hunger games ficathon prompts [2 of 2]
I'm just trying to organize so I'm going to just do a post of my hunger games ficathon fills from @kolms girl on fire ficathon alright
includes writings for: Gale/Madge, Johanna, Katniss
Organizes writings from a ficathon one hour before posting own ficathon yes good etc~
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Title: amongst the smoke
Pairing(s)/Character(s): gale/madge
Prompt
Warnings: end of catching fire/mockingjay spoilers
It seemed that District Twelve had a thing for creating Girls on Fire.
When the bombs threatened to hit his home, Gale made sure to get everyone he could out of the place. His family and the Everdeens first, out, past the fence and running into the woods. The fence had been on for a while since the games were on, but the moment that Katniss exploded the arena, the power simply just went out. Silence filled the entire place, until the sounds of the birds came around again and twittered through the town.
But then the birds stopped too. By the time the warning call of the birds came, his family was already in the forest running and he was running through the district. Door by door, knocking, yelling, carrying. They'd be there too soon, he wouldn't be able to get everyone. He'd get who was important though.
That was a selfish thought, probably. But there was no time to reflect on that. Gale could either go save himself or save people that were important to him. He'd take the selfish path that he could live with, and knocked on another's door.
The whir of a hovercraft passed his ears, and the taste of strawberries hit his mouth when the first bomb exploded behind him.
He could only see the smoke, he could only hear the starting of screams and cries, blanketed after the horrid shaking sound of the explosion, but all he could taste, amongst it all, was strawberries.
"Damn you," He cursed aloud, cursed himself, cursed no one because no one was listening. The first bomb landed, he should leave, he should run. He should make his way into the forest, the forest that had always been his salvation (would this time, this most important time be the last time he'd see it?). But his feet pounded hard on the ground.
He ran past the bakery without a second glance. Later on he'd think if he regretted it, and he'd never say aloud that he didn't.
She was at the front door when her house was visible to him. She wasn't turned out to him though, but her head back in the house. Gale heard her voice shrill, but couldn't understand the words. She was shouting for her mother, and her father. Her mother needed to get up, wake up, finally and now. Her father needed to help her, and they all needed to leave. She could make it to the forest, could have minutes ago, been miles away before the bomb came. But she couldn't leave them, not her parents.
Gale brought her name to the tip of his tongue and let it out in an airy breath. Madge turned, surprised, as a bird's shrill call fluttered past.
Then Madge was wrapped in flames, eyes light and ripe and young, she was young. He hated that he called her name, because he had to live with the knowledge that he was the last thing she saw before she died. Him and flames, and he wondered how it hurt to be consumed by the inferno. Her screams were frantic, there were flames all behind her, and Gale ran to the forest. He couldn't save her, he was too late. Soot and ash and smoke filled his lungs, and his chest burned like fire, but it wasn't, he wasn't aflame. He was alive and he never felt more sick at the thought than he did at that moment.
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Title: ghost town
Pairing(s)/Character(s): johanna
Prompt: I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend my life alone
Warnings: none except for johanna feelings
When she stepped off the train, she decided that it would have in fact been better to come home in a body bag. Her district applauded her, and she smiled, but she saw their eyes, she could read them. (she had to be able to, she knew how to read prey and predators and she knew how to watch life drain out of people's eyes. Reading these people was simple after that.) She knew what they were thinking. They were afraid of her, afraid that maybe she'd take an ax and right there split them all open. They were angry, angry that she made it home and the boy tribute couldn't, that she couldn't save him. They were wary and scared and sad and no one was fucking happy or relieved, not even her own family, but they all were clapping and cheering at her return.
A vicious thought, one left over from the Games (was it though? Or was this just how her mind would work now?) wished that she did have her ax and she could split them all apart. Her family rushed over. Her sister gave her a hug, but she felt how she shook and how she cringed when Johanna tightened her grip and took a breath inhale her scent. Her mother kissed her cheek and all she felt was cold. Her father messed with her hair, like he always used to do as he said she was a child. He didn't say that though, not then. Because she wasn't a child, she was old. Older than all of them, and tired.
She moved into her victor's house alone. There were excuses from her family, but they meshed with all of the excuses of the people that she used to call neighbors. People from school were too busy with schoolwork (they'd never do their homework before). Shopping, people would have to suddenly go to a different area, far from her. If they had to talk to Johanna, they never looked in her eyes. It made her mad. She wanted to shove their face, force them to look at her, but instead she just stopped even trying. The only people she talked to were the sellers, and it was never more than "how much?" and sometimes a "you too" if they told her to have a nice day and didn't seem like they'd cringe at the sound of her voice.
Her family was dead before they were dead. She tried to keep ties with them, invited them over for weekly dinners, asked them to do something, anything with her. More excuses rolled into the no's. Until at one point, the excuses just stopped coming. And so did Johanna's questions if they wanted to spend time with her. Alone in her house, her big empty house, she screamed as loud as she could. She screamed until her throat ran like sandpaper and she could taste blood in her mouth. She thought of the people she was related to (not my family, I don't have a family), and wondered if this hurt more than if they were dead.
Snow gave her the answer as she stood beside the funeral of her little sister. She wasn't invited to attend, and no one wanted her there. They knew she was dead because of Johanna, because she tricked the players of the Game and therefore tricked the Gamemakers and the Capitol and the Sponsors. Everyone at the funeral cried. Johanna didn't cry. Johanna wasn't at the funeral. But later, she made sure to leave twigs of pine at the gravesite.
She stopped going into town. She didn't know who was left in her family, or who was left of the people that she used to go to school with. The fact of the matter was that she wouldn't have noticed if anyone but her and the people that sell her her food when she needs to eat were dead. She saw people on the streets sure, talking and and walking and existing, but she didn't really believe it. They're ghosts, she told herself, shutting her blinds. They're ghosts and I live in a ghost town, and that must make me a ghost too. She surely felt like a ghost, not whole, not real, but the lacqured cocky smiles had to come back for the Tour. She hated the tour, hated every damn place she saw and every damn person she met, and she even reveled a little bit in that anger. Anger, she turned to, and her hate. They cradled her, and she let it. Hope and love led her to a ghost, led her to asking questions that didn't have answers, but anger, anger would blame others. It was her fault of course, her fault that she survived the Games and thought that she could really live, that the word Victor really was something to be applauded. But she didn't think of that, she just sneered, and the world backed away like the prey she knew it was, like a deer, like she was ready to kill them all at all times.
Her fingers still twitched, always hoping for the weight of the ax to center her to back to the world.
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Title: home
Pairing(s)/Character(s): katniss
Prompt: AU, in which Peeta is killed in the 74th Hunger GamesWarnings: none really (it's not happy though oops)
The word "Victor" feels bitter as it passes through his teeth with a snarl of a smile as he stood in front of her. She did not let herself cry, not now, not anymore, as he placed the crown atop her head, but she was worried, for a split second, that maybe she'd crumble from the weight.
(It wasn't really heavy, not in the literal term. But it was created of the bones of the dead, dead because of her. It was glued together with their blood. And there was an addition to it this year, amongst the almost fernlike gold that danced upon her head, there were jewels. Blue jewels, and they seemed to reach out to her when she looked at them, reach out to her in a way that only one other pair of eyes had, in the rain, in a dark cave, as he took one of her arrows and stabbed himself in the heart with it and asked for one more kiss. Their addition didn't escape her.)
The crowd cheered, probably, maybe, but she didn't hear it, she just saw the hollow color of his eyes as he turned away from her, the smell of roses and blood (or maybe that was just lodged forever in her now) flirting across her. She was supposed to smile, but they didn't try and make her. Their story was the Capitols, they all knew it, and they all watched as the boy who loved her for his entire life made sure he died just so that she could live and go home.
(Would she really live though? Would she go home? No, on both accounts, and she knew that damn well. She wanted to curse him, she wanted to smack his face again like she did after he fell onto the ground with the blood all over him. His blood was on her, she didn't care, she slapped him, the fool why, why why are you doing this to me and kissed him. She remembered fairy tales, kisses that brought life back to a soul, but with his blood all over her, her arrow still in his hand off to the side, she felt his life ebb away.)
The train ride back was quiet. Maybe. If it wasn't, she didn't notice. Haymitch sat next to her, nursing his drink the whole time. She wished that she could say something, maybe something about how he was Haymitch's favorite or something, but it couldn't pass her mouth. Nothing seemed to be able to.
(The last thing she said was his name. She screamed it, pleaded, cried, and tore it into the damn Arena. She guessed that they announced her as the winner - victor - but all she heard was her voice ripping at the back of her throat, his name, his name. When they brought her up to fix her up, she still was saying his name. They had to put her under, quick, before she'd hurl them all away to just get back to his cold lifeless body.)
It wasn't a Welcome Home. Everyone cheered for her, she saw, but she didn't offer a smile. The cameras caught that. Haymitch pushed her forward by the small of her back, and she found herself in front of her family. She bent down to Prim, wanted to call her Little Duck, or maybe tell her I came back, I told you I'd come back, but her keeping her promise hurt more than any death she could imagine so instead she just enveloped her little sister into a bone crushing hug.
(Was Prim afraid of this hug? She wrapped her arms around her big sister as well, but was she afraid that these hands that killed, that had to be scrubbed raw to get rid of all the blood on them, was she scared that in this hug Katniss would forget that the Arena was gone - well it wasn't gone, not really, not ever - and squeeze until she lost her breath? Katniss shut her eyes at these thoughts and then pulled herself back up.)
She met her mother eye to eye, and gave her a hug as well. She understood her mother more than she ever wanted to, understood the lifeless vessel she became. They'd get a big new home and never have to worry about money again, all three of them. Katniss could provide for them better than any hunting could ever do. That was enough, right? If she didn't get out of her bed for a day, or maybe a week or five, it'd be fine? She could still provide.
She caught the Baker's eye, and the blue of it stopped her breath short. The crowd was less now, there was no more cheering, but the cameras, the goddamn cameras, they were still there.
(Would they always be there? She could have laughed at the thought, laughed at what they'd catch of her. She could imagine the programs now. Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games sits in her bed for the tenth day unmoving. She took a shower though, and cried when she used it wrong and smelt too much like roses.)
She walked up to him, the Baker, to his blue eyes, to his blond hair, right in front of him. She hadn't cried, she hadn't spoken, but she saw that in his hand was a loaf of bread.
She hung her head, ashamed and wondering what life this son of his had really given her. "I'm sorry," she told him, her voice cracked like an ice too premature to be played on, and she cried, cried there in front of the cameras and the crowd.
People disappeared soon after that, the real weight of how changed this Katniss Everdeen, this Girl on Fire, this girl who never cried but survived and provided was. Gale gave her a hug, a "Welcome back Catnip," and even went to put his hand around her waist. She moved away from it, from any touch and comfort, and told her family to go off home and she'd be there soon, eventually, maybe, she didn't know.
(Was it home? No, not anymore. It was their last night in the Seam, they'd officially move into the Victor's Village tomorrow. Haymitch would be her only neighbor. Haymitch, with his resentment that he couldn't help but have that he threw his stakes on her to save, that between her and the boy they could save her. They did, didn't they? Not really. She felt more dead than him, she couldn't say or even speak his name, but she felt more dead than him, and he sacrificed himself for her to feel this way.)
She walked with Haymitch to the Victor's Village. He didn't try to give her a reassurance or nice words, and she was glad. She didn't deserve it, she wouldn't believe it, and it'd be false on every level. He went into his house to drink away the night, and Katniss wondered how long she'd go until she tried to find salvation in the bottle. Haymitch, she realized, she understood better than any other creature in the world. She understood Haymitch better than him, him with his love, with his sacrifice, with his good. It was foreign to her, and she wondered if somehow, if they both could have survived, if she'd learn to have some of the goodness that he had.
She went into a random house in the Victor's Village, it didn't matter which, and sat on the porch. She didn't feel the ability to go back to the Seam, the place that was Home for her whole life before. She watched the sunset, watched as the beautiful golds and caressing oranges turned to a bloody red and she almost vomited. The red quieted to a violet though, and then a dark blue, and finally all around her was black. Red was the color of the games, of the Tributes. But black she knew, this black of night, this darkening cloud that seemed to suffocate, this is truly what it felt like to be a Victor. This is what it felt like to win.
includes writings for: Gale/Madge, Johanna, Katniss
Organizes writings from a ficathon one hour before posting own ficathon yes good etc~
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Title: amongst the smoke
Pairing(s)/Character(s): gale/madge
Prompt
Warnings: end of catching fire/mockingjay spoilers
It seemed that District Twelve had a thing for creating Girls on Fire.
When the bombs threatened to hit his home, Gale made sure to get everyone he could out of the place. His family and the Everdeens first, out, past the fence and running into the woods. The fence had been on for a while since the games were on, but the moment that Katniss exploded the arena, the power simply just went out. Silence filled the entire place, until the sounds of the birds came around again and twittered through the town.
But then the birds stopped too. By the time the warning call of the birds came, his family was already in the forest running and he was running through the district. Door by door, knocking, yelling, carrying. They'd be there too soon, he wouldn't be able to get everyone. He'd get who was important though.
That was a selfish thought, probably. But there was no time to reflect on that. Gale could either go save himself or save people that were important to him. He'd take the selfish path that he could live with, and knocked on another's door.
The whir of a hovercraft passed his ears, and the taste of strawberries hit his mouth when the first bomb exploded behind him.
He could only see the smoke, he could only hear the starting of screams and cries, blanketed after the horrid shaking sound of the explosion, but all he could taste, amongst it all, was strawberries.
"Damn you," He cursed aloud, cursed himself, cursed no one because no one was listening. The first bomb landed, he should leave, he should run. He should make his way into the forest, the forest that had always been his salvation (would this time, this most important time be the last time he'd see it?). But his feet pounded hard on the ground.
He ran past the bakery without a second glance. Later on he'd think if he regretted it, and he'd never say aloud that he didn't.
She was at the front door when her house was visible to him. She wasn't turned out to him though, but her head back in the house. Gale heard her voice shrill, but couldn't understand the words. She was shouting for her mother, and her father. Her mother needed to get up, wake up, finally and now. Her father needed to help her, and they all needed to leave. She could make it to the forest, could have minutes ago, been miles away before the bomb came. But she couldn't leave them, not her parents.
Gale brought her name to the tip of his tongue and let it out in an airy breath. Madge turned, surprised, as a bird's shrill call fluttered past.
Then Madge was wrapped in flames, eyes light and ripe and young, she was young. He hated that he called her name, because he had to live with the knowledge that he was the last thing she saw before she died. Him and flames, and he wondered how it hurt to be consumed by the inferno. Her screams were frantic, there were flames all behind her, and Gale ran to the forest. He couldn't save her, he was too late. Soot and ash and smoke filled his lungs, and his chest burned like fire, but it wasn't, he wasn't aflame. He was alive and he never felt more sick at the thought than he did at that moment.
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Title: ghost town
Pairing(s)/Character(s): johanna
Prompt: I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend my life alone
Warnings: none except for johanna feelings
When she stepped off the train, she decided that it would have in fact been better to come home in a body bag. Her district applauded her, and she smiled, but she saw their eyes, she could read them. (she had to be able to, she knew how to read prey and predators and she knew how to watch life drain out of people's eyes. Reading these people was simple after that.) She knew what they were thinking. They were afraid of her, afraid that maybe she'd take an ax and right there split them all open. They were angry, angry that she made it home and the boy tribute couldn't, that she couldn't save him. They were wary and scared and sad and no one was fucking happy or relieved, not even her own family, but they all were clapping and cheering at her return.
A vicious thought, one left over from the Games (was it though? Or was this just how her mind would work now?) wished that she did have her ax and she could split them all apart. Her family rushed over. Her sister gave her a hug, but she felt how she shook and how she cringed when Johanna tightened her grip and took a breath inhale her scent. Her mother kissed her cheek and all she felt was cold. Her father messed with her hair, like he always used to do as he said she was a child. He didn't say that though, not then. Because she wasn't a child, she was old. Older than all of them, and tired.
She moved into her victor's house alone. There were excuses from her family, but they meshed with all of the excuses of the people that she used to call neighbors. People from school were too busy with schoolwork (they'd never do their homework before). Shopping, people would have to suddenly go to a different area, far from her. If they had to talk to Johanna, they never looked in her eyes. It made her mad. She wanted to shove their face, force them to look at her, but instead she just stopped even trying. The only people she talked to were the sellers, and it was never more than "how much?" and sometimes a "you too" if they told her to have a nice day and didn't seem like they'd cringe at the sound of her voice.
Her family was dead before they were dead. She tried to keep ties with them, invited them over for weekly dinners, asked them to do something, anything with her. More excuses rolled into the no's. Until at one point, the excuses just stopped coming. And so did Johanna's questions if they wanted to spend time with her. Alone in her house, her big empty house, she screamed as loud as she could. She screamed until her throat ran like sandpaper and she could taste blood in her mouth. She thought of the people she was related to (not my family, I don't have a family), and wondered if this hurt more than if they were dead.
Snow gave her the answer as she stood beside the funeral of her little sister. She wasn't invited to attend, and no one wanted her there. They knew she was dead because of Johanna, because she tricked the players of the Game and therefore tricked the Gamemakers and the Capitol and the Sponsors. Everyone at the funeral cried. Johanna didn't cry. Johanna wasn't at the funeral. But later, she made sure to leave twigs of pine at the gravesite.
She stopped going into town. She didn't know who was left in her family, or who was left of the people that she used to go to school with. The fact of the matter was that she wouldn't have noticed if anyone but her and the people that sell her her food when she needs to eat were dead. She saw people on the streets sure, talking and and walking and existing, but she didn't really believe it. They're ghosts, she told herself, shutting her blinds. They're ghosts and I live in a ghost town, and that must make me a ghost too. She surely felt like a ghost, not whole, not real, but the lacqured cocky smiles had to come back for the Tour. She hated the tour, hated every damn place she saw and every damn person she met, and she even reveled a little bit in that anger. Anger, she turned to, and her hate. They cradled her, and she let it. Hope and love led her to a ghost, led her to asking questions that didn't have answers, but anger, anger would blame others. It was her fault of course, her fault that she survived the Games and thought that she could really live, that the word Victor really was something to be applauded. But she didn't think of that, she just sneered, and the world backed away like the prey she knew it was, like a deer, like she was ready to kill them all at all times.
Her fingers still twitched, always hoping for the weight of the ax to center her to back to the world.
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Title: home
Pairing(s)/Character(s): katniss
Prompt: AU, in which Peeta is killed in the 74th Hunger GamesWarnings: none really (it's not happy though oops)
The word "Victor" feels bitter as it passes through his teeth with a snarl of a smile as he stood in front of her. She did not let herself cry, not now, not anymore, as he placed the crown atop her head, but she was worried, for a split second, that maybe she'd crumble from the weight.
(It wasn't really heavy, not in the literal term. But it was created of the bones of the dead, dead because of her. It was glued together with their blood. And there was an addition to it this year, amongst the almost fernlike gold that danced upon her head, there were jewels. Blue jewels, and they seemed to reach out to her when she looked at them, reach out to her in a way that only one other pair of eyes had, in the rain, in a dark cave, as he took one of her arrows and stabbed himself in the heart with it and asked for one more kiss. Their addition didn't escape her.)
The crowd cheered, probably, maybe, but she didn't hear it, she just saw the hollow color of his eyes as he turned away from her, the smell of roses and blood (or maybe that was just lodged forever in her now) flirting across her. She was supposed to smile, but they didn't try and make her. Their story was the Capitols, they all knew it, and they all watched as the boy who loved her for his entire life made sure he died just so that she could live and go home.
(Would she really live though? Would she go home? No, on both accounts, and she knew that damn well. She wanted to curse him, she wanted to smack his face again like she did after he fell onto the ground with the blood all over him. His blood was on her, she didn't care, she slapped him, the fool why, why why are you doing this to me and kissed him. She remembered fairy tales, kisses that brought life back to a soul, but with his blood all over her, her arrow still in his hand off to the side, she felt his life ebb away.)
The train ride back was quiet. Maybe. If it wasn't, she didn't notice. Haymitch sat next to her, nursing his drink the whole time. She wished that she could say something, maybe something about how he was Haymitch's favorite or something, but it couldn't pass her mouth. Nothing seemed to be able to.
(The last thing she said was his name. She screamed it, pleaded, cried, and tore it into the damn Arena. She guessed that they announced her as the winner - victor - but all she heard was her voice ripping at the back of her throat, his name, his name. When they brought her up to fix her up, she still was saying his name. They had to put her under, quick, before she'd hurl them all away to just get back to his cold lifeless body.)
It wasn't a Welcome Home. Everyone cheered for her, she saw, but she didn't offer a smile. The cameras caught that. Haymitch pushed her forward by the small of her back, and she found herself in front of her family. She bent down to Prim, wanted to call her Little Duck, or maybe tell her I came back, I told you I'd come back, but her keeping her promise hurt more than any death she could imagine so instead she just enveloped her little sister into a bone crushing hug.
(Was Prim afraid of this hug? She wrapped her arms around her big sister as well, but was she afraid that these hands that killed, that had to be scrubbed raw to get rid of all the blood on them, was she scared that in this hug Katniss would forget that the Arena was gone - well it wasn't gone, not really, not ever - and squeeze until she lost her breath? Katniss shut her eyes at these thoughts and then pulled herself back up.)
She met her mother eye to eye, and gave her a hug as well. She understood her mother more than she ever wanted to, understood the lifeless vessel she became. They'd get a big new home and never have to worry about money again, all three of them. Katniss could provide for them better than any hunting could ever do. That was enough, right? If she didn't get out of her bed for a day, or maybe a week or five, it'd be fine? She could still provide.
She caught the Baker's eye, and the blue of it stopped her breath short. The crowd was less now, there was no more cheering, but the cameras, the goddamn cameras, they were still there.
(Would they always be there? She could have laughed at the thought, laughed at what they'd catch of her. She could imagine the programs now. Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games sits in her bed for the tenth day unmoving. She took a shower though, and cried when she used it wrong and smelt too much like roses.)
She walked up to him, the Baker, to his blue eyes, to his blond hair, right in front of him. She hadn't cried, she hadn't spoken, but she saw that in his hand was a loaf of bread.
She hung her head, ashamed and wondering what life this son of his had really given her. "I'm sorry," she told him, her voice cracked like an ice too premature to be played on, and she cried, cried there in front of the cameras and the crowd.
People disappeared soon after that, the real weight of how changed this Katniss Everdeen, this Girl on Fire, this girl who never cried but survived and provided was. Gale gave her a hug, a "Welcome back Catnip," and even went to put his hand around her waist. She moved away from it, from any touch and comfort, and told her family to go off home and she'd be there soon, eventually, maybe, she didn't know.
(Was it home? No, not anymore. It was their last night in the Seam, they'd officially move into the Victor's Village tomorrow. Haymitch would be her only neighbor. Haymitch, with his resentment that he couldn't help but have that he threw his stakes on her to save, that between her and the boy they could save her. They did, didn't they? Not really. She felt more dead than him, she couldn't say or even speak his name, but she felt more dead than him, and he sacrificed himself for her to feel this way.)
She walked with Haymitch to the Victor's Village. He didn't try to give her a reassurance or nice words, and she was glad. She didn't deserve it, she wouldn't believe it, and it'd be false on every level. He went into his house to drink away the night, and Katniss wondered how long she'd go until she tried to find salvation in the bottle. Haymitch, she realized, she understood better than any other creature in the world. She understood Haymitch better than him, him with his love, with his sacrifice, with his good. It was foreign to her, and she wondered if somehow, if they both could have survived, if she'd learn to have some of the goodness that he had.
She went into a random house in the Victor's Village, it didn't matter which, and sat on the porch. She didn't feel the ability to go back to the Seam, the place that was Home for her whole life before. She watched the sunset, watched as the beautiful golds and caressing oranges turned to a bloody red and she almost vomited. The red quieted to a violet though, and then a dark blue, and finally all around her was black. Red was the color of the games, of the Tributes. But black she knew, this black of night, this darkening cloud that seemed to suffocate, this is truly what it felt like to be a Victor. This is what it felt like to win.