tulipfantasieslibrary

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

Your honor, I love him more than words can express.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

3 apples tall.. hopefully nothing will happen to them

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

christmas lights.

pairing: peeta mellark x fem!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, holiday themed, set post-war, peeta has a prosthetic leg, he was also never hijacked, some things may not be accurate but we're using our imaginations here people!

word count: 0.6k

The sky is littered with bright, twinkling stars when Peeta asks if he can take you on a drive to see all of the Christmas lights around District Twelve. It’s the first holiday season after the war, and everything is slowly but surely being rebuilt to shape a bigger and better world. 

Everyone seems to have gone all out this year; both to commemorate the lives lost during the war and to also signify a new beginning. 

Peeta makes sure you’re bundled up nice and warm in a puffer jacket and a hat and scarf before he leans down to lace up your boots. He straightens back up and presses a kiss to your cheek before asking, “Are you ready to go, love?” 

You nod and hold one of his hands in your own. His fingers are warm despite the coldness both inside of your house and outside, but you don’t seem to mind all that much; simply having him close is enough to do it for you. 

Peeta, ever the gentleman, opens your car door and insists on buckling you up. When you ask him why on earth he did that, he shrugs. “You shouldn’t have to lift a finger, love.” He grins before pecking your lips and closing your door. 

He rounds the car and slips into the drivers seat with ease. Instead of foot pedals, he’s got a car with hand controls to assist with his prosthetic leg. He silently thanks Beetee for his genius brain, because without it, he might not have been able to persuade Plutarch into getting him a car of his own. 

Peeta turns the key in the ignition and warm air flits out through the vents. He smiles when you let out a small sigh of contentment. “Comfy?” He teases. 

“Very.” You answer as you flick on the heated seats for both of you. “Now, c’mon. You gonna show me these lights or do I have to use my imagination?” 

Peeta chuckles under his breath as he pulls out of your driveway and down an old dirt road. He tsks. “Impatient, are we?” 

You roll your eyes playfully and watch as colourful flashing lights start to come into view. He watches your eyes practically glow with wonder when you see the specks of red, green and white traced along the outskirts of homes. “It’s so beautiful.” 

Peeta smiles to himself as he keeps driving. There’s not many other vehicles on the road (there rarely are nowadays) and he makes sure to take it slow driving past houses so you can drink it all in. 

“You know, this used to be the one holiday tradition we had in my family,” He eventually pipes up. You tear your gaze away from the outside world and nod to show you’re listening. “I mean, growing up here, you probably know that we didn’t have many, like, decorations or anything but the Mayor’s house was always decked out in some way or another. I used to bribe my older brother to bring me every year.” He smiles sadly at the memory.

You reach across and squeeze his hand softly. “That sounds lovely.” 

Peeta gives a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah. It was.” 

“Why don’t we make it our new tradition?” You suggest. 

Peeta’s eyes flicker from the road to your face. “How do you mean?” 

You smile giddily at your idea. “Well, how about every year, on this day, we drive around and see the Christmas lights?”

“What if there’s not many lights up in the coming years, though?” 

“Then we’ll find a house that has some lights up and go from there. We can improvise,” You shrug. 

Peeta smiles. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” 

You grin. “Once or twice. But you know how I like to be reminded.”

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

౨ৎ꣑ৎCookie Cutters౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: trauma, fluff pairing: fem reader x finnick odair (modern) summary: learning gingerbread houses are harder than they look with finnick author’s note: first finnick 12days fic rahhh Spotify Playlist

"You okay?"

It was about the hundredth time Finnick had asked in the last few hours. Without opening your eyes, you could picture the look on his face. Brows knit together, oceanic eyes stormy, mouth pulled into a straight line instead of the easy smile you loved so much. Though his attention was constant, you were grateful for it. It was more than a lot of mentors did for their tributes.

The stint you were forced to do at the Capitol after winning your Games was on hold for the holidays. You were dismissed, put on a train back to District Four, and as Finnick had said, hopefully they would largely forget about you upon the new year.

Opening your eyes, you watched the scenery whiz by, feeling numb to it all. When Finnick squeezed your hand, you turned your head, giving him a tired smile. Sleep had not been your friend in these past months, nightmares plaguing your unconscious mind. The doctor had diagnosed exhaustion, which had seemed ironic. An endless cycle of woe. The only thing that could cure you was the source of your destruction.

Finnick let go of your hand, holding out his arm. You didn't say anything, letting yourself lean into him like you always did. He was the only one who made sure you had any hope of routine. Making sure there was at least some normalcy amidst the turmoil the Capitol put you through. Though you were the victor, nobody worth their salt cared what happened to you. Only that you were at their beck and call for entertainment.

The only person you'd been able to turn to had been your mentor, close in age with eyes that held a pain well beyond his years. He was only fourteen when he was drafted into the Capitol's game of torture, a year older than you, and the years following hadn't been much better. Finnick was very tight-lipped about what exactly the Capitol made him do, insisting that you didn't need to know about it.

You hated that he felt like he had to shield you, but there wasn't much you could do in the way of it. Trust was hard to come by, but with Finnick, it brimmed and overflowed. Now as you snuggled into him under his arm, you could feel it tying around you both, knotting you together forever.

"It'll be you 'n me," he murmured, tucking your head under his chin. "And Mags. In the Victor's Village. It's a nice place, actually. Don't think they've built a house for you yet, but you can stay with me until they do. Or with Mags if that's better?" He looked down at you, and you shook your head, burrowing into him. A little half smile quirked his lips. "Alright, with me it is."

He adjusted your fur-trimmed jacket, rubbing your arm. "Just in time for Christmas. The Capitol gets snow, but it'll be nice to be home."

"Home," you echoed, thinking of the beach, the ocean you'd missed so badly. Who needed snow when you had the water? Looking out the window, you watched for the signs of home. You'd done the same thing when you'd been hauled onto this train by a Peacekeeper months ago, only then you'd been clinging, memorizing. Then, you hadn't thought you'd ever see it again.

Finnick followed your gaze, and the half-smile made an appearance. "It's amazing how you don't realize how bad you missed something until you're back."

You nodded, that feeling of understanding washing over you again. It was something you always felt with him. He always knew what to say.

The sights of your home town charmed you for only a moment before you saw the crowd of people waiting at the train station. Panic seized your heart, and a terrified little noise escaped you. There wasn't supposed to be anyone there. You weren't prepared to greet anybody, or smile and pretend you were happy and grateful the way the Capitol mandated you to be.

Finnick sat up straight. "It's okay. We'll go out a different way." Securing his arm around you, he helped you stand up, guiding you out of your compartment and to the side door. Technically you both had your own areas decked in luxury, but you'd wanted him to stay and he hadn't objected, settling into your space and offering whatever comfort he could.

"I don't wanna see anyone right now," you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

His chin dipped as he adjusted your jacket again, peering out the window at the unwanted crowd. "You don't have to. C'mon, there's a door that exits the other way. Nobody will see us." Ushering you down the hallway, Finnick didn't once let go of your waist, his touch keeping you grounded.

A Peacekeeper escorted you both through the shadowy station, the familiar mosaic of ocean waves on the floor nearly bringing tears to your eyes. Your father used to bring you here so you could see the art, one of the only public buildings that had any. You would sit here for hours studying each painting, each tile in the ground. After he died you would come sit alone on one of the benches, watching the few people who came and went the way he used to.

Hardly anybody left so it was never busy to begin with, but today it had been cleared out for yours and Finnick's arrival back home. Your footsteps echoed in the empty space, shadows dancing across the sunshine beaming in from the large windows high upon the walls. It was the only source of light in the room. If it weren't for Finnick's hand, you would have felt like a ghost.

Upon arriving at the car, Finnick pushed you gently in front of him so you could get in first, holding the edge of the car door and looking around before he slid in beside you. The protective gesture eased the weight in your chest. He was looking out for you. It was something you weren't used to, but it incited a warmth that stretched over you, whispering that everything would be okay.

That wasn't something you'd had for a long time.

"We're good," Finnick remarked, settling in next to you. He was looking over you as if checking for injuries, making sure for himself that you were okay. His lips began to form a question you could hear before he said it, but instead of annoyance over predictability, a serene calm washed over you, as he said it in a way of familiar comfort.

"You okay?"

It didn't take too long for you to settle into Finnick's home.

He set up a spare bedroom for you, helping you unpack your things and assuring you he was here if you needed anything. The window had a lovely view of the sea, of the crashing waves against a grey sky. You'd always adored winter in District Four, enjoyed the cozy nights in while the ocean beat at the sand. But now it seemed different, melancholy.

For the first few days, it seemed all you could do was sleep. You felt guilty for leaving Finnick alone when he'd been so kind to open his doors for you, but the one time you'd tried to apologize, he'd waved you off, tucking another blanket around you and saying you needed your sleep. "Doctor's orders," he'd teased, brushing hair out of your eyes and smoothing his thumb over your forehead, smiling as he watched your eyes close.

On the first Thursday after you arrived, you awoke to noise coming from the kitchen, something like pans rattling around. Rising and throwing on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of comfortable pants, you trailed in the direction of the sound, happening upon Finnick surrounded by an array of dry ingredients, drinking a mug of what smelled like peppermint cocoa. You tilted your head, leaning against the doorway. "Finnick?"

He turned to you, a smile gracing his face. "You're just in time. We're baking today."

"Baking?" You hadn't baked or cooked anything since the day before the Reaping, That morning you remembered feasting on thick, knotted bread you'd made specially for the occasion, making sure to eat in small portions so it would last the week. You hoped one of your neighbors had taken what was left after you were put on the train.

Finnick grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah. We're making a gingerbread house."

"Oh!" You could recall seeing the sweet, frosted structures in the bakery windows around the holidays in years past, but you'd never actually made one. He was beginning to measure ingredients, uncapping cans, measuring cups clattering. You couldn't help your smile. Seeing him in the kitchen was strangely endearing. "Do you always do this?"

"Make a mess of the kitchen? No," he cracked, and you giggled a little, the weight on your shoulders lightening. Running a hand over his hair, he stared at the mess in front of him. "My mother used to make a gingerbread house every Christmas and I'd help her decorate it. I thought it'd be fun if we did it too."

Your heart nearly melted. He looked so adorable standing there behind the counter, and you thought you caught a trace of flour on his cheek. For the first time in weeks, you felt as though everything that had happened outside these walls was a mere memory.

Making your way over to him, you reached up, swiping the flour from his face with your thumb and smiling sweetly. "I'd love to."

He smiled, leaning in and kissing your forehead. "Alright. Why don't you make the icing and I'll try and figure out the house and walls part?"

You plucked the icing recipe from the yellow-paged book in front of him, watching his brow furrow as he added the sugar to his bowl. Holding back a giggle, you got to work on your portion, stirring and losing yourself in the task. You'd forgotten how relaxing baking could be. And it was infinitely better when you felt so safe standing next to him. Once you'd finished, you turned around to check on his progress.

Finnick had rolled out the slabs and cut them evenly, picking at the edges on the cookie sheet. Once he'd stuck them in the oven, he turned to you, setting his hands on your hips and lifting you up to sit on the only free space on the counter. Standing between your legs, he rubbed circles into your thighs, seeming content. "Let's hope I don't burn anything."

"I trust you," you murmured, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around his middle. He hooked his chin on your shoulder, rocking back and forth. It was a move he used whenever you woke from nightmares, or when he found you crying. Right now you were safe, but it still felt nice. That he didn't only care for you when you were in distress.

"This is nice," you murmured into him. Finnick nodded, drawing circles in your back.

"It is," he breathed, nosing against your neck. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He had a distinct smell to him, one that you would bottle if you could; to keep whenever you were without him. A moment of silence passed, and then he whispered, "I like having this with you."

Something warm, like a hearth in a storm started up in your heart, and you snuggled closer to him, your legs finding their way around his waist. This felt closer than you'd been to him before, but neither of you were pulling away.

Shifting in your seat, your fingers found the nape of his neck, playing with his hair there. Your mind wandered to the circumstance of it all. The youngest victor in the history of the Games, the Capitol's darling, handsome, charming, gifted. And he was standing with you in his kitchen, arms wrapped around you as gingerbread baked in the oven.

"Y'know, I wouldn't mind if it took awhile for them to build your house," Finnick said softly, leaning up to press his lips to your temple. "I like having you here."

"I like being here with you." Lifting your head, you found he was already looking at you. Looking into his sea blue eyes, you found peace, your storm's center.

The oven's timer rang, and you turned your head. Finnick let go of you to retrieve the gingerbread, setting it to the side to cool and then returning to you, lifting you off the counter and securing his arm around your waist. "You ready to make a gingerbread house?"

"Yes!" leaning into his side, you looked over the space. "So...how do we do it?"

Finnick chuckled, lifting your hands and squeezing them. "Let me show you. It's harder than it sounds."

The next little bit found you trying to hold the walls steady while Finnick glued them to the base with frosting. He smiled when you dropped a wall, setting the icing down and picking it up, his big hands over yours as you held the walls firm. "There you go...you got it, sweetheart. Now I'll just..." He slathered a large portion of icing onto all four sides of the base and covered your hands again to help you slide two of the walls toward it. "There, you're a natural!"

Giggling, you moved to do the same with the other walls, easily attaching them. Finnick smiled proudly. "Great job!"

"I've got a really good teacher," you countered, reaching for the roof, previously constructed. "Can you put some more on the walls?"

He frosted the edges, and you set the triangular roof on top, smiling triumphantly. It was the happiest you'd felt about something in a while and you clasped your hands to your chest. "We did it Finnick! We made it!"

"'Course we did!" He was adding a few finishing touches to keep the house in place. You stared at the walls, the scent of gingerbread thick in the air. Now you were thinking of your sister, of the way you used to bake together. Your memories were less clear now, only the feelings you'd had remaining.

The bad feelings began to creep back in, grasping at your fingers and sucking at your soul again. You nearly let them pull you down until Finnick said something and you were pulled back to earth. "Hm?"

Looking up at you with his crinkly-eyed smile, he said, "You wanna decorate it? I'll give you the frosting now."

"Are you sure?" You looked warily at it, then the house, then him again.

Smiling reassuringly, he nodded. "I've seen your paintings. You'll make it look pretty."

"Frosting and paint are two very different things." Still, you took the bowl from him, as well as the spatula, twisting the wooden handle between your fingers.

As you began to focus, you found yourself drawn to the light once more. When your sister had passed away, it felt as though every happy memory with her had been painted blue, a tinge of sadness and regret sprinkled over each one. But now, with Finnick silently watching as you carefully slathered icing onto the roof, you felt as though happiness had been layered on top. All the pain that accompanied was still there, but it was framed in a new way.

Now all you could think of was doing this with him year after year, spending dozens of Christmases baking cookies and mixing frosting and cuddling in the kitchen until the oven went off.

You wanted it now. More than anything.

Swiping some leftover frosting onto your finger, you licked it clean, sighing at the taste. "All done."

Finnick wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "It looks amazing." He kissed your cheek. "See? Told ya you'd do a good job."

Leaning back into him, you let your head lull to his shoulder. "It looks pretty."

"It does," he agreed, lips pressed to your hair. You took in the scene before you, almost in disbelief. The domesticity of it would have been unthinkable to you a month ago. Christmas traditions with the man you-

Your heart fluttered, and you turned around, burying your face in his chest. "Finnick."

His hand found the back of your head, and he stroked your hair. "Sweetheart, are you-?"

"I love you," you breathed, hands on his chest. The instant you said it, your chest tightened, nerves replacing the space those words had been taking up for so long. Looking up at him, you saw his lips part, feel his arms tighten around you. His eyes were warm, and a wave of relief crashed over you as the corners of his lips lifted.

"Baby..." he breathed, cupping your cheek. You could smell the peppermint on his breath, feel his heart beating as he pressed on your waist, so you were right against him. And then in an instant, his mouth was over yours, and your fingers gripped his sweater, everything you'd felt from the last months crashing over you and poured into this kiss. You loved him. You'd loved you from the moment he'd sat you down and told you he was going to keep you safe that first day on the train.

Through everything he'd protected you. Without him, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be just another unfortunate teenager lost to the games.

As he intertwined you both, holding you close and whispering that he loved you in between kisses, you could feel it blooming in your chest. Nothing after the so called honor of winning had even come close to this.

Here was where you became the true Victors.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

just watched we live in time early (mwhaha, im in the uk) and oh my fuck, i am not okay. that was a beautiful film.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

odesta come home pls

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

finnick and s/o going trick or treating with their toddler!daughter

the addams family.

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: established relationship, reader and finnick have a daughter together, reader and annie are best friends, tooth-rotting fluff <3

word count: 635

author's note: happy belated halloween! i hope you all had a nice day and i know that times are tough right now, but hopefully this provides a bit of comfort, even if it's for the smallest amount of time <3

"No peeking!" You warn, voice taking on a teasing tone as Finnick covers his eyes with more dramatics than necessary. Your little girl, Cordelia, giggles as you take her hand in yours and help her take small steps towards her father. "You ready, honey?" You ask as Cordelia nods earnestly. "Open your eyes!"

Finnick obliges, and despite having your outfits co-ordinated for months on end, he still pretends to be surprised. Cordelia spins in her black dress and you do the same, giggling when Finnick lifts you off your feet and peppers your face with kisses. "Stop! You'll ruin my makeup," you say through laughter.

"Can't help it," Finnick mumbles, pecking your lips. "You look gorgeous, angel."

"Look, daddy, I'm Wed-nes-day!" Cordelia screeches, pushing her body between the two of you in an effort to catch her father's attention. She puts her arms in the air and Finnick lifts her into his arms.

"I know, sweetie. You look so pretty!" he coos, brushing her curls out of her eyes. "Are you ready to go trick-or-treating?"

Cordelia squirms until her feet touch solid ground again, and then she's off like a shot, making a beeline for the orange jack-o-lantern shaped basket on the table.

You laugh, and Finnick slides his hands up your hips. "I mean it, honey, you really are gorgeous."

You cock your head to one side and fix the bow-tie around his neck. "Hmm, you don't look so bad yourself."

Finnick smiles. "Is that so?" He leans down and slots his lips over yours, swallowing the giggles that slip past your lips.

"Mommy, I want to go already!" Cordelia complains, rattling her basket and pulling at the end of your dress. "I want to see Mags!"

"Alright, alright," you relent, pulling yourself away from your husband and looping the strap of your camera around your neck. Your daughter argues that it ruins the point of your costume but Finnick presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers that Cordelia got her strong opinions from you.

Finnick slips his hand into your spare one as the three of you begin the trek from your house in Victor's Village to Mags identical one down the road. You knock on the front door and in a matter of seconds, it swings open.

Mags presses a hand over her heart and holds one finger up to indicate one minute. She disappears into the hallway and comes back with a bowl overflowing with candy. Cordelia digs her fist into the bowl and grabs a handful, but when you go to scold her, Mags dismisses you with a wave of her hand.

“What do we say?” Finnick prompts as you hold up your camera and snap a photo of Cordelia giving Mags a hug.

She says thank you and the three of you head for Annie's house. "She's gonna be on a sugar crush when we get home," Finnick murmurs into your hairline as you wait for Annie to answer the door

Annie's face brightens up when she sees Cordelia on her porch as you give your best friend a warm hug. You know Annie gets stressed around this time of year and after some persuading, you convince her to leave a bowl of candy on her front step to save herself the trouble of answering the door when she's this nervous.

Cordelia gets fed up after half an hour, and both you and Finnick are glad 'cause she's collected enough sugar to feed a small village at this rate. Finnick holds your hand as you make the long walk home, and Cordelia eventually gets tired of walking and asks for her father to carry her. Finnick obliges without complaining once and by the time the three of you arrive home, Cordelia is fast asleep on her dad's shoulder.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

the ending scene of mockingjay pt2 with everlark and their toastbabies has me in a chokehold. the music, the look they share ughh!! rent free in my head.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

Crossing paths

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

🫐 Trust me. Trust me.🫐 Ko-Fi

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

ੈ♡˳ baking with peeta mellark ✭ jhutch promptober day 25 - bread

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i am. feeling. things.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

carving pumpkins with peter parker

— pairing: peter parker x gn!reader

— a/n: just something nice and fluffy to get me back into writing + october weather, which means halloween!!

— warnings: nothing, just fluff

"This looks nothing like a jack o' lantern, bug." You frown upon Peter's comment, knife in hand as you finished carving out one of the eyes. These days before Halloween were your favourite ones, you and Peter would sit together to binge watch scary movies with tons of popcorn and of course do a lot of Halloween themed activities. Yesterday, you found a couple decorations you used last year on the attic, and today, it was pumpkin carving.

You and him went early to the farmer's market to pick out your pumpkins, Peter's is bigger, but yours is rounder and has a smoother surface, plus a couple ingredients for a pumpkin soup that is in the stove right now, the entire house smells delicious with it. You've been going steadily for an hour at this, though Peter's pumpkin is looking much nicer than yours.

"It's not a jack o' lantern, Peter, it's you." You explain with a smile into your face, turning the pumpkin to him so he can look better at your artwork.

"That looks nothing like me!" His tone feigns offense, but the smile on his lips mirrors yours, leaving no space to lying. He knows you had good intentions, plus you look so proud of your Peter-pumpkin that it's impossible to be mad.

You pout your lips. "No, it does, see! It even got your glasses!" You point out to the faint outline you've drawn around the eyes of your pumpkin, half-carved face staring at Peter.

"It does not, bug. How would you even make the glasses?" He asks you, pointing out as he tries to muffle his laughing. The problem completely flew over your head, but you don't let his comment get you down.

"You're just being a killjoy. I'll figure something out." You say, picking your knife again, determined to make it work somehow. Peter's smile grows fonder as he watches you stab the other eye out of your poor pumpkin, more concerned about you hurting yourself than what that could mean to him, the real-life muse of your pumpkin project.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

🍊 The Orange by Wendy Cope

🌅 Illustrated by Peeta Mellark

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

for some reason, i feel like modern!peeta would be a massive fan of the beatles. i don't know why but he kind of gives off the vibe. his favourite song being 'here comes the sun' or 'and i love her' (heavy on the 'and i love her').

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

Florence Pugh | British Vogue | September 18, 2024 | 📷 Venetia Scott