#meme. headcanons.

[illarchiveyourthroat-blog]

headcanon thing: death

   send me HC + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

                  something not meant for her. not in a foolish way. not that she thinks she’s immortal. but she’s been surrounded by death her entire life, and has never been taken herself. she is early twenties after the war, but she survived multiple things that killed most. it’s almost as if death is always there, but has forgotten about her. the same way she played the games and had everyone in the arena forget about her in her first games.

                 growing up in non–career districts meant that barely anyone just died a death of old age. since she could remember, she could also remember death. and still, she survived, survived, survived. falling into morphling addiction is a chase after that named oblivion of death. she isn’t actively trying to commit suicide, but she isn’t exactly trying hard to survive after the torture, really. she figures, when she finally does, she’ll be alone. maybe she’ll drown. maybe she’ll overdose. maybe someone will put her out because of mercy.

                  but in the end, it’s nature -– the only thing she lets herself love –- that takes her.

[illarchiveyourthroat-blog]

HC + torture 8-)

    send me HC + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

                  there are days when this is all you can remember.

                  how it feels to drown. how cold water is. how it feels to have your lungs burn. how it feels to burn from the shocks of wires in the tub. how it feels to almost die, to almost be peaceful. how it feels when they grab you by first your hair, then your shoulder when they shave that off and still, still keep you alive.

                 it’s loud in your head with this shit. because everything in the cells, not just the tub, lingers there. probably will until you die, whenever that will be. you think of how hard the bed you slept on was, how cold and hard everything was. how bright the lights were, and how dark the dark would be when they plunged you in. how you could hear the muffled sounds of the capitol above, and never know if a party or war was taking place.                   you think of how once a week they lined you all up naked and sprayed you down with a high pressured hose to wash you. you remember when it suddenly felt painful beyond the pain of the pressure, when the merest lick of water fucked you up.

                 you remember the first time you tried to cover your naked body, feeling the shame they tried to feed into you for so long. torture taught you all those pieces of yourself you never wanted to learn, in a way that almost dying for entertainment couldn’t even do.

                 you hands still shake in the rhythm of electricity volts in the waters. if you don’t pay attention, you scrape your tongue against the back of your teeth so you can feel the chunk you accidentally bit off by accident once down there. your body is on fire, always, in the way you always drown. they try to cure you, cure it.

                                    but you know you’re fucked.

[illarchiveyourthroat-blog]

hc + the color red

    send me HC + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

                  when most people think of nature, they think of the GREEN of trees & moss & the stems of flowers. they think of all THE BRILLIAN COLORS that flowers bloom in. they think of the BROWN of dirt, the brown of a deer’s fur. they think of the change from GREEN to RED to YELLOW to BROWN to a PURPLE as the leaves of certain trees wither & fall off branches as the air gets colder. they think of the BLUE THAT’S GREEN & the GREEN THAT’S BLUE of the sea.

                  when johanna thinks of nature, of true nature -– she thinks of RED. the deep red of BLOOD. because everything BITES. everything KILLS. to survive you have to survive over others. she knows it happens in nature, has watched from trees as animals turned against each other. as a little girl she saw a schoolmate die from a poisoning they got by wandering in the woods during recess. even then, she wondered about the antidote in a nearby plant, wondered if she could save them -– didn’t. they coughed up the state of violent nature. she didn’t save them.

                  she never saved everyone, & she probably never will. it’s the nature of things. it’s the way she survives.

[illarchiveyourthroat-blog]

hc + lullabies

    send me HC + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

growing up, johanna’s mother always used to sing lullabies to her. johanna doesn’t allow herself to think of her family that much ; of the people that she has lost, but the voice of her mother is something that stays more concrete than anything else. folk songs & songs from her mother’s hometown in the south were a constant for johanna. she only knew her mother as sick & dying, only had holding memories of having to have her mother’s bed in the living room like a hospice to wait for her sickness to come & finally kill her. she had to move her herself to stop bed sores, & was only able to really bond with mother things that were like learning to read & her mother brushing her hair. & of course, her mother singing. johanna tried to stay away, really, because she knew she was going to lose her mother. but she loved the dark & deep sound of her mother’s voice, even just of her mother humming. sometimes when she’s doing mindless tasks she finds herself singing. it’ll usually be jazz or blues ( her favorite music ), but every now & then an old folk song she still remembers in the timbre of her mother comes through. if asked about it, she’ll disregard it meaning anything to her. she’ll say it’s a song she’s heard in passing. but without any photographs or links to her family or childhood, it’s the final link to it all that she can’t erase, no matter how much she tried to remove herself from it all.