We are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. We star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans’ favour, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.
There’s a rebellion stirring in Beacon. But the different factions are scattered throughout the districts, disjointed and hidden under the thumb of the capitol. Until Scott McCall wins the 99th Hunger Games.
You’re still looking at Scott when they call the male Tribute’s name. Your mind goes blank, you feel totally numb. You can’t process what you just heard—it’s echoing in your mind, but you can’t, won’t, don’t want to understand it. “Scott McCall”, It hits you like a bullet, you stagger back, disbelieving. Scott himself looks vacant, eyes dead as if in preparation for the Games to come. You breathe—heavily, painfully; panting in terror of losing him, your brother. You realize what you have to do and you straighten, heartbeat evening out. You are suddenly, horribly, selfishly glad that you are a boy and can volunteer for Scott.
“I volunteer as tribute!” Silence fell over District 12. They held their breaths, their heartbeats pounding in their ears and lungs burning for air as their eyes turned to the voice. Not him. Not the boy who had never picked a fight or shown hostility towards anyone – except occasionally sassing a peace keeper who overstepped their boundaries – before in his life, not the boy who selflessly traded his name in at the Reaping every year for tesserae that would help his father, Scott, Isaac and Melissa live another year, not the boy who was nothing more than 147 pounds of skin and fragile bone. Stiles Stilinski.
I have a formal request for a Drabble: post-epilogue pregnant!Katniss (is forever written in my heart) down at her dads lake with daddy!Peeta teaching the toastbabies to swim (baby's first swimming lessons?)
I got some swimming in here…I hope you enjoy. It’s unbelievably fluffy, too.
Also, can we say third toastbaby?
The kicking has been more frequent as of late.
Tiny pushes from inside hit my ribcage and I tense up at the
This shouldn’t be a new thing to me.
Peeta and I already have two children, two beautiful boys that
are the center of our universe. However this time around, I feel different. The
baby inside me fills me with an anxiety that I can’t digest.
“We star-crossed lovers of District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek our fans’ favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving. And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.”
Capitol Couture wraps up a revolutionary year of events.
As our year comes to a close, those of us still in the offices here at Capitol Couture find ourselves feeling the nostalgia of the season- looking back on the incredible happenings we’ve brought to you only makes us want to relive them. We’ve compiled our favorite events of the year all here in one place, to show exactly what this year has meant to the Capitol and all of Panem.
Our first glimpse of District 12’s star-crossed lovers since the 74th Games signaled an eager nation that a captivating Victory Tour was in store for us all. Twelve days later, we saw our young victors arrive at their final fete in style beyond compare, beaming as adopted children of the Capitol. Emotions across Panem ran wild as Effie Trinket reached into her empty glass bowls at the Quarter Quell reaping, and this time, Peeta Mellark uttered the fateful words, “I volunteer." He and Katniss Everdeen struck imposing silhouettes together in the tribute parade, smoldering in yet another of Cinna’s revolutionary creations. We entered a new training center with our victor tributes, marveling at its gleaming walls and modern design, and soon after again witnessed Cinna’s incomparable fashion talent in Katniss’ transforming mockingjay gown on Caesar Flickerman’s interview stage. Our hearts skipped a beat at the stunning arena courtesy of Plutarch Heavensbee and the Gamemakers, and again at the divine viewing parties held all through the Capitol.
We are delighted to have had you with us through this life-altering series of events, dear readers, and wish you a most fashion-forward and Oh So Capitol New Year.
If you’ve missed any of this years events – relive them all here!
The Mellark family celebrates new beginnings by reviving an old tradition.
“Are we there yet, Daddy?”
“You know how you’ll know when we’re there?”
“We’ll stop walking.”
Willow scowled in that familiar way that was so reminiscent of her mother that Peeta couldn’t help but smile at her. Katniss’s miniature in really almost every way, their daughter rolled her eyes, set her lips in a grim line and trudged onward.
Behind him, Peeta heard Katniss’s vain attempt to stifle a chuckle. He glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smile. As Katniss realized she’d been caught, his smile was returned with a nearly identical scowl to the one their daughter had. “You know you just wind her up when you do that, Peeta,” she scolded.
Now it was Peeta’s turn to laugh, though he didn’t try to hide it, winning another glare from both his wife and daughter. “Aww, it’s just a bit of teasing. She has such an old soul, you know? Sometimes she just needs to be more of… a goofy kid.” He shrugged.
Katniss’s eyes clouded. “Willow never saw any of the terrible things we’ve seen; but sometimes, I feel it’s as if she just inherited something of that from us.” Peeta’s mood turned sober as well, and he nodded solemnly. Neither of them had ever quite outgrown the nightmares of the arena. He still had moments when flashbacks from tracker jacker venom distorted his vision. Katniss still cried Prim’s name out in the night now and again.
Rebellion: Part One, A Hunger Games (Joniss) Fanfic (By request)
The air was thick with the scent of sap, the cold clinging to Johanna’s face and hands as she swung her axe deep into the pine tree. Her gloves hung off her belt, but she preferred the cold, the numbing sting along her palms keeping her grounded. The snow would be coming in soon and she’d need at least another cord to heat her cabin through the winter.
She threw herself into the work, her back and arms burning with each stroke. She knew she was pushing too hard; her hands were starting to shake and her stomach growled a reminder that she hadn’t eaten in almost a day. But without the work, without the hunger, her mind would wander and if there was ever a day she needed to stop thinking it was today.
“Thought you were supposed to return a week ago.”
Johanna spun around, her axe raised for battle, her lips curled back from her teeth in a feral growl. She didn’t lower it when she realized it was only Blight. He should know better than to sneak up on her.
“I’m going to get caught in a snowstorm. Have to stay the winter here.”
Blight stuffed his hands into his thick, down jacket. His thick beard, which he grew every year just to frustrate the Capitol’s stylists when he mentored new tributes, rustled in the breeze. “The spies in the victor’s village won’t like that.”
“What are they going to do, kill me?”
Johanna returned to work. “I’m not. It was an invitation.”
“Johanna.” Johanna threw her weight behind her axe even harder. She didn’t need Blight and his pity. “Don’t think I don’t know why you’re disappearing.”
Johanna dropped her axe and spun around, her eyes blazing rage. “Fuck off, Blight.”
“Holly would be ticked if she could see you like this.”
With a single swift motion, Johanna ripped her axe from the tree and threw it at Blight. He easily side-stepped the blow, used to Johanna’s rage.
“Don’t you dare talk about her. Not today.”
“It’s been two years, Johanna.”
Johanna rushed him, leaning an inch off his face, her finger jabbing against his heart. “You lose everyone you care about, you watch the capitol poison the woman you love and use her death for ratings and then you tell me how long it takes you to get over it.”
Blight grabbed her wrist, stopping her poking finger, his face and eyes calm and concerned. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. The reporters from the capitol are coming. They’re doing a tribute to Holly and Snow expects you to be there.”
Johanna pulled away, her disgust and pain etched into every line of her face. “Snow can sit on an axe. I’m tired of him doing this to me every year.”
“The only reason he even lets you keep this cabin is because it reminds you of her. He thinks he can break you.”
“Then he shouldn’t have killed my family.” A static buzz sounded at Blight’s hip. Johanna glared at him. “You came up here bugged?”
Blight shot her a knowing glance. “It’s a radio. Rowan’s on the other end. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He picked up the radio receiver. “I got her. She’s near the old cabin.” “Thanks,” Rowan’s voice returned, heavy with sadness and age. Rowan had won the hunger games more than a decade ago, but she’d been able to avoid the addictions that plagued many of the older victors. “Johanna, I’m sorry about today.”
Blight clicked off the radio. “If you don’t come back with me, they’ll send in peacekeepers and you can bet Snow will make sure you never come back here again.”
Johanna’s thoughts were instantly consumed with visions of her precious cabin, the home she’d built with Holly so long ago, going up in flames. She grit her teeth and took a deep breath. “Fine.”
Blight nodded. “I have a car waiting.”
Johanna grabbed her axe out of the ground, stringing it through the loop on her belt. “Let’s get this over with.”
District 7 stretched across thousands of miles of forest and mountain ridges, made up of small logging communities that transferred supplies to the center of the district, then on to the capitol. The Center hosted District 7’s major markets, the town hall and the victor’s village, where all of District 7’s past Hunger Games victors lived. The homes, identical to every other victor’s village in Panem, was supposed to be the lap of luxury, but Johanna had always found it too sterile, too much like the capitol. It had never and would never be home.
Johanna paced in the icy residue clinging to the grass as Blight returned the car to town hall. She didn’t have to hear him to know he was spinning a tale for the peacekeepers, telling them how she’d been snowed in and he’d been able to dig her out just in time for her special. Usually she’d move on without him, but she knew her stylists would be waiting or her at her house, ready to polish her for the camera. Ready to scrub her clean of the fresh pine smells that reminded her of her real home in the woods.
“You’re lucky they were in a good mood,” Blight groused as he jogged toward her form town hall.
“We’re victors, Blight. You need to learn they can‘t really do anything to us anymore.”
“And you need to learn they can.” He walked ahead and beckoned her. “Come on. They’re waiting for you.”
Johanna grimaced and followed.
Her house was over run by cameras and stylists as she returned. The capitol never did anything half-heartedly, not when fan-favorite victors were involved.
“Johanna! What have you done? You look like a lumberjack!” a simpering hairdresser with thick, violet curls shouted as she entered the house.
“I am a lumberjack,” Johanna groused as her team started pulling off her layers, leaving a trail of thick fleece and flannel behind.
Johanna closed her eyes as she felt them poke, prod and tug at her clothes, skin and hair. It didn’t matter what she did. They had a look for her in mind and they’d make it happen.
“We’re so sorry about Holly. It must be so hard for you, being the anniversary of her death.”
Johanna frowned. She wanted to correct them. Wanted to scream that her Holly, with her bright smile, skin like silk and hands strong from work hadn’t just died, she’d been murdered. But she knew if she pushed too hard, it would just rile the stylists and the last thing she wanted was to answer their questions. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course, dear.”
She heard the tell-tale clicks and zooms of the cameras firing up, preparing to film. She wondered what Snow would do if she responded to every interview question with a single-word response.
“We have to move fast. We have to be done within the hour,” a producer called to the cameraman.
“An hour? Why?”
“Snow has an announcement at five. Mandatory.”
Johanna opened her eyes. What the hell did Snow have to say?
“Rumor has it he’s announcing the theme of the quarter quell.”
Johanna closed her eyes again. Ah. More inventive ways to murder children.
Johanna lifted her arms as she her stylists pulled a long, leather dress over her head – an edgy gown for the capitol’s favorite edgy victor – and sighed. No one in District 7 wore leather. She’d never be able to harvest trees in this.
“Come here, dear.” They shuffled her to her couch, sitting her in front of a wall of cameras and lights.
A picture of Holly, weeping as she held onto Johanna after she returned home a victor, was propped on the seat beside Johanna. Johanna had always hated that picture. She had never seen Holly so skinny, so sick, so depressed as she had been on that day.
A producer slipped a mic over her ear, linking her to the reporter in the capitol who would be conducting the interview.
“Ready to go live in five, four three, two…”
The cameraman pointed to her, signifying they’d started broadcasting.
“Coming live from District 7, we have Johanna Mason. Johanna, allow us to send our deepest condolences on this tragic anniversary.”
Johanna recognized Caesar Flickerman’s voice, the sound taking her back to her own hunger games. She didn’t answer. After an awkward pause, Caesar continued. “So many of us watched your relationship with Holly progress. It broke our hearts when she passed so suddenly.”
“It was awfully sudden. She wasn’t even sick.”
“That’s the nature of heart disease. Taking the people we love with no warning. Is that why you started your foundation to bring medical aide to the outer districts?”
“My team started that foundation. Not me.”
Another long pause. Johanna almost grinned. She knew she wasn’t being fair, but nothing about this day was fair. Wriggle on my hook, worm.
“Let’s talk about that day you came home from the games. I know I’ll never forget when you stepped off the train, a new Hunger Games Victor, and Holly ran into your arms. Your love was so strong. A love we haven’t seen in the games since our current star-crossed lovers from District 12. What was that moment like? What were you feeling?”
Johanna snorted a laugh. It had been so obvious to each District 7 victor that the lovers from 12, Katniss and Peeta, had been acting for the crowd. Of course the Capitol couldn’t tell the difference between what she had had with Holly and an act used to win the Games.
She felt tears coming to her eyes. This was too much. She was done.
“You know what I was feeling? I was feeling like my blood-soaked hands weren’t clean enough to touch her. I was feeling half dead. And I was feeling like your fucked-up games weren’t worth her nearly starving to death worrying about me. And right now? Right now I feel like winning the Games meant absolutely nothing if I outlived her.”
Johanna ripped the earpiece from her ear and stormed out of the room. There was a mild flutter of panic from the stylists, but the producers just growled and waved her on. They expected her to walk off. Caesar would be able to cover. No one wanted to face Johanna’s wrath by going after her.
Johanna locked herself in her room, in the highest corner of the house. Two messages were already pinging from her holo-phone. She flipped through them and opened the one from Finnick Odair, her fellow victor from District 4.
“Keep giving them hell.” A small image of a lily, Holly’s favorite flower, was stamped in the corner of the message. Finnick didn’t have to talk about Holly to mourn with Johanna today. It was something she appreciated about him. Still, whenever she saw Finnick she couldn’t help but remember that Snow had offered them the same deal: agree to be pimped out by the Capitol or their loved ones would die. Finnick agreed. Johanna hadn’t. Finnick’s lover was still alive.
She scrolled to the next message. Unlisted number. She clenched her jaw. Only one person wrote to her from an unlisted number. She deleted it unread. Snow could do whatever he wanted. She wasn’t going to communicate with him. Not today.
She wiped the makeup off her face and changed into loose, flannel pants and a tank top. If she ignored the camera crew long enough, they might leave before nightfall. If she was lucky, she’d be able to get back to her cabin in time to be effectively snowed in and she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone else for the rest of the season.
Exactly on the hour, her television turned itself on. She groaned. It was automatic. Mandatory. She wouldn’t be able to turn it off. She felt her blood boil as she saw Snow step up to the podium, looking crisp and professional in his black suit, a white rose strung through his lapel. How marketable.
He started to speak and Johanna fought to tune him out. She felt her stomach clench, however, as he started to speak about the quarter quell. No matter how much she hated him, she couldn’t help but feel sad for the children he was about to release a fresh, new torture on.
“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.“
Johanna stopped breathing. She could barely process what he’d just said. Reaped from the existing pool…
The faces of dozens of friends ran through her mind, friends who were barely hanging on, barely surviving a life after winning the Hunger Games the first time, now Snow was going to send them back into the arena?
Was she going to have to go back?
A whirlwind of rage, grief, confusion and pain swirled through her heart until she went numb, unable to process a single emotion.
She heard a cry of angry surprise from one of the stylists downstairs. She heard a door slam outside, a cry of terror from one of the victors, running feet.
Johanna leaned back against the bed, frozen. She briefly considered running away. Leaving for the woods and never coming back. She could do it, the woods were deep and the peacekeepers didn’t know how to navigate them. Still, it wouldn’t take long for the Capitol to send in drones capable of scanning the forest for her. They’d find her. There was no way out.
The sense of helplessness hit like a slap in the face and, for a moment, everything became still, centered around the single truth that there was nothing she could do. And that truth made her angry. Her computer pinged again. A message from Finnick. “This is too much. He’s gone too far.”
Johanna responded immediately. She didn’t care who might intercept the message. “Then we’ll take him down.”
For anyone who even half knows me, you will know that I love Peeta Mellark. In addition to loving him, I am in love with him. I want to be Katniss and be able to love him up and down. I want to be the object of his adoration the way Katniss is. I also want to do very naughty things to him.
Alas, the problem is, he’s not real and I am so not Katniss, not by any stretch of the imagination.
However, even with the incredible adoration I have for that darling Boy With The Bread, I also think I have a handle on his character, having reread the books so many times, I have sections memorized, besides having written so many stories from his point of view, and besides being a rather astute reader. He’s hot. He’s noble. He’s hope personified.
“We star-crossed lovers of District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek our fans’ favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving”
We are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. No, more. We star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans’ favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.