just wanted to try another kinda angst sort-of Blellie and have this random ideas, but has no idea where to put them at. So, then I run across a Hunger Games' fic, and let's just make it clear first- Hunger Games is awesome, 'nuff said. Second, yes, this will be in the Hunger Games' world. So if this isn't your usual-reading stuff, I understand. For those who survived and clicked my stuff and intend to continue with the story- you shall. Please, no flames and you know I own nothing. Just extra notes; papi is nellie's grandpa, margot is nellie's sister, rasmus is nellie's little brother.

it's the way he's looking at her- those eyes, those desires, those aching feeling twitching to touch, to caress, to feel that makes sense to nellie- because that's exactly how she'd look at him.


it's her sister. it's her sister, margot that's just so beautiful with dark, wavy hair and glistening skin and wildfire laugh that makes everyone loveslovesloves her - and it's okay, because everyone should love her- but it's kind of not okay when blake does.

(because nellie does. nellie loves blake, okay?)


he's a year older than she is, although they are only four months separated. and margot is three years older- but that's probably why he loves her; because she's wise and she stands sotall like the trees she runs in everyday and moves sofast like the wind and fun like the fireworks (although the fireworks only shines when the games begin) and nellie's just short and not fun and quiet and shy and everything-that-is-not-margot, and when you're not like margot, you're just a nobody.

(but it's also sohard to hate on margot when all margot does is sing to her every night and tells her that "one day, somebody's going to come out and change this world- and when they do, we're going to be sohappy together, nell. just you, me and mom and papi and rasmus. one day. you hear me?")


it's the sadness in his eyes when she comes out that day- and although for a moment, she's lost with the sight of him that's sohandsome and good and gentle, it all crashes down when she realizes what day is it today; the day of the reaping, and all she could think of next is blood and burn and deaths. "are you ready?" he whispers- and it's so mournful, it reminds her of her papa's funeral.

they're waiting for margot in front of their house, and she could hear her mama's crying and rasmus' sobs and it hurts even more. but her voice doesn't crack- it never does- when she says, "i don't know if i'll ever be."

he smiles sadly, suddenly taking her hand in his warm ones. their fingers are rough because of the axes they practices with everyday (that's what district 7 does, if you wish to continue living), but it feels perfect, like they're meant to be somehow- although she knows by the beat of her heart his heart belongs to margotmargotmargot. he takes shuddering breaths and admits, "i'm scared."

she blinks- and it's hard, sohard that she isn't so well with emotions or she might just hug him right now, right then (like margot would've done) and only sighs, "me too."

because, let's face it, none of them stand a chance.


it all happens sort of unexpectedly.

she only has four more years to go- to be end with all of these, to stop standing every reaping's day and pray with all of her life that somehow this is all a bigbigbig horrible nightmare, when she knows it isn't. and she hates the fact rasmus- her sweet, sweet seven years old brother- would have to go through this like margot, blake and she does and having to face the same fear they do. but she only has four more years left.

blake only has three more.

and margot only has just one more year.

but all hell break lose- and the world should have just collapsed because she honestly couldn't take it anymore- when that horrible screeching comes across the microphone, "margot hewitt!"

and as her sister stands on stage- nellie finds herself almost out of breath, like the life have knocked itself out of her. for once, for once in her damn life, she really hopes margot does stand a chance.


it's the first cut- the first blood seeping through the wound and drops to the ground that makes him run away.

she follows him to tell him margot managed to get away from the vicious boy from district one and that margot might have a chance to get back home anyway- but she only finds muttering and crying and sobbing the same sentence over and over again;

"i should have volunteer. i should have volunteer. i should have volunteer."

and yeah, she knows he would.

(he just didn't.)


margot dies in the hand of a blond girl from district 4, one of the careers, and it's sick, sosick to see that evil smirk crossing the blond's lips as margot's blood smears her cheek. and it's done- there's no more hoping. no more margot. no more wildfire laughter, no more soft singing in the night and no more worthless promise that could fill her with hopes.

but definitely, no more her.

and it kills everybody.

just not like how it kills margot.


blake doesn't go insane- he doesn't. he just takes nellie's hand and shoves her against the wall and by the time you know it, she's moaning her name and digging her nails in his shoulders and he hisses and bites and hungerhungerhunger for more, and they are sopassionate and sowrong and sodirty and sinful but by the time both of their lips are swollen, they don't even care.

because you couldn't possibly be more broken when you're at your worst.


and she's supposed to be happy or glad or relief or at least something, but she doesn't. she feels like she wants to kill herself. she feels like she wants to take margot's old axe and cut that blond's lips although she's already dead, killed by the boy from district one. she feels like she's being torn into pieces, and only being burned alive whenever it's the night blake's kissing her.

because it isn't right. it isn't right. he doesn't love her- never does. it only confirms it even more when she admits that one night to him, and he doesn't say anything back. just kisses her- harderharderharder. she still doesn't know why though-

why she still lets him tear her apart despite all of that.


it's two years after, just like the two years before.

no one expected it.

(although she does a little bit, but still.)

the escort calls her name like it's a celebration- most of everyone gasps out ("wasn't her sister reaped two years ago?") but she doesn't. he always tell her she's good like that- not breaking her emotion for everyone's show. but, truthfully, she doesn't even feel terrified. although she does feel alone- then again, she'd always thought she'd die alone (especially after margot's death), just not terribly- maybe a tree accident, or an axe accident, or any accident; not from being murdered.

she walks on the stage with a porker face and silently reminisce every steps she takes- because these were the exact steps margot took two years ago, before she's out to her death- and maybe, justmaybe, it's an honorable way to die after all; like margot. but he shouts out his name as tribute before the escort could even pull out the boy's name and she has a sick feeling in her stomach that she doesn't like this one bit.

"what's your name, boy?" the escort asks, holding the mic to him as he hustles to the stage, standing a couple feet next to her.

he breathes heavily, "blake. blake hathaway."

and then, as the escort turns his attention back to the crowd, she looks at him with sorrowfulness and hopelessness covering her hazel eyes. but he smiles- and somehow, although she knows she's not supposed to feel like this, something in her stomach jumps- and she even feels excited that he's there with her, on stage, out for the games, out to what destroyed margot (out to what will destroy them).

she smiles a little back at him, when the horrid truth lies before their eyes-

they're doomed.