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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cato/katniss, i struggle with the feeling that my life isn't mine

red_b_rackham

April 24 2012, 03:01:27 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  April 24 2012, 03:03:41 UTC

Ok, LJ is acting weird for me and will not let me post this dang fill, so I posted it at my LJ and here's the link:

Dead Already
gale/katniss, when you're tired of aiming your arrows still you'll never hit your mark
johana/gale, i took a car downtown and took what they offered me to set me free
haymitch/effie, be the cartoon heart
gale/madge, I fought in a war, and I didn't know where it would end, it stretched before me infinitely, I couldn't really think

worthwhyle

March 25 2012, 08:19:11 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 08:24:25 UTC

gale/madge | i think i'll miss you forever | post-mockingjay (slight au? fuck you suzanne collins)

When he sees her for the first time, it’s a hallucination like his more garden variety ghosts (prim, prim and his catnip, tough skin and darker hair). When he blinks, she’s already walking away, her hair the wrong color, darker, but her head cocked just so (she had bowed her head like that, as if in prayer, the morning he came with nothing but strawberries, gripping his hand like an anchor as she gingerly placed the money in his palm). He tastes ashes all afternoon.

-

When he sees her for the second time, he can’t close his eyes. If he does, he knows he won’t resist the memories of just how undeserving his desolation had made him (warm breath on his neck, skin against quivering flesh). Instead, he stares, memorizing the burns that mark her as different, as Not Madge. He knows the blood on his hands, and her name rests as heavily as the rest.

-

When he sees for the third time, it is not a favor of fortune. He scares her student out of the studio with the crashing opening of the door, but he is single minded as always. He has to know if this once he might have unknowingly done something right. And when his eyes meet hers, he knows. The skin puckers and shines, but her mouth bows in a terribly familiar shape (small but soft and warm and mercifully silent as he digs once more for solace), her fingers arch ever over the piano keys, graceful even in shock.

She rises to meet him, covering the angry red of her arm with a waiting sleeve as he grasps her face in his hands, studying every wound and mark as a reminder of all the ways he failed, even in this. But when she speaks, there is only warmth. A hospitality he doesn’t deserve as she offers him her piano bench, some weak tea, a tray of cookies. And when she runs out of niceties to say, all she has left is ‘You’re the first person to recognize me since we left.’ (he was the first person to recognize her loss, before, the space in her and the emptiness in him that drew them together like black holes of fear and loneliness and lust.)

It rings in the quiet room, sounding all at once bitter and desperate, but when he looks at her again, truly, not her damage, he sees not hurt but bleak honesty, etched in the new lines of her face. Her right eyelid droops but her left curves upward as always, and her gaze is unwavering. ‘You’re the first person I’ve seen, since we left’ and he knows he means it.

beethemonster

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

johanna/katniss, death is your gift
gale/madge, tell me your secrets and ask me your questions
gale/madge, nobody said it was easy, spoilers for catching fire/mockingjay

Madge is warned about boys like him, angry and armed and not nearly cautious enough. They orbit one another in a delicate truce, their friendship with Katniss a proxy for parlance and their meetings strictly matters of business. They trade forbidden fruit for a family’s survival and even the daughter of the mayor, sitting in the loveliest house in town, sees the injustice in that.

--

Gale keeps his promise and makes his deliveries, is taken aback when he arrives home to see his siblings enjoying the comfort of freshly baked bread. He doesn’t like the idea of being in the Mellarks’ debt, the loaves mocking his abilities to keep them all alive, but it’s his mother who tells him it was all the work of the Undersee girl. “Looked as scared to be here as those rabbits we cook,” Rory says. Gale does not admit that he is impressed, not until she shows up at his doorstep, wanting to hear more about his thoughts on tesserae and he thinks there's hope for her yet.

--

In the long days after Katniss enters the arena, the passing of coin and food between them becomes code, the sympathetic smiles and lingering touches messages to be deciphered. She thinks she should feel guilty when he leans in close and leaves her with something other than a simple goodbye, but she whispers familiar words against his cheek instead. “Go, before the Peacekeepers find you.” She doesn’t dare watch the lines of his retreating back when she can still feel the press of his lips, not even from her window where her safety is a luxury.

--

Gale buries the thought that when his fingers push away her dress, he wishes the fabric was coarser, the hair darker, the eyes not quite so bright. She kisses him hard, stealing away the chance to pant a name that isn’t hers, and they reach an understanding.

She never sings for him, but he listens to her play the piano and he convinces himself it’s the next best thing.

--

When Madge sneaks off to the Seam with a bottle of pills, her mother’s solemn words echo in her head: those grey eyes will be the death of you. She thinks of Katniss and Peeta, the widowed Mrs. Everdeen, her aunt she never knew. Madge keeps running; they’re all on borrowed time and she might as well make use of hers.

--

In the belly of District 2, long after the war has ended, Gale remembers this: Katniss was the Girl on Fire, but Panem’s revolution burned Madge too.

beethemonster

4 years ago

thewindwarns

4 years ago

jada_jasmine

4 years ago

thewindwarns

4 years ago

enobaria, there goes the fear
enobaria | brave | some spoilers for mockingjay if you don't know enobaria's back story


There is no time for fear (fear is a useless emotion, like guilt, it only succeeds in unpleasant thoughts).

Enobaria knows what she's been taught (huntfightkillwin) and she knows the rules (there can only be one winner, only one). She's still a little undecided on if she wants to be that one. Not that she'd ever admit it.

She has her alliance for now (Careers always go together whether you like it or not) and she feels strong. Not quite invincible but just brave enough that no one can tell if she briefly falters. She's good at covering up, at covering her tracks, always had been (but not without practice).

Only eight of them are left and no cannons have been fired for a full day now. Excluding them from 1 and 2, there's only the boy from 5, the girl from 8, and both from 10 lingering around. She's growing restless; her fingers itching, aching for them to do something other than grip the knife she nabbed on the first day in the arena. She may not be the boldest of her fellow Career kids (or the quickest or the friendliest) but she's easily the smartest and she can tell something is up with the non-Career tributes.

Part of her thinks she should voice her suspicions but every time she gets close to doing it (the words spin around in her mouth so patiently) she stops herself, throws out some other less helpful sentence. She doesn't know exactly why she does this. The decision could ultimately mean her death or her victory, but she doesn't care. She's still not unsure if she's worthy of being that one with the victory.

It is dusk when there's a rustling heard. All four freeze then quickly and quietly prepare, sparing each other a smirk in the process. The boys jump at the prospect of another kill, especially one brought right to them, half the work's done already.

She holds her knife steady; it feels light in her hand, while they slowly spread out in wait.

It is the boy from 5 who comes out of hiding first. He lunges forward at the boys with a sword in hand. There is blood and sweat and laughter until finally there is a shout then silence. They are still victorious.

The girl from 10 and the girl from 8 slide out from the shadows behind her and her female ally from 1 (they aren't friends, no time for friends in a game like this). The girl from 8 is quick, so very quick, and not without struggle, her ally's neck is snapped. It only causes Enobaria to grip her knife tighter. The girl from 10 makes a move towards her, hoping to catch her off-guard, but she throws her knife (possibly a stupid move) and it lands right at this girl's throat. The blood lands on her, dark and sticky, but a sign she has done something.

Now it is two against three.

Behind her, she can hear the boys fighting the boy from 10 but can't tell who is winning (there is so much shouting her ears are ringing). She stares down the girl from 8, who smirks viciously at her, and refuses to let herself falter this time (she is bravebravebrave).

She misses the weight of the knife in her hand.

With or without a knife, she can still tackle pretty well. The District 8 girl screams and thrashes but the struggle is exhilarating. She can feel her whole body drumming with adrenaline. More blood is splattered against her skin and more shouting ringing in her ears. She kills her fairly quickly by smashing her head against a rock.

sweetbitter

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

primrose/rory, let this be our little secret
NOT FAIR ;___;

jada_jasmine

4 years ago

electrumqueen

4 years ago

jada_jasmine

4 years ago

Cato/Clove, drunk the night before going into the Arena
Cato/Clove, You Do By Choice. PG-13ish. 1/2

(Note: Title is from a W. Clement Stone quote, and is not mine. Nor, rather obviously, is The Hunger Games series or anything you recognize from it!)

+ + + + +


"Who first?" He asks halfway through his second glass.

"Hmm?" She says, turning away from the window. When they'd arrived here, she'd expected to feel something, to drink up the roar of the crowd and know she had arrived. But the truth, of course, is that this isn't where she's been going.

"Who first? When we get there," he says.

"Oh, I don't know," she says lazily, watching lamplight filter through the Capital brandy. It had been an unspoken agreement when Cato had casually broken the lock on the liquor cabinet—they were going to drink the good stuff. It burns a little when she swallows, but it's the kind of burn she can relish, can roll across her tongue. "The big one from 11, maybe, the one who thinks he's the strong, silent type. He'd be a fun kill."

There's a pause as she considers it; surely he'll stay for the first blood bath, surely he won't be able to resist. She'll have a knife within twenty steps, maybe even a halfway decent one, and he'll provide a practically unmissable target. She can close her eyes and picture it. The broad expanse between his shoulder blades, tensed as he prepares for battle, all his strength useless in the end.

"Are you going to ask me?" Cato says. She laughs, and holds her glass out for a refill.

"You haven't exactly been subtle," she reminds him. "It'll be the girl from 12. The girl on fire."

She isn't sure who she's taunting, the girl or him, but he's the one who's here to sneer.

"Jealous?" He asks. "Everyone loves her you know, not just her pathetic little puppy, that moon-eyed baker. Everyone."

"Oh really?" She asks, curling her mouth upwards. She's thinking of hours spent on the mats, of hitting bullseye after bullseye long after her classmates had fallen into their beds. She's thinking of the first time she sparred with Cato, his arm against her throat and her knife just beneath his ribs. She's thinking of her very first tutor, lithe and white-haired, who'd told her there was only one thing she couldn't teach.

"You have it, or you don't," she'd said, her voice paper thin. "It is easier, of course, in the heat of battle. When a human being is lying on the ground in front of you, weapon knocked away, arm broken, ribs fractured, eyes wide open, when a human being is terrified of you and of what comes after you, when a human being is begging you not to rob them of the only thing they have left, what will you do? What will you feel?"

"I don't know," Clove had said, staring straight ahead.

"If you are weak, you will feel their fear," she had said. "You will feel their fear and you will hesitate, and you will be forgotten. A dab of ink, maybe, in the history books. A nothing, nothing to your family and nothing to your district and nothing to the world. They will all stop watching."

and_backagain

4 years ago

azelmaroark

4 years ago

glasslights

4 years ago

miss_mishi

4 years ago

peeta, katniss, gale: catching fire, I heard the cold wind say ‘you’re a fool to stay’ but I did, I did
older!prim/gale, like pink cheeks, like this, then that,
like a dragonfly wing in the sun reflecting
the color of opals, like all the hours
we leave behind,
older!prim/gale, wash her away, pgish

The day after the Games end, Prim cuts her hair.

Gale only knows this because he comes over, keeping his promise, taking care of them, even though that house hurts now, still full of echoes and scent and sensations of her, hiding in the corners, drowned out by the lingering sounds of the screaming that began, loud and piercing and shrill, bringing him in from where he'd been wandering around, afraid to go in, afraid to stay away, because it was down to three, it was down to that Career boy, to the baker and to her.

By the time he pushed the door open, the two tributes from District 12 were dead with berry juice still staining their lips and Prim was screaming and screaming like she'd never stop.

But when he finds her the day after, with a golden braid in each hand, with wisps of what's left framing her small, tear-streaked, pale, pale face, she isn't screaming. She isn't even crying anymore. She just looks up at him and says, in a voice soft and sweet and the exact opposite of her sister's -- "Katniss taught me to braid my hair."

//

They never speak that name again.

//

Hair grows back, and the first time Gale kisses her, it's soft and shining and just above her waist, a waist that he can span with his hands, a waist that he used to hug her around, used to toss her up and hold her on his shoulders, giggling and pointing at everything, at her goat in it's pen, at the cakes in the bakery window, at the little yellow flowers -- Look, Gale, look, it's me! -- on the bush by her door.

Gale doesn't remember when he stopped lifting her up to tickle and tease and started lifting her up to kiss and hold. He can't even recall when she stopped being her sister, stopped being his responsibility and task and burden to care for, and became someone else, became just Prim, just a sweet sweet golden girl, soft pink cheeks and big bright eyes, long hair always always loose and framing her face when she smiles at him. Gale doesn't remember when he stopped remembering her sister while kissing her.

And some nights, when the almost-woman gives way to the little girl again, when Prim shudders and whines and sobs into her pillow and into his chest and moans the name that echoes inside him with every heartbeat, Gale realizes that he never really stopped remembering. And neither did she.

And they never will.

stinabug87

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

cato/clove; baby doll i recognize you're a hideous thing inside
Ooh, I love this prompt.

glasslights

4 years ago

lyrics_soul

4 years ago

yueni

4 years ago

downbythebay_4

4 years ago

peeta/katniss, our lovers sculpt us, they define us, for better or worse
Any of the careers, but i'm not betting on the afterlife
He’s picked, of course he’s picked, this is something he’s worked for, waited for, his entire life. He’s picked and as his name is read out, as he saunters to the stage, all arrogance and pride and strength, he imagines himself on the stage with the victor’s crown on his head.

(He should have known things never work out the way you plan, but he’s young and he’s good and this is what he was built for, so the thought never comes)

The Capitol loves him; loves the smirks and twisted grins, the obvious strength, the drive to win. But they love the District 12 tributes too, and he hates them, the simpering lover boy and the idiotic twirling girl. She’ll be the first to go, he thinks, he’d like to see the look on lover boy’s face when she dies.

But she isn’t; he hears a knife and looks up, ready to yell, ready to show the world that she is his kill, but she’s already melting into the brush, but lover boy’s still around, and this, he thinks, he can use.

Lover boy runs his course soon enough, and his sword flashes in the light, and he hopes the cameras are zooming in as the blood bubbles and spills, as lover boy’s gasping and trying to crawl away, as he’s laughing.

And then there were six, he thinks, and he’s ready, ready for this to be over, ready to win. But then that District 11 giant has Clove dangling in the air, and she’s choking out his name, and he’s already running over, but it’s too late, it’s too late for her. Not too late for him, and then he’s off and chasing the giant, thinking that this, at least, he can do for her. He doesn’t think about the angle this is tossing the Gamemakers, doesn’t think that people are whispering about how he and Clove were the true star-crossed lovers. He doesn’t think at all, and that’s why he comes out on top.

He’s waiting for them when they come, these remaining two, these airheads who’ve managed to stumble their way to the final three. And he’s got lover boy’s head in his grasp, and he’s thinking finally. He gets to kill them both, and District 12 doesn’t get a victor. He gets to go home instead, crown in hand, the way he was meant to.

But lover boy’s still gasping out breaths, and twirling girl’s got her bow cocked and loaded, and he’s aware of how fragile this is, how powerless strength can be. The mutts are biting at the air, and he can see bloodlust in their eyes and the one closest to him looks like Clove, teeth flashing like knives, like swords in the darkness.

The arrow’s flying before he even knows what’s happening, and he shouts, releasing lover boy, and tripping over the edge. He falls, and it feels like an hour, like a year, like a century, and the mutts’ breath is hot on his skin and he thinks this must be what nightmares feel like.

But then there are teeth sinking into his flesh, and his strength can do nothing for him here, he’s shouting himself raw, and it feels like forever before the last arrow finds its way to his throat. And then darkness, and it’s almost comforting, to be done, to be finished, and he imagines the boom of the canon, his face flashing on the sky, wonders if the audience is lamenting his death (he knows they aren’t, knows they’re breathless, beside themselves at this, the best show they’ve gotten in years). And then darkness, and it’s done, it’s finished.

thewindwarns

4 years ago

thereprieve

4 years ago

gale, peeta, katniss (or gale/peeta/katniss), venn diagram
So happy you came around to play!

sybaryte

4 years ago

sybaryte

4 years ago

electrumqueen

4 years ago

sybaryte

4 years ago

rosegilmore

4 years ago

Cato/Clove, our blood tastes the same
The first time she sees him all she can think of is how different they are. He’s cocky and arrogant, the center of attention, and she’s still the girl in the shadows. She watches him, because everyone watches him. And yet the more she watches the more she’s intrigued by this self-assured boy who is really still too young to die.

They end up training together at one point, him still the center of the attention, his sword cutting gleaming arcs through the air above his head, and her in the corner throwing knife after knife into the center of a target, until the fabric is torn away but she just continues to throw.

They get put in the same training sessions more and more and she’s sure that if he’s noticed her, it’s only in passing as “that girl with the knives”. She watches him though, the way that his laugh will right out across the wide room as he slices the heads of plastic dummies, the way the other boys look at him with jealousy in their eyes, the way that his mouth curves up at the edge when he catches them looking. But she also notices the way sometimes he will just stare off into the air before he realizes what he’s doing, how he opts out of the small amount of time they’re permitted with friends, how he too prefers solitude.

Late one night she comes across him sitting in a hallway, her hallway in fact, his head in his hands. She's not surprised to see him there because by now she thinks she has him more figured than out than he has himself. She sits down next to him and he doesn’t lift his head, just mumbles something into his hands. She doesn’t respond, just continues to sit there next to him, staring at the wall across from them.

“I said go away”, he bites out, finally raising his head to look at her. When she turns she can see the tear tracks on his face and the hatred in his eyes.

“No”, she says. And he just stares at her as she wonder when the last time someone refused him was.

“We’re more similar than you might think”, she says as she stands up to walk away. “You’ll see.”

A year later her name is called out and no one else dares try and take her spot because by now she has earned her reputation as the girl with the deadly knives. He volunteers, his voice steady and sure, cutting through the silence after the original name was drawn.

He meets her eyes as they shake hands and that hatred is still there, just beyond the firm conviction that this is where he is supposed to be. She just grins at him.

century_fox

4 years ago

blue_boxes

4 years ago

century_fox

4 years ago

red_b_rackham

4 years ago

Johanna/Finnick, i think i'm losing where you end and i begin
Katniss, i must become a lion-hearted girl

fujiidom

March 24 2012, 21:16:38 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 21:23:02 UTC

raise it up; katniss - pg



On her second day back, she stops putting it off, once and for all.

She gathers up what flowers she can find along the district boundary and at the edge of the woods. Her bouquet is mostly green and full of a few too many weeds for anything traditionally considered pretty, but she found enough lambkill bundles to make it look respectable. Its abundance only thanks to the wildlife’s inability to eat away at it like the rest of the flora left in the area.

It’s been years since she’s followed the path cut along the edge of her town, worn away into a mud and exposed gravel by a new set of doomed footprints. She’s taken her time with collecting the flowers so that by the time she gets to the mine, everyone will be busied by their business below ground and won’t bother her with unwelcome looks of pity or remorse.

The entrance is smaller than she remembers. She can reach the top of the stone arch with her toes pushing her upward. She’s not really thought about what she wants to do, short of leaving the flowers, so she cuts to the chase and tucks them in between the heavy stones outlying the top of the cut out doorway. They look out of place, she knows, like mistletoe hanging on a ceiling in the start of spring.

But they belong there, something in her insists, they belong here. His real grave. Not the silly piece of fieldstone they placed on the outskirts of town along with several dozen others (the number seems to get greater and greater, every year).

She kneels, suddenly, as though she’s lost her balance and rolled an ankle. It feels instinctual and necessary, for her to finally pay her respects as an adult and to forgive him for leaving her alone, to apologize for not coming sooner. The thoughts all die before making it out of her lips, however, and she’s left crouching awkwardly at the entrance.

She’s about to get back up but just as she’s raising her arm, her balance shifts and she catches the stone to steady herself. Once she’s got a hand on it, though, her grip treats it like it’s a shoulder or a shirt sleeve. If the limestone were sharper, she’s sure she’d be scraping her hand raw. But she doesn’t let go and if anything she grasps the rocks harder.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks out. Her joints feel locked up with grief, but it’s still somewhat surprising to feel her eyes brim with tears. It feels as though if she kept trying to keep her face a frozen in place, her arm would stop shaking and she could walk away without letting it overcome her. She has killed people with less mental focus than she has right now, her eyes picking up every crack in the rock and every shudder that makes it down along her forearm.

“I miss you. I wish you’d made it out.” Her head finally falls down under the strain of her neck to keep her posture stark straight and just like that she’s unable to fight the sobs any longer. “Why am I here if you’re not, huh? What gives you the right not to survive? What choice does that leave me? What choice does-- ” her voice cracks and is drowned out as the sobs rack her shoulders. She pounds her fist against the stone again and again. If it hurts, she doesn’t feel the pain.

She’s squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that she can’t see, but she puts three fingers against her trembling lips and throws her free hand up in the air.

“I’M SORRY,” she screams out loud enough that it echoes back against the stone walls beside her. “I’M SORRY, I’M ALIVE, I’M SORRY-- I’M ALIVE AND YOU’RE NOT.”

It takes only a few days for the cuts and bruises on her hand to heal, but it feels like its been decades in the making.

dominant_spoon

4 years ago

satine_59

4 years ago

insideways

4 years ago

annie/finnick. when love is not madness, it is not love.

forgetregret009

March 24 2012, 19:28:29 UTC 4 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 19:33:02 UTC

Peeta/Katniss - (Young Katniss/Peeta) The first time Katniss saw Peeta.
cato/clove, cato and clove are the last two standing, and cato has to kill her
He twists lover boy’s head, jamming his sword underneath his ribs for good measure, and Clove’s working away on the twirling girl with a knife. She doesn’t scream, and he’s disappointed, knows Clove is too. I’d give the audience a good show, she had told him, and she is, but twirling girl isn’t holding up her end of the bargain. Simpering bitch.

And then they’re dead, and the canon booms twice and they look at each other, smiling, already feeling the weight of the crowns on their heads. But then a smarmy voice comes on and tells them that the rule was a fraud, that there can only be one victor, and then there’s only silence.

Clove’s tossing knives into the silence, shattering it, cracking it, and she’s got a wild, feral look in her eyes. She’s scared, he realizes, and he presses forward, sword swinging, and his heart is beating so fast he can hear it. I must be too, he thinks, but dismisses the thought; he can’t be scared, he’s never been scared, this is blood lust, battle lust, and that is that.

But Clove’s out of knives and she’s looking up at him with big eyes, and her mouth is open, and she’s pleading, he thinks, or maybe just throwing more insults at him while she’s still sucking air, but he doesn’t know, can’t hear her over the pounding in his ears. He raises his sword and pauses, gives the cameras a moment to focus, gives the audience a moment to choke back screams and bite down on their hands. I’d give the audience a good show, she had told him, and she is, but so is he, and she had never counted on that.

He’s still pausing, and she’s still staring up at him, and her teeth flash, and he remembers how they felt at his throat back home, back in their rooms, like she was already in the Games, and then he’s moving, he’s bringing the sword down, and her blood is red, so red, as it leaks out and stains the ground at their feet. He will miss her, he thinks, if she ever crosses his mind again.

But it’s over, and the anthem is playing, and he’s raising the sword above his head, grinning for the cameras, for the country. I won, he thinks as the hovercraft bears down on him, the ladder dangling and he climbs up one-handed, still clutching the sword that’s dripping Clove’s blood, like it’s something he can’t let go of, like it’s a piece of her still.

His eyes close when Snow places the crown on his head, and the crowd yells and screams and cheers, the sounds rising and falling all around him. And this, he thinks, is what he was built for.

dempsie

4 years ago

mind_conundrum

4 years ago

azelmaroark

4 years ago

dempsie

4 years ago

wanderinghope

4 years ago

annie/gale, there's the man i'm used to and then there's you
gale/annie, "the sweetest sadness in your eyes", mild Mockingjay spoilers

He checks on her every day.

Early each evening, on his way home at the end of his work day, he comes to the little house she keeps with her son, knocks on the door, and waits for her to invite him in. He's never empty-handed, always carrying a peppermint in his pocket that her son and often carrying something else just for her. A skein of yarn, a basket of perfectly ripe berries, a few yards of cotton cloth with a pattern suitable for a little boy. Practical things, always, for Gale isn't the sort for frivolous gifts.

(Finnick used to check on her each day, too. He would barge into the house like he owned the place - like he knew that he was welcome, that he belonged - kiss her on the cheek, and make himself comfortable. He brought her gifts as well, pretty things. A clutch of deep purple flowers, a book of poetry, a particularly pretty shard of sea glass.)

While they both know why he's here. Everyone is terrified that Annie is going to go "mad" again, that she will fall to pieces and go back to live in that shadowy, unreachable place where she spent so much of the last ten years. But Gale is discreet, offering plausible if flimsy excuses for his presence, her son being the one he uses most often.

(Finnick's son. The son he never saw. The son that he would have loved even more than he loved her.)

She isn't sure when it starts to change between them, but one evening in early summer, when the sun has fallen beneath the horizon and the stars are beginning to prick the sky with light, she wonders where he is. He checks on her every day, every day, and his failure to appear makes her worry.

Sitting at the kitchen table, watching her son play in the floor with a collection of sand-smoothed stones and shells gifted to him by various friends, she wonders when she began to worry about Gale.

(She always worried about Finnick. She knew what he knew, had lived what he lived. They shared nightmares, and she always worried that he was going to let them pull him under the way that she did.)

The tears that spring into her eyes when he knocks on the door - three quick, sharp raps, always, so she knows that it's him - are absurd, she knows, but she doesn't try to blink them away before she opens the door.

"What's wrong?" he asks when he sees her face.

Annie shakes her head and takes the paper bag he's holding, inhaling the yeasty sweet scent of the bread inside. "Nothing."

(Finnick never asked. Finnick knew - Finnick always knew - what was wrong. Wordlessly, he would take her into his arms, holding her against his chest where she could hear his heartbeat, breathe in the scent of his skin, feel warm and safe and loved.)

She watches Gale give her son the peppermint in his pocket, watches the little boy blink his pretty green eyes before running to his bedroom to deposit the sweet in the little box on his dresser where he saves the candies for later. Gale is smiling after him, standing casually with his hands in his pockets when Annie crosses the room and wraps her arms around him.

His arms come around her, holding her close against him. "Annie," he murmurs, not saying anything else when she shakes her head, her cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

She can hear his heart beating in his chest, breathes in his scent, surprisingly familiar though she's never taken notice of how he smells of wood smoke and soap. He strokes his hand over her hair, whispering her name again, and she closes her eyes against the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks.

beethemonster

4 years ago

nicalyse

4 years ago

opportunistice

4 years ago

nicalyse

4 years ago

Gale/Katniss, she's harmful and hateful and foolish, i'll love her the rest of my life
cato/clove - i'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side
MINE. expect it in a bit. ALL THE CLATO PROMPTS!!!!

devils_spoke

4 years ago

mysticandsevere

4 years ago

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