#ic: seam

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Do you ever think about

Peeta being 5 years old on his first day of school and noticing this girl in a red plaid dress with her hair in two braids that his father points out to him. And then he sees this girl stand up on a stool and sing in front of the whole class and he notices that the birds stop to listen, just like his dad had told him they did for her father.

Peeta being 6 or 7 years old, practicing his cake icing behind the counter of the bakery. And then the father of the girl who wore the red dress comes into the bakery singing a song and Peeta raises his head to see if the birds stop to listen. And they do.

Peeta being 11 years old, standing behind his mother as she yells at that very same girl, looking hunger-stricken and so weak, for looking through their rubbish bins. Watching her as moves just a little bit away until she's behind their pigpen, leaning on their apple tree for support. Hurrying back inside and burning two loaves of good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. Checking over his shoulder as he wills the crusts to blacken faster. Feeling his mother deliver a blow to his cheek with a burning hot tool, falling to the floor. Being told to go out and give the blackened bread to the pigs but waiting until his mother has gone back inside to throw the bread to the girl. Going back inside and watching as she takes it and hurries away. Seeing the girl at school the next day and wanting to catch her eye, waiting and waiting for her to meet his eyes. But the one time she does, she looks away quickly, towards a dandelion, smiles and plucks it from the ground.

Peeta being 12, 13, 14, 15 years old, finding himself constantly sneaking glances at the girl. Wanting desperately to go over to her, talk to her, see if he could make her smile. He sees her watching him back. But then he shakes his head and tells himself to knock it off. Plus she seems to be with that older boy a lot.

Peeta being 16 years old. Staring at the floor until he hears her sister's name. Feels the air go out of him when he sees her push through the crowd and volunteer. Fixing his eyes on her, watching her stand up there, heading far far away from him. Oh, how he wishes he would have talked to her when they had had time. So lost in his thoughts of her that he almost misses his own name being called out. Feels the eyes on him, a pair that must belong to her too, following him as he makes his way to join her on the stage. Shaking her hand and hoping she knows he chooses her.

Peeta being 16 years old, in the games. Deciding that she can win, she can survive, she must live. Letting the whole of Panem know his feelings for her. Choosing to join the Careers to lead them away from her. Choosing to save her even if it means getting his leg slashed by Cato. Finding a place to conceal himself, hoping death comes sooner rather than later. Hoping she's okay, that she's made it. Listening out for cannons and watching the sky, hoping she doesn't appear, as he bleed outs. Hears the rule change one evening and cries, because it's too late now for him.

Peeta being 16 years old and she's found him. She's called out his name and she's found him. And she's helping him. He's struggling and dying and weak, a hindrance more than a help, but she stays by him constantly, watching him closely like she's done for years but now it's up close. And soon she's kissing him and though he's tired and draining all the time, this sets off a spark in him that makes him feel alive. Joking with her, teasing her, sleeping with her curled up against him, hearing her laugh at his jokes, feeling her touch and reaching out to mirror her touches, kissing her. And soon his crush, this care he's felt for this girl, develops into feelings that are stronger, feelings that feel a lot like love. And they talk and they talk. She risks her life trying to get the medicine that will save him and he realises he completely underestimated her.

Peeta being 16 years old and a victor. But he's not the only one. She's right there beside him and he can't believe his luck. Hope. Love. The future lies out ahead of them. But then something is wrong. Haymitch tells them to keep it up until they're back but he doesn't realise there's anything to keep up. Finding out that there was something a bit too shiny and sparkling about these last few weeks. Something not completely real. Feeling something horrible twist inside him. Letting go of this girl and taking a step back, because something hurts deep in his chest.

Peeta being 17 years old, going about his days back in Twelve. Painting, fending off nightmares with a paintbrush, walking by her house everyday, noticing when the lights are on or off in her bedroom. Then they're going on a victory tour and the feelings he's tried to cover up with bakery bread and painted canvases and set alight again because there she is, holding his hand on stage, kissing him at times where he even doesn't anticipate it, smiling up at him in a way that ties his stomach into a million different knots. At night he hears her screaming and runs into her room. Whispers to her til she's conscious, holds her until she's calm in his arms and slips into her bed to hold her until they fall asleep. His own nightmares stay away, their interwoven limbs creating a barrier against them.

Peeta being 17 years old, spending every day in her glow. They're friends now. She might not have chosen him but he can't make himself stay away now, not now that she needs him. Listening to her ideas, wanting to run away with her. Talking to her on the phone. Baking her cheese buns and carrying her up and down stairs. Still holding her while she sleeps. Painting pictures for her family book. Sitting with her in the quiet, feeling her breath close to him. Looking up and smiling at her furrowed brows. Catching her look at him all the time.

Peeta being 17 years old, going back into the games. Making her train, choosing her again. Withdrawing because she has to win. She has to. But seeing her, weary and tired, a mirror of himself, he can't help but open his arms to her, feel her warmth beneath him. And it only furthers his resolve. Fighting, fighting, fighting. Always to make sure she makes it out alive. Feels her mirror his love, his kisses, his touches. And one night, he loses her. He can hear her but he can't see her. And then everything changes.

Peeta being 17 years old, living in a world where shiny images fight their way against other images that are matte in his memory. She's far away now, he's not sure where. But he knows she's alive. Why else would they torture him and the people around him. And he always says he doesn't know, knowing what it will mean. But he'd still suffer those same consequences even if he knew what they needed. Still needing to protect her.

Peeta being 17 years old and here she is in front of him. But his head roars at the sight of her and he doesn't know why. She's anxious and weak and damaged, but the alarms are going off in his head. The shininess takes over in this new setting. And he doesn't know why, but he knows something is very wrong. They take him away then. Try to undo something that needs to be undone.

Peeta being 17 years old, not sure which way is up and which way is down. But he sees her, watches her. And then he's sent off on a mission with her. This girl that consumes his every thought, on both sides of the war that's going on in his head and he doesn't know what to do. The shiny and his memory are still fighting, and it leaves him so tired. Seeing her, hearing her speak brings memories out of the recesses of his mind. He starts to piece together a puzzle that's been scattered in his mind. Feeling feelings that he once felt in his chest. Real or not real? Green. Orange. The colour of her dress. Cheese buns. Lamb stew in their den. Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other. Knowing it's true and knowing he must.

Peeta being 18 years old, coming back to Twelve after the war. For her. Seeing primroses growing and digging them up, bringing them to her house. Planting them for her. Seeing her again, weary and tired and broken. But she's here. And so is that feeling in his chest that was buried under shiny images that he has since ripped up and discarded. Walking with her through town. Having meals with her, making sure she has cheese buns. Seeing her start to smile again. Climbing into bed with her so that they can create that barrier again, the one that holds off their nightmares. Tentatively kissing her and feeling that fire rage again.

Peeta in his late 30s, watching Katniss lay out a picnic basket in the meadow. Seeing the sunlight fall against her hair and skin, making them shine in a way he knows is real. See the dancing girl weave around the items Katniss lays out. Laughs as the boy with the chubby legs tries to keep up. Walks over to them with the freshly baked cheese buns and sets them down in the space she's left vacant. Feels her smile trained on him before he turns his head to see it. Kisses her softly and breaks away laughing as the dark-haired girl covers her eyes and the blonde boy looks between them. Sits down as Katniss lays her head in his lap. While their children eat cheese buns and make up games in the grass, they sit there in the sunshine, taking it all in. Katniss makes a flower crown using the dandelions growing around her while Peeta runs runs his hand through her hair. He looks down into her eyes just as she tilts her head back to look at him. Knowing that they don't need to freeze this moment.

[maretriarch]

i think rosemary would have a cold war when getting ready for their wedding. as in they love each other. they do want to get married (as much as any...what. they were 17 or whatever in the credits?) can but I think looking down the barrel of commitment makes rose start to tweak about completely unimportant things like the floral arrangements and its like 9 pm 3 hours before their last chance at cancellation with no fees or delay to the service and she's like Kanaya my dear I will not let you ruin our sacred union with those centerpieces. Have you even thought about how'd they'd look against the tablecloth. we'd have to burn the photographs. we'd have to turn people away at the door before they saw. and kanaya is like Lalonde Why Are You Fucking With Me On This

[realmythsmoved]

@sxcietyoftheton liked here for a lyric/meme starter for Bridget from Benedict! Song: labour by Paris Paloma

Benedict looks at her, a bit of a blush creeping up. Because he's caught. "This was an escape plan," He admits.

But now he can't escape. Because she had caught him trying to leave. "I guess you're going to tell someone, huh?" Or she could not. If he can just convince her. "But why ruin such a nice day?" He says with a friendly smile.

[petrifiedcrange]

❝ The ship can't survive without its unicorn, Iz, ❞ Frenchie says quietly yet matter-of-factly as he wipes Izzy's feverish brow with a cool cloth, lingering for a moment to brush a loose strand off before turning to the side to soak the warmed up cloth in the bowl of cool water again, both his voice and gestures an aching mix of exhaustion, sadness and tenderness, ❝ We'll crash and burn before we ever reach another shore. ❞

There are tears welling in his eyes and he doesn't want Izzy to see them, doesn't want to distress his already overtaxed system even more, so he takes an extra moment to wring the cloth over the bowl while blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears.

And yet, a sob weasels its way into his words as he adds, almost an afterthought ( that sounds far more bitter than it has any right to be ):

❝ I thought you knew that. ❞

[ OPEN for Izzy post-S2 because ouizzy is something else entirely as a ship and I need more of them and because this phrase about the ship and its figurehead/unicorn appeared in my head and I thought that it would suit Frenchie the most because if someone knows about mythical symbolism of figureheads etc, it’s him also, he's upset his boyfriend seems to be giving up ]

[forgottnseccnd]

@iamomegon continued from here.

Such a simple question and yet, even with the usually deadpan Aurelius, something about it seemed to have genuinely brought him to have some sort of emotion to his telepathic voice. His head lulled back, unknowing on how to truly respond to such a question.

" My sons and I endure. Despite what has happened with Leman. "

A simple reply. His grip tightened on the staff of his standard, suddenly swinging out at another unlucky poxwalker that dared to step foot near his brother. He slammed his standard in the ground with fury, earning audible war cries from his beloved sons. And while they charged without fear into battle, Aurelius absentmindedly returned his greatbow into his hands, pulling an arrow from beneath his cloak and pulled back what could only be described as an invisible bowstring. Light crackles of energy formed at the tips of the greatbow to create the very string, pulled back hard by Aurelius's careful hands... and the arrow was fired across the battlefield with nary an issue.

Aurelius said nothing. He was not one for speaking-- and he certainly was not one to just go rambling to his brothers about such matters in this era.

" How do you fare? "

[normaltothemax]

((To Clint from Imogen)) "Good afternoon, Mr Barton. Make yourself comfortable." A sleight woman, no really, she looks like she could be knocked over by a puff of air. Blonde. Upper class British. Sitting in a comfy chair, hair tied in a high ponytail, and writing in a notebook with a fountain pen. "Water machine is just to your left. Hot water options, mugs and snacks are on the coffee table. Help yourself." Welcoming and kind but not exactly warm. Factual, perhaps. "Don't worry, I won't be looking to dive into anything deep during our first session. The first three sessions at least will simply be us getting to know each other and deciding if we are a good fit." Welcome to therapy, Clint.

He very clearly does not want to be there, and he really doesn’t care if she knows it. Clint’s there against his will. Well, mostly. Really, he could just not show up. Never go to a single session and continue on without therapy forever. But he’s been officially benched until he can pass his psych evaluations, and part of that involves going to futzing therapy sessions. He’s already scared off three other therapists, and he’s pretty sure Fury’s long past out of patience for him. This is most likely Clint’s last chance.

So. Here he is, sunk down in his seat, arms crossed, scowling out the window behind his newest doctor. He couldn’t give two shits about drinks or snacks right now, but still tucks away the knowledge that there’s hot water options. For one, coffee, but also, cold things, including drinks, have the nasty knack of sending him into panic attacks, these days. He’d rather not risk that here.

“Agent Barton.” That’s an important distinction, because he is still an agent, even if everyone at SHIELD hates him now and is clearly waiting for him to snap and turn on them again. Hell, he’ll even take just plain old Clint, but “Mr. Barton” was his father and he’d rather claw his skin off than be compared to that man in even the tiniest of ways. The smile he gives her doesn’t even come close to meeting his eyes. “Fantastic.” Sarcastic? Him? Never.

@personae-obscura

[crimsonfacets]

This post acts as both an interest check and a tag dump for Sally the Ragdoll. Please leave a 🪡 in the replies (and for multis - muses you're interested in having her interact with), or like this post, if you have interest in interacting with her! Her profile can be found here.

『 sally / ic. 』 ❝ I sense there's someone in the wind. ❞

『 sally / visage. 』 ❝ one crafty ragdoll. ❞

『 sally / insp. 』 ❝ she's more than she seams. ❞

『 sally / aes. 』 ❝ fresh belladonna & shelves of tinctures. ❞

『 sally / interests. 』 ❝ plucked fresh from a poisonous garden. ❞

『 sally / hc. 』 ❝ welcome to sally's. ❞

『 sally / style. 』 ❝ patchwork pockets stuffed with herbs. ❞

『 sally / bonds. 』 ❝ this city is a graveyard. ❞

『 sally / &jack. 』 ❝ you're everything I've ever wanted; if you die I hope you haunt me. ❞

『 sally / verse; lltpq. 』 ❝ a little place called dreamtown. ❞ / a long live the pumpkin queen verse.

[slverblood]

I am doomed to love characters with threadbare tags

[paper-land]

I would have just owned a seam ripper. Sorry Lucy and Ed, I guess I’m just built different.

[von-eldritch]

@fantasyconcrete replied to your post “Grabbable.”:

biteable

Yes, biteable too.

[patchworkedmagician]

New Seap Item:

Price: D$25

[mar64ds]

I have so so many jevil headcanons because i like him and i worry he is not going to get anything more in the actual game he is in so i have to make sure he is complex and has hobbies and interests and also he is kind of a bat and kind of a shark and kind of a cat

[pointy-pup]

Item: Chuckit! Ultra Ball, Well Loved

[impossible-rat-babies]

i am very much into having a fictional couple that is Deeply Dysfunctional again tho

[dangerousskeletoncoptree]

font being stabbed through with a claymore at points with no explanation my beloved

[the-party-never-dies]

Frankie Tag Dump