#what if no women wanted anything but SAFETY ever what if they were never power hungry or jealous or predatory ever themselves?

[florbelles]

finished hera & started lady macbeth and we have got to start blaming women for shit again for real

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow: 10

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault, child birth, Capitol bullies.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

The bed you were asleep on felt like a cloud under you. 

The bedding was fresh, and smelt slightly of lavender scented washing powder. It held a  crispness that could only be given by drying in the sun. 

Pillows surrounded you, giving you a sense of security while heavy blankets nearly pinned you to the mattress from their weight. 

You slept easy despite your predicament. Only the morning sun, as it streamed through the airy curtains, woke you. Still, you don’t move. Too comfortable, and too tired to face the day. 

Coriolanus was not next to you. The large bed was only occupied by yourself. You wondered how long he had been missing, and how much longer he would stay away. 

You were in an entirely new world, only he was familiar. And even he had changed. He was President of Panem, not Commander of District 12. His hair was long, and his clothes were fashionable. He even held himself taller and talked slower. 

Still, he was what you knew. Your lifeline in an alien world. 

Would you change too? You supposed you had. 

A District girl, now wife of the President. Soon the weight of the diamond on your hand would become unrecognizable. You would get used to the strange people here. Tigris and Grandma’am would become family and not Capitol enemies. 

So quickly, your life was snatched from under you. Everything you have ever known has been replaced. Even the air felt different upon your skin. The people around you ate differently, talked differently, dressed differently. Would anything be left of you? Would you be able to keep anything of your home inside of you?

Your heart hurts to think of your mother and brother. Were you to trust Coriolanus when he said he had released them? He was likely to have had them 

released and then shot outside of the gates. How could you ensure their safety? Would he let you call them? What would it cost you?

The quiet turning of the door knob broke your train of thought. 

You wondered if it was a maid or Coriolanus but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look. 

You didn’t want to face either one so you closed your eyes hoping that they would leave you. 

Coriolanus did not. He gently shook your shoulder, and you rolled over from your fake sleep. 

“Good morning,” he pushes back your hair, tucking it behind your ear, “Did you sleep okay?”

You brush his hand away. Your ring scratches the skin of his hand as you do. 

“I have a doctor on standby. Are you in any pain?” 

You sit up and surprisingly find very little pain. More tightness from a muscle that had never been used before. You were quite wet already, and he was slow. Allowing you time to adjust. 

“I feel fine,” you respond, “What time is it?” 

“It’s early. I’m sorry. The sign-in is at noon, so you need to start getting dressed. Just like yesterday, some women are going to come in and help you.” 

“The same women?” You hoped not. They were so Capitol. You felt repulsed at the thought of sharing a room with them again. 

“I don’t know. Was there a problem with them yesterday?” His Commander's face was put on. A displeased stone expression that made you feel like a scolded child. 

“No.” You deny. Your eyes go to your ring that sprays out a pale rainbow from the sunlight. 

He pulls your attention back to him with a hold on your chin. 

“You’re my wife. First Lady of Panem.” 

Him calling you wife made your heart curdle. 

“You hold the power over them. If there’s an issue you need to tell me.”

“There was no issue,” you insist. 

He doesn’t push you on it.

“They will be here soon. Come outside for breakfast.”

He gives your arm a tap before rising from the bed to retrieve a warm dressing gown from the closet. 

It was soft around your body and brought a surprising amount of warmth. 

The journey to the dining room table was simple. Just past a long hallway, it opened into the living room, where to the right an elevated platform formed the dining area. 

The Snow women were not dressed as casually as you were. Fine dresses and jewels were worn for breakfast. 

You looked to Coriolanus to see he was also dressed fashionably and felt embarrassed that he had brought you out in last night's worn make-up and a dressing gown. 

The women seemed unbothered to see you. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” Tigris greeted you. 

“Good morning.” You offer back. 

Coriolanus holds out a chair for you amongst the 12 available. 

“Did you have a good time last night?” she asks. 

You looked at her and saw no vindictiveness in her eyes. It was a genuine question, offered to make you feel at ease. 

It was, in fact, the worst night of your life. But you were a stranger at her table, you would not repay her kindness with scorn. 

“Yes,” you say instead, “Did you?” 

Tigris nods her head, as she pours out coffee from a pot into the small white tea cups. 

“Bet you never saw anything like that in the Districts.” Grandma’am quipped. 

You weren’t sure if she intended for her comment to be a way of reminding you of your place, or as an encouragement to how great the Capitol could be. 

“No, I haven’t.” You agree. 

There was food displayed on the table, across a long white cover. Coriolanus picked food from and dropped it onto the gold plate in front of you. 

You had no appetite. It was all so ghastly rich. There was no need for this amount of excess. 

Coriolanus did not share your off-put. He ate his plate, while you examined the strange contents of yours. 

Grandma’am doted on her grandson. Telling stories of his younger years. He always had leadership skills, she said. His presidential future was never in any doubt. 

“Even when-” Grandma’am stopped herself, suddenly looking at and pushing her food around on the plate. 

You were eager to hear what she had to say. Even when he was sent to be a Peacekeeper? Even when he got involved with Lucy Gray? Was there something else that Coriolanus has kept hidden?

“If only your father could see you now,” she redirects, “Oh he would be so proud.” 

“We’re so proud,” Tigris states. Trying to defuse the somber mood. 

Coriolanus smiles at Tigris under her praise. 

“And you?” he asks, turning to you. 

You nod your head, unsure on what he wanted to hear. 

“Congratulations, President Snow.”  You offer. 

“It sounds right, doesn’t it?” Grandma’am squeals. 

You wait until the rest of the company has finished their breakfast between idle chatter. 

Coriolanus was on his second cup of coffee. His arm slung over the back of your chair, as he sits casually, talking to Tigris. 

He leans down to your ear, the second Tigris is occupied with Grandma’am.

“Can you eat something, please? The stylists will be here soon,” he whispers. 

 His casual demeanor returns as Tigris’s attention does. 

You follow his request, taking a bite of some sort of breakfast biscuit. It was fresh, and soft, even stone-cold. You could taste the butter in it. Real butter, not the imitation type found in the Districts. 

“I am going to miss you,” Tigris sighed. 

“We’re not staying here?” You turn to Coriolanus who had just taken another sip of his drink. 

Your stomach fills with knots thinking about a new place. You didn’t want to move. 

He swallows quickly, trying to answer you before anyone else. 

“No. We’re going to the presidential estate, but we’ll come back and visit. And you're both always welcomed at the Presidential Palace.” 

You jump as a ringing sound breaks through the air, looking around to try and see the small bell hidden in the room. 

Coriolanus’s hand comes from the back of your chair to the back of your neck. “It’s okay,” he soothes. 

He reaches for a panel of buttons built into the table and holds one in. 

“Yes?” He answers the call. 

“Mr. President, the PR team is here,” a voice spoke back. 

“Send them up.” His hand returns from you, back to the chair. 

“You don’t have long. Try to have another bite,” he commands. 

You finish the breakfast biscuit by the time the two Peacekeepers escort a whole team of people up to the penthouse. It sat heavy in your stomach. 

You see the same two women in the group. They stand side by side in ridiculous outfits. The one who had burnt you with a curling iron had a spiky, purple hat that reached tall into the sky. 

Two racks of clothing, and four big black boxes on wheels, were carted behind them. 

Coriolanus walks to the living room to greet them. They all congratulate him on his win, which he brushes off quickly to talk to the head stylist about the plan for today. They mutter between themselves, and the stylist shows Coriolanus a large book, pointing to the pictures. Coriolanus points down the hall, explaining the layout of the apartment. 

The book shuts with a heavy snap, and the stylist turns to his workers directing them to their places. 

The team split up behind Coriolanus, as he walked back over to you. 

“You’ll go back to the bedroom. I’ll use one of the spares. If there are any problems, you come and find me.” He tells you. 

You nod in response, noting that three other women follow the two women from yesterday down the hall. 

Coriolanus says goodbye to Grandma’am and Tigris, before leading you back to the bedroom where he lets you go without a word. As he closes the door behind you, the women in the room snap their attention to you. 

They all begin talking to you. Not one voice is heard but hands are felt all around you as they pull you into the bathroom. 

They bicker amongst themselves on what needs to be done first. You had many faults that needed to be fixed before the signing. Your skin wasn’t tight or dewy enough. You needed a facial, and eyelash lift. Your chipped nails were disgusting. Your hair was dull and lifeless. 

You feel vulnerable as hands dig harshly into your clothing, pulling it off your body. As you push hands away, more hands take their place. They call you difficult as you beg them to allow you to do it yourself. 

The shower is turned on too hot, you could feel the heat of it standing five feet away. 

Stripped, you notice the mess of semen still between your legs. Others notice it too and begin to giggle to themselves. Coriolanus had run a wet towel over you so you could sleep comfortably, but it wasn’t enough. 

The shower was boiling as you were pushed under it. Your skin instantly turned red. The women themselves didn’t want to get wet, standing outside of the shower screen, and pulling you by your hair to bring you closer. 

One lathers a strong-smelling liquid into your hair without much care, while another scrubs a hard brush against your skin to rid the old skin. 

It hurt as it raked across your body without soap. The woman's rings got caught in your hair as she scrubbed your head, it yanked as she pulled back. 

With a cry of pain, you are pushed back under the stream of hot water. 

You think about running to find Coriolanus, but they are here now. Another team would not be sent. He would only reprimand them, and then you would be left alone with their wrath. 

You sob instead. You should be at home. It was Wednesday. You were pretty sure. You should be at work, making idle chatter with your co-workers. 

“Wash it out!” The woman commands, “We don’t have much time.” 

Trying to appease her, you do a quick rinse under the water. 

“All of it,” she sighs. 

‘'The water’s too hot,’’ you cry. You felt like a cornered animal.

She looks at her co-workers annoyed. “Turn the water down,” she commands. 

The water is turned ice-cold but you make no further complaint. 

Another round of the strong-smelling liquid is harshly rubbed into your hair, and a nice-smelling lotion is rubbed into your skin. 

The cold water makes you shiver as you stand under it, trying to wash everything off you. 

The water is turned off leaving you standing shivering in the shower. 

“Come on” the women demanded, “hurry”. 

You go to her, and she throws a towel at you. It helps to dry the cold water off you, bringing back a little warmth. 

They watch you as you dry yourself making you feel self conscious. The attempt to cover yourself with the towel is ripped from you, and thrown to the floor. You are once again being pushed instead of asked to do something. 

You were laid flat on a table they had brought. Bare under their eye. Nothing was given so you could cover yourself. 

Five women stand above you and begin work. 

You close your eyes trying to dissociate from everything. A mask is put on your face, leaving space around your eyebrows so they can be waxed. Another oil is put on your hair and skin. 

You could hear the buzzing of the laser and feel its zap as it took the hair off your body. She scaled the length of you with the laser, paying extra attention to your most private parts. 

Only a reprimand was spoken to you as tears ran down your face. You were wasting the product with your tears. 

For a long time, you laid still against the table as they worked. Your body became sore and stiff before they told you to get up and into the bedroom.

It was there you were given back your dressing gown and placed in front of a vanity. 

The women talk amongst themselves as they work. Not one of them asks you anything. You tune them out, thinking about home. 

It felt overstimulating to have so many people working on you at once. Someone cut your hair, while the other women took one hand or one leg. They massage more oil into your skin, before shaping and painting your nails. Your ring is given a shine, and they speak about how beautiful it was. 

You feel their jealousy as they work. Your fingers were twisted into unnatural positions as they were filed. Your hair was pulled ruthlessly as it was cut. One woman stepped on your toes as she rose from the floor for some polish. 

In your head, you were at home, baking for your market stall. Your mother would keep you company in the kitchen, reading a letter from your brother. He had found someone. A nice girl, who treats him well. He wasn’t lonely anymore and had plenty to eat. Edmund was alive, and you would see him when he finished work. He would be joyed at the news that his best friend found a girl, and after dinner that night you would sit with him and draft a letter explaining your new relationship. 

It was a surprise when they all stopped to address the President. 

You turn to see Coriolanus standing in the doorway with a large mug in his hands. He had been taken from his clothes this morning and undressed into a white singlet. He had no shoes on his feet, and his dress pants still had pins in them from the tailoring. 

“It’s time for a break,” he announced. His hair appeared to be cut back, and slightly curled more. His skin glowed with treatment. 

You had never been thankful to see him until that moment. A tear slipped from your eye and you quickly wiped it away.

“Sir, we still have lots to do,” one of the stylists said. 

“Leave the room,” he commanded. 

Tools are dropped as they follow his request.

The five women pass him through the door, and he kicks it closed as the last one leaves. 

You get up from the vanities chair with a headache from all the pulling. 

“I came to check on you. Are you okay?” he says. 

The tea in his hands was a welcomed surprise. The hot shower had dehydrated you, and your crying left your throat scratchy. You take it from him and take three large gulps. 

He takes your waist into his hands once they are free from the cup. 

“Yeah,” you lie. Your voice was quiet and broken from having not spoken for a long period of time. 

The tea was hot, burning your throat as you drank it, but it was good. You broke away from his hold, going to sit on the ottoman by the bed. He followed you as you sat. 

Certain parts of your head felt like they were burning from the harsh treatment, You reached up to soothe the sore spots. Coriolanus’s hands follow yours. You knock them away, wanting nothing more than not to be touched. 

He moves onto the bed behind you, sitting with either leg by your sides. His strong fingers reach into your hair and massage your scalp. It felt nice as his fingers dug into your head so you allowed him to do it. 

You lean back into him, the hot cup burning your lap. 

“Do you want to tell me something?” he gently asks. 

His fingers press into a very sore spot on your head, causing you to wince and pull forward out of his hold. 

He doesn’t let you sit up, pulling you back by your shoulders into him. His fingers go back to your hair once more, but he rakes his nails through your hair instead of pushing in. 

He rakes his nails in a continuous backward motion, soothingly as he talks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That shouldn’t have hurt.” 

A gentle kiss is placed against your ear. 

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stay? I’ll stay.” He offers. 

You think about it. The women would surely be kinder with Coriolanus in the room. But you didn’t want to admit you needed him. Worse, you didn’t want to feel indebted to him. After all, it was because of him you were going through this.  

You get up from him once more, and he allows you to create distance as you go back to the vanity set. 

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus,” you demanded. 

You wipe the tears harshly away from your face, and he sits there watching you. 

A gentle knock is heard at the door. Coriolanus rises to answer it. 

“Come in,” he orders. 

The women single file in, past him. Only he stops the women who had been barking orders at everyone all day. 

You watch him in the mirror as he brings his hand down across her face.  

A gasp leaves your lips as you watch her fall to the ground from the force. 

“I entrusted her to you. If you make me regret it, I’ll make you regret it,” he warns, staring down at her with eyes that spoke of his anger. 

He steps over her and back to his room. 

“What did you say?” the woman in the purple hat hisses at you. 

“Nothing,” you admit, “I said nothing. I promise.” 

The woman who was hit gathers herself from the floor, coming over to you and pinching the skin on your arm between her long, fake nails. 

“Well say less.” she rasped. 

“It wasn’t my fault. He’s like that,” you contend, rubbing the skin she had pinched. 

“Maybe to District scum, but not to us.” 

“Your red cheek would suggest otherwise,” you sass. 

It earns you a harsh tug on your hair as it is yanked to one side.

“Just do as you are told and face forward,” she spat.

She spins you by your hair towards the mirror. No more tears fall from your eyes, but a satisfied smirk stretches across your lips. The moment had made you feel powerful. 

While their nail files dug into your skin, and your hair was gripped too tightly just to be cut, they no longer spoke. Coriolanus had scared them into silence. 

A few moments later he reappears with his own styling crew as they struggle to bring everything they need into the room. 

He sets up next to you, and under the watchful eye of Coriolanus, your stylists turn gentle. With your body done, they move to your hair and make-up. 

The large room is crowded with all the people and equipment. The head stylist tries to persuade Coriolanus back to his own room, but he would hear none of it. 

As your hair is curled and pinned into a loose bun, the iron used slipped slightly from her hands as she pinned. It burnt behind your ear, causing you to jump from the hot touch, but no sound escaped you. 

Coriolanus noticed anyway. 

“Be careful. Watch what you are doing”, he reprimanded.  

“Yes, President Snow” the woman apologizes. 

With a spray all over your hair, the woman steps back to admire her work. 

“Alright. We are fifteen minutes behind schedule. We need to get her in her dress”, the woman with the red cheek called out. 

Coriolanus was done. Only one stylist was there with him, shining his shoes. 

They lead you to the bathroom with a dress bag. 

As soon as the door was closed, one of the stylists who had remained quiet all morning began to speak. 

“Yes, President Snow,” she mocked. 

“Shut up,” the hair stylist barked. 

The dress was pulled from the bag without a wrinkle. 

It was a sweetheart, white satin, strapless gown. The bodice had pearls strung along it, and it curved up in the middle into a line of pearls. 

It was matched with a pair of white heels with pearl straps and a jacket of the same material that was only meant to go around your shoulders and not to be worn, you learned. 

The shoulders of the jacket clipped into the dress so it didn’t move.

“There,” the head woman snapped, “You’re done.” 

You quickly rushed from her presence, back out to the bedroom where Coriolanus stood alone. 

You turn back as you walk to him, expecting the woman to come from the bathroom. But they never do.

He takes you into his arms, gaining your attention from the door

“You look beautiful,” he comments. 

He did too, but you wouldn’t admit it. He wore black instead of white, but his shirt and pocket square matched the material of your dress. 

“Thank you,” you reply. 

A slight squeak of the bathroom door had you pulling back. You would hate for them to see you so cozy in his arms. But the door never opens. 

Coriolanus pulls you tight against him again, leaning down to whisper something to you. 

“Do you want me to have them killed?” He asks. 

“No,” you say, astonished that he could think of no other solution.

“It’s up to you,” he states, “Come on. We are late.” 

He leads you back to the living room where Tigris and Grandma’am stood waiting amongst the stylists packing up. 

“Give us time to settle in before you come to visit,” Coriolanus spoke to his family. He leans his tall frame down to kiss each of them. 

“Of course,” Tigris answered. After she had kissed him, she moved over to you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulder, and placing a kiss on the corner of your head. 

“We’ll see each other again soon,” she promises. 

You smile back at her before she is replaced with Grandma’am. The older woman's hug is shorter and less affectionate. 

With a final goodbye, you follow Coriolanus and a series of Peacekeepers to the elevator and down to the car park. 

A sleek black car was waiting. A driver held out the back door, and Coriolanus placed you in the car first. 

The Peacekeepers piled into a large truck. Only one sat in the front of your car with the driver.

The divider was raised so you couldn’t see them, but you could have sworn you had seen the Peacekeeper before. You wondered if Coriolanus had brought back men from District 12. 

The car ride passed through the city. You had never seen such buzz. Colors and colors flew past you. Buildings that reached the sky gleamed. Tall statues were littered across the drive. You counted seven, and a possible eighth that flew past too fast to see more than a gray figure. 

You wanted to put the window down for a better view as the tint from the window dulled some of the colors. But Coriolanus denied your request. The wind would undo the work done on your hair, and it was important that you arrived looking your best. He had promised to take you out again later with the windows down. 

When you arrived at the presidential estate, it was surrounded by supporters of Coriolanus holding banners and sticks with a picture of Coriolanus’s face attached. They waited outside of the tall gates guarded by peacekeepers. 

As the car passed them, screams and cheers deafened you. 

It got worse when you entered the gates, the screaming was matched with flashes of white light. 

Coriolanus was unbothered by it all. His focus is all on the approaching building in front of him. 

The building was grand, surrounded by meticulously kept gardens. Large Panem flags hung on flag poles on either side of the staircase that led to the entrance. A line of staff stands at the top of the staircase. All of them were dressed in expensive white material that formed around their bodies in a long coat, and pants. Gold detailing was added to the stitches and a gold pin fashioned into the Panem symbol was pinned across their chest to keep their jacket closed. 

Even the servants dressed nicer than the high society of District 12. They looked better fed too. 

The car stopped as close as it could to the stairs and Coriolanus turned to you, taking your hand in his. 

“Stay close to me. People are excited and that can cause them to act mindless.” 

The door is opened by a Peacekeeper and Coriolanus leads you along the slim path through the sea of people. 

People reach out to touch him, yelling out to gain his attention. But his mind stayed focused on the approaching building. A look of smug satisfaction and determination played across his features. You must have looked terrified as you followed him.

These people looked like animals. They frenzied around you with only a few Peacekeepers to keep them in check. 

You stay as close as you can to Coriolanus, taking the back of his shirt into your spare hand. 

The path ends as it comes to the bottom of the step. Coriolanus reaches his hand back to release you from his shirt, bringing you to stand by him as you climb the steps. 

One woman in an all-black ensemble stood out in front of the line of staff. She greeted Coriolanus as he reached her on the steps. 

“President Snow, an honor to serve you as your head of staff.”

She reached out her right hand but his right hand was latched around yours. He was hesitant to let it go.

She pauses when he doesn’t react but quickly switches out hands which Coriolanus accepts in a handshake. 

Upon realizing your importance to him, she turns to you in a curtsy. 

“And you, Mistress.” 

The crowd cheers once more for President Snow. White roses are thrown from the crowd, falling on the road and upon the bottom of the stairs. 

Peacekeepers push back against the crowd. Things were not to be thrown at the President. 

“A pleasure. Perhaps we should get inside before the crowd decides to see how close they can get.” Coriolanus suggests. 

The woman steps back, nodding her head quickly and too many times. 

“Of course. If you would follow me, I will take you to the signing.” 

The rest of the staff remain on the steps as you and Coriolanus follow the woman.

The loudness of the crowd was shut out from the big, heavy doors. It offered you two seconds of relief before taking in the vastness of the house. 

The floors were polished and matched the furniture.  A big lush thick carpet was laid out to add some warmth to the room. It was dark red and had cream accents that splayed out in intricate designs. The entryway must have been 50 feet in width and length but the red carpet covered nearly all of it. 

Both you and Coriolanus looked around in wonder. Only Coriolanus was better at hiding his amazement. He acted indifferent as the women explained the history of the house. But you could see his eyes linger on the expensive and well-decorated decor of the house. 

Staircases were everywhere, leading up and down in all different forms of design. The house was too big. It would be easy for a person to get lost but the woman led you without stumbling. 

You wonder about her. How long had she been here? Was it a choice to serve the house? 

She didn’t seem scared or upset. There were no marks upon her cream skin suggesting a lifetime of servitude. She wore make-up, and her thick, black hair was styled fashionably. But looks could be deceiving in the Capitol. 

They liked to hide behind their fine things and sharp appearances. 

She leads you into a large office. The original flag of Panem hung framed behind a large desk. The dirt and blood that had gathered on it during the war blotted the bright colors. 

Only five reporters were allowed into the room, amongst a few other important people. They all greeted Coriolanus with a firm handshake. Only one reporter was female, and she towered over the men, assisted by her six-inch heels. She looks at your ring, and you notice an absence of one on hers. 

She was too smart to get trapped by the Capitol men. 

Coriolanus thanked them for being here with his dazzling smile while you stood behind him mute, and useless. 

The women who brought you in interrupted the polite conversation between the group. 

“President Snow, it is custom to sit in the chair while signing,” she directed. 

“Yes,” Coriolanus obliged, leading you behind the large oak desk. 

You tug your hand from him as he sits. They wanted him, not you. 

A dark green plush couch with colorful cushions called out to you. You needed to sit as your legs felt like jelly. 

“President Snow, did you want the picture with or without your First Lady?” The woman reporter asked as she readied her camera. 

“With.” Coriolanus beckoned you closer but your legs would not cooperate. 

You stood until the head of staff pushed you forward. 

“Alright, dear, you stand behind your husband and don’t forget to smile. Big smile!” She commands. 

You are thankful that her hands moved you into position. The referral to Coriolanus as your husband froze you. She told you once more to smile which activated your lips into a thin smile.

“Okay, Mr. President when you’re ready,” one of the male reporters called. 

The cameras flash blinding you as Coriolanus signs his name on the parchment. 

His signature is a series of neat loops finished by a long line that curled underneath his name. 

It was official. Coriolanus Snow would now rule over Panem. With the hopes that it was over, you go to move back out of the camera frames but it only caught the attention of the journalists. 

“Mrs. Snow, how about a kiss for the President?” One of the reporters called out. The comment frenzied the rest who shouted out encouragements. 

Coriolanus turns out to you in his chair, permitting you to follow the command. 

So you do. Bending down to his height and placing a kiss on his lips. He steadies you with a hand on the side of your face so that the kiss deepens. 

The cameras liked that. You pull away, but Coriolanus' hand keeps you in place. 

His thumb brushes against the lipstick that had smudged getting rid of it before wiping his hand over his mouth. 

A make-up artist comes over to him, helping him to rid the lipstick off his face and reapplying power from a compact. 

“Okay, can we get a shot of just the President staring down the lens with the flag in the background?” The woman once more directs. 

You move quickly out of the way as the journalists kneel on the floor for the shot, and point their cameras up. 

You find comfort on the couch and watch as Coriolanus is directed for the magazine shots. 

When he is not directed to stare into a camera his eyes are on you, making sure that you are still in the room. 

A deep regret sets on your posed photos. You should have said no. Coriolanus would be too cautious to correct you in front of what constituted the entirety of Panem. You could have gotten away with it. Now your family was sure to see the photos of you happily smiling behind him. Kissing him, with a diamond ring on your finger. 

What would Edmund's family think? Your own family would think of you as a traitor. What would the family who lost everything due to you think? Edmund was keeping them afloat. How would they get by now? Would your brother take care of them as Edmund took care of his family? Would they accept the help of a traitor's brother?

Coriolanus stands from the desk in front of the reporters. 

“As you can imagine, yesterday was a long day. If you are satisfied with the photos I would like to settle in with my new wife.” 

“Of course, Mr. President,” was the resounding response. 

He comes to collect you on the couch as the head of staff briefs the people in the room on what is to happen now. 

“No one is to leave this room. Peacekeepers will come and escort you out. You and your equipment will be searched before you are released back to your firm. The President thanks you for your time and service to your country.” 

Coriolanus brings your arm to loop through his as you follow the woman back out into the vast space of the house. 

She takes you up a large, twin staircase back at the main entrance of the house, and along a corridor lined with a long carpet. At the very end came a double-door entrance that stretched from the very bottom, all the way to the top. 

This was the President's quarters. She unlocks the door with a key that was passed to Coriolanus, and swings open the doors so you can see the space. 

Another enormous space was filled with plush rugs and expensive furniture. Back home a house consisted of the bare necessities. In the Capitol, they had space for every activity and filled it with unnecessary furniture. 

A breakfast nook, a long dinner table, a sitting area, a living room, a walk-in coat closet, two full bathrooms, a tall wine fridge, and a set-up bar were all contained within the floor. A staircase that led up suggested that there was more to the living space. 

The woman asks if she can do anymore, but Coriolanus assures her there is nothing to be done but rest now. 

She shows Coriolanus a button he could push to call for a servant before bidding him goodbye. 

He was quick to shut the door behind her as you wandered into the apartment. 

“What do you think?” He asks. 

“People live like this?” You run a hand over a soft blanket draped over the couch. 

“I never have,” he admits. 

 From a war-ruined boy, to a Peacekeeper, to Commander of District 12, Coriolanus lived far from the luxury of the Capitol. 

He got nights of Capitol living when he came to visit from District 12 but his home had always been rat-infested slums. 

“It’ll feel more like home when you settle in, and make it your own.”

“It’ll never feel like home,” you remark snidely. 

Coriolanus picks up a small decorative statue and examines it. 

“Well not your home back in District 12, but your home in the Capitol.” 

He places the statue back down and holds out his hand for you to take. 

“Shall we see upstairs?” 

Upstairs was as impressive as down. Six spare bedrooms each with their own bathrooms and ready for guests, a sizable private study that conjoined to a lavish sleeping arrangement. 

You open the doors to your closet to find that it already had been filled with clothing. A pair of comfortable-looking pants and a singlet call out to you, and you ask Coriolanus if you could change. 

He gives you permission, telling you that he was going to look around the estate but he would be back soon. 

The bathroom had heated tiles which helped to keep you warm as you tried to figure out the shower. There was a pad with buttons that had too many commands to work.

You finally figure it out with pure luck and a heavy stream of water shoots out from the shower head. 

You shower off the make-up and hair spray. Some glitter that had been dusted on your skin had to be scrubbed off which left you red, and pruny from the time it took. 

Another battle to turn off the water, before you could reach for a white fluffy towel off the rack. It was warm too from the heated rack.

With Coriolanus gone, you explored the room. Everything was set up as if you already lived here. 

You find a book about the history of Panem in the bookcase and flick through it. It talked about the Dark Days. How District people were dangerous and out to ruin Capitol life. 

Large black and white pictures taken during the war were displayed in large form across the page. The Capitol during the war looked like District 12 now. 

The next page showed a photo of rebels being lined up to be shot. The page after that had a photo of a man. A general during the war. The name shocked you. 

General Crassus Snow. He looked a little like Coriolanus. Same blonde hair and blue eyes, but without the name, you wouldn’t have known.

A hero they called him. It turned out Coriolanus wasn’t lying to you when he said his father was killed in 12. You wondered how that must have felt for him, to go back there and rule over the place that left him fatherless. 

A little blurb read that Crassus Snow was known to have an excellent head for strategy and nerves of steel. With a commanding presence that rose him quickly through the military ranks before he was cowardly killed in an ambush. 

Coriolanus had followed in his father’s footsteps. The page could have been Coriolanus' autobiography. 

Your fingers trace the photo of the man standing tall in his uniform. If he was alive, you doubt he would have let Coriolanus get involved with you. But he wasn’t, and you were here, trapped in the Capitol, while he was buried somewhere in District 12. 

You continue with the book, scoffing as they skew history to fit their narrative. War was never one-sided. 

You hear him as he enters the study. The door was heavy and loud. 

Expecting him to appear, you continue flipping through the pages of the book. 

But time passes with no appearance.

You finish the book and go to find out what he is doing. 

Taking the side door, you could see his back as it faced a large painting on the far wall. You knew from school that the picture was of the past President Ravenstill.

He gazes at the portrait with his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Coriolanus?” You call. It breaks his concentration, and he unhooks himself from his rigid posture to extend his hand out to you. But he never faces away from the painting. 

You rush to accept his hand, looking up at the painting with him. There was nothing special about it. An oil painting that depicted a hateful man in a powerful position. 

But something about it captivates Coriolanus. 

“Are you alright?” you ask. His broody eyes normally meant bad things for you.

“You see this?” He bends his forehead to your level and points to a faint scar on the top corner of his head. 

“During the war, I went looking for scraps around the Presidential palace. I found a great big bucket full of half-eaten bones with meat still on them just sitting there over the fence, so I reached my hand in to try and get one. I was found by a Peacekeeper who informed me that the President said they were for his dogs and left me with a scar from the butt of his rifle.” 

He looks away from you and back to the painting. You were grateful for it. There was a darkness in his eyes that scared you. 

“Now I am the man in the palace,” he mutters. 

“I am sorry that happened to you.” 

He smiles at your words. Pity was something he wanted from no one but you. 

“You can do a lot of good, Coriolanus,” you temper with a squeeze to his hand. 

He nods his head in agreement, “I will. The Capitol will flourish under me.”

“You could do good in the Districts too. You saw the disadvantages there.”

His grip around your hand tightened, and his jaw locked in place. The painting was no longer of any interest. You now bore his intense stare. 

“I saw a bunch of animals clawing at each other to get ahead. You should be thankful that I saved you.”

“Saved me?” You questioned. 

He had not saved you from a burning building but taken you from your bed at night. 

“It wouldn’t have been long before the animals tore into you.”

The hold on your hand loosens and he takes a step back from you. 

“I’ll ring down for lunch.” He disappears from the room, leaving you in front of the painting. That night it was replaced with one of Coriolanus. The painting of him was still wet but hung proudly in the room. 

The next morning after a luxurious breakfast you went straight back to bed and stayed there until Coriolanus returned home. 

You had no idea if he locked the door on his way out, you never checked. There was nothing out there for you. No family or friends to shield you in their arms. No familiar faces, or sense of community. 

Tigris and Grandma’am visited on the weekend, wanting to be shown around. But you only knew the bed, and Coriolanus spent too many hours at the official office downstairs to know the little details of the apartment. The head of staff was called again to show the group around the property. It took nearly half an hour to explore the place. 

Grandma’am was too old to do that much walking but she wouldn’t slow down. She had dreamt about this day, longer than Coriolanus had. She held on to him as he assisted her in walking, and you held her handbag. 

They stayed for coffee and cake which delighted Coriolanus. You spoke very little, even as Tigris tried to coax a conversation out of you. The crushing weight of defeat was hindering your ability to be social. 

When they left, you got an earful from Coriolanus, who was disappointed in your behavior. All was forgiven, however, when the lights turned off and you were alone in bed with him.

The staff thought it was odd when you insisted that you would do the cleaning and cooking for yourself and Coriolanus. He took great pride in it. Feeling as if it was a testimony of your love. But in truth, your days were so much longer without it.

Sometimes there were visitors from the Academy or acquaintances from high society. Grandma’am and Tigris came over consistently but most of the time you were left completely alone. 

For a brief period, while the facilities for you to cook and clean were installed, you lived back in the Snow Penthouse. 

You enjoyed other company besides Coriolanus. One night after he was finished with you, you asked him if home could be here instead of the Presidential Palace. 

He gave a laundry list of reasons as to why that wouldn’t be possible. The Presidential Palace was safer. It was the place where the President and the First Lady were supposed to live. Besides he didn’t want Tigris, and Grandma’am around while he adjusted to married life. You knew it all boiled down to the fact he simply didn’t want to. 

—------------------

The night you return to the Presidential Palace, he comes to bed with a stack of papers.

“Look,” he leans closer to you, holding out a bit of paper that you couldn’t read under the sporadic flashes of light from the Tv. 

“My first official act as President. Schools will now provide breakfast and lunch free of charge for every school student.”

“I thought children in the Capitol never had to worry about food”. 

“Some do,” he responds, “There are poorer and richer classes in the Capitol too. Not to the extent of the Districts, but we have our own troubles in the Capitol.” 

The Capitol people, no matter how poor, were not treated like animals, and terrorized by a militant group. They were still Capitol, and thus worthy of respect. 

“And university is free for those in the top 10% of their cohort. I’ll make the announcement first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That’s wonderful” you praise, although you cared little for the new change. 

He felt as if the bill would rewind the clock. Damn the Hunger Games, and the Plinth Prize. If he could bury the mistakes of his past, they never happened. 

—----------------

Coriolanus grew desperate for a baby after his first month of presidency. He wished he had gotten you pregnant back in District 12 so he could have a baby halfway through his first term. But he didn’t dwell on the past when he could focus on the future. 

He tried desperately every night to put a baby in you, but nothing stuck.

He grew worried that time in the Districts had made you barren. After a very uncomfortable examination by a doctor who assured him that you were able to bear children, but simply have not. 

The thought of children made you feel sick. You had no idea how you would manage it on top of everything. You did not want his children, but how could you stop him? He was the one who decided your future. 

Every morning he would wait outside of the bathroom door for you to do a test. You would bring a negative result back, and his face would sag. 

His frustration was rough in form. Since election night, fun was the only objective for Coriolanus. But as his want for a child grew, teasing and pleasing you were secondary to his need. Again and again, in the same night, he would manhandle you in positions he thought were best. They left him with a sore wife and no baby to show for it. 

A doctor had suggested that extreme stress can disrupt the ovulation cycle making it difficult to plan strategic timing of sex. This had annoyed Coriolanus greatly. You went on only a few official obligations in which you stayed by Coriolanus. You were fed, clothed, and rested. There was no extreme stress in your life that would hinder you from his baby. 

You verbally agreed with his rant but laughed in private at his delusional hissy fit. 

Every night when he was finished, he would sleep thinking tomorrow he would wake with good news. 

One day he did. He was getting ready to go down to the office, waiting for you to present him with the test. 

You expect the same as before, but as you expect the test, you notice an instant difference. 

Scrambling for the box, you check the instructions. A cold shot through you as you looked back to see the indication of pregnancy. 

In hope you take another one. 

Coriolanus knocks on the door, telling you he has to leave soon. 

You don’t care, you stare at the test waiting for a negative result. 

It appeared the same as the other.

Coriolanus calls out again. On auto-pilot, you unlock the door and show him the test. He knew from your expression that it was positive but he looks anyway. 

He kisses you deeply, but you can’t move against him. You were going to be a mother. Die nursing Coriolanus’s babies. 

“A baby,” he says joyously. He brings his hand to your stomach and smiles, “A Snow.” 

He ushers you back into bed, and calls for a maid to come tend to you while he is at work. All day you only move to throw up once. 

The maid annoys you all day by asking you to do things. You just wanted to cry in bed without an audience. 

As soon as the news was announced, floods of gifts came piling into the apartment. Designer clothes, a gold crib, flowers, and chocolate were sent for you. You threw them all out. 

Every day you spend organizing and putting away presents only for more to come. 

If you had thought your life was miserable before pregnancy, your life was unbearable while you were pregnant. Coriolanus was anxious about losing the baby. 

The whole nine months at breakfast each morning a doctor checked for any complications. It made it difficult to eat which frustrated you as you woke every morning with great hunger. Only to throw it up again by mid-morning. 

You were young and healthy so the pregnancy was low risk. Due to the rations in the Districts, your iron was low, but with your meals now being made by qualified chefs and nutritionists it quickly came back up to an acceptable level. 

Coriolanus insisted that everything was a risk. Cooking over a hot stove, or bending to clean.  You came to work with him like you did at the Compound. It was then you realized that he was more worried about you self-sabotaging the pregnancy than he was about the chemicals in cleaning products. 

You grew big and uncomfortable. With the hormones raging in your body you would cry randomly during the day. One time when Tigris came to drop off the baby clothes she had made you, Coriolanus insisted she stayed for tea in the garden. 

It was a beautiful day, and you had company other than Coriolanus. It was one of your better days. But upon seeing a dead baby bird at the edge of the garden, you began to cry uncontrollably. 

You resisted Coriolanus' hold as he shouted for the bird to be taken away. The scene greatly shocked Tigres who quickly left when Coriolanus returned you to your room. 

In addition to the mood swings, your baby kicked all day long giving you little rest. It took a toll on your appearance, leaving you looking half-dead.

Everywhere you turned someone was handing you a pillow and a blanket or offering you food. You felt like the main attraction at a circus. The only good thing about the pregnancy was that no meant no.

Coriolanus was far more respectful of your boundaries. All you had to put up with was his interactions with his unborn child. He liked to speak to it in your stomach and feel it kick. On daily walks for the baby's health, he would hold the bump as he accompanied you around the grounds. He was excited to be a father but you were terrified of being a mother in an entirely different world than your own. 

Both you and Coriolanus attended parenting classes to help with the transition. Even raising babies was different in the Capitol. Mothers were not supposed to leave the house for 40 days after the birth. District women went back to work before the week was out. 

The teachers talked about safe sleeping practices in a cot, District babies slept in a basket cushioned with rags. 

Special food was designed for every stage of toddler life here. Babies back home ate what was available. 

The classes made you grateful that your child was Capitol. At least you could give them a happy, comfortable life.

Coriolanus would ensure the best for his child that you were sure of. 

—--------

Nine months passed quickly. One early morning you woke up in a great deal of pain. Coriolanus was still asleep next to you. You knew the baby was ready to come, but you were not ready for the baby. 

You try to delay the baby. The midwife said you had another week. 

A hot bath stops the pain for a little while, but the sound of running water wakes Coriolanus. You’re in the bath for thirty minutes before he rises from bed to join you.

He doesn’t knock as he enters. There was a time when you would have tried to cover up, but those days were long gone.

Coriolanus kneels by the bathtub and places a hand on your rounded stomach. 

“Kicking, is he?” Coriolanus asks. 

“Yeah. Something like that,” you state. 

“He’s just excited to be here next week.” 

As if it was a call to action, your stomach begins to contract painfully tight. You wince, trying hard to keep a sound from coming out. 

“Are you alright?” He asks with concern. 

“Yes. Can you help me out of the tub?” 

The plug is pulled by twisting a round knob to your left, and the water drains quickly. 

He helps you out of the tub gently, wrapping you in a towel and helping you walk to your wardrobe. 

All of your pregnancy clothes were loose dresses that fell down to your ankles. You picked a light blue one but as the fabric fell around your body, your stomach gave a harsh twist. It felt as if your stomach muscles were being pulled from your stomach. 

You feel Coriolanus place a hand on your back. 

“I’ll call for the doctor,” he says. 

The doctor and his nurses had been moved into the presidential palace for the pregnancy. Coriolanus wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, a team of experts was at hand. 

“No,” you moan, “He’s just moving that’s all.” 

The next contraction had you yelling and kneeling over in pain. 

“Is he coming?” His voice carried an excitement that could only be found in a person not about to give birth. 

“To the bed,” he demands, “Come on.” 

The team is quickly called up, bringing with them scary-looking machines. Your doctor had previously explained what they did and how he would deliver the baby. But none of it mattered now. You were terrified. 

Coriolanus only left your side to get dressed. The labor was nearly fourteen hours, during which Coriolanus held your hand and waited for the contractions to get closer together. 

He tried his best to make you comfortable. Hard pillows were brought in for you so you could sit up, and he held a water bottle close, ready for you. 

As you enter the second stage of labor, the pain intensifies as your body gets ready for the push. Your fear spikes, knowing that a baby would soon be placed in your care. 

“No, no,” you mutter. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, You were supposed to be married to the love of your life, and have your mother to coach you through this. 

“You’re alright, darling. He is almost here,” Coriolanus dabbed an ice-cold rag over your forehead as he spoke. 

“No,” you state more forcibly, “I want my mother.”

“Mrs. Snow, you need to start pushing,” the doctor instructs. Your body pushes automatically, causing a painful groan to resound around the room. 

Coriolanus gives you words of encouragement but they buzz in your ear. The sound of your mother's name coming from your lips was the only thing you heard.  

“You don’t need her. Just keep going.” He soothes. 

You scream at the pain. The room felt as if it was on fire around you, but you knew it was cold outside. The world began to blur, the beeping of the machines and talk of the medical team lapped. 

You look towards the doorway as your body begins to push again. You swear you see your mother peeking in. 

“Mum!” you scream, “Mum, please, don’t leave me.”

“No, No.” Coriolanus consoles. 

“No. Coriolanus, I want my mother. Where’s my brother?” You ask in a state of panic that brings tears to your eyes. 

“Mrs. Snow, push.” The doctor bids. 

“No!” you scream back, “Not without my mum.”

“Mrs. Snow, this baby is coming. You don’t have time,” the doctor says. 

“Push,” Coriolanus tells you. 

“Please, Coriolanus, please,” you beg. All you wanted was to see her. If he didn’t want you to speak that would be fine. You just needed to see your mother as you delivered your first child.

“What have you done?” You sob, looking at his worried face. 

“I haven’t done anything,” he defends, “You need to start pushing.”

Pain ripples through your body and you push to ease it. 

Three big pushes that burn, and suddenly the pressure in your stomach is gone. 

A loud cry fills the room, in constellation with your heavy panting. 

The crying buddle is brought to you by the doctor, but you push his hands away. One peak at his light blonde hair had you feeling sick. He was supposed to have dark hair like Edmund’s. He was supposed to be Edmund’s child. 

Instead, the child was given to Coriolanus who accepted him into his arms. 

“Coriolanus, where is my mother?” You ask. 

“She’s not here. You know that,” he answers. 

Still, you scream for her to save you. 

“Commander Snow, please! Just let me see her,” you beg. 

He looks down at you puzzled, with the screaming child in his arms. 

Despite feeling as if you had been hit by a train, you attempt to rise which is discouraged by everyone in the room.

 Coriolanus steps forward to stop you, but won’t release his hands from his son. 

You feel the pressure from the nurses on your shoulder as they press you back into the mattress. 

“Sir, can I administer a sedative to calm her?” a nurse asks. 

Coriolanus nods at the nurse, and she inserts a needle into your IV drip. 

“Get off. No!” You try to tug against the IV connection, but your hands are pinned down. 

“Mum!” you shout, “Archie!” 

The sedative works fast. You soon find yourself unable to hold your head up. The fight kicked out from under you. 

You watch as Coriolanus holds tight to the small blanket. 

“Commander, please.” You mumble, but hear no response as you slip into a deep sleep.  

—-----------

When you wake it feels as if each limb has been torn from your body, and you have been hastily stitched together again. 

The room is blurred but your eyes are opened. You could feel their sting as you failed to blink. 

You had a son, you think, but where is he? Why can’t I hear him crying?

With newfound motivation you will yourself to get your bearings. 

Your muscles move at your control once more, and your eyes focus on the lamp on the table. 

As you regain control, you hear footsteps by the end of the bed. Your head rolls on the pillow to see Coriolanus as he stands over a bassinet, still for a second, before he reaches down and picks up your baby, wrapped tightly and swaddled. 

You wanted to call out and demand that he place your baby back down but you were still hazy from the drugs. You're too slow to gain back your voice. 

He sits in a nearby rocking chair with the baby tightly in his arms, beginning to rock gently as he gazes down at the small bundle. 

The baby fusses slightly but is soon soothed back to sleep. 

Seeing your baby in no harm, you try and sit up 

“Coriolanus,” you call. His eyes shoot up to watch you as you rise into a sitting position but go back to your baby as he speaks. 

“Take it easy. He’s okay,” he consoles. 

“Is he healthy?” You ask. 

Coriolanus smiles down at his son, as he rocks back and forth. 

“He’s perfect. I’ve named him, Crassus Alexander Snow, after my father.”

You hate that your son is named after the man in the book. You hate that Coriolanus has named him without your approval. Your son wasn’t a doll for him to play with. He had taken enough from you, now it felt as if he was after your son too. 

“You named him?” Your voice was hard with your displeasure. 

“I had to. The nurses needed a name. Don’t worry you can have the next one.”

The next one. Not even 24 hours after an excruciating labor, and he was talking about the next one. 

Looking around, you see that you only felt like you had just given birth. The machines, apart from your IV drip next to you, had been taken back. The bed was fresh under you, and you had been changed into comfortable pajamas.  

You lean back into the bed, silent. This was not how you pictured your first child. You wanted your mother and brother to see him.  

You picture seeing them again. Just one last time to say goodbye. 

The thought of it makes you break the silence you otherwise never would have broken. 

“Coriolanus, do you think I could write to my mother to let her know I had a child?” You ask quietly. 

He is quiet which worries you. Your mother would know when the Capitol news circulated through the District, but you were hoping to at least let her know you tried to tell her. 

“Yes, you should,” he finally spoke.

He gets up from the rocker and walks slowly towards your bed. 

“Here, do you want to hold him?” 

You open your arms for Coriolanus to place your son into. 

He fits perfectly and doesn’t wake.

You stare at him. He didn’t feel like your son. Crassus was a small baby, with light blonde hair. Not how you imagined him. 

Coriolanus lays on the bed next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so he could bring you close. 

“Thank you,” he says, “I know how scared you were. You called for your mother. Do you remember?”

You were hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. That it could just be something that happened and then forgotten.

“Did I?” you fawn. 

You're careful to keep your eyes on your son, and not to look anywhere that could gain Coriolanus's attention. 

He captures it anyway by bringing your chin up to his height. 

“You did so well, and I am so proud of you,” he praises. He places a quick kiss on your lips before drawing his head back. 

“I love you.” He states. His eyes look at you expecting. 

“I love you too, Coriolanus.”

You never know if the letter you write is sent home. No return was ever given. 

—--------------

A week later your baby boy lay between you and Coriolanus on the bed. He was sleeping after you had just fed him. It took a while for you to feel connected to him but now a mother's bond was established, and you could watch him sleep for hours. 

Coriolanus ran his finger down the side of his baby's face and down to his little belly, rubbing soothing circles to try and help him digest the milk. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Coriolanus spoke to you but kept his gaze on his child. 

“Yes,” you agree. 

You wished your mother could see your baby. To hold him as is her right as a grandmother. You had wanted to ask Coriolanus, but you knew the answer. Still, you had to ask. Maybe he would be kinder to you after birthing his child. 

“Coriolanus, I was wondering if I might be able to take him back home to see my family?”

His eyes shot up at you. The answer was more than no, it was how dare you. 

“Don’t you ever ask me that again.” he seethes. 

You held little hope that he would agree so his denial hurt less. 

“Can we video call them?” you try to compromise.

“No,” his answer was hard and cold, “Put him in his bassinet and come back.” He commanded. 

Crassus’s bassinet was only at the end of your bed. Coriolanus wanted to keep him close. 

Your baby stirs as you gently pick him up but settles back into his mother's arms. He was so milk-drunk that the normal fight to set him into his bassinet was won with a gentle rock. 

You knew you were in trouble with Coriolanus. The only time you had wished that your baby fought sleep was so you could avoid Coriolanus’ wrath. 

He holds his tongue until you are back lying next to him. 

“I don’t want you speaking about your family ever again. I don’t want our son to know that you are District. Think about them if you must, but if you continue to speak about them, I will have them killed.” 

“They are my family,” you spat. 

“We are your family. Us. Your son and your husband.”

You get up from next to him, even though you know you shouldn’t. 

“Lay back down,” he demands. 

“I’ve done everything you have asked of me,” you snivel, “Gone to every event where they look at me like a trained animal. Cooked your meals, washed your clothes. Gave you a son, just like you wanted.” 

Your voice was wobbly and raised. The hormones that were still raging through your body from birth trapped you between uncontrollable sadness and an unquenchable fury. 

“Be quiet. You’ll wake Crassus,” Coriolanus scolded. 

“I don’t care!” You yell. 

Coriolanus looks to the bassinet at the end of the bed, expecting his son to wake, crying. 

All is silent. You lower your voice as you continue speaking. If you upset Crassus all conversation would stop. 

“Crassus doesn’t have to come. I can have a one-hour phone call a month without him. He doesn’t have to know, but I can’t live like this.” 

His eyes snapped to you as he lay in the bed. “Can’t live like this? I have given you a life so terrible that you can’t bear it?”

He rises from the bed, and you take a step back. You were in a bad condition after birth. There was no way you could defend yourself against him. 

“Nothing I do for you is ever good enough for you” he exclaims. His eyes squint at you but his voice is calm and collected, “You know how dangerous it was for me to help you in 12? A Commander, and a District girl. How that looked for me in my presidential run? But I didn’t care. From the day I met you, I have looked after you. And you want me to feel in debt to you, because why? You cook the food I give you? Wash the clothes I buy? Birthed a beautiful son that you never would have had without me.” 

“You didn’t ‘take care of me’, Coriolanus. You took me. I never asked for any of it. I want to go home to my family.”

Coriolanus stood across from you, his face unmoving and hard. 

“You’re right. Family is important,” he suddenly says. His face relaxes, and body unwinded. 

He moves quickly to the end of the bed where Crassus lies. 

��Your brother had a child. A little girl, named after you,” he rocks the bassinet gently despite his threatening words. 

“You want to see her? I can bring her here,” he taunts. 

“No,” you whisper. 

“No? All this talk of family, and the answer is no?’’ 

He looks down at his sleeping baby, checking for any signs of distress. 

“I could bring them all here. They could work in the presidential estate. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to earn their keep”.

You imagine them dressed in the same white uniforms as the other servants. How much control Coriolanus would have over their lives daily. 

“That’s not what I am asking,” you state. 

“You’re asking to have your family around you, and I couldn’t agree more. Unless you don’t consider them family?” 

“Well?” he pushes after a moment of silence. 

“No.”

“Who do you consider family then?”

“You and Crasuss,” you gave the answer he wanted to hear. 

“That’s right!” He cooed, running a hand over Crassus’s head, “Just us. All you need is us.”

He straightens once more, giving his full attention back to you. 

“I am not asking you to be grateful, but I will not allow you to be thankless,” he shoves his hands in his pockets in a casual manner. 

“You should sleep as he sleeps,” he suggests. He wanted the fight to be over, and the newborn bliss to continue. 

“Lay back down, and go to sleep. No more talk of Districts.”

He leaves you in the room with your son, retreating from any further fighting. 

You wondered if it was true. Did Archie have a baby? 

Some part of you hoped it was true, and that she would fill the void of you in their lives. Just as Crassus filled the void for you. 

—-----------

With the success of Crasuss, Coriolanus was eager to have another one. You were still getting used to motherhood. You weren’t sure if you could deal with this one, let alone another one. 

Coriolanus stayed home with you for the 40 days that you were supposed to be on bed rest. He was up late with work, and then during the night with Crasuss. 

He tried to give you as much rest as he could. But Crassus needed you for feedings, and sometimes he would only settle if he was in your arms. 

Coriolanus was unversed in assessing others' needs. He would bounce Crassus when he needed to be held, change his diaper when he needed to be fed, and give him toys that were too old for him. 

He couldn’t decipher his cries like you could, leaving him frustrated. 

You knew he tried, which was more than you expected of him. 

You wake from the sound of your son crying from what feels like a two second nap. Coriolanus tried to prolong it for you by trying to soothe the baby himself. 

“He needs to be burped,” you tell Coriolanus, “Put him up on your shoulder and pat his back.”

He had only just fed so you knew it was just tummy pain. 

Coriolanus does as you say. Crassus settles as he is put upright but no burp comes. 

“It’s not working,” Coriolanus panics. Every little thing the doctor was to be called to check it out. 

“Keep going,” you encourage. 

Coriolanus sighs in relief when Crassus lets out a little burp and returns to being a happy baby. 

“You’re good at this,” he commented, “ A natural.” 

He always knew you would be, but to see it in action filled him with great joy and admiration. 

You huff in response, closing your eyes to go back to sleep. 

Coriolanus had to go back to his usual duties, leaving you with the full responsibilities of being a mother. 

It was overwhelming to have no one else to talk to but a baby. You spent your days in the apartment which drove you crazy. 

You eye the door. Coriolanus never told you to stay in the apartment. It was just an assumption you made. You knew you would never get outside of the gates, but you would settle for the gardens. 

With your baby in your arms, you cautiously twist the knob. 

There is no booby trap as you step out. No alarm rings. So you continue your journey. 

You vaguely remember the way from when you were out of the apartment with Coriolanus. 

A maid was polishing the wood of the staircase you needed to go down. You curse but try to act casual as you approach her. 

“Mrs. Snow,” the maid seemed surprised to see you, “Can I do something for you?” 

“No. I am just going to the gardens,” you justify. 

You walk quickly away from her. You hear her calling your name but you don’t stop. 

The house is large and echos as you make your way across it. The entrance out into the gardens was almost hidden. 

You wanted to run, but you were careful not to shake your baby too much. 

The big door comes into view. A sense of excitement and apprehension overcame you. You had never been outside of the Presidential quarters without Coriolanus. Now you were stepping outside. It felt as if you were gaining some independence back. 

When you open the door, you are confronted with a Peacekeeper, who stands aside out of your way. 

You thank him as you move past him, but he follows wordlessly as you cross the field. 

The maid had called the Peacekeeper on you, who called Coriolanus on you, and Coriolanus had told the Peacekeeper to keep an eye on what you were doing.

You find a spot under a tree in the lowest field, the Peacekeeper stands ten feet away to give you and your baby some privacy. 

You play with your baby in the short grass. He liked the feeling of it.

Some maids come, bringing a picnic blanket, and a glass of lemonade. 

You thank them although you wanted none of their assistance. 

Crassus has some tummy time listening to the birds. You lay back on the grass and watch the sun as it goes down. It was comforting to know that your mother and brother would be looking at the same sun. As far away as they were, at least something still connected you. 

You tell Crassus about them and he babbles back as if he was trying to talk. You tell him about Edmund in the prime of his life. You don’t discuss Edmund’s death or his father's involvement. 

You begin to explain District 12 to him just as the sun disappears behind the trees, when you hear the Peacekeeper stand to attention in greeting. You shut up immediately.

“It’s time to come inside” Coriolanus’s voice is heard. 

He picks his son up and places him on his shoulder after a quick kiss. 

You get up with the blanket and cup as you follow him back to the house. 

Coriolanus takes the items from you and gives them to the Peacekeeper in passing. 

“Look at this,” Coriolanus pulls out a small doll from his pocket,  “A senator's little girl gave it to me. She was so cute. We should try for a girl next.” 

You still had four weeks before the doctor gave you the go-ahead to engage in intercourse. But you knew Coriolanus would push the limits on that time frame. 

“I want to wait at least a year before another one,” you tell him. 

It already was so difficult, you wouldn’t survive having to care for another one. 

“No,” Coriolanus protested, “I would like a girl before the years out.”

You knew how obsessive Coriolanus could be when he had a thought trapped in his head. You also knew that nothing you said was going to change his mind. 

You wait until Crassus is asleep, and your shift with Coriolanus starts. 

He was waiting for you like he usually is. After Crassus was asleep, it was his turn to have his wife. 

He had opened a bottle of wine and was flicking through the tv channels. It surprised him when you dropped to your knees in front of him. 

Your hands reach for his trousers, and he eagerly helps you to take them off. During pregnancy he didn’t want to force you to do anything, thinking that it might harm the baby. After he was born, there was a recovery period that he had to wait through. It left Coriolanus pent up and hungry for your touch. 

Your lips were warm on him and worked so well. 

After all of your experience, you knew what Coriolanus liked. You swatted his hands off you as he tried to take control. He relents, bringing his hands to his thighs in a tight grip. 

You feel it grow in your mouth with your attention. It twitches under your tongue and you knew it as a sign he was close.

Just as he is reaching his high, you drag your lips back and off. 

He gasps as you do, throwing his head back onto the couch. 

“What are you doing?” He groans. He was irritated, which was not your desired effect. 

“Crassus turns one before another baby,” you demand. 

His hands curl into the couch as he counters, “Eight months.” 

You move to get up but his hands stop you, “Okay, okay, a year. Just finish.” He begs. 

You do finish him off, with the smug satisfaction that Coriolanus Snow is just a man. 

The day Crassus turns one, Coriolanus keeps you to your bargain. 

Coriolanus was determined to have a girl. Clothes and bows had already been brought. 

While Capitol technology allowed you to artificially change the sex of your baby, Coriolanus was more interested in conceiving the natural way. 

He researched old myths to increase his chances, and he tried all of them. 

He made you drink lemon juice before sex. He initiated sex on even days of the week. You were on a diet of fish, eggs, and vegetables. And you had to leave your legs raised for a couple of minutes after he was finished. 

You were slow to conceive like you were with Crassus. But one of the old wives' tales worked, for nearly nine months after Crassus turned one, you fell pregnant with a baby girl. 

You named her Aurora meaning dawn. A silent homage to your family back home, and the sun that connects you. 

—-------------------- 

Having children strangely settled you. You had five children in total within years of each other.  Your fifth child was your last. After you had lost too much blood during the birth of your next boy, Coriolanus put off plans to have a sixth. It scared him, seeing you so pale, laying half dead in a bed like his mother. The goal of children was to bring you closer, not to use you up. 

They gave your life purpose and little room to think about anything else but their needs. As they grew, you got more freedom to explore the city. Always under an army of guards. Coriolanus wanted them to have a full life, even if it meant granting you  access to be far from him. 

His children were not to miss out on anything the Capitol had to offer. Their names were on the top of the list for any attractions, child star concerts, and plays. The world was at their fingertips, and you got to experience Capitol life through them. 

He went when he could but his work was demanding. In his absence, a team of Peacekeepers escorted you and your kids around the Capitol. 

Despite his many faults, Coriolanus was a doting father. His children were first, sometimes before you. Where once his hold was tight around you all night, now you wake to find that one of your children had escaped their bed and taken your place. 

You always worried about his temper. He hasn’t hit you in years. You figure it was partly because you gave him little reason to, and partly because if you weren’t physically holding a child in your arms, you had one in your belly. 

But as your children grew would they be in the same danger as you if they acted out?

They all had the signature blonde hair of a Snow, but only the firstborn had Coriolanus’s blue eyes. Your other two boys and girls had your eyes. Something to tell you that they weren’t all Coriolanus. 

Date night normally consisted of an official event. They were far and few between as Coriolanus preferred you to be home with the babies. He disliked nannies but conceded to their usefulness. 

Tonight was a charity event to raise money for a new public swimming pool. Vapid and silly. At this stage, only Crassus and Aurona were born to be left crying as you tried to leave for the event. 

They were not used to being parted from you, and you were not used to being parted from them. 

“It’s okay,” you hush, “Mummy will be back soon, and she will check on you.”

Aurora was too young to know what your words meant. Her only cue that something was wrong was Crassus as he screamed. 

“No, Mummy, no!” His face was bright red from tears. You worried that he was short on breath from his screaming. 

He knew when you dressed up, you were leaving. He was four but a smart little thing.  As soon as the stylist crew arrived, his meltdown began. 

You held him as they did your hair and make-up, trying to soothe him. Coriolanus was still at work. All he needed to do was change his suit when he arrived home. 

He arrived home to chaos he could not settle. 

He stood behind you, watching as your son tried to tug off your elbow-length glove. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay. Mum will be back,” you promise. 

Aurora throws her head back, throwing her body off balance in your hold. 

The two nannies try to gain the kids' attention by holding out new toys, and calling out to them. 

“Once you leave they will settle,” one of the nannies promised. 

With teary eyes, you kiss both of your crying children, Coriolanus does the same, and Aurora is handed over. 

Crassus’s little hands claw onto your dress, he has to be picked up and yanked away by his nanny. 

You try not to let your tears fall as you walk to the car. It would ruin your make-up, and once you started to cry, you weren’t sure you would be able to stop. 

“They will be fine,” Coriolanus promises on the way to the event. 

“Why do I have to go tonight?” It was a silly thing that would survive without you. 

“Because you’re my wife. That’s why.”

Despite many years in the Capitol, events like this reminded you that you don’t belong. 

People would only talk to you in an attempt to gain an audience with Coriolanus. 

You would remain civil but not overly friendly. 

They all thought you were shy and timid as you were rarely seen, and always by Coriolanus’s side. 

Your relationship with Coriolanus had changed over the years but his overprotectiveness never dissolved.

His hand was always on you in some form. Where he went, you went. Who he talked to, you talked to. You were only an extension of him in public. At least at home, you were your own person to your kids. 

Tonight it seemed to all children. Only one person spoke to you apart from Coriolanus. 

It was a little girl, who passed you a flower in thanks. The public pool didn’t seem so silly in your eyes anymore. You bent down to talk to her, thanking her for the flower. You asked her about school and her siblings. You told her about your own children who were too young to attend a party like her. 

You were disappointed when her nanny came to collect her. She scolds the child for running away and bothering the President. 

Tucking the flower behind your ear, you blow the girl a kiss as she is carted off.

The rest of the night was dull as you acted as Coriolanus’s shadow. 

Coriolanus had just finished a speech on stage, you were walking back down the hallway to the party with him. You passed a few people running the events. They tried to talk to him, but he seemed in a rush. 

He turns off the direction of the party, and tugs you down an empty hallway. 

You ask him what he is doing as he checks the doors until he finds one that is opened and ushers you inside. It was a supply closest. Small and smelling slightly damp. 

He pushes you up against the wall, knocking over a broom and a bucket. 

“You’re such a good mother. Such a good little wife. I don’t tell you that enough,” he says. 

“Okay,” you respond, pushing back on his shoulders. 

“I love you so much.” He kisses you so hard, that your head is knocked painfully back into the cement wall. 

It reminded you of the harsh and needy kisses he used to give you as a Commander.

You feel his hands slide up your dress and grip the flesh of your butt. 

“Coriolanus, not here,” you beg. 

His lips go to your throat in slow, sexual kisses.

“I want another baby,” he requests. 

“Not here. Someone could find us.” 

“Not if you are quiet.” 

“Coryo,” You try. A bit too loud for this liking. He clamps a hand over your mouth, and shushes you with a hard look that tells you he was serious. 

“It would not look good if they found the President and First Lady fucking in a closet.”

He kneels on the floor in front of you, going under your dress and up your legs, bringing down your underwear. 

You feel him put his mouth on you, and you try to relax. It took you months to fall pregnant the last two times. This time wasn’t anything special. 

His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, keeping you close as he works. 

Soon a lapping sound is heard, and Coriolanus leaves your cunt with a kiss.

You try one more time to dissuade him. Telling him to wait until home. But he unbuckles his belt and hoists you up around his waist. 

Your arms circle his shoulders as he pins you to the wall.

You can feel how hard he is against your heat. He bucks up against your wetness in desperation before he lines himself up properly. 

You engulf him in your wetness as he thrusts his hips up into you. 

With no way to hold yourself up, you feel yourself sink and then be thrusted up into.

“Are you going to give me a baby?” He grunts.

He is fast and rough as he slams up into you. His words were heard but your mind was far from them.  

“Yeah?” He teases. His lips go to your neck again, trapping you head against the wall. 

He seemed to continuously hit the spot that you liked, no matter how you moved your hips. 

The pressure means you come too quickly. Coriolanus was nowhere close so would continue. 

You can’t help to groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

He reminds you to be quiet once more, and you bite his shoulder to stop the sounds you couldn’t stop coming. 

He knew you had come from the way you clenched around him. 

Taking the back of your neck, he leans you into his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist. 

He delivers you to the floor, releasing you gently into the tight confines of the cluttered room.

“Think you can manage another one?” He asks. 

You shake your head ‘No’, your words failed you as he continued his brutal pace. 

“I think you could,” he states. 

He uses two fingers to circle your pearl as he drives into you.

The door had no lock. Anyone could open it and see you. 

You were being too loud. You knew you were. But he forced the sounds from you. Your whole body tingled under his touch, your legs shook with pleasure. 

He was not being entirely quiet himself. He grunted and shutters above you feeling his own end coming. 

You feel him twitch in your preceding his exploding into you. 

He beats you but doesn’t stop swirling his fingers, determined to have you finish again. 

You come too loudly causing Coriolanus to cover your mouth with an open palm and look to the door, expecting detection. 

His hand is pulled and with a kiss, Coriolanus pulls back on his ankles with a stupid grin. 

He uses your panties to clean up the excess cum from you before placing the underwear back on you. 

If you had any energy, you would have taken them back off but all you could do was lie there, watching him transform back into a respectable gentleman. 

“We have to get back out there before they send Peacekeepers looking for us.” 

He finishes tucking his shirt back into his pants before reaching down to help you to your feet. 

You’re a little wobbly at first but Coriolanus keeps a firm grip to keep you upright. 

You spend the rest of the fundraiser with damp panties and shaky legs which causes you to bump into Coriolanus as he stands next to you. 

The stupid grin never leaves his face, even in the car ride home. 

Your children are asleep when you arrive home. 

You leave them with a kiss, before going back to your room and rushing to beat Coriolanus to bed while he is occupied going through the messages left for him. 

He joins you in the shower but it’s quick and with the intention of going to bed. 

He talks about the night. Recalling things he enjoyed and disliked. 

He asks you what you think but you shrug. All Capitol events were the same to you. 

You finish your shower while Coriolanus washes his hair. Giving you time to dress and get into bed before him. 

You roll to your side, hoping that the supply closet tryst fulfilled him enough. 

You feel him as he moves in the bed to come over to your side, his arm wraps around your shoulder and his head rests against yours. 

“We should take the kids to the zoo tomorrow. I’ll have it cleared out.”

“Okay,” you reply, knowing that there wasn’t any other option. 

The zoo was large, and there were too many animals to see before nap time. 

Crassus got whiny and tired from all the walking and climbing on things. He demanded to be carried. Instead of using his words, he would scream when he got sick of looking at the same animal. 

Normally you would have returned home to put him down for a nap, but Coriolanus enjoyed having his son rest on his shoulder. Crassus was a mommy’s boy and very rarely wanted to be held by anyone else. 

It was not your first time at the zoo. You had taken Crassus while you were six months pregnant with Aurora. It still amazed you, however. You could spend hours just looking and learning about the animals, but Crassus was lucky to push a five hour awake period. 

It was a blessing to visit the penguins where the sound of the gentle flowing water, and cool air sent him to sleep on Coriolanus' shoulder. 

You pushed the pram that Aurora was asleep in as you and Coriolanus searched for a comfortable resting place.

Finding a canopy, you sit with your family in the shade. Coriolanus had successfully transferred Crassus from his shoulder to the bench with his head resting on his father's thigh. 

Coriolanus’s other leg went out to gently rock the pram with his expensive shoe. 

You lay back resting your eyes yourself. Crassus had woken you up from a nightmare. With him in your bed, you got very little sleep as he tossed and spread out. 

Coriolanus disturbs your peace by reaching out to place a hand on your stomach as if there was something already inside. 

“What do you think it will be?” he asks. 

“We don’t know there is anything in there.” 

Coriolanus had wanted you to take a test this morning but it was chaos trying to get the children ready for the day. 

“I don’t care what it is myself. I was thinking Marcellus for a boy, and Lillian for a girl”. 

You cry at the thought of being pregnant again. It was a horrible experience. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and you suffered great nausea all throughout the nine months. That's all before the recovery period while you run around after two other children.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring. He stops rocking the pram to reach his hand to yours. 

The hand that wasn’t captured by Coriolanus went to your mouth to quieten your blathering. You were always cautious about what the children saw.

“If it’s too much I’ll let you get a nanny to help during the day” he offers. 

You rip your hand out from under him in anger, “I don’t want a nanny.” 

You didn’t trust Capitol people to be around your children. Only when you were forced to where you parted from them. They were too young. They needed their mother. 

“You’re tired,” he pandered. His hand wraps around your shoulder to pull you down to his lap. You rest your head on his thigh like your son, and find your eyes shut by themselves. 

You feel his fingers itch your head until you are asleep. Coriolanus waits until your breath evens before returning to rock the pram with his hand. With his arm rested over his oldest child, and his hand lulling his baby girl to sleep, Coriolanus felt a swell of pride.  

His family slept under his protection and lead. Pamen had entered into a new golden age. All paths led him here. 

You woke to the sound of Aurona crying which woke and upset Crassus. 

On instinct, you shoot up from Coriolanus to retrieve your baby girl. She needed to be fed again, but Crassus was now rejecting Coriolanus’s hold, wanting to be picked up by you. 

You oblige him when his face starts to turn red from crying. You feel their tears on either side of your collarbones. Their screams rang in your ear. 

Coriolanus stretches his dead legs, slowly easing himself up to place a hand on Crassus' back.

“Let's get ice cream,” he bribes. 

Crasuss turns his head to look at his father and nods.

With a bright smile, Coriolanus claps his hands together before opening them wide, “Come to daddy?” He asks. 

You never let him get ice cream at the zoo. It was too close to nap time. So with the promise Crassus eagerly goes into his father's arms. 

At the ice cream shop you could feed Aurona but it took far longer than normal with the anxiety that you were pregnant with your third. Something told you that you were.

It was a boy. A gorgeous baby boy. Doll was your nickname for him, but Coriolanus officially names him Adrianus. He cried very little, and at six weeks old he slept through the night. He latched easily, and from 3 to 4 in the afternoon, he would laugh insatiably at everything. He was a dream child. You were very happy with him, despite his initial undesired conception. 

Life settled for a little bit as Coriolanus worked to quell a quiet rebellion brewing in the Districts. 

For a year Coriolanus was kept busy. His mind off expanding his family. 

For the moment he was happy with the three wonderful kids you had given him. Something you could share. Three young kids, five and under,  left you exhausted by the end of the day, yet when the day was over and the kids were asleep, Coriolanus demanded your attention. 

Coriolanus was not immune to jealousy even from his own kids. You had learnt to give him enough attention during the day when he was around but it only starved him off until night time. He rarely talked about work. Only upcoming events that concern you. He was more interested in you recounting every single thing the kids did. 

After having the kids hang off you all day, your least favorite thing to do was have Coriolanus all over you. But when it was his time, he followed you everywhere you went. Insisting that you sat on the couch with him for an hour. He didn’t feel like it was much, but you felt as if it was the last bit of energy zapped out of you. 

You normally got a break when Coriolanus returned home from work. He started early so normally he was home in the late afternoon. While you had lots of staff to help you with chores and cooking, you preferred to do it yourself. It gave you a routine that you could go auto-pilot on. 

From five to six every day you were in your kitchen while Coriolanus watched the children. Capitol food took some getting used to. Half of the meat you had never even seen before. Coriolanus organized cooking lessons to help you as a Mother’s Day gift. 

Dinner was often followed by free play if they weren’t too messy, allowing you time to feed Adrianus. It was important that he had your full attention as you fed as he was so quiet that you might miss a cue of his discomfort. 

Crassus sat coloring at the kitchen table while you were in the kitchen trying to feed your youngest boy, Adrianus, who had just turned one

Coriolanus sat next to his son watching as your daughter Aurora showed off her expensive ball gown that her father had brought her simply because she wanted it. ‘No’ was not in Coriolanus’s vocabulary when it came to his children. 

He held out accessories in his palm for her as she explained what they were and where they went. 

Despite ruling a country with an iron fist, at home, it was you who disciplined the children. He let them run wild, while you tried to raise them to be respectable, and moral children. Your work mostly paid off. They were good children. 

Aurora having free reign over her father and older brother, who both bent over backwards to please her, was spoiled. Her tantrums were something you were yet to stop, but she was sweet when not disappointed which was more often than not. 

She only had to cry and Coriolanus would pick her up, giving her what she wanted. It annoyed you to no end. If your marriage was equal, you would push more for him to discipline the kids, but Coriolanus only ever gave you the illusion of partnership. 

“Mummy, how did you meet Daddy?” Crassus asks out of nowhere as he draws. 

The small spoon in your hand drops to the floor as memories that you had buried spring up. The stalking, the harassment, the loss of freedom. You remember the late nights as your mother cried out from pain from the flogging that he ordered. 

“Mummy used to own a cake shop, and Daddy would go by every morning before University to buy one.” Coriolanus answered for you. He reaches out and brushes Crassus' hair lovingly. 

“Dad, you can’t have cake for breakfast!” Aurora exclaimed. 

“Oh, but I did! Your mother would make them special for me.” 

You close your eyes remembering the words, ‘Can you make me some more of those oat bars.’ A demand, not a gesture on your behalf. You remember the hard wall behind you as he pressed you there. Just the thought of it brought your heart back into your throat as if it was happening all over again.

“She doesn’t let me have cake for breakfast!” Aurora complained. Tears sprang to her eyes causing Crassus to push a lollypop you had given him for eating his dinner across the table, trying to fight off his sister's tears. 

Coriolanus picks her up from the floor and places her on his knee so she can cry into his arms. 

“Darling, these are special cakes. Ones you give to someone you want to marry.” 

You remember the cakes you used to make Edmund. Edmund, you hadn’t thought about him in years, yet the scar on your heart never healed. 

“Not growing little girls.” Still, your daughter cried, which displeased Coriolanus. 

He rises from the table with Aurora in his arms and heads into the fridge. 

“Let's see if Mum baked any for you”. 

Your youngest son begins to cry from hunger which snaps you out of your spiraling. With your daughter receiving a cupcake and your son resuming feeding, the room is calm once more. But your hand shook as your mind flooded with memories of Commander Snow. 

Moments later, Crassus presented you with a picture of two stick figures surrounded by out-of-proportion cupcakes. You stared at it with the weight of your baby resting on your hip. 

Just like that Coriolanus had rewritten history. Commander Snow was a distant dream. District 12 a vague thought. Lucy Gray no longer haunted the woods. No longer made Coriolanus Snow the victor of the 10th Hunger Games. The war scar had faded. He had fixed history’s mistakes. 

He had taken his rightful place as President of Pamen. Only you were left to remember him as Commander Snow. 

The end!

Thank you all for reading, and coming along for the journey. Especially to those who commented and motivated me to write. This story would not have been complete without you.

A HUGE thank you to @hotline-to-hell for editing the work, and restructuring the mess.

And a HUGE thank you to @thaleleah and (who i assume is the same) anon who took the time out to encourage me with their long, and hilarious feedback.

Hope to see you all in my other works!

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[cer-rata]

An incomplete but very angry diatribe about the missed potential of the Star Sapphires

So back in the day Geoff Johns and co decided to open up the Green Lantern mythos and add some more flavor and expand the concept of sci-fi tech powered by elemental emotion to more than just willpower. Which yes, is not an emotion, we ignore it and move on.

Anyway we got some really cool stuff! A rage tyrant fueled by experiencing incredible injustice on a personal and cosmic scale, whose vendetta twisted him into something terrible. An avatar of greed who was never allowed to have anything, not freedom, not family, not safety, who takes and takes and takes to fill a void that can never be satisfied. A priest who lost everything but presses on through his unshakable hope that the future can and will be better. It's a lot of fun stuff!

So in this great creative re-imagining, they had to do something clever and fun with the idea of an all female corps powered by love right? They took the opportunity to move past the purely romantic, sexual idea of love and the obsessed femme fatale archetype, because they had the chance to really explore different types of affection now that there were a bunch of different avatars with different stories to pull from right?

Right?

Nope! The only Sapphires we ever learn about are heartbroken over a cursed romance like Carol, grieving a dead fiance like Miri Riam, forcibly mind controlled to be one like Fatality, or just Miss Bloss who...kind of said she wanted to join up? No clue what her deal is, as far as I'm aware that's never really explained. And then we just never learn about anyone else, and still haven't. The hell is "The Lost Sapphire"? No idea, we'll likely never know.

It's frustrating because not only is this a glaring example of the depth of plotlines offered to women in comics compared to their male counterparts, but also a wild lack of imagination. Love is one of the most complicated emotions we experience. Fear, anger, hope, all pretty easy to quickly define. Love is multifaceted, cultural, incredibly contextual and a factor in so many different kinds of relationship. Just thinking logically it should be much easier to flesh out the motivations of a group pulling from such a nuanced source of power, versus something as clear-cut as rage. But no, the red lanterns got so many varied reasons for their rage, the male ones especially: Bleez being the woman was of course given the SA narrative, which I don't think is inappropriate on its own, that's an incredibly valid reason to be angry, but as the ONLY truly prominent female Red Lantern it's like...c'mon guys. But still, at least she and Atrocitus had different reasons for becoming what they are, and that variation was played for plot and drama.

But there's not a single Star Sapphire that personally champions something other than romantic love. And before you shoot me, it is explicitly mentioned that they DO protect other forms of love, so there's no reason for them to all be sexy and obsessed with kissing people. There are no Sapphires that are driven by:

The love of their children and families, even in a tragic sense, like Atrocitus and Saint Walker and Larfleez are...

Their love of their people, or their culture. It would have been interesting if Fatality was inducted BECAUSE of her pain at losing her world, but no, they just...replaced her anger with lovey vibes and called it a day.

Their love for nature. Not everyone is social, but social love isn't the only way to strongly experience the emotion.

Their love for themselves. Where is the fun narcissistic ass who loves their own self image to the point of getting powers? It would have been a fun twist and a cool way to get another villainous Sapphire if you wanted to.

Their platonic love of ANYTHING really. Are ace/aro people just...not capable of love then? It doesn't mean anything to be willing to drive cross country to help a friend move just because they needed it and you care? No? You need to be fucking for it to count?

It's like...fascinating if you really think about it. In this vast fantasy universe full of alien races with wildly different perceptions and life cycles, and where the other corps have plenty of non-human, truly alien looking members, that the women's only love corps is full of only hot hot scantily clad baddies. Most love that people experience in their lives isn't even romantic! You will have far more experiences with friends and family members and even loving strangers than you will have with romantic partners.

Like the reason is clearly sexism, duh, but we know sexism is bad, that's obvious, what I really want to make clear is how much this blatant, unexplored sexism just completely desecrated the potential of the worldbuilding here.

From another angle even: Let's say this this WAS the sex and romance all the time corps. Let's say that you wanted to keep it all women. I hate the idea that women are capable of love in a way that men aren't, that's such a bad take and just regressive and unhelpful, but let's just play ball for a moment. They're not even hot? Their designs are such ridiculously narrow versions of feminine attractiveness that they're not even successful at really being mass appeal sexy. I haven't even reached the point of complaining about the fatphobia and criminal lack of different body types yet, I'm still just saying that from the standpoint of fantasy sexy it's not even good at being stereotypical offensive fantasy sexy. It's just boring! They're all so visually boring! You can be scantily clad and still have an interesting and coherent character design! But that is not what they gave these women! They actually redesigned the classic Star Sapphire costume and made it MORE sexist and boring:

Yeah it was cheesy but it was also cute and fun? The design is playful classic sci-fi girl and this is when she was still a dangerous unhinged villain. Its fun to look at and feels tonally coherent next to Green Lantern.

And then they just...

No actually, I will not explain this one, you have eyes.

And yeah they fixed her costume finally,

But! She's still stuck as Hal Jordan's romantic punching bag, and has not gotten to have any new adventures on her own.

So.

What I'm saying is it's a flop all around. 2/10, and only because despite everything Fatality STILL managed to serve. I actually think that all of the corps have been poorly used since blackest night, even the greens actually, but they never even gave the Sapphires a chance. They last showed up in...a WW annual I think? During the whole dark gods event, they needed Diana to help them fight the evil god of love, and there was a guy in the corp finally, and they talked about sisterhood and then we haven't heard a peep from them since. I think Carol might be due to get her ring back in the GL ongoing but she's not really been treated well so far, so I'm not hopeful for anything fresh and well reasoned.

So my lovely ladies (and that one unnamed guy), until they let you get it together it may be time to

[miss-cincaide]

Numbers Three To Ten 

Summary: You feel pity for the way he whines that he’s all alone, that a woman will never want to sleep with him, inadvertently walking right into the sweet torture he’s set out for you, with toys and a set up that leaves you desperately counting up from three to ten. 

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Mahito  Kinktober prompt 6: Gags  WC: 1.9K Warnings: Dark content  including gag ball, light choking, toys, pressure, some unhealthy play, feet, multiple O's, jerking off,

“Women don’t love me!” 

“All women?” You raise a slim eyebrow at the pale-skinned, patched-together curse opposite you. A little smirk plays on your lips as you watch him, his head on his arm, staring at the alcoholic Mohito in front of himself. His free hand grips the measly straw, trying to stab the mint leaves in his drink. “Or just the women you’ve asked out? You know, the normal ones who don’t dig curses, stitches and death-coloured skin.” 

You wave your hand in his general direction, and Mahito sticks his tongue out, making a face of your words. You flip him the bird, and he goes right back to pouting. 

“Ahh, what’s the point? They’re all just going to say the same thing anyway!” Mahito buries his head in his arm like a little moody kid who didn’t get his favourite toy for Christmas. “Unless you’re buying them off the streets, none of them will ever say yes to me!” 

He is precisely like a moody, spoiled kid on Christmas, except where the ‘toy’ is sex, and ‘Christmas’ a woman putting out without him having to pay for the hour. You’d have felt an inch of pity for him if he weren’t the boss's favourite. The fact of the matter is if Mahito wanted anything, Kenjaku would most probably give it to him. He’d make his work his pretty curse ass for it, but Mahito would get his wish fulfilled nonetheless. A fact that made you, who was just hired to do odd jobs here and there, never a guarantee to the group, funds or safety,  just the slightest bit bitter. 

“As I said, just the women you ask out. You can’t expect a babe who sees a grey corpse to drop her panties for you” You take a clunk of your rusty nail half, finishing the drink. “Go for someone with cursed energy; a sorcerer, another curse, hell, even a human with sight who hangs around the cemetery, and your chances of getting your dick wet will skyrocket.” 

Suddenly, Mahito is in your face, eyes wide and a manic grin to match. “So if I ask you for a night, you’ll say yes?” 

You realise you walk right into that one. Some of you feel embarrassed, and others a little awkward at being propositioned so openly at the hideout.  Although you’re alone in this fake hideout bar, with only bottles and glasses to keep you company, there’s no telling who or what is listening in. Still, you hide that embarrassment behind your glass, taking a long sip while considering his question. Mahito is cute, shorter and smaller than your usual type, but not ugly. His power and connections are an added bonus- a make-up factor for his likely shortcomings in other departments. Because let’s face it, those skinny jeans weren’t hiding a 10-incher. 

“Maybe” " you mumble, a hint of a smile on your lips as you down the last of your drink- a feeble attempt to hide from his prying eyes and lewd grin. When that didn’t help or get him to back away, you ruffled his hair as though he were a kid. He gets back in your face, though, slowly licking his lips, something between a pervy grin and a predatory smile. 

You shudder and jump off the barstool. 

“I’m gonna hold you to it”, Mahito calls, finishing his drink and then rushes to catch up to you with quick steps. 

You just roll your eyes, trying to keep your blush at bay as he practically dances around you as though you were a Christmas tree. “So whatcha into, kitten? Choking? Slapping? Doggy? Doesn’t matter! I’m sure you won't return to the boring stuff once you have some of me.” 

He dances around you towards his room, opening it with a kick before jumping behind and urging you in. The place, to your surprise, is barren, practically empty. Everything is meticulously stuffed away in drawers and cupboards. The bed looks clean, almost untouched. Although you probably shouldn’t be surprised if he only used it for ‘fun times’- curses didn’t sleep, did they? 

You find your voice and speak, an unmistakable shake in it as you answer his cocky comment. “Won’t go back? Damn, that sounds like a threat Mahito. Are you going to what? Turn me into one of those moaning blobs of yours.” 

You laugh, he doesn’t.

 He is too busy rooting around the cupboards in his room, moving one thing, second, third, cursing before he’s back in front of you again with such speed he makes you jump. Or was it the room's dim lighting that made you miss his movements? 

“You mean morph your soul? Hmm, I could do that if you don’t behave, that is,” His hands reach for your face, cold fingers grasp your cheeks in one of his hands, and he turns your face side to side before smooshing them together. “ I like my women quiet, you know? None of that fake moans, talk, gaps, praise.” 

You try- and fail- to pull your lips into a frown. “Beggers can’t be choosers”, you try to mutter, but it comes out muffled. You slap his hand away and try to repeat yourself. “Beggars can-” he cuts you off by showing a ball gag against your lips.

Suddenly, Mahito slams you against the door behind you. The little curse, a head shorter than you, suddenly feels the same height. His eyes are practically glowing, a wide, sadistic grin on his face, a knee between your legs, a hand on your throat squeezing just enough to let you know it’s there. And the other is still holding the ball gag to your lips, pushing right past them up against your teeth. 

“ I said, I like my women quiet. Now, be a kitten and do as you’re told. Or else. You won’t like ‘what else’” Mahito watches you, your every reaction, your every breath, a challenge in his expression. The hand around your throat tightens slightly, and you break eye contact with him. 

When did the pewny little Mahito become such a dominating ass? 

You don’t know whether to be surprised, aroused or scared. The one thing is certain: you’re not leaving anytime soon, certainly not until he’s done with you. Almost angrily, your teeth part, and you wrap your lips around the gag ball. Instantly, Mahito’s hands let go of your body and reach behind you to tie the thing firmly into place. 

“ That's not so bad, right?” You groan a reply, words unformable. “Ahh ahh ahh, quiet women, remember?” Mahito waves a finger in front of you in a side-to-side motion before tilting your chin up. Then his hand trails lower, first slowly, then inhumanly fast, as though he had several arms. “You won’t be needing those”

You blink, your clothes are gone, your naked aroused body on full display. But he isn’t fucking touching you, no, Mahito is pulling you to his bed. He stops you a distance away, changes his mind and jumps behind you, his hands on your eyes. “Let's make it a surprise, a fun surprise doll. To warm you up, pick a number, let's say between one and five.” 

Remember his wonders: you raise your fingers, three. Number three feels safe, even as he pushes you to the bed and then kicks you into it. You brace yourself against the covers, wiping off the dripping ball against the sheets. You feel yourself shudder in anticipation, shifting a little on the bed to rub your legs together, getting yourself even more worked up. This is so weird but also exciting, definitely kinky.

Maybe you’ll even get off on this.

You hear him count: one, two, three. What even was three? You don’t know; it felt like a middle ground, a safe place – oh god! 

A fucking vibrator?! Straight on your unexpected clit?!

You scream, and the ball muffles the sound, the feeling so intense you try to wiggle away from it. Mahito pulls your right back, a foot landing on your head keeps you from squirming away, a hand pulls your arms back, locking them on your back, and the other hand’s torturing your pussy. On your clit, around it, down your slick folds and back up again. Speeding up, slowing down. Pressing hard down, then gentle, then gone. 

“Ohh, is it so intense, kitten? Let's see how you handle number 4” Mahito’s foot readjusts on the back of your head, pressing your drooling face into the mattress. You’re shuddering, gasping in anticipation, trembling.  

Is number four bigger? Is it also a vibrator? A dildo? FUCK it was a rabbit. Four inches inside you, two vibrating ears bullying your clit. 

“Mmmmm!” 

The ball in your mouth is tight and soaked, drool pooling under your face, leaving a huge wet patch on the bed. But it doesn’t match the gush of your pussy around the toy. Hot juices everywhere: on Mahito, on his hand and the bed. And you’re whimpering and twitching on the bed even after the toy is gone, and his foot still keeps your face down, you keep your needy ass up.  

“Five?” 

You nod quickly. The foot disappears, and he pulls you up with his hair. You’re on your knees on the bed, hands behind your back. Mahito holds it for you as you slide down the five-inch dildo. Once it’s snuggly inside you, he lets it go, leaving you to bounce on it alone. 

You don’t disappoint, whining as you ride it. Your eyes locked with him, the way he watches your every move from the sidelines. Hand on his cock, stroking himself to your thrusts. You want to give him a show, throwing your head back, putting extra effort in your thrusts so your tits bounce up and down with each thrust of your hips. You whine and slobber, drool pooling around the gag before it rolls down your chin. 

You stick your tongue out and lap at the ball from the side just a little. In that second, you see something change in Mahito; he’s moaning, his hand picking up speed, and then slows down as you do. “Keep going, kitten, come on, work those slutty thighs. Go on; I wanna hear you moaning as you cum around that tiny toy.” 

Who are you to deny him? 

You drop back on your back as your come, eyes on the ceiling, desperately panting, keenly aware of the toy slowly sliding out of your slick hole. You whine a little; you want it in you, pushed as far as it would go. Mojito leaves you whining, not letting you touch it or yourself until your breathing goes back to normal.

You’ve recovered; it's time for round three. 

“Still Needy?” Mahito’s laughing at you, toying with you, pushing the tip of the Rabbit in and out, relishing in the sight. “If that’s how you’re at five, just wait until we get to ten, kitten.” 

You want to scream ‘fuck yeah,’ but all you let out is an excited moan and a manic grin that matches his own. You don’t know why you hesitated to sleep with Mahito or why anyone would hesitate to have such intense sex with him, but at this point, you consider it their loss. Because after five, there are still four numbers, and your pussy can’t wait to try every one of them out. 

To see which one you like best, of course.

Author note! God it's so frustrating that Tumblr keeps filtering my fics out from the latest feed.. anyone knows why it keeps doing that?

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[meyobe]

Pretty privilege… no Mc privilege Pt. 3

Diavolo

Mc can make him feel like a normal demon .

He knows that everyone walks around egg shells around him.

Everyone expect Mc.

Mc just see him as a demon trying his best to make everything around him better.

Ever since Mc came to the devildom he feels like a weight has lifted off his shoulders.

He gets to be the child he was forced to leave behind.

Mc wants to go see a concert? He’s making sure they have pit seats.( shout-out Eras tour)

Mc is talking about their childhood and place called Chuck-E-Cheese? He canceled his plans and got stuck trying to go into the play place.

Mc talks about toys they couldn’t get as a child? He buys the toys in bulk then gives them away to donate.

All his life he’s been looking for some sort of normalcy.

With Mc he feels like a regular demon.

No rules, no stress, and no expectations.

He loves Mc plans because they are so spontaneous and wild.

No one has ever took the time to show him a new world.

He hopes one day to be as carefree as Mc.

Barbatos

Mc can make him believe in a different outcome.

He has spent his entire life living up to a certain model.

To be the perfect butler, the perfect demon.

Never out of line and well behaved.

He lives the same life year after year.

But if he’s learned anything from Mc it’s that, it’s okay to see the beauty. 

Mc has open his eyes to finding the good in situations or believing there is more to look for.

Considering his is an all knowing being, knowing how situation will end, who will perish, and what will diminish.

He doesn’t believe in lying by having faith.

Not when he knows the stone cold truth.

But it’s different now, with Mc.

He’s thankful that Mc can give him faith .

Mc points out how beautiful death is and will be? He’s always thought of it of something humans are scared of.

Mc rushes over to an old women to help her cross the road? He watches from afar, basking in what humanity means.

He never understood watching that star. Until Mc explained each one of them has a story to tell. He’s asks himself what stories?

He will never truly understand how Mc can think so positively even in bad situations.

Even when all hope seems lost.

But, it isn’t because it’s something they learned.

Rather how they were born.

Finding the beauty is what it means to be human.

Something he’ll never get to be, but he feels close to human with Mc.

Solomon

Mc’s safety is his main priority.

He is a very busy guy that does very dangerous work.

Running errands for his experiments, Missions for Diavolo,partying with Asmo.

He helps himself over anyone else, except for Mc.

He feels sane with Mc.

Not like he is a powerful sorcerer with 72 pacts, but like a teenager talking with his crush.

Mc makes him feel seen.

So in exchange, he’ll protect them until he can’t.

Mc needs help from a creep following them but he’s currently trying to tame an experiment that went wrong? He was playing a round before but now you need to go.

Mc’s found themselves lost on the streets of devildom? Just say on the phone with him I til he finds you.

Mc is going to the human world on a mission? He’s going to join Mc just to make sure their safe.

He see Mc as an extension of himself.

So full of life.

He may be existing forever but with Mc he is alive.

Hes going to protect the nature of their relationship before anything else.

Wishing that one day they’ll see him the same way.

Simeon

He will always understand.

Mc is a very important person that’s mending the 3 worlds.

He understands the stress of it all.

Mc didn’t choose to be picked for the exchange program .

He will always listen with no judgment.

He only ever wishing for peace in your life.

Mc is feeling lost? He’s right there to remind you of your meaning.

Mc gets upset about how different their life could’ve been? He agrees and tells you it unfair.

Mc is scared of what happens from here on out? He’ll be there every step of the way.

No matter how many times Mc chooses the brothers over him, he’ll always welcome them back home.

Because, he knows what you mean to everyone.

He will spend his time trying to give Mc the pieces of their life back that they lost due to the Devildom.

He makes sure Mc knows their work isn’t for nothing.

He’ll tell stories to the children in the Celestial Realm about Mc and all they achieved.

He only hopes one day Mc will pick him over his former brothers.

Luke

Mc can change his mind.

He views Mc as an equal.

Someone worth his respect. Unlike the nasty demons.

He listens very closely to Mc’s words.

Always trying to stand out amongst the demons.

He cares and wants to see Mc happy.

Even if it means playing nice.

Mc tells him to stop fighting around with Mammon? He looks at Mammon and tells him he’s s lucky Mc is here.

Mc wants him to try a dessert he isn’t fond of? He chugs it down with the biggest smile.

Mc needs to stop by store that’s said to be haunted by ghost? What, ofc he’s not staying outside!!! It’s not too scary, he needs to be there to protect Mc.

Don’t get it wrong though, as soon as Mc turns their back he sticks his tongue at Mammon.

He also spitting the dessert out. (He feels so sorry about it)

As soon has he gets to Purgatory Hall, he’s telling Simeon how creepy the store was.

Yes, he’s an angel but very more of an angel with Mc.

He stand by Mc and believes they do no wrong.

A/n: i honestly hate this sm especially Simeon’s part. I might redo this.

As for the other undateables, I’m only on lesson 30. It might be months before I meet them😭.

Ik i said i hate this, but don’t bash me. 🙏

[xxsabitoxx]

Experience

Kishibe x Fem! Reader

Warnings: large age gap (reader is in her 20s but it’s unspecified) and Kishibe is 50, car sex, hand job, degrading, praising, smoking

A/N: this was meant to be a short 1-1.5k Drabble but it turned into a mini smut instead (my brain is weird so some of y’all may still consider this a Drabble or you may consider it a full fic… idk man) anywho here he is :)

Word count: 2.6k

“You… you can’t be serious, oneechan.” Denji was staring at you with an udon noodle hanging between his lips. You chuckled at Denji’s constant use of calling you “big sis” — Aki had reprimanded him forever ago about using formalities with you. You had told him senpai was far too much and that calling you oneechan was fine. Still, it made you chuckle that it was the only nickname he ever stuck too with no bribery needed. Aki still used the gum tactic to get Power and Denji to use the correct terms while addressing him.

“I am serious.” The smile never left your face, watching as Denji slurped his noodle the rest of the way. “But why? He’s so old! Hell he’s over half your age! Ain’t he like 50 or something? And you’re like 20-something? I doubt he can even get his dick hard!” You rolled your eyes, laughter bubbling in your chest as Denji’s clear shock at your crush on his mentor. You’d known Kishibe since you joined public safety a few years prior, having worked alongside Aki when it came to training under the man’s brutal regime.

“Oh I doubt that. Kishibe is a man of experience, he probably has over 30 years worth with women.” Denji still couldn’t see how that would appeal to you, if anything he thought it should be a turn off. “That’s 30 years of use. You’ll probably catch a disease.” At that you couldn’t help but snort, putting your cigarette to your lips and inhaling. “Just think about it for a second, Denji. Wouldn't you want a woman that knows what she’s doing? One that would know how to take care of you?”

“I mean yeah, but maybe a woman that’s only a couple years older than me. You’re going after a man that was well into adulthood by the time you were born.” You shook your head, finding it rather funny that Denji was seemingly peeved by this. “That’s real bold coming from you, Denji-kun.” The blonde quirked his eyebrow, eyeing you suspiciously as he went in for yet another helping. “You and your crush on Makima? The fact that she seems to reciprocate your advances? Kinda a similar situation… but mine is legal.”

You shrugged your shoulders, blowing the smoke you had inhaled. “Yah, whatever… go for your creepy old man then.” He stuck his tongue out as you rolled your eyes, a victorious smile still present on your lips. “No really…” he drawled softly “he’s right there.” You froze, head whipping around to the direction Denji had motioned to. Sure enough, Kishibe was sitting at the bar, a glass of whisky in front of him… typical. You turned back to Denji, utterly mortified. “You don’t think he heard us, do you?” The blonde shrugged, a shit eating grin creeping up his face.

“Denji!” You whisper yelled this time, face growing warm. “Huh?” He spoke a little louder than necessary “I don’t think he heard? What’s the big deal anyways? Ain’t you want him to know? So you can like…actually do something about ya crush?” He drawled loudly, enough to draw a few wandering eyes to your table. “N-not the point! Shut up!” You were snuffing out your cigarettes on the underside of the table seconds later, ready to make a quick escape before Kishibe could even notice you there.

The problem being, you knew your old mentor fairly well. It was more than likely that he was already aware of your presence. Not only that but you were nearly positive he’d probably heard you and Denji talking about him. You wouldn’t be able to escape him unless you put a conscious effort into sneaking out of here. Even then, he’d find a way to corner you and ask you what the hell was going on. “Eh, whatever oneechan… at least I have the guts to go for the people I like.” Now you knew you were done for.

If Denji was going to make this a game of confidence, you’d have to do your “big sister” duties and simply one up him. “You’re a pain in my ass.” You scoffed, watching the grin return to the blonde’s face as you pushed your chair out. “You can thank me later.” Was all he said, returning to his udon as you made your way to the bar. “Captain Kishibe.” You fought to keep your voice steady. Kishibe turned to look at you, the usual stoic expression on his face.

“Come to talk to the creepy old man sitting alone at the bar?” He chimed softly, watching your face morph into embarrassment as he confirmed your biggest fear. He heard everything you and Denji had said. “Blame blondey over there for that nickname. Guessing that if you heard what Denji had to say you also heard what I had to say.” Your arms clasped behind your back, fidgeting with your fingers nervously as you waited for him to speak.

Kishibe swirled his glass around, watching the amber liquid slosh before he brought it to his lips and downed the rest. “Oh, I did. Not that I’m shocked… you’re far more transparent with your emotions than you think you are, y/n.” You could have melted on the spot, seeped straight into the floorboards and disappeared forever. Instead, you shifted your weight from foot to foot, willing yourself to grow some confidence and test the waters. It didn’t seem he was necessarily shutting you down just yet.

“Well… I guess this was a pretty lame ass way of saying I have a thing for my old mentor.” Kishibe leaned back, eyes shutting briefly as he inhaled through his nose. “You’re just looking for someone to show you a good time. Tell me, have you ever actually enjoyed any of the men you’ve slept with?” His eyes opened and he turned to face you fully now, tapping the wooden top of the bar twice to signal that he was ready to pay his tab. “Truthfully, no.” A breathy chuckle left him, one that sent shivers down your spine.

“I see. I guess that would make it my duty, Hmm? Your old mentor has to show you the ropes… show you the good from the bad. A private lesson, if you would.” You didn’t quite know how to react, your brain working in overdrive to try and process the words he had just spoken. “S-so you’re saying you’ll…” you flinched at your own stutter, watching Kishibe eye you carefully. “That I’ll show you how a man properly satisfies a lady? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Sugar.” Your heart jumped at the nickname.

You found it hard to speak, instead you kept your mouth shut and watched your old mentor pay his tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. “I paid for the fool’s meal as well as yours, he’ll get home on his own just fine. Let’s go.” Kishibe was heading towards the door, you waited till he was facing away to shoot Denji a look. The blonde seemed a bit awestruck that you were already leaving with him, you just shrugged as you left. You’d probably have to apologize the next time you saw him.

Before you knew it you were slipping into the passenger side of Kishibe’s car, thanking him softly for opening and closing the door for you. He slipped on the other side a moment later, turning the key so the engine roared to life. “I didn’t think you were the car type.” You commented softly, eyes scanning the amount of gadgets that littered the dashboard. The car’s interior was all black leather, that was at least something you expected from him.

“I’m not but the holiday bonus was nice and I needed an upgrade anyways.” He cracked his window, lighting up a cigarette before pulling out of the restaurant’s small lot and out into the bustling street. You didn’t expect him to be nervous, nor did you expect him to be awkward about the situation. Yet you were practically squirming in your seat, hoping he’d show some sort of nervousness to help you feel less inexperienced.

His cigarette hung half hazardously from his lips, one hand on the wheel while the other came down to rest on your thigh. You nearly choked on your own saliva, heat pooling in your gut at the simple action. “Amuse me, would you? What’s the best thing a guy has done for you, Hmm?” Smoke puffed out around his cigarette, eyes locked on the road as he waited for your response. “Offer to walk me home.” You admitted sheepishly, not quite sure how he’d react to such a lame response. It was true your taste in men hadn’t really benefited you in any way up until now.

He let out a gruff laugh, slowing down as he pulled up to a red light and plucked the cigarette from his lips. “That’s it? Seriously? Where the hell are you finding these bummy men?” You weren’t sure why his clear annoyance affected you the way it did, but you found yourself struggling to not press your thighs together. A small effort to relieve some of the ache, you knew if you moved your legs even a little he’d feel it. Then again, he was driving you back to his apartment to fuck you… would it really matter? “No need to be tense.” He murmured softly, hand squeezing your thigh.

“…’m not tense.” A stupid lie but it made him chuckle so you couldn’t really be mad at it. “Let me help you relax.” The cigarette was back between his lips, hand on the wheel as the light turned green. Kishibe pushed on your thigh, silently asking you to spread them. It took your brain a few seconds to properly respond, spreading them just enough that he could fit his hand between them. “Atta girl…” smoke puffed out around his lips once again, filling your nose in an almost intoxicating way. You were a bit shocked by the praise, nearly letting a whimper slip out.

The man you knew as your mentor was certainly not the same as the man sitting beside you. Then again you doubted he would ever woo the amount of women he did with his mentor attitude. Kishibe’s hand gingerly crept up your thigh before dipping between to cup your panty covered cunt. You mentally thanked yourself for wearing a skirt, giving the man in the driver's seat easy access to where you wanted him the most. He could feel your warmth radiating through the thin material, on top of that he could tell you were already wet.

Kishibe exhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain focused on the road even though he’d really like to look over and gauge your reaction. Truthfully, he had been waiting patiently for quite some time now for you to be the one to make the first move. He wasn’t lying when he said you were transparent with your emotions, but even then he didn’t want to risk creating awkward situations. He was getting old after all, a fifty year old man going for a woman in her twenties would certainly look terrible on his part if the other party didn’t reciprocate.

Maybe he was just a creepy old pervert for thinking that way.

Regardless, it was starting to get hard to ignore the persistent stiffness between his own legs. You’re breathing had hitched, suddenly dizzied by the fact that his hands were already on you. Two fingers pressed against the wetmark on your panties, drawing a sigh from your lips as he rubbed the material softly. “You’re more excited than you let on.” it was an off hand comment, one that had your fingers gripping the door handle to keep yourself grounded. Kishibe’s fingers slid along your slit, settling over your pulsing clit.

“You’ve said no man has ever satisfied you… I take it because he didn’t know where this was…” he pressed down, sending a shock of pleasure through you. Your mouth opened but nothing came out, slowly he began rubbing tentative circles, making sure you keep his fingers on the cloth of your panties. He wouldn’t let you feel his bare fingers just yet. More smoke puffed out, filling the car briefly before being sucked out the window. “I asked you a question, sugar.” you turned to look at him, face warm as his fingers continued to pleasure you. “T-that would be right…”

“Every woman is different, is this good for you?” you knew he was referring to his current action. “Y-yeah but…” you reached for his hand, placing yours over his as you guided him to a faster tempo. Kishibe took the reins again instantly, chuckling softly as you let out a soft moan. “Hmm, that better?” it was low, enough you send shivers through you as your hips jerked into his hand. “Need more…” you couldn’t quite figure out what specifically you needed, you just knew you needed more of him. “I know.” was all he said, fingers working you up continuously as he drove.

Part of you had to wonder if he was even driving you to his apartment at this point. It felt like you were going in circles around the city as he got you off in his front seat. Before you knew it, you felt your orgasm creeping up on you. “S-shit…” you clenched around nothing, the tension in your gut had appeared a lot quicker than usual. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” he teased softly, fingers picking up speed ever so slightly. You mumbled out some sort of ‘yes’, gasping softly as the tension continued to build.

Maybe it was the combination of everything, Kishibe, his hand, the fact that he was doing this almost absentmindedly while driving through the city, everything was edging you on. “Then cum for me. Show me how much of a little slut you are. I mean really, you’re going to cum from me rubbing you through your panties. You’ll ruin them.” You whined at his words, the tension building so intensely that you were certain you’d fall apart. “Atta girl…cum for me” encouraged again, rolling to a stop at yet another red light.

He looked over at you know, the sudden motion causing you to turn to look at him. “C’mon… no need to hold back.” he sneered, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. You felt your lower lip tremble, head turning to look back at the road as your orgasm crashed down over you. Breathless gasps escaped your lips, hand shooting down to hold Kishibe’s wrist as he continued to work you through your ogasm. “…ough… enough…” you squeaked, overstimulation taking over as the light turned green.

He only slowed because of the light turning green, hand never retracting from where it was between your legs. “Here we are.” He commented offhand, pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building. You blinked, the throb already returning. “Hope you’re not worn out… I haven’t even gotten to show you a proper good time.” He pulled into a numbered space, shifting into park and plucking the nearly gone cigarette from his lips. You watched him put it out on an ashtray in his cup holder, turning the car off a moment later.

“Well?” You shivered as his hand pulled away, making you want to chase after him. “Y-yeah…I’m not worn out. Hell, after your training it’s hard to ever get worn out these days…captain.” You teased softly, not knowing where the confidence came from. A smile actually tugged at his lips, hand reaching for the door handle and pushing it open. “I’ll remember that, sugar.” For some reason, you felt as if you had just dug your own grave.

[comfortless]

Your writing is so good !! <3

If you was working in kortac too and Konig started developing feelings, do you think he’d be scared ? Like if he’s never felt that type of love before, do you reckon he’d prompt you to retire if things started getting serious ?And also do you think he’d just be scared to feel that deep sense of love in general

i don’t think this guy has much fear at all: König says what’s on his mind no matter how inappropriate or blunt. if he finds himself attracted to a teammate it might take a bit of time for him to test the waters a bit, only because he’s rather accustomed to women finding him terrifying or ugly or both.

his courtship methods are peculiar: staring her down until it’s downright unnerving just to see how long it takes for her to shy away, casually hissing the filthiest things he can think of in German to her in the hopes that she doesn’t understand, sitting far too close to her during meals or briefings, maybe even leaving a clipping from a book of poetry or something nice beneath her door to show he isn’t entirely incapable of actual romance. though… there are other times he might flick his knife out, pull up the hood enough to reveal the lower half of his face and give it a playful lick while her eyes are on him.

he’s not entirely obvious, but not entirely subtle either, just gives enough to catch her attention if she’s willing to give it.

god help her if she is.

Kortac is a PMC, his title really doesn’t mean much, and he’s aware of it. they pass ‘em out like candy; he’s punched the guy they refer to as “the General” before. they’re all well aware he can handle himself and pick up for anyone’s slack; he’s the perfect asset for a bloodbath. so, as far as repercussions go? there are none, and even if there were i can’t see him caring too much about some smaller man trying to convince him sleeping with the woman he’s head over heels for is wrong due to a set of arbitrary rules.

if she’s in his line of work as opposed to being some sort of maintenance employee — he’s overbearing. demanding never to have her sent off on a mission without him, distracted trying to ensure her safety and regrettably… neglecting his own duties to an extent. it’s uncharacteristic and frustrating for him.

he gets to give this sweet angelic thing all of the affection and orgasms she can bear now, but… why is she here at all? it’s hot to see her with a gun, sure, but… she should be home, safe, waiting for him to return with tears in her eyes and eager hands reaching for him the moment he steps through the door. she should be sweet and warm; let him take care of all of the bad in the world and make her feel as though her life has become intertwined with some hero’s. women like that sort of thing, he’s seen it time and time again as a boy with his nose stuck in a comic book.

he’s not above bullying her a little to get her to agree: purposefully misplacing important things for her like her weapons, articles of her uniform. his rank may not be anything more than a word, but he’ll tell her he finds her unsuited for the work — he would know.

if that’s not working then perhaps he does tell her through gritted teeth that he wants her to wait at home for him. he’s even got the ring ready, some pretty old thing from his oma or his mother in preparation for this very day. it doesn’t matter if this has been going on for two weeks or a year, König would be happy to make her his wife, happy to write her letters while he’s deployed and take her on every surface when he’s home.

it’s the most intimidating marriage proposal ever when he’s glaring up at her like that while he kneels, promising her an abundance of sex and a powerful man to guard her with his life. she’s supposed to love him, so wouldn’t that make her happy too..?

[sodafrog13]

finally was able to get down my visual hcs for mary :] i think she, hench, and the son have a Very interesting dynamic. more thoughts under the cut if u care to peek (careful, it's wordy)

i think hench and mary have been together long term by events of the game and i specifically think they started dating when hench wasn't working for the son yet

i actually think he used to work for the columbians, based mostly on mary's intense shock that the son would be so willing to let him leave and also the fact that his skin tone matches the default skin tone of the normal columbian mobsters (though the latter could admittedly just be attributed to dennaton's heavy use of palette swapping and sprite refurbishing). in my thinking, he and/or mary got into some sort of trouble with his former boss and pledged his loyalty to the son and his family if they would be able to get him out.

in doing so, it was made specifically clear to the henchman (likely by the father) that if he were to ever double cross them, he'd have both him and mary killed. thusly, the henchman did everything in his power to be an asset to the russian mafia, so much so that the son, more lenient when it came to the terms of their agreement than his father though perhaps more willing to actively test them, took a shine to him.

the son is curious of mary. as a gay man who doesn't really know he's gay, he honestly has the tendency to be misogynistic to women he doesn't see as his equal (ie the bodyguard), as his interests truly lie in patriarchal views of masculinity and power. he at least has enough foresight to recognize how important she is to the henchman and is fine with letting her be (past the occasional remark about her to the henchman directly). that said, he does consider her a bit of a hindrance re: the henchman's ambitions, but again, never to the extent he'd do anything about it.

mary is genuinely unnerved by the son. she has every right to be, considering both her and her partner's safety are basically up to his family's whims, but she lets the henchman go as he pleases. she recognizes that he has a genuinely fondness for his boss (because it's the same kind of fondness that he has for her) and quite honestly, she doesn't mind him having another partner so long as he's honest with her. it's just the fact that it's him that puts her off. she, however, also has concerns re: the henchman's plans for the future. she doesn't really Mind that they're not married but it is something she'd enjoy. that, and she really does wonder how much longer he's willing to keep doing mob work. he's not old per se but he's definitely not as young as he used to be, and even she can see that he won't last very long with the life that he leads and that scares her.

the henchman is... well, he's indecisive. doesn't really know what he wants until it's hitting him in the face. he's honestly just fine coasting around until some other force leads him off his beaten path, something that annoys the son and concerns mary because it really does sometimes come to a battle of who can get through to him first, even if none of them really know it. he loves them both, he really does, but he's also fickle. because even though he wants them both, he also secretly wants a certain level of freedom that he just can't have by being both tied to people and also a job (as seen in that dream he has where he's driving out of miami, not only without his girl or his boss but in spite of the hurricane that he's sure to run into). so maybe it's not even that he's indecisive, he knows what he wants it's just that he knows, logically, that it is something he cannot have. so he just willingly keeps himself in that loop until something breaks, that something being all those dreams that richard was sending him in an attempt to break the bigger cycle of things.

in a different world, i'd like to imagine that they can work things out. i truly do not blame mary for what she did, because i truly would have done the exact same thing as her in that situation even if it wasn't necessarily what was 'right'. but i feel that in that same vein, hench could have done more to reassure her that things would be fine, esp considering he has a personal enough connection to the son to know that he's different from his father.

but also i mean we all know that nobody in miami has communication skills. that'd be ridiculous there'd be no game otherwise

[teapartypenguin]

Fairy Tale Allusions in Yugioh 5Ds

So I was rewatching 5Ds and Akiza's duel against the knight dude got me thinking about the fairy tale allusions in her design and arc, and thinking about it more got me to realize that 5Ds actually has a lot of loose fairy tale allusions throughout it. So here are just a couple of the ones I noticed:

Akiza in general: Akiza's first duel of the series was already really heavy with the knight vs. witch symbolism. It also got me thinking about the "Princess, Witch, and Prince" theme from Revolutionary Girl Utena. A very basic rundown of what Utena says on it is that people will try to sort women into a box of good (Princess) or bad (Witch) based on how much they conform to the concept of what a girl should be like, a good Princess has to trade independence for protection from a Prince, any girl that doesn’t agree is a Witch. Problem is that no woman is ever just one of those things at a time, and Akiza definitely isn't. She is at first feared for her power, labelled the evil Black Rose Witch, and attempts to find comfort and safety in her "Prince" (Sayer). Only when she meets Yusei and the gang and finds acceptance from them and her parents do we see that she's actually a very kind girl. And even then, she doesn't go trading one Prince for another, she's never as reliant on Yusei as she was with Sayer and maintains her independence. Also just her deck in general carries the theme with fairy tale-like imagery (roses, knights, witches, fairies, and a dragon).

Akiza + Yusei: These two are basically Beauty and the Beast. I am a major faithshipping fan, but even if you take out the romantic aspects, it still fits. Yusei being Beauty and Akiza being the Beast for obvious reasons. The scene with Yusei waking Akiza in the hospital also gives major Sleeping Beauty vibes as well (this scene also owns my soul).

The rose imagery also still fits with both of them.

Yusei: He's Cinderella: he's a poor boy, goes to a ball that he wasn't supposed to go to (Neo Domino), has to leave at midnight (gets arrested), but leaves behind a "glass slipper" (the mark of the Crimson Dragon) that makes it so that the prince (Godwin) can track him down and give him another shot at freedom (not for altruistic purposes of course, but it still fits).

Jack and Carly: Scoopshipping are The Little Mermaid. The mermaid (Carly) falls in love with the prince (Jack), but for certain reasons, they cannot be together. Said mermaid makes a deal, by trading her soul, she gains legs (Dark Signer abilities + duel runner) which allows her a second chance to go after the prince. But the prince rejects her proposal (because she's undead and evil now), and the mermaid concedes. But being unable to hold up her end of the deal, she turns into sea foam and dies (turns into dust and dies).

Leo and Luna: Luna's deck already has a loose fairy forest type theme (and in the manga, has a Fairy Tale archetype). I want to say they're Hansel and Gretel. Has the same beats of two siblings getting lost in the woods (Luna with her spirit world adventure, Leo dueling Devack with "Closed Forest" up). But most of it comes from their duel with Devack, in which Hansel (Leo) stalls the witch (Devack) for as long as possible until Gretel (Luna) can kill the witch by pushing him into the oven (win the duel). You could also say that Luna's arc of freeing Ancient Fairy Dragon has elements of Rapunzel (saving the princess from the witch that locked her up).

Those are at least the ones I noticed. I doubt all of them were intentional but it's interesting when you make the connections. Let me know if there's any I missed because I'm not done with my rewatch yet and don't have anything for Crow. Feel like Team Satisfaction and Neo Domino City have Wizard of Oz parallels, but haven't got enough info to say how yet.

[nixie-writes]

Fem Reader As Daughter Of Seven Deadly Sins

I saw something like this a while back and I really enjoyed it so I wanted to give my own spin to it, hope you all like this! This was a big project and I'm glad it's done!

Lucifer: Pride

It wasn't easy being the twin daughter of Lucifer himself. Charlie was a literal rainbow, always cheerful and happy. Meanwhile you were more laid back, more chilled out and less energetic. Not to say you weren't happy, you could have whatever you want at the snap of your fingers, but you weren't very hyper.

Lucifer never picked sides with his daughters, he loved you both equally. He wasn't supportive of Charlie's idea of redemption but you and your mother were. You worked very hard to provide for her.

Many around the hotel were nervous around you. You took more after your father with the short blonde hair and the rosy cheeks and toothy grin. You knew they were scared of you and you took advantage of that, rivaling your sister in demeanor.

Overall you weren't a bad person like your father, nor were you as innocent and loving as Charlie. You just wanted to chill and enjoy the benefits of your family name. That didn't make you a bad demoness, just... different from your sister, who wanted to separate from her father's legacy.

Mammon: Greed

Your father did many things in the name of money and possessions. He had anything any demon would ever want or need. He indulged in food and spent money lavishly, knowing he'd always get more.

That's where you came in. You were his one and only, his prized jewel. He treated you like a princess, sharing his money and possessions with you because he refused to lose you. You had your own maid, your own home for when you settled down with a demon of his choosing and you had your own expensive car.

Mammon was no pushover however. He had strict rules for you to follow. He threw lavish parties more often than need be and always had a dress at the ready for you. He told you who to talk to, what to eat, you had to uphold his reputation as his heiress.

Overall Mammon wasn't a bad father, he was just obsessed with his sin to an unhealthy degree. He loved indulging and was very over protective of what he considered his, including you.

Asmodeus: Lust

Your father ran many night clubs in the Lust ring and around Hell. You, however, stayed far away from that lifestyle. Your father had the job of running lust, you would just be in the background enjoying his less sexual endeavors, such as when he threw balls and you could wear your least revealing dresses.

Your father didn't encourage you to live in the nightclub world, he wanted better for you. He paid for your schooling, your college and he even had money set aside for you to buy a house or rent an apartment of your choosing once you settled down. However you were happy living with your dad.

Your father made sure you had everything you wanted. From clothes to food to a maid or two. While he's the kind of lust and has a reputation to uphold but he had a soft spot for you.

He always made sure you had security when you went out, similarly to the other daughters. He didn't trust demons with you, considering you were the daughter of the king of lust. He cared most about your safety and would sacrifice his reputation as a pimp to keep you safe.

Leviathan: Envy

Your father always got what he wanted but wanted more. He wanted the women Asmodeus had, the attention Leviathan had, the pure power Satan had. He projected that onto you. You were his doll to dress up and show up the other daughters.

That's not to say he treated you poorly. He didn't envy the other daughters, to him you were the best. You had the best complexion, the best attitude, the best everything. He adored you.

Unlike your father you aren't envious of others. You have everything you want, there's no reason to be jealous of others. Instead others were jealous of you. Your father gave you everything you wanted solely so others would be envious of you.

Behind closed doors he was a caring father. He still tucks you in at night and cooks for you. Yes he has servants to do that, and they do that when he's too busy, but in private he loves you enough to do so for you and only you.

Beelzebub: Gluttony

Your mother was an odd woman. She ate a lot, she drank a lot, she threw a lot of parties. She seemed like an irresponsible woman but that couldn't be further from the truth. She knew she had to be gluttonous to keep up her reputation but she did many things for you.

She made sure you had everything you wanted. As the princess of gluttony it wasn't hard for her to get you a surplus of what you wanted. You want a snack? Here's a three course meal. You wanna go on a walk? Here's 25 security guards to keep you safe.

During her parties she encouraged you to go out and make friends with the other daughters but you were never interested. You just wanted to enjoy the food and chatter. You spoke to the other daughters and you all were on good terms but you didn't consider them friends.

Your mother loved you dearly. She still bought you stuffed toys and other cute things. She believed you could never have enough of a good thing.

Satan: Wrath

Your father was easily angered and he held a grudge. He was impolite and snarky to his maids and butlers, he had a high horse attitude around other deadly sins, but he treated you like a princess.

His power in Hell meant you could have whatever you wanted when you wanted it. Be it food, distractions, a new TV whatever you wanted was in the palm of your hand.

You didn't abuse this power however. Unlike your father you were very forgiving and helped the maids and butlers with their work. Your father chided you for doing something below your station but he saw that it made you happy, so he didn't stop you.

Overall your father could be a major pain in the ass because of how sinful he was but when he was alone with you he was like a puppy, doing anything to make you happy because unlike other demons he loved you.

Belphegor: Sloth

Your father was, well, a lazy bum to put it lightly. He never worked for his own things, they were always bought off other deadly sins.

He was lazy, yes, but he took care of you. He made sure you didn't have to lift a finger to do for yourself, which agitated you. You wanted to clean your own room sometimes but he always had maids doing it for you.

You had plenty of sweet foods and plenty of nap times. Your father took naps and often invited you to nap with him. You would just wait until he was asleep, which didn't take long, and slip off back to wherever you wanted to go.

Your father was lazy yes, but he showed his love for you in his own way, by ensuring you never had to do anything for yourself, but he never stopped you from chasing your dreams, whatever they may be.

[tobiasdrake]

While you’re on the subject of underexplored Dragon Ball trivia, could you tell us something on the Dragon Balls themselves?

Hmm... not sure how much underexplored trivia I know on the subject. I think most of the details about what the Balls are and how they work are pretty well known. But I can go into a run-down.

Originally based on Journey to the West, the core purpose of the Dragon Balls is to provide a sort of miraculous quest of worthiness to their seeker. On Namek, the planet they come from, each one of six Balls, stars 2-7, is carried by the Choro or "Elder" of the village. To make your wish to Porunga, you must visit each village in turn and pass some great test of virtue that the Choro demands of you.

With the final Dragon Ball, the One-Star Ball, resting in the hands of Saichoro or "Grand Elder". He is the final arbiter of worthiness for your desire to receive a miracle from Porunga.

Krillin, incidentally, is the only person during the campaign on Namek to successfully pass a Namekian elder's measurement of virtue rather than taking a Ball by force. For escorting Dende to the safety of Saichoro's home and for having genuinely good intentions for his desired miracle, Krillin is judged worthy and given the One-Star Ball.

300 years ago, after the Nameless Namekian ascended to the lofty position of God, he was able to make Dragon Balls of his own. Though he didn't have the same organized structure that Saichoro put into his Dragon Ball system, the idea was similar: the Dragon Balls would provide a means for people to produce great deeds when in need.

It didn't pan out. The Dragon Bal ls were a mistake and brought nothing but horror to the Earth, and he regretted ever making the stupid fucking things. After Piccolo killed Shenron, God was more than ready to wash his hands of it.

By the time we meet God, it's hard to disagree. Oolong thwarted a maniac's wish for world domination by spending Shenron's world-shaping miracle on a set of women's undergarments before he could make his wish. A jackbooted warlord shot up multiple regions of the world to claim the Dragon Balls because he wanted to be taller. Bulma shot a child in the face with a gun so she could have infinite strawberries. Or a boyfriend. Either/or.

Honestly, infinite strawberries sounds pretty valid for a wish, NGL. Still wouldn't impress God, though.

There's also a piece of obscure Dragon Ball trivia says that the Dragon Balls were once used to successfully make a wish for world domination. This is why the entire Earth is a one-world nation under the dominion of King Furry. I think it comes from a Toriyama interview? But I don't recall the source so take that with a grain of salt.

In any case, God feels that the Dragon Balls were a horrible mistake and it's hard to disagree. The only thing that convinces him they're worth remaking is Goku's nobility. He sees in Goku the great virtue that has thus far been missing from anyone else who would seek the Dragon Balls, and that makes it all worthwhile.

The process of assembling the Dragon Balls is meant to be difficult. However, Bulma's invention of the Dragon Radar more or less trivialized it.

Notably, as a sign of her genius, the handheld radar that Bulma carries around outstrips the competition every time. She's far from the only person ever to make a Dragon Radar; She's just the only person ever to make a portable one.

That huge wall console is the best that the world's most powerful rogue paramilitary organization could manage. And it's still a hell of a lot better than anything Vegeta or Frieza had. They had to track people and hope a Dragon Ball was nearby.

Though I would be remiss to bring up Bulma's invention of the portable radar and not mention that, fun fact, the Radar that we often see passed around throughout the series wasn't built by her. Bulma's Radar was stolen by General Blue.

It's never seen again after this scene. I guess it was probably still in HQ when Goku stormed the place?

No, the Radar Goku finished the RRA arc with and then continues passing along from character to character is actually this one, created by - I shit you not - a cameo guest star from Toriyama's gag manga Dr. Slump.

Having seen the inner workings of the Radar while it was being repaired, Turbo the flying genius baby is able to reproduce a second copy. This copy would become the main Dragon Radar going forward after Bulma's original Radar was lost and forgotten.

Yeah, Dr. Slump canonically exists within the world of Dragon Ball and has directly impacted the story of one of its most iconic elements. However, this Radar still remains Bulma's genius design. She completely obliterated the entire test of virtue concept. I need you to understand that Bulma is the greatest heretic in the history of the universe, and that she and Vegeta deserve each other.

And now she uses Shenron for plastic surgery.

God was right. Earth isn't worthy of power like this. It was a mistake to bring Shenron back.

With some limitations, the great dragon summoned by the Dragon Balls can grant any miracle that is within Shenron's power. The main restriction this places is simple: Shenron or Porunga may not grant a wish affecting a person more powerful than Shenron unless that person consents.

This limitation serves the narrative purpose of explaining why we can't have Shenron pop any enemy that shows up into oblivion, which had been the Muten-Roshi's plan for dealing with Piccolo originally.

Though I occasionally like to joke about an AU where Bulma uses Shenron to solve the Saiyans. Can't teleport them into the sun or something? That's fine. I wish for you to teleport their spaceships into the sun.

No, I know you still can't teleport them even if you teleport their vehicles. That's fine. I'm asking you to teleport only the ships.

And then everyone lives happily ever after. Until about six or seven years later when the Androids kill us all.

But Shenron's and Porunga's power limitations also mean the story can have fun moments like this.

Goku is able to resist Porunga's attempt to warp him back to Earth because he's too powerful for the dragon to move involuntarily. He must consent to the teleport.

Of note: This particular piece of context doesn't come up in the DBS: Broly film directly, but it provides a fun bit of context to its finale.

When Cheelai used Shenron to save Broly, he had to consent to that. He could have told Shenron to go fuck himself and kept fighting instead.

But he doesn't want to. You can feel it just from looking at his face. Gogeta broke Broly's legendary berserker rage. In this instant, staring down Blue Gogeta's Kamehameha, Shenron asked him, "You want out of this, my dude?" And he said yes please. I'm done. I'm ready to go home.

The power restriction is also the reason why Shenron couldn't revert the Twins to normal humans.

But he can pop those self-destruct devices right out of their bodies, no sweat.

The other key limitation that Shenron has is an inability to resurrect the same person twice - Something Goku just sort of throws in as a new rule at the start of the Saiyan arc.

It's interesting to note that it's not specifically a prohibition against repeated rezzes, but against "granting the same wish twice". This never comes up in any other context, but it's interesting to think about.

Good thing Porunga doesn't have that limitation. Like. At all.

Hey, look at that. He was able to bring back Piccolo, Krillin, and Yamcha even though he'd already revived those two before.

Before the Buu arc, it could be assumed that he could raise people twice because those people had previously been raised by Shenron. Different dragon, different wish history. But no. Porunga's just better.

Our bootleg wish-dragon is a pale imitation of the real thing. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you that. But ours can do multi-rez so suck on that Poru--

Oh, never mind. Muri found out about multi-rez and gave him a tweak. Porunga remains the superior dragon. Of course, he's not the only person to upgrade their dragon. We have Dende to thank for Shenron's upgrades too.

This is a point that I've seen people get confused on. Dende's Shenron grants three wishes like Porunga. However, a multi-rez is so costly that it expends two of those wishes. So you can have three individual wishes or a multi-rez and one other wish.

The language here is super ambiguous, admittedly. It's easy to interpret Dende as saying "If I activate multi-rez then I have to set the limit to two." Like. We can configure Shenron for three wishes OR configure him for two wishes but make it possible to do multi-rez.

But subsequent chapters and authorial statements have clarified the matter. As long as you aren't multi-rezzing, you get three wishes.

It's just. Nobody ever uses Shenron for anything but multi-rez so it rarely comes up. This is not helped by general inconsistency, which Toei is particularly bad about but Toriyama's guilty of too. In the DBS: Broly movie, Shenron inexplicably is back to granting only one!

My dude. What happened to your upgrade? You were upgraded, you defective knock-off! DX

I think he just wanted to get the fuck out of there before Frieza realized he can still make his wish for improved tallness. He grants enough of that shit for Bulma as it is. He doesn't want another person muscling in on it.

This is what his life has come to.

It's also interesting to note that with multi-wish dragons, you can bank a wish if you don't have anything else in particular that you want.

Speaking of inconsistency, they made a multi-rez wish so shouldn't Shenron be down for eight months, not four? Either way, point is that you can cut down Shenron's recharge time by not using some of your wishes. Which makes sense if you think about it, but is more user-friendly than a lot of magical reality-warping macguffins typically are.

Shenron's great about that in general, concerning himself with making sure that the miracle he grants is in line with the intent of the wish, not just the letter. Unlike that bastard Porunga. He knows what he did.

In fairness, that's as much Dende's fault as Porunga's.

That about covers it for the Dragon Balls and their Wish Dragons, I think.

[duhragonball]

Chainsaw Man ch. 5-12

Ha ha! Look at this adorable li'l guy! Hell yeah!

All right, so last time, Denji merged with Pochita (see above), and became Chainsaw Man. Well, his monster form with the chainsaws isn't actually named anything, at least not yet, but the comic is titled Chainsaw Man, so that's what I'm calling his chainsaw form.

Anyway, Denji was coerced into joining the Public Safety Devil Hunter Squad Directorate Organization Agency Conglomeration whatever. He's mainly in it for the food, shelter, and a possible chance of intimate relations with women. His boss, Makima orders him to go on a patrol with another teammate, Power.

Power is a fiend, which is a devil who has inhabited a human corpse. This is somehow different from the Pochita/Denji merger, but I'm not clear on the distinction yet. Power would seem to be on the supply side of devil hunting, but Makima seems to think she can make use of her, and Power is willing to play along, probably because Makima will kill her if she doesn't.

At first, the two of them have trouble finding any devils in town, but then Power spots one and immediately destroys it with a big magic hammer. This was a bad call, because there was already a civilian devil hunter handling this devil, and apparently it's against the rules for devil hunters to jump each other's claims. Power tries to weasel out of the blame by telling Makima that Denji ordered her to do it, but Makima doesn't care. She just wants the two of them to get results. The "or else" is mostly implied at this point, but it's there.

Fundamentally, these two just don't get along, and Power trying to throw Denji under the bus earlier just makes things work. But then Power explains that she can't get along with humans, and the only other creatures she likes are cats, like her pet Meowy. She says Meowy was captured by a devil and Power was recruited by Makima before she could recover the cat. But if Denji were willing to help get Meowy back, she would be willing to repay him by letting him touch her boobs.

Currently, that's Denji's main goal. Yeah, that's it. Second base. That's pathetic and all, but until recently his main goal was to have enough money to afford jam for his bread, so I'm pretty sure this is going somewhere.

Meanwhile, Makima meets with her superiors, and vaguely reports that she's found two new recruits, one promising and one interesting. Aki disputes her assessment, as he finds Denji neither promising nor interesting, but Makima explains that his devil powers are based on chainsaws. Generally, devils have a power based on the scariness of their theme. There was a tomato devil back in chapter 1, and it probably wasn't all that dangerous. There's no scary mental image of tomatoes. I mean, there was the movie Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, but that was a comedy, and no one ever remembers that.

But chainsaws, well, they made an actual horror movie with that in the title, and everyone remembers Leatherface. Oh, actually, this is the 50th anniversary of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. See, that's staying power, and that's the kind of power Makima is interested in.

Also, Power, the fiend literally named after power. I have to assume Makima's interested in her as well, for one reason or another.

Back to Denji and Power, she leads him to some spooky barn or something where the Bat Devil is holding her cat hostage. She had a plan on the way over, but then she forgets it as they head for the door, and so she knocks out Denji with a hammer. Power's supposed to be a Blood Devil, so I don't understand the hammer thing. She seems to be able to make them out of thin air, so maybe she's making them out of blood? I dunno.

Power was mostly telling the truth, except she never intended to fight the Bat Devil. She just wanted to lure Denji here so she could feed him to the Bat Devil. In return, the Bat Devil said he would give her back her cat. Why doesn't this guy just hunt down his own victims? Well, one of his arms got lopped off at some point, so he needs human blood to regenerate it, and he probably doesn't want to risk hunting a human while he's injured. Instead, he captured Power's cat and used it as a hostage to force her to do his dirty work. So here we are.

Why did Power get attached to a cat in the first place? Well, she found one in the woods and decided she should fatten it up before eating it, but while she was doing that, she wound up becoming fond for the li'l guy.

But the Bat Demon won't honor his bargain, because even though drinking Denji's blood regenerates his wing, it tastes bad because of Denji's part-devil nature. So he swallows the cage with Meowy in it, and then eats Power too? Okay...

Bat Devil decides to go hunting some tastier victims to cleanse his palate, and now that his wing his restored, he's all set... except he forgot one thing.

Boobs. No wait, I meant chainsaws. No... hold on. "Boobs" was right? In spite of Power's betrayal, Denji still thinks he can save the cat and get the reward she promised him. He grabs onto the Bat Devil and sucks his blood, which I guess heals him up enough to continue this fight. Bat Devil's like "What the hell do you want, anyway," and Denji's like...

So yeah, there's a certain touch to this that I really enjoy. The monsters in this story seem to be a lot more rational than Chainsaw Man, and when he goes apeshit on them, they start to wonder just what the hell they've gotten themselves into.

I've had to hear about Lovecraftian horrors for much of my life, how Cthulhu and his ilk are so impossibly powerful and scary, and if you even looked at them too long you'd go mad from the dread or whatever. I'm a bigger fan of Robert E. Howard stories, where Conan will run into some eldritch horror and just attack it like he would a wolf or a bear. It's like the man said: If it bleeds, we can kill it.

On the other hand, I like the notion of a creature so alien and with motives so incomprehensible that it cannot be perceived by the rational mind. That's a fun idea, but it's wasted on Yog-Sothoth. No, it's a lot more fun when the hero is the one who's beyond understanding, and the monsters he slays are left utterly baffled.

Bat Devil's like "What the fuck, dude? I'm just a despicable creature trying to drink blood to sustain my unholy existence. Why won't you leave me alone?"

And Denji's just like "booOoOoooObS" and there's no answer for that. Bat Devil can't give him boobs, he can't take another hostage. If he kills Power, Denji would just kill Bat Devil anyway for revenge. There's no way out of this because Denji's motives make no fucking sense. To him anyway. Boobs are pretty awesome.

Also, Denji's not exactly thinking straight. Bat Devil tries to throw a car at him as a distraction, but Denji catches it and chucks it back at him. I'm pretty sure he knows better, but he's too upset to care, and that must surely send a chill down Bat Devil's spine. I dig this sort of thing.

So Denji finally disembowels the Bat Devil and rescues Power and Meowy. She's like "What could possibly have made you go so far to rescue me after I betrayed you?" And he just points at her chest. And since Meowy survived, Power says she's hold up her end of the deal.

Well, except this thing suddenly showed up and cut off one of Denji's arms. Good luck touching boobs now, idiot.

This is a Leech Devil, and she says Bat Devil was her boyfriend. I don't know how she happened to be in the area when this fight happened, or how she snuck up on these two, so I'm going to assume that she was inside the Bat Devil's rectum the whole time. It's some freaky-deaky sex act, just get all crammed up inside your partner's rectum. Anyway, Denji tries to transform again, but he's worn out, and he only changes part way. The Leech Devil offers to let him go, but she intends to kill Power and the cat, so Denji's like "Let's dance, bitch."

Denji gets a few hits in, but he can't last long, and just as the Leech Devil is about to eat him...

Aki shows up and does the Too-Sweet gesture. Has he joined Bullet Club? Probably, because Bullet Club sucks these days and so does Aki. Well, actually, this is how he summons his demon familiar or whatever it is. It eats the leech devil and saves Denji.

Later, Denji's arm grows back when he gets a blood transfusion, and Aki explains to him that he's not friends with this Fox Devil thing. He borrows its power in exchange for feeding it parts of his body. It's a contract, similar to the contract Denji and Pochita made in chapter 1.

Aki loathes devils, and resents Denji for not hating them just as much, and for having shallow motives for being a devil hunter, but he believes he can accept this if Denji agrees to follow his orders. Also, Aki covers up all the civilians Denji put in harm's way during that battle.

Denji agrees, and one of the other Devil Hunters asks Aki if this is wise. He seems to be going to great lengths to protect Denji and Power, and if they screw up, it'll be his ass. But Aki insists that he's simply using Power and Denji to achieve their primary goal: hunting devils. He has no intention of befriending either of them.

But he does have to live with them, because Makima orders them to live with Aki. Aki asks why and she says she trusts Aki more than anyone, and he accepts this pretty readily.

Later, Power finally gives Denji his payment for saving Meowy. She agrees to give him three squeezes.

On the first one, Denji winds up causing her breast pads to fall out. I'm not against her wearing the things, but I feel like that first squeeze shouldn't count if all he got was padding. He could buy one of those himself and go to town if that's all he was after.

Two and three go pretty uneventfully, and Power seems pretty pleased with the transaction. She has her cat, so she has no reason to continue hunting devils, but she can't escape Makima, so she'll just carry on and help Denji from here on out. Well that's nice.

But for Denji, the whole thing seems kind of anticlimactic... because... it was.

Later, while Makima walks him through paperwork, Denji confides in her that he achieved a dream he'd had for a while, only to discover the fulfillment of the dream felt empty. Like the Vulcan once said: "[H]aving is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true."

The hollow feeling of touching Power's boobs isn't such a bad thing in itself, but Denji is now worried that this will be how it goes every time. What if every dream he chases turns out like this?

He finally admits to Makima that this is about touching boobs, and she explains that physical intimacy kind of depends on... well, intimacy. You have to get to know your partner, at least physically, and take your time, or otherwise there's no enjoyment.

I'm not sure if Makima knows Denji touched Power's boobs, or how that went down, but it's probably not hard to guess that it was a cold, sterile experience. Power's not even human, so it's unclear if she even cared about doing it. And she just sat on a toilet and let him do his thing. Come to think of it, that's probably why the pads were in that scene. I said that first squeeze shouldn't count, but the second and third kind of don't count either, because Denji didn't enjoy the flesh any more than the padding.

By contrast, this panel of Makima putting Denji's hand on her ear is a lot more thrilling. It's pretty dumb on paper, and it's kind of creepy when it's Makima doing it, but she also makes it seem like a truly romantic gesture. I wish some lady would let me fondle her left ear.

So when all of that is set up, Makima then puts his hand on her boob, and that actually excites Denji, because she built up to it. I'm pretty sure this isn't appropriate for one reason or another, but I'm not here to consider the morality of Makima's actions in this scene. Her observation on the nature of intimacy, is spot on, even if she really shouldn't be demonstrating it like this in the workplace.

And after all of this, Makima asks Denji for a favor: defeat the Gun Devil. It's a really powerful devil that's worth a lot of money or something, and Makima thinks Denji can take him. All she needs is to get him properly motivated, which is probably what this scene was all about.

And if he succeeds, Makima offers to grant him any one wish. I kind of don't believe they can do Third Base in a manga like this. Maybe he'll wish for his own desk instead.

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

wait PLEASE tell us the professor firing story im so curious

Oh man. I’d like to preface this as something I’m not… one hundred percent proud of. Or at least, not something I brag about. I’m not sad or upset that I did it, and not sure if I’d have changed anything had I the chance. The man did deserve it. But here’s the entirely too long story.

(If you see typos or other weirdness, no you don’t.)

Imagine this—it’s 2018, it’s almost your last semester of community college. It’s spring semester, it’s cold, and you just got told that for the first time, your psychology class is NOT going to be under your favorite professor (not because he quit, he just didn’t teach this one). So, you’ve already had a full day of classes. It’s your last class of the day, it’s around noon to early afternoon, and you’ve actually had lectures in this classroom before.

You go in. Some chatting students, you choose a seat in the second row, kind of far from the door but those were already taken. Time passes.

Then suddenly, dread. That gut feeling that you absolutely should leave, right now, no matter what.

A man has just walked in.

We’ll call him Stanley, because that was his fucking name, Stanley…. Hawk. I’m not protecting his name because I care, but to keep myself and my classmates more anonymous.

That was my honest to goodness first reaction to this man. We had never met. And all I could think was “PLEASE tell me this isn’t the professor”.

He was, in fact, the social psychology professor.

From the first class, there are a number of red flags. He locks the door, ‘for safety’, despite that door actually being quite close to an exit-only door. He insists we MUST email him if we are to miss class—not in an ‘inform him’ way, by how he phrased it. If he could have said that we required his permission, he would have, and he was just short of that statement. He’s kinda weird about letting us out for bathroom breaks too. And he just seems… off. And the way he wants us to contact him is NOT through email. No, he hands us business cards and asks us to CALL HIM. Anyone who has had a college class will tell you—that’s EXTREMELY fucking weird.

Still, we power through. Because maybe the gut instinct was wrong, maybe he’s just strict.

AHAHAHAHA.

No.

Throughout the months I had him, he:

-Repeated the same lessons multiple times (don’t talk to me about the prison experiment I will SCREAM).

-Mostly call on one particular non-white guy

-Not ever get this one woman’s name right, probably because she was South American. Her name wasn’t hard, it was like- Marianna, and he’d like, call her Mary-Anne or other mispronunciations

-Get MY name right despite it being more difficult, though it still took him a few times. Either cause I’m White American or because my sister worked front desk, I’m not sure

-Mispronounced most of the women’s names at least once, even easy ones—he did not do this with any of the men

-(To my knowledge, the only genderqueer person was me, and I wasn’t public about it, and CERTAINLY wasn’t telling HIM that)

-Otherwise would talk wrestling with one guy who sat behind me. During class.

-Often went on tangents unrelated to the topic

-Claimed that he would take all the confederate statues and have them in his yard, proudly. He mentioned this at LEAST three times.

-Always mentioned that some of his grandkids were adopted Asian kids but was like… weird about it, genuinely not sure how to describe it

-Once went on an entire, unprompted safety lecture, saying to “you girls” (again, college, ‘girls’ isn’t the exact term I’d use) that we should make sure to immediately lock our car doors because we always “spend time getting all settled in when you drive, with your phones and purses and makeup”. He did not say the same to the “boys”, and also��I felt more unsafe that HE’D do something than anyone else

-Semi-often bemoaned the fact he couldn’t just hug students because of policy, that he couldn’t touch them even as a friendly pat on the shoulder because they might go to the college board. No, I’m not kidding. He actually said this sort of thing. I WONDER WHY THE STUDENTS DON’T WANT YOU TOUCHING THEM.

One of the worst incidents, he mishandled our test times, saying it was due at 12 midnight (online testing). I go to do it at about 2 pm… it’s closed. It’s Friday. I email him multiple times. I had to email the DEAN OF THE DEPARTMENT to get him to even answer. Said he ‘messed up’ and that it accidentally was put at 12 noon. He then tried to blame me alone, except no—another student (we’ll say… Alexis) ALSO had the same issue. He then said next time to call him. I don’t think I said anything, but I always did assignments before 12 noon so that there would not be a ‘next time’.

Then, one day, he had us list out twenty traits. Or like, things we like to do. Something to that effect. It was personal, is the main thing.

And then share that with the class.

It felt extremely elementary, we were almost through with the school semester, and I had learned nothing. I didn’t like this teacher, he kept fumbling, and that gut feeling just kept coming back. The anxiety I felt every time he locked the door.

And I remembered a post going around, about how we are not obligated to share things we don’t want to, especially in a classroom.

So, as I take my turn, I list out some generic things about likes and dislikes.

And I say something to the tune of, “I don’t like sharing with an entire class of almost strangers about myself when I don’t even know them.”

Several people start to talk in agreement, but I just keep reading my other statements. Because no, now is not the time. We have PLANNING to do.

Sure enough, I get two main allies from this. One Alexis, who was the student that also didn’t take the test. Another is a student who had been challenging him the entire semester- we’ll call her Sarah. She’d unlock the door pretty much any time Stephen Fucking Hawk wasn’t paying attention. Sarah is the one who approached me, so while I may have been a bit of a… not quite figurehead of this because of my earlier stunt(s), Sarah is the real mastermind here.

That said, I’m not sure if we’d have come together as such had I not done that little stand up for myself in class. A stand up that was inspired by a TUMBLR POST. Like, directly inspired. Before that point, I had thought that there’s no WAY this happens, that professors expect an airing of grievances in class, to virtual strangers. Jokes on me, but continuing on.

Sarah and I start airing our grievances, and we realize we’re actually in the same sociology class as well as being in the same social psychology class (yes, I got them confused, no, I never fully got UNconfused, because while Mrs. H was a fairly good sociology teacher, Stanley Fucking Hawk was not a good social psychology teacher). We decide—next class period, after the lesson was done. we’ll talk to her. Alexis isn’t in the class, but she promises to come in straight after her other class to help.

Poor Mrs. H looked so overwhelmed.

Especially when people we hadn’t EVEN MET started chiming in about stuff we didn’t even know about. Apparently, he talked about sex things in class before? Anyways.

She promised to talk with some of the higher ups. We continued on. We had like, other priorities.

About a few days later, Stephen Fucking Hawk is called to a meeting with the Dean. I know this, because he appeared briefly to give us a worksheet to work on for half an hour until he got back. Again, ask any college student—it’s weird that this was done during class time. Or that class wasn’t called off for the day.

I decided, yeah, fuck this, do the ten billionth really dumb worksheet for this prof (also a repeat, I think, which was not a new thing with him), and in half an hour I’m leaving. My baby niece was just born. Also, no, I was not emailing him for permission. This was not a job, he was not my boss, and I’d had enough of him. Not like he checked them ANYWAYS, as proven before.

He returned, a bit late and a little frazzled. I go to turn in my worksheet and leave.

He tried to stop me, trying to cite his little attendance policy. I honest to goodness think he’d have grabbed my wrist had he been allowed, or possibly if I hadn’t dodged.

I DO remember snapping at him that I WAS leaving, I’m ALLOWED to make that choice, and I was GOING to go see my niece.

I was also in martial arts at the time. So there’s a good chance he recognized that I could and WOULD sock him in the face if he tried something.

I left. He never looked at me for long ever again. Not that he usually did—chronic bitch face worked WONDERS, and I’m understanding why so many people, women in particular, might have gotten this trait.

After that, things are… average. There was still a few weeks, about a month, left still. We figure that if anything did happen, it’ll be after exams. That’s fine. So long as something is done. Naturally, we’re kept in the dark.

Then we get our course and professor evals. Basically, papers we were given in class to grade the class and the professor, with a small section at the end to write out any additional comments. You could add more paper to that section if you wanted to.

These were normal and mandatory in this college.

Y’all. People BROUGHT extra paper to class. I’m pretty sure Sarah wrote out five pages alone. Keep in mind, getting the usual comment section filled out at ALL was either optional or rarely exceeded the small space.

I think I only used one or two extra sheets, I DO recall filling a page both front and back. But keep in mind—I have somewhat small handwriting.

I savor the panic on that man’s eyes as he saw that people just. Kept. Writing. An exercise that usually took ten minutes and was technically anonymous (students had to handle the paperwork, both giving it out, taking them back, and turning it in at the front desk) took at least twice that.

Anyways, the next couple of classes were… well. Subdued on his end. Less tangents. He’s still not a good teacher, but none of use are actually paying attention.

We then get the news—he isn’t returning next semester.

There wasn’t a cheer, but Sarah and Alexis and a few other people in the class Share Looks. He doesn’t mention why, but We Knew.

Fun bonus fact about my college—like most schools, there’s a set amount of days per class you can miss without a cause, about two weeks. Since many exams were online, the popular trend—and professors knew and adjusted to this—was that students who hadn’t missed their earlier days would just not be in class the last couple of weeks. They’d show up to an in-person exam, if needed, but those last couple of weeks were usually exam prep and damn near an option for most classes.

I had to go to one class of his during the two week period because I missed a day, and half of everyone was gone.

After that day, I did not return to that class.

I got an A in that class despite knowing JACK about social psychology, and Stephen Fucking Hawk was gone from the staff directory from them on.

And that’s how a tumblr post helped me get a man fired, kind of.

[crisalidaseason]

Mad Guerrila and Irritatingly Logical Commander

Part two of my Commander and Guerrila story. Corrections were made because Tumblr hates me

Summary: Armin comes back half a year after the encounter with the guerrilla. He misses them, but not the only one who does. Tags: mentions of political persecution, mostly light hearted and attempt to be funny, just a sprinkle of angst, Armin fakes confidence a lot, Armin is a little sassy, reader is chaos, reader is conflicted, reader has a fake name (Kai), Arthur is a father figure for everyone, you love the braus family. Jean and Connie (they are TW)

Armin watched as the ship docked and the eager passengers started to leave in a chaotic hurry. Eldia was never crowded with visitors, but the amount of ships was still bizarre for such a small and extremely vigilant island. Armin could never really say that he missed that place, it had lost the sense of home years ago, when all the ties to that land left him wounded. The only reason he was still stepping foot there had to do with Mikasa, to check on her safety and well being. Of course, he also had the agreements to fulfill and the endless reports to narrate to the army. He hated that every visit had his neck on a rope, but there was nothing he could do about that.

“Hey, we should hurry” Jean stopped beside him “the sooner we report, the faster we get to visit Mikasa”

Armin nodded, sighing deeply. He went to his private and small room on the ship to collect his luggage and walked towards the ship’s disembarkation spot. Jean was already waiting for him, alongside Reiner and Connie.

“Pieck and Annie?” the blond asked.

Connie pointed to the pier area, where the two women waited for them. Armin could not blame them, crossing the ocean for so long was taking a tool on all of them. That three month trip back to Eldia was the longest they ever went through. Armin joined his comrades, leaving the ship and heading towards the two women. A few employees of the small harbor were beside them and soon the workers were offering to put their belongings in a relatively new auto.

“Queen Historia’s guests, am I right?” one of the men asked “we were requested to take you to the main headquarters”

Armin tried not to grunt out of frustration and let go of his luggage so the man could take it. He was hoping that the army would not ask for more than a few hours of his attention, but Armin guessed that luck was never on his side. He motioned for Annie and Pieck to approach and the group divided themselves into two autos. The trip was short, about 15 minutes, but enough to irritate the former commander since the engine was too warm and noisy. Also, the driver seemed to make everything on their power to shake the auto around and hit every bump on the street.

“Here we are” the driver said, with a strange voice.

Armin left the car, adjusting his clothes. He turned to take his luggage and almost had a heart attack once he glanced at the driver’s profile. Whatever noise of surprise he was about to let out was strongly drowned.

What are they doing here?!

“Thank you” Jean said to the driver, oblivious to Armin’s sudden frozen frame.

The driver had a thick beret and a standard harbor staff uniform. But Armin could recognize that profile in an instant, never able to forget that face.

“Armin, you’re okay?” Jean touched his shoulder.

Snapping back to reality, he took his luggage, eyes deviating from the not-really-stranger.

“Thank you” he said to the driver.

Armin wanted to scream. How was he supposed to concentrate on anything knowing that the guerrilla was his driver?

He saw the small and discreet smirk on their face before they restarted the engine and left. Armin shook his head and entered the building, feeling like his feet were made of clouds, the companions giving him concerned looks but not asking anything. The army greeted them and directed their belongings to the many rooms in the headquarters. Soon, they were locked in a meeting room, where everyone spent the afternoon giving a report. Armin had to focus really hard not to be incoherent, mind still on the driver, while Jean gave his report of the latest agreement with the south meridian countries. Armin could only think about how to find the guerrilla again.

Did they work as a driver or…was that just for Armin? He wanted to believe the latter, but there was no way they knew his party would arrive today.

Were they insane? Probably yes. Parading themselves into military territory as if they were not a political enemy, one that almost died from a bullet wound months ago.

“Mr. Arlert” a voice brought him back. The eldian army’s commander looked at him as if he was a stupid little insect on his way.

Armin had memorized the auto’s appearance, maybe he could find them by searching for the machine? He had to. Now that fate gave him a sight of their face, Armin had to see them again.

“Yes, sir” Armin replied, trying to play the usual composure.

“We must have a response from the east islands as soon as possible, look into that”

Armin nodded. Holding his tongue to not insult the man in front of him. Finally, the meeting was declared finished when the last sun rays were already leaving.

“We should eat something” Pieck suggested “maybe going out for a homemade meal nearby, I genuinely don’t want to have dinner with the soldiers”

Armin nodded, the other ones also agreeing. A few minutes later, the group of six were sharing a meal in a small inn, where a young girl was singing and playing some percussion instrument that Armin was not familiar with. The ambience was calm and the group could almost forget about their tiring day and heavy burden of duty. The former commander could say he was finally enjoying a meal for the first time in ages, watching as Annie and Pieck made fun of Connie’s lack of table manners, even if they were both just as bad. Jean was calmly eating, Reiner laughing at Connie’s antics but also keeping a calmer stance. Armin never grew close to Reiner or Pieck, but he could recognize their effort. Mostly, he was closer to Jean and maybe Annie, when she was not being insufferable with him. Looking at his comrades, he imagined if the mad-guerrilla had moments like these.

Did they have occasional dinners with their comrades?

Are their friends still alive?

Are they able to just be publicly laughing and enjoying music like Armin was?

He imagined many of those answers were a dry and sad No. He looked around, hoping that any moment he would see that familiar face come inside the inn, sit beside him and talk the night away. A delusional part of Armin wanted to take them to dinner, only the two of them, sharing things about themselves and laughing. Armin wanted to know their favorite food, the books they liked the most, their saddest moments, the happy memories. That was so stupid, he should not be so attached to someone that still remained unnamed to him.

“Come on, let’s head back” Jeans voice brought him back “You’re getting too wild, Connie”

Their journey back to the headquarters was filled with Connie and Jean’s bickering. Armin could not help but remember a third person in between them, a sad reminder that things were incomplete. He accompanied Pieck and Annie to their room for safety measures, wishing them a good night and rest, and after making sure the others were safe in their rooms he finally headed to his own. It was small with no windows, probably nothing more than a regular captain’s room, which Armin was not upset about but he could see the mockery the military made of him. Every time he came to this forsaken island, the extremists made sure to humiliate his revoked status. Armin shook his head, choosing not to dwell into those thoughts, he opened his bag to fetch some sleeping clothes and found a piece of paper inside.

You look very handsome in tailored clothing. It was nice seeing you again. Don’t look for me!!

When did this happen? How did they even slip a paper inside his bag? And how dare they just appear in Armin’s life, completely spin his world, and just say “don’t look for me”?

Armin changed his clothes and laid in bed, taking the piece of paper with him. He looked at the handwriting, not dainty but not bad either, just a common handwriting. The ink had horrible quality, which made Armin fear that the message would not last much longer on the paper. He wanted to keep it forever. Turning the paper, he almost missed a faint scribble mark on the back. Now, his years sending small letters to Mikasa during cadet training were enough to teach him some things. He took a small piece of charcoal from his writing kit, softly gliding it on the surface of the paper, revealing a hidden message.

What’s the dumbest place to die?

He smiled, too big of a smile for his own good. That guerrilla might be mad, but he was the one losing his mind.

---

You were feeding Pots when the young boy called you.

“Dad told me to warn you that they arrived”

Ivan left just as quickly as he came, leaving you an anxious mess.

“Wish me luck, roommate” you said to the horse.

You closed the horse stall, slowly making your way to the front of the stable. You did not come often to Arthur’s farm, but when you did he always left the horse feeding duties to you.

“payment for the blood I had to clean” he told you when you visited him after the incident.

You gladly did it. Whatever payment you could give Arthur would never compare to the mercy he offered not only to you, but to many other people. He had a long history of harboring runaways there and he had been doing so for a while. You tried to visit him as much as you could, warning the Braus family of any attacks your people were elaborating, making sure they were not harmed. His big family never asked about your alliance with the rioters, but you knew they were aware of it.

“You grow taller every time I see you” Arthur’s voice could be heard from the stable.

He was speaking to a tall man, with dark blond hair and a rather sparse beard. He was indeed very tall. Beside him, there was another tall and large man, with lighter blonde hair. You did not recognize them at all, but they had the physique of soldiers. You were never enlisted in the corps back in the day, but you saw their training enough to understand how hard it shaped them.

“You’re probably shrinking, old man” the tall dark blond man said.

From the auto parked in front of the house, two beautiful women left alongside a buzzed headed man. The women were on the shorter side, one blonde and the other brunette. You recognized the blond woman, she was one of the reasons your district was ruined years ago during a titan fight. Such a small person and that much damage. You always found it odd how she roamed free amongst her enemies, but you had your fair share of ‘working with the devil’.

“Commander, it’s been a while” Arthur’s voice was excited.

The man that haunted your thoughts was there. Pretty as ever, and handsome at the same time, he stood in an elegant and casual outfit. He looked good in blue, too good for your focus to work properly. You observed as he greeted Arthur, speaking something you could not concentrate on enough. The group entered the home, but Arthur stopped Armin from going inside, whispering something to him. Armin looked in the direction of the stables, nodding to the older man and quickly walking over.

You felt like your heart would give up any moment. Arthur, you son of a-

Trying to calm your drumming heart, you waited for the man to enter the stable. Your eyes refused to leave his beautiful frame while he got closer and closer. He finally opened the wooden gate, looking around and spotting you leaning on the wall.

“Hello, Commander. Good to see you alive” you said.

He just stood there, looking at you as if you were a ghost. Was he always that awkward?

“Did you unlearn how to speak?” you said again.

His surprised expression soon turned upset.

“Are you completely and utterly mad?” he finally replied.

Excuse me? What the actual fuck?

“Excuse me?”

“You are literally a target and the first time I see you again is when your mad self drives me directly into army territory?”

“Oh, that? I do that all the time. How do you think I gather information?”

He threw his hands in the air, flabbergasted.

“You do this often!” he exclaimed.

“Um, yes! That’s exactly how I am able to watch them without being noticed. People don’t look at their drivers” you explained.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, but the smile betrayed his upset feelings.

“This is exactly why you end up bleeding in stables” he mocked you “I received your note, by the way. How did you even slip that into my bag?”

“I have my ways” you said “Did you like my note?”

You could see his cheeks and nose get progressively more red. For someone as handsome and seemingly confident you did not imagine him being so shy regarding compliments, especially when he was so quick to scold you for doing your literal job!

“It’s good to see you well” he said “how’s the wound?”

You lifted your shirt a little, showing him the faint and jagged line that adorned your skin.

“It’s ugly, I filed a formal complaint about the nurse”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Formal complaints require a name and, if I recall well, you don’t have a name, Guerrilla”

“I do have one, and stop calling me that!” you complained.

“When you give me a name” he replied “even a-”

“Even a fake one” you completed “not happening, Commander. Besides, I am hungry and Arthur owes me food”

You walked past Armin, making an effort to bump into him, smiling annoyingly once he complained. He soon followed you into the farm house.

“You’re visiting him often?”

“Not really, I still keep a good distance between my visits” you said “just to make sure nobody is on my shadow”

“You had any troubles with the soldiers lately?”

“Not really, I was laying low for a few months. I returned to my duties a few weeks ago” you replied “and what about you? It’s been almost half a year since I saw my personal nurse”

“Diplomatic trips. Always takes too long and the ship trips are endless” he complained, rubbing his neck as if the tiredness still clung to him.

Even in your feverish state a few months ago, you could see he was a very tired man. A tiredness that was not only physical. You knew he was only one or two years older than you, but he acted as if he lived so much more. You guessed it was understandable, sometimes you also felt like you lived too long.

“That seems awful” you were not certain of what to say “but at least you’re back”

“Yes”

He was about to open the front door to you when you stopped him.

“Um, your friends are there. Let’s not mention my…political status?” you said “me and Arthur have a lie made up. I’m his occasional employee”

“Oh, alright” he said “I assume I should keep my nurse activities in secret as well”

“Yes”

He nodded and you let him open the door.

“Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back” he said, disappearing into the home.

Odd. You thought. You went to the backyard, where Arthur was preparing the table for dinner, Nicollo nowhere in sight, probably still cooking in the kitchen. You greeted a few of his kids, whose names you never remembered well, but they were nice enough.

“So you decided to join us for dinner this time? I wonder why” Arthur said to you, a stupid grin on his face.

“Shut up” you mouthed to him.

He laughed. You helped him prepare the table by placing all the plates and cutlery. You never stayed for dinner and usually ate whatever plate Arthur gave you on the stables or front porch. He would always invite you to join the table, but you were scared of getting even more attached and always declined. Your gratitude towards the Braus family, Arthur in particular, was already more than enough. The old man seemed to never take it personally though, which you appreciated.

“All done” Arthur said “let's bring the food and call everyone”

Soon enough, dinner was fully set and everyone was already taking their seat. You saw as the other new faces arrived, their eyes focusing on you. Looking at your plate, you avoided looking up and tried to remain as invisible as possible. Joining for dinner was a mistake, all for a boy you were stupidly infatuated with. You had a complicated enough life, adding strange romantic feelings was stupid.

“How rude of me” Arthur’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts “everyone, this is Kai, my helper from time to time”

He put a hand on your shoulder, patting it slightly. He pointed at the new faces, presenting their names to you. Knowing your wonderful memory, you would probably forget or mix them up soon enough.

“Nice to meet you” Armin said “Kai”

He had a very innocent and warm expression. Piece of shit, you were going to slap that pretty face when opportunity came.

---

Armin had a hard time keeping his attention on other people. He wanted to speak openly with one specific person, ask them many questions and sit by them. He could not do it, of course, not without raising any suspicion. Glancing at them from across the table, he noticed that they seemed shy, which was not something Armin expected from them.

Kai. Was it their real name? It did not matter, he thought it fit them even if it was fake.

Mikasa kicked him softly under the table. He looked at his longtime friend, her face questioning and her eyes slightly moving to Kai. Was he that obvious? or just enough for Mika to notice? He just shrugged, turning his attention back to Jean and Connie’s bickering with Ivan.

“Kai, right?” Mikasa’s voice was low, but clear “I saw you around a few times, but I never presented myself. Mikasa”

Armin tried not to choke on his food. He had the sensation Mikasa would make him pay for all the teasing regarding her and Annie’s situationship.

“Pleasure to meet you” they shook Mikasa’s hand, face a little stunned.

Thankfully, their initial conversation was ordinary. He noticed Kai would give many vague answers, probably to preserve their identity, but enough to engage Mikasa. He was slowly dragged into conversation.

“So, are all of you old comrades?” Kai asked at some point.

“Most of us” Armin replied “we all joined in the same year. Although me and Mikasa know one another the longest, about…twelve or thirteen years”

“Wow” Kai replied, face slightly thoughtful.

“A blessing and a curse” Mikasa broke the momentaneous silence “he can be irritatingly logical sometimes”

Kai laughed, agreeing. Anyone outside would not read too much into it, but Armin knew they were recalling their first meeting on the horse stall.

“I also happen to be a very good friend” he replied to Mikasa, slightly kicking her under the table.

Dinner lasted for a few hours, Arthur sent his kids to the main home to prepare for bed while the older ones carried all the dishes back to the outside kitchen. Armin saw as Kai took washing duties. Arthur tried to argue that it was his turn to do it, but they shooed him away.

“Leave, old man” they said “they’re my dishes now”

“Dishes are not a part of your labor contract” he argued.

“We don’t have a contract, besides I’ll be nice and do it for free” Kai replied “to relieve your old knee articulations”

Armin smiled watching the interaction, already aware of the stubborn behavior they sported. He soon took place beside them, with a cloth in hands.

“Let me dry and put the dishes away” Armin whispered, already taking a few plates.

Kai nodded and Armin was the happiest man on earth at that moment. The two stood there, one washing and the other drying the dishes. The kitchen was getting empty, with the others going inside the house, most likely taking their catch up conversations to the living room. Mikasa was still there though, stacking the last dirty dishes next to you.

“Can you two handle it? I’m a little tired today from all the errands” she said.

“Yes” Armin replied “have good night, Mika. Make sure Annie sleeps or else she gets insufferable in the morning”

She pinched him on the side, with enough strength to bend him a little. He could not help tease her about Annie, though. He smiled at her in an apologetic way, wishing her a good night.

“Hi” he said once Mikasa left.

“Hey” Kai replied.

The only sound was the water flowing from the tap and the laughter in the distance. Occasionally, Armin’s elbows would brush on their arms, sending stupid warm sensations to his body. Once the dishes were done, he leaned on the counter, not sure of what to do.

“We should go back to the house” Kai said.

“I know” he said.

None of them moved. He was looking at his shoes and glancing at Kai from time to time. Everything was so stupid and awkward and pretty. He hated it.

“It was fun” he finally said “to be able to talk to you again”

“Yes” they said.

He stood straight, slightly bouncing on his feet and thinking about getting closer. Kai seemed to read that and spared him the decision, stepping in his direction.

“Are you…staying?” they asked.

“A few weeks probably” he said “I'll leave for some representative meetings but I’m always coming back here whenever I can. To check on Mikasa”

“You two are very close. That’s nice of you, visiting her”

“I suppose, but considering that she is too distracted flirting with my team mate I kinda feel left out” He said “jokes aside, I’ll be around more often”

He wanted Kai to know how much he longed to see them more often.

“Then you’ll probably see me a few more times” Kai said.

“I am counting on that”

The two fell silent again. Armin wondered if he said too much, if he crossed any limits with that. He was not dumb, he was confident that they at least had a small interest in him, but doubts were always a presence in his life.

“Armin…” they paused, looking down at their feet. Their hands moved strangely, as if they did not know what to do with them.

He encouraged them to speak. Kai lifted their head, looking Armin in the eyes and stepping closer again. He felt his breath trap within his chest, his heart drumming.

“I never properly expressed my gratitude the first time. I know I called your sewing abilities ugly, and they are, but I am genuinely thankful for what you did”

He smiled. He wondered if they did that on purpose or if brutal honesty was just their personality. It did not seem intentional sometimes.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I would be glad to…know you more”

“So do I” he said “as long as you want to, of course”

A few long moments passed, where both just stood there facing one another.

“We should get inside, It’s getting colder” they said.

“We should” he agreed.

Nobody moved. Armin had been much physically closer to Kai before, when they were injured, but that moment felt too intimate. He felt a strange trance that would not let him move away, but only push them closer.

“Wow. You’re very close” Kai said.

Armin immediately took a step back. Feeling like he did something wrong.

“I’m so sorry-”

“No, No, you idiot. I didn’t mean-” Kai sighed loudly, stepping closer again “How many more signs I’ll have to send you?”

Signs? Were they thinking the same he was thinking? Or was Armin foolishly delusional and thinking something completely inaccurate?

“Do you know what a kiss is or you’ve been too long in the military?” Kai spat, crossing their arms.

Armin held no single coherent thought in his head. They were thinking what he was thinking, but what would happen then? He had never daydreamed this far. He was not stupid, he had a few romantic interactions before, but none had the same connection he was building with Kai. Armin lacked any substantial flirting abilities.

“I think I broke him” they said again, waving their hand in front of Armin’s face.

“Sorry, I just…” Armin stuttered “Um. You’re just very bold and I’m so lost”

“Mikasa said you were irritatingly logical” they replied “what would the next irritatingly logical step now?”

He was a disaster. The chance to woo gracefully was already destroyed, he might as well be awkward.

“I would ask you politely if I can give you a kiss”

Kai grinned, trying to hide it behind their hand.

“You’re so stupid, but so so adorable” they said “I demand a kiss on the lips, Commander. Now”

He chuckled, cooling his warm and red face with his hands. It did not help and his face was still very much red when he softly kissed that absolutely mad guerrilla under the orange lamp of the outside kitchen.

[initiumseries]

what did you think of Storms power loss story on x-men 97? And did you believe her relationships with jean and forge?

I thought it was interesting that Storm went through the power loss. Initially I was annoyed because she lost her powers defending Magneto, and, as usual with these things, I couldn't understand why she had to use her physical body as opposed to moving Magneto out of the way with a wind blast, blowing a chair or anything in the path of the beam, but I also realize these things are done for story purposes, I just feel like, for someone like Magneto, there needs to be an unavoidable reason why Storm sacrifices her own personal safety instead of absolutely anything else, first. But barring that, I was curious about her SL, and the lil demon thing that shows up. I will say, it felt a bit random, like, so...there's mutants AND like, demons in this world? Huh? But I was willing to suspend my disbelief to consider Storm's indecision, anxiety and pain at the loss of her abilities and therefore sense of self, drew this thing to them, thus forcing her to confront her deep rooted fears (taking the visual form of her claustrophobia but obviously extending beyond that), in order to tap into her powers again. The science behind this doesn't make sense, but I think with x-men, it's just better to not look too deep into any of it lol.

So, it took a bit for me to adjust that the weekly release means that it's written as if there's been story development that we just aren't privy to (not uncommon, it was how most things were written for cable and I see it when I go back and watch things like Smallville for ex), so it was clear to me that a lot of the development of Storm and Forge seemingly happened off screen, which I thought was a bit of a shame. It would've been nice to see them fall in love, because I don't think what we DID see, was enough, especially when we find out that his tech is what led to Storm's predicament. How did she overcome that? I get the demon thing helping her get there, but it shouldn't have been the only thing.

With her relationship with Jean, I thought the sisters thing was a little too much, but then I remembered that this is basically, kinda picking up where the OG x-men series left off, and when I took that into consideration, I was like okay, well, they were the 97 graduating class, they're the only women on the team, and they're incredibly powerful, so, it makes sense they'd be close, and I don't think I needed to see that relationship build up in this new series.

TBH, the only part that I was annoyed with and couldn't suspect my disbelief on is some of the dialogue. Part of my problem with metaphors for racism, is they get stupid when applied to actual racialized people, especially Black people, because it means now, we actually have to *acknowledge* the racial element, and we almost never do, because Black people aren't in the room in a decision making capacity. Because it's insane to me, that Jean and Storm have this whole conversation about being human, and wanting a human baby, and Storm's dialogue is stupid because it's like, iirc, she fantasizes about being regular, being human, and I'm sitting here like, girl, you're BLACK. This dialogue is DUMB, because they'd STILL hate you. And she would KNOW that, if Black people had been writing for her. Things like that eternally frustrate me because no Black person would ever talk like this and I just can't suspend my disbelief there. If you introduce/have Black characters, they should operate authentically, otherwise it's just a weird sort of writing blackface.

[v3nusxsky]

Hey not sure if this is how to request but could you maybe do a platonic lesso and student!r based on bohemian rhapsody. Specifically the lyrics ‘mama i dont wanna die. Sometimes wish id never been born at all’ 🙃👍 thank you and i love your writing and ur fics are always comforting x

Why do i get this life?

*Authors note~ feeling slightly angsty here so I thought I'd smash this one out while I'm in that mindset I’m glad you all and my anon here are enjoying my fics I’m enjoying writing them*

Trigger warnings~ hints at depression and anxiety with past trauma

Prompt~ see ask^^^

Music, art and writing holds a power unlike no other. The ability to touch a soul with mer words or pictures, and to wield that power is a gift like no other. For you it was music, the lyrics often held a deeper meaning for you loved trying to puzzle it together. The lyrics from an old classic stuck with you the most, "mama I don't wanna die sometimes wish I'd never been born at all" could often be misinterpreted as depression or suicidal thoughts. But truly that couldn't be further from the truth. You related to these lyrics in a way you never wanted to.

Your life before the attending the school had been nothing short of horrid. And that was polite for what you went through. Leonora felt protective of you, you knew that from the moment she stopped you from sparring with Hester the moment you got a tiny burn compared to students she'd allowed come to mer inches of passing out from pain. The feeling of safety you felt with her was like nothing you'd ever experienced before so you found yourself opening up more and more to her.

You showed her your book that contained pages and pages of lyrics that you would look into and the ideas of hidden meanings would be neatly annotated in colour coordinated as well. You allowed her ask any questions that she may have. And she picked the very specific lines that just happened to be your favourite ones. With a small sigh you knew you'd should explain just why those lyrics had page after page dedicated to it.

The lyrics were truly about not being able to be yourself. And if you could've been yourself then what would your life had been? Would you have been happier then? What if the life you lived had just been one horrible bad dream? For you life had been cruel and that was just a fact. It started in your early years, parents who had accidentally conceived you and when you were born no longer wanted you. Perhaps you weren't enough, or maybe you just happened to be the worst thing to ever happen to them. Whatever the reason, it made growing up in such an environment the normal for you. Love was not something in your parents home or even in your life.

Lesso was no stranger to feeling unloved and truly she wished that was where all the abuse ended for you but that would be too easy. At the ripe age of 10 was the first time you were assaulted, not only were you in emotional and mental pain but now you had physical pain to join it. True pain can come in many forms but for someone who knows no different it just feels normal.

Since arriving at the school, you had been exposed to feelings and actions that were most unusual and unexpected. It made things all the more confusing and harder to accept. And you always came straight to Lesso, she would comfort and reassure you offering you the love and attention you truly deserved. Single handedly and unknowingly this women was healing your inner child.

Today was a bad day for you, plagued with memories of the past, and you had found yourself seeking the comfort of the Dean. Comfort she was more than happy to provide you with. Sometimes you would sit in silence, other times she would whisper words of love and care even offering some advice here and there. Less commonly you would rant away about anything bothering you. Today you decided to rant and she listened to everything you said so intently it made you feel seen and heard.

"Nora, why do I get given this life? What if I had a life where I was able to be me and happy? Would I feel love and be able to accept it more easily? You care for me and I truly do not understand why. Nora why is it so hard to be truly me?" You sobbed at the admission. Truly you just wanted to be you and for everyone to be okay with it. To be loved as who you are not who they wanted you to be. To be wanted and desired yet life never seemed to offer you that until you met her. It was platonic, that much was obvious, the love and care she gave very much like a mothers love. Yet she wasn't your mother, unfortunately so. Most people saw her to be unkind and uncaring but here and now in her arms as you sobbed all you saw was a woman who understood just how it feels to be used and uncared for. Someone who would protect her students from the same types of pain.

She held you while you sobbed reassuring you that you were enough as you, you were worthy of love and care and life had been unusually cruel to you but she has you now. You were safe with her and you always would be. No more harm would come to you without going through her. When joining the school it was hard to think you were terrified of this woman when deep down she held such a sweet loving heart, just one that had been battered, bruised and broken too many times. Just like yours. With Leonora's help, maybe you could learn to love yourself. The true you that lay buried deep behind your walls and scars.

Word count~ 1006