#hunger games titus

[there-are-many-ways-to-smile]

"It’s also interesting how Titus contrasts with Enobaria, who bit out her final opponent’s throat, and was celebrated."

"I think the difference was like enobaria didnt swallow 💀"

"My theory is she had to sharpen her teeth and lean into a ferocious image so that it would be seen as warriorlike and not desperate, and as titus was eating hearts as sustinence, while enobaria bit and spit in likely desperate self defense."

I got this off tiktok, I thought it was interesting and I wanted to share.

[kald-dal-art]

Titus was not the victor. But would you mind drawing him?

As someone who consider herself one of the biggest D6 stan in the fandom of course I don't mind drawing the only named character from the District (in the original trilogy)

Feel like Titus is such an interesting character that Katniss mentions off handily. It shows how brutal the games can get that one of it's players will resort to something so taboo to survive. And how that amounted to nothing because the Capitol still killed him for it. Kind of shows just surviving isn't enough, you also have to be entertaining and palatable. Really hammering in that it's reality TV, not just a death match.

With the context of TBOSAS it makes sense why they weren't rooting for him. It hit too close to home. Instead of being the reflection of the "worst" from the District, he became a reflection of the worst from the Capitol. Which explains why they would never accept him as Victor.

Sidenote, I think it's interesting how it's also meta in the way Capitol "propaganda" gets to the reader. So many fanworks I have seen with him in it just takes it at face value that he must have been a crazy monster, instead of a starving kid stuck in an arena with no food seeing how he ended up being killed by an avalanche. It's interesting in my opinion.

Have more thoughts but I'll spare those for my fic so yeah so if you are reading that...there's something to look forwards to or maybe not it's rather bleak

[moowithmidnight]

Enobaria’s teeth being filed as a punishment inflicted on her by Snow, that he then used to make it seem like she relished in the tragically horrific way she won, in order to never allow her to forget that she ripped out someone’s throat with her bare teeth, all because it was too close to cannibalism for Capitol audiences and therefore didn’t make for good TV- my absolutely BELOVED headcanon

[startgame]

how i would dress each district for the opening ceremony in the hunger games: district 6 (transportation)

now hear me out...... i had a vision for these outfits to be inspired by cars (and no, i'm not talking about the disney animated film)

of all the forms of transportation that have existed throughout history, from horse back riding to space crafts, there's something classic about everyday vehicles. idk if these types of cars still exist in panem but if not then the NOSTALGIA OF IT ALLLL

my first vision was something like this ^ like pls tell me these rick owens gowns are not taxi cab/school bus coded, i'm serious

then i discovered the ferrari 2022-23 collections, and how can you tell me that these are not a colossal slay

like GIRLLLLL IT'S GIVING MOTORSPORT BY MIGOS FT. NICKI MINAJ & CARDI B

also i had to give this moschino collection a moment too bc these traffic inspired looks are so creative like can you imagine the tributes arriving in these????? i would gag babe, this is couture

[la-morrigan]

We need to talk about Titus

Out of all the discussions around the Hunger Games, the one discussion I have yet to see is one around the past Tribute and "cannibal", Titus.

It strikes me as an extremely odd detail to be randomly thrown in, not only being one of the only past non-victor tributes to have a name, (and the only one that isn't from the 10th and 74th games or Maysilee Donner, who has further significance to the plot) but also having such a wild story. Titus being relegated to a one-off line is extremely confusing to me.

But what's more confusing is how he's treated, both in-universe by other tributes, and irl by readers/fans. And I think Capitol Propaganda has a lot to do with it.

The little we do know about Titus is:

He was from District 6

He was anywhere from 12-18 years old

He was killed by an *avalanche*

He was "crazy" and snapped during the games

He cannibalized the hearts of the tributes he killed

Right away, this tells me that there's more to Titus than just having lost it, or even being mentally ill prior to the games, though that may have had a part. However, it's definitely not the main factor at play.

Firstly, we need to look at how the Capitol treats these literal children in the short time that they're being prepared to fight to the death. They're almost constantly in the public eye, pushed to train, and treated like commodities for the residents of the Capitol. Residents who live in opulence, compared to the poverty and struggles of the rest of the districts. District 6 especially, where Titus is from, seems to have had a rough time, what with an implied morphling problem and their focus being Transport, meaning that their tributes have absolutely no prior skills that would be useful in the games.

Combining all of these factors, and we don't have to make a leap to assume that Titus would already be under a lot of stress from the get-go.

Then, consider the Arena. This is where the avalanche comes into play. An avalanche would mean snow, which would mean that the arena was likely some sort of tundra, or at least was winter-like. From other games, it has been shown that the gamemakers will purposely make it difficult for tributes to access basic resources like water or food. If Titus had been unlucky at the cornucopia, he would be hard-pressed to find food in a snow-covered environment.

And these two factors, stress and hunger, make it pretty clear to me why Titus did what he did, and why that's so important to the rest of the story as a whole.

Titus. Was. Starving.

Desperation for food, stress from what he'd already gone through, and the fact that Titus was a child makes it pretty clear that if he "snapped", it wasn't because he was insane, it was because of the Capitol.

And the tragedy of this is that the Capitol pushed this boy to desperation, and because he lashed out at them for it (and they found his actions in desperation "unsightly"), they tazed him, they killed him, and they framed the entire situation as this "monstrous crazy person gone rogue".

The Capitol once again kept the people blind to their cruelty, but this time, they even did so to us, the reader.

[showmethesneer]

"There are no rules in the arena, but cannibalism doesn't play well with the Capitol audience"

I'm genuinely obsessed with this line. The same hypocritical energy as the outrage over Katniss and Peeta's "unborn child" in Catching Fire.

[thecoffeelorian]

According to the novels, I'm District 6; but the movies (with somewhat different maps) claim I'm a District 3 girl...guess that only means one thing:

[heavensbeehall]

"The Hunger Games", Chapter 10

Buy the book here.

Happy New Year, it's time for

Part 2: The Games

Chapter 10. Peeta is the best at being interviewed. Katniss lashes out at Peeta and then regrets it.

My Questions:

-- Katniss takes the elevator with "four other tributes". I bet they were all like, "She about to kill that boy." I wonder if they took bets on whether Peeta would make it to the Games? Or if they thought she was dumb for not appreciating what he did?

-- Why does Snow and the Capitol Government allow the Stylists to go to the Arena? I assume because they represent spectacle and that is the thing most important to Snow. Something about Cinna reminds me of, like, a Priest who takes your Last Confession or something. But I think if I were a tribute, I might prefer to talk to my mentor--at least they were from home. Although obviously Katniss does not.

-- It uses the term "sponsor" in relation to what she did for Katniss and Peeta. Katniss uses the term "escort". Sponsor is usually reserved for the people who send money or gifts. Perhaps someone from the Capitol has to present all the tributes, like at a Cotillion or Debut? Snow performed this role of "introducing" Lucy Gray to his neighors in BALLAD. I'd like to know more about the heirarchy among Effie's profession.

-- Haymitch says, "You’re neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia." I just think it's interesting that he KNOWS that about Katniss when she doesn't know it about herself.

Quotes:

And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

“I don’t know how to say it exactly. Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?” he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? “I don’t want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.”

There was a guy like that a few years ago from District 6 called Titus. He went completely savage and the Gamemakers had to have him stunned with electric guns to collect the bodies of the players he'd killed before he ate them. There are no rules in the arena, but cannibalism doesn't play well with the Capitol audience, so they tried to head it off. There was some speculation that the avalanche that finally took Titus out was specifically engineered to ensure the victor was not a lunatic. (Titus' games must have been wild. It's interesting that he has a Captiol-like name, referencing another Shakespeare play like Coriolanus. And another character from that play is Lavinia, which is the name of the Avox Girl.)

Let the 74th Hunger Games begin (1x).

[vogelmeister]

i did the maths and i reckon titus (the cannibalistic tribute from 6, mentioned by katniss in the first book) and johanna were the same year/games

[there-are-many-ways-to-smile]

If the author of the hunger games ever decided to expand on some of the past tributes. I would want it to be Johanna and Titus, how they survived the games is just so interesting to me. I love the "Wolf's in sheep clothing trope" and for Titus, I'm more so curious about his insanity and cannibalism.

I want to know how the capital reacted to that. I mean obviously in disgust and horror.

Like the gamemakers had to censor most of his kills, when he ate the first person, did they catch on to what he was about to do or did they sit in shock for a second before going to commercial. And let's us not forget they had to stun him so they could retrieve the bodies of the dead tributes.

They really said "I can excuse child murder, but I draw the line at cannibalism"

And I want to know more about the character in general. How old was he? Has he always been cannibal or was that a new development? What year was his game? Who won the game his year? Or was there not a winner that year. Because they wanted to sweep the entire thing under the rug as fast as possible.

Have they always retrieved the bodies or did they start that because they didn't want another tribute trying to eat the dead again?

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 3: The Crown

Chapter 14

Caesar helps me to my feet as the lights come back up. He turns his microphone on and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, Annie Cresta!”

We stand together, smiling, as the cheers and applause build to chaos, then slowly sink back down. When the noise has reached a “polite applause” level, President Snow walks onto the stage. Caesar steps back, leaving the spotlight to me. Behind Snow follows a boy bearing a small pillow on which is a shining, impossibly bright, silver crown. When they reach me, Snow takes the crown from the pillow and holds it up to the crowd. They begin to cheer again. Snow turns to me and sets the crown on my head. The audience roars.

“Congratulations, Miss Cresta,” President Snow says. “That was quite a feat of swimming. I’m sure your people are very proud.”

“My swimming teacher certainly is,” I say with a polite smile.

He nods, then takes a step back. The spotlight is mine and mine alone. Thousands of people scream and cheer for me. I won. I get to go home. I smile in relief. The crowd thinks it is for them and they love me all the more.

After several minutes, Caesar reigns in the audience by saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, I know you love her, but our victor does have a banquet to get to, so I must take her away from you.” He offers me his arm and escorts me off the stage. Once we are out of sight, Caesar gives my hand a squeeze and says, “See you tomorrow. I look forward to a great many jokes at Finnick’s expense.”

I smile back and we part ways as the whole team from Four sweeps me off to get ready for the banquet.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Back in our dressing area, the Preps are out of their minds with excitement. This is apparently the biggest party of the year and they are ecstatic both because they get to dress me for the evening, and, as the support team of the victor, they are invited to the party. Marius, as usual, looks like he couldn’t care less. He hands Finnick a bag almost as big as he is and says, “Mags’s is in there too.” Then the Preps rush me into a separate room so they can change me into a different dress for the banquet.

Marius sticks with the sea green. I assume it’s because very few colors won’t look ridiculous with my hair, and he doesn’t want to die my hair because it is one of my defining features. The skirt, which is poofed out by about seven layers of tulle, hangs midway down my calves, which, thankfully, are finally regaining some muscle, so I no longer have complete chicken legs. The Preps adjust my hair to accentuate the crown and reposition the crown to sit “more flatteringly. I know he’s the president, but you can’t put a crown on top of the eyebrows like that, it has to sit back.”

Marius puts me in the iconic rope-strap heels, except they are about half the height of the first ones. He has either taken pity on me or decided that I will already be taller than most people at the banquet and it might not be the best idea to exaggerate that by another six inches.

We reconvene in the main dressing area. Finnick is wearing a full suit, which is about three items of clothing more than the Capitol usually dresses him in, but they probably want to keep him from stealing the spotlight. Tonight is about me, after all. I am a bit jealous of Mags’s outfit. She has a floor-length skirt, a simple blouse, and an intricately-woven shawl. On the whole, it looks very comfortable.

With the three of us dressed, we go outside and get in a car, which takes us to the presidential mansion.

“Ready?” Finnick says as the Avox driver gets out to open the door for us.

“Not even a little.”

“Well, do your best.”

The door opens. Finnick gets out, then helps Mags exit the car. He hands her off to Casca, who looks genuinely happy to be walking her into the banquet. He has always seemed to have a soft spot for her though, so maybe it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. I am beginning to get lost in this thought when I notice Finnick’s hand. I take it, looking up at him, confused.

“You know I can walk myself,” I say quietly as he helps me out of the car.

“Yes, it’s called being an escort.”

I open my mouth, but he quickly cuts me off. “Not like that.”

I smile. “Sure, Finnick, whatever you say.”

So we walk, arm in arm, through the front garden, already smattered with partygoers, and up to the front door. A sharply-dressed Avox opens it, and we step inside.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Nothing could have prepared me for the Victory Banquet. It isn’t televised, or really talked about even (beyond people saying how decadent the food was and mentioning all the big-name people who were there), because the Capitol wants to keep it extremely exclusive. Invites are hard to come by, and everyone who is anyone is sure to be there. And the three Preps, who look out of place in their over-the-top excitement. But I’m glad they’re here. Friendly faces are welcome in this sea of strangers.

Finnick guides me deftly through the crowd, only occasionally pausing to introduce me to someone. At one point he whispers, “Don’t worry about remembering their names if you can’t. They’ll be so excited if they see you again later that they’ll reintroduce themselves without even thinking about it.”

We finally enter an enormous room with food-laden tables all around the outside except for half of the far wall, which is home to half a dozen musicians. The middle of the room is empty, left for dancing, I suppose, and between that area and the food there are couches where even more people are lounging and eating. We have taken no more than three steps when a hush falls on the room. President Snow, seated at one of the farthest couches, halts his conversation, stands, and raises a glass of champagne. “Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games, Annie Cresta!”

All around, people raise their glasses and cheer, but it is more polite than the cheers I got at the interview or the show earlier tonight. This is high-society applause.

President Snow excuses himself from his conversation and makes his way over to me.

Finnick squeezes my hand and says, “I will return with food,” before slipping away through the crowd.

I want to call him back, but Snow is already at my side. He offers me his arm. “Would you care for a dance?”

No. No I would not, but I don’t think he’s really asking, so I take his arm and let him sweep me around the dance floor. I would rather spend the next few minutes of my life watching Finnick eat those stupid strawberries from all those weeks ago than dance with the president. And yet, here I am.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not very familiar with the waltz,” I say, concentrating only on taking small steps.

“I’ll lead then,” Snow says with a smile. It looks genuine, but in the way that makes me certain it isn’t, or at least that he is trying too hard. After a while, he continues, “I must congratulate you again on your victory. It was hard-won and well-fought.”

“I’m just glad I knew how to swim. Not everyone was that lucky.”

“Indeed not. And not everyone is lucky enough to have such loving and supportive family and friends as you, Miss Cresta. You have a great many people who care about you, and who I am sure you care about as well.” His face is smiling, but his eyes are stone cold. This is a threat.

“Yes. Without them I’m quite sure I would have died in the arena. But here I am, at this splendid party that I have you to thank for.”

“You are most welcome. The Capitol always takes care of its victors, asking only that you continue to behave like victors in return.”

The song ends. Snow gives me the tiniest of bows, then drifts back to the sofa from whence he came.

Someone grabs my hand. I jump, but it is Mags. She guides me around the busy dance floor to a couch with a coffee table in front of it. There are several glasses of champagne, but no food. Finnick is standing next to the table, talking to a handful of middle-aged couples, telling them some story about a seagull trying to steal a sandwich from Mags.

“And then it had the audacity to come after me, because it was too afraid of getting another beating from Mags, so what could I do but surrender the top slice of bread to it?”

They all roar with laughter, then, noticing I am there, begin congratulating me and shaking my hand. A photographer appears out of nowhere and takes a dozen pictures of me with them. And just like that, they all dissolve into the crowd.

Finnick grabs my hand. “Quick! To the buffet before someone else wants pictures!”

He brings me to a table where an Avox is slicing an enormous slab of meat. “I have executively decided that you’ll be eating prime rib tonight.” He turns to the Avox. “Medium rare please, and a medium for Miss Cresta.”

The Avox nods and hands us each a plate with a thick slice of meat and a small bowl of sauce.

“Excellent, thank you!”

We return to the couch. Finnick eats his prime rib at a leisurely pace. I have two bites, then inhale the rest of it.

“What is this?” I say through a mouthful.

“Cow,” Finnick takes a sip of champagne. “I don’t know what they do to it, but it tastes like happiness.”

It is a good thing I eat it quickly, because I have no more than finished when another group of people come over to congratulate me and take pictures. People come and go in a steady stream. I hear dozens of names and promptly forget them all. I drink a glass of champagne and Finnick brings me a second. Some of the people congratulating me are past victors, though I notice that they are not all present. Probably only the best-behaved and best-liked are here. Haymitch Abernathy, for instance, is not among them, but Megary Fallon is on the arm of a Capitol socialite I think I recognize as one of my father’s investors. Augustus Braun shakes my hand in passing.

And then a rather short, quiet man approaches during a pause in my stream of visitors. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. I stare at him for several seconds before I realize it is Alvan. The realization must show on my face because he smiles a little, then shakes my hand. His hands are rough and calloused. He must have rejected an easy life in Ten’s Victor’s Village and opted instead to keep working. I can’t blame him—that’s my plan too.

But he doesn’t congratulate me. Instead, he says, quietly, “I am so sorry. I know this won’t help, but I promise, it’s better it happened that way.”

“Thank you.” I feel a bond with this man, perhaps the only victor who really understands my pain. I should say something else, but nothing comes to mind.

“’N’ thanks for takin’ care’a Merritt ’n’ Elsie.”

“I think they took care of me more than anything.”

He smiles. “That’s what friends’re for. Take care, Annie.” And he leaves, disappearing into the crowd.

The Preps materialize at my elbow. “We have to get a picture of the whole team!” Prep 1 says. “And we’ve got everyone here!”

The photographer has to organize us because they want me in the middle, but I am too tall to be in front of everyone, and Mags and Casca are too short to be behind anyone, and the Preps are so excited they can barely control themselves. Eventually, we get several pictures. Finnick snags the photographer before she can wander off and asks for one of himself, Mags, and me.

After that, we have a few moments of peace. Finnick takes me out for a dance. This is infinitely better than my waltz with Snow for two reasons. Whatever it is, this is much more like the kind of dancing we have in Four, and Finnick makes no threats upon my loved ones. Always a bonus.

When the next song starts, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” Gloss is smiling pleasantly. He looks right at home at this, the most exclusive and expensive of parties.

“You want to dance with Finnick?” I shrug. “Alright, but I don’t know how you’re going to decide who leads.”

Finnick snorts and rolls his eyes, passing my hand to Gloss.

Gloss is also a better partner than Snow, but again, the bar is low.

“So, how are you liking your new status?” He whirls me around the floor.

“I think I’m going to have to take dancing lessons if this is what life will be like from now on.” My ankle twists on a sidestep and I desperately and shamelessly catch myself on his shoulders. “Especially if they make me wear heels every time.”

He laughs, holding me up until I can get the heel of the shoe back under my foot. “You’ll learn fast. And you’re not bad.” He smiles, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Just take a smaller step this time.”

We sidestep and turn perfectly and I snort.

“What?”

“My dad always told me I either needed to wear heels or remember to take small steps when dancing because my legs are long and people can’t keep up with my strides. Little did he know I apparently have to do both.”

“Your dad taught you how to dance?”

“Yeah, he and Mom loved to dance. I remember them dancing in the living room. Then after she got sick they did it less and less, and after she died it was a long time before Dad started again…” I trail off, lost in thought. As we whirl around, I catch sight of a woman who looks a little like my mother. I wonder if my father still catches himself waiting for her to come home from work sometimes, just out of habit. I wonder if I will spend the rest of my life doing that with Mako…

“Annie?”

“Yeah?” I jerk back to reality. “I was just… lost in thought.”

He smiles sarcastically. “Ah, victor’s remorse. One of many prizes they don’t tell you about until after you win. Another fantastic gift from our… wonderful government. And then they wonder why everyone comes out weird. Cashmere still sleeps with a knife under her pillow. And there’s that pair of morphling addicts from Six. Haymitch and Chaff are going to drink themselves to death someday. Megary,” he snorts, “she’s got a whole different kind of addiction.” Gloss looks right into my eyes. “And now you get to find yourself one too.”

“What’s yours?”

He smiles, then looks over my shoulder and says, “We’re being summoned.”

We waltz our way back to my team’s couch.

“Busy later?” I ask as we near our destination.

He sighs a little. “I have a previous engagement. Next time?”

“Don’t make me promises you won’t keep.”

Gloss smiles again as he deposits me next to Finnick, then kisses my hand. “Always a pleasure, Annie.” He melts back into the crowd.

“Annie,” Finnick says, snapping me to the task at hand. He gestures at the pepper-gray-haired man and the curly-haired little girl next to him who looks maybe five or six. “This is Titus Vickers and his daughter, Cassia. And you two know Annie, I’m sure.”

Titus Vickers shakes my hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard it a lot tonight, but congratulations. We were betting on you from the beginning.”

“Thank you,” I say with a smile. And then it clicks. “And thanks for the iodine and the water.”

Titus smiles. “I just sent the iodine. Cassia here wanted to send water. Spent her own allowance on it too.” He looks down at her affectionately.

I kneel down in front of Cassia, who has suddenly become shy and is hiding her face in Titus’s leg. “Thank you for the water,” I smile. “It saved my life.”

She looks at me intently. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

I nod. “I was. And you helped me keep going.”

She smiles. “Your dresses are beautiful.”

“Oh thank you! This is my favorite color.”

“Mine’s green.”

“That’s a very good color.”

“Cassia, darling,” Titus says, “You’d better show her your necklace too.”

“Oh yes!” She holds her necklace out toward me. It is a single seashell. “I love yours. Daddy gave me this one so I could dress like you.”

“It’s beautiful,” I smile.

“Yes,” Titus says, “Cassia wanted to sponsor you from the beginning. You won her over with just your reaping outfit. She wouldn’t stop talking about Annie from Four. And then when your scores came out, you caught my attention too. I told Finnick and Mags to ask if you ever needed anything, and they came when you and Mako started getting low on water tablets.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Sorry to say I had to think about it for a few days. Everything was so expensive this year, and water most of all. But Cassia wouldn’t stand for it. She talked me around. And then when you were by yourself at the end, she just knew you were thirsty.”

“I called all by myself!” Cassia pipes in.

Finnick laughs. “That she did! Called me herself and said you needed water and she was going to send you some and how much money did she need to give me.”

“And that afternoon we went to the control center and sent the water, all paid for by Miss Cassia here,” Titus pats her head and she beams up at all of us.

“Well thank you again,” I say. “That water is the reason I won.”

Cassia’s smile is enormous. “Can- can I give you a hug?”

“Of course!” I kneel down again and she throws her arms around my shoulders.

I wrap an arm around her as well, and then Finnick says, “We’d better get a picture, hadn’t we?”

Titus flags down one of the photographers, who takes a few pictures of Cassia and me hugging, then Titus picks Cassia up and holds her on his hip for a picture with me, and then Mags and Finnick step in for one as well.

Titus thanks the photographer, then passes him some money. “Send me all of those.”

“Of course, Mr. Vickers,” the photographer says, pocketing the money.

“Daddy, can I go get some cake?” Cassia says.

“Of course, darling. Will you bring some for everyone?”

Cassia nods eagerly. “Raspberry for you, and-” she turns to me. “What kind of cake do you want?”

I hadn’t considered this before. And I have no idea what kinds there are. “You pick for me,” I say. “I bet you’re really good at picking the best kinds of cake.”

She smiles. “I am. For you?” She looks at Mags, who answers, but from Cassia’s face she can’t understand Mags’s speech and is too embarrassed to ask.

“Mags wants raspberry as well,” I say.

Cassia nods and looks up at Finnick, who leans down and says conspiratorially, “Do they have the vanilla with the sugar roses?”

Cassia bursts into a broad grin and nods. “I saw it when we came in. It’s beautiful.”

“I want a corner piece, with a big sugar rose. Or two, if you can find a piece with two.”

Cassia nods again, then hurries away through the crowd toward the cake table.

Titus smiles after her as I stand up. “Shall we sit?” he says.

We all sit down on the two couches on either side of the coffee table. An Avox with a tray of champagne walks by, and Titus waves him over to take a glass. Finnick takes two and hands me one of them. Mags politely declines.

Casca hurries up to Mags and says something about some friends from the old industrial district and points to a sofa across the way. Mags waves at its occupants and tells Casca she will join them as soon as her cake returns. He hurries off.

Cassia arrives just then, carrying exactly one piece of cake. She is followed closely by an Avox carrying a tray with half a dozen more plates. He sets the tray on the coffee table. Cassia thanks him, then hands me the cake she was carrying. It is orangish-brown, with bits of bright orange, and cream-colored frosting. I try not to look too confused. She takes a piece of chocolate cake with raspberry filling and hands it to Mags, who smiles as she takes a bite and nods gratefully before standing and leaving to join her other friends. Cassia gives Titus a similar piece, then hands Finnick a large piece of white cake with white frosting decorated in colorful and ornate sugar roses. Finally, she takes a piece that looks like the one I have. There are still two more pieces of cake on the tray, one chocolate and raspberry and one with sugar roses.

Cassia sits next to me and whispers, “I thought you might want to try all of them.”

I smile.

As Finnick and Titus talk about the ins and outs of sponsorship and pricing, I take a bite of the weird orange cake. Thankfully, it tastes much better than it looks. In fact, it is delicious.

“What kind of cake is this?” I ask Cassia after my third bite.

“Carrot,” she says.

“Carrot?” That can’t be right.

But Cassia nods. “It’s my favorite kind.”

“It doesn’t taste like carrots,” I say. I don’t understand this cake, but it is scrumptious.

“No. They’re just so it doesn’t get dry.”

I finish the carrot cake and move on to the chocolate and raspberry. Thankfully, Cassia got two very small pieces of the other cakes, because I would not be able to eat three full-size pieces. As I start the sugar rose cake, I glance over at Finnick. He started with three sugar roses and has carefully pulled two off the cake and set them on the edge of his plate while he eats everything else. He must be saving them for last. I have no such self-control. I eat the sugar rose on my piece first. It dissolves gloriously in my mouth. The cake itself is delicious as well, but nothing compared to the colorful delight that was the rose.

“Very good,” Titus says as he finishes his cake. “Cassia darling, thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Finnick says. He still has the two roses on his plate.

I swallow the last mouthful of cake, nodding.

“You’re welcome,” Cassia smiles. “Which one was your favorite?”

“The carrot. It surprised me, but it was so tasty! Thank you for picking it for me.”

She hugs me again.

Titus glances at his watch. “Well, Miss Cassia, it’s nearly your bedtime. We’d best get home, don’t you think?”

She shakes her head but waves goodbye to me. Titus shakes hands with Finnick then me, congratulates me again, then picks Cassia up and makes his way to the door.

Finnick sets one of his sugar roses on my empty plate. “Thought you might like another one.”

I smile, determined to savor this one more than the first, but it too melts in my mouth and is gone in a flash of deliciousness. “I can’t imagine what the poor person in charge of my food rations is going through right now.”

He leans in as if he is going to share the darkest secret in Panem, then says, “He told me you could eat whatever here, as long as you only had two full plates total. You had a plate of prime rib, that’s one, and all three pieces of cake could have fit on one plate, so that’s two in my book.”

I laugh. “Nobody ever told me you were this good at toeing the line. And what about all the champagne?”

“How much have you had?”

I shrug. “Four or five?”

“That’s probably enough.” He reaches for the glass I am holding, but I lean back and hold it out of his reach.

“This is my party, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you turning into Haymitch.”

I snort. “I won’t.”

“That’s the last one. I’m cutting you off after this.”

“You suck all the joy out of life.”

Around us, the party is slowing down. Finnick takes me for one last dance. When the song ends, there are perhaps twenty people still in the room.

Finnick keeps me in his arms for just a second after the band finishes. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “I’ve got to go talk to them for a while. I’ll see you later.” He heads over to a small group standing next to the cake table.

Mags comes to collect me, saying Finnick has a prior engagement but will meet us back at the Tribute Center later.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We go back to the car with Casca and are deposited at the Tribute Center. The atmosphere inside is strange. It is oddly more loud without the twenty-three other tributes. The mentors, who all stay here until the end of the closing ceremonies and parties, whether their tributes won or not, and the other victors from years past who stay in the Victor Center during the Games, mill around on the ground floor, talking and laughing over tables of food and drinks that have been set out since the recap.

Everyone we pass near stops to congratulate me. Haymitch Abernathy is drinking and talking to a man with only one arm, but actually puts his drink down to shake my hand. The woman with them gives me a quick hug and whispers that she is sorry about Mako. Cashmere, who was at the banquet and is now already on her way back out of the Tribute Center, smiles at me. Even Megary Fallon gives me a respectful nod as we near the elevator.

On the fourth floor, Mags gestures to the TV, the table full of snacks (complete with a written guide of what, how much, and how often I am allowed to eat), and the hallway leading to the bedrooms, then gives me a quizzical look.

“I think I’m just going to bed, unless you want to stay up?”

She shakes her head, and we part ways at her bedroom door. I am two rooms down, at the end of the hallway.

Once in my room, I turn the window screen on. I flick through until I find the meadow the woman in the lab coat told me about and sit on my bed, listening to the birds sing. After a while, I undress and shower, then wrap myself in one of the incredibly soft and fluffy bathrobes in the closet. I curl up on the bed and listen to the music of the birds and the whisper of the wind in the grass, but sleep does not come.

Finally, I get up. Maybe a snack will help. I wander out to the snack table and check my nutritional guidelines (labelled “Snacking after the Victory Banquet”). I am only allowed half a cinnamon roll, so I move on down the list, finally settling on two seaweed rolls (with butter!).

I am putting them on a plate when a voice from the sofa says, “I won’t tell anyone if you take extra.”

I jump, nearly dropping my plate and precious rolls. When I turn, I see Finnick sitting upside-down on the sofa, legs hanging over the back, shoulders on the seat, head hanging off the edge. He looks half-asleep.

“Did you just get back?” I say, taking half a cinnamon roll as well.

“A while ago. Didn’t want to go to bed, don’t really want to stay up either.”

“Where were you? Capitol throw you some special victor’s mentor after-party?” I sit cross-legged on the other end of the sofa.

He sighs. He seems tired. Not the kind of tired that comes when you don’t get enough sleep, but the kind that comes when life has worn you down day after day. “No, just out… enjoying the perks of being me.”

“Kind of rude to not even stay until morning, isn’t it?” I finish the first seaweed roll and start on the cinnamon roll.

He shoots me a funny look. “You are… smart enough to get yourself in trouble someday, you know that?”

“I do,” I say through a mouthful of cinnamon-y deliciousness.

“As long as you’re aware.” He lifts his head up to actually look at me. “You know this is your window with Gloss, right? It’s tonight or wait until this time next year.”

I smile. “He said he had a previous engagement.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s back by now,” Finnick says, letting his head fall back down.

“I’m not sure that would be the best idea anyway. Wouldn’t be worth it, really, would it? And this way I can always cherish that one kiss, and forever brag that I was the girl who caught his eye but wouldn’t give in to temptation.”

Finnick snorts. “Not exactly something they laud you for in the Capitol, but the people at home will definitely appreciate it. Though the Capitol keeps Tribute Center happenings very hush-hush. Once the tributes are out, we pretty much have free reign. So they’d never know at home.” He grins. “Unless I told them.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure they’d believe you, but you’re welcome to try.”

He rolls his eyes. “Go to bed.”

“Can’t sleep. That’s why I’m out here.”

“Well I’m going to bed. I guess you’re free to do as you choose.” He curls his knees to his chest and does a backwards somersault off the couch, rolling onto his feet. He gives me a small bow and says, “Good night. See you in the morning for your big interview.”

I follow him into the hallway, where he takes the first door. I walk to the next room and knock softly. Mags opens the door surprisingly quickly, smiling at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t sleep.”

She nods.

“Can I just… sit with you?”

She nods again and gestures me inside and closes the door behind me. Then she goes to the bed, fluffs one of the pillows, and pulls the blankets back. “For you,” she says.

“Oh no, I just-” but she shoos me to the bed and pushes me onto it, then forcefully tucks me in like a small child. Mags walks to the other side of the bed and sits next to me, stroking my hair and humming a very old sailors’ song that my dad whistles all the time. It’s about men saying goodbye to girls they’ve met in a far-off land because they have to sail home in the morning. I don’t know where any of the places they’re talking about are, or if they’re even real, but I’ve always imagined that Spain is sunny and warm. I close my eyes, imagining the sailors leaning over the railing on their ship, calling farewell to their lovers as warm sunshine bathes everything in sight.

****

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@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

[wahbegan]

It'd be so hard for a Hunger Games movie to do it justice, because Katniss' internal monologue truly adds so fucking much to the world and her character. That comment from Peeta i talked about in the tags launches her into an angry spiral where she sits alone and has this mental tirade about how stupid he is for saying some shit like that, how she once saw Titus, a Tribute from District 6 lose his fucking mind in the arena.

They had to start stun-gunning him every time he killed someone because he would rip the corpses to pieces and eat their hearts. It was never stated out loud, but the general consensus is that the "avalanche" that killed him off was orchestrated by the Gamemakers to ensure he didn't win, because a cannibal who had lost touch with reality wasn't a marketable Victor.

She figures something like that will probably happen to Peeta, almost relishes the possibility because she reads smug holier-than-thou undertones into his comment where there genuinely weren't any.

It's such good and chilling lore and it really opens an insight into what Katniss expects of people, particularly where the Games are involved, and how are you supposed to communicate that shit in a movie??? She sits on a rooftop brooding for a couple minutes?? Monologue narration?? You can't, really

[pinkcherryblossom18]

hi love!! first and foremost, i am SO glad you, your friends, and family are safe after the tornado! i have some friends who experienced it as well and i can’t imagine.

if you are still taking requests currently, I would LOVE another continuation of your vultures drabbles with the reader x finnick. you write him SO well and the angst is just so good!!! no worries if not though! <3

The Vultures Swoop

Summary: The 75th Hunger Games announcement leaves you all in different stages of grief. 

Thank you for the request, sugar.

TW: Mention of the Hunger Games, Anger, Throwing things, Angst, Crying, Throwing up, Suicidal idelation and attempt , and Panic attack. 

Word Count: 739

Like all storms, this one starts slow. 

It starts with a voice that haunts you and a man that you constantly see in your nightmares. He discusses something else that haunts you daily and he says it with a bright smile. Then he says what the third Quarter Quell will be. 

All of you freeze. 

Annie breaks into sobs and Titus comforts her while Ollie just stares blankly into the screen, like he’s expecting something to change. Mags only sits there, she does nothing but sits there. 

Beside you Finnick freezes, the hand in yours stills and through his hand, you can feel his blood turn to ice. He doesn’t blink or cry, nothing happens. 

It takes only seconds for something to pop in you. 

It’s ugly, a stained yellow with rotted green all around it. Anger covers it in crimson red and you can only feel it within the very marrow of your bones. 

You had never been good with grief, even before the games. 

But this grief, this ugly infectious grief grows on you like vines on a tree. 

You stand up, you can’t sit. Not right now, not with everything that you had hid being brought to the top with such ease. You pace and pace and Finnick still sits there and Titus is still with Annie and Ollie is still staring and Mags only sits there. 

The vase on the table shakes every time you pass by it, your angry footsteps disturbing the only semblance of peace in this house. 

This house, you have hated this house since you first moved in. Since your family had left you behind and trampled this house with their fake apologetic words and nonsense sorrys. It made no sense to you then and it still doesn’t now. 

The vase keeps rocking on the table and you hate it. You hate it with every fiber of your being and when you grab it, it has the same weight of those knives that you had carried in the arena. 

The glass shatters against the wall and a scream erupts but can barely hear it over the sound of your own heart beat. The pounding of the organ in your chest and the anger that boils your blood and brings tears to your eyes. 

It’s too much. 

It’s all too much. 

Your stomach churns and you rush outside, barely making it as you empty all of the contents of your stomach. Strong hands grip your waist and you scream. 

All for nothing. 

It was all for nothing. 

Those hands don’t let go and you bring back your elbow and drop to the ground, ragdolling your body. 

Chirping, chirping, chirping. 

Looming, looming, looming. 

Too much, too much. 

Nothing. It was all for nothing. 

Death, blood and the weight of the knives come back to you. 

It all comes back. 

You—you can’t do it. You can’t go back. 

And Finnick—oh Finnick! You didn’t think about him. Titus was too old and Ollie couldn’t handle it. So he would have to go. 

Annie couldn’t go either, she would be the first to go, you were sure. Mags couldn’t go either, she would be dead quickly as well. 

You it had to be you. 

Finnick and you. You and Finnick. 

Death—that had to be the answer. It had to be, it had to be.

Your hands start to race for your wrists, competing in who could get to your veins first. 

At the first draw of blood, hands grab your own and you scream again. Wrenching and pulling against the hands that have your own captive, you don’t hear anything but your own screaming, pleading and crying. 

A hand grabs the back of your head and you’re pulled into someone’s chest. It’s sturdy and strong, underneath the fabric you can feel the echoes of healed scars. A voice whispers to you, saying things that you don’t understand but calm you all the same. 

In between broken sobs and streaming, hot tears that leave your head in shambles you hear Finnicks voice. “We'll be fine,” he says. “Nothing will happen to you. I promise.”

His voice is firm and determined but you don’t believe his words.

“I wish we were dead!” You cry. 

Finnick only holds you closer. “We’re not,” he reassures, scratching his nails against the back of your head soothingly. “We’re not dead. And we won’t be.”

But we will, you think. We all will.

[hyena-frog]

The Institute in Red Rising and the Hunger Games arenas are two different things and I wish people would stop making the comparison as if they're the same. The end goals are completely different!

In THG the goal is to kill until you're the only one left, because it's a punishment. In the Institute, the goal is to enslave the other houses, and protect your own house, because it's meant to educate how to rule over people. You can accidentally die, but straight murder is technically against the rules (even though it still happens). I'm pretty sure the proctors would actually interfere if it ever looked like someone was trying to kill everyone else. That person would certainly also never be allowed to graduate, since they missed the point of the school. That's basically what happened with Titus.

Honestly, the only thing these two arena types have in common is the fact the participants are teenagers, and they are watched the entire time and can receive rewards from the people watching. That's literally it.

That, and the fact THG is YA and RR is adult scifi. Oh and in RR the Institute is only in the first book (but the relationships formed there influence the rest of the series) and in THG the Games keep coming back in some form or another. But still. Different beasts.

[moral-terpitude]

Hi, Ava!!

I'm so happy that you decided to create a little THG!AU for Quinn!! ❤️❤️

We started like a month ago and the euphoria never stopped 🤭.

So, questions. Did you think what edition it is? Any of her sisters was reaped before her? Is she going to meet Tommy somehow?

And most important... Tell me she's going to survive 😭😣.

I had to reread the first book to get back into it, but now I’m enjoying the story mechanics and limitations and incorporating them into writing!

I think it’s set “a few years prior” to the 74th hunger games. I am not sure what year they talk about Titus as the only reference is prior, but I think this takes place after that, but before the 74th. Just as something for them to riff on about the district 6 tributes at least being more civilized this time.

There are no victors for 6 for what I can tell so I’m trying to figure out how to tackle that.

I already know the theme for the arena, but it’s kinda something I have to look more at the mechanics of so I don’t want to spoil it.

At some point she does meet Tommy. I don’t know when, where, or how yet.

None of her sisters were Reaped.

I think Quinn is too stubborn to die 😂😂😂

[samnotsammy12]

Is Red Rising one of those series that improves as it goes on? I’m currently on chapter 27 of book 1 and as of rn I can barely stand the main character and I have no clue what’s going on

Also Eo was so fridged

They’re in some hunger games style fight for the throne I think? But like the throne of the House not of all the Golds? Also they’re all assholes but Titus in particular is worse than everyone else?