#1stdandelion

[theirmockingjay]

@1stdandelion sent: [ food ] prompts for ordinary things · accepting!

The most prominent thought that plagued her mind was that she was much better at destroying things than creating them. The second was that, while she knew she was a complete and utter disaster at baking, she was nonetheless lethal enough to wipe the smile off Peeta's face as he stared at her handiwork. And gods, she wanted to.

“Before you say anything, it would do you well to remember that this was your idea. Not mine”, she scoffed, frowning at the dough as if it had personally insulted her and her family.

His idea. Bringing ingredients to her house to bake. Something not only edible, but with the looks of something edible, which she came to realize during her youth, wasn’t needed for nutrition on that last part. Katniss could, from a very young age, bake a brick of nutrition she wouldn't dare call bread, even if it was in the title of the recipe. 

But during the process it had been so easy to lose herself into forceful motions. Game did not require delicate fingers, not even patience, and she was neither delicate nor patient. Much better at destroying that creating, much better at hunting and killing with Gale than molding something new with care– and Peeta knew. Her kneading stopped as soon as the thought formed inside her head.

Because it was a weird time to come to the realization that while Gale knew how her mind processed things immediately, Peeta understood what her mind blocked under a thousand locks, and guided her towards that bettering of herself. Gale would have jumped inside fire with her, Peeta would embrace her to show her he can be exactly as warm without consuming her.

Oh no, she thought, words forming with such clarity that she destroyed dough between her fingers. Oh no. I hate clarity. I’m in love with him. I’ve always been. It’s always been him. Always. Always. She did hate the clarity, because neither of them were ready to face that side of their hearts' still. But if she didn’t bolt, if she didn’t disappear, she was sure she was going to the most stupid thing in the world.

Like saying “I love you”.

“I give up,” she said instead. On me. On recovering. On being good enough for you. On deserving your love again.

And bolt she did.

[mcmorare]

@1stdandelion sent: i just have one of those faces.

Brows don’t quite raise, but she looks over at him with an expression that’s just a bit too curious to be deadpan. To be fair, she can see what he means, he wouldn't necessarily stand out in a crowd - or, he wouldn't if it weren’t for the games and the capitol making him instantly recognizable to anyone who’s been awake in recent years. Still, she can clearly see the image that the capitol tried to make out of him, the sweet boy-next-door type. He has the look. 

“I mean, I guess.”  She shrugs.  “Kinda hard to say now, though, with you being famous and all. Gives everyone a bias one way or another.”

[mcmorare]

This time she gives a short hum - even unsaid, she thinks she knows what he means. The arena alone changes a person. But she’s seen the look in Johanna’s eyes since coming back from the capitol, she knows well enough to tell when her former mentor has been shaken. Part of her wonders if a person can ever fully recover from that. Unfortunately, those aren’t the sorts of things she’s ever been very good at talking about. “You getting sick of it here yet?”

i give a similar nod. ' to some more than others. ' not that others from the districts don’t share the same feelings: the sudden grip of fear at the possibility of being thrown into a horror they’re used to witnessing from a just a fingertips distance. but there’s some understanding, more at least, victor to victor, of possibility to reality. the fingertip is a world of difference. painting terror firsthand is simpler, replicating rather than creating. i steady myself with my hand on the back of a chair.

[watergave]

@1stdandelion

even less than a shell of her former self, she realizes when looking at this boy that her daughter is only a few years older than him. ( the capitol didn't get her, too, right? ) it's the first coherent thought she's had in. . . years. lucy coral has been stripped of her name, her child and her own mind. they only brought in this madwoman to come talk to the boy ( she doesn't know what he's here; she doesn't dare ask ) as some sort of torture. lucy is to discover what would hurt him the most. hopefully, the worst that could happen is being in a room with a lunatic. ❝ you are. . . ❞ voice is husky from years of screaming more than talking. she points at him. ❝ your hair is yellow, like mine. ❞ she lifts some of her limp locks for him to see. ❝ you are from four, too? ❞ she's already off-task, but what had they expected when they decided to use her as a spy?

[mildculthit]

mildculthit, multimuse by ciara (25/she/her/uk). characters all written on other blogs too, just rounding them up here for a bit for sanity and because i miss writing them. hiiii!!! rules found on this carrd. pinterest.

lit

the narrator (sometimes jack), fight club, age: thirty-three, he/him

peeta mellark, the hunger games, also found at @1stdandelion, age (verse dependent), he/him

eddie kasprzak, it, also found @kasprzaks, age: verse dependent, he/him

greg gaines, me and earl and the dying girl, fc: thomas mann, age: seventeen, he/him

merricat blackwood, we have always lived in the castle, fc: allison harvard, age, sixteen, she/her

video

jesse d'amato, in treatment, fc: dane dehaan, age: seventeen, he/him

merlin, bbc merlin, fc: colin morgan, age: verse dependent, he/him

norman babcock, paranorman (canon divergent info found here), fc: corey fogelmanis, age: fifteen, he/him

villanelle, killing eve, fc: jodie comer, age: twenty-seven, she/her

nathan young, misfits, fc: robert sheehan, age: twenty, he/him

momiji sohma, fruits basket, age: fifteen, he/him

brittany s pierce, glee (except she's my oc), age: sevteen, she/her

fleabag, fleabag, fc: phoebe waller-bridge, age: thirty-three

original

naoise henry, biography, fc: troye sivan, age: twenty-four, he/him

jeanie b simpson, biography, fc: tbd, age: seventeen, he/him

francine, biography, fc: elle fanning, age: seventeen, she/her

danny ryder, biography, fc: timothee chalamet, age: twenty-four (verse dependent), usually found at @outself

bolded are the muses i'm feeling most

[was70th]

" it wasn't quite like anything we'd have back home, but it was still wonderful. " in four the wedding net she and finnick had woven would now hang above their bed, its ropes knotted and strong for the years and generations to come - annie isn’t sure what happened to the grassy one they used here. she suspects it’s now sitting in the compost pile, a fact which stirs a touch of unease in the pit of her stomach. how much luck could that bring?

she doesn’t want to dwell on that particular thought too long, knowing how easily it could spiral and take root. not after everything she and finnick had been though to get to this point, not when there’s still so much further to go. one day they’ll weave a new net and hang it in their home by the sea, where they belong. annie smiles, moreso to herself than anything, lost instead in the giddy, dangerously hopeful visions of what might be. it’s a moment before she speaks again. “ the cake really was beautiful, so many colours i didn’t expect to see down here. ”

* . @70th: ' was it you? did you do all this? '

i nod. the cake that kept me sane, or so haymitch tells me, the past few days (weeks? i wouldn't know). the waves and sand and array of fish in all the colours i could mix from the scarcely appointed root vegetables from 13. i want to know if i captured them; the fish: their colour, the way they leap out of the sea and back again before they can be committed to memory in the light, but i won't ask. i can't tell if they're from memory or a dream.

the tribute from 4, i remember, i think i remember, bet was her name, in the first arena told me about home when we had a watch together one night. she lived on a boat just off the shore her whole life, i didn't know what she meant by shore. annie, i'm sure, would have known her. ' yeah. ' though i'm not sure i really know anything that annie knows. ' i'm sorry i couldn't be there for the, uh, the ceremony. prim told me everyone had a great time. '

[mcmorare]

There's a shrug, not necessarily disinterested but with a similar easiness. "No worries. It happens."

* . @mcmorare ' i was getting a little shaky there. '