INDEPENDENT AGENT CARTER
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Cosimo Galluzzi

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@volutneer
INDEPENDENT AGENT CARTER
volutneer:
should i stick with katniss, switch to peggy carter, or keep katniss & make a new blog for peggy?
should i stick with katniss, switch to peggy carter, or keep katniss & make a new blog for peggy?
|| so i’m thinking about coming back to this account?? because my work load is seriously 0 and will continue to be 0 (more likely than not) until january. but i mean idek? are any of my friends still around oR £/>
Hey guys! So I know I haven't been online like.. at all, but I have a totally valid excuse. School started about three weeks ago, and I've (stupidly) overloaded my schedule with incredibly difficult classes. So, I'm literally spending all of my "free time" studying, making flash cards, doing homework, completing exams, et cetera. But! I will (god-willing) be getting online again soon - just not as often as i used to. see you all super soon! x
ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴀɴɢsᴛᴍᴀs || ᴇᴠᴇʀʟᴀʀᴋ
hijackedup:
District 12 got notoriously icy during the winter months, this Christmas being no exception. While there wasn’t the torrential downpour of sleet and hail that they’d had in years prior, it was still nearly 0 degrees and here he was, outside of Katniss’ house planting what could very well be the end of his tentative friendship with her.
He needed to do this, though, just like she needed to put Prim to rest.
Fingers brushed the delicate pink and white petals — spun silk with a hint of sweetness that he couldn’t resist taking in — as he reminded himself that this was all worth it. Katniss needed to remember that this holiday didn’t mean her life and everything she loved was gone.
That the memory of Prim wasn’t with her. That happiness was forever ruined for her.
“It’s not really gone; not where it matters,” he’d said with a pleading look on his face. Trying in whatever way he could to restore her happiness.
Humming some obscure tune to himself, Peeta passed through the threshold of his own home with the potted plants under arm, already lugging a bag of fresh earth behind so he could replant them in preparation for the spring.
She hated winter. She'd always hated winter. But at least, last year, Prim was there. They made it through the winters together, huddled beside a poor excuse for a fire and hot mint-leaf water cupped between their frozen fingers.
Now, she had nothing. No one.
No one, except Peeta.
An orange cat mews from the doorway, pouncing up and into the window sill where he committed herself to mewing the most irritating lullaby. But when his paw presses against the cold glass, Katniss' brow furrows -
"What're you trying to get?"
The brunette pulls herself from the couch, quilt hung around her shoulders, and peers through the window -- Peeta?
She lingers, not quite ready to approach him; not until she knows exactly what he's up to.
Six Stages of Falling In Love
Text creds to: rbcages
paint-the-rebellion:
Oh, he tried to leave her alone, tried to linger too long taking inventory in the bakery--the little business set up in the kitchen of his Victors Village home. At first he lay in his bed, listening to the chirp of birds outside. The birds were the first creatures to return, even before the packs of wild dogs. They made homes in his eaves and sang songs to him. His Mockingjay... He remembered her voice, clear and bell bright. Slowly things returned to him like the birds did: the soft tickle of her damp, unbraided hair on the rocking train during the victory tour, the stubborn scowl when she talked to Haymitch, the way she let him sleep with the window open.
Those memories weren't shiny; they were bright and sweet and wholly ripe. Right now, the girl extinguished stood moments before him, eyes darting back and forth between her anxious fingers and her face. Really she had no reason to trust him. He'd tried to force her into allowing him to commit suicide. Standing slowly, he gestured for her to follow him indoors. "D-do you maybe want to have something to eat?" Simple. Normal. Yes.
If she was honest with herself, it was almost impossible not to think about Peeta for most of the day. Between feeding animals and tending to the small garden she attempted to grow; talking to Haymitch and recovering from nightmares as they invariably, zealously came to her. Between each thought, there was a space meant for that blonde haired boy that, through even war, she came to love.
That blonde-haired, broken boy who had forgotten that he loved her back.
Cautiously, Katniss takes another step toward him, trying to keep her face relaxed - free of any stress or anxiety. Triggering him was the last thing she needed; not whilst they're having such a promising conversation. So, maintaining soft eye contact and ensuring her distance, the brunette nods in agreement.
"I'd like that."
She replies with a gentle voice, hardly above a whisper. A brief gust of air sent a chill through her core, though Katniss took it as a bit of motivation; encouragement. One foot in front of the other, she quietly moves toward the door, stray autumn leaves crunching underfoot.
"How, uh-- how are you?"
The inquiry is innocent enoug - though her mind and heart, in unison, and pleading for more. More, as though it's that easy. That simple.
paint-the-rebellion:
The cats rollicking around the kitchen table, batting at feathers from Katniss’ most recent kill were making all kinds of pleased noises: as if they’d been the ones to kill it. The bird was currently marinating before Peeta prepared it before dinner with dandelion greens. He spent his days reinventing his cracking memories with flour and dough. Always, though, dandelion was a staple of their diets, along with the katniss root, tea made of mint, berries from the thicket and meadow. With Peeta's constant nagging and tempting with pretty little almond cookies with cream and jam in the center, her face had filled out some.
He was expecting maybe some news about Haymitch and his geese, but the words that ran to and embraced him made his breath catch. He stared at her. "You... You're pregnant. I'm... I'm going to be a daddy?"
She hadn't ever really imagined that she would be able to lead this kind of a life. A simple, basic life - one where she loved; where she felt happiness, but also pain. There was no quick fix for healing the broken bits that held her ransom, some nights, so s he relied on time. That, after all, heals all wounds eventually.
Her thumb and forefinger pick at the cuticle of a fingernail, nervousness easing through her once again. She'd just.. gone for it, hadn't she? No thought; no hesitation. Maybe it was better that way - without giving herself time to second guess the words she wanted to say, everything felt a bit more.. genuine. And as grey eyes skim over Peeta's full, masculine face, she allows herself to nod --
"It's.. [ early ]. But yeah -- yeah, you are."
Her teeth grasp the inside of her cheek, gnawing at it as fear gnawed at her chest. Even smiling isn't quite possible, yet; not until the uncertainty passes.
ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛ || ᴇᴠᴇʀʟᴀʀᴋ [ᴄᴀʀʟɪsʟᴇ ﹢ ᴇsᴍᴇ]
hijackedup:
The centuries had not been kind to a creature like himself; one who lives in the night and hunts sentient prey that looks him in the eye and knows, understands what he is.
Peeta had been alive for so long, that life felt like nothing more than a distraction. His time with the Volturi only solidified that belief. Since the beginning of his “new life”, he hunted only animals, which meant that he would always be separate from the norm; so he did what came naturally and carved out his own niche in the world. He became a healer — hands that gave life more often than took it.
He became almost happy with himself.
And still, he couldn’t help wondering if there was anything left for him to rejoice in. Living an eternity had never felt as much of a curse as it did so many years down the road.
“I refuse to be like the rest,” he fervently whispered to Marcus one evening, when Aro had ordered another line-up of slaughter victims. The gold tint of his eyes bored into the blood red of Marcus’, “So I’m leaving. Tell them to leave me in peace, and they shall never hear of me again.”
That night, he stowed away on a boat to America and never looked back. The day he treated a young Katniss was one he would always remember, her face permanently etched into his mind.
He followed her, watched from afar, keeping his distance; but slowly, unwittingly, leaving his heart with her. To this day, he kept distant vigil over her, as she travelled across the country and suffered in silence.
The year was 1911, and Katniss Everdeen was 16 years old. She was an adventurous child - always so keen on exploring: getting into a bit of mischief was a bonus. That was what had spurred her to climb the maple tree, early one Sunday morning -- the possibility of discovering a nest of birds upon one tall, tall branch. But twice as easily as she had ascended, she fell, breaking her leg as she collapsed upon the grass.
Her family's doctor wasn't in, so an impromptu one called upon her - Doctor Peeta Mellark. The man with cold hands and warm eyes, as she so fondly remembered him. It was easy to get lost in conversation with the man, even as her leg screamed for attention. He was also impossible to forget: as she aged, she even swore to seeing him, out of the corner of her eye - but, each time she turned, there was nothing. On more than one occasion, she considered visiting a psychiatrist -- after all, what sane person saw visions of a man she hardly knew around every corner?
Eventually, she married, but she never lost that nonsensical feeling that he was watching over her. Through her husband's abuse, however, she began to lose faith in her Saviour. Her Doctor. And after the loss of her son, mortality no longer held the appeal it once had. That was why she had jumped - she simply couldn't take it anymore.
Now, however, her heart beats faintly; she's in the morgue, awaiting examination. Her eyes are impossibly heavy, and she feels no desire whatsoever to open them. For t he first time in so many years, she felt peace. But, still, she lived -- though it was short-lived. A woman with such impossible injury couldn't survive much longer. Though, silly enough, her thoughts strayed to her Doctor; and, if one were to look close enough, they could see the smallest imprint of a smile on her blue-tinted lips.
hijackedup:
More than anything, he wanted to pull her close as a show of understanding, but if he knew anything about Katniss, it was that she needed to work out her emotions, uninfluenced, if necessary — and he just knew that his touch, his silent support, might alter the course of this conversation.
“Yeah, I guess. But if you’re just keeping them physically safe, that doesn’t matter much if they feel alone, emotionally.”
Jaw clenching slightly, she digested his words -- just like Peeta, to take emotions into account. Something Katniss hadn't even considered. But, still, stubborn as she is, she presses on hands tucking into the pockets of her sweater, gaze easily leaving his.
"Their emotions don't really matter if they're dead."
( hijackedup )
"I remember that it’s not as pleasant as it might seem like, now. It’s good to have people you care about… next to you, supporting you, isn’t it?"
The brunette shrugs softly, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek - a rare show of unsureness.
"It's a lot easier to keep people safe if you don't get close."
paint-the-rebellion:
Peeta did not have his paints out tonight. An earlier nightmare had robbed him of interest and so he sat on his steps with his hands clasped tightly together and fingers laced, chin perched ponderously upon them. Even if he mixed his colors just right, they'd never fully match the splendor of nature. With bright eyes and a troubled crease in his forehead, the Baker watched the sun sink until the fingers of night itched to pull the seam of nighttime back.
He tore his eyes away when Katniss spoke, his body tensed as if to spring up and away. But he reminded himself that this memory was not a shiny one and she was just a girl. His mouth twisted into a shy smile. "Hi." He should do something... something normal. He'd loved her a lot once and that meant a lot to her. "Have you had dinner yet?"
His eyes lifted to hers, and she breaks her gaze away immediately -- it's almost painful. Still, after so long, it's painful. And the mere fact that it's painful only makes things worse. He deserved somebody ready to accept him into their arms; someone unafraid of what the future holds, embracing it wholeheartedly. And Katniss Everdeen.. she wasn't that person.
"No."
She answers quickly - no hesitation; no thought. Food hadn't been her highest priority since since leaving Twelve -- since Prim. Haymitch tried to get her to eat, by she never had an appetite. Breathing was hard enough - supplementing her livelihood was the last thing she wanted to do. Eyes focusing on the furling and unfurling of her fingertips against the leather of her jacket. Only briefly do her eyes flicker up to Peeta's; weakness and fear, so p o i g n a n t .
"Are you hungry?"
March 18, 2014
I think it's a girl. I wouldn't let the doctor tell me - I didn't want to find out without you there.
Please be home for Christmas. I need you.
Yours, 𝓴𝓪𝓽𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓼
paint-the-rebellion:
( volutneer )
He hardly looked up from his sketch of the shoreline from four as Katniss entered. He’d had it stamped in his brain when they visited Annie and her son, to pay homage and remembrance to Finnick as they did every year, with armfuls of fragrant flowers. Annie always cried. But it was a ritual now, and as much as Peeta loved his mountains, he was having an affair with the tossing sea. Colors returned to him as his pencil swept back and forth to create bubbles and foam. Her words, though harmless, alarmed him. Nightmares appeared less and less frequently for both of them. Weeks stretched before him without a single trigger—but neither of them would be whole again—not really. After Paylor established democracy, the districts began to rebuild. People moved about as they pleased. Even Capitol folk appeared in twelve, still drawn by the rumors of the elusive Victors. Finally, years passed and naturally they mended their fences with one another. Tentative friendship blossomed and love built nests in their ribcages. They’d never had a formal reception but she had a ring and his promise, and they’d toasted their bread over the fire in Peeta’s kitchen and just like that it became theirs. They carried on just as they had before, with baking and hunting and painting and pressing flowers between the pages of the Everdeen family book. Peeta took notice of the children in Twelve, how they grew, the bellies of the pregnant women and how one day their arms were effort, the next, bearing a bundle of blankets. He tried not to discuss it with Katniss; children would be a challenge to the tenuous silver strands holding her together. But anybody who knew Peeta knew he wanted children. He watched fathers wistfully hold their children on their shoulders at the Freedom Day celebrations, envious of such precious things. “What’s wrong?” he asked around the pencil clenched between his teeth. He was older now, the child-like roundness of his face replaced with handsome cheekbones and a strong jaw. He often sported a bit of a beard, hair hanging in fair curls around his face. “Has Buttercup Two gotten into the smokehouse again?”
( paint-the-rebellion )
Katniss knew. She knew about the longing - she saw it in his eyes every time he saw a father holding his child; watched as the one she loved most lived vicariously through the men of Twelve. But was living through others enough for him? After all, she didn't know if she would be able to brave the world of motherhood - if she was meant to hold her own precious bundle, to watch it grow and flourish. She was brave enough to lead a rebellion (though, that word was generous - l e a d. She preferred the less meaning-heavy survive.), was she not brave enough to have a child?
But, now, the "ifs" were replaced with inevitable "whens." It wasn't on purpose - neither of them had planned this. They both seemed to have had a silent conversation concerning this, as words had never really been exchanged about children. If the time came, Katniss supposed she would be ready: she would feel the urge to have children; she would be desirous for them. But now? All s he felt was a unbalanced fervour and fear.. Fear, outright and entirely overpowering the former.
She shakes her head at his inquiry, dark eyebrows knitting together as she sought for the right words - the words that would put her troubled mind at ease, yet still bring that nearly effervescent smile to Peeta's lips. Oh, how she loved that smile.. And, in that moment with Love's smile enchanting her mind, all of her worries seemed to vanish. It was as though, as long as he was smiling, all would be well. Now, she has no qualms with allowing the confession to leave her hopefully smiling lips.
"I'm pregnant."
( paint-the-rebellion )
"Don't make this a bigger deal than it is, okay?"
Katniss implores, biting back the giveaway smile that threatened to break out against her lips. But, knowing Peeta, he'll do it anyway. Because he's.. Peeta. And that's one of the things she loves most about him.
P A S S I O N.