“I am.”

“And if watching you being bashful is the end of me, then that’s how I go.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Allowing himself a tiny smirk, Kili pressed a lightning-quick kiss to the end of her nose. 

“Not even from me being bashful.”



Send my muse kisses you want to give them!

for a kiss where there is a pulse.

At that moment he didn’t know whether to kiss her or kill her, but the decision had already been made for him. His treacherous legs took the choice away from him, his traitorous arms snatching her up even as he berated her, angry at her recklessness, at her faux-cheerful assurances that she knew he didn’t buy, not for a second and yet she still bloody did it. He snatched her up and held her too tight and how dare she act as though everything was alright, as though she hadn’t scared the life out of him not five minutes before.

He didn’t know whether to kiss her or kill her, so he kissed her. Kissed her to quiet those reassurances and the promises they both make but neither of them can keep. Kissed her to stop his own angry growls and replace them with something less destructive. Kissed her to remember that yes, she was here, she was real, and if she ever bloody well scared him like that again he’d… he’d… probably go through the exact same routine all over again.

When it was over, and their antics had taken them across two rooms and made him very glad for the new shutters he’d purchased, his anger had all but dissipated. Flash fires rarely lasted, and neither did temper tantrums, and while Kili pressed lazy kisses along the line of her throat, he listened to the rise and fall of her breathing, quiescent for now. There would never be true peace here, not while the Capitol still ruled and held their chains to tug at their whims, but he would take each lull for what it was, and take it gladly enough. He might rage and storm and argue, but storms pass, and as he set his lips below her jaw to feel the pulse thrumming there, he could feel something loosen in his chest.

He would take this respite, and the next, and the next… it didn’t matter how many times this game was played, as long as he knew that her heart still beat.

Dear past me,


Dear past me,

         Don’t do it.

         I know that you won’t, because I’m here writing this now, but I’m telling you anyway: don’t do it. Put down that bottle, step away from that knife, just don’t. You won’t believe me, but you won’t just be hurting yourself.

         It gets better. Things might be shit, and they’ll probably stay shit, but there’s someone out there who’ll make it better. Just hold on. Someone out there does think you’re worth loving.

         Don’t do it. You need to find her.


“Just let me have this, this moment where we’re still us, please?”


Sexy Reaction Meme || Accepting

For the first time in so very long, Kili feels… warm. He shouldn’t, not really: their hideout is barely a lean-to with rickety walls and no door to speak of, but if he closes his eyes he can pretend. He can pretend this hard earth is his crappy old armchair, that their shitty excuse for a fire is a hearth brought to roaring by her – he never did bother to keep his woodpile stocked – and that that is where they sit, curled together like so many evenings before, passing a bottle back and forth.

It feels good. It feels… human.

Yeah. An arm snakes around her shoulders, scarred and missing fingers and encased in ragged clothing, but whole enough to pull her into his side. His mind wants so badly to rebel (not real, not real…) but her breath upon his neck is hard to ignore. He’ll take that. He’ll take whatever he can get. Yeah… Okay. For— a little while.

“You give and you give and give… when is it your turn to take?”


Villains and Heroes

“You can’t see the kinds of things I take, Kili.” Hawke sat up on the mossy earth. They’d walked far into the forest to the foot of the mountains to get away from the knocks on the door and the ringing of the phone. “And I don’t just mean matches out of your pockets or silverware from parties.” 


“I’ve got Alder’s right hook and Chip’s secret way of folding paper into birds. I’ve taken Livia’s gossip and Cicero’s hangover cure and Caesar’s jokes that only work on Capitolites. I’ve taken my uncle’s trick for picking locks, and my dad’s for setting bones–” she leaned over and attacked his sides with her fingers. “Like these ribs Chip told me were ticklish so I can take a laugh from you whenever…I…want!


For a moment, the two of them seemed frozen in time, the demon and his prey caught in a gruesome tableau against the cellblock wall. He was still panting, close enough for hot breaths to sear past the sweat and blood and close enough to hear every terrified gasp she made. It would be so easy. Easier than the Peacekeepers with their guns and their armor. One twist, one thrust of the knife, and the apparition would fade just like all the others. It would leave him, their games would fall short, and Kili Durinson, District Seven would walk to the end of this cellblock to where more bullets waited. He pressed tighter, hissing softly at the harsh choke of breath in his ear. So easy. Maybe he’d even take a few of them with him before he left. Take a gun, play a little. See how they liked their little games when he was ‘it’.

God, he’d always loved this knife. Sharper than a Capitolite’s smile
and just as wicked, she’d always had a thirst for blood since the day he
found her, lying innocent beside the body of a boy from District 11. So
clever, and so graceful too, flickering between his fingers of an
evening when he tossed her back and forth, whirling in the air. Even she
had liked her, remarked on her balance and the way the light reflected


His knife.

And her fingers.

What—His voice was hoarse and cracked, as barely human as the rest
of him beneath that mask of blood and pain, and yet—- he blinked,
eyes inexorably drawn to the welling of crimson between her fingers. The
blade had already bitten deep, and as he looked she squeezed tighter
still, heedless of the pain or the viscera still clinging to the blade.
His head jerked, tearing his eyes from the knife to stare her down –
and for the first time, the demon was disturbed.  “ Wh-what are you doing?
Stop that.

He could feel it upon his wrist, thick and sticky and somehow scalding
hot, and the hand holding the knife tugged, bit deeper, but she hung on,
jaw clenched against fear and pain.

Stop that!

His breath was coming too quickly, both hands shaking now, straining
with the effort of keeping still. There— there wasn’t enough air,
where had the air gone? They didn’t take the air, couldn’t do that. They
couldn’t do that. Make her scream, make her cry, make her hurt, make
him hurt, all the same games all the time, but the blood wasn’t hot. Games were cold and cruel and they didn’t do this! Why was it hot? Hot blood on his knife and he didn’t know how. How was it hot?
His chest was heaving, eyes unable to focus, flickering from her to the
kife to the blood to her to the shit, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe—-


crumpled to the ground in a heap, the chokehold released as her
predator stumbled backwards, tripping over the body of a Peacekeeper in
his haste to scramble away. Hands slippery with her blood clamped hard
over his own mouth, hyperventilating, gasping, crying – actually crying,
tears hotter than the blood could ever be cutting paths through the
gore on his cheeks.

What are you doing? Why are
you—? No no no. N-not real, not real! Please, I don’t like it—– I
don’t want to do it anymore, oh God please, no more. You’re not here, you’re not, you can’t be.
Please please please don’t let it be, not you.

Not real, can’t be real. No, no no no no no no…

Marian was in agony. The knife pushed deeper and hotter into her hand; the air being squeezed from her throat. She was trying to watch Kili but her eyes kept rolling back into her skull where a storm of pressure was building blacker and larger by the moment. She felt him shaking, harder now, or maybe her own muscles were beginning to spasm. 

“Stop that!”

His voice called her back from the sky.


Air seared down her throat as Hawke was released, dropping to the floor in a wheezing heap. She buckled at the waist with a low moan, burying her face in her kneecaps, the cool floor the only respite from the pain stabbing through her hand and lungs as she hacked and hacked and hacked, trying needing to take a full breath.

The demon had let her go. She’d actually done it. Sitting there huddled in her own blood and terrified to check if she still had all her fingers felt more like victory than surviving the Hunger Games ever had.

Across from her, he was still shouting. Words coming in torrents now. The crash of him staggering yanked her head up. It was awful to watch. His bloody hands getting the thick liquid all over his mouth, crying and child-like in his terror, his bare feet hapless in the gore on the tile.

Behind his tears though, Hawke noticed, Kili’s eyes had changed. They were looking at her. Really at her instead of watching like she was a figment existing in a world separate from his nightmare while she sang work songs and rearranged the two pieces of furniture in her cell, peering through the bars occasionally to ask him what he thought–always checking those eyes. He was awake; thrown from one nightmare straight into the next. 

“I’m sorry, darling.” Marian drew in a deep, shuddering breath, determined to dominate her pain. She was so tired. She could lay down on the floor with the dead peacekeepers and nap, but she couldn’t. No-if she slept now they were both dead.   

“Who else would come rescue you?”

A sound that might have been mistaken for a laugh rasped in her throat. “You’ll thank me…eventually I’m sure…” she wheezed, knuckling her good hand against the floor.  

Come on. Stand. You’ve only got to stand.

She tried to push herself to her feet but pain lanced down her legs and they wobbled until she fell back on her knees. Fuck’s sake, she would just have to crawl. 

With her tattered hand clutched to her chest, Marian began dragging herself forward until she reached the man Kili had stumbled over. “Hold on,” she put her forehead down on the floor again just shy of Kili’s bare toes, sure she was going to vomit or faint or both. 

She felt around until her fingers found his ankle. They spread over it, soothing the quavering skin. “Come on, breathe. Breathe Kili…” she pleaded. “With me. In an out. One breath at a time. I can’t get out of here without you.” 

“You want me to get out of here, right?”