#Windy Harbour

[streetsofdublin]

MY REGULAR WALK ALONG A SECTION OF DUNDRUM ROAD

Windy Arbour is surrounded by several housing estates, including Columbanus. At the centre of Windy Arbour is the smaller and much older townland of Farranboley, which appears on maps dating from the 18th century.

WINDY ARBOUR VILLAGE AND NEARBY I pass through Wind Arbour Village twice every Tuesday and Saturday. Windy Arbour is surrounded by several housing estates, including Columbanus. At the centre of Windy Arbour is the smaller and much older townland of Farranboley, which appears on maps dating from the 18th century. The name of the area was originally Irish Na Glasáin, “the green land”; this was…

[rayadraws]

My Tav Cirrus as a child. He is not a fan of the dreaded tail sock (somehow it mysteriously goes missing a lot)

[hedgehog-moss]

Top 10 Best Trees in my local forest

10. I know I know this is a stump hence why it’s #10, but I love that it looks like the outline of a person’s body. A person that was drawn and quartered apparently. I should do a Top 10 Stumps one day, I’ve seen some cool ones!

9. Another stump, but I initially wanted to include this one in my top 10 as a tree, and then it was felled recently :( It was one of my favourite local trees because it had such big roots (larger than most nearby trunks!) that emerged from the ground here and there like undulating sea serpents. I was sad when it was cut but on the other hand it had the sweetest-smelling resin in the world. It was a very windy day so the smell travelled everywhere, and this tree’s fresh resin made the entire forest smell like candy floss.

8. I just like that this one looks like a busy giant centipede crossing the stream on its way somewhere. I’ve always wanted to use it as a bridge but so far I’ve not dared.

7. This one looks like it belongs in a jungle with these thick vines all over its trunk. I had the Playmobil jungle set when I was a kid and it was one of my favourite toys and I would have absolutely loved to find a jungle tree near my home.

6. This tree already looks cool during the day, but at night by torchlight these scaly-looking roots look exactly like a T-rex’s paw clawing at the ground. It’s a mandatory stop every time I go on a nighttime walk in the forest with my cats.

5. This one is unremarkable most of the year but then there’s 1 week every autumn when it just catches fire and it’s a happily-anticipated yearly event (for me).

4. Yes I’ve already made a post about the remarkable tree but I actually went to check it out since then, and it’s the most ridiculous story. 

See, there used to be a genuinely remarkable tree there and it was known as the King of the Forest. Then this tree was felled like 70 years ago but the road sign was already there, so they decided it would now refer to a nearby, nearly-as-cool-tree, which became known as the Queen of the Forest. Then the queen was also cut down. There were no other remarkable trees nearby but people still refused to remove the sign so a normal boring tree became the new remarkable tree. There’s a little sign next to it (otherwise you wouldn’t remark the new remarkable tree) explaining that this is the Viceroy of the Forest (yes, really!) and sort of summing up how this ordinary fellow came to be promoted. I didn’t take a picture of it, that’s how unremarkable it is, but I love the story behind its Viceroy title, it’s exactly this:

3. Now, this one is in the top 3 because it’s my cats’ favourite tree:

Its trunk has completely split in two and one half of it fell over but remained attached and now forms a very long arching “tongue” that touches the ground. My cats LOVE walking on it, it seems to make them feel very important, like a red carpet for cats. Unfortunately I don’t have any photos featuring cats doing their catwalk because they only accompany me at night... But look at this strange tree arch (it’s like six metres long!) and picture three important-looking cats walking on it:

2. This one is shaped like a harp!! A very beloved landmark in my woods, it makes me smile every time I walk past it.

1. This one is just excellent, green-tipped like a Caran d’Ache pastel pencil and with roots that look like they harbour a whole city of little wood sprites. (ft. a Pandolf for scale):

1. (it’s a tie) This tree might not be as cool or fun-looking as the others (although in winter it looks dashing!) but it’s the tree that marks the beginning of my land so it feels like a welcoming friend. For sentimental reasons it will be ranked first.

[ww2yaoi]

[In honour of Webgott Wednesday, here's the first scene of the other Webgott WIP I have on the go whose working title is too deranged to mention. Anyways, enjoy.]

Spring of 1952. San Francisco, California.

Joe and Web have a tradition.

In the middle of the week, every week, Joe closes up the shop for lunch and meets Web halfway to the Chronicle building in the park across from City Hall. Joe brings sandwiches he buys at the kosher deli next door and they eat and drink coffee and complain about work until their hour is up.

Today is no different. Joe finds Web in their usual spot on a wooden bench by one of the fountains, the afternoon sun beaming down and bathing the pavement in buttery light. Joe loves San Francisco in April. The air is warm and featherlight, the breeze comparatively cool with seaspray, and the soupy summer fog has yet to swallow the Bay whole. Everything feels new after winter’s damp and windy gloom, and Joe is briefly reminded of Austria, of its misty mountains and glass-like lakes. It had been a springtime of rebirth after a long, hard war.

Well, mostly.

Web is always a sight in his well-tailored suits, charcoal gray tweed today, his tie a deep maroon. He’s taken off his jacket and folded it across his knee, the sleeves of his starched white Oxford rolled up to reveal his hirsute forearms. This is his uniform now. The last time Joe saw him in ODs was probably when they disembarked in New York Harbour at the tail end of 1945. He thinks Web might have burned them.

“Hey,” Joe says.

Web beams like they didn’t just see each other this morning. “Hey.”

He hands Joe the cup of coffee that was resting on the bench beside him and Joe sits down in its place. He sets the bag of sandwiches by his feet and grabs Web’s usual order, a pastrami on rye with extra pickles.

“How was the cable car?” Joe asks like he does most weeks, passing Web his sandwich and grabbing his own, corned beef with lots of mustard.

“Swarming with tourists, as per usual,” Web says with a grimace, unwrapping the paper from his sandwich.

Joe smirks. “Y’know, some lifelong San Franciscans would consider you a tourist.”

“Ugh, don’t insult me,” Web says, shooting him a look. He takes a generous bite of his sandwich then talks out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want from me? I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Yeah, but everyone can tell you’re from New York.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you think you’re better than everyone else. The New York wafts off of you like the odour of a finely aged cheese.”

“You did not just compare me to stinky cheese.”

“Hey, I specified ‘finely aged.’ Didn’t I?”

Web rolls his eyes. “Just eat your fucking sandwich.”

Joe snickers, then takes a bite of it, chews and swallows. “How’s the paper?”

Web just shakes his head. “This election is going to be the death of me.”

“It’s seven months away,” Joe says, a pocket of corned beef in his cheek.

“That doesn’t mean the whole office isn’t worked up about it,” Web counters. “Journalists…” He trails off. “My editor is breathing down my goddamn neck.”

Joe wipes mustard from the corner of his mouth and licks it off his finger. “Well, that’s what happens when you miss deadlines, Schatz.”

“Astute observation, Lieb.” Web glowers, but Joe knows he’s just being difficult on purpose. Always the same song and dance with him. “The article isn’t right yet.”

“Which article is this again?” Joe takes a sip of his coffee. “The one about the, uh, the mayor’s daughter’s ballet recital?”

Web smacks Joe in the chest. Joe was expecting as much, and he grins at having gotten a rise out of him.

“Uh, no,” Web says insistently. “I’m writing about the steelworkers union.”

“Right, the steelworkers union.”

Joe takes another bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully. Web had probably told him about it at one point or another, probably after sex. Web has always been too talkative for his own good around Joe, but he’s especially rambly after an orgasm. Joe likely hadn’t been listening. It’s enough to keep up with the virility of a twentysomething in bed, he doesn’t need a fucking dissertation afterwards.

“How’s business at the shop?” Web asks, changing the subject.

“Slow.” Joe picks at his sandwich wrapper. “You’d think people’s hair had stopped growing.”

Web laughs. “Well, hopefully, that’s not the case. We’d probably get evicted. Maybe it’ll pick up this afternoon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Is Sal still getting on your nerves?”

Joe makes a pft sound. “Does the day of the week end in Y?”

They finish their sandwiches and coffees in companionable silence, watching as people stroll through the park with their dogs or their children who aren’t old enough to be in school yet. A well-dressed housewife walks past them pushing an expensive-looking pram. A little boy in overalls, no older than two, toddles behind her, pulling a toy truck on a string. She smiles politely at them, her eyes shaded by a pair of cat eye sunglasses and her lips a rubious red. A scarf battens down her kempt blonde curls, tied around her head with a neat bow beneath her chin.

Mom, tot, and baby are making their way to the adjacent fountain when a baby blanket hanging out of the bassinet falls to the ground. A soft pink crumple, bleached by the sunlight against the gray pavement. The woman fails to notice and her little boy pays it no mind. They continue on their walk, unaware that anything is amiss.

Before Joe can even say anything, Web is getting up from the bench and jogging over to the abandoned blanket. He scoops it off the ground and approaches the woman, getting her attention by gently tapping her on the elbow. She turns and Web presents the blanket to her like some kind of fairytale fucking prince, eliciting a wide, white smile from the woman, her teeth square and straight like a row of Chiclets. She takes off her sunglasses and places them on top of her head, probably to get a better look at Web. Joe can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

The civilian world isn’t like the Army. In the Army, a pretty face like Web’s might get you relentlessly teased, or cause the men to take you less seriously until you prove otherwise. On the outside though, it’s all anyone seems to care about. People are always accosting Web, asking him for directions or chatting him up in line at the theater or next to him on the train. In the rare instances they go out to the Old Crow or the Black Cat, Joe has to keep a firm grip on him, in case some flit tries to take Web off his hands.

Web and the woman are chatting now, glancing down every so often to look at the baby in the pram. They’re far enough away that Joe can only pick up fragments of their conversation above the rushing of the fountains. Joe catches the words ‘daughter’ and ‘paper’ and ‘sweet.’ He fishes for his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his button-up and lights one, just so he has something to do with his hands. The smoke churns in his chest and the back of his neck prickles.

The little boy is shyly clinging to his mother’s skirt. She bends over and picks him up, balancing him on her hip. Web is smiling even wider now than he was when Joe first greeted him this afternoon. He waves hello to the little boy. Joe takes another sharp drag of his cigarette as Web says his goodbyes and then walks back to the bench where Joe is still sitting.

“Nice family,” Web says, plopping himself down again.

Joe doesn’t say anything. He taps ash from his cigarette onto the ground and tries to look preoccupied. Web checks his watch. He gathers up their sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups and puts them into the paper bag to be thrown away. He’s still faintly smiling to himself as he does it. It’s just enough to make Joe’s anger boil over.

He scoffs. “Jesus, Web. Didn’t know you missed flirting with broads that much.”

Web’s head immediately snaps to the left so he can look at Joe. “What? I wasn’t flirting,” he insists. “I was just trying to be nice, and she was very clearly married.”

“Then what the hell are you smiling about?”

“Her kids! Her kids were cute,” Web says, raising his voice. He promptly lowers it as more parkgoers pass by them. “The little boy, Peter, and the baby, Judy. Christ, Joe. You know I like kids.”

Joe looks at Web. Web looks back at him. His eyes are so goddamn blue. Sometimes Joe thinks if Web were lying to him, he would be able to see it in his eyes, spot the untruth somewhere in that clear crystal blue, like a droplet of blood in water. Right now, however, all he sees is the person he loves most in this world, begging him not to be an asshole for once.

Joe’s jealousy fizzles out, mild embarrassment rushing in to take its place.

“Alright.” He shifts, letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders, and fiddles with his cigarette. “Y’know, I did hear something about you in Holland, depleting the company’s Hershey bar supply by giving chocolate to every sad Dutch kid you saw.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The corners of Web’s mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smirk, and Joe knows his attempt to break the tension has worked. “You know about that? Who told you?”

“I don’t know. Hoobler maybe.”

“Hoobler.” Web repeats the name thoughtfully, like he’s testing it out on his tongue after not saying it for a long time. “Well, in my defense, the Krauts were starving them.”

“Wow, my fuckin’ hero. Where’s your Silver Star, Web? Is it in your sock drawer with your Purple Hearts?”

“Shut up,” Web says, but there’s barely any bite to it. “How has this not come up in the last however many years?”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe we talked about it and forgot.”

The truth is, they don’t reminisce deeply about the war very often. It comes up every now and again. Sometimes they linger on the more lighthearted memories, like a particularly funny joke Luz told or the summer afternoons they spent swimming together in Lake Zell. Anything weightier than that spells trouble for the both of them. Web becomes unspeakably angry when he talks seriously about the war, while Joe feels like he could cry ten years worth of tears.

Half a decade ago, Web had given Joe a rough manuscript of his recollections to read. Joe had barely made it five pages into the thing. He’d quickly realized that if he knew the full extent of Web’s pain, he’d never be able to disentangle himself from his own. Since then, they’ve tried not to reopen the wound, although Joe supposes that implies it closed in the first place.

Web checks his watch again. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Well, then, you better go.”

“Alright.”

Web squeezes Joe’s knee — about all the affection they can get away with in public — and gets to his feet, coolly draping his suit jacket over his right shoulder like he thinks he’s Frank Sinatra or something.

“Thanks for lunch, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, Dave.”

Web turns and smiles at him, walking backwards in the direction of Market Street to catch another cable car.

“Ich liebe dich,” he says in German, in case anyone is listening. “Du bist mein Leben, meine Familie, mein Lieber.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe waves him off. “All the same to you, kid.”

Web laughs, boisterous and beautiful, then finally turns his back to Joe. Joe watches him go, then heads off in the opposite direction.

[This fic is currently at 28k and hopefully I will finish it AT SOME POINT.]

[kometqh]

𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐭.𝟐 (fem reader) 𝟗.𝟕𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.

As the words leap off the tip of my tongue, I freeze. Time stills, and all that I can hear and feel is the hurried beat of my heart. The tips of my fingers begin to prick, just like on that day.

I'm taken back to an icy, cold, windy day. Some of the water at the harbour had frozen over, large shards of ice hitting against the wooden structure. We were carrying large nets filled with all kinds of creatures; fish, crab, lobster, abalone, the whole lot. The children would often come to help out, as the work was long, tiring and difficult, stretching out until it became pitch black outside.

Me and Annie had been helping my mother out with carrying the nets, as she had been pregnant back then, her stomach too large to let her do anything but sit and debone the fish, or pack it away into freezing boxes that were to be transported straight to the Capitol.

On that day, the excess water that had been brought by the creatures had dripped heavily onto the wooden flooring, freezing over. Everyone was aware of it, some going out of their way to warn the others. I listened, focusing on the floor beneath my feet. It creaked heavily, and Annie had to catch me by my arm a couple of times. 

I remember it like it was just yesterday; the water was scalding cold.

It pricked at my skin with invisible nails, burning every inch of it through my coat. The water had instantly gotten through my throat, and then it began to freeze my lungs over. My hands felt like burning icicles, but I did my best to swim my way up, panicking for air. Gurgled screams escaped my throat.

I didn't swim for long enough, as my limbs began to become numb. I had ceased all of my movement, convinced that I was gonna to die. Feeling too worn out to continue swimming, even though just a mere moment ago I was ferociously fighting for my life. 

The cold was engulfing me like a spikey blanket, wrapping around every crevice of my body as my lungs sputtered out water, though more replaced it in mere seconds. My entire body kept twitching, but the icy water kept burning me. 

My body began to slowly sink, exhaustion taking over as I inched further down, surrounded by darkness.

Then, in the far distance, I saw it. The splash.

I saw it from the corner of my eye, a figure swimming towards me. At first it was just a blur of bronze, but then it became slightly clearer. Arms extended, it reached out to grab a hold of my hand and pulled, and I floated up after it towards the surface, arms latched loosely around his neck. My eyes slowly closed, too exhausted to stay awake.

I don't remember anything after that. All I know is that it hurt, and I almost died. I struggled to walk for a while, the stinging pain reappearing from time to time.

That's how I felt in this moment; legs frozen, heart pounding violently, lungs burning. I guess it took me too long to keep moving, as I quickly felt a pair of hands harshly grab my arms from each side, ushering me up and onto the stage.

"Wonderful!" Sylvia Borgnino exclaims, reaching her pointy gloved fingers towards me. "What is your name darling?" She asks in a heavy accent, her breath lightly fanning over my face as she leans in close. I clear my throat, looking between her own honey-brown eyes and the audience. "Y-Y/n..." I stutter, feeling my hands tremble.

"Y/n?" Sylvia asks, her eyebrows raised questioningly, nudging me on.

"Y/n Montford." I finish quietly, my throat has dried up, my voice coming out croaky and timid. I look around, noticing the shocked faces of the people around me. Some of our school friends have taken Annie to the side, consoling her with hugs as they all solemnly stared at me.

Suddenly I feel a light squeeze on my forearm, and look up to see Sylvia looking at me gleefully. "Our most recent tribute in District 4! Let's give her a round of applause, everyone!" She excitedly speaks into the microphone, clapping her gloved hands. Some people in the audience join, not out of excitement or joy, but rather out of respect. Or so I assume. I wouldn't know.

Clearing her throat, Sylvia begins, "Thank you! Now, onto the male tributes." She says gleefully, stepping over to the other glass bowl, repeating the same actions before dipping her hand in, fishing around for that one piece of paper. Once she found it, she walked back over to the podium, leaning over slightly. "And the male tribute from District 4 is... Beau Murland! A round of applause for him, everyone!" She shouts excitedly, clapping her hands once again.

Some people form an empty circle around a young boy, he must be no older than 14. He was stuck in place, his wide, innocent eyes staring ahead at the stage. Someone in the crowd poked him, fishing him out of whatever trance he put himself into. With small, timid steps, he made his way over to the stage, hugging himself.

Now that he was closer, I could see his features clearer. He had big, bright blue eyes that stared into your soul, soft wavy caramel hair, and sun-kissed skin. He just barely reached the height of my shoulder. He looked skinny and frail, like he barely ate. Sylvia quickly begins asking for any tributes, but no one speaks up. The mayor quickly takes over, beginning to speak out a memorised essay on the Treaty of Treason, as he does every year. It goes by quickly, and before I know it, me and the boy are being asked to shake hands, before the national anthem begins to play. From there, we're escorted by peacekeepers into the Justice Building, led to separate rooms before the doors are closed on me.

I sighed loudly, the initial shock having washed away like a morning breeze. I turned away from the door, and was welcomed by a grand, red room. The windowsills seemed to be lined with gold, glazing lazily in the sunlight that streamed through. There were curtains that extended all the way to the ceiling, probably made of some expensive material. In the middle of the room there was a couch and two armchairs, a coffee table separating all three. Further down, against a wall, a big chimney rested, but there was no fire crackling.

I seat myself down in the middle of the couch, gasping quietly at the sheer softness of it. To be honest, I have never felt such luxury. What was it? Velvet or something?

With a loud creak, the big wooden doors slid open, and I was greeted with the sight of my teary-eyed mother and trembling little sister. As the peacekeeper closed the door behind them, I stood up, not daring to move in fear of my legs trembling. Hali ran up to me, and her slender arms encircled my waist. Her tears stained my dress, but I didn't mind. 

My mother stayed a bit back, a pained expression present on her face. Her hand was covering her mouth, though I could tell there was a scowl on her face, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Why-" She paused, taking a deep shaky breath. "Why did you volunteer?" She asked quietly, yet still loudly enough for me to hear. I shook my head, closing my eyes as I felt tears well up. 

"I- I don't know. I had to." I respond, and my chest begins heaving up and down, and I begin to hiccup. "Annie has- she's helped us so much... I owe it to her." I say quietly, my hand caressing Hali's head. A loud sob escaped her lips. 

An exhausted sigh leaves my mothers' lips, and she sniffles.

"You don't owe her anything! It's normal for everyone to help each other out, that's how we live!" My mother shouts, hiding her face in her hand. "Y-you're just throwing your life away... If you hadn't volunteered, you'd be free." She says quietly, more to herself than to me. Her legs slowly begin moving, and she's quickly pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. 

The three of us stand there for a bit, just embracing and crying. Hali's sobs began to quieten down, but she's started biting down on her nails. "Hali, stop it. You'll hurt yourself." I mutter quietly, taking her hand into my own, squeezing it reassuringly.

She shakes her head, and more tears spill out. I pull away from my mom, and lead them to sit on the couch on either side of me. 

"Take care of yourselves, okay?" I asked, looking between the two as I caressed Hali's head. My mother nodded, her hand coming up to hold my cheek. "We'll be okay. And so will you. You have Finnick, he w-won his games right?" My mother asked, stumbling over her own words. I nodded my head, before leaning into her hold.

"I'll be okay..." I whispered brokenly. We sat there in silence for the remaining few minutes, exchanging hugs. As the peacekeepers escorted them out, I shouted 'I love you's' to them. My mother opened her lips to respond, more tears escaping her eyes but the door was slammed in my face before I could hear what she said. A strangled sob left my lips, and in a combination of frustration and stress, I kicked the door, slamming my fist against it with a strained scream.

After a minute or so, it opened again. 

I saw her fiery red hair first, bouncing up and down as she ran over to me, tears streaming down her face yet again.

"Y/n! Why?! Why did you volunteer for me?!" She shouted at me, shaking my shoulders. Her nails dug into my skin, and her eyes looked desperately into mine. 

"You didn't have to and you know it! What if something happens to you?! What if you get seriously injured or- or killed?!" Annie continued, leaning her head on my chest. Her voice was strained and hoarse. I held her in my arms, gently stroking soothing circles into her back, as I always would. After a while, she looked up at me, her eyes teary and her face flushed.

"I'll look after your mom and sister, I promise." She said quietly, resting her chin on my shoulder. "When you're in there-" She paused, taking a shaky breath. "You won't need to worry about them, okay?" She asked, her hand caressing the back of my head, the other caging me against her body.

I nodded my head, looking up to the ceiling as tears began to prick at my waterline, "I'd appreciate that, thanks." I say, my voice tender, barely above a whisper. 

I squeezed her tighter, and we sat there silently comforting each other until the peacekeepers returned, escorting Annie out of the room, just like they did with my mother and sister. For a minute or two, the room is completely silent. My breaths are shallow, and I've successfully stopped the tears from falling.

I won't cry. I can't cry.

I sit there for a while, and soon the doors open once again. For a moment I believe that the peacekeepers will take me to the car, but I'm faced with a much more disappointing sight.

"What are you doing here?!" I screech, my lips forming into a disgusted scowl. The sight of him made me sick. He was a tall, skinny man. His skin was saggy, hanging onto his body, and he was permanently stuck looking tired and sickly.

He took his hat off, twisting it between his hands. He sighed heavily, smacking his lips. For a moment, he said nothing. But then he began. 

"I- I came to wish you luck. Sweetheart, I know I hurt you, but you must know I still care about you." He said quietly, keeping his distance. "I know you don't want to see me, but I had to give you this." He said, stepping closer as he extended his hand to me, something green and golden glinting in his palm. I know what it is- 

"It was your grandmothers... I kept it after she passed away," He pauses, stopping in his tracks. His gaze shifts from anywhere, to my eyes, and I can see the pain in them. "She wanted you to have this, so take it, it'll keep you safe." He insisted, and had come close enough to place the bracelet into my hand. My heart swelled, and I became overcome with pain. 

After my grandmother passed, my scumbag of a father had packed his bags and left for another woman, leaving no trace of himself or my beloved grandma in the house. 

"I hate you..." I said quietly, my heart hurting too much to even be angry. I spun the bracelet in my palm, though slowly and gently, I was suddenly afraid that it would break if I held it too hard.

"I know, I know you do. But I needed to give you this. No matter how much you hate me, I still love you." My father says quietly, looking into my eyes hopefully. 

I shake my head, looking away. "Get out."

A gasp escaped his lips, and I raise my voice. "Get out!"

I can hear his footsteps moving away, but I'm not looking. Instead, I stare out the grand window, my arms crossed over my chest as my thumb massages over the bracelet. I can hear the door opening and closing, before I'm completely swallowed by a deafening silence. 

I swallow thickly, and a lone, strangled sob escapes my throat. I refuse to cry though, as he doesn't deserve my tears, or sympathy or gratefulness. I continue to stare out of the window, at the beautiful garden behind the Justice Building, until the peacekeepers come to retrieve me. I put the bracelet on though, afraid that I'll lose it otherwise.

The peacekeepers reappear after a short time, and escort me out to the car. When I arrive, the other boy is already sat there, twiddling with his thumbs, head hanging low. Next to him is sat Sylvia, the announcer and District escort, looking at a notebook as she busies herself with ticking something off. I seat myself next to her, and the door is promptly shut on me.

No words are exchanged, and the car ride is short and swift. 

The cameras are relentless and blinding. The crowds of cameras are thick, and refuse to make way for us. I look at the train ahead, patiently waiting for us to board it. And then I catch a glimpse of myself on a large TV screen. 

I look confused, shell-shocked. My eyebrows are scrunched together, the corners of my lips tugging downwards. The boy next to me, Beau, looks absolutely terrified. It is clear that he has been crying, his cheeks are freshly stained red, his hair unruly and tremors gloss over him from time to time.

The cameras continue to bombard us with clicking sounds and flashing lights, taking pictures of every angle until we reach the doors of the train. Sylvia instructs me and Beau to smile and wave, and even insists on me blowing kisses into the lenses. 

Eventually we're let onto the train, the doors behind us zipping shut. I have to take a moment to adjust to the barely-lit train cart, as I can still see the colourful lights flashing in my vision. I'm quickly pushed into another cart by Sylvia, who doesn't give us a moment to recollect our thoughts. 

Finnick and Mags are already there, sat waiting at a dining table. Sylvia ushers us forward, her heels no longer making that daunting clicky-clacking sound as she walks over a soft carpet. Finnick turns in his seat, his gaze instantly catching mine, observing.

I don't lift a finger, don't utter any words. Instead, I shift my gaze to look over the interior of the cart. There are large, crystal-clear windows, thick mahogany curtains embracing the edges, and golden ropes keeping the curtains bound to the sides. The carpet itself is also red, with golden lining travelling parallel on both sides as it extends into another cart. Most of the furniture is silver; chairs, table, sofas, cupboards. The wallpaper is a faint blue, with diamond shaped-patterns stretching out across the expanse of the cart.

A voice rips through the air, struggling. I look to the source of it, and notice Mags trying to speak. She gestures for us to sit down, and we reluctantly do so. Beau takes the empty seat next to Mags, whereas I have to sit next to Finnick. 

"So," Mags starts, taking in a breath, "How are y-you two feeling?" Her voice is quiet, croaky, and her accent is much more noticeable than mine or Finnick's.

I look to Beau, who stares at his hands. I look back to Mags, and manage a faint smile. 

"Not so good, but does anyone feel good after realising they're taking a train to their death?" I ask quietly, my smile faltering as I look away, rubbing my arm. She heaves a heavy sigh, moving around a bit. 

She coughs quietly, and it's evident that she is struggling to speak. 

"Me and Finnick are going to do our best, okay you two?" She asks again, her hand shakily moving to hold Beau's in a tight grip as we both see that the boy has started to tremble.

Beau takes in a deep, shaky breath, and shakes his head. "I don't want to die, I can't die. What will happen to my sister?" He asks, his free hand coming up to wipe away his tears. Mags has a big frown on her face as she moves her chair closer to Beau, holding him in her embrace. "You'll be okay, child. When Finnick was your age, he won the games. You can do the same." She reassures, clearing her throat as she shakes her head.

I look towards Finnick, and notice that his eyes are slightly puffy. His gaze is fixed on Mags, and he doesn't acknowledge me or Sylvia.

He's silent throughout the rest of the interaction, but his hand eventually inches downward, his fingers tracing the silver framing of my chair, dancing over it. I look down at it as Mags, Sylvia and Beau talk to each other, digging into their food that the kitchen staff had brought for us. All of a sudden, his fingers wrap over the framing, and pull on my chair until it's close enough for our arms to touch. Though it doesn't ease the constant ache in the pit of my stomach, it feels nice to have his skin brush mine, even if it's not romantic whatsoever. It's still enough to make my heart rate spike, and my breathing to become shallower. 

I turn to face him, looking at his eyes, but he's not looking at me.   

If he were to turn his head to look at me...We'd kiss.

I force myself to look away and towards Mags as I feel the heat suddenly rush up to my cheeks.

Turning to the trio, I tune in on their conversation. Mags was speaking quietly, just barely above a whisper. She was asking Beau about any special talents that he may have, and at that, Beau straightened up, dropping his cutlery, his face flushing instantly.

"I... I can sing." He responded, his voice as light as a feather, and a small, barely noticeable smile tugged at his lips. At that, Sylvia's eyebrows rose, and she looked up from her food, intrigued. "Well then, can you sing for us?" She asks, placing her cutlery down, placing her elbows on the table as she locks her hands together. So now she's paying attention.

"W-well, I don't know that many songs!" Beau exclaimed, an unsure laugh leaving his lips as he scratched the back of his head. "My mom taught me a few bits and bobs, b-but that's it really!" He continued, looking between Mags and Sylvia, before he turned to me, diverting their attention.

"Do you have any special skill? Uh-" He asked, pausing a little as he looked away, scratching at his chin. "Y/n, was it?" He looked to me, his eyes glinting with uncertainty. I nodded my head, biting down on some duck meat. I take a moment to chew, before replying with, "Yeah, uh, I'm not sure if it counts as a 'special' skill but..." I paused for a second, thinking of my answer. "I'm quite good at playing the guitar." I continue, looking down at my plate. 

I had gotten myself a rather large portion of a duck, some mashed potatoes and greens. I opted for a simple combination, as the chefs had brought more food than any of us could eat. It was so much better than any meal I have ever tasted, the duck was juicy and tender, melting away in my mouth. The potatoes were smooth and soft, with a hint of salt in them. 

Though I can confidently say it doesn't beat my mothers fish stew. Nothing beats home cooking.

 I feel Finnick shifting next to me, and from the corner of my eye I can see that he's looking at me. For a moment, I doubt that he'll say anything.

"I believe I've made up a plan." He says curtly, reaching for my hand. He takes hold of it, pressing the plush skin of my fingertips, scarred by numerous hours of practice, feeling how it springs back. Everyone's attention has turned to him, and nobody speaks. 

"For now, I believe that the best way to gain sponsors is for the two of you to stick together," He pauses, looking between me and Beau. 

"Beau. You're small, you're adorable. During your interview, Caesar will lead the conversation. It would be a good idea to offer to sing for the audience, if you're nervous." Finnick pauses, waiting for some sort of response from Beau. 

The boy nods, his big eyes gazing up at Finnick from underneath thick eyelashes.

Finnick then turns to me, his hand having shifted from my fingertips to the bracelet I was given just a few hours prior. He spun it slowly around my wrist, his eyes fixed on the object.

"As for you, Y/n, I think Caesar will be willing enough to make some... Accommodations." He states, his thumb glazing over the bracelet, tracing its' golden lining. 

"I'll speak to him beforehand, and ask him to prepare a guitar for you, so that you can play a song. It'll create a kind of 'connection' between you and Beau, the audience will love it." He finishes, looking up into my eyes. 

"How are we going to do that?" I ask, swallowing the shame I feel as he rests my hand on his thigh. "It's quite simple, really." He quickly replies. "With your guitar, you and Beau can work on a song together. I'm sure the editors will make a montage of sorts, pairing Beau's singing with your guitar. It'll make the audiences go wild." He finishes, and for the rest of the evening doesn't say add on much else, leaving the planning to Mags and Sylvia, with Beau and I occasionally butting in.

After all of us finish eating, and the conversation dries up, Mags quickly ushers me and Beau to our chambers, mumbling about how we're going to have a busy day tomorrow.

The silver doors once again zip shut behind me, but this time I'm left all on my own. All on my own to process the days' events, emotions and weariness. In my room, there is a simple bathroom, it is adorned with a pretty white porcelain sink, a cubed shower, and a large mirror.

There is a whole collection of soaps and shampoos to choose from, and I decide on a honey-scented soap, and a chocolate-scented shampoo. Chocolate is some sort of dark brown, squared treat that nobody in District 4 has even dreamed of. 

The walls are tiles in the colour of a deep red, and the ceiling light casts a golden glow on the interior, creating a false sense of comfort.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I strip, observing my skin, the different marks, moles and bruises that decorate it. I look at my face, noticing the deep shadows, or rather eyebags, that hang on the crease under my eyes, painting the area a darker tone of my skin. My hair, once a beautiful picture-perfect net impersonation, is now a tangled mess, and I hiss in my pain as I tug at the knots in it. This will be a long night, I think to myself.

A shiver runs down my spine as I step into the shower. The small cube-shaped space consists of clear doors, a porcelain seat of sorts and a tiled floor with a drain situated just below the showerhead. The water is at first scalding hot, burning my skin before I'm able to adjust the heat. After that, it's all bliss and comfort as I dip my head under the water, the droplets feeling like a warm summer sprinkle. I've never had a shower; those are only accessible to the wealthiest.

Usually, at least in my area of District 4, we have showers just outside of our houses, sheltered away from curious, and perverted, onlookers by four wooden walls and a roof. There is a pipe that connects to another pipe that connects to some treated water, and although it's freezing cold, it is much better having that than sea water. After spending hours on a boat fishing, or working at the harbour, many people grow to hate the salty wrinkles that take hours to completely disappear, only to reappear the next working day.

But this water is so much different. Warm and gentle, it detangles my hair, and cascades down my back, easing my sore muscles. I've never felt such luxury. Does everyone in the Capitol have access to this?

I lather my hair with the sweet shampoo, and have to fight off the urge to taste it. My fingers move across my scalp, rubbing the liquid into the roots. It takes a while to wash out, but I eventually get out of the shower, brushing through my hair with my fingers.

After I leave the bathroom, having washed myself and brushed my teeth, I feel as though I just left heaven. My muscles feel relaxed, my head is in a state of bliss.

As I sink into the bed, I am welcomed by the soft material of the sheets. The sheets wrap around me, my body melting into the soft mattress, swallowed by warmth and fuzziness. For a moment, I am stuck in that blissful state, but then my mind wanders.

Do Capitol citizens have access to this? Do any Districts have access to this kind of luxury? Is it 24/7, or do only the wealthiest have access? It doesn't seem fair. 

But I shake those thoughts away. After all, I will most likely be dead soon. It won't matter anymore, whether I suffer or not. Another tribute will probably kill me quickly and swiftly, ending my short-spanned life. 

The least I can do for myself now is enjoy the luxury that is being thrown so viciously at me. For the first time in my life, I've been able to go to bed with a full belly. For the first time in my life, I feel relaxed after washing myself. For the first time in my life, I can go to sleep without any pain, or hunger, or anything. Just bliss. Just comfort. Just luxury.

But that doesn't last long either. Oh, I forgot. Materialistic luxury is fleeting, sleep is the true luxury. But even now, as I'm trapped in this rich-laid room, I cannot afford the luxury of sleep. I twist and turn in the bed for what feels like hours, unable to sleep. 

My stomach twists into knots, and I soon have to take the duvet off of me, as I'm drenched in sweat. The stillness of the room allows my thoughts to wander. 

I'm scared. I'm absolutely fucking terrified. I just willingly threw myself into the hands of death. What was I thinking? That I can win the Games? That I can kill someone, let alone a child? Children?

I take in a deep breath, feeling as the air enters my lungs, and a shiver runs down my spine. The heat I was feeling just moments ago has dissipated, and I'm left a trembling, cold mess. 

I wrap the duvet over myself again, trying to contain the tremors. I'm shivering uncontrollably, my legs and arms twitching as I pull the duvet impossibly closer.

I start thinking of Hali and my mom. Of Annie, her tear-stricken face, the mess her flaming hair had become in her panic. I think of Finnick. Was he disappointed by the fact I had volunteered? Was he angered by it?

I couldn't tell. But it didn't matter in the end; I couldn't let Annie go into that arena. She was too kind, too gentle, too fragile. If there is a world full of those who deserve to be put into an arena, fighting to the death like wild animals, Annie isn't a part of that world. She took care of me after my deep-dive into the icy waters, helped my mother nurse me back to health, she took care of me when we were kids, provided me company and listened to all my secrets and grievances, helped me deal with my fathers sudden abandonment. And now has even promised to look after my loved ones as I willingly shove myself into a gruesome bloodbath.

I could never repay her. I could never repay her for all the things she's done for me and my family.

With a loud sigh, I sit up, clutching the bedsheets tightly in my fists. With the back of my hand I wipe away a few stray tears.

A cup of water sounds nice. 

I put on a bathrobe that has been hung in a fancy wardrobe, still shivering, I put on my fluffy slippers, and press a button. The doors in front of me zip open, shaking lightly as the train passes over something rough.

The corridors are dark, as only a single light shines. I trudge through the cart, sliding another door open. It's even darker in here, this cart being much longer than the one that carried Beau and I, and I think Mags and Finnick and Sylvia have their rooms in here. I quietly walk through, looking at the doors. Maybe Finnick is behind one of them, and if he is, then it's just my luck.

His silence at the dinner table was unnerving. I need to know what he was thinking.

There's two doors on my left, and one to the right. Any normal person would assume the left is for the ladies, right? With that, I gently knock on the door to my right, and I hear someone shuffling about, before the doors slide open and I'm standing face to chest with a shirtless Finnick Odair.

At my height, the tip of my head reaches just the top of Finnick's shoulders. Goddamn, was he always so freakishly tall? I slowly look up to him, my neck bending slightly. He's already staring at me, though there is haziness in those beautiful green eyes of his. 

He doesn't utter a word, and instead reaches for my hand - his skin is scalding hot against my icy hands - and he swiftly pulls me into his room, the doors sliding shut. I bump into his chest head-first.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" He asks, his voice as warm and sweet as honey. I almost melt on the spot, though the shivers continue travelling down my whole body. It takes me a whole minute to compose myself. He definitely knows I like him. My lips open and close, no words leaving, and I'm stuck. What did I come to him for again? With a sigh, Finnick gently takes a hold of my hand and leads me to his bed. As he sits me down on it, I notice that it is far bigger than mine. That's unfair. Though he is the 'Capitol darling'.

"C'mon darling, I'm waiting." He says softly, again. He stands in front of me, and I finally realise that I'm gaping at him like a fish. 

I take a sudden, sharp breath and shake my head. "Uh... I- I needed to talk to you..." I whispered, blinking slowly like a child. A soft smile tugs at his lips, and I instantly know that whatever mood he was in earlier, it's definitely gone now.

"So? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He asks, sitting down next to me. He sits criss-crossed, his knee digging into my side. He pulls me closer, rubbing my arm with his hand, muttering something about how cold I was. 

He sure was muscular. What did he do all day? Exercise? I doubt it.

I think for a moment, trying to finalise my words, but with a shake of my head, I decide to shoot straight. "Why were you so quiet at the dinner? I thought you'd be helping out more," I say softly, unsure of whether to continue or not. I look up into his eyes, and see a glint of softness shining in them, "I mean, I know what you're like... But- But it made me nervous..." I finish, looking away and instead choosing to focus on how the skin has begun to peel from my cuticles.

Finnick sighs quietly, his free hand reaching to hold my own.

"I wasn't angry with you, nor disappointed if that's what you're thinking." He states softly, and I swear my heart will collapse if he continues to be so sweet and soft. "It's just that-" He pauses, casting his gaze elsewhere, "I just couldn't imagine what you felt, when you volunteered." He says, gently stroking my hand with his thumb. "You're so good to Annie, you'd do anything for her. And I think it was really selfless." He finished. The words bounced around my head, the meaning completely avoiding any sort of understanding.

Another tremor goes through me, and I tuck my legs against my chest, teeth chattering.

My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. 

"What do you mean? Annie's the amazing one, not me." I scoff. I shake my head, looking up at him. Just how delusional is he? Me? Selfless? Somehow I can't see how the two mix well together.

Finnick's grip on my hand tightens, and he heaves a sigh. "See, you don't actually realise just how kind you are. I mean- Y-You literally provide for Annie and her father. You helped me out so much, you listened to me when I needed an ear." He says, his tone shifting to a more annoyed one.

I look at him in disbelief.

"You're kidding, right? I mean-" I pause, releasing a shaky breath. "Y-you're the one that saved me. Annie's the one that took care of me. You think I wouldn't do everything in my power to repay you?" I asked, tugging my hand away. "You're being ridiculous, Finnick." I quickly add on, but Finnick completely ignores me, instead opting to change the conversation. 

I don't know if I'm genuinely upset by his words, or if it's the adrenaline that's rushing through me. I rub at my arms, frantically attempting to warm up.

Finnick doesn't reply for a moment, and as I stare at him, I notice how prettily his hair falls over his forehead, a few strands extending over his lash line. 

He sighs quietly, and turns to me again.

"We're not going to argue about this. I see no point in it, and you're clearly too anxious." He says, pulling me closer to his chest. I don't resist or pull away, instead I lean into his warmth. 

"I-I couldn't- I couldn't sleep." Softly I admit.

"I thought so... It would be weird if you were completely fine." He responded, his voice was like honey, dripping sweetly into my ears, warming my heart.

"I know it's weird of me to ask, but... Can I stay with you? Just for tonight, I promise." I ask, my gaze fixed on a hair strand that stuck out in front of my face. I don't hear a response, but Finnick doesn't waste a second to lift me up, moving the duvet before placing my body down on the bed, joining after.

"C'mon then, we don't have all night." He gestures to me, a cheeky smile on his face. That's the Finnick I know. I nod silently, and clamber further up the bed. Finnick pats the empty spot beside him, and as I join, he drapes the velvety duvet over the two of us, before his toned, muscular arm slides beneath my neck. He brings me in closer, and my face rests against his hot chest, the warmth radiating off him as if he was the sun. My own, personal sun.

"We're gonna be cuddling?" I ask, giggling slightly. The shivers have eased, though my hand is still quite shaky. Unsure of where to go, I rest my hand on his toned stomach, fingers itching to glide over his skin, to feel every crevice and stretch of skin that he can offer. I've never been this close to him... Am I going feral? What the hell?

Finnick chuckles in reply, and I feel him shifting slightly again. I look up to him, and notice that he's already staring at me, a toothy grin stretching through his lips. "If you have a problem with it, then I can sleep on the floor. That'd be more favourable, wouldn't it?" His voice is low and gravelly, but also husky and comforting, his hand softly stroking circles into the skin on my arm. I shake my head with a smile and thank him.

We sit like this for a while, just feeling each others warmth. It's much better than sleeping alone, that's for sure. Finnick's natural scent has long since invaded my lungs, but I feel myself becoming drowsy, enamoured by his every characteristic. The hand that was stroking my arm eventually stopped, but he never ceased to hold me tight to him, his nose stroking against my hair as he breathed softly.

No words were exchanged, and we laid there for hours. I would often drip in and out of consciousness, startling the two of us awake with a loud gasp. He would comfort me, realising that I was constantly having nightmares, and he would lull me back into sleep with his honeyed voice, whispering sweet nothings into my ears.

Eventually, Finnick moved positions, turning his body sideways, pulling me even closer into his chest - if that was physically possible. Now, with my face flushed against his chest, I could fully relax. It may have been a bit much, but I lazily draped my leg over his own, not thinking in my drowsiness. Though it seemed to help, as my breathing steadied and I almost lulled myself back into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, at least.

Finnick's soft voice gently awoke me, but it sounded as though he'd also been dosed with the natural sleep syrup.

"It's just like back then, isn't it?" He asks sleepily, his voice raspy. His body had slid further down the bed until my nose rested against his neck, inhaling his sickly-sweet scent. I nod my head lazily, grunting out a throaty 'mmm' in response. I earned myself a chuckle, and a quick 'I'll let you sleep now', before I completely drifted out of consciousness.

I don't wake up again on that night, but slowly rouse myself awake as I feel the sunrays poking at my closed eyes. 

I can't move, as Finnick's arms grip my body, keeping me close to his own. For a while, I lay there, content with just laying with my eyes closed with Finnick holding me.

But the growing anxiety in my stomach gnaws at my nerves, and I can feel my pulse in my ear.

Though I try to fight it, I eventually raise my head, peeking over Finnick's broad shoulder. Still sleepy, I act before I can think. Placing my hand on his waist, I lean in close enough so that my nose nuzzles against his bicep, inhaling Finnick's sickly-sweet scent. It comforts me enough to settle my nerves. 

It's a surprise that I'm not sick of it already.

My eyes slowly flutter open, and I have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the light. The train is still moving, though now we're passing by a grand lake, surrounded by some mountains. Wherever we are at, it sure is beautiful. I look down to Finnick, and a startled sound escapes me as his eyes are already boring into mine, though tiredly. No matter the time of day or night, Finnick Odair will always find it in himself to dish out sarcasm. "Having fun, sweetheart?" He asks, though by the look in his eyes, I can see that he needs no answer.

I shake my head, feeling my cheeks flush out of embarrassment. Did he really just lay there? Whilst I literally nuzzled my nose against him? Am I crazy?! Or... Is he?

I can't form a single reply, and my mind goes blank. May the arena take me already.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" He nudges further, that toothy grin making a reappearance as the sun lazily glosses over his skin. I shake my head 'no', though still can't form a single sentence. I swallow heavily, and take a deep breath.

"Isn't it- Isn't it time?" I ask, feeling my brain short-circuiting.

"Time for what?" Asks Finnick, shuffling lightly. His voice is gravelly and husky from sleep. My fingers gently grip at his flesh, unknowingly. "That tickles y'know." He says, chuckling under his breath.

"What?" I ask, confused.

He doesn't say anything, but instead his gaze points towards my hand, his eyebrows rising slightly. My nails are lightly digging into his skin. I blink once, then I blink once again. As if he just burned me, I retract my hand instantly, hiding it behind my back. I take a deep breath, focusing on letting it out slowly. With an accusatory tone, I ask, "How long have you been awake?"

Finnick laughs, crinkles of skin appearing at the outer corners of his eyes, paired with the dimples that form whenever there is even the tiniest hint of a smile. "Long enough for me to feel you sniffing my arm." He admits, still amused. My face grows red, and I could swear steam was coming out of my ears. A shiver runs through me.

Before I can ask any further questions, or even think of a reply, someone's knocking on the door. Then, a panicked Sylvia Borgnino is speaking.

"Finnick? Finnick are you awake?! You better be!" She shouts, and Finnick swiftly gets out of the bed to open the door. His back is muscular and toned... Wow.

The doors slide open, and he asks, "Sylvia? Did you need anything?" Leaning lazily with his body against the doorframe.

"Yes! I did. I went to wake Y/n but she's not answering the door! Come and-" She pauses, as her eyes catch onto someone in Finnick's bed. "Is that-" She pauses, her fingers reaching up to massage her temple, taking a deep breath. "Is that Y/n?" Finnick slowly turns his head, locking eyes with me, he winks, before he nods, and turns back to Sylvia.

"Yeah, it is." He confirms, his head resting on the doorframe. "Did you need anything from us? 'Cause if not... Then I'll get back to what we were doing." He says, his voice raspy from sleeping, yet still soft and melodic. I can almost hear him smirking.

I can hear a gasp, followed by a, "Where are your manners, Finnick?!" Her tone is accusatory as I see Sylvia eyeing Finnick up and down, a clear scowl on her face. She huffs out a breath, and tiptoes to see over his shoulder.

"Hi...Sylvia?" I ask carefully, my voice light and high-pitched as I'm uncertain of what her reaction will be. Her eyebrows are scrunched up in disapproval, and she doesn't respond to me. Instead, she turns to Finnick, glaring at him with a glint of danger in her eyes. "You two better be ready in 20 minutes! If either of you are late I-" She exclaims, but pauses as she deliberates on what to say. "I'll make sure you two regret it!" And with that she leaves, her footsteps thumping down along the corridor.

"She seemed... Pretty angry." I say quietly, meddling with my bracelet, unsure of Finnick's own mood. Though he is quick to reply, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "She certainly is, she won't let us forget this for a while I don't think." He finishes, scrunching his nose at me, a smile now prominent. The crinkles beneath his eyes deepen with the scrunch, and his dimples make an appearance. I laugh quietly, covering my smile with my palm.

"No, no don't cover yourself honey. You don't need to hide your smile from me." He says, his voice hushed yet soft, as he crawls on the bed towards me. He maintains steady eye contact, and neither of us are willing to look away. If I were to look away now, I'd feel as though I've lost a battle.

I feel myself slipping away, drowning in his sea-green eyes, unable to escape. His gaze is hooded, his long eyelashes lazily fanning over his eyes. I blink rapidly, feeling my breathing becoming heavy. His voice, as sweet as Sleep Syrup, whisks me away back into the present. "Well then, shall we get ready?" He asks, now having laid his chin on my outstretched legs, his hands sturdily holding onto my calves.

I gulp, and nod my head, though neither of us move.

Finnick continues to lay still, his eyes boring into mine. I gently nudge him with my foot, which seems to get a reaction. He slowly rises back onto all fours, and proceeds to get off of me. He walks up to my side of the bed, hand outstretched. He wiggles his fingers, and that toothy grin returns.

"C'mon, I'll take you back to your room. Once you're done, I'll meet you in the dining room." He states, and I lend him my hand. He swiftly pulls me up and we proceed to my room. The walk isn't long, but I'm unwilling to let him go, fear flushing over my body like a wave.

"Finnick..."

"You okay honey?" He asks, not sparing a moment to think to respond to me, it felt very much instinctual. I hesitate, and decide not to pursue the topic. "Nevermind, it's okay. I-I'll see you in a bit." I smile unsurely, waving him away, although he remains still, his eyebrows scrunched up in concern.

"If you wanna talk, if there's something on your mind, you can tell me, Y/n." He says, his voice having taken on a serious undertone. I nod my head with a small smile and thank him, before I step into my room and the door slides shut, separating us.

I take a quick shower, the warm artificial rain slightly easing my nerves, I brush my teeth and change my clothes before I take one last look in the mirror. My hair looks fine, my teeth are clean, but I can still feel the rattling of my heart, the shakiness ghosting my legs, and the pricking of nails at my hands.

I shake my head, taking a deep breath. This is not the time, I think to myself, and exit my room.

The train is eerily quiet as it travels. It is much different on the inside than it is to the outside. Whenever I got to see a train, I was overcome with fear and anxiety, as it would travel awfully fast and make tons of noise. It would make me terrified and anxious, and although I'm on the inside of the train, those same feelings are now making an appearance.

I continue on, my feet shuffling towards the next cart, though I feel them becoming numb.

There is loud chatter coming from the room, and as I come closer, I can hear Beau telling a story, and soon I can see Finnick and Mags listening intently, giving their breadcrumb opinions on the matter at hand. As I enter the room, Beau exclaims a loud, "Y/n!", and everyone turns their heads. Mags greets me with a strained voice and a gentle smile as she smothers a piece of toast with a clumpy liquid, Sylvia and Finnick turn to me with smiles. 

"We've been waiting for you, Y/n. Come, sit with us." Finnick says as I make my way towards him, and I notice his smile from earlier is now gone. 

"We've been discussing the games, and everyone agrees on what course of action we'll take." Bringing up a steamy cup to her lips, Sylvia says before sipping on some black liquid. 

"If you want me to play the guitar then I'm gonna need to know what song I'll be playing to." I state quietly, lathering some toast in jam. 

My stomach twists and turns as I'm reminded of what's to come. 

The Games. The bloodbath. The paparazzi and the flashy cameras. I'm gonna be put up on display like a wild animal. I'm going to be placed in that arena, forced to fight to the death against twenty-three other tributes. I feel my stomach drop, and one of my legs begins to bounce up and down rapidly under the table. 

I might as well step off the metal plate before the gong sounds and blast myself to pieces. I remember watching a tribute in the Games a few years back. She was fiddling with something in her hands, trembling so much that she dropped it. It was far too late for her to catch it, because as soon as it hit the ground, she was blasted into pieces. 

I pitied her, though now I considered sharing the same fate. How ironic. 

Either way I'm trapped. I'm trapped in this train, I'll be trapped in the Capitol, and I will be trapped in the arena. 

The only means of escape is death. 

Finnick continues to discuss the plan with the others, and I'm able to get the gist of it. It's enough for me to realise he wants me to help Beau in the arena, which I don't have an issue with in and of itself.

The issue will be when we have to split up, or if we both end up getting through to the final showdown. What will we do? Fight each other? 

I lean back into my chair, abandoning the jam toast on a porcelain plate, barely having taken a bite out of it. I can't eat anymore, I don't want to. I swallow thickly, but notice how dry my throat has become. 

I take in a deep, shaky breath, and think of reaching for some water. 

Water. Water sounds nice. Reaching for it shouldn't be too difficult to do... Right? The bouncing of my leg has increased in speed. I feel goosebumps travelling down my arms.

I can't.

The cart feels so much colder now, so less spacious, and my hands and arms feel numb. I tune out the conversation in front of me, instead focusing on a faraway, high-pitched noise. Was that the train screeching against the tracks? Isn't it supposed to be silent? 

It starts off slowly; the trembling. A couple shivers here and there, but it soon turns into full-blown chills. They really must've crammed the air conditioning up. I look to everyone, from Beau to Mags, Sylvia to Finnick. But they all seem fine? Maybe- Maybe it's just me. My hands feel clammy, sweaty. I try wiping them on the long sleeves of my shirt, but the clamminess doesn't go away.

I need to get out of here. 

The walls feel too close, and my head feels heavy. I close my eyes, lifting a shaky hand to massage at my temple. My breaths are shaky. My leg doesn't stop bouncing. The shivers continue. 

Get up, get up, get up, get up!

My legs don't listen, and I bite down harshly on my bottom lip. Tears start pricking at my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly to get rid of them.

I hear a voice. 

It feels so close yet so far. 

The tears are now fully welled-up in my eyes, on the verge of falling. I bite down harshly on my bottom lip, feeling the skin crackle under my teeth. 

The iron taste of blood sits on my tongue.

I look around, anywhere. But I catch the gazes of everyone around me. They have stopped talking between themselves.

They've stopped talking? 

Why aren't they talking?

I look down at my lap, heaving in a shaky breath. It sounds as if I'm wheezing. 

"Y/n?" It feels distant, and I'm not sure who the voice belongs to. A warm hand nudges me, and I look up, seeing Finnick's sea-green eyes boring into mine.

There is a clear concern glinting across them, and his mouth is slightly parted. 

I can't breathe. I can't get enough air into my lungs. Why can't I breathe? 

Calm down, Y/n. Calm down.

But I don't calm down. Instead, I begin gasping for air, my chest shakily heaving up and down, the tears escaping like water from a broken dam. My cheeks flush, and I try to supress my sobs. I bring a shaky hand up to my mouth, shaking my head in the process.

I feel arms wrapping around me, and soon I'm scooped up into the air, my head resting against a sturdy chest. It's Finnick. 

In any other situation, I'd try to sniff his scent, or focus on the heat radiating from his body. But now, all I can do as I try to breathe, is cover my mouth. The sobs grow louder, and more tears slide down my cheeks. 

"Fuck... Fuck, fuck fuck!" I wail out, my knuckles aggressively wiping at my eyes. I'm not supposed to be crying. I'm supposed to be strong, I'm supposed to be tough.

My body bounces up and down as Finnick runs through the carts, eventually leading me into a room.

Finnick soon lays me down into some silky sheets, although I can't tell who's room I find myself in. 

My chest is aggressively heaving up and down, but I can't catch my breath. 

My chest feels tight.

I supress another loud sob. 

The room suddenly becomes dark, and I find some comfort in that.

"I w-wasn't-... I-I wasn't supposed to cry!" My voice is sickeningly high-pitched and drawn out, and I cry out, covering my face with one hand as I turn on my side, gripping the sheets tightly in my other one.

I can feel Finnick's hand softly caressing my hair, but I continue to cry.

His arms wrap up around me, and I can hear him telling me 'It's okay's'.

I manage to supress my sobs and wails, though my lips are tugged downwards in a scowl, my eyebrows furrowed and I'm pretty sure I look pathetic. Not strong, or tough. Just pathetic. And Finnick is witnessing all this.

"Get out..." I say quietly, a small sob leaving my throat. 

"What?" Finnick leans in closer, unable to hear me coherently.

"Get out!" I exclaim. "P-please get out!" I shout, though it's not as loud as I convince myself it is. "I don't want you to see me like this..." I insist, my voice hoarse and small. 

More sobs break out through me, and I feel more tears welling up in my eyes.

"Please... Just leave me alone-" I continue, wrapping my arms around myself. 

Finnick shakes his head, repeatedly saying soft 'no's'. I ignore him, my hands pushing away at his chest. 

Without a second thought, he scoops me up into his lap, forcing my face into his chest. My sobbing only becomes stronger, but it soon eases into soft hiccups as Finnick begins humming a lullaby, stroking my hair with one hand, cradling me with the other. 

I focus on the sound of his voice. 

His voice is so lovely... So soft.

I close my eyes again, grimacing as I let the tears flow.

It takes a while of Finnick humming and caressing me, but my breathing eventually steadies, with occasional, throaty sobs making me hiccup. I continue wiping aggressively at my eyes, but the longer that Finnick hums, the more I let them cascade freely, until eventually they stop and I feel the wetness of my eyelashes against my cheeks. 

We sit like this for a who knows how long, long after my crying has ceased. A scowl remains on my face, but I continue listening. It has been a long time since someone has comforted me like this... 

The last person I remember doing this... Is my grandma. 

She was a wonderful woman, though strict at times and painfully honest, she never failed to show me just how much she loved me. Guiding me through meltdowns as a child, in just the same exact way as Finnick is now.

"I'm tired..." I softly mutter to Finnick, hiding my face further in his chest. My voice is raw from crying, and my eyes slightly burn from all the salty tears and rough knuckles. Finnick's shirt is damp with them, but I don't think he minds it too much.

"D'you wanna sleep? I can stay with you if you'd like..." He whispers softly, his large hand coming down to caress the side of my face, his thumb lovingly stroking the apple of my cheek. I nod my head gently, and feel the tears trying to return, but I blink them away. "Okay, we'll take a nap, and then we can talk about what happened, okay honey?" He continues, his voice sounding as sweet as honey tastes. I sniffle quietly, and nod my head again, doubting that my voice is steady enough to talk more. 

Finnick lays us down on the bed, and drapes the duvet over me, his chest presses against my back. I close my eyes, and feel the drowsiness slowly lure me into a dreamless sleep.

@bambikitten @noisyalmonddreamer @avoxrising @honethatty12 @circe143 @dnpo1son @innercreationflower @lagrimasdepandora @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @lil-tracys @i-bitch-you-bitch @pinkigirl @yourdailymemedelivery @nexxus13 @ropickle @spilled-coffee-cup @zucchinimalfoy @l5byrinth @superbfishhumanoidweasel @whens-naptime @nordicvxid @luvrboiwonu @lili19080 @nojustn00 @antoheartit

[shinyfire-0]

Chapter 5 of The Phantom of the Opera - The Enchanted Violin - is one of my favourite chapters in Leroux. 

It’s where we hear about Daddy Daae telling Christine and Raoul ‘legends of the lands of the North’ and the line ‘"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music." 

It’s also where we meet Raoul running into the sea after Christine’s red scarf:

‘One day, a little boy, who was out with his governess, made her take a longer walk than he intended, for he could not tear himself from the little girl whose pure, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her. They came to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestraou, but which now, I believe, harbours a casino or something of the sort. At that time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch of golden beach. Only, there was also a high wind, which blew Christine's scarf out to sea. Christine gave a cry and put out her arms, but the scarf was already far on the waves. Then she heard a voice say:

"It's all right, I'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea."’

(text from the de Mattos translation which is freely available online)

Trestraou is very near to Perros-Guirec, which now a busy seaside holiday town. And it really is a ‘stretch of golden beach’ in a natural harbour.

i took these photos on the beach at Trestraou in the summer of 2023. It was very windy on the beach which meant that the light changed quickly!

[gemsofgreece]

The Greek islands in the 50s through the lens of Robert McGabe

Katápola, Amorgós, 1960. Boat full of grapes arrives at the port. Due to the absence of good roads at the time, sometimes the boats were used for transfers even to different places of the same island.

Mýkonos, 1955. Fishermen take their nets out at dawn to dry and fix them. In the background one can spot Hotel Leto, one of the two first hotels built by EOT (Greek Organisation of Tourism) in Greece.

Sérifos. Windy meeting at the Chora´s fountain.

Naxos, 1957.

Mýkonos, 1957. Serious negotiation between a farmer who brought his produce to the Chora with his donkey and the shop owner Asimina Kousathana. Note the stand with the card postals in the background.

Linariá, Skyros 1957. Women wait at the harbour for ships to bring freshwater. Many Greek islands suffer from water scarcity to this day.

In Santorini, Father Nikolaos Kokkalakis founded the school of carpet making in order to create job opportunities for the local young women and keep them in the island.

Girl fills her tinplate with water while smiling at the camera. Mýkonos 1957.

A woman knitting stares back at the camera, Skyros 1957.

Original article in Greek and with more photos here.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

You Have My Attention: Anne of Green Gables First Lines

The icon of Canadian girlhood needs no introduction, as Anne of Green Gables is a global phenomenon at this point. What those of you who read the first book at like age ten and then didn't bother exploring further might not know, however, is that LM Montgomery wrote a whole Anne series. So how did she catch a reader's attention? Let's find out!

"Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde’s Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof."

-- Anne of Green Gables

"A tall, slim girl, 'half-past sixteen,' with serious gray eyes and hair which her friends called auburn, had sat down on the broad red sandstone doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one ripe afternoon in August, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of Virgil."

-- Anne of Avonlea

"'Harvest is ended and summer is gone,' quoted Anne Shirley, gazing across the shorn fields dreamily."

-- Anne of the Island

"(Letter from Anne Shirley, B.A., Principal of Summerside High School, to Gilbert Blythe, medical student at Redmond College, Kingsport.)

Windy Poplars,

Spook's Lane,

S'side, P. E. I.,

Monday, September 12th.

DEAREST:

Isn't that an address!"

-- Anne of the Windy Poplars 

"'Thanks be, I’m done with geometry, learning or teaching it,' said Anne Shirley, a trifle vindictively, as she thumped a somewhat battered volume of Euclid into a big chest of books, banged the lid in triumph, and sat down upon it, looking at Diana Wright across the Green Gables garret, with gray eyes that were like a morning sky."

-- Anne's House of Dreams

"'How white the moonlight is tonight!' said Anne Blythe to herself, as she went up the walk of the Wright garden to Diana Wright's front door, where little cherry-blossom petals were coming down on the salty, breeze-stirred air."

-- Anne of Ingleside

"It was a clear, apple-green evening in May, and Four Winds Harbour was mirroring back the clouds of the golden west between its softly dark shores. The sea moaned eerily on the sand-bar, sorrowful even in spring, but a sly, jovial wind came piping down the red harbour road along which Miss Cornelia’s comfortable, matronly figure was making its way towards the village of Glen St. Mary."

-- Rainbow Valley 

"It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon. In the big living-room at Ingleside Susan Baker sat down with a certain grim satisfaction hovering about her like an aura; it was four o'clock and Susan, who had been working incessantly since six that morning, felt that she had fairly earned an hour of repose and gossip."

-- Rilla of Ingleside

[tech-whale]

Misread Emotions

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Hufflepuff!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Maybe some angst it’s probably not that bad though, fluff, that's it

I do not give permission to people republishing, printing, copying, reposting or stealing my stories

✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧☽☀☾✧

Blaise Zabini was a man of few words, many people found him intimidating, and many others at Hogwarts couldn't understand the little things he did to express his emotions. You could though, at least you liked to think that, you would catch how he smiled to himself when one of his friends did something amusing, or the looks of irritation at some of their more unfavourable actions, his way of looking right through people he didn't care for as if they had never existed in the first place, and the look he gave you one of annoyance.

You could never understand what you had done to make him find you so annoying and unapproachable that his opinion of you could never change, but you did remember the first time he had given you that look, it had been in your fourth year Snape along with many of the other professors decided that since there was a competition your school was competing in they should promote inter-house unity, although you believed that Snape was forced to do it. Snape taking his chance to torture his students even more decided to choose our partners for potions for the whole year and he had pit you with Blaise Zabini. When you had first been put with him you were ecstatic, you had been harbouring feelings for the boy but the annoyance that spread across his face the more you talked with him lowered, and lowered your hope of any romance blooming between the two of you.

So now you sat hopelessly staring at him while he sat eating utterly oblivious to your longing stare. However, you couldn't say much as you had tuned out to what your friends had been talking about until one of them shook you much too harshly in your opinion and brought your attention back to your table.

“Are you staring at Zabini again?” Susan questioned, turning to answer her you took in the unimpressed look on her face and changed your answer to one that would not make her lecture you for hours.

“NO, I have completely and utterly forgotten about him. Why should I like someone after what happened.” You remarked, stuffing slices of peach into your mouth to avoid having to talk about this anymore.

“Because you so got over him after that, and didn't get drunk last year and confess your love for him to us during a party.” Susan quipped back, you cringed at the mention of that party, but even more, so that people still remembered the ‘incident’, even though you were the one that brought it up.

The ‘incident’ as everyone had named it was something known throughout the entirety of the housemates in your year as well as quite a few other students in your year and a few above. The ‘incident’ occurred about a month before the yule ball in your 4th year, right around when everybody else started to ask people out to the ball.

It had been a nice day. You remember that the ground was covered in snow but it wasn't too windy and there weren't any clouds so the sun had direct access to the usually freezing halls of Hogwarts. You had planned it out from scouting, or as Susan called it stalking, you figured out what Zabini usually favoured at Honeydukes and found out about a book he had been eyeing up for the past few weeks. And so you were ready to give Zabini his gifts, ask him to the ball where the two of your loves would be cemented forever and he would then ask you to be his partner and you would live happily ever after the end. Well, maybe not all of that but you were at least hoping that he would accept you as a date to the ball. You had tuned into all the gossip in the school to make sure he did not have a date, even going as far as getting the Hogwarts gossip magazine some of the students usually put together. The ball was filled with people and their dates as well as speculated dates to the ball.

Carrying your bag of gifts you looked for him across the courtyard, having seen Draco and his posey walkout there only a few moments ago, finally spotting him walking away from the group you took the chance and made your way over to him.

“Zabini could I speak with you for a moment?” You asked, your fingers fiddling with the ends of the string you used to tie the bag together. The only response he gave you was a silent nod of the head.

I just wanted to give you this and ask if you wanted to go to the Yule ball with me?” You stuttered out, thrusting the bag into his chest and locking your arms at your side once he took the gift from you. You waited for his response until you heard the horrible sound of mocking laughter. Looking up you spotted Draco and his gang walking up to the two of you as he and the rest of them laughed and pointed at you. You looked towards Blaises face to see if he would say anything to defend you or to make fun of you. Instead of being met with laughter by him, you were met with a face full of disgust, it was worse than any rejection you had imagined in your head. He looked down at you with such a horrid facial expression, if it had ended there you would have been fine but no, he dropped the bag you had given him onto the ground for the contents to spill out onto the snow-covered ground.

“Oh Blaise don’t be cruel, it’s obvious that they are madly in love with you.” Pansy mocked in her usual high and annoyingly squeaky voice.

“She’s right you know Zabini, you really shouldn't be cruel your admirer at least had the idea to corner you alone.” Draco jested, as he walked over to wrap an arm around Zabinis shoulders and peek at what you had gotten his friend, only to shriek in delight when he realised that you must have put great detail into finding out what his friend enjoyed.

“Why are you still here?” You heard a cold voice ask, looking up Blaise's face of disgust looked down at you and with that, you turned on your heel and took off back to the Hufflepuff common room where you could cry to the comfort of your friends.

But even as you ran from them you could still hear the jests and taunts that the Syltherins threw at you, you really should have listened to your friends.

Shaking your head you tried to push the memory back into the locked box in your brain that it was usually located in and tune back into what your friends were doing, only to realise that they had gotten up and were grabbing their bags to go.

“Where are you guys going?” You asked curiously as usually, they would stay the entirety of lunch and rarely ever wanted to leave, though you felt pretty silly when they looked at you as if you had just forgotten the most essential thing in the world.

“We have potions now, and you know how long it takes to get to the dungeons,” Susan answered, shaking her head as she muttered curses at you, realising yes it was time to go, you shot up from your spot at the table, careful not to spill any food on your uniform and grabbed your bag to head to potions with your friends.

Entering the potion classroom you slipped into your seat doing your best to avoid the gaze of your teacher at any of the students you had arrived late to the classroom. Slughorn takes the same wanting of inter-house unity as Snape had done two years ago, although with a much smaller group.

The stool next to you was pulled out from under the desk causing you to tense up at the presence that had now joined you at your table. You could feel his eyes boring holes into your skull as you pulled out a quill and some parchment, pausing when Slughorn called you all to gather around his desk to be introduced to the potion that you would all begin to start brewing.

Slughorn introduced the potion that you would be brewing: Amortencia, a powerful love potion. Deciding to show one of the potions many interesting natures he called each student up to come and smell the potion. You fiddled with a fraying edge on your robe as you waited for Slughorn to call you up, the anticipation slowly eating away at your nerves. You knew what you were going to smell, or more likely who you were going to smell, you just really didn't want to have to admit that to your friends who would inevitably ask once class was over.

Finally, after what felt like hours, probably only a couple of minutes, you were called to the front of the class. Leaning over the cauldron you were jit with the smell of earl grey tea, expensive cologne, old inks, and the yellowing pages of the books in the library. All smell’s you would associate with Blaise Zabini.

Moving back to your spot with the rest of your class you kept your head right at the board to avoid the wanting stares your friends were casting at you. Although looking straight ahead also gave you the view right across the caldron holding the potion, giving you perfect sight of each student's face as they each went to smell it, and just your luck the person right across from you now was Blaise Zabini. Watching him as he shifted his body forward wafting the scent of the potion up. After a moment his eyes flickered up and you could have sworn that he smirked just slightly when your eyes met. But just as quickly as you saw it disappeared and he went back to his spot at the back of his class with the rest of Dracos posey.

The rest of the class went by relatively quickly, with what you can only describe as an aggressive amount of teasing grins and knowing looks thrown your way. But along with your friends being obnoxious, you could say that the accidental bumps of your and Zabini’s hands happened more than what would usually happen. You could also say that there was more lingering gaze coming from the boy beside you, you really couldn't have this happen it would only give you false hope.

And just as you thought once you had arrived in the common room you were swarmed by your friends with a million questions about what you had smelled, or should you say who you smelled.

“Come on (Insert Name), you have got to tell us.” Susan chided as she rocked you back and forth trying to convince you to tell her who it was.

“Well, I did smell some expensive cologne, old ink, and old books.” You answered back being careful with what you said to not give away who exactly it could be, although knowing your friends and what they knew of you it couldn't be more obvious.

“That's just things you would use to describe Blaise, honestly you keep saying you got over him but it is so obvious that you're still head over heels for him. Just admit that you like him, even though he’s a total jerk and doesn't deserve you, the heart is an uncontrollable force.” Susan spoke, wrapping you in a warm embrace as she cuddled up to you on the couch so you wouldn't have to wallow in pity on your own.

Moving on from that day you noticed a significant shift in Blasises actions, in the great hall during meals you made more eye contact with him and he seemed to hold it for longer, in hallways or crowds it seemed like he would look for you in them always being able to find your eyes, it was even more extreme the accidental bumping of your hands happened even more and it seemed like his hand would linger each time. 

It all concluded when you felt someone bump into your back looking at who it was, you saw Zabini walking away from you. Just as you were about to call out to him you felt something in your hand, not understanding how you hadn't felt it there before you opened your hand to find a neatly folded piece of paper.

‘I’m sorry, meet me by the lake at midnight sharp.’ the note read out in handwriting that was oddly familiar to you.

And so for the rest of the day, you waited anxiously for 12 to roll around, and when it finally did you threw on your sweater and snuck out of your dorm careful not to wake any of your roommates who would insist on coming with you so that nothing bad happens to you.

Slipping into the corridor waited to hear any footsteps before you carried on, hurrying through the passages out to the lake where you saw a figure standing, the moonlight reflecting off the lake and onto them creating a halo around them.

Standing in front of the figure you were met with the face you had memorized so many times, the face that made your heart swell and the very face that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

“Zabini what are you doing here?” You asked shifting on your feet as you stated out at the lake refusing to meet his eyes.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened that day, I shouldn't have acted like that. I was flustered and I got nervous. No one I have ever liked has confessed to me like that.” He answered reaching out and grabbing your hand. Looking at his face it was filled with a softness you had never seen directed at you, a softness that you had never seen ever.

“I know that's not an excuse for what I said but I would like to start over, I want to be something with you, anything, please.” He continued his grip on your hand tightening.

“I think we could be something.” You said laughing up at him.

“Oh and I loved the book, thank you.” He said softly as the two of you leaned in meeting each other as the moon danced across the water.

[lesbewriting]

midnight confessions

[ Shawn Mendes x GN!Reader ] [1201 words]

SUMMARY: A night of stargazing between two friends soon turns into sudden confessed feelings.

WARNINGS: none I don't think

A-N: second edited one. Will edit the other ones when I can

[masterlist]

You carefully looked towards the boy next to you, eyes subtly taking in the gentle features of his face. His brunet hair sat messily on his head, which you'd always wanted to run your fingers through to see how soft it was. 

Your eyes took in the small stubble which he had, barely visible in the moon's lighting, but you knew it was there. All the small details which you liked to take in about him, that you hadn't before noticed. It was like he got more attractive to you every time you saw him. 

You knew you liked him. A lot, in fact. You had come to terms with those feelings you harboured a few weeks ago, and it was quite obvious you liked him too. At least that's what both your friends always told you. You were honestly surprised that Shawn himself hadn't figured out you liked him already. Maybe he really was oblivious.

You hadn't a clue when it had switched from platonic to romantic feelings. But it had. You didn't know when you started wanting to know what it'd be like to have his lips placed on yours. Was he a good kisser? You felt the butterflies in your stomach every time you had those similar thoughts.

Forcing yourself to return your gaze back to the darkened sky so as to not get caught staring. The many stars shone down as you looked up. A small sigh fell past your lips as you observed the few constellations you had managed to spot. 

Unaware, to the many small yet longing glances which Shawn had now decided to direct towards you, in hopes that you didn’t notice him. He knew he liked you. He liked the way your front strands of hair would fall into the front of your face when it was windy. He always has to mentally stop himself from reaching forward and tucking it back behind your ear. 

He liked the way your eyes would look as if they sparkled in the sunlight, the way you could go on and on about all of your favourite topics. He loved how he could never get bored of you or your voice. But most importantly, he loved just sitting in silence with you and basking in each other’s presence. Which was exactly what you two were doing today or tonight really.

The stars gently twinkled and shined down on the pair of you, sharing subtle yet longing glances into the direction of each other. The roof underneath you was rough as you sat there, and you’d have to be careful if you did not want to go sliding down at all. An unexpected drop from where you both were could most likely cause you to break something. 

You adjusted your positioning, tucking your knees up into your chest and resting your arms over the top of them. You allowed a sigh to slip through, watching as the stars continued to form different constellations. You’d always had a thing for stars and astronomy. It has always been a hobby of yours, and resting upon your roof in the night was always a kind of safe space for you. Away from all of your problems you would face each day.

“Do you ever wonder what it's like to be a star?” You asked, turning your head slightly to the side where Shawn was sitting. You didn’t know what brought on this question at all. You suppose it was probably just something you had thought up in the current moment. You weren’t even sure if you wanted an answer from the boy with you.

“I don’t think I ever have. Why do you ask?” He asked, snapping out from his own thought-filled silence now to answer your question. His head tilted to the side in the slightest confusion briefly, and one of his hands quickly ran through his brown hair. 

You bit your lip, unsure how to continue on with this conversation. A part of you screamed at you to blurt out your growing feelings towards your best friend. Though, you didn't allow that part to win at all. You knew it would only end in rejection, followed by a heap of heartbreak towards you. Despite it killing you not to tell him, you didn’t want to experience that rejection. “Not sure, I’m just bored of this silence right now”

He chuckled, and fuck you loved his laugh. It felt like millions of tiny butterflies were fluttering around your stomach right then. You hated how it always made you so giddy inside whenever you heard it. Plus, it wasn’t really helping your current situation. 

“Do you like anyone right now?” Shawn asked with the slightest bit of hesitation in his tone. He wasn’t entirely sure what pushed him to suddenly ask this. Maybe he was hoping you would blurt out his name. Or it could have been that the question had bugged him for weeks, like it was burned into his brain, and that he desperately wanted an answer. 

“Um..I-” You stumbled, taken aback at first by his words. You weren’t expecting that question, and you had no idea if you should answer him with the truth or not. Should you lie and say a random name? or should you finally get it over with and confess and handle the oncoming that would soon play through? Fuck it you decided, after having a small mental battle with your thoughts. It was now or never.

“You?” You allowed it to slip out, sounding more like a question when you heard it fall out from your mouth. Here you go, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself to brace yourself for the oncoming heartbreak headed your way. The next words would hurt a lot for the following few days, but i suppose with time, you could eventually move on. 

“Oh thank god. I like you too” A breath of relief fell from your lips now at those words, which managed to surprise you at first. You let a shy smile come into play on your features and watched as a similar one showed up on Shawn’s face, too. A gentle hue dusting your cheeks the tiniest bit. 

Shawn slowly moved his hand closer towards you, watching you carefully in case you were to reject his next movements. But when he saw no sign that you were going to. He continued to inch his hand closer till they fell onto your own. You smiled a little larger and allowed your fingers to interlock with his own, a silent confirmation between you two, that you were his.

And as you turned your heads back up onto the sky above you guys, large smiles spread across your faces at the current events that had just taken place. You felt a whole weight lift from your shoulders, the sudden fear of rejection and heartbreak fading completely in that moment from both your minds. 

Maybe you were both idiots, oblivious to the other’s feelings before. But at least now you were both idiots in love. 

[lonestarbattleship]

RMS Olympic departs New York harbour on her first eastbound Transatlantic crossing.

"The pioneering aviator Sir Thomas Sopwith, attempts to drop a package onto the deck of the ship from his Howard-Wright biplane. The parcel contained glasses for a passenger. Pictured here turning for his second attempt, the first one aborted due to windy conditions, the parcel was released, only to miss and fall into the sea."

Painted by Barry Spicer

Date: June 28, 1911

Posted by George Duncan to "The Ocean Liner Enthusiasts" Facebook page: link

[petaltexturedskies]

From my west window I can see all over the harbour to distant, misty shores, with dear little sailing-boats I love and the ships outward bound 'for ports unknown' – fascinating phrase! Such 'scope for the imagination' in it!

L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars

[hushed-chorus]

Six Photo Sunday

Hey everyone, I hope you've had a good week! I'm scheduling this ahead of time so thanks to everyone who may have tagged me already!

Today I'm doing something a little different. I wanted to share some photos of places that inspired What Remains After The Storm.

Although WRATS is pitched as a fantasy AU, I'd say that is a 'flag of convenience' (i.e. I could play fast and loose with the setting to suit the story's needs). In many ways, WRATS is a historical fantasy based in Cornwall, UK, including Cornish mythology and fictionalisations of real places. So please enjoy these photos and tidbits on the fic's inspiration.

I'll share the first photo above the cut, and the following five below.

Cornish cliffs (Image by Tim Hill)

Whenever I imagine young Simon scurrying around on the cliffs, I think of something like this. The moor backs onto the cliffs, and the sea is often rough. Wrecks were incredibly common around Cornwall's coast, owing partly to strong currents and its many reefs and skerries. Many impoverished locals would seize the cargo of wrecked ships, and were often accused of intentionally luring ships to wreck by using false lights, but there is no clear evidence that this happened.

More (and tags) below the cut

Bodmin Moor (Image by Richard Norris)

The Cornish moorland has been gently grazed for centuries, so it is a patchwork of heather, gorse, bracken, coarse grass and distinctive granite tors which resemble pancakes stacks (though not pictured are some of the beautiful wooded valleys, one of which features in chp 8). It is exposed, frequently windy, and often dangerous--dotted with forgotten mine shafts and boggy terrain. When not at his barn, this is where Simon wanders with his goats.

Mên-an-Tol (Image by LoggaWiggler)

This formation of neolithic standing stones is one of my favourite places in Cornwall. Local folklore says that if you suspect that your child has been stolen by Fae and a changeling left in its place, you can pass the changeling through the hole and have your child returned to you. It was also credited with curing rickets. This formation and its legend is directly referenced in WRATS, where it is known as "the Way-In Stone" (and previously known by Simon as "The Scone With The Hole").

St Michael's Mount (Image by Tim Hill)

My other favourite place in Cornwall! This small tidal island is where Pitch Manor is based in WRATS. It can be reached at low tide by a causeway (pictured part-submerged here) amd otherwise must be reached by boat. The island includes a castle and chapel, with a small village and harbour on its landward-facing side. In WRATS, the location has been the seat of the Pitches since time immemorial, but in reality it has a long and varied history, such as a site of pilgrimage, siege and tourism.

St Ives harbour, Cornwall, no date given (from the book Reflections of Old Cornwall by Reg Watkiss)

More vibes for you! Fishing was the basis of Cornwall's economy for centuries. Whenever a shoal of fish was sighted off the coast, almost everyone would turn out to help. The men and various boats worked together, arranging their nets to scoop up the whole shoal, while the women waiting in the harbour to salt and barrel them.

Newlyn, Cornwall c. 1900 (from Reflections of Old Cornwall)

This steep, cobbled street is very typical of Cornish villages. Many of the granite cottages are homes which doubled up as fish cellars, but some structures were inns or boat- and basket-makers' sheds. When I look at this, I can't help but think of a bare-footed Baz, hood drawn over his face, angrily stomping a puddle. Today, most Cornish villages are dominated by holiday lets and airbnbs, and many of the houses have been renovated beyond recognition. However, you can still glimpse some of the old charm in numerous places.

Ok so yeah, that's my love letter to Cornwall done. Thank you for indulging me, and I hope the readers of WRATS get something out of this!

@johnwgrey @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @captain-aralias @raenestee @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @yeonjunenby @cutestkilla @ivelovedhimthroughworse @larkral @stitchyqueer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @ileadacharmedlife @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @tea-brigade @whogaveyoupermission @nightimedreamersworld @fatalfangirl @thewholelemon @onepintobean @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @shrekgogurt @theearlgreymage @martsonmars @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony @palimpsessed @valeffelees

[nancyfmccarthy]

Firth of Forth from Fife!

We have a book, ‘100 Walks in Scotland’, that we are hoping will be the guide for our stay here. Today we headed to Craig in Fife to check out the first walk we had chosen.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and windy. The walk started in Crail, a little fishing village on the Firth of Forth. It is said that it was once the busiest fishing harbor in Scotland but it is tiny and quiet today.

The trail ran just above the beach, through Cellardyke to Anstruther. Out and back was about eight miles of beautiful fields and ocean (or rather firth) views. We saw a few other walkers but no big groups being led by kilt-wearing bagpipers, thank heavens.

After our walk, we drove 20 minutes to St Andrews where we will spend the night. We had a wonderful first day on the road. So far so good on the left hand driving!

We had to stop for coffee and a scone at the Crail Harbour Gallery and Teahouse when we reached Crail. This little shop had a beautiful and very busy deck with amazing views. We had to settle for a table by the window.

Looking back to Crail Harbour from the trail.

.

.

In Cellardyke there was an ocean pool …

…and a quiet harbor with laundry drying on the quay.

Anstruther was a little busier, with more pleasure boats in the harbor. The port area had several restaurants and shops suggesting that it might be busy in season. Not sure how a lot of cars would get through the tiny village though.

A black cloud threatened us on the return walk, but no rain.

[artlimited]

Rhapsody On A Windy Day by Léon Leijdekkers https://www.artlimited.net/leonleijdekkers/art/photography-rhapsody-on-a-windy-day-digital-construction-urban-harbour-lighthouse/en/537300

[trade-wind]

A couple of days in Hartlepool

Sunday 11th, Monday 12th August 2024

After the usual boat washing, cleaning, laundry and cooking, Anne & Lionel arrived by train in the early evening on Sunday to join us for a week. Late night with lots of catching up to do...

It was too windy to move on Monday so we made the most of the day by a long walk to the Battery at the Headland for a bite of lunch, then back via the museum before heading out to the pub for supper. Hartlepool is really an interesting place with lots of history and pretty houses by the harbour and there's even a boat called Nana!!