── 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹.

//if it's not too late maybe intro?

*     please !!

@namescursed-   /   pleak! pleak!

(  @namescursed-  )
            
             ‘course you do, bells. i wouldn't so much as think of askin' for your judgement if i didn't value it. you know me and my covey, we don't look for approval from nobody.   [  lucy gray lifts her shoulders into a shrug, almost sheepish that she’d ask such a question. she hadn’t directed the same song to coriolanus. and, well, she’d seen him leave before the song was halfway over. not arabella though. her eyes never left.
            of two siblings, one was pure as the driven snow. the other..  well. the other was cold and cutting as a glacier's ice. it was complicated and—  lucy gray knew. deep down. it's why arabella's comment on her brother settled heavily in her stomach. lyrics and melodies, lucy gray used them to understand her feelings, make sense of situations, and convey what words without a tune didn't quite match in power as a song. her guitar had a way of cutting right through to her heart. how could she say that the song was for miss marigold, when she was so convinced it was for her brother?
            better to be safe than untangle her affections for the snow boy and snow girl. nonetheless, lucy gray quickly recovers her showgirl smile and reaches out, giving arabella's shoulder a friendly squeeze. ]    thank you, arabella. music is what keeps us alive, most of all.
            
            /  oh i'm sick,, 

──    ➴  @-ofsongbirds ,
            
            do  i  have  any  taste  at  all?   {  the  question  is  delivered  with  a  grin  that  almost  mocks  the  idea  of  disliking  such  a  gift,  soft  blue  eyes  contradictory  to  ones  frozen  over  as  she  seems  to  melt  for  the  other.   even  if  it  isn't  for  her,   arabella  can  make  believe  for  now.   she  wouls  only  be  so  lucky,  she  knows,  to  be  considered  pure  as  the  driven  snow.  }   c'mon  lucy  gray,  i  love  everything  you  write.  your  music  is  more  alive  than  anything  the  capitol  ever  makes.  ( .. )   my  brother  is  lucky  to  have  you.
            
            */   to  be  pining  sapphics  with  'pure  as  the  driven  snow'  between  them ,,

──    ➴  @-ofsongbirds ,
            
            {  if  the  capital  taught  her  anything  of  value,  it  was  to  never  show  fear.  
            they  liked  it,   she's  learned  over  the  years.   people  who  had  to  indulge  in  the  worst  parts  of  themselves  to  survive  once  upon  a  time  now  enjoy  pushing  others  to  the  same  brink  consistently,  *yearly,*   seeming  to  believe  that  their  sins  committed  in  desperation  can  be  atoned  to  others  going  even  further  to  survive.   they  revel  in  the  fear  when  it  isn't  theirs,  and  arabella  knows  better  than  to  allow  them  that  peace  of  mind.  it's  more  than  the  face  coriolanus  prefers  for  them  to  wear;  it's  never  giving  those  bastards  what  they  want.
            even  if  she's  scared  now.   even  if  every  wicked  arena  death  plays  in  the  forefront  of  her  mind,  the  brutality  that  comes  in  the  form  of  entertainment  to  people  who  can't  remember  the  dark  days  any  better  than  she  can.   they  suffered  once.   the  districts  have  suffered  forever,   and  now  lucy  gray  is  the  next  offering  for  mercy.  it  makes  her  sick.  }    i  know,   {  the  words,  empty  as  they  are  in  comfort,  seem  to  ache  in  the  understanding  arabella  has  become  familiar  with  time  and  time  again  since  the  games  began.  now,  though,   it  is  so.  much.   worse.  }    i  know,  but  they...  no  one  deserves  that.   no  one  deserves  your  fear,  alright?   look  at  me,   {  the  request,  firm  as  it  may  be,   is  gentle  in  the  way  arabella  finds  herself  leaning  into  it.   her  hand,  rough  with  callouses  and  absent  of  the  lotion  coryo  so  diligently  wipes  his  down  with,   grazes  lucy  gray's  chin  before  she  pulls  back.  }    you're  a  covey.   your  family  has  gotten  through  everything  most  of  us  can't  think  of,  and  that's  not  gonna  change.  ( .. )   you're  not  gonna  die.   not  now.   

──    ➴  @-ofsongbirds ,
            
            try  telling  him  that.   he  thinks  whatever  i  do  reflects  our  entire  family,  like  i  would  be  telling  people  something  they  don't  already  know.   {  that  snow  doesn't  always  land  on  top.   that  sometimes  ravines  get  packed  with  flurries  and  the  purity  of  every  perfect  snowflake  is  changed  to  sludge  before  anyone  can  breathe,  that  sometimes  you  can  find  patches  of  snow  between  the  muck  but  it  all  turns  to  mud  anyway.   that  snow  is  the  image  you  choose  to  associate  with  it,  not  what  it  ever  truly  is.   not  what  *she*  truly  is.
            and  what  is  that,  exactly?
            her  body  reacts  to  lucy  gray's  touch  before  her  mind  has  a  chance  to  play  catch  up,   head  tilting  ever  so  slightly  into  that  welcoming  palm.   how  long  has  her  cage  been  gilded,  and  how  long  has  the  key  been  gone?  }   i  don't  think  any  of  this  is  me.  the  hair,   those  clothes,   that...  that  *life.*   none  of  that  has  ever  been  me.   ( .. )   but  they  liked  it  just  fine.  {  it's  a  bitterly  pained  thing,  the  way  her  expression  flickers  from  blank  to  wounded  in  the  space  of  seconds.   she  has  never,  ever  been  who  she  is.   not  without  a  voice  in  her  ear  telling  her  loud  and  clear:  'at  all  costs,  keep  your  good  name'.   it's  hers  alone  to  disgrace,  and  yet  it  never...  }    i'm  gonna  let  my  hair  grow  out.  i  look  like  my  mother  with  it  dark,  anyway.
            
            */   unsure  of  how  i  feel  abt  this  reply  but  we  ball !!  

(  @namescursed-  )
            
            he doesn't own you.   [  lucy gray's scoff settles heavy, they both know this is about more than hair. a gentle, cautious hand moves forward to brush a few strands back from arabella's face. her thumb grazes the girl's cheek as her fingers thread through the locks until she reaches the blonde ends. what remains of the capitol’s image. she's determined to ease away each layer the capitol has forced upon arabella snow, and help her see she has agency beyond what they want of her. lucy gray wants that for her. ]    i mean-  it's your hair. you’re the only one who can possibly know what feels like you 'n what doesn't.  (..)   i wanna hear your voice, bells. what you say 'bout your own hair. do you think it was ever you at all?   [  lucy gray allows a breath of silence to pass between them, pulling her hand back to pluck a flower from the ground. she eases it behind arabella's ear, sitting nicely in her hair. ]    all snow melts in time. and out blooms the marigolds.
            
            /  i love her so bad,, arabella snow you are a covey girl

──    ➴  @-ofsongbirds ,
            
            {  and  would  you  look  at  that?   arabella  was  right:  compliments  mean  more  when  the  person  behind  it  is  true.   if's  far  too  common  in  the  capitol,  empty  words  stacked  upon  each  other  like  rungs  to  a  ladder;  women  who  have  become  stiff  with  eight  inch  needles  praise  natural  beauty,  men  will  so  often  focus  on  the  side  of  who  has  joined  her  in  her  stride.    who  climbs,  who  falls  and  who  remains  stagnant  is  built  off  spinning  words,  but  not  with  lucy  gray.
            never  with  lucy  gray.   
            warmth  blossoms  in  the  flattered  curl  of  arabella's  lips  as  rare  sincerity  finds  her  smile,  the  soft  crinkle  around  her  eyes  a  fresh  development  since  her  mockingjay  entered  the  scene.  }    coriolanus  says  otherwise.   he  prefers  the  blonde,  but  i  don't  think  that's..  *me,*  anymore.    ( .. )    bleach  can  be  his  thing,   yeah?   
            
            */   please  forgive  my  portrayal  ml ,,   my  return  has  come  right  as  rust  began  to  set  in  :") 

(  @namescursed-  )
            
            [  the raise of a dark brow communicates how little lucy gray believes the girl's response. her hand doesn't lower, the food still outstretched in a peace offering. it surprises her, to find the signs of hunger on a capitol girl. but, she's far from judgemental. only more curious, and she'd seen the same fatigue in arabella's brother. ]   they say the grass is greener on the other side but, all grass, green as it might be, dies if it's bleached too hard by the sun and deprived of nourishment.   [  her hand flicks forward now, offering a second gesture to prompt arabella to take the food. ]    y'should know somethin' about me - i'm no good at takin' no for an answer, darlin. besides, eatin' what might be my last meal alone isn't somethin' i feel too comforted by.  (..)   just a little, arabella. i can share.
            
            /  they're soulmates your honor!!

──    ➴  @-ofsongbirds , 
            
            i'm  fine.   {  in  some  part  of  her  mind  arabella  can  hear  the  words  come  in  her  brother's  voice,  the  scorn  of  his  dismissal  a  burn  even  in  his  absence.   grandma'am's  cabbage  is  no  miracle  worker;  on  the  best  of  days,  it  satiates  hunger  until  the  next  mealtime  rather  than  disappearing  into  a  bottomless  pit  somewhere  in  arabella's  stomach.   on  the  worst,   on  days  like  today,   she  can  feel  it  settled  in  her  core,   a  weight  that  only  serves  as  to  how  empty  it  otherwise  is.   if  she  is  starving,  lucy  gray  must  be  ravenous.   and  between  the  two  of  them,   she  is  the  one  who  needs  energy.  }    you  go  ahead,  lucy  gray.   i  grabbed  you  the  good  grapes.  
            
            */   she  would  squeeze  between  the  bars  if  she  could ,,