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

[ ficathon ] the girl on fire



GIRL ON FIRE - A HUNGER GAMES FICATHON

may the fic be ever in your favor







1. All pairings, ships, genres, AUs, gen/het/slash/fem are welcome and encouraged!
2. One prompt per comment, please, but prompt as many times as you wish.

Prompts should look like this:
character/pairing, prompt
Fills should have something resembling this at the top:
character/pairing, title, rating (if applicable), spoiler warning
3. If your fill is going to be longer than 4 or 5 comments to post, please post to your own journal and just post a link here.
4. Be nice, have fun and spread some loving in the comments!


⟼ MASTERLIST ⟻
[ work in progress ]
as of 4/22/2012 i am no longer actively updating the masterlist.
if you would like your entry added, please leave a comment HERE and i will add it as soon as i can.




WANT TO PROMOTE?


made by kolms





made by kolms





made by gigglemonster





made by gigglemonster



gorgeous main art also made by the talented and wonderful gigglemonster! (go fill her prompts!)
Tags: book: hunger games trilogy, ficathon!
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  • 5263 comments
Questions and concerns go here!
Dude, those banners look so gorge. Also you are gr11.

kolms

5 years ago

tomlinsons

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

Johanna/Finnick, i stayed alive and i found you
Johanna/Finnick, if it's any consolation, T for cursing, spoilers for Catching Fire & Mockingjay

Johanna is a strategist, had been since the moment she stepped onto the platform on Reaping Day and decided that holding back her fear was not the best method of attack. But she’s no Katniss nor Finnick nor Haymitch; the multihued citizens in the Capitol don’t spin a romantic, tragic tale about her life and her victory, don’t sit and wait for her appearance on their screens to see if she will awe or fall. They revile her instead, this girl that didn’t fit their image of a winning tribute, that tricked her kills and the Gamemakers and most of all them. (And when you’re betting on the Careers, planning on using that payout to upgrade to the latest trend that anyone who is anyone must have, the rise and triumph of the underdog is nothing less than a personal offense.)

Johanna played her role in the Quarter Quell, dragging the bodies of Wiress and Beetee along the beach because they were the ones with the technical expertise, and she was the one with the strength and happened to be handy with an ax. She knows her alliance didn’t elaborate much beyond “protect and defend and attempt to leave the arena of your own volition,” though she’s fully aware that the last is anything but a given. (It wasn’t shown on camera because it didn’t fit her narrative, but she had collapsed when she heard the cannons boom for Blight and Mags and Chaff and Seeder and Woof and Cecilia too.)

If Johanna had been all about the big picture, if she had thought simply of the end and dismissed what she lost because of the means, she might have given up in the prison -- she’d already done her duty, after all, if what the guards said about the Mockingjay tucked away in 13 was true – but Johanna was never saintly. She was spiteful and angry and petty and jealous and somewhat noble, and for that reason she kept her promise to fight through the water and the shocks and the voices that told her it might just be easier to imagine she was floating in District 4, to slip under the waves and simply dream. (She’s half aware it’s the drugs speaking, but sometimes even she forgets to breathe.) Finnick, after all, had told her that he’d be waiting, that he’d let her build that sailboat from nothing but nails and wood that she had boasted of for days on end. (It had been a drunken bet years ago, but he had never let her forget it.) And Johanna, well Johanna didn’t think it’d be fair to her friend to have him lose her and Cresta in one go and be stuck with uptight Everdeen instead. So while Peeta screams for Katniss and Annie murmurs about her prince and the sea, she imagines wiping that smug grin off Finnick’s face when he sees that her boat does not capsize, but glides.

When she wakes up in the medical ward, she feels heavy and numb. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” His voice is hoarse and they don’t say much, not when Annie is sleeping on the other side of the gaudy curtain. (She’s no Stylist, but it’s obvious it’s been refurbished from the obnoxiously sumptuous dress that had been ubiquitous just two seasons ago, and she wonders whether the person that they seized it from is alive or dead.)

“In case you haven’t noticed, I made it out nearly intact, so you can take down that shrine you were making in the canteen or wherever. Do people say that here? 'Canteen?'”

He stays silent and that’s when she notices the messy tangle of rope resting in his lap. She sighs. “Finnick, for all that talk about you being good with your hands, that’s some shitty knotwork.”

It’s the last time she hears him laugh openly and honestly and just for her, because after that, she gives him back to Annie. (Johanna was the before and Annie was the now and ever after, and the strategist in her had long acknowledged defeat on that front.)

casterlys

5 years ago

thewindwarns

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

thewindwarns

5 years ago

gigglemonster

March 23 2012, 19:53:12 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 23 2012, 19:55:27 UTC

katniss/cinna, and tell them i'll be brave
YES.

janeausten4ever

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

janeausten4ever

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

profshallowness

5 years ago

wondertwinc

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

profshallowness

5 years ago

gigglemonster

March 23 2012, 19:54:18 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 23 2012, 19:55:39 UTC

katniss/haymitch, drunk sex on the night of the quarter quell announcement
oh my god.

gigglemonster

5 years ago

quidditchkiss

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

Deleted comment

Deleted comment

Deleted comment

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century_fox

5 years ago

beethemonster

5 years ago

johanna/finnick, we don't share feelings but we sure make noise
i heard the streets were paved with gold, finnick/johanna, pg






They met on a roof.

Johanna’s stylist had put her in red, short and tight and backless and Finnick was wearing gold.

It was a party, in her honor. Johanna was fifteen and Finnick was eighteen and both of their glasses were empty when he walked over and said, “I must congratulate you on your brutality.”

Johanna’s face was half in shadow, the high press of her cheekbones underneath all that perfect skin elongated, the sneer of her mouth even harsher.

“Finnick Odair,” she said, twisting the empty tumbler around in her hand, “an honor, I’m sure.”

The city sparkled beneath them, all silver and shine and sleek. Finnick stepped up next to her, peering over the edge casually.

“How about I go get us another round?” he asked.

Johanna looked up at him through all those eyelashes and laughed.

“How about you go get us a few bottles?”

A breeze rushed by them and ruffled her hair; she smelled curiously like pine and vanilla. Johanna was still staring off the balcony and there was something hypnotizing in it, something so terrible and interesting Finnick found himself wanting to stay.

“Don’t jump over without me,” he teased.

At the bar, Haymitch was slumped over, muttering about something. Finnick clamped a hand on his shoulder and moved him over to the couch before reaching over the bar and grabbing some scotch.

Johanna was gone when Finnick got back, the space at the edge of the balcony incredibly empty. He peered over the edge until he heard a sharp laugh.

Johanna was spread out on the couch lazily, legs taking up all the extra space, her elbow propping up her head.

“And here I was hoping you’d jumped,” he said, fingers tight around the bottles, smile open and wide on his face.

She sat up slowly and reached out for the nicer bottle.

“You told me not to jump without you. And who am I to derail someone’s suicide mission?”

He watched the line of her throat as she swallowed, the white of her knuckles against the bottle. He couldn’t believe how small she was, how thin her wrists were, the boyish set of her hips.

Finnick took a gulp.

“Ready to go?” he asked, the liquor coursing through his veins, tilting his head towards the drop off.

Johanna’s bottle was already half-empty.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

tilty

5 years ago

jada_jasmine

5 years ago

beethemonster

5 years ago

jada_jasmine

5 years ago

johanna/finnick, this tornado loves you
pick me up and take me like a vitamin, johanna/finnick, r


Johanna tells Finn, smile sharp, fingers deftly twisting the cork out of a bottle of wine, “I don’t feel bad for you because you’re pretty, Princess.” The bar is a long, clean line of mahogany that crosses through his dining room. She leans against it casually, eyes half-lidded. The windows behind her filter the sun in red, sunset leaking into the apartment. Johanna turns her head towards it.

Finnick shifts his weight on the couch; his knee cracks loudly. A laugh rumbles out of his chest, slowly, as he stands and walks towards her.

“I don’t think I was asking you to,” he says, voice light. Johanna smirks, the bottle opening with a soft whomp. The tip of her tongue licks the corner of her mouth.

Johanna’s hand is wrapped around the bottle and his hand is wrapped around hers. She drops it first, the mess of liquid spilling over the floor in a deep red rush. That’s when he kisses her, the edge of the bar digging into her spine, his mouth bruising her more than anything else.

“Tell me if I should stop,” Finnick mutters into her skin, his hands spread along her ribcage, her lungs fitting neatly under the press of his palm as she arched her neck back so he could reach the spot behind her ear.

This is not their first time, but Finnick prides himself on being a gentleman when he can manage it. He tweaks a nipple and Johanna squirms underneath him, nips at his shoulder.

“Shut up,” she gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders, trying to get some leverage as she places one of his hands in her pants.

Finnick moves his hand slowly, one arm propping her against the bar even as she rubs against him faster. Johanna moves against him with some sort of desperation, and she scrabbles at his belt.

Johanna’s mouth is warm and aggressive, her tongue swirling over him gracefully. Finnick’s arm slips, and he knocks three glasses onto the floor. He can feel the vibrations of her laughter and that’s when he pulls her off her knees, her gaze pointed and serious.

“I wasn’t finished yet,” she says, the corners of her mouth quirked up as she drags a finger down the length of him.

There reaches a point with them, always, when Johanna is teasing teasing teasing all naked and kind of beautiful, and her fingers and her mouth and her body are too much and Finnick’s thoughts haze over. He stops thinking about Annie and all that blood and he can only feel the liquor, only Johanna around him and Johanna underneath him and she is so small. This is that point.

He lifts her up roughly before thrusting in, deep, and Johanna gasps, the gargle of a moan trapped in the back of her throat, and he teases it out of her.

“Neither am I, Jo,” he whispers into her ear. She closes her eyes.

casterlys

5 years ago

jada_jasmine

5 years ago

poppypickle

5 years ago

jada_jasmine

5 years ago

johanna/gale, help i’m alive
johanna/gale, "i'm not here looking for absolution", pg, spoilers for ALL BOOKS. mockingjay especially. (i'm sorry if this got really off-prompt, the workings of my mind often only really make sense to myself...)


Johanna never wants to be forgotten. She wants to go out with a bang, kicking and screaming until the very end. Memorable and fearsome and the person mothers tell their children about just before bedtime. Don't grow up to be like her, sweetie. There's nothing left of her. She's just a hollow shell of bitterness and sarcasm that the cameras breathe some life into.

It's a different world now. Katniss Everdeen's face is plastered onto billboards and the only one in all of Panem worth remembering is the one that saved them. Nobody remembers anyone else -- they all simply want to forget.

Her identity slips away from her just as happiness comes within reach, the shackles of imprisonment and the Hunger Games and President Snow come falling down around her. She finds she's spent so long being defined by hatred that when there's nothing left to hate, there's no more her.

He's the only one that understands, the only other one who flinches at those monumental billboards and the fiery mockingjay. She visits his house in District 3, sometimes, and the walls are covered with sketches of bombs and parachutes and the end of the war. Projections of blast radiuses span his kitchen splashback, a twisted metal prototype sits in his front hallway.

"You've got an interesting eye for decor," she said when she first visited. He only shrugged. There's no excuse, no justification for it. They both know that.

Sometimes, he gets angry. He snapped an old hunting bow and then Johanna found him kneeling over the wooden splinters desperately trying to fix it. There's no reason to be angry anymore -- but he can't stop. Can't turn off that part of him that was the only thing that kept him going for so long.

He forgets that reaping day isn't reaping day any more, she absent-mindedly wonders whether every child she sees will end up under her mentorship, and end up dead. She refuses to take showers and Gale avoids District 12 like the plague. They can't, they don't take advantage of this new world they've all been given. They find that the old one changed them too much, made them sick instruments of war. They can't adapt back.

Johanna stays in District 3 and lives in the house that doubles as a museum for death contraptions. They spend their time convincing each other that they're okay; that this is okay. Sometimes they say the wrong names but most of the time they don't. Their sick jokes and quick tongues offend everyone but each other. They have bitter thoughts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At the end of the day, they almost manage to convince themselves that they're really, properly alive.

casterlys

5 years ago

miss_mady

5 years ago

Katniss/Peeta, i don't have a choice, but i still choose you

Deleted comment

lunasol28

5 years ago

freckles929

5 years ago

lunasol28

5 years ago

satine_59

5 years ago

lunasol28

5 years ago

thesewordselope

5 years ago

katniss everdeen, others, catching fire AU: quarter quell doesn’t require old victors, so katniss becomes a mentor
yes.

casterlys

5 years ago

corellianjedi

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

corellianjedi

5 years ago

casterlys

5 years ago

corellianjedi

5 years ago

katniss/gale, everything is measured by the hole it leaves behind

magic_knickers

March 24 2012, 05:17:29 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 05:19:39 UTC

In the End; Gale/Katniss, Peeta/Katniss; PG; Spoilers for The Hunger Games

In the end, it is Peeta who dies.

Your District is silent, all of those dark, familiar eyes on you like they’ve never been before. You can’t help but feel judged, as if you have committed some grave sin by winning. He (oh, God, Peeta) was so in love with you, after all, you should have died together—entwined like lovers, the nightlock staining both of your mouths with a lovely sort of death.

That isn’t really love, though, is it? Peeta loved you enough to stab himself in the gut as you watched in silent horror.

There are things (Cato and Thresh and Glimmer and everything) that you wish you could erase from your memory. Somehow, that is not one of them.

“Catnip,” Gale greets, and there is some underlying emotion in his words that you do not want to look at too closely. You are overwhelmed, your mind not functioning as it used to quite yet, and you do not smile at the nickname. There is an aching that you cannot shake out, and you think (know) that it may be Peeta, clinging to you stubbornly.

Sometimes, you wish you hadn’t found him buried under that camouflage. This, the aftermath of it, would have been easier to deal with. When you are alone at night, plagued with horrible dreams, you can still taste his kiss on your lips.

“Hi,” you finally answer, and Gale’s smile is not the easy grin that you remember. The Games have left their mark on everybody, it seems.

For a moment, you merely stare at each other, reacquainting yourselves with the familiar lines and curves of each other’s faces.

Without saying a word, he grabs your hand in his own. And you let him.

gigglemonster

5 years ago

magic_knickers

5 years ago

clouberding

5 years ago

magic_knickers

5 years ago

katniss/cinna, "you made me like you"

thediagnosis

March 25 2012, 20:44:55 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 20:45:24 UTC

Katniss/Cinna, "appointed to see this through" PG


He was here on a mission. Pure and simple. Keep your head clear. But she had gotten to him.

As he watched her lay in a tree, tending to her burn, he smiled and thanked whoever that she had gotten to others too.

Katniss was strong-willed but soft in all the right places. She was smart, using her gifts to play up the crowds by being exactly who she is. A true mockingjay. The only voice she liked to sing was her own and the Capitol had fallen in love. He had to admit for the first and only time, that he and the Capitol had something in common.

He could still taste her shaking cheek on his lips and smell the sweetness of her hair. Sometimes he would close his eyes and imagine how he would hold her when she returned a victor, wrapping himself protectively around her.

"Too bad I couldn't bet on you, I would've made a fortune," he would say as he smiled at her. She probably wouldn't smile back at him and he wouldn't blame her, but making light of the situation was what he would do to keep himself from falling apart. Or maybe he wouldn't play it that way. He was never sure. He just wanted her to come home.

Leaning forward on his hands, Cinna watched her sleeping in that tree. Even asleep she was shining. A bright light of hope for the future. The girl on fire.

His girl on fire.

beethemonster

5 years ago

thediagnosis

5 years ago

gigglemonster

5 years ago

thediagnosis

5 years ago

johanna/finnick, years of friendship and who knows what else
Johanna/Finnick, "to see what you're made of", pg

Surely there must be people, victors, who love the Capitol, who look forward to coming into the city for the celebration that is the Hunger Games. Johanna isn't one of them.

Neither is Finnick. It wasn't until she learned that that she decided that pretty boy Career Finnick Odair was worthy of more than derision.

"Johanna."

He all but purrs her name into her ear, taking advantage of the knowledge that he is the only living person who could move this far into her personal space without suffering bodily harm.

They have an understanding, you see.

She turns on the spot, her breasts brushing his chest, and tips her head back to look at him. "Finnick."

"You're looking well."

Her lips curve. "I wish I could say the same to you," she says, using the voice that her Capitol handler trained her to use on her own Victory Tour, "but you're looking a little...frayed around the edges."

His jaw tightens at the word, at all of the implications that go with it, though his eyes stay bright. "So charming," he murmurs, trailing the tip of his finger along the chain of the necklace that her stylist clasped on for her.

She catches the sleeve of his shirt in her fingertips, stilling his hand, the pads of his fingers resting on the swell of her breast. "Are they watching?" she whispers, her lips barely moving. He's close enough to hear even the softest words.

His eyes stay on hers. "Of course they're watching." Soon enough, they'll be talking. Again.

She rises up onto her toes, her eyes open until her vision blurs and she has to close them, and brushes her lips against his. "Good," she breathes.

casterlys

5 years ago

nicalyse

5 years ago

casterlys

5 years ago

nicalyse

5 years ago

casterlys

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

nicalyse

5 years ago

katniss/gale, i'll be waiting here for you
Katniss/Gale, Promised, PG.

Gale doesn't talk about the Games to anyone. Not from the moment of the Reaping. Talking won't change anything, can't change anything and he refuses to let people know what he's thinking. They can't know, because they can't know what Katniss is to him. Was to him.

Sometimes he's not sure whether to consider her dead already.

It's not that he doesn't have faith in her. It's Katniss--strong, resourceful, clever, adaptable, brilliant, beautiful Katniss and he knows she can do anything. If there's one thing in the world he has faith in it's Katniss. He does not have faith in the Capitol, or in the Games, or in playing fair. He does not have faith in the other tributes. He knows she'll do her absolute best, but the black pit in his stomach gets deeper and deeper with every day that passes and sometimes he wonders whether she'll live. He needs her to, but Gale doesn't tend to get what he needs. Besides, everyone knows that Haymitch is a bit of a joke.

Prim doesn't mention the games either. She grabs a hold of his hand, a lot, and they sit together sometimes. Prim comes to find him when they have to watch the games and they hold their breath as Katniss is attacked by the tributes, the Careers, and sets trackerjacks on them. Every time she's hurt, Gale can feel the dull pounding of his heart. It's never in his throat, though, like he's always been told. It's dislodged, travelled further down his body and it feels like it's in his stomach. He feels ill all the time.

But that doesn't matter. Because Katniss is gone. Katniss is gone and she's probably not going to come back, although he'd bet everything on her. He'd bet everything but he can't, because he's still got to live in this world. He has faith she'll come back, but he's seen tribute after tribute not come back and it's hard to move past it.

He tries not to think about it too much. He hunts and he takes care of his mother, his family, of Prim and of Katniss' mother. He tries to talk to people and carry on as normal. He constructs a mask and he puts it on before he leaves the house every morning and he waits and he waits and he waits and every day it hurts a little bit more. But it's okay, because she's still alive and Gale watches her familiar, fierce face on the screens and thinks about how beautiful she is. He ignores Peeta, focuses Katniss and thinks about when this is all over. Maybe she'll live. He hopes she does and he waits for her. He'll be here, in District 12, when she gets back--whether it's alive, or i'ts as a corpse, Gale is going to wait for her. He promised himself.

beethemonster

5 years ago

casterlys

5 years ago

cato/glimmer, last night on earth
Beauty is its own violence, Glimmer knows. It takes things from you and demands things from others. Beauty is a knife to twist in someone's back, a weapon that has been turned on her enough that she only knows it as a violence. Cato thinks she's beautiful. She knows it from the first. Who could blame him when he's come with that pug-faced bitch with the sharp tongue?

Glimmer wants nothing more than to kill him. To take back what he has stolen from her with his eyes. Her honor, her pride. Her beauty did that to her, made her vulnerable. But she can turn it back against him. She waits for the day she feels his lifeblood hot and heavy against her hands. The last choking efforts of a dying heart is the only shade of love that she knows.

Cato is strong, his features sharp, she loves him as much as she hates him. He laughs at her words, though they are meaningless tripe. She hasn't said a single meaningful word since she was born. She does all her speaking with her hands. When she cuts the throat of a thirteen year old girl she is telling Cato how she loves him. She loves him like she loves power. She loves him like she loves fear.

She loves him like she loves death.

"Only one of us is going to be alive," he says against the shell of her ear, his breath hot. He shows too much of his teeth when he speaks, like an animal. But then, that's all they are. Animals trained to perform. Glimmer slides her hand up his chest, more in love with the knife he holds to her neck than the boy who holds it.

"But we could have tonight," she says and plots his death.

magic_knickers

5 years ago

morbidmuse

5 years ago

peeta/katniss, forehead
I find this prompt hard to resist. Attempting to whip something up for you! :)

satine_59

5 years ago

deuxcoeurs

5 years ago

valentineninja

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

satine_59

5 years ago