#cecelia beck

[ladiemars]

missing knight ava and lady cece a little more today ✨ (cece belongs to @songofsoma)

#wayhaven #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #ava du mortain #a du mortain #knight ava #ava x detective #cecelia beck #blight draws #my art #can’t believe i didn’t post this over the summer #wlw art

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 7: The Sail

Chapter 40

Maybe the weirdest thing about married life in Thirteen is that Thirteen now suddenly wants us living together. They assign us our own room, 2138, and for a few days they seem like they’re trying to discourage us from leaving 2138. Our schedules generally limit us to meals and Reflection, but neither of us has been that great at following them anyway, so we spend a fair bit of “reflection” wandering the hallways, or down in Special Weaponry, or bullying the guards into letting us go on walks outside.

Dalton teases us at lunch one day about fulfilling our societal contract with Thirteen to “diversify the herd.” His words.

Alvan chokes into his juice, fresh from Eleven.

Food shipments, real food from the outside, above-ground world, are starting to trickle in. I told Finnick last night that I will fight anyone who gets between me and the first shipment of shrimp, which made him laugh but also promise to stay out of my way.

Cashmere raises an eyebrow at Dalton. When she opens her mouth, I think she is going to make a comment about the crassness of his joke, but instead she gestures pointedly around. “Do they honestly think two people who grew up in Four are going to raise their kids in the bunker? I wouldn’t. And I didn’t even grow up with the kind of view you two are used to.” And then she goes back to her chicken and rice.

Finnick shrugs at Dalton. “We’re not not-”

“Your cow!” I lean forward over the table, talking to Alvan over Finnick. I don’t need to deal with that right now. “What’s your cow’s name? The one you had to leave with-”

Alvan smiles fondly, looking across the table into the distance somewhere over Cashmere’s shoulder. “Freckles.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

The next day we decide we are bored with this existence, especially when we hear about everyone else’s experiences with combat training. We tag along with Alvan, Cashmere, and Gloss, get chastised for not following our schedules, and then get assigned to that training group for the foreseeable future.

The morning after that, our schedules change back to something decidedly pre-wedding. We are in combat training in earnest, and I am fine with this. It’s something to do, and I did agree to fight, all those weeks ago, back when it was me, Alvan, and Gloss against the world. Or at least against District Thirteen, whose disconcerting similarity to the Capitol no one but victors seemed to notice. That’s still the case, there are just more victors around to notice now.

They call us to Command one at a time and ask us if we’re still willing to fight. I’m not sure anyone says no. They ramp up our training and carve out an hour a day for us to practice with our signature weapons. Beetee has been busy. There are knives for Cashmere and a pair of axes for Johanna and a trident for Finnick. More arrows for Katniss and Gale.

For weeks we do this, broken only by occasional armor fittings, literal photo shoots, tests to prove we’re retaining all this knowledge, and the ever-interesting meals.

Johanna started eating with us a while ago, once they let her move out of the hospital. We almost have a normal group of friends these days. Gale, when his schedule allows, Johanna, me and Finnick, Katniss, Cashmere and Gloss, Cecelia, Alvan. Sometimes we even talk and laugh like normal people our age. Sometimes I feel like I’m a hundred years old, like we’re all so very, very old. We’re none of us normal people, and it’s nice to not have to pretend otherwise.

One day, Peeta joins us for lunch. Flanked by a pair of guards. “Can I sit here?”

I’ve never really met Peeta, but from all I’ve heard, he was a good one before the Capitol got ahold of him. And I hear he’s better now. For some reason, I feel like he and Beck would have gotten along, and that makes me a little less leery of him. Gale starts to say no, but Finnick shrugs and then nods, and Johanna’s enthusiasm carries the day.

“I heard you decorated our wedding cake, Peeta. Thank you.” I try to sound as genuine as possible without overshooting into patronizing.

“It’s my favorite kind of cake,” Finnick says. “And you did it justice.”

Peeta nods. “You’re welcome. I enjoyed decorating it.”

The conversation moves on. And we are almost normal people.

I’m still smiling about something stupid Gale said when I hear it.

“You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you.”

Not for a second do I think Peeta is joking. There is something stone cold in his tone, something so dead serious that I very much regret likening him to Beck. Beck would never have done that, said that, to anyone. And why would he say it? Does he really think I’m going to abandon Finnick? After all this time? After I married him? Just toss him aside and move on to the next victor that catches my eye? If I was going to do that, I would have done it long ago. I would have started with the other victors, come back to Finnick when I’d had my fun, settled down together then.

Finnick says nothing, though he is holding my hand so tightly under the table I’m concerned for my knuckles. He just stands, balances my empty tray on his, and leads us out.

“That was…” I don’t have a word.

Finnick doesn’t answer. Not until we’ve made our way through the unending uniformity of the hallways and back to 2138 and the door is shut behind us does he speak.

“Don’t… don’t leave me, please.” He sounds so broken.

“Finnick!” I grab his hands. This is important. I need him to understand this. “Finnick, I will never leave you. How could I? I married you. I love you so much. You are what kept me at least a little sane after I came out of the arena and you have always been there for me, even when I didn’t want you. Leaving you would be… Why would I?”

He looks at me, eyes full of tears. There’s something else going on here. “I have done nothing to deserve you. And quite often, I think it’s my fault, that this happened because of some horrible trick I played, because I couldn’t keep both of you alive in the arena, and I have so much guilt that I think you don’t love me and you’re going to leave at the first possible opportunity.”

I start to interrupt, to tell him we’ve talked about this before, but he keeps going.

“And I know that’s ridiculous because I know you, but then something like that happens and… it was the way he said it.”

“I know. I didn’t like it either. But you don’t have to worry, alright? I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me like that stupid octopus.”

His laugh is choked and halfhearted, but it’s still there.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We don’t go to supper. I don’t even ask. I know he doesn’t want to, not that he doesn’t want to see everyone else, but I don’t know if he can take any more lip from Peeta without reacting. I know I can’t.

So we lay in bed, talking about the house.

Finnick ties complicated braids in my hair. “I wonder how things are at home. I guess…” He pauses, unbraiding a section that must have proven unsatisfactory. “If nothing else, at least they’re out from under the Capitol.”

“I just wish we knew…”

“Me too.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Johanna visits later with some bread she snuck out of the dining hall. “He was less horrible. But I don’t know if he was joking or not. And either option is weird.” She laughs. “Shouldn’t he know that you’re not going to pick him? You could’ve had Gloss and Augustus, and you’ve got Finnick, and Gale wouldn’t have said no if you’d asked-”

What an odd thing to say.

“-and he thinks he’s got a shot at being your second choice? Poor, naïve, little Peeta.”

I can’t help but laugh. She’s right, it is ridiculous when you look at it that way. I also find it strangely funny that of course Peeta Mellark, the son of a baker in District Twelve, should have been keeping track of the intricate and previously secret relationships between the victors.

Even Finnick is laughing, and before long we are all breathless.

We sit together for a while, Finnick asking Johanna how she is, how she really is, all three of us sharing things that only victors can really understand. And when she leaves, I feel like yet another weight is removed from my chest, yet another corner of my mind free from its wanderings.

“Johanna.” I stop her before she closes the door behind her. “Thank you.”

She nods. “I still remember the two popular victors asking me if I wanted to sit with them. It meant a lot. And…” she lowers her voice, “Finnick acts tough, but he needed somebody, and I think it takes someone special to put up with all that.”

“We all need somebody.” Then I grin. “Gale wouldn’t say no if you asked.”

Johanna snorts. “Maybe after the war, if we’re all still alive. It takes someone special to put up with all this.”

I laugh. “Well, until you find them, we’re always here.”

“Thanks.” And then she closes the door.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Our little group eats every meal together. We talk, we laugh, Johanna once threatened to start a food fight and we only narrowly escaped punishment, even though the food fight never happened.

I actually look forward to the future now, silly as it seems. To be able to go back to Four, even to go back to my house in Victor’s Village, which I am now sure is still standing, probably in pristine condition. To start drawing again, get Finnick’s nose right, actually hang the pictures around the house instead of hiding them in the sketchbooks. To practice until I can hold my breath for ten minutes. To have friends over for supper, now that we can cross district lines.

To build Finnick’s big house. If I’ve been keeping track correctly, it now has approximately forty-seven rooms and only one of those is a bathroom. There are three kitchens, because he has described three wildly different cupboard layouts. Cecelia and Mark have a whole wing for their family, whether or not they move in with us.

But I really don’t care. I’ll be happy to have a hilariously huge house with a room for each and every one of our friends. I want to live, just live as normal a life as I can muster.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We sit outside the Box. The other tests were easy, but the wait for the Capitol sim is killing me. Especially once the rumor spread that the Box is designed to mess with each of us specifically. There’s any number of things they could use to test me, break me, declare me unfit for combat.

They call my name, give me an earpiece and a sim gun, and send me in.

It is silent in the Box. Well, joke’s on them, since Fulvia instituted the grief pause, I can handle silence. I don’t like it, but I can handle it.

My earpiece crackles. “The target is the ground floor middle apartment in the far northwest corner. The Capitol has rigged traps sensitive to sound. Maintain silence.” The voice is gone.

That’s not ideal. I check the silencer on my gun and duck into a doorway, then start making my way across the block. I am almost there, picking off Peacekeepers with relative ease, staying hidden, staying quiet, focusing on the goal, not the silence.

Then the ground shakes. Bricks fall from buildings, windows rattle, glass shatters.

I stagger against a wall, clamp my hands over my ears.

I can hear them all. The thunder of the buffalo, the roar of the dam breaking and the arena flooding, Merritt whistling, Elsie laughing, Stitch’s quiet voice, Mako’s head hitting the ground. Forcing myself to breathe, I crouch in the nearest doorway.

I can do this. I can handle it. This isn’t real. It is over and I never have to go back. They are dead and there is nothing I can do.

Stay with me.

Yes. I can do this.

I take several seconds to get myself breathing somewhere near normally. The ground is still shaking, but this is only a small earthquake. I’ll just keep my head down and keep moving.

So I do.

I exit the Box sweating and breathing too fast, but I made it. They take my earpiece and sim gun, then they stamp 451 on my hand and send me to Command. Gale, Alvan, and Cashmere are already there, also with 451 on the backs of their hands. Plutarch, Boggs, Coin, and Cressida are there too.

Plutarch looks like he is bursting for someone to ask about Cressida so he can explain the plan that without a doubt he thinks will win the war, but no one does. I do not need him to explain her presence. It speaks for itself. 451 is not going to storm Capitol strongholds. 451 is going to look good while doing as little as possible as far from the front lines as possible, and Cressida is going to get every second of it on film.

Twenty minutes later, Finnick crashes into the room, absently waving his hand at Boggs, his 451 visible for half a second before he slams into me. Everything else is forgotten when I feel how much he is shaking, how fast and panicked his breathing is as he crushes me in a hug.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I whisper back, holding him tighter. “I’m fine. I promise. I’m right here.” I shoot a glance past his shoulder and see Coin muttering something to Plutarch and Boggs. Plutarch glares at her and shakes his head. Boggs nods along and adds a few words of his own.

Finnick and I stand there for a long time. Long enough for me to be seriously concerned about what they did to him in the Box, but now is not the time to ask. Eventually, I get him settled down, and then we go back to waiting.

It is almost an hour before Gloss shows up, during which time Castor and Pollux join us. Messalla slips in just behind Gloss, and then we wait some more. Strangers trickle in. Jackson, an intimidating woman who is Boggs’s second-in-command. Homes and Mitchell. A pair of sisters who I can’t tell apart and apparently I’m not the first with that problem because they grin and say we can call them Leeg 1 and Leeg 2. Finally Katniss and Haymitch.

Plutarch frowns at Haymitch, who shakes his head.

“Alright,” Plutarch smiles that Head Gamemaker smile around at the rest of us. “Looks like everyone’s here. Let’s get started.”

Squad 451 is the rebellion’s best, most-recognizable, and most “camera-ready,” as Fulvia would call it. It’s just a nice way of saying we’re above-average looking and capable of fighting and winning. They’re also calling us a sharp-shooter squad, which is hilarious. I’m only an average shot, and I know for a fact Finnick and Cashmere are no better. What 451 is in reality is a propo squad, which explains why they aren’t going to give any of us the standard frontline buzzcut. They want us recognizable on TV and when we are there for the surrender of the Capitol.

Then Plutarch pushes a button, and a map of the Capitol springs to life, with blinking little colored lights everywhere. The pods are designed to kill in only the most horrible and televisable ways, and the Capitol is stuffed to the gills with them. And Plutarch’s map only contains the ones we know about, and we know there are more.

Katniss holds one of the blinking lights in her hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she says quietly.

The rest of the victors join her, our voices holding varying levels of horror. “Welcome to the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Finnick does not want to talk about the Box. It doesn’t matter, he says, as long as I’m alright.

The Capitol tortured him with my screams. It’s a safe bet Thirteen tried to break him the same way. They didn’t seem particularly bothered by what they did to Johanna, why would they care any more about what their miniature arena did to Finnick?

So I don’t press him on it. If he decides he wants me to know, he’ll tell me. If not, I’ve got a good enough guess.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We say goodbye to Cecelia, promise to see her again soon, when Snow is dead and we are free to build that house on the beach. She cries and tells us to stay safe and watch each other’s backs. Then we say goodbye to Johanna, who still hasn’t fully recovered from when they flooded the Box. She tells us we have to kill Snow. Someone has to kill Snow, make sure he’s good and dead.

Finnick and I pack up the very very few things in 2138, put them in a box, and leave the box in Katniss’s mother’s care. One way or another, we don’t plan on coming back to Thirteen. Either we’ll die in the Capitol, or we’ll win and then we’ll go back to Four. If that’s the case, she will make sure our box gets to us.

Then they fly us out to Twelve, and from there, we take a train to the Capitol.

Across from us is Alvan, who has Gloss asleep on one shoulder and Cashmere on the other as he leans against her too. Finnick talks quietly about the house, and I doze off in minutes, head bumping against his shoulder as the train shoots forward.

****

****

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Tag List:

@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

#wrey writes #the hunger games #thg: tiger shark #annie cresta #finnick odair #ptsd #dissociation #mentions of canon typical violence #mentions of torture #at this point i feel like mushu watching mulan #my little baby (annie finnick alvan gloss cashmere katniss gale) off to destroy people (snow)

[soulykins-fr]

I’ve been doing some art for an upcoming program for ice flight! 

All these lads are future mire flyers - all have been leveled to 25 and are just awaiting stats and stones <3

#i am trying to experiment a little bit #my art #the size contriction is actually kind of fun to work with #spiral #skydancer #mirror #coatl #tundra #wildclaw #one day if i ever open a shop these will be useful examples #i can even name them #the wildclaw is beck #the spirals are bianca and innocent #skydancer is finley #tundra is moonlight #coatl is cecelia #and mirror is flint obviously lmao #cecelia is my fav lore wise #she was told the moon was made of cheese as a hatchling and has decided this means all celestial bodies are edible #she's going to track down a meteorite and EAT IT

[isjonahbeckok]

tbh, i think bex could trade out buffy’s spot but :\

#lmao what did i just do #andi mack #cyrus goodman #jonah beck #marty from the party #iris #amber #buffy driscoll #bex mack #rebecca mack #bowie quinn #dr. metcalf #cecelia mack #ham mack #celia mack

[luanneclatterbuck]

I work with employee records and make email accounts, etc for new hires.

There are certain names that will always get certain songs to stick in my head. So far today it’s been:

Valerie by Steve Wineood

Cecelia by Simon and Garfunkel

Debra by Beck

It’s a daily struggle.

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Would you guys be interested in learning about my ocs?

This is just out of curiosity tbh. I’d like to interact with my followers/enjoyers of my fics (if there are any). My ocs are listed below along with their ships. If you want to know about my ocs just say their name and I’ll post their character sheet and faceclaim as well as say how many fanfics I’ve written for them.

Harry Potter

Marauders Era

Ella Underwood (James Potter, Henry Potter)

Gaia Devereaux (Sirius Black)

Violetta Cook (Remus Lupin)

Cecelia Potter (Regulus Black)

Madeline Potter (Xenophilius Lovegood)

Henry Potter (Dorcas Meadowes, Ella Underwood)

Antonius Black (N/A yet)

Adina Black (Barty Crouch Jr.)

Cairo Lupin (Isadora Diamandis)

Isadora Diamandis (Cairo Lupin)

Golden Era

Anastasia Lestrange (Harry Potter)

Rayna Longbottom (Ron Weasley)

Cecily Sadler (Draco Malfoy)

Mallorie Bishopp (Fred Weasley)

Corinne Alastair (George Weasley)

Cassandra Foster (Percy Weasley)

Adora Parrish (Charlie Weasley)

Sophia O’Malley (Bill Weasley)

Chloe Eratos (Ginny Weasley)

Calypsa Trelawney (Luna Lovegood)

Dinah Fanley (Cedric Diggory)

Charlotte Creevey (Neville Longbottom)

Jessica Stix (Oliver Wood)

Holly Diggory (Viktor Krum)

Ophelia Teagarden (Nymphadora Tonks)

Judith Stix (Seamus Finnigan)

Marvel

Rosemary Clover (Tom!Peter Parker)

Andrea Louis (Bruce Banner)

Hannah Clearwood (Tony Stark)

Alina Cetus (Pietro Maximoff)

Amy Penn (Sam Wilson)

Georgia Barnes (Steve Rogers)

Minna Olesia (Natasha Romanoff)

Ingrid Meller (Stephen Strange)

Maeve Nadine (Andrew!Peter Parker)

Hali Brooks (Benjamin Barnes)

Lyra Beatrix (Brunhilde)

Valerie Urson (Quentin Beck)

Julie and the Phantoms

Daisy Sloane (Luke Patterson)

Hattie Rowland (Reggie Peters)

Evangeline Buchanan (Alex Mercer)

Danielle Poet (Willie)

Juniper Dalton (Charlie Gillespie)

Allison Hicks (Jeremy Shada)

Hazel Matthews (Owen Joyner)

Mila Evans (Booboo Stewart)

The Hobbit

Pandora Potts (Bilbo Baggins)

Sienna Hollyfoot (Thorin Oakenshield)

Nessa Thorn (Kili Durin)

Celeste Nasrin (Fili Durin)

Gemma Rankin (Bofur Rankin)

Roslyn Stardust (Bard the Bowman)

Aster Everwood (Thranduil Oropherion)

Iris Cricket (Elrond Peredhil)

Marina Willow (Lindir Talierin)

Artanis (Erestor)

Elletta Nightstone (Glorfindel Laurefindelë)

Netra Underlake (Elladan Peredhil)

Adaia Taleasin (Elrohir Peredhil)

Lord of the Rings

Lalia Featherborn (Frodo Baggins)

Brooke Bilberry (Merry Brandybuck)

Camelia Tunnelly (Pippin Took)

Adelaide Stoor (Samwise Gamgee)

Issa Goodwin (Aragorn)

Citra Underlake (Boromir)

Alphine Barrowes (Legolas Greenleaf)

Mirabella Holidan (Haldir)

The Lost Boys (1987)

Elizabeth Carlton (Paul)

Julie Burton (Dwayne)

Wendy Miller (David)

Heather Brown (Marko)

Edith Jackson (Michael)

Twilight

Hilda Snow (Paul Lahote)

Amarie Taylor (Leah Clearwater)

Raven Lance (Edward Cullen)

Eleanor Martin (Charlie Swan)

Arielle Swan (Seth Clearwater)

Anastasia Whitlock (Demetri Volturi)

Olivia Hale (Caius Volturi)

Charity Cullen (Embry Call)

Sarah McCarty (Edward Cullen, Alec Volturi)

Misc.

Cruella (2021)

Angela Young (Jasper Badun)

Amethyst Ellet (Cruella de Vil)

Gemma Harlow (Artie Katz)

Isabel Abbott-Fry (Joel Fry)

Hannibal (2013)

Maya Morano-Graham (Will Graham)

Fleur Ramsey (Hannibal Lecter)

Celine Lennox (Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham)

Lizabeth Alva (Hugh Dancy)

Prodigal Son 2019

Elena Nadis (Malcom Bright/Whitly)

Plebs (2013)

Helena (Stylax)

Karisa (Marcus)

Sofia Riley (Tom Rosenthal)

Lucy Margeaux (Ryan Sampson)

Random

Kiyara Tallhart (Hizdahr zo Loraq)

[lloronala]

My Imelda,

　I would like to retract past statements where I claimed to hate Mexico City. I realize now that my memories may have been tainted by that horrible summer of trudging through on-foot with Ernesto all those years ago. I have no idea if the passage of time has changed this place, or if it is Ernesto’s notoriety, but my second visit has been more than pleasant. Though, I suppose one cannot complain when you are escorted everywhere in an automobile, with people at your beck & call purely because of your association to the main act! You would call me spoiled if you were to see how they have been treating me.

I am counting the days to when I can see you again (13, in case you are in need of remembering) and I cannot be more eager to see you. You may think me foolish to get homesick within mere days of leaving Santa Cecelia, but I hope you also may find it endearing. My heart is just so full of my adoration for you that I simply cannot control it, though this fact is something I believe you to be aware of.

Please kiss Coco for me tonight—twice, on each cheek, so she knows it to be from her Papá. I will write more as the feeling strikes me—which is to say, you will hear from me soon!

　　　　　　　　　　　　　XXX,

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Héctor

Mi amado,

It's good to hear from you, especially when it seems that you're liking the city more (do not tell him, but I have a hunch that it may have been Ernesto's notoriety as well). It reassures me, though, that they've been treating you well. Your music is a piece of work, & every recognition you receive...remember that you've earned it.

But remember that your family is here to support you no matter what.

Everyday we miss you so much, amor, especially our Coco. She asks about you everyday, & I tell her that her papá will be home very soon. We all miss you here...it's a little more quiet than I would like it to be.

Once you come home, I want you to tell me all about your travels.

I'll be sure to give your kisses to Coco, but you better make up for it once you return!

I'm sending all my best wishes to you...please come back safely into our arms.

Te amo mucho,

Imelda.

#bye :')) #pocolocos #; ❁ i give you my blessing || ic #long post tw #; ❁ Te llevo en mi corazón || pre coco

[emplying]

The Best Suspense Books of All Time

Emplying has the very best in suspense and thriller reviews. Why not check out these Emplying review today!

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Little Fires Everywhere is domestic for sure, if not exactly a thriller. Instead, it’s a 350-page slow burn (no pun intended) following the intricacies of various relationships in Shaker Heights, Ohio in the nineties — the town and era during which the author grew up. Ng brings incisive authenticity to this gripping story of mothers and children struggling with identity and morality. This collective struggle coalesces into incredible suspense in the final portion of the book.

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

More young, endangered girls feature in The Virgin Suicides, but this time they’re a danger to themselves. The Lisbon family is thrown into disarray when the youngest daughter, Cecelia, inexplicably kills herself, and her sisters Lux, Bonnie, Mary, and Therese are put on suicide watch. But of course, their parents’ restrictions only make the girls more inclined to rebel — especially Lux. The Virgin Suicides is another novel that wouldn’t usually be described as “suspense,”; yet the tension between the girls and their parents, and the aura of mystery that surrounds them in the eyes of the neighborhood boys (who narrate the novel), make for a fascinating read.

You by Caroline Kepnes

As you can probably tell from having read this far, suspense books make for excellent adaptation material, and our final entry is no exception. Before You was a Netflix thriller series, it was a book about an aspiring writer, Beck, and her ever-so-slightly overbearing boyfriend Joe. And by ever-so-slightly, we mean a lot. But in a refreshing turn of events, Beck ends up being pretty twisted herself. We won’t give away any more, but suffice to say that You is an electrifying tale of obsession and destruction that will leave you reeling.

If you are looking for more thrilling books and reviews, check out Emplying.

#books #ebooks #emplying review #emplying reviews #Suspense #thriller #Instead #looking

[chaoswillfallrpg]

FLORENCE JONES is TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD and the HEAD POTIONEER and MAKE-UP ARTIST at MADAM PIMPERNELLES BEAUTIFYING POTIONS in DIAGON ALLEY. She looks remarkably like ERINN WESTBROOKE and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently OPEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

A witch with unshakable confidence, Florence Jones has always known she was entitled to the best that life had to offer her and wasn’t afraid to go out and take it with both hands. The youngest child of Muggle fashion model ELODIE DURAND and famed Auror ADRIAN JONES, Florence and her older sister LUCILLE have been famous since the day they were born and have lived their lives on their cover of magazines. With Lucille’s birth announced in a six page spread in French Vogue, her older sister was a tough act to follow but Florence has never felt on the backfoot, even by the eldest Jones sister. Following her sister in style by accompanying her mother on the cover of WItch Weekly. This would set the tone for the rest of Florence’s life, she was unapologetically herself and wore her individuality on her sleeve. Her family name held weight in the wizarding world as a notable and well loved family of sorcerers who fought to protect Wizarding Britain and had produced a long line of brilliant members of the magical community. Whilst the Jones name seemed to sit heavily on her sister, Florence never felt the need to consider anyone else other than herself and lived her life according to her own happiness. 

Growing up in Fulham, Florence and her sister became close to the Dupont family, comprised of a British socialite and a wizard with two daughters. NATASHA DUPONT was several years older than Florence and Lucille, whilst ANASTASIA DUPONT was the same age as Florence. Raised alongside one another, Florence and Anastasia quickly became best friends and forged a cult following at their school. George Heriot’s Private School in London was Florence’s first taste of truly being adored, asserting herself amongst her year group as a voice of authority and giggling with Anastasia as they manipulated others to their every beck and call. Florence was content to stay in the Muggle world if that was what fate decided for her. She enjoyed the power she commanded over her peers and relished in her ability to be able to do it all without needing to flick a wand. But with Jones blood in her veins Florence was born a witch and an argument with another girl in her class about a boy they both had feelings for resulted in Lola Charles croaking and jumping like a frog argument, causing Anastasia to burst out laughing and a scolding from her parents and sister to keep her temper under control. 

Being friends with Anastasia since the pair were dressed in tiny designer baby booties, Florence was used to being friends with big personalities. Florence liked to be the most important person in the room and whilst Anastasia did also, they found attention in different ways which kept them from fighting. When Florence met CAMILLE ROWLE, GENEVIVE AVERY and ANDRESSA PARKINSON on the train to Hogwarts she knew this school would be different from her last one. Camille Rowle in particular was very much like Florence,. Always the centre of attention and the loudest person in the room. Camille would become one of her best friends or her worst enemy, but thankfully it was the former rather than the latter. Sorted into Hufflepuff, Florence breathed a sigh of relief. Sorted away from the other girls, she had room to forge her own following and quickly got to work finding a similar group to govern. LAUREL LINWOOD was someone she met earlier on at school and easily one of the most beautiful witches in their year group. A Muggle-Born part-veela, any sort of innate grace she had was backed up with a sharp tongue and a low tolerance for other people’s sharp edges which made her a perfect friend for Florence. 

STAR DAVENPORT became her Hufflepuff best friend. A quirky party lover who bathed in glitter and liked getting into trouble, they were the breath of fresh air Florence didn’t know she needed. Star and Laurel suited Florence as best friends because they were different to her other friends, they were fun loving and happy enough to go with the flow and be pulled into whatever scheme Florence cooked for them. Whilst other students at Hogwarts longed to work at the Ministry, Florence had her own dream. She wanted to brew her own line of exclusive cosmetics. Growing up with a model for a mother, Florence was used to Chanel and Dior and while magical cosmetics existed she found the luxury market hadn’t quite been cornered. Alongside Star the two would attend potions club and spend their time making the most amazing products that made your hair dazzle and potions that gave your skin a dewy glow. After learning to brew love potions in their sixth year the two began a business selling love potions to their fellow classmates and figuring out who their perfect match is to use their bew on. Though they had the best intentions at heart, a lot of their schemes often ended badly with Florence, Star and Laurel spending a lot of time in detention. 

Florence’s mission has always been to inject love and beauty into the world which is something that has followed her into her adulthood. In love with the idea of love she patiently awaits Valentine's Day each year and where she once decorated the halls of Hogwarts School, she dresses the little shop she works at in Diagon Alley. Both her mother and sister told her that working at Madam Pimpernelles Beautifying Potions was beneath her and although Florence has enough money in the vault to mean she’d never have to work again, it is ESTELLE PIMPERNELLE’s brain she’s after rather than the money. Florence loves her job, though she knows it’s something she wants to do forever. Although Florence has become Madam Pimpernelle’s protégé outside of her work she has been working as a freelance make-up artist, making over the rich and famous for parties and events with her own brand beaty products. Still intent on starting her own line, it seems she is not the only person with that dream. ORLAITH MACMILLAN was once Florence’s protégé and the little sister she never had. The pair remained close though Florence can admit it’s been strange adjusting to Orlaith being all grown up and moving in on her turf rather than being her understudy. 

With her life perfectly in place living in a plush townhouse in Kensington with her best friends and her work life going well, Florence has tried to focus on her own happiness. Florence truly believed she’d never fall in love. The Jones family have always tended to sacrifice work over a functioning lovelife unless the exact right person came along. With her career goals, her perfectionist ways and need to be adored Florence truly didn’t think anyone was up to the task. Then she met ELEZAR SMITH and her outlook completely changed. Elezar was everything her sister Lucille had looked for in a man, but to her suprise he had asked Florence to dance at The Yule Ball last year instead of Lucille. The pair have been dating for almost a year now, leaving Florence to fall very much in love with him. But with someone like Elezar her happiness with him was always destined to be fleeting. As an eligible bachelor in the wizarding world, Elezar has caught the eye of many young witches, including a close friend of Florence’s. Unbeknownst to Florence, Elezar and CECELIA ABBOTT have been growing close since the death of Celia’s friend. Florence truly feels like Elezar could be the one but like any member of her family, Florence is not to be trifled with and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. 

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female 

Sexuality  → Up To Roleplayer

Relationship Status → In a relationship with Elezar Smith 

Previous Education →  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Hufflepuff)

Societies → Pura Sorores 

Family → Adrian Jones (father), Elodie Jones (mother), Lucille Jones (sister), Balthasar Jones (uncle), Alicia Avery-Jones (aunt), Hestia Jones (cousin), Gwenog Jones (cousin)

Connections  → Elezar Smith (boyfriend), Anastasia DuPont (best friend/housemate), Camille Rowle (best friend/housemate), Genevieve Avery (best friend), Andressa Parkinson (best friend), Star Davenport (best friend), Laurel Linwood (close friend), Cecelia Abbot (close friend/unknown adversary), Estelle Pimpernelle (boss/mentor), Gilderoy Lockhart (friend/client), Rita Skeeter (friend/client), Daisy Hookum (friend/client), Glenda Chittock (friend/client) 

Future Information → Wife of Elezar Smith, Mother of Zacharias Smith

FLORENCE JONES IS A LEVEL 6 WITCH.

#marauders rpg #harry potter rpg #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rp #erinn westbrook #insatiable #florence jones #witch #magic #alleys #madam pimpernells #neutral #jones #open witch #open neutral #open

[donghun-s]

tagged by @milkandheonnie to put my music library on shuffle and expose the first ten songs:

become the hero - christophe beck (from the antman movie score)

chocolate - day6

another day - from rent

meet you there - 5 seconds of summer

breathe - ab6ix

dreams come true - wjsn

better with you - astro

oh cecelia - the vamps

dracula - f(x)

big time rush - big time rush

#mel talks #tunes

[archangells]

ch inspo

ok so i’m sorry in advance about my characters, they’re really complicated but I think that’ll just make it an interesting challenge!! we’ll start from the top! 

cecelia “lia” yashar 

the second picture is more what I think she looks like all the time, like how she likes to do her hair. she’s Hebrew so she always has the star of david on her somewhere, bright colors, patterns, florals, sometimes two layers, but not more, 

is the kind of person to wear a lacy bralette as a shirt with a floral patterned jacket unbuttoned over it, and leggings, a lesbian, most you character aesthetic - femme and soft but colorful and bossy 

allergic to bees but loves the aesthetic, carries around a camera, almost always wearing a little red (superstitious), can’t wear shaped iron bc of her gf so no zippers or charms or jewelry unless it’s copper, gold, etc. wears rings, earrings. 

human btw. 

nessa Kearney

her gf!!! platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, the only colors in her wardrobe are black grey and white, a 400+ year old mob boss icon, winter court fae if you know what that is, west of Ireland and still has the accent after 200 years. leather jacket leather boots (natural leather bc it’s biodegradable)

I lied she actually does have some color in her wardrobe it’s her underwear, bold reds, greens, blues, purples, mostly satin not lace bc she likes the feel of it. she puts the sexual in pansexual, silent and scary, we don’t know anyone like this at all. 

dark eyeshadow, winged liner, pale skin, only likes lipstick if it’s the marks lia leaves on her neck, very masculine/ almost butch presenting usually, but understands she’s pretty and can run with it sometimes (must be mostly monochromatic with plays in contrast) 

multiple tats but I haven’t figured those out yet, if you wanna gimme some suggestions i’m down for that - no piercings though. 

nimue zetrenne 

usually has her hair natural, afro-welsh father and Haitian creole mother, mage so surrounded by magic all the time. disabled, missing a whole leg. uses magic to deal. 

city aesthetic, modern but loves color pops, jewel tones, will sometimes be in her wheelchair, thicc and knows it, magical earrings, has a watch tattoo on her wrist that works, cat familiar, bold style, likes orange. 

also enjoys northern ocean aesthetic bc her bf is just like that 

beck D'Souza

brazilian, honestly? vague fuckboy aesthetic, at least fashion wise. but like jock fuckboy. comfortable? Henley kinda fashion choices. catholic and he always got that cross necklace on. 

works for the navy bc he gets paid to swim, engineer, does diagnostic checks on boats while they're in the water, also a diver. manta ray merman - mantas can dive like 3,300 feet, so he does diving stuff too sometimes. really really really likes the beach, takes his gf with him all the time. can choose whether or not he has legs though. 

wears blue. a lot. it’s his favorite color. has a tat but like I said I haven't done much tat planning. usually stubbled. suns out guns out. also we love a bicon

caspian iseult

won best dressed in high school, much more prep fuckboy aesthetic, literally any earth tone scheme works for him, not bright colors, NO orange at all it washes the boy out. coast guard rescue swimmer, beck’s best friend. arctic mermaid. p sure i’m going to make him a seal-mermaid. Scandinavian ancestors. 

sedna iseult

caspian’s fiancée/wife not sure if I want them to already be married or not. selkie, so can turn into a seal. always carries a furskin jacket (it’s her fur, idk if you know about selkies or not), inuit, native Alaskan. 

soft and also usually earthtones aesthetic. unless she goes clubbing then it’s full neon between her and caspian. her facecast is riit who’s an inuit electropop singer, and it fits for her. she’s capable of anything, aesthetic, or otherwise. 

her and nimue and lia are all the most feminine girls. usually has parts of her hair dyed in literally any color. pick one. it’s up to you. 

aspen tanis 

honestly biker chick aesthetic? denim gay too. we love an aromantic bitch. natural makeup usually, but totally subverts the soft tree spirit thing. Algonquin (native Canadian). has little black freckle spots on the back of her hands and her wrists from when she was sick as a child. playful aesthetic though. 

you can tell i’m getting sick of doing this bc this is all I have to write for her

rowan ?????

rowan doesn't even have a last name yet but I want you to know that he radiates the most flamboyant fashionable chaotic gay energy. near crackhead energy. if you mixed Roldan and Ash you might get close to rowan. also a dryad, also irish. pastel aesthetic sometimes. 

cyrus zetrenne 

he’s last bc I don’t even have a facecast for him, but nimue’s older brother. nerd shirt aesthetic, dc comics over marvel, elementary school art teacher. also a magic user, a seer. I don’t have much more for him so use him as a blank slate.

if you have any questions that I haven’t answered feel free to fill in your own shit, I probably will not mind, but assume that if you don’t show me these the Minute you return, I Will Have You Killed. ily 

#ch inspo #long post

[myxcenterxstage]

v: This Royal Throne of Kings //  v: Diamond In The Rough

Author’s note: Why two verse names?? Well, surprise, surprise, amigos! Not only is Priscilla getting a spotlight in this verse, BUT SO ARE HER UNCLE THOMAS AND UNCLE CHARLES!

Author’s note II: TLDR; This also works as a fantasy / medieval / fairytale /disney AU! Priscilla’s story is like a combo of the Little Princess & Cinderella at her Uncle Henry’s residence... and meanwhile, (oblivious to what Pris is going through) Uncle Thomas & Uncle Charles are in another castle as Royal Advisors (to the king, crown prince and his brothers).

Author’s note III: This is the first time we get to see almost ALL of Priscilla’s family in one big verse, like wow! All it’s missing is cousin Emmett, and it’s everyone!

This was the House of Kimbleton, the children of Baronet Phillip and his wife Cecelia:

Henry, the eldest son, proud and imperious.

Charles, the second son, scholarly and restless.

Josephine, their only daughter, brave and compassionate.

Thomas, their youngest son, noble and principled.

There was a fourth son, the twin brother of Thomas, however, his name is never mentioned at the perennial grief of his untimely passing.

The Kimbleton children grew up and eventually dispersed. Henry succeeds his father as family Patriarch and parliament. Josephine - while still betrothed to a Duke in an arranged marriage - had eloped with a promising young Doctor. Charles and Thomas had both been called to arms - the former to the Army, and the latter the Navy.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle… This precious stone set in the silver sea… -- King Richard, Shakespeare

Once upon a time, there were two brothers, and while they both bared the same resemblances and shared the same blood, they could not be more different from the other. Their names were Charles, the older brother, and Thomas, the younger.

And then this is when the narrator got lazy and decided to just bullet point the rest of their story:

Shortly after their brother Henry was married, Charles was set in an arranged marriage to an heiress. When they were married, Charles fell in love with his wife more than ever when they were courting and was a dutiful and faithful husband. Tragically she passed away a year later while still in her first trimester. After his wife’s passing, Charles refused any consideration of remarrying and focused his life around the sciences and wanderlust.

Later Charles entered the army and quickly rose in the ranks to be a Major General and accomplished Natural Historian.

Because during this time the Kimbleton family was in such upheaval with Thomas Sister Josephine’s elopement, Thomas wasn’t in any arranged marriages and had an unsuccessful love life.

(Tired of his mother’s pestering he should find a wife jkjk) Years later, Thomas entered the navy and equally became a medaled Rear Admiral and master strategist.

A war had emerged with a neighboring kingdom requiring both Land and Sea strength, so the King summoned the two brothers to join his highest ranking officers, and eventually earned the King’s closest trust.

After the war, the King brought the two brothers back to his court as trusted advisors.

Eventually, the King assigned the two brothers the position of Royal Advisors to the King’s young sons.

*insert drama here*

When I hear a command I obey But I know of a place Where no one can stand in my way On the wing of my fancy, I can fly anywhere and the world will open its arms to me

I'm a young Egyptian Princess or an Heiress I'm the greatest Prima Donna in Paris I'm a girl men go mad for love's a game I can play, with a cool and confident kind of air

In my daydreams, I can be whatever I want to be...

-- In my own little corner, Rodgers & Hammerstein (modified)

Once upon a time, in the House of Kimbleton, there was a beautiful maiden named Josephine. Josephine was raised as any of the nobles of the high court, but her heart was pure as gold. She cared not for the dainties and fanciful things which she was well acquainted with. She wanted to help others, to stand up for those who could not stand up for themselves, and aid those who could not aid themselves. And she did so. And in doing so she met the young doctor, Raleigh Duncan, who shared the same ambitions. Josephine and Raleigh fell in love. However, when Raleigh asked Baronet Phillip for Josephine’s hand in marriage, he was harshly declined, as Josephine’s father did not approve his only daughter to marry a commoner when the family had greater plans for her to marry a Duke.

Josephine was horrified. In indignation to never marry for convenience when she had true love already in her arms, she and Raleigh eloped to the countryside to be married under a peach tree.

And what a scandal was caused! Josephine’s father was outraged, and her mother did her best to keep the disgrace as hushed as possible from society. What made matters worse, was when Philip shortly after fell ill to fatal sickness. This arose Josephine’s eldest brother, Henry, to grew a dark bitterness in his heart towards his sister’s rebellion, wrongfully blaming her for the strain on their father’s health.

Josephine’s other brothers were too busy over land and sea to weigh many opinions, and Cecelia desperately tried to pacify the situation, but to none avail. Josephine’s father and Henry chose to disinherit her from the will.

When Philip untimely passed away, it was was the first time in years the House of Kimbleton has assembled again. The first time in years Cecelia and her sons were able to see Josephine again. Josephine arrived with both her husband Raleigh, and their infant daughter, Priscilla.

Years passed. Henry had become the new Patriarch, Charles now a Major General and renowned Naturalist, and Thomas a Rear Admiral and heralded strategist. Meanwhile, little Priscilla was growing up to be a bright and happy young girl by her loving parents, who were aiding all in need as best they could. But unfortunately, Josephine and Raleigh’s stories were cut short with their sudden disappearance. And little Priscilla was left to fend for herself in the world. But how could she? She was but a child. So when attempts at contacting her father’s side of the family were unsuccessful, she was brought under the custody of her grandmother, Cecelia.

After losing both her husband and daughter, Cecelia saw that little Priscilla was a diamond in the rough of this drama. Priscilla was raised as her grandmother had raised her mother - to be poised and sophisticated. Like a little princess. (Not that it was an easy task, mind you, given the young child was a countryside wildflower and had an untamable free spirit).

If only those years could have lasted longer. When Cecelia departed this world to join her husband, she left in her will that Priscilla should continue to be raised by her Henry - Cecelia’s only son who had offspring of his own. Pity Cecelia could not see her son’s smoldering bitterness towards his sister bled into his impression of his own niece.

When young Priscilla arrived at her Uncle Henry’s residence, she quickly came to realize that she was unwelcome. What was formerly thought as aloofness from Uncle Henry turned to intimidation. And even though Cecelia endowed Priscilla with the Kimbleton surname to give her an identity, Henry instructed that Priscilla was to be treated “...as the bastard child and charity case that she was.”

Life had changed overnight from the privilege and love her Grandmother had given, to the cold punishment of servitude from her Uncle. Priscilla slept in a tiny guest room at the furthest end of the house near the servants quarters, instructed separately from her cousins (Henry’s children, who also remained aloof), and not permitted to dine with them. She was at her cousins’ beck and call, even when they already had ladies in waiting. Ironic that when they had a houseful of flunkies and servants that Priscilla was declassed to such ranks, even against what was in her late Grandmother’s will.

Fortunately, things were not so terribly miserable for Priscilla. She found her due deserved respect and tender care from the household staff and her tutors. At least whenever Henry and his family left for holidays and Priscilla was left behind, the staff insisted that ‘Miss Priscilla Kimbleton’ be treated as the ’lady of the manor’ that she was. They knew what Henry was doing was wrong, even though they had to stand by silently and watch.

Not that Priscilla minded. As she adjusted from her bucolic life in the country to the life of nobility with her Grandmother, so she would adjust to this new lifestyle. She had her imagination, where she could be anyone, and anyplace. And someday, hopefully, someday, she would be able to escape and live the life that she always wanted to discover...

#v: this royal throne of kings #v: diamond in the rough #verses #yaaayyyy #here it is XD #disney rp #fantasy rp

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 7: The Sail

Chapter 38

Cecelia is in the shower. She lives with us now. I think. Actually, she and I live with Finnick, and Alvan and Gloss live with Cashmere. The shuffle has been shuffled. Not like it really matters. Nothing matters.

That’s not true. Things matter.

The fact that Finnick is here matters. The fact that Cecelia and Cashmere and Johanna and Peeta are here matters. It matters that Johanna is getting better and that Katniss is in Two helping win the war and that the propos really are helping all of us grieve properly.

But it doesn’t matter that people are starting to stare at Alvan and Cashmere. It does matter that he can get her to laugh when the rest of us can barely get her to talk. It doesn’t matter how they found each other, only that they did, despite the odds, and despite how funny it looks to see Cashmere, who is almost as tall as me and acts my age, smiling at Alvan like he’s the world, and Alvan, who is at least eight inches shorter than her and acts like he’s older than Haymitch, staring at her adoringly. It doesn’t matter that District One’s golden girl needs a cowboy from District Ten to talk her down in the middle of the night. It only matters that they do, in fact, have each other.

And it is very funny to watch Gloss experience it as a crisis, torn between being happy that his sister has some semblance of something normal and happy, and being sad that no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. But he’s become such good friends with Alvan since the three of us came to Thirteen that he eventually does decide this is all for the best and is nothing but happy for them. Though he insists on continuing to sleep in 2110, to keep them from doing anything “untoward.”

As if Alvan is even capable of that.

So Cecelia lives with us. Mostly because she needs a bottom bunk. Her leg is taking its time healing. It was broken in multiple places, and the doctors here had to do some major surgery to get it even close to right.

But right now she is in the shower, and Finnick is telling me about the one time Beck let him borrow his boat and why he was never allowed to take it out alone again.

I am almost asleep. But something, I’m not sure what, reminds of talking with Augustus and Megary, on that day that feels so long ago, a lifetime ago, not a few short years. I roll my head over to look at Finnick. “Did the Capitol tell you you couldn’t get married?”

“Several times.” He rolls onto his side, smiling, so we are face to face. “But they don’t own me anymore.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We tell Johanna first. The next morning, when everyone else is down in Special Weaponry blowing off some steam, Finnick and I visit her in the hospital.

She’s looking better. Still outrageously skinny, but starting to fill in a little, and her hair has started to grow back, and her eyes have that fire again. She grins when we tell her we’re getting married. “Good. That’ll stick it to Snow. See his victors disobeying direct orders and being happy and not being his anymore, and there’s nothing he can do.”

None of those things were my motivation, but I can’t argue with her logic. Those are just nice bonuses.

We catch everyone else down in Special Weaponry. I can honestly say it’s the first time I have seen all of us genuinely happy in… maybe since I’ve known them. There is no Capitol breathing down our necks here. No Snow with his lists, telling us to play nice or else. I may hate pretty much everything about Thirteen, but it has finally given us a kind of freedom that was unimaginable after I became a victor.

I want to tell Posy too, but I suspect telling her will then prevent us from being able to break the news to anyone else ourselves. She’ll be so excited that all of Thirteen will know by bedtime. So Finnick and I make the weird choice to tell Plutarch and Fulvia next.

Plutarch is ecstatic. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it!” he says to Fulvia, who is already scribbling madly on her notepad.

“I do,” Finnick mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

I snort.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

True to form, Posy shrieks when we tell her at supper that night.

Finnick’s hand clenches mine and he hauls in a too-sharp breath, but then Posy leaps from her chair to hug both of us and he evens out.

“I’m safe,” I whisper.

He nods.

Posy runs laps around the table, whooping.

She still hasn’t eaten a bite when the rest of us are finished, so Hazelle finally makes her sit down as we leave.

I hold Alvan back in the hallway as everyone else starts the nightly room shuffle.

“Somethin’ botherin’ ya?”

“No. Well… a little… maybe?” I frown. “I wanted to ask you… I don’t know how you do weddings in Ten, but in Four…” It hits me. It really hits me. I suck in a shaky breath, blinking back a tear. The words tumble out. “My dad’s not here.” It’s not that he isn’t here, it’s that I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. They just drew my name for the Quarter Quell and ran me on the train. And I don’t even remember that last part.

Alvan looks both very sad and very happy, but says nothing.

“Will- will you walk me down the aisle?”

He nods and smiles. “’Course I will.”

“I promise I won’t wear heels,” I say, trying to force myself to laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry.

Alvan takes my hands. “Annie, wear whatever ya want.” His smile broadens. “You’re gettin’ a day most of us don’t bother to dream about.”

Alvan has hit the nail on the head.

It didn’t occur to me until he said it, and even then it doesn’t sink in until I am almost asleep, and then I laugh so hard I can’t even explain myself to Finnick, just wheeze and giggle.

Finnick has no suit. I have no dress. And the only fabric to be found in Thirteen is the gray stuff that everything is made out of.

The next day, during a literal wedding planning meeting in Command, Coin says this will be fine. Plutarch says this wedding will be televised, and under no circumstances will he dress us in anything but the best. He has no idea where to get “the best,” but he assures us he will make something happen.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

It is actually Katniss who solves our problem one afternoon. She has been deemed well enough to leave the hospital after getting shot in District Two. We are sitting in Special Weaponry, watching Gloss throw knives.

“There are dresses in Twelve,” she says quietly, not looking at me. “Lots of them. They were mine, so you might have to make some alterations, but… you’re welcome to use them.”

“Are- are you sure?” I ask. I heard about what happened to her stylist, and I know she liked him a lot more than I liked Marius, though I have to admit, he maybe wasn’t the worst. It was his idea to put us all in our crowns for the interviews. And he did make me look perfect on every occasion. Maybe I don’t dislike Marius. The idea confuses me, even more so when I realize I have no idea what happened to Marius after we got out of the arena. I’ll just add him to the list of mysteries. Him and my crown.

“Yeah,” she says, yanking me out of my wonderings. She turns to look at me, dangerously close to smiling. “Yeah, I’m sure. Can’t have you wearing this horrible stuff on the happiest day of your life.” She picks at her gray shirt.

“Thank you.”

Then she waves Finnick over and tells him her idea. “Peeta has suits, too. I’m sure you could use one. He won’t- he wouldn’t have…” She trails off.

Finnick nods. We both know what she means, what she can’t quite bring herself to say. Instead we thank her, then the three of us go looking for Plutarch to tell him the good news.

We find him in the control room, talking to Beetee and Haymitch.

He snaps his fingers, eyes lighting up. Fulvia is already scribbling furiously.

“Yes! Katniss, it’s perfect! And with a little work from our favorite style team, we’ll have the best-dressed bride and groom in Thirteen!”

We all glance around at each other, wondering who will be the first to say it.

Unsurprisingly, it is Haymitch. “I don’t think that’ll be hard.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We have to wait a few days for a flight to Twelve to get cleared, planned, and assigned a security team. In the meantime, we go back to making the propos.

There’s one we haven’t done yet. One she’s never brought up. And it’s horrible, but I hope she forgets. I hope they all forget. I almost hope I forget. I hope Fulvia’s list is somehow missing this one name, because I can’t do it again.

I can’t.

And then after lunch there is a lull. They have been talking about the kids from two years before me, so I haven’t been any help at all.

Like she always does, Fulvia lets us sit in silence for a while after we seem to be done. She says we need a chance to grieve. She’s right. Talking like this helps. It hurts, but it helps.

I fade out less. Cashmere talks more. Not much, but more. Sometimes Alvan does impressions just for fun and by request.

Fulvia gives us our grief pause, then she takes a deep breath and glances at Finnick and me. “I want to talk about Mako,” she says.

“Take it from my rescue day footage.” I shrink down in my chair. Now I can hear it. The cold slice of metal, the thump, the thunder of the stampede…

Nobody questions my request. They are all watching Finnick. I wonder what we look like from the outside. Cecelia takes my hand.

Finnick is quiet for a long time, staring off into the distance. It’s like he’s forgotten the rest of us are here as he drifts through his memories.

“Mako?” He speaks quietly, looking through the far wall like he can see all the way home. “They’re always hard to lose. Not because I want to win, but because they’re kids. They’re somebody’s kid, somebody’s brother or sister, somebody’s…” His face is expressionless, lost. “I picked her from the beginning. I knew she could win and I knew he’d have to die for that and I- I didn’t think this would happen. It’s been five years now and I fall asleep next to her every night and wake up next to her every morning and I… I feel like I stole her.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Mako Silther was one of our best, and I had to let him die. I owe him the world and then some.” He stands up, breaking the trance, making us all jump. “We all do. My little sharks walked so Katniss and Peeta could run. And the sharks walked because they remembered Alvan and Cally. And on and on and on it goes, back to the beginning! And if we don’t win, it’ll go on and on and on forever!”

He's out of the room before anyone really knows what’s happening.

I lurch out of my chair after him.

He didn’t get far.

I sit down next to him in the hallway. “You’re not good at hiding, are you?”

“Not like you.”

“Well that’s not fair,” I lean my shoulder against his. “You can’t compare yourself to someone who won by hiding. That’s like saying you’re not good at throwing axes because Johanna’s in the room.”

He frowns at the opposite wall.

“You didn’t steal me.”

“That’s not how it feels.”

“Finnick…” I take a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault. The Capitol did it. All of it. You couldn’t get us both out. That’s how it works.”

“Shouldn’t be.”

“Well it was.”

He finally turns to look at me. Maybe that came out a little harsh.

“I don’t blame you. I never have. I thought you knew that. You didn’t kill Mako, and I promise you didn’t steal me. You snuck up on me, but you didn’t steal me. I picked you too, Odair. Remember that.”

He chews the inside of his lip. “Why?”

“Because I found out what the real Finnick Odair is like. He is caring, and funny, and a good cook, and a terrible liar, and a very normal person who has somehow managed to be bullied by every kind of marine wildlife there is. And he would never steal someone’s girl.”

Finnick slumps against my shoulder. “I think you see a little too much good there.”

“I promise, if I thought you’d done all this on purpose, I would have left you for Gloss. You’ll notice I am still here. I’m staying with you, because you stayed with me.”

That night he doesn’t tell me stories about being bullied by marine wildlife. He talks about the house he wants to build. He doesn’t want to live in Victor’s Village anymore, and I don’t blame him—I wouldn’t, if Dad wasn’t there. Finnick has a spot all picked out for the house, right on the beach up by the Traps. He knows who owns the land and he’s been working on them for almost three years now. He doesn’t say who it is, but it must be someone in the Capitol. People in Four have money, but no one has that kind of money.

He talks and talks and talks, and for once, I stay awake for a long time. I can’t help it. I’m even tired, but listening to him explain exactly how he wants the kitchen organized and why he wants the upstairs layout the way he does and where he wants to hang all my drawings of that stray cat from down by the pier is so enthralling that before long it is well after midnight and we are still laying awake, talking about this house that neither of us have any of the skills to build or the land on which to build it, this house that we will make spicy shrimp rolls in, have big New Year’s parties in, dance in, laugh in, learn to make cream cheese rolls in, read books in, raise our children in. This house that will get us through the rebellion.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Katniss’s prep team and a handful of guards go with us to Twelve. Katniss and I have spent enough time together since first getting to Thirteen that we could almost call each other a friend, I think. And she knows how my mind works. Or doesn’t, depending on the day. So she starts talking as soon as we board the hovercraft even though I can tell she doesn’t love it. She tells me inconsequential stories about her sister and about hunting in the woods outside Twelve. After a while she gets quiet, then asks, “What’s Four like?”

I smile. And I tell her. And like my rescue day interview, I get carried away with the memories, but in a good way. I tell her everything I can think of, and soon I’m not talking about Four, I’m talking about my dad and Jade and Coral and Mags and Beck and even Mako.

Fulvia is right. Talking does help us grieve and heal. And Finnick was right, a few days ago, when he frowned, a confused but pleased frown, and said, “You’re better. You’re a lot better.”

The soldiers from Thirteen do a full sweep of the area before letting us off the hovercraft, and even then, they don’t go far away.

I follow Katniss into her house. I know I would want space if it was me leading her into my old house.

She leads me into her upstairs study. It’s in the same spot as mine, except hers is full of clothes rather than drawings.

We start going through the dresses. Katniss discounts some immediately. One reminds her too much of Cinna, she says. Another is her favorite, and selfishly, she just doesn’t want to share. I understand that. We also pass all the dark-colored ones. There is too much in Thirteen that is dark and drab. We need something bright, colorful, something fit for a wedding. I try on a few, but it is when Katniss pulls a long green dress out from the back of a closet in the third spare bedroom that I know we can quit looking. I say “long” because it must have been long on her, but when I put it on, it hangs just below my knees. Which I like.

I smile at Katniss. “This one.”

She smiles back, nodding.

On the way home, having retrieved what her prep team called “the perfect suit” for Finnick, Katniss and I talk like normal people our age might talk. We talk about our favorite foods, our favorite colors, our favorite childhood memories. She tells me about deer and I tell her about dolphins.

And then she talks about being the Girl Who Was On Fire and I talk about being the Tiger Shark of Four.

Yes, Katniss and I would have been friends, chatting and laughing and eating carrot cake and making fun of Augustus if only the Quarter Quell hadn’t pitted the victors against each other.

But Katniss and I are friends now, talking and smiling and rolling our eyes at Plutarch’s need for a Capitol wedding celebration and Coin’s determination that no fun will be had.

For a long time, I wondered about Katniss. Wondered if she was acting, if she was a rebel or if she was just what I would have been if I had only had a way to keep Mako alive and make them let us both win, if she was desperate or in love or just a scared kid like the rest of us. Now I know.

Katniss is like me.

We could change places so easily.

If I had been born in Twelve, to poverty and starvation and a need to escape to the woods for my very survival, I would have won. They would have called me the girl who was on fire and I would have fallen in love with the boy with the bread. And I would have broken when the Capitol took him away. I would have never come back.

If she had been born in Four, to money and food and my father’s fishing business, she would have won. They would have called her a shark and she would have mourned Mako Silther without end. And she would have walked herself off the pier when she came back.

The girl who was on fire would have smothered her own flames, drowned her feathers in salt water.

In another life, Katniss is the shark, and I am the bird.

In that life, neither of us would make it far.

I would have done anything, up to and including turning myself over to the Capitol, for the hope of getting Mako back after we both survived two stints in the arena.

Katniss would have laid down and died after losing Peeta in the arena.

But not in this one. In this world, we are two girls who have lost too much, clinging to what little is left. We are neither of us equipped to deal with the other’s grief.

I doubt Katniss knows any of this. I still don’t think Katniss knows how much she loves Peeta. Everyone with eyes can tell. Everyone but Katniss. And now she doesn’t even have Peeta. But she’s still going on, pushing through, staying as strong as she knows how.

And that I couldn’t do. If I was their mockingjay and the Capitol sent Finnick back trying to murder me, I’d find the tallest stairwell and I’d jump.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Finnick involves himself deeply in the wedding planning. He and Plutarch have finally found something they wholeheartedly agree on: this wedding will not be a District Thirteen wedding. This will be a District Four wedding. At least, as close to it as we can get.

The only musician anyone can find is a man who managed to escape Twelve with his fiddle. He comes in and plays a few songs for us one day, and I am sold. “Perfect, it’ll be perfect. Thank you!”

Plutarch bullies President Coin into letting us (him) invite three hundred people: everyone who we want to be there, and then the rest drawn reaping-style to insure fairness. Though when he produces the guest list, I can’t help but notice it heavily favors the District Twelve refugees. Fine by me. I made sure to include all of them I could name on my invite list anyway.

Plutarch also bullies Coin into letting us have a real wedding supper, complete with cake for dessert, though still no alcohol. I’m a little disappointed by the stipulation, but cake is what matters.

We recruit all the willing children we can find, which is all of them we ask, to learn the Wedding Song. Thankfully, Fulvia knows it, because I can’t imagine Finnick teaching anyone how to sing, and I’m not much better. I don’t know how Fulvia knows the Wedding Song, but she’s a pretty decent singer, so I don’t question it.

I catch myself wishing Augustus and Megary could have been here too. They probably would have gotten married on about day two of living here. Broken the ice for the rest of us. Told Gloss he was being stupid thinking that Cashmere wouldn’t have the time of day for him anymore. Told Alvan it was perfectly acceptable for the poor districts to marry up, though Augustus would have insisted he was the one marrying up, not the grain farmer from Nine. Told me I would have to spell it out for Finnick that I didn’t blame him. Told Finnick I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t blame him. Told Johanna it gets better.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

“Got cold feet yet?” Finnick asks.

“Not a chance. You?” I say through the toothbrush.

He grins from the bed. “I have been waiting for three years for this. I’m not about to back out now.”

“Three years?” I spit into the sink. “I can’t match that.”

“You don’t have to. As long as you love me.”

I crawl into bed next to him. “I will never not love you.”

“Even when I have gray hair?”

“Even when you have gray hair.”

“Even when I look like a wrinkly old moray?”

“Ew, no, not then.”

Finnick laughs. “Good to know you draw the line somewhere.”

“You two are adorable,” Cecelia mumbles from her bed.

****

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#wrey writes #the hunger games #thg: tiger shark #annie cresta #finnick odair #ptsd #dissociation #mentions of canon typical violence #mentions of character death #i'll forever be heartbroken we don't get much of plutarch wedding planning and coin fighting him at every turn #so much comedic potential

[professor-g]

How many artists do we have in common 👀

1. Cage The Elephant

2. AWOLNATION

3. Green Day

4. Daft Punk

5. Squid

6. The Strokes

7. Sports team

8. Tame Impala

9. Something young

10. Vampire weekend

11. The Voidz

12. Twenty one pilots

13. Beck

14. Nirvana

15. My Chemical Romance

16. David Bowie

17. Elton John

18. Black Midi

19. Will wood

20. Cuco

21. Band of Horses

22. Woodkid

23. Muse

24. The Rolling Stones

25. Coldplay

26. Gorillaz

27. Porches

28. Barns Courtney

29. Neil Young

30. The Beatles

31. Bee Gees

32. Her’s

33. Pond View

34. Indila

35. Fontaine’s DC

36. Crack Cloud

37. Black Country New Road

38. Andrew Lloyd Webber

39. Richard Dawson

40. Cecelia Bartoli

41. Keane

42. Arctic Monkeys

43. Enya

44. Autoheart

45. Imagine Dragons

46. Smash Mouth

47. Billy Eilish

48. Oliver Tree

49. NF

50. Paramore

51. The Weeknd

52. Danny Elfman

53. Tenacious D

54. Louis York

55. Younger Hunger

HOW DO I GET RID OF THE COW EMOJI HELP ME

#music #pop music #hard rock #classic rock #cage the elephant #awolnation #the rolling stones #get to know me

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 6: The Reef

Chapter 32

Alvan is talking about cows. I don’t know anything about cows except that they taste good. I remember having some sort of cow to eat at my Victory Banquet—what did Finnick say it was?

Finnick.

I let out a choked sob.

Alvan’s hand, which has been absently rubbing my back like my dad used to when I was sick, squeezes my shoulder. Sturdy, present.

Stay with me.

I can’t.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Alvan is still talking about cows. How long has it been?

He says something about how much he hates long horns.

“’N’ the meat ain’t even good. It’s too gamey, but maybe nobody but us in Ten knows any better. Y’know, Annie, I don’t even know if y’all eat beef in Four? Or’s it just fish? ’N’ octopus… es?”

He’ll taste like whatever I cook him in.

“I think—’n’ this’s a hill I’ll die on, metaphorically—that the best eatin’s a Hereford, but damn if they ain’t such nice cows it’s hard to butcher ’em, ’specially when we have to butcher our own if we want ’nythin’ other’n scraps.”

This is my lobster. I caught it. It’s mine.

“Had an old Hereford cow. Bought ’er with some’a my winnings, ’cause what else’ll I spend it all on? ’Course, I had to leave ’er home with my brother ’n’ his family, but I know they’ll take good care of ’er.” Alvan pauses. He talks about that cow the way I think I would talk about Jade and Coral if I was in his place and he in mine. He takes a slow breath. “Hope they’re alright. ’N’ I hope they know I’d trade the cow for them in a heartbeat.”

He falls silent.

I should say something. Let him know I’m awake and back. I don’t. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know anything anymore.

“Annie… I’m so sorry.”

“He was right there.” I drag my gaze from the far wall to Alvan. He’s blurry through the tears I don’t bother to blink away. “He was right there with us.”

Alvan hangs his head. “He went back for Johanna. They were too far away. The Capitol was ready. We almost didn’t make it out, Annie. ’N’- ’n’… he would’a wanted some’a us to get out rather’n all go back for him.”

“That’s Haymitch talking,” I snarl, though I know he’s right.

“Yeah, I know. Problem is it’s true. I don’t like it either.”

“What now?” I whisper. “We’re here, what do we do? We have to get him back. And Johanna, and…” I don’t know who else they have.

He sighs. “Finnick, Johanna, Cecelia, Cashmere… ’n’ Peeta. ’N’ who knows how many’a the other mentors besides Peeta are left.”

“Left?”

“They- Annie- You’ve been outta things for a couple’a days now, ’n’ yesterday mornin’ they lined up a dozen’a the other victors, ’n’… Annie…” A tear falls down his cheek. “Annie, they shot ’em. Right’n the street. Raela ’n’ Augustus ’n’-” He sniffles, dragging his sleeve across his nose.

“And who?” I don’t want to know the answer.

Alvan takes a shaky breath. “Beck.”

Beck.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

For days, they say Katniss is even more out of it than I am.

By they, I mean the only people who come visit me. Alvan, who rarely leaves my room. Plutarch Heavensbee, who drops by twice, that I remember, to apologize. Gloss, who seems almost as lost and clueless as me.

One day, when he sends Alvan out to eat and get some sleep in a real bed, Gloss tells me he wasn’t in on the plan. Not even in the end. But he and Cashmere were intrigued by our alliance and how stable it looked, and they didn’t trust Brutus and Enobaria as far as they could throw them. So they watched and waited and listened and pieced it together that we were breaking out. In the end, they knew more than I did. They wanted out, and when Haymitch and Alvan saw our staged fight, they were willing to bring them along. Gloss made it out with us. Cashmere was farther into the trees, fighting Nine. Cashmere, like Johanna, like Cecelia, like Finnick, was too far away.

So Gloss is here, an unwitting accomplice in the rebellion, and now more than willing to join up and fight. Mostly to get Cashmere out, but also because, he admits, he likes being alive.

It is Gloss who eventually gets me up and out of the hospital room and cleared for a normal room.

Normal. As if anything can be normal here in Thirteen, who knows how far underground, living in uncaring conditions with uncaring hosts.

With Alvan’s help, and I suspect a little interference higher up from Plutarch, he and Gloss get me moved into Room 405 with them, instead of a room with three other girls. Three strangers. The people in charge aren’t happy about two men and a woman living together, but they seem even less happy that three of us are taking up a room meant for four. But we are the victors they got out. Katniss is living with her mother and sister. Haymitch is locked in a room somewhere while he is forced to finally completely sober up. Apparently he was running on adrenaline in the arena, and now that we’re out and in zero-alcohol-allowed District Thirteen, he’s pretty much dying. Beetee practically lives down in Weapons Development.

That leaves me, Alvan, and Gloss. The three they didn’t want. The three that, if all had gone according to plan, would have been on the second hovercraft out of the arena. Well, actually, in a perfect world, Gloss would have been dead. Alvan, Cecelia, and I would have been the afterthoughts.

But due to unforeseen circumstances, they got us, because we were all they could get. And no one else can live with us. Alvan says they did try to stick two other men in with him and Gloss, and that lasted exactly one night. Neither of them sleep well. None of us do. I’m something of an anomaly among victors because once I finally fall asleep, I tend to sleep through the night. But some poor barnacles from Thirteen got thrown in with Alvan and Gloss and didn’t know what they were getting into. The next day they got assigned to a different room.

And I can’t exactly live with strangers, what with my nice plastic bracelet that says “mentally disoriented” in big letters.

Almost like my subconscious needed to prove I needed the label, the bracelet sent my mind off on a lark. For seven hours. Which is a record, unless I’ve forgotten another long one, but I haven’t slipped for more than an hour straight since Finnick and I started living together, exclusive of the incident during the Seventy-Third Hunger Games. And my first days here, but I was in and out, and fairly drugged up. The circumstances were extenuating.

I think it should get a pass, but Alvan says they’ve already threatened to dope me up if it happens again. They don’t care that the last person who gave me a bracelet is now a prisoner in the Capitol, probably being tortured for all he’s worth in an attempt to get information that he probably doesn’t even have.

So I promise to do better, and Alvan promises that Finnick is too pretty for the Capitol to torture him much. They’re going to need that face. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to make me feel better, but it does. Self-delusion. Quality stuff.

And it does make me realize something. It doesn’t matter which side has us. They’re going to need our faces.

It hits me at lunch one day, right on schedule, eating the same food as yesterday in the same gray clothes. We are victors. Thirteen needs us. We can make demands.

And after about five days of absolute misery during which I can barely keep track of anything and I suspect I have spent more time fading in and out than actually aware of what’s going on around me. Five days of Alvan screaming himself awake multiple times a night. Five days of Gloss’s endless pacing before bed, tossing and turning all night. Five days of their best efforts to talk me to sleep but they just don’t have what Finnick does. I would kill for my little radio with its little holochips.

After five days of this, I am ready to make my demands.

I march down to the command center, throw the doors open, suck in a breath.

“Finnick,” I say. That is all.

A smile flashes across Plutarch’s face.

President Coin frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t understand-”

“Finnick, Johanna, Cashmere, Cecelia. And Peeta.” He’s almost an afterthought. But I’m not friends with Katniss and Peeta. The Capitol didn’t give us that chance. It’s horrible, but it’s easy to forget him when I think about the others.

Coin is still frowning.

“You have to get them out. You need us. We need them. So you need them.”

Coin presses her lips into a thin line. “You don’t get to make demands.”

As if we’d planned it, the door opens behind me and Gloss strides in. He’s such a dominating presence, I wonder for half a second if I should have brought him with me in the first place and we could have presented a unified front instead of barging in separately.

“None of you get to make demands,” Coin continues, before Gloss can get a word in edgewise. Her voice is measured and cold. We are not people to her, we are tools.

And we are not the tools she wanted.

****

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#wrey writes #the hunger games #thg: tiger shark #annie cresta #finnick odair #dissociation #ptsd #hi i'm wrey and i'm a member of the i hate alma coin club #side note herefords are the nicest prettiest cows and i'll die on that hill with alvan