#thread: new

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

"I've been struck by Cupid's arrow."

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

"Is...Is that a squirrel? S q u i r r e l."

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

[ text to; ] [ all contacts ] If you love me even the tiniest bit or you don't want me to die a horribly wonderful alcohol induced death, come over asap ps there are jaegerbombs

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

Saved; Not Safe

His body ached, muscles tired and weary and worked more than they had been in years. Even despite training, he wasn't prepared for the amount of labor he was forced into. He could never be. He wasn't even ready for tomorrow.

He bit back a hiss as another resurrected tribute accidentally kicked his leg. Their tired shuffling was filled with the sounds of groans and sighs and hisses. Pain - that's all it was and all it ever would be.

If he walked long enough, he knew he would come face to face with the bunkers. He had to keep walking - the small, wooden cot was his only saving grace. So he trudged forward, his limbs hanging numbly at his sides.

Though it seemed to have taken days, the group found their ways to their own beds. It was disorganized - sorted only by who arrived first. No separate houses for women or for children or for elderly. They all slept together, small beds shoved into a small warehouse. But at least it was a place to stay. 

Though Marvel only wanted to sleep, he forced himself to stay up, his eyes shifting around the darkness of the room until he found a single face he recognized. His sister (though he hoped he didn't find her), Cato, Clove, the cousin he had only seen pictures of, or-

Glimmer.

With a limp in his step, Marvel hurried to the blonde's cot, clearing his throat just steps away from her. His only relief was that she appeared to be in far better shape than he. For that, he was thankful. "Glimmer?" He called softly, his voice hushed and rough with exhaustion.

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

A Convenient Muse

The lock clicked open, the door letting itself fall forward until Marvel could enter, immediately tossing his backpack in the corner. The differences between the two sides of the room were no longer jarring. A few months was long enough to adjust to their differences. Marvel's things lay haphazardly on his small desk and bed, though thankfully off the floor. They had already gotten a warning. 

Peeta's side, however, was almost always in perfect shape. Perfect besides the stressed teen sitting on the bed. 

Marvel chuckled and flopped on the bed only a few feet away. "Rough day, kiddo?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he stretched as best he could on the almost too small bed. "So what is it? Essay, quiz, the philosophical conundrum presented by the $20 cake downstairs?" 

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

"Hate you."

[amarvelousvictor-blog]

It was a gradual realization. Day by day, the idea grew from a nagging suspicion to a simple fact of life. It took a slow tour through the districts for him to know for sure.

Marvel had no place any longer.

There was no place in any district or any place that Marvel could live, no place that would accept him. He would never dare to crawl back to his family - he would only be refused, anyway. There were few people he even knew he could call a friend, but he couldn't be a burden.

Maybe... Maybe in the Capitol he could find something - maybe there would be a home. But Marvel turned his head to the train station, all of his possessions on his back, he knew that was a lie. Marvel made his mistakes, now he would have to live with them. And he would live with them alone.