Hunger Games fan fiction by Manniness




Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own the Hunger Games series.  No profit was made in the production and publication of the following work.  No copyright infringement is intended.  I'm just unable to resist the urge to fangirl like crazy.  *flail*




CourageSacrificeCover2 Title: Courage and Sacrifice
Fandom: Hunger Games (movie and book fusion)
Pairings: Everlark (Peeta/Katniss)
Rating: T
Warnings: basic Hunger Games stuff like blood, gore, death, angst, badassery, shit-hitting-the-fan, oh-no-they-didn't government-sanctioned injustice, and (my personal favorite) UST (nom nom nom)
Notes: Peeta POV, Canon AU, and yes there is a badass sequel in the works because I cannot write just ONE *headdesk*
Summary:

“We salute your courage and your sacrifice.”

Heart in my throat, pulse racing with sudden fear, I look at Katniss.

Not her.

That’s all I can think because thinking anything else will annihilate me right here in the middle of the square, surrounded by all these people, under the cold stare of the president himself.

Katniss will not be another sacrifice in their Games.  I will not allow it.


Courage and Sacrifice on fanfiction.net
Courage and Sacrifice on Archive of Our Own

Teaser of the first chapter posted here on LJ: The Reaping

DSSDBanner2c
Title: Daughter of Samland, Son of Denmark
Fandom: Hunger Games
Pairings: Everlark (Peeta/Katniss), Clato (Cato/Clove)
Rating: M
Warnings: battle gore, slavery, sensuality
Notes: Viking Era AU, Alternating POV, Written for the March 2013 Prompts in Panem, Day 2: Masterpieces, Visual prompt: Massacre of the Innocents

Summary: When Katniss falls in battle defending her father's lands and is captured by the men from the north, she believes her life is over, but a former slave by the name of Peeta is determined to keep her safe.

Teaser:

We’ve prepared as best we could, but as I turn the corner on the muddy path through the village hugging the walls of my father’s fortress, I know we aren’t ready. We would never be ready.

The Northmen have come.

Daughter of Samland, Son of Denmark on fanfiction.net
Daughter of Samland, Son of Denmark on Archive of Our Own (AO3)
All tangled up

Yet another victim, er, tribute of the Hunger Games

Yes.  I'm afraid it's very, very true.  I am now writing fanfic for the Hunger Games series. Kill me now. But don't because Peeta Mellark is all that and a bag of bagel chips.  With honey.  And cinnamon.  And yes, please, may I have some more? Ahem. So, just a warning shout-out to you all that I'll be adding my Hunger Games fic to my LJ very soon.  I won't move my Alice in Wonderland (2010) fics at all.  (But who knows when I'll write and post another one.  Sorry.)  They'll just move over and make room for THIS:
CourageSacrificeCover2 Title: Courage and Sacrifice Fandom: Hunger Games (movie and book fusion) Pairings: Everlark (Peeta/Katniss) Rating: T Warnings: basic Hunger Games stuff like blood, gore, death, angst, badassery, shit-hitting-the-fan, oh-no-they-didn't government-sanctioned injustice, and (my personal favorite) UST (nom nom nom) Notes: Peeta POV
Summary:

“We salute your courage and your sacrifice.”

Heart in my throat, pulse racing with sudden fear, I look at Katniss.

Not her.

That’s all I can think because thinking anything else will annihilate me right here in the middle of the square, surrounded by all these people, under the cold stare of the president himself.

Katniss will not be another sacrifice in their Games.  I will not allow it. So, that's the deal. Enjoy the Peeta FEELS on fanfiction.net: Courage and Sacrifice Roll around in the Peeta FEELS on Archive of Our Own: Courage and Sacrifice Did I mention there would be Peeta FEELS?  (^__~)

The Reaping

Theme music: “Apologize” by OneRepublic



*~*~*~*



“I volunteer!  I volunteer!”

No.  No, not that voice.  Not that girl.  Not her.

I can’t watch.  I stare straight ahead, glaring at the weathered and warped stage – what I can see of it through the crowd in front of me, past profiles and untrimmed hair and wrinkled shirt collars.  Everyone is looking toward the aisle.  Everyone except me because there is no one there.  There is no one stepping forward to die.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

I clench my jaw, fist my hands, squeeze my eyes shut.  This is not real.  I did not just hear her voice.  I did not just hear her say those words.  I didn’t hear them because they’re not real.

“District Twelve’s very first volunteer!” Effie Trinket, the district escort, nearly squeals with glee into the microphone.

No.  You’re wrong.

I am not listening to Primrose Everdeen’s screams of denial.  I am not listening to the Peacekeepers escorting her older sister toward the stage; there are no measured footsteps taken in women’s shoes up to the platform.  I hear none of this because there is no volunteer.  Katniss wouldn’t…  She wouldn’t—!

“What’s your name, dear?”

I hold my breath, willing the terror-scape to break.  Please.  Not her.  Not her!

Silence presses in on my ears and I hold onto it.  As long as she doesn’t say it, it’s not true.  It’s not real.  It’s not—

“Katniss Everdeen.”

My jaw hurts.  My hands ache.  My lungs burn.  I sob in a breath through my gritted teeth just as Effie Trinket coos, “I bet my buttons that was your sister, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

No.  No, no, no-no-no-nononoNO!

“Let’s have a big round of applause for Katniss Everdeen!” Effie Trinket trills.  She claps daintily and I hear the reaping slip flutter in her grasp.  The microphone picks up the sound, bouncing it off of the buildings in the square until it becomes indistinguishable from the feathery flapping of birds’ wings as they escape, abandoning the girl who could charm them into silence.

They will not listen to Katniss Everdeen sing again.  And neither will I.

The pain of that thought forces my eyes open.  I watch as, one by one, everyone in the square salutes her in silence.  My hands are still fisted.  If I loosen my fingers, I’ll break, crack down the middle like a hot brick under a shock of ice water.  I refuse to say goodbye to her.  This is not goodbye.  It’s not.

But it is.

My mind blanks with defeat.  This is it.  I’ve lost my chance.  I’ll never tell her.  I’ll never speak to her.  But no.  I can.  I could.  My last chance will be when the tributes are allowed to say their goodbyes to their friends and family in the Justice Building.  I could go.  I could ask to see her one last time.

And say what, idiot?

I swallow thickly, determined not to glance in my mother’s direction, determined not to flinch at what she’d say if – when – she finds out that I’ve gone to see Katniss Everdeen.  I will not let her stop me.  I’m going to tell Katniss how special I think she is, how strong, how amazing and talented and beautiful and—

“Peeta Mellark!”

What?

The boys in front of me shift nervously, glancing back and shuffling away as if I’m ill with something contagious.  Well, forget them.  I need to figure out what I’m going to say to Katniss.  She has to win.  She has to win and come back home to Twelve because… because…!

Someone sighs out a relieved breath behind me and that tiny sound snaps me out of my daze.

Oh.

That was my name, wasn’t it?

Oh, God.

I blink once and then I force my feet to move.  If I don’t, the Peacekeepers will drag me up there and that would be too humiliating for words.  I walk toward the stage, glancing right and left, waiting for someone to put out a hand and stop me, tell me that there’s been some kind of mistake, that it wasn’t my name that was called.

No one stops me, so it must have been real.

I take the steps one at a time, staring at them as I ascend, wary of stumbling.  I will not stumble in front of Katniss.  I may not be as brave or as strong as her, but I will not fall to pieces.

I make it to the top and look out over the crowd.  I’ve never seen the square from this angle before.  It’s terrifying and I know deep down that I will never forget a single bit of it.  I could sketch this from memory years from now.

You don’t have years.  More like days.

A hand on my arm startles me.  I turn at the rasp of impractically long fingernails brushing against the fabric of my shirt.

“Well go on, you two.  Shake hands,” Effie Trinket invites.

Shake hands.  Right.  Okay.  I reach across the space between us in an automatic gesture and the instant her hand fits against mine, I realize that Katniss Everdeen is my district partner and we’re expected to try and kill each other and—

I can’t.

I glance up at her through my lashes, a shock of panic zipping down my spine.  God, what the hell am I going to do?

And then our hands fall away from each other and I’m furious with myself.  I hadn’t even been paying attention to the feel of her palm against mine, her fingers and skin.  I can’t remember a single thing about it.  My regret follows me into the Justice Building.  I’m simmering with disappointment – just like the last time our paths had crossed.  Why had I just tossed her that bread?  Why hadn’t I gone out in the rain and handed it to her?  Why?

Because you’re a coward.

Well, I suppose this is my last chance to fix that, isn’t it?

I’m still trying to figure out how to do that when my mother’s voice breaks the oppressive silence in the room I’d been directed to in the Justice Building.

“District Twelve might finally have a winner this year,” she almost sneers.  My father and brothers look up at her in amazement.  Hell, I look up at her in amazement.  She can’t mean me.  I’ve never done anything in my life to warrant that kind of faith.  I’ve never stood up to her, never fought back, never—

“She’s a survivor, that one,” my mother continues, her face pinching as if the admission tastes like two-week-old buttermilk.

Of course Katniss is a survivor.  Still, I’m amazed that my mother and I can actually agree on something positive regarding a girl from the Seam.  That, in and of itself, is a miracle.

“I’m sorry, Peet,” Duff says suddenly and I almost wonder if I’d just imagined my mother’s remark.  But no, it was real.  Duff proves it by continuing to speak of my co-tribute: “She volunteered for her little sister.  I should have—”

“No!” I almost shout, instantly horrified.  Duff is eighteen.  This is his last year of eligibility.  “No, I’m glad you didn’t.”  And I am glad.  Relieved.  “It’s fine this way.  You guys don’t need me.”  Baxter and Duff can work in the bakery.  They’re actually a lot better at baking than I am.  The only thing I’m especially good at is decorating the cakes.  And who cares about that stuff, anyway?  The people of District Twelve have never made pretty things a priority.  So my family doesn’t need me.  They never have, really.

I guess, in some weird way, that makes it okay that I’m going to die in the Games.  Like this is my sole purpose in life.  I was born so that someone more useful doesn’t have to die this year.

The only person who has ever needed me was a little girl on the brink of starvation.  In that single moment in the rain one late winter afternoon over five years ago, I’d been needed.  I’d been useful.  Maybe I could be again.

The sound of my dad’s hoarse sob interrupts my thoughts.  Without a word, I go and sit down next to him on the aged sofa.  He puts his hand on my shoulder.  My eyes mirror his, burning with tears.  I don’t try to fight them.  A man shouldn’t cry alone and these moments are my dad’s last gift to me, to show me that he loves me, that I matter.  “You’re a good boy, Peeta,” he rasps thickly.

My throat closes up.  And then Baxter sits down on my other side.  He would’ve ruffled my hair if our mother weren’t in the room, but she is, so he somehow resists the urge to put me in a headlock.  Duff stands awkwardly nearby, still looking a little shrunken with guilt.  I’m just glad he’s not the kind of person to feel like he was shown up by Katniss’ display of self-sacrifice.  If my mother had loved him any less than me, she probably would have screamed for him to take my place.  Just for the sake of family pride.  Or merchant pride, more like.  Townie pride.

My stomach clenches, rolling with heat, and bile climbs up my throat.  I swallow it back down.

I brace my elbows on my thighs and lean forward to contemplate the hardwood floor.  “Don’t worry about me, dad.”

We don’t say anything else and our time passes in silence.  My mother is the first one out the door when the Peacekeepers come.  I get brusque hugs from Baxter and Duff.

“You take care, Peeta,” my dad says quietly, gripping my shoulders firmly as if he has to force himself to push me away.

I sigh.  “You know I’m not…”  I stop.  I’m not cruel enough to finish that thought aloud.  I rephrase, “Katniss is going to come back.”

“I know,” he answers.  Our eyes meet and I know that he knows.  Maybe he’s always known.  Ever since that first day of school when he’d pointed her out to me in an effort to ease my nerves, in an effort to help me make a friend.  The irony is that she’s the only person in our grade at school that I’ve never spoken to.

My dad gives my shoulders one last squeeze and then the door closes behind him.

That’s it then.  No going back.  I’m in this for Katniss.

I do my best to cling to my commitment, but when I’m sitting in the back of the car which is transporting us to the train station, I’m suddenly overwhelmed.  I’m never going to see my home again.  I’m never going to run into Katniss on the street and charm her with the perfect words, words that I just haven’t thought of yet.  I used to be convinced that they existed, that one day they’d come to me in a burst of inspiration, that all I had to do was be patient.

But I was too patient, and it’s too late now.  I’m never going to hold her hand, duck behind the bakery with her to steal a kiss, whisper secrets and dreams and promises in her ear.  None of my humble wishes are ever going to come true.  I’m leaving them here to die a quiet, lonely death, starved of hope.

I can hear Effie Trinket rattling on about our schedule.  All I can do is look out the window and try not to cry.

The moment I step onto the train, a strange peace descends.  Or maybe it’s not peace but emptiness.  The dreams have fallen away.  I have lost everything.  What’s the point of being afraid now?  Soon, I’ll be dead.  This is the beginning of the end.

I stare at the grandness surrounding me and I think how unreal all of this is.  None of this finery matters.  What matters now is Katniss.  She needs me.  She just doesn’t know it yet.

Strength infuses me at the thought.  I can do this.  I can make my life – my death – mean something.  I have a purpose.

I just hope the odds are in my favor.

I am slain!

Heart and Sole update... finally!

OMG, yes.  I know how VERY INCREDIBLY INCONCEIVABLY late I am, but better late than never, yes?

Here's Chapter 24, in which Hamish follows his heart and Alice welcomes him to Iplam

I hope it's been worth the wait.  m( _ _ )m

Chapter 25 is soon to follow.  I just have to decide if I can figure out how to work in some Hamish-and-Tarrant boy talk or if I need to leave it out entirely...  Hm...
I am slain!

Slowly getting back up...

Hello, everyone!  I'm sorry I've been so scarce around these parts, but hey, I'm still alive!  *cues the applause*

Um, unfortunately, there's nothing new on the Alice front.  *hides from the booing*

BUT HOWEVER!  There's been an update on Downal wyth Bluddy Cliche 4: Lowell is a scoundrel.  Check out the thelovelylydia's Thru the Mirror.

I am writing, though, just not for AiW.  As soon as Hamish, Mirana, Alice, and Tarrant start talking to me again (I think they went off to Narnia for a vacation or something), I'll wrap up Heart and Sole and then I'll see if I can work more on that other fic I started.  (You know, the one where Alice becomes a queen and she and Tarrant can't be together?)  I'd really like to finish that one, but it's just not happening right now.

Anyway, if you're morbidly curious about what I've been up to these days, I'm writing male/male bromance stuff for the fandom Gundam Wing under the pen name themanwell.  Feel free to friend me over there if you like and chat.

HUGS TO YOU ALL!!  You are the most excellent of LJ buds.  (^__^)


I am slain!

Not feelin' the love...

Sorry for the delay in updating "Heart and Sole", everyone.  I simply haven't been feeling the "magic" of it lately.  Actually, I haven't been feeling much writing magic at all.  I guess there are lots of things I could blame my sudden apathy on: culture shock (yes, after 8 years of living in Japan, I still get culture shock) and chronic pain (nothing says "YAY!" like waking up in pain that makes putting your jeans on seem on par with trekking up Mount Olympus so you can get a couple of body slams from Zeus before Hermes kicks you off the summit and bounces you down the slope for bonus points) and energy-sucking work (need I say more?).

I will finish this story (and my ongoing original works, too) one of these days.  I guess I'm busy hiding from the fact that life requires a lot of energy for me to simply function these days.  It's killing my creativity.  It's easier to hide in bed with a glass of wine.

I'll keep checking in (and updating the chapters on FF.net).  Eventually, there will be an update.
m( _ _ )m
stapler envy

No updates. Sorry.

Just a quick note to let you all know that I haven't updated Heart and Sole yet.  This week was busy and next week looks like it might be a bit hectic, too. 

As soon as I have the headspace available for fangirling (I need a lot of space for all the uncoordinated flailing that goes on), I'll get back to the fic.

I hope you've been enjoying it so far!

'Til next time,
Manny