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electricalstemplates · 2 months ago

Note

Here’s the request!! I’m so sorry that it’s basically 7 templates I’m requesting 😭 /gen I’ll try to keep it nice and tidy!!

All of these are for PK and we prefer Long length! If too much, feel free to go with Medium Length!! <33 Emojis/Headmates sign offs will be listed below by elements!

1) Lightning

Emojis : 🌩️⛈️⚡️🌹 (Feel free to add more red!)

2) Earth

Emojis : 🌏🪨📚🪡

3) Water/Ice

Emojis : 🌊❄️🌨️

4) Light/Solar

Emojis : 🔅🔆🌤️

5) Nature

Emojis : 🍀🌵🌲

6) Fire

Emojis : 🔥🧨🌋

7) Wind

Emojis : 🍃🌀🌪️

Again I’m so so sorry that this is a lot- 😭 Feel free to take as much time as you guys need 💚 /GEN But yeah! Thanks again for allowing me send this all in one ask!! <33

Here you go! Hope I got them right! Warning, these are long

⚡️⌁⌁*Name*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Nicknames*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Pronouns*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Terms*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Gender*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Orient*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Verbality*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Signoff*⟡₊ ⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚🌩️˚⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆ 🌹۰›⌁⌁__R__ole⟡₊ 🌹۰›⌁⌁__A__lter type⟡₊ 🌹۰›⌁⌁__S__ource⟡₊ 🌹۰›⌁⌁__S__ubsystem ⟡₊⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚⛈️˚⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆ ⚡️⌁⌁*Likes*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Dislikes*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Hobbies*⟡₊ ⚡️⌁⌁*Favorite things*⟡₊ ⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚🌩️˚⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆ 🌹۰›⌁⌁__I__nteraction⟡₊ fti/iwc/dni 🌹۰›⌁⌁__T__ouch⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__P__DA⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__F__lirting⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__C__ompliments⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__V__enting⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__P__et names⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__N__icknames⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__D__ms⟡₊ y/a/n 🌹۰›⌁⌁__P__ings⟡₊ y/a/n

⋌🪨ᨒ**Na**me₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Nick**names₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Pro**nouns₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Te**rms₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Gen**der₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Ori**ent₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Verb**ality₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Sign**off₊˚⌇ ₊˚ʚ 🌏 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ⋌📚ᨒ**Ro**le₊˚⌇ ⋌📚ᨒ**Alter** type₊˚⌇ ⋌📚ᨒ**Sou**rce₊˚⌇ ⋌📚ᨒ**Subs**ystem₊˚⌇₊˚ʚ 🌏 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ⋌🪨ᨒ**Lik**es₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Dis**likes₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Hob**bies₊˚⌇ ⋌🪨ᨒ**Favorite** things₊˚⌇ ₊˚ʚ 🌏 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ⋌🪡ᨒ__Interaction__₊˚⌇ fti/iwc/dni ⋌🪡ᨒ__Touch__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__PDA__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Flirting__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Compliments__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Venting__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Pet names__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Nicknames__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Dms__₊˚⌇ y/a/n ⋌🪡ᨒ__Pings__₊˚⌇ y/a/n

🌊﹏Name⋆⁺₊❅. *Nicknames*⋆⁺₊❅. 🌊﹏Pronouns⋆⁺₊❅. *Terms*⋆⁺₊❅. 🌊﹏Gender⋆⁺₊❅. *Orient*⋆⁺₊❅. 🌊﹏Verbality⋆⁺₊❅. *Signoff*⋆⁺₊❅. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 🌊﹏Role⋆⁺₊❅. *Alter type*⋆⁺₊❅. 🌊﹏Source⋆⁺₊❅. *Subsystem*⋆⁺₊❅. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ❄️﹏Likes⋆⁺₊❅. *Dislikes*⋆⁺₊❅. ❄️﹏Hobbies⋆⁺₊❅. *Favorite things*⋆⁺₊❅. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 🌨️﹏Interaction⋆⁺₊❅. fti/iwc/dni *Touch*⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n 🌨️﹏PDA⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n *Flirting*⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n 🌨️﹏Compliments⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n *Venting*⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n 🌨️﹏Pet names⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n *Nicknames*⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n 🌨️﹏Dms⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n *Pings*⋆⁺₊❅. y/a/n

🔅➺*N*ame╌𖤓 ➺**N**icknames╌𖤓 🔅➺*P*ronouns╌𖤓 ➺**T**erms╌𖤓 🔅➺*G*ender╌𖤓 ➺**O**rient╌𖤓 🔅➺*V*erbality╌𖤓 ➺**S**ignoff╌𖤓 ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆`☁`⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ 🔅➺*R*ole╌𖤓 ➺**A**lter type╌𖤓 🔅➺*S*ource╌𖤓 ➺**S**ubsystem╌𖤓 ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆`☁`⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ 🌤️➺*L*ikes╌𖤓 ➺**D**islikes╌𖤓 🌤️➺*H*obbies╌𖤓 ➺**F**avorite things╌𖤓 ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆`☁`⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ 🔆➺__Interaction__╌𖤓 fti/iwc/dni 🔆➺__Touch__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__PDA__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Flirting__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Compliments__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Venting__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Pet names__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Nicknames__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Dms__╌𖤓 y/a/n 🔆➺__Pings__╌𖤓 y/a/n

🌵﹏➳Na__me__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Nick__names__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Pron__ouns__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Ter__ms__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Gen__der__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Ori__ent__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Verb__ality__⚘ 🌵﹏➳Sign__off__⚘ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ 🍀﹏➳Ro__le__⚘ 🍀﹏➳Alter __type__⚘ 🍀﹏➳Sou__rce__⚘ 🍀﹏➳Sub__system__⚘ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ 🍀﹏➳Lik__es__⚘ 🍀﹏➳Disli__kes__⚘ 🍀﹏➳Hob__bies__⚘ 🍀﹏➳Favorite __things__⚘ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ 🌲﹏➳Interaction⚘ fti/iwc/dni 🌲﹏➳Touch⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳PDA⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Flirting⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Compliments⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Venting⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Pet names⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Nicknames⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Dms⚘ y/a/n 🌲﹏➳Pings⚘ y/a/n

🔥❫═Name:▹

🔥❫═Nicknames:▹ ❫═`Pronouns`:▹ 🔥❫═Terms:▹ 🔥❫═Gender:▹ ❫═`Orient`:▹ 🔥❫═Verbality:▹ 🔥❫═Signoff:▹ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° 🧨❫═Role:▹ ❫═`Alter type`:▹ ❫═`Source`:▹ 🧨❫═Subsystem:▹ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° 🔥❫═Likes:▹ ❫═`Dislikes`:▹ ❫═`Hobbies`:▹ 🔥❫═Favorite things:▹ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° 🌋❫═Interaction:▹ fti/iwc/dni ❫═`Touch`:▹ y/a/n ❫═`PDA`:▹ y/a/n 🌋❫═Flirting:▹ y/a/n 🌋❫═Compliments:▹ y/a/n ❫═`Venting`:▹ y/a/n ❫═`Pet names`:▹ y/a/n 🌋❫═Nicknames:▹ y/a/n 🌋❫═Dms:▹ y/a/n ❫═`Pings`:▹ y/a/n

🍃«₪*Name* ◦○◦ «₪*Nicknames* ◦○◦ 🍃«₪*Pronouns* ◦○◦ «₪*Terms* ◦○◦ 🍃«₪*Gender* ◦○◦ «₪*Orient* ◦○◦ 🍃«₪*Verbality* ◦○◦ «₪*Signoff* ◦○◦ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ 🍃«₪*Role* ◦○◦ «₪*Alter type* ◦○◦ 🍃«₪*Source* ◦○◦ «₪*Subsystem* ◦○◦ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ 🌀«₪*Likes* ◦○◦ 🌀«₪*Dislikes* ◦○◦ 🌀«₪*Hobbies* ◦○◦ 🌀«₪*Favorite things* ◦○◦ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ 🌪️«₪__Interaction__ ◦○◦ fti/iwc/dni 🌪️«₪__Touch__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__PDA__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Flirting__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Compliments__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Venting__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Pet names__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Nicknames__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Dms__ ◦○◦ y/a/n 🌪️«₪__Pings__ ◦○◦ y/a/n

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dragonnan · 9 months ago

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Dream is attacked and captured, again. An old enemy returns to exact revenge. A new love must come to his aid. Oh, and there are wings involved and quite a lot of pain. I had the idea that I REALLY wanted to see the story behind this image. So I figured the best way to get that would be to create a story challenge. I've included the art and a bit of writing to get things going. Should anyone be interested in jumping into the mix I'd love to see what you come up with! You are welcome to go any direction you like, as long as you retain the elements provided - including tags (though I would ask if maybe you could avoid deathfic for the sake of my heart.)

His body arched in hot agony as the last word of the incantation triggered the spell. His mind was ripped away from the Dreaming and sealed his vocal chords - the only sound he could make a broken keen. The long bones in his wings first creaked, then snapped, and everything shot through with red as pain like he'd never known overcame every thought.

Time did not track, afterward.

A soft tremble of sound was the first of sensations to return to him. Taste eased in while he pulled stale air past his lips – confused at the body that demanded respiration. His lips pulled back at the offensive flavor of metal and rot – far too long before realizing it was blood.

Then, bypassing the rest of his waking body, fire raged across his form and forced a choked cry – his muscles locked in anguish. With the slamming return of sensation, Dream felt the icy cold of his surroundings. He'd been trembling and the soft sound, first to greet him, has been the shattered spread of his wings moving against the concrete floor as he shivered violently.

It was dark in the room he occupied. He couldn't remember how he'd come to this. He'd been... He'd left a meeting with Hob. He'd recently agreed to a change to their interactions – no longer restricted to centennial engagements. It had been... pleasant. He'd stepped out of the New Inn while darkness still ruled the skies. He'd been looking to the stars overhead and contemplating a flight...

There were no memories to follow.

Dream braced his hands against the floor. A tight whimper made it past his clenched teeth as he tried to push himself up. The dead weight of his wings left him with shaking arms – the pressure increasing the more he tried to fight it – until he was forced to sink back down with a rough gasp.

And then another sound came to him – a distant crunch like shoes on gravel. Shortly after there was a muted squeal of metal. The steps came more clearly – approaching for several seconds. Then, there was a series of beeps, before a deep clunk vibrated the floor beneath him. Before him, a heavy door began to swing open – a cool light stabbing a blade of light into the dark. There was a silhouette against the brightness. Stepping forward, leather soles crunched on the loose rock peppering the floor and digging into Dream's belly. The figure stopped just a foot from one outstretched hand. Eyes lifted up – up – past a trim suit and ascot with embedded emerald, until he finally was looking upon an impossibility.

Alex Burgess – whole and hale as he'd been in his late twenties.

“Hello there, Dream of the Endless. It has been far too long.” And with a grin, he lifted one foot, and stomped with all of its force on Dream's hand.

Artwork under the cut

#fanart #dream of the endless #fanfic challenge #story prompt

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everlarkedalways · 1 year ago

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✺THG Series Exploration: Catching Fire✺

3: What are some of your Hob headcanons or thoughts? Create a post or comment on here. Tag with #explorethg.

I kept thinking about the one where Katniss sells condoms...I think it's Amy's fic. I don't think that's canon. 🤣

Catching Fire, Ch 1:

My next stop is the Hob, where I’ve traditionally done the bulk of my trading. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracts a somewhat criminal element, then I belong here, I guess. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violates at least a dozen laws and is punishable by death. Although they never mention it, I owe the people who frequent the Hob. Gale told me that Greasy Sae, the old woman who serves up soup, started a collection to sponsor Peeta and me during the Games. It was supposed to be just a Hob thing, but a lot of other people heard about it and chipped in. I don’t know exactly how much it was, and the price of any gift in the arena was exorbitant. But for all I know, it made the difference between my life and death.

It’s still odd to drag open the front door with an empty game bag, with nothing to trade, and instead feel the heavy pocket of coins against my hip. I try to hit as many stalls as possible, spreading out my purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn, and oil. As an afterthought, I buy three bottles of white liquor from a one-armed woman named Ripper, a victim of a mine accident who was smart enough to find a way to stay alive.

I don't remember AT ALL that they helped sponsor them!

#thg #the hunger games #thg renaissance #catching fire #explorethg

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kydrogendragon · 2 months ago

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Life and Death, is that In the Palms of Life and Death? I'd love to know what's happening there.

Yes! That's for that fic! Which people can find here.

Yeah, this one's been chilling on the backburner while I've been plotting out world building things and figuring out magic systems and all that jazz. (And, you know, the actual plot parts of the story). Most of what I've got currently are a scattering of notes about the world, or the characters, so I don't think I've any official excerpts.

Some facts on Hob's Backstory:

Hob has always had a knack for Necromancy. It started with being able to reanimate bones of a long passed squirrel or bird. He tried learning other magics. He can conjure a flame above his finger pretty well, but that’s as far as his Pyromancy skill goes. Healing always fought him, as much as he wished otherwise. He couldn’t even magic up a paper cut. So he honed his skill with Necromancy.

He hid it from most. It was a feared magic, though when they see a young boy running happily with a reanimated skeleton of a frog on his shoulder, most people eased their minds on it.

The first time he reanimated a corpse was when a small skirmish hit their town. Many died, some by sword, some by fire. His parents were killed in the fight when he was but five and ten. His parents were the first bodies he reanimated. That was when he first figured out how to bring back their souls, briefly. They were recently killed, so their spirits still clung to their bones when Hob reanimated them.

They said their goodbyes. His father told him of family in the next town over he could go to. Then Hob let them rest and felt their souls depart.

He practiced this skill with the bodies of freshly slaughtered ewes and soon mastered the art of pulling the souls back, at least from those that still wished to return.

Other Random Universe notes:

Brother was helping me brainstorm (since he's good at asking pointed questions that make me think about how things work, especially battles and government and the like), so we decided that, given elemental magics exist, they've probably got steam-based artillery units. Probably canon-like, good for sieges and such. Also, with telepaths existing, he suggested in war, there's probably one still stationed in the city that communes with the main field officer, who would then get updates and details from different squads and outposts from their designated telepaths.

Also, the concept of having a Seer and Necromancer teaming up in order to perform long-distance corpse reanimations. Just that as an idea on the whole and how it affects this battle.

Lots of good ideas from our conversation the other night. And how growing up, with basic elemental magics existing, they might not have grown to have as strong a reliance on animals as we did. Farmers learning earth magics to till the earth or pull stone wouldn't need horses or mules to do so, in theory. They still could, but it would be less necessary. So the rate of being able to expand farming infrastructure was probably higher, allowing the main city to become more modern in various aspects.

Wip List

#ky's wip game #ky writes

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wjbs-fakemon · 5 months ago

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Oh hey I actually posted a thing for once! Here's Thermetross, an Ice/Fire convergent of Eelektross based on thermometers, oven hobs/heating-elements, and leeches. It uses its mouth to drain the heat of other Pokémon.

#pokemon #fakemon #eelektross #convergent pokemon #convergent fakemon #sprite edit

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teejaystumbles · 6 months ago

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I don't think I'll work any more on this so I thought I'd share

lyrcis choice is hard for this one - it was drawn for Subway to Sally:

Flackernd steigen Feuersäulen Blutig rot hinauf ins All Und wie Glas zerspringt der Himmel Sterne fallen überall

Der Mond ist rot vom Sternenblut Und auch in mir ist Fieberglut Es glüht das ganze Firmament Das kommt weil meine Seele brennt

but "Every night I burn, every night the dream's the same" also fits very well - The Cure's "Burn" is the other song I always have in my head when I look at it now

#fire elemental Hob #fic: rekindle my heart #dreamling #the sandman fanart #teejaystumbles

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ohraicodoll · 2 years ago

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First Kiss

Hob Gadling x Reader 1st POV/ 1.3k Words (References to Hob/Reader/Dream poly relationship) Sandman Writing Masterlist

I never expected to love two people at once. To be with two people at once. But then again, one was hardly even a person and more a being and the other was immortal so life was full of surprises. Navigating it was both strange and not. Kissing was familiar and not.

I’d come home and both men would be there in the kitchen talking. Morpheus would be the first to pull me in and kiss me hello, lips almost a slow drag against mine like always but fingers tight on my skin, and then Hob would turn me playfully to also kiss hello. His lips were warmer and held a hint of a smile, pressing eagerly against mine. I was always left slightly dizzy, going one to the other like jumping from a hot tub into a freezing pool. Shocking but pleasant. It wasn’t like when we all had sex and there were hands everywhere and I was drowning in pleasure too much to keep grounded. I felt everything in those small moments, the small kisses. Happiness, ease. Two men that loved differently separately and together. Dream loved to press his forehead to mine, loved the intimacy of the small act, and would kiss my brow, our breath mingling together and eyes burning into mine. He gave the appearance of loving softly, slowly, but there was always fire underneath the surface. Eyes that burned, fingers that dug into flesh, tight and unyielding. Hob liked to rest his head in the crook of my neck, holding me closely against his chest while he just breathed me in and relaxed. His laughter and smile put everyone at ease, but he was so smart and quick. Calculating. Able to take everything in and adjust, letting me take the lead or guide either of us when we seemed out of our element. He never pushed and for a person who called himself selfish, was entirely selfless when it came to us. They were so different but so similar. But the first time Hob kissed me without Morpheus being present, I found myself hesitant. Even though I’d been staying with him as a roommate for months, had been close to him and considered him one of my best friends, had kissed him before and done much more than that, I was caught off guard. It didn’t happen in a grand romantic gesture or with intention. We were on the couch together, me helping him grade papers from the latest exam he’d given out when I stood to go grab a drink from the kitchen. His hand had snagged mine before I could get out of range and he’d pulled me back, stretching up to capture my lips in a kiss. It’d been so innocuous, so casual and instinctual as if it were part of our normal routine. And in a way it was and it wasn’t. It didn’t feel wrong at all, but I felt myself almost freeze as the notion that Dream wasn’t there flashed in my mind. Like a car missing a wheel and off kilter or a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Hob seemed to sense my tensing and pulled back a bit, honey brown eyes dark with worry and hesitation, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. Should I have asked? I probably should have asked-” “No, it’s okay,” I cut him off, twisting my hand to return the hold and keep him from pulling away. He was still sitting on the couch, papers scattered around him and neck stretched up to reach me as I stood at his knees. His long hair was pulled up into a messy bun with strands sticking up everywhere, a red pen tucked behind his ear, and wire glasses half down his nose. He was always attractive, but when he was relaxed and rumpled and completely casual I found him extra captivating. I knew he could sense my nerves, my hesitancy. I hadn’t told him I loved him yet even though he had told me, having had a wall up between us for a while to make sure I didn’t cross any lines with Dream. But that was before we became three and I could feel it slipping down as it sunk-in that this was okay. It was okay to kiss him back without the dreamlord present, that it was okay to have a relationship with him that was just the two of us alongside the one that involved all three. That’s how this worked. We were separate and all together in the way I was still with Dream. And so I slowly pushed my way between his knees to stand closer and bent down, free hand trailing fingers along the scruff at the line of his chin. His breath hitched and he closed his eyes, hand tightening in my grip. It was almost intoxicating seeing that reaction. So often I found myself unsure, letting them both guide me and at their mercy. Seeing his reaction in turn was new and strange. My heart was beating fast in anticipation and I had to repeat to myself that this was okay. I loved Morpheus and it was okay to love Hob as well. I remember the first time I kissed him forever ago in my old apartment and what he had said when I was nervous about being with both of them. “You know him and you know me. No one’s changed and you’re safe with both of us. Absolutely nothing to get nervous about…” So finally, I let the barrier drop.

My lips touched his and he sighed into my mouth at the contact, not pushing for more but savoring the soft caress of our lips. The intention was clear that he was letting me lead on this, letting me do what I needed to at my pace. My hands cupped his cheek and I sank everything I felt into kissing him, breath hitching and eyes closed as I savored the fast beat of his heart underneath my fingertips. This was Hob. Hob who loved me and made me laugh and liked to pick small fights because we were both stubborn and he liked seeing me be passionate. Hob who brought me tea every morning and made room in his home even before we were really together and would move the world itself if me or Dream needed anything. Hob who was patient and kind and loved with all his heart even after having it broken over and over the past six hundred years. He was right. I was safe with him, both of them. And I didn’t want to hesitate any longer. I kissed him more urgently, breathing him in, and as if sensing the shift in me Hob let go of his own hesitation. Following my lead. He yanked me fully into his lap and smiled against my lips as I let out a surprised squeak, knees on either side of him. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and I couldn’t help but laugh back, throwing myself into deepening the kiss enthusiastically. My arms wrapped around his neck and his hands rested on the curve of my waist, bracing me above him. Distantly, I could feel the papers under my knees getting crinkled and the red pen behind his ear tumbling. “This okay, sweetheart?” Hob asked, pulling back enough to meet my gaze. I smiled, heart swelling, and nodded, chewing on my bottom lip. Fingertips brushed the loose strands of his hair at the base of his neck and Hob smiled, scrunching his nose, “Feels a bit odd doing this without our friend here, eh?” I chuckled and shrugged, “Yeah, but it’s okay. I want you two to have time without me and I think he’s more than happy to have us together. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t like you too, even without him.” Hob grinned, “Oh, so you like me?” I rolled my eyes and grinned back, taking in the way his eyes danced and lightened, “Yes, you dummy, I like you.” And I pressed my lips back to his, if only to stop the smug smile and slight laughter coming from him.

#Hob Gadling x Reader #Hob Gadling x fem!reader #Hob Gadling x ofc #dream of the endless x reader x hob gadling #Dream of the Endless x Hob Gadling implied #Hob x Reader #Hob x fem!Reader #Mentions of Polyamory #The Sandman fanfiction #Sandman fanfiction #The Sandman fanfic #Sandman fanfic #series: fragments #ofc: dahlia #giving you all ALL the content today #Happy holidays to you friends

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houseofpunk · 1 year ago

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oh fuck yes. gimme the main four western classical elements (water earth air fire), the four french playing card suits (hearts clubs diamonds spades), and the rider-waite tarot minor arcana suits (wands cups swords pentacles). pretty please with death and decay on top <3

anon I could kiss you 🥰

first the elements are super easy because it's already established in HOB lore:

Fire: Malakai

Water: Buddy

Earth: Brody

Air: Julia

Next for the card suits:

♥️: Julia

♦️: Malakai

♠️: Brody

♣️: Buddy

And finally for the tarot suits:

Swords: Julia

Cups: Buddy

Wands: Malakai

Pentacles: Brody

send me 4 things (physical, emotional, metaphorical, etc) and I'll assign a house of black member to each one

#:)))))))#ask game #asks

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rebellicnrising · 1 year ago

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ronen rubinstein . cis-male . he/him ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s RORY HAWTHORNE , the THIRTY-TWO year old UNDERCOVER PEACEKEEPER from DISTRICT TWELVE . they’ve been in the capitol around FOUR YEARS, long enough to gain a reputation for being so STRONG-WILLED & INCENDIARY . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: rory hawthorne . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . aurelius cragg nicknames: rory, ror age: thirty-two birthday: august 16 . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . august 6 zodiac: leo district: twelve . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . two gender: cis male pronouns: he / him orientation: bisexual ; homoromantic profession: miner, rebel . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . undercover peacekeeper

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: ronen rubinstein hair color: dark brown eye color: blue with flecks of green height: 5'11" scars: a patchwork of lash scars across his back and shoulders- varying from some that are roped with thick, purple scar tissue and others that are just that permanent angry red; a thin scar on the bottom of his chin from busting it when he was a kid; a scar above his left eye from a peacekeeper's baton, a three inch scar from a bullet graze on his right shoulder

RELATIONSHIPS

father: tba hawthorne ( deceased ) mother: hazelle hawthorne siblings: gale ( older brother ), vick ( younger brother ), posy ( younger sister ) significant other: tba

EXTRA

mbti: esfp-t ( the consul ) temperament: sanguine - choleric moral alignment: chaotic good primary vice: wrath primary virtue: diligence element: fire playlist & pinterest

BACKSTORY

TW: parent death, whipping, police & gun violence

ᴏɴᴄᴇ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

the day your father dies is etched in your memory with startling clarity-- how the shouting from the mines had carried throughout the district, how the peacekeeper uniforms turned a dingy grey with the coal dust as some jumped in alongside the miners trying to dig out the collapsed shaft ( the same ones whose faces you'll recognize frequenting the hob, the same ones who pay or trade for the game gale brings back after he learns to hunt and never ask how or where he got it ); the feeling of how tightly gale holds your hand as you stand with your mother just outside of the mine, waiting for that blurred face to be pulled out- broken and limp. you remember the noise your mother made- not a scream or a wail of grief but a low moan that reverberated so deep that it's permanently etched in the walls of your mind- as her legs go out from under her and gale's hand leaves yours to catch her; you don't know the name for the noise but over the years, you grow so used to hearing it from the corner of the home where she huddles around baby posy or vick- both who are too small to know what's going on- and one day the word comes to you: despair.

you're not the only ones who lost a father in the accident and out of that tragedy is some bright spot: the everdeens. your mothers both share that empty stare of losing the men they loved who stood between their children and starvation; your mothers both share oldest children who step in to be fathers. gale gets katniss and you get prim; while the two of them go hunt, crossing over that forbidden line of the boundary, the two of you share the fullness of childhood-- a childhood that your older siblings had cut short in order for you to experience. a childhood in the seam- raised by the seam because while gale is away and your mother is away there is still that guiding presence with other mothers balancing babies on their hips who scrub your dirty, tear stained face with the corners of thin aprons and wash your scrapes with cool water and old timers ( whose bodies are too hunched and frail to work in the mines, chests constantly rattling with coal dust thats glued to the inside of their lungs ) who bark at you from dirt porches when you get too rowdy with other kids and the play fighting turns to real fighting. as you get older, they find chores for you to do- the old timers tell you it's good for your character, the other mothers tell you you're doing them a great favor saving their men and sons from the extra work after coming home from the mines- rewarding you with whatever little they can spare. everyone knows the hawthornes have got more than their fair share of open mouths and empty bellies; everyone knows the weight of the family has fallen on gale. they tell you that you should help your brother however you can.

you learn about the tesserae when you're ten-- you hear gale and katniss talking about it and the number of times gale's name has been added to the reaping bowl makes your stomach turn- truly full for the first time since the last time he collected tesserae and it makes you sick with fear and worry. you understand the reapings by now and you cling to gale later, unable to tell him what's wrong when he asks-- afraid that if you open your mouth, you'll get sick and waste the food your brother had paid for with his life. because if he gets picked, you know that's what it means-- twelve hadn't had a victor in longer than either of you have been alive and while you think he could win, there's always that very real possibility that he wouldn't; and you can't imagine a world without your brother. you're still too young to take out the tessarae for yourself- for your siblings- and you bite down on your tongue when gale comes back with the proof that he had yet again; you want to help your brother but you don't know how.

the morning of your first reaping, it's gale who gets you up, who fills the tin tub with heated water and scrubs at your skin until you yelp, who combs your hair- trying desperately to get it to lay flat- and helps to button your shirt when your hands shake. it's gale's last year, he's an old pro by now-- but you counted. and you know how many slips of paper have his name on them and your singular one floats in that sea of white but it's not you that you're afraid for. when you see prim's face and how scared she is, you smother your own fear-- you can't be strong for gale but you can be strong for her-- and the only moment you let it slip out before your arm wraps around her shoulders ( because younger kids go to the front, you can't stand with those pillars of strength in the back ) is when you look back at gale, seeking reassurance in his eyes. it won't be us, you tell prim, whispering in her ear like it's a secret before you have to go to one side and her the other, after this, we'll play pirates. when they call her name your heart stops beating, eyes wild to find her face as she stumbles out like a lost lamb into the aisle before you look back to find gale-- but the moment katniss' voice raises your eyes go to her.

you don't play pirates after-- you sit with prim while she cries and later after the stars have come out and you walk prim home, you take charge of home- getting vick and posy dinner and getting them in bed, tucking a blanket around your mother's shoulders- trying to without words take some of the weight off gale's shoulders. you sit quietly with gale for as long as he'll let you. there's a question sitting behind your teeth and there's times when that silence between you two feels so heavy that it almost slips out but it never does; would you have volunteered for me? the part of your mind that knows your brother loves you in the same way that katniss loves prim has no doubt that if it had been the reverse of the coin, that gale would've taken that burden from you-- just like he had taken every burden for the last five years; the part of your mind that is growing up knows that gale couldn't leave posy and vick, both of them younger than both of you. you don't have to wonder if you'd volunteer for him-- you also couldn't leave vick or posy... and you're still afraid of dying. the air is heavy and you don't say anything because you know gale is hurting but, you're relieved-- relieved it's not going to be him. you hate that it's katniss because the people you love most in the world are in pain because of it-- but he's safe and after all those years of putting himself at risk of the games, he's not ever going to have to go there. and for that, you're grateful.

ɪ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴍɪꜱꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴇ, ɪ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ɪ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ��ʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʀʙᴀɢᴇ, ɪ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ

they both come back- katniss and peeta- and everything changes. there are new peacekeepers with grim faces that seem to flood the district; there's a distance to gale that you can't understand. you ask him to teach you to hunt- you want to help, that's all you want to do because the weight of the world seems to be weighing him down-- but there's never time. they burn the hob and strap gale to a whipping post-- you're out gathering wood, trying to lighten that load on gale's shoulders and don't find out until someone finds you- arms laden with the driest pieces you can find with the snow as thick as it is- and regales the news to you; you drop the wood and run to the opposite side of the district, racing for that aisle of houses where prim lives now. another sound etches itself into the halls of your mind, taking up residence next to your mother's moan of despair: the sound of your brother screaming in pain. you help to hold him down, jaw clenched tightly and tears silently rolling down your face as hands that have lost the softness of childhood grip at his arm, desperate to keep him still while prim and her mother work-- until he falls still and quiet.

you don't want to leave him. you have to get back to vick and posy and mom. you don't know how you're going to carry him home- you're taller and your shoulders have started to broaden but it's a good trek back to the seam and gale can't move. you can never repay their kindness. you don't want to leave him. you promise to come back after you've got vick and posy in bed; you're reminded there's a curfew-- if you look back and examine it, maybe this is where that rebellious spark ignited in your chest because you don't care. you only try it the once, almost caught by those patrolling peacekeepers but you come back to the house and you sit with him that first night, shoulder pressed against the corner of the kitchen where he's laid out, head resting against the wall, sitting vigil silently. while gale heals you pick up more and more odd jobs where you can; you take his bow and sneak past the boundary-- and almost lose his arrows, spending most of the time trying to find where they've fallen. when the time comes, you take out the tesserae for yourself, vick and posy. gale can't do it anymore but you can and you want so desperately to just help him; the two of you end up fighting, your crackling voice ( changing because you're growing, you're getting older, you can help more-- ) raised in anger and exasperation. you just wanted to help.

when he comes home in that crisp white uniform, baton at his hip, you almost think it's a joke-- and honestly, you treat it like a joke. you're an angry teenager because the reality of life in your district is starting to actualize in your mind, how these white clad thugs walked around as if they owned the damn district, harassing folk who had generations buried in this ground, how they had damn near killed gale-- and he's parading around in one of their uniforms. he tells you he has to work-- you don't understand why he can't keep working in the mines like everyone else in the damn district. it's a cause of friction between you two that only softens the slightest bit when gale becomes involved in the rebellion with you following half a step behind him whether he wanted you to or not. you tell gale he doesn't have to provide for you anymore when you start working in the mines at sixteen. you're sick of him carrying your weight and whether he likes it or not, he's sharing vick and posy's with you-- you can provide for this family too. gale might be too good for the mines but you're not. you can help too.

the coal dust that clings to the threads of gale's hand-me-downs that you're quickly growing out of clashes against that crisp white uniform; and you continue to clash against your brother. over time, that clashing slows and ceases, seeing the evidence of your brother using his position to help where he can, to aid rebellion efforts at home and away. there's a lot you learn about your brother as you get older and go through all the ages he has already experienced, viewing them through the lens of your own life in one eye and his through another; there's a lot you've never thanked him for and aren't sure you'll ever really know how to. he works in his position and you work in yours and at the end of the day, you both come home-- that's the part that matters: you both come home.

you're twenty-three and still in the mines: eyes burning and red from the dust that falls in them, face with dark lines etched in your skin making you look older than you are, chest already starting to rattle with the start of that miner's lung. the older man next to you starts grabbing at his chest and you call for a halt, trying to help him get seated, shoving a canteen in his hand as he rubs at the spot breathing shallow through the dark dust that tries to settle. peacekeepers have joined the foremen in the mines, making sure production doesn't halt, pushing you deeper and deeper-- and just as you've got the man seated, gasping in pain as he rubs his chest, they push again. you start to argue on behalf of the man- his chest is hurting, he should see see a healer at the very least he deserves a moment to rest and catch his breath! a baton whips across your face and you see red, starting to launch yourself before you're drug back. it's not worth it, they mutter, voices rough against your ears, it's not worth it. the older man stands and work resumes. he drops dead about three hours later. you and another carry the body out, the dead weight balanced between the two of you and your anger lashes out before you can stop yourself. the baton cracks at your face again, splitting the skin above your eye and your vision does go red, dropping you to your knees. with blood on your face you carry the body back to his widow because these are your people. this man worked alongside you like a brother, an uncle, a father and you honor him in the same way you would if he were blood related. the next day you help to bury him with others in your crew; you're back in the mines an hour later and a scrawny fourteen year old year old kid takes his place in the line.

ɪ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡꜱᴘᴀᴘᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴅ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴀꜱꜱ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ!

time passes and you strike a new vein of coal but you've all been doing this long enough to know that the deeper you follow it, the more unstable the shaft becomes. you tell them it's not safe; they push you. you tell them the shaft will collapse; they push you. and you see your father's death flash before your eyes as the tunnel collapses and you're dragged backward, watching the earth bury outstretched hands that reach for you. it takes three days to dig them out. time is a wheel and history repeats itself and there are still those digging who remember the last collapse, the sons whose fathers were buried now work these same mines-- and they're angry. it's not the capitol or it's peacekeepers who bury the district's dead or who care for her widows and orphans. it's you and everyone else with red-rimmed eyes and lungs burning with coal dust-- coal that never heats your homes. they don't care if you live or die because there's always room for one more on the line and there's more empty bellies in the seam than there are full in the whole of the district. you're not even sure when you started talking or when people started listening but it's a spark that catches onto every coal-dusted soul in those mines and sets it ablaze.

a sea of headlamps march from the mines and you lead them out, shovels and pickaxes gripped in tight fists: a strike. no production until conditions change. it's not anything set out by the rebellion leaders in that mythical district thirteen; no, this was twelve- the district and her people, acting in their own with that flame ignited in their chests- as you march out and are met immediately with a wall of white. bullets fly and batons whip but they're met with resistance, the tools of your trade now turned makeshift weapons. some scatter, most stand until they fall by bullet or baton and you're grazed by one, burning fire across your shoulder before the baton slams against your temple and everything goes dark. they drag you and two other 'co-conspirators' to the whipping post and you understand the sound of gale's scream that's etched in your mind, echoing through it's halls and joining yours as the whip falls against your back and shoulders. you understand how he couldn't move after, every breath feeling like fire. the train cars you had been loading for the past few weeks as you dug through that unsafe shaft are going to the capitol-- and you're going with it. since that tongue thinks it's so smart, wagging and inciting treason, the only way to deal with it is to cut it out. they're going to make you an avox.

that night, you're carried from the cell but by friendly faces-- rebels who work to get you from the justice building to the train yard, dragging your weight, legs feeling almost useless under you. they hide you in plain sight: on the train that was supposed to lead you to your doom. they shove a bandana in your mouth and tell you to bite down, muffling the sounds of pain as they lay you in a bed of coal that digs into the sore spots, staining the bandages around your torso red. you try to focus past the pain that has tears running lines through the coal dust that's settling on your face as they bury you under a layer just thin enough to be hidden: the train will take you to three. there, rebels in three will hide you for a few weeks before a train on it's way to six passes through where you'll stowaway on to get yourself to six. once you hit six, you're on foot until you reach thirteen.

you ask through the bandana you have gripped in your teeth where gale is-- it would be the first place they're going to look when they realize you're gone, he had to have a solid alibi, right now he's too important. you agree. you don't regret the choices that have brought you here and you don't regret the ones you'll have to make going forward but damn if you don't regret the fact you didn't get to say goodbye. you've left your family with a mess to clean up-- you just hope they understand why. you ask the faces to tell gale you're sorry you didn't make it home tonight.

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜɪʀꜱᴛʏ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅʀɪɴᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

it goes exactly as planned-- you reach three and you wait for hands that dig, reaching out to let them pull you free. they clean your back and feed you, keep you hidden until the next train rolls in to three for a pick up of technological pieces for the trains and other vehicles that rolled out of six. it makes you stir crazy- to sit and wait, sit and wait- but there's this fear in your chest that has you wondering what it is that you're so eager to go for? getting to six will have risks and getting from six to thirteen will be beyond treacherous-- and after that? unknown. you think about home a lot- about your brothers and your sister, your mother ( which twists like a knife of guilt in your gut, wondering how much grief losing a son would bring her ), of prim and how you never got to explain or say goodbye-- wondering if you're ever going to see it again. you apologized for not making it home but now you're not sure you're going to make it home for a long time. maybe never.

the train to six is harder to hide on but you manage and you've had time to heal but those still-stitching wounds are tender-- you make it to the boundary and hidden among trees before anyone can see you. they gave you a map in three- taught you how to read a map, not exactly like you'd ever had need for one before now- and you follow it, pressing deeper into territory that's familiar and new all at once. you're not sure when you actually crossed the border into thirteen, having gone further beyond the boundary and losing the fence line some time back but you're found by scouts that you at first mistake for peacekeepers and try to outrun. you don't get far and at first it looks like you've missed the welcome wagon but they help you up and take you in.

you're not sure what you imagined when you thought about district thirteen before but it certainly wasn't what greeted you. you tell them who you are and how you managed to get there. they ask you how old you are- you ask what day it is; they tell you august 20-- you tell them you just turned twenty-five. you don't argue with the work assignments that are given to you-- hell, you're just grateful that you're given something to do and don't have to sit and wait or run anymore. that only lasts a few months because you've seen the military training that goes on, you've seen the rooms where it's happening- the rebellion, planned meticulously, different strings across the district all connected to thirteen- and you didn't come all this way to scrub toilets.

the next three years are different but focus and ground you. you train, learn how to be a fighter and not a brawler, how to be a soldier not a rioter. you fall in love-- it's three years, it's bound to happen. you still think about home but less and less in the looking back way and more looking ahead. fire is catching across the districts and you're ready to fight like hell to be able to go home. it feels a different life away- district twelve- so different than the one you're living now but once again, you're struck with that stir-crazy feeling. it feels too much like sitting and waiting now even with the parts that filled the space between like the lover who wrapped around your heart. when the assignment comes, you immediately jump on it, eager to be moving again.

ꜱᴏ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ɪɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡᴏʀɴ ꜱʜᴏᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴇᴇᴛ-- ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

the assignment: peacekeeper in the capitol. rory hawthorne of district twelve is dead so you get a new name: aurelius cragg, born august 6th in district two. you tell them you don't want a new name-- especially not aurelius cragg. they tell you that you don't get to pick-- you can get rory out of 'aurelius'. you're briefed on your family history, your academic history, your record at the peacekeeper academy, all bundled up in the official documents that would prove your identity. you're smuggled across the districts to two where those documents get you a one way ticket to the capitol on a transport filled with other district two peacekeepers, freshly graduated from the academy.

the next four years, you live that double life; rory hawthorne is dead and aurelius 'rory' cragg is who looks back at you in the mirror. you wear the uniform you had sneered at when your brother wore it, working street beats and eventually your way up to private events of those self important capitol citizens. there are rebels all over the capitol and through out the years, you work alongside them in different missions. you hold up the facade of this identity that isn't yours and work as a dead man in the dark, each success drawing that dream of going home that much closer- to see your brothers, your sister, your mother, your best friend- and each failure pushes it further away.

you're assigned to the tribute center this year-- a place you've spent the last few years avoiding each time the games roll around and with good reason. rory hawthorne was supposed to be dead as much as your heart yearns for that glimpse of home, you've kept your distance, never getting any closer to those victors from twelve than a television screen. for the first time, you argue against the assignment-- but you can't give an answer that will satisfy when pressed for why; you can't exactly tell your superior officer that you're supposed to be dead.

every time you turn a corner, you're afraid you're going to be found out. you've seen them- katniss and peeta with their boy rye ( he was so much smaller the last time you saw him, has it really been that long? ), haymitch and alex, gale and prim-- but you've taken great care that they don't see you. the things you have been helping to put into place over the last four years are starting to fall into motion and no matter how desperately you want to seek them out, you cannot risk anything going wrong.

you want to be able to go home with them when this is all over-- you can wait a little longer for your reunion.

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ꜰʀᴇᴇ! ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ… ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

TFLDR + EXTRAS

rory is gale's younger brother, second born, typical middle child.

after their dad died, gale took on everything and was 100% rory's idol for his entire childhood and into his teenaged years

grew up as childhood besties with prim he was her self appointed guard dog growing up

gale became a peacekeeper just as rory was entering puberty which of course meant he had to be a real shithead to gale about it for longer than he probably should've

he joins the rebellion and starts working in the mines at sixteen bc he's going to prove a point to gale. dont ask him what the point is

when he's 23, a fellow miner in his crew drops dead after being denied a moment to rest after complaining of chest pains and rory gets in an altercation with some peacekeepers.

later after warning the foremen of a shafts instability, there's a cave in that kills a handful of miners and rory organizes an impromptu strike that leads in a riot and violent altercation between d12's miners and peacekeepers.

rory and two other 'co-conspirators' are flogged publicly for inciting rebellion and are set to be sent to the capitol to become avoxes. rebels help to sneak him out and hide him in the coal being transported to the capitol that's stopping in three. rebels in three help him heal up and get him on a train to six and from six he walks to thirteen.

he spends three years training in 13 before he's sent on assignment to the capitol as an undercover peacekeeper where he's been for the last four years.

this is the first year he's been assigned to the tribute center and he's trying very hard to maintain that low profile-- we'll see how well that works out.

short math: rory was 25 when he reached district 13 so it's been 7 years since he disappeared from district 12.

has an alias 'aurelius cragg' but he thinks that name is stupid and has established that you can get 'rory' out of aurelius

CONNECTIONS

EX BOYFRIEND -- so rory spent three years in d13 training and preparing nd between that hyperfocus, he found time to fall in love. maybe the two of them were in the same training squadron or just lived in the same area. maybe they've both fled from their districts seeking shelter in thirteen or maybe rory's the outsider who's coming into their home. however it happened, it happened and for at least while he was in thirteen, it was this bright spot of happiness in his life. but after a while, he gets restless and takes an assignment that separates the two of them and they split- amicably? less so? horribly? who knows! i think it could be fun

REBEL CONNECTIONS -- rory's been in the capitol for the last four years undercover so would love!! to come up with some connections that have developed while both of these characters have been fighting this quiet ( and not so quiet ) war behind enemy lines !! but also the rebels that helped him escape to thirteen by sneaking him out of twelve and then hiding him in three and even some in six like this network of people who are all fighting for freedom from the capitol who helped get him safe pls i beg

fr yall know im up for anything and everything let's just do this

#mj.intro #ʀᴏʀʏ —— 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔.#tw gun violence #tw whipping #tw parent death #if i missed anything yall let me know #also no one judge me yall know i can't shut up

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riiseandfall · 2 years ago

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joseph quinn . genderfluid . he / they ➶ DID YOU SEE THEM ?! they’re finally back as a MENTOR , and you know they’re one of my favourites ! it’s ALEXANDER GRAY , the TWENTY-NINE year old WINNER of the EIGHTY-THIRD hunger games! i’m just so excited to see them returning to the capitol all the way from DISTRICT TWELVE! they won their games using ARCHERY & TRAPS so their tributes will no doubt be desperate for their wisdom. the capitol just loved them for being so CHARISMATIC , even if they have been known to be SHORT-TEMPERED at times. they DO have a relative in this years games ( younger half-sister ) and they DID volunteer to go into the arena with them . ( character IS part of the uprising )

Basic Information

Full Name: Alexander Adrien Gray Nicknames: Alex Age: 29 District: Twelve Gender: Genderfluid Pronouns: He / they Orientation: Homoromantic Bisexual Profession: “Trader”, Victor, Mentor, Tribute

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Joseph Quinn Hair Color: Dark brown Eye Color: Brown Height: 5'10" Piercings: Pierced earlobes, an industrial piercing in his right ear Scars: A thin scar down the left side of his jaw, scarred knuckles, a scar across their lower stomach, a scar across their left collarbone

Relationships

Father: Derek Warren (deceased) Unknown Mother: Erin Gray (deceased) Siblings: Aster Gray (younger half-sister), Prudence Warren (younger half-sister) Significant Other: TBA (Ex), Apollo Redfield (fiancé)

Tribute Details

Reaped/Volunteered: Volunteered Age: 18 Victor of the: 83rd Hunger Games Weapon of choice: Archery Arena: Abandoned City Kill Count: Six

Extra

MBTI: ESFP-T (The Entertainer) Temperament: Choleric Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good Primary Vice: Wrath Primary Virtue: Diligence Element: Fire

BIO-[TW: MENTION OF ILLNESS, DEATH, AND MURDER]

Life in District 12 was far from easy. But Alexander’s mother, Erin, always did her best to insure her child had a good life. She worked as a seamstress–it paid well enough and kept her out of the mines.

Alexander never knew his father. Anytime he would ask, his mother would always smile and change the subject. He often wondered if perhaps something had happened to his father, accidents always happened in the mines. As Alex grew older, they stopped asking. But their curiosity never went away…not really.

Like so many others, as soon as they turned 12, Alex put their name in additional times in exchange for tesserae. His mother didn’t approve, in fact, he got quite the lecture for it. “You don’t know what the Games are like.”

But in the end, they needed the extra food. He remembered telling his mother that there was nothing to worry about, he always had a lucky streak.

When Aster was born, things changed. Life got more complicated, but that didn’t matter–she was adored by everyone who met her. And Alex promised that he’d always look out for her.

Two years passed and things took a turn for the worse. They don’t know what illness befell Alex’s mother, only that she caught it quickly, and it got worse just as quickly. It was a harsh winter, and his mother was unable to bring in any money. Alex never held well to the mines–but the Hob was always looking for new “traders”.

It turned out that Alex had a knack for it. People liked him and they had a talent for acquiring black market items. When they weren’t trading or evading Peacekeepers, they were home. Trying their best to care for their mother and sister.

But winter lasted longer than their mother did.

Alex barely had time to grieve. The days were getting colder and fifteen was a young age to take care of not just yourself, but a two year old. He worked as often as he could, families offering to watch Aster while he worked as often as he could. But it wasn’t enough. And if starvation didn’t get them–the cold certainly would.

And then, one day, things changed. The traders at the Hob started to help out. An extra loaf of bread here, a jacket there, a blanket to keep Aster warm. And when Alex began to question why the generosity, nobody was willing to give an answer. They dodged the question. And just like before, Alex grew to stop asking. Whether it was out of respect for their mother or some other reason, nobody was about to tell him.

But that little bit extra kept them both alive.

That winter was the hardest, but with the extra assistance and a family always willing to help Alex care for Aster, they eventually settled into a routine. It didn’t matter how long their work day was or if they had a particularly rough run-in with a Peacekeeper, when Alex picked up their sister, they always had a smile on their face. He did the best he could to make sure she wanted for very little. Life in 12 was difficult, but Alex made sure that Aster’s life was as easy as he could make it.

He was seventeen when he fell in love. It wasn’t something Alex expected, but they had a wicked smile and undeniable charisma, Alex fell and he fell hard. People tried to caution him, point out the flaws in their newfound romance, he didn’t want to hear it. Every fight could be excused and every red flag overlooked–after all, everyone had flaws, right?

It was his last year, only one more Reaping to go before he was in the clear. He only hoped that lucky streak of his would continue. And it did, Alex’s name wasn’t the one called. Their partner wasn’t as lucky.

It seemed to happen in a blur, the Peacekeepers directing their lover to the stage, the way their eyes darted about the crowd, they needed to only yell for Alex once before they stepped forward to volunteer in his place. It was a stupid decision, one made in impulse. One that Alex regrets to this day.

When their sister was the only one who showed up to say goodbye, Alex began to suspect something was wrong.

The Capitol was grand, there was no denying that. And with both Katniss and Peeta as mentors, Alex held onto the sliver of hope that they might be able to make it out of the Games alive. Peeta helped him learn the social game, Alex had little problem making friends back home, but the Capitol was a far different beast.

With Peeta’s guidance, it didn’t take much effort for Alex to win the hearts of the Capitol. If Katniss proved anything, the Capitol loved a volunteer. And someone who volunteered for love? Well, he practically had them eating out of his hands. There was just the rather pesky matter of Alex not being what one would call a fighter.

They knew how to survive–they’d been doing it on their own for years. But it wasn’t until Katniss put a bow in their hands that he learned how to be lethal. He never reached her level of skill–but he didn’t often miss.

But as the lift rose to the arena, they began to doubt their chances once more.

While he expected a forest, a plain, a desert, anything natural—he was instead greeted with the sight of an abandoned city. Buildings stood tall, providing shelter…as well as traps. It was easy to get lost as every street looked the same. And if you were caught in a corner? There was little room to escape.

Nearly half of the tributes died the first day.

They spent most of their Games running and hiding, not spending too long in one place. It wasn’t until one of the other tributes fell to their death that he was able to get his hands on a bow.

Alexander killed four other tributes over the next two days.

But as the number of tributes dwindled and Alex found themselves among the final five, their plan switched to from offensive to defensive. Holing up in one of the many buildings, they were quick to come up with a game plan. If the Gamemakers wanted to set traps, Alex would set a few of his own. Basic snares designed to restrain or trip up anyone who wanted to try to come after him.

But the Gamemakers had plans of their own, manipulating the playing field to bring the tributes together and the Games to a close in a final, bloody brawl. But Alex fought back, he was deadly at a distance and used this to keep the other two tributes at bay. Robbed of that bloody final fight they so craved, the Gamemakers once more decided to shake things up. Quite literally.

The sudden earthquake that shook the arena threatened to bring the building down on all three tributes heads, the fighting put on hold as they all made a dash for the closest exit. With the other two tributes right on his heels, Alex did the only plan he could think of. Lead them right into one of his traps.

The snare that wrapped around the ankle of one tribute sent them tumbling to the ground, the other tripping over them as Alex cleared the building as it collapsed behind him. And with the resounding sound of two cannon shots–he went from tribute to victor.

The underdog from District Twelve who killed six tributes. If they hadn’t captured the Capitol’s adoration before, they certainly had it now. The interviews that followed felt like a dream–or a nightmare. And Alex had plenty of them as soon as they left the arena.

Returning home wasn’t much better.

Time away from their partner provided clarity, and when he returned home, they confessed to what Alex had already suspected–the show of distress during the Reaping had been exactly that. A show. A way to insure Alex would volunteer and they would stay out of the Games.

And while Alex had hoped that knowing would make things better, it didn’t.

Each year passed by much the same as before, except now he had a far too large house in the Victor’s Village. Alex continued to work at The Hob–moreso to keep himself busy than out of any actual need for money. Nearly all of his winnings went towards giving Aster a good life. It was the one upside to everything, she would never have to put her name in any additional times. She would grow up without having to know just how harsh life in 12 could be.

The Reaping would happen, Alex would try their best to keep their tributes alive–with Katniss’s help, of course. But it was never enough. The nightmares got worse with each passing Game, and Alex’s rage towards the Capitol grew.

As soon as word of the uprising reached their ears, they joined. What better place to bring down the Capitol than right under their nose?

As soon as Aster’s name was called at the Reaping, it was the first time in years that Alex felt like his life was falling apart. It didn’t matter how much Alex screamed, how much they fought against the Peacekeepers that held him back. It was for nothing. Aster would be in the Games, that same horror he experienced would be something she would have to go through.

All their efforts to keep her safe swept away by one small slip of paper.

It surprised very few that Alex was among one of the first victors to step forward to volunteer–unlike the last time he did so, he has no regrets.

#mj.intro #alexander.intro

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