#district nine thg

[boabelboo]

"i've gotten good at making up metaphors / i've gotten good at stretching the truth out of shape / and all these words are sweet and meaningless / you can't trust a single thing that i say." - metaphor, the crane wives.

anona ryan, victor of the 20th hunger games from district 9.

[ilguna]

District Nine, Wendigo.

controlling their victims from the beginning, the wendigos convinced the others to back off of district nine. unable to control their own insatiable greedy hunger, they infect others around them, causing the victims to fall under the cannibalistic influence of the wendigo.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

-> Dusk Neredras <-

—

-> Aven Cotheran <-

—

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 11.7k

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Chapter 6

It was day nine on the training facility. Which only meant it was three days to go until your feet stood on the harsh grounds of the Arena. Every passing day was another needle piercing your lungs, as you noticed the countdown coming closer to its end, you realized it was made harder for you to breathe. It wasn’t the muscle memory your brain was taught, it was as if suddenly you had forgotten the simple act of breathing, and all you could think about was controlling the air currents that sucked in and out of your mouth. 

It was like your lungs were holding hostage the innocent air particles that were only out there to help you, and you felt like you coudn’t breathe now that the timer was close to its set. 

This past few days you’d started to lose faith in God. It’s not like you blindly believed in him to begin with, but with the pained breaths you were expulsing, you slowly felt any sort of belief from a greater force be spilled out along with it.

Whether it was God, destiny or whatever, you soon struggled to be able to believe in any of that, because right now your position was different. You weren’t in that privileged stance; then, you had a home, work, food and water, you had whatever you needed to live, and it was easier to believe in that then, because you didn’t think about your own survival.

But it was different now, all of that was over. And after the Reaping it was a hard reality check that, the world indeed didn’t owe you a cent. And so, your Deist idea slowly faded into nothing, you simply lost faith in any entity, and at this point even yourself. 

You didn’t know what you believed in, and it wasn’t like it mattered anyway. Whatever religion or personal truth was soon going to be vanished along your scattered body on the grounds of the Arena, and it felt very much like you were being executed for a crime you hadn’t committed. Punished for the wrongdoings of another person, and the wrong deeds of their fault had your life shorten, while the true perpetrator was out there enjoying their prolonged one, and they better understood their guilty freedom was in exchange of yours.

Yeah, you didn’t know what to believe in anymore, and it didn’t matter anyway. That’s why you abstained yourself from believing in anything, and if that meant you stopped looking at God’s metaphors in life, then so be it. Or to make it or poetic, you followed what Nietzsche once said “God is dead”. 

By day nine it was obvious the Career group was formed. From District 1, we had Ezra and Ava, both loving siblings to each other, but definitely with lethal intentions to the rest of the Tributes, possibly even to their team members when the chance arose. 

For District 2 we had the memorable Birch, and Nyla. You had found her curious for her preferred weapon choice to be a fishing spear, since it seemed it was expressly placed for the participants of District 4. But you wouldn’t judge her skills on her weapon, especially when you saw her expertise on handling that piece of weaponry, earning her the fitting title of hunter and it only  seemed natural she was welcomed by the Careers.

Then came District 4, with none other than Vito and his double blades. It seemed Birch along Ezra had been interested in him not only through the way he handled the blades. Finnick’s games were still influential, since it only had been two years ago since he came out victorious, and they found his rapid net making to be the deciding factor for their admiration for him. 

And lastly, were both Tributes of District 7, known for their lumberjack industry. It only took a quick look to realize as to why they were picked. Carter and Steph both had a muscular build, and they definitely exhuded strength and a feared determination of not backing down without a real fight. 

You sighed looking at the formed group. It was disheartening the very knowledge that the strongest were in a group to fight off the weaker ones, and it felt bitterly unfair and personally against against you. Even more when Vito was along them and not you, meaning they saw you just as weak and useless as the rest, deserving to be killed right off the bat. Because for them, you had no use, comparing you with dead weed of the Arena, and they still found more ways to  exploit the dry grass than yourself.  

Your eyes met the grey tones of the slightly pigmented green of his irises, maintaining contact and understanding of each other’s presence. Carter’s eyebrow ticked up in acknowledgement. The ghost of your eyes haunted his, as he could feel the hoplessness that you body emanated, even when being many feet apart from each other.

You saw his lips curl up into a small smile. He hoped your grasped his gesture, to let it embrace you in a warm hug, all so he wouldn't have to see your present frown and to envelop yourself into his reassurance. 

It wasn’t hard to comprehend the meaning behind his expression, he was just trying to make you feel better. But it seemed rather complicated to feel at ease when he already belonged to a deadly group, one of which had a participant that was a psycho and determined on pointing at you with the red dot of his invisible assault rifle. 

But you still understood he wanted express his sympathetic side to you. You could imagine, and hoped, his secret hobby or lingering daydream didn’t involve the exciting thought of killing other people, unlike the Tributes of District 1 and 2. But rather, he was like you and Vito, here against their will, and obligated you all to be in the survival game by the choice of an mere outsider. And tho whomever created the Hunger Games to begin with, you didn’t have the prettiest words or thoughts about that person. And of course, you would never say them outloud. By the way Scarlett had reacted each time you cursed, it was like an unforgiving blasphemy to even proclaim your deepest negative thoughts about the Games. 

You returned him the smile, unknown to him that your teeth greeted through your anxiety, to calm your scraping words of wanting to hide yourself to the world so no one could find you and, somehow be able to sneak your way out of having to be in the battling grounds. But that scenario was close to impossible, so you stopped yourself from thinking too much about it before you’d consider it.

”I get it, I’d smash. Although Finnick is more of my type though. But let’s get back to training, shall we?” The whispering words brushed past the side of your face, tickling lightly the crown of your ear with his warm breath. 

And you stopped, before looking up at him. Your mind blank as it tried to grab onto any reason that was slowly flying away out from your ears. But your brain seemed to be damaged from the from broken wires by Vito’s words, and the sparking of the electricity was dancing around your mind, a sign of the overworked brain from a rush of confusing curiosity over what he meant by those words, which you quickly understood un thus the short time span electrocution that jumbled your brain around.

You mind run miles, and yet you weren’t unable to utter the words. 

“With what I’ve seen so far, believe me, girlie. You’ll need it” he snickered at you. Your lips kept on closing and opening slightly, his extra piece of information meant to confuse you further, you knew that, and you still gave into his mind games. 

Vito coudn’t help but hung a playful smirk up his mouth, amused by the rush of thoughts flashing behind your eyes. He felt victorious of course, he had his desired outcome so you would come out of that concerned trance he noticed you were having on a regular basis at training. But he didn’t expect you to have come out in such a funnily manner, that he coudn’t help the light giggles. Even more so at the creased brows you formed as you tried to compute further his words.

You managed to say something. “I didn’t know?” you said clumsily with a joking smile. You huffed a smile out at the situation. He lifted his hand up to his lips and chuckled further at your comment. Your expression was priceless in his eyes, and he coudn’t help himself from leaving you stunned like that. Oh, how much he loved doing that to you.

Caesar Flickerman had just called your name, his infamous smile, known to the whole of Panem sat across his well-known face. The many cheers that rang through the stage, from clapping sounds to the impatient voices of the citizens of the Capitol, were awaiting your shining entrance.

A few hours ago, the examination went… not so great. Vito had done his best in teaching you the refined arts of the knives, and you could grasp the basic concept of attcak, slice, and stab… that was it. Two weeks to learn everything about hunting down an vicioius animal one on one seemed like a challenging feat, not say practically impossible. So when you were standing below your future sponsors, it felt very much silly of you to try and use that weapon to show off your non-existent high levels skills, especially considering Vito was next in line. You cringed at that  thought for the thousandth time today. It was embarrassing, you could say that much. So much so you didn’t even try to look up at them unless necessary. So when you did, you were met with the bored looks of the experienced viewers that had seen decades worth of fighters, and you wouldn’t be catalonged as one no matter how much you tried to disguise yourself as one. 

But it’s not like you could do anything else. If they had even bothered bringing in some herbs or chemicals, you could’ve shown your more scientific knowledge. You knew a hundred ways to elaborate toxic poisons, and a millions ways to create antidotes for each and every one of them, that would’ve definitely earned you a more prideful look on your end. But then again, you were sure the Sponsors weren’t quite interested for you to elaborate remedies for basically anything. Afterall, they only wanted to see people killing each other; they just wanted to see violent and gruesome deaths, they wanted to hear their screams of horror as a familiar face was draining the life away from them, like a vampire sucking every ounce of blood to ensure your dried death. And being a doctor kind of went directly against what they preached. You weren’t like a hidden gem to them, more like a pain in the ass if you were able to heal someone back to life. And in the circle of betting games, the randomized traps scattered across the Arena, had the same element of uncernaty as the Sponsors had now that your card was placed on the table. Because now it meant you could take care of the Tributes. Your extensive knowledge was like a direct threat aganst the chosen Tributes they laid their money on. It wasn't just who would be more likely to come out victorious from a logical perspective, because you were brought into the mix. It wasn’t just strength, ability, and speed what they had to analyze, but also an element of luck. And unfortunately for them, that was something that coudn’t be measured in a logical way. 

You sighed. The interview was your last chance to make people like you. If your skills wouldn't make them on your side, you hoped that maybe they would try to connect with you more personally. Perhaps if they felt bad about your death, you could win over their hearts. You needed to convince them you dying would only affect them negtively in the end.

You let another shaky breath, and stepped forward. The cling clang the heel needle resonated on the smooth and shining surface you were standing on, only to become completely soundless as you walked over, to none other than the famous blue haired waiting for you. You made sure your thighs turned to hard muscle, careful as to not be clumsy and fall infront of what seemed about five hundred people. Their eyes scanned you whole, so you coudn’t risk doing a mistake in front of all of them. You returned your gaze, shy and nervous as you wondered around the gigantic audience ahead of you. 

It looked like a painting from the Impressionist era. Your first description of what was reflecting back your eyes was “A lot of colour”. Many dots of vibrant shapes and colors, raging from the warm tones of yellow and orange, to cooler ones like purple and tale blue; all painted above a black canvas. 

The shining lights were flashing your eyes, needing a moment to readjust them to make better off the people of the Capitol. They were wearing odd and eccentric hats, an that was what you had previously confused to be expert brush strokes of an creative artist, was simply just the fashion designs of the Capitol.

Their eyes roamed over your every inch, awaiting what sort of good time you would give them. Whereas for you, they were on a dark canvas, they in turn they saw you against a white one, where your background scenery was filled with many sparkling glitter surrounded your promotional poster, with your face hanging there confidently. 

Mr. Flickerman led you to sit opposite him, sitting on a home-like modernized version of an armchair. With the same colour as your dress, the designer was right to add the pillow below you. It was big, for anyone to regain themselves in whichever position they wanted and still be comfortable at the cute armchair. It reminded you of the warm and cozy cafeteria down the street of the Herbal Shop. And if you werte to recommend it to someone, you’d sincerely tell them it was best served under the winter weather with a hot chocolate protecting you from viruses that threatened to infect everyone.

“So Ms. Doctor from Distrcit 4, I’ve heard of something peculiar the other day” he started looking at you intensely. The pause, of course, for dramatic effect. Now you understood where Scarlett was coming from with the way she expressed her emotions. “I heard-”

Another pause. This was starting to feel gut wrenching. The large amount of people weren’t helping either, and you’ve been stuck in a cycle of insecurity of wanting to come across as likeable to them, and you weren’t sure how you could accomplish that. The first impression was was the deciding factor for the initial building blocks of a friendship, and that level of anxiety of the what ifs had your insides flip five times. 

“You healed, none other than the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, our Finnick Odair” his voice all of a sudden strengthened in volume, coming out in thrilled particles that drugged everyone replicating his mood, one of jovial enthisiasm. There were slight gasps in surprise, but definitely a lot of murmuring between themselves. Your eyes opened in shock, you had completely forgotten all about that. 

Still astounded, you scanned over the room perfectly, the singular emotion that traveled in the air everyone breathed between each other, was that of simple curiosity. They wanted to hear your next words, they wanted to know what you brought to the table, they wanted to who you were. 

This was the great start you needed. Even if it hurt your soul admitting it, you had to appreciate Scarlett's input for spreading this piece of information, so diligently it even reached the ears of the biggest TV host of the Capitol. Not only for your own sake, but as well for hers, you had to make the fullest of this little advantage. 

Scarlett understood the public perception and opinion like no other; and when it came to Finnick’s name being brought up, it was your best bet to grow interest for yourself by using him.

You smiled brightly at what he had said. Making sure the shining of the lights reflected on your teeth just the same as the way your eyes sparkled in hopeful optimism. If you needed to sway public opinion to be on your side, this was your best bet to touch their hearts, and who knows? Maybe tickle them a bit to make their insides flutter happily.

You let a giggle escape through the microphone. “Yes” the tone of your voice thrilled with the taste on candied apple, to feed them the explosion of sweet delight down their throats.

“At the time, his fishing team came rushing in my Herbal Shop one day. You know, after they had injured themselves like they usually did” you started widening your grin at what you just came up with. It felt like throwing Finnick overboard, which was only more unfair on his end, now that he wasn’t with you to defend himself from the words that came out of your mouth. 

But with these people, it was better the more you spoke, rather than staying idly still and quiet, in hopes the ordeal would pass by to detense the anxiety building up a tight knot from inside your throat. Even better? When your words sounded like a caramelized drink to their ears.

“You know, Finnick can be a little clumsy at times” you admitted. The microphone caught the way your tone dropped a few octaves as if mimicking you were in a vulnerable crowded place, giving away uncommunicated information that would make any Finnick fans squeal from joy. You placed a finger up your lips. 

“But shhh, ‘kay? Don’t tell anyone I said that” you opened your mouth, showing your baring teeth to the audience. They laughed at your playful and cheeky personality that you gleefully showed them. 

It worked, somehow it worked. But this wasn’t the time to get comfortable, the show was still going, and you’d give them the best version of yourself. You needed to leave your astounded expression for later, when you weren’t in front of televised cameras that were ready to pick apart the little of what you had shown them. Later, you would try to come up with reasons as to why it was so easy to captivate them, with whatever you had said to them.

Your very words that spoke enchantingly brushed the thin line between the truth and the uncertain lie, and to be honest with yourself, you didn’t know if they were either truthful or not. Because that wasn’t what was important right now, you just needed their attention to you. 

A sudden realization hit you. They didn’t care about the Tributes, at least not nearly enough as the sponsors did, and that was only because they had a stack of money they were risking losing, a large amount that would make a significant difference in their wallets.  

The public just wanted to see a show, and so you’d give them a show. They loved the gossip between the people they cataloged as untouchable, and that was evident with what you had told them about Finnick. If that’s what they wanted, you’d show them your secret facade that seems openly visible for them, as tasty as the sweetest honey they had never been able to come across before. One no matter the riches of the Capitol, they could never recreate that something that felt so pure, yet came from the inner depth of deception. You’d make them feel that a reincarnation of a Tribute like you will never happen again in near the history. 

The blue haired chuckled at your words. You’d show them a different kind of spark, to make them feel you were the only one that could cure them from their embarrassing problems of the high society, an escape from their hard reality.

They had the nerve to complain about societal standards when the rest of the Dictricts were dirtying their backs with sweat and earth, whilst they washed themselves in the cash at the expense of your hard unpaid overwork.

Even with those staining feelings in your soul about them, you'd give them what they wanted. In the end you were still a slave of the Capitol, no matter how much you hated it. You shone under the lights of the stage, an eight-pointed golden star in replacement of your dull pupils. 

If the wanted this, the show must go on then. 

“You are a lovely girl” he started. “But unfortunately I wouldn't place my bet you” he lamented, caressing his eyebrows jokingly. Your heart dropped, and somehow you felt like he could see through your intentions. No, they’re not that smart to realize that. All they wanted was a big fun fest, and desired a good time, that’s why they had come here to begin with. 

You gasped, learning from the best, none other than the unbeatable Scareltt. She was probably looking at you right now, Vito, Finnick and Mags beside her, expectant as to what actions you would carry out. You could sense her eyes, a look of determination, and hopeful you wouldn't miss this chance to change your game. 

“Mr. Flickerman, you hurt me with those words” you placed a hand directly at your heart, theatrically trying to protect his confession from piercing your heart lika a dagger. You pouted very much staged, and of course in a joking manner. 

“I’ll let you know, if you were a Tribute, I would not hesitate in rooting for you” you winked at him cheekily, a sly playful smirk coming up to your face. He only chuckled further at your words, earning you the clapping audience followed with warm laughter.

You could feel it, the way the citizens wanted to have a closer relationship with you. And to accomplish that you would need to captivate them further. Make them feel like there was a close friendship with them, make them feel important by sharing your masking secrets with them, make them believe they were present in your life. 

Your lashes opened further at the realization. You just decoded how to make them like you, and you practically could hear your mind sing sang the little tunes of confidence that exhaled your body. This was a different kind of game, one the most cunning with the trickiest mind games would surely win over their hearts. And you had to be the best, so much so none of the other Tributes would beat you in this little game of yours, and you just needed to ace this. Especially when you were the creator of the rules to begin with.

“Tell us a little about yourself” Mr. Flickerman said between chuckles.

“Well, you know I’m a Doctor…” you thought further. “But do you know I’m that of a poison maniac” you admitted out loud. Everyone turned silent, and you could read the question as to what you meant by those yours. Your smile widened at the stunned look of the Host. They weren’t expecting that. 

Bingo!

“Do tell us more about it” desired the important Host. “I’m sure everyone here wants to know as well” he directed his attention to his audience, earning the high tones of approval he was seeking. He tilted his face to his side, concentrating his look on your moving lips, impatient to know what you were about to reveal. 

You let a dry snicker escape your mouth, one that ringed at the back of your tongue. You eyed him, with another convincing smile. “Being an medic, it’s only natural I give but the best quality medicine out there. And for that, I would poison myself to find the best remedies” you informed. You bit your lip down expectant as to what the reaction of the public would be.

“Wow. What an unexpected turn of events” he finally roared, his voice echoing in every corner of the set. The audience though, stayed quiet, and you could feel them staring in awe at what you had let out.

“Yup. From strange looking fruits, to snake bites. I have tried them all. An of course, that means I’m tolerant to most poisons” you turned to the audience, giving them a cheeky look. You just thought of the best response for this. 

“I believe there's a saying that goes by ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’. Next time don’t underestimate me, I have a few cards up my sleeve, Mr.” you giggled through the microphone. Mr. Flickerman simply smiled in amusement. The audience ruptured in an applause, with some people whistling which cut though the noise, at the revelation that you had kept hidden. You only chuckled more in flattery of their recognition of your talent. Your eyes readied on the blue haired, him giving you that of a laughing smile. Maybe it was a bit adventurous of you, but you winked at him jovially, earning him another round of chuckles. 

When the noisy ambience died down, the blue haired Host turned serious again. And of course returned his unbearable pause. He knew what he was doing, creating intrigue among everyone that saw his show tonight, making everyone more focused with what he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to finally speak. 

“We would love to keep talking to you,” he informed regretful at the sounds of disappointed guests among the public. “but I’m afraid time’s up”

“Aww, Mr Flickerman, you’re totally breaking my heart” you pouted in with a pitiful voice, all part of a playing joke. 

“Don’t try to gulttrip me like that” he added, along with the laughs of the public. 

You stood up, but before you left, there was something you needed to do to make sure you were the spotlight of the likeability between the Capitol.

“Love you all, and thank you for tonight” your hand placed on your lips, only to swiftly fly off to your captivating audience, blowing out loving kisses to them. And with that, you left the stage. And that you blissful mask was thrown away into the trash once you heard the roaring cheers for the next person behind you. 

You never realized just how empty this kind of lively show would give you once the lights turned their focus on someone else. Your heart had turned like an empty void, and you came across something you hadn’t thought about during the show. The joy and elation you were showing was was never there to begin with, and it honestly left you exhausted having to overwork you body to achieve to emotions you wanted to convey. 

“Love you all” the words you spoke earlier bouncing around your mind like a broken record, like it was trying to tell you something that you coudn’t quite grasp the concept of. Loving someone, you didn’t know what that even meant.  Although you had never been loved by anyone, nor you have loved anyone before; unless motherly kind of love you supposed. But even with Edna, you weren’t quite sure if that was the case. And for the next five minutes you wondered around with that topic of interest, “What’s it like to love someone?” you muttered as you walked down the hallway to meet the rest of your team, already noticing they’re exciting movement towards you.  

That question though, would quickly fade into the abyss of amnesia inside your mind, throwing away pieces of information that your brain deemed unnecessary worth remembering. Scarlett practically ran to you to give to the biggest, most suffocating hug you’ve the pleasure to experience, and for a moment you thought she was about to kill you right then and there from the sheer force, before the Hunger Games even commenced. She had really toned muscles, you thought.

You found yourself again at the balcony. It had been your comforting place in a way. When everything felt too real and suffocating, you simply came out to feel the seasonal wind against your face. No matter how high quality aircons are in the Capitol, nothing could beat the fresh air of the still night. Even the incoming noises of the busy city, coudn’t reach the high tower you were standing on. So high up you bet you could brush the texture of the soft clouds, only to find the disappointing reality, and to contrary to what you had hoped for. In return, your offering hand was covered in tiny cold droplets neatly placed on the surface of your skin from the forming rain that was happening inside the spongy clouds. 

The cold humidity that exhuded a crashing reality to your silly thought. So it was evident you also felt the freezing particles of the night over your body, and with that, the winds that hide themselves during daytime, travelled further away into their destination under the beautiful moon shine.

You almost expected it to be Finnick, having met him last time in the exact same place, at the very same hour. But what gave away that it was indeed not your mentor’s presence was funnily the smell, it was warm and refreshing. It reminded you of what Athena had said to you days go, the smell of the sea never seemed to leave the sea shells when they touched each other , it was daring and in a beautifully wrapped up overpowered odor. 

Vito smelled similar to Finnick, but your Tribute Partner’s was more capturing. It was a nice smell that anyone would willingly drown themselves into a sea of flower petals, and no one opposed to turn themselves under his very submission. 

Finnick on the other hand, reminded you of the wild dandelions that grew a top of the mountains. Back home, when you needed provisions for medicine, you liked trekking up to the crown of a mountain about an hour away from your town. It was a wonderland of medicinal herbs, like God himself had planted them all for you. And without fail, you blew air out of those loving blooming dandelions, speaking away your impossible wishes and secrets. Fragile and soft to the touch, as light as the wind blew them through the air into the hidden places over the ocean, that’s how Finnick smelled like. 

You looked up Vito. His brown skin glowed with the neon colors of the Capitol, but the real party was the reflection of said colors on his sclera, even more so the void of his black eyes showing that similar of an underground night club where everyone was welcomed, no matter how different they were labeled as by the unfair standards of society. 

“Hey” he spoke quietly so as to not interrupt the peaceful stillness of the night. He wasn’t looking at you, and yet you still understood the serious undertone of his voice, already knowing the reasoning he wanted to talk to you. You didn’t need to be a genious to figure that one out. “Hey”

There was a moment of silence. The heaviness placed around both of your shoulders, the grief swirling your very essence into replicating those sorrowful eyes of yours. You huffed out air. It was exactly the same situation like having to see one of your family member's succumb to a lethal disease, fully knowing they weren’t going to make it, and you were left with the slow acceptance that you would never see them again. Never touch them, never feel them, like you somehow had to ignore the footprint they marked on your core memory, and having to live your days as  the circle of life took away their presence, and you still too burdened by their ghostly unreal fingers walking along your skin. 

It was unfair, because neither you or Vito deserved this, and you both knew this very fact. Why did you have to be punished by the crimes people you never met had atoned for? You have been even able to distract away your anger before, but now it was impossible for your unresolved gut feeling. Your throat squeezed at the feeling of that unfiltered emotion. But there was nothing you could do, because you were merely an ant in the way of a human shoe, the riched and powerful men couldn’t form an ounce of sympathy for you. And why would they? Your merely an insect living in their hunting society; you were invisible to them, so why would they care about what you had to say?

The crashing of your teeth were pressing against each other rather strong, and aggressively. A tight pain from your gums was a reflection that if you kept going, with what felt like an unlimited force, you’d end up breaking each tooth into merely tiny pieces, so small it could could fly away as powder. 

A burning tear screamed its way down to you jaw, like a hurt soldier in the name of scalding revenge for taking his loved one away from him.. 

Vito let a breath out from the agony of the situation he got himself in. He looked at you, finding himself reflected in the same emotion of that female rage that was circling around in a rushed manner through the ducts of your veins.

“Tomorrow’s the day” he just said. And you hated the way he sounded so indifferent about it, like he gave up in that instant, like he had finally come to terms to the situation. But you hated yourself more, because you knew you should feel that way as well, you needed to accept tomorrow would be your grave. But it was one of those hard things in life you coudn’t quite grasp the concept of, it was one of those hard lessons were it only left you more confused every passing second. Because your death would be for absolutely nothing worth sacrificing yourself over for. 

Another tear rolled down, this time taking the path to follow down the silhouette of your nose, only to sink down your lips like a damaged ship from a recent pirate fight, leaving you with the saltiness of the sourness you felt at the tip of your tongue. 

 “I’ll come back to get you. Don’t linger around the Cornucopia unless you want to die from the get go” he murmured the warning. But you were glad he still wanted to follow through the plan, a plan that only happened after the obvious acknowledgement that you were surely going to die if you didn’t have a willing participant to protect you. You were more than glad Vito was by your side. 

Yet, you had another thought in mind. One very much different to the words he was speaking, and if he hadn’t felt the very same rage circling around his soul, Vito would have had trouble in trying to understanding what you were referring to. 

”I hate them, Vito” you told him. “I hate them so much I could kill every single one of them” 

He knew who you were referencing to, the stuck up people of the rich society of the Capitol. Even more so the sponsors whose empathy are as empty as a vacant lot, and he couldn't forgive President Snow for celebrating the Hunger Games for another year straight. To make a whole show about the death of another twenty three children and adolescents, to be nothing but a promotional cultural activity, like a national sport competition that needed to happen for the sake of Panem political affairs.

He tensed the corners of his lips into a frown. The built up tears that he promised himself he wouldn't let spill was threatening just behind his lashes to pour down his cheek. He bit his tongue unable to say anything, complicit of the confessing words that could lead you to your punishment. One that involved scissors, your tongue, no anesthesia and a lot of pain you weren’t ready to face. 

Vito blamed you for making him tear up like that. He was trying to hold it, because it didn’t come from a place of sadness but rather the feeling of unfairness anger, that turned in an eternal resentment to seek out justice for the Capitol’s wrongdoings. Your words had hit straight to his chest, the cruel and cold words he welcomed in with open arms, because he had the same sentiment. Unlike you, it seemed easier to hide away that feeling into an old rusty box under a key he threw away into the ocean, so how did you open his chest to reveal his innermost gruesome desires?

The pure of your emotion was shared with him, and both of you cried through the fiery rage of the obligation you two had to complete. Both of you wished for the other to survive, while also drowning in self pity and a silent wish it was them who would come out victorious. 

He clasped a hand behind your head and buried your face in his chest, letting you make an emotional mess all over his shirt. So after his invitation to ruining yourself on his clothes, you grabbed a hold of the rich textile behind his back, making sharp and hard wrinkles around were your fingers that were creating a fist, a burning sensation on your fingers from the slight rash at the stong grip.

And there the both of you stayed, venting away the crucial and clouding desires to take down this Roman Empire to build another one, based directly by your conjoined ideals. Ones you were sure the people from the future would look down upon your current systematic one,  to preach your imaginary one.

A whimper escaped your lips, your cries becoming louder in that pit of uncontrollable fire. You were coming back from the wings of fantasy, and crashing down your unprotected landing to earth’s reality. A dry sob from the realization he would be separated from you so painfully soon. 

“But the hardest part is leaving you” was what you wanted to say to him. He’d become your only friend, a bond built upon the same unfortunate situation, but still a friend nonetheless. You didn’t want to separate yourself from him. You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want him to die, you just wanted to be with him like this until the end of times, until Earth had become nothing but crust. For someone to find your fossilized rock, and coming across that of an emotive stone of two hugging skeletons, in each other embrace to face the chaotic disaster together. 

But you didn’t want to die, you wanted to spend more time with him. You wanted the both of you to lose yourselves on the dry mountains of District 4; to swim and perhaps and eat fish he had gathered from the endless sea, and tell old pirate tell tales. 

You didn’t want to die, and you didn’t want him to die. But that wish was simply unrealistic, in which fate didn’t have that wishful plan for the two of you. And fate had already spoken, and that meant you two wouldn't come out of this alive together. 

“Fifteen” the countdown was halfway through. Your feet were stoned to the platform, as your veins run cold coursing through your body. You sucked in air, trying to stop the scraping thoughts of death from cutting around your soul. 

“Thirteen” you gulped down hard, as a way to stop the gurgling feeling from your stomach to rise to your eyes, and start crying right there and then. The anticipated Hunger Games was close to commence, and for the first time a voice whispered in approval to something you had said earlier, you weren’t ready for this.

“Ten” by then you sucked in many more breaths, the anxiety overgrowing through your every artery, infecting your lungs into a garden of poisonous wild vegetation. Your chest heaved rapidly, trying to stabilize your tumultuous mind. Everything was hazy, and your eyes roamed every corner it could, trying to desperately find and hold onto anything that would put you into the guarding hands of safety. But this was the Hunger Games, you knew better than to blindly trust something or someone. And when it came to the Gamemakers, when you turned your back, their betrayal was exactly like a Judas kiss.

“Where’s Vito?” your voice got lost in the immense silence that surrounded you. He wasn’t next to you, and in his stead came the features of the terrified girl from District 5. Her brunette hair braided into twined low tails, giving her the absolute most innocent look on her. 

Ice touched your wrists, hurting the passing blood that was blocking your veins at the sight, already grimly visualizing her end. 

Your eyes started to water, “Where is he?” your chest was rising and lowering in uncontrollable rhythmic fast paces. Your eyes moved fast trying to reach the boy you could trust most in this secluded place. Your jaw trembled a chill, it seemed from the very moment you entered the tube, every shiver that run made incomprehensible shapes on your back like it was foretelling you about something, and it felt exactly like a warning by the way your hairs straightened in electric agony. It didin’t matter how much your body screamed at you to turn around, to not enter the place that was surely going to end up being the graveyard of all the participants. The alert were justified. You were going to die soon, and that what scared you into the shaking fear that echoed in your bones, cliterring against each other.

“Nine” you found him. Vito was looking back at you, the irises of his eyes like the sea before a storm, calm and peaceful, and slowly getting more disturbed by the cruel ripples drawing hungry circles on the water. They were dark, like the clouds that started to cover the sky of the ocean, and soon the electrical particles would float around in the air, welcoming the thunders and lightnings that had been anticipating to come out, to free their violence through the sea. 

He gestured his head behind him, away from the Cornucopia that stayed in the centre of the circled Tributes. He was calm and collected, he was ready to face this, something your weren’t. He wanted you to run away and hide somewhere, just like he said the day before, “I’ll come back to get you”. 

You followed his lead, and found yourself overlooking the structure of this place, of the Arena that the Gamemakers had expressly done for the twenty four of you. 

Walls, that’s all you could see, worn out walls with wild vegetation escaping the stony cracks of it, that hinted this place had been abandoned for many years. They were as tall as twenty versions of you lined up vertically, and you supposed it was to make any possibility for a Tribute’s escape to be as the thin line of impossibility. 

Your fingers curled weirdly at your side, from the tension of your joints. You huffed another air out, your eyes zigzaged around you, scanning the place whole under your heavy gaze. There were a total of six gaps on the walls that surrounded you, so much so it looked like tall hallways, it’s seductive sight whispering to you to cross over them and find out about what forbidden fruit laid at the end of the passageway. It was calling for you.

“Five” ten seconds had already passed. And with that thought,  the beat of your heart was drilling in your ears. So much noise, yet everything remained quiet. The wind brushed the cold stones and caressed  past your boots. With that you felt the faint finger touches of the breeze, cold and disheartening as it cried out nature’s remorse from having been involuntarily used as massacre artilletry for yet another year.

“Three” your heart beat drums were confusing your already hazy mind, feeling it heavier than what you were used to, and you detested it. You opened your eyes, leaving you with half lidded eyeballs, that were already suffering from blurred nausea. You needed to get out of your hopeless trance, that was whispering and placing bets on another, just how you would die. It was difficult ignoring those voices that screamed louder than messageman through the loud speaker, you needed to cool down your head before the countdown set to zero.

You wished you could've done that. But among the scraping noises from your inner depths, the low murmuring sound of “One” signaled you of something crucial had just started. The monotone voice annuciated the beginning of the Hunger Games. With that, a tear rolled down your stuffed face, its high speed symbolizing the heavy burden that carried the weight of its yearly resolution. The cries and screams of false whisfullness, one that not only happened inside the Arena, but it carried away with the very same distressing message to infect Panem with heartbreak.  

And just like that. Bang! Everything started, the televised deaths from countless victims. Most of you were vulnerable sheep, waiting another day to pass and hope the big hungry wolves wouldn't choose you for their next meal, all stuck inside a unfair corral that gave them the advantage, and that meant you wouldn't be able to escape unharmed. 

You stepped back, one foot out the pedestal. And before you could run away, another hit of nausea smashed you senses. 

Everything was going too fast. 

Next thing you saw was Ezra with a machete in hand, on top of a girl from District 12, blood covering whatever was left from her face. A splatter of crimson red across his dilated face, a sly small smile tensing his right corner into a sadistic smirk.

Nyla just got herself a long weapon, something similar of a spear, and was already looking at every individual that laid at her sight, including your petrified form suffering from the fogginess that numbed your brain into submission. 

You shouted yourself to run, but you legs could only do that in forms of tiny steps back. You remembered the words that Finnick had told you at dinner, “it’s a bloodbath”. Sufficient to cover everydrop up to the fullest limit. All before the next victim, a fourteen year old boy from District 9’s head, almost split into two when Ava smashed an axe on him. It was like the faucet had been stuck and turned on, the bloody water overspilling to the white tiled floors, and staining everything. An innocent red that by the context behind was suddenly turned into an unforgiving shade of anguish.

You witnessed him tripping over a rooted plant, stubborn on staying strongly still, and cruelly be the deciding factor of his deadly prophecy. He tried to get up, and Ava’s much taller body caged him to the ground. With one swing move she stuck the sharp of the axe between his head, so hard when she tried to pull it out she struggled to do so, with traces of raw meat and the inner designs of his brain flying out, and making themselves present in the swirling thoughts around your memory for your further misery. It naturally splattered across her face from the sheer brutality and gruesomeness of the sin she had just committed. But its not like she cared anyway. 

And with that blow, that boy was gone. His vitality thick liquid rowing down his head, and making itself noticed with lines drawing a disturbing picture in his face. The red of the blood had lost its colour, and you destested just how it had become a duller shade of crimson, like it was already in its process to rot away, starting off with the blood under the sunlight.

Ava didn’t need to keep going, but she did. She was an unstoppable force that was ready to take down anyone that she considered inferior to her that walked passed her vision, like a vicious lion with blood running down her chin. 

That was it, he was gone from this planet, and away from his homeland, away from his comfort place to battle without choice even when he didn’t want to. He was to never come back to his family’s reassuring embrace. He was gone. Forever gone and to never come back again.

Another two steps back. His lifeless head turned unhumanly to you, his eyes were red as if he had cried many hours before coming to his deathbed. The drops of blood drawing lines from the ears down his cheek and nose. His eyes abnormally placed on yours, void of any terror and pain, just nothing. No happiness not sadness, no anger and not an ounce of fright. Nothing was there, just an empty shell, void of any shining pearl. Just nothing. He was gone. 

His limp body was turned to you when you finally woke up from your trance, hyperventilating from the confusing and rapid forms and shapes that curled up and fused with each other, to be mixed and shaken up into colourful fragments that screamed threatening lines into your ears. Nothing made sense. 

You trembled your jaw, and another tear followed down to your dry mouth. You opened your mouth, almost instinctively to scream away the distress you had built up over the days. Edna always told you there was no use in keeping yourself troubled by your emotions, and if you needed to release them, to scream away so much you could feel your soul screaming along with your body, let it vibrate in waves through your skin to alleviate it as well. Except this was not the timing to be doing that. 

Your hand smacked to your mouth, blocking any sound that would give away your terrified presence. Another swarm of tears threatened to run down your face, this time in pouring rain. You gulped down, and with that you managed to drown back your scream. 

Then you came across the picture of another girl. A  beautiful redhead. Unreal with lightbrown eyes and pointy features. A beautiful red goddess, ruler of all the invading flames, tamer all any fire dragon she quickly claimed. She was like a blooming poppy when you had seen her in training, even more so in the breathtaking dress she had worn in the interview. A slender and shy girl, that what she portrayed herself as, as an innocent and vulnerable flower. 

So why was she looking at you like that?

She was coming closer, a weird deranged expression across her lit charcoal features. She looked beautiful then, because now her animalistic eyes had turned yellow and her irises red in the purest form of insaned rage.

She was coming to you, a long knife in her hand pointed downwards, giving you the full view and the future glimpse of your deadly fate that was going to occur in the next minute or two, giving you an advantage of two seconds to understand the situation you were in. Your survival incticts quicked in, and you were glad your breathing corpse was as terrified as your mind at the oidea of the shapr item in you, in her hand to tear away the protective layers and pierce through your loved organs, circling around into a muchy smelly mess, or on the other hand, the greatest meal for those big and hungry vultures had encountered. 

She twitched, and that was enough indication for you to run away, to hopefully be able to see the next twelve hours play out, still alive and well, no matter how lucky or ambitious that may be.

She screamed, more like she roared in pleasured challenge. Everything she ppotrayed herself as; from her shyness, her kindred soul, her peaceful nature, she had none of those adoring qualities anymore. On the contrary, she embraced a new side of her that eat away all the remaining good left of her. It was like she forgot the sympathetic teachings that grown ups had instilled in her. She wasn’t human anymore.

You were running for your life. Being someone with great knowledge about corpses taught just how fragile it was to begin with, more prominent injured become somewhat life altering. From broken tendons that hurt after long working hours, to crystal fragments stuck ti your knee could also be form geometrical pain from the scarring after being sat for a few hours. 

And you were sure as Hell you didn’t want to find out, even in the small chance you lived long enough to find out. 

You looked behind, wanting to see just how far she was. And to your regret the wild girl was just tailing behind you, a hand pushin forward against the air resistance to grab your forearm. You ducked away and turned to your right abruptly, hoping that would be enough for her to lose sight of you. A destructive shriek was all you heard, you were only frustrating her further, and a loud battling yell came out as a ball of fire that burned away her delicate features

You recognized her to be Linette from Dsitrict 8. You were surprised to say the least, you always had thought of that District to be more tame and peaceful, being in civilised cities and not knowing much about the outside world. They were in many instances at a great disadvantage because of this very fact. They dealed with the beloved Capitol’s textiles, and you cursed at yourself from letting that stereotypical thought question her eagerness and ability to come crashing down on you to kill you.

This girl had gone completely rouge, like another one of the traps that the Gammakers had created to kill you all. She didn’t feel human anymore, but rather another one of the puppets for the Hunger Games its exclusive usage to create as much chaos as it could through the Arena, and you wouldn't wait to find out the lengths she was willing to go as her first victim. 

There was yet another sound, and even though your were hyperventilating, it oddly sounded like something good had happened, like you weren’t being chased anymore. You noticed your only pair of legs running, and that stalking demon presence gone you stopped. The air came in an out in ragged and heavy breathes, your stomach churned in pain, and you wanted to puke then. You gulped down that disgusting taste away in hoipes it wound’t later come up.

You looked back and scanned where the threat laid ahead of you, only to find yourhopes to become reality, even if they had made you guilty to have think that way about someone. Tears were swelling your eyes red, the pure of the salt irritating and hurting your scelera like your first attempt at diving underwater and trying to enoucter all sorts of beautiful sea creatures, but instead now, it was due to having a racing mtch with a monster that seeked blood and death. 

A sob escaped your lips. Your eyes looked back at the returned concentrated stare of the black eyes you longed to see. His irises that were just below a a black tone, and more so a o dark greyish shade looked over your body in making sure you were in one piece, away from danger and hurt.

You were finally near the person you whole heartedly yearned among the chaotic violence. It dawned on you of the smart move you had done on the tran ride to the Capitol, he could protect you. He’d protect you, so you could later look after him.It ist wasn’t for that, you would most likely be dead in this very instant.

You slumped your shoulders down. And you cried, you cried out so much you felt everything else disappear. You breathed in sharp breaths earning the infamous hissing sounds coming from your throat. You moaned as well, because you were scared of everything at this point, and Vito was your only salvation at this moment.

You just wanted to be back in District 4 and be in Edna’s arms. To squeeze yourself in her body no matter how she retorted back many comments, coming at you in defense for her own personal space, that you were stubbornly invading, not caring that she didn’t want you so close to her.

But you coudn’t that, noy one or the other. This started to feel like a personal vendetta against you. 

You should’ve have noticed it then, the way his irises clouded reason. He was away, far away from what was surrounding him; the corpse of the girl he was holding, the screams of pained anguish not so far away from the two of you, the cold stale air brushing his skin. He was simply out and switched off. That should have been a warning, because even though you hadn’t spent that much time together, Vito wasn’t the Vito you had grown accustomed to. 

His expression was blank, a single drop of blood coming down his cheek, and yet he didn’t seem to care at all. His hand was queezing the girl’s arm, so much the beginning of the purple of a choking bruise was appearing in her forearm. The red head, though, didn’t try to wriggle her way out of him, instead her fingers wrapped themselves on her throat. Vito had given her life threatening injures, and you knew she was breaths away from death. Linnette gurgled as she looked you, the striking eyes of shock directed at you. She, as well as you and Vito knew she was going to die, and that only turned her bloody mess in a tortural refusal she was going to die so soon after the horn rang. 

It seemed she wanted to say something, and you and Vito let the silence preserve for her, but she coudn’t say anything. Her last breath was taken away from her, and now she could only fall to the ground in that. She sat on a fetal position, blood scurring off her fingers that still lay squeezing her throat, trying to somehow stop the bleeding of her punctured vocal chords.

Every word she wanted to say would never be heard, being choked down by the meaty blood. She remained there, her body trembling and you hoped her light twitches weren’t from body spasms in trying to wake her from her slumber. 

Another choke. Her veiny red eyes founds yours. Linnette opened her mouth to say the words she so desperately wanted to say. Her teeth were covered in brown red, and as she choke again she spit the red liquid that was accumulating in her mouth, overspilling in to the earthy ground. And along with her cut throat, the large quantity of lost blood made a river down the path you had just taken, going back to the Cornucopia to announce her death to the rest of the Careers. 

The iron taste in her mouth was overpowering her senses, and soon, that was all she could think off. Her veins were cold as if someone or something had sucked her dry, and she for the first time appreciated the warmth that blood had provided her in the freezing winter season. 

She breathed for air. Tiny gasps but still despairing nonetheless. Of course, the red haird had grown tired, and she lamented that all the air she sucked was to be escaped by the gap that Vito had done to her. There was no use in fighting anymore, she had lost. Tears formed in her eyes only to never be shown to the world. They simply got stuck in her lashes as she felt herself dream to another realm. 

But you managed to understand one word she said in all the gurgling and choking mess. Her pink lips were pigmented with that of crimson, and as she spat another line of sticky and thick blood, she revealed the thought she had before she had gone completely limp. “Theo” she said in her final hiss. 

Sprawled over the grassy ground and accommodated by a bed of her own blood. Her eyes were wide awake looking away from the two of you, wanting her final moments to be from her own introspective, thinking back to her homeland and family. And as the cold she had never felt filled her to her senses, she wanted her last thought to be of Theodore, her boyfriend from back home. 

She had hoped you could relay her final words to him, which only filled her death with so much more unforgiving tragedy. Linette hated herself for not being able to say how much she loved him, she wanted to let him know she would never forget him. Even when they would be separated, she would remember him under the sunlight, while she could only fantasize about him from the moon afar.

Her trembling fingers were the last body partsc for her to completely cease from reality, and she hoped you and Vito could hear her unheard unspoken words. “I’m sorry” and she regretted that plead for forgiveness was turned into her final gurgle. 

Linnette was sorry for her survival outrage. She wished for you to understand her reasoning behind why she did it to begin with. It was like a theatrical loving tragedy, making the main character of the novel kill in order to be back for the confort of her partner.

But something you didn’t know was that this story was just like that, a love story filled with the elements of melancholy and despair, all in the name to be close to your partners loving heart. 

Before she left for the Capitol and into the death game, Theodore had come to her to lament with her. Theo proposed an idea, something that was on the back of him mind for a while, and he needed to expulse that though to her. He pleaded her to come back to him, that he was nothing but a heavy rock without her. He said “Come back, and let’s get married” that’s all he said, and that was sufficient for Linette to risk everything for him, and for a future life withing the warm embrace of each other. 

She apologized to you, but if you looked close enough in the rampage of her mind, behind her heavy circumstances laid the final words for not being able to keep her promise to a loved one. She was sorry becasyue she coudn’t do the task that was placed on her, to come back alive in the security of his sweet kiss. She already missed him, and Theodore could only take on the idea of dying to be near his Darling. He was more than convinced to got through Death’s realm to find her, and come back with her and fullfill their lives together away from anyone, just the two of them. 

Vito looked at you, somber caressed his expression by having to see her death, but it was especially haunting the knowledge he was the perpertrator of her murder. His finger dropped the stained weapon, that was swam droplets into the dry leaves of the trees towering you two.

His ragged breathings hinted you he was close behind when the chase occurred, a hunter hunting down a carnivore animal that was close behind your form, as it decided your were the her next meal. You hated thinking that, but you had to accept it. In this secluded place where no one would come to help you, you were at the very bottom of the food chain. 

The dilation of his pupils spiraling around at the sudden adrenaline charge that sparked every sense in one singular thought,  you. He was worried, and that fear was another loud and harder step to protect you, and with that primal surge of energy he completely ignored the voices of his principles and came running behind until he reached to get Linette.

And he had reached you on time. 

You looked back at him, calling out his name in a weak and broken down tone, as a fragile as a ceramic vase being hit to the harsh cold floor. His face said something you coudn’t read, he was completely paralyzed and stoic. His eyes were faded into the high of the clouds. The storm you saw before, merely minutes ago was completely gone now, only left with the smoky clouds after the rain, calm but with a clear hint that a devastating disaster had just occurred.

“Vito?” Another cry left your lips. He looked as dead as the girl by his feet. Cold, unmoving, and hollow behind his eyes. But he was fine, he had to be. Vito was standing in front of you, you were seeing his breaths quickening through the movement of his chest. He was alive and well, only he felt dead inside as all the dead corpses lying around the Cornucopia when he had left it behind. 

His irises were nothing you had seen before, none of his lively playfulness, nor the broken pieces of crystals that were crying out in pain. He was away from reality, and definitely far away from the life he learned with his family, a journey with not return ticket from his usual life.

It like his soul had left him. 

His hands trembled by his side, the blade just beside his feet not only was stained with Linnette’s blood, but also his concious guilt of self disgust. The very faded eyes were stationed on yours, irises still and yet his pupil shaking like a chemical reaction was happening behind his brain. He was so eerily still it out you on edge, and a clear whisper told your to run away from him, readying your legs for another round of running. 

But, why were you scared of Vito? 

And yet in that emotional turmoil you wanted to answer, his gaze was still directed at you, with nothing. Your Tribute Partner was looking at a picture of his own guilt, one were an invisible pencil drew him with Linnette’s dead body beside him. But it didn’t stop there, no, the pencil was growing bold and recreated the many more murdered corpses it was predicting Vito would commit. 

The blurred drawing of red lines, like that of a a spiderweb of blood decorated in the insides of his brain, showing his admission of a guilty killer. There was no coming back now, he stepped away from the stable line of human morality, and into the the abyss of murderous insanity. He was a murderer, and no matter your denying words he knew you would say to reassure him, it could not erase that simple, yet cutting fact. 

“Vito?” you called out to him again, a tint of shakiness painted the wall of your throat, making the cried tone of yours break his heart even more. You huffed air expectantly, he was finally looking at you, the real you and not what his imagination tried to trick him with. He turned his fingers into a fist, obligating himself to feel the prickling pain from the stabbing fingernail on his palm, in a way he was trying to indulge himself in some sort of self punishment, especially after seeing your terrified form and dilated pupils. 

And as cruel as it maybe, Vito didn’t mind the signing tunes of gratitude your heart whole heartedly sang to him. Deep in his soul, he knew you weren’t happy to have Linnette killed, but rather for saving you on your assured death scene. His eyes softened after seeing yours, scanning your colourful tones from your broken eyes, at least at ease him you were still alive, even against all odds you were still here. And that’s all he needed to know to feel like he could lift the deadly weight off of him. 

Vito called your name. His eyes were still void, and the charcoal irises only made him look like empty black holes, powerful enough to suck you in and grab a hold on you, not matter how much your tried to scurry away from him. 

“Run” he said. The new facade of Vito was showing up on the Arena. You half expected it was going to occur sooner or later, but you didn’t want to believe that would come in the form of that stoic expression he was doing. But the words he spoke, those were the hard hitting truth of the fantasy you tried to convince yourself was just that, and unreal expectation that only lived in your optimistic fantasy. The voice that you had gotten used to, was stranger to your ears. It was the sound of a thin thread of frost, creating little drawing of asphyxiating ice by your ear drums. 

He didn’t repeat himself, looking down at you with nothing but that disturbed face of his. Following your every move as you cried some more, pleading him to stay with you. But it didn’t work, he was still and convinced of the meaning behind those cold words. And after some low sobs you gathered yourself to leave your friend behind, your only friend, the one you would give your life up in order for him to come back to his family. 

His voice was echoing the singular words he said, leaving traces of tears down your cheeks and dampening your whole gear from the neck down. You wanted to scream at him, for ignoring your contractual agreement the two of you promised each other to carry, yet you still obeyed him. Even when his very actions were exactly like sending you to your horrible death. 

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[irenespring]

TV characters and their mentors

I have realized as I watch TV and find myself liking a character I also start considering who their mentor in @lorata's THG District Two system would be, almost as a personality test. I've put too much thought into it to not publish it somewhere. So, here is a very niche character analysis. TV characters and their District Two mentors. If you are a fan of these shows and have no idea what I'm talking about because you don't read Lorata, do it now. I haven't read the Hunger Games since middle school but I return to Lorata's District Two every few months.

The Mentalist:

Patrick Jane: Callista. The way this fits is actually one of the reasons I decided to actually write a post. He considers himself immune to the rules. He hates authority. He is charming and manipulative, with only fleeting indications he has a conscience. A chaos agent. Exactly what Callista looks for. He would absolutely break up the career alliance early because he decides he doesn't want to kill the youngest tributes if he doesn't have to for his survival and he would rather kill his "allies." It gets Callista in hot water with the other alliance mentors but she is just like "he's excellent."

Teresa Lisbon: Brutus. Lisbon is actually a lot like what Petra would probably become in twenty years. Still hot-headed, still stubborn and rules-focused, still wanting respect at all costs... but a little more chill about it. She's a pretty easy choice for Brutus because she gets things done and doesn't resort to the flashy nonsense of certain Calli tributes. Speaking of... Jane and Lisbon kind of work as an inversion of the classic "back-to-back Victors are a wild girl and chill boy" and would probably hate each other at first before slowly becoming closer as time goes on.

SVU (this is a weird case because I've published a THG AU, but lets just say all of them are Two in this case):

Alex Cabot: This is the hardest of all of them for me, but I'm going to say Devon. She fits the dreamer archetype of always wanting to make things better for everyone (even with the weird season 18 twist SVU pulled, Alex is still fighting for what she perceives as justice). That twist however does rule her out for most of Brutus' branch because it's coloring too far outside the lines. She's very charming and witty, but is focused on trying to do right in the world, rather than the more self-focused goals of Callista or Misha (my runner up for this character).

Olivia Benson: Brutus. Pretty much for the same reasons as Lisbon. She is very closely tied with the rules; even when she disagrees with them, she never really thinks about leaving. She is District Two in the AU I published, so I'm to promote myself and say for more insight into how she views the Games as a Career, go read that.

Rafael Barba: Lyme. The essence of a Lyme tribute. Abusive childhood, attachment issues, using flash to cover for insecurities, depression, and ambition. Has a very tough time in early recovery because he has difficulty squaring the horrors of the Games with his motivation for volunteering---a Claudius-esque (though less intense) desire for family and acceptance.

Sonny Carisi: Tough to decide between Devon and Emory but I'm going to go with Emory. He bakes for everyone. He tries to be a good person even the face of horrors. He has no real desire to do violence to people except when under massive amounts of pressure. He didn't even necessarily need to be volunteering, he just did his best, tried to make friends, and figured they'd tell him to stop when he failed.

Bones (this is another interesting case because I have written a THG AU but have not posted because of how much it uses Lorata's characters in the absence of mentor characters in Bones, and in the AU Temperance is from District Nine, but they will both be Two in this case):

Temperance Brennan: Artemisia. She isn't really sorry about anything from Career training, viewing the Program as the only rational choice given the Capitol's governmental system. She often insults other candidates on accident, because she is the best according to the rankings so why do they take offense when she points it out? She avoids serious injury because she really is the best. It cracks Misha up just reading the file. After it becomes clear in recovery that many of her nightmares come from the foster family that she was sent to after he parents and brother abandoned her, Misha tracks them down to make sure they...understand her displeasure.

Seeley Booth: Emory. He is Two in the AU I'm writing so I've thought this through at length. In the show, he is very pre-occupied with being a good person despite having killed people, and Emory is described as the most decent of the Victors. I've thought of an argument where as Lyme is to Claudius, so Emory would be to Booth growing up in District Two. He also has a habit of pushing all his emotions down because he views them as unimportant, something Emory is shown to have a very good way of countering as a mentor. Emory and Misha meet up to talk about how their Victors are clearly infatuated with each other, Emory dismisses it because Misha had a crush on her, but Misha is like "no this is different." They wager a batch of cookies (Misha's would be baked by Devon). Misha accepts her cookies at Seeley and Temperance's wedding.

ER:

Kerry Weaver: Lyme. A lot of the characters I like have similar vibes, so the explanation for this one is kind of similar to Rafael. She has a harsh persona that is used as a cover for someone struggling with abandonment issues and wanting to belong. As a District Two candidate, she likely would be a lot like Petra (quick to anger, sensitive to being disrespected or not taken seriously), but with less regard for duty and more personal investment. She cares about the people of her district, but she wants to win for herself and the family she would be promised. I've almost written an essay on Kerry and how she behaves and her mental health while she thinks she has a shot at fitting in to ER's found family, and how it declines after she realizes that they will never accept her around season 7 and 8. She really, really wants a family, and Lyme is drawn to those types of tributes.

[e1igius]

come into thg hell with me ; just a warning , it's darker than the books.

you don't even have to write , give me a year and your kid gets to be a victor

10: lady gray baird , tweleve

11: mags flanagan , four

22: woof , eight

31: seeder , eleven

38: porter millicent tripp , five

40:

41:

42: [ district 9 female ] , nine

43: beetee latier , three

44: lyme , two

45: chaff , eleven

46: [ district 9 male ] , nine

47: brutus , two

48: [ district 5 male ] , five

49:

50: haymitch abernathy , tweleve

51:

52: courtland gentry , two (@sierra6x)

53: blight , seven

54: [ district 5 female ] , five

55: [ female morphling ] , six

56: [ male morphling ] , six

57:

58:

59: cecelia , eight

60: huckleberry sawyer , three *

61:

62: enobaria , two

63: gloss , one

64: cashmere , one

65: finnick odair , four

66:

67: agustus braun , one

68: [ district 10 male ] , ten

69:

70: annie cresta , four

71: johanna mason , seven

72: prynne gatsby , three ** critical to hucks storyline

73: [ district 2 male ] , two

74: katniss everdeen & peeta mellark , tweleve

[lorata]

Okay this might be a little too spicy to ask, so feel free to ignore, but do you have any THG fanfic/fandom characterization/headcanon pet peeves? Aside from I assume one-note Careers. Mine is the way people erase the mentorship bond! I see so much Finnick stuff especially where he tells the writer’s chosen lover for him that they’re the “only one who sees the real him,” and I’m always like, hello, MAGS???

oh hard agree, plus I'm not a super fan of that even without the mentor thing. like don't get me wrong I love a good, codependent fictional relationship that would be absolutely destructive in real life (delicious) but everyone should have more than one person. there can be MULTIPLE codependent relationships! codependent fractal! a weird group of people with a weird shared experience that nobody else can hope to understand. FEED ME THAT LIKE SKITTLES.

(don't come for me about my fictional preferences. leave me and the fellowship ALONE)

on a similar note I also used to get tired of how everyone made all the mentors sexually and/or romantically involved with their victors (like Beetee/Wiress, Brutus/Enobaria or Finnick/Annie where he's her mentor, whoever.) like no shade to people who read or write it BUT I feel like there was a weird period where no one could envision ANY close relationship without writing it into a pairing. Maybe it's my aroace coming to the surface but I got a bit grumpy. So I wrote an endless permutation of complicated, intense relationships with absolutely no sex or romance aspect. what are ya gonna do about it!

one of my less controversial peeves is "peeta starts out dating glimmer who is vapid and promiscuous and cheats on him so he can get together with katniss who is perfect" like an early taylor swift song. it was E V E R Y W H E R E for a while. if there was a modern AU, Peeta was dating Mean Bitch Glimmer and she'd get her comeuppance around the end of Act I. why. please. one of Katniss' actual, literal, canon character arcs is realizing Glimmer was a person who was forced to act the way she was (her interview dress chosen by her adult stylist was SEE-THROUGH) and she died, alone, for an audience who immediately forgot she existed. and you're gonna "not like other girls" her for your wish-fulfillment barista AU. cool.

on the other end of the scale -- and this is a very personal trigger, so I don't blame anyone for liking it -- the District 5 repro girls / thin girls fanon that was rampant in 2012-2014 fanfic. a bunch of people incorporated it into their stuff but it is such a violent, visceral nope for me that if a story uses it I close the tab immediately.

characterization-wise, there is a fic i still see floating around where rue makes me scream. listen. rue is the oldest of 6 kids AND her father died when she was even younger than katniss. she has been working full time to support her family in a job where you are literally murdered for mistakes since she was nine years old. rue is calculating and intelligent, she tells katniss that peeta is "okay" when she knows he's bleeding to death because if katniss realizes he's dying she'll leave. PLEASE. respect the hustle, the girl is not naive.

ok you did say spicy so i will give you ONE (1) hot take. it drives me bananas when fanfic uses Cato Hadley and Clove Kentwell. they first appeared on wattpad in 2010, when fandom tossed a few names around for a while and hadley and kentwell were the ones that stuck. but IT'S NOT THEIR REAL LAST NAMES STOP ADDING THEM TO THE WIKIS AND TELLING PEOPLE IT'S CANON AAAAAAAAA.

there's my one petty hunger games post, lol. i am pretty live and let live, generally if I don't like something I scroll past or filter it out. the annoyance happens when it's stuff like, trying to read fic about Careers and the first page of results is just them background tagged in an ensemble fic about the main characters -- but that's a minor character in juggernaut fandom problem, that's EVERYWHERE. i do the "search within results summary: name" trick to solve that

[piracytheorist]

everyperson in the fucking world of THG would have generational trauma though? because every district had to take part in the games, every district had their own shit to deal with (hello 11 and I doubt the mines in two were a barrel of laughs to work in if you weren't drafted to actually work for the Captiol) and Katniss and Peeta both got therapy (Dr whose name I remember but can't think of the spelling of)

Did they get therapy? I don't remember that part. Though again it's been about nine years since I read Mockingjay. But considering their trauma they would probably need long years of therapy.

Look, I'm not saying traumatized people shouldn't have children. I'm saying to not have them expecting them to make you happy. And idk, seeing Katniss' development in the story... she turned caring for Prim because her mother was too depressed to take care of them, so Katniss assumed the role of caring parent in the house, though still seeing herself as Prim's big sister. Then she bonds with Rue, and it's not because she feels motherly towards her, but again, because Rue reminds her of Prim and therefore her sisterly instincts kick in.

Throughout the books, she never stops for a moment to think how her life will be like with a family of her own. Yes she fears that her children might get reaped, but it never struck me as her saying "I so wish I had children, but I worry about them getting reaped into the hunger games". It struck me as her simply not wanting children.

Maybe it's just me, because I don't want children, and there are times that I catch myself asking why people keep having children in such a horrible world that we're in... and I kinda think there is a moment in the books where Katniss has the same thought? I mean, I understand that there are people who want to have children and bring them into this world with the hope that they can provide them with the best circumstances they can give. But I'm not like that, and throughout the three books, I couldn't peg Katniss for that either.

And the fact that Peeta spent, what was it, fifteen years trying to convince her to have children, fifteen entire years after Capitol had fallen and the hunger games had ceased to exist... and she was still unsure until she felt her baby move inside her. She had agreed to pregnant, and it took until the baby could move inside her (which according to a quick search is at four months of pregnancy) for her to go like "Oh I want to be a mother".

I'm not saying she or Peeta would be bad parents. It just screams amatonormativity to me, you know? Heteronormativity in this case, too. It's the trope where a woman cannot be happy without a husband and kids by her side. And I dislike the epilogue because Katniss was so openly indifferent to gender roles, so caring for other people but at the same time never expressing the desire to have children, that suddenly seeing her get pulled into a grossly misogynistic stereotype left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.

Again, not saying that it's misogynistic if you're a woman and you want to end up with a spouse and children, or if you enjoy fictional female characters of that kind. You do you. But it's misogynistic to depict female characters like that all the time in the media.

[pjoseries]

angst for percabeth with a “where have you been?” line please 😈

this was supposed to be rly short but alas here i am. i’m so sorry ily grace ty for enabling me (posted on ao3 too bc why not)

(THG AU)

══════════════════

The synthetic moonlight slashes the rough cityscape terrain, hardening it until it looks cold and unforgiving, its dismal gray blackened by soot, the ground rusted with blood from one of the other tributes. The Cornucopia shines a sickly silver from where Annabeth looks at it, from an angle through the window. She’s trembling, the pain in her shoulder screaming at her, but she needs to look for Percy. She needs to. Annabeth knows better than to show her face, but it’s the only way to look outside without exposing herself to the Careers. It’s funny, how things have changed since training, since she met Percy. Without him, she would’ve been down there, right next to the Careers, sharpening a blade beside Luke like she’s done for years in the past.

But then she met Percy—insufferably humble, Percy Jackson from District 4, who volunteered in place of his best friend Grover, managed to score a neat eleven on his pre-gaming score, and denounced anything to do with the Careers—and Annabeth took one look at the Careers, at Luke, and ran from them to Percy. Faintly, Annabeth still wonders what he did to piss them off enough to get him a score that would paint him as the target.

No cannons have sounded off in the past three hours since Percy left to go and steal from the Cornucopia. It was probably the dumbest idea she’s had, but she’s willing to argue that being stabbed in the shoulder is not the best for working brain power. Annabeth knows any prospects of getting sponsors died the moment she left Luke’s side and the risk of infection is becoming more and more of a problem, so she offhandedly suggested stealing from the Careers. All the medicine she could ever need is tucked in their greedy hands. 

It was a suicide mission, but she was already dying anyway. 

But then Percy said simply, “Okay, I’ll go.”

Annabeth gaped at him and she struggled to get up, but he gently pressed her down against the blanket. She just gripped his shirt instead, holding on so tightly her knuckles whitened. 

“Percy, no. I’ll do it.” She bite back the, I’m dying as we speak, trapped in her throat. She didn’t want him to worry any more than he had been. 

“You can barely stand up without my help,” he argued and there was that righteousness in his tone that almost made her roll her eyes. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Percy,” she snapped. “I-I can’t.”

Percy loosened Annabeth’s grip and held her hand with both of his. He brought it up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. She closed her eyes, but she still felt the tears streaming from her face. “Then you know why I have to do this, Annabeth.” He placed her hand back to her side and gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood up, grabbing his sword. “I can’t lose you too.”

It sounded like a declaration, like something more. Annabeth thinks it was. 

And then he left and he’s been gone for hours and she can admit that she’s maybe half an hour away from a panic attack. She manages to stand up after an unbearably long time, but she can’t spot Percy anywhere. 

Then, she hears footsteps and it’s almost embarrassing how she doesn’t slide into a defensive stance. How is it she knows Percy’s footsteps after spending so little time with him? Time doesn’t feel real here. Logically, she knows it’s been nine days since the Games started. But, God, it feels like it’s been a lifetime and a half. It’s still not enough, though. Not unless they both live till the ripe age of eighty, it won’t be enough. One of them won’t even make it past sixteen and, going by her odds, it’s definitely and unfortunately ever in her favor. 

Percy opens the door, carrying a canteen in his hand, a little worse for wear, but he’s alive. He startles a little when he sees her standing and immediately goes to help her. “What are you—”

She clenches her jaw and says, “Where have you been?” 

He gets her down to a seated position and shakes the canteen in front of her. She bites out, “What is water gonna do to help?”

Percy rolls his eyes and gently unwraps her wound. She hisses and grips at his arm. He’s murmuring I’m sorry underneath his breath when he places down the bloodied gauze next to them. He says, “Just… look.”

He opens the canteen and slowly dribbles the water over her fresh wound. She has to scramble and grip at the floor because goddammit that hurts, but then the pain slowly dulls into an ache and she opens her eyes, blearily taking in her shoulder. The wound is stitching itself up right before her eyes. 

“The water has healing properties,” he explains, hands gentle as they clean away the dried blood. “I was gonna go to the Cornucopia, you know. But then I remembered on the first day, I scraped my palms on the concrete. I ran away and found a water source. I drank from it—yeah, I know, a little stupid, but it looked fine—and I put my hand in it and it healed everything. I almost forgot about it after… well, after everything that’s happened, because I didn’t even notice I was really hurt that day, but… yeah.”

Annabeth just gazes up at him, a small smile on her face. 

“It’s an hour away and I figured I’d have a better chance getting it than fighting all the Careers.” He throws her a soft look. “I knew I needed to come back. To you.”

Percy looks frazzled and relieved and all she can do is throw her arms around him and hold him tightly. She buries her face into the crook of his shoulder and whispers, “Thank you, Percy.” His arms wrap around her waist, holding her steady. 

“No problem,” he says easily. Her shoulder is a little sore, but she clings onto Percy like a lifeline. But he holds her just as tightly. Maybe they’re each other’s lifeline in this hellhole. 

Annabeth takes in a deep, shuddering breath. 

As long as they’re together, they’ll figure something out. They have to. 

[annikasafternoonread]

Do you have any thoughts about the way THG series talks about hope? Because I've read books where the Big Lesson is "we gotta have hope to fight the Bad" but you mentioned that the reason the rebellion happens is because people have no hope--so they act. But I'd also say that sometimes Katniss hopes in spite of herself and those are generally positive moments? What do you think?

Oh, I love this question! Thank you! This might be a bit long, but hopefully it’s interesting!

Well, first off, I think there are two kinds of hope that we’re talking about here: the hope that things are going to get better, and the hope that we can do something about the problems we face. When I talk about Snow destroying people’s hope, and the rebellion growing out of that hopelessness, I mean that in a societal sense. No matter how good they are, no matter how hard they work, things still won’t get better. The citizens of District 12 are still going to be poor and overworked and starving, because the power structures themselves have made it crystal clear that they are the enemy and they won’t let people succeed.

It kind of ties into the idea of the American Dream, in some ways -- the idea that if you work hard and apply yourself, anyone can pull themselves out of poverty. For a long time, a lot of people believed that notion, and plenty of people still do. But the younger generations who have faced skyrocketing costs of living and education and stagnant wages and job markets, who have watched the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, who have worked their asses off for years doing everything society said we’re supposed to do and still having nothing to show for it but debt... we’re starting to doubt that idea. We’re starting to see the cracks. We’re starting to think that working hard under the status quo isn’t the answer. We’re starting to think that the only way things will get better is if the system gets better -- and the only way the system will get better is if we make it. And for some people, especially those in older generations or wealthier families or luckier situations, they see that as laziness, as not wanting to work hard. But we have been working hard. It didn’t help. Now we’re trying something new, and it’s still hard work, but at least it’s different. At least we’ve got a shot.

That’s the kind of hope we need. That’s the kind of hope a revolution needs. The hope that we can make things change, that we can make things better. Of a hundred people working individually, maybe one would get lucky and the other ninety-nine would get shafted. But if those hundred people work together, maybe they can force a change to make things better for all of them. It’s like a union, but it’s a society. And the thing is, so many people think they’re gonna be that one lucky person, so they don’t want to dismantle the system in favour of a new one that would prevent such a person getting ahead. Odds are they won’t be that lucky, but they hope they will be. But Snow has looked District 12 -- perhaps all of Panem -- in the face and said, there will be no lucky people. At all. None of you will ever rise to be anything. So in that case, why not break it down?

Further, when I talk about the hopelessness, I often talk about having nothing to lose. Not only will things not get better, but they almost can’t get worse. They have no money, no food, no power, no heat, no voice, no chance that hard work will change any of that -- what’s left to take away? They’re already dying, their family and friends are already dying, so what’s a little risk for a good cause?

Katniss is a really interesting perspective in all of this, because she really isn’t an optimistic person. She’s practical, cynical, tired, hardworking, worn down. Growing up, especially after her father died, her goals weren’t “work hard and be successful and get rich,” they were, “work hard and keep my family fed and don’t die of starvation.” She didn’t have the time to think about lofty dreams, she just wanted to live, just wanted Prim to live. And she succeeded -- but now her family is in danger all over again, and she realizes that under the current system, she’ll never be able to keep them safe. But she also knows exactly what the Capitol is capable of, the kind of power and influence and resources and technology that is available to them. How could they ever succeed against that? She knows things almost certainly won’t get better without revolution, but she struggles to believe that a revolution could ever succeed.

Her role in the revolution is in a lot of ways to inspire a hope she does not feel. She has moments, as you say, that spur her into specific actions, but they rarely last. Her actions have enduring effects, and she follows through on her promises, but her grasp on hope itself is tenuous. She taps into anger, compassion, pain, reminding people that the way things are is unacceptable, that they deserve better. She doesn’t know how to make things better, doesn’t totally believe that things will ever get better, but that’s not her job. Her job is to wind people up, and the people around her then harness that energy and that discontent and that inspiration to turn it into change.

[boabelboo]

district nine canni- *GUNSHOTS*

[ilguna]

District Nine - Wendigo.

controlling their victims from the beginning, the wendigos convinced the others to back off of district nine. unable to control their own insatiable greedy hunger, they infect others around them, causing the victims to fall under the cannibalistic influence of the wendigo.

[everlvrks]

naming in songbirds and snakes

authors note: it is 1 am and this is unbataed, apologies for any spelling or grammar errors.

the hunger games is known for its outrageous, futuristic names; one of my favorite pieces of the series. this post does a beautiful job analyzing the names that appear in the original trilogy and categorizing them into 4 different categories. but that post is a little old and we’ve just recently got a lot more content (and names) to pick apart and analyze.

researching these names reminds me how everything suzanne includes in her novels is intentional. she doesn’t pick random names because they sound good but because they mean something. i think that’s important to remember while reading this series. it’s definitely something i will keep in mind during my next reread of the trilogy.

i didn’t cover every name in tbosas. if there’s a name you have thoughts about, reblog and let me know.

potential tbosas spoilers and long post under the cut

names will be divided into capitol and tribute (district) names  

capitol

capitol names take many influences from ancient roman and greek names, but they also tell the story of the character. i will only be discussing major characters, not all will be mentioned.

coriolanus: snow’s first name largely has to do with his story. from the play coriolanus by shakespeare, meaning “conqueror of corioli,” a heroic roman solider, caius marcius, gains his name from a victory at corioli. when he leads the attack on corioli, it does not go well. but he keeps fighting and returns to rome victorious. he brings glory to rome and his mother volumnia. basically summing up his whole story. he tries to lead an ‘attack’ (him trying to win the games) but that fails. he’s reduced to a peacekeeper but he still doesn’t stop trying to be something greater. he wins in the end. he goes back to the capitol, attends university and is mentored dr. gaul.

which brings me to...

dr. volumnia gaul: dr. gaul’s name has two parts. one representing her relationship with snow. the other representing her relationship with panem. volumnia is the mother of caius marcus in shakespeare’s play, coriolanus. volumnia, in the play, uses caius as a means of securing personal prestige aka using snow’s ideas in her games. she wants her games to be better, the best. and she uses snow for that. gaul was also a roman province that embarrassed rome (read: gual’s games not being popular, things going wrong, etc.). but unlike gual, dr. gual was not stop/conquered by panem/rome.

sejanus plinth: sejanus was a close friend and ally of roman emperor tiberius who worked to improve conditions for the empire. he was also strangled to death. sejanus plinth was unable to change anything before his death by hanging. a plinth can be looked at in two different ways. @hutchhitched described it as a platform—a place someone can take a stand and deliver a message. it can also be looked at as a means for climbing. social climbing, if you will. the main ambition of the plinths.

strabo plinth: a wealthy philosopher who allied with the romans and was granted roman citizenship as a reward. seems familiar? plinth: see sejanus.

crassus snow: crassus was a roman general who played a key role in the transformation of the roman republic into the roman empire. just like his namesake, crassus snow was known for his military experience and wrote the proposal for the hunger games, successfully transforming panem into what we know today.

tributes

typically, tributes have names that reflect the industry of their district. there are a few exceptions to this; including sabine, ginnee, jessup and lucy gray baird.

district one

one of the wealthier districts in panem, district one is responsible for producing luxury items, such as jewelry, for the capitol.

male tribute: facet, literally meaning “one side of something many-sided, especially of a cut gem” suggest gemstone that is placed into jewelry but he is merely a part of the captiols larger plan.

female tribute: velvereen, derived from velveteen, meaning “a cotton fabric with a pile resembling velvet.”

district two

another wealthy district, district two is the home of the nation’s quarries and masonry workers. also recruits and trains peacekeepers and produces weapons for their use.

male tribute: marcus, derived from malleus, latin meaning “hammer.” the main tool of a masonry worker.

female tribute: sabyn, derived from sabine, italic tribe located near the tiber river. captured and raped by the romans. parallel to her current situation of being captured by the capitol.

district three

one of the poorer districrs. responsible for technology, district theee manufactures televisions, computers and other electronics. citizens of this district are very adept at engineering.

male tribute: circ, derived from circuit, something which an electric current can flow; used in electronics.

female tribute: teslee, possibly derived from tesla, an inventor and engineer.

district four

it’s major industry is fishing, trains citizens at a young age for their industry.

male tribute: mizzen, literally a part of a ships mast aka ships used for fishing.

female tribute: coral, do i have to explain this one? marine invertebrates that live in the ocean.

district five

it’s main industry is power and electricity.

male tribute: hy, possibly derived from hydroelectric, alluding to the hydroelectric dam that produces power for panem.

female tribute: sol, derived from solis, latin for sun. another producer of power.

district six

responsible for transportation.

male tribute: otto, variation of auto derived from automobile. a form of transportation

female tribute: ginnee, meaning “pure” a reminder that these are innocent children.

district seven

main industry is lumber

male tribute: treech, possibly a styilization of tree, the source of lumber

female tribute: lamina, the blade of a leaf, something trees have ;)

district eight

the textile makers

male tribute: bobbin, a spindle which thread is wound. typically found on sewing machines

female tribute: wovey, possibly derived from woven because textiles are, woven.

district nine

responsible for grain production

male tribute: panlo, derived from pan, meaning bread in spanish. bread is made from grain.

female tribute: sheaf, literally meaning “a bundle of grain stalks.”

district ten

the cattle ranchers of panem

male tribute: tanner, from the verb to tan, meaning “convert animal skin into leather”

female tribute: brandy, a brand is “an identifying mark burned on livestock”

district eleven

agriculture!

male tribute: reaper, to reap, meaning “to cut or gather a crop or harvest”

female tribute: dill, an herb. that you grow

district twelve

the coal miners

male tribute: jessup, derived from hebrew “yosef.” interestingly this is only the second name derived from hebrew within thg. second to johanna. could also be a reference to jessup, nevada; a mining area.

female tribute: lucy grey baird, she explains her own name. baird meaning poet or minstrel.

[westannatasharomanoff]

THG AU Chapter 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3     Chapter 4    Chapter 5    Chapter 6  Chapter 7   Chapter 8

* Natasha was crouching in her hiding spot when a realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She left her kunai in the body.*

Natasha: Shit! *She rummages through her backpack to see what she still has.* I still have a dagger. That should work. Not to mention I have a pocket knife and an ax. *She looks at the sky. It looks to be about noon, but it will probably snow soon. She hears a cannon shot in the distance.

Natasha: That’s nine dead, 15 left. Not to mention it’s only day two. This must be a brutal year. 

* Bruce was watching his screen when Sammy was ambushed. He knew Sammy was a long shot, but Bruce was still having trouble believing he was dead. Natasha had given up crucial supplies for nothing. Bruce walks down to lunch, where the other mentors are waiting to give him advice. *

Thor: Okay, you have two options: you can go home or you can stay here and watch the games on your screen that shows you all of the tributes at once. If you watch it at home, you’ll only see what they air. Also, if you stay in The Capitol, you can sponsor tributes and hang out with your fellow victors.

Bruce: I thought mentors weren’t allowed to be sponsors. 

Thor: Not unless both of the tributes from your district are dead, which they are. 

Bruce: So I can sponsor anyone I want?

Fury: Well, yes. But I don’t see why you would want to. 

District 4 female mentor: Yeah, anyone you could have been rooting for is already out. 

Bruce: Yeah. Anyone. 

* President Snow is in a meeting with his head gamemaker and a few of his advisors.*

Snow: How is she still alive? I thought I made it clear that we need this “ secret sweetheart” out of the way!

Hela: She’s doing great in the arena.

Thanos: And she’s become a fan favorite. The people love her. She’s been nicknamed “The Black Widow.”

Snow: So if we have an arena event that kills her, there will be a public outcry. What am I supposed to do now? What if she wins? 

Thanos: If she wins, stage an introduction to Banner. It will look like they just met and the entire country will have a new couple to go nuts for. And both of them will be completely under our control. They’ll say whatever we want because they both have so much to lose. We let the games run their course. If she wins, she wins. And if either of them step out of line, we kill the other, make it look like an accident. We will make it clear to them that that is our angle. Besides, there’s still a pretty slim chance she’ll even survive.

Snow: So we use her as a public figure to unite the people, then? That’s brilliant. She dies, we don’t have to worry about her anymore. She wins, and we have a public figure the people already adore. It’s genius. 

*Nick Fury couldn’t believe all of the sponsorships that were flowing in. With this much money, he could almost send Natasha a new kunai, but he decided on hot tea instead. It’s a tradition in District 12 to drink mint tea in the evening, so it would both warm her up and give her a taste of home.*

*Natasha sets up her snow shelter for the night and allows herself to eat two crackers and a handful of cashews.*

Natasha: The sunset sure is beautiful tonight. This would be kind of nice if it weren’t for the fact that I could be killed at any moment. * A silver parachute drops from the sky. She reads the note aloud to herself.* To warm your body and your heart. Here’s a little taste of home, Nick Fury. *She smells the tea* Mint tea!

*Natasha drinks the tea and settles down for the night. She sees Sammy’s face in the sky and can’t help but feel bad for Bruce. He really wanted to help Sammy. The next two days are pretty uneventful, although she is almost out of food. On the fifth day, she decides to go out and forage for some and stumbles upon the career camp. The boy who was supposed to be keeping watch was asleep. She throws her dagger and hits his heart to make sure it’s safe. He is the only one there. She takes back her knife and takes a small amount of food and water. As she is leaving, she notices a holly bush with winterberries, which are deadly poisonous. She leaves a sprig on their food pile and goes along on her way. The careers without a doubt heard the cannon and would be back any minute. She runs and finds a new place to set up camp in an even more secluded location. Throughout the night, she hears two more cannon shots. In the morning, she recieves another parachute.*

Natasha: *reading the note aloud* That’s what call a poisonous bite. Way to go, spider. You’re halfway there, Nick Fury.  *She opens the silver casing* Wow, more soup!

*Natasha eats the soup. The next three days go by pretty  normally. Two more tributes die during that time. Ten are left. Still, nobody knows how long these games could go on. Natasha doesn’t know how much longer she can take. These games need to end, and soon. Otherwise, she will run out of resources. And the best way to end the games faster and get resources was to make another kill. She begins creeping through the low branches of trees in search of other tributes.*

Natasha: *quietly, to herself* What has become of me? 

*She tracks down a boy from District 10 and silently takes him out from behind, hitting him in the back of his head with her dagger. He never even saw her coming. She sifts through his supplies and finds the switchblade she gave Sammy. This must be Sammy’s killer. She took the blade along with the hatchet, a sword, some beef sticks, and a canteen of water. He didn’t have any other supplies worth taking. She finds a new place to set up camp and receives another silver parachute. She reads the note aloud.*

Natasha: Let’s make your bite a bit more toxic. Coat your blades, Nick Fury. * She looks inside the casing.* A tub of poison and a paintbrush to coat with. Well played, Nick. 

[the-unconquered-queen]

Part 1/4

This is in relation to the post I made last night asking people who their favorite Choices LIs (and some side characters) are. It wasn’t for a fic because I’m not creative and it wasn’t for a drawing because I’m not artistic. I was, however, bored and procrastinating, so let me present to you what got up to. I will add that I’m including a “read more” to this post because I’m not subjecting my poor unwilling followers to a series of long-ass posts and my commentary, but the following posts are shorter because of the arrangement of images, so you can just scroll past those if you don’t wanna see them. :)

I’ll be updating with links as I keep posting, but in the meantime, I’ll be tagging this series of posts as “Choices thg” if you wanna keep seeing them

I’m tagging everyone who participated, so that’s

@briardalys @galaxy-of-rosess @jessy-rose-sark @adrianadmirer @sharrybh20 @wildvitamin

And even though your suggestions came in after the game ended, @kayden-vescovi, @dianalend, @noeschoices, @lunalixo, @illegalchandler, @prettylilchoices, @choices-pixelberry, @kingliamsbish​, @furiouscloddonutpeanut​, and @nazariobae​, some of the characters you named were thrown into the mix, so I’m tagging y’all too.

Shoutout to the shy anon (you know who you are). Liam’s in here, bby

So without further ado, I present to you a thing that should have been left in the early 2010s that you hoped you’d never have to see again…

Choices Hunger Games!!!

*The pictures are in better quality if you click on them!!!*

I honestly wasn’t expecting so many replies to the first post, so as you can see, we have 3 tributes per district. They’re mainly grouped by book, or because I had to put them somewhere. The only name I got I didn’t add was Luz, because I felt bad having a nine year old in this mess. I added some of my own to a) reach the number I needed and b) even out the male/female ratio. Avery Wilshere is female here and Raleigh Carrera is male, because not only does it even out, but that’s the combination I saw the most screenshots of in the fandom.

The districts assigned to them were completely random and I clarify that that is Thomas Méndez, not Hunt, and Lily Spencer, not Ortiz.

There are another three parts to this, but I’m having trouble adding the links onto this post, but the other parts have all of the links attached to them!

We ready? Let’s do this. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!

•So uh Liam killed Hana? Okay???

•Yeah, well, Noah’s always been a backstabber

•Am I mad that my boy Tom didn’t make it through the first day? Yes, but what I’m most upset about is someone’s gonna have to tell Andy

•Parker was always bad in a crisis, but stabbing a kid’s a low blow, isn’t it?

•Olivia lives up to the Nevrakis name

•Shreya is actually me

•Olivia was so powerful she could only be killed by a vampire. RIP Legend.

[cclkestis]

survival of the fittest

character(s): ruthless!connor x fem!reader, nines

word count: 3k+

warning(s): death, mention of blood, angst(?) - it’s a hunger games!au so you probably get the gist

a/n: OKAY SO this was supposed to be a drabble inspired by this (shoutout to @imaginovator and @the-darklings for that!!) and instead I may have gotten carried away just a smidge whoops - this isn't properly proofread or edited because I am sleepy but I hope I've at least attempted to do this idea justice and yeah enjoy my nonsense I guess?? Disclaimer that I also haven't read or seen thg in a couple of years so I apologise if I've made mistakes with things!!

–

That ominous, haunting boom shook the air around you not for the first time since that glaringly bright fake sun had risen in the sky.

Another one was dead. Another wasted life. Another chance for you to hope that maybe this time it was him.

If only you could let yourself believe that someone else might have managed to get the upper hand over him – how could they possibly hope to, when the other tribute from his district had been felled by his own hands. Did she anticipate him betraying her like that so early on, you wondered, unable to even begin imagining what it would be like to have that one person you might have been able to trust turn around and stab you in the back – literally.

The crack of a branch sounded below you, eyes snapping down to scan the ground for the source and desperately keeping your fingers crossed that it was an animal of some sorts.

It had been two days since you'd eaten something that wasn't berries or plants and you were well aware that you wouldn't last long if things continued that way. Neither of you would last long unless you could find something decent to eat.

In reality though, you were more hopeful that it was anything but another person or creature dead set on tearing you apart and leaving you for dead.

The softest of breaths left you in a sigh as a familiar figure passed below you, yet still you hesitated.

You had to be sure that it wasn't the bastard who'd been hunting you from the very beginning of the games. The brother of the one who held your heart, intent on doing whatever it might take to come out of this Hell as the victor.

He paused below you, so still that for a moment you might have imagined he'd fallen prey to some horrific trap of the arena if you'd simply stumbled across him in such a position.

And then those dark eyes you adored were turned upwards, finding you easily among the branches as if he knew exactly where you would be. You didn't understand how he was somehow always aware of where you were, but you weren't complaining. That uncanny ability of his had saved your life on more than one occasion.

Seeing him looking up at you like that, a distinct lack of emotion gracing his features, you'd never been happier to see him alive and in one piece – despite the blood that stained his hands a shining crimson.

Four days ago, the sight of that ugly red had you wanting to throw up. Now it brought you a strange sense of relief, which perhaps disgusted you more. It had been only days, and already you barely recognised yourself.

But at least you had Connor.

Hearing your name called at the reaping would forever be one of the worst moments of your life – however long your life might last for now – but it was nothing compared to knowing what was going to be quick to follow.

“I volunteer.”

You can't even remember whose name was drawn out of the other bowl now, only the pain that came with realising what Connor had done – and realising why he did it.

For you. It was always for you.

It had taken years for you growing up to finally start worming your way past the harsh, cold shell of a man that he was – although if Connor was being honest, there was something inexplicable about you that drew him in right from the very beginning.

A burning curiosity had been lit in him, a desire to figure out just how you were managing to tear down his carefully crafted defences without even trying. He wanted to see you happy and safe – things that were hard to come by in your district – no matter what that might cost.

He would go to the ends of the Earth for you – words that he'd spoken to you himself in one of the quiet moments you'd shared, with lips touching and breath shared between you. How you wished there was time for more of those moments.

Those softly spoken words and the threat they held were perhaps what made him the most dangerous person in the arena that had become your prison.

You weren't consciously aware of your decision to climb down from your perch in the branches, your only desire being to feel Connor's arms around you in that moment. And he didn't disappoint.

“You're alive.”

With your simple statement as one of his hands tangled in your hair and held you against his chest, it felt like an invisible weight was lifted from your shoulders. You hadn't wanted to acknowledge the fear that hearing the cannon had brought you – the fear that someone might have gotten the better of him.

“I told you – Nothing is going to happen to you. I'll always come back to you.”

He pulled back to study your features, a bloodied hand gently grasping your chin, smudges of red smearing in a stark contrast against your pale skin. Tilting your head up as he met your gaze, you were reminded how Connor was the one person who always saw right through you

You had no doubt he would easily be able to read all of the emotions you were trying so hard to lock away upon hearing those words from him.

They filled you with a hope that you desperately needed, a reassurance that you weren't alone in the terrifying scenario you'd been thrust into. Yet with them also came a looming sense of dread that couldn't be ignored.

You had no doubt that he meant what he said – that he intended to keep his promise of keeping you safe no matter what. If he succeeded in that, it would bring you both to an end you didn't want to think about.

There could only be one of you walking out of this torment alive. Neither of you had brought it up, but you both knew what was more than likely to happen if you two remained after all of the others were dead and gone.

An unspoken understanding of what Connor was planning to do. The idea of what he was willing to do for you was more painful than the thought of meeting your own death. But arguing with him would be pointless, you knew without a doubt that his stubbornness would always outweigh yours. He would restrain you so you wouldn't be able to stop him if it came to it, of that you also had no doubt.

You will be the one emerging on top, if he has anything to say about it. Never mind the fact that it wouldn’t really be you walking out at the end. How could you possibly hope to keep going after that, especially when you already felt like you'd lost yourself.

“(Name), look at me.”

The instruction was sharp, leaving you no choice but to obey as you forced yourself to really look at him. His usually blank expression had softened a little, but that softness didn't reach his eyes. You knew you should be more on guard, asking the important questions – like whose blood he had on his hands, or whether he'd found anything useful whilst you’d been split up.

You couldn't though, and Connor seemed to realise that you were on the verge of spiralling off into the thoughts plaguing your mind – any edge of gentleness was scrubbed from his face as his cool lips slammed against yours, the hand previously in your hair slipping down to wrap around your waist and pull you tighter to him.

Suddenly, you were able to forget just where you were. All you could think about was Connor and the safety that came with him as he stole your breath from you, actions relentless as he walked you backwards until rough bark scraped at your back.

Chest heaving when he finally pulled back just enough to let you breathe, you almost missed the next words that he spoke.

“Do I have your attention now?”

His question was serious, but you could've sworn there was some of that rarely seen amusement in the mix somewhere too. It was enough to jolt you back to the reality of what was going on.

“Did you find anything?”

Another question directed at you, this time one that you responded to with a shake of your head.

“No luck, did you- “

Silencing yourself the second Connor's head whipped around, you felt your blood run cold as voices echoed through the trees far too close for comfort.

“We need to move. Now.”

He didn't need to tell you twice. You'd only had one proper encounter with the Careers thus far and it had been a close call – the sound of a knife ripping through flesh was still all too fresh in your mind, and it wasn't something you wanted to hear again let alone be on the receiving end of.

Besides, the Careers meant that he was nearby. Nines. You were sure that couldn't possibly be his real name, but then again, the people in the richer districts had different ideas of normal names.

Not that what they called him mattered, at the end of the day. He was brutal, trained his whole life for this one moment. And he wasn't about to let you or his brother stand in his way – unfortunately for you, that wasn't just a fact. It was a promise. The icy words had plagued you from the first time you'd met him in the training room.

You'd never asked Connor how he and Nines had come to end up being raised in two completely different environments – admittedly, you were afraid to ask. There was a darkness that took over Connor’s perfect features any time his brother was even hinted at, giving you enough information to know that nothing good had happened between them in the past.

“You can't run forever, little rabbit – he can't protect you from all of us.”

That same icy voice was taunting, now, as you took off through the trees with Connor hot on your heels. There was no point in being quiet, all you could hope to do was outrun them until they got bored – for Nines and the Career pack, this truly was a game. You were fighting for your life – Connor was fighting for your life – whereas they were simply playing to win. For the honour. Killing meant nothing to them, not if it got them the glory they'd been training to earn all their lives.

A whistling sounded off to your left and was promptly followed by a dull thud and the glint of metal as the thrown knife lodged itself firmly into a tree just ahead of you. He wasn't just taunting you with his words now – you'd seen Nines working with knives in training.

He never missed.

Too late you realised that the knife was intended to force you right into their trap. Your terrified shriek was mingled with a snarl of anger from Connor as you crashed to the ground, ropes tangled around your legs and only seeming to tighten as you scrabbled at them with desperate fingers.

No. No, no, no.

You couldn't go down like this.

A weight slammed into you, your head connecting with the ground as you felt the knees pinning your shoulders and the edge of a blade on your neck, digging into the soft skin with enough pressure to draw a whimper from you.

“How disappointing. I really thought you were going to put up more of a fight- “

The girl – Alison? Anna? Amanda. – pressed down further with each word, leaving you certain that this was it for you until surprise flitted across her face a fraction of a second before she slumped forwards like a puppet with cut strings.

Another cannon shot sounded.

Silence surrounded you for a moment before her weight was pulled from you and a figure cast her aside as if she wasn't a living person just seconds before. Blinking, you felt yourself relax the smallest bit at the figure looming over you.

Until he crouched down in front of you, revealing the steely eyes that spoke of nothing but bad intentions.

“What a waste,” You realised then that he wasn't looking at you, but at the unmoving body beside you. “She didn't listen.” Almost lazily, those eyes were turned towards you, a hand casually reaching out to stroke across your cheek as he ignored your flinch. His fingers came away damp – with tears, you realised suddenly. “You two are mine.”

“Don't fucking touch her.”

You'd never heard Connor so livid before. He didn’t even need to raise his voice, the anger clear in the surprisingly low words. Trying to turn your head to seek him out, you were stopped as Nines grabbed a fistful of your hair and stopped you from moving anywhere.

“You're not really in a position to be making demands, brother – and I'm starting to lose interest in this chase we've had going on.”

The monster in front of you didn't look away as he spoke, seemingly amused by the way you shrunk back under his harsh gaze and how unsettled you were by his eerily calm approach to everything that had happened over the space of the last few minutes.

“Besides, I don't understand why you're so attached to her – don't you realise you'd be so much better off without her? Without such a…weakness.”

“Why don't you stop playing games and just get this over with.”

Light sparked off metal again in response to your words as another knife came too close for comfort – although this time it was to free you from the ropes binding you before you were hauled to your feet, Nines towering above you as he held you firmly in place.

“Tell me, (Name) – is it a brave rabbit who challenges the wolf, or a stupid one?”

Your reply – “It's one that's already dead.” – was on the tip of your tongue when a gurgling sound interrupted the conversation.

Connor was on his feet. The tribute who'd been holding him down was not so lucky. Of the other three in the Career pack, the closest one to him made a move towards him, stopped only by Nines lifting his free hand in a gesture to stop.

Stalking towards you both, Connor radiated an aura of danger that had every nerve in your body screaming at you to run. And how you would have run, if you weren't being forced to stay where you were by a grip far stronger than you could hope to fight.

As if reading your thoughts, Nines shoved you away from him and into the waiting arms of one of the other tributes as he stepped forwards to match Connor's movements, the two of them circling each other. The tension in the air was suddenly through the roof, watching these two predators coiled and ready to pounce.

But that wasn't the only change in the air. Something was wrong – something that you couldn't initially put your finger on. Connor felt it too, you realised, watching his every move and not missing the way his gaze flitted towards the sky and then towards you for the briefest of seconds. The flash of concern you registered on his face was not reassuring, but somehow you understood.

You both needed to get away from there fast.

It was then that Nines lunged, like a coiled spring being released. Your heart jumped to your throat, but Connor was just as fast – just as deadly, despite having nowhere near the same training that any of the Careers had.

Their collision was a distraction you could take advantage of – and you did just that. Throwing your head back, there was little time for you to be satisfied by the crunching of bone or the whoosh of breath you heard as you wrestled the knife from your captor's hands and wasted no time sinking it into his leg.

If only you had the chance to celebrate that small victory, but it would seem the Gamemakers had other plans as the world seemed to explode around you, electricity striking the ground with enough force to send you all flying in different directions.

You hit the ground for a second time, although this time it was much worse. There was a lingering charge in the air, building and warning of more danger to come. Your ears were ringing and eyes struggled to focus in the aftermath of the strike, but you did feel a hand on your wrist and another on your upper arm guiding to your feet and prompting you to move.

Connor must have avoided the worst of the blast, you realised, as you were urged to move. It was difficult, with your head spinning and legs shaking uncontrollably, but this might be your only chance to get away from those intent on seeing you dead.

Maybe the Gamemakers weren't quite ready to see either of you dead yet, which really wasn't a comfort. It no doubt meant there was worse to come.

A crackling filled the air behind you, the flickering light bouncing around the forest alerting you to the second strike without any need for looking back. Still, you glanced behind you, regretting it when you stumbled and your knees hit the ground.

Before you could catch a breath, you were jerked up again, hands clutching at Connor's forearms as you drew in a breath and found your voice.

“Connor, please – just give me a minute.”

You hated the way your voice sounded so pleading as you tried to blink away the spots clouding your vision.

“We can't afford to stop,”

A supporting arm wrapped around you, fuelling the sudden disgust that flooded your system at the contact and in response to the horror that would have floored you if he hadn't been holding most of your weight.

“I can't have my brother catching up to us again, can I now? But don't worry, little rabbit, we're going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”

–

Tagging: @connorshero @finding-jericho @wecanbe-heroes @deviantsupporter @connorfixinghistie @feminist-violinist @becomingrk800 @mynahx3 @liveloveandbekind (I may have forgotten some people who asked to be tagged because it's been a while, so please just yell at me if you want to be added <3)

[jackicflcur-blog]

{female; heterosexual} Is that DANIELLE CAMPBELL spotted in the Capitol? No, it’s JACQUELINE "JACKIE" DE LA FLEUR who is a TWENTY-ONE year old who is from DISTRICT 1. SHE is in the Capitol because SHE'S a MENTOR. SHE has been described as INTELLIGENT, but also BACK-STABBING. 

heey guys i’m legit SO hyped for this bc i’ve just been in a weird thg mood lately and then this popped up in the tags so sdf sdfg here’s my muse jackie x

she is from district one (where they produce luxury items for the capitol), won the 97th hunger games at 18 years old and is now a mentor

just like probably every single winner, she suffers from trauma and ptsd due to her time in the arena

even though she grew up in one of the capitol’s favourite districts, she has always despised it and their idea of inventing the hunger games. she had never once watched it, but her mother insisted on making her train hard for it ever since she was old enough to walk. jackie is well equipped with close to every kind of weapon there is, however, she refused to touch a single one of them ever since she won the hunger games herself

when she was reaped, everybody was surprised because her name had just been added due to it being her 18th birthday on reaping day. while her family was devastated about the news, jackie told herself that she was going to win and bring home the title in order to honour her wealthy family and prove everyone wrong who thought that a small girl could never win against 23 other people.

all those years of training paid off in the end as she got out of the arena alive and semi-well; her arm was broken and many more bones were fractured but thanks to generous sponsors, she managed to deal with the pain. unlike others who tried to go as long as they could without killling anyone, she immediately started to track down other tributes and ended up killing nine of them.

it came down to her and her ally and close friend who was from her own district. they had been friends for over a decade but just when they realized that one of them had to die, something inside of her snapped and she attacked her life-long friend with an axe, killing him almost instantly since it was so unexpected and he was willing to make some sort of suicide pact like there had been before

jackie was in so much pain and so distressed, all she wanted was to get out of the arena even if it meant she had to kill someone very dear to her -- the public’s reaction was very divided. some thought of her as a “real warrior” while others thought of her as selfish and cruel.

after the entire country of panem called her “the axe-swinging fury” she turned to alcohol and withdrew herself from the public, barely even talking to her own family even though she still loved all of them unconditionally.

jackie never had the heart to mentor other tributes, knowing full well that she had nothing to teach them -- she did not want them to win and suffer like her, instead she wished for them to a die a death that was as peaceful as possible -- the tributes were mentored by other mentors for two years until this year’s hunger games. she decided to finally put her big girl pants on and get her shit together in order to hopefully save a kid’s life and teach them what she had learned in years and years of practice.

she is determined that her tributes will win this game, no matter the cost.