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senior70
Learning All The Time
geschiedenisish
IJzeren vibes, Victorian vibes, and other stuff
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dahlia snow attends the tribute ball at her grandfather’s home.
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johanna mason attends the tribute ball at president snow’s home.
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eben greyfield attends the tribute ball at president snow’s home.
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peeta mellark attends the tribute ball at president snow’s home.
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santanico in every episode
2.01: 「It’s daytime. We should be sleeping.」
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RYAN GOSLING
as Six in The Gray Man (2022)
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What do you expect me to do? I’ve been chasing after you for so long, I need a break too. Maybe it’s my turn to forget about you, maybe it’s your turn to chase after me.
chaotic-colors
(via cometrps)
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gladiatefm:
she wonders how her mother felt , the day she fell pregnant with mina . she’s the oldest , the hardest , the one who brought it all upon her parents . did they feel this fear which is building up from the very pits of her , clutching her heart in its wretched fingers ? who could , in good conscience , bring a child into the world they’ve suffered through ? how can two people so broken begin to put themselves back together enough to raise a baby ? she does not know what is possible anymore , only that the world has fallen out from under her and now she is doing the same to eben .
“ good . we should be friends . ” she nods , turns back to the overlook of the city , her fingers clutching the concrete ledge . she wishes she could jump into the fresh air beyond , sprout wings and fly away . she wishes for freedom , something so desperately sought in this country but always out of reach . but mina has no wings , she is grounded and freedom is something waiting for them on the other side of all of this . live through the arena , keep her sister safe –– it is suddenly so much more urgent than before that she keep herself alive too .
how close she has felt to him , but mina cannot now gauge the look in his eyes . the truth spurting free of her as though it couldn’t bear a second longer lingering in her throat . fair enough , get it out , cut the tension , and figure out what the hell they do next . whilst eben processes the bomb placed before him , her eyes scan over him , to the hands which have caressed every inch of bare skin , his body known so intimately to her that it feels indecent to stand so close to him now ; as if they have anything to be ashamed of . all of it was fake but she can’t deny the comfort she has felt in his fingers brushing the hair from her cheek , his lips against the shell of her ear –– of all the people it could have been , she is glad it is him .
“ don’t be sorry , eben . i’m sorry … that he did this to us . ” her words are choked , fragile in her mouth . she feels snow’s suffocating shadow looming over them , grabbing at their heels , fingers around throats . do as he pleases or else . or else what ? her sister is in the games now and her mother must watch two daughters walk into arena , hand in hand . he still has a hold on them , and nothing she does is enough .
panem opens its greedy mouth and mina hears the cheers down below . what would they say if they were to walk on stage , all smiles and tears , announce to the city that two victors will birth another baby ? another future tribute , another celebrity for them to sink their dirty teeth into and rip to shreds . this has to stop , the truth of that hardens within her and her tenderness , which she has fought so valiantly to hold onto , must be buried .
mina watches him approach , watches him falter and hesitate . she understands , all of this is delicate and she will not push him to comfort her . she is only human and if she could fall apart in his arms , maybe she would . maybe she would punch at his chest , rip at his hair , cuss him out and blame him for this tragedy he had no choice but to partake in . “ i’m bringing our baby into that arena … if i’d known sooner i –– well , honestly i don’t know what i’d do . ” leave her sister trembling and alone on that stage , snow’s eyes boring down upon her from the ten foot tall screens ? could she choose this unborn child over her sweet little glinna ? “ i don’t know what to do , eben . i suppose i’m still in shock really … but we’ll figure this out . ”
-
in another life this went differently. in another life he still had KT nearby, to remind him that there were things in this world that required a soft hand ---that soft hands did not equate weakness. she had been there for him during the worst of his moments, readjusting back to society after the games. when sypher died she pulled him into her chest by his shoulders and stroked his hair, let him cry in that muted way where no sound came out but every drop of moisture his body could afford slipped from his eyes. at night she’d brush the curls from his face and look him in both eyes and tell him he was beautiful. she meant it, too ---the sincerity in her voice was so tender it was more painful that having his face slammed into jagged rocks. when he startled awake from nightmares, fists clutching sheets so tight they tore holes into them, she’d calm him with sweet words and a gentle touch. he was sure he’d marry her. sure it would be his future, when he could hold her just as safely. when he wasn’t afraid of crushing her in a moment of lapsed reality, fearful for a life that was away and safe from the capitol (for now).
in that reality, when they united and began their own family, he’d know how to hold a child. he’d come around to the idea of it, because if someone so beautiful and gentle like KT could exist in this world, he could sacrifice his ideals of refusing to procreate because they too could be soft. in that realty he remembered kindness, and all of the sweet things that came from opening a heart up to one person and trusting them with every fiber of their being. but that reality would never come, and when KT was swiftly, brutally murdered in the initial moments of her games eben could only sink to the floor in horror. his parents were startled with the sound that left him before he broke into a wrack of sobs and felt that last piece of him really and truly die. i will never have a family. i will never fall in love. this world does not deserve such soft things. i will be hard, i will be cruel. i will bear it alone.
except that wasn’t the case, now. two paths lay before him: to ice mina out in this moment and deny the truth that hung between them like a tightwire, or to accept the circumstances as they’d been dealt and handle it like a human. i will never have children. and the seedling of one was not even two feet away, nourishing and growing from a woman half his size. that was part of him, too. he couldn’t deny that. he wouldn’t even try.
whatever he felt, she must have bore tenfold. whatever horror he imagined in these moments, they must have already crossed her mind from the instant that she knew in her heart of hearts that her sickness was not sickness at all ---to now, confessing it. out loud it was more real than anything else, shared between two people, a secret just for them. he knew secrets well, dealt in them regularly. it took a long time for him to swallow the stone in his throat and it went down dry, like sick waiting to go one way or the other. if you don’t comfort her now, you’ll never be able to again. she could win ---she could win, and the baby would be safe, and she could bear their child into a world that didn’t deserve it. but she could also die, or lose that child, and the most terrifying thing in the world in that second, to eben, was the knowledge that he’d have to bear that knowing he didn’t simply reach out.
and so he did. slowly, gently, as if afraid of startling a deer or some other precious creature, he sought her hand and snuck the tips of his fingers into her palm. when his grasp was sure he pulled her close - took a step forward to meet her half way, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. he stooped to compensate for the difference in their height, and shamelessly buried his nose into the soft strands of her white-blonde hair. “ you have nothing to apologize for. ” but snow did. every capitol citizen who supported the games, the subsequent treatment of the victors, they had everything to be sorry for.
the sad truth was that he had no words of consolation for her. what could he do, beyond bargain with johanna to secure as many sponsors for mina and glinna as she could? he’d do that much. it was a silent promise to himself. “ you’ll be a beautiful mother. i know it. ” he could imagine the way she’d glow ---enhanced by the soft light of a setting sun against the vast horizon of jagged trees in district seven. it was hard to fill in the details of a child half his, half hers, but he could almost clearly see fat little fingers clutching onto mina’s like a lifeline, tugging her toward those trees to play. not a care in the world. she deserved that.
he refused to speak as if her fate were sealed. he refused to entice the idea of the games. in this moment, as the seconds passed between them, the games simply did not exist. the tragic reality could be a problem for an hour from now, or tomorrow. he could dredge the remnants of softness up for her, to comfort, if that’s what she wanted.
half him. a child. something so pure it hurt to perceive.
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gladiatefm:
how well does she know him , really ? there is a sort of camaraderie amongst the victors , mina has friends here but eben has escaped her all these years . besides their work as mentors , besides the activities snow lined up and pocketed the change from afterwards . his body is so much more familiar than his voice , tall and lean , his lips surprisingly soft . she has felt his hair tickle she small of her back , his fingers grip her waist . have they ever spoken about anything but their tributes ? to whisper something that felt like an apology in the dark of the night ?
she realises that she is afraid . she is so small and all of this is much bigger than her , the wind bites at her arms but she doesn’t feel the chill . as usual they have dressed her in silver , in flowing tulle and soft fabrics . they make her look so unassuming , like she hadn’t buried her axe in the skull of a child only thirteen years ago . she counts every single second that passes , whispers her apologies every night , but it will never be enough .
“ i didn’t know if you would … we haven’t spoken so much , i guess . are we friends ? is that what we are ? ” for a moment , mina laughs at herself , he must think that she’s mad but now she needs him to be something . it is in her nature to talk in circles , rambling and stuttering around what she must truly say . they used to tell her she was brave , so very brave for fighting her way home . you murdered all of those children . and there is one growing inside of her now .
she feels faint , tears prick at her eyes and she squeezes them shut . she will not cry , her bravery has not abandoned her despite how cowardly she feels . a shiver brushes itself up her spine and she inhales , deep , a lungful of spare seconds before she must tell him the truth . “ i’m pregnant . ”
the nurse had eyed her warily . you’re pregnant . to a degree she had known but to hear it confirmed , to look at that young woman , to realise she had gripped onto her hand and squeezed so hard that the poor girl had cried out before mina ripped it away , asked her to repeat herself once , twice , three times . a baby . she was bringing a baby into the arena . “ i’ve been sick . so i went to the medic and … they did some tests and i guess … eben , there’s been no one else . snow left me alone for a few months and i have no one back home . ”
-
he’d done a fine job of separating himself from positive human interaction throughout the years. with the exception of io, and once upon a time andromache, there were only acquaintances. it was lonely, surely, but better than putting someone else at risk. andromache drifted off on their own, but eben understood what loss could do to someone. silently they often sailed, two ships drifting apart, a widening chasm ever-growing in the space where they used to fill a void with silent understanding. if he were brave enough he’d reach out and grasp back at those straws, insist that it was better they keep that connection alive than exist in the understood agony of grief. but eben was not that man, nor had he ever been. what he knew of mina dewitt was only from tangential conversation, from witnessing her own games, from intersecting moments where they both served in some fashion: mentors, former tributes, victors. there was a kinship that each of the survivors had, one that nobody else would understand. one that even the careers would fail to grasp ---if they’d chosen that path. children reaped, children who volunteered for people they loved rather than the sport of it, existed on an island all their own.
he hated thinking of those intimate moments. it felt wrong to see such a private side of someone, for them to see that shade of him, with the illusion of choice. they did have a choice, though. serve or lose family. in the end, eben had lost everything, but at least mina still had people to sacrifice for. (what eben wouldn’t give for even a crumb of conversation with sypher now, despite how selfish the thought truly was). he hated that he knew the way her chest rose and fell when he was too close, or the soft sounds of feigned pleasure, or the silkiness of her hair, before he knew what he favorite color was. before he knew if she had a preferred time of day. and really, he’d never ask. because growing close like that meant things like this happened. growing close meant that when tragedy struck they’d become more ships drifting apart in silent waters. eben wasn’t sure he could handle another loss like that, like andromache floating ever-further away. it somehow hurt worse ---at least sypher was dead, andromache was just an untouchable shell, now. alive but not there.
“ i suppose we are. ” friends. it was a polite way to name their trauma, shared but different. they’d survived in very different ways. he’d never imagined that someone as small and graceful as she was could be capable of violence, but he’d watched her own methods of surviving. and he didn’t fucking blame her for it, either. it was in the reverie of that thought, their relationship, that eben remained. the silent moments passing between them before she spoke again and even then, it took just a second to catch on. i’m pregnant. ---and he wondered why he would be the person she shared this information with. friends, but not quite that close. still, he felt his stomach turn for the realization ---not quite in full, that she’d be entering the games with a baby inside of her.
he wanted to believe she’d live, because it simply wasn’t fair that she’d have to play this nasty hand.
and then he realized.
the spark of a connection made ---their forced, shared intimacy. never once in his life did he want to be a father, never once did he even consider a family since the loss of KT, but here he was with news he couldn’t run from. this was not the sort of foe you used your hands to beat to death, this was not the sort of thing you outlasted, lead through treacherous seasons harsh as they could muster. this wasn’t even a foe at all. it was the consequences of an action neither of them chose. his stomach lurched. for a moment what she said was muffled, as if someone had fired a gun beside his ears. they rang, and rang, and rang. and came back in for i have no one back home.
of course he was sure she meant no partners. but in that moment it struck vastly different. in that moment he wondered if there was anyone else in her life besides the sister she’d volunteered to fight beside. he was almost certain he’d spent every tear his body could muster after KT died, but he felt something heave at the back of his throat. “ mina. ”
he’d never wanted to be a father, but he couldn’t take it back. there was no undo, there was no code for this. she shouldn’t have to feel alone. “ mina, i’m so fucking sorry. ” he took a step closer ---then froze, unsure. did she blame him? hate him? was it better to stay here, or to be there for her, physically? would she recoil if he touched her? would she hate him if he didn’t try? feelings, feelings, so foreign and cold. he felt like he’d be sick.
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gladiatefm:
what does she feel for johanna ? she feels , she feels . she feels something . in a way she was glad to take the reigns of mentorship from her calloused hands , to step up for the years of hellos and goodbyes ; the preparation for death . young hands clenching around weapons and no longer did johanna mason need to put herself through that . at least , she guesses , there was one upside to mina’s victory . she feels dirty just thinking about it , the fury with which she had flung those axes , how they had connected with skulls , arms and legs , ribs and throats . she’s older now , she knows that they were innocent children , just like she was .
what’s the use ? they’re all broken things now anyway , better off dead , better off young and beautiful and carried to peace in a hovercraft . shaking her head , her braid brushes her shoulders and her stomach clenches . forget about them , forget the dead . instead she watches johanna with interest , the fluid motions of limbs which never forgot , axes fly across the room and it feels , for a moment , like they’re at home .
“ you too . you’re a mentor again . forever if i don’t make it out . ” if this fails , she means . the plans cannot be spoken about aloud but they know what’s coming . a prayer that she will last until they’re broken out , but what are the chances ? are the odds really in her favour ? can lightening strike twice ? “ i call dibs on the pity party today , you can have it tomorrow . ” a sly smirk , she deals best with humour and axes . her pale fingers claim another and she flings it , not quite as perfect as the johanna mason , but close enough . “ what brings you down here , anyway ? shouldn’t you be chatting up sponsors or are they all sleeping in today ? ”
-
as a human johanna was certain that pieces of her had been disconnected sometime after the games. or maybe during. she had never been a particularly angry child, though she’d always had a temper. anyone who could attest to how she was in her youth was gone, now. she bore the guilt of that with her every day, from the moment she woke up to the moment she closed her eyes to sleep again. most nights it even carried into nightmares. it weighed heavy like an anchor. constantly pulling her down. so she owned it ---wore that rage like a badge, like armor, dressed in thorns. untouchable. the capitol had nothing else on her because she’d already burned everything she loved ... her own hands an ignition, her defiance the accelerant.
it was hard to admit that there was some form of softness where mina was concerned. not that the woman needed it ---she had proven she could handle her own (and johanna’s smug expression when she’d come out on top those games? she was sure the capitol still remembered. something about a zoom-in of that shit-eating grin being televised as they airlifted mina out of the arena). to admit that mina’s words stung admitted weakness, and the thorns that johanna wore wouldn’t allow for that. they were thick, not even fire could make their way through. still ---there was an edge to the comment. it flickered, briefly, in johanna’s eyes. “ you made it out once, you’ll make it out again. trust your anger. ”
fingers find another axe. there’s something automatic about the way her body shifts, forms and moves to the weapon once it’s in hand. back home it’s a tool, here it’s defense. (though she would be lying if she didn’t sometimes lose herself against the trees. it was easy to close her eyes and see the arena instead). another throw and another dummy with a weapon for an accessory ---this time a lovely hat. “ you can keep the pity each day, i don’t have a use for it. but if you’re smart, you won’t either. ” nobody who felt sorry for themselves ever made it out of the arena. she’d watched too many children spend the first night in tears, only for their cannons to sound because they’d given up. (not that she blamed them, but johanna mason was simply too fucking stubborn to die).
“ the schmoozing doesn’t start until later. sponsors hate it when you try and stick your tongue up their ass before they decide it’s ready. and while i’m all for pissing off the prim and prissy, i’d rather not do it at the cost of my tributes. i hate losing. ” and wasn’t that the truth. this time she was responsible for two of them. she’d ensure that both mina and her sister went in with as much information and cover as she could offer. “ i imagine you’re down here pretending these dummies are president snow? an excellent choice. they’re not ugly enough, though. ”
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riiseandfall:
@viciousapathy
Ever since it became evident that every tribute was related to a past victor, this year’s Games had felt…off. Like it was rearing up for something.
And Snow certainly didn’t disappoint.
It was chaos–which Io was certain was the goal. Even the uprising, who had done so well to plan their approach, was thrown into a moment of disarray. At a Quarter Quell they might have expected such a move…but not now.
She had retreated to the roof, hologram shining from the bracelet around her wrist as she worked, turning the diagram this way and that, stylus in her other hand as she made notes and adjustments. Most would likely suspect she was simply working—but she was doing far more than that.
Every system had weaknesses—flaws. And she would find each backdoor and hole in the Capitol’s system that she could possibly exploit. As soon as they see movement out of the corner of her eye, she sits up straight, and while she would often greet Eben with a wide smile–it is hard to do given recent events.
“No rest for the wicked?” Io signs, a shoulder rising in a small shrug, chin nodding to the hologram. “Gamemakers want an update in their software–more tributes means more work.” The hologram disappears with a wave of her hand as she moves to hug her knees to her chest. “How are you holding up?”
-
it’s been a long time since he’s felt like he’d be violently sick. there are few things in this world that can evoke that sort of feeling from him, now ---surprise news of a massive variety leading that particular parade with a trumpet in hand. the need to escape the choking crowd of people (even if it is the familiar faces of mentors, former tributes and their unfortunate family members) is like a vine. slowly it wraps around his throat, cutting off the last gasps of air until eben is aware that small beads of sweat threaten at his hairline. at least there’s a measure of composure when he excuses himself. and not for the first time that evening he’s making for the roof to swallow gulps of fresh air.
by now there’s no surprise that io is working. io is always working. tinkering with something, some sort of system that needs re-adjustments. if he wasn’t mentoring, if he was back in the village, he’d have his own schematics pulled up. the software was important but eben’s skills, preferences always lay with the hands on parts of building. there was nothing here that he could sketch and compile, scrap together that the capitol wouldn’t either toss away as nothing or take for themselves. he didn’t want to give them anything more than they deserved, than they already had. eyes shift to her hands, the way she signs her thoughts and eben finds it easy to dump himself onto the ground beside her. before answering he rubs the back of his wrist against his hairline and swipes away what condensation had begun there.
“ it’s why i never get any sleep. ” she’d taught him how to sign, once upon a time. some trial and error ---false starts before it became a fluent language in and of itself. it was nice to speak without speaking, and watching for her responses was an excuse to keep his mind engaged. off of topics that made his heart slam against his chest. a father. eben greyfield. it was like a nightmare. “ of course they do. imagine if they ever did anything for themselves. ” their ideas made manifest ---eben had learned, from a young age, that the gamemakers were just the think-tanks. all of the actual work and talent was put into by engineers, who sat in a sterile room and had orders barked at them.
“ better than anyone who had to volunteer. ” it was a lie, but there was no reason to burden io with the latest rockslide in his life. (though it had been a great many years since there had been one, at all). he was, for his own part, just thankful that io’s daughter hadn’t been reaped. that io didn’t have to volunteer. he’d never admit it aloud. fear that the capitol would hear that he had some form of emotion for anyone other than himself gripped far too tight. they’d come and scoop io or her daughter away, or find some new way to bring tragedy to them. he believed he was cursed. all of the victors were, but eben was sure he bore one of the worst brands. “ what about you? ”
hands moved in rhythm with the words, the song of their conversation ---voiceless and beautiful. he rested his chin on his knee, peered at io with his one good eye. his expression, he was sure, said everything that his gestures did not.
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gladiatefm:
𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 . training center , the roof 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 . day three .
@viciousapathy
ironically , the first thing that she had wanted was a drink , had even felt her feet leading her to the bar until she pulled herself to an abrupt stop . the bottom of a bottle was too deep a swim and mina stood lost , trembling in the middle of the training center . where are you ? she’s in her head , tumbling over vines and weeds , she’s pressing a hand to her abdomen and there’s journalists nearby , cameras which can lead to snow , which can lead to him discovering this precious new thing she must keep his hands off of . too much to protect , too much he wants dead and now this is so much bigger than a sister protecting her own .
a note , tiny and insubstantial , is passed between victors . her fingers graze eben’s as she tucks it into the fold of his palm ; meet me on the roof . it isn’t exactly unlike two mentors to talk during the games but this needs to remain quiet and the wind touching the heavens of panem will conceal their conversation . she hopes , she prays . she is about to ruin everything .
the air is a welcome gust as she shoves open the door , walks to the edge and looks down at the streets . the outrage died down and they’re partying again , celebrating hunger games fever , back in action . their excitement is palpable and she feels it all the way up here . star of the show but she is tiny , she is insignificant and so is the presence growing in her stomach . the wind brushes its fingers through her hair , and she doesn’t turn to look at him when the door opens behind her . “ you came . ” her voice is quiet so she allows him to approach , to let the breeze carry her words to him . “ i haven’t seen you in a while . not since … ” the night this happened , she may as well name snow god father . finally , she looks at him , and mina wonders if he can see the truth in her eyes . “ eben , we need to talk . ”
-
every year it was the same song and dance. every year he watched the worried or hungry eyes of 24 children, either aware of terrified of the imminent future before them. every year he quietly mourned the deaths of 23 of them, and the silent killing of the victor in the years to follow. he’d won, sure, but he slowly ceased to exist now. once upon a time he wanted to help them, but now there was only understanding that the most he could do was teach them what to expect (or not), and to schmooze as many sponsors as he could. this year was different. and he silently thanked the stars that he had no children, that his brother had already died, that there was nobody left in this godforsaken world he loved enough to watch reap into the games. the others weren’t so lucky.
he was an unmistakable figure among a throng: curly hair, somewhat unkempt, resting just above broad shoulders. he was a far cry from the boy who’d won all those years ago ---he’d filled out, he’d gotten muscle, he’d worked now. he nearly jumped out of his skin when the note passed into his palm (soft touch was so foreign to him, he didn’t understand gentleness anymore) and watched as the tiny blonde retreated out of sight. he lingered for a moment longer, timed it in his head before he politely excused himself and disappeared into the shadows as well.
the roof was cool, a pleasant wash over the growing warmth of body heat down below. it was selfish to think how fortunate he was that he didn’t have to participate beyond his mentorship duties. he felt a pang of guilt for mina ---a face he’d come to know since her own victory, one he’d mentored beside for a while ... one he had the unfortunate intimate knowledge of because of the perversions of the capitol. a hand came to brush the hair from his face, blown carelessly by the height of their perch. the dead white of the right one trained on her figure, muscle used to moving with the good eye despite not seeing anything at all. “ you did ask. ” his voice was soft, perhaps lost on the breeze, though he moved just a bit closer. he hated being too close to people he was forced to share those intimate moments with. it felt like a breech of both of their personal space. perhaps they did not want him nearby. perhaps he didn’t want them nearby. a minefield.
“ yeah, ” he voice trailed off, filling in a memory that felt bitter on his tongue. he could apologize, but it wasn’t his fault. it wasn’t hers, either. usually the victors just moved about their day, pretended they didn’t need to see those sides of one-another. but her tone, those words, stung. for a moment he wondered what he’d done (and so many times it felt as if it were someone else he got killed, or danger he’d put them in). “ alright ... i’m listening. ”
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gladiatefm:
𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 . training center , the gym 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 . day two .
she got sick again , the second morning in a row . the bile crawled up her throat and it stung her lips and purged itself of her . her hands shook as she wiped her lips , knees stung on the cold tile of the floor as a cold and terrifying realisation dawned on her . but no , she refuses to believe it , puts it down to stress . from the reaping to her own volunteering , her body under so much stress that it’s only natural she feels a little worse for wear .
distraction . she makes her way down to the gym since there’s no hope of her getting any sleep now . may as well get to work , and the official tribute training won’t begin for another couple of hours anyway . axe in hand , she lets her frustration out , throwing fervently at the targets . she yells , grunts , tossing those axes with all the strength her tiny body affords her .
she’s so lost that she jumps when she hears the door slam shut . sweating , she turns , checks the time . “ i still have time before the tributes come down , right ? ” she asks , breathless . “ i was just … venting . ”
-
anger was an emotion that lived in johanna mason’s bones. it had been present when she was a child, free of the strife that the woman more than twenty-years later lived with daily. it roiled and foamed during her late teens, and it made its home in her permanently thereafter. she understood it ---a language fluently spoken without words, but with actions. she could write sonnets with anger. except there was nothing poetic about her: just rough edges. just frays.
there were very few people she actually allowed herself to feel for. feeling meant loss, loss meant that she would be subjecting herself to further destruction. but she did not deserve people to love, or care for. she’d failed them, years ago. still ---she couldn’t help but feel that rush of something familiar, old, and nearly forgotten when it came for a former tribute. tribute once again. successor in spirit, the woman who had taken her place as a mentor and allowed johanna to fuck off into the woods of district seven in relative peace, and a neighbor in the village; mina meant something. johanna would never admit it.
“ you have time. ” she had not been happy about being dragged back to the capitol. nearly kicking and screaming, at that. but in present company there was little room to complain - not when mina was being subjected to the games once more. not when her sister had been reaped. hadn’t they paid enough? fingers wrapped around an axe, waiting among others, and she felt the motion roll through her body. thighs to stomach, stomach to arms, arms to fingers where she loosed it and watched the edge sail toward a training dummy. satisfaction smothered her lips when it connected square in the chest. “ i think you’re allowed to vent. ” she’d ask are you alright but johanna wasn’t stupid. none of them were, and none of them would be again.
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A stubborn enough person can survive just about anything. Rage is a hell of an anesthetic.
Zaeed Massani, Mass Effect 2. (via dainasinger)
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eben greyfield, district 3. mentor.
johanna mason, district 7, angry.
peeta mellark, district 12, baker.
dahlia snow, capitol, gamemaker.
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( lesley-ann brandt . cis woman . she/hers ) ➶ DID YOU SEE THEM ?! they’re finally back as a SPECTATOR , and you know they’re one of my favourites ! it’s JOHANNA MASON , the FORTY ONE year old WINNER of the SEVENTY-FIRST hunger games! i’m just so excited to see them returning to the capitol all the way from district SEVEN ! they won their games using AN AXE / DECEPTION so their tributes will no doubt be desperate for their wisdom. the capitol just loved them for being so CALCULATED , even if they have been known to be VICIOUS at times. they DON’T have a tribute in this years games . ( character IS part of the uprising )
Name: Johanna Mason.
Age: 41.
Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis Woman, She/Hers, Demisexual.
District: Seven.
Affiliation: The Resistance.
Job position: Former mentor, currently a simple lumberjack.
Skills: Strength, endurance, and agility attributed to her life’s work in district 7. Limitless rage, honestly.
Relationship status: Single.
Family: All deceased. Don’t mention them.
Children: None, she had her tubes tied shortly after her victory.
Positive traits: Challenging, efficient, honest, loyal, resourceful.
Negative traits: Aggressive, deceptive, dominating, stubborn, unhinged.
Character Comparisons: Selina Kyle (Gotham), John Murphy (The 100), Billy Butcher (The Boys), John Bender (The Breakfast Club), Anakin Skywalker (Revenge of the Sith), Bellatrix LeStrange (Harry Potter), April Ludgate (Parks & Rec), Octavia Blake (The 100).
— BIOGRAPHY —
All of the pieces of Johanna Mason’s life that anyone would be interested in have already been telecasted live to the districts and Capitol. It’s a fact she’d rather not relive in any sense of the word, but is routinely reminded thereof.
She was always a rough child ---around the edges, in personality. Growing up in a family full of brothers did that to her. Five older brothers, one younger ... the only girl. They teased her as if she were one of them, and showed her the way of being a Mason.
Climbing trees, playing tag after work, or hide and seek. Johanna was taught to carry and swing an axe almost as soon as she could walk ---put to purpose to help feed the large family she’d been born into. Her bond with her siblings was strong, unbreakable. Life was much simpler when she was younger and couldn’t quite grasp the dangers of living in an outlying district.
Somehow her brothers had avoided the reaping. Johanna almost made it herself ---a late seventeen, budding eighteen when she was reaped. Her siblings couldn’t do anything to help (not that she expected they would) and her parents wept for the assumed loss of their only daughter.
She spent a good portion of her time quiet. Silently seething at the circumstances she’d been played into, angry at the smallest of things. Her stylist for his ridiculous taste, her escort for being overly bubbly about the death of a child (that’s what it was, wasn’t it?), her mentor for attempting to ease her into reality. They all saw her as a weak little girl, thin and wiry, so she let them. Johanna barely scored a 3 in her personal session, and even the careers didn’t believe she was worth the effort. She’d likely die to exposure ... or maybe fall on something and kill herself.
Three days before the games Johanna celebrated her 18th birthday alone. She told nobody.
And she took everyone by surprise. Nothing worth watching for the longest stretch of the 71st Annual Hunger Games, until it came down to the last handful of tributes. The games ended swiftly when she played her hand: vicious, strong, capable. Johanna showed no mercy at all in her methods. Putting an axe in her hands, assuming she was just a weak little girl had been their largest mistake.
Peace did not last long. She hadn’t made it to her victory tour before she was propositioned. The Capitol wanted her ---citizens wanted a piece of someone so malicious, but Johanna refused. In an attempt to call their bluff, she denied becoming a toy of the citizens. Her family was killed for it.
Just like that. Six brothers. Sisters-in-law. Nieces. Nephews. Parents. Gone, because of defiance. Gone, because she’d underestimated the Capitol, Snow, the way everyone underestimated her. And it only made her more angry.
For 9 years she served as mentor, passing the torch along to Mina DeWitt after her victory. In Mina Johanna placed all of her rage. In Mina Johanna placed all of her desire to lash out and cause harm she knew she otherwise couldn’t. And with Mina’s victory Johanna retired, disappearing into the woods of District 7.
She doesn’t remember who approached her about joining the Uprising. Someone who recognized that rage, that anger, the hurt. Someone who knew it could be weaponized and put to use. Someone who knew she was a weapon, a sharp axe requiring something to sever. Johanna will never thank them, but that purpose is the only thing keeping her from falling into nasty habits, to numb herself from the guilt.
— SMALL FACTS —
Her home in the Victor’s Village is filled with mementos of her family. Every single decoration, even the clutter, is something from them. The jackets she wears are cycled between brothers. Her axe is her father’s. The flannel blankets her youngest brother’s. She lives in their memory as a means to remind herself that she is the reason they’re dead.
Johanna had her tubes tied shortly after her Victory, after she had been propositioned by the Capitol. If it had ever come to it, if they ever forced her into it, she refused to carry a child ---someone to be possibly reaped in the future and used. Now that these games are drawing upon a pool of relatives to the Victors, she’s silently thankful for that decision. Besides, she stands she’d be a horrible mother.
Don’t speak to her about her games unless she mentions it first. Never speak to her about her family. It’s a great way to lose a limb.
— WANTED PLOTS —
the person who recruited her into the uprising
perhaps a romance? it’ ain’t gonna be easy, godspeed (any gender welcome).
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mazikeen in every episode → 1.11 st. lucifer
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