#District 10

[kald-dal-art]

Finally after so long I have an access to a scanner so have some of my THG/TBOSAS drawings from my sketchbooks, so hope you enjoy these

[brookesophelias]

a bulleted list of allusions in THG Trilogy or TBOSAS that paint a certain picture.

Tessarae is tile, but the Districts pay Tessarae to acquire extra grain & oil in exchange for putting extra entries in the Reaping bowl.

Mayor Lipp slapped Lucy Gray in public despite her selection as Tribute; Mayor Undersee purchased strawberries in private, & died.

Sejanus Plinth was originally from District 2, considered that his origin (even though his father allied with Panem) & Madge Undersee said, "you only go to the Capitol if you're invited," and wasn't (because she was best friends with Katniss).

Jessup Diggs and Lucy Gray Baird held hands during The Reaping

Coriolanus visited a zoo in his lifetime—Monkey House in particular—& by the 75th Games, monkeys are unheard of let alone a zoo population because animals had been eaten during war crises. Grandma'am told Coryo how Crassius Snow used to say "people only drank water because it didn't rain blood." Blood rain & monkeys were both in the Quarter Quell.

Arachne Crane was a mentor in the 10th Games & Seneca Crane became a Gamemaker. The same happens with Hilarious Heavensbee & Plutarch Heavensbee.

Seneca Crane had "sentimental streak," who let Everlark live, whereas Arachne tormented her tribute. Both of them were killed as a result.

Snow hates that Tigris may have to sell herself to afford things without money, yet Snow forces Finnick into the same prositution after his Games.

Sejanus covering the girl from D10 after her wound often reminds me of Katniss & Rue whereas Coriolanus & Arachne remind me of Peeta & the Female Morphling.

The question of cancelling The Games came up twice in history.

Both snakes & lizards are reptiles; both were used as mutts that hunted by scent.

Coriolanus made the observation that seeing Avoxes as half-animal mutts frightened him, as if Capitol kids were in The Games instead; Alma Coin suggested that a 76th Games be “with Capitol children, like Snow's grandchild."

"History," according to Professor Demigloss, "is about how to make the unwilling comply." (That seems like what Snow did to his prisoners in Mockingjay).

No vistors were permitted in The Zoo after someone was shot, like the Tributes in the 75th Games were no longer allowed goodbyes.

There are more, most likely, but these are ones that jumped out immediately

[poordeadsejanus]

TBOSAS gave an intense look at the map of panem pre-president snow era, so I pieced it together to make a more official map than anything i've seen thus far. plus, i'm insane about fictional maps for literally no reason. [keep in mind, this is shitty screenshots that i've put together and the screen the map appears on (during lucky's weather report) appears to be rounded, so some of the proportions and such might be off. ] more stuff under the cut

so, these are the images i used to make this:

and i pieced them together as best i could, some of the borders, like the bottom right of 12 and the bottom of 5 became sort of a guessing game because they were covered up/hard to see.

doing that and cropping/pasting them together gave me this image (same as at the top of post)

red lines are clear country borders, yellow are district borders, purple is any of the areas i was unsure about. As we can see from this, districts 7, 10, and 13 (not labelled on this map because at this point in canon-time, it's 'gone') have no definite ending borders, so it's hard to even guess where they would end at. using this i made this more polished map using each district's colours that are listed on fandom dot com

the unclear edges are left blurred because really i don't know where they end...

we know that panem is formerly north america, so i laid the image over a map of north america and got this:

it took a little adjusting because again, my map is based off of a warped television screen, but, we end up with something like this. some interesting things to note is that a lot of coast has presumably eroded away as time passed -- we lost all of baja, and most of florida and socal, and some of virginia and north carolina, and many pieces of the mexican states, though none in their entirety . the places where panem extends over NA water spaces (districts 6, 7, 13) are either from receding water levels or translation issues from the warping of the in-movie screen... or, my own personal error, i guess lol.

again, as far as 7, 10, and 13, their end borders are up to speculation, but i'd imagine 7 extends up to near the edge of the northern canadian borders and maybe into alaska -- though i can't say because that's a huge chunk of space (it is the lumber district, though, so it probably goes as high as the trees are...). same goes for 10: i'd guess it goes south a bit more to near the nartual borders, but likely in any low-elevation areas (near the southern provinces) the sea has swallowed up the land. as for 13, it likely extends more near norther quebec and out toward the maritime provinces (though i'd estimate that most of those are either completely underwater or complete above it, so there's no islands going on). truly though, it's anyone's guess, so let me know your thoughts on it if you made it this far down!

future-panem, like during the events of the hunger games, definitely has changed district borders. we knows there's fencing and forbidden area, so the districts are definitely far smaller and there's space between them (no man's land) so that there is little-to-no communication between districts.

anyway, thanks for checking this out, i spent too much time on this to come out with very little practical use, but if you're like me and you like knowing where fictional locations are/how they're laid out, this is for you

[leviathansshadycorner]

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 8

Summary: The games begin

A/n:Long time no see! I guess this is considered a slow burn since I haven't really given much Cato content yet lol, but it's planned! If you want to listen to something while reading I reccomend the civil wars, and definetely their song with Taylor Swift lol

Pt.7Pt.6Pt.5 Pt.4 Pt.3 Pt.2 Pt.1

____________________________________

Chapter 8: The Arena Pt. 1

You couldn’t eat. As if that was new. 

The table in front of you was decorated in an arrangement of multicolored foods, all in the shape of a big 10. The dining room was silent, even Pradain was drowned out by the silence and his whiskey. Dolly and Ramsey looked tense, somber even. Buckley of course was attempting to eat what he could, but even he struggled to keep it down. 

“Thank you.” It was a shock for you to speak first. Dolly looked confused for a second before her expression warmed. 

“Now don’t go thanking us for anything.” She reached for a table cloth and drink, as if to hide the fact she needed to wipe her forming tears. 

In approximately one hour you’d be headed to the slaughterhouse. Waiting to die of starvation, disease, or lord forbid it- murder. You’d only hope Buckely would make it out alive or meet a peaceful end. 

Ramsey inhaled, setting his fork on the table. “You two really are something’ special. ‘S been an honor to work with the two of ya.” He managed to croak out, keeping his stoic demeanor even though it warbled. 

Pradain let out a fit of laughter before it turned to chortled sobbing, Sashay was quick to comfort him. 

How did the Capitol expect teams to rejoice before sending their tributes to their death? It was sick. 

“I consulted a psychic medium.” Sashay piped up, using her fork to scoop up a block of cheese. “He told me that we’ve got a shot of winning. Something about a leaf with speckled dots of white.” 

“A Gragale?” Pradain spoke, sniffling his nose in a handkerchief. “Those aren’t edible.” 

The meal passed on with some somber conversation looking back at what your time at the Capitol had been like. A few tips and advice were thrown, a prayer or five may have been said, eventually you drowned it all out, refusing to look at the boy with cow like eyes. 

It was clear you weren’t the only one having internal conflict as he wasn’t his usual bubbly self. Painful, disheartening, heart wrenching, it was. 

30 minutes. 

20 minutes. 

10 minutes. 

When the Peacekeepers arrived they informed the two of you about choosing someone to send you off. Pradain and Sashay stepped off to the side after saying their final farewells to the both of you, leaving Ramsey and Dolly on the sidelines, waiting for who would speak first. 

“Dolly?” His voice was hoarse despite drinking liquids the whole time at the table. Buckley looked around awkwardly. For once it felt like the two of you were strangers again. You didn’t like it. 

Dolly instantly stepped toward you, giving you a hug that could have squeezed your organs out. “Go get em’ cowgirl.” She kissed your cheeks and let go, her lashes soaked with tears as she went over to the tall boy to comfort him. 

You looked at Ramsey and he immediately knew. Stepping close he placed a hand on your shoulder squeezing it as he pat you on the back with his other hand. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The Peacekeepers did a thorough search, both on you and Buckley, and your mentors. Something about stabbing attempts back in the 50th games. Your pulse was fast, eyes glued open as you tried to not cry. You couldn’t. Not now. Not now. Not now. 

The trip was silent, the peacekeepers informing the group about what would take place once on the transportation craft to the arena. Occasionally your sad eyes would meet Buckley’s clashing momentarily before disappearing. 

Dolly and Ramsey were set off to the side while the two of you were ushered into the craft, sat toward the end. 

Everyone else had already been seated for the most part, 11 and 12 behind you as they filled in. Cato had a Capitol worker stabbing his arm with something, it looked painful, but he didn’t flinch. 

He was what scared you the most. Something about him wasn’t right. You needed to steer clear of him, or get rid of him. 

“Arm.” They’d gotten to you quick. Reluctantly sticking your arm out you waited for the stinging of the needle. It pinched, and you felt a weird chill down your spine. What the hell had they put into you? Surely it couldn’t be some weird drug or enhancement right? 

Your question was answered when the girl from 12 asked. A tracker. Of course they’d track you. At least now you knew how they kept track of the deaths and tributes. 

If you made it out, your prayers would be replaced with asking for the downfall of Coriolanus Snow. 

Looking to the left you unintentionally greeted the jolly blonde, his void expression perked into a small grin, barely noticeable but there. Waving his head subtly he turned to look in front of him, leaving you with a squint on your face. He was also a threat. Albeit not as much as Cato. Either way, you had to profile everyone now. There could be a diamond in the rough, someone here who could pounce on you if not accounted for. 

You’ve seen how that lumberjack girl mangled those tributes. 

“We’re landing I think.” You heard a girl comfort her fellow tribute. 

As if your stomach couldn’t knot up more. Sure enough a sound of air decompressing echoed as the hinge of the craft lowered, revealing the troop of peacekeepers ready to escort everyone to the arena. The peacekeepers herded you all into lines. Cato’s humongous form hovered over everyone’s and it really set in. The only one challenging his dominance was the guy from 11, but even then he seemed like he had morals unlike the blonde in front of the craft. 

“Goodluck.” Buckley reeled you out of your thoughts, his face forward and hands at his side. 

Forcing a smile that looked like you were about to cry, you reciprocate the sentiment. “Goodluck.” 

This was it, the last moments of peace you’d get for a while. Your peacekeeper didn’t seem to know their own strength since their hand bruised your arm. Another one was already waiting in the room, a large tube at the center and Ramsey standing at the side of it. 

“Three minutes.” The peacekeeper let go, hurdling you to Ramsey who caught you in his arms. 

“Hey it’s ok. It’s ok.” The facade had broken. You heaved like an asthmatic in a desert, your face twisted like a sun dried tomato as you hiccuped the tears out of your eyes. 

He squeezed you, whispering reassurance to your soul. “Come on (Y/n), come on girl, gotta be tough. You’re gonna make it out. You’re gonna beat this bitch of a game.”  His shirt got flooded by your tears, the agony left on him as a remnant of who you were. 

“I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I want to go home! Please! Please!” You clawed at his shirt feeling yourself revert to a toddler for a moment. All you wanted was to be home with Amaranto and your father, huddled together at the dinner table, debriefing about each other’s days before heading to the yard to check on the stray cats that lived nearby. Hell, you’d rather be in the butchery helping out with the dirty pans and tins. 

Ramsey looked just as distraught, face faltering. He caught you and rubbed your back, “(y/n), listen to me. You need to remember what we went over, protect yourself and if god wills it Buckley. Don’t make new enemies, save your ass, woman up, and win. I’ll see you in the Victor’s Village ok? You’ve got this sweetie, You’re from goddamned district 10.” He held your face in his rough hands, eyes intense but caring, like a father grounding his daughter back to reality. 

All you did was nod. Nod and wipe the tears off your face. He was right. Right? 

Right. 

“Okay. Okay.” You placed your hands over his and he pulled you into a hug before the Peacekeepers yanked you to the tube. 

“Focus! Lasso! Lasso!” He reminded you before his voice got muffled. The peacekeepers ushered him out, leaving you scared and alone in the tube. 

Your breath fogged up the tube, you hadn’t realized how fast you were breathing. The dusty brown windbreaker didn’t help, it only pooled your sweat, making it uncomfortable. The boots were new, but at what cost? They’d only be a bother in the long run until you could break them in. If you even lived long enough to do so. You cursed the issued clothes you’d receive, whoever designed it decided rustic colors would do you good. You only hoped you could blend into the arena. 

Oh shit! The arena. You’d been preoccupied with dying that you didn’t even consider what the terrain was like. Judging by what they gave you it couldn't be water based. At least you hoped not. You’d be dead in an instant. 

Desert? 

Forest?

Snowy Tundra? 

Coliseum? 

The possibilities were endless. 

As the tube reeled you upwards toward the arena, your stomach fought to keep its contents inside. The sky looked blue, a gloomy blue. Bad sign. You were used to the sunny orange landscapes of 10. Your hands shook as they reached out to the glass tube, catching your footing as you began to look around. 

Green everywhere, trees taller than the mountains, birds flying over and other scared tributes. It reminded you of the time your school had a dance. It was middle school and everyone had just discovered puberty. Scared boys staring at petrified girls, no one dancing, peacekeepers at the edge bored and uninterested. But that was a dance. This was punishment for something you didn’t do. 

Heaving you turned around to face the center. The tubes slowly lowered as you searched the circle for Buckley. He was across from you, already having found you. He looked just as frantic. Aside from you was a girl from 10 and 5. The careers were honed in on the middle of the arena, bloodthirst in their faces. They hardly looked scared. 

A cannon began to sound, causing some of the tributes to jump. From your distance you could see some of the supplies. Mostly weapons, some food, gear, and more weapons. Ramsey had specifically warned the two of you multiple times to not head toward the middle. He said it was a death wish. 

Eventually a voice started counting down, and you practically threw up. Your hands came to cover your mouth. Surely your eyes were popping out of your face. Breathing in you tried to focus on the voice, scanning the area you made a plan. Run. You could always come back, milk your accent, get sponsors. You’d be fine as long as you made it out. 

It didn’t process in your mind yet that people had started running. It wasn’t until you saw Cato slit someone’s throat that you realized the games had started. Frozen in place you screamed, trying to move away. Tributes ran, some stayed to swipe weapons- a chance to survive. Somehow in the span of three seconds the careers had secured their base. It all happened so fast, your mind hurt trying to register everything. Even the screams of agony were flushed out. 

“(Y/n)!” Snapping out of your trance you stepped back, one foot over the other, turning to run away. Looking back you saw it was Buckley who called your name, or moreso scolded you for standing there like a dumbass. He had a pack in his hands, inches away from the blood bath. You managed to catch him leave, run off to the opposite side of the arena. 

A spear flung clumsily to you, missing you by a good 10 inches. Expecting to see Marvel, you were surprised it was some scrawny kid. Pleading for your feet to carry you further, you sprinted into the brush, the grass beneath you crushing, picking up mud as you ran away. You wouldn’t stop, not until you were sure you were safe, alone for miles. 

Five minutes in and already half of the kids you came in with were dead, Buckley was gone, and you had nothing. Needless to say the odds were looking grim.

____________________________________

Tags: @randomgurl2326

[benjinotes]

𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧) :x

• In my opinion, District 10 has adopted some Latin traditions, and I imagine Tanner was there, helping and guiding Lamina’s soul in this ritual. On Dia de los Muertos, people dance to celebrate their passage into the spirit world, honoring their journey after life in the world of the living. So his dance can be seen as a connection amid the transition beyond the world of the living.

• This situation can be seen as a defiant act against the Capitol, a far-right government in the Hunger Games, due to the nature of the traditions adopted and celebrated. Dia de los Muertos, deeply rooted in Mexican and Latin American culture, often incorporates elements that challenge conservative and authoritarian norms. In political contexts where the Capitol seeks to impose a dominant culture or suppress diverse cultural expressions, the celebration of Dia de los Muertos can be seen as an act of resistance and cultural affirmation. Where I live, dances and associated rituals not only strengthen community and cultural bonds but also assert cultural identity and autonomy against pressures to impose cultural homogeneity.

• The fact that Tanner helps and guides Lamina’s soul during this ritual can be seen as a symbolic challenge to policies or ideologies that devalue or attempt to erase unique cultural traditions. So, in this imagined context, celebrating Dia de los Muertos in District 10 could be seen as a resistance to cultural suppression and an affirmation of diversity against the conservative agendas of the Capitol.

• So, I believe he wasn’t celebrating Lamina’s death, but rather welcoming her soul. :)

— Ofc this is MY headcanon and it’s not a canon fact, but i just wanted to share. <3

— also shot out to @diiwata who heard me barking about this!!! 💘

[spiralling-thoughts]

A moodboared for tanner

[multifandomconfusion]

Tanner, sighing: Brandy, I know it isn’t like me, but if I die and you go home I want you to have all my possessions.

Brandy, sarcastically: I sure look forward to owning two shirts and a cowboy hat.

[fandomsfanatic1331]

[rafeinterlude]

✩.˚₊ John B Routledge : District 10 (The Moodboard) 🐄

-almost done with the first chapter !! tags : @haven247 @redhead1180 @rafecameroninterlude @lustnluv

[romerona]

The Worm

Surviving the game and losing yourself in the way.

"Don't go underestimating the power of a small force, it may be the only thing that can slip through the cracks."

ROSEMARY BLACK X OC!SNOWMALE.

ROSEMARY BLACK X PRIMROSE EVERDEEN.

"Rosemary Black, district 10, the youngest ever victor in the Hunger Games. Don't let her age fool you, she a force to be reckoned with, known for her cunning wit and speed she managed to-"

"I remember her… I found it hard to believe it then and still find it hard to believe it now."

"Well, then you know that with the right motivation, she's unstoppable."

Rosemary Black × OC!SnowMale? // Primrose Everdeen?

A/N: There would be a few inaccuracies but please, remember this is a fanfic. I'm unsure If I will match Rose with anyone yet but I'lI think about it as the story goes.

Masterlist.

Next

[CAPITOL OF PANEM]

"Okay, firstly, one of the most important things for survival in this place is popularity.” Allen said leaning against the one of the many luxury sofas on the main cart.

Taking a bite out of a bread, Eugene frowns “Meaning what?”

“Meaning that people from the capitol can be your ticket for survival if you are well-liked,” Allen told them, taking a sip of his juice from a pink-looking glass. “Being well known in the population of the capitol is having the upper hand in the games, for lack of better words.”

“And how do we do that?”

“You need to stand out to them and how do you do that you may ask, well, that's simple enough," Allen looks between them. "What these people want is a show, they want characters, so, my advice is for you to create one- It doesn’t matter what or how just make sure you leave a mark. Make them remember you.”

Rose purses his lips, looking down at the half-eaten piece of toasty bread. The concept of selling herself to the Capitol is deeply unsettling but it must be done, "Seems simple enough."

"Yeah..." Allen sighs, running a hand over his unruly dark curls, before looking down at his plate and stuffing his mouth with cake after cake.

Rose eyed him for a moment. By the way that he sighed and adverted his eyes, Rose knew Allen was clearly holding something back and while she usually wouldn't push people to speak, right now, in their current situation, it wasn't an option.

"What aren't you telling us?" She asks, eyes set on Allen.

Allen snaps his brown eyes to hers, the lack of reaction on his part was more telling than anything else. He sighs, swallowing the last of his food and leans back in his seat, "I won't lie. The fact that you are the youngest tribute might make things harder."

"In what way?" Eugene asks, concern clear in his voice.

"Not you," Allen said, he gestured at Rosemary, "Her. Kids your age hardly ever make it out of the bloodbath and if they do they only last a couple of days tops so people... they don't usually bet on them."

Rose processes Allen's words carefully, trying to make sense of what he is saying. She understands that being sponsored by citizens from the capital is crucial to her survival and knows that she has to battle the impossible odds that keep stacking against her so she has to keep going.

"I'll find a way to stand out," Rose said, trying to convince Allen and herself.

With a nod of agreement, Allen returns to his food as he continues, "I'll try my best to convince those shitheads to sponsor you but once again I need you to back me up with your actions, so-"

The sound of a door sliding open and the excited voice of Caine as the colourful man enters the cart cut Allen off. "Oh, kids, look out the window. We have arrived, isn't that exciting?"

Rose and Eugene snap their head to the nearest window. Sure enough, there it was, the Capitol of Panem. Rose stood up and walked to the window, the city sprawled out seemingly endlessly, every building shining brightly, it looked pristine and perfect, a sight she had never seen before.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Caine breathed out next to Rose and Eugene, who had joined her at the window.

Allen scoffs loudly, he murmurs something under his breath but it is ignored by the three of them. As the train gets closer to the prestigious-looking city Caine turns to look at them.

"Okay, my sweet children, once we arrive at the station, I want you two to give your biggest smiles at the cameras, okay?" Caine told them showing them with his own mouth exactly how they should smile too.

"We can do that, right?" Eugene nods, glancing at Rose.

Before Rose could say anything, however, Allen beat her to it as he stood up from the table and gave them a stern look "No, you 'can' just do that you two have to do that. Remember?"

"Right, of course," Eugene mumbles, looking away sheepishly and back to the window as the sound of cheers of glee and excitement gradually gets louder as the train arrives at the station.

Before the train even stopped, Caine quickly dragged them to the exit door. Rose, as best as she could, smooths her washed-down pink dress and ran her hand over her unruly mop to try to look as presentable as possible.

"Hey," Eugene whispers, making Rosemary turn to him.

Eugene smiled at her, it was an encouraging smile which made Rose feel slightly less anxious and to her surprise, he took her hand in his and whispered, "We'll do this together,"

"....Yeah, together," Rose said, letting out a breath as she looked at the closed door, where just behind the cheering was louder than ever.

Despite Eugene's comforting words, Rose felt her heart beating faster as she took in the atmosphere, she took a deep breath to calm herself and remembering that she had to make the most of every given opportunity, whether she liked it or not.

The door finally slides open, and the cheers and lights make Rose flinch, regardless of her original plan to smile and wave, all Rose could do at first was gawk at the people who have gathered to see them. It wasn't the quantity that startle her, it was the way they looked. All the people there had bizarre hair and painted faces, their clothes were just so... odd, and although Rose, after meeting Caine, shouldn’t have been so surprised to see the people of the city dress like that, she was stunned nonetheless.

Rose felt Allen nudge from behind, snapping her out of her thoughts. She quickly recovered, remembering where she was and what she had to do, Rose took a breath before she smiled at the people cheering for them, the cheers continued as Caine moved them to the vehicle waiting for them.

As they were making their way, Rose could feel the weight of the gazes and most importantly the cameras. It felt suffocating yet all she could do was smile and send small shy waves, still not confident enough about her act.

A squeeze on her hand made her turn to Eugene, they hadn't let go of each other's hands, a comforting fact. He sends her a quick smile before looking back at the masses of ornamented people.

Soon enough and much to her relief, they were on their way to the Remake Center, where, according to Caine, Eugene and Rose will be getting a refashioning for the opening ceremony to which Allen simply said 'Let them do as they wish,' it sounded very ominous to but Rose supposes that Allen, despite it all, knows better.

As Caine went on and on about the opening ceremony and their prep team and their stylist, someone named Pearl for her and for Eugene someone named Lennox, Rose turned to look out the window of the vehicle.

She was astounded by the view, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to take it all in. The Capitol was the complete opposite of the impoverished districts, Rose was overwhelmed by the sight of sprawling, luxurious buildings and the endless crowd of people gathered there. Everything was perfectly maintained, the buildings were tall and imposing giving off an air of wealth and power that could not be denied. The Capitol was a world of its own, and Rose felt completely out of place there.

After the ride, Rosemary and Eugene were ushered into one of those large buildings, where they were separated and led to individual rooms. In there, two people were waiting for her. One, who had presented himself as Leto, had long, colourful hair that was woven into a series of intricate braids, while the other sported brightly coloured drawings over much of their exposed skin, Pax. Both had unique and eye-catching features.

Before Rose could even mutter her name back to them, she was stripped butt naked, much to her discomfort and pushed into a long, cold table where Leto and Pax began to prepare her.

While the prep team was painfully polishing her from head to toe, all Rose could think was how much she hoped they would just leave her hair as it was. Having grown up in a house full of men, Rose learned to not care for her appearance often, it's not like she had any money to buy pretty dresses or pretty shoes like the daughter of the mayor uses if she so happens to want to put effort into her looks anyway. Even so, her hair was something Rosemary always liked about herself. Her untamed beast of a hair, as her grandfather liked to call it whenever he tried to brush it every other week. Her hair was not only what Rose thought to be her most distinguished aspect, but her brother once told her that she looked just like their mother when she wore it down. That is a detail she carries close to her heart.

Thankfully, all they did was wash it and comb it, though, Rose did hear Leto murmuring to himself as he was trying to untangle her hair that it would be easier if he just cut it off and put her in a wig instead. Good thing that didn't happen.

Time passed, and Pax and Leto had done their work leaving her alone In the room to wait for the stylist, Pearl. Rose wasn't aware of how long she was waiting or what she was expecting but when the door finally opened she couldn't help but be slightly stunned by who had entered the room.

"Hello, you are Rosemary, right?" Pearl stood barely four feet tall, and her delicate features and tiny frame made her look more like a doll than a person. A very pale doll, the woman's skin seemed to be lacking any colour, her short hair was painted white, and even her eyes were a pale blue colour.

"I..." Rose blinks as she stares for a moment. "Yes, that is me,"

"Lovely," Pearl smiles at her, showing her row of perfect white teeth, before she moves to grab a chair and slide it near Rose as she amicably continues talking, "You know, this is my first time as a stylist- I mean, I am a stylist, a legit one but this is my very first time styling by myself for the Games, can you believe it?"

"Your... first games?" Rose couldn't help but ask, slightly worried.

Pearl takes a seat in front of Rose, making the girl aware of the folder in her hands. Pearl smiles waving her small, yet delicate-looking hand dismissively, "Yes but don't worry, little lady, I've been chosen to be a stylist for a reason, okay?"

"Okay," Rose mumbles, biting her lips and watching as Pearl opens the folder on her lap as she continues to ramble.

"Besides, what other stylist can say they've worked with the Tigris, huh? No one, that's who. I was the only one she took under her wing and believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about, my hands and eyes have been blessed by her and I wouldn't dream of embarrassing her by making my first tribute look awful in their debut and- Oh, here it is." Pear stops her ramble when she finds what she is looking for.

Pearl took a page out of her folder and showed it to Rose with an excited smile. "I've noticed that cowboys and farmers are somewhat of a tradition when it comes to dressing the tributes from 10 and every year it's the same, it get tiring, don’t you think? Of course, you do but don’t be frighten now. Lenox and I will switch things a little."

Rose looked down at the design, it was nice, she supposed, definitely different but she thought it represented her district and the wildlife there perfectly….

"I like it," Rose concluded, looking back at the pale woman who seemed very pleased with herself.

"Perfect, now I shall bring back Pax and Leto so we can start with everything and-"

"Uh... I- can I..." Rose hesitantly cut Pearl off, causing the woman to turn to her with curiosity and expectation in her pale eyes. "Can I keep my hair?"

Pear frowns, tilting her head, glancing at her hair, "What do you mean, honey?"

"I mean... can I keep it as it is?" Rose asks tentatively, running a hand through her surprisingly soft and untangled loops, "I... I would appreciate it if we can keep it like this."

Pearl purses her lips as she regards Rose's hair, she moves her chair forward and takes a loop in between her fingers before letting go. The woman turns to Rosemary and sends her a comforting smile, "You have beautiful hair, little lady, I wouldn't dare to hide it away."

"Thank you," A feeling of relief washed over Rose only to quickly transform into nervousness as soon as Pearl jumped off the chair with a smile and a clap of her hands.

"Now, shall we?"

A/N: I decided to leave the design of the opening ceremony costume open to imagination.

[sidraofthewildflowers]

Wait cause like district 10 aesthetic… they’re ranchers and it’s hot there 🫣

Panem, District 10:

"No one has a right. You have to take a right. Or stop it from being taken from you."

"Every revolution begins with a spark".

.

.

For @fatherforgivethem 🫡🫡✨✨

[kald-dal-art]

Second compilation post of my latest victor art. These are a lot fun to draw and think out so appreciate all the feedback I have gotten for this series. We'll see if I end up making all 75 Victors or not ksdjhfa

Part 1 / Ko-Fi

[solstices-dreams]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐠 𝐝𝐫.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐫. ᝰ.ᐟ

i find writing helps me visualize better so i might be posting some stuff from my dr in this format !

It’s one of those early mornings, the type of season where you can still smell the cold of last night lingering in the sunrise. But it’s hot- not yet broiling but the sort of heat that creeps up on you if you’re out in the sun too long, the kind that warms dark clothes against your skin.

There’s the subtle sound of wheat brushing against each other, barely perceptible to someone who’s lived here for so long, but when you take a moment, to pause, breathe, you can hear bird song and trees and wind. The familiarity of it all is homey. Homey in an old faded t-shirt that still fits kind of way, rather than a warm fire after a walk in the snow.

Brittle grass prickles your bare feet, ditching work shoes for just your skin. It hasn’t rained in a few days, normal for the area, the grass responds by turning an ochre hue, protesting the lack of hydration in crispy stalks. 

Cattails and long grasses, interspersed with white flowers and blossoms trail along the edge of the rocks, a fence of sorts before the beach. The rocks that line the lakeshore are a sunbaked dusty color, molted with taupe and clay coloring. The dark colors no doubt would be warm underfoot, warm enough you wouldn’t want to be slow walking down them, lest you burn the underside of your feet and feel them prickle with heat.

The lake itself is calm and subdued, little rainfall has resulted in a lowered shore, more sand and pebbles stretch out before you before it meets the steady lap of lake against beach. Aquamarine and turquoise are bright across the surface of the water, deeper depths giving way to darker blues and greens. Sunlight ripples across the glassy surface of the lake, liquid white shimmering where the sun hits.

The whirring of cicadas is white noise to your ears as you step down the rocks, barely registering the sting of the hot smooth surface. The pebbles shift under your feet, unsteady almost before they cool, water soaking them moments earlier before the chill of the lake is teasing the tips of your toes. The kind of cold that makes you cramp up momentarily before it recedes, leaving you aching for more, a salvation from the heat of district 10.

It tickles at your ankles, receding and washing up, your skin shiny and slick from how far it’s reached, the wind blows the water to a brisk chill. Your skin is paler under the water, hazy like watercolor and not as defined by the ripples that shatter the image beneath you.

It’s peaceful… a quiet oasis away from expectations of family, of medicine bottles and bread needing to be kneaded, soup to be stirred… free of cameras… silence in a world of noise.

Just you.

[diiwata]

🌻!!

ask game!

thinking about the capitol and culture appropriation/gentrification through food. did they take sushi from district 4 and call it a "raw fish roll" or something like that? is gumbo from district 11 less seasoned to accommodate capitol taste palates? do capitol tourists visit district 10 to try "seneca crane bread rolls" and the vendors, who only know them as birria tacos, raise a brow and wonder what they're talking about?

much to wonder!

[leviathansshadycorner]

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 1

Summary: In which Cato falls for a tribute from 10.

____________________________________

Chapter 1 : The Reaping 

“And no matter what happens, just know that you’ll be alright. You’re going nowhere.” Amaranto, your older brother tries to sooth you. His man hands on your shoulder, making you look him in the eyes as he attempts to stop your sobbing. Teary eyed you just nodded your head. That was easy for him to say. He had reached the cut-off age only three months ago. 

“I swear it’ll be alright.” He pulls you into a hug, his tan arms squeezing you to the point where you let out a small laugh. 

“Alright…” You reply, wiping away your tears. 

“Come on, maybe work will distract you.” He says, picking up his tin foil container which held the rice and eggs you had packed him and yourself. 

It’s a little past 6 in the morning. The sun barely pushed the dark blue sky away to take its place. The reaping wouldn’t  take place for about another 7 hours or so. Giving people enough time to cry over their loved ones, or finish their final trades before more peacekeepers flooded the area. The two of you decide to go into work today, even though they give off reaping days to the younger workers. You nervously headed out, eyes fixated on the pale yellow of your house, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time you saw it. 

District 10, your home, never seemed more somber than on reaping day. The only other time you saw people’s moods this down was when the Capitol decided to take the horses away from the district as a punishment to those who tried to escape on them. Noises of chickens, cows, and pigs echoed throughout the empty space as you and Amaranto walked through the desolate farming sections. You had assumed the farmers were either at the markets trying to buy feed for their livestock, or out in the bar trying to get over the fact that their best farm hands could get taken from them. 

The smell of fresh manure filled your nostrils as you neared some of the dairy cows. You hesitantly stopped, trying to keep in line with your routine, your hand reached up and rubbed the snout of a large spotted cow. Its markings were peculiar, since they all looked like rounded shapes rather than blotches of ink. “What I’d do to trade places with you.” You told the cow. Dairy cows were prized in this district, they were the only cows that weren’t sent off to be packaged into meat. They were the ones who got to live a long peaceful life, while their counterparts were met with a bloody fate. 

“Come on (Y/n), the faster we get there, the faster we can eat lunch before the reaping.” Your brother said, already miles ahead of you. 

District 10 was divided in its work. There were jobs in the production of  dairy and eggs, the slaughterhouses, butchery , farming, breeding, and then there were the  people who actually raised the livestock. Before making leather was moved to district 8, it belonged to 10. The breeders and farmers were people with a little bit more money than the rest. The breeders being where the smartest of 10 would use their knowledge of science and splicing to breed superior meats to send off to the capitol. Most kids in 10 spend their first few years working as farm hands and helping around in the creameries. The older ones take jobs in the killing and cutting  of the meat. It was a shame that so much work went into something that its citizens couldn’t even have. The only good thing about 10 was that they got the capitol’s scraps. Small eggs the size of a cotton ball, cuts they deemed too disgusting to eat, cheese on the brink of its expiration, the list went on and on. 

Amaranto and you worked at the slaughterhouse. Ever since your dad broke his leg, you both had to quit your jobs at Farmer Alfie’s and trade in your coveralls for white rubbery aprons. The slaughterhouse always smelled metallic. The smell of iron was one that would stay with you for as long as you live. The ceilings held fans, but they only helped so much to drive the smell away. Metal decorated walls and tables greeted you as you walked in. Your job was to drain the poor animal of its life. Walking past the pen of the to-be-killed animals felt hypocritical of you. You related a bit too much to the poor bovine creatures. Afterall, just like them, you were born to die. 

“Dad’s in the building next to ours cutting up some lambs.” Amaranto said as he placed his lunch box in his locker. “And you know where to find me.” He finished, closing up the locker and turning to look at you. “If you feel like you can’t handle work today just go look for him or me ok?” He spoke, his kind voice reassuring you. Amaranto worked out with the men killing them. They were under the close eyes of peacekeepers, since their job was the only one requiring guns. 

“Alright…” Was all you could muster up.

“Damn (Y/n), you’re quiet today.” Clarabell, the girl who was sweet on your brother, spoke from behind you. She was your coworker, and quite literally your only friend. “My my, and why is it that you are wearing that gorgeous top to work?” She asked with a fake scolding voice. 

“She’s nervous about the reaping.” Amaranto told her as they both exchanged a flash of worry about you. 

“I thought I’d get dressed before coming in today, since I don’t think I’d get out in time to change.” You had gotten up early in the morning to go out of your way to put on your reaping clothes. It’s not like you anticipated the event, rather you felt that getting ready earlier would be better than struggling to change an hour before the reaping. 

“Oh come on (Y/n)-ie, you know nothing’s going to happen right? The chances of you getting picked are like the chances of your brother deciding I’m finally lady-like enough to marry.” The girl said, trying to throw some humor at you. 

“C-can we just work?” Came your reply, dry and hasty. You didn’t want to talk about the reaping anymore. You just wanted to distract yourself from your possible death sentence. 

Clarabell gave you a sympathetic hug, draping her dark red hair on your face as she nuzzled into your shoulder. “Sweet girl, you’ll be fine.” She said, then going to grab her apron. You followed, grabbing your own and shakily putting it on over your baby blue gingham dress shirt. 

“No- no, here.” Clarabell said as she  took off the shirt she was wearing. “You are not getting your pretty little self all bloodied before the reaping.” She said, tossing the shirt at you. 

“I can’t.” 

“Oh I think you will.” And like that her shirt was now on top of yours. It was stupid of you to wear your best shirt to work, now making people sacrifice theirs for you. Saying goodbye to your brother as he turned and left for work, you finally tied your apron on, and the two of you joined the others for work. 

Time passed and the sun arose. Its heat raining down on 10. The only perk about working here was that they were always blasting cold air into the building. The clock seemed like it was against you, time moving both quickly and at a skin crawling pace. Clarabell tried to distract you, but the deep feeling in your stomach only sunk further. Eventually you couldn’t handle it anymore, and went to go speak with your father. 

You hung up your apron. You hadn’t noticed how bloody your clothes had gotten until you took it off. “Damn.” You cursed looking over at the redhead. “I’m sorry Clara- I’ll wash it and bring it back to you I swear.” 

The older girl just laughed, “It’s alright, now go on- enjoy yourself, go frolic with the sheep, or kiss some boys-” She teased as she waved to you. 

You walked alongside the dirt path that connected the slaughterhouse and the butcher’s corners. Many of the men recognized you as your fathers daughter, greeting you as you sped through the halls and into the area where your father was sitting. Your heart stopped when you saw him, on his wheelchair working on slicing some skin off of a cut of meat. This was probably the last time you’d see him like this. 

You didn’t know why, but a feeling of impending doom told you that you’d be chosen as one of the kids to die in the arena. 

“Hey Papa.” You greeted. His dark head of hair shifted up to look at you. He smiled for a brief second, his serious expression returning. “What  are you doing here (N/n). Didn’t they give you the day off?” He asked, his voice deep and old. 

“They did, but Amar thought working today would distract me.” Your eyes shifted from the meat he was cutting to his face. 

“I see.” He spoke. 

“Just wanted to check up on you.” You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, failing to realize that you hadn’t washed the blood on your hands thoroughly enough and staining the light material. 

“Thank you dear.” You knew why your Father wasn’t saying much. In fact he was just like you, not speaking much because he was scared. He was scared to lose you like how he had lost your mother. 

“I love you Papa.” You said, reaching out to hug him. 

“Look, you’re going to be fine. If you get picked or not, you’re from 10. Remember that. The district of hard-ass cowboys alright? Now you’re a badass (Y/n), so don’t let fear get to ya.” He said, turning around to hug you tight. 

Tears fell down your cheeks at his words. Nodding your head you agreed with his words. You couldn’t let fear get to you. Everyone had been saying that your chances of getting picked were slim, so they must be right. 

… 

The cries of children and mothers alike took the place of the bleating animals. Peacekeepers were now circling the district, lining up people with their guns as they ushered them to the square. The commotion made for some of the animals to go loose, but no one cared about them anymore. All that mattered to the peacekeepers was getting everyone to go witness the death of two children from home. 

You were already in line waiting to get your finger pricked. You watched as some of the older kids looked more relaxed. Your heart sank when you met the eyes of a teary eyed 12 year old. She looked at you with a scrunched up red and puffy face. All you could offer her was a somber smile. 

“God I know how them cows must be feeling.” A blonde girl spoke to her friend behind you. Flashes of the meat cows came into your brian. You had watched Amar do his job a while back, shocked at how he was able to go through with it. 

All you remember is the cow’s poor innocent eyes as it awaited its fate. The gun was raised and aimed smack dab in the middle of its head. 

Boom 

You jumped at the feeling of a needle puncturing your skin. You went to lick it, once again failing to notice the blood on your hands. Of course. You had forgotten to wash this off after helping your dad out with a few of his work. Sighing with no other choice, you wiped your hands on the sides of your shirt. Making your way to stand with your age group, you looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone familiar. 

Met with Clarabell ’s green eyes you felt more relaxed, soon catching a view of Amaranto’s face. He looked stern, serious, almost like your father. In fact he was the exact clone of your Father when he was younger. Speaking of which you couldn’t find. Your Father must have been further back. A part of you was glad you couldn’t see him. You knew you’d burst out in tears if you did. 

“Welcome, Welcome!” A sultry voice came from the stage. Everyone turned their attention to the announcer. It was a tall asian man, wearing a tan outfit consisting of pants longer than his legs, and a dress shirt littered with feathers that made it seem as if his whole upper body was a chicken. Along with the outfit he wore a hen on top of his slicked dark indigo hair. Pradain Alcomore, District 10’s announcer. Nobody could stop staring. Had he dressed like this in honor or in ridicule of the district?

“Boy is it hot.” The announcer then said, wiping the sweat of his brow with a handkerchief. He placed it back in his pants pocket, returning to holding the microphone. 

“Welcome All to the annual reaping.” He said scanning the crowd for a reaction. “As you all know, a male and female tribute are to be selected to participate in the 74th hunger games.” He said with a toothy grin as he made jazz hands to the crowd. “Right then, roll the tape!” He commanded.  

As he ordered the tape you had all memorized begins to play, its music the only thing making sound aside from the sniffles of children. 

“Wonderful, that never gets old.” He giggles to the crowd as he gets their attention back. 

“Alright then, let's begin shall we.” He dipped his hands into the fish bowl, swirling it around a couple more times than was necessary. 

Being one of the poorer districts meant your name was in there more than you would’ve liked it to be. Amar scolded you when he found out what you did, but he figured since he managed to survive the reaping you would too. You only hoped he was right. 

You watched as people held hands in nervousness, awaiting to hear the first name drawn. There was a deadly silence. 

Pradain opened the slip, a smile on his face as he announced to the world the female tribute from district 10. 

“(Y/n) Cuernos.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream but not a drop of voice came out. The ringing in your ears began as people around you began to back away, allowing a path to be made in front of you. The path that would lead you to death. 

Clarabell’s soft sobs were what lured you back into reality.  She mouthed the words sorry as you passed by, turning around to see if your brother was crying too. When you did find him he was on his knees, a friend of his trying to console him. You could only imagine what your father was thinking. As you looked around you spotted him, his face as serious as ever. You knew if he made eye contact with you he’d burst out yelling, so you continued to walk the path up to the stage. 

“Come Come dear, time is ticking.” Pradair says as you step up. The cameras follow you, focused on your back as you walk. “My what a fashion choice.” He speaks as he notices the blotches of red staining your shirt. 

You can’t cry. You can’t. And as you feel your face get warm, look up at the gigantic screen displaying your fear filled eyes. Your hair is braided into two braids, it makes your face look gigantic. The baby blue gingham shirt stained with cows blood looks exhausted, making you look like filth in the eyes of the people watching, or so you assume. The overalls you thought to wear covered the cowboy boots on your feet. You never noticed how long the pant legs were. You hadn’t noticed how much you looked like your mother. 

“Onto the boy!” Pradain then says as he shuffles to the other end of the stage to pull out the male tribute’s name. 

“Buckley Wheaton!” He calls out and you watch a mother scream for her boy. He’s around your age, though muscular and older looking. No doubt he’d be the winner out of the two of you. He went to school with you, only speaking to you when asking for answers to questions. Other than that the two of you were total strangers. The brunette looked unfazed, but deep inside you knew he was as scared as you. 

“Let’s give them a hand!” Pradair says, and the people only place their hands to their hearts. 

[benjinotes]

for me, D10 is a rebel district, and i don’t accept other opinions about this.