#The reaping

[whatarethooseshuri]

let the games begin

@monarch-of-wakanda @realamericachavez @buckybarnesoffical @therealbuckybarnes @capn-america @not-a-poser @not-hawkeye @kamala-msmarvel-khan @realgodofthunder @bisexualswordlady @ilikemiddleagedmarvelchar @caroldanverofficial @loki-laufeychild @daniel-r @buthearmeouttho @flightlaw @realcaptainfalcon @yelena-belovedx @therealnickfury @officialscottlang @i-am-not-a-villain @ab-art-07 @uniquedetectivejellie

@buckybarnesoffical is Bucky one and @therealbuckybarnes is Bucky two:)

[iliveonteaandbooks]

☾༓Hold You Close✧.*ೃ༄ Chapter 1: The Reaping ☾༓

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Warnings: Typical Hunger Games violence. For the sake of the story Finnick is sixteen and District 4 is not a Career District.

Word Count:

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" Fin?"

"Hm?"

"Tomorrow's The Reaping." I sighed.

He chuckled, untangling the barnacle covered net.

"Really?" he answered not looking up at me. "I had no idea."

I rolled my eyes. "C'mon Finnick, be serious." I pouted slightly and absentmindedly picked at a barnacle on my own net.

"Sorry love." he said still not looking up at me continuing to twiddle wit the nets.

Our nets were always like this. Tangled, knotted, torn, and covered in barnacles. We blamed it on the capitol for not caring for the districts enough, which was true, but it was really our fault. See, Finnick and I constantly goofed around. We always fished away from everyone else, we never got caught. Or at least we believed so. And really if the peacekeepers or capitol knew, they'd do something by now.

At first we'd be focused. Honestly. We'd actually fish, actually chatting here and there. But then...one of us would decide to mess with the other and from there the boat would tip and we'd both end up in the water laughing and splashing each other, nets tangled over us.

After a successful day of "fishing" we would swim and splash around, not that we didn't already do that all day. It was a different type of fun at this time of day: the sun setting on the horizon, the waves gently hitting our sides, and the sand tickling our feet. I always looked forward to this.

"Tomorrow's The Reaping." I repeated.

Finnick's face fell slightly, and he tried to cover it up with a joke again.

"I heard you the first hundred times, love." he grinned, but noticing your disapproving look, dropped the act, and looked back down at his nets.

"We're only fifteen..." he mumbled.

Finnick suddenly put down his nets, drawing your attention.

"How many times did you put your name in?" he asked looking deep into yours eyes.

"Nineteen times. Why?"

He sighed and went back to his nets. Then it dawned on me.

"Finnick..."

He stayed silent.

"Finnick...Finnick how many times?"

"It doesn't matter." he mumbled.

"Yes it does Finnick. How many times? Answer me." I said firmly.

"Fifty - five." he mumbled.

I gasped, and instantly regretted it. I knew that would make him feel bad.

"Oh Finnick!" I immediately jumped up latching on to his neck, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Oh, Finnick why?!! Why would you do such thing?" I knew why.

"You know why." he mumbled.

"Oh Finnick! I'm so sorry!" I sobbed.

"It'll be ok. We'll be ok."

Finnick's family lived on the poor side of District 4. His family having almost no money and barely enough to buy foods at times. My family wasn't any better, but I only had my mother and grandmother.

Finnick had more people to care for. A drunkard for a father, who waisted most of Finnick's earnings on alcohol. His mother didn't love him. Or any of her children for that matter. Finnick cared for all of them. I don't know how he did it. He had to younger brothers, one of which was an infant, and a little sister. All of them which I had met. They were very sweet and polite, surprisingly, considering the parents they had. I really didn't know how any of them survived. There were six people in the family, and Finnick took care of every single one of them.

"We can run away." he said pushing me slightly away to look into my red and swollen eyes, and wiped a stray tear away.

"Run away?" I chuckled.

"You laugh at me, but I'm serious." he grinned.

I just shook my head.

"Look. We take my siblings, we can take care of them, you always wanted children anyway, and we run to district 12. Beyond that is freedom. Can' t you see it. Just us on the run. Away from this awful life.

"Finnick..." I stroked his cheek gently. Boy, did that man have an imagination.

He sighed. "I know, I know. But it's not impossible.

I smiled at him, mesmerized by his stormy eyes.

"Y/n...whatever happens tomorrow..." but he was cut off by the bells of the city hall. It was time to go.

"Guess we gotta go." i sighed standing up, not really wanting to.

He nodded in agreement.

"What were you gonna say?" I asked.

"Oh nothing. I forgot anyway." he grinned.

"Ok then." you smiled. You didn't believe him. Something was troubling him.

You hugged him goodbye. "See you in the morning. Don't be late!" you scolded jokingly.

He merely chuckled. Waving you off as you headed opposite directions, the sunset almost fully set behind you by now.

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That night I couldn't sleep. Something felt wrong. Like something was going to happen.

Only when I saw the sun begin to rise did I finally fall asleep.

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When I woke up, a dress was already layed out for me. Probably by mother.

It was a beautiful sea green shirt dress that went down to mu knees.

Before putting it on I made sure to wash and then gently put on the dress tying the bow in the back.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, my mother walked in.

She smiled.

"You look more beautiful in that dress than I ever did."

"Thank you." I whispered.

She walked over and gently combed my hair and twisted it into a tight bun.

"Beautiful."

"Thank you mother."

My grandmother walked in as well commenting on my dress and how she remembered my mother in the same dress walking to her first reaping as a little girl. She told that story every year, and I listened patiently every time.

"C'mon Y/n...It's time to go." my mother said, gently pulling me by my arm as we headed to the main district square.

The walk there was silent. Each of us in our own thoughts.

I watched people walk out from their small houses. Little children's faces pale and eyes deep with worry and anxiety. My own emotions began to overflow as my gut began to have a weird feeling, like something was going to happen.

When we walked to the square, which was surrounded by shops and small buildings, most of which were closed due to the 'important' day. Slowly, the residents of District 4 began to trickle in and disperse into the specific, roped of sections.

My mother and grandmother got lost in the crowd of adults as I tried to spot Finnick's messy hair while slowly walking to the 16 year - old females.

The area became more and more cramped as more people trickled in, latecomers ushered to the back of the roped off sections.

As more sixteens gather around me, we merely exchange curt nods, barely knowing each other.

Next to the stage the mayor silently sits with his two sons and wife.

On the other side sit the previous victors of District 4.

As the town clock strikes twelve, the mayor begins reading the speech. It's the same one every year. How Panem rose up from the ashes, the uprising, punishment, blah - blah -blah...

I zoned out, searching for Finnick in the sea of seventeens. He was one year older than me. I spotted him in his sea green pants and white button up. I had to admit, he looked dashing.

He smiled, a blinding white smile, and gave me small wave.

I smiled back and drew my attention back to the now end of the mayor's speech and the reading of the list of the previous victors. In the past sixty four years we had exactly three victors, all three of which were sitting to the right of the stage.

Soon Cressida Cotrell, our District's escort, took the podium.

"Happy Hunger Games, my lovelies! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her bright and sparkly lilac hair made my head dizzy as she walked back and forth across the stage in the sunlight. She goes on a little about what an honor it is to be there and so on.

I look back at Finnick, and think about his fifty - five names in the glass bowl and how the odds are not on his favor. And I maybe he's thinking the same thing because I notice his face darken slightly. I felt my heart squeeze. I wanted to reassure him. That there were thousands of other slips in the bowl.

It's time for the drawing. "As always: Ladies first!" she chirps and crosses to the glass bowl of girls' names. She reaches in, digs around, and slowly took out a slip of paper. The crowd draws their breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous.

Cressida Cotrell crosses back to the podium and in a loud, clear voice reads out the slip of paper out of thousands of other ones.

"Y/n Halloran."

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A/N: Hello guys! I had SOOOO much fun writing this and I have more up my sleeve, bare with me, I promise it will get better. Please comment! And let me know if you would like to be on the taglist! Thank you!

[gallifreywhere]

The Doctor saying he "doesn't have issues" is the funniest thing I've heard so far this year

[tennantloki]

[aethergy]

“And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And it’s rider's name was Death, and Hades followed him. And they were given authority over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by wild beasts of the earth.”

— Revelation 6:8

[panemposts]

It's Reaping Day! May the odds be ever in your favor.

Do you think it’s significant that the Reaping is on USA's Independence Day?

Do you think Reaping of 74th Hunger Games is rigged? Yes/No? Why?

If the reaping could be rigged. Who do you think participate in this collaboration?

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

It's the Day After Reaping Day. The Tributes are on the train headed to the Capitol, and I am answering this ask.

I think it's VERY significant that the Reaping is held on July 4th. It's a way to tell the original Rebels that all of their dreams for a More Perfect Union are over. It's a way for the victorious Capitol to show those rebels that they will kill any dreams of independence.

Hmmmm. That question of the rigging of the Reaping is an interesting one. I think it could have been, but I really don't think it was. It's just how it all played out. We always say, "there's a reason for everything", but what I really believe is that we humans Need to find a reason in the chaos. So I think it's really easy to look at the Reaping and say it must have been rigged! But the only person who rigged the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games is Suzanne Collins when she wrote it.

Thank you @curiousnonny!

[yellow-but-depressed]

It's Reaping Day! May the odds be ever in your favor.

Do you think it’s significant that the Reaping is on USA's Independence Day?

Do you think Reaping of 74th Hunger Games is rigged? Yes/No? Why?

If the reaping could be rigged. Who do you think participate in this collaboration?

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

hi :)

I dont rlly think it's significant that the reaping is on independence day

I don't think the reaping was rigged because there wasn't any reason for it, katniss was hunting but only to feed her family and she wasn't distributing weapons. I don't think that prim being reaped was rigged (and if it was rigged I think it would have been better if katniss's name was drawn because her chances of survival were close to none and there was no garentee that she would volunteer for prim)

if the reaping was rigged it think the people who did it would be the person who wanted it (like the mayor or president snow) and the person writing the names/reading them out (idk how they would rig it but it could be either one) there wouldn't really be any need for more people to know and the less people who know the less chance it gets out.

(sorry it took me so long to answer this)

[deputy-morgan-malone]

“Who is worthy to open the seals?” and “Another seal has been broken” and “set me a a seal upon thy heart, and as a seal upon thy arm”

[bookhorder16]

IF your younger sister/brother being reaped to the hunger games, would you volunteer like Katniss did to replace Primrose?

Yes/No? Why?

If yes, what kind of strategy would you use to win the hunger games?

Thank you 😊

@curiousnonny

I would totally volunteer for my younger siblings but i fell like they would have a better chance than me. Like a much better chance they're full on feral.

I know this isnt gonna be popular but honestly i would team up with the careers or some highly skilled people wait till they take out the harder tributes then slit there throats or something in there sleep. Or much more likely I would get killed in the first 10 seconds.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

how are they gonna adequately prepare whatever child they cast for nico di angelo. it has got to be impossible for someone that young to give informed consent about playing the saddest wettest loser in all of human history. like hey kid i know youre sprightly and all of ten, but we need you to be in all five stages of grief at all times. remember, your mother was killed in fascist italy, youre eighty years old, and now youre in love with the guy who killed your sister. say this next line like you know what it's like to be an ear of corn.

[horrororman]

Released April 5, 2007.

#TheReaping

#horror #thriller

[tennantloki]

(edit is not mine)

[oxford-wichita]

task oo1. the reaping

Mercuria kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to wake up. But her father was once again having a coughing fit, so it wasn't like she was going to be able to fall back asleep anyway. With a small sigh of resignation, she threw her feet over the side of her cot and stood to greet the gray day.

"It's okay, Pa," she murmured, using a dying lighter to reignite the stove from yesterday evening's charcoal. Once it took, she ladled a small serving of water into the kettle before setting it on top of the small fire. "Don't worry, it's comin'." The morning chores were easy enough, the same as they ever were. While the water boiled, she took a derelict broom, which desperately needed restrawing, and scraped track marks into the dust near the entrance. The "sweeping" done, she moved on to making her bed - putting the thin blanket on top of her cot so that it didn't pick up any dust from the floor.

The next hour flew by in routine monotony. Pour hot water for Pa, coach him on how to choke it down without coughing it back up. Use the water to rehydrate the stew from last night, eat a few spoonfuls before giving the rest to Pa. It wasn't until she saw out the small window the crowds of people that she realized: today was the Reaping.

A gasp caught in her throat. It was a miracle she had forgotten, of course, but it happened so irregularly that she couldn't possibly fault herself. She hurried to the back of their home, slipping easily into the one piece of clothing she had that could be considered "nice:" a hand-woven skirt her father had made. Her father noticed from across the room. "No, Mercuria - no..."

She rushed to his side and cupped his face in her hands. "It's just a few hours, Pa. Then I'll be back. We're jus' lucky I don't hafta travel for it."

She exited before she could hear any more of his stuttered protestations. The ceremony was a blur of monotony until something different happened: a Tribute was announced. Not pulled, not Reaped... announced. Some might even say presented. And as he was revealed, Mercuria's breath caught in her throat.

Slate Flint - years of work flashed past Mercuria's eyes in an instant. From the first time she heard him speak, cramped in a back room of a bar, through the pamphlets she saw passed around Twelve, to the chatter over the radios that only a select few people knew how to find. The work of a generation, the work of the future. All up there, waiting to be sent to die. No.

No.

No.

She couldn't allow it. Not after he had given her so much. So much hope, so much inspiration. So many promises that they would prevail and that they would come out on top. Slate needed to see it through. Someone had to stop this. Someone had to help.

"I volunteer!" The words were out of her mouth a split second before she registered the idea. But as soon as they were out, she knew. She was set. This was the moment. Since she had met Slate, she hadn't been able to help the cause. She wasn't able to move contraband, she wasn't a public speaker, she wasn't even that much of a fighter. So mostly she had sat back, listening in awe, as the revolution formed around her. She had always been in the background.

Now was her time to step in and make a difference.

The Escort looked out at the crowd. "Oh, how lovely. We have our second Tribute. Thank you all for attending."

Peacekeepers grabbed her by the elbows, and others started immediately shepherding the crowd away. What? No - she was taking his place. The Tributes would be her and another, drawn. They hadn't even asked her name. She struggled the slightest bit, and one of the Peacekeepers threw a fist into the back of her head. She stumbled forward, but they effortlessly swept her up by the arms, paying no attention as her feet bounced painfully against the stairs.

Everyone was being moved into the Capitol building. There were no bowls of names, there was no ending video. The Escort hadn't even bothered to stay out on stage long enough to greet her. She threw one last look backwards, over her shoulder, to see the crowd dispersing.

Hopefully someone would tell her father.

[triforcevillains]

The Reaping (2007)

In dem US-amerikanischen Horrorfilm denkt eine Dorfgemeinde, dass sie von den Zehn Plagen heimgesucht zu werden. Eine ehemalige Missionarin und Universitätsprofessorin, die beruflich unter anderem göttliche Wunder als Täuschungen aufdeckt, stattet der Gemeinde einen Besuch ab, um ihnen zu helfen. Das Dorf sieht als Grund der Plagen ein kleines Mädchen und die Professorin versucht, ihnen diesen Gedanken auszureden. Die Plagen werden Tag für Tag schlimmer: Jegliches Wasser verfärbt sich blutrot und die Rinder der Bauern sterben aus unerklärlichen Gründen.

Der Professorin ist jedoch nicht bewusst, dass die freundlich-wirkenden Dorfbewohner allesamt Teil eines Kults sind, die Menschenopfer darbringen und so einen Antichristen erzeugen wollen. (7/10)