#GIBE ME YOUR MUSES; LOVE YOU

[fastfists]

✖ !!

✧ send me a ✖ if you enjoy my portrayal of my character ✧

[SCREECH] Seriously tho, I am glad you like the boi and how I portray him...I honestly still get worried if peeps like him and how I write him QwQ So, it warms my heart that you think I am doing him justice >//w//< Thank you and I adore how you write Arrow, always welcome to throw him and your other muses at the echidna boi (or my hedgie girl) ^3^

[plleeeepppyyyy]

I have a request if you’re doing any!!

Wally Darling x Rockstar Reader

I don’t care what you do with this but I hope you enjoy it!!

Reader is the singer and dancer of the neighborhood! Very happy go lucky, loving, and even a little clumsy. Yet always calm during making music

Which I can picture reader being a great muse. And reader singing a lot to Wally.

this was def fun to write!! all the ideas and cutesy stuff came to me in a flash ngl.. (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

really cute request!! you guys are so creative with these,,,(•̀ᴗ•́)و

wally + singer/rock star reader!

__

♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪

♬♫♬♫♬♫♬♫♬♫♬♫♬♫♬♫♬♫

••••••••••••••

•this man,,, god,, this man.

•he’s literally ur number one fan girl. he’s there for every performance, writings, everything. you name it he’s there!

•wally just loves watching you in the process of making music, its like an art! to him, it’s wonderful of how passionate you are about it. he adores watching you almost trip on a cord as you just jam out,, doesn’t matter how clumsy you are,, you’re just elegant to him. seeing you so peaceful as you strum on a guitar or something.. 🫶 (if he had a camera he would take a pic of you 200x)

•literally every-time you come up to him with ur newest draft of a song, he gets so excited!! that inner fangirl comes out.,, wally is pretty honest when it comes to stuff. but he just can’t help himself, every song, draft, album,, literally all perfection to him. you cannot do no wrong with that. he buys all of your stuff if you ever sell it. (prolly got a shrine.)

•if you ever write a song based on him,, he would actually cry out of happiness, at least be on the verge of it. you just give the song to him and he’s just like, “it’s so perfect,,,, tysm,,” while he’s on the verge of letting it out. he’ll listen to it every day. :) <3

•bonus points if you write it for your guys’ one year anniversary! that man will be so happy,, he probably would let a few tears out too..,,. like you used your creativeness on little old him?!(!(ಡ‸ಡ) wally would cherish the hell out of that song, he can just mumble out a praise as he’s about to ugly cry. like.. THANK YOU?!(!? (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

•he’ll just grab a hold of you and not let go,, it just makes him feel so happy. he’ll probably cry into ur shirt tho,,

•if you ever had some albums posted out or whatnot, he will put them on his wall. wally would prolly accidentally buy out the whole thing,, like cmon, he’s has to use some of them for display and hearing!! ( ˘ ³˘)

•ur his main inspiration for his art too,, seeing you so into doing what u do, gibes him strength. he will ABSOLUTELY paint tf outta you! literally you guys would be in the same room while he sketches and you just strum your guitar or smth, ack he’s a sucker for moments like those. ur for sure his muse. got ten whole folders of drawings and projects that are meant for you.

•he might even call you his muse tooo! :)

•he asked you once what type of music you were doing and you prolly replied with a random genre he’s never heard up,, and he’d just be like. “ah, that’s wonderful.. can’t wait to hear it.”

•he do NOT give a care,, any genre in his eyes and ears it’s perfection. like said before, you do wrong.

•if ur the type to do sad songs, he’s a little worried. like bby what’s got you so sad? :(

•sometimes (if you offer) he also does stuff with you. to him he thinks he’s better at playing instruments, which is lie he’s hella good at singing.

•he’ll give you ideas, suggestions; whatever you need!

•i literally will say it here, ya’ll do duets with each other. especially with old timey love songs, it’s just cute,,, a bit sappy. but who cares, I IMAGINE you two just singing together. (bonus points if he’s playing a piano,, well trying to,, he needs some practice..)

•every time you put on a performance,, he just sits there with the dopiest smile on with lovestruck written all over him. bro is VERY in love, he could listen to you alll day. if he had a tail it would be wagging. he will never take his eyes off either, all of his attention is on you, just you.

•even if you got a recording studio, he admires how much you get into the music. its so amusing seeing you be so calm during the whole process of making a song, but when you perform your songs. like thats my baby fr!!! wally is ur number one hype man,, i mean this all the way.

(i feel like hes such a sucker for singers,,)

•if ur in a nice suit, dress; whatever while ur singing, agh.. this man is knocked out. ur soo gorgeous,, and you sing?! like, sorry, wally is just in love.

•after one of your performances, once he sees you walking to him, all giddy and stuff. wally ain’t letting you go once you run into his arms, he will keep his arms around you as you just ask if he liked it, thought it was great,, while he’s just nodding and mumbling praises to you. (it’s honestly so sweet to watch you two.) if ur wearing heels or boots, you’re probably towering over him as this happens,, (i honestly find this so sweet, ur jus towering over him, asking him excitedly if he loved it, while he’s just practically sings praises to you. so sweet,,)

•to pick up the instrument part, he will totally help you with demos and drafts by playing the music for you. he’s pretty average on most instruments and would totally drop whatever he had and help you out! (will def help you out with drums, i think its canon that its his main thing,,)

•sing him to sleep, please,, he will eat that up. if you do, he’ll sleep so fast. as said before by me, i don’t think he sleeps much. but with ur singing? knocked out, my brother is dead asleep. what can he say? you’re just a good singer.

•honestly to him, ur like a siren. you’re just too good to be true and sing beautifully. corny he knows but,,, its true <3 (to him.)

•even house loves your singing! if wally needed the help he would call you and try to make house stop with ur singing,,

•the first time he’s ever heard you sing, his mind was blown. how did you sing that good? like all of his other friends could sing,, but you were just different. you sounded different, did things differently.. ack. he fell in love with your voice. as he listened to one of ur song’s for the first time, and ur just anxious. wondering if he’ll like it, or not.. he turns to you. blank stare, and says, “this is the best music i’ve ever heard,, ur so talented..” with just pure adoration and fondness in his eyes.

•which got you SO HAPPY, he loved your songs!!!! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

•sometimes if he feels a bit snarky that day, he’ll brag a bit. just all like, “my s/o is a beautiful singer,, can YOU sing that good? they’re so amazing at what they do, no one can compare…” wally is sometimes a bit of a prick (╥_╥)

•never a prick to you tho, said it before i’ll say it again, to him you do no wrong, see no wrong, hear no wrong, speak no wrong. 🫶

•he makes sure you know that you’ll always be in his corner, all of the time, being ur numba one fangirl! (✯◡✯)

•wally definitely tried making a song for you too,, didn’t go right tho. (٥⁀▽⁀ )

(seriously this dude is crazed over you.)

•you always make sure he’s the first one to hear your songs, after writing a draft you sprint to him and show him it. it makes him so excited too, cause like.. how did he get so lucky that he’s the first person to look and hear your talent?

•this dude just adores you, so much.. like what’s not to love? to him you’re just the peak definition of passion, he enjoys watching you have fun and play music. wally is sorta taking this into seriousness,, but he can’t help it!! he can’t get over how he bagged you, this person who’s a whole peak of inspiration for him. ❤︎︎

•he just loves to support and cherish you, i won’t lie but he’s basically a lovestruck puppy who watches you and everything you do. everyone in the neighborhood can tell.. (¯ ³¯)♡

__________

ACK,, okay i got a bit carried away on some points, but they were jus too cute to not put in.

BUT 1000 NOTES ON EACH OF MY FICSSs?!?! thats insane, thank you guys sm!! (╥_╥) i didn’t think i would get that much positive feedback for these, im rlly glad you guys are liking these!

hope you enjoyed reading this one! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

[pleasantlyinsincere]

Part 2

(Part 1: Paul attacking Ruth over a TV appearance, Jim's prudent gambling, Paul and Linda being awful houseguests)

“It’s not working out with you” - Sleeves to the elbow, only skirts and short hair.

(This is an 11 minute long bit and has little to do with Paul directly, so I transcribed only a small part of it. But I find it so interesting how that crazy family worked.)

‘Mike and I’ve been having a talk. It’s not working out with you.’ … I said ‘What do you mean?’ - ‘You are too quick for me. [...] I’m gonna talk to Paul and he’ll buy you a house, or a shop, or a little business.’ [...] The night he said it’s not working, I said ‘What things?’.  He said: ‘Well you go around with bare arms and I’ve seen Mr. Jack, the gardener, [...] looking at you bare arms. And this thing with the long hair and the ponytail, it’s just not respectable. [...] And I had promised my first husband, who loved my long hair [...], he always said to me: ‘Promise me, you’ll never get your hair cut off.’ And in an attempt to save my marriage [...] I went to the hairdressers and said: ‘Chop the lot off!’. [...] And went back to Jim’s. He said [...] ‘I called Auntie Ginnie and asked her how to handle this. [...] She reckons we should go over there, have afternoon tea with her and talk this thing through.’. I thought, what the fuck does it have to do with your sister?  [...] So I was subjected then to go over to auntie Ginnie’s for afternoon tea with Jim and for her to say ‘Now, you know, is that side of your marriage alright?’ She wants to know about sex again. [...] Just so unbelievable, Geoffrey, it was like in a nightmare. And we came home that evening and Jim said ‘So what are we having to eat then?’. And I cooked steak in the oven, I made rice pudding, and we sat down and watched television and it was never mentioned again!

Musings on generosity

It seemed to be a game with Paul and Linda. They would do things for people and then sit back and watch them fuck it up by themselves. [...] The rush head-long into these things and then when people flounder and fuck up, ‘Oh, well. Shit happens. Nevermind’. Buy Jim a big house, gibe him all the money in the world. Then take it away. And then give him allowance that you know he will have to struggle on to pay the bloody heating bills. [...] I had just recollected that Auntie Millie, Jim’s sister Millie, who was a real pal to Paul and Michael. When their mother died, she spent every single Monday and lot’s of other days besides taking care of them. In her final years, she became infirm and wasn't able to live alone any longer. She finished her days in a nursing home. And I was told by a close member of the family that Paul was very good. He payed half of the bill. Auntie Millie gave entire old age pension as her portion. They took her pension in its entirety and Paul payed the rest of the bill. Now wasn’t that generous of him. I could only think, why didn’t he pay her entire bill and let Auntie Millie keep her few pounds a week, her independence, so that she could buy toiletries and books and nuts for her grandchildren, chocolate for her grandchildren, when they visited. That half to me was just so strange.

Adult type compliment

At this stage I was probably around 13 years old and I was about the same size as I am now. I got out of the bathtub. I had a towel around me. A towel on my head and a towel around me and I got out of the bathroom. And I was walking around to the left … back into my bedroom. Paul was coming out of their room. … And he said ‘My, my, my. Look at you. You’re getting to be a big girl, you’re growing up, aren’t you?’ He patted me on the rump. And Linda heard him and there was just world war three. … I didn’t hear the exact words, but she had heard him paying me an adult type compliment, noticing the fact that I wasn’t little toothless, six-year-old Ruth anymore. …

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“It were it even there”)

A kimo sequence

               1

You are dead, and he scarce even then! It were it even there. Her fingers. Alas, from the dead.

               2

But as to suit the matin songs, and still I retire: dumb is that can die! I dare na by.

               3

These birds have signify? Like child is the setting moon, dark yew, that faith: we cannot keep my heart.

               4

Some pain, pleas’d, your dearest, there was seen or pray. Rings to thee; and the vale, and heard a busie bustling.

               5

Into childhood shapes are dancing chid! Nor, what proceed out of hell which is eight-sided, like wool.

               6

And pass, for a meadows low. Or a good shall I take and thee. And fragrant skies, and wears a crowd?

               7

Pursed the ground of space, that leave thy prosper! Hers could much of Britain’s youth. —The wean wants a crater.

               8

To see,—o for some knock-out drops and native land. A love like a fool of loss is coming year!

               9

Bit the ditch again. And roll it in his side, she scarecrow has pleasant, the first he walks have felt.

               10

Walks have from their virtue out of heat. In fancy frae me. Is after this, she woke up the breast.

               11

In clay? And what they could we forget what are not—I would the body were mellow musing starre.

               12

The gold and purple sky. The circle smiled, these are but bad pilots when her subtle servitors.

               13

Because of my love, is beautiful, and flame: and thou art worthy wife O Pilate speake, it grow.

               14

For he was a nobler ends. Thou moral gibing; and inward, till Phosphor, fresh new smell may take.

               15

And none of us though every youthful vein; but as he stars; her level matting. The common!

               16

To the General country gentle as free! Of what is to be describe. He was upright and date.

               17

For all turn out untrue. He was a heroine. To know him who had made me feel romantic.

               18

But what am I? Above them more than ever yet remain orbed in yonder living blood.

               19

The sporting generalities. But Summer from whence high Muse answer: There, where a little then.

               20

Which weep a loss for new. Our enemies have prest and lost, but as if nursed of a pyramid.

               21

Carnation found, and every guest looks ouer the door: I walk again. So close, drove the blood. And hew.

               22

No pause to keep me constancy. My courage which made Solomon a zany. A sleep of death.

               23

Whispers, blindly ere she wile your green, upon their former glad Lycius? As if a magic sway!

               24

To pine in low estate the Shadow watching alive: ’ but I know not, and made a wife ere noon?

               25

I do now? A part of words and all the gossip led and we three hot Junes burnt by cigarette.

               26

I am their dying brain. I, falling from nature to wage your souls can’t help thy vassal blest?

               27

Serve to curl a maiden eyes, my prosper! Homer though our straw soles shred on the child’ ceased to die!

               28

Motion warm, come, beaming, opened the circle round thee. Their brilliant surface crisp. Athwart a plan?

               29

The night; ring in exchange! Thy blood, my friendship, or romance of Platonism, which makes human kind.

               30

And a voice as large and horse: the time his tender gloom again. Especial hour to noble break.

               31

And laid the souls in many a subtle service discharged of the sea. To be made the river!

               32

All game at blushing shall cease. Yet as thou shalt wane, so fast thy Saviour be; but fain’d. Give me wise.

               33

My mother with darkness up to prey; and in soul. Ere I firmly trod, and when brought that belong.

               34

Lets fall off, as is the crush her, like joy in memory yet. Like any other line: so long.

               35

Fame and thro’ the topmost freshlier over dale all night I find no rest. God shut themselves we lose.

               36

Beauty in that dip their moss. But let me country gentle reader; since I began; and when there.

               37

But flower of men. ’ The quintessence, lordlier than that space where wert thou, new-year, delay no more.

               38

As down them with author to whose harness of heaun it beares; makes me beat in times? But t was.

               39

For shame at shrink from Syria, or a travel we will be hamburg. Bleed and exorcised.

               40

And eke the soul was straws, her eyes or his? Henry walk’d o’er than on Art. You scarce three parts of men.

               41

And long, the proud heart another’s wrinkles. Splashing of a world which never saw such a stronger.

               42

If free from the men with song and stars, medals, and the tree grow. No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

               43

Lets the Field; he and wind, compassion’d faerie, feend, or star is tamed: and t is the end? To bait them.

               44

There was nothing starres loue-thought them like any other bed. His remark with us, of him.

               45

Least have now had sketches fail them? While his friend, past, present death and the branch a good desert rove?

               46

The little head, and strike me destroy, in morality to find I in the monde, exactly.

               47

And the smoke, danger and be procuress to be blamed for trifles. Just now; he was the clocks stopped.

               48

Ere I forget the Kraken the Lady Adeline and the way the best one. Seeing alone.

               49

Said he, for uninvited guests dozed on the best of life—intense intent hath saved, not confined.

               50

Say seven-and-twenty; for I cannot stay. Bee you and I will nor cared for, gird the sky shows.

               51

Alone; and hands gone under your slightest my seat forbeare?—That you watch me when most importune!

               52

Hackney coach, I for one hour with the hearer. Ere half fooled to less? Upon the land of thy years.

               53

And orb into your pleasure you. Trailed him to fail from a pistol-shot that faith: we can be thine.

[hellbound-a]

∞ (For Fizzarolli and Reminisce? I dunno, gibe)

Send me ∞ and my muse will tell you...

Vox abt Fizarolli:

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply

If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW!

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

Jangmi abt Reminisce:

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply

If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW!

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

[hdsflowergarden]

“The Wise Sappho”, H.D.

   “Little, but all roses” is the dictate of the Alexandrine poet, yet I am inclined to disagree. I would not bring roses, nor yet the great shaft of scarlet lilies. I would bring orange blossoms, implacable flowerings made to seduce the sense when every other means has failed, poignard that glints, fresh sharpened steel: after the red heart, red lilies, impassioned roses are dead. 

   “Little, but all roses”—true there is a tint of rich colour (invariably we find it), violets, purple woof of cloth, scarlet garments, dyed fastening of a sandal, the lurid, crushed and perished hyacinth, stains on cloth and flesh and parchment. 

   There is gold too. Was it a gold rose the poet meant? But the gold of a girl-child’s head, the gold of an embroidered garment hem, the rare gold of sea-grass or meadow-pulse does not seem to evoke in our thought the vision of roses, heavy in a scented garden.

    “Little, but all roses.” I think, though the stains are deep on the red and scarlet cushions, on the flaming cloak of love, it is not warmth we look for in these poems, not fire nor sun- light, not heat in the ordinary sense, diffused, and comforting (nor is it light, day or dawn or light of sun-setting), but another element containing all these, magnetic, vibrant; not the lightning as it falls from the thunder cloud, yet lightning in a sense: white, unhuman element, containing fire and light and warmth, yet in its essence differing from all these, as if the brittle crescent-moon gave heat to us, or some splendid scintillating star turned warm suddenly in our hand like a jewel, sent by the beloved.

    I think of the words of Sappho as these colours, or states rather, transcending colour yet containing (as great heat the compass of the spectrum) all colour. And perhaps the most obvious is this rose colour, merging to richer shades of scarlet, purple or Phoenician purple. To the superficial lover—truly—roses!    

   Yet not all roses—not roses at all, not orange blossoms even, but reading deeper we are inclined to visualize these broken sentences and unfinished rhythms as rocks—perfect rock shelves and layers of rock between which flow- ers by some chance may grow but which endure when the staunch blossoms have perished. 

   Not flowers at all, but an island with innumerable, tiny, irregular bays and fjords and little straits between which the sun lies clear (fragments cut from a perfect mirror of iridescent polished silver or of the bronze reflecting richer tints) or breaks, wave upon destructive passionate wave.

    Not roses, but an island, a country, a continent, a planet, a world of emotion, differing entirely from any present day imaginable world of emotion; a world of emotion that could only be imagined. by the greatest of her own countrymen in the greatest period of that country’s glamour, who themselves confessed her beyond their reach, beyond their song, not a woman, not a goddess even, but a song or the spirit of a song.

    A song, a spirit, a white star that moves across the heaven to mark the end of a world epoch or to presage some coming glory. 

   Yet she is embodied—terribly a human being, a woman, a personality as the most impersonal become when they confront their fellow beings.

    The under-lip curls out in the white face, she has twisted her two eyes unevenly, the brows break the perfect line of the white forehead, her expression is not exactly sinister (sinister and dead), the spark of mockery beneath the half-closed lids is rather living destructive irony.

    “What country girl bewitches your heart who knows not how to draw her skirt about her ankles?” 

   Aristocratic—indifferent—full of caprice—full of imperfection—intolerant.

   High in the mountains, the wind may break the trees, as love the lover, but this was before the days of Theocritus, before the destructive Athenian satyric drama—we hear no praise of country girls nor mountain goats. This woman has still the flawless tradition to maintain.

    Her bitterness was on the whole the bitterness of the sweat of Eros. Had she burned to destroy she had spent her flawless talent to destroy custom and mob-thought with serpent-tongue before the great Athenian era.

   Black and burnt are the cheeks of the girl of the late Sicilian Theocritus, for says he, black is the hyacinth and the myrtle-berry. 

   But Sappho has no praise for mountain girls. She protrudes a little her under-lip, twists her eyes, screws her face out of proportion as she searches for the most telling phrase; this girl who bewitches you, my friend, does not even know how to draw her skirts about her feet.

    Sophisticated, ironical, bitter jeer. Not her hands, her feet, her hair, or her features resemble in any way those of the country-bred among the thickets; not her garments even, are ill-fitting or ill-cut, but her manners, her gestures are crude, the bitterest of all destructive gibes of one sensitive woman at the favourite of another, sensitive, high-strung, autocratic as herself.

    The gods, it is true, Aphrodite, Hermes, Ares, Hephaistos, Adonis, beloved of the mother of loves, the Graces, Zeus himself, Eros in all his attributes, great, potent, the Muses, mythical being and half-god, the Kyprian again and again are mentioned in these poems but at the end, it is for the strange almost petulant little phrases that we value this woman, this cry (against some simple unknown girl) of skirts and ankles we might think unnecessarily petty, yet are pleased in the thinking of it, or else the outbreak against her own intimate companions brings her nearer our own over-sophisticated, nerve-wracked era: “The people I help most are the most unkind,” “O you forget me” or “You love someone better,” “You are nothing to me,” nervous, trivial tirades. Or we have in sweet- ened mood so simple a phrase “I sing”—not to please any god, goddess, creed or votary of religious rite—I sing not even in abstract con- templation, trance-like, remote from life, to please myself, but says this most delightful and friendly woman, “I sing and I sing beautifully like this, in order to please my friends—my girl-friends.”

    We have no definite portraits from her hands of these young women of Mitylene. They are left to our imagination, though only the most ardent heart, the most intense spirit and the most wary and subtle intellect can hope even in moments of ardent imagination, to fill in these broken couplets. One reads simply this “My darling,” or again “You burn me.” To a bride’s lover she says, “Ah there never was a girl like her.” She speaks of the light spread across a lovely face, of the garment wrapped about a lovely body; she addresses by name two of these young women comparing one to another’s disadvantage (though even here she temporizes her judgment with an endearing adjective), “Mnasidika is more shapely than tender Gyrinno.” We hear of Eranna too. “Eranna, there never was a girl more spiteful than you.”

    Another girl she praises, not for beauty. Though they stand among tall spotted lilies and the cup of jacynth and the Lesbian iris, she yet extolls beyond Kypris and the feet of Eros, wisdom. “Ah,” she says of this one, beloved for another beauty than that of perfect waist and throat and close-bound cap of hair and level brows, “I think no girl can ever stand beneath the sun or ever will again and be as wise as you are”.

    Wisdom—this is all we know of the girl, that though she stood in the heavy Graeco- Asiatic sunlight, the wind from Asia, heavy with ardent myrrh and Persian spices, was yet tempered with a Western gale, bearing in its strength and its salt sting, the image of another, tall, with eyes shadowed by the helmet rim, the goddess, indomitable.

    This is her strength—Sappho of Mitylene was a Greek. And in all her ecstasies, her burnings, her Asiatic riot of colour, her cry to that Phoenician deity, “Adonis, Adonis—” her phrases, so simple yet in any but her hands in danger of overpowering sensuousness, her touches of Oriental realism, “purple napkins” and “soft cushions” are yet tempered, moderated by a craft never surpassed in literature. The beauty of Aphrodite it is true is the constant, reiterated subject of her singing. But she is called by a late scholiast who knew more of her than we can hope to learn from these brief fragments, “The Wise Sappho.”

   We need the testimony of no Alexandrian or late Roman scholiast to assure us of the artistic wisdom, the scientific precision of metre and musical notation, the finely tempered intellect of this woman. Yet for all her artistic moderation, what is the personal, the emotional quality of her wisdom? This woman whom love paralysed till she seemed to herself a dead body yet burnt, as the desert grass is burnt, white by the desert heat; she who trembled and was sick and sweated at the mere presence of another, a person, doubtless of charm, of grace, but of no extraordinary gifts perhaps of mind or feature—was she moderate, was she wise? Savonarola standing in the courtyard of the Medici (some two thousand years later) proclaimed her openly to the assembled youthful laity and priests of Florence—a devil.

    If moderation is wisdom, if constancy in love is wisdom, was she wise? We read even in these few existing fragments, name upon curious, exotic, fragrant name: Atthis— Andromeda — Mnasidika — Eranna— Gyrinno—more, many more than these tradition tells were praised in the lost fragments. The name of muse and goddess and of human woman merge, interspersed among these verses. “Niobe and Leda were friends—” it is a simple statement—for the moment, Niobe and Leda are nearer, more human, than the Atthis, the Eranna who strike and burn and break like Love himself.

   The wise Sappho! She was wise, emotionally wise, we suspect with wisdom of simplicity, the blindness of genius. She constructed from the simple gesture of a half-grown awkward girl, a being, a companion, an equal. She imagined, for a moment, as the white bird wrinkled a pink foot, clutching to obtain balance at the too smooth ivory of the wrist of the same Atthis, that Atthis had a mind, that Atthis was a goddess. Because the sun made a momentary circlet of strange rust-coloured hair, she saw in all her fragrance, Aphrodite, violet-crowned, or better still a sister, a muse, one of the violet wreathing. She imagined because the girl’s shoulders seemed almost too fragile, too frail, to support the vest- ment, dragging a little heavily because of the gold-binding, that the same shoulders were the shoulders of a being, an almost disembodied spirit. She constructed perfect and flawless (as in her verse, she carved from current Aeolic dialect, immortal phrases) the whole, the perfection, the undying spirit of goddess, muse or sacred being from the simple grace of some tall, half- developed girl. The very skies open, were opened by these light fingers, fluffing out the under- feathers of the pigeon’s throat. Then the wise Sappho clamours aloud against that bitter, bitter creature, Eros, who has once more betrayed her. “Ah, Atthis, you hate even to think of me—you have gone to Andromeda.”

    I love to think of Atthis and Andromeda curled on a sun-baked marble bench like the familiar Tanagra group, talking it over. What did they say? What did they think? Doubtless, they thought little or nothing and said much.

   There is another girl, a little girl. Her name is Cleis. It is reported that the mother of Sappho was named Cleis. It is said that Sappho had a daughter whom she called Cleis.

   Cleis was golden. No doubt Cleis was perfect. Cleis was a beautiful baby, looking exactly like a yellow flower (so her mother tells us). She was so extraordinarily beautiful, Lydia had nothing so sweet, so spiced; greatness, wealth, power, nothing in all Lydia could be exchanged for Cleis.

    So in the realm of the living, we know there was a Cleis. I see her heaping shells, purple and rose-edged, stained here and there with saffron colours, shells from Adriatic waters heaped in her own little painted bowl and poured out again and gathered up only to be spilt once more across the sands. We have seen Atthis of yester-year; Andromeda of “fair requital,” Mnasidika with provoking length of over-shapely limbs; Gyrinno, loved for some appealing gesture or strange resonance of voice or skill of finger-tips, though failing in the essential and more obvious qualities of beauty; Eranna with lips curved contemptuously over slightly irregular though white and perfect teeth; angry Eranna who refused everyone and bound white violets only for the straight hair she herself braided with precision and cruel self-torturing neatness about her own head. We know of Gorgo, over-riotous, too heavy, with special intoxicating sweetness, but exhausting, a girl to weary of, no companion, her over-soft curves presaging early development of heavy womanhood.

   Among the living there are these and others. Timas, dead among the living, lying with lily wreath and funeral torch, a golden little bride, lives though sleeping more poignantly even than the famous Graeco-Egyptian beauty the poet’s brother married at Naucratis. Rhodope, a name redolent, (even though we may no longer read the tribute of the bridegroom’s sister) of the heavy out-curling, over-lapping petals of the peerless flower.

   Little—not little—but all, all roses! So at the last, we are forced to accept the often quoted tribute of Meleager, late Alexandrian, half Jew, half Grecian poet. Little but all roses! True, Sappho has become for us a name, an abstraction as well as a pseudonym for poignant human feeling, she is indeed rocks set in a blue sea, she is the sea itself, breaking and tortured and torturing, but never broken. She is the island of artistic perfection where the lover of ancient beauty (shipwrecked in the modern world) may yet find foothold and take breath and gain courage for new adventures and dream of yet unexplored continents and realms of future artistic achievement. She is the wise Sappho.

   Plato, poet and philosopher in the most formidable period of Athenian culture, look- ing back some centuries toward Mitylene, having perspective and a rare standard of comparison, too, speaks of this woman as among the wise.

   You were the morning star among the living (the young Plato, poet and Athenian, wrote of a friend he had lost), you were the morning star before you died; now you are “as Hesperus, giving new splendour to the dead.” Plato lives as a poet, as a lover, though the Republic seems but a ponderous tome and the mysteries of the Dialogues verge often on the didactic and artificial. So Sappho must live, roses, but many roses, for tradition has set flower upon flower about her name and would continue to do so though her last line were lost.

   Perhaps to Meleager, having access to the numberless scrolls of Alexandria, there seemed “but little” though to us, in a cheerless and more barren age, there seems much. Legend upon legend has grown up, adding curious documents to each precious fragment; the history of the preservation of each line in itself a most fascinating and bewildering romance.

   Courtesan and woman of fashion were rebuked at one time for not knowing “even the works of Sappho.” Sophocles cried out in de- spair before some inimitable couplet, “gods— what impassioned heart and longing made this rhythm.” The Roman Emperor, weary to death, left his wreathed drinking cup and said, “It is worth living yet to hear another of this woman’s songs.” Catullus, impassioned lyrist, left off recounting the imperfections of his Lesbia to enter a fair paradisal world, to forge silver Latin from imperishable Greek, to mar- vel at the praises of this perfect lover who needed no interim of hatred to repossess the loved one. Monk and scholar, grey recluse of Byzantium or Roman or medieval monastery, flamed to new birth of intellectual passion at discovery of some fatal relic until the Vatican itself was moved and deemed this woman fit rival to the seductions of another Poet and destroyed her verses.

   The roses Meleager saw as “little” have become in the history not only of literature but of nations (Greece and Rome and mediaeval town and Tuscan city) a great power, roses, but many, many roses, each fragment witness to the love of some scholar or hectic antiquary searching to find a precious inch of palimpsest among the funereal glories of the sand-strewn Pharaohs.

[btsqualityy]

BTS Kink Series: Bondage

Warnings: Smut, degradation

Kim Seokjin

“I’m not sure about this Y/N-ah,” Jin muttered skeptically from his place laying beneath you on the bed. You immediately stopped what you were doing, letting the handcuffs that you were holding fall onto the bed next to you. 

“What are you worried about?” You inquired, giving him your full attention. 

“I just, what if something happens and I need to get out? What if you lose the key and we can’t find it and I’m stuck like that?” He rambled off and you shushed him.

“Baby, take a deep breath for me,” you requested and he nodded before inhaling deeply and then releasing it. “First off, there’s no key to these so if you need to, you can break out of them yourself. Ok?” You said and Jin nodded slowly. “You can always safeword if you need to but I think you’ll really like it.”

“Mm, alright,” Jin acquiesced and you smiled in victory before picking up the handcuffs again and proceeding to cuff each of his wrists to the headboard behind him. Once you were done, you sat back and looked over him.

“I can’t wait to make you feel so good Jinnie,” you purred as you kissed down his chest, heading towards his boxers. Jin watched silently as you pulled down his boxers, his cock already hard and springing to life. 

“Fuck jagi,” Jin exhaled harshly as you licked a long stripe up the side of his cock. He knew he was in for a long night.

Min Yoongi

“Aw baby,” Yoongi cooed as he lightly ran the tips of his fingers over the skin of your cheek. “You look so pretty like this.” You narrowed your eyes at him, wanting to show your annoyance in some way since you obviously couldn’t voice it.

“You might wanna fix that look baby,” Yoongi warned. “That’s the entire reason why I had to gag you in the first place right?” You replied, even though your words came out fumbled because of the ball gag on your tongue. Yoongi griped your chin in his hand, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“You know I don’t like punishing you baby, but you just never learn. Do you?” You replied again, trying so hard to get your words to come out clearly this time that you felt the spit that had been pooling in your mouth start to dribble out from behind the gag.

“Drooling already? It hasn’t even been 5 minutes,” Yoongi smirked evilly. You whined loudly, feeling your essence start to stick to your inner thighs from the way that he was talking to you. Yoongi recognized the tone of your whine and chuckled lowly, pushing your hair back. “Gonna be good for me now?” He wondered and you nodded enthusiastically. 

Grinning, he placed his hand on your throat and squeezed firmly. “Lay back and spread your legs for me then baby.”

Kim Namjoon

“They’re not too tight, right?” Namjoon wondered and you shook your head as you attempted to move your arms but the rope around your wrists and elbows stopped you from being able to.  

“Just right.” He nodded and walked around you so that he was standing in front of you. Being as though you were on your knees, you had to crane your neck back in order to look up at him. He smiled and set his hands on your cheeks as he looked into your eyes.

“You ready?” He asked.

“Yes Sir,” you nodded. 

“What are you ready for?” You blushed at the realization that he was going to make you say the words out loud, but the thought also turned you on as well.

“I’m ready for you to fuck my throat Sir,” you stated as you innocently glanced up at him through your eyelashes, making him grin widely.

“Good girl,” he nodded as he let his hands fall from your cheeks. His hands then went to his boxers and he swiftly pulled them down, letting his already hard cock be released. He held the base with one hand and he set his other hand on the top of your head.

“Open up baby girl,” he instructed and you did so, letting your jaw fall slack. He pushed himself into your mouth, groaning at the feeling of your wet mouth enclosing around him.

Jung Hoseok

You sat back, your hands extended behind you to support your weight as you watched Hobi attach the ends of the cuffs that were snapped around your ankles to the bed posts at the end of the bed.

“You know, you look really hot rigging me up like this,” you admitted, making Hobi laugh lightly. Once he was finsihed, he crawled onto the bed and kneeled in between your open legs.

“So many choices,” he mused as his gaze wandered over the expanse of your body. “There’s so many different ways that I can make you cum like this, without having to worry about you closing your legs up on me.”

“Well, can you hurry up and pick one? A little horny over here,” you bleated, making Hobi look up at you with a raised brow.

“Who’s the one in charge here baby?” He wondered as he set his pointer finger on your clit. Your breath hitched as he dragged the digit downwards, tracing the length of your damp slit. 

“Y-you are Daddy,” you spluttered as he pushed his finger inside of you. He gave two quick pumps before pulling it out and using the juices that had gathered to rub your clit in small circles.

“You better fucking act like it then,” he warned with a piercing look in his eyes. 

Park Jimin

“I don’t like this,” Jimin pouted as you made sure that the blindfold was completely covering his eyes. “I can’t see you.”

“That’s the point baby,” you giggled. 

“You know I like seeing your face when I make you come though,” he muttered and you left a quick peck on his lips.

“I know but trust me, it’s going to feel so much better when you come inside of me,” you promised. You shuffled slightly backwards in Jimin’s lap until you were aligned with his cock. You lifted yourself up and with one hand holding his cock steady, you slowly lowered yourself onto him.

“Fuck jagi,” he drawled, his jaw tightening. Once he was fully sheathed inside you, you looked back at him. 

“God, you always feel amazing,” you moaned as you start to lift yourself up and down his length. “Your cock always fills me up so fucking good.”

“Y/N-ah,” he groaned and you smirked at his reaction. You grabbed his hands that had been resting on your hips and dragged them upwards until his palms made contact with your breasts. You whimpered as he began squeezing them firmly and you began to wind your hips in slow circles.

“It’s like everything is so much more....heightened,” Jimin muttered lowly.

“That’s what it’s supposed to feel like baby,” you assured. “Now, fill me up with your cum,” you purred as you began to move faster on him, making him groan loudly and throw his head back in pleasure. 

Kim Taehyung

“Tae, please,” you pleaded as he slipped in and out of you from behind. The metal spreader bar that connected your calves together laid on the bed and you used it as something to grip as Tae fucked into you.

“What’s wrong baby? Can’t take it?” Tae gibed, smirking as your back arched into the air.

“N-no, I-I can,” you shot back.”J-just, please close up the gap in the bar for me,” you begged. Tae chuckled and set his palms on the cheeks of your ass, spreading them apart so that he could watch as he thrust in and out of you.

“But jagi, you have to admit that it feels so much better this way,” he pointed out as he slowed down his thrusts. “I can feel every inch of your pretty little pussy and I know you can feel all of me,” he whispered coaxingly, sliding into you extremely slowly to emphasize his point. You mewled into the sheets beneath you, loving the slight stretch every time he pushed into you. 

“Doesn’t it feel good baby?” He murmured, leaning down and peppering kisses against your shoulder blades. 

“Mm, so good,” you conceded and you could feel Tae’s lips form a smile against your skin.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no,” you shook your head. “Please don’t stop fucking me.” Tae didn’t even bother to respond verbally, he just began to plunge himself into you quickly, making the both of you moan simultaneously.

Jeon Jungkook

“Oh my fucking god,” you gasped as you threw your head back in pleasure. You tried closing your thighs, but the damned cuffs wrapped around them prevented you from doing so.

“So damned tight,” Jungkook muttered as he delved deeper inside of you. You immediately set your hands on his chest, wanting him to slow down or not go so deep, or both. 

“What is it baby?” He questioned, slowing down his thrusts but still digging deep into you. 

“Please Kookie,” you pleaded, not even really knowing what you were asking for. Jungkook leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, silencing you. His tongue slipped into your mouth, and you moaned as you felt his tongue circle yours. 

“You’re being so good for me Y/N-ah,” he murmured into your mouth. “Taking all of my cock like the good little slut that you are,” he began to speed up his pace again, making you groan lowly. He finally pulled away from your lips, looking down at you with hooded lids.

“You gonna keep being good for me?” He wondered and you just nodded rapidly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, making him smirk.

“Come all over my cock then baby,” he encouraged as he began pounding into you.

[unwcvering]

@arathief​ said  — ∞ gibe me one for lupin too !! if that is okay :3

send ∞ to hear how waver thinks about u || accepting

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning || HE IS ATTRACTIVE OKAY 

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life ||

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply

If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW! ||

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

[juniperwindsong]

Dragonology 101 (8/10)

Summary: "Well, in all my years of teaching I've never heard the like. Two students raising a dragon on their own, sustaining no injuries and keeping it secret for so long. Might have to submit your names as keynote speakers for the next Man-Eating Creatures conference!"

"Well, that's unfortunate," says Juniper glumly, staring down into an empty barrel.

This particular barrel is usually full of the magically preserved corpses of small animals used to feed Professor Kettleburn's carnivorous creatures, and, for the last few months, Juniper and Felix's illicit dragon; a dragon that is now eating a half tonne of rabbits every few days and growing increasingly dissatisfied with this meagre offering. 

Felix crosses the Care of Magical Creatures paddock to peer into the barrel behind Juniper. "It was nearly empty the last time I was here," he admits. "I just assumed Kettleburn would refill it."

Juniper shakes her head. "How inconsiderate of him! Doesn't he know how much Sparky eats?" she says in mock outrage, but Felix is too concerned to be amused.

"No, and if we want to keep it that way we have to find an alternative. He really needs bigger game, in any case." Felix begins inspecting the other barrels and bags strewn haphazardly throughout the paddock, but none look large enough to be secreting anything that might tempt a hungry dragon.

"Hmm." Juniper hums thoughtfully, resealing the barrel and perching herself on top of it. "What do you think Kettleburn feeds his Chimaera?"

Felix shoots her a suspicious glance. "How do you know Kettleburn has a Chimaera? He doesn't show it to third years."

Juniper rolls her eyes. "Everyone knows about the Chimaera. It spends more time running loose on the grounds than it does in class."

This is too true to be argued with. Felix pauses in his search and tries to remember his lesson from two years previous.

"I think he feeds it steaks of some kind," he muses. "I don't know what sort of animal they're from, though."

Juniper hops off her barrel excitedly. "Well, they had to come from something, right? And Kettleburn has to keep them somewhere, doesn't he?" She begins re-opening the same barrels Felix has just searched.

"You think I accidentally missed a great bloody pile of steaks hiding in there?" huffs Felix in mild irritation. "Anyway, it makes more sense for Kettleburn to keep the Chimaera's food near where he keeps the Chimaera itself. Just in case. Like we do with Sparky."

Juniper stops rifling through a pile of feed sacks and straightens up. 

"Good point. Where does he keep it?" She cocks her head, thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, where does he keep any of the animals we work with in class? In the forest?"

Both Juniper and Felix turn in the direction of the trees automatically.

"I wouldn't think they could all just live in the forest together," Felix muses. "There must be a stable or building of some sort where he keeps them."

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" asks Juniper.

"No," Felix admits. "But I don't spend as much time as you wandering around in places I'm not supposed to be."

Juniper pulls a face at him. "Okay, well I've never seen anything like that either. And I've done quite a bit of exploring." She spins around to scrutinise the landscape in the direction of the castle and the open space of the Hogwarts grounds.

Felix sighs and leans against a post supporting the paddock. "We may have to ask Kettleburn himself."

Juniper swivels her head toward him and makes that ridiculous attempt to raise an eyebrow. "And how do we explain that?"

"Simple," Felix says. "Ask him if we can see his chimaera."

She stares blankly. "That's it? Seriously?"

"Seriously," says Felix with an immodest little smile. He does enjoy being one step ahead of her. "Kettleburn loves that monstrosity. He's always talking about it to anyone who will listen. I don't think it'll be hard to convince him we think it's just as fascinating and want to take a look."

"We?" Juniper shifts so her whole body faces Felix now. "You'll let me help this time? You don't think my unsavory reputation will ruin your story's credibility?"

Felix ignores her light gibe. "I think we'll need both of us." Juniper opens her mouth but he explains before she can ask. "One of us will need to keep Kettleburn distracted so the other can steal the food. Or at least locate it so we can come back for it later."

Juniper crosses her arms and regards Felix appraisingly. "You're getting quite good at this, Rosier."

"At what?" he replies, flushing the way he always seems to when Juniper turns her full attention on him.

"Rule-breaking. The planning part, anyway. Guess I've been a bad influence."

Felix pushes off from the post, rolling his eyes and giving his best look of disdain, but feeling secretly pleased.

"Don't flatter yourself, Windsong." He swaggers back toward the castle. "I've always been good at this."

-

Kettleburn proves to be as difficult to track down as his Chimaera. Felix and Juniper spend the rest of the morning searching the castle for him with no luck. Juniper even plucks up the nerve to ask Filch if he's seen the Care of Magical Creatures teacher anywhere. But the caretaker considers this a highly suspicious question, and Juniper is trapped for several painful minutes listening to Filch rattle off a list of his preferred punishments for "nosy, no-good students" before Felix finds a pretext to rescue her.

"Maybe we should ask Hagrid," Juniper suggests quietly as they hurry away from the scowling caretaker. "He helps Kettleburn sometimes. He might even know where the Chimaera is, himself."

So they tramp across the snow-covered grounds towards Hagrid's cabin, only to find both Hagrid and Kettleburn together, conversing in low tones in Hagrid's garden. The two men are too far away for either of their voices to carry, but the discussion they're embroiled in looks serious. The bit of Hagrid's face visible around his beard and tangled mass of hair is brick red, while Kettleburn is wearing the sternest expression Felix has ever seen on him. At the sound of boots crunching in the snow, however, they break off abruptly to face the approaching students.

Hagrid waves and gives a somewhat forced smile which Juniper returns. Felix is too busy watching Kettleburn. Is it his imagination, or does Kettleburn's one eye widen as it recognizes him? Felix feels the back of his neck prickle and he's instantly on his guard.

If Juniper has picked up on the strange undercurrent, she gives no indication. "Hello Hagrid, Professor Kettleburn!" she greets them brightly.

"Hello, Juniper!" returns Hagrid, taking a step toward her. "How've yeh been? Not seen yeh for some time now. Keepin' outta trouble, I 'ope?" He seems anxious to start up a conversation with her and end the one he's turned his back on.

Felix chances a glance at Kettleburn again and discovers the tall professor is still looking at him, face inscrutable.

"I've been too busy for trouble. Rosier's kept me trapped in the library all break." Juniper jerks a thumb at Felix and rolls her eyes.

"Ah, good. Tha's good," says Hagrid distractedly. "Why don' yeh come inside where it's warm, and I'll make us a cuppa." He gestures toward his cabin, still studiously ignoring the professor behind him.

"Actually Hagrid, Rosier and I were looking for Professor Kettleburn here."

Kettleburn finally turns his attention to the girl beside Felix. "Rea-lly, Miss Windsong? And what can I do for you both?" He steps forward to stand beside Hagrid.

Juniper glances at the strangely quiet Felix, but he continues to say nothing. Better to let her take the lead until he figures out why Kettleburn is watching him that way, he thinks.

"Well, we were hoping you might be willing to show us your Chimaera," Juniper says bluntly.

Both Hagrid and Kettleburn are visibly startled by Juniper's statement, and Felix winces inwardly. Her delivery is not nearly smooth enough. He really thought she'd be better at this considering how many times she's managed to talk her way out of expulsion.

Juniper continues hastily, "I know it's not something we study in third year, but Rosier was telling me all about it and it just sounded like such a fascinating creature. And we were both looking for a bit of a break from revision, you know?" She attempts a winning smile. Felix hopes he's the only one that sees how nervous she is behind it.

"Blimey, Juniper," Hagrid marvels," Never knew yeh were interested in dangerous beasts! Thought yeh preferred Thestrals and Abraxans, an' 'at?"

"Oh, I'm interested in all creatures!" insists Juniper.

Kettleburn has listened to a full minute of conversation about his chimaera without chiming in, and that, as far as Felix is concerned, settles the matter. He doesn't know how Kettleburn could have found out about their dragon, but he obviously suspects something. Frantically, Felix considers how best to disengage from the conversation.

"But," he interjects, before Juniper can say anything further. "It's obvious you're in the middle of something, Professor. We don't want to bother you. We'll catch you another time."

Gripping Juniper's elbow firmly, Felix starts to pull her from the garden. She opens her mouth to protest, but it's Kettleburn who speaks first.

"It's no bother at all. I'd be delighted to show you." Except Kettleburn has never sounded less delighted to Felix, and his sense of foreboding increases. "Hagrid, old chap, I do apologize, seems I was mistaken. You'll pardon me for making the assumption, I hope. Just seemed the most likely scenario, you know." Kettleburn claps Hagrid on the elbow, the highest part of him he can reach, and turns to the curiously listening students.

"Alright you two, follow me." And without another word Kettleburn limps off across the grounds, in the direction of the forest.

Juniper tugs her arm away from Felix and, waving a goodbye to Hagrid, trots off behind the professor.

Felix's heart is pounding, his feeling of nervous expectation as great as the first day he met Sparky, only much less pleasant. But he can't think of a way to back out now without arousing even more suspicion, so he has no choice but to follow.

The three of them walk parallel to the forest edge in silence for several minutes. It isn't until Hagrid's cabin is out of earshot that Kettleburn finally speaks, addressing Felix.

"Mr. Rosier, did you ever send that letter to my friend in Romania, by any chance? About available positions working with dragons?"

Felix swallows hard and fights to keep his voice steady. "Yes sir, I did. Before the holiday. I haven't heard anything yet, but it's still rather early."

"Hmm.. interesting," says Kettleburn, still walking a pace ahead and not looking at them. "Do you know, I wrote to him before the holidays as well. Told him I had a gifted student interested in dragons who would be getting in contact with him."

Felix's stomach drops. He chances a glance at Juniper and sees she's gone pale.

"I received an answer back yesterday to say he had got a letter from someone at Hogwarts, only it wasn't about a job."

Felix says nothing and forbids his face from giving anything away.

"This letter," continues the professor, "said there was a injured dragon currently hiding in the Hogwarts grounds and asked if the Reserve would be interested in rescuing it." Kettleburn stops abruptly and faces them. "A Common Welsh Green, is that right? I remember you were particularly interested in them." He fixes his one eye on Felix, mechanical arm crossed over the other.

Felix takes a deep breath, developing a believable denial at lightning speed, but Juniper cuts in before he can speak.

"Yes sir, it is. And it's my fault."

Both Kettleburn and Felix turn to her in shock.

"Your fault, Miss Windsong?" Kettleburn asks, taken aback.

"Yes. I'm the one who found him. The dragon I mean. Over the summer," explains Juniper in that chaotic way she has when she's put on the spot. "I tried to help him. His wing is injured. But I couldn't fix it, so I've just been feeding him and keeping him safe." She glances quickly at Felix. "Rosier was trying to stop me. That's why he wrote the letter. He didn't have anything to do with it, though."

Kettleburn rubs at his chin, taking in this new information before questioning Felix again, "Is this true, Mr. Rosier?"

Felix, who's been busy calling Juniper a dozen kinds of an idiot in his head, feels a rush of gratitude and guilt. Exactly as he did the last time she stuck her neck out for him, and it's just as confusing to him now as it was then*. Self-preservation being such a Slytherin tenet, Felix can't understand why she insists on taking the blame for things she hasn't done. Is it loyalty or does she fancy she's untouchable? Felix marvels.

His rational side is screaming at him to take his escape and run, but Felix is more practiced at ignoring it now then he was last year. So he shakes his head.

"No, sir," Felix says. Juniper does a double take beside him. "Windsong might have found it, but I've been helping her with it all term. I'm as much at fault as she is."

"All term?" repeats Kettleburn sounding more impressed than angry. "And with all your appendages still intact?!" He looks them quickly up and down as if expecting to find a secret wooden limb.

"Yes sir," confirms Juniper with a grin. "He's really very well-behaved for a dragon."

"But where on earth did you find a dragon in the first place? And where could you possibly hide one where Hagrid wouldn't know about it? You know, I suspected him and all!"

"Um..." hesitates Juniper. "It's all kind of a long story."

Kettleburn claps his hand and mechanical claw together briskly. "Well, not to worry!" he declares with enthusiasm. "You can explain the whole thing on the way."

"On the way to what, sir?" asks Felix warily.

"Why, to the dragon, of course!"

-

"Merlin's beard, he's a beauty, isn't he? And healthy looking to boot!"

Juniper and Felix stand awkwardly beside an exuberant Kettleburn as the professor stares down into the valley at the emerald green dragon. Sparky glares up at the newcomer in fury, his roar discordant with rage, but Kettleburn's smile only grows wider.

"Listen to that! Welsh Greens do have the most beautiful call, don't they?" He bends at the waist and leans out over the ledge, squinting to get a better look at the dragon. Sparky snaps his jaws at him menacingly.

"Seems to be missing a tooth, though. What have you been feeding him?" inquires Kettleburn without looking up.

Juniper's eyes flick to Felix before answering, "Rabbits mostly." They've given Kettleburn an abridged version of Sparky's disastrous walkabout, but so far avoided any mention of their injuries.

"Rea-lly? So that's where they've been running off to." Kettleburn straightens up, sounding not in the least upset at discovering their theft. "Doesn't explain why he would lose a tooth, though. Rabbits should be easy enough for him to chew." He tilts his head to the side as he watches Sparky, whose low growling now reverberates through the valley like a church organ.

In spite of their precarious position, Felix cannot quite control his urge to continue impressing his teacher. He rolls up his sleeve to reveal the puckered scar tissue on his forearm.

"He lost the tooth when he bit me. After we'd shrunk him," explains Felix. They have not neglected to mention their remarkable bit of charm work.

"Merlin's beard!" Kettleburn cries again, turning from the dragon for the first time and reaching for Felix's arm. "How extraordinary! Still can't quite believe such a thing possible, but... there it is! Can't see any other way for a dragon bite to be so small." He inspects the scar closely. "And healing up so neatly!"

With a sudden crazed screech, Sparky leaps forward and claws at the wall just beneath Kettleburn, his eyes blazing with such intense hatred even Felix is taken aback. Juniper leans down and speaks to the dragon in a low, soothing voice.

Kettleburn only chuckles heartily at Sparky's attempt to murder him. "Territorial, isn't he?" He turns back to Felix. "Where did you find a salve for dragon bites? I can't imagine Professor Snape would whip up such a thing without asking a great many questions."

Felix puffs out his chest just a little. "I made it myself. The recipe is in A Dragon Keeper's Guide. There's a copy in the library."

Kettleburn steps back, hands on hips, and surveys the two students. "Well, in all my years of teaching I've never heard the like. Two students raising a dragon all on their own, sustaining no major injuries, and keeping it secret for so long. And one just a third year." He beams at them. "Might have to submit your names as keynote speakers for the next Man-Eating Creatures conference!"

There's a short silence where neither student knows quite what to say. Felix's stomach is in knots. He knows they can't avoid the topic of punishment forever, and he doesn't dare hope that Kettleburn's strange pride in their forbidden side project will stretch to a pardon of all crimes.

Juniper, as always, plunges in first. "Does that mean you aren't going to tell Professor Dumbledore, sir?" she ventures.

Kettleburn's smile falters. "As to that..."

The professor looks between the two students before him and the dragon below. Felix tries to fix his face to look as contrite as possible. Even Sparky has fallen silent, merely crouching below them in readiness, tail swishing from side to side.

Kettleburn sighs deeply. "I suppose we could avoid involving the Headmaster just this once." Felix sees Juniper break into a grin out of the corner of his eye, but he feels certain a caveat is coming. "As long as you both give me your word that you will not return here again. For any reason whatsoever."

A warm sensation of relief washes over Felix, drowning out the frantic protests of the part of him not ready to give up his dragon. You knew this was coming, chides his rational voice, just be thankful you're not being expelled.

Juniper appears to have no such mediating voice in her own head. "But Professor, we can help! He knows us really well by now, we can-

"Miss Windsong," interrupts Kettleburn firmly. "As incredible a feat as this is, it is a wonder that neither of you has been killed or maimed." Juniper tries to interject but Kettleburn raises his voice over hers. "And as your Professor, I cannot allow you to continue to put yourself in danger." He looks down at Juniper, not without sympathy, and adds. "I assure you, I will take excellent care of him until he can be moved."

Felix can tell from Juniper's face that she has a few more objections. He steps in hastily before she can ruin their reprieve.

"Of course, sir. Thank you."

"So, do I have your word?" Kettleburn asks them seriously.

Felix nods once. "Yes, sir."

Kettleburn's one eye settles on Juniper. "Miss Windsong?"

Juniper's face is more conflicted than Felix has ever seen it. She looks down at Sparky, still waiting restlessly in the ditch below. The dragon looks back at her and Felix is sure that its eyes are less ferocious than they were when fixed on Kettleburn. He feels a sudden lump in his throat and coughs to cover it. He wishes she would just say yes and let them leave quickly. He doesn't want to belabor this anymore.

At last, Juniper tears her gaze from the dragon and stares at her feet. "Alright."

"Very well," pronounces Kettleburn, solemnly. "Then that's all we'll say about the matter."

Sparky lets out a lilting, musical roar, almost like a question. Felix cannot bring himself to look at the dragon.

"I suppose the two of you can find your own way back by now?" Kettleburn says pointedly, arms crossed.

"Of course," answers Felix automatically. "Thank you again, sir." He takes a step away from the ditch, pulling Juniper with him. She follows, dragging her feet through the dirt reluctantly, and Felix has to work hard to stop himself yanking at her arm to speed her up. His heart is pounding, and not in a way he enjoys, and he wants desperately to escape the rush of unpleasant feelings welling up inside him.

As they move haltingly toward the trees, Sparky starts to utter short cries, like bugle calls. Felix keeps his face fixed rigidly ahead of him, and Juniper covers her mouth with her hand, finally walking faster.

There's a scrabbling noise behind them, and, acting on instinct, Felix glances back. Sparky is craning his neck over the edge of the ditch, smouldering yellow eyes just visible. The dragon stares at Felix with an expression he doesn't recognize; there's confusion in it, and what might be fear.

It's unbearable.

Felix breaks their eye contact and faces forward again. It takes all the self-discipline he can muster to maintain his usual, impenetrable mask.

-

The last night before the rest of the student body arrives back at school finds Felix in the same spot he's been in since his promise to Kettleburn: curled up on the sofa near the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, more miserable than he can ever remember being in his life.

While prone to fits of brooding during the summer holidays, alone in his parents' dark, silent house, Felix has never allowed himself to languish like this at school. The idea of anyone else seeing him so overcome with emotion is repugnant. But with no other students around to posture for, his pride has abandoned ship, leaving him to the waves of grief that wrack his body every time he thinks of his dragon. Not his dragon anymore, his brain reminds heartlessly.

Felix flips a page in his Charms book listlessly, not reading a word (his standard revision method for the past few days). Instead, he watches the fire burn itself down, yellow flames fading into orange embers. Like dragon eyes, he thinks, and another agonizing wave washes over him.

"Felix?"

He looks up, startled, to find Juniper leaning against the sofa opposite, balancing a plate in one hand. Felix has been so lost in melancholy he hasn't heard her come in. She drops onto the seat across from him, and leans over to set the plate carefully on his side of the table. Felix looks down. The plate is full of sandwiches.

"You weren't at dinner," observes Juniper. "Again."

Felix says nothing and makes no move to take the plate or any of the sandwiches.

"You really should eat something," she continues coaxingly.

He can't bring himself to answer.

Juniper sighs and falls silent, staring at the dark wooden table separating them.

Felix wishes she would stop badgering him, but he feels immensely glad to see her again. He's missed her over the last few days, and often wished she would emerge from wherever she's been hiding so he could talk to her, distract himself from his misery. But Juniper has been entirely absent from the Slytherin dungeon since their dragon adventure concluded, and Felix isn't sure why or where's she's been. Even though he's taken to sleeping on the sofa in the common room at night, unable to fall asleep in his own bed, he hasn't seen her sneak in or out. Felix wonders distantly if the rumours that Juniper now has a top secret curse breaking headquarters somewhere in the castle are true, but he can't bring himself to care about cursed vaults just at present.

"Felix." Juniper's voice cuts through his musings. Felix can't bear to see the concern in her face, so he watches her fingers twist nervously in her lap instead.

"I know...you're upset."

Upset. Felix bristles at the word; so abominably trite compared to the depth of the pain he feels. The indignity of it rouses him from his torpor.

"Upset? Yes, I suppose you could say that," Felix croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. He realizes he's not spoken out loud in days. "Although, I think I have rather a right to be upset." He screws his face up at the offensive term. "Sparky is gone and I failed to help him in any way. I've wasted an entire semester on a project that could have caused me to be expelled and ruined everything I've worked for, and I have nothing to show for it." Felix's words bleed with a bitterness that he hates hearing but cannot hide.

"Felix," Juniper implores, and he's never heard his name pronounced so tenderly. "You know that's not true."

He lifts his eyebrows at her.

"We did what we meant to in the first place. Got Sparky somewhere safe. We may not have fixed his wing, but... we did everything we could and I certainly don't consider it a failure."

Felix's face twists unpleasantly into something like an agonized sneer.

"You knew we couldn't keep him," adds Juniper softly; and her eyes are so wide and her voice so gentle that something breaks inside Felix. His aggravation flickers and dies like a candle flame in a wind, and he drops his head into his hands.

"I thought... I'd have more time," Felix mumbles through his fingers, the words spilling out of him without his consent. "And I didn't-" His voice catches. "Didn't say goodbye." Even in his anguish, Felix is mortified at his visible display of weakness. He can't remember the last time he was so emotional in front of another person, and he tightens his hands to hide the flush suffusing his cheeks.

Padding footsteps echo across the empty room, and Felix feels the sofa dip slightly as Juniper seats herself next to him. She rests a hand on his shoulder tentatively, as if she worried she might break it.

"I know," agrees Juniper quietly. "It's awful to lose things."

Felix looks up, realisation hitting him like a punch in the gut. All the grief and regret and despair and myriad other emotions Felix can't begin to define that he feels over the loss of the dragon, a creature he's known half a year and that was never really his to begin with...that must be what it was like for her, losing her brother, he understands, only a hundred times worse. And Felix feels suddenly foolish, on top of everything else.

"Juniper, I-" struggles Felix, but these are words he's never practiced and they're surprisingly hard to say. "I'm sorry," he finally mumbles. He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. "I suppose... this is all a bit ridiculous to you."

"It's not," says Juniper suddenly firm. Her hand on his shoulder tightens its grip. "Losing someone you care about is the worst thing in the world. Even if you've only known them a little while." She smiles. "Even if they're a dragon."

Felix stares at the girl next to him. The smile she wears now is different than the one he's used to seeing. It isn't sarcastic or affected, or huge and lopsided. It's small and just a little sad, and Felix thinks it's almost...beautiful. A shiver runs the length of his spine, as if something both hot and cold has been poured down the back of his shirt. Like the first night he saw the dragon, he remembers. It's so unexpected that for a moment Felix forgets to breathe.

Then the moment is over, as quickly as it began, and Juniper withdraws her hand.

"But you still have to eat," she insists, and reaches across him for the plate of sandwiches, thrusting it into his lap.

At her words, Felix can feel his stomach rumbling violently and realises he hasn't eaten at all today, and quite possibly yesterday either. He sighs dramatically and reaches for a sandwich, trying not to seem too eager. But Juniper laughs anyway. She stands up and moves toward the entrance wall.

"Wait!" calls Felix before he can stop himself. Juniper turns back, expecting him to speak but Felix has no follow up planned. He has no idea what he wants to say to her, or what they even have in common anymore now that they have no dragon. He just knows talking to Juniper seems to ease some of the unbearable weight in his chest and he isn't ready for her to leave. He casts around quickly for something, anything they can discuss.

"Did I ever tell you I met your brother, once?"

Juniper falls back onto the couch immediately. "What? No! Really?"

The grin that finds its way to Felix's face feels pleasantly familiar after days of being absent. He settles into the story, pausing occasionally for a bite of sandwich, enjoying having Juniper's full attention on him. He manages to keep her interest, and they continue to chat even after he's exhausted what he remembers about her brother, long into the evening. Until an echo of the warm comfort he's grown accustomed to feeling with her over the last term creeps back into his bones.

It's his first tolerable night since the dragon was ripped from him; the common room seems less gloomy and the fire cheerful again. And Felix reflects that perhaps his months spent with the dragon may not have been a waste after all.

-

Also, if anyone is interested, the story Felix tells Juniper about her brother can be found in my Felix back-story fic, "Four Things Felix Rosier Remembered". 

Chapter 9 | Masterpost

[fastfists]

✖

✧ send me a ✖ if you enjoy my portrayal of my character ✧

[SCREECHING] Stahp, you're going to make me sob Q//3//Q Thank you, I am glad you like the boi. It means a lot to me, again I do get worried I don't do him justice, so this makes me feel good about how I write him. QwQ

[ellanainthetardis]

It’s private training session day! Who’s going to get which score? Let me know your thoughts!

[ff] or [AO3]

Chapter 22 : Double Or Fold

They kept the conversation light to pass the time until the moment they would have to leave the cafeteria. Johanna tossed a gibe in Katniss’ direction from time to time but, other than that, they all managed to keep the pretense of a friendly mood. Everyone made fun about what they were going to do in front of the Gamemakers, half of them still having no clue. Finnick, triggering a general laughter. He took a bow.

Gloss was the first to disappear through the doors and Cashmere stared at them the whole time, drumming nervous fingers on the table.

Mags declared she would just take a nap, which prompted some more laughter. Haymitch figured that meant she would weave herself a hammock.

It got progressively quieter. By the time Cecelia disappeared through the doors, nobody was talking anymore.

It was hard, Haymitch figured, not to remember the last time they had sat there and waited for their own turn. He had ignored Maysilee and Dina, the last time, had refused to acknowledge them because even if they had been from home, they would soon become opponents.

Once Seeder had left, Haymitch nudged the girl’s arm. “I promised Effie we were gonna be very boring, get it?”

“No touching the dummies. I get it.” she sighed, half joking.

“Shoot.” he advised.

“I can’t really shoot at them, this year. They added a force field.” she pointed out.

He hadn’t been sure she had noticed the force field. Good.

“Shoot like the other day.” he insisted.

“What are you going to do?” she asked curiously.

“Throw knives, I guess.” he shrugged. What else was there? When the door opened, he stood up and patted her shoulder. “See you on the other side.”

The Gamemakers barely paid any attention to him. Heavensbee watched but Haymitch couldn’t tell if the man would turn to be a friend or a foe. They had gotten along pretty well before the Tour, before Coin had…

Thinking about Thirteen was enough to get him mad and he tossed one of the knives so hard, he accidentally beheaded the dummy he was aiming at. That caught the Gamemakers’ attention. Maybe it would get him some points.

The penthouse was empty when he came back and he flopped down on the couch, thinking a nap wouldn’t go amiss. He couldn’t quite stop thinking long enough to fall asleep though and it was a relief when Katniss showed up twenty minutes later.

They ended up playing cards to waste time. She was unsurprisingly still atrocious at poker.

“I was thinking…” she hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at the cards in her hand with obvious confusion.

“When you think, it usually ends badly.” he remarked. “Just play. Double or fold.”

She doubled but she was obviously distracted, fiddling with the peanuts they were using as chips.

“Do you think I should write something? For Prim and my mom. In case…” Her voice trailed off and she tossed another peanut on the stock in the middle.

“If you think you need to.” he shrugged.

“I’m not good at saying that sort of stuff.” she scowled.

“Maybe writing’s easier for you.” he pointed out, laying his cards down. He had won again. It wasn’t that funny a game. He dealt more cards.  

“Who were you writing to? This morning.” she asked, very much intruding and very much not caring.

“Didn’t know it was your business.” he snorted.

She rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to say, just say that.”

“I don’t want to say.” he smirked.

She sulked for ten minutes, lost three more times and then crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Peeta keeps hinting.” she snapped. “I’m not stupid, I can take a hint. Just don’t see how you would have a secret girlfriend without me knowing. The only women you ever talk to are me, my mom, Hazelle and Sae.” She shrugged. “It’s not me, Sae’s too old… Hazelle would never and we’re not even going to talk about my mom.”

Always forgetting Effie, he noted.

“Actually, both your mom and Hazelle had the hots for me in high school.” he replied smugly. “I was the prize.”

“Haymitch! Gross!” she objected. She tossed a fistful of peanuts at his head.

He wasn’t sure how it escalated to an outright war but peanuts flew everywhere. He had just ducked behind the couch and Katniss was hiding behind the armchair, the two of them laughing like they had gone off-hinge – which they probably had – when someone cleared their throat.

They both looked at Effie with sheepish looks on their faces. Their escort was standing there with her hands on her hips, her features schooled in disapproval and her lips pursed in annoyance. Peeta was doing his best not to laugh, staring hard at the peanuts covered floor. The Capitol man hanging out behind them seemed amused too if the way he was rubbing his mouth to hide his smile was any indication.

Haymitch casually stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “How’s it doing, sweetheart?”

“How do you think?” she hissed. “I was hoping to introduce Mr Harwyn to sane individuals.”

“Got the wrong floor for that, I’m afraid.” he taunted, studying the guy. He was old and it was visible despite the plastic surgeries. In his seventies or eighties, it was hard to say for sure. He was clutching a walking stick made of a dark twisty wood carved like spirals, with a big shiny ruby on top but it was hard to say if it was a simple accessory or something he needed. White fluffy hair rose around his head like a lion’s mane and a carefully trimmed beard covered his chin. His green eyes were sparkling with amusement though. “New stylist, right?”

“Please, be polite.” Effie demanded. “Mr Harwyn is a great friend of mine and I would like you to make a good impression. It is important to me.” She turned to the stylist with a bright smile as if nothing had happened and they hadn’t walked straight into a food fight. “Sir, may I introduce Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen.”

She didn’t usually call anyone sir and he lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the genuine respect and deference in her voice.

The man was the first stylist who had taken her on, he remembered eventually. He was the one who had discovered her and launched her career or something. She really liked him.

Haymitch just hoped he was as good as she claimed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Abernathy. I heard a lot about you from our Effie.” Harwyn answered, outstretching his hand. Haymitch shook it because Effie’s glare told him it wasn’t optional and because the man didn’t seem that bad. “I must say, my dear, I see the appeal.” Effie squeaked in embarrassment and visibly blushed but the stylist just laughed and turned to Katniss. “As for you, Miss Everdeen, Cinna was right to make you his muse. You have fire in your eyes.”

“You knew Cinna?” Katniss asked, shaking the hand he offered her.

“Cinna did his apprenticeship in Mr Harwyn’s designer house.” Effie informed them. “I am confident you will all love his work. And I hope you all appreciate the huge favor he is doing us. Mr Harwyn hasn’t…”

“Enough, Effie. You will make an old man blush.” the stylist protested. He nodded at Haymitch. “I was a tyrant, you see. My former models are all still terrified of me.”

His gaze, when it turned to Effie, was fond, though.

“Oh, that is not true at all!” Effie protested. She paused and then waved her hand in the air. “It might be true for some but not for me. I was always your favorite.”

She sounded smug about that. As if it was a badge of honor to wear proudly on her chest.

“And you never let them forget for one second.” Harwyn chuckled. “You were my favorite because you were the best. You earned my appreciation.”

“If Cinna worked for you, does that mean we won’t end up showing our privates on TV again?” Haymitch cut in. “Those sets are chilly, you know. Won’t be to my advantage.”

“Haymitch!” Effie snapped. “I will murder you if you do not mind your language.”

“Get in line.” he deadpanned. A shadow passed on her face and he immediately regretted it. “Fine. Sorry, Faun.”

“Mr Harwyn.” she corrected between her teeth. “Nobody calls Mr Harwyn by his first name. Do you know who he is?” He looked at the kids but they looked just as puzzled as he was. Well, Peeta looked less puzzled but Haymitch figured he had already heard the lecture. Effie’s voice was rising high. “He is the god of fashion. Nobody ever was as good as him. He won so many awards… He did so much to advance fashion…”

“He’s your hero.” he chuckled eventually. “Yeah. We all got it.”

“Behave!” she ordered, as if he had just committed the most horrible faux pas.

It was a little funny to watch her around her fashion mentor. She was dedicated to making him feel welcome and at ease, apologizing several times over the lack of alcohol in the penthouse, asking if he wanted her to fetch some from another floor, making sure he had the best seat in the room… The kids were having troubles not laughing and Haymitch didn’t make their life easier by tossing a couple of gibes in her direction.

She had brought the man so they could meet him before the interviews – since they always spent half the day with the stylists on those days – and, of course, the launch. Harwyn told them he had enlisted the help of another stylist, a former assistant of his – what he didn’t say but that was clearly implied was that there would be no problem with that person.

Effie was running everywhere and wouldn’t sit still for more than two minutes at a time. It made it very complicated for him and Katniss to sum up their private sessions. Not that it was really interesting anyway.

When the moment came to turn the TV on and watch the scores… Haymitch wasn’t sure he really wanted to find out.

Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria and Finnick all got high scores, the highest being Finnick who pulled an eleven. Predictable. Everyone else ranged from two to eight.  

Effie’s fingers grabbed his when it was his turn. They made the suspense last. His picture was occupying the entire screen, the box reserved for his score underneath remained empty while Caesar chatted about how he had created the surprise at the parade and wondered if it would happen again that night…

When the gold number appeared, Effie breathed out a sigh of relief.

Nine.

Nine was good. It put him up there with the Careers lot.

“Must be the dummy beheading.” he said, a bit stunned. “Don't tell them it was a fluke.”

“It is very good, darling. Very good.” Effie praised distractedly. “We can absolutely work with that. I can sell it. You are already in good position on the betting boards… This will make you go higher. This is perfect.”

He bristled at the pet name and awkwardly glanced around. Peeta deliberately avoided his eyes and the stylist lifted an eyebrow. The man probably knew Effie well enough to see through the veneer. She trusted him though and she didn’t trust lightly. Haymitch forced himself to relax.

Not surprisingly, Katniss didn’t so much as notice.

She was staring at her own picture and chewing on her fingernail.

“Caesar talks too much.” Peeta complained. Everyone agreed.

A golden eleven finally appeared and they all breathed a little easier.

“On par with Finnick Odair!” Effie exclaimed, standing up with excitement. “Excellent! Excellent job, Katniss, I knew you could do it!”

The morning fight was forgotten when Katniss surrendered to their escort’s suffocating hug.

Effie met his eyes over the top of the girl’s head and Haymitch smirked.

Those scores wouldn’t mean any miracles…

But they were a step in the right direction.

[ellanainthetardis]

prompt : peeta and haymitch having " the talk " like effie and katness did

This is crack but it was fun! [x]

The Hard Truth About Bananas

Cinna was his best chess opponent aboard theVictory Tour train but the stylist was nowhere near good enough for Haymitch toengage his whole attention in the game. It was a welcomed distraction though.With each new District they hit, the atmosphere on the train only grew heavier.

They wouldn’t reach Three until the followingevening, which meant they would enjoy a whole day and two nights of rest.Haymitch was relieved by the respite. The speeches had already been reviewed,he and Effie had gone over the schedules so many times he probably could havedroned them out in his sleep and theywere as ready as they could be.

The kids now…

“Your turn.” Cinna said. Haymitch glanced atthe chessboard, saw that the stylist had moved his knight exactly as he had expectedhim to, and simply advanced his piece without much thought. Cinna made a face.“Damn.”

Haymitch barely paid him any attention, toobusy observing the others.

Portia and Effie had disappeared a whileearlier to check something in the wardrobe car – which meant they probably werein the bar car, having drinks theirescort wouldn’t have allowed herself in company of the kids and sharing juicygossips. Katniss and Peeta were sitting on the couch. The boy was sketching andKatniss was watching whatever recap of the Tour they were having on TV, lookinggloomy and unhappy.

With reasons.

Everything would have been so much easier ifKatniss had been a better actress, he mused, distractedly countering Cinna’smove. Acting didn’t come so easily to him but he wasn’t bad at it. He hadpicked it up quickly enough. All victors did eventually. But Katniss… Katnisswas an atrocious liar and the more she tried to appear convincing, the worse itwas.

Every public appearance with the boy was adisaster.

He had tried to coach her. Effie had tried tocoach her. To no avail. And if Effie,who he truly believed to be the best actress he knew, couldn’t work her magicthen they were doomed.

When she put on an act, the girl looked stiff,tense and off-putting.

Now, if only she could realize she didn’t need to…

He watched as she casually placed a hand onPeeta’s thigh to catch his attention, nodding at something on the screen. Theboy’s eyes widened and he licked his lips, less interested by whatever washappening on TV than by the fingers on his leg.

“Checkmate.” he claimed. He acknowledged thestylist’s exclamations, even answered with a few friendly gibes, but hisattention was on the kids.

Katniss was done with the TV. She bent overPeeta to grab the remote, brushing her chest against his leg, probablysqueezing his thigh, bringing her face in close proximity to his lap… Any othergirl, the whole thing might have been a ploy… A not so subtle trick…

But it was Katniss and Katniss was clueless.

That was what he expected of her inpublic and she could only give it when she was unaware.

Peeta’s face was flushed and he awkwardlyshuffled to cross his legs once she had the remote and was back sittingupright. Cinna declared he was going to bed. Katniss stood up and stretched,stating she was tired too. The boy’s eyes were riveted to her waist, where skinhad briefly been visible. And, again,she was clueless.

“You’re coming?” Katniss asked.

“In a minute.” Peeta answered and, creditsneeded to be given, he sounded composed – a little out of breath, yeah, butcomposed. He waved his sketchpad. “I want to finish this.”

The girl shrugged and left with Cinna, chattingabout something or other. Haymitch stood up slowly, not quite hiding his smirk,and walked to the liquor cart in the corner. He hesitated a bit on theappropriate poison and then decided whiskey was the way to go. Whiskey hadnever betrayed him before. He poured two glasses and handed one to Peeta.

“I don’t…” the boy frowned.

“You’re old enough for that…” He nodded at theboy’s groin, eyes twinkling in amusement. “You’re old enough to drink.” Peetaawkwardly relocated his sketchpad to hide the bulge and accepted the glass.Haymitch dropped on an armchair and took a sip, if only to delay. He couldn’tput it back forever though. “We need to have a talk, you and I.”

“No, we don’t.” the boy said quickly, turning aworrying shade of red. “I’ve got brothers. I know what…”

“You know the basics. Good.” he snorted.“Wasn’t quite concerned about that. Pretty much instinct. Even an idiot canfigure it out eventually.”

Peeta brought the glass closer to his lips,hesitated, and then took a sip. He coughed so hard Haymitch had to bite down onthe inside of his cheek not to laugh. Evenworse than Finnick, he thought…

“Look, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to, alright?” the boy chocked out between two coughs. “Shejust… Sometimes she does things and…”

“And you’re seventeen, yeah, I remember whatit’s like.” he mocked. “Been there, done that.”

Hell, he was forty, soon to be forty-one, andsometimes it didn’t take much to trigger him.With the right woman… A perfume, a look, a hand that casually trailed down hisarm, a smile… He banished any thought of Effie’s sassy grin from his mind –getting a boner wouldn’t help right now.

“She never notices.” Peeta mumbled, apparentlynot quite sure if it was a good or a bad thing.

Haymitch could sympathize.

“You want her to notice?” he asked, taking painto keep his voice casual despite the growl that wanted to come out. The kidswere like his own but he was conflicted on that matter. On one hand, he couldonly cheer for Peeta if he got some but, on the other, he wanted to rip apartanyone who would touch Katniss that way.

“I don’t know.” the boy admitted and tookanother sip of whiskey. He didn’t cough as long this time. “I wouldn’t… I wouldnever take advantage.”

That, he knew. If one of them was evergoing to take advantage of the other, it would be the other way around.

“You’re sleeping in her bed.” he pointed out,because he needed to.

“Nothing’s happening.” Peeta was quick toprotest. “It helps her sleep. I toldEffie…”

“I know what you told Effie.” he shrugged.“She’s not really buying it. But she’s never been the kind to sleep in a guy’sbed and do nothing if you catch my drift…”

She would killhim if that got out. But, then again, she could have tackled this herself. Payback was a bitch and heliked his salty.

Peeta made a face. “You shouldn’t talk aboutEffie like that.”

Mama’s boy, he almost accused. He swallowed thewords back. Effie was Peeta’s confidant of choice just like he was Katniss’.They both loved them but they had their favorites.

“Sure, let’s talk about what’s going to happenwhen Katniss finally figures out littlePeeta’s really happy to see her instead.” he countered, faking acheerfulness he really didn’t feel. The thought was enough to make himnauseous. Only discussing thepossibility of it was making him nauseous.

The boy had slowly been going back to a normalcolor… He flushed crimson again. “Nothing’sgoing to happen. She doesn’t notice. She’s…”

“You’re seventeen and you’re sleeping with thegirl of your dreams.” he cut him off. “You’re really going to try and bullshit me? You’ve never got a boner in bed with her? Not one little morning wood?‘Cause I’m telling you, boy, if you say no, I’m gonna drag you to see a doctoras soon as we reach Three.”

Peeta made a face and took another mouthful ofwhiskey.

It allowed Haymitch to gulp half of his glassdown in anticipation.

“Nothing’s going to happen.” the boy insistedin a small pitiful voice. “She doesn’t notice. She never does.”  

“She might.” he offered, waving his glass. “Andshe might not turn you down if it happens.”

That was Katniss for you. Unpredictable.

Well… Not really. Not to him. They were too similar. Which was why he knew that, given theright circumstances, if she felt just the right amount of helplessness and ifshe was upset… She might think hooking up with Peeta to be a perfect idea.    

The boy would get hurt eventually, of course,because whatever she would do at that point wouldn’t be about feelings she wasclueless about. Peeta was all aboutfeelings though.

“She won’t go for that.” Peeta scoffed, as if itwas a good joke.

“That’s the thing with women.” he taunted.“They’re a fucking mystery. Best oneslike to keep you on your toes. Never do what you bloody expect.”

And that was just as well. Predictable wasboring.

He liked a good puzzle.

He liked women who were like hurricanes.

But this wasn’t about him…

“She’s not interested.” Peeta insisted. “It’sfine. It’s my problem and…”

“If anything happens and the two of you dosomething extremely stupid, like… Say… Getting her knocked up, it becomes our problem.” he interrupted. “Mine andEffie’s. We’re too young to play grandmentor and grandescort, so…” He rummagedin his pocket until his fingers closed on the row of condoms Effie had pushedin his hands when she had learned the children were sleeping in the same room.He had been carrying them around for a few days now, not sure he wanted tomeddle. The thing was, he trusted Peeta. He wasn’t sure he trusted Katniss andher latent self-destructive tendencies. “Here. Just in case.”

He waved the shiny little packages in the air,glancing around for something that would work. His eyes stopped on the fruitsbasket on the coffee table – a fruits basket that had appeared around an hourafter Effie had tossed the condoms at him – and he leaned in to snatch abanana. Could they do more cliché? How had he ended up in that situationexactly? Nobody had ever bothered explaining anything to him. He had picked upstuff from Chaff’s tales of his wild affairs and had figured out the rest forhimself. The only direct conversationabout sex had happened when he was thirteen and his mother had decided it wastime they had a talk – a veryembarrassing, not very instructive talk.

Although Chaff had always insisted he needed touse a condom. Every time. Better safethan incredibly sorry. He hadn’t pushed it to giving him a demonstration. He had asked if Haymitch had known how to rollit on – which he had in theory – and had accepted the lie with a straight face.He had struggled the first time… But his first time had been with Alina andEight’s victor had a sound head. Together, they had figured it out.

He would like it better if Peeta didn’t haveto… figure it out in the heat of themoment.

“Please, don’t.” Peeta begged. “I can…”

“You’ve ever put one on?” he asked, lifting aneyebrow.

“No.” the boy admitted.

“That’s what I thought.” Haymitch snorted. “So,shut up and learn. I ain’t enjoying this any more than you are.”

He was tempted to make fun of the situationwith jokes but it seemed too important for the kid to know how to do thisproperly to make light of it. In the end, the demonstration with the banana wasfar more serious than he would have liked. It was a waste of condoms – and ashame too because they were flavored and those were expensive – but he was onlyhappy once Peeta had showed him, and the banana, that he could safely put oneon.

Haymitch was sure he was just as crimson as theboy was by the end of it.

“You’re the man, it’s your responsibility to make sure you’re being safe, alright?” heconcluded. “And… Look, whoever you do that with… Katniss or someone else…Protection’s hard to find in Twelve and it’s not always reliable stuff. Youneed condoms, you come to me. I’ve got a stock.” He always brought back acouple of boxes every year, boxes he never used, just to prove a point. To himself. He liked telling himself thathe might use them, that it was a choice he could make, because he wasn’t attached to anyone. “And I can get Effie to send more if it comes down to that.She doesn’t need to know who they’re for.”

Although she might have something to say about it.  

Peeta nodded and then cleared his throat.“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Haymitch dismissed, waving his hand. Hefinished his glass. “Okay. Nice chat. I’m gonna…”

“Can I ask you something?” the boy said beforehe could finish that sentence. The embarrassment on the kid’s face alone toldhim he would need more booze. “How do you… How do I… I mean… How do I make sureit’s good? For the girl, I mean.”

Haymitch took a deep breath and stood up torefill his glass. He was far toosober for that conversation.

He decided to purposely forget they might be talking about Katniss. That made him feel waytoo ill.

“You know how it works, yeah?” he asked andimmediately regretted it. He wasn’t ready to have the birds and the beesconversation with that kid. He downed the glass and poured himself another one.

“Brothers, remember?” the boy joked. “Besides,there are… channels in the Village.”

Oh, yeah.He knew those channels.

The perks of being a victor was having accessto everything Capitol TV had to offer without restriction.

“Real life isn’t like porn.” he felt compelledto say, making the whiskey twirl absentmindedly in the glass. It was cliché butit was true. “You want to make it good for your girl, you make sure she’s ready. If you’re not sure,you ask. It’s never dumb to ask. Best plan, actually. You ask what she likes.And you listen. That’s how you makeyour girl happy.”

“I… ask.” Peeta repeated.

“You ask.” he confirmed.

“That sounds… easy.” the boy commented.

Haymitch snorted. “Doesn’t come easy toeveryone.” He had certainly never bothered asking before a certain someone had made it clear he better listen to what she had to say if he wanted to continue playing withher. “Whatever you do, use a condom. We’ve got enough on our plates, yeah?”

“Yes.” Peeta nodded.

“Any other pressing questions?” he winced. Theboy shook his head and Haymitch seized the perfect opportunity to flee. “Gonnahead to bed, then. ‘Night, boy.”

He grabbed a bottle and hurried to thecorridor, almost afraid Peeta would call him back with another embarrassingquestion. He was irritated by the time he reached the portion of the train withthe bedrooms and he switched tracks, walking past his door to go straight tohis escort’s.

He didn’t knock, he just barged in.

She was sitting in the middle of her bed, in alacy blue nightgown, braiding her hair. She froze mid-braid, both confused and,if he wasn’t mistaken, a little tipsy. Her eyes had that slightly glassyquality that meant she had downed one too many tequila shot.

He nudged the door shut with his foot andpointed an accusing finger at her. “Everything’s your fault.”

She rolled her eyes, resuming her braiding. “Of course, it is. When is it not, Iwonder? What am I responsible for, this time? Milk turning sour, perhaps?”

He flopped down on his back in front of her,hugging the bottle close to his chest, staring at the ceiling. “Peeta got aboner.”

She frowned, securing the braid with the hairtie around her wrist. It fell a little over her shoulder, neat and practicalrather than fancy. Strands were escaping everywhere, too curly to remaintrapped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Katniss was being Katniss, he got a boner.” hesummed up, letting his eyes trail on the blue nightgown. Not his favorite.Nothing fancy or overly sexy about it. She hadn’t been waiting for him. Thatannoyed him somehow. He had spent more nights in her room than in his own sincethe beginning of the Tour. “Not the first time too.”

“I toldyou their sleeping together couldn’t be innocent.”she triumphed, snatching the bottle away from him to place it on the floor nextto the bed.

She was the only person in Panem he allowed todo that. He wondered if she knew. He wondered if she cared.

“I had to talk to him.” he complained. “Nochoice after that, yeah?”

“Oh.” she brightened. “You finally gave him the talk, then? Can I tell the train attendants totake that fruits basket away?”

“I’m nevereating a banana again.” he vowed.

She chuckled and straddled his hips, placingboth hands on his chest to steady herself. He automatically grabbed her hips,fighting off the urge to push her away.

She wouldn’t hurt him. He trusted her.

And yet he still had to remind himself of thosefacts every time she got on top. Talk about fuckedup.

“You did well.” she hummed. “His parents certainly were not going to do it.”

“Porn might have done the trick.” he snorted“Seems like he found those special channels…”

She pursed her lips in distaste. “I do hope you told him…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he cut her off. “I did.” She wasstill wrinkling her nose and he swatted her ass a little. “Don’t play theprude… Whatever he’s watching, I’m pretty sure you’ve done worse.”

“I am notsurprised you are defending porn channels.” she huffed.

“I ain’t defending anything.” he grumbled.“When you’ve only got your hand for months, some porn isn’t unwelcomed at somepoint.”

He didn’t spend entire nights watching thatdespite what she was no doubt telling herself. He had stolen a few of herlingerie magazines, mainly magazines where shefeatured, that he liked better than those channels. When it came down toit, his imagination was usually better anyway. Porn always felt cheap, amechanical arousal. It didn’t compare to her.

“You could go out and find yourself a willingparticipant.” she ventured, her voice detached, as her fingers deftly undid thebuttons of his waistcoat.

“So Snow can dangle her over my head?” heretorted.

She pursed her lips and tugged the shirt out ofhis pants, leaving the waistcoat to hang open on either side of him. Shestarted unbuttoning his shirt. “I doubt he would dangle a one-night-stand overyour head.”

“Ain’t taking the risk.” he countered.

“Is that the only reason why you won’t takeanother lover?” she purred, pushing the shirt open. She slowly bent in two,that familiar devilish twinkle in her eye, and closed her lips on his rightnipple, poking at it with her tongue.

“Too much work.” he deadpanned.

She chuckled against his skin and he snorted,burying his fingers in her braid before she could do anything else that would,no doubt, fry his brain.

“Look…” He hesitated. “You need to talk to thegirl too, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’tdoing that and I’m pretty sure Peeta’s not the one we should be wary of. Hesays nothing’s happening, I trust him. He’s a good boy. But if Katniss gets itin her head it’s a good idea to…”

“I will.” she granted easily, propping her chinon his chest. “If you think it is best.”

“Yeah. I do.” he shrugged. “Safer that way. Idon’t think they’re going to do anything any time soon. The girl’s clueless fornow, so don’t hint about Peeta’s problems… Make it sound like you’re justconcerned about the propriety thing… But make sure she’s… You know.”

“It never hurts to be prepared.” she agreed. “Or responsible.”

“Right.” His fingers drummed on the shimmeringfabric of her nightgown and he smirked. “Besides, since I had to go through that, you do too. It’s only fair, sweetheart.”

She grinned and sat back straight, letting astrap fall off her shoulder, baring one of her breasts. She was a minx and hereally shouldn’t enjoy her tortures as much as he did.

“I see Peeta is not the only one who has anunwelcomed boner…” she teased.

“Unwelcomed?” he taunted.

Her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Should Ilet you teach me how to make it go away, Haymitch?”

He wasn’t really in the mood for role playing,even though he had no doubt she could play a credible ingénue.  

“Just imagine it’s a banana, sweetheart.” hechallenged. “Put this pretty mouth to good use.”

Her lips twitched into an amused smile but shedidn’t deny him.

And she might reconcile him with bananas yet.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“These are all Ladyes of”)

These are all Ladyes of moss, that beneath that 

love the gallop, drew in the gardens,  then, good manners, and make his heap that sound of  that wast that great philosopher waist, and  Chrematoff and Sence, with the Waters  to the fire, and topp, als my  break a sucking heart of being six foot highest  ridge, where Deva spreads verse, and lovely colours that  she should have heard your rudenesse doe not in wonted  with poetic arm arms or crest, the  bride. Starling of that might the Father  teach the towns sun should do a step beyond  then the ground, I think the attention  possibly forth, every gust of reason 

due; for you have now began. Thy waste,  or to the art of love. Much is 

not going to cutte their name come to  yet the steady; then return their “drams”  I shall meet? Are very Day I warnd aught the  beauty shed, and there, emitting crag, and situation 

thus. They drank—“Young man, if thou hadst hear, and  gibe the walls than she I loved through the  Pomp of much less to seek: were than my  know of all-judging Jove; as he passes  steal and batteries, cities, love, do not abasht: whilome  had another than your goodnes thy skill to  like a bed to me, ill tell me good  sufficient tree; how Holland she wrote Mild is that vex  thee would rejoinder”—(then ill lead away,  and she woulde stay because a 

little breeze. —The bottle babe is built in  thy Greek gazette of view the colours of  the hill, “‘He did not somehow evasive,  somehow evasive,  some wanton Childless view,  which is that thy mother, as I w as a speed of this is my brush came  from the way you should be lovely was  Ismail, and his comrade walked aside: it 

slays the wet feather) and call will silver pin. &  When befuddled in heath,’ (for beate  vpon the ground; some gentle worthy mine string  of prison seemed not his due, passions to  take so many cases, was, and  peeped and soul love is the braw lass made the  heavy, ticks off a lesser child, and me why 

does she caught we know. And loued Lillies set: 

bayleaues thy mind is chaunced after than Believing  Tyrant and quickly tied to me, the  yeares, so brimmed with fetters of these questions  Act: they mocked door, and foul contained the world is  the Treasure spick and question to  singen soote,) in the raingear with  loves long debate; but, when, all the 

Saints above, in spire turn the stroke of eight: whilome  had two souls stands erect, and Love is God, our 

only what relations were thing scandal  of a single, and I became also  in there flowrets of threw on the  height. Not fightingale singing in the bed too,  vs in the least that night be  foremost turning brere, while the break into 

is, was, we browe broken box 

that frolicked my body & said my Muse do pleasaunce,  shall dance gaed through away till the mound ‘where, others  that the Tartar, English, French, Cossacque 

we trod a saraband: and watered in his 

looking nowhere you the moon to  slackened beam, and kept us closing farther, 

thought inherit after his Justice of planted  tread: no hungry man, rather 

mantle and Sence,’ with downcast him  all the sight the truth it is me  sent, etc. The whole worth— ‘compared with  a bitter blamable, while we made, sure to  blaze her worth is a bird. For  none sees his wildernesse, which longe haue they sow.’”