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vinomino · 2 months

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Pōmum grānātum

Pomegranates: They do not ripen after they’re picked but bruise easily when ripe.

Featuring: Suo.H x f!reader, Sakura.H x f!reader

Contents: sfw, unrequited love, angst, hurt no comfort

Nothing is promised, nothing is guaranteed. If he could go back in time he would beat it into himself. Tear the skin off his knuckles, burst his throat out at the young fool.

It felt only yesterday you two were students, wasting the afternoons away together. A hand against your lips as the sweet sounds of your laughter spill out, chuckling at another one of Suo’s compliments.

“Really? Thank you.” You reply to his comment. Why, I actually like you a lot.

Smiling against his teacup, he had all the time in the world to make you believe it. Patience has always been his virtue. If only he didn’t beat around the bush like an idiot.

The same smile as he has now as you kiss Sakura under the altar. Old peers and new friends line the seats in the audience, cheering for the joyous occasion. No one can tell how his lone eye is portraying his true feelings. The feeling of you slipping out of his grasp, the anguish– the horror that you are gone. His friend lifts the sheer white veil over your head as you smile brightly at someone other than him.

His hands tightly clasped in his lap, knuckles turning white. His earrings swaying as he drops his chin to avoid the scene. How could it be?

“Uncle Suo– Uncle Suo, what does this one mean?”

“Ah…” Pink camellia flowers. “It means longing...”

Suo’s voice falters.

Tiny fingers turn the page. An innocent child, unaware of the longing he has for their mother. Noticing the bow in her hair unraveling, “Wait a minute.” Gently, he ties it again. He’s sure right now, it's a picture of a father doting on his daughter—a sliver of a taste of what he could have.

Oh, the eternal unbearable torment you’ve put him in.

The day he saw you embracing the two colored boy under the rain, the coldness penetrating his bones– the drizzle blurring his view. His red hair damp and sticking to his paled skin. A profound agony was all he felt, watching you fall deeper and deeper and deeper in love with a man that wasn’t him. It’s been years since then, but he’s still there. Stuck there in the fog– there in his grief.

Would you call him Hayato as warmly as you say Haruka? Would you hold him the same? I want to be him. I want to be the one you belong to.

He wants to kiss you senselessly every morning, every night and whenever he can in between. He wants to hear your voice in the dead of night. He wants to be there beside you in your darkest days. He wants to eat and drink everything you place in front of him, good or bad, because it was made by your precious hands. He wants to feel your hot skin against him as he makes love to you. He wants to hear you call out for him. He wants to burn in the feeling of your passionate fire. He wants to love you to the point of no return–

The blood he has in his veins, the heart that beats against his ribcage, and the brain that controls his body all belong to you.

He belongs to this damned love.

If you asked him to, he’d kneel at your feet and kiss the soles. He’d dedicate his life to you, become your dog. You are his heaven.

“Papa!” Your daughter hops off the couch and runs as fast as her little legs could carry towards her father. Towards Sakura, perhaps he should say Haruka since you are now also a Sakura.

“Suo, thanks for looking after her.” Sakura picks her up, seating her on his arm.

The daughter who is the spitting image of you. The daughter he could’ve had with you if the gods weren’t so cruel.

“It’s no problem, I enjoyed our time together.” His tone hid the bitterness beneath it.

“Huh…you got flowers again? Thanks, she really enjoys them.” Sakura glances over at the vase on the coffee table.

A vase containing a bouquet of primroses. Young love, eternal love. The joy of youth.

I loved you then and I will always love you forever.

“Oh, Suo!” You enter the room and color erupts, the sunlight gleams brighter, and the flowers rise to greet you. You steal his breath even now and make him feel like he’s in his teenage years all over again. “Have you been good?” You kiss your child’s chubby cheeks, rubbing your nose against her, as she shrieks out giggles in Sakura’s arms— your husband’s arms. The beautiful view of a family laughing at his misery.

You score lines along him, splitting him open with your hands, popping out his insides with your thumbs, and the dark tart liquid seeping from beneath your feet as you crush him apart.

#mino.drabbles #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #suo hayato #suo x reader #Sakura Haruka #look latin for four years and still don’t know a thing #mino.writes

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januaryembrs · 6 months

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SUCH A PRETTY HOUSE | Joel Miller x Reader

request: Can you do Joel miller x reader no surprises by radio head angst fic

description: Joel remembers that one summer he knew her, and the ten year scar it left him.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: Pregnant!Reader, major character death (canon to TLOU and also reader dies, not explicit,), guns, death, violence. Joel feels unworthy, mentions of Sarah.

authors notes: em tries not to write something heart wrenching challenge, go.

There weren’t many things that meant something to Joel anymore. The day cordyceps took over the world, it took almost everything in him with it. Whatever was left made room for anger and resentment to curl inside him, make its home in his bones, make him lash out at everyone who wasn’t Tess.

But he felt himself make an exception the day he met her.

He’d been entirely sceptical when Tess told him she’d been able to find someone on a radio channel who could help them with supplies. It would mean sneaking out of QZ, a dumb move even on a good day, and trusting a stranger that was all but promising them candy if they climbed into his van. He wasn’t a stupid man, not by any means. But Tess had this way of bending his resolve, pushing him further and further if it meant they could come out better in the end.

When they’d arrived to Frank and Bill’s for the first time, they were gobsmacked to see an entire street of houses cordoned off with barbed wire and explosives, as if it had never been touched by cordyceps, as if they’d catapulted into a time before people were eaten alive and before the world ended. A quaint little town with dusty cars and clean streets and houses and empty shops and gardens full of wildflowers and strawberries.

Joel felt like he might be sick, but perhaps that was something between jealousy and caution just playing on his tongue.

A spritely man a little older than him bounded down the stairs to the first house on the left, piercing blue eyes looking over them with the same excitement of a puppy being told to play fetch. There was no way a man so jolly could have done all of this himself.

“Tess?” He called, and Joel remembered the way Tess smiled sweetly, because she was just as stunned as he was that they were in some sort of utopia, a little fence and a gate the only thing between them and how things used to be.

“It’s Frank, right?” She guessed, and it was then that Joel heard the caution, “Didn’t you say there was two of you?”

“Yes, Bill, my-” He stopped himself short, as if he didn’t quite know what to call him. He breezed over the hesitation quickly, buzzing in on the remote the combination, looking then to Joel, “You must be Joel,”

Joel gave him a nod, his fingers tightening on the shotgun in his hand. It wasn’t even a split second after the gate started to slide open that another man emerged from the house, his face thunderous as he barrelled down the stairs and towards where they stood.

“Frank, didn’t I tell you to wait,” He snapped, his brows strained into a frown, a gun of his own in his palms, “We need to make sure she’s ready, they could be infected-”

“She?” Joel cut in it a biting tone of his own, “Who’s she? You said there was two-”

“Bill,” Frank warned, as the shorter man produced a scanner out of his pocket and ran it over both of their necks. Joel knew this Bill could feel the heat of his glare on the side of his head, though as soon as the screen lit up green for both of them, he saw him take a sigh of relief. “We’re never going to make any more friends if you keep shoving them away,”

Joel couldn’t really blame him for worrying.

It wasn’t until they saw the door opposite theirs swing open that he understood even more why Bill was so unwelcoming.

He should have seen it before, the sweet hanging baskets full of lupines and primrose, the luscious lawn trimmed and primped, lined with tended bluebonnets and sunflowers beaming at the woman that emerged from the fresh white house with a bright grin, like she was their sun and they smiled back at her in awe.

She wore a white sundress, long enough to touch her knees, and it flowed with the warm breeze as they stepped past the threshold to the town, her feet bare save for some little brown sandals that seemed in better condition than he’d expect. Her face glowed with excitement, gaze switching between him and Tess, and her figure was full and soft at the same time.

It wasn’t until she got closer he could see where her stomach pulled against the fabric obtusely and it was like a sadness washed over the two of them as she finally got close enough to talk.

She was pregnant.

“You must be Tessa! Frank told me all about you,” She said, pulling the woman in for a warm hug Tess didn’t seem to have much of a choice in.

“It’s Tess,” His companion corrected, though she gave her a light squeeze back, and her face softened out as if she didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, nor the new name.

Bill froze up at the sight of her tugging Joel closer the minute she'd released Tess, ignoring every boundary his standoffish expression could possibly set, and it was like he understood why the flowers twinkled up at her. She was warm, incredibly so to the point even when he didn’t return the gesture, he felt himself conscious of how rough his skin was and how hard the gun must have been pressing against her chest where it squished in between them and how he hoped to god it wasn’t hurting her or the baby.

He felt cruel the minute she pulled away, crueller than he usually felt, but his frown never wavered, not even when she simpered at him, despite Bill saying her name in a worried tone.

“Just ignore him, he would bubble wrap me if he could,” She whispered to Joel, and her laugh was a tinkling bell in the wind. She grabbed Tess’s hand in a quick and gentle motion, walking her up the pathway back to her house, and Joel could have sworn he heard the promise of ice tea leave her lips.

“I’m so pleased to have another woman around,” She said to Tess, who looked as if she was fighting back a feathery happiness of her own around the woman who seemed too good to be true in a world so harsh as this one.

Joel knew he would have his work cut out for him trying not to get attached.

Ellie knew she was on thin ice already. For a girl of only fourteen, she was incredibly perceptive of people’s feelings, especially the grumpy, grey haired bastard that had just lost perhaps the only woman who meant anything to him. She had to admit Tess’s death made her feel like she was some sort of unlucky charm, like anyone who so much as got close to her was doomed from the word ‘go’.

She hated herself for it, and she assumed from Joel’s silence and the way he’d stormed out of Bill and Frank’s house as soon as she’d read that letter that he hated her too.

That was until she saw him walking across the street to the house with dead flower beds and smashed windows and no sign of life that she thought perhaps she wasn’t entirely the problem.

She found him in the bedroom, laying on the double mattress with his eyes closed, though she knew he wasn’t sleeping. The walls were a pretty sort of posy pink, the sheets an intricate pattern of doves and white lilies, and a little painting on the nightstand of two women smiling at one another, one so clearly being Tess while the other remained an enigma.

It wasn’t until she spotted the cradle next to the bed that her heart sank into her stomach.

“Bill and Frank weren’t the first ones to die, were they?” Ellie asked softly, and he shook his head wordlessly, “Was it yours? The…” The baby.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She wouldn’t put it past him to yell at her for prying.

He lay there like a wounded animal, and he shocked her when he actually spoke.

“It wasn’t mine,” His voice was gravelly, hardened, yet worn out all the same, “But we were going to-” He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath, “We were going to raise it together, the two of us. Tess was supposed to be godmother,”

He remembered the way she used to call her Tessa, and how Tess didn’t seem to mind it so much once she saw how truly sickly sweet she was to her core, and how she said it so full of love, the way you could only love your best friend. He remembered how he kissed her, a few months after that first time he’d seen her, how he’d kissed her and pulled her close and how they’d slept in that room together, and how he’d promised her everything was going to be okay because he was going to protect her and that baby.

Joel remembered thinking that was his second chance. How he knew it wouldn’t bring Sarah back, nothing could ever, but maybe his sweet girl and that baby would be his chance to prove that he could save someone, that he could do some good.

“What happened? Where’s the baby?” Ellie asked too intrusively, hoping he didn’t shut her out entirely after this, but she had to know. She had to know who the pretty woman in the picture was, and why Tess, even the little splotch of paint she was now, looked at her so besotted that Ellie had to have answers now. She had to know why they had never spoken about her and why Joel seemed to be giving up on her now. Like Tess had pushed him over the edge of a sadness years in the making.

She didn’t think he would reply, but then; “One night, raiders came while me and Tess were getting her supplies from the city. Few weeks before she was due.” She heard his voice deepen into something dark and angry, “She didn’t stand a chance.”

And Ellie never brought her up again after that day, only once to ask her name, and neither did Joel. He left his sweet girl and whatever he could have been in that pretty house, put her in a box in his chest right next to Sarah, until it didn’t hurt so much to think about her.

#Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x pregnant reader #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader

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friendship-ditch · 10 months

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You came back

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: After everything in the Capitol had begun to settle and your memories are stable, you return to the Victors Village for Katniss.

Warnings: Katniss is suicidal and very depressed, but the rest is just hurt/comfort/fluff—Also, not a warning, but you’re basically Peeta in this situation. (SFW)

Word Count: 3450

Carving holes into the dirt was tougher than you had expected it to be. The world was warming up around you, and flowers, just as the Primroses in your hand, were blooming in the woods, but the Victors village was stuck in a gloomy time warp. Just stepping through the archway onto the dry grass was like stepping into another realm.

Everything was the same as it was when you last saw it. Gloomy and empty, the truest resemblance of the life of a victor.

You planted the Primroses outside of the house, bringing a little bit of life back to the wasteland. You watered them once they were in the ground and then you went up onto the porch. It was a miracle the village wasn’t obliterated by the bombs, but it felt even heavier than the rest of District 12. Life had continued on outside these concrete walls, nature reclaimed the ruins with haste, but inside it was as if nothing had changed.

The door was cold as your knuckles rasped its surface. You held your breath.

Nothing.

After another failed attempt at knocking, you felt worry snake through your heart. The only thing you could think about was the worst outcome of them all.

She’s gone.

No, no, that couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. You rammed your shoulder into the door and popped open the old lock.

The inside of the house was just as depressing as the outside was. The lights were off and a layer of dust coated practically everything. The air was heavy and musty, smelling mostly old and just… bad, but the smell of death was lacking.. That was good at least.

You could barely make out some footprints on the floor that headed to the living room. Following the only sign of life, you took a deep breath and entered the living room. The curtains were drawn over the windows. You stumbled into the room, hand running along the wall and looking for the switch. When you finally found it, you took in a breath and then turned on the light.

There was a lump on the couch that shifted slightly as the lights flickered on.

You let out the breath in a sigh of relief. She was alive. Right? You did a double take.

Her hair was an utter mess of grease and tangles. Her skin was nearly white, the only flush of color tinting her nose and darkening under her hollow eyes. Her body was thin and frail beneath her loose clothes.

The only reason you figured she was alive was that her chest was frantically rising and falling, her breath shaky and hoarse. She said nothing, empty eyes locked on you.

“Katniss.” You breathed softly.

The living corpse still didn’t speak. You could just barely see the thoughts whirling in her mind beneath the haze in her eyes, but her raw lips didn’t move. Her body was present and hanging on by a thread. Her mind was gone.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.

You couldn’t figure out what to say. Words didn’t seem right for this, for the broken and numb soul in front of you.

Quietly you held your hands up, showing Katniss that you were empty handed, except for the small pack on your back that you set down on the floor with a thump. You cautiously approached her, taking notice of the orange cat curled by her feet that was staring back at you.

Hoping for some flicker of recognition, you waited at the edge of the couch.

After she studied you for a moment the fear faded from her eyes. She didn’t say anything and just lowered her head, looking at her lap blankly. She didn’t have it in her to be scared of you.

“I would’ve come back sooner.” You said softly, taking a seat on the edge of the cushion. “They wanted me to stay for a while longer to fix my memories… but I’m okay now. I remember it all.” You murmured.

Katniss didn’t respond, didn’t give any sign that she heard you at all.

The worry filled your chest once again, your heart sinking ever so slightly. For a split second you were worried that she was bitter at you for everything you’d done while hijacked, but you knew better than that.

You hadn’t seen Katniss since she killed Coin and had been sent back. You begged Haymitch and Plutarch to let you go home with her but they refused, encouraging you to make sure everything was okay with yourself first before trying to fix another destroyed girl. When the chance came you hopped on the train with nothing but one goal: Get back to Katniss.

But this wasn’t the Katniss you once knew. Yes, the games had changed both of you, had ripped out your brain and your heart and tarnished them with regret and pain, but returned the vital organs when finished. While you were tortured in the Capitol, Katniss tortured herself. Your reunion was cut short by Snow, and then Katniss lost the last flower that was keeping her alive, lost her brain, and her heart.

Prim was gone. And so was Katniss.

“I’m back now.” You said softly although you knew it was no use. “And I’m not going to leave, alright? I’m going to take care of you…”

She remained mute. She wasn’t even a human anymore. She’d lost all senses and control of herself. She was just a body waiting to die.

You couldn’t stop the sad sigh from escaping your lips, but you weren’t upset with her. You were more focused on your new task ahead: Get Katniss back.

After soothing her back to sleep, or at least getting her laying down in her catatonic state, you started a fire in the fireplace. You took a quick walk of the house. It was the same as yours had been so you knew the layout well, you just wanted to survey the damage.

Most rooms were just dirty, some of them a little wrecked from natural causes. The worst thing you saw was the bathroom that had a mold filled tub and a severely leaky sink, but you could fix that. The fridge was full with moldy food that you threw out. Katniss probably hadn’t eaten in days, much less showered.

Luckily you’d thought ahead and picked some herbs when you were in the woods. Sure, there wasn’t much food left but you could make her some soup. It would be enough to get both of you through a few days.

You simmered a pot of warm soup on the stove and cleaned most of the kitchen up. There was some old crackers stored away that you found too.

“Katniss! I made you some food.” You called softly but received no response as expected. So you poured a bowl and carried it out to the living room.

Katniss didn’t put up a fight as you sat her up, but when you offered her the bowl she turned her head like a petulant child. You tried again. She simply just stared at the soup as if she didn’t know what to do.

“You need to eat, honey.” You sighed again, taking the bowl back. Katniss was always stubborn and you didn’t often force her through things, but this was a literal life or death situation.

Carefully you scooped some of the soup up into the spoon and held it to her lips.

Katniss didn’t look at you or the soup, dead eyes staring ahead blankly. She slowly opened her mouth by instinct, letting you feed her. No reaction came across her face but she didn’t seem upset.

You fed her about half of the bowl, wiping the remaining droplets off her face. You figured she couldn’t handle solid foods yet so the crackers were an abandoned idea, but you were glad she was finally eating something.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up some of the house. You tidied up the living room and the kitchen until the sun set, then went back over to the couch, pretty tired.

“I’m going to head back home.” You murmured softly, watching Katniss avoid your gaze. She wasn’t mentally there.. but you could hear you, and that was enough. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

Katniss showed no reaction.

You kissed the side of her head and tucked her in. She just closed her eyes, lost in the fog of a catatonic depression.

Katniss may have given up, but you hadn’t. She wanted to die, but you weren’t going to let her. You would come back tomorrow, and every single day from there on. Katniss was the only person left in your life that you cared about and you weren’t about to let her slip away just as everyone else had.

The next few days weren’t exactly fun, but you and Katniss both made it through.

You started by coming and coaxing her to eat breakfast, then you continued to clean the house up while she rested. The more you checked on her, the more she began to trust you again. It wasn’t that she had forgotten you, but she’d forgotten how to be a human. You were the last glimpse of familiarity in her life and she clung to you like a raft. You still weren’t exactly sure what terms you stood on, you’d been girlfriends back in the Games but you weren’t sure if that was truly an act or not, but that was the last thing that mattered.

As Katniss fell into routine, you began to give her the tiniest tasks, just to get her up and moving. Her body was weak and frail, and she couldn’t stand for long at first after weeks of malnourishment but she was improving slowly. You managed to get her to help you clean the dishes and dust the floors, giving her something to do and look forward to.

It took a while but soon enough the small jobs had given her some sense of humanity again. She didn’t speak, whether it was a choice or she simply couldn’t, but she was connecting with you more. And she was eating better and moving around too. You’d finally convinced her to sleep in her bed rather than on the couch.

Your next goal was to get her to shower. It was pretty evident that she hasn’t cleaned herself once since her return home.

“Hey, Katniss.” You handed her a wet plate, running the other one beneath the sink. “I fixed the tub and shower in the bathroom. Do you think you’d be up for taking a shower?”

Your question confused her and she looked up at you. The blank expression in her gaze had slowly but surely been replaced by comprehension and she was beginning to interact more with you. The only problem with that was that she also had remembered she could say no.

Katniss shook her head and returned to drying her plate.

“Come on, Katniss… You need to clean up. You’ll feel better.” You urged her gently, withholding the last plate from her.

Katniss stared at you, almost offended that you’d force her to do this. She knew you were right but the thought of a shower made her shudder. She couldn’t do that… the thought of washing out her hair and cleaning her body after so long of marinating in dirt made her want to cry. And the idea of feeling better was scary.

Katniss just turned away from you. You shook your head.

As you were doing your last rounds that night, making sure the fireplaces weren’t blocked by anything, you saw Katniss standing quietly at the bottom of the stairs, watching you with teary eyes. You wondered if she had a nightmare and came down to find you, then your eyes found the brush in her hand.

Katniss had tried to brush her hair out but her hair was so greasy and tangly that the brush ended up getting stuck. She stared at you helplessly, her lip quivering. She hated being helpless but her mind hadn’t reformed enough for her to be able to handle this yourself.

“Oh, honey.” You went over to her. She said nothing, just stared at the ground, embarrassed and upset.

It took you a few minutes to free the brush. You were going to tuck her back into bed but you had become pretty good at reading her expressions and knew you couldn’t just leave her like this. Katniss had reluctantly accepted her inevitable fate.

You spent the next hour brushing out her hair. It was awful and tears were shed by both of you, but the result was worth it.

The shower was a little finickier than you thought it would be but soon the water was warm and running. You weren’t sure how this was going to work exactly.

Katniss stared at the water silently but her eyes reflected fear. She refused to move, refused to do anything.

“How about… how about you can sit down and I’ll clean your hair?” You offered, pulling an old chair into the bathroom.

It wasn’t ideal but it worked.

Katniss sat, still clothed, on the chair beneath the water. You stood behind her in your clothes too, shampooing her hair for the third and final time. She was as quiet as usual but she seemed to enjoy the feeling of your fingers on her scalp.

After shampooing her hair, you added one round of conditioner. Then you got ready to leave so she could wash herself off. You were about to step out of the shower when she grabbed your arm.

Washing Katniss wasn’t an easy process either. You stood behind her for the most part, gently scrubbing her off with a cloth and some soap.

She hated being exposed and vulnerable but she let you clean her because she knew nobody else would. You were the only one she trusted to see her true form; her thin and weak body, and the scars that painted it.

When it was all over, you wrapped her up in a towel, got her changed, and put her to bed.

Things changed from that night. They weren’t perfect or good, but they were certainly better than before. You and Katniss had grown closer overtime and on bad days, spend most of the daylight just cuddling on the couch. Katniss also had found a way to communicate with you that didn’t require her voice.

She’d found an old notebook and pen and was scribbling in it when you found her. You were late that morning because of the storm outside, and she was clearly upset.

When you finally got inside she handed you a note.

The writing was mostly incomprehensible, a lot of loose scribbles and misplaced words but you could make out what she was trying to say.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Your expression softened and you sighed. “I’m sorry.” You said softly. “I would never not come, I promise. I just got held up..”

You were scared Katniss’s fragile trust in you would break, but she seemed to understand. Her greeting hug lasted longer that day.

You had also begun to stay the night at her house. Sure, you lived about 25 yards away but sometimes the guest bedroom just looked so inviting… and sometimes she couldn’t make it through the night alone with her nightmares. You stayed with her through the night, cuddled around her, and she finally started to get the sleep she hadn’t had in years.

There were a lot of days where you couldn’t get her out of bed, but you understood and you laid with her. You held her while she cried, your own eyes sometimes filled with tears. You let her breakdown with grief in your arms, and you comforted her when she was aware enough to listen to you. You were nothing but patient and kind with her, something she’d never experienced before.

As Katniss began to heal, so did the world around her. The Victors village finally felt the warmth of spring. You started to bring Katniss out of the house with you.

“It’s just over here.” You murmured, your hand clasped around hers. You carefully took her down the slightly worn path of grass and stones, being careful of the wildflowers dotting the ground.

The ruins of District 12 were painful to look at, but in that pain was beauty too. The nearest town center was no longer a dark, gloomy heap, but had instead been recovered by nature itself, flowers sprouting and animals returning.

Katniss said nothing still, looking around in silent awe. Her eyes were teary but there was no sadness in them.

“Up here. You’re doing good.” You say, bringing her to one of the taller ruins of an old building. Together, you climbed up the side of it to a small platform that gave the most beautiful view.

A few tears dribbled down Katniss’s face, but they were tears of relief. She didn’t flinch when you gently tilted her head towards a nearby field of flowers; of Primroses.

Her expression softened and for the first time you saw something new on her face: love. She looked at you through a teary gaze and you nearly fell off the ruin.

The edges of her cracked lips were drawn into a smile. It was small and weak, but it was a smile.

“Do you like it?” I couldn’t help but smile back at her.

Katniss nodded. She slowly opened her mouth and let out a few hoarse croaks, then she finally managed to speak.

“Pretty.”

You almost burst into tears. It had been so long since you heard her voice, and you were so proud of her, but the last thing you wanted was to make her uncomfortable. You let your smile grow and patted her back gently.

“Very.”

Not every day was good, but Katniss had begun to speak more after that. Sometimes she’d go days without a word, and sometimes she’d only utter the most heartbreaking sentence like the one night she asked you why you wouldn’t let her die, but she never stopped communicating with you whether it be by words, pen, or even kiss. She was looking healthier and even happier.

At the peak of summer, you took her herb collecting. Katniss brought her bow just in case of any worthy game, but she was more than happy to tag along and help you collect plants. It was an activity that reminded her of Prim, just as you did. Both of you were the peace in her life, her grounding rock, her hope and strength. You were no replacement for the sister she lost, but you were something new, and somebody she could love just as unconditionally.

After your basket was filled to the brim, you two sat down on a rock near a creek. The cold water babbled and the birds sang.

You hummed with them, sitting behind her and braiding flowers into her hair.

Katniss sat quietly. She was smiling and watching the water. When your hands stopped ruffling through her hair, she turned to look at you.

“Did you ever think this would happen?” She asked quietly.

“What would?” You questioned, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

“All of this…” Katniss leaned into you a little, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “That we’d end up here again, together.”

You leaned back into her, your chin nestling on her shoulder as the two of you look out at the water and the woods beyond. “No. But I wouldn’t want anything else.”

“I wouldn’t care what we had… as long as I had you.”

You giggled softly. “Stop trying to one-up me.” You scold her teasingly, planting a kiss on her flushed cheek this time.

Katniss chuckled. Her head shook with amusement and she instinctively found your hand, playing with your fingers.

“Alright, fine. I’m just… I’m really happy you came back. I’m glad I hung on long enough for you to come back…”

“I just wish it was sooner.” You whispered quietly. “I wish I could’ve gotten out of there sooner and then—.”

“Shh..” Katniss hushed you gently with a kiss on your lips. “Just be quiet.”

You smiled and hugged her a little tighter from behind. “I would’ve come back to you no matter what.” You whisper. Your arms tightened a little again around her torso.

Katniss turns to look at you and she smiled softly, leaning her head against your neck.

“You came back, that’s all I care about.”

#katniss everdeen x reader #the hunger games #catching fire #the mockingjay #x reader #katniss everdeen x fem!reader #katniss everdeen x you #Katniss Everdeen

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juniper-divination-and-witchery · 5 months

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Protecting home and fortune: Irish folk customs for Bealtaine

Bealtaine, also known as May Day, marked a pivotal point in the Irish calendar. It signified the arrival of summer, a time of light, warmth, and the promise of a bountiful season ahead. However, Bealtaine also held a sense of unease. This was a time when the boundary between our world and the Otherworld thinned, inviting the potential for both blessings and misfortune from the unpredictable Good Neighbors. To navigate this delicate balance, people turned to time-honored traditions and a heightened awareness of the risks of everyday life.

Appeasing the Good Neighbors

On Bealtaine, it was widely believed that the Good Neighbors became particularly active. To ensure their goodwill and prevent them from causing mischief, people would leave out food and drink as offerings. The belief was that the the Good Neighbors were attracted to these offerings and would be less likely to cause trouble if they were satisfied.

You all know May is the month of the fairies. Great people or men that lived long ago rises from their graves on every night in the month of May to fight the old battles that they fought long ago these men are called fairies. The bad fairies do great harm and trouble in the month of May they kill cattle take away milk and butter from the cows and alot of other mischief. Source

"The fairies come around our houses too to do mischief as well as they come to the cattle; you should sweep the hearth very clean and leave food aside for them. If you don't the fairies will come when you are asleep and will torment you by tricking you or pinching you." Source

Primrose

Primrose was believed to ward off the Good Neighbors, and scattering them in the doorways and window sills of the home created a barrier no troublesome spirit could cross.

"During the first three days [of May] fairies entered the house. They came disguised as old men or women in order to steal coals and in order to prevent them primroses were scattered on the doorway no fairy could pass this flower." Source

"The best preventive of fairy power was to scatter primroses on the threshold, for no one could pass the flowers and and the house and house-hold were left in peace." Source

"Guard the house by a string of primroses across the door on the first three days of May. The fairies can pass neither over nor under the string." Source

Rowan

This tree was seen as potent protection against otherworldly forces. A branch hung above a cow's stable door could ward off those who might steal the milk, ensuring the cow's blessing for the year. Branches decorated with spring flowers were also placed around the house for a bit of extra good luck.

On May Day before sunrise the eldest member of the family gets up, he goes out, pulls a branch of the rowan tree and hangs it over the cow's stable door. This is done to prevent the fairies from taking any of the milk from the cows. Source

Another custom is to get a branch of Rowan tree and decorate it with may flowers and primroses and leave it in the middin standing. Then strew may-flowers into each outhouse door and on the doorstep and in the windowsills. This is to welcome the good fairies so that there will be good luck round the year. Source

If you put a rowan tree up the Chimney nothing can bring the butter out of the house. Source

The May bush: blessing and protection

The May bush was a common custom in Ireland, particularly in Leinster, South and West Ulster, and some areas of Munster and Connaught. The May bush often featured hawthorn branches brought home and decorated with flowers, ribbons, and colorful eggshells saved from Easter.

The May bush was believed to protect the home from evil spirits, particularly fairies and witches. It was also thought to bring good luck and prosperity, especially in relation to milk and butter production.

It is a great custom also to make a May bush on May day. This consists of a bush, which is put standing in the dungpit. The bush is decorated with flowers and eggshells. The eggshells are kept after Easter Sunday. Source

On May morning a Maybush was placed outside each house. It usually was a yellow furze bush with a number of eggshells stuck on the thorns. Source

The people around this place make May-bushes on the first of May. They pull a bush and gather flowers and tie them on to the bush with strings and stick it on the ground and after that they say their prayers around it to honour our Blessed Mother and they make a little Altar and put flowers every day on it during May. The people long ago used to make May-bushes and they also used to make a little Altar. Source

The evening before the first of May the people go out and get a piece of a certain tree which they call May Pole. They put this bush outside the door and they put all the egg shells they had on Easter Sunday on it. They also put a lot of flowers out side too. If the people do not put up the May Pole the fairies will come. They also tie May Pole to the cow's tail and if they do not, the fairies come and take the milk from the cow. Source

Guarding your luck

Bealtaine is a time that came with a heightened fear that any careless act could invite bad luck for the whole year. During Bealtaine, even seemingly simple acts held risk.

Giving away even staples like milk, butter, or coins risked also surrendering your good fortune. Lending a tool or sharing even a hot coal from your hearth could lead to unexpected misfortune.

On May eve no one cares to give away any milk or butter fearing their luck would be taken. Source

Long ago the people used to have a large number of pisreogs on May day...They would not give away anything to anybody on May day, only to a beggar man. When he would come in they would give him great welcome. They would say he was bringing in the good luck. The old people would not allow anybody to bring fire outside the door. Everybody would have matches on May day. The old people would not allow any fire outside the door. Source

On May Eve or May Day nothing is given out of the house. Source

They considered it unlucky to give butter or milk way to any person on May Day as they would be giving away their luck. No stables were to be cleaned out on that day. The first person to go to the well in the morning was supposed to have luck for the rest of the year. It is not right to give money to anyone on that day. But if you get money on that day you will be getting it for the year. Source

The people of the house do not put out the ashes on that day or if a person asked for a coal they would be refused. Source

Another custom of the Irish, they would not lend any article or give either milk or food even to beggars. They would not light a fire on May Day until it was late in the day for fear that the people would see the smoke and would bring the butter. Source

The customs surrounding Bealtaine offer a fascinating glimpse into the rich tapestry of Irish folklore and the enduring human desire to shape our luck through ritual and tradition. Whether leaving offerings to appease unseen spirits, scattering flowers as wards against misfortune, or cautiously guarding their possessions, people sought to influence the unseen forces that shaped their lives. These traditions, born in a different time, speak to a fundamental human desire for control, for a sense of agency in the face of an uncertain world. While the specific fears and beliefs may have shifted, the impulse to use ritual and superstition as a means of navigating life's unpredictability remains surprisingly relatable.

#Bealtaine #beltane #may day #irish folklore #celtic paganism #irish paganism #irish pagan #pagan #paganism #witchcraft #witchblr

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triangle-strategy-notes · 2 months

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Frederica Concept Art

I've done the translations for Frederica's art before, but they were scattered across posts and the scans themselves were pretty low quality, so I wanted to post a cleaner version all together in one place. I've also included a reference sheet I made a while back with some details of her costume.

Translation notes and ids under the cut.

Translation notes:

"Transparent" as it was used on the first page is directly a word that means transparent/translucent. I went back and forth on whether to use a different word that might be more commonly used in English to describe beauty (like "airy" or "delicate" or something), but decided to just go with transparent.

"Sorry for the hasty drawings" was more directly translated as, "don't mean to be a hasty drawer!"

"A straightforward gaze" was literally "a straight/true gaze."

Probably a more literal translation for what I wrote as "Soooo good!" would be something like "tasty" or "delicious". Another translation might have been "Yummm" or something along those lines.

Image id:

[id: Two pages from the Triangle Strategy artbook of Frederica's concept art. The first page has two versions of her canon portrait—one colored and one uncolored. At the bottom there's a note that reads, "We aimed for a pristine and transparent kind of beauty. (Naoki Ikushima)". On the second page, there are many drawings of Frederica and her costume. The page is titled, "Liberty Character WIP (Long Hair)". There's a note by a portrait where she's staring toward something that reads, "A straightforward gaze". Another note nearby reads "Honorable", and another, "Strong-willed", and another, "Generally always dignified". To one side there is a drawing of a snow crystal and a bird's-eye primrose, labeled, "Two patterns associated with Country B". There's a small drawing of Frederica delighted by a food she's eating and saying "Soooo good!", that reads, "I don't think she'd ever make this face." It's labeled, "Eating in a new place for the first time." Next to one drawing of her crying loudly with her mouth open wide, there's a note that reads, "Don't open your big mouth like that, ha". Next to another portrait of her crying quietly, it reads, "Swallowing down her grief" and "Fine-tuning how tough/ soft she is". On the second half of the page (titled "Liberty Brainstorming (hair color test - not final)"), there are more detailed drawings of her inner and outer clothing. A note reads, "Sorry for the hasty drawings! Here's the construction of Frederica's clothing." Another says, "The costume is red and black, which are the representative colors of Country B." Next to her cape, a note reads, "Some people might use fur for the lining." At the bottom of the page, one designer's note reads "She's our team's first pink-haired heroine! Next is green hair! (laughs) (Tomoya Asano)" and another reads, "Mr. Asano had a request for Frederica before we began the design: "I want her to have a bright color for her hair!" It's amazing how it ended up connecting to the world-building. After I decided on pink hair, I was careful to put on finishing touches that would help it blend in even in a somber world. (Naoki Ikushima)" /end id]

#queue #triangle strategy #frederica aesfrost #triangle strategy artbook #ts artbook character ref sheets #did this re-do before the other characters I still need to do because I love her lots and lots + was thinking about her again #but I will return to the others shortly!

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mxlfoydraco · 2 years

Note

What are the sweetest, most fluffy, most tender fic recs you have? Hurt/comfort préférable but anything works

I'm a major angst reader so our definitions of fluff may vary! I'm adding on to these lists: Fluff & Hogwarts Era Fluff

Save My Wonders by @unmistakablyoatmeal(21k)

Immediately chocolate assaulted Draco’s senses. Warm melted chocolate mixed with his mother’s roses and… something else. Something new. Freshly scrubbed skin and maybe a faint sheen of sweat. It was so familiar… And it only intensified when Potter came up behind him.

Two of Us by @sorrybutblog (5k)

The gang goes to a gay bar. Or: five times Harry accidentally pretended to be Draco’s boyfriend and one time Draco told him to put out or shut up.

All Things Go by @sorrybutblog (32k)

Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out.

Quick as a Flash of Lightning, Unhurried as Eternity by @onbeinganangel (10k)

Can you fall in love with someone by simply watching them fiercely love another version of yourself?

Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

the treehouse near primrose downs by @softlystarstruck (14k)

Draco and Harry have been roommates for years, so buying a magical house in the countryside shouldn’t be a big difference. But in between fresh loaves of bread and beds of wildflowers, things start to fall into place.

you bring me home by @softlystarstruck (35k)

Harry is happy. He has his cat cafe and his hobbies. He has his friends, and Dolly Parton, and a shirt with a cowboy frog on it. It’s all a man needs, really. He doesn’t need to obsess over a magic-less, anxious Draco Malfoy coming into his cafe after disappearing from the wizarding world years ago. He doesn’t. Not even if the cats like Malfoy. Not even if Malfoy is soft, and funny, and a little bit neurotic. No matter how much he wants to obsess.

With Great Yawns and Stretchings by @sugar-screw (22k)

The coffee is very good. Really. And the cats are so cute. That's why Harry goes so often.

I Think I Want to Marry You by @phdmama (6k)

5 times Harry Potter asks Draco Malfoy to marry him and Draco doesn't answer. And then the one time he does.

Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (18k)

Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.

Constellations on your skin by @orange-peony (56k)

“I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. “Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks. “The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.”

Sweeten to Taste by @saintgarbanzo (51k)

It starts with Draco's buckwheat crepes with honeyed oranges. Or maybe it starts with his porridge with toasted walnuts and homemade apple butter. Or perhaps it starts with the cinnamon buns Draco made from scratch with mascarpone icing. Harry just knows he's hungry for more.

The Little Marauders Nursery and Day Care by @digthewriter (9k)

Harry Potter is the proud owner of The Little Marauders Nursery and Day Care and his favourite student is Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius’s dad might be okay, too.

Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (17k)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by @cibeewastaken (19k)

Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved! So Draco decides to boldly go where no one has gone before: to put himself through scrutiny; their friends’ teasing and pranks; unsound romantic advice from a house-elf; wearing pretty clothes; all to try and win Potter’s heart through courtship. (An unnamed ginger bastard can be heard yelling from afar: “This is actually a detailed guide on how not to court someone!”) But who cares about the opinions of redheads? Literally no one.

Nice Things by aideomai (22k)

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Thermodynamic Equilibrium by @dorthyanndrarry (5k)

Harry's far too hot. Draco's always cold. And somehow against all odds, together they create a perfect equilibrium.

Stay (With Me) by @dorthyanndrarry (6k)

Harry and Draco have been seeing each other casually, whenever they bumped into one another at Galas and Balls and other social events, always keeping one another at a careful distance. But one step forward seems to remove all space between them, sending them crashing together with an almost inevitable gravity.

If It Takes All Night by @tackytigerfic (10k)

It's not the first time Harry's been the victim of a botched curse (that's one of the reasons he doesn't like crowds), but he feels bad that Malfoy had to get caught up in it too. So they're bonded. That's ok, they just have to make sure to be touching at all time. No problem. Because Malfoy smells so nice, and has such lovely shiny hair, and his skin is so very warm. But this isn't going to be a problem for their friendship at all. Is it, Harry?

Espresso Patronum by @tasteofshapes (15k)

When Draco reappears five years after the war and opens a wildly popular coffee shop, Harry’s pretty sure that Draco’s Up to Something. He just has to prove it.

The Charm Conundrum by dysonrules (8k)

Harry misplaces an interesting "self-help" manual. Draco finds it and discovers some fascinating insights into Harry Potter.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by @greaseonmymouth (96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry. Features: Little League Quidditch, an abundance of bath bombs, happy endings, and gay robots in space.

Harry Potter’s biggest fan by @gnarf (9k)

Ever since Scorpius heard about Harry Potter for the first time from one of his friends, one could say that he was his biggest fan. So naturally, it would be the thing he needs to talk about while visiting his grandparents for Sunday dinner. Draco’s father could not hold back the comments on why he had to go through this again, and Scorpius understood just enough to know that his father actually knew Harry Potter in person. That’s when the pestering started. Not much later and Draco found himself face to face with Potter, all thanks to his son.

Sunseeker by @shiftylinguini (15k)

Harry is a struggling writer. Namely, he is struggling with: writing his next book, dealing with his agent, finding a decent tea strainer, fielding his friend's concern over the aforementioned book, and figuring out who the cat loitering in his garden belongs to. He also has a slight liking-Malfoy problem. Okay, he has a massive liking-Malfoy problem.

All Roads Lead Home by dracogotgame (14k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy Absolutely Does Not Need to Be Loved by Harry Bloody Potter by @nv-md (18k)

It’s not easy to be bonded to your childhood rival, turned fuckbuddy, who you also have extremely uncomfortable but repressed feelings for—just ask Draco Malfoy.

Nyctophilia by prolonged_autumn (107k)

Everyone's back for 8th year, and Harry and his friends seem determined to spend their last year in school running around at night, hyped up on coffee and alcohol and Honeydukes candy, doing all the childish things they didn't have the chance to do before. Draco watches as he's always watched: from afar, quiet and bitter and hopelessly in love. That is, until Pansy decides she's had quite enough of it.

#this list got eaten by tumblr halfway done and i re-did it that deserves a medal in my very unbiased opinion #drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #drarry reclist #draco malfoy #drarry fic recs #my recs #fic recs #hpdm #harry potter #fluff #drarry fluff

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cheerleaderman · 1 month

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[SR] Yuya Florence, Astrid Primrose and Flori Orielle- Halloween town

Fan event by- @theolivetree123

Yuya: “ This place gives off a spooky vibe kinda like Ramshackle”

Astrid: I didn’t know Briar Valley had a town like this

Flori: Halloween town, Their Mayor seems very excited that we all came here

Few lines under cut - Mention of Yukki, Silas and Constance

Yuya

The Boogie Man’s Palace is pretty lavish but I’ll just stay around the arcade, I’m not taking any gambles

Some of The spirits at the Graveyard were confused why another spirit was given them gifts…My it’s because if not from this world

Look at this Doll! We have similar outfits, too creepy? Of course that’s why I bought them

The Mayor been telling me all kinds of scary stories like the one of the Pumpkin King! We had to take a pause since he had to attend to something..he was in the middle of a good story

Yukki got chosen for the corpse bride, When we were at La Miel Boutique They were getting bombarded with different outfits to pick, I managed to help them things she liked but the final result is still a surprise.

Astrid

I was drawing in the town square and Miss.Camila came up behind me complimenting my work so I gave her one , She told me other places that she thinks I would have fun drawing as well

I gave the fountain an offer but I wasn’t sure if anything would happen…is it even possible for me to have good luck just wishful thinking

I saw some chocolate desserts at a nearby bakery and bought some for Silas, he’s eating them so I think I made the right selection.

The people at the Boutique said that the Romantic Gothic style fits me the most…

Flori

Constance been running away from her ex faster than I run from marriage offering.

When at the graveyard I swear I someone who looks like my father…maybe it’s because I wish I could’ve gotten a chance to know him more..

I bought this pumpkin lantern, it glows such a lovely color also I think it adds on to outfit.

Miss.Camila reminds me of my friend Evenly they even have similar styles.

I got some recommendations from the Mayor of novels and story books in Halloween Town, I absent reading them for the past hour

#cheer!art #cheer!flori #cheer!astrid #cheer!yuya #cheer!twstcard #welcometohalloweentown!#twst #twst oc #art #artists on tumblr #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #oc art #digital art #twst fanevent #twisted wonderland fanevent

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accordingtolauren · 2 months

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"DECOMPOSER"

I press my ear against the dirt of the lush Earth

desperate to listen, anxious to hear another life form beneath the surface

insects dwelling amongst the grime, a hidden universe or your beckoning call

ushering me from out of the frame, ornate and baroque

and into the soil, to fester within the dirt and the loam

to retreat back into the ground and burrow myself into the depths of the world's soul

so I may see you once more, banished six feet underground

How am I to live amongst life, when the one I love is beneath my feet?

I need to listen more, I tell myself as I overfill my coffee cup with a solemn stare

So, I now find myself lost amongst meadows abloomed by buttercups, primroses and daisies

a scenery of a lithe body bathed in silken, pastel pinks

and soaked in northern light

nestled amongst the dirt and the blossoms with my faced pressed into the grass

clawing through the sod with bloodied nails in an effort to escape the golden hues, the elaborate imagery

Could I find a purpose within the ground? Could this bring me closer to you amongst the roots, the rocks?

I shall morph into a decomposer, create nutrients from what has passed on and put it back into the air that wafts into busy skylines

seas that inhabit roaring tides, serene depictions of summer

and green lands stretching across the country-sides

Maybe this way I could be half of what you were

somebody with a meaning so grand, invaluable in the greater scheme of it all

for that was what you were to me, my own detritivore

feasting upon my decaying limbs, my rotting attitude

producing a love as vital to my organs as the oxygen I breathed

-lauren a.p

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lordcrumps · 1 year

Text

Sul Sul!

Since my last bulk upload for all the 4T2 Floors and 4T2 EP14 Walls & Floors there has been some bas updates. So I thought I would convert them over, they just go with existing files that you already have.

EXTRAS

Some missing walls and floors that I did not convert due to me thinking they were ugly have now been converted. Some more packs have been uploaded also!

These include;

Desert Lux walls and floors,

Pastel Pop floors,

Decor to the Max walls and floors,

Base game grass

Eco Living walls and floors

Cottage Living grass

DOWNLOAD - lordcrumps.com

Names of walls and floors for Sims4T2BB

Base Game Update;

A Clean Slate

Another Slab O Concrete

Antqiue Stone Tile

Bowl of Cherrywood Floors

Brick and Blush

Chipper Tan Bark

Concrete Pavers with Gravel Accent

Eco Craft Hardwood Flooring

Elegant Parquet Flooring

Forest Fine Wood Flooring

Handscraped Wood Flooring

Haughty Herringbone Flooring

Heartwood Plank Flooring

Herringbone Hardwood Flooring

High Style Concrete

Kwality Wide Plank Flooring

Limber Lumber Fahsion Hardwoods

Limber Lumber Fashionable Flooring

No Moss Stone Pavers

Old World Wide Plank Flooring

Perfect Pebble Paver

Quaint Flagstone

Rockstone Pavers

Rustic Sandstone

Rustic Subfloor Slats

Throwback Cobblestone Brick Pavers

Walk the Short Plank Hardwood Flooring

Base Game;

Out to Pasture Grass

Out to Pasture Frass with Wildflowers

Eco Lifestyle

Corrugated Metal

Corrugated Metal Paneling

Layered Paneling

Panel to the Metal

Perfect Garden Grass

Shaded Grass

Sprouted Grass

Cottage Living

Primrose Path

Decor to the Max

Birds and Flowerin Hand

Fancy Craze A Maze

Geo and Logic

The Tiger Stalks Tonight

Triangulate

Desert Lux

Compressed Earth Flooring

Sand Mixed Concrete Wall

Pastel Pop

Berry Bundle

Snazzy Squiggle

Still Waters Run Depp

#4t2 #4t2 conversion #sims2cc #sims2 #4t2 cc #lordcrumpscc

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thewriterlyowl · 1 year

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“She cooks, I consume. I try to figure out my next move. There’s no obstacle now to taking my life. But I seem to be waiting for something.”

I love this because it’s such a brilliant parallel to Katniss’ last “bitter winter”, but also expands on it. When her father died, and her mother was (functionally) gone, Katniss had no hope. When Peeta gave her the bread, he not only pushed her to survive, but he reminded her that “hope was not lost”. It was the first time she felt joy in a long time, that she could feed herself with a skill she loved, that she could forage for salad with her sister, that “life could be good again”.

(The genius of Collins is that the friendship with that other guy was based on survival also, but not on hope. That’s why Katniss gets confused, because she and the other guy depended on each other’s skills for surviving, but not the hope of living. Before she even ever met the other guy, her subconscious knew how to recognise the difference. So as soon as the bond of mutual survival was taken away, their friendship became harder to maintain. There is absolutely a reason Collins didn’t have other guy comforting Katniss at all, but that’s another post for another day).

Then, another bitter winter. Prim, her beloved sister, her reason for volunteering, is gone. Her mother is gone. Her friends are dead or gone. Nothing is good. Nothing is hopeful. And unlike before, nothing is pushing her to survive. The threat of starvation is gone, the Games are gone, Snow is gone. She does not have to fight for her own survival, because nothing is threatening it. But also? Nothing is telling her to live.

Then Peeta comes back, and plants the primroses. Another act of goodness from the boy with the bread, most likely the second one she lists (first being the bread itself) when she says she’ll tell her children “how she survives it”. On the first day of spring, Peeta’s act rights her world, and pushes her to start living again, rather than just surviving.

Katniss has been here before. She knows this bitter winter, even if the shape of it is different. This time, after all that’s happened, after she’s lost so much, she needs to be pushed past mere survival into actually living a meaningful life. In CF, aka The Big Everlark Dating Book, she gets a brief look at what living looks like, even if it’s under the duress of a more-oppressed district. Katniss was waiting for Peeta because she’s always known, since that first dandelion, that she needs the hope that life can be good again.

#again not sure if this makes sense #but I’m v emotional about Suzanne and her brilliant writing #Katniss’ subconscious is the true mvp #she sees Peeta and expunges snow from her house #remembers that fire beats roses again #she comes back to life in spring #the season of rebirth! Suzanne the woman that you are #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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weirdowithaquill · 1 year

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The Importance of Names in the Railway Series

It's been a hot minute since my last take on the world of Thomas & Friends - so here's one that has sort of been wandering about in the back of my mind for a while.

How important is a name to an engine? Cause we know the engines do put a lot of value into a name. Stepney and Edward say as such:

"[...] I think our Controller was right. All engines ought to have names." "Yes," agreed Edward, "it's most important."

And it's further reinforced by Bear later in the series:

"It's nicer than just having a number," he (Bear) says. "Having a name means that you really belong."

Donald and Douglas echo this by giving themselves names (partially to fool the Fat Controller) and the interesting thing is that Sir Charles actually uses their names almost exclusively from that moment on - unless referring to them by their new numbers.

Even BoCo gives himself a name! And it feels pretty on-the-spot too, seeing as he just goes "but you can call me BoCo".

But in contrast, every single rail-based 'villain' or 'antagonist' in the Railway Series only has a number, or is Diesel, who doesn't really have a name either. Check me! There's:

Diesel

The 'Big City Engine'

Class 40 (D261/D471)

D199

D40125

None of them have names - not even 'the Big City Engine'. They're given nicknames by the engines, but otherwise they are just numbers. And I think it runs a bit deeper than that. A little while back I did a post on the 'railway rulebook' - and something I said was that managers did everything in their power to both dehumanise the engines and make the engines loyal to them. What better way of doing that than only giving certain engines names? 'Flying Scotsman' gets a name because he's a prestigious express engine, but the engine who shunts his coaches? The goods engine who brought his coal? Why would management give them names - to do that is to undermine the class system they've built to keep the engines fighting amongst themselves. If the engines are on equal footing, then they'd want equal rights.

You know... this sounds a lot like the Communist Manifesto. I don't think the Rev. W. Awdry intended it that way, but it does.

But that's beside my point. Certain railways either don't want their engines to have names. In particular, I would point at the LMS and the LNER, which both had a massive roster of engines. Not only is recording all their names a pain, but it would also add a sense of individuality to them and muck up their spreadsheets. In most countries, people have an ID number for identification - and that's what these companies needed. Not names; numbers.

The GWR is a notable exception to this, and I think people have noticed that. Both Duck and Oliver arrive with names, and Sir Topham I was a Swindon-apprentice who would have grown up with GWR ideology. Edward got his name because he was built as an express engine, Henry and Gordon for the same reasons - and everyone else either gives themselves names or have names given to them.

Toby probably got his from his crew and the locals after decades of being in the same area - I mean, he literally runs into their town, of course they have a name for him. Percy is given his by Sir Topham, and we can infer Thomas and James got similar treatment. Donald and Douglas gave themselves names, and so did BoCo.

Another possibility is that a preservation society would give engines names, though that was more the engines on said heritage line - like in Stepney the Bluebell Engine, where Stepney refers to all his friends on the Bluebell by name, and says his controller gave out some names, like Bluebell and Primrose - but Adams and Cromford got their names from the other engines and they don't want the controller finding out. And again, Stepney and Edward both explicitly say that they believe engines ought to have names - and that they believe it really makes an engine feel like family.

This almost exclusively applies to engines in a steam-dominated society, and once again I have to return to my old nemesis: early British Railways. British Railways inherited a massive network that spanned a continent and had thousands of engines - not to mention the fact they were going to scrap all their steam engines and replace them with new diesel engines. Names were never ever going to be viable. But moreover, they were going to kill all the steam engines - if these engines were seen by the public to be very sentient and intelligent, then there would be an outcry. Dehumanising these engines was extremely important to their business model.

So almost every new engine built under BR got no name. And that includes steam and diesel engines. And this sort of environment, where engines referred to each other by number, became standard.

Names have a lot of meaning behind them. We give names to things we believe are very valuable to us, things we really bond with, like a teddy bear or a beloved family car. Names confer a level of love and care, as opposed to numbers, which have a level of 'repetitive factory conveyor belt' to them, for lack of a better term. These engines, referring to each other by number, didn't sound as human as those referring to each other by name.

For a good example, as mentioned above, the GWR gave all its engines names - and the GWR has the most engines from its company preserved. The fact that people knew these engines had names, and possibly by name, really contributed to how many were saved.

But what makes it even more interesting is the fact that often engines give each other names. Bear is given his name by the other engines, Duck is a nickname given to 'Montague' because he waddles. And I think the reason that none of these diesels have names is because no steam engine ever gave them a name, and company policy means no diesel has the mindset for giving out names either. Steam engines give each other names, but it becomes exclusive to them and friendly diesels, and thus dies out over the generations.

Engines today don't have names. They don't even really have a proper visible number. They have a serial number somewhere, but that's about it. And I think that says a lot about what happened to the tradition of names for engines.

To sum up a very long, winding ramble, I think names came from several places:

Themselves. Engines could name themselves, like Donald and Douglas - who got their names from (maybe) former drivers?

From crew and community. Toby most likely got his name from the people around him, being on an isolated tramway.

From their owners. Flying Scotsman, Mallard and Percy are good examples of this. It represents a level of importance and care for this engine, as well as in some cases reinforcing class.

From other engines. Duck and Bear are great examples of this, as they are given names by their friends that they like, as it makes them feel as if they fit in.

And these names were very common in the steam era as engines gave each other names and communities knew specific engines and gave them names. As everything became more commercial and bureaucratic, naming was lost. Numbers reinforced company identity and dehumanised the engines to make them less sympathetic to the public. Look at Donald and Douglas, who probably had their names for decades - given by their friends - but never learnt by management.

Wow, that took a bit of a dark turn. Thanks for reading, and as usual, none of the above pictures are mine.

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blackcrowing · 1 year

Text

Important Facts about Bealtaine from an Irish Celtic Reconstructionist

Spelling and Pronunciation

OI. Bealtaine (Bell-tin-Na) has more recently been written as I. Beltaine or Anglicized Beltane (Bell-tain). In the Cormac Glossary it is said to derive from the deity Bel and OI. 'Tene' meaning fire.

Dates

Most Reconstructionists celebrate Bealtaine on April 30th-May 1st, sundown to sundown. Iron age Irish (and other Celts) structured their days from sunset to sunset so while we now track this time as stretching over two days, they would have seen this period as one single day, being the first day of the month of May by the Gregorian calendar. Some Reconsructionists might prefer to celebrate by the Julian calendar which would place this holiday on May 13th-14th (by the Gregorian calendar), still of course from sundown to sundown. In the most traditional sense this holiday would have been celebrated when the livestock was moved from the winter grazing fields out to the summer grazing fields.

Importance in Mythos

Most mythological reference to this holiday comes in the form of the movement of peoples or invasions of peoples.

The mythological invasion of Partholon and his people occurred on Bealtaine and the plague that wiped them out also began on that date and lasted a week. The Tuath De Danann are said to have arrived on the island on Bealtine as well and lastly the Sons of Mil are said to have invaded on this date also (Macalister, 1940).

In later times when Christianity had made its mythologies the way of the land and the old deities were moved to the status of Fae this idea of movement and invasion seems to have persisted. Traditions hold that this date is a dangerous time for mortals as the aes sídhe are moving amongst the daoine sí and may stop by unsuspecting homes to ask for butter or perhaps some water, but if this request is granted they will steal the homes luck for the year.

I will make a note here that while the Cormac Glossary notes the deity Bel there is no Celtic/Gaelic deity of this name (though there is a Mesopotamian one) and this seems to cause a lot of confusion, especially when it comes to Wiccancentic ideas and articles. Cormac was likely referring to the Celtic/Gaelic deity Belenus NOT the Mesopotamian Bel. Belenus/Belenos was associated with the sun and healing and during the Gallo-Roman period was often noted to be the Gaelic Apollo. There is evidence to suggest that Belenus/Belenos was known throughout the Celtic/Gaelic world, though we don't have any specific information about how prominently he was worshiped in Ireland itself it is relatively safe to assume that the Iron age Irish would have known who he was.

Celebration Traditions

Like on Samhain, at the opposing 'end' of the year livestock were transitioned from one grazing area to another. While on Samhain, when the 'dark' half of the year begins and the livestock are moved in from summer grazing to winter grazing, Bealtaine is the opposite. It begins the 'light' half of the year and livestock are moved from the winter grazing out to the summer pastures. At both holidays to ensure healthy animals and protect them from any malicious factors great bonfires were built (most notably on the hill of Uisneach) and livestock would be driven between them.

There seems to be a traditional emphasis on the protection of homes, barns, livestock, peoples, and crops. Generally this seems to be a time when warding against ill luck for the community became a focus. Yellow, specifically yellow flowers (primrose, gorse or hawthorn blossoms), appear to have played a role in this as they have been used to decorate, but when exactly this tradition originated is unknown. The healing wells of Ireland and specifically the dew on the morning of Bealtaine have been thought to be important. Some traditions hold that the dew, when washed with will bring beauty, while others think if drank by the milk cows it would cause them to produce more, but again the origins of these traditions are relatively unknown.

Interesting History to take into Consideration

Given Bealtines long lasting history in Irish mythological tradition of being associated with mass movements of peoples and a need to protect ones family and community in this tumultuous time it is -possible- these ideas persist due to the movements (and possibly famines or plagues) during the "Megadrought" of the Bronze age (1250-1100 BCE). Most studies have focused on the effects of the Mediterranean at this time, but it is reasonable to assume the ripples of effects could have been felt strongly enough in Ireland to leave a lasting impression, especially since it is not outlandish to assume that people fleeing the Mediterranean area, which was no longer able to adequately sustain them, may have fled to the more temperate British Isles and passed on their trauma through oral tradition. This could possibly be backed up by looking at the etymology of 'Bel' not as referencing Beleus/Beleos but as referencing the Irish Balor (or perhaps they are different aspects of the same figure) who embodies not the life sustaining properties of the sun but the deadly and destructive ones. Balor balcbéimnech, 'Balor the strong smiter,' Balor birugerc, ' Balor of the piercing eye,' Balor mae Doit meic Néid, 'Balor son of Dot son of Néit.'

This is obviously only my personal opinion and can be taken or dismissed as one likes.

#celtic mythology #celtic reconstructionism #celtic paganism #celtic reconstructionist #celtic #Irish #irish mythology #irish reconstructionist #irish reconstructionism #irish paganism #beltaine #Bealtaine #Beltane #festival #fire festival #blackcrowing

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fyreflys · 10 months

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Could you write Peeta giving Katniss a long and thorough bath after he plants the primroses in canon? Because she’s such a little hawt mess when he comes home <3

OOOOOOOOOOO YES YES YES

Birdbath

(Peeta’s POV) - Halcyon, The Paper Kites

Warning: slightly suggestive (they bathe together) - mostly just fluff, no smut

Please ignore any mistakes I sped-ran this & did not proof read whooops

When they put him on a train back to 12, he’d felt a million things and nothing all at once. He’d closed his eyes, and tried not to think about the other times he’d taken this exact route. What each meant. What happened after.

Seeing district 12 in absolute ruins shook him to his core. For a moment he forgot about the torture in the capital, and the hijacking, and Katniss. For a moment he stood amongst ashes and felt grief that ripped him so strong he fell to his knees.

Somehow, Haymitch was there to pull him back from the rubble of himself. There to drag him to victors village, and shove a glass of water in his face. Once a mentor, always a mentor. Peeta would be impressed with Haymitch’s ability to pull himself out of his slum long enough to greet him upon arrival, but he’s too busy trembling near the fireplace.

He still feels like ghost most days, drifting through the world. Losing chunks of time, and finding himself in places he didn’t remember going.

Planting primroses in victors village ends up being one of those times.

“Peeta?”

She looked worse for wear than he was expecting. When he’d asked about her, they told him she was doing okay. But as he stared up at her, hands covered in dirt, she looked worse than “okay”. More like barely hanging on. Lucky to still be standing on her own two feet.

She clutched him a tight hug, and Peeta felt the tensions in his shoulders roll off. Warmth. That’s what Katniss is.

How they got from outside to here, in the bathroom, is a little unclear. Something about him asking her when she showered last, after they made into the house, turkey tossed in the fridge to wait for dinner. Something about her shrugging her shoulders.

He’s not sure how he convinced her to this. Tears were probably involved. Yes. Tears were involved. She broke down crying. Something about Prim. He carried her up the stairs. Right. Yes.

And now…now she’s in underwear and a tank top, and he’s running a bath. It’s quiet. He’s hesitant to touch her, and she takes his hand. And he’s less hesitant.

“Do you…want me to help?” He asks softly.

She doesn’t really answer. Instead she wipes her tears, and steps into the shower, still holding his hand. She stares down at the faucet. He puts in the plug after it’s warm. She squeezes his hand.

“Thank you.” She whispers.

“Of course.” I love you.

Real or not real?

That’s Real. He knows that’s real. Right?

She slips off her underwear and takes a seat in the tub. She peels off her tank top. He swallows, eyes flickering across olive skin. Cheeks hot as he desperately tries to advert his attention elsewhere. He pours in some soap and watches as bubbles foam at Katniss’s toes. He shuffles to sit behind the tub so he’s looking at the back of her head.

He delicately undoes her braid, combing fingers through her hair. It’s not nearly as clean and shiny as usual. He finds a cup to scoop water into her hair, slowly drenching it. He shuts off the water once he decides it’s high enough, and then grabs shampoo. He lathers it into her locks. Her shoulders relax, head tilting back as he massages her scalp. He scratches, softly, and she hums. He’s gentle as he scoops and pours water to rinse out her hair. It’s clear she hasn’t bathed in a while. So he decides to scrub in another round of shampoo. Katniss leans into his touch, and he can’t help but feel warm at how domestic this moment is.

He rinses her hair again, and then gently smooths in conditioner. Katniss catches his hand as his fingers comb through her hair.

“What?” He whispers.

She glances back at him, grey eyes dull as they flicker over him. She reaches to tug at the sleeve of his t-shirt, nibbling at her lip. He feels heat race across his cheeks.

“Katniss-“

“I missed you.”

She says it like he’s back back. As if nothing ever happened. He’s still not sure he’s himself anymore. But they’ve always been good at pretending. Granted, he wasn’t ever really pretending. But he can try. Fake it till you make it.

He offers a small smile. “Yeah.” Is all he can really offer. Because he’s swayed back and forth between trying to remember what she means to him, and being slammed with an overwhelming sense of hatred. Its a been a while since anything close to that has hit him. But to say he’s missed Katniss doesn’t feel entirely right. Not when he’s still not sure how to feel about himself, let alone her. But he supposes being in front of her again…helps, in a way. Seeing her like this, bare to the world and vulnerable, helps his mind confirm that she is in fact not the monster he was brainwashed to believe. So maybe…maybe its something like relief.

She tugs at his sleeve again, wet fingers slipping up his arm to ghost over his bicep. She looks spacey, as if stuck in thought for a moment. He reaches to take her hand, squeezing gently.

And then grey eyes snap back to him. And she licks her lip.

“You’re dirty.” She whispers, reaching to wipe his cheek.

He glances down at his white t-shirt. And she’s right. He is dirty, from wiping his hands off on his shirt.

“And wet.” She adds on.

And he’s that too. Wet from washing her hair.

“Yeah.”

Her thumb brushes over his wrist. And she has a look on her face. And he’s not sure if he would have been able to read it a year or so ago, or if this is another one of those instances where she is an enigma. Because he’s never been able to read her well. Or…he thinks he hasn’t.

“You should…wash off.” She says. “You’re already wet.”

It takes a moment for his mind to wrap around that one. And then he’s bright red.

“You- you mean like- join you?”

She doesn’t give him any indication of yes or no. Just stares at the lip of the tub.

His heart picks up in his chest. And he decides, fuck it. He pulls off his shirt. Her eyes immediately flicker towards his chest.

“Yeah. Join me.” She whispers.

And he takes in a shaky breath. Oh.

She scoots forward in the tub to give him room to slide in behind her. And he knows he’s bright red.

He slips off his pants. Hesitates at his boxers.

“Katniss…you’re sure…”

“Just bathe with me. Please.” She pleads softly, like this is all the fight she has left in her.

She’s naked. He very well could be naked too.

“I…should I-“

“Do you usually take a bath in your underwear?” She asks exasperatedly, turning around to look up at him. Her eyes stray slightly. Which makes his cheeks burn.

“…No.”

She hums, and shifts in the tub, turning back around. He slips off his boxers. Tosses them on their pile of clothes. He takes a seat on the lip of the tub to take off his leg. And then he shifts to swing himself in behind her.

The water is warm as he sinks in. It feels really good. Katniss glances at him, and then she leans back against him. His breath catches at her touch. She pries one of his hands off the lip of the tub, where he hadn’t realized he was keeping a death grip. And she holds it, squeezing his knuckles as she lays against him, between his legs.

He’s certain he’s bright red. His pulse is racing, heart hammering in his chest. And he really hopes he doesn’t get too excited from this. Or at the very least, he hopes Katniss can’t tell.

This is far from what he was expecting today. In fact, today’s been a lot like a roller coaster of emotions. Up, down, sideways, and now this.

They sit in silence for a long moment of time. Katniss traces patterns across his wrist and up his palm, slowly melting into his chest. He closes his eyes, and wills his heart to please stop hammering in his chest. It doesn’t really work.

Katniss sniffles, and he shifts to look at her. He frowns when he sees tears running down her cheeks. And that gets his mind off the fact that they’re both naked and pressed together in a tub.

“Hey- what- what’s wrong?” He reaches to cup her cheek.

She swallows, shaking her head.

“I just- I miss my sister.” She whispers, and then suddenly a sob croaks out of her lips.

He hushes her, thumbs swiping her cheeks. She turns her face into his neck, and all he can do is wrap arms around her and squeeze. She hiccups as she cries, and he presses a kiss to her temple.

“I know, Katniss, I know.”

He doesn’t, really. He lost his family too. Didn’t really have time to grieve them. But he wasn’t as close with his brothers as Katniss was with her sister. His family kind of abandoned him after his first games. And he never really got past that. But Prim was always there for Katniss. And Katniss was always there for her. So he can’t really imagine what that’s like. But he’s sure it hurts. A lot.

He rubs his thumb against her ribs, squeezing her close. And she melts into him, sniffling as her cries soften. He whispers against her hair. Promises and assurances he knows he can’t keep, but he can’t stand to see her cry. And it works. Soon she’s just red eyed and exhausted. He presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s finish getting you cleaned up, yeah?”

She nods.

He finds a washcloth sitting on a ledge within reach. He dunks it in the water, and wrings it out. He has her grab him the soap bar, which he lathers into the washcloth. Katniss closes her eyes as he gently runs the rag down her arms, scrubbing softly. He pushes her up to sit so he can get her back, across her shoulders and down her spine. He adds more soap. And then he scrubs under her arms, and down her sides. She leans back into him when he runs it across her collar bones. And then he pauses.

“You can touch me.” She breathes, softly. “I trust you.”

He takes a deep breath. He knows that means a lot, coming from Katniss. Or…somewhere in his mind he knows that’s meant to mean something.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s that he doesn’t think he should. This is a fragile moment. Neither of them are ready for anything like this. Not right now. Not when they’re both so damaged and still trying to heal.

“Peeta,” she says, “You’re thinking too much.”

And he supposes he is, thinking a lot. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if just couldn’t think.

It doesn’t mean anything. This is just…them taking care of each other. And he’s happy with that. That’s really all he can handle right now. So this is okay.

His hand dips below the water to carefully clean her chest. Her head falls back on his shoulder, cheeks momentarily burning red. And he’s overcome with the desire to kiss her. She looks so gorgeous, leaned into him, blissful and vulnerable in a way she’s never been with him before. And maybe this is exactly what he needs.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, pausing his scrubbing of her tummy.

She blinks, grey eyes meeting his. Her gaze flickers down to his lips. And she nods.

“Yeah.”

So he does. Meets her lips. It’s an awkward angle. And he realizes the last time they kissed was down in the transfer, when she was trying to pull him out of a hijack episode.

“Stay with me”

“Always”

When he pulls away the words leave his lips without his control.

“Is this real?”

She pauses, grey eyes searching his face. A hand comes up to cup his cheek, stroking his jaw.

“Yes, this is real.” She whispers.

Good. He needs this to be real. Really needs this moment to be real.

She kisses him again. Shorter, this time. But the meaning still stands. It still gives him butterflies, and he suddenly feels giddy.

She smiles softly at him as he scrubs down her hips to her thighs. And he decides that maybe he should stop there.

“Katniss.”

She hums.

“I think you should do the rest.”

She blinks slowly. And she sighs.

“Yeah.”

She takes the cloth from him. Instead he goes about rinsing the remaining conditioner from her hair as she cleans. And he can’t help himself as he peppers kisses to her shoulders. She relaxes back against him when she’s done.

“I don’t want to get out.” She whispers.

He snakes a hand around her stomach to hold her closer.

“Me neither.”

Silence. Warmth. His heart feels overwhelmingly full.

He laces his fingers with hers, smiling as he pulls her hand out of the water.

“Your fingers are pruning. I think that means it’s time to get out.”

She groans.

“We can cuddle in bed.” He says softly.

She huffs. “Fine.”

She pulls the drain, and he leans forward wither her to rest his chin on her shoulder. She curls up, and he curls around her, the air freezing in comparison to the warm water of the tub. With a little coaxing, he convinces her to turn on the shower head to rinse them off of suds. She helps him stand on one leg, and rinses him off. He holds onto her for balance.

She bundles up in a towel, and the digs through the cabinet for an extra. He takes a seat on the lip of the tub, catching the towel she throws his way. He swings his legs over to dry his nub and pull on his prosthetic, and then he stands to make his way to his bedroom. He pulls on fresh clothes. Something soft and comfy. He’s in the process of finishing pulling on sweats when hands snake around him. He jumps, spinning to yank away.

Just Katniss. Katniss is good. Katniss isn’t going to hurt you.

“I’m sorry-“ she starts.

He takes a deep breath. Counts in his head, like his therapist has been trying to get him to do. And then finally opens his eyes.

She looks scared, arms hugging around herself. He sighs, and steps forward to crush her in a hug.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” He whispers, “it triggers me.”

“I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay. I know.”

And he does, know. He mind feels the clearest it’s been in weeks. And he’s not sure why. But it’s probably something to do with her.

They sway in place as they hug, and he takes deep breaths to try and calm himself. Her hands are warm on his back.

“Help me brush my hair?” She whispers after a while.

He smiles. “Yeah. Will you keep it down? It’s pretty.”

She hums. “I’ll consider it.”

So they do. They gently brush out Katniss’s hair. Peeta regals her with the coping strategies he’s been working on since they last saw each other. Katniss fills him in on how things in district 12 have been. Which is, admittedly, not a lot.

They curl in on her bed, her head against his chest, fully melted into him. She starts to cry again, and he wipes her tears. And hugs her close. And let’s her cry. And he cries too.

Later he will find himself on the kitchen floor, bread rolls scattered around him, with Katniss in his lap. He’ll have blanked out while baking her cheese rolls. A hijack attack that he should have seen coming with how up and down this day has been. And Katniss will coax him out of it. She’ll tell him where he is. Assure him that it’s okay he dropped the rolls.

And he won’t believe her entirely. But he’ll want to trust her. So he will.

They’ll clean up, and move to the couch. Where they’ll cuddle, and Peeta will fully come back to reality. And he’ll be relieved that he’s finally here.

But for right now, Katniss is in his arms, warm and cozy and safe. And that’s exactly what he needs.

#the hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #mockingjay #request #writing prompt #Drabble #if you could even call this a Drabble #more like a full oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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