HG FIC: I am Iris Mellark (1/?)
I am Iris Mellark (1/?), PG, ~500 wc, will spread across genres but this one is angst
Snapshots from the life of Katniss' and Peeta's daughter, Iris Primrose Mellark.
Author's Note: I've not written anything in so long that I was determined that I would write something today. I didn't know what fandom, which character, if it was going to be shippery, if I was going to do something with the gazillion WIPs I have or do a one shot - I had no idea.
So what does my muse hand me? Angst. Of course. And what better platform for angst than Hunger Games fic, hm?
Here is what my mind belched out today (sorry, graphic description there).
It hadn't been on purpose.
It wasn't on purpose, he would hear her say continuously over the course of the following days.
She insisted and insisted until her father, in a rare moment, snapped at her to be quiet and go back to her room. Iris' mouth had fallen open in surprise before her gray eyes had filled with tears and she'd run into her bedroom, slamming the door as hard as the six-year-old could.
She hadn't noticed her father's face flicker with pain and regret before he turned to his own darkened room to make sure his wife ate something.
Katniss hadn't gotten out of bed for over forty-eight hours.
Peeta doesn't know where Iris got the idea, but he does know that she didn't mean any harm. He hoped that her school hadn't put this in their curriculum, because she's too young, and it's far too soon.
The day had started rather innocuously. He'd kissed his wife and baby boy good-bye, tugged on his daughter's dark braid, and had left to open the bakery. He'd started the ovens, kneaded the dough, and gone along his normal routine. It was after lunch that Iris had come flying through his doors, tears running down her face, eyes wide and red. The only thing he'd been able to make out of her sobs was Mommy and that was all he'd needed to know.
The smoke behind the house made his heart drop into his stomach. He'd rounded the corner at a run, sending his daughter into the house to check on her brother, and found Katniss crumpled near the edge of their primrose bushes, face set in that haggard mask she got when she was thinking about then, eyes staring unseeingly at the small fire in front of her. Despite the fact that it was an impromptu fire, she'd still taken the precaution to make sure the flames didn't spread. While that was reassuring, the rest of the picture was not, as Peeta's eyes caught on the edge of a silver piece of paper that was just going up in flame.
Silver parachutes.
Katniss hadn't looked at him and he really hadn't needed to ask what'd happened. He picked her up and brought her to their room, leaving her lying boneless on their bed. Iris had lingered in the hallway, watching the whole thing with her wide eyes.
"I thought it was pretty. I thought Mommy would like them," his little girl had whispered.
His large hand had come down gently on her head. "I know."
Snapshots from the life of Katniss' and Peeta's daughter, Iris Primrose Mellark.
Author's Note: I've not written anything in so long that I was determined that I would write something today. I didn't know what fandom, which character, if it was going to be shippery, if I was going to do something with the gazillion WIPs I have or do a one shot - I had no idea.
So what does my muse hand me? Angst. Of course. And what better platform for angst than Hunger Games fic, hm?
Here is what my mind belched out today (sorry, graphic description there).
It hadn't been on purpose.
It wasn't on purpose, he would hear her say continuously over the course of the following days.
She insisted and insisted until her father, in a rare moment, snapped at her to be quiet and go back to her room. Iris' mouth had fallen open in surprise before her gray eyes had filled with tears and she'd run into her bedroom, slamming the door as hard as the six-year-old could.
She hadn't noticed her father's face flicker with pain and regret before he turned to his own darkened room to make sure his wife ate something.
Katniss hadn't gotten out of bed for over forty-eight hours.
Peeta doesn't know where Iris got the idea, but he does know that she didn't mean any harm. He hoped that her school hadn't put this in their curriculum, because she's too young, and it's far too soon.
The day had started rather innocuously. He'd kissed his wife and baby boy good-bye, tugged on his daughter's dark braid, and had left to open the bakery. He'd started the ovens, kneaded the dough, and gone along his normal routine. It was after lunch that Iris had come flying through his doors, tears running down her face, eyes wide and red. The only thing he'd been able to make out of her sobs was Mommy and that was all he'd needed to know.
The smoke behind the house made his heart drop into his stomach. He'd rounded the corner at a run, sending his daughter into the house to check on her brother, and found Katniss crumpled near the edge of their primrose bushes, face set in that haggard mask she got when she was thinking about then, eyes staring unseeingly at the small fire in front of her. Despite the fact that it was an impromptu fire, she'd still taken the precaution to make sure the flames didn't spread. While that was reassuring, the rest of the picture was not, as Peeta's eyes caught on the edge of a silver piece of paper that was just going up in flame.
Silver parachutes.
Katniss hadn't looked at him and he really hadn't needed to ask what'd happened. He picked her up and brought her to their room, leaving her lying boneless on their bed. Iris had lingered in the hallway, watching the whole thing with her wide eyes.
"I thought it was pretty. I thought Mommy would like them," his little girl had whispered.
His large hand had come down gently on her head. "I know."