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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Victor of the first games. The word "victor"
There can't possibly be a way to get this much blood off her hands. It's pooled in her palms, smeared down her arms; even if they scrub her pretty and pristine, some of it must have already sunken straight through her skin, taken root in her veins and when she dies—

(of natural causes, honey, that's what victory means)

—they'll crack open her chest and there will be black roots growing there and vining her heart down into place because she is a m-m-murderer. (“Smile, dear, you've won!”) She buries her face in her hands and they take the cameras off her for a sweet minute until someone shakes her rough, tells her to straighten up and smile smile smile you are the winner and finally she does, bears her teeth so they can see them stained red.

She stumbles, there's a hole in her leg, son of a bitch, and the voice is blaring over her head as neon-colored people help her (now they're helping, sososo kind of them, merciful overlords, thank you to the Capitol) into a room, clean room, tell her to lie down and count backwards and it will all be over soon but oh, those morons, they've started something that will never be over. The voice keeps going stuttering and revving or maybe it's whatever they've injected her with, will someone please wash her fucking hands, broadcasting to a country she can't believe will ever want her back because that boy, that boy, that boy on the ground who is in her now, had to step on him to get a leg up, sorry baby but you know how it is—

Welcome, welcome, w-w-welcome—

(welcome a killer, a monster, bow down to her and thank her for her bravery)

—Welcome your victor of the first annual Hunger Games.

chipsplease

5 years ago

demonings

5 years ago

bankingonamyth

5 years ago

demonings

5 years ago

Peeta/Katniss+daughter, he never thought he'd come to love another girl the way he did his wife, but the first time his baby daughter opened her eyes, he knew his life would never be the same.
I need this.

ellisaco

5 years ago

btp248

5 years ago

ellisaco

5 years ago

Peeta/Katniss, post Mockingjay. Their days are filled with silence, but their nights with passionate fire.
i think i love you better now r, katniss/peeta. post-mockingjay but pre-epilogue.

Their shared breath is heavy with soft cries and escaped sighs. Katniss turns her head away, drawing vital oxygen in to her lungs. Her body feels weighted beneath Peeta's with her thighs still tight against his waist. His strong hand pets down her side, fingertips brushing the goose-pimpled flesh before he hooks his hand under her left knee drawing it up. Bobbing his head quickly, he licks the soft inside of her thigh. Her shudder is immediate and she automatically tries to draw her body away from his but a palm gentles her and rests low on her abdomen. Time and food have filled her out her edges, she knows. Breasts are fuller, her stomach gets a (tiny) roll in it when she folds herself over, head resting on her knees. Pulling Peeta's hand away from her knee, Katniss pulls him back down to her, his chest settling over hers, her arms wrapping low on Peeta's back.

She hadn't known. Not then. Not even as she felt her father's hunting jacket fall to the floor, their boots left somewhere in the kitchen on their way to the bedroom. Everything about Peeta's kisses burn her, licking flames of pleasure up her spine and tease her low in her belly. Ah. Every part of her is focused on this one pleasure that they're both striving for and goes with her instincts and arches her back, pressing more of their heated flesh together.

Lips brush, tongues taste, it's all secondary. Peeta breathes through his nose, stilling for a moment, but it doesn't end. Katniss isn't ready to feel his calloused fingers against her, her shock coalesces in to a sharp cry, her head bumping Peeta's shoulder. She feels him take a breath against her hair, smelling it before he urges her to lay back down. After that, everything is bright and warm and Katniss licks her lips as she assesses her ceiling. Peeta presses a soft kiss to her shoulder as he rolls on to his side.

"I love you." He tells her and she smiles, lacing their fingers together.


They don't speak of the night before as they move around the kitchen the next morning. Haymitch's questions don't go unnoticed but they seem irrelevant, so neither one of them answers them. Neither one of them questions it either when Peeta stays that night, drawing out more from Katniss and she with him. One day their passionate nights will spill in to the days and they will welcome it but until then the days are filled with silence that isn't silence at all.

rosegilmore

5 years ago

autumnrae89

5 years ago

valentineninja

5 years ago

haymitch/effie, i dream in color but i don't dream of you
Breezes Seem To Whisper PG13 for swearing, Haymitch/Effie

The world is black and white-good and evil, the sane and the twisted fucks who like to watch kids kill each other. He reasons that had he never been reaped, he’d be one of them, those who took entertainment from the games, because that’s just how he’s been raised-born into a world where kids fight to the death and is a yearly event in front of the television screen, how can you not?

It’s something you never want to be a part of, and that distance of surviving each reaping makes it even better to watch. School friends die, but that was their lot in this life-just like his lot is to eventually work down in those tumultuous mines, just like his father before him, just like his future children would-so many men die early in those mines, you might as well make the most of it, getting to visit the Capitol and all it’s luxuries.

Once he was chosen, Haymitch Abernathy’s world gets a little lighter, more colourful-from the coal dusted District 12, the Capitol is like finally finding the end of the rainbow he used to be so desperate to catch the tail of. He’s being sent to a death match, and he’s never felt more alive.

Surviving the arena, his world turned a vivid red. Everyone looked like they were bleeding, constantly, and yet his hands, himself, were impervious to it-nothing he touched touched him back. Districts 1 through 11 were all different shades of red, everyone bleeding, dying before him, politely applauding his success.

It wasn’t until he made it back home, back to District 12 when his world turned black. Being made an example of for being able to manipulate the arena and not having a direct hand in the final death brought him to a new dark world-black, white, and tinted amber.

wicked_g

5 years ago

wicked_g

5 years ago

withdrawnred

5 years ago

wicked_g

5 years ago

sweetbitter

5 years ago

wicked_g

5 years ago

enobaria, i used to think if i could realize i'd die then i would be a lot nicer, used to believe in a lot more, now i just see straight ahead
Enobaria, Taking A Life, R, CF spoilers

What's funny about being trained to be a tribute is how little the training applies in all the places it counts, she thought.

Enobaria cleaned off her knife on the boy from Eight's sweat-soaked shirt. The cannon fired not seconds ago, and somewhere in the falling dark was the last bit of prey that kept her from victory. All of the years of training was nothing compared to the sensation of stabbing a knife through human flesh. There was no way to rehearse how that would make her feel. There was no way they could have told her how much she'd enjoy it.

She'd killed seven of the tributes personally. The alliances had fallen quickly in her Game, the first few days turning everyone against one another. She hadn't spoken to anyone in days.

Volunteering for the Games hadn't been for the glory or the thirst for blood as it often was. With Enobaria, volunteering was a way of saying that she was ready for the world. She was ready for a change, and she was willing to step over 23 others to get it. She didn't even want to return to Two. She would leave the arena headed for the Capitol or for a casket. Nothing in between.

A half-day passed, with the two remaining tributes waltzing around and towards each other. Occasionally she would come across a rudimentary trap, disappointed in the obvious nature of it all. Her opponent was trying so very hard to avoid her, to use a coward's way of killing her. But he didn't know that it almost always did come down to hand-to-hand in the end.

When she found him finally, she could practically hear the held breaths across Panem. She had the advantage of high ground, and a relative lack of injury. The boy from District Four, though resourceful enough, was taking a luxury he didn't have by leisurely cleaning an infected shoulder wound in one of the boiling springs their arena was littered with.

She raised her knife, ready for the kill-throw, when a flock of jabberjays flitted amongst the trees, spooking the boy. He picked up his rucksack and began to slowly move. It almost always did come down to hand-to-hand in the end.

She stalked him until she had enough room to jump, leaping and tackling him to the ground. She managed to slice the forearm of his injured arm, and he landed in a few punches in an attempt to dislodge her and scramble to his own weapons but they quickly disarmed each other blow-for-blow. In a few moments he had pinned her back and for a moment the thought crossed her mind that she might lose this battle. Her whole life it had never been an option, just like the others who had come from her District. Just like the others who had come from One or Four. But it happened every year, it happened all the time.

When the boy reached for a hot rock at the edge of a spring, survival kicked in. Instantly, the taste of blood filled her mouth, made her almost gag with the taste and scent of salt and iron. His screams filled the arena. She shoved him back against the rocks, pinning him back as she laid her teeth into his flesh again. If this is what it takes, she thought. The casket or the Capitol.

She bit down on a mouthful of bloody flesh and tore as she pulled back, crying out at the top of her lungs in triumph, not horror.

His body spasmed beneath her, limbs quivering before ceasing. Blood spouting before slowing to a trickle, staining the gravel as it flowed down the hill towards the empty cornucopia.

She spit the boy's throat from her mouth, wiping at her jaw as she swallowed the mouthful of blood and viscera she couldn't spit. Heaving with resting breath she stood over the lifeless body as the last cannon echoed in the empty arena. No one but her now.

She remembered all of her training from Two, now useless to her upcoming life. The survival skills, the weapons. But they never taught was what it felt like to take a life, and they never taught her what it was like to take a new life for her own.

sweetbitter

5 years ago

chimneysmoke

5 years ago

wicked_g

5 years ago

thewindwarns

5 years ago

gale/madge, the signs said stop but we went on wholehearted
johanna or enobaria, i've got my own hell to raise
cato/clove, i'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants, the way it stops and starts.
POE. oh my god this is perfect, i will be back for this.

sing_song_sung

5 years ago

sing_song_sung

5 years ago

lavender88

5 years ago

thewindwarns

5 years ago

cato/clove, you may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine
First time to fill a prompt *nervous*

Most Grievous Fault Cato/Clove slightly R


Cato did not believe in forgiveness, but he believed in sin. In his head, he listed all the ones he committed and the ones he were yet to, counting them when he could not sleep.

The day he first saw Clove, he added ten to the list. Seven of which became cold, hard truth by afternoon.

The remaining three, he told her, he would leave for the Games.

"I feel special," she said, with a smile that cut better than her knives.

---

He chose a dark night for the third.

Everyone slept as his right hand traveled under her shirt and into her pants. His left trapped a gasp in her throat. Her fingers tried to crush his wrists, but they were too late.

When she had moaned for release, he slowly dragged his nails up, up her abdomen.

He made her watch as he kissed the marks.

---

The second came when there were only four.

She was alive in his arms. With each struggle, he triumphed.

"I hate you!" she had spat before he slapped her.

The rage in her eyes glinted like newly forged steel, while his pride swelled with the bruise on her cheek.

---

The last he had saved for when they were finally alone. But they never were.

As he cradled her deformed head in his arms, he counted all the other sins he would never make. Even if she had let him.

"I feel special," she had whispered.

He did not have time to close her eyes.

That last night, he dreamt that she still watched him. With that same sharp smile, she waited for him to pay for his sins.


rosegilmore

5 years ago

Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch - the children will never learn this in school
Ohhh, interesting. Do hope someone writes this one.
Katniss/Peeta - Survival

rollingplains

March 29 2012, 23:09:27 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 29 2012, 23:52:45 UTC

katniss/peeta, untitled, PG

It's not what I know I'll need to do that scares me. What really scares me is the chance that I might not be able to do it.

By the time he boards the stage on that first day, I've already decided that while I can't be above killing him if opportunity presents itself, I will resolve to do it as painlessly as I can.

I regret this almost immediately because I rifle through my mind for humane options and come up short. Sure, a well placed arrow kills a squirrel almost immediately, but the few times I've bagged a deer, there's been profuse bleeding, twitching, cries of pain.

Maybe he'd scream, and I'd run to him, holding his hand and stroking his hair, saying I'm sorry, so sorry (would I be?). And in my mind, he always looks at me with a sense of betrayal before he passes on. I trusted you...

That's just my own guilty conscience talking.

Why would he trust me anyway? He'll be trying to kill you too, I tell myself. But then I'm reminded that he saved my life once, and there were three lives on the line that time, not just one.

---------------------------------------------

"If it comes down to it, how will you kill me?" I ask him the night before. I don't know if I'm expecting an honest answer.

He answers immediately, like he's been thinking about it a lot himself. "In self-defense. They say you can't help it then."

I know what he means. When your mind knows it's over but your body says 'not so fast'. I've seen it before. But only in animals.

His voice breaks through my thoughts. "Besides, weren't you listening to my segment with Cesar?"

I consider this. "Yeah. I guess it won't win you a lot of sponsors if you kill the girl you've been secretly carrying a torch for."

He looks at me as if I'm dense. "Yes. That."

I'm annoyed, but I ignore it. "Let's just not be the final two, ok?"

"What if we can't help it?"

"I don't have all the answers, all right? We'll figure it out. You saved my life once so it wouldn't be fair-" He snorts at this point.

"Fair? Really? That's what you're worried about right now?"

I just talk over him. "-fair," I continue pointedly, "if I use that life to kill you. So let's not let it come to that."

He sighs. "Ok fine. If we're two of the three people left, I'll off myself."

"No!" That's not what I meant at all. "What if whoever's left kills me too? One of us ought to go back."

"And you will."

"Give yourself a chance, at least." I plead. "My life isn't worth more than yours."

"So when am I supposed to stop trying?"

I'm frustrated. "You're not!"

"Unless we're in danger of being the final two. I just promised you I wouldn't let it come to that."

"I changed my mind. Promise me you won't endanger your life to save mine." I demand.

He looks at me like I've gone insane. "I think my life will be endangered the second I step off the platform tomorrow."

"Fine." I hate that they've done this to us. Taken away all our choices and in their place, left options that really aren't options at all. "You're right. Go in it tomorrow and play to win. If you win, our district does too."

"You too." he says. "Don't play like you owe me."

---------

It crosses my mind later that he may have teamed up with the Careers so I wouldn't be afraid of doing what I had forced myself to visualize with every other tribute in the nights preceding. Except him.
Caesar Flickerman - Star crossed lovers
ain't no business like show business

He's got the measure of this boy; he hasn't been in this business forever only to come out stupid. And not very many of them make him genuinely laugh. Most of the time these days he's laughing to keep them from crying. It's harder every year.

But the confession...that stops him short. This is a kid who works a crowd, and who knows? This could just be the most ingenious play he's ever seen. But he knows Haymitch Abernathy; if that man was ever sober enough he might be this smart, but he's never sober enough. And the girl wasn't playing this angle - if it were him, he would have both of them telling this story, hitting all the demographics. But that bit about the girl's sister - that's golden too. Sympathy is something District 12 will not be short on this year.

As he watches their story unfold, he can tell the girl is faking it. Mostly. From the audience, he watches her put it together, that she needs to play the game to survive, but at the end? He's not sure if that's guts or heart and if it's treason or innocence. He figures there are a lot of people on the fence, so he steers his commentary towards innocence. Treason only leads down one road and he kind of likes these kids.

The way he holds her hand at the post-game interview, he knows it's real for the boy. The girl still looks terrified, overacts a couple of times, but she's holding onto him. There's hope that no one will believe any of it was an act.

But he watches the Victory Tour, and they're different. They play the parts but he's not convinced anymore. Something has happened, and even the boy (Peeta he reminds himself) seems a little too earnest.

When he has them on his show again, before the Quarter Quell, he tries his best, but this is not supposed to happen. He pushes their angle again, even though he knows they can't both win again. His charming words taste like ash in his mouth because he wasn't supposed to do this again. Not with these people.

When Peeta dies in the arena, for just a few moments, he sees beneath her hard outer shell, and he uses his hand to cover the little smile that spreads across his lips. Maybe it wasn't all for nothing.

wanderinghope

5 years ago

arysani

5 years ago

chimneysmoke

5 years ago

arysani

5 years ago

chimneysmoke

5 years ago

Seneca/Finnick We were living on borrowed time
Haymitch - AU, at the 75th Games instead of Peeta (or maybe even with Peeta, part of an AU in which every living victor must compete)
every living victor must compete THIS IS GENIUS.

deathmallow

5 years ago

deathmallow

5 years ago

phoebebeesly

5 years ago

deathmallow

5 years ago

phoebebeesly

5 years ago

deathmallow

5 years ago

victor!cato, an emptiness, a heaviness, a void
Oh. Oh. My poor Cato.

jada_jasmine

5 years ago

jada_jasmine

5 years ago

downbythebay_4

5 years ago

electrumqueen

5 years ago