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

[ ficathon ] the girl on fire

Tags: book: hunger games trilogy, ficathon!
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Katniss/Peeta - “You’re going to discover that conversations are best at 4am. The heavier the eyelids, the sincerer the words. Those are the talks you’ll remember. It’s okay not to know the answer and silence is not awkward. It’s shared, so share it more often than not.”
Gale/Johanna, Roll away your stone, I’ll roll away mine. Together we can see what we will find.
Grace; Gale/Johanna; part 1/3

"What are you doing here?"

He looked at the open apartment door next to his own, dropping the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "I live here now."

"No you don't."

He cocked his head, gave her a little smile. "Yeah. I do."

"Why aren't you in District 12?"

"Because I'm here," he informed her, and decided it wasn't a conversation he really wanted to have, and fumbled with the key to his door. Keys. He shook his head at the idea a little - he had never locked his door one night in his entire life.

"She kick you out?"

His shoulders dropped as the lock clicked and the knob turned so he could open the door. "What do you want, Johanna?" he sighed, looking over at her briefly.

"Just figuring things out," she informed him. "Don't mind me Soldier Hawthorne," she mocked, and shut her door rather loudly. He leaned his head against the doorframe for a moment. He wanted to start over in District 2. He couldn't start over with Johanna Mason right next door. Inhaling deeply, he pushed his door open, and tried to remind himself why this was a good idea.

# # # # #

Coming home after a series of long days, he found her smoking on the front stoop.

"That shit will kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled and tried to blow the smoke up into his face. He waved it away, nose wrinkling.

"Still not showering?"

"Fuck you Hawthorne."

He huffed half a laugh to himself and gave her a wide berth on the step.

# # # # #

He wasn't exactly sure what prompted him to do it. They did nothing more than exchange barbs, sometimes good-natured, sometimes pointedly hurtful. He supposed it said something about their acquaintance that they could do both so easily. Either way, he was pretty sure she sat in that apartment all day and didn't do a damn thing. Stared out the window. Set small insects on fire. She seemed to only leave to sit on the front stoop and make her way through a pack of cigarettes.

Still. She was familiar, the only familiar thing in this place, so if he was going to be forced to schmooze, the vindictive part of him wanted her to have to do it too. The other part of him wondered if she just needed someone to push. He never needed that push to put one foot in front of the other, but he would be the first to admit he might need the push to lift his gaze from the ground in front of his feet these days.

So he took a dress from the Cage (possessions of the dead and things without clear usefulness being catalogued) and bought a bar of lavender and oatmeal soap from a vendor in the Sticky (which was like the Hob, if the Hob had been a long, alley, enclosed in part by sheets and sheets of scrounged metal to protect the people living in it instead of an old warehouse - and smelled like sweat and was hot from all the boiling water for drinking, washing, and cooking) and had them in his hands when he knocked on her door.

She looked him up and down, saw the dress lying over his arm. "What."

"You're coming with me."

"No I'm not."



"You need to get out of this apartment."

"I do."

"You go out on the front stoop and smoke those cigarettes. You smell, Johanna. You need to wash, and then you're going to put on this dress and come with me and have dinner with people that is served outside of the can it was stored in."

She slammed the door in his face. "You don't know me, Gale Hawthorne. Go fix someone else. Fuck you," she offered from the other side of the door.


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Seneca/Haymitch, when you were young.
haymitch + gale - my kind's your kind
johanna, finnick, cato - that shit must hurt real bad, fakin' what you wish you had
[au] cato is the 74th victor

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5 years ago


5 years ago

gale/katniss, we were never in love, and we were never meant to be
soulmates of a kind; gale/katniss; r

They're not in love.

Neither of them feel that push-pull of true love, of anything beyond friendship of the deepest kind. It isn't like that, never has been.

They're not in love, but they tried, once, twice. They tried to pretend, to hold each other as though they were anything, everything.

They held each other but it was wrong, somehow, and they pulled away until neither of them could stand it, and were forced back together.

Now, it's dimmed, and they can hold hands and lace fingers and both of them know exactly what it is.

When they need each other, it's always them - Gale and Katniss, her protector and his Catnip, each other's constants in the most honest, real, sense of the word.

He tells her he loves her and she's under no pretenses; and she says it back and he just smiles.

It's comfortable, what they have, comfortable and nice. It doesn't make other of their hearts race but it doesn't hurt them, either, and that's what's important.

They don't have time for real love, for anything beyond this, beyond sweaty fucks in secluded areas of woods. They don't have time for romance, only for what they need, what they have to have.

Both of them want but they make themselves content with what they've got, and it's enough for the both of them.

Neither of them want to pretend, and it's best that way.


5 years ago

johanna/annie, life could be simple, but you never fail to complicate it every single time
gale/katniss, i love you but i'm letting go, it may not last but i don't know
Sympathetic Capitol kids, the tricky thing is, yesterday we were just children
Argh, I'm gonna have to go long on this one! Stay tuned.


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johanna, clove - heart full of napalm


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peeta mellark, i got nothing left inside my chest but it's all all right
johanna, finnick, mentoring the 74th hunger games


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johanna/gale, Did perpetual happiness in the Garden of Eden maybe get so boring that eating the apple was justified?

johanna/finnick, everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head
Rue || the world was never meant for someone as beautiful as you
lullaby; rue; pg

She was always a quiet girl.

She learned to jump from tree to tree when she was young; she played pranks on her family, small pranks, harmless.

When her name was called, she could hear nothing beyond the rushing in her ears, the fear freezing her heart for that second.

She walked, and she saw her mother, crying, down below, hand held to her mouth.

"Mommy," she wanted to shout, "mommy," - and she wanted nothing more than someone to save her, to help her, to take her out of this nightmare.

(Can't be real.)


In the Games, it's different.

She's not going to kill; she promised herself that a long, long time ago, when she first heard about them, first had to watch the Games, watch good girls and boys kill each other.

That'll never be me, she'd promised herself, little nails digging into her palms.

She's desperate to keep that promise.

And so she clings to Katniss. She shouldn't trust her but she saw, she saw what happened in Twelve; she heard the scream and saw the raw love in her eyes and so she trusts, holds, tight.

Katniss isn't the type of person to kill her and make it painful. If she's going to go, she wants it to be in her sleep, quiet. She wants to be comfortable when she dies. Katniss will give her that, won't make it any worse than it has to be.

Until the spear hits - and her mouth drops open and it was supposed to be Katniss, it wasn't supposed to hurt like this, feel like this. It was supposed to be more than a spear in her stomach and blood staining her hands.

"Katniss," she whimpers out, and she's never felt as small as she does right now.

Everything is fuzzy, after that.

"Sing to me," she says, finally, and the world turns into bright spots over her eyes, and she closes them, smiles.

Katniss' voice lulls her into her final rest.


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