you beautiful tropical fish (kolms) wrote,
you beautiful tropical fish
kolms

[ ficathon ] the girl on fire

Tags: book: hunger games trilogy, ficathon!
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redwoolengloves

March 23 2012, 20:42:57 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 23 2012, 20:43:21 UTC

Foxface/Katniss, I'm floating on the stairwell, with my toes grazing the cedar, thinking softly what a tinder box we live in...
!!! freelance whales! :D
Gale, Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My God, do you learn
hell yes this would be brilliant
katniss/haymitch, but there's somethin' behind the whiskey whispers you speak that rocks me to sleep
most beautiful prompt ever ♥
i really need someone to write this or i'll do it myself!

gigglemonster

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

snow_blossoms

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

_ark_angel_

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

_ark_angel_

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

_ark_angel_

4 years ago

Katniss/Peeta, You learn how to fight, one way or another. Or you disappear. I know how to fight, but I like to disappear.
this prompt is gorgeous.
Finnick/Annie, I was perched outside in the pouring rain trying to make myself a sail / Then I'll float to you my darlin' with the evening on my tail
peeta and katniss; i've given you the best of me/now you want the rest of me/what's it going to take to survive
Finnick/Annie, you're my diamond in the rough
katniss/cinna, it was worth the trouble it brought.

gigglemonster

March 25 2012, 08:00:50 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 08:47:32 UTC

katniss/cinna, and i lose your hand through the waves, r, spoilers through catching fire


He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and Katniss leans into the touch. His palm is soft and warm against her cheek and neither wants to be first to break the contact.

“Katniss,” Cinna whispers. My girl on fire.

She throws skinny, branch scratched, dirty arms around his neck and their bodies sway with the motion of the plane.

She’s dragged away clawing and biting and his is the last face she sees before waking up in a sterile white room. Katniss snaps her fingers to awake her once gone senses and reminds herself she’s alive

--

There are no more rebel red dresses for his riding hood, not when the wolf is breathing down her neck.

No, now he sews her sweet innocence to buy her time and safety. He stitches her up in taffeta armor and delivers her into the den, afraid to let go of the string.

Cinna sends up knowing winks and nods to her ever searching eyes. He smiles and crosses his fingers as he listens to her voice tremble at the unbearable thought of ever living without her star-crossed lover.

Katniss grips Peeta’s hand tight, the crowd exhilarated by the spectacle, but her shoulders stay tense until she finds Cinna in the audience once more.

--

Katniss calls him in the middle of the night, fresh from a nightmare, sweat still slicking the back of her neck and a catch in her throat.

His voice is all midnight gravel and salvation.

She says, “Tell me about my wedding dress,” and falls asleep in her armchair to the rhythm of his words, the receiver leaving an imprint on her cheek.

--

When Cinna, Portia and the other stylists arrive in District 12 for the tour, they are each put up in one of the endless empty homes in the Victor’s Village. The ghosts of fallen tributes saying go on, take mine, I have no use for it.

Katniss comes to him that night. The wind snaps and bites at the window but the fireplace shoos the cold away.

Cinna watches the light flicker across Katniss’ face. This is how he always remembers her. This is how she’s supposed to look – fury and strength reflected in her eyes instead of pain.

She spends the night in his bed.

And the next. And the next.

She is all insatiable appetite and need and only the sound of her name on his lips will whet it.

Katniss memorizes the feel of Cinna’s hands gripping her waist as she moves on top of him, coaxing moans and curses from him. She presses her forehead against his, their tongues searching. She cries her completion into the hot air between their mouths.

Later she will remember tangled limbs and black silk sheets, his fingertips counting her vertebrae as they ghost down her back, and a feeling of safety she will never get back.

--

I’m sorry that this happened to you.

She’s been here before.

--

Katniss doesn’t tell Cinna of her plan to sacrifice herself for Peeta.

Cinna doesn’t tell Katniss of his plan to sacrifice himself for her.

--

She is every bit the Mockingjay he imagined and he kisses her cheek, her lips, her neck behind the curtain shadows before sending her on stage to claim her battle.

--

He doesn’t look surprised when the peacekeepers kick in the doors.

Katniss can’t hear anything but her knuckles cracking against the glass and the echo of her screams.

Tears blur her vision but by the time she wipes them away with angry fists, all that’s left is blood on the floor.

The cylinder rises and she gasps for breath in the open air.


fin

beethemonster

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

freckles929

4 years ago

katniss everdeen, in the night, the stormy night, away she flies
katniss everdeen, "you would run too", PG-13, spoilers for all books

--

She can hold it together in all times but storms. With Peeta in the bed with her and their children sleeping so peacefully just down the hall Katniss Mellark barely dreams at all. The silence of the night is her best comfort and her greatest friend and she drifts in her dreams like nothing can touch her.

But when the thunder rumbles in the distance on the hills and lightning burns through the curtains of their bedroom she sweats and shakes so hard it's like she's making the whole bed shake with her. Peeta rouses, like always, rouses and holds her close and tries to soothe her but she cannot be soothed. She is frazzled, pulled in all directions, her mind running away from her as the thunder pounds memories of bombs back into the forefront of her brain and she sees Prim and Finnick and Madge and Cato and Clove and Glimmer and even Maysilee Donner on the worst nights. She just about keeps from screaming, for the sake of the children, but the world is shattering into shards of pure fear around her and the only thing she can do is set her mind fleeing.

She surrenders to it, to the insanity that the storm brings, and in the darkness curled up against Peeta with her knuckles so white they remind her of snow she goes mad the way Finnick was, once. Nothing is real but the phantasms of the dead frolicking around in her memory and Finnick dances with Prim and lifts her up on his shoulders and they are so young and so beautiful and so alive and Cato twirls Clove and Brutus laughs with Chaff and they look so happy that Katniss often surfaces crying without knowing why.

When the storm retreats she comes back to herself and to Peeta, to the strong comforting presence of Peeta and his hands in her hair and his legs tangled with hers. By the time the dawn comes she is almost back to normal. The ache around her heart is a little worse than usual but it is bearable.

(She never tells Peeta that, sometimes, she wishes she could stay with the joyous dead, there inside her head.)

nitro26

4 years ago

Johanna/Annie, remnants of something i loved once

lissomelle

March 24 2012, 05:37:08 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 05:37:40 UTC

Johanna/Annie, implied Johanna/Finnick » pool me into your hollowed bones.| PG-13/T | general spoilers for the entire series




Everyone speaks of a Before and After, but the memories sharpest in Johanna's mind don't align so cleanly. She spreads them before herself at night, a graveyard of jagged notches in the grain of her life that never wear smooth, always losing splinters at the edges. Here, Finnick says, Please. For me. And she can't help curling her fists, gritting her teeth, trying to change her answer. I can't. I won't.

Instead, she thrashes, rips the sheets off her bed as she hears waves crashing outside her window and hates them.

The padding of footsteps on wood stops her. Johanna shuts her eyes, breathing hard and trying to avoid what she's promised. When she first arrived, she'd shuffled awkwardly around the house, wondering which spaces would have been his and both wanting and not wanting to linger in them. Constellations of shells and sea glass with netting that she knows only he could have made hang in the windows over the gauzy curtains, and, while they throw off soft glints of color during the day, they only ever cast shadows at night. Now, when she finally glances over at her doorway, Johanna sees the cross-hatching of lines that fall across the floor and Annie's body, riddled with dark shapes like a body with bullet holes.

Annie shifts her weight from one foot to the other, resting a pale hand on the doorjamb. Then she slowly begins to walk towards the bed, treading lightly on bare feet with her arms wrapped around herself. Johanna watches her, remembering him. How he could instantly close any distance between them, angling his body into hers and fitting them together. How she could catch his gaze across a room and see how they mirrored hers, even if he was grinning for the world and she was sneering in turn.

She wants to say that Annie is lost, that Annie could never possibly understand. But the first time she catches Annie in the midst of a fit, forces the trembling girl's chin up so that their eyes meet, Johanna recognizes much more than she'd like to admit.

When Annie stops just short of the bed, Johanna pulls herself up to sit against the headboard. A few moments pass as Johanna swallows, tries to think of what she should say, if she should share the last thing Finnick told her or if she should be preparing herself to comfort Annie instead. She flinches when Annie places a hand on her knee.

"I know," Annie says quietly. "I know he went to see you one last time. Before he left District 13."

kitoky

4 years ago

lissomelle

4 years ago

lissomelle

4 years ago

kolms

4 years ago

lissomelle

4 years ago

beethemonster

4 years ago

lissomelle

4 years ago

kitoky

4 years ago

lissomelle

4 years ago

Johanna/Finnick, like the ghost, you don't believe in
Dead or alive, we are all ghosts in the end | Johanna/Finnick/Annie, Johanna/Gale | PG | MJ spoilers

The Careers ripped apart the male District 4 tribute in the 72nd Hunger Games. They tore his limbs right out of his sockets, tongue right out of his throat, eyelids right off his face. It was a slow death, and he screamed, and people in the Capitol swore out loud (but they’re only betting on money, not on their lives).

The whole thing was so fucking brutal even Johanna Mason had to turn away. Most of the mentors turned away. But not Finnick Odair. He stood there, stoic in front of the plasma screens, watching his tribute being lacerated to bloody bits and pieces.

Finally –finally – the poor boy’s heart stopped and the cannon boomed and everyone breathed again.

And that’s when Finnick spoke, his eyes still not moving away from the screen as the hovercraft arrived to pick up the grisly fragments, his words directed at Johanna, “You never want to die like that, slowly, your body in fucking pieces. Never.”

(It’s funny. That’s exactly how Finnick Odair died.)

xxx

Johanna stands in front of his grave in District 4, years after that particular incident. Annie Cresta is there too, doodling god-knows-what into the soft golden sand with a twig, singing some sort of funeral song.

“Angels, pretty angels, floating in the sky–”

Jo can still feel his last kiss on her lips: it burned of seawater and desperation and unspoken goodbyes and fuck-knows-what-else.

“Angels, pretty angels, they’ll take care of you–”

Baby Finnie Odair tumbles around in the sand, giggling and blissfully ignorant as his mothers sings on.

“Angels, pretty angels, if only they could take me to you–”

Johanna absent-mindedly watches the baby play with a shell. (He is a carbon-copy of Finnick and also a reason she doesn’t come to Four often.)

All of a sudden, Annie’s eyes go wide. “Oh my goodness!” she cries out. “Finnick!”

Johanna turns abruptly to see Annie pointing into the horizon. “Finnick!” she screams again. “Oh god, oh god –”

For a moment, Johanna’s mind stops working and she looks to the horizon too, the setting sun bleeding scarlet over the glittering expanse of sapphire saltwater.

There is no Finnick. And Johanna is jerked cruelly back to earth.

She sighs. “For fuck’s sake Cresta, it’s not him.”

Annie starts sobbing and covering her ears with her palms. Finnie takes one look at his mother and starts bawling too, his fat, baby tears rolling down his fat, baby cheeks.

xxx

Later that evening, they’re sitting on the front porch of Annie’s cottage, looking out at the moonlit sea, the waves almost pitch-black.

At times they crash against each other angrily, and at others they are gently sweeping, bestowing wet, briny kisses upon each other. Johanna studies their temperamental promenade absent-mindedly. (They are so much like her and Finnick, it scares her.)

“I swear I saw him,” Annie says suddenly. “I saw him, Johanna. Maybe...maybe, people come back.”

Johanna looks at the mad girl, and sees that her sea-green eyes are vacant and not here. She doesn’t know how to answer her, so she just snorts and says, “Ghosts aren’t real, Annie.”

“Maybe...it wasn’t a ghost. Maybe it was…just him. He was calling me, Johanna. I’m not making any of this up.”

(Of course she isn’t. That’s the worst part.)

xxx

Two nights later, Johanna and Annie setting the table for dinner –fresh fish wrapped in seaweed with a side of oyster sauce and crab cakes.

“How ‘bout some berries for dessert?” Annie suggests. It’s been a good day today, for her. “There are some bushes out front. We can mix them with cream or yogurt.”

“Sure,” Johanna says, trying to (rather unsuccessfully) strap Finnie into his high chair. “Be back soon.”

Annie Cresta walks down to the shore, and no one really knows exactly what happened to her after that. She was fine all day, but these things. They just happen.

The point is, she never comes back to them.

xxx

(continued...)

weekendsinner

4 years ago

rosegilmore

4 years ago

weekendsinner

4 years ago

psycho_llama

4 years ago

weekendsinner

4 years ago

johanna/finnick, i can’t help you out / while she is still around
Haymitch/Effie, Now it isn't that I don't like you, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments.
This is a flawless prompt, I must say

onceuponapillow

4 years ago

hanorganaas

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

crackedeggie

4 years ago

hermyfan

4 years ago

crackedeggie

4 years ago

crackedeggie

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

crackedeggie

4 years ago

mustinvestigate

4 years ago

crackedeggie

4 years ago

katniss/peeta, i never meant to cause you trouble
Sometimes she is so fucking sick of being the strong one. Sometimes she wants to shut the world away, stay in bed too long, and see if she can forget. There are no days that seem to allow her that little courtesy.

Most days he's better, but not every day. The day she comes home to find that he has cut his hand open and continued to knead the bread on the counter, the sight so grotesque it turns her stomach, she wants to scream and cry for someone else to fix it. She walks with purposeful strides to him, grabs his hand, and yells at him for being stupid. He was being stupid, to not even notice, and when he suddenly seems to put two and two together, all he says is "oh...I ruined the bread." She tells him to clean up the mess, she'll stitch his damn hand.

He lets her, quietly, sew his skin together, and mumbles "thank you" and she is so...angry. She can't rightly put her finger on why, but his carelessness pisses her off. By the time she's ready to apologize, deciding that maybe something else was on her mind and she was just tired of taking care of people, he is nowhere to be found. Anger flares again, that she can't find him in any of the places he should be, as though he is a runaway child. But after she checks his old house, bangs on Haymitch's door and discovers he's not there either, panic starts to set in. She tries to even out her breath; the hyperventilating comes on much easier than it used to. Her mother worries about her blood pressure constantly.

Two hours of scouring the Village and the town and it is everything she can do to not start crying hysterical tears. Though it's still dangerous, and he'd promised never to go back there, she turns and heads to the remains of the old bakery. He is sitting in a corner, surrounded by debris and there is smudged ash on his face, made ever more obvious by the tear tracks. He hears her before he sees her, but she sees him rub his face, trying to remove all evidence of his emotions.

Part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry with relief, and neither quite make it out - instead she just stands there, brows furrowing, as he sniffles and looks up at her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to what? Disappear for hours without telling anyone?" She's proud that, at worst, it's a watery disappointment in her voice and not the abject terror that wafted in and out of her chest.

"I'm sorry I hurt myself. I'm sorry I...ruined the bread."

"Peeta, I don't care about the damned bread."

"Oh," is all he says, and he looks away, rubbing at his face with a sleeve and sniffling again. "I promise I'll be more careful. I promise I won't do anything wrong, ever again." It's the empty promise of a child, and her brows knit together in confusion. "Don't be angry with me, please," he whispers, and she opens her mouth to say his name and pieces fall together, her heart dropping in her chest. She approaches him carefully, slowly.

"Peeta," she says quietly, "I'm sorry." He only pulls away from her a little bit, his eyes widening. "I shouldn't've called you stupid. You're not stupid. You're very smart, actually." He doesn't say anything, just watches her as she squats in front of him. "Can I see your hand?" He holds it out, and it's filthy. "How about you come to my house and we'll clean this up?" He nods, and lets her lead him by his good hand back to the house they've been sharing for a couple of months now - an arrangement they did not agree on but simply have not undone.

She cleans the wound and the stitches, and wraps his hand with a bandage, and then proceeds to clean the ash from his other hand, his arms, his neck, his face, and even runs a warm, moist cloth through his hair, which is really getting too long. She takes his head in her hands, and kisses his forehead.

"You tired?" He nods, and she nods back at him, and helps him into his pajamas, and tucks him into bed. He falls asleep quickly, and she goes out to sleep on the couch. She doesn't last long out there, and in the middle of the night crawls into bed with him so she can hear him breathing.

arysani

4 years ago

stinabug87

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

stinabug87

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

insideways

4 years ago

24_amends

4 years ago

casterlys

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

sweetbitter

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

sweetbitter

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

_ark_angel_

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

_ark_angel_

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

_ark_angel_

4 years ago

arysani

4 years ago

peeta, peeta/katniss, I don't want to forget
AHHHHHHH

hotpiexoxo

4 years ago

satine_59

4 years ago

stinabug87

4 years ago

jeck7

4 years ago

satine_59

4 years ago

cinna, you can't start a fire without a spark
this gun's for hire; cinna - pg



Not a Game goes by without Cinna feeling sick to his stomach.


Even when he was young, he never had the urge to play Tribute like the children around him, not when he knew he’d never be selected.


Part of him felt the reasonable, albeit rare, guilt over being unable to participate. But another part, a darker part, felt jealous. He envied how alive it must make someone feel to be selected, or even eligible. The thoughts would occur as a flash of sick fantasy and be followed by a week of wallowing in how terrible that made him feel about the people who sobbed as their names were read and those that hear cannons shoot off in the distance during their last remaining moments.


The thoughts remained up until early adulthood before he started distancing himself from having ever had them at all and even further from those championing the Games as anything but a blood sport. Who was he to derive entertainment from something that cost children their lives? Was it inspiring to see a grown man heave an axe at the chest of a twelve-year-old? The disconnect between him and those around him felt almost kinetic at times.


For whatever reason, this made him want to interact with those being selected, and since he had never participated and could therefore not Mentor anyone, he went an alternate route.


He forced himself to watch the Reapings for the first time in almost a decade, in the darkness of his living room, with blinds drawn and a highball full of scotch and soda on his coffee table.


They cut from district to district and his glass gets emptier and emptier. He spends a half an hour blocking out the events on screen with trying to imagine what a life of being trained to be a serial killer must do to someone before it’s almost over. Only one district left and he’ll have seen whoever he’s assigned to design for be plucked from a life of relative safety and thrown to the literal and metaphorical wolf mutts.


While they’re going through the normal pleasantries and pre-announcement summation of who District 12 citizens are before cutting to their chaperone and the drawing, Cinna eyes his sketchbook. He knows he should start coming up with designs for any and all of the contestants he’s seen so far since they assign stylists mostly at random, but his spirit is beaten down and he’s already dreading his decision to get to know any of these kids as something more likely to make him feel like he’s really rebelling in any way.


He pulls a box of matches from the small drawer of the coffee table and strikes one to light a candle for light to begin drawing.


And a scream shifts his attention back to the events onscreen just as someone’s pushed their way to the front of the District 12 boys and girls, volunteering. His eyes have barely focused on her flushed and terrified-looking face before the match burns out and stings his finger tips.


Katniss Everdeen, her name is, and she’s just signed away her life for her younger sister’s. Cinna’s eyes lose focus not long after her co-Tribute is called and Caesar Flickerman is back on giving a recap of the events of the day.


Cinna isn’t listening. He already knows what he's designing and who he’s designing for. Who he’ll demand to design for.


He strikes another match and stares at it until his eyes water and his fingers burn.

gigglemonster

4 years ago

clouberding

4 years ago

peeta/finnick, the hollow men
oh my god ;_;

magic_knickers

4 years ago

lunasol28

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

gale/katniss, this land means less and less to me without you breathing through its trees
when you're gone; pg-13; one-sided gale/katniss

Katniss isn't around much anymore.

He doesn't want to watch the Games, can barely make himself open his eyes to the screen - but he has to know. He has to see her.

He knows, all about Mellark. He knows star-crossed lovers and he saw their kiss in the cave.

He pretends, now. He pretends that he can still have her, someday. He doesn't wish for Mellark's death but he knows he'd rather have her come back and he doesn't for a second believe they can both return.

He still hunts, because Katniss asked him to, because life goes on even when the girl you love is in the Games. Life goes on.

He doesn't spend any more time in the woods than he has to, though, because it isn't the same, without her. It's not the same if she's not grinning at him; his Catnip, holding a finger to her lips, giving him a wink before climbing up a tree, quick.

(He saw her climb, that first night, and he knows that she can win. She can, she can, she can, and that's how he gets through the days.)

He closes his eyes, sometimes, when he's in the open parts of the woods, and he can almost hear her breathing, just slightly quicker than his. He can almost see her, holding a bow, breathing once, twice, before letting the arrow fly.

It isn't the same without her, but he hopes.

He's never allowed himself that, before; he's never had a reason to hope, the silly thing that silly adults do.

Now, he does. He closes his eyes and sits and the world is less bright, without her there; less bright because he's alone, now, and she's kissing Mellark on the screen, in front of all twelve districts, because she can. He likes to believe she doesn't want to, that it's an act, but he doesn't know.

Maybe he never really knew her at all, he thinks.

The wind ruffles the grass, and he breathes.

gigglemonster

4 years ago

rumpledlinen

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

morbidmuse

4 years ago

Cato/Clove, we are here to entertain
They shake hands on the District 2 stage in front of his roaring crowd. He’s the training center favorite; no one would dare volunteer when it’s his turn. He grins and waves and spares her a glance out of the corner of his eye. She’s more than a head shorter than he, but she stands up straight with her shoulders back, chin up, and her back bowing tight as if she were suspended by a string. He raises an eyebrow at her, this tiny thing is a volunteer? She smirks right back.
-
District 1 is gorgeous and more than willing to share training tips and body heat, but Glimmer’s outliving her usefulness. Clove is kind of young and flat-chested and has a whiny voice. She’s quick though, and the way she handles those knives… He keeps them both around, at least as long as the treaty will serve, until they get the girl from District 12, the only one to score higher than he did. He hates to disappoint an audience.
-
Glimmer is dead, likely disfigured by the Trackerjackers, not that he took the time to check on her. He got a good strike on Peeta, but he fled before he could finish the deal. They take Marvel out together and he can tell she’s humoring him, letting him take a turn. She’s beautiful like this, light on her toes, back arched deep, with a sweep of her arm like a dance as her knives flow from her wrist. Clove is by his side and for the first time he sees that her wicked, hungry eyes are like mirrors of his own.
-
Balanced above her, between her pale legs, he watches her collar bone pool with sweat, the cords in her neck tightening and dissipating with their every movement. He reaches his hand out to palm her neck, his thumb presses into her pulse point, not quite gentle. How easy it would be… Her eyes gleam in the blue arena light, lips curving into something that resembles a smile. Then he finds himself on his back in the cool dirt with a blade poised against the stubble of his throat. He breathes a throaty laugh; she leans down to kiss him.

burnitdownbaby

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

Johanna, Can't give up acting tough, it's all that I'm made of
Pairing: Johanna/Gale.
Title: Maybe it was the voice of the rain crying.
Spoilers: Takes place after Mockingjay so by default, spoilers for the entire series?


“You know,” Gale says, reaching out to touch the curling edge of Johanna’s hair where it falls on the pillow, “you don’t have to be this way. With me.”

Johanna suppresses the feel of a shudder beneath her skin. She grits her teeth.

“What way?” Her voice is low, but strong. It always is.

Gale wants to say: “Frigid. Sharp-eyed and mean, sometimes. Closed-off. Like I’m a stranger here. That it means nothing. That it’s ok to build walls over and over around your head and your heart just because you know I’ll scale them all one by one until it’s just you and me in this fortress you’ve built yourself.”

Instead, Gale says: “Like we’re still at war.”

It takes Johanna a minute to answer. Gale thinks perhaps she’s fallen asleep and he almost gives up, but then she turns onto her side and looks at him with a vulnerability that Gale has only ever seen in the wild eyes of trapped game. It’s a look that says I’m scared. My life is hanging in the balance. You’re the only who can save me. It’s a look that is a gift and Gale wants to reach out and touch Johanna’s face, but he’s scared too and everything is fragile. And then she speaks.

“Sometimes you fight for so long that you forget what it’s like to not have anything to struggle against. And then, without even realizing it, you create a war against everything, the whole outside world because you only know yourself in the context of the fight and violence is the only family you have left.”

Gale does touch her then, and kisses her between her furrowed brows.

“Ok,” he says. And Johanna exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding because of all the people in all the world, Gale understands.

onceuponapillow

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

Cato/Glimmer knives don't have your back
The first thing Glimmer notices is which of them are pretty. She watches the Reapings in her compartment curled up in bed with a very expensive glass of wine and looks at their faces, their bodies, the way they walk. She dissects them like a scientist with laser eyes and a stony face. And, like every year, there are several who get her attention. Two Boy has a model’s face and a flawless body no doubt sculpted to be both powerful and beautiful. Nine Girl is gorgeous despite a frumpy black skirt that reaches her calves and a red face free of makeup. As she blushes and trembles on the stage, Glimmer imagines her in a glittering gown with her face painted and polished, imagines her under a sweaty politician with those pretty blue eyes staring up at nothing and empty and dead.

Then there’s Eleven Girl. She’s steadfast and brave on the stage with her little head up high and her button nose and big, big doe eyes on the clouds. She’s twelve and looks about nine, but her coffee skin is creamy and luscious and her lips are full and flushed and her body is wiry and girlish and teaming with young energy and, yes, they would like this.

Such a shame.

--

After they take her clothes, one of the men in the prep team gropes her breasts, and her handler rounds on him with angry eyes and says, don’t you dare.

Her hands skim Glimmer’s shoulders like an artist reorganizing paintbrushes and her eyes say, not yet, anyway.

--

They look at everyone and imagine their death. This is nothing new. Glimmer recognizes it like her own fingerprint in the Two Girl who sizes up Boy Six, a scrawny thing that has a good seven inches on her, and her eyes say, yes, for you I’ll twist the knife in your stomach and put my fingernails through your eyes and watch the blood rain down. Glimmer looks at them and imagines them victors, and for her that’s also nothing new. Girl Eight playing the little lost girl who needs Daddy to punish her. Two Boy as everyone’s party favor. The delicious irony of Boy Eleven, so powerful and stoic, helpless in chains before them.

Glimmer catches Girl Eleven giggling at something her partner said, and then she knows that, if nothing else, she must kill this one.

--

Alliance with Two Boy, as long as she can until he becomes dangerous, is the way to win. The girl is menacing and flat-chested and Marvel is too lanky and has too harsh a face and, anyway, she remembers his handprint on her hipbone at the Academy as if he’d branded her there. But Two Boy, oh, he’s got the sort of face that makes ladies swoon and men hungry and the world fall in love even while he’s plunging his sword into Nine Girl’s chest over and over and over and, well, at least she’s safe now. And so Glimmer touches his chiseled chest and laughs in his ear and ghosts her fingers over his crotch while they organize the supplies at the lake. His acting is pitch-perfect, but he’s on autopilot, and they find all the cameras and make sure their glimpses and grins at each other hit the audience in all the right places. Two is not interested in girls but palms her ass anyway because he knows how this game is played and, well, at least he won’t expect them to care when he only wants the men. They fool around a little under the tree, enough to give Two an impressive hickey but no more. She knows to tease but not to deliver. That’s for later. That’s for after.

Two would spear her without a second thought.

And maybe she can do this. Maybe she can knife Two Boy in his sleep and have her mace ready for Two Girl who will inevitably turn hungry, vengeful eyes on her, and maybe she can offer Marvel everything he’s wanted for a year and then give him poison in his belly instead. Maybe she can stay alive, stay dead, come home the loser because Glimmer knows that nobody wins this Game.

She thinks she’d prefer her neck snapped by Two Boy to Two Girl’s delicate knives.

azelmaroark

4 years ago

classicfreak

4 years ago

morbidmuse

4 years ago

thistlerose

4 years ago

gale/katniss, you're in my veins and i cannot get you out

gigglemonster

March 24 2012, 07:16:49 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 07:17:04 UTC

gale/katniss, all that you can save, r-ish

After she’s settled in her new home, with Gale is hundreds of feet below her in the mines, Katniss stands by the fence for hours on end just listening to the humming wires that remind her of his voice.

She thinks of his steady hands and warm breath on the back of her neck as they moved through the trees like ghosts, invisible and intangible except to each other. The bark of the tree like a language only they could speak.

They used to talk for hours.

--

Her smiles don’t come as easily anymore, even in the woods. There are times she doesn’t even bother retrieving her bow from the tree, preferring to sit silently by, watching Gale set traps. He feels guilty for never asking her if she wants to talk about the games, the things she’s seen in the arena.

But he’s not sure he wants to know. Not now when they’re so close to perfecting this silence. This passable facsimile of the ease they once had.

--

When Gale misses three Sundays in a row, Katniss finds him on his way to the mines. There’s a bruise on his cheek, probably from one of the new peacekeepers. She’s stopped in her tracks at the sight of it, thinks that whatever happened she should have been there.

She reaches out a hand to touch him but he catches her wrist between his fingers, says “It’s fine, Katniss. It’s nothing.”

Katniss. He only ever calls her Katniss now, like he's addressing a proper victor.

She wants to slap him, or shake him, and scream that she’s still the same. The angry spot on his cheek and the uncertain taste of those words in her mouth keep her silent. How can see scream at him with conviction when she can’t even persuade herself.

Is she the same?

“Good. Then I better see you on Sunday,” she says with venom, unsure who she’s even mad at anymore but furious all the same. The fact that neither of them would have to hunt another day in their lives with all the money she has goes unspoken.

--

She’s lost count of the number of times she’s packed a bag in the middle of the night.

”We could do it, y’know?”

--

Katniss catches him staring at her. His hard edges and stoic features softening, deep in thought and entirely unreadable.

She leans across the log she’s using to clean out the entrails of a rabbit, blood underneath her fingernails, and brushes her lips against his.

It only takes a second for Gale’s hands to wrap around the back of her neck, a gesture so innocently familiar that it makes her ache. His mouth claims hers and she runs her tongue along the roof of his mouth.

He pulls her onto his lap, needing to feel the weight of her body against his, to drown in her.

Katniss knows now that this is part of her victory. Her reward was a second chance at the taste of Gale on her lips and his arms wrapped around her.

--

They are only ever together deep in the woods, beyond the prying eye of cameras that aim to capture a moment that would surely mean death for one or both.

Gale traces his fingers across the crook of her elbow and the bend of her knee. He kisses the place on her collarbone where a scar used to be. Should be. His lips remember all the marks of these woods (of him) that the Capitol erased from Katniss’ skin. The ones on his own body are now without their match.

And he feels further from her in these moments than he did while watching her with a knife to her throat on the District 12 screens.

But the scrape of her nails down his back and her voice when she whispers she missed him make this feel real. Make them feel real.

Gale pulls her bare thigh up tighter against his hips and moves deeper inside her, a strangled sound escaping his lips. Katniss watches the muscles of his neck strain and she clenches tighter around him as she comes.

She listens to Gale breath and leans her forehead against his shoulder. The leaves are cool against her skin where they lie and the air smells like the ashes of their bridges being unburned.

fin



casterlys

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

casterlys

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

casterlys

4 years ago

outpour

4 years ago

gigglemonster

4 years ago

Johanna. Johanna/Finnick, and sometimes when you're on. you're really fucking on
Annie, i fear our blood won't rise again
Rue/Katniss, she made me feel less scared as my whole world went pitch black.

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stinabug87

4 years ago

classicfreak

4 years ago