#we die like small children playing dress up

[ismaeldrawsthings]

Thinking about the contrast between Thetis and Mary mother of Jesus ok I am NOT crazy just hear me out

I'm thinking about how Mary just got married with a man she loved so deeply and was chosen by her God to give birth to his child, still a virgin. She felt honored. Her womb, a blank canvas that would paint an amazing story. Her son the embodiment of God, characterized by his gentleness and compassion, how he spent the years of his life spreading the word of God, messages about loving one's neighbor and peace. His child, whom she saw die humiliatingly and cruelly in the hands of a people who feared his message of love and peace. Who she saw coming back to her even after death.

And then we have Thetis. Thetis, daughter of Nereus, maybe the fairest one of them all. Zeus and Poseidon wanted her, and did she feel honored by this? Did she boast of being the envy of her sisters and cousins? Being desired by Olympians is no small thing. Let's say she did. Let's say she was excited to be chosen by the King Among The Gods and The King Of The Seas to dispute among each other for her hand. But then the prophecy, "greater than his father", came, and she was no longer desired. She was feared. Her womb was feared. They all knew what happens to those Gods who are greater than their fathers; Zeus still reeks of Cronos remains. So she was arranged a marriage to this man she knew nothing of nor cared about. In fact, in the standard myth, Peleus rapes her. He was told how exactly to do it. This mortal, who she hated—she couldn't stand mortal blood—, forced his child into her. They get married and her pregnancy begins. In some versions, Thetis has 6 children before Achilles who she kills because she couldn't stand the idea of having a mortal child. It's not fair. What did she do? Why was she being punished for something that was not up to her to decide? She has her son, and calls him ἄχος, suffering, because isn't that all that thing has caused her? Isn't all her suffering because of this dammed thing that grew inside of her? It should be easy to hate him. In fact, she should hate him.

Yet she doesn't. She loves him. She loves her little suffering. And she loves him so much she finds it all unfair. Unfair he will die and she will live carrying all this sorrow inside of her. She wished there was a way to grant him with godhood, but there is none. He is no God. And that is cruelty, that isn't fair.

Even if she tries to protect him, her suffering is sent to war afar from her. And he's full of hate. And isn't all that hers? He was born out her hatred, out of her rage. That's what he was born to feel, that's what he was made of. No matter how much her or the people around him try to do, his destiny if full of hatred, and violence, and blood, and all things bad. He's named the Best Of The Greeks because of how many Trojans have died by his sword. He steals, and kills, and kidnaps. He's not just her suffering alone, now, he's the people's suffering, Αχιλλεύς. He dies and he doesn't come back, because he's mortal, she can't make him a God. And she will live forever with her sorrow.

Jesus was Mary's blessing. Achilles was Thetis' punishment. And yet they both loved their children like only a mother can.

Also to add to that contrast, Mary is dressed really modestly ofc because she's a virgin and God's mother and she has to have a lot of cloth to cover her. Thetis is illustrated showing a lot of skin most of the time. The cultural differences play game into that fact of course but this comparison is not even like implying that they're equivalent to either religion so wooooo woooooooo

Anyway it's 2 AM why am I yapping this much

[julesdraws]

wanted to practice fat body anatomy ended up creating a beautiful chiss lady???

anyways i shall name her Lakari, short for Stybla'ka'rino

[essaytime]

A lot of productions (or production ideas) for Romeo and Juliet come up with elaborate aesthetics for both of the feuding families, and there is definitely a charm as well as a large degree of blessed creativity to this, but honestly, the more I think about the play, the more I feel the most resounding choice with me, given the play's meaning, would be to make the Montagues and the Capulets' costumes very, very similar. Almost identical - the same silhouettes, materials, everything. Have the only thing signalling which family it is be a ribbon or band tied around the arm, a particular embellishment at the collar of a dress or shirt, maybe some item of clothing that's easy to take off, like a vest or small cape, or a scarf. Maybe aside from the Lords and Ladies of both surnames, they could wear something that's entirely in their family's chosen colours/symbols, but the rest of the family and their supporters? Just these details. Because that's really one of the things that hit so hard in the text: there is literally no reason for the feud. There's no logically existing divide. We have two influential families of equal standing, who live by the same customs, whose children probably have the same education, who employ people with the same mindset and themselves presumably have the same mindset. They could very well live beside each other, they could very well switch places and be each other. These poor teenagers in Romeo and Juliet are forced to live in a world shaped by something that just doesn't exist. And they're mistreated, and they struggle, and they die - at more or less fourteen or fifteen! - for something that doesn't exist. Because at this point there is no reason to go on with this conflict, if there even was one in the first place, which I doubt. I think there is a lot of sense in the fact that we never learn why the Capulets despise the Montagues and vice versa. I wouldn't be surprised if during the time of the play there was just no one that could remember it. But still, this conflict, this absolutely empty, pointless, senseless conflict, wrecks the community of Verona, pitting citizens against each other and leading to innocent kids dying. And I think if I were directing the play, that's the thing I would emphasise: that they are really the same. Have Lord Montague make a similar scream, speak in a similar tone mourning his son as Lord Capulet did mourning his daughter. Have the servants at the beginning of the play use exactly the same gestures and mannerisms. Have the dear uninvited party-sneakers get along with Capulet youth at the ball and genuinely have fun together. And have the citizens at the end be all the same in their surprise and grief, virtually indistinguishable save for this ribbon or embellishment they can just rip off of their costume, becoming one whole crowd. All of these people could pass each other, say hello, gossip on the street with no problem - if it weren't for these details that somehow make them part of two different entities. For there is no border between the Capulets and the Montagues other than the artificial one they try to create themselves. And people die for it.

[zhvakinnn]

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, can I request a poly sbg x fem gyaru reader who gets bullied by Barron and his friends? (Angst but a very fluffy ending) :3

I'm not sure if you want this romantic or platonic so I'm gonna write it both

So you can read this in a platonic or romantic way

Btw sorry i was busy doing loads of commissions and I'm so happy theres so many requests don't worry i will do all you're request ^^

Characters: Tyler, Ben, Aiden, Taylor, Ashlyn, logan

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, bullying, death threaten, suicide, self-harm

✨as always i don't know much English so if something is wrong correct me✨

You met them when you went to that scary mansion and became friends they love your style so much

Taylor loves doing you're nails and you love doing hers and sometimes you paint all of your nails tyler said he hate it but still wears it

Ashlyn and Tyler is the one defending you she doesn't like you getting picked on because of your style

Aiden well let's say your both dork and do nothing but do shitty things that annoyed you're friends

Ben loves playing guitar while you sang songs and sometimes you do band with them

Logan helps you and everyone study

They don't mind you're style they just know they love you and that's all that matters

But then one of Barron's friend kept bothering you telling you how small you're skirt is, how sexy you are and other uncomfortable stuff you didn't tell them because once you do they will start another riot

And they kept telling you that you should die already and the gang would be happy if you no longer exists

And your starting to feel insecure about your style so you started to change a big and that caught everyone's attention on you like you're still wearing a make-up but there's something different

Then Barron spread a fake rumor that your friends hates you aswell you didn't believe them at first then he showed you a video recorder hearing they're voice's talk shit

"i really hate that woman's make up i mean its to many makeup"

"yea and te way she dress psh pass"

But little did you know they were talking about that one woman who attacked Taylor

But yet you didn't know you started to avoid them and come less in the school

Whener your in the realm you didn't care if you did die In there but the only thing that comes to your mind is run away and never see them again

"what happened to her i cant find her anywhere..?" Tyler said with a bit of concern in his voice

"I'm starting to worry even in the realm we cant see her" Ashlyn said

They tried to knock on your door but everytime they went there you're parents shrug it off and say your just sick and you need more time to rest

There's no windows or doors that are unlocked no curtains were up your house seems a like a dark cave now

Then one time they knock again now really getting worried they were ready to confront your parents no matter what happens they wanted to see you but when they're about to knock they heard a loud screech

Ben heard it and broke down the door your as they went to your room they can see both of you're parents holding you while your dad was lifting you and your mom holding a phone calling an ambulance

When they saw you chills ran down they're spine

You were pale and purple and Taylor saw the rope in the ceiling and a chair knocked out

They were all in the waiting room your mother was walking back and forth while your father calm her down

They were all sitting there dumb founded they just saw you lifeless body on the floor

Aidens smile was never seen

Ben kept fidgeting non stop

Taylor and tyler were holding hands trying to comfort each other

Logan wouldn't stop the sweat in his hands

Ashlyn who couldn't sit still

They all love you they cared now...

Then everyones parents came to check on their children and they asked what happened to you

Ashlyn was so curious what you're mom was saying so she didn't care if her ears hurt she wanna know what the hell happened to you

"and then she said she was getting death threath and she started to get sexual harass by some guy and we don't know what happened they started not to eat and we noticed there are big scars on her wrist we tried confronting her but its just getting worst... And then this guy who I've heard Barron.. he beat up my daughter whom he was a guy-."

"BARRON?!" You're mothers mouth went shot when Ashlyn stand uo and looked at your mom

Her eyes were full anger and hatered

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

She explained what she heard from her mother

Aiden tried to calm Ben down but he couldn't sit still just like that all because of this because of Barron

Logan was flaming anger aswell he knew about how Barron's treats to him

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

( i don't wanna add a fighting scene here sorry)

They spend most of the days by your side they were still happy they were talking to each other joking around but they cant help get more worried about you

Not until they all fell asleep and you were awake and saw Aidens rubix cube you also noticed your parents on the couch you smiled slightly then looked at them down on the floor

Once aiden woke up he saw you playing

"look... I can finally do it..its hard work though" you said weekly

Aiden couldn't care less about the rubix he held you so tightly making the rubix cube fall which landed on Tyler's head

"ow! What.. what the heck Aiden!..." He whispered yelled when he stand up he saw you hugging aiden and when you looked at him with a slight smile he couldn't stop the tear drops

"please please never do that again"

Once they all woke up you said sorry to them but confusion started going in your head didn't they hate you you asked them why did they said those things

Taylor said they were talking about that asshole and not you

You cried in the verge of tears

"but please if you're getting bullied or something don't hold back to tell us please we don't want to see you or be like this alright?" Logan's smoothing voice said then you heard a loud sound coming from Ben he typed

"I'm angry but i love you"

You smiled as you were all now in the growing hugging

When you're parents woke up they panicked when they didn't see you anywhere but stopped when you're father noticed you were all in the floor

Bonus:

They found you're body in one of the bus in the graveyard and they protected it while you're still unconscious

And that's it sorry if i haven't done one of your request but i promise i will

Masterlist | about me | rules

[alavestineneas]

Glass and mirrors

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one. warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of mental illness, narcissism, blonde men who need therapy, unhinged women, people in shitty relationships and toxic industries word count: 4.6k PART TWO IS HERE

author's note: Hello and welcome to our small community of people who have fallen victim to the charming (and evil) blonde man! This fic is heavily inspired by the edits of models that pop up on my ticktock feed every day. Shout out to them and the talented editors who bless my eyes with their creations. As for YN this time, prepare to be on quite a ride because she, surprise-surprise, is evil! In my head, there has to be at least one victor who feels no remorse at all; they can't all be morally good (and relatively sane) people. Also, the obsession with beauty in this fic is, in fact, intentional, so bear with me. Feel free to comment or insult the author in the comments, but only if you are creative with it. Enjoy and see you in part 2!

In all of her short childhood, she always loved mirrors. Her grandma used to joke about it with her old friends while they shared lunch at the factory: ''That empty-headed child wants to do nothing but stare at herself all day.'' The women would laugh, their raspy voices making the glid, already filled with toxic fumes to the brim, hotter. YN didn't mind; she would pretend not to hear them, clinging to the machinery in front of her instead. She would get out of here sooner or later, and she'd see whose laughter would be left echoing all through the narrow streets.

She wasn't born to rot in this place like these people were; YN was sure of that. Not with a face like hers, with manners she taught herself from the bright magic box in their cramped commune apartment, where a few times a year the government played the show. It was supposed to be a punishment, YN reminded herself each time, but it didn't look like one. She watched the children eat more food than she had seen in a month and then cry on the stage in front of millions. She wouldn't cry if she was there, that was for certain. People die every day here, but none of them get to dress up in the jewels provided by the wealthiest people she has ever seen.

It was funny how they had all the money in the world and still chose to dress so horribly. Mismatched fabrics and smudged colours on their faces, like the colours of the lake near her house—the factories polluted it with dyes, turning the water green, purple, and sometimes even pink. That's how she got her old grey dress to be such a pretty lavender colour. It didn't matter that everyone at school laughed at her, even Miss Kyla; she was horrendously ugly anyway, her hair resembling the colour of unwashed underwear. YN wore her dress with pride, mimicking the voice of the funny multicolour-haired man on the screen, chatting with long o's and a's.

That's how she ended up here, on the first floor of the newly renovated training centre, with a drink in her freshly manicured hand. She had two hours before her stylists would need her again—a time designated for sleep, which she apparently so greatly lacks. YN doesn't care; she went without sleep for much longer than two days. Instead, she does what she loves the most—turns on a shiny screen and watches the golden letters appear: the 15th Annual Hunger Games.

It starts with reaping, as always, but YN skips that part—she doesn't like seeing herself in those dirty rags, although, as papers would later state, ''nothing could make this girl ugly, even if a potato sack was put on her body.'' She likes interviews better. Luckily, the wait is not very long; soon enough, her favourite host pops up, his hair shimmering with sea green.

''And now, our dear viewers, I am more than pleased to announce our next tribute from District 1—please let her hear how excited we are to meet her!'' His voice booms through the theatre as the crowd erupts into applause.

YN moves gracefully, a beaming smile on her face matching that of a host. Her gloved hands wave at the supposed people in front of her as if they were guests at her birthday party. But most importantly, dress. The one she chose herself, arguing over it with her stylist for the last few hours, the one that fitted her perfectly. Capitol enough to appeal to the audience, district enough to highlight that she isn't one of them—she is something new, undiscovered, and worth keeping an eye on. It's almost not a dress at all—the sparkling, sheer fabric of beautiful white, with stars gathering at her chest and bottom to finish the ''almost naked'' look. And the crowd goes crazy for it. People shout, and the splashes of the cameras blinding her create a new melody that is so unfamiliar to YN's ears. Admiration. The thing she craved for so long.

''Alright, alright,'' Lucky Flickerman smiles, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. ''We don't want to scare her off now, do we?'' He turns to her, a microphone in hand. ''What's your name, sweetheart?''

''YN Y/L/N. And I am afraid you can't scare me off, no matter how hard you try. The thing is, I am here to stay,'' she jokes, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside her.

''Oh, how I love your confidence! Now tell me—we heard you are a volunteer—the first in the history of District 1! Are there any special ties to the girl who was supposed to stand here tonight, or what's going on?''

''Well, I was dying to see you in person, of course—no pun intended.''

Oh, there weren't any ties to the girl, or the boy, for that matter. No, YN simply wanted to go at her peak chance of winning—countless years of secret preparation in the factory; working a night shift after school and full days of weekends; hours of studying every plant and animal known to mankind—all to ensure that she wouldn't waste her chance like most kids here did.

''That's an honour coming from your lips; we are happy to see you in the Capitol, Miss Y/L/N. Since you came here by choice, what strategy are you planning on using in the arena? Maybe something tied to your district's craft?''

''If you promise to keep this between us, I'll confess—I will use my charms to make everyone fall in love with me and watch them fight by promising the winner a kiss—and then I will take it from there.'' YN turns to face the lights, staring directly into the camera for a few seconds. The crowd laughs once more, some going so far as to cheer and whistle in excitement. ''But in all honesty, I think I have a fair shot—I would win in a day if it meant the unlimited supply of those amazing cupcakes with sprinkles on top.''

''Well, in that case, you should definitely get a good rest this night—you are not the only one who got your eye on them! Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the Cupcake Games tomorrow, and don't forget to sponsor this lovely girl right here if you want to see her win! And now, a short word from our sponsors.''

Cupcake jokes are still funny to her, even after two years, although she got sick of them a week after her victory and was just as sick of all the titles papers came up with to fit her into the candy girl box. It served her well, for which she is grateful; the sponsors did send her a shitton of things, although mostly useless.

Next is the introduction of everyone else; YN doesn't care to look at it for more than just a few seconds, speeding it up to maximum. It's boring to no end—how do Capitolees watch it every year with such excitement? She stops to look only when her face appears on the screen, covered in crimson blood.

She counted six canons when she finally stopped to take a breath in and look at her surroundings. That was about right, although YN didn't count how many times she pulled a knife out of somebody's still-warm body and lurched into another nearby. The sand soaked up the blood fast, she noticed, stepping over the pile of what used to be her competitors and walking towards the cone-shaped something. Nobody in sight—each one of the ''better'' kids is now dead without a chance to kill each other, to kill her, and ''others'' will die like flies under the hot sun of what looked like a desert. YN noticed that some even left behind the given jackets; she collected them before stepping into the Cornucopia, claiming them as her own. Not everyone grew up in hot factories, she thought to herself, so they have no chance of knowing how cold it gets at night.

YN doesn't like how the uniform looks on her; the T-shirt hangs around her frame too loosely. It's evident that she didn't eat enough back then, but it was tolerable. The dried blood looked worse; with her stoic face and eye colour, the streams looked too grotesque, almost unserious; it didn't fit the look she was going for. Her hands itch to wipe it before YN remembers that it's non-existent now—the girl on the screen is just a recording. She forwards a little more, looking for the commentary of the first night from the hosts—their excitement and praise never get old—but hears knocking at her door just as she is about to press play. YN glances at the clock—it's too early for the prep team, so it must be someone else—and turns off the TV just to be sure she heard it right.

When the knocking continues, she shouts a quick ''Come in,'' after checking her reflection on the now dark screen. ''Ah, Maggie!''

''How many times do I have to repeat that my name is Mags, not Maggie? Not Mags with fangs either, to be clear. Just Mags.''

''But everyone calls you that! And I want to be special,'' YN whines, laying back on the sofa.

It's Mags. YN likes Mags. Mags is the only girl besides her on the victors' list. Mags is the one who is always down to eat lunch together or to watch the new collection in the magazines. She is funny and down to earth, and, most importantly, Mags doesn't take bullshit from anyone.

''Even more special?'' Mags smiles, opening the fridge to look for something edible. There isn't much; they both know that YN would never eat something to ruin her figure. ''I saw your photoshoot on the street today. It's beautiful.''

''Thank you,'' YN smiles. She doesn't remember which one of her campaigns was supposed to air today, but it doesn't matter. ''Are you here for the promo again?''

The curly-haired woman nods, not looking up from the shelves. ''I hate it. I wish they would just leave me alone, so I can go home and forget about all of this.''

YN is always weirded out by such comments from Victor from 4 but never says anything. Not everyone was born to be in front of the camera; if that were the case, her talent wouldn't be so special anymore. ''It's our job, Maggie. They'll never leave us alone.''

''I know.'' Mags sighed, planting her body on the sofa beside her.

They are different, but YN thinks it's better that way. They are the same age, both 20, and that's about the only thing that ties them together. YN watches as her friend's chest rises and falls as she stares at the ceiling, her long, curly hair in some type of twist. YN would never style it like that, but Mags doesn't ask, so she stares at her in silence, trying her hardest not to compare them. She knows what type of conclusion will sparkle in her brain, but she doesn't want to admit it. Mags is her friend, her only good friend, so something inside YN fights hard to leave her alone. It's an unusual feeling, almost foreign, but YN wants to make an exception. She thinks Maggie deserves it.

''Are you okay?'' the woman asks her, finally snapping out of her trance. ''You are less talkative than usual.''

''Oh, yeah—just a little tired from work, that's it.''

Work. It's not the type of work people can really get tired from, and if anybody thinks otherwise, they never worked a day in District 1. Sometimes, YN can still feel the burning cloud of steam hitting her face when she closes her eyes. The work she does in Capitol is child's play—photoshoots, interviews, promotional campaigns, and runways. She is the only one with this kind of hectic schedule, the only one who is interesting enough for the general public to want to see her everywhere they go. Multiple shows a day wasn't uncommon; photoshoots until five a.m. were basically her usual routine; she did so many of them that she never remembered the brand name for more than an hour.

''Well, I hope I don't interrupt your me-time,'' Mags notes. ''Panem knows you need it. ''

''You worry too much about me. Better tell me about how life is in 4—anything new?''

There is probably nothing exciting, but it feels nice to listen to somebody talk with such love for their home as Mags does. It's also a great opportunity. YN catches every subtle expression and every movement of her friend with attentive eyes, making sure to parrot them later. She noticed from the recording today that her speech misses a certain effortlessness.

-

Curl and twist, curl and twist—YN has learned the pattern by now, sitting in front of the gigantic mirror, surrounded by a team of stylists. Hair, make-up, nails, and toes—five people work hand in hand for her to appear for two minutes on the long podium. The backstage is loud, and a lot is going on—last-minute changes, alterations, and quick touch-ups. YN doesn't bother to look around; she closes today like a face of the collection, and after she is done with this podium, the day is finally coming to an end.

''Oh, YN, darling, here you are!'' The bald man in his forties appears on the horizon of her peripheral vision, clasping his unnaturally white hands together. ''How are you doing, my little star? Anything you need?''

She is irritated to no end; her team booked seven shows for her today; she hadn't had anything to eat in the past six hours; and the loud music makes her head throb. But she doesn't voice any of that—nobody really wants to know how she is feeling.

Just like she guessed, the man doesn't wait for her response. ''There have been some changes in the order today, sweetheart. Jenovia will be closing today, and you will walk in her dress instead,'' the man says, turning to face her styling team. ''Change the hair to fit, and take off the blue in her make-up—it won't match. Good luck!''

''Do what he says,'' YN announces, her mouth twitching just a little. She is furious. To have that blonde bitch Jenovia walk in the best dress of the collection YN inspired? Over her dead body. Or, should she say, over Jenovia's? She will figure it out but do so later. Now there are only four girls before her, so she needs to be ready.

''Three, two, one! Go, go!'' the stage coordinator shouts, opening the curtain for her.

Right and left, hip and hand, followed by the strong clicking of her five-inch heels. The music is even louder here, with the beets vibrating through the runway and pouring into her bloodstream. She doesn't pay any attention to the glass floor underneath her. Surprisingly, her training before games helped her model more than one could guess. YN doesn't see anyone but the blinding lights lining the podium—not that she needs to see the hungry faces of the spectators. It doesn't matter what piece of fabric covers her body; they are looking at who wears it. Final pose at the centre—no smile is her go-to. Hold and turn is the golden rule.

''Here you are!'' One of the seamstresses grabs her hand, pulling her into a small, curtained space with countless clothes on racks. ''Calio wants you to hold a purse for the backstage photo and lose the belt. Where the fuck is the golden belt?'' she shouts, searching for one. ''Wait here; I'll go find it,'' she finally announces, running away before YN has the chance to suggest anything.

YN looks around, carefully moving the laying rags with her foot. She mentally goes over the outfits labelled with names, rating them one by one, until her eyes stop on the white dress. The closing dress, the one she was supposed to model. Underneath it are velvety black high boots.

The idea comes to her mind quickly: she steals a needle from the nearby table and carefully places it inside the shoes, making sure it looks like an accident.

''Finally,'' the woman returns with a belt in her hands, oblivious to YN's half-smile. ''Put it on and go; they are already waiting.''

''Of course, thanks.''

YN isn't sure how much time has passed before she hears a scream, standing up from her place in the corner with a blanket around her exposed shoulders. Surely enough, Jenovia is on the floor, crying crocodile tears—a needle inside her heel deep enough to make a few of the girls around her gag.

''What the fuck happened?'' It's Calio, the boss here; he was ordering her around before.

''I don't know,'' all the blonde girl can manage before bursting into tears one more time.

''Well, can you walk?'' he asks, kneeling to take a look.

''No,'' Jenovia whispers, her hand holding her bloodied foot.

The bald man sighed, more annoyed than concerned. ''We need a replacement. You,'' he points at YN. ''Take it off and change into the dress. Quick!''

YN does what she is told in no time; she doesn't want to wait until Jenovia suddenly gets better or the man finds a better-suited girl to close. After a few minutes, she is almost ready; she only needs the lipstick to finish it off.

''We don't have time!'' the man roars, dragging her to the exit. ''Here!'' He puffs out her hair and adjusts the layers of fake pearls covering her neck. ''Three, two, one! Go, fucking go!''

And go she does. A few steps on the runway, and she discovers that lipstick is still in her hands. YN puts it in the pocket of the enormously large black coat that hides the gorgeous white dress underneath. Step after step, her long black boots draw patterns on the glass. She will have no choice but to buy them; YN doesn't care if it's stupid. They helped her, so she will have them.

It's time for the final pose: YN takes out the lipstick from her pocket and applies it with two swift motions, blowing a kiss to the camera. It will definitely be a hit with the photographers. YN throws one last look before turning around and returning to the curtained exit. On her way back, when the lights lower to follow her back, she can see a little clearer. In the sea of vibrant hair colours and clothes, the platinum-blonde hair and a simple black suit stood out too much not to notice. There is only one person who could afford to look so simple—YN knows it. An opportunity of a lifetime.

She makes another stop in the middle of the podium, right in front of his seat. The coat slides off her shoulders effortlessly, and YN catches it just when the fabric is about to hit the floor. The crowd goes crazy, clapping and whistling at her tricks, but YN has no wish to entertain them any further. YN pauses for a moment, her eyes meeting icy-blue ones, before turning away and finishing the show. There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one.

-

Since the last show, she has done fifteen more—day after day, opening and closing. Her little trick got her where she wanted to be, with more money than one person could need in a lifetime and nowhere to spend it. Even now, standing in the long hallway of the training centre, she wears nothing she bought herself; all are gifted, sent, or handed by the adoring fans. Like a rag doll, with no say in how she looks or what she does, YN hears everyone say that it was ''a price of fame''. She doesn't think so; she was told what to do long before she tasted real butter on her toast.

The sliding door to her apartment moves almost without noise. While most victors complain that the lock system reminds them of prison, YN is grateful to have it. The thought of some crazy fanatic waiting for her in the dark isn't the most pleasant one. The designer bag finds its place on the floor, soon joined by the coat—room service will clean it up later. The heels slide off her feet quickly, leaving bloodied marks on her skin, but YN doesn't care enough to do something about them.

''Forgive me for joining you without an invitation.''

YN turns around, her hands grabbing the keys in her hands tighter. She mentally goes over her means of escape or fight—a mirror could easily be broken and used as a weapon; if necessary, she could also grab a nearby ottoman. The man in the chair doesn't look too impressed with her thought process. His lips curve into a smile, blue eyes staring at her with undivided attention. A suit, not very different from the one he wore at her show, was a deep brown colour.

''Mister President,'' YN breathes out, lowering her hand.

Coriolanus Snow. Light, almost white hair frames his face like a halo, with his suit hugging his waist just enough to highlight the broad shoulders. YN saw him on TV a couple of times, but seeing him in person was something entirely different. It's like the air shifts around him and changes with his presence.

''I believe we met before,'' he humours her, his eyes shining with mischief.

The light knocking on the door doesn't leave YN any time to answer. She presses a button near it, fixing her hair before opening it. YN tries to look as composed as possible without betraying her nerves—why was he here? ''Yes?''

''The dinner, Ma'am.'' the room service declares, pushing a cart in front of her.

YN nods, even though she didn't order one. ''Leave it here,'' she says, gesturing to the place nearby. When the door closes and she is alone with the man in her room again, her heart skips a beat.

''I took the liberty of ordering; I hope you don't mind.''

Even if she did, she knew better than to say anything. Instead, YN watched as the man stood up and took the dishes from the cart, placing them on the coffee table, before turning to her once more.

''Please, have a seat.''

She does what she is told, sitting down on her king-sized bed—the chair is already taken by him—and waits for the blonde man to start speaking. He doesn't right away, choosing to pour a glass of wine for her and himself.

YN watches the dark liquor pour into the glass, swirling with each drop. She isn't hungry—she rarely was—and the soup he ordered looks more like vomit than a dish, but she still takes the spoon and carefully places it into her mouth. Her lipstick stains the silverware with colour, leaving a small circle right at the end—that's when the man finally decides to speak.

''Dare I say I am a huge fan of your work ethic? Everyone who I've spoken to is very satisfied with your,'' he pauses, searching for the fitting word, ''dedication .''

''Thank you, Mister President,'' YN replies with a polite smile before returning to her soup. She watches him only from the corner of her eye. The way he cuts his steak with his ringed fingers and the way he places a small bite in his mouth before his lips close. There is a subtle roughness in his movements, a power play of some sort.

He catches her gaze and, for a moment, is silent. ''You probably wonder why I am here in the first place, outside of the amazing steak they cook here, of course. The thing is, Miss Y/L/N, that you are popular not only with the general public but with people higher in power as well. One may even say they fell in love with the way you present yourself.''

''I am pleased to know that, Mr. President, but I am only doing my job as a victor.''

''Then you will understand the weight of my dilemma. Those people who have served Panem all their lives faithfully usually don't ask for much recognition; they work because they want to build a better future for all of us. So, when they do ask for a small favour or two, I am more than happy to satisfy them. But recently, all they ask for is you .''

''I believe I don't quite understand. They want to meet me?''

''You can phrase it like that, yes. For a night or two, of course, with all expenses covered.''

It's heavy, the understanding of what Mister President really implies. The thought of someone's hand roaming her body brings her dinner up YN's throat. ''Why?'' Her voice is shakier than she would like, but she is more focused on composing the rising anger than noticing it.

''I am sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but I am afraid there is nothing I can do; I am greatly outnumbered. Unless,'' he starts but doesn't finish his sentence.

''Unless what?''

''Unless you are seen with me.''

His piercing blue eyes look at her, but there is nothing in them. Her chances are limited, and he knows it. There is something rogue in him beneath the veil of chivalry he offers. YN smiles at him. That's what this whole charade was about—he wants her. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in the whole world, wants her.

''Of course, Mr. President. That's very generous of you.''

''Mister President is too official, don't you think, Miss Y/L/N? Perhaps we could find a more informal way of addressing each other?''

''Informal?'' YN asks, tilting her head to the side. If he wants her, he'll get her. ''What about Mister Snow?'' The buttons on her shirt are easy to manage—a few quick motions, and it slides off her shoulders onto the cream cover. ''Or, Sir Coriolanus?'' The pants are a little trickier, but YN learned that backstage, every second counts, so they soon also pool around her heels, the fabric hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The blonde man watches her intently, his eyes following every move of her hands. His legs are still spread wide on the lime-green chair as he slightly leans back. YN can't tell if he is enjoying her antics or not, but frankly, she doesn't care; she is enjoying it.  The way her shadow dances on the wall, the way the air shifts in the huge room, transforming it into a tiny stage. YN looks at him with mischief, with superiority, even. After all, she is the show here. Why not let Mr. Savior think it is for him?

''Come, Mister Snow,'' she says, throwing it in his face like a bone to the dog.

He doesn't have the haste to join her; on the contrary, he stands up painfully slowly. His tall figure almost seems to stretch as he raises, covering the floor lamp behind him fully. When he finally circles the table to stand above her, his presence is overwhelming. YN lets him stand between her legs, his unusually cold hand on her thigh.

''I prefer Coriolanus,'' he whispers in her ear, lowering himself enough to touch her ear with his velvety lips. He pulls away slightly, planting a kiss on her cheek instead. ''Have a most pleasant night, Miss Y/L/N.''

And then he walks away. YN watches as his figure disappears behind the sliding door before she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her gaze instinctively finds her reflection in the nearby mirror; there is no reason to shine if no one watches her.

[silkopera]

••HXH 405 Commentary••

This is a very rough and short commentary because I mainly just want to get my feeling and thoughts out because wow this chapter was something. The situation with the Phantom Troupe and Hisoka is finally picking up and getting the ball rolling. I'm eager but also terrified as to what will happen in future chapters.

To start off, Hisoka's in the casino just chilling and playing cards. wow😭. This man is not afraid that the troupe is out for blood. His vest + dress shirt combo+ bolo-tie is very snazzy though. Reminds me of Lestat from interview with the vampire 1994.

Bonolevnov?? I did not expect him to be the star of this chapter but he is living up to his name! I am quite concerned for him though as he's weak to Hisoka's bungee gum and that's literally all Hisoka uses but he's also tailing Hisoka ALONE dressed as HISOKA? The rate of him dying is exponential I fear unless the troupe has another plan or he has an ace up his sleeve.

CHROLLO !! He has finally returned. Very happy to see him again but also my heart does feel for him. He looks so tired. We know how much he cares about his friends and seeing him slowly crumble and succumb to his feelings that he's tried to keep hidden all these years? If we see him break down and bawl, I fear I will cry myself.

This was the most memorable panel from the chapter for me. Chrollo really did love Pakunoda who was 09. Whether as a sibling, friend, partner or something more, he really does love her and miss her. Now that I think about it, he was close and comfortable with all the girls like Sheila, Sarasa and Pakunoda and they often protected him from his bullies aka Phinks, Feitan and Uvo. Then Sheila and Sarasa were gone and Paku was the only one he had. They were together for so long and they had such a sentimental connection even before all that dubbing business so this makes Paku's death hurt even more.

This also basically confirms that the phantom troupe will disband and they are finally realizing that if they continue to go on like this , more of their beloved friends will die. Karma and catastrophe are finally catching up to them for their misdeeds. However the Troupe does look out for Chrollo like how Gon and Killua looked out for Kurapika. I enjoy seeing the parallels between Kurapika and Chrollo along with their friends. They're both so similar but destined for tragedy with the path they chose.

It's satisfying to know what Sarasa's murderer and torturer got what he earned (by the troupe's hand I assume). Ironically he was the chairman of a foundation to help children?? What a joke. The way she ,a small girl, spent her final moments in agony , all alone, surrounded by horrible people, ultimately to end up in a trash bag. She deserved and got the justice she needed. I hope we get to unravel more of the story behind everything soon.

A little extra but Feitan's concerned face and eyebrows actually has me cracking up because we know nothing phases the man🤣.

Finishing this off, there was a LOT more to this chapter but I needed to get my feelings off my chest for these specific parts. Reading and analyzing this manga is a CHORE but Togashi is so good at what he does and It's amazing he can come up with such complex storytelling and make it interesting to read at the same time. Forever grateful for his work and excited to see what lies ahead for 406.

-silkopera.

[himbos-hotline]

Baby au outline: AKA I have shrunken your favourite wresters! send me asks please

under the cut cuz its BIG

Madelyn "Maddie" Orton

AGE: 5

Adopted by triple H/shawn micheals after Her, Randy and Seth's biological parents die in a car accident

autistic and dyslexic

If she has to have her hair up, she will have it in different colour ribbons

None of her clothes fit her- either cuz theyre a size too big or Randy's handmedowns

Finn Balor:

AGE: 6

Biological child of Leona and Finntan Balor

A child of chaos- its a fight to keep his clothes on most days

constantly covered in bruises from his midadventures

isnt allowed near plastic food or things that smell like food

likes to be labelled as irish

has once stuck lego up his nose

Samuel "Sami" Zayn:

AGE: 5

Edge and Christians child

Offical Generico translater

Doesnt sleep enough for a child

Pokes people when he introduces them to Generico

Believes the young bucks are a collective and cannot tell them apart

Likes apple slices

always has his hands in his mouth

Generico:

AGE: 4

Looked after by Excalibur

Speaks in small vague spanish phrases- only Sami and Danhansen can understad it other babblings

believes that Maddie and moxs coats are magic due to them hiding their hands

sleeps up on top of tables

the quiet kid- nobody sees or hears him enter or leave a room, maddie makes jokes that he flies

never seen without his lucha mask

Likes to sleep in the art room

Kevin Owens:

AGE: 7

parented by Chris Jericho [this was funny to me and sibling]

doesnt really like to share anything he has

That kinda bully who would push you in the mud but then when nobodys looking help you up

Also responds to bear

likes to stand on the slide and scream at people

Malakai Black:

AGE: 6

parents are AJ lee [we needed someone, there no thought behind this]

Speaks very clearly for a child- knows a lot about many things

A bit of a creepy cursed child

Likes to paint and sleeps in the art room under tables

wild child whose missing a tooth

is somehow a calm child around the others, gets upset when things go really wrong

Aleksandra "Aleks" Page

Age: 5

Parents are Micheal and Orla Page

Does not like naps because she has constant energy. The child will not chill tf out and we love her. 

Does bendy shit, gymnastics kid. 

Becomes convinced that she and Adam Page are related because they have the same last name.

Polish-British

tries to drink her weight in juice boxes

Likes outside time and nothing will stop her

Balor:

AGE: 7 1/2

Parented by Brody King

nobody actually knows where he came from

has little devil horn hair that will never flattern down ever

always warm but always wears his little leather jacket

Says concerning things for children

Randall "Randy" Keith Orton:

AGE: 10

adopted by Shawn/Triple H

Hangs out with the "big kids"

Eats bugs and tries to get Maddie to do the same- thinks it makes him look cool

over protective big brother

has anger issues

likes to jump off things

Seth Rollins:

AGE: 4

The youngest orton child

has asthma

doesnt eat bugs but does jump off tall things

Him and Mox were in the same care home-

seth always asks if him and mox are still friends

literally the pickest child

shawn dresses him

has unlimited power, the LOUDEST CHILD EVER!

bites his nails

keeps asking his dads for a dog

Jonathon "Jon" Moxley:

AGE: 5

Fostered and later adopted by William Regal

Allergic to cats but pretends that he isnt

always covered in bandaids

isnt excited about joining a new nursery school

Regal teaches him originami

Calls regal dad

gets nosebleeds and is way to calm about it and thus has a change of clothes with him always

plays in the mud

has ADHD

wears his shirts inside out and mismatched socks

rides his bike fast with stabalizers

totallyg gets braces when hes older

never feels cold

likes frogs

Rhea Ripley:

AGE: 8

daughter of lita

is tall for her age

likes hanging out with the big kids

has her ears peirced

spooky child and likes to talk to malakai

Darby Allin:

AGE: 4

son of sting

paints his face with the poster paints

learns to skateboard

is artsy and crafty

breaks his arm by the first chapter leaping off things

Adam Page:

AGE: 4 [nearly 5]

lives with his "auntie" beth pheonix" on a farm

little farm guy

carries around his horsie plushie

has resting sad face

quiet and anxious and shy

compares kenny to a lamb at least once

wears patterened clothes

Maxwell Jacob Freidman:

AGE: 4

has an asshole personality that streches way past his height

the not nice bully

has hayfever and hates it

likes singing and choir

refuses to play with the other kids

wears his scarf all the time and refuses to take it off

has ADHD

Matthew "Matt" Jackson and Nicholas "Nick" Jackson:

AGES: 7 and 5

sold as set do not seperate- do everything together

Matt needs special food due to glucose and lactose intolerent

Matt wears braces

theyre both autistic

Matt gets the zoomies

Nick likes birds

Matt doesnt mind being called matthew, Nick hates being called nicholas

Nick is a haunted child

Matt likes shoes, nick loves birds

Nick falls over a lot

Kenneth "Kenny" Omega:

AGE: 7

A little older than Matthew

Don Callis kid

abused by don and shows reactions related to that [cries if he thinks hes in trouble, flinches if someone moves too quickly, has issues with wetting himself and bed wetting]

has a tiny ponytail

friends with the baby bucks

little and blond and curly

has a bunny rabbit that he loves more then anything

jealous that the older kids have a gaming system

Edward ‘Eddie’ Kingston:

Age: 9

Parent: Mick Foley

Is friends with Bear because they’re both tiny and filled with rage

Tiny new york accent

Friends with Mox. 

Raccoon blanket.

The kid that wants to see injuries and gross stuff because it’s cool !

Always wears a backwards hat

Plays baseball

Wheeler Yuta:

Age: 2

Parented by William Regal, baby brother of Jon moxley

He is the baby of the entire group. 

Is really left at the daycare because his dad needs to work.

Does Not speak, like at all.

Communicates through noises

Can Laugh and giggle and make sounds like screaming and crying

Maddie teaches him sign language 

Toddlers around and finds the world very very cool

Shares a blanket with his foster brother Mox 

Has his own little blanket to cuddle with.

Daniel "Danhausen" Hausen:

AGE: 6

son of excalibur

plays dolls with mlp with hangman

also friends with little darby

always calls kids by their full names ir makes up their own not quite right names

understands what generico is saying all the time

keeps his baby teeth as well as other kids teeth on him

has once eaten an entire stick

Likes magic

Hook:

AGE: 3

Son of Taz

chip addiction

doesnt know what to do with danhausens avances of friendship

just really fucking loves dinos man!

Karl Anderson and Luke Gallows:

AGES: Luke 8 | Karl 7

two half of a whole idiot

Karl has esxma

Charles "Chuck" Taylor:

AGE: 9

Raised by tony schiavone

yes he knows the shoes share his name, he KNOWS!

breaks his ankle at the bucks birthday party

also tall for his age and hates it

looses his name- comes in every week with a new one

Trenton "Trent" Baretta:

AGE: 8

Sues son

gets convinced once that he also looses his name

mamas boy

chucks next door neighbour

the dunce of the group

Orange Julias "Orange" Cassidy:

AGE: 4

Also raised by excalibur

the chillest toddler ever

wears sunglasses all the time

Adam Cole toddler! Adam cole tot [maybe an evolution of the character]

AGE: 5

Raised by RJ city and Claudio castiagnoli

Pagent queen

IS NOT A BABY

likes the swings

always cold

Jungle boy:

AGE: 3

raised by edge and christian

ALSO really loves dinos- carries around a "wrestling dinosaur" called luchasauras that he SWEARS is alive

likes classical music

climbs trees and just falls out of them and never takes fall damage

Julia Hart:

AGE: 2

Raised by brody king

also a haunted child

does cheerleading

likes wearing her big hat

[alisonwritesimagines]

Santa Baby ~Simon "Ghost" Riley Imagine~

Summary: You surprise your husband when he comes home from his mission.

Author’s Note: This man can take me in his arms and squeeze me to death and I would thank him for letting me be in his arms till I die.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of smut in the end

Please do not post this anywhere!!!

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

December 1st

Today was the day your husband came home. You had gotten a call from him after his mission was done and he was doing a small celebration at a bar with his teammates saying that he was going to be home a little earlier than expected. To your excitement, you had gotten things ready for when he came home.

Simon opened the front door before dropping his bag onto the ground. Before he walked in, he made sure to take off the heavy gear knowing that-

"Daddy!" He heard his twins yell out excitedly.

Simon took off his mask as his son and daughter rush over to him before jumping onto him. Simon kneeled down on the floor to hug his kids.

"Hey, kids," Simon smiled before kissing their heads.

"We missed you!" His son, Nate, said as he held onto his father's arm.

"Mom said you'll be coming home and we got the house cleaned up!" His daughter, Susie, excitedly told him.

"Simon!" You smiled as you rushed over to your husband. Simon stood up before wrapping his arms around your waist and giving you a passionate kiss.

"Ew!"

"You're not under any mistletoe!"

You giggled into your kiss before pulling away.

"I'm glad you're home in one piece," you tell him.

"Me too. I'm going to take a quick shower," Simon tells you. You nodded as your kids rushed off to finish the Christmas decorations they were doing before Simon came back home.

After a dinner together, you helped the kids pack up an overnight bag so you could spend the night with your husband alone without any interruptions.

"Are we going on a vacation?" Simon asked you as he stood by the doorway.

"Grandma and grandpa are picking us up!" Nate told him.

"Your parents are coming over?" Simon asked.

"The kids are going to spend the night with them," you said, winking at him.

"It's okay daddy. We can get our Christmas tree tomorrow!" Susie told him.

"I like that idea," Simon told her.

"Oh, your grandparents are here! Come on!" You tell the kids.

Once you bid your goodbyes to your children and your parents, you and Simon headed back inside before closing the door and locking it.

"Now that we're alone," Simon said as he towered over you.

"Not yet, lieutenant. I have a surprise for you," you tell him.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You stay out here while I get our bedroom ready," you tell him.

"Can't I join you?"

"No! It'll ruin the surprise," you whined a little.

"Oh fine."

You laughed a little before giving him a quick kiss. You quickly hurried over to your bedroom to change into your outfit and get the bedroom ready.

You dimmed the lights a little after you changed into your outfit before getting on your bed. You called Simon over before pressing play on your phone the moment you heard him walk over.

Simon opened the door to reveal you lying on your side on the bed in a Santa dress with fishnet stockings and a matching Santa hat. You smiled at him as Santa Baby from Ariana Grande and Elizabeth Gillies played through your speakers.

"Is this my early Christmas gift?" Simon asked you.

"Maybe. You like?" You asked him.

"Coming back home to you is always a gift. However, I think I would like to unwrap this one," Ghost said.

"Well, you're lucky you've been on my nice list," you tell him.

"Thank you, Santa," Simon smiled before getting on the bed and climbing on top of you.

"Glad you're home with us for the holidays," you smiled.

"Me too," Simon agreed before kissing you hard on the mouth.

"Now, let's enjoy this while we can without the kids yeah?"

"Want to give me another kid?"

"Let's hope it's not twins again," Simon joked. You giggled a little before kissing him again.

A/N: So I imagined Jade West's outfit from the Christmas episode from Victorious just a heads up for what reader was wearing.

[fatehbaz]

Seventy-five years after two nuclear bombs were dropped on Japan — killing hundreds of thousands of people in the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki — one small community in the Northwest Territories is still haunted by its connection to the blasts. Across Great Bear Lake from the 533-person hamlet of Délı̨nę sits the historic mining site of Port Radium. [...] [T]he Canadian government quietly called for uranium production as part of the country's involvement in the Manhattan Project. That uranium was sent south to help the United States with the race to build a nuclear bomb. [...] [N]ear Great Bear Lake, workers would eventually wonder about the risks they took delivering sacks of ore on their backs as they sent it south — without being told what they were about to be complicit in. [...] Days after the blasts, the Canadian government announced the country's role in the explosions, citing the Great Bear Lake mine's uranium as a key ingredient for the project, said Geoffrey Bird, a professor at Royal Roads University in Victoria who studies tourism and the history of remembrance. An English-language sign connecting Port Radium to the atomic bomb was photographed in Délı̨nę in December 1945. [...] While the Canadian government hasn't apologized to Délı̨nę, the community has apologized to Japan. [...] Locals in Délı̨nę say many ore workers and their family members developed cancer later in life. [...] In the book If Only We Had Known, which tells the story of Port Radium from the eyes of the Sahtúot'ine, elders remember workers' clothing covered with dust, windy days when ore was caught up in the air and children playing games in mine tailings.

Text by: Katie Toth. “Spectre of atomic bomb still looms over N.W.T. community 75 years after Hiroshima.” CBC News. 5 August 2020.

---

[O]n 6 August 1998, 10 members of the small Sahtugot’ine Dene community of Deline (Fort Franklin) in the ‘Northwest Territories’ apologized in Hiroshima for the atomic destruction of that city – and the death of over 200,000 civilians – exactly 53 years earlier [...]. Eldorado Gold Mines Ltd. [was] placed under state control during World War Two. They [the Dene] were allowed only to help it [uranium] on its long and winding way, 3,000 miles by river, lake, road and air, from Port Radium on Great Bear Lake to Port Hope on Lake Ontario, where, from 1942-45, the suddenly precious ore – the ‘new gold’ of the atomic age – was, together with ‘Belgian’ uranium from the Congo, refined and dispatched to Los Alamos, the desert lab in New Mexico secretly building the new, city-smashing Superweapon. [...] Beginning in the 1970s, and spiking sharply in the 1980s, many of the men who had handled and carried the ore – and the men who had mined it – began to die from cancer [...]. The “Dene,” the CBC ‘revealed,’ “were never told of the health hazards they faced, even though the government knew … as early as 1932 that precautions should be taken in handling radioactive materials”. Instead [...] “workers [were] dressed in casual clothes and uranium dust [...] covered the men like flour.” [...] [A]s detailed in a December 1998 article [...] in First Nations Drum: [...] [T]he mine was kept running at a very high pace [...]. The Dene were employed as ‘coolies’ packing 45-kilogram sacks of radioactive ore for three dollars a day, working 12 hours a day, six days a week. This at a time when the ore was worth over $70,000 a gram. [...] In 1998, the Déline Dene Band Uranium Committee released a 160-page [...] report, “They Never Told Us These Things.” In a 2011 article in Maisonneuve, Salverson recounts a community meeting in Deline to discuss the report, “where [non-Dene] lawyers delivered a year’s worth of uranium-impact research from the archives in Ottawa,” revealing that in “the mountain of papers we dug up … there is not one mention of the Dene, your people.”

Text by: Sean Howard. “Canada’s Uranium Highway: Victims and Perpetrators.” Cape Breton Spectator. 7 August 2019.

[hezzabeth]

"Really, Queen Victoria? You have some sort of AI in your breasts?" Revati asked, rolling her eyes.

"This human had nano beauty bots installed fourteen years ago, similar to the ones constantly cleaning your teeth," the alien AI voice stated, using the queen's vocal cords.

"Cute party trick. Is the queen still alive in there?" Revati asked.

"This body's consciousness has been removed," the AI replied.

"Is that your plan then? Are you here to steal everyone's bodies and use them as batteries?" Revati asked.

Normally, whenever the Queen spoke, her face was constantly shifting between annoyed scowls and semi-amused smirks. This creature, however, didn't seem to know how faces worked. The lips were expanding upwards, showing far too many teeth. The eyes were too wide.

"No, the spider is here for the weapon. Let us take it, and we shall leave your colony to die off," the AI replied, cocking its head to one side.

"Fine, take it and leave," Revati replied, throwing her solar flare gun at the queen's weapon.

"That is not the weapon. Give us the weapon, or we shall hijack your teeth," the queen said.

"My teeth don't have cleaning bots! My mother makes me chew fresh basil and peppermint," Revati snapped back before picking up her gun and aiming it at the queen's chest. There was only enough charge left for one more shot. Revati realized wasting it twice before was probably a terrible idea. Sometimes the best thing to do was run, and Revati bolted around the corner as fast as her boots could carry her. Every few seconds, she could hear the queen's heavy footsteps. Revati's breath grew ragged with fear. There was no real escape.

"Just give us the weapon! All will be forgiven," screamed the queen from two rows away. Revati skidded to a stop when she realized she had reached the Maze's glowing balloon stand. The balloon stand was nothing more than an empty gold cart covered in red playing card decals. Back before the tornado, all the children in the park would play hide and go seek. Revati hid so often inside the balloon cart that Dityaa would find her within seconds.

The footsteps were coming closer, feet crunching upon gravel. Revati hauled herself up onto the cart, and it wobbled dangerously under her weight. Carefully, she slid inside, closing the cart's door behind her. Years had passed, and she barely fit inside. There was a small crack in front of her, a hole that had once been used to attach the machine that filled balloons with glowing gas. Revati peered through it, breathing quietly, and watched as the queen's feet crunched on the pebbles in pretty stained slippers. Suddenly, the queen's feet stopped, her dress skirts falling and landing on the rocks.

"Do you have the weapon?" The AI voice asked. Revati slowly opened the top of the cart and peeked out. Dityaa was standing in front of the Queen, pretty and confused, still wearing her ballgown from the night before. Her carefully styled hair had fallen down her shoulders in chaotic indigo curls. Her shoulder still had a smudge of the peculiar moss on it. If Dityaa was anyone else, she would have looked like someone who had just rolled out of bed, or possibly a ditch. Instead, Dityaa looked like a lost woodland nymph.

"It's you, the weapon," the AI said flatly, and Dityaa glanced behind her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I have no idea what you're referring to. I'm on my way to meet the Duke," Dityaa giggled before trying to brush past the Queen as politely as possible.

"Dityaa, run!" Revati screamed, and the queen's arms moved with a flash. In a moment of sudden violence, the hands closed tightly around Dityaa's throat. The fingers, firm and unyielding, pressed relentlessly against her skin, constricting the airway with a ruthless intent. Revati crawled out of the cart, grabbed one of the pebbles on the path, and threw it at the queen's head. The queen barely reacted when the rock struck her temples. Instead, the knuckles on her hand grew white as Dityaa gasped violently, her eyes rolling back into her head. Suddenly, Dityaa blinked, and her eyes glowed an eerie blue.

The queen gasped, staggering backward, her hands flying to her chest. Black gritty sand was pouring out of the front of her cleavage, spilling down her white bodice. The queen's eyes widened with shock before she fell face-first onto the pebbles. Dityaa, meanwhile, sat down on pebbles, rubbing her throat, a terrified expression on her face.

"Did you do that?" Revati asked, and Dityaa nodded.

"How the hell did you do that?" Revati shrieked, and Dityaa shrugged her shoulders before bursting into dry tears.

"It's alright, Dityaa," Revati said absently, leaning down to pat her shoulder. Like most children born after the appliance war, Dityaa and Revati had their tear ducts genetically altered. It was done to prevent emotional crying, which was seen as a dangerous hazard. Dityaa still tried to cry all the time, however, his noisy crying with a dried-up red face.

Revati went to examine the queen. The queen's chest, which now looked blotchy and wrinkled, was rising and falling.

"Well, she's not dead! What is this stuff? Black mold? Did AI figure out how to weaponize killer mushrooms?" Revati asked, trying to make sense of the entire situation.

Dityaa crawled towards the queen, wiping her dry eyes.

"It's creatrix sand. You were too little to remember, but this was how we used to make everything in the city," Dityaa said, her voice whispery soft and croaking.

"Really? I thought creatrix sand would be prettier and glowing," Revati replied, checking her pulse.

"I could see the robots in her skin, I could see them made out of creatrix sand," Dityaa whispered, stunned.

Queen Victoria's eyes fluttered open.

"I was dead!" she screeched, sitting up.

"I don't think 'dead' is the right word. Your body was hijacked by an AI device," Revati said, helping the queen stand up.

"I know what I saw! I was floating above the infinite cosmic heart of space and time," the queen snapped back, still looking startled.

"Really? When Dad died, we put his soul in a storage drive," Revati said.

"I don't have access to one of those! I was floating through all of human history! It was ghastly," the queen cried, and she wobbled a bit as if getting used to her feet before walking off.

"Where are you going?" Revati demanded to know.

"I know where the crack in the walls is! I'm going to fix it before my guards with cyber hearing implants go on a rampage," the queen said before storming off.

That left Revati alone with Dityaa, who was rubbing her bruised neck.

"So, someone's tried to kill you twice in twenty-four hours," Revati pointed out, both horrified and amused by the entire situation.

"It's not funny! Someone must object to the Duke's feelings for me," Dityaa choked, and Revati shook her head.

[octoberbluegates-eng]

The flower crown and the seven rusalki

A slavic-inspired summer solstice fairytale

Once upon a time there was a small, peaceful kingdom in Eastern Europe, ruled by a king and a queen who were beloved by their people, as were their children. Their youngest daughter was named Lukne, and everyone agreed that she was the most pleasant of all. Each time she would attend a royal event, guests were charmed by her pretty face, welcoming manners, and modesty.

Lukne was happy. She was educated, cherished, and as a last-born, she was given unusual freedom for her station. Yet she only used this freedom for one thing. Every occasion she got, she would leave through the backdoor, cross the line of trees bordering the vegetable garden, and sit right above the river flowing behind the royal palace.

She could spend hours there. She would bring her toys, watch the bugs, and also swim when it was warm enough. The stream, birds, wind, and sun sang for her a melody more beautiful than anything else. No place in the world could give her more pleasure.

She had tried talking about it to her mother, to her father; she had brought her sisters and brothers; but nobody could really understand what she felt for this tiny patch of grass and water. She could not explain it herself because she couldn’t understand why her family didn’t see it. Therefore, Lukne remained happy, but lonely. She believed it was a lesser inconvenience.

In the spring of her thirteenth year, the young princess was, as usual, lying in the grass by the river. She was reading over the day’s lessons when she heard a high-pitched squeal. She looked up and saw, in the river, a young squirrel being carried away by the stream.

With no hesitation, Lukne stood and jumped to its aid. She gasped when she felt the icy water under her clothes but wasted no time and started swimming vigorously. With significant efforts, she was able to catch the tiny creature who stopped screaming.

When she managed to reach the bank and climb out of the water, Lukne suddenly realized that the squirrel she had been holding in her hand was gone. She jumped on her feet and looked around, fearing that it might have fallen back into the river. She startled when she saw, instead, seven young girls looking at her, standing in the shallow part of the stream.

They were all incredibly beautiful. Their long, loose, wet hair shone like waves in the sunset; they were nude, and their skin was as smooth as the rocks that had been polished by erosion; their smiles were warm, and their eyes were full of mischief.

“You were so brave!” said the shortest one. “You could have drowned in such a heavy dress.”

“It isn’t that heavy, I am a good swimmer,” Lukne assured. “Besides, I wasn’t about to let that poor squirrel die.”

The girls laughed maliciously at her answer and shared a few glances. “My name is Rasa,” the small one continued, then she pointed at her companions, one by one. “And this is Leili, Migle, Alma, Endla, Laine and Virve.”

The princess nodded at each of them in greeting and introduced herself as well.

“We know who you are, good princess,” said Rasa. “We have been watching you for a long time and we would like to get to know you better, because we love this place, just like you do. Would you be our friend?”

Lukne agreed, thereby she was not alone anymore when she went down to the river, because her new friends would be waiting for her there the entire warm season. They would spend most of their time in the water without a care in the world, and watch Lukne with interest when she remained on the shore. The princess felt, for some time, that the girls were toying with her, as she was a stranger to their group, but as months went by, this feeling slowly subsided.

Lukne was one of them. She would play, swim, run, dance, and sing with them. Laine and Virve would teach her how to imitate birds and frogs. Alma was the most energetic and ran more often than she walked, although the quiet Endla always managed to appease her outbursts. Leili and Migle kept diving into the water from atop the trees and they were so light and agile that they could climb them without even a scrape. As for Rasa, she was an affectionate chatterbox, always clinging to someone.

But most of all, they all felt for each other an affection which Lukne was soon entwined in. First there were compliments, calm and peaceful moments, then presents, small things they had found. In the autumn, when the weather got too cold, the girls would say their goodbyes to their princess with heartbreaking embraces, and would not come back until spring, with more tender reunions each year. During the long winter months, Lukne would look at the frozen river from her bedroom window and miss her dear companions terribly.

Lukne grew and soon became of age to marry. You should know that in this kingdom, young people followed a tradition on the night of the summer solstice, which they call Kupala night. Young girls would, during the day, make a crown out of freshly picked flowers. They could use any type of flower, and braid them together any way they wanted. They could even decorate them with candles or ribbons. Then, at sunset, they would walk up the river and put their crowns in the water.

The slow, steady current would then gently carry the crowns downstream, to the waiting suitors. They had to find, among all the crowns, the one made by the woman of their heart. Should they succeed, they could meet with their beloved’s family and ask for her hand in marriage, for it was said that wearing this crown undamaged proved that the couple was blessed by the goddess of love.

The people were ecstatic when the king declared that he would marry Lukne, his youngest daughter, to whoever would come to the palace on Kupala morning, wearing the crown made by the princess. Therefore, any citizen in the land had a chance to marry her.

Lukne did not really care about marriage yet. She was even almost surprised when Rasa asked her, in the autumn, on the day they had to leave, if she would marry soon.

“I hope not,” Lukne admitted. “Should I marry, I would have to go live with my husband. I am so happy with you, I don’t want to imagine living elsewhere.”

“You could marry a young king who would make you his queen, or a rich noble who would cover you with gifts, or even an honest man madly in love with you.”

“But I don’t know anyone who makes me happier than you do.”

The seven young girls then smiled fiercely, and Lukne would have been scared if she did not love them so much. Endla approached and handed her a small pouch.

“It’s a present from all of us,” Rasa explained. “They are seeds. If you love us, plant them in your bedroom, in a tub of dirt taken from the river. They won’t wilt from the cold, or the shade, but water them daily and speak to them before going to bed.”

Lukne took the small pouch, and the very next day, she got to work. She used a shovel to fill a large tub she had asked the servants for with silt and loam. Two stableboys helped her carry the heavy result into her bedroom and place it close to her bed. She then planted the seven seeds the pouch contained.

Every day, as autumn and winter went by, she took care of watering and speaking to the plants which quickly sprouted from the earth. Each time she told them a few kind words before bed, she would think of her seven dear friends, and smile, remembering that they would meet again soon.

When spring came again, the seven plants all carried huge, colorful buds which Lukne was excited to see bloom. Her companions congratulated her for taking such good care of their present. Spring went by in carefree joy, and a few days before Kupala, the flowers bloomed wide open. Lukne was blown away with surprise and wonder when she found, in the heart of each of them, huge gemstones, more beautiful and pure than any she had ever seen in her regal life.

“Indeed, they are magic flowers,” Rasa said amusedly when Lukne told them what had happened. “On Kupala eve, you will cut them to make your crown.”

Lukne followed her advice. When the day came, she took scissors and cut the flowers with their stems, then she walked down to the river to braid them by the water. The seven girls had stopped playing and approached to watch her.

“Aren’t you making any?” Lukne asked, laughing at their fascinated faces.

“We don’t need to.”

“We never did,” Virve admitted.

“It’s a lot of fun, I assure you!”

So, Leili and Migle jumped off their branches, Laine and Virve took rocks as their seats, Endla sat in the grass with Rasa, and Alma ran back with an armful of flowers she had just picked. Lukne spent the day showing them how she liked to make her crowns.

At nightfall, Lukne said goodbye to her companions. She walked upriver, her beautiful magic flower crown on her head. Then, when she was alone, she took it off and gently placed it on the water. The crown floated for a few seconds but, weighted down by the gemstones, it quickly sank under the dark surface.

Lukne smiled. What a good idea her friends had. Nobody would be able to find her crown now. She went back to the palace gardens where the Kupala bonfire had been lit, and she enjoyed the celebration without any more worries.

The next morning, a line of suitors was waiting at the palace doors. The king received them one by one, accompanied by Lukne who he would ask each time if the presented crown was hers. But each time, Lukne assured it was not, and the suitor sheepishly left.

The king was surprised, when they were all turned down, that none of them had found the right crown. He asked Lukne if she had indeed made one.

“Of course!” Lukne assured. “I made it from the flowers I grew in my bedroom. You can check if you don’t believe me!”

The king just smiled and held his daughter close. “I won’t insult you by doubting your words. However, I do hope next year will be the charm.”

For seven years, Lukne played the same trick on him. The plants she had grown were perennial and always bloomed again shortly before the summer solstice. Lukne took great care of them, and it was a pleasure for her to make her crown, surrounded by the seven girls from the river. Then, the crown would sink, and Lukne was free another year.

The seventh Kupala morning, however, was a complete surprise for the king, for Lukne, and for the entire court, when Rasa, Leili, Migle, Alma, Endla, Laine and Virve came to the palace. They were still nude, unfazed, and each of them wore on their head one of the crowns Lukne had made.

“Your majesty,” Rasa said, always her companions’ spokeswoman. “We have come to ask you for your daughter Lukne’s hand in marriage.”

The king needed several seconds to recover from the surprise, his gaze going from the seven girls to Lukne whose eyes now shone with joy. “This is rather unusual, but so be it. My child, is one of those ladies wearing your crown?”

“They all are,” Lukne revealed. “Each crown I made in the past seven years.”

“All of them?!” the king exclaimed, taking a closer look at the crowns. “But they are all as fresh as if you had made them yesterday!”

Realizing that something was not normal, the king signaled the royal wizard. Said wizard had not stopped staring at the seven girls since they had entered. He muttered a spell under his breath, and immediately, the seven girls’ appearance changed. They seemed even more beautiful, and yet their faces were different, strange and unhuman. Their thick hair seemed to lengthen further and turned green.

“Your majesty,” the wizard announced. “Those suitors are rusalki.”

A whisper of astonishment ran through the court, and some took several steps back. Rusalki were nature spirits which one must be cautious around, for they could be as good as evil, and always dangerous.

The king turned to his daughter who was still smiling. “You don’t seem surprised,” he noticed.

“I would have had to be truly stupid to spend so much time with them without suspecting that they weren’t human.”

The seven rusalki laughed at the remark, but the king was far from amused. He listened as Lukne told him what had happened, wondering what he should do. It was important not to anger these creatures.

“Will you live at the palace, with my daughter?” he asked.

“No, we cannot leave the water outside of the warm season. We want Lukne to live with us, in our palace at the bottom of the river. She will want for nothing, and we will keep her happy,” Rasa assured. “What do you say, dear Lukne?”

“It’s my greatest wish,” Lukne replied, moved.

The king stared at his daughter in bewilderment. How could she say this? Was she bewitched? He thought as fast as he could. “Unfortunately, I am quite afraid that I cannot accept your request,” he said very slowly, and with each word that came out, the rusalki’s faces darkened with cold anger.

“Why ?”

“Out of fairness!” he said very quickly. “Nobody but you could have found those crowns you had my daughter make; we must give other suitors a chance.”

The rusalki whispered among themselves. “If, next year, we find the crown fairly, will you grant us your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

“Yes,” the king said after a moment of hesitation.

“Promise it to us.”

“I promise.”

“And keep your promise,” Rasa insisted. “Because if you break it, no field or garden or yard in the kingdom will ever see a drop of rain or dew again.”

The king felt sweat run down his back, but he nodded. “I swear on my land, and before my entire court, that if you win my daughter the same way any human could, I will let you marry her, and take her with you.”

The seven rusalki smiled with mouths too wide and teeth too sharp. They bowed before the king and kissed the princess’s hand before leaving, all still wearing their flower crown in their long green hair.

The following year, Lukne was coddled more than ever. All throughout summer, the king threw dozens of balls which she was obviously invited to, in hope that she would take a liking to a prince, or a noble, or even a woman, anyone at all. Lukne, of course, was still just as pleasant, but nobody could seduce her.

The king posted guards at each door of the palace, ordering them to follow her so that she would never leave alone. Lukne was allowed to go to the river, and even to spend time with the rusalki, but everything they said was repeated back to the king.

Lukne was very upset. Her little heaven on earth was invaded by chaperones. The rusalki, however, seemed to take it as a challenge, and kept finding ways to make fun of the guards, splashing water on them or jumping on their shoulders from the branches, until they eventually stayed at a distance, afraid they might end up pulled into the water and drowned.

During the winter, the king doubled down, taking advantage of the seven suitors’ absence. He told Lukne that she would be unhappy, that she would no longer be human, that the people would be sad to see her go, that she wouldn’t see her family or friends anymore, that she had probably been enthralled, that those creatures couldn’t love her the way a human could, that it was dangerous, stupid even, to want such a life.

But each time he tried persuading her, Lukne grew increasingly upset. “Do you think that, in over ten years that I have known them, I never thought about any of this?” she would snap back at him.

When spring came, Lukne told her companions she was worried that her father might try something. But the rusalki told her to trust them, which was not difficult for her.

Kupala eve arrived. Lukne was going to cut her magic flowers, like each year. She simply planned to take out the gems. But when she went up to her bedroom, she found out that the tub she had grown them in had been taken away. In its place was a table covered in simple wildflowers. A servant informed the princess that the king had ordered for her to braid her crown with nothing else. Lukne was not even allowed to use candles or ribbons, and she was forbidden from leaving the palace until nightfall.

With a heavy heart, Lukne got to work. With all her love, she braided a very well-made crown, but far from the wonderful crowns she had been making for seven years. Nobody would expect such a simple crown from a princess.

The night came. Escorted by the guards, Lukne walked upriver and gently placed her wildflower crown down on the water. Her eyes watered. Her crown was almost invisible among all the others. She did not have the heart to join the celebration, and sadly went back up to sleep.

Laying in bed, she took what little comfort she could find in the fact that, at least, even if the rusalki would not find her crown, nobody else would either.

The next morning, Lukne was resigned when she went down to the throne room and took her seat next to her father. The king saw that she had cried. He still ordered for the suitors waiting at the palace doors to be brought in.

The seven rusalki were there first, and as if to mock the king, they were still all wearing one of the magic flower crowns. They approached the throne as a tight group, smiling wide. Lukne smiled back at them, happy to see them, but when Rasa, who was in the middle, stepped forward, she raised a hand to her heart, mouth agape.

There, in the hands of the little rusalka, was her wildflower crown.

The king’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead, and he asked Lukne if it indeed was her crown.

Unable to answer, Lukne just nodded.

“Don’t lie to me,” the king ordered the rusalki. “Did you in fact wait at the end of the river, with all the other suitors? Did you use no sorcery at all?”

“We swear we did everything according to your rules,” Rasa replied proudly. “Unlike you who forced Lukne to make the plainest crown you could.”

“But how?” the princess managed to breathe out.

Seven fond, conniving pairs of eyes turned to her. “Did you think the flowers were the only thing that mattered, those seven years?” Rasa questioned playfully. “You were the one who taught us to braid them, we could recognize them with our eyes closed.”

Then the rusalki turned back to the king with stern expressions. A rumble of thunder was heard, somewhere in the distance.

“Now keep your promise,” they ordered all at once.

Lukne stood from her throne to join them. Her father, remembering the risks if he broke his promise, bowed his head, and granted them his blessing.

Some time later, princess Lukne married the rusalki. It was the strangest wedding the kingdom had ever seen, pronounced in the river by the water spirits. Lukne squealed in laughter when her companions ridded her of her dress and untied her hair turned green before kissing her, one by one.

Then, right before diving into the water, Lukne walked up to her parents and held them tight. “Thank you for being fair,” she told her father with love. “Come see me sometimes.”

“But how?” the king asked, confused. “Are you not leaving forever?”

Lukne burst out laughing. “Of course not! I will be in the dewdrops, the mist, the rain, the rivers and lakes. I am staying forever, don’t you see? If you miss me, do what you never did before, come down to the river to see me. I will be there."

And having said those words, Lukne disappeared under the surface.

From that day onward, the kingdom was more fertile than ever and never knew any droughts. The river was given the name of Lukne, and when her story became a legend, it was made into a sacred place of protection for misunderstood lovers.

As for the king and queen, as long as they lived, they came down to the river every year, on Kupala night. They could not hear the song of the water, birds, wind, and sky, but they could see their daughter. Their feet in the water, they watched the flower crowns float away, holding in their arms their little rusalka.

[emeritus-fuckers]

„Love Story” ♡ Terzo x f!Reader oneshot (fluff to angst to yandere-ish?)

Loosely based on the song "Love Story" by Sarah Cothran and heavily based on a video made by the wonderful foggyweaver on TikTok. ♡ - Jez

CW: female aligned reader, reader is around Terzo's age, death, murder, blood. slight yandere themes. mentions of masturbation and sex, slight non-con touching (not sexual). chapter i is safe and can be read as a stand-alone for those looking for something lighter. not proofread, we die like my self-respect after discovering this band.

i. romeo take me somewhere we can be alone

Terzo Emeritus, the youngest of Papa Nihil's sons, has always held a special place in your heart. Ever since you remembered. He's always been there, since you were both small children.

You'd learn together. Eat together. Play together.

You'd even have sleepovers together, cuddling together as you slept in his bed. You were inseparable. Terzo would always be there for you, holding your hand as your friendship bloomed and eventually became something more.

Terzo and you would sit on the balcony, enjoying the last few warm days of summer. You enjoyed the sunset, watching all the beautiful colors that would only appear on the sky for this one, special show.

It was a quiet day. You could both hear a few birds still chirp, hidden within the branches. Perhaps they, too, were enjoying the peacefulness of the day. Everything else seemed to either sleep or prepare to sleep, even if it wasn't late yet.

"I wish it was always like this." Terzo spoke up, but his voice didn't disrupt the peaceful silence that was embracing you both as he laid down on the blanket, his head in your lap as one of hands held one of your own, stroking your index finger with his thumb gently.

"Me too." You smiled softly as you looked down at his face. He didn't wear his cardinal make-up today, nor did he wear the cassock he despised. He was dressed more casually, and so were you. Because right now, on this warm, peaceful evening, he wasn't Cardinal Terzo Emeritus. And you weren't Sister [Name]. Right now you were just two childhood best friends who have finally managed to find a peaceful moment together after being challenged by the new responsibilities of adult life. "It's nice. I'm gonna sound stupid, but I miss you. Even if I see you everyday... It's just not the same, you know?"

He smiled softly at your awkward little chuckle, his eyes filled with adoration and pure happiness. You had no idea what you were doing to him. What you have been doing to him for years.

He raised his free hand to cup your cheek. And like the precious darling you were, you pressed your cheek into his palm, your own hand coming to rest on top of his as you smiled at him. Oh, that beautiful, beautiful smile of yours... It would always melt his heart. It was what got him through his days, the memory of your smile always there in his mind, as if branded with hot iron into whatever part of his brain was responsible for happiness.

Of course, the memories of your smiles were nothing compared to the real deal. A memory could never capture all of your beauty. The way light shined in your skin. How your hair framed your face, a bit messy after taking off the dreaded headpiece you were expected to wear as a Sister of Sin. How your eyes would sparkle even in complete darkness, as if they held their own [eye color] galaxies in them.

He sometimes wondered if you felt anything like that towards him. If your day was brighter when you saw him. If your heart ached when he wasn't there with you. If you also stole a T-shirt of his to shove your pillow into just to feel like he was next to you in bed. He doubted you did, but he counted his clothes religiously either way, hoping one day a shirt or a pair of underwear suddenly go missing after one of your visits. He stole your shirts and panties before, just to feel closer to you when he would be lonely at night. Holding your panties in his fist when he touched himself was the most he could get for now, even if it was hardly enough. He was lucky he had a really wild imagination, he could imagine it was your fingers on his cock instead of his own. But at the end of the day, he knew it was nowhere near how good the real you would feel.

He wanted to be your first. He needed to be your first. It was only fair. He's been your first for everything so far, and you were his. He was your first friend, your first kiss, he should also be the first to sleep with you, shouldn't he? He loved you for years and loved him back, wouldn't it be fair if you took each other's virginities as well? If you were the first to touch him? If he was the first to touch you? The first and the only one to touch you.

"It's gonna sound stupid, but..." You spoke up quietly, a small giggle trying to leave your lips. His heart would always melt when you spoke. Especially when you spoke so quietly, when your words were meant for him and him alone. He would drink up any sound you made, every word, every giggle, every sigh. "Sometimes I wish we could run away together. Not have to deal with everything going on here. Just the two of us."

Terzo sat up, making you look at him, a bit surprised, considering how much he loved to rest with his head on your lap. He chuckled at how your eyes widened slightly as you followed his movement.

He moved closer to you, your knee gently bumping into his as he held your face in his hands and looked deep into your eyes, leaning closer until your lips brushed against each other, but not kissing you yet.

"Then let's do that. Let's escape together, somewhere nobody will find us. Somewhere we'll be completely alone."

You nodded slowly and he smiled, closing the distance between your lips. Every kiss he gave you was just as sweet as the first one years ago. It was always so warm, made you feel so safe when he would carefully pull you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist to press your chest against his after he carefully pulled you to straddle his lap.

That summer evening, one of Terzo's biggest dreams came true. He got to be your first.

ii. romeo save me, i've been feeling so alone

"You broke your promise, you miserable old bastard." You wept softly, your heart aching in despair and your knees hurting from the time you've spent on the floor, crying by Terzo's feet.

He remained silent, not even sparing you a glance. He didn't acknowledge you, no matter how much you would beg, scream or cry. You've banged your fists on the floor in a pathetic attempt to get anything out of him. Still nothing.

"Terzo, please... You swore to me... You swore to never leave me, remember...? So keep your promise and get up... I'm begging you..."

Yet, no matter how much you would plead, you had no way of getting his attention. You had no way to make his eyes open, to make his lips smile again, to make his arms hold you close just this one more time. After all, a dead man could do none of that.

Since his death, you'd spend hours in the room he and his brothers were kept, weeping by the glass coffin he was kept in. Although you wouldn't even call it a coffin, no. It was a fucking display case.

A display case so Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator could send Terzo and his brothers on a "tour". So the fans could see their favorite Papa up close, limited only by the glass box they were kept in.

The glass box you knelt next to every night for months now, bawling your eyes out. You knew how pitiful it was, an old satanic nun, a woman entering her 60s, kneeling and crying every night by the coffin of her lover until the Ghouls found her and took her back to bed. It was usually Omega, he was one of the very few people who still came to pay respects to his dear old friend.

Sometimes you'd sit together and talk so you could feel better. The Ghoul has been a great help all this time, always willing to offer you a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. You'd reminisce together, you more than him. You've known Terzo longer, you've had more memories of him. More tears to shed at his loss.

"Terzo... You can hear me, right...?" You whispered, fully aware of how pathetic you were. How pathetic you looked and sounded. But you'd take any chance to see his mismatched eyes look at you again with the warmth they once held whenever they looked at you. To feel his lips smile as you both kissed, exchanging hushed love confessions each night. To feel his arms wrapped around you protectively, possessively even. To feel the intimacy of feeling him inside you, both of you lost in each other's love. "Please... You must... You must hear me..."

You pressed your palm to the glass, still on your knees. You couldn't get up, you couldn't look at his body. At how his head was stitched back to his body after that dreadful photo session. They cut his head off and made the poor, terrified cardinal pose with it, only to stitch it back to let more fans see him. Pose next to his corpse and take silly selfies. Oh, how you longed to rip their phones out of their hands and break them. But you were forbidden from being in the room altogether, only allowed in because of some arrangements Omega made for you. If you were gone by sunrise, you could remain by your beloved one's side for the night.

"Please... You have no idea how alone I am..." You whispered, as if confessing your sins to him. Sins he always already knew you committed, as he committed most of them with you. "The Ghouls are trying to be there for me, but it doesn't make the pain go away, you know...? It's always there. The aching in my chest, it never leaves."

Your words echoed in your own mind, hoping to hear any response from him. Anything at all, even if he were to yell at you for bothering him in the afterlife. Even if he told you he hated you. All you wanted was to see him again, no matter if he never wanted to deal with you again. You'd be happy enough knowing he was alive and well.

Your heart felt like it was about to either shatter or explode out of misery, tears still falling down your cheeks, as if they could never end, no matter what, your eyes would never stop shedding tears for the love of your life, who just laid there, unmoving, never to respond to you.

"Please... Terzo... I love you... I'm still wearing the ring you gave me..." You wept, the engagement ring he gave to you the day before he died. He proposed to you at sunset, as you both sat on the balcony, like all these years ago, when you took each other's virginities. And you accepted, of course, even if theoretically you couldn't exactly get married. But it was the sentiment that mattered to you both. "Wake up... We'll run away, just like we wanted... We wanted to run away, remember? Together? Please... We can do that, just wake up... Don't leave me alone..."

Yet no matter how much you cried, nothing happened. After all, a dead man can't respond to you.

iii. marry me, juliet, you'll never have to be alone

Every Papa had his own followers. Ones that joined the Clergy just for the Papa they follow. Terzo was no exception. He was charismatic, charming and easy to talk to. He pulled people in easily and gained their loyalty without really trying.

Usually the flame of attraction to a Papa would slowly settle. It would still be there, but after months, it usually was already about the ministry and not just the Papa the people chose to follow. And as it would seem, in this case, Terzo was an exception.

Even after his death, his followers remained loyal. They didn't refuse to acknowledge the new Papa, a man named Copia, but it was clear they didn't really care about him as much as they did for Terzo. Papa Emeritus III was referred to as the Heart of the Clergy, because he was. He brought new life to it when he took the stage, but no matter what he achieved, it was never enough for Sister Imperator. It didn't matter that Terzo was the Papa the people wanted, because he was not the Papa she wanted.

His devotees were growing more and more upset every day. Their rage didn't water down with time, no, it only got worse, it burned more furiously each day. They wanted Terzo's return, just like you did. But while you only cried for him, weak and powerless, they decided to act.

They decided to resurrect Papa Emeritus III.

They got his Ghouls on board, as their souls were bound to their Papa. It took time, but it finally happened. Deep down in the Ministry's basement, in a secret ritual room, they did it. They stole his body, keeping it a secret from everyone. Even from you.

You wanted to visit him again, tears slowly falling down your cheeks as you entered the room where he and his brothers were kept, only to find two glass coffins instead of one.

You fell to your knees, holding back a scream. He wasn't there. The coffin wasn't there. You started calling out for his Ghouls, running around the Ministry. You didn't care if you woke anyone up, it wasn't your problem. Your problem was that the body of the man you loved was missing.

You wanted to wake people up, to get someone to help you search for him, but you were stopped before you could do anything. A Sibling of Sin gripped your arm and pinned you to the nearest wall, covering your mouth with their free hand.

"It's okay, Sister [Name]. I'm a friend." They assured as you struggled to push them off. They waited for you to wear yourself out before taking their hand away, still holding you against the wall so you wouldn't run off.

"What in Lucifer's name do you think you're doing?!" You hissed at the sibling, their fingers leaving bruises on your arm from how tight their grip was, but they didn't seem to notice your discomfort. If anything, they seemed excited for something.

"Omega sent me for you." The Sibling explained, making your already teary eyes widen and threaten with more tears. Omega? Why would he send for you? Did he know what happened? Did he find Terzo's body? Did something happen to him when Terzo was taken away? The Ghouls were connected to their Papas, even after their deaths. So maybe... Maybe Omega was hurt?

Were you about to lose one of the few friends you could actually talk to?

"What happened to Omega?" You asked quietly, trying your best to put the despair of your beloved one's disappearance. You wanted Terzo back, yes, but you knew he was dead. And Omega wasn't. Hopefully he wasn't.

"I cannot say. Not here. Please, come with me. Everything will make sense then."

It was frustrating, not knowing what was going on. Terzo being gone, now something was going on with Omega... Why was so much happening in one night? And what exactly was happening, anyway? You were confused, your heart and mind racing. You had so many thoughts rushing through your head, you were overwhelmed, and yet somehow at the same time you felt like your head was completely empty.

When Terzo was alive, you've always felt well. Even as years passed, he would always make you feel young. No matter how insecure you would feel as you hit another birthdays. Even if you were both in your 40s and 50s, his soft touch and warm gaze would make you feel loved, like back when you were both young, still discovering each other's bodies. Even as you got older, he'd still whisper praises to you, talking about how beautiful you were, how wonderful you felt and how sweet you tasted.

Even as your hair started greying, even as signs of aging slowly got to you, his gaze never changed. He'd always say you were just as beautiful as you were years ago. While you remained aware of changes in your body, he'd make you believe you were still beautiful and worthy of all the love he was giving you.

When he died, you truly started to feel your age. You felt old, lonely and vulnerable, his Ghouls remaining the only friends you still had. And now something was happening to the friend you held closest. It must've been serious, if he sent out a Sibling of Sin instead of getting you himself or sending another Ghoul. You could only hope Omega was alright.

"Where are you taking me...?" You questioned quietly, following the Sibling to the basement. You thought they'd take you to the Ghoul's lair, but that was not the way. You did not recognize the halls you were walking through, which only spiked your anxiety even more. "Where's Omega?"

They didn't give you a proper response, only telling you not to worry about it. You got a very bad feeling deep in your stomach, a pain that told you to run, to get away. And you tried. You walked slower, gaining some distance before trying to slowly get away from the Sibling. You didn't run, you were already exhausted from all the stress you were going through just this night. Instead you hid behind a pillar, trying your best to sneak away.

The Sibling must've realized they've lost you, because a few minutes later, as you quietly tried to make your way back to a more familiar looking area, you heard some frantic yelling, accompanied by almost an animalistic growl. And then you could hear someone running around, most likely in search for you. You panicked, trying to get away a little faster. You heard many voices call out to you, none of them familiar. You started doubting Omega had anything to do with all this.

Why would they search for you? Could it be because you noticed Terzo's body missing? Were they the ones responsible for the disappearance? But why? It didn't make sense, why would they take him? Were they going to sell his body? Sister Imperator wouldn't have ordered anyone to get rid of the bodies, they were too profitable. And Terzo wasn't hated, no, everyone who ever met him easily grew to adore him.

Perhaps they wanted to steal the other dead Papas as well? Some obsessed fans would give a lot to have them in their possession, as sick as it was. Would that be it? They probably wanted to get rid of you because you discovered them.

"[Name]!" A familiar voice called out to you, making you look over your shoulder. A familiar, tall Ghoul. One that let you cry into his shoulder for so many nights. So he really was here.

"Omega...?" You slowly walked over to him, putting your hands on his arms, still shaken up from the situation you've found yourself in. This was not what you were expecting when you were awoken by nightmares, like you have been for the last months. You couldn't sleep, so you went to see him again, even if some younger Siblings of Sin started to gossip about you, turning you into some local urban legend or cryptid. You needed Terzo to comfort you after the nightmares, even if you would always end up breaking down in tears when you saw him. "What's going on? What's the deal with all those Siblings? Where's Terzo? He's gone, the... The body, the coffin... It's... It's..."

"I know. He's not gone." Omega gently put his arm around your shoulders and squeezed your arm comfortingly, like he did many times before. He started leading you somewhere, and even though it was the same path the Sibling of Sin had lead you down earlier, you felt safe. You knew Omega, you knew you could trust him.

"He's not...?" You looked up at him weakly, trying to keep your tears at bay. Your sight was blurry already, but you could easily recognize the Ghoul's features. "Wait, what's that on your chin...?"

The Ghoul glanced up at you as your 'old people instincts' took over and you moved your hand to wipe the stain under his lips with your thumb. His eyes flicked away from your nervously and if you weren't so distracted with all the stress you went through before, you would've noticed him tensing up.

He then explained to you that he was eating before he found you, so he just wiped his mouth and must've missed a spot. And knowing how Ghouls fed on raw meat (more often than not, raw human meat), you simply nodded, sighing heavily as you took off your headpiece to feel better. You were never fond of the uniform you had to wear, but you also didn't want to risk getting scolded, so unless you were alone or with someone you trusted, you kept it on. You were too old to rebel against it, anyway.

"Were are we going...?" You asked nervously, playing with the headpiece in your hands. You wanted to rip it to shreds, and you would have, if you were less shaken up.

"To see him."

"So you know where Terzo is?" You looked up at him, your eyes shining with the tiniest sparks of hope. And he nodded, leading you to a large double door.

The Ghoul gave you one last comforting squeeze before opening the door for you. It must've been really heavy, considering that even he struggled with it a bit, and he was by no means a small or weak man. Especially since even the smallest of Ghouls were stronger than most people.

Once the door was open enough for you both to squeeze inside the room, you were met with a place very similar to one of the many chapels upstairs. The benches where Siblings of Sin would normally sit were empty, but you could see the rest of Terzo's Ghouls in a tight circle around the altar, whispering and muttering.

The glass coffin, or whatever was left of it, laid shattered on the ground, Terzo's gloves and robes next to it. The robes were torn up, and you were almost sure the clothes were bloody. A thought of the Ghouls eating him crossed your mind, but they were too protective over him, they'd never doo that. Not even the fact that their fingers and faces were covered in blood made you doubt that, not even the heavy metallic smell of blood.

You didn't realize Omega announced his return with you until the other Ghouls moved away from the altar, revealing Terzo sitting on it. He was alive, wearing just the white shirt, dark pants and shoes, the clothes he'd always wear under the Papal Robes. His hair was messy, but still remained somewhat in the brushed back look he always had. His facepaint was still on, surprisingly not smudged too much, but what truly was disturbing was the blood. It was normal on Ghouls. It wasn't normal on him.

It was around his mouth, like he was ripped away after taking a bite from a large, bloody piece of meat. His hands were covered in blood, too. And his neck... The wound on his neck, although the neck itself was stitched back and it didn't look like it would fall off, the wound was slowly bleeding, getting his shirt as just bloody.

You were frozen in your spot, Omega gently holding your shoulder and observing you from the corner of his eye, ready to catch you if you were to faint. But you wouldn't faint, no. You just stood there, your eyes wide, as Terzo slowly slid off the altar and walked over to you. He stumbled a bit, but it didn't seem to matter to him, considering his smile.

It was the same and completely different at the same time. How he called out your name in the same loving tone, a sound you've yearned for ever since his death, but it wasn't like you remembered it. Was felt like it was trapping you, like he was luring you in with his voice. It felt possessive.

His eyes were different, too. The still looked at you endearingly, like you were the most beautiful and precious person in the world. But there was something else, something that seemed crazy, how his gaze was quickly scanning your face and body, it no longer seemed like he was in love. It felt like he was obsessed.

The smile on his face, the same warm and loving smile you would see every morning for years when he held you close and whispered a sweet "good morning, beautiful" to your ears... With the blood and his obsessive gaze... It didn't feel like Terzo. It felt like a demon, maybe even Satan himself, stood in front of you, merely posing as the man you loved.

"[Name]... Oh, my darling... You're even more beautiful than the day you were ripped away from me..." He spoke quietly, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheek bones as Omega walked away to the rest of the Ghouls. It felt weird. It was Terzo's touch, yes, but it didn't feel like Terzo touching you. His fingers lacked the softness, it no longer felt like all these light touches you've known at nights with him. He wasn't squeezing your face, no, but the way he held it was different. The way he brushed his fingers through your hair was different. It felt like he was enamoured with you like a little child is excited for their favorite toy.

You felt wrong. Everything in the situation felt wrong. You loved him, you longed for his return, but it was always just a fantasy. To have him actually stand here, in front of you, his fingers covering your your face and hair in blood... It was the truth. It was the real life, even if it felt like a lie. Somehow, your biggest dream coming true made you feel like a nightmare caught you, sinking its claws into your skin were your newly resurrected beloved touched you.

"So beautiful... So precious... Oh, how happy it makes me to see you again..." He spoke quietly, leaving small kisses all over your face making you squirm away anxiously. He seemed shocked as you took a step back from him, but he was always quick to act, so without hesitation, he held onto your wrist, pulling you right back into him. "Please, don't run away from me, amore. I've missed you so much, I need you to be with me, sí? Need you right next to me, at all times..."

"Stop touching me..." You whimpered and he looked at you with the most heartbroken gaze you've ever seen. Like his heart was just shattered, and that made your already wounded one break just a little more. "Please, I... I just need a minute..."

"Oh, my love..." He muttered, pulling you closer instead of letting go as you longed for. Just this once, he promised himself, just this once he'd put his needs over your comfort. Just this once, and only for a little bit. You'd understand, won't you? Yes, of course you'd understand. "We're reunited at long last, doesn't that make you happy?"

His thumb stroked your lower lip as he held your chin. A feeling so familiar, yet so foreign. Your mind raced with uncertainty and anxiety, but your body reacted, your lips parting, as if begging him to just kiss you already. And he did. The kiss was the only part of this that felt exactly like him. Like it always did. There was no new-found possessiveness, because it was always there. His kisses were always starved, longing. Just like now. And you kissed him back, your own longing for him taking over. Oh, he missed you so much, and you missed him.

He was visibly calmer once he had his first kiss since being resurrected, the obsessiveness and possessiveness replaced by the tenderness and admiration he always held for you. And so he kissed you, again and again. And you kissed back, again and again.

"You still have the ring..." He noticed once you finally ended the kissing session to catch your breath. He held your hand and now started kissing all over your fingers only to rub the back of your hand against his cheek. "So it's still a yes, right, my love? You'll marry me?"

And then, seeing how genuine he was about the question, you stopped holding back. You nodded, letting your tears fall freely as you threw yourself at him, crying into his shoulder about just how much you've missed him. He held you tightly, whispering comforting yours into your ear and kissing your hair, smiling softly at you before giving the Ghouls a subtle glance.

They understood and quickly got rid of the dead, massacred body that remained hidden away from your sights so far. The ruined body of the Sibling of Sin that was supposed to bring you to Terzo, hidden behind the altar, their throat ripped out with your lover's very own teeth.

"I love you, my darling..." He whispered to you, your face pressed against his chest. "You will never be alone again."

[verysickofthisshit]

TLDR: hannibal is a cougar. the cat.

hannibal and cougars are something i’ve talked about before in a long winded rant, so i’m going to put it more comprehensively because i will die if i don’t indoctrinate at least one person. i feel there’s a general agreement that hannibal mirrors a big cat. it’s stated in the show by chiyoh where she states, “he was charming. in the way a cub is charming. a small cub that grows up to be one of the big cats.” and will responds saying, “one you can’t play with anymore.”

we see hannibal act animalistic during his murders doing things such as nuzzling, biting, snarling, baring teeth, prowling, and, you know, fucking eating them. in comparison, cougars stalk their prey and dispatch them through fatal bites to the neck. once their prey is dead, they will eat as much as they can stomach. and if any is left they will drag the body off to hide and feast on later. of course, hannibal doesn’t eat it at the scene and is much pickier. and his victims usually die of mutilation, but the parallel exists all the same.

he also moves similarly to cougars: quietly, quickly, efficiently, and elegantly. they’re both very lean and muscular animals. hannibal walks very surely and somewhat intimidating, similar to cougars. cougars often walk very heavily, putting a lot of weight onto whatever leg they’re taking the step with. you can usually see the muscles flex to support the weight. WHICH, brings me to my next point: captivity.

this is more anecdotal than fact based, but i’ve seen a fair share of cougars in zoos and the like. they prowl, they stare, they lounge, they pace, but what’s most striking to me is the eye contact they make. they will full-on stare into your eyes and communicate very clearly that they want to eat you. it’s startling how intense it is. they are aware that they can’t eat you, but if they could, they would. you’re only safe, because of this glass. that’s how far away you are from death. and it’s not a threat, it’s a promise. “you died in my kitchen, alana, when you chose to be brave. every moment since is borrowed.”

but he’s also similar in the wild. as someone who grew up in a place where cougars were common, the fear has been drilled into me since birth. unlike hannibal, they prefer deer, but they aren’t against eating people. the safety precautions i’ve been taught have been don’t go alone, stay within sight, stick to the trail, and for the love of god do not ever let your children out of sight. if one finds you and decides you’re worth the trouble your best bet is to try and scare it. don’t run, because it will catch you. if you fail, you’re fucking dinner. there are very obvious parallels. hannibal is the apex predator of baltimore. and florence, when he visits for the local cuisine. if he catches you, you’re fucking screwed.

my last point is the coloring. cougars have a general coloring of tawny, white, gray, and some minor black markings. hannibal has a tawny, gray tinged hair color and spends most of season three dressed in white. also, his fucking sharp crooked teeth. terrifying. anyway, hannibal is a catboy and this is my essay. thank you!!

[this-is-a-dystopian-parable]

Part One!

Song-by-song synopsis and review of Dave Malloy and Lucy Kirkwood's The Witches.

Preface I guess with the fact that I enjoy a more lighthearted and spectacle based show sometimes, it can work! This show I'd say is somewhere between Matilda and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory in tone; they definitely wanted to make it another Matilda and though it's just as dark, it doesn't lean into the introspection as often. This doesn't feel like a Malloysical, so don't expect it to, but it's a good show nonetheless.

1. A Note about Witches (The Witches)

Like Matilda, Witches opens with an exposition song taken directly from the book! The witches tell us how they've learned to hide as nice, well-mannered ladies so that no one will suspect them. And how much they hate children, there's even a trick where a child in a cage gets turned into a dog. This song takes place in front of the curtain, and there's a big screen that features animations for a couple segments. Don't worry, you won't see much of it.

Right off the bat, the ensemble is pretty big and they're killing it. There's at least a dozen witches. This song is fun and dark, plays off of the different solo lines well and feels appropriately chaotic at times.

Favorite line: "A nudge to Mr. Shakespeare / Some hints to Brothers Grimm / In Salem we made scapegoats / And you tore them limb from limb"

2. Ready to Go (Luke, Young Company)

First real set of the show, in his house Luke argues with his parents about wanting a pet. I think the choice to include his parents in this is strange, since the book begins after they've been dead for a while and there isn't anything particularly interesting about this scene. The parents aren't really likeable so idk how to feel when they die.

Luke sings about how he's ready to grow up and be on his own and do all the stuff no one lets him do. This number is kinda fun because the ensemble are all dressed like him but with big masks representing each thing, and I like the object head vibes. But I think the additional motivation added to Luke here feels like it's trying too hard to engage the kids in the audience, or be like Matilda, and it almost never comes up again.

At the end, his parents swerve off the road and crash their car.

Favorite line: Don't have one :/

3. How to Recognize a Witch (Gran, Young Company)

With his parents dead, his Norwegian grandmother Gran comes to take care of him. She's bonkers and we love her dearly. She shows up witch crates and crates of objects (and animals) that were once children who had been victims of witches. They sing a song about all the warning signs: wigs, gloves, and pinchy shoes.

This is the first use of children popping up from inside boxes that look too small. It's fun. The costumes are kinda cheap and simple which is strange considering the ridiculous budget of the rest of the show which I will touch more on later. But the song is really fun and Gran gets really into it.

Favorite line: I love that they kept in the girl who turned into a painting. The witch trapped her inside a landscape painting in their house, not able to move, and all the parents could do was watch her as she slowly died. Dark! This is also the second use of the screen.

4. Heartbeat Duet (Luke, Gran)

Aaaaaaaaaaaa

After Luke had a run-in with a witch, Gran comes to his rescue but she has a heart attack. She's rushed to the hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses, for an operation, while Luke has to wait outside the room.

This is such a good song. I love the way the heartbeat monitor is the defining instrumental and the movement on stage is synced to it. While Luke says that everything is happening too fast (the one time we get reference to his opening motivation) Gran sings about her heart beating too slow. The way their two experiences overlap is really beautiful, and the relationship between a little kid and his grandmother was my favorite part of the book.

Favorite line: "I'm just ten years old" "eighty-five years old" "and my heart is beating so fast so fast so fast too fast" "too soon"

5. Magnificent (Mr Stringer, Hotel Staff)

WOOoOOooOOOO

The doctor tells Luke and Gran he booked them a seaside vacation for her recovery. Which means it's time for the hotel manager, MR STRINGER. BIG HAND FOR THE HOTEL MANAGER.

Big oom-pa number welcoming them to the hotel as the set changes behind them. This song is so FUNNY it's so FUN and there's like TWENTY ENSEMBLE in it. The hotel staff uniforms are all in magenta and baby pink we are so BACK.

The second curtain raises to reveal the full depth of the set, a lavish hotel of pink marble and fancy wallpaper with turquoise trim. Right now, a concierge deck takes up the center.

Favorite line: "At the hotel where you'll never feel alone / fill the howling void of your dark and lonely soul"

6. Bruno Sweet Bruno (Bruno, Company)

While they're being checked in they meet Bruno!!!!! The perfect child. We love him. He sings a HUGE VEGAS NUMBER with TAP DANCING. Ans once again, so many ensemble members in yet another costume change.

LOOK AT MY BOY GO.

Okay this is getting REALLY long and we're not even at the act break so I'm going to split it up into multiple parts. See you soon!!

[ae-neon]

Idk what this is but we need Varian content and we need him away from the IC so here

A cool breeze carried in from the turquoise sea, blowing in from the open arches. Nesta was thankful for the paperweights she’d found set on every library desk in the palace. The Summer Court was a place made to welcome, down to the smallest convenience.

Welcome to all but one.

The old guilt did not stir, relief having extinguished it long ago. If he had loved her, if he’d been the right one – she should not have been relieved to go where he could not follow.

Her pen scratched away at the paper, concise lines filling the page. A revision of Tarquin’s human housing proposal, now made to include laws which took into account generational inheritance with human’s shorter lives and often numerous offspring

It was night, or perhaps early morning, and most of the palace and the city beyond had quieted except for the taverns and dancehalls down by the coves.

The floating faelights in the library gave off the sunlight they soaked up in the day and Nesta had come to prefer working nights during her stay.

She closed off her amendment and sorted her pages into a neat pile to be handed over to the High Lord when he had the time to properly go through them.

Nesta walked through the open arches onto the second floor balcony, slipped her shoes off her feet then moved through time and space to the shoreline.

Winnowing had become easier once she’d stopped fearing the dark, falling feeling.

She folded the length of her light blue dress under her and sat in the sand, reaching up to undo the pins that held her hair up.

Three years. It had taken her three years to exhaust herself playing the part. Three years waiting for Cassian to say those words and fill the hollowness that haunted her. But it had been like watering a desert.

Most of the time the guilt had threatened to eat her alive and yet she’d find herself on rare occasions simply observing him – the way he loved, really loved, the others. She gave and gave, more of her body and her smiles and her secrets, and he held them, kissed her, teased her, told her he would die for her.

But it was always hollow, never enough. Nesta had wanted him to live for her instead.

She’d managed to fill that hollowness, quench that thirst, with other things – friends and work and books. And once, even a lover.

She’d caught herself, known she’d reached the end when she found herself staring at Nyx, wondering if a child might bridge that small yet insurmountable gap.

Then she’d dreamt of her mother and woke crying.

Days later she’d left.

Five years on, she knew she would never go back. That the mating bond had been a cruel punishment, a curse by the Cauldron itself.

And yet, even it had been presumptuous in it’s attempt to bind her. She who defied Death and Life and Magic itself.

So she unravelled it, undid rather than break, freeing him from the shackles.

She’d done the same for Lucien and Elain a year later – though it seemed to have brought them closer since.

The sea crept up to her, tide rising. And Nesta did not flinch.

“It amazes me every time I hear it.”

“And what do you hear, Admiral?”

“She calls to you, sings, like a mother to her child.” Varian settled next to her, offered the wine bottle he was drinking from.

Nesta smiled faintly, “Is that not what we all are? Children of the Mother? Or do you worship stranger gods?”

“I have seen too much of Her wrath and wonder to doubt...” his piercing eyes, blue as the deep, peered out at the dark ocean before turning to her, “And you. How can any of us doubt when we have you?”

“If only you were as diligent in your attendance as you were with your flattery.” Nesta looked away, unable to fight the tug at her lips, “Your sister has threatened to strip you of rank.”

“Let her have it.”

Nesta arched a brow, doubtful, “You? Give up the sea?”

“The crown.” Nesta had never seen him wear one, his coiling brown hair always cut close to the scalp and going unadorned, “The sea still has need for me.”

“Oh?”

He hummed, a little drunk, “There is a lady, young and not well travelled, but whose destiny will no doubt take her far – likely to the ends of the earth. And I want to be there to see it.”

Nesta grinned but shook her head. Lucien had joked that after Cassian and Eris, if Nesta acquired another General as a suitor, she might be accused of attempting to amass an army. Lady Death indeed.

Varian lay back in the sand and crossed an arm under his head, eyes closing and Nesta found herself following the movement when he left his other arm open for her to rest her head.

She’d given up on the stars years ago but their beauty could not be denied.

“The UnderSea is reporting activity near the Siren’s Pass.” He spoke softer, more solemn.

“Ah, is that what this is about?”

He tilted his head and opened his eyes to peek at her, “Time away from you is torture.”

Nesta lifted her hand to place it over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath. A heart that lived and beat for her.

Her silver eyes searched his face and the emotion there flooded her, enough to drown a desert.

[agravemistake13ghosts]

III. I Always Was

A/N: Here's to the next chapter! This one is a little spicy but not too much. It shows the natural progression of Royce and Emily's relationship from close friendship to soul deep romance.

Rated M for spicy content, language, and violence.

Emily, Emily, Emily Has the murmuring sound of may All silver bells, coral shells, carousels And the laughter of children at play

Say Emily, Emily, Emily And we fade to a marvelous view Two lovers alone and out of sight Seeing images in the firelight As my eyes visualize a family They see Emily, Emily

Emily Frank Sinatra

Tuesday, April 5th, 1955 The Clayton Home Madison, Ohio

"Royce is still asleep, I take it?"

Sarah Clayton did not need to look up from the stove to know it was Emily that had walked into her home. Daniel had made her a key so she could come and go as she pleased. It was better that way. She was one of the few people who could get Royce out of bed in the morning without a fuss. Was it appropriate? No. Did it matter since it was within the walls of her own home? No.

Daniel looked up from his coffee, setting the newspaper down. He noted that Emily had set papers on the table. They were neatly arranged into two piles.

"Ever since he joined the baseball team, he's been sleeping more," he nodded towards the papers. "Was there a report?"

She nodded.

"I did Royce's and mine," she gave a small chuckle. "It's fairly easy to duplicate his handwriting. I just have to make it look like a chicken dipped its feet in ink and walked across the page."

The Clayton parents exchanged glances, small knowing smiles on their faces.

"I don't know what our son would do without you, Emily."

She looked up, her indigo eyes regarding Sarah with humor.

"He would die, according to him," she straightened up, smiling sweetly. "I'll go and fetch him, if that's okay?"

Sarah waved her away, chuckling at how quickly Emily disappeared.

The small girl weaved her way up the staircase, her fingers idly tracing along the wall, admiring the many pictures dotted along them. The Clayton's were a close family. Their photographs were full of genuine joy, bright smiles on their faces.

Emily opened the door to Royce's room as she came to it and stepped inside, closing it behind her with a soft click.

Even in the miniscule light she could see that he had chucked his shirt to the side at some point in the night, the bare skin of his back facing her.

She advanced further into the room, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder. Warm fingers shackled her wrist and she quickly found herself upon her back, her best friend on top of her as he pulled the thin blanket over their heads.

"Little silly of them to send you up here," his breath fanned across her Collarbone, one of his hands gripping her hip. "Now you're my prisoner."

The silence between them was natural. Comfortable.

"I don't mind."

Royce lifted his head from its position in the crook of her neck, his hand coming up to cradle her face, his thumb tracing over the smooth skin of her cheek.

"May I kiss you, Emily?"

She nodded, letting out a soft sigh as his lips touched hers.

Royce had often considered what it would be like to kiss Emily March. The reality was much better than anything he had imagined. Emily kissed him back with an intensity he had not anticipated, her arms winding around his neck. He found himself tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, his tongue finding its way between them to stroke against her own, the cinnamon of her toothpaste washing across his taste buds.

His hand, on instinct, moved up her stomach, the fabric of her dress soft under his hand. She let out the sweetest whimper when it closed over her breast.

Realizing that this was escalating much quicker than he had anticipated, Royce tore himself away from her lips and buried his face back in her neck, trying to gain control of his racing heart.

"You're mine now, doll."

She ran her fingers through his hair with a quiet chuckle.

"I always was."

A/N: I wanted to flesh out Royce and Emily's relationship before they see each other again in the next chapter.