#greengrocer older brother

[spiralingemptyness]

wlep (no im not fixing that)

i finished the other page

Then we got the two pages together

Okay, so you wanna tell me that when Icebarg and Tom both tried to stop the ships from their attack on the judicial ship, and Icebarg practically got a fucking cannonball to the face, that he walks away with nothing more than scraps and bruises??? Huh??? That thing exploded right in front of him, hes not a devil fruit user, hes a regular human, does he know haki?? Idfk. Doubtful

Then for comparison on the scene redraw

[eclown4hire]

sopping wet cat of a man

[andaniellight]

Will Koby allow him become the vice president of Monkey D. Luffy's Fan Club in the marine or will he become an equally down bad competitor instead

[one-winged-dreams]

They had no business doing this to us.

[sanjipussyindulgence]

OKAY after further consideration i've decided that the names i gave the brothers arent dumb enough to match oda's standards.

i am now proposing the older brother be named wagener and the younger be named braeburn because they're two types of apples and we see them selling lots of apples in the quick flashback scene.

those sound like more authentic op names to me.

(also there is still symbolism to the names. even though wagener apples are way older, they aren't widely grown anymore despite their original popularity. meanwhile braeburns sell well and are known for tasting both sweet and tart, which matches the younger brother's personality.)

i doubt we're ever gonna get names for all the characters in fan letter, so i think we should come up with our own. ive seen a few fandoms give names to background characters before so fuck it lets do it here

here's some of my suggestions:

for everyone's favorite girl in the whole wide world, im thinking either lettie or mihana.

lettie is admittedly a bit on the nose... but also the king of ballywood kingdom who looks like abraham lincoln is named ham burger. so it wouldnt be out of place for one piece's naming conventions.

mihana has more of a thematic meaning to it. if japanese-names.info is to be trusted, then it can be spelled with the kanji for 'not yet' 'wave' and 'droplet'. since nami's name means ocean wave, i think that's a fitting name for someone who wants to follow in her footsteps.

hot marine brother #1 could be keiichi.

again, if japanese-names.info is right, then it can translate to 'older brother' and 'marketplace'. considering that two of the only things we know about him is that he's the older brother and a former grocer... well its the best i got.

matching his brother is syouichi.

it has the same character for 'marketplace' as keiichi, but also 'rise'. and since this guy won't shut up about rising up the ranks faster than his brother i think its an obvious fit. ik a lot of characters in one piece don't have japanese names but whatever.

anyway if anyone else has name ideas pleeeaaassseee reblog this or post them. these guys deserve names.

[infriga]

I saw other people were thinking of names for the characters in Fan Letter so I thought I'd give it a go myself since it's fun lol. So these are my name picks if I had to name them:

I'd probably pick Mizu for Nami's fan cause Nami means wave and Mizu means water so a wave affecting water so profoundly seems fitting and Mizu is a relatively common name to reflect how she represents the average person.

I'd probably name the older greengrocer brother Ward as a reference to windward/leeward which are sailing terms that mean facing into the wind and away from the wind respectively because Luffy's name is a reference to luffing which is a sailing term, plus ward can also mean to guard or protect something.

Likewise I'd name his younger brother Tack as a reference to tacking which is a similar term to luffing, since he's an overachieving younger brother like Luffy is lol, and also the type of tack you're on influences which side of the boat is windward or leeward. It could also be short for attack which is the opposite of protect and sort of alludes to the difference in the brothers' personalities.

Brook's fan I'd name Anastasia since Brook was largely inspired by Slash and that's the name of one of his most popular songs. I also think it fits her.

For the Chopper fan he was hard to think of one for but I came up with Murdoch since it means warrior of the sea to go with his moniker "king of the waves", and because doch -> doc -> doctor lol

The Mihawk fan I'd call Torizawa because it can mean rumour or gossip, and tori can also mean bird, like a hawk huehue.

I was also toying with calling the Zoro and Franky fans Kiri and Nuki respectively because kirinuki means newspaper/magazine clipping or the cutting for a scrapbook, plus kiru is Zoro's favourite word (it means to cut/slice), but it's more of a joke/pun name for the two of them cause I couldn't think of anything else 😂

[miyokosdiaryonepiece]

chapter 1

February 8, 1524

Dear Nami, It's been 4 days since the day you, Luffy, and the others set sail again. Momma has been breathing down my neck since the Greengrocer brothers ratted me out about trying to see you in person. Every time she sends me out on a delivery she's so adamant about me going straight there and back with "no dilly dallying". The older Omori brother has been running into me a lot lately too, I have a feeling momma told him to keep an eye on me. Maybe she tells him my delivery routes beforehand, it's annoying.

On another note, I read in the paper yesterday that Doflamingo resigned from the seven warlords. I wonder what you think about this? Is this a good thing? I have a day of deliveries ahead of me, but one day, I hope I can have a more exciting life of adventure like yours. For today, I'm delivering to the GreenGrocer family; momma's getting the delivery ready now.

"Oko! Come make this delivery!" Her mother barges in unannounced, demanding her to take on this delivery. 

Miyoko turns her head and smiles. "On it! Let me get my map!" She packs her usual delivery equipment, wallet to collect the payments, pen and pad, bike license, and so on. 

Her mom set up the deliveries on the bubble bike outside while Miyoko marked the addresses on her map. Three stops from Grove 50 where the shop is and 45 where the last location is. She figured that since the other two stops are on more northern groves she’ll visit them first then circle around to 45 then come back home. Besides, the shortcut between 47 and 46 is only effective coming from the west so it’s easier to visit the last anyway.

As she hopped on the bike seat her mom strapped down the boxes securely to the bed. "All ready, now go straight there and back! No dilly-dallyin-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, no distractions." She groans and takes off. "Be back shortly!" Her mom watches from the door anxiously as Miyoko leaves down the street

Most construction from the day of your return is blocking paths for my deliveries so I've been having to carry a map with me, but I also know a lot of shortcuts so it hasn't deterred me one bit. In fact, I use the shortcuts even when there are no roadblocks. Momma doesn't like it but it's faster for deliveries. So even if pirates come and destroy our roads and bridges I'm able to continue my tasks

She arrives at each delivery five to ten minutes before the expected arrival. Swiftly unstrapping the boxes to hand them off to the customer, collecting the payment,  then securing the strap on the other crates again to make her way to the next location.

"Now for the last one." She pats the crate on the back of the bike and heads off again. No map needed to get to Greengrocer from here, she knows what road to take, and a detour if needed. 

She approaches the shop anxiously, letting off the acceleration on the bike the closer she gets. After the events of the Strawhat’s return she got chewed out big time by the younger brother, and she’s not exactly excited to visit the older brother either, he’s not the most social and the way he looks at her makes her feel like she’s in trouble. He just has that face. 

"I bet both the brothers are on duty so I won't have to worry about them giving me a hard time.” She murmurs to herself as she pulls up to the door and hops out of the seat to unstrap the crate. “I'll drop this off to Mrs. Omori and be on my way-"

"Hello?" The door opened before she could knock and she heard the familiar voice.

Habiki! Why is he home? Do Marines even get time off? Unless there's an emergency. PTO? 

"Mmmn... Delivery." She hums with slight irritation and tosses the strap aside and hands him the crate of food, with a bit of a struggle from the weight of all the food.

"Thanks, I'll take that." He mutters and reaches down to grab the crate, holding it up with one hand for a moment.

Why is he showing off his strength in front of me, or maybe he's just so used to being strong that he doesn't even think about it? Either way it pisses me off!

"You got here fast. How'd you get past construction?" He asks as he sets the crate on his shoulder.

She pouts a bit but loses the look when she looks back to him. "There are passages through certain Groves. If you follow along roots and alleys.”

"... Passage?"

"Yeah." She huffs and hops back up on the seat of the bubble bike which reaches up past Habiki’s height.

"... You know the bubble bikes aren't secure going down there? There's a lot of rigid rock and roots, it could pop."

"I know my way around." She crosses her arms and looks down at him.

"Hmm..." He narrows his eyes. "Well, have a safe trip back."

"Will do." She takes off again. Without the weight of crates on her bike she's able to go a bit faster. 

Who cares if it's dumb to be so mad! I'm mad! He makes me mad! Acting so high and mighty, flexing his muscles. I bet he wore a T-shirt just for me to see how strong he is and rub it in my face.

He waves her off with a somewhat confused expression.

Is she mad? Must've had a difficult trip.

"Habiki! Who was at the door!"

As he softly closes the door Habiki turns on his heel and carries the crate to the kitchen where he unpacks all the food. "The wholesaler kid. She delivered today." He says, but his mind wanders. He remembers faintly the shortcut she made him chase her down when he was trying to get her to safety. She seems to know the Archipelago well…Maybe better than me.

"Miyoko? How is she?" His mom smiles fondly as she chops up food for dinner.

With a hum he replies, "She seems good." before his hand suddenly slips and he fumbles with the egg carton. With a bit of panicked juggling he catches it, leaving the eggs unharmed and he lets out a flustered sigh.

"Clumsy..." She continues to chop. "Leave the fragile stuff on the counter."

He sighs and unpacks the soft stuff into their designated places. Bread in the cupboard, sliced meat in the first fridge drawer. Leaving glass jars and other fragile stuff on the counter like she said. After unpacking it all he moves his attention to the sink where a pound of chili thaws out. He takes the thawed out chili out of the bag and starts to peel it under the drizzle of water. His big hands work delicately.

"It's nice that you took time off to help around the house, Habiki." His mom says with a smile. He's glad to hear some praise for his actions. Though he knows that if it were Jun in his place the praise would be louder, maybe with tears.

"Of course, I'm always here to help.” When I'm not chained to work. He replies as he drops the stray seeds into a bowl on the side. They usually sell the seeds or give them to the Tachibana's.

"I appreciate it. I miss my boys."

"Miss you too, mom."

Miyoko parks the bubble bike behind the house and comes around to get inside.

"I'm back!" Miyoko announces as she arrives back at home.

Her mom peaks around the corner. "How were the roads?"

"Alright.” She hums as she rummages through her bag to grab the wallet with all the cash she collected from the deliveries. “Still construction but I got around it"

"Those pirates are a hazard and a half, I wish this stupid era of pirates would end already." Her mom scoffs as she takes the money from Miyoko's deliveries and puts it in the store register.

"Mmh, yeah..." Miyoko hums, not paying much attention. “I’ll be in my room.”

Miyoko heads up the stairs to her room to continue her diary entry that she left unfinished before heading out for deliveries. There wasn’t much else she felt like adding other than a finishing note.

Best of luck to you Strawhats. I’ll do my best too

[greenerteacups]

The great hormonal storms in book 5 lead me to this ask: let's talk about sex. Or at least sex ed. Does Hogwarts have it (at least in LH'verse)? Is that a nurse duty or a Head of House one? Did Narcissa sit her baby boy down for The Talk, at least to impart how Miss Granger would return to her parents in the same state she left them or at least unimpregnated? Did she outsource that task to Uncle Severus? Did Ron share what his older brothers passed down? What does our favorite victorian-in-spirit know abt sex beyond "lie back and think of the bloodline" and his hormonal daydreams?

I'm l o s i n g it at the idea of Narcissa instructing Draco to leave Hermione "unimpregnated," which, I just — I think the minute she uses those things in the same sentence, Draco hits the road at the speed of Mach Christ. He's gone. He's not here. He's not in the building. Can't have the Sex Talk if you can't fucking catch me, Mom. (For the record, I can fully see Narcissa trying. She's much less prudish than Draco is — gossips about adultery with her 11-y/o son on Christmas morning, references Ye Olde Wilde Times with Lucius, cracks the occasional bawdy joke, etc. — she just doesn't often see the need to discuss it, being aware that Draco, as far as she knows, remains an un-Awakened little Victorian. The Great Granger Debacle of 1995 is likely raising her suspicions there.) That said, Draco knows what sex is; for some reason my mind gravitates to the slightly handwavey answer of "boy's dormitory." I'm picturing him in his four-poster, curtains drawn, pretending to be asleep, while Ron and Harry have a free-ranging, horrifically creative conversation about what Ron thinks sex is (courtesy of the twins). Optimistically, Neville hops in with corrections from Augusta Longbottom's sexual etiquette seminars. Either way, Draco never, ever reveals that he has heard this conversation.

Or, alternatively, he and Theo have a really intense heart-to-heart during that summer before third year, which would do a lot to explain why the two of them are so weird about each other basically for the rest of time. (Raising the question of where Theo/Pansy/Daphne learned it. At age 12, Pansy got an excruciatingly detailed Talk from her mother, who was scared to death of a teen pregnancy pitching their family into ruin; Pansy, deciding it was unfair she had to suffer this and Theo did not, inflicted said Talk on Theo, who was just relieved that he didn't have to ask Sibelius. And Daphne grew up around so many healers that she just badgered them until someone gave in and told her. She's also a stated connoisseur of trashy romance novels, so. Make of that what you will.)

I think that Hogwarts, being modeled in mores and general Vibe from old English boarding schools, probably is not the most forward-thinking with sex ed. I also do believe Severus Snape would sooner jump off a bridge, and I kind of need him for the plot, so I've got to spare him that grave and important duty. Poppy Pomfrey probably gets the question the most of any staff member, and over the years, I think she's honed her answer down to a tight 3 minute-monologue that covers all major topics.

Odds and ends in the same vein:

Hermione gets a sit-down with the Drs. Granger the summer before her thirteenth birthday, so sometime in August, 1992. It is meticulously explained and flawlessly presented, with color-coded diagrams, an index, and a syllabus. It includes a diagnostic chart for common STIs and a spreadsheet on birth control options. Dr. Granger gets excited after a tangent about ovarian cysts and runs to pull out her old copy of Grey's. Hermione spends the whole time fully miserable, wondering why parents couldn't be like, greengrocers or something. (That doesn't stop her from asking questions, obviously.)

Ron, like all Weasley men of his generation, gets a knock on his door sometime around his 14th birthday, and Arthur invites him to "go fishing." This is code for "stand by the river and try to keep a will to live while your dad explains the mechanics of sex, its importance, and the value of waiting until you feel comfortable and safe sharing that level of intimacy with a trusted partner" (sic).

Fred and George got separate talks, because Arthur wanted to emphasize that he sees them as individuals; however, Fred ran back and immediately recounted it all to George, who proceeded to feign extraordinary expertise in it the next morning, to his father's horror.

Ginny's "go fishing" equivalent is Molly taking her out for tea and delivering a well-meant but incoherent combination of abstinence-only sex ed, aggressive body positivity, and highly technical discussions of how to insert a diaphragm. Ginny, who bullied the real story out of Bill years ago, is baffled, and to this day can't say for sure what she was supposed to take away from it.

Harry spends his 14th birthday at the Burrow. Ron and his brothers make a blood pact in advance not to tell him about it, though, so when Arthur invites him out for the day on August 1st, his sole thought is: oh, nice! Can't wait for some fun fishing :)

[kakashi-fangirl-ita-blog]

Chapter: 1/1 Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Monkey D. Luffy, Portgas D. Ace, Kizaru | Borsalino, Aokiji | Kuzan, Donquixote Doflamingo, Marine Younger Brother, Marine Older Brother, Marine Older Brother & Marine Younger Brother - Character Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, War, Marineford Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Brothers, fan letter, One Piece: Fan Letter, Marine Big Brother - Freeform, Marine Little Brother, Marine Brothers - Freeform, Greengrocers Big Brother - Freeform, Greengrocers Little Brother, I cried watching the fan letter and i rewatched it like 50 times Summary:

The moment of the battle of Marineford portrayed in One Piece Fan Letter but from the point of view of the Younger Brother. His thoughts, his fears and his feelings during those moments where he thought he was going to die and lose his older brother.

From the text: I tried to scream, but I could only emit a muffled gasp while I forced myself not to pass out again. No, it couldn’t be happening. Why me? I didn’t want to die there. I didn’t want to lose… My brother.

[matbenetti17]

Daisy Town: Roddy

🦊General Information🛫

Nickname: Roddy

Age: 25 (33)

Gender: Male

Species: Fox

State: Deceased

Birthday: April 25

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Height: 1.76m (5'7)

Hair: Red

Eyes: Green

Outfit: White shirt, military green jacket, gray pants and black boots

Accessories: Green tie and medal for valor

Affiliation(s): Daisy Town (formally)

Occupation(s): Cadet pilot 

Marital status: In a relationship (formally)

Family: Daniel James Parker (father), Martha Mulligan (late mother), Rosalind May Parker (younger sister), Samuel Roger Parker (paternal grandfather), Catherie Flores (late paternal grandmother), Connor O’Riley (late maternal grandfather), Sally Murphy (late maternal grandmother)

Relations: Dawn Redwood (fiancée), Alfred Jones (best friend), Jackson Randal (friend/rival), Pamela Ramirez (friend), Josephine Alcott (friend)

Roderich "Roddy" Samuel Parker was Ros' older brother. Since he was 6 he had to take care of his little sister after their parents died. He worked hard all his life to allow Ros to go to school, but he was always there for her, he was kind hearted and always ready to help.He did various jobs in the 23 years before joining the Air Force Academy to become a pilot: he was a carpenter, worked for a greengrocer, shoveled coal for the Daisy Town railway company and also worked in the Wonders textile factory. As soon as his sister got old enough she started working instead of him. By becoming a cadet pilot Roddy met his future best friends: Al and Jack but also the love of his life, Dawn. It was love at first sight, they were so much in love and after two years of engagement they decided to get married. Roddy had never told Ros about Dawn and his friends, he wanted to finish the three years of training and get his license first. But fate can be a pain in the ass.Towards the end of the last year, a flight test with a new model aircraft had to be done and Roddy volunteered. Due to a malfunction the plane crashed and Roddy was badly injured, there was nothing more to be done. He barely had time to say goodbye to his friends, his beloved Dawn and his sister before dying.Everyone was devastated, especially Ros. So much that, during the funeral, she fled the city with her brother's plane, the Liberty Bell, without showing up anymore.

🦊Some fun facts🛫

-He died when he was 25 years old in a plane accident

-He was training to become a pilot at the aeronautical academy of his city, Daisy Town

-He and Dawn had to get married, but then he died

-He and Al were best friends

-He could play the guitar -Roddy's mother had a fur color mutation which is called "cherry red", which he inherited by having his arms, feet and ear tips dark brown instead of black. Also he has the rest of the fur slightly redder than orange 

🦊Trivia🛫

Roddy is slightly inspired by the character of Tadashi Hamada from "Big Hero 6". And his name comes from the fanon name of Austria from "Hetalia.

[il-papa-patata]

Say your Name Forever

(Cardinal Copia traces the path of his relationship with one Cesarina Gastone de Medici. Cardi C x Female OC. Some domestic stuff, flashbacks & a proposal. Rated T.)

Copia admits. He's a fuck-up.

Upon his rising to Cardinal, he was asked to take holy wine. A drink to ease the meeting of a human and a demon, something which relaxed the body and mind to an extent, encouraged the Unholy.

What a normal person would do is meet with a demon – usually from one's preferred sin, with the strength varying depending on the promise of the individual. A contract would be made. And it provided the new Cardinal with both power and direction. Secondo lives by his master's hand – the righteous wrath of Asmodeus; as does Terzo, who slinks along with the sinuous Lord Baphomet.

Copia had expected perhaps a demon of envy. And he had expected someone not-too-imposing.

Well- no, actually. Copia pretends now that he had expected that, but when he took the holy wine, the only thought on his mind was how bitter the drink was.

He wasn't raised in the Church after all. Spent his adolescence as a Catholic. To him, the sanctity and procedures of these rituals were far-removed, hazy to him.

But he didn't meet a demon. He didn't meet even an imp. He met a human.

Cesarina slips out of her clothing, down to her pretty chemise, trimmed with lace and embroidered in whitework. It's a little damp – her dark hair is still beaded with drops of rain that haven't sunk in. It looks pretty. Like pearls.

When he hands her his cardigan, she slips it on gratefully, pulling it around her body and smiling.

“Thank you,” she hums, pushing her curls over her shoulders again. She holds his stare for a few more moments, and then grins. “Am I that pretty?”

He shakes his head a little, and then balks – “Yes. Very pretty. Sorry.”

She laughs, her full lips parting. She steps out of her petticoats and begins to undo his soaked cassock.

This is maybe the twentieth time they've met. If not that many, certainly over a dozen. He tries not to count them.

Today they had been out when it began to rain, and so he had hurried them back to his little apartment, up the stairs behind the greengrocers', a couple rooms and a small kitchen. He flushed at the mess – a swirl of trinkets and old magazines and general clutter that somehow didn't disguise the sparseness of furnishings – but she had pressed by, unflapped by it.

She pulls the skirt of the cassock up, getting the last few buttons.

Cesarina is – hm. She's a nice lady – she's from Florence, although she spends some time in Rome, which is how they end up meeting more often than not. It's not like he can just head over to Florence any time he felt like it. Letters filled in the gaps between meetings, and though she could just summon him the way she did the first night they met, the issue is him getting back to the anti-Vatican, so she doesn't.

She's –

“All done,” She sing-songs, pulling the cassock off his shoulders, “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold, Faustino.”

-

Copia aches. He aches and shivers, cold and hot, groaning when a stony-faced Secondo smooths a wet cloth over his forehead.

He's burning.

He can feel the disapproval rolling off Secondo in waves, although the man has diligently taken care of him, at times replaced by nurses or Sisters or even occasionally the Mother Superiors. Mother Bonaventura brought flowers, had fed him some soup, had smiled but looked wrong doing it. That was when he was better, anyhow, could still think like a person, not like this.

Mostly it was Secondo. At first, he was his usual self – stern and quiet, but caring and gentle. Though Copia had fallen ill through his own carelessness, it didn't seem particularly worrisome. Just a cough, and a bit of a chill.

But then the fever came on. Slowly at first – he was still trying to work, to fill paperwork. Secondo brought him a lap desk and a small pile of papers until Copia had demanded more, which had set the first notch in Secondo's brow.

The fever worsened. The cough too. Soon he was hunched over the desk, his shoulders covered in blankets, trying still to work. Anything but stopping.

Secondo's brow notched again. And he took the papers and the lap desk away. When Copia had tried to argue – stood, from the sickbed, and took shaky steps towards him – Secondo had picked him up but the scruff of his pajamas and set him back down in the bed, pressing a hand to his breastbone in a silent demand to stay.

Terzo was nowhere to be seen. He'd left for somewhere else – outreach, maybe – after their fight. Copia simmers now in the need to apologize to his friend, his brother – not by blood but by bond. Copia is not sure Terzo even knows he's sick, or worse, if he knows – if he cares at all.

Copia cries. From the pain, from the loss, from the burning haze in his throat and eyes and limbs. Secondo wipes them away with the wet cloth, but it doesn't help.

“You're a fool,” Secondo says.

“I know,” Copia sobs. He just- he had wanted to hope. To hope that the woman he waited for would be – that woman from the dream, the woman he knew in an instant, who smiled at him and pulled him close, calling him by his name – his name that he chose himself – “Faustino.”

-

“It looks like we're trapped for a little while,” Cesarina says, combing her fingers through her hair. “Do you have any ribbon?”

“Ah, somewhere,” he says, stripping off his trousers and waistcoat. “Um, maybe that pile of Vogue?”

She pads over to it, her feet bare. It's a surprisingly sensual sound – her feet on the wooden floors of his home. He watches her lean over the pile of magazines, gently flipping through the stack. Her legs are very bare, and his cardigan fits well on her. That pale nape is exposed, the way her hair falls over her shoulder, and he has the sudden urge to bite there.

He focuses on finding another shirt.

“Found some,” she says.

He pulls the new, dry shirt over his head. He chafes at being wet, but being in dry clothes makes it a bit better. He lays some of his clothes on the radiator, hoping they'll dry fine.

She braided her hair along her neck in the meantime, and settled onto his bed with a magazine. He joins her, sitting next to her, hip to hip.

“I didn't know you collected old magazines.”

“I don't collect them,” he says, leaning into her, “I was there. I bought them at the newsstand.”

“Old man.”

He nips at her earlobe, to which she gives a little squeak.

“Crotchety old lady,” he grumps, nipping her more, fingers finding her waist and tickling.

She squeaks again and flutters her legs, trying to avoid his biting, wriggling until she's laid out on his sheets and gasping for breath before grabbing his hands to stop him.

“You're older than me!” She gasps, a big smile on her face, “By a hundred years!”

“Still rude to the elderly.” He flexes his fingers again, but her grip is firm.

But still, she doesn't stop him when he bends down to kiss her.

-

You wouldn't think summer rain could be so cold.

Faustino waits. He waits.

His cassock is soaked. His biretta is losing shape. His makeup is running.

But he waits.

Just for the glimpse of her. That woman.

It had to be her – although his dream had been hazy, he's certain now – the woman from his dream had been her, the small and pious Celestina. It had been her name he'd said, her waist he'd held, her voice that had said his name.

She's married. But he still – he needs to show her that she-

She comes by, out of the church, her woolen hood pulled over her head, the hem of her skirts pulled up from her delicate feet. She still has a rosary in her other hand, and when she looks up at him, she startles.

“Ah-” he says, stepping to her, “Signora de Medici-”

She shivers, but doesn't back away. “Yes?”

“F-Flowers. For you.” He holds them out. He'd bought them. They were a lot of money, but he needed to – to show that she meant everything to him-

She blinks. Her soft face pulls into a small smile, pleased, her cheeks filling with a dainty color. “Oh, why thank you.”

His heart leaps to his throat. The waiting was worth it for that smile, the dampness and the discomfort-

“Did my husband ask you to deliver these?” She says, perfectly, disastrously warm.

The heat rushes out of him. The warmth.

“Oh,” he says, the warmth replaced by a cold dullness, like winter earth, “yes. He sends... his regards.”

“Thank you,” she says, bundling the flowers beneath her cape, clasping it shut, “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening,” he murmurs. Watches her go.

After a few moments, she disappears from the street. He begins to walk home, soaked. Lifts his eyes to there – their home, where in the window he can see Celestina throwing her arms around her husband's neck, the look of confusion on his face that melts into the kind of joy Copia wanted-

Copia sniffles, wiping away the tears that spring to his face, the heel of his hand smeared with black kohl.

-

He brings in two cups of coffee. He hands one down to her, which she takes gratefully.

She sips, letting out a soft sigh when she's done – it's sweet, and Faustino smiles.

He settles beside her again on the bed, sipping his own cup. She idly flicks through a magazine, reaches out her hand to hold his.

He reads something else. Church documents. Leans over his lap and reads, their hands occasionally unclasping to flip a page but always rejoining.

The coffee is good. The beans were a gift from Primo, who knew about he and Cesarina long before anyone else in the church (she and him were friends, apparently.) They are deep and chocolatey, with a final mellow zing, good with milk.

The rain falls outside. The radiator lets out a soft tink-tink every once and a while, keeping away the chill.

He watches Cesarina, engrossed in the magazine. Her soft fingers find the end of her braid and fiddle with it, looping it around her fingers.

He smiles. Leans over to her and kisses her cheek.

She perks a little, looks at him, and smiles, before returning the kiss with one of her own.

They go back to reading.

-

He hears the call. And he likes it. Someone asking Baphomet to come fuck them, albeit in nicer terms.

He feels Baphomet reach for the call, but-

Copia gets there first, strolling through his apartment door.

He enters into a study.

It's nice looking – it's still night here, and it's warm, and the room is lit by the candles lit at the points of a rug – oh, that's clever, it's a rug woven to look like a summoning circle, saves some time and effort.

Probably more comfortable to be fucked on too.

There's a woman in the center of the rug. She wears a fancy dinner bodice, and a rich satin skirt, and her dark hair is tied up against her skull. She's arranged fruit, and candles in silver platters, and cakes in the shapes of- wow.

Her offerings are nothing like the usual meat and rope and rods that people put out for Baphomet. They smell sweet. She smells sweet as well.

“Well,” her voice says, and his ears perk, “That didn't work.”

“Not exactly,” he finds himself saying.

She spins, exposing her face, her wide dark eyes, and her-

Open bodice, which exposes a lovely swath of pale flesh, a deep fissure of cleavage.

He tries to suppress the grin. She's quite the lovely thing.

“Hello. You summoned me-?”

Oh.

“I didn't intend on you,” she says, softly, “Where's Baphomet?”

He swallows, staring at her.

Oh. She's-

“They're pretty hard to get a hold of,” he lies. Suddenly nothing else in the world matters.

It's her.

The woman he saw. That many years ago. Her dark hair, her dark eyes, that nose – even the soft line of her chin and yes, that swath of cleavage is familiar to him.

He kneels before her, taking the cup of wine she offers.

“So you came instead? I was really expecting Lord Baphomet. Are you that confident you can do just as well?”

He smiles, sipping the wine. Even that playful little grin. He wants to kiss her.

He shrugs.

He leans down and kisses her neck, his hand fanning over her knee, nibbling gently on the skin behind her ear, her little moan soft in his.

He has prayed ten thousand times, taken Eucharist and Inverse Eucharist, sat in the holy might of altars and in the infernal wisdom of the Leviathan, but nothing compares to this. The wholeness.

Has he really prayed before now?

“Do you have a name, Signorina?” he asks, fluttering delicate little kisses down her artery.

But, he finds-

As she says it, he says it too.

“Cesarina Gastone de Medici.”

-

She raises her arms above her head, slipping the hem of her chemise up along her milky thighs, releasing the stretch with a satisfied sigh.

“What do you want to eat? What do you have?”

“I still have some of the produce Giacomo gave me. And Swiss made risotto for me the last time he was here.”

“I could make arancini, then.”

“You know how to make arancini?” He gawps, hands stilling on a crate of summer vegetables.

“Yes!” she giggles. “Giacinta used to make them all the time. It was the first thing I ever tried to cook.”

“Well,” he says, heart still saddened at Giacinta's name these many years later, “The eggplant and tomatoes are perfectly in season.”

She giggles, pulling the small covered dish of risotto off his counter, handing it to him before taking the eggplants from him and beginning to cut them fine.

-

The woman weeps. Inconsolate.

She had been strong during the service, though he had noticed how her hands crushed the black gloves she held. She had not cried, she had simply held her dark-veiled head high.

Giacinta Vitale, after one death and nearly 200 years, had finally died. An impassioned member of the laity, she could often be found, six-foot-something and strong-browed, yelling at Terzo during his papacy. She liked Copia, and he liked her, and she was always telling him he just had to meet her charge.

“You would love her in an instant, Faustino,” she would say, lounging in his office with a glass of provided claret, “I'm sure of it.”

He meets her ward today, after providing the service, after the burial, after saying goodbye to his dear friend. Her charge had held it together this long, just as long as he had, but somehow, as they linger towards the back of the retreating mourners, it breaks for them together.

She sobs, falling heavily to the grass. It is a perversely beautiful spring morning, the grass still wet with dew, the trees flowering into delicate pink blossoms. It doesn't matter. The woman sobs, a bright, rough sound that pulls the tears from Copia's own eyes.

Despite the tears that stream down his face, he helps her up, carefully supporting her until they reach the door of the chapel, the small pew sat in the vestibule.

Loss never gets easier. Not even when you yourself have died. There was always the chance she could revive, but he knows better than to hold out for that.

She wails. He takes her gloved hand carefully, strokes the back of it. It's not much, but he hopes it's some reassurance.

Slowly, the crying ebbs. So does his own, watching the soft profile of the woman under the veil. The Inverse church wears white in mourning – this woman isn't one of theirs.

Eventually she turns to him, gently placing her own hand atop his, a stack of four hands upon her thigh.

“Thank you, Father,” she hiccups, her voice bashful, “I- thank you.”

“It's no trouble,” he murmurs, “I was a friend of Giacinta's.”

She hiccups again, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Are you perhaps the Cardinal?”

“I am. Are you her ward?”

She laughs weakly. “I am. She told me a thousand times I had to meet you, but I was always so busy.”

“She told me the same,” he chuckles, “and I was also always busy.”

“It's a shame she didn't get to see us meet.”

“Yes.”

They sit for a moment, hands together, before she sighs.

“I have to go. The funeral feast doesn't wait, unfortunately.” She stands, seeming to collect herself, “But I- thank you, Cardinal.”

“Of course. My br- ah, one of the former Papas would have been better at consoling you, but-”

She lifts the deep veil from one half of her face – exposing a pair of lips like a blooming rose – and gently kisses his cheek.

“No, you were just what I needed.”

-

There's cold roast and the arancini and some sauteed zucchini, along with the zucchini flowers, fried in hot lard. They eat it down with a bottle of dry red wine Terzo had gifted him many years ago, and her ankle hooks with his as they eat at his meager, deck-of-cards sized kitchen table.

“The arancini are perfect,” he says, swallowing down some wine to soothe out the warmth of the rice.

“Well, I didn't know you could fry zucchini blossoms like this.”

He giggles. “We used to make them in the summer at the cloister. The Mother Superior would fry them in a pan with olive oil, since deep-frying was overindulgent.”

“And yet here you are,” she giggles, “Stuffing them with anchovy and cheese.”

“Lucifer prevents no such use of lard,” he grins.

-

“So what now, morningstar?”

Faustino cuts up the pumpkin that Giacomo gave to him as a welcome back gift. Whisks a cup of thin batter. Flicks a droplet of it into the hot lard. It sizzles.

The King of Hell is at his dinner table, in his tiny apartment, but Faustino couldn't care less. Right now, he just wants to fry this pumpkin. Not think about dying or death or the face of Celestina.

Lucifer hums, watching with another borrowed face. This one is lean, slim, with dark hair and a firm brow. It isn't Lucifer's first face, something almost soft and the color of fertile earth, but still, it looks like him.

“Do you keep chasing? She is still alive, still married. You weren't dead long. You could take what you want still.”

“I don't want it anymore,” he says, cursing at the spit of lard that lands on his hand. “I don't want her.”

Lucifer hums. “It doesn't seem so from here, angelino.”

Faustino says nothing, staring into the frying pot and furrowing his brow.

Lucifer stands, comes to his side, plucks a freshly-fried piece of pumpkin much to Faustino's disapproval. Lucifer grins, snakes an arm around his waist, and snarls, “Well, no more loving for my little Faustus, ah?”

-

Faustino swallows, hands over the ring.

It's- well, almost a joke, between the two of them, something that started the night he spirited her away from that masquerade, had disappeared in a haze of black smoke with her lifted over his shoulder, to her ringing, pealing laughter. The next morning, he had given over the small ring he'd bought – a gimmel ring, two hands clasping over a small onyx, their initials inscribed on each hand. The hollandaise she watched so carefully broke and the eggs overpoached in their haze of kisses, but he ate it all anyway.

It hadn't been a yes then, and it wasn't yeses the last times either but-

It's certainly not no either. It never has been. She might have waved him off- the distance would be troublesome, Cardinals don't get married – but she never said no to him. To them.

This time- is different. She doesn't laugh when he hands over another ring – maybe the sixth or seventh, a fine piece of rose quartz set into a delicately crimped band, meant for her right index finger. She- smiles, sort of, but it sits oddly, falls quickly.

He swallows.

“You know,” he starts, unable to summon the words, “Well...”

She puts it on, stares at it, how it sits on her finger.

Frowns.

Not frowns, but pulls her mouth into a tight line, her brow squeezing low.

“Ah, Faustino,” she says softly, taking it off and setting it on the table. “Hm.”

He doesn't like that look. How her eyes settle somewhere else, how her shoulder slump inwards. The difficult expression.

A stone sits in his stomach.

“What's the matter?” He manages to ask, throat tight.

“Ah.” Her expression shifts, as if trying to come up with words. Finally she slides the ring back towards him, taking the other three off as well and setting them by him. “I enjoy our time, Faustino. Really, I do. And it's nice to play pretend at these proposals, but-”

She falls silent again.

“But?”

“... But I don't think you could actually mean it.”

Ah.

The apartment creaks, in the way it always does when it rains. There is the soft tink-tink of the radiator, the scent of wool drying, arancini on the air, savory tomato. His heart beats, and so does hers, presumably. He doesn't know if he's breathing.

“What?” he manages.

She shrugs. “I think this is... a nice diversion for the both of us. And it's pleasant to be with you,” she smiles, “But I'm not someone to be married to.”

“Why not?” He leans forward in his seat, grasping her wrist.

She laughs, rattling off a list of words that don't seem her own. “I'm getting on in my years, and I'm too hedonistic and too occupied with my businesses to be much of a good wife, and I'm much more suited to taking lovers.”

“But do you want to be married? To marry me?” He insists, leaning into her. None of those reasons were enough. And they were not about them at all. All the shallow things others said about her.

She falls silent, staring at where he grips her wrist.

“I'm not-”

“I'm asking what you want, Cesa,” he urges, “Not what you think you are.”

She stares at his hand.

Her hair is dry now, falling over her shoulder in a thick braid.

A gentle color comes to her cheeks, and she murmurs, voice catching- “I do. I want to but-”

“But?” He urges, softly, leaning in even closer over the corner of the kitchen table, “But what, mia stellina?”

“I'm not- deathless, like you. And I feel like I'm rushing – we haven't known each other that long, but I always feel drawn to you, I feel like you know my thoughts so effortlessly and I'm-”

She reaches. Gently, softly – strokes his cheekbone with her thumb, their fingers lacing.

“I'm scared you might get bored, living as long as you have. That my- my future years won't hold your interest. I don't want it to be something we'd regret.”

He laughs.

He laughs right in her face, a guffaw of laughter. He doesn't mean to but- she can't be serious.

“What, what's so funny?” she pouts, and he laughs more, surging forward to kiss her.

She yelps against his mouth, but he's already moved on to her cheeks and nose and chin and is laughing, laughing, laughing.

“I died to meet you!” he guffaws, “Getting bored of you! Ha!”

She pouts, but it break into a smile, her hands reaching to ruffle his hair furiously.

“You're making fun of me!”

“No, I'm not! But- hahaha, Cesa! Cesa, Cesa, Cesa...” he trails off, settling against the surface of the table and smiling up at her fondly. “Cesa, I've been searching for you before I even died. One hundred years I've been searching for you. I couldn't get tired of you.”

He laces their fingers gently.

“One hundred...?” She ventures, furrowing her brows. She doesn't believe him.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “When we – the clergy – take the rank of Cardinal, we drink spiked wine to meet a demon patron. Usually they match your sin, and usually how important or powerful you are, and they tend to set a life path for the new Cardinal.” He pulls her hand close, kisses the knuckles. “I saw you.”

She blinks. And then another color ebbs into her cheeks, soft and warm. She pouts. “You saw me.”

“Yes. We held each other. I called your name, you called mine. That was all. But I spent from then until now just trying to find you. I died doing it. Thought I would swear off love and loving forever-

“When you summoned me to your study- I knew you. I knew you immediately. I knew I loved you in an instant, and bella, mia stellina, mia sposa, I've only fallen farther. You are a wonderful woman. And I love you.”

She blinks. Looks down at him, at where their fingers are laced.

It's a long moment, but he feels better for it, to have it all in the open – she knew he was old, knew he was dead, but now she knew a bit more, and it felt alright to have her know. He looks at the woman he died to meet, watches her expression change as she thinks about it all, the soft lips and her curving nose and those deep, dark eyes.

And...

She grins.

The expression lights up her whole face, a transformation worthy of some theatrical magic, and he smiles too.

She puts the rings back on, including the gimmel ring on the proper finger, taking his hand again. She is radiant here in his kitchen, his cardigan on her shoulders and her bare feet pressed against his.

“Well,” she says with her usual playful cheer, “Are we going to have a spring wedding, then?”

[spiralingemptyness]

i got so much shit going on man

So much art im drawing and wanna draw

mental health’s a bitch

school work im procrastinating

an intresting convo about jojo siwa in one of my classes

but is that gonna stop me from drawing my shit and my beloveds

hell no

so take some long overdue one piece fan letter sketches

I still have to sketch the other page 🥲

I wanna tho-

[bonniebird]

Reader x Ivar / Roman x Reader

Part One

Requested by @walkxthexmoon

Roman’s car was parked outside of the store. You weren’t sure why seeing as he didn’t do any of his own shopping. Perusing the items you spotted him waiting outside. You were unsure if he was waiting for you or if he was hoping the cashier would give him a quickie on her lunch break. She smiled as you cashed out and started to leave, hoping to get home as quickly as possible.

You stopped abruptly as you came face to face with Roman who’s been lurking around the greengrocers since you’d gone in. Peter was pottering back and forth, inspecting nearby shops, trying to look as if he wasn’t with Roman who had a rather intent look on his face.

“I’m having a party.” Roman said, not moving so you could go through the door.

“Oh. Well good for you.” You said and tried to squeeze by but he stayed completely still.

“Would you like to come? I’d like you to come.” He offered and you sighed.

“Maybe. I’ll see if my friends are free.” You said hoping to get rid of him quickly.

“Well sure! It’ll be at the Godfrey Mansion, Saturday starting at seven.” He said, glancing at Peter who gave you a look that read as he really didn’t want to be there and he knew exactly how awkward the exchange was.

“We’ll be there too.” A voice said from over Peter’s shoulder. When Roman turned around he found Hvitserk and Ivar smiling at them. “We’re planning to invite you to our party so we’ll be polite and attend yours.” Ivar added with a cheeky smile as he leant on his crutches so he could see past Roman and wink at you.

***********************************

The party was, awkward. Ivar’s older brother had dragged your friend off with Hvitserk toddling after with a mischievous look on his face.

You were left alone, muttering a polite hello to the few people you knew. Roman approached you and you quickly moved through the crowd to avoid him. “Idiot.” You whispered to yourself.

Why you had agreed to come you didn’t know. In fact you knew exactly why. Because if you’d said no Roman would have followed you around until you agreed to go. You’d planned on not turning up and excusing yourself the next time he showed up.

One of your friends looked sorry that he’d followed you and insisted that with enough of the times he’d followed you, called you or turned up uninvited at your house you could get a restraining order. Your other friend insisted that it was so fun to be friends with Roman and seeing as she was the only one free she got her way to attend the infamous party.

“Need a drink?” Roman said, coming up behind you and making you jump.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m fine.” You said quickly. He shrugged as you pushed your way away from his through the crowd.

“Well maybe I can get you a drink?” Ivar said as he hobbled over on his crutches. He smiled and gestured to the bar before adding. “You don’t have to drink it with me either, unlike if he bought you a drink.”

[one-winged-dreams]

I am legit so smitten with those goddamn Fan Letter marines, they don't even have NAMES, what the hell am I supposed to do?

[javistg]

A Second Chance. CH2.

Finally! After months and months, here’s the second chapter of my submission to this year’s @everlarkficexchange

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird]

If you haven’t read it yet, you can find Chapter 1 HERE.

You can also find the entire fic on FF.net and AO3

Ok, here it goes. Tell me what you think.

A Second Chance. CH2.

It's still early when Katniss, Prim, Gale, and Rory reach the Meadow.

There's a handful of young merchant couples visiting the booths their neighbors have set up, and a few kids from the Seam; older teenagers like Gale and Katniss with their younger siblings in tow. But most people are still at home.

Some are waiting for their parents —who have to get off work and wash up before going out. Others are waiting for the Capitol construction crew to be done with the reaping stage; because they can't stomach the idea of celebrating anything while the clanging of hammers and the buzz of drills and chainsaws fill the air with their monotonous soundtrack —a prelude of the pain which will accompany them in the weeks to follow.

Hand in hand, Katniss and Prim explore the stalls with the two Hawthorne brothers trailing close behind.

Mr. Donner's booth is the first to catch their eye. His array of gumdrops and colorful candied fruits makes Prim and Rory smile.

"Maybe we could get something from here this time," Prim says.

Rory bites his lip. "Let's check the other booths before we decide. Yeah?"

Prim agrees, and the group keeps on walking.

Their next stop is in front of Mrs. Kipling, the greengrocer, who sells popcorn and an assortment of nuts. This time, it's Gale who pushes them to move on.

By the time they reach Mr. Porter —the barkeeper who sometimes buys Prim's cheese— a small line has begun to form. His tart lemonade and iced mint tea are crowd-pleasers on warm summer days and, once night falls and the crowds start to thin, he'll pull out the stronger stuff. The line will be even longer then.

The last stall belongs to the bakery. Katniss spots Rye selling butter cookies, small cheese buns, and pound cake by the slice. That's why Peeta's at the bakery today, she muses as her group comes to a stop.

"OK, guys, now that we've seen everything, what would you like?" Gale asks.

Just like last time, Rory and Prim begin debating over what to get. Rory prefers popcorn, but they already had some at the last market fair, and Prim argues that it's her turn to choose.

Katniss smiles fondly as they squabble. Despite everything, Prim and Rory can still behave like children sometimes.

When they finally ask for her opinion, Katniss casually mentions the candied apples she remembers everyone enjoyed.

With all parties in agreement, Gale and Katniss pool their coins together. "We could also get some pistachios," he suggests after counting them.

"I'll get them," Rory quickly offers.

With a nod, Gale puts the coins in his brother's open hand.

The simple gesture tugs at Katniss's heart. Gale is done with school already. In a few more days, he'll start working in the mines, and everyone in his family will have to take on new roles and new responsibilities.

Just like Katniss, Gale's kept his siblings from taking on too many obligations but —regardless of what happens in the morning— lighthearted, innocent Rory, will have to start acting more and more like a grownup now.

With their apple and pistachios, the group walks away from the stands. After searching for a bit, they settle to eat under one of the tall trees lining the Meadow.

It's a sunny afternoon. The sounds of construction have finally been replaced by the cheerful song of the blackbirds perched high on the branches above them, and the green expanse is quickly filling up with people who are eager to enjoy the balmy weather and take a stroll.

Katniss is still laughing at one of Rory's silly jokes when she notices Peeta walking on the opposite side of the Meadow.

Once again, she's struck by how good he looks. The white shirt and khaki trousers he's wearing are humble and worn —a far cry from the stylish clothes Portia will design for him— but they make him look young and wholesome.

Her heart speeds up as she sees him brush a blond wave from his face. This is the boy she remembers when she closes her eyes; the one who stood by her even when they were little more than acquaintances; the one who Snow took away.

The last thought makes her so sad that she has to avert her eyes.

Next to her, Prim chews the last of her apple, and smacks her lips in appreciation once the treat is gone.

Encouraged by her sister's happiness, Katniss looks back up. Peeta's not alone anymore. Delly and her brother, Sam, have joined him.

As the trio reach the stand with the sweets, Katniss sees a fourth person. A slim merchant girl with big round eyes and strawberry blond hair who immediately takes her place next to Peeta when she joins the group.

Peeta turns to greet the girl and gets a pleasant smile in return.

The candied apple turns to lead in Katniss's stomach as she watches the exchange.

Dizzy, her mind speeds through a jumble of memories from the last two years and comes back empty. She's sure. Peeta never said anything about courting anyone else.

Her disappointment teeters on the brink of rage —hot and blinding, the kind that courses through her like molten lava and makes her want to smash vases and claw at people's faces. But she knows she can't do any of that, so she clenches her fists and sets her jaw to keep it contained.

Peeta turns to Sam, who's waving his arms around as he explains something, and he and Delly laugh.

The exchange reminds Katniss of Delly's words, "I used to tell people he was my brother." They certainly look like siblings, she thinks as her fists open up and relax.

The pretty merchant girl looks at her shoes; her cheeks have turned pink. She's embarrassed. It's a small detail —the fact that this girl seems ill-at-ease with her companions— but it's enough to put Katniss's mind at rest. With astonishing speed, her anger ebbs.

Exhausted after the emotional upheaval, Katniss looks down. Staring at the thin layer of dust covering her boots, she wonders --once again-- what she's doing there. Why was she sent back to witness this? She doesn't need to see Peeta talking to some other girl!

"You OK there, Catnip?" Gale asks with a soft pat on her shoulder.

Forcing on a smile, Katniss looks up. Rory and Prim are also staring at her, waiting for an answer. "Yeah." She points to her throat and coughs. "I think I swallowed through the wrong pipe."

"Want me to get you some water?" Gale offers.

She shakes her head no and clears her throat again for effect.

Satisfied that she's all right, the group resumes their conversation.  

Looking past Prim's shoulder, Katniss follows Peeta and his friends as they move on to the next stand.

The group stops to talk to Mrs. Kipling. They all smile, and even laugh politely at something Katniss can't hear —something she can't even begin to guess— and she's struck by how little she knows about this particular period in Peeta's life.

She's always assumed the baker's son never approached her because he thought she was with Gale —and because the Seam-Merchant divide would have probably made things hard for him at home— but she never considered that there might have been someone else; some sweet merchant girl who laughed at his jokes and wore pretty dresses or endured uncomfortable situations to try to please him.

She's about to make up an excuse to flee the scene and go find a dark closet in which to hide when a piece of an old conversation comes back to her mind.

"So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" Katniss had asked back in the cave of their first Game—back when she was trying to get sponsors, and she thought Peeta was just making up stories as he went along.

"No," Peeta had answered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, "I noticed just about every other girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you."

That's all it takes for what remains of her sorrow to go away. A memory.

Peeta's words —the old Peeta's words— are all the reassurance she needs. A reminder that through it all, she's always been on his mind. Yes, there might have been other girls —he's never denied it— but she's always been the most important one, and he has proven it over, and over, and over again.

As she sits there, nestled between her sister and Gale, she knows no one watching could say the same about her.

"Want some?" Gale offers the bag of pistachios. As she takes it into her small hands, she can't help but think about him back in Thirteen wearing a soldier's uniform and sneaking her food from his plate.

She hasn't said anything, talking to Gale about the "deep stuff" has never been easy, but she's grateful for his friendship over the last few weeks, and for the fact that he seems to have put his feelings aside. It's as if he's stepped down. As if he knows, even without her saying it, that she's made her choice.

As she sees him now --joking and laughing with their siblings, blissfully unaware of what the world is about to unleash on them-- she has to admit that she hasn't been very fair to him, either. Whether she's meant to or not, through her silence, she's also been stringing him along.

Not this time, she promises.

Peeta and his group reach the bakery's stand. A few feet away, a handful of vendors are already setting up the bonfire.

While Rye talks to his brother's companions, Peeta slips his hands into his pockets and scans the crowd. When he finds Katniss sitting under the tree, he stills. His smile falters.

All the way across the Meadow, Katniss reads the self-doubt, the all too familiar question in his eyes. "Did I misunderstand?"

"You didn't!" She wants to yell at him. But she doesn't. She can't. She knows what he sees: Gale and her, laughing and sharing a bag of nuts.

Enough!

Katniss pushes the bag of pistachios into Gale's hands. She stands up and brushes the bits of nut dust which have fallen on her lap. "Alright, I'm off!"

Gale raises a questioning eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"To the bonfire. I'm meeting a friend there."

Her answer does nothing to satisfy Gale's curiosity. "A friend? Who?"

Katniss crosses her arms and glares at her hunting partner. "What is this, Twenty Questions? You're not the only person I know, you know?"

"I didn't say I was…" Gale shrugs. "I just—,"

The look of utter confusion on his face makes her laugh. This is what I would have done back then, she realizes. I would have just laughed. Because, while I owe him honesty, I don't owe him any explanations.

She's still smiling when she adds, "I'll see you later." Her eyes find Prim's --if her sister is surprised by this sudden change in plans, she doesn't show it. "Are you going to meet up with Penny now?"

"Yeah," Prim points to the spot where the main road from the Seam reaches the Meadow. "She's meeting me there in a few minutes."

"All right. Come find me when you're ready to go home. OK, little duck?"

With Prim's assurance, Katniss spins on her heels and begins to walk towards the line of booths and the bonfire beyond.

As soon as she makes Peeta out in the distance, her heart skips a beat. He's standing to the side of the pile of kindle which will soon become a roaring fire; chin up, back straight. His blue eyes, a reflection of the summer sky above, follow her every move.

XXXXX

"Hey!" Peeta says as soon as Katniss is close enough to hear him over the ruckus of people lugging the large pieces of wood they'll use for the bonfire.

"Been here long?" she asks.

"No," He points in the general direction of the booths. "I just took a quick look at the stalls with Delly and the others."

"The others?"

"Yeah. Sam and… Lena."

"Lena?" The warm tendrils of embarrassment creep up her neck and color her cheeks. She knows she's being nosy, but his hesitation intrigues her.

"The carpenter's daughter," Peeta explains. When Katniss doesn't say anything, he adds. "She's one year below us in school."

"Ah!" Katniss nods— as if Lena's age is enough to explain why she's never heard of her before— and then, because she simply can't stop herself, she asks, "You're friends with her?"

"Um…" Peeta glances around. His eyes dart through the people around them, but they can't seem to settle anywhere.

If Katniss didn't know any better, she'd think he was trying to come up with a lie, but she knows that's not the case. Peeta is a smooth liar, and he's only hesitating because he wants to tell her the truth. The fact that he's having such a hard time coming up with the right words makes her uneasy.  

Peeta's eyes finally find a neutral place to land --Katniss is not surprised to discover he's chosen her braid. He did that sometimes, she remembers.

"We're not friends," he says, somewhat defensively. "We're… acquaintances… I guess. I don't really know her that well… yet."

Katniss nods. She doesn't need any more explanations, she gets it. Peeta's relationship with Lena isn't really about friendship —or romance— it's about practicality; about planning ahead.

District 12 isn't big enough to have three bakers —four if you count Peeta's father. It seems that the Mellarks have started looking for an alternative trade for their third son.

It's much too early to guarantee a wedding, of course. Engagements can be broken, and Peeta and Lena still have a few more reapings ahead of them, but that hasn't stopped their families from trying to find an advantageous match for their children.

A sad smile lifts Katniss's lips as her heart slowly takes in the news. Peeta, her old Peeta, the boy who once told Panem he'd had a crush on her for as long as he could remember, is currently engaged to a girl he barely knows.

She wants to be mad at him for never telling her; for allowing his jealousy over Gale to fuel his anger when it was him who was involved with someone else all along. But she can't. Not when he's here, standing right in front of her and ignoring all others; risking his mother's wrath and his father's disappointment just to spend a few minutes with a stubborn girl from the Seam who still hasn't thanked him for saving her life.  

The flash of a memory breaks through her thoughts, and she sees Peeta walking out of the room after agreeing to marry her.

That was the second time that choice was taken away from him. Katniss thinks. No wonder he was so upset.

This new realization floors her, but the fleeting stab of pain she feels for having put Peeta through that useless charade acts like a wake up call, a reminder of the hatred she harbors for President Snow and her need to be rid of him.

Before the darkness can pull her any deeper, Katniss asks, "Want to take a walk?"

"Sure!" A hint of relief paints Peeta's smile as he signals to the field behind him. "Lead the way."

Resisting the urge to slip her hand in his, Katniss leads them behind the line of booths and towards the fence. Some people are already walking there to escape a bit from the crowd, so it's not as if they're alone, but the air is fresher, and it's far less noisy. With the woods so close by, she can even hear herself think.  

"So… last day of school, huh?" Peeta says.

"Yup. Got any plans for the summer?"

"The usual: help out at the bakery, watch the recaps… You?"

Katniss smiles, this conversation is so painfully ordinary, so utterly conventional. It's like no conversation they've ever had, and yet, it feels like the most promising one ever. Eager to keep it going, she answers, "The usual: help out at home, trade, watch the recaps…"

Peeta laughs. "Looks like there's not that much to do around here."

They're about to reach the place where the grass turns to gravel when Katniss stops and reaches for Peeta's elbow. "Listen, I need to tell you something."

Peeta stops. His eyes flit between the point where she's touching his arm and her face. "You OK?"

Katniss nods. She wants to say that, "Yes, she's fine --perfect even," but she can't. Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and she's as nauseous as if a swarm of angry tracker jackers was buzzing in her stomach, but she can't turn back now.

With trembling fingers, Katniss slips her hand into her hunting bag and pulls out a bundle —as wide and long as her extended palm— wrapped in a worn linen handkerchief. "Thank you," she says, presenting Peeta with the package.

Peeta's jaw drops. "What for?" Too stunned for words, he shakes his head. "I haven't—,"

"For the bread," she cuts in trying to keep her voice from cracking.

Peeta stands still, looking at the bundle like it's a piece of the moon that has somehow landed in her hands.

"From when we were kids," she adds, hoping the words he once told her will help him understand.

It works. Peeta's eyes open wide, and she knows: he remembers. "Katniss, that—,"

"That was ages ago," she finishes for him. "I know. I should have said something sooner." She pushes the little bundle in her hands towards him once again. "I know this isn't much. But…"

Tears pool in her eyes and she tries to blink them away, but she's too late; a couple of them run down her cheeks, past her neck, and land on the faded linen blouse she carefully chose for her first outing with the boy with the bread.

Embarrassed by her display, Katniss wipes her cheeks dry with the back of her hand. Peeta's tentative touch on her elbow stills her motions.

"Katniss, please don't cry."

She nods, smiling a little through her tears. "I just need you to know that I remember --that I could never forget-- because without that bread my sister and I wouldn't be here today."

Peeta's eyes glisten with the tears he hasn't shed, the tears he's trying so hard to keep inside because this is the second time they've ever spoken, and he doesn't want to look like the kind of person who can't control his emotions.

But she knows better —and she knows him— and she knows he's hurting because, even though he did plenty, Peeta's always wished he could have done more.

"Katniss, I—,"

Once again, she offers her gift. "Just take it, please?"

Peeta's hands wrap around the small parcel holding it as carefully as if it were a bomb. "OK. But, just so we're clear, you didn't need to do this. Seriously, you don't owe me anything."

They've had this conversation before, so she knows he means it. It was the kind of thing that drove her mad about him, the fact that he could do something without expecting anything in return. She used to think it was because he was a pampered brat, a son of privilege who could afford to hand out tokens and ponder about the injustices of the world because he had everything he needed and more, but she knows better now.

Peeta's life is far from perfect, but he's still generous, and kind… and incredibly stubborn, and she's not going to waste the precious time they have left by arguing with him.

With an exaggerated eye roll that shows him she doesn't agree, she lets the matter drop. "Yeah, yeah. Open it," she instructs.

With the same delicate movements he uses to frost the most detailed cookies, Peeta unwraps the little bundle. Six brand new pencils, a different color each, appear on his palm.

As if afraid that someone might snatch them away, Peeta closes his hand over the pencils and brings it to his chest. "How did you know?"

Katniss shrugs. "I guessed. I knew you decorated the cakes and the cookies, so I figured that maybe you like to draw, too."

"I do. I just…" Peeta looks down at the bunch of pencils. He's holding them so tightly she fears he might break them, but the look of awe in his eyes tells her he won't.

"So…," Katniss nods towards the pencils when she can't take the silence anymore, "are they OK?"

Peeta beams at her —infatuation written all over his face. He looks so radiant and handsome that she has to wrap her arms around herself to keep from reaching out and touching him.

"Of course, they are, Katniss, they're perfect!" His cheeks turn pink as he unwraps the pencils to take a better look. "I've never had anything like this before. My father used to give us bits of chalk to play around with when we were little, but I've never had a set of new pencils all of my own. I…," His eyes find hers. They're still a bit shy, but there's a glint of seriousness in them she knows all too well. "Are you sure this is OK?"

"Yes." She nods for emphasis.

The old Katniss, the one who lived this day the first time, wouldn't have agreed —buying six brand new pencils was an extravagance she couldn't afford. But this Katniss, the one who has been through two arenas and who knows her sister is about to be reaped, has decided that giving Peeta those pencils and settling that debt is far more important than keeping her coins under the mattress because, if history repeats itself, her mother and Prim won't need the money; and, if it doesn't… Well... she'll just have to work harder during the summer to make up for the loss.

"Thank you, Katniss," Peeta says, wrapping the pencils back in the handkerchief and slipping them into his pocket.

Now that the conversation is over, Katniss breathes easier. With a quick glance, she takes in their surroundings.

The summer fair is in full swing. The area with the stalls is crowded, people wait in line to buy one last glass of lemonade or a bag of popcorn while the group of men who were carrying the wood earlier lights the bonfire. To the side of the blaze, a three-man band strums their guitars with a lively tune. Couples from both parts of town have gathered around them, they smile and clap, tapping their feet in time with the music.

The smell of smoke and gardenias fills the air now that the sun is about to set. Before long, everyone will be dancing.

"Want to walk a little longer?" Peeta asks so shyly it makes her heart ache.

"We could take a turn along the fence," she suggests as she starts walking.

Peeta falls in step with her. His heavy footfalls crush every leaf and twig in their path. "So… um. What's your favorite color?"

Katniss bursts out laughing. She can't believe they're having this conversation again. They're exactly where she hoped they'd be.

Peeta tilts his head to look at her, eyebrows squished together in confusion. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know, it's just… Why do you want to know that?"

"Well… I like colors. They're everywhere." Looking back at the Meadow, he adds, "There's an entire language hidden in the shapes and shades that surround us —a language that speaks of life's moments, of the connections we make, the bonds we forge— but its words are constantly changing. I'd like to capture them, to commit them to paper so I can remember them --enjoy them-- even after they're gone."

Katniss smiles. She's never heard him say those things before, but she's seen the things he can do. The moments and ideas he can capture on paper. I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever. Her mind whispers.

Before her memories can pull her down the rabbit hole of pain and longing she knows all too well, she mumbles, "It's green."

"Green?" Peeta's smile is so infectious she finds herself mirroring it as she nods in confirmation.

With a sigh, Katniss turns to look out into the woods. The sun is setting behind the mountains. A spectacular orange and yellow blaze lights the sky behind the tall firs and maples that surround the district.

"And you?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer. "What's your favorite color?"

Peeta looks up to the sky. "See that band of golden orange lighting the clouds?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That's it."

XXXXX

They spend the next hour walking along the edge of the Meadow; never too far from the action, but not too close either.

As they walk, they talk about things that are at once familiar and somehow entirely new and, before she knows it, they're already laughing together.

As they're about to turn around, Peeta gets a bit more serious and talks about his brothers. He says he's happy for Bran —who is about to get married to someone he loves— and a little envious of Rye, who's one reaping away from aging out.

Katniss listens, savoring his words and smiling at the things he says; not because she's supposed to --like she once did-- but because she's happy to be there with him and wants to hear everything he has to say.

When he asks about Prim, Katniss's eyes light up. Pride warms her words as she tells him as much as she can about her baby sister without bursting into tears.

Peeta listens and nods at all the right moments. The warmth in his eyes makes her feel beautiful and cherished. Under his gaze, she grows stronger and more powerful than she's been in months.  

By the time they reach the bonfire again, night has fallen over District 12. The merchant booths are closing, and people have gathered to watch their friends and neighbors take a spin on a makeshift dance floor in front of the blaze. The crowd raises their voices in a happy song to keep the fear of the reaping at bay.  

"I should go find Prim," Katniss says. "It's getting late."

With a curt nod, Peeta slips his hands in his pants' pockets. She's half expecting to see him bounce in place in that self-soothing tick of his when, instead, he stills. "Will you go out with me again?" he asks.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak and then closes it back again —suddenly unsure— but, before her brain can come up with an excuse to override her instincts, she blurts, "Sure. I'd like that."

Peeta's easy smile returns. They're so close to the bonfire now that the blaze lights up his face and makes him glow.

Forget about prep teams and fancy clothes, Katniss thinks, Peeta doesn't need Cinna and his artificial embers, he can dazzle the world just like this.

She's so mesmerized by him that, for a split second, she considers throwing herself into his arms and kissing him like she did in the cave… or on the beach. This could be our first kiss. Right here, without cameras, without careers, without mutts.

Her heart is beating madly, her hands longing to reach out, but she stops herself. It's just not right. The Peeta standing before her barely knows her. He's probably not opposed to kissing her, but he wouldn't understand.

Utterly oblivious to her reckless thoughts, Peeta asks, "Maybe we could do something tomorrow, you know? Um… after?"

After. One small word is all it takes to bring Katniss back to reality and to send her heart plummeting to her feet. Trying to keep the dread in her bones from taking over, she says, "That sounds good."

"I'll go find you once it's over."

Katniss nods, desperate for the conversation to be over. She doesn't want to ruin the beautiful afternoon they just spent with her tears, but the reminder of the upcoming reaping has sucked all the air out of her. "I'll be at the back… with Prim and my mother."

Peeta dips his head in a small kind of bow and takes a step back, putting some distance between them as if releasing her. "Go find Prim," he says --looking at her with that mix of admiration and tenderness which made her so uncomfortable in the past, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Overcome with a surge of affection, Katniss brings her hand to her chest. Her traitorous heart beats madly under her palm —asking Peeta to come back. "See you tomorrow," she repeats, ignoring the blood pounding in her veins as she turns on her heel to go find her sister.

XXXXX

It's a long night.

Katniss lays in bed, unable to sleep. Alone. Peeta is back in town, --sleeping in his old bedroom above the bakery for what will be the last time— and Prim has chosen the comfort of her mother's arms tonight. With no one to stop her, the huntress tosses and turns as she anxiously awaits the break of dawn

Trying to pass the time, Katniss reviews her plans for the following days: Go out into the woods tomorrow, and then to the town square. Volunteer for Prim. Get Haymitch to put the bottle down and help us. Follow Cinna's instructions. Train. Breeze through my interview with Caesar, and act surprised when Peeta declares his love for me. Go to the arena. Lay low until I can partner up with Peeta. Stay alive.

Her throat constricts as she tries to keep herself from crying. It's not an easy plan. There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong —things she didn't notice the first time, but that could come back and bite her.

An then there's the people. She can't wait to see Cinna and Portia again —alive and well and thriving— but she's not looking forward to watching Rue and all the others die. And still, she knows she can't stop their deaths either. Her knowledge doesn't give her that kind of power.

What she can do, however, is make sure that her fellow tributes don't die in vain. This time around, she'll make sure that their deaths mean something; that their names aren't forgotten; that their blood isn't washed away.

This time, she'll make sure that President Snow is the one who pays.

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune DVD Booklet 4-Comments on Character Design by Director Yamamura Takuya

Yeah I know I skipped some stuff, but I thought this was interesting so I decided to translate it (while you all wait for the next chapter part to come out.)

Comments on Kabashima, Yushima, Nakazaki, Ren, and the animals

DVD Booklet Translations

Kabashima

Character Profile

A second year student at Kirisaki High School. He has pride in his powerhouse school. Even though he is a substitute, being able to get selected as a team member in the tryouts for a strong school proves his abilities. He frequently cautions Senichi and Manji for their lack of manners, but the two do not heed him.

Director’s Comments

Like with Kaito, I asked for him to be given a manly design so that his sincerity towards kyudo would be shown. Because he’s a second year, he has a large build, and his eyebrows and nose are large and firm, unlike the other characters. Motomura and Sase, third years at Kirisaki High School, have gentle and calm appearances, but in contrast to them he has a sense of brusqueness, and he might show some immaturity as a person. I will never forget Kadowaki-san’s flabbergasted face when I told her, “He gives off the image of a ‘greengrocer’s son.’”

Yushima

Character Profile

A second year student at Kirisaki High School. His shaven head is his trademark. He has a cool personality, the complete opposite of Kabashima who he is often with one way or another. He is employed as a whispering tsukkomi next to Kabashima, who has a tendency to rush ahead. He was selected as a substitute member for the group competition.

Director’s Comments

Kabashima’s (manzai) companion. When I drew the rough designs of everyone at Kirisaki and lined them up, while wanting a character who would make quips towards the things Kabashima did, looking at the overall balance I wondered if he should have a crew cut or a shaved head, and thus he had a shaved head.

He gives off the impression of someone who calmly and fixedly watches the course of events in a situation, so I had his eyes made characteristically large. Because I think of Kabashima and Yushima as a set, I requested that there be no sense of incongruity even when they are side by side.

Nakazaki

Character Profile

The owner of Nakazaki Archery Supplies. He is relied on by local archers. As Masa-san is also his acquaintance, he will also rush to the assistance of Kazemai High School. A person who is overflowing with empathy, he does things such as explaining kyudo to Ren, who knows little of it.

Director’s Comments

The owner of an archery supplies shop, Nakazaki-san, was created because I wanted someone existing on the outside. Since I imagined him as a man who is up for anything, with a determined spirit and the disposition of a true Tokyoite*, I conveyed all of that to Kadowaki-san.

As an important key person who is well-informed with figures in the kyudo world such as Yasaka 8-dan, Saionji-sensei and Osone-sensei, as well as knowing Masa-san’s past, we aimed for a design with a feeling of persuasiveness. I think of him as a character who watches over Masa-san’s inexperience and immaturity, similar to Tommy-sensei.

Takigawa Ren

Character Profile

Masa-san’s older stepbrother. They became brothers with the remarriage of their parents. He usually works in Tokyo as a photographer and illustrator. When he went back home, he takes pictures at the training camp and at competitions, and supports the kyudo club.

Director’s Comments

Ren-san is Masa-san’s older stepbrother by way of their parents’ remarriage.

Ren-san doesn’t know much about kyudo, and unlike Masa-san, he did not take over the shrine and left home, so an impression of him acting aggressively in the outside world was incorporated in his design.

He is an illustrator and takes his own pictures for reference material, so he always has his camera ready.

Kuma/Bear

Director’s Comments

A Bernese Mountain Dog. He has a plump nose, clear eyes and cute paws. Since Minato loves to cuddle him, so we took great care in making the feel of his fur looking soft enough to make someone want to bury their face in it.

When I was considering how he would cheerfully receive Minato, I found a picture of a dog poking its face out from a fence and thought, “That’s it!”

Fuu/Who

Director’s Comments

A snowy owl. I had the cuteness unique to owls incorporated into its design as well as sharp eyes. Because I want to show its silhouette as much as possible, I had Fuu’s feathers simplified to make them drawn easier, instead of drawing them one by one.

Among all of Fuu’s expressions, I like its self-satisfied look the most.

Lucy

Director’s Comments

A white cat. I only requested Lucy to be a “cute white cat”, but I had her flavoured with traits like a collar and the pattern on her tail. As a result, she had an extremely cute design, so I got really excited.