#District 4

[ofseaglass]

just finished SOTR!! hey, so why did you do this to me, suzanne?

[triassictriserratops]

so i'm going to go ahead and cry for like 3 days now. thanks suzanne

[kald-dal-art]

Can finally post the work I did for @fandomsunited4hr that I did a while back :)

Awesome thing to be a part of and happy to see the results of this event

Anyway finally able to post this Odesta piece I did for it :))

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

I think that, as a literary device, Finnick’s story is one of the most effective ones I have ever read.

When you think of victims of sex-related crimes, you so rarely think of a man.

In our modern society, we more often imagine women to be victims of such crimes. Beautiful women who are battered and bruised, their eyes holding that faraway gleam of pain and trauma. Sex-related violence against women is such a common occurrence that it is difficult to find a woman who doesn’t have intimate knowledge about it. Perhaps not every woman has been raped but every woman knows at least one who has. As young girls, we’re told so many things to try and prevent rape. Don’t go out by yourself at night. Be careful of what you wear. Don’t drink alcohol. Fight them off. And yet, if you did everything right and still fail at protecting yourself, just give in. Better raped than dead. Come home to your family and friends hurt and bruised but alive.

And it is this message that Finnick, a man, lives by.

Better taken advantage of, bruised and hurt, than dead. Better you than your parents or your siblings or Mags or Annie. Do whatever it takes to stay alive.

And, the thing is, we didn’t have to hear this story from him. We could have heard it from Cashmere.

In his propo to the Capitol, Finnick reveals that attractive Victors are pimped out by President Snow to the residents of the Capitol. One such Victor is Cashmere.

Knowing this layer of her story makes Cashmere the picture perfect victim. A woman who is repeatedly described as beautiful. She is a typical description of what a rape victim is. Suzanne could have used her character instead of Finnick’s to portray an instance so familiar to so many women and yet, she didn’t.

She chose Finnick. And I think the reason why she did that is because hearing it from Cashmere would have made the story fall flat.

Would we have blinked an eye had it been Cashmere who revealed the horrors of being a Victor? Would we have felt anything other than a vague sense of sympathy? I don’t think so. Like so many women before her, Cashmere’s story is so familiar to us that it no longer leaves that bitter taste in our mouths. We, as a society, have been so deeply desensitized to this plight that we no longer feel the same indignation we used to feel. Instead we are resigned to our fate. Cashemere isn’t the first victim of rape and she won’t be the last.

Yet to hear it from Finnick had us shocked. Finnick? A man? Attractive, to be sure, but he is at the prime of his life and yet he is a victim? Finnick, who can wield a trident so effectively he became the youngest Victor in the 75 years the Hunger Games operated, was raped? Finnick, who has literally killed people with his bare hands, was prostituted? Finnick, who cracked jokes about killing people was whored out by President Snow?

It is absurd! It is a bizarre and strange! It has to be untrue!

And yet it’s not.

Finnick being representative of that particular storyline was effective at reminding us of what it means to be victimized like that. And using Finnick, a man, instead of Cashmere, a woman, reminded us of why we have to be rightfully angry and upset about such things instead of resigned to our fates.

Suzanne Collins is an absolute literary genius.

[faunshiii]

I can’t have killed them all for nothing.

[deadboydoodling]

looks like not everyone is impressed by the view...

[brucelinas]

Annie Cresta

[cece693]

It Should've Been Me (Peeta Mellark x Male! Reader)

I don't know why there isn't much male reader fanfics for the Hunger Games, but I aim to change that. Especially when there are interesting characters such as Finnick and Johanna, but I'm playing it safe and beginning with Peeta.

Summary: M/N Evergreen didn't feel like a victor, especially when it cost the life of his sister, Katniss. Forced to wear a smile and continue living life as 'normal', the only person who seems to recognize his brokeness is the boy with the bread, Peeta Mellark.

M/N Evergreen didn’t feel like a victor, not when winning cost the life of his sister, Katniss. It was supposed to be her. She was the one with the spark, the one who inspired others to believe in something more. But now she was gone, and all that was left was him—a hollow reminder of what should have been. He knew he should be grateful; the Capitol's train pulling into District 12 meant he got to come home. But what kind of home was it when the only person who ever made it feel that way was dead?

Effie Trinket’s voice was a distant hum, urging him to “put on a happy face, darling.” Smile for the cameras, for the sponsors, for the charade of a victory tour that awaited him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t move. Even if he forced the corners of his lips upward, the emptiness in his eyes would betray him. The train doors slid open, and all he could do was stare blankly as the frigid air of District 12 rushed in, filling his lungs with the sharp scent of coal dust. The lenses of dozens of cameras zoomed in, capturing the haunted look that had become a permanent fixture on his face.

He heard Effie clear her throat nervously as she stepped out ahead of him, trying to drum up some semblance of a greeting from the sullen crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, our victor, M/N Everdeen!” Her voice rang out with all the bubbly enthusiasm she could muster, but the words fell flat.

As the Capitol’s cameras continued to click and whir, M/N forced himself to walk through the motions of the victor’s return. He let Effie guide him onto the stage, his limbs moving mechanically, as though they belonged to someone else. He could hear the rehearsed speech forming on her lips, filled with empty praise and hollow encouragement. He heard his own voice, flat and monotone, echo her words when prompted, thanking the Capitol for its generosity and the people of District 12 for their support.

But the truth was, he didn’t feel like a victor, and he never would. He was just another casualty of the Hunger Games—only, he happened to still be breathing.

The days passed in a blur for M/N Everdeen, though he barely noticed the shift from one to the next. Returning to District 12 should have felt like a relief—home, where things were familiar. But the place seemed alien to him now, like he was wandering through a ghost town where all the buildings and people were merely pale shadows of what they once were. Even the Seam, which always bustled with life despite its poverty, felt quieter, as if the town itself was grieving. Maybe it was.

At home, his mother had returned to the land of the living, as much as she could. She moved around the house with a new purpose, cooking and cleaning with a mechanical precision that betrayed the emptiness in her eyes. M/N knew it wasn’t for him; it was for Prim. Their mother clung to her youngest, constantly checking on her and making sure she ate, slept, and stayed warm. M/N could see her fighting against the hollowness, desperately trying to appear whole for Prim’s sake. For him, too, though he wasn’t sure why she bothered.

M/N hadn’t eaten since he stepped off the train. Every meal placed in front of him felt like an insult to Katniss’s memory—he shouldn’t get to eat, shouldn’t get to live while she was gone. His mother and Prim had seemed to silently agree on a pact not to let him waste away, though. If he refused breakfast, his mother would leave it on the table for him to find later. If he tried to hide in his room during dinner, Prim would seek him out, dragging him to the kitchen. They were relentless in their quiet determination to keep him alive.

Today, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to get out, to escape the house where Katniss’s absence hung like a shroud over everything. He slipped out the back door and walked toward the edge of the district, to the fence that separated District 12 from the woods. It was supposed to be electrified, but the power rarely ran this far out, and he easily found a gap to slip through. The forest beckoned to him, promising solitude and silence—two things he desperately craved. For a few moments, he felt the faintest hint of peace as he wandered deeper into the trees, letting the thick canopy above dim the harsh sunlight.

But he wasn’t alone for long.

“M/N.” a voice called softly from behind him.

He froze, recognizing the voice before he even turned around. Peeta Mellark was standing there, a few paces back, watching him with that same quiet intensity he’d had since the day M/N returned. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t wearing that charming expression he often showed in public. Instead, his face was open, unguarded, as though he’d stripped away all pretense.

“What are you doing here?” M/N asked, his voice raw from disuse.

Peeta stepped closer, careful not to startle him, as if M/N were a wounded animal. “I saw you come out here,” he replied. “I was worried.”

M/N let out a bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t be,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the forest. “If I don’t come back, I’m sure everyone would understand.”

“Don’t say that,” Peeta said sharply, the sudden firmness in his voice cutting through the quiet. “You don’t get to give up. Not after everything…”

“Everything?” M/N scoffed, spinning to face him. “What did I survive for, Peeta? There’s no victory here. I’m alive, but she’s gone. And now I have to pretend like any of this is okay?”

“You survived because Katniss wanted you to,” Peeta said, stepping closer again. “She fought for you—”

“I don’t need a lecture about my own sister,” M/N interrupted, his voice rising. “You don’t know what it was like! You weren’t there! I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that. All I could do was… was watch as she—” His voice broke, the words dissolving into a choked sob.

He turned away from Peeta, trembling as his chest tightened painfully. He had spent every waking moment since returning home forcing himself not to break, swallowing back his grief until it clawed at his throat, but now it surged forward like a flood. He didn’t know how to stop it.

“It's not your fault,” Peeta’s voice was gentle, and when M/N felt a hand on his shoulder, he flinched but didn’t pull away. “You did everything you could.”

M/N shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered. “It’ll never be enough. She’s gone because of me.”

Peeta’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. M/N’s legs buckled, and he collapsed into Peeta’s embrace, his sobs breaking free in jagged gasps. Peeta held him tightly, steadying him as he sank to the forest floor. He murmured soothing words, though M/N couldn’t make out the exact phrases—only that there was a calm, reassuring rhythm in the sound of Peeta’s voice.

For a long while, M/N cried in Peeta’s arms, clutching at his shirt as if afraid to let go. It wasn’t fair, not to Peeta, not to anyone, to have to bear the weight of his grief like this. But Peeta stayed, anchoring him through the storm of emotion until, at last, M/N’s sobs quieted, leaving him drained and hollow.

When he finally pulled back, Peeta’s shirt was soaked with tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked down at M/N with an expression so full of understanding it hurt. “You’re not alone, you know,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

M/N shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

Peeta’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “One step at a time. That’s all you need to do for now.” The words weren’t a solution, but they were something—a fragile thread of hope in a world that felt impossibly dark. And for the first time since returning to District 12, M/N didn’t feel completely lost. He still didn’t know how to live without Katniss, but with Peeta’s arm around his shoulders, guiding him back toward the fence, he thought maybe, just maybe, he could figure it out. One step at a time.

[kometqh]

𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (fem reader) 𝟓𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐩𝐭.𝟐 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝-𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭-𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ,𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫?

Tugging at my hair, the wind brushed past me in a hurry. It came from far away, seemingly always looking for something, never being able to find it. Paired with the wind, a steady but small wave washed up against the shoreline, the thinnest part of the wave just barely scraping my feet.

I looked up at the sky. It was partly clouded, but beautiful nethertheless. The sun was just barely breaking through the horizon, casting gentle light across the beach. It mixed with the blue sky and formed a rose-pink colour across the clouds, the shore and the sea. Was it always so beautiful here? 

I shook my head, casting my gaze to the side, my eyes landing on a lone boulder which sat in the water. The exterior was decorated by lavish long seaweed and a cluster of barnacles. It sat proudly in the water, the waves crashing against it every so often, sprays of water flying into the air. It was a pretty sight. Almost pretty enough to distract me from the anxiety tugging at my heart.

A sliver of water touched my feet, before being dragged back to the sea.

Today is my last year of reaping. Today is the day that decides whether I'll be free for the rest of my life, or whether I will die fighting for my life in a gruesome bloodbath.

Though in this context, freedom isn't exactly what one might think it is. Nobody is ever truly free in Panem.

Someone like me would not survive in any of the arenas we've seen so far. I can barely handle killing a fish, let alone an entire human being, a child. I can feel a shiver travel down my spine, and I shake my head, casting those thoughts aside. Nothing will happen, I think to myself, and continue to look at the splashing waves, hypnotised by the rhythmic back-and-forth movement, accompanied by occasional licks of water against the tips of my feet, which have found respite in the sand.

With a sigh, I lean back on my elbows. Squinting slightly, I observe the clouds. None have any particular shape to them, but it feels comforting to stare at them as they move. Would I get to see them in an arena? I don't think so.

Time passed by rather quickly. When you lay on a beach with no form of watch or clock, a minute can quickly become an hour. And before I knew it, I began to notice some small boats setting out into the sea, as the sun slowly climbed up higher into the sky. It must be what...7am? Maybe 8. That's usually when people wake up to go fishing, since the waters are calmer in the morning.

With a sigh, I begin to think of the day ahead. It is mandatory to attend the reaping. If one doesn't, they'll be dragged out of their homes, whipped in the town square, and then forced to watch. I sigh heavily, fingers digging into the sand beneath me, and with a light shake of my head, I reluctantly heave myself up and off the sand, heading towards the treeline.

Nobody really ventures into the wooden forest, in fear of the peacekeepers that guard the borders of District 4. Although I learned very quickly that they're further out than one might think, many citizens of District 4 have no interest in venturing out, believing that there isn't much out there to be seen in the first place.

But not me.

When I was much younger, I'd often run into the forest to go exploring. There aren't many dangerous animals in there, so nobody would worry unless I haven't returned by the evening.

On one of those adventures, I had discovered a bunch of rock pools. Now that may not sound fantastic, but it was. I saw big animals, at the time I wasn't sure what they were, but now I do - they were seals. All bearing different kinds of fluffy coats of fur, ranging from pure white, to a spotty grey, brown and black. 

After that day, I'd always return at least once a week to observe them from afar. I don't know much about them, and I'd prefer to minimise the risk of being mauled by an animal. But each year, I'd see small seal pups, sunbathing around the rock pools, chasing each other over the expanse of the beach, or cuddling up to their mothers.

Other times, when the seals weren't there, I'd venture further out, playing around the rock pools, observing the little creatures stuck in them. Sometimes there'd be small crabs hiding in crevices, other times there'd be small fish swimming endlessly in circles. 

I'd sit there each day, staring at and observing the different animals, until I'd look up and realise I've overstayed my welcome. On one particular day, I walked around the beach for so long, mesmerised by the waves, gazing at the stars in the sky, that I hadn't noticed it was dark. Upon realising it I had hurried back home, still in a daze, but it was already pitch black by the time I returned, and I had gotten the biggest scolding from my mother, asking where I've been. She was quick to ground me, and I wasn't allowed out of other people's sight for almost two weeks.

Annie Cresta, my best friend, had repetitively asked where I went that day, but I never uttered a word of it to her, only insisting that I had been diving too far from the shore. I've been friends with her for years now, practically since we were in diapers.

A long time ago, we'd go out swimming together in the kelp forests near our homes, they were far away from the main area of fishing, but close enough for adults to not worry. We'd often see sea otters swimming around the kelp, but they stayed far from us. Me and Annie would often follow the otters, as they knew where to get Abalone from. But after each return home, we'd be scolded by our mothers, who insisted we had to stop if we didn't want to get into trouble.

I guess finding abalone and bringing it home without the permission of the authorities counts as poaching.

We'd sometimes share some with other families of trusted friends, but mostly Finnick Odair's family, who were just as close to us.

Anyway, I'm not willing to disclose information about the beach, or the animals, to anybody. Not even my long-time crush, Finnick, the boy with sea-green eyes. I've had a crush on him for years now, but his eyes were always on Annie. I can see why, their personalities match so well, Finnick's confidence and caring nature complements Annie's shy and anxious one. I'm just the third wheel whenever all three of us are together, but I guess I don't mind.

I'll find the right one eventually, I hope.

Too deep in my thoughts, I had failed to realise that there was a low lying tree branch ahead of me. And looking up too late, I walked face first into it. The pain struck me all at once, and I swear I heard a tiny 'crunch'.

"Ah! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!" I shouted, hissing in pain. "Stupid branch! Why is it even there?!" I shouted at no one in particular, holding onto my nose tightly. I slowly let go, feeling the burning pain flare up on my skin like a smouldering flame, and then I felt it. The steady flow of blood. It was everywhere. My face, lips, my hands, even my clothes. Who knew a human nose could bleed so much? I looked over myself, crying out at the state of my shirt.

I have to get home, I thought. With quick, long strides, I soon found myself walking through the front door of my house, being greeted by my mother standing in the kitchen, preparing our clothes for the reaping. "I'm home." I said loudly, my tone laced with annoyance, I stepped in and shut the door behind me, walking into the kitchen, still holding tightly onto my nose.

My mother turned her head to greet me with a smile, but that smile quickly disappeared at the sight of me.

Her face paled and her eyes widened in shock, mouth falling agape as a worried yelp left her lips. "What happened to you dear?!" She screamed, dropping everything mid sentence as she made her way over to me.

I rolled my eyes, sighing loudly. "I walked into a tree branch." I muttered under my breath, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

My mother laughed at me, all of the initial worry dissipating from her body. "Really?" She asked in disbelief, howling in laughter, holding her stomach. After two minutes of her laughing, she finally calmed down enough to take a look at my injury, deciding that some cold, wet rag will be enough to soothe both the swelling and the pain. "Annie will be laughing just as much as you, I bet," I said as I walked over to the tap, turning it on, "'Y/n you're so clumsy!'" I mocked her voice, groaning in anticipation of that knock on the front door, awaiting my closest friend to come and retrieve me. I began to wipe the blood off my face and hands with some water, using a towel to dry off after.

Early this year me and Annie had decided to go to our last reaping together. We had both turned 18, and so it would be the last year that our names would be put into that glass bowl. We were ecstatic over it, but at the same time terrified. This was the last year, but what if one of our names gets pulled out? We're both anticipating it, and praying at the same time that it won't happen. It would be devastating, and I don't believe that either of us are prepared to face 23 other tributes in the arena, let alone kill any of them.

But putting those thoughts aside, I decided to focus on the present. I had managed to drown out my mother's voice, but when I tuned in, I realised she was talking about the dress I'll be wearing. It was a sundress, in the faintest colour of royal blue possible, with a frilled, off-white hem. "I wore it years ago, at my very last reaping too," My mother spoke, her hands lovingly gliding over the faded fabric, "I was told that all the boys looked at me that day." She laughed at the memory, now gently holding the dress by the straps, pressing it against my body. "Hold it, dear."

My hands gently held the dress, and I looked down at myself, my eyes widening in shock as I looked over the intricate designs scattered across the expanse of the dress - sunflowers graced the fabric, painted in the faded blue, overlapping each other.

"Go, try it on dear." My mother said, ushering me to my room, "I'll do your hair after, okay?" She said, and shut the door on me before any words could form at the tip of my tongue.

I shook my head with a small smile, setting the fabric down onto my bed. I turned away, beginning to strip out of my blood-tattered t-shirt, discarding it to a dark corner of my room, my shorts and socks following in tow. I walked a few steps over to a large cracked mirror. It leaned proudly against the wall, reflecting the bright sunrays that made their way into my room.

How many hours has it been?

I looked myself over, turning from one side to another, observing. If my name was to be called out...Would I even have a chance in the arena? Most of the kids that are chosen are frail and skinny, others are fit and healthy, and others are strong and tall. Which category did I belong to? With a loud sigh, I moved away from the mirror and back to my bed, where the beautiful dress laid. I looked over it, staring intensely. The sound of birds chirping in the distance, the gentle breeze coming in through my window, and the smell of the sea all invaded my senses at once. I love this place - no matter how difficult life may be. I'll always have some form of a safe place in District 4. If only the circumstances were different, maybe I'd be able to-

"What are you doing?" A voice asked, ripping me out of my thoughts. I slowly looked over to the person, my eyes going first as my head followed suit. It wasn't Annie, nor was it my mother or sister.

"Finnick?! Look away!" I shouted, grabbing the dress, covering myself up. Maybe I did have a crush on him, but that didn't mean I would happily expose myself. "It's not like you've got something I haven't seen already!" Finnick laughed, a wide amused grin gracing his lips, exposing his pearly white teeth. Though in my embarrassment, I failed to hear the dark undertone in his voice. "I don't care! You don't just invade in on my privacy like this!" I said, chucking one of my pillows at him. "Alright, alright! I'll cover my eyes! Is that good enough?" He asked, a tint of amusement still lacing his voice, but the genuineness was unmistakeable.

"Fine. What did you want anyway?" I asked, slipping the dress on as my eyes focused on him like a hawk, making sure his eyes were covered.

"Just came to say good luck, since y'know, it's your last year of reaping." He said, smiling at me as his hands covered his eyes. I smiled with a huff, and smoothened the dress out over myself. The end of it just about reached my knees, but the material was stretchy enough if I needed it to be. I walked over to my mirror, stunned at how it complimented my skin tone, and looked over myself, turning from side to side, completely forgetting that Finnick was even there for a moment. 

"Can I look now?" He asked, his voice so smooth and gentle it made my heart flutter. "Yes, go for it." I said, walking over to him. 

"How do I look?" I asked, giving him a small twirl. The end of the dress seemed to flow in the air like a jellyfish, the beautiful blue turning almost into a gentle wave, rising slightly before it dropped as I came to a stop.

I looked up to Finnick, searching for a reply, but there wasn't any. He simply stood there, silently watching, but his eyes were slightly widened. I cleared my throat, snapping my fingers near his face. "You look great, I'm sure any guy you want will chase after you after seeing this." He said, almost breathless but still confident, a smirk gracing his lips as he looked me up and down through hooded eyes.

I laughed, shaking my head in denial. "No, I don't think so," I said, leaning against the window frame, staring into those pretty eyes of his. I looked him over, noticing that he was wearing a dark blue tank top, along with some form of tight-fit joggers. His hair glistened in the sun, his skin tan from the rays. His hand slowly reached out to me, and his rough fingers gently latched onto the straps of my sundress, toying with the material. 

His touch against my skin seemed to set it on fire. My heart began thudding aggressively against my chest, and I had to focus on breathing normally, fighting the rising heat in my cheeks.

Does he always have to be so touchy? If he comes any closer he'll be able to hear how fast my heart is beating. 

 "Anyway, have you seen Annie?" I asked, quickly diverting his attention, and his gaze. At that he shook his head, looking up from my shoulders to my eyes. "I was gonna see her after you." He said, biting his bottom lip in thought. 

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, you know how she gets." I finished quietly as a pang of hurt tugged at my heart. Was I jealous?

"Yeah, but it can't be that bad. What are the odds?" He asked, his fingers lightly tugging at the material of my dress, observing how the fabric bounced back to my skin. His eyes concentrated on the material again, his eyebrows furrowing in worry as he remained silent, still chewing on that lip. I observed him, looking over his hair, it looked so fluffy. His forehead glistened, some sweat having built up, his green eyes stuck in a trance. His fingers felt soft against my skin, and his breath lightly fanned over my neck.

I took a deep breath, focusing on how my chest rose up as air filled it, giving myself a spare moment to realise my thoughts. My hands came to hold his own, gently rubbing the sun-kissed skin.

"It'll be okay, if anything happens...I'll be there." I said, giving his hands a soft squeeze, reassuring him softly, "You better get going. She'll think you won't show up." I stroked his cheek affectionately, smiling down at him. I could tell that Annie was at the forefront of his mind, after all, he did have feelings for her, even if he hadn't admitted it. To anyone. But, as a person who believes herself to be in love, I can recognise another person that's in love. Or so I think. "Go Finnick." I said, pushing him away with the tip of my finger against his forehead.

He sent me a quick but charming smile, nodding softly, saying his goodbye's before jogging off in the opposite direction of my house. I began to feel a sadness tug at my chest, and even though I knew I shouldn't feel like this, I couldn't help it. 

That sadness stayed with me for a while, it stayed as my mother tied small strands of hair together so that it resembled a net, it remained as she talked about the dress my sister would wear, it remained whilst my sister gaped at how pretty I looked, picking at her nails in nervousness, it remained until the moment that Annie's gentle fist knocked at my front door.

My mother quickly opened it, greeting her sweetly. A small 'Where's Y/n?' could be heard, and I peeked my head out, ready to go and face our last reaping.

"Y/n? You look...Amazing!" Annie exclaimed, a bright smile on her face as she trotted up to me, extending her arms for a hug. "So do you Annie, so do you." I said happily, careful not to ruin her hair. It was tied up into a thick ponytail, with a couple of braids running through it, and two strands of hair framing her face prettily. My own hair was let down, however the top pieces were tied together into an intricate net pattern. My mother had outdone herself, genuinely.

Annie's hugs were a different kind of love - warm and gentle, but they conveyed everything that her words failed to. I could tell by the way her hands trembled around me that she was anxious. Annie wasn't a fighter or a hunter, and anyone that had been around her could tell.

Someone began running to the front door, stepping loudly onto the floor. I looked behind me and saw Hali making her way towards me, her arms outstretched. "Are you going now?" She asked, her voice quiet. I wrapped my arms around her in a hug, placing a small peck on the top of her head. "Yes, we want to be there early to avoid the crowds." I said, patting her head with one hand. Hali looked up at me with her big doe eyes, her bottom lip quivering.

"I'll see you there, right?" She asked, and I could hear the fear in her voice. I nodded softly, smiling at her. "Yes, you'll see me and Annie standing with the other oldest girls, alright? I'll wave at you too." I reassured her, not letting go until she was ready. She nodded her head quickly, shaking like a leaf.

"It'll be okay. They won't choose me." As I said it, Hali unlatched her arms, stepping a bit away. "Alright, I really hope not. But what if they do?" She asked, twiddling with her hair. 

"If they choose me, then I'll need you to support me from home okay?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her. "I'll need you to take care of mum, and take care of yourself until I return. Is that okay?" I asked, looking at her with a small smile. She nodded her head, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug. She didn't want to let go, and Annie had to step in and ask 'Are you ready to go' before Hali unwillingly detached herself from me. With a quiet 'yes', I gave Hali one last hug and a reassuring squeeze of her hand, making my way backwards to the door.

"You'll see me for dinner, okay?" I asked, and she nodded her head, wiping away a few tears. "I love you." She said through her tears.

"I love you too, now go get ready." I said, giving her one last hug before walking out of the house, bidding my goodbyes to both my mum and Hali. "Take care of yourself dear. We'll see you there." My mother said, waving to me as she placed one hand on Hali's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You'll see me there, mum. I love you." I said, my mother whispered an 'I love you' back, shutting the door gently. With a heavy sigh, I turned to Annie, linking my arm with hers.

 Annie looked at me worriedly, chewing on her bottom lip - a nervous habit she had picked up over the years. "Do you think we'll be okay?" She asked quietly, looking at me, concerned. I nodded my head, forcing a smile onto my lips, even though I could feel the sick tumbling around in my stomach. 

Suddenly, the air began to feel a bit too warm, and I could feel sweat beginning to cling uncomfortably to my skin. "We'll be okay Annie," I reassured her, giving her a side hug, "You've got me." I said quietly, nudging her to keep moving forward.

The town square wasn't so far away that we had to hurry, yet we made it there in record time. The queues weren't massive, and so we got through to the courtyard rather quickly, holding onto our throbbing fingers. It wasn't long until everyone else had slowly started filing into the courtyard, every person of every age group was there. I looked around, noticing how quickly the yard had filled with people. My eyes then looked at the entrance, trying to see my sister and mother. Soon enough they entered the courtyard, hand by hand heading to the side-lines, where other adults and young children would file and stand. 

Hali's big, wide eyes scanned the area, and she looked like a lost rabbit, all alert and ready to run. She was looking for me, and soon our eyes connected and I sent her a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up.

I then looked forward, staring ahead at the temporary golden podium. There were four chairs situated just behind the single podium and two glass balls on each side of it. One chair is for our Mayor, one for the announcer, and two for the two Victors from District 4; Finnick, and an elderly woman named Mags. Everyone is seated in the appropriate seats. 

Once the crowd begins to come to a stall, the Mayor takes it as his sign to walk up to the microphone, looking up at the big clock above him, clearing his throat.

It struck 12. 

He begins by greeting the citizens, and then proceeds to tell the history of Panem, as he does every year. He talks about the natural disasters, the uprisings, the destruction of District 13 - all of this is old news. After overcoming the Dark Days, laws were created, and alongside them so were the Hunger Games. I manage to tune out his voice, and instead focus on those behind him.

The announcer, who every year comes from the Capitol, gets the opportunity to personally pick out which children will be sent to their deaths in a bloodbath. 

Her hair was styled into some sort of glamorous, 3 story high bun, with a few loose strands framing her oddly sharp face. It was dyed an unnatural golden colour, and had sparkling silver beads embedded into it, two particularly large ones placed just at the tip of her hair strands, sitting comfortably on the frilly material of her sparkling, turquoise two piece - a skirt and a corset, her feather-like, white skin covered by the material of a matching jacket. She really outdid herself.

Seated on her left were Finnick and Mags, both looking over the crowds, both wearing unreadable expressions as the Mayor continues to talk. 

For a second, I believe that Finnick has noticed me, it looked as though he was looking directly into my eyes. His sea-green eyes peeking into my very soul. My heart fluttered, and the butterflies started circling around in my stomach. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I took a deep breath, but then I'm harshly hit with reality, and remember that Annie was right next to me, probably looking at him too.

He looks away as the Mayor begins to name the winners of District 4, and stands up along with Mags to wave at the crowds, being greeted with the appropriate level of applause. Curt and short, but it didn't matter. Next, the Mayor announces the Capitol representative, Sylvia Borgnino, and she stands up, waving excitedly at us, making tiny steps towards the microphone, her cheery voice echoing around us in seconds. 

"Happy Hunger Games everyone! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" She shouts excitedly, almost hopping on her toes. 

I guess there is at least one person here that's happy about the games. 

She thanks the Mayor for his kindness and welcoming, and then quickly turns back to us, the audience, her voice changing to a more serious tone.

"And now," She pauses, leaning over the podium and looking over at everyone, "We shall draw the names of the Tributes." She states, slowly walking over to the glass bowl full of girls' names, the sound of her heels clacking, beating at my eardrums.

"Ladies first."

I look over to Finnick, and then Annie, and then Hali. Hali is already looking at me, and so is my mum. I reach my hand out to hold Annie's, squeezing tightly as I feel how clammy her hand is, my chest tightening as I breathed. I swallow an imaginary lump, feeling how my throat constricts uncomfortably.

The sun was beating down on us, its' rays glazing over my skin, bubbling up sticky sweat. Were did the clouds go?

Wearily, I glance up at the large clock towering over us, its' heavy ticking weighing down on my shoulders.

Sylvia Borgnino's gloved hand shoots up into the air dramatically, and the crowd collectively goes silent. No one dares to even breathe as she animatedly rummages through the name cards for a solid 10 seconds.

It better not be me. I swear if it's me I will riot, I think to myself. The nerves tickle at the inner lining of my stomach, and for a moment I believe that I might throw up.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my forehead

Tick, tock.

Was the sun always so hot?

Tick, tock.

I swallow heavily.

Her hand grasps onto something, and she dramatically withdraws it, menacingly crossing over to the podium.

"And the female tribute from District 4 is.."

Please not me. Not me. My breathing quickens as she draws on her silence, smiling devilishly down at the crowd. My hair was sticking to my neck, creating an unpleasant sensation. 

I swallow dryly, my mouth feeling as though I had been deprived of water.

As the words leave her mouth, I can feel my heart drop.

"Annie Cresta."

Time seems to stop. I can no longer feel Annie's hand in my grasp, her fingers having slowly slipped out. I turn my head, feeling my chest heaving up and down, tears pricking at my eyes. My hands fly up to my mouth in shock, intense tremors travelling from my shoulders up to my fingertips.

Annie falls to her knees with a thud, hiding her face in her hands as she cries out hysterically, her mane-like hair looking like a flame. I follow suit, embracing her in my arms, whispering quiet 'It's okay's', holding her head on my shoulder. The other girls slowly step away, creating a circle around us.

What do I do? Do I let her go? That girl won't last a minute in there!

Two peacekeepers rip through the crowds aggressively, roughly pushing anyone out of their way, before coming to a stop in front of us, heaving Annie up by her arms, ushering her towards the stage. Her face is covered in sweat and tears, her fiery hair sticking uncomfortably to her face, her mouth wide open as she wails.

"Please! No! I can't go in there!" She screams, digging her heels into the ground, protesting, thrashing her arms around. She looks as though she suddenly became haunted, a sort of violent air surrounding her. 

With small footsteps, I attempt to follow after her, but more peacekeepers arrive to stop me, creating a blockade of bodies. I look towards my mother and sister, eyes wide, and see their shocked faces. My mother is shaking her head in a 'no', but it's too late. Hali looks at me wide-eyed, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she senses what I'm about to do. 

I look to Finnick, noticing that he had stood up from his chair, his fists clamped shut, once tan skin now having turned a strained white colour. His eyes are stuck to Annie, and never dare to leave her once.

Before Sylvia Borgnino can utter a single word, I raise my hand, pushing through the peacekeepers. All heads turn to me. The guards stop pushing Annie, and she looks to me, her thrashing easing a bit.

The words leave my lips before I can even process them myself. 

With a dry mouth, clammy hands and a wildly beating heart, I shout, "I volunteer!"

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Tides of Venom (2) | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: Training starts. Maybe Finnick does need another ally?

The training facility was a sprawling, high-tech labyrinth of steel and glass, with vast open spaces where tributes sparred and tested their skills. The floors gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a constant reminder that this place wasn’t about comfort—it was about efficiency, precision, and preparing for a spectacle that would be broadcast to every corner of Panem. High, padded walls lined the perimeter, blocking the view from the outside but still allowing the eyes of the Capitol to capture every move through strategically placed cameras.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, metal, and anticipation. Every corner of the facility was filled with tributes preparing for the Games in their own ways—some working with weapons, others practicing hand-to-hand combat, while a few observed, sizing up their opponents or training partners. Most of the time, though, it seemed that most people's eyes were on you.

In one corner of the room, you and Reid squared off. The place was buzzing with the usual sounds of sparring—grunts, the thud of fists against pads, the clash of metal against metal—but there was an added tension today. It was the third Quarter Quell, and the stakes had never been higher. The Capitol had gathered the best of the best, and now, you were all being tested in ways that hadn’t been done before. Every move mattered, every second on display. You knew that they were watching you, trying to see if you still lived up to the hype. Trying to see if there was a chance they could pick you off first, creating as easy game for them if you were gone in the first day.

You were going to show them that they were wrong.

Reid wasn’t a bad fighter, but he didn’t have the same instincts you did. The way you anticipated his every movement, the way your body flowed with fluidity, it was unmatched. You moved with precision, your eyes always calculating, always ready for the next strike. You knew exactly what he was doing, like you were reading his mind. In reality, you were reading his body language. And you knew what most thought when they looked at you. You were small -- you'd be easy to take down. The moves were predictable.

You dodged his first punch with ease, stepping back and waiting for the inevitable follow-up—a sweep of his leg. You sidestepped that too, your body moving with a kind of deadly grace. Reid had the will to fight, but you had something else—years of training, of learning to fight with every ounce of your being.

You closed the distance with a speed that took Reid by surprise, landing a well-placed jab to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled back, his face scrunching in frustration.

"Come on, Reid," you prompted, voice cold. "You’re not going to make it through the Quell with moves like that."

He exhaled sharply and tried to recover, throwing another wild punch. This time, you caught his wrist, twisting it behind his back and forcing him to the ground. You didn’t just win. You dominated.

"You’ve got to do better than that," you said with a glimmer of frustration in your eyes. “The arena won’t give you second chances.”

As you helped him up, Reid gave you a look that was part admiration, part begrudging defeat. "I swear, you're terrifying."

“You’re not the first person to say that.” You responded without missing a beat. The training room echoed with the sounds of other tributes’ sparring, but your focus was locked in. There was no time to dwell on this. "Now focus."

Reid narrowed his eyes, lunging for you again. You sidestepped him, rolling your eyes as he bounded across the mat, missing you completely.

"Reid, are you--"

Before you could say anything more, a voice cut through the space, sharp and commanding.

“Mind if I join in?”

You never had to turn to know who it was. Finnick. The way his voice carried through the facility—smooth, confident, unmistakable—was enough to send a ripple of recognition through the room. You didn’t bother to acknowledge him right away, instead narrowing your gaze as you focused on Reid, who was stepping back onto the mat.

Finnick’s golden hair shimmered under the lights as he approached, his blue training uniform contrasting with the hard steel of the room. The trident strapped to his back gleamed faintly, and his emerald eyes were trained on you, their sharpness matched only by the dimpled smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You finally glanced at him, your cold e/c eyes analyzing him. You understood why the Capitol fell for him so quickly. He truly was beautiful. Quickly, you put that thought to the back of your head, cursing yourself.

“Your partner here doesn’t seem to be much of a challenge,” Finnick called, his tone laced with playful mockery, though there was no hiding the underlying edge to his words. "Maybe I’ll be more to your liking, Snake."

The moment his words hit the air, several heads turned in his direction. Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, stood in the far corner, her eyes flicking over the interaction with her typical obvious calculating. Beside her, Peeta Mellark watched with curiosity, his eyes scanning the scene with mild concern. They were both known for their quick adaptability in the arena, but today, they were silent spectators, perhaps trying to gauge what the other tributes were capable of.

To the left, the Career Victors gathered in a loose group, their eyes trained on the sparring area. Gloss and Cashmere, both Victors from District 1, stood tall, their eyes sharp and calculating. Cashmere’s expression was one of detached amusement, the same one she wore when watching anything unfold with a sense of superiority. Gloss, always smooth and polished, barely reacted, but his eyes flicked between you and Finnick as if weighing the outcome.

Brutus, the burly victor from District 2, leaned against the far wall, a hand resting on his crossed arms. He didn’t even look up when Finnick spoke; his gaze was set on the floor, deep in thought, but his awareness of the scene was palpable. Enobaria, with her cruel smile, watched with intense focus, her sharp gaze never leaving you. Her scarred face showed no amusement, only interest, as if she were eager to see just how you would handle the golden boy.

Finnick didn’t wait for a response. With a fluid motion, he stepped into the sparring ring, his body sleek with readiness. He stretched his shoulders once, eyeing you with a mix of admiration and challenge. "I’ve seen how you handle the others. Let’s see if you can keep up with me."

You chuckled coldly, shaking your head in amusement. You also didn’t hesitate. You had no interest in letting anyone believe you were anything but the best, especially someone like Finnick. You took a step forward, your gaze never wavering from his, your expression colder than the chill that had descended in the room.

"Are you sure you want to embarrass yourself? After all," You say, a stiff smirk on your face. "I already know a few of these people want your head."

Finnick chuckled, the sound smooth and low. He didn’t flinch at your challenge—if anything, it only seemed to fuel the fire in his eyes. "I’ve never been one to shy away from a little embarrassment," he replied, his voice carrying the same cocky confidence he wore like a second skin. He took a few more steps toward you, his shoes thudding on the floor with every movement, and then his posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his body tightening as his eyes locked onto yours. "And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t mind the chance to put me in my place."

You tilted your head slightly, a challenge in your own gaze. "You’ll find, Finnick, that I don’t take well to being underestimated."

You were moving before he could react, stepping forward with a speed that caught him off guard. His eyes flashed with surprise, but he recovered quickly, swinging the trident on his back in a defensive arc. You dodged with ease, your body flowing effortlessly as you sidestepped, your foot sweeping under his legs. For a split second, you felt the rush of satisfaction as he faltered, but Finnick’s reflexes were lightning-quick. He used the momentum to roll away, his body fluid and agile.

"You’re fast," he remarked, voice teasing but filled with a respect he couldn’t quite mask. "But speed isn’t everything."

"Neither is strength," you shot back, pursing your lips as you lunged again. You’d seen the way his body moved, like water—graceful but with a force that could easily crush someone. But you had something he didn’t: unpredictability. You didn’t follow a set pattern, and that was what made you so dangerous. You didn’t rely on flashy moves; you relied on precision.

Finnick tried to regain control, thrusting the trident towards you with deadly accuracy, but you ducked under it and closed the distance, aiming a sharp punch at his side. His abs tightened, but you still managed to land a glancing blow that had him staggering. His breath came out in a sharp exhale, and his playful grin started to falter.

Before he could adjust, you moved like lightning, slipping behind him and sweeping his legs out from under him with a calculated twist of your body. Finnick hit the mat with a harsh thud, the sound echoing through the facility. There was no time to waste as you quickly positioned yourself on top of him, straddling his chest, your knees pinning him to the floor. Your grip was firm, your body controlling his every movement.

He groaned beneath you, his face flushed with exertion, and his emerald eyes widened slightly in surprise at how easily you had taken him down. The same admiration from before flickered in his gaze, but now there was something else—a flicker of admiration mixed with something darker, something almost hungry. "You know, I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of this," Finnick muttered, his voice rougher than before. "You’re full of surprises."

You didn’t let him speak further, your eyes narrowing as you leaned in closer, ensuring your weight kept him pinned. You didn’t care about the Capitol watching, didn’t care about the other tributes’ eyes on you. All that mattered was showing Finnick exactly who was in control here.

"Next time, we'll be in the arena," you whispered, your breath a ghost against his ear. "Don’t underestimate me again. It might cost you your life."

Finnick’s lips curled into a slow, appreciative smile, his chest rising and falling beneath you with each breath. "Oh, trust me, I’m not underestimating you," he said softly, the words carrying a note of sincerity. "I’m impressed. You’re as dangerous as they say."

"I don't find it something to brag about." You respond, your eyes narrowing.

You didn’t need his praise. You were here to make a point, and you weren’t about to let your guard down. But as you looked down at him, the way his eyes were fixed on you—intense, focused, and full of something that wasn’t just admiration—something shifted. The space between you both seemed to shrink, and you found yourself suddenly aware of the heat that radiated from his body.

Finnick shifted beneath you, trying to get leverage, but you tightened your grip, keeping him pinned. His hands slid up to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your training uniform. It was the smallest touch, but it sent a jolt through your body. You could feel the tension building between you both, the energy in the air thick with the promise of something more. Something neither of you had said aloud, but something that was undeniably there.

He gave a low chuckle, and his voice, though laced with a hint of challenge, was also teasing. "So, is this how you plan to finish every fight? Straddle your opponent until they surrender?"

You leaned in slightly, your face inches from his, and for the first time, you let a real smile tug at the corners of your lips. "Not every fight. But you made it too easy."

Finnick’s gaze softened for just a moment before he responded, his voice a low murmur. "You know, I’d hate to admit it, but you’re more than just a pretty face."

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk widening. "Flattery’s not going to get you out of this."

He looked up at you, his eyes intense and unreadable. There was a flicker of something beneath his gaze—a raw, untamed energy that sent a shiver down your spine. "Maybe I’m not trying to get out of it."

The shift in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. You could feel the air between you crackle with something almost electric now, something far more dangerous than just the fight. You were both too close, too aware of each other, and for a fleeting moment, you questioned if this was still just a sparring match.

Then, as if breaking from some shared tension, Finnick grinned. "Well, I suppose your point is proven. You are a terrifying woman."

You took a final breath and let go of your hold on him. Finnick slowly sat up, keeping his eyes on you as he dusted himself off. His playful smile remained, but there was a flicker of genuine respect in his eyes. "I’ll give it to you, Snake," he said, still catching his breath. "You’ve given me a run for my money."

You stood up, brushing off your hands as you met his gaze head-on. "I don't let anyone get the drop on me. Least of all you."

The room was quiet now, the whispers of admiration coming from the other tributes, who had watched the exchange. Katniss and Peeta both exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. The Career Victors seemed impressed, though their eyes never left you, sizing you up with new interest. You hadn’t just beaten Finnick—you had shown them all that you weren’t someone to mess with.

As Finnick straightened, he offered you a small, appreciative nod. "Maybe next time, you can let me get a few hits in," he said, voice smooth but with an edge of genuine respect. "But you, honey.." He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. "You’re something else."

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you simply turned and walked away, your mind already moving to the next task, the next challenge. But as you walked, you could feel his eyes still on you, and you couldn’t help but feel that, despite the fight, things had shifted between you and Finnick. The kind of shift that wasn’t about victory. It was about something else—something that lingered in the space between you both.

You didn’t need to look back to know that this was far from over.

[deepgrotto]

Odesta Reunion in District 13

[ofseaglass]

dude. every time i remember how the victors were treated in the hunger games and everything president snow did in general i start punching the air. its like I’m one of those guys in their cars crying because women get periods.

[toothfa-1-ry]

GOODNIGHT SUNSHINE -finnick odair

It's the coldest it has ever been in the 13th district but Finnick's got you right?

GENRE: fluff

PAIRING: Finnick Odair x gn reader

WARNING: mentions of wound and scars

A/N: this fic is especially dedicated for those who were victims of my previous Finnick fic

TAGLIST: @honethatty12

"Finnick?" You ask at the dead of night, the both of you lying down next to eachother all cramped up in the tiny bed which was given to the both of you

"yes sweetheart?" Finnick's breath tickles your ears as he whispers, slightly bending his neck to where you were lying down in his chest

You could hear his heartbeat clearly a d he could feel you breathing, a sign that the both of you were alive.

Your fingers could feel the bandage wrapped around his arms and Finnick could see the scars on your face, a sign that the both of you were a little scarred, but still a sign that the both of you were alive.

The 13th district is cold. A different kind of cold the both of you hd ever experienced. Finnick had mainly experienced the cold during the night on the beach, the cold air blowing towards him from the sea.

Finnick also had experienced many different kind of warmths, the bad and the good

The kind of warmth you can only get back at the 4th district, the warm sand beneath is feet and the sunlight hitting the water.

The warmth from the capitol in all its luxury and velvety blankets and linen bedsheets which left him cold and empty instead

And the kind of warmth with you. A different kind of warmth, like now,

How the both of you were in a cold small quiet room with a thin blanket too small to cover 2 people and yet Finnick felt the most comfortable and warm he ever was,all because he had you in his arms

Even though there was a entire uprising going on, even though there was wounds and scars all over his back, even the nightmares he endures everynight seemed to cease to exist when he was with you

"Finnick" you repeat again

"yes sweetheart?" He responds nonchalantly, his arms pulling you in closer towards him

"aren't you feeling cold?" You ask, the thin blanket was hardly even able to cover you, let alone Finnick "we can't share it, it's far too small. We can take turns using it"

"it's alright sweetheart" Finnick mumbles and his face nuzzles into you neck "m'not cold"

You scoff "it's freezing, here" you try spreading the blanket across Finnick's body but Finnick just doesn't accept it

"you use it love, don't worry about me, I've got my sun right next to me. I'm warm enough" he lazily smiles "c'mon these scars aren't going to heal themselves, let's give into the night"

"scars don't heal Finnick, wounds do, not scars" you roll your eyes as you reply but your arms stretch over Finnick's neck

"I suppose so, but you can always kiss them better hm?" He hums

"I suppose I can always kiss them better" you smile as you press a kiss into his face

"night Finnick"

"goodnight sunshine"

[kald-dal-art]

THG Sketchbook dump old drawings and requests so thanks to people who gave my drawing suggestions 🫶

[spiralling-thoughts]

I'm a little ashamed to admit this but back when I first watched the hunger games trilogy it never occurred to me how Big of a tragedy the victors purge truly was and I consider it one of the most horrifying and cruel things in the story

The victors stayed under snow's control ever since he became president and as he forced them to relive their trauma with how they would mentor other children who would experience the same horrors as they do and the cycle continue , he stripped them of their youth and innocence and in alot of cases their families yet still still forced them in the position of themselves as entertainment for the capitol and condemned them to feel guilty and tramatized by the children that they couldn't save and lots of them turned to self distraction because of it and in the end he killed them after years and years of them scarfing their agency and sanity and being tools for him to keep the status quo he set an example with their deaths

All the victors deserved the chance to see a Free panem and to see the demise of the person who held them at gunpoint for years. They all deserved to get to experience a life without having to worry if they will fail another child, and they all deserved to get to heal and find love and learn to forgive themselves for the children that they couldn't save and they deserved to be resured that the future generations will grow up without fear of getting their name pulled and they deserve to be able to rebuild their lives and be allowed to see if they wanted to have kids since they will no longer have to be afraid of them getting reaped

All of District 1 and 2 and 4 victors deserved to see that the lies they were taught would never be taught again for other children that kids won't spend their lives training in the hopes of participating in a death match thinking that they were becoming heroes but in reality they were pawns the capitol was willing to discard at any moment

And yet out of 65 victors only 7 survived and got to see that JUST SEVEN like I love all of them as much as the next person but it's still tragic besides the district 12 victors who became their own little found family the other victors lost people who they have known for years and who were their neighbors and friends or colleges . Annie lost finnick and mags being the most obvious example but enobaria and Johanna and beetee also lost their colleges and would be the only ones left in victors village in their districts and the people who shared their burdens were gone

It's truly tragic for everyone and I feel ashamed that it took me this long to realize that. The victors were undoubtedly the biggest victims of the capitol and lots of them never got to see justice be done it's honestly making me go crazy Suzanne is the type of writer who doesn't hold back at all

[diiwata]

hc: district 4 hates sweets

in most asian cultures, saying a dessert is "not too sweet" is considered a compliment bc the sugar doesn't completely demolish your taste buds or overpower the true flavor of the dessert! it could also be that sugar is more of a capitol commodity (inspired by the finnick sugar cube scene).

sweets in d4 are subtle and rely more on flavor, like their orange cakes or rice cakes. i like the idea of them having a new form of boba that they add for texture to their not-too-sweet milk drinks. if the name and culture has been lost to time, then i think they'd call it "black pearls" to match the district aesthetic!

bonus if the capitol takes the boba, deems it too bland, and ups the flavor by turning it into a sugary nightmare. they call it "jelly spheres" and give it to their d4 victors upon completion of the games.

"wow..." a victor clutches their cup as they struggle to swallow the oversaturated tapioca pearls. "this is so... sweet..." the capitol gushes. they think it's a compliment.