(via stay-together-always)
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire
(via catnipeverdeens)
(via breadinhotchocolate)
(via finnickdistractsme)
“Together?”
“Together.”
AU: After the 74th Hunger Games, Peeta agrees to become a Capitol slave in exchange for Katniss’s life.
I twist and turn in my bed as visions flash before my eyes and slither deep into my mind, breathing poison from the deepest corners of my imagination. It’s one of those nights, where nightmares refuse to leave me alone, where one simple thought, of home, of her, too deeply rooted in my heart to ever be shaken, keeps me away from sleep. That’s how I know I’ll never let go.
It’s been a year, now. A year since I sold my soul to the devil to save her.
The Capitol is my home, and District 12 nothing more than a distant memory – at least that’s what they keep telling me. But the truth is, the more time I spend here the more disgusted I am, and I find myself wanting to smash the cultivated ignorance and the elaborately designed cruelty that animate their eyes. Every day, I’m ordered to smile and to please, to repeat all the pretty little words they taught me to recite. I’m forbidden to paint, but it’s probably for the best. At one point, the world’s horror becomes enough; you don’t need to paint it, you don’t even need to remember it. It is enough.
I haven’t talked to Katniss in over a year. I know she sent me letters, but I never got to read them. Some nights, I lay awake, trying to remember everything I can about her, her smell, the color of her eyes, the way she felt in my arms. And when I fail to recollect the memories, I simply imagine what her life might be like back home. And sometimes, I find myself wondering if she ever thinks of me. If she ever catches glimpses of me on TV. If she ever searches for them. I’d like to tell her, I’d like her very much to know, that I may walk among them, but I’m not one of them. They can keep me here, they can dress me the way they want and dye my hair the color they desire, they can sell my body to the highest bidder, but I’ll never be a piece in their games.
‘We have a deal you and I, remember?’ President Snow’s voice echoes in my head, and in the fragile moonlight, I make a solemn promise. Oh, not aloud. There is no wind to hear, carry and bear words so heavy with hate. But in my silent own lone way, I swear. I will kill you.
AU: Delly says goodbye to Peeta before he leaves for the 74th Hunger Games:
I speed my pace as I walk down the hallways of the justice building. This is probably the most sophisticate place I’ve ever got the chance to visit but there’s no time to admire the refined furniture and the delicate wood adorning the different rooms. Soon, he’ll be gone. I take left, then right, and find myself facing two doors. What did the Peacekeeper say? I think to myself as I focus to remember the indications I was given. I had spent the last hour trying to convince the entrance guy to let me in. Apparently, only the tributes’ families were allowed. I argued, I cried, and I even tried to bribe my way in (unfortunately, I had nothing of value to offer). Eventually, I told them Peeta was my brother and they agreed to give me five minutes with him. I doubt they believed me, though, they probably just pitied me.
After five minutes of inner deliberation, I decide to open the door on my left and somehow that must have been the right choice because the next thing I know I’m in his arms and I’m crying without restraint. This is wrong, I think as he breathes soothing words in my ear, I should be the one comforting him.
There are so many things I want to tell him. I want him to know how much I love and will miss him. And most of all, I want to tell him that everything’s gonna be fine, as long as he remains true to himself. His kindness, his innocence, his genuine faith in humankind, that’s his weapon. But words escape me now, like sand through my hand, and the only thing I manage to say is:
“You take care, alright? For me.”
He pulls away, and gives me a reassuring smile.
“I’ll be fine, Delly,” he whispers.
I realize my hands are gripping his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care. I raise my eyes to meet his and, despite my best efforts, tears roll freely down my cheeks.
“I won’t try to play the hero or anything.”
I open my clenched fist and place my right hand flat on his chest. Right over his heart. I can feel it beating a frantic pace. With words, he can make anyone believe anything, but his heart… His heart cannot lie. He is scared.
“Of course you will.”
Before he can add anything, I’m back in his arms, and I have given up on any pretense of being strong. He has no intention of winning, we both know that. He would die a hundred times over if it meant Katniss could survive. And so I hold him, I soak in his warmth and breathe his smell, as if he’ll be dead tomorrow. Because I know, in this moment, I know I’ll never see him again. Peeta. My best friend.
Soon, the Peacekeepers are here to take him away and I have to let go. He lays a kiss on my forehead and says:
“I’ll see you soon, then.”
And I tell him: “I’ll see you soon.”
Because he’s not the only one who can lie.
“Together?”
“Together.”
(via everdeenly)
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can’t help him.
(via everdeenly)
Oh, sure, we’re old friends. Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We’re very familiar with each other’s screams.
(via peetaslipsareturningblue)
Sometimes, I think of Peeta, and I try to imagine what his life was like before the Games. My headcanon is, he never truly fitted in his family. His mother was always hard on him, and his brothers always mocked him about being so sensitive and about loving a girl who didn’t even know who he was. Peeta was cotton, soft and tender, and his mother and brothers, they were steel, hard and cold. His father, however, understood him a lot more, because he used to be like him. And though he never intervened when his oldest sons picked on his youngest or when his wife punished him for unfair reasons, he always made sure Peeta knew he was not alone, whether it was through an understanding look, or a soft pat on the back, or a few carefully chosen words dropped here and there over the years.
AU: After the 74th Hunger Games, Peeta agrees to become a Capitol slave in exchange for Katniss’s life.
I twist and turn in my bed as visions flash before my eyes and slither deep into my mind, breathing poison from the deepest corners of my imagination. It’s one of those nights, where nightmares refuse to leave me alone, where one simple thought, of home, of her, too deeply rooted in my heart to ever be shaken, keeps me away from sleep. That’s how I know I’ll never let go.
It’s been a year, now. A year since I sold my soul to the devil to save her.
The Capitol is my home, and District 12 nothing more than a distant memory – at least that’s what they keep telling me. But the truth is, the more time I spend here the more disgusted I am, and I find myself wanting to smash the cultivated ignorance and the elaborately designed cruelty that animate their eyes. Every day, I’m ordered to smile and to please, to repeat all the pretty little words they taught me to recite. I’m forbidden to paint, but it’s probably for the best. At one point, the world’s horror becomes enough; you don’t need to paint it, you don’t even need to remember it. It is enough.
I haven’t talked to Katniss in over a year. I know she sent me letters, but I never got to read them. Some nights, I lay awake, trying to remember everything I can about her, her smell, the color of her eyes, the way she felt in my arms. And when I fail to recollect the memories, I simply imagine what her life might be like back home. And sometimes, I find myself wondering if she ever thinks of me. If she ever catches glimpses of me on TV. If she ever searches for them. I’d like to tell her, I’d like her very much to know, that I may walk among them, but I’m not one of them. They can keep me here, they can dress me the way they want and dye my hair the color they desire, they can sell my body to the highest bidder, but I’ll never be a piece in their games.
‘We have a deal you and I, remember?’ President Snow’s voice echoes in my head, and in the fragile moonlight, I make a solemn promise. Oh, not aloud. There is no wind to hear, carry and bear words so heavy with hate. But in my silent own lone way, I swear. I will kill you.
