#thgfanfiction

[volcanicloves]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen & Johanna Mason, Katniss Everdeen/Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason & Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta & Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta & Katniss Everdeen & Johanna Mason & Peeta Mellark & Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen & Primrose Everdeen Characters: Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta, Johanna Mason, Effie Trinket, Gale Hawthorne, Coriolanus Snow, Cato (Hunger Games), Primrose Everdeen, Mrs. Everdeen (Hunger Games), Portia (Hunger Games) Additional Tags: various characters from thg that i cant think of right now who will be minor characters, Inspired by Lemonade Mouth (2011), inspired by the movie not the book, Gay Johanna Mason, still very much in the works so forgive me if any of the tags or relationships or characters change, Alternate Universe - High School, lemonade mouth au, Band Fic Summary:

when katniss finds herself in detention with peeta mellark, johanna mason, finnick odair, and annie cresta, she's not sure what to expect, but certainly not that they form a band.

otherwise known as a hunger games lemonade mouth AU

[jeeno2]

Everlark, Katniss knits Peeta a sweater?

The left sleeve is longer than the right by a good two inches, and the stitches in the bottom hem don’t quite match the ones up top.  

Peeta doesn’t care about any of that, though, and he proudly puts it on first thing Christmas morning, a delighted smile on his face.

“I love it,” he says honestly, imagining the many hours of time and effort she must have put into this while he was sleeping, before wrapping her up in a grateful embrace.

[likcoln-blog]

Lone State of Mine | Update

Summary: There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today. **THIS STORY IS NOW COMPLETE!** A03 || FanFiction

[jenna-the-chapman]

First try! Please tell me how I did! #THGFanfiction // Okay. So you guys probably know my mom and Dad. They won the Hunger Games, and stopped them. But th people around me expect me, the oldest child of them, to be perfect. If you haven’t figured it out, I’m Primrose Mellark. I was named after my aunt, whom my mother says was the exact opposite of me. My brother, Rory, is a puppy. Well, acts like one. I’m 16, he’s 13. Mom likes me more. She says I’m just like her. Dark hair, darker skin, indifferent. All of the boys keep trying to date me, trying to get the daughter of the Mockingjay to be with them, like I’m a damn prize. “Prim. Wake up.” My friend, Finnick Jr., snaps. He is my best friend. “Finn…. It’s nicer here.”

thesibyllinebooks

[katlady13]

It's Done

It's all done now. My first fic, my first submission to PiP. I hope those that read it liked it. I had fun writing, it was so very different from what I normally like. Anyway, thanks to those that have let me know they enjoyed it, that really makes me feel good about it, and all the work I put into it. 

[tributeofus]

O segundo massacre quartenário pela visão de Amelie, uma carreirista do distrito 2 e companheira de Haymitch; 

http://fanfiction.com.br/historia/234430/Tribute_Of_Us_-_Be_proud_of_us

[griffclarke-blog]

Forgotten Tributes: Trust Is No Friend - The Story of Gracie Morello, Tribute from District 7

Remember how I said I'd try to do those little one shot fics of past/dead tributes? Well here's the first one. Please check it out, and like if you did. It would mean a lot!

                I heaved my arms up and grasped the wooden handle tighter. The blade of the axe came out swiftly, no squirting guts and bones. Janelle’s blood pooled down to my feet and her body fell as the axe came out of her back. She let out a huffed, final breath as she collapsed onto the ground, lifeless. The cannon fired and I dropped my axe into the thick oozing blood at my feet. I didn’t dare look down at the mess I’d made, at the life I’d taken. I only raised my eyes, looking up at the azure blue sky. It was cloudless and perfect; it looked so precious and fragile. My fingers trembled by my sides as a gust of wind blew past. I could smell the saltiness of the sea to my right, the same salty smell of my tears. I shivered violently, shifting my shoulders, craning my neck slightly.

Finally I found the courage to look down at the small 13 year old dead girl at my feet. The gash I’d made in her back was revolting and too horrible to look at for those with a weak stomach. But I couldn’t bring myself to avert my eyes from it. Janelle’s spiky, straight brown hair was now lying sprawled on her back in clumps made of blood and dirt. Her clothes were all tattered and in rags from the hikes. She was in no shape or form for this place, right from the beginning. I slowly and cautiously scanned my eyes over her body. I let out a sigh. There’s nothing left here for me.

It took time and lots of throbs in my chest, but I managed to retrieve my red stained axe. It was a small thing, just enough for one and a half fists on its handle. But the blade was deadly sharp. It was black and red, radiating a death signal. My deadly weapon. I hastily turned to grab my brown pack that was lying safe from the bloody mess. The bag was light and almost empty. I cursed but then brushed off the thought. I swung it over my shoulder, where it had been for the past week. Taking one last glance at Janelle, I strode off into the rainforest with her blood intertwined with my fingers.

The walk to the beach isn’t far from my current position. I had mapped out the route in my head and memorized it quite well. Almost a week of scurrying in the treetops and spying on tribute camps had definitely paid off. I’d decided to take a walk today though instead of swinging from tree to tree. With an axe dripping with blood and a dirty, grime stained face like mine, not many tributes would consider approaching me. But then again, half the Careers were still out there. Only 7 tributes remain and it’s day 12. If anyone did decide to come up to me, I would throw my axe. I would kill them. No more running and hiding. I am agile but I won’t run this time. That won’t guarantee me the win. And I want to win, so I can go home and scale up tall, branchless trees.

I reached the clearing where the rainforest connected to the beach. I knew better to head on straight down to the water. The first time I’d found the beach, the ruthless girl from District 2 found me and almost killed me. That wasn’t going to happen again. I stooped behind a big tree that had shady low branches and scanned the white sand. There were no rocks to hide me and the stretch of beach was long. Where the beach met the rocks on my left created a towering cliff. Under the cliff was a cave and who knows who is in there. I decided to sit and wait, just to make sure there was no one around. I desperately needed to clean myself though. Rubbing my fingers together, I could feel the sick stickiness of Janelle’s blood. Poor District 5, their last hope gone because of me. A chill ran down my spine. If Mino ever heard me say that, he would probably slap me hard. I’d never thought of things that way! Cruel, bloodthirsty thoughts. I was never vicious; I don’t know what’s happening to me… I dropped my axe immediately. It hit the dirt with a thud.

Not good.

Seizing the weapon, I shoved it straight into my belt before climbing up the tree at top speed. Strands of my dirty blonde hair fluttered into my face as I climbed but I pushed them away. Close call, someone could have heard me. I finally decided to rest on a branch near the middle and put my axe away in my bag. There was a clear view of the pristine waters and sand. The rainforest loomed behind me and it was dark and shady. However, it really wasn’t that deep. I’d explored most of it, by myself and with Janelle. Thinking of her made me thinking of home again. Her soft, innocent chocolate brown eyes, the same colour as Mino’s. I clawed the branch I was sitting on. Don’t think of Mino. Don’t drag him into this place. He deserves better.

I settled myself into the arms of the tree and slowly got my pack laid out under my feet, careful that it doesn’t fall off. I leaned my head back and sighed deeply thinking of home again. It was so far away and so different. I felt like I didn’t even know what home is anymore, only that I wanted to go back. My eyes fluttered to a close as I dreamed about the deep forests of lumber trees. The trees that were naked and branchless, racing each other to touch the sky. The ones that I weaved in and out of, pretending they were strong forts, guarding me. If only they were. Mino was always with me, playing with me and laughing with me. He was usually very clumsy and tripped over almost nothing at all. But he was my cousin and only family, so I would never leave him behind. I’d promised him that much. “Gracie, wait for me!” he’d yell. His voice would float among the breeze and brush on my shoulders. I’d turn straight back and find him immediately. I’d never once thought about parting from him and losing him.

BOOM! I jolted awake, almost falling out of my branch. I let out a ragged breath. Another tribute dead, which meant six remain. The end was drawing near and I was afraid. I reached down and grabbed my bag. The weight of the axe felt unfamiliar. I threw it onto my back and ran my fingers hastily through my hair. Clumps of hair and dirt came out, reminding me of the time when my hair was once gold and shiny, the colour of my mother’s beautiful waves. I swung my legs over the branch and decided to leap down onto the ground. It wasn’t too far up. I got ready and pushed myself off. I landed with the thud on my hands and knees. Pain shot up from my wrists but I ignored it because the second cannon went off. BOOM!

That was two dead in matter of 2 minutes. Without thinking clearly, I headed straightforward for the beach. Stepping out of the shady trees, the sunlight made my eyesight hazy and it was hard to concentrate. The sand was soft and filled up the holes in my boots. I trudged along, swaying my arms as I walked. When I reached the shoreline I was careful to not go in too deep. I wanted to take my boots off too but I couldn’t risk it. Stepping into the water, I counted three paces. No more. Last time I was here, I’d seen the tribute from District 12 drown by walking out five paces into the water. I bent down cautiously, scooping water up into my palms. I knew it wasn’t toxic, just salty. I splashed the warm water onto my face and scrubbed the dirt off. Then I dipped my hair in and tried to remove as much grease as possible. I didn’t care if this was the Hunger Games, I liked hygiene. Even back at home, I would go out of my way just to keep myself clean. And that was hard, considering I didn’t have a home.

After I’d final semi-cleansed myself, I spun around and headed back to the trees. But before I could step out of the water, a boy a few years older than me was standing in front of me with a shiny silver knife in his hands.

“Dangerous for you to be out here in the open,” he said. When he spoke, the lines on his face revealed a small scar or scratch. “But you’re lucky I’m here.” He grinned at me and winked. Dane Kutch, my district partner.

“Where have you been, Dane?” I asked, rising out of the water. I gripped my bag tightly, wary. But he wouldn’t hurt me, would he?

“In and out that cave over there. Saw you in the water and thought I might pop over. Should be a lot more careful, Gracie. The Careers are still out there,” he replied. Dane flipped back his dark hair and his olive skin seemed to glow in the setting sun.

“I’m not afraid of any Career,” I answered, holding up my pack to let him know I had a weapon. His expression changed to a sterner look. My heart began pounding.

“I see.” He lowered his knife and tucked it into his belt. If he isn’t going to kill me, what is he going to do…? He pouted his lips, thinking. “Want to be allies?”

I was taken aback. I didn’t expect him to ask. After all, Dane was a favourite in the bets. He was big, strong and fast. He’d scored a 9 in training and aced the interviews. Why would he want me? “Sure.” I answered quickly, in case he wanted to change his mind and stab me. I’d know Dane for a large amount of my life.

“Want a tour of my cave then?” he asked, gesturing towards the cave I’d been eyeing suspiciously. I nodded and he led the way. When he’d turned around I quickly grabbed my axe out of my bag and shoved it into the back of my pants and pulled my jacket over the top. I hoped he didn’t see.

I’d been fascinated about Dane ever since I’d met him personally after the reaping. I’d always seen him from afar back in the district. He wasn’t the usual woodcutter like most of the citizens in 7. He was the son of a merchant, the butcher’s kid. He was always well fed, and tough, like the meat his father sold. Many admired him at school and honestly, there was a time when I did too. Actually, that was pretty recent. But it’s hard to get into the ‘in’ crowd when you’re an orphan, living in the forests with your cousin and a group of woodcutters. I’d often see Dane at the centre of attention with all his friends and all the girls huddling around him. He would be about seventeen, maybe eighteen years old this year. Of course I would never have a chance with him. I was 15, orphaned and if I did want to go home, I’d have to kill him. So the odds of my fantasy becoming reality were not in my favour.

As we approached the cave, I felt a wave of uncertainty rush over me. The place was dark and cold, very lonely and creepy. I hesitated at the sight of the opening. It looked like the mouth of a giant bear, waiting for its dinner. And I’ve had enough encounters with bears. Dane noticed my tentativeness and looked at me questionably.

“You’re not as strong as I imagined. You live in the forest with a pack of woodcutters and play in the shadows of trees. You scavenge off the townspeople when desperate but you’re scared of a little dark cave?” he said, staring me down. The shadows made his eyes a lot darker than usual.

“You’ve noticed,” I muttered. I didn’t have a good reply.

“Of course. You stole from my father.” I glanced up at him and then looked at my feet. My cheeks burned.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I murmured. It was desperate times and I needed to feed Mino. Either that or die, I chose the first.

“Eh, don’t worry about it…” Dane said, but his tone was harsh. I can’t trust this guy. I felt my fingers creep back to my axe. But in a fight with someone double my size, would I come out alive?

“How about that tour, then?” I asked, slowly. He shrugged and looked like he was deep in thought.

“I don’t think… that’s going to be necessary,” he answered. I looked up at Dane, my eyes wide. He’d pulled out his knife again, so quick that I hadn’t seen it. My chest began to throb. No.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I stammered.

“You’re too naïve and gullible, Gracie. It’s your undoing. I really didn’t want it to come down to this so soon but I’m going to have to,” he said. I felt like my mind was shattering. I’d trusted someone too soon. I should have known better, especially since I’d taken advantage of Janelle’s trust.

“Please, Dane,” I whispered. My voice was barely audible. I wanted to run.                 “It’s either me or you. So run,” he said. “Run.” I did. I turned on the spot and took off back to where I’d begun, in the tree, in the rainforest. If I could get to a tree, I’d be safe.

I was wrong. I had made about five paces across the sand when I felt a sharp, heavy tug on my right arm. Dane squeezed on my arm and flung my down onto the sand. The white grains melted into my mouth. Before I knew it, he was on top of me. He seized me down and grabbed my jaw, raising his knife high. The silver metal glistened. The sun was going down. What an eventful day. Three deaths, a fourth to come. I tried to struggle out but it was no use. Dane tightened his grip and plunged the blade into my forehead. My eyes widened bigger than the moon.

“Sorry, Gracie. It’s either me or-,” I heard before I sank into darkness.

Dane Kutch continued waiting for the Careers to kill each other. It came down to him and the female tribute from District 2. She was armed with lots of daggers and a thick sword. Dane had only Gracie’s axe and a knife. He was beheaded outside the cave.

[jeeno2]

Everlark, "Listen, I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind, but I promise I'll try my hardest to keep you from being completely miserable."

At Peeta’s words Katniss tried her best to tamp down her frustration – with Effie; with the new Capitol; with this foolishness they stupidly agreed to six months ago – and smile.

“Thanks,” she said, laughing a little, surreptitiously adjusting her ridiculous white wedding dress so that the part she especially hated was in the back, before adding, quickly:  “I love you, Peeta.”  

Peeta turned to look at her, his blue eyes so full of light and love for her it nearly took her breath away – and then he leaned forward and kissed her, right on the mouth, with a passion that quickened her pulse and sent fire through her veins.

“If this stupid wedding District Twelve wants to see gets you down, Katniss,” he murmured against her lips, “just focus on the fact that we already got married, in secret, two weeks ago, okay?”

She kissed him back, throwing her arms around his neck, and agreed that his advice was very sound indeed.

[likcoln-blog]

Mellark's Frosty Forest

Summary: First Lieutenant Peeta Mellark is home for the holidays.  Modern AU. Entry for Prompts in Panem 2013 Holiday Edition.

Fanfiction || AO3

[alynnroberts-blog]

This doesn't usually happen to me...

Someone smacked me in the face for a Hunger Games fanfiction today. I haven't written fanfiction in years. I write strictly fiction, seeing as I kind of gave up on fanfiction.

But as a joke, I simply said,"They should be fighting in the north pole. And polar bears and penguins should be the mutts. Santa's workshop will be the cornucopia and all of the weapons will be toys."

And with that joke, that simple joke, branched off a fricken novel. I mean, this chick was taking NOTES.

Here's what we agreed on.

"68th Hunger Games, Arena is a frozen wasteland, mainly ice. The story is told from the point of view of a 17 year old girl from District 10, Madell Laynard. Her and a 12 year old boy named Stallion, Stall for short, were chosen at the reaping. Stallion is the son of the mayor and Madell is an ordinary worker. While speaking with their mentor, Rain Tinlor, in the Capitol, they had come up with the conclusion that Madell will protect Stall at all costs. If someone tries to attack him, kill them. If he tries to kill her, let him. Being an ordinary worker who would be frowned upon if she let the mayor's 12 year old son die, she agreed. Besides, she hadn't much of a life to go back to. When they rise up into the arena, they are standing on a large, frozen, body of water. In the center of the circle of tributes is the cornucopia. But, like, instead of normal weapons like a bow and arrow or a sword, there is survival supplies. Seeing as the land is mostly ice, there is special shoes that help you walk on the ice without losing your balance, ice picks, etc. There are still weapons, but mainly those said survival supplies. As soon as the count down ends, tributes attempt to go to the cornucopia but slip everywhere. I think that'd be funny. But straying from Madell, Stall runs away from the cornucopia, diverging completely from the plan. Luckily slipping past the tributes with nothing but a few, slightly bleeding cuts and some forming bruises, she had gathered a spear, an insulated sleeping back and matches. She noticed Stall's absence and immediately began to search for him. But she doesn't find him for a day or so until she finds him "cornered" by a boy from District 4. Instictively, she goes to kill D4 boy but he easily knocks her out. When she awakes, she awakes to a fire in a thick cave of ice. Stall was sleeping soundly in the insulated sleeping back she picked up and the boy from district 4 was fishing in a hole her carved out of the ice. She spoke quietly, but Madell asked who he was. He revealed himself as Gill and that he meant no harm. He'd noticed how protective she was over Stall during training and he promised not to hurt them and would ditch before it was the three of them left. Madell was fine with that, being the push over that she is. One night, while she's rocking Stall out of his nightmares, a parachute arrived. Inside it was a small vial of poison and the note read," Don't let the fish boy live. -R" And, assuming it was from her mentor, she attempted to fulfill the duty. But, alas, she couldn't. So, in the middle of the night, she gathered her things and rushed with Stall as far away as they could go. Now, like, I imagine, the entire time during the games, she keeps getting parachutes from "R". Be it hot soup, bread, gloves, medicine, she got it from "R". And... well... that's all I have right now."

I probably cried. 

[jeeno2]

"Katniss, what do you expect me to say? That I will never do it again? You know I can't promise you that, it's part of me!" Peeta's voice was filled with desperation.

After he was finished, Katniss raised one eyebrow at her husband and looked around their flour-covered kitchen.  At the broken eggshells on the counter.  At the splatter of batter on the walls.

“Fine,” she said eventually, folding her arms across her chest and letting out a long, put-upon sigh.  “I understand that you’re a stress baker; I do, I really do, Peeta, but –” 

Peeta knew what her next words were going to be.  But he couldn’t bear to hear them.  He crossed the once-pristine kitchen in two long strides and took her face into his hands – begging her, with his eyes, to understand.

“ – but next time,” she continued, in spite of everything, ”can you at least warn me the next time you’re planning to bake ten dozen cookies in the middle of the night?” She shook her head again in exasperation.  “At least that way I can spend the night at Delly’s house and get a full night’s sleep.”

In the end, he agreed it was only fair.

[jeeno2]

First line of a fic: "Katniss, what did you do to Buttercup?"

Katniss chose to ignore the accusatory tone in Peeta’s voice and shrugged, as nonchalantly as she could, before replying.

“I took him to the groomer and had them give him a ‘lion cut,’” she said, turning back to her cereal and her newspaper.  “It’s summertime, it’s really hot outside, and all that fur was making him miserable.”

Behind her, Katniss could tell Peeta was still outraged on Buttercup’s behalf.  He tutted and cooed to the pissed kitty – like she wasn’t in the room anymore; like she wasn’t still right there and able to hear everything – as he promised him he’d help him exact his revenge.

[jeeno2]

Katniss + Gale, 17?

Friends in life and death

It isn’t at all awkward, seeing him again after all these years.  Not like she worried it would be.

A brief flicker of confusion crosses Gale’s face when he sees her there, standing at the gate, barefoot and young again in her pretty orange sundress.  But the look is gone again as quickly as it came, and his eyes light up in recognition.

"Catnip," he breathes, the right side of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile as he says it.

It’s sunny here, he tells her.  ”Every day,” he adds, tugging a little at the end of her braid the way he used to do several lifetimes ago, decades ago, when he was but a boy and so very alive and she was just a half-dead starving girl, living in every way but the ways that mattered.  

"Is that strange?" Katniss asks, plucking absently at a stray bit of grass from the ground.  "No clouds?  No rain?"

He shakes his head.  

"Not once you get used to it."  He nods in the direction of a small cottage across the grassy field.  His home, he tells her.  Where he found his wife again, waiting for him to join her.  "And getting used to it doesn’t take very long."

[jeeno2]

Little toastbaby (girl or boy) gets stage fright on during the end of year school show! Mommy and Daddy have to come to the rescue :)

For the most part, I like my job as District Twelve’s primary school teacher.

It’s extremely rewarding work.  Paylor’s government makes certain our pay is decent.  And the kids are just adorable.

There was one incident, however, during my very first year of teaching, that made me question my decision to go into this line of work in the first place.

—————

The evening began innocently enough.  Our youngest three grades were staging their annual end of school year performance for their parents. The children were so excited.  Backstage was utter chaos — the good kind of chaos, of course —  with children running back and forth, shouting their lines at each other and laughing.  

The Cartwright kids were playing scales on their violins in front of the auditorium’s new red velvet curtain as parents began filing into the small room.  The children took turns peeking through the curtain, squealing and jumping up and down when they found their parents.

When little Rose Mellark — who was in first grade at the time — finally found her parents in the audience she called out “Mommy! Daddy!” at the top of her lungs.  She jumped up and down and waved at them until they saw her and, smiling, waved back.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, bracing breath.  ”You’re smart, Mae,” I told myself.  ”You survived Twelve’s firebombing.  You survived Thirteen.  You’ll get through this.”

Throughout my first year of teaching I’d heard rumors from some of the others that the Mellarks were… well.  Difficult parents.  Mr. Mellark in particular.  My colleagues told stories of him hovering over his daughter at recess, despite repeated reminders that parents were discouraged from being on the playground during school hours.  There was another, nastier incident where he allegedly accosted the school cook after hours and asked her something to the effect of, “Do you honestly think this swill is good enough for my little girl?”  

There’s also a… thing… that happened with our art teacher that, to this day, nobody really talks about.  All I know is it involved paint, a piece of art Rose had created, a broken canvas, and a lot of crying.

But that night, there simply wasn’t time for me to worry about Mr. Mellark’s presence in the audience.  There was a show to put on, after all.  And from the short peek I got of him when Rose looked through the curtain he appeared to be in a very good mood.

"Show time!" I told the kids.  A loud cheer went up backstage, and the curtain went up.

——————-

For the first fifteen minutes, everything went according to plan.  

The Cartwright kids played their duet to a thunderous round of applause.  The second grade kids sang our new National Anthem; more applause.  The Abernathy boys performed the dance they’d been rehearsing for months, and before it was even halfway over their father was encouraging everyone around him to give his children a standing ovation.

Then it was the Kindergartners turn to perform.  And that’s when all hell broke loose.

By that point, the Kindergartners and I had rehearsed “Mary Had a Little Lamb” together for weeks — if not months — in preparation for this big day.  Moese Hawthorne was dressed up as the lamb, and Rose Mellark was Mary.  All the children needed to do was walk out onto the stage, sing a few lines in their costumes, and then file back out.

But in life as in Kindergarten, nothing ever goes according to plan.

Rose Mellark — all dressed up in a bright pink pinafore and holding a papier mache sheep hook — took one look at all of the people in the audience and forgot her lines.  She forgot the three little steps to the dance we’d rehearsed.  She forgot the tune of the song.

And she began to cry.

What happened after that is still very blurry.  I am told that a fight broke out in the audience, although I was in such a state of shock I have no independent memory of this occurring.  The consensus, however, is that the incident started with Mrs. Mellark trying to restrain her husband and keep him from charging the stage, but that it eventually degenerated into Mr. Mellark flailing about and swinging at anyone within arms’ reach, shouting things like “WHAT ARE THEY DOING TO MY BABY GIRL” and “HOW DARE YOU SIR GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME DON”T YOU KNOW THAT’S MY DAUGHTER”.  

What I do remember is Mr. Mellark — all six foot two of him — charging the makeshift stage in our little auditorium, plowing through and destroying the decorations we’d spent months building, and carrying his daughter off the stage in his arms.

He left a trail of crying children, irritated parents, and broken cardboard sheep in his wake.

————————-

Like I said, this job is rewarding.  Most of the time.  It’s wonderful to be such a vital part of the children’s lives.  And there are no words for how glorious it is to know they will never know Reapings.

But tonight is another end of year school performance, and the younger Mellark — little Ian — is in the show.  And I don’t even care what they say about me: I’m calling in sick.

[jeeno2]

Johanna Mason and the word is Anxious

Uh, so… this is kind of dark.  :-/

Last week, Johanna’s doctors told her if she could do this, it would be a huge step forward in her recovery.

"Intentionally letting yourself get wet a few times each week will do more for you than any of our any medications ever could."  The one with the pointy head and thick glasses said that.  Johanna couldn’t remember that doctor’s name; but then, she didn’t really give a shit what his name was. 

She didn’t believe any of them.  After seeing what a chop shop job they did on Mellark after their rescue from the Capitol, how could she trust anything that came out of their mouths?  But at the end of last week’s meeting those fuckers also told her that until she started meeting them halfway in her therapy sessions they’d be cutting off her supply of Morphling.

True to the word, the doctors stopped sending her Morphling pills the very next night.  Two sleepless nights spent shivering in her own sweat later, Johanna realized they had her by the balls.

"All right," she’d told them at yesterday’s meeting, trying to sound defiant.  Which Johanna knew was ridiculous given the circumstances.  But after spending most of her life fighting desperately for survival, defiance had become as reflexive to her as breathing.  She couldn’t shut it off.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore.  "I’ll do it."

A roomful of toothy grins flashed at her in response.  ”Oh, this is excellent, Ms. Mason.  Outstanding.”  Pointy Head scribbled a few notes in his notebook and nodded.

————————————

She refused to let Katniss be there with her when she did it.  Or Gale, or Haymitch, or any of the other well-intentioned people who offered.  ”I’m fine,” she’d lied to them all, the words they don’t need to see this playing on an endless loop in her head.  “It’s just a stupid thing.  It’s nothing.”

——————————

And now here she was, alone in the room she shared with Katniss.

Johanna moved like a zombie towards unit’s small bathroom and turned on the tap.  Minutes — or was it hours? — ticked by as she watched the water pour down, down, down into the sink’s tiny basin.  She grunted in frustration and anger and willed herself to stick out her pinky finger. She bit her lip, gritted her teeth, and jammed it into the flow of water.

Johanna’s heart hammered in her chest at the contact and suddenly, visions of chains and torture and electric probes and all the rest of it flashed before her eyes.  She screamed — or was Peeta screaming?  She couldn’t always tell which of them was screaming.  Was Peeta still down the hall, chained to the wall like she was?  Or have they killed him yet? — and she stomped her feet and she bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.

And then Katniss, suddenly, was there, gathering Johanna into her arms.  She must have ignored her instructions to stay away like the brainless idiot she was.  Katniss quickly shut the tap off and stood in the bathroom, holding her, as Johanna collapsed against her.

"I did it," Johanna mumbled, defiant, as she lost consciousness.

[jeeno2]

50. Grieving, Johanna Mason

It’s not a conventional way of remembering him.  She knows that.

But Johanna Mason has never given one single fuck about convention.

When she finally gets to her destination, she stops the car and parks it as close to the water as the fence will allow.  She slips off her sandals and flings them, one at a time, into the cramped backseat.  

She quickly grabs the blanket from the floor of the car and slams the door shut before she loses her nerve.

As she walks across the sandy beach that Finnick described to her so many times over the years, Johanna feels a small flicker of guilt over not telling Annie she was coming.  But she snuffs it out quickly, reminding herself that her own memories of her friend, while very different from Annie’s, are no less private.

The sun goes down later down here in Four than it does in Seven.  By the time Johanna’s blanket is spread across the warm, hard-packed sand, a foot from the water’s edge, the pinks and oranges of early sunset have begun creeping their way across the edge of the horizon.

Johanna sits there, her long, thin arms wrapped around her knees, as the sun falls away completely, and she sees his eyes and his warm, broad smile in the waves as they lap against the shore.