Entry tags:
You be the prey and I'll be the predator
Who| Molotov + you (places for various people in comments)
What| Molotov has somehow survived this far. She's determined to make it to the end.
Where| The Arena and then a little bit in the Capitol
When| Week 3 to the end and also a little bit afterward
Warnings/Notes| Violence, gore, crazy ladies, ~raciness~, etc.
Honestly, even Molotov was surprised to make it this long. Once Tom was gone, she figured that she didn't have that much time left, not in her condition, not with a wound this size on her stomach.
It's a wound that had been taking a turn for the worse. The antiseptic and gauze had run out within a week, and without the ability to clean and change the dressings, infection started to set in. Underneath the now-grimy bandages, the injury is black on the inside, oozing and starting to smell. Her skin is red and swollen and aching. Fever's made her sweat uncontrollably, plastering her hair down and keeping her face flushed. When she's not facing delusions, she is uncomfortably aware that she's dying, and not just from infection.
She hasn't eaten in three days.
So now she stumbles through the Arena, searching out food or anyone with it. She has a switchblade and cord, weapons that are dangerous in her hands even when she's in a state like this.
Molotov rounds the corner.
What| Molotov has somehow survived this far. She's determined to make it to the end.
Where| The Arena and then a little bit in the Capitol
When| Week 3 to the end and also a little bit afterward
Warnings/Notes| Violence, gore, crazy ladies, ~raciness~, etc.
Honestly, even Molotov was surprised to make it this long. Once Tom was gone, she figured that she didn't have that much time left, not in her condition, not with a wound this size on her stomach.
It's a wound that had been taking a turn for the worse. The antiseptic and gauze had run out within a week, and without the ability to clean and change the dressings, infection started to set in. Underneath the now-grimy bandages, the injury is black on the inside, oozing and starting to smell. Her skin is red and swollen and aching. Fever's made her sweat uncontrollably, plastering her hair down and keeping her face flushed. When she's not facing delusions, she is uncomfortably aware that she's dying, and not just from infection.
She hasn't eaten in three days.
So now she stumbles through the Arena, searching out food or anyone with it. She has a switchblade and cord, weapons that are dangerous in her hands even when she's in a state like this.
Molotov rounds the corner.
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There's another pause, another kiss, and her nails trail over the skin she's exposing on his chest. "You brought me flowers?"
ugh i am the slowest i'm sorry
"Red gloriosas," he whispers.
beats you with a stick
"I should have known. You're always perfect."
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She inhales and then exhales, looking down at his chest and forcing her face to stay placid instead of showing her irritation. "If I wanted them, you'd know it." She says it calmly, but it's clear he's treading a thin line.
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Because he knows trying to cage her would be like trying to hold a lick of flame, and yet he wants to anyway, the same way any man might try to conquer a nation or ford a sea. He knows to claim her as his would be folly and yet he wants nothing more.
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"Just shut up," she pulls away to whisper, then immediately kisses him again, dragging him back toward the bed.
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And he drags his lips along the patch of neck under her ear.
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It's murmured, an afterthought said with a sigh, and she holds at his shoulder and hair, letting her eye fall closed. Even if she couldn't win, which she's not even sure there was a winner, this isn't a terrible second place prize -- to be whole and back with him and not ever having to eat a raw fucking potato again.
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He slips a hand down her hip and grips her there, bone and muscle, and he presses a kiss to her neck hard enough that it seems he's trying to stamp her with his affection.
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She moans it, neck arching back, and pulls on him, nails raking on his scalp before she moves her hands to finish yanking at his shirt. His skin is warm and she missed every inch of it, the way he smells and feels and how it always feels like they belong together.
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"Not if I kill you first, my dear."
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"That's nothing to worry about. I already know your weaknesses."
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He sits up on his knees, which have somehow gotten up onto the bed, so that he can unbotton his shirt. He needn't ask where this is going; it seems obvious.
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"You think I've spent all this time with you and haven't figured out some things?"
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So he may know what to expect, perhaps.
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"The most flawless petals have nothing on your hair or lips, my dear."
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Something in her stomach flutters when he says that, and she pushes it down, away, and takes hold of the sides of his face, her whole expression softening.
"I thought I told you to stop talking."
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"Tell me what you are going to do, then," she murmurs, chest rising and falling under his hand.
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"And yet you're still talking instead."
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lol you should update the content warnings for this log
NO people should be surprised and caught off-guard
Re: NO people should be surprised and caught off-guard
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