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make dem hav sex

ok

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wip | hunger games | part iv "and it lives in my bones"

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wip | katniss (and prim) : hunger games | untitled; post-mockingjay

She was still a big sister. After everything, Girl on Fire, Sister of Ashes, she was still a big sister. 

The question bites like a rabid dog the first time it's asked. "Do you have any siblings?" A simple question from a stranger who couldn't see who they were talking to because Katniss was hidden beneath a hood. She isn't ready for the question the first time it's asked. "Just a dead little sister," She let slip out, and the stranger left off quickly after that, muttering apologies.

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wip | peeta : hunger games | untitled; mockingjay

He knows it isn't real.

He knows because this cave, this cave that has to be made up in his mind, fabricated from screams and venom, has sand instead of ground and outside there's a large body of water.

The games and the quell come together into one, and he is left drowning.

He's in the cave, he's on the beach, and there, she is always there. Saving him and kissing him, but in the flickering light of the underground of the Capitol where his cell is, her presence is absent. And he tells himself that this is good – she's safe, Haymitch finally listened and kept his promise to me, finally – but after the third, forth, tenth hit lash of the evening, all he wants is her there to hold, to bury his face in her hair, to just see so that the compressing walls that are squeezing his heart can leave.

But she isn't there to hold, to touch, to kiss. Even if she was there, would she let him hold her? Definitely not kiss her. Down in the underground, in the Capitol with the flickering light, in the cells they keep traitors, there would be no reason for the act. He'd be Peeta, the name muttered as she looked away, not Peeta, the name a smile on her lips that formed on a sigh. No cameras. Not needed. Not real. 

He turns on his side, his side that is more bruised. It hurts, but he wants to face the wall in case anyone comes in. He doesn't need an audience to his tears.

He finds it a bit pathetic that he's crying over this, over Katniss and the act when he's being tortured. He already knows that it was an act for her, that her feelings for him didn't run the same way that his did. He fancied the idea during the Quell, on that damned beach, that maybe she was hitting upon the idea of what he felt, that she was coming to terms to maybe waking up her heart to him. 

The barking laugh of the peacekeepers reminded him that no, no truly she didn't. They remind him every night of his reality. She isn't here with you, she has never been 'with' you. But she is with that cousin of hers, yes. Alone. And here you are scrunched in a corner, bleeding. Are you still bleeding for her? Are you still taking beatings in her name? Do you still love her?

Yes. Yes, I love her. I told her always. I meant it. He tries to think of the Valley Song but someone takes his face and shoves it to the ground and soon all he hears is his throbbing heartbeat as if its trying to spill out of his mouth and onto the ground, where it'd do a much better job, he is sure.

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wip | clove (cato/glimmer) : hunger games | untitled 

She could tell the next morning at breakfast that he fucked her.

His laugh spilled onto the table like how Clove imagined her clothes spilled on the floor near his bed. Or maybe hers. Or maybe it was in a bathroom stall, or maybe nearby the stand with all the knives (Clove sneered at that, my knives). Or maybe they just found an alcove where they felt there were enough shadows to hide their fumbling limbs.

Clove drank her orange juice evenly. 

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and it lives in my bones | part iii | the hunger games

ff.net ao3 (site is down now and I'll put the link later)

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wip | prim : hunger games | untitled

Primrose Everdeen was never a girl to believe much in luck. She believed in flowers and herbs, in her hands being able to be a healing source for those who need help. She believed in love, and how it could save your life, like it did for her sister, and how it could break you, like it did for her mother. She believed in how wonderful life was, even amongst the soot world. 

Above all else, she believed in her sister.

Effie gave a speech, showed a video, and told them all "ladies first."

Katniss watched the Capitol lady, who she almost even seemed to grow fond of as she walked to the bowl. She held her breath, and held Peeta's hand harder. Soon she'd know the names of the people whose fate was in her hand. She wasn't sure if she was ready for it all, but Peeta drew a circle on her hand with her palm, and she knew at least she wouldn't be alone.

Effie opened the slip, and seemed to hesitate a bit. She wanted to rip it apart and pick a new name. She knew it wouldn't mean a thing. She knew all in that one second, that every name in the bowl for a District Twelve girl tribute would have the same name. 

She cleared her voice, and her Capitol twang rang across the square, just like the year before. "Primrose Everdeen!" 

Primrose Everdeen was never a girl to believe much in luck. Perhaps though, she'd come to believe in the bad kind.

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wip | katniss/peeta : hunger games | zombie au

A city of ashes. Roads of blood. She thinks to when Gale would tell her that they should run, escape to the woods and live off the land.

She is running now. She wonders as she runs, as she listens to the uneven heavy footsteps behind her, right behind her, like a loud awkward shadow, what life would be like if she said yes to his offer.

Her and Gale would be in some hidden somewhere with Prim. All of Gale's family would be there. She wondered if her mother would come (she wouldn't, and Katniss would miss her but she'd only miss her for Prim, she's been missing her mother for years now and she knows she's gone for good in every way).

She could taste a laugh made of ashes and blood at the thought of that life. It wouldn't work, there were too many then. She cared about only a couple of people then, but they cared about others too. There was too big of a web. It all changed when Prim got sick. It all changed when Prim launched herself at Gale.

(Sometimes she thinks about how it's easier this way. Sometimes she gets sick from that thought, hates herself for thinking it was easy to have lost everyone and she withdraws into a little hole within herself, where those people, where her sister, are still alive.)

Katniss remembered standing there, staring, thinking that maybe her sister was better and tackling him into a hug. She was so affectionate. She was about to smile when Gale's yell smacked into her, when Prim raised her face and his blood was smeared upon it already. And Katniss was frozen to her spot. Frozen in fear and clutching hard at the loaf of bread she bought earlier, until she felt a hand in hers, pulling her away. Peeta, who demanded to go to her house with her, for they both felt a weird change in the air, was taking her away.

"No." She tried to pull away from his hand, to get over to where Gale and Prim were. (Was that Prim, was that really her little duck? A monster of a shade of the little lovable girl, she could feel the tears in her eyes and the sickness climbing up her throat.) She just wanted to get over there, do something, stop this fucking nightmare her life became. And if she couldn't, let hell consume her as well. What else was there to do?

"Katniss, we need to get out of here. Now." Peeta's voice was quiet, but urgent and demanding. Her breath was coming shorter and faster and it felt hard to get in enough (any) air. She let him yank her away from the scene if only to get away from the rusted smell, and they stood outside the door.

"We need to run." We could run away you know. His voice entered her mind as she heard his screams from inside the house. She felt sick, and soon found herself vomiting into the street. Peeta held her hair (a gentlemen really, even in the middle of the end of the world), and she tried to steady herself to the feeling of his other hand rubbing a circle on her back.

"To the woods." She added to his earlier comment. Her throat was burning. Her mouth was burning. Her heart was burning. Everything was burning.

Not everything. Not yet.

"There are rumors," Peeta started off as she stood up. He held a hand out to steady her if she needed, and he wouldn't look at her as he talked. "People say that you know the disease gets transmitted from....bites." From being torn apart. From a mouth sinking into the skin and forming a wound that they thrash and rip with teeth. 

Katniss could see her nightmares now. The image of a bloody Prim and Gale chasing her. She swallowed the stiff air and tried to calm down. "Are there rumors about what there is to do about something like that to stop it?"

"You have to burn the bodies."

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wip | hunger games | part iii "and it lives in my bones"

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wip | arya stark : asoiaf | untitled

She tasted her death many times.

Each time she killed a man, her death dripped and filled her being, making her actuley aware that yes this man in front of her was dying, and yes it was because of her, but yes she was dying too. She tasted her own death. It tasted like the bark of a tree and cinnamon. It tasted of morning dew and wormwood. Her death stained her lips and stunk her breath. Her death hung in her eyelids and nestled in her hair. Her death was closer with each breath, but each breath was a protest to it.

[breadeyes-blog]

why must u hurt me in this way NO WAIT BETTER QUESTION IS WHY DO I HURT MYSELF IN THIS WYA

you're welcome

xoxo

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wip | kafei/anju : majora's mask | untitled

It makes sense that they met as children.

(It takes a while for that to make sense, takes a disaster, a moon, a curse, a kid as well (a kid most importantly), but it makes sense in the end, it makes sense.)

It also makes sense that growing up they played hide and seek. She always picked spots that were easy, never really hidden (mother would be worried if I hid too well, and I don't want to not be found, not really). 

He'd be hidden for a long time. (Minutes felt like hours, like days, has it been three days since she last saw him? Has it been a month? Where was he where – and then it is he who finds her even though she is still the one that's supposed to find him.)

It makes sense, because everything when they grow up doesn't.

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 wip | reek : asoiaf | untitled

The feel of the knife in his hand was similar to that of the feeling of home. Then again, he never had warm feelings that gave the places he lived the name "Home," so what did he know?

He knew that it felt good to be on this side of the knife. He looked at it shining in the moonlight, and casting a glint of the silver onto the purple nighted snow. He was a weak, weak man, a shadowed ghost of what he used to be. But he was still alive, and he could still do this one thing.

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wip | arya stark : asoiaf | wolf child, blood child

The words of an old stranger haunted her dreams as the rubies of another's life lavished her like a queen.

Wolf child, blood child. It echos into the empty street. She's staring at her hands, at her precious rubies and how they glittered and how they dripped. Wolf child, blood child. The voice snapped her eyes away from the seduction of red. It was a song badly sung on a voice stabled by twigs. Wolf child, blood child. What have you done?

She made her way quickly to the water and threw her hands in it, scrubbing it away. She scratched at her hands, hoping for the red to leave them completely. Blood child.

The woman's voice shouldn't be with her anymore.

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wip | peeta mellark : hunger games | untitled hijacking fic

He lays the bread down in her lap. She stares at it for a bit, almost as if frozen and disbelieving. Distantly, the boy named Peeta Mellark thinks that this isn't how it all happened. 

The girl on the ground, the mutt named Katniss Everdeen suddenly looks up at him with a fire that stops the rain and all he can feel is the hate, hate, hatred she has for him when all he wanted was to make sure she didn't die. A bow and arrow suddenly appears in her hands and he isn't sure where it came from, but that barely matters because she has it pointing to his chest, to his heart (fitting, really), the string pulled back and taut. 

She growls, actually growls, as she stares him down as if sizing him up. She is. She snarls out words. "I don't want your food." She pulls the string back tighter. "I want your heart. I want to pierce it with my arrow and claw it out of your skin. I want to devour it and taste it as it still beats it's last bloody beats. I want to watch the life leak from your eyes. I want you dead, Peeta Mellark. I want your heart."

"You have it," he responds – stupidly, foolishly – and a wolf smile invades her face.

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wip | annie : hunger games | untitled 

It's three o'clock in the morning when she finds herself on the shore of her past, waiting for him.

Only she doesn't exactly find herself. She's lost, lost, lost in the churning waters far out and away but she's waiting, waiting, waiting.

She doesn't remember many things. She doesn't remember where her tears are when she's sad, and she doesn't sometimes remember why she's sad. She just feels it, a stone in her stomach, in her heart, in her head, and she finds herself with the sand nestling in between her toes.

It's three o'clock in the morning and no one notices she is gone, but she does remember that there's no one really to notice that, not at this hour.

It was easier when there was a soul or two around that would notice when she would float down to the seaside. It was easier when someone would notice and follow her, would put an arm on her shoulder and bring her back to the now.

It was easier when she waited on this shore, waiting, and he would return.

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wip | hunger games | part iii of "and it lives in my bones"