#district 6

[batcavescolony]

I can almost hear Haymitch groaning as I team up with this wispy child. But I want her. Because she's a survivor, and I trust her, and why not admit it? She reminds me of Prim.

The Hunger Games, Chapter 15, pg 281

Then he'd be a hypocrite, he teamed up with Louella, Lou Lou, Ampert, Maysilee, and Wellie. He followed bunnies and adopted district 6 cus they were dove grey. If anything he's going:

Haymitch: *from the control room* SWEETHEART! PLEASE STOP ACTING LIKE ME! DO BETTER.

[awkwardangst]

District bread 🍞

[district3autism-moved]

did anyone else get the impression that wellie from sotr was a victim of child abuse? of course, the behaviour of a child facing imminent death and suffering would probably be pretty similar to the behaviour of a child who had been abused, but a few things made me think that suzanne wrote her that way on purpose.

first of all, wellie "recoils" as haymitch approaches her to give her his lunchbox after hers was taken by the careers. again, very normal for any child in her circumstances, but more indicative of something deeper when read with other evidence.

she immediately apologizes for the district 6 chariot hurting louella, which was obviously not their fault. she also thanks haymitch for not blaming them. apologizing needlessly and assuming that they will be blamed are both noted behaviours in child abuse victims, especially the latter.

before haymitch goes on for his interview, he promises wellie despite what he might say in the interview, he would never betray the newcomers. he specifically says, "i will never hurt you, okay?" this phrasing is very deliberate, especially since during his interview he never even implies that he would attack or betray the newcomers. wellie claims that she knows, and her eyes are "full of trust". through the lens of my interpretation, this can be taken as wellie clinging to a kind protector that she's never had before.

while her behaviour in the arena can't be taken as any indicator of how she is outside the arena, because she's literally starving to death, her extreme insistence that haymitch doesn't leave her could line up with the rest of my evidence. has she been abandoned, neglected, or left alone before? her immediate assumption is that maysilee abandoned the newcomers, not that she got separated from them by accident. wellie is smart enough to realize this and seems to be a good judge of character; perhaps her assumption was influenced by past neglect.

finally, a couple comparisons can be drawn between wellie and lou lou, who we know was tortured and abused at the hands of the capitol. they are both very thin, prone to intensity, and quiet. while none of these things actually indicate that wellie was abused, the comparison itself matters. it reinforces the idea that these little girls share similarities, and have potentially suffered in similar ways.

also: wellie comes from district 6, which is implied to be suffering from a morphling/opiate epidemic. it is not a far reach to say that her guardian could have been an addict, and consequently an unstable, neglectful, or abusive caregiver.

[ct-9902]

do you think that Haymitch would always notice the district six tributes

do you think he still saw them as his doves

do you think the female district six tribute reminded him of Wellie

do you think he saw them die and was reminded of how Wellie died

do you think that he would look at them if they were winning and think about how none of his doves won (especially Wellie)

[lmxpsuedonym]

Thinking about Haymitch and his Doves

[l0singdogs]

headcanons for the d6 doves!! Even though nobody asked for them but whatevss

• So They were all around the younger side, Wellie being 12 (pretty sure that's canon) Velo and Miles being 13 and Atread 15, but like just turned a month or so.)

• They were probably all very sweet kids, but them being absolutely terrified in this situation (totally justified obvi) made them a bit skittish, also probably the real reason why they said they'd stay neutral.

• Velo was a bit of a snarky girl when she wanted to be, she was also the most distant to Haymitch at first but she quite quickly warmed up.

• Hay was def an older brother figure to Wellie, Velo and Miles. To Atread it was more of a "I'll just Join in" situation-maybe turned crush. Like, in a celebrity crush way.

• Wellie saw Miles' and Velo's bodies at some point during the bloodbath. And Atread had to pretty much drag her away because of how much it terrified her.

I have like a bunch more but these are the most fully thought out ones

(Live reaction of me whenever one of the doves died)

[asanaquarian]

Victors of the Hunger Games

My headcanon list of past Hunger Games victors. It is for my fanfic universe, so lots of years missing, but I’ll update as I grow my headcanon. Some of these are borrowed from established fanfics.

10th Annual Hunger Games

Lucy Gray Baird (†)

District 12 / 16 / Female

Capitol Arena

11th Annual Hunger Games

Mags Flanagan (†)

District 4 / 16 / Female

Train Crash

Capitol simulated a train crash, and the games commenced in the wilderness just outside the Capitol.

17th Annual Hunger Games

Woof Casino (†)

District 8 / 18 / Male

Winter Forest

30th Annual Hunger Games

Luster Lancaster

District 1 / 18 / Male

Capitol Catacombs

31st Annual Hunger Games

Seeder Crue

District 11 / 17 / Female

Flatlands

Longest games (35 days)

34th Annual Hunger Games

Beetee Latier

District 3 / 15 / Male

Ruins of New York

Year of the first ever Inner-District-Alliance.

38th Annual Hunger Games

Porter Millicent Tripp

District 5 / 17 / Female

Aztec Ruins

45th Annual Hunger Games

Chaff Habarti

District 11 / 18 / Male

The Junkyard

46th Annual Hunger Games

Palladium Barker

District 1 / 18 / Female

Celtic Ruins

48th Annual Hunger Games

Brutus Barsetti

District 2 / 18 / Male

Elephant Graveyard

49th Annual Hunger Games

Wiress Goffe

District 3 / 17 / Female

Nest of Mirrors

50th Annual Hunger Games

Haymitch Abernathy

District 12 / 16 / Male

Poisonous Paradise

52nd Annual Hunger Games

Damaris Lyme

District 2 / 18 / Female

Crystalline Caves

56th Annual Hunger Games

Oliver Hedge

District 7 / 16 / Male

Stone Forest

58th Annual Hunger Games

Cecelia Sanchez

District 8 / 15 / Female

Scrublands

62nd Annual Hunger Games

Enobaria Landas

District 2 / 18 / Female

Castle Ruins

63rd Annual Hunger Games

Gloss Delacroix

District 1 / 18 / Male

Savage Savannah

64th Annual Hunger Games

Cashmere Delacroix

District 1 / 18 / Female

Fairytale Forest

65th Annual Hunger Games

Finnick Odair

District 4 / 14 / Male

Archipelago

67th Annual Hunger Games

Augustus Braun

District 1 / 18 / Male

Crumbling Mesa

70th Annual Hunger Games

Annie Cresta

District 4 / 18 / Female

Mississippi River Basin

71st Annual Hunger Games

Johanna Mason

District 7 / 17 / Female

Northern Hardwood Forest

74th Annual Hunger Games

Katniss Everdeen

District 12 / 16 / Female

Boreal Forest

75th Annual Hunger Games

Clementine Coumbassa

District 11 / 18 / Female

Memory Jungle

76th Annual Hunger Games

Peeta Mellark

District 12 / 18 / Male

Rolling Highlands

77th Annual Hunger Games

Sirena Salacia

District 4 / 18 / Female

Flooded City

[imnotadogiswear]

I'm saying this kind of as a joke but also 100% seriously that Reddit would completely break Panem, escpiecially if only the districts have it. Yeah there'd be the usual social media hijinks but communication between districts would eliminate a lot of the division caused by the games. Stuff like r/askreddit, r/ama, or any other question-based communities could also be sources of non Capitol-approved information.

[kald-dal-write]

Share some of your fave District 6 and D6 Victors HCs

Kind of bored and just want to see other people's takes on this District this evening

[kald-dal-art]

More Sunrise on the Reaping art because I am listening to the audiobook while working so feeling inspired

[batcavescolony]

I'm thinking about the cheese buns that Peeta makes that Katniss loves. They're described as a bun not a drop biscuit that means a yeast dough of some type. Then Katniss describes them as having cheese baked on to them. Do you think they have a filling or are just a bun with cheese on top?What kinda of cheese? I'd assume cheddar but is there a cheese monger in d12? Is the cheese you can't make at home an ’import' from another district? ...District 6 was Wisconsin, but that's transportation. Does District 6 still make cheese? Did they find the cheese caves!

[diiwata]

"the tributes from district 6 began a funny dance, and the ring twins got some of the audience to clap along to the rhythm." / ginnee wheeler & otto máquina

coriolanus, just say you don't have rhythm or funk and leave them alone!!!

[district3autism-moved]

effie and wiress in sotr!!!

lots of sotr doodles, anyone who hates lenore dove will die and go to hell + little doodles of wellie on reaping day :(

some sketches to figure out fashion in district 6 and district 7, featuring my oc aspen!

sabine conley, aka female morphling! her design is definitely inspired by @kald-dal-art's design :>

[spiralling-thoughts]

The more I think about Titus the more tragic he becomes he's a prime example of the capitol cruelty they threw that kid into a wasteland against his well with no food or water and no one sent him a sponsor or supplies that he was left with no choice but cannibalism and the capitol killed him for it for taking such drastic measures to survive when he wouldn't have to if they didn't shove him in a arena to a death match

[haysplumjam]

you can hear it in the silence

part 4

an: part 4! heyyyyy back again. very conversational chapter which isn't my strong-suit (forgive me), but i promise it's for a reason!! won't make you suffer through so much of my awful dialogue next chap

tw: normal hunger games stuff, torture, violence, gun violence, gore, suicide/suicidal thoughts and actions, substance abuse

______________________________________________________________

Mags’ hands tug at her own braid and she gestures to my hair, furrowing her eyebrows. The capitol machine made it too straight when it dried it, and it’s unlike me to have it down at all. Especially at home. 

“I can’t,” I raise her my gauze wrapped hand, wiggling my fingers as quickly as I can– but still too slow. 

“I can,” Finnick rises from his chair quickly. 

“Don’t,” I shake my head, “It’s okay, I–” 

“You’re home. You’ve gotta be the real you, not their version of you.” 

I can’t tell the difference between the real me and their version of me, anymore. The real me, allegedly the soul in my body right now, is scared of the water. The real me lost her brother. Again. She almost died. She killed people. 

“Annie?” Finnick asks softly, snapping me out of my thoughts that never would’ve belonged to the me that had never left four. 

“Thank you, Finnick,” I nod my head once, staring into my lap and allowing him to braid my too-straight hair.

He never had any sisters or a mother, but tying a braid is just like tying a knot, which we learn before the alphabet at school. And he didn’t drop out until he was fourteen, so he had a lot of knot-tying practice. I manage to unknot the small piece of braided cord on my bad wrist and hand it to him as he nears what I expect to be the end.  

Mags nods her head in approval as he ties the braid off, and I finally look up from my lap as I see the docks. 

Tears fall involuntarily from my eyes and I cover my mouth as the afternoon sun beats down on the guys unloading the shellfish before the start of second shift. I know the motions as well as I know how to breathe. I used to watch dad do it for hours while I helped mama tie the flimsy ends of her perfect nets. 

“Annie,” Finnick’s hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m made aware of the gooseflesh covering my bare arms. 

“Home is hard too,” Mags says, barely whispering. 

“Pictures at the train station and then we’re done, okay?” Finnick asks. He’s not asking, but the concern in his voice makes it feel like he is. I know he genuinely cares, but the slowing of the train makes my heart beat the exact same way it did when my platform rose into the arena. The same way it did when I walked to the stage at the reaping. The same way it did when the peacekeepers showed up to the orphanage and told me about Atty. And when they showed up to the house and told me and Atty about mama. And when they showed up to the house and told mama and I about Dad. 

“Annie,” Finnick repeats.

“Pictures and we’re done,” I repeat back to him. 

The train gets slower and slower, and Finnick crouches beside me, his eyes meeting mine. “Breathe in slow for eight seconds and out for sixteen, okay?” 

The doctor that comes by the orphanage tried to teach me this once. Right after Atty died. 

“I don’t think that’s going to work, Finnick.” 

“Try,” he demands. 

And I do. 

I breathe just as Finnick tells me to until the train comes to a complete stop and my tears dry. Mags adjusted the strap of my tanktop and gives me an approving nod before stepping away from between me and the train door. 

I breathe Finnick’s way again. Caspian, Navy, and Mariana are waiting on the other side of the door. They’ll have them right in the front so the cameras can see them. They need the money the capitol will give me. I know I can’t take care of them, but I can give them money. Food. Whatever they need. 

“Ready?” Finnick asks, finger hovering over the button that will open the door to salt air and home. 

I nod my head, taking one last deep breath before he opens the door to salt air and water and a home I don’t know anymore. 

The kids are right in the front. All of the kids from the orphanage are. The capitol cameras are closer to the back, which is nice. I try to keep my breathing steady as I look through the crowd. A few of dad and mama’s old coworkers. Kids from school and the orphanage. Victors. Faces I’ve seen but don’t know. 

“Annie, how does it feel to be home?” The mayor asks, eyes not peeling away from the cameras. 

Head down, fires subdued, give them what they want. 

“Wonderful,” I answer as convincingly as I can. 

“And it’s wonderful to have you back,” he puts his arm behind my back, taking a step closer and smiling at the cameras for a photo. I muster a barely-there smile and step away from him as soon as the cameras stop flashing. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Finnick waves to the crowd, earning some cheers. 

I can’t bring myself to look the kids in the eye. I just follow him to the peacekeeper truck waiting for us beside the platform. 

“Good job,” he says as he closes the door behind me. The backseat of the truck is cramped, but it’s comforting in a way. Me him and Mags. Three killers. Three people who understand each other better than anyone else in the world will ever be able to. “Do you want to go get your things now? Or would you rather see your house first?” 

“I’ll go get them later,” I shake my head. I need time to think about what I’ll say to the kids. How I’ll apologize for letting their brother get killed. Do they hate me for it? Are they afraid of me now? Now that they’ve watched me hurt people like that? Kill people? 

“I’ll go with you,” Finnick nods. 

“I’m really okay,” I shake my head. 

“I know. I’ll still go.” 

Victor’s Village isn’t far from the train station. Probably out of convenience for the capitol people who have to trudge all the way down here from the mountains. The car begins to slow as the gate comes into view. The black iron is out of place here where everything is wood and rope. A stark reminder of who I am now. Iron, not wood. Capitol, not four. A killer, not a girl. 

“I’ll get her settled, Mags,” Finnick says as he offers his hand to the woman, helping her down from the truck. “You get some rest before dinner?” 

Mags gives FInnick a look, but eventually nods her head as we near the first house past the gate. She pulls me in for a hug before I can prepare myself, kissing me on the cheek and doing the same to Finnick, who walks her all the way to her stairs. 

She makes her hand into a fish, thumb pointing up, and wiggles it in my direction. Another gesture follows, but I don’t understand it. 

“Dinner at your house,” Finnick explains. Mags nods, and so do I, despite the fact that I want to say no. 

“Thank you, Mags,” I say as she opens her door. 

She holds her hands to her heart and nods, waving a ‘goodbye’ before closing the door behind her.

“Travel’s hard on her. Especially there,” Finnick explains, continuing down the gravel row of houses. Most of them have lights on. I know they’re in order. So Mags, then it would’ve been Reed, before he died. No lights there. Argo has a family. His lights are on, curtains wide open revealing his kids running around a living room identical to Mags’. 

“This is me,” Finnick gestures toward the ninth house in line, “and this is you.” 

He leads me up the steps to the tenth house– identical to Mags’. When he opens the front door, I realize the inside is, too. The furniture is a little different, but otherwise everything is the same. I can tell no one’s ever lived here, but I can tell by the uniquely Capitol scent that someone’s been here recently. 

“Yours is just like Mags’,” Finnick walks around the living room, shiny capitol shoes clacking against the freshly-cleaned floor. “There’s some food in the refrigerator,” he opens the refrigerator in the kitchen, revealing a glowing light inside. We had an ice chest when mama and dad were alive, but it was almost always empty. Everything we ate they brought home that day, and breakfast was always fruit or bread, which stayed on the little counter beside the window. I wonder if I’d be allowed to buy our house from the family that lives there now, or maybe we could just swap homes. They’d be happier here, I think. Two adults and four children. They’d fill the space better than me. 

“Is there anything I can get you? I know it’s a lot, but–” 

“I’m okay, thank you,” I mutter to Finnick. 

“Would you like to rest? Or we can talk about what’s next? It’s a little early for that, I know, but I want you to be prepared.” He sounds nervous. I don’t think I’d ever seen him truly nervous before the games. 

“What’s next?” I ask him, practically floating to the dining room table and taking a seat in the chair. It’s a good chair. Not too capitol. It reminds me of a nice one one of the dockmasters would have. 

Finnick sits down across from me, and I can see the worry on his face, which isn’t exactly reassuring. “You’ll be home for the next six months,” he takes a breath, “then the victory tour. You’ve seen them on television right?”

“I remember yours,” I answer, avoiding reminding him that no one east of the docks has a functional television. 

He nods, tracing a knot in the wood on the table with his calloused finger. “It’s hard, but you’ll be fine. You just read speeches from cards and go to dinners. I’ll try to warn you about the people in each district, but I don’t remember very well.” 

I feel even worse for being so angry when he was telling me about them on the train. He has good intentions. He wants me to make it through this. 

“The last stop before home is the capitol, which is a big party at the President’s mansion. It’s a lot, but we’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time, so will Mags.”

I nod my head, incredibly aware of his foot tapping against the floor. He’s nervous. 

“Thank you for being such a good mentor,” I say softly, finally meeting his eyes. 

He shakes his head, “I’m not. Mags is our mentor, I'm just your friend.” 

“You kept me alive in there, Finnick. You’ve kept me alive out here, too,” I feel tears falling down my cheeks before I can even think about why they’re there. 

“Don’t cry,” Finnick rises from his seat, leaning across the table and wiping the tears from my cheeks before gently taking my face in his hands. “Don’t. You’re home. You’re alive. I’m going to keep you as safe as I can.” 

I nod my head. 

“Do you want to rest, or do you want to talk more about what we do now?” He sits back down in his chair. 

“What do I have to do?” I ask him. I want to make sure he doesn’t  have to come back and deal with this again. With me again. Until the victory tour at least, I can be out of sight and out of mind. 

“Nothing right now,” he says, looking me dead in the eye. I can tell he’s searching for something, but I don’t know if it’s something within me or something within himself.

I look away. 

“You’ll have to have a talent before the victory tour. Something to show off for the cameras,” he sighs, “it’s silly, but they want to see you occupying your time. Do you have anything?” 

“Nets, knot tying, fishing… just real skills. Not things they’d want to see," I pull the bracelet from the end of my braid and tie one-handed knots in the small piece of cord. Something Atty taught me to do after Mama died to keep my mind busy when I couldn't help but cry.

He smiles a little, “I’ll try to figure something out. You don’t actually have to be good at it, just have to be able to talk about it.” 

I nod. 

The knock at the door disrupts the silence, and Finnick answers it before I can. 

“Just some of your things from the train,” he says, closing the door just as quickly as he opened it, placing two large bags on the kitchen counter. “I’ll let you get some rest now. Is it okay if I come back and cook dinner here in a few hours?” 

“Of course,” I nod. Something in my chest tells me not to let him leave. That there’s something waiting to hurt me in this too-capitol house. “Thank you, Finnick,” I say softly as he turns toward the door. I’m trapped in my chair, unable to move as I watch him leave. 

“I’m always here, okay? Right next door.” 

I nod my head. 

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” he closes the door behind him, and I’m alone. 

When I finally rise from the chair, half of me wants to run to the door and find Finnick or Mags, but I don’t.

The bags from the train are all of the clothing they had in my car on the way back and then some. Nothing I’ll ever wear here, if I can help it. At the bottom of the larger bag, I spot a box with ‘medication’ stamped on it. I’m sure there’s something I’m meant to be doing to take care of my hand, but I don’t bother looking for any sort of instructions. I just haul the bigger bag up the stairs with my good hand, dropping it on the floor the second I cross the threshold of the bedroom on the right. I’ve always slept on the right. When Atty and I shared a bed when we were kids I was on the right. Same in the orphanage. Same in the arena, with Cove. The last time I truly slept. The other rooms are larger, but they don’t feel the same. Too much space. Too many closets and nooks and crannies for bad dreams to hide in.

The closet in the largest bedroom is full of clothes meant for me, and so is the dresser. I take my time moving them to my little room on the right, carefully examining each piece. Nothing white, which Finnick insisted to my prep team looked awful on me the second we got to the capitol, nevermind my white reaping dress. Blues, greens, and browns. I don’t mind most of it. Some of the things are pretty, even. If I can bring myself to bother Finnick again I’ll ask him how to access the money the capitol says they pay the victors. Navy would like the green clothes, and Mariana’s shoes have been too small for her since before I left. 

Once I’ve changed into linen pants and a matching shirt, I climb under the quilt in the too-soft bed. It’s early afternoon, but my body begs for sleep that I can’t allow. Not without seeing them. All of them. Atty’s sunken face haunts me every time I blink, allowing sleep would be allowing myself to feel his thin body refuse to embrace me. Allowing myself to hear the gunshot. Losing him over and over until I wake and feel the emotions of losing him again as if I haven’t already spent years mourning. 

I pull the blanket to my chest, leaning against the heavy wooden headboard and staring through the window to my left. My view is of the closed curtains of Finnick’s house and the small grove that separates us, but I can hear the ocean. I’ve spent so much of my life loving and hating it for giving and taking so much that I’m not sure which to choose, even now. 

I count stitches on quilt squares and window panes until I can’t stand the numbers swirling in my head alongside the blood and tears and heartbreak, focusing instead on a painting of a little bird across from my bed. I don’t know the type but it doesn’t matter, I find the thing comforting. I’m sure birds lose their families, too. Face challenges that test them. But at least they get to fly away from it all. Leave and go wherever they choose rather than facing the bad things again and again. This little bird gets to go rather than face Atty and Cove and Jewel and Snow. Go wherever it chooses rather than being caged in a house that will never be a home. At least my cage is beautiful. 

I rise from my bed after a long time, digging through the bag of clothes for something that’ll keep me warm enough to get rid of my perpetual gooseflesh. I swap my shirt for a heavy cable-knit sweater at the very bottom of the bag atop the medication box. Reluctantly, I remove it, placing it on my bed and attempting to sort through the pills and creams and carefully written instructions until something catches my eye. One of the pill bottles is riddled with tiny print, but in bold letters on the cap it says ‘sleep’. If it’s anything like the medication they gave me in the hospital, there will be no nightmares. No fires, no cages, no death, just emptiness. 

I set the box on the ground, rattling the bottle until two of the pills fall into my hand. I swallow them. And another for good measure, lying down in the bed and hoping for emptiness rather than anything I’m feeling now.