#thg series

[deadboydoodling]

healing the economy one everlark piece at a time

[nowadayz]

THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE 2013, dir. Francis Lawrence

[lunarsluttymoon]

The idea of Peeta and Katniss slowly becoming more socially disconnected with the people they had to pretend to be before and during the war.

A new generation of kids are born, and maybe they’re taught something of what happened before their time, but maybe they’re too young to have learned about it in school. Or maybe, they just didn’t care too much to remember, maybe they’ve just never seen pictures of The Mockingjay. Or maybe Katniss has outgrown the image of that scared 17-year-old girl.

Whichever way it is, the kids don’t know, and don’t really care. When people come in from across the country, asking where they could meet “The Mockingjay”, the adults ignore them.

When they ask a kid, they just blink. “Who?”

“Katniss Everdeen.” They might try.

These kids have never heard of a Katniss Everdeen. And besides, their parents told them never to talk to weird strangers!! They run away, and go to tell Mrs. Mellark about the weird person they met.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

I just know Johanna's the kind of friend that makes the most wet gagging noises when Peeta and Katniss even make eye contact in front of her

[triassictriserratops]

I think if peeta even got a sniffle Katniss would go fucking feral, drop everything and take care of him (and get sick herself)

ABSOLUTELY SHE WOULD. She'd call her mom like, "he's dying, what do I do?" Peeta's in the background like, "Hi Mrs. Everdeen, I just have seasonal allergies, I took some Zyrtec, everything is fine! "YOU'RE DYING, SHUT UP AND GO TO BED BEFORE I KILL YOU." BUT NOW Now, Anon? Now i get to talk about what I think happens when KATNISS gets sick. And spoiler alert, it's GREAT. The first time Katniss gets sick after the war, she doesn't tell anyone. She just locks herself in her house, puts a note on the door saying that she's fine and to come back tomorrow hoping that Sae sees it and doesn't bother with cooking anything for her. She grabs some remedies, a box of plain crackers, a blanket, some water, and trudges her way upstairs back to bed. A few hours later she hears a loud crash in the kitchen. She waddles and sniffles her way downstairs to the sight of a cursing Peeta, sprawled on the kitchen floor, while his prosthetic is dangling from the open window above the sink. "What are you doing?" she says in a congested voice, "I left a note on the door." She moves over to the window to unlatch his prosthesis from where it got snagged on the windowsill. "This," he says, brandishing the crumpled paper in the air, "is NOT enough of an explanation. People were worried. Haymitch was worried..." He glances away at that. "Haymitch? Bullshit." she snorts as she bends down to reattach his leg. She stays down when she's done realizing that she's feeling a little unsteady on her feet. "Fine. FINE! I was worried. What's going on? Did I do something wrong?" "No! Of course not. It-it's fine. I'm fine. I'm just sick. Thanks for stopping by. I'll see you tomorr-." She's struggling to get back up when she feels the air whoosh around her and realizes that Peeta has picked her up to carry her over to the couch. "Sick? What's wrong? Have you taken anything? Let me make you some tea, or do you want soup? I can make soup." he's rambling as he presses the back of his hand to her clammy forehead. "I really am okay. I got this. I'll be fine, Peeta." she says, pushing his hand away from her face and regretting it immediately at the loss of contact. "Katniss. Please let me do this, okay? This is what you and I do, right? That's what you said. Now, tell me where you keep your bouillon. I'm making some chicken stock and a good soup for you." That's when it hits Katniss. She hasn't really been taken care of like this in years. Maybe since she was 11. For years now, her mother would do her best to take care of her during the occassional cold, of course. But for the most part Katniss struggled to accept any softness or warmth from her mother. Feeling caught between that desire to be held and comforted and the anger she still felt towards her - they instead both settled for the distant, clinical detachment her mother had with her other patients. But, really, the last nearly 7 years of her life have been dedicated to the care of her family and her loved ones. She learned to stop asking for things and began instead to meet all of her own needs, without relying on others. After the games she'd begun the process of extending that branch and allowing herself to lean on her mother a little more. But now? Now her mother isn't here. And here she was right back to what she knew. Taking care of herself. Looking up at Peeta, blue eyes shining in earnest. Ready to do and be anything that is needed of him. Anything that SHE needs of him. She wipes her nose on her sleeve and smiles. "Pantry. Top shelf. On the right. Thank you, Peeta."

[soapywankenopy]

"And here I am, a stone's throw from the biggest idiot in the Games."

Sassy Katniss you will always live in my heart

[nightlocked-in]

things weren’t bad enough, then you find out katniss’ mom married a MINOR

[felixravinstills]

Felix Ravinstill during the Arena Tour (Revised)

—The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023)

Gifmaker's Notes:

I did the screenshotting method of clipping in mpv for this for the first time.

I tried keeping the colors a little more grounded than my first pass at this, but as my rule of thumb for how much I brighten a scene is enough that I don't feel my eyes actively straining, the scene's dark lightening gets lost (because my eyes strain easily.) Also idk why I split the original into three gifs.

I'm including these before and after comparison gifs, because I made them to send to my friend to explain the importance of gif coloring, and I might as well share them here too.

[flowersforjude]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ≈ 𝐢. 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦❜

﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚

﹙next chapter ➵ masterlist﹚┈﹙read on ao3 ➵ read on wattpad﹚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | canon typical violence, slight self-injury, mentions of death, etc.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.8 k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've been working on this for little over a year now. I've posted all current chapters on Wattpad and AO3. I thought I might as well post it here too. This chapter was really just for scene setting and character introduction. The juicer stuff is in upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!!

The crunching of gravel beneath hundreds of feet echoed through district four in a sorrowful song. Each pair of feet belonged to a different person with their own story. Each pair was distinct from the one beside them, in front of them, or behind them. But today they were all moving in the same direction, for the same reason. Today they all had one thing in common. They were all reluctantly marching towards the Justice Building because today was the reaping for the annual Hunger Games. They were hesitant, and yet everyone walked steadily on their path without complaint, as if resigned to their fate.

I walked with my mother Camilla, my father Lyle, and my little sister Shae. We are silent as we make our way to the growing crowd of people in front of the Justice Building. Today was not the day for idle conversation. Today was the day for fear or for hope. Fear that your name would be called. Hope that it wouldn't, or that some other unlucky child would be forced to go to their deaths.

This morning, as I got ready, I found myself sitting in the bath longer than necessary. I watched with blank eyes as I dipped my hand down into the cooling water and lifted it back out. Droplets of water raced down the back of my hand until they faded out like one of the many lives taken by the games every year.

The longer I sat in the cold tub of water, the harder it became to keep my mind focused on the small things. Like how shivers ran races down my spine or how my damp hair rested limply on my shoulders. No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts wouldn't stay simple for long. Soon they morphed into debilitating notions of blood and death. My mind ran rampant with scenes of tributes dying in brutal and messy ways.

Now as my feet crunched gravel under my soles, my brain created new ideas of torment. Shae turned twelve this year, and that meant it was her first Reaping Day where her name was in the drawing. It was only once, I kept telling myself. She wouldn't be picked. But the odds never favored ones in our position.

"This is where we go our separate ways." My mother said when we reached the point where we had to split up. I could see unshed tears making her brown eyes glossy as she pulled me and Shae into a hug. She kissed both our cheeks before stepping aside for our father.

"Be brave, girls." He told us and then bent down to hug Shae. When he straightened up, he pulled me in and squeezed. He gave me a kiss on the cheek before he stepped away completely.

"After the reaping, we met back here, and we'll go home." My mom said firmly, as if cementing the idea that both of her daughters would be returning to her. She wiped away a few tears that managed to sneak their way down her cheeks. "We love you both."

"We love you too," I replied.

My parents went off to the area where the adults watched. Watched as two kids were chosen to fight to the death. Shae and I walked on together, our breaths shallow with fear and anticipation. As we approached the spot where our paths diverged, I turned to say goodbye. Her eyes flickered over to me as if to plead for escape. She switched her gaze to her line, staring at it like a slithering viper ready to strike if she dared take even one step closer.

"Shae?" I dropped down to her height.

She started shaking her head, and her pink lips began to wobble. "I can't, Lyssa. I'm scared."

I gave her a sympathetic look and smoothed down her hair with my hands. "I know you're scared, but your name is only in there once. The odds of you being chosen are slim."

She inhaled deeply, her chestnut eyes still wide and fearful. I pulled her close and breathed into her hair the words of reassurance that she needed. I cupped her face in my hands, gave her a gentle nod of encouragement, and watched as she tentatively stepped away from me and towards the other children. It took everything in me not to grab the back off her dress and run.

I took my place in line with the other seventeen-year-olds and watched as the people in front of me got their fingers pricked by an intimidating looking woman.

As the seconds ticked by like the timer on a bomb, it grew harder to breathe. The nerves I chained down all this morning fighting their way up. An anchor pressed down on my chest, weighing my whole form down as it rested in the sand of the sea. I couldn't look scared. I knew it made no difference whether or not my fear was visible. If my name was called, then that was that. But I didn't want anyone to view me as weak. Even if that's what I was in reality.

My feet shuffled forward as the line flowed. The girl in front of me gasped loudly as her blood was drawn. In seconds, she was moving out of the line, and it was my turn.

"Next!" The woman called. "Name?"

"Lyssa Monroe."

She looked down the list till she landed on my name. She silently held out her hand, and I held my pointer finger out to her. She pricked it, but I barely registered the small pain; I was too focused on staying calm. She smeared my blood on multiple sheets of paper; in a way, she just sighed my possible death certificate. Those slips of paper will be sent to the big glass bowl, whose only purpose was to hand out death sentences. And I stood a chance of being called. I wonder if that bothers her. That by doing this job, she's sending kids to their deaths. I wonder how she feels or if she feels anything at all. Maybe she didn't; maybe you have to be void of emotion to do this job.

When she called for the next person, I stepped out of the way and went to stand with my age group. I pressed my still bleeding finger into the fabric of my dress. It was the nicest clothing item I owned, and I hated it. I wore it on reaping day and reaping day only. The atrocious piece of material served as a reminder of the worst days of my life. Days filled with fear and dread. The only thing I felt when I looked at it was anguish.

I didn't know any of the girls I was standing with, so I searched the crowd for Shae. I found her standing between two girls her age, but she was so small compared to them.

I caught her eyes and sent her a smile and a wink. I tried to look carefree for her even if my stomach was twisting in rough knots. Something was off; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, swirling around like unruly waves in a storm. No matter how much I attempted to convince myself otherwise, today was not going to have a good outcome. But Shae needed me to reassure her so she wouldn't break down. I knew she was scared. This was her first year in the drawing; her name was only in once, but it was that one chance that kept her up all last night.

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The sharp pain of them digging into my skin was enough to ground me for now.

Sabine Glass, our district escort, strutted out from the Justice Building, and we all focused our attention on her. She had the usual bold and careless air about her as clicked her way to center stage. With each step, her dress glistened in the sun, its green sequins catching the light like tiny mirrors. Around her neck hung a necklace of bronzy-white seashells that matched her earrings, bracelets. The same shells were intricately woven into her updo. Her shoes were the same color as her dress and had heels so long that I wondered how on earth she even managed to walk on stage without falling.

She cleared her throat into the microphone, getting the attention of the crowd. "Welcome! People of District four, to the reaping of the 70th Hunger Games! I know we're all very excited to see who our tributes will be this year, but before that, we have a presentation from the esteemed President Snow!"

The crowd clapped with a small fraction of Sabine's enthusiasm. four was a career district, but only half the population fell into that category. So some of the citizens had pride for this whole charade, but the hatred and fear of the other half far outweighed that misguided respect for the games.

Two huge black screens were set up on either side of the building, and with Sabine's cue, they started to play the origin video of The Hunger Games. We were made to watch this video every reaping day, year after year. It was to remind us of the horror before the games so we wouldn't want to rebel again. When the video was over, Sabine began clapping, and slowly, the crowd reluctantly joined in.

"That was spectacular!" Sabine cheered into the microphone. "Let's begin, shall we? As per usual, ladies first!"

She walked over to the glass bowl and swirled her hand around in it, meticulously searching for the right slip of paper. The tension of the crowd was palpable. Everyone was still and the quietness was suffocating. My heart raced in my chest, like I had just gotten done for a swim and was laying on the warm sand of the beach, soaking up the sun's rays. Though even after all the time I spent out there, my skin stayed its same pale shade.

Sabine plucked out a slip of paper and pranced back over to the microphone. As she neatly unfolded it, my nails racked deeper into my palm, digging into my skin until I felt a slight trickle of blood flow down my palm. My ears clouded with the sound of adrenaline, and only Sabine's shrill voice brought my senses back to me.

"Lyssa Monroe!"

My heart stopped along with everything else as the blaring silence rang in my ears. Chills ran down my body, and the blood froze in my veins. I didn't move; I couldn't move. The girls around me murmured amongst themselves and stared at my unmoving body with sympathy and selfish relief.

"Lyssa Monroe?" Sabine spoke again, this time as a question.

The girls parted like a great wave, creating an aisle for me to walk through. The first step I took was unintentional, but it was like my body had switched to autopilot. My legs numbly carried me all the way to the stage. I didn't raise my head until I walked up the steps and was in front of the crowd.

As I lifted my eyes, the sun seemed brighter than before, momentarily blinding me. When they adjusted, my eyes met the crowd of my fellow District four members.

I found my parents in the cluster of adults. My mother had her face buried in my father's chest. Even from here, I could see her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. My father's face was set hard, but I knew he was trying to keep his tears reigned in.

I turned my attention to Shae, who had pushed her way to the front of her section. Her tiny hands held the barricade in a death grip. Her cheeks were red and stained with tears.

Sabine shoved the microphone at my face, and only then did I realize she had asked me something.

"What?" I muttered dumbly.

"I asked how old you were, dear."

"I'm seventeen," I mumbled.

Sabine took the microphone back and placed her hand on her heart. "And how lovely you are, my dear."

She turned back to the audience, clapping her hands. "Now for the gentleman." She glided over to the bowl that held the boys' names. She repeated the same swirling hand movements around the glass until she snatched up a slip of paper.

She cleared her throat before reading the name. "Hector May!"

A gasp rang out among the crowd, and even me in my numbed state lifted my eyes in surprise. Hector May was Mayor Walim May's son. Of course, being the child of the mayor didn't exclude you from the reaping, but they were rarely chosen. That's why everyone had started to murmur amongst themselves as Hector slowly made his way up to the stage.

He looked behind him at his father. The mayor tried not to show any emotion at his son being reaped, but I saw how his jaw clenched and his hands began to subtly shake in his lap.

"What an interesting turn of events!" Sabine exclaimed. "How old are you, dearie?"

"Eighteen." Hector answered in a deep monotone voice.

"And you're the mayor's son, correct?"

"Yes."

Sabine laughed almost giddily. "What a wonderful pair we have here." She motioned for us to shake hands. We both moved forward and grasped the other's hand as Sabine addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of presenting to you your District four tributes for the 70th annual Hunger Games!"

━

We were marched in silence down a long hallway, escorted by a couple of stern-faced peacekeepers. Hector and I were taken to separate rooms, mine with harsh fluorescent lights that cast everything in a painful brightness. The stark and sterile air felt suffocating as I helplessly waited for what was next. I shifted nervously on the hardwood chair, tracing small circles onto its smooth surface while my leg anxiously bounced up and down. Even pinching myself couldn't make this nightmare go away. My throat tightened in despair while tears stung my eyes.

A creak of the door handle made me jump, and I scrambled to my feet. My parents and Shae entered the room, their faces blurry with emotion. We raced towards each other, a tangle of limbs that collapsed into a heap on the floor. Someone was sniffling, and it took me a moment to realize it was me.

My father wiped the tears off my face and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Everything will be alright." He stated calmly like there was nothing to worry about.

I looked at him in disbelief. "Dad, how can you say that?"

He sighed. "I know you're scared, sweetie. But you can't let your fear control you. You're going to be fine because you're going to win."

"How? I can't–" I couldn't even finish my sentence. How could my father be so sure, so calm?

"Lyssa." My mother said, clearing the tears from her eyes. "Your father is right. I know you're scared, but you can't think about that right now."

"What do I do?" I asked helplessly.

My father was the one to answer. "Find a weapon that fits you. One that's easy for you to use but effective. Try throwing knives. You were always good with those."

"Okay." I nodded along with him.

"You have to come back, Lyssa." Shae blurted out.

I looked down at her small frame and immediately drew her to me. "I promise I will try my hardest." I said into her hair. My lips connected with the top of her head as her arms tightened around me.

The door opened again, and the peacekeepers came in. "Time's up." One of them said.

We hugged each other one last time before one of the peacekeepers escorted them out. They all called their last farewells as they were moved out of my view.

"Be brave, Lyssa! Remember what I said!"

"Win, so you come back home!"

"We love you, sweetheart!"

There was one peacekeeper left in the room with me. "It's time to board the train, Miss Monroe," he said.

I nodded and hesitantly followed him out into the hallway, where Sabine and Hector stood waiting.

"Now then, you're both very excited, I'm sure, so let's hurry along. The Capitol awaits!" Sabine sang, genuinely excited, with a smile plastered on her face. I tried to tell myself it was just because she was from the Capitol and didn't really know any better. Though, as she led a silent Hector and I away, I couldn't help but feel disgust towards her. She was voluntarily escorting us to our deaths.

My face remained blank as we boarded the train. The odds were never on my side, and they never would be. 

Let me know in the comments if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this story! <3

[apocalypticberry7]

I’m sure this analysis has been made before but I’ve yet to see it vocalized (in text?) myself. Though ofc I’m sure everyone can make this connection on their own

Peeta Mellark is always teased in the fandom for being named after BREAD, which is very humorous. But I think Suzanne Collins was very strategic in naming him after bread. He’s the boy with the bread after all. But theres a reason he’s the boy with the bread.

His bread literally saved Katniss’s life. We all know the story of him purposefully burning bread to give to her. But bread goes further than that. Bread is a very typical food for a starving society, like France before the French Revolution. They wanted bread (bread riots) and Russia in their revolution, it was peace land and bread. Bread is life for starving people. Peeta was Katniss’s bread. Not only by burning the bread for her. He protected her, he was what she desired most, she described feelings of starvation when being away from his touch. When they kissed for REAL she said that was the kind of kiss leaving her wanting more. She was hungry for more. Later on in book 2 or 3 I believe, it is mentioned that Katniss’s favorite of Peeta’s baked goods was bread with melted cheese on it. A small thing but I think it fits. She couldn’t resist when he offered her favorite.

I think that Suzanne Collins, the genius that she is, was very deliberate in the way she wrote about Peeta and Katniss’s love. When she finally had him at the end of the book (3) she felt secure. She wasn’t questioning when she would have her next “meal” because she always had the boy with the bread right next to her.

[buuuuuuuu3]

Peeta didn’t actually knew Katniss before the games, I feel like it’s often confused or misunderstood that how observant he was of her equated truly knowing her, but he really didn’t, he could have known how she walked, how she acted towards others (towards the people she loved even), what she did, who she did it with, he could get his own conclusions of the things he saw or heard about her but never about what she said or thought herself, he hadn’t got the pleasure of experience her on a “one on one” setting, and when he did, it just cemented the feelings he already had gathered for the person he thought Katniss was.

We talk more about Katniss falling for him through the books probably because he was very much open about the intrigue of her and this attraction to all things Katniss he had before he had a proper conversation with her, but through the books I think we see him fall in love with her just as much we saw her fall in love with Peeta.

He finally gets to know all the little and big things, how her mind works and operates without having to ask any questions about it, he recognizes her even in madness. He wanted to become part of her world, so when he didn’t remember who he was a person, to be able to grow and relearn what kind of person he was and all the little things he did and loved, from the person Peeta wanted to know most in the world at the beginning of the trilogy I think is a great full circle moment.

[gingerbread-is-good]

Sorry everyone following me recently... I will do it again

Anyways onto the topic of everlark, do you guys agree with me that Peeta becomes a himbo house wife for Katniss in post Mockingjay, me and @triassictriserratops talked about it a little and honestly I love the sound of it.

Like let's be real, Peeta isn't exactly dumb, the whole if it weren't for the baby was genius and he kinda played the capital, but. Katniss never really reciprocated his feelings back, so when she finally does I can see him just throwing all his brain cells into to being a doting partner. Like head empty only love, not just love for Katniss but the pets they would have and of course the toast babies.

That's it, that's my post, just talking about how Peeta turns into a himbo for Katniss.

[posionhaze]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

peeta mellark

❥ baker boy

[vivicendium]

i think something that elevates the hunger games franchise is not just the quality of writing but the integrity of it. tbosas isn’t just a cash-grab by suzanne collins in the age of sequels and reboots (though i won’t pretend that didn’t play a part), it’s a character study of the main antagonist with a different structure than the main trilogy. and importantly, it doesn’t just re-hash the same old themes and beats the main trilogy had, it expands on not just the world of the hunger games but the themes as well, it actually has something new to say about the trilogy’s themes about class, capitalism, power, and control, in a way that couldn’t be explored with the main story because the protagonist of that story simply did not have access to the world that’s being explored in tbosas.

i understand the people who call for books/movies to be made about haymitch, finnick, johanna, different years of the games — we love those characters and want to see more of them! i’d kill for a novella on finnick’s days mentoring tributes, or katniss’s parents falling in love. but at the end of the day we probably wouldn’t be very satisfied with those stories being fleshed out if they had absolutely nothing new to say about the world, they’d be enjoyable, but not as interesting and engaging as tbosas has been.

[cherrystar12]

[triassictriserratops]

31 whole years of age and your actually writing about 17 year old clits wild couldnt be me

In response to this post.

Do...do you know how old Suzanne Collins was when she wrote the series? The series that has children killing each other, a romance strategy, a "love triangle", etc? Do you know the ages of the creators of literally all the media you consume? (DO YOU KNOW THE AGES OF THE PEOPLE THAT WRITE A MAJORITY OF THE FANFIC YOU READ?! Because I PROMISE you most of those are written by 40-year-olds with children of their own.) People don't just...stop writing or reading about the ages they grow out of. I was 17 when I started the series. Was I just supposed to put it down at 18 like I aged out of the reaping or something? Like??? ELI5 If human sexuality was only allowed to be written by, or explored in art by, the appropriately aged people you'd lose out on every coming of age story. Every young, queer experience novel. Every exploration of self, identity, sexuality, etc. All gone. Because most of them are written by, get this, PREVIOUSLY TEENAGED PEOPLE. Expecting adults to stay away from these stories is a dangerous thing to intimate and a dangerous path to go down. I can understand where you're coming from but i don't recommend it and I think it would be a good idea to maybe listen to other ideas about these kinds of topics, even if you don't end up agreeing. It's good for you!

And, anon, at the end of the day? I'm here to enjoy myself and have fun with others over a piece of media we all love and find meaningful in different ways. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable in any way but you're also completely welcome to choose to block me and not interract with me. And I don't say that facetiously. I truly mean it. I wouldn't be upset about it! You get to cultivate your fandom experence just as much as I get to! (As everyone gets to.)