

Your heart races in your chest, your thighs pressed together to keep you from spreading open for him.

"Stay the night," he murmurs against your lips as he places his hands on your thighs. Your skirt rides up as he moves them upward. You know your panties are soaked, embarrassed that he'll discover them in just a moment if he keeps going.

"Gotta see Diavolo," you inform him.

Lucifer growls, kissing his way down your neck.

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

"I-I-" You stutter as he rips your panties to shreds.

"I don't think so," he smirks. "Otherwise you'd be sitting on his desk instead of mine. Isn't that right, baby?"

Lucifer's gaze meets yours, and you nearly cream yourself. All thoughts vacate your head as he places his finger under your chin and tilts your head up.

"Yes," you answer as he moves his finger toward your lips. You open them obediently, taking his finger in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip before he removes it.

"You are mine," he states firmly. "No matter who claims you or says otherwise. You are mine."

"Yes," you answer with a nod as his hands grip your thighs and he settles between them. To others he might seem like he was keeping his cool, nothing was ajar but you note the way his hair is slightly disheveled, his eyes hold a certain sparkle that lets you know he's hanging by a thread. He's so close to letting himself go, to allowing his demon form to come through, to devour you whole if you so as much as ask.

"I am yours," you state as you hold his gaze.

Lucifer stares at you, his gaze cold.

You don't look away, knowing you've got him right where you want him.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Ok, this is a bit of a strange ask but I was thinking about female Adam x yandere Lucifer

I don’t know I’m just craving something juicy

Sure thing!!

Possessive Lucifer and Smut under the cut

Adaline found herself pressed against the wall in the hallway of the hotel leading to hers and Lucifer's room. "Luci?"

"I don't like the way he was looking at you." Lucifer growled, they had just got back from a night out and every man at the bar was eyeing her.

Lucifer ended up ripping some of their eyes out.

Adaline smiled. "But you took care of him."

"I did. Now I'll take care of you." Lucifer picked her up in one fell swoop, hooking her knees over his shoulders making sure her back was still to the wall.

Adaline watched as Lucifer went up her skirt, tore her panties and started to devour her. "Oh fuck! Luci.~" She could do nothing but accept the pleasure that devilish tongue gave her, making her moan and cry out with need. "Oh please!~"

Lucifer was going to make sure no one would mistake her for a single woman ever again. He finally pulled back smirking. "You always taste so good my dear." He used one hand to undo his pants and push them down. He lowered Adaline until he was lined up with her opening and buried himself inside her deeply.

They were pretty sure her moans could be heard down in the lobby but they didn't give a fuck. "Tell me beautiful, who owns you?"

"You do! Luci you do!"

"That's right and no one will take you away from me ever again." He finished inside of her but he wasn't done. Lucifer carried Adaline to their bedroom.

Where he kept her moaning his name all night.

[annebaby]

National Anthem ♡ (pt. 3 - final)

aaaand here is the final part of my first fic, National Anthem! i hope you all enjoyed & i appreciate all the love always!

warnings: toxic snow, suggestiveness, fem!reader x young!coriolanus snow, use of Y/N, and i think thats all (?) let me know?

enjoy my lovelies :)

As you pull towards the entrance of the gala, you can’t help but awe at the exquisite architecture of the building. With long columns stretching across the width of the building and a large overhang donned with black ribbons, it was truly a sight for sore eyes. Coriolanus parks the car and heads to your side of the vehicle to let you out. He offers his hand to help you, then he kisses it. This was going to be a long night. 

The car was whisked away to valet parking meaning there was no escape now. Who knew what he would do next? 

The entryway to the gala was covered in a burgundy velvet rug that stretched into the lobby of the main dance hall. You took Coriolanus’ arm in yours, smiled and continued to walk towards the hall. You weren’t surprised you received many looks from the public upon your arrival with Coriolanus. You were both well known in the Capitol. People were staring at your dress in awe, admiring its beauty and taking you in. 

You looked around at the onlookers whilst entering the hall, and you smiled sweetly. Of course, there were multiple men whose gaze was stolen by your cleavage, but you expected this. At least Coriolanus hadn’t stared at them, yet. 

Upon entry to the gala, you released Coriolanus’ arm and turned to face him. He looked down at you with a sly smile, slightly smirking. His eyebrows were raised, waiting for you to say something. 

“I’d like to go find Bridgette, is that alright?” You didn’t know why but you felt the need to ask him. He broke his smile and said, “Of course,” as if it were obvious there was no need for you to ask. 

You stared at him for a second longer before feeling your chest relax. You hadn’t even known it was tight. You stood on your tiptoes to give Coriolanus a kiss on the cheek, before running off to find Bridgette. 

Coriolanus was far too excited by your presence with him. Not only had he wanted you for months, but now he had finally felt your lips on his. He could recall the first time he saw you, a large ribbon in your hair in a far too short skirt and a black sweater. He swore to himself that day that he would never act on his feelings. Lucy Gray made him that way. 

However, as the months passed and he saw you more, he knew something had to be done. You were gorgeous, innocent, obedient, and charming. You would make a perfect wife for him. 

It’s not that he wanted to own you though - he really did have feelings for you. The poor man was just awful at acting on them. That was all. 

So as you walked off to find your friend, he watched every man’s eyes fall on your figure and he fumed. He wanted to rip their eyes out for even glancing in your direction, but that wouldn’t be fit for an upcoming leader. 

He wandered off to find your father, keeping a close eye on you as you disappeared into the crowd. 

“Bridgette! Oh thank God I've finally found you.” Bridgette had been tucked in a corner chatting with Arachne Crane, awaiting your arrival. 

“Oh my goodness you’re stunning! I love this dress,” you spoke, feeling the material of her dress in your fingers. Her brown hair was slicked back in an elegant braided bun and her gown was an eggplant purple with black lacing on the sides. You noticed all the men staring at her as well and laughed due to her obliviousness. 

“Y/N! I’m so glad you’re here! Arachne, if you’ll excuse us, you look gorgeous by the way!” You give Arachne a nod before Bridgette takes your hand and pulls you away. 

“Lord, I cannot stand her. All she wants to talk about is her money and blah blah,” Bridgette laughs as she walks with you. You laugh as well, turning your head around to still see Arachne scoffing at something. 

“But please tell me everything Y/N! Everyone’s already talking about your arrival with Snow and I want to hear it all, I'm honestly so confused.” 

Bridgette leads you to a tray of Posca, which you accept thankfully. Grabbing the glass off the tray, you nod at the Avox carrying it and you turn back to her. You sip your drink solemnly, swallowing and gulping loudly. Then, you squeal. Finally, you could tell someone about the wildness of the night. 

“You’re not going to believe me,” you say, holding onto her shoulder. 

You tell her absolutely everything, and she doesn’t interrupt. She stands with her mouth slightly open and holds all her questions until the end. 

“…. he kissed my hand and now I’m here!”

She stood there for a moment, still silent. Her mouth turned into an open smile as she jumped up and down slightly. 

“Was he a good kiss-,” Bridgette stopped mid sentence, staring at someone behind you. 

You felt a hand sneak around your waist, and it wasn’t Coriolanus. It was Festus Creed.

Your ex boyfriend of about a year, he wasn’t much at all. You hated him if anything. He was rude, stubborn and conceded - not to mention horrible in bed. You smelled the Posca on his breath as he stood next to you, hand on your waist. Even his red curls couldn’t hide the blush in his cheeks from drinking too much. 

“Festus, what’re you doing? Get your hands off me.” You scoff and pry his hand from you before looking at him. He drunkenly smiles, completely out of it. 

The breakup between you had been messy. You had caught him making out with Clemmie in the halls just a few months ago. Needless to say, all contact was cut completely, and the feelings between you two were severed and turned into hatred. Festus does not move away from you, and puts his hands back on your waist. He tries to snuggle his face into your neck. 

“Festus. I said get off -“

You’re cut short by the sight of Coriolanus approaching you both. You shoot him a pleading look, and he quickly intervenes. He pried Festus off you aggressively before grabbing his collar and spitting in his face. 

“One more word to her Festus, and I’ll make sure your father knows you just assaulted a woman and drank way too much. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Festus stared at Coriolanus silently, before Coriolanus released his grip on Festus and told him to get away. He cowered down and slowly walked away, ultimately leaving the event. Needless to say, you and Bridgette were standing side by side awestruck. 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Y/N. Maybe I need to stick around you more often,” Coriolanus says. He stares at you intently before looking at Bridgette. 

“Hello, Ms. Sinclair. Hoping Ms. Y/N is being good company to you tonight. So sorry I had to intrude.”He smiles sweetly at Bridgette before beginning to walk away. 

“I won’t be far, if anyone else bothers either one of you let me know.”

As soon as he turns his back, you yell after him, “You can just stay with us if you want!” 

You look at Bridgette, silently asking if that was okay with her. She widens her eyes and nods yes frantically, hoping to get more insight on his feelings for you. She was always good at reading people and interpreting their actions. 

Coriolanus slowly turns around with a smile on his face. He bows his head down before holding his hand out to you. 

“In that case, Miss Y/N, may I have this dance?”

You nervously look at Bridgette, not wanting to leave her by herself. She shoves you forward slightly, encouraging you to dance. You take Coriolanus’ hand in your own, slowly moving toward the dance floor.  

A pristine classical song was playing, the sharpness of the violin leaving a small amount of seductiveness in the air. You joined the crowd as smoothly as you could. Coriolanus places his left hand in your waist, his right hand interlocked with yours. He pulls you much closer to him, bodies touching on all planes. The music restarts its pattern, and you both start dancing. As the President’s daughter, you’ve had many dance lessons. You knew how to do just about every dance there ever was in all of Panem. 

Little did you know, so did Coriolanus. He had lots of catching to do after he gained his newfound wealth upon winning the Plinth prize. He enrolled in dance lessons, basic etiquette, and extra scholar tutoring. So, his dancing was above par, making his footsteps go perfectly in sync with yours. 

“So, shall we impress them or keep it tame tonight, my darling?” His whisper in your ear makes cold chills run down your body. You feel his breath on the side of your face and you want to pull him into a nearby room for yourself. 

Without moving for your stable position and disturbing the rhythm, you whisper, “Let’s keep it tame so you can continue to quietly explain to me what it is you want.”

“What do you mean, what I want?” He stopped dancing abruptly, pulling back from you and staring into your eyes with concern and annoyance.

He grabs your arm harshly, pulling you through the crowd and into a nearby room. He shuts the door, locks it, and you step back from him, creating distance. He stands at the door for a second, seemingly out of breath as he places his forehead on the surface of the door. The tenseness in the room was heavy, creating an odd atmosphere. You felt like you needed to walk on eggshells around him. His breathing was labored and his hands were slightly shaking. He was truly terrifying. However, the sexual desire was too thick to deny. An odd mix of both emotions, but hey, you were just a girl after all. 

He slowly turned to face you, craziness in his eyes. He walked toward you slowly, your eyebrows creasing in slight fear and confusion. 

“Don’t you get it? I’ve been trying to show you how I feel for weeks. I see you staring at me in the halls and I know you see me stare back. Even after you saw me brine the driver, you’re still acting utterly oblivious to what I want from you!” He’s yelling now, and he has fully closed the space in between you two, his hands now on either side of your face. 

His eyes search all of your features for some sort of response. They’re scanning your face frantically, looking for anything you can give him. Suddenly, his fingers start tracing the features of your skin delicately. 

“My God. You’re perfect.”

He leaned in and gave your forehead a precious kiss before looking at you to say something once again. 

“I just, I don’t understand. You’ve hardly spoken to me since we’ve known each other. I’m still in the academy, and I don’t have any career plans or anything. What would you want with me?” 

Your voice slightly faltered during your confession, making you seem more innocent and fragile in his eyes. He wanted to destroy you, corrupt you ; you needed to belong to him. 

“I also don’t understand how you’re having a panic tantrum and then kissing me on the forehead - your mood swings are getting too confusing,” you said while giggling. 

You hoped he would take a liking to the joke as well, though you may have stepped over the line. He smiled too, looking down at your hands before grabbing them with his own. He laughs quietly, feeling your fingers in his. 

“How pretty your finger would look with a wedding ring on it. Wonder who the lucky man could be.” 

You looked down at your fingers, imagining an expensive ring as well. You’ve always dreamed of a beautiful ring, a beautiful proposal and an elegant wedding. It was something you never thought you would get to. However, Coriolanus calling your future husband ‘lucky’ was definitely something that gave you hope. 

“I think I’ll have a while before that happens, I am only nineteen after all.”

His hands slowly release yours and rest on your waist. He looks up at you and scans your face quickly before inching closer. He grabs your hands again, placing them on his shoulders to stabilize you. Once your hands are around his neck, he tells you to jump.

“Do what?” You have had sex before, but something about Coriolanus initiating intimacy with you startled you and caught you off guard.

“I said, jump.” 

You do as he says and jump up as his hands cup your bottom and hold you up. As soon as you are at his level, he immediately attaches his lips to yours. The kiss was so sincere and sweet - until it wasn’t. He started pushing his tongue into your mouth and biting your bottom lip whenever he got the chance. Your hands made their way up into his hair, slightly tugging on the ends. He breathed out quietly as he walked the two of you towards the wall. He pinned your back against it, using it to keep you in his arms. 

You had a burst of confidence shortly after that, tugging at the bottom of his blouse, trying to get him to take it off. He dropped you back on the floor gently. Looking at you as if he was waiting, you slowly started to take off his shirt for him. You could tell this was making him go insane by the way he was breathing and looking at you. 

His shirt comes off, leaving his toned abdomen in full sight for you to see. You could not help but stare. He was ridiculously lean and carved in a way you did not think any guys could be. You traced the outline of his abs with your fingertips and kissed the middle of his chest. 

“I didn’t know this is what my schoolboy crush was hiding from me,” you say breathlessly. He laughs in response.

“I have wanted you since the day you stepped in my house for the job, Mr. Snow. You do not understand.”

He watches you as you pull the straps of your dress down the sides of your arms. Something so small and it was driving him insane. He pins your shoulders to the wall as he kisses you roughly. Your hands reach for his neck again before an idea crosses your mind. Your hands travel down to his belt, fiddling and trying to undo it. 

Coriolanus laughs as he breaks the kiss and moves your hand away. 

“Let’s wait until later, darling. You have all the time in the world now.”

You tilt your head, noticeably confused.

“What do you mean?” He stepped back from you and reached down for his coat. He pulls a small box out of the pocket, and your eyes widen. He opens the box to reveal the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen in your life. A simple gold band accompanied by a five carat emerald cut diamond. Your mouth opens, jaw on the ground. 

“I am the lucky man, Y/N. Your Father approved of our marriage the day after I started my internship. I think you’re the perfect bride and the perfect wife and-” he stops before walking towards you and sliding the ring on your finger. 

“...and - now you’re mine forever.”

[sleekervae]

Wicked Games ❅ 4

Masterlist

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x socialite!fem!reader

Summary: Coriolanus has a nightmare

Warnings: spoilers for tbosas, mention of weapons, death, nightmares, allusion to intercourse and nudity

Word Count: 5,111

Coriolanus was deep in the forest again, surrounded by towering trees that seemed to sway unnaturally, their gnarled branches reaching for him like skeletal hands. The air was thick, humid, almost suffocating. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat loud enough to drown out the sound of his own footsteps. Every step he took snapped twigs and crushed leaves beneath his boots, but the ground felt like it was shifting, dragging him deeper into the shadows.

He could hear her—Lucy Gray—her voice rising and falling with the wind. That sweet, haunting melody twisted through the trees, pulling him closer, teasing him. He raised the rifle, gripping it tightly, his fingers slick with sweat. His breath came out shallow and quick, clouding in the air before him. She was out there, just ahead, always just ahead. He knew he needed to find her. End her.

Suddenly, her silhouette flickered between the trees, her bright skirt catching the pale sunlight. He froze, the rifle aimed squarely at her chest. Time seemed to slow. His hands shook, but he couldn’t lower the gun. Couldn’t look away.

Her voice stopped.

The silence pressed in, thick and heavy. His breath hitched. His finger hovered over the trigger.

And then—she was gone. Lucy Gray vanished into the shadows. Panic surged through him. He ran after her, the rifle bouncing against his chest. The woods were swallowing her whole, taking her away from him. He had to stop her. He had to.

He raised the gun again, her form a blur in the distance. He fired.

The crack of the rifle echoed through the trees, but it was wrong. Everything was wrong. Pain exploded through his chest, sharp and electric, ripping through him. His knees buckled, the world tilting as he fell backward, crashing into the dirt. His hand instinctively pressed to the wound, but the blood poured out, warm and thick, staining his fingers.

He gasped for air, but it felt like the woods were closing in on him, smothering him. His vision blurred, the forest spinning as darkness crept in from the edges. He tried to scream, but the sound was lost in the void.

The mockingjays sang their last notes as his body grew cold.

Coriolanus shot up in bed, the sheets tangled around him, damp with sweat. His chest heaved, his breath shallow and frantic, his hand instinctively clutching at his heart. For a split second, he could still feel the burn of the bullet tearing through him, the sensation so vivid it took several long moments before reality settled back in. The familiar dark walls of his room slowly replaced the forest, the sound of his heavy breathing overtaking the mockingjays' taunts.

He wiped his face with a trembling hand, swallowing hard. The room was cold, but the nightmare had left him hot and feverish. His body was shaking, but not from the cold. It was fear. That old, buried fear. Lucy Gray Baird. He wasn't so afraid of her finding him, he was more afraid of how she'd consume him if he let her.

Beside him, the blonde escort slept undisturbed, her breath slow and steady in the dim light of the room. He spared her only a glance—there was no point in waking her. The nightmare wasn't something anyone else could understand.

Without another thought, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. He didn’t bother with his clothing tossed carelessly on the floor. His movements were swift, deliberate, as if by getting up, he could outrun the darkness that clung to him.

The cool air of the penthouse balcony hit him like a splash of water, wrapping around him as he stepped outside. It was a strange comfort, that sharp chill against his skin, forcing him back into the present. The sprawling city of the Capitol glistened beneath him, a sea of lights and towering buildings. Everything seemed so calm out there—so still compared to the chaos in his mind.

He gripped the balcony railing, his knuckles white, the metal biting into his skin as he stared out into the night. His breath fogged in front of him, mixing with the quiet hum of the city below. The nightmare... it wasn’t just about Lucy Gray anymore. It hadn’t been for years.

It was the fear. The deep, gnawing fear that he was still that same boy in the woods, chasing after something just beyond his reach, something that would forever slip through his fingers. But now, instead of Lucy, it was power. Influence. His future.

And now, Sable.

He couldn’t let the fear take hold of him. Not now. Not when he was on the cusp of something so much greater. His campaign was a fragile thing—delicate, precise. One wrong move, one slip into the past, and it would all unravel. Garrison had already reminded him how thin the ice was beneath him. And Sable... she was supposed to be part of the solution. Not another problem.

But could he trust her? Could he really trust anyone?

He’d seen the way she moved, the way she played people like they were pieces in a game. She could charm the Capitol without breaking a sweat, manipulate the right people to get exactly what she needed. But she could just as easily turn on him. That sharp edge she carried—he both admired and feared it.

No. He couldn’t afford to spiral now. Not when everything was so precariously balanced.

Coriolanus took a deep breath, forcing his mind back to the plan, to the strategy. He couldn’t let emotion—fear—sabotage him. His focus had to be ironclad. He’d faced worse things than nightmares, worse things than doubt.

His gaze dropped to the skyline again, the Capitol glittering beneath him. This was his city. His future. He couldn’t let anyone or anything, even the ghosts of his past, tear it away from him.

Sable would be at the center of it all—of his success or his failure. And if he played it right, she would be his key to winning. He just had to make sure she stayed on his side.

He let the cold air clear the last traces of the dream from his mind. The night stretched on before him, but in the distance, he could already see the path ahead. He would win. He had to.

The sun shone brightly over the rooftop garden of the upscale restaurant, casting a warm glow on the elegant table set for four. Sable Hanover sat at the head, surrounded by Poppy, Lucretia, and Gamma. Each of them was impeccably dressed, their conversation flowing as freely as the champagne in their glasses.

Poppy, with her cascading auburn curls and playful eyes, leaned forward, her expression animated. "So, I finally got around to seeing that new line of couture at Delmar's," she said, her tone laced with excitement. "The fabrics are divine, but the prices—oh, they’re absurd. I had to practically auction off my old jewelry to afford even a glimpse,"

Lucretia, her dark hair pulled into a sleek bun, sighed dramatically. "I know what you mean. I spent the entire week trying to haggle vendors for my birthday bash, you wouldn't believe what they're charging for catering! But enough depression—Gamma, how’s your new renovation going?"

Gamma, ever the free spirit with her wild curls and eclectic style, grinned. "Oh, it’s a mess! I’ve been trying to turn the old carriage house into a gallery space for my paintings. Turns out, the ‘rustic charm’ my contractor promised is more of a ‘leaky roof and peeling paint’ situation. But I’m determined. Perfection must prevail, right?"

Sable listened absently as her friends chatted about their latest escapades, her mind drifting back to the evening with Coriolanus Snow. She could still feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a tangible thing, lingering on her skin. The way he had looked at her, his eyes piercing through her carefully crafted façade, had been unsettling in the most exhilarating way.

His voice, low and commanding, had wrapped around her like velvet, making every word he spoke feel heavy with meaning. She had tried to maintain her composure, but his intense scrutiny had made her feel as though he could see right through her, stripping away every layer of her carefully cultivated charm.

Sable’s fingers tightened around her champagne glass as she recalled the moment he’d seemed to read her every thought, unsettling and captivating all at once. Her heart had raced not just from the thrill of his attention, but from the startling realization that he was far more perceptive than she had anticipated. The memory of his gaze, so assured and penetrating, made her shiver with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

The moment finally arrived when Poppy turned to her with a curious smile, "So, Sable, tell us about your dinner with Snow. We’re all dying to know! What was he like?"

Sable’s lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile as she set her glass down, "He’s charming, as you’d expect," she began, her gaze momentarily softening as she recalled their dinner. The memory of Coriolanus's eyes following her with a blend of intrigue and intensity was still vivid.

"That's it?" Gamma asked, "Just charming?"

"Well, of course there’s more to him than meets the eye. The dinner was all around quite... fascinating," Sable replied.

Poppy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, "And? What else?"

Sable’s smile sharpened, her excitement barely contained, "Well, he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. It’s captivating,"

Lucretia leaned in, her expression turning intrigued, "You’re making him sound like he’s some sort of enigmatic Prince Charming. Did he really have that kind of effect on you?"

Sable nodded slowly, a playful glint in her eyes, "More than you can imagine. He’s not just a politician; there’s something compelling about him. It’s not just the power or the status. When you’re with him, it’s as if nothing else matters,"

Gamma chuckled, a knowing smile spreading across her face, "I told you, girls. She's gonna get him to marry her,"

Sable laughed lightly, her eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and determination, "Oh, come now. It’s not about marrying anyone. It’s about seeing what potential we can unlock together. It's more of a social experiment," she added, a touch of mischief in her tone, "Besides, I’m not looking to be tied down,"

"And neither is he, you gather?" Poppy asked.

"Out of the spotlight, he can do as he pleases," she replied.

Gamma’s scoff carried through the table, her eyes gleaming with mischief, “Whatever and whoever, I'd imagine. That’s the beauty of power, isn’t it?” she mused, stirring her drink lazily.

Lucretia leaned forward, her curiosity piqued, “So? How close did you two get? You can’t tell me he’s as charming as they say and there wasn’t a moment,”

Sable lifted her chin slightly, her smile carefully measured, “We just talked. Got to know each other. But that’s all,” she said, though the memory of Coriolanus’s hand brushing against hers resurfaced again, a little too vivid for her liking.

Gamma’s laugh broke through again, “Please, knowing you, it was a lot more than that. You’re toying with him, aren’t you?”

Sable’s expression turned wry, her lips curving with a hint of amusement. "Let’s just say," she leaned in, eyes twinkling as the tension between them had been, “we have an understanding.”

"An understanding?" Poppy pressed. "Sounds like you're keeping him at arm's length,"

Sable’s fingers brushed her champagne flute as she thought about the truth in that. "Something like that. I have to protect myself, of course," she replied, almost coyly, the thought of their next encounter looming over her.

Gamma rolled her eyes playfully, "You're crazy, you know that?"

Sable let out a soft laugh, "And?" But inwardly, she couldn't shake how close she had felt to crossing lines she hadn’t intended. There was a part of her that wanted to see just how far Coriolanus could push her.

Sable stepped through the front door, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she casually greeted the house staff. The luncheon had left her both amused and mentally drained, her friends' curious eyes and probing questions still circling in her mind. But all thoughts of gossip and politics vanished when she spotted the large, elegant box waiting for her in the foyer, tied with a thick, red ribbon.

Her mother’s voice echoed from the parlor, sugary sweet and brimming with anticipation, "Sable? Is that you?"

"Yes, mother!" Sable called back, "How was your day?"

"Oh, just fine. Come here for a moment, I’ve found the most suitable match for you. He’s from a well-connected family, and—"

Sable stifled a groan, her hand already reaching for the package, “Mother, I really need to freshen up first. It's sweltering out there!” she called out, her voice as polite as she could manage.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, a bright smile on her face, completely ignoring Sable’s protest, “He’s a successful restauranteur. Handsome, smart, and wealthy, of course. Just perfect for you,"

Sable forced a smile, her fingers tightening around the box, “I’m sure he is, but I’ve had a long day. Can we talk about this later?”

“Oh, but darling—"

“I’ll be right back,” Sable cut in, stepping toward the stairs before her mother could object further, “Promise,”

Without waiting for a response, she scooped up the box and dashed up the stairs, leaving her mother to sigh dramatically from below. She could already guess what the conversation would entail, but right now, her focus was on the package and what was waiting for her inside.

Once inside, she locked the door, tossing her bag onto a nearby chair. The box was beautiful—Coriolanus certainly had a taste for grand gestures. Who else would it have been from? Red was practically his calling card.

Her fingers moved to untie the ribbon, the lid lifting to reveal a gown nestled in layers of delicate tissue paper. Navy blue satin and chiffon, shimmering with an almost iridescent sheen. It was breathtaking. The dress was an a-line silhouette, endless in its soft, flowing skirt, with a square neckline and subtle straps. It wasn't quite her style, though nevertheless it was absolutely gorgeous.

She lifted it from the box, letting the fabric drape over her hands, admiring how the light caught its sheen. A small envelope fell from between the folds. Inside was a short note from Coriolanus.

"For the exhibit. I thought this would suit you perfectly. Can’t wait to see you in it."

Sable’s smirk softened into a smile as she traced her finger over the words. There was an undeniable charm in his message, a mixture of confidence and flattery that lingered long after she’d folded the note back into the envelope. The dress was exquisite, and though she wasn’t one to always follow the rules, Coriolanus had her intrigued enough to consider it...

Coriolanus stood at the entrance of the Mastukane exhibit, the buzz of Capitol high society swirling around him. He adjusted the cuff of his maroon suit, his eyes sweeping over the grand hall, but his focus was anywhere but the art. Tonight was about appearances—his and Sable’s—and he needed everything to be perfect.

When she finally arrived, Coriolanus’ breath hitched when his eyes fully took her in. His annoyance flared briefly as he took in the sight of her. The dress he had sent her was unmistakable, but instead of the flowing ballgown he’d envisioned, Sable had altered it to fit her more slender style.

The navy blue satin clung to her in a pencil silhouette, the gathered ruching at her waist only emphasizing her figure. The gown shimmered, catching the light in a way that made her appear almost ethereal. Her hair was equally as striking, gelled back and textured for the most interesting, yet chić pixie cut he'd seen on her yet. Her eyes were lined in smokey blacks and silvers, her plump lips a gentle neutral pink, tying the whole look together with a gorgeous pearl necklace.

For a moment, the world around Coriolanus dimmed.

He wasn’t one for indulging in physical attraction—not at a time like this—but tonight, he found himself struggling to push the thought aside. The audacity of her, altering the dress he’d sent, standing there like she owned every eye in the room. And the worst part? She did.

"You’ve changed it," he murmured, his voice betraying more of his admiration than he intended.

Sable’s eyes flickered with amusement, catching the way his gaze lingered on her, "Thought you'd appreciate more of what you actually paid for,"

His gaze narrowed, "I'm not paying you," he reminded her.

"Which means I don't have to wear your ballgowns," she replied simply.

As much as Coriolanus wanted to be irritated, he couldn't deny how well the pencil silhouette fit her. It wasn’t what he had chosen, but it was her, and maybe that was the whole point.

"You look lovely, Sable," he finally admitted.

"Thank you," she took a slow glance over him in return, the maroon suit catching her interest. It was a sharp contrast to the traditional red-and-white Capitol style. "You know," she started, her voice playful as her eyes glided over his black shirt, "you wear black much better than white and red. More... distinguished,"

Coriolanus smirked, lifting a brow, "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"You should," she responded, her tone softening, but her gaze still teasing, intrigued.

Their moment was quiet, charged with an unspoken understanding, until Coriolanus extended his arm, "Shall we?"

Sable accepted with a grin that was half challenge, half charm. “After you, Senator,”

As they strode confidently down the carpet, Coriolanus felt the weight of every stare, every camera flash, every whispered conversation in their wake. The Capitol’s elite were watching, and he knew they were assessing, calculating, trying to decipher the dynamic between him and Sable. But that was the beauty of their arrangement—no one could pin down exactly what it was. And that was precisely what he intended.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, but it was the media that descended first. Microphones thrust forward, cameras clicking in a frenzy, eager to catch the newest power couple in action.

"Ms. Hanover! What’s the nature of your relationship with Mr. Snow?" one reporter called out.

"This is the second time you've been out together in a week!" another called, "Are we making things official?"

Sable’s smile never faltered. With practiced elegance, she leaned slightly into Coriolanus, but her gaze remained locked on the reporters, voice as smooth as silk. "Well, everybody knows how much I love supporting our Capitol’s creative talents, and Mr. Snow graciously agreed to escort me tonight,"

Sable was in her element. Her arm rested easily in his, and though her posture was poised, there was a subtle playfulness to the way she carried herself. When a particularly insistent reporter called out again about their relationship, she turned just enough to offer a smile, her eyes sparkling as she said, "Now, where would the fun be if we gave everything away?" Her tone was light, teasing, but it held the crowd in rapt attention. Every word out of her mouth seemed to amplify the mystery around them, making them all the more captivating.

Coriolanus watched as Sable deflected question after question with that signature grace of hers. It was effortless, the way she turned their curiosity into a game. She wasn’t merely charming the crowd—she was controlling it. And as much as it irked him that she’d altered the dress he had sent, he couldn’t help but admire how the slim, tailored silhouette hugged her figure perfectly. The shimmering navy blue gown, now with a pencil silhouette rather than the voluminous ballgown he’d envisioned, suited her far more. It was bold and sleek, a calculated move that matched her personality.

Coriolanus, meanwhile, kept his eyes forward, allowing Sable to manage the chatter while subtly guiding her toward their destination. Each question about their relationship, about their plans, only seemed to reinforce his growing status. The attention was working in his favor.

For her part, Sable couldn't help but notice how striking Coriolanus looked in the deep maroon suit, a shade of red that felt far more commanding and dangerous than the pristine whites he often wore. Paired with the black button-up underneath, the entire ensemble gave him an air of power, untethered and untouchable. She didn’t miss the approving glances from the Capitol’s women—or the envious ones from its men. It was easy to see why Coriolanus had risen so quickly; he was as much a symbol as he was a politician.

A particularly bold reporter stepped forward, his microphone held out toward Coriolanus, "Mr. Snow! It seems you're quite the lucky man tonight, escorting Sable Hanover. Can we expect to see you together more off the carpet?"

Coriolanus glanced at the reporter, his lips curving into a carefully measured smile, "Well," he began, his tone warm yet coy, "when you're fortunate enough to be in such refined company, it's hard to say no," He paused, casting a brief, almost playful glance at Sable.

The reporter chuckled, clearly pleased with the response, while Coriolanus felt a surge of satisfaction. His answer was just ambiguous enough to stir curiosity without confirming or denying anything. It made him appear approachable, charming, and just a little bit unpredictable—all qualities he knew the public would eat up.

Sable's smile widened at his response, subtly acknowledging the skill with which he turned the question to his advantage. She pressed a bit closer, keeping up appearances as they walked, her own gaze flickering toward the curious faces lining their path.

They were a perfect team on the surface—he, serious and determined, focused on his goals; she, dazzling and untouchable, cloaking their alliance in mystery. The more elusive they were, the more intrigued the crowd became.

As they walked together, Sable leaned a fraction closer, her lips curving into a smile meant only for him, though visible to the watching crowd, "You're doing quite well," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, her voice low and teasing.

Coriolanus allowed himself a small smile in return, his eyes sweeping over the throng of people as he replied just as quietly, "I took a note from the best,"

His gaze flickered back to the cameras, the flashbulbs illuminating their every move as they reached the entrance to the exhibit. This was exactly what he needed—an alliance that blurred the lines between truth and rumor, strategy and seduction. Sable had woven herself into his political image effortlessly, and in doing so, they had become the Capitol’s newest obsession.

Yet beneath the surface, Coriolanus knew there was more to it than appearances. He was drawn to her—physically, yes, but also by the sheer unpredictability of her mind. He could never quite tell what she was thinking, or what game she was playing, and that kept him intrigued. The Capitol’s glittering elite might see a polished pair, two figures carved from the same ambitious mold, but he knew better. There was something far more dangerous simmering between them.

As they moved deeper into the exhibit hall, the art of Kawa Matsukane surrounded them, each painting a masterpiece of color and depth, capturing the essence of the Capitol’s indulgent yet fragile nature. Opulent chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, and the buzz of conversation blended with the soft strains of music filling the air. But for Coriolanus and Sable, the crowd seemed to fade away as they found themselves drawn into a waltz with other couples.

The floor beneath them, gleaming and polished, mirrored the fluid elegance of their movements. Coriolanus' hand rested confidently at the small of her back, guiding her effortlessly through the motions, while Sable’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. They moved together like they had rehearsed this a thousand times, but the truth was, this was all new territory.

As they swayed to the music, Sable leaned in, her lips barely brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Everybody is watching you tonight. Remember that. They’ll eat up whatever story you give them, but only if you control it,"

Her voice was steady, measured—strategic. Coriolanus could feel her breath against his neck, sending an unexpected shiver down his spine, but he kept his expression composed, "I know," he murmured back, his hand pressing a little more firmly against her waist, "And I know what we’re playing for quite well,"

Sable pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a glint of approval flickering in hers, "Then don't be so stiff when you hold me. Relax, for God’s sake. It's a party!"

"Very well," With a playful grin, Coriolanus responded by twirling her around in a smooth, fluid motion, letting her words sink in. As her dress shimmered under the gallery lights, she laughed softly, making her point. Her sharp wit and careful planning reminded him just how invaluable she was in this endeavor. But there was something else too—a comfort between them that had formed quicker than he anticipated. It felt easy, natural, like they’d been partners in this game far longer than the few short weeks they'd known each other.

As they turned gracefully on the floor, Coriolanus’ eyes scanned the room, taking note of how many Capitol figures were watching them—whispers exchanged, smiles directed their way, the flicker of curiosity and approval growing with every step they took together. His likeability was soaring, and Sable was the key.

But for all the calculations swirling in his head, a stray thought broke through. His gaze slipped to her lips, wondering for the briefest of moments what it might feel like to kiss her, to fully envelope himself in her soft skin and perfume; notes of cherry, coffee, and vanilla. He shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. This was about strategy, not fantasy.

And yet…

He could feel her warmth through the fabric of her dress, the scent of her perfume subtly filling the air between them, and it stirred something in him he couldn’t quite suppress. He quickly refocused, forcing his mind back to the stakes. The consequences. There wasn’t room for distractions, no matter how tempting they might be.

As the music slowed, and they came to a stop, applause rose around the dance floor from onlookers. Sable’s hand lingered on his arm, and she offered him a knowing smile, one that said she understood exactly the game they were playing—and that she was right beside him, in control of every move.

As the music faded and the applause died down, the crowd turned their attention to the far end of the gallery, where the renowned artist, Kawa Mastukane, stood before his latest masterpiece. The unveiling had been highly anticipated, whispered about for weeks among Capitol elites. Now, the moment had arrived.

Sable and Coriolanus stood at the front of the gathering, with eyes fixed on the grand drape covering the painting. Mastukane, an older man with graying hair but sharp, perceptive eyes, gave a brief introduction in his native tongue before the translation came through for the guests.

"This piece," Mastukane explained, his voice heavy with gravitas, "is called Mimoto, which in my homeland means 'identity.' It is a reflection of the contrasts that shape our world. The lives we lead in the Capitol… and those lived elsewhere," His gaze swept over the crowd, as if daring them to face the truth in his work.

The cloth fell away, revealing the enormous painting. It was striking, almost painful in its beauty and rawness. In the middle, shimmering gold and silver hues depicted the opulence of the Capitol, the figures adorned in grand costumes, their smiles wide but empty as they feasted around a grand banquet table. On the outside, the color palette shifted dramatically—harsh reds, browns, and greys, showing figures in despair, clawing for survival in a barren landscape.

The room went silent as the painting spoke for itself.

Sable's eyes widened, her breath catching as she absorbed the message, "Incredible," she whispered under her breath, her gaze locked on the desolate figures representing the districts. The contrast was chilling, a reminder of the worlds they lived in and the ignorance that allowed it to continue.

Coriolanus, on the other hand, felt a knot tightening in his stomach. The images hit too close to home. The barren trees reminded him of the woods where he had once hunted Lucy Gray Baird. He'd failed to control his emotions then, and it had nearly cost him everything. Now, standing before this painting, those emotions stirred again, unbidden.

His pulse quickened as he tried to push the thoughts away. The chaos of the districts, the violence of the Games, the betrayals… It all threatened to resurface, his mind flashing back to the faces of those he stomped on along the way.

Coriolanus forced his gaze away from the painting and steadied himself, locking his jaw. There was no room for weakness, no space for regret. His past had made him who he was, and if there were ghosts, they had no place here in this glittering Capitol world. He couldn’t let them interfere with his rise.

Beside him, Sable, still enraptured by the work, glanced over at him. Her expression softened as she noticed the tension in his face, but she said nothing. She could sense something deeper, something lurking under his polished exterior, but she wouldn't pry. Not now.

As the guests began to murmur among themselves, admiring the piece, Coriolanus straightened his shoulders, putting his game face back on. His public persona, the charming politician, had to remain intact. But as they moved away from the painting, he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that Mastukane’s work had peeled back a layer of his own identity—a layer he wasn’t willing to confront.

The exhibition had done its job. It left an impression. And as the night wore on, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think of the painting’s title: Mimoto. Identity. Who was he really, beneath the Capitol’s glittering surface? A leader, a politician, a survivor—or something else entirely?

As they made their way toward the next part of the exhibit, Sable’s voice, soft yet pointed, broke his thoughts. “It’s moments like this that remind us how delicate the balance of power really is,”

Coriolanus nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. She was right, of course. But for him, the stakes had always been life and death. Not just politics.

[be-dazzled]

All Treats, No Tricks

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser October 31, 2023 Posted: Decemebr 26, 2023

Writer’s Corner: Months too late but I think the timing worked for me. The ending sounds and feels more wintery/christmas-y, isn't it? I don't feel like this one's good enough as compared to my Juvia Day entry so your honest feedback is very much welcomed. Help me improve!

All rights reserve to Hiro Mashima, original creator.

Masterlist

...

The cold season rolled in and seeped throughout the grounds of Magnolia. Its silent breeze knocked puny, tree branches against locked windows. It howled through the night, prowling the silent grounds of sleeping citizens. For those who made the mistake of forgetting to lock their windows, the October breeze pried into their room and wreaked havoc on all that it could carry. Easily targeted all that weighed close to none. Especially ripping off the pages on the wall calendar and revealing today’s date – October 31, Halloween.

After the fiasco that was the Fairy Tail Horror House of X791, that type of event was forever banned in the town of Magnolia. In its wake a new tradition was born where families were invited to decorate their homes to win lovely prizes, even encouraging them to hand out candies to children going around house to house, mage guilds included.

Rather than eerily quiet, Halloween in Fairy Tail was fun and lively.

The troublemakers – Natsu and Happy – had a good idea of wearing costumes to scare off the children who, in the words of Natsu the Demon King, “dared to enter my house of terror,” punctuating it with a high-pitched maniacal laugh that did not, at all, scare a living soul. But he was enjoying chasing after children who somehow believed Demon Kings existed and that they were ridiculously funny. Erza, wearing the shortest (skimpiest but no one dared to say it) witch costume, took up her sword and pretended to battle the Demon King. She was acting, she claimed but Lucy, the only writer in the room argued that it was an inaccurate depiction and didn’t make any sense plot-wise. Why would a witch have a sword when she had magic powers? But who would take a Leopard Girl seriously? Donned in a tight-fitting onesie that hugged her body like a second skin and accentuated all her dips and curves, Lucy the Sexy Leopard lost all credibility.

A certain ice-make mage, on the other hand, found it all juvenile. Yet, Gray was pursuing kids around the guild, the end of his tape costume riding the wind as he did. He wasn’t a scary mummy, he deduced, since instead of screams of terrors, the guild was filled with children’s ecstatic cheers and giggles. Well, half giggles and half scandalous because the end of Gray’s mummy tape got stuck on some pillar and pulled, making him a half-naked, pervert who happened to wear pants made of strip linen.

Erza smacked him on the back of the head.

So inappropriate.

But not as inappropriate as the thing that he was about to witness.

Juvia, Fairy Tail’s resident water-mage, wasn’t too comfortable with her assigned costume so she kept herself hidden backstage. She watched in the shadows as her comrades showed off their costumes, parading around the Fairy Tail building, welcoming their guests with booze (for the adults), colorful drinks (for the kids) and some imaginative snacks. She wondered how come the only thing that connected her decorated brassiere and the underwear that covered her nether region was just strings snaked around her torso. She asked Erza about it but the only answer she got was the mesh material on her head, some sort of see-through veil, its length reaching her waist but covered nothing. Plus, the heavy and expensive accessories around her neck, arms and wrists made the look less racy than it actually was. They lent her some air of distinct. She did a once-over in front of the mirror, twirling around to inspect herself and couldn’t help but think she might be missing a piece on her costume. Maybe a skirt to cover her lower body? Because she swore her bottom was hanging out.

Erza said the long veil on top of her head covered it enough and that she should stop worrying about it.

She really should worry about it.

Even if Mira and the already drunk Cana assured her that she would be the envy of the room and would surely get Gray the Half-Naked Mummy’s attention. The latter was enough encouragement though, which emboldened Juvia to come out of her hiding. That and finding her self-declared love rival enjoying her time with Mummy Gray, her beloved. She charged towards the two, about to bring hell to the Leopard Girl, when a soft breeze touched her exposed skin and Juvia had another think coming. But it was too late. She was out in the open now and everyone was hollering and whistling at her ensemble. As she watched her comrades strut around in their own Halloween costumes though – the moon princess Mira-chan; vampire Lisanna; Elfman and Evergreen in a couple’s costume ala Adam and Eve; the Thunder Legion Tribe in what appeared to be some sort of forest creatures (were they supposed to be Pokémon and was someone supposed to collect ‘em all?); and archery goddess Wendy – Juvia felt like she pulled the short end of the stick.

Because what the hell was she wearing?

It was a fucked-up gypsy dancer costume if you asked Gray. Beautiful, he’d go as far as saying it was nose-bleed-inducing, but definitely fucked-up. He wasn’t too happy about that.

Even Cana was modestly covered in her own fucked-up priestess costume.

People – ugly men, irritating old geezers, boys that weren’t Gray-sama – started coming up to Juvia with Macao and Wakaba in the lead. She made it obvious she wasn’t comfortable with their attention but the crowd had already gathered around her. She searched for the black spiky hair in it but found her precious Gray-sama still standing beside Leopard Girl. Summoning all her magic power, Juvia immediately fell into her fighting stance, about to tsunami all those perverts out of the way when her vision turned pitch-black.

“Eh?”

She extended her arm to feel for anything, anything at all, that could explain why she was instantly blinded, only to feel strong fingers grab her wrist and whiz her away from the complaining crowd.

“Eh!”

“I guess this is safe for now.”

She didn’t need her eyes to know who it was. Juvia could recognize that voice anywhere, even when it was broken by huffs.

“Gray-sama…”

“Oh, that’s right.”

He swiftly released his grip on her hand and Juvia pouted at the loss of contact. A sudden chill replaced the warmth that encircled her wrist. She didn’t like it.

“Sorry about that.”

“No!” Juvia cleared up, in case he might take it the wrong way, “Gray-sama shouldn’t apologize.”

The water mage wasn’t sure where they went or how far they had come from the guild. But wherever Gray was, she was always safe with him.

“You saved Juvia from the commotion.”

A commotion caused by her inappropriate appearance, Gray ought to say but decided not to. Instead, he said a terse ‘It was nothing’.

Her ears might have deceived her but Juvia could place a grin on his voice. She could imagine that small curve of his lips, wanting to see it with her own eyes but something was still blocking her view. Something soft and rather silky, heavy on her crown too. It covered her from head to toe. She clutched the unidentified veil in her fist and realized it was the same fabric as the covering of the long table back at the guild. Juvia tried to pull on the cloth, trying to get rid of the covering when Gray started speaking again.

“…something like that.”

The covering muffled Gray’s words. As she was trying desperately to uncover herself, Juvia only caught the tail end of what he was saying. She stopped for a moment, tipped her head to the side, deciding whether to ask him to repeat what he said, which would give Gray the impression that she wasn’t listening to him, or just pretend as if she heard him.

Sensing her confusion despite the wall of fabric between them, Gray repeated his words, this time a bit louder and very much clearer than earlier.

“Don’t wear something like that.”

It took her a moment to realize but Juvia caught on to what the ice-make mage meant. It was her scant costume. Remembering how some cloth and some strings strategically covered those areas, Juvia internally agreed with Gray. She shouldn’t be wearing something like that again, nodding her head furiously that she might just break her own neck.

“In public.”

He added before clearing his throat and inviting Juvia to walk around the neighborhood, not giving her an opening to say anything back about his last comment. Juvia had the tendency to twist his words, or rather, which was always the case, point out what exactly he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Don’t wear something like that in public.

He meant only to wear it for him in private, right?

Gray started toward the direction of the crowd, where most people were scattered in small groups. He was saying something Juvia was not able to hear through that thick white covering hanging over her. She followed where she assumed Gray was headed, straining her ears to listen to his footsteps whilst she blindly soldiered on through the veil-made darkness. The water mage was starting to get frustrated with the covering she’d been trying to get out of since earlier. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t find the beginning or end of that long, thick fabric weighing down on her with a smooth but consistent fall, much like her magic – a curtain of water.

Ironic.

And why was Gray not helping her at all? It wasn’t like he was busy keeping quiet since he had all the time in the world to run his mouth about god knows what. His talking was like a soft buzz in Juvia’s ears – a distant noise that didn’t make sense.

Despite the cold breeze and the fact that she was practically naked inside, her body was starting to feel hot. A sheen of perspiration started to form over her skin. The heavy covering not only successfully blocked her view but also any air in and out of her fabric jail.

“G-Gray-sama…” She called out but the thick veil separating them blacked the words out, “…help Juvia~”

Gray hadn’t paid her any attention (deliberately ignoring her or unintentionally forgetting, Juvia wasn’t sure) until the poor water mage kicked on an uneven terrain and tripped. She braced herself for impact, throwing her hands in front of her as she was about to fall on the pavement, face-first. But the impact never came. Instead, Juvia’s body was pressed against something hard. Not as hard as she remembered pavement should be though. Curiosity spurred Juvia to explore this not-a-pavement surface, flattening her palms on what turned out to be Gray’s firm pecs, the slightest bump giving her the idea that she might just be… touching on Gray’s...

She rubbed them just to make sure.

“Uhn… Ju-Juvia…”

And kneaded for better measure.

“T-that’s… he-hey…”

She was definitely right.

Gods do exist!

Juvia could hear the strain in his voice. And something else. Something she wasn’t familiar with. But worry bumped curiosity off first place. Gray sounded like he might be in pain and the idea horrified Juvia that she might be the reason for it. He did break her fall and she was comfortably using her as a human cushion. So, she slid her open palms lower, eliciting more low and strange noises from the man beneath her. She ignored the noise in favor of resting her hands over what she assumed was Gray’s abdomen, intent on pushing herself off him to free her poor savior from his distress. She was a little bit sorry that she had to use his body to do so. Which, unbeknownst to Juvia, was stirring something in Gray that should not be stirred. Not when they were in public like this.

Oh, if Juvia could see the ice-make mage’s reaction now – gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw.

She successfully leaned away, readying to pull her knees so she could prop herself up and fully get off of poor Gray when a cold breeze whizzed past them, magically finding the end of the frustrating veil and blew the hem of the fabric covering her body. Gray was a hero the second time when he slapped that cloth back to its rightful place. Saving the water mage from the embarrassment of public indecent exposure.

“Eeep!”

But bumping her to another level of embarrassment.

Gray only realized where his hands were touching when Juvia’s body wiggled and twisted above him. The force of his ‘heroic act’ slammed Juvia flatly on top of him again.

“G-Gray-sama felt Ju-Ju-Juvia’s bottom!”

She muttered, fidgeting at the heat that spread over both cheeks, either because Gray’s hands were still cupping her ass or the mere force of his slap, or both.

“So, G-Gray-sama was into this kind of… s-s-stuff?” She whispered to herself.

But that wasn’t a whisper. It was more of a loud musing because that one Gray heard through the fabric barrier between them.

“No!” He strongly denied it. “That’s… I’m not… hey!”

For a good minute, they were a tangled mess – him trying to, but very much cautiously, push her off of him, slipping on the fabric when he tried to stand up with Juvia still on top of him, and her trying to pull herself away from him, which proved to be a struggle since Gray just couldn’t stay still. It didn’t help that the thick cloth separating them from each other was too silky and slippery to the touch.

Gray could only cry how that freaking veil was the devil. The devil! And he quickly regretted whisking the long mantle off the table to cover Juvia with, until they finally detached themselves from each other. Both were breathless from the endeavor.

Passersby threw them ugly looks, which made Gray realize that covering Juvia with the table mantle was not one of his brightest ideas. He tried to rearrange the cloth, so that Juvia was still fully covered (her fucked-up costume hidden), but made it so that her head was popping out of the makeshift ghost costume so at least she could see where they were going and avoid another mishap. The water mage, thank goodness, stood still and quiet, as Gray secured the long textile around her neck with a knot made of his mummy tape. He smirked at his creation, proud of his quick thinking. Then broke into cackles he tried to suppress but couldn’t, scrutinizing her attire – a Juvia floating head. Now, that’s a true Halloween costume.

“Gray-sama shouldn’t be laughing at Juvia.” She bemoaned. “Not when he’s looking like that.”

Gray followed her eyes down his lower body to realize he was stripped down to his G x J boxers, using up what remained of his mummy tape costume on Juvia.

“Whoa!”

It was Juvia’s turn to laugh at him. But Gray took no offense to it and joined in, the both of them laughing together and at each other in their poor state. They were so stuck in their own world that Gray belatedly noticed the scandalized glare thrown at both of them – mostly on him – especially by children who were often told to wear something in public.

Gray scooped Juvia off the ground (which was totally unnecessary by everyone’s account) and whisked the water mage, a second time, away from the crime scene.

Young couples are too bold nowadays.

It’s probably because of the full moon.

...

Gray hid them at some back alley. He surreptitiously peeked through the corner, with an unusually quiet water mage still carried in both arms. Only after making sure no one was following after them, not the police or an angry mob, that Gray could finally puff a relief. He settled Juvia on the ground as gently as he could. And wondered why she was running out of breath when Gray did all the running.

“Are you alright, Juvia?”

“Y-y-yes.”

She stuttered. Round blue eyes were spinning like wheels on the run.

“Erm… are you sure?”

She sure didn’t look okay.

Gray was so accustomed to Juvia that he could read her like a book. Every word and every sentence he could easily interpret. And this reaction from her was probably caused by him bolting her away. He should have thought of his actions thoroughly because who knows what Juvia’s creative imagination must have conjured of him holding her in a bridal carry.

Gray and Juvia’s wedding? Them on their honeymoon, crossing the threshold into their master bedroom? Probably, both.

He settled a hand on her shoulders. The thick eyebrows on his forehead were knitted – quite bothered by the possibility that she could still slip into her imaginary land when she had the real thing right in front of her now. Unlike before, Gray had become more receptive to her feelings. And unlike before, he made conscious actions to show that he returned those very feelings. Had he not made it clear to her?

“Juvia…”

His coaxing willed Juvia back to reality, to where she and Gray were in a back alley hiding.

“Juvia is okay, Gray-sama.”

Her blue eyes returned to normal and Gray could slip a sigh of relief. Without a need to worry now, Gray retrieved his hand and suggested they come back to the guild when Juvia’s made-shift cloak started to come undone. Her Halloween costume – the brassiere connected with some barely-there knots – peeked through the opening and threatened to reveal itself in its full glory. Which was bad for Gray for the following reasons: a) Juvia was still half-lying on the ground; b) they were in some dark, back-alley; and c) they were alone in that dark alley.

And d) he was still just wearing his boxers.

“Ju-Juvia!”

But it was Gray’s fingers that yanked the edges of the loosening drape and clasped them together against her chest. Another bad idea of Gray’s now that his fists were pressed down against her breasts. Soft and quite big. Not that it surprised him. He was very much familiar with how Juvia’s breasts felt to the touch. Not that he openly touched them either. Opportunities just happened to present themselves to him. Oh how tortured and conflicted he was. That stirring inside his stomach earlier was rapidly brewing into something that shouldn’t be brewing.

“Uhn…”

What a cute voice!

Damn, it was like the universe was trying to tell him something.

Gray yanked his evil hands and put them back to his side. Away from Juvia’s soft mounds.

“S-s-sorry.”

But that lecherous costume was taunting him again, the deep valley of her breasts peering through the slightest opening. He ordered himself to look away but his sinful eyes did not stray even just a little. So, he chose to just fight the rising heat that burned his cheeks. If she asked, he could blame that one on the weather.

Gray cleared his throat. Thinking that by doing so, Juvia might not notice him ogling. He reached out his hands and started to tighten the mummy tape again around her neck. There was a crisp silence between them, which Gray appreciated. Juvia’s focused gaze at his hands was reason enough for him to struggle to steady his fingers as he looped the tape. But in the end, he was able to fix it.

“All done.”

She thanked him with a lovely smile – the kind that always followed him in his dreams. The warm smile that kept him company when he was alone. The low howl of the October breeze made him aware that they were in a dark alley where people scarcely passed through. It had a wicked way of conjuring today’s moments that the courteous Gray would rather tuck safely into the back of his memory – when Juvia stepped out of hiding in her inappropriate costume; when he unintentionally spanked and cupped her butt-cheeks; when Juvia rubbed her palms over his breasts; and when he fastened the ends of the cloth and accidentally pressed on her soft mounds. These memories he’d rather bury in the depths of his consciousness and only unearth them when he was alone.

Right now, he wasn’t alone. He was with Juvia, the star of those evoking memories, in a place where there was little to no chance of anyone walking in on them if Gray allowed some of his dreams to come alive. Clandestine. He stopped that thought and suggested they walk back to the guild. He needed the exercise.

Juvia pointed out to him his current state and Gray miraculously found some cloak flapping with the wind, hanging outside somebody’s window. It was black, a total contrast to Juvia’s white ones. He figured no one was going to miss that drabby old cloak.

As they took the route to the guild, Gray considered walking Juvia to Fairy Hills instead. But remembered he was barred from showing even just his shadow there. His ban has yet to run its course so the guild – the very place they left earlier – was the sensible place to go, especially since he and Juvia were just wearing make-shift coverings that could unravel anytime. They had to avoid crowds.

Gray was deep in thought when a flash of blue caught his eyes. He snapped his head in its direction, eyes widening in awe at what his vision revealed.

“Look Juvia!” He pointed the all-smiling, happily distracted Juvia to a decorated house where three or four children were walking up to its stoop. “It’s you.”

Juvia followed the direction of Gray’s pointing and scanned the surroundings for anything that resembled herself or whatever it was that reminded her beloved of the water-mage. Surely, it must not have been the waving tube decoration, flapping around something that, when you squint your eyes at the right angle, resembled arms. Or the scary-looking life-sized doll made of blue hay, wearing what appeared to be a blow-up replica of Juvia’s hat. That must not be how he saw Juvia, right?

Without receiving an answer to these questions, Juvia was suddenly yanked against Gray’s side. One arm hung over her shoulder; the weight pulled them both down to a crouch like they were hiding. Their cheeks were close, sharing a border, but not touching, not yet at least. They were just close enough for Juvia to feel his breath on her now-flushed cheek when he covertly spoke to her.

“That one. She looks exactly like you.”

Juvia caught herself gawking at him, at Gray’s face which was fully and resolutely turned to the direction where he was pointing her to. She felt slightly guilty about that because one, that wasn’t even the first physical touch they’d shared just counting the ones they had tonight (not the most daring one either); and two, Gray was heartily showing her something. So, Juvia summoned her focus and followed his direction – towards the girl who was giddily jumping at receiving tons of candies into her basket, the kid version of Phantom Lord Juvia. She was donned in Juvia’s blue winter coat, a teru-teru bozu hanging by the clasp of her collar, and a cute Juvia hat merchandise sitting neatly atop her little head.

Juvia felt a pang in her heart. It was her in the rolled hairstyle the water mage got rid of to forget about that version of her. As the little girl skipped down back to the main road, Juvia felt sorry for the little girl. No child should model after her. Back then, she wasn’t her best self. She was strong yet lonely. Isolated by her own rain. Physically attractive yet gloomy that warmth and fun were foreign concepts to her. A smile, a true warm smile, had never even touched her lips. Simply, ugly. If she could only keep that image to herself and tuck it away where no one else could find it, she would have done so.

The Juvia of the present, the Juvia after joining Fairy Tail, after finally being accepted and loved for who she was and who she was not, was unquestionably the best version of herself yet.

But that twinge was pushed away by the slight curve of Gray’s lips. Warm. Affectionate. Proud. He was still looking at that little girl, at kid Phantom Lord Juvia, with eyes full of interest. Never left her figure as she turned around and hollered at the other two girls on the walkway. Her other two friends looked like shrunken versions of other Fairy Tail members, slowed down by their argument about who collected more candies between them.

“There’s Erza and Mira-chan too.” Gray chuckled. “Brings me back.”

Juvia forgot all about her own thinking, dumbfounded by the look on Gray’s face. Even when the curve on his lips was subtle it was also telling. Because Gray could picture so clearly how the actual Erza and Mira-chan, when they were at the same age as those kids, would squabble over the smallest and silliest things. Much like the kids rounding up their group of three with Juvia-chan. His mind flew to that rare moment when all the kids in the guild were huddled up together in an unusually peaceful group waiting out the night. Simply remembering pulled the corners of his mouth into a small smile – not wistful, not longing, just… content.

Before he even thought of it, Gray was already starting on his feet, with Juvia following closely behind and then, naturally, fell beside him. Stepping into the same stride, the same pace as his. Juvia had caught up to him again, naturally. It had been like that between them for years now. Words have become so moot and inadequate. It was as if they were operating on feelings alone. Like it was the only way they could clearly and completely convey their inner thoughts. And so, with no invitation required, Gray and Juvia explored the neighborhood, feasting their eyes at the sight of scattered children in all sorts, shapes and colors of costumes.

The children walked up to houses. Their eyes shone at the treats dropped inside their baskets. Some ran out screaming in terror, receiving childish and mean scares instead of sweet treats. Others gleefully skipped along the side of the road while peeking inside each other’s loots. The two Fairy Tail mages, however, glowed in pride at the insinuation that the kids put Fairy Tail in such high regard to dress up like them, as members of the strongest guild in the whole of Fiore.

Wasn’t it that imitation was the highest form of flattery?

Out of nowhere, Gray and Juvia started a contest of whoever could spot and recognize Fairy Tail look-alikes more. They discreetly point the children to each other – finding a little Lucy with a mermaid Aquarius who can walk on foot in this version, or the entire Lightning God Tribe whose version of Laxus put on some balloons in place of the original’s muscles.

They spotted another Juvia, this one much younger than the first one they saw earlier, around five or six years old maybe, donning polka-dotted leggings. She had a long-haired older boy in her tail, who she addressed as onii-san, carrying her basket for her. It was quite a picture for Gray, the little girl scolding the older kid, who both Gray and Juvia agreed resembled an Iron Dragon Slayer. At least, even in make-belief, Gray got to see Gajeel being ordered around.

They strolled deeper into the neighborhood and found out that the wizard costumes were not limited to Fairy Tail mages. Gray even flinched at a spitting image of a young but much more handsome (in Gray’s biased opinion) Lyon Vastia. But Juvia noted his mood became even livelier when they met the Lyon impersonator, despite Gray-sama’s act and words of displeasure. At that, Juvia hid a chuckle behind her hand, which Gray noticed.

They hadn't walked that far from where they met and were greeted by a polite version of the fire dragon slayer, when Juvia noticed Gray’s mood turn sullen, even if he tried to hide it with a small but dry grin. She ha dan inkling why. They must have seen ten or twenty versions of Natsu but not a single one of the ice-make mage.

Even Juvia wasn’t happy about that.

“Gray-sama…”

“You want to go back?” He jumped in, not liking the way she looked and sounded worried.

Gray already knew what she was about to say. But it seemed he’d rather not talk about it. Respecting his feelings, the water-mage simply returned his smile, hers understanding and much more genuine than his forced one.

“If Gray-sama prefers.”

“Alright then.”

They turned around, about to take the path back to where they started when something round and hard hit Gray right at the stomach.

“Sorry, Oji-san!”

A small boy bumped into him with a force enough to sway Gray but not to make him lose his balance. He first checked that his basket of candies was intact before the little boy with messy black hair beamed up at him, his smile was pulled so wide that his eyes were almost shut. Cheeks all puffed and flushed and chubby and cute.

He probably got away with anything armed with that smile.

“Greige?!”

But like the other kids his age, the boy quickly abandoned the stranger he bumped into and caught up with his friends.

“Wait for me!”

Gray quickly spun around. A seed of hope sprouted within him, urging his feet to move. He wanted to follow the kid and confirm his suspicion but his own logic stopped him, rooting him in his spot. That would have been impossible. How would Greige cross over Earthland? That boy might have been wearing a zipped-up coat with fluffy collar, the same one Gray remembered Greige of Edolas was wearing, but how could he cross over to their world? Impossible.

Hope had sprouted into longing.

“Greige?”

Juvia’s confusion and Gray’s sudden realization that Juvia was still completely unaware of their child’s existence in another world, pulled him out of his reverie.

“Um… I said ‘engage’.” He quickly lied, feeling warmth rise to his cheeks despite the cold October breeze blowing at them. “I thought he was an enemy or somethin’.” Yet even to him, he wasn’t that convincing.

But how was he supposed to tell Juvia he saw a kid who could pass as a doppelganger of the son they would have in the future but who was already existing as the child of Gray Surge and Juvia, a version of them who were already married and lived and breathed in Edolas?

If Juvia knew about their Edolas counterparts, she would sulk all week and demand that they too get married and make a baby. They weren’t at that point in their relationship yet. They haven’t even kissed! Through no fault of Juvia, of course. Even though she had given her consent to it in no limited terms, Gray just didn’t… he just wasn’t… confident enough.

“Let’s go back, Juvia.”

“Oh, okay.”

He wounded a firm arm around Juvia’s shoulder and secured her at his side to stop the water-mage from looking back at the boy who reminded Gray of his future son. He chanced a last glance at him though and decided his hair was too spiky and a shade lighter than the boy in his memory. He was too tall and too animated to be his prim and proper little Greige.

His mind was probably playing tricks on him.

“Greige.” Juvia tested the name on her tongue. She liked the sound of it, she told Gray, making the man sweat a little.

“H-h-hey Juvia, I told you that’s not what I said.”

“He looked a little bit like Gray-sama, didn’t he?”

Gray couldn’t seem to understand, or rather that he couldn’t believe how Juvia’s soft eyes, that loving gaze that seemed to be only directed at him, had always been a source of comfort. He couldn’t at all wrap his head around the phenomenon of her smile shining so bright to the point that it was blinding, yet he was incapable of looking away.

“You think so?”

She just made a sound, a cute little hmm, eyes now glistening with that gentle mix of pride and joy. Gray couldn’t even fathom how Juvia could grow even more beautiful each day.

Gray glanced back at the boy reuniting with his friends, looking for his own qualities in him. Maybe his dark, unruly hair could be attributed to the ice-mage but the little boy was wrapped in a winter coat, and Gray was known for unwrapping himself from any clothing.

No harm in imaging it though, that maybe the little stranger was copying Gray.

He wasn’t.

Gray wasn’t imagining it when the boy with unruly hair pulled his elbows back to form some sort of hand stance. He definitely did not need to humor himself when he heard the kid say “ice-make…” and pretended like magic power was coming out of his open palms and attacked his friends.

Maybe if Gray got over himself…

“Juvia… are you cold?”

“Hmm?”

And step out of that darkness that was holding him back.

“My place…”

Then maybe…

“… is nearby.”

He didn’t need to imagine anything anymore.

“Yes, Gray-sama.”

[catherine-montvoisin]

On the revolutionary concept of women in practical clothing

“Although there was more than a symbolic connection between the suffocating confinements of women’s long skirts and the suffocating restrictions that defined women’s roles, the dress-reform movement of the 1850s became an excruciating personal torment and a political mortification to the American heroines of women’s rights.

 Among the pioneers [of the “rational dress movement”] were Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucy Stone, the Grimke sisters and the self-effacing Quaker organizer Susan B. Anthony, who later recalled this time in her life as “a mental crucifixion.”

[...] Elizabeth Smith Miller, the daughter of abolitionist Gerrit Smith, [created “the short dress”] which she had originally stitched up for working in the garden. [It] had a somewhat Turkish look. The lower part consisted of a pair of ankle-length pantaloons with an overskirt that came to the knees. To the knees! No trailing skirts to get caught underfoot, stepped on, ripped or soiled. No undulating petticoats to gather up and hold with dainty grace while turning a corner or sitting down, in order to avoid a mishap. On a visit to Seneca Falls, Lizzie Miller gave Lizzie Stanton a practical demonstration. She showed her cousin how confidently she could walk up a flight of stairs with a baby in her arm and an oil lamp balanced in her other hand, without fear of tripping. Mrs. Stanton, who already had four of her seven children, was instantly converted.

With the bounding enthusiasm for which she was famous, she applied the scissors and needle to her own long skirts and began to evangelize among her many friends in suffrage and abolition, offering to make a present of the short dress to Susan Anthony, a promising new ally from the temperance movement. [...] Stanton wrote to her cousin. “We can have no peace in travelling unless we cut off the great national petticoat … Stand firm.”

There were many exhortations from one feminist to another in the years 1851 and 1852 to stand firm. Wrote Ida Husted Harper, “… the press howled in derision, the pulpit hurled its anathemas and the rabble took up the refrain. On the streets of the larger cities the women were followed by mobs of men and boys, who jeered and yelled and did not hesitate to express their disapproval by throwing sticks and stones.” Many a votes-for-women rally turned into a circus when an unruly mob invaded the hall to gawk at the [short dress]. What began as a personal convenience had turned into a painful political principle, the right of a woman to wear comfortable clothes. In December 1852 while visiting with Mrs. Stanton, Susan B. took the plunge, shortening her skirts and cutting her hair to make a total statement. “Well, at last I am in short skirt and trousers!” she anxiously wrote to Lucy Stone. She was the last of the great suffragists to adopt the style. 

Within one year, she would be among the last to still wear it.”

- Susan Brownmiller, Femininity

This is the “short dress” that women, well-known activists and organisers who were at the front of a massive social revolution, had to withstand physical and verbal harassment and public humiliation to wear:

I don’t think men have become any less committed to enforcing decorous object status on women, what with stilettos and 2-inch long fake nails, and clothes that can’t be moved in without constant re-adjustment or restriction. 

The best I can say is they’ve lost some of the power they had to force their way. And for that, we thank these women.

[hailqiqi]

One Bed(sit)

Took a while to get round to it! Here's the next chapter of my RR fic with @sciroccoorion35

Words: 2,175

Ch1 AO3 | Ch2 Tumblr/AO3 | Ch3 AO3

Chapter Four: Talking and Walking

Lockwood had always imagined his first date to be somewhere romantic. When he was a boy covered in grave dirt he’d imagined a moonlit stroll by the canals, where he would play the dashing hero and rescue his faceless girlfriend from any lurking Shades; after meeting Flo, that daydream had morphed into sunlit picnics on grassy hills covered in daisies (Flo certainly didn’t need a dashing hero of any sort). 

Growing older had meant he wasn’t sure he’d ever get around to a first date – he had clients to court, agents to train, a business to run, plus – who knew how many tomorrows he’d have? No, he’d put his childish fantasies of romance aside long ago.

And then Lucy had crashed into and out of his life in a most bewildering fashion, a hurricane of destruction with her warm compassion, short skirts and steely resolve that had ripped apart every preconceived notion he’d ever had with so much force that he’d been too overwhelmed to realise what was going on until he’d almost – and then actually – lost her. Twice.

Since figuring a few things out (albeit almost embarrassingly late), Lockwood had had an entire four months to dream, scheme and plan. Primrose Hill was the place, he’d decided: if he ever got Lucy back, he’d take her up to Primrose Hill to watch the sunrise, with a thermos of hot chocolate to share between them. It would be a quiet, intimate moment, just the two of them as the ghosts faded and the promise of new hope dawned. Then he’d take her out for breakfast.

Staying at Lucy’s place hadn’t been part of the plan, and Tooting was a little far from Primrose Hill to make it work. But he’d tried to keep his eyes peeled on the cab rides over, trying to spot anything that looked like it’d make a good first date spot. Assuming he could actually ask her, at some point; it was a little awkward to try to bring it up when he was ostensibly imposing on her for her safety.

For their not-a-date breakfast they’d ended up in Tooting Market, a bustling indoor/outdoor area stuffed to the brim with people and stalls of all kinds. Lucy had expertly led him straight to a red-and-white stall in the back corner where the middle-aged owners seemed to know her quite well, judging by how interested they’d been in Lockwood’s presence. By the time they’d taken their seats at a wobbly plastic table Lucy’s complexion rivalled that of a tomato and Lockwood, fearing he’d fared no better, was trying to look at anywhere but her.

‘One aloo paratha and one butter chicken paratha, to keep you going!’ The lady from the stall placed two plates down on the table, along with a few small bowls of sauces. ‘Plus, here’s a little something sweet, to keep you sweet to our Lucy.’ Placing a bowl with wrapped sweets in it, she winked at Lucy, smiled at Lockwood, then turned and trotted away.

Lockwood stared after her, the fresh insinuation echoing in his ear.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Lucy hissed from across the table and Lockwood snapped his gaze to her. ‘They don’t normally do this.’

‘Right,’ Lockwood said, his face hot. ‘Er… At least we got free sweets out of it?’

He nudged the small bowl, filled to the brim with colourful sweets, and Lucy brightened noticeably. ‘I’ve never tried any of those,’ she said, then shot him a small grin. ‘Maybe it was a good thing I brought you here after all. Even if…’ She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the space between and around them, and Lockwood felt his confidence wane a little more.

‘Right,’ he said again, after a moment. ‘So, er… How do we eat these?’

—

George had always claimed food was magic to the mood, and – as with most things – he was probably right. The awkwardness had vanished quickly once they’d begun eating, Lucy explaining what each dip was and laughing at his expression when he’d tried some of her (much spicier) pastry. They’d picked up some spiced tea from another stall (which smelled divine but tasted strongly, and while Lockwood enjoyed it, he wasn’t sure he’d order it again) and then Lucy had coyly suggested a walk through the market, her lips quirked in a fashion that suggested she was probably laughing at him but trying to hide it.

Perhaps Lockwood wasn’t as good at hiding his curiosity as he’d thought. The idea rankled – he’d worked hard to be the picture of dignity, thank you, and he’d always thought of himself as reasonably worldly – but he didn’t mind that much. The market was, after all, utterly different to anything around Portland Row, and different again to the bustling East End street markets he’d frequented with Sykes. Plenty was familiar (Cockneys in flat caps hawked groceries all over London, it seemed) but there was even more that was unfamiliar: tables laden with vibrant, rich fabrics, battered books in scripts he couldn’t read, baskets of fruits he’d only seen in old photographs. A butcher’s shop proudly hung a whole, skinned lamb in the window; the shop next to it displayed colourful mountains of spices piled taller than Holly.

‘It’s pretty cool, right?’ Lucy smiled up at him, her hand in his coat pocket as she took another one of the sweets they’d been gifted. ‘I figure it’s about as close as I’ll ever get to leaving the country.’

Nodding, Lockwood looked around again. If he ignored the double-deckers passing – and the weather – this could easily be a market in some far-off land. Was this how his parents had lived? Walking through foreign markets, shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing exotic sweets as they discussed their next move, their next stop, their children back home?

It had always been strange to know his parents had travelled the world while he’d barely ever left London; it was an even odder feeling to realise he hadn’t even seen as much of London as he’d thought. There was so much more to them that he had to live up to.

Lucy pressed an unwrapped sweet in his hand, shaking him out of his reverie. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ he answered, even as Lucy’s hand left his to dip back into the pocket of the coat that was once his father’s. (Zero finesse – she’d make a terrible pickpocket.) ‘Just thinking.’ Casting his eyes around for a safer topic, he found his gaze simply landing on her. ‘This isn’t the sort of place I’d imagined you’d end up in, to be honest.’

It hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, but it was true. He’d thought she’d go to Fittes or Rotwell’s or Tendy’s, and, if she was going to live out, somewhere like Whitechapel or Lambeth. Areas that were cheap enough – she didn’t like to spend money needlessly – but definitely more central, since the majority of hauntings cropped up in central London (population density being the likely cause there). Tooting was far enough out that George had made a biting remark about the lengths she was going to to avoid them, which he’d certainly thought about more than once when he’d first seen the hovel she’d chosen to live in. What other reason could she have for living somewhere like that?

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. As they stepped out onto the main road he looked at Lucy – really looked at her. She was tired and run down, yes; her appearance had certainly seen better days. And yet, she stood taller, held her head up higher. The tales passed along the grapevine from the teams that had worked with her both terrified and elated him, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he’d been holding her back. Maybe that’s why she’d run so fast and far.

The sign for the Underground appeared at the corner ahead. ‘Why did you choose to move out all this way, Lucy?’ he asked, aiming for nonchalant.

She frowned at the question, and Lockwood had to resist the urge to reach out and smooth her brow. ‘Portland Row is cosy, and Marylebone is lovely and everything,’ Lucy started, clearly choosing her words carefully. ‘But this’ – she gestured at another spice shop as they passed, and the group of ladies in headscarves gathered around the till – ‘this is one of the things I’d hoped for when I first came to London.’

Lockwood frowned. ‘I thought most people wanted to see Big Ben and the palace. Tower Bridge, and all that.’

‘Well, yes, the grand buildings are wonderful too,’ she said, ‘even though half of them are haunted. But I wanted to see…I guess I wanted to see people who were different to back home, and not just in the way you are.’

Lockwood blinked.

‘You know, growing up we were always told that Britain had the greatest empire in the world, but you wouldn’t bloody know it where I’m from. And home – I mean, your home’ – Lockwood’s heart skipped a beat at the correction – ‘is wonderful but daily life isn’t too far off from what I grew up with. I wanted somewhere different. Somewhere life would be entirely new.’

Lucy hated change. After all, isn’t that why she’d left?

Turning into the station, she made a beeline for the ticket machines where she punched a few buttons in swift succession then stopped to look at him expectantly.

‘I’ve got a monthly, I don’t need...’ she trailed off as he continued to stare at her and rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, nevermind. I’ll pay for it.’

With a start, he reached past her. ‘No, no, I will…’

The last time they’d taken the Underground together Lucy had trailed after him and surreptitiously checked the map at every stop, one hand wrapped firmly around the pole. Now she chided him to hurry up on the stairway down – ‘the ones via Bank are eight minutes apart at this time of day so I don’t want to miss it!’ – and leant against the closed doors, utterly at ease in the crowded train as she talked about her favourite Thai place.

His smile was firmly in place as the train trundled forwards, but he couldn’t help but take the opportunity to study Lucy whenever she glanced away. In the four months they’d been apart she’d built a whole new life; the only thing different about his was a bit more cash and the Lucy-shaped hole. He might have managed to insert himself into this new life of hers for the foreseeable future, but then what? It was growing increasingly clear that this new Lucy didn’t actually need him.

—

It was these thoughts, perhaps, that kept Lockwood skulking under a lampost by Clerkenwell Green while Lucy went to confront Mailer, her new (to him) plain black tote slung over his shoulder.

They’d discussed him assisting, obviously, but Lucy had insisted she’d rather deal with it herself. And so Lockwood had remained behind as Lucy stole off after Mailer, watching as she snatched him into an alleyway. He couldn’t see what happened next but he kept his eyes on the mouth of the alley and his ears pricked for any sign of a struggle, ready and willing to jump in at the slightest hint that she was in trouble. None came; Lucy had learnt well.

Soon enough Harold Mailer – looking considerably worse for wear - came slinking out of the alley, double and triple checking each direction as though expecting a Changer. And a minute later – there, sheathing her rapier: Lucy. Lucy, who he had nothing left to give that she couldn’t get herself, who had slept next to him the night before and yet now seemed so out of reach, casually walking away from threatening a boy two years her senior as though it was an everyday occurrence.

She looked around briefly, her demeanour cool and unruffled, and then her eyes met his and her whole face lit up, her trademark grin so brilliantly warm it was as though the sun had come out. His answering grin bubbled up from within unbidden, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he waited for her to cross the short distance towards him and wondered why he’d wasted his morning worrying.

Her eyes were on him the whole time, and she looked so ridiculously pleased with herself it was hard to remember that they were on serious business. He stood straighter, offering her her bag; Lucy squeezed his arm as she took it, and then fell into step right beside him as they headed off again. Their hands brushed as they walked and Lucy made no move to step away. That realisation alone could have kept him warm without his coat.

As they walked, she recounted her encounter with Mailer, the light never leaving her eyes, and Lockwood was struck with a thought: perhaps this new Lucy didn’t need him the way she had before, but she certainly seemed to want his company – and that, perhaps, was even better.

[vryfmi]

[id: two images of portraits and full body sketches of Lockwood and Co book trio with their mid-teens and early twenties designs next to each other. older Lucy has shoulder length hair, in full body sketch she's wearing a wide-neck sweater with t-shirt underneath, skirt, leggings and boots. older George has shorter hair and a short beard, he's wearing the same round glasses; he's wearing a t-shirt that says "what's more punk than the public library", cargo jeans and sneakers. older Lockwood has sharper features and slightly longer less kept wavy hair. he's dressed casually in jumper, trousers and shoes./end id]

older l&co sketches + george is wearing this shirt

[id from alt text:

same older lockwood portrait but he's wearing glasses. next to him is a comic: Holly, looking delighted, asks "how was the case?" to which equally battered Lucy and George respond "i think Lockwood is losing his Sight", "i think he just needs prescription glasses". in the back on the floor Lockwood is laying face down.

two drawings side by side of Lucy with skull in the jar, top text reads, "bffs across the years". on the left Lucy leans on it and smiles, their ages written near them as 15 and 150. on the right Lucy puts bunny ears at the jar, cobweb around it and a vase with yarrows. there's a plate that reads"RIP", Lucy and skull's age being 25 and 160./end id]

[kissorkill16]

Listen: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Trinity goes to confront Nicky about Mr. Murtaugh.

Trinity couldn't sleep. She had too many things on her mind, but one particular thought kept poking at her.

She had just recently found out that Nicky had been talking to Mr. Murtaugh about their private activities.

And not only that, but Mr. Murtaugh was also a cultist.

She managed to get some proof of it, along with the disgusting decapitation of the science teacher. When she was outside, she shared it with the group chat.

Why was Nicky talking to a cultist about their Crowface investigation? Did Nicky even know he was a cultist?

It would probably explain how the Forest Protectors knew where they were during their last time in the woods.

...Was Nicky the traitor?

Trinity shook her head.

No! She didn't want to believe that! She didn't even want to think that! There's no way Nicky could be the traitor, he's the one who got her so interested in the weird mysteries in this messed up town in the first place.

...But that still didn't answer her question.

She decided to ask him about it.

She got dressed, snuck out the window and ran to Nicky's house, her phone in her pocket.

Tonight, she was going to show him what his personal counselor really was.

When she got to his house, she noticed that all of the lights were off. She walked to the backyard and noticed that his window was still broken from his mental breakdown, and it looked like his parents tried to cover it up with tape.

Regardless, she picked up a rock and threw it at the window, making a semi loud bang noise. As she picked another one up, she heard a voice come from the window.

"Hey!", said the voice, "Stop! I don't want to have to explain to my parents why more of my window is broken."

It was Nicky.

Trinity dropped the rock, "Nicky, you're awake!", she said.

"Yeah, and so are you. We're both up at 11:00 at night. What a coincidence.", said Nicky. "But why're you here?"

"Because you and I need to talk."

A moment of silence, then Nicky walked back into the darkness of his room. Minutes later, a long rope was thrown out the window. Trinity grabbed onto the rope and climbed up until she was in Nicky's room.

Trinity dusted herself off and straightened her skirt.

"What'd you want to talk about?", asked Nicky, "And could you try to keep your voice down? My parents are asleep."

Trinity locked eyes with Nicky and asked him, "Why are you talking to Mr. Murtaugh?"

Nicky's eyes widened, then he sighed. He didn't want to have to explain this, but he kind of knew that this would happen at some point. "He's my therapist."

Now Trinity's eyes widened, "Yeah, he offered to have private talks with me every week. I've been telling him everything that's been happening or had already happened."

"Even our private investigation on Crowface? The one where we all agreed that no adults would get involved?"

When Trinity said that, Nicky looked down at his shoes in shame. "I may have told him a little about that."

"Nicky, why would you even consider talking to him about this? He's a total creep and when I first got to that school, you've been hiding from him since day one.", said Trinity.

"I know, but I feel like he's the only one who truly listens to me.", said Nicky. Trinity was surprised, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"What're you talking about, Nicky? I listen to you."

"Yeah, you do.", said Nicky, "Just not about my pain."

Trinity was even more confused, and kind of concerned. "What pain?"

Nicky pointed to his bedroom wall, and Trinity nearly fainted when she saw what was on it.

A tall, dark, distorted shadow in black colored pencil with spiraling eyes and huge, claw hands. It looked like it was going to rip off the wall and grab at them.

"Ever since I was in the basement, that thing has been haunting me. I kept thinking it was a figment of my imagination, but then it kept saying that it was Mya and Lucy and shapeshifting into their forms. I don't think anyone else is able to see it though, because if they did, they'd be in the same state I was in. It kept forcing me to play games with it and threatened to hurt me if I didn't, and whenever I was in extreme distress, I felt like it was getting bigger and bigger."

Now Trinity was less confused and more concerned.

"Then Mr. Murtaugh came into the picture, and I didn't want to admit it at first, but he was actually really helpful. I felt like I could really talk to someone about my problems and they wouldn't judge me or walk away when I needed them. He even prescribed me these sleeping pills, and they keep me out like a light. I feel like I really vibe with him, and he gave me so many reasons to trust him. When people bullied me for making fun of my trauma, he was there. When Finch took that humiliating picture, he was there. When the thing kept haunting my dreams, he was there. He was always there."

Trinity smiled, then that smile fell. "But what about me, Nicky? I'm your friend."

Nicky sat down on his bed and looked at his lap, "I know, but I feel like I can't talk to you about these things. You already have so much going on with leading a whole team and trying to find the truth behind the Golden Apple coins, I don't want to put more weight on your shoulders. Also, I feel like Mr. Murtaugh actually keeps his promises. He promised he would always be there whenever I needed someone to talk to, and he was. But in Mr. Peterson's house, when you promised to be right back for me...you..."

Nicky didn't need to finish that sentence, Trinity already knew what he meant.

"But I know you didn't mean to leave me in there, you just -"

Trinity leapt forward and trapped Nicky in a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry, Nicky. I didn't mean to ignore you or leave you in there. Everything was just so hard for me ever since I got this stupid coin and I feel like they really do mean bad luck. Everything going on from one of my own friends being a traitor, from Crowface trying to stop us, and now I find out that you don't even trust me anymore."

As Trinity said these things, she felt herself beginning to cry.

"I swear, this just makes me want to lose the coin on purpose."

When she said that, Nicky wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Please don't!", he nearly shouted. "I don't want you to die! I've already lost so many friends, and some of them were probably already caused by Crowface and those stupid bad luck coins. Please don't die, I can't handle losing another friend."

Then Nicky started to cry. Trinity let him bury his face in her shoulder, and she slowly rubbed his back.

Hearing all of this, she decided to just keep the video she took to herself and the gang. She didn't want to see Nicky heartbroken when he found out that he was once again hurt by someone he thought he could trust.

Nicky started to take deep breaths, and finally pulled away from Trinity, wiping his eyes.

"Nicky, I promise I'll try to be a better friend and a better leader. And I promise I won't die on you.", said Trinity, "And I actually mean this promise."

Nicky smiled at his friend, still wiping his eyes.

Then he nearly felt his heart jump out of his body when Trinity leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Before he could say anything, Trinity ran to the window and climbed out, "I'll see you tomorrow.", she said before climbing down the rope.

All the while, Nicky was still processing what she just did, and he didn't even notice that he was sweating, or that his face was red.

[astrangetorpedo]

Phoebe Bridgers. Julien Baker. Lucy Dacus. What happens when three of the most talented solo singer-songwriters of a generation get together? You get something disarmingly funny, haunting, queer, something sui generis. Plus the best love song playlist ever. Meet The Band— a.k.a. boygenius.

From left: CHOPOVA LOWENA fringe denim jacket. PAOLINA RUSSO bodice mini dress and knit top. CHOPOVA LOWENA zip cardigan and fuzzy skirt; FALKE tights.

Nicolaia Rips: How are you guys? You’re all individually at home hanging?

Lucy Dacus: Phoebe and I both just got back from, what, five weeks of being away or more. I’m jet-lagged. I was sleepy at 7 p.m. and I had a friend come over and kind of push me until 10 p.m. so I wouldn’t fall asleep while the sun was out.

Nicolaia Rips: How’s tour?

Lucy Dacus: The tour, like, all of it has been awesome. Our next show is Boston. Right? Or is it New Haven? I don’t know. (Julien pops into the zoom, just the tip of her baseball hat as she slowly emerges into frame.)

Julien Baker: My phone died and then I just...Hi, I’m here now.

Nicolaia Rips: If boygenius was a family who’s the middle child, who’s the eldest?

Phoebe Bridgers: Am I the youngest?

LD: No!

JB: No. You’re not youngest! I’m youngest.

LD: Julien’s youngest.

PB: You also are literally the youngest.

LD: Is it boring to say that it’s just how the ages are? Me and Phoebe are both older sisters to younger brothers and Julian is an only child. I think you’re big sis Phoebe. Big brother. Big sis was weird.

PB: My brother calls me sis to give me the ick. He’s like, I love how they do it on TV. They’re always like, “what’s up, sis?” Who the fuck calls their sister that?

NR: The film [directed by Kristen Stewart]. The record. Can you talk about the finality of “The.” What other “The” would you want to do in the future?

LD: The amusement park, uh, the strip club...

JB: The musical!

PB: It’s cool because we wouldn’t do that in our solo work. I think it just highlights the specialness of the time. Like we’re setting out to make the boygenius things right now.

LD: It’s also acknowledging a bit of hype, which is fun because we’re members of the boygenius fandom ourselves. So, people asking for the record, we’re able to give them the record.

NR: What makes something a boygenius song versus a solo?

LD: At least for me, context changes what I write about, and how I write. So, we just decided to be each other’s context for a couple years. It’s not some big secret, we chose to do this, to devote space and time.

NR: Your music feels so vulnerable yet there’s always this play. How do you feel your senses of humor factor into your work?

PB: It’s silly. We kind of enable each other. I feel like there have been several times where I’m like, am I allowed to write this? And the boys were like, yeah, obviously.

NR: What’s on the essential boygenius book list? The Book Club?

LD: Myth of Sisyphus.

PB: Stop!

LD: What are books that we’ve all read? Like Carmen Maria Machado, both of her books. The Sympathizer, we all loved. Letters to a Young Poet.

JB: I’ve heard y’all reference a lot and it’s nice to feel like ideas, instead of slipping into like a landfill or whatever, get recycled to me. I don’t know, I just like hearing y’all talk about books that I haven’t read too.

PB: That’s my main experience. I’m always the one that did not read the thing. I read way more because of this band which is so tight.

JB: I feel like you’re always reading essays on some lane of art and I’m just like, dang, all I read was a graphic novel and Sartre again.

LD: Sartre again. Y’all have podcasts. I’m completely out for the podcast conversation.

JB: Phoebe got me into podcasts. I used to just be like, it’s not radio, I don’t understand it. All the podcasts I listen to are just things [Phoebe] told me to listen to —99 PI, Hidden Brain.

PB: I do not have the strength to have thoughts when I’m doing things.

NR: I was listening to My Favorite Murder a while ago and was like, wait a second. Is that Phoebe Bridgers??

PB: I felt so nervous. I think that’s the last time I had actual stage fright.

LD: Is that the one where you say, “yeah, me and my friend Lucy kissed” and then everyone freaked out?

PB: Now, no one could possibly get freaked out by us kissing. It’s just part of it. “I went to a Boygenius show and Julien and Phoebe or Lucy and Phoebe kissed.”

JB: There’s a picture of me and Lucy and my mom asked if it was the guitarist from Muna because I think she saw one picture of me and Joe [Maskin] kissing and thinks we’re dating. Mom, you’re on Twitter? Like she’s following me? I felt love.

From left: S.S. Daley monogram tailored jacket. JEAN PAUL GAULTIER vintage top courtesy of Haut Archive. SIMONE ROCHA cotton stripe pointed collar shirt; JOHN LAWRENCE SULLIVAN wool stripe jacket.

NR: Who are your favorite unsung girl geniuses of history?

LD: Nick Drake’s mom, Molly Drake. She is an incredible poet and songwriter and pianist. They re-released a collection of her works recently. You can hear how Nick Drake was obviously inspired by her as her kid.

PB: Emily Bronte’s brother.

LD: We went to the Bronte mansion. Mansion. I just mixed up the Biltmore Mansion and the Bronte house because we also...

PB: We love to go to old places that people lived in.

LD: It’s like we’re trying to get haunted. We all showed up upset to the Bronte Museum and then in the first room they were like, “here’s the couch where Emily Bronte died of tuberculosis at age 30.” Now

whenever we’re all upset and it’s hard to get out of, we call it Brontitis. Emily and Anne had a brother named Branwell. Branwell Bronte who was a great artist. But he was underappreciated and wished he could be more like his sisters. (Phoebe has been roaming her house for the entire interview, white blonde hair streaming behind her, angles the camera down at a pug sitting alone on a large baroque couch.)

PB: Maxine Bridgers.

LD: I think Maxine’s pretty sung. She’s not unsung at all.

JB: Maxine’s sung.

NR: What were you about to say?

JB: Hilma af Klint. But obviously things come in tides of awareness. Something that’s unsung to me doesn’t necessarily mean it’s unsung in fine visual art.

PB: She was unsung in her life.

JB: But that was a choice, right? She was like, don’t publish anything or show my work until fifty years after my death.

PB: So sick.

NR: Going back to this haunting thing. Have you ever been haunted?

LD: We’ve been talking about this. Unclear.

JB: I was haunted! I was haunted!

LD: Julien was haunted.

JB: I was haunted. It was...demon. I don’t think it was a ghost.

LD: I have witnessed haunting but personally, I’m a clean vessel.

JB: What the fuck. This [interview] is so...

PB: My dating life in my early fucking twenties for sure was haunted.

LD: Are we just calling abuse haunting now? Ok. Well, I was haunted when I was in my early twenties too. (They all laugh.)

PB: Born haunted, dude,

JB: Born haunted just took me by surprise.

LD: That’s generational trauma babe.

JB: I had an apartment with bad vibes.

LD: Julien had an apartment where someone was murdered and rolled up in a carpet and put in a closet.

PB: Wait, was that the apartment that I was in? Yo? OK. UM. (Immediate chattering over each other.)

LD: How have we not talked about this? Julien recently said that she was told [about the murder] upon moving in and was like, bet, I’ll just be here.

PB: That does not surprise me.

LD: And then all that shit went down and you didn’t move. I can’t believe it.

JB: Let me tell you how metaphorical this shit was. Basically, they [realtors] just painted some stuff a hip color of green and put a pool in and doubled the rent. And I was like, okay, I’ll mime being an adult and pay way too much money for this apartment in the right part of town, to be the right kind of person, with all my cool East Nashville friends or whatever. And it was just full of murder and history. I did not have a good time there and I was all alone. That place had bad vibes. Top to bottom.

LD: Bad vibes is the most, like, inane way you could say what was happening in that apartment.

From left: CHOPOVA LOWENA dress. RAVE REVIEW fleece jacket; stylist's own BURBERRY vintage pants. SIMONE ROCHA nylon single breasted car coat; GUCCI shirt.

JB: Before I’d only ever lived in houses like on a yoga mat or with five other people who were in six different bands. Moving there and being like, nice a dishwasher, and it was this spot where somebody had been like, “I think there’s a murder” and the cops came and were like, no murder here. But there was! He was just rolled up in a carpet, and then the cops came back because of the smell and then they were like, oh, there was a murder. Anyway, that’s where I lived.

LD: You got way more info than you bargained for with that question.

NR: I don’t know how to transition here, wow. Do you feel like you’re optimists or pessimists?

LD: I’m an optimist.

NR: Didn’t sound very convincing.

LD: I’m the devil’s advocate for the best-case scenario. I don’t think it’s gonna be like that, but I might as well petition for it.

JB: I would like to say I am a present tense pessimist and a future optimist. I’m like, let’s not make light of how much it sucks right now. It does not help the situation to say, “it could always be worse” or to say, “it’s not that bad.” I’m an optimist when I’m with you guys. Like, this is a pretty sick day we’re living,

LD: Our whole Europe tour was awesome. And then we all had one terrible day.

PB: That is so true. I was like, this day isn’t hell, this is actually my usual self on tour. We had one day like that in our whole time together this year. (Phoebe cleans the crust out of her dog’s nose.)

NR: Are you cleaning your dog’s nose?

PB: She’s been with her grandma and her nose fold is so full of crust. I can’t believe it.

LD: I love her. I want her to come sneeze on me.

(Now Julien shows her dog who’s “camera shy.” Lucy sings, “I love you” to both dogs.)

NR: What’s your ultimate love song?

LD: I have a lot of answers. I Went To The Store One Day by Father John Misty. I think that’s a great song. There’s a compilation of love songs of Nina Simone. A lot of perfect love songs on that.

PB: For You by Laura Marling is a great song.

JB: I’m trying to think of an answer that isn’t Options by Pedro the Lion.

PB: That’s not a love song, dude.

LD: We’re not accepting that answer anymore.

JB: That’s 100% a love song.

LD: Don’t say that. I have a playlist called “Perfect Love Song”. Who Knows Where The Time Goes by Nina Simone. I Need Your Love So Bad by Irma Thomas. Dance Song by Dijon. P.S. I Love You by Billie Holiday. I Love You Always Forever, Donna Lewis. Bless the Telephone, Serpentwithfeet does a great cover.

From top: S.S. DALEY monogram tailored jacket and pleated skirt. JEAN PAUL GAULTIER vintage top courtesy of Haut Archive. SIMONE ROCHA cotton stripe pointed collar shirt; JOHN LAWRENCE SULLIVAN wool stripe jacket.

NR: Are you specific with playlist names?

LD: No, I’ll make the playlist name and then I’ll wait for the songs.

PB: I agree and then I’m curating forever.

LD: Never finished, always growing. It’s more of a catalog or an archive than a playlist that I would send to somebody. It’s a research tool.

JB: I have a playlist called “Queerly Specific” that’s all about coming out from a place of being in love. All songs about that. Casimir Pulaski Day by Sufjan Stevens. The one where he kisses his friend.

PB: My mom banned it from the house. She was like do not play the cancer song ever again.

LD: Reservations by Wilco. Modern Romance by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

JB: Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod by The Mountain Goats. Do you know that tune?

PB: No.

JB: Oh, ok. It’s a good one. They have a lot of good love songs because they’re like little vignettes of like living with a person and all the little intricate weirdo shit they do, which is what I ultimately think comprises a lot of love. Just checking out somebody’s weirdo shit.

(As we sign off, Phoebe nods, “Bye, Boys.”)

Makeup Tabitha Thomas / Hair Linnéa Nordberg / Set Design Julia Dias / Casting Greg Krelenstein / Production CEBE Studi

11/3/23

(x)(x)(x)

[billdecker]

I have finished a new Mills & Boon!!

Get ready and steady yourself for the rundown on Extreme Provocation (from 1993).

I will say before you hit the Read More that there are plenty of triggers in this for sexual assault. I thought Gentle Savage was something but get ready for this one...

SO Lucy is a nursery teacher in London. She's from a very rich family. Her grandad owned the ENTIRE SQUARE of Georgian houses. But her dad is wastrel. He's sold every single house on the square except for their own and he's gambled and drunk ALL of the money away. Lucy has had ENOUGH so she goes to the casino, Marlborough's, and plans on dragging him away.

When she gets there she demands to see him but this massive ripped dude with a scar on his face says that she can't and takes her to his office. He's sparing her, you see. She's just dressed in this tiny little silk dress that clings to her tiny itty bitty waist and big boobs and the men in there will eat her ALIVE.

And this is where his first sexual assault takes place. He decides he's just gonna do that instead and kisses her without her permission. She tries to fight him off and struggles, only getting free when she scratches his face. She runs out of the casino and goes home, leaving her shawl behind.

The next day she's doing some shopping and a big penis-extension sports car pulls up by her side and it's the dude from the casino. He's called Randal and he's got her shawl. She says thanks and tells him to go away, but he won't . He MUST have her and he's going to have her. He calls himself a hunter and she's the prey and he says delightful things like this DIRECT QUOTE:

'You really are a tempestuous little creature, aren't you?' he murmured. 'It's funny. I've always had two types of women. Can never decide which I prefer.' He looked her up and down slowly drawling, 'Virginal blondes or tempestuous whores.'

A real charmer, right? And he drawls a lot. The writer has him always drawling when he speaks or he's talking flatly. He's always looking at her mockingly.

So he follows her around the shops and refuses to leave her alone, eventually following her into what I assume the writer is describing as Boots. Lucy goes to the perfume counter and he follows. He picks up a tester and in front of everyone he spritzes her neck with it and tells her he wants to perfume all of her pulse points, and tonight she will go home smelling of him. Lucy rightly runs away. This time he doesn't follow.

But when she gets home, there's a parcel waiting for her. It's the perfume from Randal. She chucks it down the sink.

Lucy has a boyfriend. He's called Edward, and he's her father's accountant. She's known him since childhood and they're promised to marry each other. Edward is just as much of a prick as Randal. He tells her that her job is nothing and the best job in the world for her to do is to make him and her father dinner and she needs to stay in the kitchen and not worry her pretty little head about her father gambling and drinking them into destitution.

By this point Randal has already forcibly kissed Lucy on about four different occasions and each time is just more gross than the last. And each time her pulse goes so haywire this girl needs to get hooked up to an ECG.

Lucy's dad then gets an invitation to a thing called the Mallory ball. Apparently it's an exclusive society thing but no one has heard of it. Lucy is like, 'We can't afford dad!' But he's like, 'Don't worry, I'll get you a ballgown from Harrods.' This ballgown is more like something from a period drama than from Harrods. It's all hoop skirts and a busty number.

And guess what... Of COURSE Randal is the owner of the Marlborough casino and is the host of the Mallory ball! And he's there, all suave and with a scar that she says makes him look like a pirate, and encourages her dad to go off and get pissed so he can take her alone to his office where once again, you've guessed it, he forces himself on her. But this time his mum appears, thoroughly embarrasses him, and he has to take Lucy back to the ball.

Lucy's dad has driven to Kent for the ball and can't drive back because he's pissed so Randal insists that Lucy and her dad stay the night. He sorts out one of his mother's neglieges for her (I KNOW), which is a size too big and hangs off her body showing off her boobs. Lucy locks the door because she knows he'll only try to get in and sexually assault her YET AGAIN.

The next morning Randal knocks on the door and he's got a dress for her. It's a pink silk number that again BELONGS TO HIS MUM, and he tells Lucy how ravishing she is going to look in his MUM'S DRESS. Again the dress is too big and the straps fall of her shoulders. Then he practically forces Lucy back onto her bed and forcibly kisses her again until his housemaid knocks on the door.

At breakfast, Lucy's dad invites Randal to lunch later that day. Lucy hatches a plan to invite Edward too so Randal won't do anything bad. But Randal gets there first and follows her into the kitchen, where, you know the story by now, he forcibly kisses her AGAIN. He's only stopped by the knocking on the door of Edward.

Randal chats to Lucy's father and Edward follows Lucy into the kitchen. He can tell that she's kissed Randal and he wants to know wtf is going on. So he agrees to publicly announce the engagement, but only so Randal will stop stalking Lucy.

But it doesn't work! The next day Lucy finishes work and Randal's penis-extension car pulls up beside and he's like, 'Hey, I've just bought a horse, wanna come see?' He's called it Miss Lucy's Passion. So they go to his Newmarket home to see the horse. Then he takes her to his house where they chat before he chases her, demanding that he's finally going to bed her this time!! He literally chases her through his house, but she opens a door and it's a bedroom, and he backs her onto the bed, and the Benny Hill theme is going through my head.

And basically they tear their tops up, and he sucks her tits or whatever, Lucy wants Randal but then he stops and laughs at her and is like, 'I told you you couldn't resist me! Put your clothes back on, you whore!' Then he drives her home.

She goes to bed but then in the night she hears her father return home late and he looks like something has terrible has happened but he won't tell her what. Later that day Randal arrives and reveals to Lucy that not only is her father now bankrupt but he's in debt. She asks how he knows and it turns out that of coure Randal owns the bank her father uses!

Randal says he'll give Lucy's dad a job. Lucy is horrified by this because her dad has NEVER WORKED. Her dad agrees to take a job but that's not enough. So he doesn't get taken to bankruptcy court LUCY MUST MARRY RANDAL.

So Lucy agrees and they buy a ring, but then she has to tell Edward. She asks Edward why he didn't tell her about the state of her father's finances and he's like, 'You're a woman! You're too silly to know anything about money!' Which quite rightly pisses Lucy off. Then he notices the ring and Lucy tells him she must marry Randal because of this. And Edward is upset but he's also like 'WE MUST BE STRONG! WE MUST BE STRONG!' like a shit Brief Encounter or something, and then he runs away.

Randal thinks this is hilarious and then he and Lucy argue again. And then this is another genuine quote from the thing:

'You can take a horse to water,' he drawled softly. 'Or should I say - a whore.' Somehow she got her wrist free and slapped him again, harder. His teeth met and he jerked her hard against him. 'Don't you hit me again, you little bitch, or I'll prove what I'm saying by taking you up to bed immediately and giving you what you so obviously, desperately want!'

By this point I was genuinely longing for Marshall and the cement mixer accident. I was two-thirds through and I didn't know how much more of this I could take. But also I like to self inflict shitness on myself and purposely watch terrible things and read shit like this because I can't just leave it alone, I HAVE to finish it.

Three weeks later, Lucy marries Randal. At the wedding, he tells Lucy that Edward is actually a bastard. That he stole all of her father's money and that's why he has nothing and Edward has spent it on a flash car and a Park Lane flat. Lucy doesn't believe. She thinks she still loves Edward but she's getting more of the hots for Randal.

He takes her to Rome on the honeymoon where all they do for the first few days all they do is bang. Which Lucy loves, but hates. But then she loves banging so much she realises she's in love. But they argue all the time. He says Lucy is his wife but he always wants her to be his mistress. She keeps saying she hates him, and when they go out for gelato they bump into one of his old flames, Apollonia.

Apollonia is curvy and her dress can barely contain her rocking tits. She flirts with Randal and invites them to a party. Lucy accepts to prove to Randal that she doesn't care about him.

So at Apollonia's party, Randal goes off with her to dance. It's like Danny and Cha Cha, but not as hot. So Lucy starts talking to a American-Italian film director called Michael Salvatore and he's like, 'Your husband is being cad, lets get some air.' So he takes her outside. He tells her that a blonde actress has pulled out of his latest film and she would be perfect for it. He then kisses Lucy on the lips. Randal comes out just in time and decks Michael and drags Lucy away.

They come home and there is this cracking little paragraph

By the time they flew back to London, Lucy was a sunblushed beauty with tousled blonde hair, a love-bruised mouth, and a penchant for off-the-shoulder clothes.

Back in London, Lucy decides she's going to secretly visit Edward while Randal is in Newmarket. She doesn't believe what Randal has told her about the embezzlement, but then Edward lets her into his flat. They argue. She can't believe what he did to her dad. She storms away and when she's outside Randal is there waiting with his penis-extension car to take her home.

They argue. He doesn't come to bed. It's the first time they haven't shagged since Rome and. Lucy is so sad about this she genuinely contemplates throwing herself off the bedroom balcony at Mallory. When he does come to bed, he stinks of whiskey. Randal is convinced that Lucy still loves Edward. He's not meant to be bothered seeing as he only married her for sex and to always call her a bitch or a whore (he does this frequently, and she constantly wants to slap him)

At some point they argue and he literally physically forces himself onto her to have sex and my jaw was genuinely dropped for the fuck knows how many time.

The next day she goes to London again to tell her dad the truth about Edward. Edward turns up. They argue. Her dad hits him and Edward falls into Lucy's arms. Randal turns up. He shouts DON'T TOUCH MY WIFE and hits Edward. And Edward was all 'SO IT WAS YOU WHO GRASSED ME UP TO THE INLAND REVENUE' and runs away.

At home that night, Lucy confesses that she told her father everything because she wanted to stop protecting Edward because she no longer loves him but loves Randal. Randal confesses his love back. And then they bang again. The end.

[ephemeral-phosphorescence]

Goblin Stairs,

A Hunger Games fanfic.

Very much inspired by Jackie French novels and the Australian tradition of writing about time going thin and rubbing against itself too much. Basically, the fabric of time rips when Lucy Grey runs away from Snow in the woods, and she accidentally isekais herself into post-mockingjay District 12.

Wordcount is 1,668

Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.

Lucy-Grey’s mama had told her all about fairies. In songs she’d play to scare her little girl on the brightest moon-lit nights, or rhymes she’d laughingly chant as she sent the kids out to play. Fairies, she’d taught them, would take you away. You’d spend what felt like a few seconds with them and while you listened, time would grow thin. It would rub out in strange places, and you’d come back to find your family old and grey.

Of course, Lucy-Grey knew now that it was all just practical warnings. Don’t go off by yourself into the woods. Don’t talk to strangers. Especially don’t take food from strangers. And don’t go off with them, no matter how many beautiful visions they tempt you with. 

God, Lucy-Grey wish she’d listened. Maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation right now if she had. Deep in the woods by herself. Running from him. 

She’d thought he was a fairy, the first time she’d seen him. Standing on the dirty railway platform, in his pretty uniform and glowing golden hair. He sounded like a fairy too, speaking in that strange accent, Coriolanus Snow, every syllable crisp and sweet. And like all fairies that children found in the woods, he tempted her with a pathway home, tempting her with his trinkets. She’d thought maybe a fairy world wouldn’t be so bad, compared to where she was headed. Hoped for a fairy world even, grabbing that unnaturally perfect rose and slipping it into her mouth. 

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?”

Lucy-Grey’s mother hadn’t believed in fairies, surely, but she’d once sounded so serious, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Don’t go off with fairies, my Lucy-Grey. You’ll not come home again if you do, not truly. Not once as it was.”

And as Lucy-Grey ran through the woods, listening to the mockingjays sing teasingly above her, trying to anticipate the direction of the bullets, she felt it. She felt time and air grow thin, like tissue paper. She felt it tear. Another rain of gunfire circled the trees, and she fell, forehead just missing the full impact of a jagged rock.  Her heart beat a thousand drum falls a minute, and in a terrified last ditch attempt, she tried circling back to the path up to twelve. Feeling her boots on the soft dirt, and choking back a sob, she gathered her skirts and almost ran into the stranger. 

Standing by the overgrown path, next to a blackberry bush, a basket of shimmering black fruits in her arm, she looked at Lucy-Grey with a puzzled demeanour. A coal miner, if the burn scars on her neck and hands were anything to go by, and the large leather jacket over her shoulders. 

Finally. Lucy-Grey thought viciously. A real fucking person.

“You’re out far” the woman commented lightly. 

“Please!” Lucy-Grey choked out all in a rush. “Please help me!”

The woman’s entire body changed, tensing up, and she poked her head around Lucy-Grey’s body. Her troubled eyes looking for the source of her distress. There was something about those eyes. Something Lucy-Grey recognised intimately. 

“Bear?” She asked distractedly. Lucy-Grey heard the sound of Coryo’s boots tramping through the grass, trashing the sticks and foliage underfoot. 

“No” She breathed out. “No, it’s my- my man, he went awful angry all of a sudden and he’s firing his gun and I don’t-“ she swallowed. 

In what felt like a whip snap, the woman crossed the distance between them, shielding Lucy Grey behind her back. And in the same moment, had the bow across her back, loaded and aimed in the direction Lucy-Grey came from. 

They waited for a second, the mockingjays chillingly quiet now. 

There was an angry, anguished scream from deep in the woods and the sound of bullet fire that caused them both to flinch. The woman shook her head and grabbed Lucy-Grey’s arm roughly. 

“Come on” she muttered and pulled her up the path in a rough sprint. 

They ran for what felt like hours, up the trail they both seemed to know well. Flying through the trees, their feet gliding over the grasses. And once they were a few hours out from the borders of district twelve, they both allowed themselves to slow, panting heavily. Lucy-Grey fished around in her pack, and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a long sip, she passed it to the woman, who drank it gratefully. 

“You saved my life” she whispered gratefully. “Really, you did.”

“No trouble” the woman shook her head. “If you hadn’t warned me, I might have stepped into his line of fire. You’re almost a like a good luck charm.”

She felt like the furthest thing from a good-luck charm right now. She felt like a bad omen. Like she might accidentally be setting in motion a string of disastrous consequences for this woman, who’d probably just lead a simple, quiet life up until now, working in the mines and foraging on the days she had off. 

The woman looked at her, with a drawn, almost unreadable expression. 

“My name’s Katniss Everdeen, by the way. And I like your skirt.”

She continued up the path, motioning for the girl to follow behind her. 

“I’m Lucy-Grey Baird” she responded breathlessly. “And thank-you, I sewed this one myself.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that” Katniss responded. “It looks very achievable.”

And before Lucy-grey had time to respond to that, Katniss had pressed her lips together and a look of frustration crossed her face. 

“So, what happened” she continued brusquely. “Did you run off from Ten or somewhere?” 

“No” Lucy said, puzzled at the assumption. “No, we set off from twelve just this morning.”

“You’re from Twelve? Originally, or did you just get here? I mean after the war.”

“I’m Covey” she asserted. “Not from any district, but we had to settle here after the fighting stopped. My people should just be by the meadow.”

“Wonderful” Katniss responded. “I can drop you off there on the way back.” She turned around to look at her and then stopped. “Your head is bleeding.” 

Lucy-Grey put her hand up to her forehead, where she could feel a viscous liquid dripping into her eyes- true, but she’d thought it was sweat. Her fingertips came away red. 

“I tripped” she explained. But Katniss had already torn a section from her shirt, and had bundled it up to press on the wound. “It’s just a scratch, really.” 

“Really?” Katniss frowned. “You seeing okay? No dizziness? No nausea?” 

“Not yet” 

“Alright.” Katniss seemed happy with that, but made her press the fabric to the cut as they continued their way up the path. 

It shouldn’t be too long now, Lucy-grey thought, and despite all the troubles that awaited her, her heart couldn’t help but flutter in relief. 

“So, you went deep into the woods with your man, doing what exactly?” Katniss asked, now herding Lucy in front of her. “Hunting?”

“We were running away.”

“Ah.” And then, a second later. “Why?” 

Not quite sure how to explain all of the drama, especially to what seemed like a chronic recluse, Lucy-Grey finally just muttered. “The mayor is trying to kill me.” 

There was a deep moment of silence as Katniss took that in. She took a second to note a marker, that signalled they weren’t more than twenty minutes from the meadow now. 

“Okay, and you took a gun into the woods?”

“No” Lucy-Grey struggled. “We found the guns in the cabin, and he went off suddenly.” 

“You sure there’s no dizziness?” Katniss asked cautiously. “No, I don’t know . . . shininess?” 

“I’m sure” she answered patiently. 

“Look, I was just in that cabin before I ran into you. There were no guns there. And no signs anyone had been there beside me. It's like you both just appeared.” 

Lucy-Grey gritted her teeth, and continued walking in silence. Katniss let her, occasionally holding branches out of her way, and helping her over creeks and the like. Finally, they’d passed the last boundaries of trees and Lucy-Grey let herself sigh a relived breath. Until . . . 

There was a shininess. She deliberated on telling Katniss for a second, then deciding to it as a problem for Barb Azure. But the shininess, persisted, a web of silver stretching across the boundary. A line of fallen silver chain across the grass and a battalion of rusted poles that had certainly not been there before they left. 

“What.” She murmured confusedly. 

“Fence” Katniss supplied. “Almost there.” 

Lucy-grey felt her feet carry her forward without permission. Up onto the meadow, which should have been a haven of grass and flowers had been turned into a massive mound of dug-up dirt. And beyond that, only darkness. Bleak, black ground only sparsely populated by half-finished constructions. 

“What happened?” She almost whimpered, looking anywhere for a recognisable landmark. Katniss took her shoulders gently, looking into her eyes, looking for signs of a concussion. But she wasn’t addled. There had been something there before. Surely, surely, there had been. 

“Lucy-Grey” Katniss explained evenly. “It was bombed, during the war, do you remember? Bombed to nothing?” 

She twisted wildly out of the grip, refusing to hear it, desperate to understand it. Her mother’s voice came back to her, singing in a silly little tune. 

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long;

When she came down again

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow,

They thought that she was fast asleep,

But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since

Deep within the lake,

On a bed of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wake. 

Lucy-Grey turned around, and vomited neatly onto Katniss Everdeen’s boots.