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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Cinna, Katniss, Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes

Deleted comment

caitriona_3

5 years ago

thistlerose

5 years ago

Deleted comment

johanna/finnick, the first time they met
this is grossly premature, but i might... i might be able to do this. maybe.

casterlys

5 years ago

Deleted comment

casterlys

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

century_fox

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

gale & prim, bring redemption for our sins
I was born to fill this prompt.

gigglemonster

5 years ago

trysts

5 years ago

johanna/gale, with all their lions and all their might and all their thirst
your wolf suit is wearing thin / 653 words / r



they won't ever remember how long they were together, not like it matters. they're both soilders, each with a job and a rebellion to fight--different things forcing them on but all from the same place, that secret hole inside them where their losses pile up, regrets and old friends.

she's a bitter girl, all pent up fronts and weak aggression, lost to her need for the morphling and he's shotgun poor and impulse rich. but all the same, they find themselves training together. gale slows himself when he sees johanna reaching her limits, wanting to keep in pace with the striking girl.

(she never lets on when she's failing, but he can tell by the way her hair, matted with sweat, clings to her forehead and her breath is harsh, rough in her throat like she's been in the mines for all her life. sometimes he has to remind himself that she hasn't, that the mines are gone and never will be again, buried on the rubble of bombs.)

he doesn't know where the district seven girl fits into his heart, but she does. her cutting words and harsh glares only earn her smirks from him.

sometimes, they manage to slip away from the never ending watch of the district thirteen officials, johanna saying she needs to visit the hospital and gale spews out some bullshit about going to see president coin, and they sit and talk, trade stories.

johanna never tells him much, her walls are too high and too thick for him to even try to penetrate, so instead he doesn't pry and fills the silence with stories about growing up in twelve, about the seam. about his father. she smiles when he tells the story about the time greasey sae cooked rat stew and it was still the finest thing he's ever eaten.



sometimes, when they eat their meals together after training, she'll rest her head on his shoulder and he'll let her melt into his side, easy and fluid.

he tires to break past her walls, but every time he gets a way in she builds them back up and locks him out.



"we're pawns you know," she says to him one night, hiding in her compartments. she's sitting on the far side of the tiny space perched on top of her dresser, legs swinging. "nothing more than pieces of the whole to them. we're not even human."

he blinks--this is the first time she's interrupted one of his stories. (they come easier now, he doesn't get thick throated when he talks of the seam, or all of what he lost.) "well," he speaks, trying to find the words. "we have to mean something to them, or they wouldn't keep us around."

she shrugs, doubt crossing her face. "yeah, we're pawns. they're playing us, gale. they're no different than the capitol."

when he opens his mouth to protest, he's cut off. "trust me. i've been played before."



one night they kiss, all wet and too much teeth, noses knocking together. she's high off morphling, scored by playing katniss's mother with pain in her face and soft whimpers of need. but gale will take it for what it's worth because this is the rawest she's ever been, twisting her hands into his hair and leaning in to press their lips together again.


(later on she'll suck him off in that tiny compartment, her calloused hand curved around his sharp hip. and after when they're both spent and lying on gale's twin sized bed, legs tangled together, her walls will finally break and she tells him about the first time she killed a man and the day mutts killed her brother.)


the next day, they don't speak to each other.

beethemonster

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

gigglemonster

March 24 2012, 02:21:08 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 02:21:18 UTC

gale/peeta, you look so angry when you sleep

beethemonster

March 24 2012, 11:50:52 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 14:15:23 UTC

peeta/gale, past peeta/katniss | this mute language they share | rating: t, maybe light light r | i carried off course with this, i know, but the prompt is somewhere in there, promise.

.

This isn't the story of a boy who loves a girl any more.

.

There once was a time when he needed to hear those noises she makes when he draws circles at the base of her spine, presses his chapped lips to hers and whispers caresses, aiming straight for her heart.

But they're not Peeta & Katniss any more, no Star-Crossed Lovers, no fake fake, and sometimes so real scenes only build for the cameras around them.

She, all scuffed knees and tangled hair, is his past now.

.

This is the story of a boy who loves another boy now.

.

He watches his own pale pale fingers dancing across honey arms. They're soft, yet so strong, and it shouldn't even matter to him who's waist they circle at night, he knows that, but oh, it does.

He looks so angry when he sleeps. Maybe because they're hurting his best best friend, together, and don't ever want to stop. Maybe because the people around him die and die and die. Probably both.

“Why are you staring again?” Gale opening his eyes ever so slightly makes the breath catch in Peeta's throat. A mess of tangled feelings tries to flee from his heart, wants to take the path over his tongue and escape into real, said out loud words Gale isn't supposed to ever hear. There aren't many words between them; Gale isn't one for talking. But there is this mute language they one day discovered they shared, the fluent and precise language of tongues.

Gales lips are a bright, brilliant flash of colour in the darkness of the room that's surrounding them. Peeta thinks about that perfect blush of him, how his sweat tastes, and the way his own stomach makes a weird swoop just before he knows he is about to get kissed.

“Fuck knows why I bother with you.” Gale sits up, the sheets pool around his hips, and scratches at his chest. “Lie back.” And Peeta lets Gale fuck him into the mattress, his legs wrapped tight around his body.

He isn't sure Gale if loves him back or please please ever will, but he knows their story will continue – has to.

(talking in that mute language we suddenly discovered we shared, the fluent and precise language of tongues is a quote by Jean Hegland)

gigglemonster

5 years ago

beethemonster

5 years ago

Deleted comment

beethemonster

5 years ago

katniss/haymitch, you've done some bad things, sweetie
I need this
cinna/peeta, drink down that gin and kerosene, and come spit off bridges with me
cinna/peeta, sinners and saints, PG-13-ish

The brandy in the bottle is melted amber gold in the glimmering lights from the Capitol, up on the roof, gold like sunlight on corrugated tin roofs, gold like the smell of the bakery, gold like blonde hair in two braids and look at the cakes, look how beautiful they are!, gold like those eyes on him, nudging the bottle closer, and his fingers curl around it without thinking.

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die, right?

It burns going down and he coughs and sputters and wobbles and leans out over the railing, up on the roof, watching the revelers dancing and he hates them. There's an arm sliding around his waist, keeping him from tipping right off (of course there is, because mustn't lose one of the pawns before the game even starts) and he hates that too.

And the golden eyes are lined with gold too, and he hates it and he loves it and he reaches up to touch, to run callused hands over skin that never blistered from the heat of an oven, that never bore the marks of the only love parents in District 12 can provide, that never shuddered or pulled away, even when he wanted him to, even when he stood on tiptoes and crushed clumsy brandy-flavored lips against a soft, soft mouth that had never longed to kiss a brilliant blazing girl.

And later Peeta wonders, with silken sheets on his back and silken hands working over him and silken words whispered in his ear, and his rough clumsy needy hands clutching and grabbing and digging marks that'll be gone, lasered off, scrubbed away by morning, if he's here because she wouldn't be, if one of the embers the girl on fire left behind is better than nothing.

And then Cinna kisses him and it tastes like gold and luxury and hate and all the wonderful things he'll never have and Peeta stops wondering.

beethemonster

5 years ago

f_o_r_m_a_l_i_n

5 years ago

beethemonster

5 years ago

dominant_spoon

5 years ago

f_o_r_m_a_l_i_n

5 years ago

peeta; his reaction to Katniss volunteering as tribute before being picked as the male tribute/what was going on in his head

chimneysmoke

March 24 2012, 11:09:49 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 11:13:24 UTC

Peeta, Peeta/Katniss, Everdeen, PG, Spoilers: THG

"Everdeen," the word echoes in the square, bouncing out of speakers and off of shop fronts and bodies, this Capitol Peacock's amplified voice calling her out to die. "Everdeen," the word rings, sliding into his ears like his favorite childhood tale, twisted and tainted by the end of naivete and the harshness of reality. "Everdeen," says the name on the slip of paper, and Peeta's heart sinks lower than the mine shafts of District 12, nestling in the earth. "Everdeen," the word chimes, the name of the girl he's always loved.

He swallows rough, the feeling of imaginary dirt and unsifted flour coating his lungs in suffocation as the screens pan to the girl. She is twelve, with sweet blonde braids, her Reaping-best slightly wrinkled like all twelve year-olds' should be. He releases his clenched fists as visceral relief washes over him; immediately he hates himself for the feeling. This girl still shares the name, this girl is her kin but for a brief moment he is just grateful it is not her.

As if his thoughts could spring her to action, Katniss is out of her line and hugging her sister within a split second. The images on the screens are shaking, quaking, distracting, providing a dramatic angle on the reality occurring not ten feet away.

"I volunteer," her desperate voice cries out and he shuts his eyes as his brain processes the information. "I volunteer as tribute." The words are her death sentence—her death knell—and everyone in the District, everyone in the Nation knows it.

The Capitol Hounds can't decide what to do and the blonde girl is screaming out in early grief and his heart breaks because though all of the witnesses know what this means no one stops it. In their eyes Katniss, the brave and quick and talented and lovely jewel of District 12 is no better than the other lambs for slaughter. It isn't right, he thinks. It isn't fair, he thinks.

"What's your name?" The Capitol Peacock asks, pursing her lips together.

"Katniss Everdeen," she speaks, clear and bright. She introduces herself to the Nation, to the Districts, to those starving and those letting us starve. To me, he thinks.

"Everdeen," the word echoes. "Everdeen," the word rings. "Everdeen," the word chimes.

satine_59

5 years ago

tilty

5 years ago

seneca/haymitch, your time has passed, they say never means forever
expiration date
seneca/haymitch, r

They have met before. Twice. More than acquaintances then. Seneca Crane does not know how to classify them. Everything in his life has always been classified. After all, he is a man who thrives on order. He could write up all that he knows about Haymitch, replay their interactions moment by moment, if he really wanted he could find all of their interactions on camera. After all, nothing happens in the Capitol that hasn't been recorded. But this is the first thing that has happened to him that he wishes hadn't been.

Haymitch is a drunk. His skin is gritty with dirt even weeks into his stay in the Capitol, as if coal ran in his blood, in his sweat. He doesn't talk about the Games with Seneca, who doesn't know whether he finds it refreshing or annoying. They are his life's accomplishment and when he is with Haymitch is the only time he finds them missing from his words and thoughts. The reason he wishes that these moments weren't stored somewhere watched by uninterested eyes is because they should be his moments.

The way that Haymitch looks at him when the door is closed to the Capitol is his secret. The way that Haymitch likes to push Seneca down into the bed, but hates that he likes it, is Seneca's too. The way Haymitch looks in the morning light is something only he should know.

They don't talk about this or anything really. Haymitch makes Seneca feel foolish which is no small feat. He doesn't know this game, after all it isn't a game where he makes the rules. So he doesn't know why it happens, couldn't say if it will happen again, couldn't name what it is. But he knows that Haymitch hates the games, that his tributes die, and that despite everything Haymitch still cares for them. He could only say that for the look in Haymitch's eye, the roughness of his hands when they are lost. Seneca knows what a loss feels like, he wonders what a win would be.

The girl catches his eye only for Haymitch's sake at first. A win, he thinks, will do him good. She proves to be interesting in her own right, but she is not a person, just a piece. Haymitch begins to drink less, that is far more interesting. The curve of his spine, the weight of his body, the heat of his hands, are far, far more interesting. So when Haymitch asks for a favor, it is easy to grant.

Seneca only realizes that he's been playing a game too late. He doesn't know why he never saw it, that the Hunger Games was as much a game for his own life as a game for a child's. Haymitch certainly knew. When the pair from his district are more successful than even President Snow could apparently predict he begins to realize his mistake. Seneca always considered himself one of the civilized, the man behind the curtain, he knows now that Snow sees him the same way he sees a child. A commodity, only useful so long as it benefits.

Haymitch was always fascinating to him. A tribute once, a champion, a killer. What must it be like? The glory? He realizes as Katniss Everdeen pulls out the ticket to her freedom, splits the prize between her 'Star-Crossed Lover' and herself, that Haymitch never left the games. He realizes that the Hunger Games were never a match at all, but a war. A silent unending war. Haymitch wasn't playing him, simply fighting the enemy.

"Tell her to be careful," he says, means, Be careful.

"I will," is the reply, Seneca would have once guessed that was the apology. Knows now that Haymitch never cared, couldn't. Knows now what it feels like to be one of his tributes, one of his pawns, who's emotions he had always watched from afar and wondered at.

Everything has its price.

Seneca Crane wonders what it was Haymitch bought with him.

insideways

5 years ago

cato/clove, and i smile as i respire because i know they'll never win
cato/clove, take me to the finish line, g, spoilers for book one

“Clove!” The scream tears through her fading consciousness. Her smile is red.

There’s a hand behind her head and she feels herself being lifted, pulled close.

“Clove, we’re almost there. Don’t leave me now, please.” The desperation in his voice only widens her grin. She was ever the one to thrive on another’s fear. His body is trembling, radiating manic heat and all her dying senses scream prey.

“You feel like my next target, Cato,” she says, releasing her grip on the knife and using the hand to feel what she can’t see. The stern brow wrinkled in anguish, the easy sneer become a ragged pant. Her fingers linger light on his lips as she thinks on all the ways she’s trained to silence them. She lost that chance with the announcement, but fighting side by side to the end… nothing compared.

“We’re going to win, Clove, I promise. Just stay with me a little longer. We’re going home,” he says, the final words turning into a sob. The grass around her smells sweet, but there’s another smell too and the ground beneath her is wet.

“We’re going home.” She closes her unseeing eyes and fixes her last smile for the cameras.

gigglemonster

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

Katniss. Time ain't gonna cure you honey, time don't give a shit. You've got to go straight ahead.
Katniss, Katniss/Peeta at the end, Rebuild, PG, SPOILERS for Mockingjay although I pretty much ignored some of what's at the end. CREATIVE LICENCE~~

She knows that the old saying is stupid, a long lie told over and over again by well meaning mouths until people begin to believe it. Time does not heal everything. Time never heals everything. Sometimes her dad's death still hurts so much it's like it happened yesterday; she still thinks about her mom uncharitably. She can't help it. Time doesn't heal those wounds. Time just makes them less prominent.

She wonders what time is going to do to her now. She has no one. She has nothing. They won, but that's not much of a comfort to her now.

She doesn't know what to do.

Katniss pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead against them. She closes her eyes. She doesn't cry. She sits that way for hours.

*


Haymitch rings. He's unsympathetic, in the way he usually is. She wants to hit him through the phone, but she's grateful at the same time. Some things never change.

She doesn't really speak on the phone and when she does she knows her voice sounds strange and off putting. She doesn't speak much these days.

They've said goodbye and she's about to put down the phone when he half-yells her name, the urgency in his tone making a part of her snap to attention. "Katniss, listen to me," he says. He sounds so sincere that it's almost troubling. "Katniss, you've had time."

"Haymitch," she says and it's a warning, just as much as it's a plea, couched in an angry, bitter tone.

He ignores her interruption. "You've had time. You know time doesn't heal all wounds. That's bullshit. Don't think about it. Don't believe. You're Katniss. You're the girl who was on fire. You're the Mockingjay. You can go on."

She thinks he hangs up but she doesn't know. She throws the phone against the wall. It rips from the socket and hits the wall with a satisfying noise, the crunch of the break loud. It's not loud enough to drown out Haymitch's words ringing in her ears, but it'll do for now. Katniss stands, staring dispassionately at the remains of the phone. She tries to breathe. She doesn't think about what he said. She's not the Mockingjay, not anymore. She's Katniss Everdeen.

She has to remember who that is.

*


Katniss misses Prim so much, misses everyone so much, that she wakes up tired. She has dreams where she's happy and terrible nightmares and they make her bones feel like they're made of steel. She's not human. She's not.

She's getting there, though.

nitro26

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

darkindegrees

5 years ago

tomlinsons

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

insideways

5 years ago

gigglemonster

March 24 2012, 02:46:39 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 02:46:52 UTC

gen, SPY AU!!11!
I need this in my life!

clouberding

5 years ago

gale/katniss, gale goes into the games with katniss instead of peeta
omggg idk why this au never occurred to me but now I NEED IT

chimneysmoke

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

chimneysmoke

5 years ago

nitro26

5 years ago

chimneysmoke

5 years ago

johanna/peeta, never saw you coming
Johanna/Peeta » hum a few bars (i may know the tune) | PG-13/T | spoilers for the entire series, Mockingjay in particular
peeta/katniss, others catching fire au: what if peeta and katniss had escaped into the woods/to district 13 before the quarter quell was annonced
One-sided Peeta/Katniss. She stays with him out of need and not love.
finnick/annie, "I can be brave." / "You already are."
haymitch, plutarch, finnick, johanna, others, how the quarter quell escape plan came together
GIMMMEEEEE

casterlys

5 years ago

century_fox

5 years ago

deathmallow

5 years ago

finnick/katniss when all that's lost remains
1st THG fic/1st fic in 10 years/1st non-beta'd fic. Be gentle!

SURVIVING 1/2

It is only after Finnick has collapsed next to me, breathless and sweaty, that the thought comes to me: I don't think this is what my doctors had in mind when they told me to concentrate on my recovery. 

When I say as much to him, staring up at the ceiling of the supply closet, I can feel his grin before I turn my head to see it. "We could go back to knot-tying," he suggests. "Or," he adds, raising one eyebrow and raising himself up on an elbow, "we could combine this with knot-tying."

I smack him with one hand, even as something twists in my stomach--a good, dark something--at the thought of what Finnick can do with a rope. And then I laugh, just a little, for the first time in weeks. We smile at each other, but his quickly fades from his face and his eyes turn sober. 

"We keep doing this," he says in a near-whisper. 

"Yes."

"How will I ever tell Annie?"

I shake my head. "If you get the chance to, Finnick, you won't. Because it won't matter then. Because we're just...surviving. Do you think I'll tell Peeta that you're the one who..." My voice trails off at the thought of the betrayal Peeta would feel upon finding out I'd given my virginity to Finnick Odair. In a supply closet. And then kept letting him fuck me, for weeks now, while Peeta is enduring who knows what at the hands of the Capitol. As it is, if Peeta and I ever get to do this, how will I explain my...knowledge?

"No, I suppose not," Finnick murmurs. "Although at least I'm not Gale."

I answer him with a rude gesture I've seen Haymitch use while extremely drunk. Finnick, however, grabs my hand and places first one, and then two of my fingers in his mouth. I shudder, and then reach for him, pulling my hand from his mouth and covering his lips with mine. In between kisses already too frantic considering what we've already been doing for over an hour, I rasp, "We're better off not thinking."

By way of agreement, Finnick shifts me on top of him and then lifts my hips, pulling me down--hard--on his cock. He is impossibly hard for the third time in an hour, and with renewed need I slip up and down on him with ease once, twice, too many times to count. 

"Sit up, Katniss," he says after a few minutes.

"Why?" I somehow manage to ask. 

"Because I want to watch you."

I turn red when I realize what he must mean, but push up to my knees anyway. It turns out I am no longer capable of denying Finnick anything. He raises his hips so we remained joined and waits for me to settle into a semi-comfortable position, which I do after a moment. Breathing hard, I ask, "Now what?"

I may be the Mockingjay, but here, Finnick has taken the commanding role. At first I thought I let him because I was so inexperienced, but after the third time I realized: it's because it's the total opposite of how I think Peeta would be in bed, and the only way to continue this--and I must continue this--is to separate it entirely from Peeta and I. And if I'm being truly honest, after having to be in charge of things since I was eleven, it is both thrilling and relieving to give control over to someone else. 

"Touch yourself. Like I touch you."

msdisdain

5 years ago

magic_knickers

5 years ago

msdisdain

5 years ago

magic_knickers

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

sabaceanbabe

5 years ago

msdisdain

5 years ago

insideways

5 years ago

msdisdain

5 years ago

cato/katniss you've gotten into my bloodstream, I can feel you behind my eyes

outboxed

March 24 2012, 22:28:31 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 22:37:23 UTC

he would be prometheus, a fire-stealer cato/katniss. cato/unnamed ofcs. soft R, probably.

There had been girls before. Some had been strong, some weak; some fierce, others desperately defeated. At the training centre they were supposed to devote everything to becoming perfect warriors and they did, mostly. They trained ceaselessly, fought each other, learnt to throw knives and which parts of the body were most vulnerable to assault. The dropout rate on the program was pretty high, though no-one was allowed to leave. Some died in training, others killed themselves. Cato had slept with a girl the year before who'd drowned herself when she'd discovered Clove had been chosen as that year's female tribute. She'd been eighteen, there would never be another chance for her. Maybe he ought to feel bad for her but he can't make space for remorse: this is the life he has been chosen for and, after all, Clove was the better soldier.

Besides, it doesn't mean anything here. Nothing means anything here, except The Games, except the glory of victory and the benefits it brings their district. A victory in The Games means a Harvest Festival, more food, a year of plenty, and it means a life of glory for the victor. That's all that means anything at the training centre, all that's ever meant anything to Cato. The girls - with their wicked smiles and soft skin, taut with muscle, - never meant anything. They were just a distraction - a distraction he could barely afford.

But Katniss, Katniss is worse than any girl at the training centre because she's competition. Sure, the other girls could have been, in a way, if they'd proved themselves good enough, and if it had come down to just them in the arena. Sure, it was possible. But, even so, he'd never thought of them that way. And Katniss is different because he's never trained with her, only gets to see what she can do in a piecemeal kind of a way during training and still can't quite figure her out.

He thinks she's mediocre - until he sees her shoot. And when he sees her shoot he has to wonder because none of the girls at the training centre back in 2 could shoot like that - none of the boys, either. And he knows they don't have training centres in District 12. But she volunteered and they don't volunteer in 12, either.

They'd all joked about her, about Katniss, him and the other careers, when she'd arrived. They'd called her weak because she was sentimental - because she'd come like a lamb to the slaughter out of love for her little sister. Clove had talked about gutting her like a fish but she'd still fallen silent with the rest of them when she saw what Katniss could do - saw her training score.

And, god, if she isn't just the most fascinating thing Cato's ever seen. She's a challenge and he wants to kill her, wants to see her blood bleed out all over his hands because he's beaten her - the girl everyone is talking about, the girl who was on fire. He wants that, her fire, her warmth, her glory. Only when he looks at her he also thinks about the other girls, the way it felt to lose himself in someone else just for a while and he can't let himself want her that way but he can't stop himself stop wanting either.

In the end, it has to be a bloody communion, a murder, he knows, but he thinks that maybe that will be enough of a victory.

He wonders if he will be loved or hated, when he kills the girl who was on fire. But he never gets a chance to find out.

magic_knickers

5 years ago

outboxed

5 years ago

rumpledlinen

5 years ago

outboxed

5 years ago

haymitch/effie, better to have loved and lost than to wake up next to you every day
The most amazing prompt I have ever seen anywhere oh my god

classicfreak

5 years ago

sweetbitter

5 years ago

classicfreak

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

johanna/finnick, tell me we both matter (don't we?)

clouberding

March 24 2012, 04:33:58 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 04:48:53 UTC

rue & katniss, do you know why i trusted you? because of your mockingjay
katniss/cinna, midnight conversations
oh, i love this.

thediagnosis

5 years ago

thediagnosis

5 years ago

thediagnosis

5 years ago

chureezee

5 years ago

thediagnosis

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

thediagnosis

5 years ago

gale/katniss sometimes we jump across every cloud, fly away get lost and never be found
gale/katniss; sometimes we jump across every cloud, fly away get lost and never be found // (spoilers for mockingjay; slightly au-ish; pg-13) // 1 of 2

~

It was pouring rain and blowing cold, the type of storm that tends to occur in late autumn days before the rain will become snow. She stokes the flames in the fireplace and wraps her arms around herself, feeling chilled and alone. Not lonely (well, not today), just by herself.

It could be worse (it usually is) and for no reason at all, today isn’t a bad day. (She didn’t wake up screaming – first time in weeks, in months – and she didn’t spend the day numb and crying, something which has become routine ever since she got back.) Her thoughts flit briefly to Peeta, wonders where he is, misses him, his warmth and friendly face. Hatred flashes through when she thinks of how he was taken from her, wrecked and destroyed. He’s recovering, but so slowly, and they both felt it was easier to keep some distance for now. (She hates that too, whether she agrees with it not, because it’s Peeta… except not anymore.)

When she goes to the window to look out at the dark and cold, to see Peeta’s unlit home, she realizes someone is on her doorstep. She yanks open the door and Gale turns to her, completely soaked and shivering, lips blue and trembling.

“I… I don’t know…” he croaks.

“Gale!” she gasps, hauling him inside. He feels like ice. She hastens him over to stand by the fire. “What the hell are you doing? How long have you been out there?”

His teeth are clattering but he manages to answer, in a voice so quiet and broken she wants to burst into tears, “I couldn’t knock, I… I needed to…” he blinks and his face is wet with more than rain. “I just don’t know if it was me or not.”

She straightens her spine – Prim. This is about the bombs.

~

In the aftermath, she can’t look him in the eye, can’t look at him at all. Nobody knows if they were his bombs, Beetee’s bombs. There was chaos and confusion and it was war so who’s to say that someone didn’t take the plans? Steal them, copy them, simply use them without him knowing? Who’s to say he was involved at all? Except he had a hand in building them, and whether he directly dropped them or not, right now she can’t help but feel like it’s his fault. If only he hadn’t come up with the ideas for them, invented certain parts of them, then maybe her sister would still be alive. (Or would she?)

Even if she could manage to put that aside, it’s all too fresh. Everything about the war is. Maybe there’s peace now, and maybe she’s not getting thrown in prison for assassinating Coin, but she feels anything but peace, and that whole time heals all wounds shit is just that. There’s no way she’s healing from this, from any of it.

And if she can’t look at him, she most certainly can’t talk to him. The silence is sticky and teeming with blame and guilt and grief and there’s nothing she can – or will – do to change it. Not now.

He opens his mouth to say something but she turns away. A couple days later he leaves for District 2 without even saying goodbye.

~

[con't]

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

viirivehka

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago