#esq2u

[jlalafics]

OMG, Lala. You're killing me!!! I'm in tears after Ch.13 of YDKM. The commencement performance and everything that followed was PERFECTION!! Like, seriously. How do you do that? I was bawling right along with Prim & Papa Everdeen. I cannot wait for the epilogue so I can reread the story all the way through for the feels. 😘😘😘

AHH! Thank you!

But, seriously let me wipe your tears–because the epilogue will be full of fluff and happy s**t. I promise!

[porchwood]

When the Moon: Peeta POV snippet

Apologies in advance: this is still at a very raw free-writing stage and it ultimately may or may not be completed. I’ve been thinking about doing a short companion piece to Ch 13 for a couple of crucial spoilery reasons and it sounds like there might be interest, so I toyed with it a little before class today. And esq2u really needs a literary hug today, so I thought this might serve as a start.

***

The stocking would have been enough – more than enough. Too much, really. I may not know the secrets of Katniss’s precious, wild mind, but I knew instantly that the worn old sock she laid outside my door had belonged to her beloved father, of whom so little remains, and that she chose to give it to me meant more than the costliest gift she could have devised. She could have presented it empty and the significance of the gesture would have broken my heart.

But instead she filled it with treasures; foraged and wildcrafted treasures. Treasures for which she forsook her lunch and searched the frozen woods on New Year’s Eve to gather and prepare. I’ll never forget the sight of her at the chopping block, her small hands hefting the axe to break up a pine branch, nor the fiery blush that flooded her cheeks when I caught her at it. Foolish as it was, I assumed she was making something for me – the New Year’s surprise she blurted of through her blush – but nothing could have prepared me to find my shoe outside my bedroom door, filled with fragrant pieces of pine for my fire.

My right shoe.

I would have caught you before you fell, she whispered as she hugged me with all her might. I would have held you so tightly and kissed your curls, and then kissed and kissed and kissed what remained of your poor leg.

I stifle a moan at the memory, terrified to alert the sleeping vixen in my arms. That would have been enough – far too much – from my fierce huntress, but then I took off my prosthesis and –

This time the moan breaks free but Katniss doesn’t stir, even though her face rests against my throat.

One strong, impossibly soft little hand curling around the stump of my leg... She was so determined to touch; an errant kit who immediately repeats its pursuit every time its mother pulls it back. I didn’t want her to see, let alone touch, that part of me but that stubborn small hand refused to stay back. Those slender fingers, like persistent little paws, climbed down my thigh and burrowed beneath my clothing to find – and claim – what remained of my lower leg.

No, I did want her to touch it – someday; a hundred years from now, perhaps, as we lay in our marriage bed. I wanted her to steel herself for the shock; for the horror of an amputated limb, however cleanly healed. For her to decide when she was ready to see and – much later, surely – to touch the stump with a shy finger or two. Someday, perhaps, I dreamt she might even caress it a little; hesitantly, of course, with her brows drawn in something closer to puzzlement or sadness than disgust.

I have never, not even in my wildest, most desperate dreams, dared to imagine what took place last night. Not in any part.

If I didn’t know better I might assume it was the cruelest of jokes, but Katniss, for all her strengths, has no capacity for guile. There’s a beautifully primal purity about it; it’s neither exaggeration nor jest to call her a dove or a doe, a gosling or even a vixen. Her emotions blaze from her silver eyes and her body moves instantly and instinctively to act on them. When she’s hungry, however patient or polite she might try to be, her focus is on food until her belly is full. When she’s tired, she droops onto whatever – or whoever – is nearby.

Hunger and exhaustion are easy to identify and her reactions accordingly easy to understand. Even tackling me in the snow yesterday and shielding me with her body makes sense, after a fashion: we’ve been out here long enough for her to develop concern for me, I suppose, and Pollux and Lavinia had taken the upper hand in our snowball fight. I was in no danger whatsoever, but it probably didn’t look that way to a fierce wild girl who saw her companion outnumbered and under “attack.”

But what makes a bird kiss a boy? What makes a fox leave her hunting to sew a garment with her dusky paws, or a gosling to give away a sweetheart ribbon? Why would any wild creature present a gift to anyone other than its young?

What makes the moon, the silver huntress of the heavens, embrace and nuzzle and cling to a human boy? Surely no humble village tradition could compel her to press her starlight mouth against his, even for a moment.

I gaze down at that beloved starlight mouth, its persistent scowl softened by slumber and a month of good food and comfort, and ache to kiss it. To feel her lips against mine, just once more.

[porchwood]

Today has been a terrible day. The shooting in Charleston, SC has weighed so heavily on me, and I'm just weary. I've cried, prayed, been furious, and sad. It's exhausting. Your stories are like a balm to my soul, though. A few lines from Ch. 14, or any other drabbles you might be willing to share with us? I really need some happy right now.

Oh sweetheart, I’m so incredibly sorry. :( I’ve been bouncing between clinicals, class, and the laundromat and I hadn’t heard about the shooting till I saw this ask. I can barely comprehend the horror of what happened and can only imagine how much more devastating it must be when it hits so close to home.

 Of course, I will do everything I can to soothe your soul. I have a teensy bit of a may-not-happen project that I’ll post in a second and I’m scouring every corner of my THG documents folder to see if there’s anything substantial but thus far unpublished that I could share. I’ll also sneak as much pretty stuff onto the dash as I can. <3

I love you so much and my heart is breaking for Charleston and for you. If I were there, there would be warm milk with chamomile, honey, and cinnamon, soothing foot and hand massages with a little clary sage for grief, and the longest hug you can imagine. 

I wish so badly that I could be there with you, dear one. :/ Please take care of yourself and don’t hesitate to call or text if there is more that I can do.

[titaniasfics]

I was tagged by the always sweet norbertsmom. Thank you my dear!

THIS OR THAT – BOOKS

Physical book or e-book? e-books usually unless I really love a book.

Audio or book in hand? audio books when I had a 45 minute drive to work, but now that I’m closer, a book in hand.

Paperback or hardcover? paperback.

Adult or Young Adult? I’ll read anything.

Series or Stand alone? See above.

Dog ears or bookmarks? book marks, always.

Breaking the spine or barely opening the book? Barely opening the book. But I will write inside a book.

Borrow or buy? Both.

Bookstore or Online? Both, but online more often.

Fiction or non-fiction? Both, but I prefer fiction.

Fantasy world or real life issues? Both

Kindle, Ipad, or other? I have a Kindle, but I usually use the Kindle app on my phone.

Monster read or short and sweet? Monster read.

Starry eyed romance or full of action?  Both?

Read the review or decide for yourself? I read reviews if they are done by someone not paid to review books, but I mostly download the free preview from Amazon then decide if I want to keep reading.

Zombies or unicorns? If it’s good...

[titaniasfics]

Peace out, folks.

Outlander time :D.

(even if I’ve seen this episode three times already ;-) )

[titaniasfics]

How is it that, with all the gorgeous love scenes that Outlander has given us so far, my absolute favorite scene is the one in which Claire comes back to Jamie after he brings her to the stones?  The look on their faces conveys so much more than anything they could ever do with each other and they don’t even touch each other.

“Take me home to Lallybroch.”

Jamie cries.

And then I die.

[titaniasfics]

I've had some great sex in my life. But I've never been woken up like that. Damn you Jamie Fraser!

[nataliajasterauthor]

Happy Birthday!!!

*waves* <(‘@’)>