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maevesheart · 5 months

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FOOLS - PART II

CORIOLANUS SNOW X CAPITOL!READER

note: continuing to use the mars family name for reader, but different storyline than tolerate it. i recommend listening to fleetwood mac’s “storms” while reading :)

PART I // PART II // PART III

summary: only fools would fall for coriolanus snow, and you’re the biggest fool of them all.

wc: 7.5k (she’s a long one)

tw: smut, pet names, curse words

Coriolanus had kept his promise, and that next morning, you awoke to the sounds of Coryo’s small snores and the chirping of birds outside.

You raked your nails through his soft curls, now a little messy from his deep slumber. He lightly stirred, and you giggled, he was so pretty with half his face smashed into your pillow, back to the ceiling and one arm tucked securely around your waist. You could really get used to this.

“A photo will last longer,” Coryo’s hoarse voice cuts through the silence, catching you staring at him. “You’re just so pretty,” you smile, “how could I not stare?”

He gives your hip a tight squeeze, causing you to giggle.

“Goodmorning, gorgeous,” he murmurs, sitting up and placing a kiss on your temple.

“Goodmorning,” you chirp back, watching as he rises from the bed, removing his top. He throws it to the floor, and then pulls off his socks, going for his pants next.

“Woah, steady tiger!” you joke, earning a chuckle from him.

“Just going to shower. Would love if you’d join me,” he smirks, lust dripping from his words.

“Normally you know I wouldn’t decline, but we have to be down at the Academy at 9… or well, you have to be at the Academy…” your situation still hadn’t completely settled yet, you were disappointed to be taken out of the competition, but you couldn’t fathom meeting an end like Arachne’s.

Coryo nods, “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll win for you,” he winks, opening your en-suite bathroom door and stepping into the room.

You decide you’ll go get him a clean uniform from your elder brother, Perseus’s, room; he graduated two years ago, so his uniform was still in crisp condition, and he and Coryo shared the same muscular, broad frame.

Percy was a Major in the Peacekeepers, currently probably keeping people in line in District 1. He hadn’t been home since his graduation two years ago, except for the brief visits during the holidays or someone’s birthday. Duty calls, as your father would proudly claim when describing Percy.

It was still early, but you knew that your father was awake, no doubt. Probably sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and the newspaper in his hands.

Luckily for you, Percy’s room was directly across the hallway from yours, a straight-shot.

You scurried across, shuffling around in his closet, the bright red uniform sticking out compared to his rather black and blue wardrobe.

Percy was a tad bit taller than Coryo, but it would do for one day. Coryo didn’t have time to go home, and if he walked down wearing an Academy uniform, your father was sure to believe he arrived this morning. He wouldn’t be too pleased knowing he spent the night.

You pulled the uniform off its respected hanger, took a pair of socks, and then some dress shoes from the floor of his closet. Percy could spare a pair, after all, he had about 20 pairs of identical shoes.

You opened his door, ready to exit the room, looking up to meet the suspicious eyes of your older sister, Persephone.

Where you and Percy were close and told each other almost everything, you and Persephone were distant and hardly trusted each other. Never since she ratted you out years ago for hiding a bottle of posca under your bed.

“Why were you in Percy’s room?” she questions, words like daggers.

You roll your eyes, but fear begins to creep into your body.

You have the uniform in your arm which is hidden by Percy’s door, the only thing visible are the extra pair of dress shoes, hanging from your hand.

“Why do you have his shoes?” she sneers, finally noticing the footwear.

You ignore her, finally pushing past, the uniform meeting her gaze. Her eyes narrow, trying to connect the dots on why you’d need a male’s Academy Uniform.

“I’m going to cut up the fabric and make some bows, you know I need some new ones. And I’m going to mail the shoes to Percy, he wrote to me requesting them,” the lies were mediocre, at best. You had more than enough money to go out and buy some new bows, and you have Avoxes who could easily make them for you. For the shoes, Percy didn’t wear shoes other than the ones that paired with his uniform, but Persephone never paid enough attention to him to know that.

You get lucky, and Persephone doesn’t question you further, nose up in the air as she continues down the hall, the sound of her loafers echoing off the walls as she continues down the hall.

Finally back in the safety of your four walls, you let out a sigh of relief, throwing the clothing onto the now made bed, and the shoes onto the floor.

The Avoxes must have come in while you were gone. You were suddenly very thankful that they couldn’t talk, meaning they wouldn’t be able to snitch.

You hear the shower turn off, the cease of the sound of water. Coryo comes out next, just a towel tied around his waist. You have to keep yourself back from drooling, watching water droplets fall down his chest.

His hand rakes through his hair, his curls dripping water onto your expensive rug.

“I got you one of Percy’s old uniforms, and some shoes,” you explain, bashfully, feeling his eyes all over your body.

You were dressed in your silk pajamas from last night, a rose-pink tank top and little shorts, suddenly feeling very exposed under Coryo’s gaze.

“Quick, dress. Cook made breakfast, you can get something before you have to leave for the Academy,” you usher him towards the outfit, picking up his clothing from before, quickly bringing them to the laundry basket in your closet.

“I’ll have them washed and bring them to you later, and don’t worry about returning the uniform or shoes,” you throw a smile over your shoulder at him, flipping through your clothing options for the day.

“Y/N, I will return them,” he shakes his head. You know he hates to accept help, but you love him. And when you love someone, you help them.

“Seriously, Coryo. Percy is gone, and he’s graduated, so it's not like he needs it anyways. He has plenty of shoes, he won’t miss one pair,”

Coryo looks down at the shoes, last season's best design, straight out of the box it seems. To most people, your family's money would be intimidating, but not to Coriolanus. He strived to be able to support you the way your father does, to be able to buy you the things that your father buys you now.

Not willing to press the issue further, he pulls on the outfit, fitting relatively perfect except for the extra length in the sleeves and pants, but no one will notice. He slips on the fresh socks and Percy’s fine shoes, fitting like a glove.

You pull on a simple pair of white form-fitting pants, a white long-sleeve blouse that has a large bow in the front, and some dark navy-blue pumps that accentuate your long legs.

Coryo’s eyes take over your now more conservatively-dressed body, pausing to stare at the way the slightly-too-tight pants hug the curves of your ass perfectly, and the top of your cleavage that peeks out in the opening of the bow.

“Alright, you go down first, that way my father won’t assume you’ve been up here this whole time,”

Coryo smirks while nodding, he wants everyone to know you’re his, but the public displays will have to wait until you’re out of your penthouse.

Coryo leaves, giving you a quick kiss to your lips before exiting.

After a few seconds, you follow suite, hearing the conversation flowing from the kitchen.

Coryo is standing next to the kitchen table when you enter, hand on his chest as he laughs over one of your fathers (probably not very funny) jokes.

You walk over, placing your hand on the outside of Coryo’s arm, leaning down to peck your father’s cheek.

“Goodmorning, shining star. Did you sleep well?” he asks, taking a quick sip from his cup of coffee.

“Always do, daddy. Good morning to you as well, Coriolanus,” you smile, catching the glint in Coryo’s eye as he nods back to you.

“Coriolanus here was just telling us how he stopped by say good morning, darling. How caring,” your mother swoons, placing her hands over her heart.

“That is very considerate, thank you,” you look back to him, hand still on his arm.

Persephone, sat in between your mother and father, looks down to where the two of you are touching, eyes flitting down to see Percy’s old shoes on Coriolanus’s feet, and connecting the dots as to why you really needed his old uniform.

She catches your eye, and shakes her head, and you know you’re caught. But you’re not scared of her, not anymore. You slightly lift your head, showing your defiance.

“Alright, I’m going to run some errands and go find a dress for the opera later, daddy,”

“Okay, darling. Once again, it was splendid to see you, young Snow.”

Coriolanus returns the compliment, following you as you head for the front coat closet, retrieving your old fox fur coat, the sharp orange contrasting with the dark blue in your shoes. You throw your navy bag over your shoulder and guester for Coryo to exit first, extending your hand to the door.

“Y/N!” Persephone is marching down the hall. You urge Coryo to continue, assuring him that you’ll be right behind him.

“Are you mad?” she sneers, face mere inches away from your own.

“What are you on about now, Persephone?” you roll your eyes, ready to escape from your neurotic sister.

“I will play dumb this one time, Y/N. But I know the Snow family just as well as you do. And Coriolanus Snow is a cunning, deceitful boy. Only a fool would allow themselves to fall for him, let alone help him.” she shook her head, placing a hand tenderly on your shoulder.

“Don’t be a fool, Y/N,”

You shoved her hand away, taking a step back away from her.

“You just don’t know him the way I do, Persephone. Mind your own business.”

With that, you turned on your heel, slamming the front door behind you.

The bell rings out as you enter Fabricia Whatnot’s shop, Tigris quickly pulling you into her arms.

You had asked her to design your dress, knowing there was no one more suited for the job than Tigris Snow.

“Oh, Y/N, you are just going to play so beautifully! I’ve been so excited all week, telling all the clients how lucky I am to know the artist herself!”

You blushed, shaking your head. “You flatter me,”

She tuts, pulling you over to the small platform, gesturing for you to stand up on it, and slip on the dress hanging in front of the mirror.

It was beautiful, long and a deep scarlet red. It was sleeveless, and a ballgown, large billows of fabric falling out from the cinched waist. A large bow sat at the back, right on your waist and above your bum, the tails of the bow flowing down to the floor, creating a train. Bows were your signature touch on every item you wore, you made sure of it.

“Oh, Tigris,” you murmured as she helped you step into the dress, pulling it up your perfectly sculpted curves.

She smiled, zipping up the backs, the hidden corset within the dress hugging you tight, accentuating your hips and waist. It billowed out perfectly, showcasing your cleavage strategically, leaving enough to the imagination while showing off what you were assessed with. The dress glimmered in the bright lights of the shop, making you shine like a star.

Once she was satisfied with her work, Tigris pulled back, hands covering her mouth in awe.

“You look like a princess,” she complimented, watching you twist and turn in the mirror, smiling as you took yourself in.

“You are fabulous, Tigris. This dress is everything I wanted and more,” you pull her in for a hug, endless thanks falling from your lips.

She helps you out of the design, and packs it into a gown bag for you to bring home.

As you pay for the dress, she makes light conversation, asking, “Have you seen Coryo recently? He disappeared last night to check on Lucy Gray and hasn’t returned home since.”

You feel like you’ve been hit by a rebel bomb when the words leave her mouth, brain failing to place the pieces together.

Did he see her before he came to you? Or did he once again sneak from your bed to visit his pitiful songbird?

You composed yourself, not willing to be embarrassed in front of his cousin.

“I walked him to the Academy this morning, and then made my way over here. He seemed perfectly normal,” you stated, when deep down you wanted to rip all of the curls off of his perfect head.

Tigris sighs in relief, handing you the gown bag.

“I’ll see you later. You’ll perform wonderfully, I know it,” you smile at her compliment, bidding goodbye, while a silent fire rages within your belly.

The ride home is short, and soon you’re hanging up the marvelous dress in your walk-in closet, bare feet against the cold marble tiles.

For your recital, you had decided on one simply instrumental piece, and then one where you sang. You were nervous, though you had been practicing for ages. You had sang while playing at a few parties, but when you were a guest, people never paying much to you. This time, all the attention would be on you, and you had to make sure this performance was perfect.

Usually in the Capitol, the only successful singers were those who sang in the opera, but you had a rich and smooth voice, one that many would die for. The original song you had picked to sing was a classic, one that everyone would be expecting and familiar with.

But you now decided that you wanted to stand out, give them something they aren’t expecting. It would either be detrimental or skyrocketing, and you were choosing to believe it would be the latter.

You tried to calm your ever-present nerves, smoothing your hands onto the front of your gorgeous dress, toying with the massive sapphire stones on your ears. A matching necklace hung deep from your neck, into your cleavage. They were your mothers, a token of pure beauty and wisdom, something you were hoping would come to you.

You needed to calm down. Stress never mixed well with your mind. You had decided on a song; it was from the old world. Something all the guests sitting before you had most likely never heard. It was soulful, slow, and emotional. You hoped you would pull a few heartstrings, maybe get some audience members to cry. With your voice, nothing was unlikely.

Coriolanus had been rushing around backstage for the past few minutes, wanting to steal you for a few moments alone. He wanted to wish you luck, not having seen you since you walked him to the Academy days ago.

He felt like you were avoiding him, the Avoxes not letting him into your home, you only speaking to Clemmie and Sejanus at school…he was confused about what he could have possibly done, questioning Tigris and Sejanus, but neither could decipher it themselves.

He had asked various staff members where you were, all giving different answers. It was like you told them not to tell him where you were.

Finally, he rounded a corner, eyes settling on your back.

He gawked at the dress, practically eye-fucking you. Your hair was in long curls down your back, and as you turned to face him, he saw a deep red color on your lips, matching the shade of your dress.

The last person you wanted to see was Coriolanus, but as your eyes settle on his piercing blue ones, you know you’re in for it.

You stay put, unwavering as he strides up to you, eating you up with his eyes.

“You are the most marvelous thing I have ever seen,” he compliments, going in for a kiss, expectant lips meeting your cold cheek.

He is taken aback, confidence slightly faltering as you cross your arms against your chest, eyes on his – or should you say Percy’s – shoes, the ones you had given him before you knew him as the traitor he is.

He watched as you looked in every direction but his, trying your hardest not to give into his gaze.

He takes your face in his hands, moving your head so your eyes meet his, anger burning in the back of your pupils. You had been pushing yourself away from him the past few days, as it was clear Lucy Gray demanded all his time and attention.

“Not with your songbird?” you sneer out, venom seeping from your words. Coriolanus’s eyes narrow as he realizes that this is what the avoidance has been about.

“Darling, I already told you that she means nothing to me. Less than nothing, she is district. I am to take care of her if she is supposed to win, don’t let it get to you,” he is soft with his words, care laced within every consonance.

You want to believe him, you really do, but it seems his words don’t match up with his actions.

“Once you can show me you truly mean your words, I will listen. Besides, I think it’s time for you to take your seat, Mr. Snow. The show is about to start.”

Coryo is raging as he makes his way back to the box seats you provided him, sitting back in the seat between Grandma’am and your mother. Your words were replaying in his mind, not understanding how you couldn’t see that you were all he wanted. Not some flamboyant little girl from District 12.

He knew, deep down, that Lucy Gray was becoming important to him. He tried to deny it, but he couldn’t. The more time he spent with her, he began to sympathize with her, trying to ease her pain as much as possible.

The thick, dark green curtains covering the ornate stage pulled back, revealing a black glossy grand piano, likely a fortune, and you sat on the adjacent bench, your dress billowing out from your back. It was gorgeous. Your mother turned to compliment Tigris’s work, as well did Persephone. It was the most beautiful dress that had ever been crafted in Panem.

Coriolanus watched with adoration as your fingers delicately danced across the black and white keys of the piano, playing the original piece perfectly. The audience watched in awe, a beautiful girl playing a piano even more beautifully. It was captivating, how someone so gentle and caring could play such a dramatic piece, a song with such emotion that it brought tears to many people’s eyes. You chose this particular piece on purpose, it was one that Coriolanus had asked for you to write years ago, when the two of you were just close friends who messed around in your family’s music room.

He froze still, the notes going straight to his nervous system, setting him into overdrive. You were performing for him, and he couldn’t decide if it was the most romantic thing he had ever seen, or the most infuriating. You had just been chastising him, but now you were playing his song, the one you wrote for him.

The song became fast, striking. People would be talking about this piece for weeks, it would be drilled into young students' minds the next time they sat on a similar bench. On the program they had given everyone when they entered, named the song “A Snow Waltz”. You could not have been more obvious if you tried, and the idea of having a song written and named after him sent Coriolanus spiraling, wanting to kiss the sense out of you that very moment.

He sat in disbelief as the elaborate tune turned into something slower, something more calculated.

Then you began to sing, and he knew he was done for.

“Every night that goes between, I feel a little less,”

The audience sat upright, eyes wide as they ingested your words, ones that Coriolanus knew you had pored over for weeks, trying to find the most fitting song for your relationship. And based on the first two lines, he wasn’t feeling overly pleased with your song of choice.

“As you slowly go away from me, this is only another test,”

And then he understood. This isn't a love ballad. You weren’t professing your love for him in the most public way possible… you were claiming it back.

“Every night you do not come, your softness fades away,”

The emotion in your voice is strong and compelling, anyone who is listening can sense the sorrow in your words, the pain you must have endured.

Coriolanus now knows that he has caused this pain. He is the reason for the best performance the Capitol has seen in a long time.

“Is there anything left to say? Every hour of fear I spend, my body tries to cry, living through each empty night, a deadly call inside,”

He looks around, engrossed faces all around him. Grandma’am’s eyes are glossed over, and Tigris is dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. Your father is holding your mother’s hand, tight. Sejanus is upright, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

“I haven’t felt this way I feel, since many a years ago. But in those years and the lifetime passed, I did not deal with you, I know.”

Your voice ceases, a lovely piano piece following your words, giving Coryo a chance to finally digest what he’s just heard. You’re professing great fondness for someone, admitting that the relationship is fading away, running its course.

Your voice faintly picks back up, adding in a few lyrics to compliment the complex piano piece.

“She said, ‘Every night he will break your heart’, I should’ve known from the first, I’d be the broken hearted”

Coryo’s chest is tight. You look up and out to the crowd, eyes falling onto his. He sees the emotion, the sadness. He knows that it’s his fault, and could’ve prevented it.

“I loved you from the start, and now not all the prayers in the world, could save us, oh save us,”

The piano begins to slightly fade, and you stand from the bench, dress flowing as you make your way to the middle of the stage, bowing for the now standing and cheering audience, bouquets of flowers thrown to your feet.

As you take your bow, your eyes are back on him, but this time, his hold the emotion.

The show was a success, a vibrant grin across your beautiful face as you flitted around to greet all the guests. Various old family friends, distant relatives, even some of your professors at the Academy.

After the performance, your parents find you first, kisses pressed to your cheek, and comforting hugs as tears slip from your mother’s eyes.

“Panem hasn’t seen talent like yours in forever, darling.” Your father speaks, pride sparkling behind his eyes, bearing the same color as your own.

You blush, nodding at his words, accepting his compliment.

You break from them, finding the Plinth’s next. Sejanus gives you a kiss on each cheek, rambling about how your talent must have been given to you from the stars above.

You giggle, letting him and his mother rain down on you with millions of compliments, all more enchanting than the last.

“Thank you for being here, Mr. And Mrs. Plinth. It means so much,” you nod, taking Mrs. Plinth’s hands into yours.

“Darling, believe me when I say you’ve just done something the Capitol hasn’t seen in decades. You will be more talk than the games, that’s for sure,”

And with a kiss to your temple, Serbo Plinth walks away, Sejanus and his mother trailing.

The room that all the guests were brought in after was a large room; high ceilings, a plush (likely expensive) rug, rows of tables with regal chairs, and various portraits of Panem’s most prominent leaders and talents up on the walls.

You spotted the portrait of your father and Serbo Plinth easily, it was the largest in the room, other than the Presidential portrait. It was commissioned after the war, to show how your father and Mr. Plinth had been the greatest allies throughout the war, proving true to the president.

You were sat at the center table, where everyone could come over to speak to you, or watch as you ate. Your fathers portrait hung above your seat, a silent expression of how the most successful in Panem continued to produce the best, and only the best.

You looked at who would be sitting next to you, your father on your left, and Sejanus on your right. You were happy with that, you would speak to Sejanus through dinner, ask him how the games were going.

You hadn’t been paying much attention to the mentorships after your dismissal, hearing bits and pieces from Clemensia during school. They had a small meeting, gathering information about their respective tribute.

Excusing yourself quickly, despite the table still being empty as the guests continued to make conversation, you slipped through the crowds and went to the ladies room.

You touched up on your makeup, and quickly returned back to the table. To your surprise, Coryo was now sitting in the seat that was labeled for Sejanus.

You tried your hardest to act nonchalant as you sat back down, your father acknowledging your presence was a small pat on the knee, and then he turned back to Mr Plinth on his other side. Sejanus was now across the table from you, all sorts of different food items piled high on his fine china plate.

Coryo’s eyes were burning into the side of your face, you could feel his harsh gaze. In all honesty, you were quite scared to turn to him. Your song was compassionate, and your deliverance of it was in the most public possible way. The best from the Capitol watching it in person, and everyone through the districts watching it on the soon-to-be Hunger Games broadcasting screens.

You were the Gem of Panem, their princess. This had secured your place in society, you had established yourself among the most brilliant, the commanders, the leaders. You were proud of yourself.

Criolanus stood from the table, going to gather food onto his plate. You hoped he would gather lots; it was all paid for by your father, and Coriolanus needed to eat. You always worried about him, even if you weren’t happy with him.

He returned, plate piled up, like you hoped, and you accidentally slipped a small smile, a tiny corner of your mouth going up in happiness.

Coryo caught it. He was always able to catch even the faintest changes in your expressions and demeanor.

Once he had taken his seat, and loud conversation engulfed the room, you finally spoke.

“I thought Sejanus was meant to be sat there,” you take a small bite of steamed carrots.

“Last minute change, I suppose,” Coryo lightly shrugs his shoulders, turning his head to get a better look at you.

“Mhm,” you breathe out, blush tickling your cheeks ever so lightly.

“You played beautifully out there. And your voice, well, it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. Why didn’t you tell me you’d be singing?” Is that… hurt behind his words? You turn to look at him, eyes finally meeting, and you swear you see the faintest stain of tear tracks on his cheeks, filling your stomach with fulfillment.

“Well, you’d been too busy. I didn’t want to burden you while you save your songbird,” you try your hardest to mask the words, but you know he can hear the venom and jealousy peeking out from behind them.

He doesn’t look smug, no, he looks hurt. Extremely hurt.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, placing his barely used fork onto the table.

“I know you visited her the night that you came to me.” You whisper, composure starting to crumble.

All he does is nod, proving your accusation to be true. You lightly slouch at his silence, so that was his response? He has nothing else to say? “Is that all you have to say?” you whisper, you knew if you tried to speak any louder your voice would crack, giving your emotion away.

“What is there to say, Y/N? You played our song up there, The Snow Waltz. You sang a song about our relationship, one where the words insinuated that you had once loved me but my betrayal was too strong. Help me understand you, Y/N, how could I possibly respond to that?” He was closer to you now, downcast faces mere inches away.

To any onlooker, you two would look like a few teenagers who had deep set feelings for each other, feelings that must be voiced at that very second.

You had a feeling that he would be upset with your song choices, that it would hit him deep in the chest, give him the same feeling that he had recently been giving you.

“I played your song because I love you. And then I sang that song because I want you to know that I don’t feel loved by you.”

Coriolanus feels as if a blow has gone straight to his gut, knife clattering as he accidentally drops it on the table.

His eyes are hard, unreadable. But they’re glossy, the only part that is giving him away. You read him better than any other person, and he knows this.

He stands up, chair screeching as it pushes out behind him. You watch with wide eyes, staring up at him. He spares you one last solemn look, a slight shake of his head, before he is storming off, down the isles of tables and through hundreds of guests, straight to the doors.

You feel possessed, your feet pulling you up and forcing you after him, feeling as if they have a mind of their own. Everyone is silenced now, eyes following your every move. The young, beautiful, and talented Mars girl chasing the abrasive, orphaned, tarnished Snow boy.

“Fool,” Persephone mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

You find Coryo in the empty lobby, no one but you and him.

He is pacing, hands in his hair, mumbles of inaudible words spilling from his perfect lips, you want to scream at him. Scream at him for showing up before the performance, scream at him for leaving your dinner. You want to scream at him for leaving your bed to see Lucy Gray, for telling you he loves you and then going and proving to do the opposite.

“Coriolanus,” you announce your presence, slow steps up to his brooding figure as he ceases his pacing, eyebrows twisting together.

He first ignores you, going and taking a seat on the golden bench beside the entrance for the auditorium.

You walk over, perching next to him. He timidly reaches a hand out, laying it onto the red dress, smoothing down the thick material.

“You assume the worst in me, Y/N.” he shakes his head, light amusement behind his words.

“I already told you what I believe, Coriolanus. You tell me beautiful words, give me special moments. But you then contradict yourself, going back to her. I know you need to win the prize, I know, I know, but I love you. And you’re supposed to love me. And when you love someone, you don’t abandon them for another person,” tears brim on your eyes, threatening to spill out and ruin your flawless makeup.

“I love you, more than anything in the entire planet, Y/N. Can’t you see that I am helping Lucy Gray to win because that prize ensures I can give us the future that we deserve. The future you deserve…I want to give that to you. To be able to continue to live your life as luxuriously as you do now. Dresses, jewelry, pianos. Anything you would ever want.” His voice is soft, wavering.

You stare at him, lips slightly parted, not expecting him to voice his deepest insecurities.

“I don’t care about all those things, Croyo…” you murmur, grabbing his hands in his lap.

“Darling, I just watched you play the most highly acclaimed piano concert that Panem has seen in decades. You are a spectacle, a performer. You love your piano, and your dresses, and all the things that make you pretty, the things that make you shine. You are meant to be a star.” his voice drips with desperation, embarrassment. He thinks the life he lives now isn’t good enough for you.

“I need Lucy Gray to win so that I can give you the life full of luxury that you deserve. So that I can buy you a new piano every year, a new ruby ring every birthday. Darling, it’s all for you.” his hands come up, cupping your face. They are soft, rubbing your skin.

“Love me, Coriolanus. Show me that you can.”

With that, he grips your jaw, hard, and yanks you into him, a small whimper falling from your lips. He is rough, pent up anger finally spilling out. “I love you,” he murmurs out, kissing your chin. “I love you,” he’s now on your neck, sucking as hard as he can, being sure to leave marks. “I love you, more than anyone else,”

He’s standing, pulling you up with him, his hands moving down to your biceps, lips back on top of yours, pulling you into the coat room.

He locks the door behind you two, pressing you against it.

His leg slotted between yours, keeping you pressed tight against the doorframe. His lips continued their vicious attack against your neck and collarbones, tongue gliding across the prominent bone.

You watched as he slowly trailed further down your body, getting onto his knees. He pulled back from your skin, watched from below as you panted, trying to catch your breath. With a final smirk, he flipped up your skirt and disappeared under the hem, hiking one of your knees over his shoulder.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hot breath over your clothed pussy, head falling back against the mahogany as he trailed a calloused finger over the red lace, cock twitching at the sound of your light moan.

His fingers toy with the lace, before ripping it off your legs, you hear the lingerie tear.

“Coryoooo,” you whine, upset that he just ruined your brand new panties.

“I’ll get you some new ones, darling,” he promises, throwing the disheveled garment to some corner of the closet. He grins, knowing some Avox will find the star performers panties sometime later tonight, and know she was fucked in the coat closet.

Before you have time to prepare yourself, Coryo is licking a strip up your folds, and then his mouth is sucking on your bud, whimpers falling from your lips, your hands digging into the wooden walls of the room.

Your head is thrown back in pleasure, Coryo lapping you up, his lips ravenging you at an unbearable speed, pressure begging to brew in your stomach.

He knows the easiest way to get you undone is to give you head, and lucky you, he loved to do it.

His one hand squeezing the fat in your ass, kneading the sensitive skin.

You moan, loudly, when his tongue starts to circle around your clit, and he squeezes your ass extra hard: a warning.

The burning sensation in your core continues as he enters two fingers, pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace. Though you can’t see him, you know that he is smirking, hearing you fall apart above him.

Finally, the mix of his two fingers, tongue, and thumb rubbing circles around your clit causes you to finally come undone, legs shaking as Coryo drinks up all the juices you spill. His rough hands hold your legs up, and soon he’s out from under the dress, lips quick to attach to yours, making you taste all of your juices on his tongue.

He pulls away and smiles at you, “I love you,” he whispers, brushing your hair from in front of your face, fingers delicate and soft.

“I love you,” you smile, lightly melting into his touch.

“Can I fuck you now?” he smirks, a mischievous glint to eyes, fingers rubbing your jaw. “Please, pretty thing? I’ll show you just how much I love you…I’ll fuck it into you,”

His lips are re-attacking your neck, hands pulling down the zipper of your beautiful dress.

“When I’m president,” he pants out, your hands tangled in his hair, humming,

“I’m hanging this dress up for everyone to see, the most beautiful dress ever worn,” he finished, attacking your lips with his own. He’s sure your lipstick is smeared across his chin, likely off the corners of his lips. He doesn’t care, everyone should know that you’re his. He is the one who gets to kiss you, gets to fuck you.

He helps you step out of it, gently placing it over a near chair, not wanting to ruin the masterpiece.

“In fact, I’ll have a whole wing dedicated to you, my love. It’ll have dresses, coats, portraits..” you shut him up sucking on the sweet spot under his right ear, knowing it turns him on the most.

And you are right, watching him tear off his black coat and shred off his slacks, left in his boxers and white button down. He pulls you back into him, watching with lust blown pupils as your perfectly painted fingernails unbutton all the way down the shirt. You help him remove it, discarding it to the pile of his other clothing.

Then, his boxers are tugged down, carelessly kicked off, and he’s back to you, pressing you harder into the wall.

He tells you to jump, and you oblige, legs wrapped around his hips as he lines himself up with you. “Just one more, princess,” he mewls, noticing your sudden nervousness. You nod, knowing Coryo would stop if you became too overstimulated.

You dig your head into his shoulder, biting the hard skin as he pushes in, your pussy taking him so perfectly that he almost passes out.

The two of you hadn’t had sex in weeks. Sure, you had done other things, but you hadn’t done the thing that ties two people so closely together, barring ever single part of themselves.

His hands are secure around your ass, moving you in synchronization while he relentlessly continues to bottom out in you.

“Coryo,” you moan, slightly muted by it being said deep into his shoulder.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he groans, feeling himself slowly untie. You feel the same sensation, his dick hitting your sweet spot so perfectly with every thrust.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, and then move your free hand down between the two of you, massaging circular motions to your clit.

Coryo goes even faster, earning whines and various other noises from your lips, beginning to squirm from the sensitivity.

“Come for me, darling,” he says, eyes following your every movement. You begin to massage faster, head falling back against the mahogany door as his thrusts become sloppier.

The two of you come undone at the same time, Coryo lightly leaning against your body, slipping out before delicately dropping your leg.

He makes sure you’re able to stand up before walking away, gathering your dress, and helping you step back into it. He ties the corset, and then the zipper.

He slips back into his outfit, pulling up the slacks and sliding his feet into the shoes. You button up his top, and smooth down the collar. You go to run your fingers through his now slightly tangled curls, making them look as perfectly curled as they were when he arrived to the show.

Finally, he gets down on one knee, holding your heels. You prop a bare foot onto his knee, looking down at him with lust-blown pupils, swollen lips, your hair slightly messy and smudged lipstick. How he got so lucky, he has no idea.

He slides the expensive heel delicately onto your foot, like he’s scared of hurting you. As he begins to buckle it close, he cuts the silence.

“I love you, Y/N Mars. I love everything about you. Your voice, your eyes, your spirit. I love your dedication, your talent that so very few possess. I love how you care for me, and make sure I’m alright, always bringing me whatever I need. They say that love can arise from the most unsuspecting of places, and in my case, that was you. As a child, I would trail you like a lost puppy, always seeking your validation, some sort of indication that you saw me, knew me. I know we’ve had our initial clashes, loud, aggressive fights in the middle of class or in lunch, and I know you don’t always listen to me, and I don’t always listen to you, but you see me differently than anyone else, you see a side of me that I don’t know to anyone else. And amongst the original animosity, I found myself drawn to you, seeking your approval. The deeper I got to know you, the more I began to fall for you. Everything I’ve done, every person I’ve hurt, it’s all been for you. And now, here I am, professing my undying love for you. Love that will burn for as long as I live, as long as you’re by my side.”

You are speechless, mouth agape, Coriolanus’s glossy eyes raking over all your features. You were bewildered, wondering how something so romantic could come out of a man’s mouth who was simply doing-up your shoes.

He is still down on one knee, and once he’s finished your other shoe, you pull him up, arms winding tightly around his waist.

His large hands rub your back, holding you as close as possible. You dig your face into his chest, his chin atop your head.

A slight sniffle, and then you murmur out, “I love you, Coriolanus. I don’t know how I could’ve doubted you.” Persephone’s words echo in the back of your head, over and over again, “fool”.

tagged

@snowsgames

#coriolanus x oc #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow angst #maeve writes 🎀

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sunnebeam · 10 months

Text

fall from grace.

DRABBLE.

pairing: kim taehyung x reader

warnings: smut (are we even surprised at this point? as usual, minors do not interact), unprotected sex (bc of the time period, but in this day & age please use protection), royal au, mentions of actively trying for a child, other warnings withheld due to possible spoilers

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: finally!!! this cute lil drabble completes my 'smut with storylines' collection (which is basically just an unofficial collection of smutty drabbles i wrote for each member lol). anyways, enjoy reading and don't forget to share ur thoughts! ^^

The kingdom's people call you the Peasant Queen.

Some say it in jest, some say it with affection. But you believe a majority say it in disdain.

A lowly peasant as the Queen? A former palace servant as the King's beloved wife? A complete disgrace!

A number of people chalk it up to a love potion. Others point to a curse. Some say you resorted to black magic to bewitch the King. And the crazier the theory becomes, the more they pin the blame on you.

But in truth, you never wanted to become the Queen. Never asked to be and never expected to be. But your husband, King Taehyung, always knew you were going to be one.

"Is everything to your liking, my love?"

You turn your head to your husband's voice, your eyes softening when you see his boxy smile. You nod at his question, turning your gaze back to the windows of your shared chambers, where you can see from a distance the extravagant floral arrangements you had insisted on for the palace gardens.

"Everything is perfect, my King," you respond, feeling his arms wrap around your waist and his hard chest against your back.

"Good," he says simply. As long as you're happy, he supposes he can be happy as well.

"Thank you, my King," you suddenly say, turning in his arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. "Thank you for helping me commemorate today's significance."

His smile hardens but you don't notice.

"Of course, my love."

Your smile widens.

"He would have loved the flowers," you mumble, your smile never faltering.

His eye twitches but you don't catch it.

"I'm sure he would have, my love," he murmurs. "After all, he always used to love what was mine."

"What was that, my King?"

"Nothing, my love," Taehyung mutters then leans his forehead against yours. The both of you stay like that for a few moments, quiet and leaning against each other, before he asks you, "Have you drank your tea for the day?"

Warmth rushes to your cheeks at the mention of the tea that's supposed to help with fertility and conception. You nod, confirming that you have indeed already drank the concoction.

He smirks, his hands reaching for your garment and removing it from your body. The action still makes you bashful no matter how many times he's done it before.

"Still so shy, my Queen?" he teases you while he's removing his own garments.

"I can't help it, my King," you gasp when he pulls you to him, your naked bodies pressing against each other. "I have never been with another man. I have only ever laid with you, and yet you always manage to make me act so... salacious."

Taehyung always loves to be reminded that he's the first man to have taken your innocence. But on days like these, when the garden looks so decorated upon your insistence and the day holds so much significance to you, your words leave a slight bitter taste in his mouth.

Because he was almost not your first. It was almost not him.

"And I'm the only man to see you in such state, my love," he growls, his fingers reaching down to prep your womanhood. When he sees that you're ready for him, he spits on his hand and coats his cock with the wetness before sliding inside you. "Never forget that. Ever."

"I won't, my K-King," you stutter when he starts thrusting in and out. "You're my first..."

A harsh thrust.

"...you're my last..."

And another.

"...and you're my only."

He groans in pleasure and satisfaction, placing his hands on the underside of your knees to lift you up and wrap your legs around him. You, in turn, wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry your full weight with ease.

"That's right, my Queen," he says with conviction, bouncing you up and down on his dick, letting gravity heighten the pleasure for both of you. "I'm your husband. Your King. Me."

Not him, he adds internally.

Because although you've been married to Taehyung for two years now, the thought of him still pops up every now and then. Although you've been Taehyung's wife for two years now, you still decorate the garden with flowers to commemorate his birthday. And although you've been Taehyung's beloved Queen for two years now, you still talk about him from time to time.

"I love you, my King," you whimper when your husband angles your body in mid-air and his thrusts start to reach deeper spots inside you. "I love you so much!"

She loves me, Taehyung chants internally. Not him, not him, not him.

Your King pounds into you with renewed vigor, making you scream wantonly in delight. Your pussy tingles with each movement, clenching around his fat dick uncontrollably.

It doesn't take long before you're creaming around him, your juices gushing and making it easier for him to continue fucking you through your climax. Just as you're coming down from your high, he spills inside you, his member twitching inside you and keeping you plugged up.

Taehyung promptly carries you to the bed, laying you down gently and placing a pillow underneath your lower half. He then pulls out of you slowly, and when he's completely out, he inserts two fingers inside you, making sure not a single drop comes out.

"Maybe we finally made one," you mumble adorably, a hopeful look in your eyes.

Your husband merely smiles. Finally conceiving a child with you... the thought makes him feel content.

Maybe it's time he lets go of his grudges. Maybe it's time he feels secure in the fact that you married him. Maybe it's time he forgets about the palace gardener you fancied before him.

Maybe it's time he forgets about Jeon Jungkook.

After all, although you were in love with Jungkook first, you never ended up telling him. And although Jungkook was in love with you as well, he also never ended up telling you.

Because Taehyung made sure of it.

And although, in the end, you ended up marrying Taehyung, he'll never let you find out the truth.

And the truth is that Jungkook never went back to his home village to take care of his sick mother. The truth is that Jungkook never died from catching his mother's sickness himself. The truth is that Jungkook never even made it home, to begin with.

All you truthfully know is that Jungkook is dead.

But you'll never know that it was all by Taehyung's royal, bloody hands.

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 4 months

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D&D saying that one of their favorite plots from the books is the Boltons in Winterfell is a massive sign of their sexism. Now, for anyone one else, I'd probably not care, in fact, I'd agree it's a very interesting part. However, when it comes to the showrunners who needlessly wrote in excessive rape and violence against women, I see it as a red flag. That's compounded by the way they wrote it.

From the beginning of the show, D&D sabotaged the storyline by removing Jeyne Poole. Keep in mind, ADWD was released in 2008, while GOT premiered in 2011, meaning there was no possible way for D&D to not know everything necessary to bring about that specific plot. Add to that the fact that GRRM was heavily involved in season one, them blatantly ignoring Jeyne makes even less sense if they truly cared about adapting it properly.

Knowing this, that D&D themselves sabotaged their own story, the way it was handled makes a bit more sense, though not nearly enough. Without Jeyne there to play the part of fake Arya, a new bride for Ramsay was needed. Sansa was D&D's favorite character, they were unsatisfied with the story GRRM had written for her, they wanted more screen time and plot relevance for her. It seemed like making Sansa take Jeyne's place was a good solution to both these issues.

Except it wasn't. Littlefinger sending Sansa out of the Vale to marry Ramsay makes no sense. Not only is Sansa the object of Littlefinger's obsession, a replacement for Catelyn in his mind, she also was important to Littlefinger getting the Vale on his side (in the show). She was charming the lords and knights, balancing their intense dislike for him with their desire to help/protect her. Not to mention she was his only alibi to save him from accusations of Lysa's murder. Sending her away from the Vale harms Littlefinger's plans. She also would definitely not be "protected" from Cersei; after all the Boltons were loyal to the Lannisters and hated the Starks, what's to stop them from killing Sansa or handing her over once the Northern lords are more settled?

Speaking of the Northern lords, D&D removed the Northern Conspiracy. Throughout the book plot, the Northern lords are plotting to save Arya and depose the Boltons (in a nutshell, it's actually much more complex, but I'm not going into that rn). It's an excellent expression of how the Northerners loved the Starks and hate the Boltons. In the show, the lords are a bit disgruntled, sure, but they have no interest in deposing the Boltons and saving Sansa.

Another major part of the storyline minimized by the show is Theon/Reek. Theon's struggle with identity is a major part of his character throughout the series, and ADWD is no different. He's been stripped entirely of his identity by Ramsay's torture and Theon's own choices. Part of his arc in this book is discovering himself apart from the Starks and the Greyjoys.

That's definitely not what the show did. As I said earlier, Sansa is D&D's favorite character, so naturally she became the center focus of this arc, while Theon was pushed aside. He's essentially reduced to the method of Sansa's escape and goes on track to return to his pre-season one perception of himself: a Stark. This is a massive disservice to his character, Theon isn't a Stark; his life with them is important to his storyline and will definitely inform what he becomes, but it's not the true culmination of his arc. Basically, Theon was turned into a side character in his own story. It's through his pov we see this story, he's the character most tied to Ramsay. Obviously Jeyne is important and a main character in her own right for this arc, but she is not the central character we see the story through. So why is Sansa? She has no stake in this story, Jeyne is forced there after being sex trafficked and Theon is a captive.

So what does this leave for the show version of the plot? There's no conspiracy, Theon's pushed to the side, and politics and overall story are sacrificed. Well that leaves torture and violence against Ramsay's bride. Without the many moving parts of that storyline, it's just a story of a woman being abused horribly by her husband and eventually escaping. However, the escape isn't even the main aspect of the story focused on, that's always the abuse. It's also purely Sansa's abuse, not Theon's or the many people tortured and murdered by Ramsay, Sansa is the sole focus.

So basically, D&D took a plotline that's filled with the inner workings of Northern politics and the complexities of battling identity loss and reduced it to another excuse to show a woman be raped and abused on screen. The desire to turn this stroy into another way to make Sansa suffer is disturbing, and to make matters worse she fucking thanks Ramsay later on?? This whole storyline in the show is disgusting and yet another sign of how sexist D&D are.

#anti got #anti d&d #also sophie turner had just turned 18 when the season was filmed #disgusting #theon greyjoy #ramsay bolton #sansa stark #jeyne poole #asoiaf

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thechekhov · 7 months

Note

Hello! Just wanted to say I love all your content but I wanted to ask if you had any advice/tips for running curse of strahd? I'm working on getting ready to run it with some friends/my partner and while I've run a fair amount of homebrew stuff this is my real first attempt at a legit module so I was curious if you could share anything since I believe you also are running/had run that module as well?

Thanks for asking! This is a very fun question!

I have indeed run Curse of Strahd. It was my first foray into long-term DMing and my team and I finished that campaign a little under a year ago. It was awesome, and I'm always excited to talk about it. Curse of Strahd had be a great game if everyone is on the same page!

First of all, I'm gonna say

Having Experience with Homebrew will be a huge boon

When I ran CoS, I followed the actual module about... 60% of the time. It was good... as a baseline/blueprint. But the reality is that I changed up a lot of the details. Either because I didn't like the vibes of the story, or because the plot points were antithetical to my team's goals. I changed up an entire floor of Ravenloft. I threw away a whole storyline for a major NPC because I felt it was too boring.

I think most people who run Curse of Strahd do this, actually. I've heard countless tales of how others Homebrewed their own meat onto the skeleton, and still came out of the campaign with an awesome, Strahd flavored experience. So don't worry about that part.

Here's my advice:

1. Everyone should vibe with what Strahd IS as a game.

Strahd can be a lot of things - you can Homebrew your own motivations into him, or make him a her, or change the history of his castle if need be. But if there's one thing Curse of Strahd is... it is DARK.

The Venn Diagram of Parties Who Understand That Suffering Can Be Fun To Roleplay and Parties Who Had A Good Time Doing CoS is probably a circle. You cannot do this adventure with a group of people who just want to hit monsters a whole bunch. It's an inherently 'oh my god this SUCKS' adventure. That's the main theme. Your players need to be able to enjoy that sort of game, otherwise they will just be miserable.

One of my players, upon arriving in Barovia, immediately said 'I hate it here' and then continued to say it for the rest of the campaign. That is kind of the catchphrase of CoS. Your players need to be comfortable with that sort of bleak horror and overall misery. It makes the end and the potential to finally end Strahd worth it.

That being said, Strahd can also just be... a lot. It has death and torture and psychological horror in there. KIDS DIE. Please discuss this stuff with your table, and remove elements if they guarantee a bad experience for everyone!

(Yes, you can trim down some of the viscera if you need to, that's fine. But keep in mind it will still be tragic. It SHOULD still be tragic. I set some boundaries for myself, but I also killed a whole town in an avalanche. It happened to be the only town my players had grown to like. It was a dick move. It was exactly what you would expect to happen.)

2. Read ahead - A LOT AHEAD.

For a self-contained world, Barovia isn't actually that big. It's a very small map, compared to some that span continents. That means you have the ability to flesh it out, as it were.

To add to that... some areas are... severely underdeveloped plot-wise. Sometimes there are places your players will go where it FEELS like it should link up to another point in the game but it just... doesn't. There is room to expand there. Use your Homebrew skills to connect the dots that the module doesn't!

I greatly recommend taking the time to either read through the whole adventure OR listen through some video-essays. There IS some cool stuff that comes in in the later game that you can grab and put down breadcrumbs for from day one. Or add to your own story twists.

My recommended resource for this is the Curse of Strahd DM's Guide video series.

...and to that end...

3. Start living in Ravenloft Castle WAY before your players get there.

Listen..........listen. look.

Look at this, and suffer as all GMs have suffered.

Castle Ravenloft is unarguably the biggest, stupidest, most architecturally ludicrous hurdle when it comes to GMing CoS. And I am here to tell you - IT IS DOABLE.

You can understand the castle, you can grow comfortable with it. But you need to start early. Hell, I think I began to set up Ravenloft maps before my players even knew it existed. Then I stopped, because I was scared.. but then I went back, and I.... roleplayed SOLO on my off-days! I set up little scenes between Strahd and others and imagined him setting traps, and doing other things. It helped me understand which staircase led to where, and what floors were accessible from which angles.

A part of me actually thinks that there should be a mini GMs-only class where a more experienced Strahd GM takes some time with other GMs to guide them through a map of the castle. A CoS Learning Oneshot, if you will.

There's also a LOT of talented mapmakers that create beautiful, digital CoS maps! Here's one:

Even if you are playing analogue, at a physical table, I greatly encourage you to check it out for reference. The official CoS maps are bleak and a little bit more... rustic? Than they are gothic.

Anyway, in order to avoid talking your ear off, I will end it here.

My last bit of advice is... to have fun!

Yes I know I just said that Strahd is an inherently bad-vibes game. But it's actually GOOD to let your players goof off now and then. Don't be afraid to let them do shenanigans. It builds character, and allows them to regain the energy they need to role-play properly heavy elements later.

My group did a whole bunch of funny stuff. They felt so bad about losing Ireena that when they saw Ismark, instead of explaining themselves to him they cast Darkness and tried to scramble away. There was a running joke that the cleric was too good to know about sex, so they used the euphemism 'play cards' around her, much to everyone's amusement. They got kicked by a walking house once and never forgot nor forgave. And finally, they defeated some Flame Skulls by putting them into a bag of holding.

Anyway, the point is... have fun! I wish you and your party the best of luck. :)

#chekhov answers #curse of strahd #cos #ttrpg #dnd #5e #d&d #cos 5e

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eywa-eveng · 2 months

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ɪɪ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 6.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – major character death, war, ptsd, unrequited love

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – Still a non-linear storyline, so this entire part is set in the past. This part is also a lot shorter than usual!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @ladylovegood-69 @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx @sillyfreakfanparty

Jake never does wake up. It’s like tossing a crystal off a cliff and watching it shatter on the rocks below, watching hundreds of glitter shards scatter to the wind and knowing there’s no way to gather them all. Once a cut is made there’s no removing the presence of the blade. There will always be a scar. Healed and faded but never completely hidden from view. There was always the knowledge that Jake lived with a false body, that he was a Sky Demon wearing the face of the People. But knowing is different from seeing. Knowing that his body is empty, not asleep, a cup spilled and hollow without anything to fill it. Someone was kind enough to help Neytiri find a place to settle his body.

If not for his chest rising and falling, it would be easy to imagine his stillness as death. But his skin is still warm, his heartbeat still thrumming through his veins. He’s pliable as water, running between your fingers as you lift his arm, bending it this way and that as if to find some new flaw in his stolen physique. His veins march in rivers beneath his blue skin, patterned with the same dark markings of any true born Na’vi. His likeness is remarkable save for the things the human scientists could never perfect. As a child, Grace had explained that their hands and feet with those extra appendages were like a syaksyuk’s split arms, to remove one would be to unbalance the creature needlessly. Like removing a Na’vi’s tail. A body used to having five fingers would need to relearn to use only four, she told you. Jake’s hand is heavy in yours as you turn his hand over between your own. Warm and hardened from months of training. When he’d come to the clan on that fateful night, led by Neytiri and a sign from the Great Mother he’d been smooth. Soft and thin as a child, but in time he’d learned and grown into a man worthy of the Omatikaya clan. His palms are calloused and muscles defined, pulling taut beneath his skin like the string of a bow as you rediscover the shape of his body.

It’s so strange how closely you’ve become acquainted with the form of an uniltìrantokx. All your life you’ve been taught to fear the demons from the sky, the monsters that descended upon your peaceful home and ravaged it like a sickness with no cure, a plague upon all that they touched. The very ground beneath your feet bears scars of the Sky People. Poisons leaked from their dwellings and swathes of land lost to the metal creatures that know only to seek and destroy. Tears burn anew in your eyes as you think of the yellow behemoths chewing through the glade of Spirit Trees with no regards to their sacred value. All of those that had gone before you, yet lived on within Eywa, lost in an instant like a scent washed clean by the rain.

Somewhere, Tsu’tey is rallying the clan to strike back against the terror these demons have wrought. The tenuous bond that was made with the intentions of peace has been slowly fraying, day by day, and now it’s been severed completely. A knife that cut clean and quick through the years of fragile peace. Retribution is in order. What they’ve done is not a slight that can be taken in silence. A weeping gash has been torn through the clan and the suffering must be returned in kind. First blood has been drawn.

With the iknimaya celebration having passed not even a day ago, it all seems to have happened with such perfect timing. As if the Sky People knew of the warriors that would be joining the ranks of the adults within the clan. A few days earlier and some might not have been considered to defend the People. Children are precious and only a few are ever chosen to join a fight before their time. Your eyes fall to Jake. His face looks just the same as it has for the past few hours as the sun creeps higher in the sky. Grace is laid a few paces away. Both quiet as death. A bolt of doubt strikes through your chest like an arrow dipped in acid. A burning that spreads through your chest like a web, poisoning every corner of your mind with ideas of those you’ve allowed into your home betraying the People’s trust. Grace who you once called sa’nok. Jake who you had bound your life to, albeit with great hesitance. He was your mate now, for better or worse. And it seemed that with each passing moment, a storm was drawing ever nearer.

A shadow thundering over the horizon as you remain at your post, watching over the demons as Tsu’tey had instructed. He didn’t trust Neytiri with the task and he needed every one of his students present for the war council. His trust weighs heavily on your shoulders, misplaced and absolute. It hadn’t been only Neytiri that betrayed him, hadn’t been only Jakesully that mated with his promised woman. But now was not the time for such confessions. Another severed bond would only serve to further weaken the clan from within. So you shut the guilt tight within yourself, burying it deep within your heart to be dealt with when the time comes. For now, all that plagues your mind is worries of the war to come. You’d been far closer to the might of these Sky People than most. Thoughts of blood and bullets crowd your mind, hand curling tighter around Jake’s for comfort.

Seeking out your mate with an instinctual fervor even as the bond slips in and out of focus like blinking water from your eyes. It’s shimmery and elusive. A single thread where there should be an unbreakable rope tied between your hearts. The bond wavers, made worse as you try to reach for a person that isn’t there. Jake is only a body at this moment. An empty vessel waiting to be inhabited. Your nails dig desperately into his skin as fear chokes you, clutching tight to his hand. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He lays still as panic overtakes you. The feeling threatens to drown you. Tears burn in your eyes and drip across his skin as your feelings roar forth all at once. It is as safe a place as any to allow yourself to be lost in your anguish. Though there are three bodies in the alcove hidden within Hometree, only one is real. Somehow, even in company, you’re completely alone.

The feeling burns through your, in your eyes and beneath your skin. Simmering like nectar on a hot stone, bubbling and turning acrid as you sob through another wave of grief. It’s like stones being stacked on your chest, the weight growing and growing, threatening to crack through your ribs and crush your heart beneath the weight. It had started as a few pebbles. Small slights and forgettable offenses committed by the Sky People in your childhood. But in the time since, they’ve only grown more audacious, more greedy. Taking and taking until there’s nothing left to give. The loss of Utraya Mokri is nearly enough to crush your spirit to ash yet you’ve remained standing. Though there’s no certainty for how much longer you can bear it. One more devastation and you’ll surely crumble beneath the weight. You squeeze Jake’s hand again as a sob silently wracks your shoulder, muffled and choked as you try to contain your sadness. This time there’s a slight twitch to his fingers as if he’s finally noticed the weight of your hand in his. Grace comes to first, rolling to her knees and then scrambling to her feet.

There’s a frantic look about her eyes as she tries to gain her bearings before her gaze settles on you kneeling beside Jake. He wakes with the same erraticism, jumping to his feet so quickly it knocks you to the wayside. It’s so strange that in a single moment the comfort he offered has dried up. Seeing him return to his false body reminded you that he was nothing more than an illusion, that his soul could never truly be bound to yours, or anyone else’s. In the silence there was the comfort of familiarity but seeing him awake, kneeling before you as the tears dry on your cheeks. Jake suddenly looks like a stranger.

“I was sent here to–” The words echo in your mind even as his thumbs brush away the last of your tears. He presses a kiss to your lips, his forehead resting against yours, and all you can muster is a feeling of betrayal. Who was this man that was speaking to you so gently?

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he’s telling you as if you’d been in fear for his safety. Perhaps Neytiri had been afraid. Her voice was scratched with panic as she went to Grace’s side; her eyes flashed with rage after Tsu’tey dared to set his blade against Jake’s neck. Yet all you could muster was fear for yourself, for your home. Fear of what kind of people you’d let into your heart. Once, you’d thought Tsu’tey’s persistent hatred to be exhausting. Anger for the sake of it when all you wanted to do was forget. But now you see it for what it is. A desperate bid for self preservation. There was no forgetting the scars carved through your life by the hands of the Sky People. No masking the hatred that burned deep in your heart for what they’ve done. Hostility is an instinct taught to you from birth, and you chose to ignore it to please the whims of your heart. Neytiri had learned kindness and so too had you. And that gentility has been taken for granted.

It makes you cry harder. Jake soothes you with a sort of hastened affection as Grace paces the small hollow. Her tail curls anxiously, ears pulled tight against her head as she clenches and releases her fists.

“Baby, look at me.” You want to tell him that you’re not a baby. That your tears are well-founded, but you can’t find the words as his thumbs brush over your cheeks. “We have to talk to Mo’at and Eytukan. Now, right now.”

“It can’t wait,” Grace insists as Jake urges you to your feet. By the time the three of you reach the heart of Hometree, your tears have dried, though you aren’t certain of how long it will last.

Neytiri is the first to notice the three of you, coming to Jake’s side with a swiftness that takes his hand from yours before anyone could take note of it. If Grace had words for how she felt hearing Jake speak so intimately with you she kept them to herself, far more interested in the more pressing matter of an audience with your tsahìk and olo’eyktan. Neytiri calls to her parents, pulling Jake behind her, and they part from their war plans with a guarded curiosity. Mo’at raises her hands to silence the buzzing crowd so Jake might speak and be heard. Nearly the entire clan is gathered. Young and old, man and woman are gathered to hear what the dreamwalker has to say. He draws in a deep breath as if to gather his strength before he speaks.

“A great evil is upon us. The Sky People are coming to destroy Hometree.” He says in carefully enunciated Na’vi. Quieter, to Neytiri, he says, “Tell them they’re going to be here soon.” And she does. His words move through the clan like a ripple over still waters, raising a hum of fear and aggression.

“You have to leave, or you’re gonna die.” His words are final. As though he’s already seen what will come of this. And perhaps he has. How easily they’d turned the Trees of Voices to ruin. Though Hometree was far bigger, it seemed something these demons from the sky were capable of. With their rumbling metal beasts and their sparking guns. A chill rushes over you as cold as rainfall. More bullets. More death. It was all these Sky People were good for.

“Are you certain of this?” Mo’at demands. Moments ago her most pressing concern was seeking vengeance for the destruction of a sacred place. Now the tsahìk has to contend with the thought of her clan’s ancestral home being annihilated. Your eyes sweep over the open space within the roots of Kelutral. There is the fire pit still smoldering with the breakfast cookfire. The totem of toruk’s skeleton that has been passed down through generations of the Omatikaya as a precious show of strength and resilience. The mother loom that even now has hands weaving upon it. Your very life has been kept safe within the cradle of Hometree and these demons seek to destroy it.

A pit opens in your stomach. Hollow and gnawing as your fingers dance over the shape of your songcord. It’s an act of comfort, touching each bead and knowing each memory by shape alone. The bead for Sylwanin’s death, the flat river stone to match the color of your ikran, the jagged bit of crystal for your iknimaya. The litany of beads and knots to commemorate the chorus that ties every Na’vi life together. Soon there’d be more to add. For your mating. For a battle with the Sky People. The loose end of your cord is frayed between anxious fingers as you pull at the threads, waiting for a shred of reassurance. None comes.

“They sent me here, to learn your ways, so one day I could bring this message and you would believe me.” Jake says.

I was sent here to–kill. Destroy. Lie. A word that had no meaning before these demons descended upon your home. It was your mistake for thinking Jake could be any different. Though he wears his anguish plainly, as if your pain is shared when he meets your eyes. His gaze is heavy, pleading, and you step back as if to lessen the weight. This isn’t your burden to bear. All that he’s done, he did for himself. Neytiri isn’t so hesitant in her disbelief. She pushes forward. Reaching towards him as though her hands might reshape the words he’s said.

“What are you saying Jake?” Her voice is unsteady as rushing water. “You knew this would happen?”

He hesitates for a moment before he speaks. “Yes.”

“Look, at first it was just orders, then everything changed. I fell in love,” he tries to smile. “I fell in love with the forest, with the Omatikaya people,” he reaches to hold her and it’s like a spark that lights a fire. Neytiri pushes his hands aside, her face crumbling beneath the weight of his words.

“With you.” He says as though it will fix anything.

“I trusted you,” she says quietly. Jake’s eyes cut between the two of you. You stare back, tears welling in your eyes. The love you felt for Jake was not the same as Neytiri’s. She was in love with him. Consumed by the desperate fervor that made her betray all the plans that were made for her. She was willing to throw her life away for him. To deny her calling as tsakarem and never assume the mantle of tsahìk. She made a sacrifice with her very soul. As had you in some accidental, tangled moment of lust. Your spirits were now bound until death and it had only taken mere hours for Jake to so utterly betray that bond. The tips of your ears burned hot with shame. It simmered within you like a poison, searing through your veins until all you felt was an encompassing numbness. Like a salve being spread over a burn, the pain fizzled and faded until your heart felt cold as stone in your chest. This is what kindness has gotten you. Perhaps if you’d been hardened by your pain like Tsu’tey, this moment might’ve glanced off your skin like rain hissing to steam over fire.

Jake and Neytiri exchange the same words. Over and over. With you. I trusted you. One is present, constant. Jake loves Neytiri even now. Yet the same can’t be said for her, for you. Whatever love you might’ve had for the uniltìrantokx was lost the moment he voiced his betrayal.

“Trust me now, please.” He’s begging now. Quietly, he says your name as if you’ll have words to heal what has been hurt. His pleas fall upon deaf ears. Neytiri speaks for both of you as she rages at him. Screaming and hissing, pushing him away and stripping him of the one thing he’d been fighting for.

“You will never be one of the People!”

“Neytiri, please–” He steps towards her, arms outstretched as if to hold her, but you take the moment from him. Neytiri falls heavily into your arms and still Jake moves closer, begging desperately.

“No!” You hiss as Neytiri buries her head in your neck, tears wetting your skin. No. He doesn’t get to speak to her. He doesn’t get to look at her. Not her. Not you. “No.”

Neytiri’s quiet sobs ring in your ear as Mo’at wraps her arms around the two of you. A soft, comforting whisper of “ma ite,” reaches you over the sound of Neytiri’s whimpers as the tsahìk takes pity on her daughter. Both of you were led astray by the lies of an outsider. Mo’at’s hand brushes over your hair as Eytukan calls for Jake and Grace to be bound.

“You have to leave!” Grace insists. “They’re coming!” It doesn’t matter. This is your home and none of you are leaving it without a fight. Tsu’tey deals with the traitors, binding Jake’s hands and leading them to the seldom-used platform erected just outside of Hometree. It’s a simple structure decorated with bones. A place of quiet death. It’s meant for the worst offenses committed within the clan. That which cannot be atoned for so easily. It’s a place meant for the People, to offer dignity even in death. Sky People do not deserve such treatment. It proves the clan’s respect even in the face of such great betrayal. You stand by as Tsu’tey’s warriors bind the traitors, heart conflicted as you watch your mate and teacher be prepared for death. Part of you wonders if it would only mean death for these bodies. You know that somewhere far away, their human bodies are safe from reach. But to kill them in this way would sever the bond they’ve formed with the Omatikaya. It is greatly deserved but there is a fragmented piece of you that mourns the loss of the people you thought you knew.

“Watch them.” Tsu’tey grunts before heading back towards Hometree. It is a show of trust that he would leave you with his students to mind the captives. There isn’t a thought in his mind that you might think to free them the moment his back is turned. There’s a fierce loyalty within you and it will not be bent or broken by Jake’s pleading. He says your name so gently that you almost imagine that he could truly love you the way he says. But a man that loves you would never do this to you. To your people. To your home. Still, he speaks as a mate would. Calling to you to help him.

“Baby, please, you have to listen to me,” he begs. “They’re gonna burn this place to the ground. You have to go now.”

“Be silent. I will hear no more from you.” He doesn’t heed your words. Jake has always been talkative, filling the air with the sound of his voice, but now more than ever you wish for him to be quiet. There’s no amount of simpering and sorrow that would get you to abandon your home without a fight. This was the place that had seen your birth. Countless lives had bloomed and withered, returned to Eywa, within the comfort of Kelutral. To leave now would be to forsake your ancestors who had lived and fought for the life you lead now. Their memory is worth defending no matter what is to come.

The humans are not silent in their approach. The thundering buzz of their flying ships echoes through the air, seeming to come from all sides. For a moment the sky is a clear blue, then shapes dark as storm clouds are closing in from above. It feels like a storm has gathered as the whirring ships bring heavy winds. Leaves stir through the air, slicing against your skin as you hold tight to your bow. Something shoots from the ships, small and shining in the sunlight. Each one arcs overhead and lands between the roots of Hometree, bursting in clouds of gray-green smoke. They’ve made the first move, though blood may not have been drawn. Eytukan gives the order to shoot, but every arrow seems insufficient. They glance off the largest ship like stones skipping over water. It feels futile even as you deplete your arrows following the olo’eyktan’s orders. Your arrows fly and fall in quick succession, arms burning with the effort it takes to draw your bow so quickly. It’s all meaningless as the demon ship fires again, flames burning bright as the sun overhead as weapons you had no name for hurtled towards Hometree.

Larger than any bullet you’d ever seen, they landed with an earth-shattering certainty. The flames took to Kelutral with the swiftness of the wind, plumes of smoke billowed from between the large roots as fire roared through the place you’d been raised. Inside you knew the totems you’d been taught beneath, the looms you’d learned to weave upon, the memories of your childhood were being reduced to ash as simply as wood in a cooking pit. More than that, clan members that had chosen not to fight were still inside, and higher within the tree must be Tsu’tey and his warriors because you’d yet to see any banshees take towards the sky. Your home, your people were burning. Another arrow shoots from your bow and as you reach for another your eyes catch on Jake and Grace still bound amid the chaos. Jake shouts as though he’s been wounded, eyes round with fear as he watches Hometree burn. Then his eyes catch on yours, still staring at him with your arrow half string. There’s a reason for your hesitance that you can’t place but Eytukan is calling for a retreat and you don’t have a moment to wonder over the stall in your actions.

The air is choked with a haze of smoke and rain of leaves, screams piercing through the buzzing of the Sky Demons’ flying machines as the clan flees to the forest. One moment, you’re alone in the chaos and the next Neytiri is crashing into you, shoving you forward. Running only takes you so far before the earth is rippling underfoot, buckling your knees before knocking you to the ground. Then everything goes still. There’s a moment to gather your bearings and you rouse to your knees, pulling Neytiri close to your side. She clings to you so tightly that her nails bite into your skin and you let her. The pain wards off the numbness that’s begun to consume you. It feels as though you’ve walked into a stream. Shallow at first, then deeper and deeper until the water has swallowed you completely. Everything is cold and muffled as your eyes stare up at the canopy. As a child, it seemed as wide as the sky, Hometree unshakable as a mountain. Yet the mountain is beginning to crumble. There’s a groaning noise like stripping bark to make a bow and then Kelutral pitches forward. Falling.

Darkness grows as the massive tree topples towards you, too quickly to outpace. There’s only mere moments for you to evade the falling limbs. Shards of bark rain like arrows, pricking at your skin as you sprint towards the closest piece of light you can find, a place where the shadow of Hometree doesn’t touch. Around you there are the screams of those that weren’t quick enough. Loud for a moment and then silent forever. When the ground goes still, you shakily find your feet. The air is full of dirt and ash, and the anguished sound of mourning. For the fall of your home, for the death of your people. Broken branches scatter across the ground and you’re struck with a sense of disbelief. Hadn’t this place been filled with happiness only hours before? The night had been spent in celebration. So quickly the music and laughter had gone silent. A sound shatters through the sound of blood rushing in your ears and it isn’t until Neytiri pulls you into her embrace that you realize you’re screaming. It’s something past tears. Anguished wrath bubbles in your throat, loud and steady until your voice begins to give out in shuddering waves that chip off into silence.

Neytiri’s sorrow is quieter. Her breaths come quickly in your ear, gasping as if she can’t quite believe the sight set before her. It seems so impossible. Hometree has stood for generations as the ancestral home of the Omatikaya and now it was simply and irrevocably gone.

“Ma sempul,” she says at last, “ma sa’nok. They’ll know what to do.” Because something must be done. She speaks with empty regard. There is truly no way to know if they’ll know what to do but what more can you think to do than look to your olo’eyktan and tsahìk for guidance? There is nothing else left. It’s all burning. Neytiri stumbles away, bow in hand, in search of her parents. She’s slow at first but you watch her walk past the bodies strewn across the ground and pick up her pace. Voice calling out for her father. You go in the opposite direction in the search of the tsahìk. Many will be seeking Mo’at’s guidance and you can only hope the Great Mother has preserved her life as you sidestep those that were lost in the fall. Bodies streaked with blood and ash. Hands still clutching their bows and most precious belongings.

It’s easier to recognize yourself slipping away this time. How many? How many more of the People will die at the hands of these demons? So many lives lost without reason. Simply because they had the strength to do it. Even an animal did not hunt with this much impunity. There was always cause, balance. As the Great Mother intended.

Only moments ago, you’d been running. Leaping over fallen branches and ducking beneath curling ferns, but as you fall deeper into your mind, your gait begins to slow to a stumble. It feels as though you’re trudging through mud as you stagger through the rain of ash. No longer certain of what you’d been running from or towards. Small fires flare around you like the flames of a cooking pit. Warmth licks at your legs as you pass in your confusion. There’d been something you were looking for but you can’t seem to place it. It feels as though you’re chasing a memory. Walking towards some unreachable destination. Still you walk on, weaving a sinuous path through the ruins of your home. There’s something warm on your face like the kiss of sunlight but when you touch it your hand comes away slicked in red. Your legs fall still, no longer chasing that unknown place.

It’s suddenly all around you. The school and yet Hometree. The blood is yours and Sylwanin’s. A garbled scream tears from your throat, low and graveled as she walks towards you. Her voice sounds wrong. Her hands feel wrong as they grab your shoulders. She hadn’t gotten close enough to hold you though you remember her bloody drying sticky between your outstretched fingers. It’s all wrong, made worse when the voice solidifies in your head, brings you back to yourself.

It’s Jake. He’s grasping at your shoulders, brushing the blood from your cheek. He seems uncertain of himself, though you can hear the attempt at comfort in his voice. It does little to soothe you. Something in your heart aches at the way your bond seems to strain and fray with each passing moment. But never breaking. Tsaheylu is made with the intention of eternity. Jake will be your mate until death no matter the regret that comes. He says your name with just the right cadence for you to regain some semblance of strength and you shove him away.

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss. He jerks away from your rage. “Traitor! Get away from here. Never come back.” And he does. There’s a great hesitance in his retreat but he leaves you, eyes shimmering with longing. It’s too late for such affections and if your heart weren’t already crushed by his betrayal and the carnage that followed, you might’ve felt your soul tearing in two as you watched your mate turn his back on you. It would be alright, you had another.

Neytiri finds you later, after the long journey to the Tree of Souls. In times of great strife such as this, there was nowhere else to seek refuge but at the place where Eywa’s presence was felt the strongest. It was almost like a heartbeat thrumming beneath your feet as you bathed in the purple light of the clan’s most sacred place. Anyone that knew how to heal was busy with the injured and Neytiri had only just found a moment to join you in the alcove you claimed for yourself. The mossy stone was no replacement for the comfort of Hometree but it was all that any of you would have for some time. Already the elders of the clan have begun to weave. Kelku are simple enough to make but they take time to weave the outer walls and craft the wooden frame. Other things could not be so easily replaced. You thought of the mother loom and the totem of toruk. How long had his bones and his legend been passed down through the Omatikaya and now there was nothing to show that such a great leader had ever existed within the clan. There’d be only songs and memories now.

“I am sorry, yawne,” Neytiri says to break the silence. “I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve never opened my heart to that man.”

She still can’t seem to bring herself to insult him. Demon, Tsu’tey had called him. A traitor is what he is. And yet Neytiri can’t bring herself to call him anything more than a man. Her hand wrings the braid of her tswin as if trying to scrub away his touch. She looks as you must have last night. Awkward and unsure, but mated all the same. Jake tied tsaheylu without knowing its true meaning. While knowing his original intention for joining the clan. No matter how his plans had changed, he was still a betrayer. Had Neytiri not been his teacher–if he’d been given someone more abrasive as his guide–his orders would’ve likely been heeded without question. It was only because he couldn’t help but fall in love that he tried to abandon his mission. A liar and a coward. A man that no longer deserved his place among the People. It’s your hope that the memories of Jake would turn to ash in your mind, like forgotten wisps lost to the wind. He was no mate of yours.

Neytiri sags against you, her face buried in the length of your throat. Her nose is a cold spot against the warmth of your skin, warm breath washing across your skin. So much had changed so quickly. Only last night you’d been unmated and willing to let your love for Neytiri wither and die. Months ago Jake had been a stranger encroaching on your clan’s hunting grounds and now he’d betrayed the trust Mo’at instilled, that you’d so naively taken to heart. With time, perhaps you could’ve loved him as a mate. There were moments when you might’ve been content to live beside him despite it all, if Neytiri was mated to Tsu’tey as had been expected since her sister’s death. So many plans had been unmade by his presence. And some came to fruition quicker than expected. Tsu’tey has ascended to his position as olo’eyktan years before his time. Neytiri had found her father when she went searching for him. Found him dying in the rubble of your ruined home, shot through with a fragment of Hometree like an arrow. As she clung, weeping, to you, she shared his last words, “protect the People.” They were all that was left. The clan was a people not a place, though Hometree had become such a symbol of safety and togetherness. A home shared between hundreds. Now it was gone.

Sounds of mourning rang through the stone cliffs surrounding the Tree of Souls. Voices lamented the melody of lost songcords, of those that couldn’t be found in the flame and ash. Young and old had been lost. Mothers lost children, brothers lost sisters. And without the Tree of Voices, songs were all that was left to remember them by. Not even their cords to ponder between their fingers as they’re been left with the bodies that wore them. Everyone that wasn’t breathing still was left behind. A burden that would not be worth the effort to carry so far. Grace had been one such person spared from abandonment. She’d collapsed at the crest of a hill, body falling still and silent in that death-like way Jake’s always did when he slept. Her soul had been torn from her body once more. You expect that Jake suffered the same fate wherever he was in the rain of ash. He was one that was left behind. No one would sing the few meager beats of his fledgling songcord.

In your ear Neytiri hums soft as birdsong. It’s a familiar melody that you’ve heard throughout your life. Mo’at sang it as she worked and Neytiri when she was distraught. It was her father’s song. One that spoke of strength and duty. While Tsu’tey has spent his life training to take his place, Eytukan has cast a long shadow for him to live up to. Though he is trying. He stands on the raised stone beneath the swaying branches of the Tree of Souls, lingering beside Mo’at as she addresses a group of people. From a distance you can’t hear their words, can hardly see their faces, but they seem comforted by the words of their tsahìk.

“You should be with them.” You nudge Neytiri gently, trying to coax her from her spot hidden beneath the veil of your braids. Her eyes are bright in the waning light of the sun, eclipse settling with a sense of melancholy.

“I can’t,” she mumbles. “Mother said that I chose this path, that I might never become tsahìk now that I’ve tarnished myself. My life will be wasted.” All it had taken was a moment of weakness and she was tainted forever. The bond of tsaheylu will not wilt or waver even in death. Such things dig deep, sprouting roots upon your very soul. Jake, in his ignorance, had no way to truly know what he was doing, but Neytiri did. You did, and yet you tied your kuru even still. Hidden in the recesses of your heart like a single flower blooming in the darkness of a cave was your love for Neytiri. Sequestered in a place where it might never see the light of day. And yet in a moment of selfishness you had tossed aside the years of teachings that told you it was best to stifle some desires in service of the greater good.

Neytiri as tsakarem could be mated to no one but the future olo’eyktan. This was known. A belief that had been passed down since the time of the First Songs. It’s hard to imagine that there had been no other tsakarem who desired someone she could never have, yet she’d done her duty to the clan and mated with her arranged partner. There was honor in doing what was expected of you yet Neytiri had lived so much of her life without expectation. She wasn’t meant to be tsahìk, she was meant to be yours. Surely the Great Mother would not fault her for faltering on the path her sister was meant to walk. After all, it was Sylwanin that was meant to be tsahìk. If she had lived, none of this would have happened. Or perhaps her survival would’ve only prolonged the inevitable.

The Sky People came for your clan in the end. Destroyed your home and slaughtered your people. It just as easily could’ve been Sylwanin that died in the fall of Hometree. Another name added to those you must mourn. There were no words of comfort you could offer. Nothing to promise that everything would be better with time. Before, you might’ve been able to say that the future would be brighter. But now when you think of tomorrow, all you imagine is ash and smoke.

#jake x reader x neytiri #neytiri x reader #jake sully x reader #avatar x reader #avatar #atwow

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soulsforscrapbooks · 7 months

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How the Dracula Stage Play Influenced Future Adaptations

So I wanted to let people know about the stage adaptation of Dracula, because it established a lot of tropes that have come to define the novel as well as vampire fiction in general, despite the fact that large changes were made when bringing the book to the stage. Sometimes, honestly, it seems like more adaptations pull from the play than the book. Okay:

The original stage adaptation of Dracula was written in 1897 by Stoker himself! Here you can see the manuscript in his own hand:

Apparently he hated how it turned out, because he called it “dreadful” and it was performed only once and then never again. The role of Mina was played by Edith Craig, a well-known figure in the suffragist movement and the daughter of Ellen Terry, Stoker's friend, whom he mentions in the book. The next attempt at adapting the novel would not be until the 1920s, after Stoker had died.

The 1924 adaptation by Hamilton Deane stays fairly close to the events of the novel. Some key points:

The entirety of the action takes place in the Harkers' house

Mina and Jonathan are already married

Dracula is already in England, and the storyline involving Jonathan as a prisoner of the Count has been omitted

To accommodate the female members of his theater troupe, Quincy is now a woman! Her name is still Quincy, and she is described as “feisty,” and is a close friend of Jonathan and Mina. (There don’t seem to be any photos from the 1924 play, sadly.)

It is in this first major adaptation that the idea of the Count as suave and debonair is brought into existence. This change is to allow Dracula to interact more easily onstage with the other characters, whereas in the book he stays an offscreen threat for large amounts of time. This is also the first instance of Dracula wearing a high-collared pointy cape, which was originally done to hide the actor better whenever Dracula had to “disappear” through trapdoors.

Here is Raymond Huntley as Dracula in the 1924 stage adaptation:

The play was a success, and quickly moved to Broadway:

This version, adapted by John Balderston, was a complete revision not just from the book but from the 1924 stage play, and a LOT of changes were made:

Quincy, Arthur, and MINA have been removed from the story. Mina is mentioned as having died mysteriously before the play takes place.

Jonathan’s relationship to Dracula has been completely removed. He is not involved with bringing the Count to England at all. He is also now wealthy, and has traveled Europe extensively, where he has heard folktales about vampires.

Lucy is now engaged to Jonathan, and her last name is now Lucy Seward. This is because……..

John Seward has been aged up and is now Lucy’s father.

The action takes place at Seward’s house/asylum.

Renfield is allowed to just sort of…wander around Seward’s house when the plot requires him to be there. He gets dragged away by attendants whenever he needs to be offstage. He also survives.

The Broadway version also made large changes in characterization:

Lucy is weak and feeble when we meet her in the play. She is helplessly preyed upon by Dracula, and yet is sexually tempted by him when under a trance. She and Dracula share a passionate kiss at the end of Act II, right before she willingly exposes her neck for him to bite.

Jonathan is still concerned for Lucy as she is slowly turned, but he is more wary of her and goes along willingly with Van Helsing’s ideas regardless of how Lucy feels.

Renfield is portrayed as actively malicious, through fearful and subservient to the Count.

Seward is seen as a strong-willed father who leads his asylum with a firm and confident hand. He believes Van Helsing more readily when confronted with the existence of vampires.

Dracula himself is once again depicted as charming and suave, and he spends time during the first act as a mysterious but pleasant dinner guest of the Sewards.

Despite these massive revisions, the Broadway version was a hit, partially to due the charisma of Bela Lugosi, who originated the role. (Below is Bela Lugosi as Dracula along with Seward, Van Helsing, Jonathan Harker, and Renfield on the floor:)

Bela Lugosi, of course would go on to star in the 1931 film adaptation. Other famous stage Draculas include Jeremy Brett and Frank Langella (Langella's revival would also give us this amazing Edward Gorey art:)

So we can see that the stage plays influenced many versions that would later come, as well as the idea of vampires in pop culture at large. It’s interesting how the motifs and themes we expect when we hear the word “Dracula” were actually the creation of people besides the author, and these differences don't seem to have been majorly disputed in the last 100 years. Has this happened with other classic novels? I'm not sure, but I'd love to see an accurate adaptation of Dracula in stage or film form, and see how it might influence filmmakers and directors for the future.

#dracula daily #dracula spoilers #theater

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toastbastard · 8 days

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I’ve been thinking a lot about how all of the relationships/couples in 911 who got together over the course of the show have deeply developed characters on both sides of the partnership. Bobby and Athena are both main characters, and they are “the one” for each other. Same with Chimney and Maddie. I don’t fully consider Maddie a main character, because she doesn’t have a “begins” episode, but on the other hand, we have gotten more than one multiple-episode storylines surrounding her. My point is, with Bobby and Athena, you cannot remove either character easily and have the story continue on the same way. The same goes for Maddie and Chimney. There would be consequences, fallout, and it would alter the story in major ways. Maddie and Chimney (if i remember correctly) went through a rough patch, but neither were written off the show because they are characters in their own right, not just a main characters partner.

I have more thoughts but i’m putting a cut here to save you from having to read if if you don’t want to

Buck has been in the most relationships, which is meant show he’s young and not ready to settle down. His first relationship was Abby, and she’s kind of the exception to his usual pattern of one-dimensional love interest. She had a storyline, and it was rather compelling, she was pretty much the main character of season 1. However, when push came to shove, she was written off, and her absence, while deeply affecting Buck, does not alter the course of the show in any major way. The overall format of the show does not change, and we aren’t missing a perspective in the story.

After Abby, Bucks relationships start to become very one-sided in terms of development. Ali is barely memorable. She was very easily dropped from the story with no consequences, barely even any for Buck.

Taylor is an interesting case, because while she definitely was not a main character, she definitely had her own personality, desires, wants, fears, and needs. She was also a character from earlier in the show who they brought back later I think they tried to dig deeper into her as a character, and I honestly think she could have stuck around after her and Buck broke up because I think she would be a fun character to have pop in every once in a while. She has her own distinct purpose in the story, however, the show can still go on without her. I actually did like Taylor as a character, and her and Buck were cute together sometimes, but they were so obviously not meant for each other

Natalia is not really worth mentioning. We know nothing about her other than her career (a pattern with Bucks partners). The relationship was very short lived.

Now we get to Tommy. I will say Tommy is hard to judge just yet because him and Buck are very new. He is also a character from the past that has been brought back. We don’t know a whole lot about him, other than he used to be in the 118, Buck likely replaced him when he left, he was in the army, and he has a cool job (shocker!). Him and Buck seem sweet together, but i’d say we’ve gotten about as much content of them being a couple as we did with Ali and Natalia combined. However, he does serve a purpose in the story which is to help Buck to discover himself. Whether he will be more than that is still up in the air. I’m not saying he’s just a plot device, I do like this arc that they’re doing, I just haven’t seen anything yet to show that he’s a character in his own right and not just Bucks newest fling.

Now for Eddie. His first relationship is not really an exception to the established pattern. We learn about Shannon in the past tense, and when they get back together briefly, we still know very little about her. We know that on paper her and Eddie are married, that she has or had a sick mother, that her and Eddie were teen/YOUNG parents, and that her and Eddie have a very rocky relationship and they only work well together when they’re having sex. She dies, which, while it is definitely a plot line, and she does haunt Eddie’s life all the way up to the current season, the loss of her doesn’t alter the way the show plays out.

Then we have Ana. We know her job (duh), that she’s latina/hispanic, that she’s a teacher at Christopher’s school and later is a principal. I honestly think she was a sweetheart, and just a kind soul. I think that she deserved a little bit better than Eddie treated her, and he clearly wasn’t ready for the level of relationship they became. Still, she’s not a character that stands on her own. Take Eddie and Chris away, she doesn’t have a story of her own.

Then there’s Marisol. Marisol honestly is the most one dimensional girlfriend character. We actually don’t even know her job (this is actually shocking), we do know she used to be a nun and Eddie feels weird about it, and shes shown to get along with Chris. Other than that, she’s kinda nothing.

Kim is the last one. Literally all we know about Kim is that shes identical to Shannon and she works at a store. I am interested to see how the Kim thing plays out because I think it’s an interesting extension of Shannon’s ghost kind of following Eddie around.

The only partner of a main character who isn’t a “main character” outside of Buck and Eddie’s relationships is Karen. However, her and hen were together before the show started, and we have gotten several deep dives into their relationship including a “begins” episode dedicated to them, so I can conclusively say that Karen doesn’t fit into the pattern.

To simply, think of 911 as a house on stilts. You have all the main characters as a stilt or a support beam holding that house up. If Athena and Bobby were to break up, and Bobby were to be written off the show in a Ali/Taylor/Marisol fashion, not only would it be a horrible choice, but the house that is 911 would crash down. On the flip side, if you take away Tommy, that’s like taking away the door. Yeah, now the house is not really functional, but it’s a much easier fix than building a whole new house. The writers of the show have a habit of not putting any effort into Buck and Eddie’s partners. It’s so obvious from the audience perspective when you look back on it, that none of those relationships were meant to last. They do a horrible job at hiding how temporary they are.

If you read this far into my ramblings, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do that. you get a gold star. i’ll give it to you later i promise.

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sukibeloved · 3 months

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okay so i binged the entire show and now i have thoughts.

positives

- the set is absolutely stunning i was breath taken every time it’s as if they just pulled it straight out of the cartoon. incredible

- the castings were so good! they really are what i would have envisioned

- APPA AND MOMO ARE AMAZING!!!!!!!

- i think merging the earth kingdom episodes was a smart PRODUCTION decision. it was confusing as an og watcher however it makes sense for the live version cause they can’t just keep coming back to the earth kingdom (they mixed eps 5, 10, 17) and also i believe they linked it well so i’m alright with it genuinely.

- zuko’s actor perfectly nailed the acting. whenever it was a flashback scene it felt like zuko was 3 years younger despite looking the same, because zuko was more innocent sounding. and then the acting for current zuko was major sass (which was the best part)

- SUKI ATE DOWN SO HARD

- avatar kyoshi was 7 FOOT TALL. all i have to say

- sokkas actor ate down i fear 🫶

negatives (or just minor critics)

- azula, ty lee and mai were not supposed to be in book/season 1 and it didn’t really make sense for them. i love all 3 their my girls however it felt like a fan service and they didn’t really provide any plot development. ESPECIALLY MAI AND TY LEE i swear the girls just stood and watched azula fight and that’s all. i think what could/should have been done is feature azula at the end scene like they did and make it a whole big reveal and if they really wanted to provide fan service chuck mai and ty lee next to her. i understand the girls are fan favourites but if they wanted to make hype for the second season it would have been better to just show them at the very end to get fans excited. instead i found myself annoyed when they popped up because they weren’t needed.

- it would have been fine to have the girls for flashback scenes. also! in book 2 we start off with azula having to find mai and ty lee. they aren’t meant to just be together already. what happened to circus ty lee? that’s like a really important detail idk.

- i felt the humour was lacking. NOT BECAUSE OF THE ACTORS. it was not their fault and i loved sokkas deliveries when he had the chance to. the blame is on the writers but the issue was is the series was more dark (which is fine) but it erased the humour from the show so toward the end i found myself getting a bit bored. i think what caused this is the removal of the “filler” episodes.

- secret tunnel? that is meant to be in season 2 and i felt a bit robbed because wdym that’s all we got?

- i also feel that the found family trope wasn’t executed as well as it could have been probably also because it lacked filler episodes. we didn’t get to see them hang out and actually get to know each other so we haven’t seen them build that connection yet. obviously we assume with context they have but idk it makes it lack.

- yue my girl 😭 first of all the wig which i’m not gonna talk about. i cant exactly place what was wrong but yue’s storyline made me cry my eyes out for days and i LOVE HER. for whatever reason i did not feel this way. i want to say it might be because suki & sokka kissed like in ep2 which felt like 5 days ago idk. -> also i jumped up and down when that happened. but it just felt like not as dramatic as it was which was so upsetting cause i was getting ready to bawl.

- katara was more chill. i love her actress btw i blame the directors for this. i just feel like they swapped sokka & kataras roles sort of, sokka was shown as the more mature one and trying to be like his dad whereas katara was viewed as the “little girl” their whole dynamic was that katara was way more mature to the point sokka ONLY PICTURED KATATA when he thought of his OWN MUM? i also feel like katata didnt blow up and get angry as much as she should of idk?

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #zuko #azula #katara #sokka #aang #avatar netflix #ty lee #mai #yue

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elder-dragon · 17 days

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The Mechanics of Kryptis Possession

(More kryptis speculation!

In this long post: what is the parasite for, and appreciation for the unique possession methods toward each Wizard. Shoutout to @icebrooding for helping me with a lot of this!)

Based on ambient dialogue in Nyedra that was along the lines of "a terrorling's parasite could not survive in Zakiros", I've been working under this assumption:

All kryptis have a parasite, and this parasite is how they possess people while retaining separate bodies.

But, what doesn't make sense to me is why all kryptis would have a parasite if they are used only to possess targets, especially since the majority aren't going to be leaving Nayos, although they seemingly can use their parasites on each other?

So here's my guess: kryptis parasites were originally used to semi-benignly feed off the emotions of other beings, until Eparch weaponized them for possession instead.

It's still a parasite, albeit a metaphysical one, so the targets would not be without consequences carrying one around in their heads. Finding a way to destroy the parasite would likely kill the kryptis but leave the host safe.

In terms of being weaponized, how well a possession goes for either party depends on both the strength and mental state of the target and the strength of the kryptis involved. Someone tired and emotionally vulnerable or with their guard down is easier to possess.

The strongest possession in this manner we see in-game is that of Cerus toward Isgarren.

Cerus is so strong, he can singlehandedly hold onto Isgarren in such a way that Isgarren is barely able to fight back at all, lasting long enough to hide himself in the World Spire before being taken over completely, and that's even before Mabon dies since Cerus mentions he "let go of Isgarren" just long enough to let him see the moment.

(I also headcanon that different kryptis have different preferences for emotions, which in turn affects how much of an effect a parasite might have on their hosts. Peitha seems to particularly like feelings of defiance, for example.)

Unique Kryptis Possession Methods

Now, let's talk about one of the underrated parts of SotO's base storyline: the strategies of the kryptis invasion. Specifically: the way each Wizard was possessed in a manner tailored to them.

With the Wizard's Court down, it was going to be only a matter of time before the rest of the tower (i.e. Astral Ward and Rift Hunters) fell. (If not for the Commander, of course.)

Dagda was actually possessed by not just one kryptis, but a whole "hive" of them led by Vanda, as identified by Peitha. Presumably, this was done as a precaution by the kryptis: Eparch must have thought that Dagda could've fought off any one kryptis on her own, hence the numbers strategy.

Notably, Peitha is pretty shocked when she realizes what was going on in the observatory, so this likely is an unprecedented way to possess someone.

Mabon was possessed by Asthenes, stated by Cerus to be one of his closest and dearest friends, who also appears to contradict everything I said just said about how kryptis possession works because you have to rip it out of Mabon's body like a more traditional demon. Asthenes had tethered itself to Mabon's soul: if one died, so would the other.

This sounds counterproductive, let's put it this way: Asthenes was on a suicide mission, but it was guaranteed its success.

There was no certainty Mabon would sacrifice himself to purge Lyhr (which is the beginning of his death) especially since the Commander and the Heart of the Obscure changed the initial trajectory of the invasion. But Mabon is second only to Isgarren in rank among the Wizards. What if the Astral Ward had decided to purge Mabon first or find some other way to remove Asthenes from him? With the tethering to his soul, Asthenes guarantees that, no matter what, Mabon dies.

This method is likely a last resort type of thing, but with the guarantee of Mabon's death, from the kryptis perspective, Asthenes was making a massive sacrifice to ensure victory.

Lyhr was possessed by two different kryptis. They went unnamed, as far as I can find. We don't have as much information about this one, but it's likely they set out to possess him as soon as he split, to force him to be unable to rejoin and ensure he would be weaker, thus weakening the Wizards in general.

#secrets of the obscure #soto spoilers #kryptis #my analysis #have i mentioned i love kryptis?#i love the wizards too i hope this post doesnt make it seem like i dont like them I JUST THINK THE POSSESSION METHODS ARE INTERESTING???#long post

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antianakin · 1 year

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While I thought these two episodes were quite interesting and fun and good quality for this show, they also just further prove that the show absolutely sucks and has no reason to exist.

These two episodes were so clearly PLOT HEAVY episodes, this wasn't just filler. This was discussing the fate of the clones, defeated a major villain in the show, and brought in several major characters for cameos. All of this is generally stuff that would only happen in major plot heavy episodes, not filler.

But none of it had a lick to do with the main characters. None of it.

All of our main characters have left the GAR, so whether the clones remain troopers or not has zero effect on them and they don't give a flying shit about regular clones anyway so what do they care about the fates of their much-hated "regs." The main characters have exactly no stakes in this storyline at all.

The villain's defeat doesn't really come about because the mains have any vested interest in bringing him down. They're brought in by the two cameo characters to help THEM defeat the villain. The main characters are tools in this endeavor, but not the instigators of it. They don't have any real emotional connection to his defeat that we ever get to see.

And none of the main characters actually grow or change because of the events of this episode except for Echo, who ends up LEAVING and is getting indefinitely written off the show as a result. And that choice doesn't even have anything to really do with the actual plot of the episodes, but just because he meets Rex who mentions he's out saving other clones sometimes which is something Echo finds appealing. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Omega are all effectively exactly the same at the end of this as they were at the beginning.

And Echo's leaving isn't even sad. The music tells me I should be sad, but they've never built up a real relationship between Echo and anybody else on the show. And aside from Omega, no one even seems all that upset to see him go in THIS episode, but Omega's had all of about 2 real scenes with Echo across 1.5 seasons, so it doesn't feel all that impactful.

The episodes were GOOD, but they weren't good because it had anything to do with the actual main characters of this show. They were good because it dealt with characters I ACTUALLY cared about (clones in general, Bail, Rex, Riyo) doing stuff that dealt with bigger issues that impact the galaxy and larger groups of people. The events of this episode have long-lasting implications for the worldbuilding, it fleshes out Riyo as a character, it shows us what Bail was like as an Imperial Senator and the thin line he had to walk. We got to see the aftereffects of the attack on Kamino, but the people actually impacted by this weren't the main characters, but the real clones, Riyo Chuchi, and Halle Burtoni (of all fucking people).

The episodes that deal with really interesting plot-heavy material are never interesting BECAUSE of the main characters, they're almost always SIDE characters in someone else's plot-heavy story because the main characters are entirely removed from it all. They never had connections to anybody more involved in the main story and are given personalities that mean they actively do not care about doing anything interesting with the main storyline. All they can do is stay static and throw out running gags every so often when they go on random adventures (Wrecker hates heights, Tech is a perfectionist, etc). But they don't grow. They can't.

This show is at its most interesting when it looks at almost literally anybody else BUT the main characters. It's at its most meaningful and impactful when it moves away from putting its main characters center stage and just lets them be side characters to someone else's story instead.

#anti tbb #tbb wank #star wars

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rueria · 5 months

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hortus de escapismo word vomit bc i cant seem to get this event outta my head apparently

i don't know who and how many exactly in the monastery were influenced by arturia, maybe her arts made the non-sarkaz more on-edge towards the sarkaz as a reflection of their hidden frustrations. maybe delfina and fortuna could have resolved things more calmly if it wasn't for her music. if she wasn't there, maybe clement wouldn't have submitted to his despair so soon. or maybe not.

i believe what happened in the monastery wasn't her fault (the root cause here is laterano's status quo, among other things), she "just" accelerated it. what happened would've probably still happened. and it's not like removing one's inhibitions and showing their truest emotions is inherently destructive. the abbot prepared the communion bread, but at the last moment he decided not to bring it to the last mass. i believe that was his true desire.

honestly, what i find curious is executor's single-mindedness in trying to apprehend her. and i do remember that he blames her, saying something like "once again, your actions have led to deaths" (non-verbatim)

idk, i also think her arts are dangerous, but that dangerous that he almost drops everything else the moment he recognizes her cello? and what i find ironic is that, he essentially watched clement kill himself. he tried to dissuade him, yes, but he ultimately respected his choice. is it because he knew, as someone who knows arturia's arts more than anyone else, that *this* was what clement really wanted to do, and he couldn't bring himself to interfere?

what does he really think about arturia and her arts? federico isn't prejudiced the way other sankta are, he just enforces the law to the letter (and for that matter, why *does* he do that? i doubt it's just bc it's his job?). does he view arturia as urgently dangerous because she's a major threat to the law, aka the status quo? if thats the case, isn't it strange that he seems to be the only one who's that dedicated to catching her? mr. oren "preserve laterano's greatness" argiolas was more concerned about protecting laterano-leithanien relations over her. maybe bc he's the only one who understands how powerful her arts are? then, how does he react when he finds out that she's [redacted]? can ZH pls come faster

anyway uh back to arturia, i don't think arturia is evil but i do think she's wrong. wrong in that i personally can't agree with her on principle. i don't think what she wants is bad or evil tbh, or even truly wrong. i just can't agree with it. a person's true emotions and desires aren't all a person should be. inhibitions, while they can be limiting, are also just as much part of a person as their truest emotions. it's like putting a person in a dire and deadly situation and judging them based on their actions in those circumstances, labeling that as their true self. idk, maybe i'm misinterpreting what exactly she wants and how her arts work, or what "true emotions" even are. maybe it's because i try to think what would happen if *i* listened to her music and i feel like i'd probably do things i'd regret.

well, ZH should probably answer a lot of my questions about arturia. but it seems to me that it'd be a long while before the laterano storyline is resolved, especially since it also concerns the sarkaz

#arknights #shut up eri #i should reread exe's profile again #also apparently virtuosa's profile is the longest there has been so far #like even longer than the average oprec #so yeah. lots to unpack in like. 4 months #tho i'm starting to feel like ZH won't answer a lot of my questions #bc if it will #why havent more people been all like “omg guys #massive lore drop!!!!“#then again #i try to avoid all ZH spoilers if i sense them lmao #here's hoping it'll be like that for the next 4-5 months

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rinbowaman · 1 year

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Mermaids Tale - Chapter 4

This was a fun chapter to revise, no smut, just pure details of Heeseung's ancestry. hehehehe. it's getting good.

So because tumblr is still being a pain, this isnt' really proof read. I couldn't copy and paste the chapter in, so i had just retype the whole thing while staring at the original draft to keep the flow of the storyline accurate, but there might be some grammar errors. I'll fix that whenever Tumblr stops being mean to me.

Pairings: Heeseung and you

Warnings: So while there is no smut, there is mentioning and implying of slave breeding, coerce sex, rape (not mentioned directly, just implied) being used for DNA, capture and imprisonment, and i think that's it. some of it is directly stated, while majority of it is heavily implied.

Begin read below line :)

8th Century BC

In the northern sphere of the southwestern district, an area where the Balkan Peninsula would eventually run through in the Mediterranean region, an ancient kingdom currently occupies a large part of the European continent, bearing as the most notorious empire in the world.

Named after its line of successors during the age of its victorious period, the kingdom had become the most significant empire during the Byzantine Dynasty. It’s last known ruler, history’s triumphant conqueror, Alexander III of Macedon, son of Philip II, became greatly known for his enhanced strategic command and leadership, and the greatest King during the Macedon Dynasty.

Today, he is commonly known as Alexander the Great.

Following the events that took place within the Asia Minor, the great king feared of the dangers that lurked and threatened his line of succession. Establishing a hidden order and made up entirely of his secret sons to carry out his legacy, a clan, called the “Sons of Adam”, named after the First Man, was created. Carrying the bloodline of his ruling essence, through ages of descendants produced by his own offspring, Alexanders will, unaware by the myriad of enemies he made during his conquer, thrived through the proposed non-existence of his male heirs.

Knowing the dangers of corruption that remained prevalent in his kingdom, Alexander could not afford to put his bloodline at risk of elimination at the hands of his enemies, thus all records of his sons were destroyed, as they were removed from the kingdom and tucked away within the great monasteries of the continent.

By forming the clan, members, simply known as an “Adam”, were highly trained and skilled in the art of using sword and shield. They learned the battle techniques that were both domestic and foreign to them, developing advanced flexibility, stamina, and strength. Under secrecy, they were assigned to the temples that worshipped the ancient Gods of their time, serving as the guardians that protected the old religion, becoming just as forgettable as the priests and nuns who lived amongst, and cared for them.

When Alexanders untimely death came about, many throughout Persia and the Asia Minor displayed their corruptions as countless formations that the former king left behind, were eradicated. Many agreements became broken, all leading to the division of the Macedon Kingdom, ceasing its existence.

To avoid the risk of exposing their identities, the Sons of Adam were eventually migrated to Hellenistic Sicily, to further keep their lineage a secret as the last known warriors of Macedonia.

Through the natural and manmade disasters that occurred through every period of the world’s age, the sons of Alexander the Great had no choice but to spread, furthering the promotion of their procreation as the prestige lineage of a dying breed.

In the early 19th century, a young Merchant Marine by the name of Ethan Alexandros, travels and participates in the Russo-Japanese War during the Joseon Dynasty. In the aftermath, Ethan retires and remained in the conquered country of Korea, marrying a local woman, and carrying out his deed as a descendant of his great relative and wife, Alexander and Roxana, as well as carrying out the sworn duty as an Adam.

Much like his relatives, the fellow Adams immigrated throughout the world, spreading their legacy, and secretly merged with humanity. Through their great traits, some of which displayed longevity in their lifespan and youth, or inhuman strength, the Adams were careful to remain unidentified, Ethan was no different.

Continuing the bestowal of his ancestor’s birthright in the oriental region, Ethan and his wife produced three sons, all of which continued the lineage of male born offspring to continue. Just as his relatives had done to him, he blesses them with a surname that is not of his own, to carefully maintain the discretion of the clan’s formation. Allowing his children to inherit the name of their mother’s family, Ethan’s sons were all christened with the surname, Lee.

Today, a young man, unaware of his superior lineage, migrates through the city. With the intelligence equivalent to that of the most respected educators in the world, and the abnormally high aptitude of mastering abilities, both in combat and various skillsets, Lee Heeseung is bidding farewell to his peers and employment, as a member of the elite SWAT force of the Provisional Government in his division. Along with his elder brothers, the boys displayed impressive records of their abilities in their military background, earning them an expedited transfer into the force upon completing their time in service, as the eldest became the lead security chief of staff for the nation’s government, while the middle brother was contracted as a general for the nation’s largest military force. The youngest, with his high modest and humble value, opted for a contract to better serve the public, and signed with the police organization, accepting the role of supervising team leader and chief of his division.

For the youngest son, that was always the case, he differed greatly from his elder brothers. He was smarter, stronger, the highest skilled and talented among the three. It was widely known how abnormally attractive each brother was, however, Heeseung always won the majority of popular votes when it came to being the best looking out of the three. It wasn’t just limited to his appearance either, the man had a gift of song as he would often, while unintentionally, serenade every woman, or even men, whenever his team would let off some steam and partake in a night of drinking and karaoke. Bewildered by the trait of capturing the hearts of everyone around him, it was eerie for his friends and co-workers to note how the people around him, as he sung sweetly to the tunes of the song of choice, entranced all around him.

How was this possible?...

‘The ancestor Ethan was a descendant of Alexander and his youngest wife, Roxana, well after the order was established, many Adam’s caught the eye of kings and rulers during the period of when mortals were at war with the Sirens. Noting their enhanced combat abilities and vast knowledge in foreign weaponry and techniques, the Adam’s were all bid and hired by the kings of the land to aid in humanity’s conquest in defeating the Sirens.

Just as expected of them, the Adam’s were able to not only fend off the maidens of the sea, somehow, though still unexplainable, the Adam’s were immune to the whims of the oceanic goddesses as many of them were defeated and brutally killed off by the prowess of the clan, though, had they not been masked and blinded by the steel guard of their head pieces, inhibiting the clear view of the other worldly beauty of each maiden slaughtered, the clan would have committed to more humane death.

After realizing the beauty of these maidens, which appeared to be the only factor that had any effect on the clan, the eldest Adam, Philippe, commanded his brethren to capture and detain whatever maiden was left. Upon learning that the maidens had the ability to develop legs, the captured Sirens were imprisoned on land, within the grand estates of the clan, all awarded by the kings that hired the young men.

Unbeknownst to the royal family, the Adam’s brought back the remaining Sirens, trapped them within their mansions as they turned them into wives, and produced future sons with them. It was both out of endearment and love for their beauty and to enhance their bloodline as they discovered that offspring between an Adam and a Siren, contained the capabilities of both worlds. Their lifespan increased, immunities against disease and poison was enhanced, their strengths and ability in the water also evolved. Though it wasn’t apparent with every single offspring, some, the rare types, were born with all the above traits, along with the ability to hypnotize their opponents with their voice, a trait that solely came from the lineage of their maternal side.

An uncommon ability, yet widely desired amongst the descendants, the Adam’s strived to produce the strongest of heirs, as they kept the Siren’s to themselves, forcing them to live and adapt to live among mortals, something that Celine, the youngest siren, did out of her own accord.

Aware of what had happened with her captured sisters, Celine was careful to avoid crossing paths with the male descendants. However, the dying number of sirens that managed to avoid getting captured, were all forced to hide in the deep trenches of the ocean, remaining out of sight as they feared the clan. Realizing that she did not desire to lurk in darkness forever, Celine migrated to the land, where she portrayed herself as a mere mortal survivor from shipwreck, met and married a kind sailor who became enamored by her beauty and sweet voice.

Within due time, Celine learned to love and care for her husband, wanting nothing more than to be by his side forever. Even though her tolerance for mortals was more temperamental and gentler compared to the ruthless behavior of her sisters, Celine never thought it possible to love one. Yet, as fate would have it, her immortality inhibited her from continuing her happiness with him in the afterlife, thus was left with no choice but to disappear and go back to the sea once her husband aged but noticed that his wife’s appearance remained the same. It was heart breaking; however, she knew it had to be done for the safety of herself and her daughters. Making a pact and telling them of their bloodline, the daughters bid farewell to their mother, and continued their lives, promising that the story of their ancestry is passed down to each generation, and if the moment comes where a daughter falls in love and marries a mortal, she too, at some point in her life, will have to disappear and live her life roaming in the sea…’

Earlier in the year, the elders of the Lee family established an agreement for the three brothers to take over the major corporation as the President, CEO and Executive Director of the affluential company that monopolized the world, establishing an impressive family background and insurmountable wealth to their name. It was always the family’s wish, contracting an agreement with the boys since childhood that they were free to choose their path up until the time would come, where each one must set aside whatever career or background they marked on their own, and take in the responsibility of continuing the direction of the family’s economical creation, to maintain the superior status of the Lee family line. It was an act to keep the business strictly within the family, avoiding the risks of outsiders in corrupting and ruining what the Lee family had created and entitled in their name.

Each day, adorning dashing suits and expensive accessories, Heeseung slowly acclimates to a lifestyle that lacked the thrill and adventure he was accustomed to by joining the Navy Seals, transferring into the SWAT force, and overseeing the division of the districts most promising officers.

Soon after he inherited his new billet of becoming the executive director of his family’s company, under the mentorship of his grandfather, the feeling of complacency coated his mood as he found himself succumbing to boredom. Taking note of his lack of enthusiasm, the senior member of the company’s presidential board did his best to enthrall his grandson in a myriad of ways; hiring the prettiest applicants to fulfill the roles of his personal secretary or filling the entire upper floor of the headquarters building with the loveliest staff members to accompany his business trips at his choosing.

Appreciating his grandfather’s efforts, Heeseung put up a front, but never exposed that his grandfather’s method didn’t work. It only provided temporary aid in relieving the mental frustrations he developed from his administrative duties as he chose one lovely woman or another each week, bedding and spoiling them rotten until they too became dull and boorish to his desire.

Day by day, Heeseung managed to acclimate to his new duties by balancing his time in the prestige gym facility at the company’s headquarters building, or by frequenting the luxury spots in town with a different beautiful woman by his side. The thrill of seeking, tracking, and capturing criminals or terrorists was hard to replace, but he somehow was able to manage. Long before he knew it, the yearning sense of that active career didn’t bug him as much, largely thanks to the amount of martial art sessions he did throughout the day, at least his senior position at the company allotted him his own schedule to do nearly whatever he wanted. It was good to be king. Within due time, he mastered the arts of Karate, Jiu Jitsu, Muay Thai, hell, he ever learned to dance extravagant choreographies, hiring the best in the business as tutors.

Getting by, he grew more content, putting his elder family members at peace of mind as they were overly concerned the boy would stray from his diligent duties, due to the austerity of adapting to his new environment. It all became a lot easier once he was able to fill his days with the most challenging and physical demanding hobbies, and developing friends whose families became connected to his family through contracted partnerships, expanding influence and wealth, yet remained just as humble as he did. Friends such as Jake, and Jay.

Yes, all was seemingly going well and finally he was beginning to feel content…

Until he met you…

Not only did the urge and the thrill of ‘hunting’ came back to his senses, but it was also stronger. Much stronger than it ever had been. Unsure as to why, it was clear that you weren’t a criminal or posed as a threat to anyone, if anything, you were dignified and classy, it was remarkable. Yet your physical traits, whistling voice, and royal posture went unnoticed as he couldn’t help but watched you the entire event that night. His mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts, some sordid, while others were genuinely romantic. It was hard to make sense of the feeling, he’s never felt it before, something just stirred inside him, and it was so powerful that he swore he stopped breathing for a moment.

Aside from being trapped in a world of your wonderous beauty, there was another matter that was left unexplained. In the parameters of your presence, there was a feeling, a sensation that ripped through his body, it was neither painful nor pleasant. Almost as if something about you was calling to him, it was a phenomenon that only could be felt whenever you were nearby, yet the moment he noticed and watched you sneak out, under the pretense that you did so undetected, he allowed you to ‘escape’ as his theory turned into a fact when he watched you exit out of the ballroom, and along with you, that odd sensation disappeared.

However, even after you departed, it did nothing to inhibit the image of your face, the swaying of your body and feminine essence as you walk, and the flowing of your hair, it all permanently remained in his mind. When he took Kourtney to his bed that night, fucking her was hard to focus on, which wasn’t an issue with all of the women he’s had in the past. Fact is, the dashing playboy became desired not just for his handsome looks and soothing voice, the rumors that spiraled from one woman to the next built his reputation of how talented he was in bed. By morning, each woman lucky enough to be plunged by the Asian Casanova became a pool of a submitted mess as they became dazed and begging for more, in which he gladly obliged, all thanks to his high stamina, yet after weeks, perhaps even months, he left a trail of broken hearts as he expressed his lack of enthusiasm with whatever beauty he had been courting at the time.

Somehow, there was something inside that gave a sense, that when it comes to you, things would be different. Much different. Almost as if his gut was telling him that you both were meant to be, that you were his soulmate, it was crazy, yet it only made sense to him as the voice in his head beading his mind, repeatedly chanting…

‘Take her.’

Writer's note: Chapter 5 is going to be posted really soon ;)

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