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

[ ficathon ] the girl on fire

Tags: book: hunger games trilogy, ficathon!
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March 24 2012, 19:28:29 UTC 6 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.


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 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.


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 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!!!!


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago

cato/glimmer, at once i knew, i was not magnificent
not this story

Glimmer is going to die.

She realizes this the moment she takes the time to watch the Reapings. The moment she sees Katniss Everdeen. Katniss is everything that Glimmer is not, she's an underdog. Katniss is beautiful, but doesn't know it. Katniss is deadly, but doesn't like it. Katniss is the heroine of this story. Everyone heroine needs a hero, her partner is both charming and average at the same time.

Glimmer tries to tell Cato this. When he kisses her, she kisses him back and tells him with her hands on his skin. Your time is ticking down angled, broken thing. Your training is a waste, a weakness. Your hatred, now a flaw. He doesn't see it. Can't see it or it wouldn't be much of a story.

She wanted that once. A sweet boy. A bread boy. A hero. But she doesn't get one, because this isn't her story. No, this is Katniss Everdeen's story which means Glimmer is a villian. Has to be. She laughs at death. She kills for sport more than necessity. She loves a boy made out of pride and hatred all twisted up into a human form.

They were made, formed, tortured into weapons. Glimmer's waited her whole life to kill people, been told her whole life it's an honor to do so. Glimmer always thought she could still make it though, everyone wants to be special. She really thought she could do it. But there's no glory in murder and Glimmer doesn't have a cause to fight for. She's a blade with no purpose, a gun with no one to aim her.

So she pulls Cato close with blood on her hands and laughs into his mouth. So she waits for death. Because it isn't her story, never was, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy it while she's still got a part to play.


6 years ago


6 years ago

Katniss/Thresh, words are very unnecessary
cato/clove, the sharp knife of a short life
put on your best, boys, cato/clove, pg-13 (perhaps a tiny bit higher), 1/2

Clove is something of a disappointment.

He knows her, of course. She makes it a bit difficult not to.

She’s his favourite of the girls to tease, because she always snaps right back at him; he’s never known her to miss a single beat. She can always make him laugh.

But he thinks of Clove in future tense. One day, she’ll volunteer and take the Games by storm. One day, that little smirk of hers will turn into something that’ll scare boys and draw them to her all at once. One day, the freckles on her cheeks will be covered with makeup and her braids will be brushed out of her hair, and the Capitol will think she’s beautiful. One day, she’ll return home to Two, a newly crowned Victor, and he will be there waiting to tease, seriously, Clo, was that the best you could do?

One day.

Not now. Not now, he thinks, as she volunteers and walks up on the stage to take her place at his side.


She’s four years too early and he tells her as much, twists her arm behind her in the hallway between cars on the train that’s rushing toward the Capitol. She goes rigid but she doesn’t cry out.

“This is a joke,” he says, more petulantly than he means to. “I could kill you right now.”

She jerks her other arm back, her impossibly sharp elbow colliding with his groin, and she spins out of his hold like a parody of a ballerina.

When she pats his cheek, the touch is vicious. “Save it for the cameras, Cato.”


The thing is –

The thing is, he’s not so sure that he wants to.


He’s had enough training throughout his life, so he can afford to he amuse himself prior to the Games with flirting and showing off; the girl from One is beautiful and the boy from Eleven needs to notice that he’s not the only strong one.

But at night, he dreams about Clove.

He dreams about her skin, covered in blood instead of summer freckles. He dreams about her bright, narrowed eyes, always on alert. He images the life draining out of her.

He wakes up sweaty and unsure.


Ladies first, as always, so he watches her go on stage to greet Caesar Flickerman first.

Her dress is pink, the shade that comes before red, and it makes him think of innocence. She is beautiful. The freckles are charming instead of childish, her laugh is breathy instead of sharp. She looks young and sparkling, on the verge of everything.

One day, he thinks, and then he remembers that those days are gone.



6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago

gale/johanna, a kiss with a fist is better than none
(ahh i made a prompt for a different ship with the same lyric before i saw this, haha sorry)
gale/katniss, there's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever
She doesn’t love Gale.

Doesn’t, but tries to anyway, tries to see herself loving Gale. She always come up empty and it’s better, she thinks, better that way. Gale doesn’t agree, but he keeps his mouth shut, and she thanks him for that, at least. But she can tell, can see it in the way his jaw clenches when he looks at her, the way his hands start to reach for her before stopping.

It’s not because of Peeta, she wants to say, wants to say before he does something rash and stupid and Gale. And it’s not. It’s not Peeta; it’s him. But she knows him, knows he will never understand that, and she keeps her mouth shut, sick of stepping over broken things.


They’re in the woods when he says something, and a part of her wants to slap him, wants to be relieved at getting it over with. “Is it real?” he asks quietly, standing over her, holding her bow just out of her reach. She fights it, wants to run, but doesn’t, stands her ground and, on tiptoes, reaches up and plucks her bow from his hands.

“Yes,” she says, because it’s true and she doesn’t want to hurt him, because it’s false and she doesn’t want to hurt him.

She leaves before he can say anything, her footsteps melting away into the fallen leaves.


“Why?” he asks finally, standing over her again and she’s getting tired of this, getting tired of getting trapped.

“I don’t know,” she snaps and turns to leave, but his hand is on her arm and she glares at it until he moves back, and she thinks she saw something like desperation in those eyes of his. Because he’s an anchor, she wants to tell him, and you’re a sinking stone. Because he feels like hope, and you feel like revolution. Wants to say, but doesn’t, says instead, “he was there with me, Gale” and her voice is quiet, quieter than he’s ever heard it, and he’s letting go, he’s stepping back, and he’s disappearing.

It’s better this way.


6 years ago


6 years ago

gale/johanna, packed up all my things and all my love and gave it to somebody else
primrose/rory, it's safe behind these stones and ridges, you know how us healin' victims are
gale/katniss, hope you didn't burn too many bridges on your way back to haunt my heart
cato/katniss, the space is drawn too wide between your world and mine
I need this so much omfg


6 years ago

finnick/johanna, this place where old flames aren't allowed