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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cato/clove, and our bruises are coming but we will never fold and i was your silver lining


March 26 2012, 20:00:55 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 26 2012, 20:01:15 UTC

your hands can heal, your hands can bruise, cato/clove, pg-13, 1/2

She’s never been one for attachment.

Her relationship with her mother can be described as shaky, at best; her mother is dark-haired and dark-eyed and fair-skinned, and there’s an unspoken expectation that Clove will turn out the same way.

She doesn’t. Her hair is dark but never properly brushed, her skin is pale but littered with the freckles that haven’t occurred in her family for two generations, and she shares none of her mother’s sweet disposition.

Clove takes after her father instead, drawn to the shivery feeling she gets to the sight of her blood when she falls and scrapes her knee. Her father was a Victor, her mother was his prize, and she emerges as a messy mix of them both, with the same stiff-set jaw as her father and a touch of uncontained, impulsive brutality that most people attribute to her gender.


She doesn’t get along with the girls at school.

She spends her days staring out the windows, daydreaming, squashing insects between her palms and then pulling them apart, studying the remnants of a terminated life.


She doesn’t get along with anyone, really.

Not until Cato.


Her mother used to try to entice her with ideas of love.

She would talk about her courtship with Clove’s father, her eyes bright, her voice upbeat. She would sew dresses. She would smear sticky goo over Clove’s lips to make them noticeable, and Clove hated it, it was the colour of blood with the taste of something poisonous.

Her mother liked to talk about ideals. She liked to use phrases like kindred spirits.

Cato isn’t what her mother meant, but he is what Clove finds.


She becomes aware of her own heart.

The way it races when she runs. The way it pounds when she ducks easily away from a well-thrown spear. The way it jumps, startling her, when Cato hoots and laughs over his success. The way her pulse exists beneath her skin when she is cut with the dull weapons they use at the Academy. The way it propels her hands.

Her heart teaches her about longing.


She counts the scars she doles out.

“Twelve!” she shrieks when that’s her age, fleeing from Cato and his bleeding wrist as he comes after her, seeking vengeance.

It’s nineteen! when she’s thirteen, breathless and standing above him, proud of having caught him by surprise.

And, “Twenty-seven!” when she’s fourteen, cartwheeling triumphantly over one of the thin mats that line the floor, her hair flying out of its loose braid.


(My turn, he says, the night before their Reaping. It is dark and they are alone and she can’t quite measure her fear.

The buttons on her dress come undone first, his fingertips brushing over the lines of her collarbone, through the valley of her budding breasts, down her torso toward her navel. He pushes the sleeves off of her shoulders next; the dress pools at her waist and after that it’s a simple push of it over her barely-there hips, and it slides to the floor, leaving her bare.

She is still as he counts the scars he’s given her, first with his fingers and then with his mouth. She sees herself, naked, in his eyes.

“Twenty-six,” he says at last, his voice low enough to make her shiver. “Guess I owe you one.”

Clove trembles, but she is unafraid, even when his large hand curls around her throat right before he kisses her.)


It’s his favourite part of her body, the column of her neck and the dip between her bones at the base of her throat. He touches her there sometimes, absently, and her stomach twists, deep and low.

She’s glad that her stylists in the Capitol put her in clothes that leave that part of her skin bared.



6 years ago


6 years ago

gale/katniss, i never felt so wicked as when i willed our love to die
gale/katniss, i never felt so wicked as when i willed our love to die

He didn’t tell her. He didn’t want to wreck what they had. Didn’t want to change their dynamic, to take that smile (her real one, the one for him, for the woods) from her face (because he knew her stance on love and family and children and he used to agree until the one he was loving was her), to change a single thing.

When she screamed for Prim and volunteered in her place, he knew he should’ve told her.


He wants her to come back, of course he does. He feels like there’s something huge missing when she’s not there, something is wrong and nothing he does can tear him away from the fact that he fell in love with his best friend and she’s going to die.

He believes in her, believes she can survive – she’s amazing and skilled and smart. But this is the Games and he’s seen them for 18 years and he knows the odds are in no one’s favor.

Somehow he thinks it’s less painful to just think of her as gone already.


Late at night when he’s wide awake, inevitably unable to think of anything but her fighting and hiding and dying, he wonders if it makes him a horrible person to wish he’d never loved her at all. Surely it wouldn’t hurt this bad if he’d never cared.


It might’ve been easier without the looks he gets from people, from friends, from family. The ones who are used to seeing Gale and Katniss, Katniss and Gale, and now there’s only Gale. And Katniss is kissing Mellark and everyone just assumes – has assumed for years – that Gale and Katniss were together, and in love with each other, and he just can’t bring himself to say, No, just me.

He rushes to the forest, to their spot and there’s too much emotion, overwhelming and crushing and suffocating and he’s never wished harder for everything to just be different. He’s punching a tree so hard his knuckles bruise and bleed and scream and it’s a different kind of pain that can take him away from thoughts of her.

And here he thinks that maybe it’s a good thing she’s never coming back. He doesn’t know how to deal with them – Gale and Katniss, Katniss and Gale – if she does.


When it’s over, when they’ve won, when they’ve bent the rules and impossibly triumphed, and she’s standing on the train platform holding Mellark’s hand and smiling.

He wishes he could still tell if it was her real smile or not.


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago

katniss/peeta, breathe out so i can breathe you in
gale/madge, tell me lies and i'll justify them
enobaria or johanna, no guts no glory
johanna, skin of the night

Johanna Mason parted the thick branches she was perched precariously behind. The moonlight illuminated the ground below her - by she guessed was about 10 feet – while the creatures of the night provided the soundtrack. Her arm ebbed with a slight pain. Probably from the knife that the boy from 10 launched into her with his dying breath. It didn’t save him though and he died just as quickly as the rest.

She could hear them now; they were coming closer, walking through a clearing lined with forest green. It was the boy from 2 and the girl from 9 if she was remembering correctly. Yes, she was sure of it. There were only six of them left (counting herself) and these two were the last standing alliance in the bunch. They had formed it on the first day of training. Well, it was less of an alliance and more so he had promised not to kill her himself if she let him fuck her. From the way he was quickly ripping the flimsy cloth off of her body and dragging her to the ground, it looked like it was time to collect.

Johanna rolled her eyes at the twosome as the guttural sounds became louder underneath her. It wouldn’t be too long now. Men never lasted too long. She used to hear her parents make such noises all the time, unbeknownst to them. She was always a very inquisitive child. She wasn’t bothered by the same things other people were, even going as far to be intrigued by them. Once, when she was back home, she timed her father. Measuring the loud grunts and the deep breaths he took before she no longer hear them. He never lasted more than three minutes.

She knew they couldn’t see her, even if they weren’t preoccupied. She had become one with the trees, just like when she was home at 7. The climb taught her to use her speed. The axe that brought them down gave her strength. And the fall taught her to use her judgment.

The sound of the girl’s scream and the cannon blast that followed quickly jolted her from her homesick thoughts. The boy stood over her smirking, so obviously proud of his kill. There was a high from killing. Most people shied away from it. But most people also wouldn’t laugh manically after snapping someone’s neck.

He didn’t see her when she placed her footballs softly on the grassy terrain below her, the leaves mollifying her steps. Nor did he hear her as she steadily snuck up behind him.

Johanna hit him with the blunt end of her axe. He fell onto his knees quickly, turning around and backing up to get away from her. He searched for a weapon on his person, cursing when he realized that they were in the pants he had causally thrown aside. She sneered watching his eyes open in surprise. Surprise that his end was going to come from the small wide-eyed girl from 7 he tried to fuck up a wall before the training coordinator caught him.

She brought her axe down on him, before he had a chance to open his mouth and pathetically plead for his life, the weight pulling her body down with it. She laughed as blood splattered onto her face, laughed to keep from crying. Most people undoubtedly thought she was losing her sanity throughout all of this. When in actuality she was fighting to keep it. Johanna knew he was dead from the first strike. But she couldn’t stop; she was way too far-gone. She had to think of home. She had to do this. She had to kill all of them, until she was sure they wouldn’t come back and kill her.

Her mother always told her the same thing every year they watched the Games together on their small television, which was well beyond its years, at home in 7. Where the comforting smell of pine and tree bark assaulted her senses.

“No one ever wins these things by playing nice, Jojo. No guts, no glory.”


6 years ago


March 25 2012, 16:12:38 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 16:13:13 UTC

johanna/gale, but my heartache's in me till this day
glimmer/any, drive me crazy au.


6 years ago

katniss/gale, like a ghost the one i love most disappears when i get near
this is coming soon! and about 80 of your other unfilled gale/katniss prompts, if i can get myself together
Pairing: Katniss/Peeta
Prompt: Shared kisses in the nights leading up to the Quarter Quell. These aren't for the show...
Pairing: Peeta, Peeta/Katniss
Prompt: Peeta's thoughts when he gave Katniss the burnt bread
Pairing: Peeta/Katniss
Prompt: Katniss secretly dreams of marrying Peeta in the usual manner of District 12. Complete with the toasting of bread...
Pairing: Peeta/Katniss
Prompt: A shared kiss on the rooftop during their picnic, changes Katniss' feelings forever
Gale/Madge, we were born to fuck each other / one way or another


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago

peeta/katniss, in a house of mirrors full of smoke
Katniss, Bonnie, and Twill, Bonnie and Twill make it to District 13