honey and wildfiree | stella oneshot

s t e l l a ; 

Amaranthine - the color of the sheets wrapped around her lover’s form. The deep purple caressing curves that Stella had touched with hands, lips, tongue and skin hours previously. Her ribcage swelling and shrinking with each breath as the younger blonde pushed an errant lock of blonde hair behind Ex’s ear.

They had danced together by the light of the candles in the penthouse, laughter echoing off the walls before Stella had grabbed the older woman, backing her up against the kitchen island, a smirk dancing upon her face as she intertwined their hands. The Capitolite understood the war raging within Stella - stolen moments of levity and mirth while her charges fought for their lives. She touched Stella’s chin with two fingers, lifting the younger blonde’s face level with hers before the sense of sight and acknowledgment of her inner turmoil gave way to other more pressing tasks.

Tonight was no different and the war called to her, called her away from the warm body waiting for her. Lips touching Ex’s shoulder, Stella rose and dressed quickly, a leather jacket fitting effortlessly over a grey tank and denim jeans. She turned back at the door, fingertips touching the frame, her heart in two places - the Arena and the bed where her love slept dreamlessly. She prayed to Ripred and to the Avoxes guarding the doorway that nothing would befall Ex.

But who was there to be afraid of when the monsters were all contained within a cage of the Capitol’s making? Who was there to be afraid of when the monster she called into her bed each night left her side?

Ex had been a revelation, a revolution, a liberation as the journey to the Capitol became less arduous and something that the young Victor yearned for. She had been a lost girl begging to be found, months of isolation and depression manifesting in broken furniture and a destroyed mansion too large for a family that had never existed.

The metanoia crescendoed as Stella made her way down to the study - the mahogany walls littered with books from floor to ceiling giving way to twenty-four giant screens. The field was smaller now as they entered Day Six. Stella waved her hands in front of the wall of screens to bring her back to the carnage, eyes traveling wildly over the field, searching for Hell and her allies.

---

Carter’s death had been like a slow-moving car crash.

It had happened one night when Stella and Ex had been perched on the couch in the Penthouse, glasses of scotch in hand as they lounged wrapped in each other. Stella had barely been paying attention to the screen because Ex had been sitting too damn close to her and she was only human.

Ex had decided earlier in the night that it was her goal to distract the younger blonde, and god, it was working. Stella had been able to taste the scotch on Ex’s tongue as the older woman had grown tired of games and dispensed with the illusion that she was actually watching the television. Stella was instantly intoxicated, never wanted to do anything other than that for the rest of her life. Ex had kissed her like it was a challenge like she had something to prove, like she wanted to completely ruin her, and oh, Stella is more than willing to let her.

By the time the older blonde pulled away, Stella was breathless and her heart was pounding, and she was sure there was a dazed look on her face as her eyes met Ex’s once more.

The reverie was broken as the cannon fired, the warm glass of scotch falling from her hand as the floor gave way and a strangled cry left Stella’s throat. The Avoxes had sprung into action and Stella had pleaded with them to leave it alone for just a moment. Hands shaking, ribcage bursting and the blonde had escaped to the balcony that was her refuge the days after she had descended from the frozen peak.

---

She finds the girl, the hope of District Twelve, with her allies at the edge of the tar pits. And hope springs forward in her chest. They have the upper hand, even as tributes fight fire with fire in a place where the earth is combusting around them.

Honey and wildfire, they are all the color of gold.

Stella cards her hands through her hair as she collapses on the seat that was hers now - the leather worn and warm and familiar. This night felt deadly and the tributes would be drinking in the moonlight like wolves howling home to their masters.

Something was bound to go wrong as tributes dripping with armor and gasping for breath struck out at each other, their steel bound in flames. She was on the edge of the armchair, head in her hands and elbows resting on her knees as her legs danced up and down. The scene deteriorating around them.

Hell seemed to be the target and try as she might, the damn girl wasn’t able to dodge the attacks coming her way. She knew the moment the cannon would fire - the girl from Ten thrusting her knife forward in a risky attack. The blade finding its home in the girl from Twelve’s face.

Stella screamed as the blood burst forth like confetti, all hopes of bringing her tributes home in anything but oak caskets smoldering like ashes. The day was far from over, the night barely beginning as the second act closed. Hiraeth springing forward as Stella cursed it all to the dark skies - her paradise torn asunder.

Damn it all. Damn them all. And yet ten tributes still remained in the broken wasteland.

"Enough. Enough now," she tells herself.

Anger was only useful to a certain point - her rage like a dying wind. Rage would make her careless. They all deserved better than a careless Victor as a sentinel, watcihng over their funerals before they had even started. 

Moment of anguish passing, Stella settled back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest to watch them, pray for them, cheer for them, mourn them.