stillplaying ◾ ◾ Entries tagged withpeeta mellark

2015-02-22 15:50

"It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself..."

She's never been good at hiding her secrets from Peeta. Not when they had first entered the Hunger Games together seventeen years ago. Not now, all these years later, after spending fifteen of them so close together. They've shared the same house for years now. It's been so many, that it's hard to remember a time when she had been in District 12 alone. Normally, she's grateful. So utterly grateful for Peeta's time and patience and love. But in the past couple of days, that gratefulness has disappeared.

It's her own naivety that's kept the secret this long. Prim had always been the one to help their mother with anything remotely medical or pharmaceutical in nature. The most she ever contributed had been the plants she had encountered during her treks in the forest. The memories linger - all of her memories do - but they seem so far away. From a different lifetime. She's long made her peace with that. Older now (and maybe a little wiser), she understands the uprising had been necessary. For all she had sacrificed, life is different now. For her and for Peeta. For Haymitch, Effie, Gale, and everyone else who lived through the events of that time. Maybe even more so for all the new children born every year, children that will never face the threat of the Hunger Games. Ones that will never grow up confined to their District or status or wealth.

There's freedom now. Freedoms that make all the sacrifices worth it.

She had spent the last few weeks or so wondering if she had been coming down with something. The fatigue, the aches, the nausea, those mornings spent with her hunt delayed as she took a detour to find a place to empty her stomach of breakfast. With winter settling in to the fall, sickness still wasn't all that uncommon in 12. Winter colds, flues and other viruses. She had dismissed her symptoms just as that. Symptoms that she's caught this year's cold. Nothing that she wouldn't get over, wouldn't pass.

Though they've talked, discussed the possibility of a family of their own, she had always been so afraid. Only recently had she come to warm to the idea - and not just for Peeta's sake. She just never expected it to happen so soon.

Peeta will be home soon. He doesn't know that she's visited the doctor today, finally sought explanation for the symptoms she's done her best to hide from him. The diagnoses had confirmed what she already suspected, had expected since feeling the flutters within her stomach days ago. The fear she feels almost overhwelms her if she lets herself stop and think.

So she doesn't. She keeps pacing back and forth in their living room. Even though they've discussed this, she doesn't know how he'll react.

He'll be home soon.

Soon.

◾ Tags:

peeta mellark,
psl

2015-01-22 12:24

They sit on the couch together, more space between them than there's been since his return to District 12. It's mostly her fault this time rather than his. He hasn't had any flashbacks today, experienced any moments of hijacked memories that break apart the reality they've begun to build together. He's almost been like the Peeta she remembers. That boy who risked a beating to give her bread.

She wishes for a second that she could still be that girl. That this was another time, another place. Or that Haymitch had been damned brave enough to leave his drunken stupor behind just for a moment and join them. They both tried. They had both given up rather quickly.

He should be here, though. He should be here. He had been the one to make the final decision, whose vote had made a difference. At least, that's what she tells herself even if, really, she blames herself for what is about to happen. She knew how Haymitch would have voted. Knew without a doubt. Because in the end, they'll always be too much alike.

And even now, even as she doesn't have to face the next half hour alone, she's isolating herself. It may not be the white alcohol, but it's still something. She's the one who took the seat on the other end of the couch, the one who won't even look in his direction. Because even after his hijacking, he had remained good deep down. Better than her.

All she had cared about was revenge then. Even now, months and months after that final vote, the feelings still linger.

Paylor's voice breaks the silence in the room. The anthem of Panem plays in the background and she knows it's about to start. Her heart skips a beat, breath caught in her throat and she freezes in her seat. She's terrified. Ashamed. Broken and yet triumphant all at once. She wants nothing more than to be held by Peeta or to hold him.

But she can't move. She can't do anything but stare at the screen.

◾ Tags:

peeta mellark,
psl

2014-07-12 20:09

It's not unusual for nightmares to visit her during her sleep. More often than not, her dreams are reminders of mutts and death and children that never had a chance to live. She doesn't have happy dreams. She doesn't deserve happy dreams. She tried once to explain it to Dr. Aurelius - how she still deserved those dreams that made her awake screaming. But she couldn't find the words. Even now, months later, she has trouble finding those words.

But Peeta understands. Somehow, he's always understood. It's been weeks now, weeks since they've started sharing a bed again. At first, she had been afraid. Afraid that he'd wake up and try to strangle her, completely forgetting what's real and what's not. But as the days passed, that never happened. Instead, he had been there each and every night.

Tonight's no exception.

Though she wakes up screaming, she knows she's not alone. She can feel him stir even as her heart beats rapidly in her chest. It had just been a dream. It had just been a dream. A dream that still feels too real. Watching Peeta die tonight. In that clock arena, Finnick unable to resuscitate him like he had. She chokes back sobs and curls up in a fetal position, tears stinging her eyes.

◾ Tags:

peeta mellark,
psl

2012-11-07 15:27

[( cut for introspection and mention of suicide )

When she awakes, she finally remembers the journal she had brought back from the forest with her. She flips open the pages until she finds the little video screen and begins to record:]

Where I come from, we had Games. The annual Hunger Games, where every year a boy and a girl were chosen as Tributes to represent their District in a fight to the death. There would only be one winner, one survivor who would be crowned Victor and be honored by the Capitol. President Snow's way of giving the Districts a spark of hope, of showing the kindness that the Capitol was capable of even as they took our children away year after year to die while we were forced to watch and celebrate.

I was sixteen the year of the 74th Hunger Games. My sister, Prim, was twelve. It was her first year in the Reaping. Unlike me, her name had only been submitted once. She was never supposed to be chosen for the Games. But she was. I went in her place. I went and lit an entirely different spark. A spark of rebellion. That year, there were two Victors. I couldn't let Peeta die. He loved me, even then. Me? I was just playing a game. But I refused to carry the guilt of killing this boy.

The spark of rebellion grew into an inferno. The girl who was on fire lit the whole country ablaze. There are no more Hunger Games in Panem. Because I had been selfish. Because I didn't want Peeta's death on my conscience. Peeta was just... good. A good boy who refused to be changed by their Games. Who only wanted to die as himself. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.

He's gone back to Panem now. Lived, but at a great cost. He'll be tortured because of me. Hijacked. Given false memories and sent back to try and kill me. It doesn't work. Because it took a pack of wild dogs to accomplish what tributes and soldiers and even presidents could not do. I... I froze. At the memory of dog-like muttations with children's eyes ripping a boy to pieces while I watched and waited for his death to come in the night. It never did. Not until I took my last arrow, cost Peeta his leg, and sent it flying into the other boy's brain.

I'm only really good at a few things. Singing, surviving. Killing. And now it seems like I'm only really good at that last one. I can't sing anymore. I've tried since coming back but I can't. I can't and I don't know why.

[She takes a deep breath. The girl on the camera doesn't look all that upset. Confused mostly. Very confused. There's a crease between her brows, grey eyes lost in contemplation. This is a lot, the most she's spoken since arriving here. Perhaps the most she's spoken since filming one of District 13's propos. But the Mockingjay refuses to lose her voice again. There are stories that have to be told, that need to be remembered.

She thinks Peeta would be proud of her. Dr. Aurelian, too.]

I guess the point of all this is that this week, I came back to life. I died, but it didn't last. And - and I'm sorry if I worried anyone. I know what it's like to lose the people you love. A year ago, this week, despite everything I did to protect her, Prim died.

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2012-10-23 18:08

( earlier that morning... )

Mid-morning, she conducts a second unsuccessful search of the bakery for signs of her boyfriend. If he had wandered away for supplies earlier, he'd be back now. Back for a full day's work. But there's nothing. There's nothing. She manages to get outside without crying. Manages to make it halfway back to the house before sinking to her knees behind the weapons shop. She leans back against the wall, fumbling in her jacket for her journal. Frantically, she searches it.

Nothing. No sign of him. He's gone.

After what seems like forever, when all the tears are done, she opens the journal again. Without a pen, she's left little choice but to speak. Her voice is a little shaky but otherwise devoid of emotion. Monotonous. Its too hard to feel right now.]

[Voice]

Peeta Mellark has returned to Panem. He's not here. I can't find him anywhere.

For those that knew him -- he'll live.

[There's a long pause. It's stupid to say, she thinks. But she remembers his arrival. Remembers how he thought this was the 75th Games. He was from her past, from a past with a horrible, horrible future to look forward to.

But he'll live. She has to cling to that. Even if he'll hate her, never love her like he did here. It was a love she didn't deserve. And a love that she'll never, ever have again.]

Rapunzel, the bakery is yours.

[Action]

[She has to force herself up to her feet. There are other things she needs to do, belongings she ought to sort through. Somehow, she makes it back to House 43. The door is left open as she goes upstairs to his studio. Paintings. She should get rid of the paintings. The art gallery. Or something. But as soon as she sees the half-finished portrait of herself, of a girl that appears infinitely more beautiful than she's ever felt, she knows she can't stay.

The door is slammed shut to the room, Buttercup ignored as she runs down the stairs. She grabs a backpack and stuffs it with a bare minimum of clothing and provisions. Her quiver and bow are slung over her arm and she steps outside. She turns around to regard the house - the house once shared with the small girl from District Eleven and the boy from her own District, her everything. On afterthought, she locks the door.

And then she begins her trek in the western woods towards the treehouses by the Western Lake.]

[ooc: regarding action sections - feel free to catch her in any of the bolded areas!

Also - WARNINGS for the Katniss and Clove thread. Please do not read if you have troubles with depressive and suicidal thought and violence and death.]

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2012-10-03 13:47

( for tl;dr )

Her journal lies at the foot of the bed, mostly ignored. Every now and then, she looks through it. She looks for a message from Maturin or some sign that there's an explanation for this - even if it is all just another cruel game being played by the Malnosso. Right now, though, she could care less as to what goes on outside the four walls of the bedroom.

So when Buttercup knocks it onto the floor and the pages open, she doesn't notice. She's lost in watching him for some sign of life as she sings. Hadn't he always said how much he's liked her voice? That she, like her father, could make the birds stop to listen?]

--dreams from all terror and fear,
Sunlight has passed and the twilight has gone,
Slumber, my darling, the night's coming on.
Sweet visions attend your sleep,
Fondest, dearest to me,
While others keep their revels,
I will watch over you.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap you up warm,
And will shield you from harm.

Slumber, my darling, till morning's blushing ray
Brings to the world the glad tidings of day;
Fill the dark void with your dreamy delight--
Slumber, your lover will guard you tonight,
Your pillow shall sacred be
From all outward alarms;
You, you are the world to me
In all your charms.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap you up warm,
And will shield you from harm.

[But even songs don't seem to wake him. She wipes at the tears that fill her grey eyes and only then seems to notice how Buttercup's curled up next to Peeta and how her journal now lies open to the world, recording most of the song.]

Get out of here, you stupid cat! Get out! [Rather than reach for the journal, she lunges at the animal, shoving him angrily off the bed. He lands on the floor with a hiss. Maybe, at another point, she'll find comfort in him. But right now all she sees is a reminder of the sister she lost nearly a year ago.] Go!

[Unable to stop herself any longer, she falls back in her chair, buries her face in her hands, and begins to cry.]

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The Girl Who Was On Fire

◾ Entries tagged withpeeta mellark

[psl] epilogue: 15 years later, for @withbread

for bakesafe

Real [for @peetasbread]

10th Game [video]

9th Game

8th Game [voice]