katniss/haymitch, implied katniss/peeta | to sleep, perchance to dream | part 1/2 | rating: t, maybe light light r
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& this is how it starts
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Tonight's the kind of night where she feels like crying the world a new lake. She really isn't one to waste tears but, see, her sister - dead. Her best friend - gone. Her lover - not real, not real, not even really here.
Morning is creeping closer and closer and the half moons underneath her eyes finally burn into her skin, intending to stay forever. The cold, ash-dirtied air is driving through her hair like icy fingers. And no, no, she can't stand the maddening silence of the twilight hour.
A sudden “hey you, fleeing from your little baker?” echoes across the blank street where the empty houses of victors are lined up like pale pale pearls on a necklace. A ditzy grin splashing Haymitch's features lazily follows. Drunk again. But this is what she's used to. Haymitch. Haymitch is familiar, never changed
( ... )
thank you sososo much. i love haymitch/katniss so much - like woah - i don't even know what to say, and i'm glad you like this, because i remember the fill you wrote and it was awesome!
yaay ♥ that's exactly what happened to me, too. a week ago or so i would have probably run away or something if someone told me to read some katniss/haymitch. and now i'm weirdly in love :))
again, that's exactly what i do, too :)) and yes, i think haymitch/katniss could end up horribly wrong, but you're going to make it and i want you to write ALL THE THINGS, too!
.
& this is how it starts
.
Tonight's the kind of night where she feels like crying the world a new lake. She really isn't one to waste tears but, see, her sister - dead. Her best friend - gone. Her lover - not real, not real, not even really here.
Morning is creeping closer and closer and the half moons underneath her eyes finally burn into her skin, intending to stay forever. The cold, ash-dirtied air is driving through her hair like icy fingers. And no, no, she can't stand the maddening silence of the twilight hour.
A sudden “hey you, fleeing from your little baker?” echoes across the blank street where the empty houses of victors are lined up like pale pale pearls on a necklace. A ditzy grin splashing Haymitch's features lazily follows. Drunk again. But this is what she's used to. Haymitch. Haymitch is familiar, never changed ( ... )
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and yes, i think haymitch/katniss could end up horribly wrong, but you're going to make it and i want you to write ALL THE THINGS, too!
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i'm trying, but the inspiration just doesn't strike, you know?
just waiting for the right, perfect prompt!
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