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sladez · 8 months ago

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Au Ra April 2024

II. Weathering the Storm

The summer sun warmed Seishin’s skin and glowed orange against his eyelids as he sat in the soft grass and breathed. His hair, untied, blew gently in the cooling breeze. He focused on the bubbling sound of Yat Khaal flowing over rocks and against its banks to his right, whispering secrets in its ancient tongue. But rather than the calming wind and water around him, in his head there was only fire.

His thoughts were so far elsewhere that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching, or maybe the one they belonged to stepped lightly as a matter of course. It wasn’t like him to be so deeply lost. He opened his eyes slowly as Styrnrael’s grandmother Maral plopped a low wooden table down in front of him.

“You’ve been out here all morning. Trouble sleeping?” Maral placed a deep blue cushion down and sat on it cross-legged, across the table from Seishin. Her knees popped audibly as she sank into a comfortable position.

He smiled weakly at her. “I’m sorry if I’ve troubled you. It’s a habit of mine to wake with the sun. But yes, there’s been much and more on my mind recently.”

Maral wordlessly pulled from around her a lacquered rosewood box and set it on the table. The edges had a deep patina that spoke of its age and reverence. She opened it by the side hinges and pulled out a large circular board. A kharaqiq board, Seishin recognized, and an extremely well made one at that. She finally looked up at him after placing it on the surface.

“I’ve seen the storm raging behind your eyes since the day you arrived at our iloh. Styrnrael’s as well, and all of the companions she has brought home with her. Whatever is troubling you may not be quelled in a single morning, but perhaps a game might help you weather some of it?”

“I don’t know that this will help,” Seishin laughed softly and waved his hand in front of his nose.

“Well, the Naadam is but suns from now. As the Steppe chooses its leader in this season, so too does every tribe their khan. The Malqir are no different. And I’m going to need the practice if I am to retain my title.”

“If you need to train, why don’t you take Bertram as an opponent? He is far more skilled at this game than I.”

“It is a wise warrior that learns from many teachers, is it not?”

Seishin smiled and bowed his head. “Words deftly spoken. All right then. I will gladly accept your challenge.”

Maral began removing the game pieces from the box and grabbed the light and dark horse pieces, one of bleached and carved dzo bone and the other of a deeply blue azurite, richer by far than the dark stone of other boards Seishin had seen. She took one in each hand and shuffled them behind her back. Seishin considered a moment, then pointed to her left and she held out her hand to reveal the light piece. “The bone horse. Fitting; it matches your horns. It seems I will play earth, from which we came and to which we will all one day return.”

Seishin looked away. His eyes clouded as his vision was filled with an image of Meffrid’s face, anger and shock and sadness veiled behind blood and unfulfilled promise; and the kinslayer, her rage—at what? the world?—twisting her face into an infinite snarl as she shook his blood from her blade. The first visit to his homeland since he was a child, full of naught but betrayal and death. The cold rain of that night felt as real as the sunlight on his arms in the now. Seishin shook his head to clear it. Maral stared at him, curiosity playing in her wrinkled eyes, as he reached for the piece and began arranging the bone side of the board. As he did, Styrnrael’s brother Siban, with his long dark hair behind his ebony horns, came out of a yurt with a tray of tea. He placed the cups before them and poured it, followed by a quick spot of dzo milk, which furrowed in the amber liquid like mist spreading on a fallow field. The smell was strong and pleasant, and Seishin’s mind felt a little calmer. They thanked Siban before he bowed to Seishin and squeezed Maral’s shoulder and departed, leaving the kettle on the side of the table.

“I’m glad I don’t have to explain the rules to you,” Maral chuckled as she finished setting up the earth pieces on her side of the board. “Do you play Kharaqiq much where you’re from in Eorzea?”

“No; honestly, I had never heard of it before Styrn taught me on the day we met.”

Maral nodded. “The girl has a talent for the game. She is still raw and a little unrefined, like her mother was. But I’m beginning to see the glint of a gem in there.” Seishin could have sworn he saw her wink. “Well then, shall we begin?”

Maral immediately moved a Bardam pawn into position to take one of the contested territories in the right center board, and Seishin did the same on the opposite side, rather than fighting her for the same space. When he did take the territory he had sought, Maral was right there ready to snatch it back from him, and so on the game went, the clattering of stone and bone joining the river’s steady susurrus in the undersong of the summer morning. She forced him on the defensive early on, and try as he might, he struggled to protect his pieces from her. She was a true master, hers on another level from any other game he had played; every exposed position was full of traps. After his gambit to defend a segment of his territory with a Khun Chuluu piece failed as she found an easy way around it, Seishin put his hands in his lap and breathed deeply. The anger that had simmered in him the last several weeks before arriving in Othard was beginning to bubble back up as frustration, and he tried to push that down, to starve it of oxygen. He had left his patience lying in the mud of Rhalgr’s Reach, crushed under Zenos’ boot, and he struggled for it now. Maral watched him closely as he tentatively made another defensive move.

“You are wiser than your years let on. You approach this game with the eyes of a philosopher, rather than a general. And that is why you will lose to me today.” The beads on her indigo coat jangled as she moved the prized red horse around the edge of the board, surrounding his last bastion. Like taming an impetuous stallion, the red horse could be taken over by a player and quickly turn the tides of battle.

Seishin considered her words for a moment and rubbed the ivory scales on his chin. “But the Malqir tribe uses Kharaqiq as a way of making decisions, do you not? If there’s a metaphor to be had, wouldn’t it be helpful to think of it as a game of philosophy?”

“Oh, the two are not mutually exclusive. But in playing to think, rather than to win, you are holding yourself back from both.” Maral put her hands on her knees and looked deep into Seishin’s face. “You have much anger in your eyes, in your muscles, in your fingers, in your very tendons. But I don’t see it in your play. It’s as if you are damming it in your mind rather than feeling it, letting it flow. Anger is not a force to be feared, son of Azim. Stoked as a fire it can accomplish great things.”

“But what if it burns too hot? If you scald yourself and those close to you?” Seishin closed his eyes and thought again of Fordola and her wrath, incinerating everyone around her, and his jaw and fists tensed.

Maral gestured to the center of the iloh, and Seishin followed her arm to the large firepit in the common space between the yurts, where in the distance Bertram was helping others from the Asterians stack fresh wood from Reunion to keep the flames going. “A fire properly kept burns without raging. It warms us in its violence, and we must be careful of it and never lose control, but if we close ourselves off or smother it, we will grow colder in its absence. There; I believe that’s checkmate.”

Maral cleared a space in the center of the board and lined up one of each dark piece from the earth side. “I have something to show you, Seishin. As you have said, Kharaqiq is a deep game. It speaks to us through the language of time. And each piece is as a part of our souls.” She slid the large Khun Chuluu piece toward Seishin. “What does this one mean to you?”

Seishin thought a moment, reflecting on the face in the center of the large flat piece. “This is a defensive piece. It protects not only a segment of the board, but other pieces as well. It does not move far and doesn’t have much ability to attack, but it blocks the most mobile of your opponent’s pieces. Its purpose is to keep its allies safe.”

Maral nodded sagely, sliding the piece back to the ranks and replacing it with a Yol, its feathers of intricately carved azurite. “And this?”

“The Yol can move diagonally and fly over other pieces until it’s ready to strike. It exercises patience and foresight.” His mind wandered to his own Yol, with its deeply iridescent wings, which he and his fellow Asterians had tamed only days before, a prerequisite to participating in the Naadam.

Maral slid another piece in its place. “The dzo?”

“Stubborn and obstinate. It represents determination.”

Maral surprised him by skipping over the tiger piece to the earth horse with its deep blue mane, azurite of the same color as her skin. She held it up and raised an eyebrow, and in her expression he saw Styrnrael, that first night on the shores of Thanalan: The horse can move as far as it wants in any one direction, she had told him. It’s free, like the spirit of the Steppe, and that we all have inside us. Satisfied, Maral replaced it, and picked up the tiger swiping the air with its claw. “The Baras pounces in its movement; it represents speed and agility,” Seishin said.

Maral cocked her head and smirked. “You have to look deeper than that, my boy,” she chastened. “The Baras does not move straight; it lurks, it prowls. It waits. The Baras is quick, yes; but what it represents is opportunity. Brute force only works against us in many ways. It’s often better to lie in wait for the perfect opening to strike.” She brought the piece back with a force that clacked loudly on the table. “But make no mistake: there is a difference between patience and hesitation. And missing those opportunities is often worse than trying and failing. If the Yol represents foresight, the Baras is the taking of those opportunities that foresight yields to us.”

Seishin was silent a long time as he stared at the pieces on the board. Finally he said, “There is so much I have yet to learn. Every time I face Styrnrael or Bertram in this game I glean something new from it, as I have against you today.”

Maral laughed and crossed her arms. “Full glad am I to hear that, my child. I can see understanding dawning in your eyes. The Malqir do not believe that playing Kharaqiq itself makes you wise, but it is the wisdom that you bring to the table that is mixed into the flow of time. When you play a new opponent you take some of their wisdom into your own life, and you in turn impart it to others. I meet my ancestors in every turn on the game board.

“But there is still one piece we have yet to discuss.” She picked up a pawn, a Bardam piece, chiseled in the shape of a Xaela warrior. “I’m sure you have guessed that this piece represents the people, not just of the Steppe, but of the Star. It has the slowest movement, but it is the most plentiful, and all major pieces can promote to it. This is because in numbers are we strong. We can accomplish great things, but only together. Look at this world,” she said, sweeping her arms out and around her, her beads rattling noisily, and Seishin looked up at the azure sky and over the sweeping verdant plains of the Sea of Blades, towards the towering Dawn Throne, further to the distant ilohs dotting the horizon and the base of the mountains with vibrant spots of color, at the bustling crowds of Reunion in the distance. He turned with her in the other direction, toward Malqir Iloh, as farmers robed in deep dyed indigo tended flocks of sheep and dzo, balanced stones from the quarries of the Fanged Crescent, sat in the common area around Kharaqiq boards, preparing to test their mettles during the Naadam. And in the center of the common area, he watched Styrnrael leave a yurt in a coat of her tribe’s indigo colors and wander over the fire and place a hand on Bertram’s shoulder before sitting next to him on a log, their backs turned to Seishin in quiet dialogue, listening to the soft drone of a morin khuur. He felt Maral’s eyes on him as his gaze lingered on the two of them. She cleared her throat.

“Our clan makes a habit of not interfering with the other tribes of the Steppe, and as a matter of course we do not compete in the Naadam. My granddaughter will compete in it in the coming days, and for a second time at that. And the crazy part is, I think she can win. But she cannot do it alone.” Maral turned and placed her hands over Seishin’s. They were small on his and felt like soft leather. “I love Styrnrael deeply. I know you have come far and accomplished much and more together. Now it is your turn to protect her. You and Bertram both, as you all have thus far. You are weathering your own storm right now, as she is hers, as Bertram his. But only together can all of you succeed. Only together can you keep each other safe, no matter the outcome of the contest.”

Seishin shifted his hands to take hers and squeezed them gently, nodding at her as she did him. “I promise,” he said, and for the first time since leaving Ala Mhigo did his voice resonate with his usual resolve. Maral smiled and patted his hand.

“Well, the day is getting on,” she said, leaning back and pulling back her Kharaqiq pieces. “But I think I have one more match in me before lunchtime. What about you?”

#AuRaApril #AuRaApril2024 #posting a day late because I finished it late last night!#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #stormblood #seishin tag #kharaqiq #sladezwrites #wolxwol

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gender-thief2 · 2 years ago

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So recently i’ve rebleached my roots and dyed my hair red, and it inspired this headcanon for Auria.

She totally (“totes”) has really dark brown shiny hair naturally, with like a nice curl to it, but was jealous of her colorful haired friends and decided to bleach it blonde on a whim.

(This was all before she came to PK obviously.)

And if you know anything about hair bleach, you know this went very badly. It came out extremely orange, patchy, and crunchy as HELL. She was totes devastated man😔

So she, naturally, went to a salon, where they toned and treated her now dead hair. They salvaged as much as they could, but her hair, which used to fall down her back in luscious dark curls, was now just under her shoulders.

It came out kind of green tinted, and she decided to just roll with it because she’s a girlboss like that.

(And then she married me guys not clickbate)

And so now, her hair isn’t exactly crunchy anymore, but its a very different texture, and it’s not as curly, its just a bit frizzy now.

She foresaw that she would still look totally hot though, so it’s okay.

#saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusou no psi nan #saiki kusuo #auria mikoto #hair bleach #saiki k headcanons

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lindszeppelin · 1 year ago

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Okay here are my thoughts on what just recently dropped. I will not subject anyone on my timeline to reading it if you don’t want, so I’m not tagging anything and I’m putting it behind a read more so you can scroll on. But since people want to keep gaslighting us about what’s going on, then I’m gonna stand up for Austin and speak my mind.

So, photos of Austin and Kaia in Paris dropped early this morning. People are claiming they were from today. The earliest known account that posted those pics on Instagram were from 9 hours ago at 2am my time. France is 6 hours ahead, which would have made that morning time around 8am when the sun is up. Clearly these pap pics were not taken in the morning hours and they are not from today. You can’t refute the weather and the sun not being up lol.

But diving deeper. Let’s start with this. Kaia posted to her story a few days ago a vid of her backstage at a Ben Harper concert. Clearly it was not from that night because from what I recall, she posted that story early in the morning. Looking at Ben Harpers current tour dates, he was in Germany on the 1st and Paris in the 3rd.

So from this it would make the most sense she was at the show in Germany. Since everyone was up in arms about her being there like it was 100% fact.

And speaking about Germany, let’s dive into that little nugget. People are suggesting that based off of some Instagram location feature that if you look at Austin’s Instagram, it says he was in Germany. I’m debunking this one right now as not being a valid piece of evidence to throw at the wall. Because if this were accurate, then why does it say that Kaia is still in the US when clearly she’s in Europe?

If people are saying this is 100% accurate then why does it still say she’s in the US when she’s not? Looks like that piece of the puzzle has been written out from the narrative, I wonder why.

Moving on from that and getting back to these recent pictures, Kaia appears to be brunette. We can all see this. It’s not magic and it’s not rocket science, we can all clearly see that she is not blonde. Let me explain something to you guys, as a professional hairdresser that has worked in the industry for years. She dyed her hair all over honey blonde back in the 18th. She posted a selfie to her story yesterday still looking very much so honey blonde. When you bleach hair, it will not darken, the brassy undertones get revealed. When you bleach hair, you always tone your clients hair to the desired undertone of blonde they wanna be. As Kaia is a natural brunette, like level 5, her hair would have yellowish-orange undertones. Her hairstylist then toned her hair with a honey golden gloss. Toner is Demi permanent and usually will start to show signs of fading after a few weeks, and by fading I mean that those yellow-orange brassy pigments of the hair shaft will start to show itself again. Therefore, at that point you’d need to touch up with another toner at the salon.

In these pictures, her hair is brown. It’s not blonde. It’s not brassy. It’s not bleached except for her ends, which is the old hairstyle she used to rock while she was growing out her bleach job from the pandemic times. You cannot refute something as factual as science and chemistry when it comes to hairdressing. You wanna say that she just slapped some brown dye over her hair? That’s not how that works. A corrective coloring service takes a lot of time. Going from blonde to brown is a delicate process and it often times takes more than one session to get the desired effect. This is her natural hair color in these picture. This does not have the flat appearance that boxed dye gives, and does not reflect a Demi permanent brown put over bleach blonde hair. This is her natural brown hair.

This honey blonde looks the exact same tone, and it is not dark nor is it brassy. The lighting may deceive your eyes, but my trained hairdresser eyes can tell you it is the same blonde tone. Also, her baby hairs are not the same between the blonde pics and the brunette pics.

I will not have people acting a fool and saying she dyed her hair back to brown. People can have impulses and dye their hair and then do it all over again, but her hair in these paris pictures is not peofessional demi permanent color (because no sane hairdresser would use permanent. its more damaging) and this is not box color.

Now, let's talk about the timeline here. People are suggesting these pictures came from today, wednesday the 5th. I already debunked that earlier on with the weather. But let me give you guys some more concrete proof that you cannot refute.

A fan FROM paris, who lives there, saw these pictures and commented that the Gucci store they were walking infront of said that the Gucci store was coming soon. As someone who is familiar with the area, she commented that store had already opened in the winter time...in 2022...in December. and with a simple google search she is right.

I blocked out her name and other users for privacy. pappiaustin doesn't really need the privacy as she puts herself out there lol.

and here is the proof. this is just one article of many i saw that spoke about it. apparently it was massive news in France. This specific shop is the same one where apparently Kaia and Austin were suposedly near, the Costes Restaurant on Saint Honore.

I think i made my point that these pictures are NOT from today. So if that Gucci store wasn't even opened until December 20th 2022, then lets go with the theory these pictures of them are from that time.

Austin had wrapped Bikeriders early December. He was back in LA for the runway show at The Wiltern on the 8th. And then he wasn't seen again since he flew to NYC for SNL around December 13th.

So that gives us a window of a few days to work with when they could have flown from LA to Paris. It wouldn't be that far of a stretch considering I also heard a rumor that Lisa from Blackpink and Peter, a guy who works for Celene (i think hes the creative director) was also supposedly with Austin and Kaia around these Paris pics, although there are no pics to even confirm that anyway.

So this timeframe makes sense to me. If we wanna run with the notion that some members of Celene were supposed to be at this dinner with Austin and Kaia in Paris then it makes sense since they were just at his fashion show on the 8th of December. And it was around this time that Austin would have shaved his facial hair for SNL. So it checks out to me.

Here are some of the pics in question for those that have not seen them.

Now I wanna add one last tidbit before I end this post. Because i've made myself and these points very clear. Remember, Kaia posted that selfie of her showing off her celene necklace yesterday. then these pap pictures came out. This is not the first time that Kaia has posted selfies like this before a batch of pap pics get released to make it seem like everything is copacetic.

remember back in may, when Austin had some bikeriders tattoos on his arms as they were seen walking the dog. people were confused why he had the tats on, as he was supposed to be in New York for something that we still cannot confirm with 100% certainty what that business was for. but people were saying those dog walking pictures were not recent at all, mostly for the simple fact that his tattoos were gone very quickly the next time he was papped after these pictures were dropped.

So she has now a history of doing this not once but twice. we have to take people for who they are when they show us their patterns. and this is clearly her pattern.

IN CONCLUSION: they are not in paris, they were but back in december 2022, kaia seems to be in germany, and austin still is nowhere to be seen officially from any real source. last we saw was that flight attendant picture from a lufthansa flight but i said my peace on that.

please use your brains. and do not keep drinking the kool aid. do your own research.

PS. I ALSO wanted to post THIS, from a kaia news account, that clearly has some kind of information to prove that austin is NOT interested in marrying kaia. so to all you idiots that were saying austin proposed to kaia in germany, blah blah blah, no.

/RANT

#on a side note how funny is it that he wears that hat/outfit only in pictures where there's rumors of them being from a long time ago #im not suggesting he does that on purpose but its a funny coincidence #that entire outfit and hat is cursed

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kirihotto · 2 years ago

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Whirpool {Chan X Reader 18+}

youtube

→ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content.

→ Genre: Co-Manager X boss

→ Summary: Stray kids your second boss. Host a party for there new released album. Your uncle who works as Chan's manager. Gets invited and takes you as his plus one. upon Stray kids members recommendations. Though the party is for Stray kids as a whole. You end up spending a little more time with there leader.

→ Word Count: 2 991

Disclaimer: All members are face and name claims for the story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. All works are purely for entertainment purposes.

Published: 01/24/23

Inspiration: Swim- Chase Atlantic

A/N: I heard this song and was like. Aussie accent? Boom Chan fic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stray kids. A new rise in K pop. With their recent album Miroh. {Ik Woojin is in this era but like screw him.} The company decided to host a release party. Renting out a huge house for the night. For all of the idols in the group as well as chosen staff. One of those chosen staff was my uncle, Duri. Who was also responsible for getting me a job working under him, and a private manager for the stray kids member known as ‘Bangchan’. My uncle was chosen to attend this party and invited me as his plus one. Per stray kids request oddly enough. At first I had been hesitant but my uncle begged me to go. So surely enough we were staying at this huge house for the night.

“Welcome! Duri, F/N.” BangChan bowed slightly, meeting us on the steps. Us doing the same greeting him. He was wearing a simple yet satisfying outfit of his own choice. Matching his half pushed back bleach blonde hair. A white T, orange zip up sweater, Brown jeans, lots of bracelets,necklaces and rings. “Thank you for coming. Follow me ill take you to your room.”

Following Chan inside the huge place past the fancy kitchen, living room both of which were Filled with people and snacks. Up the stairs to a nice hallway with a balcony over the rest of the main floor. looking above everyone else, members I.N, Hyunjin and Seungmin were easily pointed out. Pulling my gaze away from the main floor I followed Chan's voice to a room.

“So sorry about being late.” My uncle apologized to his employer. Bowing awkwardly, once I entered the rather large room I did the same.

“Ah! No no. You're both here now, that's what matters!” Chan chuckled, waving his hands about. “The food is ready down by the pool and in the kitchen. Feel free to eat whatever you'd like. You can leave your things in here for the night. If you have any questions, ask me or one of the other members.”

“Alright, thanks! You guys deserve this. Keep that in mind alright?” My uncle teased Chan. Nudging him as they both began to leave the room. But it was true. They worked so hard. I'd often find Chan working late hours in the studio. Sometimes even finding him asleep at his desk. Even though I see him nearly every day I still get butterflies from his voice alone. He was so kind and friendly. Chan was stopped in the doorway. Turning to face him, his kind eyes greeted me.

“So glad you decided to come as well F/N.” Chan smiled.

“O-oh yeah. My uncle asked me to go. I'm not usually a huge partier.” I chuckled awkwardly. Fumbling out my words without thought. Playing with my hands.

“Alright alright. Have fun then! See you around.” he turned his back to me with a wave and walked out of the room. He was way too cute. Sure he was a little older than me but he was so damn adorable.

Wandering my way back to my uncle. Who already had a drink in his hand and was placed near the pool. The in-ground pool went from shallow to deep. LED white lights lit up the water from the quickly darkening sky. Members Han and Changbin were spotted in the decently crowded pool. Both shirtless, their short brown hair stuck to wet foreheads. While Lee-know and Felix were sitting on one of the many pool chairs surrounding it. Their fancy yet casual clothes, matching with sandy and bleach blonde neat hair. Swarms of other staff soon came flooding out the kitchen doors. Chan and Seungmin took a seat with the other members by the pool. While Hyunjin jumped into the pool with the other two. His manager ran after him yelling. Though Hyunjin didn't care. Whilst I was zoning out admiring- I mean watching Chan and the other members. My uncle had wandered off. Leaving me silent and alone. My first choice would have been to go with Chan. but the members were swarmed with other people. I didn't want to get involved in awkward conversation. The growl in my stomach made it clear what the right easiest move was.

Going back inside the huge kitchen was nearly empty. Other than one red headed person sitting at the decently sized quarts island filled with snacks. Taking a random bowl of chips I sat with them.

“Hey, you work with Chan hyung right?” The person next to me questioned. His sly voice graced my ears and I knew who it was.

“Jeongin?”

“Hello! That's me, yes. Though, you didn't answer my question.” He retorted. Taking a hefty spoon full of pink ice cream in his mouth.

“Y-yeah I work for him.. technically. I’m surprised you remember me.” I replied, no longer shy to stuff my face as well. A wholesome sweet grin came across I.N’s face. Spoon still in his mouth.

“So. I’m guessing you started work here because of your uncle? How you like it?” I.N inquired leaning closer to me. His hand resting on his cheek, the other held his spoon. Splashing from outside united with cheering chatter making a background track.

“It's fun. Considering I enjoy your guy’s music and you're all having fun. Expressing yourself freely to the world. It's nice. Free. Fresh.” replying after hastily swallowing a mouth full of dry chips.

“Wow. I didn't know you thought of us like that. T-thank you. Really.” He replied sincerely. Swiping a spoon around in his melted ice cream. The doors to the place swung open and staff members practically dragged I.N away. Leaving his sad melted ice cream alone. One holding his arm looking to be his own manager. I.N smiled back at me from his awkward place in the door frame. “Sorry! Though we'll chat again soon I'm sure!”

Alone yet again. Though now I could really eat. Munching away on my own with the casual guest looking for snack bowls. The night lingered on. As I watched the chaos from behind the safe glass doors.

Once I was satisfied with eating I started cleaning up the dishes. Felix was quick to join me at the sink. Han, Chan and other staff were soon joining us. The guests not staying the night cleared out as we did up the dishes. Felix and Han left for the showers after helping with most of the dishes. Until it was only Chan and I silently doing the last few. Then came another hill to get over.

My drunk uncle. He stumbled in the door with the help of two other staff members. Yelling nonsense. The other two staff were a little tipsy themselves. Stumbling around. Chan rushed over before I even had the thought. Grabbing my uncle's arm with one of his. The other staff left us to ourselves, though I'm sure it was because they were tipsy. So it was me, my uncle and Chan barely able to hold him up. Taking my uncle’s other arm, evening the hold on him.

“Well.. Guess we are stuck getting him upstairs.” Chan sighed, a slight awkward giggle.

“So sorry…he's too heavy to lift alone.” apologizing as we walked toward the staircase. After a sore mangled walk upstairs I could rest. Chan stood at the door after helping lay my uncle down.

“Really. Thank you. If you umm. Ever want to just chat feel free to call or text me.” Chan suggested in the door frame. Between a lit hallway and dark room I was in. As I had yet to answer he began to play with the hair on the back of his neck. “F/N?”

“Y-yes! I will thank you too. S-sleep well.” I nodded and my cheeks flushed. He nodded and walked off to his room. After he left I flopped on the bed, without a second thought of preparing for sleep.

Roughly three hours into the long night. I was awakened by the beast in the room. My uncle's dreadful snore. Tossing and turning in the soft gray sheets before giving up to leave. Rather than sitting in the boring kitchen I made my way to get some fresh air outside. Without all the people it was so nice. A beautiful view. Other than the insane amount of garbage littering the yard. I had nothing better to do, so I picked up the remaining garbage. Humming the newest songs from Stray kids as I fished garbage out of the pool. It didn't sound fun but it was. The nice cool summer air was relaxing. The sound of crickets and a slight breeze.

“F/N?”

“AH!-” I yelped, losing my balance with a jump from shock. Trying to grab onto anything to get me out. I grabbed onto the person’s limb and pulled them in with me. I was fully clothed and in the pool. With someone else. They grabbed my waist hauling me above water. Their warm body heat warming me. Clearing my view from water to see who saved me but also made me fall in.

“Chan?” I questioned. My face warmed quickly. His orange T shirt clung to his built form. Stray blonde hair stuck to his forehead. Then his hand.. Placed firmly on my nearly see through shirt.

“Yeah it's me. Are you alright?”

“Y-yes...”

“Why are you out here?” Chan questioned loosening his grip on me. His gaze, only full of concern, focused on me. “Oh- sorry for knocking you in and scaring you.”

“Well. I couldn't sleep. My uncle is uh..a loud sleeper. No no it's not your fault for scaring me. I should have been paying more attention.” I admitted. His gaze lightened at my remark. Relaxing his hand off my hip. We swam toward the shallow end. After a moment of calming comfortable silence. “Why are you out here?”

“Same as you. Though no noisy sleeping buddy. Just couldn't sleep. Nothing new.” He sighed. Resting his back on the side of the pool. Staring up into the stars. Though it was a beautiful night to look at. That view I could look up in the sky and see anytime. This view in front of me. Not so much. But no. I wasn't really surprised to see Chan awake. He had always been bad at sleeping regular hours. Chan looked over to face me again. “I was planning to relax out here. Saw you. Figured it'd be nice to chat. But being in this pool. Seems more fun!”

“Hey!” I yelped as Chan splashed water to my side of the pool. The war began. Water fired left to right as we showered eachother with pool water. The most smiles i've had all night. The night sky only made it more relaxing. Our wet hair swished back out of the way so we could aim. Every moment was amazing, filled with laughter on both ends. Until Chan paused.

“What time is it? It's getting cold, yeah?” He looked around his hands resting on opposing biceps. The cool breeze finally got to me. It must have been at least two am by now. My wet clothes clung to my equally wet form.

“Y-yeah. To be honest I don't wanna leave. My uncle is snoring like nuts.” I sighed. Covering my arms as well. The shivering started to be visible. In search of anything to keep us warm.

“Here. this will keep us warmer." Chan glided over to me. I admit I had gotten nervous. His shirt clinging to his built form. All the more clear once he was closer. Realizing he would notice the same about me, I attempted to cover my chest. My temperature does not seem so cold anymore. He stood right in front of me with his arms open. “Is.. it ok if i hug you? Y’know to keep us warm.”

“yeah. Go ahead. No need to ask.” as soon as a single syllable was voiced, his arms were around me. He was so warm. Though we didn't know each other too well this felt so comfortable. Feeling safe in his arms. “Thanks, this is nice. I mean uhh it's nice and warm.”

“Good to hear. Didn't want you getting cold. You're so warm.” Saying that last part in nearly a whisper, he rested his head on my shoulder. Nearly jumping at his sudden movement. feeling his muscles against my chest and abdomen, as I was pressed close to him. My hands moved to his chest unintentionally. His warm breath crawled down my neck. feeling the blush flooding my face. “Listen, there's something I'd like to tell you. Will you hear me out?”

“Y-Yes of course. What's up?” attempting to lighten the mood, I replied in a friendly way. But his intense gaze returned to face me. The heated tension only got worse.

“I.. like you. A lot. Since you started working here I couldn't help but be drawn to you. The way you talk, how you care for others, all of it. I’d love to learn more about you.” Chan admitted. His cheeks dusted pink as his gaze drifted all over as he tried to find words. While I was also at a loss for words. Though. Chan was really my favorite of the members. I had always looked at him with an admiring gaze more so than the others. His sweet smile is like the sun after a rainy day. I made my move. Grabbing his shoulders I kissed him in the whirlpool of emotions I was feeling. His hands loosened on my waist. It was only a moment before he pulled me away by my hips. Though our bodies are all the more closer.

(spice)

“Ah- Wait F/N dont move.” Chan said nervously, begging. Desperately holding my hips still. His chest rising and falling slightly. I moved only briefly realizing why he wasn't facing me. A bulge pressed against my thigh. Which I could only imagine- “Sorry. This is my fault.”

“It's alright. I- don't mind..uhmm.. Exploring…” I answered truthfully. Chan moved away a little. His hands rested on my shoulders as he looked me in the eye.

“Are you sure?. Really. Don't feel pressured.” He expressed again. The question hovering in the air was only making us both more excited. I nodded looking away from him. He came close again and kissed me. The sudden contact against me made me moan slightly. Chan took the advantage and deepened the kiss. Catching our breath for a moment he pulled his wet shirt over his head. His set of polished abs staring mockingly at me. My silent stare directed to his figure. “To much?”

“No. not at all…”

“Haha. you wanna touch them?” Chan asked, gesturing to the location of my stare with his kind eyes. I slowly crept my hands toward him. Butterflies swarm in my stomach. He caught my hand gently and placed it upon his chest. only staring at my hand as I explored the feeling. His hand hovering over mine, pulled it to a stop. My gaze back on him. “Do I get a chance to.. Explore?”

“Oh. right..” I replied. Chan’s gaze at my soaked shirt, I could feel the nerves in his voice. It seemed more like a question than any type of demand. Taking my shirt off as well leaving it a float in the water. With only a bra on in the open air though Being cold wasn't much of a concern. After a pause of any movement and stares being exchanged we were tangled by eachother again. His hands slid up my bare waist, mine resting at his chest again. Warm breaths filled the space between us as he slowly backed me into the side of the pool.

“Are you ready?” He asked with a little grin. Whether it was a nervous grin or excitement I have to find out. My face lit aflame at his question, imagining the dirtiest possible outcome. Before I could say anything he lifted me up with ease. Setting me on the side of the pool. His grip on my waist leaving after he made sure I was comfortable.

“W-what are you doing? It's more cold out here-”

“Mm? Really?” He teased me. Pulling himself above the water. Placing either of his hands by my thighs. His hips between my legs. My hands that had been attempting to cover my nearly BARE chest, now covering my heated face. Though pulled away moments after to be greeted with a soft smile and sweet words. “Are you ok with this?”

He held both of my hands as he scanned my face for an answer. But those sweet words were pushed out of the way by the clear bulge showing through his tight brown jeans. By any means it wasn't small. Seriously. What is this man doing to me?! I don't open my legs for anyone. But my body didn't exactly plan on going anywhere. My mind once again drifting.

“I-its alright.” finally answering him. I could tell he was losing his patience. My response came out as more of a plea than a response. With my answer he kissed a trail from my collar bone up my neck. Meeting my gaze again he pushed the stray strands of wet hair off my face. Bending down to kiss my thighs. Before-

“Ah~!” my hand flew from his shoulders to my mouth. The night time air didn't really feel to cold anymore. He looked up at me lustfully, his lips still placed on my thigh. He slowly moved more in between my legs. Closer to my heat. Leaving a soft kiss.

“Don't stop. Let me hear more of your music.” Chan teased between my thighs, sucking a purple mark on my inner thigh. “You don't wanna go back inside with your uncle. Yeah? Let's go to my room.”

A/N: my room? naw naw naw it's Channies room! lol ik not funny. sorry this is SO long. most wont be like this. thanke for reading! :3

#chan x y/n #bang chan #chan x reader #skz x reader #skz chan x reader #skz #skz fanfic #stray kids #bangchan

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boba-beom · 2 years ago

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OH YAYY, it's so good that you're finally feeling so much better❤️❤️ oooh omg i used to love teen beach 1, ross lynch was my childhood crush🥺 and the camp rock movies are so iconic tbh. i don't really recognize the rest though, are they newer than the rest of the movies you mentioned?

yess, it was so nice. my dad cooked his special dish for me one day and brought me a glass of fresh orange juice every morning🥺 i'm feeling waaay better, totally over it by now. but yeah, i found the way i caught covid so ironic, because i barely leave the house as it is and the one day i did it happened haha. but hey, at least it's over now. how have you been? how's uni going? exam season is pretty close for me and i'm a bit stressed 😅

BLONDE HAIR TAEHYUN??? CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING??? i love blonde hair tyun too!! i think blonde, silver, pink and black are his best haircolors❤️ OMG BLUE WOULD SUIT HIM SO WELL TOO THO👀👀 i hope we get to see him in that haircolor. i loved the album preview, every single track sounded so good. i know for sure tinnitus and the devil by the window are probably going to be my favorites. i can't wait to see their choreos either, they're always so creative. but all in all i feel like this music genre suits all of their voices so much so i'm super excited to hear the full songs!! only four days left ahh

hi love!! i know this one is a late reply gfjrnkefn but yes disenchanted came out last year! i'm planning on watching more movies while i do my portfolio, i haven't watched avatar: way of the water yet but i wanna watch the first avatar again because i can't remember much from it ^^

i love it when our parents do the smallest things to look after us when we're sick. i've been feeling extremely sentimental and homesick recently, more than usual, but i just remember to call up my parents and my sister when they're free instead of moping around. but i've been okay as of recent, just trying to get into my work again but catching up with whatever txt content i can. i have faith that you will be alright and will do well for the exam! don't stress too much about it and take some breaks in between :>

OKAY SO LMAO turns out he only bleached his hair to top up the pink, but i think the pink is definitely a pretty colour on him, especially the contrast from his skin tone, it compliments him well imo <3 but i'm still holding onto the hopes of seeing blue kang taehyun and i will apologise for the person i will become when that happens 🥹 you can definitely tell they worked hard for this album, just as much as the previous ones for sure! and you're so right, it really does suit their voices and I can't believe that my ranking has been fluctuating, but as expected from txt. right now, sugar rush ride and farewell neverland are joint first, devil by the window is strong at third place, and happy fools keeps interchanging with tinnitus 🫣 coi leray's rap for happy fools is addicting aaaah

#ᥫ᭡ : asks.#[ 🧸 ] — mutuals.#aprilisque ♡#april ♡

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 5 months ago

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084 of 2024

Created by your-nightmare

Are you blond?

No, but I wish I was blonde so I could dye my hair any colour without bleaching it first.

Does it bother you when people have a collar turned up?

I don't even pay attention to it.

Are your nails painted? If so, what color? If not, do you like nailpolish?

They're not, I don't paint my nails.

Are you awesome?

Yea, I'm the coolest person you'll ever meet.

As a kid did you like Barney, Baby Bop, or DJ more?

I don't even know any of these.

Have you been to the Bzoink Forums yet?

Bzoink is closed, RIP. </3

Does any key on your computer and or laptop stick?

No, none of them.

Does fire excite you?

Not when someone's house is burning.

Have you ever sung in a choir?

I think in 3rd grade in primary school, for a brief moment.

Do you go to church?

I do recently, but not for masses, I just go to find peace. I'm agnostic and I look for answers.

Have you ever had a theme(pirate, ninja, civil war) day?

No, I haven't.

Can you touch your tounge to your nose?

NO, I can't. Never was able to.

Have you ever been to Philidaphia PA?

I never heard of Philidaphia. Are you sure you didn't mean Philadelphia?

Do you think Orlando Bloom is hot?

Nah. He's not ugly, but he's not my type.

Do you think Twilight is over-rated?

Sure it is, but sometimes even I like it.

When was the last time you where sick? what did you have?

Two weeks ago, inner ear infection + cold.

What is your favorite number?

16.

Look at your toe's.

No, thanks.

Did you just look at your toe's?

Why would I?

If you are a girl do you hate girl drama?

I'm a guy and I hate drama in general.

If you are a guy do you hate girls who prolong the drama?

I don't hate anyone.

ZZZ, im tired….are you?

Not anymore, I just woke up.

Favorite indie music group?

No, thanks. Overrated as hell.

Have you ever pet a monkey?

No, I haven't.

Have you ever ridden a camel?

No, I haven't.

I am disinclined to aqueous your request. What does that phrase mean to you?

Nothing, literally nothing.

Have you ever punched somebody?

Yeah, in defence of someone else.

Do you like cupcakes?

No, I don't.

Orange or lemon flavoring?

Lemon, but no cupcakes please.

I bet your thinking about cupcakes.

Cupcakes are disgusting okay?

If you said no, you just lied.

Whoever created this survey is just a moron, okay.

Can you sing opera?

No, I can't.

Touchpads or Mouse's?

Mouses, I use a wireless mouse with my laptop and I prefer it over touchpads.

coooolll dowwnnn..

I don't have to.

Did you like this survey?

Meh.

It was kinda short, wasnt it.

Long enough.

blahh, i hate it when a good thing ends..dont you?

Yeah, good thing.

Have you ever been to a Disney theme park?

No, never.

Ok im ending now..Sorry about the bad spelling in spots.

Alright, I forgive you.

#survey #random survey #q&a survey

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silvanoir · 11 months ago

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What NOT to do to a doll

So I knew not to use oil paint on a doll because it never dries, long before tumblr, when I tried painting barbie and ken some underwear as a child. lol. (If you're going to paint a doll, use acrylic)

I knew not to use ballpoint pen due to me giving my MLP pink lipstick as a child, which bled and turned a fuzzyish orange over time.

But I didn't know that one should absolutely never use sharpie on a doll... because that will also seep and spread into the vinyl. Oops. I thought it would be fine because sharpies are fine on OTHER plastics. Not doll plastics, though!

Uh, its only been a couple of months (used a thin black sharpie along a hairline). Looked fine until recently, now its going purpley-blue and spreading. Internet says to try using zit cream (10% benzyl peroxide). I need to buy zit cream.... for a doll. Or I'll end up rebuying her (it's the sleepover Draculaura... I really like her too... I screwed up). Also, need to be careful to mask off the hair and eyes area or else it will bleach them.

Once I get rid of as much sharpie ink as I can, I'll use black acrylic over it, as I'm not expecting it to go back to perfect pink, and also, I wanted to add the extra lines.... I just don't want it to bleed further, is all.

2023 continues to be a very weird year for me (almost over!)

#dolls #oops

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motorclit · 1 year ago

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I WISH I had straight hair! I have tried most of my life (I'm 34) to style my hair. No amount of product will tame my bushy, banana-wavy curls. The curls never stay in one place, and showering and drying certain ways don't always solve bedhead problems.

I have tried various hairstyles and the only thing that works is any style where the hair is a couple inches to MAYBE 4 inches long. I've rocked a short kickass mohawk but the back of it gets horribly flattened after I wake up. And I'm not about to shower just to fix that (all I needed back then was a hairdryer and it stuck up on its own!)

Just recently tried growing it out to have a fun mullet but my hair is VERY thick, so when it curls into the backs of my ears. That shit hurts. They also PUSH MY GLASSES OFF MY FACE FROM BEHIND MY EARS from time to time. My muž is cutting my hair today, so I'm going back to my chelsea cut.

I hated having long hair anyways considering I've grown up being bullied with my hair being a target half the time from being pulled to having gum in my hair. I've also had yellowjackets (which I may have inherited my deda's severe allergy to, we don't know) caught in my hair at least 3 separate times in my life!

Straight hair isn't boring. You can do virtually any style you want with it. I'd LOVE to have a classic chelsea cut, but I have to go with a short Tank Girl chelsea cut. I'd LOT to have a mullet, but my hair is prone to permanent bedhead until the next 2 showers maybe.

Combing makes the curls WORSE, and brushing makes it bushy only for the hair to slowly going back to looking pre-brushed. No gel or hairspray can make it do anything, and when using a flat iron, I would have to risk permanently damaging my hair to get it remotely straight.

My hair also doesn't like being dyed cool-toned colors. Only warm-toned. I've had my hair bleached a couple of times trying to get green or purple hair and that shit NEVER dyes right even by a professional. But stop-sign red? Barney-skin fuchsia? Orange-juice orange? My hair has no problem with that. Don't know why. So I've been commonly seen with offensively-red hair if I dyed it at all. (I'm giving my hair a break for a while from dying for now though).

If it weren't for me having a fuck-ugly face, I would've gone bald a long time ago.

The problem with having straight hair is that there's no way to make it look nice. The only options are ugly or boring.

#my hair used to take FOREVER to wash and rinse in the shower too when it was long #i still take long showers but this house is always freezing and its one of the few times i can get warm

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erenisms · 3 years ago

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haikyuu boys reacting to you bleaching your hair

> ft. miya, miya, tsukishima, hinata, kuroo, kenma

i recently got my hair bleached again since i got tired of purple, i plan on doing pink or blue this time

♡ atsumu

“you look like me!”

takes tons of selfies with you

won't stop talking about how cute you look

150% would try using your hair treatment

it's his hair treatment now

calls you piss hair out of spite because you teased him with others with that nickname

apologizes immediately when you threatened to replace his shampoo with hair dye

“you're now my new twin!”

♡ osamu

“are you trying to copy my brother?”

looks at you like you've grown two heads

is already blaming atsumu mentally

you had to clarify that no, his brother has absolutely nothing to do with it

the more he stares at your new hair, the more it grows on him

calls it pretty

calls you pretty

“it looks better on you than tsumu. don't tell him that, he'll throw a fit.”

♡ kei

“why are you trying to look like me?”

smirks at your new appearance

would tease you in any way he can

backtracks quickly though when he senses that you're starting to feel conscious

would roll his eyes and tells you that other people's opinions shouldn't matter while he pats your head

gives you subtle compliments

would still insult you half-heartedly though

“i'm the better blonde.”

♡ shouyo

“so bright!”

says the one with raging orange hair

would feel foreign and just looks at you in awe

asks questions like: did your scalp hurt? was your hair damaged? how long did it take?

examines your hair as though he hasn't seen bleached hair before when some of his friends literally have bleached hair, too

finally comes to a conclusion

“do you think i should bleach mine, too? so we can match!”

♡ tetsurou

“woah! did kenma bribe you into that?”

strokes your hair

strokes your hair (2) because he can't stop

would sniff it and cringe away at the lingering scent of chemicals

sniffs it again a few minutes later for some reason

asks why you changed your hair color

you tell him you want to try a new look

“you'd look good in any style anyway.”

♡ kenma

“...”

blinks

asks where you got your hair done

compares it to his

depending on which one has the better results, one of you will shade the other about it

just stares at you all day, maybe even a week

would look away in embarrassment whenever you catch him

“we should get out hair done together next time."

requests are open!

- love, zari

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cdyssey · 2 years ago

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Sorry

Summary: When both Peeta and Katniss's scores come back as perfect and punitive twelves, Haymitch finds himself in Effie Trinket's room with a bottle of gin.

A/N: I've been re-reading The Hunger Games trilogy and got all up in my Hayffie feels again. The grip that these two people had on me as a middle schooler, omg.

AO3 Link

—

It’s a corridor on the twelfth floor that Haymitch knows a little too well. Over the long and unending years, he’s taken to calling it Capitol Row because it’s where people like the stylists and their prep teams have been given temporary residences during the Games. All fully furnished and luxurious, the kinds of suites that would comfortably house entire shacks from the Seam. His uneven footsteps mechanically carry him to the door at the very end of the hallway, where a faint sliver of golden light seeps through the cracks and fans across the mahogany floor. He slams his knuckles against the paneled wood rather harshly, not even bothering to stifle the violence.

It's the only way he knows how to carry himself in the world.

“Not now, Haymitch, please,” Effie Trinket calls out from somewhere within the room, her voice high, pitched with audible strain. “I’m a little… indisposed at the moment. Hardly suitable for company.”

He laughs roughly at this, leaning heavily against the nearest wall to support his tenuous equilibrium. His other fist is clenched around one of the cloudy bottles of District 11’s gin that Chaff managed to smuggle on to the train. Strong stuff. Could probably clean the rust off of an old threshing machine. Was probably originally distilled for that very purpose anyway.

“Is that a fancy word for drunk, sweetheart?”

“No!” He can hear her bristling indignation in just the one syllable. “Just… I don’t have my makeup on or my wig… or any of my other necessary accoutrements! Furthermore, it is well past midnight, and—“

“And I’ve seen you without all your fancy shit on before.” He says this a little more quietly—far more carefully—wriggling it through his chapped lips as though he’s negotiating a key in a lock. He glances behind him, craning his head, but the six or so doors beneath Effie’s room are undisturbed, the hallway silent and dark.

It’s just them awake after an exhausting day.

For the most part during the Games, it usually is.

“I’m… not in the mood tonight,” comes an even quieter reply—close to him, he thinks, just on the other side of the door, the sound pressed right against the grain. “Surely you’re not either, Haymitch—not after, you know…” She trails off awkwardly, but he has no trouble following her thoughts.

Dinner.

The kids’ tiny rebellions.

Their dual punishments of a perfect score.

The boy painted Rue in a bed of flowers.

The girl hung Seneca Crane.

Heavensbee is likely furious; they can hardly stage a proper mutiny if Katniss and Peeta are both immediately killed by jealous Careers at the Bloodbath.

“I’m not here to fuck you,” Haymitch agrees gruffly, taking a long drag of the gin, almost ecstatic that it burns his abused tongue. He swishes it around in his mouth a little and lets the pain erupt down the column of his throat before finally swallowing. “I just wanna talk.”

“So vulgar,” Effie whispers disapprovingly.

“Let me in,” he only returns, knowing that he’s won when her strongest counterargument boils down to manner—which both of them are well aware that he doesn't have. There’s an infinitesimal sigh and the telltale ker-clunk of a lock before the door suddenly sweeps inwards, and Effie Trinket is standing there in the triangle of light, bathed in golden fluorescence. As she had complained, she’s not wearing any makeup and that ridiculous orange wig is just behind her on a table, sitting neatly atop of a custom mannequin head. Her natural hair falls in soft waves across her shoulders, light and flaxen and not bleached to oblivion yet like her nonexistent brows. Beneath those very same brows, he can see that she’s been crying recently, the redness of her eyes unmistakable.

“I like you better without all that crap caked on your face,” he offers by way of greeting and waddles past her into the room, giving her the time she needs to collect herself. She closes the door with a quiet click, and he hears her sniff surreptitiously at the exact same time. With Effie Trinket, he’s come to learn that timing is never a coincidence with her.

They’re in her small living area where there’s a comfortable couch, a large television screen embedded into the wall, and a full mini-bar outfitted with all the precocious wines that District 12’s bubbly escort likes to drink. He heads there first and scoops up two crystalline glasses from the display cabinet, studying them with a knowing smirk. They’re far too elegant and expensive for the bootleg hooch that District 11 herbalists brew in their back rooms, but still, he pours himself a generous finger from his bottle anyway. And he reaches upwards towards the shelf, instinctively grabbing the Prosecco he knows to be Effie’s favorite, and fixes her a glass too, filling it to the rim.

“You only say that because you have no taste,” she accuses, and he hears her dainty footfalls as she comes up behind him. His entire body tenses, primal instinct, muscle reflex. Ever since his own Quarter Quell—almost twenty-five years ago to the day now—he doesn’t like when people approach him from behind, where he can’t see their faces and what they’re holding in their murderous hands. But then she’s right beside him, nearly a foot shorter than he is without her heels, examining the gin skeptically, and the moment passes. He lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

“Case in point,” she frowns obliviously, tapping the bottle with one of her long fingernails, “this simply looks abominable, Haymitch. When is the last time this bottle was washed?”

“It’s gin, Princess,” he snorts, nudging her glass towards her. “It’s doing all the cleaning itself.”

“That seems like a dubious fact,” Effie shakes her head, capturing her glass in a delicate tangle of fingers. But she’s decidedly anything but delicate as she knocks back a long swill, nearly getting a quarter of it in one go. He almost laughs at her, almost calls her out on the impropriety of it all, but then he sees that her fingers are quivering.

“Hey, what do I know?” He shrugs gently, absently swirling his own drink around. “I’m just an alcoholic fuck up from District 12.”

She stops short and stares at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost wager that they're surgically altered.

But no, she's Effie, and she's frankly vain about having all of her natural parts.

("Boobs 'n ass too?" He'd teased her less than a year ago, when they'd been sweating in the sheets in her room on the Victory Tour train. It was a damned better way to deal with the night than succumbing to the nightmares.)

("Crass," she had just rolled those vivid eyes, lithe and luminous in the faint light emitting from the overhead vents. "I despise that in a man.")

(And they promptly went at it for another hour.)

“You’re a victor.” She briefly touches his wrist, right on the jagged scar he’d gotten from one of those wretched birds that had skewered Maysilee. Its swordlike beak had nearly gone through bone before he’d hacked off its head with his axe, scaring the flock away. But it’d been too late for his once ally—his almost friend—the girl whose blonde hair cascaded down her back like water. He still nightmares her blood, how it bloomed across her sliced open skin, how his calloused hands were covered with it, long after he left the arena.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Haymitch says flatly before taking a long drink himself. “In fact, one caused the other.”

Effie doesn’t look like she knows what to say to this, gaping silently, and a ripple of familiar disgust shudders through him as he is reminded of the escort’s utter Capitolness, how the stench of it rolling off of her is even stronger than her trademark floral perfume. She’s never known true suffering, never been driven to the bottle or a morphling drip ‘cause she’s seen the life leave someone eyes and maybe even caused it. Her hands, her mind, her sheltered life are perfectly manicured, and not for the first time since their informal bedtime arrangements began a few years ago, he wonders how he can lay in her bed and kiss that very same perfectly manicured body and be inside of her and—

But then, just as he’s thinking about leaving, she is carefully bending down and pressing her pink lips to the leathery skin of his scarred arm with all the tenderness of a lover. And when she straightens up again, he can see the fresh tears clinging to her pale lashes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, almost inaudibly. He has to lean forward to really hear her. “I am.”

He freezes, unsure of what to do with an unguarded Effie Trinket, how to navigate this unexpected moment. He doesn’t want to say it’s okay because it damn well isn’t—none of this is. They’re all pieces in a chess game that ends in the deaths of twenty-three goddamn kids nearly every year. They are bodies shuffled around by the hands of a malevolent god. Reap. Kill. Rinse. Repeat. And sorry is insufficient in the cruel reality of that fact; tears are more than useless when the gong rings and the Bloodbath begins, whether for the tributes of the new year or in his nightmares every night, Maysilee just to the left of him, the candy-colored sky stretching like taffy above them both.

So Effie’s sorry isn’t sufficient because it just damn well isn’t okay, but still—both the fight and the need for flight gutters through Haymitch’s tired body, like a drain unplugged, replaced with an unpleasant epiphany that he has about the District Twelve escort every now and then.

She actually cares.

He can’t say that about many other Capitol lackeys.

“So many broken people goin’ into the arena this year, sweetheart,” he smiles at her sadly, “two of them my—our—kids.”

Of course they’re both of their kids. He remembers that last year, it was Effie by his side in the Donor’s Lounge, charming potentially sponsors and directing them back to Haymitch with a winning smile. She’d stayed up in the monitor room on many a night too, helping him keep an eye on Katniss and Peeta even if they were just sleeping in that cave, trying to stave off various infections. He and the escort were the first in the clinic after the star-crossed lovers had been pulled from the arena, bloodied and half-mad, the boy on the brink of death, and Effie had snarled at one of the doctors for daring to suggest that they might do some cosmetic alterations on them while they were both under the knife: breast augmentation, jaw sculpting, lip fillers.

“They’re children,” she had shrieked, getting into his face, feral and ferocious, a lioness standing between a surgeon and her cubs. “Save them. Save Peeta’s leg, but don’t you dare, don’t you even think about—!“

It’s this visceral memory that prompts Haymitch to suddenly breach the space between them, gently lifting her chin so that she’s not staring at the ground—so that she’s looking at him—and he can see her that her lower lip is trembling from a concerted effort not to cry.

“Our stupid kids,” he laughs hoarsely, drawing his thumb across the soft plane of her cheek, over and over again, until he soothes the sadness from her. “Gettin’ perfect training scores because they wanted to stick it to the man. They’ve got balls, I’ll give ‘em that, but they’re not making it any easier for us to help them.”

To save them, really, if Heavensbee’s batshit insane plan works perfectly—not that the woman across him can know anything about that. Not yet, at least, until Haymitch is sure that he can secure her a spot on a rebel hovercraft. Because if the hijacking succeeds, and they can get the Katniss and Peeta out, then one of the first things that happens is that their teams will pay for it—arrested, tortured, interrogated, maybe even killed to prove some sick point to the people of Panem. He can’t save them all, and he’s so fucking sorry that he can’t, but maybe, just maybe, he can save one person.

It’s the responsibility of the mentor.

He always has to choose just one.

“No,” Effie sighs, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. “But they never have, our darling children. So naughty… always stirring up trouble...”

These final words stir the dregs of his memory, and he remembers why he had lumbered here in the first place. Because Effie had said something curious at dinner—shocking even—after she'd learned what the kids had done. She had betrayed much more knowledge about the unrest in the districts than he could have ever expected from a career Capitol.

You’ll only bring down more trouble on yourself and Katniss, she had pointed out, directly indicating that she was well aware that the young victors were in trouble to begin with. He’d suspected as much when she spent her entire post-Games interview circuit last year tearing up over her star-crossed lovers as she sat across from an emotionally sympathetic Caesar Flickerman. Most escorts during their winning years tended to talk about themselves and their overstated roles in their victor’s success.

But not Effie.

If the entire team, from the stylists to Haymitch, was consciously united in trying to convince Snow that Katniss extending those berries was the desperation of a besotted lover, then Effie, without having ever been prompted, contributed her ample talents to the machine as well.

But what had surprised him most at dinner was that she’d known what had happened to Seneca Crane. Rumor has it that he was made to eat the nightlock berries that started this all: tumbling dominoes, a glass Capitol, and an even shakier nation of cards. From what he can tell, the citizens of the Capitol just think he’s retired to the Pax Romana Islands for a well-deserved retirement at the respectable age of thirty-six.

But not Effie.

Oh, Katniss…. How do you even know about that?

“So Seneca Crane,” he puts it out there bluntly, causing the escort to flinch so violently that she spills a little wine on the side of her hand. Letting go of her cheek, he swipes it off for her with the cuff of his very nice sleeve, earning a remonstrative glare.

“Don’t,” she says sharply, turning away from him. With graceful footsteps, she heads in the direction of the couch, where he can see that her brightly colored notebooks are piled. She sits down next to them, places her glass on an end table, and fusses over them, even though they’re already immaculately arranged. “We shouldn’t discuss such matters.”

“And why shouldn’t we?” He challenges a little recklessly, following her, sitting down on the couch right next to her. He doesn’t give up his gin, though, keeping it close to his chest. “You’re a Capitol darling. Your room isn’t bugged.”

He’s already ascertained that at least ten times over the course of his nighttime visits, scouring every inch of her suite for a spying device and satisfactorily coming up short every time. She's Effie Trinket. The last thing from a threat to the perilous standing of the government. A model citizen. Voted the most stylish escort for three years straight.

The fact that she's such a reliable goody two-shoes occasionally has its perks.

Like freedom of speech in her inner rooms.

“And you’ll be the very one to change that,” she hisses without looking at him, now seemingly trying to reorganize the notebooks by color, “if someone gets wind of the fact that we were talking about forbidden topics in here. What is it that you always stress to me? Circumspection and precaution? Safety?”

Haymitch knows she’s right, as she annoyingly tends to be—but maybe it’s because he’s furious with his impulsive tributes or maybe it’s because he’s secretly impressed by their resolve—that he continues to push her anyway, wanting to see how far he can take this night and all the madness it already contains.

They're all probably going to end up dead soon anyway, so what the hell?

He’s got nothing to lose that isn’t being taken from him already.

He turns up his glass again.

For liquid luck.

“There’s no safety in being anywhere near District Twelve these days,” he smiles at her mockingly as she now stacks her notebooks based on size, slamming one against the other with perfect and violent precision. “Surely you must know that by now, huh?”

Effie doesn’t say anything after this for a long time—hands carefully poised around the edges of what he knows to be her agenda—and he’s nearly decided that she isn’t going to say anything at all, too cowardly, too Capitol, but… then finally—

“Do you want me to say yes?” She asks in a cool, measured tone. “Will you go away if I acknowledge the unspeakable precariousness of our current situation? I fear for my own life, yours, and certainly Katniss and Peeta’s—though I can hardly do anything where the children are concerned. None of us can because this Quarter Quell, and it is... it's—" But before she can say anything that could potentially be construed as rebellious, Haymitch watches, in real time, as the escort, ever a perfect self-disciplinarian, cuts herself off, subjugating her feelings into a word that springs awkwardly from her accented tongue. "... unprecedented. Are you happy now, Mr. Abernathy?”

“No,” he says plainly, any maliciousness sagging away from his face at her outburst. He had hardly estimated the depths of her feelings and the lengths she'd go to ensure that they never surfaced. “I’m never happy and definitely not about that.”

“Then why make me say it?” She barely whispers, her eyes glazed and her voice constrained. He has a feeling that if she lets go of her planner, there’d be nothing left to tether her to any sort of dignified display of composure. So she grips it far too tightly, her chest visibly fluttering beneath the silky fabric of her nightshirt. “Why do you insist upon hearing it aloud?”

It’s a pointed examination of what she believes to be his cruelty, and perhaps she’s right. Maybe he is just being a dick, pressing her to admit what she can’t possibly control, but Haymitch slowly shakes his head at the implicit accusation, his free hand tightly holding his knee.

“Saying it makes it real, Effie,” he tells her and doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to see this particular realization register in her porcelain features like a blow. “We’re all in danger, and if we’re going to have a chance of makin' it out… it’s gotta be real. To you. To me. To those two unlucky bastards right down the hallway."

He hears but doesn’t see her shuddered breath, how a sob audibly hitches in the back of her throat. But to her credit, she pieces herself together remarkably fast, a rebuttal soft on her lips.

“I don’t want it to be real,” she says, almost whimpering it, like a child in the throes of a nightmare. He pities her, suddenly reminded that she’s young and terribly naïve—not unlike a child—and he is simultaneously disappointed in her for not realizing the ultimate truth of the Hunger Games.

All of it is real.

The brutality and the carnage.

The bodies and the bodies and the bodies and the—

“But it is, sweetheart,” he says. Almost kindly. “Seneca Crane's not sipping’ piña coladas at a beachside resort.”

Effie closes her eyes at this, the faint lines beneath them stark in the warm light that floods the room, and finally lowers her agenda to her lap, even as she continues to sit primly—with perfect discipline.

A single tear slips down the pointed architecture of her face, falling in such a straight line that he imagines that she arranged for it to do so.

“He was two years above me in grade school,” she murmurs, lacing her shaking fingers together just below her stomach. “Seneca. Our fathers were both product importation overseers, and Seneca would come over sometimes when they were working and talk to me about aesthetic game design.”

“So you were friends,” Haymitch surmises, watching a uniquely painful expression twist her pale features into unsalvageable convolutions. “More than that?”

His gut inexplicably lurches at the added supposition, but to his surprise, Effie laughs humorlessly at this, finally opening her eyes again.

“Less than that,” she smiles faintly, as though she had heard what his stomach had done in the timbre of his voice. “Acquaintances, really. I partially despised his arrogance, even when we were children… but even still, I knew him, Haymitch. I played tag with him in our gardens. I danced with him at balls. We congratulated each other with bouquets and champagne bottles when we both assumed our respective positions. He didn’t retire. He would have never retired—Head Gamemaker was his dream job—so I searched until I chanced upon an answer that I had to live with.”

“He was dead,” Haymitch doesn’t sugar coat it, doesn't see the point in doing so.

“He was executed,” Effie amends, with unmistakable bitterness in her quiet voice, before she suddenly realizes what she has said. All of the color leaches from her face, and she presses a hand over her mouth.

“He was a friend,” he repeats himself, reaching over again—a little awkwardly this time—and curling a hand over the one she’s still resting on top of her stomach. The spines of her knuckles peak sharply beneath his palm. “You're grieving for him.”

She nods but doesn’t take her hand from her mouth, looking faintly green. He’s starting to think that he’s taking this too far, pushing this Capitol sycophant towards and off the edge of no return, where he and so many other thousands citizens of Panem already are. But he can’t stop himself, the words spewing from him like the vomit he’s well-acquainted with from all the collective years of killing his liver.

“I know what it’s like,” he shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “I’m about to lose a lot of friends myself.”

Chaff. Seeder. Finnick. Johanna. Cecelia. Mags. Maybe even one of the kids if Plutarch can’t get them out. Maybe even both of them if his plan entirely fails. He’s not stupid enough to believe that the Head Gamemaker can make the impossible happen and save all of these victors from their imminent dooms, and he’s cynical enough to know that the cost of winning a war is going to involve losing a few battles. The other rebel victors intimately know this too, and they’ve calmly accepted their fates.

There will be no long and drawn out goodbyes over the next few days.

Just strategizing in the dark.

Exchanging notes.

Whispering secrets.

Hoping for rebellion and simultaneously understanding that they might never live to see it. Haymitch knows all of this—goddammit, he’s immersed and committed and so perfectly aware—but even still, his hand violently shakes around his glass of gin, and there’s blood on his palms again. Maysilee’s blood. He can’t stop the bleeding. He’s so sorry, Chaff. And he’s sorry, Finnick. Johanna. Seeder. Mags. Jesus, he’s sorry, Katniss, and he’s sorry, Peeta. They're both too young to be living through this shit. Wasn’t he once upon a time? Weren’t they all? There’s just too much of it, the blood. It’s bright red and sticky, and he can’t fucking do any—

Just as his gin falls away from his fumbling fingertips, he feels a pair of arms slide around his neck, slender and smooth. The glass hits the wooden floor harshly, exploding into innumerable shards—so much damage bisecting Maysilee's neck, the artery clearly nicked, and the eruption from the volcano, he's gotta find high ground quick, is that what flesh smells like when it's fucking burning?!—but there’s a chin resting against his shoulder preventing him from immediately assessing his immediate surroundings. The foul-smelling alcohol seeps unpleasantly into his shoes—all the water sources in the arena are poisonous, everything except the rain, tributes twitching on the ground, their skin an unnatural shade of blue. He's so thirsty. Just one sip wouldn't hurt...? District 12 tributes aren't supposed to live this long anyway...

The mouth pressed into the skin beneath his ear is unbothered.

“I’m so sorry,” Effie whispers against his jaw, her manicured fingertips curling into the nape of his neck, and the gesture grounds him in the same way booze makes it all sort of float of way.

“You’re bleeding,” he says numbly, his quivering fingertips finding purchase in her nightshirt. He’s looking down at her white leg, where shrapnel grazed the side of it, leaving pops of bright blood.

“That’s something I can handle,” she returns gently, but surely she must be crying again. He can feel a telltale wetness against the column of his throat.

“And me?” He rasps, burying his own face into Effie’s bony shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at the blood anymore.

Her blood. Maysilee’s blood. Katniss’s. Peeta's. Chaff's. Seeder's. Johanna's. Finnick's. He held his own guts in his stomach—waiting for District 1 to come and find him—and felt his intestines slide against the crumbling wall of his abdomen.

“How do I handle it?”

“It’s merely a simple scrape, Haymitch,” she says it dubiously, like she already knows that’s not what he’s talking about.

“It never fucking is,” he growls, so relieved that he can’t see her face, already itching for another bottle, something to burn all these feelings away, to scald himself alive. But even in the midst of his sick cravings, he’s aware of a strangely gentle sensation along his scalp: Effie running her fingers through his hair—slowly, rhythmically, and smoothly. “Don’t pretend otherwise. This is just the pre-show for everything to come.”

He’s not sure if it’s fatalism or a subtle warning.

Maybe even both.

Probably both.

“Scrapes don’t have to become open wounds, Haymitch,” she insists fiercely, still clearly holding on to the delusional hope that none of this is actually happening: the danger, the Quarter Quell, the blood.

“And seventeen-year olds don’t have to become mockingjays,” he snarls into the sleek silk of her shirt and feels the desired effect course through Effie’s entire body almost instantaneously. She freezes in his arms, all ceramic and glass and an inhalation of utter shock.

A squeak and then absolutely nothing. She stops carding her fingers through his wiry, unwashed hair but but doesn’t let him go—even though she could—and he inhales the scent of her, all flowers and other lovely things that have no place in this godawful world.

Effie Trinket.

She scarcely knows that the world is godawful to begin with.

“Don’t say that,” she breathes, her heartbeat thrumming against his chest, quick and erratic, like the flapping of a bird’s wings.

“Why?” He tests and he provokes her. He resists the wild urge to press a kiss against her collarbone, where it sharply protrudes from the rumpled collar of her shirt.

“Because like you said, then the quiet part becomes loud.”

“Real,” he viciously offers her the exact word.

“Yes.” And he’s thoroughly surprised that Effie actually accepts it, though the sound is nearly unintelligible in the back of her throat.

But maybe she has no choice to otherwise.

When he experiences rather than hears her wince, all her willowy limbs tightening against his own, Haymitch finally uncloses his bleary eyes and immediately sees all the blood, how it spirals down her shin in lovely ribbons—both beautiful and terrible to behold.

His fault.

How many people?

His family.

His friends.

His fellow victors. He can't save them all.

District 12's stylists and prep teams.

Effie herself.

He might not be able to save fucking any of them.

His fault.

"Sorry," he chokes out as she wordlessly cradles his head to her chest, holding him and all of his endless horror; he doesn't think he's ever been held like this before, not since his mother was still alive, and he was just a gap-toothed boy scraping his knees on coal piles in the Seam. At the mere thought of her—the first person in the world who had ever loved him—hot tears prick his eyes and assault the sunken hollows of his face, dampening Effie's beautiful shirt.

"Sorry," he says again, even though he knows it's not sufficient; she could be dead three weeks from now, and she doesn't know it. Or maybe she does. Maybe it's all becoming real now.

"Shh," she murmurs, easing the tortured syllable into his hair, and it is is not absolution. It could never be for either of them.

They are what they are, him and Effie Trinket.

There is no making up for the monsters they have become.

"Shh," she consoles him anyway and all the same.

#hayffie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #the hunger games #catching fire #f: thg #reginianwrites #all of my writing has been about indulging childhood nostalgia lately

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