open rp post

[wunderkind]

an open rp post
(it is what it says it is)

-1-
pick a character

-2-
leave me a comment. maybe a scenario, maybe an AU scenario, maybe a picture, maybe a word,
maybe a request to resume old game canon, maybe just a comment.
i don't care. do your worst.

-2a-
helpful note: i am currently obsessed with the Hunger Games and Christmas. can you combine those into one tag?

-3-
let's get it on



disclaimer: we probably won't get it on
+ there are no promises i will take this seriously

Comments

THE HUNGER GAMES stuff

[wunderkind]

sorry that i'm not sorry...but actually sorry that I am terrible at playing new characters

[jurisimpudent]

[this is Miles Edgeworth, who won the Games a few years back and is a Mentor now

you are _______, from district whatever, and you are a new victor

tawk amungst yahhselves]

i only regret i don't have a dw tamaki journal. also hello! bc we already did edgeworth&sirius HG:AU

[axeyou]

[She is Johanna Mason, from District 7, and she is a new victor, the victor of the 71st Hunger Games. And she is wearing a dress that's supposed to be evergreen. They told her it's the same color as the evergreen trees in District 7, but District 7 is covered in pines and firs and birches and all kinds of trees, it isn't like they say it is.

Except maybe it is, now. Maybe when they finally let her go back, the trees will all be different, everything will be different, all the people and the things that she knows, the things she took for granted. It wouldn't be surprising, right? The Capitol can do whatever it wants. The Arena had changed around her, like something out of a nightmare. Cliffs where there hadn't been cliffs before, a sheer drop, hundreds of feet. A river running with blood, and then the river swelled, became a flood. Lightning striking a tree--and one of the other Tributes laying on the ground a moment later, black, burned, smoking, before a ship had come along, smoothly, and plucked up the body, carried it away, and there was nothing on the ground but a little black smudge that the rain had quickly washed away.

Johanna had seen it happen. It was okay: she was going to kill the boy anyways. She wasn't going to die, crying and scared, pissing herself. She was going to win and go home and it was all going to be over, all of it, that's what she said to herself every night, like it was some sort of fucking prayer. But it was only the Capitol watching over her. And no one was going to make her prayers come true except her, and she had, and now here she was, standing in this dress that doesn't look a thing like evergreen. All her wounds stitched up and fresh. All her sweat and blood wiped away. Clean and new and victorious.

And what she's starting to realize is that she's victorious, but she's never going to be done. When the fireworks start she feels something in her twisting around, like a knife digging from the inside out, and her knees feel weak, which she hates. She hates it, she hates so much, and she grabs hold of the nearest thing to stop herself from falling over, and she hates that, too, and she hates this person she's grabbed hold of.

When she comes out of herself, she shoves him away. He's another Victor, from the past. She doesn't remember a thing about him. When she looks at him, he could very well be one of the ones she killed in the Arena--except he's cleaned up too; he's with them, now, with the Capitol.

And so is she. This is Johanna Mason's victory ball, and she hates it.]

What do you want.

I don't use JH I am pre Josh even being a possibility for being cast w/e I do what I want

[inventedcakepie]

[That's it.

That's the prompt.]

wow who is this hip journalmaker and qt pb! PS: this is pre catching fire

[asafire]

[Everybody copes in their own way. Don't talk about the nightmares and look straight ahead and learn to live again. The Games were only a few days, but those few days will linger the rest of your life unless you can figure out a way to cope, and even then, that only keeps it at bay. Better than nothing.

Haymitch has drinking. Katniss has hunting. Solitary pursuits, even drinking, at least the way that Haymitch practices it, but Peeta--

Katniss tries not to think too much of Peeta. They're twenty-five feet away from each other, in the Victor's Village. His windows are lit up at night and smoke comes from his chimney and sometimes, when she's pulling on her boots before she slips out into the woods, she sees Peeta outside, walking with an armload of firewood, or a few loaves of bread. And then she looks away, because she isn't thinking of Peeta.

It's maybe the last warm day of the year, a false summer. There's an old name for it that Katniss' mother sometimes uses, for days like these, but she can't think of it. Hunting will be good today. The deer want to be out in the sunlight just as much as she does.

When she steps outside, she smells bread on the wind. Peeta's windows are open, but dark. No one is home; at least, that's what she thinks--but the smell of the bread is so strong she wanders over anyways. It's not a smell she's ever going to forget. It takes her back to standing against the tree in the cold, meeting Peeta's eyes across the half-frozen mud. The thud of the bread loaf on the ground.

When she looks in the window--there's bread. Not one loaf, but a lot of loaves, stacked up, on every available surface. It's a little unreal how much there is. At first Katniss thinks she's seeing things, and then she thinks--maybe this is Peeta's hunting. Baking, nonstop.

But it's wasteful. She frowns, she can't help it. And then she hears a footfall, he's inside, he's not gone out at all (of course he hasn't, where do they have to go, either of them), and she backs up a step, unwilling to be caught, unwilling to be trapped in conversation.]

hi baby

[fuckingsecrets]

[nebbish]

[alternatively
Being Human Games




god the mere possibility breaks my heart]

johanna or an au i am cool for w/e

[ex_striking429]

[ katniss is uncomfortable in her fancy dress. she's standing by the buffet table — the food is more like art at these things: filigree amber spun sugar decorating glimmering platters of berries that are piled like jewels; tiny, steaming hot teardrop buns that look like clouds and break open to reveal a sweet meat center; huge wheels of cheese sculpted into shapes alongside paper thin wafers; clear egg-cups of a dessert layered in multitudinous colours... katniss takes in all of it, not sure where to start. but the conundrum of food is easier than the conundrum of the rest of the party. she feels eyes on her, knows she'll need to smile and solicit sponsors and mingle with her fellow tributes, but all she wants to do is take some of the heartier foods and flee. ]

[ex_brews796]

[ i don't.



even know. ]

[unkneaded]

[Merry Christmas, Katniss. He's trying to leave your present and get out before you wake up.

Spoiler: he got you bread.]

also christmas

[ladyjustice]

[yo christina give me mademoiselle black teaching mademoiselle edgeworth the meaning of christmas]

you know my weakness also ps remember when you couldn't do Hogwarts AUs

[dogette]

[Mlle Mirsam Black, the black sheep of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, has few weaknesses. She has plenty of vices, but real and true weaknesses are on a rather shorter list, and are mostly focused around her friends. Her loyalty doesn't allow for anything less.

But if you consider a real and true passion and penchant for Christmas--and the Christmas season and everything contained under the broad and often glittery heading of Christmas--to be a weakness, then Mirsam has a rather large weakness which she does nothing to hide. Which, strangely, some might consider it to be a weakness, especially the way that Mirsam embraces and celebrates it--that is to say, with ever fiber in her being.

Christmas was celebrated, in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, but it was celebrated with decorum and solemnity and reserved grace, with all the best silverware laid out on heavy damask tablecloths and garland carefully draped above doorways.

And so Mirsam has careened herself in the exact opposite direction of celebration, just as she has in so many other ways. A riot of colour and noise and music and laughter, with holly that is just as likely to attack your head as it is to hang in demure garlands. Skipping around the corridors of Hogwarts shouting out Christmas carols, and enchanting suits of armor to join in the choruses, and basically going around enforcing good cheer on everyone, absolutely everyone.

No one is safe. No room is safe, not even the library, which is where she is today, enchanting a bundle of mistletoe above one of the small doorways in the back. Safe in the stacks from Madam Pince's prying eyes... but that doesn't mean she's being subtle about her work, she's whistling loud enough that anyone could come upon her.]

are you tired of me yet

[jurisimpudent]

[Alternatively acceptable: meaning of christmas happening in our Inglourious Basterds AU, after Sirius has left his family to live in destitution with Edgeworth]

are YOU tired of ME bc i know you aren't tired of christmas

[doggedly]

[Once upon a time, in the wizarding world buddy cop film that has become Sirius Black's life with Miles Edgeworth....

Things were always quiet at Grimmauld Place, quiet in the same way that a museum is quiet. Given Walburga Black's constant and furious work of pure-blood preservation, that hushed air was never exactly surprising. Christmas had not been an exception to the feeling. There was a tree, there was Kreacher doing the decorating; there were parties that Sirius was invited to only later in life, and a dinner on Christmas day with the whole of the family in attendance--

And all of that is gone now. It's been gone for a few years--somewhere, across London, Grimmauld Place is still decked out in the same stern way. It's strange, knowing that it's out there. Sirius can't decide how he feels about it. Do you bother to miss something so solemn and cold as Christmas at Grimmauld Place? His mother, her emerald earrings glinting, her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table, focused on her own face. His father and his heavy rings, smoking in the drawing room with uncles and great-uncles. Regulus kicking him under the table. Gifts with crisp silver bows, stacked under the Christmas tree.

Their flat, by contrast, is very spare and very grey. No one is there for very long. Outside, the weather is heavy and grey, too, but there's little touches of colour: greenery and twinkling fairy-lights. People with bright scarves. Things like that. Sirius doesn't get it, and feels stupid.

And Edgeworth isn't any help. He still doesn't really like Edgeworth. But they have something, some idiotic connection. They killed Voldemort together. It was only natural that they work together. It's been a few years. They have an office. They used to live separately but then Sirius fell asleep at Edgeworth's, once, curled up on the sofa after a mission, and that was sort of that. Which is also weird, but it's become such a fact of life that he doesn't think about it too much.

Standing with a cup of tea, Sirius stares down at the street below. They live on a corner, so there's always lorries and cars and things stopping at the crosswalks. Kids on their way to school, rendered genderless in bulky black coats and scarves and hats.

He doesn't say anything. But he watches a family crossing, together: a mother and a small son, and the father close behind, with a massive shopping bag. He wacthes them cross the street--the father doubles up his steps to catch up, and shifts the bag to one hand so he can grab hold of his son's hood, tug at it, teasing.

Sirius sets down his mug and goes to the door, takes his coat off the hook and slips it on. Still hasn't said a word.]

[ex_morghulis936]

[ future au or modern future au starks please.

it can be christmas if you want i'd be down for that. ]

AHA AHAHA AHAHAHAHA come Sirius meet a queen

[desiredhertobetheirqueen]

[The secret is that Lucy's known for a while, sort of, in a way. Sometimes she slides back to England - usually when she's thinking of mince pies, which the cooks in Narnia never seem to get right, so when she tumbles down a rabbit hole, only to find herself tangled up in a fireplace, dress askew and tangled around her legs, green ash everywhere, and staring up at a boy with dark hair and wide gray eyes, she doesn't quite know what to say.

Well, no, she does.]

Bother!

[At least she's still grown, mostly grown, anyway.]

DID SOMEONE SAY QUEEN i am so pleased by this

[doggedly]

[It's someone arriving by floo powder, is naturally Sirius' first thought. Usually there's a bit more of an announcement to it, it's not just a hey-hope-you're-home-dropping-in-regardless sort of situation--

But when he looks round, it's a girl he's never seen before. Ever. And he would remember this girl, because she's-- well, she's fit, but fit isn't a word one would easily apply to her, because she's something beyond fit, she's lovely, smooth face and flawless skin and this dress; it's like something out of a painting. Sirius is used to clothes most muggles would deem antiquated, but this is different.]

Er. Hullo. Did you miscalculate?

[moonswings]

[HOGWARTS CHRISTMAS snow and butterbeer and ugly sweaters and horrible enchanted mistletoe go!!!]

!!!

[doggedly]

[Hogwarts at Christmas is: snowy grounds and trees glimmering with fairy lights (actual light from actual fairies, thank you, no muggle electricity here!) and exams that everyone but Sirius and James stress about and awful enchanted mistletoe that has been left hanging about certain doorways by Parties Unknown. Some of the mistletoe has been enchanted to move, crawling along rafters and ceiling beams, to lie in wait for unsuspecting students. Parties Unknown may have had a hand in this enchanting, but, as Parties Unknown defended to his best mates, the mistletoe needed an upgrade. They're going to be leaving school in a few days anyways, right? They can all hide from it until then. And if they hear its evil chuckle, they can just--run away. Definitely don't summon one another for help, Parties Unknown hastened to add, because that will only end in regret.

Anyways. That's Christmas at Hogwarts, or at least Christmas this year at Hogwarts. And maybe there's some of that mistletoe that's made it into the safe zone of the Gryffindor common room, but for now, there is just--]

That.

[Sirius is pointing, and somehow managing to convey an air of awed indigence, and somehow managing to make 'awed indigence' look a little cool and dashing. His arms are full of bottled butterbeers, and he has one open for himself already in hand, and the other hand is holding a second opened butterbeer that he was about to hand over to Remus before he caught sight of Remus as he is, today. That is to say, Remus Lupin, in a dark corner of the common room, just one day before everyone leaves for Christmas holidays. Remus Lupin, in an extremely ugly jumper.]

That is the ugliest bloody jumper that I have ever seen.

[This is an achievement, if Sirius' tone is anything to go by. The common room is mostly empty--thank God, because Sirius can't imagine being seen alongside this jumper for more than a few minutes at a time. If no one's really around to see, it's safe. He doesn't hand over the butterbeer just yet, but stands, with his mouth open a little, still wearing his cloak and scarf, newly returned from an illegal Hogsmeade visit. Night has come quickly, which means it's definitely time to celebrate, and if the Marauders are some of the last Gryffindors left, then so much the better. They can drink loads of butterbeer and fall asleep on sofas and wake up and drag themselves to the train tomorrow.

Except maybe they'd better expel Remus for that hideous jumper first.]

Where the hell did you get that thing? Please tell me someone's done a Sticking Charm on it and forced it over your head. Was it Snivellus? Merlin, the thought of him dressing or undressing anyone is-- Moony, seriously, what is that thing. I am so distracted. I want to give you this butterbeer but I can't stop staring at your chest, which has never been a problem before.

h to the p!!!!!!

[ex_middling128]

EXCUSE U what is wrong w my layout!!! (hi) (yay) (tell me if this works or)

[boywholives]

[This is the very first Christmas after the war--or well, a few days before the first Christmas after the war, after the Battle of Hogwarts, after they've all begun to rebuild wizarding England. And life really isn't so bad. Professor Trelawney was always predicting doom for Harry, reading it out of his teacups and staring at him with eyes all misty from behind her glasses, but of course there was always a little bit of doom. It comes with the territory of being Harry Potter, and it's really something they laugh about: him and Hermione and Ron, whose lives were pretty predictable before they fell in with Harry.

Even Ron's life, as hard as that is for Harry to believe. It's never more difficult to believe than when they're installed at the Burrow, a house where you're just as likely to find begonias as you are gnomes uprooting carrots in the garden. It's brilliant, and coming back is sort of like putting on your favorite jumper, holes and patches and all.

Which, actually, coincidentally, Harry is wearing. What else do you wear at the Burrow besides Weasley jumpers? His is sleek and well made; Ron's is admittedly a little itchier. They're slumped together on a low sofa in front of the fireplace. Everyone's gone off to bed, and while Harry has an important question to ask Ron--a question he'll have to repeat to Mr and Mrs Weasley, later, but it seems an act of courtesy to ask Ron first--or, well, it would, except Harry is already in a sort of pre-Christmas doze, lulled to contentment by the warmth of the fire and the house around him, full and happy. Mrs Weasley had put together a brilliant feast for their homecoming. There will be another feast tomorrow, and another round of homecomings, and Hermione will turn up, inevitably, just as if they're all still in school.

Harry tugs his shirtsleeve over his wrist and rubs it against his forehead, idly. His scar hasn't twinged in the least bit in six months. He can't be arsed to ask any serious Ginny-related questions just now, so instead he offers Ron the half-finished bag of Every-Flavour Beans.]

I think it's just snot left, honestly. But if you want to try your luck....

this one is for snow on the tq

[strayed]

[doggedly]

[It's not like Sirius likes Miss Cora Hale. Or, well, that is to say: he likes her, but he doesn't necessary like her like her, no more than he like-likes any other girl. Which isn't strictly true, when he reviews that thought. There is something about her that he can't quite work past, which is in of itself very similar to like-liking. She frustrates him to some degree, and that is something that girls don't typically do to Sirius Black.

But it's not like he's in love with her or anything. And it's likely that she doesn't much like him--which, all right, he can resign himself to, and either proceed to 1) irritate her just because of the incongruity of their feelings for one another, or 2) get her to like him.

Snow can accomplish both of those things. Or either. Does she like snow? He doesn't know, he actually doesn't know too much about Cora, personally--not like favorite colours and things, no mundane details, just weird snippets of things. But how can anyone dislike snow on a spaceship, where the weather is always the same (that is to say, non-existent). And how can anyone dislike snow that isn't properly cold, and doesn't even need below-freezing temperatures to maintain itself? Snow indoors is pretty brilliant, surely everyone can agree with that.

In sum: when Cora leaves her room today, the corridor is full of snow. The ceiling is lost in a haze of gray clouds, or something very like clouds anyways, from which snow is drifting down, gently, piled in banks and drifts and amassing slowly, gently--and it isn't too cold to the touch, and the air of the corridor is only a little brisk, nothing like a bone-deep winter chill.

And someone out in the corridor is whistling Christmas carols. God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs, and so on--who cares that space doesn't have Christmas, or winter, or seasons at all? To charm girls, Sirius will go to great lengths in creating all of those things, Christmas winter seasons and all. And if it's irritation that he achieves instead, well, all right.

Idly, he waves his wand, sending a gust of wind down the corridor. He's sitting just beside a large snowbank, blissful in his own genius.]

and this one is for reasons!!

[strayed]

hello

[knocking]

is it me you're looking for

jk this isn't a prompt but hi i finally made a harry journal!!!!!!!