#maybe just an excuse to write about snow and stuff

[jadeshifting]

— UNIQUELY CHARACTERIZING YOURSELF ( SMALL, IMPORTANT DETAILS )

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GROUNDING THROUGH DETAILS OF THE SELF

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justifiably, so much focus in scripting lies in who you’re friends with, who your s/o is and what experiences you have together, your house and your belongings—but what about you? not just superpowers or your vast ocean of clothes (way fun), but the littlest details of the self. let’s talk about grounding yourself in this new reality. are you glitter-dusted nail polish that catches the light, or someone with chipped black nails because it’s chic that way? does your laugh sound like a giggle, or is it that obnoxiously loud cackle everyone secretly loves?

in a similar vein to why there’s often a focus on scripting imperfections (realism, grounding, etc) these small, “whatever” details are just as valuable in the same way. you’re anchoring your energy into this version of you, “i’m here, I exist, and i know myself inside-out.” you’re not just some flat character with a Pinterest-worthy life; you’re layered, real, and unforgettable. these little things? they build your presence and make you magnetic in any reality (which you’d be anyway bffr)

HOW DO YOU SMELL? WHAT FLAVOR IS YOUR CHAPSTICK?

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what’s your vibe in this reality? are you wafting off warm vanilla sugar with a hint of cinnamon, or are you giving off expensive oud and a mystery nobody can place? your scent is a defining extension of your personality, babe, and it sets the tone for everything

chapstick—don’t brush off the details. classic cherry, elegant honey pear, or something wild like coconut-lime mojito? it seems small, but trust—this stuff pulls you deeper into your desired reality because it’s so you. smelling like the softest cashmere or tasting your own minty-fresh lip balm is an everyday, arguably mundane thing that is absurdly easy as a tool to connect you to this version of yourself, and by extension the reality that version of yourself originates in

when you can feel how your lips taste or how your perfume clings to your skin in this new reality? you’re no longer daydreaming, you’re living it. besides, being the central character to your entire narrative doesn’t just come from looking the part—smell it, taste it, own it.

TRYING ON DIFFERENT IDENTITIES

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(maybe a less compellingly whimsical reason, but something i’m championing for nonetheless.) switch it UP, babe—WHY NOT? one reality you’re in streetwear with an absolutely leveling glare, and in another you could be cottagecore princess snow white who bakes pies and writes love letters. you DON’T have to stick to one flavor when you can sample the whole menu! think of it like a cosmic dress-up game.

while it’s easy to find comfort in a familiar and ideal version of yourself (pick out a reality where i’m not violently off-putting in a very strange way but beautiful enough to excuse it. i’ll wait), EVERY version of you has something to teach, and a plethora of things you can learn from them.

it’s not about locking yourself into one box. it’s about experimenting, playing, and experiencing all the endless versions of you that you have access to (infinity, thanks)—whether that’s sipping matcha in Florence or running barefoot on a sandy beach. shifting isn’t just moving into a different reality; it’s stepping into endless versions of you.

THE SUM +/=

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don’t gloss over the seemingly inconsequential details of the self. if you’re asked about someone you love and know intimately, you probably wouldn’t be like “they have tons of clothes and make so much money” (if they do, good for them tho), the first things that come to mind would be “smaller” (read: everyday things, as a result—MORE important.)

“they talk in their sleep, it’s so funny when we have sleepovers” “they always say yes when someone asks them for help” “they have this one necklace that they wear every day” “they love this one specific poet, they can practically quote her from memory” “they wear gold, not silver”

small things. it isn’t characteristics like bravery, sense of humor, and kindness that serve as the only three blocks to build a linear vertical tower of identity. it’s tiny qualities and characteristics and mannerisms, each seemingly the size of a grain of sand, that compound into the beach that is your identity. don’t gloss over them !! don’t be shy to envision the tiniest things about yourself.

much love !! xx :^)

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[artytaeh]

what slytherin boy is best at which subjects?

WHAT ARE THE SLYTHERIN BOY'S FAVORITE, LEAST FAVORITE AND BEST SUBJECTS? ── 𖤐

. 𖥔 ࣪˖ that's a great question, anon! thank you for sending something interesting for me to write about. i gave it some thought─although it's, obviously, totally up for debate. if you have a different opinion, please tell me about it!

mattheo riddle tries so hard to beat allegations. but he can't! it's difficult to grasp mattheo's interest, so he definitely finds defense against the dark arts interesting, even though he denies it. come on, the dark lord's son being a DADA enthusiast? hogwarts would have a field day with assumptions and ridiculous rumors. mattheo thinks that the dangerous part is related to adrenaline, and a competitive sense of who's strong enough to survive it. besides, most of the DADA professors he had allured mattheo. especially moody and lupin. umbridge ruined it for him, though. mattheo also somewhat likes charms, because he gets to use new spells. mattheo would like potions a little more if it was more about mixing and cutting stuff than decorating a lot of things.

worst subject: whatever classes that are full theory and less practical activity. which means that history of magic is his absolute nightmare; boring, fully theoric, no enthusiasm, nothing to do with his hands. even herbology and transfiguration are a little more fun.

theodore nott is a good student. a lot of logic and studying that hopefully, buys him some peace at home with his father and less meetings with the man's cane. even though he's one of the best at potions, usually paired up with the unluckiest ones to balance the damage, theo's favorite class is astronomy. his favorite stories were the ones that his mother would tell him about constellations, how they were named like that and their link with greek mythology. astronomy is something that reminds him of his mother for many, many reasons. besides, it's an excuse for theo to stay up until later, and deny that it's purely out of the boredom that comes with insomnia. they're not his favorite classes, but theodore occasionally enjoys arithmancy, ancient runes and charms; theodore is very good at spellcasting.

worst subject: divination. theo thinks that it's a load of bullshit; the type of scam that a muggle could pull off. theodore doesn't believe a thing that goes out of trelawney's mouth; if she said that the sky is blue, theo would second-guess it. or perhaps he hated how she read in tea leaves something about theodore damaging his own future by his incapability of properly coping with his mother's loss... yeah, he's still bitter about her unprompted guess during his third-year.

lorenzo berkshire tries to pretend he enjoys the 'cool' subjects to fit in. ultimately fails and the group somewhat jokes that enzo is into girly subjects; that liking herbology so much makes him a wrongfully placed slytherin and maybe he should join the badgers. so he tries to somehow save his reputation—excusing his interest to be into the venomous and terrible magical plants. yeah, right. enzo actually thinks they're fucking nasty; the devil's snare? get that out of his sight. enzo just really enjoys interesting plants that would make his garden the most interesting museum. he's also intrigued by the language of flowers; it's a romantic language to speak and a knowledge he eats up with more enthusiasm than the advanced extra classes that theodore and blaise take. with the exception of herbology, enzo also really likes muggle studies — in lorenzo's eyes, it's very interesting how muggles exist without magic, and sometimes sneaks in muggle london to experience that different lifestyle by himself.

worst subject: beasts' class. for some reason, he's unlucky—or maybe most creatures just know that lorenzo berkshire isn't the most trustworthy pure-hearted snow white in hogwarts. maybe his previous bad experiences had a small fear within lorenzo, that some creatures take as a chance to target lorenzo specifically. but hey, at least he attracts a bunch of pretty witches!

for draco malfoy, we have canon insight about his preferences. where he shows good behavior and interest in potions, draco shows a lack of interest, impoliteness and lack of care for subjects like divination, care of magical creatures and defense against dark arts—when it was remus lupin teaching the subject. what i mean to say here is, draco's favoritism swings back and forth depending on the professor; if he respects the wizard slash witch who's teaching the subject, then draco will make an effort to be an extra good student at that. if he doesn't find interest, feel respect or think that the professor is 'ridiculous', then draco won't sympathize with the subject either. because he's somewhat close to snape, draco perhaps enjoyed potions even more.

that being said, his favorite subject is potions. on the other hand, his worst subject is anything that's related to interacting with living beings; draco doesn't have the slightest patience to conquer a beast's heart, much less to wait for a feral plant to grow accordingly.

blaise zabini is a tricky one. in canon, we only ever saw blaise playing quidditch as a chaser and being one of the best students of advanced potion's class. that, however, cannot mean that much—blaise sparks me as a good student because he values good grades, pretty much like theodore and draco do, albeit for different reasons. i feel like blaise would take pride on knowing a little more than the others, a small sense of superiority that gives him an excuse to be a bit arrogant — within reason, of course. ancient runes is a subject that fits students who enjoy puzzle-solving type of challenge, and blaise likes the knowledge that he has a more open vocabulary/ability to read less known books. it takes analyzing the context and some interpretation, which blaise thinks to be pleasantly challenging. after potions, i'd say that this is a rivaling number one for him.

simultaneously, detests arithmancy. blaise knows that theo is good at it, but he personally thinks that it's confusing—for someone who enjoyed ancient runes. it's in this type of matters that blaise understood that he's more of a language-reading-writing oriented type of wizard, rather than the whole mathematical calculations one.

✰ tom riddle is an exception here. in canon, it's said that he was a model student, remembered for his academic excellence. while i do think that tom had subjects that he cared and was more excited for—like potions, charms, and very specifically defense against the dark arts, which knowledge he was hungry for—tom thought that all the subjects were important.

even divination could be a higher form of study that tom could need someday. tom needed charms to form horcruxes, transfiguration is a helpful thing for a wizard to know how to safely (and successfully accomplish), and even herbology along with beast's class offered insight of how to use the living beings that surround him for his benefit.

again, his highest interest were the dark arts. i think that tom was unashamedly curious and would find ways to sneak into the restricted section of hogwarts castle's library to further feed his curiosity. definitely used his status as a head boy to achieve those late night reading sessions to his advantage—probably, he sought to fill that role for that precise reason.

[pengmar]

𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 -

jason x reader / 1.18k wc

(angst, comfort, mention of scars, sad jason, in love w eachother but haven’t said anything yet, reader has curly hair cause hell yeah, idk what else, lowkey rushed, concepts all jammed together)

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a/n: been on writers block for a while & suddenly started writing again while listening to music. also been busy with family stuff lately & been a little down. based this off under your spell by snow strippers & we’ll never have sex by leith ross! enjoy :3 btw not proof read i wrote this half asleep.

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Being in love with someone like this wasn’t part of his plans—for life, actually. You were the one person who could keep him grounded, keep him from falling apart. It was as if he’d been bewitched by a powerful force—one that he didn’t dream of being free from.

Maybe it was just the fleeting feeling of love, having warmth in those dark nights by the arms that wrapped around him. Your smile that made all his pain fade away—even for a mere moment. Your gorgeous curls that looked so inviting to just bury his face in and never leave. Everything about you just made him feel that innocent love he’s yearned for.

Even in those loving moments when he could feel your love for him practically radiating off you, he can’t ignore that pit in his stomach. The picture that creeps into his mind of you and him being happy together could never happen. Not when he sees his scars, gnarled and etched onto his skin when he takes his clothes off. A painful reminder of his ‘defection’. How could anyone love him like this?

His mind clouds with insecurity and doubt, truly thinking that he’s unworthy of anything that would bring him joy.

Even as he cries into his pillow late at night, finally letting himself to put down the rough exterior he desperately keeps up. It was late at night, the city lights and cloudy skies making his room gloomy.

He didn’t even hear you coming into his apartment, forgetting that you were supposed to come by at night after your long day to drop off a few things. It wasn’t until he hears the creak of his bedroom door that he faces the door.

What he didn’t expect was to see you standing at the doorway, hesitant on coming into his room. Hearing his sobs as you entered filled your heart with worry, quietly making your way through his apartment to see him.

Jason says your name in confusion, his voice shaky and strained from his crying. “Shit—Look uhm—“ he sniffles quietly, wiping his tear stained face with his hands. “..Sorry.” He sighs, too embarrassed and numb to make up an excuse. He’s grateful that his room is dim, but hoping that the subtle glow from the moon didn’t show his puffy eyes.

There was silence for a long moment, Jason internally panicking and overwhelmed by you seeing him so..vulnerable. He couldn’t see your face or even read you, the dim lighting made it difficult. It wasn’t until you broke the silence, your voice soft.

“..It’s alright. I..already left some of the things you asked for on the table. But uhm..” you trailed off, a hesitant step into his room. “..I’m here if you need to talk yeah? Or if you just need someone to sit with you.” You say, anxiously fidgeting with your hands.

“Can I..?” You ask, mentally bracing for his response.

Jason felt his chest get tight, his hands balling the blanket he had over him. “..Yeah..that’s—okay.” He whispered, looking down at his hand.

As you walked to his bedside, you could see him a lot more clearly now. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his scars all over his skin catching your eye. You’ve never seen them before, not that he’d let you.

Although that wasn’t important as comforting your best friend right now, sitting next to him and leaving a small space between the two of you. You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he’s showing his true self before you.

Sitting in silence, all Jason wanted to do was crawl up into a hole and disappear. He felt humiliated by himself, for being so emotional and having these feelings that only hurt him more. But it was exhausting having to go on with life.

Stuck within the limbo of what he used to be and what he is now, Jason desperately wants to cling onto the boy who was filled with joy. To feel free and for the first time in his childhood, to be loved.

He held onto the happy memories of the past, yet the pain and suffering never forgotten or left behind. It’s what made him, imperfect or perfect in your eyes & others.

“..This is humiliating.” Jason dryly admits, an ashamed chuckle following along to hopefully ease the tension.

“Sorry you had to see me..like this.” He sighs, more shameful by the second. Jason immediately gets up from his bed, wanting to cover the scars and hide his face from you. “I probably look like complete shit right now. I’ll—“

He feels your hand on his wrist, stopping him from going. You both know that he could easily break away, yet a part of him doesn’t want to.

“..You don’t need to keep pretending anymore, Jason. Please.” Your voice was filled with understanding, something that made him feel less anxious. He could feel your thumb subconsciously rubbing on his skin to bring him comfort, which was working.

His eyes slightly widened, his shoulders becoming visibly less tense. Jason let himself sit next to you once more, the gap between you two closed. His thigh met yours, his burning skin a contrast to the joggers you wore.

“I’m here for you, always. You don’t need to tell me anything or explain yourself to me. I just want you to be okay—you just mean..so much to me. And I can’t see you so hurt when all you deserve is happiness. You’re…really important to me.” You stumble on your words, your hand still holding onto his wrist tight.

Your words only made his eyes prickle with tears, speechless as his lips parted. Next thing he knew was that his arms made their way to hold you against him, bringing his face to your shoulder.

Tears began to fall once more, you felt the wetness on your shoulder. Yet, you only wrapped your own arms around him.

“..I’m just..so tired..” he whispered, your name falling from his lips once more. “..These scars..everything about me is disgusting..” he sniffles. “I don’t deserve you..I don’t deserve to have you with me..” he sobs, holding you tightly.

It was sudden, having his arms wrapped around you and crying into your shoulder. All you could do was hold him, to give him the comfort you desperately wanted to give him.

“..You’re anything but disgusting, Jason. You’re perfect.” You whispered, cupping his face as you wiped his tears away.

Jason’s eyes practically dazed as they locked into yours, his pale blue-green eyes glinting by his tears. Scars and all, he was everything you could ever want.

Looking into your eyes, it was as if he got a glimpse of his future. It was you, it’d always be you. Night or day, the only person who could truly make him feel like the world wasn’t falling apart was you. He choked up, letting his head fall onto your shoulder once more.

“..Please don’t leave me tonight.” He whispered, voice cracking.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You whispered back, your eyes closing as you brought him close.

—

[hannamoon143]

Home in a stranger

Genre: angst, comfort

warnings: panic attack, shitty boyfriend (not jisung), crying, cursing, anxiety, breakup,

Summary: Your boyfriend Eunwoo is so nice, and he loves you a lot! Right…? Or he will break up in the shittiest way ever and give you a panic attack. Who is gonna dry your tears now?

A/n: okaay yalll, this won at the poll. i will contiue snow & sun soon i promiseee, but i had to write this.yes. Take care luvs<333

Your life had been a series of unfortunate events lately. You messed something big up at work, you had a little car accident and your car was broken now, and everyday was just another day with horrible things happening. And then there was your boyfriend Eunwoo. He had done nothing but texted you excuses whenever you asked him to meet, or wanted to tell him about your day. Yes, you were going tired of it, but you tried to excuse his behaviour. He had a busy job, and it wasn‘t easy for him either. Of course he didn‘t always have time for his clingy girlfriend. Yes that were his words, but you fully understood them. Or at least you wanted to.

Your friends had pointed it out a few times too. They had met Eunwoo a few times and everyone of them had a bad impression of him. Then last night, when you had slept over at your best friend yeji‘s, she approached you and told you that he was just using you. You had immediately brushed her off, and showed her the diamond bracelet he had bought you last month. Someone that didn‘t care about you wouldn‘t gift you something so expensive right? She had also pointed out how he never made time for you, but you excused him. As always.

You wanted to tell yourself that all of this were lies, because your friends didn‘t like him, or were jealous, or whatever. But you‘ve thought about it for some time now, and maybe…?

You got shaken out of your mind by the bus coming. You were relieved to finally get out of the biting cold. It was pretty full in the bus so you just sat next to someone, not really looking.

But you couldn‘t keep thinking about your boyfriend. You knew you weren‘t gonna get any sleep tonight if you didn‘t have reassurance that this was all just in your mind, and he loved you. So you took out your phone and went to Eunwoos chat.

Hi baby! Do you maybe wanna get dinner together today? We could go to that one restaurant you like. I want to talk to you <33

I don‘t have time, if you wanna say something, then say it now.

Okay, that was a bit harsh, but he was busy and probably really stressed right now.

Oh uhm okay… this is kinda hard over text…

Y/n seriously i‘m not in the mood for your games, just say it and don‘t act like a child.

That had hit you hard. You gulped but tried to mantain your composure. You had learned to not piss him off, so you shouldn‘t provoke it.

Okay so my friend yeji kinda pointed out that she thinks you aren‘t good for me and don‘t really love me and stuff, and not that i‘d believe it! But i jsut wanted to ask you..

God y/n you really do believe everything. I love you, your friends talk shit.bye

But eunwoo, you kinda always turn me down when i want to meet yk?

And? I‘m a busy man, and all the expensive gift i get you don‘t fall from the sky.

But i don‘t really know…do you really love me?

Okay i‘m getting tired of this. Y/n, your constant questioning and wanting reassurance and love is so pathetic and childish. Okay, maybe i just wanted a pretty souvenir on my arm, but you got lots of expensive things so don‘t whine now. We are done, there are other pretty dolls out there. Get your stuff from my apartment, thanks for being on my arm for a while,bye.

You didn‘t breathe. That wasn‘t true right? That was all just a stupid bad dream right? Never would he break up with you over text just like this, one little text for the last years spent together, and prove all the warnings from your friends right. Childish? Just a pretty souvenir?

Slowly you processed everything that had happened. You had just felt insecure and struggling lately and wanted reassurance but he was breaking up with you? You couldn‘t handle this. Not right now, not after everything your friends had said, and how you kept making up stupid excuses for him.

At this point the expensive bracelet on your arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Your face must have been paler than ever, and your hands were sweating and trembling. You didn‘t notice the man next to you first just giving you little looks but then he turned his head to you. In your mind was nothing fine right now. His texts, excuses, and everything raced in your mind. It wasn‘t true, it wasn‘t true, it wasn‘t. Suddenly the people in the bus were way too loud, and the fluorescent light way to bright and biting. Your breaths were ragged, and you slightly tilted your head down, closing your eyes, trying not to panic entirely. Your hands were fidgeting with the bracelet, wanting to rip it off and throw it away. You knew these. You had to deal with panic attacks earlier in your life, and you didn‘t get them often, but when you did, they were really really bad. Meanwhile the mans attention was fully on you. Suddenly you heard a honey like voice through the buzzing in your ears, your mind and all the noises.

„Hey hey, is everything alright?“

God how pathetic, you were having panic attack at a bus and a random man had to deal with you. You just nodded, not wanting to draw any attention to you further. But it was too late now.

„You don‘t seem like it. Panic attack, isn‘t it?“

His voice was calm, slow, but you couldn‘t get a response out. You felt like you were choking on your breaths, holding back tears, and your body was a trembling, sweating mess. The man didn‘t seem irritated though. He just nodded to himself. He was quick to take the headphones he had wore around his neck off, and he placed them over your ears. You looked up at him with wide eyes, but he just kindly smiled to you and said „I promise, it‘ll make it better.“ Then he started playing music. And he was right, his headphones had good noise cancelling and focusing on the music was helping a bit to drown out everything a bit. He gave you a sign that probably meant something like „Want to go out?“. You just nodded again.

Then he pressed the stop button and luckily there was a near busstop. You didn‘t question anything, and you also didn‘t care that you didn‘t even know this man, you were just glad someone was kind enough to not look away when you were having a panic attack. Something you‘ve never experienced before. The guy took of his hoodie jacket and threw it around your shoulders, as if to shield you from everything outside, guiding you out of the bus. There was something so familiar and tender in this motion, but you couldn’t really place it. It was already dark outside, and you were glad for it. He lead you to a bench, and your trembling knees finally gave in. He sat down next to you, gently moving the one side of the headphones back. He slowly started to speak.

„Okay, i need you to try and breathe for me alright? I know it‘s hard but try to listen to my breaths and mimic them.“ He looked into your eyes deeply. You tried to listen to his slow, steady breathing, and to do so too. But there was still something bugging you. The damn bracelet. As you were looking in these deep brown eyes, listening to the guys breathing, your thoughts disappeared, when also jsut for a while.

He slowly grabbed your hand, taking it in his, to make sure it was okay for you. He wanted to stop your fidgeting, looking down at the bracelet that seemed to irritate you so much. He looked at it, gave you a questioning look, and without words you understood each other somehow. You just nodded, and he took of the bracelet quickly, laying it on the bench next to you. You felt like a big weight was taken from you. Then he wrapped his other hand around yours too, and only then you noticed how cold your own hands were, and how warm this man‘s.

„You are doing great, that‘s good.“ He said, smiling at you. Your breathing had eventually evened out, the panic attack finally over. Staying back there was only a slight tremble in your body, and a unebelievable exhausted, hollow feeling.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in, smelling the faint smell of caramel like cologne from the jacket draped around your shoulders, quiet music still playing at one of your ears. Wasn‘t it weird?. This random man you had never seen before just comforted you more than your own boyfriend ever did in the past two years.

„That‘s it, you are okay.“ The man said, in that voice, that sounded like a soothing balm to your ears. His thumb absimendtly stroke your hand, the touch making you feel so cared for.

„T-thank you“ You finally spoke the first time to him.

„No problem, i wouldn‘t let someone suffer alone from a panic attack right next to me.“ That single sentence… You had a panic attack one time in front of your boyfriend.

After he called you a attention seeker and childish, you never did again. The thought that everyone seemed to care for you more than the man you had spent your last two years with, stung in your heart, and you couldn‘t help but tear up. The mans smile faded and he frowned.

„Hey hey hey, did i say something wrong? Do you want me to leave? Of course i can leave if you want! I didn‘t mean to be annoying or a creep or-“ You stopped his rambling with a quiet sob.

„Am i really that annoying and pathetic?“ You sobbed. You knew very well that it wasn‘t fair to take out all your emotions on this man, when he had already helped you so much but you just couldn‘t hold it in anymore.

You didn‘t expect it, but suddenly you felt two warm arms around you, and a hand caressing your hair. This felt so intimate, so comforting, also if you had no idea why. But you didn’t care right now, you didn’t care that you didn’t even know this man just one hour ago. This man felt so much like home. You leaned into his embrace. He smelled exactly like his jacket, warm, fuzzy and comforting. Quietly you were sobbing in his shoulder

„I probably don‘t really know you but if anyone ever makes you think this they are obviously an asshole and i would want you to leave them rather quickly. And you yourself should never think that in the first place. I‘m convinced you are a good person. Bad persons don‘t think about if they are good or bad.“ He mumbled, holding you tight and safely.

„Why are you so kind, you don‘t even know me.“ You sniffled.

„I don‘t know you, but i know how it feels. To be honest I’ve seen you sometimes the past days on the bus, and i always thought you looked so deep in thought, and somehow always kinda sad, so i started calling you the sad girl in my mind. And i think it was the biggest blessing for me that you got the panic attack in the bus, don‘t get me wrong, it must have been horrible, and it pained me to see you like this, but i finally was able to talk to you, and help you. I have no idea why you broke down, or who did this to you, but i know how it feels to feel like this. So i‘m just glad i could help you at least a bit, also if i‘m never going to see you again. I hope genuinely hope you‘ll be okay. I‘m jisung by the way.“ He pulled away a bit, and adjusted his jacket around your shoulders.

„Thank you so much, and I… i don‘t really know, but some reason you feel like home. You just helped me calm a panic attack better than anyone ever did before. I‘m sorry if that sounds crazy, but noone ever made me feel so comforted and cared for ever before. Can i…can i maybe have your number? And we could meet up sometime? I promise i don‘t plan on having another panic attack so soon. Oh and, my name is y/n.“ You joked a bit, hoping he wouldn‘t find you totally crazy. But jisung smiled, taking your phone and typing a number in.

„Oh, by the way you can keep the hoodie, i‘m glad i can be your home in some sort of way. Nice to finally meet you y/n“ He smiled, bright as if the sun and every single spring day was hidden behind his eyes.

Taglist: @onementally-unstabel-kid @darqlys @0omillo0 @lina-linny

@idek6758 @sadie-tucker @kozumesphone

@emilywjinnie @lezleeferguson-120

@pochacco-baby

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi Mouse! Could you pretty please write some general romantic headcanons for the bachelors. No in particular just stuff like how they romance the farmer and what they do as a couple. Thanks!

Sure thing, dear anon! Thanks for your ask, enjoy some headcanons!🫰💕

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Some romantic SDV bachelors x Farmer headcanons:

Elliott:

Letters. Many, many love letters, and not just any love letters. Every letter must be perfect, every word must convey the love that Elliott feels for Farmer. Even the paper must be of high quality and pleasant to the touch. There's a whole ritual involved, because it's for Farmer, after all.

Elliott loves to take Farmer for a walk on the sandy shore just as much as he loves to sit with them in the Saloon with a bottle of wine. Still prefers the walks more, though, as they are alone together and without any noise other than the sounds of the sea waves and seagulls singing.

One of their special pastimes together is leaving seashells in the sand. Yes, that's right, not collecting them, but spreading them out so the hermit crabs can find a home and not use plastic cups for that. Farmer and Elliott sign the shells and take a photo as another crab has found a shell. It's very sweet, really.

There probably isn't a day that goes by that Elliott doesn't tell Farmer that they are the love of his life. Of course, Farmer knows this and loves just as much, but Elliott just adores his partner. He likes to back up his words of adoration with lots of gifts too: some small but nice things that are sure to please Farmer.

Sam:

Given Sam's love for music and his excellent skill in playing the guitar, Farmer will hear many serenades dedicated to them. And it's not just guitar music, it's also a whole song that Sam will sing with his beautiful voice. Just like in the novel, honestly.

Tickle war! The perfect excuse for Sammy to fool around with Farmer and hear their beautiful, ringing laughter. Especially when his partner is sad or moody for whatever reason. A grumpy Farmer in his sight? The heck, Illegal for him! So Sam will take matters into his own hands and cheer up Farmer. He won't be mean about it (maybe~).

Generally, Sam is all for any kind of time with his partner, but probably his favourite is just lying on the grass on a summer afternoon with Farmer and looking at the clouds. Pointing a finger at the sky and convincing Farmer that that cloud looks exactly like a pizza, and feigning offence when Farmer laughs at him because he "sees pizza everywhere". Just a lazy day together, away from problems and things to do.

Physical attention is integral when it comes to expressing Sam's love for Farmer: holding hands, hugs (a lot) and kisses on the cheek and lips (even more). He's a fan of PDA and is ready to talk non-stop about how much he loves Farmer, wrapping them up in a tight embrace.

Harvey:

Maybe for some people sitting near a fireplace is not considered too special, but even here Harvey managed to create a truly magical and cosy atmosphere. Warm firelight, hot aromatic coffee, comfortable plaid and a lot of pleasant conversations about past moments and plans for the future. Especially when snow is falling outside the window/thunderstorm is raging.

The doctor has already got so good at cooking dinner that Gus has to take him on as an assistant. And some pretty elaborate dishes that are usually served in restaurants. So one of Harvey's love signs is to spoil his partner with a tasty and, importantly, healthy dinner almost every night. (Gus jokingly says that soon the Farmer's will stop visiting Saloon altogether because they have their own skilful chef.)

Likes to make surprises for Farmer. Surprise gift, surprise date - surprises everywhere! There is nothing more satisfying for Harvey than to see his lover's face go from surprise to delight and then tender love when they looked at Harvey again.

Well, where's a romantic time - and without dancing? Robin and Demetrius now have to move aside because there's another lovely couple on the dance floor. Nothing chaotic (especially after a few glasses of fancy vine), but as soon as light jazz plays in the Saloon, Harvey asks his partner for a slow dance. The doctor is still a little shy about dancing among strangers, but Farmer's soft gaze was enough to make all insecurity go away.

Sebastian:

Sebastian will show Farmer all his favourite places with fantastic views. And it's not limited to views of the big metropolis with its neon signs and billboards. Sebby will take Farmer for a ride to, for example, a small clearing near Stardew Valley, where they can both enjoy a beautiful view of the stars without all that light from the houses.

He and his partner also like to visit places they've never been to on his motorbike. Just without thinking, Sebastian and Farmer will go to some random cafe that is rumoured to serve delicious coffee, or to a rare comic book shop in Zuzu City. Leaving the jungle of the metropolis and returning to the more wooded area of Pelican Town.... Heh, and earlier Sebby wanted to escape the small town, but instead found the love of his life.

He enjoys listening to anything Farmer tells him, whether it's a spoiler for a new release of a science fiction film, a new character in their DnD game, or stories about the cows and rabbits on the farm. Honestly, he is willing to listen to Farmer 24 hours a day, and he never gets bored of it.

Romantic frog hunting! Well, "hunt" refers to Sebastian and Farmer walking near the ponds with a camera to look for frogs and toads to take photos. Later, they return home to photoshop the photos and get pictures of the cutest frogs. And memes. Seriously, the toad with eyes - lasers that destroys JojaMart was hilarious that the local emo and Farmer laughed for half a day.

Alex:

It's safe to say that one of Alex's love languages is to constantly ask the Farmer if they need help. Not that he's being so intrusive, no. It's just that the athlete believes that Farmer's problem is now his problem too, and wants to show that they can always count on him if they need anything because he loves them.

Alex loves his date with Farmer at the beach. And he doesn't care too much whether the couple is playing volleyball, swimming in the sea or lounging on a beach rug in the bright sunshine - beach dates are the best! It's even better when access to Ginger Island is open and they can go to the beach every season. Farmer is happy - and that's what matters. The main thing - stock up on plenty of sun cream, otherwise the date will end on a not very pleasant note.

At first Alex didn't do it on purpose, but seeing that his partner would sometimes steal his jumpers and jackets and put them on themself, he started leaving his clothes out in plain sight. It's hard to explain, but he likes to see his beloved Farmer in his clothes, even if it means he's unlikely to see his favourite jumper again.

Although the athlete usually shows simple, one can even say - standard, signs of attention, such as flowers, chocolates, walks in the forest, etc, but he tries to make every day special. Farmer sees their partner's efforts, his love and care, and therefore assures Alex that he is not banal, but a very romantic partner. Real gold (envy silently!).

Shane:

One day Shane saw a tandem bike on TV and thought: heck, why not? He'd like to try something new. It would be both a good ride to burn some calories and a nice time with Farmer. Even his favourite chicken Charlie could sit in a cosy bike basket. Farmer liked the idea too, so Pelican Town will often see these two lovebirds riding their bike (and hear Shane complain that his legs are killing him now).

Amusingly, what would normally be considered just a work, Shane sees as bonding with his partner. Especially taking care of the chickens and making winter preparations like jam and pickled peppers. The constant talking and bantering between these two..... It's so special and beautiful for Shane.

Shane is not at all shy of strangers when it comes to physically expressing his love for Farmer. Hugs and kisses - Shane loves Farmer's attention and showering them with the same attention and love. Lewis, shut up, you're generally afraid to show your relationship with you-know-who. Ha ha, Sam, very funny, expect chilli powder in your lunch. No one dares spoil his moment, got it?

The chicken man also doesn't mind having a game night with Farmer to take their mind off work for a bit. All the delicious (and not too healthy) snacks, drinks, a big screen TV and their favourite video game - in Shane's opinion, not a bad pastime either (which can turn into an even better thing~).

[haysplumjam]

you can hear it in the silence

part 10

an: part 10! feeling a bit like suzanne in sotr w these cameos but i LOVE writing themmmmm. as always, message me/comment w critical feedback i need it

tw: normal hunger games stuff, torture, violence, gun violence, gore, suicide/suicidal thoughts and actions, prostitution, substance abuse

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I hear the party what must be miles before our car arrives. My prep team is just as excited as Finnick’s, buzzing with gossip and compliments on each other's work. Finnick and I sit in silence, until I can hear the music. 

“Is that…” I trail off. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods. 

We drive for what must be fifteen more minutes before we arrive. Glarius sends us out one by one in an order only he understands, but what I do know is that I’m saved for last. 

“Finnick, you’ll escort her,” he says, waving away a confused look on the boy’s face. “A request from the President himself. He must recognize how handsome of a pair you make.” 

The feeling I experience is reflected on Finnick’s face for a quick second, but he wipes it away in an instant. “Usually the escort will walk the victor in,” he explains to me.

I nod my head, desperately combing my thoughts for any sort of reason Snow would want Finnick and I together. Maybe it’ll earn me capitol favor? Or Finnick? Helping the crazy girl certainly looks good. “I don’t know either,” he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” He rubs my the back of hand with his thumb. 

“Finnick, thirty seconds,” Glarius says as he exits the car. 

Finnick checks his watch, nodding to himself. “Everything will be fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

“And who protects you?” I ask him. 

“I do,” he says softly. “Let’s go.” 

The walk to the mansion is long and carpeted in turquoise. Finnick and I take it slowly and silently, following behind Glarius and walking in perfect step, just as he would want. I don’t see the massive crowd of people until we’ve reached the top of the long flight of stairs, but they’re a sight to behold. 

Finnick doesn’t speak up until he issues a whispered warning, “they may try to touch you, don’t flinch, okay?” 

I nod my head in understanding, doing my best to keep a polite smile plastered to my lips. 

Once the initial cheering has ended, people begin to approach us. Finnick keeps his arm tightly hooked in mine as he shakes hands and kisses cheeks and makes excuses for my obvious nervousness. 

I meet what must be hundreds of people whose names I’ll never remember, but Finnick is sure to make a point of telling me if someone is a sponsor or a face I should remember. It’s not until we meet a distinctly un-capitol looking man that he actually brings me into the conversation. “Annie, Plutarch is the one who gave us the sign book after Mags’ accident. His family has a wonderful library in their home.” 

“Thank you so much,” I say, not faking my sincerity for the first time since we stepped out of the car. “It’s really helped.” 

“Have you learned much?” His eyes light up, “I always meant to learn as a child, I thought I might use it to cheat on my math exams in grade school, but that would’ve required other people, learning it, too.” 

He’s an odd man, but the conversation not focusing on my dress or Finnick’s bare chest is a relief. “We have,” I look to Finnick, nodding. “We try to learn more words every day, but we use the alphabet for almost everything.” 

“Incredible,” he beams. “I’ll search the shelves to see if we have anything else and send it to you in Four.” 

“You’re too generous, Plutarch,” Finnick is sincere, too, almost completely dropping the slow and raspy voice I’ve only ever heard him use on television during mandatory viewing, and now, here at the party. 

“I have no use for them, and I’m certainly the last of my bloodline,” he chuckles, “better to you than to the University.” 

“Thank you,” I add. It’s a bit morbid to hear such a young person talk about their death, especially in the capitol where everyone seems to stretch their lives for centuries. 

“It’s the least I can do,” he waves away the comment. “I’ll let you two get to mingling with your adoring fans,” he smiles. There’s sarcasm in his voice that I appreciate deeply. 

“We’ll see you around, Plutarch,” Finnick says as the man turns to walk away. 

“You certainly will,” he raises his glass in our direction before slipping into the crowd. 

“I like him,” I say to Finnick as we pivot and he directs me to pick up a stemmed glass from one of the million white-clothed tables. 

“He’s interesting, for sure,” Finnick sighs, grabbing a glass himself. “Drink it slowly.” 

I nod, knowing better than to ask why. I busy my thoughts by counting how many whiskered people are at the party. I wonder if Tigris started the trend, given her name, and if this many people still choose to have such a distinct mark of her face on their own. We’re at ten whiskered faces when Finnick pulls me into a relatively empty area. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, unhooking his arm from mine. 

“I’m fine,” I nod. 

“There you two are!” Glarius shrieks. Finnick and I both let out an involuntary sigh of displeasure as he approaches us, bringing with him a crowd of people we haven’t yet greeted. “How are you doing, Annie?” He puts on an air of true consideration that I’ve never experienced from him. It’s not until the group behind him begins to fawn over him that I understand why.

“She’s doing well, Glarius, thank you,” Finnick answers on my behalf, linking his arm with mine again. 

“You’re a wonderful mentor, Finnick,” a woman with what must be a foot of hair atop her head speaks up. 

“Thank you, Effie, but Annie makes me look good.” 

The group swoons and chatters away and Finnick excuses us, apologizing profusely and leading me to a table where a group of people in matching uniform coats and tall white hats stand behind mountains of delicate cakes and pastries. 

They babble their thanks and begin to explain each one. Finnick cuts each of the small ones in half and forces it into my hand. I can’t look at the people who made the cakes and deny them, despite the bubbly alcohol swishing around in my stomach, so I accept. 

The cakes make me change my mind about capitol food. 

They’re full of fruits I’ve never tried and chocolate so rich I could drown in a bite. Eventually a crowd gathers around us, which just excites the chefs more, and it seems like everyone at the party is tasting cakes around the little table. 

There’s a pink one with a berry filling that I can’t help but eat more than one bite of. It’s rich and tart and wonderful. “I have to say this one is my favorite,” I say to the chef with light pink hair standing in front of me. She practically bursts with excitement, the blue tattoos above her eyebrows nearly completely receding into her hat. 

“Thank you so much,” she beams. “I made that one myself.” 

“It’s wonderful,” I say to her, “truly.” 

It’s mere seconds before the pink berry cake is in the hands of almost everyone surrounding the small table. Finnick just shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. 

We’re drawn away from the table by the sudden increase in the volume and a brightly-colored illumination of the sky. The fireworks are just beginning when a rather plainly-dressed man whispers something to Finnick and his face grows pale. 

“I’ve got to go,” he says to me softly, the man tapping his foot as he waits impatiently beside him. “Do you think you can find Glarius on your own?” 

“I…” I trail off. “Is everything okay?” I’ve been on my best behavior all night. No tears, hardly any shaking, are they still mad at me for my behavior this evening? Is Finnick going to be punished for my inability to control my tears? 

“Yes,” he answers instantly, “nothing to do with you. I’ll see you on the train, okay?” 

I nod my head, and he disappears into the crowd. 

I take a deep breath and close my eyes before forcing a polite smile to my lips. I say hello to everyone who tries to talk to me, but I continue searching for Glarius. 

“Are you alright?” A familiar voice stops me. Plutarch. 

“Just trying to find my escort,” I sigh, “he seems to have run off.” 

“Your mentor, too?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“He had business to attend to, I guess,” I answer honestly. 

Plutarch’s smile fades into something sadder. “Let’s find Glarius then, shall we?” He offers me his elbow, and for some reason I accept his escort. He’s polite, but he ignores most of the gawking attendees, politely navigating the crowd and pointing out funny details about the personal lives of the guests to me as we search for Glarius. 

“There you are,” Trulia appears out of thin air, breathing a deep sigh of relief as she takes my hand. “We have a train to catch, dear. Where’s Finnick?” 

“He was summoned for some business,” Plutarch answers in a funny tone before I can even put the words together. 

“Oh,” Trulia raises an eyebrow, “nevermind. He knows his way back. Thank you for taking care of our girl, Mr. Heavensbee.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” Plutarch smiles. “It was wonderful to finally meet you, Annie.” 

“It was wonderful to meet you, too,” I give him a small smile and a wave as he disappears into the crowd. 

“Come on, Glarius is going to kill us,” Trulia huffs, leading me out of the chaos and toward the turquoise carpet. 

Glarius is fuming when we slide into the car, “where’s your mentor?” He asks me sharply. 

Trulia shakes her head, “business.” 

The word seems to suggest something more to everyone else in the car, who turn their conversations to the food they ate and people they danced with. No one really bothers to talk to me, which I don’t mind. Vesper begins pulling pins from my hair while continuing to chatter away, letting the perfectly placed curls fall into my face as the car glides down busy capitol streets. It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning, but if it weren’t for the darkness of night, I would believe it was mid-day. People are out and about, dancing in brightly-lit rooms and chatting at tables on sidewalks with funny little animals in their laps. 

Complaints of exhaustion and cramped hands and sore feet fill the car as it begins to slow, and Glarius instructs me to go straight to bed as we slip from the car onto the train. We’ll be back before midday tomorrow, but there’s still the District Four ceremony to contend with. 

I scrub the makeup off of my face and settle for the shower over the bath, scrubbing the product from my hair with the liquid shampoo and settling on drying it with a towel rather than the capitol contraception, which I’m sure Vesper will scold me for tomorrow. 

I can’t help but think about what I’m supposed to say to my own district. I’m not proud that I won. I’m not proud that Cove is dead. He’s more well liked than I am, anyway. Will they chastise me for crying as they did in One and Two or show me the empathy of Eleven? Are they going to put Mariana Navy and Cas on a platform under a giant photo of Cove’s face? 

I attempt to slow my breathing as I settle on the floor of the observation car. The view from the train station isn’t a pretty one, but at least the impatient passengers waiting for their train can’t see me as I can see them. 

I pull the heavy blanket from the sofa and onto my lap, wrapping myself in the thing and staring out at the capitol, desperate to think of anything other than the speech I’ll have to give tomorrow. None of the other victors will be allowed at the dinner at home, just as none of them were allowed in the other districts. Finnick told me that on his tour he got to meet them, but the mayor of Twelve told us they changed protocol this year, for what reason I’ll never understand. 

Part of me is disappointed that I’ll have to return to my house in Victor’s Village tomorrow and not get back on the train, but only because of the rest I’ve gotten on the tour. Despite the daily reminders of the games, I’ve had no nightmares. I know when I’m back at the house I’ll have to resume my routine with the pink and green pills. The numbness that comes with them is comforting, but knowing I’ll hurt Finnick or Mags or the kids in some way is hard. 

I’m watching the deep blue of the sky begin to lighten when an avox appears and offers me a steaming mug. It’s not until he’s gone that I notice it’s tea from home and not the capitol. I sip it slowly, grateful for the comfort. The sky is pink and purple by the time the train begins to move. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and my eyes grow heavier as I struggle to stay awake. 

The door startles me as it closes behind Finnick, his suit jacket unbuttoned and hair mussed. 

He slumps down beside me, eyes heavy and head hung. He flinches when I move to pull the blanket onto his lap, and I quickly move my hands away. 

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “You should get some rest, Annie.” 

“You too,” I say softly. 

“I’m going to go to my compartment. You should too,” he rises from the floor, turning toward the door before I can even wipe the surprise off of my face. But it’s not surprise, it’s concern. 

“Finnick,” I call as I stand. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he turns to look at me and for a second I swear I see a tear in his eye, but he blinks before I can really look. 

“Talk to me about it?” 

“You should rest, Annie. Home tomorrow,” he pushes the button that closes the door, leaving me alone in the observation car as the sun rises. 

I stumble back to my compartment with the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, digging through the small bag of clothes I brought with me for my father’s shirt. In the front pocket sit the little green pills, desperately waiting to be used. 

I take all five and drift off into blissful nothingness.

[captainlunaxmen]

All for the Cameras

Chapter 2

Finnick Odair x reader

This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰

Chapter summary: it's time for the big event. And better keep our eyes open.

Chapter warnings: none, except the usual mention of prostitution and usual hunger games stuff. Nothing too wild we still won't see Finnick in this chapter, but I promise it's going to be worth it.

Masterlist

"Snow is watching us." Haymitch says, we're almost at the Capitol for the final interview and the big celebration.

"Of course, he is. He needs to watch everything. Especially the inconveniences," I scoff.

"Yeah. And if he wants you to pacify the districts, I promise you, he's not happy." Haymitch continues, "instead of being in love, you two sounds like you're reading from a drilling manual."

"You try reading that stuff that Effie writes us," Peeta mutters.

"Snow doesn't care." I tell him. "That's not how you want to convince him."

"I'm open to suggestions," he says back, tired.

"We could get married," Katniss quietly suggests, not looking up at anyone.

"That's not helping," Haymitch comments.

"I'm serious. If, like you said we're on this train forever, it's gonna happen eventually. Why not now?"

"It does make a statement. I'll give you that." Haymitch then looks at Peeta who agrees, but quickly stands up and leave. Katniss looks at me.

"It's something we can try, you're right... they would want it to happen eventually." I shrug.

"It's settle, then." Haymitch drinks to that and Katniss looks at me with hope.

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

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the party?" I ask Haymitch before I have to leave for Snow's residence. "Lots of free alcohol."

"I don't need free alcohol." He chuckles amused, "I'm a victor. I already got that."

"Don't you want to save a damsel in distress?" I try again.

"Our president seems very well guarded on his own," Haymitch jokes, "he's safe."

I genuinely laugh at that shaking my head.

"See? I need that! Please?" I try to beg just one more time.

"Don't send me that look, Princess." He turns his head away ready to walk away.

"Fine, fine... I tried." I raise my hands up in surrender. "Wish me luck, at least. "

"Maybe they'll leave you alone tonight, too interested in the two lovers," he sadly smiles at me, hoping, rather than believing, his own words to be true.

"Yeah, maybe," I take a deep breath, "well... have a goodnight, Haymitch."

"You too, princess." He winks, "and eyes open."

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

The party is just as exaggerated as ever. Lots of people, lots of food and drinks and lots of lights.

I make my way through the crowd, towards the tables full of food and drinks, hoping to find something to make this evening more tolerable. I take a glass and take a sip, breathing deeply.

Some people come to talk to me, about the victors, thankfully.

"Two victors, exciting, uh?" One of the them says cheerfully.

"Very," I say with my usual forced smile.

"You must be proud, two victors on your turn on 12," a woman with very voluminous hair nudges me, "you were the talk of the town these past few days, you know?"

"Me?" I ask, surprised by that, usually everyone forgets about me during the victory tour.

"Oh yes, well beside the lovebirds." A green haired man chimes in.

"Why?" I start to get anxious, the necklaces feel a lot tighter than before.

"I heard a rumour... someone wants to put a ring on your finger," she whisper-exclaims with a wink.

"W-what?... I don't think... uh..." I stutter.

"C'mon, everyone knows you're Cal Kingslay's favourite." She teases, with a devilish smirk, "and it's rumored that he wants you all to himself."

"Isn't that wonderful?" The man cheers. "We could probably get two well awaited weddings this year!"

"I hope I didn't ruin the surprise." The woman adds, with, what I'm sure is, a fake apologetic smile.

"Of course not. Now would you excuse me, gotta wait for my Victors." I say turning around to walk as far as possible from them, I finish my drink in one go and soon take another glass. Thankfully it's announced the arrival of Katniss and Peeta.

I spot them walking through the crowd following Effie and heading to Flavius and Octavia so I quickly join them.

As they see me arrive they immediately smile, relieved.

"There you are," I say holding my hands out for them to hold, "I've missed you,"

All for the cameras.

"It's only been 30 minutes," Peeta plays along.

"And you can stay that long away from me?" I fake offence, "You wound me,"

Everyone around us laugh so I just decide to stick with them as long as I can.

Helping them play along is much easier than expected, especially with Peeta, Katniss is still a little uncertain, but I get her, it got me years and years to get used to the cameras.

After I unfortunately finish my fourth glass, I need another one, in order to survive this evening.

"Excuse me a second," I whisper at them and head to the other side of the room where I can get another glass of Whiskey.

I turn around to go back to Katniss and Peeta when I'm met with a firm chest.

Unfortunately I already know who this might be.

"Found you" Cal teases.

I look up at him, the blue in his hair is even stronger than I remembered, and a little longer too, he got bigger, more muscles for sure, eyes just as devilish.

"That you did," I try to mask my fear with a chuckle.

"I've missed you, you know, been looking everywhere for you since I got here," he says with a sweet tone, that only makes my skin crawl. He grabs my hand to play with my fingers.

"I've been here the whole time, chatting with the Victors you know," I take my hand back, "I should get back to them, exc-"

"They got you all this time," he stops me from walking away, "it's not the same without you."

"I..." I want to say something, but nothing comes out.

"I mean, it's fun and all with Finnick, but with you..." he lets out a big dreamy sigh, "with you it's so much better"

He says the last part leaning in, close enough to suffocate me.

"Excuse me?"

We both turn and see Peeta standing there.

"Peeta!" I say, both surprised and relieved, "Peeta, uh.. this is Cal Kingslay, his father was once the general himself"

"Nice to meet you, sir," Peeta extends his hand and Cal grabs it and shakes it.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Mellark," Cal greets him, he's tense though, he doesn't like being interrupted.

"Uh... Peeta, where's Katniss?" I ask to change the subject.

"She's dancing with the new Head Gamemaker," he explains simply, "but I still wanted to dance so I thought to ask you, if you're free."

"Oh, but of course," I say holding out my hand for him.

"But..." Cal starts.

"Oh, c'mon, he's our new victor, we can't say no to him, now can we?"

"Of course not," Cal says with a very evident forced smile.

That being said, me and Peeta go dance with the other people, I even spot Katniss with said New head Gamemaker.

"Thank you," I breathlessly say as we start dancing.

"You're welcome, you looked like you needed saving," he says with his kind smile, "who is he?"

"A fan" I simply say, "a very... uh... insisting one"

"I see," he nods.

"Thanks again, really."

"Don't worry about it." He laugh, "I mean, you helped saving me in that arena, this is nothing."

It's actually a lot more than he thinks.

I smile at him, grateful.

I then feel a slight tap on my shoulder, I turn around seeing Katnis and the Gamemaker.

"Mind changing partners?" He asks politely.

"Sure."

Me and Katniss exchange spots.

"It's an honour," he says once we're dancing.

"That honour would be the same if I knew your name sir," I tease.

"Oh, my bad, I apologise." He chuckles, amused, "I'm Plutarch Heavensbee,"

"Now the honour is mine," I say, "new head Gamemaker... when did they choose you?"

"Oh, I volunteer," he simply explains.

"Oh..." I let out a surprised laugh, "I see Katniss is already dictating fashion."

"Yeah, she's an inspiration, don't you think?" He says it almost as a challenge.

"I do," I answer seriously. "There must be more then... why volunteer?"

"I think it's time for the game to mean something," he shrugs and smiles.

"Mean something?" I wonder, "that's pretentious,"

"A little," he chuckles again, "so I'd keep those eyes open, if I were you."

My eyes snap back at his face, he's smiling, proud of himself.

Why? Does he know something? Does Haymitch know something?

Before I get the chance to ask him anything, the Capitol anthem starts and the crowd cheers.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," he says before following the rest of the people out for President Snow's speech.

I'm a little stunned, it's Effie's call that snaps me out of it. I quickly join her, Katniss and Peeta out.

We all gather in front of the residence, waiting for the President Snow to come out. I turn around looking for Cal, only to make sure he doesn't sneak up on me again. I see him looking around, for me probably, so I quickly turn around getting closer to Katniss.

At last the President comes out on his balcony.

"Tonight, on this, the last day of their tour, I want to welcome our two Victors." He starts with his usual charming persona, two young people who embody our idealsof strength and valor. And I, personally, want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement."

Everyone cheers. Peeta and Katniss smile at the crowd around them.

"Your love has inspired us. And I know it will go on inspiring us every day for as long as you may live." He holds up his glass and the fireworks start and I turn around to look at them like everyone.

I sense Katniss holding my hand and turning around. I want to look at Snow too, but the way she starts to squeeze my hand tells me all I need to know...

He doesn't believe them.

It didn't work.

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

I'm sitting in an armchair staring at nothing in particular. My mind can't help but think about whatever we can do to make their story more believable, but nothing, absolutely nothing comes up.

The riots in the districts surely won't make him happy, which means it will be worse for everyone else.

Fuck.

My head snaps back as I hear footsteps coming, I let out a sigh when I notice it's just Katniss.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she apologises.

"Don't worry about it," I wave her off, "can't sleep either?"

She shakes her head, I motion for her to sit with me.

"Do you think we ever had any chance?" She then asks me.

"I guess, the positive side of me really hoped... but the realistic side knew." I sigh, looking down at my own hands, "I'm afraid it was too late from the beginning. And I don't mean from what happen in 11... I mean from the moment you took out the berries, that made the districts feel something, these riots all over the place won't be pacify by a love story. Snow knows that."

"He asked me to convince him," she explains, "to convince him ours is true love."

"He never believed you." I directly say, "not for a second."

"Why ask me that then?"

"Control." I simply answer looking up at her with a serious expression. "Show you he has control."

"How did you end up living like this?" She asks, she seems genuinely interested, but I'm not ready to share that part of my life with her just yet.

I smile at her, a smile that doesn't reach my eye.

"Aw... Katniss, I thought you knew the difference between living" I turn serious again, looking her dead in the eyes," and surviving."

With that I stand up, grab a bottle of what I think is rum, and head to my room.

-----------

I stand by the doors waiting for Peeta, Katniss and Haymitch to get off the train. The thought of going back to normal is dreadful enough, going back alone is even worse, I don't want to think about it.

"Home sweet home," Haymitch declares as he nears.

"Don't be so eager to leave me," I joke, holding my hand out for him to shake, he takes and kiss the back of it.

"You know, it pains me deeply," he teases back and I chuckle.

"Take care of them, will you?" I ask quietly.

"You take care of yourself, will you?" He lets go of my hand and leans down to whisper into my ear, "and eyes open" He smiles one more time before getting of the train.

"You'll have to explain that to me properly one of these days," I tell him as I watch him go.

"Isn't his whole character just... cryptic?" I turn around seeing Peeta and Katniss.

"Or just constantly drunk." Katniss chimes in.

"He's cryptically drunk all the time," I smile, "so... you got everything?"

"Yeah, we're ready to get home." Peeta smile back at me.

"Good... Good." I let out a deep sigh, "it's been a pleasure assisting you two. I guess I'll see you at the next Hunger Games, mentors."

"Thank you for everything, Y/n." Peeta pulls me in for a quick hug before walking away.

"Bye," I wave then turn to Katniss, "you okay?"

"Yeah... I think so." She forces a small smile.

"I wish I could do more," I tell her honestly.

"Thanks,"

"Say hi to your family for me, alright?" I smile again and she nods.

Once Katniss is out of sight a Peacekeeper comes up to me.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Your presence has been requested back in the Capitol. We'll be leaving soon." He tells me.

"May I know who requested it?" I ask, tired. I already imagine who-

"President Snow."

Uh?

"Did he say why?"

The peacekeeper doesn't answer and walks away. I stand here dumbfounded, wondering what he might want from me.

Is it because of Katniss and Peeta?

Is it because of the riots in the districts?

Is it because of the Quartel Quell? Does he wants me to be more participant or?

Then a terrifying thought comes to mind...

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

"You asked for me, sir?" I stand in front of his desk as he write something down.

"It came to my attention a rumour's been going around regarding you, miss L/n." He starts, still not looking directly at me, "a merry one."

"Sir?" I ask, my throat instantly dry.

"Cal Kingslay apparently wants to marry you," he finally puts down the pen and looks at me with, what might seem, a genuinely happy expression, "That's a wonderful news."

"Is it?" I don't know what he wants from me.

"Oh yes, the people can't help but be thrilled about. the idea. I, myself, think it's great news. After the contributions the Kingslays gave to the games in these last years, it will show, not only to the Capitol, but the districts as well, that you are an active part of this system." He explains, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. Challenge me to say no, to refuse.

I really want to, I want to scream at him and just run away. Being sold to all rich people in the Capitol is not the life I want, but being tied to him... permanently, it's more terrifying.

But I have no choice.

All I can do is swallow my pride and take a deep shaky breath.

"I... how... how will it happen, sir?" I ask.

"You two will get engaged once I announce the Third Quarter Quell, and get properly married after the crowing of the Victor. He will ask, you will happily say yes." He explains satisfied with my compliance, then he goes back at the papers in front of him, "That's all."

I don't need him to tell me twice, I immediately walk out of his office, ready to go home and just let everything out.

"Oh, before you go," Snow's voice freezes me on the spot, "Plutarch Heavensbee asked for your company, you will be escorted to his house immediately." He informs me.

I shakily nod and walk out of his office where two guards make way.

-----------

"Do you want some tea?" Plutarch motion for me to sit at a big wooden table, "perhaps something stronger?"

I nervously nod as I sit.

He walks away, I hear him talking to someone before walking back into the room I'm in with two drinks in hand. He offers one to me and sits by the opposite side of the table.

"I told the guards to come back in an hour, we should have enough time" he smiles and I nod again, still not sure of what to expect.

Suddenly the lights go off and the room falls into deep darkness. I can still make out his face due to the lights coming from outside.

"What...?" I ask.

"You can never feel safer," he tells me.

"What's going on, Mr Heavensbee?" I ask, anxiety growing at every passing second.

"Tell me, miss L/n," he starts, voice a little quieter than before, "what do you know about district 13?"

[greyjoy-girl]

Salt and Snow: Part XIV

Summary: After Balon Greyjoy's uprising fails, a young Theon Greyjoy is taken to Winterfell as a ward and hostage. Within the castle's looming stone walls, he meets Lord Stark's bastard daughter, a sharp-eyed girl who seems to look straight through him. As the years pass, their shared loneliness transforms their childhood rivalry into a complicated bond forged from shared loneliness and feelings of isolation. As tensions rise in Westeros, war breaks out and Theon is pulled between Pyke and Winterfell, testing the strength of their bond.

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Snow! Reader

18+, minors DNI

Warnings: Ohhh boy. Ramsay Bolton is fully in the picture now, this chapter contains descriptions/mentions of torture, beatings, unwanted sexual advances. Also descriptions of mental health stuff, including depersonalization and self loathing.

Length: 2.3k words

Notes: I am trying to speed through this arc while still preserving the outline I had for the story. It's necessary for the development, but I honestly cannot write a lot of this stuff. It's too much body horror (I cannot deal with teeth stuff or genital mutilation) and the trauma stuff is just hard to write. Hoping to finish with the Boltons in <4 chapters. My original outline had the story as 1/3 before Ramsay to establish the relationship, 1/3 during to have some character development, and 1/3 after for healing. I think it's going to end up being more 1/1 before, 1/4 during, and 2/4 healing because I don't want to write for Theon without some major healing.

Masterlist

PREVIOUS PART || NEXT PART

━─━────༺Part XIV༻────━─━

299 AC— Early Autumn, The Dreadfort

Three, maybe four, days had passed since you’d arrived. The days blend together in the cold, grey light of the Dreadfort. A fitting name, you think. The air always smells faintly of blood and the chamber they put you in is never warm, no matter how close you sit to the hearth.

They tell you you’re not a prisoner.

Lord Roose Bolton had said so himself, pale and wraithlike in his high-backed chair, during your single meeting the day you arrived. He asked you questions you didn’t know the answers to, about Theon, Bran and Rickon, Winterfell.

“You are a guest,” he’d said as he finished their conversation. “But until we can be certain of your loyalties, you’ll have to excuse our precautions.”

And with that, they’d shut you in a room. Two guards stand outside your door at all hours, there to “help” you with any needs, but really just to ensure you stay inside.

So, you wait.

Sometimes, servants come in, always mute. A young girl with a tray of food, a sour-smelling old woman who dumps buckets of lukewarm water in the tub. No one would tell you what time it was. No one would you anything. You stop asking after the second day.

A knock comes when you least expect it. Three sharp raps. The door opens before you can reach it.

Ramsay Snow steps in like he owns the world.

He wears black and pink now, having abandoned his rags, his black hair still greasy but now brushed. His hands are covered in soft leather gloves. There’s something on his lips that you think is a smile, but it doesn’t reach his cold eyes.

“My lady,” he says, mock-gallant and bowing deeply. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Confused, you don’t respond. He steps closer to you.

“I meant to welcome you at Winterfell, you see, Prince Greyjoy had promised you to me.” Your stomach tightens at the mention of Theon. Had he really thrown you away, planned to give you to this man?

“Unfortunately, things turned… messy.” He sighs theatrically, like a man burdened by others’ failures. “You must be scared. New place, new faces. I remember what that’s like.”

He pauses, studying your face. “You know, we have something in common, you and I. We’re both bastards, born wrong, raised wrong. Never quite wanted.”

You flinch at that. You hadn’t told him anything about you, you’d made sure to keep quiet around him, but he knows anyways. He gives you a sickly-sweet smile. “I’m sorry I lied,” he continues, voice softer now. “About being Reek, I mean. I just wanted to know who I could trust. It’s a dangerous world, you understand that.”

You step back, dig your nails into your palms.

He smiles again, meaty lips twisting into a strange shape. “You’re quiet. Good, you’re a good girl. I like good little girls. But I do wish you’d look at me when I’m talking.”

You turn your eyes to him fast, just fast enough to see his face change. You don’t, however, see the hand that connects with your face.

Your head snaps sideways. Pain blooms across your head and blood trickles from your lip. You can taste the blood. Tears spring to your eyes, whether from shock or fear you’re not quite sure.

He leans in, voice low and almost tender. “There, there. That’s better, you cry so prettily. I don’t like when people try to be brave, it spoils the game.”

He brushes a thumb across your cheek. “There’s no need to be afraid, sweet lady,” he whispers as he heads back to the door. “Not yet.”

Then, he walks out, whistling a soft tune as if nothing had happened at all. You stay standing in your spot long after he leaves.

═══════════════

There are no windows in the dungeons. No sky to mark the hours. The hours crawl in circles.

They’d taken his clothes first, put him in rags. Then his boots. Then his dignity. But they haven’t taken everything. Not yet.

The stone floor is always wet. Piss and stale water, he hopes, he doesn’t want to think about what else there is. No one ever comes to clean it. Iron chains bite into his wrists, rubbing them raw. The only light is from a torch outside his cell, just outside his reach.

Sometimes it’s there. Sometimes it’s not.

The stump where he’d once had little finger always hurts. The bastard had flayed the skin from it, whittled it down over countless hours, forced him to beg for days to take it off. Ramsay had snapped the joint out like a chicken bone. Theon still remembers the pop it made.

Next, it was his left ring and forefingers. His hand is useless now, warped and horrible. Rot had set in, black and fetid. He tries not to look at it.

But he’s still alive. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

The bastard is careful. Always takes just enough to remind him who he had been, and who he no longer was.

I am Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon, Prince of the Iron Islands.

Sometimes, he repeats it aloud. Tries to convince himself.

Liar. He’s a liar.

Footsteps. Slow. He doesn’t lift his head.

Not Ramsay. Ramsay walks heavy, drags his feet when he steps.

A key turns. The cell door groans open.

“You’re still breathing,” a cold voice calls. “Good.”

Roose Bolton. Theon forces his head up. “L-lord Bolton.” His throat is dry and his lips are cracked. His voice is strange now, doesn’t feel like him.

Roose steps inside the cell, unbothered by the filth on the flood. “Still breathing,” he repeats. “Good.”

He said it like he was talking about livestock.

Theon tries to smile, but his face doesn’t respond. “I’m—I’m worth something. To Robb. Or the Greyjoys, please, you know that.”

Roose hums. “Perhaps, if they care enough.” He steps closer. “Do you still think yourself a prince, Theon Greyjoy?”

Theon says nothing.

“My bastard is many things. Unpleasant, yes, but he has his uses.”

“You let him do this to me,” Theon rasps, shifting around on the floor. “You let him—”

Roose cuts him off with a look, cold eyes killing the words on Theon’s tongue.

“I allow him to damage you,” Roose says. “Not destroy you. You are still my guest, and one of certain value.”

Guest. Theon would laugh.

Is she another guest in the castle? Had he doomed her to the same fate as him.

Theon raises his eyes. “She…” he trails off as Roose tilts his head. No use in asking. He has no right.

After a moment, Roose turns to leave. At the gate of the cell, he pauses. “My bastard may visit you again. He grows… restless.”

Theon’s breath catches. “If he takes anything else, it will be with my leave. Consider what that means.”

And then he was gone, purple cloak trailing behind him into the darkness.

Theon sits there, slumped, chained, staring at the door.

He counts his fingers. Just to be sure.

Seven.

Still worth something.

═══════════════

The beatings have become a routine over the past weeks. The first few had been warnings, slaps that left bruises, but now, Ramsay has no reason to pretend anymore, nothing to hide, since Roose had gone back to the Twins. Punches to your stomach, kicks to your ribs. A few times, he’d even cut you. Nothing too obvious, nothing fatal, but enough to remind you of your place. Here, you’re not a person. You’re a toy.

Sometimes, he sends the maester to “care” for you after his violence. The bandages are always too tight, but never clean, and the salves sting more than they should. He likes to watch you flinch, stands in the corner while you shiver in your dirty smock letting the maester “inspect” you. As if the injuries aren’t evident enough on their own.

You hate his touch, but his whispers are the worst. Low and mocking, always some disgusting thought designed to hurt.

Today, like so many other days, you are kept in your room. The silence weighs heavy on you. You wonder if you’re even alive anymore, or if maybe you’d died long ago and your body just kept going without you.

The door swings open. It’s Ramsay, again. He’s brought one of his gifts. Wilting flowers and a new dress. Same as always. He likes to dress you up and parade you like his lady, before beating you bloody and laughing. The dress is loose and the fabric is thin, offering no protection from the cold. “Oh,” he simpers. “My poor sweet thing. You’ve lost weight, aren’t you getting enough to eat?” He smiles, taking you by the arm and leading you out.

The only time you leave your chambers is for these little performances, Ramsay offering you crumbs from old meals, making a show of dabbing your mouth. Sometimes, Ramsay shares news with you, though you think he means it as another torment. Today, it’s about Robb and his new bride. “Your brother’s made a grave mistake, sweet thing,” he remarks joyfully. “Did you know that? Betraying a promise to the Freys, there’s no coming back from that.”

You make a show of looking scared. He likes when you’re scared, when you cry. Holding it in just makes him push harder. He touches your face. You flinch. “Oh, my lady, you wound me,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. I wonder, why didn’t you marry? Pretty little thing like you, you’d’ve have made a lovely bride. Not my first choice, but a lovely bride nonetheless.”

The words are cutting and he knows it. He wants to remind you that you’re his property, he’s taken your body, your choices, your future.

The silence stretches between you. Your mind wanders, it’s been doing that more often, taking you to safer places, happier times.

Today, you think of Theon.

He'd left you behind so many times, thrown you away every chance he got. He should have just left you the first time and let you keep your memories, but he had to ruin those too. Now, you can’t even look back on them for comfort. Who cares if he’s alive. Not you. He certainly doesn’t care if you are.

Ramsay grabs your throat. “It’s rude to be so distracted at dinner. What else do you have to think about?” He tightens his grip. You gasp.

 “You should be grateful I take care of you,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.” He presses a kiss to your temple and releases your neck.

He stands, pulls you up by your arm. “You must be tired, let’s get you to your room. You need to rest, sweet thing.” He leads you back, shuts the door and clicks the lock shut.

You are alone. Everyone you’ve ever known is far away, dead, dying. You crawl to your bed and let yourself cry, really cry.

═══════════════

The pain is dull now. Not gone, just dull. Numbed by the filth and exhaustion. Theon might’ve passed out at some point. Or maybe that was earlier. It’s all fog. Everything is.

Something’s missing again.

Toes, that’s right, toes. Two of them.

He remembers the sound, like wet branches crunching underfoot.

He might’ve screamed. He doesn’t remember, but the hoarseness in his throat tells him he did.

His cheek is pressed to the floor, something wet underneath. Blood, maybe. He doesn’t look. Doesn’t move. He’s not supposed to move.

Across the room, a chair creaks under Ramsay’s shifting weight. “You’ve taken well to silence,” he says, voice casual and content. “I do miss the whimpering though,” he sighs. “You used to be so loud.”

Another creak. He’s being watched. Don’t move.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Ramsay continues, “my father has plans. For the Young Wolf. You were like an older brother to him, no?”

He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be at this point. He knows he’s not Theon Greyjoy, but he’s nothing else. He’s a nothing-thing. Ache and absence shivering in the dark.

“It’s only natural, you know. One brother must die for the other to thrive, do you think you’ll thrive here?”

Theon twitches. Ramsay sees it. He always sees. “Ah, good. You are still with me.”

Ramsay leans forward in his chair, examining him. He smiles. “I dress her up sometimes, you know. Gave her a necklace, black pearls. Goes well with the bruises. You’d like it” He laughs.

Theon tries not to react. Fails.

“You know, I could arrange a reunion,” the bastard says in a mock-thoughtful tone, though Theon can tell he’s seriously considering it. “Dress her up pretty, bring her down here? She’d stare at you with those big, sad eyes, I wonder what she’d think? You were her prince once, weren’t you?”

The chair scrapes as Ramsay stands, approaching him. He twitches. Ramsay grins. He knows he’s getting to him. “Then again, she might not even recognize you. Do you think she’d still want you now? Your pretty mouth bloody and your fingers gone?”

The silence stretches. Theon curls up a little tighter. “She’ll need comfort soon,” he whispers. “Someone to take your place. Be cruel to keep her waiting so long, I think.”

Ramsay turns to leave, pausing at the door. “She’ll visit soon. It’ll do you both good to remember your place.”

The door slams shut with a groan. Theon closes his eyes tight, trying to push her face from his mind, but her memory clings, stubborn and raw. All he can do is wait, shivering in the dark, a creature hollow and ruined.

He wonders if she’ll hate him as much as he hates himself. Wonders if it even matters anymore.

═══════════════

PREVIOUS PART || NEXT PART

[neverenoughmarauders]

Peter Pettigrew

Thinking about my writing this year, no chapter took as much out of me as writing Peter Pettigrew's POV. Everything in this chapter is based on two very similar home situations - one which I witnessed closely, and one which I read about after the child in question had grown up to become a mass murderer. The other child, my former childhood friend, is doing fine, btw (not suggesting it's a recipe for killers).

I did not want to give Peter a background that would try to excuse why he did what he did, but I wanted to give him a home situation that IF Sirius and James had paid a little closer attention, maybe they would have known more about their friend. Not necessarily: He would betray us kind of stuff, but just more about Peter, and the challenges he faced. To me, Peter and JamesANDSirius is the story of the bullies' downfall. James and Sirius were bullies and therefore attracted people who later would seek Voldemort's protection. And having Peter face some challenges they would continue to be blind to, fitted well with that.

It's the only Peter POV chapter I've written, it can certainly be read standalone and it's set as 1971 closes and 1972 begins, meaning it's a New Year's chapter, very fitting for this time of year!

It's a short chapter, I couldn't bear to make it longer, and you can find it all below the cut (or on AO3) :)

Chapter 33: The snake and the lion

There had been times at Hogwarts when Peter had really missed his mother. The trouble was that Peter still missed his mother at home. Or rather, he missed the person his mother had been before his father had passed earlier this year. Now, it felt like he lived with a stranger. Actually, it felt like he lived with two very different strangers.

There were days Peter would wake up to find that his mother had not gotten out of bed. When she eventually came downstairs, she barely spoke a word. She'd sit in an armchair and smoke muggle cigarettes the whole day. She wouldn't read, or eat, or go outside. Those days, Peter often went over to his neighbours Mr and Mrs Powell, as they always seemed pleased to have him for dinner. He'd come home and his mother wouldn't ask him where he had been or if he had eaten anything. Peter would go to bed, and leave his mother with her cigarettes in the otherwise empty living room. 

There were other days where his mother would wake him up, making him breakfast, and if he wanted to go outside, she would make him put on two scarfs and the warmest jacket she could find. This mother would worry if he wasn't back exactly at the time they had agreed, she would fuss over him at dinner, force him to eat all his vegetables and insist on hearing everything about Hogwarts, while at the same time, she would worry about whether he'd choke if he ever started speaking before he had swallowed his food.

Empty mother and worried mother. Peter tried not to be too disappointed when he woke up to find it was an 'empty mother' day. After all, while he preferred 'worried mother' because she at least seemed to care about him, neither felt like home. Neither was the mother he had grown up with. 

New Year's Eve was the closest he felt to being with his mother again. They were standing outside in the snow-filled garden, watching the fireworks.  

'Come,' his mother said smiling, lifting her wand, 'let's send up some sparks of our own. The muggles won't know the difference.'

Peter could have told her he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school, but he was sure his mother knew that already. Instead he lifted his wand too. He was sure Sirius and James would have been able to produce stronger and brighter sparks, but he felt he was doing alright as he watched the red sparks explode out of his wand tip. They raced up to the sky next to his mother's green ones. 

'You are my little lion, aren't you?'

Peter noticed his mother looking at him intently. 

'You don't mind?' he asked. They hadn't really spoken much about his sorting.

His mother was prevented from answering as the air around them exploded from all the fireworks which lit up the sky brighter and louder than before. The clock must have struck midnight.

'Happy new year, darling,' she said, bending down and kissing his cheek.

'Happy new year, mum,' Peter whispered into her ear.

'It'll be better than the last, I promise,' his mother said, wrapping her arms around him. She was thin - too thin. 'Come, let's go inside where it's warmer.'

His mother made some hot chocolate ('one mug, and then straight to bed, understood?'), and they sat down at the kitchen table.

Peter was nervous his mother had forgotten the question - or didn't want to talk about his sorting. He wondered whether to bring it up again. Then again, this evening was going quite well, and he didn't want to push his luck. 

'Your dad would have been proud,' his mother said, breaking the silence. 

'About what?' Peter asked his mug defeatedly. 

There was truly nothing to be proud of. He was not particularly good at school, he wasn't good looking like Sirius, nor was he talented on a broom like James. And both at the top of their class too. They were effortlessly smart and funny and increasingly popular. As for Remus, he seemed to understand everything, and Peter often felt like he understood nothing. 

'Of you learning magic, of your strength to carry on despite everything, and certainly, my darling, of you being in Gryffindor.' 

Peter looked up at his mother. Her face was as gaunt as it had ever been, but her smile was warm and familiar to Peter.

'But you were in Slytherin,' he said. Slytherins and Gryffindors hated each other.

'And your dad would have been in Gryffindor, had he had magic.'

'Why did you marry a muggle?' Peter asked, realising he had never asked this before.

'Because there are many types of magic, darling.'

'Oh,' Peter said. He wasn't sure he understood what his mother meant.

'Would you have married him had he been a Gryffindor?'

His mother laughed: 'Of course I would. I understand - the house rivalry feels very strong at school - but that changes once you leave Hogwarts.'

Peter wasn't sure he believed that. He couldn't imagine Sirius or James ever befriending a Slytherin. But Peter didn't argue the point. Instead, Peter finished his chocolate and said good night. As he lay in bed, he wondered what kind of mother he would wake up to in the morning.

-

'He abandoned us, you know,' his mother said the final evening before Peter went back to Hogwarts. It was the first words she had spoken to Peter the whole day.

'Who?' Peter asked.

'Your dad.'

This confused Peter as much as it hurt him. That was a lie.

'He died. He didn't leave us.'

His mother let out a thin, humourless laugh. Peter knew she had been drinking. Drinking and smoking and not eating. 

'He could have lived.'

'The doctors did everything they could.'

'We could have gotten a healer, you know that, darling, don't you? The healers at St Mungo's would have been able to cure him, and he could have lived to see you grow up.'

His mother got up unsteadily and walked over to the kitchen, pouring herself another glass and taking a seat at the small kitchen table. 

'Sit down.'

So Peter sat down. He didn't like what was happening. Not at all.

'He could have been here, right now, instead he made the decision to abandon us.'

'The healers couldn't help him, he was a muggle. It's not allowed -'

Peter didn't like speaking up to his mother, but she was wrong. Over the last few months, he had gotten used to Sirius and James standing up to people, and the idea that he, Peter, had to do that now felt terrifying. But there was no Sirius and James. And his father didn't deserve this. His father had been brave. And good. And fair. 

'Nobody would have known,' his mother continued, and Peter wasn't even sure she'd heard him. Some job he was doing, defending his father. 'I could have brought a healer here, and nobody would have known. But no, Andrew was determined to do what was right. That's what bravery and doing the right thing does to you, darling. It gets you killed.'

Peter didn't know what to say. What he could say. What he dared to say. So he remained quiet. 

But one thing was painfully obvious. His mother did mind his sorting, after all. Peter felt his eyes burn as he tried to blink away tears.

'Hey, now,' his mother said, cupping his face. 'I am still here.'

Was she? Peter wasn't sure.

'And you, my darling son, you can be as brave as you want, as long as you remember to stay alive. Okay? Stay alive for me... and for your father. He was an idiot, but he loved you. And I love you too.'

'I love you,' Peter said, aware he was fully crying now. 

His mother swayed a little as she slid down from her chair and knelt before him. Peter threw his arms around his mother and they remained there, on the floor, hugging. He didn't agree with her, his father had been brave and had done the right thing, but it didn't matter. She was hurting, and he loved her.

[greenxgloss]

Honey To The Bee

Clyde (Electrik children)

Y/N and Clyde have feelings for each other but y/n is unsure if he’s being genuine in his confession

A/N: i haven’t written and posted in a really long time so excuse any mistakes or inconsistencies i’m way too tired to proofread i just wanted to get this out lol just an idea i had idk. sorry for being MIA and like popping in and out of tumblr so much i honestly thought i’d given up on writing lol also though i’ve been on here a while i still don’t know how to write the warnings and stuff so please bare with me

warnings?: Fem reader, mostly fluff, clyde being very slightly pervy yeah i didn’t feel the need to add smut today lol

“what’s going on between you two?” johnny asked clyde as he closed the door behind their closest friend. he blushed trying to keep a straight face. “man nothing it’s never like that with her.” he lied. he sort of has a massive crush on you and it had increased ever since you’d met.

“you act like we’re not bestfriends and roommates.” johnny said glancing over at him for a moment waiting for clyde to fill him in on something that clearly happened. but clyde just sighed, rolled his eyes and retreated to the bathroom to wash his face to cool himself down.

y/n was a block away in her car, equally as red as clyde but she has no one around to ask questions so she quickly slowed her heartbeat. he probably wasn’t even being serious she thought as she drove. he was probably playing a joke like usual. either way she wasn’t gonna let it bother her so she headed in to work.

y/n worked at a tattoo shop, designing tattoos. she loved watching the modded people walk in covered in silver, colors and ink. they were everything she wanted to be but she was too scared of doing too much and going overboard. clyde, johnny and snow always said it would suit her. they maybe didn’t say it so appropriately but that was the idea.

tonight johnnys band had a show and clyde was supposed to be going on stage to escalate the mood. he wanted y/n to do his makeup so she sat in her office looking through pinterest for inspiration after drawing up her last tattoo. “hey you busy tonight?” asked her coworker from the door. “yeah i got a gig.” she replied. “how late you gonna be out? i need you to pick something up for me.” he asked. y/n thought it over before just agreeing.

clyde was excited for the show. he’d been on stage with the band before but he wanted it to be more of a permanent position since he had to attend all their gigs because he’s their driver. y/n always felt her knees go weak when she watched him on stage. to her he looked so free and so happy and his happiness always made her happy. but he also looked really fucking hot. that’s when her feelings for him started. the first time she saw him on stage.

as she picked up her makeup bag and headed to clyde’s van outside the venue she began sweating. clyde had confessed feelings for her and though she had feelings for him too she was worried that maybe he was joking. that snow or lola told him and he was playing a trick on her. so before she was in view of the van she called snow.

“so.. clyde told me he likes me. but it didn’t feel genuine. and listen i won’t be mad but did you or lola tell him i have feelings for him?” she asked the moment the ringing stopped. “what no?! he actually told us he likes you and asked how he could ask you out.” she laughed. y/n turned red. “clyde’s a great guy so i think you should go for it. you trusting us with telling us you like him is a big deal to us we wouldnt betray that.” she informed y/n and she felt relief wash over her.

once they hung up y/n proceeded to the van. "hey you're almost late." clyde said as he opened the van. "yeah sorry i was on the phone with snow." she laughed. "do you wanna talk about earlier?" he asked. y/n stayed silent and set up her makeup. "maybe not yet." she still had to think about how it would affect the friend group. he nodded and sat back. she sat next to him and began the clown makeup she'd thought up before playing billie piper on her phone. "whats this music?" he asked quietly trying to hold still for her. "i actually dont know i found out billie pipers a musician and ive had a recent interest in 2000s pop." she said, applying the white foundation. he hummed in response.

"wouldnt this be easier?" he asked as he pulled her on his lap. she blushed, getting comfortable. "just not so much movement i assume." she joked but it made him blush. they stayed quiet for a moment while she focused but all she could think about was his hands inching down her back.

“woah watch it.” she said, pulling his hands up and he giggled and lightly gripped her making he jump slightly. she willed herself to continue his makeup when they made eye contact and she leaned in to kiss him. it was the sweetest kiss she’d ever had. though the position they were in was very compromising it felt gentle and warm dare i say wholesome?!

they pulled away and sat it a comfortable silence before giggling. “we’ll at least now i know for sure you weren’t joking earlier.” she looked away sheepishly trying to hide her fluster. “i have no idea how you thought i was messing with you. have i not been obvious?” he said, turning her head to look at him. she shrugged, thinking back to all the moment when he laid his hand on her lower back to guide her or got her a meaningful gift that only the two of them would understand or how johnny described to her the excitement clyde would suddenly have when he knew she was coming over.

“there was just so much overwhelming me. i didn’t want to put our friendship at risk.. ours or with the group.” she said sitting back up and looking at him. “well i definitely risked your makeup i have to start over.” she laughed wiping the black lipstick off his chin. “i’m definitely not mad at it. i like this type of alone time.” he let his hands rest on her thighs.

she grabbed a wet wipe and took the mess off of him, wiping gently to not irritate his skin. she’s done his makeup so many times before, sitting on his lap but it’s never felt the way it does now.

——

LAST A/N: sorry if this was short i usually make these so long that i just lose interest and never finish them so this is the best i can do right now. i’m still organizing my tumblr even after what like 3 years of being on here? welcome to all the new followers i do intend on continuing posting at least for a while lol i really enjoy interacting with anyone and i will take constructive criticism ofc :)

[pointy-spiral]

Hello! I hope you still take requests, if not I'm so sorry to brother you!!!

Anyways! I would love to see more of your yuusona, I think they are so cute 🥰.

And please tell us more about them :D

JKDLSJIIOAUEIOWUIOJKFLDJKFDL THANK YOUU!! :') not a bother at all!! This is such cute and sweet request!! u lil cutiee!!

i haven't really thought out much about her yet, and shes not really based on any specific Disney character, but i have some fun facts about her-

Her shirt is the same style as Epel's, because its a spare pomefiore shirt that Rook gave her during her first week at school. She's really scared of him though. Her first encounter with him was him commenting on her messy uniform, (since i doubt that Crowley would do much more than just grab whatever's in the lost and found basket for Yuu and call it a day) Rook basically drags her to Pomefiore to play dress up while she tries desperately to find some excuse to leave jkhfdfdshhsd

She wishes she could have just kept the job as a janitor instead of being a student at first (but she comes to like school starting the second year) since she enjoys cleaning and tidying and just going for walks, so being an errand runner for Crowley didnt seem too bad to her.

Because of this i wanted to make Floyds nickname for her "Vampire squiddy", since they feed on marine snow and are generally one of the "cleaners" of the deep sea. They live really deep in the sea, matching her gloominess and dislike for crowds and bright light. BUT THEN I REALIZE THAT LILLA CALLED DIBS ON BEING VAMPIRE SQUID so now i don't know anymore... i guess shrimpy still works..

Ever since accidentally stepping on Leonas tail she's been avoiding him like the plague. She thinks he's still mad at her, and nearly cries anytime she sees him dshdhdhdfhj she thinks he's super scary

The skirt she actually sewed by hand herself , using a spare curtain from Ramshackle as fabric.

Back in her "home world" she used to collect and make her own jewelry, the one she wears is one of them. She makes friendship bracelets for her friends of course.

She's good friends with Ortho, and they are desk neighbors. He's tried multiple times to invite her over for game night but she's too scared to hang out with Idia around. But her an Ortho hang out and study together a lot :) he's the designated extrovert friend

She became friends with Jade by being forced to wanting to join the Mountain lovers club. Its actually pretty good, since its a long walk and she can forage for stuff to eat so she can save more money (Crowley pays us in a handfull of pebbles and a pat on the back i swear to god) He's the social anxiety shield and talks for her sometimes.

She still kind of works as a janitor, and she stays after school hours to clean. And uses her job as an excuse to stay away from people, too much to clean!! so many floors to mop!! no i cannot come to ur party Kalim i am so so sorry!! would love too but i have to deep clean the school, by myself, all alone!! tomorrow as well! and the day after!! fdhdfshdshj

Has absolutely bonked Ace in the head with her broom!! he deserves it

Azul tries at some point to get her to be a janitor at Mostro lounge but she runs away from him mid conversation

Secretly very insecure about her height, thinking shes too tall for a lady, plus it just makes her stick out more as well

(actually as im writing this i realize she could be based on Cinderella in a way!!! with the whole evil stepmom (crowley) making you do a bunch of shitty work. im getting ideas.. >:) teehee gonna redraw the ball dance and glass slipper scene with her and someone maybe mwehehehehe)

[pennyngram]

52 Flavours Writing Prompts Masterlist

original post by @lucytara

Taking up this challenge to get me to actually write some fiction, even if it's a tiny bit a week, no excuses. Will try to mix genres and styles (so strive not to only do introspective melancholic stuff but also comedy??? and experimenting with POVs I wouldn't usually think of).

Starting in nov 2024 at Week 46, should be done in nov 2025 with Week 45 :)

(the ones in blue are Leonie stories)

the distant glitter of the January sun [05.01.2025]

back then, everything was music [12.01.2025]

at the violet hour [23.01.2025]

the world begins at the kitchen table [26.01.2025]

it felt just like February; what had been falling snow was beating loudly in the street [09.02.2025]

Listen. Even the ocean begs. [15.02.2025]

still without sound [26.02.2025]

unsure of where to settle down for the night [13.03.2025]

March is a month of storms and lust

we’ve been alive just long enough

I wrote “valley” when I meant “longing”

you saw me one Friday afternoon and decided you should love me

I know I have been dreaming

April is the cruelest month

all this fucking with no hands on me

I’d write about you a lot more than I should

to put on your best outfit and feel like you’re dressing a wound

to be held by something reluctant to let go

Late in May as the light lengthens

I worry that love is violence

I’ve been trying to go home my whole life–

you can put your strength down

I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.

It is June. Let’s hope someone is kind, just in time

bend in a thousand directions

your smell was never unfamiliar

even hunger can become a space to live in

a kind of undressing

the July night is a song

you, you, and only you

they cannot exist without setting each other on fire

in your hand, its shaky penmanship, my own paper-thin nerves

staying up all night for it

the August sun, returning everything that was taken away—

and maybe love still smolders in my heart

the reverse of being haunted

I want I want I want

a day of rain; the kind you think will never end

September tastes of ashes 

the museum of past lives

maybe a meteor or maybe a phone call or maybe a sudden shift in atmosphere

an old, old wound about to heal or about to bleed

the ache of everything unsaid

October is a thick and hollow bone

the difference between intimacy and radical intimacy

I caught you forgetting me [18.11.2024]

the wish for winter [20.11.2024]

Will you forgive me these November days? [30.11.2024]

amazing how long a ruined thing will burn [06.12.2024] (superman ff)

Look, you said, sunlight. [31.12.2024]

All my stories are about being left; all of yours are about leaving. We should have known. [31.12.2024]

It is December and we must be brave. [02.01.2024]

[possum-quesadilla]

Chapter three of “Living” in the Present Tense, “Heaven, Heaven is a place, A place where nothing, Nothing ever happens”, is here! Sorry for the delays!

Little summary: Beetlejuice attempts to help with a cleaning day.

Extras below!

- The title is from “Heaven” by Talking Heads! It’s meant to reflect how wonderfully mundane the Maitland-Deetz-and-co. household has become, with their troubles personal and emotional rather than life / un-life threatening. Also, that’s one of Beej’s favorite bands now!

- “The demon wrinkled his nose at the pungent but familiar odor of wet paint…” - he deals with it often now since he helps out with the store!

- “… but the draw of birdwatching and a “spiritually cleansing journey” was just too much for the new retirees to ignore.” - yep, they’re retired now! Just recently.

- “The snotty, touchy-feely goodbyes would have to wait for the time of their actual departure.” - the goodbyes won’t be shown in the actual story, since it takes place between time skips, but it is very snotty and touchy-feely.

- “Beetlejuice raised his eyebrows, clacking his teeth a few times as he soaked in the tense atmosphere. “… alright. I’m gonna see what D n’ Chuck are up to.” ” - “He wanted to stay, to linger, to make conversation, to bother them endlessly, to make them shout his name in irritation, something. Instead, he loitered for just a handful of moments, watching them with a strange, tense feeling in his gut. Then, he mumbled an excuse he didn’t need about checking on his partners, heading down the stairs in search of either of them.” - despite the years of therapy and development, he’s still having trouble facing issues head-on, for the most part. Especially when he doesn’t know how to fix it, and very especially when it’s someone else having an issue. But he tries!

- “The demon narrowed their eyes at their husband, but his attention returned to his cleaning too fast to catch it. Bullshit. How many times had Adam roped them and Barbara into cleaning with him, promising it to be fun? “The more the merrier!” Playing music, making it a game to keep their attention?” - Adam is worried Beetlejuice will slow down his cleaning efforts, but doesn’t want to hurt their feelings by admitting that. Beej still picked up on it.

- “Again, their chest ached. (And burned, in a gross, new way.)” - thank you @c0zmo-writes for helping me describe heartburn!

- “Give them space. Maybe they just need time to process and work through… whatever.” - that’s how he usually wants to be treated when he’s having a struggle, so he thinks maybe that’s what they want too!

- “You’re okay. Wolf had advised them to treat their mind kindly, like it was Adam or Lydia facing down their own fears. Despite how they loathed the irrational way it clung to fear.” - based on my own struggle with treating my mind kindly, despite how irrational it can be.

- “The snow on the steps leading down to the yard crunched under their boot in a way that sent cold shocks up and down their spine.” - didn’t want to clutter the text by mentioning it, but they shapeshifted themself human-ish feet so they could fit into the boots. And also not fall.

- The snow - I love the snow, and having a character hate the snow was a wee bit agonizing. I get to show character development and describe a pretty snow landscaped, so it’s a win-win for me! Also I wanted to depict something I went through, of working through my trauma and finding beauty in the world again. Stupid sappy stuff, hehe.

- “C’mon, I only got a little bit of blood on those apple slices!” - They definitely accidentally cut a finger off and had to wait for it to reattach.

- “His hair was going grey, his beard was mostly salt-and-paprika now.” - I know the thing is “salt and pepper”, but I said “paprika” because his hair is red rather than black or brown. Made me feel smart lol

- “Beetlejuice popped back down to the basement every now and then to check on them, and to try to pull them away.” - Now he tries to go about it their way. They try to gently pull his attention away from his woes, and then help him with whatever when he calms down. He’s doing his best fr

Tag list: @raineisinkless @c0zmo-writes @musical-fiend @katslitterbox

(Want to be tagged in updates to LoopJuice / other fics? Let me know!)

[babbletaels]

I know a lot of fans wanted it, I didn't really see a need for it at all, but if Collins wants to write about haymitchs games then I'm sure it will be good in any case.

What I really don't want is for fans assumptions to be true. Like I don't think snow killed haymitchs entire family and his grilfriend because he found the force field lmao I think that's kinda stupid? It must be explained in a better way like maybe they already had a winner set up because the games aren't actually real and then haymitch got in the way of that and that made them do it but that also seems stupid? Like most dictators and corrupt governments aren't dumb and do evil stuff just no reason like that, cause it haymitch were to tell anyone that the capitol killed his family for literally no reason (you know he has friends outside of 12 after the game??) then wouldn't that make people hate the capitol more? I'm one hundred percent sure that something else happened, like haymitch felt untouchable after the games and tried to deny the capitol what they wanted from him as a victor, whatever that may be, just an example could be maybe it was a finnick situation and they wanted to sell him and he refused because he has a girlfriend so they killed his girlfriend? Like even something that simple makes more sense. You don't have to take the bare minimum of information given to you and try to piece it together from that if the conclusion makes no sense.

Anyway another thought I have. I can't find any info that says it's actually confirmed that the book will be about haymitch, and the title is kinda throwing me off a bit.

Because like.. Okay you can excuse it by saying "sunrise on the [DAY OF THE] reaping" but like... hmmm.. to me it really sounds like sunrise ON the reaping. The reaping is the ceremony, not the day, right? Is there a district that has the reaping that early? Does the capitol have the sunrise that early? Idk. Is it really confirmed to be about haymitch? And further more, is it really confirmed to have the games in it? I feel like there's not a lot to tell about haymtichs games because we already know everything that happened in it, and I myself would love a book where the games aren't the focus.

"BUT ITS A HUNGER GAMES BOOK, ITS NOT THE HUNGER GAMES IF THERE ARE NO GAMES" quote from a person I overhesrd when leaving the movie theater after watching mockingjay part one. Hello? Did you forget the part where it's not called the hunger games: haymitchs story? I think it would be really nice to see a story without the games in it

Edit: ALSO NO WE SHOULD NOT HAVE WOODY AS 16 YEAR OLD HAYMITCH PLEASE LET US HAVE A NEW ACTOR and NO WE SHOULD NOT HAVE TOM BLYTH AS HAYMITCH OH MY GOD

Edit AGAIN: Pleeeaaassseee give haymitch black hair like he's supposed to have

[julietasgf]

I'm pretty much restless and started to write something on the swap au I mentioned here, where lucy gray lives in the capitol and sejanus is a tribute. I intend to post it in three-chapters, but because of the holidays I highly doubt I'll be able to post it soon (also I love writing long stuff and there's a high chance this first chapter will have more than 10k words ☠️), so I wanted to post a part of what I already wrote below if anyone is interested :)

When Coriolanus Snow entered the ceremony hall and saw the Covey on stage, his genuine and profound desire was to stick a knife in his own neck.

Coryo had lived in the Capital his entire life. He was, in his purest essence, in his purest self, Capital. But apparently, he didn't know the people of the city as well as he thought, considering he still didn't understand the appeal they saw in the Covey. A group of country folks who had the pathetic luck of being in the vicinity of the Capital at the end of the Rebellion, and for some unknown reason, the president saw something special in their music and country attire, allowing them to stay in the city. And people loved their music. And, worst of all, people loved Lucy Gray.

Corny, was the first thing that crossed his mind when he saw the girl on stage, wearing those ridiculous and colorful clothes that children liked precisely because they resembled clown costumes.

"Are you having fun, Capitol?" she finished a song and exclaimed into the microphone, receiving applause and cheers in response. "Because this is just the beginning of the party! Tonight promises, huh!"

Liar girl. Deceptive girl.

Coriolanus knew her opinions about the Reaping well, no matter how much she tried to disguise it with those smiles and those colorful dresses.

"They're great, aren't they?"

Beside him, Clemensia had appeared with a slight smile on her face. She loved the Covey. She and all her classmates. All without any kind of taste, of course. Granted, after the war, musicians and performers in general became scarce; when that strange group without a fixed place was around, playing cellos, guitars, and harmonicas, everyone was amazed, like someone eating a mediocre meal after a long time without eating. Coriolanus knew how that felt, but he was never amazed at eating cabbage soup after hours without eating.

It made sense that he was the only one who didn't fall for the Covey's charm.

Still, he had appearances to maintain.

"I'm always impressed by how good they are," Coriolanus said, sipping his fancy drink, one hand in his pants pocket. "How can musicians like them come from the Districts?"

"What can we do if most of our best musicians died with the bombs?" Clemensia shrugged. "And in their defense, they technically aren't from a District. They traveled all over the country, and, well, if they're in the Capital, it's because they also spent time in the Capital, right?"

Coriolanus had heard this same excuse thousands of times in various forms, about how the Covey wasn't really from a District, about how they were and always had been Capital, and it annoyed him. How can a lie told so many times convince so many people, right? Or maybe the citizens of the Capital only accepted this argument because they wanted to lessen the guilt of enjoying District music, of District rats. When the first news of the Covey's success spread through the city, Coryo remembered what his grandmother had said.

"We wouldn't have to listen to District music if they hadn't killed our musicians with those bombs."

War really did things to people, including making them forget common sense, all for a bit of questionable entertainment.

"Coriolanus Snow!"

Coryo hadn't noticed that the Covey had already finished their performance, and he also hadn't noticed that Lucy Gray had traversed a crowd of people asking for a photo just to get to him. Up close, her makeup looked even more like that of a clown; if it were other times, or other occasions, he would say she looked like a court jester. But it wasn't other times or occasions. Lucy Gray, probably the Capitol's favorite subcelebrity, stood in front of him, hands on her waist, a smile on her made-up face, and there was a whole group around the two paying attention to every word she said. That's why he smiled too.

"Lucy Gray Baird," he spoke with the same charming voice he had trained in front of the mirror for years. "Beautiful show, as always."

"Oh, darling, you know it's not just me," she laughed, shaking her head a bit; there were colorful clips in her long, brown, wavy hair. "I may have the face, but the Covey does it all." She now turned to the crowd, a huge smile on her face. "A round of applause for the Covey, everyone!"

The group of people around her and Coryo applauded while the Covey was still in the process of leaving the stage. Coriolanus, very reluctantly, applauded. He had to admit, despite everything, that Lucy Gray must be one of the only people besides himself who knew how to play that game better than anyone else. Those who looked at her with her embroidered clothes and rainbow skirt would never guess what was going on inside that head. But Coriolanus knew. Just as she knew that his stomach was growling.

They had this implicit agreement, you see. That one wouldn't expose the other. They met at events, at parties, smiled. The venomous little snake always made sure to greet him. They exchanged a few words and didn't speak again.

They understood each other, in a way.

If Lucy Gray weren't a District trash, maybe he would consider her in another life.

She was a performer. Just like him. In different ways.

"This year, I heard that the top students from the Academy are going to be mentors... whatever mentoring a tribute means," she picked up one of the glasses that passed on trays, sipping the liquid. "I hope you figure it out quickly, though. It was a good incentive for the Academy to send the mentor of the winner straight to college. You'll make good use of that, won't you?"

Coriolanus gritted his teeth. It was taking too long.

"Of course, I will, Lucy Gray," he forced a yellow smile. "Who wouldn't, right? Not to mention the renown."

"What renown, huh?" she murmured quietly, almost just to herself, while sipping from the glass. "Congratulations on mentoring a teenager to kill twenty-three others, champion." Another commotion was arising in the hall; Lucy Gray smiled, placing the glass on another passing tray, and patted Coriolanus on the arm. "It's time, isn't it? Go there, Coriolanus. Good luck, dear."

She smiled at him, the same smile she gave him at one of her shows in the Capitol, the same smile when they met at these parties, the same smile when she caught him storing food in his pockets at a party. Coryo smiled back.

They weren't so different, after all.

"Oh," she spoke in a whisper before leaving for good, "there are snacks on the buffet on the left side of the hall. If your pockets are still empty, maybe you'll make good use of it. I'm sure your grandma will like it."

Coriolanus wanted to strangle her.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Lucy Gray," he replied in the same tone. "You should take some to your friends from District 12 when your tour passes by there."

And he knew she felt the same way about him.

***

The cargo train arrived in the Capital, and Coriolanus was the only one among the Academy students waiting for it.

To be honest, he didn't judge his classmates for not going to meet their tributes, partly because, as some of them stepped out of the train cars, the first thing Coriolanus thought was how some of them reeked of poverty. Coriolanus would never admit it out loud, but he was accustomed to that horrible smell, reminiscent of old potatoes and cabbage nearing expiration. Many of his peers, especially those wealthy enough to afford perfume, would faint at the sight of a tribute with a face covered in soot. Coriolanus was certain that Arachne Crane would collapse if she saw the bat that emerged from some of the cars when they were opened.

Coryo wasn't particularly interested in all that, it should be noted. He didn't care about those other tributes at all. He was only there to see his own, and his tribute was the only one that mattered. He even managed to get one last white rose, a small and fragile thing.

Then, he finally found the carriage he had been looking for.

And he saw his tribute descending from it, extending a hand to help the girl from District 2 get down too. Sejanus Plinth, Coryo repeated to himself the name that took a while to memorize; he wasn't in the habit of memorizing names, not when he believed that most people who carried them were irrelevant. Sejanus Plinth. Don't forget.

"Sejanus Plinth, isn't it?" Coryo spoke aloud before he forgot altogether, and he couldn't forget, he couldn't make a bad impression; the boy looked at him with wide eyes, as if he had been startled. "Nice to meet you."

The boy (Sejanus) watched him for a moment without saying anything, furrowing his brow, exchanging glances with the girl next to him. Both were dressed in simple and similar clothes; Coriolanus imagined that there must be some dress code in District 2 that made them dress similarly. The same brown vest, the same beige button-up shirt, differing only in a few discreet details. His eyes were a little swollen. Maybe he had cried on the train too.

"And should I know you?" Sejanus asked uncertainly, a nervous tone.

"Well, congratulations," Coryo extended a friendly hand to shake, reminding himself to wash it as soon as he got to a bathroom. "You are the first of the tributes to meet your mentor."

Sejanus didn't shake his hand. Just looked at him the same way.

"Mentor?" the girl next to Sejanus asked, opening her mouth for the first time to say something. "What do you mean?"

Coriolanus wasn't in the mood to answer questions, especially from people from Districts. He was only there to talk to his tribute and try to make a good impression, but making a good impression also involved being polite in front of Sejanus, and being polite in front of Sejanus meant answering tiresome and irritating questions like this.

"This year, the games will have a little novelty," he said with a wink, his charm already perfected. "Each tribute will have a mentor. Someone to help them survive in the Arena. Academy students, of course."

"And where are the others?" she asked, turning her head, looking for others in the same glaring red uniform as Coriolanus.

"Only I had the inspiration to come and meet my tribute, dear," Coriolanus forced a smile; he was already fed up, so he turned again to look directly at Sejanus this time. "Don't worry, you will soon meet your mentor. But I came to welcome my tribute to the Capital. Do you like roses?"

Coriolanus handed the rose to Sejanus, who did not accept it, just continued to stare at him with the same furrowed brow.

"Mentor, huh?" he murmured, crossing his arms. "Did you really think it was a good idea to bring a rose for someone who is about to die?"

Sabyn seemed to hold back a laugh. On another occasion, the color might have drained from Coryo's face; but he had already prepared for this kind of interaction. Coriolanus just widened his most charming smile.

"I understand it might be a little offensive, but roses were my mother's favorite flowers. She loved them, so I thought my tribute might like something that was so dear to the most important person in my life."

"Your... mother?"

"A sweet woman. Probably the person who loved me most in my life. Sometimes I wonder what her reaction would be if it were me in your place, so I'll try to protect you at all costs, just as she would want them to do with me."

Sejanus's gaze softened, and he seemed to melt.

This was much easier than Coryo expected.

"That's... kind of you."

"There are still many kindnesses to come," why the hell hadn't this kid accepted the damn rose yet? "My name is Coriolanus Snow, by the way."

"Well, Coriolanus Snow," the boy had his hands in his pockets, and Coryo began to think that maybe it had been a waste of time to come there in the first place. "Thank you for coming to greet me," he smiled, and it was such a genuinely sad smile, "but I'll spare your time and effort. I don't have many intentions of coming out alive from the Arena."

Perhaps that was the first time in ages that Coriolanus lost his composure. The air escaped from his lungs, his brow furrowed, and he lowered the outstretched hand toward Sejanus.

"You're not going to die, Sejanus," Coryo said, forcing a smile, a nervous laugh escaping from his mouth. "You're from District 2. In the last two years, it was... a tribute from District 2 who won, and I'll be here to guide you, not to mention that..."

"Coriolanus Snow," the boy spoke much more firmly this time. "I don't want to come out alive from there. I want to die."

Of course. Of course, nothing would be perfect for Coriolanus. It never was. If any deity existed or if his father took care of him from hell or if luck could really change sides, all these things were against him. Yes, Coriolanus was fortunate enough to be drawn with a boy from District 2. A strong, well-fed boy, who in other circumstances would be the best candidate to win the games that year. Yes, his colleagues congratulated him, patting him on the back and applauding. Yes, Coriolanus was the mentor with the best chances of winning that year.

But, of course, his tribute was fucking suicidal.

Coriolanus wanted to kill that boy himself at that moment. But the boy couldn't die. Not when he was his best ticket straight to university.

Coryo didn't think twice when he entered that disgusting truck.

He was going to have to convince that boy to live.

[sonicfandomsecretsanta]

@suna1suna1 submitted:

Happy Holidays, @comicaldreamer !! 

This was my first time writing a Surgeamy fic, and I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you enjoy it! ^^

I will put a language warning, but aside from that, this is pretty PG, so nothing explicit! Surge just tends to swear a lot XD

The cookies were underdone. Surge cursed at the broken-down oven in the apartment she and Kit had just moved into. Well, they were still moving into it. There were boxes everywhere, items from back at the abandoned Eggman base that they figured they’d bring here. Looking back on it now, Surge was surprised Starline would have let them have personal items. 

Anger zapped between her ears. Well no wonder the damn hypnotism didn’t stick, she thought. We had all this shit lyin’ around that we tied our damn memories to. She growled in disgust, and–before she realized what she was doing–sent an electric shock through the sheet in her hands and fried the cookies on it. The smell of char almost seemed to laugh in her face. 

Shame mixed in with the anger, and she groaned as she threw the cookie sheet onto the counter and walked out of the kitchen. Even now, after his death, Starline seemed to continue to ruin everything. Even nice gestures for the cute girl who’d offered to stop by and help unpack. 

Not that Amy being cute had anything to do with it. Of course not. 

The cookies had actually been Kit’s idea. He’d thought that maybe trying new things would help them find themselves. Not that Surge thought it would work. She didn’t even want to know who she’d been before… before her memories just stopped. 

Okay, maybe she did want to know. Just a little. But that still wasn’t the reason she’d made the cookies. 

When Amy had offered to help Surge and Kit unpack their stuff, Surge had initially thought she wanted to take the opportunity to spy on them, snoop through their stuff. Anybody else would, and Surge would have bet that none of them would have had the decency to admit it either. The Restoration, whatever they thought of themselves, was full of scum just as much as any other place. 

But Amy… She was different. There was something about her that made Surge almost (almost) let down the mile-high walls she’d put up against everyone except Kit. She just seemed so… honest. It… just seemed a shame that she’d do something nice for them and get nothing in return. That and Surge hated the idea of owing anyone anything in that sorry excuse for a charity. Especially if they had any connection to him. 

In fact if she wasn’t so damn close to Sonic, Surge would have been tempted to ask her out. 

Ugh, just thinking of Sonic’s name sent another jolt of anger through her veins. Not just because of that baseline impulse to hate him–though that was certainly a large part of it–but because if it weren’t for him being such a big thorn in Eggman’s side, she wouldn’t be so fucking miserable right now. Starline wouldn’t have been such a desperate fanboy and never would have made her and Kit into what they had become. 

He was the source of everything wrong with her life. 

There was a knock at the door, and Surge took a breath, trying (and failing) to regain her cool. Then she walked over and opened it. 

There she was, sweet as candy, her smile bright as she held out a plate of cookies wrapped in plastic. “I thought we might get hungry after all that work,” Amy said, “so I thought I’d bring cookies too.” 

Well shit. 

Surge sighed and gestured for her to come in. “Just put ‘em on the counter.” 

“Okie dokie,” Amy said. She shivered as she stepped in, her cheeks rosy from the winter cold. “Phew, it’s chilly out there.” 

Surge looked out the window, surprised to find it had started snowing, a thin frost already coating the grass and the sidewalk. “Huh,” was all she said about it. In truth, her memories didn’t go far enough back to see snow. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as everyone seemed to make it out to be. 

Amy shrugged out of her coat, then held it as she looked near the door. “Is there anywhere I can hang this?” she asked Surge.

Surge shrugged, then gestured to the ratty old couch that had remained from the old tenants. “Just dump it on the couch I guess,” she said. “We don’t have a coat rack… Wait… Hey, Kit!” 

The blue fennec popped his head out from the loft, which he’d claimed as his space. He looked down at both of them, Amy with a little disdain, and Surge with no small amount of fear. “Y-yeah?” he asked tentatively. 

“Do we got any coats?”

Kit shook his head. “Starline didn’t give us any. W-why?”

Surge pointed at the window. “Looks like we need some.” 

“Oh…” Kit retreated back into the loft. “But we don’t have the money to buy them, and s-stealing them is probably gonna be more trouble than it’s worth if the Restoration gets involved.” 

“I can get you guys some coats,” Amy offered as she came back over, now coat-less and cookie-less. She beamed with excitement as she looked at Surge. “We could go shopping together! No theft necessary!” 

Surge ignored how her smile made her stomach flutter and crossed her arms. “We don’t want anything from you guys,” she said. 

Hurt flickered across Amy’s face, and Surge tried to ignore that too, despite the pin-prick of guilt that poked her chest from the inside. “But… Just because you guys don’t like the Restoration doesn’t mean you deserve to freeze your tails off either,” Amy said, and Surge wasn’t totally sure if her smile was genuine now or if she was forcing it. “Besides, they wouldn’t be from the Restoration. They’d just be from me.” 

Surge couldn’t stop the blush that spread across her muzzle. “Why do you care, huh?” she demanded, trying to shove the embarrassment down into the pit of her stomach. “Do you just feel sorry for us? Is that it? Well we don’t want your pity!” 

“It’s not pity!” Amy shouted, and Surge blinked in surprise as hurt finally gave way to angry fire in her eyes, her ears folding backwards in fury. “Is it so bad that I just want to see a genuine smile from you? That maybe I like you? I thought that maybe we were getting to be friends but I guess I was wrong!” 

After that, Amy turned around, grabbing a box and opening it, tearing into it a little too forcefully. She ripped off one of the sides entirely, spilling its contents onto the floor with a curse. 

Guilt squirmed in Surge’s belly, but she said nothing as she helped Amy pick up the items from the box. She stole a glance at her, and her eyes widened when she saw tears cascading down Amy’s cheeks. 

“I–I didn’t… I mean…” Surge started, but couldn’t finish. After a moment, Amy stepped back and took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. Surge tried again. “I didn’t mean to–”

Amy shook her head, stopping her. “I need a minute,” she said. She went over and grabbed her coat, then stepped outside the apartment, closing the door behind her. Surge watched as she walked down the sidewalk. 

Fuck… 

“I think she l-likes you,” said Kit, who was peering down from the loft again. 

Surge gave him a look like, yeah right. 

“No, r-really,” he continued. “I mean, w-why else would she have offered to come help us? And bring cookies?”

Surge shrugged. “Because she’s just that much of a goody-two-shoes?” she suggested. 

Kit shook his head. “No. I mean, y-yes, but no. Did you smell her p-perfume?”

“Perfume? She always smells like that.” 

Kit pointed to his nose. “This thing isn’t usually w-wrong,” he said. 

True, Surge thought, though aloud she only grunted. “I mean, why would she worry about that though?” 

Kit sighed. “Like I said, she likes you,” he said. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

That somehow made a bit more sense. But then why the hell would a girl like Amy like a girl like her? 

Before she could ponder it further, there was another knock at the door, and Surge opened it to find Amy once again. Her eyes were a little puffy, and she still looked angry, but not so much that she would rip more boxes. “If you didn’t want my help, then you should have said so,” she said, her voice a little steadier, though it still had a hard edge to it. 

Surge looked down at her shoes, embarrassment sparking around her ears. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want your help,” she said. “I just… Look… We don’t want anything to do with Sonic. We don’t want any help that comes from him. We don’t owe him nothin’, and it’s gonna stay that way.” 

Amy’s ears finally perked back up, her watery eyes widening. “Oh… You guys know Sonic isn’t in charge of the Restoration, right?” she said, her voice softening a little. 

Surge narrowed her eyes. “Of course we do. We ain’t stupid.”

Amy raised her hands in a calm down gesture. “Just checking,” she said. 

“The Restoration rallied around the jack-ass!” Surge said. “Why would I want anything to do with an entire ‘charity’–” she put air quotes around the word “–dedicated to the guy who made me like this?” 

Amy’s brows furrowed. “It’s not Sonic’s fault that Starline ruined your lives,” she said, her voice tight. “Put the blame where it really belongs.” 

Surge opened her mouth to argue, but Amy kept going. 

“You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to. You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to have anything to do with him. But it’s not his fault Starline did any of that. It was Starline’s choice, and so he bears the burden of the blame.” 

Amy opened a box full of plates, wrapped in newspaper to cushion them, and carefully extracted a stack. With wide, challenging eyes, she looked back at Surge. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. But I would like it if you would stop insulting my best friend.” 

Surge blushed and looked away, choosing to glare at the gathering snow outside, which was getting thicker. “Fair ‘nuff,” she grumbled. 

Amy sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Now, could you help me with this please?” 

Surge walked over and crouched down, taking out more plates. There were a few points when their fingers brushed together, sending a jolt up Surge’s spine that thankfully didn’t actually shock Amy. But slowly, the tension dissipated, and soon, Amy was talking again. It wasn’t about anything important, but it seemed as if she hated the silence enough that she was up to talk about just about anything. 

Not that Surge minded. It was… nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just… chatted with someone like this. Maybe she never had. 

After a couple hours, the girls sat on the couch. There was still quite a bit of unpacking to do, but some of it was Kit’s, and they were letting him sort through and find the stuff he wanted to put away. 

“I saw the burnt cookies earlier,” Amy said, and there was that adorable smile again, though now there was an edge of mischief to it. 

Surge cleared her throat. “Uhh… Yeah? What about them?” 

“Did you try to do something nice for me?” Amy’s eyes were sparkling with… hope? 

Surge swallowed, then looked away. Her face felt as if it were on fire as she–slowly–nodded. 

“Awwwww,” Amy cooed. “That’s so sweet.” 

“Yeah, but I fucked it up,” Surge grumbled. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

Surge did, and her smile made her want to melt into a pile of green and black goo right then and there. She couldn’t help looking at her lips–because of her smile, she told herself. Not because she wanted to kiss her. Absolutely not. 

Well, okay. Maybe a little. 

“It’s the thought that counts,” Amy said. “And besides, I brought non-burnt cookies, so it’s fine. In fact…” She stood up. “How about we take a cookie break? I think we deserve it.” 

She reached out a hand to help Surge up off the couch, and after a moment, her smile melted, just a little. Surge panicked and took her hand suddenly, having been too shocked to register the gesture at first. 

When Amy’s hand let go, Surge had to resist the urge to grab it again, to keep holding it, as if that one action could put herself at ease, at least for a little while. 

They both walked into the kitchen and took a few cookies from the plate. They were quiet at first, both waiting for the other to say something. This was a different kind of silence from earlier. There was something stretched taut between the girls; something that might have been obvious to one and completely overwhelming and terrifying to the other. Both of them waited tensely for the other to address it. 

“So…” Amy finally began, and there were smears of chocolate chips around her mouth that Surge was resisting the urge to wipe away. “Was there any particular reason you decided to make cookies for me?” 

Surge tilted her head towards Kit, who sat in the middle of the living room floor. “It was the kid’s idea,” she said. “But I mean… You were doing somethin’ cool for us, so I thought… I’d do somethin’ cool for you. I uhh… kinda fried them though.” 

Amy looked at the charred cookie remains that were now at the top of the trash can. “I can tell,” she said with a giggle. “That’s really sweet though.” 

Surge nodded, unsure how to respond, and they slipped into silence again, just as if not more unbearable than the last. She became much more keenly aware of Amy’s scent, that rosy, flowery kinda smell, and wondered why she hadn’t realized it wasn’t just her normal smell before. It had that earthy perfume-y-ness to it that seemed rather obvious now. 

She was so distracted by the smell that she hadn’t noticed Amy had come over to her side of the counter. She was close, and Surge’s stomach fluttered at the shy smile she was giving her. 

“Can I kiss you?” Amy whispered. 

Surge’s eyes went wide, her heart pounding. “You want to?” she asked, stunned. 

“I mean, yeah. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” 

Surge swallowed. “Are you sure?”

Amy nodded. 

“Okay…” Surge said, her voice shakier than she would have liked to admit. “I’ve uh… never kissed a gal before. Or… well, I don’t think.” 

Amy giggled. “No biggie,” she said. “Me either. First time for everything, right?” She sounded as nervous as Surge felt, which put her a little at ease.

Surge took a breath and nodded. Slowly, Amy leaned in, her eyes closed. After a moment, Surge leaned in to meet her. 

The moment their lips met, it felt like there was a whole lightning storm in Surge’s belly, sparking heat in her face and her ears. There was a little crackle, and she pulled away sharply. “Did I shock you?” she asked quickly. Amy looked startled as she shook her head, and Surge sighed with relief. “Okay,” she said. 

“I heard a little snap. What was that?” 

Surge shrugged. “Might have been my ears,” she muttered. 

Amy smiled at her. “Well…” she said. “I think your ears were rude for interrupting that. Should we… keep going?” 

Surge laughed. Then they resumed. 

Suffice to say, it took a little longer to get the unpacking done than they originally thought.