Still one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.
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Still one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.
picture it
katniss and peeta have been together for years now.
they've done a lot of healing individually and together.
they're best partners, best friends, best everything.
but, alas, Peeta is still a smarmy shit. so he waits.
he waits for the perfect moment.
and it's never exactly right, but that's okay, he's patient. they have a lifetime. it'll happen. he just has to wait...this CAN'T be forced.
and finally, FINALLY, one day Katniss comes into the house carrying a load of packages from the train station. Her arms are full, boxes precariously stacked.
She sees Peeta in the kitchen, throws him a grateful smile, and says, "Peeta, can you give me a hand?" Peeta, eyes vibrating with excitement and barely held anticipation, knowing that it's FINALLY time, looks at her and says: "Damn, Katniss, you already took my leg. You really need my hand too?"
Her boy isn't much of a hunter. He's not quite as bad as Peeta—at least, he can walk in all terrains without alerting every living and non-living thing within a hundred miles of his presence, something that took his father years to learn—but he's more of an artist.
Tortured artist, Peeta likes to say.
Their boy spends much of his time sequestered in his room or up a tree bemoaning his life and expressing that sentiment through pictures and prose. She can point her finger at Peeta for the collection of beautiful portraits and mocking comics that are drawn by their son, also for his way with words. But the rhyming? The constant melodrama?
Perhaps it's simply being a teenager. She hopes so—she can't deal with this much longer.
But her girl—she understands the woods, just like Katniss does. Her aim with the bow strikes true.
So as much as Katniss cannot understand the sheer number of parties and events their daughter hosts and goes to, or the stream of friends and significant others that seem to change with the moon—this, they have in common.
This, Katniss can use.
But somehow, it doesn't work.
She – she doesn't breathe the woods. Not like Katniss does.
She gets cranky when woken up in the mornings when game is best. She gets impatient during the long, silent waits for the right target in the right position. She throws a fit when her arrow misses even slightly, rather than practice and get better.
Peeta laughs and wraps his arms around her from behind when she complains about this, as she changes out of her hunting outfit.
"She's a child, my love," he says. "She just doesn't understand."
Katniss opens her mouth to say that she understood just fine when she was a child—
And she catches sight of herself in the mirror.
And oh.
Their girl has never been able to count her ribs in a mirror — the way Katniss used to, the way she can't now.
She doesn't understand because – because to her, the woods aren't salvation, the answer to desperate prayers to be able to feed her baby sibling.
To her, hunting is just a way to pass the time. Not necessary, and less entertaining than painting her nails or organizing soirees.
Because for her, food is going to be on the table either way.
Of course she doesn't understand.
Katniss wants her to never understand.
And if that means she doesn't get an activity in common, the way Peeta does when their children work at the bakery during the times it's overwhelmed and understaffed, then so be it.
She tells her partner as much.
He breathes an incredulous laugh into her neck. "Katniss, she doesn't need that. She knows you love her. To her, it's a fact of life that doesn't need any proof or special time with you. If you want that, okay, but there's no distance to be closed between you, or any reconnecting to be done."
He says it so matter-of-fact, as though it were never in doubt.
And she loves her mother, despite everything, understands her so much better than she did when she was a child—
But this—
And how he finishes with: "Because you've always been an amazing mother," and laces his fingers through hers—
Well.
This heals something in her she never knew was broken.
"I love you," she replies, not nearly enough for everything he's given her and continues to give her everyday.
"I love you too," comes the soft response. Then his voice turns joking: "And I'll love you more if you tell me what a good parent I am."
She laughs and rolls her eyes and reminds him that he knows he's the best father.
And when next week, their daughter comes up to her and says she wants to hunt because Dad says they need so-and-so from the woods—
And his grin tells her this is an excuse she made up—
She reminds him that he's the best partner-slash-husband too.
Written for @toastbabiesweek prompt Safe and Warm
Can you do a deep analysis of the last paragraph of MJ, before the epilogue? 😭 I can grasp the gist of it, but I feel like it's not all right
Bro you really want this? Deep dive analysis into possibly the most analyzed passage in the whole series? All right. Let's go. First, the whole passage:
Now let's break it up.
I can kind of infer what it means from the post itself, but can you please explain "so after" to me?
Of course darling! You’ll have to excuse me tho because I don’t have my books with me currently so I can’t give you perfect quotes or page numbers ( @thesmileykate is the gal for that!)
But essentially Katniss refers to a feeling she gets while kissing Peeta in each of the 3 books
First while they’re in the cave described as “the first kiss that makes me want another” where they make out until her head wound starts bleeding and he calls a time out
Second when they’re on the beach and Katniss is filled with a “hunger” where they make out until they’re stopped by the lightning and subsequently Finnick
And finally at the end of Mockingjay Katniss refers to the “hunger that overtook me on the beach” returning but this time of course there’s nothing to stop them
“So After” refers to, in the politest sense, the period of time after them being intimate or having sex (presumably for the first time) where he asks if she loves him and she says real
It’s really subtle but I love it a lot
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
„I’m so terribly afraid of losing you.”
Peeta looks up, his face so confused that it would almost be funny if my heart wasn’t hurting so badly in this moment.
“What?” he says.
“I’m terrified of losing you.”
He gives me a look that seems to indicate he thinks I’m nuts. He leans back on the couch and puts his foot up beside him.
“What are you talking about?”
“The reason why I kept you at arm’s length for so long. The reason why I wasn’t able to put words to my feelings. I loved my father and he died. I loved my sister and she died as well. I love my mother but for all intents and purposes I lost her when my father died because she couldn’t handle the magnitude of what she had lost.” I swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat.
“When I love people I lose them.“
here is a tiny thing for you, my dear @safeinpeetasarms, @lovely-tothe-bone and anyone feeling down tonight - dashed out and woefully edited, set shortly after “real”
She watches him drowsing in the candlelight. In that hazy, contented moment before a deep, peaceful rest, one she almost forgot existed, but he’s helped her to find again. His breathing is even and that alone makes her heart ache in the best way.
She lets out a sleepy exhale of her own and splays out languidly on her stomach, enjoying the feeling of her bare skin against the soft sheets. She bumps her nose gently against his chin and he stirs. His eyes blink blearily down at her and the love in them almost takes her breath away.
“Hi,” she says, blushing at the sight.
“Hi,” he whispers back, somewhat shy.
“Are you asleep?”
He laughs quietly and one hand glides over her hip. “Not yet. Almost.”
“Okay.” She watches the candlelight play about his curls (mussed by her roving fingers) and smiles. “Me too.”
They’re not making much sense, but that’s okay. This is good. This warm, dreamy place that smells of cool summer air through the window, and wood smoke, and them. She yawns and scoots closer to him. The arm on her hip slides up to paint circles on the small of her back.
“Goodnight,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Goodnight,” she replies, cheek against his chest. And then she decides there is one thing she wants to do (needs to do) before she drifts off. “Peeta?” she says.
“Hmm?” he hums in reply.
It’s as easy as breathing. “I love you.”
She feels his heart give a skip against her palm, but he only replies in kind, as though they’ve been saying it their whole lives (and in a way, though not in so many words, they have). “I love you.”
Their sleep is dreamless, and the next morning is sun-drenched in pink and peach and gold.