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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finnick/johanna, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead


March 24 2012, 16:30:41 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 02:08:38 UTC

this ♥
finnick/katniss, stitches
cato/clove, they're all dead hearts to you


March 24 2012, 17:23:21 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 17:29:47 UTC

She sees him for the first time when she’s twelve, and hates him on sight, hates him because he’s bigger, because he’s stronger, because he’s a cocky, arrogant ass. She throws her knives at him, and grins when she catches the look on his face, all pointed teeth and crinkled lines.

She doesn’t see him much after that; he’s a boy, and older, and spends his time slashing at the air with a sword, spends his time chasing after girls. Less lethal girls, she notes, and she wonders if maybe Cato isn’t afraid of losing, of being second place.

And then she’s sixteen, and he’s eighteen, and it’s the night before the Reaping. They’re both training, spinning against shadows, the air between them cut up and carved out. And it’s dark, and they’re the only ones left, and he turns on her, breathing heavy, something in his eyes she can’t quite place. “You’re the one with the knives,” he says, and she knows he remembers her, and she wonders how she feels about that.

“And you’re the one with an empty head and a sword for an arm,” she bites back, and he’s laughing, and she thinks this is the first time she’s ever seen him laugh.

It’s later, and they’re both breathing hard, cuts and bruises coloring their skin, and he’s murmuring, “it’s my last year, you know.”

“I know.”

“If I don’t get to go-” and she looks over, and he’s making a fist, veins popping out and eyes angry. “I need this,” he says, “And I can win.”

She says something back, something quiet and hard, and suddenly he’s kissing her, and his hands are the size of her head, and her hair feels like it’s being pulled out, but it feels good, and she’s kissing him back. They roll back on the mats, and her hands are small against his body, but she’s straddling him and there’s a wink of light, and then she’s got her knife against her throat. “I can win,” she corrects, and kisses him one more time.

“Why?” he asks, and his voice is all sharp corners and jagged edges.

And she shrugs, twirling her knife in her hand. “Because I’m better,” she tells him, “because they’re only there to make the show more interesting, because this is who I am.”

“You’re cruel,” he tells her, but so is he, and he’s laughing again, his hands reaching up for her, and she shows him, shows him that she’s better, that she’s there to win.

They’re late to the Reaping the next morning, hurried and untucked, and they stand next to each other on the stage, their district cheering and stomping for them, and she wonders if maybe there will be competition this year after all.


6 years ago


6 years ago


6 years ago


March 24 2012, 16:35:14 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 24 2012, 16:35:23 UTC

katniss, I opened my mouth to scream and shout, waved my arms and flapped about, but I couldn't scream I couldn't shout--the song was coming from my mouth.
Johanna/Finnick, tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us
i love you for posting a siken prompt. ♥
gale/johanna, so if I see you again, desperate and stoned, keep your prison locked up, and I will leave my gun at home, I don’t want love.
keep your prison locked up. gale/johanna. pg13.

“You have a drug problem,” the doctor tells her.

Johanna’s hair is short and two machines beep at her. The doctor pushes his glasses up his nose and checks something on a clipboard. He’s an old thing, his hair white and feathered, his shoulders depressingly droopy. She crosses and uncrosses her legs under the cheap white sheet, staring at the doctor blankly.

Johanna says, “Doc, I’ve got bigger problems than that.”

The hallways are long and overly decorated, the carpets thick and walls carved out of a deep, rich mahogany. Her fingers trail along the indented panels, the sunken squares, and it’s nearly quiet.

Johanna’s robe hangs off her skinny frame, baggy and loose. It shuffles around when she does, rubbing against her skin. She’s not proud of the things she would do for a cheeseburger. The cheap material of the garment sneaks underneath her foot and she almost trips. It’s impossible to sneak up on anyone like that.

Gale Hawthorne looks at her from the other end of the hall, confused, and scratches at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t think they let you out, yet.”

Johanna rolls up a sleeve and smirks, one side of her mouth curling up, her too long nails scratching against her arm.

“Good behavior,” she drawls, leaning against the wall. Her mouth trips into a smile and she tugs at her hospital gown.

Gale looks at her for a minute, casually, like she’ll break. Johanna ignores it and raps her nails on the wall.

“Since when?” he says, and then bursts into laughter.

It turns out they won’t let her live alone – drug addiction, PTSD, all-around unpleasantness. All of those things can be exacerbated without another warm body around to tease. Or so they say.

Gale says, “Um, I guess I need a roommate?”

Johanna sits, shocked and silent, across from him.

“What?” he says, face open, as he sticks his finger into her dinner and steals a wedge of potato.

Johanna is drunk and halfway to black out.

Their couch fits both of them and Gale’s keeping up with her nicely.

He says, “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, leave this room?” or slurs it actually, the words running into each other.

Johanna’s head lolls towards Gale on the black cushion, the TV flashing something unimportant on the screen. Her fingers wrap around the neck of her beer bottle, sweating cold into her head, and she tilts her head back to finish it off.

“I kind of hate everyone else,” she mutters into the empty bottle before tossing it in the general direction of the garbage can. She misses. Gale’s bottle soars in the air seconds later and lands perfectly in the pail.

Gale laughs at that, his hand dropping onto her thigh. She raises an eyebrow and shifts into his touch.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Hawthorne,” she says, arching her back off the couch lazily.

“You never give me enough credit,” he whispers, thumb tracing her jaw line.

The next morning, Johanna wakes up to Gale’s breath on her neck. He wakes up moments later, and Johanna says, “You have morning breath.”

Gale flips her over and spreads her legs, the sunlight filtering in through the closed blinds, her fingers pulling at his hair and he says, “I don’t hear any more complaints, Jo.”

Twenty minutes and two orgasms later, Johanna lies, sated and sleepy, her arms draped over Gale’s torso.

“I’ll make breakfast,” she offers, yanking his t-shirt over her head and Gale raises an eyebrow.

“And what, exactly, are you capable of cooking?” he asks.

“Well in that case,” she says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, “you can try and fend for yourself.”

He says, “I kind of like you.”

Johanna’s half-asleep and can only manage, “Yeah, whatever. Me too, I guess.”


6 years ago


6 years ago

gale/johanna, i want bones like iron blood like mercury
omg you're giving me comicbook!au feelings whyyyy


March 24 2012, 16:46:14 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 02:09:37 UTC

prim/gale. she's nothing but a little katniss to him.


March 25 2012, 22:02:45 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 22:43:59 UTC

Gale/Katniss "selfless selfishness" (not sure if this is what you were looking for but it is what came to mind!)

Gale takes care of them, like he promised he would. Even though it kills him every time he has to see her face.

Prim is nothing like Katniss. If he didn't know it to be true, he would never in a million years guess that they were sisters. He sees her and instead of empathy he feels nothing but rage and hate. She is the reason that he is hunting alone. The reason he wants to punch holes in his walls and cries himself to sleep silently.

He misses her excruciatingly. He doesn't smile much anymore, and neither does Prim. He knows this. She is an innocent child whose only crime against him was being blessed with a sister stronger than anyone he has ever met. Yet in some twisted sense he blames her for his loneliness. If only her name hadn't of been called. If only Katniss wasn't so damn stubborn. He would've held her as her sister entered the arena. Soothed her after the cannon fired and Prim's sweet face was shown in the sky. They would name their first daughter after her.

That wasn't an option now and the fact that this is what he dreams about sort of makes him sick. Katniss was selfless and he was nothing but selfish. He didn't deserve her and maybe this was his punishment. His reaping. His arena.

As he lay down on the grass in the clearing where they once laid together, he closes his eyes and wishes he could tell her he was sorry for the things she doesn't even know he's done.


6 years ago


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gale/katniss, dart for my sweetheart
gale/katniss, dart for my sweetheart // (um, this might not be what you meant by this, but my muse works in mysterious and primarily uncontrollable ways. spoilers for mockingjay)

He seeks her out across the chasm, her form achingly familiar in the chaos and smoke and he wants to see nothing else when it ends. Because they’re dragging him away, hot breath and shouts all around him, and he calls to her. He wants her to remember their agreement –

Don’t let them take me. Don’t let them take me.

He can see her trying to find a way out of this – there isn’t one – and it’s only been a few short seconds (seconds we don’t have, seconds we never had). He won’t be destroyed by them, he won’t let the Capitol punish her through him. He doesn’t have his capsule anymore and she knows that, has to finish this now.

She raises her bow, he’s fighting his captors so they can’t drag him out of range. Hands shaking, tears streaming down her face, and she seems closer than she really is. He thinks, not of any significant moment in his life, but of a plain sunny day somewhere in the past several years.

It’s ok. I love you. Don’t let them take me.

She shot some squirrels and he snared some rabbits and they made a fire to enjoy one together and she smiled when he teased her and her eyes sparkled and it was just a regular day – (oh one I’ll never have again, not now, not now).

It doesn’t even hurt.


6 years ago


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gale/katniss, you're drifting i can hear it in the way that you're breathing
cato/katniss, i struggle with the feeling that my life isn't mine


April 24 2012, 03:01:27 UTC 5 years ago Edited:  April 24 2012, 03:03:41 UTC

Ok, LJ is acting weird for me and will not let me post this dang fill, so I posted it at my LJ and here's the link:

Dead Already
gale/katniss, when you're tired of aiming your arrows still you'll never hit your mark
johana/gale, i took a car downtown and took what they offered me to set me free
haymitch/effie, be the cartoon heart
gale/madge, I fought in a war, and I didn't know where it would end, it stretched before me infinitely, I couldn't really think


March 25 2012, 08:19:11 UTC 6 years ago Edited:  March 25 2012, 08:24:25 UTC

gale/madge | i think i'll miss you forever | post-mockingjay (slight au? fuck you suzanne collins)

When he sees her for the first time, it’s a hallucination like his more garden variety ghosts (prim, prim and his catnip, tough skin and darker hair). When he blinks, she’s already walking away, her hair the wrong color, darker, but her head cocked just so (she had bowed her head like that, as if in prayer, the morning he came with nothing but strawberries, gripping his hand like an anchor as she gingerly placed the money in his palm). He tastes ashes all afternoon.


When he sees her for the second time, he can’t close his eyes. If he does, he knows he won’t resist the memories of just how undeserving his desolation had made him (warm breath on his neck, skin against quivering flesh). Instead, he stares, memorizing the burns that mark her as different, as Not Madge. He knows the blood on his hands, and her name rests as heavily as the rest.


When he sees for the third time, it is not a favor of fortune. He scares her student out of the studio with the crashing opening of the door, but he is single minded as always. He has to know if this once he might have unknowingly done something right. And when his eyes meet hers, he knows. The skin puckers and shines, but her mouth bows in a terribly familiar shape (small but soft and warm and mercifully silent as he digs once more for solace), her fingers arch ever over the piano keys, graceful even in shock.

She rises to meet him, covering the angry red of her arm with a waiting sleeve as he grasps her face in his hands, studying every wound and mark as a reminder of all the ways he failed, even in this. But when she speaks, there is only warmth. A hospitality he doesn’t deserve as she offers him her piano bench, some weak tea, a tray of cookies. And when she runs out of niceties to say, all she has left is ‘You’re the first person to recognize me since we left.’ (he was the first person to recognize her loss, before, the space in her and the emptiness in him that drew them together like black holes of fear and loneliness and lust.)

It rings in the quiet room, sounding all at once bitter and desperate, but when he looks at her again, truly, not her damage, he sees not hurt but bleak honesty, etched in the new lines of her face. Her right eyelid droops but her left curves upward as always, and her gaze is unwavering. ‘You’re the first person I’ve seen, since we left’ and he knows he means it.


6 years ago


6 years ago