ofknives

[ofknives]

                                                                                                    Indie      C L A R K E         Griffin                                                   7-8 Years of Writing Experience                                                   Multi-Verse. Multi-Ship. Open to                                                   AUs and Crossovers. Both  Mun                                                   and Muse are off age.    N S F W                                                   will be tagged accordingly.   Will                                                   rp with i c o n s but open to     all. 

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[ofknives]

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[ofknives]

But…as bad as it was, I learned something about myself. That I could go through something like that and survive.

(via safeddreams)

[ofknives]

How'd you get this?

tracing scars ( x )

it was definitely odd. the two of them had never beenclose before, and he certainly wasn't aware that thingshad changed since the last time they spoke, but thefingers running across his forearm as Winston was eyinga group of Gladers across the field who had been doingflips and rolls in the grass, showing off for nobody inparticular, had his eyes shifting to none other than Alex.

and it was Alex who hardly regarded him in any kind ofway other than as a fellow Glader, Alex who he often leftto his own devices because Winston figured he'd ratherhave it that way. turning his attention to the scar that was half-hidden under the other's hand, Winston felt his cheeks lifting, but he tried his hardest not to outright smile. the story behind the scar was silly and unimportant, but the fact that the other had noticed it and wondered about it caused his lighter side to shine through.

     hardly anyone touched him,     but hardly anyone touched Alex,     and maybe that was why it just worked.

letting the fire-builder finish his movement, Winston soonshrugged and tucked his arms around his knees, bringingthem closer to his chest as the night crept closer. he alwaysseemed to get colder even though the temperature didn'tmuch change from day to night.

              ' think it was an incident with the animals a while                back, probably one of the goats. their little horns                are lethal if you don't pay attention, you know? '

[ofknives]

don’t touch me, i said because i can’t handle someone being good to me

— david levithan, “the realm of possibility” (via ofspeed)

[ofknives]

                                        but i look at you.                                         i look at you, and god,                                         constellations are bursting,                                         fires are dying,                                         silence is deafening,                                         the whole damn world is terrifying - - -                                         �� — and im falling, god, i’m falling,                                                 i’m falling in love with you.

[ofknives]

"How'd you get this?"

tracing scars ( x )

they are m a n g l e d and grotesque, a set ofhideous reminders etched into his flesh that tell the sad tale of a Glader that had come under attack and managed to survive. more times than not, he's found himself subconsciously feelingalong his ear and head, running his fingertipsover the scars that litter his head from the run-in with the metallic creatures designed by noneother than WICKED which had almost claimedhis life. each and every time he pulls away witha lurch because each and every time it feelsmore revolting to him; it feels like the part of hispast that he's been trying to forget enjoys theidea of haunting him, of being with him night andday, a never-ending madness.

but this time, the fingers traveling his scars arenot his own. they belong to Leo, the one whois undeserving of his fate. shaky digits travel overhis ear and then back up, across his eyebrow andback across his scalp where his skin has beentoo-badly burnt that hair no longer attempts to grow.it wasn't the first time Leo had felt of his scars. he'dbeen there back when his mind was newly rotting,to console Winston while his scars burned and feltscalding atop his head, back when the attack wasfresh for them all.

but this time, he felt the hesitance in that hand, hefelt the pause and movement of fingertips learningeverything again, though in some odd way it wasstill a tad familiar. he knew that Leo had lost a greatdeal of what he knew before to the Flare, but therewere stubborn bits and pieces that still clung tight tohis mind, fighting for a chance to be of use someday.

and the question that slips from thin lips only servesto cut Winston again, the sincerity of the words beingwhat causes the dark eyed boy to turn his alreadymisting eyes up to meet green, leaning his cheek andface into the palm that rested against his scarred skin.he doesn't remember the tears, doesn't remember howbad Winston shook in his arms as he cried himself tosleep the first night, how quickly he fell asleep the secondbecause he'd exhausted himself enough that he had noenergy left to sob. he doesn't remember the silly commentabout how the scars made him look tougher than Gallyever was; he doesn't remember the incident.

yet he remembers Winston, that much he is sure of.

         ' back when we first came here, there was a tunnel,           and it was real dark and nobody could see a thing.           but there were these metal... balls, these metal           contraptions that would come out of nowhere and           attach to your skin -- like a liquid, you know, but           it was hot. it was hot and metal and it was heavy.           and i was one of the guys to get attacked by them. '

he takes the opportunity to roll onto his side, propping him-self up on his elbow so he could peer down at the other,whose eyes regarded him with alert interest and sympathy,like he wanted to help already but he didn't know how. andit was that light in green eyes that caused a small smile tolift the corners of Winston's lips up, a hand coming to settleon Leo's cheek, dragging his thumb across his cheekboneslowly, wanting to feel him again.

         ' you helped me, you know that? you helped me           recover, were always there to press your cold hands           against my burns, to tell me that i'd be okay. and i           am okay. look at me now, huh? all better. and it's           all thanks to you. you  s a v e d  me. '

[ofknives]

"How'd you get this?"

tracing scars ( x )

he's not aware that he's holding his breath until his lungs are on f i r e and he is exhaling shaky spurts of air, his jaw tight in it's place. her fingertips feel like miniscule ghostsacross his skin, across his scar,highlighting the raised flesh that isseemingly telling him that he's flawed,that he's broken and always will be.

it unnerves him, leaves his browscreasing as the question leaves hermouth. and he wants to duck awayfrom her fingers, to push her handfrom his skin and tell her that it'snone of her business and never willbe; this was one of their last nightsof life before they'd meet their endsand he did not want to spend it withhushed sob stories of a poor boy andcurious travels. what good would itdo her, anyways? why was she sointerested all of a sudden?

             ' i don't remember, '

and it was a bold lie, but told nonethe-less. he had plenty of scars, and some of them he did not remember, so part of him almost felt like he wasn't telling a whole lie, only a part of one.

easing his hand up, he bumps his fingersagainst hers, a silent ending of the explor-ation of his scar, before he clears histhroat and speaks once more, eyes trainedon her this time around.

             ' what were we talking about again? '

[ofknives]

Send me "How'd you get this?" For my muses reaction to yours tracing one of their scars and asking how they got it.

[ofknives]

there was a way that Winston saw everything, and the way that Leo saw Winston. they were two very different things, but hey both mattered so much to him. back home, he was never given more than a glance and dismissed, it was the normal; he was a miner, a laborer. it was all he was good for. nobody had even gone as far to tell him that he mattered, that he'd be missed, that he was important-- because he knew the truth. or so he said he did. he'd die, whether it was in the games or out in the mines. he'd die and he'd be forgotten, replaced by another olive skinned, dark haired child with a barely-getting-by family. maybe that child would be better off than he was, more hopeful, more optimistic. but it was unlikely.

and it was that reason alone that made Leo's refusal all the more potent, all the more real; it hit him like a blow to his stomach, leaving him gasping and breathless and needing to hear it again. and he was rewarded with exactly that. the other's words soothed him, got him back on his feet, and the finger that was tracing lines against his skin was regarded with admiration, his eyes lighting up and then lifting to take in Leo's expression, to watch his lips move, to see how he looked when he was saying he didn't want Winston to leave.

he had never known how those words looked.

        ' then i will not leave you alone, '

it was so matter-of-fact that it scared Winston. it was said in a way that sounded more serious than he'd even been in his life. and maybe, in a weird way, it was meant to be this way. the words he'd said maybe were meant to be his most serious, a kind of promise, something that he had no intentions of breaking. especially when it came to the man who was holding his hands so gently, tenderly, softer than he'd ever been touched before. he was almost scared to reciprocate the small brushes of his thumb along the back of Leo's hand in fear that he would ruin everything. he seemed to do that a lot.

        ' i will not leave you, then. i will stay with you so long           as you ask me to, as you want me to. but you have           to know that no matter what happens in that arena,           no matter what, i see you here for who i know you           are. you see me for who i am. this-- this is what we           have to remember, no matter what happens. '

         ”No.”

The refusal left the boy’s lips before the other tribute finished speaking. Winston’s words left Leo breathless, as if he’d taken a shot to his solar plexus from the martial arts trainer. Though his quick refusal only further offered evidence of how weak he’d become around the other, Leo couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not when Winston was threatening to desert him in the arena. To take away everything he’d given Leo in the last few days.

Fingers loosened their constraining grip on the other, though his left hand moved to cover the pile they’d created, thumb tracing an invisible pattern on the back of Winston’s; a physical attempt to calm and taper Winston to him. In an attempt to prove that he was, as Winston said, human.

To be alone— the thought was truly terrifying, and the very fact that it scared him so bad unsettled Leo to his core. Alone. He was used to being alone, had been alone for nearly two years back in his District. He’d isolated himself after he’d felt the first blows of loss, cut himself off from those who cared in an attempt to avoid such pain again. But then he’d been sent here, death a near certainty, the odds certainly not in his favor — and he’d met his fellow tributes. Granted, some of them were complete pieces of shit; Capitol dogs through and through, but there were others like him. Others who’d been hurt by the Capitol, and some, even, who offered kindness despite the situation they’d all been thrown into. And then there was Winston.

Winston. Who was both kind and compassionate to all of the tributes, who was ready with some kind of smile and gentle word when Leo needed it. Winston, who could probably make friends with everyone in the room, and survive the Games if he devoted all his efforts to it. Yet… also Winston, who had such faith in him, who understood— who still refused to leave his side until asked to, despite a confession to the many shades of vile Leo was. Who claimed he needed Leo— said it in such a way that the young boy was inclined to believe him.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer, cracked with the strain it took to keep it low enough so that they wouldn’t be overheard by the curious ears of other tributes.

          “No— no. I don’t… want you to leave. Not now.           Not later. I don’t… want to be alone. But… I’m           scared that you won’t be so nice when you see           what I’m capable of doing.”

[ofknives]

          ' yeah? well i'm not just someone, now am i? '

he likes to think he's different, really. different how? he's not sure. but different nonetheless. and so as she starts her story, he settles against the wall more firmly, eyes on her, taking in the way her eyes and face change with each part of her tale. and he can relate to it, really, though his parents were lost early on in his life. he'd never been one to dwell on it. the neighbors had taken him in until he was quite old enough to sustain himself and find his meals. the funny thing about it was, is that it's hard for him to remember them.

but that was a story for another time. hers is coming to an end, and his lips twitch up at her last comment, a small nod given to confirm he'd heard it all. and it was a good story, though not as dark as he had been expecting. sometimes life still liked to surprise him like that. his tongue darted out to wet his lips and he hooked his arms around his knees, leaning his chest against his legs as he regarded her. maybe he could avoid telling his own story if he asked her some more about hers.

          ' what'd he say t'you? before you left, of course. did             he apologize for not talking? try and redeem himself?             you'd think seein' your kid be taken off for the games             would do that to ya'. i mean, hell, if i had a child and             they were being taken from home, i'd make damn sure             they knew they meant the world to me, that i was proud,             especially if i'd been so quiet beforehand. '

          “i’ve got faith someone would find a way t’            use it against ya. people here seem t’ be            real good at that.”

maybe she was too suspicious but really, had anyone there given her reason not to be? for all she knew, she might just be shooting herself in the foot as she speaks. but she was getting real tired of talking about training stations.

          “—an’ if you’re expectin’ a thrillin’ tale, you            should probably just do a runner now. ain’t            much interestin’ t’ tell. grew up on a farm,             my dad worked the fields every day ‘cept             reapin’ day, an’ my mom used t’ work at one            of the mills. never met anyone as nice as her,            my sister’s a lot like her. there was an accident            when i was eleven, whole bunch of people got            hurt, an’ she died. dad stopped talkin’ so much—            or at all really.”

and for a moment, she stops, an almost bitter smile on her lips.

          “first time in almost a year he said more than a            couple of words t’ me was when they dragged             me off t’ the town hall. even then, he wasn’t real            chatty. i took tesserae t’ make up for mom’s wages            an’ that got me sent here. see? nice an’ borin’. nine            ain’t exactly known for it’s daring tributes, mostly            ’cause we’re all just farm kids.”

[ofknives]

Minho, Thomas, and Newt.

[ofknives]

there's a soft breath that releases which he wasn't aware he'd been holding. but as the blade clatters, so do his lungs. and his eyes lift in vain, trying to find Leo's own pair, but he understands. it's not always easy and it's definitely not always happy, their lives, and sometimes the tale is just a little too much to re-live.

but the other boy was tough, that was easy to see. and Winston can only nod along with his words as he speaks of being relieved, because he had felt the same way. at first, he was eager to go, eager to be somewhere other than the filthy mines and lonely home, to be fed for the limited days he had before the Games. but the fear and the panic set in quickly after, only multiplying when he met this boy from TEN, the one who was bleeding right across from him.

with a small noise of encouragement, he nods his head and then clears his throat, shrugging off his long sleeve and handing it over without a word just yet, attempting to give him a way to still the cut's bleeding while he talked. it didn't look serious but Winston didn't intend on letting him just pool blood like that.

         ' don't think there's ever a pretty story to come with            people like us, Leo. i'd love t'hear it if you want t'tell it. '

His question hit too close to HOME; thin body seizing up as fingers tightened until the bite of metal was a familiar sting, slicing through flesh as easily as it had sliced through air. It only took a moment before the blood started to drip, splattering little specks of red along the white, but the boy made not a sound, lips pressing together in a pale line as he slowly unclenched his fist, allowing the bloodstained blade to clatter to the floor. Hunted. Family. Rot. Oh, how close he’d come to the truth without even trying. And perhaps it was that simple, earnest curiosity in Winston’s eyes— but Leo couldn’t force himself to meet the other’s gaze. He couldn’t. And he couldn’t lie either.

          “Unlike most of the kids from the outer districts,           I wasn’t devastated to hear my name called. I           was kind of relieved, to be honest. And there’s           no pretty story to explain why, no happily ever           after children’s fairy tale— it’s not a happy story.           You sure you want to hear it?”

[ofknives]

the other boy had an interesting story, that was for sure. all of that for some fruit. he wanted to be shocked, to wonder why he would try so hard for something like an apple, but Winston knew better. he was from the poorer districts; he knew how hard it was to actually get a meal each night. if people didn't hunt sometimes, if they didn't test the boundary lines to go scavenge for animals, they'd never get to eat for days on end. it was hard to accept but he had to do it. they all had to do it. it was their life, not just a story to tell.

with a couple nods, he leans back against the wall they were rested by and cranes his neck up, watching the others with little interest. the silence was only temporary between them but it stretched on for what felt like hours, neither of them seeming to mind so much. and when Winston spoke up, he turned his head so he could let his eyes fall on the other, taking in his expression.

        ' pretty brutal break, it looks like. guess it's better than           breakin' your neck though. what about the people you           went with, were they caught? or did they escape when           the Peacekeeper was chasin' you? '

He considers. Then he shrugs and leans in. He’s got nothing to lose by telling this now anyway.

"Back in eleven, we’ve got orchards, but we’re not allowed to pick from them for ourselves. So the kids always snuck in and tried to get fruit and get out without getting caught.” He grins. “So one time, we were caught, right? A Peacekeeper coming right at us. Everyone else hit the ground but me, I climbed up and I started running on the branches and jumping to the next tree over. Thought I was gonna fall to my death but it seemed like a better option than getting caught. I made it, too. All the way to the end of the orchard, back to an area that wasn’t out of bounds.”

He makes a face, and tells the first lie in the story. “Then I slipped up on the dismount and broke my leg. But hey, I was still the only one to make it out without getting caught.”

[ofknives]

                                 while you sit there counting my faults                                     i will be counting your ｓｃａｒｓ                                   tallying up the time and time again                                 that you’ve been bruised and abused                               and then maybe i will finally understand                               why you feel the need to lash out at me                             and maybe i’ll finally know why it is so hard                                               for you to let me in.

[ofknives]

         ' does it look like i want a bedtime story?            get the shuck to sleep before i knock ya'            out myself, shank. got lots to do in the            morning, remember? '

  "If ya think im going to read you a bedtime story you’re dead wrong,mate."

[ofknives]

i apologize for my inactivity on both my accounts. i have been dealing with real life issues and applying for jobs and ew responsibility. i'll try and get back on these next few days. i miss you guys a whole bunch.