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

Deleted comment

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

gale/katniss, the things we do just to stay alive

lit_wolf

March 26 2012, 21:15:48 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 26 2012, 23:55:20 UTC

(This is what sprang to mind when I read your prompt; hope you like it!)

Gale/Katniss - Alive - PG

At first, the forest beyond the fences of District 12 was merely about survival.

They hunted together because two pairs eyes had a better chance of finding that rabbit frozen with fear in the shadows of trees than just one. They fished together because it's easier to laugh when the fish breaks free with a friend who is more than happy to share their own catch. They foraged together because a second opinion on what is poisonous and what is edible has saved the lives of those in their charge more than once. Gale and Katniss went into the forest to fill their bellies, and provide for their families.

Because what else was there to do in Panem than survive?

But then things changed. Neither could remember when it happened but the trips into the forest somehow became about more than just surviving in this world. They became about living.

Katniss couldn't remember the last time she felt truly alive. Maybe it was the days, long ago, when she and Prim played side by side in their house, when her mother tucked her into bed and her father sang to her at night. Before she understood how cruel their world was, she lived in blissful unawareness with her family. That small life inside her died when reality washed over Katniss, taking her father and her innocence with her. That was when the fight for survival began, with Gale at her side.

It was thanks to Gale that Katniss remembered that there was more than just survival. She remembered that she was allowed to smile and laugh when he kissed her. She remembered that she had people she could count on when his arms wrapped around her and his fingers stroked her skin. She remembered that not everything in this world was cruel when he whispered her name in just the right way that made her shiver.

Only in the forest were they allowed to live this life, away from the cruel world they survived day by day. The gentle kisses and easy touches had to stop once they crossed the fence. But only until the next time they could escape from their reality.

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

lit_wolf

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

nitro26

5 years ago

lit_wolf

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

nitro26

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

lit_wolf

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

nitro26

March 23 2012, 20:18:59 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 23 2012, 20:22:32 UTC

gale/katniss (or mockingjay!peeta/katniss), now you still speak of day old hate (...) and i fall, i fall, i falter / but i will find you before i drift away

likexaxdove

March 25 2012, 21:43:47 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 21:46:06 UTC

I'm okay as long as I can hear your voice. mockingjay!peeta/katniss. pg

She destroys him in his dreams.

There might be blood. Peeta can’t be too sure. There are screams, screams everywhere, and he’s uncertain as to whose mouth they’re coming out of. Either way, the wails echo throughout his mind like phantoms.

She sets things aflame in his dreams.

She takes things away. This girl is on fire and she burns everything that he cares about to the ground. The ashes blow in all sorts of directions, sticking to his skin. Peeta is painted black.

She is a mutt in his dreams.

And maybe she’s a mutt in the waking world. Her hair is in a normal braid, and her lips curve just like any other girls would, but something is telling Peeta that her eyes are inhuman. In his memories they shine, like some monster. Here, now, in front of him, her eyes shine again. But from tears.

She breaks him in his dreams.

He loves her. He hates her. He has to stay with her. He has to run from her. He has to protect her. He has to kill her. He has to do all of these things at once. Something is tilting in Peeta’s mind, but then there is that wall of terror telling him that she is not what she seems. That she is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’ll go insane if he climbs over that wall of terror. Peeta thinks that maybe going insane will be like going back to normal.

She runs from him in his dreams.

He has to chase after her. He has to. His feet are propelling him forward before his mind can tell him that it’s a bad idea.

She leaves him in his dreams.

It’s what’s best. He’s a killer. It’s what’s best. His heart withers away.

She sings to him in his dreams.

He’s okay. He reasons that he’ll be okay as long as he can hear her voice. Her name is Katniss and she is real. He is awake and she is right in front of him. Always.

She is in his dreams.

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

likexaxdove

5 years ago

nitro26

5 years ago

likexaxdove

5 years ago

katniss/peeta, they'll name a city after us
peeta/katniss, this is what we live for / kissing on the dance floor
From a different perspective:

This moment in time was never supposed to happen for them. I’d be the first to admit that even I had doubted the flames of the Rebellion. These two weren’t supposed to make it.

The odds were never in their favour.

But fuck the odds.

District 12 is celebrating. The rebuilt Square is filled with people, travelling the stalls and enjoying the festivities. I’m perched, bottle in hand, at a table off to the side of the Justice Building’s stage that somehow survived the bombings.

There’s a band playing, something loud and festive. The fiddle and drum set rolling in my mind as I look out across the crowds of people. Smiling, laughing. So unfamiliar in District 12 – at least unfamiliar before the war.

It’s there that I seem them, surrounded by the folks doing a jig and circling on the dance floor. Their arms are around each other, pulling each other closer and holding on for dear life. Slow dancing in a swarm of movement. Completely oblivious.

I watch for a moment longer as my Mockingjay lifts up to press her lips against his.

This moment in time is what we all, as humans, live for. For the star-crossed lover who stays around, waiting for his match to figure it out. For the girl who burns so brightly she almost burns out. For the pair who has everything stacked against them. For the pair who loses almost everything but each other.

They were never supposed to have this.

The odds were never in their favour.

But fuck the odds.

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

_ark_angel_

5 years ago

nitro26

5 years ago

_ark_angel_

5 years ago

katniss/cinna, the things i do for love
Create, Destroy, Repeat
Portia POV, Katniss/ Cinna, PG- PG/13, Spoilers for Catching Fire- Mockingjay, entire series really.
_ _ _
Portia collects the diaries from the floor where the Capitol police force tried to destroy everything that he had built. That he had allowed her to be apart of.
There are pages everywhere, covered with notes in his familiar handwriting (Portia, please pick up seven yards of silver silk today from the dressers. Thank you. Portia, please get me that petrol can from last year’s Games, let’s see if we can do something with that. Thanks! – Cinna. C. Cinna.). There were more scribbled with ideas; for gowns, for districts, but mainly for Katniss. His girl.
The drawings for her talent, always soft and colorful; pastels and silks. Not that Katniss would understand any of this- Portia had seen that girl, had worked with her. Katniss wouldn’t understand the difference between tulle and teal. But Cinna had outlined everything with such detail that, even if President Snow himself were to show up and demand that Katniss make him his re-dedication suit herself, she could do it. With Cinna’s help.
And then, buried under so many other pages, she found it. A letter, barely burnt, addressed to Katniss Everdeen- or, as it said on the outside, Mockingjay…
_ _ _
Katniss- I could try to apologize or explain away what happened last night, but I won’t. I can’t. I have nothing to apologize for and no regrets. With the exception of our unfortunate discovery by the guards, last night was everything I had ever been hoping for. And more.
You are exceptional, Katniss Everdeen. And I believe in you, whole- heartedly. I’m sorry I won’t get to be on the field with you, but I hope you will accept one last final gift from me.
By the time you read this letter, you will know about the Mockingjay plan, the Quarter Quell, Haymitch, me- all of it-
I hope you can forgive us. I hope you can be a part of this revolution. I have so much faith in it, in you that I am willing to die for it. For you, Katniss.
Accept this final gift as a token of my love and gratitude for these past two years of being able to be part of your life. I will treasure it always.
Goodbye, and good luck Girl on Fire. Remember- I’m always betting on you.
Love- Cinna
_ _ _
By the end of the letter, Portia is crying so badly that her tears are mixing with the ink in the letter; artists ink, it won’t be long before it runs.
She throws it across the room and sits as still as she can, still shaking.The other half of the letter drops out, and there it is: the Mockingjay outfit. The symbol of Cinna’s great revolution. The one he is willing to die for.
It’s a beautiful outfit in it’s simplicity and danger, she notes, grabbing it off the ground. It’s very do-able, using whatever fabric they can find, but can she make it, knowing what she knows know? Can she keep it, knowing how dangerous it is?
She went to Snow yesterday and begged for his release, begged for the man she loved to come back to her. She promised everything she could, she talked about him like a child, like an animal- No, no he isn’t dangerous. Cinna couldn’t hurt a fly- he’s a designer, a stylist, not a soldier! – But all of it to no avail. He is still in confinement. And no one- not her, especially not Katniss, somewhere in the Games by now- can get to him.
So- should she keep it? The letter, the design, the poison dart, Cinna’s last triumph, the last momento of the man she loved?
Can she afford not to?
_ _ _
The next morning, the sun rises and life begins in the Capitol as always. Except there are guards at their studio, and they tell her she has six minutes to collect everything she needs before they erase everything. Like he was never there. Like their work never existed.
Portia grabs a box and gets to work filling it. Papers only. All of the notes, all of the designs, all of the letters he ever wrote to her. Into the box they go, filling it into two neat piles. And, somewhere in the middle of the jumble of paper, she tucks his note to Katniss. His last design.
The guard peaks through, uninterested. He lets her go.
_ _ _

cherryoakly_bat

5 years ago

sweetbitter

5 years ago

cherryoakly_bat

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

finnick/annie, first time

sierrafoxtrot

March 26 2012, 10:55:48 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 26 2012, 18:54:00 UTC

Finnick/Annie, first time, rated very slightly r, spoilers for Finnick

The first time they meet he’s all deep green eyes that reflect light like the sea and the smell of salt and laughter that rumbles deep within his chest. She dances with him on the shore in a sort of inelegant young adolescent way, the taste of the first alcohol she’s ever had strong in her mouth, and he’s Finnick Odair, why is he paying attention to her?

That summer they link up together like two pieces of one whole, swimming and fishing and dancing and telling stupid jokes whilst lying in the sand. She’s thirteen and he’s fourteen and it’s two weeks until the reaping that will take him away from her (though she doesn’t know that yet) and he kisses her, the sand pooling under their fingertips like star dust. It’s uncomfortable and awkward and their cheekbones bash together, but it’s also perfect and gentle and fierce and everything she dreamed it would be.

Then he’s reaped, and she watches him, curled up with her arms tight around her knees while her parents touch her hair, gently, comforting without knowing. He gets the trident like she always knew he would (‘listen, Finn,’ she’d said, ‘you can win if you just get a trident. Understand? Do whatever you have to do to get one.’) because he’s beautiful, so beautiful, and then it’s all over. He doesn’t even need to try, and she feels half sick and half admiring.

He comes back and they try to resume, as though some cruel god has pressed pause on their life and they can just play again. But things are different now; he is harder, more bitter, and he doesn’t sleep. She knows because eventually his mother asks her to sleep with him, in his bed, just one night, because none of them get any rest with his screaming. So they sleep – and it is just sleeping, because she’s only fourteen and he’s only fifteen, though eventually, when one night soon after her fifteenth birthday even she can’t keep the nightmares at bay and he wakes in a cold sweat shaking so hard she thinks the bed could break, she lets him make love to her. And it’s just like their first kiss, all awkward and painful but also too wonderful to describe as well, like eating ice cream and caramel sauce when your fingers are still damp from the sea.

(she realises later that it probably wasn’t his first time, but somehow it doesn’t bother her, because he swears that he loves her, and she trusts him over anyone else. And he says he'll keep her safe.)

sweetbitter

5 years ago

fromahippie

5 years ago

finnick/annie, you make no sound but i can hear you in the wind
I don't know how canon-compliant this is gonna be, it's been a little while since I read the books, but here you go. IDEK. I saw the prompt and within, like, 10 minutes, this happened. *hands* Here's hoping you'll enjoy!


They're not together on the day Snow announces the Quarter Quell. He's in the Capitol, called up there for these things he won't talk about. Later she thinks it was intentional, one more low blow directed their way on purpose. She stays up, waits for him, shoos off anyone who tries to make her go to bed, get some rest.

Right before dawn, she drifts off anyway. His voice is what wakes him.

"Annie," is all he says, and it's enough. There's anger in there, sorrow, and fear -- the kind of fear he doesn't show or admit to anyone else than her.

"You beat them before, you can do it again." She answers, even though they both know it's not that simple, not this time. But neither of them needs the truth right now.


***


Going home alone after they took him away, to the Capitol, to the arena, is the hardest thing she's ever done. He promised her he'll be back, he wouldn't leave her, he won't, but it's not in his hands, not really. The odds are most assuredly not in their favor, they never have been.



***


She doesn't miss a single minute of the broadcasts from the arena. They hurt, stir memories on top of the fear and the yearning, but she needs to see that he's alive. So far, he's keeping his promise. And then, one day, the screen goes black. Panem logo and some kind of lie about a technical problem, but she knows something went wrong.

And she knows that Finnick is right in the middle of it.


***


Annie knows he's alive. Regardless of how often people tell her otherwise, she doesn't believe it. She would feel it if he wasn't. A peacekeeper mocks her when she's out to buy food one day, tells her they'll find Finnick and tear him apart for what he did, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that he's not dead and that he'll come back to her.

If he comes back in bad shape, that's okay. She'll take care of him. She always did.

The next day, they take her.


***


In the dark, she sees his face, hears his voice. He's the one waiting now, and she's the one who's got to fight and stay strong.

And she will. She does. Until she's taken again.


***


When they reunite, they're both a little worse for the wear, a little more broken, but that's less important than ever. Because they're still each other's.

It's a dark time, darker still than ever before, but they're together. And in the midst of fighting and dying and a world that's going to change forever, one way or another, they're finally allowed to be happy. For a little while at least.


***


Annie waits, once more. He's been taken from her so often that she doesn't fear he won't come back to her anymore, not really.

And, of course, this time she's wrong. News arrive slowly, and so she finds about about his death at the same time that everyone else finds out that the Capitol fell.

In the midst of people cheering and yelling and hoping for a better future, Annie breaks down.


***


She can still hear him, and see him, in every word their son says, every move he makes. In a way, he kept his promise to her: he may be gone, but he'll never actually leave her.




downbythebay_4

5 years ago

geckoholic

5 years ago

sweetbitter

5 years ago

geckoholic

5 years ago

Johanna/Peeta, "We’re very familiar with each other’s screams."
a;sldkfj this prompt FOREVAH

kolms

5 years ago

hotpiexoxo

5 years ago

hotpiexoxo

5 years ago

bloodofpyke

5 years ago

kolms

5 years ago

prim everdeen, watching the games
Her skin is marked and bruised, and when she walks through the streets, people look at her and they don’t know what to make of her, this girl who should be dead but isn’t.

Her hands shake when she isn’t paying attention and a part of her wonders if this is what her mother felt like when the explosion tore through their lives. This is different though, she reminds herself, has to remind herself, Katniss isn’t dead. But another word hangs on the edge of her thought, and she shoves it away, not letting herself go there, scared of what will happen if she does.

She can feel the eyes on her as she watches, and her nails dig into her skin, her fingers grip, and more patterns are added to her skin. She ignores the eyes and the pity, and watches, feeling like she’s someone one, like she’s somewhere else. Dimly, she registers Katniss aligning herself with that girl from District 11, Rue, and she wants to scream, wants to tear the screens down. What are you doing, she wants to shout, this isn’t winning, this putting yourself in more danger. But she holds back, ever aware of the eyes, and she can feel the blood staining her fingernails.

Katniss survives, though, and she blinks away the tears that threaten to spill when Rue doesn’t, when she thinks of how that could be her up there if it weren’t for Katniss. I’d have no one to sing to me though, she thinks, no one to cover me in flowers. And her eyes fall shut, and she mourns for this girl she’s never known, wishes that maybe she had had someone to take her place.

Her sister keeps surviving, and she doesn’t know what to feel. Hope is already blossoming in her chest, but she squashes it down, not wanting to embrace it, knowing what the Capitol does to those who hope. She wants Katniss, but she doesn’t have her, only has her mother, her animals, and the stares of District 12.

Katniss wins, in the end, her and Peeta both, but she cannot recall how they made it to the end, how they both wound up with half a crown on their heads. The morning Katniss is slated to return to them, her mother’s hands are anxious; they do not sit still, they flutter, they fret, like this is all a dream, like the blanket will be pulled over their eyes and Katniss will be dead.

But she isn’t dead; she’s here, she’s alive, and she’s so solidly real that she throws herself at her sister, hands grasping at her, tugging on her braid, scrambling to hold on just in case. “I told you I’d try to win, little duck,” Katniss breathes in her ear, and she chokes back a sob, burying her face in the crook of her sister’s neck.

She thinks of the past weeks, and they feel like a dream, like a nightmare, and she can feel Katniss’ heart beating, can feel Katniss’ hands on her back, and this, she knows, is real.

hyacinthian

5 years ago

casterlys

5 years ago

dreamfall_nnwm

5 years ago

freckles929

5 years ago

red_b_rackham

5 years ago

casterlys

5 years ago

Finnick Odair, show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy

miawkitten

March 25 2012, 14:08:54 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 14:10:17 UTC

i'm the hero of the story, don't need to be saved, finnick odair

He never sleeps when he stays in the Capitol.

The beds are too soft, the sheets smell of vanilla and roses and sickly things that make him gag, the bodies laying next to him are strangers with cold, clammy skin he can't bear to touch.

So, instead of sleeping, he shuts his eyes and pretends. It's always better to pretend, pretend that he's somewhere else, with someone else, doing something else. Pretend that his name isn't Finnick and that he's never been a winner. Pretend that he's just a boy who got lucky and was never forced to be a hero.

The dreams never last long though. Annie's face disappears when there's a groan from beside him and an eager hand cups his face for a kiss. He plays his part with a smile, always the perfect gentleman, as though none of what is happening makes him want to grab a knife and slit their throats.

It was hard to kill in the games. Somehow now he thinks he might actually enjoy it.

-

Tonight is easier. The woman next to him is drunk, half with wine and half with happiness, and she's content to simply hold his hand, fooling herself into thinking she's wanted.

They talk, inane things he doesn't care about, all through the night and he waits, simply waits for the time to come to get his reward. It always does, like clockwork, and he can't even find it in him to find himself disgusting.

Shall I tell you a little secret, Finnick, darling? Her finger traces the line of his jaw and he tries not to shiver.

The winning smile is back and he's playing his role, the victor, the champion, the hero. (The whore.)

The secret she tells him makes the mask break and he bruises her wrists as he pushes her away.

He might have to become the hero again, one last time, after all.

He wonders if he'll survive the arena a second time.

magic_knickers

5 years ago

onceuponapillow

5 years ago