tulipfantasieslibrary

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Birthday girl 🌿

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that’s part out our trouble.

prints + merch + commission info pinned to profile :)

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My soul will always seek yours

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i love you like all-fire

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our dove <33

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The mockingbird, the jabberjay and the mockingjay 🕊️ inspired by this post by @fromevertonow

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"You're not going home, Silka."

I will kill her, and Snow will kill me.

These Games will have no victor.

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The Reluctant Victor, inspired by The Reluctant Bride by Auguste Toulmouche - I just thought that this painting was SO perfect for Katniss and I had to draw it!

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"I love you like all-fire"

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“Well, there’s no proof that will happen. You can’t count on things happening tomorrow just because they happened in the past. It’s faulty logic.”

How are we holding up? I’m still crying about Lenore Dove and the gumdrops

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haymitch carrying lou lou and hiding under a group of willow trees so the capitol can’t take her body right away, to years later, katniss singing the meadow song to a dying rue which starts with the line, “deep in the meadow, under the willow”

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Haymitch and his ducklings

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painter | peeta mellark

peeta mellark x fem!reader

request: I saw a tik tok of someone painting on their s/o back and now I can only imagine peeta doing that

this is singlehandedly the cutest thing on this planet. i am absolutely sobbing. ♡

summary: peeta ran out of canvases, but can't he just make you a canvas?

cw: the sweetest fluff you'll ever read.

wc: 1.2k

type: ❀

"Baby!" your boyfriend, Peeta, called from the other side of your cozy home inside Victor's Village. "I ran out of canvases!"

He was coming down the hall with his box of art supplies under his arm, a soft blanket slung over his shoulder.

This wasn't the first time he had run out of canvases.

"Can you be my canvas?" he begged, setting his box down at his feet where you stood looking out the window.

It was a brisk summer day, a light wind breezing through the windows and the glowing yellow sun setting in the distance, casting a pale orange glow throughout the large windows in your house. The sky was a pale blue, fluffy, white clouds spreading across for as far as you could see.

You sighed happily, looking toward him and nodding your head.

A large smile spread on his face, and he proceeded to set down the blanket on a small clear area of the living room.

"Turn around!" you yelled, giggling at his startled reaction.

"I'm turning, I'm turning!" he said, spinning on his heel and making a dramatic cover of his eyes with his hands.

You began to take off your shirt, throwing it off to the side before you moved your hands to your back.

"You act like I've never seen you naked before," Peeta said, scoffing as his shoulders slouched, the click of your bra coming undone breaking the silence as you tried to come up with a smartass comment.

"Well, we're not doing that now, are we?" you asked, getting on your knees and laying down, your now bare back hitting the cool air and turning your head to face him.

He turned around, sitting down to your right and pulling his nearly falling apart cardboard box of paint toward himself.

"We need to get you another box," you said, your eyes meeting his big, blue doe eyes.

"I know," he nodded, pulling out a thicker paintbrush with an incredibly long wooden handle and setting it next to his leg, pulling out a plastic palette piled at least two inches high of old paint.

"Two things," you began, utter confusion coming out of your mouth as you gave him a weird look. He hummed, looking up from squeezing his paint onto the palette. "One, who the hell needs a paintbrush that long, and two, why haven't you cleaned off your palette?"

He paused, pondering the question before coming up with some snarky comment.

"I personally don't know why the paintbrush is so long, but I do know why I haven't cleaned it off," he squeezed a small portion of a brown onto his palette over a pile of greens, blues, and purples. "It's too much work."

You scoffed, turning your head back and placing your chin on your hands folded in front of you.

The first stroke of paint startled you.

"That's cold!" you squealed, your shoulders arching back as he began to paint a large stripe above your hips.

He set a hand gently above your butt, the waist of your shorts pulled down so he had room to paint.

The stroking of the paintbrush was easing, it had a slight peace and relaxation to it when you had eventually gotten used to the coldness of the paint.

It was quieter now, Peeta focused on his painting and you laying in the sun as his hands working skillfully over you, like a true canvas. He would occasionally pause to get more paint or to wash off his brush, the short sound of sloshing of water and sometimes the sound of his palette scraping on the floor from moving, to which he would groan at and take his hand off of you.

You watched shadows on the wall dance, affected by the beautiful trees and leaves fluttering in the wind outside as he painted along your back, eventually reaching toward your shoulders.

He paused, setting his paintbrush down and moving his hand carefully to your side as to not smudge the paint. He took your hair into his hands, gently pushing it over your shoulder, making sure he had every strand, and letting it go so it fell at your cheek.

You hummed a thank you, and he exhaled softly in response, picking up his paintbrush once again and painting over your upper back.

You felt him going in different directions and organic ways, but you still had no idea what he was painting. His paintings always consisted of something he remembered from the Games, or another form of memory, but they also consisted of nature and beautiful sceneries he had observed.

The few times he had painted on you before, he refused to tell you until you could see it for yourself.

"I'm almost done," he said after awhile of no talking. You could hear the smile and proudness in his voice as he said those three words.

"I'm excited," you said back, not being able to help smiling yourself.

A little bit later, he lifted his paintbrush off of you, the sloshing of water and the sound of the wood hitting the floor. The sun was almost entirely set now, the sky a dusky orange, purple, and blue.

"I'm done!" he said, standing up and groaning as he stretched his limbs.

You stood up carefully, trying not to disturb your hair and covered your chest with your hands. He took hold on your arm and lead you down the hallway to your shared bedroom so you could see in the floor length mirror, covering your eyes as he turned your back to the it.

"Ready?"

"Of course," you smiled.

He uncovered your eyes, and your head immediately turned around to look into the mirror.

Your jaw dropped in awe, a small 'wow' escaping your throat as you admired it.

He had painted a bouquet of sunflowers. The yellows of the perfectly shaped petals contrasted each other, the colors flitting in and out between one another surrounded by beautiful lookalikes. Dark green leaves sprouted from outside the flowers, perfectly crafted and painted with the curves and veins of each little detail. The center of the flowers were stunning, dotted black and brown seeds engulfed in a sea of beautiful oranges, yellows, and browns. The grass and stems below them connected, entangled by one another and painted into an ocean of green grass.

You almost wanted to cry at it's beauty.

"That's so beautiful, Peeta," you breathed, exhaling and laughing in disbelief and amazement.

"I'm glad you like it, you look gorgeous with it," he smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners as he admired your expression.

You moved to hug him, careful not to smudge the painting, your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands met your lower waist.

"I love you," you murmured into his shirt. "Thank you for this masterpiece."

"I love you more than you could ever know," he whispered back, placing a light kiss on the top of your head.

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

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NATASHA ROMANOFF 🎬 letterboxd series [insp, template]

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on this account we stan everlark, haydove and odesta bc they all deserve better

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Haymitch and Peeta happily in love with girls who can sing:

Snow: