#featuring the sickly color green turns when you bake it

[eiilese]

this picture but it’s hfil / comms

[berrynarrybanana]

Holiday Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

A/N: This was meant to be a blurb, but I got carried away. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, but I wanted to post some Christmassy stuff in between now and Deck the Halls, so here’s a little something. It’s basically over a thousand words of Harry pining for some girl he just met. That seems to be my favorite trope, yeah? Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I hope that you all remember that Christmas isn’t about what you have or what you’re able to give, it’s about spending time with the people you love the most. I’m always here for you all if you need me and I love you loads. Thank you! 

Word Count: 5.1K+

Warnings: A little smut, pining, flash forward, ofc

Prompt: “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not” | Taken from this post here! 

It wasn’t that Harry hated Christmas. 

He loved spending time with his family, drinking mulled wine and talking shit with his Mum and Sister on the couch until the morning light. He loved the Christmas cookies that everyone seemed to bake just for him. Every single one of his friends would wrap them up in cute, candy cane striped cellophane bags with a little bow as if they were worried he’d been deprived of sweets. He loved the warmth that enveloped him when he stepped into any building, dodging the cold winter winds and brutal snowflakes that hit his skin. He loved most things about the season, but he truthfully hated the actual holiday itself.

He hated the music, each song covered by about twenty different artists, (yet, they always sounded the same, somehow), playing on a loop on every single Christmas station. He hated how rude people were in the shops and on the road, as if their time was more important than anyone else's. He hated the stigma around giving expensive gifts, stressing over the perfect thing to get each of his friends. If he could, he’d give them all something homemade, but he was shit at doing anything crafty. 

His boots crunched against the snow as he walked towards his mother’s front door. 

He let himself in, kicking his shoes off before he removed his scarf and his winter coat. He could hear laughter from the kitchen, Gemma and his Mum giggling far too loud. They must have cracked into the mulled cider a little early, and truthfully, he was jealous. He’d spent the last four hours stuck in traffic listening to white Christmas over and over and over again. He shut the front door as Evie wrapped herself around his legs, her soft purring catching his attention as he glanced down at the black and white kitten. 

“Hiya, darling girl.” He crouched down, scooping her into his arms before he delivered a series of kisses over her head. “Daddy’s missed you, eh. Have you been good for your nan?”

She meowed in response, causing Harry to coo at her before he scratched under her chin. 

“That’s my girl.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before setting her back to the ground. 

He knew they would indulge in several cuddle sessions over the next few days, so he wasn’t worried about missing his one and only pet this holiday season. He walked through the house, finding his way into the kitchen where Gemma was tipping back a glass of dark red liquid, and his Mum was rolling out cookie dough with a bright smile on her face. What Harry wasn’t expecting, was the curly haired girl with a cookie cutter in her hand next to his Mum.

“Hello!” He called out, offering a smile as he walked over to the kitchen island. “I see we’ve started having fun already.”

“It took you forever to get here!” Gemma said defensively, picking up a chocolate kiss before tossing it at Harry. “Do you want a drink?”

“Something hot, it’s like the bloody tundra outside.” He shivered at the thought of the harsh wind, his eyes trailing back towards the new girl. 

“Stella makes the best peppermint hot chocolate you’ve ever had in your life.” Gemma groaned out, her eyes rolling back in her head. “She puts peppermint vodka in there.”

“I can make you one if you’d like?” Stella’s voice was soft and painfully american. “We’ve got a slow cooker full of hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t mind.” Harry gave her a smile as he pulled out a stool, sitting next to Gemma. “Nice to meet you, Stella. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“She knows who you are.” Gemma reached over, pinching Harry’s side. “Stella is a new transfer at work. She’s new to England, and we thought we’d show her a proper English Christmas.”

“Stella, love, you should probably find another family to spend Christmas with if you want a proper English Christmas.” Harry snorted. “Ours is half arsed at best.”

“We have a lovely Christmas, thank you.” Anne piped up, flicking flour in Harry’s direction as Stella laughed softly. “Don’t scare the poor thing off, we’ve just made her feel at home.” 

Stella turned her back, walking towards the stove.

“I suppose we do have a good time.” Harry hummed out. “I can’t wait to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the millionth time.” 

“They’ve got an animated one now!” Gemma exclaimed. “We’re going to do a double feature.”

“Lovely.” Harry rolled his eyes. 

Moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate laced was placed in front of Harry. 

He looked down at the grinch mug before looking back up at Stella. 

“Thanks.” He offered her a smile, but she merely nodded back at him before taking her place next to Anne again. 

He watched her, sipping at his drink as Gemma and Anne chatted about some Hallmark movie that was meant to premiere at some point during the week. She wasn’t normally the type of girl that he dated, but he had to admit that she was beautiful. Her cheeks were round, a soft blush smeared over them that he assumed came from a makeup product. Her lashes were thick, and long, shadowing her hazel colored eyes. She had thick brows that seemed a little unruly, and plump lips stained with a plum colored lipstick that matched her smoky, purple eyeshadow. He wasn’t a huge fan of the plum color, but he had to admit that it brought out a lot of the warmer tones in her eyes and in her beautiful, brown skin. He also thought that it complimented the lighter strands in her curly brown hair that bounced about everytime she turned her head. 

He tried not to be too obvious with his curious gaze, but he couldn’t help it. He was almost mesmerized by her beauty, but he was more so confused by his attraction to her. She was far too quiet for his taste, her eyes cast down on the cookies she’d been cutting out for the last few minutes while everyone else chatted. 

He watched her place them on the tray carefully, obsessing over how they landed before she reached for the colored icing. He watched her pipe onto the little shapes, her tongue nestling in the corner of her mouth as her unsteady hands worked diligently on the cookies. 

This was a Styles family Christmas, and the Styles were a rowdy and messy bunch. He’d never seen his Mum or Gemma put that much work into sugar cookies before, and it was almost painful to watch her perfect each and every one before she slipped the tray in the oven. He watched her reach for the cheeky little chicken shaped oven timer that Gemma bought when his Mum fist moved into this house. In all of those years, he’d never seen anyone actually use it. 

“Did you hear me, my little turtle dove?” Anne brushed her hand over Harry’s back as he sipped at his cocoa. “They’re calling for a huge storm this weekend, are you packed for that?”

“I left some stuff here the last time I was around.” He turned his head, smiling back at her. “I think I should be fine if I get stuck with you lot.” 

“Good.” She nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Missed you too, Mumma.” He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her into a hug. 

The warm scent of vanilla and musk greeted his senses, flooding him with comfort and nostalgic memories of cuddling with Mum on the couch. He missed having her around him. He missed having his best friend around to comfort him when he needed it the most. When he let go of her, his heart sank a little in his chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before moving back to work on more cookie dough. 

“Why are you making so many cookies?” He asked, brows furrowing as he brushed his fingers over the sickly green mug with the cartoon characters face on it. “Do you plan on feeding an army?”

“No, but Stella suggested that we take some down to the local homeless shelter on Christmas Eve.” Anne smiled over at the girl. “That’s her family's Christmas tradition, and since she’s not with them this year, we thought we’d make it happen for her here.”

“Thank you again, for agreeing to this.” Stella smiled at Anne. “It really means the world to me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re a part of the family now, dear.” Anne teased. “Even if you’re not spending Christmas with us, this little tradition of yours has been officially integrated into our own Christmas tradition. We’ll always have a little bit of Stella with us during the Holiday’s now, eh.”

Stella laughed at that, reaching her arms out to wrap Anne in a hug. 

Harry almost felt a little jealous at how seamlessly she fit in here. 

“If you keep staring at her, she’s gonna want to run back to America.” Gemma nudged her elbow into his side. “We get it, she’s hotter than you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry rolled his eyes at Gemma as she smirked. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Okay, Casanova.” She snorted. “Whatever you say. 

**

Harry wasn’t sure why he was hard. 

He just wanted to close his eyes and go the fuck to sleep. 

After a long day of travel, and an even longer evening filled with Harry pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic, he just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to taking the annual trip to the Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow. Since Robin passed, Harry was the only man in the family, which meant that he often had to do the heavy lifting. He found that most of his strength lay in his core, despite the amount of lifting he’d done to buff up his arms, and he wasn’t looking forward to tossing a tree on top of his car while everyone watched. 

Truthfully, that was the worry that should have been plaguing his mind as he lay in bed. Instead, his mind was lost in hazel colored waves that crashed on dark plum shores. He couldn’t stop thinking about Stella’s eyes or her perfectly shaped lips. He spent most of his night watching her drink from a wine glass, her cheeks turning a shade darker with each joke that she shared with his family. If there was one thing that he was shocked about, it was the dry humor that tumbled from her perfect plum colored lips. She was a funny girl, despite being quiet, and he laughed at every single joke she told without shame. 

As he shifted his about, trying to avoid any further thoughts about her lips, the tip of his cock brushed against the warm flannel of his pajama pants. He let out a throaty groan, reaching down to push his palm into the crotch of his pants to soothe the pressure building in his lower belly. He couldn’t jack off to the thought of Gemma’s new friend, it would be awful, and it would surely land him on the naughty list. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to picture her lipstick staining his lower belly, his upper thighs, and eventually...the shaft of his cock. But after a few minutes of trying not to think about it, that was the only thing he could see behind closed eyes. 

With an annoyed grumble, he dipped his hand into his pajama pants, tugging his cock out while his free hand pushed the band of the pants down his hips. He licked over his dry lips, making a mental note to buy some chapstick tomorrow as he gave himself one, swift stroke. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to moan as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. He was pathetic, dripping down his cock over a girl that he barely knew. He couldn’t believe that he was being that guy right now, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of a beautiful girl on her knees for him. He wanted so badly to have her there, whispering filthy words in that gentle tone she had, encouraging him to cum on her tongue. 

When he did cum, her name spilled from his lips. 

His chest was heaving as he came down, the tinkling of Stella’s laughter filling his ears. 

Seconds later, he heard her bid goodnight to Gemma before the door next to his own shut. 

He was totally fucked for this girl. 

**

The next morning, he didn’t expect to see Stella sitting at the breakfast bar when he came downstairs. 

He stopped in the doorway, his cheeks growing warm as he looked over her sweater covered back. Thoughts of her name tumbling from his lips last night flooded back as he looked at her. She was wearing a lavender colored, cable knit sweater, and her curls were tied up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. Most of the curls had fallen out, covering up some of her neck alongside her fingers. Her cheek was propped on her palm, her gaze focused on her laptop as she lifted a mug of steaming liquid up to her mouth with her other hand. 

Harry cleared his throat, walking toward the stove so he could put the kettle on. No one else in the house would be up for hours, but Harry couldn’t turn off his internal alarm clock no matter how he tried. He also hoped that he might find a moment of peace from the very girl sitting in his Mother’s kitchen. She haunted his dreams, her face playing on the silver screen in his mind all night long. He hated how infatuated he was with this woman that he barely even knew. 

“Morning.” She spoke up first, her voice scratchy and tired. “Did you sleep well?”

“Splendid, yeah.” He nodded, filling the kettle with water. “You?” 

“I’ve slept better, but that’s to be expected.” She said softly. “I spent a little bit of time on a skype call with my brother’s, so I was up longer than expected.” 

“But you’re up fairly early this morning, aren’t you?” He put the kettle on the stovetop before turning around, his eyes landing on hers. “Why’s that?”

“I wake up this early anyways.” She smiled at him. “I usually like to go for a walk in the morning to wake myself up.”

“That’s nice.” He lifted his hand, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I usually like to go for a swim or a run in the morning, too.”

“Where do you swim?” She asked. 

“There’s a men’s swimming club not too far from my home in London.” He said. “It’s freezing cold, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Jeeze, you swim outside in this weather?” She lifted her head from her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I could never.” 

“It’s an acquired taste.” He chuckled softly. “What are you working on?”

“A new piece for my blog.” She said. “I started out using it as a diary of sorts, but people apparently love reading about the disaster that is my life.”

“I’m sure it’s not all horrible.” He hoped that he sounded encouraging and not rude. “You seem like a lovely, and positive person.”

“I try to be.” She shrugged, reaching for her mug. “I could say the same about you.”

“I try to be.” He smiled at her. “Would you like some breakfast?” 

“Oh, I was actually thinking of popping down to this little bakery Gemma told me about-” 

“Mandeville’s.” His heart picked up, a smile stretching across his lips. “Had my first job there.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” She laughed, wrapping both hands around her mug as she leaned back in the barstool. “I figured I’d go grab some pastries for everyone. I know it’s kind of a busy day with the Christmas Tree Farm, so I thought it would be best if your Mum didn’t feel the need to cook.”

“She would love that.” Harry said. “Maybe I could go with you? We could both get our walks in, and I can see Mary before she hunts me down and drags me to the bakery.”

“I would love the company.” She smiled. “But enjoy your tea first, I’ll just be working on this until we’re ready to go.”

“Cheers.” He nodded, watching her eyes drop to her computer screen. 

She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup this morning, and Harry almost wished that she was. 

He wished that she had covered up her beautiful, freckle covered skin so that he didn’t fall harder for her beautiful face. He wished that she was hiding away those little blemishes that made him swoon, because she was actually a human after all, not some angel sent down from heaven to torture him. He wished that she covered those beautiful lips in that plum lipstick again so that he could imagine kissing it off of her. He hated the feeling stirring inside of his belly, the butterflies a tell tale sign of his feelings. 

He had a crush on Stella. 

And there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling for her. 

**

Stella’s gloves were precious.

They were a bright red, little snowflakes and reindeer stitched into them. 

She offered to let Harry borrow a pair of her gloves, claiming that she’d brought plenty of pairs for the winter, but he politely declined before shoving his hands in his pockets. She looked so cozy, wrapped up in her winter coat with a beanie on top of her head and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and cuddle her so that they could both stay nice and toasty on their walk. He wanted to kiss her bare cheeks, paying special attention to each freckle on her skin as the winter sun cast over them. 

He was so infatuated with her that it was almost embarrassing. 

“I can’t even imagine what it was like, growing up in a place like this.” Stella turned her head towards Harry, the tip of her nose a little red. “It’s so picturesque.”

“It’s alright.” He gave her a small smile. “I always wanted to get out when I was a kid.”

“Of course you did, we all do.” She chuckled. “I think everyone should run away for a little while, it really gives you all of the tools you need to really appreciate your hometown when you go back. I don’t know that I’ll ever move back to my hometown, but when I visit it, I feel a little bit more appreciative of the pivotal role it had in raising me.”

“I feel the same way about Cheshire.” Harry nodded. “It’s a big part of who I was, and that helped make me who I am. I wouldn’t be the same without this place.”

“Exactly.” She said. 

“So where exactly are you from?�� He asked. “I mean, obviously America-”

“Is it that obvious?” She asked, narrowing her eyes playfully, her lips pursed. “I don’t think it is.”

“It’s a neon, flashing sign above your head kind of obvious, love.” He snorted. “But I can’t place what your accent is.”

“It’s not really an accent.” Stella shrugged, turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “I grew up on the road for most of my life, but my family settled in Georgia when I was about twelve.”

“Interesting.” He said. “How did you like Georgia?” 

“I didn’t, at first.” She laughed. “I hated it so much. I loved being on the road with my family, traveling places like Hawaii and Los Angeles. When we moved to the south, I despised everything about it. It was so plain and boring compared to places we’d lived before. But like I said, moving away has made me learn to love it more when I go back.”

“How long have you been gone?” He asked. 

“About three years.” She said. “I lived in Amsterdam for a year, and then Paris, and now I’m here.”

“Which place is your favorite?” He asked. “Be honest with me, now. You don’t have to say London just because you’re trying to get on my good side.” 

Stella tossed her head back, laughing loudly. 

“I think it’s truthfully London, Harry.” 

His name sounded like honey falling from her lips. 

“Why is that?” He asked. 

“Because I’ve found my chosen family.” She turned back, giving him a smile that thawed out the chill creeping up from his toes. “Starting with Gemma, of course. She was the first person to take me under her wings, and I’m so happy that I have her in my life. Then I started to find other people, and we all became this really close knit group of friends that felt more like family than my actual family does. I don’t know how I’ll ever leave this place.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He said softly. “Maybe this is home.”

Please don’t go, Stella. 

Stay here with me forever. 

Love me. 

“My contract is up at the end of the year, but we’ll just have to see how things go.” She said. “I might be convinced to stay.”

“Well, I guess I have a lot of work to do.” He chuckled.

“Why are you so keen on me staying?” She asked him, her brows raising as she gave him a knowing smirk. “Do you have a crush on me, Styles?”

His cheeks grew hot against the cold wind. 

“Alright now, don’t let that go to your head.” He grumbled, tucking his neck into his scarf as Stella’s smile grew wider. “It’s all your bloody fault, you know?”

“What have I done?” She laughed louder. “I’m just me.”

“That’s exactly it.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re you, Stella.”

**

The Christmas Tree Farm was going well. 

That was up until Gemma decided that they absolutely needed to take a family picture in front of the big Christmas tree, Stella included. They had picked up a few little trinkets and such while walking around the market included in the farm. Anne picked up a reindeer headband with bells stitched in, plopping it on her head the second she found it. Gemma found an elf’s hat with little ears attached to the side, putting it on her hair before fussing with her hair. Stella found a crown made of poinsettias that she plopped on top of her curls, the red and gold working perfectly with her red lipstick and gold eyeshadow. Harry, however, wasn’t exactly in the spirit. 

“You’re wearing the bloody santa hat, whether you like it or not!” Gemma shoved it towards him with a frown. “If you stand next to Stella, you’ll like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!” 

“Shut up, Gemma.” Harry sneered, snatching the hat from her hands. “I didn’t tell you about that so you could throw it in my face!” 

“Well, I’m doing it for the greater good of our family photo!” She glared at him. “Put that hat on before I shove it on your head myself.”

“Fine.”

“Are you two alright?” Stella smirked, adjusting her crown on her head as she walked up to Harry and Gemma. “Santa is still putting people on the naughty list you know?” 

“If anyone’s going to be on the naughty list, it’s Harry.” Gemma tossed her arm around Stella’s shoulder with a proud smirk. “He’s being a pain in the arse.”

“Is the hat really necessary to the photo?” He groaned, dropping his head back. 

“Yes.” Stella and Gemma said at the same time. 

“Alright, alright.” He groaned, tugging the hat over his curls. “Are you both happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stella smiled brightly at Harry. “I think you look handsome.”

“I’m going to just point out…” Gemma pulled her arm from around Stella, tucking her hands behind her back. “That there’s mistletoe hanging from that piece of wood above your heads.” 

“Gemma-” Harry’s eyes grew wide. 

“And I’m promptly going to walk away.” She smiled at Stella. “Meet us at the tree in ten minutes.” 

“Gemma-” Stella held her hand out as Gemma walked away, her eyes growing just as wide as Harry’s were. “What a sneaky little elf.” 

“Tell me about it.” Harry shifted, adjusting the hat on his head. “Devious little-”

“Well, I guess we can’t break tradition.” Stella looked up at Harry, shuffling forward slowly with a little smirk on her lips. “I mean, what would Santa say if we didn’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

Harry licked over his bottom lip, his fingers twitching. 

“You really want to kiss me?”

“I might.” Stella’s toes were almost touching Harry’s now. “But the question is, do you want to kiss me?”

“I do, yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I laid eyes on you, Stella.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She raised her brows. “Now is your chance, Mr. Grinch, lay one on me.”

Harry lifted his hands, pressing them to Stella’s face hesitantly before he lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It was a gentle peck, one that anyone would share underneath the mistletoe, but Harry wanted more from Stella. It seemed that she wanted more as well, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed up on her toes. He let his hands fall to her waist as the kiss grew more intense, his hands holding onto her tightly as she brushed her tongue over his lower lip. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, letting her have what she wanted by parting his lips. When her tongue slipped over his, he let out a tiny moan, gripping her hips tighter. 

“Get a room, you two!” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead to Stella’s. 

“Gemma, I swear to god-” Harry turned his head, whipping his santa hat off before he threw it in her direction. “Go bother someone else!” 

Stella laughed, ducking her forehead down to Harry’s chest as he rubbed his thumbs over her side gently. He felt her body shaking underneath his hands, his heart hammering in his chest when he realized just how close they actually were. He turned his head back, lifting a hand up to guide Stella’s chin up. He pressed his lips to hers once, twice, three more times before she pressed her palms to Harry’s chest. 

“We’ll never stop if we don’t move away from the mistletoe.” Stella whispered. “And I think Gemma might physically pull us apart if we miss that Christmas picture.”

“Let it be known that I’m only partaking in this picture because I want to stand next to you for as long as I can.” Harry smiled. “I think I have a little more than a crush on you, Stella.” 

“I think I have more than a crush on you, too.”

**

“Madeline, stop right there.” Stella let out a frustrated sigh as she looped her arm under the baby carrier, her eyes falling down to the sleeping infant. “Milo, promise Mumma that you’ll listen when you get to that age?”

“Give him here.” Harry brushed a kiss over Stella’s temple, his hand massaging her lower back gently. “You go catch up with speed racer, okay? I’ll be right behind you with the baby and the diaper bag.”

“Thank you.” Stella turned her head, puckering her lips out. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He hummed out. “And our beautiful babies, even if one of them has a death wish and two left feet.” 

Stella snorted out a laugh, pulling her arm from the carrier before she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I better go help her up the stairs.”

“Please, we don’t need a repeat of last year.” Harry smiled. 

“Yeah, I would like to avoid a trip to A&E this year.” Stella snorted. 

He watched Stella walk over to an antsy Madeline, her pigtails bouncing about as she jumped from foot to foot in excitement. Harry chuckled softly at his daughter, amused by her excitement. He was happy that she found so much joy in Christmas, just like her Mother did. He watched Stella hold a hand out, waiting for Madeline to take it before they both conquered the brick steps outside of his Mum’s house. When they got to the top, Stella lifted Madeline up, kissing over her cheeks as their daughter giggled. Harry lifted Milo’s car seat from the base, his eyes falling down to the six month old with hazel eyes and soft cheeks just like his Mother’s. 

“We’ve got our hands full with those two, mate.” Harry pulled the soft, wintery blue blanket up to Milo’s chin, tucking it around his shoulders so that he would stay warm. “Gonna keep us both on our toes, I know it.” 

Milo cooed up at him, causing Harry to smile wider before he ducked his head down to kiss his son's soft cheeks. 

“Let’s get you into Nan’s before you turn into a popsicle, my love.” Harry said. “Mumma won’t be happy if we have to spend Christmas thawing you out.”

As Harry made his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but remember five Christmases ago. 

He was walking up the exact same steps on his own, unaware of the magic that was waiting inside for him. He was unaware that the girl Gemma brought home for Christmas would one day be his wife, and the mother of his two beautiful children. He had no idea that they would spend long nights together, planning their future and holding each other tight. He opened the front door to his Mum’s house, smiling at the sound of Madeline telling his Mother a story with animated gestures, her curly pigtails bouncing around as Stella tried to wrangle her jacket off. 

“And then Daddy told me we could get a puppy next year if I was good enough!” Madeline squealed out as Harry shut the door. 

He dodged the steely gaze he got from Stella after she heard the word puppy.

“Sorry.” He mouthed over at her, causing her to shake her head as she tried to fight off a smile. 

“You’re a menace.” She mouthed back. “But I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He said it outloud, his heart soaring in his chest. 

Stella gave him a heart warming smile, Madeline’s coat still in her hands. 

Seconds later, Milo let out a tiny cry causing Harry to snap back into dad mode. 

He rested the carseat on the ground, carefully pulling his son out before pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheeks. As if Gemma could sense his presence, she barreled into the living room with her eyes set on Milo. 

“There’s my little man.” She held her hands out, wiggling them as Harry rolled his eyes. “You get to see him every day, Harry. Pass him over to his auntie.” 

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Please be careful with him, I kind of like this one.”

“Piss off.” Gemma snorted out, sliding Milo onto her hip before pressing a bright red kiss mark into his forehead. “Has Daddy told you that without auntie Gem, you wouldn’t exist?” 

“Gemma-” 

“Can you believe that?” She looked up at Harry, a hint of something nostalgic and genuine sparkling in her green eyes. “If I’d never brought Stella to family Christmas, we wouldn’t have two beautiful babies to dote over every year.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what life would be like without them.” He whispered. “Thank you, Gemma.”

“Harry, I really didn’t-”

“Gemma.” He said her name sternly, pressing his palm to her bicep. “Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She said softly, her eyes watering. “Now, if you could do me a favor and bring a hot friend around, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” He let out a wet chuckle, his own eyes watering. 

“What are we managing?” Stella wrapped her arms around Harry. 

“We owe Gem a favor.” He sniffled, turning head to press a kiss to Stella’s forehead. 

“Why are you crying, baby?” Stella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” He pressed his lips to hers, softly brushing his nose against the tip of hers as his. “Just so incredibly grateful to have you in my life, that’s all.”

“You’re so sappy around the holiday’s.” Stella brushed her palm over his belly. “I love you, Mr. Styles.” 

“I love you, too, Mrs. Styles.” He said. “Merry Christmas, Darling.”

“Merry Christmas.” 

[alannah-corvaine]

alannah; neverending survey

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Alannah Ailíse Caireann Corvaine Outway

NICKNAME: Little Bird (Faron only) 

AGE:  almost 23

BIRTHDAY:   10/16

ETHNIC GROUP: Midlander Hyur

NATIONALITY: Thanalanian

LANGUAGE/S: Common, a hodgepodge of things she's picked up from books

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Demisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Married (verse dependent)

HOME TOWN / AREA:  Drybone, Eastern Thanalan

CURRENT HOME:  The Grey Fleet, Lower LaNoscea

PROFESSION: Professional White Mage™, Healer, Purifier

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Rich, dark brown with white streaks extending from her roots (magical scars)

EYES: Sea Green

FACE: Slightly angular, but still has baby fat

LIPS: Full, pouty, usually covered in neutral tone gloss

COMPLEXION: Sickly pale

BLEMISHES:  Birthmark under her left eye, constant red splotchy patches due to allergies

SCARS:  The white in her hair, a mark between her shoulderblades where she was kicked by an aldgoat as a child

TATTOOS: Flowery vines crawling up the left side of her ribcage (permanent), stabilizing arcanima symbols all over her arms (temporary, reapplied daily)

HEIGHT:  5′2″

WEIGHT: 135 ponze

BUILD:  Petite 

FEATURES:  Extremely striking eyes, more girlish than womanly facial structure

ALLERGIES:  Severe pollen and pet allergies, mildly allergic to some foods and perfumes

USUAL HAIR STYLE:  Worn long, down to her hips. Either in a sidebraid, high ponytail with various small braids, or loose

USUAL FACE LOOK :  Lost in thought

USUAL CLOTHING:  Loose, flowing, bohemian style. Lots of white, lots of bangles, delicate necklaces and rings. Sometimes hair ornaments. Barefoot or sandals, doesn't believe in socks. While "working" she prefers trenchcoats open at the waist, shorts, and knee-high boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure, guns, the excited laugh her daughter makes when she's found something "interesting"

ASPIRATION/S:  To be a powerful mage, fix her borked aether, and to be a better mother to her daughter than Christaine was to her

POSITIVE TRAITS: Insatiably curious, focused, dedicated, protective, kind, funny, generous

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Emotionally distant, petty, wrathful, impulsive, reckless, gets lost in her own head and forgets to come back out

TEMPERAMENT:   Melancholic

SOUL TYPE/S:  Artisan

ANIMALS:  --

VICE HABIT/S: Swearing, letting her temper get the best of her, alcohol (very rarely, because it ends badly)

FAITH: Hail Hydra Hydaelyn

GHOSTS?: ...verse dependent (lol)

AFTERLIFE?: Not so much an afterlife as much as being recycled by the Lifestream.

REINCARNATION?:  Yes

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: I mean...she might be a bit of an ecoterrorist?

EDUCATION LEVEL:  Self taught through an ungodly amount of reading

FAMILY.

FATHER : Aedan Corvaine

MOTHER :  Christaine Harlow Corvaine (deceased)

SIBLINGS : Faron, Ean, Davon, Brennan

EXTENDED FAMILY: Nine Outway (husband), Aislinn Outway (daughter), Moira Corvaine (aunt), Fayre Harlow (maternal grandmother), Fasshon Fuqushon (step-grandfather), Veronique Corvaine (sister-in-law), Isobel Corvaine (niece), Octavia Outway (sister-in-law)

NAME MEANING/S: You know, I spent hours looking up names with fitting means for Alannah’s family members way back when, but I am absolutely too lazy to go find them again

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None.

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Technical studies on the properties and workings of aether, historical volumes, adventure and fantasy stories, and sometimes a romance novel

DEITY: Hail Hydra Hydaelyn

HOLIDAY:  Starlight

MONTH: July

SEASON:  Summer

PLACE: La Noscea

WEATHER: Snow

SOUND / S: The almost electric hum of magic, the sound that Nine makes when she scratches his head

SCENT / S:  White musk, fresh bread baking, old books, lemongrass

TASTE / S:  Wine, dandelion tea, almond cream croissants

FEEL / S:  Being magically powerful, sleeping on fresh sheets, wearing her husband’s shirts, snuggling with her daughter

ANIMAL / S:  Fish, since they’re the only thing that doesn’t maker her sneeze

NUMBER: 9 (lol)

COLORS: White, black, any pastel or sherbet colors

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Retaining large amounts of information. magical aptitude (even if she has to fight her unstable aether for it), large scale destruction, cooking exactly one meal, tripping on flat surfaces, the ability to braid anything

BAD AT:  Wielding any kind of melee weapon, seeing without her glasses, remembering where she put her glasses, keeping up a conversation without getting lost in her thoughts, public speaking, remembering to drink her tea before it gets cold

TURN ONS: Patience, humor, calloused hands, empathy, confidence, kindness

TURN OFFS: Arrogance, cruelty, smarminess, apathy, insensitivity

HOBBIES: Researching, reading, sketching, playing the harp, traveling/seeing new places, teaching her daughter how to human, using her husband as a nap pillow

TROPES: (oh god there are so many, these are just a few) Caged Bird Metaphor, Grass is Greener, Kitsch Collection, Misery Builds Character, Now Let Me Carry You, #1 Dime, Wake-up Call, Grew a Spine, Rage Breaking Point, Big Screwed Up Family, Black Sheep

QUOTES :  “my bitterness was sometimes rest and sometimes ecstacy grace or rage, always the two opposites ready to annihilate each other and to rise from the ruins of the vanquished.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  Listen, I shamelessly love YA dystopian fiction, so it would be something in that vein, where Alannah is OP as fuck running around and blowing shit up as the young heroine main focus. Also there’s all of the romance tropes (sandwiched between developmental angst, of course), because I like them, and nobody’s allowed to bitch about it.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  It would be scored by a collaboration of Two Steps From Hell, Hans Zimmer, Jeremy Soule, and Zack Hemsey, and my ears would orgasm.

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 : I don’t like doing the whole “my character is just me or an extension of me” thing, it just never feels right. I also can’t just look at the avatar I’m using and see nothing but pixels and just “play the game.” She has to have a personality, a backstory, a reason for what she’s doing. Also it’s a great creative outlet for me because I love coming up with stories in my head as I go. And thus Alannah was born from the soup of inspiration made up of many various characters I’ve loved over the years.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 : She was supposed to be something new, a kind of character that I’ve never written before. All of my female characters end up badass, overpowered, and full of personal angst, because that’s just my thing. And yeah, Alannah’s reached that point, but the point is I tried.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I feel like I can never get her voice right, she always just ends up sounding like me.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :   The longer she’s around, the more of my traits she absorbs by osmosis. At this point she shares like 80% of my personality and traits and is completely unrecognizable from my original concept for her.

Q7 :   How does your muse feel about you?          

A7 :   I am a generous god.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?        

A8 :   My favorite thing to explore, if it isn’t grossly obvious, is her different relationships with each of her siblings, probably because I have none. 

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?        

A9 : Mostly music and books, sometimes games. I have so many AUs for Alannah. Actually writing things, however, is another matter entirely.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : I had it done by the end of the work day after working on it between things I had to do, but then SOMEBODY tumblr drafts had to blow it up so I had to start over from the halfway point. I am not amused.

tagged by: @resistance-ranger [thankyou♥]

tagging: @keeperprinceling @menphinasbow @keeperofthelilacs @fheythfully @manawalls @khaamara @ahlis-xiv @aethernoise @castthemintotheabyss @alphiinaud @chysgoda @dragons-bones @astrophoros-ffxiv @loslorien @nuclearanomaly @zunshtral @card-and-flame @carmen-ffxiv @arabeka-ffxiv @voidwife @crowsaerie-rp @apassingshadow @violet-warder @hydrangea-fields @areniaagn @autumnslance @keltgeim @holyja @unmend @pulse-oflife

[notintheipswichboyband]

CHARACTER SHEET.

BASICS.

full name.  Chase Lieveinvidia Collins (Goodwin-Pope) pronunciation.  Chase/ Lei-eve-In-vi-deea/ Call-lenz/ Good Win/ Pope nickname.  The Fifth Son, Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing ( Has no REAL nicknames, lol) height.  5′11″ ish normally. 5′9″ after his fight with Caleb because of health deterioration. age.  18 zodiac.  Cancer spoken languages.  English, Ancient

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color.  Light Brown or Dirty Blond color eye color.  Light Blue-green/Seagreen skin tone.  Peachy normally, but pale and sickly after his fight with Caleb. body type.  Lean/Athletic, but slightly atraphic and thinner after his fight and death by Caleb. accent.  None dominant hand.  Right posture.  Lazy, slacked usually, not standing at his full height scars.  Burn Scars along the right side of his face that have left his right eye with a film of white over his eye, dulling the vibrant color under it. Many scars in his abdomen from getting a ball of energy torn through his entire body, mostly internal scaring. Burn scars all along his back, torso, arms and legs. tattoos.   None most noticeable feature.  Uuuh, well, he’s, not like the other sons of Ipswich, nor is he like anyone he grew up with in the ‘normal’ world. So, he’s particularly unique. Sharing many features from growing up a normal child unaware of his witch side. While also growing up with just enough of an influence it made him seem clearly different from both his normal age group and age group in the witch world. Since he has to share traits from both.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth.  Maryland hometown.  Haversfield birth weight.  2.3 kg birth height.  17 inches manner of birth.  Difficult, the usual manner first words.  “No.” siblings.  None parents.  Unknown Father, Elizabeth(Unknown last name, not canon), Arthur and Gillian Collins. parental involvement.  His biological parents had nothing to do with raising, mostly because they were very young when they had him and you know, Elizabeth died when Chase was an infant ( Canonically she died of Cancer....LikehiszodiacsignHEKILLEDHERASABABYbadjoke.) and his father didn’t show up till he was a teenager. Arthur and Gillian raised him rather well, and were very involved in his development.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation.  None current residence.  None close friends.  None relationship status.  None financial status.  None driver’s license.  None criminal record.  Murder, Theft, Accidental Murder, Destruction of Property, Harassment, Identity Theft,

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation.  Grey sexual romantic orientation.  Greyromanitc preferred emotional role. submissive  |  dominant  | switch  |  unsure preferred sexual role. submissive |  dominant  |  switch  |  sex repulsed libido.  Low turn-ons.  None turn-off’s.  None love language.  Physical Touch relationship tendencies.  Probably mocking or making fun of the other. Just making their life a living fucking hell, he’s that terrible at times.

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song.   Love the Way You Hate Me hobbies to pass the time.  Reading, Using The Power, Baking, Using The Power, Piano Playing, Taking a Hike, Rock Collecting, Seashell Collecting, Playing Soccer, USING THE POWER, Archery, Traveling to kill people, Magic,  Fighting, Training TO USE THE POWER, Climbing, Playing Video Games, Solving Puzzles, Putting Puzzles Together, Playing Chess By Himself, Stalking People (Caleb), Roleplaying (Poorly), Exploring the Local Woods, Trading Cards, Collecting Action Figures,  Reading Comic Books, Playing Paint Ball, Reading about History, Collecting/Making Maps,  Writing, Playing The Violin (Poorly), Learning New Things ABOUT THE POWER, physical illness.  Is paralyzed from the neck down, has absent seizures, Internal pains, physical deterioration due to The Power. left or right brained.  Left fears. Failure, Loss of Control, Powerlessness, Abandonment, Loss, Not Being Good Enough, Forgetting,  self confidence level.  Over the roof. vulnerabilities.  Emotional Vulnerability, Human Frailty, Ability to contract illness and diseases easily with his weakened body, Weakened body due to The Power and his fight with Caleb, Mental Illnesses, Fire

Tagged by: @vulpuslunae

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do this.

[everlarkficexchange]

Why I Went to the Woods

Written by: @javistg

Prompt:  Postwar: isolated Katniss did not sit frozen in that quiet tomb of a house, suffocating! She ran madly into the woods. It’s years before anyone sees her again. What’s become of 12, Gale, Haymitch, mom…of Peeta? [Submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: T 

AN: This is for the lovely @567inpanem who submitted the prompt. I hope you like what I’ve done with it. I know I’ve only addressed half of the prompt here, but the story was getting too long, so I decided to break it into three different parts. Part 2 will be ready soon.

I want to thank the wonderful @xerxia31 for helping me with this one. Believe me, this story is a LOT better because of her. And finally, I want to thank the always incredible @akai-echo for making such a beautiful banner for me.

It’s night when Katniss and Haymitch land on the green of the Victors’ Village. Half of the houses have lights in the windows, including Haymitch’s and hers. Not Peeta’s.

Someone has built a fire in Katniss’s kitchen. She sits in the rocker before it, clutching her mother’s letter.

“Well, see you tomorrow,” says Haymitch.

As the clinking of his bag of liquor bottles fades away, Katniss whispers, “I doubt it.”

Katniss pulls an old shawl over her body and watches the flames. She sleeps.

She wakes with the sunrise the next morning. Shy winter sunlight floods the room making the walls glow.

Katniss gets up from the rocker and, with unsteady steps walks around the house. Nothing’s changed.

The formal sitting room, with its opulent armchairs, thick drapes, and marble tabletops is just as unwelcoming as it ever was.

She can’t believe she’s back. Back in this house she never even wanted. Surrounded by all these objects her mother bought with her blood-stained earnings.

Her chest tightens at the thought of her mother. Her old anger bubbling up as she remembers that Mrs. Everdeen is starting a new life in District 4.

‘She should be the one living here,’ Katniss thinks, ‘surrounded by fancy end tables and antique frames.’ And still, she isn’t. As far as Katniss knows, her mother has no intention of setting foot inside this house ever again.

A wave of sadness, cold and dark, grips her. She wraps her arms around her body and closes her eyes. It’s a weak attempt to keep the loneliness at bay, and it’s useless. All she feels is abandoned, bereft.

She takes a deep breath. The faint scent of a rose fills her lungs, its cloying perfume sticks to her throat, choking her.

Terrified, Katniss opens her eyes. Her whole body trembles as she looks around, trying to find the source of the smell. But the culprit is nowhere in sight.

She holds her breath, desperate to keep the evil from seeping into her. But it’s too late, the seed of fear has been planted in her mind, and her despair is quickly making it grow. Her chest begins to burn, and she crumbles to the ground, defeated, trapped under an avalanche of memories from a happier life.

The sound of her sister’s laughter. The warmth of her mother’s embrace. Buttercup’s indignant wails when he was locked outside the house during the night. The mouthwatering smell of freshly baked bread that seemed to fill every room whenever Peeta came by.

They all rush back, pressing in on her, suffocating her with the sorrow of knowing those precious moments are never coming back.

Katniss cries. Her gut-wrenching sobs bounce against the walls. She can feel them closing in on her, pressing their Capitol-made bricks against her frail body, magnifying the sound of her grief as they echo back her laments. 

Somewhere, deep in her gut, her instinct for survival kicks in. Blinded by the tears in her eyes, Katniss stands up and stumbles along the long corridor which leads to the back of the house.

Swinging the door open, she steps onto the back porch and the biting winter breeze. She takes a few ragged breaths. Cold, fresh air fills her lungs, waking up her senses and numbing her pain away.

Looking up, she takes in her surroundings. The unkempt yard, the light dusting of snow covering the dry grass, the trees with dark naked branches that look like skeletons coming out of the frozen ground.

Warm tears sting her eyes. She feels small and lonely, as hollow as the empty walnut husks littering the ground.

The sound of a twig snapping catches her attention, and she turns to find a small mockingjay perched on top of a tree.

The bird looks at her, its black beady eyes holding onto hers for just an instant before turning away. A moment later, it spreads its wings and takes flight.

Katniss keeps her eyes on the small black bird as it circles the yard a couple of times before heading out to the woods and the line of green pine trees beyond the fence.

Her breath hitches when she notices the golden sunbeams that paint the sky sending sparks of color over the treetops and wrapping the world in a warm glow.

Tall firs sway under a gentle breeze, releasing the scent of fresh pine needles into the wind.

Closing her eyes, Katniss greedily breathes it all in. The familiar scent of damp wood and fresh moss wraps around her, blanketing her in the comfort only her woods can bring.

Suddenly, the longing in her heart turns into a plan. ‘I could do it,’ she thinks. ‘Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. There’s no one to stop me now.’

It takes a moment for the idea to sink in. But once it does, a sense of clarity and relief envelops her. After weeks of sorrow and uncertainty, she needs something to hang onto. And, for the first time in ages, this is a plan that feels right. Like something the old Katniss would do. Something she’d be good at.

She doesn’t give herself the chance to second guess her plan, immediately turning on her heels and going back into the house. Her feet rush through the empty rooms while she busies her mind with the list of things she needs to take with her.

By the time she reaches her bedroom, she’s winded and covered in sweat. The months of inactivity have clearly taken their toll on her body, but she refuses to give up.

She’s barely crossed the doorway when the sickly-sweet scent of a dying rose tickles her nose once more. Alarmed, she turns to find a vase on top of her dresser.

One single rose, shriveled and fragile, but still holding on to the unnatural perfection cultivated in President Snow’s greenhouse, stands among the dried flowers which fill the vase.

With newfound determination, Katniss grabs the vase and rushes back to the kitchen where she throws the flowers into the embers. They flare up. A burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it.

Katniss’s heart swells, expanding in her chest as she relishes the sense of satisfaction and freedom which floods her as she witnesses President Snow’s last threat going up in flames.

With the flowers gone, she goes back upstairs and straight into her bathroom.

Trembling fingers fight with the buttons and fastenings of the clothes she wears. She keeps going, leaving her crumpled garments in a pile on the floor and her fire-ravaged body bare to the world.

Her sensitive skin pebbles from the cold, and she goes in search of a new outfit.

Cotton underwear, worn trousers, and a soft flannel shirt caress her skin, bringing memories of long lost afternoons spent exploring the woods with Gale by her side.

Her throat constricts at the thought of Gale. Her partner. Her friend. The boy who always had her back. The soldier who ignored her pleas and arguments, and brought District 2 to its knees. The man who can’t look her in the eye because he knows that, even if he didn’t send the bombs himself, he’s still responsible for her sister’s death.

‘Gale’s gone,’ she reminds herself with a sigh, ‘I need to keep on moving.’

Silent feet carry her through the house as she inspects every room, opening drawers and doors as she looks for things she might need.

With shaky fingers, she opens the door to Prim’s room.

Flowered wallpaper and pale blue curtains stare back at her, reminding her of the happy girl who decorated the space. Overwhelmed, Katniss freezes on the threshold, trying to fight back the waterfall of tears which threatens to swallow her in its depths.

From the bedside table, a small watercolor of Prim holding Buttercup catches her eye. She doesn’t remember ever seeing it before but, even from a distance, she recognizes Peeta’s hand behind each graceful brushstroke.

Silently, she crosses the room and grabs the simple wooden frame. Loving fingers trace the outline of Prim’s features over the glass while her eyes absorb every line and swirl. He’s captured Prim just as Katniss remembers her, happy and radiant, full of life, of possibility.

Fresh tears run down Katniss’s cheeks as she thinks of Peeta finding the time to paint Prim’s portrait before the Quarter Quell. He had been so focused on their training, so determined to save her life, that she had almost forgotten how much he liked to paint. How much he cared about the beauty of the world around him.

Suddenly, her pain and sorrow turn to a blinding rage that warms her veins and reminds her of everything she’s lost. Her father, her sister, her childhood home, all the friends she’s ever known…

Her fingers tighten their grip on the thin frame, turning her knuckles white as she wonders if it was worth it to fight against the odds, to survive starvation, two arenas, and a war when every single thing she’s ever cared about has been tainted or destroyed.

“Why did I even bother?” she yells into the empty room.

The portrait she holds in her hands is all the answer she needs. For Prim. Because her sister filled everything she touched with light and joy and she deserved a chance to live in a better world. For Peeta. Who, for all she knows, is still trying to claw his way out of a dark pit of confusion by holding on to the few precious memories he’s salvaged from the wreckage of his fractured mind.

A stab of longing pierces her heart. And, as the last traces of her anger seep out of her leaving her drained, she thinks that, just like her, Peeta’s lost everything he once held dear. His entire family erased from the face of the earth just a few minutes after her rebellious arrow pierced the sky.

Against her better judgment, she looks at the painting in her hands and asks, “Where are you, Peeta?”

She doesn’t want to care, she can’t afford to worry about him when she’s barely surviving herself. But the same stubborn determination which guided his hand and stopped her from killing herself tugs at her; pulling at her heart through some invisible string she can’t seem to break. Because, even though she remembers calling him an ally, she knows he’s much more than that.

Peeta is her friend, her light in the dark. The one person who’s risked everything he is to keep her alive.

But he’s also the man who holds the key to the most vulnerable part of her soul. In his arms, she’s found comfort, tenderness, and an overwhelming need that thrills and terrifies her like nothing else ever has.

He’s her saddest memory and her brightest moment under the sun.

He’s loyalty, passion, and hope all rolled into one. And now that he’s gone, she feels as lost as a ship stranded under a black starless sky.

In her dark exile, she tries to keep him close to her heart, to find his voice in her thoughts, to remember the way he inspired her, guided her, kept her safe before the hijacking took him away.

But she’s weary and tired, and she doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore. So, it’s there, standing in her sister’s empty room, that Katniss accepts the fact that no part of the life she once knew will ever come back.

The Seam is gone. Her family is either dead or absent. And Peeta… Well, wherever Peeta is, she doesn’t expect he’ll ever want to come back to this place. Not after everything he’s been through.

A part of her thinks that, maybe, if she hadn’t allowed her stubbornness and fear to blind her, Peeta would still be by her side. But she can’t change the past, and she can’t erase the pain she’s caused him.

‘It’s probably best for everyone to simply move on,’ she decides.

The sound of the front door startles her. Clutching Prim’s portrait tightly against her chest, she leaves the room and rushes to the landing to see who her visitor is.

Her eyes widen as Greasy Sae comes into view. “Sae? What are you doing here?”

Sae’s gray eyes light up at the sight of Katniss perched on top of the stairs. A kind smile paints her lips. “I’ve come to make you breakfast,” she states like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Katniss scowls. “Breakfast?” Noticing Sae’s empty hands, she adds, “But, there’s no food in the house.”

Greasy Sae nods and begins walking to the kitchen. “I came by yesterday to restock your pantry. You have lots of canned goods now. I also left a few things in your icebox.”

Intrigued, Katniss follows.

She reaches the kitchen and finds Sae pulling ingredients and cooking utensils from the fully stocked cupboards and placing them on the counter and the stove in front of her.

“We could have some bacon and eggs,” Sae offers.

Katniss shrugs. She’s not particularly hungry, but she knows she needs to put on some weight and recover her strength if she wants her plan to work. Without another word, she pulls out a chair and sits at the kitchen table while Greasy Sae works.

Breakfast is a quiet affair.

Leaving Prim’s portrait on her lap, Katniss forces herself to eat the food in front of her. Each bite bringing her one step closer to the woods’ sweet embrace.

After the food’s gone and the dishes have been cleared away, Sae says, “I’ll come back later to make you dinner.“

Katniss stands up, clutching the frame in her hand. “Don’t. I won’t be here.”

Sae’s eyes narrow as she studies the slight girl in front of her and tries to make sense of her words. After a moment, she nods. “Don’t forget to take your bow, child. It wouldn’t do to be unprotected out there.”

“I don’t have a bow,” Katniss grumbles.

Sae chuckles and turns to leave. She’s almost out the door when she calls back, “Check down the hall!”

Intrigued by Greasy Sae’s words, Katniss heads for the study. There’s a box on the desk, her father’s bows and a quiver of arrows lie next to it.

Cautiously, she walks into the room. The memory of President Snow drinking tea and talking about death haunts her, but she grits her teeth and pushes forward.

The contents of the box bring fresh tears to her eyes. Each item is a memory of the different bits and pieces that make her life. The hunting jacket her father wore with pride. The wedding picture of a young couple who loved each other without reservations. The plant book that helped her survive.

Two shiny objects, nestled in the bottom of the box, catch her eye; Peeta’s locket and Haymitch’s spile.

She has no love for either object, but she doesn’t want to waste a perfectly good spile, and she can’t bring herself to throw away Peeta’s present, so she pockets them and carries everything else out of the room.

A couple of hours later, she’s packed everything she can think of into a folding cart. She has canned food, some cooking utensils, clothes, a few tools, a comforter and some blankets, a waterproof tablecloth, a first aid kit, and an air mattress with a pump.

Her family’s plant book and the frames with Prim’s portrait and her parent’s wedding photo are the last items to go into the cart.

It’s too cold outside for her father’s hunting jacket, so she stuffs it into her hunting bag.

Lastly, she slips into the protective gear Cinna designed for her. She’s almost finished lacing up the water-resistant boots when one last thought pops into her mind. ‘The money.’

Without undressing, she walks up the stairs and goes back into her mother’s room. There, inside the closet, behind her mother’s hanging clothes, she finds a small safe set into the wall. Her fingers dance over the keypad, punching the digits for her birth date.

There’s a short beep, followed by the sound of moving cogs and the door pops open, revealing a large envelope stuffed full of banknotes. She reaches for it, clutching it in a tight fist. These are all her savings, all the money she accumulated in her year as a victor.

With Effie’s help, she had emptied her bank account before the Quarter Quell and had given the money to her mother. She still remembers her sad blue eyes as she took the envelope from her, nodding while Katniss gave her instructions. “This is for you and Prim,” she’d said, “keep it in the safe. If anything happens, take it with you. It won’t last forever, but it’ll help.”

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim had left the house in a hurry leaving the money behind. Worried about other things, Katniss had forgotten all about the fat envelope that was hidden behind the thick metal door. Until now.

She reaches the front door once more and shoves the money into the cart’s side pocket. Next, she uses a length of rope to bind the bows and quiver to the cart and places her hunting bag on top of it.

She takes one last look around. There’s nothing left for her there; nothing but dust, and ghosts, and pain. She needs to get going.

Katniss Everdeen stands tall as she opens the door and steps out into the cold March air with the shopping cart trailing behind. She’s lost everything she ever cared about. She has nothing left. Maybe now, she’ll finally be free.

Katniss reaches the line of trees that surround Victors’ Village and keeps walking in a straight line, following the edge of the woods. It’s slow going. She’s weak and the shopping cart is heavy, but she’s in no hurry. So, she pushes the cart ahead of her, leaning her weight on it and using it for support as she makes her escape.

She’s almost reached the place where the tear in the fence used to be when she sees him.

Thom Whitaker is sitting on a tree stump. He holds a small carving knife on one hand and a small piece of wood in the other. He’s looking at her, eyes wide and bright. It’s like he’s seen a ghost, an apparition, maybe.

Katniss stands still. She doesn’t know Thom that well, he was in Gale’s crew and she remembers seeing him in District 13, but she’s never really talked to him. She wonders what he’s doing here, back in the barren wasteland they used to call home.

Thom’s eyes land on her shopping cart. Suddenly, he breaks the silence. “Headed for the lake?”

Katniss narrows her eyes. She’s about to ask him how he knows about the lake when she remembers Gale took the refugees there during the bombing. Her chest tightens as she thinks that her haven may not be as safe and private anymore. Every single survivor in District 12 knows about it now.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she thinks, ‘it’s not like I have any other options anyway.’

Thom is still waiting for an answer, so she nods.

He smiles. It’s friendly and kind, and it puts her at ease. A moment later, Thom stands up. Carefully, he folds the knife and puts it in his pocket. His hand wraps around the piece of wood he was working on.

“I come by here every day,” he explains, “I like the way the trees smell, and it’s quieter than the Village.” Turning to the woods, he adds, “There’s a hollow log behind that tree line. You can leave a note there for me if you ever need me to get you anything.”

Katniss’s eyes widen at Thom’s unexpected offer. She hasn’t really planned that far ahead, and she doesn’t want to rely on others. But he looks like he genuinely wants to help her so, she nods. Her voice comes out ragged and rough. “Thanks.” 

Thom nods back, the warm smile still perched on his lips.

Katniss begins moving again. She turns the cart towards a narrow path that’s partially hidden by the trees and resumes her pushing.

“Katniss,” Thom says as she passes him by.

“Thom,” she answers as she leaves.

The rest of her trip is slow and uneventful. Her weakened state forces her to take frequent breaks, but she doesn’t mind. Every step she takes further into the forest makes her feel better. So, she stops, takes sips of tea from her thermos, and munches on the granola bars she’s packed into her hunting bag.

It’s almost dusk when she reaches her father’s lake. The sight of the small cement building, outlined by a pale blue sky streaked with vibrant purples and bright pinks, brings tears to her eyes.

She’s said goodbye to this place so many times, and yet, here she is once more. Bruised and battered, broken and burned, but alive, and desperately in need of a home.

She spends her first night sleeping on the floor with Cinna’s clothes as her only cushion and protection from the cold. When she wakes, her whole body hurts. But, just like the day before, she ignores the pain and gets to work.

Using the pile of firewood and the poker Gale left behind, she builds a fire. Then, she uses her stick broom to clean around a little and covers the windows with the waterproof tablecloth. She sets up the inflatable mattress, covers it with the thick comforter she brought along, and fashions a pillow by bundling some sheets and stuffing them into a pillowcase.

When she’s done, she slumps on the mattress and watches the fire dancing in the hearth.

Not much happens on her first few days in the cabin. Katniss is exhausted. The world around her is covered in snow.

She sleeps. She keeps the fire going. She eats the canned food she’s brought along.

Bundled in Cinna’s clothes, she leaves the cabin a few times each day. She uses a small pail to carry drinking water from the pump and visits the communal outhouse which stands a few yards away from the building where she sleeps.

The pain in her muscles recedes. Her strength gradually comes back.

One morning, Katniss decides to start exploring the woods once more. She carries a bow everywhere she goes, but she doesn’t use it just yet. Instead, she sets up snares and traps for the game she knows will eventually come back.

In time, she notices the first signs of spring. Like the dark slush turning into soft grass, or the flap of new wings up in the sky.

She’s been living in the cabin for a couple of weeks when her food supplies begin to run low. Spring is definitely in the air, but it’s still too early to hunt or gather much.

After spending a couple of days berating herself for playing fast and loose with her supplies on those first days when she didn’t ration what she ate, Katniss comes to terms with the fact that she’s going to have to make some adjustments to her plan.

She’s reluctant to involve Thom. Even if his offer was sincere, he’s practically a stranger, and she doesn’t know if he can be trusted to keep the world away. But she doesn’t have any other options. And the fact that no one has come around looking for her tells her that he’s kept her secret so far. So, she decides to reach out to him.

Katniss writes a note and a list of things she needs and stuffs it inside a clean empty can. After adding some money to the can, she walks back to the edge of town and drops her message on the spot Thom indicated.

She waits a couple of days before going back to the hollow log. She doesn’t really know what to expect, but she drags her empty shopping cart along with her in the hope that Thom’s kept to his word.

As soon as she reaches the line of trees, she knows that he has. The package he’s left for her is too big to fit into the tree’s cavity. Even from a distance, she can see it peeking out from under the branches he’s used to camouflage it.

Relieved, Katniss smiles. Maybe she’ll be able to do this after all.

With the parcel safely stored inside her cart, Katniss goes back to the lake.

That night, she unpacks the bundle, carefully smoothing out the kraft paper Thom used to wrap it in.

As she spreads out the contents of her parcel, she’s surprised to discover Thom’s given her everything she asked for and a few things more. He’s also included a small note.

Katniss,

From what I remember, the cabin was bare. I took the liberty of adding a few extra items to your package, I hope you don’t mind.

I figured the outdoor lifestyle catalogs could give you some ideas for furnishings. If you find something you like, just let me know, and I’ll get it for you.

The radio is for you to stay on top of weather alerts and any other news. It’s powered by a solar battery, and you only need to charge it about once a month. It also works as a two-way radio. If you press the message button and dial 236 you can leave a message for me. That way you won’t need to make the trek back here every time you need something.

You don’t need to pay me for my services. But, I‘ll be glad to accept your offer of fresh game when you have some to spare.

Please, don’t hesitate to call whenever you need anything. I’ll always be happy to help.

Sincerely,

Thom.

Katniss reaches for the radio. It isn’t big, but it feels heavy in her hand; like an anchor that keeps her from floating away and straying too far from the civilized world.

She considers leaving it inside its box and ignoring it. But a small voice in the back of her mind tells her that’s not a good idea. Thom’s right, weather forecasts are useful, and having easy access to him will also simplify their arrangement. Carefully, she unpacks the small device and leaves it by the window where she knows the battery will start charging as soon as the sun comes up.

Next, Katniss flips through the pages of the catalogs Thom’s sent her. A small smile curves her lips at the sight of all the different types of camping gear contained in their glossy pages.

‘Maybe contacting Thom wasn’t such a bad idea after all,’ she thinks.

Almost overnight, the world comes back to life. Katniss watches in wonder as the woods turn green.

Dandelion sprigs sprout everywhere she looks. The sight of their sturdy green stems pierces her heart.

Their message of resilience and hope bring Peeta to her mind, reminding her that she managed to survive loss once before. But she can’t think about that for long. Her pain is too fresh. She’s not ready to face the thought of life and rebirth in a world without Prim. Sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever be.

She tries not to think about the world on the other side of the old fence too much. And her mind usually flits back to Peeta when she does. She wonders where he is, what he’s doing… Does he hate her still?

She considers reaching out to him sometimes. Leaving a letter in the empty tree trunk and asking Thom to give it to Haymitch. She’s sure her old mentor knows where Peeta is. But the memory of all the pain they endured together stops her, keeping her rooted to the one place where she feels safe.

‘I’m doing fine on my own,’ she reasons. Deep inside, she hopes that, wherever Peeta is, he can say the same.

[formalmess]

i mentioned this on an earlier post and it literally took all the courage in the world to post this here because its rly self-indulgent but the pxl content here is lacking so im here to fix that

summary: luigi and peasley go to disneyworld, shenanigans ensue (ft. peas getting confused by modern technology, luigi in cute dresses, mario characters in orlando, and disney references)

The unusual pair, hands entwined, were waiting.

One was a young man with a boyish face and facial hair that was always maintained. He currently wore a red and white summer dress to imitate a certain cartoon mouse’s girlfriend, ears to match atop his brunette head, a large red bow making his presence not mesh so naturally among the rest.

However, the man he was with had an appearance much more startling than his own. Granted, green skin certainly doesn’t make it easy to blend in well with civilians.

Peasley, a prince from a faraway land full of citizens of beanish descent, was currently wearing a shirt much too small for him. Now complaining noisily, he dramatically threw his weight on top of the bars set in front of him for safety purposes.

“Darliiiiing…” His voice rang out in a whine as his body slumped over. Luigi pulled his companion back frantically before Peasley got seriously hurt or was scolded by one of the wandering cast members.

The two were currently waiting for the monorail to take them to the theme park, which Luigi assumed would be arriving soon, judging by the lights overhead blinking in syncopation. Said vehicle caught Luigi’s eye as it neared their station, Luigi excitedly gripping Peasley’s arm. Other guests were beginning to emerge from the doors behind them. This was most likely one of the first monorail trips of the day, considering the time. Luigi examined Peasley lazily rubbing at his dark eyes.

Luigi would have been happy to settle for any other less expensive hotel to stay at for their trip, but Peasley wouldn’t have it any other way after Luigi described the regal and lush interior of the grand resort.

After an embarrassing first encounter at check-in (that involved a lot of ‘Do you know who I am?’s), the pair went shopping until the stores located within the hotel closed.

Peasley had originally been much too tired to examine everything within the quaint establishments, but seeing Luigi so engrossed with exploring and purchasing various things perked the sleepy prince up right away. As soon as Luigi was done, arms full of plushies and charming clothes, Peasley requested that they head to their room to retire for rest.

Peasley had been less than willing to leave his lavish bedding when morning pricked at his eyes so early in the morning. He peeled off his sleeping mask groggily, waking to see his companion throwing open the curtains and already dressed. It was certainly a sight that confused the prince completely.

All this for some children’s amusement park, he thought as Luigi threw an outfit he had picked out for him the prince’s way. After dressing, Luigi assisted him in putting on something with three circles all adjoined together on his wrist. It was a vibrant yellow color that pleased Peasley’s eyes as he yawned and stretched tiredly, following Luigi out of their hotel room.

---

"Oh darling, do I really have to wear this?" The beanish man tugged at the shirt that was picked out for him. The garish vibrant colors were certainly a far cry from his usual prim and proper ensemble.

"Yes!" The brunette spoke in a whisper. "I know what you wanted to wear, but I am simply not going to let you wear your tunic and cape in this weather! You'll melt!"

"Oh, but sweetheart...!" The prince whimpered out obnoxiously. "It's so unsightly! And tight." He grimaced at the white shorts around his emerald legs.

Luigi offered half a smirk, taking Peasley’s dainty fingers in his as the cast members opened the gate in front of them to allow them on the monorail.

They made their way onboard, Luigi leading Peasley over to a window seat so he could see what the twinkling waters in the middle of the monorail tracks outside looked like at this bright hour.

"You'll be fine, I promise. You'd stand out anyway." Luigi allowed himself to lean on Peasley’s shoulder as more people stepped onto the monorail.

"What if I want to stand out?" Pealsey pouted in return.

Luigi looked up softly, examining a young girl pointing at them both and saying something to her mother.

“Well,” he lightly delivered a kiss to Peasley’s forehead. “Looks like you already do.”

---

“Magic… Band?”

“Yep, just tap it right here!”

And so Peasley tried.

And he continued trying.

It seemed he didn’t quite grasp the concept. Luigi now realized entering the park before Peasley was probably a mistake. While Peasley was intelligent, he wasn’t always the brightest when interacting with humans and other species.

How in the world did he expect him to know how to operate technology?

The cast member was patient though, thank Grambi, carefully trying to explain the phenomenon to Peasley. Luigi watched from within the park, several other families and people passing him as he listened to the exchange of instructions and response from the prince.

“Just tap the Mickey right here.”

“Ah yes, the Mickey.” Peasley stated simply, not wanting to admit he had no idea what that was.

Peasley turned to Luigi for help in desperation, Luigi pointing at the adjoined circles feverishly.

Peasley made an audible sound of recognition, putting the band up to the post in front of him.

It finally reacted, Peasley physically jumping back at the sound and lights produced by the so-called magical bracelet around his wrist. He looked at it in awe as the cast member motioned for him to walk inside. Luigi laughed slightly behind his hand, Peasley rolling his eyes in response.

“You should have told me what to do! I made an absolute fool of myself!” He wailed as Luigi pulled him along. “I was about to-”

Suddenly, no more words emerged from the prince’s small, pristine lips.

Only silent wonder remained as the two made their way through a small tunnel and emerged into an entirely new world, Peasley assumed. They walked silently, Luigi having to pull his awe-struck boyfriend down Main Street as the prince spun around, trying to take in all the sights around him.

The smell of freshly baked pastries lingered everywhere as their light footfalls made their way across the crowded pathway. It was like nothing the prince had ever witnessed before.

It felt like something out of a story read to him by his mother when he was only a child, the same warm feeling from that time returning.

It was no wonder Luigi enjoyed it so much.

His eyes were soon captivated by a glittering castle standing high before him, his eyes twinkling as he tugged on Luigi’s arm.

“Sweetheart… Whose castle is that?”

“Hm? Oh, that’s Cinderella’s castle. I thought I told you-”

“Cinderella? What an absolutely curious name. She’s the Queen here? I had no idea amusements parks could have monarchies.”

Luigi would have laughed at the remark before realizing that this was entirely new to Peasley.

“No, she’s only a character from a fairytale. But, we can go visit her, if you’d like.”

“Visit her?” Peasley’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you just previously stated she is purely fictional.”

“She is, but…” Luigi chose his words carefully. “It’s hard to explain. It’s kind of like acting.”

“Acting? So, it’s much like the theater? Are there shows here we can attend?”

Luigi thought for a moment. “Yes, actually. There are plenty of shows to see. We can go to any of them.”

“Splendid! That sounds divine, thank you!” He pulled Luigi into an embrace. “Oh, I’m so excited. I’ve always been skeptical about magic, you know that.” Thinking back to the Cackletta incident years ago, the prince shuddered slightly. “However, I am utterly entranced by this kind! It is so very fascinating.” He grabbed Luigi by the wrist. “Come now, you simply must show me everything!”

---

The day went by much too quickly.

The pair spent the majority of their morning attending shows and performances, all of which Peasley adored completely.

As the two made their way through Fantasyland as noon swiftly rolled around, Peasley felt Luigi stop next to him. The sounds of young children singing in high pitched tones together reached Peasley’s ears. The combined sounds made a surprisingly lovely choir of voices.

He looked up, puzzled at their sudden stop when Luigi spoke.

“I know you probably want to do other things first, but...” the man gestured to the building in front of them. Peasley read the sign atop the golden arches outside the alcove that had the words ‘it’s a small world’ printed neatly with several smiling children’s faces accompanying it. “The wait time is so short here.”

Peasley’s puzzled features only grew.

“It’s a ride. You know what a ride is, right?”

“A ride from an amusement park? I researched it, yes. Don’t they make you sickly though?” Peasley’s face paled. “I’d prefer to not feel ill at this time of day.”

“Only some do. This one’s slow.”

There was no room for debate.

Luigi ran ahead, Peasley scrambling to follow.

The waiting was certainly tedious, Luigi soon realizing Peasley isn’t the most patient of fellows. After almost five minutes of standing in a gradually moving line, he started to nag Luigi again. He tugged on his dress and gossiped a little too loudly as people in line sent subtle looks their way.

He then looked up from Luigi’s shoulder, taking in the setting around him.

It was gorgeous.

Though he assumed it wasn’t made from real materials like gold and silver, the atmosphere was still stunning to examine. The small fixtures adorning the area around him seemed to pop out and leave him in wonderment. He barely registered they were seating themselves onto a boat placed in the middle of a small stream of water until he heard a voice instruct him to remain seated.

“A boat within water inside a building? How very peculiar.” He said aloud to no one in particular. Luigi nodded absently as the boat began moving, the beanish man leaning against his boyfriend.

Peasley didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The same tune he had heard earlier returned, now joined with not simply children’s smiling faces, but tens of children all facing him.

They each had beady eyes and petite bodies made of wood and plastic, so he assumed, and were all staring into his own shaking eyes. He sank into Luigi’s side, feeling Luigi bobbing along gently to the music that continued repeating.

And repeating.

And repeating.

The ride continued in absolute silence.

---

“Such a good ride!” Luigi gave his verdict as he exited, twirling slightly still to that dreaded everlasting song. Peasley only nodded slightly, his body still tense. He did not enjoy that.

“Are there any… Less frightening?”

Luigi’s smile faded slightly.

“Frightening?” He went to confirm, turning to Peasley.

“Absolutely dreadful. It was shiny and lovely at first, but I just… Didn’t like the way those,” he paused, looking around as though to make sure no one else was listening. “Things… Moved and looked and…” He surpassed a shiver.

Luigi thought, then smiled mischievously.

“Here, one of my favorite rides is just around the corner. I’m sure you’ll love it!” He stepped away, Peasley hesitantly following.

He didn’t like the glint he saw in Luigi’s eyes.

Sure enough, as they rounded the corner and passed more stores and a restroom, a dark shadow and ominous music set the mood already for what was about to come.

A mansion loomed above them, almost obscured by overgrown shrubbery, vines, and trees. He was taking in the architecture when Luigi dragged him along underneath an awning into yet another line. This one was significantly larger than the last.

They eventually came to an area that Luigi immediately rushed ahead toward. Passing menacing looking statues, Peasley found Luigi in front of what appeared to be a wall decorated with carvings of various instruments. He had seen minstrels back at the castle using them for Peasley’s entertainment, so he immediately recognized most of them.

Luigi playfully pointed to the wall, smiling as Peasley lifted his petite hand up to it.

As soon as it made contact, the crashing sound of cymbals rang in his ears. He was startled for a moment, pulling his hand away as though he had burned it.

The hesitation only lasted for a moment. He lifted his hand to the wall once more, trying again. The same familiar sound was heard.

A goofy, unregal grin spread across his face.

His hand made it’s way across the wall, a plethora of instruments playing in return. He then noticed the other walls about him, all moving and making sounds of their own. He wanted to do everything. It was all so new and fascinating. Ah, how he wanted to remain here all day.

Sadly, his silent plea was unheard.

Luigi had to pull him away as children behind them tried to reach past Peasley. The pair moved along, Peasley sheepishly following as his face darkened.

“That was very unlike me, I apologize immensely.” He whispered softly to Luigi as they were ushered into another room, now inside.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Luigi assured as a voice erupted in their ears.

The air was chilled and still.

“Welcome, foolish mortals, to the haunted mansion…”

Peasley immediately clung to Luigi, Luigi doing the same to him.

As many times as the brunette had been through this same speech, it still frightened him to this day. He was glad to have a companion who was just as uneasy as he was. When he had visited with Mario, he was constantly teased about being a scaredy cat while his brother braved through all the scariest parts of rides.

Mario was never scared of anything.

The short opening monologue led to another room with stretching walls and jarring sounds and imagery that made Peasley whimper behind Luigi.

When they finally made it to the actual ride, Peasley clutched Luigi’s hand as tightly as possible as the same menacing voice spoke in his ears.

Eventually, Peasley’s grip loosened as he gradually became charmed with the mansion. The details were impeccable and so well placed that he spent more time looking at all the decorations than being frightened. As soon as they stepped off, Peasley didn't waste a moment to tell Luigi that he wanted to go on again soon.

---

“My my, I suppose you were right, love.” Peasley had removed a hair tie from his pocket, pulling his shimmery locks into a bun. “How do you put up with this heat?” He fanned himself with a map given to him by one of the wandering cast members.

Luigi, however, was more focused on the thing around his wrist than anything else.

“Y’know… We haven’t even taken advantage of the fastpasses yet.”

“The what?”

Luigi pointed.

Up ahead, with a squint of his eyes, Peasley saw a small area under an awning with several rectangular machines all lined up symmetrically.

“They’re boxes?” Peasley put a skeptical hand to his chin. “Those are the passes that are fast?” He was well acquainted with passes in order to permit people access into certain areas, but those were usually small items and were usually never preceded with an adjective.

Luigi chuckled. “No, they aren’t just boxes. They’ll help us get on rides faster.”

Peasley was confused again.

“Like, some rides are really popular. We need a fastpass if we want to get it on it faster, hence the name. And we get them,” he pointed again to the boxes that Peasley now saw completely as they approached. “Right here.”

Peasley mentally went through all the rides they had gone on today as Luigi asked which ones he’d be willing to go on again.

There was the one with the freaky dolls, the detailed mansion, the mermaid one, the bumpy one that made his stomach knot, the carousel, and they had just gotten off of a ride that was suspended in the air with scenes playing out below them.

“Anything you want, darling.” He finally spoke out. He knew what he did and didn’t want to ride, but Luigi had planned this trip anyway. Perhaps he should let his companion do whatever he desired.

Luigi fiddled with the box, using something Peasley could only assume was magic, until he announced he was done.

“Done?” Peasley was dumbfounded. “But, where is-”

Luigi pointed to the implement around his wrist. “It’s in this.”

Peasley looked at his own wrist, once again in awe at what was dubbed the magical band.

“Absolutely amazing…”

He was jolted from his thoughts by Luigi grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him along.

“Come on, we have so much to do before it gets dark! And then there’s fireworks, you won’t want to miss that, and there’s the parades also, and-”

Luigi continued rambling as the two ran across the park, smiling and laughing all the while.